❝I've lived too long with pain. I won't know who I am without it.❞

ORSON SCOTT CARD

✩

3.0 : hazmat suits and i love yous

OR

season 4, episode 24 : amplification (ctd.)

FIN TAKES DEEP, SHUDDERY BREATHS THROUGH HER HANDS. She can't look away from the heart monitor flatlining on the other side of the glass. The doctors pull a sheet over the blankly-staring eyes of the man who just died.

Dr. Kimura pulls the door open and joins Fin and Spencer on the other side, looking sad and exhausted. "Thirty-eight-year-old high school history teacher," she says. "Leaves two kids behind."

"Seventeen out of twenty-five dead," Fin whispers, slowly dropping her hands to her sides and pulling the sleeves of her sweater to cover them. They shake uncontrollably, the worst they've shaken in a long time.

Dr. Kimura leans against the reception desk, pen in hand, thinking hard. "This strain is duplicating every thirty- to forty-five minutes. It's poisoning the lungs, causing massive hemorrhaging and organ failure." She looks up at Spencer, and the look on her face scares Fin. It's the look of someone who's lost and has no idea what to do–and that's not the look they need from the doctor in charge.

But something's clicked in Spencer's brain. "Extreme bacterial amplification," he mutters under his breath, focusing on something far away.

"What, Spence?"

"Whoever created this had to, at some point, go to the trouble of testing it," Spencer explains, his voice growing stronger as he processes his thoughts.

Dr. Kimura starts and looks up at him, surprised. "What do you mean?"

"Think about the way scientists work their way up to human testing. They start with rodents, then advance to larger mammals, and then at some point, they do a very small trial run with people." Spencer shakes his head, frowning. "There's no way this was his first human test run."

"You're right." Fin nods slowly. The logical side of her brain is kicking in, weighing facts and thoughts and cutting out the emotional side. "It's too sophisticated. It reads like an escalation, not his first go-around."

"We would've heard about a previous anthrax attack," Dr. Kimura says matter-of-factly.

Something else clicks in Spencer's brain. "Not if it presented itself as something else. Dr. Kimura, can you make some calls, pull some files from nearby hospitals? Look for anything like meningitis, hepatitis–diseases that cause rapid organ failure, similar to this strain of anthrax."

Dr. Kimura, although taken aback, nods and hurries off down the hall.

"I'll text Rossi." Fin pulls out her phone, to have something to do more than anything, and shoots off a quick text to Rossi: Call us when you get a chance. Might have been more attacks before now. Kimura's pulling files.

And then they wait. It could be hours, minutes... Fin doesn't know or really even care. It's just silent, aside from the beeping of monitors, the low hum of medicinal chatter, and the footsteps of doctors and nurses in the halls. It's eerily busy.

Spencer leans against the wall, tapping his foot in time to a song in his head, Fin's sure. And then this is what she was afraid of: being still, being quiet. Because now the scenarios begin to play in her head: Lars is angry, so she leaves the bookstore, drives to who knows where, and somehow ends up in a hospital bed with anthrax in her lungs. Somehow ends up dead because Fin chose to yell at her.

Fin chokes back a dry sob and Spencer starts out of his thoughts, whipping around to look at her. "Hey, hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." She looks away hastily, scrubbing her eyes with the back of her hand, but it's too late: he saw.

Spencer takes her by the arms and pulls her to face him, his beautiful eyes boring into hers. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's nothing." Fin swallows, shakes her head, forces a watery smile. "I just–That argument with Lars, she's still angry, and I sent her to stay with a friend of mine, but she hates me right now, so all I can think about is her sneaking out and somehow ending up where the unsub strikes next–" Her voice threatens to break, so she stops talking altogether, the lump in her throat threatening to burst.

"You think that would be your fault?" Spencer asks gently.

Fin just nods, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from bursting into tears in his arms. She hates how emotional this type of case makes her, but she can't help it. There are reasons for it, good reasons, but to talk about it would just make it worse. It's an endless cycle that she can't seem to break.

"Hazel, if that happened, it would never, ever be your fault." He searches her face, earnest and caring. It's enough to almost send Fin into tears. "You can't think about things like that. Focus on working, on saving the people right here, right now."

