Parties, Propositions, & Panic

Summary: After breaking up under difficult circumstances, you and Spencer have carved out a friendly relationship. When your boyfriend plans a birthday party, you and Spencer have to face your feelings.

A/N: A warning, this is longggg. I had this idea and just couldn’t stop writing! Please let me know what you think! ❤️

Part Two

MasterlistIRequests

It was a rainy Tuesday, ordinary in a boring type of way, when Spencer was asked to the party. You had been stood by his desk, looking down to him as the pair of you chattered; your hair shining like a halo beneath the amber lights of the office. Such divinity suited you, he had thought.

The chirp of your phone distracted you, an almost imperceptible jump of your shoulders as you looked down in surprise. “Oh, Alex is here,” you explained, lips twisting awkwardly at this mention of your boyfriend. “He’s -uh - he wanted to pick me up.”

The explanation was unnecessary. If your boyfriend wanted to pick you up from work there was no real need for Spencer to know about it; despite the jealous coil that wound through his stomach at the revelation. The fact that you had thought to tell him at all, with that guilty glint in your eye, did give him some hope. Surely, your continued guilt could only be thought indicative of your remaining feelings for him. Surely.

Despite the best efforts of his logic, he harboured all these small hopes that you offered him. Clung to them as though they were a refuge and he supposed, in fact, they were.

You were awaiting a response. There was nothing for him to really say, no need for him to give any real response past an amicable nod of understanding. You, however, wanted words. Did you recognise, he often wondered, these small hopes you offered him? “I’ll walk you out,” he eventually eked out, voice strained beneath the words he could not say.

You were meant to be together, he was sure. Tales of four legged humanoids separated by unsettled gods and souls tied by the red strings of fate were mere portions of the expansive mythology of soulmates. And that, truly, objectively, was all soulmates really were; remnants of mythology. And yet, Spencer believed.

You nodded your acceptance with a grin. Shoulders sagging in relief as you watched him collect his things. As the pair of you meandered to the building’s exit Spencer talked, likely too much. He knew the subjects you enjoyed and basked in your wide-eyed grin as he doled out every piece of somewhat interesting information he could muster. He hoped, as he always hoped, that the conversation would linger in your mind and overshadow any attempts Alex could make.

All too soon, the front door approached. The yellow street lights shone brightly through the glass doors but were quickly dimmed by a tall figure waving at you through the glass. Surprise halted you for a moment before you gave a brief smile and continued forward. Unreasonable annoyance lanced through Spencer.

Spencer walked with you to the door every night after work. This was his time with you and Alex had chased away the last remaining seconds. Poorly, Spencer attempted to chasten himself; he had no right to lay such a claim over your time. He had given it all up in a haze of weakness and narcotics. A haze that, once he had pulled himself through, he realised had left him with nothing. When his sobriety became more trustworthy, he had wanted nothing more than to grovel his way back to you. But he couldn’t. What if he wasn’t ready? What if he let you down, fell off the horse and destroyed your relationship all over again?

He had waited too long, it sometimes seemed.

Spencer greeted Alex coolly. Not cold in his words but lacking any true warmth. The best that Spencer could manage. Strangely, the man turned quickly to you in an effort to usher you away; “honey,” Spencer wrinkled his nose at the pet-name, “you mind if I talk to Agent Reid a second.”

“It’s doctor,” the pair of you responded in tandem. Spencer’s words harsher than he intended whilst yours were almost distant as you blinked back surprise at this strange turn of events.

With too much confidence to even be amicably embarrassed, Alex turned his gave over to Spencer. “Sorry,” he gave half-heartedly before turning an insistent gaze back to you.

You floundered. A darting gaze seemed unsure who to focus on. Spencer understood the fear flashing in your eyes; as far as he was aware, you were yet to share the true nature of yours and Spencer’s past relationship with Alex. As much as some strange foreign part of him wanted Alex to know, he enjoyed this secret. Another thing Spencer knew that surely Alex did not.

After another round of insistence from Alex, alongside a quiet nod from Spencer, you relented and left them. Bracing himself, for whatever was about to happen, Spencer shoved his hands in his pockets and let his attention wander to his shoes.

“So, er…” Alex started, awkwardly. “It’s her birthday this weekend.”

Eyebrows raising, but gaze remaining on his feet, he bit out a reply. “I know.” Of course I know, he thought spitefully.

