Chapter Text
Based on the song "Abstract" by Hozier.
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A steady stream of light rain surrounds you as you stare up at an all too familiar building, your nerves not allowing you to take another step closer just yet. Memories of the past float around in your mind as you contemplate turning around and finding some excuse of why you never showed up. But you know you can't just leave, you can't help yourself. With all the courage you can muster, you force yourself inside of the building, where the cold air hits your wet skin and leaves goosebumps all over.
Each step that you take towards the office, your heartbeat resounds in your ears and your stomach feels like it's been tied into numerous knots. This office used to be like your second home, but now it's like seeing a ghost, a place frozen in time, unchanged. You recall the first day you walked into this building, bright eyed and hopeful for the future which starkly contrasts the last time you left. That memory is tattooed in your mind, unable to forget despite giving it your best effort.
Your chest begins heaving with deep breaths as you find yourself just outside of the elevator and you have to find every last shred of strength within you to not get sick all over the floor. With a shaking hand, you press the button to call the elevator. You've been on this elevator ride more times than you can count, but that was back then, under different circumstances.
The doors close, leaving you alone in the elevator. In an attempt to soothe yourself, your clammy hands grasp the railing and you close your eyes, trying to calm your racing mind. Invasive thoughts crowd your head all at once, remembering who used to ride this elevator with you every morning and how you're going to have to face him once more after that last ride. Before you're ready, the doors open and you have no choice but to step out.
With each approaching step it feels like you're making your way through wet concrete, your feet feel like they're being tethered to the floor, not wanting to progress forward. Once you reach the office's door, it feels like every set of eyes is on you instantly. But perhaps that's just your paranoia.
Keeping your head held high in a faux display of confidence, you look around and see your old desk, still empty and unoccupied. And to your relief, his desk is unoccupied as well but you can tell there are files waiting for him. A clap on your shoulder breaks you from your mental downward spiral and you jump slightly from the contact.
"It's good to have you back, even if it is just for a few days." A familiar voice says from behind you, and you turn to see Derek Morgan with a wide smile on his face. A smile breaks out on your face as well and you embrace your old friend,
"It's good to be back." You say as he wraps his arms around your waist for a brief reunion. You step away from him and sigh, looking around for any other familiar faces, hoping to see all but one.
"He won't be here for another half hour." Morgan says as if he can read your mind. Without delving into that can of worms, you settle for nodding your head and changing the subject.
"Is Hotch here? He said he was going to give me the run down." You say, straightening your jacket to distract yourself from the intruding voice in your mind. Morgan nods his head and takes you to the briefing room, where you find two of your other ex-colleagues, both with smiles on their faces.
"It's good to see you guys." You force yourself to greet them first, taking note of the faltering smile on Emily's face. Knowing the reason for the fake smile, you turn to Hotch who extends his hand to you. Emily does nothing of the sort, and you can't blame her, you understand.
"Here's your file to look over. We'll be wheels up in an hour." Hotch hands you a brown file folder and you nod, opening the front of it to familiarize yourself with the case you'll be assisting them on. Out of the corner of your eye you notice Emily leaving the room, leaving you and Hotch alone.
You and Hotch had developed a close bond while you worked for the Quantico office and it seems that your departure did not interfere with his sentiments towards you. Closing the file, you meet his gaze and you can tell that there's a lot he wants to say, but you also know he won't go out of his way to gossip. Instead of making him suffer with the burden of professionalism, you break the ice first, trusting him more than the others to give you the truth.
"How bad is this going to be?" He knows your question isn't about the case, and he sighs.
"It'll be fine." His tone betrays the words coming out of his mouth, much to your dismay. He's trying to keep you on board with the idea, even if it means faking positivity.
"And you're sure I can't just stay here and help Garcia?" You try one last time to worm out of this assignment, knowing you didn't take it willingly. Hotch shakes his head,
"Sorry, no can do. Garcia is helping another unit and we need you there with us. You know it's easier to get immediate feedback." He strikes down your last attempt and you nod, knowing that he's completely right.
"Okay, see you on the jet." You defeatedly say and take your file folder with you out of the conference room. The uneasiness in your stomach only intensifies with each passing second, knowing that you're closer and closer to confronting your past.
