A Gossamer Cage

By spense

Part 1 – Solace (1.2)

Reid's days soon fell into a pattern. He slept deeply and well at night, and woke when breakfast was sent up. Often he and his captor talked some over the meal, the disembodied voice cheerful and interesting. Reid catalogued as much as he could gather in his head. He asked what he could call him.

A thoughtful pause, then "You may call me Hal."

Reid had burst out laughing. "Like 2001?"

"Yes, exactly," was the reply. A clear smile evident in the voice.

That had sparked a lively discussion about science fiction, and Reid realized later that for the first time, as he devolved into a ramble ('Did you know that Star Trek . . .") that his audience was truly interested, and not just humoring him. That encouragement continued over the next days, as they discussed one subject followed by another.

Chess games began soon after that. Hal clearly had a set in front of him as did Reid, and short commands of 'Pawn to King 4' and the like were normal after that. Reid found Hal to be an excellent chess player and as much a challenge to him as Jason Gideon. He also hadn't enjoyed an opponent as much since Gideon either.

Hal chatted with Spencer at odd times, always unexpected. Sometimes at meals. Sometimes several times a day, some days they didn't speak at all. Meals were also not on a strict pattern. Breakfast and Dinner were often sent up via the dumbwaiter. Lunch, Spencer always fended for himself from the small, but well-stocked refrigerator (when he remembered to eat). All he had to do was ask, and the staples would be sent up the next time the dumbwaiter returned. If the meals came up, they came up at regular times: 8am for breakfast, 5:30pm for dinner. If they didn't arrive in the dumbwaiter, Spencer knew to make his own. Sometimes meals would be sent up for days on end, other times, he would make his own for a few days running. There was always enough staples sent up for him prior to those periods. He learned to anticipate those days.

The rest of the days, Spencer spent writing, reading, playing the piano, and essentially, all the things he had wanted to do but had never had the time. He worked out on the treadmill religiously. He didn't particularly care for exercise, but he was smart enough to know that never leaving the room would be terrible for his muscles, and when the team came, he needed to be strong.

Spencer never lost an opportunity to draw Hal out, but the man was cagey and very careful about what he said. Reid has always known that he himself was very good at redirecting people away from himself, but Hal was better. Clearly he'd had a lifetime to practice.

But for the first time, Spencer found somebody was interested in him. Not in his gifts, but his thoughts and views on subjects. He'd always felt that Jason Gideon had felt that about him, and saw him more like a son. But after he'd left so precipitously, it had been clear that he'd mistaken obligation and the fact that the man was his mentor for more of a feeling of family. He so clearly been wrong in that thought. But Hal was generally interested in what made Spencer, Spencer.

Reid's biggest concern at first had been for his mother. Hal had suggested before Reid had ever mentioned anything (another clue as to how thorough Hal's research had been into his life) that he continue to write her letters. "But just so you can't send out anything in a code, I'll transcribe them into a wordprocesser, changing the layout, and I'll send them off. I'm sure you understand."

Reid had sighed slightly. He'd planned to do just that.

Hal had laughed. "I'm sorry, Spencer, but it truly is for your own good. Don't you feel better since you've been here? Less tired, more relaxed?"

Spencer had to admit that he was right. He could stay up late working and researching as much as he wanted. He didn't have to get up for anything except breakfast. Hal provided disks with taped newscasts, and magazines and other scientific journals, so Reid was up with current events. He researched, he wrote letters to his mother, and basically he had no boundaries mentally, just the four physical walls.

Hal encouraged him to talk about the BAU and the team. For the first time, Spencer did just that. He talked about his frustrations, and his insecurities. How he felt during the Davenport case when the killer had talked about his autistic tendencies. How that had frightened him. How frustrated he would get.

Spencer began to write articles on serial killers. All the things he'd seen and how they were alike and how there were different. He began to work on another PHD. Hal provided the materials and texts and disks for the computer.

And so one day, merged into the next.

