Thank you all for the reviews. Here's the next one.
CHAPTER TWELVE
DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE
Spencer returned home from a particularly difficult case in Oregon, to find a new namecard on his apartment building buzzer, right next to his. His was called "Reid", while the one next to his, of the newcomer, was called "The Frabjous 4" in a neat cursive in green ink.
He wondered what sort of neighbour he could have that didn't divulge their names. Inside the hallway, he noticed the two men trying to manoeuver a mattress through the stairway.
Spencer sighed.
He had only just returned from a case and was exhausted beyond belief.
"Mind if I sneak through?" he enquired as the men paused for breath.
"Sure" one of them said, and made spance for Spencer to squeeze through the hallway and up the stairs. He reached his floor and was glad his new neighbour had their door closed, as he went into his apartment and decided to sleep.
As time passed, Spencer realised just how important his work was. He had somehow forgotten, in his Sadie-induced daze, that his job was important because he helped save lives. And it turned out to be quite the stimulator and he started working longer hours and devoting himself more to work than ever before.
By the time that Thanksgiving rolled about, Spencer had all but forgotten his brief yet intense relationship with Sadie. Except for that dull ache in his chest whenever he went to a coffee shop and he he looked around the shop and imagined Sadie being with him as they ordered their coffees. Spencer sighed as he took the double espresso and walked out the coffee shop, walking down the street to the subway station. He needed to move on. He needed to have a normal, healthy relationship with a normal, healthy woman. Then, as his inner monologue ended, he realised how childish he was being. He pulled out his cellphone and scrolled down to Sadie's number. Just her number, no e-mail or fax. Just a mere sequence of digits that he could recite from memory, but that was hardly new: he could recite the entire contents of War and Peace from memory too. But somehow, Sadie's number was important to him. He deduced that he could probably recall hers' from memory even if he didn't possess an eidetic memory, and that fascinated him. With a sigh, he put his phone away and sipped his now cold espresso and decided to talk to Morgan or Hotch about it. They were the experts. He needed to move on and he needed them to help.
"Everything alright?" Aaron Hotchner enquired as Spencer stepped into his office later that morning. Spencer fidgeted with his sweater vest.
"Hotch, can I talk to you a sec?" Spencer asked. Aaron scowled at his younger colleague, worried about the prospect of what Spencer might say. He nodded curtly.
"Of course" Aaron replied, gesturing to his chairs across the table, added, "Have a seat"
Spencer wallked across the room and sat down, tucking his wavy hair behind his ear in a gesture of nervous fidgeting before licking his lips.
"It's about Sadie" Spencer started. Aaron pressed his lips together. The last time they'd talked about Sadie O'Connell, they had been at odds. Talking about her now, after two and half months did not seem to have altered their personal opinions for the better. Aaron had been adamant about Spencer breaking off all contact with the O'Connells and Spencer just wanted time for Sadie to heal.
"I think I need to get over her" Spencer informed. Aaron scowled, not having expected that.
"I think that I've spent a fair amount of time thinking about it and I've come to realise that the best option for me is to move on. Sadie obviously seems to have done so, considering that she hasn't called me at all. She's probably moved back to the UK and is living with an old friend" Spencer rambled, "I think that if I move on, my work might improve and I might do much better than now. And I need you to help me, because I don't know how to do it"
Spencer let out a ragged breath as Aaron looked at him. Then, Aaron sighed.
"I think the best advice I can offer you regarding the dating scenario is that it takes time" Aaron admitted, "You may feel like seeing other women now, but in the end, they'll all be Sadie-substitutes and poor ones at that, because you know the real one. Just give it time, spend time with Henry if you want and eventually, you'll get over her"
Spencer scowled.
"I need to date other women" Spencer decided, then stood up and met Aaron's gaze firmly.
"Thanks for the advice, Hotch" he stated, then left the room before Aaron could do some damage control.
Spencer spent the next three weeks going on dates he acquired through an online dating website. Most of these ended either at his place, or hers' depending on convenience. Spencer decided he was getting rather good at asking women back to his place for a night of passionate sex, no questions asked.
At the end of the three weeks, he was called away to Minnesota, which took them a week to wrap up and they were back just in time for Christmas eve dinner. Penelope Garcia hosted a Christmas dinner for her friends and colleagues and Spencer was glad, because Garcia had many friends whom she'd promised to introduce to him. He needed to forget the intense green eyes and the tangled black curls, the thick accent that drifted between Irish, Scottish, and English, as if she were uncertain which suited her best.