Instead of staying out in the open office space, you find somewhere to hide for the next forty five minutes, like a coward. You find a quiet corner in the breakroom and sit at the table, spreading the contents of the folder out in front of you. Maybe if you fully immerse yourself in the case then this assignment won't be that bad, or at least that's what you're trying to convince yourself of.
The papers in front of you detail the unsub the team is going after. Being familiar with this unit, your brain automatically disregards the information that isn't pertinent to your job. You're not a behavioral profiler like the rest of them, and so the information about picking apart the unsub's actions isn't as important to your job. Instead, you focus on the details regarding the unsub's internet use and who has been targeted. In a way, you're profiling the unsub, you just do it differently than the rest of the team.
As an intelligence analyst, you're more concerned with known usernames, websites frequented, how the unsub uses social media, that sort of thing. You're more interested in establishing a pattern of online behavior that can give insight to an unsub's activity that might not be apparent from the crime scenes left behind. During your time at the Quantico office, this type of analysis has been helpful in over forty cases.
As you read on and mark specific details to help you, your mind reverts to what it knows best; the job. Your thoughts are no longer concerned with facing your past, and all you can think of is how to use the information provided to aid your search. Your dedication to the job is also what landed you in this predicament in the first place, but you try not to dig into what that might mean.
"Hey, there you are, we've been looking for you all over. Wheels up in five." Morgan says and you nod, quickly shoving the papers back into the file and clipping the pen over the front cover. You must've lost track of time, too engrossed in searching for the smallest of details.
Taking the familiar path to the unit's private jet is almost nostalgic, and you kind of miss being able to do this. The Cleveland office never deploys agents like Quantico does, but they offered the position of a lifetime, and you couldn't turn it down. But sometimes, most times, you wish you had. You found that you lost far more than you gained.
The rest of the team is on the jet by the time you and Morgan arrive, and you rush in, mumbling out an apology as you take a seat in the back, where you'll hopefully be left alone for the duration of the flight. As you take your seat and prepare for takeoff, you can feel everyone's eyes burning into you and your heart rate increases, knowing that the one person you'd wanted to avoid is definitely here. His presence is overwhelming and you haven't even looked at him yet. Your heartstrings tug with remorse and pain, remembering the last time you two were on the jet, when things were good.
Knowing you've already gathered all the information you can from the file, you open it again anyways and act like you're deep in thought. Though the profilers can probably see right through this, none of them say anything.
It's a demanding task to keep your eyes trained on the file for the majority of the flight, but after a while your neck starts aching from poor posture. You quietly place the file on your lap and stretch out your muscles, massaging the side to find some temporary relief. You notice that almost everyone has elected to take a nap until the plane lands, but unfortunately, one person opted to stay awake.
Your eyes meet his and it's like the entire world caves in.
His hazel eyes hold your own and you can't stop the racing images in your mind, they're all so vivid. You remember the first time you met him, how you two became so quickly entangled in one another without even noticing. Your feelings for him had encroached on you so subtly, that you didn't even realize how deeply and richly you loved him until you said goodbye.
You'll never be able to erase that moment from your mind. The day you told him you accepted the Intelligence Director job in Cleveland, and that you were transferring. Tears had been running down his cheeks, and you tried to console and comfort him, but there was nothing you could do, the damage had been done. And not a day has gone by that you didn't think of him.
Now that you're face to face with him again, it's like the poorly-repaired crack in your heart has been reopened. You want nothing more than to reach out and feel his soft skin under your fingertips one more time. Though you were the one who broke things off, you mourned the lost relationship with him. Things with him just fell into place, the two of you brought out the best in each other.
But now, looking into his eyes, you notice the spark behind them is gone and only a dull light remains. Your mouth falls open like you're going to say something, but he looks away before your mind can come up with anything to say. Not that he has to listen to anything you say, you understand if he wants nothing to do with you this entire trip.
Truthfully, you were surprised Morgan had welcomed you back so warmly. You knew that by leaving Quantico, and also the love of your life, that you had hurt the team. The team is so intimately woven together, that your departure had left a bad taste in their mouths. Of course some were more understanding, but there were also those who took it more personally. And you can't blame them, after all you broke the heart of the most caring, tender soul in the world.
Realizing you're staring at the side of his face, you tear your gaze away from him and your mind forces you to relive one of your most regrettable moments.
