Work Text:
“Luke–”
Spencer coughs, choking on blood as his partner slams his back against the brick wall, a cold hand with a crushing grip wrapping around his throat, unseeing eyes with an achingly unfamiliar gaze in overflowing amber he usually holds onto like a lifeline staring into his soul.
“Reid!”
The brunette’s fingers scramble to claw at Luke’s suffocating hold, shaking his head as he makes eye contact with Emily, her gun trained on the older agent.
“DON’T!” He shouts, his gaze returning to his partner, searching for a sign that he’s still in there, dark, dilated pupils staring back. “Come on, Luke, it’s me! Please. It’s me–”
The hand around his neck tightens, taking the last of his air, the desperate words dying before they leave his lips as darkness dances in the edges of his vision.
“Luke–”
Time seems to slow down in the seconds after he hears the first shot, unsure of the source until pain tears through his side, blade carving through his flesh before both of them fall, and everything goes dark.
He can’t breathe.
Luke is missing.
He can’t breathe, stumbling through the precinct on unsteady feet, staggering into the bathroom, and collapsing to his knees, expelling the meager contents of his mostly empty stomach.
Luke is missing.
He leans against the wall, his usually overactive brain ignoring statistics about the number of germs in public restrooms in favor of repeating one thing.
Luke is missing.
Luke is missing.
Luke is missing. Luke is missing. LukeismissingLukeismissingLukeismissing–
“Spence– Spence!” JJ is crouching in front of him, holding his trembling hands between hers, squeezing them slightly as he flinches, words finally reaching him under the waves of panic washing over him like the rising tide. “There you are. It’s okay, Spence, deep breaths–”
“Can’t– He’s missing. Gone. Can’t breathe– He’s gone– He–” Spencer sputters, eyes darting back and forth, adrenaline sending his senses into overdrive. “He’s gone. They took him. They took him. He’s gone–”
“I know you’re scared, Spence–”
“He’s drugging them, Jen, and torturing them—fucking with their heads— Luke is being– He–” He stops, taking in shuttered gasps, head spinning from the lack of oxygen, closing his eyes as he squeezes his friend’s hands.
“I know, Spence, but Luke is strong, and he knows we’re looking for him, that you are looking for him, and we won’t stop until he’s safe. We’ll find him, and then you’ll be there for him the whole time—he’ll never be alone—no matter what. Right?”
“Yeah– Yeah. He’s strong; he’ll be okay. The unsub doesn’t kill them. He won’t kill him unless he deviates–”
“He won’t, Spence, this guy is organized, and Luke knows that too. He’ll be okay.”
“He’ll be okay,” Spencer repeats with a nod. “He’ll be okay.”
He has to be; Spencer doesn’t know what he’ll do otherwise.
It’s dark and damp in the empty park Spencer sits in, staring into the distance, clutching his phone while he waits.
“The park you met—10 PM—come alone and unarmed.”
They didn’t get anything from the call, unable to place a trap and trace or pick up any sounds in the background that gave them something, anything.
“Or he dies.”
They don’t have enough information for anything else, forced to play into the unsubs hands, sending Spencer in as bait.
He never protested, only arguing when the higher-ups almost refused to let him go, desperate to do anything to see Luke again.
“Perimeter is clear, Spence,” Emily says through his comm, her voice level and calm with an edge of anxiety at the prospect of two of her agents, her friends, her family being in harm’s way. “Five minutes. We’ve got your back.”
Spencer stares at the package, holding it in shaky hands, staring at his name scrawled across the top.
Doctor Spencer Reid-Alvez.
He tears away the brown paper carefully, taking a step back with a gasp as the wrapping reveals a silver chain with dog tags– Luke’s dog tags in a plastic bag, blood staining the silver.
“Spence–”
He can’t breathe, staring at the chain on the table; the sight of it without his partner burned into his brain.
“His ring is missing.”
He stares at the spot where the band, almost identical to the one that sits on Spencer’s finger, save for a small nick on the side and the width—Spencer fell while chasing an unsub, the hand with his ring catching his fall against concrete, and Luke’s is slightly thicker—usually stays, the older agent unwilling to lose it in the field.
