(17) New York
The city never slept.
Spencer had always found comfort in the steady hum of New York—the constant thrum of life moving forward, indifferent to the chaos and tragedies hidden beneath its surface. It wasn’t home, not really, but it had always been Z’s home. Home was wherever Z was. And right now, that was the closest thing he had to familiarity.
He just quietly said goodbyes to the team and headed to Z’s apartment.
It was empty, of course. It had been since she left almost a month and a half ago.
The furniture was still covered in a thin layer of dust, the bed as they left it. There were clothes in the closet, books left open on the table as if Z had only stepped out for a moment. Spencer stood in the middle of the apartment, staring at the untouched space, feeling the weight of her absence settle over him like a heavy fog.
He spent the night there, surrounded by ghosts of memories, and woke up with the lingering ache of dreams he couldn’t quite remember.
The next day, he made his way to Hell’s Kitchen.
Matt’s apartment was as unassuming as ever, big and clean in a way that felt like it could be a magazine cover. The scent of fresh coffee mixed with the crisp cold air from the open window, and despite everything, Spencer felt himself relax slightly.
Matt Murdock leaned against the counter, effortlessly composed as always, nursing a cup of coffee in hand, his infamous red sunglasses covering his eyes, while Foggy sat at the kitchen island, flipping through some legal paperwork that had long since lost his attention.
“Long night?” Matt asked, tilting his head slightly.
Spencer huffed. “Sure. Let’s call it that.”
Matt didn’t push. He never did.
They spent the better part of the day talking, catching up between coffee refills and half-hearted debates about whether Spencer should just accept that yes, jazz could be enjoyable and no, statistics weren’t going to change Matt’s mind.
It was comfortable, easy—until Matt finally asked, “Any news on Z?”
Spencer didn’t answer right away. He only shook his head, the movement small but heavy with meaning.
Matt exhaled quietly and didn’t ask again.
Foggy, however, frowned between the two of them, clearly picking up on something unspoken. “Okay, not to be the odd one out here, but who the hell is Z?”
Spencer and Matt shared a look.
Foggy’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, come on.”
Spencer set down his coffee cup, choosing his words carefully. “Matt and I met through Z.”
“That’s all I get?” Foggy scoffed. “Seriously?” He looked at Matt, exasperated. “This is exactly the kind of nonsense that made a mess last time ‘round. You, lying, to me.”
Matt didn’t react, his face carefully neutral.
Foggy’s expression shifted, irritation laced with something quieter. Hurt. “Really, Matt? Again?”
Spencer could see it—the tightness in Matt’s jaw, the guilt in his posture. This wasn’t like the last time Matt had kept something from him, but it was the first time Foggy had noticed straight away.
Before Matt could formulate an answer, Spencer sighed and stepped in. “It’s not Matt’s decision whether you get to know.”
Foggy turned to him, eyebrows furrowed. “Then whose decision is it?”
Spencer met his gaze evenly. “Z’s.”
Foggy’s frustration wavered. “And where is this mysterious Z?”
Spencer didn’t respond.
The silence stretched between them until Matt, quiet and resigned, finally said, “We’ll make sure you meet them… when we find out if they’re alive.”
Foggy stilled. The irritation drained from his face as realization settled in, slow and heavy.
“Oh,” he said quietly.
Spencer looked down at his coffee cup in his hands.
Matt pressed his lips together, expression unreadable.
Foggy let out a slow breath. “I… sorry.”
Matt gave a small nod, and Spencer forced a tight smile. “Yeah,” he said, voice quiet. “Me too.”
The moment lingered, heavy but not unkind, before Foggy cleared his throat and clapped his hands together, forcing some lightness back into the room. “Alright, well. That was sufficiently depressing. Someone pass me another coffee before I start crying in your living room Matt.”
Matt huffed a quiet laugh.
Spencer nodded and got up to grab the coffee pot.
They moved on after that, the day slipping back into easy conversation. But the weight of what had been said remained, lingering beneath the surface, a quiet reminder of the missing piece none of them could bring themselves to talk about for too long.
