death and all of its friends
[spencer reid x reader]
summary: you have an important witness admitted to Grey Sloan Hospital, but things get out of hand in the middle of your questioning. the unsub is on the loose and your team is still on their way. it's the worst that could happen, right? except that you end up stuck in an elevator with your ex. and that is worse. ( slight crossover between GA and CM )
pairing: s.reid x f!bau!reader; past!jackson avery x f!bau!reader
w.c: 5.8K
warnings/content: heavy discussions about trauma regarding a mass shooting; PTSD; the word kill/murder is there a few times; kidnapping; break-ups; heartbreak; anxiety attack; hospitals; claustrophobia; mentions of surgery and blood and gunshot wound (not really graphic); minor character death (mentioned); there is so much drama in this you might call it unnecessary but I just had to unleash the devil in me; suggestive content (near the end); making out; long paragraphs in italics are flashbacks.
a/n: ok ok, like I promised (3000 years ago) here it is. enjoy it and please let me know if I forgot to tag anyone!
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Five years ago you walked these same halls running from a mass shooter that entered Seattle Grace and caused havoc. Now, instead of Seattle Grace is Grey Sloan and apparently, not only the name of the hospital has changed. Amongst the Attendings, Residents and Interns there were all new faces, which only made sense since it's been five years and some of the people you knew had left and others died.
Cristina Yang nicknamed the hospital Seattle Grace Mercy Death once and after all the stories you've been told by your ex-boyfriend's friends, it seemed fitting.
You liked Cristina's dark humor. She was the funniest person you met in your time in Seattle. You were happy to hear she left to be a cardiothoracic surgeon in Switzerland, and she owned a hospital now, which was great.
As you passed the cafeteria your head was flooded with memories of Lexi pulling you to have lunch with her after she finished a procedure, her excited rambles about every detail inside an OR — she wasn't Lexopedia for nothing — and the juicy gossip she provided you about the relationships inside this hospital (and her relationship with Mark Sloan).
You might not have worked with these people but they felt like family once, the missing will always be there.
Nostalgia had to be left aside for your job though, you had to find an important witness in a case involving the kidnapping of a six-year-old boy. He had been missing for three days, you were running against the clock at this point.
“Miss Howard's room.” The nurse pointed you towards the room and you thanked her with a polite smile. “She's been sedated, so she may not be totally aware of her surroundings yet. She just got out of surgery.”
“Alright, thank you.”
Stab wound to the chest. An argument turned ugly in prison. You recalled Penelope telling you and the team that that was the reason she had been hospitalised. You observed the handcuffs locking her wrist against the bed before approaching.
Your phone vibrated in your pocket and you grabbed it to see a text from JJ.
Is she awake?
Yes.
You pressed send and looked up at wiped-out blue eyes staring back at you with annoyance. You could hear what she was about to say already.
“I answered all of y'all's questions already, can you people never leave me alone?”
“Miss Howard, I'm with the FBI,” you started, introducing your name and then, proceeding to the hard part.
The crease between her brows told you she was unaware of why you were there. “You people locked me up three years ago what is there to do now? Checking up if I'm killing any more disgusting men who deserved it?”
“Martha, it's about your son, Ben Howard.” The way she immediately froze made your heart clench. Why did it have to be you to give her the news? JJ is way better at doing this, you have no idea of comforting people so you'd rather just not do it. “He's been kidnapped by your husband, Thomas Howard.”
“Ex-husband.” She tried sitting up with difficulty while being handcuffed to the bed. You helped her. “What— No. Ben visited me with my sister three days ago, he's fine. He wouldn't dare touch my boy.”
Ten minutes later into your questioning, your back pocket started to vibrate and you pulled it out to see who it was.
Spencer calling. . .
“Everything you said is very helpful, Miss Howard, we're going to try everything we can to find Ben.”
“Please do.” Her voice cracked and you saw the mask of indifference crumble a little. “He's— he's all I got.”
You nodded, then excused yourself to answer the call outside of the room.
“Hey, I was just about to update you guys—”
“He's in Grey Sloan.” Spencer blurted out the first second you answered. “Thomas Howard is in Grey Sloan. Where are you?”
“What— What about the kid? Did you find him?” You quickly informed the two police officers outside the room to not let anyone else in. “You don't mean he's inside Grey Sloan, right?”
