The 26th. Birthday
By Helena Fallon
Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds and no infringement of copyright is intended. I have just borrowed some of the characters to play with a few of my own.
He couldn't believe that today was his birthday, so much had happened in a year; surely the good outweighed the bad.
Spencer rolled over to face the window. He had drawn back the drapes to let in as much light as possible but, in truth, it was one of those grey dismal days where the gloom seem to hang in the air, wrapping itself around the world outside like an invisible damp fog. The more positive side of Spencer's personality fought back from being dragged towards the precipice of depression. He tried to think of something optimistic and decided to check his e-mail rather than lying moping on the bed.
The man rolled his thin body off the king-sized bed and padded, in odd coloured socks, along the wooden floors to the long and narrow room that was used for the study. He logged on and noted the time; it would be a couple of hours before his partner would be home. Spencer was humbled by the number of personal birthday messages that had been sent to him. However, he felt guilty that he'd not replied to so many of the personal messages sent over the last few months. It was difficult to explain that he didn't like telling people what had happened to him. Some had picked up on his kidnapping by the news reports, even if the FBI had given the barest of details about how their agent had been taken and had, in fear of his own life, killed Tobias Henkel.
Spencer thought he ought to compose a reply and send it out as a general thank you for remembering him. He had not returned to his apartment when he was released from the hospital because he didn't want to have to face the possibility of colleagues or neighbours dropping in to check how he was doing. Catherine had been collecting his mail and checking on his phone messages, but Spencer was just too fragile to make a return call and had no energy or concentration to write replies. They all meant well, but they did not understand the devastation to his mental and physical health that the Henkel case had inflicted upon Spencer Reid. He was now on his third month of sick leave; the world of Quantico seemed to be on another planet to the young profiler struggling to cope with post-traumatic stress.
The young man forced his long slender fingers to tap the keys, "Thank you all for your kind wishes. I am having a quiet day and I continue to recover, even if at times it seems like at snail place! Regards, Spencer." It was enough, and he then spent time sending the message to the appropriate e-mail addresses. Once done he felt drained. He was 26 today but he had no energy, no concentration to read, worst of all, when he did read, he couldn't always remember the thread of the argument. That distressed him, it felt like he was loosing his abilities. The psychologist in him, told the fragile man that this was all a symptom of the post-traumatic stress but it was no comfort when these symptoms persisted and made the depression loom closer.
Spencer wandered into the kitchen and switched on the kettle. He opened the eye-level cupboard near him, staring at him was an assortment of herb teas.
"You drink far too much coffee," he could hear Catherine's voice in his mind, "It's an irritant for your stomach and you need to drink something more calming and gentle on the nerves,"
"Right, Spencer, camomile or mint?" he said out loud to himself, and then smiled as the thought that talking to ones self used to be considered a sign of madness. He chose the peppermint box and picked out a teabag and placed it into the large cat mug. Lucy had given him the mug last Saturday when her family had called in en route to visit Catherine's second brother and family. Daniel and Lindy were doctors in Dover and had a baby daughter called Daisy. Lucy had been very excited about seeing her cousin Daisy.
The mug was his birthday present but he had Lucy's permission to open the box because they were going to be on holiday and would not see him on the day. The confident 4- year old was delighted when he opened it and agreed that she had been very clever to choose that mug. It was decorated with a longhaired tortoise shell cat curled up tight asleep on one side and stretching out on it's back, with the legs at full extent, on the other.
MaryAnn, her Mom, had smiled as Lucy solemnly announced to Spencer, "He's like you, all curled up when asleep and the way you stretch out after you wake up on the couch," It was a happy memory. He poured boiling water into the mug and carried it into the living room.
Spencer placed the mug on the coffee table and went to the CDs, shelved in the space between the two windows looking down onto the street. It was drizzling with rain and he felt cold just looking at the wet despite the chunky oatmeal woollen jumper he was wearing over the long sleeved shirt. He had lost so much weight that he was finding it difficult to keep warm even in this usually cosy apartment.
His right index finger pointed to the titles as he swept it along the CDs displayed, it stopped at the title along the spine of a CD, 'Baroque Lute Music', he smiled in anticipation of his choice. Opening the case, slender fingers carefully removed the disc and placed it in the player. Italian lute music by Giovanni Girolamo Kapsberger; the warmth of the Italian early 17th.century would quickly dispel the dismal weather and dark thoughts. He sank back onto the couch drinking the soothing mint tea and let his mind be lost to the harmonious melodies with their counterpoint, and the runs and trills of his favourite instrument.
