warnings: ? none. angst/hurt/comfort? spilers for s8. time jump!
The cardboard boxes were scattered across the floor, half-filled with the remnants of her life in this apartment. Books, clothes, and memories were haphazardly thrown together, creating a mess—a chaos that reflected her life. At least, that's how it had felt for the past few years.
For most of her life, Elle had everything figured out. She knew what she wanted, she knew who she was, and she took the steps to get there. Her life wasn't overly hard or complicated. Maybe it was because of how she was raised—to be strong. And strong she was, always ready to defend herself and others, never scared of taking charge, always walking with her head held high.
She had always had a good head on her shoulders. Her mind was clear and focused. Sure, there were difficult times, but she always knew what to do and that those times would pass. She was good at taking care of herself and working through stuff—until she got shot. In her own home.
It wasn't the same house she was packing up now, but even though it was different and years had passed, she knew she wasn't the same. And she'd given up hope that she ever would be. Maybe that was the one thing she couldn't figure out on her own.
She couldn't count the times she almost dialed Spencer's number over the last six years—not to catch up on the easy stuff or plan when they'd see each other again, but to tell him everything. He'd understand. He'd know what to say, and she knew that. But every time she tried, the words wouldn't come out.
Not that it mattered now. She couldn't remember the last time they talked. After that final call she ended, she ignored his messages and calls until he just stopped. And then he disappeared. Now there were no words stuck in her throat anymore. There was no him.
She sat back on her heels, looking at the slightly damaged photographs she'd just placed in the box. There was one of her old team, all smiles and laughter.
Another showed her and Spencer, taken at some bar in a small town where they'd helped solve a case. They were laughing at something—she couldn't remember what—but the sight of his smile sent a pang through her chest.
She couldn't remember when that photo was taken, but she did remember the last time he called. The way she'd stared at the screen, his name lighting up the display.
And then, one day, the calls stopped coming. The texts, too. Spencer, who had always been relentless in his attempts to reach out, had just… stopped. She wasn't sure whether she felt relieved or hurt. Probably both.
She closed the box and taped it shut with a sigh. It was easier to focus on the task at hand, to pack up her life and move forward than to think about what could have been. But as she reached for another empty box, her thoughts betrayed her, wandering back to Spencer.
Did he ever think about her? Did he wonder why she never answered? Or had he moved on, just like she was trying to do now?
The truth was, she missed him. She missed his awkward charm, his endless trivia, and the way he could make her laugh even on the worst days. But she had made her choice. She had let him go, or maybe he had let her go first. She wasn't sure anymore.
She glanced around the apartment. It was nearly empty now, with just a huge number of boxes scattered around.
She took a deep breath, trying to steady the swirl of emotions in her chest. Moving was supposed to be a fresh start, a way to leave the past behind. But could she? She already tried that when she left D.C? Why would this time beanie different?
She reached for the next box to fill, and a sudden knock at the door startled her.
She picked herself up with a sigh and lazily went to the front door.
When she opened it, her breath caught in her throat.
"Spencer," Elle breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.
He stood there, looking as unsure and awkward as ever, his hands gripping the strap of his messenger bag so tightly his knuckles were white. His hair was even messier than usual, a little more tousled and fluffy. His face appeared a bit more worn, the weight of time evident in the slight creases around his eyes, but those eyes—the same ones that had always seen straight through her—were unchanged, piercing, and familiar.
"Hi," he replied softly, his voice carrying a weight she hadn't heard in years. His gaze lingered on her, searching for something she couldn't quite place.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them was thick, almost suffocating, as Elle stood frozen in place, her mind racing. What was he doing here? Why now, after all this time?
"I... I'm sorry. I hope I'm not interrupting," Spencer finally said, breaking the silence. His voice was tentative as if he wasn't sure he should be here.
"No, you're not," Elle said quickly, cutting him off before he could utter another word.
They stared at each other again, the only sounds were the distant chirping of birds outside and the rhythm of their breathing.
Suddenly, a loud thud echoed behind Elle, making her shudder and spin on her heel, her heart pounding as her breath came in shallow gasps.
One of the boxes she had precariously stacked on top of another had fallen over. She sighed in relief, closing her eyes for a moment. It was just a box.
"Sorry. I'm… packing," she said softly, still facing away from him.
"Are you moving?" he asked, his tone gentle.
"Just down the street. My lease was up, and I could afford a slightly bigger place, so…" She turned back to face him, noticing the way he studied her, his eyes scanning her face as if searching for something lost.
"Cool," he replied, nodding slightly.
"Spencer, what are you doing here?" she asked, her voice barely concealing the confusion that gnawed at her.
"Umm… I was in California for a case," he answered, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
"Still with the team?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.
