1 | TREPIDATION. [SPENCER REID]

EIGHTEEN.

EIGHTEEN ; DIFFERENT.

Quinn awoke to a mug of cold coffee staring her in the eye and a subtle scent of cologne passing through her nose. The red mug that had been placed on the table the night before sat behind her mountain of finished paperwork. As she cleared her vision and looked around tiredly, she saw that the source of the smell was coming from her. She found the sweater Spencer had been wearing on her shoulders, hugged lightly around her.

A doting smile made it's way across her lips. It amazed her how he would always go the extra mile for her.

"Oh," a quiet voice said, "You're up." Quinn turned to see Spencer grinning at her softly. "Morning."

"Morning," she replied, yawning. She looked around, feeling the doctor's eyes on her. "What time is it?"

"Just about eight," he answered. "We have a case, so everyone should be in here soon. I wasn't sure whether to wake you or not." A slightly nervous laugh left him. Quinn smiled to herself as she stretched out the sore muscles in her body.

They were silent for a moment. Quinn's instinct told her that Spencer wanted to say something more. She turned to him, seeing him biting the inside of his cheek. "What?"

He let out a sharp breath. "You were, uh, talking in your sleep last night."

Quinn paled. "I didn't say anything embarrassing, did I? I'm prone to that."

"No, nothing embarrassing, I promise," he said with a light laugh. "Are you still having nightmares?"

The girl paused, words suddenly caught in her throat. Although they had happened less, the men plagued her dreams, often flashbacks that forced Quinn to relive memories, other times her mind's prediction of what was to come for her. Hotch had sat her down once or twice, suggesting therapy for her, but Quinn declined it every time. The last thing Quinn wanted to do was talk about her experiences. Her boss said that he understood, that another team member who had gone through something similar three and a half years ago had said the same thing, but the offer was always on the table.

"Yeah," Quinn squeaked out, attempting to sound as casual as possible. "But I mean, no more than usual." She glanced at him as he stared at her blankly. He didn't believe her and she knew it.

"You were talking about Masters," he said. Quinn detected the hint of distaste in his voice. "It was as if you were talking to him."

The girl pursed her lips. "I'm nervous for his trial," she admitted, shrugging. The sweater around her shoulders brushed up against her cheek. "I'm not sure about it."