A/N: Please read the warnings because the content in this chapter isn't easy and is a very real and traumatic experience for some! It's another emotional chapter, so please take care of yourselves afterwards, and make sure you have support if the content in this chapter could be triggering for you and you decide to read.
Warnings: loved one with illness/cancer, death and grief, hurt/comfort, kissing, crying, past drug use/addiction, discussions of: murder, gun violence, Russian roulette, abuse (bastinado), being drugged against your will, and an abusive father (Charles Hankel). Please let me know if I missed anything! My DMs are always open.
Chapter Summary: Reader lands in Seattle to comfort Spencer at the hospital. She meets the team, and later Spencer shares some of his past with her.
Word Count: 6.3k
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Your anxiety had never been as high as it was as you walked through the main doors of the hospital. You had your duffel bag on your arm, and the messages from Penelope were on your phone which listed Spencer's floor and room number. She assured you that she'd have someone from the BAU waiting for you to help you find your way to his room, and you were stressed over it.
The thought freighted you almost as much as it comforted you.
On one hand you were scared to meet his coworkers without him. The place and timing of everything was off, and the circumstances you were in were anything but ideal. Not to mention that his team knew almost nothing about you. You were a mystery woman to the doctor who spent most of his time in solitude. At least that was the way they saw him.
However, it was also nice that Penelope wanted to make sure you had the least amount of trouble navigating the foreign hospital as possible. And it was sweet that she wanted you to feel welcome when you were about to be faced with a bunch of strangers in an already stressful scenario.
Additionally, you'd barely gotten any sleep in the last 24 hours, and you could probably use the help at this point.
The entire taxi ride from the airport was spent dwelling over this moment. The cab driver had tried to make small talk with you, but when they were continually met with a few words at most, coupled with your nervous fidgeting, they decided to drop their attempts at a conversation. So, you sat in the backseat and pictured what it would be like to meet the people closest to Spencer.
You thought about seeing him again and helping to bring some sense of comfort back to him. The way his face might soften when he saw you.
Once you were inside the hospital, the sterile smell of alcohol mixed with hints of stale coffee hit your nose.
Every single hospital smelled the same. They were almost always chaotic, with rushing doctors and nurses, families waiting in uncertainty, and strangers who passed each other in the halls with empty sympathy.
Truthfully, you'd avoided them as much as you could. All you could think about when you passed the coffee station and saw the plastic covered chairs in the waiting area was how you used to spend hours in a similar hospital, drinking the bad coffee and sitting on those stiff chairs while you waited for your mom's tests to be finished.
And when her cancer got to the stage where she had to be admitted, you'd spent nights wandering the halls or passing time in the cafeteria when you couldn't bear to sit next to her bed and cry anymore.
But this time, you weren't here to think about the past, and you couldn't let your emotions get the better of you. You had to put on a strong face and be there for Spencer, so you could meet him and his team with composure.
When you walked past the receptionist's desk, you caught a woman with black hair and a warm, dark complexion staring at you.
Her eyes were curious, almost like she was deep in thought as you glanced at her. But when she said your name with an impossibly tiny amount of doubt, your head whipped back to look at her again.
Her dark brown eyes were now kind as her face softened when she realized she had been right. You were the person she had been looking for.
"Hi, Y/N? I'm Dr. Tara Lewis. I'm here to bring you to Spencer's room. I assume Garcia told you someone would be waiting to take you up?"
Her voice was soothing and yet it held every ounce of professionalism and confidence. You could see how someone like her had a job in the FBI.
"Uh, yeah, that's me. Hi."
You stood staring at her as your mind filled with a dozen questions.
"Alright, great. It's nice to meet you. If you're ready now, I can take you to see him?"
"Nice to meet you too. Sorry - how did you know it was me?"
You gave her a confused look. Tara's face bore a knowing expression, as if she was in on a joke that you weren't aware of. She considered her words for a second before answering.
"Ah, that's Garcia for you. She showed me your picture so I'd know who to look for. Sorry about that," she apologized with a hint of embarrassment.
