Bursts of Light, Ch.3
*Posted for Mariel and Jamie...and anyone else in need of a little Spencer Reid ^.^
Chapter Three: Envy
“Jealousy is simply and clearly the fear that you do not have value. It scans for evidence to prove the point - that others will be preferred and rewarded more than you. There is only one alternative: self-value.”
-Jennifer James
“Ugh! I hate this!” Through the silence that’s enveloped Abby’s living room for the past forty-eight minutes erupts her own angry growl. The essay she’s been grading goes flying across the room- or at least, attempts to, falling in a pathetic heap not three feet away from her due to its lack of aerodynamic design.
“So…take a break?” Spencer suggests tentatively, not even trying to hide his amusement as he leans over the side of the couch they’re sharing to retrieve her essay.
“Thanks.” She grumbles as he hands it to her, “But I still have twenty-one of these to grade and I promised the kids I’d have it done by tomorrow’s class at three. God, I hate being overqualified.”
Across from her on the couch, he chuckles absently, eyes roving quickly across the government report in his hands. It’s detailing new and important press releases made by the National Science Foundation and Spencer is rather enjoying himself.
“Not when you’re making seventy-nine thousand, one-hundred-and-four dollars per year, you won’t.”
“Huh?” Abby’s eyebrow wrinkles at the numbers he’s throwing at her as she tries once again to concentrate on the piece-of-crap essay in her hands.
“That’s the average annual income of someone holding a doctorate degree.”
Looking around the side of the essay, she quirks a hopeful eyebrow down towards his end of the couch.
“Does that figure double if I have two?”
Kicking her leg softly with his own sock clad foot, he throws her a smirk that offers his amused condolences.
“Actually, I forgot to factor in the fact that you’re female, so you’re probably looking at an income decrease. Sorry.”
Immediately, wrinkles run aground across the smooth skin of her brow.
“Thanks Spence.” She replies sarcastically, going back to the essay in her hands.
“Not a problem.” He responds, still smirking at his own reading material. However, as his eyes scan the pages, he realizes he’s not absorbing it as well as he could be. The rhythm’s gone because his mind is distracted. Laying the report on his stomach, he turns his full attention back towards Abby’s end of the couch, lifting his foot to nudge hers gently. “Why do you teach if you hate it so much?”
The question comes out soft, his tone more serious than before. But she hates talking about this with any real depth and the way he looks at her with those big, innocent eyes makes her feel almost guilty for all the resentment inside of her. But she earned those degrees, she should be getting something a hell of a lot more meaningful in return from life than grading entry-level college essays.
“You know why.” She mumbles back helplessly. “No one’s going to hire the doctor when they can bring over some kid from India on a work visa and pay him a third of what I’d ask for. Colleges are the only places still desperate for PhDs.”
“Statistically, only one-point-four percent of doctorate holders in the U.S. are unemployed at any given time.” He shrugs, offering her comfort the only way he knows how, with more numbers. Letting go of a deep breath, she nods.
“Yeah, I know.” She may be admitting defeat, but he can tell from her tone that it’s insincere. There’s got to be something else he can say, some magic string of words to make it better, to stay the hero. But if those words exist, he has no idea what they are or how to find them. Derek would know instinctively, he’s just one of those lucky people born with a guide to life already pre-programmed into their brain. Hotch would probably take a little longer figuring it out, but it would come to him. Even if he didn’t find exactly the right words, they would still sound good. Aaron’s an easy man to put faith in. So why can’t Spencer be like that? What is so screwed up about his wiring that he can solve every puzzle on earth except the ones that really matter?
Sighing, he figures if she wants to be mad at the world the best thing he can do is just shut up and let her. Grabbing the report off of his stomach, he dives into it again and the silence resumes. Then he realizes something. Just because there isn’t something he can say, doesn’t mean there isn’t something he can do.
“Do you think, maybe it would take some pressure off of you for a day or two if I came in and,…” He shrugs his shoulders, scratching the side of his scalp, “…did a guest lecture or something?”
Laying the essay down again, she looks toward his end of the couch with an expression that is all at once thoughtful and defensively cautious.
“I’m not sure.” She offers after staring at him in silence for at least forty-five seconds. He knows that it’s less than a minute, completely ineffectual in comparison to the fabric of the universe. But that forty-five seconds stretches between them with so much doubt that when she finally speaks it feels as though she’s the one doing him a favor. “I mean, what would you talk about?”
“I got my BAs in psychology and sociology. I think that qualifies me for social psyche one-oh-one.” He reminds her with a soft smile.
“It’s not that you’re not qualified.” Her words come out on a breathy laugh, “It’s just…it’s a filler course. You’d be bored out of your mind with their questions.”
“I once had to give a guest lecture to a high school chemistry class about the importance of science in the criminology field. Every single question I got asked was about the CSI series.” He assures her and this time they both laugh, before he leans forward and folds her hand into his. “It’ll be fine.”
As her smile fades, she looks away from him, fingering the small pendant on her necklace. He tries so hard not to profile her, but sometimes it just happens before he can really think about stopping himself. The neutrality of her facial expression, the objectual manipulation of her necklace sets off a trigger in his mind that immediately warns of internal anxiety, some kind of stress that’s making her feel negatively about her own self. Even with that information, he’s confused. Obviously there’s something she isn’t telling him, so for now perhaps it would be better if he just backed off.
“You don’t have to say yes…” He mumbles, hating that he has no idea what to do here as her hand slips from his. “I just thought, maybe if we were together…it wouldn’t be as bad that day? I dunno, it was probably a stupid idea Just forget I said anything.”
With an awkward shimmy of his shoulders that’s supposed to be a shrug but doesn’t quite make it there, Spencer returns to speeding through his report like a bullet train. He doesn’t see the way her eyes stay on him, darkening with the guilt that’s churning her stomach. He has no idea that she’s chewing on her bottom lip a little, weighing the pros and cons of ‘Maybe he’s right’ against ‘I hate being the bad guy’. But he feels it when she grabs the fifty-seven page report out of his hand and tosses it to the floor, crawling across the couch and into his lap. Combing his hair brown hair back through her hands, her lips curl into a smile against his mouth as his lungs fill with air at the surprise. Long fingers wrap around the back of her neck to pull her closer. He’s not sure what he did to earn this, but he’s not going to question it. He’s just thrilled that he didn’t piss her off.
“It wasn’t a stupid idea.” She assures him softly after pulling away. Her hard but loving eyes look down into his and her fingers continue to brush through his hair. “It was actually really sweet.”
“So I did good?” His tiny smile is full of tentative hope, but Spencer is 93.5% sure this is a battle he’s already won. When she giggles once and leans down to peck his mouth softly again, the odds jump to 99.9%.
“Better than good.” As her face tilts at just the right angle to meet his once more, his muscles relax, arms sliding comfortably all the way around her back. In the corners of his mind, he can’t help but feel rather proud of himself knowing that he handled that as well as Derek or Aaron could have any day.
~~~
“So as you can see, though the origins of condoned violence in the media can be traced back to ‘cultures of honor’, it’s really sort of detrimental to society because the diffusion of sensitivity often leads to this violence becoming an established norm in the minds of adolescents, particularly males, because it is this specific age group which turns to aggressive role models for guidance more than any other.” Nodding once with satisfaction at his explanation, Reid smiles lightly, scanning the tiered rows of desks for a response. “…Any questions?”
Behind him, Abby shifts in her seat trying to keep her eyes down and her mind focused on the quizzes she’s grading. The class is only on chapter six; aggression isn’t due to pop up on the syllabus for another four weeks. But from what she can hear of his rambling (which is trying desperately to keep up with his brain and therefore coming out sounding nothing like normal speech), Abby is pretty sure that he could have covered the material in chapter one and her students still would have been wearing the same vacant, confused expressions. Two or three of them, all overachieving upper-class girls taking the course just for fun, look enthralled. Their eyes are big and wistful as they lean forward on their desks. From the few glances she spares the class, Abby gets the impression that if Spencer began talking about broccoli these girls would continue to hang on his every word.
She tries to push away the thought that none of the Type A, nerdy, upperclassmen boys has ever looked at her that way. In fact, most of her students usually look bored out of their minds. They’re polite and don’t usually resort to disruptive behavior (though this is only her first semester, so she probably just got lucky), but she can’t help feeling as though she’s putting them through torture three times a week.
“So…all that stuff we see on the news about serial killers. How much of that is true and how much of it is like, made up?”
Abby’s head snaps up at the sound of the voice. Halfway into their seventh week, she still has to pry questions from them like teeth and he’s stolen their attention on his first day? Damn. Carrying a gun and working for the man make people so much cooler. She knows it shouldn’t matter which one of them looks ‘cooler’ to a room full of kids who just graduated from high school a few months ago. But it kind of does.
