2

Words Sucked From Spencer's Head.

It's not that I'm weak. It's not that at all. I'm not. At least I don't think I am, but it's not so easy to just Throw Him Out Of The House. As he's pointed out already he pays the rent and if this was to go to court (which is a ridiculous concept and would in actuality never occur) it would show that I've been happily living rent free for goodness only knows how long! For as long as Floyd has been arranging to pay the rent from his seemingly bottomless pit of money he has. I would be unable to prove in any way that an amount of money has been transferred or indeed just withdrawn to match the amount of rent which is paid for this place. Granted it's not as though I live in a mansion, it's a one bedroom apartment in a very old block, but this would actually be where I'd choose to live anyway. I'm on the top floor and the floors are served by an old rattling elevator which I don't very often use. Not that I'm afraid of it, but since the damage to my leg I've noted oddly how much fitter I've become. Others have noted it too and it would seem a shame to let that go just through pure laziness now wouldn't it? It's only five floors to walk up – and run down again. I have used that elevator when I'm running late or if I am just so tired I can hardly move my feet and today was one of those days. It's cold outside. The snow has been falling for a couple of days and work has been – not stressful I'd not say – more boring. Filling in forms… form after form and I'm sure I'd filling in some of them more than once.

Not that I mind occasionally, but today… today it wore me down and so coming home for my Christmas which I had planned on spending alone I took the elevator.

Had I taken the stairs I would have smelt his smell. I would have been alerted by cheroot butts on the stairs. I would have had time to turn around and go find where my colleagues are sitting down having a drink. But then I couldn't have avoided this forever could I? Eventually I would have had to come home and I would have unlocked my door and all that's happened since would have happened anyway.

I don't hate him.

I wish I could say I did, but something always holds me back. I don't know if it's just the way I believe what he tells me, or if it's more…

Damn… It's a relief I think. That's the only way I can really define how I am feeling.

Relief… He's back.

I wont have to make decisions about my life anymore. I wont have to struggle with the mundane because Floyd will sort it. I just have to concern myself about my work and obviously I have to keep him happy and right now… well I'm not sure I am. I've pulled out the box I stored his things in and he's kneeling on the floor with that long dirty hair of his sweeping down the side of his face like dirty black drapes… his dark, almost too dark, eyes keep flicking up to check that I'm still there. He seems almost as surprised to see me as I was to see him. I kneel the other side of the box and pull open the top and I think that I want to get away now.

I had forgotten.

How could I have forgotten?

Words Out Of The Mind Of Floyd Flanders.

Well I would love to say that it's nice to be back here again but it's not. He's changed. Not just his appearance but his attitude and moreover his smell.

Spencer smells wrong. Or have I just forgotten? I've been with others for too long smelling their individual smells and tasting their sweat and Spencer suddenly doesn't quite have that pull that he once had. Maybe it's those fucking trousers he's got on. He's dressed like an old man trying to look young. I'm not sure if that makes sense. Spence has gotten older. His smell isn't as sweet. His sweat doesn't taste as good as it did. Perhaps I was expecting too much. It could be that memories are sometimes better than the reality of it?

Anyway.

Here I am kneeling in front of a box he's dragged out of the cupboard. He claims that he vac wrapped my clothing.

How am I meant to feel about that? Don't you do that to things you don't expect to ever use or want to see again? My thoughts that he'd spent his evenings with his face crushed against the fabric of my shirts are shattered. I'll not be able to slap him for getting snot and tears and other bodily fluids over my clothing.

Was this meant to please me? Was this attitude that I am so disposable meant to make me happy?

There is a swell of something which might be anger and might be some other emotion which I'm not so sure about filling my head. I can feel sweat trickling down my forehead and my shirt is sticking to my back.

There on the top of the things in the box are a scattering of items which weren't mine. They were his. They were things I'd given him or things he'd collected but remind him of me. A mug shot! Oh joy. He's packed away a beautiful mug shot of me. I have my number printed along the bottom, but apart from that it's an OK snap. Maybe he didn't need to see it all the time to remember what I look like? I'll try to believe that, but he's blinking at me. Blinking too much. He's panicked about something. I can tell by those quick shallow breaths he's taking. I can tell by that dampness just under his eyes and the way he's attempting to not cry… poor fucking baby… he's crying. Should I reach out and reassure him that all is going to be fine?

No.

I don't think I will. Let him sweat it out… the mother fucker.

There's an envelope with my name written over the front in Spencer's slightly childlike hand writing. So I run my finger over that pale blue envelope and I screw my eyes into his and try to pull out of his head what he's thinking.

I cant though. Whatever else he's forgotten, he's not forgotten how to block me. I doubt he even knows he's doing it, but his barriers are up.

