Archive of Our Own ^beta

Large hands wrapped around your throat, cutting off your air supply. Your hands reached up to his wrists, nails biting into his skin as you desperately tried to pry his hands away. As the air left your body, the face in front of you blurred, black seeping into the corners of your vision. The last thought that crossed your mind before you passed out was that you didn’t want to die, not like this.

You woke up with an aching throat. Your head felt like it was going to explode as soon as you opened your eyes, the bright light seeping in from your bedroom too much for your sensitive eyes. Clenching your eyes shut, you tried to piece together what happened last night—it wasn’t rare for you to wake up with chunks of your memory missing and bruises littering your skin.

When you got home from work, you were so tired. The week had been long, facing nothing but one problem after the other at work and trying to douse the fires by yourself before they consumed the business was not easy work. You had settled down on the couch, thinking you could take a quick nap before your boyfriend came home. In your state of exhaustion, it hadn’t even crossed your mind to set an alarm.

By the time your boyfriend got home, you were still sleeping peacefully on the couch, his supper nowhere in sight. He woke you up by pulling you violently off the couch by your already bruised wrist. He had berated you and belittled you for what seemed like hours, and you had had enough. This whole week had been nothing but constant abuse, from both work and home. You had snapped. Stupidly, you had yelled at him, telling him that he can make his own damn food. Following it up with a rant about how he never did anything–how he was so lazy and useless probably wasn’t the best idea, but you were sleep deprived and your patience had been growing shorter and shorter with each passing day, your short fuse had been lit and it was far too late to extinguish it by the time the consequences came.

You had come so close to dying. You weren’t stupid, you knew that it only took minutes for death to occur from strangulation–if Spencer were here, he’d probably be able to tell you several statistics about domestic violence and strangulation.

It was almost funny. Before, you had only wished that something like this would happen. Death seemed like the only way out of this relationship. No one would believe you if you had told them, and even if they did believe you, you had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. But it seemed fate had something else in the cards for you when you met the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the FBI. They had worked with your boyfriend on a case a few months back. You had met Agents Emily Prentiss and Jennifer Jareau when you went to the police station with a note from the serial killer–unsub is what they called him. He was targeting you next, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to be as scared as you should have been. You were at a really low point in your life then. With nothing to live for, you had numbed yourself to your surroundings, barely keeping your head above water as you trod the choppy waters.

Emily could see it; of course, she could—she wasn’t a profiler for nothing, after all. Perhaps that was why, even after the case was solved, she invited you out with JJ and a woman named Penelope, who you found out was also a member of their team. Life was finally starting to look up for you. You had friends again (all of your previous friends had been cut out of your life when your boyfriend moved you to Virginia). You knew he didn’t like the fact that you had made friends again, but he never forced you to cut them out of your life. It was probably your saving grace that he didn’t.

Eventually, the girls’ nights turned into invitations to go to team events. Emily always teased that you were her plus one when you tried to refuse to go, citing that you weren’t a part of the team. She liked to say that you were her arm candy for the night, playfully flirting with you the whole time. She never failed to make you laugh.

It was there that you properly met Agents Hotchner, Rossi, Morgan, and Dr. Reid. Without the threat of a serial killer looming over them, they were a much more fun bunch than you had originally assumed. Rossi was an excellent host, only rivalled by his ability in the kitchen. Hotchner–Hotch as he told you to call him, actually smiled and laughed a few times (which you were told was a rare occurrence). Morgan effortlessly teased you as if you’d been a part of their little group for ages. Reid was a walking encyclopedia, always ready to share random tidbits of information with you.

You felt like you had regained some control over your life. No longer shackled to work and home, you found yourself feeling liberated. Whenever they were free, it seemed at least one of them would try to rope you into some kind of hangout. Your favourite was when Spencer would meet you at the library or a cafe. There was something so cathartic about sitting in each other’s presence, reading your own books, and not having to fill the space with idle chatter. And when you two did talk, you found his endless source of knowledge and rambling adorable.

They pulled you from such a dark headspace, and you couldn’t imagine what your life would be like if Emily had never invited you to get drinks that one Friday night.

Your boyfriend had never hurt you like he did last night before. He had a drinking problem, you knew he struggled with it for a long time. At the beginning of your relationship, he told you that he was getting clean because he didn’t want to be like his father. He really tried, you know he did. Every time he would slip, he’d wake up the next morning, tearful at the sight of bruises you hadn’t had the night before. He’d promise to get sober before the whole cycle started over and over again. The worst part about it was how you kept making excuses for him. He would never hurt you sober. It was the alcohol. He didn’t mean it. He loved you.

