Archive of Our Own

“Good evening, you two. Have you had time to look over the menu or do you need a few minutes?” the waitress asked as she stepped over.

Even still, the woman in front of Spencer kept up her polite facade, smiling and saying, “We’ll need a few minutes. We’ll call you over when we’re ready.”

“So, have you thought more about it?”

“Woah, jumping right into it, are we?” she countered, smirking and wrapping her fingers around the glass in front of her. “You don’t want to talk for a little bit, get to know each other?”

“Why, do you?” Spencer pressed back, leaning forward against his forearms on the table.

“I like to get to know my clients before just doing what they want, surely you get that.”

“I do. You don’t like to be given orders, it challenges your superiority complex.”

“Oh, I have a superiority complex now?” she laughed, copying Spencer’s stance by leaning forward against the table. “That’s no way to get a contract signed, now is it, Dr. Reid?”

“Did you really think we’d be signing a contract today?” Spencer asked, watching her face for any minute change in her expression. Of course, she was an expert at this: there was no change perceptible change, just that cool smirk that made his blood run hot.

“No,” she confirmed, easier than he thought it’d be. This was part of what he enjoyed about the job anymore—the chase, coaxing each unsub so they walked right into the cuffs themselves. It was usually far easier than Spencer expected from the worst criminals in the nation, but occasionally they’d get one who actually gave him a run for his money—someone who kept him coming to work every day, in the hopes that the next case file would be theirs.

“Then why did you show up? Why take the risk?”

“Maybe I wanted to meet the famous Dr. Spencer Reid,” she answered, the smirk widening into a dangerous smile as she added, “It’s not every day an FBI agent is convicted for murder.”

“I wasn’t convicted, the charges were dropped.”

“Ooh, defensive. I like that in a man.”

“I’m not defensive, I was correcting your obvious error. Clearly, you’re nothing to worry about if you can’t get basic facts about me right,” Spencer snapped. He’d expected the comments about his stay in prison, had even braced himself for the reminder of the worst months of his life. Still, before he could stop it his hands clenched tightly into fists, fingers curling into the arms of his suit jacket.

He knew about women like her. She would try to get a rise out of him, would try to anger him so badly he makes a mistake.

There would be no mistake, not tonight.

“Wow, already underestimating me. Cat was right about you.”

“You spoke to Cat?” Spencer asked. She hadn’t, he knew enough from the prison logs that no one with her description had come into the facility Cat Adams was currently imprisoned in.

“What, you think us ladies don’t talk? News flash, Dr. Reid, we share all the dirty details.”

“What ‘dirty details’ did she share about me then?” Spencer asked, trying to press for any more information. Unfortunately, they didn’t have much on this woman—they weren’t even sure they had the right name.

All they had was that she popped up as a hitwoman not long after Cat Adams was arrested. She killed each of her victims without any discrimination or remorse, with a few obvious exceptions. Specific clients began turning up dead—single fathers.

They’d searched for her the best they could. All they had was the name she went by—Daisy. There were no foster system records, no hospital records they could find either. She was well and truly off the map. To the US government, she hardly existed at all.

“Now that’s the question of the hour, isn’t it?” she asked instead of answering, leaning back and settling into her seat. “What do I get for telling you?”

“What do you want?”

“I want a lot of things, Dr. Reid, but somehow I doubt you’d actually give me any of them.”

“You won’t know unless you tell me,” Spencer told her, trying to keep her talking for as long as possible. The plan had worked with Cat, another unsub they’d profiled similarly to her, it would work now. All they needed to do was get an opportunity to take Daisy in alive without any risk to civilians.

“I heard you like games, is that true?”

“Cat lost every game she played, you really want to try that?”

“I’m not Cat Adams.” It was the first sign of anything other than a cool composure. It was small, barely there, but Spencer caught it in her eyes. Anger, fury, a deep resentment for being compared to the woman he’d won against.

“You’re not,” Spencer agreed, “you’re a silly little girl who’s waving a gun around and trying to be her hero.”

A sharp laugh slipped from her lips then, bitter like an unripe orange. “You think Cat Adams is my hero?”

“Why else would you be taking over her contracts?”

“Cat Adams is a joke,” she spat out.

“Why go through the trouble of talking to her then?” Nothing Daisy was saying was adding up, nothing giving Spencer even a tiny handhold to grip onto.

