north//spencer reid

chapter twenty two

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genre: mostly angst

pairing: season 13 spencer reid x oc

warnings: mentions of dissociation and ptsd, non descriptive conversations about sex, robbery

word count: 5.5k

summary: spencer worries about what his fate at work is and amelia worries about work for the both of them.

AMELIA

Dissociation: feeling detached from your environment, the people around you, or your body; disconnection and lack of continuity between thoughts, memories, surroundings, actions, and identity.

It's the word that I've been searching for so desperately. It's the word that has been on the tip of my tongue for six weeks but that I haven't been able to put together. It's a relief to have the verbiage now.

Well, a relief is possibly the wrong word. Dissociation is serious and scary and now I know that Spencer isn't just staring off and picturing his days in prison. He's actually having, what seems to me like, an out of body experience where he can't tell reality from what his mind is convincing him is reality. It seems utterly terrifying and it makes me sad for him. Even more than I already am.

"Amelia?"

I quickly close my book, not even caring that I've definitely lost my page as I toss it aside. I look up at Spencer, who's standing in the doorway of his bathroom, his arms crossed over his chest. "Yeah?"

"I'm," he hesitates, gulping. But he takes a deep breath and looks up at me with an uneasy smile. "I'm nervous."

His confession makes my heart flutter, possibly for the wrong reasons. Over the last two weeks of the BAU's required leave, Spencer has done well on his promise to be better at communication. He's done his best to tell me if he's feeling nervous or uneasy or scared or anything of the sort. We haven't had another moment to sit down and talk about his experiences in prison, but that's okay.

His habits are still present, although not as extreme. He makes the bed every morning, but it's not live or die. He waits until after breakfast and if it's not perfect, he's learned not to sweat it. He doesn't scrub his feet in the shower until they almost bleed and he sleeps two nights a week in something other than a white tee shirt. Sure, we have yet to eat a meal at a table, but I'm really not torn up about that. He has come a long way and I couldn't be more proud of him.

I pat the bed beside me and smile, inviting him over. He sits and immediately rests his head atop mine, reaching for my hand. "What are you nervous about, sweets?"

Spencer brings our hands into his lap, tracing over my north tattoo with the pad of his pointer finger. I can feel his fear and his nervousness radiating off of him and I wish I could just slap it off of him. "This could be it, you know? They could just not reinstate me and then I'll have no purpose in my life anymore."

"What reason do you have to believe that they won't reinstate you? Okay, Spencer, be real with me," I give him a pointed look, my eyebrows raised. "You're smart, I'm not dumb, and I know you really well."

Spencer narrows his eyes at me. "Is this supposed to be helping me?"

"You know exactly what to say to all their questions to convince them you're okay to return, right?" When Spencer's eyes return to their normal size and his cheeks turn pink, that's my answer. I let out a laugh, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "For a profiler and a champion poker player, I'd think you'd have a better poker face."