The Story That Didn't Want To Be Written | Spencer Reid x Reader

Sixth Floor

"Shit!"

You're late. Because of course you are. It's not like Hotch warned the team earlier this week that Strauss' goons were going to be observing the team today. That would be just too perfect.

In the three years you've worked at the BAU, you have only been late four times. Culminating to a whopping forty two minutes in total, a fact that the lovely doctor Spencer Reid reminds you of every time you make fun of his perfect punctuality. You could swear the man doesn't sleep; the relentless eye bags he always seemed to be adorning, his ungodly consumption of coffee at all hours of the day, and the way he always seems to get to work just a little before the rest of the team- even when you're being called in to catch a serial killer at 3 in the morning.

You're certain he is keeping track of the minutes passing by as you stumble through the parking lot of your building, clumsily trying to press the button on your keys to lock your car, manage not to spill your still scalding coffee, and carrying what seems like no less than fourteen items in each hand.

Thank you women's clothes designers for never feeling the need to bless me with pockets! You think to yourself.

As you continue sauntering up to the door, you swiftly tuck your phone, keys, and wallet into your purse and let out a sign before straightening your back and attempting to look the least bit professional as you stroll into the building.

Taking a few steps forward towards the desk, you smile at Janice before presenting your badge. Even though you've known each other for years, she still makes quick work at looking over your badge and punching in a few numbers into her computer to confirm you are logged into the system. She looks back up at you and gives you a kind nod before hesitantly opening her mouth to speak.

"I heard you're all being observed today, good luck with that..." she says with a nervous giggle. You can tell she wants to say something else by the way her breath catches in her throat and her jaw waivers for a moment, still deciding whether she wants to say it before she does. There's no need, really. You're a profiler- you already knew what she was going to say before she looked back up at you a final time, closing her jaw and deciding against speaking again. You suck in a deep breath through your nose and close your eyes, turning your head to look upward toward the ceiling, you can see the hue of the bright fluorescents behind your eyelids and the soft, yet determined orange color you see served as a warning of the fire you are surely about to face.

"They're already here, aren't they?" You ask tentatively, your jaw now absolved of all the slack it had moments before, your eyes still closed and head still rolled back. You look down toward Janice, who's sorry eyes had contorted to display her abundant empathy, her lips forming a thin line that somehow still reflected true sorrow for your situation. She nodded slowly, like the action itself pained her. You gave her a curt nod and once again sighed, dreading the elevator ride you were about to take up to the sixth floor, where you were sure to find a stalled meeting of your co-workers, awkwardly sitting around the briefing table and making hesitant small talk with the goon squad while waiting for you to be so kind as to join them.

You figure it's probably best to just bite the bullet. The longer you took, the worse it would be... right? You hoped so.

With that, you turned away from Janice after whispering a kind goodbye, knowing her kind empathy was going to do little to ward away the negativity that already seemed to be consuming you. You walked a few feet to the right and summoned the elevator with the push of the 'up' button, rocking back and forth on your feet while you waited. You could feel the dread building up in your stomach- you felt nauseous. This was such a stupid little error, why of all days did this have to be the day you were late? Really Y/N? You just had to pick today? You were an overthinker- and quickly your mind found it's all too comfortable way back into the depths of your mind, immediately quickening your heartbeat as your imagined Hotch's glare as you walked through the BAU doors. You imagined the goon squad looking toward the door and immediately opening their note-pads to write something down. Were you about to get fired? What the hell- of course you weren't... jesus girl you need to calm down. You're late to one briefing, it wasn't going to cost you your job! But still, the rational side of your brain seemed to be consumed with guilt and shame. You're a whole ass adult and you still can't get it together enough to be on time to work- ridiculous.

Just as you felt yourself giving into the disaster you seemed to be creating in your own head- the elevator doors opened. Much to your relief, they opened to reveal an empty space with no other agents in sight. Thank. God.

You weren't a huge fan of the idea of being stuck in an elevator with other agents as you woefully made your way up to your meeting. Chances are, they would have no idea who you were or where you were going, much less that you were late, but nonetheless, it didn't stop your heart from catching a moment before the doors opened, terrified you might just so happen to come across someone from the BAU and be subjected to their scrutinizing gaze for the next six floors.

You stepped into the elevator gratefully and turned to lean your back against the side of the railing before pressing the '6' on the elevator panel full of buttons. Your eyes lingered on it for a moment, admiring how it was the most worn number out of all the rest- from a lifetime of being relentlessly pushed without ever being minded so much as an ounce of appreciation. It was simply used for the convenience of others and never given a second thought. Wow you needed to get out and socialize. Here you were leaning against the side of an elevator, feeling sorry for the text on a button. You shook your head a little, hoping it might help you calm down. Your eyes opening just in time to feel the swift jolt of the elevator as it begins moving upwards. You've worked here for three years- using that elevator every single day- but the feeling never fails to make your heart skip a beat. As much as you hate to admit it, you still love the feelings it gives you, a little rush of adrenaline and the feeling of being a child- even if just for a moment.

Unfortunately, it never lasts too long. Before you know it, the doors are opening to reveal a busy 6th floor filled with agents looking down as case files, laughing at stale jokes, and rushing around in pursuit of their own case leads.

You step out of the elevator, feeling as if you left your brief good mood inside of it, experiencing only the comforting wash of dread sweep over your body as you find yourself in the open hallway before the doors to the bullpen. That is at least, until you see the infamous flash of color that is the one and only Penelope Garcia. 

A/N: Hi Loves! I am sooooo excited for this fic. This chapter kinda sucks because I am awful at writing filler stuff, but don't worry! There is some spiciness and intensity coming in the next few chapters.