Spencer Reid was painfully aware of what hung in the balance: his mother’s life. The prospect of going out with Cat Adams was hardly something to look forward to — far from it, in fact. The idea of a date was more a cruel joke than a pleasure, though he couldn’t help but find some quiet amusement in the fact that he was utterly incapable of roller-blading. But if there was one thing he wished, it was to face that humiliation alone. Or better yet, with you by his side.

Reid loathed Cat with every fiber of his being, and yet here he was, forced into this charade of a date.

To his dismay, Cat had even insisted on coming to his apartment — because, naturally, you were there. And of course, of course she knew it. Spencer resisted at first; exposing you to her was unthinkable, an invitation to chaos. But resistance was futile. The choice had been made for him.

Now, he stood just outside his own door, Cat Adams looking up at him with that infuriating smirk. Then she declared, as if holding the night hostage, that Spencer had to kiss her — or else the evening would be a failure. God, no. Reid would have rather taken a punch to the face. But again, he had no leverage and Cat held all the cards.

So, he kissed her.

And he kissed her deeply — because the ultimatum was clear: it had to be a good kiss, or his mother’s safety was compromised. In his mind, he conjured your face in place of Cat’s, and that cruel mental trick granted him a small mercy. But the reality was brutal — Cat tasted of stale ashtrays and spoiled vodka, a bitter reminder that this moment was anything but sweet.

To make things worse, as the kiss lingered, the apartment door swung open. There you were, seated calmly on the couch, waiting.

You knew. Of course you did. You were a profiler too, and you had worked with Spencer long enough to understand the stakes. You had feared this moment all along, knowing exactly what Cat intended. She wasn’t just playing a game with Spencer — she was playing one with you, trying to provoke doubt, to seed mistrust.

When Spencer caught sight of you, he broke away instantly, eyes wide and filled with silent apology. No. No, no — he couldn’t allow this to unravel what was unfolding between you two. You weren’t Max, or Maeve, or anyone from his past. You were different. You were the one he loved, in a way so deep and so terrifying that it both terrified and exhilarated him.

“You’ve had your date,” Reid said, his voice clipped and cold as he gestured toward the police officer stationed silently at the end of the hall. Cat was going back to jail. “Leave my mother alone.”

“Oh, lover,” Cat purred, leaning in for another kiss — but Spencer leaned away just in time, and the officer pulled her back.

Turning then, Spencer faced you. You had risen from the couch, waiting quietly, your expression a complex blend of worry and something unspoken. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and the weight of his failure settled over him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, hands reaching out as if to find you — but faltering before he touched your arms or shoulders. “You shouldn’t have had to see that. I didn’t want to kiss her.”

You knew. Of course, you knew. Witnessing it had been painful, yes. But it was Cat’s game all along. And you? You were still here.