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reiding-writing · 3 months

Note

hiii, i hope you're well! i saw that you are taking requests for spencer and i really like your angst fics so i was wondering if you could write one with unrequited love?

preferably bau!reader who has feelings for him but he doesn't and she watches him get with someone else and everybody knows how she feels about him but he is oblivious, ending is up to you but i love me a sad ending heheh 😸

transgression [ s.r ]

You’re in love with Spencer Reid. He’s in love with somebody else.

WARNINGS: SPOILERS FOR THE ENTIRE MAEVE ARC, LOTS of misunderstanding, Spencer is kind of a bad friend, lots of arguing, major character death

spencer reid x gn!reader || ANGST || 8.2k || masterlist!!

a/n: sorry for the delay, but i did warn you it was gonna be long so- also i listened to ceilings on repeat whilst writing this so take that as you will 🫶

did i bend the maeve arc to my will for this fic? yes. yes i did.

taglist (slashed blogs couldn’t be tagged): @babyspiderling @marsxoxo2 @vytvyvy @hpstuff244444 @frostooo @ohmysw33 @radioactiveinvisible @devilsadvcte @the-local-pendeja @kakashis-formal-simp @robinswrld

You suppose you did it to yourself.

Spencer’s migraines had gotten increasingly worse over the last few months, and after a few consecutive days of hounding him, he’d finally decided to go and see a medical professional about it.

You’d expected him to come back with news about how his brain stem was too active from how hard he was working himself, or that he’d managed to raise his blood pressure to an unhealthy high from all the stress he was under.

Instead he’d told you that they couldn’t find anything physically wrong with him and that he’d been referred to a geneticist to check if the cause of his sudden mind-numbing aching was due to an underlying condition that might have been passed down from his mother.

He’d come back and forth to you for weeks about his phone calls with the doctor.

How she was helping him with his sleep deprivation.

How she was helping to manage his diet.

How she loved classic literature.

How she and him had spent four consecutive hours on the phone debating over the logistics of a novel they both enjoyed.

You could see the change happening before your eyes, and you weren’t the only one either.

“Pretty boy’s chipper this morning,” Morgan joins you at the kitchenette, his eyes following Spencer as he takes a seat at his desk with all of the enthusiasm of a golden retriever puppy who’d been let off his leash for the first time.

You hum with a nod, focusing your attention on the two cups of coffee you were making, heaping tablespoons of sugar into Spencer’s Doctor Who mug to satisfy his insatiable need for sweetness. “They’re reading a book together,”

“Really?” You respond to Morgan’s raised eyebrow with a short nod and another hum.

“Thoughts in Solitude by Thomas Merton, apparently she finds the religious analysis ‘fascinating’,” You can’t help the small contemptment that seeps into your tone as you reiterate what Spencer had told you to Morgan, and you can practically feel his pitiful gaze as he watches you make your coffee.

“I’ve heard of that book before from somewhere,”

“I tried to get him to read it a few months ago,” You take a sip of your coffee at the end of your sentence, barely able to taste it over the scolding water but not finding the mind to care.

You leave your conversation with Morgan at that, taking the two mugs in your hands and walking back into the bullpen, placing Spencer’s mug in front of him and walking around the cluster of desks to reach your own.

He’s sure he doesn’t need to verbalise it, but Morgan feels increasingly sorry for your situation, noting how you skirt past Spencer’s “thank you” without a response as you bury your head in your files.

he can’t imagine how much the fact that Spencer had seemingly formed a crush on his geneticist ripped you apart.

And the worst part? He’d never met her in person.

All scientific laws of attraction be damned, Spencer Reid had fallen in love with someone he’d never met in the span of three months, and you we’re resigning yourself to sit on the sidelines and watch as the man you had been in love with for six years find the happiness that you longed for with somebody else.

How you managed to keep up your facade you didn’t know.

You’d offered him change for the pay phone he’d call her from when he was running short. You’d let him rant to you about her opinions on a novel that you had failed to get him to read. You made excuses for him to leave the office early so that he could spend his time on the phone with her.

You were the one that sent him to the hospital and caused him to meet her in the first place.

He never hesitated to remind you of that fact, thanking you vicariously every time he relayed his conversations with the doctor back to you.

As the weeks progressed he stopped calling her that. She wasn’t ‘the doctor’ anymore. She was Maeve.

He didn’t call you by your first name and you’d known him for ten times longer that he’d known her. He didn’t even call Morgan by his first name and those two were practically brothers.

And that part was probably what hurt the most.

Maeve.

A name of Irish origin meaning ‘intoxicating’. How fitting.

Apparently the Irish goddess of love and desire was named Maeve. You could see the glimmer in Spencer’s eye that told you his Maeve was just as important as the mythological goddess he was describing.

His Maeve.

“So why haven’t you two actually gone on a date or anything?” You take a sip from the mug in your hands, swivelling your chair back and forth with your foot as a pivot. “You’ve been talking for what, four months now? Surely it’s about time you actually met her in person,”

“It’s complicated,” Spencer sighs as he collects the loose papers he was working on in a pile. He didn’t want to divulge Maeve’s issues without her permission.

“You’ve been saying that for the last six weeks Spencer,” You roll your eyes as you discard your half-empty mug on the table. “If I didn’t know any better i’d say you’re putting it off,”

Spencer shook his head adamantly at your suggestion. You couldn’t have been more wrong. He did want to meet her. Desperately. He’d wanted to meet her since the end of their first phone call. But he also wanted to keep her safe.

How do you meet up with somebody who’s hiding from a stalker without endangering them?

“I do want to meet her. It’s just- she’s dealing with something personal and it’s put a rift our plans, that’s all,”

“So it’s her not wanting to meet up with you then?” You raise an eyebrow at him over your desks.

“Look it’s- You don’t get it okay? It was a mutual understanding from both of us.” You can hear Spencer’s tone become more defensive as you spoke, and you raised both of your hands in surrender.

“Okay, i’m sorry for prying-” You ended your apology with a laugh, trying to keep the conversation lighthearted despite feeling your heart deflate in your chest at the way the friendliness his his eyes fizzled out the longer you looked at him.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Spencer’s late to work this morning.

It’s 8:06 when he finally walks through the glass doors, the coffee you made him stone cold after sitting lamely on his desk for the better part of twenty minutes. He doesn’t so much as offer an apology as he picks up the mug and makes his way over to the kitchenette to pour the coffee down the sink.

You follow behind him in a mix of intrigue and a want to refill your own mug, swilling it out with some water as you watch Spencer load a coffee pod into the machine. “Phone call last longer than you expected?”

“Hm? Oh- yeah, we were discussing the literary analysis of Annabelle Lee,” Spencer’s demeanour seems to brighten immediately once he’s given an opportunity to discuss the details of his phone call with Maeve, although the beginning of his ramble is quickly cut off by the beeping of the coffee machine.

You wait patiently for his coffee to finish before you begin making yours, raising an eyebrow as Spencer pulls out a regular teaspoon instead of the usual tablespoon he’d incorrectly use to load his coffee with sugar.

Your intrigue only heightened when he pulled a carton of milk from the mini-fridge. Not even normal milk. Soy milk.

“Since when do you drink coffee like a normal person?”

His eyes flickered from his mug to your face as he tipped a single teaspoon of sugar into his drink before replacing the bag back where it came from. “It’s a part of my managed diet, Maeve thinks that my increased sugar intake might be one of the risk factors for my headaches,”

“Did she tell you to put soy milk in it too?” You don’t know why you have the urge to be petty, Spencer had long since needed to change his coffee drinking habits for the sake of decreasing his sugar intake and Maeve’s suggestions were beneficial for his health.

It was just the fact that it was her that ticked you off.

“She did actually, it provides the same amount of riboflavin as cow’s milk, which acts as a soothing agent whilst also helping constrict inflamed blood vessels, but without all of the excess fats in regular milk that might make my migraines more frequent, it’s genius really,”

He thought that her ideas were genius. Him. Mr ‘I have three PhDs and an IQ of 187’, thought someone else’s ideas were genius.

You’re sure that he already knew the benefits of milk alternatives, and yet he attributed the ‘revelation’ of what they could do to Maeve. Of course he did.

“When was the last time you made a decision for yourself?” The question comes out much harsher than you intend it to, and you can tell by the way Spencer furrows his eyebrows that he’s taken offence to it.

“Sorry, that came out wrong,” No it didn’t. “I’m just a little surprised that someone as independent as you is so… willing to follow blind instructions,” Your attempt at saving yourself half-works, that wrinkle between his eyebrows disappears and you can see that the glimmer in his eyes is returning slowly.

“She’s a doctor, of course i’m going to follow her suggestions,”

You give him a soft nod as you pick up your mug from under the coffee machine. “Yeah, no, that makes sense, it’s just a little surprising is all,”

You don’t give him a chance to respond to you before you’re walking away from the kitchenette to retake a seat at your desk, fearing you might say something out of pocket if you continue the conversation any longer.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

You were really pissed off now.

You’d arrived back in Quantico three days ago, and you were still piled up to your neck in paperwork.

Maybe you would’ve had it finished by now if Spencer would stop talking about the fact that he was “-finally going to meet Maeve in person,”.

You had half the mind to snap and tell him to just shut up, although by the saving grace of Morgan you thankfully didn’t have to.

“Reid, give their poor ears a break man,” Your thankful for Morgan in times like this. He knew you were knee-deep in your feelings for Spencer, and he knew that every time Spencer so much as spoke Maeve’s name it carved another hairline fracture in your heart.

You were close to shattering, and Morgan could tell.

“Oh- right, sorry,” Spencer offered you an awkward smile which you mirrored back at him.

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it,” You shake your head in a polite dismissal of his apology before turning your head back down towards your files.

“I take it you’re nervous then?” Alex’s voice cut through the beginning of an awkward tension between the two of you as she entered to bullpen with a cup of coffee in hand.

“Well- I mean- you know…” Upon being unable to find a sufficient response, Spencer resorts to shrugging into his chair. “I just don’t want to ruin anything,”

“But aren’t you curious what she looks like?” Alex raises an eyebrow with concern like Spencer was he son going on his first ever date.

“it doesn’t matter what she looks like I mean- she’s already the most beautiful girl in the world to me it’s just-”

You don’t stick around to hear the rest of the conversation.

You sudden upheaval from your desk stops Spencer’s sentence as his eyes follow you across the bullpen and out of the glass doors, followed shortly by Morgan as he jogs after you.

“Hey- Wait up a minute-” Morgan catches your arm before you have a chance to get in the elevator, and as you turn your eyes towards him he can see the beginnings of tears forming in your eyes.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this..”

Morgan can do nothing more than pull your head into his shoulder and wrap his arms tightly around your back with a soft mutter of your name. “I know kid, I know…”

“He thinks she’s the most beautiful girl in the world,” You turn your head up from Morgan’s shoulder to meet his eyes, a single stray tear cascading down your cheek, illuminated under the florescent lights. “How am I supposed to compete with that..?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Incidentally, Spencer’s date with Maeve didn’t end up happening. Conflicting work schedules or something, you weren’t really listening.

Maybe all of your subconscious thoughts had leaked into reality and finally gave you momentary release from the crushing defeat of having Spencer go on a date with someone else.

Maybe it was them punishing you further by forcing you to sit through him rant about the book she’d left him at the front of the restaurant.

It didn’t help that you already had a headache that made it feel like your eye sockets were being kicked by an annoying kid sat behind you on an aeroplane, leaving a dull ache in it’s wake and making you just want to bury yourself in a hole and hibernate.

“And right at the back she wrote ’Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone; we find it with another’ it’s a quote from-”

“Thomas Merton. Yeah, I know.” You dig the knuckle of your left thumb into cavity of your eye socket over your closed eyelid, hoping to relieve some of the tension that’s lingering there and disrupting your thoughts.

“Thomas Merton’s ‘Love and Living’ specifically,” If Spencer noticed your discomfort he didn’t acknowledge it. “It’s a collection of his essays on the importance of love to live, so for her to have written it specifically knowing that I would read it means-”

“Reid.”

Your tone stops him from continuing any further, and he blinks at you with that sweet puppy-dog expression that would usually have you weak at the knees.

“No offence, but I don’t care about your over-the-phone girlfriend or the quote that she wrote in your book.” Your tone carried a harshness to it that Spencer wasn’t used to hearing from you. It was cold and detached and not like you at all.

“Are- you okay?”

“No, Reid, I’m not, and if you’d bothered to ask about my life every once in a while instead of using me like a human diary maybe you would’ve realised that already.”

You practically slam your file closed as you speak, pushing your chair out from your desk and leaving him sat in shock at your sudden change in attitude.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

After a bit of introspection, Spencer did realise that he hadn’t been treating you very fairly. He hadn’t asked you how your life had been in 3 months and 26 days. Four of those days he’d spent in damn near radio silence. He wasn’t sure he could take it much longer.

He missed you.

It was a bit ironic considering you sat directly opposite him for almost eight hours a day five days a week, but after you’d snapped at him last week, he truly realised just how much of his day he spent socialising with you, and just how much he missed talking to you.

So he decided that he was going to apologise.

And what better form of an apology for being dismissive of your feelings than putting a personal effort into something for you.

He walked into the office that morning with a leather bound copy of The Parasite by Arthur Conan Doyle stored cautiously in his messenger bag, pages scrawled with annotations from Spencer’s own reading of the novel that he hoped would be insightful to you as you read it yourself.

He’d remembered you saying how much you wanted to read the novel a few months ago, so he figured giving it to you as a personalised apology would show that he really did care about you and had listened to what you’d told him.

“Are you busy?” Spencer asks, though he already knows the answer to the question.

He’d been watching you from the other side of the room all morning, hoping for a moment or two of eye contact to see if there was a possibility of a conversation. A look from one to the other; even a smile would’ve been enough to make him feel validated and content. And he would have been willing to settle for that.

But you never looked up. Not even once.

"Mhm," You continue to not spare Spencer so much as glance as he speaks, turning over the page of the file you were working through.

“Can I take a minute of your time?” He tried to catch your gaze again, only to be met by your continued focus on your work. The last thing he wanted to do was disrupt your work routine, but he also knew that he needed to talk to you sooner rather than later.

“Please,” he said softly. “It’s important.”

You exhale heavily through your nose, exasperation written clearly in your expression as you leave your pen as a page marker to close the manilla folder on your desk. You turn your head upwards, raising an eyebrow and opening your hands to agitatedly indicate for him to continue.

You wouldn’t lie and say that it didn’t hurt being so openly cold towards Spencer, but you’d reached a breaking point, and you couldn’t bare sitting idly on the sidelines and letting him tear your heart to pieces anymore.

Spencer was relieved that you’d granted him your attention, but the look you directed towards him was enough to make him wince. You weren’t looking at him through a lens of indifference but rather cold, hard disappointment.

He took a deep breath, trying to gather the right words for what he had to say.

“I’m sorry,”

He seemed almost breathless as he spoke, like he’d just finished a tangent about something without taking the time to breathe. “I know that I’ve been spending too much time talking about Maeve and not enough paying attention to you.”

"You don’t say," You mutter the words under your breath to yourself, but your sure that Spencer heard you based on the way his eyebrows knit and the small gleam of hope in his eyes dwindles to barely a flicker.

He was trying not to react to your snide comment. Spencer knew that your tone didn’t leave any room to deny your meaning. He’d been selfish in talking exclusively about his relationship and hadn’t realised how it was affecting you.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer repeated. “You mean so much to me and I haven’t been showing that.”

"Thank you," Your thanks are polite but dismissive, like you were acknowledging his apology but choosing to not actually consider it as one, and it left Spencer with an expression of clear frustration.

He was used to being able to read your facial expressions and emotions in the past, but now you were just an unreadable wall of disappointment. He had hoped the apology would've been enough, but it was clear that you weren’t going to let him off that easily.

Time to pull out the last resort.

He bent over and fumbled with his bag for a few moments before pulling out the novel he’d brought with him face up.

“I uh… got you this,” He holds out the book towards you. “You said you wanted to read it right? So I uh.. annotated it for you to make it more enjoyable,”

You take the novel from him with a raised eyebrow as your eyes scan the cover, a clear flicker of confusion in your expression.

Spencer noticed your expression and furrowed his own brow in confusion. You didn't seem to recognise the book. In fact, the look on your face made him wonder whether you even knew this book existed at all before this moment.

“I hope you… like it,” he said nervously. “I was going off what you'd talked about before. You mentioned the book was a classic?”

"I… have never seen this book in my life,”

“B-But…” Spencer knew this was going to be awkward at some point, but he'd hoped not this early into the conversation. He could feel his cheeks burning from embarrassment, and it was only getting worse as he searched your face for an answer to this awkward situation.

“I… swear I heard you mention it once.”

You give him a short shake of your head and a pursed smile of awkward thanks as you put the book down on your desk.

Spencer looked away, embarrassed beyond belief. He hadn't even been able to deliver an apology properly, let alone make you feel special like he'd originally intended to.

How had he gotten it wrong? He had an eidetic memory for god’s sake.

When you put the book down on your desk, his eyes flicked back to the book. He'd spent almost 4 hours annotating and researching it and now it felt like all that effort had been wasted.

If you hadn’t mentioned it then who had? Someone must’ve. Someone he obviously equated with you to the point where he’d somehow managed to override his eidetic memory to mix the two of you up.

It takes him a few moments before you hear him whisper out a name under his breath, the palm of his hand dragging down the front of his face at the realisation.

"Maeve…"

The mention of her name had your eyes flickering away from the leather cover and right back to Spencer’s face, awkwardness completely rid of your features and replaced with a mix of negativity that Spencer wasn’t sure he wanted to dig into.

"Are you serious?" Your words come out less questioningly and more accusatory, and you hold the book up so that he can see it once more, the gold embossing on the cover glinting under the overhead light as if to only taunt Spencer further for his mistake.

“You apologise for continuously disregarding me for your girlfriend by giving me a book that she showed interest in?”

