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1: “...His eyes, Penelope, they’re so pretty and round, like I could drown in them. I want to drown in them.”
He overhears her talking to Penelope as they walk past his desk.
His hand freezes over the case file he’s writing in. She has a crush. A crush that, from that description, can’t be him.
He’s never really thought about his eye color, but now he wishes that they were blue so she could drown in his eyes. Whatever that means? The only conclusion he could make from her words is that her apparent crush must have blue eyes that look like water. That’s what she has to mean by it?
2: “...And he’s so smart, which is so attractive for some reason! And the way he looks when he plays chess? Why do I find that hot?”
He catches part of a conversation she’s having with Emily in the break room as he’s walking by.
He thinks he’s smart. He knows that he’s smart. He wants her to find him attractive for any reason.
And so what if this guy plays chess? It’s not that impressive! What should impress her is all the plays and strategies that he has had memorized since he was 6 years old.
He thinks he could beat this mysterious crush of hers in chess with his eyes closed. He knows he can. He doesn’t want to think about having to meet this guy, though, because soon he’s imagining her comforting him after losing a game to Spencer. “You’ll get ’em next time,” she’d say, because she’s always so encouraging.
Then, the thought of having to be face-to-face with a man who she’s this enamored by makes him feel like he’s losing something he never even had the chance to hold.
He doesn't think that anyone could ever find him hot. Most people can barely look past his awkwardness long enough to notice him at all. The thought of her noticing someone else in that way is devastating.
He’s forgotten where he was even headed before he passed by the break room.
3: “...He’s so good with kids, I can't help but picture him with his own. I mean, you've seen the way he is with yours and JJ’s kids! I just know he’ll be a great dad someday.”
The team is all together in Rossi’s backyard, and she’s talking to Hotch. He feels his heart drop in his chest. He feels his fingers tighten around his glass. She’s really imagining an entire life with someone else.
As the godfather to JJ’s kids, he feels that he should know who this mysterious man is who has been hanging around them and being so great that she’s thinking about having children with him. Things must be going really well with her apparent crush (no, lover, apparently) for her to already be talking about their future children.
It must be a serious relationship if she’s talking to Hotch about it.
He wants to disappear into the bathroom to try to calm himself down, but his mental spiral is interrupted by Henry asking him to show Michael a magic trick.
*ੈ✩ He drives her home after a team night out at the bar. She’s completely wasted, so he cracks the window for her to feel the fresh night air on her face. He has to force himself to keep his eyes on the road and not admire how she looks in the moonlight, her hair twisting and twirling in the wind, her chest lightly rising and falling in a top that really accentuates her—
He’s clenching his jaw and gripping the steering wheel to keep himself grounded. He really needs to get over this crush he has on her. It’s absolutely crushing his soul to think about her and the fact that she belongs to someone else.
He pulls up to her apartment, and she slightly stirs in the passenger seat. “We’re home?” she whines out. He has to stop himself from picturing an actual shared home with her. He’d get her any house she wanted.
“You’re home. I’ll help you up, just… stay there.” He holds his hands out to gesture at the seat, and she grabs at his fingers. Every nerve in his body feels like a live wire at the feeling of her touch.
“You have pretty hands, did you know that?” She says it like she’s solved a mystery. Her eyelashes are fluttering, and her eyes are glazed over. His brain knows that he shouldn’t take what an extremely drunk woman is saying at face value, but his heart doesn’t care.
“Um… no, I didn’t know that. Thank you.” He reluctantly slides his hands out of her soft grip before he does something stupid, like intertwine their fingers together and never let go, and opens his door to step out of the car.
“Wait! Where’re you going!” She’s wide-eyed and pouting, literally pouting: her lower lip is jutted out, and she’s literally pouting at him. He’s starting to think that offering her this ride was an act of self-harm.
“I’m coming to help you out, honey. Just stay right there, okay?” The endearment just slipped out of his mouth; he didn’t even think about it. How could he not call her that when she’s looking at him like that?
“Ohhhh, okay!” She settles back into the seat and crosses her hands in her lap, patiently waiting.
He opens her door for her and holds his hand out to help her out of the car. She places her hand in his and tries to get up, but she’s still buckled in, so she doesn’t make it very far.
“Oh, oops,” she whispers before reaching for the clasp to try to fiddle it open.
“Help? Please?” Of course, she’s still polite even when she’s like this.
He bends down and leans over her to unbuckle the seatbelt for her, and he purposefully keeps his head facing away from her. He doesn’t trust himself to look at her in this close of proximity and not do something irresponsible like count the freckles on her nose or, worse, kiss her.
“You smell good.” She announces. He wants to jump in front of the metro. He can’t handle this.
“Oh, um, thank you.” He responds, slightly too late. He dares to make a quick glance at her, and his heart skips a beat. She’s staring at him so intensely, and her eyes are sparkling. She’s smiling and nibbling at her lower lip.
