The Keeping of Words | Spencer Reid

48| Freedom

He was home, but she was still waiting for him to come back to her. It wasn't as simple as him being released and their world continuing as normal. It was happening in small pieces, little by little. She was going to have to be patient with him. This wasn't something that could be rushed. At the same time, she needed him to be there. They needed each other.

To her relief, Spencer agreed to start seeing a therapist. Twice a week he would be going to Dr. Robert Kessler, who came highly recommended by the Bureau. There was plenty to be discussed. The day after he came home, she'd asked him what he wanted to make for dinner. The question had stunned him, he set down the pencil he had been furiously scribbling away with and stared ahead, eyes blank as his mouth fell open ever so slightly, a space created by silence rather than words.

To see him so completely lost had scared her. Not wanting to prolong the heavy quiet, she had jumped in, asking, "You know, I think I have everything for butter chicken. Maybe some rice and naan. How's that sound?"

"That... that's good," he'd said, nodding slowly.

Decisions were his to make again, and that would take adjustment. She tried not to overwhelm him, giving him suggestions rather than leaving him with open-ended options. For food, for clothes, for things they could do. In that first week, she often caught him staring at the closet in their bedroom and would make passing remarks like, "I bet that purple shirt would look really good on you," or, "it's chilly out, you should wear a sweater." Narrow things down just a little bit. Make the world smaller, more manageable.

The nightmares would require other strategies. That very first night, she felt him thrashing and shaking beside her. When she gently shook him awake, he yelped, staring at her with wide eyes, his skin slick with sweat. The color had drained from his face and he'd slipped off to the bathroom, saying he needed a moment. When she woke up the next morning, she found him asleep on the living room couch. For a few nights that pattern continued. Bianca would wake up alone and find him fast asleep downstairs.

One night, she awoke around 1 AM, and saw he was gone. Unable to fall back asleep, she crept downstairs to where he lay, muttering to himself in his sleep. He looked so terrified, even with his eyes closed. Whatever world he'd been transported to in his dreams, she wanted to bring him back. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she gently roused him. Sleepy brown eyes blinked at her, confused.

"Come back to bed," she said. He started to protest, but she cut him off. "The baby keeps moving, so I'm not getting much sleep anyways. I'd rather have you next to me. We'll get through this together." So they would.

It didn't long to become accustomed once more to waking up next to him every morning. It was a continuous comfort, to hear the soft sound of his breathing and inch closer to him. So when she again found herself jolted awake by the baby, she was startled to find herself alone in the bed. It had been a week and a half since he slept on the couch, despite the bad dreams that sometimes kept him up. Where had he gone? Had something happened? His absence sent her heart racing, recalling too many nights when he'd disappeared on a case, all the weeks she slept in an empty house worrying about him in that prison. What if whoever was responsible for Rosa's death had found them? What if it was Scratch?

"Spencer?" she cried out into the dark. Seconds later, there was the sound of rapid footsteps, and he appeared in the doorway. Messy-haired and with a pajama shirt buttoned slightly askew, but otherwise unharmed.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I... just didn't know where you were," she said, her voice breaking. The sudden wave of emotion that hit her was unexpected, and she felt her lip quivering, on the edge of tears. "I'm sorry, I don't..." She had convinced herself it was all fine now, that she was over all the fears and the doubts. Having him back was supposed to make it better, and she'd been able to shoulder through their days without losing her composure. Suddenly that calm had vanished, in a single moment of irrational panic.