This Is So Cute,he’s So Good With Kids

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐀𝐢𝐧'𝐭 𝐍𝐨 𝐄𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 ♡

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐: 𝐏𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐬𝐲𝐥𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐚 𝐀𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐞

Spencer Reid x f!reader || Series masterlist || Series playlist

Previous chapter || Main masterlist || ao3 || Next chapter

summary: After having worked for the BAU for two years, you have seen and experienced a lot, but after a series of murders of young married couples, you’re asked to do something that you never had thought you would have to do; going undercover, as an expecting, married couple, with Spencer Reid.

word count: 4.6k

warnings/tags: Eventual smut! (18+, mdni!) Language. Angst and fluff. Slow burn. Mutual pining. Coworkers to lovers. Undercover as a married couple. Pretend pregnancy. Not set at a specific time, but definitely somewhere in the early seasons. Reader uses she/her pronouns. Mention of canon-typical violence. This chapter has not been proofread, and I'm honestly not that proud of how it turned out, but I'm just exited to get further into the story <3

Spencer glances over at you as he notices your head start to nod, he can’t keep the small smile from his lips as he sees that you have drifted off. He reaches over to adjust his jacket, making sure you are as warm and comfortable as possible before he focuses back on the road. 

He can’t help but feel a wave of protectiveness wash over him, knowing what lies ahead for both of you. Having to go undercover, pretending to be married, to be in love, to be expecting a child together… It is a lot, to say the least. 

For a second he can’t help but imagine that the two of you actually are married, that he isn’t giving a colleague a lift, but that he is driving home with his wife. Not to be creepy, just to… to what? To practice? To get used to the idea of being so close to you, of having to maintain that facade? In this moment, with you sleeping soundly on the passenger seat of his car, it’s strangely easy to imagine it.

But as quickly as the thought comes, he pushes it aside, feeling guilty for letting his mind wander in that direction. The two of you might have to act like a married couple soon, but that does not mean he should think like that. If there is one thing he’d never want to do, it is to make you feel uncomfortable. You have agreed to the assignment, not to him inappropriately using the scenario to imagine things. 

And it’s not like he has ever dared to entertain the idea of actually being in a romantic relationship with you. After all, you’re just his colleague, someone he respects and admires for your compassion, intelligence and dedication to the job. He also knows that you would never see him like that, and why would you? He is just the socially awkward genius who can barely keep a conversation going without tripping over his own words.

But as he drives through the silence of the night, with only the soft hum of the engine to keep him company, he can’t help but feel a sense of closeness to you that goes beyond just a professional relationship. As the car continues its way back to D. C., Spencer can’t help but steal glances at you, now and then, your features relaxed in sleep. Despite the seriousness of the situation ahead, despite the weight of the assignment on your shoulders, you look so peaceful in this moment.

As the city lights of D.C. come into view, Spencer can not help but feel a sense of gratitude for your presence in his life. He knows that this assignment will test the limits of his abilities and his emotions, but having you by his side gives him a sense of comfort and strength. And as he pulls up to your apartment building, he gently reaches over to softly shake your shoulder, gently waking you from your slumber.

“Hey, we’re here,” he says softly, watching as you slowly stir awake.  

You blink a few times, rubbing your eyes as you sit up in your seat. “Oh, we made it already? That was fast,” you mumble, stretching your arms.

“Yeah,” Spencer nods, a small smile on his lips, the drive had taken the time it always does, but to you it must have felt like it passed quickly cause you were asleep for most of it. 

“Thank you for the ride, Spence,” you say, gratitude shining in your tired eyes. 

“No problem. It’s not like I could let you take a cab back.”

You smile at him, the warmth evident in your expression. “Okay, but still… I really appreciate it.” 

Spencer just softly shakes his head at your words. “Anytime. Now come on, I’ll walk you to the door.”  

You nod in appreciation, grabbing your purse and slipping on your shoes before following Spencer out of the car. The two of you walk the short distance to your door in comfortable silence, the night air crisp and cool around you, Spencer’s jacket still draped around your frame.

As you reach the door, you turn to face Spencer, a small smile on your face as you hand him back his jacket. “Thanks again, and sorry I fell asleep on you. I guess I was more tired than I thought,” you say, looking almost a little sheepishly.

Spencer waves off your apology, he is just happy That he could help and make sure you got home safely. “No need to apologize, you needed the rest. Now go get some more, I have a feeling we have some demanding days ahead of us.” 

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” you nod with a sleepy smile on your lips. “Good night, Spence.” 

“Good night,” he replies, watching as you unlock your door before waving goodbye. He offers you a small half-wave back, the gesture ending up more awkward than he had intended to, but you just smile warmly back at him, before stepping inside. 

Spencer stands there for a moment, watching the door close behind you, feeling a strange sense of longing in his chest. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he turns on his heel and heads back to his car. 

· · · · ·

You kick off your shoes as soon as you step inside your apartment, letting out a tired sigh as the soles of your sore feet hit the floorboards. All you want to do is to crawl into bed immediately, to wrap yourself in the warmth of your blankets and escape into the blissful embrace of sleep. But you trudge off to the bathroom, fumbling with the zipper at the side of your dress. You need to remove your makeup and brush your teeth and you also want a shower to wash off the day before you can fully relax. 

You let out a little sigh as you finally free yourself from the tight fabric, and shred yourself of your underwear, before stepping into the shower cabin. You feel how your tense shoulders loosens up a little as the hot water cascades over your tired body, washing away the long day and the weight of the impending assignment. You let out a sigh of relief as the steam envelops you, the water soothing your aching muscles and relaxing your mind.

The calming and familiar scent of your shower products fills your nostrils, soothing your senses as you finish washing off. As you step out of the shower, you wrap yourself in a fluffy towel, quickly drying off and lotioning up before heading to your bedroom. You slip into your favorite pajamas, the soft fabric hugging your skin as you crawl into bed, feeling the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to you.

The events of the evening begin to replay in your mind as you step into the darkness of your room, the weight of the upcoming assignment looms overhead, but you take a deep breath, pushing aside the worries and the uncertainties for now, all you want to do is get some rest before the intensity of the case takes over your life completely. You collapse onto your bed, feeling the exhaustion of the day wash over you. The warm comfort of the soft duvet is reminiscent of the warmth of Spencer’s jacket and you can’t help but feel a small smile grace your lips. 

Despite the seriousness of the situation ahead, you feel a sense of reassurance knowing that it is Spencer that will be by your side. You close your eyes, allowing yourself to drift off into a peaceful slumber, the thoughts of the assignment and the challenges ahead temporarily fading into the background as you embrace the sweet serenity of sleep, wanting a couple of hours of respite before the storm of the case begins.

Four hours is what you end up getting before the shrilling sound of your phone pierce through the silence of the room, jolting you awake. It’s Hotch, sounding just as tired as you are feeling while he explains that you’ll have to go to the headquarters at Pennsylvania Avenue later. It turns out that, due to the extensive nature of the case, you and Spencer have to get greenlit from the higher authorities before you can be sent undercover. 

