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If a friend of mine gave a feast, and did not invite me to it, I should not mind a bit. But if a friend of mine had a sorrow and refused to allow me to share it, I should feel it most bitterly. —Oscar Wilde
“Glad you could join us, Reid.” Hotch says as Reid walks into the conference room at the police station of the week. “But you didn’t have to cut your visit with your mom short, you could have stayed with her until your scheduled time off was over.”
“It’s not like she recognized me anyways.” Reid mummers with a tight smile. Before anyone can think about his words or ask him to repeat himself, he smoothly changes the subject. “What do you have on the unsub so far?”
Hotch takes the hint and keeps the conversation professional, briefing Reid on what they have on the case so far.
“How’s your mom doing?” Morgan asks later, as the two of them are getting ready for bed. As Reid was supposed to be taking time off, no one booked a hotel room for him, so he and Morgan are sharing.
Reid shrugs and looks away. “She is how she is.”
Morgan humms lightly in acknowledgment. “And how are you doing?”
“I’m fine.” Reid answers a little too quickly.
“You don’t have to lie to me, Pretty Boy.” Morgan says. “You know I’m here for you, right?”
Reid doesn’t say anything, just glances at Morgan before looking away again.
Morgan waits a few minutes, trying to decide if he should keep pressing, hoping Reid will take initiative and say something.
…he’s not gonna take initiative, is he?
Morgan sighs. “You’re limping. You are trying to hide it, but it’s definitely there. And you’re jumpy.”
“I’m always jumpy.” Reid scoffs. “You should know that by now.”
“No, you aren’t. You do tend to be more skittish than most people, but you usually have a pretty good handle on it. You don’t right now.”
Reid doesn’t say anything, but he knows it’s true. He’s been jumping at every little sound, tensing at every door opening, and breathing quicker every time anyone, friend or stranger got within three feet of him.
Morgan waits a few more minutes, giving Reid a chance to respond, before realizing that he needs a little bit more of a push.
“Did something happen?” Morgan asks carefully.
Reid folds his arms over his chest defensively and finally looks at Morgan, avoiding eye contact but pretending he isn’t by looking close to Morgan’s eyes. “I… it’s not a big deal, I’m fine. I will be fine.”
“You know you can talk to me, right?” Morgan says determinedly. “About anything, even if it’s not a big deal, or if you think it’s not a big deal. Whether or not it is a big deal, I can’t say, but it’s clearly affecting you.”
Reid appears to think about Morgan’s words, mulling them over as he climbs on his bed and sits against the headboard, knees drawn up to his chest. Morgan sits on the edge of his own bed, close enough to show Reid that he is there, but not so close as to crowd him.
Reid sighs and fiddles with the lower leg of his pajama pants. The pants have little cartoon TARDISs on them, the fictional spaceship decorating the cloth make Reid appear even younger than he usually does.
Finally Reid takes a deep breath and pulls up the ankle cuff of the pajama pants, revealing a bruise on his shin.
“Ouch.” Morgan winces in sympathy, leaning closer to get a better look. Reid tenses. “What happened?”
Reid forces his body to untense, trying to shrug casually. “Mom, she thought… she didn’t recognize me, thought I was a danger to her. She did what she thought she had to do to defend herself.”
“She hurt you.” Morgan is careful to keep his voice even, not betraying any emotions.
“She didn't mean to, she thought…” Reid lifts his arms and hides his face behind them and his knees, letting his pajama pants cuff fall down and cover his shin again. His voice is harder to hear from behind his limbs, and his emotions make it softer. “She didn’t mean to. She couldn’t help it. It’s not her fault. It’s the, it’s the schizophrenia, not her.”
“I never said it was her fault. But…” Morgan’s heart hurts, seeing his friend’s pain. “Her fault or not, she still hurt you. That fact that she has schizophrenia doesn’t change the fact that there is a bruise on your leg.”
“She loves me.” Reid's voice is almost desperate. He lowers his arms just enough to see Morgan, his hair almost hiding his eyes, as if looking at him will convince him everything is fine. It does the opposite, Morgan can see the pain in Reid’s eyes, in his facial expression, pain that has been building up for years and years. “She loves me. She… she never hurts me when she is lucid. She doesn’t want to hurt me.”
“I believe you.” Morgan assures him. “But that doesn’t change the fact that she hurt you. And… this isn’t the first time, is it?”
Reid hides his face again, and when he speaks, his voice is rough, a tinge of anger trying to mask his pain. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not important. It is what it is. That’s just how life is sometimes. Sometimes people get hurt. Don’t you know that?”
