#i am rotating penelope in my brain. she. her. i love--

[camellia-thea]

quietly chanting: i will not start another writing piece until i have finished the current one, i will not start another writing piece until i have finished the current one, i will not-----

[tracybirds]

Earthbound (1/?)

OKay trying a new thing where I don’t wholly know where this will end up but I’m excited for the journey????

It’s gonna focus on John and Alan uh... taking a holiday let’s call it that and then we’ll see what happens.... many thanks to @gumnut-logic who has already patiently fielded my very many questions about plotting and ideas and how the heck pacing works and calmed my farm as it were xDD I hope you enjoy!

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The sun sank below the horizon and like clockwork, John Tracy put himself to bed. His movements were slow and awkward and he didn’t look anyone in the eye as he left, walking away without a second glance. The sight is unnatural for all of them and they uncomfortably talk around his absence, twenty feet suddenly a much harder distance to cross than twenty thousand miles.

Scott had been trying to press him for several days, in equal parts hoping to find his brother and International Rescue’s space monitor. John’s eyes shuttered off whenever he tried, and Alan kept quiet as he watched the way John’s hands reached out to ground himself when Scott blithely asked him how much longer it would be. It had been a month and not once had John asked to return to his home, wouldn’t even look up in the sky to acknowledge her presence.

None of them seemed know what to do with their shell of a brother.

“He doesn’t want to be there, Scott,” Virgil finally said. “Surely you can see that.”

“What do you want me to do about it? We need him.”

“We need him for more than just Thunderbird Five and you know it,” said Virgil sharply. “You refusing to acknowledge that is not helping.”

“You know he’s been sleeping in my room, right?” demanded Scott. “He’s got separation anxiety like a three year old.”

“He doesn’t look at the stars anymore,” said Alan, in a quiet voice.

“What?”

“The stars. He won’t look at them. It’s why he won’t sleep in his bed either.”

“There’s more wrong with him that just some stars Alan,” scoffed Scott and so Alan turned away and watched as the blue hour of dusk faded into the true night. It didn’t matter what Scott thought, he knew his brother. He needed a plan.

---

“Thunderbird Five calling in the Astronaut, come in please.”

Alan looked over at the comm and rolled his eyes fondly. “Hey Gordon, what’s happening?”

“Literally nothing, I’m so bored,” his brother whined. “How does John do this all the time? The end of the week can’t come soon enough.”

Alan laughed. Gordon had put off his rotation on Thunderbird Five for as long as possible, evidently hoping John would be back in space before anyone had a chance to realise he had gotten out of monitoring duty again. His brother wasn’t built for microgravity and eighty-seven step procedures, his body driven by adrenaline and instinct in a way that could kill in space.

“You could have taken on cleaning duty dirt-side, I’d have swapped.”

“Nah Allie,” said Gordon, who was now floating haplessly upside down. “You should be down there with him.”

Alan shrugged. “It’s not like I’m doing any good right now.”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short,” said Gordon. “You’ve spent more time in space than the rest of us, you know how messed up things can get.”

“Scott thinks he’s just scared to leave us behind.”

“Yeah, well full offense to Scott, but he doesn’t actually know what he’s talking about.” Gordon’s face reappeared, much too close to the projection scanners. “Trust me Alan, it’s all bluster with him. John was out there for hours, that’s gotta do something to the psyche. See it all the time when I take people diving.”

“You do?”

“Yep,” he said, popping the ‘p’. “It’s all that emptiness, people freak out when they get a glimpse at how huge open waters actually are. It’s like infinity, you think about it for too long and your brain will start to melt.”

Alan didn’t say anything, only nodded.

Gordon watched him carefully. “You want my advice?”

“Can I say no?”

“Rude,” he said, scowling at him briefly. “Go with your gut. You’ve got good instincts on this one, I know you do.”

Alan smiled half-heartedly. “Thanks Gordo.”

“Wait, wait,” said Gordon hurriedly. “Before you go, can you tell me how to turn the gravity back on?”

“Just ask EOS.”

“She won’t do it,” said Gordon unhappily. “She says I need to solve her puzzles first.”

Alan shrugged. “So do it, they’re not hard.”

“They’re simultaneous equations, that’s her puzzles.”

“I know,” said Alan with a grin. “Insulting how stupid she thinks we are, isn’t it?”

“Alan, I can’t do them, Alan, they have four variables, Alan wait!”

Alan was laughing as he waved goodbye cheerfully, leaving Gordon to his fate. He looked up at the quiet knock at his door that occurred just as the glow of the hologram died.

“Come in,” he called.

He frowned when there was no response, only a rattling of the door handle as though the person on the other side couldn’t quite get a grip. He got up from the rug that was lying on the floor and pulled the door open only to leap back with a start when John stumbled into the room. His eyes were only half open and his hand trailed on the wall beside him.

Alan sighed. John sleepwalking had become a regular occurrence over the last few weeks as he sought out safety and comfort in the long night. Scott was right that John had been sleeping in his room but more often than not he didn’t stay there, usually wandering from room to room as though his subconscious needed to check everyone was where they were meant to be. John flopped down onto Alan’s bed, drawing his legs up so that they didn’t hang comically over the end.

“Hey, John?” he called softly, not wanting to wake him fully. “Whatcha doing?”

“Shhhh,” mumbled John. “I’m sleeping.”

“You don’t want to do that in your own bed?”

“Nope,” he said, reaching out a hand and tugging one of the pillows close to his chest.

“Why not?”

John didn’t answer him, merely rolling over so that he was pressing himself against the wall.

Alan watched him for a second and clambered onto the bed. He didn’t want to touch John, fearful of what might happen if he woke him on accident, so he curled up beside his brother, staring up through the blinds at the sliver of night sky he could see.

“Don’t let me be alone, Allie,” John said suddenly. He rolled over again to face Alan and his hand fell between them, palm up. He was still asleep.

