Echos of a Genius | Spencer Reid

The First Letter

Stephie

I sat in the hospital waiting room, my leg bouncing uncontrollably as the sterile, suffocating air closed in around me. The fluorescent lights above buzzed, matching the pounding in my head. I hated hospitals. Too many bad memories. Too many losses. But none of that mattered now. Not when Spencer was in surgery.

I rubbed my hands together, trying to warm them up or maybe just to feel something other than anxiety. The surgeon had said the bullet missed anything vital, but that didn't stop the fear gnawing at me. Spencer getting shot... it felt too close. Too real. He was always so careful, always so controlled. To see him go down like that had shattered something in me. We'd been through a lot together—more than the others knew.

I glanced at the clock for what felt like the hundredth time. Only fifteen minutes had passed since the last check. It was taking too long.

The memory of Spencer clutching his leg, blood seeping through his fingers, hit me again, and I gritted my teeth, trying to shake it off. I had to keep it together, for him.

The sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, snapping me from my thoughts. A nurse hurried past, but there was no news. I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes, trying to shut out the noise, the worry. Maybe if I focused hard enough, I could force the universe to make everything okay.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and for a split second, I thought it might be the nurse calling with an update. But when I pulled it out, there was no name on the screen. Just a message from an unknown number. I hesitated, my thumb hovering over the screen, before finally opening it.

"You think you know the truth, but you don't. Not everything stays buried, Stephie."

My stomach lurched, and I blinked, rereading the message. What the hell? I sat up straighter, scanning the room. No one was looking at me, no one was acting suspicious. Just a few scattered families and nurses bustling by.

I exhaled slowly, telling myself it was probably a prank, maybe some unsub we'd pissed off recently. God knows we've put enough of them away. But something about the wording felt... personal. I shoved the phone back into my pocket, trying to ignore the sudden weight pressing down on my chest.

Five minutes passed, then ten. I kept replaying the message in my head, the words ringing louder with every second.

Not everything stays buried.

My mind flickered to my father. To the secrets I had locked away so long ago. But no. That couldn't be connected. He'd been dead for a few years. I had to let it go.

A low buzzing in my ear made me blink, and it took me a moment to realize it wasn't my phone this time—it was a voice.

"Miss? Miss, are you okay?" A nurse stood in front of me, her face concerned.

I blinked and nodded quickly, shoving the phone into my bag. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... waiting."

She gave me a sympathetic smile, then walked past, her footsteps echoing through the empty hallway.

I slumped back in my chair, my hands trembling as I gripped the armrests. What was this? Some unsub trying to get under my skin? Or was it worse than that? Could it be... connected to my father?

I shook my head. No. That was impossible. He was dead. He'd been dead for three years.

But the uneasiness wouldn't go away.

Just then, the door to the waiting room opened, and a doctor stepped out. His scrubs were smeared with blood, but his expression was calm. My heart leapt into my throat.

"Are you here for Dr. Reid?" he asked.

I stood up quickly. "Yes, is he okay?"

The doctor nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "The surgery went well. The bullet's been removed, and he's stable. You can see him in recovery shortly."

Relief flooded me, and for a moment, I forgot about the message, about the photo. Spencer was okay. That was all that mattered.

But as the doctor turned and disappeared down the hall, I felt the weight of my phone in my pocket again. I have more important matters to think about right now.

I made my way to Spencer's recovery room, the sterile smell of the hospital clinging to my clothes as I pushed open the door. The quiet beeping of the machines and the low hum of the air conditioning filled the space. Spencer lay in bed, eyes half-closed, his chest rising and falling steadily. Relief washed over me again, knowing he was finally out of danger.

I stepped closer, pulling a chair beside his bed and sinking into it. The sight of the bandages wrapped around his leg was a painful reminder of how close I had come to losing him. My hands were still trembling slightly as I gripped the armrests, trying to calm myself down.

At the sound of me sitting, Spencer's eyes fluttered open. He turned his head toward me, his lips curling into a faint, tired smile.

"Hey," he whispered, his voice hoarse.

"Hey," I replied softly, trying to keep my emotions in check. "You scared me, you know that?"

"Sorry," he said with a weak chuckle, wincing slightly as he shifted. "Wasn't... part of the plan."

I exhaled slowly, my hand finding his and giving it a gentle squeeze. "I'm just glad you're okay."

His eyes met mine, and for a moment, the exhaustion in them faded. "Hotch... is he... okay?"

I hesitated, the mention of Hotch dragging my thoughts back to the chaos of earlier. Spencer had told me to call Emily before we got here, something about Hotch, and I still didn't know all the details. "I haven't heard much. Just a text from Derek. He said Hotch is okay, but I don't know more than that."

Spencer frowned slightly. "It was Foyet, wasn't it? It has to be him."

I nodded, my stomach knotting at the thought of George Foyet. The man had been tormenting Hotch for too long, and now it seemed like he was escalating. "I think so," I said quietly. "But we'll find out more soon. Right now, you need to rest. Let the others handle it for a while."

Spencer looked like he wanted to argue, but he was too tired. His body sagged back into the bed, his eyes drifting closed again. "I hate this. I hate feeling helpless or useless or whatever."

"You're not helpless," I said firmly, leaning in closer. "You're okay. That's what matters." ashly smile lines my face, "Plus you're a genius. You'll never be useless." Spencer chuckles.

For a few minutes, the only sound was the rhythmic beeping of the machines and Spencer's steady breathing. It was a strange kind of peace, sitting there with him, knowing he was safe for now. But the tension in my chest wouldn't fully disappear. Not with everything going on.

Spencer's voice, soft and drowsy, broke the silence. "Stephie, something's bothering you."

I froze, my pulse quickening. I had hoped he wouldn't notice, hoped I could just focus on him being okay. But Spencer always knew when something was off with me.

"I'm fine," I tried to say, but the words came out too flat, too unconvincing.

His eyes opened again, just enough to give me a knowing look. "You're not."

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "I got a message. It was weird. Someone texted me... said not everything stays buried."

We don't keep secrets anymore.

Spencer's brows furrowed in confusion. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "It's probably nothing." Spencer's hand squeezed mine a little tighter when I finish, his gaze softening despite the pain he was in.

Spencer's eyes finally closed again, the sedatives pulling him into a deep, much-needed sleep. I stayed there, holding his hand, listening to the quiet rhythm of his breathing.

No matter what that message meant or what else was coming, I'd deal with it later. Right now, all that mattered was that Spencer was okay. And I wasn't going to let anything, or anyone, take that away.

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AN: short chapter go ahead and boo me 😒