Title: Ignoring Ignorance
Author: totalfanfreak
Rating: T
Prompt/Summary: There were a few imagine prompts about the reader catching Reid using Dilaudid but none to really fit what I was writing…
Main Character(s): Spencer Reid/ Reader
Trigger Warning: Mentions of drug abuse
Word Count:
Beta/Editor: Me
Multishot: Probably not
Author's Notes: N/A
Morgan arc spoilers?: Nada
You were finishing clearing off the tables when the bell chimed, you knew by now that this meant the meeting was over from across the street. Working at the little diner for over three years you've had plenty of customers come from the NA, AA, and Survivor's meetings from the church, it was always a good night to be working too. Many of the other waitresses turned their noses up at these nights, saying they hardly tipped, probably saving it for their next fix. But you knew better, having just expelled all their secrets and shame they either wanted a good meal with as little contact as possible or a good meal with a sympathetic ear to lean on.
You were pretty good at distinguishing between which people wanted what, actually some becoming regulars and knowing their names, except for one. He was new but he had been trudging in, almost reluctantly, as all the others did. He would take a booth by himself and after ordering his usual coffee he'd hold it as if warming his hands and vacantly stare out the window. Whenever you had his table, he appeared friendly enough. He'd smile warmly, yet apprehensive as he'd scan the menu to make sure there was nothing he wanted. His hands would ring together in desperation, as if it was a life altering choice. Though it took you a while to figure out it could be the jitters from withdrawal. He was handsome, but so skinny, you often wondered what he lived on besides coffee. You had a thought that it could be because he had no money. So you'd offer him food, just to somehow nourish him, but he'd politely decline.
He had taken his usual booth, long fingers skimming the menu in contemplation, though you were sure he wouldn't eat anything. Seeing the other servers with their hands full you took out your little notepad, and went over to him. His head bowed, eyes fixed to the table, he muttered - coffee. He looked more down than he usually did and you wish you could pat him on the shoulder or something. But most patrons didn't take to physical contact very well. Bringing his mug, you filled it to the brim, before trying to give a sympathetic smile and returning to your other tables. Little by little the place thinned out, each customer smiling and thanking everyone for the meal. You would smile back, ushering them to come back when they had the chance. Going back to refill the man's coffee, you were startled when his hand circled you wrist. Hearing you yelp, he released you before blushing. That millisecond of contact and you had felt how cold his hands were and you blushed yourself when you had the brief thought of taking them in your own and trying to warm them.
"I'm sorry; I was hoping to get your attention."
You laughed, letting out a breath of nerves. "You did. Was there something you needed?"
His eyes flitted to yours and you caught that the rings under his eyes were much darker tonight. He must not be sleeping. "It's that – I was wondering…You know why we come here don't you?"
You shrugged. "I suppose to get something to eat, though some just like to look at the menu."
You meant it as a joke, but the way he flushed told you he hadn't taken it that way. "I didn't mean it like that I meant –"
"No, I know what you meant, and I wish it wouldn't bother you. I know it's late when all of you get out, and you need a meal before you get home. The rest…doesn't matter, not in the way I think you're thinking."
He looked back out the window. "The other waitresses do not seem to like us here, so I figured they knew, but you, well, I suppose you just ignore it."
Your head reared back. "Ignore it? What do you mean I ignore it?"
"You pretend nothing's wrong, at least the others are pretentious about us, you, you skirt around like everything's la-la land here."
Perhaps you were just the closest thing he could lash at, but you weren't for taking his anger. Plopping down in the adjoining booth it was your turn to startle him as you leaned forward. "I don't know what you gather from looking at me five minutes every week, but I do try to get to know my customers when they come in here. It's their choice to talk to me, I can't make any of you, and I try to give space to those who need it. I might not understand what you're going entirely but I have been on the barrel end of that gun. So don't give me crap about being off to nowhere, and that I don't care."
Setting up you flopped back down giving a final huff. "And I'm sorry, I will listen, but if you'd look from that window every now and then you might realize we're a diner not a therapist office."
You left, muttering to yourself angrily back to the kitchen. You had tried to be nice; if the jerk had wanted to talk he could've just said something. Throwing the bussed dishes into the dishwasher, you were about to start restocking napkins when you heard someone clear their throat. You turned only to snort and turn back to the shelf.
"Do you need something, or are you back to tell me what a twit I am? Or better yet did you tell my boss about how I'm not a licensed counselor?"
The ringing of his hands continued, and you felt him floundering. "I'm sorry."
You sighed. "You don't have to apologize, I –"
"No, you see I do, I shouldn't have lashed at you. Especially for something you weren't even doing anyway. I felt, I don't know, judged at first when starting the NA and then coming in here people must've known. Know what we do, and what we've done. All these people, strangers, that know, and, and my own friends, the people I see as family won't even acknowledge it. It's like everything that led up to this point never happened. I don't know how I'm supposed to feel about it, all I know is, is that I don't think it's fair. It's not right, and it pisses me off."
"I'm sorry about your friends, you're right, they shouldn't avoid what happened. Maybe they see things differently, I did. Look we don't know each other but from the last hour or so I feel I may as well say that my mother had an abuse problem, hers was pain medication. And I ignored it for a long time, thinking it helped her, made her feel good enough to get out of bed and do something. It wasn't hindering anything. But as it went on, she got worse, needing more, stopped caring about anything, maybe your friends didn't see you at your lowest point, I don't know, but sometimes it's easier to push it away and think one of the people you depend on are strong enough to take care of it on their own. I doubt I'm even helping with this. I'm sorry, but really, there's nothing to apologize for."
"You – you are helping, thank you. Nobody outside of group has listened and I felt like a creek rising past my chest, I am sorry I burdened myself on you. And I am sorry about what happened with your mother. May I ask if she got better?"
You smiled tenderly. "Going sober for nine years now, I sent her a stuffed cat for the occasion. Nine years, nine lives. It was lame, but she said she loved it."
He chuckled. "I'm sure she did."
"You're stronger than you think. I know there are times we all want to run away from our past, but some things are worth staying for."
He nodded, looking at you mystified. "Would you like to have some pie and coffee? With me, I mean, if that's okay if not –"
You giggled. "I've been trying to get you to eat for over a month now, I'd never turn the chance down. Though, I kind of would like your name."
"Sp-Spencer."
"Well, Spencer, I know there's a bunch resting in the case out front but I know the cook bakes some to take home with him. So if you'd like we can grab a fork and muzzle in on them."
He smiled, light returning in his tired eyes. "I think I'd like that, I'm hungrier now than I've been in days."