FIC: Finding Solace - CM, Gideon/Reid FRT
Title: Finding Solace
Authors: Aaryn/docs_girl16 and Andrea/silentflux
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: Jason Gideon/Spencer Reid
Rating: FRT for slashiness
A/N: Prompt - Knife for writingtogether
Our table is HERE
Summary: Spencer can’t sleep…
~ * ~
Spencer gripped the knife until he couldn't feel his fingers as he began to chop. He shouldn't have come home with Jason. He knew that it would be a bad time for sleep and company. Jason had finally fallen asleep and so had he... until a half hour ago. Which was the reason he was in Jason's kitchen, chopping vegetables for the casserole.
"As much as I love your cooking, Spence," the older man said mildly, "I don't believe human blood is an ingredient." Larger fingers pried the white-knuckled hand from the hilt.
Startled, he looked down to see that he'd sliced into his hand. And of course, the moment he saw it, it started to throb. "Shit," he muttered shakily, reaching out for a towel.
Calmly, Jason wrapped the cloth in his other hand around it. "It's okay, Spence. Give it a minute." The older man led him to the bathroom. "Hold that in place."
Nodding, Reid tried to relax and let his lover take care of him. But that was harder than he thought. "I'll do it," he muttered almost sharply, snagging the bandage from the older man to apply to him.
Holding up his hands placatingly, Jason asked mildly, "You are not that young man anymore."
"What?" he looked up, but his eyes danced around his lover, refusing to meet his eyes even as he tried to cover it all up.
Remembering the blood on the razor in the victim's bathroom, the older man winced. "You had a high-stress childhood, Spence. I understand how you can empathize with a young, intelligent man in a similar position. However, you have moved past that stage."
Terrence Jessup had been a brilliant young composer who had apparently cracked under the pressure of the expectations surrounding him - a child genius lashing back. Reid winced inwardly away from the details of what had happened to those who had been applying said pressure and finally, to Terrence himself after the team had caught up with him. But he couldn’t avoid the knowledge and the fact that he knew with perfect clarity, what it is to be so…forced.
Muttering to himself, Spencer turned away from his lover, finished with applying the bandage and wrapping his hand. Time to find something else to concentrate on. "I don't want to talk about this, Jason." His voice was low and almost inaudible as he turned and left the bathroom.
"Spence..." Sighing deeply, Jason rinsed out the sink before walking back into the kitchen and wrapping his arms around his young lover.
Stiffening, Reid pulled away slightly. "Let me finish this."
Jason firmly took the knife from him. "You are in no mindset to be using sharp objects."
Spencer stood very still, fighting with himself. He wanted to lash out, but he knew that wasn't what he should do. He wanted to curl in on himself, but he definitely wasn't going to do that. Settling for the only option he found acceptable, he walked away to Jason's library. A book. Then bed.
"You've seen the effects of repression, Spencer," Jason called firmly after him.
"I don't want to talk about this," he muttered again, his walk slowing but he continued on.
Jason following him, knowing he'd done all he could and the rest was up to his lover. All he could do was be there.
It took the younger man a long time to choose which volume he wanted to read. He thought it might be indicative of his mood that he chose Edgar Allen Poe. But he shrugged and dragged the thick book off the shelf.
"Perhaps Twain might be a better choice." Wincing at the dark volume, Jason pulled down The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, feeling that the themes of overcoming society and stereotypes would be better than poems of death.
Torn, Reid looked at the slim volume, knowing it might be better. Even knowing that he remembered both books perfectly, he still wanted to read it again. He wanted to read Poe with the weight and texture of the book in his hand. "No, this one's good."
“Then will you read to me?" The last thing Jason wanted was Spencer alone in the dark, isolating himself in the pain of memories.
Hesitating for a moment, the younger man nodded and followed his lover back into the bedroom, turning on the bedside lamp and opening the book to the poem he was looking for.
Jason's slippers landed in the corner. He stretched out next to the younger man, propping himself up on one elbow.
"I just..." Spencer sighed, trying to explain why he wanted this poem again. Shrugging, he began reciting.
"From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone..."
