Chapter Text
Snow wasn’t common in Quantico, not in the thick, picturesque way Hallmark movies promised, but tonight—this rare December evening—the flakes drifted down in gentle spirals, dotting the BAU’s dark windows with soft specks of white. Inside, the bullpen was quieter than usual. Files were closed, coats were draped on chairs, and holiday decorations—mostly courtesy of Garcia—glowed faintly among the desks. A ceramic penguin wearing a Santa hat stood guard near the printer. Someone had taped a sprig of plastic mistletoe above the doorway leading to the conference room. Multiple people denied responsibility.
It was eight days before Christmas.
Spencer Reid had been aware of the date for weeks, in the same way he was aware of most temporal milestones: factually, clinically, with an emotionally neutral acknowledgment. Christmas approached every year. Christmas ended every year. Nothing more. He’d hoped no one would make a fuss about it. But this was the BAU. And this year, apparently, would be different.
Hotch called for an early dismissal after a long but closed case—a small miracle in itself. As agents packed up, JJ chatted amiably with Morgan near the glass doors, Emily lingered at her desk flipping absentmindedly through a magazine she hadn’t had time to read, and Rossi returned from a phone call wearing an expression that suggested he had just convinced someone somewhere that they absolutely did owe him a favour.
Reid gathered his things quickly. Staying too long would mean conversation. Conversations in December inevitably meant Christmas. He slung his satchel over his shoulder and made for the elevators.
He almost made it.
“Spence!” JJ called. Reid paused mid-step. He was never good at pretending he didn’t hear someone—it felt rude, and besides, his hearing was too good to fake something like that convincingly. He turned, forcing a smile. JJ jogged over, the ends of her scarf swaying behind her. “We were just talking about the holiday schedule,” she said. “Do you need help arranging travel?”
“Travel?” he repeated blankly.
“You know”—she softened—“to visit your mom?”
Reid hesitated. “No. I’m not… I’m not going anywhere.” Her face fell into a familiar pity she tried hard to hide. He wished she wouldn’t. Pity made him feel seen in all the wrong ways. Morgan approached, slinging an arm around Reid’s shoulders before Reid could dodge it. “Pretty Boy, don’t tell me you’re planning to sit at home alone again with that stack of Russian poetry you bought last week.”
“I like poetry,” Reid muttered.
“That’s not the issue,” Emily added, joining them with a coffee cup in hand. “It’s Christmas. People are supposed to do things.”
“Not everyone celebrates,” Reid said quickly. Morgan blinked. “Wait—yeah, but you do, right? Or at least you used to? There’s no way a kid like you didn’t grow up doing Christmas big.”
Reid froze. Silence stretched.
JJ’s brows knit in concern. Emily set down her coffee. Morgan’s grin faded. “Reid? You okay?” He inhaled slowly. “We… didn’t really celebrate.” His voice cracked in a soft, unsteady way he hated.
Rossi, passing by on his way to Hotch’s office, stopped. “Everything all right?”
“No,” Morgan said, still watching Reid. “Apparently, genius boy here didn’t grow up with Christmas. How does that even happen?”
Reid tensed, ready to deflect, prepared to shrug it off—but the words tumbled out before he could stop them. “My dad left in December,” he said. “When I was ten. He walked out on Christmas Eve. My mom wasn’t… doing well. After that, holidays were just… reminders. I didn’t decorate, and she didn’t remember what day it was most years.” He tried to shrug. Tried to smile. Failed at both. “It didn’t seem worth celebrating.”
A stunned pause filled the bullpen. Garcia appeared from behind a column like a neon-coloured apparition, eyes blown wide behind her glittery glasses. “Oh no,” she whispered, pressing a hand over her heart. “My sweet Doctor Reid, you poor, deprived cinnamon roll.”
“I’m not deprived,” Reid protested weakly.
“Deprived,” Garcia repeated. “Like an orphan from a Victorian novel.”
“I’m not an orphan either—”
“Reid.” Hotch’s steady voice broke through. He’d emerged quietly from his office. “No one is judging. We just didn’t know.” Reid nodded stiffly, uncomfortable with the attention. Rossi crossed his arms, thinking. “When’s the last time you actually participated in a Christmas celebration?”
“I don’t know,” Reid answered. “Maybe when I was six? Seven? I don’t really remember.” Rossi looked horrified. Genuine, offended, Italian horror. “That’s unacceptable.”
