Broken Goods - Criminal Minds - Spencer Reid

Facing the Truth

(Not going to lie, I have no idea what happens after season 12 apart from the odd bits and pieces I've seen here and there over the years, so things may not link up as they do in the series.)

Unsurprisingly, things had become a little tense and undone upon Spencer's return home, there was no expectation for anything else and yet it still felt disappointing and alien.

The likelihood of things ever being what they once were was small, barely even there in the back of my mind and I didn't dare to ask him about his thoughts on it, no doubt his own head full of too many cluttered imaginings and things screaming for attention for it to be fair of me to dump my own musings and worries on him.

As a couple you fight things together, in most cases it's you both against whatever is ailing one of you, but this was different, raw and so fresh that I don't think either of us really knew where to begin beyond continuing to live under the same roof as we had done for a couple of months before his incarceration.

I argued with myself whether it was wise to take time off work, though decided in the end that perhaps he would want the space from the few hours of my absence.

The first few days were the hardest, but halfway through week two it began to smooth out once again into familiarity.

It seemed to be an unspoken agreement between us that we weren't ready for the talk yet and we weren't sure when we would be ready, so we continued on dancing the same dance to a tune that was now wonky but neither of had the heart to change.

To me, it didn't feel like something that would break us but could shift the dynamic and that alone was scary enough without the thought of Spencer thinking the exact opposite, though he didn't let it show if he did.

In fact, if anything he sought a little more comfort when we were alone.

There seemed to be touches that lingered for longer than they previous would, shared looks that read a thousand words and yet couldn't coax us into pushing them out. He'd taken to stepping up behind me and wrapping me in his arms, whether I was stood at a kitchen counter, the oven or the bathroom sink.

If he needed that moment, then I wasn't about to shrug him off unless needs must.

To make up for lost time, we tried to spend what free time we had together being carefree and enjoying one another's company. One of my favourite things to do was to read to him as he relaxed into his seat and let himself just drift away wherever he went, sometimes he'd let me play with his hair, a bad habit I'd tried to curb but couldn't resist.

This was a designated time that was typically initiated when I noticed that he looked particularly stressed or on the edge. If I spotted a particular look in his eye, I'd pick up the book I set beside the rarely turned on TV and turn around with a smile to say; "It's Reiding time."

The stupid joke always made me let out a short giggle and he'd smile at me, the faintest expression of relief coming over him as his shoulders dropped, like a weight had been lifted from him.

It was something that had started mostly from habit on my end, when I lived at home and someone seemed distressed, perhaps my youngest brother was sick or my dog was having a moment of fear due to the wind outside, I would sit or lie down with some, or snuggle in the dog's case, and start reading aloud in a soft tone to help them relax.

I'd never thought of it before, but perhaps it was a comfort mechanism for myself as well.

We were entering the second week when he finally asked me if I wanted to hear stories about his time inside and although I was nervous, I said yes.