Wild Nights, Wild Nights || Spencer Reid x Reader

4. Night's Possibility!

 You would have killed to go back to bed. Or for a nap. Or even for two seconds to lie back down and close your eyes.

But instead, you were filling up your mug at the office coffee machine at 3am. The call for the case had come in at 2:23am; you'd barely had time to get dressed, gather your things, and drive to the office on time. You were barefaced as the day you were born, your hair was still mused from sleep, and you were dressed in a long sleeved shirt and leggings (hardly your usual business professional attire).

You closed your eyes as you leaned against the counter. In other corners of the room, you could hear quiet conversation filtering over. Garcia was energetic as ever, somehow unfazed by the middle of the night case briefing, and was bantering with Morgan at his desk. Rossi and Hotch were speaking in hushed whispers by Hotch's office door. You couldn't have cared less about what they were talking about. And from Spencer's desk, you could hear the quiet clatter of him gathering his things and shuffling through papers.

Your mind wandered to the night you'd shared two days prior. He hadn't reached out to you in the interim, and you hadn't made any attempts to contact him, either. It was a bit strange, you had to admit; you two spoke often, usually about poetry and novels that you'd recently read if nothing else. The radio silence was unsettling. When you'd run into each other in the elevator, you asked him how the rest of his weekend had been, and all he'd said was, "fine," with a tight-lipped smile. There was no banter; there wasn't even any small talk. Only "how was your weekend?" and "fine."

Maybe you shouldn't have told him what you were thinking. You always spoke your mind, and you hated lying. Given everything else you had to hide on a regular basis, you tried to be upfront in every other aspect of your life. But you thought about his breath in your ear, the feel of his hands--calloused yet still eerily soft--brushing against your skin, the pressure of his body pinning you to the door...

"Rough weekend?"

Prentiss' voice sliced through your thoughts, and you jolted back up. The blush creeping up your neck threatened to expose your thoughts.

You needed to get control over yourself. You were surrounded by profilers, for god's sake. If you were thinking about anything unsavory, they, if anyone, would be able to tell.

You deflated back against the counter, breathing a laugh as you answered, "Not really. Just a tiring one. And being called in the middle of the night isn't helping." Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Spencer glance over. You forced yourself not to acknowledge it.

The coffee behind you finished brewing, and you picked up your mug.

Prentiss chuckled, "Yeah, but hey, Garcia and I were talking earlier. I think we're overdue for a night out together. She found a bar doing a salsa night, heavy on the margaritas, in about a month. What do you think?"

Before you could respond, Hotch strode past, waving his hand for you both to follow. You smiled at Prentiss. "Salsa night, heavy on the margaritas, sounds great. I'll put it in my calendar," you said as you followed close behind him.

Another day, another job, another family in need. You just hoped it wouldn't leave you as wounded as the last one.

***

The plane ride back had been quiet, and you swore that these cases were getting darker and darker. It wasn't you who had carried the emotional brunt of this case, however--though, you certainly found yourself more personally invested than you should have been, as well. Rather, it was Spencer who'd remained completely silent on the journey home.

He always took these kinds of cases harder than the rest of you. Connolly Williams, a fifteen-year-old boy from Cleveland, had been kidnapping and murdering the younger siblings of his school tormentors. His own younger sister had been killed in a house fire when he was young, and it was a sore spot his bullies loved to exploit. You'd dealt with your fair share of bullies and mean girls in high school, as well, so you could relate to the feeling of helplessness.