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Spence walks very slowly to Hotch’s office, and despite a few encouraging glances from Derek, he feels like he’s going to throw up or pass out as he knocks hesitantly on the door. Hotch calls him in and he enters the office, closing the door behind him and making a beeline for the couch before his knees give out on him.
“How can I help you, Reid?” Hotch asks kindly. He’s polite and understanding enough not to mention Spencer’s failure to wait for an invitation to sit, and Spencer appreciates that immensely.
He’s going to miss that.
He decides to get straight to the point, and he stares at the bookshelf behind Hotch as he speaks, twisting his hands together in his lap. His right leg is jiggling uncontrollably. He hopes Hotch doesn’t think he’s on drugs again.
“I’m here to give you my two weeks’ notice,” he says quietly. “My last day will be a week from Friday.”
Hotch wasn’t smiling to begin with, but his face still manages to fall. He stands up and moves from behind the desk, sitting down next to Spencer on the couch and turning to face him.
“Is there anything I can do to change your mind?” he asks, and then, before waiting for a response, he adds: “Is this because of your health?”
Spencer swallows and nods, a single tear already making its way down his cheek. He quickly brushes it away.
“You must have seen this coming,” he says, his voice low. “After all the—all the absences, and the medical leaves you approved over the last few years…this can’t come as a shock.”
“It still comes as a shock,” Hotch assures him, “but I understand. Can— I mean—- If you want to talk about it more, I’m here,” he says awkwardly. “I signed off on all your leave paperwork, but my portion is specifically designed to omit the details of your condition. I know you haven’t felt comfortable, to this point, telling me what’s going on. But if you ever do need someone to talk to, please know that I’m here. And—and if you felt comfortable letting me know whether you’re okay, I would really appreciate that, because I’m stuck envisioning worst case scenarios right now, and it’s not great.”
Spencer feels his cheeks flush, and he stares down at his lap. He grabs a throw pillow and presses it to his abdomen.
“I, um, don’t really want to go into the details,” he says. “But I’ve been living with several chronic conditions for quite a while. The first one was diagnosed in college when I was 15.” He pauses and reminds himself, you can be honest with Hotch now that you’re leaving. “Some are physical conditions and some are mental health issues,” he adds. “All of them affect my life in different ways, and I take a lot of medication to manage them. And I’ve reached a point where I just—I just can’t do this job anymore, it’s too much with everything else. I’m out of sick time and medical leave, but I still have days when I absolutely can’t come into work. It just—it’s become unsustainable. And I hope you know…” He looks at Hotch. “I hope you know I would give anything not to have to do this, and this has been the best and most important job of my life, and I’m r-really going to miss you guys…”
The tears fall faster and he squeezes the pillow in his arms, doubling over. He hears some shuffling, and a moment later he feels the warm pressure of a hand on his back. Hotch has moved over to sit next to him. Spencer lets himself fall to the side so he’s curled against Hotch, sobbing, letting out all the grief and fear and frustration that he’s kept pent up for so long. It’s overwhelming to have this job taken away from him by something he can’t control. It’s infuriating. It’s not fair.
Hotch slides his arm around Spencer’s shoulders and he holds Spencer close until he’s done crying, until he takes a deep, shuddering breath and forces himself to sit up straight.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice trembling. “I didn’t plan for that to happen.”
“It’s okay,” Hotch says gently. “We’re really going to miss you, too. Your departure will be a huge loss for the BAU. I don’t say that to make you feel guilty, I just want you to know how important you’ve been to the team. You’re doing what’s best for you, and I’m glad for that. We’ll survive, I promise. But on a personal level, we love you and we’ll miss you. Do you know what you’re going to tell the rest of the team?”
“I’m not,” Spencer says. “I’m not going to tell them. I give you permission to fill them in once I’m gone.”
“Are you sure?”
Spencer nods. “I can’t handle spending my last weeks here fielding questions about my condition and dodging sad glances and trying to come up with an explanation that they can understand. I don’t want to be treated differently. I just want my remaining time here to feel normal.”
“I understand where you’re coming from.”
“Morgan already knows,” Spencer adds. “He’s known about my health issues for a few years now, and I already told him I’m resigning. Penelope also knows about my health issues, but not that I’m leaving. For obvious reasons.”
“She’s going to take it the hardest,” Hotch agrees. “But she’ll have us to lean on. Will you keep in touch with us once you’re done with the job?”
“I’d like to, if that’s something you guys would want,” Spencer says shyly. “I really don’t want to lose you guys, if at all possible.”
“I already know every member of this team will be willing to put in the effort to maintain their friendships with you, Spencer. Don’t doubt that for a minute.”
“This is so hard,” Spencer confesses. “I don’t want this at all. I just don’t see a feasible way to keep going.”
