Author's note: This is just a little AU randomness to help relieve your holiday stress. I hope everyone is enjoying their time off!
Warnings: Mentions of eating disorders, non-graphic self-harm.
As usual, I don't own anything you recognize!
Spencer was convinced he was trapped in the sixth level of hell (the seventh would involve him eating spinach). He stared at the bright light in front of him and reviewed all of his past mistakes. Certainly his life hadn't been perfect, and he had more than his fair share of regret; but, he was positive he'd never committed any wrongs deserving of the punishment he currently suffered.
A sharp tug on his arm pulled his unwilling mind back to his present circumstances. Screeching voices filled his ears as he was dragged through the overcrowded mass of people. He dodged small children with sticky confections, overstuffed shopping bags filled with pointy objects, and pushy salesclerks trying to douse him with perfume and polish his nails. His mind flashed back to his weeks of FBI training. He'd thought that the obstacle course then was difficult, but it paled in comparison to the mad house he battled now.
He was still unsure as to how exactly he managed to end up at the USA Mall with JJ, Garcia, Emily, and Elle on Memorial Day. It was something he seriously began to regret less than 45 minutes into the nightmare. Unfortunately, in a very ungenius-like move, he neglected to bring his own car. Spencer glared at the sign above the store he was being pulled into: 'The Limited'. He warily scanned the store and was pleased to see no indication of any men's wear. Good, I can sit this one out! As expected, he was firmly placed on a chair outside the changing area and was promptly loaded down with purses and purchases. At least this store wouldn't be too bad. He'd already endured untold embarrassment at both Victoria's Secret and Fredrick's of Hollywood. He had a sneaky feeling he could never look at his colleagues in the same light after those experiences. The agony had compounded with stops at Nine West, Vans, Coach, Dooney and Burke, and Kay Jewelers. He'd never in his life fathomed that women could spend 30 minutes comparing two pairs of shoes. He'd retreated to a nearby store in fear for his life after suggesting that they get both (he even offered to buy a pair just to put an end to his misery). Those were only a few of the nearly 2 dozen stores they had browsed during the day.
The ones that catered to both genders were particularly trial some, but he learned quickly that it was easier to obey than to anger. From that point on, he dutifully tried on all the requested items without complaint, and willingly purchased the clothing deemed suitable. (He figured he could always bring it back later if he dared to brave the mall again.) His only true moments of happiness came at the Burberry story, where he eagerly shelled out an insane amount of money for a patched wool pea coat, striped wool scarf, and checked silk tie. He felt satisfied that he at least had a few items that he genuinely liked.
Loud, familiar voices broke through his mental recounting of the day's torture. He looked up to see Elle modeling what he'd discovered were called 'skinny jeans' and looking extremely unhappy. Garcia and JJ were arguing that she looked great, whereas Emily was siding with Elle's dislike of them. Spencer sincerely hoped his opinion wouldn't be required. "Reid," one of the voices called, and he cringed inwardly. I'm in huge trouble!
He cautiously slunk over and eyed the women uneasily. "What do you think of these jeans on Elle?" Emily demanded.
He gulped. "Um…"
"See? He even thinks they're bad," Elle cried. "I knew they were awful!"
"They aren't awful," Garcia soothed as she glared at Reid. "Great, now we'll never convince her. Nice job Reid."
"But I…"
"Never mind, just go back." Emily waved him away. He walked miserably back to his seat and tried to disappear.
Apparently, they solved the problem without his further input as the next thing he knew they were gathering up bags from around his feet. He opted not to speak as he was lead out of the store. He only half listened to the conversation; partial sentences floated past his ears through the commotion in the packed corridor. "…Never be able to wear that." "Definitely need to diet first…" "Much too fat for 'skinny' anything…" It wasn't until he heard his name that he tuned in.
"Huh?" he asked in response.
Emily rolled her eyes. "Didn't you hear anything we just said?"
"No…" They were talking to me, or were they talking about me? She pushed him into a store that said 'True Religion' on the marquee.
"We said," Elle began pointedly," that we want you to try on some skinny jeans."
"What? Aren't those for women?" Didn't they just say I was too fat for those?
"Nah, guys wear them too," JJ stated. "Why do you want me to wear them?" "We think they'd be hot on you," Garcia said simply.
"Besides, you have the ass to fill them out," Elle teased as she patted the area in question.
What's that supposed to mean? He decided not to ask. Instead, he silently took the three pairs handed to him and went to the dressing room. Once he had the first pair on, he wasn't thoroughly impressed with the look. He tried looking from different angles, but each one was worse than the previous. His posterior looked enormous while his calves and ankles looked atrophied. The pants were horrible and he wanted out of them immediately, but the ladies were calling for him to model. He reluctantly crept out to face the firing squad. Their expressions-eyes bulged out, jaws dropped, skin flushed- told him all he needed to know-shock, disbelief, and a tinge of revulsion if he was correct. None of them talked for several long seconds before Garcia spoke up. "Well, we were right." The others nodded in agreement. Right about what? They knew I'd look bad beforehand? Why did they make me do this, then? Was it just to embarrass me?