“I won’t, John,” came Alan’s whispered promise. He squeezed his brother’s hand. “We’ll do this together.”

---

Alan dragged a chair over to the desk where Scott was working and dropped into it with a loud sigh.

Scott ignored him and he swung his legs for a moment, waiting for his presence to be acknowledged. Alan sighed again, louder this time and more insistent. When this too received no response, he started to kick his legs against the table, hoping to jolt Scott out of his concentration or failing that, annoy him into speaking.

“What?” growled Scott, and Alan smiled at his success.

“I want a break,” he announced.

Scott groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Wouldn’t we all, Allie?” he asked, looking over at Alan. “Tell me more about this break.”

“I want a week,” Alan said quickly. “One week where I take John and get him out of your hair and off the island.”

Scott shook his head. “No way. After what happened, I’m not sure I want to see him leave this house ever again.”

“Him staying here isn’t keeping him safe, it’s just making things worse.”

“I know what he needs,”

“No you don’t,” interrupted Alan, flinging his hands in the air. “Scott you don’t. I am telling you, he needs to be able to leave, he needs to know that we don’t care if he never goes up in TB5 again, because he is our brother.”

“Of course I care about more than just him piloting Five,” snapped Scott. “Come on Allie, of course I do. But he loves it so much, I don’t understand why he doesn’t want to go back.”

“He still does, Scott,” said Alan earnestly. “Probably more than any of us know. But he’s not going to make it back if he doesn’t have time to process. I can help him with that and if we go away I know I can get through to him. Let me try.”

Scott grumbled under his breath for a moment, flicking through the schedules he’d made for the next few weeks.

“You have until next Thursday,” he said at last. “I need you back here by then, Lady Penelope wants us to go to a thing.”

“You’ve got it,” said Alan. “And you can’t be trying to get in contact every hour either.”

“Fine.”

“I’m serious, Scott. He doesn’t need you to babysit him. I know you feel guilty about…”

“No you don’t,” interrupted Scott. “You can’t possibly imagine and I don’t want you to either.”

Alan hesitated. Scott looked devastated, had been pushing them all away in his attempt to escape the past. But he knew Scott wouldn’t tolerate his prying, knew he still wanted to protect his youngest brother from the bile-soaked anxieties that plagued him. He would just have to shoulder-tap Virgil before leaving the island.

They both looked up as the door opened and John wandered in, feet bare on the floor and edging around the side of the room to reach the balcony outside.

“You want to break the news to him, or shall I?” asked Scott finally.

[Read Part 2]

[darkestwolfx]

City Under the Sea - Re-Review #30

Some holiday this is! Here is a happy little family, doing your standard underwater holiday in a rented sub, fighting over ipads and whatnot, and not really knowing what they’re doing because they’re tourists! That’s a bit of an assumption on tourists - sorry, many tourists are quite wise - and not my everyday thought on tourists... this family however, definitely fit that mold.

Can I just ask though, 1. does anyone else find the logo on the rental sub hilarious? And 2. does anyone else get reminded of that fish from ‘Shark Tale’ (2005) that looked a little bit like that I think? Anyone, or is that just me?

Oh look, a big red exclamation mark! Now, I’m not an expert, but when that symbol appears on my car dashboard, the manual says to stop driving immediately. And look, it’s even got a little amber circle! Should so stop driving... piloting... whatever method driving a sub is actually called. I can’t think whist I’m trying to watch comic Gordon moments.

But yeah... point being, they drive on for a while first... foolish. Just saying.

Have they not taught this girl that pointing is rude? Eye spy is such a traditional stuck on the motorway care game as well. Playing it in the Amazon when you are not from there - just to say - definitely leaves an unfair advantage. I think that is the only time I have ever lost so bad at eye spy (and I mean, really, how do you even really lose eye spy?).

Don’t worry! International Rescue are on the way! Because, you have made it onto Thunderbirds are go, so there can’t be fear of you dying. That doesn’t happen here, folks. This is an escape from the real world (much needed right now as I’m sure we all know... which reminds me, I need to finish writing some irrelief2020 prompts... sorry, off track). Let’s move on to talk about Gordon.

You know, I really don’t know what Lady P sees in him... he’s such a... slob? I mean, maybe that is why he and Parker don’t get along so well.

“Aren’t you going to pick this up?”

“Of course I was! You don’t think a responsible member of International Rescue would leave trash lying around do you? Who do you think I am?”

“A slob comes to mind.”

Yeah, thanks for agreeing with me, Kayo. That makes me feel better about (not) insulting Gordon myself.

“Wow.”

“Go ahead. Just say it.”

“Gordon Tracy, you are a secret slob.”

“Oh, the wrappers? What can I say? Scott’s always at me about my room. This is my own personal domain.”

It’s also a rescue sub... but hey, who looks at whether there’s rubbish on the floor of the International Rescue sub when they’re being rescued? Really, what does it matter in the long run when he’s going to save their lives?

This city looks so so freaky. Whenever they were driving through it I was just like... shivers. Bay City must have been a greeeaaat place to live. I bet Lady Penelope has great memories of the Creighton-Ward building.

“Just follow my lead, Parker. I spent many a summer playing hide and seek in these walls.”

“Bit different with ha giant crab ship nipping hat your ‘eels.”

“Don’t worry, Parker. I always won.”

Oh...kay. She actually does!

“But the monster!”

“That’s not a monster. It’s the mechanic.”

You know, I think they’re two very similar things at the moment. Considering at  this point we knew very, very little about The Mechanic, i think it was perfectly reasonable to think such. After all, he doesn’t really speak, and he attacks people and he has a bit of a temper, and he’s quite obviously... well, the bad guy.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4-TbQnONe_w

You know, that’s just in case anyone wants to start a post on character theme songs within the 21st century, specifically 2020 - you know, I think that would actually be a great way to take our minds off of everything... please someone do that for me!

