A/N: An anon request where Spencer and the Reader argue before they both leave for work. Her workplace gets taken over by terrorists and Spencer promises to himself that once she comes home it’ll be their fresh start. @coveofmemories @sexualemobitch @jamiemelyn
Warnings: Domestic terrorism, implied smut at the end
“Spence! I can’t do this anymore!” she screamed, angrily slipping on her scrubs as Spencer buttoned up his shirt. “I get that your job is unbelievably stressful, but you don’t get to come home and take it out on me and start yelling at me over stupid shit because you refuse to talk to me about your job. You just don’t get to do it. I love you more than anything else in this world, but I cannot do this anymore! Figure out what you want in life. Do you want me? Because if you do, you need to change the way you handle things.” In her heated state, she’d dressed quickly, taken a brush through her sleep-mussed hair, and stormed out the door.
When Spencer walked out of the bedroom with his head in his hands, he heard the door open again. She must have forgotten her bag. “There’s a reason I don’t talk about these things,” he muttered into his hands.
“Yes, I know,” Y/N said pointedly. “I’ve heard the same thing over and over again. You don’t want to put that crap in my head, and while I appreciate it, it makes you bottle up shit and then get angry at me for nothing. So take your pick, talk to me about work, so you can work through your issues, or bottle it up and lose me! Your choice!”
The slamming of the door sent a single shiver through his spine. Leaning back into the couch, he stared into the void for a few moments, trying to think of where they went wrong and what he should do. Eventually, he looked at the clock and realized he was going to be late, so he stood up, finished buttoning his shirt, and walked out the door. Later, they needed to talk.
“Woah, Pretty Boy,” Morgan said, noticing the younger agent’s sunken eyes and downturned smile. “You and Y/N have a fight this morning?”
Spencer mumbled, sitting down at the round table. They were going to be having a briefing on a rare budget increase for the Bureau. “What happened?” JJ asked just as Hotch walked in the room.
“I don’t talk about work with her and she’s mad,” he said. “I don’t want to put that shit in her head. Why doesn’t she get it?”
JJ glanced at him for a moment, trying to read his features. “There’s something else you’re not saying,” she said. “I’ve met Y/N plenty of times to know that if that were solely the issue, there wouldn’t be an issue. You get pissy because of work things and then take it out on her when you get home, don’t you?”
He said nothing, just staring at his friend. That was enough confirmation for JJ that she was right. “You don’t get both, Spence. Talk things through or lose her.”
Morgan and Rossi seemed to understand Spencer’s plight. “I wouldn’t want to put that on someone either,” Morgan added.
“But if you’re snapping at her because of shit here, that’s not fair to her either,” Emily said. As the group of them went back and forth, seemingly split down the middle with the men understanding Spencer and the women siding with Y/N, Chief Strauss walked in the room to give the briefing on the budget increase. Basically, it all boiled down to, the team was good as it was, so they’d all be getting a slight increase in their paychecks for having closed the most cases of any team in the Bureau over the course of the past year.
A five second long conversation that took nearly an hour. The team was losing their minds from boredom. Thankfully, Strauss got a call. Spencer assumed that she’d get distracted from the meeting, having said what she needed to say anyway, and end up leaving, but as the seconds wore on, she stood in the center of the room, her face dropping by the second. “Thank you, Sir.”
“That was the Director,” she said. Without even asking, she reached over Garcia to grab the remote and turn on the TV.
THREE ARMED SUSPECTS STORMING PLANNED PARENTHOOD
Those six words nearly ripped Spencer’s heart out - because of the picture paired with it. “That’s Y/N’s building,” he said, his hands coming up to cover his mouth.
Chief Strauss’s stoic demeanor softened for a moment as she took in Spencer’s fear. “I’m sorry, Agent Reid, but you and your team are on negotiations. Director’s orders. They are making demands, but won’t speak to anyone that isn’t with the FBI.”
Hotch stood up from the table, placing his hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “Let’s move.”
“Reid, are you okay?” Hotch said as the rest of the team and the other members of the Bureau were setting up outside Y/N’s job.
Spencer swallowed hard, peering inside to see if there was any sign of the woman he loved. “Hotch, the last thing we did was fight. We always say I love you before we leave in the morning and we didn’t this morning…if she doesn’t come out of there…”
“We’ll get her out, Spencer,” he said softly. That’s how he knew things were bad; Hotch never called him Spencer.
