Spencer Reid One Shots

Before You Go.

You.

You couldn't handle it, not anymore. Everything caved in on you, the world felt like it was crashing down and you couldn't avoid the debris. The only thing that came out of the relationship now was pain, so much pain. Heartbreak, loss, failure at perseverance.

Within two years, the two of you could barely look one another in the eye, you slept with your backs turned against each another. It started off slowly, Spencer gradually got busier with work, he'd barely ever be home. You knew how to handle that, though, you knew that his job was demanding before the two of you even got into a relationship. It started to go downhill when the goodnight kisses stopped, when you no longer heard the soft 'I love you's' when he climbed into bed beside you after a long day, he stopped making your morning coffee and rushed out of the door instead. You were no saint either, of course. You weren't even going to attempt to act as if you were. Date nights fizzled out, no effort from you or Spencer to rekindle a lost spark, no reading together, or movie marathons filled with kisses and elbow nudges.

It turned low-spirited, and downcast. You would both sit on opposite sides of the couch, reading in silence, the only words exchanged would be a bicker over what movie to watch, before going to bed with glum looks and a nod to say goodnight.

The weight on your chest became heavy, the lack of affection and effort in the relationship tore you down. Within two years and six months, you started to try a little harder. You would show up to his work on a lunch hour, basket filled with snacks for the two of you to enjoy lunch together. It was a start. But the rejection was quick, harsh, a wave of the hand before he returned to the bullpen to eat instead. Meek attempts to drape your arm over him in bed, was greeted with a shrug and a mutter of annoyance.

Have you ever heard the saying "falling in love is easy, staying in love is a different story."?

Well, now you have. You lived through it until everything crashed down so hard that there was nothing left to put back together.

That was the day you packed your bags, and neatly folded your clothes into your suitcase. The large wardrobe the two of you shared looked bland once you had finished doing that, all that was left were the cream coloured sweater vests and variations of ties and blazers. No dresses, skirts, annoying heels that cluttered the bottom of the wardrobe. It was just Spencer's stuff now.

The bathroom was even worse, one toothbrush in it's stand and a cabinet empty from makeup and skincare, the three different types of shampoos and conditioners didn't clutter the shower and the bottles of perfume left on the side were gone.

Everything, gone.

You spent a few moments staring at the book shelf in the apartment, tracing your fingers over the spines. Your book collection was never anything compared to Spencer's, so it didn't look much emptier. The lump in your throat returned for the fifth time that day, as your eyes flickered across a familiar book. You remembered how Spencer's brown eyes would sparkle with excitement when you asked him to read it to you, until you'd drift into a slumber, revelling in the comfort of his fingers stroking your hair.

You had to blink the tears away from your eyes before you sat on the couch, bags by your feet. You didn't want to leave without a word. Two and a half years deserved at least a word, or a look. It deserved more than a door closing, and that being the end.

That next hour, the door opened and closed, you heard the shuffling sounds of Spencer taking off his shoes and putting his bag aside, unwrapping himself from the layers of clothing he wore this time of year, putting his coat and scarf on the rack. He walked into the living room, you were met with barely a glance at first. Then he did a double take, for the first time in a while. Though this time, it was only because you had bags and suitcases at your feet.