Sighing heavily, he knew he'd remembered that passage correctly, but he had still doubted. Leaning against his pillows and rubbing his hands over his eyes he continued without looking at the book.
"...Then-- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life -- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heave was blue)
Of a demon in my view."
"'Alone,'" Jason mumured. "Perhaps one of the poems all of us can associate with at some level. But...Our demons are not Poe's. Too often his demons were only in his mind. Too often ours are given physical form."
"Yeah," Spencer agreed softly, rubbing his temples. "I guess."
Turning the page, Jason smiled softly. "Perhaps I prefer this passage...
“That holy dream-that holy dream While all the world were chiding,
Hath cheered me as a lovely beam
A lonely spirit guiding.
What though that light, thro' storm and night,
So trembled from afar-
What could there be more purely bright
In Truth's day-star? '
Not exactly...happy. But more uplifting than total despair."
Nodding, the younger man sighed and set the book down on the bedside table, pulling the covers up as his shoulders began to get cold. Turning over and burying his face in his pillow, he hoped that his lover would let the conversation go.
"Was there even a cause too lost,
Ever a cause that was lost too long,
Or that showed with the lapse of time to vain
For the generous tears of youth and song?"
Jason paused. "Robert Frost, on supposedly hopeless causes."
"Optimist," Reid muttered into his pillow, shifting closer to his lover to help combat the chill.
"Optimism is nothing more than positive pessimism," the older man chuckled.
Shaking his head, Spencer murmured something and turned his head on the pillow to look at Jason.
Pushing some of dark hair off the pale face, Jason murmured, "You are different. Your world is like no one else's. But as lonely as that seems, I see it as a gift. In many ways you see the uncorrupted, the clean, the path less traveled. Just -- I know you would give anything to see like me, and I would give anything to see like you. But our lot has already been set. That does not mean you should grieve for the other. Rather, let me help you see just as you have helped me."
Shaking his head again, Spencer let his eyes drift shut as the older man continued to stroke his hair. "I -- it's just... difficult sometimes." His voice was hoarse, words barely indistinguishable in the silent room.
"I don't pretend to understand how hard this is for you..." Jason sighed deeply, knowing this one thing he could never protect Spencer from. "I just know it is hard. And… And I honestly believe one of the reasons I love you is the innate strength you have that allows to survive as you do."
Spencer eyes opened to stare at him in disbelief and wonder. No one had ever called him strong before. Never. Well, his mother might have mentioned that he was stronger than her, but she'd been well into one of her episodes and he didn't really think that it was particularly valid.
Seeing he had the younger man's attention, Jason looked at him intensely. "I cannot imagine how the sheer amount of sensory input you get must overwhelm. The volume and the intensity must be enough to drive a lesser man mad. You feel for everyone when the rest of us harden hearts in order to the job done. Then, over all that, you incorporate so much more knowledge. Knowledge of books and pictures and souls. How can one person hold that much knowledge in his mind and not be strong?"
Spencer shrugged, feeling himself flush brightly as he muttered, "S'just what I am. Can't change it. S'just the way it is. Always." His foot began tapping in an uneven rhythm of anxiety.
"The child-eternal is the strongest of all," Jason murmured soothingly. "He learns all he can and faces every new situation with the awe of the unknown."
Sighing softly and leaning toward the calming presence of his lover, Spencer allowed what his mind couldn't earlier -- leaning on Jason to force away the anxiety and fear and pain. And he pushed away the little voice that informed him not to get used to this, that there wouldn't always be someone, and that he shouldn't lean because one day he'd fall.
Wrapping his arms around the younger man, Jason breathed in the scent. Relief swept through him. Dawn had come to this dark night finally. But the battle left him weary. Still he didn't let that stop him from pulling up the blankets around them higher.
Snuggling closer, Spencer allowed his eyes to close. When he felt Jason reaching for the light, he murmured, "On. Leave it. Please..."
"Okay," the older man murmured, closing his eyes. For Spencer he'd leave the whole city lit up.
Enfolding himself firmly around Jason, absorbing the warmth and relishing the care the other man took with him, Spencer slowly relaxed into a light sleep, still not trusting enough to completely let go, but it was better.
