Chapter Text
Emily may not be a certified genius like him, although of course, she was smart in her own right. She didn’t dig any further on the subject, filled his hands with the paper cup so they’d stop trying to pull out fistfuls of hair, and chatted as if they hadn’t been through some of the worst months of their lives. She joked about split custody of her cat with Penelope, complained about neighbourly disputes that ultimately meant nothing and what she was filling her time with until she could get back in the office. She practically bullied a smile out of him at one point.
All the while, that moment of catching features that were unmistakably Spencer’s as he turned on that bridge replayed until she couldn’t stop imagining his body plunging into the water. Her stomach kept unexpectedly dropping every time she heard the phantom splash.
“Where’s your bathroom?” He pointed to a door behind him.
“Through there, the door on the left.” She got up and gave him a tap on the shoulder before walking away.
“Don’t go anywhere,” she said as her hand went to the doorknob. He nodded earnestly. She didn’t believe it.
Emily closed the door behind her and let her back rest against it carefully so there wouldn’t be a thud.
Holy shit.
It was the best she could come up with. She’d done her best to hold it all together since breaking down on the bridge for the sake of Spencer, but the weight on her shoulders was beginning to drag her down. If she’d gotten there even a second too late or took a different route or decided to stay in to watch the next episode of some early 2000s trashy TV that played at this hour- she cut the thought off before she could fall into it. She rubbed her forehead as she blew out a long breath.
Prison had changed him, she expected that, she just didn’t realise how bad it was. Maybe she did know and chose not to acknowledge it.
He was a little touchy, but anyone would be after being snatched from their normal life and put into a giant game of cat and mouse with one mouse and hundreds of cats.
He was a little guarded, but for the best part of a year, he’d been looking over his shoulder, trying to be smart enough to live but not too smart to get a target on his back.
He seemed numb, but everything had happened so fast that there was no time to process it. One minute, they thought Cat was carrying his child, the next, he thought his mother had died, and then Mr Scratch came back and Stephen... It was for anyone to take in.
Looking back, she could see the warning signs and kick herself for not noticing them in the moment. She cursed everyone else for not noticing either, given that they were all highly experienced profilers, but profilers have biases. Nobody would want to think suicide was ever on the table for Spencer, so they never took it into account, a mistake they nearly paid dearly for.
Belatedly, she realised that she was standing in his bedroom. His apartment was small and would feel cramped for most people, but she supposed there was some cosiness to having everything so close. She never asked how he adapted the space to accommodate his mother living with him, but she did wonder how the sleeping arrangements worked. With their day jobs, they learned to sleep whenever, however, wherever, so she could only hope he didn’t do major damage to his back in an effort to keep her comfortable. She could easily see how living practically on top of each other would lead to consistently triggering one another.
Maybe if his bedroom looked lived in, it’d seem less claustrophobic. Like the rest of his apartment, it looked more like an Ikea showroom than a home. It made her sick how thoroughly he had thought through his plan. He kept his space tidy, but this was a whole other level. She couldn’t help but ask herself how long it’d taken and how, in that time, she hadn’t contacted him just to check in. Had anyone dropped him a text during that time? If they didn’t, then would anything have changed if they did? Was that selfish to think?
Her eyes wandered, taking it all in, until they became glued to a cardboard box sitting on the set of drawers beside her. A list of names written in black Sharpie drew her from the door to stand in front of it, and, much like Pandora, she couldn’t resist opening it to inspect its contents.
It didn’t seem like much at first, a few framed photos, memorabilia he’d once kept on his desk that had sat empty since he left. It wasn’t until she picked out a birthday present she’d given him years ago that she realised these were his prized possessions. The things he held close were packed away for them to find and hopefully take.
She revisited the list of names. All of them she recognised as the people he’d worked alongside for years. There wasn’t one she’d vaguely remembered hearing or never knew. It shouldn’t be a surprise that they were a massive part of his life, but it hit her now that they were everything. He assumed it would be them walking into his apartment, so he cleaned up and made it obvious what he wanted them to keep rather than sell off or donate.
