Hello everyone! Despite the fact that I'm still in the middle of typing up and posting the rest of a Hotch fic, I just HAD to get this down. My favorite episode of Criminal Minds is definitely "Sex, Birth, Death" (season 2, episode 11), and appropriately, I've always had a certain love for the Reid+Nathan Harris chemistry/dynamic.

That love+some fascinating physics theories+a pinch of the schizophrenia storyline= the birth of this fic.

This will be a chaptered deal, so the story definitely doesn't end here!

Warnings: dark topics (obviously!) including attempted suicide, psychopathy, and self-harm.

Pairing: Spencer Reid/Nathan Harris

Disclaimer: I don't own the show or the characters!

And without further ado, here we go!


Divergence

by Eden Lies


Part I: Catalogues and Coffee Shops


Here in his favorite coffee house, with the wafting aroma of cinnamon invading his nostrils and the warmth of his mocha just a hairsbreadth away from his fingertips, Spencer Reid can almost relax.

Almost.

Part of his mind is still working, still whirring away, cataloging numbers and facts and theories. And try as he might, Spencer can never shut that part of his mind down. Maybe, he thinks, that had been the reason why Dilaudid had seemed so attractive- only it managed to silence his mind, after all- but his cataloguing is being interrupted now by silly thoughts about a time long gone, and he pushes himself back onto the right track. Significant events of the 1970's include the beginning of Richard Nixon's term in office, the Russian invasion of Afghanistan, the beginning of the BTK killings, the Watergate scandal, the rise of the Khmer Rouge, the final piece of confirmed Zodiac correspondence, the breakup of the Beatles, and-

He stops suddenly, and thinks that it really would be much easier for him to list things off in order from earliest occurrence to latest. In that case, his list would end up being as follows: The breakup of the Beatles, the beginning of Richard Nizon's term in office, the Watergate scandal-

"Excuse me, sir, I think your sweater fell onto the ground."

Reid is startled, really, when he sees a young barista holding his floppy gray sweater up for him to take.

"Thank you," he says, as he shoots her a nervous smile. He takes the sweater and lays it down across his lap as he adds, "I'd left it hanging over the back of my chair, but I guess I never noticed it slipping off."

The barista smiles at him and shoots a quick 'it's no big deal' at him before heading behind the counter again.

It unnerves him sometimes that things just happen out of the blue, and that he has no recollection of the moment in which these things started. A small part of his brain is thinking of his mother's illness, and whispering that word, that forbidden word. He knows that simply not thinking the word doesn't make the problem any less real, but occasionally, he allows himself some childish habits.

But there can't be anything wrong with him. There isn't. He's had visits with every reputable doctor in both Las Vegas and D.C., and not a single one of them has found anything abnormal or indicative of any sort of mental illness. So he's fine, really. Just fine.

His train of thought is derailed a bit by the arrival of two girls to the coffee house; they speak with one another animatedly as they wipe the snow off of their boots and pass by his table. Reid catches snippets of their conversation as they go by. That was a really long movie! What time is it?

Prompted in part by the girls' conversation and in part by his internal senses telling him that it is getting late, he checks the time on his wristwatch. 8:32 PM. Not unreasonably late, but he supposes that he really should be getting home. He grabs his half-filled coffee cup, pulls his sweater back on, and stands up.

Just as he is pushing his chair back in, his cell phone rings. He grudgingly answers the call, expecting JJ's sympathetic yet firm voice telling him that they've been called out for another case.

"Hey JJ, do you need me back at the office?"

The voice that responds to him is hoarse, tremulous, and he's definitely heard this voice before, and oh my god-

"Doctor Reid?"

Spencer drops his coffee cup.


In the weeks and months after Nathan's suicide attempt, Spencer had dreamt of the boy and of the sad, dingy motel room nearly every night. Soon, every night was not enough, and his subconscious- still frantic, still obsessed-would dream Nathan up during his daylight hours.

He would turn the corner at the metro stop and expect to run into a curly-headed, pale-skinned boy with sad, doe-like eyes. He would stare at crime scene photos from their latest cases and see Nathan Harris's corpse instead of the butchered bodies of dozens of other men and women. He would open his closet in the morning and find Nathan there, holding his bloodied wrists out for Reid to see, and Reid would find himself tracing the scars on the boy's arms, some of them years old and not at all related to his suicide attempt.

And at night, when he'd close his eyes, he would find himself back in that motel room, that hell that smelled of blood and fear and grief.

It broke his heart every time he woke up that even in his dreams, he could never save Nathan from himself.


"Nathan?"


End Part I


That's it for now! I won't be able to continue this for a while (since I'll be busy with moving in to uni, and all), but I promise I'll complete this as soon as I can. If any of you feel like it, drop me a review to tell me how I'm doing :).