Poems (in order) : “Alone” & “A Dream” by Edgar Allen Poe as well as “Hannibal” by Robert Frost
Authors: Aaryn/docs_girl16 and Andrea/silentflux
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: Jason Gideon/Spencer Reid
Rating: FRT for slashiness
A/N: Prompt - Knife for writingtogether
Our table is HERE
Summary: Spencer can’t sleep…
~ * ~
Spencer gripped the knife until he couldn't feel his fingers as he began to chop. He shouldn't have come home with Jason. He knew that it would be a bad time for sleep and company. Jason had finally fallen asleep and so had he... until a half hour ago. Which was the reason he was in Jason's kitchen, chopping vegetables for the casserole.
"As much as I love your cooking, Spence," the older man said mildly, "I don't believe human blood is an ingredient." Larger fingers pried the white-knuckled hand from the hilt.
Startled, he looked down to see that he'd sliced into his hand. And of course, the moment he saw it, it started to throb. "Shit," he muttered shakily, reaching out for a towel.
Calmly, Jason wrapped the cloth in his other hand around it. "It's okay, Spence. Give it a minute." The older man led him to the bathroom. "Hold that in place."
Nodding, Reid tried to relax and let his lover take care of him. But that was harder than he thought. "I'll do it," he muttered almost sharply, snagging the bandage from the older man to apply to him.
Holding up his hands placatingly, Jason asked mildly, "You are not that young man anymore."
"What?" he looked up, but his eyes danced around his lover, refusing to meet his eyes even as he tried to cover it all up.
Remembering the blood on the razor in the victim's bathroom, the older man winced. "You had a high-stress childhood, Spence. I understand how you can empathize with a young, intelligent man in a similar position. However, you have moved past that stage."
Terrence Jessup had been a brilliant young composer who had apparently cracked under the pressure of the expectations surrounding him - a child genius lashing back. Reid winced inwardly away from the details of what had happened to those who had been applying said pressure and finally, to Terrence himself after the team had caught up with him. But he couldn’t avoid the knowledge and the fact that he knew with perfect clarity, what it is to be so…forced.
Muttering to himself, Spencer turned away from his lover, finished with applying the bandage and wrapping his hand. Time to find something else to concentrate on. "I don't want to talk about this, Jason." His voice was low and almost inaudible as he turned and left the bathroom.
"Spence..." Sighing deeply, Jason rinsed out the sink before walking back into the kitchen and wrapping his arms around his young lover.
Stiffening, Reid pulled away slightly. "Let me finish this."
Jason firmly took the knife from him. "You are in no mindset to be using sharp objects."
Spencer stood very still, fighting with himself. He wanted to lash out, but he knew that wasn't what he should do. He wanted to curl in on himself, but he definitely wasn't going to do that. Settling for the only option he found acceptable, he walked away to Jason's library. A book. Then bed.
"You've seen the effects of repression, Spencer," Jason called firmly after him.
"I don't want to talk about this," he muttered again, his walk slowing but he continued on.
Jason following him, knowing he'd done all he could and the rest was up to his lover. All he could do was be there.
It took the younger man a long time to choose which volume he wanted to read. He thought it might be indicative of his mood that he chose Edgar Allen Poe. But he shrugged and dragged the thick book off the shelf.
"Perhaps Twain might be a better choice." Wincing at the dark volume, Jason pulled down The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, feeling that the themes of overcoming society and stereotypes would be better than poems of death.
Torn, Reid looked at the slim volume, knowing it might be better. Even knowing that he remembered both books perfectly, he still wanted to read it again. He wanted to read Poe with the weight and texture of the book in his hand. "No, this one's good."
“Then will you read to me?" The last thing Jason wanted was Spencer alone in the dark, isolating himself in the pain of memories.
Hesitating for a moment, the younger man nodded and followed his lover back into the bedroom, turning on the bedside lamp and opening the book to the poem he was looking for.
Jason's slippers landed in the corner. He stretched out next to the younger man, propping himself up on one elbow.
"I just..." Spencer sighed, trying to explain why he wanted this poem again. Shrugging, he began reciting.
"From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone..."
Sighing heavily, he knew he'd remembered that passage correctly, but he had still doubted. Leaning against his pillows and rubbing his hands over his eyes he continued without looking at the book.
