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Prison was hell; it was loud yet too quiet. It was a breeding ground of germs Spencer did not even want to acknowledge, but above all, it was mind-numbingly boring. It had been three weeks, and he had already exhausted the limited books he was allowed, he had no library privileges, gone through and played every game of chess in his mind, all within the first day.
He remembers something Derek once told him about when he was kidnapped, how the only way Derek withstood the torture was by thinking of Savannah and their future. Now Spencer did not have a Savannah; he had no one…well, he had you. However, you guys weren't dating. Honestly, Spencer was hopelessly in love with you, had been for years, and only recently started noticing the possible reciprocation of his feelings, but he was so wrapped up in trying to help his mother that he didn't see it, and now he might not be able to ever ask you.
Spencer mulled over Derek’s words and decided that if there was one place to indulge and construct his perfect life, what he yearned for in the future, or even a life completely different, a 6 by 8 foot cell was the place to do it.
He closed his eyes and let his mind relax, colours and sounds swirling together, mixing and melting to create this.
—
Spencer rolled over in bed and opened his eyes slowly. Morning light filtered through the blinds. Only to be met with your face inches away from his, he reached out and wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer as he inhaled the sweet smell of your very expensive shampoo. You hummed against him, completely softened into his chest, and he kissed your hair tenderly, letting himself feel the weight of you pressed against him.
You lifted your head slightly, finally opening your eyes, and he had missed being this close to you, the colours of your iris boring into his. He missed your smile too, seeing your lips quirk up, he furrowed his brows, trying to keep this perfect image.
Your fingers were soft as you smoothed the creased skin between his eyebrows. “Only been awake, three minutes, and you’re already thinking too much.” You joked, you always did, always made him smile, always made him let out a little laugh, more often than not when he was trying to be serious.
He grinned and said, “Thinking about you,” and before you could roll your eyes at his stupidly cheesy line, he gave himself what he desired most. He leaned forward and captured your lips with his. It was soft, as soft as he could imagine. The press of your lips together was enough to make him go dizzy, and he only wanted more.
He reached his hands up to cup your face, his hands squeezing your cheeks. You let out a surprised yelp, and Spencer only took that as a sign to deepen the kiss. His mouth opened against yours, tongues brushing and languid, and he heard the most beautiful noise emitting from your throat. Spencer shifted to hover above you, careful not to break this kiss. Your hands moved to tug his unruly curls, his hands finally moving up and down your body, scrunching your nightdress. He could've swore he heard a door creak, but he didn't care, not when he had you writhing beneath him, his mouth moving from your lips to trace wet kisses along your jaw and down your throat, one hand moving from its secure place on your waist to find its way under your pajamas, fingers tracing the hem of your underwear but you stopped him
“Spence, stop. I think we have an audience, someone who definitely shouldn't see this, who is currently hiding behind the bottom of the bed.”
This was his own fantasy, yet he confused himself…what the hell were you talking about?
You pushed him off you, Spencer hit the mattress with a soft bounce, and you said, “Good Morning, Elliot. You know we can see you.” Your voice was teasing and soft, familiar even.
A small boy, no older than 6 years old, popped up from the foot of the bed, clad in dinosaur pyjamas, one side of his pants hiked up to his knee, and he clutched a stuffed toy that looked like planet Earth.
And then Spencer realised what this was, the one thing he never really allowed himself to wish for, not until, during a case, you mentioned your want to have kids. It was an off-handed comment, but Spencer could not stop thinking about it.
The child, Elliot, you had called him (where that name came from, Spencer had no idea), had curly, messy hair, similar to his own. The world's roundest cheeks, soft and squishable, no doubt inherited from his mother. In that moment, Spencer thanked his PhD in engineering, because he was able to create the perfect mix of the two of you.
You were smiling, adjusting your clothes discreetly and pulling the covers over you and him, sitting up with your back against the headboard. It was then that Spencer saw the ring glinting on your left hand; he smiled at the implication. Spencer shifted to sit next to you, and you clapped your hands once, declaring, “Come here, baby,” patting the space between you and Spencer.
Elliot’s eyebrows pinched, and his voice was small, “You and daddy are so gross.”
You turned to Spencer and gave him a look before focusing on the child, “Kisses are not gross. I used to kiss you all the time when you were a baby.”
The young boy walked towards the bed carefully and said, “Still gross, did you know that kisses can produce like a million germs, but handshakes are way worse. I read it in that book about microbacteria, the one on the big shelf.”
Maybe it was ego, but Spencer loved the fact that his children were likely to inherit his smarts.
Spencer pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh, and felt you smack his arm playfully, and you said, “Well, would you like a handshake or cuddles?”
He practically jumped into bed, and Spencer let out amused laughter, especially when he saw the two of you cuddling close. You looked over to the toy Elliot was holding and muttered, “We really should thank Penelope for sending the toy. Elliot hasn't put it down in 2 weeks.”
Spencer's eyes softened, and he pressed his lips together, and turned to the young boy in the middle, directly talking to him for the first time, “Good Morning, buddy.”
Elliot bounced up, moving from his comfortable position with you, to climbing on top of Spencer, “Hi daddy, did you know that the Earth rotates, so that's why we get day and night, and that it's the third planet from the sun and that-”
Spencer placed his hands on the boy's and said, “Slow down, Elliot, you’re gonna run out of breath. Now you can tell me all the facts you learnt from your astronomy book over breakfast.”
You moved closer to the pair, Elliot in Spencer’s lap as he moved his arm to wrap around your shoulders too.
“We should do something today, something fun, a family day out,” you declared, before checking your phone, “Yep, a day off…until we get a case.”
Wait. No. Rewind.