Z.
And whether or not they would ever get her back.
The second day of his NYC stay was reserved for Fury.
S.H.I.E.L.D.’s New York headquarters was as imposing as ever.
Spencer had been here before, but every time he walked through the towering glass doors, he felt that same quiet sense of displacement. He was an agent, sure, but wasn’t part of this world—not the way Z was. He was not an agent on this level. But it didn’t matter. He would keep coming back for as long as it took.
Security was tight, but they knew him, he’d come around with Z enough times before for security guards to reckognise him. And Z was high enough in the organisation and dangerous enough for them not to question her bringing him with her. Before he could even step forward to check in, a familiar voice called out.
“Dr. Reid.”
Spencer turned to see Coulson approaching, his usual calm demeanor in place, though his expression was lined with something softer—concern, maybe.
“Coulson,” Spencer greeted, adjusting the strap of his satchel.
Coulson offered a small smile as they fell into step. “It’s been a while.”
Spencer huffed a quiet breath. “Not long enough.” Coulson knows that he doesn’t mean it in a mean way. He knows how tired Spencer is.
Coulson gave him a sidelong glance but didn’t argue. Instead, he asked, “How are you holding up?”
It wasn’t just a question out of politeness. Coulson had been Z’s contact for years, the one who kept an eye on her when she worked with them. He had known her before she became who she was now. He was the one who even invited her in. And, by extension, he had known Spencer—had seen him over the years Z and him were growing up and later when Z was working closely with Coulson..
“I’m as okay as I can be,” Spencer said, and it was the closest thing to the truth he could manage.
Coulson nodded, as if he’d expected that answer. “And Draco?”
Spencer hesitated only briefly before replying, “He moved in with me.”
Coulson raised an eyebrow but didn’t look surprised.
“We’re both just… alone. It made sense.”
Coulson didn’t comment right away, just pressed the elevator button and waited. The doors slid open, and they stepped inside.
“I worry about you, kid,” Coulson finally admitted, voice quieter now.
Spencer turned to him, surprised. Coulson had always been level-headed, a master at keeping his emotions tucked neatly away. But there was no deflection in his tone—just honesty.
Spencer swallowed. “There’s nothing to say. The situation is what it is.”
Coulson nodded again, though he didn’t seem particularly happy about it.
The elevator dinged. They stepped out into the hallway leading to Fury’s office.
Coulson stopped just outside the door and gave Spencer a measured look. “Good luck.”
Spencer huffed a small, humorless laugh. “Yeah. He’s going to need it.”
Coulson knocked once before pushing the door open.
“Sir.”
Fury was behind his desk, reading something on his screen. He barely looked up. “Let him in.”
Coulson gave Spencer a small nod before stepping away. Spencer squared his shoulders and walked inside.
The office was sparse, as always—functional, no wasted space. Fury finally turned his full attention to him, one eye sharp, scrutinizing.
“Dr. Reid,” he greeted.
“Director,” Spencer returned, his voice even.
Fury leaned back in his chair. “I assume you’re not here for pleasantries.”
Spencer didn’t waste time. “What are you doing to find them?”
Fury exhaled slowly, tapping his fingers against the desk before answering. “Everything I can.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Fury’s eye narrowed slightly. “You think I’d sit on my ass while one of my best agents and one of MI6’ are missing in a war zone?”
“No,” Spencer admitted. “But I also think you’re not telling me everything. Which you are supposed to do as it says on the paperwork both Z and I signed.”
Fury studied him, saying nothing.
Spencer pressed on. “You have the most advanced intelligence network in the world. You have resources no one else does. And yet you still don’t know anything?”
Fury’s jaw tightened. “This isn’t as simple as pulling up a file, kid. Agents 66 and Agent Potter aren’t just missing—they vanished. No traces. No breadcrumbs.”
Spencer’s patience, already stretched thin, snapped. “You’re acting like I don’t know how this works. Like I don’t understand how S.H.I.E.L.D. operates. But I do, and I know you know this. You’re just not acknowledging it. And don’t pretend they are just another two agents under you. We both know that Z is more.”