The envelope goes into my waistcoat pocket. I shall read it later. He has gone from that stupid blinking to his lip licking now. He's going to go get some lip balm before the hour is out. There's some in the drawer by the bed. Though I don't know if that's been used for lips or arse. Not that it matters really.

There is a small twist of my hair. It's secured by a thin thread of silver coloured wire and formed into a loop. I pick it up and wave it under Spencer's nose and he flinches back from me. I don't ask why he has that. I don't ask why he has something like that which he then hid away.

There is a belt. This I know. This item is Spencer's personal belt. I know. I made it for him. Finest leather and a beautiful embossed buckle. I have one much the same, but my buckle has the word "BITCH" inscribed on it. Spencer's says "WHORE". I run the leather through my fingers. I remove one of my fingerless gloves so that I can feel it better. It should be cared for. It should be oiled and loved and worn, but he's hidden this item. I look up and frown at Spence who is frowning back and licking his lips and looking like he knows full well what he's done wrong.

If he wanted to try to hurt any feelings I might have hidden inside – deep down inside – then he's going the right way about it.

Sex toys. There's a good few of those and maybe he likes to use new on each of his fucks? I don't know, but in a way I'm glad he's not been playing with these.

A small hand carved (by me) wooden box. Inside are small bits of bone which are also beautifully (if I may say so myself) carved bits of bone. Rib bone mostly, and a small collection of teeth. I like teeth. I like to use them and hide them away inside the dolls I make.

Dolls. There are three of them. They've been wrapped carefully. He's taken care of them. One of them I pick up and rattle. It's only about seven inches tall, but the head is full… (not the mouth but the actual head) of teeth. It clatters and makes a good sound. I almost forget what's going on here and smile at it, but I don't. I manage a smirk and I wave this under Spencer's very pale looking face.

My clothes are at the very bottom and as he told me they are carefully sealed and packed away. Good or Bad? I've Not Decided Yet.

A book lies on top of them though. I pick up The Book And I Look At It and Then I Show It To Spencer… Is he shaking?

The Letter

It sits secure in Floyd's pocket. The book lays open on the first page on the coffee table which Floyd has cleared via his forearm and demanded that Spencer takes a seat.

'I can understand you hiding the belt. I suppose.' Floyd is saying. 'But that book?'

Spencer is looking at that open book and the words written on the page there. 'It's not… It's… it's not how…' He trails off as his mind attempts to think up a reasonable excuse other than the truth. 'I just… it's.' He starts and then stops again. Floyd sits looking at Spence waiting for him. 'Floyd.'

Floyd leans forward slightly and the paper from the letter crackles in his pocket. 'Spencer.' He says in reply.

'I don't…'

'Can I suggest that you go get me a drink and whilst pouring it you sort out the fucking words in your head. I had totally forgotten how fucking annoying your inability to say a full sentence is. You only seen to be able to talk if you're reciting something. Go learn your lines then come back and explain why you would hide away a book which not only cost me thousands of your fucking dollars but a few lives too. I then wrote words of endearment upon it for you so you'd always know exactly how much I feel for you.' He pulls the letter from his pocket. 'Do words in here reflect back your love for me?'

Spencer says nothing but stands and walks to the small drinks cabinet. He has to step over bowls of mouldering food and tipped over coffee mugs. He stands possibly for too long with a tumbler in his hand trying to think what it is he needs to say to Floyd to appease him. Spencer runs fingers over his own face trying to think how it's going to feel tomorrow when Floyd's been battering away at it. He turns and looks at Floyd.

'Partially to protect it.' He lies.

'Well I thought you'd come up with something better than that Babes.'

Spencer picks a coaster up off the floor and places it on the table. He puts down the tumbler and shows Floyd his palms. It's how he seemed to always show absolute defeat when trying to reason with this man.

'I just put away everything. Not at first obviously and it was gradual.'

I will be with you always… never forget… fff – That's what he can see scrawled over the page. But it was a lie and that lie hurt Spencer back when he took the book from the shelf. After Floyd had been gone for months, after all the mess… after the last of the bruises had faded and the broken toe which he'd had to keep secret from Hotch had healed, after all the crap and all of the abuse… it was then that Spencer had read those words and they made him feel sick. And it was then that he'd written that letter which Floyd was now slowly turning over and over in his hands.

'You lied to me!'

The words were out of Spencer's mouth before he could stop them. He knew that he sounded like a brat and a spoiled child, but that was how Floyd was making him feel right now.

'Those words…' Spencer jabbed at the page.

