Chapter Text
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Thursday, 12th March, 2015
Spencer liked to think of himself as logical, calculating, able to think critically about situations and decisions with little regard for emotional input. His work as a scientist and profiler meant he could detach himself from his feelings, trying to think about things rationally when he thought he might be getting too close to the situation.
However, he knew deep down he was emotional, and sensitive. His mom always used to tell him these were not traits to be feared, rather it made him considerate and kind where a lot of people were not.
“Feeling isn’t a bad thing, Spencer,” She murmured with a gentle smile, tucking some of his hair behind his ear, “It means you’re human.”
He often found his emotions hard to deal with. Years of growing up without someone to confide in, shouldering the burden of emotional and physical responsibility for him and his mom meant he often didn’t know how to deal with his feelings. He didn’t like feeling out of control, so he buried them down, refusing to acknowledge it.
It almost never worked, so he’d start picking his feelings apart methodically, analyzing them scientifically to figure out the catalyst, a methodology for dealing with it and his resulting reaction. That worked most of the time, but sometimes the emotion would spill out of him before he could come to a conclusion, in tears or anger or both.
When Ethan had first moved to D.C., and Spencer had thought maybe they were going on a date, he’d had a brief moment of guilt. He’d not had a chance to focus on it too much before he figured out (incorrectly), that it wasn’t a date.
When he’d found out that they had in fact been dating for three months, he’d been ruthlessly teased by his team. He had taken it begrudgingly, slightly panicked about his ability to profile correctly, but mostly pleased when he and Ethan had finally talked things through.
Still, he had this nagging guilt again. One of the reasons he was so worried about the fact that he was three months behind Ethan was that he’d not had enough time to think reasonably about what being in a relationship meant for him.
The last person he had-
Maeve .
“Spence?” JJ breaks him out of his stupor, “Any thoughts?”
Spencer blinks, and realizes that he’s drifted off in the middle of the briefing for their new case. The rumble of the jet is background noise to the shuffling of files, and all of the team are looking at him, waiting patiently.
“Sorry,” He clears his throat, “I don’t think the stab wounds have come from a knife.”
He flips one of the pictures round and taps it with his finger, and they all squint at it.
“I think it’s something longer, and sharper, propelled from a larger distance,” He explains, setting the file down again and rotating his watch around his wrist absentmindedly, “I’d need to talk to the M.E. to find out more.”
Hotch nods at him, “Okay, when we land Reid and Morgan, you guys head to the M.E’s office. JJ and Rossi head to the latest crime scene, and Prentiss and I will coordinate with the local police to find out more about the Hayden family.”
When they land they all disperse into their respective SUV’s, and Morgan automatically gets into the driver's seat. Spencer slides into the passenger seat and flips open his file again, chewing on his lip.
“It just doesn’t make any sense,” He mutters, frowning, “Their wounds look like they’ve been inflicted from a distance, but Kelly and Michael Hayden were murdered in their beds.”
Spencer places the file down on his lap, tucking some of his hair that had fallen down into his eyes behind his ear. Morgan taps his thumb against the steering wheel, looking at him briefly.
“Unless they were stabbed somewhere else,” He offers, “Hopefully the M.E can tell us more.”
Spencer hums, shutting the file before taking a sip of his coffee, looking out the window. It's a nice day, they're in Miami and since it's March the weather is slightly warm and sunny, a stark contrast to the seemingly never-ending cold they were used to in Quantico.
“Are you alright?” Derek questions, making him turn to the other man.
Derek’s tone is light but Spencer knows he is aware of Spencer’s distraction. As much as he appreciates his concern, and the idea that Derek was constantly looking out for him, sometimes it got a bit exhausting, constantly reassuring him that he was fine.
“Yes,” Spencer answers, rolling his eyes, “I’m fine, why?”
Derek clicks his tongue, taking a sharp inhale in, smiling guiltily.
“Sorry, kid,” He replies, “You just seem distracted.”