"I'm trying," she whispers. "I'm trying."

"I know." And without warning, Spencer pulls her into his arms, resting his chin on the top of her head, one hand at her back and the other resting gently on her hip. "Even if you don't want my help, I promise I'm right here," he whispers into her hair, rubbing her back softly.

Fin's lip trembles of its own accord, and to keep him from seeing it, she buries her face in his chest, taking careful breaths and attempting to settle the lump in her throat. They stay like that for a long while, until finally, Fin pulls away and looks up into his eyes again. "Are you scared?" she asks, the question she's been afraid to ask.

Spencer manages a low chuckle. "I'm terrified."

"Dr. Reid!" Dr. Kimura's hurrying toward them, files in hand. "I found what you're looking for! Here–" She shoves them into Fin's arms and hurries back down the hall, presumably to another patient.

As if on cue, Spencer's phone rings. He pulls it out of his pocket and answers, putting it on speaker so that Fin can hear, too. "Hello?"

"Uh, Reid, you have me, Rossi, and Hotch," JJ says.

"Okay, and Fin's here, too." Spencer clears his throat, nods at Fin encouragingly, and then continues. "Kimura made some calls and dug up some files on patients that checked into E.R.s within the last week, exhibiting similar symptoms."

Fin flips open the first file and leans toward the phone. "Two days ago, two people in two separate Baltimore E.R.s and one person in a Philadelphia E.R. slipped into comas and died suddenly," she reads. "C.O.D. was meningitis."

"Doctors didn't test for anthrax because the illnesses presented themselves as meningitis," Spencer continues, "but I think it could've been caused by anthrax."

"Did they show the symptoms we're seeing now?" Rossi asks. "The lesions?"

"They wouldn't have if the bodily functions expired as quickly as they did," Spencer replies.

"How quickly?" Hotch's tone is calm, but Fin detects an undertone: he's worried, even if it's just a little, and that makes her feel slightly better.

"Uh, all dead within three hours of being admitted," Fin reads, scanning the files for relevant information.

"But the first patient died yesterday at ten hours," Hotch counters.

"Here's the thing–if they inhaled a higher concentration of the strain, it would cause a quicker death." Spencer's speaking incredibly quickly now: he's getting excited. "Organ failure without exterior physical symptoms."

"What are their names?"

"Uh, Gale Mercer, Martha Finestein, and Albert Franks," Fin reads. "We'll fax these files over to you as soon as we can."

"Thanks." And Hotch hangs up.

Spencer looks over at Fin, a sort of proud expression on his face. "You're doing great," he says, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"I'm trying." She manages a small smile.

Dr. Kimura comes striding back down the hall, adjusting her blazer sleeves. She joins them, staring in through the window to the bed where Abby lies, now sleeping. "It feels like the plagues of Egypt."

"Ten scourges created by God." Spencer nods knowingly. "Plague six was unhealable boils, believed by biblical scholars to be caused by anthrax."

"Never missed Sunday school, did you?" Dr. Kimura asks wryly.

"Actually never been before," Spencer replies, shrugging.

"How's Abby?" Fin asks, anxious to know.

"She's a fighter," Dr. Kimura replies softly. "She's held on this long because she's young and strong. But she's started to bleed into her lungs."

"One of four left." Spencer stares, unseeing, into Abby's room. Fin wraps her arms around herself tightly, biting back the questions she has. She's from the FBI. They're the strong ones, the ones with answers, not the ones falling apart. She takes a deep breath.

"We're running into another problem," Dr. Kimura continues. "When next of kin have questions, what do we tell them about cause of death?" She looks questioningly at Fin and Spencer.

Spencer opens his mouth to respond, but Fin speaks first. "Let us handle that part. Keep treating these people, and I promise we'll give you an answer as soon as we can."

She prays that that's true.

✩

"So what's the deal with Nichols?" Fin asks, from the passenger seat of the SUV Morgan's driving. He showed up at the hospital fifteen minutes ago, picked up Fin and Spencer, and now they're driving to the house of a Dr. Lawrence Nichols.