You could see Spencer's face fall as your words sink in.

He hadn't even taken the time to think over what he was apologising with. It was almost as if his brain automatically just reverted back to his girlfriend's interests as an escape from dealing with his own guilt and sadness.

"Damn it," he whispered to himself. And in that moment he realised he'd just committed the biggest crime someone could make when trying to apologise.

“Like you constantly flaunting your relationship in my face verbally wasn’t bad enough.”

"I'm sorry I-" he says again, voice teeming with sincerity and guilt.

"You are truly and utterly unbelievable Spencer Reid." Your words didn’t carry anger as much as they did disappointment, and he could see the astoundment in your eyes as you pushed your chair backwards to stand, dropping the book straight in the trash bin by your desk before walking off.

It’s where it belongs; Right alongside the small sliver of respect you still had for him.

Spencer could've said so much more: he could've admitted how ashamed he felt for his careless actions and he could've apologised again and again a million times if it meant you'd stick around and give him a chance to make it up to you.

But you had already made it clear that you weren't in the right state of mind to discuss this matter further.

The best thing he could do now was give you space as he watched you walk away, a deep pain in his heart that slowly ate him alive from the inside.

He’d well and truly fucked up.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Oh sweetheart, what’s wrong?” You were bordering tears by the time you reached Garcia’s office, unintentionally interrupting her lunch break with Alex in the process, though the two seemed to care less about the interruption and more about the fact that you liked like you were about to cry your eyes out.

You take in a sharp breath through your nose as you try to tape together the cracks in your composure, although with every one you seal three more seem to appear in it’s place.

“I-” You can barely get the first word out before the tears start rolling down your face, and Alex immediately stands from her seat to guide you to sit in her place.

“Hey, you’re alright, slowly,” Alex’s hands find your shoulders and rub reassuring circles against your shirt. The slow breath you take in doesn’t stop the flood of tears that’s blurring your vision, and you only manage to get out a single word, but it’s all the two need to understand what’s got you so overwhelmed.

“Spencer-”

“I swear I am two seconds away from smacking that boy over the back of the head,” You can hear the clear frustration in Garcia’s tone. “Surely he’s got to realise how much he’s hurting you by now,”

“He does… I lashed out at him and then left to come here…” You rub your eyes with the back of your hand alongside a small sniffle, trying to rid your vision of it’s blurriness from your tears.

“Good, the boy deserves to have some sense knocked into him,” You appreciate Garcia taking your side, but you can’t help that small lingering feeling of guilt that invades the back of your mind.

“He’s just in love, it’s not his fault…” The words almost physically pain you to say. The verbal acceptance that Spencer Reid was indeed in love with somebody. Somebody who wasn’t you.

“That doesn’t mean that he should be disregarding you though sweetheart,” Alex’s tone is soft and almost maternal, and your sure that it doesn’t help how emotional you are.

Garcia’s right hand reaches forward to straighten out the collar of your shirt, unintentionally crumpled as you try to wipe your face of your emotions. “You’re his friend, and you have been his friend for longer than he’s known this girl he’s talking to, it’s not fair for him to completely push you to the side,”

Garcia was right. It’s not fair. Nothing about how Spencer had been treating you since he’d started speaking to Maeve had been fair. And you were done making excuses for the boy just because you knees deep in your feelings for him.

You didn’t deserve to feel guilty. You didn’t deserve to feel bad for lashing out at Spencer for apologising for not showing interest in your life by further proving just how little he’d actually payed attention to you. You didn’t deserve to cry because he was the most stupid genius to ever live and couldn’t see that you were hopelessly in love with him. You didn’t deserve to suffer by his hand.

It wasn’t fair.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Maeve’s been kidnapped.”

You have to consciously suppress the small voice in the back of your head that celebrates the possibility that she might not be a part of Spencer’s life for much longer. It’s a horrible thought. You should never wish ill upon anyone, no matter how much you internally despised them.

Still, that part of you that was still petty, that was still infuriated with Spencer and Maeve, wanted you to tell Spencer straight to his face that you weren’t going to help him find her and that it was karma for how he’d treated you.

But you weren’t a bad person.

As much as you might hate her, she was still important to Spencer.

“I have a wealth of knowledge i should be applying to this case, but- i can’t focus on anything for more than four seconds at a time… which makes me the dumbest person in the room-” Spencer’s eyes are full of desperation as they scan across your teammates.

“So please help me… Please help me find her…” The desperation in his voice is heartbreaking, the remnants of tears staining his face as he explains the context of the situation through broken sentences.

“We don’t have an official case, so we’ll be working on personal time,” Hotch’s voice is much quieter than you’re used to. Softer, more considerate. “Does anybody want to leave?”

You can feel his eyes linger on you as he asks the question, and you subconsciously purse your mouth into a tight line to stop yourself from impulsively pulling out of the investigation.

You might be detrimentally frustrated with him, but you did want to help. Even if it ultimately resulted in your downfall.

Hotch gave you a short nod before turning to the rest of the team. “Good, let’s get to work,”

It didn’t take Garcia very long to track Maeve down, mostly attributed to her unique name and specialised job.

Dr. Maeve Donovan, a professor at Mendel University who took a sabbatical leave 10 months ago.

The group split into different groups once they’d found her, JJ and Morgan heading off to a loft her parents owned, Alex and Rossi heading to the lab she used to work at, and you and Hotch, accompanied by Spencer, going to speak to Maeve’s parents.

“Reid,” Garcia’s tone is soft as she looks over her laptop screen towards him as he begins to stand from the conference table. “I have a picture of her, do you want to know what she looks like?”

“No,”

Spencer’s answer is immediate, joined by a shake of his head.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

You and Spencer watched from behind the one way mirror as the interview progressed.

They’d last spoken to Maeve five days ago. Her mother had cancer. She was also a geneticist. They were suspicious of her ex fiancé Bobby.

Her fiancé?

You can see Spencer’s face drop at the words despite the low lighting in the room, and you can’t help but furrow your eyebrows yourself.

She had a fiancé?

Spencer practically storms out of the office after the questioning is over, and Hotch has to remind him to calm down as they reach the apartment of Robert Putnam with Morgan and Rossi in tow.

When the door opens the five of you aren’t greeted by Robert, but rather a girl, a girl who looked very confused.

You invite yourselves inside at the girl’s recognition that Robert was inside the apartment.

“And who are you?”

“I’m Diane, his girlfriend,” She raised an eyebrow as the five of you looked around, confusion cut short as Robert rounds the corner questioning the sudden voices coming from his living room.

“Hey babe what’s-“

“Robert Putnam, FBI we’d like to-” Spencer’s voice cuts him off harshly as he rushes to speak, although he stops his sentence halfway as a flicker of recognition falls across his features and his anger turns to dread.

“Hey, I know you,” Robert doesn’t have the time to say anything else to Spencer before Hotch forces him out of the room, shutting the door behind him to speak to Spencer privately whilst you Morgan and Rossi remained inside.

Hotch returned a few minutes later. Spencer didn’t.

You end up taking Hotch’s place as you push yourself out of the apartment with a small “excuse me,” to follow after Spencer as he walks out of the apartment building.

“Spencer- wait up a minute-”

He doesn’t stop at your call, and you’re practically running down the stairs by the time you get to him, already out of the front doors of the apartment building.

“Hey-” You take a second to catch your breath before turning your eyes back towards him again. “Are you alright?”

You could see the flicker of confusion in his eyes as he met your gaze.

The last time you spoke to him you threw away any remnant of your friendship with him in the bin alongside the book he’d given you, and now here you were, chasing after him to make sure that he was okay.

“Why did you agree to help?”

Your face falls from concern to surprise at his question, and he takes it as a sign to continue.

“I know that you don’t like her, so why are you here?” You could see the beginnings of tears forming in his eyes, clearly overwhelmed with how the investigation was going.

“She’s important to you Spencer. Like her or not I care about you. So therefore I care about her,” You don’t think as you speak, words spilling out of your mouth with no conscious filter.

“I’m sorry.” Spencer’s apology elicits a sigh from your mouth, and you shake your head softly at him.

“Forget it, let’s focus on getting Maeve home safe alright?” He obliges to your request with a purse of his lips and a small nod, turning his eyes towards the ground.

“What’re you thinking about?” His eyes fall on yours once more at your question, round with confusion and glistening with the starts of tears. “I can see it in your face, you’re calculating something in your head,”

He exhales through his mouth in a small laugh. You’d always been able to figure him out, and not just because you were a profiler.

“2,412 hours,” His tone is uncertain, mixed between gratefulness for you observance and something far more upsetting. “That’s how long Maeve and I have contacted each other counting letters and phone calls…”

“That’s what-” You take a second to do the calculation in your head. “100 days?”

“100.5…” He runs his hand backwards through his hair, pressing his eyes closed like he’s afraid tears will spill from them if he doesn’t. “What if that’s all I get?”

“It won’t be Spencer…”

“You don’t know that-“

“Yes Spencer, I do,” You have to consciously suppress the sigh that threatens to leave your mouth, pushing your lingering distaste for Maeve down with it. “She is going to be fine, I promise,”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Turns out Maeve’s ex fiancé wasn’t the stalker. In fact, he was being stalked himself, and whilst JJ and Garcia were looking over the images posted to Robert whilst him and Maeve were still together they discovered something that changed the entire direction of the investigation.

Maeve’s face had scribbled out in eyeliner.

You and the team spent the next thirty minutes rebuilding the profile from the bottom up.

“Celebrity stalkers are usually non violent,”

“You want to tell that to John Lennon Rossi?” Spencer looked up from his lap towards the group at the table, having separated himself from the group to sit on a sofa lining one of the walls so he couldn’t bias the profile.

It wasn’t going too well.

“What was it that Mark David Chapman said after he shot him?” Spencer stood from his seat, anger flaring in his nostrils. “‘It was like all of my nobody-ness and all of his somebody-ness collided’,”

You could hear the rise in his tone as he worked himself up the more he spoke.

“Spencer-“

“Maeve is somebody. And this- bitch is a nobody.”

“Spencer.”

Spencer caught your gaze, and immediately fizzling out of his eyes and replaced with guilt. “I’m sorry- I can’t be very helpful right now I should leave-“

“Yes you can Reid, you have 100.5 days of communication with this girl and a recall everything verbatim,” Morgan’s gaze is entirely concerned with Spencer’s outburst.

“There’s too much of it, and I can’t sort through any of it clearly-“ Spencer is clearly on the edge of breaking, and you can tell he’s not going to be able to keep his composure for much longer.

“Then pick one of us and we’ll go through it with you,” Hotch leaned his elbows against the table, his voice again portraying that soft, parental tone that said he knew how overwhelmed Spencer was getting.

Spencer didn’t even say anything, his eyes just silently flickered over to you and you knew you couldn’t refuse him.

You return his silence as you get up from your seat and pat your hand on his shoulder for the two of you to exit the room together.

Time to torture yourself for the sake of Spencer’s wellbeing.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Diane Turner, a research assistant working for her PhD in the same lab as Maeve. A student who had her thesis rejected because it contained a heavy sample bias that included both of her parents.

It took a while, but Garcia eventually managed to track down a loft that was owned under Diane’s parents’ names, less than 10 minutes away from Maeve’s apartment.

“Take your gun and vest off,” Diane’s voice is harsh through the receiver attached to the front of the building, and Spencer’s eyes flickered up from the silk blindfold in his hands to the metal box.

He doesn’t question the orders as he immediately begins stripping the vest from his torso, dropping it and his gun on the floor.

“Now come in alone.”

“Spencer.” You call out to him as he reaches for the door handle, and he gives you that look that makes your stomach do flips in your torso. Except this time it’s not that pleasant fluttery feeling, but instead an existential dread at the fact that he might not walk out of the building alive.

“I’ll be okay,” He gives you a nod of reassurance as he pushes the door open, and you find yourself clenching your hands around your gun to stop yourself from following after him.

The six of you wait outside for what feels like hours, and you lean back and forth on the balls of your feet as you become increasingly restless with the situation.

Then, a gunshot.

And a second.

And your heart drops in your chest.

You’re not entirely present as you rush into the building with the team following behind you, gun raised at your eyes.

Spencer had to be okay. He had to. He was going to be fine. You were going to walk into that room and he was going to be perfectly fine.

You hoped Maeve was alright too. As much as she was unintentionally causing you literal hell, you knew that she meant everything to Spencer.

You knew that he’d choose her over anything. He’d choose her over you.

And right now you don’t care. You just want him to be okay.

You force the door open to the loft with your foot, gun pointed straight ahead at the first person you see.

“Stay back-“ Spencer practically shouts from where he’s half lying on the floor, right hand clutching tightly at his left bicep, trails of blood cascading down his fingers and onto the floor.

“Stay back stay back don’t shoot-“

You let out an audible sigh at the fact that Spencer wasn’t critically harmed, although upon a whimper of his name from further across the room you turn your eyes up to the noise.

And you finally meet the girl that’s caused you ten months of hell. Held at gunpoint.

That small voice in the back of your head tells you that this might be your chance to finally rid her from your life, to let her succumb to whatever Diane had planned and leave Spencer to you.

But you take one look at the desperation in her eyes and any loathing that remained in your mind immediately fizzled out.

It wasn’t her fault. Of course it wasn’t. She was just a girl that happened to be in love.

“Diane,” Spencer pushes himself to stand, and you can see the pain in his face as he does. “There’s still a way out of this,”

“You never wanted me. Never!” Diane pushes the gun she’s holding hard against Maeve’s neck, and you can see her eyes squeeze closed as she attempts to keep herself from crying. “You lied!”

“I didn’t.”

Spencer shakes his head adamantly, and you glance over at Hotch as you spread across the back of the room, guns raised in Diane’s direction. “Diane, I offered you a deal, and you can still take it,”

“Me for her. Let me take her place,”

You only have a view of the back of Spencer’s head now, but you can tell by the tone of his voice that his expression is a pure display of desperation, one that you’re happy you can’t see because you’d lose your composure in an instant.

“You would do that?” Diane’s question is angry and accusatory, tears rolling down her face as she presses the gun against Maeve’s neck once more.

Spencer nods with no threat in his tone. “Yes,”

“You would kill yourself for her?”

“Yes.”

You practically feel your heart stop.

“Thomas Merton,” Maeve’s voice is almost exactly as you imagined it to be. Soft, smooth and, as Spencer had called it all those months ago, ‘dipped in honey’.

“Who’s Thomas Merton?” Diane’s tone contrasts Maeve’s tenfold, pitchy, uneven and overrun with manic anger.

“He knows,” You can see Maeve’s eyes flicker, and you assume that they meet Spencer’s as his shoulders drop. “He knows.”

“Who’s Thomas Merton?” Diane shakes Maeve in her grasp as if to intensify the urgence of her question, and you tighten your grip on your gun in instinctual response. “Who is he?”

“He’s the one thing you can never take from us,” Maeve’s voice is confident and defiant despite the clear tears in her eyes.

Thomas Merton could’ve been something between Spencer and you.

“No.”

You can see a clear change in Diane’s expression at Maeve’s words, and she lowers the gun from Maeve’s head only to hold it up against her own, staring directly into Spencer’s eyes.

“Wait-”

Spencer barely has time to shout the word before the gun fires, and you flinch at the sound as you watch Maeve and Diane both drop to the floor, dark red blood pooling around the two.

You can feel the tension in the room as everyone computes what just happened, guns lowering slowly as their eyes lock onto the two women on the floor.

You’re not focused on that. You’re focused on the tightness of Spencer’s shoulders as he takes sharp breaths in and out of his nose.

The way he seems to forget about the bullet wound in his arm as his legs give out underneath him.

The way a sob that leaves his mouth despite the fact that he tries to muffle it with his hand.

The way that Spencer broke.

He's crying. Big, heaving, heart-wrenching sobs.

His shoulders are trembling.

His hands are shaking.

His head is hanging downwards so that his hair is covering his face.

You approach him slowly, kneeling down at his side and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

His eyes slowly shift from Maeve, his sobs only seeming to amplify as he meets your gaze. His eyes are red and closely with tears, his cheeks running hot and his lips trembling.

You don’t speak, knowing that you’ll break if you do. Instead, you guide his head into your shoulder and let him crumble in your arms, grieving the loss of the love of his life.

You’re sure you’re going to cry yourself to sleep when you get home, but right now, you needed to be strong. For him.

“I’m so sorry-“ Spencer speaks through broken sobs as you hold him, the rest of the team moving to secure the scene.

“Shh,” You shake your head against his softly, rubbing the palm of your hand up and down his back as you let him cry until he physically couldn’t anymore.

“I treated you so horribly-“ He pulls away from your shoulder to look into your eyes once more. “I’m so sorry- Please don’t leave me…”

You purse your lips into a line, your expression full of so many emotions Spencer can’t distinguish any of them.

“I’m not going anywhere,” You pull his head back into your shoulder, leaning your head against his. “I promise…”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst #mgg #asks 🫶

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tlou-reid · 11 months

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you found me ✰ spencer reid

warnings ✰ gunshot, violence, mentions of maeve, hospitals, mentions of death, mentions of religion and god, angst let me know if i missed any please

summary ✰ spencer is the one to reach you after being shot by an unsub

notes ✰ inspired by you found me by the fray. please send requests here. & this is not edited

spencer wasn't sure what dropped first: him or his gun. he could still hear hotch yelling after him, instructing him to not to go in. first not to go in the black suburban you always made jokes about. then, not to go in the yard of your home spencer had been begging you to move out of. then, not to go in the door of the house that he'd held open for you so many times. now, he could hear hotch's voice telling him not to go in the room, but he sounded like he was underwater. when spencer opened the door he could see morgan holding the unsub to the ground while he got him in cuffs, but, as soon as his knees hit the floor next to your body, everything in his peripherals went blurry.

he knew he should be doing the medical things he learned years ago, back during his training, but he couldn't. he was frozen, unable to do anything but stare at the gunshot wound beneath your left rib. his eyes started to well up with tears as his hands reached out, applying pressure, as if he could stop the bleeding himself.

as soon as his shaky hands landed on your body, all he could think of was maeve. how could he do this again? another person he loved, bleeding to death, all because of him. he felt so selfish. for everything. for moving on from maeve. for falling in love with you. for putting you in this position. for thinking of another woman while you bled out under his hands.

