Summary: Spencer!POV. Spencer begins to learn about the consequences of his death.
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The week following my return home felt like a blur. This was particularly jarring because, with the way my mind works, things never feel that way to me. Usually, I have perfect recall of every monotonous moment. But that week I could barely remember going through the motions.
I couldn't know if it was the exhaustion, the shock, or the trauma that turned crystalline images into cloudy shards, but I thanked whatever force was at play. It was the worst week of my life, and I had survived two separate encounters with death before now.
I just wanted everything to go back to normal, and each day that I tried, it became clearer to me that it was an idealistic fantasy. Normal was farther from my reach than ever before. I wondered if it was even possible to find such a thing anymore.
These weren't appropriate thoughts to have while driving a giant government SUV, but I had them, anyway. It was hard not to, because beside me in the passenger seat was a very silent and frustrated (y/n).
We'd exchanged several words since my return, but always about work, and never in any great detail. I was honestly surprised that she'd even agreed to ride back with me.
Then again, she hadn't really been given a choice. Everyone else was heading to the hospital's neonatal intensive care unit and for some reason, she couldn't go, and everyone had agreed she shouldn't drive.
I didn't ask about it. It felt like it wasn't my business, and I was just grateful to have a chance to be alone with her. Even like this.
Some twisted part of me hoped the proximity alone would be enough to bring us back together, but I knew that was unlikely. It couldn't hurt to try though, I thought. I quickly learned that I was wrong.
"(Y/n), I—"
"Is this about the case?" she responded immediately, overlapping with the very beginning of my attempts at a conversation.
"No."
"Then I don't want to talk about it."
It was in moments like these I really wished that I could trade a few dozen IQ points for the common sense and social skills everyone else seemed to possess. But alas, I was stuck playing the absolute idiot begging someone better than me to give me a chance.
"Please, we can't keep doing this."
I lifted a hand from the wheel as I spoke, rubbing it over my tired eyes for a second before returning my attention back to the road. I tried not to look at her yet. Because every single time I looked at her, I devolved into a disaster.
But she was ignoring me now, and my peripheral vision told me that she was staring out the window. She was avoiding looking at me, too, and I didn't know what to make of that.
"Are you just going to ignore me forever?"
"I made it six months without you, Spencer," she whispered with enough animosity to elicit goosebumps, "I was ready to do it forever."
Any words that would have come out were stopped by my jaw clenching shut so tightly I thought my teeth might crack under the pressure. I didn't have a response to that. At least, not one that didn't end in both of us screaming through fits of tears.
So, I let it go, and the rest of the ride continued in a suffocating silence. And once we got back to the local sheriff's station, we sat in silence there, too. The room was just as small as the SUV, but she managed to maneuver the space without ever once touching me or looking at me at all.
When Hotch finally got back, I saw the two of them through the thick, cloudy plexiglass of the old station. She was crying, but I felt like I was the one drowning in the salty oceans of her tears. Each breath was agonizing, and none of them were ever enough to fill the void where my heart used to sit.
I could take apart a computer and put it back together, but I didn't know how to fix this. I didn't know how to mend anyone's broken heart, much less hers, the one that I had shattered with my own hands.
The conversation barely lasted any time at all. Hotch had caught me staring, but I didn't back down despite the coldness emanating from him. I fought it with my own fire, only turning to her when I saw her grab her satchel. Because there was something final about it; something telling me that she wasn't going to be staying for the rest of the case.
Sure enough, right before she walked out the main door of the building, she looked at me with those red rimmed eyes before she disappeared from my sight.
She didn't come back.
I thought I could let it go — that I could understand that this situation was painful, messy, and needlessly complex — but I couldn't. That night, after working nearly twelve hours straight, I felt like I was losing my fucking mind.
Normally when I would have to work this late, she would be there. Every couple of hours, she would run to find any place serving coffee that didn't come from a tiny plastic cup, and she'd force me to look away for just a few minutes. She would cradle my face with impossibly soft hands until she was all that there was. Kind, universe-colored eyes and a smile that took away the pain for even just one second.
