AN: Sooo, people, It's FINALLY here xD I've been working on it for almost every weekend 'till now (writing in my notebook, then re-writing it on my laptop is starting to go on my nerves dammit).. Anyways...
I just wanted to explain the dreams/flashback at the end of every part. Some of them are just normal dreams, or not so normal xD And some are real flashback in form of nightmares. I hope you will understand everything, if you don't feel free to ask anything, or contact me just for discussion, or for the heck of it! I really like communicating so :)
Some warnings for the flashbacks and dreams, and a lot of angst and thoughtfulness, and team dynamics.. Hope it doesn't disappoint!
Enjoy this and review please! I'm going to go enjoy the new CM episode! :DD
P.S. Sorry for any grammar fails, I had to hurry it up so :P
Peace out, bitches! :)
The Dilaudid's Spiderweb
I.
Splash.
Another sugar cube drops into the mug.
Splash. Splash.
The clock above his head is ticking relentlessly. It is showing 06:37.
Splash.
In an hour and twenty- three minutes Reid is going to come into work, after three weeks of absence leave. He is going to do a lot of paperwork, to talk casually with his colleges, and to exchange a lot of 'how do you do's and 'thank you's. Then he is going to take the bus to Dr. Treeman's office.
His first day of therapy. Great.
Reid sighs tiredly. Waits. Watches a spider make little white death traps on his ceiling, fascinated. Watches the clock, and takes large gulps of scalding coffee. It is burning his throat, yet it is oddly comforting.
He doesn't know how he's going to act, how he's supposed to act, and he is sure the doctor will look through every single of his defenses. She is the best of the best, and it is due to Hotch's influence that Reid can see her- has to see her and only her. Reid knows he should be grateful, yet he can't bring himself to feel anything but annoyance and fright. No book he ever read is going to conceal his nervous habits, his raggedy breath, or his scared stare.
Reid tugs on the bandages on his wrist restlessly. They are supposed to be removed in a week, and that thought scared him almost as much as the one of therapy. He doesn't know how he'll hide his secret, his coping mechanism if not with the bandages.
Reid knows what he's going is wrong, he knows he's ill and needs help, needs saving; yet the thought never leaves his mind that his mother is ill too, and that she is never, really given the help she needs, that she is never saved. And the method has worked for Reid, and is working still. He doesn't want to stop. He can't stop.
What is he going to do? Today is going to be a horrible day.
The hospital Reid is brought to is large, warm, and cozy, and absolutely the last place he wants to be at. He is flailing at the doctors, and scowling at his teammates as he is being tended to, and brought to his hospital bed. Everyone is running around, and worrying, and it makes him uncomfortable.
"What else is hurt beside your foot sole and your head?" the doctor is asking him slowly, treating him like a child. Everything about him screams kicked puppy, Reid knows, yet he has the nagging urge to shout at the guy and show him his credentials. Reid is not weak, despite of what happened.
The doctor- Dr. Gray reads his name tag- is looking at him with questioning eyes, and he realises he is expected to answer. Nobody is suspicious of his limping.
Reid has never been good with choices, and now that another one is put before him, he doesn't know what to do. He knows the better choice would be to tell them everything, yet the concept of being treated like this, of being pampered and never left alone for a long time to come, only because he was hurt in such a way- it is scaring him greatly.
Reid is feeling oddly distrustful and edgy, he just wants to go home, and be left alone. It is a frightening, and rare feeling, highly un-Reid like. He is already starting to shut down. He should tell.
"I-I..."
II.
JJ is the most obvious. She is looking at him with sad sympathetic eyes, and constantly trying to comfort him. It almost makes him want to go away.
Hotch and Rossi are stoic and friendly, they don't mention it, nor do they show in any way that they know. It makes it easier to cope with, yet Reid finds himself unnerved with it more that with JJ. No profiling will tell him what think.
Reid hasn't seen Garcia since arriving, he is sure she is holed up in her liar. And that thought would be more comforting, more normal if he knew she was doing research, or hacking into a server, not crying her eyes out.
Emily is by far the most comforting one. She is as annoyingly funny as she was the first day she joined them. She isn't mentioning yet she is in no way trying to ignore it, like Hotch and Rossi are trying to do. She-
"Reid, hey, Reid!" Morgan pulls him out of his thoughts. It takes all of Reid's will power to stifle the groan. Not again. "Are you alright? What is it, pretty boy?"
