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The team gave Aaron an odd look when he chose his temporary roommate for the case first and, of all people, chose Spencer. They didn’t have anything against Spencer, of course, but their fuses would get shorter and shorter the longer the cases went on, and the last thing they wanted to do was snap at him in a weak moment. Even Spencer seemed to be surprised.
“The rest of you can decide amongst yourselves. Reid?” he called as he picked up Spencer’s bag.
“Coming,” the younger replied, eyes still wild in bewilderment. He gave the team a shrug before following behind.
In truth, Aaron was being selfish in his choice. Spencer didn’t prod like the others. He spoke about anything and everything that was even tangentially related to his vast pot of knowledge, but he overlooked the personal questions unless they felt necessary. It wasn’t that he had no interest in how his friends felt; he took great interest in that, actually, he just didn’t make a habit of harping on something. The last thing Aaron wanted after spending all day at work was someone poking him for information on his personal life.
As expected, Spencer didn’t pry once they got a moment alone. He scuttled around the room surprisingly fast, given his crutches, and went about making his side of the room more suitable. He inspected the covers and sheets, chewing at his lips as he did. With his hands now occupied with the handles of the crutches, he’d begun gnawing at the insides of his lips and cheeks. Aaron went to put his bag on the bed, but Spencer quickly stopped him.
“Sorry, could you put it on the floor instead?”
“Would it not be easier to have it on your bed?”
“Yes, but it’s been outside and the sheets haven’t,” he paused and gave him a nervous look. A germ thing, he guessed. It was no secret to the team but that never stopped Spencer from avoiding whatever matter he deemed off limits. He put the bag by the end of the bed and the tension in Spencer’s shoulders released. “Thank you. Did you want the bathroom first?”
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
“I won’t be sleeping any time soon anyway,” Spencer replied, attempting to gesture dismissively without making himself topple over. “If that’s okay? I don’t want to disturb you by staying up late.” It’s almost funny how off-kilter he was after being chosen to share a room with his boss by no one other than his boss. He looked like a fawn finding its footing, legs slightly too long and actions too skittish.
“Do whatever makes you comfortable,” he stated as he grabbed his washbag and pyjamas before entering the bathroom.
He slid the bolt across, noting how the latch was heavily worn and would likely give out with just a harsh knock. The paint flaked at the edge and the metal was stained with rust. Other than that, he had to admit, the place was pretty clean. He wondered if the owners knew the FBI would be staying there and put extra effort into turning the room for them.
It was the first time he’d had a moment alone all day, and even then, he wasn’t truly alone when he could hear Spencer on the other side of the door. The edge of his mouth quirked upward when he overheard a squeak followed by the clattering of crutches, but it was short-lived. It felt wrong to smile under the circumstances. Every instance of joy made him bitter.
His suit was starting to feel less professional and more constricting as the day went by and he could feel the grime that came from working in warmer states yet still dressing for Virginia clinging to him. A shower would help but it felt like so much work and he’d only end up seeing the evidence of his failure again. He supposed he should get it over with since there was no hope of them fading.
All he wanted was a blessed few hours of sleep where he didn’t have to actively stop himself from remembering how it felt to be stabbed repeatedly or remember the look on Haley’s face when it dawned on her that life would never be the same.
Still, he had a role to maintain. If anyone noticed a loose strand or two, it would be the team of FBI profilers, and they’d be far too tempted to start pulling until the whole thing unravelled. Aaron wouldn’t unravel. He had no right to when Haley had to give up everything she held dear because of him. He stopped himself before he went down that road. Self-pity and, by the same reasoning, self-loathing would get him nowhere. Just shower and then go to bed, he told himself.
Spencer blinked harshly as his eyes adjusted from contacts to glasses. His hair was brushed back, held firm by a sparkly pink headband that Penelope must’ve gifted him, since he didn’t usually gravitate to Claire’s. He leaned his back against the headboard, keeping one leg off to the side, dangling over the edge of the mattress, as he read. Occasionally, the spine of the book would creak, and he’d flick to another page with his fingers spaced apart, sliding down the page. His crutches stood tucked between the crevice of the bedframe and the bedside table.
