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It’s almost midnight when he gets the call.
“Cariño? Is the case over?”
There’s a pause, a pause Luke knows–
“Luke?”
–one that haunts his nightmares and makes his stomach sink, waking up in a cold sweat because it’s not a matter of if, it’s when –
“He has Spencer.”
–when his nightmares come to life.
“Where is he? Is he okay? Is he–”
“Luke– Luke! He’s okay, he’s safe,” JJ stops him, hands resting on his shoulder, gently pushing him back, eyes red-rimmed with dried tears and exhaustion bore into him with sympathy while five more shaken gazes behind the blond land on him. “He’s safe.”
Luke nods, swallowing the lump that’s been building in his throat, daming his breaths, making his heart pound with near-palpitations for the past 40 hours.
“JJ.”
One of the other agents—tall and muscular, brows furrowed and fists clenched, lips pressed into a frown, Derek Morgan—clears his throat, standing and staring– profiling Luke.
“Right. Luke, this is the team. Guys, this is Agent Luke Alvez of the Fugitive Task Force, and Spence’s–” JJ pauses, glancing at Luke for permission, continuing when he nods silently. “And Spence’s boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend?” The second blonde, Penelope Garcia, breaks the team’s brief lapse of silence first, almost smiling as she speaks. “Boy Genius has a boyfriend? Why didn’t he tell us?”
“That’s on me. Life was hectic, to say the least, when we met, and I wanted to take things slow, but–”
“The kid has never been great at ‘slow,’” Agent Morgan finishes, chuckling fondly. “Derek Morgan. Nice to meet you, man; I wish it were under better circumstances.”
“Yeah, me too,” Luke sighs, willing his shoulders to relax. “Sorry, is he– Can I see him?”
“He isn’t letting any of us see him, but I’ll ask one of the nurses to tell him you’re here,” JJ explains with a frown, patting Luke on the shoulder before leaving the group of gathered agents, solemn silence settling between them as the novelty of their youngest teammate’s boyfriend quickly wears off.
“He’s okay,” He repeats softly, reassuring himself, running his hands through his hair, sitting a few seats away from the team, forcing himself to breathe. “He’s safe. Spencer’s safe.”
The lights in the quiet room are dim, curtains drawn, the scene still and silent, almost peaceful, Spencer sitting in the bed looking small, staring at the opposite wall.
“Cariño?”
He looks up from his lap, eyes languidly tracking Luke across the room, watching his boyfriend sit beside him.
“Hey… how’re you feeling?”
Spencer doesn’t speak immediately, pulling his knees to his chest, somehow shrinking further into himself.
“I want to go home.” His voice is soft, barely a whisper, and hoarse, easily overpowered by the steady sounds of the machines and monitors surrounding him.
“I know, cariño, but the doctors want to keep you overnight for observation–”
“No!”
Luke frowns, watching his partner’s eyes widen wildly at the suggestion, holding his legs tighter as he presses himself against the headboard.
“I want to go home. Luke, please .”
He’s shaking, shoulders slumped protectively, gaze skirting around the edges of the room, looking for something in the shadows–
“Spence.” Luke leans forward, reaching for his partner’s hands–
“DON’T! Don’t touch me! Don’t–”
“Okay. Okay, I won’t touch you, Spence,” He pulls away, putting his hands in the air, keeping them in his partner’s sight. “I’m sorry. I should’ve asked. I won’t touch you.”
Spencer nods, seemingly relaxing as Luke speaks.
“I want to go home.”
“Okay,” The older brunette sighs, leaning back. “I will talk to the doctors if you’re honest with me–”
“I am.”
“Spencer– ”
“I’m not lying to you.”
“You don’t even know what I’m talking about–”
“It doesn’t matter because I’m not –”
“Spence,” Luke frowns, watching his partner itch his arm absent-mindedly, nails leaving faint red lines against pale and pallid skin. “I’m not a profiler, but I’m not stupid. I’m not judging, but to go home– to our home, I need you to be honest with me so I can help you.”
He bites his bottom lip, fumbling with the hem of the sweatshirt—probably Derek’s—he’s wearing, avoiding eye contact as he considers his options, calculating every outcome.
“My pockets.” Spencer nods to a plastic bag holding his things on a chair in the corner before sinking further into his sweater.
“Can I look?” He hums softly, watching his boyfriend cross the room, heart roaring, half of him wanting to shout at him to stop –
Both brunettes freeze as Luke’s hand brushes across the glass in his partner’s pockets, dread flooding the air, almost suffocating them as the vials clash, clinking together in his hands, the sound soft and melodic, making Spencer’s heart flutter with anticipation–
“Please don’t take them.”
He barely recognizes his voice as he begs, pleading with his boyfriend to let him have this—his sweet, secret solace.
“Spence–”
“Please, Luke. I need it–”
“I can’t– You can’t–”
“I need it, Luke. It helps,” Tears trickle, tumbling down his cheeks like the sprinkle before a storm, knuckles white and shaking around the blanket bunched in his fists. “ Please .”
“I can’t, cariño. I’m sorry,” A choked sound escapes Spencer’s lips, slipping around the lump in his throat, desperation drifting around him, clinging to his skin. “Spence–”
“I need a minute… please.”
“Okay,” Luke nods, frowning while his partner pulls his sweatshirt over his knees and pushes his hood up, burying himself in a trembling ball. “I’m going to update your team and try to talk with the doctors. Okay?”
“Don’t tell them,” He pauses halfway out the door, vials tapping together in his palm, lips in a tight line. “Please don’t tell my team.”
“Okay,” The older brunette breathes after a beat, watching his partner sigh with relief. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“They were his,” Spencer says from their kitchen, almost a week after he got discharged, the worst of his withdrawal symptoms clearing, leaving the younger brunette cold and exhausted, but his head clear. “The drugs; they were Tobias Hankel’s.”
In the living room, Luke frowns, setting the blanket he was folding on the couch to make eye contact with his partner across the countertop.
“He said they’d help, and god, they helped, Luke, and then I killed him, and I took them–”
“Spence–” He catches the beginning of his partner’s panic attack—chest heaving, shoulders tense, absently itching the irritated skin in the crook of his elbow—halving the distance between them.
“And now it’s always going to be there, and I’m ruined –”
“Hey– Hey. Look at me, cariño,” Luke stops himself before they connect, Spencer’s aversion to touch only heightened after everything. “You are not ruined, cariño–”
“Don’t lie to me–”
“I’m not. Spence, you are still brilliant and beautiful, and the same person I fell in love with–”
“No. No, I’m not–”
“Spencer,” He breaks the distance between them quickly, almost flinching when he cups his partner’s face, about to pull away and apologize, heart hammering, until Spencer leans into the touch, tears falling onto Luke’s fingertips. “I love you, and you aren’t ruined—you’re perfect—do you hear me? You aren’t broken, or stupid, or weak, and you are so much more than something that isn’t your fault; you are so strong, cariño. Do you hear me?”
Spencer nods, letting out a soft, shuddering sob before burying his face in the crook of his boyfriend’s neck.
“You’re perfect, cariño. I love you.”