The Keeping of Words | Spencer Reid

16 |Her Name Was Maeve

Reid left her open invitation hanging for a month and a half. He didn't want to see her, didn't need to talk to her. But then came Minnesota, and Peter falling and turning that pool red despite his best efforts to talk him down. When he lied, it didn't work, and when he told the truth, it didn't work. Then came Hotch cornering him in the office, demanding an explanation for his actions. As if he had to ask. It was clear he'd already profiled the answer himself. To me, this is very clearly about Maeve. Wasn't everything these days? Hotch, of all people, should have understood that. Maybe it was time, he thought. Maybe he did need to talk to someone who hadn't been a part of the case, someone who couldn't profile every microexpression and minor action.

After hearing nothing for a month and a half, Bianca was all the more startled when he left her a voicemail, asking her to meet him for coffee. She arrived first at the Starbucks, a strong feeling of déjà vu washing over her. After ordering a coffee and sitting down inside, where it was warm, she was almost afraid he wouldn't show; but then she spotted him, scruffy hair and that navy peacoat.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi," he replied. That was a start. Bianca decided it was best to avoid talking about what had happened until he brought it up. Instead, she asked him about his last case and where he had traveled recently. She asked him about the books he was reading, and what Alex Blake was like. 

It was coffee shop small talk, and the formality of it struck her. This was Spencer. She spent almost a whole year with him, going to museums with him and introducing him to her family and holding his hand as they walked the streets of DC. But he had been right, at Quantico that day. She didn't know him, not as he was now. The man she had loved was still there, but what he had been through had changed him. There was a part of him that had been lost when Maeve died, and that was a part of him that she would never be able to reach. It belonged solely to those two. Every pun and letter and Sunday phone call was theirs and theirs alone. Except now, the burden was only his.

She wanted to reach out and hold his hand or envelop him in a hug, but she was afraid that he would break, fragile as he looked. He needed space. Instead they tiptoed around various conversation points, both feeling awkward and anxious, not sure what was allowed and what was not.

"You look thin," he remarked. The words made her cringe.

She bit her lip, glancing away. "It's just from living in Europe for so long. There was way more walking. And way less processed food."

"Garcia told me you moved back four months ago."

Oh Penelope, always digging up the truth. There had been so much stress piling up. Working overseas, figuring out finances, dealing with her family, saying goodbye to her life in The Hague. When it all felt overwhelming, she dealt with it by further draining herself. It wasn't a relapse, she figured she was still self-aware enough to know the difference, but she hadn't exactly been putting much effort into taking care of herself lately.

"I've just been really busy, that's all." She gave him a small smile, reassuring him. "I'm fine." She tried to circle back to the basics, asking him about the team. He in turn asked what had brought her back to DC.

"I was planning to go back to New York," she admitted, "but Georgetown Law offered me full-tuition."

"Law school?" he asked. "Wow. That's amazing. I guess I shouldn't be surprised after that fellowship." He paused and tightened his grip on his coffee cup. "Bianca I -  I need to apologize to you. The last time we spoke I said some horrible things and I j-"

"It's okay," she said quickly, not wanting to distress him further.

"No, it's not. It's not. Because the things I said weren't true. You deserve to know the truth." He sighed, letting his eyes wander up to the ceiling. "I lied to you that day outside your apartment. I knew about your fellowship. I saw the acceptance letter on your counter one day. I didn't mean to. But I knew that the reason you hadn't told me was because you were thinking of turning it down. And I was afraid you would say no because of me. Because things were so bad then. I mean, I was certain I was on the verge of a schizophrenic break.