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That Wasn't For You

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While February 14th marked a holiday that most adults, especially those of the single variety, came to despise, it was one that you absolutely adored. Relationship or not, you looked forward to a designated day for which people could let their love outpour from within. Given the less than lovely acts you saw on the daily, it felt even more necessary to overcompensate with the brightly colored decorations, saccharine confections, and little valentine cards that denoted the holiday. Luckily, there was one woman in particular that shared your love for being over-the-top: Penelope Garcia.

Over the weekend, Penelope invited you over to her place to make personalized, handmade valentines cards for your entire team. With a craft store bag full of construction paper, heart-shaped stickers, glitter, gluesticks, and colored pens, you arrived, ready to get to work. Some of the cards contained jokes geared toward the recipient’s taste, others had little motivational or appreciative words that you knew the person deserved to hear. Each member was receiving a handful of their own cards, with a heart-shaped lollipop taped to the back, because you and Penelope just couldn’t hold back. By the time you two finished working on the notes, Penelope had pink and purple glitter in her hair and you had a stomach ache from the too many lollipops you’d consumed absentmindedly while working. It was everything an afternoon with your best friend should be.

On the day of, the two of you distributed the notes throughout the day, sprinkling little love letters whenever you felt like it. You handed Derek one during the morning briefing, earning a laugh and playful eye roll at the inscription: I was going to make a football pun, but I’m too hot to watch sports. Sorry. You left one on Hotch’s desk and stealthily watched him open it, peeking into his office through his blinds. It was to let him know that he was doing a great job, both as a boss and a father, no matter how much it felt like he was slipping up at both. He tucked the note into his jacket pocket for safekeeping, patting it twice over the fabric.

The remainder of the day went in the same tune; dropping off valentines randomly between paperwork and coffee breaks, sometimes handing it to the person directly and sometimes leaving it as a surprise. During the very last hour of the work day, you hand delivered your last valentine to the office of Penelope Garcia. You’d been saving this one.

When she gently unsealed the card - she wanted to preserve it as best as possible, it was going into one of her scrapbooks later - Penelope’s face was not the giggly one you were expecting. She was confused by the note inside, but nodding along like she liked it anyways so as not to offend. But ultimately, she had to ask, “Was this meant for me?”.

She flipped the note to you, and it read: What did thymine and guanine say to adenine and cytosine? You complete me!

It was meant for Spencer. Not Penelope. Which meant something worse than Penelope receiving Spencer’s valentine. It meant Spencer received Penelope’s.

Turning right out of Penelope’s office, you bee-lined towards the bullpen, crossing your fingers and toes that you could intercept the note before Spencer came back from the restroom and found it. No such luck. Spencer was standing next to his desk, reading the note over and over.

“Spencer, no!” You lunged forward, trying to grasp the note out of his hand as if he hadn’t already seen it.

“You have a cute butt. Can I squish it?” he recited incredulously.

You already knew what was in the note, but hearing him read it back made your entire face and neck heat up with embarrassment. You lunged at it again, and once again Spencer yanked his hands away from you, the card firmly in his hold.

“Spencer, give it back.”

“No, it’s mine.” He kept tiptoeing away every time you stepped closer, protecting the valentine with one arm in front of himself to keep you back and the other holding the note as far from you as possible. You dived forward, and he pushed your shoulders back. You went for the low shot, ducking under his limbs, but he rolled away. Spencer thwarted each attack on the valentine with a precision you had yet to see on the field. “What made you realize it was so cute? Are my squats finally paying off? Derek will be so proud.” he teased, laughing at your humiliation.

“That was a joke valentine for my best friend! It wasn’t meant for you!” Spencer guessed that much already, but it didn’t stop him from enjoying this any less.

“Are you sure? I think I should keep it.”

You huffed and dropped your arms, retreating back to your desk. If he wanted to have it so bad, let him have it. Wrestling a co-worker in the middle of the office was sure going to cast a shadow on your professionalism.

“Hey,” Spencer called and you turned back around, “was it the black pants I wore last week?”

You snorted at yourself for being naive enough to expect he’d be done joking about this. Years of knowing Derek had finally rubbed off on the doctor, and somewhere around his seventh year at the Bureau, he gained all of the self-confidence in the world.

“I’d say the gray ones do more for the eye, actually,” you retorted, hoping to get a rise out of him the same way he was trying to get one from you.

Spencer could try and act like that didn’t affect him in any way, but the blush creeping up his neck was his tell.

Satisfied with his reaction, you packed up your things and left for the day, feeling as if you won that battle.

Come next morning, you found out that you very much did not.

Spencer came into the office clad in those gray trousers that stretched across his toned thighs and pushed his pert little butt upwards.

You counted four times that got up from his desk to visit Penelope’s office, twice that he got a fresh cup of coffee, and once where he simply got up just to take a lap about the bullpen, only to sit back down in his seat. Each time, he made it a point to walk past your desk, giving his hips an extra bit of motion as he did.

And it would be a lie to say that you didn’t watch him go each time he passed, eyes drifting to his backside in the most subtle way you could manage.

Regardless of if Spencer noticed your stares or not, he already decided to purchase three more of those pants, just to make you suffer all the more.