"reid, move," hotch's voice cut through his thoughts. spencer wasn't sure how long he'd been kneeling over you, but it was long enough for medical first responders to get there, get inside, and be ready to take over the job he was failing to do. still, he couldn't bring himself to move from his position. hotch had to pull spencer away, letting the medical team move in and get to work.

despite the tears welling up in his eyes, spencer hadn't starting crying. until now. he was sitting in the floor, with hotch behind him with an arm still wrapped around him when the first sob wracked his body. his whole body jerked as he wailed. hotch didn't know what to do, so he just wrapped his arms around spencer, holding the crying boy to his chest as if spencer was his own son. spencer's bloodied hands reached up to hold hotch's forearms, looking for something to ground himself.

the rest of the day was blurry. time seemed to be moving with super speed, but also not moving at all. spencer felt like a bystander in his own life as he watched them load you into the ambulance. he couldn't move his legs when they asked who was riding with you, so it was prentiss who climbed in, giving him a sad look as they closed the doors.

he rode in that stupid suburban, and neither him nor hotch uttered a word. the ride was completely silent. it wasn't the comforting silence like when you and spencer would sit on the couch, each holding your own book and just enjoying being around each other. this silence was scary. he could feel his heart beat in his temples, his stomach was churning and he couldn't stop tapping his foot. hotch didn't complain about his fidgeting the whole ride to the hospital.

they met prentiss in the waiting room, where she explained that you were in surgery now. there was no update on your state, and the rest of the team was waiting on a phone call from one of you guys to explain what was going on. morgan had called to inform prentiss that the unsub was in custody, and his other victim had passed. spencer didn't say anything in reply. instead, he moved to sit in the chair farthest away from where hotch and prentiss were standing, not wanting to listen to the details of the case.

this case was not one that should have even been on the BAU's radar. the local police knew who the unsub was, they caught him on camera after his first attack. there was no need for a profile, and definitely no need for the BAU to be spending their time on something as simple as a manhunt. until you called. you thought someone had been following you on your walk around the neighborhood, and it was proven that you were right. there was no solid reason why you were the next victim. there was relatively no similarity between you and the other victim, you just happened to be in the wrong place. when his larger frame pressed himself into the door, there was no stopping him. he shot at you, knocking you down, and eventually unconscious, while he looked for anything valuable in the house. spencer didn't know what he was trying to take, and he didn't really care either. all he cared about was you getting better.

one hour turned into two, and then two turned into three. he had somehow convinced prentiss and hotch to leave. he just wanted to be alone, and after a long phone call with garcia, he was. he had started to pace and his thoughts started to wander. he wanted someone, something to blame. sure, this unsub was the one who shot you, but what about the police? the ones who didn't try hard enough to find this guy before he was in your house? what about your neighbors? who weren't keeping an eye on you while you walked, even though you did numerous favors for them? what about him? a law enforcement officer that you were in love with but who wasn't there to protect you?

and lastly, what about God? being a man of science usually kept him from turning to a higher being. but a desperate man will take any chance he can get, and the best word to describe spencer right now was desperate. desperate for you to be okay. desperate for you to make it out of surgery. desperate to be next to you. desperate for someone to blame. so how could God do this? how could he allow something to happen to you? how could he punish spencer after all the good he had been trying to be doing for this world?

his thoughts went wild for what felt like years, but was only a few more hours, before the doctor was coming to get him. "dr. reid?" her voice came into the empty waiting room. his head snapped right to her. "she is out of surgery, she'll be waking up soon. you might want to be in the room when she does."

spencer stomach dropped the way he did earlier. he picked up the sweater vest and tie he had discarded on a waiting room chair and hurried to follow the doctor. when he reached the room, he was shocked at how peaceful you looked. despite all of the noises from the machines, the hospital room was the calmest place he had been in in the last 24 hours. spencer made himself comfortable while he waited for your eyes to flutter open.

and when they did, his eyes were on yours. he couldn't help the smile that spread across your face. it took a few minutes for you to adjust to the room. the noises, the bright lights, the lack of understanding where you were. the last thing you remembered was hitting the ground after having a gun pointed at you. after a few minutes, you turned to face him, "you found me." you smiled, despite the dryness in your throat as you spoke.

"just a little late." spencer shrugged, trying to downplay the guilt that was burrowed in his stomach. he reached forward, rubbing a few fingers along your cheek. "what happened?" you asked, wanting the whole story. spencer explained, leaving out a few parts. you didn't need to know how he couldn't bring himself to help you, or how he cried in hotch's arms, or how many times he had to wash his hands in the hospital's bathroom sink to get your blood off of him.

"that's kinda crazy," you couldn't help but laugh. spencer was mildly uncomfortable at your reaction. "so, when do i get to go home?"

"you don't," spencer begun, "you're moving out, like i have been asking you to." he could see the confusion written across your face. "you're moving in with me, that way i know you'll be safe." he smiled at you, excited at the idea. he had been wanting this for a while. "now get some rest," he said with a gentle tone, "i'll find us something to eat." despite the fact that he hadn't eaten in almost a day, he waited for you to be asleep to leave the room.

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!readr #spencer reid x reader #spencer imagine #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds blurb #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds

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fortheloveofwonderland · 3 months

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Rusty | Chapter 8 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary - You and Spencer come across the wild horse who was responsible for his accident and she takes a liking to you. Luke gets a call from his old partner and is sucked back into a case from his past.

A/N - the second half of his chapter will take us to the BAU and we start to piecing together the readers past and why she was on the run. And we are finally introduced the to fics namesake.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - swearing, very brief mention of horse castration, talk of male ejaculation, very brief mention of past Maeve and past addiction, slightly pining Luke, mentions of Spencer’s assault and details of medical records following the assault, vague spoilers for CME, gun violence, past abuse, slightly angry Luke.

WC - 6.3k

Chapter 8 - A Horse With No Name

“Wait a minute. Hang on. Stop! Stop!” Spencer practically yelled and you slammed on the brakes at his sudden change in demeanour.

The car screeched on the asphalt, coming to an abrupt stop. Spencer was already working his way out of his seatbelt and trying to open the door.

It had been an uncomfortable morning to say the least. You’d been alone in his bed when you’d woken up and not at all surprised by that fact.

You’d found him down at the stable, grooming Wilbur. He didn’t look at you but at the horse when he asked if you could drive him into nearby Pipe Creek for a new cell phone after his old one had been smashed to pieces.

You complied and the two of you took a drive.

He hadn’t once looked at you all morning, not even when you’d stopped for coffee after procuring a new phone. Conversation hadn’t been much more forthcoming either and after several attempts to engage him, you’d given up entirely.

Now on the drive back, his shouted words which caused you to stop the car were the most he’d said all day.

You hurriedly followed Spencer out of the car, recognising the stretch of road to be almost exactly where you’d found him on his back in the dirt a few days ago.

He was hobbling to the side of the road and as you followed hot on his heels, you could see what he'd made you stop for.

“That’s her! That’s the horse that frightened Willow! The one that caused me to fall and break my arm!” He faux whispered, pointing in the direction of the large steed as though you wouldn’t be able to see her.

She was almost as large as Willow with broad shoulders and thick legs. She was chestnut red, her coat practically glowing in the sunlight. Her mane and tail were a golden-blonde and they waved manically behind her as she galloped in circles.

“Okay…” you frowned at the horse. “So why did we stop?”

“I…I don’t know.” Spencer turned to you, mirroring your expression. “I’ve never seen a horse like her. I find her fascinating. But I don’t think she likes me very much.”

As if on cue the beast let out a loud and booming neighing sound before she started trotting closer. Your back went up, shoulders squared as if that would help against any potential onslaught.

She was looking right at you, large eyes staring into your soul. She slowed her gait as she drew closer and you held your breath to see what she might do.

What she did so surprised both you and Spencer. She nuzzled her snout into your chest, making little appreciative noises as she did so. You tentatively raised a hand and patted the side of her head.

“What is happening?” You hissed at Spencer.

“She’s bonding with you. She likes you.” Spencer shrugged.

“Why?” You continued to pet her.

“No idea, horses are curious creatures.” Spencer dared to move closer, inch by inch.

He brought his good hand up to touch her but before he could she reared her head back from you and made a noise of displeasure.

“See, I told you she doesn’t like me!” Spencer grumbled, shrinking back.

“Lucky you.” You pulled a face as the mare nuzzled into you once more.

“I think you’ve made a friend.”

“I don’t want a friend.” You hissed.

“I think it’s too late for that.” Spencer chuckled at the little happy sounds the horse was making. “Stay here.”

“What?” You frowned at him as he started heading back towards the car. “Where are you going?”

“I'm going to go and get some riding equipment, we can take her back to the ranch and check her over. I’m pretty sure she’s wild though, but we can have the vet come out and check if she’s chipped.” He opened the driver’s door.

“And if she isn’t?” You grumbled, scratching the side of her face.

“We’ll keep her. I’ve been in the market for another horse.”

“We? There is no we!” You spat but he was already getting into the car. “Should you be driving with your injuries? And when exactly was the last time you were behind a wheel?”

“It’s only a few miles, I’ll be fine. I can't stay with her, she doesn’t like me.” He shrugged.

“Yet you’re proposing you keep her? Are you…” the door slammed closed and you rolled your eyes. “Good. Great, he’s gone. And I’m talking to a horse.”

Behind you the engine roared to life and after a few false starts Spencer pulled away. The rust coloured horse tilted her head and looked at you inquisitively.

You hated to admit it but she was completely intoxicating.

***

Some half an hour later, Spencer arrived back with the riding equipment along with a mounting block and your riding boots.

Of course you were going to have to ride her home.

Spencer helped you to saddle her up ready but when it came time to mount her you froze up.

“This seems incredibly dangerous.” You tensed, gripping the reins in your hand whilst standing on the mounting block. “I’ve only ever ridden a horse once in my life. And clearly she’s got an unpredictable temperament. I really don’t want to do this.”

“I cannot mount another horse right now.” Spencer winced at the sheer thought. “After I had to ride down to town to collect you when you were drunk, I am certain I will not be riding for the foreseeable future.”

Of course you thought it was just because of his knee and he wasn’t readily going to tell you that it was also because of the healing cuts on his thigh. He’d been lucky with your wandering hands last night that you hadn’t come across his bandaged thigh.

“Oh throw that back in my face why don’t you.” You wrung the reins in your hands. “Spencer I’m fucking scared.”

“I have every faith in you.” He smiled at you.

“Really doesn’t help.” You rolled your eyes. “I hope she’s worth it, I hope having another horse is worth my death on your conscience.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re incredibly overdramatic?” Spencer scoffed.

“Says the man that was convinced he was going to be eaten alive by desert critters?”

“That was a very real possibility. But only one in every ten thousand horse riders die each year in a horse related accident. Around seven hundred and ten a year.” He told you a little smugly.

“Why do you know that?” You frowned.

“I know a lot of things.” He shrugged. “Will you get on the horse already? You’ll be fine.”

“Hmm, we’ll see.” You grumbled, taking a deep breath and edging your left foot in the stirrup.

You braced yourself, readying yourself to balance your weight on the ball of your foot and swing up over the horse. Lower yourself slowly like Spencer had mentioned after you’d thrown yourself on Franklin.

Another deep breath and you pulled yourself up, using the reins to hoist your weight. You forced yourself to slowly drop onto the saddle but even still the mare jostled a little.

“Whoa, whoa!” You wobbled, petting her neck. “It’s okay girl. Are you sure she’s a girl?”

“Trust me, there’s a huge difference, if you know what I mean.” Spencer clucked.

“I guess the saying ‘hung like a horse’ had to come from somewhere.” You mused, slotting your other foot in the stirrup.

“I’ll drive alongside you, we’ll take it slow.” Spencer ignored your bad joke.

You waited for him to climb back in the car and roll down the window before you gave a gentle tug on the reins and the mare started forward.

Apart from the side of the road being uneven and feeling a few times like you were slipping this way or that, the ride was surprisingly smooth.

The wild horse obeyed your commands, didn’t trot too fast and seemed appreciative of the occasional pat on her neck.

Spencer parked your car and walked alongside you towards the stable, giving the flaxen horse a wide berth as she panicked if he came too close.

“You’re a natural at this.” He smiled up at you. “She’s really taken a liking to you.”

“I’d be lying if I said the feeling wasn’t mutual.” You leaned forward and rubbed the back of her ear.

She responded with a happy little huff.

Spencer felt his heart swelling seeing you atop the great beast. There was something so fascinating about the way you got the unpredictable creature to behave.

It must be your aura, Spencer had felt it himself. You had a calming presence and clearly he wasn’t the only one receptive to it.

He opened the stable and motioned you into an empty paddock. He encouraged you to fill a trough of food for her while he called the veterinarian in Bandera.

You fed and groomed her, making the introductions to Spencer’s three steeds even though they couldn’t understand you. An hour later the vet came to check her out.

Doctor Watts gave her a once over and deemed her to be healthy and approximately three years old. She scanned the horse for a chip and found none, as Spencer assumed she was wild.

The vet didn’t stay for long and soon the two of you were alone again with the four horses.

You were hand feeding her some chunks of fruit and brushing your knuckles through her mane and Spencer watched you intently. You could feel his eyes on the back of your head.

“Would you stop staring.” You grumbled without looking at him.

“Sorry, I just think it’s sweet.” He smiled.

“Sweet?” You glanced at him over your shoulder.

“A few days ago you hated horses. Look at you now, you’ve got your very own steed.” He beamed.

“My…mine? She’s not mine, she’s yours?” Your hands stilled and you turned to fully face him.

“Oh no, I am not the one she’s bonded with.” He chuckled. “That horse right there, is yours Y/N.”

You felt a pang in your chest and you looked back at the chestnut red beauty with a watery smile. You stroked her face again and she nuzzled into your hand.

“I guess she is.” You whispered to no one in particular.

“What’s her name?” Spencer took one small step forward, not wanting to agitate your new companion.

You didn’t even hesitate when you answered.

“Rusty. Her name is Rusty.”

***

Spencer helped you get all four horses into the enclosed field so they could all begin in welcoming Rusty to the family. Willow was, unsurprisingly, not keen on fraternising with the other mare after their encounter in the desert the other day.

Franklin seemed to abide her but Wilbur was positively smitten. He wouldn’t leave Rusty’s side and the feeling seemed reciprocated.

“Uh, Spencer?” You cocked an eyebrow at him as you observed them, leaning against the fence. “I’m slightly concerned Wilbur is being too friendly.”

“Don’t worry, he and Frank were both castrated before I brought them. He can’t do her any harm.”

“Ew, sounds painful. Is that a normal thing to do?” You grimaced.

“It’s no different to neutering a dog or a cat. It helps to eliminate aggression and uncooperative behaviour in male horses. It’s perfectly normal.” He replied with a shrug. “Are you implying Wilbur isn’t good enough for Rusty?”

“I’m implying that one horse is plenty for me.”

“So she is your horse?” His lip twitched.

“Well you’ve made it clear you don’t want her. And I can’t just release her back into the wild.” You huffed.

“Does that mean you plan to stick around for a while?” He asked tentatively.

“While this place does have its perks,” you mused, pushing yourself away from the fence. “Something has to give. I can’t keep…doing whatever it is we’re doing and then having to walk on eggshells. You either want to just be friends or you want more than that.”

You hadn’t meant to say that out loud despite the fact you’d been thinking about it all day. Judging on Spencer’s expression he hadn’t expected you to say that either.

“I, uh,” he scratched his head, looking out across the field. “I like you, Y/N, I really do. And I do like the idea of being more than just your friend. But I don’t…I can’t…I am not ready for an intimate relationship and I don’t know if I ever will be.”

“Will you ever tell me what happened to you?” You sidled a little closer to him.

“Honestly? Probably not. But if it’s any consolation, I’ve never told anyone, baring my therapist.” He sighed.

“What about Luke?” You questioned, seeing the way Spencer tensed at the mention of his name.

“Nope, not even Luke. Which is partly why our relationship fell apart.”

“How am I supposed to stay here when I know barely anything about you?” You were chewing the inside of your cheek.

“You know more about me than I do about you.” He countered.

“Fine,” you shrugged. “What do you wanna know?”

“What were you running from?” He was quick to ask.

He watched your jaw tighten and you turned away from him to look back at Rusty who was still sniffing around Wilbur.

“That’s not important.”

“It is to me. I told you about my ex, you know about my dissociative disorder.”

“And you know about my step dad.”

“That doesn’t make us even.” He scoffed. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

Your back straightened and you folded your arms around your body, hugging your sides.

“Why would you think that?” You kept your eyes trained on Rusty.

“Deflection. Answering a question with a question. You are in trouble.” He watched you for more signs.

“Seriously, what did you do for work?” You turned back to him suddenly, eyes narrowed in questioning. “You sound like…no. No, surely not.”

“What?” His eyebrows pinched together.

“You’re talking like a cop. But I can’t see it. You don’t seem like the type.” You scrutinised him.

“I can categorically tell you I wasn’t a cop.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Stop changing the subject. What kind of trouble are you in?”

“I don’t wanna talk about this.” You shook your head and started over toward Rusty. Spencer followed you.

“Because I’m right, you’re running because you’re in trouble.” He limped after you.

“Look, Spencer,” you spun back to him, eyes wild. “If you don’t have to talk about why you don’t want to fuck me, then I don’t have to talk about this.”

Your words caused him to stop in his tracks, your tone angrier than he’d heard you before. He didn’t speak so you continued.