“What if you consulted for us?” Hotch suggests. “It wouldn’t be a full-time job, and you could choose which cases to help with according to how you’re feeling. You wouldn’t have to travel—we could do phone calls and video conferencing, much like we do with Garcia. You wouldn’t even have to come into the office.”
“You’d really let me do that?” Spencer asks incredulously. “Would—would the bureau let me do that?”
“Let me make some calls and see,” Hotch tells him. “But there is precedent for this sort of thing. So I have a good feeling about it. If it’s something you’re interested in.”
“I’m very interested,” Spencer says quickly. “Just—it would be okay if I can’t take a case for several weeks, right? If there are big gaps?”
“It would be completely up to you when you take cases,” Hotch promises.
And then Spencer is crying again, only this time it’s from relief, tears of hope. He can’t have everything, but maybe he can have this.
He doesn’t want to get his hopes up too high, so he takes a deep breath and swipes his sleeve across his eyes for what feels like the hundredth time.
“Let me know what you hear,” says Spencer, “and please still don’t tell anyone I’m leaving, okay?”
“Okay.”
Hotch gives him a hug before he returns to his desk, where Derek is waiting.
“So?” Derek asks, ruffling Spencer’s hair. “How’d it go?”
“I can tell you about it while we walk to the coffee cart outside?” Spencer suggests.
Derek grins. “Sounds like a plan.”
They walk slowly, and once they get outside, Spencer starts talking.
“He offered to let me continue consulting on cases when I want to.”
“Pretty boy, that’s fantastic!”
Spencer nods. “It’s amazing,” he says softly, but he can’t quite bring himself to smile.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
Spencer shrugs. “It’s good, and I’m grateful. So grateful. It’s just…different. And I don’t like different.”
“Give yourself some time to get used to the idea,” Derek suggests. “Personally, I love the thought of you sticking around.”
“I’d only be around when I’m able,” Spencer points out. “And I’d probably mostly be working from home.”
“It’s better than not having you at all, kid.”
“I know I should be so excited about this opportunity, but all I can think about is how much I’m going to miss being a real part of the team. Hotch looked so upset when I told him, and I feel like I’m letting him down, letting everyone down. Letting myself down. I just… this is real now. I don’t want it to be real.”
They reach the coffee cart, and Derek buys them each a drink. Instead of heading directly back inside, he leads Spencer to a bench and they sit down.
“It’s not gonna be easy,” Derek says. “It’s never going to be easy. This is a choice that has been made for you, and that’s tough. You’re allowed to feel however it is you’re feeling. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
Spencer nods and takes a sip of his drink.
“I told Hotch not to tell the team,” he says. “Can you please not tell them either? It’ll just be weird and sad and uncomfortable. Hotch can tell them once I’m gone.”
“I respect your wishes. I won’t tell anyone.”
The next two weeks are excruciating. Nobody but Hotch and Derek know that Spencer is leaving, so they’re all acting under the assumption that everything that’s happening is completely normal. Spencer, on the other hand, is overwhelmed with grief and disappointment and frustration, and he has to try to hide those emotions from his friends.
“Hey, you okay?” Emily asks him, pulling him aside one afternoon on a case. On Spencer’s last case.
“I’m fine,” Spencer says, forcing a smile.
“I don’t believe you.”
Of course she doesn’t believe him. He’s on a team of profilers. Why did he think he’d be able to fool them?
“Em, I’m good, I promise,” he insists. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
“Fine,” Emily sighs. “But if you ever need someone to talk to, you know I’m here, okay?”
“Thank you,” Spencer says, and he means it.
On Spencer’s last day at the BAU, he wakes up feeling absolutely awful. He can barely manage to get out of bed, and he knows there’s no way he’s going to be able to go to work today.
He’s crying as he texts Hotch to tell him. His heart is shattered. It’s his last day, and he isn’t even going to get to be there. It’s. Not. Fair.
Hotch is understanding when he texts back, and as soon as Spencer reads it he climbs back in bed and pulls the blanket up over his head. There’s no one else in his apartment, but he still feels compelled to muffle his sobs. He doesn’t remember the last time he cried this hard.
He realizes he is totally and completely alone.
He’s no longer part of a team—that means he’s no longer part of a family, either, right? It’ll never be the same, between him and the team. He won’t see Derek and Penelope every day, so they’ll probably grow apart. Spencer will get lost in the shuffle, and then he’ll have absolutely no one at all.
He wants to call his mom, wants her to tell him that it’s okay, that he’s going to be fine, but he can’t bring himself to call in case she’s having a bad day and can’t talk to him. He can’t handle that sort of rejection right now. Besides, she barely knows about most of his health issues. He’s purposely kept her in the dark. He doesn’t want her to know how broken he is.
He shoves his hand out from under the blanket and rummages around his nightstand until his fingers close around a familiar orange bottle. He pulls it under the covers, swallows one of the pills, and puts the bottle back on the table. It takes almost 15 minutes, but eventually his heart stops pounding so loudly in his ears and he’s able to breathe.
