Wild Nights, Wild Nights || s.reid

26. ...I Should Not Fear the Fight

You could feel Spencer, Preston, and Garcia all watching you from the doorway as you stormed through the briefing room, vigorously organizing as a way to kill time before Hotch and the rest of the team flew back from New York. It was only an hour flight, but time moved slowly. The thirty minutes that had passed since you had your revelation felt like a lifetime.

And you couldn't sit still. You didn't want to. You didn't want to give yourself the chance to really think about what Victor being a mob boss and your unsub (or one of your unsubs, you supposed) meant for your entire life—your childhood, your prominence at The Monet Society's events, even your previous relationship with Alexander.

So you were cleaning up the disaster zone that the briefing room had turned into. Papers and boxes littered the floor, folders were piled high on the table with documents strewn about, and Preston had left takeout containers around the room.

Preston cleared his throat. "Maybe just... take a sec—"

You snatched up a pile of folders from the table and skimmed through their contents, cutting Preston off through clenched teeth: "My whole fucking life. I've known him for my whole. Fucking. Life. He was fucking there when I was fucking born. How did I fucking miss—"

One of the folders slipped out of your grip, tumbling to the ground and sending papers everywhere. You slammed the pile back down on the table with a shout of frustration. Preston jumped in surprise.

Spencer tried to pipe in, "Trauma typically has significant impacts on memor—"

"I fucking know that, Reid," you snapped back.

He flinched at your tone, and guilt immediately flooded your body. You squeezed your eyes shut and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I didn't... I... I shouldn't have yelled. I'm sorry. I just... I know." It had been the basis of your academic research, after all. Even now, shame heated your face as you thought about it.

Silence settled over the room. The ticking clock on the wall mocked you as seconds passed like years.

Then Garcia inhaled sharply. Her heels clacked on the floor as she walked over to you, and then you felt two hands on your shoulders. "Okay, let's go get you some water. Take a breather. You can look at happy cute things in my office while I make the unsub presentation. How's that sound?"

Frankly, migraine inducing. And even the thought of consuming just water was nauseating, as had everything been lately. But the last thing you needed was to be losing your shit for no reason at the people around you, so maybe taking a step away for a few moments was necessary.

So you ran a hand down your face, stopping to rub your eyes as you felt an oncoming headache settle in, and sighed, "Yeah, yeah, okay. Sounds good."

You let Garcia nudge you out of the briefing room, and she paused in the doorway. "The two of you," she said, gesturing to Spencer and Preston, "just... organize the room while we're gone. Bond, or... something."

And then the two of you walked away, missing the glance that Preston and Spencer exchanged that indicated that neither of them wanted to be left alone with the other.

***

Spencer and Preston worked to organize and clean up the room in silence for several minutes. Spencer didn't really want to befriend him, and though he had never been the best at reading social situations, he got the feeling that Special Agent Christopher Preston didn't particularly care for his company, either.

But, despite the current tension that ran between you and him, Spencer still cared about you deeply, and you cared about Preston. Therefore, he had to try.