Before y'all read this chapter, I just gotta say: Spencer and Y/n have an argument at the beginning of this chapter and they are BOTH in the wrong for different reasons. I'm tired of y'all acting like Spencer is a saint—he can be wrong and toxic sometimes, too. Don't shit all over Y/n. Spencer can be at fault, too.
!!TW!!: mentions of death and suicide, descriptions of suicide
If anyone is struggling and needs to talk, I am here, just shoot me a DM. You aren't alone.
Waking up in Spencer's apartment is a feeling you have grown accustomed to. You've become familiar with the feeling of his arms wrapped around you, the heat from his body and thick comforter keeping you warm, the frenzy of kisses he'd litter all over your face as you woke. It's been four days since that night at the club—and the day after, Spencer told you he wanted you to be his, and only his. Now, you feel comfort in knowing he is your actual boyfriend, and not just some guy you may or may not be falling in love with.
That's why today, it felt weird to not feel the weight of his arms around you when you wake up. Groaning, you sit up in his bed, rubbing your eyes. It had been a few days since you had the recurring nightmare—your guess is sleeping with who the nightmare is about held it off for a little while. You look at the indention on the bed from Spencer's body, now cold. Yawning, you stand, walking toward the shut bedroom door.
Spencer's voice from outside the door stops you, and you hesitate, hand on the cold metal of the doorknob. Slowly, you twist the handle, opening the door just enough to see his figure.
"—have to take your medicine, Mom." Spencer is leaning against the kitchen counter, back to you, his phone held to his ear. "I promise they're not trying to poison you, they're trying to help you."
You realize you've never heard Spencer talk about his mom before—he's never even mentioned he has a mom. And whoever she is, she's paranoid.
"Just please promise me you'll take your medicine." Spencer's voice is pleading. After a moment, he sighs. "How would you like it if I came and saw you soon, hm?" His voice turns soft, almost like he's speaking to a child. "I promise, soon. Can I speak with Dr. Marx now, please?" He nods his head, a smile evident in his voice. "I love you, too."
You softly close the door, making sure not to make any noise. It's clear Spencer's mother is hospitalized—with what, you don't know. You wait until you hear him near the end of his conversation before opening the door, his body immediately tensing.
"Mhm, I understand. Goodbye." He hangs up and shoves the phone in his pocket, turning toward you. He looks stressed—and tired. Always tired.
"G'morning," you whisper, shuffling over to him.
"Hey, sleepyhead."
Spencer wraps you up in a hug, kissing your forehead before releasing you. You step backward until your butt hits the counter, putting a little distance between you and Spencer.
"What was that about?" You gesture to the phone in his pocket.
"Just talking to my mom." His voice is guarded, obviously not wanting you to push the conversation too far. That and his downcast eyes make it very clear he doesn't want to talk about the subject.
You give a nod, taking a couple steps toward him. "I've never really heard you talk about her."
"There's not much to talk about," he states. His eyes flick back up to meet yours, the subtle caution in them telling you not to push him.
You don't know why, but you can't drop the subject. "I'd like to know about her, Spence. You can—"
"You don't hear me pestering you about your mother, do you?" He snaps, his voice a harshness you've never heard. "So, please, just fucking drop it!"
His words sting and you physically take a step away from him. The immediate regret in Spencer's eyes is evident, but your defense is automatic—walls rising without you even realizing. You smile, though no humor lies in it, a small, wry laugh puffing past your lips. After a second, you step past him, going back into his room.
Spencer tails you, but you don't care. You begin stuffing clothes in your overnight bag, not caring to fold them. He leans against the door frame, watching you.
"I'm sor—"
"I should go." You zip up your bag and sit on the edge of his bed, pulling your shoes on. "I have to go home before I go to class." Standing, you hoist the bag to your shoulder, brushing past Spencer without a second look.
He grabs your wrist and you turn to him, staring, your face cold.
"I'm sorry." His voice is thick, like he's on the verge of crying.