“You and I both know last night you came in your pants. But you said you didn’t want to talk about it and I respected that. Show me the same courtesy.” You turned again, taking a few more steps towards your new companion.

Spencer ground his teeth together furiously, watching you walk away. He clenched and unclenched one hand at his side.

“It was the first time I’ve come in almost four years.” He spat out, unsure why he was revealing this piece of information.

When you looked back at him, his face was beet red as were his ears.

“Excuse me?” You didn’t move any closer to him.

“I told you I have intimacy issues.” He huffed. “Well that extends to…self stimulation.” He turned even redder. “So yeah, that’s the first time in nearly four years. Maybe three and a half. Closer to four.”

“Jesus.” You shook your head. “You really are fucked up, aren’t you?”

Spencer let out a dry chuckle.

“Very much so.” He nodded in agreement.

“I guess you’re welcome for last night.” You winked at him and his blush, which had started to creep away, appeared again.

“You gotta stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Flirting with me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because I might just do something really stupid.”

You swallowed as the look in his eye grew serious. You took a few hesitant steps towards him.

“Stupid by who’s definition?” You got closer and Spencer was also moving nearer you.

“I'm not joking when I say I’m not ready for anything intimate, Y/N. I don’t want to lead you on.” He still stepped closer.

“And I don’t want to be let down.” You agreed.

“Trust me when I say I am the king of letting people down.” He sighed wistfully.

“So, uh,” you reached each other, just a foot between you. “Friends, then?”

“Friends.” He smiled a little sadly at you.

“Okay, friend. How about we do something fun?”

“Fun?” He frowned.

“Come on, even in the middle of butt fuck nowhere there must be something fun to do.”

“Bored of your new companion already?” Spencer chuckled.

“Bite your tongue!” You gasped. “I will never be bored of her. And I didn’t necessarily mean right now. How about tonight, we go out and get, like, absolutely wasted.”

“I, uh, I don’t drink.” He shrugged, voice meek.

“Ever?” You sounded incredulous.

“Not for a long time.” He scratched at the back of his neck.

“Well no wonder you’re so uptight.” You rolled your eyes. “A few drinks would probably loosen you up.”

Spencer’s vision faded in and out in quick succession. He rubbed his temple with his fingertips, swallowing around his dry tongue.

There had come a point, long after his addiction that he’d made the decision to quit drinking. After Maeve’s death he’d used alcohol as a way to cope with the overwhelming emotions.

But after a while the alcohol wasn’t enough and he’d found himself considering something stronger, something much less legal.

He almost relapsed. And if he had he knew he’d never have been able to stop. He was already drinking far more than he ever had and had grown a tolerance to it, he knew something had to give.

So before he could let himself fall further down a rabbit hole, he quit drinking and hadn’t touched a single drop since.

“It, uh, affects my medication.” He lied.

“Oh,” you softened. “Right, of course. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He shook his head. “If you want to go drinking, then don’t let me stop you.”

“You think I’m going to have as much fun drinking on my own?” You cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Seemed to enjoy yourself the other night.” He shrugged. “If you really want I will come with you, but I am not drinking. I can be your designated driver.”

“Hmm,” you mused. “Certainly more fun than drinking alone but less fun than having a drinking partner.”

“It’s the best I can do.”

“Fine, let's do it.” You agreed, turning back towards Rusty. “You know the guys are all super curious about you down at 11th Street.”

You started towards your mare who was still being sniffed around by Wilbur. Spencer fell into step with you despite his limp.

“Curious? Why?” He frowned.

“Because you’ve never been into their bar, never spoken to them. You’ve lived here two years and never tried to assimilate with the locals?” You reached Rusty and she turned her attention to you, wary eyes casting over Spencer.

“I moved out here so as not to have to assimilate with anyone.” He kept a keen eye on Rusty, not appreciating the way she looked at him and didn’t get too close to her.

“They think you’re rude.” You petted the large mare’s head.

“What are you like best friends with them now?” Spencer scoffed.

“I’m just saying, it really wouldn’t hurt for you to make a little effort with them. They’re nice people, who knows you might even make more friends.” Your tone was teasing when you spoke the last word.

“I have plenty of friends.”

“Back in DC?” You scoffed. “When was the last time you saw any of them?”

Spencer’s eyebrows pinched together as he led Wilbur a little further away from Rusty, his chest tightening. He wasn’t exactly ashamed of being a hermit, but when you said these things it made him feel incredibly lonely out of nowhere.

“It’s been…a while.” He spoke under his breath.

“Would it really kill you to just try and make a friend? I might not be able to hang around here forever and if I have to leave I’d like to know you’re not gonna be alone for the rest of your life. If you died out here, it would be weeks, maybe even months before anyone ever knew.” You run your fingers through Rusty’s mane, a wry smile on your lips.

Spencer pulled a face, shaking his head at your candour.

“Wow, thanks for that. Really driving your point home.” He grumbled.

“I'm just saying,” you chuckled. “If, for whatever reason, I did have to leave, I’d hate to think of you all alone out here.”

“I wouldn’t be alone. I have three horses and cattle. Four if, hypothetically, you left and didn’t take Rusty with you. I’ll be fine. Let’s get them back to the stable and feed them, I’m worried Rusty is considering eating me.” He scowled.

“See, just another reason I don’t want you to be out here alone. Believe me when I say she would eat you.” You teased, a bright smile on your face.

It didn’t last long though before you frowned and were clicking your jaw, fingers coming up to your face to massage the muscles.

“You okay?” Spencer stared at you.

“Hmm.” You nodded, fingers kneading the side of your jaw. “Old injury. It plays up sometimes.”

He didn’t question it but he continued to observe you while you put on a brave face, turned back to Rusty and effectively shut any further conversation down.

***

After hanging up the phone and printing the contents of the email, Luke Alvez compiled a case file and flicked through the pages. He leaned forward on the desk on his elbows, fingers laced together, chin rested on them while he stared at the printouts.

He hadn’t been concerned when Phil called, the two spoke at least once a week and met for dog walks with Roxy and Lou as often as they could. Probably more often in the two years since Spencer up and left, clearly Phil didn’t think he was coping. Maybe he wasn’t.

In truth, Luke still thought about his ex every day. Perhaps that was due to the fact his desk still remained empty in the bullpen, Emily never having replaced him. Possibly it was because he still held onto some of Spencer’s things he’d left in his apartment; a few books, a pair of mismatched socks, a tie, even his old CalTech sweater which Luke still wore around his home more often than he liked to admit.

Phil was probably right for checking in on him frequently, even after two years Luke was still grieving that relationship.

Spencer had been the only person Luke had ever dated that he’d seen a future with. He’d known early on that he wanted to spend his life with the dorky, awkward doctor. And maybe they would have, if it wasn’t for Cat Adams and Spencer’s stint in Milburn.

Luke had seen Spencer’s medical records from repeated trips to the infirmary, although Spencer wasn’t aware of this. He also hadn’t let anyone else on the team see them to protect Spencer’s already fragile psyche.

On three occasions he was reported to have palatal petechiae, bruising and lesions, and even burst blood vessels near the back of the roof of his mouth. The soreness he experienced meant he wasn’t eating much as solid food probably aggravated his mouth.

It was something Luke and the team had seen before and he knew the most likely cause of these injuries was from extremely rough oral sex. It was indicative of sexual assault, but not entirely probative.

Of course he never asked Spencer outright, knowing his boyfriend well enough to know that he would shut down if asked such a question. He’d tried getting him to open up, especially after almost a year passed and Spencer still panicked every time things grew heated between them.

And when Spencer had grown violent, Luke knew at that moment that the two of them would never come back from this. With Spencer’s hands twisting and pinning his arm behind his back, he knew they were over.

He’d told Spencer he couldn’t do this anymore, that he didn’t know who Spencer was anymore. He still loved him, he probably always would, but unless Spencer sought some real help, Luke had to walk away.

A few weeks later the team had been called into the roundtable room for what they thought was another case. Luke had frowned at Spencer’s empty desk, wondering where he was and why they weren’t waiting for him.

He’d known something was amiss when Penelope took a seat with them and didn’t stand at the front to present the case. Emily and Rossi stood, their features unreadable.

“What’s going on?” Tara was the one to ask, brows pinched.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Spence?” JJ voiced Luke’s thoughts.

Emily and Rossi exchanged a look, Emily puffed out a breath and Rossi offered her a small nod of his head to encourage her.

Luke felt his stomach coiling. His heart was thrumming violently in his chest. The last time Emily had called them all together like this without Spencer, it was to tell them of his arrest.

He braced himself against the table, waiting for the blow. Something had happened, something had happened to Spencer.

“A week ago Reid came to me,” Emily began, her voice fighting back the sadness. “After Benjamin Merva, he, uh, he no longer felt that he was an effective member of this team. He made the decision for himself to leave the BAU.”

“What? That’s crazy talk!” Garcia shook her head frantically. “We talked about this when they were holding us! We said the team needed both of us!”

“He’s been through a lot, Garcia.” Rossi spoke with a hint of melancholy. “More than anyone should ever have to go through. He was still dealing with his incarceration, and then this? It’s too much for one person.”

“But why isn’t he here? He didn’t say goodbye?” Penelope whined, tears filling her large eyes.

Luke couldn’t speak, could barely breathe. His vision was obscured, maybe by tears he wasn’t sure. The voices around him grew more and more distant, as though he and the team were getting further apart.

His brain was coated in a thick cloud, inhibiting his thoughts. Dizzy, he suddenly felt so dizzy. His hands held the edge of the table in a white knuckle grip.

“He’s probably halfway to Texas by now.” Emily brought her hand to her lips and started chewing on one of her nails.

“Texas?” Matt spat out the word as though it were alien to him. “What the hell is he going to Texas for?”

Again Emily and Rossi exchanged a glance. Truthfully they didn’t have all the answers, as was his way, Spencer hadn’t told them all the details.

“I’m not entirely sure. He said he needed to get away, sold his apartment and he was going to Texas. That’s all I know.” Emily continued her chewing.

“Newbie?” Garcia turned to Luke, a few tears trickling down from beneath her glasses. Luke didn’t move. “Alvez?” She clicked her fingers at him.

He still didn’t move.

“Luke, man, you okay?” Matt’s hand was on his shoulder, Luke’s vision petered in and out.

“You must have known about this?” Tara’s eyes were on him now too.

“I…I…we broke up.” He confessed. “A few weeks ago.”

A collective gasp sounded out in the room but it still sounded so distant to his ears. Matt’s grip on his shoulder tightened but Luke barely registered it.

“Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t he say anything?” JJ whimpered.

Luke blinked several times to try and clear the fog hindering his vision. He tried to focus on just one thing, one single thing.

Emily.

As the fog started to clear the image of his Unit Chief gnawing on her nail came into view and she was looking right at him.

Everyone else in the room disappeared. For a moment or two it was just him and Emily.

He cleared his throat, sucked in a breath.

“He’s…he’s really gone?” His voice trembled.

“He’s really gone.” Emily nodded stiffly. “I'm so sorry Luke.”

Even two years after the fact Luke could still feel everything he’d felt that day, the crumbling weight of losing the only person he’d ever really loved. In reality, he probably lost Spencer the moment he was arrested, but this had felt so final.

Since Spencer’s departure, things hadn’t been the same and the team was still adjusting to a series of changes which happened in the wake of him leaving.

Less than a year later, Penelope made the decision to leave the BAU stating she no longer understood how any of this worked. Matt had been sequestered for special assignment, Emily had been promoted to Section Chief and Rossi now held the post as BAU Unit Chief.

Since the pandemic the team had operated differently. On any given day it was mostly only Luke in the office. Rossi was still struggling in the aftermath of Krystall’s death and he, Tara and JJ mostly consulted on cases alone as they were short on the ground.

That was until the discovery of the network of serial killers who had been operating online during the pandemic, now clawing out of the shadows to become fully operational once the world was no longer on lockdown.

Garcia was back in a temporary capacity and Emily was devoting more time to her old team. The six members were working tirelessly to bring this operation down. And then he’d received the phone call from Phil and had an extra weight added to his already overloaded plate.

He couldn’t catch a break.

He was lost in the file and didn’t hear her heels clicking on the floor as they approached and it was only when she perched on the edge of his desk that he noticed her arrival.

“Rumour has it you spoke to our elusive cowboy?” Penelope clutched her unicorn mug between her hands, steam rising from the top.

“Word travels fast around here.” He sighed, sitting back in his chair.

“I like to be kept apprised of all communication with our fallen comrade. I'm so worried about him. You know he spoke to Morgan too? Yet he won’t answer my calls. Not for weeks! You, I get, but Morgan? They haven’t seen each other since he was released from prison.” She spoke fast, words blurring together.

Over the years Luke had gotten fluent in Penelope Garcia.

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up, it wasn’t exactly a pleasant call.” Luke swallowed. “We argued, no surprise. But it was good to finally hear his voice again.”

“How did he sound?” She brought her mug to her lips and sipped the liquid, Luke could only assume it was some variety of flavoured tea judging by the vague scent of berries he detected.

“Tired.” He shrugged. “Frustrated. I don’t know.”

“You know him better than anyone.” She exhaled.

“Do I?” Luke scoffed.

“You dated for two years.” She shrugged.

“And three months of that he was in prison. And then for almost a year after he could barely look at me let alone talk to me.” He spat, harsher than he meant to, Penelope pouted and he quickly steeled himself. “I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

Penelope took another sip of tea as her eyes glanced over the open file on his desk. There was a mugshot of a woman in the top left corner and what looked to be the kind of information she would unearth in a deep dive.

“You working on your own cases now? You haven’t got enough to do around here?” She nodded her head at the file.

Luke followed her gaze despite knowing what she was looking at. He ran his fingers over the sheet of paper in an absent mind.

“Uh, it's an old case from back when I worked with the Fugitive Task Force.” He sighed, seeing no reason to lie to Garcia.

“Do tell.” She made herself more comfortable on his desk.

“A few years back she was arrested for shooting a guy to death. Claimed self defence, which I might have brought if she hadn’t shot him twelve times. She killed him and then reloaded her gun so she could keep shooting him.” He grimaced at the thought. He’d seen the crime scene photos, the guy looked like swiss cheese.

“Jeez,” Garcia pulled a face similar to Luke’s. “How’d she end up on your radar?”

“She was a classic femme fatale. Pretty, young, played the innocent victim well. She worked the courtroom, I’ve seen the footage. She had the jury eating out of the palm of her hand. She got a reduced sentence, murder down to 2nd degree manslaughter. She was sentenced to seven years. Seven fucking years, can you believe it?” He baulked, incredulous.

“I can only assume if the FTF was called in, she did not even serve those seven years?” Penelope asked softly.

“Like I say, she was a femme fatale. Manipulative, overtly sexual. Men were puppets to her.” Luke raked his fingers through his hair. “Upon transfer to her facility after trial she worked her magic on the poor, naive guard. Fluttered her eyelashes, pouted her lips, that kinda thing. The poor guy dropped his defences and she managed to escape. That’s where Phil and I came in.

“We chased her for months, eventually I got the call from the BAU and my services were needed elsewhere. ‘Bout a year ago they caught up with her and she was finally held accountable for her actions. And then just now, I got a call from Phil.”

Garcia wasn’t a profiler but she’d spent enough time around them to understand what Luke wasn’t saying and piece together the rest.

“She escaped?” Penelope exhaled.

“Yeah, a few weeks ago. There was a mass prison break at her facility much the same as the one at Scratch’s facility. She was one of ten women who escaped and now Phil wants my help capturing her.” Luke shook his head. “Which is obviously the last thing I need right now with everything else going on with the network.”

Garcia placed her mug down on the desk and leaned forward, picking up the top sheet of paper and scanning through the information.

“Abuse victim, father passed when she was young.” She mused out loud as she continued reading. “Precursors for violent crimes unfortunately. Who was this guy, Leon Sayers, the man she killed? Was he a random victim or…”

She looked up from the paper and at Luke who was shaking his head.

“Sayers was her abuser. Her stepfather. At her trial she insisted Sayers killed her mom but it couldn’t be proven. I think it was all BS, I think it was all part of a ruse to make the jury feel sorry for her.”

“You don’t think she was abused?” Penelope snatched up another sheet of paper and scanned. “I mean there were a lot of hospital visits in her youth, all chalked up to her being clumsy but…is anyone this clumsy? Jeez this one says at fourteen years old she was admitted with a broken jaw! She had to have surgery and her jaw wired shut for eight weeks!”

“I don’t doubt she was heavily abused but she skipped town at sixteen, and hadn't surfaced until her mom’s death. She could have stayed away but she sought Sayers out. Doesn’t that seem like premeditation to you?” Luke scoffed.

“Alvez,” she put the paper down. “I'm not condoning what this girl did but after my parents were killed by that drunk driver, it crossed my mind that I might like to take my own form of revenge. That kind of grief makes us go to incredibly dark places. And if he’d abused her before, it’s not to say she didn’t get into an altercation with him, it might have been self defence. Admittedly the overkill was a bit much, but it said she did have bruising indicative of defensive wounds at the time of her arrest, bruises in the shape of fingers on her neck! He tried to strangle her, Alvez.”

“You say you aren’t condoning what she did, but it sure as hell sounds like it.” Luke spat, pushing himself to his feet and slamming the file shut.

“Newbie, calm down.” Penelope stood too, putting a placating hand on his arm. “All I’m saying is that not everything is black and white.”

“Seems pretty black and white to me.” He growled. “Murder is murder, Garcia.”

“Except when it’s manslaughter.” She clucked.

Luke looked ready to blow his lid. If he were a cartoon he would have had smoke coming out of his ears. His jaw tightened and Garcia watched the way the muscle pulsed, in perfect time with the throbbing of the vein in his neck.