Encouraged, somehow, by Spencer’s stern agreement, Alex continued. “Well, anyway, I’m throwing a party for her on Saturday - It’s a surprise!” He quickly added the last part, emphasising it strangely as though Spencer had been on the cusp of running across the parking lot to tell you. Knee jerking as he stood and listened to this man, Spencer felt increasing agitation needle at him. “I- she’d love for you to be there.”

Finally, Spencer looked at the man before him, suspicious. “That’s short notice.”

Rubbing the back of his head, Alex ducked his head. “Well,” for once, Alex sounded sheepish, “I wasn’t sure if it might be awkward… you know…”

Spencer swallowed a lump in his throat. So, he did know. You had told him. Of course, you were more than within your rights to tell him, but… there had been hope in your attempt to keep him a secret.

Alex floundered before him, seemingly unsure how to rescue them from this awkwardness he had steered them into. Spencer, was not going to help.

Finally recovering from his stuttering, Alex began babbling mindlessly. “Well, you know, my family came down to visit so they’ll be there.” Nervously, Alex wrung his hands together. Somewhere, distantly in Spencer’s psyche an alarm bell rang out in warning. Before he could hope to process it, the chatter of Alex before him drowned it out. “And she thinks of you guys as family, so… it’s important.”

He couldn’t take it anymore, he cut the man off. “I’ll be there,” he told him, before sharply turning away.

As he journeyed home, as he prepared a dinner for one, as he brushed his teeth, and even as his tired mind refused to sleep, he replayed the conversation verbatim over and over in his mind. Turning the conversation over, he found no explanation for the instinctive dread pooling in his stomach.

Over the next days, every second up until the evening of your party, the dread remained.

He had agreed to take you, the pair of you bundled into his car as he meandered to the location. As far as you were aware Rossi had invited all of you to a soirée at some grand hall in the city; although, considering the way you were gnawing on your nails, Spencer was sure you knew that something was amiss. Admittedly, he had not been entirely engaged in keeping up the charade. You hated surprises, on your birthday even more so, and he had endeavoured to make it as obvious to you as Garcia would allow him.

“You okay?” He asked, stopping the car to allow a pedestrian cross.

You hummed a little, high pitched, noise of agreement before turning sharply in your seat. “Spencer,” you began, voice wavering with nerves, “you would tell me right? If this is a surprise party for me?” He didn’t say anything, he opened his mouth a few times but all that escaped him was a stutter. Sure, he wanted you to know, but Garcia would tear into him if he ruined this.

But, looking at you, he deflated. Your wide eyes were fixed on him, blinking up at him with such panic that he couldn’t bear to keep anything from you. Relenting, he confirmed. “It’s… a surprise party for you,” you rubbed tired hands over your eyes. “Alex,” he wondered if you caught the disdain that laced that word, “was adamant about it being a secret.”

You groaned into your palms, still covering your face as you rubbed at your temples. “I told him I hate big parties,” you moaned, peeking at him between your fingers.

You sighed, cast a wandering gaze from the window, and dropped your arms heavily into your lap. Hands now picking at the hem of your skirt, you timidly asked a question that sent that strange alarm ringing through his mind. “Did he mention anything else?”

Eyebrows scrunched together, he leaned closer - concerned but unsure why. “Like what?”

You worked your bottom lip. Normally the action would stall his mind, sending his entire attention rapt upon the temptations of your lips, but your intense emotion overshadowed any errant desire. “It’s just-“ you began, only to be immediately interrupted by a car horn blaring behind you.

The pedestrian had crossed the road, and disappeared from sight in the time the pair of you had been talking. Spencer was still stopped in the middle of the road, the car behind him clearly losing its patience.

Holding a hand up, a silent apology to the driver behind, he pressed the accelerator. As your destination neared, he watched you shrink further into your seat from the corner of his eye.

———————————————————————

Despite your nervousness, you gave an excellent performance of surprise. Spencer was sure even the profilers of the room would have been fooled by your faux excitement. As much as he had hoped to hold onto your attention a little longer you had been whisked away by your boyfriend and presented like a trophy to a pair of people he assumed were Alex’s parents.

Morgan patted him on the back, murmuring some kind of encouragement, and directed his sullen figure to the other agents in attendance. They cheered him up well enough, providing some relief in this crowd of unfamiliar people, but unease returned each time he caught sight of your figure.

