CLANDESTINE : Spencer Reid

32

I don't think about my father's death very often. More often, I think about the consequences of it. His brain tumor, built of cells that divide too much, may have filled his head more but it emptied our lives. My siblings were sent to boarding schools. My mother stopped talking to Stéphane for a year while he fought for custody. Stéphane cried over voicemails she left him, deleting them against my advice. The anger Caro had toward Seb for wanting to stay in New Hampshire leaked onto me. I'm amazed any of us talk at all.

Now, I'm acutely aware the others on my team are field agents. I don't know all that much about their past lives, but I wonder about them while we wait together. Morgan isn't here yet, but every one else is cramped in a narrow hospital hallway. I'm not very good at profiling, but other than Reid, I'm the only one sitting down. We are next to each other. His hands are folded in his lap, his head is tilted down, and if I had only met him here, I might think Reid was praying.

They may be field agents, used to doing things like these, but so am I. I've been in hospitals before. I know how much I cannot do for Penelope. They are operating on her, somewhere deeper in the bowels of the hospital.

"You okay?" I whisper the question to Reid, staring at his red hands, clasped tightly together.

He nods. Reid looks up, turns his cheek toward me so only I can hear his voice.

It comes out like a squeak, "I'm just worried about her."

I nod my head. Hospitals aren't enjoyable. I didn't come back in time to see my father die in the hospital. When he headaches while I was still in high school, I sometimes accompanied him. Dad wouldn't let Stéphane drive, he said his hands shook too much. Stéphane couldn't hold it under pressure the way I could. So it was me, alone, in the hospital, when my father was told that he was working himself too hard, before we knew it was cancer and not stress hurting his head. Waiting was uncomfortable, but it wasn't the worst it could be.

Now waiting in hospitals in Québec, that was truly rotten.

There is nothing good to say to Reid. She's in God's hands, my mother would say, and I never found that helpful. Reid's heard more words than I think I ever will, and I know twice as many languages as him. Any book could say what I want to say but better. Instead, I reach my hand behind him and rub his back. I would take his hand if I didn't know he'd hate the touch. A cotton barrier is hopefully enough for him.

He offers me the saddest of grins.

Morgan bursts in and apologizes for not answering his phone. He was at church. The doctor gives us an update. She will probably pull through. Reid's shoulders relax under my hand, and I tuck it away. I hadn't realized how long I had stayed like that.

The team begins unofficially investigating the case. I, obviously, don't join them. Once Penelope is awake, they ask her questions. I stay overnight, texting Estelle that I won't be home and why. When they are gone, and Garcia is awake, I keep her company. We chat about gaming, computers, and anything else that isn't related to the events that brought her here. I tell her she can talk to me if she needs to do it, but I don't mean it. I doubt she'd take me up on the offer anyway. All of her bobble heads and trinkets in her office at there to distract her from the screens. I don't think she fancies having them her own memories now.

I make a good bobble-head.

Estelle comes to the hospital to meet me three, thick containers stacked on top of the other. Through the doorway I see her trying to juggle them in the hallway. I had just texted her that I'd be leaving soon since they are going to discharge Garcia. I'm exhausted from sleeping upright. Reid told me to leave twice, but I didn't want her to wake up alone, waiting for the next piece of bad news.