“Sir—” Reid tried.
“Unacceptable,” Rossi repeated. “This is America. We have our flaws, but we do Christmas right.” Hotch exhaled through his nose, half amused despite himself. “Rossi—”
“No,” Rossi said firmly. “The kid deserves at least one proper holiday. One.” He held up a finger. “We’re fixing this.” Reid felt his panic spike. All of them—all of them—staring at him like he’d just confessed he’d never eaten food or breathed air. “No,” Reid said quickly. “It’s fine. Really. I don’t need—”
But his team ignored him entirely.
By the next morning, Spencer realized the situation had escalated. Significantly. On his desk sat a small, silver-wrapped box with a bow on top. Inside, a note read:
“Day 1. –JJ :)”
Next to it, a peppermint mocha. Still hot. Reid blinked. Emily strode past casually. “Don’t fight it,” she said over her shoulder. “It’ll only make it worse.”
“Make what worse?”
She smirked. “Your Christmas re-education.” Before he could respond, Garcia appeared out of nowhere again—how she did this without teleportation remained one of life’s great mysteries—and placed a soft, fuzzy Santa hat on his head. He flinched. “Garcia—”
“Shhh.” She adjusted it carefully. “It’s going to be okay, my holiday-resistant hedgehog.”
“I don’t need a—hedgehog?”
“Soft on the inside, prickly on the outside. Very you.” Hotch passed by, pausing just long enough to say, “You look festive, Reid.”
“I look ridiculous,” Reid mumbled. Morgan laughed as he approached his own desk. “Kid, that’s the point. Embrace it.” Rossi entered last, holding two cups of coffee—one for himself, one suspiciously flavoured. He set the second in front of Reid. “What is this?” Reid asked warily. “Eggnog latte,” Rossi announced. Reid made a face. “That sounds terrible.”
“You’ll like it.”
Reid sniffed it, recoiled, and pushed it away. “Okay,” Rossi admitted, retrieving it. “Fair enough. It does smell like someone melted a candle into boiling milk.”
“But it’s festive,” Emily said. “That’s what matters.” Reid rubbed his temple. “Guys, I don’t—celebrating isn’t really… necessary.” Rossi leaned over his desk. “Kid, this team has faced serial killers, bombs, cults, and at least one cannibalistic psychopath. We can handle Christmas.”
“That’s not the same as—”
“We’re doing this, Spencer,” JJ said softly, but firmly. “You deserve joy, too.” And just like that, he knew he’d lost.
Over the next few days, the BAU—still functioning as a fully operational unit, still hunting monsters, still saving lives—also became a covert Christmas rehabilitation program for one Dr. Spencer Reid.
Day Two - Morgan
Reid walked into the bullpen to find a tiny artificial Christmas tree on his desk, no more than a foot tall, decorated with colourful paper cranes. Morgan leaned on his swivel chair. “Made those myself.”
“You folded these?” Reid asked, impressed despite himself.
“Man’s gotta have hidden talents.”
“They’re good,” Reid admitted. Morgan grinned. “You should see my swans.” Garcia gasped from across the room. “I knew you were secretly a craft daddy.”
“Don’t ever call me that again,” Morgan warned. Reid smiled. He didn’t mean to. It just happened.
Day Three - Emily
Emily brought in a wooden box filled with ornaments—some elegant glass ones from Prague, some quirky ones from travels across Europe, and one truly horrific felt angel with a crooked face. “This one’s my favourite,” Emily said, holding it up. “It looks…” Reid searched for the least insulting adjective. “…haunted.”
“That’s why it’s great.” She placed the box in front of him. “Pick one for your desk tree.”
“I don’t really—”
“Spencer,” she warned playfully. He sighed, rifling through the box until his fingers closed around something cool and spherical. He pulled out a small glass ornament painted with gold stars. “That was from when I lived in Rome,” Emily said. “Good choice.” Reid hung it carefully. “Thank you.” She nudged his shoulder gently. “Get used to being included.” He didn’t answer. But the ornament caught the light, and something in him softened.
Day Four - Garcia
She arrived with a knitted scarf in deep navy blue, embroidered with tiny constellations. “I made it,” she said proudly, wrapping it around his neck before he could protest. “Your very own stargazer scarf.”
“Garcia…” He smoothed a hand over the soft fabric. “This must’ve taken hours.”
“Worth it,” she declared. “Now you’re warm and adorable and appropriately themed.”
