[✓] 𝐶𝐼𝑁𝐷𝐸𝑅 | 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐃

𝟗 | 𝐍𝐎 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐎𝐔𝐓 | 𝟐/𝟐

— 𝒮 —

𝐈𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 dark far faster than they had anticipated. That, along with the officers' worn-out bodies, was enough to convince everyone to head to bed for the night (much to Gideon's displeasure).

After changing taking a rather cold shower and changing into his pyjamas, Spencer now stood in front of Charlie's hotel room door.

He wasn't so sure what was holding him back from knocking. He had done it plenty of times before.

His fingers were curled into a fist, ready to knock against the door. But for some reason, there was an invisible force that was keeping him from lifting the fist and actually performing the action.

And as he stood in front of her door, too nervous to actually have it opened, he found his mind drifting back to the morning yet again. It was just something he couldn't rid his memory of just yet.

He needed to know the problem. He needed to help her solve it. He needed to make her feel better.

"Reid, you good, man?"

Spencer turned his head to the right to see that Morgan was peeking out of his room, which was a couple of doors down.

Spencer cleared his throat. "Yeah, I-I'm fine."

Morgan's eyebrows furrowed, and he cocked his head to the side. "You sure? You've been standin' there for a good few minutes."

Spencer frowned. "Have you been watching me?"

Morgan shrugged, and Spencer sighed.

He turned back to Charlie's door but found, yet again, all he could do was gaze over the groovings.

He looked back to Morgan, whose eyebrows were raised. "Can I talk to you about something?"

He nodded, and Spencer gave one last glance to the door before following into Morgan's room.

Despite it being quarter past eleven, Morgan's suitcase was still half-unpacked, waiting on top of the bed. Only one lamp was lit, though Morgan crossed the room to turn on the other one.

As Spencer sat on the edge of the bed, Morgan took a seat at the desk and asked, "What's up?"

Spencer sighed, beginning to fiddle with his fingers. "Do you know what's wrong with Charlie?"

"What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "The whole 'Charlotte' thing."

"I don't know," Morgan answered, leaning back and hanging his arm over the back of his chair. "All I know is that she doesn't like it, so I won't call her it."

"But why?" Spencer pressed, now wringing his hands. "There's gotta be a reason."

"And I'm sure there is," he agreed. "Doesn't mean we have to pry into her life."

"I'm—I'm not trying to pry." Spencer shook his head, his eyebrows deeply knitted. "I just want to know."

"Why?"

Spencer pursed his lips for a moment. "If I know, then . . . then I'll know how to make her feel better about it."

"Sorry to tell you, but that's not how it works, doc," Morgan said softly, and he leaned over to pat Spencer's knee. "Just leave it alone."

"You saw how much it affected her this morning," Spencer said earnestly. "It took her twenty minutes to fill out a sheet of paperwork when it usually takes her five."

Morgan's face scrunched up. "You time her?"

Spencer paused. He decided against admitting how much time he spent gazing at her instead of doing his work—as creepy as it seemed—and instead just gave Morgan an imploring look.