If Spencer had pinpointed what was bothering him, he probably would have confided in Derek. Despite his teasing he had good advice, and he cared about Reid. However, he didn’t really know what he wanted to say just yet.
All the team had been with him when Maeve had died. They’d watched him grieve. But they hadn’t known what he and Maeve were. Spencer barely knew what he and Maeve were. He didn’t know how to begin to tell them what she meant to him, and why he was feeling so bad.
“I’m fine, really,” He mutters eventually.
Derek’s eyes slide over to him again, and he doesn’t say anything this time, but his lips purse slightly like he still doesn’t believe him. Spencer can’t help but smile at the other man.
“You worry too much,” He observes, and Derek glares at him.
“You tell anyone and I will end you.”
Spencer grins, shaking his head and looking out the window once more.
---
Monday, 9th April, 2012
He could hear voices from outside. Soft, and feminine. He focused a little harder, and recognized the voice as JJ. And Penelope. Rustling. Probably another basket.
“Spence?” The voice came a little clearer, “Listen, if you’re in there, we just want to know if you’re alright.”
Alright? Was he alright? He hadn’t showered in days, and he’d spent the last two weeks eating dry cereal and listening to Massenet's ‘Méditation’. Maeve had once told him that she’d performed the piece on violin at one of her school’s talent shows, winning first place. Every time his record player had skipped, he’d put the needle back and listen again. He’d barely slept, and he couldn’t get the images out of his head that plagued him when he did finally drift off.
“Knock twice if you’re conscious.” Penelope sounded a little desperate, voice wavering slightly.
Spencer stood, feeling a little woozy from all the blood rushing to his head, and slowly padded over to the door. He didn’t open it, instead sinking to the floor again. He didn’t want to see anyone, or anyone to see him, but knowing that they were just on the other side of the door was making him feel slightly better.
He lifted a hand and knocked against the door twice, heavy. Even that felt tiring, and he let his hand flop back down next to him again. He could hear soft murmuring once more, but was too exhausted to focus on it, instead letting the voices wash over him.
“-we’re all here for him,” JJ called through the door, “No matter what.”
“What she said.”
Spencer let his knees fall, socks sliding easily against the hardwood floor as he stretched his legs out. He felt clammy, and his hair was unwashed and falling in his face messily, but he couldn’t bring himself to brush it back.
He knew that they were all there for him. Hotch had told him to take however long he needed, and Penelope had been around what seemed like every day with a new basket. JJ had stopped a few times as well, each time knocking and talking softly at him through the door. Derek had called him and left numerous voicemails, sometimes the ringing would cut through his haze and he would listen to the message that he’d leave.
He didn’t know how to face any of them. He didn’t want to get better. Getting better would mean moving on. He didn’t want to move on from Maeve. None of them had been aware of what he and Maeve were, until the day that she died. How could he tell them about how he was feeling, if they hadn’t even known what she had meant to him?
He heard the tell-tale sign of their heels as they walked away, down the stairs, getting fainter and fainter. Their voices drifted away, leaving him alone once more, with only the static from his record player filling the silence.
With all his effort, he stood again, shuffling back towards the couch once more. He picked up his copy of ‘The Narrative of John Smith’, slumping down, cradling the book to his chest as he let his body fall horizontally.
He hugged the book tight. Maeve had touched this book. Her hands would have traced the front cover, fingers holding the front page steady as she wrote in the quote from Thomas Merton. She had wrapped it. Spencer had never got to touch Maeve, holding this book that she had touched, held with such care, was the closest he was going to get.
He let his eyes flutter closed, chest feeling tight and breathing sharp. He didn’t think he’d ever felt pain quite like this.
---
Wednesday, 18th March, 2015
“Did you want a drink?”
“Yes please,” Ethan replies, “Just water is fine.”
Spencer moves to his sink with two glasses from his cupboard, letting the tap run cold for a moment before filling them. They’ve just been out for dinner, and Ethan’s come back to his apartment since it was still early enough and the rain had been too heavy for them to wander around in the way they usually would.
