A/N: Does anyone here still remember me? (chuckles a bit awkwardly) GOSH, I've been away for such a long time! But guess what, folks? This beginning of a fic is my official announcement of return!

This story-idea just had to be unleashed. And I solemnly, swear, tomorrow 'The Secret of White Dahlia' will FINALLY be updated! Yay? Good news? BUT, back to this story…

LENGTH: ten chapters (although if plotbunnies go crazy, I may add or take away a chapter or two)

WARNINGS: SLASH, Morgan x Reid, Reid x Maeve, adult themes, language, violence…ya know, the usual fun (STOP STOMPING ON EACH OTHER ON THE WAY OUT!)

DISCLAIMER: PLEEEEEEEEEASE! Reid wouldn't be missing from even a single episode if I did own something. Just borrowing the characters to play around with them for a bit.

Awkay, because it's LATE and I'm a bit nervous… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

Tabula Rasa

A Clean Slate

Matthew Dahl was born at the age of 28 at the ICU of a huge hospital in New York. He opened his eyes with tremendous effort to realize that he had no idea of who he was or where he was. He was told that he'd been mugged savagely, to a degree where he had definite brain damage. The doctors in charge of his care weren't very optimistic that he'd ever regain his memories. Or walk. Or talk.

In two cases out of three, he proved them wrong.

In three weeks he was talking, stuttering horribly but still. In two months he was taking his first wobbly steps, watched over carefully by two nurses who didn't seem sure if they wanted to smack him or hug him. But the memories never came back. Which was strange, because he seemed to have an eidetic memory. How could someone with a memory like that lose 28 years?

He couldn't be a John Doe forever. Since there was no ID with him when he was found and no one came looking for him he had to come up with a new name. For some reason Matthew Dahl sounded right. And didn't.

He adjusted to his newly found life the best as he could. But he couldn't stop himself from waiting for someone to appear. He kept scratching his left ring finger until the skin broke.

When one is born as an adult, there's a lot of emotional turmoil involved. It was an inevitability that Matthew found himself needing therapy to adjust. To make sense of his life, to find a direction.

He was eight months old, fresh out of the hospital and the rehabilitation which followed, when he approached one of the plush chairs of Dr. Harley's waiting room. Only this time he wasn't there alone, like he usually was. A woman of his age sat there reading a book.

She looked up upon hearing steps and blinked twice. "Hey you… three o'clock, too?"

He shook his head, feeling embarrassed. Was he this awkward with people, even… before? "No, I just…" He cleared his throat, hating the way he stuttered. Hating the tricks blows to the head had done to his brain. "I like being early. And… On some days it's nice to sit here for a while and…"

"… read before she calls you in." The woman chuckled nervously and looked away, moving a strand of hair behind her ear. Did she blush? "I've been here since one thirty."

They smiled at each other. Matthew felt dizzy, and had a feeling that this time it had nothing to do with brain damage. It was strange, to look at someone who seemed to have known you longer than you'd known yourself.

All of a sudden the book in his satchel was much heavier than before. Perhaps because it was the same one she was reading. 'The Narrative of John Smith'.

On that day he stopped scratching his left ring finger, and wondered if she was what he'd been waiting for.

Two more months flew by with Matthew struggling to get a grip of his new life. It was a beautiful, sunny Thursday morning when he followed a man in a lab-coat through a maze of hallways. The cane he'd have to use for a little while longer sounded uncomfortably loud as he looked around, imprinting the route to his mind.

"Dr. Harley gave great recommendations", his tour guide stated, and gave him a genuine smile. No pity, no uncertainty. It was a refreshing change. "According to her you're the smartest person she's ever met. And if the talk we just had is anything to go by, you're the perfect match for this team." The man was polite enough to not mention that he was only a low-paid trainee, someone who'd been picked out of several applicants because of his genuine motivation.