“It does matter.” Morgan moves closer to Reid, slowly, telegraphing his movements, as to not scare the younger man. “It does matter. Do you know why?”
Reid moves his arms so that his fingers are intertwined with each other, twisting around themselves and shakes his head.
Morgan moves from sitting on the edge of his bed to sitting on the edge of Reid's bed, sitting near enough to touch Reid, but not actually touching him. “It matters because you matter. It matters because you are important, important to me, important to the rest of the team, to your mom. None of us want to see you hurt.”
“Well what do you want me to do?!” Reid starts pinching and twisting the skin on his hands. “Am I supposed to just stop visiting her? She’s my mother!”
“Woah, woah, I never said anything like that.” Morgan takes a deep breath, hoping Reid will follow his example and calm down. “It’s a complicated situation, and you are a full grown man, it’s completely up to you if you visit her or not.”
“She’s my mom. I love her. I can’t just stop visiting her.” Reid starts digging finger nails from one hand into the soft flesh between the thumb and fingers of the other hand.
“I know. I can’t say I understand, I have no idea what it’s like to have a mom like you do.” Morgan sighs. “I’m just saying, when you are deciding if you want to visit her or not, make sure you take into account the possibility that she will hurt you. If visiting her causes you more pain than is worth it, then maybe…”
“It’s not…” Reid raises his shoulders almost to his ears. His finger nails are digging into his skin hard enough to leave red, half moon indents, but not quite hard enough to draw blood. “It’s not as bad as… as before. Before I got her committed.”
“Reid.” Morgan says gently, but firmly, looking at Reid’s hands. The younger man’s hands are marked with red marks, half moons shapes from his finger nails and red splotches from pinching and twisting the skin. “Reid, Spencer, stop. You are hurting yourself.”
Spencer either doesn’t hear him, or decides not to listen, he keeps assaulting his hands, to the point Morgan is afraid he’ll break the skin and bleed.
Seeing no other option, Derek reaches forward, slowly, telegraphing his moments, and takes Spencer’s hands into his own. He holds them gently, but firmly, making sure Spencer can’t keep hurting himself.
“Spencer? Are you ok?” Derek asks.
“Do you think I’m ok?” Spencer asks heatedly, trying half heartedly to pull his hands out of Derek’s.
Derek keeps a firm, but gentle hold on Spencer’s hands, not letting him pull them away.
After a few minutes of struggling, Spencer goes limp in defeat. His head bows, causing his hair to cover his eyes, but not before Derek sees tears start to fill his eyes.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Derek asks.
“No.” Spencer’s voice is thick with barely held back tears and his breathing is ragged.
Derek starts gently rubbing circles on the backs of Spencer’s hands, almost absentmindedly. “Are you sure?”
Spencer shakes his head and takes a shaky, shuddering breath. “I… I don’t want to talk about it. If…”
He takes another breath, this one broken by a sob. “If… if I talk, then… then what I say, what I say becomes real. I don’t want, I don’t want that. I want to pretend everything is ok, I want to pretend she has never hurt me.”
It’s as if a dam breaks by saying those words and Spencer begins to cry in earnest. Harsh, ugly sobs that make breathing difficult, each breath a violent gasp.
Derek wants to pull the younger man into a clearly needed hug, but he is afraid that if he lets go of his hands, he’ll start hurting himself again.
He holds just his hands for a few long moments, the only sound in the room coming from Spencer’s weeping.
Finally Derek decides it’s worth the risk and let’s go Spencer hands, carefully pulling him into his arms.
During the time it takes for the sobs to die down, to lessen into whimpers and then sniffles, Derek rubs comforting circles in Spener’s back.
“She hurt me.” Spencer’s voice is soft, rough from tears, it takes a moment for Derek to clearly parse his words. “She hurt me. She's my mother, she loves me and she is supposed to take care of me but she hurt me. She hurt me and I love her.”
Spencer’s tears start again, not as violent as before. “She hurt me.”
Derek holds him tighter. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve that. You don’t deserve that.”
Spencer lets out a sob and Derek can feel the other man’s hands seizing the back of his shirt, he can feel his fingernails through the thin cloth. The front of Derek’s shirt is soaked with Reid’s tears.
“I was so scared.” Spencer starts trembling. “Always scared, for years, I was afraid every single moment. Afraid of the bullies at school, afraid of mom at home, and afraid that CPS would take me away from her and put me somewhere even worse. I was terrified.”