“Isn’t it obvious? I thought you were a genius with two PhDs or something.”

“Three.”

“And you make sure everyone knows it, don’t you?” she said, smirking as Spencer’s body involuntarily jolted. She was infuriating to a whole new level, only increasing his need to catch her. This would be over tonight, of that Spencer was sure. “Because deep down, you know you’d be nothing without that intelligence. Everyone you’ve ever known has kept you around because of it, because it makes you useful to them. That sound about right, Dr. Reid?”

“Applications to be a profiler closed a month ago, sorry,” was all Spencer could say, words clipping off sharply in his attempt to keep his cool around her. He’d never admit it to her that, yes, there were times he wondered what would happen if he couldn’t be useful to his friends. He’d like to think by now that they’d keep him around but then again, who really knew for sure?

“I don’t need to be law enforcement to feel powerful,” she said simply, shrugging her shoulders. “You can’t say the same though, can you?”

“No, you just have to kill people to feel good about yourself.”

“So do you,” she snapped, “the difference is you have a shiny badge that gives you permission.”

“The people I’ve had to kill deserved it.”

“So did mine, Dr. Reid. The world isn’t as black and white as you cops want it to seem.”

That, unfortunately, was a lesson learned the hard way. It didn’t happen all of a sudden, but rather slowly, every time he woke up Spencer believed a little less in the mission. To protect the American people. Somehow, firing a weapon upon them or taking risks to save their team at the expense of others didn’t particularly feel like protecting anyone.

As time went on, sometimes Spencer wondered if they were doing more harm than good.

That was exactly what Daisy wanted him to think, though. She wanted him stuck in his head, making him doubt everything so she could get away. Whatever she wanted out of tonight, Spencer would make sure she didn’t get it.

“Did they deserve it because they hurt their children?” Spencer pushed, recognizing an opportunity when he saw one. It was the perfect moment to exploit, to press on any vulnerable wound still bleeding on this woman.

“What, you think I’m killing dad’s because my daddy hurt me?” She laughed again, quick and sharp like the sound of glass shattering. “I may have daddy issues, but Pops never hurt me.”

“I don’t believe you,” Spencer shot back. He knew that look, that bracing of her expression every time her father was mentioned.

“Why not? You think you know me, Dr. Reid?”

“I do know you,” Spencer answered quickly, giving her his own smirk in return. “You’re just like everyone else we catch. You kill because you’re too scared to kill the person who hurt you. You think see his face on every person you shoot because you know you’ll never be able to hurt him like he hurt you.”

“Let me make one thing clear, Dr. Reid. I’m not scared of my Pops, not anymore,” Daisy answered coolly, though the rough-cut edges of her stare told another story than the calm words she uttered now. “And what about you? I did my research too, and I found some interesting things about you. You specialize in catching sexual sadists, am I right? With your logic, wouldn’t that suggest you’re hunting them because you got hurt too? Did Daddy hurt you, Spencer?”

‘Reid, we can pull back and re-evaluate. Say the word and the team will come in.’ Emily spoke directly from the earpiece, giving him an out from being exposed by yet another unsub. Emily would never know how much the suggestion hurt, would never know the way he fought now not to remember everything he’d once shoved deep down inside himself.

“No.” The simple word was for both Emily and Daisy. No, he wouldn’t give up on this woman, and no, his entire career wasn’t because of his father. His father had nothing to do with his life now.

They couldn’t arrest this woman now, not when they knew so little about her. Just as Cat had, this woman could easily have an escape plan they didn’t know about. She could have a partner, someone waiting to bail her out when things began to look tight. She could be planning anything right now and they didn’t know, Spencer didn’t know. No, they couldn’t give up now.

If he wasn’t determined before, he knew now that he would do what it took to figure her out.

“What do you want, Daisy?”

“Don’t call me that,” she said quickly, shoulders hunching in forward as she began to close off more. Why not? It was a name the media had begun calling her after the recent murders, where a single daisy had been left in the bullet wounds of the men she’d killed.

“What should I call you then?” Would he be so lucky as to get a name? Was she slipping so soon in the game? It almost made Spencer disappointed, wondering if his opponent truly wasn’t as good a match as he thought.

“Well if it’s you, then you can call me Baby.”

“I’m not calling you that.”