Fury’s silence was answer enough.
Spencer took a step closer, voice lower now, but no less sharp. “You trust Z to handle impossible missions. You send her into hell and expect her to come back all. The. Time. And now that she’s the one who needs help, you’re keeping me in the dark?”
Fury’s expression remained unreadable.
Spencer let out a sharp breath, shaking his head, voice shaking with emotion. “You’re being unfair.”
Something in the air shifted.
Fury’s fingers stilled against the desk. His eye flickered—not in anger, but in realization.
Unfair.
It wasn’t often someone said that to him.
It wasn’t often someone could.
But Spencer wasn’t wrong.
Fury had underestimated the kid—again. Had treated him like an outsider, when the reality was, Spencer had been part of Z’s life for longer than S.H.I.E.L.D. had. Z had probably told him shit nobody except her was supposed to know. And if the situation were reversed, if Spencer was the one missing, Z wouldn’t hesitate. She would burn the world down to bring him home.
Fury exhaled sharply, leaning forward. “You think I’m not doing enough?”
“I know you’re not doing enough,” Spencer corrected. “Because if you were, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
Fury was quiet for a long moment. Then, finally, he nodded. “Alright.”
Spencer blinked. “Alright?”
“You want the truth?” Fury said, tone lighter, but still serious. “Fine. Sit down.”
Spencer hesitated, then pulled out the chair across from him.
Fury leaned forward, lacing his fingers together. “Here’s what we do know—”
And just like that, Spencer finally got a step closer to some answers.
Spencer’s footsteps echoed softly through the sleek corridors of S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ as he made his way toward the exit. His conversation with Fury was still replaying in his head—his frustration, the lack of answers, the weight of nothingness.
He was so lost in thought that he almost didn’t notice someone falling into step beside him.
Almost.
He turned his head and saw Coulson walking with him, hands in his pockets, looking as composed as ever.
Spencer frowned. “Are you following me?”
“Nope.”
Spencer narrowed his eyes. “Then why are you here? Don’t you have work to do?”
Coulson didn’t even look at him. “Because I was instructed to bring you with me once you were done with Fury.”
Spencer slowed, scrutinizing him. “By who?”
Coulson remained silent, just kept walking toward the exit.
Spencer sighed. “That’s not ominous.”
Coulson just smiled—that infuriatingly unreadable Coulson-smile.
*
The cab ride was short, and Spencer spent most of it staring out the window, trying to figure out where they were going. When they finally pulled up in front of a quiet apartment building, he shot Coulson a side glance.
“This doesn’t look like another S.H.I.E.L.D. facility.”
Coulson, already getting out of the car, simply said, “That’s because it’s not.”
Spencer followed him inside, still confused, as Coulson led the way up a few flights of stairs and stopped in front of an apartment door.
As Coulson pulled out a key, Spencer leaned against the doorframe and smirked. “Coulson,” he said, voice smooth and teasing, “are you bringing me home?”
There was a loud clatter from inside the apartment, followed by a yelp.
“What the… Phil?!”
Before Spencer could react, there was a flurry of motion, and then Clint came barreling out of the kitchen, pointing dramatically at Coulson with a spoon like he’d just caught him in the act of seduction.
“That was not what I was thinking about when I told you to bring Spencer home with you!”
Spencer blinked. Then, ever so slowly, a smirk spread across his face. “So you were thinking about it?”
Clint grinned. “Doc, I think about a lot of things.”
Coulson sighed heavily, as if he were reconsidering every life choice that led him to this moment.
Spencer, enjoying this far too much, turned his teasing attention back to Coulson. “So, Phil, was this your grand plan? Sweep me off my feet, take me home, and then introduce me to your boy toy play with me?”
Coulson didn’t even flinch. “Wouldn’t be the worst idea.”
Spencer let out a low whistle. “Well, well, well.”
Clint, still pointing at Coulson, gasped in mock betrayal. “Phil, are you cheating on me already?”