Spencer stared as this friends gathered round and talked about everyday things while feasting on whatever Garcia had managed to cook that day since the team had announced their return. After eating some of the food and drinking most of the wine and eggnog, Spencer excused himself to get home.
"You sure you'll be alright, buddy?" Morgan enquired gently as Spencer stumbled into the cab.
"I'm fine, Morgan" Spencer confirmed, "I'll call you when I get home, alright?"
Morgan laughed, not nearly as drunk as Spencer and nodded.
"Yeah, you do that" Morgan said and gave the driver the address before shutting the door.
"Happy Holidays!" Spencer yelled through the cab window, making Morgan double over himself with laughter as he waved to his young friend.
"Thank you for driving me home" Spencer told the cab driver, who looked at him curiously. Spencer stumbled out of the cab and landed on all fours on the sidewalk. He then stood up and waved as the cab drove away. Then, he turned to his building. Five floors of stairs, he remembered, then groaned childishly.
"What a hassle!" he complained as he made his way up the staircases. It took him twenty minutes to reach the top, which was more time than it had taken him to drive from Garcia's place to his. He groaned as he paused for breath, now less high and more hung-over.
"This is why people don't drink" he chided himself as he continued up the stairs and finally reached his own floor. He swayed towards his door unsteadily and went into his apartment and stumbled into the awaiting arms of his couch before passing out.
Spencer woke up with a massive head-splitting headache. He shifted to move his limbs out of the uncomfortable positions they seem to have landed in and let out a sigh. His headache worsened minutely and he peered through his eyes to look at the time. It was just after nine in the morning. Knowing his headache would persist if he didn't hydrate, he pulled himself off the couch and stumbled to the kitchen sink. He drank a gallon of water and two aspirins before putting the glass down.
Eerie silence filled his empty apartment.
Scratch that.
He heard Coldplay through the walls of his empty apartment. Scowling at the sound of Chris Martin crooning about paradise, he walked to the wall in his living room that he shared with his neighbour and pressed his ear to it. It was definitely 'Paradise' and though Chris Martin was crooning, his voice was masked by a feminine voice screaming loudly. He knew she had to be 'screaming' because the walls in the building were quite durable and thick and only loud sounds emanated through them.
He sighed.
It was Christmas, he mused to himself as he leaned away from the wall and went to his bedroom. After taking off the party clothes, he pulled on his pajama pants and a soft 'Don't Blink' T-shirt he'd owned since '08 and climbed into bed. The sounds of 'Paradise' faded and were replaced by the tunes of 'Yellow'. Spencer closed his eyes and fell into a disturbed sleep.
The next time Spencer woke, it was afternoon and he sat up, his headache having subsided with the help of the water and the aspirin and realised he needed to use the restroom before his bladder burst. After relieving himself, he walked into the living room and realised he was hungry. A little note sticking out from under the front door caught his attention and Spencer walked to it and read it.
"Happy Christmas. Trifle outside your door. Heard you come in late last night. Have a good day, neighbour"
Spencer scowled at the note, then looked through the peephole. The hallway was empty. He opened the door and found a large bowl that looked a lot like a trifle, but somehow different. He picked it up and went back into the house and put the trifle in the fridge to cool. He found leftover chinese food, which he heated up in the microwave and wondered about his new neighbour.
He knew that sliding a note under someone's door was a little bit like invasion of privacy, but he was happy by the sentiment.
Plus, it was Christmas, the time of giving.
His weird, un-named neighbour had extended a courtesy and he was obliged to accept. Whether he would eat the dessert or not, he was uncertain. He ate the left-overs and decided he was still hungry.
Having sat in the fridge for almost ten minutes, the trifle was cool enough to be eaten.
Spencer stared at the large glass, at the layers of cake and custard and jam. He took out a spoon and decided he'd taste it. If it was weird, he'd thow it out, if not, he'd eat. He scooped a spoonful and stared at it for a full minute before putting it into his mouth. It was delicious. The custard melted in his mouth, the cake disintegrated, the jam, which was raspberry dissolved and spread in his mouth like a coat of heavenly bliss. He devoured the dessert in record time and downed it all with a tall drink of water.