Hotch's voice rang through the line and you knew you were on speaker. “He's going after Martha. We found Ben, he was unarmed but Thomas's endgame is Martha. And yes, he's inside the hospital at this moment. Do you know where Martha is?”
“I just talked to her,” you turned your neck to glimpse at her room again subconsciously. “There are two officers outside her room, I already told them. But Hotch—”
“He's armed, wait for backup.”
“We profiled him as a psychopath, Hotch. He's impulsive and has no remorse or guilt, you know what he's capable of, especially if he let the boy go.”
“Kid, don't be reckless yourself. We're almost there—” Rossi tried to intervene.
“We're almost there.” You heard Spencer's voice and that made you hesitate for a second before hanging up. “Please don't—”
Your heart was thumping hard and rapidly against your ribcage, you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. As soon as you felt numbness in your fingers you clenched your hand into fists and let go, this was the way your body warned you you were about to have an anxiety attack. Thankfully, you were able to notice it before it got to the point where you passed out.
Your name was called from afar and you halted, bumping into a nurse and mumbling a shaky sorry. The owner of the voice touched your elbow and you flinched, hand immediately searching for your gun.
“Hey, whoa, it's me, Amelia. I didn't mean to scare you but when I saw it was you I just— it's been five years and you're here!” You withdrew your hand from the holster on your hip, inhaling and exhaling slowly to force your heart to calm the fuck down, you are not in imminent danger.
“Amy,” you smiled and accepted the hug she was eager to give you. “Hi. How are you?”
“I'm great, yeah. And you? For how long are you staying?”
“I'm not. I, uh, I'm here on a case, with the FBI.” You cleared your throat. “Actually, I need your help with something.”
Fifteen minutes later you had already warned most of the staff and Attendings in two floors to keep an eye out for Thomas Howard. You tried slowing your fast pulse by practicing the guided breathing you learned in therapy all those years ago. You did everything your therapist said, every single step from questioning your thoughts to counting everything blue you found in your way.
You couldn't stop memories from revisiting your brain.
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You were waiting to have lunch with him.
It was almost one in the afternoon, Jackson was late because of a surgery that was taking longer than expected due to complications.
It was your day off. One of the rare days you'd appear in Seattle Grace Mercy West before 6 p.m. when your classes at Washington University were over. You were a part of the Psychology department at WU, and a professor for the Undergraduate Program of B.S., Psychology.
It wasn't usual for you to have a day off but given the amount of days you've been accumulating over the year, it was only fair.
So you visited your boyfriend in the hospital, patiently waiting for his belated surgery to end so you could have your lunch date. That was until Lexi Gray pulled you into the hospital's cafeteria and you ended up having lunch with her.
Lexi.
You remember her terrified face when it happened. It had been a terrifying day, one that no one expected. It's funny how tragedies are never announced, isn't it? They just come barging in and you can't just ignore the door, tragedies do not need to knock.
It was in that day, that you understood the gravity of that.
Of course, it wasn't as nearly as bad for you as it was for those who worked at that place. They would have to come back every day and see the walls and that same floor which were smeared with their friends' blood.
Jackson had lost two of his best friends. He spent two months having nightmares screaming their names during the night and getting mad at himself because you weren't able to sleep. That was the least of your concerns back then. You know something that would forever be etched into your brain was the barrel of a gun being pointed at you and the sound of the safety being taken off. You can't even recall the actual shot, only the pain that followed afterward and Jackson's horrified expression as he held your weak body on the floor.
You thought you died. Jackson thought you died. Meredith, Lexi, Cristina and everyone else thought you died. In reality, you had just passed out from blood loss caused by a bullet wound to your chest area.
That must have been terrifying to watch. You couldn't imagine being in his place, you probably would've been crying non-stop at the amount of blood, not saving his life, like he did to you.
During the recovery process, you remember thinking about the absurdity of your dream of becoming an FBI Agent. If you weren't able to control your emotions on situations like that then what's even the point of anything?
According to your therapist, what you suffered didn't determine the person you were, which, at first, you judged as complete bullshit. But you understood in later sessions what she meant by that.
“Is it something you think you are not capable of doing?”
You looked up from your hands, staring into the gray eyes of Isobel Houston. Jackson had made a compelling deal with you. He basically threw in your face that if he, who was threatened with a gun, was doing therapy, you, who had been shot and almost died in his arms, also had to talk about it.
And here you were.