This guy really does have some serious tech, and the worst part is probably that he knows so well how to use it. He uses it like an extension to his own body (principles of martial arts here, guys, a skill worth having let me tell you) and acts like he’s completely in sync with it. Really it’s like he lives and breathes with those meccas. And that ship looks unsettlingly like a crab... don’t blame me if I make sure to look at them twice in the future You know. Just to be sure.

“But you don’t even know how to operate Thunderbird Four... Don’t scratch it! And be careful! Ah, Brains is gonna’ kill me. Woah! I didn’t even know it could do that!”

Um... you were saying, Gordon?

And, actually, I think it will be Scott who kills you before Brains when he sees the state of Thunderbird Four’s interior. After all, if he’s that fussy over Gordon’s room, he’s going to be a tyrant over anything IR related.

“Don’t worry, Brains can get mad at you for something else.”

I can imagine there’s quite a list.

“Unbelievable.”

Thunderbird Four is not Thunderbird Shadow... Please remember that for Gordon’s sake, Kayo. Although, maybe in her hands it is a little more like Shadow. Definitely appeared so.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

“FAB. I’ll come up with some other way.”

You can bet she will.

Anyhow, back to the subject, I think Gordon does enough damage to Thunderbird Four without needing anyone to help him, so lets just discount this whole sea chase of Kayo’s.

But let’s so so not because it was awesome! I mean, as much as Gordon would love to claim that no one else can pilot Four, I don’t think Kayo (or Scott for that matter) do a bad job at all. I mean, she managed to give the Mechanic a run for his money and he’s a nasty character, so I think that really does mean something.

“You three get to the crash site.”

“Wait, you three? Underwater rescue is my thing.”

“But sneaking up on bad guys is her thing.”

“You have a point there.”

And that’s Virgil’s point proven I think.

Sherbet looking at the fish! I mean, I suppose that’s to be expected as it’s not natural for a dog to be quite that far underwater.

Hell, Parker really does have good driving skills. If I could drive half as well as he can through an old abandoned building which if half-decaying and underwater then I would be incredibly impressed. My best skill level is being able to park perfectly in one go like once a week every week most. You know what, I think I might just employ Parker for myself. Anyone have his contact number?

That past of Parker’s really does make a difference! The Mechanic’s face was such a sight to see. He got away - of course he did, he’s obviously the new series main villain and connected to some big plot twist with The Hood, so we couldn’t kill him off yet, that would just be a really bad use of an interesting (though slightly chill-provoking) character. Besides, I think he’s pretty hard to kill, but Parker gave it a pretty good go, so he’ll have to have a medal for trying and count that as good enough. Honestly, The Mechanic seems indestructible, much like another family we know... Yeah, that combination is going to go down swimmingly when they meet. It will be like two rhinos butting heads. Although we do have to wait a while for that, so let’s get back on subject.

“This won’t be the last time The Mechanic tries to get The Hood out of prison. The GDF needs to be on their guard.”

“Where The Mechanic and The Hood are concerned, everyone should be on their guard.”

Well said Lady P.

“Have time to make that Dad a hero?”

Oh yeah, and back on the subject, the final note is: what a great holiday that was. Real holiday of a lifetime.... Hooray for the happy family who got to see Thunderbird Four in action to rescue them from the very, very, terrible bad guy. Who are shaken up, but will probably be okay and oh there we go! Magically okay because they get to ride in Thunderbird Two, all the way to Antartica to see the Penguins!

So, I’m not sure it really works like that - ‘curing’ PTSD and shock I mean... but I do agree that Penguins can make everything feel better. They hug, brilliant creatures that they are.

Anyone want to know a fact? I’m sharing it with you because it’s my work-based knowledge - when penguins huddle together, they keep moving (waddling) whilst they huddle so that eventually the penguins on the outside of the group end up on the inside and so on. They’re so smart that they can realise the penguins on the outside of the huddle will get cold unless they rotate and they’re smart enough to realise that if they keep rotating, the penguins from the inside who then go on the outside, will be warm enough by that point (from being on the inside) that they won’t get cold because of how quickly they can keep waddling around each other. It’s absolutely brilliant. If you get the chance, definitely meet penguins.

P.S. You can thank me later for the penguins

[totalfanfreak]

One Day It Will Be Okay Again

One Day It will be Okay Again:

[This is my take to the reader’s reaction as Spencer’s S.O. in the events of 12x13.]

“We are all the pieces of what we remember. We hold in ourselves the hopes and fears of those who love us. As long as there is love and memory, there is no true loss.”  ― Cassandra Clare

You were nervous, sadly, you were always nervous around Spencer’s mom. The first time was because you didn’t know how she would react to you dating her only son, that you wouldn’t be good enough for him. But in some bizarre fate you passed that test. Now you were afraid of how she would react just to seeing you. She had been losing her recognition of the one person she treasured in this world, losing periods of time, losing herself, and you knew there were going to be times she would have no idea who you were. But having moved in a few months prior you didn’t really have anywhere else to go, though you had offered looking for another place. Spencer’s eyes had widened, that deer in headlights look that always crumbled you. He wanted you there, not to help with his mom, but to ease him. He wanted someone to fall into, and he wanted it to be you. Leaning for moral support and handing over complete trust like that, how could you say no?

Mrs. Reid was having a good day today, which was a relief with Spencer still gone; she had been flipping through the scrapbook Spencer had sent for while you began lunch. You glanced at the clock and you knew Mrs. Campbell would be here soon.

“Would you like some tea before lunch, Mrs. Reid?”

The woman looked up at you and blinked over her glasses. For that second you feared her brain had gone blank before she smiled.

“I told you to call me Diana dear, Mrs. Reid was a different lifetime altogether.”

You smiled back. “I’m sorry. Would you like some tea though, Diana, I thought it’d be nice to have some before lunch. I always enjoy sipping something warm while reading.”