The lutenist was lost to his memories of a year ago. His 25th. birthday had been a disaster but Morgan and colleagues would never dare to invade his privacy again. It had spoilt his evening with Claire, a friend from Harvard days, who was leaving for England and a position at Cambridge University that coming Monday. Morgan would never know that Spencer liked to cook and preparing a meal with Claire was relaxing and contained none of the falseness of a meal in a restaurant.
Preparing a meal with a friend was fun because you chatted away naturally as you chopped and stirred and generally shared the culinary chores. Claire was not a lover; perhaps when they first met, he fleetingly thought he might stand a chance, but then he observed Claire's choices in men. They were all at least 5 years older, all very athletic looking and oozed self-confidence, the very thing that Spencer did not have when it came to relationships with women. However, women liked Spencer because he was a good listener and he didn't flirt with them like the other men. Consequently, the women themselves relaxed and didn't feel the need to try and impress him because he was not a prospective lover. Spencer actually liked women when they were not trying to capture the attentions of a male. He did not like the artificiality of dating: as a profiler he could always see through the pretense. Spencer had a game he played with himself when at concerts or the theatre, watching the apparently unaccompanied females and seeing if he could imagine their partner. If they were meeting someone at a venue, he was often more right than wrong with his partner profiles.
Reid had first noticed her before a lute concert, of Dutch music, a week after Claire had left for England. He had arrived early enough to get a much needed coffee and to find a seat to the side, so he could observe his fellow concert goers without drawing attention to himself. Spencer had noticed her quietly looking out into the inner courtyard where there was a fountain. The water from the fountain sparkled, like a cascade of tiny diamonds, in the light from the concert hall windows. The effect was quite beautiful and this young woman seemed captured by it. She was small in height and had an unfashionable figure however, she had the confidence to accentuate it with a tailored black suit. This feminine figure was shown off by the 'A' line skirt and the sapphire blue silk blouse softened the harshness of the black. Reid was also aware that this woman was happy with her small stature because she did not teeter in high heels but wore leather court shoes with a low heel, flattering but not uncomfortable. The straight fine brown hair had natural auburn highlights and was cut in an unfussy short 'bob'. He thought her around his own age but she seemed alone or at least when the bell signalled 5 minutes before the start, she entered the auditorium, like him, as an unaccompanied concert goer.
A fortnight of work passed and he was able to attend the third concert in the series of 6 covering European Lute music. He had missed the previous week concerning the French but tonight it was the Italian and he knew the performer was very accomplished. He bought a coffee and took up a position on the side, leaning against a window that overlooked the busy Washington street. Spencer scanned his fellow concert lovers and spotted her; she looked alone again, but this time she was not watching the fountain, but was seated reading a pamphlet about the coming concert season.
Reid concluded that she must be new to the area and not just a passing visitor. He had been on the concert hall's mailing list for 4 years now and he had passing acquaintances among the regulars for the different styles of music that interested him. She was dressed in a dove grey suit, similar in style to the black one, and a coral pink silk blouse, and he noted, those sensible black shoes again. He wondered what she did for a living: definitely a professional woman; an accountant or in medicine…there was something that was very neat and precise about her outfit. It was flattering but understated, this woman dressed for herself not to catch the notice of a man… 'But then he had noticed her,' he mused to himself.
Suddenly, to his horror, she looked up, and stared him straight in the eyes from across the floor. Caught! Spencer felt himself blush and wanted to be miles away from his present position, yet it was not an unfriendly face, but he dropped his eyes aware that he had been ogling the woman. He took a sip of his cooling coffee and looked the other way and saw friends from the Dowland Society. They came over and he was gathered into a circle of people he had known since moving to Quantico. He had briefly caught sight of his mysterious lady during the interval, she was alone, but he was now in a circle of old acquaintances who shared his knowledge and love of the lute and Elizabethan literature.