"No, nothing. Just thinking."
"C'mon, you can tell me." Morgan's eyes are filled with concern, and it makes Reid fidget in his chair. He is sorry that he's doing it, yet he can't, he just can't-
"I'm all good, Morgan. This is just like my first day of work again, y'know?" A nervous half smile.
"Well, if you wanna talk about-"
"Thanks, Morgan. I'll come to you." he answers, and leans forward, burying his face in his paperwork.
He doesn't relax until he hears footsteps retreating. I'm sorry, Morgan.
This is too hard, he thinks, and he finds himself thinking about an escape route, thinking about dilaudid again. He's been thinking about it often since it first happened, yet now that he was on the edge of becoming a victim again, it almost never leaves his mind.
(17.2% of rape victims tend to use drugs)
(11 out of 15 former drug addicts get addicted again)
(91% of US rape victims are female while only 9% are male)
(33% of rape victims attempt to commit suicide after being assaulted)
No, he won't commit suicide. He never thought about it. What he's doing hasn't got anything to do with death. It's just a way of coping. It's just- He is always so cold, ever since-
"Guys, we got a case up in Georgia. Wheels up in forty. We'll talk in the jet." Hotch informs them. Reid pulls himself together again, and heads towards the elevator doors to get his go bag. He can't break down, he can't risk anybody knowing just how hurt he is.
Follow the plan. Go by the steps. Third step; show them you're getting over it.
"Any Reid?" Hotch catches up with him on his way out. "Don't think you've avoided your therapy session. I've moved it to Thursday afternoon."
Great. Hotch is absolutely alert to every of my moves. Today is going to be a terrible day.
He was lying in hard stone, when he came to. He didn't know how he got there or why, but he just knew he was out of place there, he was out of place in his own dream. Laughable.
He is, then walking around- he doesn't remember standing up, doesn't remember being conscious that long- and around him are only cold stones, dust, and the floor which he is standing on. Everything seems quiet, and calm, and normal- yet the whole place screams wrong to Reid.
He doesn't remember when it happens, but suddenly he feels hands on his back, feels hands on his whole body, and only after a few more slow moments is he able to realise what was happening, who he was touching, who was touching him so intimately.
Reid doesn't know why, but he doesn't fight back when he is pushed to the ground- he doesn't care, and he can't, and-, and even his mind is too calm to start acting out.
Something is really, really wrong, he thinks, but the thought is too distant for him to latch on to, and he is too unwilling to let it.
His genii doesn't seem to be working in his dreams, and for some reason, he finds the thought amusing.
Peter's hands on his hips bring him a little closer to awareness, yet he is still feeling the almost frightening sense of detachment on his skin, he is feeling it nesting in his mind.
His back scraps against the floor as Peter moves him around, and he remembers where he is- when has he forgotten?- and tries to figure it out. When he can't, he starts shaking slightly- it seems his body is becoming scared when his mind can't.
Peter talks to him, but he cannot hear him, cannot understand a word. He looks up at him, but the sky behind his attacker- is he being attacked? Can a willing person get raped?- demands his attention,- it is a deep black colour, and unlike anything Reid has ever seen. Even through his daze, he understands immediately. The stars, the planets behind him tell him everything he needs to know- he is on Neptune.
He doesn't know why, but with that realisation he blacks out- how can you black out in a dream?
When he comes to, it isn't Peter who he sees, it is Charles. Charles is doing this to him, and he is faintly starting to get confused, and his body is shaking harder than before.
He is in need of air, he needs to breathe, now, but it seems like there isn't any air to take- there isn't- and he has the feeling he wouldn't be able to take it even if there was. His throat is protesting, is shutting down, and so is the rest of his body, he realises.
Charles is still rocking on top of him, straight vulgar porn leaving his lips, and Reid ha the feeling something is awfully off in his own nightmare- it isn't Charles who says those things, the voice doesn't belong to him but to Peter. It strangely reminds Reid of his childhood- of the TV box in the living room showing unmatching pictures and sound. It almost makes him smile.
Bet then he remembers what is happening, and he is shocked to feel no pain, no sensations, most of his body in unmoving- most of him is already lost. He has just enough sensation in his neck left, to lift his head, and watch himself change.
