Devolution, a Spencer Reid/Criminal Minds Fanfic

Chapter 21. Halves Divided

Reid knew he had to do something. He couldn’t just cower under the pain and the dreadful fear that he might have permanently lost his sight. The problem was, there wasn’t much that he could do. At least, not physically. He clutched his throbbing head and told himself to think.

Come on, Reid! Physical activity’s never been your first choice when it comes to problem solving. Think! Even if it hurts…think!

As bad as it was, the first shock of agony was passing. Well, maybe not passing, but becoming a part of him, like a new installation in a gallery of exhibits. And here we have our latest addition, ladies and gentlemen:  Spencer Reid’s endless pain and loss…step right up!...

Reid had always marveled at how adaptable humans could be. One could acclimate to terrible odors by taking a few deep breaths. Tender skin could become calloused and accommodate itself to any number of irritants. Grief and loss could be dealt with by allowing the passage of time to blunt the pain.

Unless you were possessed of an eidetic memory.

Then, no matter how much time passed, edges weren’t dulled. They remained as sharp and cutting as the day grief and loss honed them. And when the passage of time didn’t help, you had to help yourself by…

C’mon, Reid! The first thing you do when you’re overwhelmed, when it’s just too much and no one can help, when you’re on your own…C’mon!

Adult Reid remembered the first time he’d learned, on his own, how to compartmentalize. When the world was too much for a seven-year-old child and no one understood how gifted he was. When no one realized how, because of that gift, everything hurt this child so much more than the same experiences hurt the other, less-gifted children.

When parents left, and schoolmates bullied, and friends…weren’t.

That was when little Spencer would sit by himself where no one could find him and would take each hurtful, painful thorn plunged into his young side, pluck it out, examine it, and place it in a box in his mind. To be saved like a terrible treasure. To be re-examined at a later date.

To be used as building blocks that would form the foundation of how he saw himself.

And as the thorns accumulated Spencer even adapted to the thought that this was how his life would be. Lonely and painful and misunderstood. He thought of himself as a castaway like Robinson Crusoe. It was just that the desert island where he was lost, happened to include all of humanity.

Adult, grown-up Spencer hadn’t changed all that much in terms of survival skills. He just got very, very good at putting pain in boxes and stacking them ever deeper where he was sure no one would ever be able to look. And with a mind as spacious and open as his, there was always room for more.

So now, huddled on the bed with his head buried in his hands, Reid began pulling thorns.

Each set of teeth, each set of eyes the ghosts had worn to taunt and torture, he pulled close, remembered in detail, and then consigned to a box deep within his soul. With each set he stored away, the pain diminished, but he knew it was still within him…could burst forth at any time, if he didn’t keep his mental boxes strong…his storage space in order.

It was working. He was starting to believe that he could succeed.

And then he saw dead Sarah’s eyes. The arctic blue that mirrored Ana’s. And he could feel all the boxes, not just the recently stored, begin to tremble, lids threatening to fly open, the contents threatening to burst forth.

And Reid knew, if that happened, he’d never survive the onslaught.

In the presence of Sarah’s eyes, he whimpered miserably…Oh, God, Ana…I need you to help me through this…Where are you?!

xxxxxxx

Ana surveyed the murky grayness surrounding her as it twisted and formed vague shapes, like mist sculpted by a night breeze.

The shock of having encountered Sarah’s presence was already fading. In its place she felt the comforting assurance that some things did last, did survive even the most terrible, final obliteration. She chose to hug the experience to her and store it away for a later time when she could pull it forth and examine it…savor it.

Throughout her childhood, Ana had developed her own sort of survival strategy. Actually, she had more than one. But the one she favored and chose to use most often was the one she accessed now. Whenever something marvelous happened, whether it was as small as catching a glimpse of a butterfly with rainbow-hued wings, or as large as feeling accepted by the peer groups of her childhood, Ana stored the joyful moment away. It didn’t matter that the acceptance was false…that the other children knew with their child’s sense of truth that little Ana was different, not like the rest…the normal ones…us. It didn’t matter that the acceptance would be followed by the cruel treachery of little girls who befriended in order to learn secrets they would later use to humiliate and jeer at strange, otherworldly Ana.

Ana kept the best part. Stored it away and used it to counter the inevitable pain she knew was waiting for her.

She understood that, even though her tormenters were false-hearted, the joy she’d feel at first was very, very real. And that was what she’d keep. And that was what she used to form the building blocks of her own foundation. She was a little girl who lived in perpetual hope of joy. Because some day she trusted it would be real and lasting.

When she’d found Spencer, she’d been grateful to the depths of her soul. But not all that surprised. Because she was formed of hope and happy expectation. And even if, somehow, everything went awry, the experience of loving Spencer would occupy the biggest, hugest box in which she stored the best parts of her life, the best parts of who she was.

So now, as Ana packed away her conversation with Sarah in a box of amazed joy, she thought of her sister’s beautiful eyes and how they’d been used to undermine Spencer. And she wanted with all her heart to tell him that wasn’t the whole story. That Sarah had nothing but good things to say about him.

Then, even as she thought it, Ana understood the whole truth of Sarah’s final words.

Ana didn’t see the entire story…the entire ghost any more than Spencer did. And even though her tactics might be less painful, they were just as much an impediment to grasping the reality, the wholeness of a situation, as were his.

Oh, God, Spencer…we’re both only halfway right. She felt a twist of sorrow deep inside. Sorrow for having missed unknown opportunities or insights because she filtered out half of the information life provided.

Spencer, I need you…you complete me.  Where are you!?

As somewhere immeasurably distant, yet incredibly close, Reid was moaning the same plea to be found, to be whole again…

…all around Ana, the mist began to shiver.