“The BAU actually has a full-time media specialist on hand to help keep reporters at arm’s length about the cases we’re working. If the details got out, it would only serve to help the killers and, more often than not, mass panic would ensue. Typically they’re only saying what we need them to say in order to draw the unsub out.” He explains rapidly, pushing his sleeves up as a guy in the back raises another hand.
“What does that mean? Unsub?” The boy looks confused, but intrigued.
“Unidentified subject.” Reid explains, his eyes panning across the rows of desks as a few more hands begin to hesitantly hit the air. Resisting the temptation to roll her eyes, Abby looks down again and tells herself it’s really no big deal. He’s a federal agent, anyone would be excited to talk to him. Hell, she’s savored every single conversation they’ve had for the past four months, surely she shouldn’t be so surprised. He’s the one with the badge. The boy wonder with three PHDs (instead of just two) who read faster than a computer. The one paying off his student loans with an exciting, heart-pounding, challenging job.
He’s also the one who was left to all but raise himself, she recalls, hoping this fact will negate whatever resentment she feels entitled to at the moment. He’s the one who was yanked around and tied to goal posts after being stripped naked and got his head shoved down toilets in high school. He’s the one who’s never really been accepted by anyone besides his own schizophrenic mother.
The bells at the cathedral across the street sound two pm and Abby rises, announcing that, as fun and interesting as his work may seem Dr. Reid has a stack full of reports waiting for him back in Quantico so if they could please exit quickly and quietly it would be easier for everyone. Oh, and don’t forget to read chapter seven over the weekend. Most of them heed her warning, already late for their two o’clock classes or in desperate need of lunch. But two of the girls who had been drooling all over themselves don’t seem to get the message. Either that or they’re just too damn determined to get in a word one on one to care.
One of them makes Abby hesitate. Her name is Sarah and she’s one of the best students in the class, so it’s difficult to grow angry with her. She’s heavy set, hair frizzy and slightly unmanageable (though it’s obvious from the bands and clips that she really is trying). Abby is almost sure that this is the most exciting thing that will happen to Sarah all day. Maybe even all week. How can she snatch it away from her so soon?
But there’s another girl standing next to her, Elizabeth. This one, also an over-achiever, is tall and slender and perfectly put together. Her large, shadowy eyes watch Reid from beneath thick lashes with the intensity of a hardcore philosophy student who is on the brink of unraveling the meaning of life. Elizabeth is a different creature entirely from Sarah. She doesn’t talk to boys (or anyone really) by choice because there aren’t many people she deems worthy of her time. Her clothes are always sophisticated, richly textured and expensive. She could probably model if she wanted to, girls like her don’t need to know how to do research or write essays. But she likes pushing herself to her limits and, even more than that, intimidating the people around her. From what Abby has observed, she’s rather accomplished at both.
It’s only after watching Elizabeth laugh her soft, casual laugh as Reid stumbles over his words that she decides to step in. Sarah can deal with the disappointment of this conversation ending, Abby isn’t so sure she can deal with it continuing.
“Alright girls, I’m sure you both have things to do. Papers to write, chapters to study.” Abby’s smile is warn as she ushers them along towards the door.
“Dr. Reid.” Elizabeth’s eyes are half-closed as she turns and shakes his hand, “It was an absolute pleasure.”
“Don’t forget girls!” Abby’s voice breaks between them with an uncharacteristically shrill and altogether obnoxious tone. “Chapter seven!”
And with that they’re finally out of the classroom. She has never been so relieved or thankful that this particular room has no two o’clock class. For the first time all day they’re alone and it’s a little easier to breathe. But as she struts over to the table at the head of the room, gathering her papers into the briefcase lying there, she can’t seem to bring her eyes up to meet Reid’s.
“So, what did you think?” He asks softly. From where she’s keeping her gaze, Abby can see that he has his hands stuffed into the side pockets of his khakis. A shrug falls from her shoulders before she even gives his question any thought.
“It was good.” She doesn’t sound like she means it. And not in a casual, ‘let’s just forget everything and go get lunch’ sort of way. In a sub-textual, ‘I want you to realize that something is wrong but I don’t know that consciously’ way.
“…Okay.” He responds, fidgeting for a moment as he tries to find the right words. “Was there a, um, a specific part that you didn’t like, or were you just not paying attention?”
“I said it was good.” She repeats, this time forcing herself to stare directly into his eyes (or at least somewhere smack between them) as she does so, hoping he’ll believe her and let this go. But she should know by now that he won’t. Somewhere not far enough in the back of her mind, she knows he shouldn’t have to. That she’s acting like a moody fourteen-year-old. But it’s like there’s some sort of disconnect between her heart, head and mouth.
A sick feeling grips Spence’s stomach as he tries to avoid looking at her. He hates it when Abby’s like this, like she’s fed up with him, like she’d probably be happier if he’d change into the man she really wants…or maybe even just leave her alone. It’s stupid, he knows that. But he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing and the unfamiliar, unstable ground that he seems to be walking with her lately isn’t helping. Pushing the issue could potentially make things worse, but…does he really want to go back to the office with this still lingering at the forefront of his mind?
She makes the choice for him when he hesitates too long. The look on his face, the one that tells her he has no idea what he did wrong but he’s still sorry, makes her feel like a monster. This isn’t his fault, she shouldn’t be taking it out on him. But in those moments when she does, it’s like all conscious reasoning flies out the window. All she knows is that she hates where life is taking her, she hates feeling not good enough for the only things she’s ever wanted, the only goals she’s ever worked towards. It’s that blinding hate that makes her lose any sense of grace.
“I’m sorry. Look, don’t think I’m upset with you.” Her hands have stopped gathering papers and folders and pens. She’s making a point to keep a steady gaze with his own because she knows he puts a lot of stake in that. Every profiler does, it’s the factor they rely on the most when determining sincerity. She knows because she’s studied her eyeballs out for the tests. “I mean, I am upset and I know I’m taking it out on you. But it’s not you, Spencer, I promise.”
“When are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
She just shrugs, “Today’s not really a good day.”
“If you’re waiting for a good time, we both know there isn’t going to be one.” His tone is getting a little less patient, a little less friendly. She’s lucky he’s been so nice about this for as long as he has. It even freaks him out sometimes how patient he’s able to be with her. Sure, he’s had his fair share of practice with his mom, not to mention all the years he was never quite good enough for any girl before Abby (not in any long term sense anyway). But still, he’ll be the first one to admit that his social skills could use some sanding down.
“I guess…” The words come out as a sigh and she regrets them the moment they’re laid down, like a white flag of surrender. Before she notices it, her left hand is playing with the pendant hanging from her necklace again. “I guess I’m still trying to get over not being accepted into the BAU.”
“Oh.” He swallows heavily, not sure if he should feel guilty or not. It’s not his fault she didn’t get the job she wanted. It’s not his fault that he got it instead. But it might be his fault that his presence in her life serves as a constant reminder of both of those facts. “You know, in the five years I’ve been there, they’ve only hired two new people. And one of them was an accident. Don’t take it personally, we both know you’re qualified enough.”
“On paper.” She shrugs, trying desperately to get a grip on the muscles in her throat before they get the chance to exact any influence on the ones beneath her eyes. “And even then, I’m no Dr. Reid. Not even at the only job I could get.”
It takes a lot of self-control to ignore that statement, but he knows that taking her bait isn’t going to do either of them any good. In the far reaches of his mind, he thinks it’s funny that it takes the worst in her to bring out the best in him.
“You just graduated.” He reminds her softly, “Most people are lucky if they can find a good paying job at all in this economy. Just give it time, Abby, it’ll be fine.”
“Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but your options have never been limited. You don’t exactly know what you’re talking about.” Shaking her head a little, she turns away from him and gets ready to actually leave this time. If she doesn’t look at him it’ll be easier to keep a handle on her emotions. Or at least, that’s the plan.
Insulted and frowning, he follows her. Of the many things he’s been accused of in his time, not knowing what he’s talking about has never been one of them.
“It’s a statistical fact.” He argues back, thankful that classes have started, meaning they have the hallways to themselves. “With your degrees, you’re background; it’s just a matter of timing at this point.”
“I know.” She sighs wearily, wishing now that she had just kept her mouth shut and faked a smile and pretended everything was coming up roses. This wasn’t a big enough deal for them to be angry at each other over it. It was dumb. She was dumb. And he was really bad at taking hints. “Just let it go, Spence. Go back to work, have lunch. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”
This only frustrates him further. She dragged him into this with her insinuating comments and mysterious apologies, the least she can do is put in a little effort after he does what he can to meet her half way. He’s trying his damndest to be the good boyfriend, what more does she want? By this time, they’ve made it to her small, closet of an office. Above his tall stature, the ceiling is sagging a little and he hunches subconsciously to compensate when they walk in.
“Just tell me what’s going on, Ab. I’m not going to get any work done at Quantico if I’m distracted by how mad you are at me for something I’m not even sure I did.”