You're thinking too hard, pretty boy, she'd say, take a moment to think of something beautiful, instead.
And every time, I would think of her. I would stare back at her and allow her voice to be that of reason. My eyes would stay stubbornly fixed on her until she would run her hands through my hair and promise me that things would be okay again. If only I had known then, in those moments, that her love was attainable. What a difference it might have made if I knew what I would be giving up in exchange for my life.
But my opportunity was gone. The beautiful vision of her was gone, and all I could see were dozens of photos of butchered women and dead newborns.
Frustratingly, my eidetic memory failed me again. Perhaps perfect recall was yet another thing I had surrendered to my death – if so, it would be the least of my losses. Because instead of remembering something beautiful when I commanded it to, I would see her heavily sobbing over my half dead body.
I made it six months without you, Spencer.
I was ready to do it forever.
The words were playing on loop in my mind when Hotch finally swung the door open. I didn't flinch because the hypervigilance had already alerted me of his presence. It was that same adrenaline that made my jaw tense as he stared down at me on the floor surrounded by dozens of piles of worthless documents.
"Reid, go back to the hotel."
I slammed the file in my hand down on the ground. It did not make the noise I needed to shake errant thoughts loose, and it did nothing for my anger. I ran my hands through my hair like they were at all an acceptable substitute for hers. I ignored him because I could feel the resentment and I didn't know where to put it among the oceans of my own grief.
And although it was obvious he did not appreciate my blatant insubordination, he was frustratingly understanding in his tone.
"You need to get some rest," he said.
"No, Hotch, what I need is for my goddamn partner to be here!" I shouted without thinking. The force behind my words scared and shocked me, and I wondered how the flimsy paper around me didn't rattle at the sound.
His hand almost imperceptibly tightened around the door handle when he responded, "Well, she's not."
I wanted to pretend like I was mad at him because it was easier than being mad at her. It was easier than hating myself.
"How could you send her home, Hotch?" I continued to blurt out, unable to control the words from spilling out of me, "You wouldn't do that if it were anyone else! You—You'd make us stay together and work through it!"
Slowly, he shut the door behind him. The sound of the door latch echoed in my mind as a stark contrast to my volume. It was quiet, then. He stood in silence as he crossed his arms over his chest. Even when he spoke, he used the tone usually reserved for his young child.
"You're right. Normally, I would. But this isn't like most situations."
My nervous shifting was confirmation enough that I knew what he'd meant. I looked away, sensing what was coming and not wanting him to see the way I was already struggling not to cry out of pure frustration of the entire situation. He would chastise me for thinking anyone would move on from this betrayal so easily, that he knew (y/n) and I had a history that made it hurt worse for her.
He would blame me the same way I did. The same way he would also blame himself.
"Reid, we both know the problems between you two are more complex than Paris. I can only control the aspects of your relationship that involve our work."
He didn't pause his lecture, even as I dropped my face into my hands and bit my tongue.
I was so terribly tired of it all that I was convinced I didn't want to hear the rest of what he had to say.
But the second he started to speak, I knew that I had been wrong.
With a harshness that I had not heard from him since my return, he stressed, "I'm not a couples' counselor, and you should consider that the next time you decide to sleep with a member of the team."
The chill behind his voice struck me to my core. That spiteful fire inside of me was extinguished so quickly, replaced with the freezing pain of betrayal. Even then, the pain changed, growing in intensity each second that passed because it gave me time to realize that it wasn't fair for me to be mad at her.
Those first initial thoughts were raging alongside the memories of the only night I ever got to hold her. I wondered how she could be so cavalier about something I had held so close to my heart. I had clung to it, clung to the only piece of her I had. That night she had been mine in a way that things so rarely were. Even when I told Derek, it was only to benefit her — to ensure that someone would be there to tell her that her pain made sense.
She had given up our only night so quickly, and I couldn't help but let it hurt.
Until it hit me. The realization that she had probably told them because she never expected I would have to deal with it again.