It would’ve almost been domestic had the book not been connected to the case, and the only reason they were sharing a room being the serial killings plaguing the city. Well, that and a lack of rooms available at the motel.
“Bathroom’s free,” Aaron mentioned as he got into bed. He hummed in acknowledgement. “Anything?”
“Other than an overuse of metaphors and odd descriptions of women, the unsub clearly took inspiration from the written messages left with the fictional victims,” he replied. His disdain made Aaron smirk to himself, remembering the same expression on his son’s face when presented with veggies instead of sweets, before he thought better of it.
“We appreciate you suffering through it.”
“I’d hope so. I’ll be forced to remember it word for word. I’m starting to understand why Garcia calls for eye bleach after cases.” He scribbled something down on his notepad before pressing the pen to the side of his mouth in thought. “If our unsub is following the murders by the book, his next kill should take place in a matter of days. The writer is unclear on the exact timeline, though not as a narrative choice, more like an oversight.”
“We’ll prepare a press statement in the morning, warn potential victims.” Aaron reached over to the lamp, pausing for a moment. Spencer seemed to sense what he was suggesting and leaned down to his messenger bag to pull out a book light. He clipped it onto the top of his page, leaning the book towards him to signal he wanted to be asked about it, like when people talked with their hands more after getting their nails done. “Gift?”
“From Garcia. As was the headband, but I’m more fond of this. I have a lamp on my bedside table, but there’s a sense of nostalgia with a book light. I had one as a kid, but my mum confiscated it when I kept falling asleep at the breakfast table, then she forgot where she put it, and I never found it again,” he answered. “I think she felt bad about me being in the hospital on my own.” He gritted his teeth as soon as the words left his mouth but he was too late, and Aaron couldn’t stop a heavy sigh from leaving him. “Sorry.”
“Get some sleep,” Aaron said curtly as he clicked the lamp off. A small white glow illuminated the younger man’s pursed lips.
In the early hours of the morning, Spencer’s eyes snapped open. He assessed himself immediately for any severe pain or uncomfortable feeling that could’ve roused him but found everything in order aside from the usual ache of his knee. His first thought was he’d bent his leg in an awkward way but corrected before he awoke. That theory was dismissed when his eyes adjusted to the low light of the room and he could see Aaron frantically tossing and turning. His hands gripped the sheets tightly and his face was screwed up as though he was experiencing the worst pain of his life.
The sight sobered Spencer up and quickly reached over to the lamp, clicking the chain and shedding light on the room.
“Hotch?” he called. His mind ran through what he knew on nightmares and found little that would help him now. Most of his research focused on being the person experiencing the nightmare. He figured his best course of action was to wake Aaron up before he hurt himself.
Struggling slightly to twirl his legs over the side of his bed, he forewent the extra effort of getting his crutches and leaned on the tiny set of drawers separating their beds.
“Hotch, wake up,” he said, almost spooking himself by speaking at full volume so early. He frowned when that didn’t seem to do anything. “Hotch!” Shouting was just as unproductive and he silently berated himself because the last thing someone needed when they were having a nightmare was someone shouting at them. He hopped to sit on the edge of Aaron’s bed and, without thinking, grabbed the older man’s shoulder and gave it a shake.
It takes seconds. He could see it happening, the way Aaron’s arm pulled back and his eyes remained unfocused, but his reaction remained delayed. He wasn’t sure if that was from a place of trusting Aaron not to hurt him or from only waking up minutes prior but an explanation wouldn’t save him. Knuckles struck against his cheekbone and he moved with it, toppling over and tumbling to the floor. He just about managed to get his hands out in front of him but he still let out a cry when his knee bashed against the thin layer of carpet hiding a concrete floor.
Aaron realised what he’d been doing just as fast as Spencer realised what was coming and was just as unable to prevent it from happening. He watched helplessly as George Foyet’s grinning face bled into Spencer's wide-eyed expression. The jolts from a knife sinking into his flesh now became a prickling sensation across his knuckles as they connected with skin. His hands itched to catch him before he leaned dangerously close to the edge, but they felt like lead, letting Spencer fall like a sack of potatoes.