“Tea would be lovely, as long as it’s not that putrid green kind.”

You laughed, no, Spencer hated it as well. Saying it was something akin to dried weeds soaked in a urinal. But he had been drinking a lot of tea, coffee dwindling, as he heard some kinds would help improve memory. Something to do with hindering enzymes, long words that you would never be able to pronounce but would awe you spilling from Spencer’s lips.

“Black tea all around then.”

Making the tea, you slipped one of the little vials Spencer showed you before his trip. You had seen them before and scared he was using some kind of drug approached him about it.

“It’s a holistic compound, I-I have been talking to a doctor in Texas, she says it should help slow the process of the brain deterioration.”

So it had been left to you, fearing Mrs. Campbell wouldn’t take to the idea of an unlicensed medication. Letting two of the little droplets sink into the tea, you added the lemon juice and agave that you knew she liked, clinking your glasses together she smiled before her concentration went back to the book. You had no idea what it would feel like, wanting to keep the scraps of yourself together, clutching in the dark for something you weren’t sure of. You let her continue, hoping she could keep in place what she was trying to hold. Spencer had put in a whole new diet for his mom, slowly adopting it himself. He was timid at first wondering if you would dislike the new foods, only making you snort in laughter telling him you had been wanting him to try them for a while.

Since olive oil had been put on the list of brain foods you thought you’d make some flatbread with a nice pesto. The nuts in it would give an extra boost of omega-threes, prepping the dough you tried to figure out what kind of protein to put on it. You knew that woman was tired of fish; honestly you were surprised she hadn’t grown gills yet from how many meals rotated around it.

“Do you need any help?”

Startled, you jumped at the voice. “Oh, no, that’s all right Diana.”

She looked at the dough in your hands before her gaze went back to you. “Are you sure? I’m actually pretty good at it, at one time in my life I aspired to being a French pastry chef.”

Your hands ceased movement, a brow raised in curiosity. “Really?”

She chuckled. “Yes. I was still an undergrad, and we had begun delving into classic French plays – some being of Molière. Well, let’s say I was smitten with the humor and culture.”

“You thought about moving to France?”

At this point Diana had washed her hands, drying them enough to coat them in flour as you cut the ball of dough in half and gave it to her. You watched, transfixed, as her hands expertly kneaded the dough enough to begin flattening.

“Absolutely, the slow paced lifestyle, the landscapes and history, not to mention the food; I wanted nothing more than to walk along the Rhine, sipping a coffee as I watched young artists flourish.”

You wondered how Spencer would be if he had grown up in another country. You almost giggled at the thought of his curls being covered by a beret, a pencil mustache that he’d twiddle as he talked about existentialism. But then again, perhaps his youth would have been better, you weren’t sure but the calm demeanor there, maybe the children would have regarded his mind better.

“It sounds wonderful.”

Diana smiled wistfully, shaping the dough down. “It would’ve been, but I don’t regret my life. After all I wouldn’t have my baby boy if I had left. Do you ever wish to travel?”

You shrugged a shoulder. “I’ve always wanted to see Italy.”

She gave an ardent smile. “Oh, to be in the land of Dante Alighieri and Villani, but then again though I am sure the cuisine is outstanding the Italian wouldn’t have religieuse.”

“What are those?”

“Oh, honey, they are the best pastry dessert you could have.”

It had been a nice lunch, more than nice being given insight in Diana’s life. Though you knew her mind, like her son’s, far outreached yours in contemplation you were both very similar. Having wanting the same goals at your age. After cleaning up, she had went to take a rest as Mrs. Campbell arrived, and you were about to catch up on the laundry and read the paper when your cell buzzed on one of the end tables. Seeing it was Penelope you put on your best secretary voice.

“Hello, this is Y/N. How may I help you?”

But the chirpy voice you were used to, wasn’t there, instead it was very desolate. “Y/N…It’s about Spencer.”

Oh, God, you knew it, he was a day late, and he was never late. He always called if the plane was delayed, hell, he called anyway and you hadn’t heard from him since yesterday afternoon. “What happened? Is he okay? What’s wrong?”

“Calm down, sweetie, I know you’re scared – he’s, well he’s in jail.”

“What! Why is he in jail?”

“He was picked up in Mexico, apparently the car he was in had drugs in it. The police think he might be a drug mule.”

“That’s insane, Spencer Reid would have to be on drugs to be around drugs. They have the wrong guy; did they even look at his papers? They got to know who he is. Spencer’s in Houston so I don’t get how –“

“That’s the thing, a lot of it really, he didn’t have the proper credentials on him, he had a personal passport instead of his work one, which they found in the car he supposedly stole –“

“Are you kidding me?”

This was ridiculous, it was a fucking farce really, Spencer Reid stealing cars, distributing drugs, it was insane.

“No, jellybean, I’m not, they’re doing blood work right now, but from the mugshots I have…he looks high as a kite, Y/N.”

There was no humor in her voice, and you knew she felt as numb as you. “Mrs. Campbell’s here, I’m on my way down there.”

“There’s nothing you can do honey, Emily, Rossi, and Alvez are on their way down there to him as we speak.”

“I don’t care! I can wait with them, they have to let me see him.”

“I’m afraid they won’t let you honey.”

Your chest was shrinking and you felt tears clog your throat. “He’ll at least know I’m there. You said he’s high, someone slipped it to him, and he’s probably scared and cold, probably out of his mind with worry. I can’t let him be alone, Penelope.”

“Come down here, you can sit with us and I’ll keep you updated, Spencer is getting help and he’ll be back home before you know it. But I don’t want you to be alone right now.”

You covered your mouth so the muffled sobs wouldn’t echo, you could not let Diana hear you. You could not shatter her and let her think something was wrong.

“Y/N?”