“I'm not sure if I would know how.” You replied, brows twitching with your uncertainty. You were discussing about holding a gun and going out into the field, which was required in the training at the FBI Academy. You told her if you freaked out at the sight of blood then you shouldn't follow through with your decision to become an FBI Agent.
“Well, that's what training is for, isn't it?” Isobel quirked a brow at you, earning a scoff. “You would learn certain abilities and improve the ones you already have in the academy. They wouldn't expect you to know everything.”
“I'm not sure if I can.”
Isobel nodded and wrote something down in the notepad you were planning to steal to see how she was making fun of you in there.
“It is too soon still. But don't rule out your dream career quite yet. You are healing, it's a process that requires patience, both from you and from others around you. You don't have to think about that now. How about you take some time to yourself, focus on healing, getting better first?”
A year later you would be forever thankful for those words. Because you didn't give up of your dream career, you made the decision to follow through with it and it worked.
Partially, at least.
“What do you mean you were accepted?” Jackson put his fork down as he chewed on his salad, tilting his head in confusion at you. “How can you be accepted somewhere if you didn't even apply to it?” The amusement in his tone instantly died as soon as he saw your serious face across from him. He connected the dots. “But you did apply... didn't you?”
"Jack, I've always wanted this."
He offers you a look of disbelief.
"I know! But- You didn't even talk to me and-"
"That's my decision." You cut him off.
"Well, yes, but I'm your boyfriend. I think I deserved to know you were thinking about leaving for four months?"
It caused a rift in your and Jackson's relationship. Back then, you didn't mind the fact that you were kind of doing things on your own, because your only goal was to leave and maybe, just maybe, forget what happened but the scar you had in your chest had to remind you of it. You never told him that, and you blamed him for not wanting you to leave for four months. Selfish; that was what you called him countless times after you broke up before you left. When, in reality, you had been the selfish one in the relationship.
Truth be told, you wanted to forget that part of your life. Your completely foolish mistake and how wrong you were. Your healing had taken years and it still wasn't perfect, you weren't unflinching to the threat of an armed man. Right now, you wanted nothing more than to go back to Virginia and crawl into your blankets to feel some sort of safety.
You had to bring safety to these people when you felt lost and cornered, how fun was that? You felt like such a failure. Years of experience and training going down the drain because of a stupid trauma.
To add to that, you were currently stuck in an elevator. With a reckless man going after your witness. And your team was close to your location but not quite enough.
Maybe they were already here since you had no reception and no way of knowing about their whereabouts.
Maybe they already caught Thomas Howard and Hotch was thinking about his careful words as he fired you for your incompetency.
“Why is it that when I find you you're always leaving?”
Right. You got stuck in an elevator with your ex of all people. It was like everything you did not want to happen would materialize in front of you.
“Jackson," you hissed, rubbing a hand across your face in pure frustration because of the useless phone in your hands. None of the messages were sent. Where were they? How was Martha?
Hey, Spence. Where are you?
I'm stuck in an elevator, fourth floor. I don't know what happened.
You sent those fifteen minutes ago.
“It was just a comment,” Jackson said, shrugging in that infuriating way as if he knew he was right about something. You also knew Jackson Avery's way of deviating from his real problems was to seek anger. And usually, someone was the target. This time, it was you. "What are you doing here?"
You looked down at your bulletproof vest and glanced up at him. Jackson's brows rose up to his hairline in understanding. God, he could be slow sometimes.
"You're with the FBI."
"I am the FBI."
Jackson blinked, "right. Right. Uh, I- Sorry, I-" his apologetic wince made you relax your shoulders. "I'm sorry, I'm just... This is too familiar." Yeah, you could relate to that.
"Jackson," your eyes softened but you tried to reassure him as much as you were able to. "This is not the same thing. His reasoning is completely different. What happened then- It won't happen again."
His bright green eyes study you with a newfound curiosity but you could see some of the tension leave his body.
"You sound sure."
"I am," you said. "My team is close by and they're good. Besides, all of the local cops probably asked for backup already. And SWAT is right outside."
He took a long minute staring you down to nod quietly. The silence that came afterward was uncomfortable. There was so much to say and nothing and the same time. This wasn't the time, but it was inevitable to not think about your last words to each other. You didn't hold a grudge against Jackson, you had no reason to, but he had plenty to do it and you wouldn't blame him.
Fuck, why was this elevator so hot? Why were the walls so close to one another?
"I saw you on TV once."