He quickly diverts his eyes from her lips and meets her eyes again.
“Your eyes are so, so pretty, Spence, I could definitely drown in them.” His mind is absolutely reeling.
“But they aren’t blue?” he dumbly says. He’s immediately cursing himself for shying away from her compliment.
“They don’t have to be blue, silly! It’s just a vibe, I don’t know.” She shrugs as she’s ending her sentence, and he’s still so close to her that he can barely breathe.
“Oh, uh, good to know.” He nods. “Thank you.”
He straightens back up and helps lift her from the car. Her knees nearly buckle on the way up, so he quickly grabs her waist to keep her upright.
“Oops! This is so embarrassing,” she whines out and scrunches her nose. Her cute, freckled nose that he was trying so hard not to think about.
“It’s okay, you’re not embarrassing, don’t worry.” He shakes his head at her in a way that he hopes is reassuring. She leans into his touch, so he gathers that it was. He reaches into his pocket to lock the car before guiding her arm around his neck, keeping his grasp firm on her waist. He’s starting to feel dizzy from the feeling of being surrounded by her.
Eventually, they make it to her front door. She reaches into her bra for her key, and he averts his gaze; a blush creeps up his neck to his cheeks.
“Whaaat? It’s a secure place!” she giggles.
“More secure than, say, your pocket?”
“Mm, it could fall out, or someone could steal it from my pocket, and I wouldn’t even know!” She laughs and leans even further into his side as she unlocks her door.
“Fair enough, that’s smart.”
“Wow, the smartest man on the entire planet just called me smart!” He can’t help but chuckle as she says this like she’s talking to an audience.
He had originally planned on just making sure she made it inside safely, but he realized less than halfway to her door that she would probably need help getting settled into bed. That feels entirely too intimate for him to witness, though. Just seeing the inside of her apartment from the hallway feels too personal.
“Is your boyfriend awake? Could he help you get into bed?” he reluctantly asks her, not wanting to trigger a conversation about the mysterious lover she’s been raving about for weeks.
“Boyfriend?! I don’t have a boyfriend!” She laughs at him. Well, not at him; he guesses she just finds everything to be funny right now. He’s extremely confused by her admission. Maybe she’s too drunk to remember the guy she’s clearly been falling for? Regardless, he’s relieved that there isn’t a man inside of her apartment.
“Oh, okay, sorry, uh… is it okay if I come in to help you?” He really doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable or cross any boundaries. He also doesn’t want her boyfriend-not-boyfriend to catch wind that another man helped his girlfriend (-not-girlfriend?) out like this. Spencer wouldn’t love to hear that about a woman he was with, and he doesn’t really know anything about the mysterious man. What if he wants to fight him? Or worse, challenge him to a game of chess that Spencer would have to let him win to appease him.
“I’m fine, Spence, really, thank you though.” She waves him off, pushes her door open, and stumbles through the doorway. He instinctively grabs her waist again to steady her so she doesn’t faceplant into the wooden door.
“Okay, maybe I could use a little help,” she admits.
He nods and enters her dimly lit apartment. She points in the direction of her bedroom, and he leads her there. He gently sits her on the bed, and she immediately flops backwards, giggling at the way the bed bounces under her. God, she’s so cute and endearing, he’s so screwed.
“Okay, so, where are your pajamas?” He glances around her room and finds himself smiling at the way it’s decorated. It’s so perfectly her.
She points in the general direction of her dresser, and he follows.
“This drawer?”
“Mhm.”
She doesn’t even look up when she hums at him, but he has his back turned to her, so he doesn’t know.
He opens the drawer and is swiftly met with an eyeful of her underwear: a mixture of lace and cotton and light and dark colors. He quickly slams the drawer closed.
“That was not the right drawer.” She props herself up on her elbows and sees his hands on the handles of her top drawer. She laughs and covers her mouth with one hand.
“Oh my god, Spencer Reid just saw my underwear.” He’s certain that his entire body is flushed red and pink.
“I didn’t see anything!”
“You saw enough to know that it wasn’t the right drawer!” She’s teasing him, he can tell by her sing-song tone and her raised eyebrows. She’s so precious like this, he can’t help but think.
“Please inform me of the exact location that contains your nightwear, ma’am.” He’s fighting a smile. This entire situation is so ridiculous.
“They are enclosed in the bottom drawer, sir.” He’s slightly afraid this is a trap, but he doesn’t know why she would have two drawers full of her undergarments, so he decides to trust her. He’s very slow about opening it, though.
Luckily, she was not pranking him, and he found her pajamas. When he turns to face her with them in his hands, he sees her struggling to get her shoes off.