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"I took the job in Cleveland. I leave in two days." The words tumble out of your mouth as the elevator door dings and opens to the main lobby. You had tried to find the right time to tell him, but the clock was ticking and time was running out. The hand intertwined with yours drops as the two of you step out into the lobby.
"What?" He says with clear exasperation and disbelief. You had mentioned four months ago that you were interested in the job, and he had encouraged you to at least apply. But that was before you two had become so deeply involved in one another.
"They called me the other night and said they would love to have me as soon as possible. I applied months ago and I didn't think they'd actually consider me for the position." You try to explain to him that you didn't do this after you had grown close. He shakes his head, and you see wetness gather in his lash line.
"So that's it then? You're just going to leave?" His voice cracks, and your heart shatters into a million pieces.
"Spencer." You whisper and reach out for his face to wipe the tears away, but he flinches from your touch. An overwhelming sensation of sorrow blossoms in you as you watch him shake his head and walk away.
A single tear drips from your face and lands on the floor. The love of your life walks away from you and you don't know if you'll ever see him again.
-----
The plane lands and everyone grabs their belongings before filing out. You intentionally take a longer time to gather the few belongings you had brought along, and you're careful to make sure he's out of the plane before you leave.
You hang back from the team while they all get ready to head to the hotel to check in before going to the crime scene. They're all discussing their theories about the unsub and you listen in, but make no move to interject like you used to. Instead, you silently get into the SUV and keep your gaze focused on the moving landscape.
Once everyone is at the hotel and checked into their rooms, you let yourself drop the façade. The door behind you shuts and you slide down until you're sitting on the floor, the ache in your chest making it feel as if you can't catch your breath. You knew this was going to be hard, but you never thought it would feel this suffocating. It seems that while the world and the team had moved on, you remain stuck in the memory of what used to be. And you're not sure if you'll ever be able to truly move on. You're not sure if you want to move on.
A knock on your door forces you to stand back on your feet, and you hurriedly throw your things on the bed before returning and answering the door. Morgan stands on the other side, leaning against the doorframe. He smiles softly as he meets your eye and you're quick to put your front back up with a smile.
"Are we ready?" You ask and he nods. You follow him without another word, tucking the keycard into the pocket of your jacket.
"You know you don't have to act like an outsider, it's just us." He tries to soothe your obvious discomfort.
"It feels like I'm an outsider." You admit to him and he stops walking as he continues the conversation.
"None of us blame you for taking the job, it was good for your career. And whatever happened between you and Reid, it was two years ago." He says like the time makes things easier to handle, when in fact, the time just made your heart grow heavy with loss. You avert your eyes from him and nod, starting to walk back down the hall to avoid continuing this conversation.
Once you all had arrived to the scene, you hung around the back. You weren't really needed here, but the team likes to have you here so that you can be up to date with all the information they have. Once their assessment of the scene is complete, that's when you'll go back to the police station where you'll set up your work space for the remainder of the case.
The team and the local police discuss what's been found so far. There was a young male found deceased, gun in his hand with an apparent self-inflicted gunshot. However, there were a few details that suggested that this was not a suicide. The angle at which the bullet entered the victim's head was inconsistent with suicide, and the gun wasn't laying in the manner it should have given the bullet's trajectory. The victim's phone had gone missing in this area as well, but nobody's been able to recover it yet; maybe the unsub took it with them.
The behavioral analysts comb over the scene with intense precision, and you begin looking at things from a different perspective. Your mind begins constructing several theories about where the gun came from, what significance this place has, and where the victim's phone is. As your mind races, your hand scribbles messy notes so you don't lose your train of thought.
Feeling as if someone's looking at you, your gaze turns from your sloppy notes to look around. From the other side of the crime scene, those familiar hazel eyes look into your own, as if they can see into your soul. As soon as your eyes meet, he's turning away and back to the scene, where he points something out to Hotch and then goes on a tangent about the history of something.
You try your best to listen in, needing to hear his honeyed voice. In the two years you had been gone, your mind had failed you and forgot how sweet he sounds. From the distance between you, your ears only pick up bits and pieces and nothing quite makes sense because you miss so much information. But you were never listening for the content anyways.
You finish your evaluation quicker than the rest and so you take out your phone and try to do some preliminary searches. Within a minute you find the victim's social medias and begin combing through them in search of people regularly interacted with, patterns of life, and anything else that might stand out. With your notepad balanced unevenly on a tree trunk, you try to scribble down names to follow up on when a voice from behind you startles you from concentration.
