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ge three you try learning how to ride a bike by yourself, ending up crashing and burning as you get scratched up. You’re seven when you fall off your bed. Bumping your head and when you’re up you're in the ER for an injury. From each injury — each story you get a scar that lies beneath all that happens, a story to tell. Whether it’s telling a person, or a journal that you keep on the side of your bed.
Scars, they’re something we carry with us. From the time we are born and thrusted into the earth. From falling off the couch, to slipping while ice skating. These scars are proof we survived those days and that if we continue we can make believe the possibility we will always be okay.
Spencer Reid wasn’t someone who often believed that make believe was an achievable thing. From when he was little and attended kindergarten, the other kids would be playing princesses and knights. Slaying the dragon and saving the day. Others would be playing superhero, flying over the big cities and doing what they did best. He, on the other hand, would be sitting in the classroom reading some book that he got from the library. He was five when he read his first novel, eight when he decided he wanted to write one and nine when it gets published. It’s not much, but at the moment it’s the thing that sits at the top of your bookshelf.
“Aren’t you a little young to be reading that?” The librarian would say. And he would smile proudly, but at the same time… wouldn’t understand why other kids couldn’t read the same books. He always knew he was different. From the talents and hobbies he possessed to the grades he would get. Book after book would fill his reading logs, and eventually when he graduated college at fifteen. He still didn’t understand that. There were plenty of things he understood, from physics to war tactics. But there were things he didn’t. Computers, human emotions, to the soulmate marks that started to appear on his body when he was seventeen.
“A scar will pop up every time your soulmate gets injured. “ he didn’t understand this for a while, until he noticed more and more marks appearing on the classmates around them.
When his dad left. He believed that God had given up on him. Had given up on his parents being soulmates. So he stopped believing in anything on that day. Make believe but count him out…
Scars also are proof that through it all, we’ve lived. We’ve learned and we’ve tried. New adventures provide that a forever mark will be left on us. Whenever we take steps becoming more careful in the patterns we use.
His first day at the BAU brought plenty of marks but also plenty of good, for example the bond he would share with the other agents. First he believed that Elle was his soulmate, but whenever she was in danger he’d frown, not getting why none of her marks transferred. And not getting why his weren’t showing on her body either. Jennifer Jareau wasn’t his soulmate — and while he was relieved. He thought it would have made things easier. A few times passed where he’d hear someone complaining about a mark that popped onto their skin, and he’d think for a moment that it was his soulmate. Penelope Garcia would talk about her soulmate and the variety of marks that popped up. “My soulmate keeps getting bruises and things. It gets annoying knowing that they keep doing dumb stuff to get themselves hurt.”
And Spencer would think that there was a possibility Penelope's soulmate was another agent who got these scars from a case. It would logically make the most sense.
They would be sitting in a hotel room, during a case when Derek Morgan who he was rooming with would flip over on his side. Turning to Spencer. “Do you ever wonder if your soulmate is out there?” He’d ask, and he sounded profound. Derek thought about his soulmate more than anyone else on the team. Believing in some way that a soulmate would help him, whether it was help him realize he could take care of someone, or help him realize that staying alive could be enough.
“Of course they are. Or we wouldn’t have these markings.” Spencer would find himself responding, and Derek would roll his eyes.
He would sigh for a moment before speaking, his tone tense. “What I mean is. Do you think they might be closer than you’re actually thinking…” he paused, cautious with how he worded it around the boy genius. There were a lot of times where Spencer did think his soulmate was a lot closer than he believed. The kind woman in the building with the cat, the man who knew his coffee order… and the woman on tech support with marks on her hand in the same place his were. But what he knew right now was he couldn’t hope, couldn’t wish. Wishing only wounds the heart. You could spend a lifetime wishing for something to happen, for some kind of miracle to appear. As when it doesn’t happen you sit there and wonder why the fates even exist. If they have a purpose it’s to spite someone like you.
“I thought you had an idea of who your soulmate was?” He asked. Raising a brow. Derek at one point had rambled about him thinking it was Penelope, his Penelope. And admittedly, Spencer got any butterflies in his stomach swatted.
Derek shrugged. “I thought it would be easier if it was her. But it’s not. When she stapled her finger on accident, I looked and had no scar markings. So scratch that idea I guess.” He said, but he didn’t look disappointed. “She deserves her true soulmate. And it’s not me.” As he said this Spencer avoided eye contact with Derek. Not wanting to see whatever would come through in his eyes.