'Lies?' Floyd pulls a cheroot out of his pocket and lights up using his slim silver lighter click click click. The flame gets close to the corner of the envelope and then is snatched away again. 'How is it lies?' Floyd blows smoke in Spencer's face. 'Explain the lies babes, cos I don't see what you mean.' Spencer opens his mouth to talk but Floyd cuts him off again 'Wait, before another word is uttered from your mouth…' He takes the tumbler off the table and sips at the liquid. '…go find a fucking hat. I feel like I'm sitting here talking to the biggest tit on the planet and you know how I feel about tits.' Floyd gives a small side smile to go with the questioning raised eyebrow. 'Hurry.' Floyd sighs and leans back again with the envelope now sitting on the coffee table.

Spencer went to the bedroom without arguing with Floyd. He pulled out a knitted hat and pulled it on over his short hair. He then sat on the bed, pulled open the bedside drawer and pulled out a stick of lip balm. He used some and then replaced the lid and popped it in his pocket. The holiday season… Everyone busy… He wasn't expected in to work until the new year. Hotch, Prentiss and Morgan had all suggested that they thought Spencer was going to see his mother for the break. He wasn't. Garcia probably knew better. She'd not mentioned his mother to him and he'd not discussed it with Garcia and he assumed that they agreed silently that he was going to be spending the holiday in the city here and not in Vegas. Beside the point really, what was bothering Spencer was that no one was going to miss him. Not a soul. No one. Anything could happen and he'd not be missed for a week. He shuddered and used the lip balm again. He then took off the dark grey jacket he had on and placed it over the back of a chair. He pulled out an old blue and white checked shirt and changed into that from the white work shirt he was wearing. He also put on an old slightly worn pair of black cords. He was procrastinating. He was doing quite a good job of it too. He was dreading Floyd opening that letter. Slowly he inched his way back to the lounge. Floyd hadn't moved. He was still sitting exactly as Spencer had left him, except that there was a scattering of cigarette ash down his front now. The letter was on the couch though. Oh he'd picked it up but Spencer thought he'd not opened it yet.

'Hats are good.' Floyd told him and gestured at the table again. 'Have you thought?'

'I've spent every day since you left in thought. Where have you been? I know you couldn't get a message to me, but you're here now cant you explain what happened?'

Floyd chugged back some more alcohol. 'You've changed clothes. Much better. I like that better.' Floyd moved forwards and placed the glass on the coaster and a hand on Spencer's knee. 'I was called away. I had work I had to do. I still have to do… so much fucking work Spence you'd not believe it. I don't get much time off and when I do I'm usually taking that time to heal up again. Dangerous work I'm in. But you understand that don't you? I sometimes just have to be alone. Or me and a boy. You know what I mean?'

Spencer said nothing. Oh he understood all right. Floyd had been off playing around and now was back and expected things to carry on as they were. Now Spencer's only problem was preventing that from happening. He scratched at his neck but still said nothing to Floyd.

'I guess you don't understand. It's like working under cover. You get that don't you?' Spencer nodded. 'Well fucking hurrah! I've been working under cover Spence. I couldn't get back nor could I risk coming to see you.'

'Under cover? Who for?' Spencer placed one of his hands over Floyd's.

For Floyd this was a good start… 'Them.' He gestured around himself. 'You know…'

Reid didn't know. Because the only them that Spencer knew belonged in the realm of nightmares and he didn't want to be dragged back to that place again but he muttered. 'OK.' To Floyd.

'Now this.' Floyd plucked up the letter and waved it at Spencer. Immediately Reid's hand left the temporary comfort it had felt feeling Floyd's hand under his. 'The question is – should I read it? Is it still relevant?' As an answer Reid applied more lip balm. 'I know you don't want me to read it and I don't want to read it if it's going to piss me off, but I have a feeling that they are words from your Heart… and that in that case I should read it. What say you Doctor Reid… should I read it or not?'

Spencer wrung his fingers together making his knuckles pop. 'I cant stop you, but yes they meant more when I wrote them. They are not relevant now.'

Floyd pulled open the flap which had been sealed with a self adhesive strip. 'Spencer. Go make some coffee will you? I think I should be alone for this. The words were written alone they should be read alone.'

'I didn't really mean for you to ever read it.' Spencer stood.

Floyd pulled a single sheet of paper out of the envelope and waved it at Reid. 'Then you should never have written the fucking thing should you Spence? Black with some of that golden sugar you have in the cupboard. Thanks Spence babes… you really are the best.' Reid quickly turned and walked from the room. At least in the kitchen there were knives he could use to defend himself with if Floyd came rushing with his hands in fists.

For about a minute Spencer just stood in the kitchen doorway looking in. He'd expected it to be a mess like his lounge but it was scrubbed spotless. Not that it would have usually taken too much to get it looking that way as he rarely cooked anything in there, but Floyd had cooked. He could smell the rich spicy smells wafting over to him. There was a big pan on the stove with a large wooden spoon sticking out of it and a sparkly new coffee machine on the counter. Everything was gleaming and there was under the smell of the onions and garlic and other things a faint smell of cleaning fluids. Spencer almost smiled at the thought of Floyd arriving and finding dust in his kitchen.