"The rest of us are going to stay here for a while, but you and some others can head to the police station and get started." Hotch dismisses you from the scene and you nod, heading towards the car while still jotting down notes, not bothering to see who else is joining you.
Once your mind starts going on a case it's hard for it to stop, which is both a strength and a flaw. By the time you join the local law enforcement in their car, you're on a mental fast track. The notes you write are indecipherable to everyone but yourself but it all makes sense to you, and that's all that matters.
"So what all do you need?" The local police officer asks from the drivers seat. Your gaze shifts from the paper to the rearview mirror, where the older man is looking back at you with curiosity in his eyes.
"Not a lot. I'll need a computer, access to records, and some warrant forms to get started." Your answer is almost automated from having to answer it time and time again over the years. However, as you go to finish your notes, you notice someone in the passenger seat and your breath catches in your throat. How had you not noticed he was sitting less than two feet away?
The rest of your notes don't get finished. Instead, you're transfixed on the man in front of you. His familiar smell is almost enough to bring you to tears, he still smells like home. You remember spending nights in his apartment in the fall time, huddled under blankets that smelled like him. A comforting scent that let you know that you were safe, you were exactly where you were meant to be.
The police are quick to accommodate your needs and you thank them politely, but your mind is anywhere but where it should be. Instead of uncovering important intelligence for the case, your mind is preoccupied with the man in front of you. As the police set up a temporary workspace for you, Spencer stands right in front of you, but facing away, scanning over images from the crime scene. You know he's got the images committed to memory by now, he's just doing that to avoid you, and so you take the hint.
"Here you are ma'am." The officers show you to your workspace, and you fight back the urge to protest their use of "ma'am". It always made you feel old.
"It's Director, actually." Spencer corrects the officer, and your lips part slightly. Before you can say anything to him, he's already turned back around to study the photos.
"My apologies, here's your workstation, Director. Let me know if there's anything else I can do to assist." The officer then excuses himself. The tension between you and your former lover is thick, but you know that you're not likely to get him alone like this again, and so you force yourself to take advantage of the situation.
"Thank you." Your voice is soft and you bite the skin on your lower lip, a bad nervous habit he once told you. He places the photos on the desk and turns to face you.
"Of course." Is all he says before getting started on his duties. You should've known he was going to be here like this, it's how most cases with the team went. You worry that your preoccupation is going to hinder your investigation, but at the same time you're just thankful to see him again, even if he never says another word to you.
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Later in the day, the rest of the team joins you two in the police department to catch everyone up on the information uncovered. The behavioral analysts have deduced that the unsub might be a woman, and you make note of that. Truthfully, your preliminary searches have not been as fruitful as they typically are, and you know everyone notices.
"I'm going to keep going though. I know there's something out there." You say as you admit to them you don't have any solid leads yet, a first for you. You don't miss the pitiful smiles people throw your way, and you bite your tongue to make sure you don't say anything out of line.
The rest of the day you search tirelessly for leads and before you know it, it's dark outside and everyone is gone. Without prying eyes, your shoulders slouch and you cradle your head in your hands. Your eyes burn from staring at the screen, and your list of leads is still too small for your liking. There's still a lot of work to be done.
The frustration with yourself grows and you almost resent your superior for sending you back here. He said that you were requested by name, and that there was no reason for you not to come. Though you could give him a reason, you're sure he would've just told you to grow up. On your way here you convinced yourself that you could do this job quickly but now that you're here, it's apparent that your distraction is going to be an obstacle to overcome. When lives are on the line, it's dangerous to have an obstacle that impairs your work.
But once the quietness of the police station settles in your mind, you find the will to keep working. Maybe without him being here you can actually get some work done. So that's exactly what you do, you work through the night and are thankfully able to come up with some solid bits of information that you think will be beneficial for the behavioral analysts to know.
Information is meticulously placed in an easy to read briefing document, which you print out and staple for everyone, just like you used to. Perhaps if you conduct this just like your other jobs, you'll start to feel more at home and comfortable.
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A hand on your shoulder startles you awake, and your eyes blink wildly to try and acclimate yourself with the bright light that's now infiltrating the station windows.
