warnings: addiction, drugs, smut, angst
It had been a few days since Elle resigned from the team, and the bullpen had not been the same without her. Spencer felt her absence almost every moment of the day. The conversations they once shared had been replaced by a heavy silence that seemed to echo around him. He missed the sound of her laughter, the way her eyes sparkled with determination during cases, and the comforting presence she brought to their often chaotic world.
Every day, Spencer found himself glancing at her empty desk, hoping against hope that she might suddenly appear. But she never did.
Instead, he was left with only memories and the cold realization that she had moved on, leaving him behind. The plane rides were the worst. He used to look forward to the long hours in the air, knowing that Elle would be there. Now, those hours stretched endlessly.
Desperation had driven Spencer to check the hotel she had mentioned staying at before her departure. It had been a gamble, but he was willing to try anything to find her. To his dismay, he learned she had checked out. Panic set in as he realized she could be anywhere. He reached out to Penelope, hoping against hope that she might be able to help.
Penelope's response came quickly, but it was not what he had hoped for. She told him that Elle had anticipated Spencer's search and had sent her a text specifically warning her about it.
"Elle knew you'd look for her," Penelope explained, her voice tinged with frustration and sadness. "She asked me not to help anyone find her. I promised her I wouldn't."
The realization that Elle had gone so far as to anticipate his every move, to outmaneuver him in this last desperate attempt to reach out, left Spencer feeling hollow. Elle had made it clear she wanted to be left alone. It was a crushing blow, but one he had to accept.
Spencer had tried to reach out to her, but his calls went unanswered. The few messages he received were brief.
"I'm sorry I left"
"Moving to California. Take care." It was a simple statement, but it carried a finality that crushed him.
He missed the late-night talks in her apartment, the way they would fall asleep in each other's arms after a long day. Whether it was in her cozy bedroom or a hotel room in the middle of nowhere, their time together in the last few months had become a refuge from the darkness they faced daily.
He missed the small, everyday moments too—the way she teased him about his encyclopedic knowledge, the way she always seemed to know when he needed someone to talk to. She had been his confidante, his friend, and… his lover.
She had left abruptly, giving Spencer no chance to say a proper goodbye or to try to persuade her to stay. She didn't even give him the opportunity to talk to her, and he couldn't help but wonder if she might have listened. Maybe she would have stayed if he had asked, though he hated to think of it as a selfish hope.
At the very least, he wanted the chance to say goodbye, to let her know how much she meant to him before she vanished from his life.
But it was too late for that now. All he could do was hope that, wherever she was, she was happy. And maybe, just maybe, she missed him too.
At night, it was the intimacy he missed most of all. He missed the feel of her body against his, the way they fit together perfectly in the dark. He missed her touch, the way her fingers would trace patterns on his skin, sending shivers down his spine. He missed the way she would kiss him—deep and slow—making him forget everything else. The sex had always been incredible; he had never experienced anything like it. He missed the sound of her moans, the way she would gasp his name as they moved together, lost in their own world.
In the nights they didn't spend together, he found solace in the certainty that they would be reunited soon. Knowing that they had these moments to look forward to gave him a sense of anticipation and hope, reminding him that she was always close by, even when they were apart.
Not anymore.
He missed the nights when they couldn't keep their hands off each other, when they would spend hours exploring each other's bodies, giving and taking pleasure until they were both spent and satisfied. He missed the way she would look at him afterward, her eyes filled with a mix of contentment and desire, making him feel like the most important person in the world.
He tried to distract himself with work, books, and anything that might fill the void, but nothing could replace the feeling of Elle's body wrapped around his, the sound of her voice whispering his name in the dark. In the stillness of the night, Spencer would close his eyes and imagine that she was there with him, her skin warm and soft against his own. But when he reached out, there was only cold emptiness—a cruel reminder that she was gone. He missed her in every possible way, but most of all, he missed the way she made him feel—alive, desired, loved.
