CM!AU-ficlets
Verse: Master!Hotch/Convict!Reid
Beta: Unbeta
Ratings: Each chapter is rated
Disclaimer: Not mine.
X-posted at cm_hotch_reid and criminalxminds
Of Shopping Malls and Hair Salons
(PG)
Spencer, please tell me what kind of clothes you like to wear,” Hotch said tiredly. They stood in the hallway at a local mall and had been for the past forty minutes.
Whatever you prefer, Sir,” Spencer replied in a quiet distressful tone as he shifted his weight.
Hotch sighed. This wasn´t going anywhere and the only answer he was going to get was the same one he´d gotten all week. He´d finally found time to take Spencer shopping and he was wasting it fast. Abruptly he turned around and headed for the nearest clothing store without taking in the name. It turned out to be a store where teenagers sought out, with jeans, graphic Ts and bulky hooded sweaters. Feeling out of place, Hotch turned around and looked at Spencer. The young man stood stiff, his head down but Hotch noticed the eyes darting back and forward with small panic. He grinned in triumph as he walked back out.
The next store sold more conservative men´s clothing. He noted how Spencer seemed more relaxed and quickly accepted the help offered from the sales man, whose nametag read ‘Gary’. “We are going to need some clothes.”
“Then you came to the right place,” Gary said with an eager smile. “For you, Sir?”
“No,” Hotch replied and turned around, “for him.”
Gary´s grin fell a little when he noticed Spencer in his white T and blue shorts and the small collar hanging loose around his neck. “Of course, Sir.” Gary turned toward Hotch. “Do you have his measurements?”
“No,” Hotch replied.
“That´s fine, Sir, let me just find a measuring tape,” Gary said, his face again beaming and he left after a curt nod.
Hotch walked up to Spencer. He knew there was no other way to do this if he wanted to get out of here before closing. “I want you to find at least three pair of pants, five shirts and three sweaters that you like, also some underwear, socks and couple of ties. Have the salesman help you if you need something.” Hotch nodded toward a corner to his left that had sofas and what seemed to be a coffee machine on a tall table next to the couch. “I´ll be over there and you can have a cup of coffee when you are done.”
Gary returned with the small tape in his hands. “Gary,” Hotch said, “this is Spencer, he´s going to tell you what he needs.” Hotch promptly ignored Spencer´s panic look and headed over to the couch. He heard Gary ask Spencer what he needed and Spencer quickly rambling off his shopping list. Not too happy about the situation, Hotch sat down with a cup of coffee and grabbed the nearest paper. He kept a close eye on Spencer and Gary, but soon relaxed a little when Spencer seemed to find an item or two.
“I think we are done, Sir,” Gary said twenty minutes later. Hotch looked up and noted Spencer eyeing the clothes and packages on the counter with worry.
Hotch smiled and stood up. Gary hurried behind the counter and started ringing up the clothes. Stopping next to Spencer, Hotch smiled gently. “Go get that coffee,” he said quietly and Spencer nearly sprinted toward the machine.
Hotch presented his card without worry and handed two out of the five bags to Spencer as they walked out of the store. “Next is shoes,” Hotch announced and headed deeper into the mall.
As they walked past the salon, Hotch stopped and looked inside before glancing at Spencer. His wavy, brown hair came down past his shoulders but the ends were split and it bore no style. The difference in length told him it must have been cut at random.
“Haircut?” Hotch asked.
Spencer looked at the salon before looking at the floor, his hair falling past his face and hiding it. “If you wish, Sir.”
“It will be easier to manage if it´s shorter,” Hotch told him and walked inside.
“Can I help you, Sir,” a thin young woman asked him.
“I was hoping you´d have an opening,” Hotch asked.
“Of course, is it for you?”
“No, him,” Hotch replied and looked over his left shoulder where he knew Spencer would be standing.
“Right, this way,” the woman said and smiled. She led them to a chair nearby and Spencer wordlessly took a seat when Hotch asked him to.
“Bruce will be right with you,” she told them and walked away. Hotch noticed how Spencer seemed to get more agitated as the seconds ticked by. He was about to reassure Spencer when a man in a bright pink shirt and khaki pants came up to him. “Hi, I´m Bruce,” the man introduced himself with a wave of hands.
“Oh, my! That´s a big tangle of hair. Any idea what you want done with it?” Bruce asked with drama and played with the long strings.
“Just something, short and manageable,” Hotch replied and would have chuckled if Spencer hadn´t squeezed his eyes shut in fear.