They stayed frozen in their places for what felt like hours, but was likely only a matter of seconds.
Spencer was the first to move. He tentatively turned himself over to get the pressure off of his knee and stared up at Aaron. His doe eyes welling up at the sting, and the subtle quiver of his lips gave every sign he was going to cry or at least react in some way, but it never toppled over into something clear-cut. His face remained blank. He sat up slightly on his elbows but didn’t attempt to get on his feet. Just sat and stared.
Aaron stared back at him, becoming claustrophobic as his sweat-soaked pyjamas clung to his back and the sheets wrapped around his legs. This couldn’t be happening, least of all on a case and when Strauss’ eyes laser pointed onto him. There were already murmurs, questions beyond his rank and below, waiting to see him step away as Jason had done and give way to a promotion. They were expecting him to lose his touch.
“Are you okay?” Spencer asked. The question had him moving. He quickly got out of bed and snatched his jacket from the armchair, punctuating his exit by slamming the door shut. “I guess not.”
Aaron leaned against the closed door for a moment and took in a deep breath, shivering as the night air chilled the sweat on his brow. He thought he’d gotten over the worst of the nightmares when his neighbours stopped leaving passive-aggressive messages about the noise. Maybe they gave up and bought some good earplugs. He wiped his forehead and chose a random direction to start walking in. He doubted Spencer would take the incident to heart when he was completely fine after being called useless and kicked in the ribs for the sake of a rouse early on in his career. That didn’t ease his guilt any, but it did keep him calm enough knowing he could handle this in-house without getting HR involved.
His brain rushed for excuses. He was just tired, he’d been through a lot and he didn’t realise where he was or who was trying to wake him up. He didn’t know what he was doing. How was he supposed to know that he’d have a nightmare that severe? How was he supposed to know that his first reaction after being woken up was to start swinging? He couldn’t have prevented this and Spencer would know that too.
It would bruise, he thought suddenly. He looked down at his knuckles, finding them red and irritated, so he had no doubt that Spencer would be sporting a dark bruise or black eye in the morning. Whilst Spencer probably won’t take the incident to heart, he couldn’t be sure about the rest of the team. They’d need to come up with a lie that they could both follow and stick to, agree to not change details without letting the other know and now he felt so much grimier than before. He hadn’t even apologised yet. He didn’t even help Spencer up… so he’ll probably still be on the floor.
“Damn it,” he hissed under his breath. He couldn’t go back into their room empty-handed; his only reasoning for leaving being a surprise midnight walk. That just made him look worse than he already did. He looked around and set his eyes on the ice machine. He patted his pockets, thankful for the loose change he’d left in his jacket and decided the least he could do was offer up something cold to help with the potential black eye.
When Aaron got back, he felt sick seeing Spencer still on the floor. Granted, he had moved much closer to his bed, but he struggled to get a good grip to lift himself up with. His crutches lay beside him uselessly. A bruise was already forming high up on his cheekbone and it would only get worse from there. Maybe it was the exhaustion but for a split second, Aaron saw Spencer right after they found him in Georgia, face full of bruises and cuts, looking tired beyond his years.
“Hi,” Spencer greeted awkwardly, and he realised they’d just been staring at each other silently again.
“I got ice,” he stated, holding the bag that was far too full.
“Thank you.”
“Would you like help up?”
“Yes, please,” Spencer answered quickly. He abandoned the bag of ice on the counter for a moment and hooked his arms underneath Spencer’s shoulders, easing him up onto his feet and helping him find a seat on the bed. “Thanks. I was starting to go numb.” How long had he been gone for? He didn’t ask, just nodded jerkily.
He turned back to ice. He couldn’t just hold ice cubes to his face. Aaron grabbed a spare ziplock bag he knew Spencer kept in the front part of his messenger bag and filled it with a few cubes before putting the rest in the bathroom sink. He presented the make-shift ice pack to Spencer, who gave him a lopsided smile as he took the bag and gently pressed it to his face. His fingers tapped against the sheets nervously.
“I appreciate the ice but I think it looks worse than it is.”
“Is your knee okay?”