"Oh." Your pitch changed in mild surprise. Even though it was odd, you guessed it made sense. After you'd digested that fact, you spoke again. "Um, yeah, I'm ready to see Spencer if you wanna," the last vowel lingered as you gestured with your shoulders in a shrug in the direction of the elevators.
"Of course. I'll take you to him."
Tara led you to the elevators and once the two of you stepped on, you found yourselves in awkward silence as the doors shut and the lift began rising. After another beat of silence, you turned to Tara.
"So, you're a doctor? Were you taking care of Spencer at all?"
Tara smiled at you.
"No, I'm not that kind of doctor. My degree is in forensic psychology."
You nodded in understanding. "I see."
When the doors opened again, you were on Spencer's floor. Tara led you down the quiet hallway. It was midday, and this floor of the hospital wasn't as busy as the lower ones.
"Have you known Spencer long, Y/N?"
Her tone wasn't imposing, and she didn't seem like the nosy type. She just seemed curious.
"A couple months, maybe."
It felt weird saying that out loud. Two months wasn't a very long time; it felt like you'd known him longer. In the last couple weeks especially, the two of you felt closer than ever with each other.
"Well, he's lucky he has you. And we're glad you could come. Like I said, it's nice to finally meet you." She sounded genuinely happy to be putting your face to a name.
"It's nice to meet you too, Doctor."
"Please, you can call me Tara." She stopped in front of a closed door and cocked her head to the side. "This is it. I'll get everyone to clear out to give you guys some time."
You thanked her, and she opened the door wide enough to peek her head in before she walked in. You took a deep breath and followed behind her.
Inside the small hospital room, the first thing your eyes settled on was the small bed pushed against the wall in the middle of the room. It looked almost too short for Spencer's long legs which were tucked under a linen blanket. His hair was unruly, his curls fanning out around his head on the pillow. He was sitting up, and you could see the outline of the stark white gauze bandage under his hospital gown.
Around the room stood various intimidating people. They were all much older than you, and even the youngest looking ones seemed older than Spencer. It was hard not to feel so out of place next to them, like a grown-up who hadn't found her footing yet. At a humble 26, they were probably expecting someone much different to walk in. Let alone someone a few years older to be an apparent close friend of Spencer's.
All of their heads turned to look at you when you came in.
After a fleeting glance at each one of them, your eyes lingered at last on Spencer's sleepy face. Just like you'd pictured, his face softened when he saw you.
"Y/N." Your name fell from his lips in a happy sigh. It was like he couldn't believe you were here with him.
"Hey, Spencer."
You spoke softly, stepping closer to him. There was a burly looking man with dark hair and tan skin sitting next to the bed. When you approached the bedside, the man grinned at you, getting up out of the chair. He gestured for you to take the seat and moved to go stand with the others.
"Ah. So this is the girl who's getting you to eat vegetables, huh Reid," he teased, and you felt your cheeks warm in mild embarrassment. "She must be one special lady!"
His joke helped break a bit of the nerves inside of you. At least someone was focusing on something other than your age or tired appearance. There were soft chuckles from around the room, and it eased the awkwardness you were feeling temporarily. Your eyes caught Spencer's quickly, unsure of how to react. Luckily, he saved you from replying.
"She is," he paused. "...And she's very special."
When the words left his mouth, your chest swelled in pride. It became so full and erratic that the rest of the room melted away, leaving only you and Spencer. He glanced up at you from his position on the bed, sharing a shy smile with you.
It was also reassuring. The proclamation was a testament to his feelings for you, and if he accepted you, maybe the team would too.
The moment between you soon passed when another voice cut through the room.
"I would say. I don't think I've ever seen you eat anything but sugar, Reid."
You glanced back to the team, your eyes tracing over their faces to figure out who the voice had belonged to. It came from a woman with glossy black hair. She had striking features that lightened when both you and Spencer looked at her.
"I'm Emily Prentiss. You can call me Emily. I'm the head of the team," she explained. "Thank you for coming down so quickly, it means a lot to us and to Spencer. We're glad he has someone who cares about him so deeply."
