Chloe Wallace needs a new start. When she lands in Washington, D.C. she hopes for the best. Finding a new job, meeting new people, and living a normal life away from her abusive ex-husband.
She moves into the Capital Plaza Apartments, right across t...
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CW: masturbation, dirty talk, fooling around in the car, past forced drug use, discussions of domestic violence and sexual assault.
Author's note: I've written Reid as autistic. I'm autistic, so this comes from my own experiences navigating the world as a neurodivergent person.
spencer.
Chloe is a natural when it comes to socializing. She's jovial and fun, expressive and witty at all the right moments. She's everything I wish I could be.
I swirl my pasta around my fork and take a bite while she talks to Garcia about where to buy shoes and vintage clothes in D.C.
Garcia, JJ, and Emily have already promised to take her shopping and then for cocktails. I already knew they'd get along. Outside of work, I've noticed that Chloe doesn't really venture outside of her apartment.
Not that I'm one to judge, but I think she could use more friends. Especially friends who can protect her.
Morgan already texted me after Chloe confessed to leaving a bad relationship.
MORGAN: Is she in trouble, kid?
I told him no, but if she ever is, she's got a whole team to back her. A threat to one of us is a threat to all of us, and as far as I'm concerned, Chloe's one of us.
My eyes dart around the table and then back to Chloe, who's laughing louder and harder than I've ever seen her before. I wonder where this version of her was hiding for so long. I love her laugh. Drunken and boisterous. She slumps back into her chair, covering her face with one hand while Garcia snickers. Across the table, Rossi eyes me with a big grin and then motions to Chloe when she's not looking.
"You did good. She's great."
I smile. I wasn't worried. It's like I said, she's everything I'm not.
A lot of the time, I find that human connection feels like trying to reach through a thick pane of glass that only exists for me and nobody else. For so many years, the only person who really understood me was my mom. She raised me to be proud of my intellect, and at home, she praised me for being able to read quickly, for my eidetic memory, for being able to spew random facts out of nowhere.
But when I began to venture into the world, I found that most people didn't appreciate what I had to offer. I felt like I had to dial myself back, but the problem is... I don't really know how. I've always thought I was autistic, but mostly unable to mask the condition— the word vomit, the social anxiety, the awkwardness and lack of awareness of social norms, the hyperfixations, the constant fidgeting... the list goes on and on. All of these things on top of my intellect made me strange. I gravitated toward things that other kids just... didn't.
Who attempts to read the entirety of gothic fiction in an entire summer when they're eleven? I started with Castle of Otranto and graduated to Shelley, Pollidori, and Stoker.
