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“I’m fine!”
Spencer let out an exaggerated gasp. “You have a broken elbow!”
“Yes, true, but we’ve both seen worse.” You shrugged, or at least attempted to. “Besides, my best friend is a doctor. I think I’m in very good hands.”
He rolled his eyes fondly, trying to ignore the way the words ‘best friend’ somehow felt like a punch to the gut. Friends. That’s exactly what you were. And, unfortunately for him, that was all you would ever be. “I’m not a medical doctor.”
“Eh, whatever,” you said. “Po-tay-toe, po-tah-toe.” He let out a low grumble in response, and you just laughed. “I’m the one in the hospital bed, I have the trump card here.”
“Whatever you say, your majesty.” Spencer gave a little bow from the uncomfortable plastic chair he was nestled in beside you.
“Now that’s more like it.”
He huffed out a laugh, taking your hand in his and giving it a squeeze. “In all seriousness, though, I’m really glad you’re okay.” He would never be able to live with himself if you weren’t. “I–” The words he had been holding back for literal years were stuck in the back of his throat, desperate to escape, yet unable to come out. He just–he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t be brave. Not when he knew you didn’t feel the same way. “I’m just really, really glad,” he finally settled on.
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” you said with a lopsided grin.
“Starting to feel better?”
You nodded. “Thank god for modern medicine.”
The two of you soon fell into a comfortable silence, his hand carding absentmindedly through your hair in the familiar way he always did when you were snuggled on his couch. A game show played, the volume on low, and you both stared up at the tiny hospital television. The relief that Spencer felt was palpable. It had been six long, seemingly endless days of monster chasing–and his family had made it out. Almost unscathed. You were still here, he reminded himself. There was still time.
“I love this show,” you said with a yawn after a few minutes had ticked by. “It’s so goofy.”
Spencer smiled. “It’s a good one.”
Without warning, you reached up with your good hand, your thumb grazing his cheekbone. He inhaled sharply at the touch. “You’re so beautiful, Spence,” you said softly.
He scarcely dared to breathe, unable to make sense of what was happening and yet somehow simultaneously desperate to commit the feeling of your hand on him to memory, to freeze this moment in time.
“I love you,” you continued, your eyes fluttering closed. “So, so much.”
Time seemed to stop. This—this couldn’t be happening. Spencer blinked rapidly, your words echoing in his head.
You didn’t really just say that. …Did you?
He glanced down at you, but you were already asleep, your chest rising and falling gently with each breath.
It had to have been the painkillers, he decided quickly. That and the adrenaline crash after everything that had happened today. You weren’t thinking clearly. That was all.
You didn’t mean it. You couldn’t.
No matter how much Spencer wished that you did.
*
Something was off.
At first you hadn’t been able to pinpoint it through the haze of your injury, too preoccupied by the pain you were in, by the effort it took to do even the most minor of things.
Spencer had stopped in often, as did the rest of the team. They came with food and treats and even a homemade blanket–“I even surprised myself with my speed-knitting,” Penelope had proclaimed. Everyone took great care of you, and that manifestation of their love for you, so visible, so tangible, made you want to cry.
So yeah, you were moody and out of it, couchbound and on a strict regime of painkillers, but you could tell something was off.
Spencer was being weird.
Not in the normal weird way you loved so much. No, this was something new entirely.
He never visited you alone, for one. There was always someone else from the BAU with him. And he kept this strange, unfamiliar distance that made you wish the floor would open up and swallow you whole. He barely responded to your texts–just enough to make sure you were okay, but never anything more. No more silly puns, no more inside jokes. It felt like he was only checking that you were still alive. Just looking for proof of life.
Maybe you were being dramatic. You had almost convinced yourself that it was all in your head during his latest visit, and then you went to give him a hug goodbye. He flinched as if your touch burned him, giving you a quick, cursory squeeze before stepping back.
You waved goodbye to him and Emily, your heart pounding in your ears as you plastered on a smile that felt fake even to you. The door shut behind them, and suddenly everything came into focus with startling clarity.
