Chapter Text
The job offer came in the mail over a year ago. Clean cut, pressed paper. It was only missing a wax seal. When you pried the envelope open, your heart stopped. Instantly, you knew. This wasn’t a job you could refuse. The pay was too good, the position gave you too much authority– it was everything you needed to advance your career.
But it was also a contract. One you signed for two years of work. Once it was over, you could leave. Pack up your life and go anywhere except where you came from.
There was a song playing on the radio when you drove to Quantico. Some kind of indie rock song. You didn’t know the name. You didn’t care enough to find out. You knew exactly how this was going to go. Your coworkers would be friendly, try to get to know you. Maybe act a little skeptical in the beginning. You were invading their space, after all.
But you’d be gone soon enough.
—
Spencer Reid didn’t seem to see it that way. From day one, he pestered you endlessly with facts and questions. You tried to tell him to fuck off (politely) multiple times. Either he didn’t get the memo, or he didn’t care. You weren’t sure which was worse.
Eventually, he was able to wear you down. How did it happen? You had no clue. Probably a mix of guilt-tripping you with his annoyingly pretty eyes. And the fact that he was so passionate about everything. It contrasted you perfectly.
Reluctantly, over that year, you began to grow close. You whispered things in the night that you regretted saying in the morning. You nearly spilled yourself for him, over and over. Nearly told him everything
Blood on the floor.
“Dad!”
“She’s not breathing!”
“This is the work of a serial killer.”
“I know you’re lying.”
“Get out.”
“Bitch.”
“Liar.”
Once you begin to run, you can never stop.
—
You came into work that morning thinking you were prepared for anything. You were armed with everything: alcohol wipes (Spencer was a germaphobe), spare packets of sugar (Morgan kept hiding the sugar dish), and a stray brochure Spencer had read to you a while ago. You’d kept it. Not because you cared, but because you found it interesting. And, despite your vigorous protest, you’d reluctantly become good friends.
“Hey, pretty boy.” Oh, so Spencer had arrived too. “Where’s pretty girl?” Ah. The one and only Derek Morgan. Pretty girl and pretty boy. Matching nicknames. You were sure that it was because he wanted to piss you off.
Even though you were cold, and unfriendly, and harsh, and probably aggressive- they still treated you like you belonged there. Like that was just who you were, and it didn’t bother them at all. No one had ever done that before. So, naturally, you showed them a little more of yourself. It took a while, but there were fewer walls up now than there were when you joined the BAU.
It didn’t freak you out because you chose not to think about it.
You chose not to think about lots of things. Spencer’s hands, eyes, eyelashes.. The way he got this look on his face whenever he got excited, the way he always seemed to tell you first when something good happened to him.
The way the team noticed, but stayed quiet because they didn’t want to scare you off.
You had a long history of disappearing. Whenever people got too close, whenever your relationships got too intimate– you left. No goodbye, just gone. Like a chalk drawing on a rainy day. Your contract at the BAU was almost up. It was almost time to pack your things and skip town, like you always did.
Two years. You started on January first. A clean slate. A changed name. No connections, no nothing. It was now December, and you were nearly ready to begin filling out transfer papers. Again. You wouldn’t file them until your contract was complete.
You thought about how sad Spencer would be when he realized that you’d quit on him, too.
That was another thing you chose not to think about.
—
Hotch’s office felt sterile. Felt wrong, somehow, like something bad was about to happen. You supposed it was, you were breaking your promise to Spencer to yourself.
You sighed. All you had to do was get inside, and ask him for two things. Transfer papers and confidentiality. It shouldn’t have been that hard. But it was, and while you tended not to think of yourself as a complete and utter idiot– you couldn’t pinpoint why you felt that way. ‘Maybe it’s because you enjoy working here,’ the little voice in your head said. ‘Maybe you don’t want to go.’
It didn’t matter if you wanted to go or not. Life had never given a fuck about your feelings, so why would they matter now?
Even if every bone in your body was telling you that this was the wrong decision?
—
When you asked Hotch for the papers, he didn’t seem surprised. Just.. disappointed. Somehow, that was worse. But he’d read your employment history. He knew what he was signing up for when he hired you. If he didn’t see it as a major red flag (which it was), that was his fault. Right?
You’re not sure you’d be able to cope with anything else.
Why hide when you can run?
—
You hid your transfer forms from Spencer. It wasn’t because you were avoiding telling him about it, but rather because you wanted to avoid seeing him ask you to stay. It would all be over soon enough, and Spencer would be able to get over it with his heart (relatively) intact. You hoped. You couldn’t afford to stay and get any closer than you already were.
Besides, having the BAU listed as a reference was bound to get you another job opportunity, even if it wasn’t the one you wanted.
You just had to survive twelve months of lying to your -f-r-i-e-n-d-s- coworkers.