As much as he loved his job, it got in the way, and he knew that if the time came, he would take a page out of Derek's book and leave the BAU when he had a kid. He saw the struggle Hotch went through, the sacrifices JJ had to make, and he didn't want that, not for his family.
Now, what would he be doing?
He would teach. Profiling classes, forensic psychology, maybe even put his mathematics or chemistry doctorates to good use.
You wouldn’t be a stay-at-home mom. You would do something where your mind still had stimulation, while also having regular hours, maybe becoming a writer, following the path Rossi took.
“We should do something today, something fun, a family day out,” you said…again.
Elliot was already excited, especially when Spencer mentioned an astronomy exhibit at the Smithsonian. He also asked for a picnic and to play in the park.
Your eyes softened at both of their enthusiasm, kissing Spencer’s cheek and Elliot’s temple, “My smart boys, now Eli, have you brushed your teeth?”
He was evidently caught off guard; his eyes darted to the side, an obvious side he was lying on, “Of course, mama.”
Spencer saw you give your best ‘mom’ look and Elliot conceded fast, “Two minutes, exactly, I know,” jumping off Spencer and padding to the bathroom.
You yelled out after him, “And I know you've been up the past two hours, so you better tidy the books and toys in your room.”
Spencer closed the gap between the two of you, your head resting on his chest, “You’re really good with him, better than me, that's for sure.”
You shifted to face him, saying, “What, no way, he loves you, and you love him, you were the one who tracked my pregnancy so closely that the day he formed ears in the womb, you began talking to him. You are the best father, where do you think he gets his love of all things science-y from, not me, that's for sure.”
Spencer nodded, the warmth in his chest spread at your words, "I'll get him dressed, if you make breakfast?”
You kissed him, “Teamwork, Spence, but no cowboy costumes again or any costume really, last time he didn't take it off for three days.”
Spencer recreated his favourite exhibit from a couple of years ago.
The Smithsonian was entertaining to say the least. The two of you walked hand in hand, letting Elliot run forward. He read all the plaques and information, recited each back to you, and waited for Spencer to tell him something else. Spencer saw you watch them both fondly as he took Elliot up in his arms, so he could see part of an exhibit more closely.
Spencer could have spent hours there, creating different rooms, different capsules of information, seeing you and Elliot admire each thing, and Spencer would, but right now, he wanted the rest of his perfect day. Soon the Smithsonian fell away, his favourite spot in Potomac Park soon forming.
You guys were sitting on one of the chess tables, Elliot firmly in his lap as they both conspired against you.
You huffed, “This isn’t fair, I suck at chess, and you two are on the same team.” mock pouting and crossing your arms. Elliot jumped from Spencer’s lap and went over to you.
“Don't worry, mama, I'll help you. I know all of daddy’s secrets.” Spencer watched as Elliot whispered into your ear about which pieces to, and naturally, Spencer let the two of you win.
You and Spencer watched Elliot play in the grass, using his magnifying glass because any child of Spencer Reid’s would have their own magnifying glass…and carry it with them everywhere. You rested your head on his shoulder and murmured, “Should we be concerned that he’d rather play with worms than with the kids on the playground?”
Spencer sighed and said, “He’s just different. I was different. Developmentally, he's far beyond what boys his age are like, but he's not like me; he has friends in kindergarten, he's not socially isolated, just selective.”
Before you could respond, Elliot ran up to you both holding a snail, “Mama, look, a Cornu aspersum.” He shoved it into your face.
Spencer interjected, “Good job, maybe let's not shove snails into your mother's face,” so clearly Elliot showed it to him instead.
And then you laugh, he missed that laugh, he missed you, he missed you so much it hurt.
He changed the scene again, back to your home.
He slid up behind you, arms wrapped tight around your waist, “Elliot is down for the count, after three books, one story I had to make up, and a twenty-minute sidebar on snails, speaking of, he wants pet snails.”
You put down the dish you were drying and turned in his arms, wrapping your own around his neck, “Well, last week he wanted a bearded-dragon, so forgive me if I do not indulge in our 6 year olds every whim.” You stayed like that for a while, just holding each other, soft smiles and even softer eyes.
Spencer hugged you tight, “I miss you.” It was a whisper, barely there, but you heard it.
“I'm right here, Spence. What's wrong?”
He just shook his head, “Dance with me.”
You pulled away just a little, “You’re lucky I indulge in your whims.” You tucked your head into his chest, and then you both swayed softly. He relished feeling you this close. Your heartbeat in sync with his, your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging softly. His hands squeezed your waist, you looked up at him, and your lips formed the words Spencer could literally only dream of: "I love you.”
You saw Spencer do the thing when he tried not to cry, furrowed his eyebrows, and pouted his lips, top of his nose scrunching ever so slightly, "I love you, more than anything.”
He pulled you closer, holding you so tight like he was afraid you were going to disappear.
Because you were, as soon as he opened his eyes, you and Elliot and this life were going to disappear.
—
Three months
Three months of being in Milburn, three months of being alone and isolated, 3 months of imagining you.
You were the only thing that kept him sane. Whenever he had the chance, he would imagine, create, and form the perfect scenarios.
He structured your entire lives together, from first meetings to marriage, to having Elliot, and when it was over, he would start again, changing small things to make it different, but the fundamentals were always the same. You and him together.
Being out of Milburn was a complete shock to his nervous system. He was dressed in the suit he wore to court, and he was walking out with JJ when he saw you waiting by the car.
He saw your face crumple as you tried so hard to remain calm, but he met your eyes, and you ran over to him, arms firm around his back. He hugged you tighter, burying his face in your hair. No matter how hard he imagined, no matter how accurate his mind was, nothing could compare to physically feeling you in his arms, and now that he knows, he's never letting you go.