Bookstore Girl, 𝘴. 𝘳𝘦𝘪𝘥

v.

✧.* season one, episode nine

(ɴᴏᴠᴇᴍʙᴇʀ 2005. )

Walking into that train car, through the sheer terror that seemed like it would consume him, Spencer Reid came to realize a number of things. 

Firstly, he might have an IQ of 187, but he really was an idiot. What kind of man walks - without a gun - into a hostage situation, all courtesy of a possibly schizophrenic and extremely delusional author? 

Well, him, apparently. 

That led him to his next realization. 

He cared. Simple as that. He loved Elle so much, and he was willing to put his own life at risk to save her. He loved them all, everyone on his team. Sure, Morgan teased him relentlessly, but it was like he was the older brother Spencer never had. 

And the third thing? Well, the third thing was probably the most profound, at least to him. His job was so rewarding - most days - but it was also one where he could die any time they went into the field. 

 He did the math, and found that each time any of them went into the field to confront an UnSub, they had about a 27% chance of getting shot - and a 6% chance of dying from that gunshot wound.

So, that really put things into perspective. 

The third thing Spencer Reid realized that day was that his life could be cut short at any moment, and he had every intention to try and appreciate every minute he was still breathing. 

When he got home that night, after tackling the mountain of paperwork, he wrote a letter to his mom. The paper stood stark against the dark wood of his writing desk, and he fiddled with the fountain pen in his hand. 

Each letter was different, and each time - every single day - he struggled with how to start it. Today, he chose the simple "Mom". 

He thought she'd like that; knowing that he loved her even if he didn't see her all the time. Ever, really. 

Finally, sick of waiting, he set to writing. 

✧.*

"Okay, okay, how about this," (y/n) said, as she and Spencer wandered aimlessly through the bookstore in the early morning sunshine. "favorite kind of ice cream?" She watched him purse his lips, and his hazel eyes narrowed as he thought. 

She'd taken to calling it his 'thinking face'. Not that he'd ever find out about that, obviously. 

"I've always been more of a sorbet person, actually." Spencer corrected, and she rolled her eyes at him. Lately, they'd been meeting at the bookshop about once a week, whenever he could find time - between job trips. 

(y/n) still didn't know what he did for work, and she was dying to know. 

"Fine. What kind of sorbet is your favorite?" As she posed her question, she grabbed a novel from the shelf, pulling it down to inspect it as he thought of his reply. 

"Raspberry." 

They were in the science fiction section, and (y/n) had found a copy of Cicero's Selected Works. Shaking her head, she tucked it under her arm to be re-shelved. 

"Your turn, sorbet lover." She teased, glancing at him as he almost tripped over a stack of books on the ground. 

"All right, let me ask you this:" he stopped walking, and she turned to face him. He seemed serious all of a sudden, and she eyed him warily. "If you didn't have this store, where do you think you'd be, right this minute?"