You swallowed hard, feeling your throat closing up. Your attention drifted towards Jackson's whitecoat.
"I didn't know being in the FBI made you famous." His attempt at joking had you scoffing despite your current state of mind. "I would've made a career exchange if I knew."
"You were already rich, why do you need to be famous?" You mumbled with your eyes shut as you tried to calm your erratic breathing down. "Actually, you were already famous and rich, so anything you just said is..." your voice failed. "… complete bullshit."
He said your name twice and you were obligated to open your eyes. He was much closer and concern tugged his lips downwards.
"Put a hand on your chest and tell me what you can see." You stared at his lips moving slowly as your vision blurred slightly. He said your name more urgently this time. "Put a hand on your chest and tell me what you see."
"Your stethoscope," you said as you stared at it, clearing your throat. "F-flyers," you croaked out, glancing briefly above his shoulders to the flyers splattered around. You couldn't see what they were about, but you knew they were there as they had been since the first time you stepped inside this elevator years ago.
"What can you feel?"
Your fingers drummed against your ribcage. Your breathing slowing down but not quite there yet. "My heartbeat. Mhm... The-my cold necklace." It was always two things. You thought about one and as you searched for another, you would calm down through the process.
You could feel the warmth of his hands on your arms, helping grounding you back to earth.
"Good. Two things you can hear." He was way relieved after your voice stopped shaking.
"Your voice," you uttered, feeling your fingers moving and the sweat dripping down your back. The anxiety diminished little by little. When you were about to say the next thing you could hear, what you could only describe as two loud shots right outside the elevator doors made the both of you flinch and stare at the metal doors with widened eyes.
You immediately got into action, thankfully prioritizing being numb over any other emotion at that moment, which was what you should have done from the start.
"What are you doing?" Jackson asked you confusedly as you tried prying the doors open. "We might not be entirely on the floor-"
"Help me open this, Jackson and I'll figure it out from there."
Just then, your phone came back to life. Reception. At the same time, the doors opened without any human force. You didn't have time to see the caller ID before your gun was drawn in front of you and Jackson, ready to fire.
"Hey, hey, it's me!" The voice you've been craving to hear for half an hour called out your name in front of you. Honey-brown, you thought, locking eyes with Spencer, I can see honey-brown eyes too. "I just got your text, I was looking for you- Hey." He breathed out in your ear as you threw your arms around his neck. His arms squeezed you in comfort. "Are you okay?"
I am now.
Your head bobbed up and down as you leaned back to get some distance. PDA wasn't your forte, but you had been triggered just a few minutes ago, and you needed some comfort from the only person who would effectively provide it to you.
“They got him. He was hidden in one of the on-call rooms on the third floor.” Spencer filled you in before you could ask. He was assessing you thoroughly, looking for any strand of hair out of place, something that would tell him you had gotten hurt.
You placed a hand on his chest, patting it gently. “I'm okay,” you tried reassuring him, eyes traveling through the room until you found some of your coworkers talking with the local police.
“You should drink water.” Jackson's voice startled you a bit and Spencer looked behind you curiously. “And sit down.”
And that comment immediately canceled out Spencer's certainty that you were okay.
“Oh, I'm fine.”
“Anxiety attack.” Jackson mouthed to Spencer out of your eyesight. He moved away to talk to some doctors while Spencer stared at his back, trying to pinpoint where exactly did he knew him from and why he was acting as if he knew you.
But then it clicked.
Jackson Avery. Harper Avery's grandson. Owner of a share of the Grey Sloan Memorial. Plastics surgeon.
Right, of course. And your ex-boyfriend.
“Is Martha okay?”
Spencer looked down at you, blinking. “Uh-huh. Yeah, she's safe.”
You gave him a look, “what?”
“What?” His voice failed, which was a bit embarrassing, really.
“Just spit it out, Spence.”
So, he did.
“Were you stuck in an elevator with Jackson Avery?”
You almost choked up on your own saliva, earning a grimace from your boyfriend. Your concerned and caring boyfriend wasn't making that question because of pure jealousy, he genuinely wanted to know if you were okay after being stuck in an elevator with your ex-boyfriend in the same place you got shot by Gary Clark.
“I'm sorry I wasn't here,” Spencer said with a sigh. “I should have come with you. I'm so sorry I wasn't here.”
“Spencer, I'm fine,” you insisted, taking his hand on yours. Fuck it. “Hey, nothing happened in there.”