“Then this conversation is over.” Why was she so difficult? No one had ever made him as angry as she did, no one had ever stumped him as much as this.

“Fine,” Spencer conceded, rolling his eyes at the strange request. He knew it for what it was: a power play. She was beginning to feel boxed in so would do anything she could to exert more power over him, even if it was something as simple as a name.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“What do you want, Baby?” Spencer repeated the question, trying to make it sound as cold and robotic as possible. She wanted a reaction, and he’d be sure not to give it to her.

“Aww, I’m so glad you asked. I want to go on a little road trip with you.”

“Absolutely not,” Spencer shot back at the exact moment Emily said it into his ear.

“I thought you wanted to know more about me, Doctor.”

“The Bureau has protocols, I can’t just take you on a road trip,” Spencer countered.

“What, you’re really worried about what the Bureau thinks of you? The same Bureau that completely abandoned you after you were falsely imprisoned? The Bureau that only cares about you if you’re serving them?”

Those were the words, the rage-filled thoughts that flooded his brain as he laid awake at night in his prison cell. He’d wondered why—why couldn’t they trust him, why couldn’t they help him? Sure, he’d made a mistake, but who hadn’t?

With daunting clarity, Spencer realized exactly one thing from this meeting: this woman knew far much more about him than he did her. She was dangerous, and he wanted to know more.

“No, no road trip.”

“Bummer, I was really looking forward to ‘Life is a Highway’ and gas station snacks with you,” she answered, sounding anything but upset. If anything, it seemed more like she’d expected that response from him. “Then I’d like to go now.”

“Do you really think we’re going to just let you walk out of here?” Who did she think she was? Maybe she was more delusional than Spencer thought she was.

“Normally, no, but considering my partner is exactly a minute from Henry LaMontagne’s school right now I think you will.”

Each word sent a dagger straight through Spencer’s chest. He could see JJ over this woman’s shoulder jolt, unable to do anything but glare at the back of this woman’s head. This was Henry, Spencer’s godson and the most adorable little boy he’d ever met (though Michael was giving him a run for his money, too).

“Go on, talk to your team. I know they can hear me.”

Immediately Spencer spoke, “Can we get there?”

‘Not in a minute,’ Emily spoke immediately, sounding as physically pained at the thought as Spencer felt. This was it, the trump card that he’d been trying to find all night. It was Henry.

‘What are the odds she’s bluffing?’

‘I’m not risking that,’ JJ chimed in, looking near tears.

“I’m not either,” Spencer reassured her before looking right back at this woman. She was smirking, pulling on her coat as though she knew already that she’d won. “Okay, you can go. This isn’t over.”

“Oh, it better not be, Dr. Reid,” the woman stated as she stood up, “this was far too easy.”

And as she walked out of the restaurant past his entire time, Spencer couldn’t help but think that he was missing the point of this meeting entirely.

It took five weeks to see a sign of her again.

In that time, it was safe to say Spencer had become obsessed. This was a woman who not only tried to challenge him, but won. She came to play and she walked out of the restaurant a free woman. She outsmarted and outplayed him, simple as that.

They’d searched for weeks, trying to find anything they could use against this woman. There was just nothing. What they did find, though, was that she almost hardly worked with other people. This was a solo killer, one who had played them all well. She’d bluffed and none of them called her out on it.

It was when Spencer came home from a case that he saw the first signs of her.

Sitting on his desk, beside a carefully plucked daisy, was a note.

Dr. Reid,

Come meet me where a piece of the sun grows from the Earth each summer.

Spencer knew it was a bad idea. The implications of getting caught alone with her would be far too great. How would it look if the agent previously accused of murder was found talking with one of the few unsubs who had actually escaped from them?

Still, now was the chance to learn more about her. He needed to know—had to figure out how this woman had beaten him.

That was how Spencer ended up standing in a field of not-quite-ready to bloom sunflowers, gun in its holster but his hand inches from it.

“I missed you, Dr. Reid,” a voice cooed from behind him. She was there, dressed in dark-colored pants and shirt. The red of her lips stood out under the full moon, reflecting the danger she carried tattooed within her.

“Why would you lie about Henry?” Spencer asked immediately.

“I don’t mess with kids, let’s get that straight,” she answered, sounding almost offended at the assumption, “but I knew it’d get you to let me go. A little white lie never hurt anyone.”