The coffee was not where he kept it. Floyd had moved everything in the cupboards. There was not a thing in the place Spencer had so carefully chosen for everything. They were all back how Floyd liked them to be. Not really a problem he could remember where Floyd insisted things were kept and somehow it was a comfort to open the wrong cupboard and find the right things. He started up the coffee machine after puzzling over it for a short while and then just stood staring at the counter. There was a small box wrapped in Christmas paper sitting next to the mug tree. He didn't touch it, but he could see the label with his name scrawled over it in Floyd's fancy but somehow scruffy writing. The paper was red and green. The box about four inches square. He was still standing there looking at it when Floyd suddenly pressed himself against Spencer's back.

'Well that's for tomorrow.' He said into Spencer's ear. 'But I thought you needed the new coffee machine for today.'

Reid wanted to thank him, but all thoughts were abruptly whisked away as hands wrapped around him and started undoing his buttons again.

'I didn't get you anything. I wasn't expecting you.' His voice sounded stupid to him. Like a child making up excuses for not handing in his homework on time.

'I've got you. I don't need anything else. Well except for a good mug of coffee. The stuff they have where I've been is not what you'd call good. Actually it's not what you'd call coffee.'

Spencer placed his hands over Floyd's; not really to stop him but more to make sure that they were real. One of Floyd's hands still had a ratty fingerless glove on it. Spencer slowly pealed the glove off and laid it on the counter next to the small box. He was waiting for Floyd to say something about the letter, but that wasn't what Floyd wanted to talk about.

'Are you clean?' A tongue swiped over Spencer's ear.

Slowly Reid turned so he was facing Floyd. 'I need a bath.'

'I meant clean. Do you get yourself checked? You're not taking anything? You're clean?' Now Floyd's mouth was breathing into Spencer's slightly open one.

'OH!' Reid's eyes went wide. 'No drugs… no. And yes I get myself checked at the clinic. I'm clean. I'm careful.'

Floyd nodded and stepped back slightly. 'So you ask for a certificate or evidence before you let someone fuck you?'

Though the wording was crass and base Spencer felt a small rush of something… Floyd cared? Was that it? Did this monster of a person who tried to ruin his life actually care? 'I'm careful.' Spencer repeated. 'Are you?'

There was a small sound which Reid thought might have been a laugh from Floyd. Floyd moved back and grinned. 'Go have a shower. I want to watch you wash. I want to look at you as you get all hot and soapy. You may remove the hat and try to do something with that damned hair of yours and please Babes, no more of that crappy hair mousse or whatever the fuck it is you have in your hair attempting to make you look like some old fart.'

'Are you clean? You say you spend time with a boy.' Spencer picked up the mug of coffee he'd poured for Floyd and handed it to him. 'It's hot.' He cautioned.

'Well boy as in not girl. I've had arse if that's your question and it was a male, and maybe he was underage, but not by much and not actually… much older than he looked and very nice too. Was he clean? Yes… he was… Oh… and don't look so worried I've not killed him. I love him. Don't look at me like that! I don't fuck kids, you know that.'

'About the only thing I am sure about you.' Spencer started to walk from the kitchen, pulling the hat from his head and throwing it down next to the glove he'd taken from Floyd. 'You are unbelievable. You really are. I thought…' Floyd cut him off.

'…thought? Wait… don't fucking walk away from me! Don't you put your sodding back to me when we are having a conversation. You asked and I answered your fucking question.'

'You read my letter!' Spencer virtually screamed at Floyd, as he still walked away.

'No I fucking didn't! I burnt it. Go look. I didn't see the point in reading words you'd written either in grief…'

Reid was at the bathroom door. He spun around and faced Floyd. 'Grief? You should have read it. I can recite it to you if you want. Damn you Flanders! You arrive uninvited, you act all offended that I've packed your things away and then you tell me you love someone else? Get the hell out of my apartment. Stop paying my rent. Let me move on as you so obviously have.'

Floyd was on him in a flash. Another thing which Spencer had forgotten about. That blinding speed which Floyd could move at. A hand pressed against Spencer's chest. 'Don't you fucking ever talk to me like that again! You hear me? Have you forgotten who I am and what you are? Have you? Answer me dickweed!'

'Get your hand off me!' Spencer stepped to the side and into the bathroom. 'Leave me!'

'Or what? Or what Spencer? You going to make me leave? You going to force me? What will you do? Hit me? Use your newly found fucking muscles to fight me?'

The bathroom door slammed in Floyd's face.