Wild Nights, Wild Nights || Spencer Reid x Reader

10. I Felt a Funeral, in my Brain

You and Spencer hardly spoke to each other for the next week and only when it was necessary for the next case. The animosity didn't get in the way of your work, but the rest of the BAU felt the tension transferring between you both all the same.

It wasn't anything specific. He never acted petty or angry towards you just as you didn't yield unnecessarily to him out of guilt. It was more in your stilted conversation, the uncharacteristic lack of flow between your ideas when composing the profile together, the awkward formalities that had made their way back into your speech.

You wanted to apologize for what you said and how you acted, but this sort of confrontation had never come easy to you. How would you even bring it up, especially when he seemed content to brush it aside and never address it again?

You could tell he was still hurt, though, over the fact that you used something he told you in confidence against him. You couldn't blame him. How could you?

The only time another member brought it up to you was when you went to go on a coffee run and asked Spencer if he wanted anything. He had strode past you and offered nothing more than a brisk "I'll get it myself."

When you returned with your comfort drink (a hot mocha with hazelnut syrup--disgustingly sweet but worth it for the nostalgia), you found the office in the police precinct in which you'd set up shop empty save for Prentiss, who occupied one of the chairs surrounding the long table in the center of the room.

She waved you over to sit in the chair across from her. "Hey, what's going on between you and Spencer?" she asked as you sat. You could tell she wasn't asking out of nosiness, but concern.

"We got into an argument. Don't worry about it." What else could you say?

Her brow furrowed as she huffed a laugh. "I don't mean to pry, but I feel like it's kind of hard to get into an argument with Reid, especially one that lasts this long."

Ordinarily, you would have assured her that it would resolve itself, that you were both adults and could handle conflict, but you were beaten down between Reid and the emotional turmoil that the time of year brought around. The holiday season was always rough for you.

So instead of bottling it up, you stole a glance to the doorway, spied Spencer and the rest of the team speaking with officers in the bullpen, and turned back to Prentiss with a sigh. "It's my fault. I was... in a bad place, and I took it out on him. I don't really know how to apologize."

"Well, are you sorry?"

"Of course I'm sorry."

"Do you get what you did wrong?"

The conversation felt like a Kindergartener's Guide to Conflict Resolution. It irritated you, even if you recognized what Prentiss was doing. "Well, yeah, but--"

Emily cut you off. "There isn't a 'but,' Y/N. Your heart's in the right place, now. Just be honest with him and explain where you were coming from. Bad days are part of the job description; he'll understand if you just tell him why."

But you couldn't explain it to him, not in its entirety. Not in the way that he deserved. Explaining to anyone why that case drudged up so much shit for you, why it exposed a raw nerve in you, meant digging into things you'd been trying to bury for years. "It's not that easy."

"Yeah, it is. Trust me on that one."

And that was the end of the conversation. Prentiss stood as Hotch entered the room calling both of your names. Garcia had gotten a hit, and you were going after the unsub.

The take down was easy, and within hours, you were all on the plane flying back to Quantico.

You sat by yourself in the corner, thinking over what Emily had said to you, when your phone buzzed on the seat beside you. You turned it over and checked the screen, your breath hitching in your throat as you saw a schedule reminder.