𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 [spencer reid]

bonus chapter: grudges

[circa end of season 7, a
few months after "in the end"]
[tw: references to drugs]

         𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐀 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 too many reasons to count. However, what notably stuck out to her on a daily basis was his ability to teach her how to cook. Spencer Reid was no chef, but with one skim of a cookbook, he could instruct Francesca on all she needed to make delectable dinners on certain nights in. Thanks to him, she had mastered the art of boiling water, grilling chicken, scrambling eggs, and more.

         It was a random Wednesday night when she was exercising these newfound talents, watching over spaghetti as it cooked perfectly in a giant stove pot. The girl had been alone for a few days ever since Spencer texted her with no context on Sunday that he would be stuck at work for quite awhile. The message didn't phase her, though; she was used to him taking off for work at Aaron Hotchner's beckon call. She generally liked to cook if the two of them were eating together, but out of boredom she decided to conquer a pasta recipe that caught her eye on Pinterest. So, with no intention of Spencer returning that night to indulge in the Italian dish with her, she only made one serving size of pasta. That was the first thing she thought of when the doorknob of their now shared apartment fiddled before the door pulled open to reveal a frazzled Spencer.

         Francesca craned her neck over her shoulder, still stirring the noodles in front of her. She was confused as to why the boy gave her no initial acknowledgement, so she spoke up first. "You're home early!" she tried to be cheerful despite the evident frustration on his face. "You're on your own for dinner, though. Only made enough pasta for myself."

         "I'm not hungry, thanks," Spencer murmured, stopping clumsily to steal a glimpse of her before putting his head down again and sulking to the bedroom. Francesca groaned, hating seeing him like this. She turned off the stove, moving the pot away from the hot burner before marching after him.

         She found him shoving clothes from his go bag into the drawers, no sympathy for the flimsy wooden construction. "Hey, what did that thing ever do to you?" Francesca pointed to the dresser in hopes to lighten the mood. When he responded with nothing but a huff, Francesca walked up to him and grabbed his forearm. "Talk to me, Reid," she empathized, Spencer refusing to make eye contact with her. "We've discussed you holding in your emotions."

         As much as he didn't want to rehash his anger, Spencer knew his girlfriend wouldn't go down without a fight. He shook off her hold before plopping at the edge of the bed. "Emily is alive," he muttered, staring at his feet.

         Francesca didn't know whether or not to scream or laugh in his face. Alive? her conscience gasped. He has to be playing with me. Then again, he doesn't really know how to construct jokes. Shaking her head in disbelief, she crouched before Spencer, hands comfortingly on his knees. "You have to know how crazy that sounds to me, right?"