It was 10 days later, when he had unexpectedly got back in time to attend a concert held at Georgetown University. The Music Department was hosting an evening of lute songs by Thomas Campion. Spencer slipped into the gathered throng of fellow enthusiasts and exchanged greetings with several. He was wandering where best to sit in the small hall chosen for the venue when he noticed her, looking at the gathering audience as she stood beside a pillar. She was wearing an emerald green coat with a matching dress beneath; the colour accentuated the tones in her hair. Spencer thought how alone she looked; she had an open face and at that moment it was soft and sensitive…she was staring at him! Her eyes twinkled and her face light up in recognition of a familiar face, it was friendly and inviting and Spencer found that he was smiling in return.
Spencer's feet began to walk of their own accord towards her, as if under a spell, he usually wasn't very good at talking to strange women in social situations. He was a psychologist but he did not apply all the book knowledge of personal relationships to himself. Spencer usually felt awkward in these situations and what he wanted to say never happened, rather his ineptitude with relationships with the opposite sex prevailed. But there was something inviting and unthreatening about this woman, she looked warm and cuddly and not a goddess to stick insect fashion.
"Hello, Did you enjoy the Italian lute concert?" he found himself saying, amazed at his own voice, it sounded calm even if his heart was thumping away in his chest.
"Oh, it was beautiful, I was lost in the warmth of the music, you could almost feel the glow of the Italian sun in that concert hall," she said in a soft voice, and he was captured by her smiling dark grey eyes.
"Yes…it made us forget about the drizzle outside, didn't it?" he managed, but then went blank. Fortunately, this woman gently filled in the silence that was beginning to seep in.
"You're obviously quite well known to people, are you from these parts?"
"No," Spencer managed and realised that she was encouraging this conversation along, "No, I work at Quantico, so I often come to concerts in the Washington area. You've just moved here?"
"Yes, I have some temporary lecturing work at Virginia State and a few guest lectures to give in Philadelphia and Maryland," she replied.
"What's your subject?" Spencer asked, genuinely interested, her gentle patience with him reminded him of J.J.'s quiet encouragement despite his initial awkwardness. He liked J.J. as a friend but he knew that she was involved with other men. Spencer was not her type. J.J. liked sporty men, but it had been very sweet of her to play along with Gideon's 24th birthday gift and take him to watch the Redskins.
"Now, I'm warning you…this tends to be a conversation stopper…" she said, her eyes laughing at her words
"Try me," Spencer invited playfully, and was amazed that he'd not blushed yet.
"I'm an expert in cuneiform writing and ancient civilisations," she replied softly, watching his face intently for his reaction.
Spencer noticed how the grey eyes looked apprehensive and wondered how many times she had got this far. But this was the hurdle that sent men running for cover having tumbled upon a very intelligent and erudite woman.
"Fascinating, so you've spent some time at the British Museum?" Spencer asked, and was pleased to see the look of relief mirrored in her face and then this quickly replaced by the shining joy of the enthusiast.
"I went to London when I was 18 to study for my second PhD, they have the finest collection of cuneiform writing in the world," she beamed, and Spencer recognised the look of another genius, isolated by ones sheer intelligence and breadth of interests.
"And your first PhD?" enquired Spencer, out of curiosity to see if he had guessed correctly.
"Mathematics as applied to cryptography," she replied, "You don't seem to be afraid of this…I mean usually men are making their excuses to get away as fast as they can," she admitted with a refreshing honesty.
"Fellow genius," assured Spencer, "I've 3 PhDs in mathematics, physics and psychology,"
She smiled fully and Spencer grinned in response, "And we both like Lute music," he didn't want this to end, "Are you on your own this evening, I mean will you sit with me?" he blurted out and then wondered if that sounded too pushy.
"I don't know anyone else here, it would be nice not to be on my own for once,"
As if on cue there was an announcement for the audience to take their seats. Spencer and the lady found seats together and it was only once the concert started that Spencer Reid realised that they had not exchanged names. However, for the first time, Spencer felt truly relaxed with a woman and he knew he wanted to keep in touch with this fellow genius.
They were lost in the music and the interval came all too quickly for the music lovers, however, they were both of one mind.
"I'm sorry," they both said simultaneously, and then laughed at themselves.
"I'm Spencer Reid," and she smiled, and he noticed how she wore no make-up. He concluded that she had probably given up long ago trying to disguise her freckles, but he found the whole effect totally refreshing compared with the usual artifice of their society.
"Catherine Fox," she replied, "I like to be called Catherine."
Spencer noted the invitation to be less formal, "Well, Catherine, shall we go and get a drink or would you prefer to find a quiet corner to chat?" asked Spencer, amazed at his forward manner with this woman.
