warning: mention of scars similar to self-harm, mention of addiction
Spencer had taken two weeks off of work to go visit his mom and the team continued going on cases in his absence. We had managed to catch three unsubs, but there was obviously something missing in the group dynamic, something only the brainiac fix.
We got back from the last case early on a Saturday evening. Someone suggested drinks like they always did when we got back at a decent time on the weekend.
I decided to join them, with nothing – or no one – better to do tonight.
Much to my surprise, I showed up to O'Keefe's to find Spencer sitting alone in a booth, head buried in a book. It takes a certain kind of person to bring a book to a bar, let alone actually reading it there. The team would've made fun of him for it, but I found it endearing.
I bypassed the bar and immediately went to sit across the table from him. "Hey! I didn't know you were back yet; how'd you know we were coming here?"
"Yeah, I just got back this afternoon. Morgan texted me a while ago, I'm honestly surprised you beat him here."
We both had stupid grins on our faces as I opened my mouth to ask how he was.
"Well, hey there, lovebirds." Morgan interrupted as he approached the table.
Shit. Did he know? We've been so careful at work, there's no way he'd know. I tried and failed to comfort myself as my mind raced through every possible way he could've found out.
"Oh, go talk to Garcia over at the bar," I quipped, trying to hide the truth behind his greeting.
"You want time alone, I get it," he winked at us before doing as I suggested.
The night went on and the whole team spent it laughing and shouting over the music. Even Spencer was drinking. Not knowing if I should be worried or not, I shook it off. He was an adult perfectly capable of making his own decisions.
At one point, I got up and excused myself to the bathroom, needing a brief break from the noise and socialization more than anything. I was washing my hands as I heard a knock at the door.
"Hey, it's me."
I cracked the door. "Spencer? Wha-"
He burst past me into the room. "I can't keep sitting out there and pretending I'm not thinking about doing this." He put his hands on either side of my confused face and pulled me in for a kiss.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and ran my fingers through his hair. The kiss was slow, like he was searching for an answer that only my lips could give him.
I prematurely ended the kiss. No amount of alcohol would make me want to have sex in a dingy bar bathroom. "Spence, we can't do this here, the team is right outside."
"I don't care." He kissed me again.
I allowed myself to kiss him back for a minute until I pulled away a second time, dropping my hands from his hair and taking a step back. "They'll notice we're both gone."
He looked at me angrily and I could tell he had a little too much to drink. "I don't care, y/n! I don't care! I almost died a few weeks ago and I missed you!" The anger now mixed with sadness and curiosity as he looked down at me scratching my arms.
"C-Could we not do this here? Let's just go back to your place and talk," I pleaded with him.
He barreled past my question as if nothing had left my mouth. "That's another thing! Why have I never been to your apartment? And why the hell do you keep scratching your arms?"
I couldn't answer either of those questions. I tried my hardest not to take his anger personally. He was just drunk and looking to take it out on someone, and I was a convenient target.
That sentiment changed after what he did next.
He grabbed my wrist and yanked up the sleeve of my shirt, revealing what I had been trying so hard to hide from him. There were five horizontal scars across my forearm, still slightly raised despite their age. He looked down in horror at what he had done.
I wrenched my arm from his grasp as my newfound anger went to my head. "Did you get the answer you were looking for? Don't worry, I didn't do this to myself." I could feel the walls that I had so tirelessly broken down for him form once again, boxing me in with my rage and past trauma.
Spencer slowly brought his eyes back up to meet mine. They tried to convey the sorrow and guilt coursing through his veins among the alcohol, yet nothing left his mouth.
I tried to stop myself before what I said next. I knew it would end this arrangement as soon as I uttered those words. But maybe, that was the point.
"What, were you expecting track marks? Not everyone is an addict, Reid!" I shouted at him, tears immediately forming in my eyes.
His jaw fell ever so slightly. The sudden sting of my words made him drop my wrist and storm out of the bathroom, slamming the door on his way out.
I stood for a second, still in shock at my monumental moment of self-sabotage. My mind thought back to the first two lines of a poem by Emily Dickinson:
I like a look of agony,
Because I know it's true.
I saw that agony on his face. He had followed me here to get what little comfort I could offer, but instead left with more misery than when he entered.
Tears falling down my cheeks, I charged back into the bar, bumping into Prentiss on my way to get my purse. She grabbed my shoulders and stopped me.