Emily understood what brought him to the bridge; it didn’t take a genius to figure that out, but she felt it all click into place here. His mother wouldn’t remember him. His father was estranged and he had no intention to change that. Derek and Aaron were gone. New people would replace them, and he’d have to expend more energy to get to know them, let them get to know him, all for them to potentially leave too. He never spoke about other family or friends, just people he knew and stories from childhood. Maeve had died, and after that, he didn’t seem to bother with finding someone else.
It was just them.
If he couldn’t work, he knew their relationships would become strained with how often they travelled and how little time they spent at home. He’d built his life with the BAU in mind. A part of her wanted to blame Jason for that, but she doubted a man willing to walk away from it all hadn’t told him at one point or another not to make his life revolve around work and work alone.
It didn’t seem like Spencer to go without a plan B. One stray bullet, some injury he got in or out of work that would make coming back impossible, had to have crossed his mind at some point. Maybe he did have a backup plan all those years ago. He’d easily make it into a forensics job or get back into the scientific field. Perhaps, as time passed, the thought of anything other than the BAU didn’t seem worth pursuing.
Without the BAU, what was left? Of course, she could think of plenty of things, but her thoughts weren’t as clouded as his. Suicide wasn’t sitting on the sidelines patiently waiting to be picked in her mind. She trudged along with hope. That could be blamed on her fleeting meeting with death, how cold the other side felt, and she found no comfort in seeking it again. He’d felt warmth.
Her breath hitched uncomfortably, and she became acutely aware that Spencer was waiting for her to come back. Worst of all, he might hear her and feel that sick sense of guilt that made you second-guess giving life another go. She’d certainly felt that when she returned the first time and wouldn’t wish it on anyone else, especially him.
She made her way to the bathroom, not letting herself even attempt to find any traces of life there. She couldn’t cry over the lack of toiletries. It took her a minute to compose herself and look into the mirror, wiping away the streaks of dried tears and mascara on her cheeks. She messed with her hair to give herself something to focus on as she evened her breath and felt certain she wasn’t going to burst into tears when she found Spencer on the couch where she’d left him.
Should she tell someone?
It would be a breach of trust, but surely everyone else should know, so they could look for signs or conveniently drop in every once in a while. She didn’t know if she could handle the weight of it alone, and this had to be beyond the limit of keeping things between friends.
They should know how close it got. They should worry like she was now that, when she left, he’d simply try again with an improved plan. Sure, her pep talk worked tonight, but would it sustain him until morning? If more people knew, there could be more points of call. She wouldn’t risk missing that vital call at four in the morning or being too far to rush over when company was all he needed.
Emily decided it couldn’t be done behind his back. His trust was fragile before, but now it was like handling glass one decibel away from shattering into a million pieces. She wouldn’t ask right this second either. He’d only panic and beg her not to.
She glanced at her wristwatch, noting they were quickly advancing into the early hours of the morning. When was the last time he slept? Properly slept, not just dozing here and there. She knew she wouldn’t like the answer. She should let him rest, but the thought of going home any time soon felt impossible. Nodding to herself, she made a game plan. Even if it was just to give her some sense of control, she’d take it.
With a deep sigh and a splash of cold water, she went back to Spencer.
“Let’s do something tomorrow,” she announced before she realised Spencer had slumped in on himself. She quickly rounded the couch and found his eyes closed, his features relaxed. “Reid?” she called with no real intention of waking him up. He didn’t stir.
She looked around and found a wool blanket hanging off an armchair, grabbed it and carefully draped it over him.
“What are we going to do with you?” she mumbled as she got comfortable by his side. Maybe she could get some sleep, too. Just a little nap couldn’t hurt. It would also be weird for him to wake up and find her staring at him. She slipped off her shoes and curled her legs up, getting comfortable on the other side of the couch. She rested her head so she was still facing him and, once she was sure he wasn’t faking or wasn’t about to wake up, she let her eyes close. They could plan in the morning.