Butwhat was it setting him so on edge? Why did the overelaborate decor feel like a warning? Why did the abundance of expensive champagne wash dread over him? And why were Morgan’s eyes fixed on him so closely?

“I feel like a show pony,” your arrival beside him distracted his thoughts. It was hopeless trying to concentrate with you beside him. “Everyone’s looking at me, it’s weird.”

“Cmon,” JJ reassured, an excitable tone to her voice as though you would mirror her emotion, “you’re the birthday girl! Everyone’s supposed to look at you.”

Sidling beside you, Garcia trilled with more enthusiastic excitement. “Plus you look smokin’ in that dress,” a rosy blush painted your cheeks at that, the brief ‘thanks’ that escaped you immediately drowned out by Garcia’s next words; “where’d you buy it? Do they take coupons?”

A pair of large hands gripped Garcia’s shoulders,

Tugging her back slightly from where she huddled closer to peer at the label, Morgan spoke. “Okay, okay. How bout we leave the birthday girl in tact, yeah?” Garcia huffed but immediately brightened at his next words. “Dance with me, hot stuff?” As she tugged him away he craned his neck back to the group with a whispered “you’re welcome,” that sent a lovely chuckle past your lips.

Will and JJ soon joined them, sharing a look and a laugh over making the most of a child free night before sweeping away. Rossi dramatically held out a hand for Emily, cocking a brow when she merely crossed her arms. It took surprisingly little needling to convince her, a roll of her eyes and a scoff before she joined him in a dance. As the final pair swept away, Rossi sent Spencer an obvious wink.

Hands firmly in his pocket, worried you’d say no but panicked to lose the chance, he looked to his feet again. “You’re not gonna dance with the birthday girl?” You asked lightly.

Stupidly, he avoided the question. “Did you know in Vietnam everyone celebrates their birthday on the same day?” You smiled at him, the sweet uplift of your lips you always offered that he could never hope to decipher. He barrelled on, “It doesn’t matter when you were actually born because-“

“Spencer,” you cut him off, a hand on his arm, “just dance with me?”

Shutting his mouth, keeping his obscure knowledge of east-Asian birthday traditions to himself, he took your hand and led you to the small square set aside for dancing.

You turned to face him, a nervous apprehension colouring each movement you made. Somehow, your nervousness made him feel better. At least you were both floundering under the gaze of the other. Your hand was warm in his, fingers soft as they laced through his own, and the curve of your waist fit perfectly beneath his palm.

The rigidity of your anxious figure softened beneath his hands, your feet effortlessly following his lead and your lips upturning in one of the few true smiles of the night. “How are you finding the party?” He asked quietly, using the guise of conversation as an excuse to press closer to you.

You followed his lead and pressed closer still. “Well,” your eyes darted about the lavish environment, “it’s… yeah it’s nice.”

Spencer gave a hushed laugh, that was the least convincing lie he had ever heard, and you laughed alongside him. Between your giggles you coyly chastened him; “Spencer, it’s not funny!” You were still laughing even as you said it, “it’s-it’s a nice gesture, at least.”

He nodded sternly, fixing his features into an over dramatic stoicism that was reminiscent of Hotch. A few seconds were all the expression was given before his face broke into amusement at your answering giggle.

After a few small circles of the dance floor, your shared laughter had subsided enough for conversation to continue. “I don’t know,” you murmured listlessly, “it’s just not for me, I guess.”

Humming in agreement, thumb absently swiping over the hand that he held, Spencer replied. “I know,” he said lowly. And he really did know, the moment he had learned of the party he had known you wouldn’t enjoy it. You would grit your teeth throughout the evening and lie to protect the feelings of a boyfriend who should really know better. “You’d like breakfast in bed and scary movies and popcorn for dinner.” Just like that last birthday when we were together.

Your eyes widened as they met his gaze and he could understand this show of surprise. This was the first time either of you had dared make mention of the time you had been a couple. Spencer likely hadn’t picked the best occasion to remind you of your days with him but he felt a strange anxious gnawing in his stomach that time was slipping through his fingers.

You blinked a few times, your hand in his gripping more tightly, before you nodded and spoke in a melancholy kind of way. “Yeah,” you swallowed thickly, “something like that.”

The pair of you continued to carve a small circle into the dance floor, continued to gaze at the other, but it was a long while before you spoke again.

