Hidden // Spencer Reid

Blind

"When it comes to love, you're just as blinded." -Eminem

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Beep. Beep. Beep. Was it my fault? That I'm still in the hospital? Simply because I wanted to see Spencer? Am I really that narrow-minded? Questions linger in my head as I spend my last day in the hospital. Who stays in the hospital for a week, just for getting stabbed and... raped?

Beep. Beep. Beep. Does Spencer just not want to see me like this, does he think it's his fault? Or is it because he doesn't trust himself to be near me when Derek's there? No, he has more self-control than that. He must've just not wanted to see me.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Shut this fucking heart monitor up! I'm not going to drop dead at this point. Does he just want me to know that he thinks it's my fault? Doesn't he know I've figured that out already? Doesn't he know that I'm going insane, sitting in here with only Derek coming by in the morning?

Beep. Beep. Beep. I'm going to die in this hellhole; I've already made up every single word that I could use to describe myself as a terrible person. Does he realize that I've been silently begging him through my non-existent telepathic powers to visit me? Doesn't he know that I miss him, even if I shouldn't? Doesn't he know I'm past the point of reconciliation?

Beep. Beep. Beep. Will I never be looked at the same anymore, just because I've been in the hospital for a week? Spencer Reid. Visit me or I will slap you in the face next time I see you. Just come on. I send my telepathic message and continue with the names. I can't think of any.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Somebody save me! I can't live in here; I'm going to... have I though of the word selfish yet? Yes, yes I have. Damn this vocabulary. I think he is making me suffer on purpose. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he is a sadistic player who wants to see everybody weep over him. No, that's not him. Come on. Just visit me. I send the telepathic message and shut my heavy eyelids.

Beep-Beep. Beep-beep-beep-beep. My heart flutters literally as I hear footsteps walk into my room. I open my eyes, despite how much I want to fall asleep in this place and never wake up. My eyes go wide; all tiredness forgotten.

"Spencer Reid?"

Their are tears in his glorious eyes, and my heart speeds up slightly as he pulls over the same chair Derek would always sit in. He grabs my hand, unknowingly pressing the heart monitor into my finger and making it go insane. He jerks his hand back, thinks for a moment, and takes my hand back in his and holds it more delicately. As if I can be broken.

"I'm not that delicate," I remind him, but he still looks at my hand like it is an expensive porcelain doll, like I'm as fragile as a butterfly's wing. I attempt to give his hand a light squeeze. "I'm okay."

He looks up at me, still silent, and shakes his head. He gives me a slight smile. "No-- you're not," his voice breaks more than once, and I'm afraid he's going to cry.

"Spencer, I, Lena Alice Portman, give you my word that I am no more fragile than you, and that I don't hurt at all." That is a straight-up lie. My entire abdomen feels like it is being twisted around by the fiery hand of a demon baboon.

He laughs weakly and shakes his head, still holding my right hand delicately. I guess the bruises do look bad, but that's only because I bruise so easily, and that they don't heal quickly. Not because they were that bad. But maybe the blueish hand imprinted on my forearm isn't exactly that comforting. What if he blames himself?

"It's not your fault," I blurt out, hoping he believes my honest response. I know he's hurting. His eyebrows are practically knitted together and a single tear has escaped and is making its way lazily down his face. No, no, no, no, no.. It's not his fault!

"I'm serious!" I insist before he even looks back down at my mottled hand.

"Th-th-that's the problem," his tone of voice makes me want to rip out my heart. He shouldn't feel like this just because he couldn't save me from something that was utterly, completely my fault.

I sigh and close my eyes, hearing my heart rate slow after a few minutes. "Are you asleep?" He whispers, and I smile, the movement paining my entire left side of my head. My temple has a bruise spreading from the top of it to the bottom of my cheek in the shape of a brick, or that's what I suppose, anyway.

I don't want him to leave.The bed dips, and I think he's sitting on the small bed, still holding my hand.



..............................



"Reid?" The husky voice startles me awake, and my brain reminds me that the voice belongs to the person I am meant to love, Derek.

He's still sitting on the bed, and his face turns bright red as he stands up and stutters all the way out of the door. Wow.

Derek quickly takes his spot (in the chair, that is,) and leans his elbows on the bed, causing me to roll over slightly. Ouch.

"Scheiße," I mutter as I wince and pull myself back to a forward-facing position on the hospital bed.

"It's alright, Alice Marie Portman." His assuring voice brings pain to my heart as I remember that I've never told him my real name.

But I've told him.

Why did he call me by my full name? That's the thing mothers use when their children haven't cleaned up their spot at the table. Only me? Oh.

"What's wrong?"

"Why were you letting him sit on you bed? And hold your hand?"

I close my eyes, deeply annoyed in his protectiveness. "I was sleeping, Derek." I hiss through gritted teeth, seething with anger.

"I was just coming to visit you after work, and didn't expect someone else to be seeing you."

Seeing you. Oh, what he doesn't know.

"You don't remember that I get out today?" I snap back, not letting go of my anger, practically clinging onto it like a lifeline.

