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1: He’s fallen asleep while sitting next to her on the jet. His head is tilted back against the headrest, his book is open and face down in his lap, and his lips are slightly parted.
When Emily and Derek’s voices grew louder, she gestured toward his sleeping form, silently urging them to keep it down.
The plane jerks with slight turbulence, and she’s worried it’ll wake him up. She watches as his body shakes, and as his neck falls to the side, landing on her shoulder.
She can feel his hair tickling her neck and can hear the soft sound of him breathing. The quietest whimper escaped his lips as the plane shook.
She thinks that he always looks endearing and sweet, but the sight of him like this makes her heart skip a beat. His body is void of the usual stress and tension he usually carries under his skin.
She keeps as still as possible as to not disturb him and waves off the incredulous glances from the rest of their team members. Derek teasingly wiggles his eyebrows at her, and even Hotch’s eyes widen (ever so slightly) at the sight of them.
Once the plane begins its descent, he stirs awake. He shoots upward like he’s been shocked, immediately blushing a tomato red.
“I’m so sorry!” He squeaks out while scrambling to smooth his hair.
“It’s okay,” she reaffirms with a soft smile.
He ducks his head and hurriedly packs his belongings into his satchel.
Once the plane lands, he’s the first one to place his feet on the tarmac.
2: The whole team is eating at a restaurant that Rossi dragged them to, insisting they served the best Italian food on the West Coast.
Spencer is sitting across from her, and she can’t help but admire how the candlelight creates soft, flickering shadows on his face.
As they’re all eating their meals, she feels a soft pressure on the front of her shoe. She glances under the table and sees a sliver of a bright colored sock. Her eyes flicker back to him, and he’s invested in a conversation with Hotch about their recent case. She chooses not to say anything and continues indulging in her food – it is the best pasta she’s ever had.
Eventually, her foot involuntarily twitches while she’s laughing with Emily. Spencer looks under the table and sees what he’s done.
He jerks his foot backward before tucking his crossed ankles under his chair.
With flushed cheeks and wide eyes. “I’m so sorry, I thought I was touching the table.”
She’s just started chewing a bite of food and gestures that she needs a moment before she can reply.
“...With my shoe. I thought I had rested it on the table leg. I’m sorry.”
“Oh! No, you’re fine.” She replies sweetly.
He’s relatively quiet for the rest of the meal, only speaking when he’s directly addressed.
She misses the light weight of him against her; it felt strangely intimate.
3: He’s in an elevator with her and Derek – each of them are on either side of him. The elevator is rickety, decrepit, and antiquated. He would’ve just taken the stairs if the apartment they’re visiting wasn’t on the 14th floor.
After Derek pressed the button, they were lurched so violently that Spencer white-knuckled the handrail behind him.
His breathing is erratic with each floor they pass, his eyes glued to the display screen.
Derek laughs, “Remember that time we got stuck in that elevator?”
Spencer whines, “Don’t mention that right now.”
She giggles, “Wait, what?”
Derek continues, “One time, Pretty Boy and I got stuck in an elevator – it was a lot like this one, actually – and he squealed like a little girl-”
Spencer exclaims, “You were scared too!”
“Not as scared as-”
The elevator suddenly plunges, affecting everyone’s balance. She and Derek stagger into the side walls. Spencer stumbles into her side, hand lifting to support himself on the wall above her head.
His other hand lands on her waist.
For a moment, she’s cornered by his body. His warmth radiates through him, and onto her skin; she’s sure that’s why her face feels so hot.
Their faces are only a few inches apart. If she were a braver woman, (and if Derek wasn’t standing three feet away,) she’d lean in and kiss him.
His eyes are squeezed shut, and his minty breath fans over her face.
Derek whistles, “Damn, no concern for my safety?”
Spencer’s eyes blink open, and he jumps back from her like she burned him.
“Oh! Oh my- I’m so sorry.”
The elevator continues its ascent, and they all wait silently with their backs against the wall. Spencer purposefully avoids Derek’s pointed gaze.
4: Spencer enters the break room to make his umpteenth cup of coffee for the day. He finds her standing at the counter, stirring her cream and sugar into her own cup.
She looks up as he walks in, “Hey, I just brewed a fresh pot.”
He softly smiles, “Oh! Great, thank you.”
