A/N: SO... A while back this AMAZING prompt was sent to me. And it TOTALLY swept me along! Which, of course, led to this fic gaining a spark of life. (grins) I've typed fics a bit like this one before but there should be a few brand new twists...

BUT, before getting to the actual story...

DISCLAIMER: (laughs so hard that falls from a chair) Are you kidding me here?! Me, own something? Yeah, I wish. I actually do. But alas, no. (pouts)

WARNINGS: Those of you who have read my fics before know these better than well. Violence, gore, disturbing material, adult themes. (Rated M for a reason, I fear...) Language. And not everyone will keep breathing until the last lines. (Let's just hope that my inner muse decides that all the good guys will...)

Awkay, before I succeed in scaring you all off... Let's get started! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

FOR INSPIRATION: Listen to 'Mirrors Fade' from Aimon. It's a bit creepy but sets the mood nicely. Another possibility is 'Ballad of Mona Lisa' from Panic At The Disco.

House of Mirrors

Prologue – It Begins With the Scarlet Letter

Ethan Wilkes, who turned thirty the previous day, enjoyed his job at the local police of Las Vegas. On most days, anyway. Today wasn't one of them. A couple of hours earlier a boy who looked positively starved had been dragged in.

Spencer Reid, age eighteen. Currently with no permanent address. His mother was a psychiatric patient he'd been forced to send into a hospital only months earlier, just weeks after legally becoming an adult. Earlier today Spencer had been caught trying to scam a casino in order to get money for her treatment and food.

Ethan groaned and ran a large hand through his sun-kissed blond hair, then swore mightily under his breath.

"Still a badmouth, then?" Approaching him was a man who couldn't have been further from Ethan's physical appearance. Tall, athletic, rich dark brown hair and with the kind of blue eyes that charmed every girl when they were young. They were childhood friends but by now the arrival's accent was nothing but a distant memory.

Ethan smirked, surprised. "Now how about that. Luther Brandt… What are you doing here?" As far as he knew the other hadn't visited his childhood city in ten years.

"I came to meet your guest, actually." Luther watched the visibly tense and positively miserable young man with keen interest. "What a cunning little thief you have there."

Ethan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "A big headache, that's what he is. The brat got into a lot of trouble at the casino and not only because of his age." He looked at his visitor, feeling a sharp twinge of something almost paternal. It was hard not to feel protective over that poor creature. "Counting cards doesn't even begin to cut it. We've never seen the kind of a system he used. Too bad there were sharp eyes watching him. The five assaults aren't helping his case, either." He glanced towards his companion with a frown. "I can't guess what you'd want with him, though. Stealing money from one of those idiots doesn't sound like a pile the CIA would bother digging into."

Luther smiled. The man's fascinated deep blue eyes never shifted away from the boy. "Didn't you watch the security footage or read the reports? It took five men to get that scrawny brat down. And even then he put up one hell of a fight." The agent's attention was once more on him. "Would you mind if I had a few minutes alone with him?"

Ethan shrugged. "What good would my objections do?" Besides he had a feeling that his friend might have an offer for the poor kid. And he really didn't want to see that child behind bars.

Yes, they were friends once. But Ethan knew that there were situations that his humble security clearance didn't allow him to participate. So, smothering his roaring curiosity, he turned and walked away.

Spencer's whole body jolted when the door opened. He lifted his gaze so quickly that it hurt his neck. His stomach dropped as he took in the arrival's appearance.

A very expensive suit. At least two concealed weapons. Well, when then man wasn't stripped off them for security purposes. The smile was kind but those eyes were nothing short of dangerous while taking him in. "Hello, Spencer. I'm agent Brandt."

Agent, huh? Spencer gulped. Just how much of a trouble was he in?

He voiced as much. The other question slipped by before he managed to control his tongue. "What do you want from me?"

