Do I wanna know? (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Chapter thirteen: "Maybe I'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new"

Words count: 16,5K

Summary: Spencer's headaches don't seem to have a logical explanation. The only thing that makes sense is that he has been causing them to himself by overthinking something already clear: he has been an asshole, and he should tell reader how he feels. Reader realizes she's been stupid all along. Will she go out with James? Frank, Lu, Garcia, and Derek finally intervene. 

Warnings: Cursing (but that's just my writing style), angst, hurt, and a little comfort from friends. There's a fight, alcohol consumption. Someone is getting drunk... 

A/N: Ok, so... things are slowly but surely happening here. 

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Spencer's point of view

- "That doesn't make any sense!"- I nearly lost it at my medical appointment. To be fair, I was losing my sanity for the last week, but that day, that minute, I have had enough.

- "I'm not sure what you want me to say,"- the doctor frowned, confused by my reaction.

- "So there's nothing wrong?"

- "Well, your scans are perfectly normal, and there doesn't seem to be any physical explanation for your headaches."

- "Well, what do I do now?"- I was lost. I was hoping he could tell me there was something physically wrong with me that we could fix. But apparently, everything was ok.

- "Well, have you considered..."

- "Considered what?"- I knew what he was implying, but I didn't want to deal with that. The doctor sighed and simply just said it.

- "A psychosomatic cause."

- "Psychosomatic?"

- "It just means mental or emotional stress..."

I had to cut the doctor right there, 'cos it was nearly insulting that he thought he needed to explain to me what that meant.

- "I know what psychosomatic means, doctor, but it's not that."

- "Well, I think it's something we should consider."

- "It's not... I'm not crazy!"- but yes, I was going a little crazy at the time.

- "Crazy? Dr. Reid, I'm not saying..."- the professional stared at me, shocked, as I put on my satchel and stood up.

- "I have headaches. I have intense sensitivity to light because there's something wrong with me physically, not mentally. It's not that."

- "That?"

- "Listen, doctor, my mother's a paranoid schizophrenic who's been institutionalized, so I know very well what mental illness looks like, maybe even better than you, and it's not that. It's not."

I walked to the door, but before I could leave or dramatically storm out, the doctor added one more thing.

- "Your headaches are more likely caused by stress due, I suspect, to your very consuming job. My recommendation is to take a few weeks off and have a real vacation. Disconnect from work, and relax. That's all."

The doctor seemed genuinely concerned, so I just nodded and walked out. My head was killing me, and to be honest, I wasn't thinking straight.

It was Thursday. My head was killing me. I hadn't spoken more than a handful of words with (Y/N) since last Friday, and to call it torture came short. It was consuming my whole life at that point. I hadn't slept more than maybe three hours that entire week. After we reached home from Miami, I focused on the paperwork and whatever request for information that crossed my desk.