Author's Ramble: So begins my lengthy(ish) CM fanfic. And yes, it does involve the whole team despite the emphasis on Reid and Hotch. (Oh, and this is NOT meant to be slash. I guess take it however you want.)
I decided to use Bob Dylan as my mode of inspiration for this one, mostly because I am in love with his early folk stuff and because Reid made mention of it when talking about his mother, and that just made me smitten to know he memorized Bob Dylan songs. Each chapter quotes a different Dylan song.
I would love any and all feedback!
Below is a fuller summary than the story description has space for.
Full Summary:
An alternate take on the fifth season, shortly after the Reaper stabs Hotch. The team finds themselves facing foes they can't conquer as Reid's mental health deteriorates, and Hotch's life is forever changed when the Reaper finds his family. As friends, they will try to stay together, but sometimes a hard rain just has to fall.
"A hard rain means something's a-comin'..."
"Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son?
And where have you been my darling young one?
I've stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains
I've walked and I've crawled on six crooked highways
I've stepped in the middle of seven sad forests
I've been out in front of a dozen dead oceans
I've been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard...
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall."
Tonight was supposed to be their movie night.
It had become a tradition shortly after Morgan found out that Reid had never seen any of the Bond movies and Reid found out Morgan had never seen the original Psycho. So started the infinite movie exchange. Occasionally one of the other members of the team joined in—sometimes the whole team, depending on the movie—but usually it was just Morgan and Reid. They'd pop a few bags of popcorn, get a pound of Swedish Fish and watch two or three movies in one sitting. It wasn't the most exciting thing to do on a Saturday night, but both profilers looked forward to it. It was a chance to feel normal, like they were good friends from a line of work that didn't involve hunting down America's most deranged and sick minds.
Tonight was supposed to be Jurassic Park (Morgan's pick) followed up by Willow (Reid's favorite movie growing up, apparently). It was a Saturday, and it took Morgan longer than he'd been expecting at the video store. He stood in line, waiting for a woman to get done arguing with the man behind the counter about getting a scratched disk.
"I want a refund, if not a free rental!"
"Ma'am, I distinctly remember cleaning that disk for you. I made sure it wasn't scratched. I'm sorry, but I can't—"
"This is ridiculous!"
"That's an understatement," Morgan muttered. Rolling his eyes, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his cell. He speed dialed Reid, tapping his foot impatiently as the woman continued to hold up the line now seven annoyed costumers strong.
"Hi,"—a nervous clearing of the throat that the one and only Dr. Reid might as well have copyrighted—"You've reached doc—you've reached Spencer Reid. Please leave your name, number and a brief message and I'll get back with you as soon as I can. Thanks."
Morgan snorted, causing the bleary eyed mother of three in front of him to turn with a glare. He gave her a white smile and closed up his phone. The kid must have been distracted.
God knew Reid had enough on his mind lately. Ever since they got back from Canada after the Turner case all hell and broken loose on the team. Hotch was stabbed repeatedly by the Reaper, Reid got himself shot—again—this time in the leg, and the whole team was hypersensitive to everything. Morgan knew everyone was worried about Hotch, not to mention Haley and Jack, but it created the most tense work environment Morgan had ever seen for the team. It didn't help that he'd taken over as lead profiler to give Hotch a break.
Reid was a lot like a kid caught up in a divorce. He was hurting, and everyone knew that, but they couldn't focus on that when every other minute the team thought JJ would come running into the bullpen with evidence that the Reaper had struck again.
Morgan was probably the only one who noticed Reid acting strangely these days. He was quieter; there were fewer tangents about statistics or literary references. But Morgan figured the genius just had a lot on his brain. Everyone did.
Morgan flipped open his phone again. He dialed one for Garcia. She was joining her boys tonight for the movie fest, promising to bring cookies for Reid and his still-injured knee. She apparently owed him.
"You boys must really miss me," Garcia answered breezily. Morgan unconsciously smiled.
"Oh, you know I can't go a day without hearing you, Baby Girl."
"I've got another batch to put in and I'll be over at Reid's."
"How many cookies are you making him?"
"Enough until he gets better."
"Garcia, he'll be on crutches for another three weeks. Then he's got a few months on a cane."
"Our little boy genius will plow through them. His sweet tooth is bigger than his brain."
"I've made him coffee, I know what you mean. Look, I'm caught up at the rental store. You'll probably beat me over there. If he's forgotten to unlock the front door again, the key's in the flowerpot under the window."
"Oh, is my cupcake caught up looking at the naughty section?"
"You know I don't need any of that, Garcia."
"That's right; you got me."
Morgan gave a short laugh that once again got the mother of three glaring at him. "I'll see you in fifteen minutes, Baby Girl."
"Bye my dove! I will come bearing delicious baked goods!"
Morgan clicked the phone off with a smile on his face.
It'd been a few weeks since he found himself smiling this much. He'd forgotten how much he enjoyed it. It wouldn't last for long, though.