“Your music selection is dire,” Ethan calls from his living room, “You have way too much classical.”
Spencer turns away from the sink to see Ethan looking at his stack of records on one of his shelves, fingers idly flipping through them. He sets the glasses on the coffee table, straightening up to frown at the other man.
“I like classical music,” He states, “Did you know that classical music has been found to enhance the areas of the brain that are associated with dopamine production, learning and memory?”
The corner of Ethan’s mouth ticks up, his eyes crinkling slightly as his fond gaze lands on Spencer.
“I didn’t know that.” He could’ve been mocking, but he isn’t.
He turns back to the shelf again, and Spencer takes that as an invitation to sit down whilst the other man peruses his shelf, pulling his feet up onto the couch.
“And weirdly,” Ethan starts, slipping a vinyl sleeve off the shelf and flipping it over so that Spencer can see it, “You have a lot of Nirvana.”
Elle had given him a few Nirvana records over their time together at the BAU. She had claimed that it wasn’t possible to not enjoy Nirvana, and given him the records to try them out. He’d not disliked it.
However, the albums had been effectively ruined for him in the height of his addiction when he’d chosen to shoot up in the comfort of the songs, not wanting to spoil the association with any of his favorite composers. He swallows around the bitter taste in his mouth, shaking away memories of his ragged breaths as he had slumped against the walls of his bedroom, heart in his mouth but mind blissfully blank.
He doesn’t want Ethan to know about any of that, so he smiles a little too innocently, shrugging one shoulder.
“I’m a diverse man with diverse tastes.”
Ethan laughs at that, slipping the record back onto the shelf before plucking another one off and reading it.
“Don’t I know it,” He raises an eyebrow at Spencer coyly, and Spencer grins back.
Ethan moves over to his record player, slipping the vinyl out of the sleeve before placing it on the turntable, lifting the needle and placing it down again. Smooth piano music started flowing, and Spencer recognizes it as one of his more modern pieces, easy to listen to and not so slow that it was melancholy but not too fast as to be lively.
He flops down on the couch next to Spencer, close enough that they were pressing against one another, and Spencer can feel his heat. The slow music, Ethan’s soft breathing and the patter of rain against the windows fills the silence easily.
“So, are you going to tell me?” Ethan’s rumble cuts through Spencer’s warmth, his head lolling towards him with a lazy smile on his face.
“Hm?”
“Nirvana?” He probes, “Why do you have them?”
Spencer shrugs, leaning forward and grasping his glass, taking a sip before settling back again.
“A friend gave them to me,” He says evasively, and Ethan’s eyes are far too knowing for Spencer’s liking.
Ethan has no way of knowing about him and Elle, but Spencer can’t help but get the feeling that he does. He’s not embarrassed, but he thought it probably wasn’t the time to bring up his casual agreement with Elle.
“A friend?” He echoes with a smirk, “Did you enjoy the music?”
“It was alright,” He answers again, putting his glass back to avoid Ethan’s gaze, although he can still feel it hot on his back, “Not really my thing.”
Desperation. Tightness in his chest. Feeling frantic as his belt closes around his arm.
Spencer bites the inside of his cheek hard, tasting blood, and focuses instead on Ethan’s foot which is tapping along to the music.
“What about you?”
Ethan is looking at him so intensely, Spencer can’t help but squirm even though he was the one that asked the question. His hand reaches out and touches Spencer’s wrist, fingers lightly dancing across his skin, before linking their hands together.
“Eh,” He mumbles indifferently, “Not really my thing either.”
He’s tracing patterns on the insides of Spencer’s palm, and goosebumps flesh out on his arms, feeling slightly ticklish.
“I’d prefer to listen to ABBA.” He comments, with a smile tugging at his lips and Spencer can’t help but snort, because he remembers the days of coming home from the library to music spilling out from under their bathroom door, Ethan’s voice accompanying intermittently over the hiss of the shower.
