Supercut [ spencer reid x reader ] ✔️

XV.

TW: mentions of drugs

Spencer taps his fingers on his desk, closing the file folder. He yawns as he gets up, gripping the folder and walking over to Hotch's office. He knocks on his door softly, Hotch looking up from his desk, phone at his ear. He holds up a finger and Spencer stands in the doorway, waiting.

"Okay, she'll be here tomorrow? Perfect. No, I have her file. Okay, thank you."

Hotch hangs up the phone and Spencer crosses to his desk, setting the folder down on his desk. "What's that about?"

Hotch glances up at him. "We're getting a new member of the team. She's from the Atlanta Field Office."

Spencer raises his eyebrows, his lips tugging up at the corners. "Oh, okay. Is she good?"

"From her records, she's an impeccable shot, has three years of prior training, and she specializes in deception and linguistics."

"So, she's good." Spencer laughs.

"Yes," Hotch says, giving Spencer a small smile.

"Well, I look forward to meeting her. Night, Hotch."

With that, Spencer walks out of Hotch's office. He catches the late metro home, walking up the steps to his apartment. He heats himself up leftover Chinese, eating it slowly in his kitchen. Usually, Spencer doesn't mind being alone, but tonight, he feels...lonely. He washes out his dish and heads to his room, untying his Converse and kicking them to the side.

He takes off his work clothes and puts them in the hamper, walking over to his dresser. He pushes the clothes aside until he gets to an item he rarely ever wears; an item he unintentionally stole.

He slips on her old Caltech t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants, curling up on his bed. Closing his eyes, he inhales slowly. He rarely ever wears the shirt because if he did, her smell would be gone. Lavender and peppermint—that's what she smells like. Smelled like. The old scent fills Spencer's nose, and for a moment, Spencer feels a little less alone. He can hear her voice in his head, feel her hand in his.

In his head, he knows it stupid. It's been nine years. Nine whole fucking years, and here he is, laying in his bed in his old best friend's shirt thinking about how much he misses her. Thinking about someone who probably hasn't thought about him in a long time.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Spencer slips under the covers, curled up on his side, the smell of lavender and peppermint lulling him to sleep.

Spencer looks up as Hotch hangs up his phone, noticing the strange look on his face. He stands, furrowing his brow, tilting his head.

"Hotch, what's wrong?"