He smiled at the small card that had been pushed under the door and stared at the words. Deciding to respond to his neighbour's extended arm, he went into his study and found the letter-writing stationary he had bought on his last excursion for office supplies. This one was pale blue and had holly berries scattered along the border of the page and his mother hated holly, so he never used it to write to her. It was, in fact, wasted, until that Christmas day.
'Dear Neighbor,
Thank you for the trifle. It was absolutely delicious. Happy holidays to you too. I hope you spent them well. I did indeed stumble through the hallway late last night. I apologise if I woke you, or disturbed you while you slept. I was dead drunk at the time and just happy to forget that the world around me existed. I heard you singing along to Coldplay this morning. I don't think that has ever happened before. It was a new experience for me. I thank you for that. Thank you, once again for the trifle. I hope I can find some way to repay you. Let me know what I can do. I am in your service and forever in your debt.
Your neighbor in 501'
Spencer paused as he ended. He wanted to sign his name, but he thought better of it. He folded the letter twice down the middle, then walked back into the kitchen, washed the trifle glass and dried it.
He peeped through the peephole and noticed the empty hallway.
He pressed his ear against the living room wall and heard nothing but silence. He crept out into the hallway, put the glassbowl in front of his neighbour's door and put the folded letter into the bowl.
He stared at it a moment, then put the letter down and turned the glass bowl upside down on top of it, to keep it from flying away. Then, he walked back into his apartment, shutting the door behind him and wondering when his eccentric neighbour would read the letter and what she'd make of it.
The glass bowl and the letter were both gone by the time Spencer checked their positions later that evening, while returning from his grocery shopping. He heard no sounds from next door, and he sat in his living room and watched the premier of the Doctor Who Christmas special. He found the episode quite entertaining and he had to agree that River Song was a complete badass.
He went to bed, instead of sleeping on the couch, and decided that he wasn't particularly interested in whatever his neighbour decided to do, that he just wanted to thank her for her kindness and felt that he'd be even more in debt if he never even thanked her. With that thought, he closed his eyes and promptly fell asleep.
It was the following Monday, when he received a response. It was, however, in his mailbox. It was a folded piece of lavender coloured paper that had been deposited in his mailbox. Spencer scowled as he took it out, finding no envelope, or address.
'Dear Neighbour in 501,
I'm glad you enjoyed the trifle so much. I hope I you didn't mind me invading your privacy like that. The S.I. said that you weren't to be bothered by anything at all, unless the building were on fire. I guess I just wanted someone apart from my friends to try something I'd cooked. I'm still learning the ropes and I suppose I was looking for an honest, unbiased opinion. Friends are not good with objectivity.
I'm grateful for your review and for your letter. It made my day. I apologise for the Coldplay tunes and the loud vocalisation of what I believe to be the lyrics. My Christmas day is usually spent screaming to Chris Martin until my throat's raw. It's my own tradition.
I apologise profusely for subjecting you to the loudness, harshness, and the tone-deaf singing of perfectly good songs. I assure you, it won't happen again.
Truthfully. I hope we can continue to communicate through these letters, and that my awful voice and singing has not turned you against me completely.
Most apologetically,
Your neighbour, 502'
Spencer read that letter fifty times during the entire workday. Exchanging words with 502, his nameless, faceless, weird, eccentric neighbour had lifted his spirits, somewhat.
What he couldn't understand was why she thought her singing was so bad? Afterall, what little he could hear through the thick walls, he had thought had sounded fairly well-sung. It was Coldplay, afterall. I mean, how good could it sound? He listened to 'Paradise' on loop for the rest of the day, until he was called in for a de-briefing, which lasted well into the evening.
Spencer returned to his flat post midnight and on seeing the door of apartment 502, remembered he had yet to write back. He wanted to write back. He wanted to share this little non-judgemental conversation with a complete stranger without needing to be Dr. Spencer Reid, because by the sound of her, 502 didn't know his name or face either.
'Dear Neighbor in 502,
I thank you for writing to me. I honestly wasn't expecting it at all. It's good to hear from you. In fact, I think we might constitute as pen-pals, having written to each other so many times already. I hope that's OK with you. Just to clear the air, let me ask offically: do you want to be pen-pals with me, even though we live next door and could probably just talk to each other like regular adults?
I didn't find your singing of Paradise so bad. It was somehow soothing to me and I fell asleep listening to your singing while nursing a hang-over. I think you're quite good. Karaoke must suit you. That trifle was absolutely the best thing I've had, and I'm not just saying that because of our closeness in living spaces. I think you're an exceptional baker. Keep at it. Anyway, I hope you consider my proposition. I look forward to hearing your response.
