A/N: I've had this lying around for a while, because I couldn't come up with a good title for it. Nothing jumped out at me from the text, so I've kept on reading it and coming up with a title, reading it again and realizing the title sucks, deleting the title and start again. I've finally found one I'm sort of, kinda happy with, so better post it before I get the idea that the entire fic sucks and it needs to be deleted. Now, I never really realized why people hate Seaver. I mean, fine, I'm not sure I'd want Reid to end up with her, but as friends and colleagues, I think they were good. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. If only... *sigh*
Ghosts of the Past
Ashley Seaver peeked over the screen towards the cluster of desks next to hers. There was only one person sitting there. Dr. Reid was immersed in a case file, his face taut and pale, with one hand carefully massaging his right temple. She had wanted to speak to him ever since New Mexico, when Rossi and Hotchner had interrupted them. She had been so close to finding out the truth about the horrible things her father did, so close, and then the moment was snatched away from her.
Then came Miami, and the young doctor had been absent-minded and tired. She had observed the others for indications that this was not normal behavior, and she saw the telltale signs. Awkward, silent moments, long glances and worried questions. Something about Spencer Reid was off.
Now, finally, she had her chance. Morgan and Prentiss had stepped out for lunch a while ago. The tech girl, Garcia, was holed up in her little digital fortress of solitude. Rossi and Hotchner were nowhere to be seen or heard. It was now or never. Ashley rose determinedly from her chair and made her way over to Reid's desk.
"Dr. Reid?" she said in a soft voice, trying not to startle him.
He still flinched, and his eyes darted like lightning from the file to her face.
"Agent Seaver," he replied, relaxing minutely, and putting down the file.
"Are you busy?"
"No. No, I'm just going through some old reports and files. Please, have a seat."
He motioned for the desk chair on the other side of the divider. She smiled, and pulled it out, plopping down on it. For a moment, neither one said anything. Ashley fumbled for words, trying to form the question in her mind.
"How is your remedial training going?" Reid asked, and she understood from his tone he was trying to be polite.
"Fine, thank you. Prentiss is a very good training agent."
He nodded, and they again fell into that awkward, uncomfortable silence. Reid picked up the file again, and began perusing it. She swallowed hard and took a steadying breath.
"Do you remember back in New Mexico..?"
"Of course I remember," came the blunt answer. He didn't even look up at her.
"I... I asked you something," she put forth, a bit flustered.
"As I recall, and as you know, my recall is near perfect, you asked me several questions."
Her lips drew into a small smile. His deadpan answers and straight face were such an endearing trait. Did nothing ever faze him?
"I asked about... my father." Her voice automatically dropped, just in case anyone would...
Reid furrowed his brow and once again set down the file. When he didn't say anything, she continued:
"I asked if you remembered all the details from the case."
"I do," he affirmed, shifting position in the chair. She thought she picked up a streak of unwillingness in his voice, but she still kept going.
"No one ever told me the truth, the full extent. I just want to know what he did, why he did it. All of it."
"Why? You haven't had any contact with your father since he was incarcerated, you changed your last name, and you rarely speak of him."
"I want to know," she persisted, almost pleading with him to open up the vast expanse of knowledge she knew he possessed.
His face, which had been so strained before, suddenly softenened, and he looked at her with friendly eyes.
"A few years ago, I was kidnapped by an unsub suffering from disassociative identity disorder," he began subduedly, and for a second, his eyes looked into the distance, remembering. "He almost killed me, and everything was caught on camera, streamed to the others over the internet."
Ashley remained silent, but she could tell by the way Reid avoided eye contact and fiddled with the cuffs of his sleeves that this was something he didn't talk about often.
"One of the personalities," he continued in the same even, hushed tone, "would inject me with dilaudid and psychedelics, so I could take the physical and mental abuse of the other two personalities. After it was over, I only had vague memories of it all, until I forced Garcia to show me the video feed some weeks later."
"Did it help?" she inquired hesitantly, leaning a bit closer to him.
"Part of me needed to see it, to know what had happened, that I had made it. But another part of me just wanted to look away, to cover my eyes when I crashed and seized on the floor. I may have been dead for a minute. The submissive personality returned and performed CPR on me, brought me back only to fade away and reemerge as my torturer."
Reid swallowed, and Ashley imagined he was pushing back the murky memories that came creeping out of the darkness. She remembered, too. The police, the chaos, the papers, the constant moving and being handed off from one relative to the other. But this... this was different.
"Do you have any happy memories from your childhood?" Reid then asked her.
"Well, yes," she answered evasively. She had a feeling where this was going.
"Then don't squash those few happy moments with the things your father did. It is bad enough you had to lose him in the first place. Hold on to the happy memories, Ashley."
She was ready to just disregard his advice, but then he said her name. Her first name. People here rarely used first names when talking to each other, so the fact that Reid called her Ashley made her stop and think about. She had always told herself that she needed all the grizzly details, all the horrible facts to find closure, but...
She sighed.
As much as she didn't want to admit it, genius here was right. Did she want to torment herself, shatter her life more than it had already been shattered?
She leaned back in Morgan's chair and let out a gust of air. Reid still looked at her, his face not exactly expectant, but still patiently awaiting her answer.
"Maybe I will," she finally relented, then hastily added: "Spencer."
It was a small gesture, and it rendered a quick smile that flashed across his face. She gave him one in kind, then got up from the chair to go back to her own desk. Reid was already back to looking strained.
"Will you be okay?" she asked in passing, and he snapped around.
"I am okay."
"I heard about what that man said to you in Miami."
His expression turned so disbelieving, she almost blushed.
"You really think I have ghosts in my head?" he iterated, sounding as incredulous as he looked.
"Maybe not ghosts. But there is something on your mind, Doctor Reid. Something troubling," Ashley countered.
"You don't know that," Reid protested, but his repose faltered.
"No, I don't," she admitted, and looked up to see Morgan and Prentiss walk toward them from the elevators. She nodded at them when they waved, and added: "But they do."
He looked around her, saw Prentiss and Morgan walk into the bullpen, laughing and talking animatedly. He then looked back at her.
"Maybe I shouldn't know everything about my father," she said and tried to sound encouraging. "But you need to know what's troubling you."
A moment's hesitance, then: "What if I don't want to know?"
She contemplated the dilemma.
"For me, ignorance is bliss. For you, Spencer, knowing is half the battle."
She could see he wanted to say something, maybe protest, but Morgan and Prentiss finally came up behind them. Never had an interruption been more welcome. She politely greeted the two agents, then returned to her own desk. She would occasionally sneak a peek at Reid, and sometimes, he would look back at her, regarding her with a kind of bewildered curiosity. She wouldn't ask him about his health or state of mind for a while. He needed to think it through.
Just like she needed to finally let go.
Chinese philospher Lao Tzu once said, "Knowing others is wisdom. Knowing yourself is enlightenment."
A/N: Any and all input is welcome. Even if it is to say I perhaps should have kept this one to myself. Although I sincerely hope none of you think that.