“Spencer, do you still-“

Your voice was cut off by another. “Hey, mind if I cut in?”

Spencer had half a mind to tell Alex that yes, he really did mind. His hand on your waist was now clutching you in a way he wouldn’t be able to explain away if you asked. You squeezed his hand and forced him to let you go by stepping back and telling him; “I’ll call you later, okay?”

Even Alex had the decency to seem a little threatened by that promise, looking at you with a mix of confusion and agitation. Spencer nodded, seeing the emotion still welled in your eyes, and let out a raspy “okay.”

He wandered back to where he had stood before, finding the others stood there as the dance floor cleared. “Deep breaths, man.” Morgan told him, voice careful as though he were speaking to a caged animal.

Unsure what Morgan was even referring to, Spencer asked with a crinkled brow; “what?”

Morgan gave no further indication of what he meant, eyes moving respectfully to where Alex was making some kind of speech. Beside Alex, you almost shrunk into yourself. Eyes wide, arms crossed over your front, and gaze avoiding everyone. Spencer didn’t need to be a profiler to know you were incredibly uncomfortable.

As much as Spencer tried to listen, give Alex at least this subtle politeness, all he could hear was the question you had been about to ask. What had it been? Was he overanalysing it? Was it something simple and filled with banality? Or would it change everything?

As Alex, rather gracelessly, dropped down to one knee his attention snapped back to the present. No, no, no, became his internal monologue. He must have made some kind of physical reaction as Morgan’s hand was now tightly gripping his shoulder. “Keep it together,”he distantly warned.

You were looking down at Alex, mouth opening and closing as what he severely hoped was panic overtook you. “I-I…” you stuttered and stumbled as a discontented murmur spread through the crowd.

You squeezed your eyes shut and forced a breath through your nose. Panic was still evident on your features as you reopened your eyes, but your gaze eventually settled. Your gaze settled on Spencer.

Some silent question shone in your eyes. Spencer felt the tears threatening to spill over as he shook his head at you, as subtly as he could muster. As his gaze poured over you he repeated an internal mantra that he hoped you could somehow hear; please say no, please say no, please say no.

You didn’t say no.

But, in some small relief, you didn’t say yes either.

Instead your gaze broke from Spencer, sending nausea swirling through him in dreadful anticipation, looking down to the man on his knee before you. You backed away slowly, hoarsely proclaiming that you needed some air. With a hand pressing against your stomach, you looked to the left and darted to the fire exit. The crowd parted eagerly for you, everyone hoping to see the distress upon your features as you fled the scene, and you left the door clattering behind you.

Spencer moved immediately, instinctively following you. Morgan harshly pulled him back, gripping him tightly and murmuring “give it a second.”

Morgan, thinking much clearer than Spencer feasibly could in this moment, was right. A second later and the crowd had burst into an excitable rabble and chatter. A group had descended on Alex, surrounding him with reassurance, whilst the rest moved about the room almost wildly. Now, at least, Spencer’s desperate clamour to follow you would be less obvious.

“I hope you know what you’re gonna say, kid.” Morgan told him, stern as an older brother, before releasing his hold.

Spencer took no time to reply, darting through the rabble of the crowd and to the still clattering fire exit.

Pressure

Summary: It’s your birthday and Spencer has a special gift for you. Despite multiple attempts, he struggles to find the perfect time to present it to you.

A/N: Slight warning for very slight mentions of blood - just a smallish cut. Let me know what you think!

Part Two

Masterlist|Requests

Your birthday was often a strange event, as were those of the entire BAU you supposed. Last year you and the team had been chasing an unsub with a penchant for collecting fingernails around Seattle and the year before had been spent liaising with the LAPD to catch a serial arsonist. It was safe to say, that this year your expectations were a little low; you were hoping for a fun drink or two with your colleagues but little else other than a full night’s sleep.

It was surprising, then, and really quite nice that you were not miles from home; for once, there had been no invitations from far away states and you and the team were merely completing paperwork. It wasn’t the most exciting thing you could be doing for your birthday, that was for sure, but you were too used to the wrong kind of excitement to care.

The clack of wheels drew your attention from the wordy document you were currently poring over. “Hey,” you greeted, a warm smile gracing your lips as you looked at Spencer. “You come to help out?” You asked, lifting your pile of yet unfinished paperwork into his eye-line.

