warnings: mentions of rape, alcoholism.
Working late at night absolutely destroys you. All you have on your mind in this moment is sleeping in bed under a pile of blankets, with Spencer next to you, of course.
This night, you and the team-minus Matt and Luke- were all stuck finishing paperwork. Matt's gone home to his daycare and Luke is- well Luke is Luke.
You, JJ, Spencer and Tara are sitting in the small kitchen, yourself pouring a cup of coffee. You think on adding creamer, but you decide not to. It's late at night and you need the small boost of energy. You place the pot back into the coffee maker and turn over to your teammates, all sitting at the small round table.
You sit down next to Spencer, his coffee mug in hand as well. "You know, I don't really understand why there's three seasons of Good Girls. I'm on the second season and they're being questioned on some murder and while I think they're doomed, I realize there's another season," you say, waving your hands around.
Spencer huffs a laugh, taking a sip from his so-called coffee. "I didn't enjoy it, it was highly inaccurate the way the paper and machines are bought for money laundering. Someone who prints counterfeit money buys all of their products on the dark web instead of looking through the correct color and sheen of paper like a catalogue."
You roll your eyes, looking at JJ and pursing your lips. "Spence, I know. I was the one telling you all of that," you state. JJ laughs quietly, picking out grapes from the small container in front of her. "All I'm saying is that if a gang leader that looked like that came to my house asking me to transport drugs and counterfeit money, I would do it."
Spencer nudges your shoulder and you avert your gaze to him, his expression dropping into a look of jealousy. You can't help but smile at the look of "really? I'm right here" displayed upon his frowning face. You place your mug on the table and drop your hand to his thigh, rubbing it in a comforting manner.
"Doesn't anybody ever go home?"
You turn in your seat, removing your hand from Spencer's thigh. Prentiss and Rossi walk in, Rossi immediately walking towards the coffee pot. You purse your lips, dragging your mug to your lips. "Well, you're both here," you say.
"Exactly. I should be on my porch sipping on some of my single malt scotch whiskey, not here with you all," Rossi replies in a sassy tone.
Prentiss cracks a smile, leaning down and taking a couple of grapes from JJ. "I don't think you should revolve your life around me, I choose to stay at home with Sergio when I get the chance."
You all let out a syncopated laugh, yours more tired than the teams. You've been spending these last couple of nights with Spencer, but you're still unable to sleep. Every night, you stare up at the ceiling, over thinking every situation that's taken place since your attempt. You cry silently, suppressing your sobs so you won't wake Spencer who's lying on your chest.
You can't suppress your beating heart, though, which gives you away anyway. Spencer wakes and sits up in bed, wrapping his slender arms around your body. You don't let any words escape your sewn mouth, keeping the stitch in place. Your silence speaks volumes, therefore he withholds his comments.
He lays your head on his chest and rests his cheek on the top of your head, humming softly. To say that this hasn't happened every day for the past week would be a lie. Your life is getting better for the most part; Your parents are back home and your dad is showing significant signs of recovery, and you've been clean since you "moved" in with Spencer.
Come to think of it, your tears are more of a cry of relief. You've spent such a long time fighting the darkest depths of your mind and the uneasy lifestyle where you made yourself believe the world was against you. Your wreck of a life has turned the different direction, the direction to sobriety and harmony.
The clacking of heels snaps you out of your haze and you look up, seeing Penelope walk in with a file in hand. She hands it over to Prentiss, letting her look through the files.
"What's this?" Prentiss asks, her eyebrows knitting together.
"Police in Dayton, Ohio need our help with a serial rapist," Garcia replies, pressing her lips into a thin white line.
You take a sip of your coffee and push it to the side, the strong taste of black coffee killing your taste buds. "What's the story?"
Garcia takes a long breath, her face dragging to the floor due to the obvious terror the case brings. "Three months ago, he raped five students at a small bible college. Roughly, an attack a week, then suddenly nothing," she explains. "Until nine days later when he suddenly reappeared with an entirely new victim pattern."