He lays under the blanket and wonders if Hotch is going to tell the team about him leaving today, or if he’ll wait until Monday as originally planned. He supposes it doesn’t really matter to him. Nothing really matters to him.
Memories start to flood him as he lays under the blanket. He tries to make his mind go quiet, but instead, he’s reminded of when he first started at Caltech, and the way he managed to take the maximum amount of classes every semester, and the way he spent so much of his time in the library, and he was able to study most of the night and then make it to his lecture in the morning. He required almost no rest. He just kept going, and going, and going. He was productive. He was on fire. He was healthy.
And then, as the years passed, everything very slowly came crashing down.
He began to require more and more sleep just to get through the day. His doctors insinuated that being able to operate with no sleep and then bang out his dissertation in a week could, in fact, be considered a symptom. His hair started falling out, and his nails began to peel and break. He started to experience pain, and he passed out a few times on campus. As the years went on, the symptoms racked up, and he went from taking no pills every day to taking handfuls. When he started at the FBI academy, Gideon had to vouch for him and his abilities, ultimately getting them to waive some of the physical requirements and look the other way when it came to his medical evaluations.
But he did it. He got into the BAU. The first thing his coworkers did was ask him why he was so skinny, and he went on a rant about human metabolisms until they stopped listening, and he was relieved to find out how easy it was to avoid their personal questions. Before he knew it, they stopped asking entirely, and he never had to explain that he cut his hair short because it had started falling out again and it was too depressing dealing with clumps of hair in the shower, or that he secretly loved using his cane after he got shot in the knee because it helped him with balance issues.
He never had to tell them anything, no matter how long they worked together or how close they got, and when he ended up telling Penelope and Derek, it was more or less on his own terms. In his own home, at least, in Derek’s case.
And it was a relief that they knew.
And they helped take care of him.
And now he’s losing them.
He’s so bundled under his blanket, he almost doesn’t hear the phone ringing on his bedside table. But eventually he does notice, and it’s Penelope, so he answers.
“I wanted to make sure you were doing okay, since you aren’t here today,” she says. “Hotch seemed really upset when he told us you were out sick, and that made me nervous that something was really wrong.”
“I’m fine,” Spencer assures her. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
“So I’ll see you Monday?”
Spencer hesitates.
“Spit it out, boy wonder. What are you keeping from me?”
Spencer sighs. “I won’t be there on Monday,” he tells her. “Today was supposed to be my last day at the BAU. And I m-missed it, because I’m sick again, because of course I am…” He holds the phone away from his face as he sniffles, hoping Penelope won’t hear.
“Oh, honey,” she says gently. “Are you leaving because of your health?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t like it, but I understand. I bet it wasn’t an easy decision for you.”
“It was the worst decision I’ve ever made. And I’ve had to make some pretty difficult decisions in my life.”
“I need you to know something. Our friendship? It’s stronger than this. It doesn’t matter if you’re not at the BAU anymore, I am still always 100% here for you no matter what. We’ll find time to hang out outside of work. We’ll have dinner dates and movie nights and all kinds of stuff. Okay?”
“Okay,” Spencer whispers. “I, um. I’m probably going to still consult on some cases from home, so that’ll be good, too.”
“That’s great,” Penelope says, and Spencer can hear the smile in her voice. It’s why he doesn’t mind talking to her on the phone, when in most cases it’s one of his least favorite things. “I’m gonna let you go so you can get some rest, okay? Call me if you need me. Anytime.”
“Thank you, Penelope. Oh, and could you hold off on telling the others? I think Hotch is going to tell them, probably today or Monday. I just, I don’t want it to turn into a rumor mill situation.”
“Sure thing. No worries.”
They hang up and Spencer burrows back under the covers. He feels a little better after talking to Penelope. At least she’s willing to work to maintain their friendship. Maybe he isn’t going to lose everyone.
Derek texts him after work.
—Hotch is going to tell the team first thing Monday morning, so you still have a few days of peace before they all reach out to you. We missed you today. Feeling alright?
Spencer responds:
Thanks for letting me know. Feeling pretty terrible about pretty much everything. But it is what it is.
—Kid, do you want me to stop by on my way home?
You don’t have to do that. I’ll be okay.
—I know I don’t have to, but I care about you and I’d like to make sure you’re okay. I’m driving Garcia, too, so it would be both of us. Are you up for that?
I suppose so. You can use your key to get in. I’ll be in bed.
Spencer hears the door open when Derek and Penelope arrive, but he doesn’t have the energy to get out of bed to greet them. He’s embarrassed that he’s still in his pajamas, his hair messy from sleeping on it, but his friends have seen him this way before, and they certainly will again. He takes a glass of water from his bedside table and quickly swishes some around in his mouth, wishing he had the gumption to go brush his teeth.
