The After

Chapter 6

Spencer blinked several times as he tried to readjust his vision which was still swimming. He lay flat on his back as he tried to focus on the dusty, murky brown ceiling. His hands were folded on his stomach which rose and fell rhythmically as he breathed. His wrists were ringed with hues of red, purple and blue from the flexi-cuffs. The room Mr Renholdt had allocated him somewhat resembled a prison cell, albeit a little more homely. The walls were bare brick and painted grey. A pair of shabby black curtains hung at a barred window. The cot Spencer lay on felt more akin to lying on bricks than a bed. The mattress was hard and the metal frame was rickety. It reminded Spencer of the three months he spent on D block in Milburn Correctional Facility, and it was three months of his life that he would have preferred to forget, though the PTSD and his eidetic memory would never allow it. Spencer swung his long legs around and sat himself on the side of the cot. He glanced to the side where a small wooden bedside unit was positioned next to the cot. His spectacles were folded on top. Reaching out an aching hand, Spencer snatched up his spectacles and balanced them on his nose. The room suddenly became much clearer, despite the crack across the right lens, and it was very much a souped up prison cell with no way to see out into the world thanks to the boards behind the bars on the window. Mr Renholdt sure wants to make sure his subjects/prisoners/idiots from identifying where they are... Normally I can estimate where I am based on time travelled, terrain... Normally I can see something... Spencer ran his hands through his hair, fingers becoming entwined in his curls. Out of his peripheral vision, Spencer spotted his go bag on the floor underneath the window. He pressed his hands to his knees and pushed himself up to his feet. He shuffled over to the bag to find they had left him with his burner phone that the FBI had allocated to him. He grabbed the phone and pressed the home button. Spencer accessed the messages and quickly typed a text to the Counter Intelligence chief.

Checking in. I don't know where I am. I was drugged at the airport and I was cuffed, blindfolded and gagged when I came to. There are bars on the window and it's boarded so I can't see out. Renholdt is his name. No other details for now. SR.

Spencer swallowed hard as he sent the text and stuffed the phone back into his go bag. His leather jacket felt sticky and uncomfortable against his skin. He slid the jacket from his shoulders and slung it onto his cot. He noticed a plain black hoodie draped over a simple wooden chair which was positioned next to a small desk which bore a single desk lamp that cast a yellow circle of light against the varnish. Spencer tugged the hoodie over his head, ruffling his unruly curls even further. The last time he wore a hoodie, it was because his button up shirt and blazer was soaked through after Max pushed him into the fountains in DC.

Spencer morosely turned his phone over and over in his hand. He had a pit of anxiety welling in his chest when Max had sent him a text to say that they needed to talk. A message of that sort never meant good news. Although Spencer was relatively unfamiliar to relationships, he had spent enough time around the BAU to know what was good and what was bad in a relationship. He and Max had only been dating for two months, but as far as Spencer was concerned, things were going well. His head snapped up at the sound of footsteps approaching. Spencer was grateful that they had chosen to meet in DC park on an evening when it was quieter. Spencer sat at a picnic bench, his legs straddling the seat as he sat sideways. Max approached, take out coffee cups in each hand. She gave a small smile as she perched on the bench next to him. She set down a cup next to Spencer. Spencer's grip tightened around the phone as he searched Max's face for clues, his lips pursed.

"Hi, Spencer."

"Um, hi." Both went to speak at the same time, resulting in an awkward giggle, "You first," offered Spencer. Max gazed at the swirls of foam on the top of her coffee as she considered her words.

"Spencer, you're a great guy. You're sweet and funny, and you have a never ending supply of magic, coffee and facts. It's just, I thought I could get past you working for the FBI. I thought I could push away those images of you kissing Cat Adams. But, the head injury and the seizures... I don't know if I can deal with that."

"Wait. You realise that neither of them are my choice? I didn't ask for them."

"No, but you're in a job where it will happen again and again. Honestly, Spencer? You have too much past trauma. I'm sorry."

"So, after I spilled my heart out to you about what I've been through, when I've sat and cried for hours... Maxine, I trusted you enough to do that." Max winced at the use of her full name.

"I'm sorry," uttered Max who came to her feet and hurried away across the park. Spencer watched her, his mouth agape in disbelief. A swell of rage engulfed Spencer as he picked up the coffee cup and launched it across the park, a pained scream emanating from Spencer's throat.

Spencer swallowed thickly. Constantly finding himself in hostage situations was one thing that Spencer had grown accustomed to, but trying to find and maintain a romantic relationship was something that he just couldn't. He wasn't attracted to Lila Archer. Austin was cute but she wasn't his type. Max was the first woman that felt normal to him. They hadn't met through his job like the others. It started off with a strange young boy insulting his hair. A normal conversation. However, none of them were Maeve who he could talk with for hours about anything and everything. Most often they discussed books and science. Spencer paced circles around his room. He could feel his anxiety increasing. It felt too much like prison. He expected men to barge into the room at any time, holding a towel over his mouth to stifle his cries as they beat him. Spencer wrung his hands in effort to stem the trembling.

The click of a lock snapped Spencer back to his senses. His self pity would have to wait. The door swung open to reveal the first man from the airport stood in the frame, gloved hands clasped in front of him. Spencer glared at him.

"I sure as hell hope someone is going to reimburse me for these," snapped Spencer, jabbing a finger pointedly at his broken lens. He stepped up to the man until he was toe to toe with him, looking down on the well dressed man with his hands clenched into fists at his side, "Here's a tip for you, mister. Next time you blindfold me, at least take my glasses off first. And, I can't believe I even need to say this, put my damned seatbelt on." Spencer used his shoulder to barge his way past the man, but the smaller man was quicker, wrapping his fingers in an iron grip around Spencer's upper arm. Spencer narrowed his eyes at the fingers, "Get your hand off me," responded Spencer slowly and dangerously, his eyes lifting from the hand to the face. The man's response was a hard shove towards the dim grey corridor, causing Spencer to stumble. The man's deathly grip kept Spencer from planting his face into the wall.

The two men walked in silence. The corridors seemed infinite. Grey continued into more grey. The man kept his hold on Spencer's arm which caused the genius to feel both aggravated and anxious. It reminded him of Officer Wilkins leading him to solitary confinement. Perhaps a little too much. Shit, Spencer... You're going to blow your cover... After what felt like a lifetime, the pair finally reached a solid steel door. The ever silent man tugged open the door and shoved Spencer hard into the cold white room. Spencer whirled around to face the other man.

"What the fuck is your problem, man? Last time I checked, you wanted my help, not the other way around." The man dragged a white lab coat and a respirator from one of several hooks situated just to the left of the door and thrust them into Spencer's face.

"Put these on, Dr Whitfield," responded the man monotonously.

"Wow, you wear these? Never would have guessed," spat Spencer darkly. The man simply backhanded Spencer across the face, the left side of his jaw stinging and reddening from the connection. Spencer massaged the pain from his jaw..

"Just do as you're told, doctor." Spencer fixed his hazel eyes on the brute in front of him as he took the lab coat first and shrugged it on over his hoodie, flicking the hood out from underneath the collar of the coat. He then snatched the respirator, hooking the large elastic straps over his head and securing the stifling silicone mask over his mouth and nose. Spencer tightened the straps to secure the mask and fired the other man a dangerous glare before turning on his heel and striding into the makeshift laboratory.