Agent Brandt's eyebrow bounced high up and for a moment Spencer worried that he might've crossed a line. Very slowly, however, the agent melted to a small smile. "I'm here today because I've heard rumors of your… system for two months now. Developing something like that requires a considerable amount of intelligence." The man rested his chin on one hand while the other's fingers drummed a haunting melody. "And today you took down five well trained security guards all by yourself. It wasn't until the police showed up you relented. Those two things combined, Spencer, make you a very… spectacular individual."

Spencer frowned. The drumming was really starting to get on his nerves. "I'm going to be arrested. I'll end up in jail." And the thought terrified him far more than he would've cared to admit. "I'm sorry, but… I can't see how I could be any use for you."

That was when the drumming finally became too much. Far faster than the agent could react he reached out. His hand slammed on top of the man's, trapping it effectively.

Agent Brandt seemed genuinely impressed. The man didn't look up until Spencer pulled his hand away as though the other's skin had burned. "How old are you?"

Spencer stiffened. "Eighteen." He hoped, from the bottom of his heart, that the agent bought his clumsy lie.

Suspicion that transformed to a realization flashed in Brandt's eyes. The man, however, didn't voice his evident doubts. "You're still very, very young. What would you say if I'd be able to save you from years in prison?"

Spencer didn't trust the agent. But if his alternatives were to accept the offer or to go to jail… "What other option would there be?"

"Rubik's Cube."

Present Day.

"Stop poking at the stitches."

Spencer blinked innocently. His hand withdrew quickly, like that of a child who'd been caught doing something forbidden. "I wasn't."

Derek Morgan stifled a grin and rolled his eyes. "Yes, you were. You've been doing that since they let you walk out." The older man frowned. "Are you okay, kid? You've been pretty quiet for a few days now."

"Yeah." Spencer fought back a yawn, unwilling to succumb to the fatigue that weighed him down like a ton of bricks. "I've… I haven't been sleeping well lately."

"Nightmares?"

Spencer shook his head quickly. Too quickly. "Nah. Just… I can't sleep."

Derek wasn't impressed and let it show in his gaze. "Maybe you should switch to decaf for a while." A low blow, yes. But he didn't like being lied to.

Spencer's scandalized, wounded expression would've been worth a photograph.

Spencer shifted, not quite managing to hide a grimace. Worry filled Derek's eyes. "If it still hurts that much…"

Spencer sighed, apparently finding a much more comfortable position. And resumed poking at the stitches on his side. "It's just a scrape."

Derek groaned. "The guy tried to cut you open with a sword. I wouldn't call that a 'scrape'."

"Statistically…"

"Shut up or I'll decaf you."

For several moments of comfortable silence the only sounds heard were Aaron Hotchner and David Rossi talking quietly on the opposite side of the jet and the rest of the team sleeping. Eventually it was Derek who spoke. "Reid… Whatever it is on that impossible mind of yours, you can tell me. You know that, right?"

That actually pulled a tiny, honest smile from Spencer. "I know. Thanks." Brief but from the heart.

Derek smiled back. "That's what friends are for, kid." He then groaned, finally noticing what his friend was still doing. "And leave the stitches alone or I'll tell Garcia to knit you mittens!"

A couple of hours later, sore, frustrated and exhausted, Spencer was just about to enter his home when his cell phone began to ring. His eyebrows furrowed and icy coldness filled him when he discovered who the caller was. Out of reflex he stepped in as fast as he could and made sure that the door was locked twice before daring to pick up. "Didn't we agree…?"

"I know, I know. You retired. We've all moved on. But…" The other man sounded positively desperate. Were those stifled sobs? "Spencer, please, I need your help. You… You have a new team now, right?"

Spencer's stomach knotted. He tensed up entirely, his eyes flashing. "I'm not going to get them involved." Not when back then…

"Spencer, please!" By then the other man was definitely crying. There was a long, torturous pause. "It's Scarlet. She's missing."

TBC

A/N: A bit short, but perhaps the start of... something.

Soooo... Any good, at all? Or something that should be squashed before it gains any more spark? PLEASE, do let me know! I'm getting pretty excited about this idea so it'd be nice to know if you're on board.

In any case, thank you so, so much for reading! And who knows. Maybe I'll see you again? Strange things happen on this planet.

Take care!