#agonising over three fics and this just tumbles out in five minutes

[akaanonymouth]

Berena/ Holby City World Book Day Snippet

“Enough!” Serena throws up her hands. “This madness has to stop!” She jams her hat firmly on her head and stalks to the lift, the stuffed cat jammed firmly under her armpit. “It’d be quicker if you used the broom!” Fletch calls, ensuring the doors are closing before she can fly back out and hit him with it. Ignoring the almost frightened looks she is garnering from people she passes, she steadfastly makes her way to Keller, all the while muttering furiously. Sacha, sitting by the desk, gets to his feet slowly, hands outstretched. “Please, Ms. Campbell, I didn’t mean it. Don’t turn me into anything… unnatural, like!” he pleads, high pitched and trembling. Serena comes to a dead stop, and looks him up and down darkly. “Rather large for a hobbit, aren’t we, Mr. Levy?” “Gamgee,” he corrects, smiling rakishly. “And my mother said I could be anything I want.” Serena almost loses herself in the banter, but her mood is too established to be overcome even by a six foot halfling. “Have you seen Ms. Wolfe?” Sacha’s eyebrows raise. “Yes. I found her on the second turn. Won a Dairy Milk. Haven’t had any luck since, though. So I’m not giving any clues, if that’s what you’re after,” Serena almost growls. Since when,” she says, too measured, too calm, “does dressing up as a character mean embodying it so completely? I mean, you don’t see me flying about the place, cackling spells left right and centre; this is still a hospital,” Sacha opens his mouth, promptly closes it again as Serena’s face dares him to even try. She pinches the bridge of her nose. “I waded through half a ward full of Hogwarts wannabes down on E.D., AAU sent me on a wild goose chase, quite literally, I might add, thanks to the wonderful patient dressed as Peter Rabbit who brought a real life Jemima Puddleduck with him, Darwin… Well, does embodying an evil queen really constitute dressing up for Ms. Naylor, or just a well overdue coming out? Anyway, the Italian is quite the infuriating riddler, too – it seems the same person that explained World Book Day to Bernie, also explained it to him – and so…” she takes a deep, fortifying breath, and bestows a sickly, false smile upon Sacha, who has backed up a few paces. “I am still none the wiser as to where, exactly, Wally is, and, as you can probably tell, entirely unamused that the entire hospital has somehow become an embodiment of a bloody activity illustration!” “Maybe it would have been easier if you used your broom!” he chuckles, the humour almost literally melting from his face under Serena’s acerbic eyebrows.

He nods placatingly, his lips moving for a few seconds before forming words again. “You know, not all ice queens are evil, just… umm, just an aside,” he adds, quickly. “And you might want to cast your…umm, net, your net!… A bit wider. Think outside the box,” Serena’s arms cross almost violently. “Mr. Levy, apparently I need to spell it out to you, I am not in the mood. Where. Is. Bernie?” The Wally, Serena’s mind supplies, and she rolls her eyes at herself, at the fact that, even when she’s exasperating, Bernie can still slip past her facades and make her smile, even if not entirely happily. She feels a hand on her arm, and turns her head slowly. “Follow me,” Essie smiles, and Serena arches an eyebrow. Sacha barely contains a snort as Serena takes in Essie’s deep red cloak, the hood pulled up over her plait, the apron and the basket hanging at her waist. “Obviously,” Serena mutters, rolling her eyes.