Spencer sat in the common room of his apartment, staring blankly at the television screen. He was supposed to be watching a movie, but his mind was elsewhere, trapped in a relentless cycle of memories and regrets. The therapy sessions helped, but there were some wounds that therapy couldn't touch, some losses that time couldn't heal.
Months had passed since Elle left the team, and in that time, Spencer had experienced a whirlwind of events that left him reeling. Almost too much had happened. It had gotten dark—too dark.
Nights were the worst: dark, endless hours where sleep was a distant hope and nightmares an ever-present reality. His usually sharp mind felt clouded and dulled, the razor edge of his intellect blunted by the drug's numbing embrace. In the quiet solitude of his apartment, Spencer grappled with the shame and self-loathing that came with each syringe, his reflection in the mirror a stark reminder of his fall from grace.
Isolation became his refuge, pushing away friends and colleagues, fearing their judgment and pity.
Some nights, it got even worse. The craving gnawed at his resolve, eroding the thin veneer of control he desperately clung to. Spencer tried to distance himself from the insidious lure of the drug, but the need for sleep was an overpowering force, driving him to the brink of madness.
His mind, usually a bastion of clarity and logic, now spiraled into chaotic desperation, each tick of the clock amplifying his insomnia. The needle, once dreaded, became a grim necessity—a bitter irony that offered the only respite from his ceaseless torment.
He hated himself for it, hated the weakness that had taken root within him, but the relief it brought was undeniable. In those darkest hours, when the walls of his apartment closed in and the silence became deafening, Spencer surrendered himself to the narcotic's hug, seeking the elusive comfort of sleep, even as it pulled him further into the abyss.
After a few months, the addiction had taken too much control, threatening even his career. Determined to reclaim his life, Spencer managed to get clean on his own. He attended group therapy sessions regularly, a small but crucial step toward recovery. Each meeting was a reminder that he wasn't alone in his struggle, and the shared stories of resilience and relapse were both a comfort and a caution.
Yet, even as he fought to overcome his demons, the void left by Elle's departure loomed large—a persistent ache that refused to fade. The memories of their time together haunted him, mingling with the specter of his addiction, creating a complex web of grief and guilt.
He thought of her often.
He wondered what she was doing now, if she had found peace in California. He missed her fiercely, in ways that went beyond mere friendship or even the physical intimacy they had shared. She had been… something else, someone who understood him on a level few others did. Her absence had left him adrift, and he wondered how things would have been if she had stayed.
The loneliness Spencer felt was compounded by the silence from his team. They knew about his addiction—he could see it in their eyes, the way they looked at him with a mix of concern and caution. But no one talked about it. Not Hotch, not Morgan, not JJ. They acted as if nothing was wrong, as if acknowledging his struggle would make it real, bringing with it the potential consequences that could cost him his job at the FBI.
Spencer understood, on some level, that they were trying to protect him. If his addiction became an official issue, he would face serious repercussions, possibly even losing his position with the BAU. They were his family, and they didn't want to lose him. Yet, the silence was suffocating, making him feel even more isolated.
Sometimes, he was thankful for the silence. It allowed him to maintain a semblance of normalcy, to cling to the remnants of his professional identity without the added burden of their pity. But sometimes, it pained him deeply. The unspoken words and avoided conversations created a chasm between him and his team.
He often found himself reaching for his phone, scrolling through the old text messages, clinging to the fragments of the past. Her last message, a simple "Moving to California. Take care," was burned into his mind. He had reread it countless times, searching for any hint of emotion, any clue that she missed him as much as he missed her. But it was just a few sterile words.
One afternoon, during a particularly grueling group therapy session, Spencer found himself compelled to speak about Elle. The session focused on triggers and coping mechanisms, but his thoughts kept drifting back to her. When it was his turn to share, he took a deep breath and began.
"There was someone on my team," he said, his voice faltering slightly. "Elle. She left a while back, and not a day goes by that I don't think about her."
