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Spencer knew he was being rude. He could see people begin to tiptoe around his desk and ask others questions that would usually be directed to him. He knew that he should apologise before feelings were hurt too badly, but he felt no motivation to. He was perpetually frustrated and unable to let go of the tension in himself long enough to say sorry or devise a half-worthy excuse. If he opened the valve, he was sure he’d pour everything out, and he’d much prefer to keep things to himself, especially when it came to his mum.
The team knew of his mother, her health and where she was currently residing. He’d made it obvious that he wanted to keep all matters about her private; for the most part, the team respected that. In events like these, it was one less thing to worry about. He didn’t know if he could stand to repeat the words he’d been playing on a loop and watch as they either took pity on him or gave him the look of we all knew it was going to happen it was just a matter of time.
His mum had lashed out at a nurse and drawn blood. It wasn’t bad enough that she would lose her spot in the facility, and the nurse wasn’t pressing charges, but he still had to be informed of it in case it became a pattern of behaviour. The doctors made it clear they wouldn't be able to handle her if she did become violent and recommended a few facilities that would, all of them looking as barren as the next. She wasn’t a violent person, and the less logical side of him that would always defend his mother until the bitter end was convinced the nurse had somehow started it or done something to escalate the situation.
He wanted to drop everything and go running to her to make sure she was okay but he also wanted to hide away until it all blew over so he never had to address it. The more he saw of his mother, the less he recognised her. At least with letters, even if they included strange ideas or paranoid ramblings, the majority of it was written by the woman who raised him. He didn’t have to see her blank stare until prompted into conversation or watch as she worked herself up into an anxiety attack over the slightest social misstep.
Being in two minds about it left him with jagged, sharp edges, slicing anyone who dared slightly inconvenience him. It wasn’t entirely unfounded, just overblown and out of character for him. Someone left a stack of papers on his desk without explaining where they’d come from or when they needed to be done by, another left their dirty dishes in the sink when he’d personally written the sign asking people to wash up after themselves, an intern he hardly took notice of before got a thorough dressing down for using the microwave and not cleaning up the exploded soup that had splattered on the inside.
He wondered if he shared his temper with his mother, remembering how she’d get when she was agitated. Maybe things built up, and one big stressor had her lashing out. Then he fretted that this was the beginning. His stomach would sink with every instance he questioned if this was his break. The notion taunted him from the background. Every change in his behaviour, every time he wanted to lock himself away, or every time he felt like someone was following him, only to find nobody there, couldn't be swept under the rug and forgotten. He obviously knew it wasn’t that simple, but the worry remained, dipping out of sight until he noticed he was being too much or too little of something or other.
It wouldn’t kill him to tell the team. He couldn’t help keeping his mother to himself, knowing the misconceptions about mental illness and not wanting to waste any time arguing about that. They knew the same statistics, or close enough to the same, as he did and had been nothing but kind to her during the last visit, yet he still hesitated. He saw the glances and heard the whispers after they thought he was out of earshot. He ignored their curious expressions as they tried to puzzle together what traits he displayed that could be connected to his upbringing, revising memories of him chatting about his childhood and going over it in a new light.
Maybe her new behaviour was from the medications she was on. Really, he wasn’t supposed to use the computer at work for personal reasons, but the information could be beneficial for cases, so he reasoned it was alright just this once. It wasn't like he could do any real work anyway. The facility didn’t say they were going to change her medication as a result of this incident, and he had to trust their judgment in that but it couldn’t hurt to be informed.
Before he knew it, his coffee was ice cold, and his files were blank. He should be on a plane to Vegas, hiding at home, waiting by the phone for updates, and concentrating on his work. He should be everything and everywhere, but he was barely in his chair in front of the computer with a permanent frown etched onto his face and a tut for anyone who dared try to begin a conversation with him.
Someone accidentally slammed the glass door, making it rattle in the frame. It was easily done, and usually he wouldn’t spare a glance, but today he sent a harsh glare over to the culprit. The culprit was Penelope. He kissed goodbye to fast internet for the day as she went stomping up to his desk.
“Do we have a problem, Dr Reid?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips. “Or are you just being an asshole to everyone today?” He should’ve apologised, but he didn’t. He snatched his bag from under his desk and grabbed his jacket, storming off as if he’d been the one wronged. She threw up her hands at him. “Where are you going?”
“Break.”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” He shrugged and continued leaving, intentionally slamming the glass door on his way out.
“What was that about?” Emily asked. She’d kept her head down for the most part, not wanting to be part of the unlucky few who received Spencer’s misplaced wrath. She thought about asking him what was wrong, then gave up when she saw Derek try and fail to make him crack a smile.
“Not a clue, but there better be a damn good reason,” she replied.
Penelope, ever the optimist, rationalised that something had to have put him in an awful mood since he was smart enough not to piss off the woman who hacked into government systems like she was updating her MySpace. She looked at his computer screen and whilst she didn’t have half the understanding of medicines as Spencer did, the article helpfully indicated what they were used to treat.
“That would be a damn good reason,” she muttered. Emily watched her expectantly, but she just shook her head. It wasn’t her information to share, and she doubted Spencer would appreciate it no matter what intention she had. Whilst she could appreciate that he was having a hard time as he so often did when the subjects of his mum and the potential of inheriting schizophrenia, she couldn’t allow him to continue his war path. She loved him dearly, but she was nipping this in the bud ASAP.