“Hey, boy wonder. How’re you feeling?” Penelope asks as they enter the room. Her voice is soft and gentle, and it’s nice.
“I’m okay,” he says, then adds: “Angry that I missed my last day.”
“I can’t even imagine how frustrating that is,” says Penelope. “But you gotta take care of yourself, you know?”
“I don’t know if I really took care of myself today…I haven’t really left this bed.”
“Did you take your meds? Drink water? Eat?” Spencer nods, then scrunches his face and tilts his head to the side. “Does a handful of gummy bears count as eating?”
Penelope rolls her eyes. “You boys talk about your feelings while I go cook something for Reid.”
“There’s no food in the kitchen,” Spencer calls as she walks out the bedroom door. “That’s why I ate the gummy bears.”
“Fine, I’ll order you something,” Penelope calls back. “Chocolate thunder, you want anything?”
They spend a few minutes negotiating the logistics of dinner, and then Penelope volunteers to do some cleaning in the kitchen while Derek and Spencer talk.
“So, what’s on your mind, kid?” Derek asks casually. “Talk to me. I know you’re not okay, and that’s fine, but I don’t want you wallowing in it.”
“Haven’t I earned the right to wallow? I have to quit a job I love because of my stupid health and then I can’t even come in on my last day…”
“Okay, fine, you’ve earned the right to wallow. But…am I correct in guessing that that’s what you’ve been doing all day?”
Spencer shrugs and looks away. “Maybe.”
“Just talk to me, Reid. What’s on your mind?”
“Am I going to lose everyone?” Spencer blurts out. “Am I—am I being like Gideon? Abandoning the team?”
“No,” Morgan says firmly. “No, this is nothing like that. I promise you. Gideon did what he needed to do, but he went about it all wrong. You’ve done everything exactly right.”
“I don’t want to leave,” Spencer says desperately, blinking back tears. “I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to lose you.”
“You’re not losing any of us. We’ll still see each other. We’ll make time for each other. We’ll make it work.”
“What if we don’t? And then I’m…all alone?”
“No one is leaving you alone, kid.” Morgan reaches out and takes Spencer’s hand, shaking it firmly. “I promise.”
Spencer nods uncertainly and then reaches for a hoodie at the foot of the bed. He’s been in bed all day but he just can’t manage to get warm.
“Can you hand me a pair of socks out of my drawer?” he asks Derek.
Derek rummages through the drawer for a moment before pulling out two socks, one with pictures of Christmas trees on it and another purple paisley. He tosses them over to Spencer, who puts them on over the socks he’s already wearing. Morgan looks at him quizzically.
“I’m so cold,” Spencer explains. “Especially my feet. They just can’t get warm.”
“Reid, you’re shaking,” Morgan says, frowning. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, this just happens sometimes. I’m fine, I swear.”
Morgan nods, but the frown doesn’t leave his face.
“Dinner’s here,” calls Penelope, and she comes into the room carrying a big bag. She passes everyone’s meals out to them, then pulls up a chair next to Derek’s and sits down.
Spencer pulls a blanket up from the floor and carefully covers his bed with it before setting his food down.
“Whatcha doing?” Penelope asks.
“I don’t want to get food in my bed,” Spencer tells her. “So I put this blanket down when I eat in bed, and then if I spill anything, I just have to wash the blanket.”
“That’s smart,” says Derek.
“Not my first rodeo,” Spencer shrugs. He takes a bite of his food and chews slowly. “Oh, my god, this is so good.”
“That’s because you haven’t eaten all day,” Penelope points out. “You have to eat, honeybun.”
“It’s hard,” Spencer whines. “You have to go to the store and get food, then you have to prepare it, then you have to cook it, then you have to put it on a plate, and by then you’re so tired you’re not hungry anymore…”
“I am going to blow your mind,” Penelope tells him. “When we’re done eating, I’m calling in a grocery order for you. Just you wait. It’s going to be amazing.”
“Okay…” Spencer says hesitantly.
“Trust me.”
They talk while they eat, and Spencer feels himself start to open up a bit more to his friends. He talks to them about the side effects of his medications, and how frustrating it is to deal with him, how he has to take medications to treat the side effects of other medications and it just feels like an endless cycle. He talks about how hard it is to live alone and take care of everything while trying to deal with his health. He tells them, and they listen. And that feels nice.
After dinner, Derek and Spencer play a game of chess while Penelope does her magic with groceries, and a couple of hours later she calls Spencer into the kitchen to see what she’s done.
“Okay,” she says. “First, the pantry. I got you all kinds of snacks that don’t need to be heated or prepared. Granola bars, crackers, peanut butter, popcorn. Grab and go stuff. Now, the fridge.” She opens the refrigerator door. “This is a snack tray that you can eat from anytime. All the veggies are already cut, and there’s dip in the middle if you want it. Then there’s string cheese and applesauce pouches and hard boiled eggs. This is all stuff that will nourish you without you having to put in any prep work. On the bottom shelf is cut up watermelon and cantaloupe. All of this is stuff you can just pick at throughout the day, or you can grab a bowl and fill it with whatever and take it to your room and it’ll be there for you whenever you want it. Does this…seem manageable?”