As he reaches up to the mug cabinet, she shifts to move slightly behind him to toss her coffee stirrer into the trash. Thinking she’s walked away, he steps to the side to grab his favorite mug that he keeps hidden on the top shelf.
His step brings him directly to her side, bumping their hips together. Her stance falters into a wobble. His hand instinctively reaches behind her to grab her elbow, steadying her.
“Whoa– Sorry!”
“Oh– You’re fine!”
Her body feels so warm and supple against his. She fits into his side like a puzzle piece. His hand remains on her arm for just a second too long, savoring the way she feels tucked against him.
He pulls his hand off of her and takes a small step away from her. After clearing his throat, he stutters, “I-I’m so sorry, I thought you had walked away.”
“No, it’s okay!” she replies quickly. “Thanks for not letting me fall.” She giggles and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, exposing her rosy cheeks.
“Of course, I’m sorry, though… again.”
“You don’t have to be sorry, it’s all good, Spence.” She’s looking at him with such intense sincerity that his breath falters.
He nods sharply, “Right! Okay! Good!”
There’s a moment of silence as she picks up her mug and walks toward the door. He turns around to face her.
“Sorr–” He blushes and looks down at his feet. “I mean, thanks for making the coffee.”
She amusedly breathes out and gives him a knowing smile, “No problem.”
5: The whole team has gathered around a conference room of a small-town precinct. Their only printer is down, so there’s a limited amount of files. Everyone is shoulder-to-shoulder, leaning over the documents. Everyone except her and Spencer. She doesn’t want to crowd him and make him uncomfortable, so she asks if she could see the report he’s holding after he’s done with it.
He begins to pass it over without hesitation; he already has the contents memorized, anyway. He looks away as he hands it over, sharing a niche statistic that's relevant to the case with the room.
Someone in the far corner has called her name, so she turns away from Spencer and toward the voice. Her hand is open, ready to take the file from him.
Then, the side of his hand, the one holding the papers, lands directly in the palm of hers.
He doesn’t jerk back immediately. Her palm is so soft and tepid that it brings him a moment of comfort. For once, he’s not thinking about the millions of bacteria that live on human hands.
Their eyelines meet at their (sort of) joined hands. Her fingers have reflexively curved to brush the back of his hand, expecting her grip to find papers.
Her expression falls a little as he pulls his hand away from hers. Although the movement is less abrupt than she thought it might be. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”
He hands the file to her properly, before crossing his hands in front of his body. Pink blooms on his cheeks as he turned his head away from her, seeking a distraction.
*** The team is in New York City investigating a scene in the middle of Times Square. The NYPD has blocked off the area, but there are hordes of people gathering at the edge of the tape lines.
The BAU parked their SUVs as close as they could and are walking the rest of the way to the scene, squeezing through groups of people and dodging elbows and rowdiness.
She’s walking next to him and keeps getting jostled into his side. As they approach a tighter gap between clusters of onlookers, Spencer places a hand on the small of her back to help guide her through.
He does it without even thinking.
He looks down at her to gauge her reaction to his touch, hoping he doesn’t see discomfort painted in her eyes. She looks up at him with a thankful smile, and they both blush before returning their gazes forward.
He keeps his hand on her for as long as he can. He rationalizes that he’s just being a helpful friend, but he can’t deny his enjoyment of the contact and her proximity.
The crowd gets thicker the closer they get to the scene. She instinctively shifts closer to his side, and he’s mentally reciting the periodic table in an effort to keep his heart rate under control. He presses his hand firmer against her back as they wave through the sea of people.
He’s disappointed to see the yellow crime scene tape getting closer and closer. Part of him has forgotten that they’re there for work. For a second, he could imagine that just the two of them were on a trip to the city together.
She looks up at him and thanks him just before they have to duck under the tape.
“Of course, it’s really crowded.” He nods affirmatively.
The small of her back feels cold after the removal of his hand. His hand feels empty as it now dangles at his side.
Once they’ve passed the tape and are talking to the NYPD about the case, they’re standing side-by-side as they listen to the details. She presses her shoulder against his, making him lose his train of thought. He has to force himself to focus on the men in front of him.
They separate as the team traverses the scene, but they glance at each other sporadically, hiding small smiles.