Spencer lets out a shuddering sob. “Terrified, almost constantly. The one place I felt almost safe was in my bedroom, and that was only because I wedged a chair under my doorknob every time I went in. I wanted to buy a lock for my door, but I couldn’t explain to mom that I wanted it because I was afraid of her, afraid she would come into my room one night with a knife, suffering from a delusion that I was a threat. I couldn’t hurt her like that.”
Derek holds him tighter. He knew that Spencer's childhood was far from ideal, but he never knew just how bad it was.
“When I visit her…” Spencer shakes as he breaths brokenly. “When I step into that building, when I know I am about to see her, when I see her, that fear, that terror…”
Spencer clutches at Derek’s back, his fingernails threatening to tear the fabric of his shirt. “I was scared, I was so scared, and then, and then my fears came true. She didn’t recognize me. She thought I was a threat. And she did what she thought she had to do to defend herself.”
“I’m so sorry, Spencer.”
“I hate it.” Spencer takes a shuddering breath. “I hate it so much. Why does she have schizophrenia? Why her? I hate it so much. I wish she was healthy. I just want my mom to be healthy.”
Derek feels his own eyes getting wet at Spencer’s words. He can’t imagine what it would be like to have a sick mother, but clearly it has hurt his friend a lot.
Spencer pulls away from Derek and reaches for a box of tissues. He cleans up his face, then starts playing with a tissue, twisting it around his hands and fingers.
“It’s no use wishing she was healthy.” Spencer doesn’t look at Derek, his attention on the tissue in his hands that he is now tearing into little pieces. “Even if a cure were discovered today, it wouldn’t undo anything that has already happened.”
“Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if she was healthy, but…” Spencer lets out a long, deep sigh. “I don’t know. Growing up like that, it shaped me into who I am. If my childhood had been different, I’d probably be a completely different person. As messed up as it was, sometimes I’m thankful for it, it taught me so much. Painful lessons, sure, but lessons all the same.”
“I think I understand what you mean.” Morgan speaks, his voice soft to match Spencer’s. Sometimes he wonders what his life would be like now if his childhood had gone differently, if his dad didn’t die, if…
Spencer looks up at him and quirks his mouth almost into a half smile. “Yeah…”
The tissue in Spencer’s hands has been turned into dust, so he starts picking at the skin of his hands instead, pinching and twisting and digging his nails in. He tries halfheartedly to angle his hands away from Derek, hiding the harm, but Derek sees.
Derek gives him a warning glance, looking pointedly at his hands, but Spencer doesn’t stop, instead makes a better attempt to hide them.
Derek reaches out, slowly enough to give Spencer ample warning, and takes his hands again.
Again, Spencer struggles a bit before going limp in defeat.
Spencer takes a few shaky breaths. “I’ve… I’ve never talked about this stuff before.”
“You couldn’t when you were a kid, you were afraid of CPS.” Derek guesses.
Spencer nods. “It became a habit, I suppose, to never say anything. And later, I was afraid of what people would think.”
“You didn’t tell us anything about your mom for as long as you could.” Morgan remembers.
“I’m not sure I like speaking about this. It feels…” Spencer’s hands twitch in Derek’s, and he tries to pull them away. Derek lets him. “I’m not really sure what this feeling is, but I don’t like it.” Spencer looks away and starts twisting his fingers again.
“It can certainly be uncomfortable speaking about this sort of stuff.” Derek says. “But that doesn’t mean it’s bad, it’s like cleaning wounds, painful, but necessary for healing.”
Spencer starts digging his fingernails into his skin again, Derek takes his hands again. “Why do you keep hurting yourself?”
Spencer looks away. “I don't know.”
“Do you do that often?” Derek asks. He can’t help but think about the times Spencer has kept his hands covered with his sleeves, and times he excused various marks on his hands as the result of clumsiness.
“I…” Spencer shrugs, and tries again to pull his hands away from Derek’s. Derek keeps a firm, but gentle grip on them. “It’s not, I don’t, I don’t do anything really bad. I’m not suicidal, just…”
“Just because it’s not really bad, doesn’t mean it’s ok.” Derek gently brushes his thumbs over some of the red marks on his friend’s hands. “It’s not healthy, I know you know that.”
“I don’t even draw blood, not on purpose at least. I…” Spencer flexes and unflexes his hands. “I’ve been tempted. After some… incidents with mom, I had to hide all the kitchen knives away from her. I decided that my room was the best place to hide them, and…”
“I was tempted, but I didn’t, I didn’t use them. Not much at least.”
“Kid…” Derek sighs. “That’s not healthy.”