“ Hmm…” Bruce said and pulled the hair away from Spencer´s face. “Oh, he has such strong features,” Bruce said with gleefulness, “let´s see if we can´t emphasize them.” Hotch only noticed how Spencer sank deeper into the chair.
“Look up, young man. Let me see your pretty face,” Bruce prompted and Spencer lifted his head but kept his eyes half closed.
“Want something traditional or stylish?” Bruce asked Hotch with flashiness.
“Let´s go with traditional,” Hotch said and saw Spencer´s shoulders ease down with relief.
It took half an hour to cut Spencer´s hair and Hotch was surprised by the change. The short hair suited the man much better and for the first time he got a really good look at the face; the high cheekbones, the straight nose and the long jaw. The cut made Spencer also look so much thinner. When Spencer briefly glanced at him, Hotch caught the sadness and wisdom behind the brown eyes. Primal protectiveness forced its way into his chest, catching him off guard and making him lose his breath for a second. Oh, god, he was going to have to lock the gates to that path and fast. There was no way he could afford to go down it.
He forced himself to curl his lips. “Better, much better.” he told the other man and noticed how Spencer steeled himself at his words.
With a sigh, he walked out of the salon with Spencer behind him and tried to focus on finding some shoes.
***
Cookies
(PG)
Spencer stood and stared at the red, rounded box sitting on the middle of his desk. He glanced up at his Master´s office where the owner sat by his desk, reading. Carefully, he picked up the box. It wasn´t very heavy and when he gently shook it there was a scraping sound. Silently, Spencer made his way to the office and cautiously entered it.
His Master looked up and then at the box in his hands. “Looks likes some of Garcia´s famous cookies,” his Master said.
Spencer worryingly bit his lower lip. No matter how he longed to taste the cookies, he knew he had no right to keep the box or its content; rightfully it belonged to his Master.
Over the past six months, Spencer had learned that his Master went to great lengths to distinct between “mine” and “yours” but Spencer was still wary of it. The Rules clearly stated that whatever came into a Convict´s possession while he was under contract, belonged to the Master and was his/hers to do with as desired. Failure to report such possession would result in punishment.
His Master had never shown any indication of owning anything that he said were Spencer´s things or clothes, even when it was bought for his Master´s money. Still, Spencer didn´t dare otherwise then report the box so he hesitantly he set the box down on the desk.
“I found it on my designated desk, Sir,” he said quietly and made sure to look down.
“Then it´s yours,” his Master said without looking up and signed a report. “You better hide it before the others see you with it or you´ll have to share.”
Spencer knew that was his permission. Should he dare? Making a split decision, he reached for the box and removed the lit. Inside lay about a dozen large rounded chocolate chip cookies, the sweet smell tickled his nose and brought water to his mouth. He held the box toward his Master and drew in a deep breath. “Would you like some, Sir?”
That made his Master look up but Spencer made sure his eyes stared at the wooden desk and missed the surprised look in his Master´s eyes.
“Yes, please,” his Master said with a hint of smile as he reached for one cookie. “Thank you.”
“You´re welcome, Sir,” Spencer replied quietly as he closed the box and headed toward his desk with his treasure in hand. Looking around the office and seeing it half empty, he took one for himself before slipping the box into the bottom drawer. With a small content sigh he reached for a file and started reading as he nibbled at the cookie.
***
Just a Cold
(PG-13)
For the third day in row, Spencer forced himself out of bed. He rubbed his eyes as his head started thumping in protest of the movement. This was definitely the worst day of the three. On top of his headache, his body ached all over, his throat was sore, his nose was stuffed and it hurt to breath. Still Spencer made his feet move toward the kitchen to start the coffee-maker because there was nothing he could do other then let the cold run its course. After putting four slices of bread in the toaster he headed back to his bedroom to start getting ready for the day.
Showered and dressed for the day, Spencer headed back into the kitchen and found his Master sitting by the kitchen table, eating a slice of toast. “Good morning,” his Master said.
“Good morning, Sir,” Spencer replied and fell to his knees by his Master´s feet. He sat back on his heels, fighting off the urge to lie down on the kitchen floor and close his eyes.
“Spencer,” his Master said worryingly. Spencer couldn´t help but squeeze his eyes shut because he knew he´s done something wrong but the throbbing pain in his head was making it difficult to think. Spencer jerked when his Master laid a hand on his shoulder. The gentle squeeze was unexpected, but a fist or slap of hand could still follow and his body curled in fear.