He ignores Charles grunts and moans, he resists the urge to watch the almost monotone, rhythmic action of himself being torn apart- in, and out, and in, and out-, and he concentrates on his own skin- blue, gray, frozen, stone hard, unhuman. He is mesmerised by it, mesmerised by the thought of turning into the same material as the ground beneath him, and he wants to watch, he wants his new form to be the last thing he sees. His wish isn't granted, and he feels his head fall back on the floor, as he loses all sense in it.
The last thing he is aware of were lips on his own, and he is pleased to find he doesn't feel the touch.
III.
The metal is warm beneath his shaking hands. It is hard, and reassuring, and Reid presses his hands harder against it, to feel something, to feel-
When blisters start forming on his already red skin, he knows he has to stop.
Stop, stop. Stop!
I can't.
Reid is grateful he decided to sit down on the wooden floor, and not stand over the heater. He would be kneeling now, on bruised knees from the fall, and he thinks he already has enough injuries.
Why can't I feel any of them, though? he thinks, why does my body not feel like my own?
Another shudder runs through him, and he feels so cold, he feels so dead, in his lonely apartment.
What am I doing?
What did he do to me?
And he doesn't even know whom he is talking about.
His eyes wander, like they often tend to do these days, and they land on the abandoned bottle on the counter. He can't see it wholly, but the visible part is glistening at him, screaming at him. Staying sane has never been this hard, in the short time of his miserable life.
He abandons his task, stands up, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers, and walks towards the seemingly innocent liquid. He surprises himself by taking it into his hands.
Reid looks at the bottle lying seductively in one hand, and the syringe in the other- he should be worried that he can't seem to remember picking them up, but it doesn't bother him. The syringe fits into his hand like a newborn into a mothers embrace. Yet he knows it is all just an illusion, all just a trick.
All just the dilaudid's spiderweb.
But I need it, he screams at himself, I need it to reaffirm my existence.
And he doesn't know if he's screaming the words into the cold empty room, out loud, or into his own soul. He can't tell anymore, reality from pain not, anyways.
He doesn't even know how he ended up on the floor, or why, only that he's squeezing the syringe until it hurts, squeezing until he's feeling his conscious fading away, until the only thing left is the blood dripping down his hands.
The last thing he knows is They were all right, and, Weak-petty-disgusting, and that he's finally complying to their requests,
"Pretty boy, scream for me."
He is screaming, spitting out his anguish-fright-anger, wasn't that what they had wanted from him all along? Hankel, Peter, the world? Everyone? If everyone wanted it, then the must be something right about it, right? He would, he'd comply, now, just, stop, please, please-
He doesn't know when he blocks out, but when he wakes up, he feels better somehow, final, definite. He feels finished in a way, maybe not a good way, but no longer feels the need to think, the need to try, and like, something, anything. To feel hope. He just thinks once, that afternoon;
Tomorrow is going to be a horrible day.
"Don't, please! No! No!" he screamed as he felt the man's hands on him. "I- I'm not lying, I'm not lying! I'm not a sinner!"
"Don't lie to me, boy! You'll regret it. You will play for what you did. All sinners will be punished" Hankel replied. He was looming closer and closer over Reid, as he beat the sin out of him- as he beat out a sin Reid was sure he wasn't at fault for having. "Who did you hurt? Who did you lie to? What did you do?"
"I graduated high school when I was twelve. I didn't have any friends, nor family to take care of me. I cared for my mother, and started working with twenty-one. My job is to help people, to save them. I don't have anything to confess!"
"You don't?" Reid's heart almost gave out as he felt the man grab his arm forcefully. He pulled Reid's sleeve up his arm, and showed his arm to him. As if he didn't know what lay underneath. "What have you been doing with my son? What has that weakling sinner been helping you with?"
"He- I didn't want to take the narcotics! It was non-consensual, he forced me to take them, thinking they were going to help! It was no one's fa-"
"Has he been helping you in creating this lie? Has he been helping you with killing people? Has he been satisfying you?" The moment he felt the man's hand traveling up from the marks on his arm, he knew what was coming. Hankel- Charles, Charles, not Tobias, Reid reminded himself- tugged at his vest, began undressing him roughly, as Reid tried in vain to stop him, to make him understand- "Has he been doing this to you? You like this, don't you, boy? You love it?"
