Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-Con, Flashbacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder-PTSD, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Aaron is still amazing, Boone's pretty cool too, part of my One Call Away universe
Rating: MATURE
Spencer Reid/Aaron Hotchner, past Spencer Reid/Parker Simmons (OMC)
I figured today was the one year anniversary of posting the first chapter of One Call Away, so why not post another time stamp? You should probably at least read up to chapter 26 of One Call Away before reading this though; otherwise, you may be a bit lost. Sorry!
This story takes place the night Hotch and Reid return from Spencer's first case off medical leave—about 2 ½ weeks after Parker's attack.
Song Recommendation: Unsteady by X Ambassadors.
Also, this fic is right on par with the main story, so please, heed all the warnings and read with caution.
UNSTEADY
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"We are healed of a suffering only by experiencing it to the full."
– Marcel Proust
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Hotch pulled into a parking spot near the entrance and killed the engine, leaning back against the seat as they both sat and stared at the building in front of them. It was nondescript, really—non-threatening, common place, ordinary—but what it held within its walls was what had Reid's insides twisting up in agonizing knots. This had seemed like such a good idea to him just a few short hours ago, but now he wasn't so sure he could handle it. He felt exposed and vulnerable, all raw nerves and fresh anxiety, unsteady...like he was about to tip over the edge of a tangled mess of emotions he didn't think he wanted to feel. His stomach violently churned with nausea at the mere thought of stepping through those doors and allowing strangers to see him—to really see him. Letting them know exactly what he had gone through. Telling them what had been done to him and what had been taken away from him.
What had broken him.
"I don't know if I can do this," he sighed, biting at his bottom lip while his hands clutched tightly to his knees, body anxiously rocking back and forth with waves of nervous energy, "So maybe we just don't? Maybe we shouldn't do this. Maybe we should just go back home..."
"We're already here, Spencer," Aaron countered, voice soft and soothing as he pried one of Reid's hands away from the death grip he had on his leg, giving it a reassuring squeeze, "You can do this. I know you can. You're stronger than you think you are." He paused there, allowing the words to linger in the air before letting out a long breath, "But if you really don't feel up to it right now, then of course I'll take you home."
Spencer turned to look at the other man, and he returned the firm grip, swallowing the lump of fear and doubt welling up in his throat as he fought back tears that were stinging his eyes. Aaron had dropped everything to bring him here tonight, and he didn't want to disappoint him. Besides, deep down Reid knew he needed to go in there; he needed to talk about his feelings after that last case and the subpoena he'd received when they'd returned home. It had all thrown him for quite a loop, and he felt like he was spiraling out of control—about to crash land in a pool of swirling paranoia, despair and self-pity.
He couldn't let that happen—not after how far he'd come. He needed to debrief.
Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and concentrated on their linked hands, the connection they shared, trying to ground himself in it.
When he reopened his eyes, he saw Aaron watching him with an expression that held no hint of disappointment or annoyance or inconvenience. As a matter of fact, the only thing he saw in those beautiful chocolate depths was a warm sort of patience and understanding, and he realized then that he'd be okay.
Even if he wasn't.
He'd be okay because Hotch was there with him.
"I can do this," he repeated Aaron's words, nodding his head in agreement, trying to convince himself—make himself believe it.
"Of course you can," Hotch smiled back, "There's no doubt."
He took one last deep breath and gave one last reassuring squeeze to Aaron's hand, then let go and opened the car door, stepping out into the crisp night air.
Hotch followed his lead, and together they walked in silence into the building. As they entered, Reid noticed a large plaque on the wall with names and companies listed according to their location. He examined it carefully, his eyes skimming until they found the name he was looking for, then his gaze trailed over to the room number that corresponded to their final destination.
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Finding Solace support group...Rm. 114
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"It looks like it's that way," he pointed down the hall to their left and they made their way past several other rooms as they walked down the corridor, some doors open and some closed.
When they came to room 114, the door was wide open and there were a few people already inside, mingling animatedly amongst themselves; however, the moment they entered the room the conversations died down to a low simmer, making Spencer painfully aware of how awkward he felt in the situation. He knew he had to be sticking out like a sore thumb. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and he froze in place, his palms sweaty and his stomach twisting as the other guests glanced their way.
A gentle pressure at the small of his back grounded him, though, and he leaned into Aaron's calming touch, letting it steady him as he took in the surroundings.
The floor was a stark white linoleum, complete with scuff marks and complemented by a slightly softer white that covered the walls; and the white drop down ceiling with its fluorescent lighting only helped to add to the 'mental facility' vibe he was getting from the place. Sadly, it all reminded him a little bit of the common areas at Bennington. He'd spent hours sitting on one of the patchwork couches there with his mother, and now he wondered if she ever felt like she was trapped in a dull, whitewashed hell.
He tried to shake off the thought as he continued to examine the room.