You feel your face soften, though your defenses can't seem to drop. "I have to go to class."
"Will you find me after?" He's practically begging, eyes searching yours. "I'll be at the BAU."
A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips and you give a slight nod. He releases you, and you turn away, walking the short distance to your car. Throwing your bag in the backseat, you slam the front door after climbing into the driver's side, gripping the wheel so tightly your knuckles practically turn white. The anger inside of you has very little to do with Spencer—and you know that. It's just unfortunate for him that he triggered it.
You drive home quickly, throwing on a pair of leggings, a Star Wars graphic tee, and black boots. Spencer's Caltech sweater completes the look, still wearing it even though you are slightly upset with him. Eyeing your dresser, you walk over and fiddle with the small opal ring you haven't worn in months. The sterling silver is cold on your fingertips, the stone changing color in the light. Exhaling, you slip it on your right ring finger before grabbing your bag and heading to class.
Going to class is pointless—you can't concentrate anyway. Instead of listening to your Sensation and Perception professor ramble on, your thoughts are elsewhere. You run your ring around your finger, thinking of the lukewarm fight you had with Spencer earlier. If he wants to be with you, he needs to lower his defenses. Then again, the statement sounds hypocritical coming from you.
Your classes on Thursdays end at 3, and before you know it, you're driving to the BAU. You've never been inside without Spencer—will they even let you in? You park your car, taking a deep breath before taking the keys out of the ignition and stepping out.
FBI headquarters are huge—but luckily, you find a very nice lady to point you in the right direction of the BAU. Apparently, security knows you're coming—Spencer must have told them. After searching you, they deem you harmless and strap a visitor tag on you.
You enter the bullpen, almost immediately running into Derek.
"Y/n?" Derek's confusion is written all over his face.
"H-Hey," you stutter. "Is Spencer around?"
"You mean Mister Doom and Gloom?" Great, Spencer must have been in a bad mood all day. "The team is in an interrogation right now."
"Who's the unsub?" You ask, genuinely interested.
Derek hesitates a moment. "William Thomas. Twenty-four. We brought him in because we believe he killed four women, all in their thirties. We're having a hard time getting him to confess."
"What's his family history?" You ask, tilting your head.
"Uh..." Derek looks down at the papers in his hand. "Father abused the mother until she committed suicide when William was ten." The statement makes your blood run cold. "After that, the father abused William. Graduated with bad grades, had problems with the law ever since."
You're silent for a moment, arms crossed, twisting the ring on your finger. Derek notices, eyebrows scrunched together.
"What?" He asks.
"Take me to Hotch; I want to ask him something." You meet Derek's gaze.
Derek raises his eyebrows. "Demanding. I can see why Reid likes you." He contemplates for a moment. "I'm really not supposed to...but fuck it. We need a confession."
You follow Derek into a back room, all eyes falling on you when he opens the door. There is a panel of one way glass looking into a room with one video camera pointed at the unsub, the other video camera pointed to see who was interrogating . Sat at the table is a man—William, presumably. Spencer jumps up from his seat by the TV when he notices you.
"What is she doing here?" Hotch asks, looking directly at Spencer.
"She was supposed to meet me after she got out of her classes," Spencer replies, taking a step toward you. "You should—"
"Put me in the interrogation room."
The room is stunned, all eyes turning to look at Hotch. Spencer's eyes search your face, but you look right at his boss.
"No," Hotch says firmly.
"I'm a fresh face. I know I don't work for the FBI. But you need someone to empathize with him. He needs sympathy," you explain, eyes never leaving Hotch's. "I can give him that."
"What makes you believe you can interrogate a criminal with no training?" He asks.
"Because I can empathize with him. Obviously interrogation isn't working. Maybe a conversation will," you say. "Please. Trust me."
"You want to look into the eyes of a murderer and empathize with him?" Spencer's voice is incredulous.
You keep your eyes on Hotch. "I can get you your confession."
Hotch stares you down, and you don't shrink away. "Fine. You have ten minutes. Take the Caltech sweater off."