He sets her pajamas on the bed next to her. He kneels on the floor in front of her and gently unties them before gently slipping them off of her feet. After, he looks up at her and finds her so beautiful that he’s speechless. Her hair is windswept from the window being down in the car, falling slightly in front of her eyes. Her eye makeup is slightly smudged, and the way she’s looking back down at him makes his breath catch in his throat.
She soon lowers her hands to the hem of her shirt and starts lifting it up her torso. It’s a miracle that he doesn’t choke and cough.
He quickly covers his eyes with his hands and squeaks, “Uhm, I don’t think you want me to witness you undressing.”
“And what if I do?” He can hear her smirking as she says it.
“Then I’d rather for that to occur under… different circumstances.”
“Ugh, you’re such a gentleman.” He’s never been complimented with such an irritated undertone before.
“I’m going to get you some water so you can change. Can I open my eyes so I can do that?”
She says, “Yes,” so imagine his surprise when he slowly moves his hands to see her shirtless, with just a lacy bra covering her breasts. He quickly moves them back over his eyes.
“Ughhh, you’re killing me.” She giggles at him.
“Okay, okay, I am sufficiently covered now.” He slowly peeks through the gaps between his fingers to see her covered by her sleep shirt.
“Your face is a bit red.” She’s smiling, and her fingers are in front of her mouth.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he quickly retorts before scampering out of her room and towards her kitchen. He holds the cool glass to his forehead and cheeks to try to subdue the heat there, but every time he closes his eyes, he can still see her lace-covered—
He shakes his head in shame. He feels like he’s being tortured by some higher power tonight. He can’t blame her for drunkenly flirting with him, so he’s resorted to blaming gods that he doesn’t believe in.
When he gets back to her bedroom, she’s beneath the covers and looking at her phone with one eye closed. He’s a tad confused by this method, but he doesn’t say anything about it.
When she sees him standing in the doorway with the glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen, she opens both eyes and makes grabby hands at him. Somehow, her eyes are still sparkling in the soft light of her bedroom.
After he helps her take a sip of water and as he’s placing the items on her bedside table, she says, “See, I knew you’d be a great dad someday, you’re so good at taking care of people.”
He freezes in his movements. She’s directly referred to two of the three instances that he overheard her talking about her mysterious lover. He’s replaying the other qualities she described in his mind, which leads him to say possibly the dumbest thing ever.
“Do you think it’s hot when I play chess, too?” He dares to look at her, and he knows that any progress he made in soothing his blushed face has been completely undone. She’s also laughing, which is not reassuring.
“Um, yes? Why?”
“No reason!” He wants to disappear. “Okay, well, I’m gonna go now. You should take some of the medicine when you wake up.” He gently takes her phone from her grasp and plugs it in for her. “I’d recommend not using this until you wake up, either.”
He’s halfway to her bedroom door when she says, “Wait! No goodnight kiss?”
He has his back to her, and he looks up at the ceiling. Maybe this is all a punishment because he doesn’t pray. Maybe he should start. Right now.
He turns around to face her, and she’s pouting again. Fuck.
He slowly approaches her and gently places his hands on the sides of her head before lowering himself and pressing a kiss to her forehead. He really hopes that she doesn’t have a boyfriend. “I’ll give you a real one if you ask me tomorrow, okay?”
She eagerly nods. “Okay!”
“Alright, sweet dreams. Call me, and only me, if you need anything.”
“Sweet dreams, Spencer, love you.” She says sleepily with her eyes closed. She probably doesn’t even know that she said it, he thinks. She definitely didn’t mean it, he thinks. He thinks he might burst into flames if he doesn’t get out of her apartment right this second.
He’s halfway back to his car when his phone starts ringing. Nobody ever calls him at this hour. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, and it’s her.
“Hello? You okay?” he says, concernedly.
“Come back,” she whines.
“I- I really shouldn’t. We should both get some sleep.”
“You should sleep here. So I can get my kiss when I wake up.”
He doesn’t have it in him to argue with that logic, so he turns around mid-step and heads back to her door.
“Okay, I’m coming.”
“Yay!”
When he gets back inside, he tries to tell her that he’ll sleep on the couch, but she’s not having that. She tries to convince him to sleep in her bed next to her. He, sort of, complies. He lies next to her in the bed, over the covers. He strokes her hair until she falls asleep, then moves a blanket and pillow to the floor next to her side of the bed. He tells himself that he should be close by just in case she gets sick or something.
When she wakes up in the morning, she thinks that he has left. The bed is cold where he was lying, and her couch is empty when she looks through the doorway of her bedroom. It’s not until she sits up and flings her legs over the side of the bed that she sees him asleep on the floor.
She gently pokes him with her foot until he starts to stir awake. “Spence, Spence, what’re you doing here?”
His blood runs cold. She doesn’t remember anything from the night before. He knew this was a possibility with how drunk she was, but he doesn’t know how to ask her if the mysterious man was actually him all along. He was really hoping that he’d get to kiss her.