"I'd rather chat, unless you wanted to get something?" she invited.
Spencer led the way out of the hall to a quiet area away from the bar and coffee counter. He was pleased that there was even an unoccupied bench: it was all going too smoothly and he wanted this to continue.
"So Spencer, what do you do at Quantico?" she asked after sitting down and turning to give him her full attention.
"I'm a profiler with the BAU," he answered.
"Sorry, what's that?" she asked, feeling that she was in another world.
"Oh…sorry, it's the Behavioural Analyst Unit of the FBI. We help the law enforcement agencies catch criminals by forming a psychological profile of the perpetrator…hopefully this helps them to be caught before further crimes are committed," he explained simply and hoped it didn't sound too pompous.
"Ah! So that's where the psychology comes in. Have you been doing this very long?""Since I was 21," he said and watched her expressive eyes widen in amazement, "I'm the youngest agent they're had, the Bureau bent the rules for me, or rather my mentor did a good job at convincing them that I was worth it."
"Wow! I am now totally out of my depth. Here I am at home with ancient civilisations and you sound as if you deal with the very worse of this present one. No wonder you like to escape to concerts,"
"Exactly, I don't like talking about my work unless I'm giving a lecture about criminal psychology," he confessed.
"Enough said, so what else do you like to do with your leisure time?" taking the hint to change direction.
Spencer liked her forthright approach and wished more women were like her. " I play the lute, read widely, I retain an interest in mathematical puzzles and physics and I like to practice magic tricks," Spencer said, never taking his gaze from her face, "I'm not very sporty but I like to walk and ride,"
"Oh, I love riding, but I'm still trying to pluck up the courage to find a stables that organises group rides…you know, I'm aware of the safety issue," Catherine stated firmly and Spencer nodded at the sensible approach, "I'm not sure I like Washington society…" she added.
"Yeah, it can be rather daunting to come to concerts here on your own. I got to know people in Virginia first, and went to the Dowland Society meetings at the University. There I met people who also shared some of my other interests and that gave me the courage to attend other things. That's how I discovered the stables where I go riding, they're a pleasant mix of people, I could take you there if you like?" he found himself saying, confessing his own insecurities in the effort to show he truly understood her isolation as a singleton.
"Oh, would you, I mean I miss riding and coming from Montana…well as soon as I could sit up the parents put me in the saddle!" she enthusiastically replied.
"Yeah, I'd love to but sometimes my job intervenes with arrangements…you know I just get called into work any time, but I could try to book us horses for this Saturday. Gina, she owns the stables with her husband, is use to me having to pull out at the last minute, but I'm sure when you've met these people you would feel happy to join a group on your own. …Really, you know I'm a bit reserved myself and I found the first time easier, knowing a couple I'd met, where going to be there. But then everyone was so friendly…the next time there was no apprehension," assured Spencer and then wondered if she was now going to think him a total idiot.
"That's really very considerate of you. You know how it is when you're on your own and everyone else seems to have a partner…" Spencer nodded, being single usually meant that you noticed how couples seemed to know couples of a similar age and it was often the older couple who would befriend the newcomer.
The bell sounded, cutting off their conversation, but this was the beginning of their friendship. They managed to go riding that weekend, a ritual that only his present distress had brought to a temporary halt. Suddenly he felt himself spiralling down into the abyss of terrorising memories.
Part of his brain was commanding him to stop this plunge into his personal hell but he seemed paralysed by the free fall.
Spencer's mind was transfixed by the kaleidoscope of images. The images brought back the sensations of pain and the sounds of his own pleading, from his training, to try and get his captor to see him as a fellow human being. But Henkel was lost in his own form of madness, and Spencer had found himself dealing with three different personalities within the one tortured mind.
Images of his sick mother, his father leaving despite his own feeble attempts to get him to stay…his own sense of being a prisoner as a child to his mother's illness. Would he ever develop schizophrenia? Would it destroy his brilliant mind too? He could taste the fear; it rose up burning his throat, suffocating his reason. He tried to run away but he was weak, tired, the brain no longer controlled his body….