“I’m sorry, I – what the hell’s happened? I don’t understand, he said he was going to Houston to get more medicine for his mom, I don’t get how or freakin’ why he was in Mexico.”

“Medicine?”

You caught the perked interest in her voice. “Yeah.”

“Honey, come down here, it’ll be good to tell us about that, it could help with the case, and just, please, don’t be alone right now, I know with Mrs. Reid –“

“No, I understand, I don’t want her to see me like this either. She’s sleeping right now, so I’ll slip out. Thank you, Penelope.”

“You’re family, you don’t have to thank me. Not until we get our baby genius back.”

You walked out of the elevator into the surprisingly empty bullpen, and without realizing headed to Spencer’s desk. You looked at the picture he had of you, it was of you sleeping, and though you saw it as unattractive, he stated it was one of his favorites. Seeing you so calm and the small smile as you slept, it brought him comfort.

“Hey, Y/N.”

Turning you saw JJ, her eyes probably as red as your own. You jumped from the desk and pelted yourself in her arms feeling her squeeze you tight.

“It’s going to be okay.”

You were about to lose it again as tears glazed your eyes over. “I know. It has to be. It’s just unreal. This isn’t Spencer. Something happened down in Houston, someone’s dong this to him.”

“We’re doing everything we can, the team touched down a few minutes ago. But right now, let’s talk, we’ll get something to drink and you can tell me about this medicine Garcia mentioned.”

There wasn’t much to tell, Spencer had shown you the weird vials after hearing his socks clank together when you put away his laundry. He said it was an organic compound of different herbs though he wasn’t too sure what was all in it. Something, you added, was uncharacteristic of him. But he was so hopeful it would help his mom that maybe it didn’t matter. You told JJ about the doctor, going to the laptop in the meeting room and pulling up her article. JJ hugged you again calling Emily about the woman.

Though it was hours, it felt like minutes when you were told the doctor had been found stabbed – and that the Mexican police were pinning it on Spencer. Spencer Reid a murderer? It was the most ludicrous thought imaginable. Spencer couldn’t even kill the mouse that had invaded his apartment, instead having to cage it and driving half an hour out of the city to release it in the woods. You had wanted to mention so bad that it was probably owl food by now.

Maybe this was how Diana felt, trying to pull the memories out of the air and hold them to you. Trying to keep the good with you, cherishing the moments of happiness the best you could.

“The international response team is in, he’s going to be extradited, Y/N.”

The grin on JJ’s face told you it was nearly over. “He’s on his way back?”

“Yeah, he is. He’s on his way home.”

You felt yourself being pulled into her arms, though you still felt numb from everything. What you were filled in on, it didn’t explain anything, Spencer had been chasing someone down who was a suspect in the murder. But they hadn’t recovered the murder weapon, there was no ID of the suspect. Not to mention why the doctor wanted him in Mexico, why he was targeted, and overall what was going to happen. What would happen? Letting yourself fall away, the day’s events exhausted you and you let it hold on as you watched night fall, the streetlights illuminating and it surprised you how quickly they dimmed the sun rising in the sky.

“Hey.”

gif by emreturkmen

The voice stirred you. Your eyes burning from lack of sleep, and blinking. He looked awful, but in that moment he also looked perfect, here, back with you. Steadying yourself you propelled to him, yet his arms remained clasped in front of him.

“It’s a safety precaution.”

Pulling the FBI vest away you saw him handcuffed.

“Oh, Spencer.”

“Y/N –“

You didn’t give him a chance to talk, fumbling under his linked arms until they were locked around you, his chest nestled to your cheek.

“God, you need a shower love.”

He choked out a laugh at that. His arms embracing you the best he could.

You looked up to his haggard face, his eyes hazy and full of worry. Letting your palm caress him, you felt the scruff that had formed graze your skin.

“It’ll be okay, no matter what, Spencer Reid. It’ll be okay.”

And it would be.

[imaginingcriminalminds]

One Day It will be Okay Again (S12 spoilers ahoy!!)

Title: One Day it will be Okay Again

Author: totalfanfreak Rating: T Prompt/Summary: [This is my take to the reader’s reaction as Spencer’s S.O. in the events of 12x13.] Main Character(s): Diana Reid, Reader, Reid

Trigger Warning: drug mentions Word Count: 2010 Beta/Editor: Me Multishot: Nope Author’s Notes: Meh Morgan arc spoilers?: Naw

[This is my take to the reader’s reaction as Spencer’s S.O. in the events of 12x13.]

“We are all the pieces of what we remember. We hold in ourselves the hopes and fears of those who love us. As long as there is love and memory, there is no true loss.”  ― Cassandra Clare

You were nervous, sadly, you were always nervous around Spencer’s mom. The first time was because you didn’t know how she would react to you dating her only son, that you wouldn’t be good enough for him. But in some bizarre fate you passed that test. Now you were afraid of how she would react just to seeing you. She had been losing her recognition of the one person she treasured in this world, losing periods of time, losing herself, and you knew there were going to be times she would have no idea who you were. But having moved in a few months prior you didn’t really have anywhere else to go, though you had offered looking for another place. Spencer’s eyes had widened, that deer in headlights look that always crumbled you. He wanted you there, not to help with his mom, but to ease him. He wanted someone to fall into, and he wanted it to be you. Leaning for moral support and handing over complete trust like that, how could you say no?

Mrs. Reid was having a good day today, which was a relief with Spencer still gone; she had been flipping through the scrapbook Spencer had sent for while you began lunch. You glanced at the clock and you knew Mrs. Campbell would be here soon.

“Would you like some tea before lunch, Mrs. Reid?”

The woman looked up at you and blinked over her glasses. For that second you feared her brain had gone blank before she smiled.

“I told you to call me Diana dead, Mrs. Reid was a different lifetime altogether.”

You smiled back. “I’m sorry. Would you like some tea though, Diana, I thought it’d be nice to have some before lunch. And I always enjoy sipping something warm while reading.”