A circle of colorful plastic chairs took up the majority of the open space in the middle, where most of the other occupants were currently gathered. There was a long table sat off to the side, against one of the walls, and it held a coffee pot, a sleeve of Styrofoam cups, a stack of napkins, and an overly large platter of what appeared to be various types of cookies from some sort of bakery.
His feet immediately headed toward the coffee without even thinking, and he poured a cup for himself, as well as one for Hotch, trying to keep his hands from shaking as he did so. He needed something to do, something to keep his thoughts from drifting.
"Ah, Spencer."
He heard a strangely familiar voice call his name, and he looked over just in time to see a man walking toward them—tall, slender, all sharp angles and smooth edges, shaggy dark brown hair framing a pair of piercing eyes. His breath hitched in his throat when the man stopped at his side, and every instinct he had instantly told him to run, hide, flee; but ice pooled in his veins instead, weighing him down, freezing him in place. He hated the way his body and his mind were reacting, but he just couldn't stop it. He couldn't control it. He took a small step back, all he could muster, moving away from the man and closer to Aaron—closer to safety; and the hand at his back moved to wrap protectively around his waist, holding him near, keeping him steady as a velvet voice purred soothingly in his ear.
"You're okay, Sweetheart. You're safe. I promise, you're okay and you're safe, and I'm right here with you."
Intellectually he knew Aaron was right. He knew he was safe—that the man standing in front of him didn't want to hurt him. This man wasn't dangerous, he wasn't Parker Simmons—but the uncanny resemblance had Spencer wavering, second guessing the truth as he fought back a full-bodied shudder.
It was unnerving.
But he forced himself to look up anyway, forced himself to meet the other man's gaze, and when he saw those eyes looking back at him his racing heart calmed slightly. They weren't the cold ice blue that always sent waves of panic through him; no...those eyes were different. They were that deep, rich, mossy green that had soothed him the week before. They were the eyes that had brought him back to reality when he'd been lost in the horrors of his own mind, cowering like a frightened animal on the floor of the spice aisle at the damn grocery store. They were soft and gentle, caring and warm, inviting, and he took a tentative step forward, giving the man a small half smile as he did so. "Um, hey. Ah..." he glanced back to Hotch, "This is my...friend, Aaron. Um, Aaron, this is Carlyle Boone. He's the guy I told you about. The one who helped me, ah, you know, when I was at the store the other day."
He really, really didn't want to go into the gory details of that horrific day, so he was quite thankful when it looked like Hotch had put all the pieces together himself; and he watched the two men shake hands and exchange warm, subdued smiles.
"Thank you for being there for him, Mr. Boone," Aaron murmured, keeping the conversation low enough that it remained just between the three of them; but nevertheless, Spencer still felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment. "I really appreciate it," Hotch continued, "It's nice to know someone was there to help Spencer when I couldn't be."
"Oh no, please, call me Boone—and it was really no problem at all. I'm just glad I happened to be there, and I'm also glad Spencer called me tonight." Boone gave them both a sharper smile, flashing a perfect row of pearly whites, then gestured toward the circle of chairs that were quickly filling up with people. "I think it's about that time, so why don't we sit down and get started?"
Aaron gave Spencer a gentle nudge, directing him to a pair of unoccupied seats, and Boone took one of the chairs on the opposite side. Group introductions were made quickly thereafter, and it appeared to Reid as though everyone already knew everyone else—except for them, of course. They were the new additions, the oddities of the group, the strangers, and the seven other attendees seemed quite curious about their presence.
A few stories were shared briefly following the introductions, and Spencer got the feeling that the rush was because they were all already pretty familiar with each others' plights. The group seemed like a close-knit family in a way—not completely unlike the way the BAU team was a family—and it kind of felt as though he and Hotch were just getting the cliff notes versions of everyone's life events. That was okay, though. He really wasn't too keen on the whole idea of listening to all the explicit details of what had been done to everyone else—he had enough of those sorts of details wreaking havoc in his own mind already.
He didn't need any others keeping them company.
"Now, I'd like to open up the floor to our new guests." Boone motioned towards him, and Reid took a deep breath, gut churning in anticipation of what was coming. "Spencer, would you like to tell us a little bit about yourself and why you're here tonight?"
"Oh, um..." His heart immediately started racing as all eyes focused their attention on him, and he looked over to Aaron for support, and maybe some form of rescue.
But Hotch just gave him a small smile and a subtle look that silently conveyed his message: You can do this. I believe in you.
"It's completely optional, Spencer," Boone quickly added, "You don't have to say anything if you don't feel comfortable. If you'd prefer it, you can just sit back tonight, take it easy, and watch how the meeting goes. Maybe share next time if you feel like it."