Maeve had liked ABBA. She had told him once, when she was on a call with him, how her mom used to play their greatest hits album when they dedicated a day to spring cleaning their house. She had said that whenever she wanted to feel productive, she would play their greatest hits, and feel more motivated.
“You should try it,” Her voice sounded slightly teasing, but in a more gentle way than the teasing Spencer was used to. He couldn’t help but smile at her over the phone, he was pretty sure he’d try anything that Maeve would ask of him.
“Maybe I will.”
Spencer doesn't realize his face had fallen into a frown until Ethan squeezes his hand, and he is being broken out of his thoughts.
“Where’d you go?” Ethan murmurs.
“Sorry, just thinking.”
“Do you ever stop?” Spencer cracks a smile, dismissing his thoughts almost entirely as he turns back to look at Ethan.
The other man seems more than content to not push Spencer’s lapse in attention, slotting their hands together, squeezing once more.
“Not really,” Spencer admits, even though he is aware that Ethan knows how hard it is for Spencer to shut his brain off.
Ethan’s face seems much closer, even though neither of them have moved. Spencer’s gaze drops to his lips, and Ethan’s tongue swipes out to wet them, making Spencer feel slightly warm under his collar.
“You could-” Spencer breaks off, swallowing, Ethan’s eyes were searching him eagerly and his hand had stopped tracing patterns on Spencer’s hand, “You could try though.”
Ethan’s head tilts slightly, lips parting minutely, Spencer can’t seem to take his eyes off of them.
“What?” Ethan breathes, obviously slightly confused, eyebrows knitting together slightly but eyes never leaving Spencer. He's breathing slightly heavier, and Spencer feels as though the air is very thick, although he doesn’t feel suffocated by it in the slightest.
“You could try to stop me from thinking.” Spencer’s voice is low, quiet, and he too is slightly breathy. They’re inches apart, the piano music almost falling away in their intensity.
The corners of Ethan’s mouth tick up, and he brings his hand up to Spencer’s jaw, tilting his head slightly so that Ethan can capture his lips with his own. Spencer hums into the kiss instantly, grasping onto the other man’s shoulder as he responds eagerly.
He pulls away from Spencer, and his pupils are blown slightly, chest rising and falling sharply with a large smile on his lips. Spencer can’t do anything but look back at him, feeling equally breathless.
“I can certainly give it a go,” Ethan rumbles, eyes twinkling. A laugh bursts out of Spencer’s lips as he tugs the other man back down once more.
---
Friday, 20th March, 2015
The issue is, he really likes Ethan. He wants to be with Ethan. He is with Ethan. However, when he had been grieving Maeve-
First grieving Maeve? He isn’t really sure, he still feels as though he is grieving her now. When Maeve had died, Spencer had sworn he was never going to fall in love again. He has refused to even entertain the idea that he could be in a relationship with anyone else.
It was childish, certainly, and a little unrealistic. But, he’d been angry at himself and anguished over the death of the one person he had actually fallen in love with. He had imagined Maeve at the time, when he was un-showered and wasting away in his dark flat, telling him off for allowing himself to think this way.
“Come on, Spencer.” She tutted, rolling her eyes, “I might have driven you up the wall. We might have disagreed on something major. I never hang my towels up, I know that would have annoyed you.”
“You wouldn’t have annoyed me,” He argued back petulantly, “We would have been perfect.”
He knew logically that it wasn't true, but he was depressed and hadn’t slept in days.
“People are imperfect, it’s just a fact,” She said sweetly, smiling at him, “You have to love again, it’ll be a lonely life otherwise.”
Spencer wanted to counter and say he was used to being lonely, he could be lonely again. He wanted to plead for her forgiveness, listen to her talk some more, but his record had finished. When the static crackling started up as ‘Méditation’ by Massenet faded out, Maeve disappeared, leaving him alone once more.
