Growing Pains {Chapter five}
warnings: mentions of alcohol, gun violence, murder
author’s note: sorry I've been away so long, I've been dealing with stuff. Anyways, hope you enjoy - Toby xx
"Well, at least its just one night."
The bag against your shoulder dug into your skin and you stalked forward, plopping it down on the right side of the bed.
Spencer remained in the doorway, though the door was closed by now. He noticed hotel doors had a tendency to slam shut if someone wasn't holding them open, that familiar click of the lock shutting into place still ringing in his ears. He hadn't believed his luck when the flight had been grounded due to weather difficulties. Even more so when the team had been forced to sleep in a tiny, rundown motel whose rooms were scarce. Everyone was doubling up- actually, that wasn't true. Rossi wasn't doubling up, the man had argued since he was older he deserved a single room and the team knew better than to push against him, knowing any fight with him would likely lead to him rambling about his time serving in the war or starting the BAU, and they were far too tired to open that can of worms.
And then, to learn that he was assigned to sleep with you.
His face burned at the thought. Not sleep with. You know, not sexually. His palm tightened, and he was incredibly grateful that you hadn't suddenly gained the ability to read minds.
"There's one bed." He said, and even he could tell his voice was choked.
You looked up from your previous task of scanning the TV guide, eager to see if there was anything good on for the night. A perfectly tweezed brow was raised, lips quirking up.
"Well, you didn't become a profiler for nothing." It was a playful jest, one that made Spencer's chest relax slightly- just slightly.
"It's one night, Spencer. Besides, we don't even have to sleep."
If the man was drinking water he would've spit it out. "W-we don't?"
You fixed the Reid with a questioning stare, hand raising to point a finger at the fully stocked mini bar. Perhaps the motel was run down. Perhaps the woman at the front chainsmoked cigarettes and was half-asleep throughout checking, and maybe your bed smelled of mothballs and damp city water. But the bar was stocked, and that was good enough for you.
"We can drink." You answered dully.
Spencer's lips spluttered before he frowned. "Are we allowed?" And if it hadn't been Spencer who had asked you might've laughed. But you knew better. You knew that Spencer had probably never drinker from a hotel bar because he had only been in hotels when the job warranted it. Besides, even when the team went out the man hardly drank more than a couple glasses, always cutting himself off before he was affected.
"We're off duty, I don't see why not." You shrugged, backing up slowly before choosing a bottle of vodka. They were tiny, it was a minibar after all, but there was enough to do some damage and you held one up to Spencer, a silent offer. He still hadn't moved from the doorway, and you scanned his body language as you stared.
He was tense, shoulders pulled taut, that look on his face as though he were solving a puzzle. Sometimes you wished you could reach right into his mind and pluck him out of the hurricane he seemed trapped in. After a moment he seemed to concede with himself and took hesitant steps forward, grabbing the bottle and twisting it open.
He downed it in one go, your eyebrows shooting into your forehead.
He cleared his throat, dropping his own bag on the other side of the bed and plopping down on the mattress. It gave an awful squeak when he did and you met his eyes, a goofy smile taking over your lips. This was the most conversation the two of you had had in a very long time. So, you grabbed a bottle of your own, following his lead and downing the entire thing.
Making a decision, you scooped up the rest, nine or ten bottles more at least, and joined the man on the bed, dumping them on the comforter.
Spencer picked one up, you following his lead as the caps were twisted off in unison.
And down the liquid went.
-
"Oh my god, ow, Spence that hurts." Your hands clutched your stomach, words coming out a slurred mess as the Reid roared in laughter, stumbling back onto the bed. The genius, it seemed, could do a rather incredible Hotch impression, his eyebrows furrowing in a way that had made you practically seize in laughter.
Empty bottles clinked as the bed dipped with his presence, your shoulder touching one another as you fell back, the two of you staring at the ceiling. The laughter subsiding, you glanced at the man. His cheeks were a rosy red, eyes alight with humor. His cheeks dimpled in the corners, and you ached to reach out and touch them, but you stopped yourself. His hair was a disheveled mess, the man constantly running his fingers through it. The tie that was around his neck was loosened considerably, his t-shirt untucked and slightly unbuttoned.
The skin it revealed made you flush, looking away.
Feeling the retreating eyes, Spencer glanced to his left, staring at your profile. He recalled doing the same as a child, looking at the chiseled edges of your jaw, the nape of your neck, the rosy tint of your lips. Something glittered on your chest- a necklace- and though it attracted his attention, it didn't seem to keep it, because his eyes were soon drawn to your neck, a light mark poking out from your shirt collar.