They reach paediatrics to find as many beds and chairs as possible gathered around the windows, and other patients, carers and nurses navigating the mesh of machines and wires to find a space. “What-” Serena breaks off as a youngster squeals and points through the window, only for the various gasps of delight to melt away into disappointment. “The building opposite is empty, being demolished soon,” Essie explains. “This morning, the builders dressed up as Harry Potter characters, did a bit of a skit from a cherry picker. Kids were delighted. Some of them can’t leave, and can’t dress up themselves for various reasons,” Serena softens as she watches everyone staring avidly out of the window. She frowns minutely. “This morning? So, what are they doing now?” “Ah,” Essie smiles. “They’re looking for our big bad Wolfe, currently known as Wally.” Serena, thoroughly confused as well as exasperated again, sighs. “Oh, don’t you start. Simple sentences, please, for a simple mind, it’s been a long day.” “Ms. Wolfe went out for a break earlier, and a couple of kids spotted her. Started betting that so-and-so couldn’t find Wally, too. The nurses offered up prizes. Gave the kids something fun to do. The ones that could leave the ward came looking on Darwin, Rossini riddled them to Keller, Sacha found them, they found Bernie, and since then, every half hour or so, she pops up in one of the windows of the building opposite, in various shapes and sizes. She didn’t want to do it all round the hospital, said it wasn’t fair on the kids that couldn’t leave the ward. So,” Essie shrugs, beaming. “There she is,” Serena’s hand moves to her chest as she takes in the children, pointing and whispering and poking each other excitedly. “Yes,” she says, wonderingly. “There she is,”

Serena marches determinedly up to the builders, thankful that some of them, at least, are still dressed up, so that they don’t look at her as though she’s completely batty. At least, until she opens her mouth. “Fifth floor, third window, please, quick as you can,” she stands in front of the cherry picker, hands on hips, tapping her foot expectantly. “‘Scuse me?” one asks, a blonde fringe poking out from underneath his hard hat. “I need you to take me up to the fifth floor, third window in from the right, the one without the glass,” she explains, patiently. He looks between her, the machine, the window, her again. “Couldn’t ya just fly up, Professor?” he grins. “Very droll, haven’t heard that once today. And there are other literary witches outside the Harry Potter universe, you know,” she huffs, somewhat indignantly. He smiles, shakes his head. “Sorry, darlin’, no can do. It’s not really allowed,” “Oh, come now, Mr. Malfoy,” she drawls, hooking her arm in his, oozing charm. “Slytherins aren’t ones for cow-towing to petty regulations, are they? I won’t tell if you don’t. I really need to find Wally, or Wanda, or whatever the stripy hero is calling herself. She’s rather a big deal around here. Besides,” she squeezes his arm, breaths deeply enough to draw his attention to the pendant dangling tantalisingly on her chest. “You wouldn’t want your father to hear about this, would you?” He barks a laugh, untangling himself from her, and has a quick word with a couple of other men who have been watching their interaction with some amusement. “Alright,” he relents, unlocking the cage and ushering her in. “But if my father does hear about this, it’s your guts I’m offering him for garters, capiche?” She winks at him, and holds on to her hat as the wind picks up around the second floor. “What Professor did you have me down as, anyway?” she asks, a glint in her eye. He gulps and looks desperately up. “Let’s Obliviate it,” he says, hopefully, and she laughs, the final tendrils of the days annoyances flying away. The ascent is excruciatingly slow, but finally, they reach the fifth floor. Serena turns to face the hospital, an exaggerated frown on her face. She holds her hands up in the universal “Where?” sign, and after some jostling and earnestly searching faces, they start pointing frantically. Serena turns slowly, moves closer to the window as a red bobble hat comes poking up from the sill. When Bernie’s head follows, she is momentarily taken aback at coming face to face, quite literally mere inches apart, with Serena. “Bloody hell!” she exclaims, and leans out of the window to look around. “Contrary to the apparently universal belief, my preferred mode of transport is not a broomstick,” Serena remarks, drily. Bernie blushes, but recovers quickly. “Well no,” she says, smirking. “Go big or go home; good motto,” she gestures to the cherry picker. Serena arches a brow. “I wore out the broom flying around the entire hospital looking for you,”

