Hello readers. This story came to me in a dream, so I felt the need to write it out. 'Elephant's Memory' is one of my favorite episodes because of the raw emotion we experience through Reid. He is so strong to overcome everything he has been through, yet no one ever realizes it. Because of this, I wanted to write a story where his strength, and his flaws are forced into the limelight; especially his constant struggle to present himself as this perfect member of the team. Just going through and watching the episodes of Criminal Minds, especially the earlier ones, we always see Reid hide how he truly feels and the struggles he is facing so the team won't think any less of him. So please enjoy, and please no flames! Don't like, don't read! But if you do like, be sure to follow and review. -Xoxo Elisa
Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds or its characters.
Siamo al mondo per essere veri, non perfetto -Italian proverb (We are in this world to be real, not perfect.)
Chapter 1
Silence. That's all he hears on the van ride back to the plane. Complete and utter silence, the kind where you could hear a pin drop. He enjoys silence, prefers it even, but this type of silence makes him nervous. He has too many negative memories that have arisen from this type of silence.
Five years old and realizing that his gift does not make him special, despite what his mother has told him; it makes him a freak. A freak, who, while attempting to talk himself out of an altercation with the neighborhood bullies, found himself in complete silence before being pummeled to the point of unconsciousness.
Ten years old and realizing his father was leaving and never coming back; that he would become the caretaker now. His mother sitting in a confused haze, and he can't tell if it's the schizophrenia, or the pain of her husband abandoning them. He resolves to be strong for her since William was so weak.
Twelve years old, tied to a goal post and unable to call out because of the hoarseness of his voice. He's been calling out for hours; begging, pleading, but no one pauses to help him. It's 3:30 in the morning before he's able to slip out of the knots binding him to the metal post, retrieve his clothes, and stumble home; his face a mask of bruises. Quietly unlocking the door and creeping up to his bed, careful to not wake his mother. She hadn't noticed he was missing.
Sixteen years old and anxiously waiting outside the Dean of the 'College of Engineering and Physical Sciences' office. Called before an integrity committee because his professors found it impossible for a sixteen-year-old to accomplish the statistics found in the draft of the dissertation he'd been working on. Present at the institute for some of the greatest minds in the country, but still labelled as an outsider.
Eighteen years old and sitting on the bed of his childhood home, unsure of what to do next. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees his mother begging him to not let the men from Bennington take her away. He flinches at the look of betrayal she flashed him when they arrived, but he knows it was not unwarranted; he did betray her. He did what he promised to never do, give up on her. He used to believe he would be able to care for her on his own, but the past eight months had proved differently. For his vast intellect and knowledge, he had no solution for how to effectively treat schizophrenia. Calling Bennington had been a necessary decision, the right decision, so why did he feel so empty?
Twenty-two years old and fresh out of the academy, eager to please. It doesn't take long to discern from the silence, in place of welcome, that he still has some ways to go to prove himself. Gideon might have faith in him, but his new teammates scorned the idea of working with a 'rookie'; no matter his background.
Only two weeks past his twenty-fourth birthday and put in a position he never thought he would be in; the death of an unsub at his hands. He never believed it would happen to him, especially since he could quote countless pieces of literature about how 'only five percent of those in law enforcement would ever fatally discharge their weapons in the line of duty'. Now Phillip Dowd is dead, cut down by a single bullet to the frontal lobe; a shot Reid never believed he would make. He sits in a stunned silence, his heart hammering in his ears and his wrists burning where the plastic zip-ties had cut into flesh; though the pain is nowhere near the consistent ache in his ribs, where Hotch kicked him. The older man continuously attempts to catch his eye, as first responders hustle over to them, but Reid averts his gaze. He finds himself unable to process his deductions about what Hotch said about him, and his thoughts about himself. Has he changed now that he has the blood of another on his hands?
Nothing can mask the awkward silence that follows his confession about his mother. It's out in the open and he can't take it back. He wonders if the team will avoid him, like his classmates did, now that they know the truth; now that they know what he might become.
Guilt turns his blood to ice when he hears that Elle shot a man in cold blood. 'I should have said something to Hotch or Gideon.' He thinks miserably. 'I should never have assumed Elle could handle it, or that the PTSD wasn't escalating.' For the first time in his life he is guilty of a crime he had watched so many in his life commit, being a bystander. Standing by and doing nothing while another suffers.
