Spencer was up and walking a few days later, and the doctors had decided he was okay enough to leave. Not long after, he was given a psychological evaluation from Hotch, and passed as everyone had expected. You worried, though. All of you knew how to get past red tape like that, unless he was extremely unraveled there was no reason why he wouldn't be able to pass.
You were almost afraid to approach him when he appeared in the office the following Monday. You hadn't even spared him a text or call, opting to keep to yourself. You were worried that he blamed you, worried that being around you would make him susceptible to getting hurt again. The cuts and bruises on his body started to fade, but you would probably never forget how he looked at you with such fear, how frail he looked in the hospital bed.
His interrogators were asking about personal information about the team. This gave everyone a better idea of who you were up against, or at least what they wanted. Their objective was revenge, obviously, but for what? The team was trying to go over old cases, but there wasn't much progress being made with newer cases piling up. There was no evidence left on the dead girl's body, so that was a dead end, too. Eventually, you all had to put it on the backburner, hoping that something new would come to light.
You were home alone one night, watching mindless television and scrolling on your phone when there was a knock on the door. You frowned. 10 o'clock on a Friday night? Something was wrong. There was another knock, more insistent this time. You crept to the door, looking through the peephole to see who it was.
Spencer?
You unlocked the door, opening it and looking up at him quizzically.
"Hey," you said concernedly.
"Hi," he replied, rocking back and forth on his feet. "Can I come in?"
"Yeah, of course."
You moved out of the way so he could enter, closing and locking the door behind him. You didn't trust to leave any doors unlocked anymore. Spencer stood around awkwardly, looking around your apartment as if he had never seen it before. He seemed to be invested at looking at anything except for you.
"You can sit down if you want," you offered, walking past him to take your former place on the couch. He took a seat in your armchair, setting his satchel on the floor next to it discreetly and crossing one leg over the other. He finally looked at you, and the intensity of his gaze made you want to look away.
"You've been avoiding me," he stated. Was there a tinge of sadness in his voice?
"Have I?"
"You haven't spoken to me in over a week."
"Oh."
Had it really been that long? You did the math in your head. You had last spoken to him in the hospital last Wednesday when you left. So yeah, it had been over a week.
"Uh, I'm sorry," you said. "I didn't mean to make it weird or anything."
"Why would it be weird?"
"Spencer, the last conversation we had, you were convinced I was some hallucination. What am I supposed to say to that?"
"I was thinking more of a ghost. Or like an angel."
"You-" you paused for a moment, trying to take that in. "You thought that I died and came back as a ghost to haunt you?"
He shrugged, looking a little embarrassed.
"I mean I saw worse stuff during that time."
"So... you believe in ghosts? Or angels? Is that why you were so scared when you saw me the first time, when we came to get you?"
"I don't know what I believe. When we were there, I thought that I could see you because you were going to take my soul away, and I didn't want to die," he said quietly.
"Oh. I'm sorry."
What else was there for you to say? There weren't really any words of comfort you could offer him. This wasn't a universal experience, it's not like you could give any advice. He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"You know I don't blame you for this, right?"
There it was.
"Yeah, I know," you whispered, looking away from him.
"Hey," he said insistently. Your eyes flicked back over to him. "I'm serious. You didn't know."
"But you were there because of me," you replied.
"And if I wasn't there then, I would have been there the day after that, and the day after that, too. It was going to happen eventually, because it's what they wanted to happen. You had no control over that."
You were tired of having this conversation over and over again, with yourself and others. It was getting annoying, and at the moment you honestly just wanted to be left alone.
"I don't mean to be rude, Spencer, but why are you here? It's late. Did you come all this way just to confront me about not talking to you?"
"I, um..." he cleared his throat," I haven't been sleeping well."
Oh. Now that he mentioned it, you could see how dark the circles under his eyes were. You felt like a bitch for even asking.
"I'm sorry," you replied meekly, trying to make up for your outburst. "You're welcome to stay here as long as you'd like. Do you want to go lie down now?"
"No, it's too early," he replied.
"I get it. Do you wanna watch some tv?"
"Yeah, I'd be okay with that."
