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A/n this is a series of letters between Reid and JJ. Because it is now canon that JJ has always loved Reid, this will turn into a JEID fic. If you don't like the pairing, turn back now.

The first "chapter" occurs during the first season of the series, between Blood Hungry and What Fresh Hell?.

Thank You Note

Large flakes of pure white snow slowly dropped from the grey skies above. They reminded Reid of feathers as they see-sawed around and down to the pavement beneath his apartment. New snow dusted the windows of cars in the parking lot and outlined the edges and corners of other buildings.

A few people rushed by on foot, with their heads down and hands shoved into pockets. Some hurried into buildings or climbed into vehicles. So far, Reid could see that the new snowfall wasn't sticking to the blacktop, but that would change soon.

Reid tore his gaze from the snow and returned his eyes to the note pad on his lap. He sat in his favorite, Victorian Rocco-style wing chair. He'd found the chair at an estate sale and had restored it in his spare time. Now it was perfect with green faux leather and restained hand-carved mahogany wood.

The notebook vied for his attention because he needed to write a thank you letter. Reid's grandmother constantly had reminded him that a gift necessitates a thank-you and that you showed gratitude with handwritten notes.

He sighed and began to write.

Dear JJ.

No.

Dear JJ didn't sound right to him. Reid pursed his lips and tapped his pen against his chin. He closed his eyes and brought to mind a book of etiquette belonging to his grandmother. Grandma Silvia believed that a lack of manners and essential knowledge, and adherence to proper etiquette resulted in society slipping into chaos.

Reid realized that the book he called into memory began a letter as Dear and then the name. He frowned because something still didn't feel right. Reid studied the paper and realized something else the book said.

He went to his desk and opened the top drawer. Inside, he found the stationery and envelopes he used to write to his mother. Reid paused and wondered if it was weird to use the same paper to write a thank-you note to his crush. Then he realized that it was too stormy to got out for more, and it was stupid to freak out about something so trivial.

"She'll never know," Reid said to the empty apartment. "Unless you tell her."

Reid felt his face grow hot. No, he'd never tell her. He'd write one thank-you note to JJ and then return the stationery to his desk for writing to his mom.

He went back to his favorite chair, picked up his pen, and began again.

Dear JJ.

Thank you for purchasing a new scarf -

No, that wasn't right. Reid crumpled the paper and threw it to the floor. "You're not writing to a business, dummy."

Reid sat back in his chair and wondered why he couldn't think of something to sweep JJ off her feet. She was so beautiful and friendly. He adored her pet name for him. Spence. Thinking about the way she said it made him tingle all over.

"Stop it," he said. "Just write the letter, and then you can go back to your Dr. Who marathon."

Reid decided he needed to stop talking to himself or end up institutionalized like his mother. He sighed and forced his thoughts away from his mom and back to his letter.

Dear JJ,

Did you know that only twelve percent of the US population write letters to each other?

NO!

Reid tore up the paper and let it rain down around him to the floor. "She doesn't want to read statistics. Argh, why is this so difficult?"

He sat with his head in his hands for a long time, and then he left the chair for a new cup of coffee. The smell of his favorite beverage calmed his spiraling thoughts, and as he sipped, he decided his next draft would be the last. It was utterly ridiculous to struggle so terribly to write a short thank-you note.

Dear JJ,

I hope you will forgive me for taking so long to write this note. Thank you for the scarf you gave me for Christmas. I like the color, and it is incredibly comfortable on cold days.

Sincerely,

Spencer.

Reid wanted to sign his name as Spence but thought the better of it. It was too personal. He read the letter and wondered if it was too short. It didn't matter, he decided, because he'd promised himself that it was the last draft. If he continued to reject his attempts, he'd never finish the letter.

He signed his name with a flourish and put it in an envelope. He decided he didn't dare to give it to her in front of the bullpen, so he addressed it to her in care of Quantico. Reid added proper postage and put it on top of mother's letter to mail in the morning.

It was too late to turn back now.