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wilbur-rabbit · 2 years

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Feelings

Life Changes series fic

Summary: Hotch realizes he has feelings for you

Paring: Aaron Hotchner x BAU!reader

Word Count: 2655

Warnings: fluff, slight angst

Life Changes Masterlist

Main Masterlist

A/N: This one shot takes part before all of the other parts so far. I really wanted to write about Hotch realizing his feelings and I think he would realize this before the reader would and be self deprecating about it. also I can't seem to stop writing about coffee in this series. so if you don't like coffee my apologies.

I hope you enjoy! Please like and reblog!

Hotch was sitting in his office working on a seemingly endless amount of paperwork when there was a knock at his door.

“Come in,” he said, without looking up, his pen still scratching across the page.

When he heard the door open, he glanced up to see you walk in with two coffees in your hand. You smiled at him when the two of you locked eyes and Hotch’s chest warmed at your bright smile. He kept his face as neutral as he could even though a small smile pulled at his lips on their own accord. Your smiles had always been contagious.

“I tried out a new coffee shop this morning and they had your favorite coffee, so I thought I’d get you a cup,” you said as you stepped forward and set one of the coffees down on his desk.

Hotch stared at the cup for a second, his chest betraying him again and feeling fuzzy, before looking back up at you.

“How do you know my favorite coffee?” He asked you.

“Whenever we have Liberica beans in the office you always drink more of it, regardless of if you need the caffeine or not,” you said, with a shrug of a shoulder like you noticing something as little as that didn’t make his heart skip a beat.

“Thank you,” he said bringing the cup up to his lips and taking a sip. The nuttiness and slight bitterness swept over his tongue, and he hummed in satisfaction.

He saw the anticipation on your face when he looked back up at you and said, “It is very good,” your face lit up in another grin that he couldn’t help but return. “Thank you again. You didn’t have to do that.”

You waved him off like it wasn’t a big deal. “I wanted to. I’m glad you like it.” With another smile, you turned and walked out of his office.

He stared after you for a moment, wondering how lucky the team was to have you, how you seemed to light up the office ever since you started. Or maybe it just felt that way to him. He shook his head, cleared his thoughts, and got back to work, this time having a coffee to enjoy.

The next time Hotch went to a coffee shop, which ended up being later the same week, his first thought was you. He wanted to return the favor and get you a coffee you would like. He knew you favored espresso over regular coffee, he had heard you telling Prentiss about the espresso machine you used at home while on the jet coming back from a case. The conversation prompted Prentiss to go out and buy the exact one. She had raved to you about how much she liked it the next day in the office, and you had lit up when she told you. Hotch had quickly gone up the stairs to his office not wanting anyone to see him eavesdropping.

He stared at the menu in the shop, feeling slightly overwhelmed by all the options. The place had unique names for every drink, having specialty drinks as well as drinks you would find at other coffee shops. He only ever ordered black coffee so he was a little out of his element. As his eyes scanned over the menu his thoughts took him to a memory of a case not that long ago. The police station that the team was working in had a coffee machine that had been broken when the team arrived. Even though the team didn’t voice their disappointment when the police chief told them, he knew they would be grumbling about it soon. The team had a caffeine addiction that Hotch didn’t foresee going anywhere.

About a day into the case, you were put in charge of ordering food for the team. He should have known you would order coffee too. When the coffee arrived, you would have thought it was Christmas morning. As everyone grabbed their designated cup and the cream and sugar that was included, Hotch took a step over to you taking a sip of his coffee.

“I think you made their day,” he told you, leaning down slightly to your height.

You grinned up at him, “When I saw the coffee place downtown delivered, I knew I had to get us some. Our food budget might be surpassed on this case.”

He chuckled and took another sip of his drink, savoring the nuttiness. He watched you take a sip of your drink. You hummed and closed your eyes in satisfaction. He watched your eyelashes flutter softly against your cheeks and his grip tightened onto the coffee cup. He was having this reaction to you more and more. He tried not to think about what that could mean.

“What did you get?” he asked, needing to distract himself and curious as to what had brought that look onto your face.

You looked up at him, “It’s a caramel latte,” you replied, still smiling softly. “I got Prentiss one, too.”

“Next.”

Hotch was brought out of his thoughts and realized it was his turn to order. He decided on a caramel latte to go with his black coffee.

Once he got to the office he wondered if bringing you something was the right choice. What if you didn’t like it? He shook off the thought before he lost his nerves and remember the look on your face when you first sipped the coffee on the case. When he walked into the bullpen out of sheer luck, you were sitting at your desk and the rest of the team was nowhere to be found.

With a sigh of relief, he walked over to you and set the cup on your desk, where luckily you didn’t already have a coffee cup. You looked up at him with furrowed brows.

“I wanted to return the favor,” he said, rubbing his thumb over his index finger. “I saw that drink and thought you would like it.”

Your face brightened into a smile that warmed him through and he couldn’t help but smile back. You picked up the drink and took a sip. You let out a hum of pleasure and closed your eyes as you savored the drink. Hotch couldn’t help but admire the soft look on your face before you opened your eyes and looked up at him.

“This is delicious,” you took another sip. “And caramel is my favorite.” You said and he could hear the truth in your words. “I didn’t have time to make coffee this morning, so this was a pleasant surprise. Where did you get this? It is so good.”

He smiled and told you about the coffee shop and the drink he had gotten for you.

“I’m definitely going to have to start going there from now on,” you said. “Thank you for getting it for me. You really didn’t have to.”

Hotch was already shaking his head. “I wanted to,” he told you. “I’m glad you like it.” He paused for a moment and debated saying the words that were on the tip of his tongue. That the two of you should go together, so you could try all their flavors and he could see which ones you liked the most. He looked down away from your eyes, knowing he was less likely to blurt out his thoughts when he couldn’t see your open expression.

“How did you know caramel was my favorite?” You suddenly asked.

He looked back up at you, his heart thudding at the question.

“The case in San Francisco, when their coffee machine was broken, and you ordered coffee for the team. You got yourself a caramel latte, it was clear you really enjoyed it.” Hotch swore he saw your cheeks turning slightly pink but why would you blush at that? He was the one that felt slightly embarrassed for remembering the fact about you. He had to admit that he liked the pink tint to your cheeks though.

“Thank you,” you murmured again.

“You’re welcome,” he replied.

The two of you stared at each other for another moment. Hotch didn’t know what else to say, so he gave you a nod and went up to his office. With his back to you, he didn’t see how your eyes trailed after him until he made it into his office.

A couple of weeks later, Hotch decided to take a detour to work and head to the same coffee shop he had visited when he bought your drink. He has gotten up early enough to go for a run and coffee felt like the perfect addition to his morning.

When he walked through the door, he was surprised to see you, your back to the door looking up at the menu.

Hotch’s heart skipped a beat and he slowly walked up behind you, trying to think of something to say to you. Before he could come up with the words you turned slightly and looked behind your shoulder as if you could sense him behind you.

A smile crossed your face when you saw him and the happiness on your face warmed his chest.

“Great minds think alike,” you said in greeting.

A chuckle slipped through his lips, “It appears so. Are you going to try something new?”

“I will if you will,” you dared.

Hotch peered up at the menu feeling as lost as he did when trying to decide what to get you. You must have recognized the look on his face because a giggle slipped through your lips. His eyes shot back to yours and he swore his insides melted.

He knew the feelings had been experiencing towards you had a name, but he couldn’t let himself think it.

“Do you like lattes?” You asked, bringing out of his thoughts.

His eyebrows pulled together. “I don’t know if I have ever had one,” he said as the line moved slowly forward. The still had plenty of time to get to the office and he would take any time he could get with you outside of work.

You gasped in mock horror. “We have to get you one. Your life is about to change.”

Usually, he would argue and say that black coffee was fine but he was finding it hard to deny you. The thoughts of his feelings bubbled up to the surface again and he forcefully pushed them back down.

“What do you recommend?” He asked.

The line moved up again and you hummed, studying the menu, then turned to glance at Hotch as if the answer to his question was written across his face. He couldn’t help but smile as you turned back to the menu.

“Do you like cinnamon?” You asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay,” you said with an affirming nod. “You should get the cinnamon dolce latte. I haven’t had it here before, but I think you’ll like it.”

By this time the two of you had made it to the front of the time. The cashier greeted you both and asked for your orders. Hotch gestured for you to go ahead.

Once you had ordered, Hotch stepped forward, his arm almost brushing against yours, and ordered the latte you suggested. You gave him a curious look before the cashier gave the total and Hotch started handing over his card. Realization rushed through you, and you opened your mouth to protest your hand fishing for your wallet.

Hotch gave you a stern look, knowing what you were about to do, and murmured, “Don’t worry about it. I got it.”

You kept quiet as the cashier rung you two up and you stepped to the side.

“Thank you,” you said, Hotch’s eyes flashing to yours.

Hotch gave you a smile and a nod. “Of course.”

The two of you stood in comfortable silence while the barista made your drinks. Hotch kept stealing glances over at you as your eyes wandered around the coffee shop, taking in other people who needed a coffee fix for the morning. Hotch admired your profile, the fullness of your lips, the curve of your cheekbone, and the slope of your jaw. His heart again fluttered in his chest; the feelings that he tried so hard to control bubbling back towards the surface.

Hotch was pulled out of his thoughts when both of your names were called, and he turned to the counter. Once the two of you had your coffee in hand, you both headed towards the exit. Hotch held the door open for you letting you exit first before he followed behind you, a quiet “thank you” slipping past your lips.

Once you were both a few feet away, you turned and looked at him expectantly. For a moment he wasn’t sure why but then your eyes flickered towards his cup. His lips tugged into a smile; he couldn’t remember the last time he had smiled this much.

He took a sip from his cup, and you watched him closely as if you were looking for cues of his reaction. Your unwavering focus on him was something he wasn’t used to and even though he enjoyed having your attention, it also made his palms clammy.

The first sip of the coffee flooded his taste buds. A combination of creaminess from the milk, sweetness from the cinnamon, and slight bitterness from the espresso brought a satisfying hum to his lips. That seemed to be the right reaction because a bright smile stretched across your face.

“So, you like it?” you asked, still having not taken a drink of your coffee.

“Yes,” Hotch replied, he almost seemed surprised that he enjoyed it as much as he did. He took another sip. “It is delicious. Thank you for the recommendation.”

You a small fist pump in satisfaction. “I’m glad. Now we will have to try other ones to see what else you like.”

You finally took a sip of your drink and seemed satisfied with yours as well. Hotch could see your car parked along the street and the two of you started walking towards it. He was parked around the corner from you, and he was happy he could walk you to your car.

You turned to look up at him when you got to it, the sun creating a halo around your figure.

“Thank you again. You didn’t have to do that.”

“You’re welcome. And I wanted to,” Hotch responded.

Your eyes were soft as you gave him a small smile. “I’ll see you at work then.”

“I’ll see you there.”

Once you had taken off and Hotch had made it to his vehicle. He sat there for a second with his hands on the wheel, replaying the morning events. Before today he had known deep down what was brewing in his heart for you but after today, he didn’t know if he could ignore it any longer.

Throwing the car into drive, Hotch headed into work.

Once he arrived, coffee in hand, his eyes trailed to your desk on their own accord, and he found you looking at him. You smiled at him and lifted your cup in his direction. He mirrored your actions, giving you a smile in return before heading up to his office. He shut his door; his blinds already closed from a meeting he had with Strauss the day before and dropped heavily into his chair.

He placed his head in his hands, his elbows leaning against the desk, and sighed. He let the feelings he had been pushing down flood through him, realizing that he was too far gone. He had feelings for you, his subordinate who was significantly younger than himself. He couldn’t think of someone more off-limits to him, someone so unlikely to return his feelings even if the roadblocks weren’t in the way.

He had feelings for you, and he couldn’t, wouldn’t do anything about it.

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tagged: @suhke3, @wanniiieeee, @kajjaka, @iwillmakeyoucraveme, @twilightlover2007, @alinasophie, @katieslotherford, @stiles-argent24, @myriaos, @nvttiara, @eternal-silvertongued-prince, @rousethemouse, @pandorasdreamings, @rosaliedepp, @jori21, @ssamorganhotchner, @hearteyesmotherclucker, @xoxo-mylove, @anxious-enby, @singhfae, @sunshinemunchkin, @hotchnerxo, @breadforhowl, @thenewnormalforensicator

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanficton #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotchner x bau!reader #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch x y/n #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x reader #hotch x y/n

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fortheloveofwonderland · 2 years

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Darkness Declares Glory | Chapter 1 | S.R

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If you are on one of my taglists and don't wish to be tagged in this fic, I will not be at all offended, please let me know.

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A/N - this fic deals with some very dark themes such as drug use, self-harm and suicidal ideation. Please proceed with caution and Minors DNI. There is a reader insert but it is very Spencer-centric.