“Are you kidding me? You’ve been out of the FBI long enough now that your sense of justice has been warped?” He raised his voice, spittal flying from his lips. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing! Do you actually…do you seriously think-”

“Alvez,” a stern voice cut across the bullpen and Luke turned away from Penelope towards the sound. Emily stood up the top of the stairs, eyes dark and brow pinched. “Another container has been found. We’re meeting the others at the airstrip.”

Luke puffed out a breath, sucked another one in. He let his jaw relax and tried to quell his anger.

“Where we heading now?” He ignored Penelope still in his peripheral vision.

“Texas.” Was all she said before disappearing back inside her old office.

@kalulakunundrum @small-and-violent @voledart @katrina0-0 @bakugouswh0r3 @prettyboyandthefangirl @zooni92802 @marvellover1819

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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mrs-weasley-reid · 1 year

Text

An Escape from Reality

platonic Spencer Reid x geniusbau!reader | part 3

part 1 | part 2 | part 4

Summary: bau!reader kept Spencer up on his toes and consistently became his source of reality, but what would Spencer do when he watched her drop on her knees the same way he did for Maeve? Does he let her drown in a tragic reality or offer an escape from reality?

Warning: details of death, curse word(s)

A/N: not my gif, credits to the owner :)

— ✿ — ✿— ✿ ✿ ✿

Your scream was writhing. A one-syllable word never held so much misery, never sounded so agonizing. Tears ebbed away from your glossy eyes and down to your pale cheeks.

Derek held you back, telling you to stay away from the crime scene. But it wasn't a crime scene. It was your lover's life slowly dissipating. How the damn hell could you stay away?

Your knees almost broke as you fell to where the love of your life lay in his own blood. You collected him in your arms, tears annoyingly blurring your vision. You wiped your eyes aggressively. You needed to see him.

Everything felt too real. His shallow breath. Your pants soaking his blood. Your hands messily pressed on the wound that shot through his back.

"No! No, no, no! Please, no!" And the sobs came stumbling out of your lips, bouncing on every solid matter, piercing through every heart in your vicinity. And that meant a few members of your team.

You craned your neck, finding Derek and JJ standing at a distance. Their worried looks were nonexistent in your eyes. "MEDIC?! WHERE'S THE FUCKING MEDIC?! CALL THEM!" Your throat barely handled your outburst, coughing in soreness while you whimpered in fear.

His hand reached out to you, coughing a smile. "Don't shout, honey. You barely recovered from a cold." His voice was soft and caring, weak and slowly decreasing in volume.

You scoffed. You couldn't believe he had just asked you not to shout when he was a whisper away from death. "Stay awake, Theo. Don't you dare die on me. You can't die on me." You vigorously shook your head for two reasons: shedding tears off your vision and showing your eager disapproval.

Spencer slowed as he watched you hold on for your lover's dear life. He returned from tackling the culprit for you, leaving the rest for Aaron and David to take care of.

It broke his heart. One thing he has wished for you over and over, each night he prayed for peace, was for you to never go through the pain that he went through with Maeve. But it seemed like he didn't pray enough.

"Hey, you forgot your... oh," Spencer halted at the sight of your smile he had never seen before.

You dragged your smile into a straight line as you turned to Spencer. Blush spread on your skin as your eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights.

Spencer wanted to tease you after all your constant bullying over his love life that slowly bloomed once more. But he was familiar with the same look on your face. You weren't ready. He didn't want to push you.

But the man who had an arm around your waist had different plans. "Dr. Reid, right?" He started with a smile, looking at you for confirmation.

You finally recovered from the shock and decided that if it was only Spencer who knew about your lover, it wouldn't be as bad. You cleared your throat, "Reid, Dr. Theo Cohen. Dr. Cohen, Dr. Spencer Reid." You didn't know why you used their respective honorifics as if you weren't a doctorate holder.

"Theo is fine," He chuckles, squeezing your side comfortingly. He turned to Spencer with a friendly smile. "I've heard so many great things about you. It's nice to finally meet you."

Spencer glanced at you and then back to Theo. A smug smirk momentarily twitched his lips, "Nice to meet you too." He noticed how the man didn't move an inch to offer a hand, and Spencer knew then that this man held importance in your life. Why else would you train Theo accordingly to refrain from shaking Spencer's hands? "What are you a doctor in? If you don't mind me asking."

Theo bounced on the balls of his feet, "I'm a trauma surgeon!" He excitedly blurted, prepared to ramble about his passion if triggered.

"Really?" Spencer raised a brow directly at you, who made a promise that you would never date anyone who dove inside someone's body and touched organs. What a hypocrite. He said through his eyes.

You snatched your wallet from Spencer's hands, gulping. "You should go back inside. They're probably looking for you. Go on. It's cold." You rushed, pushing Theo around the car to the driver's seat.

When you came back around to jump on the shotgun seat, Spencer gave you a look. A smile that he only used whenever his heart genuinely felt happy. And your chest tightened.

You paused. A saccharine smile over your lips as you get inside the car.

Theo rolled down the window excitedly, "Let's do trivia night when you have the time!" He peeked his eyes as you rolled the window up from your seat. He was ever the childish one.

Spencer chuckled, shaking his head as he watched the vehicle speed off his line of sight. Finally, his meanest best friend found someone she truly loved. He was proud of you, considering your bitterness every valentine's day. You never failed to point out the fact that it wasn't kissy-face as everyone thought.

The smile never faded off your lips. Spencer approved of Theo. Not that you needed his approval. You'd do whatever the hell you want. However you want. And not that it mattered to you — it did. You couldn't help but feel giddy. You finally chose right. Your genius colleague, best friend even approves. And if that wasn't genuine pride and happiness, you didn't know what else to call it.

Your chest felt tight, "Hey, Dr. Cohen," You started, unsure what to say. "Stop being overdramatic and stay alive. I've been shot worst than this." You bragged, unable to be sweet, gentle, and loving as he knew you.

"Listen, Agent." He retorted with the same tone, except he was quieter and forced. "From a professional's perspective," He laughed blood, making you regret engaging in a conversation with your bleeding boyfriend. "It seems like the bullet created an exit wound. That means I've bled twice as fast. You have to accept it, sweetheart. I will die any moment and need you to move on after that. Don't dread over me. Okay? Promise me you'll move on." It was a dying man's farewell to his weeping lover.

You held his hand closer to your face, leaning against it as if it would keep him alive the more you pressed your skin into his palm. "I hate you. Hear that?" You sniffed in broken words. "I hate you so much. So you better haunt me. Haunt me every single night." Your body shivered as his hand began to lose heat.

He chuckled, sucking in a sharp breath from the pain in his abdomen. "I can't do that, honey. I want you to move on, remember? That means you can't act like this isn't happening." His grasp loosened, breath hitched one last time. And he never recovered.

Agonizingly, your eyes slowly shut. It hit you like a truck. It was real. His body stopped heaving, finally over with the struggle of being alive. His hand dropped limp on his side. His lips stopped quivering from excruciating pain. It was real.

You leaned down to his face, kissing his lips as if, by some miracle, it would wake him up. But you weren't in a fairy tale movie. You weren't a princess. He wasn't a prince. So he remained breathless on your lap.

You gasped, falling over his body. You wept for his life. You cried in despair and heartbreak. The ambulance was too late. And you were one to support the phrase, better late than never. Well, your boyfriend would never come back to life. He was dead. No return after that.

You felt arms wrapped around you, "He's dead. What am I going to do? Theo's dead." You knew the owner of the arms very well, gripping them for support. "Spencer, he died. He left me!" You babbled in sorrow, leaning against his chest.

"I know," Spencer kissed the top of your head, clutching you closer, tighter. "I'm here. I'll be here. It's okay." Even he couldn't stop the tears trailing down his jaw to water down your hair. His heart broke for you. He never wished this type of ache for you, and he felt guilty for not praying hard.

I know it hurts. I'm here, you can break down. I'll be here, don't worry. It's okay, cry it out.

You both knew the entirety of his vague sentences. So the tears that should've dried up minutes ago kept flowing like a bottomless ocean. You wept, screamed, and sobbed for an hour in the safety of the street and Spencer's breath-crushing embrace.

When the paramedics decided it was time to separate you and Theo's lifeless body apart. The agony had faded to a dull throb. No tears. No sobs. No inaudible cries for Theo to start breathing again.

You moved on. It was real. It was over. You moved on.

You sat at the back of one of the SUVs. You felt a jacket wrap around your shoulders, turning to see Spencer sitting beside you.

You bit your bottom lip, "Theo was going to propose." You wryly chuckled. "Bastard didn't get the memo that his girlfriend is a genius profiler even after two years."

"He asked for my blessing," Spencer admitted, earning another laugh from you. Tonight was supposed to be a fantastic night for you. Tonight was supposed to be the night Theo proposed to you after he finally convinced you to invite the team over to your apartment.

"He thought he was so slick. You all thought you were so slick." Tears tattooed stains of anguish on your cold skin. Theo's blood on your cheek didn't seem to encourage your own to flow back up your face. "What an asshole. Dying after getting my hopes up. I even told my parents. They were so happy someone finally tolerated their presumptuous daughter." You let out a shaky breath, wiping your tears.

Spencer released the lip he held between his teeth, gripping the edge of the vehicle. "You don't have to act like it did happen." He stated, staring ahead at the red and blue lights that flashed across your faces.

Your brows knitted, turning your gaze to him. "Don't you mean, didn't?" You laughed.

"You heard it right," Spencer met your empty eyes. "I'll be your escape from reality." He declared, drilling the idea in your head. "Forget about what happened tonight. Just think this was a horrible case that hit close to home, but it didn't happen to you. We can go for a drink. We can fly to Vegas and rob a bank. Let's get on a cruise and act like wealthy, spoiled, genius brats. You don't have to think about Theo's bloody hands and shirt. And when you have nightmares about this, it's just a bad dream. Lose focus. Just remember Theo's smile and how he beat the two of us on trivia night. He's just somewhere out there. Falter. Breakdown. Get mad. It's okay. I'll—" You cut him off.

Déjà vu.

Hilarious.

Ironic.

"But Theo did die, Spencer. He died in my arms after I asked him not to. I told him to haunt me, but he never would. That's real. What happened just now was real. I felt it in my fingertips, Spencer. I felt his life slip away." Pain. That was all you felt.

Spencer rolled his eyes, "I don't remember you making a promise." He blurted.

Your head whipped back to look at him with furrowed brows. "What?"

"Theo made you promise to move on. That's what you're trying to do, right?" Spencer watched as you blinked guiltily. "You didn't make a promise. You just cried. You have the power to do whatever you want. If you want to act like this is not real for a second and feel happy, then do so. No one is holding you back. I fully support it. If you want to act stupid during a case, that's fine. I'll be a genius for both of us. You don't have to face what's real. I still love dreaming about Maeve, about her giggles and us dancing. I still dial her number at a random phone booth whenever I miss her too much. So, just tell me if you want to escape all of this. I'll help you. I'll be your escape from reality. One thing, though." He formed his expression into a serious one. "I can't ever fall in love with you or act like Theo." He lifted his forearms in a cross pattern.

You scoffed, smacking his arms off your sight. "Bold of you to assume you're any match to my boyfriend." You stood up, stretching your arms high as you could. The stars were so bright, and you remembered how Theo loved to point out constellations like they were available for purchase.

Sorry, darling... I don't want you dead yet. Not tonight. You thought as you stared at the brightest star.

You closed your eyes with a smile, a tear falling down your temple, "Spencer," You looked down at him, twisting your body a little. "Theo got called in the ER, but I want to do bomb shots. Wanna come?"

#ssa spencer reid #spencer x reader #platonic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #criminalminds #spencerreid #cm #criminal minds #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x self insert #fem!reader #spencer reid x fem!readr

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imagining-in-the-margins · 10 months

Note

Wait what's wrong with Maeve and Maxine 😭😭 and I do agree that there's sm off with Garcia in CME

There’s nothing wrong with them, really. If you like them, then power to you. The show is fictional and so are the characters, and I don’t ever recommend that people care as much about prime-time television writing as I do lmao.

That being said, I have a few complaints about Maeve as a character and Maxine as a partner for Spencer. I’ll put them below because it’s a lot.

For starters, Maeve is an awful geneticist. I’m also confused as to what the hell her job is. If you have an understanding of medical science, you know that absolutely no part of their story makes sense unless Maeve is an awful person.

(For the record, I don’t think the writers understand medical science, so this is probably unintentional.)

We’re introduced to Maeve as the woman who cured Spencer’s headaches. When he explains how she did that, the “magical cure” is, in fact, the equivalent of a multivitamin. Setting aside how unlikely it is that none of Spencer’s doctors could identify a very basic nutritional deficiency, it’s absolutely absurd that Maeve would recommend high doses of vitamins to someone who isn’t her patient.

(Is she even a medical doctor. Do we ever get confirmation? You don’t need to be to be a geneticist. I know because I’ve worked for one.)

That leads to the next question. Why the FUCK did she agree to read someone’s brain scans? You are NOT a radiologist and you’re not a neurologist. You have NO idea what you’re doing.

Now we move into her even more serious ethical violations.

Maeve identifies this man who is desperately seeking care for (what appear to be) psychosomatic symptoms as a result of trauma and stress. Instead of, I don’t know, helping him access psychiatric care he clearly needs, she…

That’s right! She starts dating him!

Maeve is a master manipulator. We see it repeatedly. Every time that Spencer begins to open up to her or offer her any vulnerability, she responds by either mocking the things he enjoys or by suddenly freezing him out. The one extended conversation we see between the two of them, Spencer expresses the desire to get to know her better, and once again offers his very specialized assistance in her exact problem.

What does Maeve do in response? She refuses to answer. The call goes silent, and she immediately proceeds to heavily guilt him while he apologizes in excess. She starts to vocally cry, but then immediately stops when he retracts his feelings.

Then, when he is devastated by being rejected, she tells him that she loves him and hangs up the phone.

What?

Then we get introduced to Bobby—the very recent fiancé that Maeve completely refused to mention. We hear from Maeve’s parents that Bobby was “controlling,” but when we see him, and how he interacts with Maeve… he’s completely normal? In fact, he seems genuinely concerned for her safety.

We have no reason to believe Bobby was ever acting against her best interests. She sure didn’t give a shit what happened to him, though, or else she could’ve helped him (and herself) by simply letting the FBI help her with a very basic and unsophisticated stalker that was identified in like five seconds.

Maeve didn’t want help. Maeve didn’t want Spencer to be cured. She wanted him to be available and rely on her because she was bored. She was lonely and she exploited a sick man for company. She left Bobby because she was worried about his safety. Didn’t give a fuck about Spencer’s, though.

I think Spencer knew that, too. Because even in his fantasy of her, he playfully corrects her just for her to shut him down for “arguing” with her. Because he corrected something she said that was literally just wrong.

So, that’s why I hate her.

(Don’t even get me started on how nothing they did made sense to avoid a stalker. You had Spencer call the same number every week on the same time through the same mechanism. Her number. She never changed her number. How many times does the BAU tell us that routine is a stalker’s best friend? Come on, man.)

Moving on to Maxine.

She’s fine. Really, I don’t have any qualms with who she is as a person except for the fact she’s a teacher who hates her job (and her name). You’re telling me this woman who went through school for art history hates children’s art? What?

Also, why are you devaluing children’s art? They’re kids. Are you okay?

The first thing we learn about her is that she’s a teacher, but she hates it because children’s art is lame. So, with a man’s permission (Spencer), she leaves that job to go work for the Smithsonian (Finally! A prestigious enough career for her!).

Setting aside how cringeworthy that notion is, it’s not even the worst part about that storyline.

My problem with her is the way they set up their relationship. Saturday begins with Spencer expressing his (very autistic) concerns about connecting with other people. In response, the psychologist essentially tells him to… just be normal, dude.

That’s when we meet Max, who then spends the rest of their onscreen time together constantly reminding Spencer how fucking weird he is and he should just chill out and be normal.

Pass.

That whole idea of “ommmggg we’re not dating okay it’s super chill and casual 🙄 we’re not dating it’s not even that serious 😒 he’s NOT my boyfriend I don’t want to call him that 😬” is also… not cute. It’s very juvenile and sort of insulting. It always came off to me as her repeatedly saying she doesn’t even really like him that much, she’s just there because the narrative needs her.

Then we get Date Night. What a fucking disaster of an episode. Here, we get to see Cat and Spencer reduced to absolute idiots who randomly believe a basic ass young woman’s super manufactured story about how she murdered someone.

Are you serious? Cat Adams, an actual serial killer, can’t tell when someone isn’t an actual murderer?

SPENCER REID, AN ACTUAL GENIUS AND A DECORATED BEHAVIORAL PROFILER, CAN’T TELL WHEN HIS GIRLFRIEND IS LYING ABOUT BEING A MURDERER?

Of course, we’re meant to believe she’s “just that good,” and also seemingly totally fine under the pressure of her family being kidnapped and potentially murdered.

(Maybe she is a psychopath?)

Her little jokes about Cat as a “mean girl but stabby” are so poorly received in the context of the episode. We have Spencer, still reeling from JJ’s forced confession and the upcoming loss of his mother, lamenting about how he really needs to stop basing his whole identity on the women who love him. Yet, that’s exactly what Max is there for. To be “better than Cat” so he has someone new to attach his mouth to.

(Also, super fucking weird she abandoned her family and kissed him after saying how much he liked kissing Cat, but we’ll move past that.)

Max is a mediocre character and a misogynist’s attempt to make a girlboss. She is also a way for the writers to reinforce that Spencer will only be deserving of love when he stops being so autistic “weird” and learns to just be “normal.”

Spencer frankly deserves better than that. This is why I’ve always loved his love interests like Lila and Austin. They reveled in Spencer’s “weirdness.” They found his real personality charming and cute. They were nice to him because they actually liked him.

So, that’s why I don’t like Maeve and Maxine. Feel free to disagree, but you should probably argue with someone else because I’ve developed my opinion after (too) many rewatches. I don’t see my perspective changing much.