“I already told you, you didn’t do anything. It’s just me, okay? I’m not good enough for the BAU, I’m not good enough of a professor to ever get my students to ask questions the way they did today. I just suck in general, alright. Now, can we please let this go?”
Shaking his head, he turns for the door, then turns back on his heel in a split-second moment of fury. He knows he’s probably going to say something stupid, but it’s beyond his control at this point.
“You know what Abby, I’m giving you everything I’ve got. If you’ve got a problem with what I do and where I work then that’s your problem. But there’s really no reason for you to get so angry just because I’m trying to get you to open up and work through whatever’s bothering you!”
“I’m not saying we’ll never have this conversation! I’m just saying we’re both in the middle of our work day and now really isn’t the best time.” She snaps back, avoiding his eyes as she unpacks her briefcase, sorting the files into perfectly arranged piles.
He pauses for a moment, frowning at the office around them. He’s never seen it before and its lack of breathing space is kind of freaking him out. It’s for the best that they don’t argue in here or he might go into cardiac arrest from the combination of claustrophobia and stress.
“Fine.” Shaking his head, he turns for the door. “Call me when you start thinking like a rational human being again.”
Less than sixty seconds after he’s left, her computer screen starts to blur as the tears crash into her with a force she hadn’t been prepared for. They’re silent and slow, but she knows if she tried to speak they would strangle her in a second. Fingers wet with saltwater, she types in the password to her account and waits for the pc to boot up so she can try and get some work done.
~~~
As soon as she gets home, she changes into her most comfortable pair of sweats and hides beneath the thick covers of her bed. There aren’t any more tears because her brain is beyond the point of thinking. Now she’s just left with the exhaustion. The gnawing pain of guilt and regret that’s hollowing her out like the hunger that’s scraping along the insides of her stomach. Too worn out to care, she’s asleep within a matter of minutes.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Three and half hours later she stirs back to consciousness only thanks to the vibrating of her phone. Groggy eyes open against their will to glare at the screen and her arm collapses back against the sheets when she sees that it’s Spencer. They’re supposed to be hanging out tonight and, after the fight they had, it’s probably important that they at least talk. But she doesn’t want to face this yet, she isn’t ready and it’s easier to just avoid it here under the covers than try and apologize for things she has almost no control over.
Turning over she she’s facing the half-open door of her room and the hallway beyond, Abby sighs and lets the memories that surface hit her one at a time.
‘Mom, please don’t go out tonight. I really don’t want to be alone here.’ She’s nine years old again. Somewhere between the innocence children should experience at that age and the adult that circumstance is forcing her to be.
‘You’ll be fine.’ Her mom assures absently, not bothering to look away from the mirror as she fixes her earrings in place.
‘But we don’t have any real locks on the doors and it’s already late. Just please stay home tonight, okay?’
Her mom laughs the same way she always does, tells her she’s being silly. No one’s going to break in, things in the Adirondacks aren’t at all like back on the reservation. But Abigail doesn’t need her mom to tell her that. She’s all too aware of the differences. Back on the res, her dad always made sure she was taken care of before leaving. Made certain that someone would be there to look after her. If no one could be found, her parents would either stay in or take Abby along. She’d never felt like a burden there. She’d never felt abandoned or vulnerable.
Everything had been okay. She wished she’d known then that things wouldn’t always stay that way.
When her mom walks out the door and doesn’t even bother looking back, when she ignores her daughter’s pleas every night after that and turns her phone off on all the dates she says yes to…Abby knows it’s stupid but she can’t help feeling as though her mother is choosing those men over her. That she’d rather satisfy whatever screwed up sense of validity and loneliness that tears her up inside than help her daughter avoid the same fate.
When her baby brother cries because he wants his mom, Abigail forces herself to swallow her own tears. She knows she can’t be the child in this situation because she’s all Ryan has. She knows that if she breaks down he’ll never calm down. Even at nine she knows that wouldn't be fair; he’s only three, he deserves to feel safe. So she puts up a good front, wondering the entire time why her mom can’t do the same.
Curling down deeper into the blankets, Abigail closes her eyes and tries to block out all the emotions that follow these memories. Her stomach clenches and she wonders for a moment if she’s going to be sick. Before she can stop them, more memories go hurtling through her mind. Kids teasing her at school for being a red-skinned, know-it-all, freak. Always saying the wrong thing at the wrong time due to lack of social experience. Every awkward party, every guy who ran away from her because apparently she never got the memo that ambition and a high IQ are only okay to show off if you’re a man.
Besides, guys want the white, blonde girl with cheekbones that don’t sit up high and eyes that don’t curve together at the ends like almonds. She learned to get by alone just fine years ago, men have never been the end all be all of her existence. But her ambitions, her dreams, everything she’s worked hard towards being yanked out from under her? Abby had climbed way too high to be prepared for that kind of fall.
The application process takes months, but she puts all the materials together weeks ahead of every deadline. In between filling out paperwork and requesting letters of recommendation, she’s studying up on FBI history and protocol. Whenever she can afford to take a break from that, she’s finishing homework and trying to get things together for graduation. Sometimes she sleeps and eats. Sometimes she doesn’t. It doesn’t really bother her though because she’s so excited at the prospect of finally reaching her goals that even the bad stuff cheers her up.
When they contact her about setting up an interview, she’s ecstatic. Most of her waking moments are spent daydreaming about what it will be like to work at the BAU. To do what she does best all day long around a few dozen other people just like her. She’ll be happy and appreciated and challenged and satisfied and for once in her life she’ll be useful. After all, not everyone thinks like a behavioral analyst. It’ll be heaven not to get that look people always shoot her when she tries to explain her observations, her theories. It’ll be so nice to finally fit in somewhere.
She’s so caught up in counting chickens that have yet to hatch, she fails to take into account the probability that they may never hatch at all.
In fact, there are no chickens in these eggs, there never were. The head of the department assures her that she’ll be keeping Abigail’s application, that they’ll review it if anything opens up in the future. However, there’s only one position open and though she was their second choice, they just can’t pass up the Vietnamese man who speaks eight different languages.
He shakes her hand as she rises from the chair and thanks her for her time, assures her that there will be viable opportunities waiting for her someplace else. He doesn’t understand that there is no someplace else. That this is all she wants to do, the only thing she’s ever worked for and one of the few jobs that will appreciate her credentials. She smiles a big, bright, beautiful smile and thanks him, but all she really knows is that once again, she can’t seem to get beyond ‘not quite good enough’.
She remembers everything about that day. The outfit that she painstakingly put together, the sound of her heels across the parking lot of her apartment complex, the grey clouds that blanketed the early morning sky.
But she also remembers the jolt of electricity that zapped her when she noticed Spencer standing just two feet away. The way his hair ruffled a little in the breeze. The squint of his eyes under the harsh summer sun. It was sort of ironic that in the instant he’d looked down at her, eyes full of concern and curiosity, Spence had made the worst day of her life one of the best.
‘He deserves so much better than this.’ She thinks to herself, finally letting her eyes flutter open again. Picking up the phone, she hits speed dial #4 and bites her lip, praying he’ll pick up. That he’ll forgive her for being an ass one more time.
“Hello?” He sounds tired, reluctant. But she can hear the faintest undertone of hope in his voice and it makes her smile.
“Hey. It’s me.”
~~~
Two Weeks Later
Scarf? Check.
Cell phone? Check.
Heels? Check.
Breakfast? …Wait, does she even have any food in her fridge?
Frowning, Abby grabs her briefcase and makes her way into the kitchen, hoping that there’s something quick and easy laying around. Something she can throw in her bag and eat in the car on the way to the station. There’s got to be something, she always has something, and besides-
Stopping dead in the middle of the kitchen, her blue eyes stay glued to the thick, white packet that is sitting on her countertop as though it actually belongs there. She has no idea what it contains or where it came from and the fact that it has materialized out of thin air is a little disturbing. After staring it down for a good thirty seconds, Abby finally accepts that the packet means business, that it isn’t going anywhere. Grabbing a granola bar from the cabinet, she stuffs the packet into her briefcase and vows to look at it during office hours.
Two pm comes quicker than she expects for once and as she walks to her “closet”, anticipation begins to build in the nerve endings that stretch beneath her skin. Unsure of what’s inside, she’s careful to open the sealed top, pulling out the thick packet of papers inside. A clean, modern letterhead Abby has never seen before catches her attention. Eskin Pharmaceuticals International, it reads. More specifically their Department of Research and Development.
Dear Dr. Henson,
Thank you for your interest in joining our company. Please find enclosed a detailed description of the position enquired about in your letter, as well as a full application and list of materials-
‘Wait, what?’ Confusion puts a wrinkle in her nose and suddenly the document has her full attention. What the hell are these people talking about? She’s never so much as heard of this company, let alone gone to them looking for a job. Flipping through the contents of the envelope, she finds the application and list mentioned before, as well as a detailed description of the position they seem to think she wants.