He knows that but that's not what he meant. Not in that sense.
“I'm not jealous.” He felt the need to clarify. He wasn't immune to jealousy but that was neither the right place nor moment for it. He just wanted to know if the reason for your anxiety attack was just being in a confined space or if the other person you were stuck with had something to do with it. “But you— Did he say something to you? To trigger it?”
It took you a moment to get what he was saying, but once you did, you sighed and pulled him aside away from prying eyes.
“No. I— It was the images. Memories. And the whole thing of being inside an elevator for more than one minute. He didn't do anything. He actually... helped me calm down.”
Spencer brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, “okay. Good. And do you feel better now?”
A tender smile twitched the corner of your lips.
“Yes, I do.”
“Are you ready to go?” Hotch approached you and Spencer and you watched Emily, JJ, Derek and Rossi exit the hospital.
“Yes.” But your eyes drifted to the side and you told both of them you'd meet them in the car. “I'll be right there. It won't take long.”
Spencer kissed your temple on his way out.
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"Are you okay?"
"Are you?"
Both of you have been on opposite ends of the room for the past five minutes and none had the courage to break the deafening silence. It should have been you, though. You were the one to ask Jackson for a quick word.
"Why wouldn't I be?" His brows furrowed as he stared at his hands. He seemed deep in thought. You wondered if he was thinking the same as you. It was a long time ago. It was a long time ago but it is somehow very fresh when he's standing in front of me.
Because we never got closure. I didn't let that happen.
"We never talked about it." You sat down in one of the bunk beds, knowing this wouldn't be as fast as both of you liked it to be. Years of a relationship couldn't be fixed in five minutes. You texted Spencer to let him know you'd meet all of them in the motel since the jet would only be available tomorrow anyway, and you didn't want anybody waiting for you.
"We did."
"Talking to our therapists is not the same as communicating to each other." You interjected.
Jackson's gaze flashed with hurt and he looked away.
“I couldn't stay," you said, biting your cheek because it was so hard to admit that out loud.
He finally looked up, tilting his head to look at you. “You couldn't or you wouldn't?”
You clenched your jaw, annoyance seeping through your demeanor. “I wouldn't. It was my dream, it had always been my dream to get into the FBI—into the BAU. I wouldn't give that up. And it's not fair for you to judge me when you know exactly how that feels. Yes, I could have stayed, but I didn't want to.”
Jackson rolled his eyes, standing up to pace around the room. "Yeah, it was pretty clear you didn't want to stay."
"Jackson-"
“Look, I'm not judging. And yes, I do understand. I just think—" He halted and looked at you, green eyes burning into yours. "God, did you have to pack your bags without even talking to me? You made a life-changing decision and you just up and left.”
Your breath hitched, and something in your chest churned painfully. Guilt, probably. Five years and you hadn't uttered the words he deserved once.
"I'm sorry." You swallowed with difficulty. "Jackson, I- What I did was unfair and I'm so incredibly sorry for hurting you. You deserved more than that."
"I've forgiven you a long time ago," Jackson confessed, uncrossing his arms and angling his body towards you. "It's been five years. Those words have been bottled up in my throat since the moment you walked out... but I don't hate you."
You winced, "but you did hate me."
Amusement travels through his face. "For a bit, yes."
"Fair."
"I'm sorry too."
You gave him a sad smile. "You didn't leave me, Jackson."
"No, but I said some pretty hurtful things to you. So, I'm sorry."
"Mhm, okay." You nodded, shifting on your feet. “You're forgiven too, I guess.”
Jackson offered his hand for a handshake...? You glanced down at it, holding back a laugh because of how awkward he was being. You shook his hand, grinning with a shake of your head.
Yeah, that could be closure.
“I saw you on TV,” Jackson repeated what he said before but you weren't exactly alright to actually hear it. “Are you giving out autographs?”
“I'm giving out this, does it work for you?” You flipped him off. A nurse passed by you and gave you an ugly look while Jackson just smirked.
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As soon as you walked through the doors of Grey Sloan Memorial, exiting the hospital, your eyes caught the back of a familiar lanky figure whose light brown curls waved wildly with the harsh wind of Seattle.
When you got close enough, you heard an indignant edge to your boyfriend's tone. He was speaking on the phone. Your amusement grew when you realized was on the other line, pissing him off.
“Yeah, you know what, Derek?” Spencer started but cut himself off upon seeing you arrive at his side. “You're back.” His annoyed tone switched to something softer.