Matthew must've zoned out. Again, thanks to his malfunctioning brain. Because the next time he was able to focus his companion was opening a door to one of the research rooms. "Ah, it looks like you'll meet one member of this family." The man gave someone in the room a smile as they entered. "Morning. I should've known that you're already busy."

Matthew's eyes found those of the room's occupant. And in a flash that felt like a electric jolt he recognized the woman from the therapist's office. Clearly she recognized him as well. "Hi." She didn't offer a hand. How did she know that he wasn't comfortable with handshakes? "I'm Dr. Maeve Donovan."

They had coffee together after work. Maeve told him that she went to therapy because she recently found out that her mom was seriously ill and she needed a little help to cope with it. Matthew told her about his own harsh, pathetically short life.

They sat there until the café closed and since then they had coffee together every day.

Two months later Maeve broke it off with her fiancé. Another two weeks later Matthew finally gathered his courage and asked if she'd like to see a Russian movie with him. There were only four other people in the theater, but they didn't notice the rest of the world. In the dark they exchanged their first kiss.

The following six months were rough. Maeve's mom got worse, until she finally began to get better. Matthew supported her through all that, unable to imagine doing anything less.

And then it was Maeve's birthday. She wasn't as surprised as she could've been when Matthew gave her a beautiful, star shaped puzzle. "Matt…"

"Break it."

She looked at it in disbelief. With the way his hands still shook sometimes it must've taken him ages to put it together. Why…? "Break it?"

Matthew grinned. He'd never loved her as much as he did at that moment. "Yup."

Curiosity won. Still hesitant, Maeve let the star fall. It hit the floor and exploded to hundreds of pieces that shone like diamonds. And all of a sudden her eyes spotted the most beautiful ring she'd ever seen on the floor.

They got married in a stunningly beautiful, tiny chapel with only four people and a priest for company. It was the perfect winter day, with snow falling softly outside and light streaming in through the windows, shining on the bride and groom's blissed faces. As they swore to spend the rest of their days together they meant it from the bottom of their hearts.

And yet… As a ring was slid to the finger that still had marks of all the scratching he once did… A very, very tiny part of Matthew couldn't help but feel like he was betraying someone.

Which didn't shatter the knowledge that he couldn't imagine being happier than he was right then. Until he could. Because later that afternoon Maeve refused to have champagne with a twinkle of uncontrollable joy in her eyes.

Maeve was on a maternity leave when the thesis of Diane Turner arrived. The pile of papers became buried and forgotten. Diane was ignored. And the lack of recognition made her rage bubble.

She never got the chance to reach her boiling point. Because on a fateful night a car collided with hers, ending her life prematurely. She died just as the paramedics arrived with flashing lights. And smiled, as she could've sworn that her parents were there with her.

The car that collided with hers was driven by a drunken Bobby Putnam, who only hours ago saw his very pregnant ex-fiancée sitting at a restaurant table with her husband.

Storm raged on the day the baby was born. It was no surprise that Matthew and Maeve never made it to the hospital. Their baby-girl was born on the backseat of their car, screaming with outrage as she was pushed violently into the world.

Later at a hospital the new parents smiled at their sleeping daughter, all the stress and panic forgotten. "Take a look at that face. I wonder what she's dreaming of", Maeve murmured, leaning against her husband. A comfortable silence lingered while they admired the miracle they created. "What do you think we should call her?"

The name came out of nowhere, it seemed. But it was the only one he could think of. "How about Morgana?"

Four years and two months passed by at a breathtaking pace.

Matthew recovered. While his daughter took her first steps he learned that he didn't need his cane anymore. As Morgana continued to learn new words – the first one of them being, to her dad's immense pride, 'coffee' – he fought to learn to control his speech. The stuttering would never fade away completely. And he'd probably never regain the vocabulary he had before… being reborn. ('Don't worry', Maeve comforted him gently whenever the frustration threatened to take over. 'You still know more words than five average people combined.') He was incredibly intelligent and his mind moved at a dizzying speed. But still learning new things was a challenge. And the headaches… On some days they were murder. Thankfully he had Maeve to help him through the worst.

