It took a whole week before Spencer went back to work again. Seven days spent at his apartment with only Logan for company. Scott had been sent home after that first day, though Spencer's recollections of that were vague. He sort of remembered Logan introducing them, maybe even remembered Scott saying something, but he had no clear memory of him going, only of Logan telling him afterwards that Scott was gone and it was just them now. Then things got a little fuzzy again and they stayed fuzzy for almost all of the week. Spencer could barely remember any of it. It was all a big kaleidoscope of pain and this never-ending emptiness that didn't go away. Without Logan's steady presence through that week, there was no doubt in Spencer's mind that he would've sank down into a darkness he never would've returned from. With Logan's help, Spencer made it through that week, and through the days beyond. With his help, the pain dulled, though the emptiness stayed. It would always be there. Half of Spencer was gone and there was nothing in the world that could fill that void.
The person who returned to the Bureau wasn't the same person that had left there before. The team had all been told that Spencer had taken the week off after losing someone, so they expected their friend to be hurting when he came back. What they found was nothing like what they'd expected.
The young man who came in that Monday morning was a shell of who he'd once been. He dressed the same, was full of all the same facts and statistics and random information, but he wasn't the same. It was Derek who put it into words for them after the end of that Monday—"There's no life in him." That was the perfect description. There was no life in Spencer. It was like all the life had been drained away from him. The happiness, the sweet shyness he was known for, that spark that had gotten him through so many hellish things in his life, all of those were gone and all that was left was this shell of a man, a walking robot. The life had been drained away from him in one single moment and there was nothing any of them could do to bring it back. He answered questions when asked, spoke when spoken to, and did his job with an efficiency that bordered on scary. Questions or remarks of concern were met with a blank stare that was truly terrifying. Wide brown eyes that had always carried so much emotion now seemed dull and blank. The spark behind them was gone.
Spencer knew he was worrying his friends. On some level, he knew and understood it. He just didn't have it in him to care. The pain was still in him, held back only by a thread, and he knew if he let himself feel anything, then he'd have to let himself feel that pain, and he didn't think that he could survive that. So he shut it down and locked it all away until there was only the cold, only that emptiness where nothing could touch him. He was alone.
Losing people was a pain that Logan was far too familiar with. Even with the messed up memories that he did have, he knew that loss had been a part of his long life many, many times. He knew what it was to lose someone close to you, someone that you cared for, who were such an important part of your life. That was part of the reason why he kept so many people at bay. Always, there was a part of him that told him not to get too close, not to let himself care, because he knew how much it would hurt in the long run when he lost them. And he always lost them. Just as he'd lost Remy. The pain of that was sharp and hot in his heart and shredded him in ways he hadn't felt in a long time. Yet, it was a familiar pain, one he knew well and one he knew how to cope with. Cold as that may sound to others, it was just how it was. He knew how to live with this kind of pain and grief. He knew how to handle the memories when they swarmed up over such simple things as a clove cigarette, or the sound of a violin, or he caught sight of a dark trench coat in a crowd and his heart did that little skip-a-beat hopeful wishing only to end up squashed down when reality sank in. Those were all things that Logan knew how to handle and how to live with. A few drinks, a good fight or two, and he could burn away the pain.
But nothing told him how to handle watching a friend slowly dying a little more each and every day, right there in front of him. Nothing told him how to fix that.
Spencer had been back at work for seven weeks now and, to the casual observer, he seemed almost normal. He'd even managed normal enough to somehow convince the psychologist he was ordered to see to let him out into the field. That had sent Logan into a long and furious rant when Aaron Hotchner had called to give him the heads up. How on earth had anyone found Spencer 'okay'? What seemed hidden to others seemed so obvious to Logan. Couldn't they see the grief the man was living with? Couldn't they see how wrong everything was? His team saw it, Logan knew, and that was the only thing that kept him from locking Spencer up at home where he could make sure he was safe. They took care of Spencer while he was with them and Logan took care of him back at home. But it wasn't enough. It was never enough.
"I'm trying, Rem." Logan said, standing on the rooftop of Spence's building and smoking a cigar. He looked up at the night stars and sighed. "I'm trying. But it aint me he needs. I always told ya that you were underestimating the kid. He loves ya more than you'll ever know, now, and I don't know how the hell I can get him to live without ya. But I'm trying."
They were going to lose him.
It was a painful realization that Derek was coming to. He couldn't deny it, though. Not when he had a front row seat to the painful loss of one of his best friends. Day in and day out he saw Spencer. Saw him at work, saw him on cases, saw him on those rare nights that he bullied his way into Spencer's home to share a meal with him and Logan, to check up on him and watch him when he was too worried to go home alone. He saw him all the time and he saw as clear as a bell—they were going to lose him.
The man that Spencer had become was but a pale shadow of the one he'd been. Dark circles had become commonplace under his eyes. When had they last seen him without them? The once cheerful and awkward babble that the good doctor had been known for was gone. Not when it was work related, oh no. There, he talked as needed, giving them all he had for the case. No one could deny that he did his job. It was the extra babble that had vanished. Useless facts and statistics, bits of information that Derek had once found so boring and had often begged Spencer to stop regaling him with, only now they were gone and he would give anything to have it all back, just one little ramble about anything at all. Anything that could replace the damn silence. He'd kill to see a spark of the old light back in Spencer's eyes.
