InsaneJournal

Title: The Centre Cannot Hold (ch. 3/?)
Characters: Dr. Spencer Reid, Jason Gideon, Derek Morgan, Aaron Hotchner, Emily Prentiss, David Rossi, Ethan, mentions of several.
Pairings: Reid/Morgan, Reid/Ethan, Gideon/OFC.
Rating: R, mostly for subject matter, angst, sexuality.
Summary: A case in Washington brings Spencer back in contact with his old mentor, but nothing can be as easy as it looks.
Word Count: ~6,250
Disclaimer: Criminal Minds, the characters and situations, and other related things belong to Jeff Davis and CBS, which is to say: not me.
A/N: This chapter is unbeta'd; I've given it a couple looks over and all mistakes are mine. ♥
SPOILERS: 1x10 "The Popular Kids," 2x15 "Revelations," 2x16 "Fear and Loathing," 2x18 "Jones," 3x01 "Doubt," 3x02 "In Name and Blood," 4x03 "Minimal Loss," 4x07 "Memoriam," 4x24 "Amplification"
Links to Previous Parts: one, two

Finally, Gideon didn't see something coming from Spencer's corner. The honesty catches him off guard and silence settles between them once again, the duration of which Spencer remains fixed on his former mentor. He does look good, that's undeniable. From the last time they saw each other until now, something's happened to make him look happier -- his laugh lines are more prominent now, Sarah's murder isn't carved into every crevice -- but it gives him an alien look as well. Is this man really Jason Gideon? He has the same name, the same voice and face, and he carries himself too similarly not to be; he has an easier time reading Spencer than everyone else and he knows the things he can say to make Spencer tic -- but Gideon, as Spencer knew him, wasn't Jason Gideon, teacher of Italian cooking classes at a small town recreation center. Gideon was everything William Reid hadn't been: he accepted Spencer's genius and made use of it; he didn't want Spencer to be normal. Then he left, just like William Reid, and his face pales as he reads this accusation on Spencer's face. Biting on his lower lip, Spencer finally looks back to his empty coffee mug; between the options of making Gideon miserable and not showing weakness, he has to pick the latter. How much of a point is there? If he actually does start crying, it's not as though he'll be able to hide it. Gideon will see it, Spencer will make himself vulnerable to the other man again, and the whole purpose of staring elsewhere will be completely shattered. Swallowing thickly, Spencer feels everything slow down around him, to the point that he feels sick. Earth revolves on its axis and rockets through space at 29.8 kilometers per second, galaxies spin, burn, and fade away, people leave the diner and new customers come in to eat. His head feels submerged, simultaneously weightless and heavy, and he might actually vomit, if he isn't careful. "There's -- there have been a lot of times when I've really needed you," he manages to get out. He swallows again and tongues his lips, but he only returns Gideon's gaze when he feels the hot, wet tears trailing down one cheek. "I haven't been alone -- I've had the team, Derek and... it was never going to be easy, I know that... but none of them do what you do. Did." Whatever he's looking for, Spencer's fairly certain that Gideon's hand on his own isn't it. He's not even sure it's a comfort or not -- Gideon's hand is warm, but the contact makes Spencer's stomach churn. "I'm sorry, Spencer," he says gently. "I never meant to cause you any pain." "I -- I know you didn't, you..." Spencer's nose wrinkles as he wriggles his hand away. Quietly, methodically, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. He hesitantly meets Gideon's eyes as he slides the old, folded letter across the table at the other man. "You said as much yourself." Is it a low blow? Spencer supposes it is -- confronting Gideon with the last thing he left for anyone on the team forces him to deal with it, when he was clearly more comfortable before, when Spencer let him think this would be easy, if he ever thought that. If he's still Gideon, the real Gideon, the Gideon who Spencer knew, then he probably didn't reach such a fallacious conclusion. The real Gideon wouldn't have assumed that he could get out of this meeting without something being difficult -- or would he? Is the real Gideon this man, who lives with a woman, an English teacher, who looks nothing like Sarah and whom he met in California? What need does she answer in him? To what part of her normal, loving psyche does he speak and what is she getting out of their relationship? Does the real Gideon work at the same high school she does, helping the kids there deal with stress from classes, parents, from each other? Does he kiss her behind his office door, where none of their students can see them? Does he make her feel special, loved, secure because she thinks he'll never, could never, go away? How much does she know about the man she hugs around the waist and calls "babe" in public? Does she know about Sarah and how she died, or about Stephen and how he and Gideon never talk? What all did Gideon tell her about Spencer, the genius prodigy statistics expert from CalTech with the three Doctorate degrees? Does she