So that is how you end up spending most of your weekend at the J. Edgar Hoover building. You have to go through a psych evaluation, and get your gun qualifications renewed even though you just got yours renewed a couple weeks ago, and a mandatory course in basic undercover protocol. You don’t get to see Spencer in the two days that you’re going through the evaluation process. It’s a bit weird knowing that he is somewhere in the same building as you, going through the same process, and not being able to see him. 

By Sunday afternoon, after you have gone through your last evaluation, you get told that you have been approved. You had never been really worried that you wouldn’t, most of the things like psych evals and gun qualifications are formalities you have to go through on a semi regular basis anyway, but it is still a relief to know that you have been approved and you’re also ready to focus on the actual case again. 

As you finally leave the building, the sun is setting in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over the city as you make your way to the metro station. You can’t help but think of Spencer as you ride the train back to your apartment. You wonder how he’s been doing, if he’s been feeling the same nerves and exhaustion as you have been going through the approval process. 

By the time you step off the train and make your way back to your apartment, the sun has dipped lower in the skyline, casting long shadows over the street as you step up to your door, the key turning in the lock with a satisfying click as you step inside. The exhaustion of the weekend hits you all at once, and you feel the weight of the upcoming assignment pressing down on your shoulders as you make it up the stairs and into your apartment. You let out a tired sigh as you kick off your shoes and drop your bag on the floor. 

You quickly change into comfortable clothes and make yourself a cup of tea, finding a small sense of comfort in the familiar routine. You sink into your couch, wrapped in a blanket with your cup of tea in hand as you let the mild aroma of the tea soothe your nerves. The calm before the storm has settled over you as you sit in the quiet of your apartment, the warmth of the tea seeping into your bones while you take a moment to reflect on everything that has happened over the past few days and what’s to come.

You have become so used to living alone, to come back home to your empty apartment at the end of the day, and for the most part, you’ve liked it that way. But as you sit in the silence of your living room, a part of you can’t help but feel a twinge of loneliness. As you sip your tea, you can’t help but think of Spencer once again. 

You wonder if he is also now settling in at home, if he is feeling the same sense of anticipation and nerves that you are feeling. You are happy that you don’t have to go through all of this alone, and even happier that you will go through it with a friend. It is reassuring to know that the one you have to go undercover with is someone you trust completely, even though the nerves have started to kick in. 

With a deep breath, you finish your tea and set the cup aside as the late afternoon turns to evening outside your window. You should probably get some food, you contemplate cooking something for about five seconds before you decide to order some take out instead. 

Having called to place your order, you settle back on the couch, flipping on the TV to distract yourself from the thoughts swirling in your head. You find a mindless comedy to watch, letting the laugh track of the show fill the room as you wait for your food to arrive. 

After you have eaten and as the evening wears on and the darkness outside your window deepens, you decide to turn in for the night, the exhaustion of the day catching up to you once again. 

You wake up the next morning feeling slightly more refreshed, the weight of the assignment still looming but by now you have now entered that focused mindset that you always slip into when a new case is at hand. You go about your morning routine, getting ready for the day ahead, knowing that it will be a busy one as you prepare for the undercover operation. Soon you’re in your car and on your way to the office. 

Hotch has organized a briefing for you and the rest of the team this morning after which you and Spencer will have your own briefing, going over the details of the assignment and setting the expectations for the operation. You’ll be assigned your cover identities and the roles you’ll be playing and go over the plan of action and the timeline for the operation. 

As you pull up to the FBI building, you can feel the anticipation building in your chest, the gravity of the situation settling in once again as you make it inside, heading to the conference room. The team is already gathered when you arrive, the air in the room buzzing with a sense of purpose as the briefing begins. Hotch goes over the details of the case once again, outlining the specific details of the murders and the profile of the victims. 

As the meeting comes to an end, Hotch dismisses the rest of the team, leaving just you and Spencer in the room. He turns to the two of you, his expression serious and determined, but he is quick to soften up as he begins to speak.

“I want to thank you both again for agreeing to take on this assignment. I know that it’s a lot to ask, and I appreciate your dedication to the job and your willingness to take on this task,” Hotch starts, his voice filled with gratitude. “The evaluation team from D. C. had a lot of good things to say about you two when they rang me to let me know that you had been approved.” He adds with a small smile. “Told me if I wasn’t careful they’ll try to recruit the two of you for undercover work full time.”

You and Spencer share a look, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. 

“Said that eidetic memory of yours could make for the perfect deep cover operative, Reid,” Hotch adds, turning to Spencer with a small smirk. 

You can’t help but smile either as Spencer blushes at the compliment, his cheeks turning a shade of pink as he shifts in his seat. You secretly love it when Spencer gets flustered, he looks so adorable when he does, and it’s nice to see him get recognized for his abilities. 

“We have your identities ready,” Hotch continues, making you and Spencer sit up straighter, the seriousness of the situation settling in once again as Hotch passes you each a folder filled with details of your new personas. You and Spencer quickly scan through the files with curiosity. “We have determined that it’ll be safe enough for the two of you to keep your first names, but the two of you will now be the Baker’s. You met in college and got married last year. You’re expecting your first child and are now moving from the east coast to California for work. Your identities have been fabricated to fit the profile of the victims, we’ve done everything to make them as appealing for the unsub as possible. Your main objective is to draw out the unsub and gather evidence that will lead us to their capture. As you already know, we have good reason to believe that the unsub stalked the victims for some time before committing the murders, so we need you to act as a convincing couple that fits that profile.” 

You and Spencer nod in understanding as you go through the details quickly, taking note of the background stories you’ll have to maintain during the operation. 

“I have full confidence in both of you, I know you’ll be able to handle this assignment with professionalism and dedication. Remember, your safety is our number one priority. We will have agents nearby at all times to ensure your safety. We have arranged for you to move into a safe house in the area where you will spend most of your time. You’ll have constant communication with the team or local authorities, and we’ll be monitoring the area to ensure your safety,” Hotch explains, his expression serious but reassuring.

You nod in acknowledgment, but something seems to be bothering Spencer. “It says here that I’ll be working at the local college,” Spencer says, his brow furrowed in confusion. 

“Well, yes. You’ll be working as an assistant professor in engineering as part of your cover. We believe the unsub is targeting educated couples, so having you work in a university setting will make you more appealing as potential victims.” Hotch explains. “We have fixed everything with the university, and you have a PhD in engineering so it’s a fitting cover for you.”

“But it says Y/N will be staying at home?” Spencer adds, looking over at Hotch with furrowed brows. 

“Yes, that is correct,” Hotch confirms.

“So I’m just expected  to leave her alone all day... That doesn’t seem like a good idea, what if something happens while I’m not there?” 

“I understand your concern, Reid, but as I said, we have a team of agents that will be monitoring the area at all times, this is all part of the operation. We have calculated the risks and we have concluded that it is a safe choice to make. Your absence during the day will make you both susceptible to the unsub’s advances, which is our goal in drawing them out. We have taken all necessary precautions to ensure your safety and we will have agents nearby in case of emergency.” Hotch says, his tone gentle but firm. “We have security measures in place to ensure Y/N’s safety while you are not there, and you will have constant communication with her and the team. It’s important that you both stick to your cover identities in order to draw out the unsub and gather the necessary evidence. The unsub has only attacked when both partners are present, so if anything it should be more safe.”