"He's a scientist who used to work at USAMRIID at Fort Detrick," Morgan replies. "Had strong thoughts about protection against anthrax, but got shut down by the government. They called him unstable and excommunicated him. Now he works for a company called Bio-Design Technology. Rossi and Prentiss are going to his office there right now."

"And a hazmat team is meeting us there?" Spencer asks, leaning forward from his seat in the back.

"Yeah. If he is making anthrax at his house, it'll be potent and very dangerous." Morgan turns down a quiet, residential road. "So stay alert."

When they pull up in front of the nice colonial house at the end of the road, the hazmat team's already there. They only have to wait maybe ten minutes before one of the guys radios that it's clear so far.

"Alright, keep me posted," Morgan replies into his own radio, then looks back at Spencer and Fin. "This guy just had people over for a charity event last month."

"We should probably take a look around anyway," Spencer says.

Fin shrugs. "Alright by me." And she leads the way toward the house.

They wind their way around shrubs and tiny trees, avoiding sprinkler heads and old piles of animal shit (probably rabbits, if Fin knows anything about animal droppings), making a very slow trek toward the side door of the house.

Morgan's phone rings and he steps away, picking up. Spencer looks at Fin. "I'm gonna go up to the house." He points to the side door.

"Fine. I'll go around back." Fin hops over a half-full watering can, dodges a rosebush, and then she hears Morgan say something that chills her to the core.

"The lab is clean?"

She stops in her tracks. A half-empty watering can...

"You're sure?" Morgan says to whoever he's talking to on the phone.

Fin's heart quickens. As fast as she can, she retraces her steps and follows Spencer's path up to the side door, a horrible feeling churning in the pit of her stomach. "Spencer?"

"Fin, what's wrong?" Morgan calls after her.

"Spencer?"

No answer.

Fin's quick walk turns into a run. A thousand terrible scenarios course through her head: Spencer comatose on the floor, Spencer shot, Spencer stabbed, Spencer kidnapped–

She takes one step onto the porch and then the glass sliding door slams in her face.

"Hazel, get back!" Spencer's on the other side of the door, panic all over his face. "Get back!"

"Spencer, what–?"

"Get out of here!" He's holding the door shut, stronger than she is. "Believe me, get back!"

"Reid, what's wrong?" Morgan's suddenly behind her, voice commanding.

Spencer stops, looks him dead in the eyes, and locks the door. "Morgan, get her out of here."

"Spencer, open the door!" Fin jiggles the handle, although it's completely pointless, her mouth suddenly very dry.

He makes eye contact with her and whispers, "I'm sorry." And then moves so that she can see the broken glass tube on the floor. The white powder everywhere. The air conditioner blowing full-force. And the dead man, lying in a pool of congealed blood just beyond one of the counters.

Her legs buckle beneath her and Morgan catches her, strong arms under her elbows, holding her up.

No.

But when Morgan tries to pull her away from the door, she holds on tight to the handle. "Come on, Fin," he says, pulling harder.

"Derek, so help me, God, if you try to pull me away from this door," Fin whispers, looking him dead in the eyes, hoping he understands what she's trying to say.

Morgan gives her a long, meaningful look, and then sighs, pulling his phone out of his pocket and turning away. "I'm gonna call Hotch."

Spencer runs a hand through his hair and looks around at Fin. "Go," he says, his voice breaking slightly. "Get away from here."

"I'm staying right here." Fin attempts to force her mouth into a firm line, but her lips are trembling and it's incredibly difficult. "I'm not moving."

"Hazel–"

"Spencer."

He looks at her for a long moment, the expression on his face unreadable, and then sighs. "Okay."

"Who's the dead man?" Fin asks, her knuckles white on the door handle. She's gripping it for all she's worth, relying on it to help her keep control.

"Nichols." Spencer kneels down next to the body, pulling out a single latex glove and turning the body slightly upward. "Looks like blunt force trauma to the head. My guess is he's been dead for a few days, judging by the blood and state of the body. Rigor mortis has set in, but hasn't faded yet, like it would after three or four days."

"Well, then he's not our guy." Fin takes deep, calming breaths. She's here to help Spencer, not cry over him. Focus.

