"Good morning, everyone. I hope you're all well rested," were the first words you heard when you arrived at the field office the next morning.
Even though you were exhausted by the time you made it to your room last night, you still had trouble falling asleep. You tossed and turned for about an hour before you finally drifting off, and it was his fault.
Spencer.
You couldn't get him off your mind.
If you'd had a nightmare about him so intense that it caused you to whimper out loud, what did that say about the way you felt?
And then there was your conversation on the jet to ponder.
You didn't talk about those things with him, and he certainly didn't talk about those things with you, not until now anyways. Your previous conversations consisted of him going off on tangents about philosophers, sociology, and topics he'd read about over the weekend.
But that was before you saw each other naked. Physical vulnerability, it appeared, precipitated emotional vulnerability. And of course, the latter frightened you much more than the former.
You thought you might spend the entire day mulling it over in your head, but a stinging sensation in your eye snapped you back into reality.
"I'll be back," you told Emily, "My contact lenses are bothering me."
The two of you had just finished interviewing friends and family of the first victim. Interviews were one of the tasks you struggled to complete. It wasn't that you couldn't conduct them, it was how emotional they could be. One girl burst into tears before you'd even asked her a question.
You decided to make the slightly longer walk to the bathroom on the other side of the floor that was single person only. It wasn't a particularly embarrassing situation to find yourself in, but you still didn't like the idea of someone walking in on you poking your eyeball.
Once you'd made it to the bathroom, you quickly took out your contact lenses, rinsed them, and put them in again.
Your hands had just come in contact with the door handle when you felt pushback from the other side. Someone was trying to get in.
You unlocked the door and prepared to make an awkward apology to whoever was outside, except "whoever" turned out to be Spencer.
He was the last person you needed to see right now with all the conflicting thoughts swirling in your head.
"I was just leaving," you informed him.
"Not if I can help it," he attested, daggers in his eyes. He placed a hand on your hip and pushed the both of you inside, locking the door behind him.
You took in a breath of air. "We're at work," you managed to choke out.
"Oh, sweetheart, I know."
Spencer flipped you over so that your back was to the door, pressing against you so you could feel the material of his shirt against yours.
"I've been watching you parade around all day, talking to Emily about who knows what. The work rule still stands, but today's an exception. You're gonna do something for me."
"And what's that?"
"You're going to correct your mistake from yesterday, your little slip of the tongue."
You'd wondered how he'd react to you calling your "date" mediocre, and now you had your answer.
"Oh, it was no mistake," you affirmed, a small smirk playing on your lips. He wanted you to submit to him, but you figured, why not make him work for it?
Spencer's eyes darkened.
"I'm gonna give you a chance to take that back."
But you didn't let up, replying instead: "Why would I take it back? It's the truth."
Spencer moved in even closer to you than before.
"I don't believe you. Now tell the truth or there'll be consequences."
"Make me," you taunted, pulling on the collar of his shirt.
It was a challenge. Spencer wasted no time, attaching his lips to your neck and peppering kisses down to your collarbone. The sensation tickled in the best way.
You draped your arms around his neck, tilting your head back and pulling him even closer. Spencer let you, but his energy was focused somewhere else.
"Unbutton this," he ordered, tugging at the waistband of your pants.
"Why? So you can fail to make me come again?"
Spencer pushed his leg inbetween yours.
"You didn't finish because I didn't want you to. That was my decision. You get to come on my terms. Now unbutton it," he repeated.
"No, I want you to do it. If you're in control, then it's only fair that you do it," you admitted between kisses to his jaw. You weren't sure where he was touching you; it felt like he was everywhere at once, and yet, you were on fire. The way he touched you was so different to what you had experienced before.
Spencer had the key to your, well... everything. There wasn't a part of you wouldn't willingly surrender to him if he asked.
"I don't owe you any favors," he growled.
"Pretty please, for me? I know you want to," you pleaded, rocking your hips against his. That was the last straw.
Spencer unbuttoned your slacks like he'd done it a million times before, using one hand and not bothering to look down and check that he was doing it correctly.
Then, without warning, he slipped a hand under your waistband, thumbing your clit above your underwear. You let out a moan.
"Missed this?" he asked, bringing his other hand to cover your mouth. You nodded. "Need you to be quiet; can you do that for me? Or are you too much of a minx to obey?"
"I just want you so bad, that's all."
"Then say it," he spoke against your nape, finding different spots to suck on every so often.
