TWENTY-FOUR. A NEW LOW

RHEA WAS NOT HAVING A GOOD WEEK. She'd barely eaten or slept, and had mostly been drinking alcohol or smoking weed to crawl out of her own mind (after work hours, of course). Her apartment had grown increasingly lonelier, the absence of Spencer visible in where he used to sit, sleep and eat. Work wasn't as fulfilling; she was lucky there was a student teacher assigned to her class that month, which meant she could wallow in self pity by her desk if need be. Samuel and Louisa were her only outlets, but she couldn't confide in them much longer - she was sure she was a burden.

So, it came as a surprise when her front door swung open, revealing both her friends with bags of groceries in hand. Kev trailed behind with a stack of DVDs in his arms, as well as a backpack filled with fuck knows what. Rhea didn't even get up from her seat, she merely lifted her hand in a lame wave to acknowledge their presence. 

"Jesus, it stinks in here," Samuel groaned, waving his hand in front of his face after he dropped the bags on the kitchen bench. He moved to the windows to open them and let the smell of pot out, pulling a face. "Has it ever occurred to you that you can bake this shit into brownies? Then you wouldn't have to carry around a bottle of perfume after getting high."

Louisa walked over and took Rhea's chin in her hand, lifting it up so that they could look each other in the eyes. The younger woman struggled to open them the whole way, exhaustion gripping at her throat with intense fervour. "How often have you been smoking?"

"Relax," Rhea waved them both off, curling up into the couch with a pillow tight against her chest. "I'm fine. I just need some help getting to sleep, you know?"

"It's eleven o'clock in the morning," Samuel pointed out, helping himself to a glass of water and reclining on the armchair opposite the television. Kev started making a meal for the depressed woman, and soon the apartment was filled with new, fresh aromas that overpowered the former grassy stench. "Rhea, what the fuck are you doing?"

"I don't know," Rhea sighed, her voice muffled as she buried her face in the soft material. Her stomach rumbled at the new smells, but it barely lifted her mood. "It's just...Spencer. And Daisy. Oh! And Hunter is back in town! Isn't that fun?"

"Back it up with the attitude," Samuel threw a decorative pillow in her direction, and Rhea groaned as it hit the side of her head and fell on the floor. "What do you expect to happen from you sitting on your ass all day?"

"He's right," Louisa hummed, reaching for the television remote to find a good reality show to indulge in. She had been a fan of 'Love Island' recently, and had consequentially gotten everyone else into it. Even Spencer's interest had been peaked for a little while, despite his views on the exploitation of love and the human experience. Rhea thought it was hilarious. "It's time you start looking out for yourself instead of everyone else."

"You two don't know what you're talking about," Rhea said, lifting her head a little to see what they were watching; Louisa had found a rerun of 'Say Yes to the Dress'. 

"Yes, we do," Samuel rolled his eyes. "Look, kid, it doesn't matter what you do or say to us, we're gonna pull you out of this hole. I know Spencer has it hard, and Daisy isn't here, but the fact that you're reliant on them to be happy has become a problem, okay? We need to get you a hobby."

Rhea's jaw slacked, and she turned her gaze from the television to the man opposite her. "I have hobbies!"

"Like what? Spencer doesn't count," Louisa snickered, and Rhea nudged the older woman with her foot. The old woman kicked her back. "We've signed you up for self-defence classes. And pottery."

"And there's this really good seminar about bugs from some dude called Doctor Jack Hodgins at the university," Samuel said, before shrugging. "Though I wanted to go to that anyway. I'm pretty sure some of his people work with the FBI, too."

"Thanks, guys," Rhea looked between both of her friends. She was grateful, so grateful, but she had no idea where the energy or motivation they wanted was supposed to come from. "But I'm fine. Seriously. I just...need a little time to adjust. Spencer might not even be in jail that long - if he can clear the charges-"

"Rhea," Louisa cut her off, putting her hand on the woman's knee. "For fuck's sake. Shut up. You're not fine. This is a new low, especially for you, and it's time to face the facts. Spencer is in trouble, and this time you can't pull him out of it. Without him or Daisy, you don't have anyone to take care of."

"That's not it-"

"The fact that you think your purpose in life is to fix broken people isn't healthy," Samuel continued. "You're a good person, so is Spencer. But right now you have to accept that you don't have any power. It's up to him and his colleagues to prove his innocence."

Rhea knew he was right. But it didn't make the truth any easier to swallow.

★☆

"Please, just think about it," Emily pleaded, her voice edging on desperate. Seeing Spencer in a jail cell wasn't exactly the highlight of her career, and the fact that he was considering denying a deal of five to ten years? It was just stressing her out more. "Think about the evidence."

"I know," Spencer swallowed, looking out the window of the interrogation room. He gently massaged his injured hand, still hazy on how he had cut it. His blood and prints had been found on the murder weapon, but it didn't clear anything up for him. The events in Mexico were all still a gigantic ink blot on his memory. "Scratch dots his I's and crossed his T's, we know that."

"But a jury won't," Emily insisted. Her anger towards Peter Lewis was unprecedented. He'd driven Hotch and Daisy into Witness Protection, and had now possibly framed Spencer for murder; it infuriated her. "A jury will see what Scratch wants them to see."

Spencer scratched his cheek, his long nails leaving pink stripes on his skin. "You think they'll convict me?"

Emily tilted her head. There was no point in lying, not to someone who was so intelligent. "I don't know. But if they do...five years...that's do-able. You're young. You can have a life after that-"

"Not as an FBI agent," Spencer interrupted, his brows knitting together. "I'd be a convicted felon."

"Yes, but you'd be free," Emily said. "You'd be able to stay with Rhea, you could teach-"

Spencer felt a lump form in his throat. "The FBI is my home. It's where I belong."

"You don't belong in prison," Emily tried to control her wavering voice. "And if you play Russian roulette with this...twenty five years. That is a lifetime."

"If Scratch is framing me, you guys will get him, I know you will," Spencer crossed his arms. He was too stubborn for his own good. He wanted true justice to prevail, but he knew all too well how clever his enemies were. Nothing was in his favour. 

"Yes, we will," Emily confirmed, though she didn't hide her fear. "I promise you we will never give up. And we will exonerate you. But what if we can't do that this week? Or this year? Or this...decade? Because I know we can't do it before your arraignment."

It seemed both agents were close to crying now. Spencer blinked a few times, a tear falling down his cheek. His voice dropped to a whisper. "What do I do?"

"I don't know," Emily said. "But I'm scared for you."

"So am I," Spencer admitted.

Emily pulled him into an embrace, her tears wetting Spencer's cardigan. She feared this would be the last time she'd be able to hold her friend without prison bars separating them. 

★☆

ugh yes i know this is short and shit but i am so unmotivated to write atm and i'm out of my mgg phase and into my pedro pascal phase so ihave no idea what i'm doing anymore

also bones reference cause if i ever bother to publish my emily fic it'll crossover with the jeffersonian gang