Last night, however, was your last straw.

He could have killed you. It was the first time you had truly thought you were going to die from his rage, and you knew that it was only the beginning. It finally clicked for you. He wasn’t going to change. No matter what he said, he wouldn’t get sober–not even for you. If last night was any indication of your future, you knew that you’d die by his hand. You couldn’t let that happen. You’d let this relationship go on for far too long, giving him way too many chances to clean up his act. Well, he had his last chance. There were going to be no more excuses. You couldn’t keep living like this. Not when you knew of kindness and gentle hands, not when you knew of sweet words and laughter. You deserved better. It had only taken seven brilliant people to convince you of that fact.

Your boyfriend walked into the room, a tray of food balanced in his hands and an apologetic smile on his face. “I made you breakfast, babe,” he said.

You sat up in bed, stomach swirling and head pounding violently. You needed to get out of there. Pushing yourself off the bed, you stumbled into the wall. Black spots danced across your vision as your boyfriend frantically dropped the tray on the bed to steady you.

You blearily pushed his hands away from you. There were red scratches littered on his hands and arms, only serving to further remind you of what those hands were capable of. “Go away,” you said, bracing yourself against the wall to try and regain your strength. You surprised yourself with how rough your voice sounded. “I’m leaving, I’m done.”

The way he said your name grated on your nerves, knowing this tone better than the back of your hand. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. I was just so mad. Please, babe, I love you so much.”

You scoffed, brushing past him to your closet. “I’m done. We’re over, okay? Just… just leave me alone.”

He followed after you. “Give me another chance, babe. I promise it’ll never happen again. I’ll get clean, okay? Just please don’t leave me.”

“I can’t even tell you how many times you’ve told me that. I can’t believe you. You never change. It’s like you don’t even want to help yourself. It’s honestly pathetic. I gave you too many second chances; I won’t give you any more.” You rifled through your closet, looking for some clean clothes to throw on. You could come back to get your stuff later–maybe you could convince Derek to come with you in case your boyfriend started to get violent. You knew that your boyfriend would be way too intimidated to even try anything if Derek was watching over you.

“So, what?” His voice rose with every word. “You’re just giving up on me? On us? After all we’ve been through-“

“You mean after all you put me through?” you snapped at him, your throat aching with the effort of speaking so much.

“Oh, don’t do that.” He pushed your shoulder, forcing you to look at him. “This is ‘cause of that stupid fed, isn’t it?”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, I know about your little dates with that pathetic little loser. You thought you could keep that from me? I can’t believe you’d leave me for someone like that!”

“I’m leaving you because you hurt me all the time, and I’m sick of being your victim,” you said, eyes brimming with fury.

“It wasn’t even that bad! You’re just exaggerating everything. Besides, you have nowhere to go. I’m the only one that cares about you-”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” you interrupted him, “I have friends now. They care about me way more than you ever did.”

“So you are leaving me because of them. I knew it! Which one is it?”

“Oh, get over yourself! You always wanted to see what wasn’t there. I should’ve known; jealousy issues are like one of the first red flags.”

You tried to stomp out of the room, clean clothes be damned, but he grabbed your arm, his grip bruising. “Let go of me!”

“You’re not leaving me!” He yelled, spit flying into your face. “You can’t leave. You’re all I have, and I can’t lose you.”

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you tried to kill me.”

His grip falters, hurt flashing across his face. “I wasn’t trying to kill you, baby. I love you. Why can’t you understand that? You just make me so angry sometimes. It’s not my fault.”

“And I’m supposed to believe it’s my fault?”

“Yes!” He aggressively agreed. “It is your fault. I wouldn’t be forced to hurt you if you didn’t make me so mad. I can’t help it sometimes. That doesn’t mean I wanted to kill you, though. I really do love you… even when you make me angry.”

“Well, I don’t love you.” You shift in his grip, trying to get free. “I don’t think I’ve loved you for a while now, if I’m to be honest with you.”

You watched as betrayal swept over his face. It was quickly replaced with rage. “You fucking bitch!” He screamed, backhanding you. “I gave you everything! Without me, you’d be nothing. How could you be so ungrateful? After all I’ve fucking done for you?”

You scrambled away from him, face stinging and heart beating out of your chest as you watched the man you used to love unravel before you. You’d never seen him this angry; he wasn’t even drunk this time.

“I’m sorry!” you cried out, blocking your face with your arms as he stalked over to you. “I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry!”