“How many people have you hurt since then?”

“Do you really care to know? Or are you just trying to convince yourself this is a bad thing?”

“It is a bad thing,” Spencer practically hissed back at her. How could she possibly imply anything else?

“Wow, they really have you nicely collared and leashed like a good puppy, don’t they?”

“Why am I here?” Spencer sighed.

“What would your team think if they knew you were here?” she asked instead, making Spencer wonder what the fascination was with answering questions with more questions that all unsubs seemed to have. Still, he would play her game for now, if it meant learning something from this.

“They wouldn’t like it.”

“And why not?”

“Because it’s breaking the law.”

“Ah, interesting you say that, Dr. Reid,” the woman countered, stepping closer to him as she did. “Your team breaks the law all the time if it means catching the big baddie, so that’s not it. Think a little deeper, really try to think about this. I want an honest answer.”

Spencer knew the answer she was looking for. He knew it because it wasn’t necessarily wrong either. He could see Emily’s face if he ever admitted to this, he heard JJ telling him to take a break, to let this case go before it ruins him. “They think I’ve gotten too close to this case, too obsessed.”

“With this case, or with me?”

“Both,” Spencer admitted, pulling a smile out of the woman.

“Because you can’t stand the fact that a woman beat you.”

“I can’t stand that anyone beat me.”

“I like you, Spencer,” Baby told him, reaching up to pat his cheek twice. “Let’s go on that roadtrip.”

“No,” he answered again. There was a limit to his curiosity, he knew there had to be. There was a line that he was getting dangerously close to crossing, and Spencer wasn’t sure he could ever come back from that.

“Aren’t you curious about what it is I have to show you?” When there was no answer, she let out a dramatic sigh. “Fine, I’ll go. Guess you’ll just have to deal with never knowing.”

She walked by him, and Spencer could hear the plants rustling to evidence the fact that she really did intend on leaving just like that. It would’ve been easier to let her walk away. The smart move would be to let her leave then tell the team about this, to tell them that she was just as obsessed with him as he was her.

Would that truly help anything though? If anything, the team would be more concerned. They’d been walking on eggshells around him since prison, surely this would only add to the treatment. JJ had asked him once if he ever considered leaving the Bureau, if he’d lost faith in them after what had happened. Spencer had never even considered it until now, until this damn woman put the thoughts directly back into his head.

The Bureau wouldn’t help him with this, they’d put him on another psych leave.

“Wait,” Spencer forced out, not looking over his shoulder but knowing she’d stopped walking anyway. “Where are we going?”

“Tennessee.”

“I have to be back by Monday.”

“Done,” she stated simply. “Come on then, Dr. Reid, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover."

Anyone would’ve been able to tell you that this was a risky mistake.

Getting involved with a federal agent could mean your direct end. One wrong move, one simple miscalculation, and you’d become well acquainted with the feeling of a chemically-stopped heart. This was a well-calculated risk, though, because this wasn’t just any federal agent. This was Dr. Spencer Reid, who had been to prison and back, who had gotten involved with another killer before.

Spencer was no ordinary FBI agent.

The car ride was mostly silent, and as expected Spencer spent the majority of it with his hand near his gun. You’d pulled your own out and sat it in your lap, a quick reminder that he wasn’t as in control as he thought he was.

“Did you know you can tell a lot about a person based on their opening positions in chess?” you asked, smirking at the clear surprise painted over Spencer’s face. He would never stop underestimating you, would he? It would catch up to him eventually, of that he was sure.

“You play chess?”

“When I can manage to find a good opponent,” you answered. “I bet you play the Reti the most. Strong, quick starts that grab control of the board as soon as possible. It’s a risky move, one that requires complete faith that you’re the most intellectual person at that board. It’s risky because you don’t take many risks after the beginning. You’ll pass up easy captures because you know your original strategy doesn’t need altering. It’s like you’re not even playing against another person, you’re just concerned with your own moves.”

“What about you then? Do you play a Queen’s Gambit?”

“You’re cute, but no,” you told him, shaking your head. It was an obvious choice for him to make for you: named for the female piece, the ambition, the practicality of thinking through every option. “You can try again later.”

“Where are we going?”

