Chapter Text
The quiet of Spencer’s motel room was disturbed by a knock at the door.
Spencer looked up from his book. He was sitting comfortably on the bed, wearing his favorite camisole and robe. He had intended to get as much rest as possible before tonight and he didn’t expect any visitors.
The only person who came knocking on his door was Susan, the motel owner. She came every week to collect rent. Susan was a small but fierce lady, who was living in this rough city by herself. She took no shit and she didn’t judge, which Spencer appreciated.
And since Susan came knocking on his door every week, Spencer knew what her knocking sounded like. It was not this.
All day he had received calls from friends warning him that the feds were out asking for him.
He had a good idea as to why they were looking for him.
Last week he had helped a guy win fifty thousand dollars in San Remo casino, earning himself a decent commission of a thousand dollars and a few extra bucks for a happy end.
A thousand dollars would put him through one and a half weeks of rent and heroin.
If San Remo had found out about his involvement in the win, they had surely snitched him out. It would not be the first time Spencer was tried for fraud and certainly not the first time he had to weasel himself out of a sticky situation. Lucky for him, he knew all the tricks.
It had been a long time since he had been a federal agent himself. Of course none of his friends from the streets knew about his former work and that was how he liked it.
Spencer had loved being an agent, until he didn’t.
Profiling criminals had been the center of his universe for roughly four years, before the gears of his universe had shifted.
Now it wasn't people he was hunting, but the high he had felt for the first time in a dusty workshop in Georgia.
When Spencer laid awake at night he often went back to that place, because he could never forget it. He simply was not able to. It was ingrained in his eidetic brain for all eternity. The smell of burning fish, the taste of his own blood in his mouth, the sting of the needle in his arm and the terrifying euphoria burning up his veins.
All his life he had defied any expectations people might have for his career.
“We are not statistics”, his father had said to him before he left and maybe he had been correct, because no report or field study could have predicted what life had had in store for him.
Some nights when he was in that workshop again, staring down the barrel of Tobias Hankel’s gun, he wished he wouldn’t have put up a fight.
Spencer sighed and swung his skinny legs over the bed frame. Carefully he made his way through the stacks of books that filled almost every inch of his room, like Godzilla through Tokyo.
There was another knock on the door.
“I’m coming!” Spencer yelled.
He really didn’t feel like putting up with the feds today.
He thought about pulling the belt of his robe a little tighter, since he was wearing nothing but the camisole underneath it.
On second thought, if behind the door there was some kind of suit-wearing agent to convince of dropping a possible charge, Spencer had better look as convincing as possible.
He braced himself and finally opened the door.
There was the suit-wearing agent, but it wasn’t a stranger.
This particular agent he knew all too well.
Special Agent Aaron Hotchner looked older, like he had aged at least a decade since they had last seen each other about two years ago.
Yet there he was, smiling weakly.
“Hello, Spencer. Can I come in?”
Spencer didn’t move. His mouth had fallen open and his heart was hammering in his chest. He wanted to slam the door shut, but he was paralized, like his feet were glued to the ground.
“What are you doing here?”
“I've been looking for you.” Hotch replied. It didn’t make sense. Spencer felt hot and then cold again.
“Why?” Spencer asked flatly.
“Can I come in?” Hotch asked friendly, as if this was a completely normal situation.
“No, you can’t.” Spencer said. “Tell me what you want.”
“It's about a case. I can't tell you here.”
Hotch broadly gestured behind him. Spencer didn’t reply. His hand around the doorknob was starting to sweat and he tightened his grip, afraid his knees might give out.
“We can also talk in the car.” Hotch suggested and pointed to a large SUV in the parking lot.
“Is the team here?” Spencer asked and prayed to God that the answer was no.
“They're checking into the hotel.” Hotch said. “So, what's it gonna be?”
At that moment, a group of people came walking around the corner. Spencer could not be seen with somebody like Hotch. People would think he was a snitch.
“Come in.” Spencer said reluctantly, stepping away from the door so Hotch could get in.
Spencer was very aware that the place was a mess. Every surface was covered in books, clothes, spare change, condoms and tin foil. He would have apologized but he really didn’t care. Besides, there was nothing to hide from Hotch.
Hotch stood awkwardly in the corner, letting his eyes roam the room, stopping at the tinfoil before looking back at Spencer.
“Now tell me why you're here.” Spencer requested again. He was starting to get seriously pissed. There was a very good reason Spencer had come to Las Vegas.
It was to get as far away from Hotch and the FBI as he possibly could.
He went by a different name, paid everything in cash only and never stayed in the same spot for too long.
“You’re wondering how I found you.” Hotch said. It was infuriating that after all this time, Hotch still knew exactly what was going on in his mind.
“I received about five calls warning me that the feds are looking for me.” Spencer gave back.
Hotch’s eyes rested on Spencer’s robe for a moment. All of a sudden, Spencer felt really uncomfortable in his camisole.
Spencer tied his belt as tightly as he could and wrapped his arms around himself.
"I wasn't sure I had found you at first.” Hotch said, his eyes moving from Spencer’s waist to his eyes again. “When I showed them your picture they told me to look for Twigs.”
He had the audacity to smile softly. “They all said she."
Spencer did not return the smile. He thought that as soon as he was able to move again, he was ready to punch Hotch in the face. He was furious. How dare he turn up here and smile at Spencer like they were old friends.
