Love Letters and Hate Mail
Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Criminal Minds, or any of its characters. If I did, I would not be wasting my time writing this fan-fiction. I would be out with Reid. Because I love him. I really do.
Author's Note: My name is Marlena. I have fallen truly, madly, deeply in love with Criminal Minds as a show, as well as (well, actually mostly) Dr. Spencer Reid. I couldn't find a good long story involving Reid and a nice, long, drawn out, complicated romance (those are my favorite kinds) so I wrote my own. I involved Garcia in this story as a sort of self-appointed guardian angel. She is my second favorite character and I thought that she deserved some limelight and romance of her own. I want to say right off that I will be putting very little if any emphasis on the criminal part of the show. I know that it is best part of the show and what not, but I simply won't do it for a few reasons. Among them, firstly I feel that I could not do them justice. I do not know enough about what they do to write about it accurately, and one of my many pet peeves is inaccuracy in writing. Secondly, my goal was to focus on the personal lives of everyone- especially Reid. So, I am very sorry, but if the crime is what you are looking for, you won't find it here. But onto brighter things. My updating schedule may be a little erratic but I do actually have a plot and a story outline and everything for all of my chapters for the first time ever (most of which was accomplished in health class because it is pointless and nauseatingly simple) so it wont be as bad as it normally is with me. Well, I think I will shut up now and let you read. Enjoy!
Chapter one: Saying Goodbye to Garcia
Dr. Spencer Reid was not having a good day. Morgan continues to torment him about his unique talents and quirks. He was just on a plane for the past six hours for no reason. Needless to say, Reid was very much ready to get into his little VW bug and drive home for the weekend.
"HEY! REID! You're not even gonna say goodbye to me?" Garcia yelled from her cramped, computer-laden office as he passed.
Reid walked into her office slowly, puzzled. He had never been required to bid her farewell before…
"Um…Goodbye?"
"Have a seat, darling," she said sweetly. As he did so, the chair held him sweetly, and rather tightly, in his place.
"Garcia, what are you doing?" Reid asked, struggling against his bindings.
"Just being your guardian angel, gorgeous," she replied. "So, Dr. Reid. A little birdie tells me that your social life leaves something to be desired. Not that it was really a secret…"
Reid glared over Garcia's shoulder. "A little birdie named Morgan, I'll bet," he muttered.
She chose to ignore him. "So I have decided to help you."
"You're not going to try to set me up with your cousin again, are you?"
"No, but I don't see what was wrong with her."
"What did you do, Garcia, and what makes you think that I need to be bound to the chair?"
"I made you your own website!" she said brightly, pulling it up among her plethora of screens.
"…Why?"
"That's the best way to meet people, you know, like you can go into super genius chat rooms or whatever it is that you do."
"Actually, I don't spend all that much time on my computer."
"You will look at it when you get home tonight," she said menacingly, "And if you don't," she tapped a monitor affectionately, "I shall know."
"Are you threatening me?"
"Yes."
"Oh, well, ok, then…umm…can I go?"
When Garcia finally released him, he sped home so as to avoid any further interruptions. When he arrived, he kicked off his shoes that no one liked, hung up the sweater that everyone jeered at, and began preparing his dinner.
With things bubbling and boiling on the stove and an obscure punk rock band playing in the background (punk rock was one of a few guilty pleasures that Reid possessed), Reid had a few minutes to have a seat and allow his tireless mind free reign. Here, no one would judge his looks or his style or his less-than-necessary fact-spouting that was borderline involuntary. Here, he was Spencer. Just Spencer. He glanced over at his computer and remembered Garcia's 'advice'.
He wasn't sure how exactly she would know whether or not he looked at this website, but he had learned by now not to doubt her skills (or her threats). He turned on his computer and typed in the web address she had given him. It read: Spencer sighed at the less-than-creative web address he had been given, but decided to give the page a once-over. He had to give Garcia her props: (though I doubt he would word it quite like that) it was beautifully done.
He abandoned his computer as the enticing aromas of impending dinner lured him into the kitchen of his small but tidy apartment. His roast beef was almost done, as were the carrots, corn, and the rolls. Evidently, cooking, too, was among Spencer's guilty pleasures. Suddenly, his computer began emitting a tinny, relentless dinging noise. The words 'You have 1 new message' flashed in various colors on his screen. He clicked it and rose to return to his food when the noise ceased, then hesitated. What could it hurt to read it? He opened the message, which was from an 'HP4ME'.
'Hello, Spencer,' it read,
'Or rather, hello, Dr. Reid. Whichever you prefer. I tend not to trust computers, so I think I will have you call me…Leilynn. Yes, I rather like that name. I stumbled across your site while doing some research, and I thought that talking to Dr. Spencer Reid of the FBI, youngest member of the BAU, would be fun. I (like you, I think) am not a person of general acceptance. That is to say, I don't particularly mesh well with my peers. Not that I outright dislike them, but their incessant stream of snide (and sometimes just rather rude) comments drive me to the edge of insanity…
As I look over what I've written so far, I realize that you may think it odd that I am emailing you on a website that was created for you this morning, and talking to you as though we are old friend and telling you the misery of my life. If I were you, I would be extremely suspicious, and I don't blame you one bit if you are.
However, I will give you my personal opinion (though it is of little value or use to an FBI agent). It is easiest, I think, to tell a complete stranger your woes and worries, your triumphs and joys. They will not look upon you the next day with pity in their eyes, or a sneer in their smile. They don't mock your celebrating the tiniest of victories. Well, they very well might actually. You might. But if you were to do that, I would simply find someone else to talk to who's willing to listen. But you seem like a nice guy, so I don't think that I have to worry.