If she had told them, it's because I wasn't there anymore. She had believed, with no reason for doubt, that I was dead.
To her, I was still dead.
The man above me watched each realization. Words were not necessary to know that I'd understood why he couldn't help me like I'd wanted him to. If I had looked up at him, I might've noticed the way that he was holding back words, too. But I didn't. I stared down at the ground and told myself that this wound was self-inflicted.
"Go get some sleep," Hotch instructed before opening the door to leave again, "or you should go home, too."
In that silent, empty room, I pondered what he'd meant when he said home.
What did that look like? Was it my empty apartment that had been refilled with cardboard boxes of items that felt like they belonged to someone else now? Was it the BAU bullpen, the only place of mine that was left almost completely untouched? Was it my grave?
No. It was her. It had always been her.
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(Y/n) took a couple of days off, even after we returned. I tried not to resent her or myself for it. The former was easier than the latter, although I knew both were unfair. It was just hard to imagine, impossible to compare the differences in our past few months. And it was infuriating to know that we both missed each other. Or, at least, I'd hoped that we both had.
I tried not to think about it. It wasn't my business; she had made that very clear.
I'd foolishly thought that time would heal this wound, or at least give it the closure to scar. But when she had returned to work, she was somehow even more bitter than she'd been before. I, in turn, view angry with her. Although this time, it was less at her and more at the universe for letting her feel so dreadful.
I tried to convince myself that I was mad at the universe, and not myself. But when I heard her her voice, raised and raw, ringing through the bullpen, I knew that I was wrong. I felt the pain wash over me without hesitation, the self-detestation mingling with the acid in an empty stomach. I clutched tighter to my coffee mug as I rounded the corner from the kitchen to see which one of us had earned her wrath.
"I don't want to fucking talk to you, JJ. Have you considered that?! As you made abundantly clear, we are not friends!"
If an argument between two headstrong women was normally called a cat fight, this was more a full-on jungle brawl. I wanted to run to them, but didn't even know who I could side with. I didn't even know what they were arguing about.
I hated that I was forced to accept the conclusion that it was almost certainly about me. I didn't want to be narcissistic, and even worse, I didn't want to be the cause of yet another painful memory. My stomach was already twisting itself into knots, slowly climbing up my esophagus until my tongue was equally tied.
"You know what?" JJ started, her voice raised but not nearly to the same degree, "I don't think you're even mad about me lying to you! I think you're just mad because you couldn't figure it out. You couldn't tell what was happening and that I knew."
"Are you fucking joking?"
Both of their arms were crossed, but (y/n)'s entire body was shaking. I saw a visceral rage in every cell of her being that I'd never seen before. Even with the terribly painful circumstances of my return, she had yet to look at me with such hostility. If her hands weren't in a death lock around her arms, I think she might've actually hurt the woman in front of her.
Because of that, JJ looked more defensive than anything else. Enough so that her volume dropped dramatically, and she tried to step back.
"I just..."
"No, shut the fuck up — How dare you, JJ! You were the first person I told. You were— I trusted you and you..."
She raised an accusing finger at the blonde, and her voice trembled with something I couldn't place. Something sort of like grief, but if it had been held under a magnifying glass and scorched by the sun.
"I don't even know what to say to you. I can't even look at you. You looked me in my eyes and you compared our situations, knowing damn well that not only did you get to know that Spencer loved you, you got to know he was alive. You got to talk to him, JJ."
Fuck.
There had been a time while I was wallowing in my own self-pity in Paris that I dared to fantasize about how I would be missed. There was a morbid curiosity, an arrogant hope that my absence would be felt. But now that I was the one witnessing it, it only hurt. It hurt worse than any of the physical pain that had led me there.
I lead them there. I brought two of the people I loved the most to the brink of madness. To the point where there were tears streaming down her face, and she didn't even bother wiping them away.
"What did you guys even talk about, huh? Did he know?"
JJ had finally seen me, and she looked absolutely horrified. Her gaze locked on, wide-eyed and terrified. But (y/n) didn't notice, because she had been too caught up in the words pouring out of her like rain from the first storm of the spring.