“Gender is a social construct rooted in western imperialism and a lazy effort to force narrow rules and expectations onto the broad spectrum of human expression.” Spencer said.
“Why are you here?”
Hotch drew his eyebrows together and for a moment Spencer was in the conference room in Quantico again, ready to get briefed on whatever case JJ had picked out for them.
"We’re here because of an unsub murdering gamblers in Las Vegas. He stabs them, disembowels them, then dumps them into bodies of water."
“In the desert?” Spencer asked instead.
"Yes, pools and fountains.”
“I still don't understand why that's any of my business.” Spencer said.
"Come on, Spencer, yes you do.” Hotch’s expression changed. He was getting annoyed with Spencer. Well good, Spencer thought. Go away and never come back.
“I know how you make your money.” Hotch said insistently. “Some of the victims were clients of yours."
Shit. Spencer didn’t know why but he felt embarrassed. He shouldn’t be surprised that Hotch knew he was working the streets from time to time, but it was still difficult hearing it come from someone who had known him before all of this. And God had he known Spencer.
"We want you to be an informant in the case.” Hotch continued, when Spencer remained silent. “We could use your knowledge of the area and your… expertise. We need you."
"What's in it for me?"
Hotch looked genuinely surprised.
"Spencer, come on. You are not a suspect as of now. That can change really quickly.”
"Is that a threat?"
"It's the truth."
"Sure."
Hotch gave a sigh and a look of defeat. "The team really wants to see you, Spencer."
"The team?"
"Yes, the team.” Hotch persisted. “JJ and Morgan wanted to come here with me, but we would have raised too much attention. We don't want anybody knowing that the FBI is already involved."
"Yeah, apart from asking everybody in the area about me, flaunting your badge, the SUV outside is very inconspicuous."
Hotch smiled again. "I was hoping you'd join us at the hotel."
"Like right now? I have plans."
"You mean those?"
Hotch pointed to the tinfoil.
Spencer felt the heat rising up to his ears.
"I'm meeting a client tonight."
Hotch looked like he wanted to say something but then changed his mind.
"You'll be back on time, I promise." He said instead.
"Your promises aren't worth anything."
Another exasperated sigh. "Spencer, come on. The team really wants to see you."
"I need to take a shower first."
"I can wait."
They just looked at each other for a moment. Years of built up tension and unspoken words hung in the air between them.
The last time they had been alone together, Spencer had been a different person. Not as innocent as he had been before he met Hotch, but blissfully unaware of what was to come.
For a second, Spencer felt unfathomable grief for his younger self. It was as if he was mourning a close friend he had lost some years ago.
There were lines on Hotch’s forehead, signs of the time that had passed without Spencer and the experiences that had left a mark on him along the way.
And still there was a lingering feeling of familiarity between them that Spencer recognized. It had made him feel so happy once. Being not only looked at by this beautiful man, but known by him. Desired by him.
He swallowed thickly and realized that he still hadn’t moved and neither had Hotch.
Spencer wrapped his arms tightly around himself.
“I’ll be right back.” He said. “Take a seat.”
Hotch nodded without breaking his gaze and Spencer finally turned around and went to the bathroom.
As soon as the door closed behind him, Spencer exhaled, holding on to the sink for dear life.
Tears were welling up in his eyes, blurring his vision, but he threw his head back and forced them back down. No crying today, he told himself.
He showered quickly, giving his skin a good rub to get the blood flowing so he would look less like a corpse and washed his hair with his favorite shampoo.
Hotch’s arrival was the last thing he could use right now. Tonight was very important.
His friend Ivy had referred him to a guy she had picked up once who urgently needed some money.
It was as simple as these things got for Spencer. If this guy, Jimmy was his name, wasn’t half stupid, all Spencer had to do was teach him some easy tricks and he would multiply his chances for a big win. He could get enough money for another few weeks of rent. Maybe Spencer would throw in a handjob or something to get him hooked in case he ever wanted to win more money or refer his friends to Spencer.
Sometimes these men were too stupid to win anything and Spencer had to bring out the heavy atillery to appease them. Or they had been very successful and wanted to express their gratitude. They rarely did so in the form of cash gifts, which Spencer would have definitely preferred. Instead he would let them fuck him and they would end up doubling his comission. Because Spencer was good at what he was doing. No matter what it was.
He would have done the gambling himself, but of course he was blacklisted in nearly every casino in the country.
Spencer stepped out of the shower and put on some deodorant, leaving the perfume and makeup for later. Only one thing left to do.
If he was going to stay at the hotel with Hotch for over an hour, he wanted to at least get high a little bit or he would be useless.
He emerged from the bathroom, a towel around his hips, to the view of Hotch seated on his bed with his nose in a book.
Hotch looked up. Spencer felt his eyes on him, but he didn’t acknowledge him.
"Your hair is curly." Hotch noted.
Spencer opened his wardrobe. Somewhere in here were the last pair of slacks and a dress shirt from back in the day.
"Always has been.” Spencer mumbled. “I used to straighten it in the morning."
Hotch was silent for a moment.
"It suits you." He said then, smiling softly.
Spencer didn’t smile back. He had found the slacks and a shirt and also his Mom’s old cardigan. Silently he got dressed and assessed himself in the mirror.
Dr. Spencer Reid looked back at him as if through a tear in time.
He swallowed thickly and turned to Hotch.
"Let's go."