Chapter Summary - Spencer struggles to cope with life in the wake of his release from prison. After quitting the BAU he spirals into a drug fuelled depressive episode with seemingly no light at the end of the tunnel.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst, smut, eventual happy ending.

Content Warnings - mentions of prison and Cat Adam’s, talk of therapy and Prozac use, self-harm and blood, dilaudid use, PTSD, major depressive disorder, anxiety, swearing, weight loss, mentions of erectile dysfunction and not being able to come, suicidal thoughts, male masturbation, mentions of overdoses, guns, Russian roulette, mention of Tobias Hankel, brief mention of Maeve, bisexual Spencer, scars, dreams about prison, mentions of cocaine.

Word Count - 4.7k

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1 - The Downward Spiral

The thing about trauma that no one likes to tell you is that it is incurable. With the correct combination of treatments it was manageable at best.

It was like living with a terminal illness, not necessarily one that had an accurate prognosis. It couldn’t be defined in terms when it would kill him.

But one day it most certainly would kill him.

Another thing about trauma people don’t readily share is the way in which it infects us, like a disease, and rapidly spreads throughout the entire body until it controls us entirely.

It had infested him, his mind, body and soul. It affected every aspect of his life until it had changed him beyond all recognition.

His incredible brain had poisoned him. His once most advantageous tool had turned against him. He was smart enough to know what was happening, probably before it had even reached breaking point.

It started as not being able to process information as quickly as he once had. In a short space of time his recall speed got slower and slower until he felt he had no control over his own mind at all.

Is this what happened to his mother? Her schizophrenia had led to a rapid decline in her cognitive function, just like he was experiencing now. Maybe it wouldn’t be long at all before he forgot about his mother all together.

Prolonged trauma-focused treatment can help decrease symptoms. With the right mix of therapy, medication, and lifestyle changes, symptoms can be reduced. But there was no cure. There was no fix for what he suffered from.

Therapy had worked about as well as slapping a bandaid over a bullet wound. The medication had been akin to fixing a severed limb back together with duct tape.

The traumas he’d suffered in his life had been building since childhood, stacking up one on top of another like a child’s building blocks. And just like those building blocks, it was only inevitable that they would all come crumbling down one day.

Prison had been the straw that broke the camel's back. Spending three months being treated like a criminal in a federal facility for a crime he didn’t commit, was one trauma too many.

It was the wrecking ball that smashed down the tower of blocks and sent Spencer Reid spiralling into the abyss.

The day he stepped into the BAU to greet his mom after getting her back from the clutches of Lindsay Vaughn and Cat Adam’s, he knew it was his last.

After everything he’d been through in his life, especially those three months in prison, Spencer no longer trusted himself as an FBI Agent.

Emily had tried to talk him out of it, as had JJ, Luke and Rossi. But his mind was made up.

He told them he was going to go into teaching but he didn’t. He had enough money saved from years of working and a low budget lifestyle that he didn’t need to work.

Spencer was a danger to the world. It was safest all round if he limited his exposure to the outside world. That way he was only a danger to himself.

Two weeks into seeing his new therapist he brought his first vial of dilaudid in ten years. It sat in a drawer in his nightstand for three more weeks, like a sick and twisted comfort blanket.

It wasn’t to say he planned on taking it, there was just something oddly comforting about the fact that he could if he chose to.

Five weeks into his therapy he awoke in the middle of the night sweating and panting from a nightmare revolving around Cat and Lindsay and a motel in Mexico.

His nerves were shot as he sat on the edge of the bed scratching and picking at the skin on his left arm subconsciously. It wasn’t until he noticed the blood seeping from gouges he’d made that he became aware of what he was doing.

He couldn’t calm his racing heart and his only options were to sit here and continue picking his skin until there was nothing left of him or put his comfort blanket to good use.

If Spencer had been in a better state of mind he might have been scared by how fast he made that decision.

A tie fashioned as a tourniquet was in place and a needle was full of the sweet, sweet drug he’d been craving for ten long years.

Giving up his sobriety should have been a lot harder to do. But it was the easiest decision of his life.

The dilaudid coursed through his veins in that magnificent and blissful way he remembered so well. There was absolutely no feeling like it in this world.

It didn’t take him long to pass out into a dreamless sleep. And Spencer decided he never wanted to be sober again.

***

A few days after his first hit of dilaudid, Spencer made another choice. In a slightly frantic and drug fuelled frenzy he flushed his entire prescription of Prozac down the toilet.

Ignoring the irony that it was his mother flushing medication down that very toilet that led him here in the first place, Spencer felt pleased with this decision.

He’d been diagnosed pretty quickly with PTSD and major depressive disorder with just a sprinkling of a panic disorder.

Was that supposed to make him feel better? Was giving a name to what he was suffering from supposed to alleviate any of the symptoms?

Because it didn’t. If anything it made everything feel infinitely worse. And the fucking Prozac didn’t help either.

The Prozac had caused him no end of frustration the past few weeks, dilaudid was far superior and gave Spencer the results he needed much faster than the drug prescribed by his quack therapist.

He knew they took time to work, but that was time Spencer didn’t feel he had. He knew all about how SSRI’s worked, of course he did. He knew all about the ways in which they blocked the absorption of the neurotransmitter serotonin in the brain.

He knew regulating the amount of serotonin in his system helps the brain cells transmit messages to each other, resulting in a more stable mood.

Maybe it was his extensive knowledge of the drugs' side effects that caused him to experience them so intensely. It was entirely probable the side effects were all in his overactive mind. He may very well have imagined them all.

It certainly didn’t help him to be combining the Prozac with the dilaudid. So something had to give. And dilaudid always won.

Regardless of whether it was in his head or not, the side effects were there and Spencer couldn’t handle them. They heightened all the terrible things Spencer was trying to stop feeling.

They made him more agitated and more nervous than he was previously. His dreams were incredibly vivid when he actually could sleep which wasn’t very often.

In the few weeks he’d been taking them he’d completely lost his appetite, which was fairly non-existent before and he’d lost more weight than was definitely healthy in such a short time.

His head throbbed constantly and his mouth was always dry. If he wasn’t sweating he had tremors and if he didn’t have tremors he was vomiting.

He lost interest in sex which was particularly frustrating because Spencer used sex as a way of muting his brain. Before he started using again, having sex was his favourite coping mechanism.

And even when he tried, oftentimes he couldn’t get it up. If he did get it up, he couldn’t come.

But the worst part about Prozac was the suicidal thoughts it injected into Spencer’s brain. He’d been depressed before, but not to that extent. And even after he flushed the meds, that was one side effect he just couldn’t shake.

Most days Spencer thought that dying had to be easier than living. He’d spent close to forty years on this Earth and now he was done.

Game over. Thanks for playing.

On his worst days Spencer never made it out of bed. He would shoot up where he lay and stare at the ceiling for so long it started to swirl.

He would pick and scratch at his skin until his arm was raw and blood painted his bedsheets.

It was probably safer for him to stay in bed, because the scratching was at least easier on his body than the cutting.

The cutting wasn’t strictly for the purposes of killing himself. It served as a strange way of grounding him, the pain reminding him that he was in fact still alive, even if he didn’t want to be.

His arm was already a wreck from his track marks and scratching so he painted his thighs like a canvas and the blade was his brush.

He became almost instantly fascinated by the blood. And once the Prozac was out of his system and he had control over his goddamn dick again, it wasn’t long at all before he found the blood arousing.

He often fantasised that the blood was spilling from Lindsay and Cat after he’d slashed their throats while he pounded his own cock. It never failed to make him come at lightning speed.

A few times he got so bad he found himself calculating the exact amount of dilaudid it would take to induce an overdose. Despite his foggy brain he knew how much of the drug he would have to pump into his vein to end his own life.

He lived alone and the team rarely checked in on him anymore. It had been seven months since he’d left the BAU and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen any of his old team.

He knew no one would find him until it was too late and he’d already succumbed to the sweet release of death.

A few times he’d even administered almost enough, as though testing the waters. It was exhilarating to know he had the power to end it all.

On some particularly terrible days, Spencer would pull out his gun. Of course he’d given up his service weapon when he left the bureau but he had his own personal firearm for just such occasions.

He’d empty the chamber of half of the bullets and play Russian Roulette, reminiscent of the game Tobias Hankel played with him.

The only difference was, back in Tobias’ cabin, Spencer hadn’t actually wanted to die.

Spin the chamber. Point the barrel at his head.

Click.

Brain still intact.

Spin the chamber. Point the barrel at the couch.

Click. Bang.

Leather fragments went flying.

He’d repeat this until the chamber was empty and by some god awful twist of fate the only thing damaged by the end was his couch.

But the adrenaline it had sent coursing through his veins, being that close to death, was almost as good as drugs.

Almost. Not quite.

His couch wasn’t the only furniture that he’d destroyed over the past few months. His apartment was completely trashed, worse than after his breakdown over Maeve.

Books had been upheaved from shelves and tossed with no care around the living room. Pages were ripped and torn and littered the floor like confetti. Photo albums had met much the same fate.

Lamps had been thrown at walls as had photo frames, peppering the wooden floor with tiny pieces of glass that Spencer sometimes took pleasure walking on barefoot, leaving little trails of blood behind.

His record player was smashed and left a dent in the wall he’d thrown it at and his vinyls were broken into fragments.

One of the chairs that used to sit at the dining table was now a pile of wood after Spencer had his way with it.

Shattered mugs and plates and glasses from the kitchen were strewn around the place also.

His wardrobe hung open on broken hinges, clothes scattered around the bedroom in a haphazard fashion. One of his pillows had been slashed with a knife and slowly the feathers were making their way throughout his home.

The destruction of his apartment reflected the destruction of his mind. And as time went on, the abuse of his body was just as bad.

But he never saw anybody so it didn’t matter. No one outside of his dealer or the random men and women he slept with anyway. And they never commented on the scars and cuts decorating his frame.

He’d gotten rid of all the mirrors in his apartment as he couldn’t face the reflection of the man he’d become.

He knew he was painfully skinny, more so than he used to be and was sure the dark circles under his eyes were black at this point.

He’d disposed of the mirrors to stop the morbid curiosity he sometimes felt at the idea of seeing himself. No good could come of it.

He was ugly and he was broken. He didn’t need his reflection taunting him when his own brain was so good at doing that already.

After prison, Spencer had hit the self-destruct button on his life. It hadn’t been through choice, he didn’t intend to end up this way.

The therapy and the medication was supposed to help but it only made him feel worse. Not long after the flushing of the Prozac, he stopped going to his appointments and decided he would deal with this himself.

Drugs and sex helped. Hurting himself allowed a small reprieve. But nothing took his pain away.

Spencer was well aware that even if he didn’t purposefully end his life, this lifestyle was surely going to kill him. He found that oddly comforting.

Between the constant nightmares, the debilitating depression and the almost crippling paranoia, Spencer didn’t know how much more he could take if he were perfectly honest.

He almost shot down his front door just last week when he heard voices in the corridor. To his fragile mind it was either doctors coming to commit him or Cat Adam’s returning to finish the job of completely annihilating his life.

His finger was curled around the trigger, blurry eyes focused as much as they could on the front door.

Seconds before he’d pulled the trigger he realised the voices were from a couple who lived down the hall. Not doctors. Not a crazed hitwoman.

It still didn’t stop him drawing his gun at any little sound that permeated the perpetual silence of his apartment.

When he did leave on the odd occasion to get drugs or get laid, he covered his body neck to toe, out of sight from prying eyes. And always under the cover of darkness.

It was a good job he had all that money saved up because his drug habit and affinity for prostitutes was bleeding him dry. But what the fuck else was he supposed to spend his hard earned government cash on?

Everyone had their vices. Rossi spent his fortunes on vintage cars, top shelf scotch and premium cigars. Luke spent the majority of his money on his dog.

Garcia threw her cash down the drain on trinkets and chachkis. JJ had a designer shoe addiction.

So maybe Spencer’s vices weren’t quite so conventional as his former colleagues. But if dilaudid and hookers stemmed his suicidal thoughts long enough to get him through another day, where was the harm?

He was sure given the choice they would prefer him to throw his money away on that than kill himself.

***

He sat on the bullet hole riddled couch wearing nothing but his boxers and a pair of mismatched socks.

The day had started with shooting up and attacking his leg with a straight razor until he was bleeding all over the leather.

The day ended with the barrel of his gun in his mouth.

He stared at the tiny crack between the drawn curtains, the metallic taste of the firearm like electricity on his tongue.

His finger was curled around the trigger. The chamber held one bullet.

Maybe he’d get lucky tonight.

Click.

Brain still intact.

Shit.

Click.

Still alive. Pulse still racing.

Click. Click. Click.

With a weighted sigh he withdrew the gun from his mouth, a trail of saliva dripping down his chin. He tossed the gun aside.