He closed his eyes, trying to summon her face, her smile, the way she used to look at him with a mixture of affection and exasperation. The image was hazy, like a dream slipping through his fingers, but he continued. "I just miss her a lot. We don't talk anymore and... I guess... I keep wondering what it would be like if she had stayed. If she didn't leave..." His voice trailed off, the words hanging in the air like an unfinished sentence.
Spencer opened his eyes, feeling the weight of his unspoken thoughts. "I keep thinking that maybe if she were still here, things would be different. Maybe I wouldn't feel so lost."
One of the group members, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes, leaned forward and asked gently, "Did you two have a fight?"
Spencer shook his head. "No. She just left the job and moved away. She stopped picking up my calls." He paused, the pain of her absence evident in his eyes. "I don't even know why."
The woman offered a small, encouraging smile. "Maybe you should try texting her again. Tell her you miss her and want to talk. Sometimes, people just need to hear that someone cares."
Spencer considered this, the idea both comforting and terrifying. "Maybe I will. Thanks," he said softly.
The session continued, but Spencer's mind was elsewhere, turning over the possibilities and what he might say if he could get Elle to answer the phone or at least text back. When the session ended, he lingered for a moment, lost in thought.
As he walked back to his apartment, he felt a glimmer of hope—a fragile, uncertain feeling, but one strong enough to propel him forward.
That night, he sat on his bed with his phone in hand, rehearsing what he would say. He knew it wouldn't be easy, and there was no guarantee Elle would even respond. But he had to try.
Taking a deep breath, he typed out a message, his fingers trembling slightly as he wrote: "Hi Elle, I've been thinking about you and I miss you. If you're open to it, I'd really like to talk. Hope to hear from you soon." After hitting send, he placed the phone down, his heart racing with a mix of hope and anxiety.
Hours passed with no response, and he tried to push thoughts of disappointment away. Just as he was about to give in to his growing doubts, his phone rang. Spencer's heart leaped into his throat as he saw Elle's name on the screen. He answered with a shaky voice, "Hello?"
There was a brief, tense silence before he heard her voice—warm and familiar, yet tinged with uncertainty. "Spencer?"
For a moment, Spencer couldn't speak. Just hearing her voice again brought a rush of memories and feelings that threatened to overwhelm him.
"Hi," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
There was a pause on the other end, and then Elle replied, "Spencer. It's good to hear from you. How are you?"
"I'm... I'm okay," he said, trying to steady his voice. "I've missed you, Elle. A lot."
"I've missed you too," she admitted softly. "How have you been holding up?"
Spencer took a deep breath. "Oh, you know… just busy. I read a lot."
"Of course you do," she said with a small, wistful laugh.
He hesitated before adding, "I've been thinking about you."
Elle's voice softened. "I think about you too. A lot."
"Yeah?" Spencer's heart ached at her words.
"Yeah…" There was a trace of hesitation in her voice. "But I needed some time. Not from you, just… some time."
"Oh…" Spencer's voice faltered.
"And then you stopped texting and calling, which is kind of my fault because I wasn't picking up, and I'm on the other side of the country and… what's the point, I guess?"
"Well… we can still talk sometimes. We have phones," he said with a hint of a laugh.
"Yeah, we can talk. I've missed you," she responded, her voice carrying a warmth that made his heart swell.
In the weeks that followed, Spencer and Elle found themselves chatting on the phone almost every day. Their talks became a bright spot in their lives, filled with stories, laughter, and the kind of easy comfort that made the distance feel a little less daunting.
Spencer kept his addiction to himself, avoiding the topic entirely. Instead, he focused on lighter things, like his latest book obsession or work dramas.
He was just thankful to have her back in some way, and he never wanted to lose her again.
One night, they talked until late, slipping into easy conversation about old times and what was new in their lives. Spencer laughed at Elle's stories and found himself opening up more than he had in a long time. Hours flew by as they settled into their familiar rhythm, their voices filling the quiet and making the distance between them feel a little smaller.
As they continued talking, Spencer mentioned, "I'm heading to Vegas next week, by the way. Got some time off and thought I'd visit my mom."
