Coffee // Dr. Spencer Reid

coffee at mom's grave

Eleanor spread a blanket across the damp grass. She took a seat in front of the grave. The mug in between her hands warmed the chill of her fingertips.

"Mom, hello. Nice day, isn't it? I think this is the first time I've been outside since I took a trip to the BAU. That's my boyfriend's work. We went, and I was so excited to meet his team, but... I don't know. He didn't want me to, I guess. One of them saw me and Spencer shoved me out of the place faster than you could even say, 'Welcome to the BAU.

I know that move may seem like he's rude, but he's just the opposite. He's skittish, I suppose you could call it. He's really just a sweetheart. His coffee love is as massive as my own. And he's so smart, Mom. Ii'm constantly blown away every time we're together by how much he knows just off the top of his head, how much he remembers.

He understands, you know. He's the first person I've ever met that knows what it's like to be afraid of your own mind. And... Well, to be frank, Mom, I think I love him for it. I didn't think I would meet someone like that, let alone find someone who's okay dealing with my decaying mind. By some luck, I did. I found someone who wants to struggle with me.

See, I haven't exactly spoken with him since the incident, so I don't know how to approach him about it. I should confront him about what he did, right? See how it goes? Maybe if things turn out okay, I'll take him out to dinner, then tell him. It could work. Honestly, odds are, as soon as I'm about to say it, he'll get called away on another case.

His work requires a lot of travel. I thought I would mind him leaving. I don't. It makes me miss him more, yes, but it makes me appreciate every moment I have with him even more. I love every second we're together. I can't get enough of it. I know I can't remember anything these days, but I want to remember him so bad. I want to remember everything involving him.

So, I took a note out of your book. I bought a journal. I wrote down all the moments I've spent with Spencer. Those I can remember, at least. For the life of me, I can't remember the beginning. I can remember--"

"It was January," said a voice behind her, timidly. "It was the first winter you spent here. It was freezing. I came in at six o'clock in he morning. You were still drawing the 'Welcome' sign up when I came in, but you dropped it to take my order. Your hands didn't stop shaking. You still kept that smile on your face, though, just to convince me you were all right. I ordered a cup to go. You spelled my last name wrong. R-E-E-D."

Eleanor turned enough to see him through her peripheral. "How did you know I was here?"

Squinting at her knowingly, Spencer took a bite from the cookie in between his fingers. 

"Sydney and Nora," she guessed. 

Spencer placed the box of cookies beside her, then placed a small bouquet of beautiful flowers in front of her mother's grave. He returned to the edge of the blanket. His hands slid into his front pockets.

"Thank you for the flowers."

"El..."

"Please," begged Eleanor quietly. "Please. I don't want to talk about it right now."

Spencer obeyed. Instead, he told her, "I never told you my favorite part."

"Favorite part about what?"

"The first time we met. You were wearing a black tank top and a grey fleece. You had on blue jeans, the ones with the tear above your knee," recited Spencer. He smiled, chuckling. "And your socks, El...You wore the socks with kittens in gift boxes."

"Is that why they're your favorite?" 

"They're my favorite because they were the first sign of fate I ever got."

It was Eleanor's turn to laugh. "Dr. Spencer Reid doesn't believe in fate."

"The one day out of six years that I was able to sit down in your cafe, you were wearing the exact outfit I first met you in. What explanation is there, other than fate pushed us together?"

"A washing machine?"

Spencer ran his hands through his hair. Desperate, he said, "Eleanor, please. I need to know how bad I screwed this up."

"I think you should take some time to see if this is something you really want. I shouldn't have to feel as though I'm unwanted by you."

"What did I do?" he asked softly.

Eleanor huffed. "Use that eidetic memory of yours, Spencer."