Better luck next time, Reid.

One more pull of the trigger and it would have really been over. But he wanted to leave his life and death decisions up to the cruel hand of fate. And she’d spoken.

Today wasn’t his day to die. And that felt oddly invigorating.

Feeling almost cleansed from his near brush with death, Spencer decided to shower for the first time in what had most likely been weeks.

The smell emanating from his body was starting to make him feel nauseous and his thigh was caked in blood.

He found it best to take advantage of the small windows of time when he had the forethought to take care of himself. They were so few and far between the next time one came about it might have been months since he’d showered.

Replacing all the bullets in the gun he took it through to the bathroom with him. He was so on edge all the time he constantly had to have a line of sight on his weapon.

He set it next to the sink and left the shower curtain drawn enough so he could still see it from where he stood under the flow of water.

The water caressed his aching muscles for a brief moment before he dialled up the temperature. It was only minutes before his whole body felt as though it was on fire, the scalding water seering his fresh cuts and arms scratched red raw.

It was a welcome feeling, watching his flesh turn red against the heat and feeling all of his nerve endings bubbling beneath the skin.

He didn’t so much as wash himself as just stand under the scolding stream of water, mesmerised by the way the blood trickled down his legs and swirled into the tub drain.

He stayed this way until he could no longer feel the hot water and he knew it had done its job.

Feeling his high wearing away, Spencer didn’t dry or dress when he exited the shower. He grabbed his gun and padded through to the bedroom where his instruments lay ready to use on the bed.

Making quick work of the tie tourniquet and filling the needle, of which he was an expert at by now, it was less than a minute after exiting the shower that he was injecting himself.

He closed his eyes and let a small gasp of pleasure erupt from his lungs as he felt the dilaudid flowing through his veins on the frantic warpath to his brain.

No sooner was the needle empty and tossed to the floor did Spencer fall back to the unmade bed, tie still snug around his bicep.

The room was stiflingly hot even though he was naked. It was summer and he hadn’t cracked a window in months. He was far too paranoid for windows to be open.

And of course the heat from the shower hadn’t helped and he felt himself start to sweat almost immediately. But the dilaudid was causing his brain to become hazy and he knew it wouldn’t be long for his body to succumb to sleep.

Sleep never lasted long for Spencer these days but the drugs helped him get at least a little rest. It wouldn’t necessarily be a peaceful sleep, but it would be sleep nonetheless.

***

Sitting on the cot in his cell, Spencer patiently waited for what might come.

He thought he should be in the laundry room by now but no one had been by to unlock his cell.

Wait.

The laundry room.

He tainted the drug supply. Half his inmates were in the infirmary. The prison was on lockdown.

Fuck.

He was as good as dead when they inevitably found out it was him.

He only knew what day it was due to the cocaine he could still feel working its way through his system.

Putting a drug addict in front of that much temptation was like showing him heaven's gates. He hadn’t even thought twice about dipping his finger in the powder and running it along his gums.

His skin was ablaze, the scratchy sheets beneath his palms causing his overly sensitive skin to blanch. He felt an odd wave of happiness followed rapidly by an extreme burst of anger.

But he felt more free than he had since his arrest and that was all he cared about.

“How could you do something like that?”

A voice permeated the silence.

“Is this the kind of man you are now?”

He blinked a few times towards the cell bars. A hazy figure stood on the other side.

He pushed himself up from the cot and walked closer to the bars, blinking in quick succession as he tried to focus.

“Well? Is this the kind of man you are now?” The blurry outline of JJ folded her arms across her chest with an annoyed shake of her head.

“I uh…I guess so.” Spencer frowned in confusion.

“You enjoyed it didn’t you? Hurting those men?” Another foggy apparition appeared at JJ’s side. He recognised the voice as Luke.

“So what? That doesn’t make me a bad person.” Spencer retorted.

Another figure presented itself at JJ’s other side, still just as hazy as the others.

“Kid, you’re never going to get yourself out of here if you keep this up.” Rossi’s voice floated to his ears.

“Maybe I belong here then.” Spencer spat, the cocaine causing his anger to grow.

More bodies took shape around them, crowding around his cell and gawking at him like he was a zoo animal.

“Maybe you do.” Emily’s voice gave way to her frustrations.

“Maybe this is the best place for you.” Tara agreed.

“You’re nothing but a monster.” Matt almost growled.

“Fuck the lot of you.” Spencer grabbed the bars of his cell and snarled at them. “You don’t know anything. Fuck you all!”

“Pretty boy, take a breath.”

Spencer’s heart skipped a dramatic beat and he stumbled back from the bars.

Everyone vanished in an instant but where had that voice come from?

He turned back into his cell, only it wasn’t his cell. He was in solitary, bloody bandage around his arm from the self-inflicted shiv wound.

But he wasn’t alone.

In the corner of the small cell Derek Morgan narrowed his eyes on Spencer, shaking his head a little in disappointment.

“Did you hear me, kid? Take a breath.”

“What are you doing here?” Spencer pressed his back against the steel door, heart rate increasing with each passing second.

“I’m trying to calm you down.” Morgan chuckled.

“But…but…how did you get in here?”

“Never mind that G-Man. Take a breath. You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Doesn’t he look like he’s seen a ghost?” Morgan turned his head to the side and Spencer followed his gaze.

“He does.” Hotch spoke from the other side of the cell, his signature stern look on his face.

“What is happening?” Spencer swallowed.

How much coke did I do?

“We’re trying to help you. Don’t listen to the team, they don’t know what they’re talking about. The BAU seriously went downhill after we left, huh?” Hotch directed his question at Morgan.

“It’s a shitshow, truely.” Morgan rolled his eyes.

“That’s not true.” Spencer shook his head. “It’s different, sure, but Luke and Matt are…and Prentiss is…”

“Shitshow.” Hotch agreed.

“I’m high. I’m high as fuck and I’m seeing things.” Spencer buried his face in his hands. “I’ve never done cocaine before. Why did it seem like a good idea to do it for the first time in fucking prison?”

“Didn’t he used to be smart?” He heard Hotch’s unamused voice.

“Used to be.” Morgan scoffed.

Spencer suddenly looked back up at them, rage pooling in his eyes.

“Even on my worst days I am smarter than both of you combined!” He yelled.

Hotch and Morgan glanced at each other, amusement in their eyes.

“Maybe they need to retest that IQ, I’m having my doubts that he ever was a genius.” Morgan laughed menacingly.

“I only ever had Gideon’s word on that. And he had a tendency to exaggerate.” Hotch’s lip turned up into the slightest hint of a smirk.

“You’re not even really here.” Spencer muttered under his breath. “You can’t be. Logically you can’t be here.”

“Yet,” Morgan took a step closer to where Spencer was still cowering by the door. “Here we are.”

When Morgan raised his hand Spencer saw the shiv concealed in his palm, the same one Spencer himself had fashioned to get him into solitary in the first place.

“W-what are you doing?” Spencer swallowed as Morgan got closer to him.

“You want to die right? That’s why you’re back on dilaudid and hurting yourself right?” Morgan nodded downwards and Spencer’s eyes followed.

Gone were his prison bottom scrubs, replaced only by his boxers, his cut up thighs on full display.

“I-I…” he couldn’t find the words.

“Let me help you, pretty boy. Let me put you out of your misery.” He was right in front of Spencer now, raising the shiv and pressing it against the pulse point of his neck. “Let me end your pain.”

“No.” Spencer croaked. “No.”

“It’ll all be over soon, Reid.” Hotch spoke from over Morgan’s shoulder.

In one swift move, Morgan stabbed the shiv into Spencer’s neck hard and fast.

Spencer started to choke, coughing and spluttering on his own blood.

His eyes begged Morgan for an answer but all he got in return was a vicious smile.

Spencer’s hand flew to his neck wound, trying to stop the blood but failing miserably. He stumbled to the bench on the other side of the small cell and collapsed onto it.

He tasted blood on his tongue, thick and metallic. He felt woozy and he allowed himself to close his eyes even given the risk he may never open them again.

But he did open them again. And when he did, both Morgan and Hotch were gone.

He removed his hand from his neck and there was no blood and his mouth didn’t taste of it either.

His mouth was suddenly very dry though.

He blinked a few times, not quite able to clear the fog in his brain. He looked down and he was now wearing jeans and a flannel shirt.

His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and the words “Rosa Medina” were scrawled on his left forearm.

He looked up and the door to the cell had been replaced by bars once more but the cell was too large to be his one at Milburn.

There was someone standing on the other side of the bars but they were blurry once again.

“Spencer? Spence? It’s me. I’m here.”

Spencer would recognise that voice anywhere, no matter how many drugs were coursing their way through his body.

Spencer knew that voice better than he knew his own. That voice was his heart's song.

But it couldn’t be. Not here. Not now. Surely it couldn’t be?

He pushed himself up from the bench and his shaky legs carried him to the cell bars. He picked up on someone speaking a different language.

Was that Spanish?

Fuck. I’m in Mexico.

“Spencer, oh my gosh.” The person the voice belonged to was right in front of him now but he couldn’t make out any features.

But he knew who it was. He just didn’t understand how.

“Spencer? Can you hear me? Spencer, please say something.”

He rubbed his eyes with his palms in a feeble attempt to banish the drugs from his system. Unsurprisingly it did nothing.

“Spencer, can you hear me?”

He opened his mouth a few times to speak but nothing came out. He took a few deep breaths and focused all his energy into speaking.

When he opened his mouth again, finally words came out but his voice sounded so unlike himself.

“I can hear you.” He croaked, still unable to focus on the figure in front of him. “I can hear you, Y/N.”

Taglist

Series Taglist -

@tiredmilky

All ships & genres -

@muffin-cup @andiebeaword @takeyourleap-of-faith @measure-in-pain @sexy-dumpster-fire @thebloomingeagle @dirtytissuebox @smurphyse @ssa-uglywhore27

SR x reader -

@dreatine @adoringanakin @dr-spencerr-reidd @sleepretreat @spenxerslut @mcumorningstar @kuolonsyoja @radtwinkie @drayshadow @lytrc @rainsong01 @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @pastelbabygirl19 @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @people-whatabunchofbastards @justreadingficsdontmindme @dielgonacoffee @hotchandspencearedilfs @im-totally-not-dezi

#spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanficton #tw self harm #tw drugs #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds

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starmanwriting · 11 months

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hey! my names Robin or Robbie, and i write fanfiction :)

REQUESTS ARE: OPEN!!!

SOME THINGS THAT I WILL WRITE:

fluff

angst

smut

Character x Reader

Character x Character

(in regards to smut) i'll write pretty much anything, i'm never going to judge anyone for what they're into, however, if i'm not comfy writing something, i won't.

male reader

female reader

gn!reader

afab or amab reader

literally any gender ever. genderflux boyfluid whatever reader?? fuck yeah man.

THINGS I WILL NOT WRITE:

ANY pro/comships. this includes incest, Minor x Adult, and bestiality. do not request these.

scat or piss kinks. sorry.

again. literally anything sexual involving minors.

FANDOMS I AM FAMILIAR WITH:

i will write for any of these fandoms! feel free to request a fic of one not listed though!! <3

Criminal Minds

NCIS

Inside Job

Rick and Morty

Call of Duty

Helluva Boss

Bojack Horseman

Gotham

MCU

Danonation

Marauders

Heartstopper

The Hunger Games

#writing #fanfic #fanficton #fanfiction writer #reqs open #inside job #criminal minds #ncis #rick and morty #call of duty #bojack horseman #helluva boss #gotham #danonation #heartstopper #the hunger games #marauders

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pedrossl4t · 11 months

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I’ve literally got like no followers but oh well , if my target audience sees this should I start writing mini stories if so send some suggestions (idek how to use tumblr😃)

#emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #spencer reid #smut #wattapad #fanfic #pedro x reader #pedro pascal #fanficton #fluff #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch fic #pedro is daddy

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jennahbreakers · 11 months

Text

He carried his guilt like he carried his briefcase.

#book lines #WIP #fanficton #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch fanfiction #ao3 #archiveofourown #archive of our own

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brywrites · 2 years

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Lock and Key IX

Summary: Millburn Correctional Facility is a tough place to find hope in. But when Spencer Reid stumbles upon a GED class, led by a teacher with kind words and a smile that breaks through the dark, he thinks it might not be so hopeless after all. Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

Part IX: In which Reid realizes he might not be the only one falling, and the Reader has an important question to answer. CW for mentions of incarceration, teacher/student relationship dynamics. Major spoilers for season 12 and beyond, of course.

[Series Masterlist] [Previous]

………….