That brings me back to how I started this rant, though. This is a fictional serial television show. It’s not literature to be preserved forever. It’s just our fun little copaganda show, and you can enjoy it however you want! That is your right, and you shouldn’t let me rain on your parade.

Just have fun! That’s what fandom is all about.

#answer #answered #anti-maeve #anti-Maxine #ship hate

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wolfeyedwitch · 2 years

Note

🎨 Does your OC have any craft skill, as a hobby or profession? If so which?

Blue and Medic (from bailey)

Blue: she will happily make a giant mess, if that counts.

Maeve the medic: she knits and sings, both as hobbies rather than professionally

#blue the wolf #maeve the medic #ask game

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somer-writes · 4 months

Text

henlo friends! my users are somer but my name is ryan. feel free to call me whatever but i do prefer he/him

im old :( not really, im in my mid-late 20s

no favorite color--least favorites include sea foam and royal blue. i have synesthesia and they smell bad :( so does gardevoir

im a cancer (both astrology and medically probably)

single cat dad. usually disappointed in the orange terrorist (maeve). tuxedo cat is a perfect princess (nike)

im from the us of a

pad thai fanatic and also crab rangoons

favorite animal is a przewalskis horse

i have 8 tattoos

i write fanfic for linked universe! twilight is my lovely little guy whom i adore so much that i must smother him with affection and suffering

ive played every zelda game except for triforce heroes and either of the warriors games. twilight princess is my favorite <3

tags!

#somerwrites and #somer writes are usually my writing related rambles. updates on wips/new posts/inspos

#someranswers and #somer answers are as advertised! feel free to ama

#somer draws for art (which i dont do often)

#the heart of hyrule modern au for posts related to the series

#pestilence au for the gloom infection series

#somer introduces himself #poorly #bold of you to assume im a well socialized creature #inbox open

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writingonleaves · 6 months

Text

and what if i really thought some miracle would see us through?

universe: nico hischier (though he doesn't appear in this part) x clementine sandoval x hughes brothers

warnings: cancer, grief, sadness, spoilers to first part (linked below), not proofread

title: "ronan" by taylor swift

word count: 1k

author's note: uhhh surprise?? reached 50 followers today (which, by the way, thank you SO much you're all so wonderful) and had a burst of inspiration and wanted to get out of my writer's block. tried something a bit different and put my journalism degree to use. if you haven't read the first edition of this au yet, please do!! hope you enjoy and lmk what you think!

Hockey Fights Cancer: Hughes Brothers Edition

From The Athletic

L - R: Miguel Sandoval with baby Quinn Hughes, 1999, Miguel with Clementine Sandoval, Jack Hughes and Luke Hughes, 2005, Jack Hughes with his mother Ellen Weinberg-Hughes and Maeve Sandoval, 2019, Clementine, Quinn, Jack and Luke, 2020. All photos courtesy of Clementine Sandoval

*****

Family values have always been ingrained in the Hughes family.

With Quinn, Jack and Luke drafted in the top 10 during their respective draft years, they’ve always acknowledged that it takes a village to get where they are. Talent is the obvious driver, but it’s also about the support to elevate that talent.

But it hasn't necessarily always been family with the Hughes surname that has influenced them. According to Jack, there’s another surname that “should be added onto the back of my jersey.”

The Sandovals consist of Maeve Sandoval nee Brennan, Miguel Sandoval and Clementine Sandoval. Miguel died in 2015 from pancreatic cancer, and he is who all Hughes brothers are playing for as teams across the league celebrates Hockey Fights Cancer nights starting this week.

“Growing up three streets over from the Sandovals in Toronto was such a prominent childhood memory,” Quinn said. “Every memory I have from that time has them in it.”

Ellen Weinberg-Hughes, the Hughes brothers’ mother, and Maeve played collegiate soccer together at the University of New Hampshire. Maeve met Miguel at UNH, Ellen met Jim Hughes post-grad and the four of them became a unit.

“I still remember meeting Maeve when she was a junior and I was a freshman,” Ellen says. “So outgoing and so skilled. She may have been the first upperclassman to make me feel really welcome.”

Though both couples would have lives that took them to separate places — Ellen and Jim to Florida and New Hampshire and Maeve and Miguel to Massachusetts — they would eventually all meet back in Toronto.

Clementine was the first child born in 1997, followed by Quinn two years later, then Jack and then Luke. As the only girl in the mix, she naturally fell into the older sister role.

“I always forget that I don’t technically have any siblings,” Clementine said. “But these days, whenever people ask, I just say I have three younger brothers. Because it’s true.”

Clementine is currently a second-year resident at New York University Langone Health, focusing on a combined emergency room and pediatric residency. After spending her undergrad and medical school years in California, when she was notified of her placement in March 2023, Jack and Luke immediately asked her to move in with them in Hoboken.

“It was a no brainer,” Jack said. “After being in different states for so long, it felt like it was meant to be. Who gets the chance to live with one of their best friends?”

When Miguel was going through treatment, Clementine had just finished her junior year of high school. Quinn was 15, Jack was 13 and Luke was 11. He died days after Quinn verbally committed to the University of Michigan.

“I was young, but I still remember how positive Miguel was when he must’ve been in so much pain,” Luke said. “He always had a smile on his face and made it to every game of ours he could. I got a hattrick in the last game of mine he came to. I’ll never forget that.”

Miguel couldn’t skate for his life, according to Jim. But that didn’t matter. If he wasn’t at his daughter’s soccer games, he was going to the rink to watch the boys.

“Miguel was known to be vocal in the stands,” Jim said. “Any bad call and he was immediately on his feet. I know he’s upstairs watching every Canucks and Devils game as passionate as ever.”

Last season, Jack and Luke revealed to Amanda Smith, the New Jersey Devils Team Reporter the reason why they chose 43 and 86. April 3 was Miguel’s birthday, and Miguel always said that Jack’s “bright and bold” personality was as loud as both of his brothers combined.

“I often think about how [Miguel] never got to see us play in the NHL or for our country,” Quinn said. “Which is so unfair in so many ways, because he always believed in us and was such a loud cheerleader. There are days when I just get sad and I wish he was still here, but then I give Maeve or Clem a call and then it’s usually okay.”

Jack said that Clementine has always been the bright spot amongst the emptiness left by Miguel’s death.

“It puts things into perspective, the way Clee has lived her life beautifully and the way she thinks so positively,” Jack said. “I’ve always seen her as an older sister, but she’s also just one of the best people in the world. Miguel’s energy lives through her.”

“Having Clemmy in our life has been such a blessing,” Luke added. “She’s taught me so much and always looked out for me. I know the three of us try our best to look after her as well.”

Luke still remembers one specific moment during his draft — Clementine and Maeve made it to all three boys’ big days. The morning of, Clementine pulled him aside and gave him an envelope. Immediately, Luke knew what was inside. Quinn and Jack had gotten theirs during their drafts.

A letter addressed to Luke from Miguel. Written two months before he died.

“Dad gave those letters to me to give to them and was very specific about his instructions,” Clementine added. “‘Honey, pull them aside on their draft day, and just give it to them without any context. Only for their own eyes to read.’ I remember being like, how do you know they’re gonna get drafted? And he was like, ‘I just know.’”

All three of them still have their respective letters. Ellen and Jim have theirs as well — Maeve gave them theirs on Quinn’s draft day. Letters were a Miguel staple, according to Clementine. She herself got one when she graduated college and probably will get one when she gets married.

“I can’t imagine the amount of courage and strength that took him,” Quinn said. “Knowing that he wasn’t going to be there for such big moments and writing something anyways. I carry mine with me on every road trip.”

Next week, when the Devils host their Hockey Fights Cancer Night during their home game against the Canucks, the Hughes brothers will be playing for Miguel. Clementine, Ellen and Jim will be in the stands while Maeve — an elementary school teacher — will be watching from Boston.

“We’ll for sure be thinking of him that night, but whenever we step onto the ice, 43 or 86 on our back, we always think of him,” Jack said. “I hope we’re making him proud.”

#k writes #hockey fanfiction #hockey fanfic #devils #canucks #quinn hughes #jack hughes #luke hughes #hockey au #hockey blurb #nhl fic #nhl blurb #nhl #the blue au

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izzielizzie · 8 months

Note

Hey! What are your OOU couples wedding headcanons? 😍 (ilysm queen xoxo)

phoebe and knox

their wedding is the biggest and fanciest of the bayview crew's wedding

curtesy of melissa lawton ofc

they get married right out of college and no one can convince me otherwise

the first ones to get married

they just spent a lot of time not being together because of outside influences and now they just want to spend the rest of their lives together

all of phoebe + knox's family is there

plus the santoses, the bayview crew, ash & eli, and nonny

knox asks owen to be his best man and it makes phoebe cry for like three days straight

maeve is maid of honor

phoebe struggles with picking the wedding party because she should chose emma as maid of honor but maeve is her best friend and she was there for phoebe when no one else (other than knox) was

emma is actually the one who says phoebe should ask maeve

maeve throws herself into wedding planning

she and melissa are a force to be reckoned with

they're married in knox's back yard

phoebe chooses to wear a replica of her mother's dress but she asks ashton to help her sew on lace detail to make it her own

addy does phoebe's hair and keely does her makeup

phoebe plans on walking down the aisle by herself but as she's getting ready she realizes she doesn't actually want to be by herself

before she puts on her dress she hunts down cooper and pulls him aside

"it's okay if you don't want to, but you were there for me at a time when i really needed support. would you maybe want to walk down the aisle with me?"

cooper can't answer for a few minutes because he's full on sobbing

of course he says yes, and phoebe is so happy she thought to ask him

there's a lot of crying at the wedding because phoebe looks so beautiful and happy and knox looks so happy and they're just so in love

cooper and kris

they have a small wedding after kris graduates from medical school

it's at contigo

the restaurant is closed for the day

it's a small guest list: the bayview crew, nonny and lucas, kris's immediate family and friends, the santos family, and ash & eli

it's less of a wedding and more of a party since cooper and kris decided to just go to a courthouse a few days earlier

they all take turns telling stories about cooper and kris (obviously addy and keely's idea)

addy and phoebe baked the cake themselves

and luis learned how to cook some of kris's favorite dishes from germany over facetime with kris's mom

there's a lot of laughter and good food, which is exactly what coop and kris always wanted

addy and keely

they don't have a wedding

they wake up one day, decide to get married, get married, and then plan a joint facetime with their family/friends to tell them

phoebe and maeve take it upon themselves to throw a surprise party for the girls

they bake so many desserts and buy cute pastel pink decorations

luis and ash do all the cooking

they throw the party in kris and cooper's apartment

keely and addy love it so much

bronwyn and nate

bronwyn's parents plan most of the wedding since bron was busy finishing law school and nate became a partner in myers construction

it's held in the rojas' back yard

maeve is maid of honor and knox is best man

addy and phoebe are bridesmaids too

bronwyn wears a gorgeous dress that her grandmother made for her

nate's vows are in spanish

keely has to run interference with bronwyn's makeup because she's crying so hard at the vows

(i like to believe that nate went to mr rojas for help with his vows)

maeve puts together a slideshow of pictures of the couple instead of her speech, and the last picture is one that ellen took of them when they were little and still attending st. pius together

they print and frame the picture, and it lives on a shelf in their living room

maeve and luis

i kind of feel like maeve and luis don't get married for a while

maeve is a spanish teacher and luis is opening a restaurant so they don't have a lot of money for things like a wedding

luis proposes the night that the restaurant opens (yes this is @glitterandgoldrush's headcanon and i'm in love with it)

they just get married at a courthouse

but they have a potluck dinner that night with friends and family

it's everything they ever wanted

#phoebe lawton #knox myers #cooper clay #kris becker #addy prentiss #keely soria #bronwyn rojas #nate macauley #maeve rojas #luis santos #oouil #oouin #oouib

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leiawritesstories · 2 months

Text

PART SEVEN: JULY

Word count: 8.4k

Warnings: swearing, so so much scheming, pissy Rowan, snarky Aelin, innuendo, references to sexy times, breaking and entering and other criminal behavior, Maeve, violence, and a splash of angst

enjoy...? @house-of-galathynius i did an oopsie 😈

Masterlist

Read on AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the absence of Captain Westfall, Lieutenant Whitethorn has been made temporary head of the investigation into the Orynth Assassinations.

Rowan knew for a fact that multiple people in Orynth PD were fucking pissed about that memo, but it was jointly signed by the Chief of Police and Commander Gavriel Ashryver of the Terrasen Special Forces, so nobody could complain. Chaol’s murder had, apparently, been something of a kick in the ass to both the police and the TSF, and as a result, the special forces had openly partnered with PD in an effort to solve the case, arrest whoever was behind the murders, and put the Shadow Assassin behind bars.

In the meantime, Rowan had an entire investigative team now turned to him for directions, and he didn’t fucking know where to start.

The morgue was supposed to have the results of Chaol’s autopsy an hour ago, and he hadn’t heard a damn thing from them. He could allow a bit of extra time, but if he didn’t have autopsy results in his hand by the end of the day, he was going to be fucking angry. That autopsy was key to uncovering who had slaughtered Chaol, and once he had that information, Rowan could finally set into motion the part of his plans where he laid a trap for Celaena Sardothien.

Right on cue, someone knocked on his door.

“Come in,” he said brusquely.

Borte stuck her head into his office. “Autopsy report for you, Lieutenant.”

“About time.” He took the papers from her. “That’s all, Borte.”

“Sure thing.” She turned to leave. “Coroner should have his report in a week or so.”

“A week?” Rowan snapped. “What the hell?”

Borte’s dark eyes narrowed. “In case you hadn’t noticed, the coroner’s office is a little fucking busy at the moment. A week is the fastest he said he could get this case done, and only because it’s Westfall.” She’d never been one to take anyone’s shit—years of working as the medical examiner for Orynth PD had thickened her skin.

“Fucking hell.” Rowan ran a hand over his face. “Okay. Fine. A week it is.” He turned to the autopsy report in his hands, barely hearing the door click shut as Borte left. His eyes scanned the lines of text rapidly, noting the key observations from Borte’s examination. Some of it was expected—he’d found Chaol’d body, after all, so he knew the condition it had been in. Some things, though, made him stop for a moment and question his own thinking.

He’d been expecting the M.O. to match up with the string of homicides for which he believed Celaena Sardothien to be responsible, but the M.O. of Chaol’s murder was completely different.

Mentally, he slapped himself across the face. Get a fucking grip, Whitethorn! He should have known from the second he saw that note on Westfall’s forehead that it wasn’t Sardothien. She was brutal, but she never left a fucking calling card. Still, he couldn;t shake the part of himself that insisted there was some kind of connection between this Queen of the Night name and Celaena’s criminal outfit.

Maybe that was what she called herself to her crew.

Either way…if there was even a small possibility that Celaena was involved in the murder of Chaol Westfall, then Rowan needed to go meet with Aelin. Because there was a distinct possibility that with Chaol gone, the Shadow Assassin had decided there was no longer any reason to keep her cover, and that meant that Aelin could be in danger.

And Rowan would die before he let the Shadow Assassin threaten the woman he loved.

Near-invisible earpiece settled in her ear, Aelin paced across her office, gesticulating wildly as she yelled at Nox over the encrypted line.

“The fuck do you mean, can’t do anything about it? Owens, this is bad fucking news!”

“It’s too risky, Boss,” Nox retorted from the other end of the call. “He’s gonna be in the PD morgue by now, and we can’t take the risk of breaking into fucking PD.”

“Like hell we can’t,” Aelin snapped. “Owens, you’re a smart man. You know at least some of why I’m losing my shit over Chaol Westfall’s death. Tell me why.”

Nox paused for a short moment. “Well, I know he’s your inside man in PD. I know he’s been feeding you info on the investigation. And I know Maeve had him killed, because she left a goddamn note like she always does.”

“That bitch,” Aelin grumbled. “Keep going, Nox.”

“It sucks that he’s dead, but I don’t know what the big fucking deal is, Boss,” Nox admitted. “Maybe we don’t have an inside man anymore—so what? Maeve is the number one target now, yeah?”

“Do you know how we were able to get an inside man in PD?”

“I’m assuming you knew Westfall and…uh…convinced him?”

“Let me tell you something, Owens.” Aelin huffed out a tense breath. “Westfall isn’t actually Westfall. He’s Ren Allsbrook.”

There was a long, incredulous silence.

“What…the fuck?” Nox breathed.

“Ren Allsbrook. Internationally infamous spy, probably one of the most wanted persons in the world. Remember how he escaped prison way back in January? Yeah. That was me. I had a job for him, and he does—he did—that job admirably fucking well.”

“Bloody fucking hell. Westfall was your inside man.”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Aelin twisted the ring around her right middle finger. “If and when PD finds out that Westfall wasn’t actually Westfall, they’re gonna start actually investigating shit.”

“And we can’t have that happening,” Nox said, voicing the unspoken end of her sentence.

“Definitely not.” She went quiet for a moment, thinking. “Owens?”

“Yeah?”

“What security system does Orynth PD use at their headquarters?”

“Uh…” Keys clicked in the background on his end of the call. “It’s an Axis system, most recently updated last year, so probably a current model, which tracks to CCTV and phone networks. I’d bet that a number of higher-ups have phone access to the footage.”

“Axis…they’re not known for subtle devices, are they?” Aelin asked.

“Nope, they’re more into wall-mounted stuff. Some of it is smaller-scale, but you can pretty much always visually locate it…wait a goddamn minute.” Nox’s tone slipped towards the accusatory. “Why am I telling you all this, Boss?”

Aelin shrugged, though Nox couldn’t see it. “Just curious.”

He scoffed. “And I’m the queen of Spain. Who the hell are you sending to PD?”

“Haven’t decided yet, but thanks for the info on the security system,” she said lightly. “Oh, and Owens?”

“What?”

Her voice was bloodied steel. “Question my thoughts again and I’ll hang you by your intestines.”

“That’s pretty fucking gory,” he deadpanned.