know what Gideon used to do, what used to keep him up at night? Does it still wake him up and, if it does, what lies does he tell her to excuse it? Would the real Gideon knowingly deceive his romantic entanglement, even just by not telling her things about his past? Is the real Jason Gideon this man, who's so taken aback by the letter's presence that, for several moments, all he does is stare at it in perfect silence? Did Spencer ever really know that man, or did he only imagine that he had the privilege? If only Spencer could have been this good at surprising him when they played chess together -- Gideon's hands shake as he fingers the paper and picks it up. "All this time... and you still kept it?" he asks, his expression and tone both unreadable. "Of course I did," Spencer answers, confounded himself by that question. "I -- Emily and Derek know about it. At first, I just -- I wanted to understand, I guess? Why you left and everything... and then I thought I did and I -- I couldn't let it go. I didn't want you to be gone." Spencer knows he isn't good at being left behind, he never has been, but he wishes that he didn't sound so pitiful, so clinging. Any kind of leaving makes his chest feel empty and his heartbeat slow until he's reasonably terrified of bradycardic arrest. From losing his mother in the grocery store to watching his father pack a suitcase and walk out, all the way to how Gideon ditched him -- the missed chess game, the unreturned phone calls, the repetitious voicemail message, the letter sitting on the cabin table with Gideon's badge and gun -- Spencer can't stand knowing that someone he relied on isn't here for him anymore. On his own, he's lonely enough -- people are mystifying creatures, with their eccentricities and tics, the little things that differentiate them amongst their various categories; almost all of his friends are in the Bureau, on the team; when he's comfortable, he plays perfectly fine with others, but when he isn't, he does horribly at trying to be social. Upsetting his perfect little balance makes for one less functional interpersonal relationship he has. He called Gideon on and off for hours after finding his Moleskine paper goodbye, thinking that maybe the other man would answer, maybe he'd get an explanation in Gideon's voice, maybe he'd hear something other than, "Hello, this is Jason Gideon. I'm not available at the moment; please leave a message and I'll get back to you." He never did, and he always hung up before the beep. On the last time, he managed to get out, "Gideon, it's -- it's Reid. Please… please..." The nausea's back and, this time, it hits Spencer like a well-aimed bullet, the pain from it radiating up faster than it should. Staring into Gideon's earnest, concerned eyes, Spencer can't believe he didn't know what leaving would do to his protege. "I'm sorry," Gideon whispers again, and Spencer wants to trust him, but how can he? Is there anything that Gideon could say or do to make this better and does Spencer even want that? Would it be easier if Gideon were William Reid and Spencer could hide all of his emotions behind anger? Would it be easier if Spencer could accuse Gideon of something terrible? "It has been said that time heals all wounds," Spencer quotes, fussing with a packet of sugar he'll open when he eventually gets his coffee refilled again. "I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue, and the pain lessens, but it is never gone." "Rose Kennedy." ~*~ As soon as JJ hands out the case files, Spencer knows that this one won't be easy. It goes without saying that BAU cases are never easy, but the first pictures he sees are of the victims -- all five of them are thin, brunet teenage boys, abducted from one of two major shopping centers, tortured extensively for three days, and eviscerated postmortem, laying on piles of leaves and sticks. Although he would have lost his composure some time ago, he's reclaimed himself enough that his first thought is of the visible contrast -- and, as he points out, it is horridly visible. The evisceration and the nature of the pre-mortem torture both imply intense anger, but the care the unsub took with the boys (he kept them groom and deliberately posed their arms to echo icons of Christ crucified) indicate remorse; the specific type in the victimology means that there's likely a sexual component, but there are no signs of sexual abuse or sexual anything, save the saliva remaining from kisses placed on the victims' lips and foreheads, which, luckily for the unsub, has genetic material that none of the various databases recognize. Even though he's doing well, he can't help but think about Tobias next. Tobias, and the corn field, and how it felt to be knocked down there... For all they could upset him, given enough time, these thoughts are merciful and they don't stick around to make a spectacle of their presence. More sadistic, the close-up images of track marks on the victims arms and ankles nag at Spencer's mind for the better part of the flight. Beyond the personal significance, they present an even stronger and less intelligible contrast. This unsub has the marks of a sexually