For months, their interactions followed a set script. The teacher and the TA. Each wearing their prison-approved attire and dancing around all the things that could not be spoken. There are no rules anymore though. This is all the unknown. And for Reid, it’s terrifying. His heart beats furiously when she walks into the coffee shop for their first planned meeting wearing jeans and a soft cream-colored sweater. This freedom is still so new to him that he doesn’t quite know what to do with it. Would it be too much to hug her again? Would it cross some line to hold her hand? He’s not quite sure what they are too each other now. But he knows that what he is, is happy.

Absolutely overjoyed as they settle across from each other in a cozy booth. “I don’t know what I expected your style to be outside of prison blues,” she tells him. Her eyes take him in and he worries she’s disappointed by what she sees. With his mismatched socks, his pants that fit a little too tight and a sweater that’s a little too loose. But the corner of her mouth tugs upward. “But it looks good on you. Very professor chic.”

He tries not to choke on the coffee. “Th-thank you,” he says, recovering his dignity. “I – um, you look really good too.”

When she laughs, she tips her head back, and he realizes that he’s never seen her this relaxed before. The careful composure she always maintained in the classroom has been let down. And she’s still the same person, the same kind and observant woman he met within those walls, but it’s like she has also found a new freedom. Her smiles are wider, her posture isn’t quite as constrained – the boundaries between them have broken down more.

“Thanks. It’s nice to be able to wear jeans and not have to worry about getting told I look inappropriate.” She wraps her hands around her coffee cup and leans back in her seat. “So, tell me about what Dr. Spencer Reid’s life is like outside of Millburn.”

It’s not an easy question to answer. Not when he had a life before Millburn and a life after Millburn. It is a place that has divided his memories in two, just like Tobias Hankel and Maeve and sending his mother away. So many befores. So many afters. He has rarely been able to exist in the present tense.

“Well,” he tries. “Um, mostly, a lot of therapy, I guess? I’ve been going twice a week, mostly because the Bureau says I have to. But I think that maybe it is helping. Talking about everything.” The talking is forcing him to unpack not just what happened inside the walls, but everything that led him there. His therapist forces him to confront his inability to relinquish control, his fear of abandonment, all the scars and parts of him that led him to the border that day.

“That’s good. Healing is important.” Healing still feels like a far-off idea, but it’s one he hopes to grasp someday. He’s trying his best to patch up the wounds Millburn left, to be a better man – one who can spend a day with his godsons without having a panic attack, who can walk past the laundromat without crying. Maybe even a man who can sit across from her and feel worthy of the honor.

“It is,” he agrees. “And I’m reading more. Visiting my mom. And playing the piano again.”

“You play piano?” She shakes her head in disbelief. “Geez, is there anything you can’t do?”

“Well, I still haven’t been able to go to a museum or a movie theatre. The crowds are still just too much for me.”

“Baby steps,” she tells him. “It’s okay for this whole reentry thing to take time.” And that smile she gives him is so reassuring. He’d give anything to keep her smiling at him like that.

“We talked about me last time,” he says. “What about you? What’s Y/N’s life outside of teaching?”

She rests her chin on her hand. “Honestly, that job is most of my life,” she laughs. “But there’s a lot of reading for me, too. Cooking. And being dragged out wherever my roommate Marina is going.”

“Marina – she’s the one who gave you your ring?”

“Mmhmm. She’s a defense attorney and my best friend. And as much as I’ll argue with her when she tries to give me life advice, she’s almost always right.”

Reid considers this, sipping his latte. “There is one thing she got wrong,” he says.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“The ring.” He reaches out for her hand just as he did months ago in the tiny classroom. There is no hesitation this time. Her fingers are soft in his. “You’re not the moon. You’re much more constant than that. You light up every room you’re in.” He rubs his thumb over her knuckles and he swears her breath hitches when he does so. “If you think about it, all moonlight is really sunshine. That’s what you are. Sunshine.”

There’s something in the way she tilts her head, in the way her body language shifts almost imperceptibly. But he’s a profiler, he’s been trained to notice that her pupils are a little wider, that her face is a little flushed, that she’s leaned in towards him just a bit. All signs that point towards an impossible conclusion – that she might be pining for him too. That she might feel the same way – that all his longing has not been unrequited.

Can it be true? Perhaps these stolen glances and gestures aren’t so selfish. Perhaps he isn’t so filthy for dreaming of her. Perhaps, she really has been missing him.

“Sunshine?” she repeats.

My sun, he wants to think. His personal light source, the person brightening all of his days. But it’s too much and it’s too soon so he just smiles and says, “Yeah. Sunshine.”

Her smile widens into a shy grin that crinkles the corners of her eyes. “Careful,” she says, squeezing his hand. “I might get used to that.”

And he wants her to. He wants this to become comfortable, familiar. Sitting with her and talking like this. Holding her hand. This strange happiness washing over him. Because the therapy, it’s helping – but this is a form of healing too.

It’s so easy, being with him. They meet weekly for coffee or a walk in the park and it feels like she’s known him her whole life. And she wonders sometimes what it would have been like if they had met some other time in some other place. If it would be easier to accept the way she feels around him.

They’re sitting at a coffee shop table when he finishes telling her about his last visit with his mother, then asks, “What’s your family like?”

She shifts in her seat. “You know I’m not sure. It’s been three years since we spoke.”

“Oh.” His face falls. “I’m sorry”

She shrugs, picking at the fraying edge of the paper ring around her coffee cup. “It’s fine, I’m used to it by now. They don’t agree with my job,” she says, since he’s shared so much with her already. “When I was very young, my aunt was killed by her boyfriend. It was brutal. He never showed any remorse for it. And while I don’t remember most of it, I know it devastated my family. I never planned on teaching in prisons, but I volunteered to help with a GED class for credit in grad school. And much to my surprise, I loved it.

“So many of the students I met never had a teacher who believed in them. They didn’t have the kind of resources I had access to growing up. And the vast majority were nothing like the man who killed my aunt. They weren’t sociopaths. They weren’t heartless. They were people who struggled with mental health or got caught up in a gang, or fought back against their abuser – don’t get me wrong, they hurt people. But they were hurt too.”

“We’re all more than the worst thing we’ve ever done,” Spencer offers.

Her heart lightens to hear him repeat that phrase back to her. “Exactly. But my family was furious about it. They felt like I was betraying them by choosing to work with people who were convicted of a crime. That I was forgetting what they lived through. It doesn’t matter to them that studies show that educational programs in prisons massively reduce recidivism. They just see it as me being naïve. And a traitor. They stopped speaking to me when I took the job at Millburn.” She sighs, shaking her head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make the conversation so heavy.”

Spencer chuckles. “Y/N, I was just telling you about visiting my schizophrenic mother who’s having trouble remembering me because I was in prison for the last few months. I think we passed light-hearted small talk ages ago.” And as familiar as he feels, it’s still such a new and exciting experience to be able to joke with him like this without a care in the world. “But for what it’s worth, I think they’re wrong. What you do is nothing short of incredible.”

He looks at her so tenderly she has to avert her gaze. “Thank you, Doc.”

If his expression has her feeling bashful, it’s nothing compared to the way heat rushes to her face when he smiles and says, “Anytime, Sunshine.”

It isn’t long after that he texts her a suggestion for a new café to visit for their weekly rendezvous. When she looks it up, the first thing on their website is an announcement for their “first date special” – where couples on their first date can get a buy-one-get-one-free deal on any drink. She screenshots the announcement and sends it back to him.

Are you asking me on a date, Doc? 😉

It’s just a joke, a little teasing between friends. After several long minutes he replies, I swear I had no idea they did that! But before she can reply assuring him all is well, another message from him pops up. But if I was… would that be okay?

The world spins. With just a few words, it’s all been turned upside-down. Is this new, this interest in her? Or is this months and months of back and forth suddenly falling into place? The candy he gave her, the quiet encouragement, the poem he read to her – has he been pining for her all this time? The same way she pined for him, longed in a way she knew she could never name.

She blinks at her phone screen several times to make sure she’s read it correctly. Then she quickly locks it and tosses it away from her like some cursed talisman.

“Whoa, what’s gotten into you?” Marina asks from the kitchen. “Unsolicited dick pic? Or did you see a cat with a funny name on Petfinder again that you’re afraid you’ll want to adopt if you look at it too long?”

“Burnt Lasagna was adorable and he would’ve made the perfect addition to our home,” she retorts. Then, quietly, “It’s not a cat.”

“Well then what is it?”

She drops her head into her hands. “Spencer,” she says.

“Oh?” Marina dashes over and grabs the phone, begging her to unlock it. Begrudgingly she does, and she can tell when her friend has seen the text by the triumphant laugh she lets out. “Oh my god, he’s asking you on a date? This is amazing!”

“How?” Y/N asks. “What am I supposed to do?”

Marina is completely deadpan. “Uh, say yes, obviously.”

“I don’t think I can.” The words come out mechanically, forced into the world as though this exact wish hasn’t lived in her heart for weeks. Hoping that he might somehow feel the same was one thing. She never planned to act on those feelings, and now that it’s suddenly a possibility, she doesn’t know what to do. He likes her. He wants to go on a date with her. But she shouldn’t. She can’t.

“Why not? Did you have a bad time hanging out with him? Did he say something weird? Was it a situation-specific attraction?”

She dismisses Marina’s concerns with a wave of her hand. “No, no it’s just – well, it’s an ethical thing. I mean, he was my student. Mars, that’s not a good look.”

“He was your student – and he was hardly even that. He was more like a hired tutor.”

“Still, there’s a power dynamic there.”

“I mean I guess,” Marina sighs, reaching for her wine glass. “But you were always strict about those boundaries when you had some kind of power over him. And now you don’t. You’re both out. Besides, it’s not like he’s powerless here. He works for the FBI and he’s like, five years older than you.”

“How do y–”

“His birthday was on his BOP record when I looked him up.”

Of course Marina would remember that. Here she is violating the cardinal rule of not arguing with a defense attorney, but she can’t help it. There are rules, there are boundaries, and they exist for a reason. She doesn’t want to take advantage of him, or make him think he owes her anything.

“It wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“Hey, he asked you. It was his idea. And the guy’s a certified genius who has more PhDs than most people have children. He think he’s smart enough to know what he wants, sweetie.”

“It’s just – it’s not right!” she cries.

Marina is silent for a long moment. There is nothing but the sound of traffic outside and the sound of fluid motion as she swishes the wine in her glass, pondering, preparing her next rebuttal. “I don’t see what’s wrong with two, free, consenting adults going on a date together. Maybe you’re just afraid to let yourself have something you want.”

Y/N freezes. Marina’s eyes bore into her, and for a second she feels sympathy for witnesses her roommate cross-examines on the stand. There is a certainty to her, an honesty that pulls no punches. And as soon as she says it, Y/N knows she’s right. For so long her role has been to sacrifice. To give away all that she can and ask for nothing in return. She’s gotten so used to being told no, that her wishes are too much, that she is trying too hard. It’s easier to deny herself the possibility of pleasure than to face rejection.

Marina hands her the phone. Under those watchful, intense eyes, Y/N carefully types back a response.

If you’re okay with it… then yes. That would be very okay.

…

[Next]

…

Tags: @calm-and-doctor @averyhotchner @babymetaldoll@pockets-of-time @shadyladyperfection @saspencereid @spencers-dria@neverlandwaitingforme @mggsprettygirl @death-becomes-her @ssavanessa22 @bakugouswh0r3 @rathersuspiciousbumblebee @hopefulfangirl24 @mochionly

#criminal minds fanficton #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #reid x reader #lock and key #brywrites #prison reid

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masterwords · 3 years

Text

To Counteract Distance (PART ONE)

Warnings: Not really any. Whump, of course, and some swearing.

Notes: This takes place sometime after Hotch returns to his position as Unit Chief...and that’s basically it. It was supposed to be a one-shot but it has completely gotten away from me...classic. It will either be two or three parts, we’ll see how tomorrow goes!

“May I make a suggestion?” Rossi asked, pulling Aaron aside. They stood in the corner of a very small, very cold building that called itself Coolin City Hall, but was essentially a converted house that also served a number of other roles, including flea market in the summer time. Currently, and for the last week, it was the BAU headquarters as they hunted a killer through the northern panhandle of Idaho.

“Of course,” Aaron whispered, looking around to see that no one was eavesdropping. It was such a small room that it would be difficult for anyone not to hear, but he was hopeful.

“I think instead of sending Prentiss out with Morgan to check out the sighting around mile marker eleven, perhaps you should go with him.”

“And what makes you say that?”

“You and Morgan seem to be...having some challenges figuring out how you work together again since you've resumed your role as our Unit Chief.”

“He's having the challenges,” Aaron muttered, a little indignantly. Rossi raised an eyebrow at his friend, almost accusatory.

“I seem to remember you finding it difficult when you stepped down, not knowing where you fit in after leading the team for so long. I'm just saying that maybe he's finding himself in that same boat, figuring out his place again. You piled a lot of responsibility on his shoulders and now you’ve taken it back. It might do you both some good to spend some one on one time together to work it out.”

