THE SAVED

follow up from Salvation.. xoxox

Spencer sat on a chair with his back to the large window and his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He was breathing heavily as though he'd just been running up a long flight of stairs. He hadn't been though. He'd been sitting just as he was now for the past half hour looking at the woman in the chair facing him.

His mother.

Spencer was in Vegas again. This time though, apart from his mum, he was alone. His mother was having a good day. Initially Spencer had thought this had been good. The times he'd visited his mother at Bennington and she'd not even recognised him were becoming more and more frequent, but today she seemed very aware of everything and more lucid than Reid would have liked. Spencer had come to see his mother to give her comforting words and to reassure her that everything was going to be all right. As all right as they ever could be at least, but things weren't going the way he'd expected. She had questions to ask.

'Are you still seeing that man?' It was the first thing she'd asked him. She didn't want to know if Spencer was OK. She could see he wasn't. There was no point in asking that. 'I was hoping you'd settle down with a nice young lady and start a family.' She went on to say. Spencer didn't answer her. The settling down thing was something he would love, but the nice young lady and family wasn't something Spencer had on his bucket list of things to do before he died. 'He smells funny. I don't like him.' His mother informed him.

Spencer made a small noise at the back of his throat. He was going to respond to that, but stopped himself. He wriggled uncomfortably on the chair and scratched at himself where his fingers could reach.

'And you look sick. Are you sick?' She now asked him directly.

'I'm doing fine mother.' But he didn't sound fine. He sounded a long way from fine.

'You know I might have a problem sometimes remembering things, Spencer, but I can see you're not fine. It's that man isn't it?' She said the word man as though it hurt her to use the word. She could see a faded bruise under Spencer's eye. She could see where his lip was healing from being damaged. She could see the way he was fidgeting and wriggling in his chair. 'He's dirty. If you have to be with a man why cant you find a nice one?'

'Mother…' Spencer breathed out the word. 'Sometimes things just happen.'

'Rubbish.' Mrs Reid placed her hands on the arms of the upholstered chair she was sitting on. 'And if you cant talk to me honestly why do you come to see me? Has he given you permission? Does he know you're here?'

'Mother…' Again a sigh more than a word. 'It's not like that.'

She stood. 'I'm going for a nap. You exhaust me. You wear me out. Sometimes, yes, things just happen, but you can change it. Go find someone nice, Spencer. Someone who isn't going to hit you.'

His hand went to his mouth. He could feel the small healing cut on his lip. 'Oh… he didn't do this.' A lie. Such a lie. A dreadful lie. And his mother knew it. He could tell by the way her eyes firstly twinkled (maybe tears forming) and then the way they narrowed. She turned so that she didn't have to look at her only child. A child she had once had so many hopes for.

'I need to sleep.' She told him again. 'Will you be back tomorrow?' She knew the answer all ready. She didn't need to ask.

'My flight…'

A quick nod from his mother. 'Of course; your flight.' There was barely veiled spite in her voice. 'He only gave you one day to come and see me.' It wasn't a question.

'Work… you know?'

She didn't know. She knew that Spencer had been given one day. She knew that her son would go running back to the stinking abusive man who he seemed to have formed such a bond with. Love? No… she couldn't see how anyone could love such an animal. Diana Reid turned her back on her son and without saying goodbye she walked away.

'Mother?' Spencer stood and took a few cautious steps towards her and then stopped. 'Mother.' He repeated as she walked out of the door. He wanted to explain, but he'd left it too late. He wanted to tell her what was going on, but when he was sitting there looking at his mother the words just dissolved and disappeared. Still with his arms wrapped around his chest and still picking and scratching through his blue and white checked shirt he stepped back and sat down again. 'I came to explain.' He muttered. But it was fine. She couldn't hear him now. He could say what he wanted to the empty room. 'I wanted to say…' But again the words went. He couldn't say them. The walls might hear him and repeat them back to his mother when he wasn't there to explain. 'I'm sorry.' He looked down at his knees and closed his eyes. It would have been so much easier if Spencer's mother had been having a bad day.