Spencer is staring at Penelope with wide eyes. He opens his mouth, but no words come out. He clears his throat a couple of times.
“This is genius,” he whispers. “I always knew you were a genius, Penelope, but…wow. This is amazing.”
“You think it’ll help?”
“I know it will. You got rid of all the hard parts. I can’t believe I never thought of this.”
“I read about it online, if that makes you feel any better.”
Spencer laughs. “A little, maybe.”
Derek and Penelope leave soon after, and Spencer showers Penelope in thank yous, and she just smiles and gives him a big, long hug.
After they go, Spencer picks up his phone and texts Hotch.
Do you think I could come in Monday morning to say goodbye to the team and tell them I’m leaving?
—Of course, Reid. That would be wonderful. Now I don’t have to worry about what I’m going to tell them.
I don’t want to just disappear like Gideon.
—Even if you chose not to come in, you wouldn’t be disappearing like Gideon. That said, I look forward to seeing you on Monday. You are going to be very sorely missed.
Thanks, Hotch.
On Monday morning, Spencer assesses how he’s feeling before even opening his eyes. He’s a little shaky, but not overcome with fatigue, and his head is mostly clear. When he gets up to eat breakfast, he finds he’s a little unsteady, so he grabs his cane from the corner of the room and uses that as he maneuvers around his apartment. It’s a huge help, and he considers bringing it with him to the office. He’s never done that before, unless he was using the cane for his knee, plus a couple times when he told everyone he was using it for his knee.
Maybe this time, he should just tell them the truth. What has he got to lose, at this point? He’ll never be going into the field again. He may never even be coming into this office again.
He eats and dresses and finishes getting ready, and then he heads to the metro. As soon as he gets on with his cane, someone offers him a seat, which he gratefully accepts. Now he doesn’t have to worry about falling on the train.
When he arrives at the office, he goes straight to Hotch’s office, and then Hotch sends him to the conference room to wait while he rounds up the rest of the team. It only takes a few minutes to get everyone assembled.
“Spence, is your knee okay?” JJ asks as she sits down.
“It’s fine,” Spencer assures her. “The cane is actually to help me with my balance.”
JJ frowns. “Why do you need help with your balance?”
Spencer bites his lip. “I need to…can I say something to everyone? Please?”
“The floor is yours, Reid,” Hotch says.
Spencer considers standing up, but decides against it. He glances around to everyone on his team.
“Friday was supposed to be my last day at the BAU,” he says. “I only came in this morning so I could talk to you all and explain why I’m leaving.”
He glances around. Everyone is staring at him in rapt attention.
“I have several chronic illness,” Spencer tells them. “Some physical, some mental. I’m guessing that won’t come as a surprise to most of you, what with all the time I’ve taken off in the last several years. I’ve reached a point where I don’t feel like I can work this job any longer. I can’t keep up in the field. Some days my brain is too foggy to think. I require more sick days than are available to me. I just can’t do it anymore. And I’m sad about that, because I love this job, and I love you guys, but I just… I have to leave. I don’t have any other option.”
Emily looks horrified, and JJ looks sad, and Spencer can’t really read Rossi’s face, but he looks…troubled, maybe.
“I’m going to hopefully stay on as a consultant,” he adds, hoping to lighten the blow. “Hotch said maybe I can consult on some cases from home when I’m feeling up to it. Which would be great because then we would still be in touch sometimes…”
“Spence,” JJ says. “Of course we’ll still be in touch. Whether or not you consult on cases. We’re still here for you, no matter what. We aren’t going anywhere. You know that, right?”
Spencer shrugs. “I…hoped.”
“Can I hug you?” Emily asks, and when he nods, she throws her arms around him and squeezes. “We’re really gonna miss you,” she murmurs in his ear.
“I can’t believe I didn’t know you were so sick,” Rossi says. “I mean, I knew something was up, obviously, because you took so much time off, but…I guess I didn’t really think much of it at the time. It didn’t occur to me that you could be really sick.”
“I try really hard to hide it,” Spencer tells him. “And a lot of times when I know I’m going to be unwell for an extended period of time, I tell you guys I’m going to visit my mother so you won’t worry about me.”
“Reid,” Emily chides. “Please don’t lie to us again, especially about something as important as your health.”
“Why isn’t Garcia freaking out right now?” JJ suddenly asks, looking suspiciously over at Penelope.
“Garcia and Morgan both knew,” Spencer admits. “They’ve known I was sick for a while.”
“I’m so glad you finally told the rest of us,” says Rossi. “Now we can be here for you, too.”