“They took his ring. They took it. It’s gone. It’s not here–”
“Spence–”
He’s spiraling again, he knows he is, but he can’t stop it, his nails digging into his palms until they draw blood, head spinning as he hyperventilates, imaging his husband where he’s been—in that little shack in Georgia, smelling burning fish hearts and livers, cold and utterly alone –
“Spencer–”
–but there’s no camera, no connection, no way of communicating with the rest of the world, nothing to keep him present, desperate to send a message, drifting into a haze of dissociation and drugs instead–
“Come on, Spence, open your eyes. Look at me.”
Fingers pry his fists open, making the brunette shutter as the suffocating air touches torn skin, eyes flying open, finding himself on the floor of the conference room.
“It’s a trophy, Spence,” Emily speaks softly, still holding the younger agent’s hands. “He takes trophies—symbols of love—but he doesn’t kill them. Luke is still alive–”
Spencer shakes his head, pulling his hands out of hers and sealing them over his ears; sounds and smells the click of a revolver, damp dirt, dust, everything—overwhelming his senses, the band around his finger burning the skin until he has to pry it off, holding clutching it in his bloody palms.
“We’re going to find him, Spence,” Emily murmurs a string of steady reassurances as her agent gasps, stuttering and stumbling over desperate sobs until his tears taper, eyes running dry, room lapsing into solemn silence until–
“Guys,” Penelope gasps, grabbing Spencer’s phone as it rings, the screen lighting up with Luke’s number—the call they’ve been waiting for. “It’s him.”
He remembers the first time they met.
Spencer remembers everything, but time still takes its toll on the strips of film filling his head, scenes losing some sounds and smells, leaving him staring at silent and detached pictures.
But that day is as clear and crisp as the leaves that littered the ground like scattered sunsets of scarlet, orange, and brown, the air cool and calm as chess clocks clicked, turns ticking on.
This is different, so different.
He doesn’t recognize his husband’s silhouette at first, shadow staggering over the hill until the soft glow of the lamps’ lights illuminates the stained, golden skin he knows every inch of.
“Luke…?”
And then he catches the soft glint in his hand, metal shining, reflecting the starts in Luke’s grasp, gaze locked on the blade until Spencer can see his partner’s dilated pupils–
“Luke?”
“‘Pence…?”
JJ looks up from her messages with Emily as her friend speaks, voice soft and scratchy, entire body tensing as Luke pries his eyes open, panic washing over him as he pulls on the soft restraints around his wrists.
“Hey– Hey, Luke, look at me.” She’s by his side in a second, drawing the disoriented agent’s attention away from the soft cuffs around his wrists.
“JJ? What–”
“It’s okay. Everything’s okay. Take it easy. Breathe, Luke. I will explain everything, but I need you to breathe. Okay?” He nods, taking stuttered, staccato breaths as he looks away, studying the machines surrounding him, pausing at the chain on the table beside him, missing the most important piece–
“What happened to me?” Luke looks up at her, catching how the blonde’s mask of calm slips for just a split second. “JJ, what did I do?”
It happens too fast.
Suddenly, he’s running, sprinting down the streets, listening to the sound of his partner’s feet hitting the concrete behind him.
“Spence? What’s going on?”
He doesn’t answer, lungs aching, on fire from the strain, only focused on escaping–
“Reid!”
“Don’t shoot him!” Spencer chokes, stumbling over his feet before turning a sharp corner. “Whatever you do—Do. Not. Shoot.”
“Spence–”
Pain shoots through his body as he falls against the pavement, skin ripping on sharp rocks waiting where he lands.
“Don’t fucking shoot, Em!” He nearly screams into the comms, staggering to his feet to face his partner, Luke’s eyes empty and unseeing—unrecognizing—as he lunges towards the younger brunette. “EMILY–”
“Okay! Okay—standing down—Spence–”
More agony cuts Emily off, exploding through him as his husband slams him against the ground, something in him shattering–
“Luke–!”
He scrambles to his feet, staggering back, taking shuddering gasps as he glances between Luke and his comm on the ground.
“Luke, come on, look at me–”
Spencer ducks out of the way as his partner dives toward him, knife nicking his shoulder as his movement stutters, hearing someone shout his name in the distance.
“Spence!”
“Stay back!”
He can’t win this fight.
“Spencer!”
Even if he was willing to hurt his husband, he could never overpower him.
“Luke!”