She hands a picture of a victim to Prentiss, a distraught look already pulling at her saddened expression. Garcia doesn't enjoy speaking about the frightening cases, but the way she's been moving around the office raises suspicion. "Both those women are in their thirties. They were raped about five days apart," she notes.
"Where have the new attacks taken place?" Prentiss asks, her attention focused towards the pictures in front of her, as well as Penelope.
"Opposite ends of the city. He was waiting for them inside of their home."
"How do we know it's the same guy?" Tara joins in, twisting her head to look at Penelope.
"He leaves voicemails for them," Penelope responds.
Reid leans his elbows on the table, his eyebrows knitting together as though the lightbulbs in his brain are turning on. Not that they aren't twenty-four seven. "Freezing them with fear before they even see him."
"They don't recognize the voice?" JJ asks in a dull tone.
"No. Cops even have DNA, but it's just not in the system."
"Why would someone attacking college students widen his net all of a sudden?" Prentiss queries, her eyes set on Penelope.
"Serial rapists hardly ever change victimology once it's established," Spencer notes, intertwining his hands in front of him. "It-It's based on a fantasy that's very specific."
Prentiss gathers the pictures laid out on the table and arranges them in the file. "Call Matt and Luke, tell them wheels up as soon as we're cleared to take off." She closes the file and places it under her arm, rushing out of the small room.
You get up and walk to the sink, pouring the warm liquid down the drain. You rub your eyes, closing them for a split second. You continue washing your mug and you set it to dry, next to the others. You pat your hands on a small towel and make your way back to your desk.
You take your keys from your pocket and flip through them, taking the correct one and lowering yourself down to your drawer. You stick the key inside, the smell of copper bothering your smell. You twist the key and pull open your drawer, taking out your black bag from the compartment.
You place the bag next to you and lock the drawer, lifting yourself up with your bag in hand. You arrange your desk, placing your black pens on one side of your pencil cup while your blue and red pens are on the other side. You have no further paperwork, so you nip over to Spencer's desk, a smile pulling the corners of your lips.
"Hey pretty boy," you say, sitting on the corner of his desk.
He packs a stack of books in his bag and zips it up, dropping it on the floor next to him. "Hey," he replies, a soft tone filling his voice. He pulls his chair our and sits down, his hands creeping next to yours.
He takes hold of your fingers and begins playing with them, turning the small ring on your finger, his fingertips brushing against the ruby gemstone. "July birthstone," he says in a low register.
You nod. "Yeah, I was born on-"
"July sixteenth, nineteen ninety-one. You're a cancer."
You huff a laugh, your white teeth shining through your lips. "You remembered?" You ask, flicking your eyes down, meeting his. He shrugs his shoulders, a brief smile lifting his lips in confidence.
"Why wouldn't I remember everything about you?"
You turn your head to the side, avoiding his stare due to the crimson blush that crawls onto your face. Spencer never fails to lift your mood, wakening you when you're drowning in stress and sleep deprivation. The more time you spend with him, the deeper you fall in love. And to some, the idea of falling in love with Spencer is rather brainless, but the way he's shown himself over the past six months is evident that he's the one.
He's your soulmate. It sounds cheesy when the words are said out loud, but it's true. Not many people stay around to help someone recover from alcoholism and depression, and if they do, they don't stay for long.
You're shaken from your thoughts due to the disturbing clearing of someone's throat. Instead of letting go of Spencer's hand, you hold on tighter, so tight you're scared you might cut off his circulation. You twist your head, staring right into Matt's eyes.
"Well hello, Matthew," you say, biting down on your lip to stop you from smiling.
His eyes flick from you to Spencer, landing on your hands entwined hands. He raises his eyebrows, a concerned expression lacing his features. "Since when?" He asks in a brotherly tone.
"We're not dating," you clarify. He points down at your hands, his head leaning to the side. You roll your eyes, looking off to the side. "Okay well we're not friends, but that's all."