"No. It's—it's okay." He cleared his throat, took another deep breath and tried not to glance around the room. He could already feel everyone's eyes on him—knew they were staring at him, watching his every move—so he focused his own gaze on a spot in the middle of the circle, a black scuff mark, bold and dark against the stark white floor. He could do this. He could talk about what had happened to him. That was the whole reason he was there to begin with, right? To talk, to find support, to deal with all of his emotions and fears and anger.
The reason behind all of his issues.
"Um, well, I was in a relationship," he began, feeling his mind start to zone out as he brought forth memories he'd done his best to ignore over the last two weeks, "We were together for...about a year? Ah, almost a year, I guess. Everything was going great at first, you know? He was kind and sweet and caring, and he made me feel, um...he made me feel wanted, like I was the most important person in his life." At that sad confession, he felt Aaron's hand move to grab his, and he forced himself not to pull away from the touch. In front of a group of strangers, the physical display of affection between them was unexpected, and he gave Hotch a questioning look before hesitantly continuing. "But then, um, then I moved in with him, and he...well, um, he changed. He got sort of possessive, and temperamental. He got jealous..."
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"I've seen how that over-muscled jock looks at you. Morgan, isn't it?"
"N-No, Morgan doesn't look at me like that." He pushed against Parker's chest, trying to get a little space, some air, anything—trying to regain control of the situation before he completely lost it. Before something bad happened...or, well, something worse. However, his efforts were swiftly thwarted as his wrists were snatched up in an iron grip, bruising in its severity. He gasped, then yelped as he was forced against the kitchen counter, pain shooting up his back; and he looked up into beautiful blue eyes, hard as stone and cold as ice. "Please, Park, stop," he whispered, vision blurring as tears of pain and fear began to fill his eyes, "You're hurting me."
"Yeah, I bet Morgan would just fucking love to get his hands on you...Pretty Boy." The man leaned in closer, smirking, "Maybe you'd let him, too. Hm? Is that it, Spencer? Am I not doing it for you!?"
He cried out as he was pressed further into the counter, another jolt of pain radiating through his lower back. He attempted to move his arms, but the hands holding them in place squeezed harder, pulling his body away from the counter only to throw him right back into it. The sound of shattering glass surrounded him, falling out of the shelves as Parker screamed in his face.
"Do you not want me anymore!? Is that it? You wanna take a ride on a black dick!?"
"NO!" he yelled, then quickly realized he'd made a huge mistake by raising his voice at the other man. He shouldn't have done that. He shouldn't have talked back. He was never supposed to talk back. Never. Taking a deep breath, he tried to soften his tone, but he was unable to keep the tremor at bay. "Morgan's my friend. That's it, Park. I promise you—"
The next thing he knew, his body was crashing to the cold, hard floor at Parker's feet, a wave of pain coursing through his jaw as a flood of copper filled his mouth.
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Spencer gasped as the room came rushing back around him, stark and startling in its severity; but Aaron's voice was the first thing he really heard, and it calmed him instantly.
"Spencer, are you alright? Are you with us? Come on, talk to me."
"Fine. It's—I'm, I'm fine."
His head snapped up to see nine pairs of eyes staring intently at him with a mix of pity, fear and concern. Boone's gaze, he noted, was precise, the man's eyes honing in on Spencer's arm, where he was currently scratching angrily at the inside of his elbow. He hadn't even noticed that he wasn't holding Aaron's hand anymore—hadn't realized what he was doing, or the implications of the action.
He didn't think he'd been craving.
"Spencer, if this is causing you distress you really don't need to continue," Boone assured, sitting on the edge of his seat as he leaned into the middle of the circle, moving his body slightly closer. "You can stop at any time."
"No, I'm okay," he repeated, turning toward Hotch and meeting worried chocolate eyes, voice lowering, "I, um—I can do this, right?"
He wasn't sure why he'd phrased the statement as a question, or why he was looking to Hotch for confirmation of his own ability to continue with the story. Still, though, he waited for a reply. Waited for an answer, an acknowledgment that he was indeed capable of continuing on.
Aaron hesitated for just a moment too long, examining him, then gave him a small nod. "Of course you can," he softly murmured, pulling Reid's hand away from his elbow and taking it back into his own, "There's no doubt."
He could tell Hotch was more concerned than he was letting on, but they'd come here for a reason, and Reid needed to see this through. He had to do this. He needed to get it all out—purge it from his system.
Taking another deep breath, he thought about where he'd left off and began again.
"Like I said, uh, after I moved in with him, he got jealous. Really jealous. He started trying to control everything—what I did, where I went, who I saw. He hated when I had to travel for work...always thought I was sleeping around with my teammates." He felt Hotch squeeze his hand, and he managed a small smile for the older man. "He really didn't like you," he mumbled, addressing Aaron, "Maybe he could tell that you were important to me or something. I don't know. It doesn't really matter now though; he did what he did, the reasons behind his actions are inconsequential. I tried to stop him, calm him down, but I couldn't. I could never stop him, and he—he hurt me. He, um...he f-forced himself on me. He said he was doing it to teach me a lesson, but it was merely a display of dominance, a way to show how powerful he was. It was a way to show how weak I was...a way to claim me, to break me, to control me." He stopped, closing his eyes for a brief moment to reign in his rising panic, "I know all of that, I really do, but it was still painful to have someone I cared about do all those things...everything he did to me. He—He made sure I knew what was happening every second, and, ah...he made sure that it hurt. A lot."