“What's he pissing you off about now?” You crossed your arms over your chest. “Tell him I'll slap his bald shiny head if he doesn't stop.”
Spencer snorted, covering his mouth. You could hear Derek's telling you to fuck off through the phone before Spencer hung up the call.
You accepted the urge to pull him close to you by wrapping both of your arms around his middle and lowering your head to his chest. His immediate response was to bury his face in the croak of your neck, the cold tip of his nose grazing your skin made you squirm a little.
“I thought I told you not to wait for me.”
Spencer rubbed your back, leaning back slightly to look down at you.
“I wasn't gonna let you drive back on your own.”
You chuckled, “are you telling me I'm a terrible driver?
He hummed, lips quirking up when he kissed the tip of your nose. “You're not as terrible as me.”
“I'm not sure if that can be classified as a compliment, angel. But you're right, nobody is a worse driver than you.”
A pinch in your hip made you whine. He started laughing as you gave him a playful shove before getting in the car. Driver's seat. You had to prove a point.
“How are you?” Spencer asked after a long minute of being silent and you knew he'd be dying to ask that.
“I'm okay.” You told him, giving his thigh a soft squeeze as you concentrated on leaving the parking lot.
“How did it feel?”
You stopped at a red light. The motel was about fifteen minutes from the hospital by car, and you wouldn't go back home today, the jet was only going to be available tomorrow.
“Suffocating.” You laughed after you admitted it out loud. That was how you felt. “Yeah, that's about it. The moment I stepped inside Grey Sloan I felt cornered.”
“That's understandable.” Spencer caressed the back of your hand before you had to pull it back to move the car gear. “You haven't been there for five years. You may have seen, smelled, felt, or touched something that triggered you to go back to that very moment. Even though triggers are usually harmless, they cause your body to react as if you're in danger.” He explained, causing your mouth to quirk upwards in amusement. “Which was why I wanted to be there with you.”
“Hey, that wasn't your fault. And I'm not a little girl anymore, I can get a grip on myself, Spence. We were doing our jobs.”
From the corner of your eye, you were able to see him lean back on the seat with a roll of his eyes.
“Well, yes, I know but I wanted to be there with you. You know just... be there.”
You parked in the motel's parking lot, turning the car off. You inhaled heavily before turning to Spencer, leaning forward to kiss him on the lips. Your boyfriend hummed in satisfaction, pulling you closer by the back of your neck.
“What was that for?” He blinked bleary, voice slightly dazed after your surprise kiss. Your insides turned to mush and fondness overtook your body.
“I love you,” you said, thumb running across his cheek lovingly. “like... a lot.”
His eyes sparkled at your statement and he started smiling like an idiot. An idiot head over heels for you.
“Like a lot?”
“Like a lot.”
A harsh tap on your window made your body jerk and you hit your knee against the steering wheel, a loud curse slipping past your tongue.
Spencer lowered the car window with a glare.
“Alright, lovebirds. We're going out to the bar across the street to have a little fun. Are you coming or what?” Derek dipped his head as his eyes narrowed at the two of you. “Was I interrupting something?”
“How are you so annoying—”
“There is no scientific explanation for that, angel.” You pat Spencer's shoulder, who huffed while getting out of the car. He was immediately wrapped in a side hug by Derek as you locked your car and followed them both down the street, where the rest of your team waited.
Emily snorted, nudging JJ with her arm. “Told you he was going to cockblock them.”
“Emily,” Hotch said sternly, but his mouth betrayed him with a little smile.
“C'mon, pretty boy.” Derek dragged Spencer to the bar as you followed them inside. “Let's drink the night away to make you forget about seeing your girl's ex, who has the greenest eyes I've ever seen—”
Your lips parted in astonishment.
“Hey!” JJ warned him. “Stop that. C'mon, leave him alone you've teased him enough with this.”
Spencer looked at you, lips pulling into a smile at the scowl you were sending Derek as he walked away with JJ and Emily beside him.
“It's alright,” Spencer mumbled, nudging you to a corner as your team scattered around to find a table for eight. “He's just playing around and I'm not threatened by light-colored eyes, anyway. They're overrated.”
You huffed out a laugh, surprised at his nonchalant claim.
