Hanging On

Spencer Reid had a tetchy relationship with God from a very early age. Best categorized as an agnostic throughout adolescence, he stopped believing entirely by the time he joined the BAU at the tender age of 22. Though he was known to invoke the occasional religious idiom, 'oh my God' was more mental footnote than literal prayer. In his line of work the concept of a supreme deity seemed laughable to the logical mind. How could such cruelty and blatant sadness exist in a world governed by a being who professed forgiveness and love? Never mind the abstract nature of said entity when compared to the tangible horrors Spencer witnessed on a daily basis. There were rare instances throughout his career caused him to question his lack of faith. Wish for an entity that could be entreated to, or blamed, for the worst of humanities failings. The moment when Peter Harper moved the knife away from his throat and met Spencer's eyes across the vast pool room was one of those times. A small voice in the back of his mind ventured a silent, fervent prayer. 'Thank God' fluttered heavenward as the first real breath Spencer had taken in weeks filled his lungs. In those spare seconds there was clarity and a blessed sense of relief.

The UnSub's demeanor changed in the space between heartbeats. "I appreciate your honesty." A salute, a flash of silver, and Peter was falling. The pool water turned a pale purplish rose and he dropped like a stone.

Spencer nearly choked on the sob which welled instantly in his tight throat. He turned and walked away, feeling JJ's eyes on his back and hearing Derek tend to Tammy as a distant echo of something not quite real. He stepped out into the hallway full of SWAT and leaned against the wall. Curious stares and murmured words swirled around him like wind driven snow. Breathe in, breathe out. He reached for a semblance of composure and came away wanting. Unable to bear the scrutiny of strangers, he pushed away from the concrete and walked straight out the door into the crisp night air. One step and two and breathe… His eyes stinging, his throat closing, panic and pain compressed his weary frame until even his bones were aching by the time he reached the relative safety of the SUV. Inside the vehicle Spencer leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Breathe…why…breathe…what the hell is the point…breathe…. was it any wonder that Gideon walked away…breathe…has there ever been a point to any of this?

Outside the sounds of people, sirens, and moving vehicles took on a tin-like quality. Spencer heard them all as if from beneath the clouded waters of the pool. The ambulance arrived and the police began to clear the scene of unwanted bystanders. The noise was a steady nonsensical drone interspersed periodically by the familiar voices of his teammates. Their presence gave Spencer a vague sensation of warmth. There had been brief periods since Maeve's death when he could block out the incessant clamor of self-recrimination and feel the support of those that loved him without reservation. Those respites never lasted for long however, and were occurring less frequently as the weeks dragged on.

"I thought if I didn't talk about it, I would just forget. But I remember it like it was yesterday."

Spencer grimaced and hugged his arms tight across his chest. He had said those words to Morgan five years ago while discussing a traumatic incident from his adolescence. Putting that pain into words had been a big step he could only have taken with someone he truly trusted. Intellectually, Spencer understood that painful events had to be processed before they could be filed away. Telling an abbreviated version of the same story to Blake the day Maeve died had been easier in terms of trust. Clearly, he had grown as a person. Old habits die hard however, and a part of him still insisted on burying painful memories. Spencer winced as a shudder wracked his body. Grief ate away a person's soul from within, leaving an empty shell behind. He knew it for truth and he had tried so hard to be honest with Peter, and extensively himself. In the case of this troubled UnSub, Spencer had counted on a shred of sanity for reason to latch onto.

There was none.

Tears burned against his eyelids. Spencer rocked his head against the back of the seat and swallowed hard. He would not break in front of his family again. It was too hard to see their sympathy. He was 31 years old and still he felt like a child when it came to situations like this one. Someone they needed to protect, guide and nurture. Less than a man who deserved their respect and more like the boy he had never actually been.

A draught of cold air washed over Spencer as two of the vehicle's doors opened and closed. The SUV rumbled to life and began to move. No one spoke but he knew who had joined him. Morgan was driving. The scents of chlorine and wet cotton emanated off of his large frame and were carried back to Spencer by the heated air blasting from the vents. Morgan drove aggressively. The truck glided around vehicles without hesitation and came to abrupt stops at streetlights. Beside him Spencer sensed a smaller body. The smells of chlorine and the hint of snow undercut by a lighter odor of perfume. JJ preferred floral scents. Spencer didn't have the heart to tell her that her choices often made him nauseous. She was an upbeat mid-western girl who enjoyed her femininity without being overly flirtatious. He saw no point in diminishing her self-expression with criticism.

Spencer did not know how much time passed before he felt JJ's hand on his shoulder. It rested there for a few moments and then slid down to his forearm. She squeezed gently. He trembled, on the verge of shrugging her off. Too scared to open his eyes and let the world back in. Not talking wasn't working but it was all he had.

Wasn't it?

JJ's hand remained in place and gradually Spencer's racing heart began to slow. The tears receded and his throat opened up enough to let a sigh stutter free. She held on as he shivered and licked his lips. Words of reassurance gathered on his tongue. Phrases he had learned and practiced though had never quite understood. "I'm okay," he managed to whisper.

JJ kept silent but did not relinquish her grip. The steady pressure offered silent encouragement and Spencer's body relaxed despite his spinning brain. When he finally opened his eyes and found hers in the dim light, JJ nodded slightly and indicated Morgan's silent bulk with a tilt of her chin.

"Hey kid," the older agent said quietly.

"Hey," Spencer murmured in reply.

The next few hours were a blur of paperwork and interviews. Spencer worked on autopilot without speaking to anyone unless it was absolutely necessary. On the jet he took the couch and faced the wall. Curled into a tight ball, he pretended to sleep. The others spoke in hushed tones amongst themselves. The subject of the take down was steadfastly avoided until conversation ceased completely as one by one they succumbed to personal distractions. Back in the bull pen at Quantico Spencer polished his report and sent it to Hotch via email. He knew it wouldn't be enough to keep the older agent from speaking to him about Peter. He hoped it would give him time enough to get out of the office and put some distance between himself and the troubling events in Minnesota.

Such was not the case.

"To me this is very clearly about Maeve."

One concise sentence delivered with an undertone of sympathy Spencer had dreaded hearing for so long. Hotch, JJ, Morgan…they all knew what he would not talk about. What he strove to forget with each waking breath. He was hanging on for dear life by fingernails torn ragged and bloody with strain. Spencer looked down and swallowed back the dull ache rising up from deep inside. There was no reply that would satisfy his superior, his friend. Words could not fix what had been broken. Nor lay Maeve's ghost to rest. She walked in his dreams and drove him to screaming wakefulness with her silent cry of anguish. No matter how many people crossed his path, no matter the truth or lies, nothing would change what Diane Turner had done.

Spencer made it as far as the parking lot before the tears slipped free. He fumbled his car keys three times in an effort to unlock the car door. Once inside, he rested his folded arms on the steering wheel and leaned his head on them. He sobbed in silence, grateful for the empty lot and the first warm tendrils of dawn seeping through the clouded windows.