“Tea would be lovely, as long as it’s not that putrid green kind.”

You laughed, no, Spencer hated it as well. Saying it was something akin to dried weeds soaked in a urinal. But he had been drinking a lot of tea, coffee dwindling, as he heard some teas would help improve memory. Something to do with hindering enzymes, long words that you would never be able to pronounce but awed you spilling from Spencer’s lips.

“Black tea all around then.”

Making the tea, you slipped one of the little vials Spencer showed you before his trip. You had seen them before and scared he was using some kind of drug approached him about it.

“It’s a holistic compound, I-I have been talking to a doctor in Texas, she says it should help slow the process of the brain deterioration.”

So it had been left to you, fearing Mrs. Campbell wouldn’t take to the idea of an unlicensed medication. Letting two of the little droplets sink into the tea, you added the lemon juice and agave that you knew she liked, clinking your glasses together she smiled before her concentration went back to the book. You had no idea what it would feel like, wanting to keep the scraps of yourself together, clutching in the dark for something you weren’t sure of. You let her continue, hoping she could keep in place what she was trying to hold. Spencer had put in a whole new diet for his mom, slowly adopting it himself. He was timid at first wondering if you would dislike the new foods, only making you snort in laughter telling him you had been wanting him to try them for a while.

Since olive oil had been put on the list of brain foods you thought you’d make some flatbread with a nice pesto. The nuts in it would give an extra boost of omega-threes, prepping the dough you tried to figure out what kind of protein to put on it. You knew that woman was tired of fish; honestly you were surprised she hadn’t grown gills yet from how many meals rotated around fish.

“Do you need any help?”

Startled, you jumped at the voice. “Oh, no, that’s all right Diana.”

She looked at the dough in your hands before her gaze went back to you. “Are you sure? I’m actually pretty good at it, at one time in my life I aspired to being a French pastry chef.”

Your hands ceased movement, a brow raised in curiosity. “Really?”

She chuckled. “Yes. I was still an undergrad, and we had begun delving into classic French plays – some being of Molière. Well, let’s say I was smitten with the humor and culture.”

“You thought about moving to France?”

At this point Diana had washed her hands, drying them enough to coat them in flour as you cut the ball of dough in half and gave it to her. You watched, transfixed, as her hands expertly kneaded the dough enough to begin flattening.

“Absolutely, the slow paced lifestyle, the landscapes and history, not to mention the food; I wanted nothing more than to walk along the Rhine, sipping a coffee as I watched young artists flourish.”

You wondered how Spencer would be if he had grown up in another country. You almost giggled at the thought of his curls being covered by a beret, a pencil mustache that he’d twiddle as he talked about existentialism. But then again, perhaps his youth would have been better, you weren’t sure but the calm demeanor there, maybe the children would have regarded his mind better.

“It sounds wonderful.”

Diana smiled wistfully, shaping the dough down. “It would’ve been, but I don’t regret my life. After all I wouldn’t have my baby boy if I had left. Do you ever wish to travel?”

You shrugged a shoulder. “I’ve always wanted to see Italy.”

She gave an ardent smile. “Oh, to be in the land of Dante Alighieri and Villani, but then again though I am sure the cuisine is outstanding the Italian wouldn’t have religieuse.”

“What are those?”

“Oh, honey, they are the best pastry dessert you could have.”

It had been a nice lunch, more than nice being given insight in Diana’s life. Though you knew her mind, like her son’s, far outreached yours in contemplations you were both very similar. Having wanting the same goals at your age. After cleaning up, she had went to take a rest as Mrs. Campbell arrived, and you were about to catch up on the laundry and read the paper when your cell buzzed on one of the end tables. Seeing it was Penelope you put on your best secretary voice.

“Hello, this is Y/N. How may I help you?”

But the chirpy voice you were used to, wasn’t there, instead it was very desolate. “Y/N…It’s about Spencer.”

Oh, God, you knew it, he was a day late, and he was never late. He always called if the plane was delayed, hell, he called anyway and you hadn’t heard from him since yesterday afternoon. “What happened? Is he okay? What’s wrong?”

“Calm down, sweetie, I know you’re scared – he’s, well he’s in jail.”

“What! Why is he in jail?”

“He was picked up in Mexico, apparently the car he was in had drugs in it. The police think he might be a drug mule.”

“That’s insane, Spencer Reid would have to be on drugs to be around drugs. They have the wrong guy; did they even look at his papers? They got to know who he is. Spencer’s in Houston so I don’t get how –“

“That’s the thing, a lot of it really, he didn’t have the proper credentials on him, he had a personal passport instead of his work one, which they found in the car he supposedly stole –“

“Are you kidding me?”

This was ridiculous, it was a fucking farce really, Spencer Reid stealing cars, distributing drugs, it was insane.

“No, jellybean, I’m not, they’re doing bloodwork right now, but from the mugshots I have…he looks high as a kite, Y/N.”

There was no humor in her voice, and you knew she felt as numb as you. “Mrs. Campbell’s here, I’m on my way down there.”

“There’s nothing you can do honey, Emily, Rossi, and Alvez are on their way down there to him as we speak.”

“I don’t care! I can wait with them, they have to let me see him.”

“I’m afraid they won’t let you honey.”

Your chest was shrinking and you felt tears clog your throat. “He’ll at least know I’m there. You said he’s high, someone slipped it to him, and he’s probably scared and cold, probably out of his mind with worry. I can’t let him be alone, Penelope.”

“Come down here, you can sit with us and I’ll keep you updated, Spencer is getting help and he’ll be back home before you know it. But I don’t want you to be alone right now.”

You covered your mouth so the muffled sobs wouldn’t echo, you could not let Diana hear you. You could not shatter her and let her think something was wrong.

“Y/N?”

