Desiderium: longing for something that has been lost

chapter 9

my soul has gone deep like the rivers. -- langston hughes 

________

Las Vegas Institute for Mental Improvement

February 17, 2008

4:35 p.m.

________

Spencer had just finished his twentieth solitaire game of the day, as the two agents reentered his room. He glanced up at them and wondered why in the world these two people were so interested in him. He shuffled the cards delicately and fixated on the way the cards danced in between his fingers. 

"--encer?" He jolted, snapping out of his daze. The man (Morgan his name was Morgan.) was in front of him, a concerned look on his face. Spencer had a manic urge to laugh at him and tell him to not be concerned for him, but as usual his voice failed. He pushed himself off the ground and smiled slightly as his joints popped loudly. 

He didn't feel too bad today. His head was splitting open, and his skin was crawling from the buzzing that the light was producing but at least he could understand what was going on. For the past few days, he had used sleight of hand to lessen the amount of medicine he had taken. He braced himself on the rounded desk and frowned. With a finger he prodded Canterbury's Tales like it would bite him. He hadn't had a flashback in a while, but that of all things, had triggered one. He shivered and turned back to the agents. 

They were watching him carefully. He glanced at them, looking over at Morgan and then at the other one. (JJ, her name was JJ). His eyes landed on his bed, blanket sliding off. He frowned and made his way over to the bed, quickly pulling the blanket on straight and even. (Now maybe the vibrating under his skin would finally stop.) He slid down to the floor, legs sticking straight out in front of him. He took a deep breath, willing himself to focus on the dent on the wall across from him, that damn buzzing was irritating. He rolled his shoulders, and breathed in deeply. The buzzing suddenly pitched and he jerked, trying to ignore the sound. 

The buzzing grew and grew like an itch under his skin and he dug his fingers into his scarred arm. Unaware he began to rock softly, clawing desperately in an attempt to get the itch out. Letting out a strangled groan, he drew his legs into his chest. Suddenly, he was aware of a presence beside him, of words that were trying to filter through the haze that he was suddenly and violently thrown in. Before he spiraled further, a firm pressure appeared on his chest. He began to calm, the pressure giving him what he desperately wanted. The buzzing suddenly went quiet, and he felt the itch to go away. He let himself bask in the silence, and exhaustion of overstimulation set in. Opening his eyes, he breathed out and noticed he had been covered with a  heavy blanket. Glancing up at the two agents, he blushed and looked at the ground, rubbing the material in between his fingers. 

JJ sat down next to him, offering him his deck of cards. He grabbed it and shuffled them, soothing himself with the repetitive motion and the sounds. 

He looked back at the two, with interest. They hadn't left him alone to work through his meltdown, or worse of all aggravated him. It was intriguing, and while he wasn't ready to trust them, he felt these people were one of the first people that had actual treated him like he was a person. He took a deep breath, and focused. 

"I'm s-sorry." There he did it. He had so much more to say. And not as stuttered, of course. But he could talk, right now, that was a start. The two looked up at his stuttered words.

"What, no, don't be sorry, man." Morgan cracked a smile. "It's fine." 

He nodded wordlessly. It really wasn't fine but, he didn't have the energy to pursue that right now. "FBI?" God, this was frustrating. He had so much more to add to that.

JJ and Morgan shared a look. "Yes, we are." 

"What unit?" Ugh. Once he had full control of his speech capabilities....

They shared another furtive glance. "The BAU, the uh..."

BAU. Here, must be something big going on. He waved a hand. "B-behavioral analysis unit." Taking a breath, he shuffled his cards and tried again. "Good s-success rate." He paused, massaging his temples. "Why are you..." He trailed off and huffed angrily. 

JJ picked up on his thread. "Oh, we're here for a consultation. You happened to come across the radar of one of the recent crimes, but we have it under control. We have to check everything out all the leads, but don't worry, you should be safe."

He frowned, apparently not believing her. "What is it?"

They shared another look. He sighed. "I can't tell you that, not until I have permission to at least."

So they were keeping something from him. He frowned, and pulled at a thread in his sweater. Annoyed, he snapped it off and smoothed the now thread-loose sweater. There. He worked a finger into the sweater and traced the pattern, loosing himself in the intricate details. A tap startled him and he jumped.

"Sorry man, I was just trying to tell you that me and JJ were about to head out, ok?" He nodded, picking the cards back up again. "We'll be back tomorrow, ok?" 

He was fine with that. Maybe he could finally figure out what was going on.

He really wished they would stop talking to him like a child, though. 

________

Hotch had just settled into his bed, ready to sleep. It hadn't been a very productive day, tracing relatives of men that just simply disappeared over twenty years ago was exhausting. Glancing over at the clock he grimaced, 2:24 am. Damn, he really needed to start going to sleep earlier.

A ringing woke him out of his slumber and he cursed every form of fate. Snatching the phone up he peered at the ID through sleep-bleared eyes. Rossi. 

"Yeah, Hotchner." He laid on his back and wondered briefly what life decisions had led him to this point in his life. His ruminations were cut off short by the gruff voice on the other side.

"Hotch, we got another body." 

Well, damn.