"Hey, hey, wait slow down, y/n. Are you alright?"
"Not now, Emily," I hissed. Add that to the list of things to apologize for later.
I snatched my things and left, ignoring the confused looks from Morgan and Garcia. I needed to find Spencer. I had to apologize to him. No matter how he acted, he didn't deserve me weaponizing his trauma against him. No one deserved to be treated like that.
I only had one drink, so thankfully, I could drive myself rather than waiting on a cab. I slammed on my brakes into a parking spot in front of his place and yanked the emergency brake. Taking two steps at a time, I ran up the stairs to his apartment.
"Reid, it's me, p-please open the door," I pounded repeatedly on his door. No answer. "Spencer I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, please, just open up the door and we can talk." Tears continued streaming down my face.
With the hopes that he was on the other side listening to me, I tried to explain my actions through uncontrollable sobs. I was literally on my knees begging for his forgiveness.
"I fucked up. I-I never meant to say those things and hurt you. It was wrong. I'm a terrible fucking person and I promise I'll tell you everything if you just let me inside. Please, j-just let me inside."
Nothing.
I sat there for a few more minutes before realizing it was hopeless. If he hadn't answered the door by now, he wasn't going to.
My head hung with defeat and overwhelming guilt, I stood up and wandered back to my car. I turned off the radio, put the car into gear, and drove home in silence. I didn't deserve music.
----
(Spencer)
I wish I never followed her to the bathroom. After all, did I really think she would have sex with me in there? Public restrooms are one of the most bacteria-filled spaces we encounter on a daily basis.
If I had just stayed in my damn seat, I wouldn't have seen her arms and forced her to say those things to me. She was right, I did think she would have track marks.
I wracked my brain to try and come up with something that could have caused those scars.
'I didn't do this to myself.'
Luckily, no one on the team seemed to notice me when I sprinted out of the bar. I caught a cab right outside and went back to my apartment. Just as I locked the door and set down my keys, I heard someone bang on the door.
It was y/n.
I reached out and grabbed the doorknob, stopping myself before I turned it. I didn't even know what I would say to her, how I would be able to look at her. I know I needed to apologize, but I couldn't seem to find the right words yet.
But, in spite of my overwhelming guilt, I couldn't forgive her words so easily either.
Tears welled in my eyes as I heard her sob an apology. I was such a fucking asshole. First, I made a few poorly thought-out decisions in the bathroom, and now I'm making her stand outside, crying and vulnerable. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't get my hand to twist the handle.
Time, I thought as if she could hear me. Just give me some time.
I barely slept that night, the bags under my eyes as noticeable as ever. As soon as I got off the elevator at the BAU the next day, I turned left, averting the glass doors and heading towards Garcia's dungeon.
"Hey, Garcia," I knocked.
Spinning around in her chair, she chirped "Well, hello, boy wonder, what can I do for you?"
I walked in and sat down in an empty chair. "I was wondering if you could look something up for me. But would you mind just keeping it between us?"
"Sure thing, lay it on me."
"Uh, could you look at y/n's file? I'm worried about her."
"That's a bit of an invasion of privacy, don't you think?"
"Please." I implored. She never told me anything personal and I needed to know more about her if I was ever going to figure out why she had those scars. I hated that it had come to this – that I felt the need to get Garcia to snoop into her official FBI file just so I could learn something about her. But even more than that, I hated that I let myself do it.
She finally gave in, typing furiously on her keyboard and pulling up documents on one of her many screens. "Looks like the pretty standard stuff, high school, college, previous jobs... and..."
"What?"
"T-There's a sealed file. Like, scary sealed. Why does she have a sealed file?"
My mind ran through the possible contents. It had to be related to her scars.
'I didn't do this to myself.' She had said.
"I-I don't know. I don't know anything."
"Do I open it?" She took a brief pause before continuing, "no, I can't open it. I'm sorry, Reid." She apologized despite having nothing real to apologize for.
I never would've asked her to open that file. I just had to trust that if y/n wanted me to know, she would tell me, right? That didn't seem to be the case this far into our friendship, but maybe that would change now that I knew there was something very obviously wrong. At least, that's what I repeated in my head in a futile attempt to convince myself not to worry.
"Well, thanks anyways, Garcia," I stood and left the room, knowing less about her than when I entered.