"Exactly." Spencer looks up at her, nods.

"So then why is there anthrax in his lab?"

"That's the question we've got to answer."

Spencer shuts up, typical when he's focusing, and Fin just watches him, hand over her mouth, doing her best not to scream. She can hardly breathe, standing here, watching him and knowing that there's a deadly poison inside his lungs.

"Fin." Morgan comes behind her, tapping her gently on her shoulder. "Hotch and General Whitworth are here. They want to talk to us."

"Go." Spencer waves her on, bent over a desk flipping through papers. "I'll be fine."

"I promise I'll be right back." And she allows Morgan to lead her down the stairs and back through the garden, where Hotch and Whitworth are striding toward them determinedly.

"Finley, Morgan, how's Reid?" Hotch asks.

"There's white powder in the room and the air was blasting," Morgan answers before Fin can.

Whitworth sighs and turns to one of his aides. "Get a decon team suited up. Secure a gray zone outside that door. Clean him up and get him in the ambulance fast."

"I should have gone in there with him," Fin breathes, watching the soldiers set up tents outside the lab. They seem robotic, automatic. They're not acting like Spencer's in there, being poisoned more and more by the minute.

"Finley, there's no time for second-guessing," Hotch says calmly. "What do we know?"

Fin closes her eyes, takes a long, shuddering breath, and begins. "Dr. Nichols is dead. Looks like blunt-force trauma to the head, and Spencer's best guess is he's been dead two days or so."

"Well, then, he couldn't have been responsible for the attack." Whitworth sounds incredibly confident for a man who's been wrong the entire case.

"We think so, too." Fin nods.

"Reid took Cipro today, so he's gotta be okay, right?" Morgan voices what everyone's thinking, and Fin wishes he wouldn't.

"I don't know," Hotch replies uneasily. "It was precautionary."

"Well, it's not helping patients at the hospital," Whitworth says very unhelpfully.

Fin looks away from them, down at the ground, pulling her sweater sleeves over her hands again. She's shaking, but not from the cold.

"Yeah, but they didn't take it until after they were exposed," Morgan counters. "Reid took it before."

"Yeah, but–"

"Can we please stop talking about it?" Fin's voice is higher than usual and it quavers just slightly. "Please?"

Hotch opens his mouth to reply, but then his phone rings. He pulls it out and answers it on speaker, still looking at Fin. "Reid."

Fin bites the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out. Morgan puts a hand on her arm, warm and strong. She leans into it.

"Hotch, I really messed up this time," Spencer says over the phone speaker. He sounds so scared. Fin reaches for Morgan's hand and he doesn't pull away.

"Reid, we need to get you out and to the hospital," Hotch replies.

"No, I'm staying right here," Spencer replies without any hesitation.

"No, you're not, Spencer," Fin says, gripping Morgan's hand for dear life. "Please."

"Hazel, I'm already exposed. It's not gonna do me any good to stop working the case."

Whitworth almost looks convinced. "He's already infected," he says to Hotch. "Now if Nichols created the strain, he may have also created the cure."

"Don't take his side!" Fin blurts. Morgan squeezes her hand warningly. "He needs to go to a hospital! He needs help!"

"Hazel."

She shuts up.

"My best chance is to stay here, see if there's a cure, and try to figure out who killed Dr. Nichols."

"Come on, Hotch, say something to him," Morgan says, almost pleading.

Fin looks directly at him. "Aaron, please."

Hotch purses his lips, thinking, and then shakes his head. "He's right. His best chance is inside." He lifts the phone speaker to his lips. "We're gonna get a suit and mask into you right away."

"Don't bother," Spencer replies, sounding preoccupied. "It's not gonna do me any good. I'm already infected." And he hangs up.

Fin squares her shoulders, inhales, looks up at Hotch. "Fine. Then get me a suit. I'm going in there."

✩

It's been only twenty minutes and Spencer's already starting to feel it. He's having a hard time breathing, he's dizzy, and there's a headache setting in right at the front of his forehead. But he can't stop.

They've already determined that Nichols had a partner, a partner who most likely murdered him and is responsible for the initial attack, and Hotch went back to the BAU to figure it out. He tried to convince Morgan and Fin to go, too, but that didn't work. Fin's stubborn, and Spencer hates that it's attractive.

