Pressure gripped his hand tightly, not quite crushing his fingers but almost enough to make it sweat. It was cold, and his thumb began brushing against the comparatively small knuckles before he knew what he was doing.
"An..."
In the blackness came a voice, clear and light, soft but not a whisper.
"Shh...you're ok," it told him, and he trusted the way his stomach fluttered.
...
"You should get home," Agent Hotchner's cool voice advised. Her finger's gripped tighter in response. Leaving was unthinkable. It was only a few minutes prior to his arrival that Reid was beginning to respond, and it gave her a fresh reason to stay.
"I've only been here an hour," she reminded him stubbornly, and heard nothing more from then for a good few minutes. He just stood in the door, arms crossed, but she recognized the loosened tie as a sign of stress. But he never shifted, never fidgeted. It was almost easy to forget he was there.
"But you haven't even left the hospital ye-"
"Sir? Not to cross the line but you have no argument here," Penelope explained quickly as she bustled in with tea from the hospital cafe. She passed him coffee clutched in her side with her arm, and he sipped it almost thirstily. Sitting on the other side of his bed, she sat the bear on her lap and watched him like a fascinating TV show.
"It seems like this happens too much, Reid," she whispered solemnly, her eyes tearing up behind her specs. She barely had any make up left to smudge.
"I would have thought JJ would've bought Henry," she added hastily, changing the subject as she wiped her bare eyes, not turning back to look at her superior.
"I think she's focusing on keeping Morgan from "making Semlin's coma permanent"," he said dryly, and Penelope sent a concerned look Anya's way before the girl laughed. Something in her would have liked to have been there when he made that vow.
Garcia sniffed a watery smile, and removed her misted blue rim glasses with her matching painted fingers. "You're handling this so well," she told her, a somewhat degenerated look in her bloodshot eyes. Anya looked between her and Hotchner for a second, and noticed how differently they handled their colleagues situation. The woman laughed at her expression.
"You're kind of in between, not that cold, though. Sir," she added, when the referenced man threw her a look.
The room fell into tense silence again, when Anya felt a pressure on her knuckles again. A breath escaped her mouth in surprise, and Garcia's eyes shot open.
"Huh? What's happening?"
"He's...-" she was cut of by a slightly sharper squeeze, and a low chuckle escaped his smiling lips when she looked up. A tear rolled down her cheek at his expression, followed by many, while Garcia was frozen in suspense. Finally, she took in a huge shaky breath and ran from the room, chanting to herself breathlessly, "Jello jello jello."
"I'll go get Prentiss," Hotch said briefly, and left her alone with Spencer. For a few moments he looked like he had fallen asleep again.
"Reid?" she whispered, and his reply was another squeeze. She wondered when she would get bored of that response, if ever. But she needed to hear his voice.
"I'm not moving until you say something."
The smile he gave then was subtle, but she saw the struggle in his flared nostrils. Her composure faltered at the small, breathy laugh.
"Fine, I'll go if you don't. Honestly is this how morphine-"
His eyes squinted open, and she caught a glimpse of his tired browns, and she smiled her last threat away. "Hello."
"Hey...," he began, clearing his raspy voice. His eyes shot open as they fell onto her, and he began to sit himself up. With some help, he was propped up on a pillow. Then he took her hand again, without another word, and without removing his eyes from her at all.
"What happened?" he quizzed, his voice a little clearer. Anya began to answer, but Garcia power walked in with two small white cups in her hands.
"One for you, and one for you, sweety. How're you feeling?"
Anya held her's in her hands as Reid looked gratefully at the jello, and soon Hotch and Prentiss joined them. The room was filled with smiles and brightness within seconds, even from Hotch, and questions on his well being bombarded him.
He was too weak to ask the majority to leave, too weak to answer them all. He wished silently for the quiet again, and Anya's knuckles to be back beneath his larger hand, and her threats about leaving if he didn't say another word.