motivated, sadistic psychopath (the victims all show a preference, the torture is the sadism), killing in a moment of rage (there'd have to be rage, in order to explain the extent of the evisceration) -- so what purpose would the heroin serve? How would a killer who takes the care to use drugs as his tool of the trade go from being so clear-headed to being so enraged? Knowing the mechanisms of the Dilaudid does nothing whatsoever to alter its effects, for better or for worse. Spencer is a twenty-five-year-old opioid addict and a liar to everyone he knows. When Hotch and Gideon ask how he's holding up, he tells them, "Fine, I'm fine," and does his job like nothing ever happened. When JJ and Garcia offer him hugs, and smiles, and other shows of support, he takes them but tells his friends nothing of how he's feeling or what he's going through. When he writes his mother in Nevada, he leaves out all mentions of anything that could worry her -- Tobias, Charles, Raphael, the events in Georgia, what he's been dosing himself with since being held captive, since watching a murder that he authorized by saving another life. He explains the break in his cycle of sending letters -- because being schizophrenic doesn't make her an idiot; she'll notice and it needs to be explained -- but all he says is that he was in trouble and isn't anymore. Two years from now, he'll need to lie and tell her that he was hospitalized but is fine now, in order to protect a media blackout. He's stopped wearing short sleeves outside of his apartment with no reasons for this given, and it's getting warmer. He can only get away with it in New Orleans because he's learned that, with enough sugar, he can't taste the Dilaudid in his coffee and it has the same effect. Two weeks earlier, when they're leaving New York, Derek tries to call him on his obviously altered behavior, he's half-asleep and so close to breaking down, to telling Derek everything and begging him for help -- but he can't do it. Genius Doctor Spencer Reid managed to survive being help captive and tortured for three days; he nearly died once and came back to life when Tobias gave him CPR; he can handle himself in the widening gyre of this nauseating aftermath, his personal unraveling and anarchy. Something isn't right, he knows; it doesn't take a genius to see that, but he wants to think it's nothing he can't manage. So what if he's lost weight and looks an utter mess? He sleeps better than he can ever remember; he doesn't dream much anymore and when he does, it's generally somewhat pleasant -- Mom's warm embrace, her gentle voice reading expertly from Proust... is there anything wrong in recalling the times she wasn't crazy? When she was his mother and wholly recognizable? Besides, Derek ran to Hotch and Gideon when Spencer was just having nightmare -- nightmares! They kept him up at night, but they didn't impede his ability to function -- he was fine all through the case in McAllister! He showed up, he did his job, they figured Cory Bridges out and caught him; nothing needed to be said and Derek still ratted him out to their superiors. What would he do if he knew what Spencer's been sneaking into his morning pick-me-up along with all the sugar? Of course he'd run and cry wolf to Hotch; he'd have to, there are rules about this kind of thing, both written and tacitly understood. Then Spencer would lose his job and everything else; the FBI can't harbor addicts, Hotch would have to fire him, and without the FBI, what does he have? Three Doctorates, two BAs, a worsening drug habit, and a schizophrenic mother on the other side of the country, who might still be upset with him for having his "fascist" friends "arrest" her. Suffice to say: not much. Under the jet's table, Spencer feels Derek's fingers on the back of his hand and he shakes himself around. He hasn't missed any of the conversation (the unsub needs to have his own place, given the extent of the pre-mortem torture, and he probably has a habit or some medical training, given the precision with which he overdosed the boys). He could parrot it back quite easily and he hardly needs the context of debating what the heroin means, but he hasn't spoken in long enough that it's potentially worrisome. "Maybe he's trying to protect them," he chimes in, pulling his hand away from Derek's and running it through his hair. "How do you mean, Reid?" Hotch prompts. Spencer looks at him and Emily across the table and neither of them looks particularly pleased with this possible insight into things. He can't blame them for that: the case is grisly on its own without adding another layer of complication to the profile, and Spencer's line of thought is as esoteric as ever. Next to him, Derek doesn't look as intrigued as he'd like, nor does JJ; more than that, Derek looks perturbed by where this acumen's come from and what it might mean, and JJ looks concerned. Only Rossi has the sort of face Spencer expects to see, which makes sense; he didn't deal with the case in Georgia. From the back of his mind, Spencer hears Tobias's words echoing: "It helps... It helps... It helps..." "It's possible that this unsub's dealing with a dissociative