There was logic in everything, and everything had its logic. These were the simple truths. So therefore there had to be a simple reason for why there was no way in hell Derek Morgan was his soulmate. “I got this scar when I was eighteen and back flipped off a table on a dare.” Derek would say proudly smirking, showing the group of women at the bar the mark. One would point, playing with a piece of usually blonde hair and go
“What about that one.” To which Derek would shrug.
“It’s my soulmate’s, I don’t know the story yet.” The piece of skin dazzling in a golden hue as it sat against his skin.
“Does it hurt?” One would ask and Spencer would roll his eyes. Of course it didn’t hurt, statistically showing if a scar hurt, it was because there was an underlying tissue issue beneath it. But Spencer would never tell them that — okay maybe he would.
Spencer looked up. Looking at the skin the blonde was pointing at. Looking down to his own hand. The mark was there clear as day, from when he cut his hand on glass during a case.
Gideon had told him this wasn’t the best idea. And he usually listened to him. But there was something different about this case. “Spencer , I told you to be more careful.” Gideon said as he held a cloth against the younger boys hand.
“I know — I just couldn’t let him get away.”
“We would have caught him without you getting hurt.”
“It’s a cut — statistically speaking there was a one in nine chance I would have gotten this anyway. Based on the longitude of his aim. And the fact he threw a glass cup at me.” He shrugged. It hurt like a bitch. And he looked down at his hand as Gideon pulled away to grab ointment.
“Well at least your soulmate will have a really damn cool mark.” Gideon said putting pressure against it.
If Gideon were standing here right now with him, he would help the young man reason. Pointing out ways this was like a chess game which he could successfully map out what was happening. But Gideon wasn’t here — and this wasn’t a chess game. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. The saving grace was Hotch who was mid conversation with JJ walking over.
“We should get back. We have an early morning.” Hotchner spoke. Holding the cup of water in his hand. Both had been lucky, Hotch had found his soulmate early in life. Among the chaos and bright lights he found Haley. And JJ had recently found hers. Both were the lucky ones. He on the other hand could only hope to one day be so lucky.
“May we all be so lucky.” Gideon’s voice echoed in his head.
He thought Penelope would have laughed when he said the next words that came out of his mouth, “I think Derek might be my soulmate.” But instead she set down her vegan stir fry and offered a wide grin. The styled ringlets in her hair bouncing as she clapped.
“Are you going to tell him?!” She asked with wide eyes and a prominent smile.
“No.” Spencer shook his head. There were a lot of reasons he saw telling him as the worst possible idea. He might be completely wrong, all of this being coincidences (even if he didn’t directly believe in them). Because here's what was going to happen. Derek Morgan was going to find a beautiful woman to take as his bride. They would have their own army of kids and in the end they’d live happily ever after. He on the other hand wouldn't have that happen, the nerdy boys didn't end up with superheroes. The knights didn't end up with wizards, these were things he saw from the library window on the playground when the other kids were playing pretend.
“Why not? He would love the possibility of finding his soulmate!” she would state, wanting the boy to be proud. But instead Spencer shook his head.
“He won’t be happy if it's me. And what if it isn't!” Penelope sighed. Watching Spencer scratch the back of his head as he sat in front of her.
She wished he knew that Derek would be happy no matter who his soulmate was. The man had spent his entire life yearning and wishing for the possibility for someone to come in. Derek was someone who loved the idea of falling in love. Loved bright lights in your face and the dizziness that came with it. Penelope knew her best friend and coworker well. Once upon a time the two might have believed they were soulmates. But they weren’t and she was okay with that. And now she was able to start doing research on different records to find someone who matched her markings.
Penelope might not have been a God. But she sure had fun messing with different fates. So she sat, ready to mess with whatever came. “Penelope. Don’t mess with this please.” He said his hand movements wide as he sat there.
“I promise I won’t… yet.”
“Penelope!” He scolded “don’t mess with it. At all.”
She grumbled something but rolled her eyes agreeing with a “fine."
In Penelope’s defense she didn’t mess with it. She mentioned it to Emily who proceeded to mess with it. Planting the seed of “Hotch. I think Spencer and Morgan should work together on this case.” In Penelope's defense. She told Emily not to mess with it but the brunette, well she doesn’t listen so she didn’t listen. Doing what she does best, messing with it. In Emily’s defense though. She had absolutely nothing. Spencer promised and swore though that he would get the two back. Knowing that revenge wasn’t the thing he was best at, but it was definitely something that he could do.