Elle's voice brightened with interest. "You're going to be in Vegas?"
Spencer chuckled. "Yes, that's where my mom is. You know that."
Elle laughed softly. "Yeah, I know. It's just that Vegas isn't that far from San Diego. And… I don't know… why don't you come over?" she asked, her voice soft.
"To California?" Spencer's voice was filled with a mix of surprise and hope.
"Yes," she replied. "Come to California. I miss you, Reid."
Spencer felt a rush of emotions—relief, excitement, and a newfound sense of purpose. "Okay," he said, a smile spreading across his face. "I'll come. I'll come to California."
"Good," Elle said, and he could hear the smile in her voice too. "I'll be waiting."
The cool evening air whispered through the palm trees as Reid stood outside Elle's apartment door. He fidgeted with the strap of his messenger bag, feeling the weight of anticipation settle in his chest. It had been months since they had last seen each other, and the mere thought of being in her presence again made his heart race.
With a shaky breath, he raised his hand to knock on the door. But before his knuckles could make contact, the door swung open, revealing Elle standing there—a vision in the soft glow of the lamp light.
"Hi," she breathed, her voice tinged with disbelief and longing.
Before Spencer could respond, Elle surged forward, her lips crashing against his in a passionate and intense kiss. It caught him off guard, but he melted into it, allowing himself to be swept away by the wave of desire that washed over him.
When they finally broke apart, Elle's eyes blazed with determination as she took Spencer's hand and pulled him into her darkened living room. The door shut, and without a word, she pressed him against the wall, her hands tangling in his hair as she kissed him again and again, her lips demanding and insistent.
"I can't believe you're here," she murmured between kisses, her words trailing off into a breathless sigh.
Spencer's heart pounded in his chest as he struggled to catch his breath, his mind reeling from the intensity of their encounter.
"You told me to come over," he managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper.
Elle paused, her eyes searching his face for a moment before a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "I did, didn't I?" she replied, her voice husky with desire.
With that, she pulled him into another heated kiss, her fingers trailing down his chest as she lost herself in his intoxicating warmth. As Spencer wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, he wished he could always be next to her.
Their kiss deepened, a fervent exchange of longing and need, each touch igniting a fire that had been smoldering for too long. They stumbled towards the couch, the urgency of their desire making their movements clumsy yet passionate. Spencer's hands roamed over her back, memorizing the curve of her spine, the way she shivered under his touch.
"Spencer," Elle murmured against his lips, her voice a mix of longing and desperation. "I've missed you so much."
His heart swelled at her words, the emotions he had tried to suppress flooding to the surface. "I've missed you too. I've missed you more."
They fell onto the couch, a tangled mess of limbs and heated breaths. Elle's hands found their way under his shirt, her fingers tracing the contours of his chest, drawing a shudder from him. Spencer's lips traveled down her neck, eliciting a soft moan from her as he pressed kisses along her collarbone.
She missed feeling him on her, his soft lips and tender touch. He was always so gentle, as if she might break if he pressed too hard against her skin.
She lay there, under his weight, while he held himself up, terrified of crushing her. She needed him. She needed to feel him. She unstrapped the messenger bag still slung across his shoulder and began unbuttoning his shirt. His lips returned to her neck, gently biting, making her moan louder. The pace was too slow for her. Why was she still in clothes, she thought, and quickly removed her shirt.
"Let's go to bed," she said, standing up and pulling Spencer with her.
He clumsily removed the rest of his clothes once they entered the bedroom, and Elle swiftly shed her own garments.
In the dim light of the bedroom, their eyes locked, a silent understanding passing between them. Spencer reached out, pulling Elle close, their bodies pressing together, skin against skin. The sensation was electric, the heat of their desire radiating between them.
Elle guided Spencer to the bed, their movements a blend of urgency and tenderness. As they sank onto the soft mattress, Spencer's hands roamed over her body, exploring every inch with reverence and need. Elle's fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him down for another deep, hungry kiss.