Spencer thinks he should feel grateful for the support. Relieved not to have to hide anymore. He should feel something positive. But all he can think is, all these people know and I wasn’t ready for them to know. He’s such a private person, he’s kept this all mostly to himself for so long. Knowing that all these people know his business, no matter how close they are, makes him nervous.
He tries to push those feelings down, but they must be obvious on his face because everybody just kind of stops talking and stares at him, concerned looks on their faces.
“Are you all right, Reid?” Hotch asks kindly.
“Yeah, I just—” Spencer gasps. “I just need a moment.” He grabs his cane, stands up, and gets out of the conference room as quickly as he can.
Once the door is closed behind him, he freezes, unsure where to go next. He needs somewhere safe and quiet and private. Someplace no one will follow him. Or, almost no one.
He walks down the hall to Penelope’s office, grateful to find the door unlocked, and closes himself in. He turns off the lights and then gets underneath one of her desks, curling up as small as he can and wrapping his arms around his knees. And then, only then, does he feel like he can finally breathe.
She’ll come looking for him in here, of course. It’s not the first time he’s hidden in her office. But he hopes she’ll understand his need for space and take her time coming to find him. Even if she doesn’t—it’s not her he’s running from.
He finds it a bit ironic that a few days ago he was freaking out because he thought he was going to lose his friends, and now he’s freaking out because they want to be there for him. It’s like there’s no way to satisfy him. No way to make his brain understand, we love these people and they are safe and they’re not going to abandon us.
His hands are shaking, and he wishes he’d brought his water bottle with him when he bolted. He tries to focus on his breathing. He tries to focus on anything that’s not his entire team being aware of his health issues. It doesn’t work.
They’re going to think he’s weak. They’re going to look at him differently. They’re going to pity him. They’re going to think he’s exaggerating. They’re going to think he’s faking.
His breaths speed up.
They’re going to offer him alternative treatments and resources and cures. They’re going to tell him he’s not eating right, he’s not exercising enough, he needs to think positively and meditate and drink fresh-squeezed juices. They’re going to think they know better than him or his doctors. They’re going to think he’s still sick because he isn’t trying hard enough to get better.
The thoughts are overwhelming, and yes, they’re excessive and exaggerated and unfounded, but Spencer has been burned before by well-meaning acquaintances, and he just doesn’t think he could take that from his friends.
This is why he never told them in the first place.
There is, of course, a small part of his brain that knows he’s catastrophizing. His friends have never thrown out unsolicited advice like this before, not even when he was missing tons of work and obviously unwell. They’ve never been judgy or pushy or overbearing. They’ve never given Spencer a reason not to trust them. Actually, they’ve given him plenty of reasons to trust them over the years they’ve worked together.
Spencer is just starting to come down from his panic when the door to Penelope’s office opens and someone steps inside.
He expects to see four-inch chunky pink heels tottering towards him, but instead, Emily comes and sits down next to him underneath the desk. She doesn’t say anything right away, just smiles at him and hands him Penelope’s rubber unicorn to fidget with. He takes it gratefully.
“You okay?” she finally asks.
“I just… It was too much.”
“Everyone knowing your business?”
Spencer looks up at her with wide eyes.
“How’d you guess?”
Emily chuckles. “I know you, Spencer.”
“Not as well as you thought you did,” he says bluntly.
Emily’s face goes soft. “You think I didn’t know something was going on with you? I notice when you come in all pale and shaky, and when you have to go home early, and when you wear too many sweaters, and when you go to the bathroom 20 times a day. I figured you would tell me what was going on when you were ready, but…you didn’t really get to do that, did you? Your hand was forced.”
“I didn’t realize you noticed those things.”
“I can’t help it. I care about you. I want to know you’re okay.”
“I’m not. And you can’t fix me.”
“I wasn’t going to try.”
“Thank you.”
“I want you to know you can come to me if you ever need anything. If you need someone to talk to, or someone to distract you, or whatever. Even though you weren’t ready for me to know, I do know now, and I want to be here for you however you need. I also want you to know that we are going to be hanging out outside of work and texting and talking on the phone… Our friendship doesn’t end just because you’re not at the BAU anymore. Understand?”
“Yeah. Except I hate talking on the phone.”
“Fine, we can skip that one.”
“Then…that sounds good,” Spencer says. “Thank you.”
Emily smiles. “There are some more people wanting to talk to you. Would you be willing to talk to JJ and Rossi if I send them in one at a time so you’re not overwhelmed?”
“Okay,” Spencer agrees.
“Excellent,” says Emily. “I’ll go grab JJ. Thank you for talking to me.”
“Thank you for…everything.”
Emily stands up and opens the door, and Spencer hears a few muffled voices in the hallway. A moment later, the door closes and Spencer sees JJ’s pointy boots approaching the desk.
“Mind if I sit down?” she asks, ducking her head down to Spencer’s level.
