Spencer Reid: Oneshots

It's Okay Not To Be Okay

Summary: Reader's cooped up emotions boil over after a difficult case and leave them isolating themselves from the team, but Spencer senses something deeper and steps in to help them get through it.
Warning: Implied depression, symptoms of a depressive episode

You know how some people are called open books? They open up to everyone, they're easy to read and understand, it's always clear what's going on with them. That wasn't you. In fact, that was the farthest thing from you. It was a blessing and curse in your field. You didn't want to show unsubs, victims, or anyone for that matter that you could possibly show any form of fear or hesitation, which was pretty easy for you. You've worked your whole life to get to the BAU, no little slip was going to ruin that. The only issue was yourself. There were days where you just wanted to curl up in a ball and never have to face the world again, where you so desperately tried to call out to your team, but they never heard you because of you well you hid everything. Your team sat in silence, the outcome of the case lingering like a stinging pain after you remove a bandaid. You kept your eyes firmly on the book in front of you, but your brain couldn't even process the words that so idly rested on each page. Every glance from someone else on the jet tormented you. Do they think I'm weak or something? Defensive-offensive. That was your first mechanism, and it had been since you were a kid. The more you convinced yourself that others found you to be weak, the stronger you could force to yourself become.
"Do you want some water?" JJ asked quietly, breaking the silence as she looked around at you, Spencer, and Derek.

"I'm alright," you whispered, forcing a polite smile.

"I'll take one," Spencer replied, Derek nodding as to say yes as well. Spencer's eyes drifted to you, quickly noticing that you weren't even reading. Your eyes. He always liked them. When you smiled, your eyes smiled too. When you got excited, they almost glimmered with passion and thrill. But when you were upset, it was like a heavy weight. Unbeknownst to you, Spencer could see how you were feeling just based on how glazed over your appeared, and how you avoided speaking as if you could break at any second. "Here."

You looked up. "Hm?"

"You should have some water, the oxygen content is lower at high altitudes." He handed you a small cup.

"I'm fine."

"You need to."

"Really, I'm okay."

"No, you're—"

"I said I'm fine." Your voice was stern. It wasn't yelling, but it certainly wasn't meant to come off as friendly. Spencer backed off, seeing your emotions begin to boil. "Sorry, I—"

"You're fine." Spencer opened his book again, the plane returning to a grim silence. You nodded slowly, going back to drawing circles on your hand.

You sat on your couch, your back straight, eyes forward.

"HELP ME! Y/N, HELP ME!"

You squeezed your eyes shut, pulling out your phone. "Hotchner."

"Hey, it's me."

"Y/L/N?"

"Yeah, my cat is throwing up like crazy. I might be late or not be able to make it, I've gotta get her to the vet."

"You have a cat?"

"Oh yeah...she's uh a rescue, so it's recent."

"Alright, take the day off then."

"Thanks." You hung up, opting to just go lie in your bed.

6 days. Each day you spent making up some absurd lie about your cat's horrible condition, you told yourself you'd give it one more day. One more day and then you'd be fine. Then that day would come and suddenly your invisible cat would be dying even more. In reality, you'd just been moving like a machine. Wake up, watch bad television, lay down and not really get anything done. It took 3 days before you could even muster up the energy to eat properly. On the 6th day, you found yourself back on your couch in the pretty messy living room. Knock. Knock. You glanced at the door, slowly walking over. "Can I come in?" Spencer.