“Just sore,” he shrugged off. He pressed the ice to his face, unable to contain the quiet whimper at the contact. Aaron watched him carefully. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t anything good. It was unlikely he’d caused any permanent damage; the punch was sloppy after all, but the visible damage looked awful enough. “We should probably not tell the others about this.”
“Reid-”
“They’ll only baby me more than they usually do, and the last thing this case needs is the team distracted by something that doesn’t need to become anything. It was an accident, you got me ice, and I’m okay.”
“Don’t feel like you need to keep this a secret to benefit me,” Aaron warned. Although this was the best outcome for him, it felt wrong to somehow not fight for it. He was unsettled by just how ready Spencer was to sweep it under the rug, and he couldn’t be sure it came from a place of professionalism.
“I don’t feel like that at all, and if I did, you would know.”
“I suppose,” he answered, unsurely. It was too easy. There should be more effort on his part to convince Spencer that it would never happen again or otherwise make up for it, even if it were an accident. “So it’s agreed this remains between us?”
“Yes. Like I said, it won’t benefit the case, and honestly, it won’t benefit either of us. It’s better this way.”
“If you’re okay with that.”
“I am.” He nodded again and slipped off his jacket, climbing back into bed. “Can I turn off the light?”
“You can.” The light clicked off.
“Goodnight, Hotch,” Spencer said as if nothing had happened. Eerie, he thought. That’s what this was. Eerie. Too easy. Too simplistic. He felt like he was walking straight into a trap, but this was Spencer. It really could be that straightforward if he deemed it to be.
“Goodnight, Reid.”
Aaron could barely look at Spencer the next morning. The team went to a small diner across the road from the motel, and he pointedly chose to sit in the furthest place away from the younger. He knew he was being painfully obvious, but he couldn’t stand to be anywhere close to the blossoming bruise he’d caused. He also didn’t miss how Spencer’s face kept twitching if he put even the slightest pressure on his knee. If he didn’t feel so guilty, he’d probably tell Spencer to catch the next flight out.
There were mutterings just out of earshot, and he caught a glimpse of JJ nodding her head towards him with a worried look directed at Spencer. Whatever explanation was given for the bruise, it was taken at face value. A few of them laughed, so he guessed Spencer went with something along the lines of tripping over moving around a dark motel room. It left him uncomfortable, but Spencer had already decided to keep the truth hidden before he could suggest it.
As soon as they sat down, Spencer knew he was going to be questioned. The wood grain of the table morphed into the sleek stainless steel that had separated him from the worst of the worst. He watched helplessly as Aaron left to get a plate of the continental breakfast, knowing his fate was sealed.
“That’s quite the shiner,” David began. “How’d you manage that?”
“I’d rather not talk about it,” he replied before he could think. He may as well have held a big red arrow pointing to himself with a hanging sign that read PLEASE ASK ME MORE QUESTIONS underneath in case the arrow was too subtle.
“Is it something to do with Hotch?” JJ asked, nodding to their boss, who was doing his best not to look back at them.
“No, no- it’s just embarrassing.”
That technically wasn’t a lie.
He was embarrassed that his first thought was to shake someone who most certainly had PTSD from a nightmare, with no distance between them in case things went pear-shaped.
He was embarrassed that Aaron seemed to avoid him like the plague and wondered how long they’d dance around each other until things went back to normal.
He was incredibly embarrassed that he had to sit on the floor and wait for Aaron to come back from his spontaneous walk, forcing the man to help him onto his bed like a child waiting for help into a high chair.
“Embarrassing how?” Derek questioned, already grinning.
“I slipped in the shower.”
Again, it wasn’t a complete lie.
He had slipped in the shower prior, although thankfully not when they were working on a case. It took just enough time for any ego he had to die as he braced himself between his toilet seat and bathtub, kicking out his good leg in hopes of catching his heel on the armrest of his crutch. It would be more than plausible for him to make the same mistake again, especially in a motel that had little ADA compliance already and wouldn’t be going out of its way to accommodate him. It also helped that they didn’t know about his previous slip, both because they would’ve been suspicious about it happening again, but also so they didn’t try to cart him off to the hospital to make sure he hadn’t done any further damage to his knee.