His eyes stung with tears that he no longer saw any point in fighting to hold back, so he didn't. He let them fall, and his strength fell right along with them. Aaron was off the chair and kneeling by his side in an instant, pulling him close, hugging him tight as a cried into his shoulder; and then the quiet room faded away once more, taking his reality with it...
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"No, please, stop! I—I can't take anymore! I'm s-sorry! I'm so sorry—please! Park, please just stop—"
Nails clawed over his scalp, angry fingers fisting tightly in the strands of his hair, yanking his head back to halt his cries for mercy. His body was forced to meet every savage thrust forward as Parker continued to pound into him, deeper and deeper until he thought the man might actually be stabbing him in the gut with a fucking serrated knife. Fire split him in half, his vision blurred, and tears scorched his cheeks as exhaustion threatened to overtake him.
That would be a blessing, he thought.
He prayed he would just pass out...begged for it—to fall into a peaceful, blissful oblivion. That's what he wanted, what he so desperately longed for; but that's not what happened. He didn't get a reprieve from the torture because Parker wouldn't allow it—wouldn't let him escape into the sweet, loving arms of unconsciousness.
Instead, hot breath bathed his skin and a deceptively soft voice filled his ear, cruel, mocking him. "Oh come on baby, don't you go passing out on me now," the man purred, "You'll miss all the fun."
"No! No...God—" he gasped as a crack of pain shot up his spine. Then the hand in his hair left, repositioning itself around his hip in an iron grip, nails digging into heated skin, pinpricks of fire gouging his flesh. With nothing holding his head up anymore, he fell back down to the mattress, his face buried in the pillow. "Wh-Why?" he sobbed, clutching onto the sheets as his body convulsed through waves of undiluted agony, "Why..."
"Why what, Spence?" Parker cooed, amusement heavy in his icy tone, "You're gonna have to be a little more specific for me here."
"Why are—wh-why are you d-doing this? Why are you doing this to me?"
The brutal assault slowed then, and the sweaty body behind him leaned down, covering his back, pushing him all the way down to his belly on the bed.
"Because," the man whispered, gently caressing his damp hair, "I'm teaching you a very important lesson. You've gotta learn who you belong to, baby. This is the consequence you've gotta pay for letting someone else touch you."
"But I didn't! I—I haven't! No one's touched me, I swear. Please, just stop..."
"Maybe not," Parker agreed, "But that doesn't mean you wouldn't like it. Doesn't mean you wouldn't let it happen..." Lips and tongue moved along the back of his neck, teeth nipping at his nape, sending a shiver down his spine. "Tell me, would you like it if Aaron did this to you? Would you like him to fuck you? All soft and gentle?"
"No," he whimpered, more tears falling from his blood shot eyes as his body shuddered through the wretched lie, "I don't want him. I—I don't want Aaron, I promise. I only...only want you...please stop this. Park, please..."
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"Spencer, honey, look at me. I need you to open your eyes and come back to me."
"I'm sorry..." he whispered, his surroundings slowly seeping back in once again.
"Sorry for what?" Aaron asked, gently tilting Reid's chin up to look at him, "Baby, why are you apologizing?"
Spencer opened his eyes and stared at Hotch, taking in the man's close proximity and calm demeanor. He was still kneeling on the floor at his side, brows creased and face drawn down in deep concern. The look was becoming rather common place.
Aaron was always there for him, without fail, whenever he needed him. He was his rock, and Spencer had denied him to Parker. He'd pretended he didn't love him, said he didn't want to be with him, didn't want him to touch him, said he only wanted Parker. He'd betrayed Aaron, and that thought had his stomach roiling, threatening to revolt. He took several deep breaths in an effort to staunch the nausea.
"I told him that I didn't want you," he finally answered, "I—I told him he was the only one...the only person I wanted to be with. How could I do that, Aaron? How could I say that? It's...it's sick. I'm so sorry."
The look Hotch gave him was one born of devastation and sorrow. "God, Spencer, you don't have to be sorry about that, okay?" he assured, his chocolate eyes glimmering, tears pooling around the edges, "I've said it before, and I'll say it again, as many times as I need to for you to believe it—you did exactly what you had to do to get through it. You did what you had to do to survive it. That's all that matters to me."
He heard a loud screech fill the silence and startled at the noise before he realized it was coming from the other side of the circle. Boone was dragging his chair across the room, and when he made it to the other side he sat down right in front of Reid, eyes boring into him. The look was intense, but there was no danger in it, no heat. Boone had never given off any signals to him that weren't calm and comforting.
