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fascinorous-argonaut · 9 months ago

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I am still full of the love you want

Hello, everybody! It's my first time posting a fic here. Well, it's my first time here on Tumblr at all, so please, be kind. English is also *not* my first language. Grammaly helps but don't do magic. Enjoy. ~ Daredevil.

Once again, there he was—her husband—lying on the couch at 3AM with a book in his hands. *Again*.

Clarice understood. He had only just returned from prison, wrongfully convicted of a crime he didn’t commit.

It had devastated her, but she managed to pull through. She had stayed by his side, just like they had both promised three years ago when they got married.

When the news came that he was being released, that his team had found the real culprit, Clarice cried with joy. *Her Spencer* was finally free, and that meant he was coming home—back to *her*.

But the man standing before her now wasn’t the same *husband* she remembered. He barely spoke to her, and ever since he came back from prison, he had been sleeping on the couch. It had been nearly two months.

*She understood*. He was angry, sad, and likely traumatized by whatever he had gone through while locked away.

But she missed him in every way imaginable. She missed his random conversations, his laughter, and *God*, even his touch. She missed *him*, and the fact that he was physically there but emotionally distant was breaking her heart.

All she wanted was to be there for him, but every time she tried, he shut her out.

And there she was again, standing there with her arms crossed, an almost pleading look in her eyes as she watched him.

"It’s 3AM… can’t you sleep?" she asked softly, careful not to step too close to him or the couch. She didn’t want to upset him.

Spencer glanced up from his book, his expression blank. "No, I’m sleeping. Can’t you tell?" he replied, his tone laced with sarcasm.

Clarice lifted her hands slowly, showing her palms to him as a sign of peace while taking a step back. "I’m sorry, honey," she whispered, looking down at the floor before glancing back at Spencer. "I didn’t mean to disturb you."

Spencer sighed heavily. He closed the book he was reading and placed it on the coffee table in front of him. The only light in the room came from a lamp next to the couch. He ran his hands through his hair, visibly frustrated.

"No, you’re not disturbing me," he mumbled quietly, pausing for a moment. "I just... I just need some time, I guess."

His tone wasn’t as sharp or harsh as it had been on other occasions.

"Yes, I... I get it," she continued in a whisper, as if afraid that raising her voice above a whisper would stir up a storm.

Spencer glanced at her. She was walking on eggshells around him. He could see it in the way she spoke, the way she stood with her hands raised, palms forward, and the way she took slow steps backward.

He felt like a wounded animal, and she was approaching him carefully, trying not to scare him away or trigger his defenses.

"Hey... could you come here, please?" he said, motioning her toward him.

She lowered her palms and, step by step, quietly walked toward Spencer, watching his every movement. "Sure."

The reply was simple, but if there was one thing certain about the situation, it was that neither of them was sure of anything.

Spencer patted the spot on the couch next to him, gesturing for her to sit down.

"I'm not going to bite you," he said with a slight hint of humor in his voice—a rare occurrence these days.

He knew he hadn’t been the most welcoming or communicative partner since he had come home. To say he had been unpleasant would be an understatement.

Finally, she sat next to him, on the edge of the couch, keeping both hands in her lap.

Even though she maintained a calm facade, her heart was racing. Being this close to him, after everything that had happened, was unusual. It was so rare that she had no clue how she was supposed to behave around him. Saying they were strangers living under the same roof would be generous. They were worse than that. They were two people who knew each other deeply yet didn’t know one another at all.

He noticed her body language:

The stiffness in her shoulders, the way she kept her hands clasped in her lap, the tension in her expression. This didn’t feel like the easy-going relationship they had shared just a few months ago.

He missed that.

Taking a deep breath, Spencer looked at her, his gaze steady.

"You know you don’t have to act like a stranger with me, right?" he asked quietly, trying to dispel the tension between them.

"I don’t know how I’m supposed to act around you anymore." She wanted to take the words back, but the truth was too heavy to swallow.

It was a brutal truth.

Spencer's heart sank a little at her words. The fact that she didn’t know how to act around him stung.

For a moment, he said nothing, just looking down at his hands, his expression unreadable.

But when he spoke, his voice was soft—almost vulnerable.

"You could start by treating me like your husband again."

"Treat me like your husband again." Those words felt like a hard slap to her face. Clarice could swear she felt her cheek burn from a touch that never came.

"What I know and what I feel are two entirely different things." She ran both hands through her short hair. "I know you're my husband. But I don't feel you anymore."

His breath caught in his chest.

Deep down, he knew he was responsible for that. He had shut her out, pushed her away, kept her at arm’s length. But hearing her say those words out loud made it all too real.

"I..." he started, but the words trailed off. He didn’t know what to say. He knew she was right. He wasn’t the same.

"I'm sorry," he muttered after a moment. "I know I’ve been distant. But prison changed me, I—"

"It's not your fault. It is not your fault," her tone was firm yet soft.

