"The Spencer Reid who left may not be the Spencer Reid who came back."
"What do you mean?"
"He has suffered immense physical and psychological damage. Based on some of the scars, it appears that he was held and tortured for over a year."
Aaron Hotchner ran his hand over his face. He'd had his misgivings about the undercover operation from the beginning. Hotch hadn't been privy to any details, but he knew that Cruz had been adamant Reid was the only one who could do it. "You're needed here, Aaron, and Morgan looks too much like an agent," he'd said. After four months, they lost contact with him. It was a year and a half before he was found, unconscious, in front of a hospital. He'd spent a few weeks in the hospital and a few more months in therapy to determine if he was fit for duty. Now, almost two years after he'd left, it was time for him to come back.
"Is he ready to come back?"
"I don't know if he'll ever really be ready, but he thinks he is. He feels that he can do his job."
"What's your professional opinion?" After Hotchner's question, the woman paused. She seemed to be thinking hard about her answer.
"If it were up to me, he'd have a nice big severance and early retirement. Barring that, returning to his regular life is probably the best thing for him." Dr. Martina stood up from her chair and shook Hotchner's hand. There was nothing more she could give him. The best she could do was give him that small comfort. She couldn't tell him that Spencer Reid exhibited unusual aggression or that she was afraid of his cold eyes. Just thinking of his face nearly made her retch.
Penelope Garcia stuck her head in the door of his office and waved her tablet to get his attention.
"Hotch? We're ready." She was talking about a new case. He wondered how long it would be until Reid rejoined the team.
Six men between the ages of 76 to 82 had been murdered by gunshot wounds to the forehead after being crucified. There was no sexual assault and no DNA left on the scene. They were all killed in abandoned warehouses. No evidence of being restraints and tox reports came back clean. It appeared as though the men had gone there willingly. But why would someone do that to themselves?
He posed the query out loud, not expecting an answer. Certainly not the one he received.
"Some people don't need a reason to die." The voice was hollow, with a gravelly tone. Rough. The agents seated around the table turned, shocked, to see Spender Reid standing in the doorway. From the angle he stood at, they could see only his right side. He didn't turn to look at them, but he didn't need to for them to see the bags under his eyes, the slouch to his shoulders, and the shagginess of his brassy hair. His long black coat seemed too big for him. He shrank in the shadows, a ghost of who he used to be. Hotch remembered the psychiatrists words. This was not the same Spencer who had left. This was a shell.
"Spencer…" Garcia's voice petered out, her big eyes sparkled with tears. It was hard to tell if they were happy or sad. Hotch hadn't had an opportunity to tell the team he was coming back. He thought he'd had more time. And yet there he was, a broken man.
It wasn't until he turned to face them that Hotch got a glimpse of just how broken Reid was. Across his left cheek, a wide pink scar tore his face. Several more thin scars slithered out from his hairline. Though his scarf covered his neck, along the base of his jaw was more scarring.
He was tortured for over a year, Dr. Martina had said. How had he lasted that long? Why would they have kept him alive? There were so many unanswered questions. But Hotch didn't have time for them. This was a case he was sure they would need Reid's help with.