So, now you see why I seek friendship in distance. You don't have to answer right away, or even at all… I'm sure that you have more lives to save, more barriers to break, and more trails to blaze.
Have a lovely weekend.
With admiration,
Leilynn '
Spencer stared at the screen. Admiration? The only person who admired him was his little brother, and that was because he could shoot milk out of his nose (well, actually, it was only once, but it made an impression and an interesting nickname). This had to be a joke…right? From Morgan, probably. As he went to rescue his now slightly overcooked dinner, he pondered as to what he would do about this mysterious person. If he emailed back saying to leave him the hell alone, and it really is just a lonely girl looking for someone to talk to, he'd feel terrible. But if he replied with some of his own thoughts, and it ended up being Morgan or another of his antagonists, he'd never live it down.
He considered and pondered and weighed options all through his dinner and well into the night. Unsolved problems occurred only very rarely for Dr. Reid, and even rarer still was his ability to sleep soundly with their presence. He did eventually come up with a solution, however, after several restless hours. He would write back as though what all that the girl said was completely true, that she was who she said she was. On Monday, he would be careful to watch for snickering and surreptitious glances. Morgan surely wouldn't be able to resist taunting him. And Reid would smile calmly and let him know that he knew all along that it was him, and that he wrote all of that rubbish just to see what he would do. But, if Morgan said nothing, the girl could be a viable option for a companion.
He closed his eyes and laid his tired head down on his pillow. Running his fingers through his hair and turning off his bedside lamp, he had a final thought glide through his consciousness. 'It might be nice to have someone to talk to…like she said…someone to celebrate the tiniest of victories with…'and with this, he drifted peacefully to sleep.
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Spencer awoke uncharacteristically late. He had no alarm clock, but then, he never had a need of one. His cell phone was always ringing at all hours of the night, alerting him that he needed to be awake. Except, apparently, for today. It seemed that the crazies, too, were taking a vacation. It was about ten thirty on a beautiful Saturday morning when Spencer finally poked his tousled hair out from beneath his covers and talked himself into waking up. He strolled in a sleepy daze to his coffee machine, which, by the miracle that is modern technology, had coffee ready and waiting for him (though it was a bit cold by now). As he aroused from his heavy-eyed stupor, he remembered last night's dilemma, as well as its solution. When he had fully awakened, he sat down at his computer and began to carefully type his response.
'Hello Leilynn,' he typed,
'I'm not entirely sure what to say to you, so I will start by answering questions that you had in your letter and go from there. First, you may call me either Spencer or Dr. Reid- I don't have a preference. Seeing as you already know my real name, giving you a pseudonym would be pointless…um…'
His fingers hovered over the keyboard, waiting eagerly for instruction, and it was quite a long time before any came.
'Well, you were strangely (yet refreshingly) spot-on in your assumptions that I do not mesh well, as you put it, with my peers, though I'm not sure how you arrived at that conclusion. I do indeed find it suspicious that you talk to me as if you know me (though I find it even more so that you seem to know so very much about me), but perhaps not for the reason that you think. You see, my coworkers, one in particular, would find great pleasure in impersonating a lonely-'
He stopped and hastily erased the last word. He couldn't be accusing her of loneliness. '…in impersonating a girl with seemingly identical interests and social issues.'
Much better.
'However, if you are who you say you are (well, actually, I know for a fact that you aren't Leilynn, as you told me so yourself, but I think you understand what I mean)…Well…I would be glad to have someone to talk to, I think…As for the breaking of barriers and the blazing of trails, I'm not sure that what I do, personally, quite qualifies. I memorize profiles. I point the people who have better aim with a gun than I do to the killer. Nothing terribly barrier-breaking there. But think what you wish.
Also, do not belittle yourself. My being in the FBI in no way makes your opinions any less valuable. Remember that. You know, I don't think that anyone has ever bid me to 'have a lovely weekend'. I think that it's kind of cool.'
He paused'Keep your cool, Spencer,'he chided himself. He was beginning to forget that there was an excellent chance that he was in fact typing to a coworker. Mistakes now could mean misery later. Spencer decided that it would be best to wrap up his letter quickly.
'Though I have no lives to save at the moment, I do have a bit of work to do.
Ummm…Have a nice day,
-Dr. Spencer Reid'
Spencer breathed a sigh of relief that the letter was written and sent and made a mental note to kill Garcia when he returned on Monday. He poured out his now freezing cold coffee and sat down to a good book that ended up resting next to him, closed and unread. He was amazed with himself and how quickly he jumped at the opportunity to talk to someone with some vague understanding of all that he went through, all his secrets, his fears, his social handicaps… He had never thought of himself as lonely, but as he considered his immediate response to the prospect of a non-judgmental friendship, he realized how starved for understanding he really was.
This thought disturbed him. He hated needing help, or even entertaining the notion that he did. As a child prodigy that constantly shot the grading curve to crap in a public Las Vegas high school, he had long ago developed a viciously sturdy block from his own emotional needs in life. He knew that he would never be popular, never be understood, and never get a date with Shannon O'Connor. These were simply things that he accepted. As he grew older and wiser, however, to the fact that barricades were not necessarily the answer, his mental blocks were springing leaks all over the place. The little voice in his head telling him what exactly it was that he wanted and needed was escalating in pitch and desperation. He was losing control. His armor was weakening and that scared the hell out of him.
"Yes," he said aloud to his sofa and unread book, "I am definitely going to have to kill Garcia on Monday."
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Well, there it is- my newly edited chapter. Please read and review- you know you want to::puppy dog eyes:
Thanks,
-Marlena