She wasn’t blind, of course. Clarice knew he was suffering. They both were. They were lost in a storm of unspoken feelings and painful memories.

"But it is," Spencer insisted, frustration creeping into his voice. "I'm not the same person I was before. And I’ve been taking it all out on you. This isn’t fair to you."

He paused, looking directly at her, his gaze intense.

"I don’t expect you to forgive me overnight, but I can't keep pushing you away. I don’t want to be the reason we’re so distant."

"Please, for the last time. It’s not your fault. It’s not as if you could avoid the changes. It would be strange if you hadn’t changed at all. You went through hell and back, and I—" the pain in her throat reminded Clarice of the tears she was holding back. "This isn’t fair to us, honey."

Spencer felt a pang in his chest as her voice cracked. He saw the pain in her eyes, the tears she was trying to hold back, and it killed him.

"I... we," he corrected himself. "We went through hell. Both of us. And I’ve been too wrapped up in my own pain and anger to see how much you’ve been hurting too."

He reached out and gently took her hand in his.

"And I’m so sorry for it. I’m sorry for shutting you out. I’m so sorry, baby."

The sudden touch surprised her, but in a more positive way than she expected. Her eyes met his, oh, those beloved brown eyes.

But there was more than just his usual tired demeanor. Finally, she started noticing the environment around them. The book Spencer had left on the coffee table was marked about halfway through. By now, he should have finished it. Knowing how fast he could read, an unfinished book could only mean one thing.

"When did your migraines come back?" she asked softly.

Spencer froze. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hide it from her for long, but dammit, that woman was perceptive.

He sighed heavily, letting go of her hand and rubbing his temples as a mild headache began to emerge.

"Two weeks ago," he admitted. "They've been pretty bad, but I didn’t want to worry you."

He grimaced, his expression a mixture of pain and exhaustion.

"Are you taking any medication?" Her tone was calm but serious.

His history with Dilaudid was no secret to her. And after the incidents in prison, he had to get clean all over again, which only made him even more cautious about any kind of medication.

The result? Spencer didn’t take anything—not even vitamins.

"No," he said with a sigh, still massaging his temple. "I’m not taking anything. I don’t want to risk... you know."

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. They both knew his history with addiction. Now, he had a strong aversion to any medication because of it.

"I've just been trying to manage them the best I can," he continued. "Taking it easy, avoiding too much stress, that kind of thing. But it’s been a rough two weeks."

"Let me help you, Spencer," she whispered, still looking deeply into his eyes.

Spencer met her gaze, a mixture of exhaustion and vulnerability in his eyes.

He was so used to handling those migraines on his own, but God, he missed having her by his side.

Her presence, her touch, her soothing words... she had always been his comfort during his hardest days.

He nodded slowly before speaking.

"I need your help," he admitted quietly. "I can’t keep doing this alone."

Clarice gently lifted the hand he was holding to her lips.

"You’re not alone, Spencer. You never are."

His heart ached at her touch and her words.

He knew he wasn’t truly alone, but these past two months had made him feel like he was.

He was so glad he had been wrong.

He looked at her with a mix of sadness and gratitude, his voice hoarse. "I don’t know what I would do without you."

He squeezed her hand gently, adding, "I’ve missed you so much."

"I miss you too, Spencer. So much."

Clarice let go of his hand gently. "I’ll be right back," she muttered before standing up and disappearing toward the kitchen.

Spencer watched her go, a mix of curiosity and anticipation in his eyes. He wondered what she had in mind.

He remained seated on the couch, still rubbing his temple in a futile attempt to soothe the building headache. He waited patiently, taking deep breaths and trying to ignore the pain throbbing through his skull.

She came back moments later with a large bowl of hot water and a towel draped over her right shoulder.

"Careful," she warned as she placed it down next to his feet.

Spencer's eyes widened slightly at the sight of the bowl and towel. He knew what she was about to do, and a rush of emotions coursed through him. His headache seemed to intensify for a moment, pressure building behind his eyes, but he stayed still, watching her closely. He leaned back against the couch, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath.

"You don’t have to do this," he said quietly. "It’s not your problem."

"You," she said, her tone firm yet with a hint of playfulness, "married a neurologist, Dr. Spencer Reid, and truly expected me to just sit here while my husband, who won’t even take an aspirin, suffers through a migraine? Tell me."

She had a point.

Spencer chuckled softly, despite the pain. He knew there was no arguing with her once she was in this determined mode. He opened his eyes and looked at her, a mixture of affection and resignation in his gaze.

"You’ve always been too stubborn for your own good," he said, his voice full of warmth. Then, in a softer tone, he added, "And I don’t deserve you."

After placing the bowl by his feet, she gently took each one in her hands and submerged them in the warm water, massaging them with skilled touches.