Your neighbor in 501'
Spencer deposited the letter in her mailbox the following morning as he left for work. And he waited with bated breath for her response, or lack of it. No one was old-fashioned like him and he was sure he'd be rejected. He spent the day humming along to Chris Martin crooning which was the only sound in the entire office, earning him a few raised eyebrows from his friends and colleagues.
"That is so weird" Garcia commented as she stopped at Spencer's table. Spencer looked up at her.
"Do you hear that?" she asked, looking around dramatically. Spencer frowned and looked around too.
"Hear what?" he asked. Garcia grinned as she turned to him.
"Coldplay" she stated, "You're listening to Coldplay on speakers. Might I ask why?" she enquired. Spencer shrugged.
"My neighbor listens to Coldplay on Christmas day, for some reason" he informed, "I'm just trying to understand the meaning behind that sentiment"
Garcia's eyebrows quirked up.
"Your neighbor?" she repeated, "Mr. Ivanovich?"
Spencer scowled.
"No, he moved out" Spencer informed, "A few months ago. He was transferred to New York when he got promoted to Senior Editor"
Garcia scowled.
"Your new neighbor?" she said, "Who's that?"
Spencer shrugged.
"I don't know. I haven't met her" he admitted, "Just heard her singing through the walls" For some reason he didn't elaborate further or admit that she'd given him a Christmas dessert or that they'd exchanged a few letters.
"Sounds interesting" Garcia stopped, "Are you going to talk to her"
"I don't think so" he stated, "I need to get back to work" he added, pausing the music so that Garcia took the hint. She did and stood up from where she'd been leaning against his desk.
"OK" she said, "But I like this better than the weeks of Spencer throwing himself at the night scene. Way better" she stated, then walked away. Spencer absently wondered if he had been such a terrible colleague during those times he'd run off to hit a bar and pick up a random stranger for a night of plain, uninhibited passion.
With a sigh, he wondered about 502 and he wondered if he'd get a response.
The lavender paper waited for him as he opened his mailbox and Spencer hurried up the stairs to the privacy of his home, where he opened and read the letter.
'Dear Neighbour in 501,
I accept your pen-pal proposition. Perhaps that was too abrupt and a little questionable. Let me elaborate.
I have spent the last year trying to be someone that I'm not and I believe that social pressure was one of the reasons for that. Other reasons are now trivial and obsolete and I've come to realise that the reason I conform to social norms, or try to, is the root cause of my actions this past year. I'm hoping that by being your pen-pal, though we're neighbours, I might gain some much required perspective. Does that make sense?
I'm rambling because I'm a little happy to have received your response. So, pen-pal, what do you want to talk about?
Most excited,
Your neighbour, 502'
Spencer thought back to the past year. He'd had an incredible experience and he wouldn't trade it for the world, despite the pain and heartbrake. He wondered what 502 could've possibly experienced that could lead her to think such things. With a decisive nod to himself, Spencer went to his desk, pulled out the letter pad and wrote.
'Dear Neighbor in 502,
It sounds like you've had a tough year. I can sympathise with your need for anonymity and objectivity. Perhaps I'm in need of some amount of anonymity and objectivity myself. I hope that you won't mind my leaning on you for the same. If you do, just say the word and I'll back away immediately.
Come to think of it, I have no idea what we could talk about. Apart from your baking and interest in Coldplay, I know nothing about you. Perhaps you would say the same about me.
I guess I'll tell you about some things I like: reading is my favourite hobby. I read all sorts of books from all sorts of genres, though for a while I've been stuck on semi-autobiographical works. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is one of my favourites, and though he's famous for Sherlock Holmes, I enjoyed 'The Narrative of John Smith' far more than I did Sherlock Holmes. Probably because the former's semi-autobiographical, while the latter's fictional. I apologise in advance if my choices in literature have somehow offended you.
What are the things that interest you?
Your Neighbor in 501'
The next morning, Spencer deposited the letter in the mailbox for 502 as he went to work. When he reached work, he found out that they were flying to Arizona to find a missing child. He sighed as he got on the plane and brainstormed ideas for probable UnSubs.