“I know. I know, I just…” Spencer lets out a rough sigh. “I don’t know, I just…”
“Just what?” Derek asks patiently.
Spencer sighs again and wriggles into a different sitting position. It’s not easy to do with his hands trapped by Derek.
“When…” Spencer looks away. “When she kicked me yesterday, I… I didn’t want to believe that happened. I was already, already scared. She was yelling at me, saying that I wasn’t her son, and I wanted to, to get away, you know?”
“Get away, like leave the room?” Derek asks with a hint of a frown.
“Yeah. But no.” Spencer adjusts his sitting position again. ”Yeah, I wanted to leave the room, but she was between me and the door. So I…”
“Went out the window?” Derek knows that’s not what Spencer is trying to say.
“I…” Spencer shakes his head and tries again to pull his hands away. “I sometimes…”
Spencer takes a deep breath. “Sometimes I hide away, in my head.”
“Dissociation.” Morgan confirms.
Spencer nods his head, then shakes it. “I guess. I… I don’t, I’ve never completely left reality, but I often go part way, just far enough that, that it doesn’t hurt so bad.”
Morgan frowns. “How often do you do that?”
“Not often. Not…” Spencer tried again to pull his hands away from Derek, a little bit more desperately this time. “I don’t, I don’t do it as often anymore, not like before I got Mom committed. Back then, I…”
Spencer tries to hide behind his arms, resting his face on his knees, an action made difficult by Derek’s hold on his hands. His voice is somewhat muffled when he speaks. “Back then, I spent a lot of time in a haze, often days at a time. When I was like that, I couldn’t feel anything, anything at all. Couldn’t feel anything, anything except pain.”
“You hurt yourself to feel something.”
Spencer lifts his head and nods. Derek can see a wet spot on the fabric of his pajama pants knee, a spot in the shape of Spencer's mouth. “To feel, yes. And to, to help bring me back to reality, get out of the haze for a few minutes.”
“Did you just bite your knee?” Derek asks in shock.
Spencer looks vaguely surprised that Derek noticed and makes a half-hearted attempt to hide the knee with the wet spot behind his arms and other knee.
“Kid… Why?” Derek sighs, at a loss for what to do. He thinks about what Spencer just said and frowns. “Are you dissociating right now?”
Spencer shrugs. “I’m… I’m here, just not completely.”
“You’ve been dissociating the whole time we’ve been talking, haven’t you?” Derek realizes. “That’s why you keep trying to hurt yourself.”
Spencer nods.
“Did this start when we started talking, or before?”
“Before.”
“How long before? You were a little bit off at the station earlier, were you dissociating then?”
Spencer nods again.
Derek frowns. “Did it start at the station, or before?”
“Before.” Spencer tried pulling his hands away again. “When, when mom was yelling at me.”
“That long?” Derek feels ice down his back. “You traveled all the way from Las Vegas to here, while dissociating? Do you have any idea how dangerous that is!? What if something happened to you??”
“Nothing happened, I’m fine. It’s not like I was fully dissociated, just in a haze, and it’s not like I was driving or anything dangerous like that, I took a taxi and a plane. It’s not a big deal.”
“It is a big deal, Kid. What if something happened to you?”
“Nothing happened, and I’m not a kid!” Spencer raises his voice and yanks his hands away from Derek’s grip, the suddenness of the moment overwhelming Derek’s almost lax grip. “I’m not a kid! I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time. Kids don’t do that. Kids aren’t supposed to do that.”
“Alright, alright. I won’t call you that.”
Spencer slumps against the headboard of the bed, as if that outburst took all his energy. He puts his head in his hands, his hands tugging lightly at his hair. “I don’t. I don’t really hate it when you call me that, not always. Sometimes it’s nice to be considered a kid. I just… sometimes it really bothers me. Sometimes I feel like I was never even a kid, I grew up too fast, and then it hurts when you call me that.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s ok. It doesn't matter.”
“It does matter, Pretty Boy. You matter. And I’m going to keep telling you that until I get it through that thick skull of yours, even if that means I have to tell you every day for the rest of your life. Alright?”
Spencer doesn’t say anything, just tugs on his hair harder.
“Spencer.” Morgan reaches for his hands again with a sigh. “You have to stop hurting yourself.”
Spencer shakes in Derek’s grip. “I can’t. I don’t know how.”
Derek pulls him into a firm hug. “We can figure it out together. You aren’t alone. You aren’t a kid hiding in his bedroom with a chair wedged in front of the door, not anymore.”
“Not anymore.” Spencer echos as he leans into Derek. “Not alone anymore.”