“You’re an ungrateful little whore. I bet you’re screwing all of your new friends. I can’t see why else they would put up with you.”

A sob caught in the back of your sore throat as he continued to rant about how worthless and stupid you were. You wished Spencer were here. Out of everyone on the team, it was probably him whom you had grown closest to. He invited you out so often, you doubted that he had anyone else to share his life with. It made a part of you sad that he was so lonely he’d resort to hanging out with you (someone he only knew because one of his coworkers picked up on your abject misery), but it also, selfishly, made a huge part of you glad that you were the one he chose time and time again to rid him of that loneliness.

So maybe your boyfriend’s jealousy over Spencer wasn’t completely unfounded, but could anyone truly blame you?

Spencer was everything your boyfriend wasn’t. He was so kind, so inherently good. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that he’d never raise a hand to anyone he dated. His words would never turn needlessly cruel, his hands would never bruise the skin of his lover in the name of anger.

You latched onto his kindness and held it tight. You didn’t realise how much you had needed it before Spencer—didn’t realise how rare it was for your own boyfriend to give you even an iota of kindness. The scraps of love and kindness your boyfriend gave you weren’t enough. You needed someone who could care about you more than half the time; someone who didn’t only show you care when he felt like it. You wanted someone who put as much effort into the relationship as you did.

A sharp pain shot through your scalp, disrupting your line of thought.

“Are you even fucking listening to me?”

Your eyes watered as you sat up to try and alleviate the pain. “Stop, you’re hurting me! Let me go!”

“Promise me that you’re not going to leave me! Promise me!”

“Okay! Okay, I promise! I’ll stay, I’ll stay… just please stop hurting me.”

Your body shook as a violent bout of coughing took over. It felt like shards of glass were lodged in your throat, scraping your esophagus raw and bloody. Your boyfriend sighed as he released your hair, crouching down beside your trembling figure. “I’m sorry, baby. You just shouldn’t make me so mad. You can’t leave. We love each other, and we’ll be together forever.”

You flinched as he reached up to smooth down your hair, bile rising in your throat. You just wanted to leave. But there was no way you’d be able to escape—not with him in the room with you. You wondered what Spencer would do in this kind of situation; he’d know what to do. He practically dealt with volatile people for a living.

Thinking back on it, you remembered him rambling about de-escalation tactics out in the field. Whilst you weren’t dealing with a serial killer, you could probably apply that knowledge to the situation you found yourself in. If you could just play along with your boyfriend—convince him that you’d stay with him, maybe you could run away the next time he leaves you alone. You just hoped you could be convincing enough to fool him for however long it took for you to get alone.

“Come now, eat your breakfast before it gets cold,” he said, voice soft and gentle as he guided you from the floor to the bed.

“I’m not hungry,” you rasped, the words barely audible. Frustration flickered over his face. Heart racing, you said, “I need rest. ‘m tired.”

“Okay, baby. I’ll go put this away, and we can cuddle. I know how much you like cuddling.”

Tears in your eyes, you watched him walk away. The only times he had cuddled you since moving to Virginia were after he hurt you. How you didn’t realise that until now was beyond you. He used to be so open with his affection, sitting down to watch a movie with you pressed against his side. Sweet kisses and cuddling in bed–not pushing for more.

You didn’t want his comfort anymore. The last thing you wanted right now was to cuddle him. You wanted to be as far away from his hands–the hands that almost killed you–as possible.

When he came back into the room, you were sniffling on muffled sobs. He made a pitying sound before climbing into bed next to you. His arms felt stifling as he wrapped them around you, pulling you closer to his body.

“Shhh, just go to sleep, baby. I’m right here. Everything’s going to be okay,” he cooed, his hand running over your head in what was supposed to be a comforting motion.

You closed your eyes and forced yourself to relax. Just a little longer. You just had to hold on for a little while longer.

When your boyfriend finally did leave the apartment after you convinced him to get you food from your favourite restaurant, you wasted no time in grabbing your dead phone and your coat. Slipping on a pair of shoes, you booked it out the door. The restaurant was in the opposite direction of Spencer’s apartment, ensuring that your boyfriend wouldn’t run into you on the way over.

By the time you arrived at his apartment, you were shivering, your hands frozen, and your shoes drenched with the slush and snow that covered the sidewalk. You buzzed up to his apartment, praying that he was home. You had nowhere to go if he wasn’t.

A woman exited the building, glancing at you. She did a double-take upon seeing you, her dark eyebrows furrowing in concern. “Are you okay, hun? Do you need somewhere to go?” Her voice was thickly coated with a southern accent, warm and soothing.