He pauses, starting to feel dizzy, and leans against the counter behind him, trying to catch his breath. Maybe it was Frank Herbert who said, "To suspect your own mortality is to know the beginning of terror; to learn irrefutably that you are mortal is to know the end of terror."

Spencer thinks Frank Herbert is wrong. He's known for a very long time that he's mortal. Ever since the time that he died, on the floor of that cabin next to Tobias Hankel, he's felt the pressing weight of his mortality every day. But that doesn't make it any less terrifying when you toe the line between life and death.

And he's not just thinking of himself.

He pulls out his phone, the decision already made, and dials Garcia's number. It rings only once, and then she picks up. "Hey, Reid."

"'Reid'? Wow, no, uh–" Spencer attempts to catch his breath again– "No witty Garcia greeting for me?" He wipes sweat from his forehead. Suddenly it's very hot in here.

Garcia sighs over the phone. "I can't be my sparkly self when you are where you are."

Spencer takes another deep breath. "Garcia, do you think you can do something for me?"

"Anything."

Steady, Spencer. "I, uh... I know I can't call my mom without–" He clears his throat, the emotion already getting to him– "without alerting everyone at her hospital."

"What do you need?" Garcia asks without hesitation. If there's one thing Penelope Garcia is, it's supportive. Spencer could really use some of that right now.

"I, uh... I need you to record a message for her in case anything happens to me."

He can almost hear Garcia shaking her head through the phone. "Nothing's gonna happen to you. You're gonna...brilliantly find out who did this and we're gonna treat this strain."

Spencer attempts a laugh, but it just comes out as a breathy chuckle. "I hope you're right, but if you're not, I just–I really want to make sure that she hears my voice."

"Okay." The cheeriness in her voice is gone. Spencer hates that he has to ask her to do this. But he has to. "Just, uh, give me a second."

"And Garcia?"

"Yeah, Reid?"

"If you can record another message after this one, could you?"

"Of course. Who for?"

Spencer takes another deep breath, steadying himself. "Just someone I–I really care about. And if you could keep this just between us–"

"It'll be our secret. Whenever you're ready."

The minute he opens his mouth, there are tears ready to fall, so he clears his throat and begins. "Hi, Mom. This is Spencer. I just, um..." Even though he planned this, it's so hard to decide what he wants to say. "I just really want you to know that I love you and–" His voice catches in his throat and he clears it again, almost ashamed– "I need you to know that I spend every day of my life proud to be your son."

There's a long silence, in which Spencer scrubs the tears from his eyes with the back of his sleeve and prepares himself for what he's about to say next, and finally Garcia says, "Reid?" She's tentative, hesitant, and he understands.

"Yeah." He clears his throat again. "I'm ready."

"Okay. Go ahead."

"Um..." This time, however, the words are right there for him, flowing easily. It makes him wonder how long he's wanted to say them. "Hi. It's me. I really hope that the next time I get to tell you this, it's to your face. Over dinner or coffee or soup in your living room again. And not from a computer, because that means that everything's gone wrong. But I need you to know that–" A tear does escape and makes its way down his face, and he doesn't try to stop it this time– "I need you to know that I love you. I love you and I want you to trust me. I want to know everything about you, even the ugly parts. I love your scars. I love your brokenness. I won't pretend that I can fix that brokenness or heal those scars, but I can promise to love you no matter what."

Outside the lab, he can see Dr. Kimura in a hazmat suit, prepping to come inside, and he takes one last, shuddering breath. "I gotta go." And he hangs up before Garcia can hear the pain in his voice.

"Spencer!"

The door opens and Dr. Kimura steps inside, followed by–Fin?

"Hazel, what are you–?"

"I told you. I'm staying." She gives him a meaningful look through the plastic helmet she's wearing, and it almost breaks his heart to know that he can't tell her everything he just said. But he composes himself. Takes another deep breath.

"Fine. How–how are the patients doing?" Suddenly Spencer feels very sweaty and very cold. He knows he probably looks awful. He hates that Fin has to see him like this.