He purses his lips, his grip on the strap of his bag loosening. He moves towards you both and hooks his arms around your torso, lifting you from Spencer's desk. You hit his back but he refuses to let you down. Your eyes bounce throughout the room, landing on Spencer who's plainly laughing.
You decide to give up, blowing a piece of hair out of your face in defeat. "You're cruel, Matt. You're treating me like a baby."
"Because you are."
You raise your hand and smack the back of his head with almighty force. "I am twenty-nine," you pout, ignoring the violent laugh he emits. "My birthday is in two months!"
He laughs, "I don't care."
+++
You're sitting next to Spencer, letting him read you "The Collector" by John Fowles, a rather disturbing book, but his calming voice helps balance the terror. Before reading, he told you the reason him and JJ hate the book, and you were in shock. He reassured you that he would still read it to you, though.
You're getting to a good section in the book, but then Penelope appears on the screen. "Hello my beauties, I have some new information on last night's victim."
You continue laying on Spencer's shoulder, taking his hand from his lap and holding it in yours.
"Alicia Jordan, thirty-eight. The M.O. is the same. Little bastard was waiting for her to get home. He broke in through the back and subdued her with a gun," she says, groaning.
"Answering machine?" Prentiss asks, lifting her gaze from the file in her hand.
"He left a message about an hour or so before. You know, I can't imagine being taunted like that in my own house. That's why I have this big knife on my bedside ta-"
"O'kay, thank you Garcia. Call us if you have anything new," Prentiss cuts her off, a smidge of laughter in her voice.
You replay what Garcia said, the wheels turning in your head. "Wait a second," you state, sitting up in your seat. "Those messages aren't taunts, they're overtures. He's being sincere."
Tara sits next to Prentiss, her elbows propped on her knees. "It sounds like we're dealing with a power reassurance rapist," she says, certainty in her tone.
Spencer clears his throat, lifting his free hand from his lap to speak. "To him, the messages are like courtships. He's introducing himself to the victims."
"If that's the case, then he must have stalked them to be so well informed on their lives," Luke says, standing behind Prentiss. "His first victims were all college students, all religious. So why change?"
"Have the police found any connection between the latest victims?" Matt asks, his eyes directed at Prentiss. She has her phone in hand, as though she's reading a message.
She lifts her gaze, shaking her head. "No, nothing yet."
You scrunch your eyebrows, letting go of Spencer's hand so you can grab your file. Your hand shudders from the loss of contact, your skin prickling from the imaginary needles poking the surface. You grab your file from the table, flipping through the pictures of the unsubs past victims. "We have to figure out what or who made him go off-script."
Prentiss nods her head and returns her focus on her file, lowering her glasses back onto the bridge of her nose. Everyone else reciprocates her actions, continuing their past activities. You set down the file in your hand and lay your head back on his shoulder, his warmth transferring onto you.
"Can you continue reading to me, please?" You ask, wringing your hands together.
"Mhm."
+++
Today has been one of the most drawn-out days you have experienced in what feels like years. You haven't slept in ages and the world around you seems to be moving in slow motion. This case has already driven you to the brink of crying and you feel awful for not being able to take away the victims pain.
You step out of the black SUV, your bag over your shoulder. You walk through the car park, your eyes heavy. You lock your hand with Spencer's, holding on to him in case you accidentally close your eyes and walk into something.
You aren't able to sleep in the same room as him, which you don't fret over because you can easily walk to his room if you need company. You enter the hotel and make your way to your room doors, all in the same hall.
Everyone enters their rooms, except you and Spencer. You near your door and you swivel around, facing him. You place your hands on his shoulders and reach up to his face, planting an innocent kiss to his lips. He giggles quietly, his nose scrunching up at the contact.
"Have a good night, pretty boy." You take the key that's wrapped around your finger and stick it into the lock, twisting it and pushing the door open.
"Good night, miss magic."
You smile at the nickname, your heart catching in your throat. You walk into the hotel room and close the door behind you, locking it after you've entered. You make your way to the bed and place your bag on the mattress, unzipping it and taking out an oversized sweater you stole from Spencer and pair of shorts.