‘Hmm.’ Her head tilts to the side as she scans the few paragraphs listing the credentials, experience and duties required. Extensive education in drug and behavioral sciences, strong organizational skills, a minimum of two years intern experience in real-life testing situations (which she had needed anyway to earn her degrees). It all makes sense considering they want her to compare neurological affects with psychological affects after patients take the drugs the company is looking to distribute. It seemed that if there had ever been a job tailor-made for her qualifications and interests, this would be it. But how had such a miracle fallen into her lap? How strange that just such a company would not only know that she hates her current job but also where to find her. As she flips to the last page in the stack, understanding suddenly washes over her.
The materials list requires a minimum three letters of recommendation. From what Abigail can tell, the piece of paper in her hands is meant to not only be an explanation, but the first of those letters. As the words filter through the black of her pupils, she can’t stop a smile from hooking the side of her mouth and reeling it up.
To Whom It May Concern,
While serving as a Supervisory Special Agent to the Behavioral Analysis Unit for the Federal Bureau of Investigations in Quantico, Virginia I have had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with Dr. Abigail Henson through our mutual professional interests. From her continuous support of the BAU and my own guest lectures for the Social Sciences classes Dr. Henson teaches at Georgetown University, I have grown to admire, respect and learn a great deal from her.
‘Really?’ Without realizing it, Abby’s hand comes up to curl under her mouth. With all of his degrees and qualifications and field experience…how could he learn anything from her? Why would he look up to her? A small corner of her heart begins to warm and she has a feeling that the rest of this letter will cause the rest to follow.
Dr. Henson has proven herself to be a remarkably strong and loyal friend of the BAU, always ready to lend her expertise to any case and an ear to any Agent in need.
A small laugh escapes her throat and her eyes roll towards the florescent bulbs in the ceiling. Brain storming at her apartment over case files and giving her boyfriend massages after really long days at work suddenly sound much more impressive than is fair. But the warmth continues to spread.
She is meticulously organized in every facet of her life and follows through with each task undertaken. Should Dr. Henson be asked to take on any project, no matter how big or small, one can rest assured knowing it will not only be completed before schedule but that it will considerably exceed expectations.
‘Or I’m just freakishly OCD.’ She smirks, shaking her head at how charmingly he’s spinning all of her idiosyncrasies. The same personality traits that drive most boys away.
Her enthusiasm for the Social and Behavioral Sciences fields is refreshing and makes her exceptionally enjoyable to work with.
‘Enjoyable to work with, huh?’ She has to stifle a giggle at the thought of just how much enjoyment he typically gets out of her company. ‘In what capacity, I wonder, Spence.’ She can picture the smirk he must have been wearing while typing that particular sentence with far too much ease.
It is my sincere belief that Dr. Henson would make an incredibly valuable asset to the Research and Development Department at Eskin Pharmaceuticals International. Please do not hesitate to contact me with any further inquiries. Have a wonderful day.
Sincerely,
Dr. Spencer J. Reid
For a moment, Abby just stares down at the letter, feeling what should amount to far too many emotions for her little, human body. It is this overwhelming, jumbled mass that keeps her mind from processing a whole lot beyond, ‘This is a big deal. The Social Science world is tiny, everyone knows who he is. This is a big freaking deal.’ Slowly, cognitive ability seeps back into her like warmth after walking too long in the cold. Grabbing a pen, she gets to work on the application right away, biting her lip to keep from grinning too wildly. She figures, everything else on her desk can wait.
~~~
Same Day, 7:24 pm, BAU Headquarters
Cool fingers close over his eyes and the already dim office goes black.
“Name the girl with the best boyfriend in the entire world?” A smooth, familiar voice murmurs gently in his ear just before a warm pair of lips press against his neck. They’re gone before he can fully appreciate the feeling, but a few of his nerve endings continue to spark with electricity even as the light returns to his eyes and the girl comes around his chair.
“Survey says?” He quirks a knowing eyebrow, his voice soft and almost bashful. Inviting herself to lean back against his cubicle desk, he smiles at the way the light from his small table lamp reflects in her hair like copper. He smiles at the dopey grin on her own face. Smiles because she’s still holding his hand, playing with his knuckles the way she always does.
“Abigail Dakota Henson.” She responds, giving him a hard, meaningful look before leaning forward and kissing him softly just once. “I’m sorry I was being such a whiner.”
“…You were kind of being a whiner.” He chuckles, but she can already tell he’s going to forgive her just from the expression on his face. She can tell that he loves her too much to stay mad at her over something so dumb. And she can tell it’s going to make her want to change. That’s the moment she begins to realize that she isn’t just hopelessly in love with Spencer, he’s good for her too. It may be in baby steps and excruciatingly slow, but he’s making her better.
“You didn’t have to do what you did. With the application and the letter. No one’s ever cared enough to really bend over backwards like that for me. Especially when I was being too much of a jerk to deserve it.”
She expects him to be happy about this, to smile and let the buoyancy of the moment carry them through the evening and off into the sunset (never mind the fact that it’s already dark enough to pick out constellations in the sky). But he sort of looks uncomfortable, almost sad as his eyes lower to the keyboard at his desk.
“I’m sorry if I…” He’s not even sure what to say because he’s not too entirely sure why he’s sorry. He just knows that somewhere deep inside of her, no matter how much she apologizes, no matter how many times his pride dissolves into forgiveness, she’s still not getting everything that she wants. She’s still a little jealous.
“It’s not your fault that I have some more growing up to do. I’ll get over the BAU eventually. It’ll take time but I’ll get over it.” She murmurs, saving him from sounding like too much of an idiot. He’s grateful, but all she sees is exhaustion when he finally lifts his gaze to meet hers. It’s obvious he’s working on something rough, something that’ll probably take him the rest of the evening and then haunt his dreams even when he finally does clock out.
“I think you’re more cut out for this pharmaceutical job anyway. I think it’s better for you.”
She just shrugs, trying to ignore the way that statement violates her very definition of what she’s ‘cut out for’. Of the job she’s pictured for herself since age six. But just because she isn’t saying anything, doesn’t mean he can’t see it in her body language. That’s his job after all, it’s what he does all day long. Abby knows this. Sometimes he wonders if she’s really trying to hide anything at all.
“I just meant…”-
“I know what you meant.” Her voice is soft, sad. But he’s had enough of this. She doesn’t know what he meant because she’s never had to walk onto a crime scene that looked less like a room and more like slaughterhouse. Or stand next to parents who have been asked to identify remains based on nothing but clothing because their child’s body has been so badly mangled. Or feel the cold chill in her blood that comes from being stared down by a convicted serial killer on death row during an interview. She’s never had to shoot anyone, or get pumped full of Dilaudid, or watch someone’s life being taken away on an 8x8 television screen halfway across the room. Those things haven’t marred her existence. And he wants to keep it that way.
“I know you could do this job.” He tells her, reaching out to thread his hand under hers. “I don’t doubt that you have what it takes, I just…I don’t ever want you to lay awake in bed with the same images I struggle to forget each night. I don’t want to see you worn down from weeks and months and years of running a race you won’t ever win. I don’t know how else to explain it or make you understand because you have no idea just how bad it can get but…you have to believe me when I say that I don’t want this for you.”
Motioning to the paperwork at his desk, it’s obvious that Spencer means so much more than this neat stack of reports. Still holding his hand, Abby lets out a deep breath, letting his words sink in. They aren’t easy to accept but they make sense. And more importantly, they make her understand what he’s been trying to tell her subliminally for months now. That whatever way this may have played out, it wasn’t her failures that led to the outcome. That she’s good enough and has been all along.
“I know I said some pretty selfish stuff a few weeks ago.” Her eyes are downcast as she squeezes his fingers between hers. “And I know I’m not always easy to deal with. But I don’t ever want you to doubt that underneath whatever issues I have there is a mountain of pride and respect and love for you.”
“Abby, I”- Even smiling he looks a little uncomfortable, not as experienced at taking the good from people as the bad, but she keeps going.
“I want to be there every night that you have to wrestle with the demons following you home. I want to be the relief you can run to.” It hits her then that things are better this way. They can’t both be trying to deal with the emotional stress that comes as a package deal with your Bureau badge. It would only tear them apart in the end. One of them has to be there to keep the other grounded. And she really enjoys the thought of being Spencer’s one.
“I want that too.” With a voice so low it’s almost hoarse, he looks up at her with eyes full of enough hope to make her heart sad under the weight. Standing from his chair, he wraps his arms around her. Buries his face in the softness of her hair, the warmth of her neck. As long as she’s beside him, he could stay at Quantico for a week straight filling out reports day and night with a smile on his face. As long as she’s there, he can take anything the sickest minds in America have to throw at him. As long as he’s holding her, nothing can break him. And the best part is how he can tell she feels the same way about him.