"Spencer, if you need to take a break...maybe pick this up next time, we can," the man assured, sending Hotch a sideways glance of concern.
The look reminded Reid a little of the looks Aaron and Rossi had given each other when they'd all gone to Parker's house to get his stuff. It was like they were conspiring against him, trying to decide between themselves what was best for him, like he couldn't do that on his own, like he was a child; but he knew he needed to talk about this. He couldn't stop, not yet. "I wanna finish," he blurted, a bit more manic and panicked than he would have liked, but still strong and unwavering, "I need to finish this."
"Spencer, you don't have anything to prove—"
"I'm not trying to prove anything!" he growled, cutting Boone off. The man quieted and Reid instantly deflated; he didn't mean to snap at him. Boone wasn't the man he was mad at, he wasn't the person who deserved his ire; but the man who did deserve it wasn't there, and Boone apparently looked enough like him to be an acceptable surrogate. "I'm sorry. I just mean that I'm already here," he tried again, in a calmer tone, "And I've already started, so I'd really like to finish." He looked from Boone back over to Hotch, "Please."
"Okay," Aaron sighed, reluctance clear in his voice, "Whatever you need."
Hotch sat back down in his own chair, but Boone stayed right in front of him, the rest of the group seemingly enthralled by the train wreck that was Spencer's life at the moment. He tried desperately to ignore the heat creeping into his cheeks and found a new spot on the floor to focus on as he continued, his mind slipping back into the memories.
"Okay...um, okay." He took a breath, collecting his thoughts, and did his best to start back up where he'd left off. "I don't know exactly how long it went on, the, um, the assault, but thinking back on that morning it was probably only two or three hours. It felt longer, though, like it would never end. He kept telling me no one else would ever want me—not after everything he was doing to me...everything he said I was letting him do to me. No one would want to put up with me, except him, of course. He was the only one who could ever love me. It was typical possessive and controlling behavior, really. It was textbook manipulation, but at the time I believed him. I wasn't altogether mentally coherent, so what he said made so much sense..." Just saying that phrase out loud had him visibly shivering, and Aaron's hand once again found his, as though the man could read his mind and knew he needed the support. "He, he made me do things...things I didn't wanna do. Well," he huffed, a bitter laugh escaping his constricting throat, "I mean, I didn't want to do anything he was making me do—obviously—but, um, some of the things he made me do were worse than others..."
.
"I want you to come for me, baby," Parker hissed, reaching down between his body and the bed, surrounding him with a strong hand, stroking him, coaxing him. "It's no fun if you don't get off, too," he growled, thrusting in deep, "And I'll just keep fucking you until you do..."
That thought alone was enough to have him weeping uncontrollably; and that was the moment he decided to give up completely. He was too tired, and too scared, and in too much pain, and all he wanted was for everything to fucking end. He would do whatever he had to do to make it all stop, so he gave up and he gave in, letting his body begin to respond to the man's sickening touch. He felt himself getting harder with every stroke, heat trickling low into his groin, and he sobbed out his anguish as his hips involuntarily began to rock forward into Parker's hand.
"That's it, my good boy," Parker chuckled, "My dirty little whore..."
.
He clenched his eyes tightly shut, trying to will away the hateful voice suddenly echoing in his head. He couldn't tell them about that. God, he couldn't fucking say it out loud! He couldn't tell them that he'd given up, that he'd let Parker do that to him, that he'd found a sick sort of pleasure in it—in being fucking raped. He'd barely been able to tell Aaron.
"I ah, I p-passed out, eventually...thankfully," he said instead, completely omitting the damning truth, "And when I came to, he was gone and I was alone. I was in so much pain. So much...and I knew pretty much instantly that I wasn't in the best shape, physically or mentally, so I called for help," he paused and smiled over at Aaron, "I called you, and you came." He looked back to Boone, "He was arrested later that afternoon, made bail six days after that, and I received a subpoena in the mail today. That's pretty much why I'm here. I just needed something to do to help me deal with it all. I didn't know how this would go, though, coming here, because, um..." he had no idea if what he was about to say would make him sound completely crazy, but he'd already broken down and he couldn't keep it in any longer, so he murmured, "I was nervous...about being here. About being around you."
Boone gave him a curious look at that.
"I didn't know if I could handle seeing you," he quickly continued, his voice barely a whisper, "Because you—well, you um, you look like him. You look so much like him..."
"I look like who?"
"Like him. When I saw you that day in the grocery store, I actually thought you were him. I thought he'd gotten out of jail and he'd found me. That's what caused me to freak out." Boone gave him a look that was part sad and part horrified, and it didn't seem right on his face—he always seemed so calm and collected. "But then you brought me back," he added, trying to make what he'd just said a little bit better, trying to soothe the harshness of it all, "You helped me come out of the flashback, and when I saw you—I mean, when I really saw you—I knew you weren't him. You don't have the same eyes. Still, though, seeing you is a bit...unsettling...um, sometimes..."
