[redamancy]: the act of loving in return
Dr. Spencer Reid did not need a therapist. But after the events of Tobias Hankle and his subsequent reliance on dilaudid, his friends at the BAU disagreed. For the sake of his career, his friends couldn't jus...
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two | spencer
Dr. Megan Brooks had a loose schedule she followed each morning. She awoke and placed her teapot on the stove, letting the water heat up as she continued to the bathroom to brush out her freshly cleaned hair from the night before. She brushed her teeth, washed her face, and applied subtle amounts of makeup that covered the growing worry lines of her face and acne scars across her cheeks left from high school.
She returned to the kitchen and selected her tea bag for the day. Looking out the window at the cloudy morning, leaves slowly turning red and orange, she decided Chai Spiced Apple would be fitting for the early fall day. She carried her new cup of tea back to her bedroom with her where she carefully picked out her outfit for the day: a white button up, brown blazer vest, and wide-legged plaid pants in orange and green.
Her mind ran through her patients that day, then stalled at her 1:00 patient. It had been a week since she'd seen Dr. Spencer Reid. Hotch only sanctioned one session, hoping (in his words) that her charm would be enough to keep him coming back. Meg doubted it. Haley had only laughed.
While her mind was on her family, she pulled up her calendar on her desktop computer to find the next time she could drop by the Hotchner household to see the kids. She was interrupted by the loud ring of the phone.
Meg quickly pulled on her pants, zipping them up as she approached the phone. She took a deep breath before picking up. "Hello?"
There was no sound on the other side of the phone. She could faintly hear someone breathing, but no words were spoken.
"Hello?" she said again. "Can I help you?"
There was a click as the unknown caller hung up. She placed the phone back on the receiver and glanced down at her watch. She picked up the pen from beside the phone and wrote down on the awaiting paper the time of the phone call.
With that, she sighed and collected her things--including the oversized, patterned coat she wore every day--before heading to the door. The walk from her small, starter home to the bus stop was short. Her seat on the edge of the bench was waiting for her. Meg folded her legs up underneath herself as she pulled a book from her crossbody bag. A few more people filtered in before the bus finally arrived. On the drive, she switched from reading to sketching interesting faces of her fellow commuters. Whether drawing the same people again or finding a new face in the crowd, Meg was always looking to fill up her commute journal with faces.
The rest of her day passed normally with patients in and out as they always were on Thursdays such as this. By 12:55, she was buried in the file of the patient who had left ten minutes prior, updating new observed behaviors from that day's session.
Her intercom buzzed before the receptionist, Lina, said, "Meg, your one o'clock is here. Early again."