Aaron considered the statement for a moment, forgetting his own desire to put Morgan into his place, and sighed.

“Thanks, Dave,” was what he said, which translated roughly into an admission that Dave was, in fact, correct and what would Aaron do without him. Dave smiled, because he knew all of that already. Aaron hurried out to the SUV and caught Prentiss in time to send her back inside and partner up with Rossi instead and he climbed into the passenger seat, hardly dressed to head out into the snow but there wasn't time to waste.

“You wanna babysit me now?” Morgan asked, forcing the SUV into drive and pulling out onto the icy highway toward the winding lake road and up into the mountain.

“Dave suggested you and I might need to work some things out, and I don't think he was wrong. Do you?”

Morgan considered the question silently for a moment, slowing into a long curve and then another. The road would have been dangerous in the dead of summer, but in the winter slick with snowbanks on one side and a frozen lake on the other, it was another story.

“I guess not,” Morgan said finally. “He's right.”

“Look,” Aaron began, instinctively bracing himself against the door every time they took a turn. He'd been on enough backwoods roads to fear them, just a little. “When you took over as Unit Chief - “

“HOTCH!” Morgan shouted, pulling the vehicle to the side of the road and pointing up at a dark figure on the hillside, near a cabin. “It's him!” He was instantly recognizable, and he was alone. Morgan and Aaron shot out of the car as quickly as they could and climbed the snowbank, up the hill, using the trees to pull themselves along. The unsub hadn't seen them yet, or perhaps he had and was just taunting them – he knew the woods like the back of his hand, if he was there, he was waiting for them. When they got close enough that Morgan could pull out his gun, the unsub took off running at a surprising clip for someone knee deep in snow. Aaron's thin suit pants were soaking, his socks wet inside of his dress shoes and he was instantly regretting his decision not to take a few extra minutes to change. Morgan was in insulated pants and winter boots, he was able to move easier and quicker as they pursued the unsub further into the woods so Aaron spent more time making sure he marked their path back to the SUV. There was a moment when Aaron thought Morgan had him, and then all of a sudden the man was gone. Just vanished into thin air.

“Morgan!” Aaron shouted, looking up through the mottled evergreen canopy to see large, billowy snowflakes begin falling. “Morgan it's snowing and we've got a long way to go to get back to the SUV. We're losing daylight fast!” Morgan turned around, frantically searching the woods for the unsub, knowing the man couldn't have just vanished. “Morgan! We have to go back!” Aaron shouted again, frustrated. He was about ready to pull rank if he had to tell Morgan again, but thankfully it didn't come to that, Morgan stalked back toward him through the snow.

“We almost had that fucker,” he grumbled, not looking at his boss. He was angry, fuming, and he stomped through the snow all the way back to the SUV. When they got back, it was already twilight, the sun streaking pink and purple and gold through the winter blues and whites and greens of the mountainside. They could just barely make out the majesty of the frozen lake beyond, impossibly huge and impossibly deep, frozen over, hiding living worlds beneath the ice waiting for the late spring thaw. It was snowing harder, wind whipping through the trees, howling at them as they dusted the snow off of themselves the best they could before getting back into the vehicle. Aaron was freezing and soaked, he turned the heat all the way up, turning as many fans as he could toward himself when Morgan indicated he was fine.

“We'll get him,” Aaron said, hopefully. “There are road blocks everywhere he could pop out from here to the Canadian border. We'll get him, or he'll freeze to death out there.” He wasn't entirely convinced the man didn't have knowledge of some hunter's cabin, or that he wouldn't hole up in one of the mansions along the lake that wouldn't see its owners again until June, but that couldn't be helped. They couldn't pursue him into the Rocky Mountains on foot tonight, just the two of them. Morgan was tense, Aaron could feel it from where he sat, and he knew he was to blame for almost all of it.

“I almost had him,” Morgan spat, taking the turns a little faster than he should have in the conditions, but he was a good driver and Aaron trusted him even if he was sitting rather stiff, bracing himself against the door, his feet firmly planted against the floor.

“You did,” Aaron said quietly, calmly. He needed to diffuse the situation. “You almost had him, but he knows these woods better than we do Morgan. There was nothing we could have done.”

“We could have kept trying!” Morgan shouted, and at the same moment he saw a deer leap out into the road in front of him and he swerved to miss it. Everything happened too quickly after that, the SUV spun in a circle and went flying down an embankment toward the lake nose first, slamming into a fallen tree trunk at the base of the hillside. With a crash, the sound of metal crunching and steam hissing and liquids draining, they came to a stop, both men breathing heavily, glad to be alive. Aaron was overcome with a sickening pain in his knee, almost unable to think of anything else for entire minutes after the car came to a stop – every movement, every breath sent him into near hysteria over the intensity of the pain.

“Hotch?” Morgan asked, his voice pained and quiet. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he said, because that was what he did. He was not alright but he wasn't going to die, that was his logic. No one had ever died from a knee injury that he knew of, and if they had, he didn't want to know about it just then. “You?”

“Yeah,” Morgan replied, and he was lying too. He could feel a deep, immobilizing pain in his shoulder, he knew it was dislocated, but he was fine otherwise. “I'm good.” There was an intense silence between them for a few minutes wherein they both were just struggling to regain some level of composure because each of them had it in them that they needed to be in charge of all situations, and weakness wasn't on the menu. The pain in Aaron's knee, though, finally got the better of him because he couldn't move, not even a little and eventually Morgan would have discovered his lie.

“You're lying,” Aaron muttered, sucking in a deep breath and turning his head toward Morgan. “I know that because I'm also lying. Can we agree to be honest?”

“Yeah...” Morgan said, admitting defeat. “I'm pretty sure my shoulder is dislocated. I think I'm okay otherwise...you?”

Aaron sighed. “I don't know. My knee is...” he started, but he didn't know what to say. “It hurts. I can't move it. I'm okay otherwise, whatever that's worth.”

“Okay. We need to stay in the vehicle, it doesn't look like any of the windows broke thankfully. We gotta get into the back, though, we can't sleep up here. If you can do me a solid and just slam my shoulder back into place, I can help get you into the back. Sound good, boss?”

Aaron listened intently, constantly impressed with Morgan's leadership ability and composure under duress. “Sounds good.” A few hours ago, he probably would have told Morgan to stay in his lane, that he was in charge, but he was okay taking a backseat on this one. Morgan braced himself and suddenly Aaron was taken back to another case, over a decade prior, when he'd had to do this very same thing while they were out on the road. He'd popped Morgan's shoulder back into place more than once, and his own as well, he knew what he was doing even if he hated it. Holding his breath as he leaned forward, ignoring the screaming pain in his leg, he reached out and worked as quickly as possible, maneuvering it back into the socket. Morgan grunted only once when Aaron pushed too hard, and then it was over and Aaron leaned back in his seat and let out the long, pained breath he'd been holding.

“Your turn,” Morgan sighed, leaning back, taking a moment to collect himself. He grasped his shoulder with his good hand, rubbing at the angry muscles and clenched his fist a few times, lifted it and set it down, making sure he still had range of motion. “I think it would be best if we did it outside. Get you out, around the car and then into the back.”

“I'm already soaking wet and freezing, Morgan,” Aaron said softly, closing his eyes. “Can we do it inside?”

“You think you can climb over the seats if I'm helping?”

“I'd like to try.”

Morgan shrugged and shook his head. He didn't think it was the best idea, but he wasn't the one it was going to hurt – this way would probably be easier on his own injury, anyway.

“You lay your seat down, recline it all the way. I think I can pull you into the backseat that way, and I can figure it out from there.”

It took everything in Morgan to pull Aaron over the seat with his painful shoulder, but he knew Aaron felt worse so he put his head down and he just pushed through. The sooner they were in the back, the sooner they could figure out how to just get through the night and hope that a rescue party would be sent out in the morning. They both knew that no one would be looking for them at night in a snowstorm, and neither of them had cell phone service. They got into the backseat and stopped for a moment, Aaron's body almost entirely on top of Morgan's and he was doing everything in his power to downplay the amount of pain he was in, gasping and squeezing his eyes shut every time he moved. Morgan played with the lever on the side of the seat, trying to get it to recline, but it was jammed. He pressed harder and harder, raging at it until he felt the plastic snap and splinter to the floor.

“Shit,” he muttered.

“Hmm?” Aaron hummed, unable to form words for the moment.

“We're going to have to go outside, I'm sorry, I just broke the damn lever. It'll be quick, I promise. I can’t drag you over the seat while it’s up man.”

Aaron sighed and nodded, and it wasn't long before the two of them were out in the snow, Aaron draped over Morgan's shoulder, unable to bear weight on his leg. Morgan kicked snow out of their way as they stepped around the SUV, trying to clear the path as best he could. He hadn't realized how unprepared Aaron had been to be out in the snow and he felt awful for yelling at him earlier about spending more time in pursuit now. Morgan lifted the back gate and started to help Aaron inside when the other man stopped him.

“Morgan look up,” Aaron muttered, turning his eyes up at the crystalline indigo sky dotted with diamond stars, layers and layers of stars, visible constellations, not a cloud in sight. They hadn't even realized the storm had passed and left them with the clearest mountain sky either of them had ever witnessed. Morgan paused in silent reverie, feeling the weight of the other man against him and suddenly overcome with the feeling of being very, very small and insignificant. They stood there for a moment, until Morgan felt a shiver run through the man beside him and he was reminded that Aaron was not dressed to be out in the snow so he broke the trance and began moving the other man up and into the vehicle before jumping in himself and shutting the gate behind them. In the back they found boxes of case files and a well stocked emergency kit with a few blankets stuffed inside thanks to JJ insisting that anyone going out into the mountains in a vehicle needed to be prepared. She was no stranger to mountains and snow.

“We gotta get you out of those clothes,” Morgan muttered, and he'd probably never said more uncomfortable words in his life. Aaron could attest to having never been more uncomfortable, but he nodded anyway because embarrassing or not, Morgan was right. His pants were soaked to the knee, his socks were wet and none of it was helping. Morgan didn't watch as Aaron unbuckled his belt and tried to slip his pants down, but at a certain point Aaron's mobility was lost and Morgan helped him finish the job, followed by the removal of his socks and shoes. Morgan had never been more glad in his life that boxer shorts existed, it made the whole thing just a little more bearable. Even in the deepening darkness he could see the gory bruising and swelling around Aaron's knee and he knew the other man was toughing out an incredible amount of pain. His legs felt like ice and he hugged his coat around himself, shivering while he watched Morgan throw case files into all of the windows with some bits of tape to insulate them. It wasn't pretty but as the temperature dropped, it would do the job. Once he was satisfied with the window coverage, he came back and unpacked the lanterns and flashlights, checking the batteries and handing a few over to Aaron to check as well. They were able to illuminate the interior fairly well and Morgan dug through the emergency kit some more, uncovering trail mix and granola bars, tossing some of them into Aaron's lap. Aaron handed the trail mix back, shaking his head.

“I'm allergic to cashews,” he muttered, and Morgan looked at him as if he was speaking another language.

“For real?”

“Yep. Pistachios, pecans and hazelnuts too. I just avoid them all, easier that way.”

“Shit, I had no idea.”

Aaron shrugged. “No need to advertise it.”

“Emily and I eat cashews almost every day at our desk,” Morgan said, a little concerned at how very little he seemed to know about the man beside him. “We've brought them to the round table. And on the plane! Reid drinks hazelnut lattes almost every day. Hotch!”

“What? I'm not dead am I?”

“Damn,” Morgan sighed, shaking his head. “Well there's a lot of nuts in here. It's mostly nuts. There's a few beef sticks and some jerky, some dried fruit, but mostly nuts. Hopefully we'll be out of here tomorrow morning and we won't have to worry about you going into anaphylaxis on top of everything else.” Morgan packed up all of the nut containing items and tossed them into the front seat so he wouldn't be tempted to open them near the other man. “Does anyone know about you and nuts?”

Aaron regarded the question for a moment and smiled. “Gideon figured it out a long time ago,” he said softly. “We were down in Georgia and we were talking with a victim's family. The matriarch of the family, she offered us some pecan pie, made using the pecans from the tree in her backyard. I'd been feeling a little off while I was walking around back there, lightheaded and I was clearing my throat I remember, and hadn't even realized that was what the trees were – I'd guess I had never seen pecan trees before. Gideon leaned over to me and just said “You better decline, the nearest ER is an hour away” and you know, even after working with he and Dave and Max for nearly a year at that point...I was still genuinely shocked.”

Morgan bellowed with laughter. “You're ridiculous, man. You know that right?”

“So I've been told.”

Morgan was busying himself with the blankets now, wrapping Aaron in one and wrapping one around himself as well. There were a couple left over, thinner ones, that he would pull out when they were ready to sleep.