Bernie laughs, and Draco Malfoy hangs over the edge to hide his silent chuckles. He pulls out his wand and starts entertaining the onlookers with some intricate, clumsy movements. “Well,” Bernie laughs more gently now, holding her arms out in surrender. “Here I am. What can I do you for, Meg on the Moon?” Serena’s quite forgotten why, exactly, she was so intently searching for Bernie; knows she can’t hide the fact, as Bernie’s eyes are sparkling and a smile just clinging to the corners of her mouth. So she ducks her head, smiles disarmingly. “Treasure,” she breathes. Then, more loudly, with a nonchalant quirk of her shoulders, before Bernie’s eyes widen impossibly. “I found you. I heard there’s a prize. And you know how I love a good prize.” They’re vaguely aware of Builder-Malfoy’s movements, of very distant yells and cheers as he riles up the crowd of spectators. “Sacha ate the chocolate,” Bernie whispers, her tone light and playful, laced with undertones. “And wine would have been unethical, illegal, cruel…” “A good prize, Ms. Wolfe,” Serena repeats, stepping as close as she can to the to the edge of the cage. “I don’t fly, not even for chocolate. Not even for Shiraz,” Her face is full of challenge, and Bernie’s be-striped chest rises and falls visibly faster. They see Builder-Malfoy’s wand waving dangerously over them, then jabbing at the air above them quite insistently. Bernie’s lashes flutter, her teeth worrying her bottom lip until she releases it, excruciatingly slowly. “Nope,” she says finally, a smile spreading lazily over her entire face, holding out her arms. Serena leans into them, her own coming up to reach out. “Seems I was all out of Protego charms.” They pull each other close, and capture adoring laughter in a kiss.

[spencers-renaissance]

Rain is a Chance to be Touched Ch.6

it leaves me cold

Chapter Five

This is the sixth chapter in my ongoing hotchreid fic! Please click here for the fic summary, full tags, trigger warnings, more information etc.

Last Chapter: Penelope ambushed Spencer in his apartment, proved herself the best friend ever, and finally got him some psychiatric help.

In This Chapter: Aaron — furiously angry at the team and convinced Spencer wants nothing to do with him — finally has enough and goes to visit him. Even Penelope can't prepare him for what he'll find.

TW: same as usual — except this time the depictions of depression are representative of a major depressive episode. Spencer requires help with bathing/washing/personal care.

Word Count: 4.7k

RCT Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Read on AO3

AARON

I can't exactly describe how I feel, but it's not quite right. And it leaves me cold. — F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Love of the Last Tycoon

Aaron has spent the last three weeks in shock, floating through the days absently as he goes through the motions of his daily routines. Guilt has been throbbing through his veins with each painful heartbeat, only exacerbated when every one of his attempts to reach out to Spencer is rebuffed. He can’t exactly blame him, though: he hasn’t let anyone down this badly since Haley’s death, the least he deserves is the silent treatment.

It doesn’t matter that objectively he knows his life has been far too hectic to notice something Spencer was trying so hard to conceal, because when he runs over every interaction they’d had in his head, he can’t believe he missed it. Spencer’s misery was staring him right in the face and he was too blinded, too self-absorbed in his own problems to help the man his heart won’t shut up about, no matter how hard he tries to convince himself of its impropriety.

Penelope had taken yesterday off to help Spencer with a few things, and Aaron couldn’t have been quicker to grant her the leave. If Spencer doesn’t want him around, he can at least rest easy with the knowledge that he was allowing someone to help him. And there isn’t anybody better at caring for other people than Penelope Garcia. That doesn’t help much, though. Not when he spends every moment she’s gone wishing he was the one looking after him, fulfilling his every need and want.

Honestly, he’s just glad they don’t have a case on at the moment. For one, he has a mountain of paperwork he needs to catch up on — including finding Spencer’s replacement, a necessary task no matter how painful — but he also knows he’d not be much use in catching America’s Most Wanted in this mindset.

He looks up from his blurred-over gaze at the paperwork on his desk when Dave taps on the doorframe. “Got a second?” he asks, already making his way into the room.

Aaron sits back in his chair, running a hand across his face as he takes in Dave’s concerned expression. He’s been avoiding him the past few weeks — he’s been avoiding everyone the past few weeks: he works with profilers who are paid to figure out what’s going on in people’s heads and he knows he’ll be read like a book if he lets himself get close enough. Not to mention his desire to lay blame at the feet of his co-workers. As far as he’s concerned, they should all be consumed with guilt even stronger than that which is eating away at him; they all let Spencer down, and emotional turmoil is a small price to pay for such a heinous crime.

“How’s the hunt for a new team member going?” Dave asks, and Aaron resents his easy, honest body language as he sits with his knees apart and shoulders relaxed and open. It’s alright for some, he supposes.