"O-of course I did!" His uncharacteristic stutter gives him away. What a perfect boyfriend. An irrational part of me wants to blame Derek for this happening to me. He didn't come the times I called him, and I know that for a fact. Why else would he have found me in the alley? He probably was buying tickets and finally noticed I was gone, getting fucking raped in an alleyway while he chattered aimlessly to Garcia.

"I'm sorry."

"You should be." I retort, scooting to the other side of the narrow bed. "I want to go to sleep." I don't even feel bad as he gets up out of his chair and leaves me. Well, I guess love is blind. I see nobody else but Spencer as my eyes shut and I begin to dream about dying. Again.

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"You know I'm sorry, Alice," Derek says for the umpteenth time as I straighten my hair.

"It's been a week Derek. And I've said a million times: I know." I groan, angry that he thinks he's such a good boyfriend for apologizing.

Finally, I straighten one more section of my hair and stand up. I look like shit, despite the meticulous effort I gave trying to cover up any face bruises and make my hair as long as possible to cover the bruises on my shoulders. The only one that I can't cover is the slightly faded imprint of a large hand, still noticeable on my right forearm. And the many on my hands, of course, and legs, but those don't matter as much. Nobody stares at your hands unless they have a hand fetish.

Which is weird. I'm glad Spencer doesn't stare at my hands. Then he'd probably get to crying or something yet again.

Since Derek has memorized the shape and placement of each bruise, however, he's noticed the ones that get covered up as well. "Did they disappear?" He'll ask when he sees my face. No, you idiot. They don't just fade overnight.

I don't understand why they're using me and Charlotte as victims, trying to figure out a fucking unsub. I could spot them from a mile away, blindfolded and underwater.

"We're going to find them, Lis. Today is the last day you have to show up with me. I promise." He reminds me as I stand up and shrug my jacket over my very sore shoulders.

How do you get over being assaulted by the same men who murdered your sister, and beat you just as hard?

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"Take off your jacket," Derek commands as we step inside the familiar building. I could get used to this place.

"What?" I've told him how embarrassed I am by the scars and bruises.

"Do it."

"Fine," I snap, tearing off my warm jacket. Now I get to stand in the freezing cold bullpen, just like I have always dreamed of doing. Just magnificent.

I hear him mutter something about "women these days", but forget about it quickly as I rub my hands delicately over my arms, trying to warm up.

The family-like team files into the room, each one staring at me like an abused puppy, same as always. Nothing new about showing up at the BAU to get examined and prodded with questions about childhood, but never about the way they looked like, how they sounded, what they did.



Hopefully that's not today. I have a feeling that it is. "Alice, would you please follow Reid into the interrogation room?" Hotch suggests, but it's a command, not a favor he's asking. I nod and follow Spencer's trail, stopping outside the door.

He looks at me, the pity visible in his pained expression. "You don't have to do this." He's being serious, I'm obligated, by the law of Alice, to be sarcastic.

"Don't I, though? I don't have a choice." I counter, attempting to weakly push past him. Resistance is futile.

He stops me, placing a hand on my arm. "You are the bravest girl I've ever met."

.....................

I explain everything in great detail, being completely honest, even causing Spencer to wince at times. Get it together, Spence.

Then he asks me about Charlotte. "No." I reply forcefully, crossing my arms painfully and setting the expression of "don't fuck with me" on my face.

"Alice, it would really help us if you did. What was she like? Her attitude, the things we can't explain through documents?" Spencer presses, leaning forward. Tears form in my eyes and a lump rises in my throat. My face falls. I can't do this.

Can't I, though?

"She-- She was, well, I don't know. She was always s-so happy, and she always had a smile on her face. Sh-she was so nice to everybody." I laugh weakly to myself. "She freaked strangers out because she was never rude to them. I-I-I guess that's why she was.. she was taken away from me. She wasn't going to decline the guy help with his stereo, no matter how phony his excuse was. And then she started screaming as soon as they grabbed her arm, she doesn't like it when people touch her. A-and then she pleaded with them until she.. died. Every second they beat her with that damn brick. Every time she cried out in pain, she would ask them to just let her go.. but.. they never did, and now she's dead. She's dead because of them, Spencer!" I stand up in my seat, rage pulsing through my veins. I throw my fists down on the table, causing Spencer to jump. "She didn't deserve to die! I should be there! She didn't deserve this! She was torn from me, as carelessly as you would take away candy from a child! She's gone, she's just gone, and I can't get her back... This is their fault, no, no it's my fault!" I'm screaming at Spencer, tears streaming down my face. Suddenly, the sadness washes over me, pushing me back into my seat. "I want her back," I whisper as I place my head in my hands, leaning on the table.

Derek comes in and escorts me out of the room, leaving a shaken-up Spencer to worry about my sanity.

Rage blinds my senses as Derek leads me to the bullpen. Everybody besides Spencer is back in there, staring at me like I'm a ten-second time bomb. I probably look the part, too. I'm literally shaking.

"Lis, it's okay. We're gonna get them. It's not your fault, it's not your fault.." Derek continues to whisper absently, but as soon as I see Spencer walk into the room, I'm fine. And I can't hear him.

Love is blind, they say. But I'm not in love.

Am I?