You gave her a small smile, feeling the blood rise to your cheeks. You looked back to Spencer once while you spoke. "Yeah, of course. Thank you for making sure I was contacted. I'm just happy I was able to come."
His face was slightly flushed too, even though you were certain he was trying to mask it.
"Speaking of which, why doesn't everybody introduce themselves and then we can give you guys some time," Tara cut in.
You were grateful for her suggestion, but the 'then' part worried you. It meant you'd be left alone with Spencer while your emotions were already running high. And you had to be strong for him, but you didn't know if you could do that when he meant so much to you. He could have died not ten hours ago, and it was possible you wouldn't have heard from him again.
"Uh, yeah, Y/N, this is my team," he swallowed, and you watched as his features twisted in pain for a fraction of a second. A weighted look was shared between him and Emily. "This is David Rossi," he tilted his head towards the man standing next to Emily.
David Rossi was by far the oldest person in the room. There was a certain mellowness about him that grew even stronger when he reached out to shake your hand in a firm but gentle grasp.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Agent Rossi."
"It's my pleasure. Any friend of Spencer's is a friend of mine. And call me Dave, I insist."
You nodded, repeating his name. The next person to shake your hand was the man who had been sitting next to Spencer's bed. He had a grin like a retriever and his hand was strong and warm as it engulfed yours.
"SSA Luke Alvez, but just call me Luke. You're one hell of a woman if you can keep up with him," he chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners, as he nodded his head towards Spencer at the jab. "It's great to meet you."
You gave him a soft laugh in return, exchanging your own pleasantries. Afterwards, you turned to see a pretty blonde woman approach you. She had a slim face, with hollow cheeks and bright eyes. Her hand was outstretched to you, and you graciously accepted it.
"I'm JJ, short for Jennifer Jareau, but JJ's kind of what I go by. I'm glad you're here - Spence was starting to look a little glum." She gave you a knowing smile, which you returned before moving to shake the last person's hand.
"Matt Simmons. Nice to meet you, Y/N."
"Likewise," you smiled.
So far, everyone genuinely seemed happy that you were here; they all were being very nice and welcoming. Now that the introductions were completed, as promised, Tara cleared everyone out.
"We'll let you two talk. Thanks again for coming, Y/N, and just call us if you need anything, Reid."
The team cleared out, shutting the door behind them, leaving you and Spencer alone. You sat back down in the chair next to him, scooting it closer.
"You had me really worried for a second," you began, but he said your name at the same time.
"Y/N."
For a moment you both paused, and then you tried again. "Are you okay, Spencer?"
He had that look of disbelief on his face again, like it was incredible that you were here with him. "I'll be okay," He cooed, "thank you for being here. It- I- I don't know how to tell you what it means to me." His voice was soft as he spoke.
"Of course I would come," you murmured. "I was really scared when Penelope told me what happened. She said you needed surgery."
Spencer's face dropped at your sadness. "Yeah, but it went well. They were able to remove the bullet and repair the damage it caused. I'll just need to rest while my shoulder heals, that's all." His voice cracked slightly.
"I'm just sorry that happened to you. I just keep thinking about what could have happened if things turned out differently, like what if the ambulance didn't get to you in time. What if I never heard from you again?" The stress in your voice rose to the surface, and you couldn't stop the tears that formed in your eyes, threatening to spill over.
"Bambi," he reached over to hold your wrist, which you were using to prop your face up as you leaned towards him. "I don't want you to worry about me." He was beyond gentle as he spoke, and you heard the sadness morph into guilt. "It was my fault I got shot, I shouldn't have-"
"Spencer, you could have died."
When you said those words, the tears that glistened in your eyes finally fell, rolling down your cheeks in a few big drops. Spencer's thumb came to catch them, wiping them away with a delicate brush over your skin. When he spoke again, you almost had to strain to hear him.
"I know. I know I could have died." His hands were frozen on your face as he stared at you for a few seconds before swallowing. "I know. When it happened, it was all I could think about, but what was worse was knowing that if I did die," his voice cracked, "I wouldn't really have had anybody, not really. Except for you."