"I- I don't! Nothing happened between Tobias and I! We- Stop!-" his shout echoed on deaf ears as he felt the man exposing more of his skin. He was trying, failing, to get the man off of him, to make him disappear, to ignore the words coming out of his mouth, as Charles pushed him further under his own body. Told him, accused him, of something he hasn't done. Told him how weak-petty-disgusting he was, when he was the one doing the despicable act. Anger bubbled in Reid, under the whole hopelessness and fright. "Stop, Stop! Stop this, what are you doing? Aren't you committing the same sin you accuse-"
"Shut up, boy!" That moment he felt the whole of his naked skin press against the ground, and real, palpable fear gripped him tight. When Charles spoke his next words, his eyes widened and the realisation of what was happening started to sink in. "Scream, boy."
"No- no, no, no-" he repeated again and again, and he was starting to get angry at himself. There wasn't any point in pleading, and yet the word left his lips. He repeated it until he felt the first bits of pain, until he felt himself ripping in two, until the word lost all meaning, became nothing more than a sound, like their ragged breathing, or the meat sizzling in the distance. He could have said 'good morning's for all it was worth, he thought.
The sensation was like nothing he ever felt before. The scream came from somewhere deep inside his being.
Reid knew, like everyone else on the team knew the risks of his job, the possibility, he knew, he wasn't stupid, yet- He didn't think he would be in a situation like, this, would ever be feeling something moving- inside. It was messy, and peculiar and his profiler side wanted to study every part of it, but Reid was shocked, and terrified, and in so, so much pain. It was the most disgusting feeling he remembered feeling.
He stopped calling out his teammates' names somewhere in the middle, as he felt his voice cracking from his screams, and something giving way deep in him, and the blood gushing in puddles beneath his legs. It brought with itself the realisation that they weren't coming, that nobody was coming. Despite his situation, the physical aspects of it all, he felt utterly alone.
'Hurry up, hurry up. Stop, stop it!' his mind's voice repeated. He realised, nobody could stop him from shouting inside his mind, wasn't that what he was doing most of his life? He would be obedient on the outside, then it would hurt less, finish faster. And maybe, just maybe, he would wake from this nightmare sooner.
IV.
It takes everything out of him not to turn around and exit the bus that instant. Nobody's head is turned towards him, yet all eyes are screaming at him Weak and Pathetic, and he wants to go, just go, or he'll scream.
I didn't do it! I didn't try to kill myself! I didn't-
But you will, his mind counters
The bandages on his wrist tells them otherwise though, and he sits deeper in his chair, deeper in himself. He doesn't care if it most likely makes him look even more fragile and breakable.
Reid opens his book and wishes for his car, the one he won't be able to drive for the next few months. The stares and the accusations are driving him crazy, yet he refuses to be driven by anyone, refuses to be helped in any way. He doesn't know why, but if he didn't, he would surely die.
I'm not weak.
Coming into work is a great deal easier, yet as difficult and confusing as it was the first time. (-It reminds him of reading; as natural as breathing, and as life altering as death.-)
Nobody forces anything onto him, for which he is unmeasurably grateful, and he spends most of his time buried in paperwork, or searching for new one to fill in.
There are no cases.
There seems to be no end in sight. No relief, or release, for which he hadn't realised he had been waiting for.
He's hiding in a toilet stall, late in the evening, brooding, when Morgan finds him 'accidentally'.
Yeah, right, 'accidentally' my ass.
Morgan stays quiet for a long while, for which he is grateful. He doesn't think he'd be able to reply to any question properly, he's still shaken up from his own thoughts. From a confrontation with himself.
Blurry thoughts still swim in his mind.
(Where is Peter now, most likely?)
(Where would Charles be, were he still alive?)
(Where would I be If-)
He asked himself the strangest questions.
(What would have happened if I were a girl? If I were knocked up right now? If-)
So many if's. If, if, if? And then he asked himself how sick could he be, to compare himself to-
Maybe I really just need a psychiatric. Or a Dilaudid overdose, he added.
"What's on your mind, pretty boy?" Morgan interrupts his painful trail of thoughts finally, and Reid feels guilt building up inside of him.
"Just, y'know, thinking."
"Overanalysing again, huh?" Derek asks with a smile, which seems so warm and welcoming, it almost warms Reid's heart again, and cracks his defenses. Almost.
Instead he tells Morgan how thankful he is, and how he'll come out when he's ready- talk when he's ready- and Thank you, Morgan, thank you for all the support, and I'll come, he promises.