“I thought I would be fine standing up, but my knee gave out. I caught the side of the bathtub on the way down.”
“Oh, Spence,” JJ cooed as the others laughed at him. He’d much rather be the butt of the joke than send unnecessary hostility towards Aaron. “Are you sure you’re alright? You must’ve hit it with some force.”
“I can see it now! Like a deer on ice,” Derek teased.
“I’m fine, thank you,” he replied, sending a glare at Derek, “just bruised pride along with the bruised face.”
“I’ll be honest, this is my first time seeing someone lose a fight to a bathtub,” David commented.
“You must’ve hit it at a weird angle to get your cheek instead of your temple,” Emily said, her eyes narrowing.
“Can we change the subject? It’s bad enough that Hotch had to help me into bed after.” A small sprinkle of truth should knock that sceptical look off Emily’s face. It didn’t occur to him just what he was implying.
“Like how we don’t talk about the pool kiss?”
“Exactly like that,” he groaned. The memory of having to explain why his gun had chlorine damage flashed before him, his cheeks going red at the retrospective embarrassment. Having an eidetic memory was all fun and games until you did something terribly cringeworthy and could relive it perfectly every time it was mentioned.
“Alright, but I get to mention it in the best man speech,” Derek offered.
“Who said you would be the best man? I might cross the gender line and have a best woman instead.”
“Don’t worry, Morgan, we’ll make sure to sneak it in there,” Emily assured him, patting his hand with a mocking version of the compassion she showed victims.
“That explains why Hotch keeps looking past you. It’s like when I saw Garcia get a sponge bath and could only look at her face for a week,” JJ commented.
“Eh, he’s seen worse. Give it time.”
“Seen worse?” Spencer repeated. David made a face and awkwardly threw his hands around as if impromptu charades would explain anything.
“No offence, kid, but I’d struggle to look you in the eye too if I saw you in your birthday suit.”
“What? No- that’s not-” he continued to stutter as he got more and more flustered by the very thought of it. Unfortunately, that did nothing to help him.
“Kid, don’t worry about it. Not everyone has the same memory as you. Give it a week, and it’ll be old news,” Derek said, patting him on the shoulder comfortingly.
“He didn’t see anything. There was nothing to see- it was dark and- can we just forget about this please?”
“You know, I think the red balances out the bruising,” JJ taunted. He sank lower into his chair and prayed that the diner was secretly sitting on top of a sinkhole that would open up any moment now.
Aaron was trusting him to come up with a good lie, and as much as he’d like to think they would forget about this, he knew they wouldn’t. There’d be hints, jokes or even just a look that would refer to it. They’d probably come up with a name for the incident, and no doubt Penelope would eventually get involved. Aaron was going to kill him.
Another day came and went, and they still didn’t have the killer in custody, but they were getting incredibly close. It was with great disappointment that they had to go to sleep, unsure if they’d wake up to another body being found. Aaron had kept Spencer at arm’s length all day but he couldn’t avoid the fact they were sharing a motel room. He was tempted to ask someone to switch with him, but that could spur questions he wouldn’t have the answers for. Whatever lie Spencer had come up with was convincing enough for him not to hear any mention of the bruise all day, and he didn’t want to potentially stress the fragile facade.
He beat Spencer back to their room. The others had decided to stay up a little later to have a nightcap and unwind after another difficult day of having no answers for the victim’s families, who were putting off funeral arrangements in case the bodies of their loved ones could crack the case wide open. He would’ve liked to join in, God knows he could do with the expensive spirits David snuck on the jet, but that would mean more time dancing around the young genius.
When he got to their room, he changed out of his suit and went about getting ready for bed, but his body refused to relax, and his eyes remained trained on the stained ceiling. What if Spencer made more noise than usual coming back, and he went on the offence again? He didn’t want to make the same mistake again, despite having little control over the first instance. He’d never done it before so there was no reason for him to expect it yet he still felt responsible for not handling himself better.