He sat alone for maybe up to fifteen minutes just staring at the darkness behind his closed lids. He didn't cry. He was all out of crying. There were no tears left. Slowly he stood. Unwrapped his arms from himself and left the building. He had a flight to catch. Floyd had kindly booked him the flights and even driven him to the airport. Floyd had given him a gentle loving kiss and a not so loving grope goodbye and reminded Spencer not to mess him around. Reminded him that if he came back stinking like a slut that he'd give him something to remember the warning by. He had pulled Spencer in close and asked him to send all his love to his mother… he had licked at Spencer's ear and pushed hard against him and told him that he'd be waiting for the return flight. 'Enjoy your trip.' He'd said. 'Only talk to the staff at Bennington and your mother. Don't book a room, you wont need one. Don't contact old buddies and don't contact your father. I will know if you have. Have fun. Send her my love.' And Floyd had waited and watched Spencer go through into departures and he'd stood and looked at the flight information board and waited until he was sure it had taken off OK and not crashed. He then waited for information on whether the flight had landed safely. It was a tense time for Floyd. He'd paced and chewed on his fingernails and he'd been monitored by security staff because the man looked dirty and shifty and dangerous, but he left without causing a problem and gotten back on his bike which had been parked illegally and he'd gone back to his empty apartment.

o-o-o

Floyd was under the impression that he'd done a nice thing by allowing Spencer a day or two to be with his mother. Fine… it wasn't a full day. He'd made damned sure of that. He knew Spencer couldn't and wouldn't spend a whole day talking to his crazy arsed mother. He knew he'd come away from the visit feeling low. What do people do when feeling low? They go find some handy cock and get some pleasure. That's what they do! They're all the same. People who are like Spencer are all the same anyway. There was no way Floyd was going to give Spencer the time to get laid by some Vegas whore. Even though warnings of such an action had been clear… (Floyd had split his knuckle on Spencer's face when he'd explained it.)… there was always a slight risk. Spencer didn't always do as he was told. Spencer sometimes became very delusional and thought he had a mind of his own. Which he didn't have. At least he'd best not have! He'd made sure that there was only five hours between the flights. That was plenty of time to get from the airport, see his mother, have a quick self pitying cry and get back to the airport again. It was a nice thing he'd done! He had shown Spencer that he had trust in him to go away for all that time and not misbehave. It also gave Floyd time to get home, change his shirt, put on a clean waistcoat and go find a whore for a cheap bit of release down a back street. He actually ended up having more fun than he'd expected and managed to get a three way. Getting relief from two people at the same time was the ultimate pleasure. When he got back to the apartment later that evening he was tired but very content. There was little or no blood behind fingernails. No one was going to be hammering on his door asking if he'd killed some slag and dumped the ripped up body in a bin, because he'd left both parties alive and almost well. A couple of elbows in faces and teeth in flesh was really all that had happened which was maybe unexpected from the two youngsters he'd paid.

He checked flights.

He paced the room.

He suspected Spencer of committing every sin against him that he could in the time he'd been given. Floyd made a telephone call to Bennington. Yes Dr Reid had been there and had just left. Yes he said he had a flight to catch. It was a shame he couldn't have stayed for longer. Floyd let the staff at Bennington know what a slut Spencer was and how he couldn't be trusted. He told them what he was going to do to Spencer when he got home. They put the telephone down on him. Floyd ripped the cord out of the wall and hurled the phone across the room. He hated phones. Hated them! How could he threaten someone if they were hundreds of miles away? How dare they put the phone down on him? Nothing he could do about that now, but when Spencer got home he was going to have to punish him for that.

'Fucking fag bastard.' Flanders muttered. 'No one puts the fucking phone down on me.'

There was something else though.

Something which was beginning to make Floyd feel uncomfortable. He had a nagging, nasty, scratchy feeling that he was being watched or followed. That of course was the most insanely ridiculous thing imaginable. If he was being followed he'd be able to see who it was by. It would be so damned obvious that there would virtually be a red arrow pointing down from the clouds showing him the fool, but he'd looked and seen nothing. Even locked away in the apartment he had a niggling feeling that he was being monitored.

'Cameras? This place is bugged?'

That was why he spent the next hour checking everything and everywhere he could think of. He found nothing. He did though, carefully put the phone back together and plug it back in. He did make another phone call. The phone rang three times before it was answered.