“You asked me to stay? Remember?” he grumbles and wipes at his eyes.
“No, I know, I mean, why are you on the floor?” she giggles. He audibly sighs in relief. Okay, she at least remembers asking him to come back and stay.
“Oh, I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He sits up, and she’s never seen him like this before. He’s in a t-shirt, first of all. One he must have had on under his dress shirt. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen him without a tie on. The shirt is rumpled, and his hair is sticking in about 14 different directions. He’s still wearing his dress pants. At first, she feels bad that he didn’t feel comfortable enough to take them off, but then she smiles at the realization that he didn’t want to freak her out. If he wouldn’t sleep in the bed next to her, he definitely wouldn’t strip down to his boxers.
“Ah, you are such a gentleman." She softly smiles. "I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable last night.” Oh fuck, she does remember. Oh fuck. Oh god.
“No, no, you were fine. Uh, how much do you remember, exactly?” He reaches a hand up to the back of his neck; it's warm under his touch.
Their cheeks now have matching pink splotches on them.
“Um, everything, I think.” She looks down at her feet and starts shyly rubbing them together.
He slowly rises from the floor and gently squeezes her knee. She’s tracking his every movement like she’s afraid he’ll sprint out of her apartment and straight to HR. He grabs the water and painkillers that he left there and hands her the glass before opening the bottle.
He’s shaking two pills into his hand when he finds the courage to say, “I thought you had a crush on someone. Someone who isn’t me. I actually thought you were in a relationship with him.”
He gently deposits the pills into her palm when she asks, “Why would you think that?”
Shit, now he has to admit that he’s been eavesdropping on her conversations for a month, maybe even more. But he didn’t even do it intentionally! He genuinely just happened to be nearby whenever she was gushing about this man.
Wait…
“Have you been describing me around me?”
She just shyly smiles and says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She swallows the medicine and places the glass back on her nightstand.
“Yes, you do! You talked about a man with drownable eyes, who’s smart and plays chess, and has been hanging around Hotch and JJ’s kids! I haven’t heard them talk about a random man who’s been near their children, so I’m struggling not to conclude that the man is me!” He’s sure he sounds hysterical, but she’s smiling and giggling at him with that glistening look in her eyes as he rambles, so she at least doesn’t think what he’s saying is ridiculous.
“I’m almost grateful for my overall embarrassing-ness last night,” she admits. “I was trying to get your attention all along, Spencer. Literally everyone knows that I’ve been crushing on you except for you.”
Spencer just stares at her.
Literally everyone knows?
He thinks his brain might actually be short-circuiting. Weeks of jealousy and longing suddenly rearrange into something warm and dizzying. He needs to sit down, so he lowers onto the bed next to her.
“You—” he starts helplessly. “You were talking about me?” He points at his chest.
She snorts. “Spencer, you're the only man I know who fits into all of those categories.”
His face feels like it’s on fire. He’s opening and closing his mouth, and for once in his life, he doesn’t know what to say.
He’s looking at her like she’s said something life-altering, which she has. He’s looking at her like she just said the sky is actually purple, and it always has been, didn’t you know?
She smiles a little shyly and says, “So… I think I was supposed to ask you for something?”
Spencer immediately nods. “Yes. Of course. Anything. Anything at all ever.”
She laughs quietly. “A good morning kiss?”
His breath catches. He’s surprised that his lungs are still functioning at all. The last 12 hours have completely rewritten his miserable existence that he’s been trying to cope with.
“Yes,” he says softly while nodding. “I can do that.”
He moves toward her carefully, like she might disappear if he goes too fast. His hand rises to rest against her cheek, warm and tentative, and she leans into it. He’s afraid that he’s dreaming. Maybe he slipped and hit his head at the bar last night, and he’s actually in a coma. Yes, this all has to be an amazing coma-dream.
She reaches out for his other hand and messily intertwines their fingers together. That nearly kills him. Maybe he is actually dead, and this is all a creation of his brain, trying to peacefully transition him into nothingness.
He slowly moves closer to rest his forehead against hers. A few moments pass, and they can feel each other's breath tickling their lips.
“You’re sure?” he whispers, searching her eyes for any signs that this is all fake, a joke, a fluke.
“Yes, Spencer. Please.”
He finally closes the gap. Her lips are so warm and soft against his. She slightly tightens her grip on his hand, and he lightly squeezes back. There’s no tongue, no heat, it’s just pure affection. He never wants this moment to end, but he’s been breathless since she first got into his car last night, so he has to pull away.
He doesn’t go far; he can’t bring himself to, so he rests his forehead back on hers.
She laughs, and for a moment, he’s afraid that she wasn’t happy with the kiss. “I can’t believe you were jealous of yourself.”
Spencer softly groans and shuts his eyes. “Please don’t say it like that.”
She leans in and kisses him again.