“Okay, but-” Spencer begins, but Hotch speaks again.

“Again, I understand your concern, Spencer, and it’s valid,” Hotch says, his tone softening. “I appreciate your dedication to the safety of your partner. But we have taken every precaution and all of this has been thought out thoroughly. We believe that this is the best course of action. Your safety is our top priority, and we will have every precaution in place to ensure that both of you are safe at all times. Just trust the plan, trust your training, trust the team and trust  each other.”

Spencer nods, though his concerns are still evident in his expression, his jaw slightly clenched. You can see the conflict in his eyes as he processes Hotch’s words. A stretch of silence settles over the room, you are not sure if you should say anything or not, but you can see that Spencer is deep in thought. You are moved by his concern for your safety, but you trust Hotch and the undercover specialists have everything planned out and under control. Before you can say anything, Hotch speaks up again, this time addressing you. 

“We have an undercover specialist coming in to help the two of you going through your cover stories, but I was also told that we have a styling team coming, and I believe they asked me to send you by them. They should have arrived by now, so why don’t you get that done now and then you and Reid can focus on going through your cover stories in more detail later.”

You nod, understanding that Hotch wants to speak with Spencer alone. You grab your folder and stand up from your seat, getting ready to leave, but not before you reach out and give Spencer’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, offering him a small smile before turning to leave the room, ready to meet with the styling team to finalize your cover identity.

· · · · ·

Spencer watches as the door closes behind you, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside of him. He trusts Hotch and knows that the team has everything under control, but he can’t help the knot of worry settling in his chest. 

He knows that this assignment is risky, and he knew it when he agreed to it. But for some reason, the revelation that you will have to be alone for hours during the day, vulnerable to potential danger, weighs way heavier on him than he had anticipated. He knows that you are more than capable of handling yourself, but the thought of leaving you alone is unsettling to him. 

“Are you okay?” Hotch’s voice breaks the silence, pulling Spencer out of his thoughts. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Spencer replies, his voice tight with emotion. “I guess it is just getting real now…”

Hotch nods in understanding, his expression sympathetic. “I know this assignment is tough, Reid. And I’m not going to lie, I don’t like having to send you two into this, but I have full confidence in you both. You are both capable agents and I trust that you will handle this operation. And remember, you have a team behind you.”

“I know, and I trust the team and I trust you too.”

“That’s all I ask, Reid,” Hotch replies. 

Spencer nods, but he can’t shake the uneasy feeling in his body. A stretch of quietness falls over the room. Spencer. He does trust Hotch, just as he trusts the team, of course he trusts you. He is just not so sure that he trusts himself. That he will be able to pull this off. How is he ever going to be convincing as a husband? He might have an eidetic memory and an IQ of 187, but he lacks the social skills and experience in romantic relationships that would be necessary for this assignment. 

And the thought of having to act like a married couple with you, of having to maintain that facade, gives him a weird feeling. It’s a strange mix of emotions, and Spencer can’t help but feel a sense of unease at the idea of being so close to you in such an intimate context. What if he messes up, what if he can’t handle it? He takes a deep breath before he finally breaks the silence. “I’m not sure I’ll be good at this, I don’t think I’ll be able to convince anyone that I’m married.”

Hotch gives him a reassuring smile. “Of course you can. You’re a great agent, and I know you’ll be able to adapt and handle this assignment. We have established that you trust everyone involved in this operation, so I need you to trust yourself as well.”

Spencer takes a deep breath, nodding in acknowledgment of Hotch’s words. the room falling quiet once again as Spencer absorbs everything. “It’s going to be fun to dive into engineering again,” he finally says, attempting to lighten the mood. Hotch chuckles at his attempt, knowing that Spencer is trying to shift the focus away from his worries. Spencer wouldn’t be Spencer if he didn’t try to find some sort of comfort in knowledge and logic.

“I’m sure you’ll do great,” Hotch replies, giving him a small smile. “Just remember to stick to your cover story, trust your training, and work closely with Y/N. You two make a great team, and I have full confidence that you’ll be able to handle this assignment together. You’ll have support every step of the way.”

Spencer nods. He knows that this assignment will push him out of his comfort zone, but he also knows that he has a responsibility to the victims and their families to do everything he can to bring the unsub to justice. And if that means stepping into a role that he’s not entirely comfortable with, then he will do it. For them. He also has a responsibility to you, to ensure your safety. 

After a moment of quiet reflection, Hotch stands up from his seat. “We’ll reconvene later for a more detailed discussion of your cover stories. For now, why don’t you take a break, maybe get some coffee.”

Coffee does sound really good right now, Spencer has barely slept in the past few days and he feels the exhaustion catching up to him. With a nod of acknowledgment, Spencer stands up from his seat, his mind swirling with thoughts. Taking a deep breath, Spencer exits the conference room and heads towards the break room to grab a much-needed cup of coffee 

· · · · ·

The image in the mirror is truly bizarre, you can’t stop staring at the reflection of yourself, turning to inspect the surreal sight from every angle. “I look… pregnant,” you finally mumble, placing your hands on the fake bump. 

The padded prosthetic bump that has been attached to your body under your dress is surprisingly realistic, making you look like you have just entered the last trimester of pregnancy. It’s a strange feeling, feeling the weight of it against your body as you adjust to the added bulk. You can’t help but feel a mix of awe and discomfort at the sight of your altered appearance.

It is like getting a glimpse into a parallel universe, one where you’re married and about to have a baby, so far from the life you are currently living. 

“Well, that is the goal,” the woman from the styling team laughs. “Just be happy you don’t actually have a little one in there tap dancing on your bladder non-stop,” she adds with a grin.

You chuckle at her comment, but you can’t help but feel a little surprised that you actually wouldn’t mind it that much. You are nowhere near the point in your life where you are ready to have children, but the thought of having a family and sharing that kind of connection with someone does bring a sense of longing to your heart. 

But you quickly push those thoughts aside, that is a can of worms that you don’t need to open right now. Right now, you have a job to do, and you have to focus on being the best undercover agent you can be. You give yourself a mental shake, trying to banish the strange mixture of emotions that is suddenly swirling inside of you. 

“Yeah, that must be quite the experience,” you reply, offering her a smile as you try to shake off the unexpected surge of emotion. You turn away from the mirror. “You got everything you needed?” 

The woman nods with a smile. “Yes, everything seems to fit just right,” she reply, looking at you with a reassuring smile.

“Great, then I should probably get back to the briefing,” you say, feeling a sense of relief that everything, so far, is going smoothly with your cover identity. You quickly change back into your regular clothes, feeling the weight of the fake bump disappear as you slip out of the dress. 

