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Chapter Twenty:

"Finally, a game I'm good at," Iris said as they entered the court. "Basketball."

"I'm terrible at it," Reid said. "The bounce of the ball is unpredictable."

It was a warm afternoon in April and the therapists were watching from a distance.

Iris dribbled the ball around and performed a perfect layout shot.

"I was the point guard on my high school team," she said. "No one thought that my love of basketball would keep me from running away. Heck most of my teammates thought I had run off. Except Cindy Bauer, but no one listened to her because it was rumored, she was blowing the coach. It turned out to be true. I guess it was a big scandal two years later. Not one line in the paper about me, until fourteen years later."

"You sound angry," Reid said as she passed the ball to him.

"I got over being angry five years into it, when I realized no one was ever going to look for me. I had friends in the cult who had similar experiences. No one looks for a kid who lives near a major metropolis who has shown to be troubled," she said. "The shrinks will tell you I am more bitter than anything."

Reid dribbled and then threw the ball at the hoop. It bounced off the rim and nearly hit Iris. She dodged it and laughed.

"You really do suck."

"Do the therapists ever play back your voice?" he asked. "You sound so flat and disconnected."

She dribbled the ball around the court.

"Does that scare you?" she asked.

"It's unnerving," he said. "Like listening to a serial killer describing how he butchered his victims like he was merely carving up a leg of lamb."

Iris laughed as she threw the ball from half-court. It flew effortlessly through the net.

"So, you think I sound like a serial killer."

"I didn't say that."

"You kind of did."

"I just can't get over the lack of emotion in your voice."

"Oh Spencer, he beat me with a nine iron and then thrust his genitals in my vagina wah, wah, wah," she said in a mocking tone.

Reid didn't say anything as she passed him the ball.

"You're trying to profile me, but you're out of practice, and you've never dealt with anyone like me."

He dribbled the ball.

"You're right, I've never met anyone like you. I'm afraid of how your flatness is hiding tremendous hurt. You can open up to me."

He threw the ball and it bounced off the rim and to the other side of the court.

"I'm not your project, Spencer," she said. "I have a couple other shrinks who are helping me. I appreciate the gesture, but I'm going to be okay. So are you I think."

They chased after the ball.

"What makes you say that?" Reid asked.

"You getting more involved around here," she said. "I saw you teaching Terry chess last night. They had to redo the rules for trivia night because groups were fighting over you. You're slowly coming out of your shell, Spencer."

"I wish I could do more for your compared to what you've done for me," Reid said.

"Forget I saved your life then," she said as she dribbled. "Just focus on the fact that if I know you, you probably could have killed yourself by now if you wanted to, but haven't. You're surviving Spencer Reid."

She landed a perfect free throw.

"Did you see the TV special on me?" he asked. "I wasn't allowed to watch as they thought it might be triggering."

"I did," she said and passed it to him. "The reporter has the hots for you."

Reid dropped the ball.

"What!?"

"Do you really think a cable news anchor goes to the middle-of-nowhere West Virginia to dig up leads because she'd bored? She has a crush on you."

"I didn't know she did that," he said. "She probably just likes my looks before I got the scars."

Iris picked up the ball. "I could always tell when a girl was falling for her guy. When the girl says his name, the pitch in her voice changes, and she can't conceal the smile when the name is mentioned. Very subtle, but very real."

"You picked up some profiling skills too," he said.

"No, I didn't. I just learned how to read people. It's like chess, except I can tell when the weird vein in a guy's forehead starts throbbing another part of me is going to be throbbing. Or when a john's hands shake, it's a sign he's never had a prostitute. It's not profiling, Spencer, it's a survival mechanism."

"You're right," Reid said.

"Game," Juno said as she walked on to the court.

"Let Spencer throw one more ball," Iris said. "At least when I lose to him in chess, I score on him a couple times."

"Okay, one more shot."

Reid picked up the ball, dribbled, and threw it blindly. He looked up and saw it go through the net.

"That's one way of scoring," Iris said as she laughed.

Reid smiled too. It did feel good to finally score.

…

Reid was in a hospital gown again. His hair was in a net. Part of him was screaming to get up as the sedative hadn't kicked in yet.

"You okay Dr. Reid?" Juno asked.

"I could be better," he admitted.

"If you don't want to go through with this, just say the word."

"No," he said. "I'm tired of looking at the scars. I want them gone."

"You'll be under for about two hours," she said. "I'll be here when you wake up."

"I'll be okay," he said. "I promise."

She smiled.

"You're improving in leaps and bounds Dr. Reid."

…

A week later, he was given a full-length mirror. For the first time, in a long time, he examined himself without clothes. The grafts were already allowing for the scars between his legs, on his chest, arms, and face, as well as back to fade. He looked into his eyes and saw light. He wasn't being haunted as badly anymore.