His mind still muddled from the alcohol, the Reid reached forward, his hand stopping short just before grazing it. Though the movement was enough to make your head turn back to him lazily.
When had your faces gotten so close together?
Spencer kept his hand between the two of you, eyebrows furrowing. "What happened?"
It didn't take much for you to know what he was referring to, but the alcohol in your system made you shrug. "What do you mean?" And your voice was husky enough to cut through his muffled thoughts and he almost buried his head in his pillow just to get ahold of himself.
But he didn't, eyes still glued on your neck. "That." He pointed. "That wasn't there when I left."
"A lot has happened since you left." And you hadn't skipped a beat.
You transferred to your side, slipping your right hand under your pillow and letting your hand do what it had wanted ever since you saw him on your first day. It grasped his, the man stiffening.
"Tell me." And he was quiet. Suddenly, he felt like a small boy again, whispering to you in the dark because you weren't supposed to be up so late. Vaguely, he registered the hotel's radio playing something, white noise that you had turned on somewhere between the third and fourth shot.
Part of him wondered why you both drank so much. But most of him knew why. He knew that you both needed the courage, needed something to hide behind if you were to speak again.
"Tell you what?" And you stared back into his eyes, the eyes that were so calculating. Eyes that overwhelmed you because it was like when he looked at you he was reading the manuscript for your soul and perhaps you might've been okay with that at one point in your life but too much had happened without him. He had skipped too many chapters and you didn't want him to spoil the ending.
"Everything. Tell me where you went without me."
The thought of doing so scared you. It scared you because when you looked at him, you didn't see anything other than concern. It was interest, like it was with Derek and JJ, and Emily. Like you were some new you to figure out. It wasn't poking and prodding for war stories to indulge in. It was concern, care for all the years he had left you alone.
You swallowed. "You stopped talking to me. Why?" You changed the subject.
Now it was Spencer's turn to pause. He stared at you, those bright eyes he thought about so often. Even if he hadn't had a photographic memory, those eyes would be etched into his skull, a fire blazing right behind them. Those were the eyes that saw past his intelligence, that saw him for what he was, what he had always been. "Long distance friendships tend to fizzle out."
Even as he said the words he knew they were a lie. They tasted foreign on his tongue, and he licked his lips after speaking them.
Your eyes narrowed. "You're a terrible liar."
He said nothing. You scooted closer, your knees were touching his. Your hair flopped as you moved. Had it always looked so shiny? He wondered idly. Your breath fanned on his cheeks. It smelled like vodka and...cherries? He breathed deeply.
Now he wasn't sure if his mind was fuzzy from the alcohol, or from simply being around you, but he decided he would listen, just as he always had when the two of you had grown up. Listening to you was something he knew to do instinctually, and so he did.
"I think I missed you too much and it scared me."
And there was the silence again. Silence and the radio and the hum of the radiator and the rain hitting the window. The lights flickered every so often, though your eyes never did leave his.
You thought back to those days of waiting by the phone, not wanting to call in case Spencer didn't pick up, the thought of getting rejected worse than you rejecting him.
Your eyebrows furrowed in the way Spencer liked, that little crease on your forehead popping out. He wanted to reach out and smooth it but thought better of it.
"Why didn't you talk to me when I first came to work with you? I thought you hated me until tonight." All the layers of yourself seemed to be unpeeled.
Spencer sighed, swallowing for a moment. "Same reason, I think." And he didn't really know. Not really. And it threw off his entire world because he always knew. He always knew the answer, he always knew everything. And of course it was you who had to topple his world.
"You stopped talking to me because you missed me?" You repeated, almost as if trying to understand. Spencer just shrugged, because as much as he didn't know, he knew that much was true.
"Too much." He said quietly. "Because talking to you hurt me. It hurt that you weren't right beside me, especially when-"
You stared at him a moment longer. That copper hair becoming unruly, tie loosened, eyebrows knitted. So close to him, you could smell that same scent you smelled all those years ago. Lemon and cheap laundry detergent. Though now it had something new. A scent of leather.
He turned back to the ceiling, hand leaving yours to rest on his chest. "I asked you about your neck."
You snorted, coming to rest on your back as well. "Are we keeping score now?"
He didn't respond, simply waiting for an answer.
Your chest tightened, propping yourself on your elbows.
