Echos of a Genius | Spencer Reid

Never and Not

Spencer

Stephie is alive. She's alive and she's back. For the first few weeks of her return I would wake up, frantically, panicking, making sure she was still next to me. That this wasn't some twisted dream.

She was right next to me every time.

I know she went through more than I can imagine. She's been fully cleared to start working again. I never realized the extent of her injuries. The broken ribs, the scars on her face, the diagonal scar across her stomach. She's not the same, I was the same after Tobias either though. That shit changes you. But i guess going through it and then seeing it are different.

Stephie isn't the same, she's not the sarcastic, vibrant, and fiercely independent she once was. She would have been the kind of person who lit up a room with her presence, strong-willed and confident, but also caring and deeply loyal. She had a sharp sense of humor, and even though she carried her own doubts and insecurities, she rarely let them show. Now, it's like a switch was flipped inside her.

Now, when I look at Stephie, I see someone who's been through hell. She's changed, there's no denying that, but she's still her. The girl I love. The scars—on her skin and in her eyes—they tell a story I wish she hadn't lived through, but they don't make her any less to me. If anything, they show me just how strong she really is. She doesn't see it that way, though. When she looks in the mirror, I know she hates what she sees. It breaks my heart because she's still the most beautiful person I've ever known, inside and out.

Before, she had this fire about her. She was so sure of herself, so full of life. Even when she was doubting things, she carried it like no one could touch her. But now... now she's more fragile, like she's barely holding herself together. There's this vulnerability in her that wasn't there before. I see it in the way she shies away from me, like she's afraid I might not see her the same way anymore, like her scars make her less somehow. But they don't. Not to me.

When she faked her death, it shattered me. I thought she was gone for good, and it almost broke me. It did break me. I can't imagine what it did to her, to carry the weight of that, to go through whatever she had to go through to stay alive. And I can see it now—in the way she moves, in the quiet moments when she thinks I'm not watching—she's haunted. By what happened, by what she thinks she's become.

But to me? She's stronger than ever. She might not believe it, but I do. She survived. She lived through something that would've destroyed most people. And yeah, she's different now. We both are. But she's still Stephie. Still the woman I fell in love with, still the one who made me feel like I could take on the world just by standing next to her. The scars don't change that. They don't make her any less beautiful or any less her.

I see her struggling to come to terms with it all, trying to reconcile the person she used to be with who she is now. And maybe she's not the same girl she was before, but that doesn't make her broken. If anything, it makes her even more incredible to me. She went through hell and came back. And I'm still here, right next to her, just like I always was.

She thinks she's broken, but to me, she's the strongest person I know. And I'm going to spend every day reminding her of that, even if it takes the rest of my life. Even if she hates for it, I'll say it so much, "strongest person I know" will become the most annoying phrase a person can say.

Stephie stood in the doorway of the bullpen, and I couldn't help but watch her. She was trying to act like everything was normal, like this was just another day, but I could see it in the way her hand hesitated before touching the doorframe. She hadn't been here in almost four months, and I knew that walking back into this space, into the life she left behind, was harder than she was letting on.