"You deserve the world," Clarice whispered, lifting her head and looking up at him.

The warm water, combined with her expert touch, sent waves of relief through his body, and a small sigh escaped his lips.

He looked down at her, his expression a mix of pain and pleasure. At her words, a small smile crept onto his face, his heart swelling with gratitude. But after a moment, his expression grew somber again, and he shook his head slightly.

"I don't deserve you," he repeated, his voice thick with emotion.

"You deserve the world," she softly echoed.

Spencer could almost feel the love in her words wrapping around him like a warm, comforting blanket. It was exactly what he needed. He closed his eyes, his breath catching as the headache began to ease, little by little.

For a moment, he remained silent, savoring the feeling of her touch and the closeness they hadn’t shared in so long.

When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper.

"You are my world."

Clarice felt her heart warm at his affectionate declaration. It had been so long since he had said something like that.

Too long since they had said anything like that to each other.

In his words, she recognized someone she hadn’t felt in a long time: her husband.

The headache continued to ease as she massaged his feet, her touch like a soothing balm to his aching muscles and mind. For the first time in a long while, he felt a sense of peace and contentment in her presence.

He watched her in silence, taking in her every feature, her every movement. He had missed this closeness. He had missed her so damn much.

He reached out a hand and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I’ve missed this... I’ve missed you," he whispered.

She closed her eyes and nodded slowly. "I miss you too, honey," she whispered, as if speaking too loudly might make him vanish into thin air.

The sound of her voice, soft and sweet like honey, only made him want her more. His heart ached with the need to pull her closer, to feel her body against his, to kiss her, to hold her.

"Come here," he said, his voice gruff and hoarse. He patted his lap, his eyes dark with longing. "Please."

He needed her closer, needed to feel her, touch her.

Clarice left his feet in the bowl and slowly stood, drying her hands with the towel. Then, slowly, she sat in his lap, wrapping her arms gently around his neck and resting her chin on the top of his head.

As she settled into his lap, Spencer felt a wave of relief and contentment wash over him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in deeply, taking in the scent of her skin and hair. A wave of emotions—sadness, relief, love, desire—washed over him, all intertwined and overpowering.

He held her tightly, as if afraid she might disappear, and he whispered against her skin, "I need you... so much. I love you so much."

She tightened the hug. "I love you, Spencer. So much. I'm not going anywhere."

Those words, coming from her lips, settled something deep within him. She wasn’t going anywhere. She was there, in his arms, where she belonged.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her. His eyes, filled with a mix of sadness and love, met hers.

"Promise me," he said, his voice soft but firm. "Promise me, you'll never leave me."

"I promise you. I'm not leaving you," Clarice replied in the same tone.

Spencer felt a wave of relief wash over him at her promise. He squeezed her tightly, his eyes closing as he buried his face back in her neck. He inhaled deeply, savoring her scent and the feeling of her body against his, trying to memorize every detail, to imprint this moment in his mind forever.

He whispered against her skin, his voice hoarse with emotion.

"I don't deserve you."

"You deserve the world," she whispered, closing her eyes as his warm breath brushed her neck.

She let out a soft gasp at his kisses—familiar, yet somehow new.

"Spencer..." Her whisper was a call. A call for everything they had left behind, for all the future would bring, for the love she used to know, for the man he had become, but above all, for her husband. Her Spencer.

Her gasp, a mix of pleasure and recognition, sent a jolt through his entire body. She was feeling the same thing he was.

His hands continued to explore her skin, desperate to relearn every curve and contour he had missed. He pressed his lips to her collarbone, his voice a rough whisper against her flesh.

"I've missed you," he repeated, his voice thick with emotion. "I've missed holding you, touching you, feeling you... I've missed us."

"Spencer," she whispered, lowering her lips to his ear, "Are you done sleeping on the couch?"

He chuckled lightly, both at her words and the feeling of her warm breath against his ear. He pulled back slightly to look at her, a small smirk playing on his lips.

"Are you trying to invite me to our bed, honey?" he asked, his voice low and sultry, his thumbs tracing small circles on her hips.

"I’m summoning you," she whispered before pressing her lips to his forehead.

Her words, her touch, her invitation sent a shiver down his spine. He was powerless to resist her, not that he ever had before.

His hands moved to her hips, pulling her even closer, as he nuzzled his face into her neck. He pressed a kiss to the soft skin above her collarbone, his voice a low rumble.

He hummed at her words, his heart swelling with love and desire.

"And it worked. I yield completely to your beck and call" he said, his voice dripping with affection and an edge of humor.

He tilted his head, capturing her lips in a gentle kiss, his hand coming up to cup her face, his thumb tracing her jawline.

"Take me to bed, love" he whispered against her lips.

Dear @whoisspence , I hope this is what you were looking for. ~ Daredevil

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #painrelief

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