Chapter Text
The gym in the FBI building was unusually empty for a Monday morning. A few treadmills buzzed quietly in the background, the occasional clang of weights dropped too fast echoed across the room. Y/n hung from the pull-up bar in front of the mirrors. Maybe it was because she was ex–Air Force, but there was comfort in feeling her muscles burn and contract under her skin. The pain was familiar, grounding, making her body feel alive, pull after pull. Music blasted through her headphones, pumping her with enough confidence to conquer the world. Well, maybe not the world, but at least the day.
The gym was her safe space, away from gruesome cases and irritating coworkers with big, brown eyes.
Until a reflection in the mirror caught her attention, and Spencer’s figure appeared in her line of sight. She didn’t stop her reps, just watched him through the glass.
“Dr. Spencer Reid in a gym? Who would’ve thought.” She forced out a laugh that she knew sounded fake. His darkening eyes ran up and down her body. Was he seriously judging her form? She finished one last pull-up, dropped down, wiped her hands on her leggings, and turned to him.
“You know I don’t even cross the door of a gym. Too many germs.” He rolled his eyes, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “But Emily wants to talk to you.”
Her stomach dipped. Being called to the boss’s office was never fun.
“Why?”
“Why what? Why does she want to talk to you, or why did she send me?”
“The first one. But now I also want to know why she sent you.”
He narrowed his eyes and lifted his index finger. “Don’t know.” Then the middle finger. “Didn’t ask.” Then the ring finger. “And also don’t care.”
The look on his face looked too much like pride.
“God, how old are you? Thirteen? Just tell her I’ll be up in fifteen.”
“Actually, she said I can’t come back without you.”
He had to be joking. What was even the point of this? Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? It wasn’t enough that she had to listen to him blabber for hours on end during cases; now he had to invade her sanctuary, too.
“Ah. Funny joke. Just go tell her.”
“No, I’m serious, Y/n. Do you think I want to wait for you to make yourself pretty? I have no idea why she wanted me, but she said it was an order.”
With a grunt, Y/n grabbed her water bottle and towel and stormed toward the locker rooms. What kind of game was Emily playing? She knew they could barely last five minutes in the same room together, see: last week’s disaster of a case. It wasn’t new. Two years she’d been in the BAU, and their rivalry showed no sign of cooling off.
When she came out of the changing room, Spencer was leaning against the wall right outside, waiting. She hated him. Hated him. But even she could admit he looked good standing there.
And when he read, his fingers flying over the page at impossible speed.
And when he tackled an unsub, pinning them down with surprising strength.
She would never admit it out loud, but sometimes she caught herself wondering what his hands would feel like around her throat, only to remind herself, very quickly, how much she hated him. He was probably terrible in bed anyway.
“Took you long enough.” His useless commentary pulled her back.
“Do you know one of the biggest tells that someone is American? They’re always leaning against something. CIA agents are trained not to.”
He rolled his perfect eyes. “Of course I know. And in case you forgot, we’re FBI.”
Y/n just walked off. He wasn’t worth the oxygen it would take to reply.