The both of you watched in silence. You weren't even paying much attention, and you were pretty sure he wasn't either, both of you too lost in thought to even care. A little while later you were starting to feel tired. You knew if you didn't shower soon, you were going to fall asleep and feel stinky when you woke up in the morning. You finally broke the silence.
"I'm gonna go take a shower," you told him, getting up off of the couch. "Honestly, I'll probably go to bed after that."
He nodded at you from the armchair. You showered quickly and got dressed in the bathroom, brushing your teeth. You came back into your room and noticed Spencer wasn't there. Maybe he wanted to give you some privacy? You went back out into the living room, going to the kitchen for some water. Spencer had moved to the couch, lying down with his eyes closed with only a little throw pillow beneath his head. Your blanket was too short for him, so his feet stuck out from the bottom. He looked so silly, like a giant amongst your tiny things, so much so that you stifled a laugh.
"What are you doing?" you chuckled, pouring your water as you looked back at him.
"Just trying to sleep."
"Spencer."
He opened his eyes at you.
"You can sleep in my bed," you said. "Do you want some water?"
He paused for a moment.
"Yes, please."
"Okay." You grabbed another cup. He still hadn't moved.
"You really don't have to sleep on the couch, you know," you told him.
"I just don't want to impose."
You scoffed, turning around with the glasses of water in your hands.
"It would make me feel better if you slept in bed with me. Does that help?"
He looked up at you and nodded, sitting up on the couch. You handed him his cup, listening as he followed you to your room. You waited until he was in under the covers before turning off the lights. You had a couple sips from your glass before setting it on your nightstand and snuggling under the blankets. Something was off.
"Spencer?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you wearing your jeans in bed?"
He was silent for a moment.
"Maybe."
You wished you could see his face in the dark.
"You can take them off. I seriously don't care."
"I just don't want to make you uncomfortable," he replied.
"I've slept half-naked next to you before. You're allowed to take your clothes off."
"... are you sure?"
You sighed. What was with him today? He was withdrawn, timid. He had barely looked you in the eyes all night.
"If you don't take them off, then I can do it for you. Unless you feel better like this, which is totally fine if that's the case, keep them on. But you shouldn't feel obligated to do that for me. I want you to be comfortable."
"Okay."
You felt him moving around underneath the covers, hearing the sound of him undressing and his clothes falling to the floor. And then it was quiet again.
Usually when you slept next to him, he was touching you in some way, whether his arms were around you or his shoulder next to yours. But he kept his distance, strictly staying on his side of the bed. It felt wrong. You scooted a little closer to him, reaching out gently to lay your hand on his chest, resting your forehead against his shoulder.
You didn't know how long it was before you were shaken awake. What? It took you a few moments to process what was going on. The shaking was coming from beneath you. You heard a sniffle and then it hit you. Spencer was crying. The realization woke you up quickly.
"Hey, hey, it's okay," you croaked, reaching up to his face. You put your hand on his cheek and tried to wipe as many tears away as you could in the dark. He sniffed, and you could feel his hand encompass yours.
"I'm sorry I woke you up," he choked out. You heart broke hearing his voice.
"You should have woken me up sooner," you said softly. "Come here."
You drew your other hand to his face, guiding him so that he could rest his head on your chest. He was still trembling, but you held him close anyways, feeling his tears seep through the fabric of your shirt. You ran your hands through his hair, stroking his temple softly with your thumb.
"It's okay," you murmured. "I'm right here."
You repeated it over and over again until he stopped shaking, his breathing slowly evening out. Eventually, he was asleep, his soft snores vibrating against your chest. You tried to fall back asleep, but couldn't. You remembered making a joke a long time ago about wanting to see him cry, but now that it had actually happened, you felt absolutely horrible. The worst part was that there was nothing you could do to help him.
-
When you woke up again, light was streaming through the curtains. Spencer was stirring in your arms, untangling himself and reaching up to stroke your cheek gently.
"Hi," he whispered.
"Good morning."
He shifted upwards on the bed so he was face to face with you, leaning forward to kiss your lips softly. You closed your eyes, moving your hands to stroke his cheek delicately. His kisses were slow and sweet, his hands warm on your face. You pulled away from him, smiling. He stroked your bottom lip with his thumb, a wistful look on his face. Your stomach growled, and the both of you laughed.