“Go ahead.”
She sits cross-legged across from him and gives him a sad smile.
“I, uh… I can’t believe you kept this from me, Spence.”
“I don’t really like talking about it.”
JJ bites her lip and nods. “That’s fair.”
“It’s nothing personal,” Spencer adds. “Penelope caught me on a bad day, and Morgan found out by accident. I didn’t plan to tell either of them. And I only told Hotch once I submitted my resignation.”
“You’re my best friend, and there’s this huge part of your life I know nothing about. It’s a little crazy.”
“I understand if you don’t want me to be Henry’s godfather anymore,” Spencer says quietly.
JJ frowns. “Why wouldn’t I want you to be Henry’s godfather?”
“Because I’m sick.”
“Spence.” JJ takes a deep breath. “If you don’t want to be Henry’s godfather anymore, you can tell me, and I’ll understand. But don’t you for a second think I don’t want you in that role just because you’re sick. I trust you more than anyone, and that hasn’t changed one bit.”
Spencer’s face crumples, and he hides it behind his hands. He takes a moment to gather himself.
“I still want to be his godfather,” he whispers. “More than anything.”
“Good,” says JJ. “Then nothing’s changed in that regard.”
“Good,” Spencer agrees.
“Anything else on your mind?”
Spencer shrugs. “Please don’t try to fix me, okay? Don’t, like, email me articles about experimental treatments or weird diets or essential oils.”
“Deal.” JJ laughs. “You have the lead on this, Spence. You tell me what you need, and I’m here for you. But I won’t try to push anything on you.”
“Thank you.”
“You wanna just…sit for a few minutes before Rossi comes in?”
“Please.”
JJ scoots over to sit next to Spencer, and he leans his head to rest on her shoulder. She puts her arm around his shoulders and plays with his hair, and they sit quietly like that for a long moment.
“Okay,” she finally says. “I should go. I love you, Spence.”
“Love you too, JJ.”
She smiles at him one more time and then pats him on the knee and extricates herself from below the desk, closing the door quietly behind her as she leaves the office. For a few minutes, everything is quiet and peaceful, and then there’s a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Spencer calls half-heartedly. The door opens, and from his vantage point, Spencer can see a pair of fancy Italian leather shoes.
“Any chance you want to come sit in a chair?” comes Rossi’s voice. “I’m too old to even attempt sitting on the floor.”
Spencer snorts and then comes out from under the desk and takes a seat in one of Penelope’s spinny chairs. He situates it next to the desk so he can spin himself around and around while Rossi grabs another chair from across the room and gets settled in it.
“So,” Rossi says without preamble. “You didn’t tell us you were sick.”
“Correct.” Spencer stares at his lap.
“I respect that. And I get it.”
Spencer’s head shoots up. “You do?”
Rossi nods. “It’s not the same thing,” he says, “but when I lost my son, I didn’t want to talk to anyone about it. I wanted it to be my business and no one else’s. I understand the value and comfort of keeping something to yourself as much as possible. Especially something so life-altering.”
“I’m sorry about your son,” Spencer says quietly, but Rossi waves him off.
“We’re talking about you right now,” he reminds Spencer.
“I’m afraid everyone is going to think I didn’t trust them,” Spencer admits. “I do trust you guys. I just… I didn’t want that to be the only thing you saw when you looked at me.”
“I understand.”
“But now you all know. And I guess it doesn’t matter so much anymore, since I’m leaving…”
“I know this couldn’t have been an easy decision for you to come to. Just know that we’re going to miss you a lot, kiddo.”
“I’m going to miss you, too.”
“And if you ever need anything, I’m here. Anything. A shoulder to cry on, someone to cook you pasta, financial assistance—”
“Rossi.”
“I know, and I know you’re the master of saving money and you’ve probably stockpiled a pretty hefty bank account by now, but I also know medical care is expensive, and you’re supporting your mom, too, and you’re leaving a pretty well-paying job, and I just want you to know that if you ever get in a jam, you can call me. I want to help. Capisce?”
Spencer nods, but he can’t look at Rossi while he’s doing it.
“I appreciate you,” he whispers.
“Would you come over for dinner once a week whenever I’m not away on cases?” Rossi asks. “Maybe we invite the rest of the team sometimes, too?”
“I’d love that.”
“Excellent. I look forward to it.” Rossi hesitates. “Kid, you don’t have to tell me what you’re up against, but…you’re okay, right?”
Spencer frowns. “Definitely not okay,” he says. “If I were, I wouldn’t be leaving this job. But what I have isn’t terminal, if that’s what you’re really asking.”
“I guess I just don’t know much about chronic illness,” Rossi admits. “When I was growing up, it was the kind of thing no one talked about.”
“I mean, ideally that’s what it would have been for me, too,” Spencer points out. “Only I didn’t really have a choice unless I wanted to keep lying to you all.”