"Did you stay here all night?" Hotch's voice causes your head to swivel to the front door of the station and you rub your eyes, realizing that you did in fact end up staying here all night. You try to downplay this and dodge his question, gathering the briefing documents you had put together and passing them out to the team.
"This is what I found out, there are still more leads to follow, but I think I'm onto some good things here. One person of interest stands out, and that's a girl he recently started interacting with. From what I can tell without getting into his profiles, they started interacting about a month ago, and it appears they were very in love with each other. But she's got some literal skeletons in her closet. Three years ago one of her boyfriends was found dead in an apparent suicide." You conclude your briefing with the most pertinent information. They can read through the rest themselves. You cover your mouth as you yawn, and stretch out the tense muscles in your neck. The agents read over everything and while they read, you turn the computer back on and prepare to do some more investigating.
"Take a break, you were here all night." Morgan speaks up this time, causing almost everyone's eyes to land on you. Every time you blink your eyes feel like they're being scrubbed with sandpaper, but you can't afford to take a break.
"I'll be fine." You offer him a smile, but it doesn't take a professional profiler to see right through it. Nobody says anything else, so you start going down more rabbit holes to uncover more leads about who the unsub might be.
As the agents go to interview people, it's just you and Spencer left at the station. He's taking care of the geographical profile for this case, like he usually does. The two of you work quietly, but you notice that you can't help but look over at him every few minutes with longing and fondness thick in your heart.
Today he's wearing a button up pushed to his elbows with a simple tie, and it shouldn't make you feel any sort of way, but it brings you back to your first day at the BAU. You remember in great detail seeing him for the first time, he was wearing something similar and you had convinced yourself that he despised you because he would never directly interact with you. After a while you had figured out that he was just unsure of how to approach you, he said that he felt flustered around you. But being paired together on cases helped break the ice, and without even realizing it, you had fallen head over heels in love with him. And you had never fallen out of love, not for one second.
Your eyes travel from his shirt to his hair, his chocolate curls still as soft as you remember them. Flashes of late weekend nights pop into your mind and you remember how he'd fall asleep with his head in your lap as you raked your fingers through his hair, lulling him to sleep. Then there were the mornings where his hair would be sticking up in random places from how restless he was the night before, and how you fought hard to tame the curls, but were never completely successful.
The coffee cup on the desk next to him catches your eye and you wish you had a strong cup right about now. When the two of you used to work together, you would take turns bringing the coffee. He always liked his with enough sugar to put anyone into a diabetic coma and he always perfectly made your latte every time. He had it down to a science. It's the simple things you miss the most about him, about your time shared with him.
No matter how much time or distance that was put between the two of you, you know that you have no choice but to love him. You love him still, with just as much passion as you did two years ago when you left, and you know there's not a single thing on this Earth that you wouldn't still do for him.
You're not sure if it's the exhaustion finally getting to you or what, but you find that you can't be in the same room as him any longer, suffocating from bittersweet memories. Abruptly, you stand from your seat and make your way to the station's bathroom, catching a glimpse of him as you pass and you feel the sob bubbling up in your throat.
As soon as the bathroom door is closed, the tears you had worked away from the plane, from the hotel, and from the crime scene come sliding down your face. Memories you thought were just painful are now harmful, evident by the deep ache that's taken residence in your chest. You tightly grip the sink in the bathroom and try to get a hold of yourself.
You make eye contact with yourself in the mirror and see dark circles under your bloodshot eyes. Tears gently fall from your lashes down your cheeks, but you make no move to wipe them away. As you stare down your reflection, you're forced to reckon with yourself, to confront what you've been running from for two years.
This is just the physical manifestation of how you've felt inside since you stepped off that elevator a couple years ago. Broken, in disrepair, suffering.
A knock on the door interrupts your meltdown and you clear your throat before wiping away the tears. Before you walk out you try your best to conceal that you've been crying, but you already know it's a lost cause. You're just thankful the rest of the team is out working the case so they can't be witness to just how pathetic you've become.
"Director, are you okay?" The officer from yesterday is waiting for you on the other side of the door. With a final breath, you open the door and plaster a smile on your face, seeing the look of concern he's giving you.
"I'm just fine, thank you." The crack in your voice contradicts your words and you keep your head down as you return to your desk and prepare to bury yourself in work for the remainder of the day. As you walk by, you can just barely see Spencer's head turn to watch you walk by, but you can't bring yourself to look back.