He took his hands off of you to rub underneath his own eyes. That wasn't true and it killed you to know he thought of himself that way. You took a shaky breath in. "Don't say that, Spencer."
"But it's true, Y/N! I have my team, and I love them, but I don't take them with me when I go home after a case! Sure, I hang out with them outside of work, but no matter how much time I spend with them, at the end of the day I'm alone!" The lines on his forehead creased as he half shouted through his tears. "And when I think about all that's happened to me, when I think about how easy it would be for my life to be taken from me, all I can think about is how I don't want to be alone anymore.
"I've watched my life pass by! I've seen people die in front of me, and I'm worried that the next time I find myself in the hospital I won't make it, and my whole life will have happened without me being able to spend it with anybody who actually saw me."
He shook his head in his hands, trying to get rid of the torment there, and you saw his teary eyes blink through his liquid lined lashes. The next words that came out of his mouth were so sad and so quiet that you swore you could hear his heart pounding when he spoke.
"That was the last thought that went through my head when I hit the ground, and all I wanted was to see you and know that there was someone else out here who cared about me because they saw me as a person, not the genius on the team, or the one who never stops rambling. You don't see me as the kid who got bullied, or the man who's burdened by so much trauma that he's forced to leave his job. You don't see me as the doctor who's impressive, but who no one can relate to. You just see me as Spencer, and it's like I don't have to worry about the rest."
Your tears fell freely now, your chest shaking as his words sunk in. It nearly tore your heart in two to know that he felt so alone all the time despite being surrounded by people he mattered to.
"Spencer," you began at a whisper, but he continued on.
"You just matter to me, Bambi... and I... I need you to know that."
You got up from the chair, letting out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. Leaning over the bed, you brushed the hair off his forehead. It was a little clammy with sweat, and as you unstuck his curls, he leaned into your touch.
"Spencer, I may not know the team very well yet, but I already can see how much they care about you. Even if they see you as some of those things sometimes, why would their love for you be any less than-" you halted, choosing your next words carefully, "than what I feel for you?"
He gave you a sad smile.
"I know they care about me, and I care about them, too. It's just that the way I care about them is different from the way I want to care about you. Since I met you, I smile a lot more than I used to, and I don't want to go back to how it was before. You make me feel good, Bambi, even when you're not around, and I think I care about you too much to pretend that I don't have feelings for you."
When you met his eyes, there was deep yearning there, and you liked to think that it was reflected within your own. You could still see the lines where his tears had fallen, dried, and continued to fall.
"I understand," you murmured, "because I think it's the same thing that I feel about you. And I never want you to feel alone when you're with me. Even when you're not, I hope you know that you'll never be alone, because I think about you all the time, too."
His hand cupped the side of your face, rubbing his thumb over your tear-stained cheek. "Come here," he whispered, bringing your head down to his.
When his lips touched yours, they brought an urgency with them that was both gentle and desperate. As the softness of his lips melded into yours, and as you brought your hand to rest on his good shoulder, you felt more tears slip out of your eyes and onto his cheeks.
Spencer kissed you through the blur of your shared tears, letting his lips tenderly explore yours. He tasted clean and sweet, and in an instant, you knew that any amount of time spent kissing him would never be enough to satiate you. When you broke apart, you blinked the last of the droplets away, but Spencer's hand on your cheek kept you from going too far. Holding your face steady, he gave you a small kiss on the forehead, then pulled back to look at you.
"I've been wanting to do that for weeks now," he exhaled, and you saw him wince, his face morphing into discomfort. It occurred to you that this wasn't the first time you'd seen him do that.
"Are you alright? Do you need more pain meds?"
He gave you a bleak smile.
"No, I'm okay, but thank you."
"Are you sure? You look like you're in a lot of pain. Is there anything I can do?"
"Just you being here is already more than enough."
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A couple days had passed since his surgery when Spencer was discharged and allowed to fly home. His arm was in a sling, and he'd been cautioned by the doctors to exert as little stress as possible to his body in the next few weeks so that his shoulder could start healing.
