Chapter Text
You heaved a sigh of relief as the final cardboard box thudded into the recycling bin. After multiple grueling days of unpacking various household items and furniture, you could FINALLY say you’d finished moving into your new apartment in Washington, D.C., a short drive from your new office in Quantico, Virginia.
You were the newest profiler to join the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. You had just finished up your Ph.D. in Psychology from UC Irvine at the ripe age of 24, and, after publishing your dissertation on the various psychologies of criminal behavior (or, as you called it, the “Criminal Minds”), you had been hand-picked by Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner to join the FBI’s team of behavioral analysts, or profilers, where you would help catch serial killers for a living.
You looked down at your phone.
📱 Sunday, October 2nd - 11:37 a.m.
You still had 20 hours and 23 minutes until your first shift. With so much daylight left in the day, you figured this was the perfect time to get out and explore the city before the chaotic schedule of your new job robbed you of all your free time.
But first, you needed a shower. After moving furniture around for the last 3 hours, you swore you had lost all your water weight from the sheer amount of sweat excreted from your pores. You turned the water on and stripped down by your sink, turning to glance at yourself in the mirror. As you ran your eyes over your barren figure, it was still hard for you to process the lack of bruises that you had grown so used to seeing yourself speckled with.
But before your mind could wander down that dark rabbit hole, you looked into the eyes of your reflection and reminded yourself that it was over. That you were safe. That the man who had hurt you for so long was locked away now and would remain that way for a long time. He couldn’t hurt you anymore, and for that, you were grateful.
When you felt the refreshing touch of the hot water raining down on you from your shower head, any potentially-dark thoughts were immediately whisked away. You closed your eyes as you returned to your happy place--- a place where you were safely disconnected from reality, even if only for a short while. After stepping out of the shower, you threw on your best “mysterious-yet-super-awesome-girl-about-to-explore-a-new-city” outfit: a white, lace tank top, some cute, dark plaid shorts, your dirty white Converse, and an oversized, chunky brown knit cardigan.
Grabbing the essentials--- keys, phone, wallet, and pepper spray--- you shoved them into your purse and headed out the door. You were almost to your car when you remembered reading an article that said the local coffee shop, Mozart's Café, was supposed to be AMAZING. Since it was only an 8-minute walk from your apartment, you decided it would be fun to head down the block on foot and check it out.
🕰️ 12:02 p.m.
As you opened the door to the café, you were immediately greeted by the heavenly smell of coffee and baked goods. The shop itself was rather intimate, with only a handful of tables and booths filling the space. And it was cute! There were lots of plants and vines scattered around, and the vintage wood that made up the interior walls reminded you a lot of the antique stores your mom used to bring you to as a child. You scanned the place as you started toward the counter, noting a side table with a variety of board games laid out across it.
Next to the table of games, you also noticed a brown-haired man who appeared a bit older than you staring quizzically at a chessboard. You noted that there was only one cup on the table, which likely indicated that he was playing by himself, but that wasn’t what really drew your focus to him.
No; what captured your attention the most was his outfit--- specifically, his brown, chunky knit cardigan.
The same one you were wearing. Except it fit him a lot better than it did you. Although the guy was fairly thin, he was extremely tall--- at least 6ft--- so the cardigan was way more proportional on him than it was on your 5’3” figure.
‘What a weird coincidence,’ you thought. ‘The same exact cardigan? Really? What are the odds of that?’
Although the strange coincidence wasn’t anything monumental, you figured it could make for a pretty great conversation starter. After all, you were in desperate need of new friends, seeing as you were 2,268 miles away from the closest familiar face.
You were trying to think of ways to casually introduce yourself to the stranger when a girl’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts.
“Hello! What can I get for you today?” the barista in front of you asked as you turned to face her.
“Hi! Can I get a chocolate croissant and a medium almond milk latte with extra sugar and extra cream?” you responded.
“Sure thing! And can I get a name for the order?”
“Y/N.”
“Alright, Y/N, your total is $8.02! Will that be cash or card?”
“Cas--- card. It’ll be card,” you stumbled out. You were still getting used to using a credit card, as you had always been terrified of using traceable payment methods when you were with your ex. Taking a deep breath to put yourself at ease, you reminded yourself--- again--- that he couldn’t hurt you anymore.
As you waited for your name to be called, you couldn’t help but glance at the shaggy-haired man from earlier. He seemed completely and utterly unaware of the world around him as he studied the pieces on the table, now planning a move from the opposite side of the board as the first time you saw him.
“A chocolate croissant and an almond milk latte with extra sugar and extra cream for Y/N!” one of the workers shouted. You thanked the barista and grabbed your order, heading over to a table near the chess-playing stranger. With his back turned to you, he didn’t seem to notice as you took a seat a few feet away.
You mentally prepared yourself to speak to the man as you hyped yourself up and thought of potential introductory lines. You weren’t usually this nervous about talking to people, especially ones you may never see again, but the unfamiliar setting coupled with your new-government-job jitters put you a little more on edge than usual.
‘Okay, I can do this,’ you told yourself. In your head, you ran through so many variations of the same opening line---
“Hey, nice cardigan.”