Thank you for reading! Reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated :) let me know if you want to be tagged in the next chapter ♡ edit: it would especially be nice if you reblog when you ask to be added to the tag list ♡

Taglist: @luivisa @babyspiderling @reidsdaisies @eddioto @sadroses98 @lovelyygirl8 @lover-of-books-and-tea @corpsebridenightamare @amortencjja @r-3dlips @moonchildohh @secretly-tumb1r @silver138 @witchsbitchestime @queermaxwooo @mcntsee e @chonkybonky @lovemelaunic @justsarahbella @sadbae-33 @lariclifford @jhrc666 @spicyspirit @akuma-13 @jasf444 @pleasantwitchgarden @fullsuns-stuff @yorksyree @desperate-and-broken @goldenchildee @irregulartae @zeonotneo @greywritesthings

Being a young adult is so strange. You enter a coffee shop. The 20 year old girl waiting behind you cried all night because she just came to a new city for university and she feels so alone. That 27 year old guy over there works a job he is overqualified for, he lives with his parents and wants to move out but doesn't know what to do about it. That one 24 year old dude already has a car, a house, and a job waiting for him once he graduates thanks to his dad's connections. The 26 year old barista couldn't complete his higher education because he has to work and take care of his family. The 28 year old girl sitting next to you has no friends to go out with so she is texting her mother. That couple (both 25 years old) are married and the girl is pregnant. The 29 year old writing something on her laptop has realized that she chose the wrong major so she is trying to start all over. We are not alone in this, but we are actually so alone. Do you feel me

I think the last time I drew her I was... maybe 12

jude with kids🥺

signing himself as a la liga champion

Much Ado About Nothing

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Bau Reader Genre: Romance, humor, angst Warnings: 18+ explicit sexual content in later parts Series status: On-going

There is one rule you and Spencer agreed on: never talk about the past, especially when that one regretful night strained your friendship. But throw in nosy teammates, an obvious matchmaking scheme, and a never-ending battle of wits—the line between friend and foe starts to blur as you find yourself questioning your true feelings.

a/n: I’m starting a new series after a while and am so excited!! When I found out that the movie ANYONE BUT YOU was based on a William Shakespeare play, I got inspired, so I wanted to do a fun and sexy read for the summer☀️

ACT 1 - THE BEGINNING

Act 1, Scene 1: The Silent Agreement

Act 1, Scene 2: The Crude Suggestion (11/06/24)

ACT 2 - THE PLAN

Act 2, Scene 1: The Suspicious Scheme (16/06/24)

Act 2, Scene 2: The Crazy Idea (21/06/24)

ACT 3 - THE DECEPTION

Act 3, Scene 1: The Fake Dating (26/06/24)

Act 3, Scene 2: The Sunny Day Out (01/07/24)

Act 3, Scene 3: The Stolen Kisses (06/07/24)

Act 3, Scene 4: The Meeting Point (11/07/24)

Act 3, Scene 5: The Rabbit Hole (16/07/24)

ACT 4 - THE TRUTH

Act 4, Scene 1: The Never-ending Lies (21/07/24)

Act 4, Scene 2: The Flashback (26/07/24)

Act 4, Scene 3: The Heartfelt Talk (31/07/24)

ACT 5 - THE END

Act 5, Scene 1: The Unexpected Surprise (05/08/24)

Act 5, Scene 2: The Happy Start (10/08/24)

*please note that the titles may change in the future

I decided there will be no taglist for this, so make sure to check my blog on each date, but I might have to apologize in advance if I don’t stick to the schedule. I’ll still try my best though especially if there are feedbacks, knowing what you guys think of this series would be so nice and would keep me motivated. See you in future updates⁠!!🫶

The first of many more 🤍

orgullosa de tiiii 🤍

do you believe me now? | 5

in which spencer reid and fem!reader are reunited, but the worst kind of sparks are flying. you meet a man named randall. derek morgan buys you a drink (sort of). it seems that some things can't be unsaid.

part one | two | three | bonus chapter | four

this series is 18+ warnings/tags: r goes to a bar but doesn't drink alcohol, gets hit on by weird men, dramatic, angst, sorry in advance a/n: surprise! i'll see myself out. love you! lmk your thoughts on this bad boy! i KNOW you'll have some! i'm locking all my doors and the cops are on speed dial after posting this. stay tuned for part six tho

You don’t call Spencer for four days. 

Spencer doesn’t call you for four days. 

It’s scary. 

There’s some texting—mostly him giving you updates on how things are going and when he expects to be back. Mostly you giving the messages a thumbs up and saying nothing else. 

Finally, on Thursday afternoon, his ringtone (the Bill Nye theme) makes you jump as you’re sitting on your bed staring into space. 

His caller ID photo—which is simply his passport photo, because you’d thought it was adorable—stares at you. You stare back. Contemplate not picking up. 

But you’re not quite there yet. 

And you cannot keep listening to Bill Nye the Science Guy. 

The answer button is cold under your thumb, but not as cold as your greeting. 

“Hi.”

You barely recognize your own voice. 

It seems to send Spencer for a loop as well, because his reply is halting. 

“Hey! Hi, um—how are you? I feel like we’ve barely talked this week.”

That would be because you told me my feelings for you are stronger than your feelings for me and I don’t know how to stop making every single word I say secretly mean I love you. We can’t have a conversation without me loving you. It will always be in the room or on the phone with us. To ignore the presence of it is impossible, and I don’t know if I can ignore the absence of yours, either. 

“Uh… yeah. I’m fine. What’s up?”

There’s a pause. 

“We wrapped up this morning. We’re getting on the jet here in a few minutes, and, um—I know it’s not ideal, but we missed Derek’s birthday and Penelope is insisting we all go to his favorite bar tonight. And he told me that for his birthday he wants to meet you. So… would you be up for that?”

“You want… to take me to a bar?”

“No. I mean—I know it’s not really your thing, but we missed Derek’s birthday three years in a row, and—and I understand if you don’t want to meet him tonight, but we wouldn’t have to stay very long and I really, really shouldn’t skip it. Derek has saved my life on more than one occasion.”

“You could go without me.”

More silence. Every second hurts, but you don’t understand why he wants you to come meet his best friend if he thinks the two of you are in different places emotionally. 

But maybe he’s not going to break up with you just yet. Maybe he’s going to keep inviting you to bars and foreign film festivals and bookshops. Maybe he’s going to treat you exactly the same as he always has but with this new added layer of knowledge that the way he treats you isn’t actually love, and it never was, and you’re not sure if it has the potential to ever become love. Because if it did—wouldn’t it have already? What more do you have to offer than what you’ve already given him?

Breakup or no breakup, you feel sick. 

When he speaks his tone is similarly chilly. It’s welcome. You want him mad. If he can’t reciprocate your adoration, then the very least he can do is have the decency to reciprocate your reproach. 

“I could. Is that what you want?”

No. I don’t want any of this. I need you to know me well enough to know that. And if you can’t love me then at least get angry. At least show me you feel something other than passive contentment. 

“Yeah. Sure. I don’t know.”

A pause stretches so long your heart pounds. You watch the elapsed time of the call tick by, second by second, and you wait for the anticipation to crack under the weight of silence, to give way to some terrible jump scare or to give way at all. 

But the words that end the conversation (if you can even call it that) aren’t any great relief. They’re just sad, and chalk full of defeat. 

“Alright. I’ll… I’ll call you later.”

You feel like you’ve swallowed an ice cube. All the words you’d like to say are frozen in your stinging throat. 