"Good." You were so close that your breaths mixed, his eyes falling to your lips and rising to your eyes again. You pulled him flush against your body by the belt loops of his pants, earning a shaky exhale from his parted soft lips. "Cause... You know," you pressed a kiss against his jaw. "There's nothing you should be threatened about. I'm pretty certain of that."
"You are?" Spencer realized how pathetic he sounded and how needy he was starting to look.
"I am, angel," you reaffirmed in his ear, leaning forward to kiss him. Before it got too heated, you smirked against his lips, pushing him away gently as he groaned in protest. "Okay, we can pick this up later tonight, now let's celebrate a bit with them, yeah?"
Spencer sighed, burying his face into your neck for a second and drawing it back to glance at the table their friends chose. It was in a corner of the room, across from where they were currently... talking.
"Okay."
"Don't sound too excited."
"Shut up," he grabbed one of your hands and pulled around his hip at the same time his arm lifted to wrap around your shoulders. "You know what I'm excited about-" he pretended to cough upon gaining a light slap on his back as a warning for him to shut up before any of your friends could hear the implication his words were carrying.
As soon as you arrived at the table, Emily placed a shot before you, claiming you were late for the party. You smiled apologetically at the brunette, bringing the vodka shot to your lips and downing it in one go, gaze locked to your boyfriend's beside you. Oh, this was going to be a long night.
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taglist: @lvtilzs ; @inexplicableeee ; @fkapluto ; @nellxsies
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you can do it with a broken heart
summary: jackson broke up with you for no reason, so now you try to survive residency while working at the same place. but you’re a real though bitch, you can handle your shit
tags: fem!reader, jackson avery, angsty, ttpd
tw: mentions of su!c!de
—-
“You seem… okay.”
You looked at Meredith who was staring at you with a concerned expression. You shrugged, spitting the toothpaste from your mouth into the sink.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” You asked, grabbing a towel and wiping your face from any minty residue.
Meredith narrowed her eyes on you. “Well,” she said, entering the bathroom fully. “Avery dumped you.”
Your heart sank at the mention of him. You shook your head, forcing a smile. “So? It’s not the end of the world. He’s literally just a guy and I dumped him.”
Alex entered the bathroom, pushing past you to get to the sink. You locked eyes in the mirror and he shook his head.
“Pretty boy was not just a guy,” he grumbled, grabbing his razor. “He was like your person or twin or whatever it was you called him.”
Meredith hummed in agreement, sitting on the toilet with her eyes fixed on you. “He wasn’t just a guy, he was your guy.”
You sighed, running a hand through your hair. Your stomach twisting like a wet rag at the topic of conversation. It had been two weeks since Jackson decided to end things after months and months of the stupid will they, won’t they dance. It wasn’t even a viable reason, he needed to focus on plastics and you needed to focus on cardio. It wasn’t you, it was him. After the boards things were going to be different.
Blah blah blah.
“I’m fine,” you said in a failed attempt to convince both of them and maybe even yourself.
Because you were the complete opposite of fine. You were completely ruined. They were right. Jackson wasn’t just a guy, he was the love of your life. Your best friend and one random fight escalated to the point where you turned back to strangers.
Derek popped his head in the bathroom, catching your eye with a sympathetic smile. “Hey,” he said softly. “You okay?”
“I’m fine!” you exclaimed, pushing past him to get to your room. “Perfectly, fine.”
——
“You gotta fake it, till you make it,” Arizona said as she masterfully dissected a burst appendix. “Break ups suck. The important thing is though that you win, you have higher ground.”
You had the faking part down, now making it? That’s a whole different story.
“I’m fine,” you repeated, your eyes on the cavity in front of you. That seemed to be your new phrase lately, it had variations but fine was becoming your old faithful.
For some reason, you decided to look up at the gallery. Your eyes meet green ones. So green yet so blue at the same time. Like a watercolor painting of a beach paradise. You swallowed the lump that blocked your throat. Knowing the intercom was turned on by the red light, you decided to prove it once and for all.
“I actually have a date,” you lied, your eyes darting back to Arizona’s hand as she finished sewing up the kid.
She looked up at the gallery with wide eyes before landing her eyes on you. “A date? With who?”
“Um…” you racked your brain trying to come up with a convincing answer, your eyes briefly meeting Jackson’s. “A lawyer…yeah.”
Arizona dropped the subject when the monitor started beeping wildly, the attention shifting towards the patient. You look up at the gallery again. He was gone.
You’re fine.