His chest pressed against hers, their arms wrapped around each other, and their legs tangled together. Their hips aligned, every part of their bodies touched, creating a seamless bond between them.
"I need you," she whispered against his lips, her voice trembling with intensity.
"I'm here," he replied, his voice rough with emotion. "I'm not going anywhere."
The room was bathed in the soft glow of early morning light filtering through the curtains. Elle lay nestled against Spencer's chest, her fingers lazily tracing circles on his skin. The rhythm of his heartbeat was a soothing constant she had missed over the past months.
For a while, they enjoyed the quiet intimacy, the comfortable silence that surrounded them. Eventually, Elle looked up, her eyes meeting his with a gentle curiosity.
"How's your mom?" she asked softly.
Spencer's expression shifted, a mixture of love and worry crossing his features. "She's doing okay," he replied, his voice tender. "She has good days and bad days, but today was one of the better ones."
Elle shifted slightly, her gaze piercing through the calm. "Good. Does she know you were kidnapped?" she asked, her voice calm but with an undercurrent of concern.
Spencer's heart skipped a beat, a sharp jolt of surprise. "What?"
Elle's eyebrows arched, mirroring his earlier stunned expression. "What? Why didn't you tell me?"
The shock left Spencer momentarily speechless, his eyes widening as he searched for the right words. "I… I…"
"Exactly," Elle said, frustration and hurt mingling in her tone.
Spencer's frustration was palpable as he stood up abruptly from the bed, his movements restless and agitated. He paced the room, his hands running through his hair, the tension evident in every step he took. "You weren't picking up my calls, and we stopped texting. What was I supposed to do? Send you a message out of nowhere—'Hey, hope you enjoy the California sun. By the way, I got kidnapped'?"
Elle's gaze followed him, a mix of concern and disappointment on her face. "No, it's just… we've been talking almost every day. You never mentioned that you were kidnapped on a job and drugged?"
Spencer's shoulders sagged, and he sank onto the edge of the bed, his head bowed, fingers nervously tracing the patterns of the bedspread. "How do you even… how do you know?"
Elle took a steadying breath, her voice firm but edged with frustration. "Morgan called a few weeks ago. I found out from him. That doesn't matter. Why didn't you tell me?"
Spencer looked up, his eyes filled with a mixture of defensiveness and weariness. "For what? You're away, and it was a long time ago."
Elle shook her head slowly, her disappointment clear. "In February. Not that long."
Spencer ran a hand through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts. "I'm fine."
Elle's tone softened, but her eyes remained earnest. "Are you?"
Spencer's gaze fell away, the vulnerability evident in his expression. "I don't see the point of telling you and making you worry. Nothing happened."
Elle's voice was gentle but resolute. "Reid… don't act like getting kidnapped on a job is a normal thing."
Exhaustion etched into his features, Spencer looked at her with a deep sadness. "It is in our job."
Elle's face reflected a mix of sadness and understanding. "It's okay if you don't want to talk about it. I just thought… maybe I'm someone you wouldn't be afraid to talk to about difficult things."
Spencer's face softened, his eyes meeting hers with raw honesty. "I'm not afraid. It's just… a lot. I don't know how to talk about it."
Elle reached out, her hand gently cupping his cheek, her thumb brushing softly against his skin. "That's okay."
Spencer closed his eyes, leaning into her touch, finding a brief moment of solace. "I don't want to talk about it. I'm sorry," he said, his voice heavy with reluctance.
Elle's heart sank at his words. She had hoped that being in California, away from the chaos of his world, would make him feel safe enough to open up. She wanted to be someone he felt comfortable confiding in, someone he trusted enough to share his burdens with. But his swift shutdown left her with a deep ache of helplessness.
Spencer's mind raced with a swirl of conflicting emotions. He just got her back but the weight of his experiences still loomed over him, creating an impenetrable barrier between them. He felt a pang of guilt and frustration.
He had hoped that being with her would offer some relief, some escape. He didn't want her to know about all the ugly.