Chapter Text
Spencer had never been so tired in his life. Case, after case, after case- is what he was used to. Leaving, staying, always busy somehow, though. But as of recent, the BAU had just about a week or so of staying put, of mostly reading up, and without going too far. It had been a while since he'd been able to come home at a consistent time each night. He didn't entirely mind it. Home.
And finally, at his door. He couldn't wait to collapse into bed- although he considered reading, or something before, he knew he wouldn't make it to that. Spencer's hand reached to his pocket for his keys, and he unlocked the door to his apartment. Home. Safe from all the horrors of his line of work.
Two steps inside, and then he turned to shut the door. Lock the door. Lock it, then turn the knob, as if the lock might not work. Run a hand over the lock, then twist the knob again. Pull it. The door didn't open, because it was locked, of course. Because he was safe here, at Home. He could lock the door and be alone.
Anxieties, they'd never leave him, but after a few seconds, his tired eyes finally left the door, and he allowed himself to step inside. Past the couch, where he longed to sit and read for just a few minutes, but he knew his eyes wouldn't process a thing right now. As he passed it up, he let his fingers run along the couch, then dropped his hand at his side.
He pushed his bedroom door open, taking a moment to stand. He hadn't realized how tired he really was. He took a few breaths, he could feel his chest rising and falling. Then, he hadn't even realized his eyes had slipped shut. Tired. Oh, so tired. But perhaps he shouldn't collapse in the doorway, that would be no good.
Two steps inside, then he turned to shut the door behind him. He raised a hand to the lock, paused, but instead rested it on the knob. Was it safe to leave it closed? Was it safe to leave it open? Why did it matter? He was safe, at Home. He opened it, just the slightest bit. Some kind of middle ground. He could get out quickly if needed, and he would hear the door if it opened. Stop worrying. You worry every night.
He knew he shouldn’t worry. He knew that Home was one of the few places he was supposed to stop his worrying. It wouldn’t come naturally, though. Spencer knew that, too. So he had another night of forcing himself into a false calm. Nothing new, and it was better than staying on edge.
Spencer sat upon his bed, letting out a long, tired sigh. He took his gun from his holster and removed his badge, setting them on the nightstand. He paused, then pulled the gun to the edge of it. As though he'd need it. He really was on edge, wasn't he?
He had only started to sit back, when a sound jolted his eyes wide. A creak. Not that of a door, no slide of a window. He couldn't tell if it was the floor, a neighbor, or out in the hall. He stayed silent, one hand on his gun, listening. He hadn't made a sound, but the creak had only come for a split second.
Was he tired enough to be hearing things? He hesitated. He didn't want to consider that, but there was no other explanation. His door was locked. He'd locked it and made sure. He'd made sure, he'd turned the knob, it hadn't opened. It hadn't even budged.
Spencer pulled his hand away from the gun, slipped his fingers off the edge of the nightstand. Stupid. This was stupid. He should just sleep, and in the morning, he probably wouldn't even remember being so jumpy.
...
Well, he'd remember. But at least by morning he'd know it was all nothing. Just sounds. Maybe someone's pet in the next room over. Maybe someone opening their door across the hall. It hasn't sounded like a door, though. No, no. How would he know?
It didn't matter. He shifted back on the bed, allowing himself to collapse into it. He would have pulled up the blanket, he would have curled up, but he hadn't even the time to register his eyes shutting. The second he was down, he was out. He knew it would happen, and for once he was rather appreciative that exhaustion wouldn't let him stay up a second longer.