Almost shyly, his eyes averted from yours - darting first to his wringing hands before landing on the closed door of Hotch’s office. “I’m kidding,” you gave him, cutting him off before he could awkwardly tell you that it was against some kind of rule.

Relieved he nodded with a chuckle. Spencer, in general, seemed a nervous individual. Although you always considered skittish a better word for him. His social confidence had more than improved over the years, but there were plenty of things - just like anyone else, you supposed - that still melted him back into nervousness. His show of nervousness now, therefore, was nothing particularly new. Why he was so nervous in this very moment, however, you couldn’t quite pin down.

Eyes darting down to his hands, gripping a neat parcel in his lap, you raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

Own eyes jumping down to it, he stammered over a response but never quite got the words out. Garcia interrupted him before he could muster a full sentence, announcing her sudden presence with a stream of glitter and confetti pooled upon your desk. “Oh wow,” you tried to enthusiastically exclaim as she also tossed some confetti in a way that ensured it landed in your hair.

“Happy birthday!” She all but squealed as you shook your hair out.

A wry smile overtaking you, appreciating the thoughtfulness if not the gesture itself, you nodded up at her. “Er Thanks, Garcia.”

You and Spencer both leaned back as a large bouquet of flowers was heavily placed on your desk. The smell, while pleasant, was a little overwhelming. As Spencer tried to subtly cough beside you, you grinned at the flowers. There was no question that Garcia had chosen them herself; the petals were a wonderfully soft pink but the most obvious clue was the somewhat garish addition of roses that had been sprayed with gold glitter.

Moving the large vase to the corner of your desk, the flowers still overtaking the majority of the space, you thanked her. “They’re really… something.”

She beamed, not catching the amused glance you shared with Spencer, and waved a hand. “Oh it’s nothing,” leaning in to sniff one of the pink flowers, she continued. “I know you’re not a big birthday kinda person but you absolutely cannot expect me to ignore such a big day!”

Placating her enthusiasm, you stood to make a show of smelling the pungent floral fragrance. “They’re lovely, really, thank you.”

She somehow beamed a little brighter and, gripping your hand and tottering in her heels slightly with excitement, she pulled you alongside her. “There’s more!”

Gracelessly falling after her, you turned your head to shoot a wide eyed grin to Spencer who returned the gesture with a warm gaze of his own.

———————————————————————

Fingers tapping against the carefully wrapped parcel in his lap, Spencer watched you go. A little wave of disappointment crested over him but was overshadowed by what he knew would be short-lived relief. There was both an excitement and fear tied with the gift he was hoping to give you; his ever busy mind harassing him with constant questions of whether he had interpreted your behaviour objectively enough, of whether he was about to ruin your friendship forever, and more importantly whether you would understand the meaning of the gift regardless.

Somehow, he had managed to cut through that whitenoise of uncertainty and follow Morgan’s advice; “they’re being awfully patient with you but I’m telling you now, thats not gonna last forever. You better make a move sometime this century.”

The gift would be his quiet, subdued confession; one more than overdue but still nerve wracking. He loved you and in his own, perhaps cowardly, way he would tell you with this gift. That is, if he were able to ever actually give it to you.

Watching you go had therefore been disappointing but the feeling had been immediately salved as you looked back at him. The look felt like a secret, a glance shared between the two of you like whispered gossip; your thoughts conveyed perfectly only to him with such a simple gesture.

With markedly less enthusiasm, he wheeled his chair back to his own desk, deposited the gift back into his drawer, and stood to join the party now happening in the round table room.

———————————————————————

An hour and a half later, the expanse of time that Hotch was willing and able to put aside for non-work related activity, the party was reaching its close. Spencer admittedly had not been to a great many parties, but he was sure their impromptu gathering could not be accurately defined as one. Still, you seemed to enjoy it; laughing animatedly with JJ as she made some joke he couldn’t quite understand and happily licking the butter icing from the top of your birthday cupcake. The latter action sent an almost audibly sputtered breath from him as his eyes caught sight of your lapping tongue. Things only worsened when Morgan pointed out the icing smeared over your lips. In a single swipe you collected all the icing on the tip of your pointer finger and proceeded to salaciously suck the finger clean. Although, he was certain he were the only one in the room deriving such guilty pleasure from the objectively normal action. When it came to you his thoughts often derailed into either hopeless romance or crimson desire.