That was something you were intent on - Spencer had to lay low. And you could tell it bothered him, from the way he kept trying to carry his bags, or how he'd reach for the door handles to open them, before somebody else would cut in to do it instead.
He hated the feeling of being incapable, or feeling like a burden, but deep down, he was grateful for your help. Because he wasn't taking any narcotics, his discomfort grew as time went on and the initial anesthetic from surgery had worn off. It crushed you every time you saw him wince, or heard an extra strained breath leave his lips.
Although the team didn't like it, they had grown used to it. You however, had not. But because they were choosing not to acknowledge it, you settled on giving him concerned glances instead. Sometimes Spencer would let his fingertips brush the back of your hand to let you know he was alright during the flight.
When the plane landed in DC, everyone was ready to go home. You all bid each other farewell, with the team taking a few extra moments saying goodbye to you and Spencer. His sabbatical had officially started, brought on a few days early because of his injury.
Perhaps the timing was a good thing. As horrible as it sounded, maybe if Spencer had his shoulder to distract him, the sabbatical wouldn't feel so long to him. He was already slightly sour in his silence about it
The evening sky was streamed with pink and orange hues as the sun prepared to dip below the horizon, signaling the end of another day was near. You were with Spencer, climbing the stairs of his apartment with him so that you could help him get settled for the night. When you made it to his door, he fumbled with the key for a few seconds before successfully opening it, letting out a quiet sigh of frustration.
His annoyance grew once you were inside. You watched as he shook off his jacket and bent down to try to untie his laces one handed with difficulty.
"Let me, Spencer," you said, coming around to face him.
You crouched down, quickly pulling the strings so that the bowtie fell apart. You loosened the top few laces too, so that he could pull his foot out easier. Then, you moved to his other foot, doing the same.
"Thank you."
When both his feet were out, you stood again.
"You don't need to thank me. You're not alone in this, remember?" His fears of being alone back at the hospital played themselves over in your mind. Had he forgotten already? It seemed unlikely for a man with an eidetic memory. "You take care of me all the time, Spencer. Let me take care of you. Please."
"I know, I'm just...not used to it, I guess," he mumbled.
"Well, you can get used to it, because for the next few weeks you'll be seeing a lot of me. Do you need to take a shower?"
"Yeah, I should do that," he looked down at the hem of his t-shirt. There was no way he was going to be able to pull it off by himself, not with the sling. "Um," he looked at you.
"Don't worry, that's what I'm here for."
The two of you sauntered to his bathroom. You turned on the shower, and then looked back at Spencer, who was awkwardly trying to unzip his pants with one hand. Pushing his hand out of the way, you did it for him. His shirt was a little trickier because of the sling. With caution, you unclipped it, guiding his arm to his side. You slowly lifted the shirt until it was off, tossing it to the floor with his pants. Spencer reached down to pull off his socks, using your shoulder for balance. When he was fully undressed, you slid open the shower curtain and Spencer stepped in.
You shed your own clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor with Spencer's, and then joined him under the warm water. His hair was already soaked, falling around his face in straight strands. Droplets of water cascaded from the ends, running down over his lean chest. With a careful touch, you turned Spencer's body so the water wouldn't fall directly on his wound, and then pushed the wet strands of hair out of his face.
"Alright, shampoo first."
You took the bottle and squeezed a small amount into your palm. Spencer bowed his head so you could have better access, and you began to massage his scalp, making sure to spread the soap everywhere. When his head was full of suds, you pushed him back under the stream of water and combed through his hair with your fingers, washing it out.
His eyes were closed as you worked the soap out. You could see the steady rise and fall of his chest under the beads of water, and you thought that Spencer looked calm. This was probably the first time all week he'd been able to really feel at peace. There was always at least one of you by his side in the hospital, and you knew the constant buzzing of the lights and beeping of the monitors hardly made the place feel tranquil. But here, under the warm water that created a gentle pitter patter as it hit the shower floor, was a pretty good alternative.