The cold steel of the handcuffs cut painfully into his wrists, his foot burns, and the dull ache in his head alerts him to the presence of a second-degree concussion; yet nothing compares to the crippling guilt. Those people were dead because of him! Because he wasn't strong enough to apprehend Hankel. He has no one to blame but himself for his current predicament. Like the ancient heroes his mother always talked about, his hubris has caused this. A bitter laugh escapes his lips. How truly ironic it was for him to be taken by a fanatically religious mission-based serial killer because of, in his mind the deadliest of sins, pride. But then again, pride was a fickle beast; one that had bitten him too many times to count. A humbler being would have recognized his mother's ailment as something that couldn't be handled by a solitary individual and reached out. Perhaps if he had, she might have been able to stay in their home with a caretaker instead of alone in Bennington; it's a miracle she doesn't despise him for putting her there.
The hushed whisper of a familiar voice pulls him from his self-loathing, "Spencer," Gideon's features fill Hankel's surveillance screens. "If you're watching, you're not responsible for this. Do you understand me? He's perverting God to justify murder. You are stronger than him, he cannot break you."
The screen goes blank as the connection is disabled, once again leaving him to his thoughts. A tiny glimmer of hope wells up inside of him. Gideon would not waste precious time reassuring him if the team believed to be a lost cause, they had not given up on him! Yet, Gideon had also lied. He had said that Spencer was stronger than Hankel, that Hankel couldn't break him. Didn't Gideon realize he was already broken?
Thin silver streams of moonlight broke through the forest ceiling, reflecting down upon him. The moment would be peaceful if not for the sporadic thud of his shovel. Almost forty-eight hours of being beaten, combined with lack of sustenance and repeated narcotic injection, had sapped most of his energy. The little that remained kept his mind spinning in high gear, desperately attempting to devise a strategy for him to leave the graveyard alive; a probability so unlikely not even the most addicted gambler would bet upon. His only chance for escape had been when he'd told 'Raphael' to go after Hotch, and even that had been a long shot. Although Spencer knew his superior to be a man of faith, there was no guarantee he would be able to recognize the connection between Spencer's location and that verse of scripture. The silence of the night is broken by his weak shoveling, and occasionally 'Charles' gleeful threats. He is ready to keel over from exhaustion when he notices the faint glimmer of flashlights echoing throughout the trees; 'Charles' is too distracted by the approach of Spencer's demise. In a last-ditch effort to preserve his life he scrambles for the revolver.
"There's only one bullet in that gun, boy!" Charles snarls at him.
'Will I get to see my mom again?' Reid asks silently before pulling the trigger.
'Spencer,
I knew it would be you who came to the cabin to check on me. I'm sorry the explanation couldn't be better. And I'm sorry it doesn't make more sense. But I've already told you, I just don't understand it anymore. For the belief I had back in college. The belief I had when I first met Sarah and it seemed so right. The belief in happy endings.'
The letter falls from his hands. Gideon is gone, he knows nothing but that. Gideon is gone, with only a suicide letter addressed to him as an explanation. Once again, his world crumbles as he realizes yet another person he loves has abandoned him.
His heart pounds violently against his ribcage as he stares down the barrel of Owen's gun. It would be so easy to let this broken young man strike him down, but he knows it would accomplish nothing. He did not come outside to die, he came to save Owen's life; to save a boy he sees pieces of himself inside. At least eight different protocol rules must have been broken by this exchange, but he doesn't care. If he can prevent the death of another kid he knows he will have completed his duty.
He sits as far from the team as he can, lost in his own thoughts. He knows they are pissed at him, the angriest they might have ever been, but he feels no remorse for his actions. He saved a life today, and that is all that matters. Whatever punishment, and he knows there will be one, will be worth it. A small flicker of movement in his peripheral vision alerts him to the fact Hotch is walking towards his seat, probably to chew him out for today's actions. He resolves to acknowledge that what he did was incredibly foolish, but he will not apologize. In his heart, he knows he made the right choice.
A/N: I feel the need to explain the quote I used at the beginning of the story. As I have mentioned in other stories, I use my writing as an outlet for the depression I had dealt with for two and a half years. A large reason why it took me so long to overcome the depression was because of my need to be perfect. I needed everyone to see me as the girl who had it all put together, and that facade took a lot of my energy. It was only when I accepted that I am not, and never will be perfect, that I found my inner peace. I have this quote tattooed on my rib cage to remind myself that, as long as I am true to myself, I don't need to be perfect. So for all of my readers who have ever, or are still struggling, with the pressure to be perfect; let me tell you, you are amazing the way you are. -Xoxo Elisa