I can be the moodiest baby, my passive aggressiveness can be devastating,
I’m terrified and mistrusting and you’ve never met anyone as closed down as I am sometimes
You see everything, there’s not anything to which you can’t relate and you’re still here
-‘Everything’ by Alanis Morissette
Chapter Three: Envy
“Jealousy is simply and clearly the fear that you do not have value. It scans for evidence to prove the point - that others will be preferred and rewarded more than you. There is only one alternative: self-value.”
-Jennifer James
“Ugh! I hate this!” Through the silence that’s enveloped Abby’s living room for the past forty-eight minutes erupts her own angry growl. The essay she’s been grading goes flying across the room- or at least, attempts to, falling in a pathetic heap not three feet away from her due to its lack of aerodynamic design.
“So…take a break?” Spencer suggests tentatively, not even trying to hide his amusement as he leans over the side of the couch they’re sharing to retrieve her essay.
“Thanks.” She grumbles as he hands it to her, “But I still have twenty-one of these to grade and I promised the kids I’d have it done by tomorrow’s class at three. God, I hate being overqualified.”
Across from her on the couch, he chuckles absently, eyes roving quickly across the government report in his hands. It’s detailing new and important press releases made by the National Science Foundation and Spencer is rather enjoying himself.
“Not when you’re making seventy-nine thousand, one-hundred-and-four dollars per year, you won’t.”
“Huh?” Abby’s eyebrow wrinkles at the numbers he’s throwing at her as she tries once again to concentrate on the piece-of-crap essay in her hands.
“That’s the average annual income of someone holding a doctorate degree.”
Looking around the side of the essay, she quirks a hopeful eyebrow down towards his end of the couch.
“Does that figure double if I have two?”
Kicking her leg softly with his own sock clad foot, he throws her a smirk that offers his amused condolences.
“Actually, I forgot to factor in the fact that you’re female, so you’re probably looking at an income decrease. Sorry.”
Immediately, wrinkles run aground across the smooth skin of her brow.
“Thanks Spence.” She replies sarcastically, going back to the essay in her hands.
“Not a problem.” He responds, still smirking at his own reading material. However, as his eyes scan the pages, he realizes he’s not absorbing it as well as he could be. The rhythm’s gone because his mind is distracted. Laying the report on his stomach, he turns his full attention back towards Abby’s end of the couch, lifting his foot to nudge hers gently. “Why do you teach if you hate it so much?”
The question comes out soft, his tone more serious than before. But she hates talking about this with any real depth and the way he looks at her with those big, innocent eyes makes her feel almost guilty for all the resentment inside of her. But she earned those degrees, she should be getting something a hell of a lot more meaningful in return from life than grading entry-level college essays.
“You know why.” She mumbles back helplessly. “No one’s going to hire the doctor when they can bring over some kid from India on a work visa and pay him a third of what I’d ask for. Colleges are the only places still desperate for PhDs.”
“Statistically, only one-point-four percent of doctorate holders in the U.S. are unemployed at any given time.” He shrugs, offering her comfort the only way he knows how, with more numbers. Letting go of a deep breath, she nods.
“Yeah, I know.” She may be admitting defeat, but he can tell from her tone that it’s insincere. There’s got to be something else he can say, some magic string of words to make it better, to stay the hero. But if those words exist, he has no idea what they are or how to find them. Derek would know instinctively, he’s just one of those lucky people born with a guide to life already pre-programmed into their brain. Hotch would probably take a little longer figuring it out, but it would come to him. Even if he didn’t find exactly the right words, they would still sound good. Aaron’s an easy man to put faith in. So why can’t Spencer be like that? What is so screwed up about his wiring that he can solve every puzzle on earth except the ones that really matter?
Sighing, he figures if she wants to be mad at the world the best thing he can do is just shut up and let her. Grabbing the report off of his stomach, he dives into it again and the silence resumes. Then he realizes something. Just because there isn’t something he can say, doesn’t mean there isn’t something he can do.
“Do you think, maybe it would take some pressure off of you for a day or two if I came in and,…” He shrugs his shoulders, scratching the side of his scalp, “…did a guest lecture or something?”
Laying the essay down again, she looks toward his end of the couch with an expression that is all at once thoughtful and defensively cautious.
“I’m not sure.” She offers after staring at him in silence for at least forty-five seconds. He knows that it’s less than a minute, completely ineffectual in comparison to the fabric of the universe. But that forty-five seconds stretches between them with so much doubt that when she finally speaks it feels as though she’s the one doing him a favor. “I mean, what would you talk about?”
“I got my BAs in psychology and sociology. I think that qualifies me for social psyche one-oh-one.” He reminds her with a soft smile.
“It’s not that you’re not qualified.” Her words come out on a breathy laugh, “It’s just…it’s a filler course. You’d be bored out of your mind with their questions.”
“I once had to give a guest lecture to a high school chemistry class about the importance of science in the criminology field. Every single question I got asked was about the CSI series.” He assures her and this time they both laugh, before he leans forward and folds her hand into his. “It’ll be fine.”
As her smile fades, she looks away from him, fingering the small pendant on her necklace. He tries so hard not to profile her, but sometimes it just happens before he can really think about stopping himself. The neutrality of her facial expression, the objectual manipulation of her necklace sets off a trigger in his mind that immediately warns of internal anxiety, some kind of stress that’s making her feel negatively about her own self. Even with that information, he’s confused. Obviously there’s something she isn’t telling him, so for now perhaps it would be better if he just backed off.
“You don’t have to say yes…” He mumbles, hating that he has no idea what to do here as her hand slips from his. “I just thought, maybe if we were together…it wouldn’t be as bad that day? I dunno, it was probably a stupid idea Just forget I said anything.”
With an awkward shimmy of his shoulders that’s supposed to be a shrug but doesn’t quite make it there, Spencer returns to speeding through his report like a bullet train. He doesn’t see the way her eyes stay on him, darkening with the guilt that’s churning her stomach. He has no idea that she’s chewing on her bottom lip a little, weighing the pros and cons of ‘Maybe he’s right’ against ‘I hate being the bad guy’. But he feels it when she grabs the fifty-seven page report out of his hand and tosses it to the floor, crawling across the couch and into his lap. Combing his hair brown hair back through her hands, her lips curl into a smile against his mouth as his lungs fill with air at the surprise. Long fingers wrap around the back of her neck to pull her closer. He’s not sure what he did to earn this, but he’s not going to question it. He’s just thrilled that he didn’t piss her off.
“It wasn’t a stupid idea.” She assures him softly after pulling away. Her hard but loving eyes look down into his and her fingers continue to brush through his hair. “It was actually really sweet.”
“So I did good?” His tiny smile is full of tentative hope, but Spencer is 93.5% sure this is a battle he’s already won. When she giggles once and leans down to peck his mouth softly again, the odds jump to 99.9%.
“Better than good.” As her face tilts at just the right angle to meet his once more, his muscles relax, arms sliding comfortably all the way around her back. In the corners of his mind, he can’t help but feel rather proud of himself knowing that he handled that as well as Derek or Aaron could have any day.
~~~
“So as you can see, though the origins of condoned violence in the media can be traced back to ‘cultures of honor’, it’s really sort of detrimental to society because the diffusion of sensitivity often leads to this violence becoming an established norm in the minds of adolescents, particularly males, because it is this specific age group which turns to aggressive role models for guidance more than any other.” Nodding once with satisfaction at his explanation, Reid smiles lightly, scanning the tiered rows of desks for a response. “…Any questions?”
Behind him, Abby shifts in her seat trying to keep her eyes down and her mind focused on the quizzes she’s grading. The class is only on chapter six; aggression isn’t due to pop up on the syllabus for another four weeks. But from what she can hear of his rambling (which is trying desperately to keep up with his brain and therefore coming out sounding nothing like normal speech), Abby is pretty sure that he could have covered the material in chapter one and her students still would have been wearing the same vacant, confused expressions. Two or three of them, all overachieving upper-class girls taking the course just for fun, look enthralled. Their eyes are big and wistful as they lean forward on their desks. From the few glances she spares the class, Abby gets the impression that if Spencer began talking about broccoli these girls would continue to hang on his every word.
She tries to push away the thought that none of the Type A, nerdy, upperclassmen boys has ever looked at her that way. In fact, most of her students usually look bored out of their minds. They’re polite and don’t usually resort to disruptive behavior (though this is only her first semester, so she probably just got lucky), but she can’t help feeling as though she’s putting them through torture three times a week.
“So…all that stuff we see on the news about serial killers. How much of that is true and how much of it is like, made up?”
Abby’s head snaps up at the sound of the voice. Halfway into their seventh week, she still has to pry questions from them like teeth and he’s stolen their attention on his first day? Damn. Carrying a gun and working for the man make people so much cooler. She knows it shouldn’t matter which one of them looks ‘cooler’ to a room full of kids who just graduated from high school a few months ago. But it kind of does.
“The BAU actually has a full-time media specialist on hand to help keep reporters at arm’s length about the cases we’re working. If the details got out, it would only serve to help the killers and, more often than not, mass panic would ensue. Typically they’re only saying what we need them to say in order to draw the unsub out.” He explains rapidly, pushing his sleeves up as a guy in the back raises another hand.