"Do…do you want me to try on the others?" he asked hesitantly. Their lack of response began to unnerve him.
"No," Elle replied instantly, "we've seen enough." Oh man, they really do think I'm fat. No wonder they look disgusted!
"We certainly can't take looking at you in another pair," Emily added as she waved sales flyer rapidly in front of her face. Probably so she doesn't have to see me longer than necessary.
He felt hot tears pricking his eyes as he turned back to change. He didn't speak much for the remainder of the shopping trip, but the women didn't seem to notice. The rest of the time at the mall, and during the car ride home, he debated the meaning of the day's events. By the time he arrived safely to his apartment with his meager purchases, he was convinced that the whole trip was set up to show him that he needed to get in shape. He stood naked in front of his closet mirror and critiqued every visible inch. He'd put on a few pounds since he started at the Bureau-no more than five or so pounds but obviously enough to be noticed. That settled things; beginning tomorrow he was undertaking a serious weight loss program!
Spencer heaved a deep sigh as he entered the clothing store. It was nearly 5 weeks since he put his plan into action. So far he was unsure of his progress, despite the comments from his team members about his change in appearance. He took the fact that they'd noticed as a positive sign. He found the horrible jeans he'd tried on the last time and forced himself into the changing room. This time the pants hung low on his hips but bunched at his ankles. He thought they actually looked much better, even if his ass filled them out more than he would have liked. Maybe a couple more pounds will get them just right.
He decided to buy them now but wait to wear them until he reached his weight loss goal. At least now he was certain the plan was working. He'd carefully researched to find the best diet pills and started jogging in the mornings before going to work. In the beginning he'd considered working out with Morgan at the gym if he needed a boost to get motivated, but so far things were going well. Leaving his team members out of the equation was preferred; they were hard enough to deal with already. As he paid for his purchase and ignored the compliments from the chattering sales girl, he imagined the looks on the faces of his coworkers when he finally debuted his new look. They'll be so excited. I can't wait for them to see me!
Spencer collapsed onto the bed in his hotel room, completely exhausted. Initially, he received a burst of energy from the diet pills, but after nearly two months his body had adjusted to the chemicals. They no longer had the strength to fuel his system for any length of time. They contained a stronger appetite suppressant than he expected, so for several weeks he lived entirely off of coffee and the occasional granola bar when he wasn't with the team. He attempted to eat as normally as possible around them, though he didn't hide the fact that he was eating healthier than he had previously. He had no doubt they'd noticed that his diet consisted mainly of lettuce and water-based fruits. Fortunately, so far no one had called him on it.
While this system worked wonders for meeting his goals, it was beginning to wreck havoc on his body. His hair was thin and dull, his skin was pale to being translucent, and he was perpetually exhausted and irritable. Of course, this too was all noticed by his team. Hotch all but ordered him to see a doctor; he agreed to go but never followed through on the promise.
As he lay on the bed, too tired to even take off his shoes, he realized he needed to change his approach. Even his slight figure couldn't continue to survive on 500 calories a day. He thought back to some of the research he had read on eating disorders, a product of too much teasing about anorexia during his graduate years. He was fully aware of the fact that he fit the category, but he didn't care. If he recalled correctly, bulimia was the easiest of the common disorders to hide. If he discontinued the pills and ate regularly, that should help him regain his strength and keep the team off his back without sabotaging his goals. This is the way to go! I should have no problem pulling this off!
Spencer glanced around the table at his team members. They were all deeply involved in conversation surrounding Agent Anderson's 'baby mama scandal'. He wasn't remotely interested in the gossip. The large dinner fork hidden in the napkin held his attention far easier than inner-office drama.
It was risky to attempt this when his team members or other patrons could find him at any moment. Finally, though, he could resist no longer and he excused himself to the bathroom. He checked the stalls to be sure he was alone before locking himself in and kneeling down on the cold tile. He pulled the fork from his pocket and stared at it for a moment. It hadn't taken long for him to realize his gag reflex was so desensitized from years of bullying and from self control at crime scenes that he needed to use objects to induce vomiting. Utensils, he found out, were the easiest to transport and raised little suspicion if discovered. His new plan had been working successfully for over a week so far. It actually even managed to get his colleagues to give him a little more space than they had been. He was certain this plan would work well in the future as he took steps to keep from damaging his throat and mouth.
He carefully eased the handle down his throat, holding the fork by the tines. The initial pain was the hardest part. Once he got started, it was easy, and the actual vomiting didn't bother him much anymore either. Just as the fork was reaching the right spot to do its magic, the bathroom door slammed open, hitting the wall behind it with enough force to cause a minor sonic boom. The unexpected loud noise startled him and he lost his flimsy grip on the fork. He gasped in shock-or tried to anyway-as the hard metal object slid down to firmly plant itself in his esophagus. His eyes widened in fear but he fought to remain perfectly still to prevent any further sliding.
