REID

He sometimes wondered about the birds. Not how they flew - that was a simple matter of physics and mathematical equations he'd had figured out by the time he was seven. No, he wondered about their feelings, their thoughts. They flew high overhead, watching the creatures below wandering through their lives with no discernable purpose. Were they aware of interpersonal relationships? Did they understand concepts like family and loss? Did they mourn when one of their own was killed or lost?

His thoughts were wild and disorganized, and he couldn't seem to focus on anything except the birds. When he was a boy, he'd often stared out of his window at the little feathered animals flitting about. When his imagination had been more pronounced and vivid, he'd often pretended he was a bird and that he could fly anywhere he wanted to go.

He had been sitting on the park bench for the better part of the morning. A horrific nightmare had startled him awake at dawn, though he couldn't recall what it had been about. Unable to get back to sleep, he'd started wandering around his neighborhood until he'd come upon a small park tucked back in a grove of trees. Children played on the equipment surveyed by vigilant parents, but Reid barely paid them any attention. His mind bounced around sporadically between his lost teammate, past cases, books he'd read recently, and thoughts about his mom.

They hadn't spoken in a while, and he hesitated calling her. She knew about her teammates - had even met them once - and news of Morgan's death would upset her. Still, he thought she should know and he dug his phone from his pocket before he could talk himself out of it. The line connected on the second ring.

"Yes," he answered the standard greeting of the nurse who'd picked up the phone. "This is Spencer Reid. Is my mom, Diana, available?"

"Of course, Dr. Reid," the nurse replied. "Just a moment." There was a static-filled pause that told him he hadn't been put on hold, and after a few seconds his mom voice filled the silence.

"Spencer?"

"Hi mom," he smiled despite his dark mood. "How are you?"

"What's wrong, Spencer?" Her voice held the tone he knew not to contradict, but he asked anyway.

"What makes you think anything's wrong?"

"A mother knows," she answered cryptically. She'd used the response before, and each time Spencer believed just a little more in mother's intuition.

"Mom," he whispered, hearing his own voice crack with emotion. "It's...it's Morgan. His plane cra-" His throat closed over the word, and he forced himself to swallow and try again. "Crashed," he finished. "He's...he's gone, Mom."

"Oh, Spencer," she cooed, "I'm so sorry, honey."

And just like that, he broke. He hadn't allowed himself to cry in front of his teammates; Morgan had always been the strong one, and with him gone Spencer felt he had to step up somehow. It was what Morgan would have expected from him, he thought. But hearing his mother's quiet sympathy allowed him to experience the full breadth of emotion that he'd managed to bottle up, and he wept. Luckily he was far enough away from any passersby that he didn't attract any attention, but he didn't care. It didn't last long, but when his tears dried he felt just a little better.

"Spencer, are you alright?" She'd waited him out, he realized. She couldn't be there for him physically, but her steadfast presence on the line was more than enough for him.

"Yeah," he managed after a few deep breaths. "Yeah," he repeated. "I'm fine."

"Is there anything I can do for you? For your team?" He wondered if she'd jump on a plane if he asked her to; she hated flying, but he knew there wasn't anything she wouldn't do for him.

"No, Mom," he shook his head even though she couldn't see him. "Just talking to you is what I needed. Thank you."

"Anytime, honey," she told him. "You can call me anytime." There was something in her voice that struck a chord within him. He hadn't called in a while, but that had been mostly his hectic schedule rather than a lack of desire. Worse than that, he thought, his own mother thought he hadn't called because he just didn't need her. He made a promise to himself to be better; Morgan's death proved to them all that life was just too unpredictable.

"I know," he felt bad for not contacting her more frequently, and made the promise out loud. "I'll keep in touch."

"Will there be a funeral?"

"In Chicago," he confirmed. "Mrs. Morgan wants to wait until they're sure."

"Could he have survived?" There was a note of hope in her tone, and Spencer felt worse for his next words.

"I don't think so, Mom. Any survivors would have been found by now." It hurt to even think it, but Reid knew statistically there was little chance Morgan was still alive.

"I can't imagine what's she's going through, the poor woman." She clicked her tongue softly, then said something softly to someone near her. Spencer wasn't sure if there really was someone there, or if his mother's condition was making her think there was. Either way, she sounded agitated. "Listen, Spencer, I have to go. Let me know about the funeral. I'll see if I can get away. A train from here to Chicago shouldn't be too much."

"Mom, you can't travel alone."

"I know," she said with a smile in her voice. "I was hoping my wayward son would come escort me."

He smiled despite himself and even allowed a small chuckle to pass his lips. If she wanted to attend the funeral, he was sure Hotch wouldn't mind him taking a few extra days to see his mother back to Vegas. "I'll see what I can do, Mom. I love you."

"I love you, too, Spencer." And the line disconnected. The world around him refocused as he slid his phone back into his pocket, and when he stood up he felt a little lighter. The sunlight filtered through the treetops and danced across the grassy area around his feet. He held out his hands aimlessly, letting the warmth seep into his skin as he made his way back to his loft.

Above him, the birds sang.