“What does that mean? Unsub?” The boy looks confused, but intrigued.
“Unidentified subject.” Reid explains, his eyes panning across the rows of desks as a few more hands begin to hesitantly hit the air. Resisting the temptation to roll her eyes, Abby looks down again and tells herself it’s really no big deal. He’s a federal agent, anyone would be excited to talk to him. Hell, she’s savored every single conversation they’ve had for the past four months, surely she shouldn’t be so surprised. He’s the one with the badge. The boy wonder with three PHDs (instead of just two) who read faster than a computer. The one paying off his student loans with an exciting, heart-pounding, challenging job.
He’s also the one who was left to all but raise himself, she recalls, hoping this fact will negate whatever resentment she feels entitled to at the moment. He’s the one who was yanked around and tied to goal posts after being stripped naked and got his head shoved down toilets in high school. He’s the one who’s never really been accepted by anyone besides his own schizophrenic mother.
The bells at the cathedral across the street sound two pm and Abby rises, announcing that, as fun and interesting as his work may seem Dr. Reid has a stack full of reports waiting for him back in Quantico so if they could please exit quickly and quietly it would be easier for everyone. Oh, and don’t forget to read chapter seven over the weekend. Most of them heed her warning, already late for their two o’clock classes or in desperate need of lunch. But two of the girls who had been drooling all over themselves don’t seem to get the message. Either that or they’re just too damn determined to get in a word one on one to care.
One of them makes Abby hesitate. Her name is Sarah and she’s one of the best students in the class, so it’s difficult to grow angry with her. She’s heavy set, hair frizzy and slightly unmanageable (though it’s obvious from the bands and clips that she really is trying). Abby is almost sure that this is the most exciting thing that will happen to Sarah all day. Maybe even all week. How can she snatch it away from her so soon?
But there’s another girl standing next to her, Elizabeth. This one, also an over-achiever, is tall and slender and perfectly put together. Her large, shadowy eyes watch Reid from beneath thick lashes with the intensity of a hardcore philosophy student who is on the brink of unraveling the meaning of life. Elizabeth is a different creature entirely from Sarah. She doesn’t talk to boys (or anyone really) by choice because there aren’t many people she deems worthy of her time. Her clothes are always sophisticated, richly textured and expensive. She could probably model if she wanted to, girls like her don’t need to know how to do research or write essays. But she likes pushing herself to her limits and, even more than that, intimidating the people around her. From what Abby has observed, she’s rather accomplished at both.
It’s only after watching Elizabeth laugh her soft, casual laugh as Reid stumbles over his words that she decides to step in. Sarah can deal with the disappointment of this conversation ending, Abby isn’t so sure she can deal with it continuing.
“Alright girls, I’m sure you both have things to do. Papers to write, chapters to study.” Abby’s smile is warn as she ushers them along towards the door.
“Dr. Reid.” Elizabeth’s eyes are half-closed as she turns and shakes his hand, “It was an absolute pleasure.”
“Don’t forget girls!” Abby’s voice breaks between them with an uncharacteristically shrill and altogether obnoxious tone. “Chapter seven!”
And with that they’re finally out of the classroom. She has never been so relieved or thankful that this particular room has no two o’clock class. For the first time all day they’re alone and it’s a little easier to breathe. But as she struts over to the table at the head of the room, gathering her papers into the briefcase lying there, she can’t seem to bring her eyes up to meet Reid’s.
“So, what did you think?” He asks softly. From where she’s keeping her gaze, Abby can see that he has his hands stuffed into the side pockets of his khakis. A shrug falls from her shoulders before she even gives his question any thought.
“It was good.” She doesn’t sound like she means it. And not in a casual, ‘let’s just forget everything and go get lunch’ sort of way. In a sub-textual, ‘I want you to realize that something is wrong but I don’t know that consciously’ way.
“…Okay.” He responds, fidgeting for a moment as he tries to find the right words. “Was there a, um, a specific part that you didn’t like, or were you just not paying attention?”
“I said it was good.” She repeats, this time forcing herself to stare directly into his eyes (or at least somewhere smack between them) as she does so, hoping he’ll believe her and let this go. But she should know by now that he won’t. Somewhere not far enough in the back of her mind, she knows he shouldn’t have to. That she’s acting like a moody fourteen-year-old. But it’s like there’s some sort of disconnect between her heart, head and mouth.
A sick feeling grips Spence’s stomach as he tries to avoid looking at her. He hates it when Abby’s like this, like she’s fed up with him, like she’d probably be happier if he’d change into the man she really wants…or maybe even just leave her alone. It’s stupid, he knows that. But he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing and the unfamiliar, unstable ground that he seems to be walking with her lately isn’t helping. Pushing the issue could potentially make things worse, but…does he really want to go back to the office with this still lingering at the forefront of his mind?
She makes the choice for him when he hesitates too long. The look on his face, the one that tells her he has no idea what he did wrong but he’s still sorry, makes her feel like a monster. This isn’t his fault, she shouldn’t be taking it out on him. But in those moments when she does, it’s like all conscious reasoning flies out the window. All she knows is that she hates where life is taking her, she hates feeling not good enough for the only things she’s ever wanted, the only goals she’s ever worked towards. It’s that blinding hate that makes her lose any sense of grace.
“I’m sorry. Look, don’t think I’m upset with you.” Her hands have stopped gathering papers and folders and pens. She’s making a point to keep a steady gaze with his own because she knows he puts a lot of stake in that. Every profiler does, it’s the factor they rely on the most when determining sincerity. She knows because she’s studied her eyeballs out for the tests. “I mean, I am upset and I know I’m taking it out on you. But it’s not you, Spencer, I promise.”
“When are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
She just shrugs, “Today’s not really a good day.”
“If you’re waiting for a good time, we both know there isn’t going to be one.” His tone is getting a little less patient, a little less friendly. She’s lucky he’s been so nice about this for as long as he has. It even freaks him out sometimes how patient he’s able to be with her. Sure, he’s had his fair share of practice with his mom, not to mention all the years he was never quite good enough for any girl before Abby (not in any long term sense anyway). But still, he’ll be the first one to admit that his social skills could use some sanding down.
“I guess…” The words come out as a sigh and she regrets them the moment they’re laid down, like a white flag of surrender. Before she notices it, her left hand is playing with the pendant hanging from her necklace again. “I guess I’m still trying to get over not being accepted into the BAU.”
“Oh.” He swallows heavily, not sure if he should feel guilty or not. It’s not his fault she didn’t get the job she wanted. It’s not his fault that he got it instead. But it might be his fault that his presence in her life serves as a constant reminder of both of those facts. “You know, in the five years I’ve been there, they’ve only hired two new people. And one of them was an accident. Don’t take it personally, we both know you’re qualified enough.”
“On paper.” She shrugs, trying desperately to get a grip on the muscles in her throat before they get the chance to exact any influence on the ones beneath her eyes. “And even then, I’m no Dr. Reid. Not even at the only job I could get.”
It takes a lot of self-control to ignore that statement, but he knows that taking her bait isn’t going to do either of them any good. In the far reaches of his mind, he thinks it’s funny that it takes the worst in her to bring out the best in him.
“You just graduated.” He reminds her softly, “Most people are lucky if they can find a good paying job at all in this economy. Just give it time, Abby, it’ll be fine.”
“Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but your options have never been limited. You don’t exactly know what you’re talking about.” Shaking her head a little, she turns away from him and gets ready to actually leave this time. If she doesn’t look at him it’ll be easier to keep a handle on her emotions. Or at least, that’s the plan.
Insulted and frowning, he follows her. Of the many things he’s been accused of in his time, not knowing what he’s talking about has never been one of them.
“It’s a statistical fact.” He argues back, thankful that classes have started, meaning they have the hallways to themselves. “With your degrees, you’re background; it’s just a matter of timing at this point.”
“I know.” She sighs wearily, wishing now that she had just kept her mouth shut and faked a smile and pretended everything was coming up roses. This wasn’t a big enough deal for them to be angry at each other over it. It was dumb. She was dumb. And he was really bad at taking hints. “Just let it go, Spence. Go back to work, have lunch. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”
This only frustrates him further. She dragged him into this with her insinuating comments and mysterious apologies, the least she can do is put in a little effort after he does what he can to meet her half way. He’s trying his damndest to be the good boyfriend, what more does she want? By this time, they’ve made it to her small, closet of an office. Above his tall stature, the ceiling is sagging a little and he hunches subconsciously to compensate when they walk in.
“Just tell me what’s going on, Ab. I’m not going to get any work done at Quantico if I’m distracted by how mad you are at me for something I’m not even sure I did.”
“I already told you, you didn’t do anything. It’s just me, okay? I’m not good enough for the BAU, I’m not good enough of a professor to ever get my students to ask questions the way they did today. I just suck in general, alright. Now, can we please let this go?”