"Yeah." He sounded puzzled by the question as if the idea of being anywhere else was foreign to him.
"Cool. Sorry, I just… I don't know, there's a lot you could be doing. I figured you would eventually get tired of the BAU and do, I don't know… something else," she said, her words trailing off as she tried to piece together the image of Spencer - the same but a few years older standing here before her.
"Oh… well… I don't like change very much, and I like the BAU," he explained, his voice tinged with a faint smile.
"Of course. Sorry," she said, feeling a bit foolish for assuming otherwise.
"Anyway… I'm sorry. I knew I shouldn't have come over, I just… I was around, and I hate how things… happened and ended. I just thought there's no harm in checking on you and apologizing," he said, his words tumbling out in a rush.
"For what?" she asked, her brow furrowing in confusion.
"For disappearing," he said softly, his eyes dropping to the floor.
"I was the one who didn't pick up any phone calls or respond to messages," she reminded him, her voice laced with regret.
"Yeah, but I stopped… stopped calling. Maybe I shouldn't have," he said, his voice wavering.
"Why did you?" she asked, her tone more curious than accusatory.
"Would you have picked up?" he asked, looking at her with a mixture of hope and resignation.
"I don't know," she admitted, the honesty of her words hanging between them.
"Anyway… I'm sorry. I'm not going to bother you anymore. I'm glad you're okay, and moving, that's a big deal," he said, his voice trailing off as he slowly turned to leave, each step hesitant.
"Spencer, wait. Don't go," Elle called out, her voice breaking the fragile distance between them.
He stopped and turned back to her, his eyes searching hers for an answer.
This was her chance. Before she could think about it more the words came out.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I ignored you. I'm sorry I pushed you away. And all of that when your leg was broken—that's really messed up," she confessed, the words spilling out before she could stop them.
"It's fine, Elle," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
"No, it's not. I was being a bitch. I still am. I always was and probably always will be," she said, her tone laced with self-deprecation.
"You're not a… bitch," he said quietly, the word awkward on his tongue, which made Elle laugh unexpectedly.
"Wow, not Dr. Reid using such crude words," she teased, a genuine smile tugging at her lips.
Spencer laughed, the sound light and genuine. "People change."
"Yeah… I guess," she said softly, the reality of his words sinking in.
"I like your hair," Spencer said suddenly, the compliment catching her off guard and making her blush. She instinctively touched her long, dark hair, which now cascaded down her back.
"Did I change much? I can't remember what I looked like when we last saw each other," she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity.
"Not much. Just the hair. It's longer and darker. You look nice," he said, his eyes soft as he looked at her.
"Thank you. And I like your hair too" she said, the blush deepening on her cheeks. "Do you want to stay a while? We could order some food, and catch up," she offered, her voice tentative.
"Sure. I'd love to," Spencer replied, a small, hesitant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
He followed Elle awkwardly into the living room, the same living room where they had spent so many nights together. His eyes traced the familiar contours of the space, every corner a reminder of them - together.
Their tangled limbs on the couch, their naked bodies pressed firmly against each other. Her hands tugging at his curls while soft moans escaped her lips—moans he had counted, memorized, cherished. But that was over now. He couldn't let his mind wander there.
It had been a long time, and it was good that she was moving. This place would soon become a memory—a memory of every time he came over and lost himself in her. Maybe today could be a fresh start for both of them, separately and together.
"Chinese?" Elle suggested, her voice breaking through his reverie.
"Sure," Spencer said, glancing around the room. His eyes landed on the boxes scattered across the floor. "Would you like some help? With moving the boxes?"
"Umm… you don't have to. I guess you don't have much time," she replied, her voice tinged with uncertainty.
Spencer hesitated, unsure of how to respond. He hadn't planned on staying long, but she didn't know that—yet she still assumed it. Did she not want him here?
"I mean… whatever you need. I could help a little bit today," he offered, trying to bridge the gap between them.
"Sure. Thanks," Elle said quickly, immediately regretting her earlier words. She hadn't wanted to bother him, hadn't wanted this to be awkward, but somehow, she had managed to make it worse.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, looking away.
"About what? We have to stop saying that," Spencer replied gently.
"I know. I just… I don't want this to be awkward. I missed you, and I'm happy to see you, but I don't know… I don't know what we are," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.
"We're friends," Spencer said, his voice firm, as if saying it aloud would make it true.
"Right," Elle nodded, trying to believe it.
"And friends help each other, and it's never awkward," he added with a reassuring smile.
Elle smiled back, the tension in the room easing slightly. Spencer mirrored her expression with a wider smile, a warm familiarity settling between them.
"I missed you too. It doesn't have to be awkward. It's been a long time, but we're good, right?" he asked, his eyes searching hers for reassurance.
