Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.
"I have learned two lessons in my life: first, there are no sufficient literary, psychological, or historical answers to human tragedy, only moral ones. Second, just as despair can come to one another only from other human beings, hope, too, can be given to one only by other human beings." – Elie Wiesel
o o o o
13 May, 2009
"Hello?" Calliope Sellers croaked as she answered the phone, her voice hoarse from lack of use over the past few days. She hadn't slept more than two hours at a time since the team had left for Canada four days ago. Something about them being away on this case, she didn't know what, was haunting her, gnawing at her insides in a way that had never happened before. Blinking, she muted the TV and looked at the clock, wiping a hand over her face when she saw it display one twenty seven in the morning.
"C-Calliope?"
Her heart shattered at how small and broken his voice sounded; she had never heard him sound so utterly exhausted and defeated. "I'm here, String Bean."
"Did I-I wake you up?"
"No, I was watching some movie on TNT and working on your sweater. You all just turning in for the night?"
"No. We-we're on our way home, Sweetheart. I-I-I, uh um, I wouldn't ask this usually, you know that, but w-would you pick me up at the BAU? I really, really need to see you."
"Of course, I'll be there, Spencer. Don't worry. Are you okay, String Bean?"
"Physically, yes."
"What about psychologically?" Calliope asked, concerned. He had stopped stuttering and word-fumbling around her long ago and whatever caused this sudden onslaught did not bode well with her.
"I honestly don't know. I just don't know."
"How bad?"
"Horrendous beyond words, Sweetheart."
"Talk to me?"
"N-no! You are never going to find out anything about this case, Calliope. Promise me you won't try to find anything out."
"I promise. I promise. Just one question: how many?"
"How many what?"
"Dead."
"No. Calliope, please, Sweetheart. Just trust me. You don't need to know."
"Yes, Spencer. I do. Please."
There was a long, terrible pause before she heard him sigh softly and quietly told her the horrible conclusion. "Ninety-one deaths: eighty-nine victims, two unsubs. We saved the last victim, but she'll never properly recover. Sergeant Hightower's going to jail for murdering his sisters murderer."
Calliope tried to muffle her sobs at the news he delivered but knew she couldn't completely succeed; she could never hide from him: he knew her heart too well. "Wh–what about your family? Is the team – no one… no one's hurt, right? Everyone's coming home?"
"We're all in the air safe and sound, Sweetheart."
"Thank God for small blessings," she said, grabbing tissues to wipe her eyes, grateful both that her friends were okay and that it seemed his stuttering had stopped. "Do you want to talk, Spencer? I'll listen."
"I know. Actually, I was wondering if you would read to me. If you don't want to, it's ok. I understand."
"Don't be silly, String Bean. What do you want to hear?" Standing up, she walked towards the bookshelf where her favorite books were kept and looked over the titles.
"Something uplifting, light."
"War and Peace it is!" Calliope said, forcing her voice into a carefree tone, and was rewarded when he gave a small, tired chuckle as she pulled a book off one of the shelves. "How about Alice's Adventures in Wonderland?"
"That would be perfect. Thank you, Sweetheart. What'd you say, García? Oh, she's reading Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. I can ask. Sweetheart, do you mind if I put you on speaker? The girls want to listen."
"I guess I can take a leaf from Ethel's book and play to a crowd. But only this once," she teased as she heard the click that told her she spoke to the jet and no longer just her String Bean, trying to make her voice as lighthearted and happy as possible for the exhausted agents. "I'm usually a one-at-a-time kind of gal. Settle in, loves, we're going down the Rabbit Hole. Please keep your arms and legs inside the hole at all times. Refrain from exiting until we have made a full and complete splat at the bottom and I undo your shackles."
Calliope wished he were sitting besides her as she settled back into the bed she usually shared with him and cracked the brittle spin of the dog-eared book open to the first page. If he were here, she could read to him while he lay with his head in her lap and she ran her fingers through his hair or rubbed his back. Instead, she held the phone to her ear and began.
"Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, 'and what is the use of a book,' thought Alice 'without pictures or conversations?'
"So she was considering in her own mind (as well as she could, for the hot day made her feel very sleepy and stupid), whether the pleasure of making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran close by her.
"There was nothing so very remarkable in that; nor did Alice think it so very much out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself, 'Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be late!'" Calliope kept her voice even and soothing as she read to them, giving individual voices to the Rabbit and to Alice, not bothered when no one made a sound, but simply listened.
