✓ | 𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗥𝗢𝗗𝗜𝗧𝗘 · ͟͟͞͞➳ spencer reid

CHAPTER 9 ━━━

# ! | CHAPTER NINE
- she tries to tame the beast

━━━ SPENCER WAKES UP
to the fun swing of an Elvis Presley song and the smell of pancakes. There's a bathroom connected to his room and he showers quickly and then dresses in a pair of jeans and a tee shirt he'd stuffed in his messenger bag the day prior. When he returns back to the room he'd slept in, Elvis is sprawled out across the bed, tongue lulling out to the side of his great mouth.

After a quick pet, Spencer ambles into the kitchen. "What smells so good?"

Meryl, hair piled on top of her head in an artful bun, smiles warmly. "Morning, princess. Cappuccinos and ricotta pancakes, to answer your question."

He takes a small cup she extends to him and takes a sip. "Are you always this authentic?"

"Making food is an excellent distraction, same as playing an instrument or acting. And what better food to cook than the best in the world?" She plops a plate in front of the chair he chooses to sit at.

Spencer takes her in, long black dress hugging her frame. It managed to make her look taller somehow, grabbing her hips and flowing outward. "I'm sorry I stormed into your house and pretended to be drunk," Spencer amends with a hesitant smile.

"Eh," Meryl waves him off, "water under the bridge as far as I'm concerned. Not the worst thing anyone has ever pretended to be." Spencer takes that profound opportunity to take a bite of the pancake, resisting the urge to hum with pleasure. It was good, nice and light and fluffy but not too doughy.

Over the next twenty minutes, they chat over anything they can think about. Good books, great bands, history, languages, whatever fun facts Spence can think of. Meryl finds joy in debunking his animal statistics, even more so when Reid starts googling. Each time, he still maintained genuine shock that she could be more right than he was. It was enjoyable, comfortable even. There was a rivalry that was lighthearted, blooming like a fall sunflower.

"So," Spencer pipes up as he helps with kitchen clean up, "tell me about the doctor you wrote your book with. James Laing."

Oh hell, Meryl thinks, smothering the emotion that bubbles up with an upward flick of her brow and a dismissive laugh. "Not much to divulge, I'm afraid. We worked a case undercover and became great friends. He's smart, not as much as you. Don't let it go to your head, your brain is big enough. Anyway, we found we worked well together and shared a passion. Boom, book."

Spencer bobs his head. "You don't have a copy of it anywhere."

She shrugs, black hair tumbling over her shoulders, threatening to dip into the sink. "Photographic memory. No need."

A smile curls Reid's lips as he sees an outlet for true competition. "What color was my sweater the first day we met?"

"Navy. What was the first thing I said directly to you?"

"I believe it was, 'She was also a scheming, vindictive, jealous bitch who put her own pussy on a pedestal. It's not the best namesake, but it's quite the first impression, no?'. Left quite the mark. I didn't like you very much that day," Spencer admits, bracing both hands on the kitchen countertop behind him.

Meryl nods in understanding. "She was just a character. In that line of work, you gotta dedicate yourself all the way or you blow your cover and get yourself killed, you know?"

"I know," he rushes to assure her, "I don't hold any of that against you now. I guess you've proven to be... helpful. Sometimes."

Meryl fans her face with both hands. "Careful, Doctor. I may start swooning."

Reid shakes his head. "I'll make sure to tell the team exactly what happened when you hit your head on the fridge or something from passing out."

Meryl smooths her dress over her stomach and bends to pet Dion. "Tell them what? That you pretended to be drunk in order to get in my bed?"

Spencer's ears turn pink. "Meryl, that is not what happened-"

"Isn't it?" she goads, suddenly having too much fun with this. "You wanted in my house. You know what's in my house? Beds, that I own. My beds. One of which you fell asleep in. It's not a lie, Spence. All about the wording."

He stares at her then, hazel eyes finding green. Shaking his head in disbelief, he pushes away from the counter and grabs his phone off the charger. A smartphone. Derek had forced him to switch over and he hated it. "Why'd it take you so long to become a profiler? Seems like you could do it in your sleep. Unless you're really an alien in a flesh bag. Are you?"

"Alas," Meryl jokes, "this skin sack serves as permanent residence, I'm afraid. And as for profiling, I never had any way to leave the UC Ops unit until I saw the BAU in action. You guys are phenomenal."

Meryl follows as Spencer walks down the hall to get his messenger bag and such. "I see. Well, I better head home. I've got a few Portuguese history books I wanna read before work tomorrow. Thank you for this, Murph. I had a really, really good time. And I'm sorry for pretending to be drunk. And pushing about the picture. And your books. And for trying to steal your dog."

Meryl smiles warmly from her doorway. "Feel free to let it happen again. Ciao, princess. Get home safe."

Spencer thinks as he walks down the street toward a popular taxi area. A smart, funny, charming woman seemed worth pursuing but he had his job to think about, his credibility. But goddamn, he was thinking about her. And she was doing the same of him, even an hour after he'd left.

She just couldn't shake his face, shoulders shaking with laughter as he cracked a smile at another of her outrageous and definitely stupid jokes, full lips giving way to perfect teeth.

Like it or not, she found him attractive. Meryl just hopes, as she thinks about the career ahead of her, that shit doesn't hit the fan too fantastically.