HI! This is my second story. I like to write, but I am wondering if what I write is good or bad. If you like my story, or if you don't, please leave a review and let me know :D Any kind of feedback, good or bad, is greatly appriciated!

He had a feeling Gideon was going to leave before it really happened- it was just so fucking typical. Everyone left Spencer, it didn't matter though, Spencer thought; because he had promised himself that he would never again be attached, never find a father figure like Gideon, because really, they just left. He was bitter, and he was sad and he had spent a lot of time feeling nothing more than apathy, reading books that didn't interest him anymore and he was well aware that his face was like carved in stone. Someone had made Spencer into a ghost, a wandering, empty shell that couldn't find something else to fill that empty space Gideon had left behind. His chest had a hole, a pit right where the heart used to send flashes of warmth that would flood through his body, leaving a feeling of being of importance. Gideon had made him feel exactly like he was of significance, not just to the team, but to him, to Gideon. And it had felt great. He had meant something, he had something to live for, something to achieve; Gideon's approval. But seeing him leave, he couldn't help but think that he had been valueless to Gideon after all.

Spencer had spent the last few days going over and over in his head what he could have done wrong to make Gideon leave like this, or rather, what he could have done differently so that he wouldn't have left. The pain was hard to bear, as if though Spencer's guilt wasn't enough.

The letter that Gideon had left him was in his bottom drawer beside his bed. He had left it there after he had gotten home from work the day after Gideon had left. Spencer had sworn to himself that he wasn't going to read it over and over and over again every night before he fell asleep. But it had been hard to keep that promise, especially since he couldn't sleep at all.

He had seen Gideon's gun and credentials at his desk. Observing his abandoned things, clutching the letter in his hand, he had cursed under his shaky breath, about to cry. And his tears had fallen heavy, heavy, heavy, like his heart had felt swollen and immense in his chest.

Gideon.

He woke up, suddenly, and he became aware of his heavy breathing, his heart hammering in his chest. His T-shirt was drained with sweat and as he got up from bed he thought: Had he really left? And for a moment, believing his denial and wish for this to all be a dream, he had thought;Gideon is not your dad, he's not weak like your dad. But feeling the sleep leave his body, the reality dawned at him, hitting him with such force that Spencer had to open the window across from his bed, taking deep breaths form the cold night air, calming himself so that he wouldn't scream until his lungs burst, screaming with such force that the lonesomeness within him became vomit splashing to the floor.

He thought:

I'm falling

I'm falling

I'm falling

Gideon.

He did fall when Gideon left. He crashed to the ground, so very aware that nobody was there to catch him, dragging him up off the floor again.

He was not angry at Gideon, he did not blame him or hate him or think less of him. He admired him too much, he was overwhelmed by the goodness Gideon had filled him with the years that he knew him. He was simply sad. He was broken, he was twisted and he cried. He was lonesome.

Don't leave

Don't fucking leave

He was sore at his inside. And he thought that he was being dramatic, that he felt this all so strong because he was weak and lame and vulnerable. That was why he hid his emotions from his team, from Morgan, from Hotch, from JJ. From Prentiss that had momentarily peeked behind his walls. She had told him to read the letter again. But he had already read it too many times.

The last time Spencer had played chess with Gideon in his office, he had forgotten his woollen sweater. He had looked everywhere, but couldn't find it, and he had forgotten that he had had it on him that day, and taken it off in his office, suddenly becoming warm and forgotten all about it. And in the end it was the woollen sweater that made Spencer's walls tumble down. Or rather it was something simple Gideon had done with the sweater, something kind and something casual.

Just when Spencer was about to leave, turning off the light on his desk, Hotch had placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly and said his name, he was quiet and gentle. Spencer wondered if Hotch knew how he felt, or if he was only guessing.
"I need to move some books from Gideon's office, and I was wondering if you could come with, help me out a bit?" Hotch smiled, kindly, but a sadness came over him, and his smile faded a bit, his eyes became soft, and the brown gaze met Spencer's. Spencer knew just then that he understood.
"I don't mind," Spencer said, and Hotchner's hand moved from his shoulder and slightly brushed his back a bit, like a father pushing his child gently forward.