Luke’s movements are ragged and desperate, a result of the drugs coursing through his system, not the smooth and seamless motions Spencer has memorized from mandatory hand-to-hand combat practice, and if it were anyone else—anyone who didn’t train with their partner, probably going easy on them—they could disarm and pin him easily–
“Luke! Please –”
–but Spencer can’t, hot tears burning in his eyes, blurring his vision, every ounce of understanding, knowing that this isn’t the man he married, flying out the window as his partner stands before him.
“I’m sorry.”
But he also can’t lose, can’t let Luke hurt him how the drugs want him to, can’t let him wake up to that –
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry–”
He’s stuck.
Spencer is awake by the time the unit chief has dealt with the diplomatic mess two married FBI agents fighting in the street made, and Emily is starting to think he’d rise from the dead to chew her out if he could.
“Reid–”
Derek is by his side, silent as his friend’s anger unfolds.
“I told you not to shoot him.”
His ring has returned to his finger following his surgery, almost as if it never left, a testament to Spencer’s resolve—his unrelenting adoration for his partner.
“Spencer, he was going to kill you–”
“He wouldn’t have.”
“He almost did!” The younger brunette clenches his jaw, clasping his left hand around his right, hiding the finger that holds his ring. “I know it wasn’t him, Spence—that wasn’t Luke—and because of that, he almost killed you; I don’t blame him, but it’s true.”
Spencer is silent for a second, staring at his boss—not his friend, not right now—lips pressed into a tight line.
“I could’ve gotten through to him–”
“No, Spence, you couldn’t have,” He opens his mouth to interrupt, but Emily stops him. “Your emotions are clouding your judgment, Spencer, and I don’t blame you. You love him—he’s your husband —but I know part of you understands that your love is keeping you from seeing this rationally; part of you knows that you couldn’t have gotten through to him, not with the drugs that were in his system.”
Spencer frowns, glancing at Derek with a sigh.
“How is he?” He asks after a second, fidgeting with his ring as he stares at the stuffed bear Penelope got him.
“He’s been in and out. Tara’s been with him for a while, and JJ just took over to give her time to rest, but we’ll probably have to wait for him to sober up to see how he’s doing,” Emily reports, watching her agent for any tension as she talks. “His doctors are monitoring him closely and trying to keep the medication they give him to a minimum. I hit him in the thigh, and the bullet went through and through cleanly; he’ll probably recover faster than you.”
“Okay,” Spencer nods, chewing on his bottom lip as he processes, making a mental note of everything. “Keep me updated?”
“Of course.”
“Luke–”
Spencer coughs, choking on blood as his partner slams his back against the brick wall, a cold hand with a crushing grip wrapping around his throat, unseeing eyes with an achingly unfamiliar gaze in overflowing amber he usually holds onto like a lifeline staring into his soul.
“Reid!”
The brunette’s fingers scramble to claw at Luke’s suffocating hold, shaking his head as he makes eye contact with Emily, her gun trained on the older agent.
“DON’T!” He shouts, his gaze returning to his partner, searching for a sign that he’s still in there, dark, dilated pupils staring back. “Come on, Luke, it’s me! Please. It’s me–”
The hand around his neck tightens, taking the last of his air, the desperate words dying before they leave his lips as darkness dances in the edges of his vision.
“Luke–”
Time seems to slow down in the seconds after he hears the first shot, unsure of the source until pain tears through his side, blade carving through his flesh before both of them fall, and everything goes dark.
Luke’s shoulders are tense, trembling hands clenching the blanket in his lap as Spencer turns the corner, steps staggering as he sees his husband.
“Cariño–”
He breaks the short distance between them in a second, practically lunging into the older brunette’s arms, burying his face in Luke’s neck.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry–” Spencer’s tears soak his skin, seeping into the collar of his shirt.
“Don’t apologize, cariño. Please don’t apologize. It’s not your fault,” Luke’s hand rests on his partner’s back, their arms intertwining like two halves of a whole slotting together. “I’m sorry for scaring you, Spence. You know I would never hurt you if I could help it—right?”
“I know,” Spencer nods as Luke peppers gentle kisses across his hairline. “It wasn’t you; I know.”
“Okay—good—because it’s true, Spence. I would never hurt you.”
The younger agent hums happily, leaning against his husband’s chest, listening to his heart as he takes Luke’s hand, slipping a silver band around his finger.
“I know,” He smiles softly, kissing his partner’s jaw, relishing the familiar feeling of stubble against his skin. “I know. I love you.”