Shaking his head, he turns for the door, then turns back on his heel in a split-second moment of fury. He knows he’s probably going to say something stupid, but it’s beyond his control at this point.
“You know what Abby, I’m giving you everything I’ve got. If you’ve got a problem with what I do and where I work then that’s your problem. But there’s really no reason for you to get so angry just because I’m trying to get you to open up and work through whatever’s bothering you!”
“I’m not saying we’ll never have this conversation! I’m just saying we’re both in the middle of our work day and now really isn’t the best time.” She snaps back, avoiding his eyes as she unpacks her briefcase, sorting the files into perfectly arranged piles.
He pauses for a moment, frowning at the office around them. He’s never seen it before and its lack of breathing space is kind of freaking him out. It’s for the best that they don’t argue in here or he might go into cardiac arrest from the combination of claustrophobia and stress.
“Fine.” Shaking his head, he turns for the door. “Call me when you start thinking like a rational human being again.”
Less than sixty seconds after he’s left, her computer screen starts to blur as the tears crash into her with a force she hadn’t been prepared for. They’re silent and slow, but she knows if she tried to speak they would strangle her in a second. Fingers wet with saltwater, she types in the password to her account and waits for the pc to boot up so she can try and get some work done.
~~~
As soon as she gets home, she changes into her most comfortable pair of sweats and hides beneath the thick covers of her bed. There aren’t any more tears because her brain is beyond the point of thinking. Now she’s just left with the exhaustion. The gnawing pain of guilt and regret that’s hollowing her out like the hunger that’s scraping along the insides of her stomach. Too worn out to care, she’s asleep within a matter of minutes.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Three and half hours later she stirs back to consciousness only thanks to the vibrating of her phone. Groggy eyes open against their will to glare at the screen and her arm collapses back against the sheets when she sees that it’s Spencer. They’re supposed to be hanging out tonight and, after the fight they had, it’s probably important that they at least talk. But she doesn’t want to face this yet, she isn’t ready and it’s easier to just avoid it here under the covers than try and apologize for things she has almost no control over.
Turning over she she’s facing the half-open door of her room and the hallway beyond, Abby sighs and lets the memories that surface hit her one at a time.
‘Mom, please don’t go out tonight. I really don’t want to be alone here.’ She’s nine years old again. Somewhere between the innocence children should experience at that age and the adult that circumstance is forcing her to be.
‘You’ll be fine.’ Her mom assures absently, not bothering to look away from the mirror as she fixes her earrings in place.
‘But we don’t have any real locks on the doors and it’s already late. Just please stay home tonight, okay?’
Her mom laughs the same way she always does, tells her she’s being silly. No one’s going to break in, things in the Adirondacks aren’t at all like back on the reservation. But Abigail doesn’t need her mom to tell her that. She’s all too aware of the differences. Back on the res, her dad always made sure she was taken care of before leaving. Made certain that someone would be there to look after her. If no one could be found, her parents would either stay in or take Abby along. She’d never felt like a burden there. She’d never felt abandoned or vulnerable.
Everything had been okay. She wished she’d known then that things wouldn’t always stay that way.
When her mom walks out the door and doesn’t even bother looking back, when she ignores her daughter’s pleas every night after that and turns her phone off on all the dates she says yes to…Abby knows it’s stupid but she can’t help feeling as though her mother is choosing those men over her. That she’d rather satisfy whatever screwed up sense of validity and loneliness that tears her up inside than help her daughter avoid the same fate.
When her baby brother cries because he wants his mom, Abigail forces herself to swallow her own tears. She knows she can’t be the child in this situation because she’s all Ryan has. She knows that if she breaks down he’ll never calm down. Even at nine she knows that wouldn't be fair; he’s only three, he deserves to feel safe. So she puts up a good front, wondering the entire time why her mom can’t do the same.
Curling down deeper into the blankets, Abigail closes her eyes and tries to block out all the emotions that follow these memories. Her stomach clenches and she wonders for a moment if she’s going to be sick. Before she can stop them, more memories go hurtling through her mind. Kids teasing her at school for being a red-skinned, know-it-all, freak. Always saying the wrong thing at the wrong time due to lack of social experience. Every awkward party, every guy who ran away from her because apparently she never got the memo that ambition and a high IQ are only okay to show off if you’re a man.
Besides, guys want the white, blonde girl with cheekbones that don’t sit up high and eyes that don’t curve together at the ends like almonds. She learned to get by alone just fine years ago, men have never been the end all be all of her existence. But her ambitions, her dreams, everything she’s worked hard towards being yanked out from under her? Abby had climbed way too high to be prepared for that kind of fall.
The application process takes months, but she puts all the materials together weeks ahead of every deadline. In between filling out paperwork and requesting letters of recommendation, she’s studying up on FBI history and protocol. Whenever she can afford to take a break from that, she’s finishing homework and trying to get things together for graduation. Sometimes she sleeps and eats. Sometimes she doesn’t. It doesn’t really bother her though because she’s so excited at the prospect of finally reaching her goals that even the bad stuff cheers her up.
When they contact her about setting up an interview, she’s ecstatic. Most of her waking moments are spent daydreaming about what it will be like to work at the BAU. To do what she does best all day long around a few dozen other people just like her. She’ll be happy and appreciated and challenged and satisfied and for once in her life she’ll be useful. After all, not everyone thinks like a behavioral analyst. It’ll be heaven not to get that look people always shoot her when she tries to explain her observations, her theories. It’ll be so nice to finally fit in somewhere.
She’s so caught up in counting chickens that have yet to hatch, she fails to take into account the probability that they may never hatch at all.
In fact, there are no chickens in these eggs, there never were. The head of the department assures her that she’ll be keeping Abigail’s application, that they’ll review it if anything opens up in the future. However, there’s only one position open and though she was their second choice, they just can’t pass up the Vietnamese man who speaks eight different languages.
He shakes her hand as she rises from the chair and thanks her for her time, assures her that there will be viable opportunities waiting for her someplace else. He doesn’t understand that there is no someplace else. That this is all she wants to do, the only thing she’s ever worked for and one of the few jobs that will appreciate her credentials. She smiles a big, bright, beautiful smile and thanks him, but all she really knows is that once again, she can’t seem to get beyond ‘not quite good enough’.
She remembers everything about that day. The outfit that she painstakingly put together, the sound of her heels across the parking lot of her apartment complex, the grey clouds that blanketed the early morning sky.
But she also remembers the jolt of electricity that zapped her when she noticed Spencer standing just two feet away. The way his hair ruffled a little in the breeze. The squint of his eyes under the harsh summer sun. It was sort of ironic that in the instant he’d looked down at her, eyes full of concern and curiosity, Spence had made the worst day of her life one of the best.
‘He deserves so much better than this.’ She thinks to herself, finally letting her eyes flutter open again. Picking up the phone, she hits speed dial #4 and bites her lip, praying he’ll pick up. That he’ll forgive her for being an ass one more time.
“Hello?” He sounds tired, reluctant. But she can hear the faintest undertone of hope in his voice and it makes her smile.
“Hey. It’s me.”
~~~
Two Weeks Later
Scarf? Check.
Cell phone? Check.
Heels? Check.
Breakfast? …Wait, does she even have any food in her fridge?
Frowning, Abby grabs her briefcase and makes her way into the kitchen, hoping that there’s something quick and easy laying around. Something she can throw in her bag and eat in the car on the way to the station. There’s got to be something, she always has something, and besides-
Stopping dead in the middle of the kitchen, her blue eyes stay glued to the thick, white packet that is sitting on her countertop as though it actually belongs there. She has no idea what it contains or where it came from and the fact that it has materialized out of thin air is a little disturbing. After staring it down for a good thirty seconds, Abby finally accepts that the packet means business, that it isn’t going anywhere. Grabbing a granola bar from the cabinet, she stuffs the packet into her briefcase and vows to look at it during office hours.
Two pm comes quicker than she expects for once and as she walks to her “closet”, anticipation begins to build in the nerve endings that stretch beneath her skin. Unsure of what’s inside, she’s careful to open the sealed top, pulling out the thick packet of papers inside. A clean, modern letterhead Abby has never seen before catches her attention. Eskin Pharmaceuticals International, it reads. More specifically their Department of Research and Development.
Dear Dr. Henson,
Thank you for your interest in joining our company. Please find enclosed a detailed description of the position enquired about in your letter, as well as a full application and list of materials-
‘Wait, what?’ Confusion puts a wrinkle in her nose and suddenly the document has her full attention. What the hell are these people talking about? She’s never so much as heard of this company, let alone gone to them looking for a job. Flipping through the contents of the envelope, she finds the application and list mentioned before, as well as a detailed description of the position they seem to think she wants.