“I’m sorry, I – what the hell’s happened? I don’t understand, he said he was going to Houston to get more medicine for his mom, I don’t get how or freakin’ why he was in Mexico.”

“Medicine?”

You caught the perked interest in her voice. “Yeah.”

“Honey, come down here, it’ll be good to tell us about that, it could help with the case, and just, please, don’t be alone right now, I know with Mrs. Reid –“

“No, I understand, I don’t want her to see me like this either. She’s sleeping right now, so I’ll slip out. Thank you, Penelope.”

“You’re family, you don’t have to thank me. Not until we get our baby genius back.”

You walked out of the elevator into the surprisingly empty bullpen, and without realizing headed to Spencer’s desk. You looked at the picture he had of you, it was of you sleeping, and though you saw it as unattractive, he stated it was one of his favorites. Seeing you so calm and the small smile as you slept, it brought him comfort.

“Hey, Y/N.”

Turning you saw JJ, her eyes probably as red as your own. You jumped from the desk and pelted yourself in her arms feeling her squeeze you tight.

“It’s going to be okay.”

You were about to lose it again as tears glazed your eyes over. “I know. It has to be. It’s just unreal. This isn’t Spencer. Something happened down in Houston, someone’s dong this to him.”

“We’re doing everything we can, the team touched down a few minutes ago. But right now, let’s talk, we’ll get something to drink and you can tell me about this medicine Garcia mentioned.”

There wasn’t much to tell, Spencer had shown you the weird vials after hearing his socks clank together when you put away his laundry. He said it was an organic compound of different herbs though he wasn’t too sure what was all in it. Something, you added, was uncharacteristic of him. But he was so hopeful it would help his mom that maybe it didn’t matter. You told JJ about the doctor, going to the laptop in the meeting room and pulling up her article. JJ hugged you again calling Emily about the woman.

Though it was hours, it felt like minutes when you were told the doctor had been found stabbed – and that the Mexican police were pinning it on Spencer. Spencer Reid a murderer? It was the most ludicrous thought imaginable. Spencer couldn’t even kill the mouse that had invaded his apartment, instead having to cage it and driving half an hour out of the city to release it in the woods. You had wanted to mention so bad that it was probably owl food by now.

Maybe this was how Diana felt, trying to pull the memories out of the air and hold them to you. Trying to keep the good with you, cherishing the moments of happiness the best you could.

“The international response team is in, he’s going to be extradited, Y/N.”

The grin on JJ’s face told you it was nearly over. “He’s on his way back?”

“Yeah, he is. He’s on his way home.”

You felt yourself being pulled into her arms, though you still felt numb from everything. What you were filled in on, it didn’t explain anything, Spencer had been chasing someone down who was a suspect in the murder. But they hadn’t recovered the murder weapon, there was no ID of the suspect. Not to mention why the doctor wanted him in Mexico, why he was targeted, and overall what was going to happen. What would happen? Letting yourself fall away, the day’s events exhausted you and you let it hold on as you watched night fall, the streetlights illuminating and it surprised you how quickly they dimmed the sun rising in the sky.

“Hey.”

The voice stirred you. Your eyes burning from lack of sleep, and blinking. He looked awful, but in that moment he also looked perfect, here, back with you. Steadying yourself you propelled to him, yet his arms remained clasped in front of him.

“It’s a safety precaution.”

Pulling the FBI vest away you saw him handcuffed.

“Oh, Spencer.”

“Y/N –“

You didn’t give him a chance to talk, fumbling under his linked arms until they were locked around you, his chest nestled to your cheek.

“God, you need a shower love.”

He choked out a laugh at that. His arms embracing you the best he could.

You looked up to his haggard face, his eyes hazy and full of worry. Letting your palm caress him, you felt the scruff that had formed graze your skin.

“It’ll be okay, no matter what, Spencer Reid. It’ll be okay.”

And it would be.

[davidastbury]

On the Train ... morning.

She has a bad cough. A girl, Asian, thin, looking chilled in the old meaning, struggling to control the spasms. It is a ‘keep-everyone-in-the-house-awake-all-night’ type of cough. She looks very tired; probably spent the night biting onto paper tissues with tears of frustration running across her face. The cough will not be placated.

Worst of all is the lack of sympathy on the faces of the people in the carriage. With each burst of coughing they all look up sharply - as if shocked, as if the coughing was an unreasonable and unwelcome intrusion into their lives. The girl, who is about seventeen, is upset.

But the young man sitting next to her (the carriage is full) is different. They aren’t together, I can tell that, but he seems to have a concerned interest. Perhaps he is a doctor and wants to help her, or perhaps he would just like to lean slightly to his left and kiss the top of her head.

DIY

Young chap showing off his football skills in Bay48 at my local Homebase store. Agile as a dancer in his skinny-leg jeans and Homebase sweatshirt.

What makes it very impressive is that he’s using a tennis ball and that must make it very difficult. He demontrates a dazzling rotation of tricks to keep the ball in the air - tapping it one foot to the other, sometimes using his knees. All the time he nonchalantly leans back, arms outstretched, and smiling, as if amused by his own skill. The ball responds obediently to the soft flicks of his instep and outstep (is there such a word?) and sometimes balances on a raised foot before being weightlessly tossed upwards.

I have noticed that all this is to impress a co-worker - a pretty girl, cute in her Homebase apron. She’s stocktaking the products on the ‘Wood Preservatives’ shelves, but sneaks smiling glances at the young man.

I am thinking what a marvellous dad he’d make - big and cheerful, good humoured and up for it. He’d be like a big brother. He’d look after his kids and stick up for them - teach them fair-play. Teach them how to use a power drill - how to change a tyre - how to be kind to animals.