“Hey, I like your sweater.”
“Nice outfit.”
“Hey, I noticed that we have the same cardigan on. Isn’t that random?"
You glanced down at the chess board, then back up at the man, whose back was still turned. You had just mentally rehearsed about 20 variations of the cardigan line, but when you opened your mouth, what came out instead was, “I see mate in 5.”
Without flinching or even glancing your way, the guy simply responded, “I can see it in 3.”
‘Mate in 3? How could he possibly see...’
As you examined the pieces further, you waited for him to turn around and acknowledge you. Instead, the guy kept his eyes glued to the board, so lost in thought that you wondered if the pieces might have somehow induced a hypnotic state upon the man.
You couldn’t really tell if the guy was trying to intentionally give you the cold shoulder or if he was genuinely just so invested in the game that he failed to consider your presence. Hoping to catch him off guard, you took a step toward him as you said,
“I like your cardigan.”
That seemed to do the job. The man froze for a second before finally turning toward you.
“Oh, thanks, I-“ he cut off as he figured out the reason for your unexpected compliment.
After giving you an unbelievably quick look-over, the man continued. “I see you have the same one. Did you get yours from-“
“-Izod?” you both asked at the same time. You smiled and nodded. “Yeah. Authentic vintage, I’m impressed,” you remarked.
“I appreciate that vintage clothing offers a unique that style stands out from modern trends, and that using second-hand is much more environmentally sustainable because it reduces waste and promotes reuse,” he ranted. “Additionally, I feel that owning and wearing vintage clothing can provide a sense of connection to the past and a deeper appreciation for the craftsmanship and attention to detail that went into creating each piece. Vintage clothing tends to be well-made and durable, unlike many fast-fashion pieces of the modern day that are designed to be disposable. Did you know that some fast fashion workers make as little as 4 cents per garment at certain factories in China?”
You stared at him in disbelief for a second, noting how proud and matter-of-fact the man came across. As you attempted to figure out how to respond to the onslaught of information he had just spouted, you couldn’t help but get a more intimate look at his face.
He had a surprisingly attractive bone structure--- the kind of face you would see on a Hollywood actor. His light brown hair was medium length, wavy, and laid messily around the sides of his face. He had tired eyes, his lids rimmed with dark-tinted circles that made him look like he hadn’t slept in weeks, yet his eyes themselves were kind and knowledgeable.
“Umm... no. I actually didn’t know that, but thanks for the info! I’m Y/N,” you said, reaching your hand out.
The man furrowed his eyebrows as he glanced down at your hand, then back up at your face. He examined you with his piercing brown eyes as if trying to read your mind. Awkwardly tucking his hands into the pockets of his cardigan, he responded, “I’m Spencer.”
Trying not to be too offended by his refusal to shake your hand, you mimicked his body language, shoving your hands in the pockets of your cardigan and toying with the little threads on the inside as your awkwardness began to grow.
“So, um... I’m curious. How on earth do you see mate in 3? Because--- not to brag or anything--- but I was one of the top players in my University’s chess club, and I’m not sure if I believe you---“
“I can show you if you’d like,” Spencer said, perking up as he seemed to accept the challenge. You nodded to him and smiled, leaning in to inspect the board that he was positioned over.
You noticed him briefly tense up at your proximity before rerouting his attention to the chess set below him. He then bent over and moved his rook up the board, putting it in position to be easily captured by an opposing pawn. You sat and analyzed his move for a few seconds, trying to figure out his strategy before it finally clicked.
“Oh, my god. By diverting the pawn so that it captures the rook, it completely opens up-- that’s genius. I never even would’ve seen it coming. Wow,” you gawked as your mouth hung open. Your eyes shifted back and forth from the chess board to the tall man hunched over in front of you as a smile slowly crept up your face.
Spencer looked up at you and raised his eyebrows, seemingly impressed at how quickly you managed to figure out his strategy. He blushed slightly, flustered by the compliment you’d given him as if praise were an unfamiliar concept. When he saw how the corners of your mouth curled up in awe at him, he couldn’t help but form a small, shy smile of his own.
“Well, really, it’s simple... see, I mentally calculated the probability of an opponent moving to attack one of my less-important pieces with...” Spencer began, but you could hardly process anything he was saying because his brain seemed to operate at the speed of light. Seriously, the guy was like a computer with how efficiently he spit out information.
After attempting to keep up with his long-winded explanation for a while, you reached out and put a hand on his forearm to get his attention. He flinched slightly at your touch but didn’t immediately pull his arm away. Instead, he stopped dead in his tracks and stared back at you, a confused expression painting his face.
“Sorry, I-“ you said, removing your hand from his arm to awkwardly scratch your own. “I honestly couldn’t keep up with anything you were saying. I have no idea how you can think or talk that fast. Are you some kind of genius or something?” you asked.
Spencer furrowed his brows slightly. “Well, I don't believe that intelligence can be accurately quantified, but I do have an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory, and can read 20,000 words per minute....”
“So, yes, you’re a genius. Got it,” you giggled awkwardly.
The brown-haired man smiled sheepishly back at you but said nothing, which led to a more-than-slightly-awkward silence. After a few moments, he finally opened his mouth.