You unbuckle your belt and take it out of your belt loops, the cold metal hitting your hands and thighs while you remove it. You lay it on the bed and move on to your pants, unbuttoning them and unzipping the, taking them off of your body. You step out of the tight pants and take them from the floor, quickly folding them and leaving them on the corner of the bed.
You grab your shorts and step into them, pulling them up and laying them on your hips. You slide the navy blue long sleeve over your head and unclasp your bra, laying them both down next to your other piece of clothing. Even changing feels like a lethargic job. The process of having to unbutton, unzip, and unclasp all of your clothing feels like hell after a long day.
You pull over the maroon sweater, your shorts no longer visible due to the hem laying midthigh. You draw in a long breath and throw yourself on the bed, looking up at the the plain beige ceiling.
You aren't aware of how long you've spent staring at nothingness, but a knock at the door pulls you from your thoughts. You lift yourself from the bed, your mind foggy from the sudden movement. You sulk towards the door, twisting the cold lock. You open the door, taking in an anxious Spencer.
You knit your eyebrows together, moving aside to let him in. "What's wrong?"
"I can't do this," he states, his voice frantic.
Your heart drops in an instant, your words jumbling together in your mouth, making it unable for you to speak. "W--What do you mean?"
"Statistics say that less than twenty percent of patients recovering from alcoholism remain alcohol free for an entire year, and sixty percent remain alcohol free after two years of sobriety b--but you're doing better and it's only been six months," he rambles, twiddling with his fingers.
You close the door behind you, locking it once more. You turn to Spencer, your mind failing to process what he's getting at. You let him continue to sputter words and facts, in hopes he'll come to a conclusion.
"You haven't touched alcohol in a while and I promise I won't go anywhere, because," he pauses. "Well, people like to say that the reason you become attached to someone is not because you love them, but because you need them," he looks at you, his eyes widening at the realization of his confusing words. "I-- I mean I do need you, and I love you too, but-- what I'm trying to say is that I can't a wait a year to be with you. Shit- I mean I can, but, I want to be with you now."
You stare breathtakingly at him, feeling your heart sew itself back together. You try to speak, but you fail to do so, your mind running laps around the entire hotel building before planting itself back into your head. The longer your stare at Spencer-- with your eyes practically poking out of your head-- the worse his expression becomes. He becomes tense, the worry dragging his cheeks to the floor.
"Y/N?"
This is the moment you've been patiently waiting for, and you're unable to speak. You're frozen in place and your mind is kissing Spencer and hugging him tightly, while your physical body is standing awkwardly in front of him, blinking as though he'll catch the message.
"You-- You're asking me to be your g--girlfriend? Like, dating? Like, w--we get to make out and I can wear your sweaters around the office without covering it up?" You finally speak, stumbling over your words due to the speed in which you're talking.
He huffs a laugh, nodding his head in response. "Yes, I'm asking you to be my girlfriend," he repeats. He raises his hands, "Only if you want to. I sound so stupid and irresponsible asking-"
You rush over to him and press your lips against his, shutting him up. "Yes," you say within kisses. "I don't think I can wait either."
You move your lips against his, gently stroking his neck. He snakes his hands down to your hips, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of the bed. You softly suck his bottom with yours, pulling it gently. He brings you back into a full kiss, chuckling against your mouth, his smile evident.
Your knees buckle and you fall onto the bed, Spencer taking you and flipping you over so you're now straddling his hips. He keeps his hands on your hips while he props himself up, steadying himself. He bites down on his lip, staring at you with desire locked in his eyes.
"God, I'm utterly in love with you."
___
I'm sorry y'all it is that time of the month for ya girl so I was literally crying because my spotify premium expired and I can't renew it so that blocked me from writing lolololol. but, I hope you guys liked this chapter? something interesting is happening next so that'll be fun. about four-five chapters left ohemgee. anyways, love you guys.
love,
kai