"Do you want some breakfast?" you asked after your giggles had subsided.
"Yes, please."
He had the most beautiful eyes.
"Okay. I'll get started," you replied, kissing the tip of his nose lightly. You bounded out of bed, walking to the kitchen to see what you had. Almost nothing. You had some eggs, flour, milk, but no sugar. So not pancakes. But biscuits, maybe? Some eggs?
You grabbed your phone from where you left it on the coffee table. Your record player in the corner caught your eye. You never used it, but today felt like a good time. You knew Spencer liked classical music, and you had exactly one vinyl with classical music on it, gifted to you a long time ago. You had played it maybe once. You threw it on the player anyways, turning it on and going back to the kitchen while the music filled your apartment.*** You started the coffee before looking up some simple recipes on your phone. It seemed easy enough. You had just put the biscuits in the oven and set a timer when you turned to see Spencer leaning against the doorframe of your bedroom.
"Hi," you said, smiling. "Do you want some coffee?"
"Sure."
He made his way over. You poured him a cup and handed it to him, but he set it down on the kitchen table, opting to take you into his arms instead. You stood there for a few moments in silence, your hands on his chest, the only sound being the music playing softly from across the room. A strange feeling overtook you. You looked up at him.
"Do you want to dance?" you asked. Was that a blush on his cheeks?
"I uh... I don't know how."
"It's easy. Look, take my hand-"
You held your arm out and he took your hand hesitantly.
"- and you put your arm here, on my waist."
You guided his other hand to your waist before setting your free hand on his shoulder.
"Now what?" he asked.
"You go where the music takes you."
He stood there almost rigidly, so you started to sway back and forth slowly. He caught on, moving with you steadily. He was warm, and you felt safe here in this moment. You rested your head on his chest. It was simple. Just you and him and the music, bathed in the morning sunlight.
Your phone alarm went off, startling the both of you. You unwillingly tore yourself away from him to grab the food out of the oven. You started on the eggs, hearing him sit at the table behind you. You knew he was watching, could feel his gaze on you, but you ignored it. You made a plate for him and yourself before sitting across from him. You were halfway through breakfast when he cleared his throat. You looked up at him from your food.
"Before... everything... you called me. You never call, was there something you wanted to talk about?"
You had thought he had forgotten about it. Did you still feel the same way you did then?
"Um, yeah."
You set your fork down, taking a sip of your coffee to steel yourself. You were suddenly extremely nervous, butterflies filling your stomach. You stared at your plate before speaking.
"I mean it's not really a big deal or anything, it doesn't mean that much, really-"
"Just tell me," Spencer urged. You sighed.
"I don't know, I was thinking and I was just wondering if you were okay with being exclusive?"
Your voice petered out at the end and you glanced up to see the look on his face. It was almost unreadable. You started to panic a little bit, trying to backpedal as fast as you could.
"It's really not a big deal if you say no, and I'm not asking for a relationship or anything. It would just make me feel more comfortable. But this isn't really a good time for this conversation, I shouldn't have sprung it on you. And you don't have to answer now, and if you don't feel the same that's okay, re-"
"Hey."
He looked at you earnestly.
"I would like that," he said.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," he replied, smiling softly.
"Okay. Cool."
You resisted the urge to breathe a sigh of relief. You knew it wasn't that big of a deal, you were just coworkers (friends?) with benefits. But it still meant something to you to be so vulnerable and ask for something like this. Asking put you in a position of weakness, made you feel like you wanted this more than he did. You knew that probably wasn't true, but it still felt like it anyways. Either way, since he had just asked you a personal question, it was your turn.
"Spence?"
"Yeah?"
He looked up at you over his coffee mug.
"Are you okay? Do you want to talk about yesterday?"
You had been worrying about him all morning. He set his coffee mug down on the table, taking a moment to wipe at his mouth with a napkin.
"I'm alright. I would prefer not to talk about it, though."
"Yeah, of course," you nodded. He hadn't pushed you to talk when you were having a difficult time; it was only fair that you gave him that same courtesy.
"So... what do you want to do today?"