identity," Spencer points out, even though he doesn't fully believe that explanation. Dissociatives look more like team killers, in his experience, and this is clearly the work of one man alone. Before he can continue and explain, Rossi pipes up: "You think we're dealing with a case of multiple personalities?" "No, actually, I think that, given the evidence, it's incredibly unlikely. We'd see more evidence of the dissociation, especially with this many victims. Something would look more out of place than it does." "So what are you suggesting?" Emily asks. "Dissociation's just a... a vaguely plausible occurrence," he explains, absentmindedly fussing with his hands. "But... whatever's causing it, this unsub's moods are violently unstable and they change too quickly for him to control. When he kidnaps them and when he tortures them, he's angry, he's rash -- after that, when he's calmer, he brushes their hair and... eventually, he uses the drugs to kill them easily. They'd already be weak, so there's no reason to weaken them, so... it becomes like a mercy killing." "So he's putting them down," Derek prompts for clarification. "Yeah, he -- he knows what he'll do to them when his moods escalate again, so he puts them down to protect them, but then... when he sees that he's done, he gets explosively angry and eviscerates them..." "Then he comes down again, dumps them, and kisses them goodbye," Emily finishes the thought for him and Spencer nods. "There's hardly any blood on the crime scenes -- maybe he's removing them from his place to get rid of the reminder of what he's done, and with the posing and the significance of the three days... he could be hyperreligious, modeling his kills after Christ answers some need in him, either before or after the murder." "What could cause moods like that if it's not DID?" Derek sighs, leaning back in his seat and flipping through the autopsy reports. Spencer rattles off a list without any trouble: "Other possible explanations include paranoid schizophrenia, borderline personality, rapid-cycling bipolar disorder, syphilis or organic dementia, brain injury, abuse of alcohol, or certain types of narcotics or hallucinogens--" He could go on all too easily, but Hotch interrupts to cut him off: "We can bat around ideas for the source when we have more evidence. If this unsub's moods are this violent, he'll try to kill again before we catch him and we'll be able to work from there. Until then, we need to increase community vigilance and attempt to keep as many boys safe as we can. Prentiss and Rossi, the latest victim's mother is expecting you for an interview; Morgan and Reid, head to the shopping centers and see if someone has any memories we missed, get the security footage to Garcia and have her analyze it; JJ, come with me to the local precinct." He pauses before adding on, "This isn't going to be an easy one, team, and I need everyone's heads in this." Spencer doesn't even consider that Hotch is directing this at him until he pulls him aside and asks if Spencer's feeling well enough to handle himself on the case, if he needs to sit this one out. Does he actually expect Spencer to admit that, even if he did feel like the questions were merited? True enough, this case hits its own special kind of nerve for him, but he doesn't need to sit it out because of that -- he has the team behind him, he went to a meeting before they left, and there's no way Derek will let him get away with trying to dodge another meeting after. As Hotch put it, the case isn't going to be an easy one for anyone; emotionally, psychologically, it's going to be trying, exhausting, and it might well wear them all down -- but at least Spencer knows that going into things. He can prepare himself for what they encounter and get ready for it; he's pushing three years of sobriety, even if it doesn't get easier, he should have some strategies up his sleeves. The world won't stop because he has trouble. None of them can brace him for what he and Derek find at the mall, though. As a matter of personal preference, Spencer likes to avoid malls, when he can, but there's nothing too far out of the ordinary today. None of the security guards remember anything, but they willingly send the relevant footage to Garcia. The stores' respective groups of personnel recalls an odd man skulking around and looking at the teenage boys, either. Everyone's all too willing to step up vigilance, to watch out and call the tip line if they see anyone or anything suspicious, to try and help protect the boys of Olympia from something potentially awful. Outside of what Spencer has to see for work, everything is perfectly normal: groups of high school girls having fun, probably not even particularly on guard because the unsub targets boys; families with young children, heading for the playpen area in the center; a bride in a tiara and veil leaves some formalwear place with her bridesmaids... And then Spencer wanders off a bit while Derek's in the food court restroom. Given his history, he should have learned the danger of splitting up, but this doesn't occur to him until it's too late. He and JJ split up in Georgia; he got