-----
Hours later, the agents are returning from their field work and you've prepared more information for them. You took a deep dive into the girl of interest, the one you highlighted in the briefing, and found that she has had several relationships in the past few months. All of which ended badly, according to social media posts.
"One post in particular claims that she showed up at a previous boyfriend's house with a gun because she was convinced he had another girl over. I've been able to establish a pattern of erratic behavior from her, backed up by a few restraining orders." You yawn as you finish explaining the newly found information. The lack of sleep is most definitely catching up to you but you know you're so close to finishing this case; why stop working now?
The mission-driven part of your brain makes you sit back down to find more evidence of the girl's psychotic behavior, but before you can resume a hand reaches over and shuts the computer off.
"No. You've done more than enough. Go to the hotel." Hotch orders you with a warning look that tells you not to fight him on this. If your eyes didn't feel like a desert, you might have argued back but the thought of fresh hotel sheets, a warm shower, and a moment of rest is too appealing. Perhaps you had overworked yourself.
Relenting, you nod and gather your things while the rest of the team continues discussing the case. You're sure if there are any major developments that they'll contact you, so you don't worry about missing anything major. After all, the case seems like it's coming to a quick close. Which is odd, this case has been strangely easy and straightforward. Why would they call in an intelligence director for this?
The question floats around your head as you catch a taxi back to the hotel. As you shower, you try to come up with anything that makes sense. There are tons of FBI intelligence analysts in Quantico, but your supervisor said that you had been requested by name. This case wasn't particularly daunting, so why didn't they give the assignment to a junior analyst? Why would they specifically ask for you? It just doesn't make sense, there's no logic to it; and you don't like things that aren't logical.
After your shower, you flop onto the crisp hotel sheets with a huff. Your mind is still reeling with the question of why as you drift off into a restless sleep.
-----
"Would you like to come over and watch the movie? I rented it because I just finished the book. And I know the books are always better but I can't help it, I'm curious." You stop yourself from rambling too much, and look up at your coworker with butterflies in your tummy and stars in your eyes. His hazel eyes look back down at you, crinkling in the corners as he smiles.
"You're probably right, the books are always better. But, um, yeah, sure I'd love to watch it with you." Faint redness brushes his cheeks as he stumbles over his words, which you've noticed he only does when he's nervous. It's endearing, you think.
"Great, um, come over at 6?" You ask him, nervously biting at the skin on your bottom lip.
"You know chewing on your lips like that is a bad habit, in severe cases it can lead to the development of fibromas. And yes, I'll be there at six. Is there anything I should bring?" As he finishes his sentence you immediately stop biting at the sensitive skin, making a mental promise to try and break the habit. With a shake of your head, you smile back at him,
"Just bring yourself, that's more than enough." The blush on his cheeks grows redder and you turn on your heel, leaving the office for the evening, giddy with excitement of finally gaining the courage to ask Spencer to hang out after work. You had wanted to get to know him better outside of work, but you had never felt comfortable enough to do it until now.
Later that night, he knocks on your door at six sharp. You practically trip over your own feet as you go to the door, in a frenzy to make sure your clothes are straightened out and your hair is in place. Before you greet him, you take a second to gain your composure.
Spencer is standing on the other side, with a bag of M&Ms in his hand. A sheepish smile adorns his perfectly structured face and you let him in.
"I know you said not to bring anything, but I know these are your favorite." He hands the bag to you and you thank him. A man had never taken enough interest in you to get to know what you like and don't like. But Spencer is different, and you knew that from the moment you met.
"Thank you." A wave of confidence comes over you, and you lean up and place a soft kiss on his cheek.
-----
You awake with a heavy, raw feeling in your stomach and you reach for your phone to check the time. It's eleven at night, and nobody from the team had tried to reach you since you left the station earlier in the morning. Setting the phone beside you, you get out of the bed and decide to talk a walk. There's no chance that you're getting back to sleep after that dream. The dreams about Spencer had stopped about a year ago, and it made life manageable; but now that they're back, and he's right here, just out of reach, it's like you forgot how to function.
Tucking the keycard into your pocket, you step out of the room and quietly shut the door. You're not sure where you're even headed, but anywhere but inside that small room is good enough. As you make your way into the elevator, you rub the grogginess from your eyes. They're still sensitive from the improper rest and tears, but it's the least painful thing you're dealing with.