Spencer sent the next three days with his team in downtown Phoenix tracking down the UnSub and finding her when she'd tried to pass off the abducted child as her own in an airport check-in counter. They returned so early on the morning of the 31st that Spencer went straight to bed on arriving and slept until midday. When he woke up, he remembered 502 and the letter he'd written to her just before he'd have to fly off and went down to check his mailbox. The lavender coloured paper waited for him and Spencer picked up, went up the stairs and opened it in the safety and security of his flat.
'Dear Neighbour in 501,
I'm glad we agree on the matters of anonymity. I think that set-up might work wonderfully for the time-being. I know it might sound cheesy, but I have to admit that literature is my passion. I enjoy reading as one might enjoy breathing: continuously. So, I suppose that we're kindred spirits in that manner. I could go on and write a book about my love for reading and the titles that I enjoy, but I shan't.
The holiday season is when I break out my Tolkien and read all the stories related to Middle-Earth. I'm currently in the middle of The Two Towers. I hear a lot of people claim Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is their favourite, but I never would've guessed you knew about his works that weren't about the infamous Sherlock Holmes. 'The Narrative of John Smith' is an excellent piece of literature. I applaud you for you choice. I wouldn't say he's my favourite author, I couldn't. I have too many that I love that I couldn't possibly pick one. I'm naive like that, my friends always say. But, in my defence, it would be, for me, like if someone asked a mother which is their favourite child and I'd be just as offended as that mother too.
I don't have a number of hobbies. I enjoy reading, cooking, and sometimes talking long strolls through the city at night and imagining each new stranger's story as I do. The last bit was part of my writing exercise in University and I find it so grounding, that I do it for fun sometimes.
That's me. Well, most of me, anyway. I'd like to hear about you too. What interests you besides the semi-autobiographical works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle?
Most eagerly,
Your neighbour, 502'
A smile crept onto Spencer's face as he read. 502 had a sense for writing, he decided, wandering over to his desk and reading the letter again. There was no date on it, but Spencer deduced that she must've written and deposited the letter on the same day that he'd left it for her: as she often had in the past. He sighed when he realised that she had no idea he'd been away and probably had assumed the worst.
'Dear Neighbor in 502,
I apologize for my late reply. I had been suddenly called away for work and only returned this morning. I apologize if this delay has hurt or offended you. I didn't mean for it to happen this way. I honestly never pegged you for a Tolkien reader. I do love The Lord of the Rings. I think anyone who's ever read Tolkien reacts that way and I'm yet to meet someone whose response has been anything but 'I love LOTR!' I think that's the power of Tolkien, and of Middle Earth.
What can I say about my interests? I think the best way to describe them is how my best friend describes them: a love for everything. I enjoy all forms of art, all the fields of science, all the aspects of mathematics, all the mysteries of sociology and psychology - in all if it's to do with the workings of the universe, I probably enjoy it. Perhaps that was too intimidating. I apologize if that upset you in any way.
If we're talking about genres, I think I prefer Sci-fi over fantasy, which is a direct result of Doctor Who. I think that Doctor Who is the best programme to have been introduced and I'm always grateful that they relaunched it. There are a great many things in my life, presently, that I are a direct result of my love of Doctor Who and I wouldn't trade them for the world. I get so passionate about Doctor Who that I've been told that such discussions are better left for geeky conventions. I apologize again. I tend to ramble on when it comes to the Doctor.
Oh, by the way, Happy new year. I assume you'll be heading out to a party, so have fun and I'll see you, or rather, write to you, in the next year.
Your neighbor in 501'
Spencer re-read the letter to check for errors in spelling or grammar, then changed into his day clothes, washed his face, grabbed his wallet and went down the stairs. He deposited the letter in 502's mailbox, then went out to buy fresh groceries to last him a few days. He checked his mailbox out of routine, but found nothing more than a few bills and receipts. He retrieved them with a sigh and went up the stairs. His phone rang, making him sigh and huff and answer it.
"Hello?"
"Reid! Where are you, right now?"
"Home... or I will be if I ever get up these flights of stairs. Why?"
"I was just checking up on Sadie O'Connell, because that's what I do to help my boy genius out and guess what?"
"What?"
"She published her second book. It's out now, in bookstores, online. It's getting good reviews"
"And?"
"And I thought you might like to know. I know you haven't come to me to watch over Sadie or anything, but I thought I owed it to Muffin girl to do it. I mean, she was the target of the head of a major terrorist organization"
"Garcia"
"I know, I stepped out of bounds, I'm sorry. But I was so happy to hear about this book! It's called Chrysalis and it's about a little fairy that tries to find her way in the world, experiencing new and different things. It's so good! I mean, I've just read five pages and I'm hooked"
"Garcia" he sighed heavily entering his apartment and putting the grocery bag on the kitchen counter.