After wandering around aimlessly, Spencer found a quiet spot to wait out the rest of his break and stew in the awkwardness of having to walk back into the bullpen. He usually ate at his desk during his breaks and then proceeded to defeat the purpose of a break by working anyway. Sometimes he’d be scooped up by one of his team and shuttled to another spot for a change. He liked those brief outings, though he was glad nobody had offered today.
He left his lunch in the staff fridge. His stomach grumbled as if to make the realisation even more disheartening. It was one thing after another, and whilst they were nothing to write home about, they were enough to push him to the edge inch by inch. This predicament had him overlooking the fall with his foot hovering out as if he were testing the temperature of a pool.
A familiar clicking of high heels might prove to be the final shove.
Spencer kept his gaze on the table as if his eyes were magnetised to it. It would’ve been less suspicious had he gotten out the book he’d intended to read on his break, but after leaving his lunch behind, he felt no rush to reward himself with a decent read. Maybe if he kept his head down long enough, she would give up on him or not notice him despite him standing out like a sore thumb against the men in sleek black suits. A beige blob.
The clicks got closer until he could see her shiny red pumps out of the corner of his eye. He heard the chair opposite him scrape against the ground and resigned to his fate.
“You left your lunch,” she began.
From his peripheral vision, he watched her place the plastic container down and slide it across to him. Moments before, he’d been bargaining with the certain embarrassment he would face trying to rescue it, and now he held no desire to eat. He leaned back to reflect that and let the tupperware cook in the sun.
“Is your mum okay?” His eyes shot up, and she thankfully interrupted him before he could accuse her of hacking into private medical systems. “I figured it was either your mum or you’re worried about inheriting schizophrenia again, judging by what I found on your computer.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Not how it works in this family, hun.” He squeezed his fingers anxiously. “You don’t have to tell anyone else but there’s something wrong and not talking about it is turning you into a massive jerk.” He shrugged. “Ah-ah, no shrugging at me. You may be younger than us, but you’re too old for the moody teenager approach. Tell me what’s going on in there, Spence.”
“My mum got confused,” he mumbled.
“And?”
“Fought a nurse,” he whispered. He made eye contact only as he pleaded her case feverishly. “This isn’t like her- she gets agitated and-and she can be rash, but there’s likely a reason behind it- not in the sense the nurse is somehow responsible, they’re probably very responsible or I’d like to think they’re very responsible given how they’re in charge of so many vulnerable patients and-”
“Spencer, I like you talking, but I also like you breathing. You’re gonna go blue breathing like that.”
“I can’t asphyxiate by speaking too quickly. Breathing is autonomous, I’d sooner stop speaking than actually choke on the words,” he was quick to amend. She raised an eyebrow, asking him if it was really worth arguing about, and he relented that it wasn’t. He sucked in a deep breath, held it for a few moments and then let it go.
“Feel better?”
“Slightly. Thank you.”
“So what’s going to happen next?”
“They did an internal investigation about safeguarding and found no fault on their end. The nurse isn’t pressing charges and so far, because it’s the first time my mum has been ‘intentionally violent’,” he put air quotes around intentionally violent because there wasn’t a vicious bone in her body. She just got confused or mad or worried about something or other. There were a million reasons why it wasn’t intentional, but he doubted that would help his case, so he'd just hummed along. “They’re going to review her medication next, but frankly, there’s not much they can do until they’re sure it’s a pattern of behaviour, and then it’ll become a question of whether or not they have the right support she needs.”
“Sounds like a lot to handle.”
“It isn’t. She’s my mum.”
“Have you spoken to her?” He shook his head. “Maybe you could take some vacation time?”
“I don’t- It’s not-,” he stopped himself before he could speak the truth. It was his mother; he wasn’t supposed to put it off when she needed him. He always helped calm her down so logically he should be trying to use his FBI credentials to wiggle his way onto the next plane to Vegas yet he didn’t even call in for a family emergency. Aaron would’ve been more than happy to give him the time.
“It’s okay to not want to. Besides, they know what they’re doing, and if they thought it’d be good to have you there, then they would’ve asked for you,” she offered. “Is she gonna be alright?”
“It’s not like she’ll remember,” he muttered under his breath bitterly.
“You wanna talk about something else?”
“I’ve done my fair share today.”
“You wanna listen to me talk?” He didn’t need to think long about it before he nodded.
She pushed the tupperware closer to him, letting him know he wouldn’t get away with skipping a meal, and began lamenting about her failed attempts to make the perfect vegan brownie that didn’t either become a stogey flavourless lump or a liquid that refused to solidify even when she put it in the freezer. It wasn’t much. In fact, if he were harsh, it wasn’t anything worth retaining but it made her happy and gave him something else to focus on. His shoulders lowered from where they'd been hiked to his ears and his heckles went down. For a little bit, he wasn't fretting and he forgot how nice it felt to feel neutral rather than pissed off.
The next day, sitting on Penelope’s desk was a small bunch of pink carnations. She tilted her head to the side as she inspected them and found a small envelope.
Pink carnations are a common choice for apologies, usually symbolising a rekindling of bonds and sincere regret.
- Spencer Reid
She tutted to herself. Really, it was only a throwaway glare. She would leak his personal phone number under the guise of it being Justin Timberlake’s if he did it again, though.