He'd fading away in front of them and it's destroying Derek to see it and know that nothing he's doing is helping at all. Spencer's become more withdrawn, thinner—and God knows, there was never enough weight on him to begin with, and when Derek saw him changing at one of their motels he'd had to actually bite back the cry that wanted to rip free when he saw he could count those slender ribs from across the damn room—quieter, more contained, and emptier. He lives life as if going through the motions. He only eats when told to eat. He sleeps when taken or sent to a room. He doesn't fight them on his personal care, he just doesn't realize it on his own anymore, like it doesn't register.
This last cast flashed through Derek's mind and he bowed his head as the memories washed over him. He'd gone back to the hotel room he was sharing with Spencer, intent on getting a few hours' sleep before they left, weary but happy with a case well done. He hadn't been prepared for what he found in the bathroom. The door hadn't been shut all the way, so he hadn't realized that Spencer was in there. When he pushed the door open with the intent on going in to brush his teeth before sleep, he found himself frozen in the doorway for a full minute, his exhausted brain not quite able to compute what he was seeing. Even now, the next day, he still couldn't believe it. Spencer had been standing by the sink in just his slacks and nothing more, and for a moment Derek had once again been caught on the painful realization of just how much weight his friend had lost. Then he'd seen the blood. Spencer, idiotic Spencer, had a first aid kit spread out on the bathroom counter and was actually sewing up a long gash in his side.
Of course Derek had freaked. Once the shock wore off, he'd freaked out, demanding to know what had happened and why Spencer hadn't gone to the hospital, trying to take the needle from him and stop him from sinking it into his own flesh. All the while he'd fought the nausea at seeing Spencer stitching himself, and oh Christ had he even used anything to numb the damn thing with?
Derek could still see the empty look in Spencer's eyes when they'd flashed up to Derek's face before going back to his injury. Never once had his hands stopped their steady movements. "It was just a cut, Morgan." Spencer had told him in that empty tone of his. "Eight stitches, maximum. It's not the first time I've patched myself up. I saw no need in vesting a hospital for something I could take care of myself."
"There's no point in doing it yourself when a doctor can do it for you!" Derek had snapped back. "Jesus fuck, Reid! Are you insane?"
Silence had fallen over them with those words. Derek regretted them almost as quickly as he'd said them and yet there was no taking them back. No way to unsay them. Only, Spencer hadn't reacted to it. He hadn't said anything about the words that, once upon a time, would've cut him to the quick. No, he'd simply cut that final bit of thread, finished off that last stitch, and then before Derek could do a thing, the man had vanished. Two small flickers and then he was gone, leaving Derek still standing at the door, shaken and terrified and so damn lost.
That feeling was still in him now as he sat in his car outside the Bureau and rested his head against the steering wheel.
They were going to lose him.
Some days, Derek was afraid that they already had.
The days bled together for Spencer, one after another, an endless cycle that seemed to have lost so much meaning for him. He's pushed back the pain for so many months now—five months, three days, six hours and twenty two minutes since Logan came and brought the news, since his whole world had shattered—that it's become a part of him, this little box inside where he keeps it all locked away, and only the emptiness is left. Only the nothing that makes up his soul. He's not whole anymore. The most important part of him, it's gone, and nothing can replace that. Remy had been there for so long, such a vital part of him. Even when months went by between their visits there had always been the knowledge in the back of Spencer's mind, in his heart, that all he had to do was make one phone call and Remy would be there. All he'd need was a hint that Spencer needed him and he was there, because Lord knew Spencer never really could bring himself to actually ask for help and Remy had become a pro at reading the little cues that Spencer put off without even realizing. But he'd always known that it was there if he needed. And now—now it wasn't.
Sometimes he'd catch himself calling Remy's number, knowing no one would answer, hoping each time someone would, clutching the little phone tightly as he listened to the message as it's the only source of Remy's voice he has right now.
When he's home now, so much of his time is spent invisible. If he could feel anything but this numb emptiness, he would probably find some amusement in the whole thing. Something that he had once feared and even hated had become his reality.
For so long when his powers first manifested, he had hated his ability. Hated becoming invisible. What kind of power was that? Life had already made him feel invisible in so many ways and having it become his mutation, having no real control over it for months and months, had left him feeling almost like he wasn't real. He had felt so intangible, even when solid, as if there was nothing left holding him to this world. He'd been so afraid that one day he would just go invisible and never come back, and that no one would even notice he was gone. Then he'd met Remy. Wonderful, crazy, insane, vibrant Remy. The man had enough life packed inside of him for three people, and then some. When he walked into a room, he drew all eyes, became the center of attention, and he loved it. He thrived on it. No matter where he went, he was the life of the party, filling up each room with his very essence. Just as he filled Spencer's life. He filled up the empty places inside of Spencer. Brought a life to him that had never been there before. Even when Spencer's powers got out of control, when he couldn't stop the flickering, couldn't keep his image solid, Remy was still there, still a part of him. He made Spencer feel real.
That's gone now. The anchor that held Spencer down, the glue that held him together. This beautiful, vibrant man who had such heart and personality that he made a skinny little nobody feel like he was somebody. He was gone. And Spencer had no idea how to hold on to who he is without him. He doesn't know if there's even anything left to hold on to.
Six months, eighteen days, twenty two hours, fifteen minutes and thirty seven seconds ago, the world had fallen apart at Spencer's feet. Everything in him had broken apart, stealing away the sun and the moon, shattering the stars in the sky, until he was left with nothing but the dark.
Six months, eighteen days, twenty two hours, fifteen minutes and thirty seven seconds later, all of that changed with just the opening of a car door on an airstrip as Spencer descended down the stairs from the BAU jet.