The case was one that the entire bau wanted to get done as soon as possible, it was in a little area of Washington State and the unsubs aim seemed to be police officers and their loved ones. Three deaths and a missing wife were what they had right now, and if they weren’t careful it would move onto four. The deaths didn't have much in common, one had recently become a widower, his wife Shelby passing a few months before. The second a retired officer who had been working as a dispatcher, third a rookie two weeks into the job. There seemed to be nothing in common, and that's what they needed to figure out. The way of disposal was brutal. Blunt trauma using what looked like a pickup truck used to drag cattle.
Derek looked at the “Baby Girl, I need you to look up pickup trucks in the area with new tires? Is that something you can do?” Derek asked, looking at the tire tracks around the body they had recently found.
“My handsome devil, how dare you ask that. Of course I can.” he could hear her roll her eyes on the other end. Typing in information, “I’m at thirty, I’ll narrow this down more and get back to you. P Garcia is out.” within ten minutes they had the details of four men who matched the description for trucks.
Turns out, the unsub was Roger Kleinman, aged 57, after the death of his wife due to a car accident involving an officer's car. She died in the hospital, and Roger felt his body go cold after her death. His soulmate’s marks had vanished from his body, and that was the cold awakening that sent him into a downward spiral. He wanted their spouses to feel the same way he did. And the missing wife? She was the wife of the officer who killed his wife. He had been scheming for what it seemed like months, and all they could do was sit and wonder where any of this went wrong.
He had gotten injured on the case, and though it was his fault tripping over a bush, he still ended up with a decent sized bruise on his leg. He didn't mention it to the rest of the team though. If he did, he knew they'd be concerned and that wasn't something he wanted. “Derek, are you okay?” JJ would ask and the other man would nod
“Yeah, my leg it's just killing me. I don’t know what I did.” he admitted. And Spencer found himself looking to the floor beneath his feet.
Reid wished he could fix the bad people. Wished he could go in and make things stop hurting. Make it so he could fix things for those who needed to be saved. But the thing was, he couldn't save everyone. He knew this as part of your job. “Don't get too attached to the case.” Gideon used to say, and he knew this to be true but it didn't stop him from lingering around the ideas of what if. What if he could save someone… let them inside to whatever he was thinking. Right now all he could do was sit on the jet and sigh. Because he needs something to believe in. And maybe the answer was in front of him. Debating the answer for a quiz bowl with Rossi and Emily who both had different answers. “It was Christensen in the 98 Olympics.” he could hear Derek say, and he laughed lightly because Derek was wrong. But he didn't want to flat out say that he was wrong. It wasn't something you’d do if someone was your soulmate…
It's New Year's Eve when a party leads to a drunk confession. When a drunk confession makes it so everyone is looking to the floor when the words “I think you’re my soulmate.” Comes out of his mouth. You're shocked as you’re looking at him.
“Yeah I’m sorry …. What?”
“Spencer — I think you’re my soulmate.” He says, and for a moment Spencer doesn’t believe him. He can’t be serious. He can’t seriously think that this is the case. It’s not that he has low confidence. It’s not that he doesn’t believe this is the situation. But he doesn’t want to believe it. Doesn’t want to believe that Morgan has the same thought process over all of this that he has. Because seriously — why is this the case? And what leads him to this. Spencer had known for two years, and Derek was just now noticing.
“The other day when you got burned on the case. I felt that burn on the same spot.” He said, extending a hand as if it were to say “this, I'm serious about this.”
“It could have been an empathy spot — or a hypochondriac moment —.” Spencer said, trying to make sense out of the reasonings. Trying to find a reason as to anyone or anything. That could be the reason behind this.
Derek took a deep breath, “Spencer. Me standing here is me saying that I’m serious about all of this. I know that you’ve been hurt — I can’t fix that. But I want you to let me in … just this once. Let me explain. Let me listen.” He said finishing his statement.
Spencer wanted him to listen. Wanted to figure this all out but he wasn’t sure if he could. If someone listened they could figure out he didn’t have the slightest idea that he knew what he was doing. What was going on and why did he feel so … confused. He felt like he was high. Even though he knew the feeling … it wasn’t like this. “I want to talk about this. But not right now…” he said standing up and almost running out of the room.
It was three days later when a sober Derek Morgan showed up at his front door. “We need to talk.” He said and his stature proved that they truly did. The lankier young man sighed, nodding.
“Yeah we do.”
Scars, to some people it’s a brush with death that makes us remember who we are. To others it’s proof we’ve lived to see another day. Scars. What a beautiful thing.