Chapter Twenty-Eight
27/09/2019. 09:03 hours. David Rossi's House, Virginia.
Spencer dipped his head and stared morosely at the dark wooden floor through his curls, fingers curling and unfurling behind his back. He could hear the clinking of ceramic being set down on the counter and the hissing of the machine brewing its magic of David's favourite Italian blend coffee. He wondered where he had gone wrong in his life to end up at the point of begging to be cuffed by his friends to stop himself from doing something he would regret. The thought of being in handcuffs had always terrified him and drove him to follow the law to the letter, and yet here he was willingly allowing himself to be shackled in the name of self preservation.
He lifted his head at the sound of David's loafers squeaking against the floor. David set down two navy blue mugs on the coffee table and crouched down in front of Spencer.
"Can I remove the cuffs?" asked David with a hopeful expression written into his features. Spencer simply shook his head in response. "Then can I hook them up in the front?" Spencer took a deep breath in through his nose and released it slowly out of his mouth as though he was trying to keep himself calm.
"Okay," answered Spencer, his voice still small and wounded. David came to his feet as Spencer shuffled forward on the sofa and keyed open one of the cuffs. Spencer brought his arms around in front of him and held his wrists out. The eagerness of the genius to be restrained was heart-breaking to David. The senior agent closed the cuff back around Spencer's wrist.
"Tighter," mumbled Spencer. David frowned in confusion.
"What do you mean?"
"The cuffs. Tighten them."
"Spencer, they'll hurt you." Spencer pursed his lips.
"Better them than me. There's no telling what I would do." David gave a defeated sigh and tightened the cuffs around the thin wrists. David grabbed one of the mugs and placed it into Spencer's hands. Spencer gave a sombre smile and raised the mug to his lips, relishing the steam that breathed against his face and the heavenly bitter scent that filled his nostrils. David collected his own mug and settled into the cushions beside the young man.
"You know you can't stay in cuffs forever, kid."
"I know. I just don't feel like I can keep myself safe right now. I'm afraid of what I could do to myself." Spencer grimaced at the pain in his hand and inspected the bruising and swelling."Fuck, that hurts. Looks like I've fractured my first, second and third metacarpal and proximal phalanges."
"Once more for the none-geniuses in the room." Spencer chuckled.
"I've fractured my knuckles. Possibly my hand and fingers too." David shrugged and sipped his coffee.
"That will happen if you go ten rounds with a sparring dummy. You should really go to the emergency room."
"Yeah? And what do I say? 'Sorry, I lost my shit and picked a fight with a dummy.' They'll throw me in a psych ward and throw away the key. My fingers are still in line and there's no obvious displacement of the bones. I'm sure my hand'll heal fine as it is." David raised a hand in surrender.
"Okay. Okay. I give up."
The pair sat in comfortable silence as they drank their coffee. Spencer leaned forward and set his cup down on the table. He fiddled mindlessly with the cuffs.
"I have to go to the store to get some ingredients for the carbonara. Are you going to be okay on your own?" asked David. Spencer glanced at him, fear flashing in his eyes. "Stand up and let me re-cuff your hands." Spencer too eagerly stood up and offered David his wrists. David unlocked Spencer's left hand and pulled his arms behind his back, chaining his wrists together once again. Spencer's shoulders visibly sagged with relief.
"Those are coming off for dinner tonight. I don't care what you say, Spencer." Spencer nodded."I'll be about thirty minutes. I'll put some TV on for you. I'm sure one of your geeky shows is on." Spencer gave a small laugh as David searched through the channels.
"That one," said Spencer, intrigued by a documentary on wildlife in Papua New Guinea. Spencer slowly seated himself back on the sofa, his eyes fixed on the show. David shook his head and laughed as he grabbed his car keys.
27/09/2019 10:42 hours. David Rossi's House, Virginia.