The elevator doors open at the lobby and you can hear that the hotel's bar is alive with energy. What better way to drown your sorrows? Your feet carry you to the bar and you take a seat at the end, ordering something strong from the bartender. With an unsteady hand, you swirl the liquid around in the glass as someone takes a seat next to you.
"Didn't think I'd see you here." Derek's voice is smooth as usual. Looking up from your coping mechanism, you give him the best smile you can produce. His eyes dart from your face to your hand and he frowns.
"Any developments?" You change the topic of conversation immediately, taking a large swig. He nods his head,
"We got her. The information you found was enough to secure the warrant." He says and for the first time working this case, you feel happy. Catching an unsub before they can hurt anyone else always brought you great satisfaction.
"Good. That's great, glad I could help." You say and finish off your drink, gesturing to the bartender for another.
"The rest of us are over there, come join us. It'll be like old times." He leans up against the bar with a bottle in his hand. The bartender hands you another and you consider it.
"We both know it won't be like old times." Your voice trails off and you stare back into your glass, wanting to look anywhere but at Derek. His plants his hand on your arm, strong enough to pull your attention back to him and behind him you can see the rest of the team taking their seats. You spot Spencer taking a seat next to Emily, remembering how it used to be you that he sat by.
"Stop making excuses. After this who know when we'll see you again? Come on, we've all missed you." Derek has always had a way of getting to your soft spot, and it's almost impossible to say no. Your teeth find their way to the damaged skin on your lip and you look between him and the crowd of your former team, celebrating the arrest.
"Fine. But only if you answer something for me." You make a deal and take another drink.
"Sure." He agrees.
"Who requested me to be assigned to this case?" The question still hadn't left your mind. Derek's expression is unreadable, and he looks over to his colleagues.
"It was Hotch." It's not the answer you were hoping for, but you nod. Deep down you know you wished it was Spencer who had recommended you.
"Why? There are so many good analysts in Quantico." You take another drink, waiting for his reasoning.
"There are good analysts, but none of them are you. Look, Hotch misses you a lot. We haven't been able to fill your position since you left, because none of them can live up to you. The team hasn't been the same without you." His words sting, and you feel even more remorse about your decision. You should've never taken the job. Your shoulder sag in defeat.
"I wish I never left." You confide in him, trusting him enough to open up. He puts a comforting hand on your shoulder and gives a reassuring squeeze.
"Well, you didn't hear it from me, but I think Hotch wants to talk to you before you go back to Cleveland." His words ignite a spark of hope inside you. For the first time since you started the case, you perk up.
"Are you serious?" You can barely believe his words. After everything that happened, you were sure they'd never want you back permanently. You were keenly aware of how protective everyone was over Spencer, and when you broke his heart, you were sure that was the last straw. But maybe things can be salvaged, just maybe.
"Okay I gave you an answer, now come on." He drops the conversation and smiles, leading you over to the table, trying your absolute best to appear happy and not like every single emotion is running through your mind all at once.
"There she is! Our wonder girl!" Hotch's voice greets you as he pulls you in for a hug. You can't help but to smile, his embrace and nickname feeling familiar and comforting. Hotch had taken you under his wing from day one, and you're forever grateful for him.
"Is there an empty seat?" You ask and he nods, gesturing towards the one on the other side of Spencer. The smile on your face falters, but you don't want to make things weird for the whole team, so instead of making a deal out of it you decide to suffer in silence and take the seat.
Maybe a little part of you will enjoy being so close to him. Maybe you can find just a shred of comfort from his proximity. You don't miss the way his shoulders tense as you jump up into the tall stool and you take another drink quickly. The team goes on and on about the case and how the girl was insisting she was innocent while you spin your glass around on the table, mulling over Derek's words.
"This round's on me." Spencer's voice breaks you out of your trance and you look over at him, seeing his wallet opening. Your heart drops to your stomach when you see a polaroid still tucked inside the opening meant for a driver's license. You suck in a sharp breath as if it had just slapped you across the face.
You had almost forgotten about the photo, a moment frozen in time. The two of you smile widely, squinting from the flash. Your arms wrapped around his neck and one of his arms circling your waist as he took the picture. It was the first, and only, Christmas you had spent with each other, neither of you having families to spend the holiday with. The two of you had made it a point to make the other feel special. You had gotten him a new series of books he had mentioned and he got you a pair of rose quartz earrings. It didn't take you long to realize why he had chosen rose quartz.