Suddenly Spenser realized that it was Spring. He'd been here two months. Two months of working late into the night, accompanied by the cozy sounds of rain on the roof and the thundering surf.

And the realization that Hal had been right – the team hadn't come for him. Not yet.

CM CM CM CM

Days merged into more days, into weeks, into months. The seasons continued to change. Spencer's belief in his team waned. One day, in late summer bordering on autumn, on a DVD of different newscasts that had arrived that morning, he came across a brief press conference by JJ and Hotch. Stunned, he watched as they talked about the case they were working on in South Dakota. Reid recognized the language, and the message that they were getting out to the killer. Drawing him out, his brain supplied automatically. It was brief, then the summary of the next newscast, this one from Colorado came on.

They had moved on. They weren't working on finding him, they were working other cases. Spencer turned off the TV, and moved towards the open French doors. He sat in the lounge, staring blindly out at the ocean. The breeze from the water was cooling. The sea was never quiet and there was always the breeze. He had determined that he was on an island, or an isolated place on the east coast (the sun rose in his eyes if he didn't close the drapes on the doors) right on the edge of the sea. The water was clearly deep by the color, and the swells came in without breaking until they hit the cliff.

He was interrupted by Cat, who had decided that he preferred Spencer above all others, according to Hal. Cat would come and go as he pleased, sliding through the bars of the open windows, or slithering down an impossibly small opening next to the dumbwaiter. But he always returned to sleep with Spencer, or share some of his meal. Cat jumped on his lap, and settled down, purring. The sound was comforting as he confronted the betrayal of the people he had considered family.

Hal had warned him. That they would have other jobs to do, and that his case would go cold. That he was a tool, out of sight – out of mind. Like Gideon, they had been able to just walk away. He felt numb. They probably continued searching off and on, but other things would get in the way, and the days would burn by quickly, and he was now a cold case. He stared outside, trying not to think, petting Cat automatically. Cat at least would love him unconditionally. He didn't have to do anything, or be anything for Cat.

He must have sat for hours before Hal's quiet voice intruded. "Spencer? Spencer! Are you all right?"

Reid started, and realized that the sky was darkening and it was getting chilly. Picking up Cat, he padded inside, bare feet not making a sound, and shut the doors. "Hi, Hal," he sigh.

"What's wrong?" Hal sounded concerned.

He was silent for a moment, dumping Cat on the bed, then walking across to the arm chair and dropping into it. "I watched the newscasts from yesterday."

"So? The world's an awful place, but what else is new?"

"The BAU was giving a press conference."

A pause, then "Ah."

"Yeah," Spencer echoed bitterly. "JJ and Hotch, after a killer in South Dakatoa."

Hal remained silent, sympathy pulsing in the moment.

"You were right. They've stopped looking."

"I'm sorry, Spencer. I hate being right on something like this."

Spencer snorted, and crossed his arms.

"I did tell you that you were better off here," Hal filled in softly.

Silence.

"Are you unhappy?"

Spencer considered this. No, he wasn't. It was just the principle of the thing. He didn't like being a prisoner. "No, not really," he said thoughtfully.

"But you just thought it was temporary."

"Ah, yeah. I just always thought that they would come."

"I know you did." Hal continued, empathetic. "For what it's worth, I am sorry. But it's best that you see them for who they are."

Spencer looked up from his arms. "And who is that?"

"They were your employers. People you worked with. No more, no less."

Reid sighed and looked down. Once again he had been wrong in his perceptions of people. How could he be so incredibly smart, and so stupid about people?

"What can I do?" Hal asked quietly.

"Let me out?" Reid suggested, somewhat sardonically.

"No," Hal laughed. "That would not be a good idea. Somebody else would latch onto you and leech you for their own ends. No, it's better this way."

Another long pause, this time considering. Then, "I have to go away for a few days, shall I try to get some of your books and pictures from your things?"

"Can you do that?" Reid looked up surprised.

"Oh, I'm sure your possessions are stored somewhere. I'll see what I can do. I'll break into the storage unit if I have too. Anything specific that you'd like?"