Coulson, deadpan as ever, said, “We just established that you were the one thinking about Spencer first.”
Clint gasped again, clutching his chest dramatically. “Wow. Wow. Throwing my own words back at me? That’s cold, Phil.”
Spencer chuckled, crossing his arms. “You know, if this is a lovers’ quarrel, I can leave and let you two work it out.”
Clint recovered immediately, waggling his eyebrows. “Or we could work it out together.”
Spencer teased back in no time. “Is that an offer?”
Coulson sighed again, rubbing his temples. “Why do I put up with both of you?”
Clint beamed. “Because you love us.” Me. Clint definitely meant ‘me’ and not ‘us’.
Coulson didn’t deny it.
Spencer, catching the way he didn’t deny it, narrowed his eyes slightly. He glanced between them, gears turning, before realization dawned.
“Oh my God,” he said, pointing between them. “Finally.”
Clint blinked. “What?”
Spencer gestured wildly. “You two! When did that happen? And you guys are living together. Oh my god!”
Clint and Coulson exchanged a glance.
Then, in perfect unison, they both said, “Z.”
Spencer let out an incredulous laugh. “Of course it was Z.”
Clint groaned, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, she cornered us both, pushed us into a broom closet in HQ and basically forced us to deal with our unresolved shit.”
Coulson, unbothered, added, “She was very persuasive.”
Spencer grinned. “She always is.”
They all laughed, but underneath it, there was something heavier. The kind of weight that never truly left—not when something, someone, was missing.
Spencer exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright,” he said, “so what am I actually doing here?”
Clint smirked. “Dinner.” Then he held up his phone. “And to tell us what you got out of Fury, since someone texted me saying the whole HQ could probably hear you yelling.”
Spencer groaned, covering his face. “Oh, my God.”
Coulson, ever the professional, patted his shoulder. “It was very passionate yelling.”
Clint grinned. “Which means it was very loud yelling.”
Spencer scowled. “You two are the worst.”
Coulson, unfazed, nudged him toward the dining table. “Sit.”
Spencer muttered something about ungrateful spies but let himself be herded toward the table while Clint grabbed the food.
As they settled in, Clint leaned forward, elbow on the table. “Alright, genius. Spill.”
Spencer rubbed his temples. “There’s not much to spill.”
Clint raised an eyebrow. “Define ‘not much.’”
Spencer sighed. “Fury doesn’t know where Z and Harry are. No leads, no trail. It’s like they just… vanished.”
Silence.
Clint’s smirk faded, his expression hardening. Coulson, ever composed, looked displeased in a way only someone who had mastered the art of emotional control could.
Coulson looked down at his plate. “That’s it.”
Clint exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Damn it.”
Spencer nodded. “Yeah.”
No one spoke for a moment.
Then Clint sighed again and picked up his fork. “I hoped he had something and was just not telling us.”
Spencer let out a breath, a small, tired smile forming. “No, I guess we’re not that lucky. You know that things with Z never go easy.”
And so, they ate.
For now, that was all they could do.
The rhythmic hum of the train filled the quiet space around Spencer, the gentle sway of movement lulling most of the passengers into their own thoughts—or in some cases, a light sleep. He wasn’t tired, not really. Exhaustion had settled so deeply in his bones over the past few months that it had become a permanent part of him.
Still, he stared out the window, watching the blurred landscape rush by. The city lights had faded behind him, replaced by open fields and clusters of buildings that all felt too far away to reach.
His mind kept circling back to New York. To Matt and Foggy. To Clint and Coulson. To Fury.
To Z.
No answers. No leads. Just an aching absence that no amount of strategy or intellect could fix.
Spencer sighed, rubbing his temples.
He needed a distraction.
And maybe… a reminder that not everything was lost.
*
Hotch’s neighborhood was quiet, the kind of suburban calm that felt entirely separate from the darkness the BAU encountered on a daily basis. It was one of the few places Spencer could go where things felt normal.