He heard you. He had heard you tell him you loved him. You actually said it out loud. That was the only explanation for this—this awkwardness, this silence.
It had felt like a dream—the words that had flitted through your mind for so long finally slipping off your tongue. The truth finally making itself known.
But it had been real. He heard what you said, and he didn’t feel the same way.
The mere thought alone threatened to suffocate you. You squeezed your eyes shut. It was fine. You were fine. What did it even matter? It was just a silly little crush.
Even as you told yourself that, you knew it was a lie.
Here was the simple, excruciating truth: you were in love with Spencer, and he wasn’t in love with you.
*
Spencer’s phone vibrated, the screen lighting up with your contact photo. The sudden, unfamiliar urge to let it go to voicemail tugged at him, but he knew he couldn’t do that. He never would.
“Hello–wait, wait, slow down. What’s wrong?” Your voice was thick with tears, muffled through the phone. “It’s okay, I’ll be right there.”
By the time he made it to your apartment, his mind was racing. You hadn’t explained what was happening on the phone, just said that you needed help and asked if he could come over–if he wasn’t too busy. He didn’t really know what you meant by that. Of course he would come over. He’d drop everything to help you.
He let himself in with the spare key you’d given him ages ago. “Y/N?”
“In here,” you called from your bedroom. You sounded mostly fine, if a little tearful. It didn’t do much to reassure him.
Spencer pushed open the bedroom door, his breath catching in his chest. You were standing in front of your full length mirror, wearing a deep burgundy dress that only clashed a little with your hospital issued sling and your neon pink cast. Your hair was disheveled, but he could tell someone had done it for you earlier in the day.
“I’m stuck,” you said, your voice small as you turned towards him, your face streaked with tears.
“You’re beautiful.” He coughed, the heat rushing to his cheeks. “I–I, um. What are you doing all dressed up?”
“It was my cousin’s engagement party. My first public outing since”–you held up your arm–“but I didn’t even think of changing while I was there. And now I’m stuck in this–this stupid dress.” You reached your good arm up in a feeble attempt to grab the zipper but missed it by a few inches. You let out a frustrated groan, your eyes welling up.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Spencer said softly, “I got it.” He stepped closer, hands hovering above the zipper as he tried to ignore how close to you he now was. How he could reach out and touch your bare skin if he really wanted to—and god did he want to. He wondered what it would feel like, if it was as soft as it looked.
“I’m sorry, I promise I tried everyone else,” you said, startling him out of his thoughts. “They–they’re all busy.”
He shook his head, slightly bewildered. Why on earth would you be apologizing for calling him? You were his best friend. He would always pick up. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said. “You can always call me.”
You said nothing in response. He gently grabbed the zipper, the metal cold between his fingers. “This okay?”
You nodded.
He gave it a tug, and you drew in a sharp breath. “Sorry, it’s a little stuck.”
“You’re telling me,” you said with a tight laugh.
God, this was agonizing.
Spencer pulled on the zipper again, and this time it obliged, sliding down smoothly. His gaze flickered for just a moment, following the zipper’s movements down the expanse of your back. He averted his eyes as you stepped out of the dress. “I’m not looking,” he said, staring resolutely at a corner of the room.
“I know.”
Spencer almost thought that he heard something in your voice–a sadness, maybe?–but he knew he had to be imagining it. He could barely hear you over his own heartbeat, blood rushing to his face and pulse thrumming wildly.
This was why he hadn’t been alone with you since that night in the hospital. This–this want, this need–was so bitterly painful that it might just actually kill him.
“I’m decent,” you said, and his eyes snapped back to you. You had put on a giant, cozy sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants, and Spencer found himself both relieved and disappointed.
You wrestled with your sling for a second, struggling with the velcro on the strap. Spencer took it from your hands and pulled it up into just the right spot, your arm now resting at a comfortable angle.
“Thanks,” you said, stepping back.
“Of course. Are you–is there anything else I can do?”
You shook your head. “No, I’m–I’m fine. Thanks for coming over.”
Spencer nodded, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. The silence that followed was all consuming. “Okay,” he finally said. “Guess I’ll go.”
