A/N: So I've been sick again, and while in the hospital I churned out…whatever this is. I'm estimating six chapters, each dealing with a different team member, but updates will be sporadic since it's really just something to do for when I'm bored/anxious . I've been advised to keep a journal/diary/blog to help, but my life is boring so fanfiction is the best I can do.

Warning: some slight language.

Hope you enjoy! ; v ;

two minutes after

Reid walks to the SUV alone, bony arms wrapped around his chest like a battered shield. His foot still aches and every bit of weight he puts on it makes the nerves there loudly complain, but he ignores it and carries on to where he knows his team is waiting. It's all just anatomy anyway; neurons and synapses going into overdrive, his body's way of telling him he needs to rest. His body isn't important - it's his brain that needs to be protected. Reid knows that he won't be able to rest until he's a hundred thousand miles away from Hankel's corpse, until his captor is festering six feet underground (or until he figures out a way to stop the onset of withdrawal syndromes - he knows what will happen if he doesn't get a fix, and doesn't particularly relish the thought of that particular experience).

As expected, Gideon is waiting for him a few yards ahead, falling behind the rest of the team to have a private conversation with his protégé, Reid assumes. The older agent gives him a grimace that's probably meant to be a smile.

"You're done?" As always with Gideon, his question has a deeper meaning, an endgame. Reid's too exhausted to figure out what the older man wants from him this time. Fine. If Gideon wants to ask some pseudo-psychological bullshit question, then Reid's going to give him a pseudo-psychological bullshit answer to match it.

"I did what I had to do," he says, slightly winded from his bruised (fractured?) ribs.

Gideon doesn't seem perturbed. "Good answer," he says, with a wise, fatherly undertone that irritates Reid more than it probably should. Reid isn't seeking validation of his mental state after a significant trauma from his mentor, nor does it want it. What he wants is some peace and quiet where he can finally process all that's happened, but he doubts he'll get it.

Hotch is waiting for them by the SUVs. He raises an eyebrow when he sees Reid limping all by himself and Gideon barely offering a hand, but quickly resumes his poker face and turns to Reid. The younger agent pretends not to see. "Where would you like to sit?" he asks Reid quietly. He's immensely grateful for his boss' understanding, for realizing that having the entire team surrounding him so suddenly after being in almost completely isolation for two days would be more than a little overwhelming.

"Second SUV, in the back," he says, eyeing the rest of his team pretending not to be looking at him from the first SUV.

"I'll sit with him," Gideon offers, already clambering into the SUV like Reid isn't even there. Hotch opens his mouth to protest, but Gideon's already tightening his seat belt and watching the two of them with a patient, expecting look on his face, combined with a little bit of puzzlement. Why aren't you getting in? he almost seems to be saying. To Reid, it feels like a challenge; another one of Gideon's tests. Pass it, and he gets a reward, like a dog being offered a treat. He remembers the things that the other FBI cadets used to call him back in the academy. Gideon's little pet project. Maybe they weren't so far off on that one after all, he thinks bitterly. Reid used to crave those moments of praise, where he would feel proud of himself for a few minutes and then go back to being desperate for his mentor's approval. If Gideon were to praise him right now, he'd feel a confusing surge of irritation and an urge to slap him.

Hotch gives a small nod to Morgan, who sets his jaw and starts the SUV. Hotch helps Reid into his own seat, pausing when Reid hisses through clenched teeth as his foot brushes against the floor at a particularly painful angle. Your body doesn't matter. Your brain does. Protect it. The drugs lurch terrifyingly in his pocket, and for a second he thinks that they'll fall out. They don't, instead rolling up against each other. There's a small clink as the two vials make contact, but the roar of the car engine drowns it out. Crisis averted.

"Are we going to a hospital?" Reid asks, wincing as he feels his throat burning. He's only had a few small sips of water over two days, he realises, and even less food.

"Yeah," Hotch replies, subdued in a way that Reid's never seen him before. "Unless you'd be uncomfortable with that right now…" he trails off. He sounds guilty, Reid realises. Like the past two days have somehow been all his fault.

"No, no. That's good," he says hurriedly. "Can I just get some water?" he asks, eyeing up some bottled water rolling around on the floor.

"You okay?" Gideon says softly in that same damn fatherly tone, and Reid wants to scream. Gideon has his own particular brand of caring down to such an art that it feels overly perfected and plastic. All the correct words are there, but the conviction isn't. He doesn't bother gracing Gideon with a response.

You don't know what's best for me. Not anymore, he thinks, looking away from his mentor and turning his gaze to the outline of Georgia's horizon.

A/N: Reviews and feedback are adored and held in a special compartment of my heart - the part next to the part that thinks Gideon is a selfish ass.

The title comes from a movie from the 90s - Closet Land. The exact quote is "I don't trust lonely people. Life's eternal spectators, watching, waiting." Or something very similar to that. I'll explain more on it in later chapters.

Thank you for reading! ; v ;