‘Hmm.’ Her head tilts to the side as she scans the few paragraphs listing the credentials, experience and duties required. Extensive education in drug and behavioral sciences, strong organizational skills, a minimum of two years intern experience in real-life testing situations (which she had needed anyway to earn her degrees). It all makes sense considering they want her to compare neurological affects with psychological affects after patients take the drugs the company is looking to distribute. It seemed that if there had ever been a job tailor-made for her qualifications and interests, this would be it. But how had such a miracle fallen into her lap? How strange that just such a company would not only know that she hates her current job but also where to find her. As she flips to the last page in the stack, understanding suddenly washes over her.
The materials list requires a minimum three letters of recommendation. From what Abigail can tell, the piece of paper in her hands is meant to not only be an explanation, but the first of those letters. As the words filter through the black of her pupils, she can’t stop a smile from hooking the side of her mouth and reeling it up.
To Whom It May Concern,
While serving as a Supervisory Special Agent to the Behavioral Analysis Unit for the Federal Bureau of Investigations in Quantico, Virginia I have had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with Dr. Abigail Henson through our mutual professional interests. From her continuous support of the BAU and my own guest lectures for the Social Sciences classes Dr. Henson teaches at Georgetown University, I have grown to admire, respect and learn a great deal from her.
‘Really?’ Without realizing it, Abby’s hand comes up to curl under her mouth. With all of his degrees and qualifications and field experience…how could he learn anything from her? Why would he look up to her? A small corner of her heart begins to warm and she has a feeling that the rest of this letter will cause the rest to follow.
Dr. Henson has proven herself to be a remarkably strong and loyal friend of the BAU, always ready to lend her expertise to any case and an ear to any Agent in need.
A small laugh escapes her throat and her eyes roll towards the florescent bulbs in the ceiling. Brain storming at her apartment over case files and giving her boyfriend massages after really long days at work suddenly sound much more impressive than is fair. But the warmth continues to spread.
She is meticulously organized in every facet of her life and follows through with each task undertaken. Should Dr. Henson be asked to take on any project, no matter how big or small, one can rest assured knowing it will not only be completed before schedule but that it will considerably exceed expectations.
‘Or I’m just freakishly OCD.’ She smirks, shaking her head at how charmingly he’s spinning all of her idiosyncrasies. The same personality traits that drive most boys away.
Her enthusiasm for the Social and Behavioral Sciences fields is refreshing and makes her exceptionally enjoyable to work with.
‘Enjoyable to work with, huh?’ She has to stifle a giggle at the thought of just how much enjoyment he typically gets out of her company. ‘In what capacity, I wonder, Spence.’ She can picture the smirk he must have been wearing while typing that particular sentence with far too much ease.
It is my sincere belief that Dr. Henson would make an incredibly valuable asset to the Research and Development Department at Eskin Pharmaceuticals International. Please do not hesitate to contact me with any further inquiries. Have a wonderful day.
Sincerely,
Dr. Spencer J. Reid
For a moment, Abby just stares down at the letter, feeling what should amount to far too many emotions for her little, human body. It is this overwhelming, jumbled mass that keeps her mind from processing a whole lot beyond, ‘This is a big deal. The Social Science world is tiny, everyone knows who he is. This is a big freaking deal.’ Slowly, cognitive ability seeps back into her like warmth after walking too long in the cold. Grabbing a pen, she gets to work on the application right away, biting her lip to keep from grinning too wildly. She figures, everything else on her desk can wait.
~~~
Same Day, 7:24 pm, BAU Headquarters
Cool fingers close over his eyes and the already dim office goes black.
“Name the girl with the best boyfriend in the entire world?” A smooth, familiar voice murmurs gently in his ear just before a warm pair of lips press against his neck. They’re gone before he can fully appreciate the feeling, but a few of his nerve endings continue to spark with electricity even as the light returns to his eyes and the girl comes around his chair.
“Survey says?” He quirks a knowing eyebrow, his voice soft and almost bashful. Inviting herself to lean back against his cubicle desk, he smiles at the way the light from his small table lamp reflects in her hair like copper. He smiles at the dopey grin on her own face. Smiles because she’s still holding his hand, playing with his knuckles the way she always does.
“Abigail Dakota Henson.” She responds, giving him a hard, meaningful look before leaning forward and kissing him softly just once. “I’m sorry I was being such a whiner.”
“…You were kind of being a whiner.” He chuckles, but she can already tell he’s going to forgive her just from the expression on his face. She can tell that he loves her too much to stay mad at her over something so dumb. And she can tell it’s going to make her want to change. That’s the moment she begins to realize that she isn’t just hopelessly in love with Spencer, he’s good for her too. It may be in baby steps and excruciatingly slow, but he’s making her better.
“You didn’t have to do what you did. With the application and the letter. No one’s ever cared enough to really bend over backwards like that for me. Especially when I was being too much of a jerk to deserve it.”
She expects him to be happy about this, to smile and let the buoyancy of the moment carry them through the evening and off into the sunset (never mind the fact that it’s already dark enough to pick out constellations in the sky). But he sort of looks uncomfortable, almost sad as his eyes lower to the keyboard at his desk.
“I’m sorry if I…” He’s not even sure what to say because he’s not too entirely sure why he’s sorry. He just knows that somewhere deep inside of her, no matter how much she apologizes, no matter how many times his pride dissolves into forgiveness, she’s still not getting everything that she wants. She’s still a little jealous.
“It’s not your fault that I have some more growing up to do. I’ll get over the BAU eventually. It’ll take time but I’ll get over it.” She murmurs, saving him from sounding like too much of an idiot. He’s grateful, but all she sees is exhaustion when he finally lifts his gaze to meet hers. It’s obvious he’s working on something rough, something that’ll probably take him the rest of the evening and then haunt his dreams even when he finally does clock out.
“I think you’re more cut out for this pharmaceutical job anyway. I think it’s better for you.”
She just shrugs, trying to ignore the way that statement violates her very definition of what she’s ‘cut out for’. Of the job she’s pictured for herself since age six. But just because she isn’t saying anything, doesn’t mean he can’t see it in her body language. That’s his job after all, it’s what he does all day long. Abby knows this. Sometimes he wonders if she’s really trying to hide anything at all.
“I just meant…”-
“I know what you meant.” Her voice is soft, sad. But he’s had enough of this. She doesn’t know what he meant because she’s never had to walk onto a crime scene that looked less like a room and more like slaughterhouse. Or stand next to parents who have been asked to identify remains based on nothing but clothing because their child’s body has been so badly mangled. Or feel the cold chill in her blood that comes from being stared down by a convicted serial killer on death row during an interview. She’s never had to shoot anyone, or get pumped full of Dilaudid, or watch someone’s life being taken away on an 8x8 television screen halfway across the room. Those things haven’t marred her existence. And he wants to keep it that way.
“I know you could do this job.” He tells her, reaching out to thread his hand under hers. “I don’t doubt that you have what it takes, I just…I don’t ever want you to lay awake in bed with the same images I struggle to forget each night. I don’t want to see you worn down from weeks and months and years of running a race you won’t ever win. I don’t know how else to explain it or make you understand because you have no idea just how bad it can get but…you have to believe me when I say that I don’t want this for you.”
Motioning to the paperwork at his desk, it’s obvious that Spencer means so much more than this neat stack of reports. Still holding his hand, Abby lets out a deep breath, letting his words sink in. They aren’t easy to accept but they make sense. And more importantly, they make her understand what he’s been trying to tell her subliminally for months now. That whatever way this may have played out, it wasn’t her failures that led to the outcome. That she’s good enough and has been all along.
“I know I said some pretty selfish stuff a few weeks ago.” Her eyes are downcast as she squeezes his fingers between hers. “And I know I’m not always easy to deal with. But I don’t ever want you to doubt that underneath whatever issues I have there is a mountain of pride and respect and love for you.”
“Abby, I”- Even smiling he looks a little uncomfortable, not as experienced at taking the good from people as the bad, but she keeps going.
“I want to be there every night that you have to wrestle with the demons following you home. I want to be the relief you can run to.” It hits her then that things are better this way. They can’t both be trying to deal with the emotional stress that comes as a package deal with your Bureau badge. It would only tear them apart in the end. One of them has to be there to keep the other grounded. And she really enjoys the thought of being Spencer’s one.
“I want that too.” With a voice so low it’s almost hoarse, he looks up at her with eyes full of enough hope to make her heart sad under the weight. Standing from his chair, he wraps his arms around her. Buries his face in the softness of her hair, the warmth of her neck. As long as she’s beside him, he could stay at Quantico for a week straight filling out reports day and night with a smile on his face. As long as she’s there, he can take anything the sickest minds in America have to throw at him. As long as he’s holding her, nothing can break him. And the best part is how he can tell she feels the same way about him.
I can be the moodiest baby, my passive aggressiveness can be devastating,
I’m terrified and mistrusting and you’ve never met anyone as closed down as I am sometimes
You see everything, there’s not anything to which you can’t relate and you’re still here
-‘Everything’ by Alanis Morissette