Sing Song At Russell’s. ... late 1950s

The best time to be at Russell’s house was Saturday afternoon. Saturday was the only time that Russell’s dad was around, or so it seemed to me. He relished the time with his family, wanting to know what everyone had been doing, teasing his wife with all sorts of proposals - saying things like - ‘the latest promotion will mean us moving to America’- and driving the two dogs crazy with ‘find the bone’ games. I loved being there and I was treated, or humorously mistreated, like one of the family.

The high-point of the day was when Russell’s dad sat at the piano. He vigorously pushed back his shirtsleeves like a workman and stared at the keyboard as if he had never seen one before. Then, head back and eyes closed, he launched into a medley of music-hall songs. All about love and treachery - about how the rich ‘gets their pleasures’ and the poor ‘gets babies’ - about soldiers not coming home - about ‘rolling out the barrel’ - about ‘being poor, but being ‘honest’ - about ‘walking along, singing a song, side by side’. I remember how he tugged his wife to the piano and how she feigned embarrassment as he did a heart rending performance of his favourite. Eyes rolling with theatrical passion, face upturned in supplication, he cried out:-

‘We've been together now for forty years,

An' it don't seem a day too much,

There ain't a lady livin' in the land

As I'd "swop" for my dear old Dutch.’

We would be laughing, hardly able to join in the chorus.

And once - (only once!) Caroline joined in the singing and came and stood behind me. I was sitting on a padded kitchen stool with Russell next to me. Suddenly, surprisingly, sublimely, I felt her place both hands on my shoulders. It was easy familiarity - a cheerful intimacy - the comfortable simplicity of trust. And then she pressed herself against my back. I could feel her warmth - more than that I could feel - with unbearable excitement - the swell of her breathing and the heavenly vibration of her voice.

And Russells' dad conducted with his free hand as we sang all the verses and choruses of Molly Malone’.

Christine C. (as told by her friend’s mother)

She came from a poor family in a time when there wasn’t a benefit system. Being the eldest of six, it was expected that she should make a contribution, so she left school at fifteen and started working.

She was very conscious of her background when mixing with her new fellow-workers. It was an expensive department store and the other girls appeared to be middle class. They had a confidence that Christine envied - she wanted to be like them. She wanted to shake off the ‘make-do-and-mend’ - the weight of her parents anxieties - the submissiveness of the impoverished.

And Christine did well. She quickly adopted the accent she knew was essential - picking it up unconsciously by simply mixing with people who spoke ‘well’. She was a dream employee; being totally positive and before long she had her own special clients, moneyed customers who liked her and wouldn’t be served by anyone else. The department store management watched all this and offered her various promotions, which she accepted on the condition that she retained her special clients and could work the shop floor whenever she wished - and that she remained in the commission rewards scheme.

She made the department store her life. Often she attended meetings and dinners held at the main headquarters in Oxford Street. Sometimes she was asked about her career - how it had started - did she come into retailing as a graduate? ‘What did your father do?’ Very middle-class questions. And all the old feelings would come back. She replied that her parents were retired and her father had been a headmaster.

At The Station ... Ladies Waiting Room.

Built by the sensible Victorians - offering comfort and safety for women - somewhere to sit and avoid any importuning by male travellers - but now no longer used for that purpose. Instead the facility is utilised as a depositary for British Rail maintenance equipment - electric pumps, sandbags, leather harnesses, crowbars, ramps, tins of heavy-duty lubricants, hydraulic tools and ‘No Entry’ signs.

Right!

Age, language, dress – unimportant. She sits – sturdy as a skittle – torso twisted – cylindrical legs crossed – flexed with the muscular threat and elasticity of a big cat – yes! Perhaps I’m getting nearer when I mention cat – Baudelaire’s cat – voluptuous and cruel - clawing at his crumpled manuscripts, blinking in the sunlight through his dirty windows – the implacable and insatiable green-eyed cat that walked through his brain.

Let me talk about - ‘the line’. It runs from the painted nail of the index finger of her left hand and passes in a flowing rhythm all the way to the stretched tendon in her neck. It is as perfect and as simple as a Schubert melody – but it has no form! It will melt away as you reach for it. Be grateful for the amazing intimacy, the privilege of staring – and for the dry grip on your pencil as you let it flow – with a skill not your own – until that line placates every tension in your entire life.

Waiting Room

It was in this waiting room that they had once, a long time ago, sat together. He had positioned himself on her left because he didn’t want her to see the spot on the left side of his face. And he had held her hand – their first contact – and it had seemed everything to him. And later they did indeed have everything - and that everything was more than he could have imagined. And now he would give everything to be able to hold her hand again.

Carly Simon has written a book telling of her friendship with Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis. Carly, as a rock star, a famous person with famous friends, acknowledged that Jackie was ‘on a different level altogether’. However they developed a warm relationship and appear to have been good for each other.

Once Jackie showed her a huge leather-bound book. She had copied the entire Odyssey in Greek - with its English translation on each facing page. ‘There must have been a hundred pages of Jackie’s own ink drawings of Ari as Odysseus, depicting his long siren-filled excursion home’... Carly continues ... ‘I can imagine her doing it when he was away on his tankers and she was on the island of Scorpios, making her drawings’.

I can take this one step further! How amazing that this woman - perhaps the most celebrated of the twentieth century, was working on the most celebrated book of any century - and like the beautiful Penelope in that book, nervous and fearful, enduring endless separation, endless longings.

As Told To Me. ... #42

‘After singing a few of his songs - or rather chanting melodies over and over again - he came down into the audience. This was Shlomo Carlbach, Master of Kabbalah, Talmudist and founder of the ‘House of Love and Prayer Centre’ in San Francisco. He was five rows away, shaking hands with the men and bowing to the women, working his way along the line. I wanted to get away in case he came near me because I felt he might ask for something - and I would have to give whatever it was, promises, money, my life, without properly understanding. He was right at the end of the row and looking at me. I tried to leave but everything felt like a dream - I couldn’t move. And then he was in front of me; very close, near enough to smell him. And he asked me what my name was and I couldn’t speak.’