Then, like a flash of lightning, her words stopped my heart.
"Was my being fucking pregnant with his child on your list of things to mention? Did you even think to mention me at all?"
Then, the thunder came. My lungs collapsed in on themselves as the space around me took the air like a vacuum. I felt like I was dying all over again, dazed and drifting in void that felt nothing like Heaven. I was choking on the nothingness, trying to find some meaning to the universe's torture.
Since JJ and I were both too afraid to respond, the entire office fell into silence.
Eventually, and despite not being able to breathe, my vocal cords somehow scraped together enough power to speak, to break this stifling silence with the only thing I could think.
"... You're pregnant?"
This time, she didn't freeze. Her body didn't tense or display any signs of surprise at all. If anything she almost looked relieved, I thought. Until I realized when she turned to me that it was not a relief at all. It was the purest, most overwhelming exhaustion. The fight had left her, and she had nothing left to offer.
She turned to look at me, seemingly hoping that my face would give her the answers to whatever she was feeling. But it didn't. We just remained, staring at one another and wishing that we could go back to that night when everything made sense. When she was mine, and I was more than a birdling in blistering ash.
My eyes strained while filling with tears because I knew the moment I blinked, she'd be gone.
And she was. As soon as the darkness came, she took off running.
I didn't even remember I was holding a mug until it shattered on the floor. The sound set everyone into action just as quickly. JJ lunged forward with all her body weight to stop me as I tried to chase after (y/n). Her nails were felt through my shirt, relentless in their pursuit to control the damage already done.
"Let go of me!" I yelled, trying to find a way to remove her without hurting her. I came up short, and the powerlessness consumed my anger for enough time that my voice wavered and I cried, "I-I have to talk to her!"
"Spence, stop! It's a bad idea."
She'd used her motherly voice, the one that calms crying children. But this wasn't a case of me overreacting or acting out of place. If anything, my reaction was understated considering what I'd just found out in front of everyone.
Everyone who... apparently already knew.
"I don't care! How could you not tell me this, JJ?!" I yelled.
The anger had triumphed over my concern. I was no longer worried about hurting her the deeper I fell into a pit of unbelievably painful shame. She couldn't have been angry with me either, for she had succeeded in rerouting the disaster. Like the martyr she so often was, she threw herself in front of the boiling rage and grit her teeth.
"I tried," she seethed, as if she'd had reason to be as frustrated as I was.
I clenched my fists until the tension in my shoulders fell. I forced myself to consider that she was not the person I was angry at, and all I was accomplishing was hurting yet another person I loved.
I took a deep breath, but it still burned.
"I-I have to go talk to her," I begged, "I have to..."
To hold her. To kiss her. To tell her I'm sorry, and that I'll never leave her again.
"She's pregnant!"
"Spencer. She's..."
The shuddering breath from her lungs rang like a siren in my head, warning me of the disaster to follow.
I took another breath. It didn't burn anymore. It felt like a gunshot to my abdomen and her tears on my cheek.
JJ shook her head, and I felt the weight of everything collapsing in all over again.
"She's not pregnant... anymore."
All of the complicated joy that had burned through me like a forest fire had only left ashes in its wake. The coldness filled me again, and I could hardly keep my eyes open, my brain begging me to reject the words. The thunderous boom made my ears ring. My body shook from the weight of rain-soaked clothes and I drowned in the downpour.
"What?" I whispered, but I had heard her.
She had the decency not to repeat it.
Instead, she said, "I didn't want you to find out like this."
But it had happened, was happening, and I was powerless to stop it. The damage had been done, the wounds healed with jagged scars and fibrous tissue. There was no way for me to turn back time, and even if I could, where would I go? What would I have changed?
I refused to believe in any reality where I didn't spend that night with her in my arms. I couldn't give up the memory of when she was mine. That reality didn't exist.
"What happened?"
The researcher in me needed to know. I needed all of the information I could get so that I could create some plan to move forward. I deserved to know as much as everyone else, at least. It wasn't fair to keep me in the dark when the matter was so intimately mine.