"...Then-- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life -- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heave was blue)
Of a demon in my view."
"'Alone,'" Jason mumured. "Perhaps one of the poems all of us can associate with at some level. But...Our demons are not Poe's. Too often his demons were only in his mind. Too often ours are given physical form."
"Yeah," Spencer agreed softly, rubbing his temples. "I guess."
Turning the page, Jason smiled softly. "Perhaps I prefer this passage...
“That holy dream-that holy dream While all the world were chiding,
Hath cheered me as a lovely beam
A lonely spirit guiding.
What though that light, thro' storm and night,
So trembled from afar-
What could there be more purely bright
In Truth's day-star? '
Not exactly...happy. But more uplifting than total despair."
Nodding, the younger man sighed and set the book down on the bedside table, pulling the covers up as his shoulders began to get cold. Turning over and burying his face in his pillow, he hoped that his lover would let the conversation go.
"Was there even a cause too lost,
Ever a cause that was lost too long,
Or that showed with the lapse of time to vain
For the generous tears of youth and song?"
Jason paused. "Robert Frost, on supposedly hopeless causes."
"Optimist," Reid muttered into his pillow, shifting closer to his lover to help combat the chill.
"Optimism is nothing more than positive pessimism," the older man chuckled.
Shaking his head, Spencer murmured something and turned his head on the pillow to look at Jason.
Pushing some of dark hair off the pale face, Jason murmured, "You are different. Your world is like no one else's. But as lonely as that seems, I see it as a gift. In many ways you see the uncorrupted, the clean, the path less traveled. Just -- I know you would give anything to see like me, and I would give anything to see like you. But our lot has already been set. That does not mean you should grieve for the other. Rather, let me help you see just as you have helped me."
Shaking his head again, Spencer let his eyes drift shut as the older man continued to stroke his hair. "I -- it's just... difficult sometimes." His voice was hoarse, words barely indistinguishable in the silent room.
"I don't pretend to understand how hard this is for you..." Jason sighed deeply, knowing this one thing he could never protect Spencer from. "I just know it is hard. And… And I honestly believe one of the reasons I love you is the innate strength you have that allows to survive as you do."
Spencer eyes opened to stare at him in disbelief and wonder. No one had ever called him strong before. Never. Well, his mother might have mentioned that he was stronger than her, but she'd been well into one of her episodes and he didn't really think that it was particularly valid.
Seeing he had the younger man's attention, Jason looked at him intensely. "I cannot imagine how the sheer amount of sensory input you get must overwhelm. The volume and the intensity must be enough to drive a lesser man mad. You feel for everyone when the rest of us harden hearts in order to the job done. Then, over all that, you incorporate so much more knowledge. Knowledge of books and pictures and souls. How can one person hold that much knowledge in his mind and not be strong?"
Spencer shrugged, feeling himself flush brightly as he muttered, "S'just what I am. Can't change it. S'just the way it is. Always." His foot began tapping in an uneven rhythm of anxiety.
"The child-eternal is the strongest of all," Jason murmured soothingly. "He learns all he can and faces every new situation with the awe of the unknown."
Sighing softly and leaning toward the calming presence of his lover, Spencer allowed what his mind couldn't earlier -- leaning on Jason to force away the anxiety and fear and pain. And he pushed away the little voice that informed him not to get used to this, that there wouldn't always be someone, and that he shouldn't lean because one day he'd fall.
Wrapping his arms around the younger man, Jason breathed in the scent. Relief swept through him. Dawn had come to this dark night finally. But the battle left him weary. Still he didn't let that stop him from pulling up the blankets around them higher.
Snuggling closer, Spencer allowed his eyes to close. When he felt Jason reaching for the light, he murmured, "On. Leave it. Please..."
"Okay," the older man murmured, closing his eyes. For Spencer he'd leave the whole city lit up.
Enfolding himself firmly around Jason, absorbing the warmth and relishing the care the other man took with him, Spencer slowly relaxed into a light sleep, still not trusting enough to completely let go, but it was better.
Poems (in order) : “Alone” & “A Dream” by Edgar Allen Poe as well as “Hannibal” by Robert Frost