He sighs and reaches for the pile of applications to his right, thumbing through them half-heartedly. “A lot of people want to join the BAU,” he says, after a moment of reaching for something to say.

“Well,” Dave raises an eyebrow as a knowing smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, “have you even started looking through those?”

Aaron looks up at him from under his dark eyebrows, leveling him with a steely gaze. He leans back in his chair again a few seconds later, clasping his hands in front of him. “What do you want, Dave?”

He sighs at that, looking down for a moment before meeting Aaron’s eyes with a determined look of his own. “You’ve been avoiding the entire team since Spencer left,” he says frankly, “and as private as you try to be, Aaron, I know you. I know how you feel about him. You’re torturing yourself.”

“Well, maybe I deserve that torture,” he bites back angrily, the words tumbling from his lips before he can stop them. “I failed, Dave, we all did. And sometimes I think I’m the only one who actually cares about that. I know everyone’s sad Spencer’s gone, but how can all of you feel that way and not hate yourself for contributing to the loss of this unit’s best asset, both personally and professionally?”

Dave looks puzzled at that. “Spencer left of his own accord, Aaron. That’s got nothing to do with the rest of this team.”

Rage — furious, agonising rage — sparks in his chest and he closes his eyes for a moment as he pleads with himself to keep his cool. It’s not his place to share with the rest of the team why Spencer left, but he’s also furious that Dave can apparently use his profiling skills to work out he’s half in love with Spencer, but not apply them enough to realise how much pain their youngest team member was in.

“I suggest you think about the last year long and hard,” Aaron murmurs, low and bitter, and he knows he sounds passive-aggressive but he doesn’t care. He’s too blinded with fury at himself and the rest of this team to care about professionalism right now. “Maybe you’ll understand, then.”

He doesn’t watch Dave leave the room.

Penelope comes into his office that evening, dropping off files he had asked for.

“Come and sit down, Garcia.” He’s exhausted and human contact is not what he really wants right now, but Penelope has information about Spencer he longs to hear. Burying himself in his paperwork again can wait a few minutes.

“Sir?” She looks a little puzzled as she obeys and takes a seat across from him, her bright yellow dress bringing a little colour to his day.

“How’s Spencer doing?” he asks, bone-weary tiredness seeping into his voice as he meets her gaze.

She casts her eyes downwards, her fingers fidgeting in her lap as she considers how to answer the question. “I took him to the doctor yesterday,” she starts carefully, “but he’s hurt. And miserable. He thinks we all hate him, that we’ve excluded him on purpose… he was telling me how he’s been feeling for the past year and it broke my heart. Sir, I’m only being this honest with you because I know you’re aware of Spencer’s mental state, but the others aren’t. And it’s not our place to say.”

“I agree,” he reassures her, nodding. “I’m glad he has you, Garcia. You’re a good friend.”

She pauses for a moment, but she must see something in his face because she eventually musters the courage to say what’s really on her mind. “I hope I’m not overstepping, but Spencer… he needs you, Hotch. I know that he’s been over to see you and Jack a few times and from what I hear that’s the only thing that kept him going for those last few months working here.”

“Garcia, he’s not answering my calls or texts,” he sighs, wishing with every bone in his body that Spencer really does need him the way Penelope says he does; the way Aaron needs him, but he thinks there’s probably a better chance of the sky falling in. “I’ve got the message. He definitely doesn’t need me, I can promise you that.”

“Sir, I know you’re my boss,” she says evenly, averting her eyes slightly, her tell that she’s trying to stay calm, “but you’re being really stupid right now. Spencer is in a lot of pain, I’ve seen it first hand this last week, and I’m in a much better position to say what he needs than you. Communication is overwhelming and exhausting for him, and he’s feeling guilty about leaving you and me. I feel as guilty about all of this as you do, but you can’t let your emotions dictate how you act right now. You’ll only end up hurting him further. If you turn up at his place, I can promise you he will let you in.”

She takes a breath in before meeting his relaxed, open gaze. “I love you both very much, but you are both being idiots,” she huffs before levelling him with a stern glare and storming back to her own office.

