Christmas Calendar 2009 - Hatch 2
Christmas is a time when you get homesick - even when you're home. ~Carol Nelson
Spencer put his pen down and stretched his long limbs. His stretch was cut in half air as his leg bumped to the bench row across him; the low clang, from of the plastic bench and the metal frame around his leg hitting each other, echoing in the silent plane. Spencer carefully watched if Rossi, who was the one crouching in the bench he hat hit, had waked up from the silent sound. After a few seconds of observation Spencer relaxed again as he realised he hadn’t waked him.
After carefully pulling his stiff legs back, he took a look of the paper he had been writing the better part of their flight. It was funny how he was able to read twenty thousand words per minute, but writing down a thousand took over an hour. But then again, it had been much easier to write to his mother before, when he hadn’t thought twice if it was pointless observations of a young behavioural analyst in a new team or details of their jobs that had been haunting his mind. But now, especially after the Fisher King, he knew he couldn’t really tell anything about his work or friends, his life really, to anyone, not even his mother. And even if his guilty conscience had subdued slightly in recent years, he still had hard time kicking the habit of writing to his mother every day - even when there wasn’t anything to say.
Today’s letter, December the second, had him apologising that he couldn’t go for her at Christmas. He had been apologising that for two weeks already. But then again, she could have forgotten. He also wrote her how they had just finished their job and were on the way home. He would have wanted to tell her, that even if he couldn’t give her the best present a son could give to her mother, the presence of his company at Christmas, he and his friends had managed to give that to someone else.
For their profile had helped to solve the case of nine missing children. And what had been thought to be a paedophile serial kidnapper had luckily only been a child smuggling ring. Luckily we say, because in this case, all the children were found unharmed, when the kidnappers were caught by the local law enforcement. And that had been the Christmas present the families had prayed on.
He also wrote to her how he had found the perfect gift for Garcia and JJ. Again, he couldn’t tell her what those were. But he was sure his mother would have loved the idea of the butterfly baby-mobile he had gotten for JJ. So instead of being specific, for paper filling, he slightly bragged how he usually was able to get everyone presents they never expected but had always desired. It seemed remembering everything he heard or read came to use occasionally.
Mostly though, the letter was about the little things he had seen or thought, ones that could not be tied to any place, time or people. Like that he had seen a glimpse of that new 3D Christmas Carol. And how he remembered the way she used to read him the original one every Christmas. And how that was probably the thing he missed about her the most. He had actually mentioned that aloud few years back, when their whole team had been in this very same plane he was sitting now, only the date being 25th instead of 2nd. The next Christmas, again when they were working a case of serial arsonist who like to fire churches, he had gotten an audio version of Christmas Carol, read by Jim Dale, from Morgan. I guess having an eidetic memory wasn’t the only way to be able to get perfect presents to your friends. But that was again something he couldn’t write about.
Spencer put his pen down and stretched his long limbs. His stretch was cut in half air as his leg bumped to the bench row across him; the low clang, from of the plastic bench and the metal frame around his leg hitting each other, echoing in the silent plane. Spencer carefully watched if Rossi, who was the one crouching in the bench he hat hit, had waked up from the silent sound. After a few seconds of observation Spencer relaxed again as he realised he hadn’t waked him.
After carefully pulling his stiff legs back, he took a look of the paper he had been writing the better part of their flight. It was funny how he was able to read twenty thousand words per minute, but writing down a thousand took over an hour. But then again, it had been much easier to write to his mother before, when he hadn’t thought twice if it was pointless observations of a young behavioural analyst in a new team or details of their jobs that had been haunting his mind. But now, especially after the Fisher King, he knew he couldn’t really tell anything about his work or friends, his life really, to anyone, not even his mother. And even if his guilty conscience had subdued slightly in recent years, he still had hard time kicking the habit of writing to his mother every day - even when there wasn’t anything to say.
Today’s letter, December the second, had him apologising that he couldn’t go for her at Christmas. He had been apologising that for two weeks already. But then again, she could have forgotten. He also wrote her how they had just finished their job and were on the way home. He would have wanted to tell her, that even if he couldn’t give her the best present a son could give to her mother, the presence of his company at Christmas, he and his friends had managed to give that to someone else.
For their profile had helped to solve the case of nine missing children. And what had been thought to be a paedophile serial kidnapper had luckily only been a child smuggling ring. Luckily we say, because in this case, all the children were found unharmed, when the kidnappers were caught by the local law enforcement. And that had been the Christmas present the families had prayed on.
He also wrote to her how he had found the perfect gift for Garcia and JJ. Again, he couldn’t tell her what those were. But he was sure his mother would have loved the idea of the butterfly baby-mobile he had gotten for JJ. So instead of being specific, for paper filling, he slightly bragged how he usually was able to get everyone presents they never expected but had always desired. It seemed remembering everything he heard or read came to use occasionally.
Mostly though, the letter was about the little things he had seen or thought, ones that could not be tied to any place, time or people. Like that he had seen a glimpse of that new 3D Christmas Carol. And how he remembered the way she used to read him the original one every Christmas. And how that was probably the thing he missed about her the most. He had actually mentioned that aloud few years back, when their whole team had been in this very same plane he was sitting now, only the date being 25th instead of 2nd. The next Christmas, again when they were working a case of serial arsonist who like to fire churches, he had gotten an audio version of Christmas Carol, read by Jim Dale, from Morgan. I guess having an eidetic memory wasn’t the only way to be able to get perfect presents to your friends. But that was again something he couldn’t write about.