You pull off the sweater, handing it to Spencer. He grabs your arm, eyes searching yours.
"Are you sure you can do this?"
You nod, your lips twisting into an apathetic smile. "Yes."
With that, you open the door, coming face to face with evil.
Spencer's POV
"Your girl is crazy."
Derek's voice rings out behind Spencer, and he turns to look at Derek, face cold. "Leave her alone."
"She better be right about this," Emily says, taking a seat by the TV, watching the video feed.
Y/n closes the door behind her, William's gaze flicking up to her. A look of surprise flashes on his face. He didn't expect to see a young girl in a Star Wars tee enter the interrogation room. But the surprise passes as she sits across from him. Looking at the video, Spencer is surprised to see her look at him unflinching, holding eye contact.
"You another fed?" William folds his hands in front of him.
She shakes her head. "No, I'm not a cop. Or a fed. I'm just a person. My name is y/n."
William keeps his gaze on her, not wavering. After a moment, she speaks again.
"I'm in school right now, studying people like you. I think I know you better than you know yourself."
William raises his eyebrows. "Oh, is that so? Why don't you tell me about me then."
Y/n gives a soft smile. "Okay..." She sits up in her chair, leaning toward him, placing her hands on the table. "You were smart when you were little—had a lot of friends, got along well with people. You loved your mother more than anyone, though." William's eyes meet hers. "And that's why you couldn't stand that your father beat her. You never saw it—but you heard it. You heard the pleas, and you noticed the bruises." William's eyes moved to the table, leaning back in his chair.
"He's clearly uncomfortable," Spencer notices.
"After she killed herself, you were sad. It was almost like you were drowning—like someone had grabbed your ankles and was holding you underwater, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't reach the surface." Spencer's attention went to the screen with her face on it. Her eyes are...sad, almost like she's reliving a memory.
"Don't talk about it like you understand," William spits out, hateful eyes meeting hers again.
She's quiet for a moment. "My mother killed herself when I was fourteen."
Everyone in the room noticeably stiffens, Derek and Emily's eyes flitting to Spencer.
"Oh my god," Spencer whispers, immediate regret filling him.
"What?" Emily asks.
"This morning, she...she was trying to ask about my mom and I...I blew up on her and told her I don't pester her about her mom, so why should she ask me about mine." Spencer bites the inside of his cheek. "I'm such an ass." Spencer's eyes flick back to the monitors.
"So, I understand. You were sad...then it all turned to anger. Your mother died and left you alone with your father—who beat you now instead of her. You were angry at your father, at your friends, at the entire world." William's gaze is stuck to the table, her voice shaking slightly. "So...you just stopped. You isolated yourself. You retreated back into a shell full of hatred and anger. Grades started slipping, you didn't have any friends."
"Her eyes have not left him the entire time," Hotch notices, placing his hands flat on the table.
"She's establishing trust." Derek says. "And confidence."
"You hated your mother, eventually, too," she whispers to William, his eyes meeting hers again. "You hated her so much for leaving you." William balls his fists, knuckles turning white. "That's why you killed those women. They were all broken, coming from broken homes. They reminded you of your mom." Her voice breaks slightly, enough to make Spencer's chest well with hurt. When she speaks again, her voice is gentle and soft. "You killed them because you wanted to set them free. You were trying to make the world a better place. I understand."
William's eyes well with tears, his voice shaky. "I...I was just trying to help."
Y/n nodded, a sympathetic smile on her face. "I know. You wanted to help. You were trying to do the right thing."
"And now...they're free because of me," William says, tearful eyes meeting hers.
"Well I'll be damned," Derek mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. "The kid did it."
She cranes her neck around to look through the glass, eyes searching for Hotch. He walks over to the door, opening it. As she stands, William leans forward.
"Wait!" He says, catching her attention.
Hotch stiffens, going to speak, but she stops him. "It's okay." She turns to face William. "Yes?"
"Does it...does it ever get easier? The pain?"