“Okay. Um… I’ll let you board now.”

“The jet’s not…” but he trails off. When he speaks again he sounds just as hurt as you’d wanted—and it doesn’t make you feel better at all. “Okay. Bye.”

“Bye.”

The line goes dead, and your face is burning as tears fill your eyes for the hundredth time this week. That call was terrible and poisonous and you don’t feel like yourself. 

Things have gone so wrong so quickly, and all you know how to do is ice him out so he can’t do it to you first. But it’s not going to make this better. No matter how mean you are to him, at the root of it all you feel unloved and scared and alone and Spencer knows things about love and relationships that you don’t. He’s confusing you with all this talk of feeling differently about each other and I’ll be home tomorrow I miss you and things get complicated when one person likes the other more and let’s talk in person and will you come meet my best friend tonight. All of it leaves you motion sick and ugly crying in the fetal position. 

All you have to get through this is who you’ve always been, a little of the person you’ve become, and the love you harbor for Spencer which rattles around in your chest like a nail in an empty toolbox. At the moment it hardly seems helpful. It mocks you, pointing out the pathetic hilarity of your paradox. The only person who can comfort you, the person you want more than anything, is the reason you’re so upset in the first place. But you can’t help being drawn to him. 

Maybe the love you have for Spencer is more like a magnet in a compass. 

Even if he doesn’t feel it for you, you do love Spencer. And that goes beyond just loving the parts of him that like you. To hide from that love would be a gross disservice to yourself and all the work you’ve done to get here. It’s not as if you suddenly know exactly what the answer is—but you’re sure that hiding is the most childish, cowardly thing you could do and the furthest you could get from a resolution. Even if you can’t make him love you back, you refuse to allow yourself to fizzle quietly out of his life. This relationship deserves something more than that. 

So maybe you don’t have a plan when you wipe your eyes and pick up your phone. Maybe there’s no strategy behind your actions as you text Garcia for the bar location. But if you keep running from everything you’ll never get anywhere. All you can do is show up. It seems like the next best step. 

------

The pub isn’t too crowded—but for a Thursday night, you suppose it’s a bit busy. 

Boot heels hooked onto the metal foot-beam of the stool you’re sitting on, elbows resting on the polished mahogany surface of the bar, you’re staring into an untouched mixed drink. Then you glance down the bar to your right, at the man who’d bought it for you. 

Maybe your ensemble gave him the wrong idea. 

Coming to this gathering had required bravery, and you came armored. Your ensemble projects significantly more confidence than you’re currently feeling. It was intentional, a form of self-protection—but now you’re wondering if it’s projecting a little too much confidence. 

All done up, clearly still a little rough around the edges, and sitting alone at a bar was bound to draw the wrong pairs of eyes. 

“Hey, darlin’,” the gruff man says, approaching when you inadvertently catch his gaze. “Are you gonna drink that, or should I? Otherwise I’m lookin’ at eleven dollars right down the drain.”

You avert your eyes, scanning the groups dotted here and there. 

“I’m waiting for friends.”

“Does that make a free drink less appealing?”

He takes the stool next to you, off-gassing the scent of cigarettes and leather. 

“I’m not drinking.”

“Really? I’ve never seen a girl who looks as sad as you do come sit at the bar to stay sober.”

You frown, looking back up at the man next to you. He seems like the Hell’s Angels type—tattooed knuckles, leather jacket, grey beard, and a weathered face that’s clearly spent decades with the sun. Fifties, maybe younger and just looks more rugged. What does it say about how I look tonight that this is the kind of man I’m attracting, you wonder. Maybe you look desperate and just as lonely as you feel. As he claims you do. 

“I’m not sad.”

“Alright. I’ll take your word for it. But a happier girl wouldn’t be all alone.”

“I’m waiting for friends,” you repeat, letting the words drip like venom from your tongue. 

“I’m Randall. See? Now we're friends.”

“I don’t need more friends. I like the ones I have.”

Something catches Randall’s attention long enough to catch yours. He raises his bottle vaguely, gesturing beyond your shoulder. 

“Are those angry lookin’ guys in the suits marching right over here the friends you’re talking about?”

You turn your head, brows furrowed, and immediately see the gentlemen to whom your new pal is pointing out. 

Spencer is storming across the bar looking close to furious (which for him, means an expression so placid it gives you chills) followed by Derek Morgan—a man who you’ve only seen pictures of and is even more impressive in person. 

You hate how your breath catches, how your heart is already beating a little faster than usual at the sight of him even though you’re not exactly pleased with each other right now. 

Suddenly the bubbles in your cocktail are once again fascinating.

“Those are the ones.”

“And why are they dressed for church?”

Church?

“They’re FBI.”

“Ah. My lucky fuckin’ day.”

You almost snort. 

“Hey,” Spencer says sternly, hand settling on your back as he partially fills the small space between you and the strange man. “Who’s this?”

You shrug, sit up a little straighter, and take a shallow breath—not because you’re scared of this man but because Spencer is suddenly so close to you and you can feel his warmth and the air bending around him and the scent of him is genuinely dizzying to you. 

“Randall,” you exhale unenthusiastically. But the odd thing is that you’re rather grateful for Randall’s presence. Because now Spencer is here and you have no idea what you’re going to say to him. 

“Oh,” Randall says, sipping his beer unhurriedly before using it to gesture to Spencer. “You’re the boyfriend. You know, that’s funny, because she didn’t mention a boyfriend.”

“I didn’t mention anything. We weren’t having a real conversation.”

Randy holds his hands up defensively, fingers still wrapped around the neck of a sweating bottle. 

“I’m just saying it’s in-ter-esting. Not trying to start anything.” He stands, pauses for another sip—Spencer obviously isn’t sure what to make of this man because he says nothing. “But listen, man to man—you better buy her some flowers or a real pretty fuckin’ necklace or somethin’ because a happy girl in a happy relationship does not come pout at the bar all by herself.”

“Get out of here, man,” Derek finally speaks up. 

“Yeah, yeah.” He sets his empty bottle down and fishes in his pocket for a cigarette, sticking it between his lips. “But—just for the record—I have a wife. I wasn’t gonna do anything weird. Sometimes when you’re my age you just gotta live a little. Buy a pretty girl a drink. Piss off some Mormons, or whatever the fuck you are.”

This guy sounds like a bad Bruce Springsteen song. But part of you would almost rather hang out with Randall than be forced into a conversation you’re not prepared for with Spencer. 

And whose fault is that, you remind yourself. You decided to come be mature. Suck it up. 

“Goodnight,” Derek emphasizes. 

Spencer doesn’t say a word. You can feel his eyes boring smoking holes into the side of your face, and you look anywhere else.  

“I’ll be here next week after physical therapy like clockwork,” the stranger waves as he ambles away—but not before pointing at you. “You enjoy that drink, friend. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

What a weird man. 

There’s silence for a moment—in which Spencer refuses to stop watching you and you refuse to acknowledge that. 

“And here I was thinking Spencer made you up.” Derek has a beautiful smile and a warm, charming cadence as he holds out his hand for you to shake. “I’m Derek.”