"That's absolutely understandable," Boone leaned closer to him, yet remained far enough away to give him the space he needed, and he appreciated the gesture, "It must have taken a lot of strength for you to come here tonight, then—to come here and face that reminder. Can I ask you to do one more thing for me, though?"
Spencer's brows creased in dubious curiosity. "I guess so," he answered warily.
"Tell me who I look like."
"I just told you." He shook his head, not entirely sure where the line of questioning was going, "I told you, you look like him—"
"No." Emerald eyes met his, holding his gaze as Boone softly pressed for more, "Say his name, Spencer."
His name? Had he not said his name?
"What?"
"Don't make him into something he's not," Boone continued, "Don't give him that kind of power over you. You can say his name and the world's not gonna end. He's only human, Spencer...nothing more than a sad, sick, pathetic man who tried his best to break you down—tried to control you—but he didn't succeed. I can see that clear as day, just by looking at you. You're stronger than he thought you were, aren't you? He didn't break you, did he?"
"I—I don't..." He didn't know what to say, and he looked over to Hotch, "I don't...think so?" The hand holding his tightened, and with Aaron's strength urging him on he met green eyes once more, "Yeah, no, he didn't break me."
There was a hint of a smile dancing on Boone's lips, his voice still low and gentle, "So say his name."
"Parker," he mumbled, then repeated a little louder, "His name, it's Parker Simmons."
Saying the name out loud felt slightly foreign on his tongue, and it made him realize that he really hadn't said it that often. He'd thought it a lot, of course, but hearing it fill the space around him seemed so much different.
It made everything feel more real, somehow.
"Good," Boone sighed, "That's good. Thank you for sharing, Spencer."
The man stood and moved his chair back to the other side of the circle, and that's when Reid remembered he was in the middle of a meeting. He'd just told a group of strangers, who were all still staring at him by the way, that their facilitator looked just like his abuser. The thought was quite mortifying; but thankfully, their attention was pulled from him rather quickly and he shrunk back in his seat, trying his best to disappear as a few others began to speak up.
Several people talked of personal achievements they'd hit throughout the week—goals they'd been working toward or obstacles they'd defeated. One woman, Sherry, had finally gotten the courage to take a walk alone around her neighborhood block after she'd been mugged taking out the trash one night. And another man, Paul, had recently gone back to work as a nurse after he'd been attacked by a patient hyped up on PCP.
Even Boone had ended up sharing with the group, and Spencer was completely surprised and taken aback by the man's willing and easy candidness. Apparently any time there were new guests he would tell his own story, and from the way he stared off into space reciting the events, Reid had concluded that he'd recounted it many times over in the past. He recognized the far off look in the man's eyes for what it really was—a way of just getting through the retelling.
It had been a home invasion. Boone had lived in Boston with his wife, Lauren, at the time; and they'd been married for just shy of two years. She was expecting their first child—a baby girl. They were going to name her Shannon, after his sister who'd died in a plane crash a few years before.
One night they were sitting in the living room, snuggled up on the couch beneath a blanket watching a movie together—A Walk to Remember, Lauren's hands-down, absolute all time favorite—when there was a knock at the front door. He'd gotten up to see who it was, but the instant he'd opened the door, two men had forced their way inside their home. They'd attacked him, tied him to a chair, and made him watch as they both took turns brutally raping his wife. After they'd finished with her, one of them moved behind him and held his head up so he couldn't look away while the other one pulled out a hunting knife and stabbed Lauren in the chest.
Boone had been forced to watch her slowly bleed out. He'd watched his wife and their unborn daughter die right before his eyes, and he'd been utterly helpless to do anything to stop it.
After that, the two men had proceeded to beat him to within an inch of his life, then they'd left him for dead while they'd ransacked the place.
The only reason Dylan and Sam—Boone made sure to say their names out loud, no doubt for Spencer's benefit—had given for why they'd done it was because they were bored.
They'd simply been having fun.
When Boone was released from the hospital two weeks later, he'd packed up a bag and moved to Virginia in the hopes of a fresh start. He had family here, and he'd needed the support. That had been five years ago, and he'd found help through Finding Solace, eventually becoming a facilitator for the organization.
Helping other people heal had allowed him to do the same as well.
A heavy silence blanketed the room when Boone finished his story, and Reid had to hold back the urge to empty his stomach of its meager contents at the depravity of it all. The human race could be disgusting, and filthy, and wretched when it wanted to be. He knew he shouldn't be that shocked though, especially considering what he saw on a daily basis with his job, but the evil acts people could do to one another still seemed to surprise and sicken him.
"Does, um," Boone paused to clear his throat, running a hand through his hair as he seemed to collect his thoughts, "Does anyone else have anything to add before we wrap up the meeting?"
