Ptolomea {A Criminal Minds Fanfiction}

I Invited You in Twice, I Did

Summary: Kate must face her fears. Can Spencer help guide her along?

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for months lmao oopsie

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. As the author, I do not always agree with the actions the characters take. The MC has PTSD and OCD. The depictions of such in the story may not be entirely accurate and I do not claim it to be so. The depictions of anxiety and OCD are based on my own personal experience and do not apply to the illnesses as a whole. As always there is a violence and gore warning. There will be mentions of various sensitive topics which are updated in the tags, read at your own risk.

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"Mental pain is less dramatic than physical pain, but it is more common and also more hard to bear. The frequent attempt to conceal mental pain increases the burden: it is easier to say, 'My tooth is aching' than to say, 'My heart is broken.'" – C. S. Lewis

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The soft glow of the first morning light spilled into the room, over the soft, downy covers of a perfectly made bed. The sound of an alarm clock rang out throughout the bedroom, but no move was made to dampen the noise with a sleepy smack of a hand or a disgruntled grumble and press of a button. There was merely sunshine and silence, save for the beep, beep, beep.

Kate sat, staring at the island in her kitchen with eyes nearly swollen shut from crying and a lack of sleep. What would Pippa say if she could see her now? She would probably kick Kate in the rear before scooping her up and putting her to bed herself.

"Aaron Hotchner be damned," Pippa would have said, making Kate a cup of chamomile tea and lighting her a cigarette to put her at ease.

Pippa was a nicotine fan on a good day and a two-pack-a-day addict on a bad one. Kate hated smoking and rarely partook, but the smell of a Marlboro always reminded her of her best friend and soothed her nerves. She had a pack in her purse with a lighter in case of emergencies, and a pink heart-shaped ashtray on her bedroom windowsill for when the need took her at night.

As it were, Kate had cried herself into a fitful daze that could hardly be called sleep right in her front doorway. The legs of her slacks were now hardened and dry with raw eggs and she could feel the prickling crust that formed on her skin beneath the fabric. The locket containing Pippa and Kate's woven hair had come off in her hand sometime during the night, chain dangling from her palm where it clutched the pendant.

She would need to have the latch fixed soon if it was coming off so easily.

Pressing herself up to her feet, Kate made her way to her bedroom to shut off her alarm on unsteady legs. She placed the locket on her nightstand next to the clock and gathered her outfit for the day. Then she headed to the bathroom to shower and scrub the remains of last night's horror show from her body.

Looking at herself in the mirror was almost unavoidable. Her skin was pale, save for the bruise-like smudges under her swollen eyes. Her normally glossy curls were dull and frizzy; desperately in need of taming and not even a shower and thick curl cream helped much. It was a good thing she had preprogrammed her alarm for five-thirty a.m. so she would have time to get ready.

No calls came for her in the night, beckoning her to the BAU's private jet, so nothing pressing must have happened. Today would be reading reports, offering her input and analysis, potentially rushing about, and helping her senior members with their tasks. She was glad for it.

Until she remembered the horror in a pair of hazel eyes that quickly turned to something hard and steely. The firm set of Dr. Reid's jaw and mouth when she mentioned her potential institutionalization. She had been mostly unserious. Mostly.