My dear Sparrow,

I find myself having a hard time writing to you this time. My mind cannot seem to leave the case that the team just finished. Through this case, all I could think of was you. I think of you constantly; you are never far from my thoughts, and yet this was more. This time it was stronger, more insistent. The case is done and we are now flying home on the jet and all I can seem to do is think of you. Gideon seems to understand that without me even saying it and he's giving me the space I need to settle in and write this letter. I think telling you about this is the only way I'm going to be able to let it go.

We were working a kidnapping case. The girl's name was Trish Davenport. Her father, Evan Davenport, is a U.S. District Attorney, Executive Assistant in the Southern District of New York. He's a widower and a father of two, and, after multiple death threats in the past ten years, he has been assigned Marshals three times. His other child is named Cheryl.

It wasn't the case itself that was so bad. In the end, we saved Trish. That's the important part – we saved her. No, what got to me was one single element that was small and yet, to me, so huge.

Trish and Cheryl are twins.

I know that Gideon understood why I went so tense when I realized it. He understood instantly. What made this so hard was that, while he understood, the others did not. They didn't even notice that I was reacting to it. If anything, they assumed I was reacting to the case itself, not to the fact that it happened to a set of twins. The fact that this man kidnapped one twin and tried to kidnap the other because he wanted the 'set'. That was when it really became hard for me. To hear that he wanted 'a matching pair'. I had to remove myself from the room at one point just to bring myself back under control. Morgan checked on me, citing a slight concern, but what could I tell him? What could I say? None of them even know that I had a sibling, let alone a twin. To them, I'm Spencer Reid, an only child. Gideon's the only one that knows I'm a twin. He's the only one that knows about you.

Some days I manage to make it through okay. Some days, I think of you and I smile to myself. And others, I think of you and I feel that pain, that ache. Like an amputee that swears they can still feel their missing limb. I feel as if a part of me is missing. That a part of me died with you. Like I'm missing an arm, or a leg. Life goes on without it; you wake up each morning and you go about your day. There are times you don't even think about it. At other times, it aches and you cannot help but notice the lack in you and long for what once was.

Every day, I miss you. Every day, I think of you. I will never stop missing you and I will never stop aching at the loss. A part of me will always be missing. Some days, it's just more noticeable than others. Today is one of those days. I feel the ache as if it were fresh, like an open, bleeding wound. I feel as if I'm in the middle of a crowded room, screaming and bleeding, and there's not a soul that can see me. They walk past me, footsteps marking in the blood, yet they notice nothing. They smile and laugh and go about their business, never seeing me there. I haven't felt this way in years. I thought I was doing so well. I thought I was really starting to heal. Yet one case like this and it all comes back to the forefront and I wonder; will I ever heal? Will I ever again be whole? Or will there always be days like this that bring it all back to the forefront of my mind?

I don't know the answers to these questions. And I hate not knowing.

There's nothing more I can do or say to change this. All I can do is keep moving forward and hope that one day, maybe, things will start to make sense. That this wound will finally close over and build enough scar tissue that maybe, just maybe, I will still throb but it will no longer bleed. That is all I can ever hope for.

For now, I bid you adieu, my sweet Sparrow. May your soul rest in peace in whatever afterlife exists and may you always know that I'm here, thinking of you.

Spencer

A grunt and a sigh drew Spencer up from his writing. He looked up to see Morgan settling into the seat across from him, moving carefully. The Taser hit he'd taken was obviously bothering him; just as obvious, he was annoyed by it. Spencer knew better than to bring it up right now, though. Over the years, he'd become close enough with Morgan to know when to mention things and when to keep his mouth shut. At least, most of the time. He tried to respect his friend's pride as best as possible. Right now, Morgan's pride and ego were a little bruised. He'd take some time to process things inside of his head and he'd manage to move past it. Spencer curiously watched as Morgan adjusted before lifting his gaze up. The worry in that look told Spencer what was going on before Morgan even opened his mouth.

"Writing to your family?" Morgan asked him. The question was a conversation starter, Spencer knew. Still, he couldn't stop himself from closing the little notebook at the same time as answering. "So to speak." It was true, he was writing family, even if that family would never see it. He'd started these letters back in high school at his psychologist's behest as a part of his therapy. It was a coping mechanism that had stuck with him since then. At first he'd written to her almost daily, telling her everything that he wasn't able to tell anyone else. All the things that he couldn't say to anyone. Then, as he hit college and started to get busy during his days, he wrote her every other day. By the time he joined the Bureau, it was usually once or twice a week. Since his start at the BAU, he had taken to writing her after every case, just to decompress from the case and vent his emotions.