"I think you should read it. Because I know you read her first book, but I swear this one is so much better. This one is love and light and happiness and you have to read it. Please?"
"If it means you'll leave me alone now, then I will read it. OK?"
"Oh! Thank you! What time will you be coming to the party?"
"I'm not coming to the party"
"Oh, come on! It'll be fun! You can kiss a random stranger at midnight!"
Spencer sighed heavily, but didn't answer. He stopped altogether and stared at the living room wall. A soft musical sound was penetrating through the wall and he stepped into the living room and pressed his ear to the wall curiously. Elvis was crooning about falling in love on the other side of the wall. No accompanying girl singing, just Elvis crooning like it was the end of the world.
"Reid?" Garcia yelled through the phone.
"Garcia, I'll call you back later" he mumbled, then hung up. He smiled at the song, then went to the kitchen to put the groceries away, humming to himself about falling in love. When the song ended, Spencer looked up expectantly, uncertain about which song it might be. He guessed either more Elvis or another love song. He waited for a few minutes before the song played again.
Elvis crooning about falling in love.
Spencer shrugged to himself and wondered why Elvis' 'Can't help falling in love' was playing on repeat on the other side of the wall.
Garcia called him incessantly all evening, until Spencer finally answered the phone and yelled at her that he'd be at the office party in an hour. Spencer dragged himself out of his apartment and went to the party, which was being held in a hotel ballroom. He saw several familiar faces as we walked in and was greeted by his BAU team-mates.
"Reid! I thought you weren't coming this year?" Morgan said, clapping him on the shoulder and leading him towards the buffet table.
"Garcia managed to drag me out of the house" Spencer admitted with a thin-lipped smile. Morgan grinned at him, handing him a glass of pink coloured punch. Spencer sighed heavily as the people around him mingled and mixed, swaying in the music slightly as they stood, or all-out danced, like Morgan and his date. Spencer sipped his punch absently. The party continued in full swing, even as Spencer felt like he was disappearing into the column against which he was leaning, sipping his punch and looking around the room at all the people acting out their fantasies.
After spending over two hours in the party and having greeted everyone at least twice, Spencer decided he was done. He left the ballroom, collecting his jacket and depositing the empty punch glass on the empty tray, then left the hotel.
Spencer wandered down the streets, watching as party-goers continued to appear form time to time, either too drunk, or too happy to care about anything but themselves and their own little bubble of existence.
Spencer was glad of their presence, for if not for these people, he'd have felt too alone and pathetic to be spending New Years' Eve alone on the streets of D.C. He reached his apartment building a little after the stroke of midnight and heard the cheers of those who were spending the evening with their families cheer and hoot and party poppers went off up and down the street. He went up the stairs to his apartment and went straight to bed, too tired to change, or care about it.
Spencer found the reply to his letter sitting in his mail box on the morning of New Years' Day. He felt the grin appear automatically on his face and he retrieved the lavender paper and opened it to read it on the spot.
'Dear Neighbour in 501,
I figured that it must be something urgent and work-related when I didn't hear from you. The S.I. did say you spent many days out of town. Must be a difficult life you lead: never staying in one place for too long. Like a nomad, but with a destination.
I'm just curious because I haven't been anywhere. Not really. I have lived in different cities over the years, but it didn't feel like travelling. It was just living in one city for a while, then in another. There was no thrill of adventure about living in any of those places. I wonder, is travelling like that too? Do you feel like you belong in some place that you've only just visited?
I can never tell what being home feels like. It's all very mysterious and new to me. It's good to have you back, in any case. I hope you have a fantastic year to come.
Most excitedly,
Your Neighbour, 502'
Spencer went in to work, still smiling about the letter, thinking about what he could write that would made 502 understand why he hated travelling. She didn't seem like someone who hated travelling, more like someone inexperienced in it. He half-thought of suggesting she take off and see the world before settling down, but he had no idea of her circumstances to do so. He sat down at his desk with a sigh, then scowled at the package waiting for him on his desk.
"What's this?" he wondered aloud and JJ, who was walking past him, turned to him.
"That was delivered for you this morning" JJ informed, "You disappeared before the ball-drop yesterday" she noted, frowning at him. Spencer sighed and looked up at her.