'Reid?'

'Hotchner.' Flanders replied. 'Spence is in Vegas. Family trip.'

Silence. Just breathing.

'I called you.' Floyd had a puzzled look on his face. Why was Hotchner not talking to him? 'Are you busy?'

'Too busy to talk to you.' Came the reply. 'What do you want? Make it quick.'

Floyd held the phone away from his ear and shook it in annoyance. 'Are you monitoring me? Is this place bugged? Am I being followed?'

A sigh at the other end of the phone. 'Why would we waste resources doing that? What you do and where you go is usually made obvious by the blood trail you leave behind. If there's no trail, no reports of murder, rape… then all is well.'

'So you're monitoring me?' Again a short space of silence. Hotchner was thinking (this might take some time). 'Have I got time to take a shit whilst you decide whether the truth is needed?' Floyd asked.

'As far as I am aware you're not being monitored. Is that all? I'm busy.'

A thought came to Floyd. A rush of white hot anger. He could feel that heat rising up his neck and onto his face. His knuckles went white as he held the phone. 'Is Spencer there? Are you fucking my Spence?'

The phone went dead. Now Hotchner had hung up on him too and again he wanted to throw the phone across the room and stamp on it until it was a million bits of useless plastic, but he held his temper, at least for now and rang Hotchner again. 'And before you say a fucking thing, it was just a sodding question.' He gave Hotch no time to speak. 'Someone is following me.' He added. 'Is Spencer there?' He asked again.

'Spencer isn't here. You just said he was in Vegas. He's not here. I've already told you that as far as I am aware no one is following you.'

'Well someone… Hotchner?'

A sigh. 'I'm busy.'

'Have you seen Sam?'

'Sam… No. You've misplaced him again?'

'I broke his clocks.' Floyd explained.

'Flanders.' A stern voice. 'I don't have time to discuss this with you now. I am busy. Maybe you should replace Sam's clocks for him if he's upset with you over that. It's all I can suggest. Have a nice day.' Again the phone line was cut.

'Replace his clocks.' Floyd held the phone away from his ear and raised an eyebrow at it. 'Replace his clocks? Are you fucking stupid?' He spoke to the empty room.

o-o-o

Airport parking lot. Not the place to have a murderous outburst. It was a bike!

A sodding bike for the love of the gods! Not some monstrous truck. Floyd strongly resented the parking fees but the man standing at his shoulder telling him… telling him! … that he had to pay and that he couldn't just park where he wanted, seemed ready for a punch up. Floyd felt like a punch up too, but thought that today he would disappoint the bastard.

'I'm not going to kill you.' Floyd let him know. 'Back the fuck off.'

'I think I will hang around until I've seen you put the money in the machine.'

Short term parking. 'Pay and fucking display.' Floyd muttered. 'Sounds like some sexual act to me.'

'Just pay the machine or I'll ticket you and get you towed.'

He stuffed the money into the machine and ripped the ticket out. 'Happy now? Happy? Are you fucking happy that you've ruined my fucking day?'

'Your day is easily ruined if getting a ticket to park can spoil it.' The man walked away unaware that he had just used up nine of his ten lives. Floyd spat onto the ground in front of him, turned and looked at the middle aged woman standing behind him with a fist full of coins.

'Fuck off.' He growled at her. And she did. Quickly. Floyd watched her walk quickly to another machine. He wanted to urinate on the machine and bleed all over it. He wanted to pass some nasty disease onto someone, but it would have to wait. He had a ticket which he slapped on the bike and he walked away before he got the urge… just after he got the urge to key some cars.

People shouldn't have such big vehicles if they couldn't afford to pay to get a few scratches fixed.

People would die a slow death if they decided his bike was far game.

A very slow death.

Floyd stood and looked at the bike and then looked at the man in the security uniform who was watching him. But that wasn't what the problem was. There was that itching feeling that he was being observed again. Not the man standing there looking at him. No, not him… that man didn't even deserve to be noticed. It was something else. Something sly, something dim… dim in the way that it maybe didn't really exist. Something which was crawling around in his head letting him know he was being watched. Watched from the inside?

