Lockdown

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Seven

27/09/2019. 06:45 hours. FBI Offices, Quantico, Virginia.

Emily groaned in exasperation. It was far too early in the morning to be traversing the corridors of the sixth floor. She knew Spencer was due back from his medical leave in the coming weeks, and she needed to prepare for his return to work interview. The coffee in the take out cup that she cradled in her hand was taunting her with its warmth and bitter scent. She pushed open the glass doors to the bullpen, relieved to see it devoid of any agents. As her dark eyes scanned the empty desks, she noticed a familiar blazer draped over the back of a swivel chair and tan leather satchel on the desk. Emily glanced over at the break room, expecting to see the genius pouring himself a sickly sweet concoction, though she was admittedly taken by surprise when he was not there. It was reminiscent of their fallout over a year previous. With another sigh, Emily turned on her heel and made her way back out of the bullpen and down to the academy gym.

Emily could hear the pained grunts and thumping noises before she even reached the door. She pulled down the cold, steel door handle as quietly as possible and pushed the door open. She was taken aback by the sight that greeted her. Spencer was bare-chested, and he wore navy FBI-issue sweatpants that sat just above his hip bones. He had wrapped his hands with bandages. His hair hung over his shoulders in damp curls. The muscles in his back rippled with each punch that landed on the sparring dummy. Emily noticed the long thin scars that criss-crossed over Spencer's back, some faded into a pale pink, some still very red and angry.

"Reid?" Spencer glanced over his shoulder, curls bouncing against his chiselled cheek, to see Emily in the doorway, clutching her coffee as though her life depended on it. Spencer turned fully to face her and brushed the beads of sweat away from his forehead with the back of his hand. The scar on his abdomen was still raw, as was the crude heart carved into his chest. The bruising around his neck had faded into shades of yellow and green. His jaw was unshaven.

"Emily? What are you doing here?" asked Spencer, his hands on his hips.

"I just came in and saw your stuff at your desk. I figured there could only be three places that you would be, and you weren't making your coffee flavoured syrup." Spencer gave a stiff, humourless laugh. Emily tilted her head and considered the young man in front of her. "Are you okay, Spencer?" Spencer shrugged nonchalantly.

"Fine. Why wouldn't I be?" Spencer turned back to the dummy and began throwing punches at it again, grunting as his knuckles connected with the hard rubber.

"Spence, you only do this when you're angry. Please, talk to me." Spencer visibly tensed, his hands balled into fists at his sides. His back heaved as he visibly tried to take control of his breathing and his anger.

"Please, don't…" pressed out Spencer in a low voice.

"Reid, you have every right to be angry. Everything you've been through…"

"Emily, please stop."

"I just want you to talk to us. Talk to me." Spencer slowly spun on his heel, his hand clutching the scar on his abdomen, tears glistening in his eyes. His knuckles were grazed and bloody. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes and twirled back to the dummy, clenching his hands back into fists and throwing harder and harder blows against the rubber. Blood smeared the dummy from each punch. Emily silently slipped her cell phone from her jacket pocket.

Prentiss: Dave? I need you to bring Matt and Luke to the gym ASAP. Need help with Reid.

Rossi: What's going on? Be there soon.

Prentiss: He's angry. Extremely volatile. Bring cuffs, leg restraints, and a first aid kit.

There was a very audible crunch of Spencer's knuckles shattering beneath his skin. He released an agonised scream, though continued to vent his anger on the dummy. Emily watched in despair. She could talk down UnSubs until kingdom come, but trying to talk down her friend was impossible. In the time that he had been on leave, he had carefully reconstructed the emotional walls around him, as if he was afraid to let anyone in.