“I just need to get in the building.”

“Sweetheart, if someone is hurting you, I can get you help.” She handed you a card from inside her purse. “I’m a doctor at the battered women’s shelter down the road. Let me take you there.”

You realised then that you didn’t have the time to cover the bruises that no doubt were painted on your skin before leaving. “I got out. I’m okay, my friend lives here. He’ll help me.”

“Alright, sugar, but if you ever need anything, the shelter has room for you, okay?”

You nodded, thanking the woman for her kindness. You must’ve really looked awful if the woman’s face was anything to go by. Shame curled inside you, its tendrils wrapping around your heart. You didn’t want Spencer to see you like this. What would he think of you for staying in such a toxic relationship for so long? Would he blame you for not getting out sooner?

Slipping into the warm building, you tucked your hands back into your pockets in search of warmth. You climbed up the stairs, breaths laboured as if you were trekking a grand mountain. By the time you reached Spencer’s floor, you had to lean against the wall to clear some of the spots dancing in your eyes.

You knocked on his door four times, leaning against the frame. There was no response. Knocking again, you hoped that he was just busy with something in there—that he just didn’t hear you. You didn’t know what you would do if he wasn’t home. After knocking on his door three more times, your hope flickered out. You could’ve cried if you hadn’t shed all the tears that you had earlier that day.

Instead, you walked over to the side of his door and slid down against the wall. You could sit and wait for him to come home. Best case scenario, he was out shopping or at the library; worst case scenario, he was on a case and wouldn’t get back for several days. Whatever the situation was, you felt safest staying here. There was no way your boyfriend knew where Spencer lived. You didn’t have anywhere else to go that he wouldn’t think to check. You just hoped that no one kicked you out of the building.

You grumbled as something nudged you out of unconsciousness, not ready to wake up just yet. You were tired and sore–everything hurt, and you just wanted to fall back into blissful sleep.

The prodding was relentless, however, so you reluctantly opened your eyes. Craning your sore neck up, you were greeted with concerned brown eyes and messy, curly hair. Spencer called out your name, his brows furrowing as he took in the angry red handprint on your cheek.

“Spencer,” you croaked out, voice frail and hoarse. “You’re here.”

“What happened?” He asked, crouching down to your level. He took your face in his hands as he peered into your eyes. He furrowed his brows, breath stopping at the sight of your bloodshot eyes. He lifted your chin, inhaling sharply at the mottled bruising wrapped around your throat. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

“I didn’t know where else to go, ‘m sorry. You were close.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he chided. “You should have called me. How long have you been waiting for me?”

“Phone was dead. What time is it?”

“It’s almost four in the morning.”

Your eyes grew large. “But it was just six o’clock.”

Frowning, Spencer bit his lip. “We should get you to the ER.”

“I’ll be fine,” you protest, knowing full well that you couldn’t afford a visit now that you’ve run away from your boyfriend, who put himself in charge of all your finances back when you first moved in together.

“No, you’re not. You were strangled. Brain damage and death can occur even weeks or months after the fact. They need to make sure you’re okay.”

“How will I even pay for it? What if he finds me there?”

Jaw clenching, Spencer still managed to speak with an even voice. “Don’t worry about those things. Please, just trust me. I won’t let him hurt you again.”

“I do… I trust you,” you murmured, eyes brimming with unshed tears. You couldn’t remember feeling this safe in such a long time. It was really nice.

“Good,” he said, voice betraying just how much it meant to him to hear you say that. “Is there anyone else you want me to call? I can call one of the girls. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind letting you stay with them.”

“Can I not stay with you?” You did your best to hide your disappointment from him. It wouldn’t be fair of you to expect anything more of him. You guys were just acquaintances, friends if you wanted to push it. Of course, he wouldn’t want to have to put up with you. You didn’t have to tell him who did this to you, and he didn’t seem all that surprised either. He probably thought you were foolish for staying with your boyfriend. You wouldn’t be surprised if Spencer would blame you for staying with him after all the times he’s hurt you.

“No, of course you can… I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable or anything.”

“Why would I be uncomfortable?” You tilted your head. “You make me feel safe.”

His face did something strange then, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Can you stand?”

You nodded, not wanting to further agitate your voice by saying anything else. You had already spoken too much. Hopefully, the pain will go away soon.

Spencer helped you to your feet, steadying you with firm hands. He helped you down the stairs and into the car you knew he rarely used. He had told you about his dislike of driving, and you felt bad that you were making him drive you to the hospital because you weren’t strong enough to get away from your ex-boyfriend sooner.