Flanders rubbed at his eyes with fingertips and then massaged his temples with his knuckles. 'I'm being watched from the inside?' He questioned his thought. 'Show yourself you son of a bitch.' Floyd saw the man in the uniform take a quick step forwards. Did I say that aloud? 'Am I talking to you?' He shouted over the lot. The man though shook his head quickly and as Floyd turned and walked towards the stairs… Cant fool me into using a fucking elevator, the man pulled out his walkie-talkie and let someone know that there was a man acting very suspiciously in the short term parking lot and he was heading for arrivals.

This was the reason why when Spencer arrived back and walked through the gate with his pack over his back, that Floyd wasn't there to greet him with open arms. There was though a man in a security uniform and a gun at his side who asked Spencer to come with him, please.

'What? What have I done?' His face blanched and that sick panicky feeling came over him.

'Hopefully nothing. If you can come with me please.' Not a question. Certainly not.

'My bag was checked.' Spencer let the man know, but he still followed. No point in arguing the point. Get it over with quickly. He was escorted back out of arrivals and through staff only doors and down corridors and then finally into an interview room. His bag was taken from him and he was asked to sit down. There was one chair in the room. A chair bolted to the floor. There was nothing else though. No table. No windows… nothing but four men and Spencer… his bag was taken away. 'I don't understand.' Spencer said. 'I've just flown in from Vegas.'

'Were you expecting someone to meet you on arrival?'

Spencer swallowed. He heard that dry click of panic in his throat. 'Uh, yes.'

'A name Dr Reid?'

'Flanders. Floyd Flanders.'

'You're a federal agent.'

'Well yes and thus I don't think you can keep me here.' Spencer didn't have his ID with him. How did they know he was a FED?

'We will keep you for as long as we want to keep you here. Are you running drugs for Mr Flanders?'

Spencer wanted to stand up and pace, but instead he wrapped his arms around himself and took a deep breath. 'I am a federal agent.' Of course, Floyd had told them.

'You didn't answer my question.'

'Of course I'm not running drugs! You can check my bag! You can check… you can…' His voice faded out as the images of exactly what they would check played over his mind. 'I'm not running drugs. Can you please contact my unit chief?'

'Well let's just see if your story tallies with that of Mr Flanders' first. Why were you in Vegas?'

The man talking to him, a slightly sweaty man with a white shirt which was too tight across his stomach, had produced Spencer's fight ticket stubs and information. 'I was visiting my mother.'

'For a few hours? Five… five hours. That seems to be a very short stay considering the length of the flight. Who else did you meet up with during your trip?'

Again that dry click at the back of Spencer's throat when he swallowed. 'I don't get… I had to… I was.' He stopped, gathered his thoughts and started again. 'I don't like being away from my boyfriend for too long.' He stated. 'I just wanted to quickly see if my mother was OK and get back again. There was no point in staying longer. I wanted to get home again.' Pick, pick, scratch, scratch with his fingernails.

'You look worried Dr Reid.'

'I just don't know why I am here.'

'Mr Flanders caused some concern. He was talking to himself. Acting in a suspicious manner.'

Spencer took a deep breath. 'He is always like that. He's got a… he's got a few problems.'

'He told us that the reason you were only staying in Vegas for five hours was because he couldn't trust you to be there longer. He told us that he sent you away for a short while to give him self space from you. He said that your mother is… What was it he said?'

'A fucking bonkers old cunt.' One of the other men said.

Reid scratched and picked some more and said nothing.

'I think we'll have a little strip search. If you don't mind removing your shoes to start with.'

o-o-o

Whilst Spencer was being searched with a rubber glove and a deep frown on his face, Flanders was pacing the small room he'd been taken to. For now all they had him on was minor vandalism. They had footage from the security cameras in the parking lot of what appeared to be him keying four cars. 'Three.' Floyd corrected them. 'Cant even fucking count and if some bitch gets her wagon buggered by some fuck then she needs to pull her brains out of her twat and sort it herself. I'm not paying fuck all for damage done by someone else.'