Talented profiler that he was, Morgan sensed he'd touched a sensitive topic and discreetly backed off from it. Instead, he turned to the subject he obviously had come over here for. "Listen, kid, something's been bothering you this whole case. Talk to me. What's going on in that genius brain of yours?" Concern lit his voice and his gaze locked on Spencer, strong and steady, showing that he wasn't asking because he had to. He was asking because he honestly cared about the answer. It was something Spencer still hadn't managed to get used to.

Habit formed Spencer's response without any thought to it at all. "I'm fine." The words he'd said so many times, a lie he'd told more times than he could count, rolled instinctively off his tongue. He softened his statement with a shy smile. "I've just had some things on my mind, that's all. It's nothing to worry about."

That was the crux of it, too. He knew that Morgan was worried about him. Even after being with the BAU for a while now, he still couldn't seem to process that little fact. The people on this team had become his friends, good friends, and when something was wrong, they worried about him. For a kid who was used to taking care of himself, to being the one that worried for people instead of being the one worried over, the whole concept was foreign to him. Pleasant, but foreign.

Morgan stared at him for a long moment as if debating what to say or do. Finally he sighed once more and sat back in his seat. "All right, Reid." He held up a finger and pointed it had him, giving Spencer a serious look. "But if you need to talk, you know where to find me. I'm always here to listen, man."

Smiling, Spencer nodded. "I know. Thanks, Morgan."

"That's what friends are for."

That statement stayed with Spencer through the rest of the flight and as Jason gave him a ride home. His mentor stayed quiet most of the drive, allowing Spencer solitude to sort his thoughts in. They had built a strong enough friendship that they were perfectly comfortable around one another with or without conversation. Halfway home, though, Spencer spoke, his eyes staying trained out the window. He needed to voice his thoughts out loud, but he didn't think he could look at Jason as he did. Some things were easier said when you didn't have to look at the person. "Sometimes it still stuns me, these friendships I've built here. I'm not quite sure how to act in them or how to react to the things they do." Unable to resist, he peeked at his friend from the corner of his eye.

Jason nodded as if what Spencer said made total sense. "You're more accustomed to one sided friendships. The type where you're the one doing all the caring. It must be difficult to get used to knowing that we, the entire team, care about you and what you feel. I take it that Morgan stunned you when he finally spoke to you."

"I can understand that Morgan noticed something was wrong with me during this case. He is a profiler." Shrugging, Spencer looked down at his lap, his hands moving nervously. "But he…he actually cared about what was wrong. Not because I was disturbing the case, or because he was trying to get me to trust me, or because he wanted something from me, or any of the reasons I'm used to people having when they ask me if I'm okay. I think he genuinely was worried and wanted to make sure that I'd be all right."

Quiet filled the car for the next few blocks while each man gathered their thoughts. Jason stopped at a light before taking the turn that brought him to Spencer's street. "When you first explained your past to me, I understood your reasons for keeping it quiet." The older man finally said carefully. "I still respect your choice. But have you ever thought of telling them? Any of them? I think they might pleasantly surprise you with their reactions."

Horror widened Spencer's eyes. "They don't need to know." he said quickly. Just the idea of it put that sick feeling low down in his stomach. "I'm not that person and I refuse to be defined by him. I'm building a life for myself here, with people and friends that like and respect me for who I am without it being tainted by who I was. If they knew the things I did, the things I let be done, you know it would change how they look at me. It always does."

"The people you've told before weren't FBI agents and profilers." Jason pointed out calmly. He pulled the car into the parking lot outside of Spencer's building. "We've all seen some of the worst of the worst. If there's any group of people that would have the best chance of understanding, it would be the team. They won't judge you for this, Spencer. They won't blame you."

"People always say that." Spencer whispered. Pain echoed through every word. "Yet rarely ever does it prove to be true."

Putting the car into park, Jason let it idle while he turned in his seat, one hand coming out to rest carefully on Spencer's shoulder. "I'm not saying you have to tell them, Spencer. I was only suggesting that you think about it. Your story is yours to tell. Just know that, no matter what, I'll be here to support you. You're not alone in this."

Spencer clung to those words like a lifeline. Closing his eyes, he drew strength from the man beside him, in his supportive presence. Yet, at the same time, he couldn't help the small thought that drifted through his mind. You are alone in this. You'll always be alone. Always. Deep down inside, he was afraid that the little thought was right.