People are not good to each other. People are not good to each other. People are not good to each other. I suppose they never will be. I don't ask them to be. CHARLES BUKOWSKI

SPENCER REID'S POV

                              IRIS. IRIS. IRIS. IRIS.

Ἶρις

How long had it taken me to forget about her? In truth, I hadn't managed it at all. My eidetic memory was almost always helpful, thanks to my work, but sometimes it turned into an abysmal condemnation. I had only recently started working for the FBI when my nightmares began, every night in my mind a nest of bad events would make an appearance and I would wake up full of sweat and with a headache that made my insides explode along with my brain. Bad events, as well as good ones, were my daily bread.

She, on the other hand, had appeared like lightning, although I certainly didn't believe the rumours, taking it for granted that everything could happen by chance and that it wasn't fate. Iris hadn't attracted me because of that, she hadn't even grabbed me, I just felt sorry for her. I remember her well, it was yesterday, her black hair protected her face, over her shoulders, her big doe eyes set in lashes amalgamated by fallen mascara... and she was looking at me. As if I hadn't noticed. I never imagined that that brief exchange (of just a few words) would manage to discombobulate me for the entire next month.

I did not understand what had hit me that day, but I remember how she had left the bar like a shadow and had never seen her again. The following year, by pure chance, I had the honour of seeing her again through photographs. I recognised her with the help of Anika and Penelope, and it all seemed like a bad joke of nature. Yet it was true, when someone is destined to meet again, no matter what, it would succeed.

The girl sways like a siren, approaching total emptiness, I catch her before she can fall to the floor, my hands clutching her hips. She insisted on sending me away, not knowing that I would do the same thing with anyone, I didn't care about the degree of kinship, I was like that with everyone. Helping others. I would not have slept that night thinking I had left her there alone, drunk and vulnerable. From below she looks at me with shining eyes, the effect of the alcohol having spent hours in her body, and looks up.

"I don't need your help, Spencer," she removes my hand, takes a small step forward tripping over her own feet. A grin appears on my face, I try to deny it, Iris adjusts her dress, swallowing in embarrassment.

"I'm fine"

"I don't think so"

Her hair contoured her face in a bizarre, shapeless way, and no matter how hard she tried to deny that she didn't want my help, her eyes closed for every second she stood there. She wiped the last traces of tears from her cheek, then murmured, "What guarantees that I can trust you?"

I knew a hangover for a fact, I had already experienced it first-hand (perhaps when I was younger?) and had promised myself never to do it again. Now I knew I could handle it, but no more than three drinks. And I was fine with it. I hated the effect it had. The little girl couldn't help it, saying nonsensical things, she was drowned in a world all too peaceful.

"I am an agent" (Doctor)

She watches me, as if to see if my offer might be valid, I also wonder why Anika had left her all alone. On that day, no one could be trusted at all.

An ''Alright'' leaves her lips, no longer arguing, hoping the evening would end sooner than expected. We walk lined up, and I marvel at how my hand lands on top of hers to guide her to the car park. She doesn't move, lowering her eyes and babbling something under her breath that I ignore.

"How can I thank you?" Iris massages the back of my hand with her fingertips, and I realise how much that touch was a salve, I hadn't been used to that gesture for a long time. No, I was thinking in circles, but she was Anika's friend and I felt obliged to take a step.

''I would do it with anyone who was in such a delicate situation''
I break the closeness of our hands, opening the car, I haven't even warned the team of my escape, and I hear the phone ring in my trouser pocket. I don't answer it, waiting until I get to my house to call back. Iris sits on the passenger side and, as I start the car, I notice that she is undoing the straps on her heels.

"May I?" she asks me, but in the meantime she has already slipped off one shoe to put it beside her. I ask her first where she lives, so as not to make a mistake, and then silence envelops us like a cloud, everything changes and I feel myself stirring. I clasp my hands on the steering wheel, my knuckles change colour and turn white, and for the first time in my life I don't really know what to say. The only sound in the background is the radio, a channel with music I didn't like at all. I wasn't going to change it anyway.

"Maybe I should text Anika" she exclaims, and the less I expect I hear her voice again, more confident than before, she senses my gaze "But I can't do that, I'm pissed as hell at her" she throws her head back, closing her eyes, and relaxes with the breeze of the wind lashing her face. Evidently she can't be silent for more than a good minute, I came to the conclusion that she was much more outgoing than me, and it had taken her little time to confirm my thesis. According to my statistics, I had met very few people in my life who possessed such an extroverted personality as to confuse me (I had excluded Penelope and Derek from it)

"You know Anika told me that you are a genius, that you know everything, and she admires you a lot. She is my best friend, I love her very much, but I can't stand it when she tells me about your cases"

I laugh, but she shows no embarrassment still under the influence of alcohol.

"Does she talk a lot about the team?" I allow myself to ask.

"Yes! Jason is very jealous of it. I don't like Jason, he reminds me of Nikolay!"

I don't know who this Nikolay is, but Iris's face changed as if that was a mistake that had been allowed to seep out of her brain. Not wanting to know who he was, she was quick to turn the subject.

"Ok, so you know everything? Is Anika really right?"

"Not everything," I had never put myself out there, not when a situation was obvious enough and needed my point of view, like a case we were on with the team. Iris turns her head, steadily leaning against the seat cover, her eyes still numb with tears.

"Amaze me"

I should have known that she was rotten drunk, but sometimes she seemed to become lucid again, I look ahead again and a deserted road accompanies us to her house.

"The name Iris comes from Greek, related to Iris or Iride, messenger of the gods, symbolised by the rainbow announcing the return of the sun, image par excellence of God. I like to think that your parents had a deep admiration for classical mythology" I pause, continuing shortly after "Besides, according to statistics, it is a name that is not very popular, looking at new births few mothers decide to name their children with such a rare name" I was completely wrapped up in that discussion, Iris blinks.

"Wow" she murmurs in a low voice. All doubt is dispelled. For the first time I felt heard by a complete stranger.

                              THE building where Iris lives is a few blocks from mine, I get out of the car by opening the door for her, she thanks me. Her bare feet touch the asphalt with her heels clutched in her right hand.

"I'll walk you to the door," I say firmly, she nods.

We remain mute as a fish, and the little girl has a bit of a hard time getting in without bumping all over the place, her legs unsteady and her eyes tired.

"Tomorrow will be hell" she says more to herself than to me, the consequences of a hangover were unbearable, especially if a headache ensued. Arriving at the door, she searches in her handbag for her house keys.

"I'll tell Anika you're ok, go get some rest"

She was furious with her best friend, but at my suggestion her face calmed down.

"Thank you, for everything, Spencer"

I raise my hand to greet her, and she does the same, "Goodnight, Iris" 

I wait as she goes inside the house and closes the door tightly behind her, my phone rings again but I still don't answer it.

Ἶρις.