Ch. 22 | Three Bruises

8.8K 139 454
                                    

Summary: Spencer realizes the BAU is a lot harder when you have someone waiting for you at home.

Content Warning: Bruises, guns, gun violence, discussions/mentions of death/dying, brief non-con (person saying "stop" and being ignored – no sexual contact), arguing, crying, lying

A/N: As promised, while there is no smut in this chapter, there will be TWO scenes next week. See y'all then!

—————————————————

There are many legends surrounding lilies. The first of which arguably belonged to Lilith but would be attributed to Eve's tears as she was exiled from the Garden of Eden. The flower that resulted from the turmoil of one woman would bear the name of her predecessor, equally infamous for her desire. It would remain tainted, just like those women who made it, until another came along and picked it despite its off-white hue.

But the older I become, the less I believe that it was Mary's virginity that saved the lily from a life of solitude and insignificance. I think she just happened to be the first who was willing to see the beauty in the broken. The delicacy of the damned.

I thought of lilies a lot while Spencer was gone. It had been his own fault, for casually likening me to the flower while assuring me that it was perfectly normal to need a break from the burden of blooming.

He had tried his hardest to keep me happy, even when he was states away doing god knows what. I'd asked him if he could explain, but he told me he'd rather not. Since I got the feeling that he was trying to save himself as much as me, I let the issue go. But the fear and anxiety of his absence remained.

So, I thought of the lilies and how they reminded me of him. I pretended like the ghost of a memory was enough to sustain me through the winter of rest.

None of that pontificating changed that deeply unsettled feeling in my chest, though. It also hadn't made me any less excited when my phone finally made that wonderful sound. His name hadn't even popped up on the screen before I was practically shouting through the receiver.

"Professor! Hello!"

After a small laugh, he returned my greeting with his own.

"Hi, Bunny."

I was too impatient to listen; too loud to hear.

"I have very important news to tell you before you say anything else!" I shouted.

"What's that?"

"I miss you."

Upon further reflection in the silence, I realized that it probably hadn't been the highest priority. But Spencer just laughed, and from the many miles away, I could almost see him shaking his head in a sarcastic disapproval at my enthusiasm.

"I'll be home soon, Bunny. Promise." Then, not like an afterthought, but more like a begrudging admission that didn't suit him, he added on, "And I miss you, too. Every second of every day."

Pushing forward with a brutish intensity, I failed to notice the truth hidden behind his behavior.

"Will you come over when you get home?" I asked.

That was the first time I had been quiet enough to hear it.

My voice fell silent just long enough to catch a sniffle as he muttered back, "Uh... yeah. Yeah, I can."

Each word, half-blubbered and clearly broken, shattered me much the same. And in that moment, I cursed that naive, childlike joy that had let me mistake the abnormalities to be a product of crackling phone static and inferior airwaves.

The Birds & The Bees | S.R.Where stories live. Discover now