City Limits (Spencer Reid Fanfic)

Chapter Twelve: Could Have's, Should Have's and What If's

REID'S P.O.V.

"I wouldn't get any ideas about her, Pretty Boy."

I swiveled to face Morgan on the lumpy bar stool. Of course it had to be lumpy.

In a prime example of Morgan being Morgan, he'd picked the shiftiest pub in all of Rhode Island to flaunt his muscles and charm. Or, as he put it, 'it doesn't matter where, so long as ladies are there.'

Nevertheless, deciding to leave Rae to her thoughts after my... confession... I was now forced to endure the less-than-desirable and downright unhygienic conditions of Maury's Tavern. The thick aroma of beer and its alcoholic affiliates hit me like a wall as soon as I walked in. It was dim and loud with the ruckus of football fans, but somehow, I managed to spot Morgan's hulking frame from across the bar.

Then again, he reeked of testosterone, even in this environment. So much so, JJ had once teased that you could probably still hunt him down in a crowd at a Luke Bryan concert... whoever that is. Morgan had countered that he wouldn't be caught dead at a Luke Bryan concert, and the whole team had laughed, although the apparent joke went over my head. But anyway, I digress.

I did that a lot. Digress, I mean. Ramble in general. Having Rae around hadn't helped, either. I knew from the moment I met her in that elevator, I was in for it. She was just... different than other girls.

I hadn't known what to expect when I learned the BAU was taking Jason's niece on as an intern. She had a lot to live up to, in terms of her uncle's reputation, and that alone could be no easy feat. At any rate, she'd handled her position with poise: cementing herself as a Gideon, with the true gumption and graciousness that seemed hereditary, while standing out as an individual.

She was a Gideon, sure, but before that, she was just Rae.

She didn't stick her attributes, physical or personality-wise, in your face. I could tell underneath those layers of self-doubt and sarcasm, a potential agent existed. She had everything needed to be one, and the fact that she couldn't see it killed me. She was smart and selfless and brave, braver than I could ever hope to be. It required guts to come into the Behavioral Analysis Unit on an internship, but to be signed onto an actual case with no prior experience took a huge leap of faith—on Hotch's behalf, and also hers.

Moreover, she was funny, and kind, and so genuine. She always tried to smile, even when I could tell she was faltering in her attempt. Her hair, dark like a forest indoors, but bronze and fiery in the sunlight, and the way it fell just past her shoulders. When she laughed the deep belly-laugh I'd come to love, her nose crinkled and the slight sheen of freckles on her cheeks danced.

She cracked her knuckles before she'd dive into a daunting pile of paperwork, and made sure to take a sip of coffee every three paragraphs. She bit her nails almost nonstop, and bit her lower lip when she was super-focused. She loved cardinals, the birds, but not the baseball team. Her favourite colour was lime green, the same colour as Betsey Johnson, her '57 Chevy Bel Air. She listened to all sorts of music, but Disney soundtracks and rap were the odd medley most prevalent on her playlists.

She hated the name Lorraine, but would never tell her family, since she was named after her beloved grandmother. She could recite the entirety of The Princess Bride, occasionally talked in her sleep, and had once won a provincial spelling bee. She gagged at the smell of cheese, but could eat two cheese pizzas in one sitting, if prompted. She wanted to learn to play guitar, and travel to South America, and argued with me daily that Matt Smith was the best Doctor Who.

She was weird, and she was beautiful, and she was...

It didn't take me very long to realize I loved her.