You take the proffered hand and shake, offering him a shy smile and introducing yourself in kind. 

“Happy birthday, by the way. Sorry for crashing your party.”

Really, he’s stunning. 

“Thank you, sweetheart. And you’re not crashing anything. I told pretty boy here I wanted to meet you the second he started talking about a friend. But nah, he just wanted to talk and talk and talk about you—” 

“Alright,” Spencer mumbles, blushing, eyes finally torn from your profile. You smile slightly, brows knitting as Derek magically melts some of the terrible tension.

“Pretty boy?”

Before either of them can explain, someone shrieks in your general direction. You startle backward in your seat, and Spencer steps closer, hand sliding up your back as Penelope, JJ, and Emily join your little huddle. For only a second you allow yourself to shrink into him—before you’re straightening your posture like your spine is a metal rod and his touch burns. It’s a knee-jerk defensive reaction for which you have no explanation. You can’t see him, but you don’t feel his hand on you again. 

“Oh my god! Look at this beautiful person who I love!” Penelope exclaims, pushing past Derek to grab your face and kiss both of your cheeks. “Oh my god,” she says again, wiping sticky lipgloss away with her thumbs, “I totally meant to ask before I did that. But your face is just so kissable. I’m so glad you decided to come!”

“Hi, Penelope,” you smile half-heartedly, incapable of reciprocating her cheery mood. Fortunately, she’s cheery enough for a standard commercial flight’s worth of people, and probably thinks of Derek’s birthday as a national holiday—so she doesn’t pick up on this. 

Emily and JJ offer you tamer although perfectly kind greetings. 

“Ooh, what are you drinking?” Emily asks, leaning closer to examine the forgotten beverage in front of you. 

“Not that,” Spencer mutters, grabbing the glass and sliding it away from you. You give him an affronted look—and immediately wish you hadn’t, since you’re meeting his eyes for the first time since he left. His words stall for just a moment as his eyes dart between yours before he’s saying, “you shouldn’t accept a drink if you didn’t watch someone make it.”

The audacity of him to be acting protective makes you scoff. 

“That guy didn’t spike my drink. He was harmless.”

“People thought Ted Bundy was harmless, too.”

It’s such a ridiculous thing to say that you don’t even have a response—your eyes simply narrow and you shake your head. A claustrophobic silence falls over the small group. 

“Okay…” JJ murmurs. “Um, do you guys want to go check out the jukebox with me? We have to play all of the birthday boy’s favorites.”

Several enthusiastic yeses go around, but you’re too busy having a stand off with your boyfriend to take much notice. 

Soon, it’s just the two of you. 

“Controlling isn’t a good look for you,” you finally say, spinning to rest your elbows on the bar once more and studying the bottles of liquor on the shelves beyond. 

“Evasive and avoidant isn’t particularly flattering, either. I was under the impression that you had no intention of coming after that phone call earlier.” 

You scoff again as your blood heats. Already the conversation is going worse than you’d expected—and your expectations were not high. 

“Do you think the cab driver was a serial killer, too? Or maybe the bartender?”

He’s still behind you and slightly to the side—but he leans down, resting his own fists on the bar right next to you and speaking lowly, directly over your shoulder. 

“Why don’t you try speaking to me like we’re adults instead of starting meaningless arguments in order to get under my skin?”

From him, that hurts. 

It’s a branch on the tree of your greatest insecurity—the fear that you’re too inexperienced with relationships and that makes you too immature and he’s been lying every time he says it’s not an issue. Because of course it’s an issue. It’s why you fell in love with him, it’s why you don’t know how to fix it, and it’s why you’re incapable of actually expressing any of your feelings to him.

“Why do you think I’m here right now?” you whisper—as sharp and stinging as a poison dart. “I’m trying to be a fucking adult. I don’t want to be here.”

Silence. 

“Then why did you come?”

His voice is so calm it burns like dry ice. 

“Because! Because you asked me to, because—”

You can’t bring yourself to say it aloud. 

Because I’m obviously still in love with you and I can’t just turn that off. I tried to do the right thing. 

Instead you bury your face in your hands and let it hang in the air, unspoken. You know he knows. You just don’t know why he’s acting like you’re so unreasonable for being upset. 

“Let me make this very clear to you,” Spencer murmurs, brushing your hair away from your ear so tenderly, speaking so softly you could convince yourself that he’ll say something kind. It’s the closest he’s been in days and now that he’s here you feel how much you missed him in your bones. And even though you sense a trap, you can’t help but sit up straighter. You’ll be complicit in your own undoing if it means you can have him close. His breath shakes slightly as he inhales and you brace as best you can. “Nobody is forcing you to be here. You told me you weren’t coming and then you decided to show up. I was ready to give you the space that you were too scared to ask me for. But I can only take responsibility for so much of what is ultimately your bad behavior and your adolescent volatility. You can only blame so much of your bad behavior on inexperience before I run out of patience because I don’t find thoughtlessness and emotional immaturity compelling. I told you that if there is a disparity in the way we feel for each other, that was fine, and I meant it. But if you can’t cope with how I feel about you then don’t let me hold you back. I am not holding you hostage. You can leave whenever you want. So don’t waste your time punishing me because you don’t want to be here. And if you do want to be here, good. I want that too. But act like an adult and make a decision. My leniency has limits, even for you. I am asking that you do not push it any further than you already have.”

You don’t know how long it’s been since your last breath by the time he finishes his address.

Long enough that you’re dizzy when you push away from the bar and shoulder through the throng of patrons as quickly as you reasonably can without outright running. 

Long enough that when you burst out the door into the biting-cold night air, and finally take a deep, gasping breath, it burns and stings and aches and so does your head and your eyes as they well with hot, furious, heartbroken tears. 

You speed-walk to the end of the block, hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your cries and all the curse words you’d love to scream. 

Part of you knows you walked away from the bar in case he decided to try and follow you—but when you look over your shoulder the sidewalk is empty. You should’ve known better than to think he’d follow you after that. But at least it means you can have your breakdown by the relative safety of the bar, leaning your back against the dirty brick facade next to the entrance alcove and sliding down until your butt hits the cold concrete and you don’t even care. 

Who the fuck was that man in the bar who looked like Spencer and sounded like Spencer but spoke to you like this is all your fault, like it’s your fault you love him and he doesn’t love you back, like it’s ridiculous that you’d be upset, like you’re cruel and petty for having feelings about it, about him—for having any fucking feelings at all? And to think that was the man who you let know you more intimately than anyone ever has. Every insecurity you’d ever admitted to him was hurled back in your face like it was nothing. Hell—he even handed you the ones you’d never mentioned. He proved every terrible thought you’ve been having about yourself right. 

How could he be so unabashedly mean to you?

Spencer doesn’t have to love you. It seems clearer now than ever that he doesn’t. But part of you wonders if he suffered some sort of traumatic brain injury because that’s the only explanation for why he could go from treating you how he did before to treating you like he doesn’t even like you. 

You feel like you might throw up. 

“Called it,” a rasping, grumbling voice says from a few feet away. 

You look up, and spot fucking Randall standing under a street light ten feet away, still smoking. 