bludgeoned, kidnapped, tortured, and drugged. He and Derek split up not too long ago, in Maryland; Spencer wound up exposed to anthrax. Now, he meanders off, following someone against his better judgment (this man doesn't even fit the possible physical types the unsub would fall into; why is the urge to follow him so strong? Why is Spencer stringing along behind him, tailing the magnetic pull?) and when his target finally turns around, Spencer finds himself face-to-face with the one thing he can think of that's worse than a heroin overdose COD, the one thing he gave up preparing himself for. As he advances slowly, he can't stop himself from whispering, "Gideon?" It's not at all comforting that Gideon looks just as confused as he is; if anything, it only makes the situation worse. The recognition is spelled out clearly on the other man's face. Even if they wanted to, Spencer's sure that neither of them could run. He's within arm's length of Gideon by the time the thought even occurs to him. What does he do now? Should he hug Gideon, as part of him so greatly wants to, or is it too soon for that? Does he spill his soul and demand answers here, or would that just cause an unnecessary scene? Is there a playbook, somewhere, for proper etiquette when seeing a former mentor for the first time in just over two years? Gideon tries to smile as he says, "You look well, Spencer." And all Spencer can think about is his father saying that they no longer look alike. "No, I don't," he retorts before thinking about it. "I mean, it's nice of you to say so, but it's not -- it isn't true." "What're you doing here, Spencer?" The unspoken question is more than obvious: How did you find me? Spencer's not sure that Gideon would believe that this meeting is as impromptu as it seems. "Have you heard anything about... the boys getting killed and dumped in Lions Park?" Gideon pales and nods. "I knew one of them, Tommy Abbott. He was one of my students." Before Spencer's instincts kick in and he rattles off statistics or the figures of Tommy Abbott's autopsy, how he fits into the profile, Gideon adds, "They finally called in the BAU?" "That's why I'm here," Spencer answers quietly. "I -- I'm sorry, I wish I didn't have to be." Before Gideon can answer this, they're interrupted by the sudden presence of a woman -- not really pretty or notably stunning, but what one might call handsome. She's average all over: 5'7", at her tallest, modestly dressed, blonde. The only thing that really distinguishes her is that, when she intrudes on the meeting, she hugs Gideon around the waist and calls him, "Jason, babe." She asks who Spencer is and when Gideon introduces him as CalTech's Spencer Reid, the look of recognition on her face is unmistakable, but sweet. Smiling, she takes his hand and tells him how Jason's told her all about him, how he always speaks so highly of the genius. Her name is Sharon and she teaches high school English where Gideon serves as guidance counselor (that explains the Tommy Abbott connection); she says it's a pleasure to meet one of Jason's old friends. They're so comfortable together; it just makes Spencer more acutely aware of how stunned and awkward he is. Spencer knows that this first can't also be their last meeting, but he's also cognizant of how Sharon can't be around the next time. Before the team finishes the case, he'll use another victim's disappearance as an excuse to canvas schools and interview people, knocking on Gideon's office door for "strictly business" purposes -- Gideon used to do what he does; he has to remember how important victimology is to the profile, to catching this killer. As the guidance counselor, he's bound to know something that's missing until he gets involved. Spencer will make a mistake, though: he'll prod too much and upset Gideon in a way he didn't mean to -- but it gets him his meeting at the diner, so is it really all that bad? Right when he doesn't want it to, Spencer's phone goes off and he excuses himself. He says it was good to see Gideon, nice to meet Sharon, and, obeying the orders he'd get if he'd answer his phone, he leaves to go meet Derek. Back at the food court, Derek asks what's eating him and Spencer guesses that he can't be too subtle, at the moment; it'd require too much effort on his part, and Derek could still probably tell. "Do you believe in dreams predicting the future?" he asks, following Derek out and towards the car. After a few minutes of prodding and oblique answers, Derek finally just asks: "What're you getting at, kid?" Spencer stops walking and turns to look right at him. "Gideon's here, Derek. In Olympia, he's -- it's really him." "The Gideon?" Derek believes him, but it's clear he doesn't want to do so. "What's he doing here?" "He lives here, with... with this woman. They work at a high school, he's a guidance counselor, they -- he knew one of the victims--" "Spencer, if you're trying to turn this into what you did with your father..." Derek warns, taking his sunglasses off to better emphasize how serious he is. "I know you're upset at him, kid, and you've got every right to that -- but you know Gideon wouldn't do something like this, and there's no way