Daily Writing Prompt: October 15, 2012

Your character has printed something very personal and/or private and realizes they sent it to the wrong printer. It is too late to cancel it and by the time they get to it, it has disappeared.

Was bored at lunch so decided to brainstorm. Set before Hankel, after Elle.

I didn't have many friends outside of work. Actually, only one. Jordan was a member of my therapy group, and we were put together as partners. None of my other friends knew about him, or that I went to group therapy. That would devastate my career! I had a suspicion that my colleagues cared enough about me to understand, but I can't get over the fear that my very best friend Derek Morgan would tease me endlessly, or JJ would ask incessant questions that are none of her business.

It was a paperwork day, and I always finished early, even with Morgan and Prentiss slipping me their files. I stuck around anyway, chatting with Jordan or bugging Morgan with facts about things he never asked about. Also, we always printed out our e-mails to each other in case we needed them for, I don't know, therapy stuff. I usually didn't print them out at work, but today I thought nothing of it.

Spencer,

I'm so hung-over, I was up all night binge drinking. I know, I know, I been trying to quit, but my girlfriend broke up with me so I thought I deserved it. Okay, I guess I didn't deserve it. Listen, are you gonna come on Thursday? You keep skipping to go on cases. Dr. Cooley is mad. He says you're hiding from him, and the other group members are jealous because on the rare occasion that you show up, he has to focus on you so much.

Also, he says you're not improving. You need to come more, and talk about yourself instead of weird things that nobody cares about. And I hate you. Not really, I'm just drunk again. You know what sucks? My girlfriend broke up with me because she found out about my therapy. She says she didn't want to go out with a crazy person. That bitch! I love her . . . besides, I'm not crazy, I just have PTSD. I never told anyone this, (except Dr. Cooley), but when I was little, my dad used to take my brothers and I camping, and once, they led me to this cave and left me there. I was lost for like two days! And don't tell anyone about that! I'm very sensitive on the subject of my brothers.

Oh, look at me, getting all drunk and emotional. I gotta go. See you Thursday.

Jordan

I sighed. Jordan was hopeless; everything that happened to him was an excuse to go drinking. But he and his girlfriend, who's name I didn't know, had been together for almost a year. Without thinking, I pulled up the print options and clicked "ok", trusting the default settings. I was only a little worried when I saw that I had sent it to the printer in another room, and hurried to get it.

"It should be sitting in the printer in that other room," said Hotch. Morgan left his office to go get it, glancing at Reid sighing at something on his computer. When he got to the room, however, there were two printed papers in the tray. He took his, but couldn't help noticing Spencer written at the top of the next paper. It looked like and e-mail. Immediately he assumed it was from some girlfriend of Reid's that he had never mentioned, and he quickly snatched it, planning to read it and tease Reid about it later.

He snuck into a different hallway to get back to the bullpen to avoid crossing paths with Reid. At the bottom, it appeared to be from someone named Jordan, adding fuel to his suspicions. At his desk, he thought about sharing his treat with Prentiss, but thought that might be a little too far, going around and telling everyone. He bit his lip to keep from grinning, fidgeting with curiosity, and read it.

His shoulders slumped. Not what he expected at all. And definitely nothing he should have taken. He wasn't sure what to do with this. It had never occurred to him that innocent, nerdy Reid could have any secrets that actually mattered. For a brief moment, he looked at Hotch's office, wondering if this was something he should know about.

He looked at Reid's desk. He wasn't there; probably ransacking the other room for his e-mail. Morgan bit his lip. He could slip the paper back on his desk, but he kind of wanted to keep it and talk to Reid about it later. He felt sorry for him, keeping such a big secret from the team, and wanted to be able to talk about anything with his best friend.

Plus, he couldn't deny it anymore, he was sickeningly curious.

Reid started hyperventilating. Forget about himself, that e-mail had very confidential information about Jordan. How could he betray his only friends trust? His thoughts kept fleeting to that 'confidentiality agreement' he had signed. So careless, he had been so careless.

After going through the trash bin several times and checking the printer tray, he gave up. Maybe someone would blackmail him with it. 'That's good', he thought. 'Think positive. Someone will blackmail me with it. Then, it will stay secret. Keep it secret.'