Maeve hadn’t shown up since. He thinks about what she said a lot, even though he knows in the back of his mind that it wasn’t actually her talking to him. The memories of Maeve don’t get any more palatable to relive, but as the days crawl by his chest feels ever so slightly less crushed at the thought of her.
He hadn't really thought about being romantically involved with anyone else until Ethan had called him to tell him he was moving to D.C.. Which brings him to his current feelings of guilt:
He feels guilty for liking someone else. He feels like he is cheating on Maeve, which is a bit ridiculous because he can’t cheat on Maeve. He also doesn’t want Maeve to think he has forgotten about her, which again, was futile, because Maeve is dead and therefore can’t think.
He also feels guilty for Ethan. What if he never loves Ethan the way he had loved Maeve? Ethan deserves someone who is prepared to give him everything and more, and what if Spencer can’t ever provide that?
He doesn’t know how to express these feelings. Even if he did, he doesn’t know who he could tell this to. How can he tell someone that he thinks that the love of his life is dead, and no one else can compare?
He swallows thickly. He can’t even think the words without feeling nauseous.
“Cookie, Spence?” Penelope smiles warmly at him, holding out a chocolate chip cookie on a napkin.
“Yeah, thank you.” He accepts the napkin, taking a small bite of the baked good and giving the appropriate level of praise that Penelope is looking for.
He can see Derek eyeing him, brow knitted together just enough that Spencer knows the man has been watching him lost in though. He offers a quick, reassuring smile, hoping to dispel his worries, but if anything he looks more concerned.
Spencer turns back to his work, grasping his pen tighter and writing at twice the speed before he can be probed at all, the guilt settling uncomfortably in his stomach.
---
Friday, 27th March, 2015
North Dakota is cold. Spencer can only handle a certain amount of snow and rain, and so far they haven’t had a day on their newest case where it hasn’t snowed, despite it being late March. He's wrapped in two jumpers inside the precinct, working on the geographical profile.
“Why is it so goddamn cold?” Emily’s voice alerts him that he’s no longer alone. He looks up, and sees the brunette is with JJ, and they both shuck off wet coats, rubbing their hands together and grabbing cups of coffee from a carrier that has appeared on the table.
“Fargo can get as cold as minus two in January,” Spencer comments lightly as he presses another pin into his map.
“Well, let’s be glad our case is in March then,” Emily responds wryly, before shuddering again, taking a sip out of her cup, “How’s the map looking?”
Spencer steps back, appraisingly, and takes the coffee cup that JJ offers. He’s already had three cups of the coffee in the precinct but it was lukewarm and bitter, this one is perfectly sweetened so he takes a large mouthful before beginning to explain.
“I think our unsub lives in this circle,” He gestures to the overlapping circle on the map, “But I think he’s working here,” He points to another triangle, “I got the lab to run the samples of the paint found on the victims and it was car paint, there’s two auto body shops in the area so I’ve asked Garcia to pull a list of employees. What did you find from the victims' families?”
“All good people, good lives, nobody that wanted to hurt them,” JJ sighs, smoothing her hair back.
Spencer returns to his map, grabbing his pencil and a stack of post it tabs. Emily and JJ start flicking through the files that Garcia had sent over for the victims' lives, and they are quiet for a moment.
“What’s the date today?” JJ asks absentmindedly after a few minutes of her and Emily murmuring forwards and backwards.
“March 27th.” Spencer’s reply is instantaneous, and he watches as both women look at each other for just a moment, and then back at him. He turns away.
“The 27th of…” JJ trails off, and Spencer feels his stomach clench, “Isn’t that the day that-”
“Yes.” His voice is quiet, and he lowers his hand from the board, swallowing thickly.
Maeve had died in front of him on this day. He has been aware of each day that passed as they occurred, each one just as heavy as the one before. Three years doesn’t feel like it held any more significance to him than two years and 364 days had. She is still dead, and she had still taken what felt like an entire piece of him with her.
“Are you okay?” Emily’s voice cuts through his haze, softly.