With Penelope vacating the room, Aaron is left alone with his head reeling. He knows how close Penelope and Spencer are and he can’t think of a reason for her to lie, especially with Spencer being in such a fragile state, but he simply can’t wrap his head around the possibility of what she’s saying being the truth. He’s so desperate not to get his hopes up; he isn’t sure he can take another heartbreak so soon after losing Haley.

When he turns his phone over, he sees two messages from Penelope: He took today off to recover from yesterday. He’ll be home. Under the files she’s left in his office is a key and a pretty, pink piece of note paper with the code to Spencer’s building printed in dark purple gel pen.

🌧

Aaron can’t believe he’s doing this. He’d spent most of the drive over convincing himself he wasn’t — he absolutely was not — going to use the key Penelope had slid into his office without him noticing. She wasn’t far from begging him when she walked into his office and that’s the only reason he even considered it in the first place. But that innocuous ‘considering’ had landed him here, standing outside Spencer’s apartment, trying to work the courage up to actually go inside.

God, there are so many reasons not to do this. It feels wrong to even be thinking about someone other than his dead ex-wife, but he also knows she’d want him to be happy, and when he really thinks about it those sparks of emotion he wasn’t able to put his finger on were happening long before Haley passed.

“Spencer is in a lot of pain.” Penelope’s desperate words to him earlier wouldn’t stop rattling around his head. Knowing what his heart is longing for now, and knowing what Haley would have wanted for him and Jack, he was finally launched into action.

He can’t believe he’s doing this. That’s true. But he is also absolutely going to do it. He slides his key into the lock on the front door of Spencer’s apartment and pushes it open gently. The living room is dark but tidy; Penelope had told him she was helping him around the house, and he walks in just enough to close the door behind him, its soft click the only sound to be heard.

Gingerly, he makes his way through the lounge and kitchen, heading towards the bedrooms at the back. Two of the doors are open, one obviously the bathroom, the other seeming to be an office of sorts, but one of them is closed. There isn’t any light coming from under the door despite it only being 7, and if he didn’t know better he’d assume nobody’s home.

He does know better though, and not just because of Penelope’s earlier text. He knows Spencer is fighting depression, and he knows he’ll be exhausted both physically and mentally from his day yesterday. That only leaves two options: Spencer is laying completely silently in the dark, or he’s asleep. Considering the time of day, Aaron isn’t sure which of those is better.

“Spencer?” he calls quietly as he pushes the door to his bedroom open. There’s a Spencer-shaped lump hidden under the blankets, but he isn’t moving, so he flicks the hallway light on before making his way towards the bed. The light casts a pretty shadow across Spencer’s face, but Aaron is more focused on the tear tracks staining his cheekbones. “Hey, Spencer?” He touches his arm gently, rubbing a little when he doesn’t flinch. Relief flashes across his chest as soon as he starts to move.

“Aaron?” he asks sleepily, sounding confused. He doesn’t spring upright though, simply burying deeper under what he suspects are very comfortable, warm blankets.

“How are you feeling?” He tries to keep his voice soft and careful, but he can hear the naked, unadulterated fearful concern he feels for Spencer bleeding into his words.

“Tired,” Spencer sighs, and as soon as he admits it, a fresh tear drops from his eye straight to the pillow. “Sad.” Aaron watches as he blinks to try and stop any more tears from betraying how he feels, but it just makes things worse. His heart aches as he watches Spencer curl further into himself as he tries to fight the emotions welling up inside him.

“Hey,” he says gently, “it’s okay.” He reaches out to tenderly touch Spencer's cheek, fingers so light he barely makes contact. He has no idea what he’s doing, but he honestly doesn’t care. Everything inside of him is screaming to take care of the man lying in bed as he falls apart. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

Surprisingly, that actually seems to work. Spencer relaxes slightly and lets the tears fall, uninhibited. The defeated expression on his face still eats Aaron up inside, but the pain is mixed with relief that Penelope might actually have been right. Maybe Spencer does need him. As much as it kills him that Spencer’s even in this position to begin with, he’d much rather he be going through the darkness with him at his side than alone; he’d much rather actually be able to do something to ease the pain than sit in his office feeling helpless.