The stink of rotten cooking fish, the smell of dank rotten leaves, his own stale perspiration…it was all suffocating him. He was trying to breathe …he was gasping for clean air…he wouldn't die in this, he had to regain control but he was being pulled back, he had to fight him off…
"Spencer! Spencer!" the voice was commanding him to listen, "Spencer!" he could feel his shoulders were being gripped firmly, "Spencer, you're safe, breathe! Come on, breathe that's better, a deep breath, and another," the voice commanded. It was a voice he knew but his brain was fighting to recognise it.
"You're OK, Spencer, Breathe deeply, that better. It's all right, I'm here now, it's going to be OK." He was trying to respond to the commands while puzzling over the voice…it was a voice that was important to him. His brain was sluggish; it wanted to retreat to that far place away from the memories of fear, pain, and failure.
"Spencer!" the voice firmly commanded again with an urgency that needed a response.
He opened his eyes; he was looking into the worried face of a befreckled woman. Spencer knew her, his brain assured, but the name escaped him for the moment and then it flooded through his body with a surge of consciousness.
"Catherine!" he sobbed and pulled her to him, knowing that she held the secret of his sanity.
"You were sleeping deeply when I came in but suddenly you were in the grip of a nightmare and gasping for air," Catherine explained quietly as she held her lover close as she would a frightened child, but he was not a child; Spencer had been to hell and back.
She rubbed his long back in soothing circles and heard and felt the breathing calm to a normal pace and then the hand drifted up to his head and stroked the silken hair. It was too long for the FBI these days but it was thick and curled and she envied it, her own hair was so fine and straight. The music had stopped soon after she had arrived home but she had quietly prepared a meal while he slept unaware of her presence. She had no more lectures until next Tuesday and had brought the students' essays home with her to read and hopefully to mark by the time she returned to the campus.
Spencer allowed her warmth to seep into his too thin body. He sometimes wondered if his sheer hard bones hurt her when they lay close. He remembered how uncomfortable it had felt making love to Megan who was as thin as he was…but that was a long time ago and it was a youthful encounter of little depth. The sexual release had been good but the relationship had no future, he had filed it all away in his mind as a normal student experience. Megan and Sara had both been fashionably thin and for them, as he had played hard to get, he had been someone to be seen with…their own personal genius. He ended both encounters by being super obtuse with his intelligence; they had felt totally out of their depth. Holly had been different but she couldn't cope with the truth about his mother's illness, however, she had been a warm and cuddly person like Catherine.
Spencer nuzzled Catherine's hair and sighed with contentment. This woman had so much strength and caring wrapped up in her intellect and he had been the fortunate one to be on the receiving end of her stability these past few months. He loved the subtle smell of rose water that Catherine used; she loved roses and used only an old-fashioned rose-based perfume or rose water that she was wearing today. The perfume she usually saved for more special occasions but he was beginning to rely upon its scent to help him cope with the difficult memories. Spencer had told Arthur, his psych, and he seemed pleased that Spencer had found a weapon to help him with the post-traumatic stress.
Spencer's own large hands began to explore her curves. It amazed him how she was only 126 pounds but compared with the stick insects that women tried to emulate, she seemed large. Her body was compact and muscular because of the riding; her thighs were strong and her wrists and hands held a rider's strength through handling strong willed horses.
"Mmm Spencer," she whispered, "You want to move to the bedroom?"
He smiled and moved his head to kiss her fully on the mouth. Finally breaking the sensuous moment Spencer managed to reply, "Yeah, we'd better," he conceded, remembering that the condoms were in that room and he didn't what an unplanned pregnancy to add to his shaky world at the moment.
A couple of hours later, Spencer was feeling much better than he had felt earlier in the day. It still amazed him that they actually managed to make love considering the nightmare he'd experienced, and his mood was upbeat and quite positive. They had just eaten the vegetable lasagne that Catherine had prepared earlier and they were lounging on the couch, or rather he was stretched out, cat like, with his head in her lap enjoying the attention. He liked having his hair stroked by Catherine; she always made such touch seem like a tender caress. It was very soothing and he totally relaxed in her company. Spencer knew that he was very fortunate to have Catherine in his life and now often wondered what he would have done with out her constancy. Spencer, the psychologist, knew that her presence in his life was helping him to heal; sometimes he could actually believe he would be able to return to work.
The Bach violin partita came to an end, after a few moments of silence, Catherine whispered, " I collected your mail on the way home. I think you have some cards, do you want to open them now?"
"Cards?" he was a bit surprised, "I had a load of birthday e-mails and sent out a thank you message."