He doesn’t respond for a moment, pushing a pin that was stuck halfway as far as it could go into the board, leaving him a round indent on his thumb. He rubs it with his index finger, trying to make it disappear.
Finally, he shrugs.
“It’s 1095 days today,” He mutters, turning to grab his file, “It’s just as hard as 1094.”
The two women don’t respond, although he can tell that their eyes are on him because he can feel it. He looks up at them, shrugging one shoulder again before turning back to the board and flicking his file open.
“I’m sorry,” JJ whispers.
Spencer never knows what to say when someone tells him they are sorry in regards to Maeve. It wasn’t their fault, there was nothing they could do. He shrugs a third time, taking a sip of his coffee.
“If Damien Webster was found here…”
He directs them back to working, exchanging ideas back and forth. Even when Rossi, Morgan and Hotch return, he can see JJ and Emily throwing him glances as if they expect him to break down any minute.
If the others pick up on it, they don’t say anything, letting Spencer talk about what he’s found as he usually would.
---
Saturday, 28th March, 2015
Soft music fills the large room, bouncing off the tall ceiling with a slight scratch from the record player. He’s familiar with this room at the University of Oxford. It’s where he meets Maeve. She’s wearing what she always wears, her blue shirt and gray cardigan, but she still takes Spencer’s breath away like this was the first time he was seeing her.
He still doesn’t really know how to dance, so they’re mostly just swaying to the music, and his arms are tight around her waist, her head tucked on her shoulder and into his neck. She smells like lavender.
“Do you like this music?” She questions softly, her thumb rubbing circles on his back. It takes him a little while to recognize that she’d asked him a question.
“Yes,” He answers with a small smile, he likes this song because it’s the one he dances with Maeve to, “Do you?”
She pulls her head away to look at him, her dark blue eyes are shining at him kindly. She has such beautiful eyes. She smiles at him, one dimple showing in her left cheek. He can’t help but smile back widely, hands tightening reflexively around her waist.
But then, her eyes go hard, and her smile drops.
“I did,” She spits at him, pulling her hands away from the back of his neck, “Until I got shot in the head.”
Spencer gasps, feeling doused in cold as she pushes him away. Her gray cardigan is stained with blood, and when Spencer looks up it’s coming from her head, pouring down her face. She’s crying too, her eyelashes are clumped together with tears and her breaths are coming fast.
“I’m sorry-” Spencer chokes, reaching out for her, wanting to touch her again.
“Sorry?” She snarls, blood spitting out of her lips and the specks land on his face, “Sorry is not going to bring me back!”
“I’m sorry-” It’s all Spencer seems to be able to say, and a sob wrenches out of him because she’s looking at him with so much hate he can’t stomach it.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”
“Spencer,” She says, shouting, eyes fiery. He’s still reaching for her, but he can’t seem to touch her again, she seems to be just out of his grasp even though she’s stood dead still and staring gormlessly at him.
“I’m sorry.”
“Spencer,” She’s louder, more insistent and he doesn’t know what she wants. He feels frantic, tripping over his own feet as he runs to try and grab her, because she’s pale and dying in front of him.
“Maeve-” What does she want? Why won’t she come to him?
“Spencer!”
Spencer shoots up, throat feeling tight and he pants out breaths as his eyes adjust to the dim light in the room. He’s clammy and shivering, and for a moment he’s unsure where he is. His distressed searching figures out that he's in a twin bed in a hotel room, and a lamp to his left is casting orange light across another bed that’s also unmade.
He’s on a case. In North Dakota.
“Kid, you alright?” It’s Derek that has woken him up, which makes sense because that's who he was sharing a room with. His hand is still on Spencer’s shoulder, presumably from where he had shaken him to wake him up, and Spencer thinks he must be talking again but he’s not listening, Maeve’s pale face still forefront in his mind. He takes in a few gulps of air, pushing his hair back with his sweaty hand.
Spencer shoves the comforter of his bed and swings his legs out quickly, moving away from Derek as he pads over to his bag. He scrubs at his eyes which are wet.