"Let's worry about you," Dr. Kimura says calmly.

"I actually–I feel fine," he lies.

"Bullshit." Fin rolls her eyes. Somehow, she's still beautiful in a hazmat suit. "You look terrible. Are you cold?"

"A little." Another white lie: he's freezing. But he knows in a few minutes, he'll be warm again. That's how fevers work.

"Dry throat?"

"A little."

"And a little bit of trouble breathing?"

Spencer nods, clears his throat to keep from coughing.

"Okay, if you feel any pain, I could give you something," Dr. Kimura says.

"No." He shakes his head. He hasn't taken so much as an ibuprofen since Tobias Hankel. And he won't. "I'd rather not take any pain medication."

"We can at least make you feel more comfortable," Kimura presses.

"I am comfortable and I don't want to take any narcotics." It comes out snappier than Spencer would like it to, but he means it. He won't relapse because of this.

Fin reaches up and brushes his hair back from his face, an understanding look in her eyes. He wishes she didn't have to wear those gloves, wishes he could feel her fingers against his skin.

"Spencer, tell us how we can help," she says quietly, stepping back.

The next ten minutes go by in a blur. He, Fin, and Dr. Kimura search for the cure, Morgan and Garcia call again, and there's something about a student... Spencer can't stop coughing. A photo of Nichols as a teacher... A thesis... Nichols' inhaler?

And then Fin and Dr. Kimura are dragging him outside into a tent, where several hazmat-suited soldiers are ready with hoses. "We're going to hose you down as quick as we can and then get you into an ambulance," Dr. Kimura says.

"Spence, hold on for me," Fin whispers, so that only he can hear, and she squeezes his hand. He squeezes back as a silent answer. He loves it when she calls him Spence. JJ's always called him that, but somehow, it's different when Fin says it.

Morgan comes in to check on him, on the phone with Hotch, and when he hangs up, he looks up at Fin and Spencer. "They're checking out Brown's house."

Spencer shivers as the cold water hits his back and shoulders. The raging fever he's got definitely isn't helping. "Go help Hotch," he says, his teeth chattering.

"Hotch has plenty of people helping him," Morgan counters.

"He needs you more than I do." The water is absolutely frigid. Can't they turn it up just a little?

"Reid, I'm gonna see you off to the hospital." Morgan won't back down. Why is every agent in the BAU so stubborn?

"I'm about to get naked so they can scrub me down." Spencer looks Morgan dead in the eyes, very, very aware that Fin's standing just to his right. "Is that something you really want to see?"

"Derek, go." Fin steps forward, nods to Morgan. "I'll stay with him the whole time."

Morgan glances between them, then nods. "I'll check on you later." He looks directly at Fin and says, "Take good care of him, sweetheart."

"Will do." Fin gives Spencer a meaningful look as Morgan walks away. "You know, I really didn't think this was gonna be the way I saw you naked first, but you know, I'm not complaining."

"Turn around." Thank God he's feverish, otherwise he'd be blushing like mad.

"Yeah, I was going to."

Dr. Kimura hands the inhaler, sealed in a plastic evidence bag, to one of the other soldiers and sighs heavily. "I hope you're right about this."

"So do I." Spencer suppresses a cough and starts to unbutton his shirt, which is difficult, considering his hands are shaky and weak, both from the cold water and from the aching that's starting to set in.

And then the world starts to spin. He's in a hospital gown, being helped into the ambulance. Fin is there, but she doesn't have a hazmat suit on. He tries to tell her to put a mask on, at least, to stay away from him, but she won't let go of his hand. Dr. Kimura's voice is fading in and out.

Fin holds his hand tighter and says something.

Did she say, "I love you?"

He tries to squeeze back, but he can't.

His throat is dry.

So very dry.

And then the world goes dark.

~

spencer said the l word eeeeeeee what a smol bean

anywayyyy hope you enjoyed this really freakin long chapter. it hurt me in my soul, so i hope it hurt you too. 

thank you guys so much for 21k reads!! i can't believe amg has gotten this big and i'm so shocked and happy that people love this story as much as i do <3

next update's gonna be SPICY so hold on to your seats !