“I hate this outdoorsy shit,” Morgan muttered softly, mostly to himself. Hotch smiled.

“I tried to like it. My mom put me in Boy Scouts, mostly as a way to get me out of the house...” he paused for a moment, his demeanor changing just slightly in a flash to something darker before he righted himself. “I wasn't good at it, though. I mean I did alright for someone who didn't want to be there. My brother made it all the way to Eagle Scouts though. He loves it.”

“Yeah, he tried to get me to go on some backpacking trip through the Appalachians years ago. I've never laughed so hard in my life.”

“He's wild,” Aaron muttered, shaking his head. “Sometimes I forget you two are friends.”

“Yeah,” Morgan said softly, reading between the lines. He knew a lot more about Aaron's childhood than he let on, Sean liked to drink and when he drank he liked to talk and talk and talk. He was a storyteller, and many of his stories portrayed some pretty dark subject matter that he really shouldn't have been sharing. Morgan just tried not to think too much about it, because he hoped that Aaron would do the same for him. They talked some more, sharing stories about Sean, about outdoor experiences that went wrong, Aaron's intense knowledge of The Donner Party which Morgan found extremely disturbing, and at a moment of silence they heard something outside of the vehicle scratching around. “What's that?”

“Sounds big, probably a cougar,” Aaron said softly, listening intently. “I was reading at the city hall about the cougars in the area. Sounds like they see them a lot, there were newspaper clippings tacked up on every bulletin board.”

“Great,” Morgan said softly. Aaron smiled.

“Won't bother us, probably just a concerned citizen out on neighborhood watch.”

Morgan noticed that Aaron's voice sounded a little off, his teeth were chattering now, and he reached over and pulled another blanket out, draping it over the other man's bare legs. “You're gonna freeze to death.”

“I'm okay. I'm always cold.” They talked some more quietly until they both agreed it would be best to try and get some sleep and hope that they'd be rescued the next day. Morgan helped Aaron get comfortable, tucking his blankets around him before he took his place a little ways away, huddled in a ball to conserve his heat. He was plenty warm, his pants were insulated and so were his boots, so he gave Aaron the extra blankets. Before long, they were both asleep.

Next Chapter ->

#criminal minds #fanficton #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #david rossi #aaron hotchner whump #derek morgan whump

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myheartrevealedocs · 4 years

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Untouchable- Ch 2: The Offer

Summary: A Spencer Reid x OC fanfic that retells select episodes, starting in season 1, from the point of view of Lydia Ambers, a forensic scientist.

Warnings: swearing, discussion about death and illegal activity (but like, at half the normal Criminal Minds level)

Ch 1 | Ch 3 | About Lydia

~ ~ ~

“You got it all sorted out?” Gideon asked Hotch as he walked into his office. It had been a month since their case in Santa Cruz and Gideon had been on Hotch’s ass about this since they got back.

“It’s… not a job…” Hotch started. “I talked to Strauss and she said that there was no proof that a forensic scientist would be of any benefit to the team. Police departments provide them and local forensic scientists have access to scenes sooner.”

“Police departments can also have media liaisons and tech analysts, but we bring in our own,” he argued. “I spoke to some of Lydia’s old professors and they said that she’s not only a good crime scene investigator, but her major was chemistry and she’s fit to get a job in DNA analysis or toxicology.”

“Gideon, what did I say about not getting involved? Strauss needs proof that she is an asset to the team before paying her a salary. So, I got her to agree to let Lydia work here as an intern under your supervision.”

“Done,” Gideon said. “By the end of the month, she’ll have proven worthy of a spot on this team.”

“No, there’s more,” Hotch told him, frustrated. “She only gets to work jobs that we clearly need her on and she gets no more than two cases every 50 days.”

“Fine, fine,” Gideon replied, which did nothing to ease Hotch’s worry. He, too, had been impressed by Lydia during the Jonathan Carrey case, but there were parameters on hiring people into the FBI and Gideon acted like those meant nothing.

He’d been the same way about Reid after he first spoke to him, but Reid was cut out to be a profiler from day one and they had an opening for him. Gideon wanted Hotch to simply create a brand new job title and salary for Lydia and he couldn’t do that.

“Should I call her and tell her to pack up her things and move to DC?”

Hotch blinked. “You haven’t already told her about the possibility of a job, have you?”

“No,” Gideon laughed. “I can’t promise her a job when I don't have the jurisdiction to hire anybody.”

That was a relief, but Hotch was still afraid Gideon had let on too much. He had just admitted to calling her professors to learn more about her abilities. So, he replied, “You can tell her that we have an internship position that she might be interested in and ask her about her ability to leave California. That is all.”

~ ~ ~

“Agent Hotchner. Agent Gideon,” Lydia greeted as she entered the BAU. It was crazy enough to be in Virginia, seeing as she’d never left California, but FBI headquarters?

She shuffled around nervously and adjusted her glasses numerous times despite the fact they were already as far up her nose as they could go.

“Lydia,” Gideon greeted, warmly. “How was your flight?”

“It was alright. Exciting. I’ve never been on an airplane before.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. No one should have to go through airport security for their first time alone,” Hotch said. “Why don’t we step into my office?”

He and Gideon led the way into the bullpen and around to his office. Lydia’s eyes darted around, seeing Morgan, Elle, and Reid at their desks, engrossed in their work. She wondered if any of them would even recognize her if she caught their eye. She was surprised enough when Gideon called.

“I assume you’ve been considering my offer?” Gideon asked, closing the door behind her.

“Considering, yes. But it would be… difficult, to say the least. I’d love to hear it from your mouths… the offer, that is.”

Hotch sat down at his desk and gestured for her to do the same.

“Agent Gideon and I would like to offer you an internship here at the BAU as a forensic science technician. When we took you on as a consultant in Santa Cruz, you proved to have inspiring potential. You would only be called out for occasional cases, once every month or so. Agent Gideon would be your supervisor.”

“And this would mean moving to DC?”

“Eventually, yes. We can’t exactly fly you out to every new scene from California. It would be easier to have you here, getting briefed with us, taking the jet, etcetera. You’ll also need to go through a training period here and likely will be asked to work in the office, even when you aren’t on a case. How big of a problem would that be? Do you have a lot of family there?”

“No, not family. I mean, it’s just me and my sister and she’s been doing just fine on her own while I’ve been at college, so we’ll manage the distance. The issue is I’m set to start a masters program next semester. I’m just… unsure how I feel about dropping out of school. I know this is a crazy opportunity, but it’s not a full-time job. And if I don’t do well and you guys decide not to keep me, I’m poor and stuck in DC.”

Gideon, who’d been hovering in the back of the room stepped forward. “If we fire you for some reason, I promise to personally pay for your flight back to California.” It was a joke, but in all seriousness, a flight wasn’t even half of it.

“You wouldn’t have to drop out,” Hotch added. “Many schools nearby would be happy to have you and the Bureau rarely has problems with schools refusing to work around our interns schedules. And even if that’s too difficult, this experience will likely open up many opportunities in the future. I’d be happy to write you a million letters of recommendation should you decide to find work elsewhere.”

“I, uh-”

“Hey Hotch?” A familiar voice called, knocking on the door.

He apologized to her momentarily, before saying, “Come in, Reid.”

The door swung open and the boy looked right over Lydia’s head to his boss. “JJ wanted me to tell you that she…”

He trailed off as he felt more pairs of eyes on him. He glanced at Gideon before finally landing on Lydia.

She decided to make the first move, seeing as he was stunned into silence. “Dr. Reid, how nice to see you again.” She stood up to greet him, a smile gracing her features.

“Lydia, I uh… Sorry, to interrupt I really had no- Oh! And it’s nice to see you, too,” he fumbled. “I’ll… I can talk to Hotch later. Sorry, again for interrupting.” And with that he shut the door and was gone.

“Sorry about that. I figured it might have been important, that’s why I invited him in. What were you going to say?”

Lydia froze, her mind drifting elsewhere. “Does the team know? That you are offering an internship into the team?”

Hotch shook his head. “We aren’t offering an internship into the team. We’re offering you an internship into the team. We were waiting to see if you agreed to it.”

“Well, I don’t want to force them to work with someone super under experienced. They aren’t paid to be teachers.”

“The only one who’s going to be teaching you anything is me,” Gideon reassured her. “You are more than capable of holding your own with them. I trust you.”

Lydia felt her throat close up. It was all set up. A job she couldn’t even dream of and here they were, offering it up on a silver platter. “So, this is all… serious. I move to DC and just… work for the FBI all of a sudden?”

“If that’s what you want, then yes. That’s our offer.”

Lydia looked Hotch over, as if trying to profile whether or not he was lying. And finally, she said, “I would like that. Thank you.”

~ ~ ~

“You’ll need to fill out some legal release forms, medical history forms, and I’ll get to work on setting you up for your training period and psychological assessment,” a charming girl named Penelope Garcia explained. Gideon had introduced her as the BAU’s technical analyst.

Her office was brightly decorated and she handed Lydia all the information she needed with a huge smile.

“I’m going to be asked to do a thorough background check on you, as well. But that information goes straight to Hotch and Gideon, no one else.”

Lydia chuckled slightly. “I don’t think I have any secrets, but thanks for the warning.”

“Of course!” she replied.

“No secrets?” Gideon asked. “If I remember correctly, you refused to explain anything about yourself that didn’t pertain to the case when I first met you.”

Lydia hesitated slightly. “Well, what do you want to know?”

“What were you trying to hide?” he countered. “If you’re such an open book, you can tell me.”

“I was just angry!” she argued. “It isn’t about hiding, it’s just that after my mom died, I really believed that I was explosive and so I avoid any topics that bring out my stronger emotions. And you were trying to push all my buttons. I was stressed!”

She wasn't sure if Gideon was just an attentive listener or if he was simply interested in her background, but his eyes longed for her to go on. “Explosive?”

“That’s how I got this limp.”

Normally, nothing anyone could say would prompt her to give away more information than necessary. She always tried to excuse it as ‘no one asked’ rather than blatantly avoiding certain topics, but it was pretty obvious to just about anyone she’d met that Lydia was not proud of her past. So whatever it was about Gideon that convinced her to add that comment was something pretty special.

“How?” It was Garcia this time.

The young girl laughed. “When I was 16, I was having some issues and one day I was trying to calm myself down… I often did this by physically getting my energy out so I was punching pillows and throwing things and I kicked something that was heavier than I expected and broke my foot.” She nodded, like she was remembering it fondly, but the other two could tell that it was a cover for her uncomfort. “And then, I was mad because I hadn’t solved my problem and I’d rendered myself useless, so I started walking on it before it was healed. I did dumb shit. I felt like I deserved the pain for being so uncontained and brash. And then the arch of my foot healed wrong and I had to live with a more… permanent reminder of my attitude.”

“Sixteen,” Gideon mumbled. “Is that when your father died?”

Garcia looked shocked that her superior would even say such a thing but Lydia was just intrigued, “What makes you say that?”

He shrugged. “You said that your only family is your sister. So, I figure both your parents are far out of the picture. You said your mom died when you were little, which triggered your outbursts. So, I figured that perhaps you lost your dad as well and if you were having major anger issues at 16, could be due to the loss of your second parent. Brings up old scars.”

She paused, a somewhat sad smirk gracing her face. “My dad’s not dead, but you’re pretty close. When I was 16, my father was sent to prison.”

Garcia and Gideon’s faces read with immediate regret. So, Lydia played it off quickly.

“Don’t stress about it. He’s not a murderer or anything and it’s not… important.”

She hesitated to explain what he did. She figured they were bound to find out soon enough and she really would rather not say it outloud, so she changed the subject.

“Hey Garcia? Do you think you could help me work on transferring schools? Agent Gideon suggested that I apply for online courses rather than continuing to learn on campus and I’m still not sure if I can reapply for everything so late. And I know your job isn’t navigating college websites or anything, but you are good at tech and I’d love some help.”

She brightened almost immediately. “Sure, sweetheart!”

