Spencer Reid; 2011
The crash of a cue hitting into a pool ball reverberates around Spencer’s head, adding to the cacophony of sounds already surrounding him; the beat of the bar’s music, the football game playing on a tv in the corner, the laughter of his colleagues. From anyone else’s perspective, it seems like a regular night at O’Keefe’s.
However, it was the BAU’s first team outing since JJ left to work for the CIA, and everyone seemed to be putting a little too much emphasis into their smiles and jokes, most likely to appease Garcia, who looked seconds away from crying whenever she overheard someone at the bar order a Margarita because that had been JJ’s go-to.
Spencer Reid was trying not to cry for a different reason, however, and it was because of his goddamn head.
In hindsight he probably shouldn’t have agreed to go out when he realised that he was developing yet another migraine, but there’s only so many times a person call pull the ‘I have to stay late to finish paperwork’ excuse before you get called out on your bullshit. So he’s in O’Keefe’s, sitting on a sticky bar chair, ginger ale in hand and listening to Rossi tell the story of his escapades in London in ’79. It’s a story the entire BAU has heard several times over. The fact that Emily is doubled over in laughter as Spencer mouths Rossi’s words along with him is testament to that. Rossi catches him in the act and gives him a playful slap on the head, which he laughs off because he knows it’s a teasing gesture. That doesn’t stop the searing pain that he feels shoot through his skull, though.
Rossi starts in on another classic BAU story, and even Hotch rolls his eyes when he begins. Spencer is pretty sure that even without an eidetic memory he’d be able to recall Rossi’s version of when he first encountered a serial arsonist who was also a firefighter back in ’82. None of the team interrupt him though. They all know why he’s telling these stories.
Ashley Seaver was new to the team, and it seemed like Rossi was doing a rapid fire introduction of the BAU’s most famous anecdotes, starring alcohol and bad decisions made in the 70s and 80s. Spencer wasn’t sure exactly what he thought of Seaver. She seemed to be a promising agent, but whenever he saw her walking around the bullpen, blonde hair swinging slightly as she moved, all he could think of was JJ.
The nature of their jobs means that Spencer has seen his friends early in the morning and late at night. He has seen them exhausted and ecstatic and everywhere in between. The horror of the world has brought them close together, and he quite naively imagined that they would never part.
JJ is his best friend, the mother of his godson. If he didn’t have an eidetic memory he would say that he’d lost track of the number of late night plane conversations they’d shared throughout the years, or early-morning breakfasts in motels. They’d confessed things to each other, a testament to their trust. Things neither of them thought, at the beginning of their friendship all those years ago, they would ever feel comfortable enough to share.
I’m scared of being a Mom.
I still see Tobias’ face when I fall asleep at night.
My sister, Roz. She killed herself.
I’m bisexual.
I think my parents are disappointed in me.
I feel like Gideon left because of me.
Spencer never thought he was the kind of person who was allowed to have best friends. He was never so glad to have been proven so wrong.
Still, there were some things that he just couldn’t share. Memories of vials of dilaudid in shaking hands penetrate his mind. He thinks of the paralysing fear that he lives with every day, of succumbing to the disease that stole his mother’s health and mind. He feels his goddamn migraine pressing at his skull. He never told her any of that.
Spencer knew that he could tell someone else on his team. Garcia and Morgan practically radiate worry whenever he stops to massage his temples because of the pain. He knew that Emily, Rossi or Hotch would react calmly, offer advice.
But he just couldn’t do it.
“-Reid?”
“What?”
Apparently while he had been musing, the team’s conversation topic had shifted, unbeknownst to him.
It was Seaver who was speaking, and she rolled her eyes as she talked. “I said do you want to play pool? We’ll do it in teams. Might give you a chance.” She winked after that, and Spencer genuinely was not able to discern if she was being friendly or outright mocking him.
He looked up from his ginger ale slowly, as not to aggravate his headache, and nodded shyly. Seaver quickly moved over to the pool table after declaring that Morgan could be on his team, to even it out.
As soon as she was out of earshot, Garcia cackled loudly. “Reid you absolute sneaky snake! Acting all innocent and shy. Dr 187, I’m starting to realise why you’re so good at poker.”