His hand itched for his phone, desperate to ask Haley what he should do. Perhaps talking to Jack would calm his nerves enough for him to get a few hours whilst he knew he was alone. He always said Haley kept him sane, yet it never felt more like the truth until now. Imagining her face, how it would shift from mute horror to dripping with concern, offered a bittersweet comfort that made him restless. He wanted his family back.
Aaron dug the palms of his hands into his eyes as he rubbed the sleep from them and sat up. He wouldn’t sleep with his body resting on pins, ready for a fight that would never come. His gaze settled on Spencer’s side of the room and then on the book he’d finished the night before. A smile tugged on his lips as he remembered how the young man had practically spat out his summary of the story like it pained him greatly to do so. Maybe he could give Spencer a book as an apology? Then again, that would look like a bribe.
Next time, he’d make sure they wouldn’t have to share rooms. He’d demand that the budget provide for a separate room for each of them and for sharing to be a last resort. He could make up a good reason. Something about team morale or allowing room to breathe and mull over theories separately, creating a better work environment. Of course, he’d forget to mention the possibility of triggering each other’s PTSD as a reason, since the directors were under the impression they were all in great mental shape despite it all.
He heard the clicking of Spencer’s crutches outside and panicked slightly at what to do with himself. Should he pretend he was asleep already or pick up a look so it didn’t look like he’d just been sitting there brooding in his time alone? For the latter, he’d need to turn the light back on, and that would ruin any sense of normalcy he was trying to feign. He turned over, his back to the door, before realising that he’d then be face to face with Spencer once he got into bed, and it would be obvious he was pretending to sleep. At this point, he was just going to hide in the bathroom and hope Spencer passed out before he had to leave it.
“If you wanted to, you could switch with me,” he heard Derek offer from the other side of the door. His voice was a touch lower, the tone he took when he was dropping any act of pretending he didn’t care as much as he did for their youngest.
“I’ll get over it,” Spencer replied. “It’s not like it’ll happen again.” Maybe he decided to tell at least one person the truth just to give himself someone else to talk to or gain a second opinion. Given that Derek wasn’t banging down the door, acting as a one-man SWAT team, he guessed that he’d also agreed it was an accident. Didn’t make it feel any more like an accident, though. “And that’s the last time we’re talking about it.”
“Alright, alright, have it your way. Just survive the night.” The pair shared a quiet goodnight before the door handle clicked, and Spencer let himself in. His head ducked down as he closed the door behind him and went through every available lock, though Aaron wasn’t sure whose benefit he was doing it for.
It was only as he turned around, likely expecting the other to be asleep, that they made eye contact.
“You didn’t have to wait up for me,” Spencer told him.
“I wasn’t.” He nodded with pursed lips, just barely keeping it together under how awkward this all felt.
It dawned on him that he never said sorry either. The man was lying for him, to save face and potentially his career, sat on the floor with a bad knee and an aching face, and he didn’t say sorry.
“I believe there are some apologies in order,” Aaron stated. He was surprised when Spencer withered under his gaze, guilty for a crime he didn’t commit. Maybe it’d been left too long, and he’d assumed he either didn’t deserve one or was asking too much to get any semblance of an apology.
“How did- No, that doesn't matter. I-I uh- I agree,” he replied nervously. He hopped up onto the desk they were provided, using the chair solely to keep his crutches propped up and let out a deep sigh. Aaron wasn’t sure why he was sighing as though he had a great weight on his shoulders, but he guessed he’d get an explanation soon enough.
“-I’m apologise for punching you in the face-”
“- I’m sorry I implied you saw me naked-”
It took a second to sink in, but when it did, Aaron had to pinch himself to make sure he hadn’t dreamed up this interaction as a way to self-soothe. When he felt his skin sting and didn’t see it stretch to impossible lengths, he knew what he heard had in fact come out of Spencer’s mouth.
“You did what?”
“I implied you saw me naked? That's why the apologies were in order? What were you talking about?”
“Hitting you. How did you imply that?” he asked incredulously.
“Well, they asked what happened and the only thing I could come up with was falling in the shower since it was the most plausible cause given my knee but then I told them not to bring it up and that you helped me into bed which just seemed to make them believe it more and I’m not sure how to get them to stop because even telling them the truth would seem like a lie,” Spencer ranted, barely taking a moment to breathe. He tapped his forefinger against his thumb with every word, though it failed to provide its usual comfort.
