19/07/2017. The Jareau/LaMontagne Household, Virginia. 10:03 hours.
JJ almost paced holes into the cream carpet of her lounge. She tightly gripped her cell phone in one hand, thumb swiftly moving across the screen as she typed a text message. Her other hand held an abundance of coloured pens. Will LaMontagne Jr noted the furrowed brow of his wife as he glanced up from the pile of glitter he had been sweeping up.
"Everything okay, darlin'?" came Will's Southern drawl. JJ briefly stopped pacing to shake her head, blonde ponytail swaying, then continued.
"Luke says Spence tried to come out of the coma already so they've had to put him back under. I've seen him in some states, Will, but not like this. I barely recognise him." Will eased himself to his feet, the sparkling dustpan and brush in his hands.
"Spencer's strong, JJ. He'll make it through this. You know that." JJ gave a small nod, "Who's with him now?" JJ knotted her brows in thought.
"I'm not sure. Will, do you think I should call him?"
"Call who, darlin'?"
"Spence's best friend."
"Can't hurt. I'm sure he'd like to know." Will turned to empty the glitter filled dust pan into the trash. JJ stopped and scrolled through the contacts list on her cell phone. Her heart dropped into her stomach as she reached the number she was looking for. JJ closed her eyes and let out a long breath before dialling the number. After a few rings, a familiar voice responded.
"JJ?" came the voice on the other side of the phone.
"Hi there. How's it going?" asked JJ, desperately trying to swallow the lump in her throat.
"It's good, man. Everything okay with you?" JJ paused, trying to find a way to word what she wanted to say, "JJ?"
"I'm sure you heard about the train crash yesterday."
"Yeah, I did. Was bad. I hear there was only one survivor."
"Yeah, so far. Look. There's something you need to know. Spencer was on that train. He was the sole survivor."
"Wait, what?"
"Spencer was on that train. He's hurt really badly." JJ barely needed to get the words out to recommend that the man visit Spencer before he cut her off.
"Which hospital? I'm heading there now."
"St Andrew's." The call abruptly cut off. JJ glanced down at her phone, tears brimming on her lashes. Henry and Michael had fallen asleep on the sofa in front of cartoons. She smiled softly, then turned to the handmade card on the dining table. A large stick man wearing a tie and with a brown bag was stood between two smaller stick figures. A large yellow sun had been drawn in the corner. In purple glittery writing said 'Get Well Soon Uncle Spence'.
19/07/2017. St Andrew's Hospital, Virginia. 10:28 hours.
A pair of booted feet made their way through the winding corridors of the hospital. Dark blue jeans were folded back at the ankles, resting against the lazily laced tops of the mustard coloured steel-toe capped boots. Derek Morgan paused outside the double doors of the intensive care unit and closed his eyes. JJ's words repeated in his head as though it was a stuck tape recorder. He had not seen Spencer since his release from prison, though he knew that their paths had taken very different directions. Where Spencer worked between the BAU and teaching, Derek had Hank and Savannah and he renovated homes for a living. With a long exhale, Derek pushed open the doors to the unit and approached the nurse's desk. An older nurse looked up at him with kindly features.
"Can I help you, sir?"
"I'm looking for Dr Spencer Reid's room." The nurse nodded and pointed him in the direction of the room. Derek gave a wide, white smile of thanks and turned towards the room.
When JJ had said that Spencer was badly hurt, Derek did not anticipate that he would be that badly hurt. Derek pressed a palm against the wall as he tried to compose himself. After a minute, he began his visual inspection. Half of Spencer's face was a multitude of shades of black and purple. Steri-strips held together lacerations on his face. A mouth that normally spouted facts and statistics was completely obscured by a large plastic buckle holding a thick tube in place. A sling supported his left arm. An almost full box of blood was seated next to the bed. A heavily bandaged foot poked out from under a blanket. Wires and tubes exited his hand, his neck and his chest. Derek slowly made his way to the chair, fearing that any heavy movement would break the fragile form in the bed. He eased himself down into the chair and enveloped Spencer's hand between his own.
"Hey there, pretty boy. Man, you sure get yourself into some situations. Only you could be on a train that derails. If given half the chance, I'm almost certain you'd be giving me the statistics of train accidents and the probability of survival." Derek stared at the still figure in the bed. He was so used to seeing Spencer bouncing around, his caffeine-filled brain speaking a hundred miles an hour. He recalled sitting beside Spencer in hospital after he had been infected with anthrax.
Spencer gently stirred. He creaked his eyes open to see Derek tucking into a bowl of Jell-O.
"You're eating Jell-O?" Derek blushed.
"Hmm." He dropped the spoon into the bowl, "Hey, Doc. Look who's back."
"Is there any more Jell-O?"
Derek chuckled at the memory. He had hoped he would never have to sit beside his little brother in a hospital again. It tugged at his heart knowing that Spencer was the only survivor of the accident. He knew once Spencer was awake, he would be massively overwhelmed with survivor's guilt.
"You know, Reid, Hank is doing great. He's just started walking. Well, it's more of a waddle. It's so amazing. I never thought I could love anything or anyone as much. Savannah and I are desperate for you to come and see the little guy. I know things have been shit over the past six months or so. Once you're feeling a bit better I'm gonna bring Hank to see his Uncle Spencer. You can bet on that. You just get better for me, okay? Promise me?" Derek looped his little finger around Spencer's cold and limp little finger.
19/07/2017. St Andrew's Hospital, Virginia. 14:02 hours.
Tara had offered to go and spend some time with Spencer after dropping a rather drunk Emily and Penelope at home. One glass of wine had been more than enough for her. She had exchanged her usual heels and business attire for a pair of Doc Marten's, jeans and a faded Led Zeppelin t-shirt. As she approached Spencer's room, she noticed raised voices and a commotion in the room. She peered around the open door to see a nurse stood on a step, pumping furiously on Spencer's chest. The tube for the ventilator had been replaced with a bag that another nurse squeezed periodically. A high pitched tone filled the room. Dr Harper pressed a pair of paddles to Spencer's chest.
"Charging to two-fifty. Oxygen away! Everyone stand clear." The bag was briefly disconnected and everyone took a step back as the Spencer's body lifted with the charge surging through his body. The monitor returned to a steady beeping. The ventilator was reconnected. The nurses tilted Spencer over to his right and tucked pillows in behind him. Dr Harper turned, discarding his nitrile gloves, to find Tara frozen to the spot at the door.
"What happened?" gasped Tara.
"Dr Reid flat lined a few minutes ago. We have him back. We're going to need to take him back to theatre to have another look at his leg. I suspect he has some infection in the bone. You can sit with him for a little while before we take him down." Tara nodded absent-mindedly before pushing past the doctor and taking a seat. Spencer's entire body was facing her. The left side of his chest and down to his hip were as blackened as his face. Tara curled her dark fingers around Spencer's free hand and ran the fingers of her other hand through her black wavy hair.
"Jesus, Spencer. I'm glad I only had one glass of wine. I think I'm gonna need a bottle after seeing that. Keep fighting this and come back to us. I need to hear some dumb shit about Doctor Who already!" Tara laughed softly and rubbed circles into Spencer's skin with her thumb. Tara fished a small MP3 player out of her jeans pocket with some ear buds.
"Now, I know music is a great healer. I don't think some heavy metal would be up your alley, though I do hear you're a little impartial to Bob Dylan. I know the cool kids use streaming these days but I put some Mozart and Beethoven on here for you." Tara pushed the buds into Spencer's ears and pressed play. The heart rate monitor quickened slightly and a tear leaked from Spencer's swollen eye.