—
“He said he’d loved me all his life,” you sobbed one into your arm one night at Joe’s. Lexie rubbed your back sympathetically. “He lied.”
She sighed, passing you another napkin. “You are going to be just fine,” she said, taking your drink away. “No more tequila for you though.”
You shook your head, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “I’m fine,” you said, forcing a smile. “I can handle this, this is nothing.”
——
“It’s kind of ironic,” Alex said one day, watching you repair an aortic aneurysm in the gallery. “She wants to fix hearts for a living but can’t get her own shit together.”
Cristina mumbled an agreement, her eyes focused on the surgery. April shook her head, feeling sad for her friend.
Meredith shrugged. “She says she’s fine,” she said, taking a bite of her apple. “If that was me, I would’ve drowned myself in the bathtub by now.”
Cristina raised an eyebrow, turning back to look at her. “That was you and you did almost drowned.”
“She’s on the verge of a mental breakdown,” Lexie said, her eyes focused on a medical journal. “It’s a matter of time.”
“Avery is a dumbass,” Alex stated, earning a chorus of agreement from the rest of the residents.
All of them were blissfully unaware that Jackson was standing at the entrance of the library. His eyes focused on you as you performed your magic. The way you laughed as you bantered with Altman. His heart sank.
He really was a dumbass for letting you go.
__
You sat in the gallery with the rest of the group, your eyes focused on the surgery below. You mentally took notes. You hadn’t slept in days, food would not stay down no matter how much you tried.
The anxiety ate away at you constantly. The emptiness follows you everywhere you go. The hospital became your home as you dreaded going to bed alone.
Jackson entered the gallery, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up. You still couldn’t be in the same room as him, no matter how cool you tried to play it. With a curt nod, you stood up.
As the tension mounted within you, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over, causing you to sway slightly in your place at the gallery. Cristina, noticing your unsteadiness, reached out a hand to steady you.
"Hey, you okay?" she asked, concern etched in her voice.
You forced a smile, nodding weakly. "Yeah, just a little tired," you replied, though the lie tasted bitter on your tongue.
Lexie glanced up, furrowing her brow at your demeanor. "Are you sure?" she remarked, her voice tinged with worry.
Before you could respond, Meredith interjected, concern evident in her eyes as she set her half-eaten apple aside. "Maybe you should take a break, get some fresh air," she suggested, her tone gentle yet firm.
“I just need to leave,” you whispered, hurrying out of the cramped room.
You’re fine.
—
“Hey.”
You looked up from your study notes. Jackson stood in front of you, shifting from one leg to the other. His hand gripping the strap of his backpack tightly.
Your heart was pounding. “Yeah?” You cautiously asked, closing your notebook.
“I just wanted to check in on you,” he admitted, taking a step closer. “You looked rough in the gallery earlier.”
Your heart skipped a beat at his words, a mixture of emotions swirling within you. Anger, hurt, longing—each fighting for dominance as you struggled to maintain your composure.
"I'm fine," you replied, the words coming out more sharply than you intended. "Just a rough day."
Jackson's expression softened, his eyes searching yours for a hint of the turmoil raging within. "You know you can talk to me, right?" he said softly, his voice filled with genuine concern. “I know you. I know you haven’t been eating or sleeping. Meredith told me you barely go home nowadays.”
A bitter laugh escaped your lips, surprising even yourself. "Talk?" you scoffed, the words dripping with sarcasm. "About what, exactly? How you broke my heart?"
His eyes widened, a pained expression crossing his features. "I never meant to hurt you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I thought I was doing what was best for both of us."
"Best for both of us?" you repeated, incredulous. "How is dumping me, without a single good explanation, the best for me?"
Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over. You blinked them back, refusing to let him see your pain. "You don't get to waltz back into my life and act like everything's okay," you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "I'm not your consolation prize, Jackson."
He reached out a hand, as if to touch you, but you flinched away, the pain of his betrayal still too fresh. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I never meant to hurt you. I just... I thought it would be easier this way."
"Easier for who?" you shot back, your anger simmering just below the surface. "Not for me, that's for sure."
With a heavy sigh, Jackson took a step back, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Fine. I'll leave you alone," he said, his voice filled with resignation. "But just know that I'm here if you ever need me."
As he turned to walk away, you felt a pang of regret, a part of you longing for the comfort of his presence. But you pushed it aside, steeling yourself against the pain. You had survived his absence once; you could do it again.
You’re good. You can do it with a broken heart.
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