“Are you alright?” His Master asked in front of him.
“Yes, Sir,” Spencer breathed out quickly, but had to give in to the short coughing fit that followed. When he managed to catch his breath again, Spencer slowly opened his eyes but kept his head downcast. Out of his periphery vision he saw his Master was down on one knee and that was no place for a Master. Slowly Spencer let his Master raise his head but kept his eyes downward to be prepared for whatever his Master intended. Suddenly he realized his mistake; he should have taken a seat at the table instead of taking position by his Master´s feet.
Although in the five months he´d been here, this Master had never punished him, but that didn´t mean he never would. Eight months had gone by before Professor Burwick had ordered him into his bed. Even if the Professor had been careful and apologized before sending him back to the couch Spencer had slept on, it had been painful and frightening. That night he´d silently cried himself to sleep.
His Master raised his hand, and he couldn´t help flinching as the hand moved closer. Halting his movements, his Master waited a few seconds before gently setting it against Spencer´s forehead. “You´re burning up,” his Master told him quietly.
“It´s just a cold, Sir,” he breathed out and hoped his Master would believe him. Convicts didn´t get sick-days.
“No, I think you caught the flu that´s been going around,” his Master said and rose. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
Carefully, Spencer stood up but suddenly felt dizzy. He couldn´t help the small cry of apprehension and startle when a firm arm came around his shoulder guided him back to his bedroom. How will he punish me?
His Master let go of him in the bedroom and Spencer made sure his head was bowed, trying to focus on the dark shoes his Master wore. “Get some rest,” his Master whispered, “I´ll bring you some water after I´ve let Dave know we´re staying home.” And with that his Master walked out of the room.
Spencer stared at the half open door for a whole minute in confusion before starting to pull of the clothes that suddenly made him too warm. He slid under the covers and sighed in relief when his head hit the pillow. Fast asleep, he didn´t know that his Master slipped quietly into the room, set a tall glass of water on the bedside table and carefully felt his face for the fever before pulling the covers further over him.
***
A/N: I´m still working on the last chapter. It currently sits at little over 6K and with a side doc of 2K. I have no idea how long it will be or when I´ll finish it. Until then, I hope these ficlets keep you satisfied.
Beta: Unbeta
Ratings: Each chapter is rated
Disclaimer: Not mine.
X-posted at cm_hotch_reid and criminalxminds
Of Shopping Malls and Hair Salons
(PG)
Spencer, please tell me what kind of clothes you like to wear,” Hotch said tiredly. They stood in the hallway at a local mall and had been for the past forty minutes.
Whatever you prefer, Sir,” Spencer replied in a quiet distressful tone as he shifted his weight.
Hotch sighed. This wasn´t going anywhere and the only answer he was going to get was the same one he´d gotten all week. He´d finally found time to take Spencer shopping and he was wasting it fast. Abruptly he turned around and headed for the nearest clothing store without taking in the name. It turned out to be a store where teenagers sought out, with jeans, graphic Ts and bulky hooded sweaters. Feeling out of place, Hotch turned around and looked at Spencer. The young man stood stiff, his head down but Hotch noticed the eyes darting back and forward with small panic. He grinned in triumph as he walked back out.
The next store sold more conservative men´s clothing. He noted how Spencer seemed more relaxed and quickly accepted the help offered from the sales man, whose nametag read ‘Gary’. “We are going to need some clothes.”
“Then you came to the right place,” Gary said with an eager smile. “For you, Sir?”
“No,” Hotch replied and turned around, “for him.”
Gary´s grin fell a little when he noticed Spencer in his white T and blue shorts and the small collar hanging loose around his neck. “Of course, Sir.” Gary turned toward Hotch. “Do you have his measurements?”
“No,” Hotch replied.
“That´s fine, Sir, let me just find a measuring tape,” Gary said, his face again beaming and he left after a curt nod.
Hotch walked up to Spencer. He knew there was no other way to do this if he wanted to get out of here before closing. “I want you to find at least three pair of pants, five shirts and three sweaters that you like, also some underwear, socks and couple of ties. Have the salesman help you if you need something.” Hotch nodded toward a corner to his left that had sofas and what seemed to be a coffee machine on a tall table next to the couch. “I´ll be over there and you can have a cup of coffee when you are done.”