Hotch is gonna let you--" "What? No -- God no, that's not what I'm saying at all, he doesn't fit the profile at all," Spencer interrupts. He might not perfectly know what he's saying, but it definitely isn't that. "I just... all this time, I've been... I don't know, I've been waiting for some kind of sign of him or something, but... I mean, I never thought I'd actually get one. I wanted one, sure, but -- statistically, there's always some chance that we'll work a case and end up wherever he did, but I..." This time, when he trails off, his voice cracks and doesn't let him speak again. Derek hugs him around the shoulders, and since, technically, they got off duty when they went through the last store, Spencer practically clings to him, knowing that he can't get in trouble for being affectionate with his partner when they aren't working. They especially can't be blamed for it considering the circumstances -- who wouldn't allow Spencer to reach out for someone now? Without saying it, they agree not to tell Hotch unless it's necessary; by the time they're sent to the hotel to rest, Garcia is the only other person who knows, and she only knows because Spencer tried to get her to fish around and dig up anything she could on Gideon, a search Derek immediately called off "for Spencer's own good." As far as reasons go, it's not the best, but, really, Derek could do much worse. His intentions are more than good, which Spencer can appreciate, at least. Maybe his standards for Derek are just set higher than they would be for anyone else; given their first time together and everything that's happened since, he's been handed plenty of reason to raise the bar for his partner. Even now, as Derek gently lowers Spencer onto what he knows is a Holiday Inn mattress, it could be his sofa. Time is relative -- even if their experience of it is linear, it's simultaneously now and directly after the incident with Cyrus. Derek's insisted on driving Spencer home from the airstrip, on pausing at a drug store and grabbing Spencer a snack, though Spencer's insisted the whole way that he's perfectly fine. Regardless of what she says, Emily's the one everyone should worry about; she actually sustained serious injuries -- Spencer only got hit in the stomach once and it isn't as though he's a stranger to being held hostage. This hasn't even been the worst of his experiences, in that regard. It's hardly that things between him and Derek are tense, but the level of misunderstood, unspoken things keeps rising -- Derek comments on Spencer's lack of a television, Spencer points out that there's never anything good on and when would he have the chance to watch it anyway; Derek keeps asking if he's alright, Spencer keeps telling him that he's fine and expecting him to believe it, even if the record shows that Spencer isn't always fine when he claims to be. Between the two of them, something's mounting, but Spencer doesn't even consider what it is, all the possibilities it could have, until, leaning on the back of the sofa, Derek sighs heavily, "Pretty boy, why do you do this to me?" Spencer can't seem to hold one surprised expression in particular, but each shift in his face says the same thing. "I -- what?" "Reid, I thought we were gonna lose you out there these past couple days--" "Yeah, because I've never been there before," Spencer notes, further surprised when his light tone isn't received well. "Don't be like that Reid; I'm being serious." For all the things Spencer can't suss out in this room, he didn't need to be told that. As he sinks onto the sofa, he keeps his gaze fixed on Derek, following the other man with his eyes when Derek joins him. "I just -- have we been in that position before? You bet your ass -- but when you were trapped out there, we all got to hear Cyrus wailing on Prentiss, and it was more obvious than ever that it could've been you in that position. ...I mean, when Rossi called it a 'minimal loss' situation--" "It was a minimal loss situation." It's not that the emotional significance of what Derek's trying to say is lost on him -- far from it; it's just that Spencer's unconscious reaction to difficult situations is to be right, somehow, even if it's just by pointing out that Rossi was right. Unexpectedly, Derek laughs and looks away from him. "See, that is exactly what I was thinking of when Rossi called minimal loss." When Spencer asks after his meaning, Derek explains: "You, Reid. Your little quirks, how you do things like that... and how much I'd miss it if I couldn't hear you pointing out the obvious because it makes you feel more comfortable, or talking about Star Trek, or figuring out patterns that computers can't see. There was every chance we could've lost you out there, and I don't think I could live with that." He pauses before adding on how he doesn't want to be the guy who didn't speak up for his love until it was too late to do anything. "Please don't let me be that guy, Reid." Who kisses whom first, Spencer isn't sure; all he knows is that he feels a spark in this kiss that he's never felt before. He flings himself headlong into it and Derek gently lowers him onto the sofa, telling him it's