“Have you eaten anything today?” He caresses Spencer’s cheek with a bit more confidence, and his heart clenches tightly when he feels the younger man lean into his touch. Emboldened, he reaches his other hand under the duvet and clasps one of Spencer’s cold hands in his own, threading their fingers together. He swears he can hear music when Spencer holds his hand tightly, clutching at it as though it’s the last connection he has to the real world.

“Don’t think so,” Spencer murmurs, letting his eyes droop closed again.

“Do you think you maybe feel like eating something now? If I made it for you?”

Spencer squeezes his eyes closed at that and clasps at Aaron’s hand even tighter. “No, please don’t go,” he begs, sounding as desperate as Aaron feels.

“Hey, hey, okay,” he says soothingly, holding Spencer’s hand tightly in his own as he lays his other palm flat against his cheek, noticing how the firm touch seems to relax him. “How about if we ordered something? Then I don’t have to leave.”

He waits patiently for Spencer’s hesitant nod of consent before pulling his phone out and quickly ordering from the curry house he knows is his favourite. Later, he’ll stop to think about all the little pieces of information he’s stored up on Spencer over the years; he’ll consider why his brain thought small things like his favourite foods and the way he smiles every time a Sarah MacLachlan song comes on were important enough to store away for moments like these.

Right now, though, all his focus is on the man in front of him.

“Can you…” Spencer starts hesitantly, voice cracking, “can you come up here?” He refuses to meet Aaron’s eyes as if sure he’s going to refuse, and he doesn’t know how to tell him just how unfounded his fear is. He’d lasso the moon and wrap it in ribbon if Spencer asked for it.

He climbs onto the bed carefully, surprised when Spencer immediately moves to lean his head against his chest, burying into his warmth. Aaron can hear his pounding heart in his ears and he knows there’s no way to conceal its fast-paced rhythm from a man with his ear to his chest, so he simply forces himself to relax into the bizarre position he’s somehow found himself in, and it slowly starts to calm down.

“Aaron?”

God, he loves it when Spencer uses his first name. It’s so personal, so intimate, and it fills his chest with something akin to euphoria every time it graces his ears. “Yes?”

“Why did you come?”

Well. Isn’t that a question. Truthfully, it’s because it feels like there’s some magnetic pull between Aaron’s heart and Spencer’s; like anywhere Spencer is, Aaron needs to be. The feelings he’s been confused by — the ones he’s been trying to ignore, the ones he’s pretending not to understand despite his subconscious longing for Spencer’s company, his touch, his love — are more prominent and undeniable than ever before. But above all, he came because Spencer needed him. And he’d do that no matter what his brain was screaming at him, or what his heart longed for.

This isn’t exactly the time for a bold, terrifying declaration of love, though, is it?

“You needed me,” he says simply, after a long, telling pause. “And there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.

Spencer nods, pressing impossibly closer to Aaron. Tears are still making their way down his cheeks, wetting the fabric of Aaron’s shirt, but he doesn’t care. He’ll be anything Spencer needs, and if that’s a hug and a good cry, then that’s perfectly fine. He wraps his hand around Spencer’s waist, hugging him closely and he feels him relax even further. The feeling of his small frame pressed against his own is unparalleled, and he has to breathe deeply to keep himself calm. He’s so far gone.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks when he feels another sob wrack Spencer’s shoulders.

“I’m exhausted, Aaron,” he replies, voice thick and eyes droopy. “I’m mentally and physically exhausted and I’m lonely. I’m afraid… I’m afraid I’ll never be happy again. I’m tired like I’ve never been tired before, and I just— I can’t keep going like this, you know? I’m never going to get the things I want.”

He presses closer as he says his last sentence and, distantly, Aaron wonders what it is that he wants exactly. A small voice in his head suggests something so preposterous he has to push it aside violently. He might have these feelings for Spencer, but expecting any kind of reciprocation is only going to end in heartbreak; getting his hopes up is simply irresponsible no matter how many stupid, reckless, hope-ridden inklings he might have.