“Trust the process, Dr. Reid,” you cooed, wishing he’d stop asking that question every chance he could. “I’ve answered a lot of your questions, I think it’s time you start answering mine.”

“Like what?”

“Honestly, I can’t seem to figure out how you survived three months of prison,” you told him, glancing over to see his tightened expression, “not when the way you’re acting now makes it obvious you’re a cop. Unless...”

“Unless?”

“What did you do in there, Spencer?” No answer. “It’s okay, there’s no judgment here. After all, I bet I’ve done much worse for something less important as survival.”

You would give him a few minutes—time to gather what he could possibly say and time for him to try to figure out your intentions. How could he possibly figure you out though, when Spencer was so clearly confused about himself? He’d lost who he was years ago, but that was just how they’d wanted him—lost, confused, nothing without this job.

“I poisoned several inmates because they’d killed my only friend. They could have easily died,” Spencer admitted, and you fought the triumphant smirk that wanted to reveal itself.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” you told him instead. “And I totally get it. They probably would’ve killed you if you hadn’t, right? You did what you needed to do.”

“I guess.”

“What?” you asked, feigning surprise at his guilt-ridden words. “That’s not what you’ve heard?”

“I’m a federal agent,” Spencer stated as if that explained anything. Sometimes these people could be so dense, with their tightly-wound morals.

“So what? You can’t honestly think your team would have rathered you be dead as perfect little Spencer than alive like this.” He didn’t answer, but that was an answer all in itself.

You’d give him time to think it through before you tried again.

“Do you believe in destiny, Spencer?” you asked, watching the way his expression gave away how lost in thoughts he’d been.

“Why?”

“I’m just wondering if you think you were destined to be a cop or if there was another path you could’ve taken,” you explained simply, shrugging your shoulders. “Was I always meant to be a killer?”

“My friend used to tell us that each person who went through trauma as a kid had options. They could become serial killers, or they could become the people who caught them,” Spencer explained, voice as gentle as you’d ever heard it. The tone was almost reminiscent of the way he’d spoken to his team—dare you to say, it was the beginnings of trust.

“So in another life, we might’ve met on the same team?” you asked. And what a thought that was? To think, if things had gone just a little differently, you might not have had to go through life this way. It could’ve been easier, having friends and a team you could rely on. You could go home to the same house each night without fear of being caught. You could find someone to love without fear of them seeing the way your hands were stained red.

“We could have,” Spencer answered, tone lighter as he seemed to also consider the alternative.

What would you have become, the two of you? Would it have worked out? Without the red scarring your entire persona, would he have been able to truly see you?

“You killed him already, didn’t you?” Spencer asked suddenly, shocking you out of the imagined future.

It took a moment to place the statement, to figure out who exactly the ‘him’ was in this scenario. It was the same person it always was though, everything coming right back to him each and every time. Even though it had happened years ago, you’d never be able to escape from him.

“How’d you come to that conclusion?” you asked, begging your voice to remain as steady as possible. You didn’t want him to see the flash of vulnerability—the shock as your Pops was brought up without time for you to brace against it.

“You said you weren’t scared of him anymore,” Spencer told you, at least having the decency to speak softly. “Anymore implies that you once had been. I don’t know of another way to make that fear go away.”

“Are you still scared of your dad?” you asked instead, turning your head to look at him once you hit a stop sign. You practically pleading with him now, fighting back the glacier-cold tears in your eyes. “Catching men like him, did that make it go away?”

“I’m constantly looking over my shoulder for him, every day,” Spencer admitted, jaw tightening. “As I said, I don’t know of another way to make it go away.”

“So I did the right thing.”

“Why do you need it to be the right thing?” he asked you instead, and God knew if you had a good answer to that. You’d never cared about any of the others, but damn if your Pops didn’t still haunt your dreams so many years later.

“I was eighteen when I did it,” you explained, beginning to drive down the country backroads that would lead you to your old home. “He killed the boy who promised to take me away from here, to make something good outta me. I think Pops couldn’t handle the fact that he’d lost control of me.”

“You did what you had to do.”

That was enough for you to slam the brakes of the car, jolting both of you forward. You turned to face Spencer completely, eyes searching his for any sign of lying. It would be a cruel game to play, to make you believe he really cared at all. “You really mean that, Dr. Reid?”

“I do.”

“Interesting,” you answered, hoping the plan would work out in your favor. You had to have read Spencer correctly, right?