“I’d say the PhD in math has something to do with it.” Hotch interjected, but Garcia ignored him.
“How long until Seaver realises you can calculate the angles on the balls faster than someone else can pick up the cue?”
Morgan answered for him, a wide grin on his face. “Not until we sweep the floor with her. Come on, pretty boy. Prentiss, you playing as well?”
Emily, Spencer had noticed, was looking more sombre than usual these days. He was glad she came out with them tonight, she was looking more relaxed than he’d seen her in weeks. She nearly looked as happy as she used to look when JJ was still working with them.
“Oh, no. I’m perfectly happy here with my drink and the several more I’m just about to order.”
Garcia quickly agrees to play with Seaver, despite placing a bet on Spencer and Derek winning. She declared that it wasn’t match fixing if the other side was guaranteed to win.
And win they did.
They agreed to play first to five matches, and the boys managed to reach that goal in less than twenty minutes. They had a carefully polished strategy, tried and tested in random hotel bars up and down the country. Spencer would lounge on the side of the table, instructing Morgan on the angles of each shot, the correct amount of force needed to hit the ball, and the possible results of each shot, depending on where the cue ball ended up. Whenever it was Spencer’s turn to actually pot the balls, he would do so quickly and efficiently, picturing the trajectories of each play in his mind before anyone else could even wish him luck.
As Spencer and Derek won their fifth match in a row Garcia was a giggling mess in the corner, having spent the majority of the time playing drinking. Seaver was leaning on he pool cue, eyes wide in shock, no doubt mentally counting the money she had on her person. She lost quite a bit of it this evening.
“Never try to hustle a Vegas kid!” Morgan called over to her gleefully, gesturing at Spencer, who was returning to the bar to order another ginger ale now that their competition was over. The barman looked around his age, but with darker hair and striking blue eyes. If Spencer had any energy he may have attempted thinking about possibly trying to talk to him, but not tonight.
The bar was fairly deserted, and he allowed himself a few minutes alone to nurse his drink. His head wasn’t pounding as much, which he attributed to more time spent calculating pool ball routes and less time stressing about developing schizophrenia. There’s still an ever-present ache behind his eyes though, and he wishes he thought of bringing his sunglasses to work today. It would help ease the pain. Almost like material painkillers. Because he couldn’t have actual painkillers. Narcotic painkillers. Not even as his mind and his body scream out for the release that he use to allow himself to feel every day while he was using. He didn’t even crave the euphoric feeling, not really.
He just wanted the pain to stop.
Morgan, who unbeknownst to Spencer had been watching him from across the bar in concern for the past several minutes, decided at that moment to approach him.
“You know,” Morgan said to him, a cheeky grin on his face, “there’s a fine girl over there that’s been checking you out for the last while, pretty boy.”
Spencer scoffed but looked over anyway, seeing both the aforementioned ‘fine girl’ and the rather attractive barman he noticed earlier serving her a large cocktail.
He must have stayed silent for too long, because suddenly Morgan was sitting in the barstool beside him and was laying a hand on his upper arm.
“Hey, kid? Garcia and I were planning on heading back to her place and watching a movie. Come with us.”
Spencer furrowed his brows at that, thinking back to previous nights out with the BAU. Every time without fail, Morgan and Garcia were the last to leave for the night. More often than not, in a slightly intoxicated stupor.
“You don’t have to invite me.”
But that was the wrong thing to say, because then Morgan cupped the back of his neck so that they were looking at each other face to face.
“I know, Reid. We want to. We’re your friends, and you gotta let us in if the world gets too loud.”
The last time Spencer thought the world was as loud as it was tonight was two and a half years ago. He ended up shooting up in a police precinct.
“A movie sounds good.”
Morgan looked at him more seriously this time.
“A movie with me and Penelope, or a movie in town?”
A movie in town; the way in which they all avoid mentioning his NA meetings.
“With you and Pen. I just need some quiet.”
Morgan gave a relieved nod and wrapped an arm around his shoulder to lead him back to the group to pick up Garcia.
His headaches were ever-present. But he was slowly realising his friends were, too.