The Keeping of Words | Spencer Reid

23| Right Here

It was a long week. There were moments of laughter and joy - Bianca enjoyed watching his reaction to so many different movies, and talking about them afterwards. There were also hours of silence, when Spencer would lie in his room, the door shut, and Bianca would sit outside and read, trying not to make any noise, unless he shouted for a bucket. The team called to check in a few times, even offered to stop by, but Reid insisted he didn't want them to see him like that. Six days in, he stumbled out from the bathroom, his face ghostly pale, the circles under his eyes darker than she could remember them ever being.

Spencer gave a long sigh. "I got maybe two hours of sleep last night. My head is pounding, and I feel like I got hit by a truck," he groaned.

"Come sit with me," Bianca implored him. "It's getting late, and maybe it would help just to relax a little before you try to sleep." He plopped down at the other end of the couch, but he still seemed restless.

"Can I... lie down?" he asked, pointing to the cushions. She nodded, and started to stand up to give him space. "No, no," he said quickly. "Um, just, could you maybe stay there?" Confused, Bianca sat back down, ready to do whatever it took to help him feel better. He looked at her for a moment, and then stretched out, resting his head in her lap. She tried not to stiffen up, regarding him curiously. After a few minutes, his tense shoulders began to relax ever so slightly, and she reached up to stroke his hair in what she hoped was a soothing manner. They said nothing, just sat that way as the minutes passed. Just when her legs were starting to tingle from the pressure, he sat up slowly.

"I think I'm going to go to bed," he declared. "But I have another request - I guess more of a theory, really."

"What would that be?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.

Spencer looked embarrassed, turning his gaze to the ground. "Would you... would you mind sleeping with me?" Hearing his own words out loud, he looked back up, evidently flustered. "Not like that!" he clarified. "I just think it might help me sleep, or at least relax a little, if you're next to me. I mean, it helped in the hospital..." he ventured.

Feeling as flustered as he looked, Bianca hesitantly agreed. If it helped him to rest, it was worth it, right? Besides, it wasn't like anything was going to happen. It was just the two of them sleeping side by side, which they'd already done once before. She went to the bathroom to change, and knocked on the door of his bedroom, her heart in her throat.

Spencer pulled the door open, already in a t-shirt and sweatpants. She was always a little surprised to see him dressed in something other than cardigans and ties. The clothes seemed to be so much a part of his personality as his rambling facts, or his goofy grin - she wondered if it was as odd for him to see her in running shorts and a sweatshirt. For a second, her hands itched to reach out and touch him, to run her fingertips over the bold navy FBI letters on his gray shirt; instead she meekly stepped inside.

The couple looked equally awkward, standing there on the rug. Neither seemed to know exactly what to do now that she was in his room. In the hospital, there had been so much chaos, all sorrow and fear and relief, that when Spencer had pulled her into the bed they hadn't dared to let go. Minutes ago he had been eager to test his theory, she eager to help him; and now that formalities were out of the way, they were both simultaneously afraid to initiate something, and unwilling to leave.

In the uncomfortable intermission, Bianca looked around the bedroom. It was spacious enough, filled with things he liked. There were books strewn across his nightstand, a short stack atop which an alarm clock perched. More books lined a bookshelf nearby, though it wasn't quite as tall as the ones in the living room. She could make out a few of the titles; Solaris, A Picture of Dorian Gray, Maphead, The Narrative of John Smith, and two that turned her cheeks pink. She didn't realize he had both of her books sitting in his room. The pale green walls were fairly bare save for two paintings and a world map. On his dresser, she could see a few photograph frames, which she could easily guess held pictures of the BAU team. The room was simple and tidy, with two curtained windows and dark-wood bed with a cream colored comforter - though from the way the pillows and sheets looked it was clear he hadn't been feeling particularly restful.