"Say what?"
"You know what I want you to say."
Spencer quickened the speed of his fingers around your clit, pressing down lightly as extra incentive.
You knew he'd almost broken you. It was the feeling of his teeth lightly biting your neck that sent you over the top.
"I was lying yesterday," you admitted, "Y-you're not average, you're so much better."
"Just better?"
"You're the best."
It almost pained you to say it because deep down you knew it was true, and you hated that he knew it too.
"See, now was that so hard?" he asked, "You could've said that from the very beginning."
"What's the fun in that?" you whimpered, gripping his back for support.
You thought your entire body might turn into jello, but you were wrong. What you heard next made every muscle in your body tense up.
"Y/N," Emily's voice called from outside the bathroom, "Are you in there?" Fuck.
Spencer didn't stop his assault; he didn't even hesitate. If you hadn't known any better, you'd say he wanted you to sound out of breath.
You panicked.
"I'll be out in just a second," you told her, trying to sound unfazed. She didn't respond, but you heard her footsteps trail off and knew she had left again.
Spencer gave your clit one last rub for good measure, but as soon as Emily was gone, he removed his hand from your underwear, buttoning them back up as quickly as he'd done the opposite minutes before.
He cupped your cheek, bringing his lips mere inches from yours. Come closer, you thought, tilting your head to close the distance between you. Spencer, however, did not reciprocate your efforts.
Instead, he brought his thumb to your face, pushing it against your lips and then into your mouth.
"Hm, not so fast," he whispered, eyes fixed on the way your mouth enclosed around his finger, " I think they need you back out there, so I'll save the rest for later."
His breath smelled of peppermint.
"You might want to uh, cover that up," he suggested, taking his thumb out of your mouth to point at your neck. You looked in the mirror to see what the damage was: several purple hickeys extending down to your collarbone.
You let out a puff of air through your nose, amazed at how much he'd been able to mark your skin in such a short amount of time. Spencer too moved to look at you in the mirror.
"Some of my finest work," he grinned.
"Shut up," you responded jokingly.
You left the bathroom first, Spencer promising to follow a few moments later.
"It looks better if we don't come back together," he explained.
The walk back seemed almost surreal as you wondered what he had planned for later.
When you arrived, the team had congregated as if they were waiting for you. The relieved look on their faces when they saw you confirmed that theory.
"Just the person we were looking for," Derek remarked.
Spencer walked in just then, his arrival sparking Hotch's interest.
"Good, you're here. I need you both in the office" he said, directed at you and Spencer.
Uh oh.
You wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear.
There was a sort of mischievous pride that came from sneaking around with Spencer, from the knowledge that only the two of you shared.
Of course, it wasn't nearly as enjoyable if it wasn't a secret. You figured something had blown your cover. There was no other reason why you'd be getting told to come with him.
Had Hotch secretly been awake on the plane last night and heard your conversation? Even if he had, it's not like you said anything incriminating. Your conversation with Spencer had been mild compared to your other encounters with him.
Spencer's face betrayed him; he'd taken his lip between his teeth again. He was nervous. It felt like getting called down to the principal's office after you were caught misbehaving. Simply put, you were terrified, but since you had no other choice, you begrudgingly followed Hotch.
You made an effort to step lighter, as if that would somehow help you in case you needed to make a quick escape. "Reid, close the door," he instructed once you'd entered the room. Spencer obeyed, giving you a weary glance. Stay calm, his eyes said.
Hotch sat down at the desk they'd temporarily allowed him to use while you were on the case and returned his focus to the both of you. "I'm sure you're aware of why I called you in here." Neither of you made an attempt to imply that you were. Out of the corner of your eye, you snuck a look at Spencer, who'd regained his composure and now looked very calm.
"Actually, sir, I was hoping you could tell us," you replied, feigning ignorance. You weren't just going to come out and admit that you'd been... fraternizing with Spencer? Whatever the word was, he was going to have to coax it out of you.
You thought your heart might burst out of your chest.
"I usually like to consult on these sort of things but I felt in this case it was essential that I make the decision, and I hope you'll understand-"
"Hotch, it's not what you think," Spencer interrupted.
"-I need you to go undercover."
Huh? Without realizing it, you'd shut your eyes, anticipating that Hotch was going to yell at you. You opened them again and were met with intense stares from both of the men in the room. All of you had an equally confused expression on your faces.
"What do you mean?" you asked.