Normal work set in quite quickly after that. The usual routine of the office a little lighter after the celebration but the tasks still menial despite the ease Spencer found in them. Even as he flipped through the pages of his last folder, eyes zipping down the last page, he couldn’t prevent a small portion of his attention sticking fast to the gift he was yet to give you. Time was ticking by and he felt that if he didn’t do it today, he would never work up the courage again.

You were at your desk, your hunched figure almost framed by the dramatic floral arrangement still upon your desk. Hand resting upon the gift, as though the item would somehow bestow him confidence, Spencer methodically formulated a plan. He wondered if maybe he should approach under some other guise, add some forced casualness into the giving of his gift, but he couldn’t conceive of a viable option.

He considered making you a coffee, a splash of milk and one and a half sugars just as you liked, but it was past four pm. You never drank coffee after two pm, even when you were miles from home on a case filled with late nights. It was some unspoken rule of yours that he had never seen you break.

He considered bringing a file over to you and asking for help. That ruse would be see through, however. He had never asked you for help before and the mere prospect that he wouldn’t have finished by now would certainly either cause you great suspicion that he was up to something or inspire concern in you that something had happened to his brain.

His lips twitched and fingers drummed against his desk as he considered his options. It seemed, much to his chagrin, that he would simply have to approach you guiseless.

Something Spencer’s wandering mind had somehow not noticed, however, is that in all the time he had been considering his options his eyes had been fixed on you. It was little surprise, really, his gaze found you so often it was likely his eyes naturally rested upon you at this point. Unfortunately, the passive attention had not gone unnoticed. Your lips forming his forename pricked his ears and his eyebrows rose in surprise.

Focusing more intently on you, he leaned towards your desk with a question. “Sorry, what was that?”

You didn’t answer immediately, eyes wandering over his figure in some kind of assessment of his faculties. Eyebrows crinkling together when you rematched his gaze, you stood and moved closer to him. “You okay?” He nodded quietly, swallowing thickly as you stood over him. “You seem a little… lost in thought.”

Gaze dropping from you momentarily, he looked to the gift still beneath his palm. It truly was now or never. He opened his mouth to speak, lifted his hand to offer the parcel to you, but was cut off by a loud and sudden yowl from the kitchenette. The pair of you turned your heads in tandem, the yell so full of anguish it was impossible to resist, the gift hovering between you yet to be accepted.

The source of the yell was Morgan. The man was cradling his right hand as he leaned heavily against the sideboard, pain apparent on his features and continued groans escaping him.

Neither of you moved right away, assessing the situation as best you could from afar but when crimson began leaking from his clenched hand you took off with a muttered curse. Depositing the gift back upon his desk, Spencer quickly sprang from his desk to follow you.

———————————————————————

“Morgan, what happened?!” You asked, voice high pitched and frantic, as you pried his clenched fist open. A large cut was sliced across his palm and as the pressure of his fingers lifted the gory mess worsened dramatically. “Reid, hand me that paper towel.”

“Got it,” came Spencer’s reply beside you. You raised a grateful glance to him as you took the paper towel before concentrating on your task. Pressing the towel over the cut, you encouraged Morgan to use his other hand to apply significant pressure.

“Look in the sink,” Morgan gave eventually, by way of explanation. Peering into the murky depths of the overfilled sink you raised an eyebrow.

Spencer voiced the question on your mind. “I don’t see anything?”

With a huff, Morgan nodded, “exactly.” Nodding to the sink, he continued; “someone,” he stressed the word as though he knew exactly who that someone was, “left a knife in there despite me telling her every week how dangerous it is.”

Spencer grimaced at the sight of blood seeping through the paper towel and leaned closer with crinkled eyebrows. “Let me see,” he requested, frown deepening as he inspected the wound. “You’re going to need stitches,” he asserted, much to Morgan’s clear disappointment.

Morgan looked to you as though in search of a second opinion, you merely shrugged. “I’m not gonna argue with the doctor.”

Spencer gave you a little smirk. A few months ago he might have reminded you that he wasn’t actually a medical doctor but it seemed he knew you well enough by now to recognise the joke.

“I’ll take you,” you offered Morgan with a sigh, already fishing for your keys in your jacket pocket.

Spencer’s voice stilled you. “I can do it,” looking to him, you raised your eyebrows in silent question at this strangely sweet gesture. “It’s your birthday,” he pointed out needlessly, “and there’s only seventeen minutes left to work; you’re going out for drinks tonight,” you nodded in a confirmation of this fact that he didn’t really need. “enjoy your birthday, you don’t get to very often.”