"People happen to like you Spencer and you get missed," Catherine replied. It never ceased to amaze her how humble this man was, he expected so very little from the people around him. It was a very sad reflection of his experiences of life that he didn't think people would send him birthday cards.
"Perhaps one is from Mom; the sanatorium try to remember to get Mom to choose a card to send but with Mom things don't always get done on time," he reasoned and sat up so Catherine could move.
Catherine made her way to the small entrance hall and found her bag. She was pleased that Spencer seemed to be in a better mood than the one she had left him in that morning. He had been very unreachable, perhaps because the previous evening he was reminded of the occasional impotence from which he now suffered. Catherine made sure that she was always reassuring when this occurred. She had read as much as she could about PTSD and she had the support of Linda Newton, one of her brother's colleagues who worked in the mental health wing of his hospital. She retrieved the small bundle of envelopes of various colours and sizes.
"Wow! All for me?" he said, with big child-like eyes, as she placed them in his lap.
He recognised the scrawled writing of Gideon on the white envelope and smiled to himself. Gideon had not sent him an e-mail but a card was special because he just didn't usually send them.
He prised the envelope open and carefully drew out the card, it was a painting of a condor soaring in a cloudless sky. He opened it; it was one of those cards you could buy that were blank so you could write your own message.
" Hope you have a good day. Look forward to resuming our chess games," signed Gideon.
Spencer felt a warm glow deep inside; he'd not expected any one in the unit to remember, especially after the fiasco of the last birthday. He silently passed it to Catherine with a shy smile.
"Gideon doesn't usually send birthday cards," he added.
"That was kind," Catherine said, admiring the strong composition of the painting.
Spencer was already opening the light blue envelope and this card was revealed to be a painting of a tiger from a 16th century Chinese manuscript. Reid was unsure who would have chosen this card but the message revealed all: "Wishing you a really lovely day and get well soon, love from J.J. and Simon"
"That's a really unusual card from J.J. and Simon…I'm glad sees still with him," Spencer said as he passed the card to his partner.
"This one has to be Garcia," he said staring at the gold envelope and address written in purple. The birthday card was equally bright: a magician's hat from which brilliantly coloured stars of various sizes were bursting forth. It was also liberally adorned with assorted shades of glitter. It opened up with a rabbit jumping out of the centre fold as if out of the magician's hat, and holding a banner declaring "HAPPY BIRTHDAY" in gaudy letters which were themselves covered with glitter. The card, like the signature, was extrovert, but somehow Garcia had managed to fit in "love to my junior G man, Garcia"
"Does she realise how old you are?" asked Catherine, as she looked at the child's card.
"It's typical Garcia…I like the magician's hat!" he said with a broad grin, "I wonder if she added extra glitter?"
Catherine laughed at the child-like response from her fellow genius: she sensed a deep and trusting friendship between her lover and this Garcia but she felt no jealousy. He had spoken a little about her and her amazing abilities with delight, but he assured her that Garcia was like having a big sister looking out for you when you were in the playground. This had only amused Catherine further because she knew Spencer to be an only child. She had begun to understand how the team was a substitute family, especially as they seemed to spend more time together than some actual families did.
The next card was in a plain white envelope and Spencer did not recognise the writing; he surmised that it was from his Mom and one of the staff had addressed it.
The photograph was of one of the beautifully preserved steam engines from the collection of the Nevada State Railroad Museum and it brought back happy memories of being taken there by his parents when he was 6 years old. It was one of those rare occasions when his parents had done something together with him. This was one of their standard birthday day cards but he was pleased to see that his Mom was obviously having one of her more coherent days because she had written a message:
"For my darling son, hope you remember this engine and the happy time we had there.
All my love, Mom"
"Yeah, it was a happy time," Spencer said to himself and he beamed a smile at Catherine as he showed her the card. Catherine smiled warmly back, sensing that this was perhaps going to be one of his happier birthdays.
The next envelope off the dwindling pile was pale grey and he thought perhaps a serious Hotch, but he was surprised when the card that emerged from the sober envelope was of a firework display. The message in inside didn't surprise him:
"Hope you make some of your own fireworks today! Get back here as soon as poss. Morgan"
"I'm trying, Man," Spencer muttered to himself and showed Catherine the card.