Once his hair was clean, you turned him so his back was to you, and applied the conditioner to the ends of his hair. As your fingers combed through his locks, he lulled his head back, sighing. The noise made you smile. Spencer deserved to be taken care of like this. And you were glad it got to be you.
When the conditioner was rinsed out, you reached for the soap and a washcloth, lathering up his back and arms, taking extra care not to disrupt the area with stitches. You ran the cloth over the smooth muscles of his back, enjoying the way the tension in his body visibly left. Spencer turned as your hands worked their way over his chest, peering down at your concentrated face.
"Thank you for doing this."
You smiled up at him. "Of course. I wouldn't want to help anyone else more."
He shared a timid smile with you, pulling you close with his good arm and resting his chin on top of your head. You felt him press a kiss into your hair after a moment.
"You're good at looking after people."
"So are you," you hummed.
He turned your bodies so that the water could fall on the both of you. The spray warmed your skin, dampening your hair the rest of the way. You were chest to chest with him in a moment that felt so serene you didn't want it to end. But soon all of the soap was washed off, and he released you from his embrace. "I'll let you finish," he stepped out of the shower so you could wash yourself.
You finished showering and then wrapped a towel around yourself while you dried your hair until it was just damp. You put on a t-shirt and shorts, going back into his bedroom to find Spencer was sitting on the edge of the bed. He was dressed in pyjama pants and a folded t-shirt was next to him.
"Need some help?" You smiled.
"Yeah, if you could, uh," he stood up, smiling while he handed you the shirt. "Please."
You helped him fit his head and arms through the proper holes, and then cradled his arm to his chest. He rotated his shoulder back, trying to stretch out his muscles in preparation for the stagnant position that would soon follow. Before you could buckle the sling into place, he groaned.
"Are you alright? I can call the hospital to get a prescription for you, it's no trouble. Besides, they recommended it."
"No, it's fine," he exhaled sharply, "I'll just take an ibuprofen."
You went to the bathroom to look for the pills, returning to Spencer with the bottle and a glass of water.
"Here," you handed him two pills. He swallowed them and then whispered his thanks with a long look on his face. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed, and his eyes were cast downwards.
"I'll take the couch, you can stay in here," he told you.
He couldn't be serious. "You're joking, right? I swear to god, you're not sleeping on the couch tonight. Not with a gunshot wound in your shoulder. You couldn't possibly be comfortable there."
"I don't mind."
"Spencer," you deplored. "I know you know how important it is for you to get a good night's sleep after everything. You could even tell me the statistics that sleep has on minimizing recovery time if I asked. Are you- Is it because you're against sharing a bed with me?"
That was the only conclusion you could come to. You knew he knew rest was a critical stage for his well-being. His startled expression grew into quick protests.
"No no, that's not it at all! I- I'm not against it, that's not why!" Then he gave you a look that was like he wasn't happy with what he was about to say. "I just... I think we should talk. I feel like I should be honest with you, and I can't let myself get close to you until I do. Because you might think differently of me, and I don't know if I could handle that."
You cocked your head to the side, nearing him until he was in arms reach. You held your hand out, inviting him to take it.
"I already think the world of you, Spencer. Whatever you have to say isn't going to scare me away, I promise."
You pulled back the covers, urging him to get in before going around to the other side of the bed and climbing in next to him. Both of you were lying on your backs when Spencer looked over at you with a long look on his face.
"I want to tell you why I'm not taking anything serious for the pain."
You rolled to your side to get a better look at him while he spoke. His face was set in long expression, the furrow between his brows returning. He spoke softly, barely above a whisper.
"Almost a decade ago, I got into some trouble during a case," he started. "JJ and I went to question a potential unsub at his house one night. We were pretty sure it was him, but needed more evidence to bring him in. The unsub - his name was Tobias - wouldn't let us in, so we went looking for evidence around the property. Not long after, he caught us snooping and started to chase us with a gun. JJ and I had to split up, and eventually Tobias found me."