"She lost the baby," she said quietly enough that I almost didn't catch it.
And even though I'd been anticipating the words, I never could've been prepared to hear them. My mind began linking information together that I didn't want to see. It had been six months that I was gone. Flower, bottle, stork, JJ had tried to tell me. When was that? It'd been at least 6 weeks. She'd made it long enough to have a sonogram, if she'd decided to.
Refusing to cease, my brain forced me to recall that no one would let her go to the NICU. She hadn't only left the case with dead newborns because of my presence, but because of the absence of something else.
Our child.
"When?"
I had started crying, but I couldn't place when. I desperately wiped the tears away, trying to retain composure while also hating myself for the possibility of missing my child by a couple of months, possibly weeks, or even days.
"Spencer, this isn't my story to tell."
Her response filled me with rage, and I threw my hands in the space between us before forcing them to cross against my chest to prevent further damage.
She flinched.
"You certainly didn't mind hiding it from me!"
"You know why I couldn't tell you. There was nothing you could have done!"
"How did it happen?"
Please, I begged any God that might exist, don't let this be my fault. I had such a visceral response to the image of her suffering at the hands of that man for the second time. Acid burned in my throat as I imagined all the ways that missing me might've been too much.
But when JJ spoke again, it became clear to me that she wasn't going to answer.
"You know the statistics, Spencer. Fifteen to twenty five percent of recognized pregnancies end in miscarriage—"
"Statistics?!" I shouted, my voice growing louder with every word until I could barely breathe without it hurting. "I don't fucking care about the statistics, JJ!"
That time, the thunder came in the form of Derek's voice.
"Hey, don't yell at her like that!"
With a gentle but firm hand, he stepped between myself and JJ. His eyes met mine in place of hers, and I could see how hard he struggled not to hate me, even then. His eyes burned with his own tears. It felt like they were mocking me. Yet another reminder of another person I'd hurt who desperately did not deserve it.
"This isn't her fault, Reid. She already told you there was nothing you could have done."
But there was. There was something I could have done. I could have held her hand and wiped the tears away. I could have tethered her to the Earth and promised her that she wasn't alone. I could have told her that... I would always be there.
I could have...
"I could have been there!"
"Well maybe you should've thought about that before you left!"
Silence followed. An unsettling, suffocating silence. In that raucous quiet, I heard his words echoing. The volume unlike ever he had wielded before, the vitriol pouring like venom in the last three words.
Suddenly, I realized that I had been an idiot to interpret their secrets as anything else. My mind rioted against everything else until all I could see was the two of them together. I could see him protecting her the same way I'd always wished I could.
Derek was not doing this for himself. He was doing it for her.
While I had been on the other side of the world, reading newspapers and trying to forget, he had been here, holding the mother of my child in my absence. He had been the one wiping away her tears and guiding her through the darkness left in my wake.
I couldn't blame him for his anger. Because who wouldn't have fallen in love with her? It was only inevitable.
"Did you know about this, too?" I asked, even though the answer was standing right in front of me.
"Of course I did, Reid. I was here."
"That's not fair," I croaked. My voice had dwindled to a point where the words barely registered over heavy breath. My vision turned hazy and dull as I tried to remind myself to breathe while I ran through every regret I'd ever have.
"I-I didn't— I didn't have a choice, Morgan," I said, begging him to believe me.
But he didn't, and neither did I.
He sighed. A heavy, exhausted sound as he bowed his head. The few moments of reflection were a torture I absolutely deserved. And once he was able to look at me again, I saw all the agony that he'd been forced to suffer on my behalf.
There was a gentle buzzing in his hand, and seconds later, his phone lit up with her name.
He looked down at it before shrugging as if to remind me that this was also outside of his control.
"We all have choices, Reid," he said with a trembling voice, not to disguise the sadness, but to curb the rage.
He looked at me, with eyes like the burning embers around us.
"You made yours. Now you gotta live with it, just like the rest of us."