It took only a few more minutes to reach your old home. It was a smaller farmhouse, a plot of land that was left unkept and untamed for decades. The old barn with that damned hayloft still stood in wrecked pieces just beyond the house. The burned remains of your old life still rested with it—the two men who’d died that night still kept there. You’d been the only one to survive that night, and yet, somehow it felt like the losing end of the deal.

“Come on, Spencer,” you urged him forward, wanting to get the burnt-down barn out of your view as quickly as possible. It had been years since you’d felt this panic—the racing heart, the clenching and unclenching fists, the urge to check over your shoulder for danger you knew was long since gone.

“Why are we here?” the man following just behind you asked. You didn’t answer, he’d find out soon enough.

Because sitting tied to a chair in the living room, was a man you’d only met once. William Reid, gagged and struggling in his binds once he noticed you two. It had been far too easy to find him, and far too easy to figure out that he was in fact guilty of everything you thought he was.

“Dad?” Spencer gasped, then soon directed to you, “What are you doing?”

“I’m helping you take the fear away,” you explained, holding out the handheld gun you’d been using for years. “Just one simple squeeze of your finger, and it’s gone.”

“Are you crazy?” Spencer exclaimed, “I can’t kill him!”

“Why not? You said I did the right thing, Spencer!”

“Yeah, for you!”

“What, how are you any different? You can’t tell me he didn’t hurt you. I see it, Spencer, the way a piece of you never recovered from what he did,” you told him, pressing the weapon into his palm and curling his fingers around it. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me it didn’t take you years to learn those kinds of touches weren’t supposed to destroy you inside. Tell me that, and I’ll let both of you go right now. You can cuff me and take me to your team, and forget all about the broken girl who thought you were anything like her.”

Spencer stood there for long enough that you began to wonder if you’d miscalculated. Would he not do it? Would he really take the cuffs you could see on his belt and bring you in? After everything, did he still think you were just some crazy woman who was always meant to end up like this?

Then, once again, Spencer Reid surprised you. He stared down at the weapon in his hand for a long time, moving it as if to test the weight of it in his palm. Then, slower than you’d ever seen someone move, he raised it to point at his father. With one loud bang, William Reid was gone.

Instantly, Spencer switched the safety on and dropped the gun to the ground. He gasped, palm still open as if the weapon might’ve burned it.

“Congrats, Spencer,” you whispered above the deafening silence, “you’re free now.”

Where once he’d moved slowly, now Spencer moved so quickly you couldn’t catalog his movements first. Suddenly you were pressed with your back to the wall, one of Spencer’s large hands bracketing your middle while the other resting on your neck. It was still warm from the gunfire, and you wondered if it would leave gunpowder residue there on your lifeline.

Spencer’s lips were on you, pressing hard enough to bruise. You were quick to fight back, hands coming up to tangle in his hair and tug. Your tongues slid against each other, playing a well-choreographed dance. Spencer was quick to try to engulf all of you, to grip you hard enough to bruise and make you his. As he moved his lips down your jaw to your neck, your fingernails scratched along his scalp, occasionally tugging when he elicited a loud moan from you.

“Say it again,” Spencer ordered, lips barely picking up off your skin.

Immediately you understood. “You’re free, Spencer,” you told him, head tilting back to expose more of your neck to him. “You did the right thing, you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

Any other time, you might’ve protested against the way Spencer tore through your shirt. The fabric was discarded easily, and then your hands were working the buttons of his shirt to free him of that too. There was an urgency to each of your movements, a desperation to be closer to the one person who understood you completely.

Then Spencer’s hands were on you again, squeezing each breast until you moaned. He rolled and pinched each nipple until your back arched off the wall, baring more of yourself to him. “Please,” you whimpered, but for what you were begging for you had no idea. More, less, everything.

“Get on your knees, Baby,” Spencer demanded, giving a rough pinch to your sensitive nipples when you didn’t move.

“You think I get on my knees for just anyone?” you teased, smirking and looping your fingers through his belt loops, pulling his hips closer to yours. “You’ll have to try a lot harder than that, Doctor.”

The cool press of metal on your temple was a shock but sent shivers down your exposed back. He’d kept the safety on, but the knowledge that he now had his own gun aimed to your head was enough. Spencer matched your smirk, hazel eyes filled with triumph as you sunk to your knees in front of him.