You just nodded in response, and the awkwardness, the distance between you two made him want to weep. How did this happen? He wanted his best friend back–he wanted you back.
He turned to leave, regret already seeping through him, and then he heard it. It was the faintest noise, but he spun back towards you, only to find you all but collapsed against your headboard, your breathing stilted as you tried to stifle your sobs.
Spencer sank down beside you, alarm flashing across his face. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
“I’m sorry,” you choked out. “I’m sorry I ruined this.” His eyes widened, and you kept speaking, each word coming out faster, more and more frantic. “It-it’s okay that you don’t feel the same. I can–I can fix this. I can get over it. It’s just—I can’t lose you.”
Spencer’s mind was racing as he tried–and failed–to connect the dots. “I–what?”
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
“Y/N, slow down. Breathe. It’s okay.” He mimicked a few slow breaths, taking your hand in his as you copied him. “I don’t know what’s going on.”
“I told you I loved you,” you said with a whimper. “And I ruined everything.”
“You–you didn’t ruin anything.”
You laughed, but it was broken and bitter. “Spencer, you’ve barely looked at me since then.”
“Wait.” He blinked at you, all of the events of the last few weeks rushing through him. “You meant it. You love me?” he asked, the pieces finally slotting together, everything coming into focus all at once.
“I did. I do. I love you. But I’ll–I’ll get over it." You shook your head. "Somehow. I don’t care. I just want you back. You’re my best friend, Spence.”
“No.” Your jaw dropped, and he rushed to continue, “No, I don’t want you to get over it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m an idiot, that’s what I mean,” he said, wiping a tear from your cheek. “I heard what you said that night, and it scared me. Not because you loved me–but because I was so sure you didn’t. That you didn’t really mean it. That–that you never could. And that…it was devastating.”
“Why?” you asked, your eyes shining both with tears and something new—something that looked a lot like hope.
“Because I love you. I’m in love with you. I have been for years.” He honestly couldn’t believe that you didn’t already know it–that you hadn’t known it all along. It was the truest thing he knew, and he had assumed it had been obvious.
But there–he had finally said it. And now… now you were just staring at him, eyes wide and incredulous.
The silence was suffocating. He cleared his throat. “Say something?”
“Oh my god.”
He grimaced. So not helpful. “...say something else?”
“You ass!” You whacked him across the chest, just hard enough to elicit a dramatic oof from him.
“What?” Spencer squeaked out.
“You absolute ass,” you said with a laugh that he couldn’t quite read. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks because of this?”
Spencer hung his head, his thoughts spiraling, trying to figure out a way he could fix this. “I know, it was stupid. I’m so sor–”
And then your lips were on his, and there wasn’t much to think about at all. Just your hand in his hair, and your mouth against his, and the earth-shattering realization that he suddenly had everything he wanted. He pulled you in closer, a hand on the back of your neck, the other on your waist. He wanted more. He wanted everything. His lips trailed across your jawline and down your neck, planting a kiss on your collarbone. You inhaled sharply, dipping your head down until your lips met his once more.
You twisted, trying to get closer to him. There was a tug and you paused. “My sling.” You laughed against his mouth. “It’s stuck to your sweater.”
He pulled the velcro away unceremoniously, neither noticing nor caring about the pulled stitches it left behind. You took the sling off, tossing it to the side before carefully climbing onto his lap, straddling his hips. Spencer’s hands slid to the sides of your face, and he kissed you again, long and slow.
He stopped only to catch his breath. He took a moment to gaze at you, your chest heaving and mouth parted. “God,” he said. “You’re so beautiful.”
You shook your head. “No, you.”
He huffed out a laugh. “I feel like I’ve heard that somewhere before.”
“Oh, shut up.” You rolled your eyes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I clearly wasn’t in my right mind when I said that.”
Spencer’s teasing smirk grew into a grin when your head dropped to his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you in close. He planned on never letting you go, to be quite honest. “Mhm,” he said, smiling so widely his cheeks hurt. “Clearly.”