She sighed, knowing he only wanted to support her schemes. “I’m not squeamish, Owens.”

“Don’t I know it.” His keyboard resumed its clicking. “That all, Boss?”

“That’s all.” She ended the call with a click.

She took a deep, controlled breath, releasing it with a drawn out hiss of frustration tinged with fear. Fuck. For the first time in…possibly ever, she felt a surge of real terror knife through her blood. If Orynth PD discovered that the body in their morgue was clothed with a synthetic substance that absolutely nobody should know about, she would have real problems.

Which meant that she needed to get the SecondSkin back before they found it.

Three nights later, on silent feet, Aelin crept around the shadowed corner of the Orynth Police Department’s downtown headquarters, the brick exterior rough beneath her gloved hands. Reaching the edge of the bright floodlights that illuminated the property, she paused for a moment, reached into one of the pockets of her fitted charcoal-black cargo pants, and pressed a small button on a tiny remote. She waited for exactly fifty-two seconds, counting each one in her mind, and pressed the button again.

The eyes of every single security camera perched on the Orynth PD building, light posts, fences, even the ones hidden in the trees, blinked twice and returned to normal.

Aelin smothered a triumphant grin. Yes! The cameras would be on a loop of those fifty-two recorded seconds for the next hour, giving her exactly sixty minutes to slip into the building, find the morgue, locate Ren’s body, detach the SecondSkin, and return everything to its exact location before she left the building. Easy—right?

Not giving herself time to wonder, she darted forwards, still clinging to the fraction of shadowed space directly against the walls, located the nearest basement-level door, found the ID reader mounted next to the door, slid a generic fake police ID out of her pocket, and pressed it against the reader. The tiny red light flashed green, and the door unlocked with a muted clicking noise. She pushed it open just far enough to slip inside the building and carefully closed the thick metal door behind herself.

She was in.

Luckily for her, Orynth PD had convenient signage posted around their building, so she easily located the morgue—on the basement level, as she’d suspected—and keyed in the combination that she may or may not have hacked into the PD database to find. The morgue door unlatched with a hiss. Again, she smothered her smirk and ducked through the doors, bracing herself against the sudden chill, then turned to the…task at hand.

If her count was correct, she had forty-two minutes to extract the SecondSkin.

Thankful for the black half-mask that both obscured her face and filtered out some of the smell, Aelin crossed the sterile, eerily silent room and located the row of stainless steel doors. She forced her emotions to the back burner, flicking that mental switch that turned her from CEO to heartless criminal, and scanned the row of doors. Westfall. There he was.

She reached for the door’s handle and suddenly froze, overcome with the reality of what she was about to do, of who was inside that door, of how brutalized Ren Allsbrook’s body would probably be.

All of a sudden, Celaena Sardothien felt a spear of terror, of weakness, of…humanity.

Then she shoved it down, pulled open the door, and watched impassively as the high-tech cryo table slid out with a mechanical hiss and unfolded its legs from the bottom of the shelf. When the table was stable, she snapped a pair of sterile latex gloves on over her protective leather ones, exhaled a short sharp breath, and reached for Ren Allsbrook’s still, silent body.

The SecondSkin peeled away surprisingly easily, and it only took her about twelve minutes to remove all the pieces. She tucked that little fact into the back of her mind—Nehemia would definitely want to know that body temperature had an effect on how easily one could apply and remove SecondSkin. The fact that Ren had only been wearing the synthetic substance on his hands, face, and feet probably made the process faster as well. When every bit of the SecondSkin had been removed, she checked his body once more, still impassive to the wounds that marred his pale, cold skin, and tucked the pieces of synthetic material into a plastic bag that she then hid in yet another pocket.

Then, Aelin gently laid her gloved fingertips against Ren Allsbrook’s still, silent face and said a quiet goodbye. May we meet again in the next life.

Steeling herself, she pushed the button on the side of the table, and it retracted its legs and slid back into its slot. In her mind, she made a final goodbye, the ancient words of farewell that were uttered at every funeral coming easily to her tongue. When the door concealing Ren’s body clicked shut, Aelin took a fortifying breath, turned, and walked back out of the morgue.

She wove her way back through the halls of the building until she came to the same door she’d come in, and after checking to make sure there were no cops strolling down the halls, she tapped the fake ID to the reader, opened the door, and left Orynth PD headquarters. As she turned to make sure the door closed completely behind herself, she felt the slightly scooped neckline of her shirt dip, the back of the neckline dipping towards her shoulder blade. She ignored it, knowing she wasn’t on camera anyway and she could fix it when she was safely in the shadows.

Barely sure if she was breathing, Aelin crept back around to the same shadowed corner where she had reset the security cameras, and just as she had done to loop the feeds, she reached into her pocket and tapped the tiny remote once. The cameras blinked back into their usual motion, back on their normal recording circuit. Aelin watched them for a full minute before she nodded, exhaled, and turned on her heel, melting into the darkness of the night as she headed back towards her shitty apartment in the industrial sector.

She didn’t notice the tiny, near-invisible blue light blinking at her from a tree directly opposite the door that she had used.

Back at the Gal Inc. labs the next day, Aelin carefully logged each piece of SecondSkin that she had retrieved, checking it three times against the records. She breathed a soul-deep sigh of relief when she finally confirmed that it was all there, that nothing had been left behind at the Orynth PD morgue.

“Good news, Miss CEO?” Nehemia’s question broke into Aelin’s thoughts.

“Yeah.” Aelin closed the concealed door of the secret locker that held the SecondSkin. “All of it is there, nothing missing.”

“Well, that’s a good thing.” The engineer sat down on the stool opposite Aelin’s. “And you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you doing okay, Aelin?”

Aelin tugged her lower lip between her teeth. “I’m fine.”

Nehemia gave her a flat look that screamed, bullshit. “I’ve known you for too damn long to accept that as an answer, boss lady.”

“Fine.” Aelin blew out a sigh. “I shut myself off last night, Nemi. It…it was like I turned off my humanity, for fuck’s sake. But I had to.”

“And you feel torn up about that, yeah?” Nehemia’s voice held no judgment, only sympathy.

“Pretty much, yeah,” Aelin said. “Ren was…I’d known Ren since we were kids, Nemi. It doesn’t feel right that he’s gone.”

“I know.” The chief engineer reached over and tucked her hand over Aelin’s. “I know.”

Abruptly, Aelin stood up and fiercely hugged Nehemia. “Thanks,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion.

“Always,” Nehemia whispered back. She gave Aelin a small smile tinged with sorrow as they parted. “I’m here whenever, Ae.”

“I know.” As she walked out of the labs, Aelin expelled a deep breath, winding her emotions back into control. She hadn’t been quite herself since last night, partly from what she had done and partly from the tiny, niggling feeling that she couldn’t quite shake. The odd sense that something was off about her break-in, that the whole thing had gone too smoothly.

She shook her head. Everything is fine, Galathynius. She’d been in the business for so long that she might be embarrassed if she couldn’t pull off a simple break-in. It was probably just the unsettling reality of what she had done—taking the SecondSkin off of Ren’s body. There was something so wrong about that situation, something so tragic about seeing an old friend dead.

That lingering sliver of doubt was just her unsettled emotions. It had to be.

Besides, it would no doubt go away when all hell broke loose at Orynth PD, and she couldn’t fucking wait for that to happen.

When he had seen the notification from his security camera, Rowan had initially dismissed it as nothing important. The near-undetectable camera that he’d installed outside a back door of Orynth PD headquarters when he came onto the investigative team was just an extra measure for his own comfort; he was completely confident that the advanced CCTV system at the building was just fine. He simply liked to have a camera feed that went only to him.

He didn’t think anything of the notification—the system sent him occasional notifications at random times, and they were typically nothing more than something blowing across the field of the camera’s vision—until a couple of days later, when he happened to open the app and notice the alert.

Almost out of habit, he tapped on the notification and half-watched the footage, until a flicker of movement snapped his full attention to the video feed. He backtracked, slowed the playback speed, and watched the video like a fucking hawk, second by second, until that blurred flicker of movement came onto the screen again.

It was a person.

Fucking hell.

Rowan paused on the single, half-second clip of the person, scrutinizing their form and stance and any detail he could pick out from that tiny glimpse his camera had caught. He could tell from the person’s figure that it was a woman, dressed in dark, fitted clothing, with a cap and mask obscuring her face. She was a bare flicker of movement before she disappeared into the shadows, and…wait a goddamn fucking minute. Disappeared. Into. The. Fucking. Shadows.

He’d captured video footage—brief as it was—of Celaena Goddamn Sardothien. That had to be her—the clothes, the movements, the sheer speed with which she dodged the cameras’ range. He knew of absolutely no one else with that level of skill.

Burning hell. That meant…Rowan reached for his radio. “Luca.”

“Sir?” Luca answered instantly.

“Get the CCTV footage from July 6th night onto the monitors. I’m going over it with the team.”

“Give me two minutes.” As always, Luca was dependable and quick.

Two and a half minutes later, Rowan stormed into the bullpen, his jaw locked in a rigid line. He glanced at the monitors, where Luca had indeed projected the footage from July 6th. He’d managed to pull all the footage, which was perfect, but Rowan was primarily concerned with the cameras that had been recording the back of the building.

He cleared his throat. “On the sixth of this month, someone broke into this building.”

Gasps of shock rippled around the room.

“Luca, pull up just the cameras from the rear of the building.” Luca nodded and tapped rapidly on his keyboard, reducing the camera feeds down to six different angles. “Now, I have a suspicion of what we’re going to see, but I need all of you to watch. Hit play.”

Luca started the recording. The entire investigative team watched in utter silence as the CCTV footage played seamlessly, a seemingly perfect recording of absolutely nothing but the exterior of Orynth PD headquarters at night.

“What you don’t see is the criminal who waltzed right the fuck into our building and did gods know what before leaving without a trace.” Rowan’s jaw flickered as he gritted out the words. “I need analysis of the segment from 0330 to 0410 ASAP. Get it done.”

“Yes, sir!” Three of the team members clustered around one monitor.

Rowan turned and stalked out of the bullpen, heading back to his office to examine his camera’s footage, again, in the hopes that it would distract him from seething over the completely clean footage from the night of the break-in. He slowed the speed down even further, scrutinizing every tiny breath of time as the figure of Celaena Sardothien flickered across his screen.

A knock on his door interrupted his analysis. “Sir?”

“What.”

Luca popped the door open and stuck his head in. “Results, sir.”

Rowan went back to the bullpen. “Analysis? What’ve you got?”

Rem, one of the few women on the team, fiddled with her badge. “Well, it’s not good, sir. We found nothing in the recording, not even with different rates of playback.”

“Inconsistencies?” Rowan snapped. He didn’t give a shit about being rude—Rem had been trying to get her fake nails into his pants since the day he’d walked onto the investigation.

“None.” Her face tightened in irritation. “We suspect a loop, but no timing matches an ordinary loop. It’s too natural—no cyclical marks, nothing that crosses the screen at exact intervals, nothing.”

“Fucker,” Rowan grunted under his breath. “Did any of you even bother running a stopwatch to track if there’s any breaks in the footage?”

Rem’s bright pink lips turned downwards into a scowl. “Sir, there aren’t—”

“Fifty-two seconds, sir,” Luca interrupted. “Watch.” He slowed the camera footage to an excruciatingly slow pace and started a timer. At exactly the fifty-two-second mark, a near-seamless line blinked across the screen, almost completely undetectable unless the playback was slowed this far down.

“Shit,” Rowan hissed. “Good work, Luca.” He turned on his heel and left the bullpen, thoughts and theories flying around his head at the speed of light. On his phone, the blurry image of Celaena Sardothien’s back glared up at him, taunting him, as if the goddamned Shadow Assassin was laughing at him from wherever the fuck she was.

He glared at his phone, glared at the devious, black-hearted woman in the footage. It was so damn fitting that she’d choose to wear black clothing to match her heart. But that small sliver of skin revealed that she was human, no matter what the rumors said.

Sliver of skin???

Rowan zoomed in as close as he could, scrutinizing the grainy, blurry image. He hadn’t been mistaken—in that frame, the back of Celaena’s shirt had dipped a tiny bit, exposing a sliver of her back.

Exposing the licks of ink tattooed onto her spine.

Rowan’s mind abruptly went dead fucking silent, the cacophony of his thoughts and the noise of the police building cut off into throbbing, terrifying, heart-stopping silence.

Because those flicks of ink looked like fucking flames. And he knew exactly one person in the whole of Orynth—hell, in the whole of the fucking world—with tattooed flames licking up towards her hairline. He knew exactly one person with both the audacity and the personality to pull off a spine tattoo that boldly artistic.

Aelin Ashryver Galathynius.

Aelin.

His Aelin.

What…the fuck?!

Rowan jerked himself out of his chair, shook his head sharply, let his gaze dart around the room, and couldn’t seem to see straight. Crack! The harsh slap of his palm against his own cheek yanked him back into something resembling sanity, and he shook his head again before turning back to that goddamn image frozen on his phone screen.

Even paused—especially paused—the image was grainy and blurry, as if Sardothien had been moving so fast that the camera physically couldn’t keep up with her speed. Blinking, Rowan squinted harder at the blurry image, his mind churning through all the possibilities. First—and he could kick himself for jumping to conclusions so damn fast—how the fuck did he know the tattoo was flames? So many people had tattoos; clearly Sardothien was just one of many. Knowing what he did about the elusive criminal, it was probably some kind of fucked-up depiction of her torturing one of her victims or some depraved shit like that. He couldn’t see clear details from the grainy image, so he had absolutely no right whatsoever to jump to some half-crocked conclusion about Sardothien’s tattoo.

Still, knowing that she had a tattoo on her back was crucial information; it was one more definite physical descriptor that could identify her if she was caught. When she was caught.

As his breathing and heart rate returned to normal, Rowan dropped back into his chair, tapped out of his security camera app, and went to log the new findings in his notes. With the knowledge that Sardothien had broken into the fucking building, this investigation had taken on a new, more urgent tone. Clearly, the Shadow Assassin had moved into a new phase of action, one that targeted the police, which made it all the more urgent to get her behind bars.

If only the damn morgue would get back with Westfall’s scans and the coroner’s report, he would have a decent idea of where to go to hunt down Celaena Sardothien.

“How,” Rowan seethed, “in the fucking FUCK?!”

Every door in the hallway rattled on its hinges as he slammed open the meeting room’s door and stormed down the hall, a dangerously murderous gleam of rage lighting up his eyes. His hard, heavy steps burst into the bullpen, where every single person there snapped to attention as he slammed the coroner’s reports down on the table.

“We have a fucking problem.” His voice was deadly calm, tight with barely-leashed fury. A muscle ticked rapidly in the corner of his jaw.

The coroner’s report, its final version dated July 14th, contained extensive information on the postmortem state of Chaol Westfall, down to DNA analysis in case it was needed. Rowan typically found coroner’s reports to be incredibly helpful pieces of information, but this one…this one contained a little nugget of detail that had his head spinning in so many directions he didn’t know which way was up.

Luca broke the tense, shivering silence. “Sir? You received the report before any of us.”

Rowan flicked a bladed glare at the papers sitting on the table. “Look at the top one.”

“Of course.” Luca picked up the sheet, looked it over, and dropped it, his jaw falling open as if it had been unscrewed. “Holy fuck.”

“That’s about right,” Rowan grunted. “Like I said, we’ve got a fucking problem.”

The team clustered around the table, passing around the paper. Whispers, gasps, and murmured theories and ideas rippled throughout the room as more people discovered the new information that had turned Rowan’s brain into a goddamn washing machine on a spin cycle. The thoughts he’d been toying with—the ideas about Sardothien’s tattoo—flew out his mental window, lost in the maelstrom of finding out that Chaol Westfall was not Chaol Westfall.

Under the heading “DNA Analysis,” the coroner’s report had listed the DNA identification of Chaol Westfall’s body. But the name and identity given was not Chaol Westfall.

“DNA analysis finds identity of the subject to be Ren Allsbrook, 31M. Height 183cm, weight 81.6kg. Dominant hand: Left. Eyes: hazel. Hair color: brown.”

Ren Allsbrook.

All hell broke loose.

“He’s been in maximum-security federal prison for the last twenty-two months!” hissed one of the officers, his brows furrowing in utter confusion.

Luca snorted. “Did you forget the headline from January, dumbass? Allsbrook broke out.”

“And broke right the fuck in to Orynth PD,” Rowan muttered under his breath. He refused to acknowledge the part of his brain that was astonished at the sheer ingenuity and capability of Ren Allsbrook—the man’s reputation as the best spy in the world was clearly deserved. Fuck, the man had been waltzing around in plain sight as Police Captain Chaol Westfall since January, and every single member of the highly trained, highly skilled investigative team had even once questioned Westfall’s alibi.

“God-damn,” Rem whistled, sneaking what she thought was a sly look over to Rowan. “That’s six whole months with a fake Westfall here. I wonder why?”

“You don’t get paid to fucking wonder,” Rowan snapped.

Rem flushed with embarrassment, her icy blue gaze turning pouty. “That’s literally my job, I’m a detective.”

“That’s—”

“Connect the obvious fucking dots, Remy,” Luca interjected, cutting Rowan off before he could say something truly awful. “Allsbrook was a spy, the best one in the world if we believe his reputation. He’s been posing as Captain Westfall since January, which was when Lieutenant Whitethorn joined this investigation. That was also when we went public about the investigation.”

“So he was working for the special forces?” Rem frowned. “But that doesn’t make sense, because why would the TSF want to hire a spy if they already publicly gave us one of their men?”