Spencer drew himself out of his own thoughts and looked around the room, not really expecting anyone else to jump in after what they'd just heard, so it startled him when Hotch spoke up beside him.
"I'd like to."
He turned wide, disbelieving eyes on Aaron, but the other man didn't look back at him—he was too busy staring down at the scuff mark Spencer had become so closely acquainted with. Nobody else interrupted, and Hotch, stoic as ever, continued.
"I work for the FBI, and about six years ago a serial killer tried to make a deal with me. He told me that if I stopped hunting him then he'd stop hunting his victims—stop killing altogether, actually—but I refused the deal. He didn't like my answer, and in retaliation, he started hunting me, and by extension, my family. He broke into my apartment one night and attacked me." Hotch stopped, swallowing thickly, and Spencer rubbed his thumb along the back of the hand still in his in silent support. "He stabbed me nine times and dropped me off at a hospital. My ex-wife and my son went into witness protection after that, but eventually The Reaper found them."
Spencer heard Boone let out a heavy sigh, and he looked up to see the man's eyes transfixed on Aaron, jaw clenched and hands tightly intertwined on his lap. That's when it clicked in his mind. Boone was from Boston, so his reaction made perfect sense. He'd probably heard stories of The Boston Reaper more times than he could count.
"George Foyet killed Haley in our home while I listened to it all happen over the phone, helpless to stop it. That was one of the worst experiences of my entire life. He threatened my son, and he tried to kill me, and I...I stopped him. I got to the house in time, and I stopped him." Aaron's voice wavered, that stoic facade cracking minutely, "I protected my son, the only family I had left, and I killed the man who'd taken his mother away from him."
Reid was speechless.
He'd never heard Hotch talk so much about what had happened to him. He knew what had happened, of course...he'd listened to the phone call between Aaron and Foyet just like the rest of the team...but hearing Hotch actually speak about it so openly was a brand new experience. He thought maybe a part of why Aaron had done it was to show some sort of solidarity with him. Show him that he wasn't alone.
It made sense, anyway.
After all, everyone in the room had had some form of tragedy thrust into their life, every single person, and suddenly Spencer didn't feel quite so isolated in his suffering.
They were all the same in that regard.
He wasn't alone.
The revelation gave him hope, too, because seeing the amount of suffering these people had endured also helped him to see all their triumphs. They were coping with their traumas and moving forward with their lives, every single one of them. They'd been changed by the hateful actions of others, yes, of course, but they hadn't given up because of it. They were fighters, the lot of them—taking back their lives one day at a time—and now he was, too.
So maybe he was a victim, along with Hotch and Boone and every other person there, but that word didn't define any of them.
"Well, I think that's enough for the night." Boone stood and looked around the room, settling his gaze on Aaron, and then Spencer, "Thank you both for coming tonight and sharing with us. Also," he clapped his hands together as he nodded toward the refreshment table, a smirk playing on his lips, "Please, everyone, take the cookies home with you. Denise...I know how much your little boy loves 'em. And besides, if y'all don't take 'em I'll be eating 'em all night long," he gave his stomach a little pat, "And I really don't think that's a good idea."
The gesture was met with light laughter as the group disbanded, and Boone walked up to Spencer and Aaron as they gathered up their things.
"I'm really glad you both decided to come out tonight."
Boon offered his hand to Hotch and Aaron shook it. "Me, too. It's been a good night," he replied, "Thank you."
The implied for helping Spencer when he'd freaked out was deafening to Reid's ears, and he tried to ignore the blush once again creeping into his cheeks as Boone turned to him.
"Will we see you again?" the man asked.
"Um, yeah...I think so," Spencer shook his hand as well, albeit much more warily than Aaron had.
It would definitely take some time for Reid to get used to being around Carlyle Boone. The more he examined his face, though, the more differences from Parker he was beginning to discern, which helped a lot. Also, the idea of returning for another meeting wasn't entirely revolting to him so he took it as a sign that he should probably continue to attend.
At the very least, it would make Dr. Martin happy to know he was making an effort.
They said their goodbyes and made their way back out to the car, a napkin full of chocolate chip cookies tucked safely away in Spencer's bag for Jack. He'd realized half way through the meeting that he'd missed their story time. Jack would be well asleep by the time they got home, and he wanted to make it up to him with sweets and the promise of an extra long story time the next night.
"You doing alright?" Aaron asked as they climbed into the SUV.
"I'm not sure," he huffed, "But, I think so. I'm just tired." He was more than tired, really. Honestly, he felt like he'd been pulled through the ringer, and the evening's events had left him mentally exhausted. He hadn't expected to end up talking so completely openly about what had happened to him, and his body was feeling the stress of it all now. "Thank you for coming with me."
"Of course. I'll come with you any time you need it." Aaron put the key in the ignition and started the car before adding, "I'm proud of you for doing this, Spencer."
