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The Comfort of Conversation

"Words are capable of making experience more vivid, and also of organizing it. They can scare us, and they can comfort us."

Johnathan Sfran Foer

Reid closed a case file and sat back in his chair. He sighed and rubbed at his eyes.

"You okay?" Blake asked.

"Yeah, I'm just a little tired. I was out late last night."

She raised her eyebrows and dropped her pen. "Anything you want to talk about?"

He smiled even though his eyes burned like someone had thrown sand in them.

"Six months ago, I would have said no, but now I guess I feel more stable."

She nodded. "You're stronger than most people think."

"Thanks, but I think I really messed up last night."

"What happened?"

"I told you about Hope."

"Yes."

"She got hurt at work yesterday."

"Oh God, what happened to her?"

He took a sip of lukewarm coffee and grimaced. "A man came onto her floor looking for his son. He was confused and belligerent. He got violent and she was hurt. Another nurse was injured before Hope talked him down."

Blake grinned at him. "She talked him down."

"Yeah," he said and pride made him warm.

"That's great."

"Yeah, they took him alive. His son was a patient at the hospital. He had leukemia and he passed away five years ago."

"Sounds like the guy couldn't move on."

Reid looked down at his cup of coffee. "I know how he feels; or rather I know how he felt."

Blake narrowed her eyes. "What else is going on?"

"I feel like a jerk."

"Why?"

"I went to see Hope. We had a dinner date and that's when I saw her on crutches. She has a sprained ankle."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, and I made it worse."

"Oh, I sense a foot in mouth situation."

"A bit," he admitted. "She knows I still love Maeve."

"I see."

"I don't love Maeve like I did when she was alive. It's different. She'll always be special to me, but I really like Hope. Does that make me a bad person?"

"Of course not, Reid. Hope knows where your true feelings lie. She was probably upset because of the injury."

"Yeah, I told her that was it."

Blake laughed and picked up her coffee cup. "Oh, Reid, you never cease to make me laugh at the oddest times."

"What?"

"Blake, Reid, we have a case," Hotch said from the elevated walkway.

"Let's go," Blake said and grabbed her tablet.

"What did you mean?" Reid asked.

"Come on, Reid. We have a case. We'll talk later."

He glared at her and she winked at him. He knew it wasn't any use to complain, though.

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Reid pulled out his cell and pushed the speed dial for Hope. "Hey," he said when she answered.

"Hi."

"I'm sorry to do this, but I have a case in Montana. I'm leaving in half an hour and I wanted to make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, the painkillers are great."

"Hope, you know what I mean."

"I'm not mad at you, Spencer."

"I can hear in your voice that isn't true."

"Are you profiling me?" She asked very calmly.

"No, I can just hear it in your voice. I don't know what else I can do or say."

"Babe," she began. "I'm not angry at you."

"Hope."

"Alright, maybe a little, but I understand what you said last night, more than you know."

He sighed. "Look, I have to go. I just wanted you to know that I'm thinking about you and I really do care for you, Hope."

"Me too," she said, and he could hear tears in her voice

"Please don't cry."

"I can't help it. You're so sweet and I keep messing up."

"No, you don't, I'm the one that stuck my foot in my mouth."

"Reid," Hotch called to him from the hallway.

"I really have to go," Reid said.

"Please be careful," she said. "I want to finish our conversation."

"Yeah, me too, bye."

He clicked off his cell and went to meet Hotch who stood in the hallway. "Talking to Hope," he asked kindly.

"Yeah, I'm trying to fix a mess I made with her."

Hotch's dark eyes pinned him, but he said in the same quiet tone. "Don't let this job keep you from the things you need to say."

Reid shook his head. "I won't, sir, and thanks."

"Now, before we go out to the jet, please go see Garcia. She's working on a few addresses for me and I need you to get a jump on a geographic profile."

"Yes, sir."

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Of all the hotels he'd stayed in, this was one of the most interesting, décor wise, he'd seen. In Alaska, it'd been all wood and heavy furniture with a dark color scheme. It was much the same in Butte, Montana, but his room also had a table made out of split logs instead of metal, and it had its own coffee maker, which was fine by him.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, which had a quilt made from different shades of deep purple and blues. It was very soothing to look at and he wanted to crawl inside. First, he needed a shower and then he needed to talk to Hope.

He was towel drying his hair when his phone rang. He picked it up and saw to his delight that it was Hope's number. "Hey," he said, as he dropped the towel and crawled into the most comfortable hotel bed he'd ever known. "Oh," he sighed and Hope laughed.

"What's up?"

"Great hotel bed."

"Did I wake you," she demanded.

"No, I was just in the shower. We quit for the night about two hours ago. I didn't know if you'd be awake."

"I can't sleep."

He pushed the pillow behind his head and sat up. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing."

"Hope."

"I don't want to add to your stress."

"You add to my stress when you don't tell me what's wrong," he countered.

He turned out the light and sat in the darkness broken only by a little slivery moonlight that seeped in around the curtains over the window. The light cast shadows black and white on the floor and in the distance; he heard a car drive by. It was almost eerily quiet.

"I had a nightmare."

"Twenty percent of adults suffer from persistent bad dreams called night terrors. Studies show that - oh man, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to start lecturing you."

"It's alright," she said and there was a bit of a smile in her voice. "I know you find comfort in facts and statistics."

"Yeah, but this is about you, not me," he pointed out.

"Hey, you're right," she said and he laughed.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"It was what happened at the hospital only this time he killed my friend."

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that alone."

"It helps talking to you."

He pulled the comforter up over his shoulders because the air was just a little chilly. "I'm glad. I just want you to be happy."

"I am happy," she said. "I bless the day I met you."

"Me too, you helped me to get on with my life. I didn't think that was possible a year ago."

"I know what you mean."

They were quiet for another minute. A passing car changed the quality of light in his room from silver to orange and back again. It was quite once more when Hope spoke.

"Spencer."

"Hmm…"

"Is it okay for me to pretend you're here, holding me tight in your arms?"

His face got hot and he was glad it was dark and he was alone. "Yeah, I guess, I mean, yeah, I'd like that very much."

"Good… I think I'm going to try to go to sleep and pretend you're here to keep the nightmares away."

"Goodnight, Hope."

"Night, Spencer."