Gary returned with the small tape in his hands. “Gary,” Hotch said, “this is Spencer, he´s going to tell you what he needs.” Hotch promptly ignored Spencer´s panic look and headed over to the couch. He heard Gary ask Spencer what he needed and Spencer quickly rambling off his shopping list. Not too happy about the situation, Hotch sat down with a cup of coffee and grabbed the nearest paper. He kept a close eye on Spencer and Gary, but soon relaxed a little when Spencer seemed to find an item or two.
“I think we are done, Sir,” Gary said twenty minutes later. Hotch looked up and noted Spencer eyeing the clothes and packages on the counter with worry.
Hotch smiled and stood up. Gary hurried behind the counter and started ringing up the clothes. Stopping next to Spencer, Hotch smiled gently. “Go get that coffee,” he said quietly and Spencer nearly sprinted toward the machine.
Hotch presented his card without worry and handed two out of the five bags to Spencer as they walked out of the store. “Next is shoes,” Hotch announced and headed deeper into the mall.
As they walked past the salon, Hotch stopped and looked inside before glancing at Spencer. His wavy, brown hair came down past his shoulders but the ends were split and it bore no style. The difference in length told him it must have been cut at random.
“Haircut?” Hotch asked.
Spencer looked at the salon before looking at the floor, his hair falling past his face and hiding it. “If you wish, Sir.”
“It will be easier to manage if it´s shorter,” Hotch told him and walked inside.
“Can I help you, Sir,” a thin young woman asked him.
“I was hoping you´d have an opening,” Hotch asked.
“Of course, is it for you?”
“No, him,” Hotch replied and looked over his left shoulder where he knew Spencer would be standing.
“Right, this way,” the woman said and smiled. She led them to a chair nearby and Spencer wordlessly took a seat when Hotch asked him to.
“Bruce will be right with you,” she told them and walked away. Hotch noticed how Spencer seemed to get more agitated as the seconds ticked by. He was about to reassure Spencer when a man in a bright pink shirt and khaki pants came up to him. “Hi, I´m Bruce,” the man introduced himself with a wave of hands.
“Oh, my! That´s a big tangle of hair. Any idea what you want done with it?” Bruce asked with drama and played with the long strings.
“Just something, short and manageable,” Hotch replied and would have chuckled if Spencer hadn´t squeezed his eyes shut in fear.
“ Hmm…” Bruce said and pulled the hair away from Spencer´s face. “Oh, he has such strong features,” Bruce said with gleefulness, “let´s see if we can´t emphasize them.” Hotch only noticed how Spencer sank deeper into the chair.
“Look up, young man. Let me see your pretty face,” Bruce prompted and Spencer lifted his head but kept his eyes half closed.
“Want something traditional or stylish?” Bruce asked Hotch with flashiness.
“Let´s go with traditional,” Hotch said and saw Spencer´s shoulders ease down with relief.
It took half an hour to cut Spencer´s hair and Hotch was surprised by the change. The short hair suited the man much better and for the first time he got a really good look at the face; the high cheekbones, the straight nose and the long jaw. The cut made Spencer also look so much thinner. When Spencer briefly glanced at him, Hotch caught the sadness and wisdom behind the brown eyes. Primal protectiveness forced its way into his chest, catching him off guard and making him lose his breath for a second. Oh, god, he was going to have to lock the gates to that path and fast. There was no way he could afford to go down it.
He forced himself to curl his lips. “Better, much better.” he told the other man and noticed how Spencer steeled himself at his words.
With a sigh, he walked out of the salon with Spencer behind him and tried to focus on finding some shoes.
***
Cookies
(PG)
Spencer stood and stared at the red, rounded box sitting on the middle of his desk. He glanced up at his Master´s office where the owner sat by his desk, reading. Carefully, he picked up the box. It wasn´t very heavy and when he gently shook it there was a scraping sound. Silently, Spencer made his way to the office and cautiously entered it.
His Master looked up and then at the box in his hands. “Looks likes some of Garcia´s famous cookies,” his Master said.
Spencer worryingly bit his lower lip. No matter how he longed to taste the cookies, he knew he had no right to keep the box or its content; rightfully it belonged to his Master.
Over the past six months, Spencer had learned that his Master went to great lengths to distinct between “mine” and “yours” but Spencer was still wary of it. The Rules clearly stated that whatever came into a Convict´s possession while he was under contract, belonged to the Master and was his/hers to do with as desired. Failure to report such possession would result in punishment.
