luck pusher - FINNEAS
Me: Did you make it home safe?
Reid: Yep. Morgan drove like there was an egg shell sculpture in the truck
I giggled. Morgan always took good care of Reid.
Reid: What about you?
Me: I'm good. Just deciding what you make for dinner
Reid: Me too. Getting stitches makes me crave chocolate chip cookies
Me: I don't know if that qualifies as dinner
Reid: True. But the heart wants what it wants
I hesitated. What the hell does that mean? I thought.
Me: I'm stopping by the Thai place. Want me to bring you some soup?
Reid: Yes please! Do they have chocolate chip cookies?
Me: I'd hazard to say no. Maybe I'll have to bake some at your house
Reid: Don't get my hopes up
Me: Send me your address
I arrive half an hour later to his apartment, precariously balancing containers of soup. Reid beckoned me inside. His apartment was beautiful, minimal with vintage details. As I walked in he freed me of the soup burden and gestured that I sit down at the island of counter top in his kitchen, where three bar stools sat in a row. I complied.
"I like your apartment," I said. On the expansive white walls hung modern art of vastly different styles. Behind me and the kitchen was a couch accompanied by a coffee table piled high with journals, newspapers, and science magazines.
"Sorry, it's a bit off a mess," Reid said, following my gaze to the overcrowded coffee table.
"You should see mine," I replied, then, realizing the potential flirtatious interpretation of those words, clarified "It's much worse than this. This is nice." He smiled.
"So... soup?" he asked after I didn't say anything else. Honestly, I had kinda of forgotten about it.
"Oh yeah! I got you chicken noodle. That's what sick people eat, right?"
"I not sick," Reid corrected.
"Well they didn't have a soup specifically for people who got shot in the leg so you'll have to make do," I replied. He laughed and grabbed the soup containers.
"You eat that, I'll get started on the cookies." Reid perked up like a dog who had just smelled bacon. Then he shock his head.
"Eat first. It'll get cold." I made a noise of resistance but Reid grabbed my arm and pulled me over and onto the dark grey couch.
Suddenly I was hyper aware of everything. How I was dressed (black jeans and a t-shirt), how I was sitting (knees together, ankles crossed), how close I was to Reid (a foot, maybe). There was music playing faintly.
"Are you coming back to work Monday?" I asked.
"Yeah." He pried the lid off of his soup.
"I just realized this is the first time we've hung out outside of work or the team," he mentioned casually.
"True," I said, blowing on my spoon to cool my soup.
"We spend so much time together and I don't know anything about you." I paused.
"I feel like we know the important things. Who we are." He gave me a half smile fished a piece of chicken out of his soup with the spoon.
"This is really good," he said.
"Yeah, it's this place on 3rd Street, just opened a month ago."
"What's it called?"
"I don't know. The sign's in Mandarin. Should ask Prentiss." He nodded.
"Do you remember that time a suspect admitted to having meth in his car because he assumed none of us spoke Spanish?"
~~~~~
Ten minutes later, I was laughing so hard I almost cried. We had finished our soup and I threw out the containers.
"Please tell me you have flour," I said. Reid ran his hand through his hair, thinking.
"I think so. Check the cabinet above the microwave." I did. There is was.
"I can't reach that," I groaned.
"I'll get it," he said. He moved to get up from the couple.
"Don't move, Hiccup," I instructed.
"What did you just call me?"
"Hiccup, like from How to Train Your Dragon. He only has one leg."
"What's How to Train Your Dragon?"
"It's a movie. About dragons"—he raised an eyebrow— "Everyone's heard of it."
"If you say so. Why is he named Hiccup?"
"I don't remember. The point is, I made an
excellent topical reference and you should stay sitting."
I contemplated the flour, far out of my reach. Then, with resolve, I clambered you do that my knees where on the countertop. I stretched an arm out and grabbed the bag. As I brought it down, the weight tipped me off balance and I had to hold the cabinet. Much to my surprise, as I grabbed the cabinet I felt two hands on my waist. Gently, they steadied me. I felt my blood warm.
"Don't fall," Reid said.
"I wasn't going to!" I looked at him over my shoulder. He gave me a look to which I rolled my eyes dramatically.
"I told you not to stand up! You'll hurt your leg," I censured.
"I told you not to endanger yourself in my kitchen." He removed this hands and bit his lip. I almost whined at the loss of contact.
"No you didn't!"
"It was implied."
"At least take this. Carefully," I said, handing him the flour, "If you bust your stitches Hotch will kill me."
~~~~~
"Spencer!" I protested for the sixth time. I batted his spoon away with a whisk. He had reached over from behind me toward the mixing bowl. In his efforts, he accidentally pushed me forward into the grey granite counter top. He didn't seem to notice, so I tried to shoo the dirty thoughts from my mind.
"There won't be any left for the cookies," I warned. He pouted like a puppy and took a step back.
"Ok, fine. Hey, what do you think that is?" he asked, pointing at something to my left. As soon as I turned, he grabbed the opportunity to scoop up some cookie dough. I spun back around and caught him red handed.
"This is your fault," he posited before I could say anything, "You're too good at making cookies. You should have made gross cookie dough. Then we wouldn't be in this situation." I tried to look angry but I couldn't. He was too cute like that, tousled hair, spoon in mouth.
"Just don't come crying to me when you get salmonella," I laughed.
"Worth it."
I looked at Reid, and all of the sudden I felt certain that I wouldn't be getting over him anytime soon.