Hearing your breath, he looks over and sees your eyes trained on the photo. You tear your eyes from the photo up to him, your heartbeat echoing in your ears. How can he be so close, yet so far? Your lips fall open as your brain tries to find the right words, but you come up short. While the others go to get another round of drinks, the two are you are stuck staring at each other, transfixed.
"Spencer." You finally breathe out, eyes scanning his face for any indication of how he's feeling. Butterflies erupt in your tummy. His eyes look deep into yours and you wonder if he can see it, the way your eyes shine with only the deepest love for him. You feel tears well in your lash line, and you don't even care, all you want to do is reach out for him, to feel his arms around you, to have him back.
In that moment, you know you would get down on your knees in the hotel bar and publicly beg for his forgiveness if that's what it took to have him back. To lament about how you wish you had never left him. Confess how every single day you've longed for his touch, his love, and how you know you're undeserving of him. That no matter how many minutes have passed, your heart belongs to him and only him until the end of time.
"Why don't we take a walk?" He finally answers and you nod your head immediately. You jump down from the stool and follow behind him outside the hotel where a light drizzle of rain had started.
He walks a few paces ahead of you, hands tucked into the pockets of his pants until he reaches a lone light post that's illuminating the raindrops. He turns to face you, the golden light reflecting off his smooth skin and you can see how his eyes dance over your face. It feels like hours pass before he says anything.
"How's Cleveland treating you?" It's not at all what you're expecting and it takes you a few moments to process the question.
"Cleveland is...well, truthfully, I hate it there." You decide to completely come clean to him. The raindrops begin clinging to the ends of his hair, magnifying the rich warm hues.
"Sounds like you're doing some pretty good things up there. Hotch has been keeping us updated." He says, kicking around loose pebbles on the sidewalk as he speaks. The tension is reminiscent of your first few interactions with him, and you kick yourself for ever letting him go.
"I'm just doing my job. But I hear Quantico needs a lead analyst." I bring up the topic, just to see his reaction. If he gives any indication that he doesn't want me to come back, I'll turn Hotch down without a second thought. Spencer lifts his gaze back up to you and nods.
"We've been looking for one for a while." A gust of wind makes you shiver from the wetness of your skin.
"Derek told me Hotch is going to ask me to come back." You blurt out, not wanting to beat around the bush any longer.
"They told me." He answers, looking away from you once more. You lick your lips and ask the question that will determine your decision.
"Do you want me back?" The question is loaded, and he knows that too. He stops kicking around the pebbles and just stares down at the sidewalk. When he lifts his head, your wide eyes meet his.
"Do you want to come back?" He answers your question with another.
"More than anything. I've wanted to come back since the first day I left." You confess to him, taking a step forward. Before he can say anything else, you force yourself to say everything you've been feeling over the past few days, knowing that if you don't do it now that you might regret never saying it.
"I should have never left. That job was never worth giving up what we had. I was stupid, I was a damn fool for letting you go. You're all I've thought about every single day, my heart and soul are fractured without you. But I don't expect you to forgive me, I'm not worthy of your forgiveness. And if you don't want me back I'll tell Hotch that I can't take the position." The rain had picked up as you poured your heart out to the man you love.
You watch as he takes his hands out of his pockets and takes a step towards you.
"I've hoped that you would come back every day. I waited for you to walk through the office doors day after day. And I'm sorry for just walking away, I didn't know what to do, the thought of you not being here anymore was too much. I shouldn't have just walked away." You hear his voice start to tremble, and you can't help but to close the distance between the two of you.
You wrap your arms around his neck and his arms wrap around your waist, holding you tight against his body. Tears fall from your eyes onto his shirt, and after what feels like an eternity, he pushes you back slightly, tipping your chin up so that you're forced to look into his eyes. His lips are parted, and he leans in and presses a sweet, tender kiss to yours.
Your hands grasp the sides of his face, as if he would suddenly disappear if you let go. He clutches you with just as much passion, the two of you pressed together as you express everything you have felt over the last two years without one another. The pain, the longing, the love. Spencer breaks the kiss and leans his forehead against yours.
In the soft amber glow of the streetlamp you can see it clearly, just how your love shines for one another.