RUBATOSIS. spencer reid

| thirty eight

"Sylvia please calm down, okay? We don't even know if you are, I just want to make sure."

"Spencer, I can't have a kid—it-it's too dangerous out there. It's going to be miserable if I bring it into this world—"

"Please don't be scared—I promise you that I'm here for you, always. It'll be fine, I-I'll just drive down there and we can go to the clinic." I stammered.

"Forget it, Spencer. Just stay home." She told me through shaky breaths, and I immediately frowned.

"No, I don't want—"

"Spencer, I want to go alone—I-I just—" Sylvia started, her voice shaky as ever. "Don't need you with me."

My heart stung at her words but I didn't fight back. "Okay," I muttered weakly, rubbing my face.

Sylvia sighed heavily, and all I could hear was her heavy breathing on the other end. She was panicking—I was too. Words couldn't explain how desperate I was to just be with her at the moment, because I didn't want her to be alone.

I knew she didn't want me there because she knew I'd make her feel guilty if she wanted to abort it. But I could care less about what she would do with it—because I knew that whatever she did, I would follow because I just loved her too much to let something like this get in the way. But I knew Sylvia wasn't going to believe me that easily.

It was quiet for a while, because I just didn't know what else to say that would make her less scared. If I was with her I would hug, kiss, hold her—I could give her all of that. But right now, I just had no words.

Sylvia finally spoke after a while, her voice crackling. "Spencer?"

"Yes, baby?" I asked her softly.

"You're disappointed, aren't you?" She asked me, and I felt my stomach twist with guilt. "That I don't want kids?"

I pursed my lips together, rubbing my eyes. I knew I was disappointed. Last night when she told me, I couldn't deny the fact that I felt my heart sink a little in my chest. But at this point, my love for Sylvia triumphed anything else—as disappointed as I was, I didn't care. We'd barely just started whatever we had going on, and there was always time for change. I was going to love her no matter what.

"I love you," I said, trying to smile. "I only need you."

"Okay." She whispered, and I knew right away that she didn't believe me.

—

SYLVIA CONNELLY.

GROWING UP, I'D ALWAYS
imagined that my life would turn out just like everyone else's. I'd have a husband and kids by age 30-35, I'd be working a job that let me come home every night and I'd spend the weekends off with my family—that was how I hoped things would turn out, but I was wrong.

There were times when I wondered how much of a mistake joining the FBI was. Because here I was now, at age 32, with a job that kept me from home all week long. I had no friends except those from work, because I didn't have time for anyone else—and a kind of boyfriend/fling who I wasn't even sure wanted me anymore.

And not now, when I could hear the disappointment in his voice when I told him that I didn't want kids.

But my reason wasn't because 'I wasn't ready,' or because 'work was too busy.' I was in fact more than ready to have kids, and I knew I'd gladly quit my job the moment I had one.