He watches Derek leave with a soft smile on his face, and lighter shoulders, as he strolls outside, and Reid wishes for the emptiness he felt seemingly decades ago on his kitchen floor. How easy it was to just shut off all feelings, all thought, everything. And how hard it would be, to open up, to push, push, push. He doesn't know if he can do it.
The only thing he knows is that he's tired, and that it feels like today is going to be a horrible day.
When he awoke, he could still feel the man tearing him apart, could still feel him ramming inside of him, and the pain was almost enough to send him over the edge again, and into the soft fingers of darkness, so he whimpered in shock when he felt hands touching him. They were moving him slowly, yet he still felt the pain, and for a moment he though, something essential had broken, deep inside of him, he was broken-hurt-ruined.
Ruined.
When Reid felt water touching his skin, he opened his eyes and looked right into Tobias' concerned ones. He knew it were Tobias' ones because they were different, softer, somehow. He realised he was being lowered into water, something akin to a bath tub, like one for immersion baptism, and it made him remember his nudity and vulnerability. In a sudden burst of self-consciousness, he pushed his hands between his legs to cover himself, and really, to try and erase some of the pain. It didn't help.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" Tobias cried sadly, panickedly,. He stopped his movements as he saw Reid cringe, but something in Reid's eyes, probably, made him relax again. Tobias continued his task, and soon Reid was lying mostly in the cold water again- Reid estimated it was the cemeteries church they were in, where else would they find this kind of thing nearby? And how ironic it was, Tobias washing him from his new found sins- how appropriate in suddenly seemed.
Tobias held his head just over the water, letting him breathe, relax, washing his hair gentlyand Reid could only go so far not to think of how little sense it made to do so in this kind of situation. How soon would it be dirty again.
Reid was unmeasurably grateful when Tobias left his 'injuries' alone, and he was sure Tobias felt it as well, for he relaxed further, and his movements became steady. In that moment, Reid could let what happened to him go, for a while, and for that he was grateful. He was sure Tobias was feeling how grateful he was, how he wasn't blaming him, or scared of him, or awaiting- Tobias is nursing him, and helping, and Reid doesn't blame him. He blames Charles alone.
V.
The water makes it's way down his body, to his shivering feet, and disappears out of Reid's sight. He drags his hand down his stomach, in a halfhearted attempt to clean things he knows exist only in his mind. The other hand is gripping the tile high above his head, as to not get the bandages wet. As to hold him upright when his legs can't.
The water is scalding hot, so hot he looks like he has a fever, from standing in it only for a few moments. And he certainly feels as if he has a fever.
Despite the dizziness, Reid turns the water hotter, he feels his knees shake from an imaginary coldness. Or not so imaginary, as long, long passed.
His heart almost gives way when his cell starts ringing faintly from another room. He tends to get surprised- scared easily these days.
He fumbles with the shower curtains, stops his task of rubbing his skin right of his flesh- or rather- bones, and hurries to answer the phone.
He wishes he hadn't when he hears Hotch greet him on the other end. He doesn't know when, but he realises he's started avoiding the man this time around. But then, ironically, he starts comforting himself with the fact that it isn't specifically Hotch he's avoiding. It's people altogether.
That thought makes him ether very sad, or just very amused. He can't tell.
On the other line, Hotch is talking- chatting, Reid figures by the tone of voice he's talking in- but Reid can't bring himself to listen.
Water drops from the sink in the kitchen.
The clock is tick- tock- ticking relentlessly.
The spider on his ceiling is moving towards his helplessly tied pray.
I feel like that all-
"Reid, are you listening to me?" Hotch interrupts his observations. The spell is broken, he turns away from the deathly creature, trying to dispel the picture of dilaudid in his brain, the restless throbbing in his veins. Trying to come up with something to tell Hotch. The words leave his mouth before he has a chance to catch them.
"I'm sorry." It is so silent, he wonders if Hotch heard, hopes he hasn't, because he doesn't know how to explain, doesn't want to.
"About what, Reid?" He wonders if he imagined the softness in the leaders voice. Probably.