A smile lifted your lips even as you felt guilt wash over you at the prospect of letting Spencer deal with this. Considering, you chewed your lip. Your lengthy consideration, however, seemed to take a little too much time for Morgan. “I’m about to bleed out over here,” you rolled your eyes dramatically at him.

“Are you sure?” You asked, attention back on Spencer, shifting in your heels in premature excitement.

“Absolutely,” he told you, resolute.

You squealed with excitement and, overcome with gratitude, sprang forward to hug the man. He responded with a surprised “oh” alongside an almost nervous chuckle.

“Sorry,” you muttered, pulling back but still smiling up at him. The pair of you remained like that, smiling dumbly at each other, for perhaps a moment too long.

Morgan straightened and interrupted the moment with a clear of his throat. When he had gained your attention, he told you with a smile; “happy birthday, really, but my hand is gonna fall off if we don’t go soon.”

“That’s highly doubtful,” Spencer began, almost looking affronted by the outlandish suggestion, “for your hand to ‘fall off’ it would be necessary to cut through several layers of skin and muscle. Plus-“

“Reid, let’s go.”

Remembering himself, Spencer blinked rapidly a few times before nodding like a bobble head, wishing you a last farewell, and rushing off after Morgan.

Watching the pair disappear you sighed, hands wrapping around your elbows. A strange disappointment that you couldn’t quite place had overtaken you as they had left. Pulling yourself together, wanting to feel nothing but positive on your birthday, you turned your attention to the kitchen.

You cleaned up as best you could, wiping down the surfaces and carefully extracting the offending knife from the sink before draining the ruby tinged water. Within ten minutes the kitchen looked as though nothing untoward had occurred; a miracle really, considering the surprising amount of blood Morgan had produced.

With little time left until you were free to enjoy your birthday to the max, you meandered back to your desk. On the way, the forgotten parcel upon Spencer’s desk caught your attention. Changing trajectory, you stopped at his desk and delicately fiddled with the tag of the gift. Your name was scrawled upon it in Spencer’s familiar, somewhat scruffy, handwriting.

Would it be considered rude for you to take the gift and open it? After all it was clearly meant for you and he had already attempted to deliver the gift himself.

This ‘consideration’ was merely surface level; the gift was in fact already sitting upon your own desk being less than delicately unwrapped by your impatient fingers.

Slowly, a book was revealed. As you turned the tome over a gorgeous floral illustration met your gaze. Running your fingers over the somewhat raised golden lettering, you read the title; “The Secret Language of Florists.”

A few months ago you had been entirely floored to learn the secret messages that could be sent using nothing but a well designed floral bouquet. You could hardly remember what had been the catalyst for the conversation, perhaps one of the BAU’s many unusual cases, but you had been strangely fascinated by the entire concept. A sprig of purple heather to wish the recipient good luck, for example. And, your personal favourite, the inclusion of a single white daisy as a silent vow to keep a secret.

There were so many more that Spencer had entertained you with, but they had fallen from your mind amongst the plethora of white noise that daily life forced upon you.

Excited by this gift, you turned to the first page. Between the cover and the first page, a pressed flower delicately sat; it’s rich red petals striking against the ivory white of the page. As you lifted the flower, wishing to admire its preserved beauty, you inadvertently revealed more of Spencer’s scrawled handwriting upon the page.

A message from me to you.

You grinned widely to yourself, shifting so excitably in your seat that anyone watching would think you were attempting some strange dance. So, the flower was a message - one the book could help you decipher the meaning of. Feeling like a spy deciphering this secret encoded message, you looked to the flower.

Even in its flattened state the flower was clearly a chrysanthemum. Taking care not to tear any pages in your excitement, you found the double page spread devoted to the flower. An illustrated yellow chrysanthemum decorated the middle of the page, providing confirmation that you had been correct in your initial assessment, and you skimmed through the surrounding words.

White chrysanthemums were symbols of truth, apparently, but you skipped past the rest of the explanation to find the meaning behind your red chrysanthemum. As you read the words, you brought the flower close to your chest. Your lips broadened into a giddy grin and your heart felt as though it may burst with sudden fullness.

A red chrysanthemum, very simply, means ‘I love you’.