The front door to Reid's townhouse was wide open.
That was enough for Morgan to wish he'd brought his gun. Of course, on the first night he'd felt safe enough to leave it at home something like this would happen.
His first thought was of the Reaper. He remembered waking up with that bullet sitting on his forehead. Morgan wasn't about to put it past Foyet to hunt down Hotch's friends and fellow profilers just to get to him.
Morgan acted on instinct. He dropped the bag of candy and movies, and crept quietly into the house. Nothing was wrong in the kitchen; it looked like Reid had stopped just before he began hand popping the kettle corn. There was a sweets tin covered in different colored versions of Marilyn Monroe sitting on the counter next to the bags, pots and bowls laying in wait. Nothing was out of order, just unfinished.
Morgan moved into the living room. Nothing amiss there either. The candy bowls were empty, ready to be filled. The piles of books and paperwork had been cleared slightly to allow for table space for the junk food feast that was supposed to be conducted that evening.
Morgan crept into the hallway that led to the bedroom and bathroom. He heard a strangled sob coming from the half-closed door of the bathroom. His heart skipped for a moment as he moved closer.
He kicked the door open, ready to find anything.
Well, anything than what he actually did find, that is.
Garcia had finished up her batch of monster cookies right on schedule. She knew both her little boy genius and her chocolate cupcake would have a field day going at them. They combined all the goodness that life could offer—chocolate chips, oatmeal, peanut butter, and M&M's. Basically, she had created happiness in a cookie.
She stuffed the three-dozen cookies into her favorite Andy Warhol tin and left her apartment. Kevin was out in Las Vegas for a software convention (which she was disappointed she didn't get invited to, but knew she couldn't afford to leave the team now). She needed some distraction from her very quiet apartment. Derek and Spencer were exactly the kind of distraction she had in mind.
Garcia pulled up to Reid's townhouse and parked on the street. She got to the door and peered in through the small glass window beside it. No sign of her smarty pants. With a grumble she hunched off the stoop and dug around in the flowerpot beneath the window. Leave it to Reid to get distracted right when he was expecting company. She pulled out the key, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.
"Hey Reid! Your bundle of joy has just arrived!"
The house remained silent. She moved in slowly now, the door behind her forgotten as her "mother hen" instincts began to kick in. "Reid?" The kitchen was clean, but it had been left in the middle of preparing popcorn. Warning signs flickered in her head.
Garcia set down the cookie tin on the counter, before walking around the kitchen table to peer into the living room. "Reid?" She moved down into the hallway that led to the bathroom, seeing at a glance Reid wasn't in there.
The bathroom door was half open, and Garcia thought she heard something strange come from inside. A gasp.
No. This couldn't be happening. Enough had happened to Reid. Held hostage multiple times. Kidnapped and tortured. Shot. Not the Reaper too. Not the Reaper.
Her stomach drop and her heart palpitated as all reason was tossed aside. She shoved herself into the cramped little bathroom.
The old door behind her creaked half closed again as she stood there, stunned. It took Garcia almost thirty seconds to register what she was seeing. When it finally hit her, it her hard. She felt the floor rush up to meet her knees and she realized she was holding back sobs.
"Reid?"
But the young man on the bathroom floor didn't answer.
"Morgan!" Garcia was hysterical, that was the first thing Morgan took note of. Later he would realize he compartmentalized the whole situation. He took things in one and a time, just as he was trained to do. Notice details so you can file them away and use them later. Penelope had gone to pieces, her make-up flowing. He didn't let his eyes focus on the lithe body she was cradling in her lap. She was the one who made the horrible sobbing noise that attracted his attention to the bathroom.
Everything seemed slowed down as Morgan took in the full affect of what he was seeing. The next thing he saw was the vial on the counter near the toilet, and the needle next to it. Leaning up against the wall behind the toilet were Reid's crutches.
The last thing Morgan looked at was the trembling, sweat-covered Reid that was being held protectively by the hysterical Garcia who kept alternating from crying Morgan's name to Reid's.
"Morgan, Morgan! He… Reid! He took the… Oh my God."
Morgan dropped down on the floor, and grabbed Reid's wrist. There was still a heartbeat, but his breath was coming in slow and hitched. He was all right, for now. He turned to Garcia.
"Baby Girl, Baby Girl," he had to yell to get Garcia to look at him. He grabbed her arms. "I need you to call 911, can you do that? I'm gonna make sure he keeps breathing. Okay? He's gonna be okay. All right, Baby Girl?"
Garcia swallowed her tears, gave a hiccup and a nod. She stood up slowly, letting Reid's head rest on the tile floor before she ran to the kitchen phone. Morgan leaned over Reid and tilted his head back; making sure his air way was open.
Inside, he was pounding his fists on the bathroom sink so hard the ceramic cracked. Outside, he furrowed his brows and held onto Reid's writs, keeping pulse.
"Pretty Boy, can you hear me? Reid, c'mon man talk to me."
