Retribution, A Spencer Reid/Criminal Minds Fanfic

Chapter 10. Psychic Peas in a Pod

That evening when Reid entered the door of the apartment he and Ana shared, he dropped his satchel and keys, went straight to his wife, and pulled her into a tight hug.

Spencer? Something’s wrong. Tell me.

Instead of trying to put the whole exchange with Hotch into words, even telepathic ones, Reid bared his memories of the day, inviting Ana to view them. He harbored a slim hope that if she saw the experience directly, without the imposed filter of his own perception, she’d laugh, tell him he was being silly, and everything would be right with the world once more.

It didn’t quite work out that way.

That’s impossible! How could he know? I don’t even really know! How could…

She went silent. He could feel her searching within herself for something…maybe an unguarded moment when she’d unconsciously reached out to check on Hotch’s welfare. Reid was aware when she came up empty; there was nothing in her mind since their wedding day that would lead either of them to believe she’d touched their untouchable friend.

Both of them sighed, holding on to each other out of a mutual need for reassurance as much as love.

I’m really tempted to reach out to him right now, Spencer. Maybe I could figure out what’s going on.

Please don’t. If something’s happening to him because of his contact with you…or with me for just that split second when I was so damn nervous at our wedding…I think more of the same would only make it worse.

What should we do? We can’t let it go without telling him. Or maybe Dave? Or we could talk to both of them? Maybe?

Reid drew in a long, shuddering breath. Do you think there’s any chance it’ll go away on its own? Kind of heal itself, if we give it time?

Do you really wanna take the chance, Spencer? After last time?

No.

Ana pulled back. The newlyweds stared at each other.

See how he’s doing tomorrow. He’s aware something’s different or he wouldn’t have asked you about me and the way he’s sleeping now, so… Ana’s mental voice faded into a shocked, blank whiteness.

Oh, God.

Ana?

He said he’s sleeping ‘like a baby.’ And he sounded sure we’re having a girl. Her eyes widened, then closed in a heartfelt wish to push the suspicion from her. What if he’s in touch with…with… our baby?

Reid’s nervous swallow was audible.

Or maybe our baby’s in touch with him.

xxxxxxx

Carol Bescardi was adept at performing mathematical calculations. When she didn’t like the results, she was also adept at finding ways to alter them.

Federal regulations defined how time off for good behavior was determined. Bescardi sniffed at the limitations. For every year she served without making waves, fifty-four days would be deducted from her sentence. That meant that, at best, she could hope for slightly less than two years to be deducted from her allotted fifteen.

That wouldn’t do. Not at all.

She petitioned both the Bureau of Prisons and the Designation and Sentence Computation Center. She was smart and persuasive and very, very good at writing summations and proposals. If she weren’t, she would never have been able to obtain the grants and funding that had kept her Paranormal Investigation Center open for so long.