“Don’t make me use it again,” he threatened, to which you only laughed.

“I think I’d like that, Doctor,” you told him, quickly freeing him from his pants.

Spencer groaned the second your lips were on him, head tilting back as you sunk down as far as you could. You came back up, tongue sliding around the head of his cock as you guided his hands to your head. The second you’d given him permission, Spencer’s hands dug into your hair and guided your head back down. You took everything he gave you, humming around his length as he groaned.

“Fuck, Baby, you feel so good.”

And God, what would you do to hear him call you that again? It was easy to get lost in the moment, Spencer’s hands holding you steady as he fucked your mouth.

“You’re perfect for me, Baby,” he told you, sending shocks of pleasure straight through you, “I could keep you like this all the time, on your knees with my cock in your mouth. Would you like that? Are you mine, Baby?”

All you could do was hum against him, taking his member further in, in the hopes he’d understand. Yes, fuck yes you wanted to be his. You’d be his Baby for as long as he’d have you if it meant you could feel this way again. You weren’t sure someone had ever made you feel this good.

“I’m gonna come if you don’t stop,” Spencer warned, releasing his hold on your head so you could slide off of him. What a sight you must have been there—on your knees, tears building up in your eyes and a bit of spit slipping from the corners of your lips. Spencer had made a beautiful wreck of you, and all you could do was beg for more.

You stood, allowing Spencer to guide you to your old bedroom when your knees shook from the position you’d held for so long. He guided you to the bed with more care than expected, gently tugging your pants off of you and discarding them. Once your panties were tossed away, Spencer was guiding your legs apart and slipping between them.

“Fuck, Spencer, please,” you begged as he made his way up your leg, pressing kisses up your thigh and just barely missing where you’d hoped he’d land.

“What do you want, Baby?” he teased, fingers drawing gentle circles into the flushed skin of your inner thigh.

“You, please,” you groaned out, hips squirming a little in the hopes of making his fingers connect with your center. “I need you, Spencer, now.”

“You’re perfect like this,” Spencer cooed out, smirking as you cried out when his fingers brushed over your clit. He barely touched, simply brushing small circles over you and holding your hips down with his other hand. “I could keep you like this, desperate for me. You’d do anything right now, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, yes, fuck!” you whimpered out, “Fucking touch me already or I’ll make you.”

“What could you do? You gave your gun to me,” Spencer reminded you, hazel eyes alight with pleasure. “You’re mine tonight, Baby.”

And fuck if that didn’t sound perfect. Finally, blessedly, did Spencer bend to replace his fingers with his tongue on your clit. You whimpered, hands reaching down to tug in his curls as he lapped up your wetness. His hands held your hips steady, fingers digging in enough to leave marks for you to remember him by.

“Please, Spencer, please,” you begged, “you feel so good.”

You wouldn’t last long like this, Spencer gently sucking and licking at your clit while his fingers began to gently pump in and out of you. Your entire body felt like it was on fire, pure warmth and pleasure filling your veins.

The tension that built over so many weeks came out all at once, released in this moment. You weren’t sure when the hate turned to passion—or maybe it always had been from the start—but you were thankful for it now. All you knew was that now, in this moment, you needed all of him.

“Spencer, please,” you choked out, tugging on his hair to get his mouth away from you. “Fuck me, please. I need you.”

“You’re my desperate pretty girl, aren’t you?” Spencer cooed, moving up so he could press his lips to yours. You could taste yourself on his tongue, the burst of your own pleasure mixing with the lingering taste of coffee and something sweet on his lips. His thigh slotted between your legs and immediately you ground down on it, wanting to show him how desperate you were for him. “You’re perfect, you’re such a good girl.”

You smirked then as Spencer moved, lining himself up with you. “I don’t know. I think you handed your leash over to me, Doctor,” you teased, gasping as Spencer finally slid inside you. “You’re being such a good boy for me.”

His hips stuttered at your words, a moan slipping from him as you dragged your nails over his back. You could already see the beginnings of red marks, and you wondered briefly how long he would carry the mark of you with him.

“I’m not your good boy,” Spencer fought, thrusting hard into you to elicit a gasp.