"I'm sorry for asking for what I asked of you. For asking for the impossible rescue, now, as well as back them. I know it hurt you. I'm sorry. I'm so-"
"Reid. Reid. Spencer! Listen to me very carefully." Hotch sounds angry now, and Reid all but hangs up on him- I'm so sorry, don't hate me please- but he hears something else which stops him; hurt, guilt, desperation. "There is nothing to be sorry about! You ask, you ask every damn time you need help, you hear me? I am not angry or hurt because you asked for help when I couldn't give you any. I'm hurt because you didn't ask when I could. I'm hurt, and disappointed, and frankly, a little betrayed, and- and I think it's time for you to open up, to trust us, we damn well deserve it.
"I-I..."
"We're your friends, your team, you can burden us as much as you want to. Just please, trust us."
Reid is a blubbering mess by now, he's stuttering and trying to keep the tears at bay, because he doesn't want to break down, he doesn't want the one time he hears his boss open up, to be ruined by Charles. Not this one thing. "I'm- I- Thank you. Thank you."
"For what, Reid? For what?"
For your words. For healing a wound I wasn't aware was there to heal. For existing.
"I'm going to be late for my therapy session, so I have to go now, Hotch." He thinks he got the message across, and the smile he feels in Hotch's voice then confirms his thoughts. "But I'll talk to you on Monday, all right?"
"Good. Now don't be late, Reid. Goodbye." Hotch replies, and hangs up.
"Thank you." Reid whispers into the dead line, but he is sure Hotch heard.
With new found strength, he wipes his cheeks, and accepts challenge. Maybe today wouldn't be such a horrible day after all.
Statistics fell from his lips, like abandoned raindrops from leafs, as he found himself lying on his back in the cabin. He almost laughed as he let that fact sink in- it seemed his new position in life was right here, beneath someone's body. As someone's whore.
"Shut up, whore! What are you babbling for? Haven't you realised nobody is ever listening? That nobody cares? Weak-petty-disgusting."Peter interrupted
him, and Reid found it was easier, felt right to comply this time around. Maybe Reid really should just shut up, maybe he really should just do what he's told. There must be some truth in it, Reid concluded, when everyone thought the same.
Again- it seemed like it happened for the thousands time around- he felt something, the organ force itself inside him, and he was ready for the scream on his lips, almost grateful for some kind of distraction. If he screamed, he would forget the pain. If he screamed, they would all be satisfied, every single one of the people who hurt him. He just needed to scream it out, and maybe some of the disgust he felt would fall out with the scream. He could only hope.
The next thing he was aware of, was the bathtub like pool in the church, and he found the routine of it all almost comforting. Hankel, and now Peter, both carved the sin into his skin, and now both were trying, in wain, to wash him clean of it.
The gentle fingers on his skull made him remember his position, and he looked up into Peter's eyes. Unlike the last time, the water was warms around Reid's body, relaxing, and he found himself wishing for his life to end this way. It would be perfect. Peaceful. He would lay in the water, and would ask Tobias for his oh-so-loved dilaudid, and for Peter to push him just a tiny bit beneath the water, just a tiny bit harder. It would be unbelievably peaceful and he would finally be able to end the being inside himself he came to think of as weak-petty-disgusting.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry" Petter cried sadly, panickedly, but something in Reid's gaze calmed him. Reid was sure he was getting the message across, he was sure that Peter could see that- Reid doesn't blame Peter, nor Charles, and he doesn't blame Tobias, and he found, he doesn't really blame anyone anymore.
VI.
The psychiatrist told him he was getting better. He didn't feel any different from the day it happened- In fact, hr felt his problems seemed to grow greater, from that emotional telephone call a few weeks prior. He secretly took pleasure in making them into a seemingly endless list, and obsessing over them.
- He didn't sleep.
- He couldn't eat.
- He was constantly alone.
- He was craving.
- He wasn't doing his job.
- He didn't write his mother.
So it only seemed logical that the fates decided to rid him of one problem when he least expected it, and frankly, unwillingly accepted it.
They had a case in Las Vegas. Disappearing prostitutes, seven of them in the last two weeks, one every two days, blond and tall, and the UNSUB's MO seemed to-
Irrelevant.
He hadn't talked to his mother in two months. They were in LV. He should-
I can't. Not now. Not when-
And so he found himself hiding in the men's room of the local PD, again, sitting in a stall, on a closed toilet lid, pitying himself, and how pathetic was that?
I can't talk to her when I'm like this. It'll hurt her. I can't.