“Thank you,” he said, quietly, sincerely. Her smile wobbled, touched.
Day Five - Hotch
Reid found a set of classic Christmas novels neatly stacked on his desk: A Christmas Carol, The Gift of the Magi, The Nutcracker, even Little Women. A handwritten note sat atop the pile:
“Stories matter. Traditions are built one at a time. —Hotch”
Reid felt warmth bloom in his chest. He didn’t say anything, but Hotch gave him a small nod from his office doorway. Rossi muttered to Morgan, “Show-off,” as if Hotch committing an emotional gesture violated some unspoken competition.
Day Six - Rossi
Rossi invited the entire team to his house. Which was concerning. “Don’t worry,” Emily whispered to Reid on the way in. “He’ll just feed us until we can’t move.”
“Is that supposed to be comforting?”
But the evening turned out… pleasant. Rossi’s mansion was glowing with warm lights, garlands draped over banisters, a beautifully decorated tree in the foyer with ornaments that probably cost more than Reid’s monthly rent. They ate homemade pasta, garlic bread, wine—well, the others had wine; Reid had sparkling apple cider—and laughed around Rossi’s fireplace. At one point, Rossi nudged him and said, “Not bad, right?”
Reid looked around. His team. His family.
He nodded. “Not bad at all.”
By the time Christmas Eve arrived, Reid had resigned himself to some level of celebration. He expected something small—maybe a dinner, maybe a movie night, maybe another ornament. He did not expect the mid-morning ambush. JJ and Emily showed up at his apartment first. “Get dressed,” Emily ordered.
“I am dressed,” he replied, in a sweater vest and slacks.
JJ inspected him. “Okay, but you need layers. And gloves. And a hat.”
“I don’t understand—”
Then Morgan knocked from outside. “Let’s go, Pretty Boy.”
“Where are we going?” Reid demanded. They didn’t answer. Garcia arrived with a thermos the size of a small child. “Homemade cocoa!” she announced. “We travel prepared.” Hotch and Rossi joined them in two cars, looking suspiciously like they were hiding something. “Is this legal?” Reid asked nervously.
“Everything we do is legal,” Hotch said.
“Mostly,” Emily corrected. Hotch sighed.
They drove for nearly an hour to a small, quiet area outside the city. A large park, blanketed in snow, stretched out before them. Children and families skated on a frozen pond, lights were strung between trees, and some kind of community festival had set up nearby with hot drinks and music. Reid stared. “You brought me to a Christmas festival?”
“No,” Morgan said. “We brought you to your Christmas festival.” Reid blinked rapidly. “Mine?” Rossi stepped forward, patting him on the shoulder. “You missed out, kid. And that isn’t right. So we’re giving you one memory—just one—where Christmas isn’t a bad day.” JJ smiled warmly. “We planned it all week. Each day was just a warm-up.”
“You can’t force me to like Christmas,” Reid said weakly.
“We know,” Hotch said. “But we can give you something new.” Emily tugged on his sleeve. “Come on, Reid. Humour us.” And for the first time in his life, standing there surrounded by people who had chosen him, who cared enough to orchestrate all of this—he wanted to try. “…Okay,” he whispered.
Garcia squealed triumphantly.
The First Activity: Ice Skating
Reid stepped onto the ice and immediately fell. Hard.
Morgan cackled. “Oh, this is going to be good.” Rossi snapped a photo. “Don’t you dare,” Reid warned, pushing himself up. Emily skated circles around him like some smug European ice princess. “Having fun yet?”
“No.” He fell again. Hotch glided past—not elegantly, but surprisingly steady. “Try leaning forward.”
“That’s how gravity works, Hotch,” Reid snapped. JJ helped him up, steady and patient. “You’re doing great.” He wasn’t. But his team’s laughter wasn’t mocking. It was light. Joyful. Warm. By the tenth lap, he managed to skate ten feet without falling. “Victory!” Garcia crowed, shaking her thermos like a trophy. Reid felt a small, unfamiliar spark of pride.
The Second Activity: A Picnic & Gifts
They gathered around a picnic table Rossi had commandeered.
Morgan handed him a small package. “Open it.” Inside was a pair of soft gloves patterned with—of course—paper cranes. Emily gave him a miniature replica of the Roman ornament. “Now you have one for home.” Garcia produced a handmade book labelled “A Statistical Analysis of Why Spencer Reid Is Loved”, filled with charts, doodles, and glitter.
