checkmate

028 » THE FIGHT (2)

tw for referenced addiction

The bullpen is not quiet, but a strange silence lingers in Spencer's mind. He is worried about you, but he does not want to show it. He knows that this case can't have been easy for you, and he has seen how stressed you have been. Every time he has seen you for the duration of this hellish time in Texas, you have either been biting your nails, picking your skin, or completely zoned out. Everyone has been worried, but Spencer has been worried the most.

After he has finished his paperwork, he acts like he is doing something, when in reality he is just waiting for you to leave so that he can talk to you. He tries not to make it obvious as he follows after you, taking the stairs down to the parking lot rather than the elevator. Anxiety churns in his insides as he hurries behind you.

"Y/l/n!" he calls out, fumbling with his bag as it almost falls off his shoulder. He stops a few feet behind you, not wanting to invade your space.

"What?" you ask, sighing, as you turn to face him.

"I think you need to tell the others about Jackson," Spencer suggests, keeping his voice soft and calm.

"What? No," you reply, your eyebrows furrowing as you look at him.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to."

"They're all worried," he tells you.

"I'm fine," you respond, your tone becoming defensive. "They shouldn't worry. It happened ages ago."

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "And it's still affecting you. They want to know what's bothering you. What's making you so jumpy, and paranoid."

"It's not their business, though, is it?"

"It is when it's affecting the way you work," he explains, a hint of irritation lacing his words.

"So now you're saying I can't do my fucking job right?" you bite back.

"Yeah, maybe I am," he scoffs, slowly walking towards you. "You're not focused, you're not thinking straight, you're constantly second guessing yourself and everyone when it isn't necessary. You could make the wrong call and cost someone their life, just because you're too concentrated on your ex boyfriend."

He does not want to fight with you, he knows you are stressed and upset and exhausted, but the conversation is gravitating into an argument. Maybe that is his fault for constantly being a dick- now he can't just have a simple discussion with you without it ending up in snapping at each other.

"Shut the fuck up, okay?" you exclaim. "I've had enough of you telling me that I can't do my job. I've had enough of you treating me like I'm inferior to you. I'm good at my job, and you just can't accept that for whatever petty fucking reason. I don't know why you hate me so much, Reid, but I'm fucking sick of it. You're an asshole to me for no good reason. At least not one you've explained. I'm sick and fucking tired of you treating me like shit, telling me I suck at my job, and acting like you're so much fucking better than me."

He knows that you are right. He just can't admit it.

"All I'm saying is that you should tell them," he insists, trying to rationalise. "It's the smart and rational thing to do."

"Oh, so you're saying I don't know what's the smart thing to do? Quit acting like you know what's best for me!" you snap. "You don't know shit about me or my life, alright? You just act like you do, because you think you're all big and smart and better than everyone else. But fucking face it, Reid, you're just like the rest of us."

"Shut up," he says.

"You're such a fucking cunt!"

"Shut up," he repeats.