They questioned him about drugs. They demanded a urine sample. They regretted asking, but they did get a sample. Maybe not in the way they would have liked but that didn't matter now. The drugs test came back positive for barbiturates, morphine, cocaine, marijuana and a few unknown substances. They looked at the results and wondered if the lab had got something wrong. They ran the tests again. How he could have had all of that in his system and still be standing, they didn't know. He also had a high level of alcohol. Much too high. Four times the legal driving limit. But they had no complete proof that he'd not had a sneak drink somewhere between parking up the bike and pissing over officer Gentry.

Now they wanted to know where he got his drugs from. They wanted to know names of dealers. They wanted to know who he was waiting for at the airport.

'Your mule?'

'My monkey.' He corrected them. They looked confused. 'Monkey? You know? As in an addiction? I need a bit of that boy every day or I lose my fucking mind. Drugs I can do without, I can survive and not have them. But my boy? Nope. Got to have a regular dose of his pretty arse every day.'

'Is that who you're waiting for?' They wanted to know now.

'No. You have me shut in a room and are asking me stupid questions, that's what I'm doing. When I was out in arrivals, then yeah, I was waiting for my fuck buddy to come through the gate.'

'You have a nasty mouth.' A voice said from behind him.

Flanders smirked. 'That's not what the sluts tell me.'

He received a sharp slap around the head. Normally this would have sent Floyd into a blood fest rage. He told them so. 'Hit me again and I'll kill every last motherfucking one of you.' He paused. 'Then eat the evidence.'

They didn't like this Flanders person. But apart from the high level of narcotics in his urine and his nasty way when talking to people there was nothing they could hold him on. They did decide to wait until the person he was waiting for arrived though. Maybe the mule would give them information they wanted. A bust would be great. It had been a boring day, but staying in the same room as this foul minded, foul mouthed and even nastier smelling man wasn't a happy thought.

o-o-o

They had contacted Hotchner and when he arrived Spencer was hunkered down in the corner of the room with his arms wrapped around his head. There was a neat pile of clothes folded up on the chair, with a pair of shoes sat on top of them. Hotchner's stomach hitched as he looked at the mess in the corner. Reid was rocking slowly back and forth. Four men were standing there looking at their victim.

'What the hell?' Hotch walked quickly to Spencer. He was removing his jacket as he walked and as he crouched down next to Reid he slipped the jacket over Spencer's shoulders.

'We had to check him. We thought he was carrying.' Airport security told him.

At least they'd thought to return Spencer's boxers' to him. At least he wasn't totally humiliated in front of the unit chief. 'I'll sort this out.' Hotch said gently.

But Spencer slowly pulled the jacket off his shoulders. 'It's not that I'm not grateful.' He explained in a shaky voice, but with what they've just done to me, I don't think Floyd will appreciate the smell. Can you find him for me? They have him here somewhere. They thought I was running drugs. They…'

'No problem.' Hotch stood, picked up his jacket and turned to the men in the room. 'Give him his clothes back and get Flanders. I assume you have no reason to hold my agent here any longer?'

A few head shakes. A few muttered words. A few maybe scared expressions. 'We let Flanders go. We escorted him out of the building and called him a cab. He was over the legal limit in about every way possible.'

o-o-o

He stood with a snarl on his upper lip.

He stood in the shadows and watched.

He didn't let Floyd know that he was there watching everything he did.

He wanted to go over to him and beg forgiveness. He wanted to plead with him and promise that he'd never do anything like that again. He wanted Floyd to see him and want him and need him desperately, but there was Spencer. Spencer was in the way again. Always in the way of his happiness.

Sam had spent many a long hour in discussion with those who had control. Those who laughed at him when he turned up gasping for breath and clutching his broken clocks. Oh how they had laughed. Sam would have shouted and ranted and raged at them in return for their mocking laughter, but he couldn't. He dropped the smashed clocks onto the floor, leaned forward with his hands pressed on his thighs and howled in pain as he felt the gas which had been released curl around his lungs and tear up into his brain. It felt to Sam as though his insides were boiling. He could feel the drip, drip, drip, of snot coming from his nose. He could feel sticky tears running down his face and something popping and trickling out of his ears.

And they laughed even more.