Spencer's voice cracked with emotion, "he knocked me out and brought me to his cabin so he could question me. He was a Christian extremist who murdered people that didn't align with his views," he paused, looking at you to see if you were following. "This was complicated by his dissociative identity disorder. Tobias had two alters: one being the archangel Raphael, whose purpose was to rid Earth of sinners; and Charles, the personality of Tobias' own abusive father, who Tobias adopted after murdering. That was essentially what triggered the killings"
You listened in silence, trying to grasp the situation's complexity. Spencer started up at the ceiling and continued.
"Charles wanted me to confess my sins so that he could kill me, and when I didn't he would beat me. He'd beat the soles of my feet, and toy with me using Russian roulette to scare me into confession. He made me choose who to kill next." He drew in a broken breath, and you watched as his mind went somewhere else, clearly reliving the trauma. "And I did, Y/N." His voice was frantic as he tried to explain a situation that you'd already forgiven him for. "But I didn't have a choice, I-"
"Spencer," you placed a hand on his arm, hoping it would soothe him. "It's okay," you cooed, "you don't have to explain it to me. You did what anyone else would have done in that situation. I'm sorry he made you do that," you whispered, feeling your heart break at his pain.
Spencer rubbed at his face with his good hand as the tears pooled in the corners of his eyes. When he blinked, they fell, and you gently wiped them with your thumb, moving closer to his side. You wrapped him in a half hug, laying your top hand over his while his chest heaved.
His voice was raspy when he spoke again.
"Honestly the only reason I think I survived it was because Tobias would visit me each time before Charles would beat me and drug me. He injected me with dilaudid to make it easier to handle, and I'd pass out for hours sometimes. I tried to make him stop, I really did. But he wouldn't listen. So when I got the chance to kill Charles, I did. I shot him. But it was Tobias whose eyes I stared into as he died. And he thanked me," his voice cracked, breaking off into silence.
Seconds passed while you laid together, with Spencer drawing in breaths without getting enough air. You held him, gently trying to ease him through the pain with silent words of encouragement.
"And what's worse is that eventually I started craving the injections so bad that after the team found me, I stole the drugs from his pocket and started using... I couldn't help it."
"Spencer, you can't think I'd think any less of you for that. Addiction is a disease," you cooed, resting your head next to his.
He gave a small nod, "I know that now. And I'd been sober a long time after I got clean. I went to meetings sometimes. But then I was drugged again in Mexico, and it brought it all back. The trauma Tobias put me through, the guilt, feeling hopeless. I had almost ten years of sobriety and now I don't even have a year."
You planted a kiss on the top of his shoulder, wrapping your hand tighter over his middle. His body was shaking less, the sobs fading to small, shaky breaths. You gave his hand a squeeze.
"And you're being so strong. You already have what it takes to get those ten years back. Please don't think of it as a setback," you murmured. "There wasn't any way you could've prevented it; it was out of your control."
You could feel the rise and fall of his chest as you were tucked in next to his side. Wiping the last few traces of his tears away, you gave him another kiss, this time to his cheek.
"You're still a good person, Spencer. Look at how resilient you are."
He turned his face to yours, his eyes soft and watery as they melted into yours. His irises were a beautiful hazel colour, brown with flecks of gold and green. You could have stared into them forever.
Instead, you watched as they closed while his lips neared your own. They brushed yours in a sweet kiss, one that was feather light. As the seconds passed, you felt him deepen the kiss slightly, your lips parting so that his tongue could run along your bottom lip. He bit down on it so gently that when you pulled away you felt only a soft tugging between his teeth.
You stared at each other again, but this time there was a hint of a smile on his face.
"Thank you for saying that," he whispered. "It means a lot to me that you're here," he planted his lips on yours in another chaste kiss. "You're everything to me, did you know that, Bambi?"
Your head settled into the crook of his neck as you closed your eyes, letting his body heat warm you while you were tucked into him. Your breathing was matched to his in a beautiful cadence that brought you both closer to sleep.
"You can be my everything too."
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A/N 2: Just like Bambi was saying, you can still love yourself and be a work in progress! Take baby steps, don't be so hard on yourself, and most importantly know that do have what it takes. I love you all so so much.