Leah's Point of View

I felt happy. I knew that something was up, because 'happy' hadn't been a word I'd used lately. I had the urge to giggle. Again, something was fishy with that. I had been kidnapped. That man... he...

I wanted to shake my head to rid it of those thoughts, but I felt like my entire body was encased in molasses. I stretched out my fingers slowly, experimenting. It took a great deal more effort to do just that than it normally would have for me to do a couple of jumping jacks. Opening my eyes seemed a far cry from possible.

Sluggishly, I resurfaced. When my brain broke the water, so to speak, my eyes flew open with the sudden freedom to do so. I blink a few times fast, letting my eyes adjust to the light. It was very light. The room where he kept me was dark. Memories began to resurface. Darkness for what seemed like forever... him on top of me... the pain as he stuck a knife into my stomach... cold water, feeling frozen... a beach, and the sudden will to survive... a kind stranger holding me and calling 9-1-1. I sighed, and then looked around a little.

The walls were mint-green and nauseating; the ceiling done in cheep white Styrofoam tiles; there was a light in the center of the ceiling; the light was large and round and generic looking. A soft beeping filled my ears as well as the sound of people talking distantly; too muffled for me to pick out individual voices or words. A hospital was the only sane conclusion.

There was another sound, too. Breathing, sighing... and was that snoring? I gingerly turned my head to look in the other direction, wincing as my neck didn't want to cooperate. I had slept wrong, and my neck ached.

I found myself face to face with him; the beautiful angel of a man who had come to my rescue. And he could only be described as angelic; high cheekbones and pale skin, dark hair loosely tucked behind oval ears, soft pink lips, a tiny cleft in his chin and a prominent Adam's apple that bobbed down, then back up as he swallowed in his sleep. I forced myself to sit up a little. He could be a model, if he gained some weight. Perhaps he was anorexic. The guy sure looked skinny enough to have an eating disorder.

But why was he here? Sure, he saved my life, but did they really let strangers into a hospital to visit patients? My eyes fell on the manila folder in his lap. It had a large FBI seal on it. This man was an FBI agent? He looked light enough for a strong wind to blow him over! At least that explained why he was in my hospital room. He was here to ask me about my... ordeal.

I forced myself to sit up, plumping up my pillow and leaning it against the backboard of my bed. I was very cautious of my stomach. I supposed they must have sown up the stab wounds, and I didn't want to hurt my stitches. I leaned back against the pillow with a sigh, and again turned my attention to him. I almost didn't want to wake him up, he looked so peaceful. And he looked like he needed the sleep. He had dark circles under his eyes that seemed to accent his hollow-looking cheeks.

I reached up a hand and touched said cheek with the back of my index finger. It was a compulsive thing to do, and very out of character for me. But I guess near-death experiences change a woman, right?

He jumped, his head falling off the fist he had been resting the other cheek on. He blinked rapidly to clear his eyes then looked at me. He seemed to be... not looking through me, exactly, but he wasn't looking at me in the way that other people looked at me. Almost as though I was a specimen held under a microscope, or something of that nature.

He cleared his throat, and my hand fell limply back onto the bed sheet. "Miss Banks," he started, and I noticed that his voice about an octave lower than I remembered. Yes, I distinctly remembered his voice being a high, piercing sound that kept me awake; asking me what my name was, telling me that help was coming.

"It's Leah," I told him, interrupting whatever he had been about to say. He swallowed, and his Adam's apple bobbed again.

"Okay, Miss— Leah. My name is, uh, Dr. Spencer Reid. I'm a, uh, agent with the— the BAU, the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the FBI, which used to be called the BSU, the Behavioural Science Unit... it's part of the NCABC, the National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime, which is also part of the CIRG, the Critical Incident Response Group..." he babbled. I listened intently, trying to catch everything he was saying, but it was difficult at the pace he was talking, and all the acronyms he was throwing at me.

"And you're here to ask me some questions," I finished for him, wiggling around a little to get comfortable in the lumpy hospital bed. "Shoot." I was being cocky, and rather insensitive. I should be bawling. I should be distressed. I was raped. I was almost murdered. This man saved me, and I was grateful, but I held all those emotions inside where he couldn't see them.

He seemed surprised at my abrupt ending to his speech, but he took it as a way out anyway. He opened the file and clicked a pen he must have had in his pocket, poising it above a blank lined sheet of paper inside the file. Finally he asked, "What happened to you after you were taken?" And all hell broke loose. At least, inside of me, it did.

I couldn't stop the tears, they just kept coming. I buried my face in my hands, embarrassed, not seeing his reaction. One simple question did that to me? He just asked what happened to me, and I break. The memory began to replay itself in my head, torturing my soul.


Spencer's Point of View

What was I supposed to do? I asked one question and she fell to pieces, weeping in front of me like a wounded animal. She tried to keep it quiet, muffling the sounds of her sobs with her hands, but really, like I wouldn't notice her bawling her eyes out?

"There, there," I said awkwardly, gently patting her on the shoulder. It didn't help at all. She continued her crying, and I sat awkwardly beside her. Awkwardly: the adjective of my life. Eventually she calmed down enough that I felt I could talk to her. "I'm sorry," I apologised, "I should have been more courteous. I should have asked you something less upsetting to start with, but I figured you would want to get it out of the way first and begin the healing process..."

The tears stopped all together while I was talking, and she stared at me as though I was speaking a different language. "What?" she asked me, her voice shaking, yet still as velvety smooth as I remembered it being.

"I'm sorry," I said again, ducking my head a little. "I thought you'd want to... get it over with..." I paused. "So you could stop thinking about it, forget it, and heal." Her eyebrows shot up like rockets, and I knew I'd said something wrong.

"Forget about it? I can't just forget what happened to me! I was held in the hold of a ship for God knows how long, in the dark! And he... and he..." I thought she might start crying again, but wrote down what she had said— the hold of a ship. She sniffled, then wiped her eyes and continued. "I don't know who you think you are trying to come down here and tell me that I should forget, Dr. Reid." She seemed very angry.

"Sorry," I apologised again, "I didn't mean it like that—"

"Of course you didn't," she cut me off, crossing her arms. She winced visibly at the movement.

"Are you in pain? Would you like me to get a nurse for you?" Her lip quivered.

"No, I'm fine." She sighed, uncrossing her arms with another noticeable wince and folding her hands in her lap. "Sorry I barked at you." I was a little taken aback, but did not comment on this.

"You have been through a very traumatic experience; I should have been more considerate." I paused for a moment, thinking. "I still have to ask you about what happened, but maybe if we talked about something else for a while..." I tried. She looked at me, a tiny hint of a smile on her oh-so-perfect rosebud lips.

"Okay."