The sequel to Wrong Life I never thought I'd write. I promised myself I wouldn't post another fic without having written ahead, but oh well. Here goes nothing anyway.
Disclaimer: I own nothing recognizable.
Spencer can hear his heart beating loudly in his chest. It's irregular and heavy, reacting to the panic that's trying to crawl its way up his throat, but Spencer ruthlessly pushes it down. He can't deal with it, not now. To open that door would mean not being able to close it again, and he needs privacy for that kind of breakdown.
Instead, he focuses on his breathing. Deep inhale, steady exhale. He watches Hotch out of the corner of his eye, matching his breaths to his boss's. He ignores the tension in Hotch's shoulders, ignores the deep lines etched into the man's face. Noticing anything other than the man's practiced, steady breathing would mean facing up to everything Spencer's currently trying to hide from.
"Agent Reid," a heavy, regretful voice says. "You have been a great asset to the FBI for several years now, and no one wishes to change that. Your skillset is far too impressive to lose quite so easily. However, we cannot ignore this latest mishap. Frankly, if any other agent had acted the way you did in Seattle, they wouldn't still be in this building."
"Director," Hotch cuts in, "Agent Reid is well aware of the mistakes that were made, but he shouldn't be held solely accountable for –"
"For three agents being put in the hospital, two of which from your own team?"
Hotch falls quiet, and Spencer finds it hard to meet anyone's eyes.
The director sighs and rubs his chin, peering at them with a troubled frown. "I'm sorry, Aaron. Spencer. But I'm afraid my hands are tied. When everything came out last year concerning you and Agent Rossi, you both swore it wouldn't change the dynamic of the team. Against all regulation and common sense, I trusted you would all be able to handle the situation. It hasn't even been a full year, yet here you are again in my office. I really am sorry, but there's nothing I can do."
Without even having to look at him, Spencer can feel Hotch gearing up to argue. Mildly surprised to find his hand steady, he quickly silences his boss with a restraining hand on the shoulder, ignoring the narrowed eyes Hotch sends him in askance.
"I understand," Spencer says, taking a deep breath to squelch the panic. "You have to do your job. With the way you were talking, I assume I'm not fired?" He ignores the way his voice threatens to give out on the last word, relieved when no one else mentions it either.
A muscle twitches in Hotch's jaw, but Spencer deems it safe enough to withdraw his hand from his boss's shoulder. He resists the urge to thread his hands together in his lap, settling for the armrests of his chair. If his knuckles turn white from his grip, well, that's his business.
"Trust me, no one is happy about this," the director assures. "You work well with the BAU, Spencer, anyone can see that. But we can't remove Agent Rossi without immediate media backlash, and I doubt anyone wants him to re-enter retirement. You've been reassigned to a different team. Outside the BAU."
It's not unexpected news. He and Hotch had discussed the possibility in depth before the meeting, and even before that last year. A small part of Spencer is frankly astonished it's taken this long to happen. Even still, hearing it out loud and finalised is too much of a shock to Spencer's system. With a shaky breath, the panic that's been brewing in his chest for the past two weeks finally overwhelms him.
Spencer Reid is leaving the BAU.