Soaring thirty thousand feet in the sky, the team sat, mentally and physically defeated, listening to the relaxing voice read the familiar story. Doctor Spencer Reid sipped his coffee, taking solace in listening to his sweetheart read the children's book to him and his family. Jennifer Jareau sat next to him, gazing at a creased photograph of Henry and running the tip of her index finger over his features. Penelope García's hands had stilled over the knitting she pulled out, needles held slackly in her hands, her eyes far away, lost in the story.
David Rossi held the gold charm bracelet he had held for twenty years, repeatedly fingering it the way one would a rosary. Emily Prentiss had a bureau file sitting in her lap, but she made no move to go through any of the sheets. Derek Morgan usually blocked out the jet activities with his Bose headphones, but today they rested silently around his neck and he leaned his head back, eyes closed, and listened to the narrative.
Aaron Hotchner sat with his PDA in hand, watching the muted mpegs of nearly four years of missed memories and monuments in his son's life. First steps, first words, first smile, first drawing, first bike ride, first 'mama,' first 'dada,' first solid foods… a life he was missing. He watched them all repeatedly as he listened to the young woman read the story he and Hayley had once read to Jack.
"'But, alas! either the locks were too large, or the key was too small, but at any rate, it would not open any of them. However, on the second time round, she came upon a low curtain she had not noticed before, and behind it was a little door about fifteen inches high: she tried the golden key in the lock, and to her great delight it fitted!
"Alice opened the door and found that it led into a small passage, not much larger than a rat-hole: she knelt down and looked along the passage into the loveliest garden you ever saw. How she longed to get out of that dark hall…"
For three hours, Calliope's voice was all that filled the jet and, by the time she reached the last paragraph of the book, some of the tension had dissipated and the agents seemed to have moved a small amount away from the horrible pain and towards the long process of healing, visible anguish replaced by sleepy sorrow.
"… perhaps even with the dreams of Wonderland of long ago: and how she would feel with all their simple sorrows, and find a pleasure in all their simple joys, remembering her own child-life and the happy summer days. The end."
No one spoke for a while after the story ended, but nothing about the silence felt uncomfortable as Calliope slid off the bed and returned the book to its spot.
"Cal?"
"D."
"Thanks."
"Any time, Derek, any time."
"We'll be home in about an hour, okay, Sweetheart?" Spencer leaned closer to the phone.
"Awesome opossum. I will meet you all at the BAU. I love you guys!"
There was a smattering of returned affection from the team before Spencer picked up the phone and gave a more personal goodbye before hanging up and putting it back on the cradle. The plane returned to silence for a few minutes before Dave spoke.
"You know… she's something special. Not many people would read to seven adults from one thirty in the morning to four thirty. Take it from someone who knows - don't let her go, Reid."
"I wasn't planning on it," Spencer smiled, looking down at the picture of the two of them that he had pulled out of his wallet while she was reading. It had been taken on Valentines Day in front of the lion exhibit by one of the zoo employees. The picture had been posed, but the smiles on their faces were anything but and Spencer loved the way everything about her exuded carefree happiness in that moment.
The rest of the flight was quiet. Derek replaced his headphones; Dave looked out the window. Emily flipped through the folder in the lap; Penelope returned her attention to the knitting in her lap. Hotch continued to watch the videos of his son; J.J. clicked from picture to picture of Will and Henry.
Before long, the seven of them were walking down the steps of the BAU and Spencer felt himself relax when he saw Calliope leaning against her car wearing a faded set of jeans and his CalTech sweatshirt. He had to laugh thinking about how quickly that had become her favorite comfort outfit. Watched as she pushed off her car when she spotted them and started towards them, he waited until she was next to him and pulled her close, giving her a quick kiss and immediately feeling the relief that came with having her near.
"Hi, Sweetheart. How long have you been waiting here?"
A/N:
Soooo... Yay? Another short! haha Anyways, I hope you like it!
If you're new to my world, you can read more about Spencer, Calliope and the crew in all my other stories. :) Mystery Muse is the multi-chapter that is the looo~ove story of S&C and the rest are one-shots like this one. :)
Thanks for reading, I hope you like it, and, please, tell me what you think! Good or bad!
Love, Thalia