alright, to just relax. Spencer thinks of Melody from the party on his eighteenth birthday; he thinks of Alissa and how, the first time they have sex in the library, they crash into the stacks so hard that a loose book falls onto the small of his back (the culprit, he sees later, is Late Antique, Early Christian and Mediaeval Art: Selected Papers: Selected Papers, a Meyer Schapiro text; he's seen a different edition among all of Mom's books); he thinks of JJ and the Redskins game, how everything about the situation terrifies him out of potency. He doesn't think about the obvious lines of though until his shirt and Derek's are on the floor together, their zippers have both been undone, and Derek pauses their fast, hungry kissing to get something from his back pocket (lubricant and a condom, Spencer will see in a matter of moments; that explains the stop at the drug store) -- "Morgan!" he interjects. "Morgan -- wait!" "What -- is... everything alright, Reid?" He's surprisingly sensitive, for having this moment interrupted. "And it's Derek here." "It's -- it's Spencer here," he echoes, pointing at himself. Then he adds, "I -- it's been a while." "What? Since JJ?" Spencer shakes his head. "No, not -- not JJ. I didn't even -- I couldn't... perform -- I guess would be the phrase you'd use?" When Derek asks for clarification, Spencer gives it to him, wholly and honestly: "I mean, I -- I've never been..." He can't bring himself to say it and, instead, just points in the general direction of the sex. "But -- but Ethan was my last..." An unreadable expression crosses Derek's face, but before Spencer can think too much on it, the other man kisses him and whispers, "Don't worry. I'll be gentle." To his credit, he's more delicate than Spencer expects him to be; everything is still messy, painful, and uncomfortable, but it's better than it could be and, over breakfast the next morning, he can honestly say that he liked it. By contrast, sex with Ethan was hardly even sex and all they did, come morning, was go to some seedy diner near Ethan's place. Some days, Spencer isn't even sure whether or not what happened counts. He's hardly the sort of guy to count notches on bedposts; it's just a matter of categories and accuracy. Even his stunning failure with JJ counts for something -- it counts as his first experience with sexual failure. What happened with Ethan is one memory Spencer wishes he didn't have; or, if he lacks the ability to get rid of it entirely, then it could do him a courtesy and be less acute; if not that, it could leave him to have sex with Derek without making itself known. Between the two kinds of chemicals having their way with his head, Spencer knows he isn't thinking clearly, that his scads of inhibitions are too far gone for anything he does to be a good idea -- but he's still on Ethan before they're even in his apartment. In the corridor, it's just kissing, but once they're inside, he's so desperate for any kind of contact that Ethan's the only reason they make it to the couch. Before he fully realizes what he's gotten himself into, Spencer hears his trousers coming undone, feels one of Ethan's hands working into his pants and taking him... Then Ethan's free hand gets his shirt off and everything pauses. Ethan's brow furrows, and though he doesn't say anything, he runs his hand from Spencer's clavicle to his navel, attracting attention to what Spencer's been content to ignore until now. He's always been skinny; now, he's downright concave, practically collapsing in on himself. His bones are obvious -- when did they get to be so obvious? Could he catch water in his collarbone? Will he become a black hole after too long? Is it inevitable that his expiration will come when he can no longer sustain himself? How much will he take with him if that happens? He knew he was in trouble before this, but being confronted with it is exhausting, nauseating -- will he throw up what he hasn't eaten or can Ethan stave that off? With little pretension or flair, Ethan finishes up and goes to wash his hands. From the kitchenette of his studio apartment, he sighs and reminds Spencer that, for being a genius, he's certainly acting like an idiot. At least he lets Spencer stay the night; he can't go back and face the team until Derek and Emily are back from Galveston. ~*~ Their food comes, Spencer's coffee gets refilled and over-sugared once again, and Gideon's still looking at the letter. Perhaps, by now, he can't make heads or tails of how he said goodbye either. That makes two of them. Spencer's filled a journal of his own with thoughts on what Gideon meant by everything he said and what sort of explanation he thought he was leaving, but his interpretation just can't make itself solid -- it always changes based on Spencer's external circumstances, how he feels each time he rereads it. Finally, Gideon slides the letter back towards Spencer and whispers, "What do you want from me, Spencer?" His expression is impenetrable -- is it anger or fear? Is that a hint of breaking that Spencer catches in his voice, or does Spencer only want it to be? Spencer swallows thickly and, quietly, he has to admit: "I don't know."