“I don’t know, you’re pretty good at following orders, Dr Reid,” you fought right back. Each movement was as rough as your words, both of you fighting for dominance in that moment. You’d let him have his moment before, but just as you were his, he was yours. “Admit it,” you dared him as his pace picked up. You could feel each thrust, each time he filled you up and pulled back out. You weren’t sure anyone would ever compare to this again. You brought your hand down to rub against your clit, feeling the pleasure build up in your core. You gasped, arching your back as you clenched tightly against him. It was a burst of pure pleasure as you finished, fingers digging into his back as you tried to catch your breath. “Say it, Spencer.”

“I’m yours,” Spencer told you, groaning as he thrust one final time in you., “I’m all yours, Baby, only yours.”

The two of you collapsed into one another, a pile of entwined limbs. You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that—tucked up against his chest and held like you were the most important thing in the world. For the first time in a while, you wanted to cry. You wanted to cry for how good this had felt, for how perfect Spencer was for you.

You wanted to cry because there was only one way this would turn out for you.

For now, though, you would toss all fears for the future away in favor of holding onto Spencer. After all, you knew that no matter what, you would always be his Baby.

When Spencer woke without the pressure of another person beside him, he truly thought you’d left. You’d taken the car and left him stranded in the middle of nowhere in Tennessee with the body of his dead father.

Someday, he’d have to come to terms with what he did yesterday. It would be a tough realization, to think about the way his finger felt against the trigger—to think about how, in the brief seconds after the gun had been fired, he’d wanted to smile.

You’d managed to free him in a way he’d never thought possible. Spencer wanted more of you. He wanted to learn everything about you, and he wanted to touch you in every way he could. Spencer wanted a thousand more nights like this, the two of you finding yourselves in each other’s hands.

Spencer also knew what today meant.

The slowly rising sun meant an end to all of this. In another life, he could have had this, had you. If the world had been a little kinder to you, if you’d had the same lucky breaks he’d been offered, maybe you two could’ve spent your lives learning one another.

Instead, Spencer climbed out of bed and into the clothes you’d gathered up for him. When he padded out to the living room, he found you’d already cleaned up all evidence of the previous night. As much as he wanted to know, he knew it was best not to ask what ended up of William Reid. In your own way, you were taking care of Spencer by not making him clean the mess.

He found you by the barn.

Spencer had seen it when he came in—the building having long since been burned to the ground. The beginnings of new life had begun around some of the planks, bits of ivy climbing the wood, and weeds filling up the space where animals might have once lived.

“I could come with you,” Spencer offered, though knew he didn’t even believe the words himself. He would go where you were going, but from the look on your face, he knew you’d never let him.

“No, you can’t,” you confirmed, not taking your eyes off the remains of the barn. “In another life, it might’ve been different. But who we are now? I’m meant to do this, and you’re meant to hunt down people like me.”

“I don’t believe in destiny,” Spencer countered, desperation leaking into his voice as he recognized this conversation for what it was. “We’re not meant to be anything.”

“I play the Najdorf,” you explained.

“That suggests ambition, a drive to succeed by any means necessary,” Spencer told you in return, not wanting to say goodbye just yet.

“And pragmatism.” You sighed, finally turning to face him. Your expression was made of stone, trying to convey the strength that had kept you alive and free for so long. “These were wicked games we played, and I know when it’s time to call checkmate.”

“It’s not time,” Spencer fought, reaching out for your wrist. You easily dodged his hand, giving him a grief-filled smile. “You can’t leave. I finally understand you.”

“Go home, Spencer,” you told him, your mind made up. “You have a beautiful life, I’d never want you to give that up for a woman like me.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“The same thing you always did. Go to work, catch the killers, and go home every night knowing that you’re free from all of that fear you’d been holding onto for far too long,” you told him, tossing him the car keys. “And know I’ll always be yours, in case our paths cross again. Goodbye, Dr. Reid.”

“Goodbye, Baby,” Spencer told you, willing himself not to cry knowing this would be the last time he saw you.

You smiled then, the kind that was wet with unshed tears but at peace all the same. In the same way he’d found closure, you’d found your own peace to hold onto that night. “Call me Y/N.”

“Goodbye, Y/N,” Spencer corrected, and as you finally heard your name on someone’s lips for the first time in years, you wondered if maybe Spencer had been right.

Maybe you two would always be destined to find each other again, someday.