"I said I need you two to go undercover."
Yeah, that was a stupid question.
"Can I ask why?" Spencer inquired.
"We've determined that the unsub is meeting his victims at a high end nightclub downtown. It's a popular place for young socialites to meet up. We'd send in others, but the two of you would arouse the least suspicion. Derek was supposed to talk to you about this."
That had most likely been the reason the team had gathered earlier, to brief you, but you'd missed it while you were... busy.
"You don't want us to draw attention to ourselves?" Spencer clarified.
"Not you anyway, Reid. We need you in there to make sure nothing goes wrong."
He shifted his focus to you. "We're hoping that you can help us by standing out."
You furrowed your brows.
"I'm more than willing to help, but how am I going to do that by standing out?"
Hotch gave you a look that was a mixture between concern and reluctance before he answered: "We want to use you as bait."
...
"I just don't think it's ethical," you heard Spencer protest from outside the bathroom.
"Mhmm," Derek hummed, paying him no attention.
You were changing into your undercover disguise- disguise serving as a glorified term for what you were actually wearing- a clubbing dress. It was a deep blue color that screamed of a high school prom themed "under the sea."
"I mean, bait? Is that all women are these days? I don't think so," he continued.
"No offense, pretty boy, but I don't think the unsub is gonna try and approach you at the bar." Derek eyed the young doctor up and down. "You're not planning on wearing that to the club, are you?"
Spencer frowned.
"What's wrong with this?" he asked, pulling on his sweater.
"C'mon man, you're wearing socks that have anchors on them. I've got some stuff you can borrow."
"What's wrong with anchors? There's nothing wrong with anchors," Spencer muttered under his breath.
"Y/N, you almost ready?" Derek asked as you tried without success to zip up the dress.
"Uh, yeah, I'm coming out now," you spoke and opened the door.
Spencer's pupils widened with awe.
"Whoa," he murmured.
It was as if time slowed down a few measures. For a moment, there was no case. For a moment, there was no awkward limbo or confused feelings.
There was only you, and the way you looked in that dress, and the way you looked at him, and the way he looked right on back.
But it was only for a moment.
"You're killing it in that dress, Y/N," Morgan applauded. "Still think it's unethical now?" he asked, turning to Spencer.
Spencer slid his hands into his pockets and shrugged, his cheeks turning red.
"Would you mind zipping me up?" you questioned, turning your back.
"I will," Spencer offered quickly.
He shakily clasped over the zipper and tugged it up, his hand lingering for a moment on the back of your neck once he'd gotten to the top. You liked the way he felt against your skin, how even little touches sent a jolt of energy through your body. It could've been three seconds or three minutes that you stayed there, not moving a muscle.
Eventually, you turned back around. His awed expression from earlier had vanished. Now, he was looking at you now with silent, unwavering concern, like if he let you out of his sight, you might disappear.
Sensing his discomfort, you extended your arms to wrap him in a hug.
"Spencer, I can handle myself, okay?" you reassured.
"I know you can, just... be careful," he whispered into your shoulder. He hugged you the way a coworker who wasn't really a coworker would: tightly, and for a long time.
Derek cleared his throat.
Spencer pulled away from you instantaneously, like he'd meant to do it earlier but hadn't realized.
"Reid...let's go get you into something a little more appropriate," Derek spoke slowly, giving the both of you a suspicious look.
"I'll see you in a bit," Spencer said, mustering up a semi-genuine smile before he walked away with Derek.
Showtime, you thought.
...
You took separate taxis.
Spencer's arrived twenty minutes before yours so that he could enter the club, mingle (except he probably wouldn't actually do that), and no one would assume you knew each other.
The both of you were equipped with a with a wire, and you had a buzzer in your purse that would send a distress signal to the team- who were waiting in a nearby van- if you pressed it.
You stepped out of the taxi and thanked the driver. The night breeze brushed against your bare legs and sent a chill through your body. The line for entry stretched around the curb. Just how popular was this place? You could feel the bass from the music rippling inside of your body, even from outside.
Once you made it inside, however, the music grew louder. Looking around the nightclub, you realized it'd definitely been the right plan to send you in here. There wasn't a person over the age of thirty-five that you could see. The lights were flashing various neon colors, yet somehow it was still too dark.
Hotch had filled you in on additional intel you'd missed while you were in the bathroom, and according to that, if the unsub stuck to schedule, he'd be here tonight looking for a new victim.
