❝ YOU KNOW, YOU'RE RUDE. ❞
❝ WOW, YOU'RE LIKE A DETECTIVE OR SOMETHING. ❞
Scout Wiley has two sides. The loudmouth mailroom girl who hates coffee, and the trained assassin who never misses her target. Thanks to years of training, these lives hav...
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SPENCER SIGHED AS he parked his rusting car into his usual spot.
It had been one month since Scout lost the baby and things weren't the same anymore. She had taken it upon herself to take a step away from the BAU, saying that she needed time to recover.
Spencer had, of course, agreed with her. But what he hadn't expected was that she would insist on living with her mother during that time. He would visit her every moment he could, but the Scout he had known a month ago wasn't the same person.
She changed.
The lanky doctor grabbed his satchel from the passenger seat and got out of the car. He changed too, but deep down, he had hoped that they could've gone through it together.
But, Scout shut him out. He couldn't blame her. Most women report some degree of psychological distress after a miscarriage, and that about 1 in 10 women actually meet criteria for major depression.
Spencer just hoped that it wouldn't reach any further than that.
If his memory serves him correctly, which it usually did, she was quiet after the announcement of the miscarriage. Hell, she even tried to lift his spirits, as if she hadn't gone through such a traumatic experience. As if he was more important than her own mental state.
Spencer, with a bracing breath, pasted an artificially bright smile on his face as he peeked into Scout's hospital room. "Knock, knock."
From her bed across the room, she wiped at her eyes.
"Well, hi, love." He came over to kiss her on the forehead. "The nurse said you were up. How are you feeling?"
She shrugged, and he continued with false jocularity. "I was hoping that you'd still be asleep. I didn't want you to wake to an empty room."
She shook her head. "It's okay."
He gave a slow nod. "Oh. Good."
Spencer cleared his throat. "Well, I brought you back some stuff." He set down the bag he had been carrying on the foot of the bed and began rummaging through it. "Okay. Um – toothpaste and brush. Check." He laid them next to her. "Deodorant. Not that you need it." He added hastily, and nearly stuck his head into the bag to hide embarrassment.
"Uh. Slippers. Nightgown – although you might not be able to wear it – you know how hospitals love to make you wear the ones with the rear air-conditioning." He tried a grin, but it was lost on her.