“Wrong track,” Luca said. His dark eyes were alight with a look that Rowan recognized as frantic joy, a look that meant he’d formed a new hypothesis that he couldn’t wait to share. “What else happened in January? Hamel’s murder, among other murders. The Wilkins lot explosion, at which we found a mysterious scrap of fabric that lab analysis told us was completely foreign. Followed by more murders, more known criminals turning up brutally murdered or disappearing entirely, and a whole fucking lot of our trails going cold.” He paused for breath and raked his fingers through his frizzy curls. “We eventually identified a suspect in the homicide investigations, but that didn’t happen for months. Why? Because that suspect was the person who hired Allsbrook. That person was making sure we didn’t find her. Can’t you see?’ He spread his arms wide. “The Shadow Assassin hired Ren Allsbrook! He was her spy in the police department, making sure we stayed off her trail for as long as possible. He was Celaena Sardothien’s inside man.”

Even Rowan stared, slack-jawed, as Luca concluded his half-wild rant and caught his heaving breath. The younger man looked over to Rowan, hopefulness muted beneath his eager gaze. “What do you think, sir?”

“I think,” Rowan said slowly, “that you’re a goddamn genius, Luca.”

Luca beamed. “Really?”

“Absolutely.” Rowan nodded, latching onto Luca’s theory and immediately seeing how all the pieces fit into place. “We’d been locating the bodies too soon after Sardothien made her murders, and she needed a way to keep us delayed so that she could kill more and more people. The homicides did trail off; we haven’t had one in a few months. However, that does not mean she’s done killing. If anything, she was just using the time to get us all caught up in the murder scene analysis, probably working with Allsbrook to make sure we didn’t see any new developments until too late.”

“But…but what about Allsbrook’s murder?” Luca asked. “I can’t figure out why he’s dead, if he was working so closely with our suspect.”

“Because our suspect has an antagonist.” Rowan paused, waiting for that to sink in. “The note on Allsbrook’s forehead, nailed there after he was murdered, was stamped with the insignia of a criminal known as the Queen of the Night.”

Luca gasped. “She left a sign-off? She hasn’t done that in over a year; we all thought she’d fully shifted to the drugs and arms trafficking part of her, uh, business.”

“Well, she clearly decided to get back into this side.” Rowan’s tone was grim. “I think she’s working against the Shadow Assassin, but I can’t be sure. For all I know, they’ve joined fucking forces.”

And gods help them all if that was the case.

Maeve Ond, Queen of the Night, had always been drawn to the darkness. The lack of light spoke to some ancient part of her soul, calming her when she grew angry. The darkness had been her solace when she was young, and the darkness had quieted her rage when Celaena Sardothien killed her lover, Arobynn, and threw the world into loud, messy chaos.

Darkness was her shield, and as she sat in her darkened office, the deep purple floor lights casting eerie shadows behind her, and waited for her newest soldier to come in, Maeve felt calmness wash over her mind after the last few hectic hours.

With a discreet knock on the door, Fenrys entered the office, pausing briefly to let his eyes adjust to the dark.

Maeve smiled as the blonde man approached her. “Hello, Fenrys.”

“Ma’am.” He dipped his head to her. “How can I be of service?”

She tapped her violet acrylic nails on the edge of her desk. “I was impressed with how quickly you executed Farran, Fenrys. Even more so when you took care of that smug little police captain.”

Fenrys’s lips twitched towards that charmingly ruthless smile of his. “I pride myself on swiftness as well as skill.”

“I liked the touch with the note nailed to his forehead,” she said. “Creative. I admire creativity.”

“I was hoping you’d like it.”

She smiled. “And I did. I liked it so much that I want you to do it again.”

He blinked. “I…I can’t exactly kill a man twice, ma’am.”

“Of course not.” Maeve steepled her fingers, drawing out the pause before she hit Fenrys with his newest target. “I need you to kill Celaena Sardothien.”

His jaw slackened. “With all due respect, ma’am, I think she’d kill me before I got close.”

“I don’t.” Maeve had learned long ago that the best way to encourage men to do her bidding was to stroke their egos. “That snarky bitch might think she knows everything, but she isn’t invincible. You’re going to prove that to her.”

“Hmm.” Fenrys hummed, ideas glimmering behind that handsome, scheming face. “I may not be able to do that as quickly as I got to the police.”

“Most likely not,” Maeve agreed. “So, in the meantime, I have a smaller mission for you. Are you familiar with Galathynius, Inc.?”

“Of course.” Fen chuckled. “Who doesn’t know of that company?”

“Good.” She let her smile bloom, delighting in the way Fenrys recoiled just a bit at the threat of violence in her crimson smirk. “Their laboratory complex has a protected room that contains a secure locker. In that locker is something that Galathynius, Inc. is developing. I need that substance.”

“And you need me to get it for you?”

“Indeed.” She handed him a small flash drive. “Here are the blueprints of the lab complex.”

Fenrys gasped. “How the hell did you get these?”

“Arobynn,” Maeve replied simply. “They are complete, current, and contain all the details you need to get into the lab complex. I need results by the end of the month.”

He whistled softly. “I’ll do my best. What if I can’t get in by the end of the month?”

She shrugged. “With Connall’s assistance, I am sure you can.” She let him form the beginnings of a hopeful conclusion, then continued. “Connall stays with me, as I’ve grown appreciative of his skills.”

Fenrys’s face shuttered, going completely blank. “Of course, ma’am.”

Ah, the look of pure submission. She did love it when men looked at her like that. “End of the month, Fenrys. Dismissed.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded deferentially and left her office.

Maeve leaned back in her chair, let the dark silence of her office wash over her, and smiled. Her plans were coming together so beautifully now. Soon—so soon—she would avenge her lover.

Fenrys’s heartbeat was thundering.

The moment he was out of the Night Owl, he hopped onto his motorcycle and sped off towards a safe part of the city, down to the banks of the river, and he parked his bike and headed off down an old, half hidden, familiar path. He reached the edge of the river and dropped onto the grass.

Fucking hell.

First Chaol Westfall. Now…Celaena Sardothien. The very woman for whom he was already working. The very woman on whom he was supposed to be reporting to Lieutenant Whitethorn.

And if he couldn’t do what Maeve demanded of him, his brother was in danger.

Fucking hell.

On impulse, he reached for his burner phone and dialed Rowan’s contact. His head was spinning with everything that had just happened, and he needed to get at least one piece of information out before he went goddamn insane.

Rowan picked up after six rings—an uncharacteristically long time. “What.”

“Well hello to you too. I thought you were going to let me go to voicemail.”

“Don’t be a jackass,” Rowan grunted. God, it was too easy to push his buttons. “Info?”

“She’s going to make a move on the Galathynius labs.” Fenrys deliberately kept his words vague enough that Rowan could form his own conclusions about which “she” he was referring to.

Rowan swore. “When?”

“By the end of the month.”

“That’s in ten fucking days, Moonbeam.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Fenrys snapped. “She just told me.”

On the other end of the call, Rowan exhaled a tightly controlled breath that meant he was on the verge of his temper snapping. “All right. Anything else?”

“She mentioned something about a room with a hidden locker in it.” Fen had known Rowan for long enough not to be confused by his rapid subject changes. “It wasn’t that clear to me.”

“Room with a hidden locker,” Rowan echoed, probably writing that detail down. “Fine. Keep me posted.”

Fenrys rolled his eyes. “Of course, Lieutenant,” he simpered.

“In any other context, I’d beat your ass for that,” Rowan said, completely serious. “But you’ve given me a hell of a—”

“God above, do not finish that sentence!” Fen all but shrieked. “I’m not your damn girlfriend!”

“Jackass.” Rowan snickered. “You got me a new lead, Fen. Good work.” He hung up.

Fenrys sighed as he tucked the phone back into his jacket. He strolled casually down the street, taking a meandering path through the neighborhood before he headed back to his dingy little apartment down by the shipping district. With any luck, he’d be able to hear Sardothien’s conversation through the floor—if she was home. He could have sworn that she wasn’t home too often, but that made sense. She had a criminal empire to run.

And he had a criminal to catch.

“There’s so many more new leads unfolding that I don’t know which direction to go.” Rowan flopped onto his back with a deep sigh.

“I’m so sorry, love. That must be infuriating.” Aelin rolled onto her side, facing Rowan, tugging the rumpled sheets with her so the soft cotton laid against her bare skin.

He huffed in agreement, pushing himself up so he sat back against the pillows. “I still feel like my head’s about to explode every time I walk into work.”

A wry grin tugged at the corners of her lips. “We should swap offices for a day; you can have all of my employees drive you up the damn wall and I can try to deal with your cop squad.”

“Sounds bloody brilliant.” Rowan tugged Aelin into his lap, sliding his arms around her middle beneath the sheets. “If only that was allowed.”

She tucked her head comfortably into the crook of his shoulder. “Seems like we both need a day off. Maybe I should have Ells ‘clear my schedule,’ yeah?”

“I wish,” he mumbled, absentmindedly tracing his fingers up and down her spine, following the intricate paths of ink that made up her dragon tattoo. “For now, are we still on for Saturday?”

“Absolutely.” She kissed the spirals inked just below the corner of his jaw. “Don’t you even think about rushing off to another crime scene.”

He chuckled deep in his chest. “Love, you know I don’t control that.”

“Yes you do, you’re the head of the investigation.”

“It doesn’t exactly work like that.”

She grinned up at him, her eyes sparkling. “Ruin your girlfriend’s dreams, why don’t you?”

“I’d rather ruin something else.” His smirk turned devious, and he turned her around so she was sitting in his lap, her back flush with his chest. The sheets tumbled away from her body, and he murmured in admiration, tilting her head forward to kiss the inked flames that licked towards her neck. “Yes?”

“Yes,” she moaned, deliberately exaggerating the sound because of how feral it made him.

As if on cue, his dick stiffened beneath her. “You drive me fucking crazy, Fireheart,” he groaned. One hand brushed her loose, messy hair away from her back, allowing him to drink in the full, unfettered sight of the fire-breathing dragon screaming up the length of her spine. “Funny—you once told me this tattoo makes a lovely contrast with your sheets, and I’ve never seen that contrast.”

In response, she shifted to face him and caught his lips with an eager, heated kiss, giving his lower lip a little nip just the way he liked. “That’s because you’re always too fast to notice.”

His eyes darkened. “Are you sure about that, love?” He wrapped his free hand around her jaw, angling her head so he could take possession of the kiss. “What was that you were screaming just a little while ago, hmm?” The hot, heavy words brushed against her swollen lips.

“More,” she said. She pulled away and splayed herself on her stomach, arms folded beneath her chin, legs bent up at the knees with her ankles delicately crossed. With her hair scattered across the pillows and her wicked grin painted across her face, she looked to Rowan, waiting for his control to snap.

Jaw dropping, he stared at her, his burning pine gaze nothing short of possessive. “You…Aelin, love, you are fucking stunning.”

A soft pink flush brushed her cheeks.

Rowan traced the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone and down to her lips. “Now be a good girl and stay still for me.”

Covered head to toe in SecondSkin, the material of her suit snug against her limbs, Aelin slipped into one of the bland security rooms at the Gal Inc. labs, sat down at a computer, and keyed in an access code. She’d deliberately chosen a room where no one else was on duty, but she worked quickly anyway. It was her company’s lab, but for all anyone knew, she was a feared criminal, not an honest CEO.

The security system’s menus unfolded across the screen, and she scrolled through the lists of files and titles and drop-down boxes, clicking and tapping her way through the maze of code until she came to the little black box that held the system shut-down function. It was only accessible by admin privileges, so she keyed in her admin password and waited for the system to boot up. It took a couple of minutes, but eventually, one single line of green text popped onto the screen.

Temporarily Disable System?

She pressed enter.

The screen blinked off and back on, and Aelin smiled. Until she turned the system back on, the safety measures that protected her lab complex would be disabled. The security cameras would still be on, of course, but the numerous hidden traps—hallways that turned around, dummy doors, even a handful of booby traps near the room where the SecondSkin was kept—would be inactive until she turned them back on. It was nothing short of an invitation to anyone willing to brave the maze.

And she knew—because Fenrys had told her—that Maeve was sending someone into that maze by the end of the month. And it was July 31. It had to be today.

Aelin quickly navigated back out of the menus, unmasked the server IP address, shut off the computer, and slipped out of the room. She checked the hallway, making sure it was empty, then darted a few feet down the hall, pushed aside the grate covering the nearest airshaft, and climbed into the smooth metal shaft. She replaced the grate, checked to make sure no one else was taking the sneaky route down to the SecondSkin room, and then she started crawling.

When she reached the air vents above the SecondSkin room, she turned her wrist over and tapped the inside of her forearm twice. A small, darkened screen strapped to her arm illuminated, bringing up a feed from the security cameras outside and inside the room. When she was satisfied that it was clear, she crept over to a vent, pushed aside the grate, and swung herself out of the airshaft and into the steel rafters that crisscrossed the ceiling of the simple, sterile lab room.

Aelin crept through the rafters until she came to a spot where three beams crossed, forming a kind of makeshift seat that was far enough away from the door to obscure her in shadows but central enough to give her a decent view of the room. She crouched down into a seated position, tapped her forearm screen on, and waited.

Sure enough, she’d been watching and waiting for less than an hour when the door cracked open and a dark-clad, masked, hooded figure ducked into the room. For a moment, her mind flashed back to a near-replica of this exact scene, almost eight months earlier.

She knew they would try to come for her tech.

The moment she had reached a stable, functional form of SecondSkin, Aelin knew that the rest of the criminal world would want to get their grubby little hands on her tech. She suspected that the first person to make a move would be Arobynn Hamel, leader of the Assassins, supposedly the most ruthless, dangerous, heartless killer in the known world. It would be on brand—Arobynn had never been able to stomach the idea that anyone could outsmart him.

So, Aelin rigged a deceptively simple trap.

She armed the locker where she kept the SecondSkin with tranquilizer darts that would go off the moment someone opened the door, unless the combination that only she knew was keyed in. There were a few other combinations that opened the lock, but only she had the one that disarmed the trap. She drew up vague, enticing plans to that room, making only a few broad notes that she knew would have the entire criminal world foaming at the mouth when they discovered what she was working on.

She “accidentally” leaked those plans in the bowels of the dark web. A few hours later, she took down the plans, but they had been up just long enough for Arobynn to get his filthy hands on them.

Not even two weeks later, he made his move.

The plans that she had “leaked” were confidential, but the blueprint of her lab complex was public domain, since she had filed the permits with the city like any normal businesswoman would do. Naturally, Arobynn had gone and checked the plans and used them to carefully plot his path to her supposedly secret room. What he didn’t know was that she had planted a lot more hidden traps along that path, but just for him, the traps were disabled. Arobynn strolled into the SecondSkin room bold as brass, thinking that he’d finally get to pull one over on Celaena Sardothien, the youngest crime boss of Orynth, the woman who had humiliated him in front of his close circle of assassins and crime lord buddies the last time they had crossed paths.

And the instant he opened the locker, the tranquilizers skewered his neck.

The last thing Arobynn Hamel ever saw was his dream of victory slipping right through his greedy, slimy little fingers.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true—the last thing he had actually seen was the inside of Aelin’s river warehouse, where she’d kept him for two and a half weeks, letting her men work on him, before she treated him to a full day with just her and her weapons for company. At the end of that day, he was dead.

After Arobynn had been…dispatched, Aelin made some changes to the trap on the SecondSkin locker. The first thing she did was re-rig the tranquilizer darts, but this time with poison, since they had worked so well before. She reorganized the traps leading up to that room, even spread some of them down other halls to deceive anyone else who thought they could get smart and try to break into her lab.

The other change she made was a small addition to the trap on the SecondSkin locker. She emptied the locker, moving the SecondSkin to a different one in the same room, and replaced the canister with an identical one, except that the new canister contained a precisely measured dose of modified hellfire suspended beneath a trigger chemical. The instant that locker door opened, the trigger would drop, and the hellfire would explode, ripping through whichever scum tried to steal Aelin’s tech.

SecondSkin would never get into the hands of anyone who would abuse it. Not on her watch.

From her perch in the rafters, Aelin tracked the movements of the man who had entered the SecondSkin room. As expected, he glanced around the room and crossed over to what he thought was the locker containing the SecondSkin. His gloved fingers danced along the edge of the panel until he found the tiny, hidden spring, and he pressed it down and slid aside the masking panel. He glanced at the back of his hand briefly, then pressed a series of keys on the electronic combination lock that secured the locker. On her screen, Aelin zoomed in on the combination, smirking when she saw the same sequence of numbers that Arobynn had used.

Maeve thought she was better than her former lover, but her man had taken the same route.

The lock blinked green, and the man paused for a moment, then gingerly reached out and took the handle. He was a little smarter than Arobynn; he at least anticipated some kind of trap. Aelin smothered her anticipation—she knew something that the man didn’t know. She knew that no matter how slowly or carefully that door was opened, the hellfire would be triggered. It didn’t matter if this man opened the locker by micrometers. The explosion was inevitable.

With a short, sharp breath, the man pushed open the locker door.

BOOM.

Aelin didn’t need camera footage to see the blindingly bright burst of blue-white flame blast out of the locker, crashing right into the man’s upper chest, throat, and head, obliterating his clothes and probably melting his skin. He barely had a millisecond to scream before the poisoned darts embedded themselves in his throat, and his body dropped to the floor with a thump.

Aelin counted to twenty, and right on time, the powerful fire extinguisher system flicked on and doused the body and the ruined locker with white foam. A blast of water followed, rinsing away the foam, and she tapped her screen back on so she could see the intruder’s corpse in more detail. She zoomed in on the body, her gaze skipping over the charred remnants of his chest, and scanned his mangled masked face. The mask had melted into his skin with the force of the explosion, and his features were partially destroyed but still somewhat distinguishable, and she saw the faint lines of twin scars…

Twin scars slashed down his ruined cheeks.

Aelin’s blood turned to ice.

“F-Fen?” she breathed, one gloved hand shakily floating up to cover her mouth. “It—no—it can’t—Moon Moon?”

She stared at the footage, frozen numb with shock and horror. “M-M-Moon Moon? Fenrys!”

What had she done?

~~~

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