“Spencer,” he starts, but his voice catches and he has to take a moment to compose himself. “Why didn’t you say something? You could have told me, I— I would have helped you.”

“Aaron, you had — still have — so much on your plate, I couldn’t burden you with my… feelings.”

At that ridiculous notion, he reaches for Spencer’s hand and takes it, holding it gently in his own. “You, Spencer Reid, are never a burden to me,” he insists, moving his hand from Spencer’s waist to his short hair, caressing his head soothingly. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? You are so incredibly important to me, I’m so unbelievably sorry that I ever let you forget that. That we — that this little family ever let you believe you were anything less than crucial and adored. I’ll never forgive myself for not noticing how much pain you were in sooner.”

“You don’t need to—”

“Yes, I do,” Aaron interrupts him. “We let you down, Spencer. There are no two ways about it. I will spend the rest of my days apologising to you for not seeing how much agony you were in, no matter how well you were concealing it. You work with profilers, and not one person spotted the burden you were carrying. I can’t imagine how much that must have hurt.”

Just like that, the quiet, steady flow of tears Spencer had been crying since Aaron woke him up turn into loud, heaving, heart-wrenching sobs. He turns his face to bury it flat into Aaron’s shirt, rolling so he’s almost on top of him as he searches desperately for purchase in his imploding, grieving state. He holds Spencer as tight as possible, letting him scramble and grip at whatever he can as he completely falls apart, sending little pieces of himself into the atmosphere until he’s nothing but a shell of himself, a broken skeleton with nothing left to give.

It takes almost ten minutes for his violent sobbing to subside, and by the time it does Aaron’s crying too, heart breaking clean down the middle as he tries to hold a broken man together with just his hands. The raw, hopeless, unrestrained emotion in Spencer’s sobs cuts straight through his soul, as if every one of this godforsaken earth’s weighty, miserable grievances have been spilled by one man’s tears.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs again as Spencer collapses against him, exhaustion palpable as he allows his boneless body to be cradled by Aaron. He has to push aside his self-hatred in order to comfort the younger man — the wrath at himself and the rest of his team can only be unhelpful right now — but he can’t help it from swelling in his chest.

Their food arrives minutes later, and Aaron carries Spencer to the sofa in the living room, internally cringing at how ridiculously easy it is to pick him up, even with his own, albeit mostly healed, injuries still flaring up from time to time. He flicks on the lamp and tucks him in a blanket before running out to get their food. When he returns, Spencer’s staring at nothing as he lays on the sofa, looking so utterly defeated Aaron feels it himself.

“Hey, how do you feel about some food?” he asks softly, perching next to him on the sofa. “Maybe just a little naan? Or some poppadoms?”

Spencer stares at the food Aaron’s laid on the coffee table, a stray tear running down his cheek. He doesn’t even think he’s even crying anymore, it’s just his body doing what it’s used to. Aaron recognises pretty quickly that he’s not up to making any sort of decision, so he plates up a small serving of food: a little naan, half a poppadom, some pilau rice, and some onion bhajis. “Try this.”

Spencer takes the plate obediently and brings a bite of naan to his lips. Aaron gives him some space and serves up his own food before checking the kitchen for some drinks. The naan and some of the rice have disappeared from the plate by the time he gets back with two glasses of water, and he doesn’t even fight the small smile that makes it onto his face at the sight. He’d prepared himself for a hunger strike.

“Let’s watch a documentary,” he suggests, reaching for the remote and flicking the TV on. “How does that sound?”

Spencer actually brightens a little at the suggestion, breaking off a piece of bhaji and sitting up a bit taller. He takes the win and sets the TV to the history channel, catching the beginning of a documentary on European castles.

“Did you know that Wales has more castles than any other European country?” Spencer offers quietly, and Aaron’s heart flip flops happily in his chest — hearing Spencer talk about something he’s interested in, hearing a fact fall from his lips feels like some sort of progress. It’s like seeing a little piece of the real Spencer through the cloak of sadness he’s been shrouded in for so long now.

“Really? Why?” He tries to sound as casual as possible, but he knows his eagerness to keep him talking is showing. “Isn’t it a tiny country?”

