Chapter Text
There was a box on Spencer’s desk a few days later. Cardboard, and about the size of his hand. He sat down, flipping it over in his hands. He used a pen to break the tape and tore it open, cringing at the nose.
Morgan’s head popped over the desk dividers. “Who’s that from?”
“Don’t know,” Spencer said.
“What is it?”
“Don’t know,” Spencer grumbled, turning away from him. He heard Morgan make a quiet ‘aww’, followed by a soft thump as he sat back down in his chair. Once he was sure Morgan wasn’t peeking, Spencer opened the flaps of the box.
Inside there was a note, and another box underneath.
For your migraines. Something is always better than nothing.
-Seaver
He looked up at Ashley’s desk, but it was empty. Spencer carefully set the note on his desk and pulled out the smaller box. It was a pair of earplugs. Nice ones, from the looks of them. Small enough to be mostly unobtrusive. Dark gray.
Spencer looked up. Morgan was, surprisingly, still minding his business, focused on his computer. Spencer got up quietly, peering around for Ashley. There was a cup of coffee (not steaming, he noted) sitting on her desk. He poked around the bullpen with no luck.
“Who are you looking for?” Emily asked, leaning back in her chair. She craned her neck up, “Ooo, that are those?”
“Ashley. Don’t worry about it.”
“Seaver,” Emily with heavy emphasis on using the other agent’s last name. Spencer felt his ears burn. “is with Garcia. Working out some kinks with her phone, I think.”
“Wasn’t Garcia — never mind, thanks,” he said, shuffling away.
“…like we got it working. You’re all set!” Garcia chirped. “Let me know if you have any more issues.”
“I will, thank you,” Ashley said with a smile.
Garcia peeked up over her shoulder, “Hi, boy wonder. What’s up?”
“Oh, I was just looking for—” Ashley turned around, and Spencer paused for a moment, “—her.”
“Well, here she is!” Garcia gestured to her. She saw the box in Spencer’s hands, almost asked, then just gave a quick smile. She turned around, but Spencer knew she was listening.
He motioned for Ashley to follow him out of the room. She slipped her phone into the pocket of her slacks and followed him. Her eyes landed on the box, and Spencer watched her stiffen slightly.
Once they were tucked into a quiet corner of the hallway and away from Garcia’s prying ears, Ashley blurted out, “Do you hate it?”
Spencer froze. “No! No, I like it, I wanted to thank you.”
“Oh! Oh, um, you’re welcome,” the fear disappeared off her face, replaced with a smile, “I just thought maybe they’d block some sound? On the jet, in the SUVs, when you sleep. Whenever.”
He nodded, looking down at the box. He used this thumbnail to pick at the tape. “I really do appreciate it though. Thank you.”
Spencer heard a soft noise, then Ashley gently squeezed his shoulder. “You’re welcome, Spencer.”
The earplugs worked wonders. They weren’t perfect, but in combination with his sunglasses, everything was a little more manageable. They didn’t have an active caseload — just the usual quick consults and inquiries. Over lunch about a week or so later, Ashley asked about the headaches.
“No tumor, which is good, but no other reason?” she asked, “I know when we talked a while ago you said…psychosomatic?”
Spencer nodded, “Psychosomatic can mean a few different things, but with my mom…” he stabbed a noodle hard, flicking hot water onto himself. His jaw clenched, but Ashley was already getting up to get him paper towels.
“With your mom?” she prompted, handing him the towels.
“It’s really scary,” he carefully soaked up the water out of his sweater, and the little puddle he’d made on the table, “Just…not having a reason. A tumor can be treated — chemotherapy and surgery and —” he cut himself off, “—There’s options if you know what’s wrong. Not if you don’t.”
“I think you might be stuck,” Ashley said. At Spencer’s confused face, she continued, “Stress makes headaches worse. Fully psychosomatic or not, you expend a lot of this brain power,” she gently flicked his temple, “worrying about them. Do you see what I’m saying? You get stuck.”
Spencer stiffened, and she frowned.
“I’m not saying there’s not something else going on,” she clarified, “I just think it would do you some good to…keep talking about it. Even if it’s just me. I don’t mind.”
After a moment, Spencer relaxed. “Okay,” he relented quietly. He (more carefully this time) speared a noodle with his fork.
