Chapter Text
There could be a world without introductions, where everyone knew everyone and nobody needed more. That was the world Spencer Reid wanted to live in. No small talk, no names, no handshakes. There was a degree of separation between his mind and his body, a lag in information. He’d spent the better part of a conversation trying to keep his mouth from moving, and his eyes from darting. It felt like being in a box, too small, too tight. Each moment he spent talking, there was a pressure around his throat, like a hungry snake. He always stuck around for too long, or left too quick. He thought it would be better if people had forgotten them centuries ago.
Spencer’s daily commute was simple: no noise other than his music, save for the hum of the AC and the click of the blinker. His car was a haven, just cluttered enough to show signs of life. A single glance would give the perspective of life, there were napkins poking out of the console, and sunglasses on the dash. He’d even left an empty CD booklet on the passenger seat for some extra flavor, because he knew what people looked for. A car too clean was a red flag, people with things to hide had clean cars. He, of course, had nothing to hide.
When he got to work, he knew what to expect. He knew that Morgan would be loud, and throw an arm around him right away. He knew that the coffee would be brewed, and that there was going to be a fight if he didn’t get to it quickly. He liked the order of everything, and the team knew that. They never questioned when he got quiet on dicey cases, just gave him the room needed to breathe. The team would share an odd glance or two, expecting his voice to fill the silence, but moved on shortly after. Hotch would pull him aside later to check, and if he knew he’d lied, he didn’t show it. That was how it was. That was how it was supposed to be.
---
He’d spent the better part of half an hour going over paperwork at his desk. He’d read and re-read the same passages to try and wrap his head around them, to no avail. He started shaking his knee 10 minutes in and hadn’t stopped since.
A hand landed on his shoulder. “Spence.” He looked up, meeting JJ’s eyes. “Hotch needs us at the table, it’s urgent.”
“We don’t have a case.” He stood from his chair, pulling down his sweater. He looked up to Hotch’s office, meeting the eyes of his boss through the blinds. His gaze was cold, and slightly sad. “I stand corrected. It’s going to be bad.”
Morgan caught up to them a few seconds later, falling into step. They made their way to the table together, taking their seats as Hotch walked in. Reid tried to focus but his mind kept wandering. He glanced at the screen and froze, he felt a shock run deep in his bones. He read the headline plastered across the screen, and saw the bodies. All male, all in dresses. He sat straighter in his chair, and met Hotch’s gaze. He saw the question in Hotch’s eyes, and nodded. It was just another case, just like all the others had been. He looked back to the floor. His leg was shaking again.
---
The case had been brutal. Each victim robbed of his identity, plastered across their tablets, and files, for all to see. Reid had spent the better part of the case dodging conversation, sitting alone in his hotel. Each night after the team had taken their leave to their rooms, he laid awake, staring at the ceiling. It was hot out, they were in Georgia, and Reid was sweating. He kicked off the covers and went to the bathroom’s door. He blinked before opening the door, letting his eyes adjust to the subtle light. He turned to face the mirror, scanning over his body in the reflection. He traced a finger over faded scars, framing his chest, barely visible. A pang went through his heart, and he felt something hard in his throat. He shut the bathroom door behind him, running back to the bed. He sat on the edge with his head in his hands, pulling lightly at his hair. It was getting long again. He hated how it felt on his face, how closely it framed it. He let his stubble grow out to fix it, but it hadn’t helped. He’d always be two steps behind his feelings, racing to catch up.
He knew the team could tell something was off, he saw how Hotch had been watching him. In a different world, they’d just know. No touchy conversations, no touching, just understanding. He knew they’d never understand why he hated Rossi’s pool parties, or why he pulled on his shirts until they came untucked. He was as put together as possible, until he cracked. Reid rubbed his arms, trying to calm himself down. He hated how thin his arms were, the small muscles he’d gained seemed miniscule in every mirror. He knew better than anyone that he’d never be the man he wanted to be. He would always be too thin, too pale, too girly.
Reid flopped back onto the bed, shimmying under the covers. He needed to sleep it off, clear his head. He needed to think. He needed his team. They needed him.