Tears formed in his eyes as he realized that a) he was seriously screwed, and b) all of his genius was useless because he had absolutely no idea what to do next. Spencer was concentrating so hard on trying not to panic (hyperventilating was the very last thing he needed at the moment) that he didn't notice someone was speaking to him. That someone happened to be Morgan. Relief flooded him briefly until he realized that he couldn't tell Morgan his problem, as much as he wished he could. He had to do something, however, so he slowly reached behind him, unlocked the stall, and gently pushed the door. Morgan was at the sink, washing his hands and updating Reid on the discussion at the table. The squeak of the door opening caught Morgan's attention. He turned to face Reid with a grin that quickly faded when he saw Reid on the floor. Morgan rushed over and showed an appropriate amount of concern for the situation. Spencer pointed to his throat frantically, hoping that somehow Morgan would get the message.
"Are you choking?" Morgan asked, confusion lacing his voice. Reid tipped his head slightly in confirmation. "Ok, let me help." Morgan moved closer to him with outstretched arms. Spencer quickly held up a hand and shook his head marginally. "No? What, then?" He imitated a steering wheel turning rapidly. "Drive…hospital?" Morgan guessed. Spencer tipped his head again. "Do you want me to drive or should I call an ambulance?" He pointed to Morgan but made a motion with his hand to go smoothly. "Ok kid, I'll take you. Just hang on and we'll get you taken care of." He could make out the barely concealed worry in Morgan's tone.
As Morgan stood to leave, Spencer grabbed his arm and pulled him back. He held a finger to his lips and gave Morgan a pleading look. "You want me to keep this quiet?" The confusion was evident on his face now. Spencer again tilted his head in response. "Ok," Morgan agreed cautiously, "but only so we can get you to the hospital. You go ahead to my car and I'll tell the others you're having an allergy attack."
Spencer reached for Morgan's hand and carefully rose to his feet. He gradually made his way to the parking lot to wait for Morgan. The ride to the hospital was obviously silent. Spencer could tell Morgan wanted to ask questions, and he was grateful to have a reason not to answer. Once inside the ER, Morgan explained the situation the best he could. The nurse showed them to a small room and gave Reid a chart to fill out. When the doctor arrived moments later, Reid flipped one of the pages over to write him a note. 'Alone?' He looked pointedly at Morgan and then glanced at the doctor again. The doctor got the hint and politely asked Morgan to excuse them.
Once alone, Spencer added an explanation to his note, 'Fork', while pointing to his throat. The doctor's eyebrows jumped dramatically toward his hairline. "Are you telling me you swallowed a fork?" Spencer just indicated his note again. "Ok, just sit still and let me get another pair of hands." The doctor left for several minutes and returned with two nurses and a scope. Twenty minutes of examination and portable x-rays revealed that the fork had slipped too far for them to pull it out with forceps. Immediate surgery was deemed necessary to avoid serious damage. As he was prepped for the operation, the doctor asked if he had permission to update Morgan on the situation. Spencer hesitated; he knew the doctor had surmised what had happened and likely would include that in his report to Morgan. He didn't want anyone to know what happened, but he doubted he'd be able to hide a surgery of this nature, particularly from his profiler coworkers. Besides that, he knew Morgan would stay in the waiting room indefinitely until he received information. He agreed to the doctor's request as he was carefully wheeled to the OR.
Spencer awoke to dim lighting and mechanical humming. He blinked a few times to clear his foggy brain. A vague discomfort was centered in his throat, but for the moment it was tolerable. "Hey there," a soft voice spoke next to him. He moved his eyes to see a nurse checking his IV line. "Don't try to talk; it'll be a day or two before you've healed enough for that." He nodded carefully out of quickly formed habit, and he was immensely relieved to find the pressure from the fork was gone. "We're just getting ready to move you to a room, and there is an anxious group waiting for you downstairs."
How am I going to explain this? He worried over his choice of words during the process of moving and resettling into his regular room. As the nurse left she informed him that his visitors were on their way up. She'd left him with a clip board, paper, and several pens so there was no avoiding the questions that were sure to come. The door opened and his frightened team members crowded inside. Once the preliminary greetings and expressions of concern were finished, Hotch stood next to the head of his bed.
"Reid, what the hell happened?" His tone sounded angry, but fear lingered under each syllable. "We saw the x-rays and something like this doesn't happen by accident."
Spencer held no doubt that Hotch understood the situation for what it was, and it was extremely likely the others had figured it out too. His cheeks flamed red with embarrassment and he could almost feel the disappointment radiating from them. Suddenly, he wished he had a better explanation. Almost anything would be preferable to telling them the truth. However, he felt he owed them all for the worry he caused for the past couple of months, not to mention this incident. He scribbled a note and handed the clipboard to Hotch, who read it with a frown. Hotch passed the board around for the others to read. The men looked confused as to what Reid meant, but JJ, Elle, Garcia, and Emily exchanged horrified glances as they read his words: 'I just wanted to look good in my skinny jeans.'