Flashback January 2013

Spencer tried closing his eyes, but every time he did, he saw the fear on Maeve's face. And in her eyes, the moment before Diane Turner's gun went off. It was only a nanosecond, but he saw it. She knew she was going to die. Now Spencer saw it every time he closed his eyes.

When he felt himself getting sleepy, he forced himself to stay awake. He made and drank another cup of truly awful instant coffee. He had run out of ground coffee and filters two days before and had to resort to his emergency backup coffee, since he hadn't left his apartment since Maeve's funeral.

He had stood behind her friends and family, far enough behind that no one asked him questions. Since she hadn't told her family or friends about him, they had no idea who he was. They didn't ask, and he didn't offer. He wondered if Maeve was as much a stranger to him as he was to all those who now stood around her coffin.

So he went home. And there he stayed for nearly two weeks. He hadn't eaten, except for the baskets left by friends. And one of his neighbors left a casserole for him, but he felt guilty for enjoying it. The note wasn't signed, but it was probably the manager, Mrs. Jenkins. He hadn't told anyone in the building.

He had forgotten how many days since he last showered or shaved. Or even changed into clean pajamas.

He wanted to shut everything out. The light, the sounds of laughter and music coming from the apartment downstairs. Why did they get to be happy when he was miserable? He had half a mind to go downstairs and scream at them. But after a few minutes, he knew he shouldn't. He wouldn't. They had no idea what he was going through.

After trying to read while sitting on the couch, he knew he should sleep. He had slept fitfully the night before, but would always wake after having the same nightmare. Before sleep would take him, he heard a song playing. And someone singing somberly. I want to know what love is… I want you to show me. I wanna feel what love is. I know you can show me.

All he could think was he would never fall in love again. It was too painful to open your heart to someone, only to have someone else come along and smash your heart with a sledgehammer until there was nothing recognizable left.

He could feel himself start to drift off, and he heard the song again. Same song.

By the fourth time it played, he was mouthing the words. And he started hating that song. Maybe he should stomp on the floor or yell, asking whoever it was to stop playing that damned annoying song.

He closed his eyes. And for the first time in many days, there was only darkness as tendrils of sleep curled around his brain. Downstairs, a door closed rather forcefully, and that damned annoying song stopped playing.

Thank you, he heard himself say.

Then he heard Tchaikovsky's The Nutcracker Suite play in the distance as he fell asleep. A blissful, peaceful sleep. And that beautiful dream, where the lovely ballerina from his first lecture danced around him, in her pink leotard and her pink tights. Wearing the pink sweater that hung off one shoulder and her pink ballet shoes with the ribbons tucked in. With her hair down, cascading over her shoulders, she danced. Finally, when the song was over, she moved silently across the bed to him and into his arms. She was a balm for his weary soul. A respite from the bad dreams these last two weeks. This beautiful angel in his bed put her arms around him and held him to her, letting him rest. She gave him comfort when he needed it most.

When he woke up, he was holding his pillow, damp from his tears. The sun was up. It was a new day. Another day, he would either mope around his apartment or do something. Take a step or die. If he didn't break out of this misery loop, he would die. After the dream of his pretty ballerina, he decided he wanted to live, even if it meant living in a world without Maeve.

He needed something. A push towards… something meaningful. His phone rang. He let it go to his voice mail and after a minute; he listened to the message. It was Morgan.

"Hey Reid, it's Derek. Listen, I got a work question for you. The unsub's exsanguinating victims and removing their eyelids antemortem. Does that mean anything to you? Hit me back."

He almost didn't return the call, but then decided this was the push he needed. He dialed Morgan's number and heard him pick up, saying, "What's up, Reid?"

It took him a long moment to speak…

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Hey all, as promised, here's another chapter of Criminal Minds Flashbacks. What'd you think? I have questions for you.

Question #1: SHOULD I continue? I've only heard from a few readers.

Question #2: Which episodes do YOU think would make a good CM Flashback chapter?

I would LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU!

Thanks!

G-Girl