It was after he had put some books away in a box that Spencer saw his sweater. It had been folded and laid carefully on top of the seat of the chair that Spencer always sat in when they played chess. It was Gideon that had found it, forgotten and left by Spencer who had been looking for it ever since. Gideon had bothered to fold it neatly and Spencer thought that it was just like Gideon to act so motherly. Men most would probably have hanged it over the seatback of the chair, carelessly and absently minded. But Gideon was never careless, not with Spencer anyway. He had folded his sweater and it was a simple gesture, but it made Spencer stop dead in his tracks.
Gideon's office was silent. Dust was falling softly from the shelves, landing on Spencer's sweater. He didn't pick it up, or move or close his eyes, he was simply just standing there, looking at his sweater, folded so neatly, and he thought of Gideon, of his caring nature and gentleness, and when Hotch spoke, a tear slid down his cheek, silent and unnoticed by his superior.
"He asked me to remember to give it back to you, the sweater," Hotch said, observing Spencer standing still with his face turned away. When Spencer didn't answer, Hotch continued;
"I guess I forgot. I guess he forgot." Spencer was afraid that Hotch would see that he was crying, but something told him that Hotch already knew.
"He really did care you know." Spencer didn't answer or make a sound or turn around, he was busy trying to stop the tears from falling.
"It's not your fault that he left and you are not the reason. He cared about you." Hotch took a pause, he went silent and without Spencer's knowledge, he observed him from behind, understood that the reason to why Spencer had his hand up towards his face was because he franticly brushed his tears away. Hotch respected Spencer's need for privacy, he didn't push him, he didn't make him talk or look at him, and he didn't touch the younger man, he simply let him be, letting his shoulders shake from his weeping as Hotch spoke.
"I know it's hard. The wound your father made when he left is still healing; the crust still needs more layers, but it can't mend itself when the wound is being reopened, it only makes it bleed more violently. He knew that, Gideon. That if he left he was going to rip open a wound that was still mending. But he didn't leave to make you suffer on purpose, though he was being perfectly aware that he was inflicting you pain. Gideon had his own wounds, Reid. He was only trying to patch himself up. He left you that letter so you would understand that, but I know that you already understand, he knew that too, but still he wanted to make sure you knew, and that tells us that he cared, he cared Spencer. Don't forget that, you matter."

Hotch had grabbed Reid's arm and he had pushed him close so that they were touching at their chest. He had put his arms around the younger man, and though being aware that Spencer didn't return his hug, he pushed his hand onto Reid's back and let him fall apart in his arms. Eventually Reid had wrapped his arms, hesitantly, but looking for comfort, around Hotchner's upper body. He had buried his face in Hotchner's shoulder, and tried to hold back his sobs, but he didn't quite succeed, and he knew he would end up embarrassed and unable to look his superior in the eye afterwards. But it felt good, he felt safe, and it suddenly didn't hurt as much anymore, he had taken away his loneliness for a while.

Afterwards Hotch had given him a ride home. Spencer was self-conscious, Hotch knew that, he noticed how he avoided his eye when he looked at him, and how Reid smiled awkwardly, trying to be polite, when Reid met Honchner's gaze by an accident. Spencer was looking out of the car-window, giving himself a hard time for crying into his boss's shoulder, God what an embarrassing thing to do!
When Hotch pulled over, reaching Reid's apartment, he once more grabbed Reid's shoulder before he got out of the car. He said:
"if you ever need to talk, you know how to reach me."
"Thanks, Hotch. Really. Thank you. I'll see you tomorrow." And he nodded, smiled again, awkwardly, but kindly, and left. Hotch watched as he closed the entrance door of the apartment building behind him before he drove away onto the dark road with a feeling of having gotten more closer to Reid than he had ever been before.