She'd disappeared for a little. So had he.
He had taken leave from the BAU to spend some time giving lectures at local colleges. The comfort of the university libraries and large lecture halls eased his mind back into some sense of calm. He'd been seeing a psychiatrist, who of course told him he had PTSD – not only from his most recent escapades, but from his whole career. Although Reid could give the "correct" answers on a psych eval, he knew if he answered honestly, he'd never pass. There was a deep exhaustion within him, not of a hopeless or sad kind, just one that gently informs your mind and body that it's over, we've had enough. If you're not going to take a break, I'm going to take it for you. He stopped drinking caffeine and walked through the local park in the mornings. There was a serenity in giving in, not fighting anymore because you don't need to fight. He could be weak and tired without that vulnerability meaning possible death. No case files full of gore or hostage scenarios pushing the most aching and manipulated forms of the abused human psyche in his face day and night. He'd asked the team not to contact him. They had complied. At random moments throughout the day, that glass lake of inner sleep would shatter into a million pieces with the most horrifying and sure knowledge someone was about to harm him or someone he cared about. And then as quickly as it came it would disappear. Sometimes his dreams were hazy memories and surreal scenes of fiction, but sometimes they were graphically detailed renditions of cases gone wrong and friends hacked to pieces in front of him. Reid told the psychiatrist; she recommended some medication. He didn't take it.
She had been talking to someone too. The same someone. When you seek mental help as an attaché of the US government, they make sure you speak to someone who has the security clearance to hear it. But the doctor wasn't hearing much. Most of the sessions Cat just stared at a wall. But it felt right to be there. It looked like she was doing the right thing, getting help. On occasion she'd cough up a sentence or two about her father. The doctor would listen and nod very sympathetically. She wasn't much help. Outside the sessions, Cat worked on her special project. She also picked up cooking, and got a cat, whom she named Cat 2. Soon after her absolving in the eyes of the law, she had received a credit card delivered to the motel at which she was staying. In her name. She chose not to push her luck and lived somewhat frugally, taking up shifts at a local diner to save cash to buy things in a less digitally trackable manner. She practiced not only playing nice, but being nice. She'd always known how to be charming, but not how to make herself as she was likable. Or to like others. Or trust them. She had never let people get close to her without some elaborate character persona protecting her from having their actions actually meaning anything about the real her and not the character she was playing. But as she tried to present as Cat Adams, she found herself flinching at raised hands and starting at unexpected contact. She expected everyone to be out to hurt her. In time she was finding that hardly anyone actually was. Not anymore.
It was early April when they met again.
They both had thought they'd talk a little, maybe feel some distance and awkwardness. It was nerve wracking to imagine the other person regretted anything they had said and done. They were both sure the other wouldn't even show. They had said they'd meet again in exactly 4 months at the local park. He saw her sitting on the bench and felt the first disturbance of that inner peace that wasn't from fear that he had felt in the past 4 months. She was reading and glanced up to scan the scene in search of him. When her eyes found their target, she knew there was no regret on either party's end.
Before he could sit down next to her on the bench, she stood up and met his eyes. His head cocked slightly to the side and a warm smile played across his lips. She felt that warmth extend and wash over her like the answer to a question she'd been asking her whole life. He smiled because of her, with no character being played or pretense to trick. He smiled because it was her. She smiled back, and leaned her head against his chest as he swept his arms around her. His smell was safe and grounded, she felt his hand run through her hair as he kissed her head.
That is where the fates finally left them alone, with no more puzzles to solve or cases to crack. Just the two of them, serenity on a park bench. Who knows where they went from there.