“I’m glad you chose not to lie anymore.”
“Me, too.”
After Rossi leaves, Spencer spends a little more time alone in Penelope’s office. He just needs to regroup and re-center before he can face the whole team again. He’s getting ready to head back out when there’s another short knock at the door, and then Hotch enters the room.
“I’m glad you decided to come in today,” he says.
Spencer shrugs. “Thought it would be good to have some closure.”
“I think it’s good for us, too. The team won’t be the same without you.”
“You know, it’s funny,” Spencer says. “I’ve been so focused on leaving and saying goodbye and everything, I haven’t even let myself think about what it means to actually leave. I can’t let myself think about how much I’m going to miss this place and you guys. It just hurts too much.”
“I’m sorry this is how things are going for you.”
“I just…” Spencer sighs. “I’ve always done a really good job of convincing myself that I’m exaggerating my symptoms, or making things seem worse than they are, like I’m trying to get some sort of attention or validation that I don’t deserve. But now I’m faced with leaving a job that I love, a team that I love, and…it’s real now. I’m doing this because I have to. I’m giving up something I love more than anything because I have to. And it just sucks, and I hate it, and it’s not fair.”
By the time he’s finished talking there are tears in his eyes, and he closes them, willing the tears not to fall. He rubs his sweater-clad arm across his face and sniffs loudly.
“Reid,” Hotch says gently, taking a step closer. He opens his arms, and Spencer falls into them, clinging to him. Spencer swallows, still trying not to cry.
“I don’t want this at all,” he whispers, and then he shudders against Hotch’s shoulder and lets the tears spill over. “I never wanted this.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want this to be over. I’m not ready.”
“I know.”
“What did I do to deserve this?”
“Reid, look at me,” Hotch says, taking Spencer by the shoulders and pulling him back so Hotch can see his face. “This is not your fault. This is not a punishment. This is just the way things are, and there’s no reason for it, and it’s not fair, but there’s nothing we can do to control it. This is just life, okay? It’s random and unpredictable and unfair and frustrating, but we do our best anyway. And that’s all we can do—our best. Okay?” He wants for Spencer to nod before he adds, “That said, it’s okay to be upset. It’s okay to feel cheated, and it’s okay to grieve. Allow that for yourself. Promise me you will, don’t just stuff it down and ignore it.”
“I promise,” Spencer murmurs.
“You will get through this. You’re doing what’s best for your health, and I’m so proud of you for that.”
Spencer nods, then leans back in for another hug, and Hotch holds him tightly.
“You want some good news?” Hotch asks when Spencer finally lets go.
“Please.”
“You’ve been approved to continue on as a consultant for the BAU. You can work virtually, from home, and you can accept as many or as few cases as you like.” He chuckles. “The bureau is desperate to keep you in some capacity. They immediately agreed to all of my requests.”
Spencer just stopped crying, but apparently his eyes didn’t get the memo, because they immediately start tearing up again.
“Thank you,” he croaks, blinking furiously. “That’s, um. That’s huge. Thank you so much.”
“I’m desperate to keep you around, too,” Hotch admits, “even if it’s just by phone or teleconference.”
“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”
Hotch and Reid leave Penelope’s office and meet the rest of the team in the conference room so Spencer can say goodbye. He gets hugs from everyone, and reminders to keep in touch, and promises of dinner dates, and when he leaves, he exits the building feeling so very, very loved. He carries that feeling with him until he gets back to his apartment, and then he collapses on the couch.
He thinks of his friends, his teammates, his boss. He thinks about the office, the jet, the work. He thinks about all the precincts he’s visited, all the unsubs he’s helped apprehend, and all the victims he’s helped save. It all washes through his mind like a flood, and he just can’t believe that it’s over.
An alarm goes off on his phone, reminding him to take his pills, and he forces himself up off the couch and into the bedroom. He swallows them with a gulp of water, then lays down on his bed and remembers all the times he snuck off to the bathroom at work to take his medication, all the times he stayed seated at the round table so no one would see how wobbly he was, all the times he chugged coffee in an attempt to mask his excruciating fatigue.
He won’t have to do those things anymore.
He won’t have to come into work and pretend he’s been sleeping. He won’t have to brush off his shakiness as too much caffeine, or pretend he’s not battling overwhelming depression. He won’t have to make excuses for what he is or isn’t eating or drinking, and he won’t have to use makeup to cover bruises that showed up out of nowhere, and he won’t have to drive his car to work just so he can have time to drive home at lunchtime to take a nap.
He won’t have to calculate how to do all of those things without making his team think he’s using drugs again.
The grief is still heavy in his chest, but there’s a sense of relief there, too. No more hiding. No more lying. No more pushing himself to his limits over and over and over. No more putting the case before his health.
As he falls asleep on the bed, he knows he’s made the right decision, no matter how much it hurts.