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deanwinchestersgirl87 · 3 years

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#fanficton #tumblur #criminal minds #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #derek morgan stories #books #stories

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kurt-nightcrawler · 4 years

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I’m gonna have to watch criminal minds to help my friend write fanficton

#listen all i know is #they hunt serial killers?#garcia is the blonde tech wiz #and spencer is the sexy doctor from vegas #thats all i know #criminal minds

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godsfavdarling · 2 months

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my masterlist

(all of my works include mature content and eventual smut, unless stated otherwise)

one-shots

Yellow - Spencer just came back from a tough case and you and him indulge in some adult activities, but during it you find yourself feeling a little anxious. (fem!reader)

How could you? - You go to Spencer's apartment, only to witness a shocking betrayal that shatters your world. (gn!reader) sfw

How could you? (pt.2) - You're still hurt but you don't think you can let Spencer and your love for him go so easily. (gn!reader) sfw

full fics

I’m Such A Fool For You (set after season 15) - After nearly two decades with the FBI, Dr. Spencer Reid makes a career shift to teaching at Georgetown University. There, he shares an office with Dr. Brittany Reed, a sociologist. (wattpad, Ao3)

Keep Holding On (set between seasons 10-11, later 12-15) - Molly is an elementary school teacher with a simple, fulfilling life. Her romantic life, though, remains stagnant, lacking any signs of flourishing, as she faces continuous disappointments in her pursuit of love. However, a chance encounter with Spencer, a sweet and gentle genius, might just be the catalyst for a change in her romantic fortunes. (wattpad, Ao3)

Why Don't You Come Over? (Spencelle Fanfiction) - There's always been more between Elle and Spencer. Will they be able to be honest with each other? (wattpad, Ao3)

Sweet Relief (set after season 2) - Margaret, a ballerina in Jacksonville, and Spencer, two individuals who have silently weathered their own storms. They find unexpected solace and sweet relief in their budding relationship. A tale of rediscovery and healing. i'm rewriting it!

to be written!

A Second Chance - Amelia and Spencer, childhood sweethearts, faced a tough choice at 16 when Amelia got pregnant. They decided to give their baby up for adoption. After 15 years, they reunite with their daughter. (sfw)

Heart's First Beat (set while Spencer was in collage) - Spencer and Ethan, lifelong rivals, find their relationship taking an unexpected turn.

We All Broke Rules For Someone (set in season 15) - Spencer meets Riley, the enigmatic friend of his colleague JJ. Sparks fly between them, leading to a forbidden affair that challenges their loyalties and desires.

Can't Believe I Used To Get To Kiss You (set in season 7) - After years apart, Spencer and Izzy reunite. Spencer's enduring love resurfaces while Izzy finds herself ensnared in a toxic relationship.

I'll Heal Eventually (set in season 2) - In the midst of his addiction struggles, Spencer makes the decision to attend NA meetings to reclaim control of his life. There, he meets a friend who helps him navigate the challenges of recovery.

my username is godsfavdarling on all platforms!

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #cm #mgg fanfiction #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid x oc #dr spencer reid #fanfic #fanficton #criminal minds fanfic #criminal mind fanfiction #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfics

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fortheloveofwonderland · 2 years

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Darkness Declares Glory | Chapter 5 | S.R

Not my gif

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N - this fic deals with some very dark themes such as drug use, self-harm and suicidal ideation. Please proceed with caution and Minors DNI. There is a reader insert but it is very Spencer-centric.

Chapter Summary - Spencer discovers leaving the institution isn’t an option. Doctor Delaney introduces him to his new surroundings much to Spencer’s annoyance.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst, smut, eventual happy ending.

Warnings - talk of attempted suicide, force hospitalisation, swearing, talk of drug addiction, PTSD, major depressive disorder, anxiety, psychiatric intake questions, talk of therapy and medications, withdrawals, scars, track marks, mentions of abandonment, Cat, Maeve and Tobias, featuring Diana Reid, Gideon.

Word Count - 4.7k

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Chapter 5 - Checkmate

“Why? Why? Why Maeve why?” He mumbled, eyes flickering and head rolling on the pillow.

“Spencer, are you ok?” A vaguely familiar voice brought him back to reality and he forced his eyes open.

Doctor Delaney was standing at his bedside with a half-smile on his face while Spencer roused himself from sleep.

“Hmm.” He mumbled. “Water? Please?”

His mouth was dry, sure but he thought it was a quick and easy way to get at least one of his arms free.

Delaney nodded and unfastened his left arm while Spencer shuffled himself into a seating position in the bed.

Once his arm was free he rubbed his tired eyes before the doctor handed him a bottle of water.

Spencer took a large sip, relishing the way it felt in his parched mouth.

“How are you feeling today?” It was an innocuous enough question but Spencer knew better.

“Seeing as I just woke up, I’m not sure how to answer that.”

“Fair enough.” Delaney nodded. “We’ve obviously had a few setbacks since you arrived…”

“Being my trying to kill myself and all.” Spencer replied dryly before sipping more water.

“Indeed.” Delaney pulled a face. “But I’m keen to start progressing with your treatment.”

“And what if I oppose? What if I don’t want treatment? What if I want you to let me go so I can get high and shoot myself in the face?”

Delaney pulled another face. Clearly he wasn’t used to his patients being so brazen.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” He folded his arms.

“You can’t keep me here. Legally.” Spencer looked smug for a moment but it soon faded when Delaney appeared unphased.

“Actually, we can.” He unfolded his arms. “It’s called Preventive Confinement. It’s a situation when-“

“I know what Preventive Confinement is.” Spencer scoffed. “It’s used in an emergency situation for people who present a grave and immediate danger to themselves or others because of their mental state. However they can only be held against their will for seventy two hours without permission from a judge. And I can ascertain I’ve been here for at least that long.”

“Hmm.” Delaney mused. “You’re correct Spencer. However we do have permission from a judge to keep you.”

Spencer’s face fell immediately. He squeezed the water bottle a little in his hand to stop him lashing out against the doctor.

“That’s not possible. You couldn’t have gotten a judges waiver that fast.”

“Normally no. But Ms Prentiss is a very well connected woman and she had a rush put on the order. I’m afraid you won’t be going anywhere, Spencer. Believe it or not, this is the best place for you.”

“I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for help. All I want is to be left alone.” A few tears crept from his eyes.

“Left alone to die?”

“Preferably yes.” He started picking at the bandages on his right arm without meaning to.

Delaney watched him curiously.

“You had seventeen stitches, you lost a lot of blood.” He informed Spencer.

Spencer didn’t look at him, just continued toying with the dressing.

“You should have let me die.”

Delaney chose to ignore this comment, sometimes it was all you could do. He moved away from the bed and Spencer followed him with his eyes to a wheelchair in the corner of the room.

He took it by the handles and wheeled it back towards him.

“What’s that for?” Spencer frowned.

“You.” Delaney chuckled. “I know you don’t want to be here but I’m afraid you have no choice. I think you might be more comfortable if we get you moved into your new housing. I’m going to get you settled, do some intake tests and explain how everything is going to work.”

“I can walk.” Spencer huffed.

“No Spencer, you can’t. You have a serious injury in your leg, it was amazing you could even stand. I believe the adrenaline and stress of finding yourself here allowed you to temporarily ignore the pain but you're going to need physical therapy before you can walk unaided.” Delaney removed his other restraint and motioned for Spencer to sit up.

Spencer glanced down at his exposed arms, the bandages weren’t enough coverage. Then he glanced at the door before looking back at the doctor.

“There will be people out there?” He swallowed.

“Yes.”

“I need a sweater.”

Delaney nodded and gathered up Spencer’s duffel bag. He fished out a red oversized sweater and handed it to Spencer who quickly pulled it on, drawing his bandaged hands into the sleeves.

He swung his legs out of the bed and just that simple movement caused his muscles to ache but he knew that was part of his withdrawal symptoms.

He sipped more from the water before placing the bottle on the nightstand. He felt nauseous but he tried to push past it.

Delaney helped him into the wheelchair, Spencer didn’t have the energy to fight it. Maybe he’d protest more later but right now he was feeling the weight of the drugs leaving his system.

While Delaney pushed the chair towards the door, one of Spencer’s hands started scratching at the back of the other.

“This is the hospital wing.” Delaney told him as he opened the door before wheeling Spencer outside into a long corridor.

He’d become used to the silence of his room and the corridor was a hustle and bustle of doctors and nurses.

It was slightly overstimulating to his eyes and ears, causing him to scratch more furiously.

It had been a long time since he’d been around people unarmed and sober. To him they were all looking at him, judging him, when in reality no one even batted an eyelid at him.

“Hopefully you won’t find yourself back here. Only if you’re sick or…”

“I hurt myself. Got it.” Spencer dug his fingernails into the back of his hand and grinded his teeth.

He was suddenly extremely hot, like he was in one of his scorching showers. Sweat immediately started gathering at his temples but no matter how hot he got he wasn’t taking off his sweater.

Delaney wheeled the chair towards a bank of elevators and pressed one of the buttons. Spencer focused on the metal doors rather than the people buzzing around him.

“How does visitation work here? Is it like prison? Do I have a pre approved list?” He asked, mostly for something to keep his mind occupied.

“Yes. With your state on arrival, Ms Prentiss gave me a list of people but we can review that and-“

“I don’t need to review it.” He cut him off quickly. “You can take everyone off of it. I don’t want to see any of them.”

“Spencer, that's not a very good idea. You’re going to need a support system if you have any chance of-“

“I don’t want to see any of them.” Ever again.

The elevator doors opened and Delaney led him inside and pressed the button for the ground floor.

“We’ll discuss it again later.” Delaney shut the conversation down, making Spencer roll his eyes.

He wasn’t going to change his mind on this. He categorically did not want any more of his friends to see him like this. It was bad enough Emily and Luke had seen him in this state, he was certain no one else would.

He knew for sure Emily would not be stepping back inside here. He was so fucking angry at her right now. He’d trusted her as his emergency contact when he didn’t have anyone else. He’d trusted her as his friend and now she’d gotten him trapped inside this place like he was back in prison.

He would never forgive her for this.

They were silent as Delaney pushed his chair out of the elevator and outside.

The sun was so bright, Spencer couldn’t remember the last time he’d been outside in daylight.

He dug his nails harder into the back of his hand at the alien feeling. Spencer liked isolation. Spencer liked being alone. He also liked the dark.

His anxiety was through the roof and he started jiggling his leg up and down as Delaney pushed him through the facilities grounds.

If Spencer hadn’t been so focused on keeping his breathing calm he might have noticed how beautiful it was.

The large courtyard had a winding path through rows of trees and flower gardens. Benches and bird feeders were peppered around the area and a small water fountain sat at the centre.

Birds chirped from their perches in the trees and the soft breeze caused the leaves to rustle. Delaney wheeled him along the path while Spencer kept his eyes on his hand and the skin he was picking away from it.

Deep breaths, just take deep breaths, he repeated to himself like a mantra.

He felt the sun's rays beating down on him and caused him to sweat more. He was already overheated and now it was becoming stifling.

They eventually rounded the building into the shade and it offered Spencer a slight reprieve. His leg continued to bounce up and down even once Delaney led them inside.

Towards the end of a long corridor he came to a stop and fished a key out of his pocket.

Room 112, it stated in big brass letters on the door.

“This will be your home for the duration of your stay. Your friends Emily and Luke brought some comfort items for you.”

Spencer frowned to himself as Delaney opened the door before wheeling him inside.

The room was entirely nondescript, with cream walls and a navy blue carpet.

There was a small single bed in one corner with a nightstand next to it and a desk and chair on the other wall. There was also a chest of drawers in another corner which he assumed held more of his clothes.

On the desk Spencer spotted a pile of books he recognised from his own collection, one’s he hadn’t destroyed anyway. Next to them was his old chess set. He was briefly impressed that Emily had managed to find all the pieces among the destruction of his apartment.

Tacked to the wall over the desk was a collage of photographs. There was one of him with his mom under the Eiffel Tower. One from JJ’s wedding several years ago, the whole team, including Hotch and Morgan, gathered in Rossi’s backyard.

There was a more recent team photo that featured Luke, Tara and Matt. There were some selfies of Garcia taken in her bat cave, one of Spencer and Emily at karaoke night a while back. There were also photographs of Henry, Michael, Jack and Hank.

But there were none of you.

Why were there none of you?

Before he had time to think too hard on this, Delaney was helping him out of the chair and sitting him on the bed. It was at least comfier than his prison cot but it was a far cry from his memory fibre mattress at home.

Delaney took a seat in the desk chair and fished out a clipboard and pen from under the wheelchair.

“How do you like it?” He smiled at Spencer briefly but it quickly turned into a frown when he saw Spencer’s agitated fingers picking at his skin. “Spencer, this needs to stop.”

He stood up again, laying the clipboard on the desk before moving toward the bed.

He cautiously reached out for Spencer’s hands and assessed the damage he’d done.

“We’re going to have to trim your nails. This skin picking has to stop.”

“I can’t do drugs, I can’t hurt myself. This place is a real downer.” Spencer sighed, pulling his hands back up the sleeves of his sweater.

Delaney ignored the comment and sat back down in the chair, pulling the clipboard into his lap.

“I need to ask some questions for your intake paperwork and then we’ll have you assessed by one of our therapists this afternoon. They will be able to provide a diagnosis and a treatment plan.”

“I’m a drug addict with PTSD, major depressive disorder and panic disorder.” Spencer picked at the seam of his sweater in an attempt not to pick his skin.

“You’ve been diagnosed before?” Delaney scribbled down some notes.