"I don't know if you can handle it." And you regarded him in that same softness that you used only with him. A softness that made him feel warm and safe and acknowledged not for his intelligence but for him. For his faults and his strengths and his humor and his friendship.
Suddenly feeling nervous, he sat up, legs folding until he were criss-cross applesauce. The sight made you smile smally, following his lead. "Tell me." He encouraged once more.
Your limbs still felt like jello, your words still not entirely clear, but even if you had been sober you knew you would've told him. Because he was Spencer. Because Spencer and you were best friends. No matter how much time passed, no matter how much happened in between. Best friends are best friends.
"What I did for the military...it wasn’t good."
He said nothing and after a moment you realized it was because he expected you to say more.
“I entered right after high school, I didn't really have plans, I was...lost. They helped me pay for college and after a while they realized I was pretty good at shooting. Exceptional, actually.” You gazed at him, gauging his reaction. He seemed to be actively listening so you continued. “I was a sniper. My superiors pointed there finger and I didn't need an explanation, I just...took them out. Real, living people that we had somehow had the ability to deign either good or evil. I looked through a tiny scope, I squeezed my trigger, and then they were gone.”
“My neck,” Your hand went up to touch the raised skin, your reminder for what you had done. “It was a price I had to pay. Someone tipped off my target, they had someone trying to snipe me. I caught the flash of the gun just in time, ducked out of the way. The bullet grazed my neck, and then embedded itself in my partner’s chest.” Your fingers left the scar, coming back to rest in your lap. “I was pulled out after that, and then I got contacted from Hotch. My superiors had sent in resumes and applications for me, recommendations on my behalf. That's how I got the job."
You looked down at your watch, that worn, leather band. "Ten years."
The Reid nodded, that thoughtfulness returning.
The song on the radio changed.
The radiator stopped humming.
"You can ask." You said after a moment.
He stared at you, wondering if you actually could read minds. "How many people did you kill?"
A harsh swallow. "Too many."
The radiator picked back up.
The light flickered again.
"Especially when I had a crush on you." Spencer evened the playing field. He owed you an answer after all. He glanced down, picking at his shoelace. He remembered those days after leaving home. The days spent walking around campus, thinking of you every time something happened, something he wanted to tell you about. He remembered shoving himself in that tiny phone booth, dreaming about when he would see you in person again. He remembered writing hundreds of letters, letters he never sent out because he didn't want you to think he was weird. He remembered making that decision, that decision that he had always played off as a mistake, to miss phone calls, to faze you out, because the thought of you rejecting him was far too painful to try.
"You liked me?" You asked dazedly. And now you were remembering. You were remembering hanging from trees with him, hands interlocked because if one of you fell at least you fell together. You remembered him signing your cast, a faint blush on your cheek when he drew a heart. You remembered being teased by your brothers relentlessly when they found a card you had made the boy for Valentine's Day- something you had ripped up and thrown in the trash immediately after because the thought of him reacting the same made you ache.
"Wait." You paused, remembering something. "You said you didn't talk to me when I first came for the same reason." He was silent as you looked at him. Did this mean that...that he still liked you? The thought was juvenile in its entirety, but you liked how it felt. You liked how it felt to be young again and that's precisely how Spencer made you feel. He made you forget those years without him, forget the places you had been, the bodies you had dropped, because it was just you and him.
He glance up, almost as if to guard your reaction, and was shocked to find a goofy smile on your lips. He tilted his head like a puppy, eyebrows furrowing. "What?"
You remembered the times he had visited you when you were sick, read to you when you were sad, drawn you pictures when you needed a laugh. You remembered teaching him to tie his shoes, jumping into the community swimming pool, drawing on the sidewalk with chalk. You remembered Fourth of July, the scent of fireworks and orange soda. You remembered pinky promises and best friend necklaces and calls to his college. You remembered loving him, and part of you wondered if you had ever stopped.
The bottles on the bed clinked as you moved forward, your hands going to the man's cheeks as your lips connected with his. He stiffened, and you pulled away, afraid you had made a mistake, before he was placing his hand on the back of your head and guiding you back toward him.
You tasted of vodka and cherries- yes, he was sure it was cherries now. Your hair was soft beneath his touch and you mewled at the feel of his touch.
The bed squeaked brutally as he pushed your back onto the bed, his lips driving you mad.
And the two of you became lost in a vodka driven daze.
Sorry I don't wanna write smut right now l m a o BUT!!!! one bed trope!! I've always wanted to do that!!! Hope you all enjoyed:)
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