"We are," she agreed, her smile growing more genuine.
"So, what are you doing now? I mean, job-wise? You changed them a lot," Spencer asked, curiosity piqued.
"Yeah, um… now I work for this organization that helps sex crime victims. I've been there for a few years now. Got a few promotions. More money, a new apartment," Elle explained, a hint of pride in her voice.
"Nice. I'm still at the same place," Spencer replied, chuckling softly.
"That's good. I always liked your apartment. And you don't like change," she teased, a playful glint in her eyes.
"No, I don't," Spencer laughed, the sound light and genuine.
They continued talking as they ate their Chinese takeout, the conversation flowing easily between them. Later, they started walking back and forth down the street, carrying boxes to her new place.
In the end, Elle was grateful for his company. It felt surprisingly natural, almost like old times.
The new apartment was bigger, brighter—a fresh start, she had told herself. But as they settled onto the floor, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes and furniture yet to be assembled, she felt a familiar knot of tension in her stomach.
Tired and sweaty from the California sun, they collapsed onto the floor, no sitting furniture in sight. On their last trip, Elle had grabbed cold beers from the fridge, a small reward for their hard work.
"Thanks for the help. I could have done it without you, but it sure as hell went by quicker," Elle said, instinctively reaching for Spencer's hand. Her fingers brushed against his, a small, tentative gesture—something she often did when they were alone.
But the moment her hand touched his, Spencer pulled away, the movement sharp and sudden.
The air between them grew heavy, and thick with the sudden awkwardness. Elle withdrew her hand, trying to mask the sting of rejection with a small, shaky smile.
"Sorry. I—" she began, her voice faltering.
"Elle, I—" Spencer started, his voice strained. He ran a hand through his hair, clearly struggling to find the right words. "I… um… I actually met someone."
The words hung in the air, sharp and undeniable. Elle felt as though the ground had shifted beneath her. Of course, he had. Why wouldn't he? It had been years, after all, and it was Spencer—the sweetest man alive. With his genius and looks, of course, he found someone. But still, hearing it said out loud made the ache in her chest throb painfully.
"Oh," was all she could manage, her voice barely a whisper. She looked down at her hands, unsure of what to do with them now. "That's good. Who are they?"
"Um… she's a geneticist. She was helping me with my headaches," Spencer explained, his voice soft, almost apologetic.
"You had headaches?" Elle asked, her brow furrowing in concern.
"Yeah… a little bit, but I'm okay now. Anyway… we just kept talking about other things and… before I knew it, we talked all the time," he continued, his gaze dropping to the floor.
They talked all the time, just like we used to, Elle thought, a pang of jealousy mixing with the sadness in her chest.
"I'm sorry," Spencer said, his voice filled with regret.
"About what? I'm happy for you. Really happy. What is she like?" Elle forced the words out, even as her heart ached.
"She's great. We have a lot in common, and she's really nice," Spencer replied, his tone filled with quiet admiration.
"You deserve to be happy, Spencer. You do. Finally, someone realized what a catch you are," Elle said with a wry smile, trying to keep her voice light.
Spencer laughed, the sound bittersweet. He looked at her with such tenderness that it almost broke her. "You do too, Elle. I still care about you—so much."
She forced herself to meet his gaze, despite the storm of emotions raging inside her. "I know," she replied, her voice steadier than she felt. "And I'm really happy for you. Really."
For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence heavy with the things left unsaid. Elle's heart ached, not just for what they had lost, but for what they could never have again. But she knew, deep down, that this was the way it had to be. They had both changed and no matter how much she might have wished otherwise, they couldn't go back to who they used to be.
Finally, Spencer gave her a small, sad smile. "I'm still here for you, Elle. As a friend, if you want that. I don't want to lose you again."
She nodded, forcing a smile of her own. "Yeah," she said quietly. "Friends. I'd like that."
It wasn't what she had hoped for, but it was something. And as they sat there in the half-empty apartment, the distance between them dwindling she realized that maybe this was the closure she needed.
Maybe it was time to truly let go.
Only after Spencer left did Elle allow the tears to fall. She closed the door softly behind him, the echo of its click lingering in the silence. Slowly, she slid down to the floor, leaning against the door as if it were the only thing keeping her from collapsing entirely. The tears came quietly at first, then in a torrent, each one a painful reminder of what she had lost—or perhaps, what she had never truly had.
It was too late. But too late for what? The question gnawed at her, though she already knew the answer. This was her own doing. She liked him—no, she loved him—and he had liked her too.
But fear had kept her from asking for more, from reaching out for what she truly wanted. She'd had him, or at least a part of him, and even if it wasn't fully, she'd been happy to take what she could get. But now, knowing there was someone else, it hurt in ways she hadn't expected. It shouldn't hurt like this, she told herself. He wasn't hers. He deserved to be with someone who would take him fully, not just offer a shallow friends-with-benefits arrangement when deep down she knew it was never enough—not for her.