Sam had made some pretty large promises to them. He was dying and in pain! People say and do things which later they might regret when they feel like one more second and they will burst open and splatter their insides over those mocking, laughing, blackskinned faces. Sam made a lot of promises and he didn't get many back in return. Yes he was let go. Yes they stopped most of the pain, but they wouldn't get rid of Spencer and they wouldn't give Floyd back and they wouldn't give him his freedom.

They would give him a little job to do though.

Sam was easy to use.

Sam was stupid when it came to revenge.

Sam was given the colt python and five boxes of rounds.

Sam was given a pat on the shoulder and told…

'You want rid of Spencer Reid, then go forth and get rid of him…'

BUT

'To make it fair… because just putting a bullet in the fool's brain is much too easy… to make it fair… you have to get Flanders to do it for you.' A pat on the head with a clawed hand. 'Might even give you that little smudge of a soul you're so desperate for.'

Of course they lied.

BUT

Desperate times and all?

Sam knew that anyone in the same position would do the same thing. His only problem was how to contact Floyd and not have Floyd kill him before he's had a chance to talk to him. Well maybe not his only problem, but that was certainly one of them.

And there was Floyd now. He'd parked his bike in the underground parking and was standing there, keys in hand, looking around. The gun was in a shoulder holster and covered by the baggy hip length jacket Sam was wearing. The gun was loaded. He could have pulled it there and shot a big hole right through Floyd's head, but he didn't. That wasn't why he was here. He saw Floyd look directly into the shadows he was pressed into and then look away again.

'I know you're there.' Floyd spoke. 'Come out and show yourself or piss off and stop following me. If there is something you want from me, speak now. I don't have all day and my mood is degenerating quickly, so this had better be good.' He wasn't talking directly in Sam's direction but it was to Sam he was speaking.

'You killed me.' Sam spoke in a voice not much more than a whisper, but it was loud enough for Floyd to hear. 'First you let Spencer smash my face in and then you kill me.'

Floyd's eyes went immediately to the shadow the voice was coming from.

'Sam… you shot Spencer. You shot me. You…'

'You left me there! You said I was forgiven. You asked me to fix the clocks and then you abandoned me. I died! I had to breathe in that dreadful poison gas. I was alone! I died there in that fucking place with the lights flashing and the gas boiling my brain and melting my lungs.'

Floyd turned from the voice and began to walk to the door which led to the stairwell. 'Fuck with me and I'll fuck with you right back, Sam. What the hell did you expect? There's no happy ever after… there's just shit piled upon shit and then when you crawl out of the top of the fucking midden you realise that you've just been dumped on again. It's life. Get the fuck used to it.' He pulled the door open and turned now to look at where Sam was standing just in sight. 'Shit Sam… what do you want me to say? You want me to tell you that it's OK to kill Spencer? You need anything?' Floyd put a hand out to Sam. 'I've got stuff if you need something.'

Sam took another step forwards. 'What sort of stuff?' He licked his lips. 'I don't have money.'

'I don't want money. Your arse will do me fine. Now you want to feel something nice prick that lovely little arm of yours or are you going to stand there mooching until that shit falls again. I've not got all day.'

'How do I know I can trust you?' Another step forward.

'Because you have no choice. You don't look well.'

'I'm NOT fucking WELL!' Sam shouted and his voice echoed back. 'I'm in constant pain!' His voice cracked as tears once more began to fall. 'I loved you so much Floyd. I loved you. And you threw me away like trash.' He stepped into touching range.

'You are trash. That's a girls jacket you have on, vinyl knee length shorts and red hooking boots. You are trash… you look like a cheap transvestite. Sam?'

'What?' A sulk. Sam was looking at his platformed red shiny boots.

'You look like you've got a pair of tits.'

'And?'

Floyd raised an eyebrow. 'Please tell me you have a dick and balls.'

'Oh I have every damned thing you could possibly fucking want! That anyone could want. Those bastards screwed me.'

'Ah.' Floyd quickly turned from Sam and looked at the dark stairwell. He had a barely concealed grin on his face.

'Ah… Ah? Is that all you can say? I'm a fucking hermaphrodite and all you can say is Ah?'

'I've got heroin.' Floyd told Sam as he began to walk up the stairs.

'Great. And I've got a pussy.' Sam said from next to him as he walked up the stairs with Floyd. 'You want to play with it?'

'No.'