Reid's lips moved soundlessly as he gasped and choked for each breath now.
"Stay with me, Spencer. Stay with me."
Garcia appeared in the doorway, and Morgan glanced over his shoulder. She was wiping away the trails of mascara that were running in rivets down her face. He turned back to Reid.
"Reid, you can't do this to us," he growled. "You can't do this to us, man."
Reid's lips moved again, and the faint croak was barely heard above the sound of an approaching ambulance.
"I can't… I can't…"
"How could this have happened?"
Hotch's voice was cutting as he surveyed his team. Emily sat with her head resting in her hands on one of the plastic waiting room chairs. JJ was pacing, ignoring the fact her hair was a mess as she continuously grabbed at it in nervous twitches as her hands tried to figure out what to do with themselves. Rossi was standing stiffly next to the coffee machine that gave out worst tasting brew than the stuff at small town cop shops. Morgan was holding Garcia's hand in the seat next to Emily, and unconsciously found himself rubbing the later gently on the back. Garcia was holding his hand too tightly. He didn't care. Having it there prevented him from punching a hole through the ER's wall.
"How could we not see he was using again?" Hotch asked the question they were all thinking: How? They cared about Reid. How could none of them notice the signs? How could the track marks, the moodiness go unnoticed?
But then, they had noticed. The only thing was, the whole team had been short-tempered, moody, anxious. They were all worried about Hotch. For once, they thought the danger wasn't going to fall onto the youngest profiler in the group.
"Does it matter, Aaron?" Rossi said shortly. "This isn't the time to berate ourselves."
They all knew Rossi was right, but each one of them had a sick feeling in their gut that they should have been able to prevent this.
JJ remembered seeing Reid fumble something in his pocket, looking around the bullpen nervously before slipping off into the bathroom.
Emily remembered glancing over at Reid's desk and seeing a small pink mark on his forearm as he rolled up his sleeves to dive into paperwork.
Rossi remembered quoting one of his own books, and Reid not even seeming to notice that he was referencing to one of the novels he'd memorized.
Garcia remembered Reid being short with her when she asked if he wanted her to delete the message he'd recorded for his mom all those months ago when he got the anthrax in Brown's lab. She remembered too conversations that she was supposed to keep secret.
Morgan remembered Reid's growing silence. The fewer appearance of remarks, quotes, statistics that would normally make you have a nose bleed.
And Hotch remembered… nothing.
His mind was so filled with anxieties, responsibilities, nightmares that he couldn't even remember the last conversation he had with one of his co-workers—one of his closest friends.
He was trying to keep his career, his team, and his broken family together and alive. Could he really have been that blind?
The guilt was hitting him like Morgan was hitting his mental wall. He rubbed his temples roughly with his thumbs.
"Finally," JJ snapped. Five heads shot up and turned to stare down the hallway JJ was looking at. The doctor was coming through the double doors with a neutral expression on his face. He was fast approaching the group that collectively stood up and took a step forward.
"How is he?" Hotch asked. He was always the voice of the team; in times of crisis, it was Hotch who came through. His tone was leveled, despite his angry monotone he'd used earlier.
"Dr. Reid's going to be all right. We had to flush the drugs from his system. He doesn't look too good right now, but he'll live. He overdosed on dilaudid."
"We know," Emily mumbled.
"Excuse me?" the doctor said with an edge. "You knew?"
"No, no," Emily back tracked quickly. "It's just that… he had a previous problem. That's all."
"I see… Well, that is important information."
"How so?" Rossi stepped in next.
"Well, if he had previous knowledge of the drug, it may mean his overdose was not accidental."
"Wait... are you telling me... Spence would try to kill himself?" JJ's voice cracked at the end as she tried to keep herself composed. Garcia was at her side in a second and wrapped her bracelet-covered arms around her. She steered JJ away towards the women's restroom as the tears that the liaison had been fighting finally let go.
"Are you aware of Dr. Reid having any mental health problems in the past few months?" the doctor asked the remaining FBI agents before him.
"Look, he's a profiler for the Behavioral Analysis Unit in the Bureau," Morgan shot. "He's one of the strongest people you'd ever meet—"
"He's brilliant, there's no way—" Emily cut in.
"I wasn't questioning his—"
"Stop it, guys," Garcia said shortly. She had returned after ushering JJ into the bathroom. "He just asked a question." The technical analyst took a deep breath as she debated whether or not she should say this in front of her family.
Because they were her family, but sometimes families are blind to their biggest shortcomings.
She knew that her babies know Reid just as well as she does. They just wouldn't let themselves see how much he was slipping, because they needed him just as much as he needed them. But Garcia also knew that she was the first person Reid would talk to about the schizophrenic mom she'd met all those years ago. She was probably the only one who knew that he was worried about her health, and worried about his. That he was getting migraines. That he was starting to have strange dreams that didn't end when he woke up.
She took a deep breath, and told the doctor—and her family—about Reid and the voices.