“Yeah,” He mutters, “Sorry for waking you up.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Derek says, although his tone is careful, “Are you okay?”
Spencer wants to snap that Derek has already asked that, and changing one word isn’t going to make Spencer feel any more open, but he knows that he’s only trying to help.
“Yes,” He replies more firmly, pulling a new shirt out of his bag since he’d fallen asleep in a sweatshirt that was now drenched in sweat.
“You were dreaming about Maeve.”
Spencer stills slightly, and wipes the rest of his tears off his face as subtly as he can. It's a futile gesture, because the other man has already seen. He doesn’t want to talk about this with Derek. Although he had felt a lot better when he had reached out to ask them for help to clean his flat, and since then the team had offered him unwavering support in his grief, this wasn’t the same. He doesn't want to share his biggest fear:
That he doesn’t deserve anyone else after what happened to Maeve.
“Yes,” He says again, beginning to pull out his clothes for the day, since the sun was now peeking through the curtains and he’d probably have to get to the precinct soon anyway. He doesn't say anything else.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” Derek probes instantly, and when Spencer is forced to turn around because he needs to head to the bathroom to change, he sees that Derek’s eyebrows are raised and his eyes are trailing Spencer’s movements.
He feels a bit childish, standing with his clothes clutched to his chest and the sweat still dampening on his hairline, heart pounding and mouth dry. Derek wouldn’t judge him. Derek would offer support.
“No,” He says instead, striding into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him firmly.
---
Monday, 30th March, 2015
The case comes to an end two days later, and although they’re going to get back pretty late, they fly back the same evening. The case didn’t end badly, but they’re all tired and so everyone is keeping to themselves on the jet home. His phone buzzes on the table in front of him, and he swipes open the message instantly.
Hey, did you want to go for breakfast tomorrow? X
Spencer swallows thickly reading the message from Ethan. His dream about Maeve is still in his head as if he had just woken up, and he doesn’t think that if he sees Ethan he will be able to convincingly pretend that he is okay. He closes his phone irritably. He's not slept since his dream, worried he'd see it again, so he's feeling his fatigue deep in his bones.
He’s re-reading ‘The narrative of John Smith’ once again, just because he’s still feeling listless and he wants to feel closer to Maeve. He’s right at the back of the plane, in one of the seats that’s facing away from the team, so he doesn’t notice straight away that Hotch is heading towards him until the man is settling down into the seat opposite Spencer.
Spencer lowers his book, eyeing the other man who looks tired but just as he always does, looking so put together it’s like he’s not taken down a deranged psychopath hours earlier.
“Did Derek send you?” His voice is slightly raspy from disuse, and the question makes Hotch smile ever so slightly.
“No.”
“JJ?” Spencer questions, “Emily?”
He figures it was one of them that asked Hotch to talk to Spencer. Although Hotch, on paper, has to maintain a level of professionalism with his team, he’s usually very good at getting the team to talk about whatever is bothering them in one way or another.
“No,” Hotch responds again, easily, and Spencer genuinely thinks the man is being truthful, “I know that it was the anniversary of Maeve’s death recently, right?”
Spencer nods slowly, “On Friday.”
“I just wanted to see how you were doing.” The other man doesn’t take his eyes off Spencer. Hotch’s gaze is always intense, but otherwise the man seems casual, his posture relaxed.
Spencer doesn’t really know what to say. It’s one thing not confiding in Derek, Emily, or JJ. Lying or putting up a front is much easier with them. It feels wrong to openly lie to Hotch.
“I don’t know,” Is what Spencer settles on, voice very quiet. Hotch doesn’t say anything for a moment.
“The day after it was the two year anniversary of the day Haley died, I found a box of recipes that she’d saved of birthday cakes for Jack,” The corner of his mouth lifts up, but he says it with an air of sadness, “On one page, for a berry cheesecake, she’d put a post it note on it that just said ‘Aaron’ with a question mark. I’m not a massive fan of regular cake, so it would have been perfect for me.” His eyes shift away from Spencer to the table.
