A year after leaving the BAU, Spencer Reid is restless and struggling to adjust to civilian life. Not finding any fulfillment or respite in it, he decides to take a position with Homeland. On assignment he meets you, a former Master Gunnery Sergeant...
Summary: Spencer arrives in America and struggles to sleep. You finally tell Alijah who Angel really is.
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The flight to Anacostia-Bolling air base in DC was agonizingly long, and somehow seemed longer than the flight to Iraq.
The unit met their families at the hangar- Garrett with his four daughters and much more handsome husband than Spencer expected, Morello with his son and pregnant wife, Peanut with her mother and three younger siblings, and Barretti with his parents.
Spencer hadn't told the BAU he was coming home. He wanted to surprise them tomorrow at Rossi's house for their pre-Christmas dinner.
He took a cab through familiar streets to his familiar apartment, flurries swirling around until he was standing outside the building in the December snow and gazing up at it curiously. Everything looked the same, but he knew as he stood there that he no longer was. Iraq had changed him, and with his gunny pack on one shoulder and his dog tags hanging around his neck, he was out of place.
It was late, the entranceway dark and gloomy as the stairs loomed ominously before him. It was a journey in itself walking up them, taking a trip into the not so distant past but feeling as though he'd aged ten years. As he got to his floor he stood in front of his door, chewing on his cheek.
He was an intruder in the night, slinking into a place he shouldn't be, a place he didn't belong.
Sliding the key in the lock, the familiar smell of aged books and leather plumed on the other side. He opened the door and flicked on the lights, furrowing his brows at the sight.
His old couch stood in the same place, his desk and record player in one corner. Books were scattered all around, on shelves and tables and the floor. The lamps glowed dimly in the small place, but it was much bigger than he felt comfortable with. He missed his CHU.
Spencer sighed as he shut and locked the door behind him. He kicked a few books aside as he made his way to the bedroom, tossing his gunny pack at the foot of the bed and falling face first into the mattress.
He didn't even take off his boots as he curled up, staring at the window through to the cityscape outside. The sounds of Bombaconda gave way to honking horns and sirens, gunfire and IEDs washed away with the far off desert. With horror, Spencer realized he missed the sounds of baselife.
He also missed you, curled up next to him and sweating in the night. It was cold and dark here, a far cry from the Iraqi heat and blazing sun. Spencer closed his eyes and tried to imagine your sticky warmth bleeding through his cargos and cotton tee, the scent of your flowery perfume and sweat, your hair tickling his nose.
But you were six thousand, one hundred ninety eight and a half miles away, probably just waking up in your CHU and going about your day without your team. He wondered if you'd gone to the DFAC with Mercer, or if you sat alone in your trailer instead. He almost hoped you went to the DFAC.