“Yes. I was going to therapy and prescribed Prozac but neither helped.”

“But drugs and self-harm did?”

Spencer knew it was a rhetorical question but he answered nonetheless.

“It kept me alive this long.” He shrugged.

“I would argue what you’ve been doing lately is far from living, Spencer. Tell me about your history with drugs.”

Spencer rolled his eyes and glanced out the window. At least he tried to but the glass was frosted. He could already ascertain just by looking at it that it was safety glass, the kind someone couldn’t punch through.

“I got addicted to dilaudid about ten years ago. I was using for about a year before I got clean. I relapsed after I spent three months in prison.” He spoke matter of factly.

“When did you start using cocaine?”

“I’m not sure.” Spencer stared at the frosted glass. “I’m missing a lot of time. I thought I’d only just started using it but the more I think about it…the last thing I really remember is buying it for the first time. But I think that night in question could have been eighteen months ago.”

“You were examined at the hospital before you were brought here. You had damage to your nasal cavities that suggested long term use.”

“I went out one night to buy drugs and suddenly I’ve lost a year and a half.” He clenched his jaw when he felt tears prick the corners of his eyes.

“I have a series of questions we usually ask which are based around the past thirty days of your life. But I suppose that might be hard to answer given your memory loss.”

“Hmm.” Spencer nodded stiffly.

“Let’s just replace the thirty days with, from what you recall, ok?”

“Sure.” Spencer didn’t take his eyes off the window.

“Ok. So from what you recall, how often were you using illegal drugs?” Delaney poised his pen above the paper.

“Every day.” Spencer answered quickly. “Well, the days I was conscious. Sometimes I’d pass out for days on end.”

“From what you recall, where were you living before your hospitalisation?”

“I have an apartment in DC. I’ve lived there since I was twenty two.” He pulled at a seam on the inside of his sleeve.

He could hear Delaney’s pen scratching across the paper.

“From what you recall, how stressful have things been because of your drug use?”

He watched Spencer’s brows furrow.

“Things weren’t stressful because of my drug use. My drug use was the only non stressful thing in my life.” He freed the red piece of thread and toyed with it in his fingers.

“What about the money your habit was costing you? That wasn’t stressful?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I have tens of thousands of dollars saved from years working at the BAU. I only spend money on books and food. Money wasn’t an issue.”

Delaney paused to jot down more notes.

“From what you recall…” Delaney trailed off and the silence caused Spencer to finally look at him.

“Yes?”

“I think I already know the answer to this one.”

Spencer grinded his teeth again, harder than before.

“Let me guess, from what I recall, how often have I considered suicide?”

“Yes.”

Spencer rolled his eyes and looked back at the window. His jittery hands moved to the bandage on his knuckles and started picking at that.

“How would you rate your health overall?”

“You’ve seen me, what do you think?” Spencer scoffed.

“It’s not about what I think.”

Spencer pulled out a piece of thread from the bandage and let it flutter to the floor.

“Poor.”

“How satisfied are you with your life?”

Spencer couldn’t help but let out a dry laugh.

“I was satisfied in the sense that I had the means to get high when I wanted. I was satisfied in the sense that I could kill myself if I wanted. I am much less satisfied with my life now I am here being forced to sober up and get help.” He replied honestly.

Delaney put the clipboard back down and threaded his fingers together, watching the way Spencer picked at his dressing.

“You need to want to get help, Spencer. This isn’t going to work if you fight it.” He spoke softly.

Spencer’s neck snapped towards him, his eyes dark with anger.

“Well I don’t want to get help. And I am going to fight it. So you might as well just let me leave, let me die in a ditch somewhere and then everyone will be better off. I’m a lost cause. You’re wasting your time.” He stopped picking the bandage and wrapped his arms around his frail form.

“Is that what you think? You think you’re a burden?”

“I don’t think I’m a burden. I know I am.” He huffed.

“Spencer…”

“Why can’t you just let me die.” Out of nowhere he was sobbing uncontrollably.

Emotional outbursts were common during the detoxing period. Delaney had experience with the emotionally unstable and of course Spencer was no exception.

“I think that’s enough questions.” Delaney decided out loud. “Let me tell you a little about what you can expect while you’re here.”

Spencer continued to cry but he nodded all the same.

“It’s vital for our patients to keep to a structured routine. We find that consistency, and not having to make many decisions throughout your day, will help support you as you recover.”

Again Spencer just nodded so Delaney continued.

“You’ll be under twenty-four hour care. Your initial stay will be six months and from there we’ll determine if you need to extend your stay.”

Spencer wailed, burying his head in his hands.

Six months? Six fucking months!

“Patients wake up time is seven am. Nurses will distribute medication upon wake up. Breakfast is served at eight. Communal bathrooms are just down the end of the hall and we ask patients to try their best to shower at least once a day.

Group therapy sessions are at nine am. Once you’ve been assessed today we can group you in with people with similar issues to make the sessions more beneficial for you. These sessions last ninety minutes so between ten thirty and lunch which is served at noon, we offer you reflection time. You’ll be given a journal to write freely in. This is your own private journal and you don’t have to share anything contained there with anyone unless you choose to.

After lunch will be your individual therapy session. You’ll be assigned a therapist who fits your needs, in your case you will probably need one of our dual-diagnosis specialists who deals with both drug addiction and mental health issues.

After this is usually free time where we offer art and crafts, sporting activities and nutritional classes. But for you this is when you’ll be partaking in physical therapy to get you back up on your feet.

Dinner is at six pm. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays another group session will follow dinner. On Tuesdays and Thursdays we invite friends and family to visit. Then we offer more free time until lights out at ten pm. How does that sound?”

Spencer rubbed his eyes free of tears and took a few breaths before looking up at Delaney.

“Honestly? It sounds fucking terrible.” He hadn’t lied so far and didn’t plan to now. “This is supposed to make me less suicidal?”

“It will be good for you, I promise.” Delaney offered him a sympathetic smile.

“I highly doubt that.”

“Are you ok?” Delaney was suddenly on his feet and frowning at Spencer.

“Yes, why?”

“I think you need to lay down.”

Spencer hadn’t realised his whole body was shaking with tremors. He was as white as a sheet and sweating lavishly.

“W-why?” He let Delaney guide him back to the mattress.

“I think you should try to rest. We’ll get you some medication to help with the withdrawals but for now you should rest.”

Spencer didn’t have the energy to fight it. He simply nodded, wrapping his arms around his body while his limbs trembled fiercely.

His stomach turned over and over as though he was on a rollercoaster. His head started pounding out of nowhere and he cried out in anguish.

Delaney left him alone, backing out of the room and closing the door behind him.

While Spencer sobbed, curling his body in on himself, he thought of a common saying he’d once heard about addiction.

Withdrawing from certain substances can kill you, and withdrawing from others can make you feel like you want to die.

Right now he wasn’t sure which category he fell into. Either way he was sure that this would be the death of him.

***

“Spencer? Spencer? Open your eyes.”

Spencer did as the mysterious voice told him and opened his eyes.

“It’s your move, Spencer.” Diana smiled at him, nodding her head to the table between them where a chess board sat half played.

His fingers trembled a little as he moved one of his pawns.

His mother mused for a moment before moving her rook.

“Quite a mess you’ve gotten yourself into, son.” She nodded again, this time towards his arms.

Spencer looked down at his unbandaged arms and his stomach coiled into knots.

His left arm was littered with purple and red track marks, gouges in his skin he’d picked away and multiple fresh burns.

His right arm showcased his latest work, a completely open wound from the crook of his arm to his wrist, fresh blood pooling from it.

He swallowed and looked back at the chessboard before moving another piece.

“It’s been a rough few years.” He admitted.

“And now you’ve been institutionalised. Like mother, like son, aye?” She gave him a wry smile.

“I’m not schizophrenic.” He countered quickly.

“I didn’t say you were.” She nudged another piece across the board. “You’re not well though, Spencer. You haven’t been for a long time.”

“How do you even know that? I haven’t seen you since I got out of prison.” Spencer moved another piece before, “checkmate in three.”

“You weren’t well long before you went to prison, Spencer. You’ve always had this darkness in you, I’m only surprised it took this long to come out.” Diana took her turn and added, “checkmate.”

Spencer frowned looking from his mother to the board.

The pieces were in completely different spots than they had been moments before and he had indeed found himself checkmated.

“How did you do that?” He glanced back up at his mother.

“Nothing is ever as it seems, Spencer.” She smiled wistfully as Spencer glanced back down.

This time the game pieces were all back in their starting positions and when he looked back to Diana, it wasn’t her eyes staring back at him.

“Your move, Reid.” Gideon gestured to the board.

“What do you want?.” Spencer sighed as he pushed a pawn forward.

“You tell me. This is your dream.” Gideon moved his own pawn.

“It seems I don’t have control over my own thoughts these days.”

“You do seem to be losing it. But drugs will do that to you.”

“Oh we’re going to talk about it this time? Because I remember last time you and Hotch looking the other way, burying your heads in the sand.” Spencer shifted another piece on the board.

“We did not handle it well.” Gideon admitted with a small shrug. “We were scared of what it would mean for you. You were so young, just a kid.”

“Even more reason for you to step in and help me.” Spencer replied bitterly.

“It’s holding on to things like that which has gotten you into this situation.” Gideon moved another piece and then sat back in his chair. “Checkmate.”

“What? That’s impossible.” he looked down at the board and once again all the configuration had changed and Gideon had beaten him.

“Let go of the past Spencer, it’s not doing you any good to hold on to all that disappointment.”

“That’s easy for you to say now you’re dead. You carried around a book with pictures of all the people you couldn’t save.” Spencer folded his arms.

“No one said you had to follow my example. I held onto past failures and look where I ended up.” Gideon’s eyes danced with some kind of mild amusement.

“He’s always done that, always lived in the past.” Diana suddenly reappeared at Gideon’s side. “After William left, he never forgave him.”

“Because he walked out on you when you needed him the most.” Spencer frowned at his two mentors, his mother and surrogate father.

“Yes, when I needed him most. Yet I still forgave him. It's not healthy to hold onto things the way you do, Crash. You’ve let all your trauma build and build until it broke you. You need to try letting some things go.”

“Like what?” Spencer rolled his eyes.

“You could try not holding a grudge against your father. It’s been nearly thirty years.”

“Or let go of your abandonment issues from my leaving the BAU.” Gideon suggested.

“Stop blaming yourself for Maeve’s death.” Diana mused out loud.

“Stop blaming Tobias Hankel for your drug addiction.” Gideon added.

“Or Cat Adam’s for what happened in Mexico.”

“Ok, ok. I get it.” Spencer pushed his chair back from the table and stood up.

He didn’t know where he was going, there was nowhere for him to go.

Two distant voices caught his attention now and he turned over his shoulder to see two figures standing a little way away.

He couldn’t work out what they were saying but he could tell by the timbre of their voices they were arguing.

“That’s something he could let go of.” Gideon’s voice brought him back.

“Oh, that’s certainly not something worth holding on to.” Diana agreed.

Spencer ignored them and started in the direction of the two people. As he got closer to them he started being able to make out features. It soon became clear he was encroaching on a couple arguing.

“You’re cracking at the seams and you can’t even see it.” an exasperated female voice spoke. “I can’t help you if you won’t help yourself.”

“I don’t need help, I’m fine.” a familiar male voice filled his ears.

“This isn’t fine, Spencer!” you threw your hands in the air. “This is far from fine.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” A younger version of Spencer raised his voice.

“Everything just adds up and up and you don’t talk about them. You bury everything down deep and think that’s going to solve it, but it doesn’t.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” younger Spencer folded his arms.

Older Spencer watched on from the sidelines at the scene playing out before him. It was so familiar to him, like he’d seen it before. Or lived it before.

“For one thing, Maeve.” you spat. “You watched her die and you took what? Two weeks off work and then went back like nothing happened? You never stopped to process Alex leaving, or Morgan or even Hotch. You bottle everything up and I can see the cracks starting to form Spencer. And I can’t stand by and watch while you self-destruct.”

“So you’re just leaving? Just like that?”

“It’s not a surprise, Spencer! I’ve told you time and time again I can’t keep doing this. But you haven’t been listening. So yes Spencer, I’m leaving. I’m done.” with that you stormed away from young Spencer, right towards him but you didn’t seem as though you even saw him.

Your features were slightly fuzzy around the edges as he looked at you getting closer. He couldn’t quite make out all the little details of you, even when he squinted.

You brushed past him and if you saw him, it didn’t show.

He spun on his heels to watch you walk away but when he turned around you were gone. So was Gideon and his mom.

He scratched the back of his head in confusion until he felt a presence next to him. Glancing to the side he saw the younger version of himself standing at his side.

“Nothing is ever as it seems.” his younger self repeated the words Diana had said to him with a sad shrug.

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