Spencer feels slightly winded listening to Hotch talk. It was no secret that the older man was extremely private, and so learning facts about Hotch as a person, as well as his personal life, feels like he is learning something incredibly important and sensitive.
“I completely lost it,” Hotch admits, eyes meeting his own again, “I was so angry. And sad. And guilty. And I didn’t feel as though I could tell anyone,” He breathes in a little deeper than the breath before, “Because the day before, I’d had this influx of people giving me well wishes and asking me how I was doing, and on that day everyone had resumed their lives like normal.”
Spencer understands so viscerally. Although he is so sure that if he confides in anyone on his team about how he was feeling about Maeve, they would all be more than willing to listen. It is, however, unlikely that any of them would think to ask how he was doing so far away from any significant date.
They have all lost someone. All of them know, personally, that grief never really goes away. If asked, they would all know that losing someone hurts any time of the year. It doesn’t make it any easier when everyone resumes their lives, assuming that you are moving on with yours as well.
“I’m sorry,” Spencer says.
“You can talk to us about her Spencer,” Hotch redirects, “Is what I’m trying to say. Any time.”
“I know,” He murmurs uncomfortably. He would, if he knew what to say. All he can think of is Ethan, and how he’d laughed the other night with Spencer, totally unaware that Spencer was wracked with guilt all night.
“What’s stopping you?” He asks, hands folding on top of his leg that was folded over the other.
Spencer feels heat rise under his collar. Talking about Ethan to his boss felt incredibly unprofessional, especially since it was only two weeks ago he was being ruthlessly teased for not having known that he was in a three-month long relationship.
“Ethan?” Hotch guesses, and Spencer is reminded that the man profiles for a living. His parted lips must’ve given away his surprise at being called out so easily, and Hotch gives him a knowing look.
“It’s not that-” Spencer cuts himself off sharply, swallowing, “How did you know you were ready to be with someone else?”
He feels his face burn. It’s such a personal question. Hotch is not forthcoming with details about his romantic life, so Spencer fully expects to be shut down, especially since the other man presses his lips together ever so slightly. Which is why he’s so surprised when Hotch is talking again:
“I didn’t,” He sounds honest, “I still don’t.”
“I feel guilty.” Spencer hates how pathetic his voice comes out, cracking and he has to look away from Hotch because his eyes are hot and he absolutely refuses to cry in front of the other man.
“I think,” Hotch starts after a moment, “I think that those who love us would want us to love, and to be loved again.”
It settles weightily on his chest, and his hands tighten around his book so tightly he has to set it down on the table in front of him, because he’s worried he might tear the dust cover. When the atmosphere feels less intense, he looks back at the older man who looks pensive as well.
“What if she was it?” Spencer whispers, “What if she was the one person I was meant to spend the rest of my life with? I couldn’t do that to Ethan…”
“I don’t know, Reid,” Hotch replies, “I didn’t know Maeve. And I didn’t know what you guys shared. What I do know is that Ethan is a good man, and you deserve to be happy."
Spencer does have to blink away tears this time, cheeks feeling flushed and breathing slightly heavier to combat the rush of emotion he is feeling. One tear escapes and he brushes it away quickly. He blames his tiredness for his inability to control his emotions, but deep down he knows this has been building for a while.
He nods shakily at Hotch when he’s sure no more tears will fall.
“You don’t even know Ethan,” Spencer’s smile is wobbly, and Hotch has a wry smile when he stands again.
“Garcia looked him up the minute she found out about him to check that he was clean,” His voice is still hushed enough no one will be able to hear, “I’ve had the full run down.”
Spencer laughs slightly wetly, using his thumb to catch the tear that’s gathering in the corner of his eye.
He’s still exhausted, both physically and emotionally, but when Hotch pats his shoulder as he leaves Spencer alone once more, he feels less devastated when he picks up his book again.