The doctors gave you a clean bill of health, instructing you to rest your voice and instructing Spencer to keep an eye on your breathing for the next few days. On your way back, you picked up some bruise cream, a toothbrush and toothpaste, tea and honey, and takeaway.

By the time you both entered Spencer’s apartment, you were exhausted. You could tell that Spencer was, too. If the dark circles under his eyes weren’t indication enough, he kept yawning intermittently, making you yawn as well.

“I don’t know about you, but after we eat, I’m going to sleep for the next week,” Spencer said, placing his keys in the bowl.

“Gonna hurt,” you whispered, eyeing the food Spencer set on the table with weary eyes.

“I know, but you really need to eat. Besides, the soup shouldn’t bother your throat too much. Do you want me to put on the kettle?”

You nodded your head. As you watched him ready the water for tea, you felt something warm in your chest. You weren’t used to being taken care of so attentively. Most efforts made by your ex were half-assed at best. Spencer was always thoughtful. It was like he could anticipate your needs.

Taking your phone out of your pocket, you figured you should probably text the girls. They didn’t know what was going on with you, but you figured it would be better if they heard it from you and not someone else. Tapping Spencer on the shoulder, you held out your dead phone.

“My charger is in the bedroom by my nightstand. Feel free to move it if you need.”

You nodded your head, wishing there was a better way to express your gratitude. You watched the device turn on, the logo flashing on the screen before your lockscreen popped up. Cringing at the picture of you and your ex-boyfriend, you made a mental note to change it as soon as you got done texting the girls.

Your heart dropped to your stomach when you unlocked it to see hundreds of missed calls and angry texts from your ex. He was murderous. Each text was worse than the last. Sniffling back your cries, you swiped over to the group chat Emily invited you to. You stared at the blinking cursor for what felt like hours, the screen blurring as the tears built up in your eyes.

You jumped when Spencer called your name from behind you, clutching your phone to your chest. Rubbing the tears from your eyes, he came into focus, concern written all over his face. “Let me see.”

“‘ave to text the girls,” you weakly protested. Sniffling, you typed out a brief message, making sure to emphasise that you were fine and safe with Spencer now. Once you hit the send button, you handed your phone over to Reid.

He frowned when he pulled up your ex’s messages, brows furrowing deeper and deeper with every threatening word aimed at you. His hand was white-knuckled around your phone, shaking with uncontrolled rage.

Usually, the sight of a man this angry would scare you, your relationship with your ex having thoroughly damaged your acute stress response, but you knew that Spencer wasn’t angry with you. He was angry for you.

“How long has he been like this?” Spencer asked you.

You shrugged, “Like what? Explosive? Usually only when he drank.”

“Did he do that often?”

You nodded your head. “Alcoholic.”

He glared down at your phone some more, the fire behind it strong enough that you almost worried your phone would spontaneously combust.

“Do you think less of me?” you whispered, eyes trained on the soft rug you were standing on.

Out of your peripheral vision, you saw Spencer’s head shoot up. “How could I ever think less of you for this?”

“I should’ve left the first time-” cough- “he hit me.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself. That… that asshole should have never hit you in the first place.”

“I made so many excuses,” you whimpered, curling in on yourself.

“Do you… Do you want a hug?” Spencer asked, voice tinged with rigid uncertainty. You nodded your head, and faster than you could blink, warmth engulfed you as Spencer gently pulled you to his chest, arms wrapping around you with care. He held you steady as you cried, soaking his shirt with salty tears and snot. Normally, you’d be too embarrassed to let anyone see you like this, but after the day you had, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

You both stood there for what felt like hours. It was only as your cries began to taper off that Spencer said, “The tea and food are probably cold now.”

Chuckling, you wiped away the remnants of tears as Spencer grabbed you some tissues.

After the tea and food had been reheated, you and Spencer sat down to eat. Spencer put on your favourite movie, surprising you that he cared enough to remember something as simple as that about you.

“Even if I didn’t have an eidetic memory, I’d remember what your favourite movie was,” Spencer had said after you shot him a confused look. You felt your cheeks warm, heart fluttering in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time. You were grateful for the dark room. He didn’t mean anything by that; he was just being kind. There you were latching onto the first drop of kindness again, desperate for the care you’d been starved of for so long.

You didn’t remember watching the last bit of the movie, but by the time you were aware of your surroundings again, you were being tucked underneath covers that smelled of cinnamon, a gentle kiss placed on your forehead, and the words, “Goodnight, angel. I love you,” echoing in your brain.