“It’s one of the smallest in Europe, but it was a contested territory for centuries, especially in the Medieval era, so countries would set up fortresses and castles to stake their claim,” he explains despite his weariness, before picking another bit of bhaji off. His face isn’t lighting up with quite the same level of enthusiasm as it used to, but just explaining a bit about his knowledge on some obscure topic is enough for Aaron.

When he doesn’t explain beyond that, Aaron simply smiles and reaches for the food on the coffee table. “Do you want any more?”

“Uhm— some more naan?” Spencer sounds almost shy, and it takes him back to when he first joined the bureau, so shy and unsure of his role in the FBI and the world in general. Aaron had felt that flare of protectiveness from his first day in the department, and it’s only grown stronger over time.

“Sure.” He breaks off another piece of naan and hands it over, and the thankful smile he receives in return feels more gratifying than solving any case ever has. The circumstances might not be ideal, but in that moment it strikes him that he wants to spend every evening for the rest of his life like this, watching something that interests and inspires Spencer while they share a take-away on the couch.

Just days ago the thought would have terrified him. Tonight it’s oddly comforting.

As soon as they’ve finished eating and the documentary’s finished, he leads Spencer into the bathroom and makes sure he’s brushed his teeth and washed his face. “Do you want me to help you with the shower?” he asks tentatively, but Spencer shakes his head. “I’ll wait outside, okay? Call me if you need anything.”

He leans against the hallway wall while he waits, but after ten minutes goes by, he knocks on the door. “Everything okay, Spencer?” He calls out a few more times but left with no reply he pushes the door open and finds Spencer sitting on the floor of the shower, staring motionless at the wall as tears stream down his face. “Oh, sweetheart.” The nickname falls from his lips before he can stop it, but that’s the least of his worries.

As he grabs the clean, fluffy towel from the hook on the back of the bathroom door he finds himself, not for the first time, thanking the heavens for Penelope Garcia. He steps forward and turns the water off, grabbing Spencer’s attention, hushing him as he wraps him gently in the towel and lifts him out of the shower. He sits him on the closed toilet seat and dries him the best he can. It’s not like he’s a trained carer, but he does his best. Only his absolute best for Spencer Reid.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer says through his tears, “I can’t stop crying. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, there’s no need to apologise. Let’s focus on getting you ready for bed, okay?” He brushes the tears from Spencer’s cheeks before continuing to dry him off.

When he’s dried and dressed in a clean t-shirt and boxers, he carries him — at Spencer’s very adorable insistence — back to the bedroom, tucking him under the duvet and making sure he’s warm and comfortable before he stands upright.

“Stay,” Spencer whispers, grabbing Aaron’s wrist.

Conflicting emotions wage war with one another in Aaron’s mind as he considers such a request. On one hand, it feels majorly inappropriate, even though he’s not Spencer’s boss anymore. He doesn’t want to take advantage of his vulnerable emotional state and they haven’t had a proper conversation about how they feel. But on the other hand, Spencer’s miserable, and if having someone close to reassure him he’s okay is going to make him feel even the tiniest bit better, then he doesn’t know how to say no.

After all, he promised himself that tonight, he would be whatever Spencer needed.

“Are you sure?”

“Please.” His expression is so sincere and earnest that he can’t help it when he slides under the duvet next to him, a warm body immediately cuddling up next to his own.

9.30 is far too early for him to go to sleep usually, but he finds his eyelids drooping only minutes after Spencer’s breathing evens out. The subtle magic, the heady cocktail of desperation and anticipation mingles deep in his heart as he feels himself drop off to sleep, and it’s far too easy to ignore the screaming voice in his head telling him all the awful ways this could go so terribly wrong. Because maybe, his heart whispers, this could go so gloriously right.

Chapter Seven

If this chapter brought anything up for you, hotlines are in the endnotes of the AO3 version of this fic. Bigger countries are listed and a link is included if you live somewhere else in the world. I love you <3

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban–gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @marvel-ous-m @oliverbrnch @sbeno22 @aaron-hotchner187 @thataveragenerd (add yourself to my taglist here)