Wild Nights, Wild Nights || s.reid

32. The Rose Did Caper on Her Cheek

You didn't get a chance to talk to Spencer before he was whisked away for his wrist, and you were taken to a secure room on the top floor of the hospital. The area in which you and Spencer were undergoing treatment had been blocked off by agents; the only people allowed in and out were FBI personnel and a select few doctors and nurses.

You were poked and prodded at and had several vials of your blood drawn for testing as you sat on a hospital bed. You were given scrubs to change into, and an IV drip was stuck in your arm to treat dehydration. You were dizzy and lightheaded, and your vocal cords were swollen due to strangulation—causing your voice to come out raspy and hoarse—but otherwise, you were physically fine.

By the time you'd finally been left alone an hour and a half later, with two agents whose names you quickly forgot stationed outside your door, you were entirely spent. You looked at the watch on your wrist for the first time that entire night: 4:17am.

It was a wonder how you hadn't collapsed yet.

You'd been instructed to stay in the room until a doctor or nurse cleared you to leave. And while you were sure that Spencer would be overall fine as well after treatment, you kept watching your IV drip, wishing it would move faster.

You needed to see that he was alright with your own eyes. You needed to talk to him.

There was a knock at the door. You glanced over. "Yes?"

The door opened, and Preston walked in. He was shoving his badge back into his pocket as he closed the door behind him. And then he paused, staring at you from where he stood by the door.

And neither of you spoke as he finally crossed the room and approached you where you sat on the hospital bed. He slowly wrapped his arms around you, resting his chin on the top of your head. "Had me worried there for a second, sweetheart," he whispered.

"I'm happy to see you too, Pres," you answered. You leaned your head forward to rest it against his chest and closed your eyes. "How was Boucher?"

He snorted. "Pissed. Can't believe we let that bastard lead us in circles for two years. Y'know, I always told you he was insufferable." He let a few moments pass, and then added more quietly, "He demanded to speak with you before I left him with Hotchner and Rossi. I told him to shove it, but..."

You shook your head. "I can't. Not for... not for a couple of days, at least."

"You might not have a choice. When you and Reid get situated and debriefed, we'll all be up to our necks in bureau bullshit. If Boucher won't talk to anyone, you know that they're gonna send you in to try. This is..." Preston huffed a laugh. "This is going to make national news by sunrise. The higher ups are going to be scrambling to save face. They'll do anything. It's gonna be a long while before it's really over. You're gonna have to be ready for that bullshit."

You sighed, "I know, but for now..." You pulled back away from him. Preston kept a hand on your shoulder as he looked down at you. "For now, I just want to pretend that it's done. Just until I can't."

"That's fair," he answered softly, "but I want you to know..." He trailed off, and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "I'm proud of you, and I love you. And you've got a team of people out there who do, too. You know that, right?"

You breathed a laugh through your nose. "Yeah, I know. Love you, too, Pres."

Preston paused, and then his face split into a grin. "Well, it only took you eight years to say it back."

"Don't make it weird."

He laughed, "I'd never dream of it, sweetheart."

And the two of you settled into a comfortable silence. You glanced at your IV drip; it was nearly empty.