CHERRY FLAVOURED || Re-Write

ELEVEN

TW: mentions of suicide and blood.

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SPENCER REID

"Pen!"

"Yes sir, how may I help you?"

"We have everyone on the team tracked, right?" I asked as I slid my body across the room towards the corner of the break room. The blinds were once pulled up to where I could see everything, but I shut them all–except the one on my far left– when I entered the room. I was trying to act secretive as I searched for Miles and YN.

"Correct. Your work phones are all tracked. I only look when I have to, though."

"And you can also somehow make the phone's mic turn on as well, right?"

"That, I cannot do."

I laughed anxiously. I fingered the messy tendrils of hair flying every which way and placed an elbow on the window. "Yes," I said, "you can. I know you can."

"No," she uttered, "I can't. Who told you this piece of information?"

"No one." I pressed my nose deeper into the glass and eyed the man himself walking across the floor. "You sometimes forget you're talking to a genius here. Child prodigy. I read and I know about technology, even though I hate it."

"Right," she muttered.

"Right," I muttered.

"So yes, somehow I've just been reminded that I can turn on mics and listen in on rando' conversations. Why does it matter what I can and can't do?"

"Because I need you to spy on someone," I whispered. There was no need to whisper in this room, no one was inside and no one could hear. Sure, dozens of desks with fat lazy assholes forming holes into their chairs sat about, but none were listening. They had selective hearing, those officers.

"Who?" she asked.

"Starts with YN and ends with YLN. Try to guess who." I smiled. I wished she could see it. And I bet she could've.

"You want me to spy on her? Why her, might I ask? Out of all people. I thought you hated her."

I sighed and stepped away from the glass. I grabbed a chair and slapped my behind directly onto the sad wood. Somehow, it felt like a hole was burning through. "It's complicated," I stated. "You'd understand."

"Oh my god!" she exclaimed.

"No." I shook my head–I knew what she was thinking and it wasn't what I meant.

"Oh my GOD!"

"No."

"Oh my god, you slept with her!"

"No." I dug my elbow into my knee and placed my forehead onto my open palm. "No, Penelope, I didn't sleep with her."

"Really?"

"I can't tell you things when you're on the FBI phone," I muttered. "These calls are always traced and recorded."

"Ugh. Fine. Give me two seconds."

I smiled and said, "Byeee!"

Two seconds later, my phone rang and Penelope (Personal Phone) was calling me. I picked up right away and she began her quest into figuring me out. "So you slept with her?"

"No." I was forced to explain myself and whilst I hated it, it was Penelope I was speaking to. Penelope demanded I tell her everything and most times, she was the only person I ever told–the truth. "I didn't sleep with her, per se. It was more so we took it to third base but not to home run."