Haunted~ Spencer Reid

Ch.21~ Closure

Two back-to-back cases proved to have been a lot on the team, so Hotch gave each of us a day off following the events of the last case. Now that Spencer and I are friends, it almost feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I feel lighter, and more comfortable on the team. I don't dread going back like I normally would.

After what Spencer told me last night, my heart broke for him. But I don't pity him—in fact, I respect him so much more. When I first joined the team and met him, I thought he was an arrogant, pretentious man who couldn't accept that I was just as smart as him. I couldn't have been more wrong. He was hurting, just like me. He had preconceived notions about me as well, and now I almost grieve the months we spent hating each other—the months we didn't realize the potential bond we could have shared.

I'm glad we don't hate each other anymore, even though we piss each other off just about every day. But something about him keeps drawing me back. Knowing what I do about him, and what my father did for him, I almost feel guilty for the way I've treated my father for the past few months. I've been immature, unprofessional even, around him. Ever since I was a teenager, I resented him. I never called him "Dad"—only ever "David" or "Rossi." But what Spencer told me last night almost humanized him in my head.

My father has always been more of a dad to his team than to me, but now that I'm on that team, maybe he can be my father again. I hate the idea that his love might be conditional, but I also never really gave him the opportunity to love me in his own way.

It wasn't my fault that he stopped trying with my mother and me, but it was my fault that I stopped caring. It was to protect myself, but in the end, I made a villain out of him. I didn't realize until last night, until Spencer told me what he did for him, but over the course of being on this team, of spending every day with him, I've stopped hating him.

I might even miss him.

For that reason, I go to the office on my day off, knowing that he'll be there, like he always is. I know that he'll be sitting in his office, sending profiles to local police stations, consulting on cases. His blinds closed but with just enough sun peeking through to let him see the case file without turning on a light. I know him well enough to know that he'll be there.

And he is, exactly as I expected—slumped over his desk, peering at a document. The offices are almost eerie. The bullpen hums with energy every time I step into it, but now it's empty. The big light is off, and sunlight pierces through the windows, casting shadows on everything in the room.

I knock on his office door, and through the window, I see him jump in surprise. I walk in and close the door behind me, standing there awkwardly as we both just look at each other. There are no words, nothing to describe the feeling in the room—happiness, sadness, love, repulsion, regret.

I can tell that he's profiling me, his eyes scanning my face, my body language.

I move closer to him, still wordless, and sit at the front of his desk. "Do you need help with anything?" I finally say, breaking the silence. There really isn't anything else I can say—no words I have left for him that I haven't already said. And there's no way to describe the anger I feel that's starting to dissipate, day by day.

He nods. "I'm swamped with cases. Would you mind consulting on some and profiling them?" he asks.

"Yeah," I say, barely above a whisper. I take a file from the stack on his desk, open it, and begin to read. Wordlessly, I start to profile the case. He goes back to his work, and silently, together, we profile.

As I flip through the case file, the familiar scent of aged paper and ink fills the air, mingling with the quiet hum of his office. I can hear both of our breaths. the pages turning, I can hear his pen hit the paper and he starts to write. The details of the case slowly sink in, my mind shifting into work mode, but there's a lingering tension between us, unspoken words that cling to the silence.