They settled into a comfortable silence. Spencer wrestled with the noodles in the cup. Ashley smiled, looking up from her salad.
“Is it good enough for you to have to fight it to eat?”
Spencer huffed, “Not really.” He eyed her salad enviously.
“Do you want some of mine?” she offered her fork, then backtracked, “Sorry, never mind.” When Spencer put his hand out, she slowly handed him a fork. “I guess it’s like a kiss though, right?”
“What?” he asked, face and ears turning red.
“Morgan said you told this cop kissing was safer than a handshake a while back,” Ashley said, taking a sip of her tea. “So this doesn’t bother you, right?”
“Uh — yeah, sure.” Spencer mumbled, stabbing a piece of lettuce, “I mean — I did but,” he shoved the forkful of salad into his mouth so he stopped stammering.
Ashley slipped his fork free from his other hand and stole some of his ramen. He made a quiet mmph noise of protest.
Ashley swallowed then mumbled under her breath, “Shut up.” Spencer let out an irritated huff and snatched his fork back, and so did she. She jabbed him with her elbow, and she felt him elbow her back.
“That was good though,” Spencer murmured, twirling more noodles around his fork.
“I could bring you one tomorrow. I have a few in my fridge.”
Spencer shook his head, “It’s fine. I have plenty of ramen.”
“That’s why I offered; you have to get sick of them,” she said, “I have more from this brand if you want to try some.”
Spencer chewed on his lip and nodded. He stole more of her salad.
Ashley lightly smacked the back of his hand. “You brat.” Spencer pouted and rubbed where she had hit. “Oh, quit that. I didn’t hurt you.”
“Yeah you did. It stung,” Spencer grumbled.
“Poor thing. Here,” she kissed her fingers, then pressed them to the back of his hand, “Is that better?”
Spencer swallowed roughly, “Yeah — um, yes. Thank you.”
There was a tense moment of quiet — Spencer staring at his hand, Ashley looking at the rosy pink blush that was spreading from his cheeks down to his neck, her fingertips still resting on his knuckles.
“Seaver.” Unmistakably Hotch’s voice.
Ashley’s head whipped sideways. “Sir, yes. Hi?” She wrenched her hand away from Spencer’s guiltily.
“Your instructor from the Academy is here. He wanted to do check-in with you.” Hotch’s eyes bored into her.
She nodded, nearly tripping over herself to get out of the break room. She squeezed past Hotch, feeling her face burn.
Her instructor stood in the bullpen, waving her down with a tight smile. She looked over her shoulder at Hotch and Spencer once before walking up to him.
“Sir.” Ashley said, shuffling to a stop. She could feel the other agent turning to look. “Is there something wrong?”
“No,” he said, “You’re just due to take your computerized test before graduation. Agent Hotchner already knows, and it would be best for you to take it as soon as you can. Of course, this would require you to step away from the BAU for a little while. Have you registered for a time yet?”
“I — no, haven’t,” Ashley wished for once in his life, the old man would speak slower, “I have to register in person right?” The instructor nodded, and she sighed, “Okay, uh…I can leave today after work.”
“Good. And good luck, cadet,” he said, turning on his heels sharply.
She huffed softly, walking over to her desk and grabbing a piece of paper to scribble a reminder down. Graduation was…soon. She’d already completed the physical test before she’d gotten concussed and started her remedial with the BAU, leaving her with the computerized and paper tests. She tucked her pen back up against her keyboard and trudged back to the breakroom.
Hotch was gone. Spencer was still sitting, idly stirring his noodles. “You’re leaving?”
Ashley sat back down. “No — well, yes, but just for a little while. I have to finish my testing before graduation.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know,” she said honestly, “I have to register for the test in person, get an approved time, and then actually take the test. And hopefully pass.”
Spencer nodded, clenching his jaw.
“You can call me if you want. Or text me.”
“I hate the phone.” Spencer muttered.
“Then you can write me a letter or something,” Ashley stabbed her salad hard, “It’s just a few days. Maybe a week.”
Spencer’s face crumbled.
She immediately felt guilty. Slowly, she reached out and placed her hand on his arm. His arm twitched, and she started to pull away. Spencer reached out and grabbed her wrist, keeping her hand from pulling away. Ashley squeezed his arm gently, feeling the littlest bit of comfort in the way he squeezed her wrist back.