For TZ23

Prompt: Reid sometimes feels lonely and misunderstood even when he's with Morgan. He feels that Morgan doesn't really "get" him and perhaps he never will, and is "love" enough without true understanding.

Notes: Sorry if the little part that includes schizophrenia is wrong or offensive. That is not my intention

Music: Violin music. Pop violin music, if that makes any sense. I recommend it to any writer/reader who wants music/noise to listen to while reading/writing but gets distracted by the words

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds or the characters of Derek Morgan and Spencer Reid.

I read a story in the paper the other day. Derek always teases me about reading the newspaper; he says that only old men and people with no wifi read the paper. He always gets a smack on the head and a lecture on how the paper works just fine on giving relevant, interesting stories. And how relevant this certain story was.

The story reported on this supposedly "crazy" paranoid schizophrenic man who killed his wife and son because he thought they were imposters.

It made me grateful that it never got to that point with my own mother. But, then I felt guilty for feeling grateful because that family did get to that point. Now they're dead.

Why did I get to live while they didn't? How am I different from how they are? Were.

Why were my mother and that man forced to live with this? What could they have possibly done to deserve this?

Thinking of all the suffering and pain caused by the human mind itself, our bodies effectively killing not only us, but others too, made my heart ache. And the thought that this is the only killer I absolutely cannot catch was the straw that broke the camel's back.

The tears streamed long and hot down my face. They gathered in the hollow of my neck and under my chin. I rubbed furiously at the itchy spots, wicking the moisture away from my skin.

I had been crying for only a few minutes when I heard Derek walk in the door. I didn't even raise my head from my knees to look at him. I was too caught up in thinking of all the misery and hurt in the world that I was powerless to stop or control. I was rocking, curled up in a fetal position in the middle of our bed, the newspaper wrinkled on the ground and long forgotten in my sorrow.

"Hey Spence, I got the milk – what the hell? Baby, are you okay?" Derek asked, rushing to the bed.

I could do little more than shake my head.

He climbed onto the bed and curled himself around me – an impenetrable wall I was infinitely grateful for, yet wasn't really comforted by. He was just another man like me. Even together, how can we combat all the evils in the world? It's disheartening, but true. I've never felt more alone than I did in that moment.

I find it a little messed up that I always seem to feel what things and circumstances and people are pushing me to feel. But, isn't almost everyone like that? We feel the things around us and that is how we feel, but sometimes I just don't want to feel that way. Sometimes I just don't want to feel and there's nothing Derek can do to help that. And, honestly, that's what scares me the most.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, his voice muffled by my hair. I could feel his breath on the back of my neck and tried to draw comfort from the fact that there was another human being with me. He was breathing, speaking, living, perfectly fine – mostly fine anyway.

I wasn't sure if he'd understand. It's not that he's unable to think down the road that I do, it's that he won't let himself. "I can try," I said in a soft whisper, my voice breathy.

He did nothing to encourage me, but nuzzle my neck and tighten his arms around my waist. I took a deep breath. "I'm so tiny. I want to help people and I try. I try so much." My voice broke, but I put myself together and continued on. "I just wish I could make more of a difference. I want to be a doctor and help find cures for diseases. I want to be a police officer and save regular, everyday people. I want to be a politician and make decisions to better the order in the world." My voice was rising, I knew it - I just couldn't do anything to stop it. "I just want to help people in every and any way possible and I just can't and it's all so frustrating." By the time I was done with my babbling, I was practically screaming.

Derek didn't say anything as I went limp in his arms, sobbing even harder than before.

Derek didn't say anything when my tears were reduced to sniffles and my head hurt from the loss of fluids. He just rubbed a hand through my hair.

"You done?" he asked.

I nodded and even that little movement hurt my head.

This time it was he who took a deep breath. "Look, Spence, I don't really get this whole contemplating life and death thing. I don't think I ever will. I just want you to know that you are not the only person who wants to and can do good in this world. You are doing more than enough good where you are with your amazing, wonderful mind and that's all that's expected of you." He kissed my forehead.

I smiled a tiny smile that I knew he couldn't see, but could sense. I gave myself up to the warmth of his body and drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

He understands that he will never truly understand.

Maybe it's enough that he tries.

Sorry this isn't that long. It was making me contemplate life and death too much and I try to keep my * Dan Howell voice * existential crisis to a monthly basis. Also sorry this was more of me rambling about how confusing and awful I find living as a whole and less of a story. And for the record the way it turned out was NOT what I thought it was going to be. I envisioned it totally different, but I still like the way it ended up.

And to my prompt giver – I hope you find an understanding like this in your relationship. Good luck. I'm also sorry if I strayed a little too far from your prompt.

Leave me prompts!