Spencer wandered mindlessly around the ground floor, eyes gazing around as if he was looking at the property for the first time. His fingers twitched behind his back and his hair brushed against his shirt collar. He could still feel the tape on his face and the noose around his neck as though the night the Director had tried to kill him had just happened. He swallowed hard, tears burning his eyes. So much had happened in the past few months, and Spencer had begun to wonder how he was still breathing. He should have been dead several times over. Most people would have caved a long time ago. He admitted to himself that he wanted the emotional pain to end, but he did not want to die. He hated feeling out of control. He at least felt in control of his physical pain when it was self-inflicted.
Spencer stilled and tilted his chin up to the ceiling. He released a shuddering breath as tears trickled over his gaunt face. He felt so far out of control, as though the rug of his life had been swept out from under his feet. He desperately wanted to get that control back. Spencer pulled against the handcuffs in frustration and sank down to his knees in despair. He bowed his head, hair falling over his face as he let out a wracked cry. His throat felt tight and swollen and his head pounded. His lungs constricted, unable to suck in a single breath. The room spun, his vision blurring. Spencer's blood rushed noisily through his ears, his mouth open in a soundless scream as he fell forward, cheek colliding with the floor.
…
David sighed, a grocery bag tucked under his arm as he unlocked the front door. The nature documentary was discussing species of spider but Spencer was nowhere to be seen. David glanced around in alarm, setting the groceries down on the side table next to the front door.
"Spencer? It's Dave." David was attracted to a low keening sound from somewhere near the kitchen. Spencer was lying on the floor, curled up into a tight ball with his head on his knees. David quickly knelt down and tentatively placed a hand on the genius' trembling shoulder.
"Spencer? Can you hear me?" Spencer cautiously lifted his head and gazed into David's eyes. The young man was struggling to gain a breath, his hazel pools wide and terrified. David maneuvered Spencer into a seated position and cupped his face in his hands.
"I know you can hear me, kiddo. Just follow my voice, okay? I want you to breathe with me. In for four and out for four." David sucked in a deep breath through his nose, held it and then let it out. Spencer visibly tried to copy him but the breath seemed to catch in his throat.
"C-can't…B-reathe…" Spencer wheezed, blinking hot tears down his face.
"Just focus on your breathing, kid. In for four and out for four." Spencer pursed his lips, using his nose to try and breathe in, his eyes fixed helplessly on David.
It felt like hours before Spencer's breathing returned to a more normal rhythm and his hearing stopped being drowned out by his pulse. Tears had dried on his face. David held a glass of water in his hand and pressed the tip of a straw to Spencer's lips. Spencer shakily sipped the water, his breaths still slightly ragged.
"Thank you," croaked Spencer, his voice spent from the anxiety attack. David set the glass down on the breakfast bar and grasped the young man under one shoulder. Spencer less than gracefully came to his feet, his legs weak. David guided him over to the sofa and pushed him down gently into the cushions. David dropped down next to him.
"Okay, talk to me, Spencer. You're not moving from this spot and you aren't having any more coffee until you talk. Something triggered that panic attack. I'm sorry it took me longer than expected at the store." Spencer shamefully looked away from David's gaze to his bobbing knee.
"I- I struggle with loss of control and I feel like these past few months have stripped me of that. The emotional pain just doesn't go away and it flares out of nowhere, and I don't know when it's going to happen. It's as though I don't have any control over that pain. I can start it and stop it and it allows me control over something when i hurt myself. I'm torn between wanting to feel pain, purging myself, and knowing that it biologically won't help."
"You know there are other ways of managing those urges that don't involve sharp objects? What am I saying? I know that you know that there are. You need to adopt an alternative." Spencer furrowed his brow in confusion. David stood up and moved over to a wooden dresser to the right of the lounge. He mumbled to himself as he rummaged through the drawers. He returned and seated himself next to Spencer once again, an elastic band between his thumb and index finger. Spencer turned his attention to the band and quirked an eyebrow, mentally kicking himself for not thinking of it sooner.
