Spencer Reid maneuvered himself to his desk, glad that he was down to one crutch and was finally able to put some weight on his leg. An envelope from his in box caught his attention as he set his messenger bag on the floor. It was Federal Express from Las Vegas. He didn't correspond with anyone in his hometown except for his mother. Was this possibly about his mother he wondered as he studied the return address? It wasn't from Bennington. Could Dr. Norman have written something from his home regarding Dianna Reid? If there was anything wrong, surely he would have called. These things all flashed through his mind as he tore into the envelope. He took out and opened a paper that was folded in three and began to read the words a black pen in an expansive scrawl that had marred the pristine white paper had to say.

Dear Spencer,

I'm sure you never thought you would be hearing from me, just as I never envisioned writing this letter. However circumstances are such that I must write to you. I googled you which is how I knew where to find you. I see you've done quite well for yourself. I must admit I never thought you would become and FBI agent but then you were only twelve when I last saw you.

You must be wondering why I'm writing to you. After high school I went to UNLV on a scholarship but once there I began to get involved heavily in the party scene and got into a lot of booze and drugs. I flunked out my first year.

I began selling insurance. You likely don't believe this but I can be an amiable person when I put my mind to it. I managed to keep my overindulgences under control for a while but over time I wasn't able to and fell into alcoholism and drug addiction. I alienated my wife and family.

Eventually I came to my senses and joined an AA and NA group here in the city. I don't know if you know the steps an alcoholic or addict goes through in these programs but with your knowledge, I'm sure you do. I have been working through the steps and have reached the point where I must take a personal inventory and try to make amends to those I have hurt.

When I made my list of wrongs I have done, your name was on that list. How could I not feel that we…I, did a heinous wrong that day on the football field. I make no excuses for the part I played in what we did to you. It was inexcusable.

I want you to know how sorry I am that we put you through that. I have no right to ask for your forgiveness. If there is anything I can do to make up for the hurt I've caused you, I'll do it. My address is on the envelope if you wish to contact me or if you want to talk about it you could reach me at 702-619-5522.

I know this can't make up for anything I've done but I hope to hear from you. If I don't I'll understand.

Yours truly,

Dustin Henry

Reid stuffed the letter back in the envelope and threw it angrily into his wastebasket. "Forget it creep," he said as he stood and stalked off as fast as his injured leg and crutch would take him.

Emily looked after him and then at the wastebasket. Now what was that about, she wondered? Her fingers were itching to look at the letter that seemed to have enraged her colleague so much but she couldn't invade his privacy in that way.

Reid returned to his desk a short time later, a cup of steaming coffee in his hand and sat down to begin the consults JJ had left on his desk last night before she went home. Reid scowled as he read the file but Emily felt the scowl had more to do with the letter he'd just discarded than the case he was studying.

"Come in," Morgan said at Reid's knock.

"Hi Morgan, got a minute?" Reid asked as he slowly walked, actually walked, he thought, instead of the hobbling he'd been doing for what seemed like forever, into Morgan's office. Morgan's office, that still felt funny.

"Sure kid, sit," Morgan pointed to the chair in front of his desk. "What's up?"

"I got a letter this morning," Reid informed the temporary unit chief, but more importantly, his friend. The scowl had returned to his face. Morgan waited. "It's from a guy, Dustin Henry, from my old high school. He's had a problem with alcohol and drugs. He's in a couple of programs and he's at the stage where he's taking personal inventory and making amends."

"Reid, is he one of the guys from the football field?" Reid nodded as he bit his lower lip and Morgan's hands clenched in fists. "So, what, he wants you to forgive him?"

Reid nodded.

"Tell him to go to hell," Morgan said. "After what he did to you he's got some nerve to ask for…"

"He has to," Reid said. "It's one of the steps. Take a personal inventory and attempt to make amends with those you have wronged."

"So you tell him thanks but no thanks," Morgan said.

"Yeah, maybe I will," Reid said as he stood and headed for the door to go back to his desk. "Thanks Morgan."

-------------------

Reid was working on his second consult and making notes on a legal pad when Prentiss stood and said she needed some coffee. "Would you like me to get you another cup?"

"No, I'm good. Thanks anyway Emily," he replied absently as he continued to jot down his thoughts.

Emily returned moments later with her coffee and noticed the envelope Reid had so angrily discarded was no longer in the wastebasket. What was up with that, she wondered?

The pair worked in silence until Reid said, "Emily can I ask you something?"

"Of course Reid," she responded, swiveling her chair to face him.

"After what happened with Tobias I treated you really badly but you forgave me…why?"

"Because I knew the guy who said those things wasn't the real Reid. He was a guy under the influence of what a psychotic killer had done to him and once he got control of himself again he became the same sweet guy that I knew. How could I not forgive you? What's this about Reid?"

"Oh…uh, I'm just thinking about something," Reid replied and turned his attention back to his work.

Reid sat on a bench outside the convention hall, the cool November wind blowing the last of the leaves that were falling from the trees into a strange chaotic dance. He felt the wood slats on the bench give a little as someone sat beside him. "You were quiet tonight yet you look like you have something on your mind," John said as he watched the flurry of leaves before him.

"Yeah, I do." Reid hesitated then told John about the letter and what had happened to him as a child.

"That's a tough one," John agreed.

"On the one hand," Reid said, "I still hate them all for what they did to me. But on the other hand," he reasoned, "I understand what it's like to be controlled by a substance and to have to ask for forgiveness. I was fortunate and got it. How can I ask for forgiveness for myself and not be willing to give it to another?" He paused for a few moments. "But say I don't forgive. I've also seen what bottling up that kind of rage can do. Owen Savage killed a lot of people because he couldn't come to terms the wrongs that were committed against him. Yet how can I just forget it ever happened?"

"You can't forget it happened. You have to do what feels right in your heart and soul. This step says to attempt to make amends; those amends don't always work. Sometimes there's just been too much hurt, not enough time or too much water under the bridge for forgiveness. And that's okay. But don't think for one moment that anything those people did to you is lessened if you choose to forgive. It doesn't make it any less wrong, it just means you have found the strength to move past it. Gandhi once said, "The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is an attribute of the strong." John stood to go. "Whatever decision you make will be the right one. Good night Spencer."

"Thanks John, good night," Reid sat for a few more minutes and then stood leaning ever so slightly on his crutch. Soon it would be gone and he'd be able to stand on his own two feet once again. He walked toward his car parked in the lot. It was late. He'd sleep on it and with the dawning of a new day would come the answer.