“Sorry for not shaking your hand earlier,” he said to your surprise. You were honestly surprised that he was still thinking about the prior interaction (even though you had already replayed it in your mind about 10 times). “It’s not you. I have this thing about germs…” he said, trailing off before he continued. “The number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering. Did you know it’s actually safer to kiss?” the man said in a matter-of-fact enough manner that you didn’t even think to question the legitimacy of his statement.
You looked him in the eye for a fleeting moment as your face grew warm.
“So are you suggesting that we kiss, instead...?” you asked the man jokingly.
It quickly became evident that he did NOT know you were joking, as his face turned bright red and he began to stutter.
“I-- um... no, no, I- that’s not what I meant, it just...“
You teasingly stared him down, a sly smile forming on your face after realizing the effect your words had on the man. Eventually, though, you began to feel guilty, as the man was clearly flustered.
“Relax, Spencer, I’m just messing with you!” you said, throwing your hands up in surrender as you let out a chuckle.
The man averted his eyes from your face and nervously ran a hand through his hair. Before he could say anything else, though, his phone rang out from the brown, over-the-shoulder leather satchel in the booth behind him. As he quickly began to sift through the bag, you counted at least 6 different books among the other various items that were haphazardly scattered around.
Once he retrieved his phone, the man briefly glanced your way before turning his back to you to answer the call.
“This is Reid,” you heard him say as you slowly shifted back towards your table, not wanting to intrude upon the stranger’s business.
You couldn’t help but find it a bit weird, the way he answered his phone. It made him sound like an undercover agent... or something. And there was something familiar about his full name--- Spencer Reid--- but you couldn’t quite place it.
By the time you realized the call was over, Spencer had almost completely packed his stuff up and was about to leave.
“Oh, are you leaving already-“
“I really have to go. Nice meeting you. Bye,” he uttered as he swiftly exited the coffee shop.
“Well, fuck,” you muttered under your breath. “Way to go, Y/N. You really screwed that one up.”
Spencer’s POV:
🕰️ 12:18 p.m.
As I pushed the coffee shop door open, I couldn’t help but cringe as I recounted my interaction with the pretty stranger. How did I always manage to make things awkward with my random, unnecessary facts?
I tried to push the interaction to the back of my mind, but my eidetic memory fought me harder and harder the more I tried to forget about it. The conversation kept looping in my head as I walked toward the metro, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get the image of her out of my mind.
Her face had been surprisingly symmetrical, which made her more attractive by scientific standards of beauty... but the parts of her appearance that I remembered the most were the finest details.
I could remember the exact angle at which her nose scrunched up when she smiled. The exact intervals of time it took for her to tuck and untuck her hair from behind her ears as she fidgeted. The intricate hues and patterns of her irises that perfectly complimented her skin tone. The way her laughter lit up the entire room.
... And I had ruined the entire conversation with one of my stupid unnecessary facts. Seriously? “Did you know it’s actually safer to kiss?” Really Spencer? Did you even stop to consider how she could possibly respond to a question like that? And then, when she did, you just left without any explanation! Now you look like a creep. Great job!
I couldn’t help but facepalm on my way to the office over how I’d ruined yet another perfectly nice conversation with my incessant need to spew out every thought that penetrated my mind.
Whatever. It was over, anyway. Nothing else could possibly come of the situation, seeing as the girl was miles behind at this point. I had to put the intrusive thoughts out of my mind and turn on behavior analyst mode so that I could focus my attention on the new case.
Reader’s POV:
🕰️ 12:18 p.m.
You almost had time to be sad about the quick end to your coffee shop interaction, but an incoming phone call interrupted any further thoughts you might’ve had about the situation. You picked up your phone and saw that the call was coming in from your new boss.
You picked up immediately.
📱 “Hi, Agent Hotchner, this is Y/L/N.”
📲 “Hello. Listen, Agent Y/L/N, I’m sorry to have to call you in early, but the team just got word of a new case and we’re flying out in a few hours. I need you up at the bureau as soon as possible. Can you do that?”
📱“Yes, of course, sir, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
📲“Great. See you then, agent.”
📱“Likewise, sir.”
You scrambled to gather your things almost as quickly as Spencer had moments before. You thanked the baristas as you made your way out, then headed back down the street to your apartment.
As you scrambled around your apartment collecting items to shove into your makeshift go-bag, your mind raced. Not only were you feeling an overwhelming amount of anxiety and excitement over starting your new job a day earlier than expected, but you were also still unable to stop thinking about your awkward-yet-somehow-kind-of-cute interaction at the coffee shop.
Packing your things in your current state of mind probably hadn’t been the greatest idea in the world, as you completely forgot to grab a pair of pajamas and extra contact lenses. You didn’t realize it then, but your lack of focus in that moment was going to come back and bite you in the ass before you knew it.
You also switched out your current outfit for a slightly-more-formal version, opting for a white blouse and dark gray pants but keeping the cardigan as you raced out the door. Haphazardly throwing your bag into the passenger seat of your car, you buckled up and quickly sped off toward your new office in Quantico.