When Hotch opened the door, he wasn’t surprised to see Spencer standing there, hands in his pockets, looking exhausted.
“Reid,” he greeted, stepping aside to let him in. “That was not a long trip.”
Spencer shrugged, toeing off his shoes. “More than enough.”
Hotch gave him a knowing look but didn’t press. Instead, he led him through the house until they reached the living room, where Jack was playing with his toys, completely immersed in his own little world.
The sight of him—small, innocent, untouched by everything they had to deal with—made something in Spencer’s chest tighten.
Jack looked up, eyes lighting up instantly, running and hugging Spencer’s legs. “Uncle Spenc!”
Spencer froze.
For a second, he didn’t know what to do. His throat closed up, and he had to blink rapidly to stop himself from embarrassing both of them.
Hotch noticed. He always noticed.
But he didn’t say anything.
Instead, he sat down on the couch and gestured for Spencer to do the same when Jack released him.
Spencer did, still trying to swallow past the lump in his throat.
Jack, oblivious to the emotional impact of his words, went right back to his toys.
Hotch leaned back slightly, watching him for a moment before turning to Spencer. “So,” he said, voice quiet, “what did you find out?”
Spencer exhaled. He had been expecting the question—of course Hotch would ask. He had known Spencer was meeting with Z’s people in New York. He had known about Fury.
Spencer gave him the same answer he had given Clint and Coulson.
“There’s nothing,” he admitted. “No trail, no signs. It’s like they just… vanished.”
Hotch nodded, absorbing that information the way he always did. Calculating. Measuring the weight of it.
“I’m sorry,” Hotch added after a beat.
Spencer’s gaze flickered to him. “It’s not your fault.”
Hotch let out a humorless chuckle. “Doesn’t make it any less frustrating that it’s happening.”
“No,” Spencer agreed, “it doesn’t.”
For a while, they just sat there, the quiet filled only by the sounds of Jack babbling to himself about something veryimportant in his game.
Then, Hotch—because he always saw more than people realized—asked, “Does JJ know you’re back?”
Spencer tensed slightly.
Which, of course, Hotch also noticed.
Spencer sighed. “I assume she does. Garcia probably told her the second I got on the train since she got me the ticket.”
Hotch smirked slightly, but it faded quickly as he studied him. “You know she has feelings for you.”
Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s obvious, Hotch.”
Hotch nodded. “And you don’t feel the same way.”
“No,” Spencer admitted.
Hotch tilted his head. “You going to tell her that?”
Spencer exhaled slowly. “She hasn’t said anything. So technically, I haven’t had to.”
Hotch gave him a look.
Spencer groaned, sinking back into the couch. “I know.”
“I won’t tell you what to do,” Hotch said simply. “But eventually, she’s going to say it outright. And when that happens, it’s better if she isn’t blindsided.”
Spencer rubbed his temples. “Great. Another thing to look forward to.”
Hotch chuckled under his breath before glancing back at Jack, who was now talking animatedly to his action figures and showing them to Spencer.
Spencer followed his gaze, his expression softening, nodding at Jack and his game.
“You’re good with him,” Hotch noted.
Spencer blinked. “I don’t… do anything.”
“You do more than his mother does. Did you know she leaves him with her sister when he’s on her time..”
Spencer had no response to that.
And maybe he didn’t need one.
After a few more minutes of quiet, he finally stretched and stood. “I should go. Draco’s probably wondering where I am.”
Hotch nodded, standing as well. “He seems like a good person.”
Spencer smiled faintly. “He is.”
Hotch walked him to the door, pausing before opening it. “Reid.”
Spencer looked up.
Hotch’s voice was steady, reassuring. “They’ll come back.”
Spencer swallowed past the lump in his throat again. “I hope so.”
Hotch gave him a small nod. “Get some rest.”
Spencer nodded back before stepping outside.
The world felt a little heavier on his shoulders, but at least for now, he wasn’t carrying it alone.
And for tonight, that would have to be enough.
Now he had to get home and show Draco that he also hasn’t vanished while in New York.