Phoenix | S.R.

Ch. 9 | Forgive Me Not

Summary: Spencer confronts Derek and finally has a conversation with Reader.

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Each step closer to her apartment door I could hear the same question echoing in the furthest recesses of my mind.

What the fuck was I thinking?

Unfortunately, the only answers I could drum up were driven by emotions too large for the narrow hallway leading me to my demise. Far too nebulous to be relied on for something as serious as this.

It was an otherwise uneventful Saturday night, and the hands of my watch told me that it was almost 11:30pm. Most of the world was quiet, as it should've been. So why was I standing outside of her door with my hand hovering over the familiar wood?

There was no satisfying answer to that, either. My mind, always racing, seemed devoid of any sense. Instead, it was filled only with thoughts of her and what she must be doing on the other side of the door. I could see the light under her door, so I couldn't leave yet. But I didn't want to knock, either.

I'd wanted to grant her the serenity of time away from me. I almost left, too. Until I heard a distinctly male voice from inside.

I couldn't hear what Derek had said, but I had heard him, nonetheless. Even more unwelcome images started to appear in my mind, intertwining with memories of her. Memories of me and her turned to dust and were replaced with someone else. It was too much to bear while running on no sleep and filled with self-loathing.

So, gathering all the courage and stupidity I had, I knocked louder than appropriate for the hour.

As expected, when the door opened, it wasn't her.

"She doesn't want to talk to you," Morgan said. The words were spoken through a clenched jaw, and his eyes, distant and cold as could be, stared straight past me like I wasn't even there.

"Please, let me in."

"I can't do that, Reid."

That time, his shoulders fell ever so slightly. The pity began to roll in at the same time that I sighed. He watched me carefully, seeing how I fiddled my fingers in front of me like I'd always done when I was nervous. He managed to keep up that sympathy until our eyes met; until he looked at me and saw the undercurrent of anger towards people who didn't deserve to be punished for my mistakes.

Still, I begged him, "Morgan... Please."

"I said no. Sorry."

There was no more pity, no more hesitance. He went to the close the door, slowly and cautiously to serve as an appropriate rejection.

But I couldn't accept the answer. I needed to talk to her. It had been days since I found out, and she wouldn't give me anything more than a couple of words.

I'd suspected that if I could get her alone, I would be able to talk to her. But every time that I'd tried, he was there. Like an ever present guardian to the gates I'd been banished from, he stood with steely reserve.

He was always there. I hated myself for resenting him for it, but I did. I knew that it wasn't his fault, that I would've wanted him to be there to protect her from anybody else. But it was me, and it was her. It was meant to be us, not them.

Unable to take it any more, I stepped between the door and the frame to prevent it from closing and I finally confessed to the suspicions that had plagued me since I saw them together.

"Listen, I don't care if you two are together, or whatever. It... It doesn't matter. I get it, you both thought I was dead."

"Excuse me?" he tried to interject with anger contorting his face to something beyond disgust.