The Keeping of Words | Spencer Reid

41| Mess of a Masterpiece

Reid couldn't manage to sit still. A cyclical routine was developing; he would pace the hall, then sit down, unable to keep his leg from shaking. Continually wringing his hands, pulling at his knuckles. Waiting was impossible, he just wanted to know if Morgan was going to be okay.

Walking into that house had been torturous, not knowing what he'd find there. If they hadn't gotten there in time... if Derek had been... No, he couldn't dwell on that. He was alive, that was all that mattered. He was alive. Right now, he had to leave the rest to the doctors. Right now, he needed to find a way to calm himself down, as his behavior was attracting nervous glances from other hospital visitors and staff. Recitation and memorization always relaxed his mind, and so he let his thoughts wander towards the first piece he could think of.

When your eyes are tired, love,
come and lay a while with me,
tell me stories of the maps upon your heart
draw me pictures of your history so I can see
you for the masterpiece you are.

Keep me in your company,
and I'll keep you safe from harm.
Far from the ghosts that haunt your past,
let me be your good-luck charm.
For the world seems such a softer place
when I'm wrapped up in your arms.

And if you need to sleep, I'll stay
close enough to help you keep
those nightmares of yours at bay.
Take the time you need, my love,
I will wait
I will wait
I will wait.

It was hers, of course it was hers. Page 89 of the notebook of poems she'd given him. Since Amsterdam, he'd read them all no less than eighteen times. Just to remember her words was enough to help him breathe a little easier. In times like these, she was the steadier one; she had faith in all the places he had doubts. Reid had to believe that Morgan was going to be okay. There was no room to doubt this. It was not an opinion, but a truth, that the world needed Derek Morgan in it. Savannah needed him. The team needed him. Reid needed him.

And until he could see Morgan, he needed to keep it together.

Breathe, he reminded himself. Oxygen in. Carbon dioxide out.

Whenyoureyesaretiredlovecomeandlayawhilewithmetellmestoriesofthemapsuponyourheart – No, that still wasn't calm. In. Out. Oxygen. Carbon dioxide. – draw me pictures of your history so I can see you for the masterpiece you –

"Spence." JJ's hand settled on his shoulder, halting his mental litany. "We're all going home to get some rest. You should go too." She spoke with the voice of a mother, urging her child on to bed.

"I'm fine, thanks. I'd rather stay here until he wakes up."

"It's 6 AM," she said. "You've been up all night. The doctors said it could be a few days. And you know that as soon as he's awake, Savannah will tell us. Besides, Garcia may have already called someone to come get you." She nodded towards the end of the hallway, where he could just barely make out a corner of the waiting room. Sure enough, a small figure was curled up in one of the plastic chairs, evidently fast asleep. "She's been out there since we brought him in."

Leave it to Garcia to send in the one person who could convince him to go home. He sighed, and glanced towards the opposite end of the hall. Through two sets of doors was a series of rooms, and in one of those rooms his best friend was still unconscious; Garcia and Savannah watching over him. "When he's awake, we'll know?"

"The minute he's up," JJ promised. He would be. Because Derek Morgan was a fighter. And this was a fight Reid clearly wasn't going to win. Much as he wanted to deny it, his body was tired and he needed to sleep. Over thirty-six hours had passed since he last went to bed. He gathered up his things, and made his way to the woman waiting for him, after a quick detour to the hospital cafeteria.