His Master had never shown any indication of owning anything that he said were Spencer´s things or clothes, even when it was bought for his Master´s money. Still, Spencer didn´t dare otherwise then report the box so he hesitantly he set the box down on the desk.
“I found it on my designated desk, Sir,” he said quietly and made sure to look down.
“Then it´s yours,” his Master said without looking up and signed a report. “You better hide it before the others see you with it or you´ll have to share.”
Spencer knew that was his permission. Should he dare? Making a split decision, he reached for the box and removed the lit. Inside lay about a dozen large rounded chocolate chip cookies, the sweet smell tickled his nose and brought water to his mouth. He held the box toward his Master and drew in a deep breath. “Would you like some, Sir?”
That made his Master look up but Spencer made sure his eyes stared at the wooden desk and missed the surprised look in his Master´s eyes.
“Yes, please,” his Master said with a hint of smile as he reached for one cookie. “Thank you.”
“You´re welcome, Sir,” Spencer replied quietly as he closed the box and headed toward his desk with his treasure in hand. Looking around the office and seeing it half empty, he took one for himself before slipping the box into the bottom drawer. With a small content sigh he reached for a file and started reading as he nibbled at the cookie.
***
Just a Cold
(PG-13)
For the third day in row, Spencer forced himself out of bed. He rubbed his eyes as his head started thumping in protest of the movement. This was definitely the worst day of the three. On top of his headache, his body ached all over, his throat was sore, his nose was stuffed and it hurt to breath. Still Spencer made his feet move toward the kitchen to start the coffee-maker because there was nothing he could do other then let the cold run its course. After putting four slices of bread in the toaster he headed back to his bedroom to start getting ready for the day.
Showered and dressed for the day, Spencer headed back into the kitchen and found his Master sitting by the kitchen table, eating a slice of toast. “Good morning,” his Master said.
“Good morning, Sir,” Spencer replied and fell to his knees by his Master´s feet. He sat back on his heels, fighting off the urge to lie down on the kitchen floor and close his eyes.
“Spencer,” his Master said worryingly. Spencer couldn´t help but squeeze his eyes shut because he knew he´s done something wrong but the throbbing pain in his head was making it difficult to think. Spencer jerked when his Master laid a hand on his shoulder. The gentle squeeze was unexpected, but a fist or slap of hand could still follow and his body curled in fear.
“Are you alright?” His Master asked in front of him.
“Yes, Sir,” Spencer breathed out quickly, but had to give in to the short coughing fit that followed. When he managed to catch his breath again, Spencer slowly opened his eyes but kept his head downcast. Out of his periphery vision he saw his Master was down on one knee and that was no place for a Master. Slowly Spencer let his Master raise his head but kept his eyes downward to be prepared for whatever his Master intended. Suddenly he realized his mistake; he should have taken a seat at the table instead of taking position by his Master´s feet.
Although in the five months he´d been here, this Master had never punished him, but that didn´t mean he never would. Eight months had gone by before Professor Burwick had ordered him into his bed. Even if the Professor had been careful and apologized before sending him back to the couch Spencer had slept on, it had been painful and frightening. That night he´d silently cried himself to sleep.
His Master raised his hand, and he couldn´t help flinching as the hand moved closer. Halting his movements, his Master waited a few seconds before gently setting it against Spencer´s forehead. “You´re burning up,” his Master told him quietly.
“It´s just a cold, Sir,” he breathed out and hoped his Master would believe him. Convicts didn´t get sick-days.
“No, I think you caught the flu that´s been going around,” his Master said and rose. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
Carefully, Spencer stood up but suddenly felt dizzy. He couldn´t help the small cry of apprehension and startle when a firm arm came around his shoulder guided him back to his bedroom. How will he punish me?
His Master let go of him in the bedroom and Spencer made sure his head was bowed, trying to focus on the dark shoes his Master wore. “Get some rest,” his Master whispered, “I´ll bring you some water after I´ve let Dave know we´re staying home.” And with that his Master walked out of the room.
Spencer stared at the half open door for a whole minute in confusion before starting to pull of the clothes that suddenly made him too warm. He slid under the covers and sighed in relief when his head hit the pillow. Fast asleep, he didn´t know that his Master slipped quietly into the room, set a tall glass of water on the bedside table and carefully felt his face for the fever before pulling the covers further over him.
***
A/N: I´m still working on the last chapter. It currently sits at little over 6K and with a side doc of 2K. I have no idea how long it will be or when I´ll finish it. Until then, I hope these ficlets keep you satisfied.