The human mind always makes progress, but it is a progress in spirals. - Madame de Stael
It's true, what he tells Hotch. He's talked about his feelings before, in a clinical setting. He was very small, and very careful about what he said. It was important, then, not to overwhelm his mother after his father left. It's important now not to overwhelm his team with too much.
Hotch assures him it's okay, so Spencer opens up the tiniest bit. "Maybe Gideon was right," he says. Because really, what is the point in doing this if they can't protect each other? Gideon lost Sarah. Hotch lost Haley. They all lost Emily.
And that, frighteningly enough, begs the question:
Who else will he lose before he is ready? Or will Spencer, himself, get into a situation he can't get out of where the team arrives just seconds too late?
It isn't productive, but it's all he can think. It's like they've all fallen into this fathomless darkness. This giant abyss, too deep to climb out of. The light is there, but it's like an illusion. Too far away to really touch it, or even feel warmed by it.
Still, he will not admit to Hotch exactly how bad it gets. He thinks he might need more than talking. Sometimes, he thinks he might need medication, but he refuses to be medicated, because that's just one step closer to being like his mother. He loves his mother, but does not want to end up where she is - a brilliant mind in a house of madness.
At home, he tries to read. He tries to find something that will hold his interest, but nothing works. Not even the keyboard he bought after hanging out with Sammy. He checks his mail and wishes he hadn't. Nothing but bills there to depress him more than he already is.
He picks up the phone and is halfway to calling Emily to tell her about some obscure reference when he remembers. His throat closes. He very nearly throws the phone, but holds back because breaking it will mean more money. More bills. Which will inevitably make him more depressed.
"Hey, Spencer?"
The phone had started buzzing in his hand. It stole his breath until he forced himself to look at the screen and saw the name displayed. Not Emily's. JJ's.
"How are you?" she asks, like she really cares. Like she doesn't have anything more pressing to do than talk to him.
For a second, he wishes he could have confided in her instead of Hotch. It would have been easier. Like friends talking instead of something mandatory, that felt awkward and held echoes of his past.
He is silent, because really, what is there to say?
"How can I help?" she presses, her voice serious, and so gentle.
Just like that, a tear escapes, and once that one is free, it's a jailbreak, and he wishes he could just force them all back where they belong. Not falling down his cheeks, but inside where he doesn't have to know they exist.
"I almost called her. Just now. Am I- I mean, is that normal?" he manages, not bothering to hide his precarious state because if you can't lose it with a friend like JJ then something is really wrong, and Spencer can't afford for one more thing to go wrong.
"It's normal," she reassures. "I just did the same thing a few days ago. Had to stop myself from calling her after a really crappy day at work, because she would always tell me something ridiculous to make me laugh."
He hears a sudden weight in her voice. A heaviness. A tightness. She's crying, too. So it's not just him.
"I mean, honest to God, I was halfway through the number before I realized that she's…" JJ trails off, unable to finish the thought.
Spencer nods. "I don't know if I can do this job anymore, JJ…"
This time, it's her turn to be silent.
"To know that it took Emily away like this… It even took you away… It's like, a moment's notice and we could all just be gone."
JJ takes a deep breath. "Spence…don't hate me…"
"Never."
"You're going to have these thoughts anywhere you go in life. Trust me. Any profession you choose. Any friends you pick. They're common feelings when you're grieving. Grieving sucks but it's natural. It's a process. Take it from someone who knows from experience. My sister was my whole world, Spencer. I wanted to be just like her. But she hated herself. She wanted something else out of life, obviously, and left me voluntarily. I live with that pain every day. I've lived with it for twenty years. It doesn't go away. But it lessens. If you have to go through this, wouldn't you rather do it surrounded by your friends? Doing something you love and are brilliant at? You can do anything in the world…but if the situation were reversed…would you want Emily to stop what she loved to do because she lost you?"
JJ has a way of pressing gently. Of wording things just right. So even though the sadness is still here, a deep unwieldy dark thing sitting on his chest, Spencer finds that there is logic to what JJ is saying.
"No, I wouldn't want that," he confesses.
"She loved you. You know that, right? She loved all of you." JJ says, tentative. Emily's own words before she boarded the plane echoing in JJ's mind.
"I know," Spencer whispers. He hadn't known that, actually. It's nice to hear, and in some small way, it helps. It's like Emily's still around somewhere. "Thanks, JJ."
"Call me. I mean it. I don't care what time it is," she insists.
"Okay. I promise," he says, and sits on his couch, wrapped in a blanket. He prays and hopes someone, somewhere is listening.
He thinks of JJ's words. How she sounded so sure of Emily's love for them. And just like that, Spencer is sure. Something is out there. Something is listening. It has to be. How else would JJ have known the words he has needed to hear in the month since Emily last was with them?
Coincidence? He doesn't think so.