Why Don't You Come Over?

don't go

warnings: ? none. angst/hurt/comfort? spoilers for s8. time jump!

The cardboard boxes were scattered across the floor, half-filled with the remnants of her life in this apartment. Books, clothes, and memories were haphazardly thrown together, creating a mess—a chaos that reflected her life. At least, that's how it had felt for the past few years.

For most of her life, Elle had everything figured out. She knew what she wanted, she knew who she was, and she took the steps to get there. Her life wasn't overly hard or complicated. Maybe it was because of how she was raised—to be strong. And strong she was, always ready to defend herself and others, never scared of taking charge, always walking with her head held high.

She had always had a good head on her shoulders. Her mind was clear and focused. Sure, there were difficult times, but she always knew what to do and that those times would pass. She was good at taking care of herself and working through stuff—until she got shot. In her own home.

It wasn't the same house she was packing up now, but even though it was different and years had passed, she knew she wasn't the same. And she'd given up hope that she ever would be. Maybe that was the one thing she couldn't figure out on her own.

She couldn't count the times she almost dialed Spencer's number over the last six years—not to catch up on the easy stuff or plan when they'd see each other again, but to tell him everything. He'd understand. He'd know what to say, and she knew that. But every time she tried, the words wouldn't come out.

Not that it mattered now. She couldn't remember the last time they talked. After that final call she ended, she ignored his messages and calls until he just stopped. And then he disappeared. Now there were no words stuck in her throat anymore. There was no him.

She sat back on her heels, looking at the slightly damaged photographs she'd just placed in the box. There was one of her old team, all smiles and laughter.

Another showed her and Spencer, taken at some bar in a small town where they'd helped solve a case. They were laughing at something—she couldn't remember what—but the sight of his smile sent a pang through her chest.

She couldn't remember when that photo was taken, but she did remember the last time he called. The way she'd stared at the screen, his name lighting up the display.

And then, one day, the calls stopped coming. The texts, too. Spencer, who had always been relentless in his attempts to reach out, had just... stopped. She wasn't sure whether she felt relieved or hurt. Probably both.

She closed the box and taped it shut with a sigh. It was easier to focus on the task at hand, to pack up her life and move forward than to think about what could have been. But as she reached for another empty box, her thoughts betrayed her, wandering back to Spencer.

Did he ever think about her? Did he wonder why she never answered? Or had he moved on, just like she was trying to do now?

The truth was, she missed him. She missed his awkward charm, his endless trivia, and the way he could make her laugh even on the worst days. But she had made her choice. She had let him go, or maybe he had let her go first. She wasn't sure anymore.

She glanced around the apartment. It was nearly empty now, with just a huge number of boxes scattered around.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady the swirl of emotions in her chest. Moving was supposed to be a fresh start, a way to leave the past behind. But could she? She already tried that when she left D.C? Why would this time beanie different?

She reached for the next box to fill, and a sudden knock at the door startled her.

She picked herself up with a sigh and lazily went to the front door.