The smile on her face was far away and sad. "Eventually, William."
Without another word, she walks back into the room, leaving William Thomas to his fate.
Your POV
Hotch had sat you down at what you can only assume is Spencer's desk. It's full of books, sticky notes, coffee cups, and small fossils. You guess there's some form of paperwork the team has to do now that the bad guy had confessed. After a few minutes of looking at the ground, Spencer's Converse appear in your line of vision.
"Are you okay?" You hear him ask.
You look up at him. "I'm fine."
He kneels down in front of you, hands resting on your knees. "You...I'm sorry." He hands you the Caltech sweater and you slip it on.
You didn't need to ask what he 's sorry about. You know. "It's alright, Spence. It was a long time ago."
You meet his eyes and his hazel ones search yours. Swallowing, you move your hands to rest on his, squeezing tightly.
"I'll never forget that day," you whisper, averting your gaze. "I came home from school that day so excited because I had just figured out what I wanted to do for the science fair." Spencer laces his fingers in yours. "I went upstairs and put my book bag in my room. I remember going into my parent's room and..." Your voice breaks, lower lip shaking like a dam about to break. "I stayed with her. Holding her hand until my dad got home an hour later." You meet Spencer's eyes. "My dad was nothing like William's. He's the sweetest guy I know." You bite your lip, Spencer's thumb rubbing yours. "She mixed alcohol and pills. They...they said it was like going to sleep."
"I'm so sorry," he whispers, his voice catching in his throat.
"It was a long time ago," you repeat, a small smile on your face. "I miss her every day." You twist the ring on your finger—your mom's. "There's a difference between William and I, though. He let his anger destroy him. I didn't." At any rate, you know for a long time, every time you close your eyes—you'd see William Thomas' broken ones staring right back at you.
"No, you didn't," Spencer says firmly, leaning in to give your forehead a quick kiss.
"I'm sorry I got upset this morning," you apologize, regret already filling Spencer's eyes.
"Don't be. I'm sorry I shut you out." He loosens his hand from your grasp and runs his thumb across your cheek. "My mom...she's a paranoid schizophrenic."
"Spence, you don't have to—"
"She lives in a mental hospital in Vegas, where I grew up." He rests his hands on yours again. "She doesn't like taking her meds, which is what I was addressing this morning on the phone." He looks down, shaking his head slightly.
"You feel guilty because you don't see her very much." You don't say it as a question because you don't need to. You know Spencer.
"I'm trying to see her more," he replies, looking up at you again.
You stand, hands gripping his forearms. "I understand, Spence."
"So do you...will you come home with me?" He voice is almost innocent.
You smile at him, giving him a chaste kiss. "Of course."
"I have to finish up a couple things here first." He starts to walk away before turning back around. "And you did amazing today. You didn't need interrogation skills. You had everything you needed—his profile and your empathy."
As Spencer walks away, you smile to yourself. You have some doubts when it comes to profiling, but the fact that this went well further solidifies your plans to become a profiler. And with only two and a half months left in school, you feel more and more ready to be doing something you love.
A finger taps your shoulder and you turn around, coming face to face with Aaron Hotchner.
"Oh, hi, sir." Your voice is full of surprise, and he notices.
"Hello," he replies. "I just wanted to say that you...did exceptionally well today. If you don't mind, I'd like to meet with you tomorrow for lunch. I have something I'd like to discuss with you."
His proposition is surprising, and you quickly cover it. "Of course, sir."
"Let's meet at Chow. It's a couple blocks away from here. Twelve pm."
You nod and he returns it before walking away. After a moment, Spencer appears beside you, lacing his fingers in yours.
"What did Hotch want?" He asks as the two of you walk toward the front of the building.
"I'm not sure," you say truthfully. "He wants to meet me for lunch."
"Lunch?" Spencer clicks his tongue. "Interesting."
One thing is very clear: this lunch is either going to be a complete disaster, or an absolute breeze. Either way, it's going to be unforgettable.