"Hey, we did make our own fireworks!" said Catherine teasingly with sparkling eyes, not wanting Spencer to allow memories of Morgan's foolishness last year to surface and break this good mood. But Spencer seemed pleased that the team had obviously all made an effort to send individual cards despite his long absence.
The remaining envelopes were both cream in colour and written in black ink.
"Well. If the team have all remembered me then that leaves Emily and Hotch," Spencer said, picking up the top envelope, "Mmmm Emily's writing I think,"
He drew out the card and admired the photograph of Lake Tahoe, she had written her own simple message, "Happy Birthday, Spencer. We miss our human computer! With best wishes, Emily" Catherine noted how very formal her card seemed, but then she had not been part of the team very long.
"This one must be from Hotch," said Spencer picking up the final cream envelope and tearing it open.
"Oh that's nice, one of Hopper's seascapes," said Spencer and he opened the card and was surprised that it was from both the Hotchners: "Happy Birthday, Spencer. We hope that you have a good day. Our very best wishes, Hayley and Aaron" Spencer knew that Hayley had written that message but at the bottom another, more familiar strong and precise hand had written, " Arthur is very pleased with your progress so don't get disheartened. We look forward to the day when our genius is back in residence at the BAU, Hotch"
Spencer smiled to himself, it felt good to be remembered by the team; he missed the work but he also knew that he was not yet strong enough to cope with the demands of the job.
"They all miss you," Catherine said; pleased that the team had made an effort to make contact. She knew that Spencer didn't want to see them in his present fragile state but to know that he was not forgotten was a boost to his self-confidence. "Let's put the cards up on the shelving along with those from my brothers," she said rising with the cards and Spence rose also to participate in the simple task.
Spencer thought that he'd never had so many birthday cards before, not even as a child. He really didn't have friends who were close enough to want you at their parties or were interested in your birthday. Spencer hoped if he ever fathered children that they would have a happier childhood and certainly a less isolated one.
"Penny for them…" Catherine was before him, her hands went round his waist, and he responded automatically wrapping his long arms around her to capture the goodness he felt was at her soul.
"Oh, it's nothing very profound. I was just thinking that I've never had so many birthday cards,"
"Yeah, being a genius has a down side which people don't usually realise. I was lucky having siblings and my Aunts…Just wait 'til you meet my Aunts…they're bound to adopt you!" she mischievously replied.
Spencer hugged her, the looming depression from the morning and early afternoon had gone.
"So how about opening my card and presents?"
Spencer stood back a little to gaze at her in genuine surprise. "You've got me a present?"
"Of course I've got you a present…you know it's the sort of thing you do when you love someone," Catherine stated, puzzled by his lack of expectation.
"After my Dad left, Mom sometimes forgot birthdays and well, I really don't expect things… then there are fewer disappointments," he confessed, and he saw a look of distress flash briefly in her eyes.
"Oh, Spencer! My family must be overwhelming at times compared with your experiences. But you really thought I would not give you a card or present?"
"But you wished me 'Happy Birthday' when I woke up this morning and you're the best present I've ever had…I mean just sharing my life with you…it's sort of beyond price," he struggled to express himself clearly. Spencer fell silent, thinking that he must have sounded like some lovesick character from a trashy teenage novel.
Catherine followed her intuition and didn't try to say anything; she wisely hugged him and stood on tiptoe to just manage to plant a kiss on his cheek.
"Well, you're going to have to get use to birthday presents from me," she stated firmly and suddenly she had released him from her grip and was gone. Spencer felt as if all the warmth had gone from the room, but within a few minutes she had returned with a large box. Resting on the box was a much smaller cube type box, a rectangular and not very thick parcel and an envelope. She placed them on the coffee table with a triumphant grin.
"Marsha hid them in her apartment so you wouldn't find them and peek!"
Spencer just grinned in delight, and Catherine thought how young and innocent he seemed when his guard was down and relaxed. He reached for the plain white envelope that was not sealed, but Catherine had used her calligraphy skills to embellish his name.
He pulled out the card and was surprised to find a photograph of chess pieces but these were no ordinary figures, Spencer recognised the Lewis chess pieces from the British Museum. He opened the card and again was faced with elaborate calligraphy but the message was clear: "For my Spencer on his 26th Birthday, all my love, Catherine"
Spencer just stood there entranced by the written message, so simple but he knew that his Catherine meant every word, it both thrilled and scared him.