"Turn around, Spencer." Spencer shuffled around on the sofa, one lanky leg curled under the other, so that he had his back to the older man. David keyed open the handcuffs from Spencer's wrists. Spencer sat back on the sofa and crossed his legs underneath him. He brought his hands in front of him and inspected the bruising and welts around his wrists from his fight against the cuffs. His right hand had doubled in size. David handed him the elastic band. Spencer slipped the band over his left hand so that it sat inconspicuously beside his watch. He pinched it between his fingers and pulled it away, then let go so that it snapped harshly against his skin. He hissed with the sting, but found that it satiated the urge.
"Thank you," said Spencer.
"See, I'm not just a pretty face." Spencer let out a genuine laugh, a smile dancing on his lips that reached his eyes. David's heart fluttered. It had been far too long since he had seen the young man smile or laugh and truly mean it. Spencer studied his battered hand.
"I think you might be right. I think this does need to be checked out." David scoffed and his mouth gaped.
"Did you, Dr Spencer Walter Reid, admit to being wrong?" Spencer flushed crimson and averted his gaze in embarrassment. "If we go now, we can get back in time to get ourselves ready before everyone comes over." Spencer's eyes widened and he turned back to David.
"E-everyone's coming?"
"Yeah. An Italian doesn't cook carbonara for two, you know. You need to be surrounded by your family, Spencer." Spencer simply nodded and snapped the band once against his wrist.
27/09/2019. 19:56 hours. David Rossi's House, Virginia.
Spencer had struggled to shower and dress with his dominant hand out of action. He sat perched on the side of the bed in the guest room, his hair still slightly damp and his hands in his lap. His hand and wrist had been tightly wrapped in a black splint. His purple button-up shirt remained open, his fingers too swollen and painful to fasten the buttons. He turned his head slightly at the knock on the door.
"Come in." The door opened revealing David who had changed his own clothing and wore jeans with a black sweater.
"You need some help?" asked David, his hands in his pockets.
"Please." David smiled at him and approached. Spencer silently came to his feet, his head bowed in shame. David made quick work of the buttons and tucked the bottom of the shirt into Spencer's black dress trousers, buckling his belt afterwards.
"Would you like me to dry your hair a little? I know Joy has a hairdryer in her room." Spencer nodded softly and snapped the band against his skin as David went to retrieve the dryer. He despised feeling helpless. David returned a short time later and plugged the dryer in. Spencer felt himself relaxing at the warm air against his scalp, David's fingers ruffling his curls at the same time. A smile danced on Spencer's lips. Satisfied that the genius' hair was sufficiently dried, David turned off the dryer just in time to hear the doorbell.
"Looks like some of our guests have arrived." Spencer gave him a wide, grateful smile, though his eyes still held the anxiety he felt bubbling inside, and slipped his spectacles on, not having the strength or dexterity to put in his contact lenses.
Spencer entered the bathroom as David went to answer the door. He could hear the voices of Penelope and Matt talking to David. Spencer gazed into the mirror at his reflection. He barely recognised the man staring back at him. His cheekbones were almost as sharp as they had been when he was addicted to Dilaudid. Dark, almost bruised circles swallowed his eyes. His hair had grown somewhat and reached his shoulders in thick curls and waves. He had thin, white scars on his lip, cheek, and eyebrow. The bruises on his throat from the collar, though fading, were still very visible. Those were the marks that he was most humiliated by. He did not want Penelope to see them. She had not seen him in the gym, and he would prefer to shield her from the horrors that happened to him in the storage locker with Mel. She was much too good for the world to have to see those images. Pain shot through his hand as he fumbled to fasten the top button of his shirt to hide the bruising. He managed after a few attempts and sighed with relief. He flexed his throbbing fingers as much as he was able. He swallowed down his growing anxiety and exited the room.
Spencer made his way to the kitchen where he could hear the team engaged in light chatter. They were gathered around the breakfast bar with glasses of wine. The scent of the cooking carbonara made his mouth water, and his stomach grumble. He cleared his throat slightly and folded his hands awkwardly in front of him. He snapped the band a few times to ground himself. Penelope turned on her cobalt blue heels, dark brown eyes wide behind her matching spectacles, and teetered over to him, throwing her arms around his neck.
