north//spencer reid

chapter eighteen

"You don't believe it?" She asked, glancing over at me. "We're going there now, Amelia. Going to go get him."

"Penelope." I turned to her, my throat tightened to stop the flood gates from opening. "Every time I came to the BAU, there was some horrible news waiting for me. Spencer's arrested, Spencer's going to prison, Spencer's trial was pushed back, Spencer got beat up, Spencer stabbed himself to get into solitary confinement. I know you guys are amazing at your jobs, you're the absolute best at your jobs and I'm sorry if I'm being harsh, but I'm not gonna believe it when you and JJ come knocking on my door on a random Wednesday morning to tell me that Spencer is coming home after he basically tried to start a fight with someone in prison. I'm not getting my hopes up."

Penelope didn't say anything after my tantrum. She just kept her eyes forward and she drove, and when the prison finally came into view, I had to look away. I had bitched and moaned and cried and screamed about Spencer not putting me on his visitor list but as I finally laid eyes on the building where Spencer was being trapped and tortured, I knew I'd never be able to step foot inside. I knew I couldn't force myself into a building where Spencer went through the worst moments in his life.

"I can't go in," I said to Penelope, and she didn't even ask why. She didn't ask why, she didn't try to convince me to go in, she didn't complain.

The three of them rushed inside the prison and I was left in the parking lot. I eventually migrated outside my car, leaning against the driver's side and staring up at the clouds. I couldn't see any shapes at that moment. I wonder if Spencer was able to see any yet. The last time I'd asked, he couldn't. I wonder if he could look up at the sky and see a hair bow or a tree or a bird.

Time ticked on, and on, and on, and my heart sank closer and closer to my feet. I knew it was too good to be true. They went in there to get Spencer and now they won't let him out. Why else would it have taken so long? How long does it take to get someone out of prison? Surely not the hour and a half that I stood out in the cold, trying to bring my sweater closer around my body to keep me warm.

I just stared at the clouds and wished with every fiber of my being that this would be over soon so I could go home and curl up in bed. I didn't want to be trapped in my stuffy car, or stranded at this horrible prison, or anywhere near the BAU team.

I reached into my pocket, pulling out Spencer's sobriety medallion. There was never a day that I left my apartment without it. I traveled every single step with it on my body. It didn't serve the same purpose to me that it would for a recovering addict, but it did do something similar. It reminded me that Spencer would come home to me. Every time I looked down at the circular metal, at the engraved N on the back, it reminded me that whether it be tomorrow, or next month, or next year, or next decade, Spencer would come home to me. He would, like he promised so many times that he would, remember to keep going north and he would come home. He would do what he believes is right and he would come home to me in one piece.

I twirled the cold metal in my hand and tapped my foot, waiting for this torture to be over. And maybe it was privileged of me to have that thought. I had all the privilege in the world to be sitting outside of a prison with car keys in my hand and a car full of gas that could take me anywhere, while my boyfriend was trapped inside, wasting away and serving time for a crime that he didn't commit while serial killers roam free and taunt the BAU with what they've done.

When you're younger, you memorize the sounds of your family members. I could always tell by the sound of a set of keys if it was my mom or my dad walking in the front door. By the pressure and amount of knocks, I could tell if it was my brother coming into my bedroom to play or my dad coming to hit me. I could always tell who was screaming louder downstairs by the frequency, and I quickly learned who was my mother and who was my father, even if their voices were muffled.