Yet something in his mind is telling him It's not that you can't, It's that you won't. You're telling yourself that it's for her sake, yet you know in the end-
Someone enters the bathroom, and he immediately seizes all movement, all thoughts, as if someone could hear him, as if he'd been thinking too much, thinking too loud. Well, the former could be true, he thinks.
Water starts running in one of the nearby sinks, and it immediately sends him spiraling into a flashback.
/Tobias held his head just over the water, letting him breathe, relax, washing his hair gentlyand Reid could only go so far not to think of how little sense it made to do so in this kind of situation. How soon would it be dirty again./
For a crazy second, he wants to return to that moment, to become one of the characters he likes to read about and watch so much, so he could hop into his time machine, and go back in time. Just to tell Tobias to kill him already, to fucking drown him then and there, to save him all the trouble of this, nothing, now.
The way it should have ended. The way it was supposed to end. He was supposed to die, the team was supposed to live, UNSUBs were supposed to be caught.
He was supposed to grieve his own death, and get it over and done with. Finally.
But then again, maybe he is grieving himself. He certainly feels like a grieving man. Like a dead man. Maybe he just found the solution. He should-
"Reid?"
Again his heart, with the almost giving out.
"Emily?" His voice sounds thin and strained, unlike her strong and soft one. "What- What are you doing in the men's washroom?"
She laughs shortly, and despite his distress he found himself smiling along. "Well, I wanted to try it out. You know me and new things."
"Maybe a little too well." he laughs, and then fidgets. A pregnant silence settles between them.
The next time Prentiss talks, the voice comes from the stall next to his, a lot closer, and it makes Reid a lot more nervous. "You know you can talk to us, genius boy, right?"
The 'yeah, I do' gets stuck in his throat, and no matter how hard he pushes, and pushes, and pushes and swallows, he can't get it to leave his lip. Emily sounds so sincere , just like Hotch sounded on the other end of the line, and Morgan sounded back in Quantico. He opens him mouth, and everything comes spilling out. "I- I.. I often think about how things would be now, if something or the other ended in a different way. There are over a million possibilities, a million 'what if's. Doesn't it bother you?"
"All the time, Spencer. What if Doyle killed me back then? What if I never joined the BAU? What if Hankel kidnapped JJ? I think about it every single day. And I don't think there's a person in this world who doesn't think about it occasionally. It's normal. It's human."
"Yeah, but- but it messes with my head. It scares me, and I can't think, and- and I'm too emotional and unstable and useless for this job." He talks hysterically, then waits for Emily to interrupt, taking in long, large gulps of air. His lungs feel too small for him, and he can't calm down, and Emily isn't saying anything, she's just listening, so he goes on and in. "I haven't talked to my mother in two and a half months, because I can't bring myself to face her when I'm like this. And I don't even know what 'like this' is supposed to be like, so I can't fix it. I just know that I'm all wrong, I'm cold and numb, and I'm craving dilaudid, and I- I'm sorry for-"
His own tears interrupt his full fledged panic attack, and before he knows it, arms are around him, and he hadn't realised his eyes are closed until he's panicking, and summoning Charles into his thoughts and don't do this to me, don't do this to me,don't do this to me, don't-
"I'm so proud, Spencer." Emily whispers into his ear, and he remembers where he is, who he is. He cries harder then, because he loves his team so much, and he's angry and sad that this all happened and ruined everything, ruined him, and Emily's embrace is just so warm, her hands scream Mother so hard it makes him wobble from guilt and longing, and just like that he decides, he's going to visit his mother tomorrow.
Just like that, he's going to have to cross out one thing off his guilty pleasure, off his problem list. For good.
The doctor- Dr. Gray reads his name tag- is looking at him with questioning eyes, and he realises he is expected to answer. Nobody is suspicious of his limping.
He should tell.
"I-I.." His throat is sore. He itches in places he doesn't even want to name. Everyone in the room is looking at him, and every bit of sense he has is screaming 'don't tell'. "I was-"
"-Doctor, we have an emergency!" Someone shouts into the room, and the spell is broken, the moment of calmness is gone. Reid remembers who he is, who he is supposed to be. He remembers the other people around, people who are sick, and dying, who need help more than he does.
He won't tell.
VII.
She watched him lean over his desk, painfully aware of the horror he has been through, and of the fact that he was still just a boy, only ever a child in her eyes. JJ suppressed the tears.
