Part V

When Spencer woke up, it was nine thirty-three, and he was late. With a panicked sense of urgency that wasn't at all new to him, he jumped from the bed, grabbing his clothes. The events of last night played over and over again in his mind.


Hermione. The park. Kissing. Lots and lots of sex. It was with that thought that the pain hit him. His back. His ankle. Every muscle in his body seemed to cry out in dismay. Once again, he fumbled, trying to figure out why, until it hit him: his body isn't used to such contortions as Hermione was putting him through last night.

Her face burned in his mind like a flame. Where was she? How was Spencer supposed to make this awkward exit? Simultaneously a thing a lot like ignominy was coursing through him. Never before in his life had this ever happened. He threw on his clothes, stuffed his shoes onto the wrong feet and look a frightened step out of the bedroom.

To his horror, surprise and relief, Hermione was nowhere to be found. He debated whether or not to leave a note, but gave up after realizing he had no idea what he would write. "Thanks for last night. Hope I see you soon. Dr. Reid."

As Spencer exited the complex, a raggedy old woman (presumably the landlady) waved to him and said good bye. He finally knew what the walk of shame felt like.


Currently, the team was working on a case involving a fleet of murders in the Washington area. They had been home for some time and were happy to be so. On this particular case, Spencer had been sent off to work logistics with the one, the only Penelope. On any other day, he greatly enjoyed Garcia's sense of humor and quirky persona. Today, though, he felt strangely on edge. Despite the fact she wasn't a special agent, Garcia had an uncanny way of seeing through people Reid thought. After walking into her office two hours late and spilling his cup of tea five times, he knew, sooner or later, she would say something.

"Work your magic, honey buns!" she said at one point.

Whatever she had said before that was lost to Spencer. Up until then, he'd been thinking primarily about how soft the skin on Hermione's stomach was. Garcia gave a wild screech like a banshee to get Spencer's attention.

"Sorry!" she said, watching her counterpart jump nearly three feet into the air, "Nothing else was getting to you. I need you to read these for me, sugar." It was then Spencer noticed the giant pile of copy paper before him on the desk. Garcia gave a sympathetic smile, "Yeah, I know. For you, it's no big deal, though. You okay, Reid?"

A long silence went by. Suddenly, Spencer remembered what he was supposed to do when being addressed, "Yeah! Just…not with it today."

"Your headaches?"

"No. I mean…sure…I don't know…just…didn't sleep well last night."

That wasn't really a lie. He had barely slept last night.

Knowing that Hotch was waiting for some kind of news from them, Garcia could only brew Spencer another cup of tea (carefully handing it to him) and explain what she was looking for, "These are transcripts from the father's sermons between the years 1987 and 1994. I need you to find something…interesting…in them. And fast."

"What's interesting?"

"Blatant disregard for biblical text would suffice."

"What did he preach from?"

"What do you mean?"

"King James. Gideon."

"Is there that much of a difference?"

"Actually, yes. The interpretation between one from King James-"

"Reid, honey," Garcia broke in with a smile, "Are you going to tell me a cool fact about biblical translations?"

"Well, yes, it's quite interesting-"

"I'm glad you're back, but we're really in crunch time now."

At that exact moment, a phone went off and Garcia was picking it up with a touch of a button, "Good evening," she said in a thick Transylvania accent, "What can I do for you?"

Someone said something on the other line and Garcia giggled wildly. Most likely, it was Derek.


Several hours and one Electra complex later, Reid was sleeping and Garcia was packing up for the day. Spying him, she gave a slap to his shoe and he woke up with a start.

"Go home, boy wonder. We saved the day again."


"They caught 'em."

"That's great," Spencer tried to stifle a yawn, "Really. That's wonderful. Are we going home?"

"Yes. It's like midnight."

Looking at his watch, Spencer announced, "It's twelve oh sex…six! Six! Twelve oh six!"

There was a long, awkward pause that was only broken by Garcia's mounting giggling.

"Someone's got a secret!" she sang.

"No. I…what are you talking about?"

She pulled up her chair next to Spencer's and stared at him, lovingly, twirling a blonde pigtail, "My dear Spencer, I know a Freudian slip when I see one, and, while I am flattered, I am spoken for."

The silence continued as Spencer's mind tried to keep up with Garcia's.

"That was a joke, sweetie."


"Are you okay?"

Spencer wasn't exactly sure what to say.

"You had a rough night."

That wasn't a question. Garcia was now working her magic. And all too simply, it happened.

"And when I say rough…I mean…rough…" She gave a sexy purr and Spencer jumped from his seat, tripping on the chair as he exited it.

"You big slut!" Garcia chimed, "Who is she? Who is she? Do I know her?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I know your little behavior analysis tricks, too, boy wonder, and I know when I'm being lied to. Your blinking is picking up. You can't look at me. You got in on last night, didn't you? Didn't you?" She stopped short and her hands flew to her face, "Oh. My. God. You lost your virginity last night, didn't you? Didn't you? It was your first time, wasn't it? Wasn't it?"

Several minutes later, after Spencer had to calm Garcia down and get her stop singing an endless round of, "Spencer lost his V-card!" he tried his best to do the inevitable and explain the day before. He had no idea where to start or what to say. For a long time, he stammered. Revisiting his time with Hermione was harder than he thought it would be. Not because he disliked what had happened, but simply because whenever he got started with the story, thoughts like how soft her stomach was or how thick her hair was filled his mind, making it impossible to keep track of what he was saying.