He hurried back to the bullpen. Keep busy. And change settings on print options. Sitting at his desk, he tried to calm down, but he was in therapy, for goodness sake! That was like asking a dog walk on his hind legs. It just wasn't happening. He looked up at Prentiss, who looked like she was about to fall asleep. Okay, so, she probably didn't know anything.

Morgan, however, seemed to keep glancing at him, and quickly looking away. Screw profiling, that was just suspicious.

Certain that Morgan was out to get me, I left as soon as I could grab all of my things and half-run to the elevator. But the stupid elevator was on Morgan's side, and decided to wait until he caught up before it opened. Alone, in the elevator, with Morgan, who most likely knew my biggest secret, not to mention my friend's.

"So, you drive today?" he asked casually.

"Yes," I automatically replied.

"I didn't see your car . . ."

"Yeah, I . . . parked somewhere else."

"Reid, you're a bad liar. Let me give you a ride." He smiled all friendly. All scenarios I had planned on encountering went out the window, and were replaced by new scenarios. Announce it to the bullpen; gone. Fire me with horrible questions; gone. Blackmail me; improbable. Go all noble and try to help me; possible.

"I'll just take the train." I almost whispered.

"Come on, Reid, I'm not gonna take no for an answer, so you can keep fighting or just give it up now." I sighed, knowing he was right. We were silent all the way to his truck. He opened the door for me, probably worried I would run away. "So, I have a feeling you know what I want to talk about."

"It was just an e-mail. My friend Jordan was upset, he broke up with his girlfriend . . ." I tried to explain.

"I know, I read it." He looked guilty. "I'm sorry, man, I shouldn't have taken it, or read it. I just . . . wasn't thinking. I want you to know, you can talk to me about anything, okay?"

I sighed. Usually, I would push him away and hide, but I was so tired of that. I was so tired of not being able to trust anyone.

"I've been going to group therapy for a few years. I'd been having panic attacks, and my doctor said it might help . . . but I don't think it is. You know, it might sound crazy, but I think this job is helping me more. Not the "catching crazy killers" part, but . . . just being with you guys. You're the only people that ever really cared about me, the only people I've really cared about . . . sorry if I'm annoying you with this." I looked down at my hands in my lap.

"No, you're not. I'm glad you told me this." He sighed, not knowing what to say.

"Thanks for listening," I whispered.

"Always." I looked up at the unfamiliar street we were driving on.

"Um . . . Derek? Where are we going?"

"Oh, uh, well, I don't actually know where you live, so . . . do you wanna go to my house? We could just hang out for a while, talk . . . I'll take you home later."

I smiled shyly. "O-ok. C-c-cool." Damn nervous stutter!

He smiled a little and turned into his driveway. I raised my eyebrows. "Exactly when did you decide to kidnap me?" I asked, trying to keep my tone light.

"About the time I realized you were actually going to open up to me." He unlocked the door and his huge dog immediately jumped up and started barking at him. "Easy, easy, Clooney, SIT!" The dog only sat for a moment before jumping back up again to examine me.

I backed away and held my hands up, but Morgan took him by his collar and led him through the house. I came in and shut the door, looking around. It was a little dark, not because of the lack of light, but he had dark hard wood floors and walls, and his furniture, which I could see in a sitting room to my right, was black leather. I smirked at the impressive DVD collection and big screen TV, so Derek. I bet he even had his own personal gym with an amazing sound system.

"Come on in," Morgan said, coming back through what looked like the kitchen and leading me into the sitting room.

"I-I like your house," I said stupidly, mentally kicking myself. He laughed a little and sat in an arm chair while I took the couch.

"So, what triggered your PTSD?" he asked uneasily.

"Probably a case, I can't exactly pinpoint when it started. It sucks, though, because I suppressed my memories, so I have no idea what traumatic thing is giving me . . . distress." I shrugged. "Do you think . . . do you think therapy is only for crazy people?" I asked, avoiding eye contact. He laughed a little.

"As a matter of fact, I don't think most crazy people would go to therapy." I smiled.

"Yeah."

THE END I don't know where to go from this.