You go back to studying the tar spots on the sidewalk through bleary eyes. Pebbles sting as they press into your palms. Another one of the universe’s terrible jokes, you suppose. Just earlier you’d thought that you’d rather talk to Randall than Spencer and now here you are and here he is. 

“That kid as much of a dipshit punk as I thought he was?”

Hearing Spencer described as a kid and a dipshit punk is so jarring you almost stop crying. 

“He’s not a dipshit,” you sniff, voice thick with tears as you find yourself explaining Spencer Reid to this stranger for no reason at all. “He has an IQ of 187. He’s a genius.”

“Ah,” he scoffs dismissively, flicking ash from his cigarette. “Dipshit-ism don’t discriminate. Anyone can be one. Even your genius punk boyfriend. As a recovering dipshit myself I know what the work of a fellow dipshit looks like. And this has dipshit written all over it.”

You sob harder. 

Randall speaks calmly around his cigarette. 

“You know, I’m sorry for whatever you got goin’ on. But I’ve never not been the asshole when I got a hysterical woman in front of me. It’s nice that I can confidently say this time it is not my fault.”

The bar door opens, letting a warm burst of jovial music and chatter into the otherwise still night. Steps that are too heavy to be Spencer’s hit the concrete next to you—you look to your left and see Derek Morgan before he looks down and sees you. 

“Hey—you okay out here?”

“Why don’t you go ask your Jehovah’s Witness buddy? He did this.”

Derek makes a face, locating the source of this interjection. 

“Sir, I asked you to leave her alone once and I don’t appreciate being made to repeat myself. Are we clear?”

“Yeah, whatever. Fuck me for making friendly conversation, I guess. Gonna have to call my wife and tell her to pick me up down the street. I don’t want her on the damn phone while she’s driving.”

Randall wanders away again, still muttering to himself and smoking. Derek watches him go, staring daggers into his back until he turns his gaze to you. 

Goodbye, Randall, you think. Great. Now I have neither of them. 

“Hey,” he softens, crouching down to your level. “You okay?”

You sniff, wiping your cheeks and attempting not to smudge your makeup. It’s impossible not to feel awkward—you just met this guy and now he’s here trying to do emotional labor for you on his birthday. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. This is embarrassing.”

“You don’t look fine. Can I do anything for you? Do you want some food? A drink?”

“You really don’t have to—”

“I know, I know. But look—Reid is always talking about you. You’re important to him, and he’s important to me. I’ve never seen him this happy and I’ve known that kid a long time. It is in my best interest that someone maintain you, and if it’s not him, it’ll be me. Call it a favor to him, if that makes you feel better.” Derek is sporting a slightly more modest Cheshire grin again by the end of his sentence. Listening to him speak that way about Spencer speaking about you, it’s impossible not to feel a teeny bit lighter. Even if you’re not entirely sure where you stand on all things Spencer related at the moment. “So I’ll ask you again. Is there anything I can do for you?”

You sniff again. 

“Sure. A ginger ale or something might be good.”

“Got it. I’ll be back. And come inside if Randall tries to run up on you again, okay?”

Despite yourself you manage a laugh at the way he says the name. His warm smile flickers warmer at this.  

“Will do.”

When Derek returns a few minutes later, the plastic cup he’s holding looks decidedly not like ginger ale. 

“Penelope insisted that this is what you would want. I don’t even know.”

You smile slightly as you take the cup, full to the brim with bubbles and thick red syrup. A cherry bobs underneath the layer of cubed ice. 

“Shirley temple,” you chuckle. “I’ll take it. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” he says, flashing that brilliant smile again, and you look into your cup as you drink. Maybe your face warms just a bit. You’re still shy around men, you realize. Especially attractive ones. And Derek Morgan definitely qualifies as attractive. 

“So,” he begins, and to your surprise, crouches down in front of you. “I have to be honest—I came out here in the first place because Reid sent me to check on you. But now I’m wondering what the hell he did.”

Spencer sent him. A considerate action that would theoretically signal his care for your feelings. You take another sip, staring into space and trying to digest this information, but it only jumbles with the rest to confuse you more. 

Of course, you don’t know how to convey this to Derek in a way that’s not overly-familiar for just having met the man, so you go with an old standby. 

“I’m probably just overreacting.”

“Uh-huh. I have sisters. I know what an overreaction looks like and if you were overreacting you wouldn’t be out here hiding. What’d he do?”

You can only keep up the facade of emotional stability for so long. Your chin wobbles in a horribly embarrassing way and you look down again. 

“I’m not sure—I’m not sure if he really did anything or if I’m just being dramatic and I don’t want to make him seem—”

“Why don’t you stop defending him and just tell me what he did?” Derek urges. “Trust me—I love that kid to death. But I also know he can be a dick sometimes. You don’t need to worry about making him look bad in front of me.”

Part of you is glad Spencer has such a good friend on his side. And Derek is right—Spencer is an adult. You don’t need to worry about besmirching his reputation. So you take a shuddering sigh, staring into the red of your drink. 

“He just doesn’t like me as much as I like him. Which isn’t his fault, like I said, but—he’s being such an asshole about it.”

Derek pulls a face, strong eyebrows making an impression as they knit.  

“Did he tell you that?”

“Over the phone,” you nod emphatically. “And just now he gave me this whole fucking speech about how immature and horrible I am for not being 100% happy about it. And maybe he’s partially right, I mean—I know people feel things differently and maybe he just was asking for more time. I worry I fucked it up so bad because I couldn’t handle that—but at the same time he didn’t say he wanted more time. He was really fucking unclear and vague about what he wanted, and he asked me to come to this bar like it was nothing when I’ve been worried he was going to break up with me all week. So yeah, I guess he’s right and I have been a bitch about it because I was upset that he didn’t… like me as much. And I wanted him to feel bad because I was so embarrassed, and I also didn’t want to act like everything was normal if he was just going to dump me, I…” you realize you’ve been hardcore rambling and your face heats. “I don’t know.”

There’s a pause, and you worry you’ve done exactly the thing you didn’t want to, which was overshare to this man who seems like he’s significantly more normal and well-adjusted than you. You drink deeply, swallowing sugar and the rest of your words. 

“That’s… bizarre. I don’t mean to invalidate your feelings, but… that just doesn’t make any sense.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, projecting annoyance so you won’t start crying again. “I was confused too. I thought he really liked me.”

“No, sweetheart, I’m saying—that doesn’t make sense because he does really like you. Really, really likes you, more than I’ve ever seen him like someone before. I mean, last week I finally finished that Tesla biography he’s been on my ass about for months and when I told him, all he wanted to do was talk about your thoughts on it. And then it wasn’t even about the book anymore. I have never, ever seen Reid pass up an opportunity to talk about Nikola Tesla. I’m talking never in my life. He finds a way to make every conversation about you. I can’t even follow the connections sometimes but he always finds a way.”

Your nose wrinkles. 

“Sorry you’ve had to hear so much about me,” you mumble. Though you’re not really sorry. It feels good. A twinge of joy in all the murk. 

“I’m not. Like I said, I’ve known Spencer for a long time and I’ve never seen him this happy. I’m not about to let him fuck it up.”

