Spencer Reid One-Shots

The Tell-Tale Heart

I woke with a start when I heard the door open.

Spencer had told me not to wait up for him since he would be getting in late, maybe even closer to the next morning. Usually I would argue, insisting on picking him up at the Bureau, but I had had a long week, with my boyfriend gone on a case, unable to distract and discourage me from overworking.

And so, as soon as I finished up my work at the office, I drove straight to my own apartment, where promptly I fell into bed, my weariness overtaking me before I even had a chance to mourn the lack of a certain familiar warm presence next to me.

It was impossible to tell how long I had been asleep, and I was too nervous to tear my eyes away from my bedroom door and check my phone for the time. My heart beat loudly in my chest, and I felt as if I were waking up from a nightmare that had yet to unfold. I held the blankets close to my chest, my spine straight and my eyes alert, trying to gain focus in the darkness of the room.

The floorboards in the hallway creaked as pair of footsteps made their way farther into the house. They sounded heavy, most likely from a large male.

Spencer had told me that the most effective action when it came to a home intruder was inaction. In general, intruders only got violent when they perceived a threat in the house, and otherwise, they would just steal whatever valuables they had been seeking and exit just as quietly as they entered.

Spencer. Where was my boyfriend when I needed him? I quickly went through all the ways in which I could think to defend myself if it should come to that while sitting as quietly as possible in my bed, still clutching the blankets.

A figure appeared in my doorway, and it was all I could do not to scream.

As he approached, I noticed a familiarity in the outline of his silhouette. He was tall and somewhat thin, with a strong posture. There was a chance I could overpower him, but I couldn't tell if he was armed, and I wasn't willing to take that risk.

Instead, I picked up my phone off of the bedside table and spoke in the strongest voice I could manage. "My boyfriend is an FBI agent and I have him on speed dial. Even if you kill me, you won't have time to get away. Do you really want to be charged for murder on top of theft?"

"He must be a pretty shitty boyfriend if he's not here with a girl as beautiful as you," he said.

My heart dropped in panic, until I realized I recognized that voice.

"Spencer?"

"That's not how I told you you should deal with a home intruder." I could hear the smile in his voice.

I threw a pillow at his face, the adrenaline still pumping through my veins making for a fairly solid throw. "You scared me!

"Ow," he said, unsuccessfully blocking my throw. "I'm sorry, I just couldn't wait to see you until the morning."

"So you broke into my house?"

"You really should get a security chain for your door," he said. "Or at the very least, use your deadbolt."

I gave him a look to let him know that he was not in a position to lecture me.

"I'm really sorry, Y/N. What can I do to make it up to you?"

"You can start by coming in here with me." I patted the space next to me on the bed.

Spencer obliged, snuggling in next to me and instinctively wrapping his arm around my shoulders, his free hand reaching out to hold mine.

"Your heart is beating over a hundred beats per minute," he said, caressing my wrists. "I really am sorry I scared you."

I sighed, begrudgingly melting into his comforting embrace. "How was the case?"

"Suicide by cop, but the girl is going to be okay," he said. "Now get some sleep, I know you've been working all week."

I tried best to close my eyes and willed my heart to slow down. But my profiler boyfriend could tell that I was still tense. After I shifted for the third time, he gently tilted my head to look up at him.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"I just— You weren't here, and if anything had happened..."

"I'll do anything to keep you safe. You know that."

"No, but—"

"No?" He blinked, drawing back his upper body slightly to look at me. "When we started dating, I told you I wouldn't let this job get to you."

"But it gets to you, Spencer," I said miserably. "If anything were to happen to you—"

"I'm in good hands," he said softly. "You've met my team."

There were no words to describe the amount of panic and worry I felt during each moment I spent without him, and all I could do was pull him closer, wrapping my arms around his slim torso and breathing in his familiar scent.

Spencer kissed the top of my head and began to stroke my hair in long, gentle sweeping motions with his delicate fingers.

"I'm not going anywhere," he murmured against my skin. "Do you want me to read you a story?"

I nodded, my breaths becoming more even as snuggled comfortably against his chest.

"Alright, how about some phantasmagorical short fiction?" he mused, mostly to himself. Then he began reading from memory:

"True! —nervous —very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am," he started. "But why will you say that I am mad?"

Spencer's voice was soft and smooth, but alive. He wasn't just reciting prose, but genuinely telling a story. He clearly pronounced each word, and the tension in my body unwound bit by bit with each lilting syllable. I could feel his chest vibrate against my ear as he spoke, his own breaths finding a natural rhythm between the words.

"Hearken! and observe how healthily —how calmly I can tell you the whole story," he continued.

I never heard the rest of the story, for his voice soon lulled me into an easy sleep.