"My baby boy!" Spencer wrapped his arms around her upper back and pulled her in close. Her sweet-smelling perfume was comforting. He buried his face into her shoulder and curled his fingers into her blonde waves. He needed this more than he had allowed himself to believe. Penelope had to be practically pried away from the genius by JJ so that each person could greet him. He was normally so averse to touching people, though routinely made exceptions for Penelope, JJ, and Emily, but he needed the physical contact more than he was willing to admit. He seated himself on a stool at the breakfast bar. Penelope curled a protective arm around his shoulders and handed him a glass with a small umbrella. Spencer raised a questioning eyebrow.
"It's grape juice. Rossi said you were only allowed grape juice as he didn't want you to go into another one of your rambles about the effects of alcohol on the human body again," chuckled Penelope. Spencer shot David a fake-offended glare, his lips pursed to try and hide the smile that was itching to break through.
"So, what did the doc say?" asked Matt, indicating the splint on Spencer's hand. Spencer sipped his juice and set the glass down on the counter.
"I have fractures to my first, second, and third metacarpals with some hairline fractures to the bases of the first, second, and third proximal phalanges. I have to wear the splint for at least four weeks." He was met with silence. "What?"
"In normal person terms," said Luke with a laugh.
"He's broken his hand in three places and his knuckles," responded David over his shoulder where he boiled the pasta.
"Oh, my junior G-man. You poor thing. Your fairy godmother will take care of everything," cooed Penelope, raking her blue fingernails through Spencer's fluffy curls.
"Thanks, Garcia. Really, I'm fine." David fired the young doctor a knowing look. Spencer rolled his eyes in response. "I'm as well as I can be. It's just hard for me to accept help right now when I've grown up having to take care of myself and my mother. I hate feeling helpless. I'm an FBI agent who constantly ends up kidnapped or injured. It's hardly a wonder that Cruz offered me a full-time teaching position." All eyes were suddenly on Spencer, making him shrink into himself. In the midst of everything that had happened, he had forgotten to tell the team. It certainly appeared that Cruz had not.
"When did that happen?" asked Emily in concern. Spencer ducked his head.
"When he released me from custody in the hospital. He said there was a full-time teaching position at the academy if I wanted it in light of everything that's happened and my health, but that I could consult with the BAU on cases. I haven't thought about his offer. I guess I've had more pressing things to worry about." Spencer laughed darkly.
"Is that what you'd want, Reid?" asked Tara. Spencer shook his head, plucking the band on his wrist.
"No. The BAU is my life. I guess I'm just scared of who I am now. I'm scared of having a seizure in the field and putting you all at risk."
"Spence, we'll always make accommodations to support you. Even if that means you have to stay at the precinct or offices." Spencer lifted his glistened eyes up to Emily, and the corners of his mouth quirked into a faint smile. David dropped a palmful of pills onto the counter in front of Spencer.
"You need them before you eat," said David firmly. Spencer eyed the tablets and capsules, nausea tickling the back of his throat.
"Jesus, Reid. What are all those?" asked Luke.
"Anticonvulsants, antibiotics, antidepressants, and non-narcotic pain relief. The anticonvulsants and antibiotics are lifelong. Dr. Stokes started me on the antidepressants. It's too early to see any benefits. The cocktail of drugs does make me feel wiped out, so I apologise in advance if I fall asleep on you all." Spencer picked them up two at a time with his good hand and dropped them onto his tongue. He made quick work of the medication, desperate for it to be over. He gulped them down with a mouthful of juice. David turned away from the stove and grabbed his wine glass.
"A toast. To Dr Spencer Reid. Our brother, son, colleague, and friend." David held up his glass. The others followed suit.
"Spencer." Spencer blushed vividly. He hated being the centre of attention.