Your job entailed three main things.
1. Be on the lookout for men who fit the profile.
2. If someone who did fit the profile tried to flirt with you, humor him and try to get him to let his guard down.
3. Do not let him take you to a secondary location.
You spotted Spencer at the bar sipping an Arnold Palmer. You made your way over to where he was, sitting a few seats down from him.
It was there that the man caught your eye, lounging on a sofa in the far corner of the nightclub. You followed his gaze and noticed that he was observing the women on the dance floor, noting which of them appeared to be alone and which had come with friends.
The man continued to scan the floor until finally your eyes locked. Now was your chance.
You lured him in from afar, making sure to hold eye contact so it was clear that he was the one you wanted. Like you had hoped, the staring worked. The man got up from where he was seated and approached you at the bar.
As he got closer, it became evident just how tall he was. He towered over you.
"What's a pretty girl like you doing alone at a place like this?" the man drawled.
At first glance, you understood why women would be attracted to him. He was tall, dark, and handsome.
The man exuded confidence; you could tell he had an ego before he even opened his mouth. Unfortunately, his looks countered his hubris, and most women would put it aside temporarily if he asked them to spend the night with him.
"Waiting for you to come buy me a drink," you teased, causing a grin to spread through his face.
"Excuse me," he called, rousing the attention of the bartender, "This beautiful lady would like a..."
He turned to you expectantly.
"A mojito," you answered, shifting your gaze between his lips and his eyes.
There was something off putting about him now that you looked a little closer. But you wouldn't have thought to do that if you were just an unsuspecting woman trying to enjoy a night on the town. Poor girls, you thought.
"So, what brings you here tonight?"
You leaned your elbows across the bar to get closer to the man who, unsurprisingly, smelled of booze and cigarettes. The new angle at which you were leaning also did an excellent job at exposing your cleavage, which you figured couldn't hurt.
"Adventure," you lied, cocking your head to the side. You weren't sure if he believed you, but he was intrigued, and that was what mattered.
"Adventure, huh? Then you've come to the right place."
Though you couldn't see him, you knew Spencer was listening in on your conversation, keenly aware of everything that was going on.
Another thing Hotch had said to you earlier sprung to mind, and you figured now was the time to execute it. You needed to confirm that this was your unsub.
"My phone's dead. What time is it?" you asked him.
The man pulled up his sleeve to look at his watch, and that's when you saw them: scratches and bite marks all over his arm.
Some of the indentations looked fresh, while a few of the scratches had faded. In the medical examiner's report, they'd written that the victims had put up a fight, wounding their killer in the process as he tried to subdue them. This was your guy.
"11:23," the man said, looking back up at you. Unfortunately, you'd spent about half a second too long looking at the wounds on his arms, and he'd seen you. And he'd seen the look of of realization on your face.
"The night is young," you exclaimed, hoping that your enthusiasm would dissuade him from reading into your stare. It didn't.
"I think we should get out of here," he spoke in a low voice, eyes narrowed at you.
"Oh, but I've only had one drink," you protested, growing more alarmed by the second.
"We're leaving," he repeated; this time it was an order. The man grabbed onto your arm and tried to pull you away, but you resisted.
With a fleeting glance, you turned to look for Spencer, but he wasn't where he'd been sitting before.
"Don't touch me," you warned, meeting the man's glare.
"You dirty, little slu-"
But he didn't finish his sentence; he'd been interrupted by a tap on his shoulder.
The man turned around and was met face to face with none other than Spencer Reid himself.
"What the fuck do you want?" the man grunted.
Spencer gulped.
"I know what you're thinking," he began, "You're thinking, did that guy just fire five shots? Or did that guy just fire six shots?" Where had you heard that phrase before?
"Get out of my way," the man demanded, growing angrier by the second. He reached into his pockets, illuminating a flash of a silver blade. A knife.
Spencer seemed to notice, and his eyes flicked to you momentarily, then down to your purse. He was creating a distraction so you could call in backup.
Suddenly, his face hardened. A switch had flipped in him when he saw that the man was armed. He realized that he, and more importantly you, were in danger.
You reached for the buzzer and activated it to let the rest of the team know to come in. You were running out of time before the man inevitably snapped and pulled out his weapon. Together you could take him, but you knew one of you would get hurt in the scuffle.
"You're gonna have to ask yourself a question," Spencer continued, looking the man dead in the eyes with ferocity.
"Do you feel lucky, punk?"