Matthew wondered, several times over, how in the world someone as damage as he managed to have such a perfect family. And although he hated himself for it sometimes he wondered if he had a family, before… If there were people who still wondered what happened to him. Probably not. Shouldn't someone have come looking by now, if he had anyone?

He already had everything he could've possibly wished for, so there was no point in longing for more, he decided.

One late evening, naked and comfortably drowsy from their previous activities, Maeve was just about to fall asleep in Matthew's arms. She frowned and nuzzled her head against his chest when he pulled her closer. "What is it, Mattie?" she murmured.

"Don't… Don't let me forget about this life, too." He kissed her hair. "Don't let me forget again." Don't let me lose you, too.

Matthew could've lived like that forever, even if he had a distinct feeling that something more than his memory and some connections in his brain was missing. It was the closest to heaven anyone could get while still on Earth, he was sure. He should've known that at some point the years of life he'd forgotten would come back to haunt him.

He felt chills when men with his physical description began to die. Not a lot of details had been released to public but he knew enough to be able to tell that the deaths were incredibly painful and sadistic. He didn't realize fully just how close the danger was until he bought a mug of coffee that tasted strange and woke up in a basement he couldn't recognize.

Later, he remembered how the man who tried to kill him looked like down to the last detail. Exactly how brown those eyes were, the amount of gray locks amongst mahogany brown, the body shape, the star shaped scar on left cheek, the scent of cologne, the clothes… And especially the look on the killer's face when the man pulled out a knife.

At that moment Matthew saw, loud and clear, just how much he had to lose. Morgana. Maeve. His first instinct was the confuse the man by talking but he knew that with how much he still stuttered there was no way he'd manage it. So he relied on his almost as badly broken body instead.

Before either of them saw it coming he kicked fiercely, sending the knife flying, then kicked again. As hard as he possibly could. The killer was tossed right at a nearby wall and hit his head harshly, then slid down and remained unmoving.

Shock and adrenaline coursed through Matthew as he stared at the motionless man, wondering just what he'd done. And how. How did he manage it?

Matthew decided quickly that there was no point in wasting time on wondering. Instead he tugged and pulled at the restraints around his wrist. Ignoring the fact that eventually he was bleeding. That his skin was broken and the pain blossomed, going all the way through him and tingling. All he cared about was that he had to leave, while he still could.

He stumbled to the floor so suddenly that it startled him. He bruised his knees, hit one of them so hard that he was lucky it didn't break. Despite the discomfort he was up in a flash.

And that was when the running steps, like thunder, began. They approached before he had the time to process what was happening. "FBI! Hands in the air, now!"

Matthew obeyed instantly, his eyes wide while adrenaline surged anew. His heart thundered, and he wondered just how fast it could go before it'd kill him. He stood absolutely still, trying to keep the trembling at bay.

"I, ah… I'm…" Matthew cleared his throat, then tried again. "I'm not… I'm not the one you're looking for…!"

Just then the FBI-agents reached the basement floor. Slowly, slowly, the dark-skinned man leading the crew lowered his weapon. They stared at each other, and Matthew felt like he'd been sucked into some entirely different reality with those wide, brown eyes fixed on him. Disbelief, joy and so much more was clearly visibly. No one but Maeve had ever looked at him with such sheer adoration. The agent's lips opened twice before they uttered a name that seemed make his world spin around. "Spence?"

TBC

A/N: So, here we are. What happened to Reid, to make him forget? Just what was the past he's forgotten like? And which life will he choose – or will he even have a choice?

AND, the most important question… Would you like to read more? I'D LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU, since starting a new story is always nerve-wrecking.

In any case, thank you SO MUCH for reading! Who knows. Maybe I'll see you again someday?

Take care!