Laughter punched its way out of Aaron, and he doubled over despite the way it pulled on his scarring stab wounds. He watched the younger crumple in on himself further and look scarily similar to a guilty puppy knowing it was about to be told off. He did his best to regain his composure, but huffs and sharp intakes of breath couldn’t be avoided.
“What’s funny? Why are you laughing?”
“It’s just absurd,” he chuckled. “How did you get them to keep quiet?”
“I said I didn’t want to talk about it, asked that we change the subject, and to drop the matter completely when they suggested the whole thing,” he paused to gesture at himself, “Which, in saying that, I can understand why it didn’t help.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Are you laughing in an angry, hysterical way, or are you laughing because of the absurdity?”
“The latter,” he answered as he could finally take a breath without laughing halfway through. He wiped the tears from his eyes, rubbing his cheeks as they ached.
He hadn’t laughed in so long. Nothing seemed worth laughing about. Haley would still be laughing now if she were here, slapping his arm lightly as she giggled uncontrollably. She’d never let him live it down, playfully warning Spencer to stay away from her husband and asking if they definitely had separate rooms this time. He would’ve loved to tell her too. His hand went for his phone before he remembered that she wouldn’t answer. There came that bitterness again. He’d just have to tell her when they caught Foyet.
Spencer watched him move through the motions without a word. He crossed his arms over his chest almost protectively and made a considered effort to hide the bruised part of his face by turning slightly to the side. Poor Spencer, he thought to himself. Sporting a black eye and an embarrassing lie he’d never live down. If they ever did tell the truth, the team would be convinced of the first story they were told, just for it being so in tune with Spencer’s luck.
“I’m sorry, I’ll stop.”
“You’re not sorry at all,” Spencer grumbled. “They’ve made a pact to have it mentioned at my possible future wedding. Given both my lack of interest and lack of opportunity, I shouldn’t be finding a potential partner any time soon, so I can hold onto the hope they’ll forget about it.” Considering Derek still told him not to bring his gun whenever they went anywhere remotely near a pool, they were both well aware that wouldn’t happen.
“Are you mad?” he asked.
“About what?”
“About me punching you? Making you have to come up with a lie?”
“Why would I be mad about any of that? You didn't make me lie; I chose that,” Spencer questioned back. “As for punching me, nightmares are incredibly common after traumatic events. If you were replaying your attack, then it would make sense; it would transfer onto me. Even if you weren’t, you were attacked in your own home, so it'd be normal for you to think you were being attacked again. It’s a natural reaction.” He shrugged to himself. “It’s not as though you did it on purpose, and I should’ve known better than to try and wake you like that.”
“How were you supposed to know?”
“Mum got confused sometimes,” he said quietly. Spencer didn’t talk much about the bad days he helped his mother through, just dropped hints that they happened and left it there. Either he didn’t find it important or didn’t want to paint his mother in a bad light. “And as for the lie, I’m sorry I couldn’t come up with a better one. I dug my own grave with that. Once Garcia finds out, we’ll never hear the end of it.”
“You didn’t consider telling the truth?”
“You would’ve gotten in trouble.”
“That’s not your problem.”
“It is. I don’t like it when Strauss steps in, and I don’t want anyone to replace you. I understand that I often miss social cues, but I’m not blind to office politics.” He looked at Aaron sheepishly. “You’re under enough pressure as it is. I know you don’t want to talk about it, and to be honest, I’m not the best pick if you did, but I understand. The last thing you need when you’re not yourself is someone breathing down your neck waiting for you to slip up with no intention of helping when you do.” He looked off to the side for a moment, losing himself in his thoughts before pulling himself out of it. “And like I said, it would’ve distracted from the case.”
“Thank you, Spencer,” he said, hoping the softness he held for the young man bled through his tone.
“I don’t think you should be thanking me. I’m hoping to sleep through most of the journey back so you’ll be receiving the brunt of their remarks once we catch the unsub.”
“I think that’s a fair trade.”