It was obvious that Spencer would decline their dinner invitation, everybody knew it, yet it was still very hard for her to just turn around and not, do anything, not shake him, or scream at his, or tell him he's hurting them too- She can't do it, she knows.
"We're not taking no for an answer, pretty boy." Morgan's voice stopped her in her tracks. He was looming over Spencer in a uncomfortable closeness, and she could see Spencer finally lift his head, if only just to tell Morgan to back off. At least he wasn't ignoring them so much as he was the last ten minutes they were trying to include him.
"I'm tired, Derek, and I don't feel like going out." he replied softly. JJ remembered Spencer was such a private person after all. Closed off. He wouldn't want to alert the whole room of their kind of argument.
"You've been tired for five months now, genius, and I don't care. You're coming with us. End of discussion." And Morgan walked off.
"Please?" She added apologetically. Spencer relaxed a little, she could see the muscled in his neck unknot themselves. JJ realised how nervous he has been around Morgan, how distressed he still is, and Morgan is too harsh. She's going to have to talk to him.
"Alright. See you then." Spencer replied, and turned back to his paper stack.
For now, Spencer is coming with them, and JJ feels a burden fall off her chest, and it feels great.
Everything is going to be just fine
I's a disaster.
Rossi is constantly chatting with the neighbor table, and it's setting Reid off. Emily can understand, it's setting her off too, it feels like they're falling apart at the moment- Hotch is constantly checking his cell, probably for Jack related matters, Morgan and JJ are arguing and leaving everyone else out of the conversation, Reid is fidgeting and ready to leap if necessary, and now Rossi's off with his new friends.
Sometimes she really wonders if they're profilers.
She's just about to get really pissed when a miracle arrives, in the form of one fiery, plump blond.
Go figure it would be Garcia who saves the day.
"Hey guys, sorry I'm late." She sits down, and clasps a hand over Morgan's still rambling mouth, and one problem's already solved. "Rossi, it's rude to ignore us like that when you're eating out with us. I would know, I'm the queen of politeness."
Two problems solved. God bless Garcia.
"We haven't ordered yet. What would you like?" Emily asks her just to finally say something, or start a topic, or anything, really. She'd talk about her own piss poor cooking skills if she has to.
Just as she thought, the conversation starts then, and heats up somewhere on the chicken nuggets part, and she's pleased to see that Hotch joins in as well.
Three problems solved.
They order, and eat, and talk, and laugh, the evening seems to be progressing wonderfully, yet Emily can't properly relax.
It's Reid. It's always Reid these days, it seemed, and she's planing on changing this now and here. He can't stay like this forever, she's refusing to let her dear friend, a wonderful person like him stay like this, she's going to-
"-Yeah... Pretty boy, use your magic powers and tell us what you think of it." Morgan forestalled her. It's weird how they always seem to have telepathic abilities when it comes to Reid.
In front of her eyes, she watches him transform. It seems he wins a battle deep inside of himself. It looks like he wakes form a long sleep, a five months long sleep, and she feels as if she hears him for the first time in years. She opens her ears, the others following her suit, and listens to his blurt out statistic after statistic after statistic. God how she missed them.
"-and I'm boring you, aren't I? I'll just-"
"No!""Continue!" "You're not boring us!"
Reid only smiles and continues on. She watches everyone's satisfied grins.
See? Telepathic abilities.
0:02.
He steps out of the tub.
The world is silent outside his windowsills, everything seems to be sleeping.
The darkness doesn't bother him now, It only induces a strange urge to walk on the tips of his toes. To stay as silent as the whole world.
He feels good, his body feels good, he suspects from the cold shower soothing his aching skin. Or maybe from the lightness of his shoulders.
He wipes himself and dresses in a thin shirt- he doesn't feel the need to warm himself now, maybe because he feels so warm and puffy inside.
When he opens the night dresser, he sees the bottle, and for once, it's seductive look doesn't bother him, it's presence doesn't come in pair with the craving he always feels. Only happiness graces him with it's presence.
Before he knows it, the bottle, and the syringe following suit, end up in the trash bin. Now he can be a little prouder of himself. And cross out another thing from his list. It's not short yet, but he's getting there, he finally feels like he's moving forward. It makes him smile a genuine smile.
He walks back to his room, and falls into his bed, and for the first time in weeks, he sleeps a dreamless sleep.
-THE END-