Once everything was ready, they waited for the unsubs to make a call. After what felt like an eternity, they called, demanding a platform to “get their message out” lest they killed another person inside. The speakerphone was on, which immediately sent Spencer into a tailspin, wondering who they had killed.
“We need to get things set up for you, but we need a token of good faith,” Hotch said.
Within minutes, a woman stumbled out of the clinic, a patient who had been there for a breast-cancer screening. “They killed a doctor,” she said, before being taken away to an ambulance. Spencer hated himself for how relieved he felt; Y/N wasn’t a doctor, she was a nurse, which meant she was still alive. He was relieved at another person’s death.
As Spencer battled the thoughts inside his own head, Hotch told JJ to call everyone she knew from the media. They needed the unsubs to believe they were getting a platform, but Hotch would be damned if they actually would. “Tell them that the cameras are to remain off. We just need to make it look like they’re getting a platform.”
JJ called everyone she knew, speedily gathering a group of trusted media into a room to “broadcast” their message, but they refused to let go of each of their three hostages until the message was out.
Spencer watched in horror as the one that spoke kept his arm firmly pinned around Y/N’s neck. The strongest woman he knew was taking deep breaths and calming herself, giving soothing looks to the woman next to her in the other unsub’s arms - likely a patient. “We will no longer stand for murder,” the man said, smugly letting go of Y/N and ushering his sidekicks to the do the same. They allowed themselves to be taken into custody. “That was all we wanted. A message. We realize your type are going to put us in prison now for free speech, but our message is out.”
Now that they were in handcuffs, Spencer couldn’t help himself. “You brought a gun into it. That negates free speech. And if you were paying any attention, none of these cameras are actually on.”
Morgan smirked as the men tried to lunge at Spencer, but he, Hotch and another Bureau member were keeping them at bay. As they were ushered away, Y/N sent the patient to an ambulance and ran up to Spencer. “Baby,” she breathed. “I’m sorry I didn’t say I love you this morning.”
“Me too,” he cried, clutching her tightly. “I’m sorry for being such an ass. I choose you, okay? I’ll work on myself. I-I promise.” He took her face in his hands and pressed his lips to her nose. “I love you.”
Nearly five hours later, the Bureau had finished clearing the area and Y/N had been checked out by the EMTs. She’d suffered a couple of cuts and scrapes, but not much else; she’d be okay.
As she sat down on the couch, the events of the day seemed to way her down, anchoring her in place. “Spence, what happened with us? Since when have we not been able to communicate?”
“It’s me,” he said. “It’s always been me. I’ve kept you at bay to keep you safe from the things in my head and in doing so I’ve pushed you away.” When he looked up at her, there were tears in his eyes; he’d nearly lost her today, and if he had it would’ve been in anger.
Y/N climbed into his lap and rested her forehead against his. “Just talk to me, or someone about work, it doesn’t have to be me,” she said. “You can’t keep it bottled up because that’s not good for you and it’s not okay to me. I deserve more respect than that.”
Spencer lifted his hand up, combing his fingers through her hair and pulling her close to place a kiss on her lips. “You do,” he replied. “I’m sorry…I-I-”
“What is it?”
“When the patient came out and said that a doctor had been killed…I was relieved, Y/N,” he cried, the tears finally overflowing. “It wasn’t you and I was happy. I-I feel so…so awful. I was relieved, Y/N.” His lip quivered at the thought that; could he truly be that cold?
Y/N got comfortable in his lap and rested her head against his chest. “It can be hard to reconcile the two, but just because you were relieved that I hadn’t died, doesn’t mean that you were glad he did. The two happened together, but they aren’t one in the same.”
Spencer cried against her, his tears falling into her hair for a short while before she turned her head upward and pressed her lips to his jawline. “It’s gonna be okay. We’ll be okay. Just talk to me, okay?” He nodded and gently grabbed the side of her face and tilted it upward, his lips gliding over her skin.
Slowly, their bodies mingled as clothes were shed - the events of the day causing them to cling to one another. Nearly naked, Y/N stood up and reached for his hand, more than ready to get lost in the one she loved and forget today’s events had ever happened. As Spencer stood up, his bare skin against her, she breathed into him. “Start over?”