"I just couldn't stay there for it" he admitted, making a face. JJ sighed and clapped him on his shoulder.
"No worries, hope you reached home ok" she said. Spencer nodded and turned to the package. JJ stood there, leaning against his cubicle wall, clearly curious about the package, even more so than Spencer himself.
With a letter opener, Spencer sliced open one end of the rectangular package and scowled as a small paperback dropped out of the cover and landed in his lap. The cover art was of a white hard-shelled chrysalis in a background of green leaves and grey cement. The title was printed on top in gold, cursive lettering and Sadie O'Connell printed at the bottom in small, gold, bold letters. Spencer picked up the book and stared at the cover fondly. Sadie had written this, he thought to himself, smiling at the memories of seeing her scribbling away in her notebook, while he read or watched TV.
"Is that Sadie's new book?" JJ asked, leaning down to look at the cover, then smiling as she noticed the author. Spencer scowled as he remembered why he had avoided looking for the book after Garcia had mentioned it in the first place and looked at the package. It had no return address or sender information at all. Spencer scowled, wondering who had sent the package.
"Maybe it was her?" JJ suggested, as if sensing his queries, then shrugged and wandered off. Spencer watched his best friend leave, then turned to the book, turning it over in his hand. The back cover had a short summary of what the book was about, like in the days of old, when magazine reviews and quotes by famous people who'd read them didn't exist.
'Waking up in the new millenium after her transformation, a young fairy learns what it means to adapt to change, to look at the bright side, and to be fearless when she's afraid. Join her on her adventure through the New Age, while searching for her family, or what might be left of it.'
Spencer smiled at Sadie's words. Because that's what they were: her words. Words that had formed into those specific sentences in her beautiful, brilliant mind. He opened the book and froze when he saw the dedication page.
'For Spencer - without you, this book might have never existed'
Spencer stared at what Sadie had written for him - not her brother who had disappeared, not her friends who'd stayed by her and given her strength - but him, who had spent a few months by her side and who'd been abandoned. Spencer sat shell-shocked in his chair, staring at her dedication until he was woken up from his day-dream by a guest.
"Oh, you bought it!" Garcia cooed, appearing beside his desk abruptly and scaring him awake.
"Did you read it? Isn't it so fluffy?!" she declared loudly.
"I haven't read it yet" he admitted, leaning back in his seat and scowling at his friend. Garcia frowned at him.
"Just saw the dedication then" Garcia concluded promptly, grinning at him, "You should may be call her or something" she suggested, then walked away, leaving him alone.
Spencer stared after her as she left, then turned back to the book. It was small, about 250 pages in all, but he was elated that Sadie had written it, after all that had happened to her in the past year. He pulled out his phone and scrolled down to Sadie's number.
Before he could convince himself otherwise, Spencer hit the call button and pressed the phone to his ear, holding his breath while he waited. A pre-recorded voice-message told him that the number was now disconnected.
Spencer scowled at the blaring tone and ended the call. He stared at the book in his hand and absently wondered if it would be wise ton use other methods to get in touch with Sadie. He had barely a moment to think about the possible routes through which he could contact her when his phone rang.
Spencer scowled at the unknown number, but answered it nonetheless.
"Am I speaking to Dr. Spencer Reid?" a familiar female voice enquired.
"Hello?" Spencer said uncertainly, then deciding to go with his gut asked, "Cara?"
"Oh, you recognised me. What a surprise" Cara drawled sarcastically.
Spencer remained quiet, uncertain about how to respond to her. Cara sighed at the other end of the line.
"Did you get the package I sent you?" she asked. Spencer scowled. That explained quite a few things.
"You sent it" he realised, "Why?" he asked. Cara groaned, like she was struggling to form the right words.
"Look, Reid, I think we need to talk" Cara said, "Can we meet up somewhere today?"
Spencer's scowl deepened.
"What's this about?" he asked worriedly.
"What else? Sadie, of course" she replied, "I just need to clarify something. So, humour me."
Spencer contemplated the pros and cons of doing so. After a short silence, he huffed out in frustration.
"How about five at the coffee shop, you know, the one-" he started, but Cara understood.
"Where you met Sadie? Sure. Five sounds great" she stated, "I'll see you then"
Spencer nodded and the call ended. Spencer stared at the small book and the golden words that were gleaming. He leaned back in his chair, turned to the first page of the book and started to read.
So, what do you guys think? Let me know in the reviews!