"I'm proud of you, too," he countered, and Hotch chuckled. "No, I mean it. You didn't have to do what you did in there. You didn't have to share what happened to you."
"I know I didn't, but I wanted to." A hand came across the console to rest lightly on Reid's knee, "I haven't really talked much about it, to anyone, so maybe this was a good thing for the both of us. It felt nice to get it off my chest, and your the one who gave me the strength to do it, Spencer."
"I did?"
"Yeah," he smiled, "Seeing how strong you've been through all of this, how you've dealt with what's happened to you, it's been amazing. You're absolutely amazing."
"I haven't done that much, Aaron," he shook his head, cheeks flushing at the praise, "I still feel like a complete mess pretty much all the time."
"But you're here. It doesn't matter if you're a mess right now...you're here and you're trying. That's all that matters."
"Thanks," he sighed, then bit his lip as he contemplated what he should say next. He'd been so honest already, and he felt compelled to continue down that path now that he and Hotch were alone. "You know, I've been thinking a lot lately about that day," he began, watching as Aaron's brows furrowed, "About the day I called you, I mean," he clarified, "The day you came and picked me up off that bloody bedroom floor because I couldn't do it myself. I called you and you dropped everything you were doing to help me. You saved me that day, Aaron, when you came and took me away from that house...the house where I thought my world had ended. But it didn't, did it?" He paused, capturing the hand on his knee in his own as their eyes met, his vision blurring with unshed tears and his throat growing tight with emotion, "My world...it—it didn't end in that house...but maybe that's where it started to begin again."
Hotch gave him one of those gorgeous, beautifully dimpled smiles of his, then leaned over the console and kissed him, soft and gentle. "Maybe that's where both our worlds began again," he whispered, "Now, let's go home."
Home sounded wonderful, and he smiled back, "Yes, let's."
Reid was dressed in his Doctor Who pajamas, teeth brushed and ready for sleep as he stared down at his bed. He couldn't bring himself to lie down in it, though. It just didn't feel right to him. He'd spent the last two nights sharing a hotel room and a bed with Aaron while they'd been in Texas, and he didn't want to sleep without the man next to him now that they were back home. The only other times they'd shared a bed in the past had been after he'd had nightmares, though, so he didn't really know if he should even broach the subject.
He was stuck in a sort of limbo, unmoving, uncertain of what to do next.
After standing in the guest room for another five minutes, however, he changed his mind about the whole broaching the subject thing and made his way down the hall to Aaron's bedroom.
The door was slightly ajar, and he gave a soft knock before peeking his head in. Hotch was in the process of pulling the sheets down and fluffing his pillow when he turned at the sound. "Hey, come in. I was just about to come find you to say goodnight."
"Oh, um well, that's kind of why I'm here, actually." He shuffled into the room, hands clasped tightly together in front of him, nails digging into his palm, "We ah, you know, spent the last two nights in the same room together on the case, and the thought of being by myself tonight makes me feel kind of...um, nervous? Sort of like...like I'm losing control again, and...and I just...I don't want that. I don't want to feel like I'm falling apart. I um, I don't know—"
"Spencer," Aaron moved up to him, pulling him into a warm hug that instantly stopped his anxious rambling, "What do you need?"
"I need you." The words came flowing out of him before he could even think to stop them, "I just need to be with you. You help steady me, Aaron. You're, I don't know, my rock...my, my anchor." He pulled out of the embrace just enough to look Hotch in the eyes, "I don't want to give in to him—give in to Parker. I don't want to give Parker control over me like that, but it's hard not to. It's so hard not to let him get inside my head sometimes, you know? Get under my skin. The nightmares...they're...bad. Really bad, and, and I just—"
"Hey, shhhh." Aaron stopped him again, gently caressing his cheek, "This is a process. It's gonna take time to get through it, and that's okay. Just tell me what you need from me right now, and I'll do it."
"Let me stay?" he asked, voice trembling slightly with the request.
"Honey..."
"In here, I mean," he quickly continued, tightening his grip in Aaron's soft white undershirt, "I don't wanna be alone tonight...so...so can I, um, can I sleep in here? With you? Will you just hold me while I sleep?"
"Baby, of course you can stay here. You don't even have to ask." Aaron pulled him back against his chest again, kissing the top of his head and stroking fingers through his hair as he softly murmured, "You can stay in here every night, Sweetheart; and I'll hold you for as long as you need."
The reverence with which those words were spoken washed over Spencer, grounding him in the moment, calming and steadying him; and he nuzzled into Aaron's neck, breathing in the man's comforting scent as it surrounded him. "Okay," he whispered, tears of relief falling down his face as he melted further into Aaron's protective arms, "Okay."
In that moment, he knew he would be able to get through the night, and every night that followed after.
.
Hold, hold on, hold on to me.
'Cause I'm a little unsteady.
A little unsteady.
- X Ambassadors, 'Unsteady'
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Fin
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