“If I make him so happy then why did he tell me we don’t feel the same?” you whisper, reaching into the puddle of syrup and ice at the bottom of your now empty cup. 

“Is that exactly what he said?” Derek asks, after a long pause. You bite the maraschino cherry off the stem and nod morosely, grinding a long-gone stranger’s cigarette butt with your boot just to crush something. There’s another beat of silence. “Alright. You know what I think?”

You raise your head to meet his gaze, your own wide-eyed and expectant. 

“I think you two need to have an honest conversation. You’re both confused and hurting—I promise Spencer is feeling it too. If you talk to him he won’t be unkind to you.”

“He already was,” you admit. 

“I apologize if I’m out of line here, but you just told me you’ve been icing him out all week because you want him to feel bad. I’m willing to bet you don’t realize how sharp these claws are.” Derek grabs your hand as he says it and you marvel at how much he is the opposite of you. Everything he does and says seems so natural and reasonable and charming even if it would piss you off from anyone else—and you just met the guy. You can see why Spencer and Penelope speak so highly of him. “I think you’ve probably both had your moments these past few days. But that doesn’t mean neither of you deserve any more chances.”

He puts your hand back on your knee and pats it. 

“Besides, Spencer‘s not good at mean. I bet he’s inside worrying himself sick over whatever dumb shit he said to you. He’s probably hyperventilating as we speak.”

“It was really out of character for him,” you concede. 

“Yeah. He’ll be apologizing for a long while. It will get annoying. But he sure as hell won’t be doing it again, I can tell you that much. If he does, let me know. Emily and I will whoop his ass and call it a fitness evaluation.”

“I think that’ll be unnecessary,” you laugh thickly, pulling your sleeve over your hand and wiping away the few tears that haven’t quite dried. “But thank you.”

“Anytime. Now, it’s my birthday, and as a grown man I should not be getting involved in someone else’s relationship drama. I was supposed to be on the dance floor a while ago.” His tone is so warm and sugary by the time he finishes it could rot his perfect grin. It’s futile to hide the way your mouth twists into a reluctant smile as you look down and fix your hair—praying he can’t tell how fazed you are by his kindness. “You’re going to talk to him, right?”

“I’ll—yeah. Right,” you say quietly. But the sinking feeling in your stomach knows it’s a thing easier said than done. 

“Good,” Derek grunts, taking your empty cup before pushing himself back up to his feet and offering you a hand. “Do you want me to send him out here or do you want to come find him inside?”

You balk.

“Like—right now? I have to talk to him now?”

Before he can give you an answer you think you’d rather not have, the bar door is opening. From your spot you can’t see who it is right away, but Derek turns over his shoulder and does a double take before looking back at you. 

Spencer steps out onto the sidewalk, eyes scanning for until he realizes you’re a few feet shorter than usual. Sitting on a filthy public walkway is probably his worst nightmare, you realize, as you scramble to your feet and dust the crumbs of concrete from your palms against the back of your cold jeans. He begins to say your name, and it sounds like relief and regret, but you stop him. 

“I have to go wash my hands.”

It’s monotonous and mumbled and comes out too quickly but you don’t have time to worry about that as you brush past both of the men on your way back into the bar, making an immediate beeline for the bathroom. 

Your face burns with anxiety as you shut the door behind you, immediately drowning in the yellowish lighting which is so harsh but seems to illuminate almost nothing. Who paints a bathroom red? It’s suffocating. You feel like you’re inside an aorta. 

Water runs cool over your hands as you sniffle, rinsing the bits of dirt from red indents made by pebbles and things, and the soap is too floral and powdery but you wash twice anyway. Maybe you’ll just stay in here and wash your hands forever. 

There’s a light knock on the shiny wooden door and it makes you jump. Your name is muffled from the other side. 

“You in there?” 

Quickly you wipe under your reddened eyes in the mirror, trying to fix the slightly smudged makeup. 

The door opens when you don’t respond, and there’s Spencer, looking weary and tense all at once. Is that your fault?

“Hey,” you sniff, trying to effect casualness, but it comes out too quickly and your posture is too stiff. Under his all-seeing gaze you cross and uncross your arms, look at him and look away. Your hands end up in your pockets. He’d say crossed arms are a sign of self-soothing. 

“Hey.” His is more measured, and of course makes you feel embarrassed in comparison. The door swings shut behind him as he enters the small room and makes it feel that much smaller. “Are you… hiding from me in here?”

Yes. 

The graffitied toilet stalls to your left suddenly look fascinating. 

“Nope. Just washing my hands.”

This is not what Derek told you to do, you scold yourself internally. Stop being so scared. Be honest with him. 

Silence rings. All the brutally honest things you’d like to say choke you until your throat hurts and your eyes get hot. Yet again you feel like a stupid little girl who’s too emotional to communicate. 

You cross your arms. It’s an indulgence you feel you’re owed. 

Spencer says your name again and it’s too much. He never says it this often. When he does it feels good but now it’s too formal, makes you too aware of your own inadequacy, and how he must be seeing you—a wraith of a girl in a dingy bar bathroom with clammy hands and smudged eyeliner, practically shaking with fear under an unforgiving light. Someone who is too scared and much too sensitive. 

Spencer attempts to speak again. 

“What I said before, it was—”

“Can you just take me home?” 

It comes out on one exhalation and seems to stall him with all the effectiveness of a slap to the face. 

You don’t know where it comes from, either. 

Easier said than done, you’d thought a few moments ago. All the bravery Derek had tried to instill in you is gone, swallowed down the drain like soap scum. And now you’re choosing to let your fear win—because at least that’s a known quantity. The fear will never reject you. It will always be waiting with open arms. 

Too scared. 

The end feels imminent. You try to press yourself back together, fingernails biting into palms, trying to make something feel more tangible than the terrible knowingness that you’re careening toward an end which was supposed to be a beginning. It’s stifling and you wonder if Spencer is breathing it too. 

You can’t look at his face, but you watch him pocket his hands in his pants and there is so much impossible space between you in such a tiny room. 

“Yeah. I can.”

Something breaks. It’s small, and without fanfare. But it feels final. 

It’s just a ride home. Just a ride home. 

That’s all you have left, and you don’t know how you know it but you do. 

Something so important is being left in this stupid, dingy bathroom. Something that was at one point beautiful and shiny and so arrogant in its newness that it seemed it would never become ugly. And now you’re abandoning it without dignity on the chipped tile floor and in the cobwebs on the walls. It was bigger than you, it was you—and now it’s going to be nothing. 

A vehicle honks on the street. A boisterous group laugh explodes somewhere beyond the door. Water drips from a faucet. 

“I’ll… I’ll bring my car around.”

“Okay.”

But he just stands there for another moment. Like he can’t get himself to move. 

If only time would freeze before he could walk away. 

But it doesn’t. 

He sucks in a decisive breath. 

“Okay,” he murmurs. 

It’s that fucking phone call all over again. 

Then he spins on his heels and leaves you there.

Your time is up. 

being a girl includes staying up till 3AM bc it’s already past your bedtime to read more “x readers” because you know you’re going to miss your alarm anyway.