And not for him.
As Spencer sat in the back of the taxi, his thoughts were tangled in a web of confusion. The city lights blurred past the window, but all he could see was Elle. Her face, the way she had looked at him, the sadness in her eyes.
He still wasn't sure why he had come to see her.
Yes, he wanted to apologize, to make amends for the silence that had stretched on for so long. But there was more to it.
He had missed her.
He had missed her so much that now, even with Maeve in his life, his thoughts kept drifting back to Elle. Just like they had every day since he met her.
As he waited at the airport, the minutes ticking by, his mind replayed every moment they had shared, every conversation, every laugh.
He felt like he was betraying Maeve, but how could he be? He hadn't spoken to Elle in 2,025 days, 12 hours, and 28 minutes—not that he was counting.
They kept talking in the following months, their conversations gradually rekindling a friendship that had once been strained. Each exchange felt easier, more natural, as they slipped back into the familiar rhythm. They were trying to be friends again—and succeeding at it. Until one day, when Elle decided to call Spencer first, around noon.
He didn't pick up. She figured he was working, probably buried in a case, so she shrugged it off. He was busy, she thought. When evening rolled around and there was still no response, she tried again. Nothing. Maybe he was somewhere deep in a tough case, unreachable. She'd try again tomorrow, she decided, trying to keep her anxiety at bay.
But the next day came, and still, he wasn't picking up. Nor was he texting back. The worry gnawed at her, growing with each unanswered call. What now? Who does she call when Spencer isn't picking up? And who would know what's going on with him?
The answer was pretty clear, though she hated it a little. She knew that once she made this call, she wouldn't be left alone, and there would be a barrage of questions. But her concern for Spencer outweighed her reluctance.
Sighing, she dialed the number. "Fuck it," she muttered under her breath as the line connected.
"Hi, Garcia!" Elle said, forcing a casual tone into her voice.
"O-M-G. Elle Greenaway!" Penelope Garcia's voice was a burst of enthusiasm on the other end.
"Yep. That's me. Hi! Listen, I'd love to catch up, but I'm really busy right now, and I need to know something," Elle said, her voice betraying the urgency she felt.
"Of course, buttercup! What is it?" Garcia's tone shifted to one of concern, sensing the seriousness in Elle's voice.
"So… okay, this might sound weird. I promise it's not, and it's not like that. Okay? It's just… Spencer and I have been talking recently. I called him once—I needed something—and, well… we sort of just started talking again. Doesn't matter. The thing is… he hasn't picked up his phone since yesterday, and I'm getting worried. I thought you, Penelope Garcia, might know whether the team is on a case or…" Elle trailed off, her heart pounding in her chest.
"Oh, honey…" Garcia's voice softened, carrying a weight that made Elle's stomach drop.
"What? Did something happen?" Elle asked, her voice rising in alarm.
"How do I even start… You heard about Maeve?" Garcia's voice was hesitant, almost fragile.
"Yeah. He mentioned Maeve to me," Elle replied, her brow furrowing. "What about her?"
"She… she died," Garcia said, her voice breaking slightly.
"What?" Elle's breath caught in her throat.
"In front of him. Killed," Garcia continued the sadness in her voice palpable.
"What the fuck?" Elle whispered, her mind reeling.
"I know. It's crazy and really, really sad. JJ and I have tried to check on him a few times, but he's not opening the door, and he's stopped coming to work. It's really bad, Elle. He's not picking up anybody's calls," Garcia explained, her concern evident.
"Oh my God," Elle breathed, a sense of dread settling over her.
Right then, she knew what she had to do. Without hesitation, she made up her mind. She had to go back to D.C.
Spencer lay on the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling. He couldn't remember the last time he ate or showered. What was the point? He didn't feel like it. Maybe one day he would. But not today. And probably not tomorrow. The world outside had faded into a dull hum, muted by the grief that weighed him down.
Then there was a sound—a knock, maybe. Probably Garcia again, or JJ. Why did they keep coming back? He wasn't planning on opening those doors anytime soon.
The knock repeated, more insistent this time.
And then again. And again.
"Spencer Reid, open those doors now!" A voice called out, firm and demanding.
That wasn't Garcia. Nor JJ. Nor Morgan. It was a woman's voice, but different.
"Spencer, this is Elle. I know what happened. Please open the door. You shouldn't be alone. Please, open up," Elle's voice was steady, but there was an underlying note of urgency, a plea that cut through the fog in his mind.
Elle. Elle's here. How did she know?
More importantly, should he open the door? He shouldn't. But he wanted to.
It was Elle.
How could he not?