Reid perked up. "Ah, yes. There are some books, and there's some . . ." Words began pouring out.

"Slow down," Hal laughed. "Make a list, and put it in the dumb waiter. No promises, but I'll see what I can do. Who would have taken care of your things?"

Reid thought a moment. He had a designated bank account set up for rent, bills, phone, etc, and another longer term for Bennington Sanitarium only. There was enough for a few years of his mother's bills in that one. His account for his expenses was shorter term. It was automatic, and set up to pay regularly whether he was there or not. That would have run out a few months ago. Nothing from his other accounts would have been touched. He had to think a moment after that.

"Hotch. He had, um, has, my power of attorney." A bitter smile twisted his lips. Clearly business on Hotch's point of view. Take care of the tool.

"Definitely in storage, then. Give me a few days," Hal commented.

Reid just nodded, trying not to feel abandoned once again.

CM CM CM CM

Weeks flowed into more weeks, months into the next. Reid was incredibly productive. He finished one thesis, and was working on another. Hal had typeset and bound it for him, sending the finished product up the dumbwaiter. Multiple articles were written, and stacked up on shelves, never seeing a publisher. Reid didn't particularly care. He'd never been much for the public eye, he just like the research and the writing.

It was hard, without the internet, but as Hal had explained, they were out so far away from civilization, that he had no way of getting it. Reid had gotten used to asking for what he wanted, and getting dvds and cd-roms back with the information he needed. The homey attic was stacked with books and papers, looking more and more like Reid's old apartment than he'd ever thought possible.

Hal had provided most of the personal items Reid had requested, much to his surprise and delight. Life went on, and Reid settled more and more into the routine. He saw a few more press conferences, JJ with Hotch in the background, Rossi on the talk shows pushing his new book, another with JJ talking about the latest killer they were following.

His stomach twisted, and then he'd bury himself in more research. He also played the piano, and began composing again. He hadn't had time for that in years. Time merged and lost meaning and winter came on once again.

Then one morning, Reid woke up and realized that the room was freezing. Getting up, he headed over to the gas fireplace and realized that the pilot light had gone out. The fireplace was on a thermostat, and was set to go on if the temperature dropped below 72. The thermostat showed that it was 38 in the room. There were no matches, no lighter, and after looking closer, he realized that there was no gas for the fireplace either. Lose – lose situation there.

"Geez!" Looking around, Spencer suddenly realized that there were no lights on either. The nightlights weren't glowing, and the microwave showed no light. No power.

"Hal? Hal!" Spencer crawled back in bed to stay warm. Cat crawled under the covers with him.

There was no answer. Spencer had just finished a large project late last night. He'd been pretty oblivious about anything for the last two weeks or so. Now, he cast his mind back. He hadn't talked to Hal for awhile. How long? Three days? A week? Yeah, about week, he'd guess. And come to think of it, the dumbwaiter hadn't been up for awhile either. He'd been living out of the fridge.

Getting up, he went over to the fridge. Nearly empty. He'd been more oblivious than he'd thought. Well, he may as well get some sleep until Hal spoke up.

It took two more days before he realized that Hal wasn't going to say anything, and no more food would be coming up the dumbwaiter. The power had never come back on, and he was out of food. The pipes were now frozen, and all the water he had was ice.

For the first time in months, Spencer looked for a way out. And like before, there just wasn't one. He was trapped in a prison that hadn't ever felt like one, but was now a deathtrap. Huddling under the covers with Cat, he thought through thru the past year. Something must have happened to Hal, he would never have left him. As soon as he'd thought it, he laughed bitterly to himself. Of course Hal had left him. Everybody else had, so why not him as well?

Deciding it was easier just to sleep his way into oblivion, he hunkered down in the bed, wearing everything he could and covered with all the blankets he could find. Then, he just petted the cat until he fell asleep, never expecting to wake up. And honestly? He didn't much care anymore. Oblivion couldn't come quickly enough.

End Part One.

Next up: Part Two – Go Team!