He felt Catherine's hand rub a circled on his back, and he looked at her to find concern mirrored in her dark grey eyes.
"Ok?" she whispered, unsure of his quietness.
He nodded but then realised that it was an inadequate response but he wasn't sure what you were suppose to say…
"What's wrong, Spencer?" she asked softly, sensing there was insecurity and wondered what she had done to elicit this reaction.
"It's…I," he began and faltered, longing for the right words to come. Catherine waited patiently, sensing the man's need to order his thoughts.
"I just feel …I get scared you know, I've never felt this depth and breadth of feelings before… all these emotions; it's so scary. I don't want this to end. I love you but I'm scared, I feel so utterly alive and at the same time so totally vulnerable…"
"Yeah, you have to be brave to love someone because that's when you have to trust that special person not to attack your vulnerabilities. Worse of all, loving means that you know what life feels like when you are really loved and you don't want to go back to the cold grey world of being alone." Catherine whispered, wondering where those words came from because they seemed to flow from her unconsciously, "I don't want this to end either Spencer. I totally trust you with my vulnerabilities and I will be with you for as long as you want, and go with you where ever you want to be, because I know that I will only be happy with you."
Spencer couldn't say anything as he felt tears welling in his eyes; he had been let down by too many people in his life and if Catherine let him down, or left, he really didn't want to think about how he would even begin to cope. He had from the age of 10 pushed emotions aside by using his intelligence, to primarily govern his actions, in order to cope with the adult responsibilities that had been forced upon him. The torture inflicted had smashed down his carefully constructed walls to keep his emotions in tidy locked rooms.
Catherine had a special compartment all to herself in this construction and Henkel had not been able to reach this secret place. Spencer was sure that this fact had helped him through his ordeal. He was going to have to rebuild his defences but his feelings for Catherine had not been mauled, and if anything, these emotions seemed stronger than ever. Spencer just reached for his partner, hugging her and revelling in her cuddly warmth. He probably would never find the right words but did any one? Perhaps that's why the simple, 'I love you' were the most precious words when said to the right person and the most flippantly, overused and misused words in the world.
They stood entwined for some minutes. Catherine knew that these quiet hugs were very important to Spencer's emotional well being, and had been from very early on in their relationship. She wondered what her psychologist Father would have said about this physical need. Catherine thought that this man had taken on adult responsibilities for his mother at too young an age, and being a genius, perhaps his parents had neglected to give the emotional support all children need. Catherine's family had been warm and open in expressing their feelings, but this had not been the case for Spencer. She was amazed how this sensitive and empathic person had grownup to be the good man he was and able to cope with such a demanding position.
"Sorry," he suddenly said, breaking away and picking up the rectangular gift. It was soft to feel through the metallic royal blue wrapping paper. "Hey this is unusual!" he enthused, the serious minutes before were now dispelled.
In this hands, Spencer was admiring a silk tie in dark green with silver Isle of Lewis chessmen parading across it. He placed it on the table and turned his attention to the small cube type box wrapped in the same metallic paper. Opening the box, he carefully drew out a turquoise blue mug that was decorated with white chessmen, again from the 'Lewis' set.
"I'm going to take this one to work when I go back and keep Lucy's mug for home," he announced, admiring the design, "No one else has one like this. Did you get these things from the British Museum?"
"Last time I was there, I thought you might like them," replied Catherine, pleased that her choice was going down well.
"So…following this chess theme …does this mean that this big box is…a chess set?"
"Well you will just have to test your theory," Catherine replied and watched him tear the outer wrapping in his eagerness to get to the contents.
There was the inlaid wooden chessboard first to lift out and then the individual pieces to carefully unwrap. Catherine watched the joy in her lover's face as he unwrapped and placed each chess piece on the board. Finally it was correctly set up with the replica pieces of the 12th century Isle of Lewis chessmen.
Spencer looked up, the room light up with his radiant smile and his eyes glowed with an inner joy, "Oh Catherine, it's beautiful, thank you for everything," He leaned over and kissed her gently on the mouth. He broke off, this was not the time for a sensual kiss; she sensed his thoughts were else where.
"We've got to christen the set, let's play a game now," Catherine smiled, typical Spencer to focus his mind on his new 'toy'. But she was content to enjoy this happy moment with him and perhaps later there would be time enough for some more lovemaking.