Reid’s eyes stung.
Hotch’s gift was quieter: a framed photo of the team from last year—one Reid didn’t know existed. Hotch rested a hand briefly on his shoulder. “Family matters,” he said. Rossi handed over a fountain pen. “Use it to write something good. Or to sign my future book contracts.” Reid laughed—a real laugh—and tucked each gift carefully into his bag.
The Third Activity: The Christmas Tree
They’d picked out a small pine in the park and brought ornaments from the office tree. Wind chilled their hands, but they decorated it anyway. Lights twinkled against the snow, warm and soft, and for once, the simple act didn’t feel hollow. JJ handed Reid a final ornament: a crystal snowflake. “You should put the last one,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because this is your Christmas.” He hesitated—then hung it gently.
The team cheered.
Reid stared at the little tree, breath visible in the cold air, something tight inside him loosening.
The Fourth Activity: A Christmas Carol
They sat together around the office, gathered with each other and sipping cocoa, as soft music drifted through the air. Rossi nudged him. “Ever hear A Christmas Carol read aloud?”
“No.”
“Then lucky you.” Rossi cracked open a worn book. “Because I do voices.”
Emily groaned. “Oh, here we go.” Rossi started reading anyway—dramatically, animatedly, in a way that should’ve been embarrassing.
Reid loved every second. Hotch watched them with a faint smile. Morgan pretended not to tear up at Tiny Tim. JJ leaned into Emily, both warm and content. Reid sat among them, scarf wrapped around his neck, gloves on his hands, surrounded by laughter and firelight—and for once, Christmas didn’t hurt.
They ended the night at Quantico. Unplanned. Unnecessary. Perfect. The bullpen lights were dim. Snow glowed through the windows. Their decorated office tree stood proudly, topped with a crooked paper star Garcia had made.
Emily stated, “Someone needs to turn on the tree.” Morgan gestured him forward. “Do the honors, kid.” Reid hesitated—then flipped the switch. Warm lights flooded the bullpen. Something inside him broke and healed at the same time.
Garcia moved first, hugging him fiercely. “Merry Christmas, my brilliant boy.”
JJ embraced him next. “Merry Christmas, Spencer.”
Emily kissed his cheek. “Merry Christmas, Reid.”
Morgan squeezed his shoulder. “Merry Christmas, Pretty Boy.”
Rossi shook his hand, then pulled him into a hug anyway. “Buon Natale, kid.”
Hotch stepped forward last. Quiet. Warm. Solid. “Merry Christmas, Spencer.”
Reid swallowed hard. “Merry Christmas.”
For the first time in two decades, the words didn’t feel empty.
Reid returned to the BAU early the next morning—he couldn’t explain why. Something in him just… wanted to be there. To see it again. To feel it again. He didn’t expect anyone else to be there. But Hotch was. Sitting at his desk, a coffee in hand, watching snow fall. “You’re here early,” Hotch said.
“So are you, and on Christmas,” Reid replied.
Hotch nodded. “Jack wakes up early. I dropped off some gifts. Thought I’d check in.”
“With me?” Reid asked.
“With the team,” Hotch corrected. Then, gentler, “With you, too.” Reid sat beside him. Silence settled comfortably. “Sir?” Reid asked quietly. “Why all this effort? It was just a holiday. People deal with things like this all the time.”
Hotch looked at him carefully. “Because you’ve carried enough pain. You deserve good memories, too.”
A breath caught behind Reid’s ribs. He nodded. Hotch stood. “Come on. There’s one more thing you need to see.” They walked to the conference room.
Inside, on the table, sat a large scrapbook:
“Spencer’s First Christmas (The Real One)”
Contributions from everyone. Photos from the festival. Notes from past cases where the team had saved families during the holidays. A page filled with handwritten messages:
You matter to us.
You’re part of this family.
You are loved, Spencer.
Reid’s vision blurred. He pressed a hand to his mouth. Hotch placed a hand on his back. “You okay?” Reid nodded, tears falling freely. “I… I think so.” He took a shuddering breath. “I think this is the first time Christmas hasn’t felt like something was missing.” Hotch’s voice softened. “That’s the idea.” Reid closed the scrapbook gently. “Thank you,” he whispered. Hotch squeezed his shoulder. “Merry Christmas, Spencer.” Reid wiped his eyes, smiling through the tears.
“Merry Christmas.”
And for the first time in his life, he meant it.