Chapter Four: The Discussion

Reid drew a deep breath in an attempt to calm his nerves. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up and little goosebumps were forming on his skin. The solitary confinement cell was small, cold, and dark. He couldn't imagine living there.

"Spencer Reid?"

A voice drifted singsongingly from the shadows. The sallow face that accompanied it stared in amused surprise at the figure in front of it.

"Cat Adams," Reid nearly flinched at the sound of the door closing behind him. It was just the two of them now.

"They had me in a straitjacket for a while there," Cat grinned, "they were afraid I might be a danger to myself. Or others."

"You're in solitary confinement," Reid raised his eyebrows, "the only person you could hurt would be yourself."

She shrugged.

"Well, you're here."

"Why did you want me here?" Reid leaned his head to the side like a quizzical child.

"If I was going to be poked and prodded by the government I would rather have a conversation with someone fun than someone boring."

Cat stood up, extending her hand to him.

"Dance with me?"

Reid didn't break eye contact. Eye contact was Cat's favorite tool. She was convinced that with enough eye contact she could break anyone. Reid was going to prove her wrong. He slid one hand over hers, pulling her into waltzing position with the other.

"Are we playing a game?" Reid asked, mentally counting the ¾ time he was dancing in.

"Yes," Cat sighed, "and you have perfect timing, Doctor."

"I know," Reid replied.

"You have thirty minutes to tell me the truth," she ran her fingers along the outline of Reid's chin, "if you tell me the truth then I'll help the stupid government with their project, if you don't tell me the truth then you can pick another candidate."

Reid frowned, stopping the waltz.

"You could bargain for better conditions, some comfortable asylum, or a sentence reduction," he tried to maintain the eye contact, but for the first time ever she faltered away, "but you'd rather play one of your stupid games?"

"I have a brand you know," she pouted, trying to keep up her femme fatale demeanor.

"Cat, the NSA and the FBI are partnering to create a project where high profile criminals will be used to catch other high profile criminals," there was a hint of desperation in his voice, he wanted her to say yes, "you could negotiate a better quality of life and –"

He hesitated. Should he even say this?

"You might even be used as a government spy."

"Bullshit," Cat pushed him off her, "that's bullshit. I was a serial killer for hire."

"You killed men who wanted their wives dead." Reid sputtered, "You killed criminals."

"Who are you trying to convince?" Cat shouted, "Me or yourself?"

"BOTH! Okay, both," he started with an exasperated shout, but calmed himself down, "I want you to say yes."

Cat narrowed her eyes at him.

"What?"

"You wanted the truth so, here's the truth," he sighed, "every day it drives me insane that just because you chose the wrong path in life, a brilliant mind like yours is trapped in a prison cell for life."

"Don't you dare try to flatter me into submission Dr. Reid," Cat tried to throw a punch at him but Reid grabbed her arm.

"I'm not," he pushed her against the wall, his mind flashing back to when he had almost strangled her last year, "I'm trying to help you."

He released his hold on her.

"Cat, put aside your enormous pride for one moment and look at your options."

Cat bit her lip, she never cried. It wasn't the habit of a psychopath to cry. Nevertheless, she did get really, really frustrated. Currently, she was that. Deep down, she knew she had to say yes. There would be no endless bargaining – she had no upper hand. After a few futile tries, they would give up and move on. Her only chance at some form of freedom, or relief from boredom, was in front of her right now. Yet the little demon in the back of her head was telling her to turn it into a game, to try to play the people around her like puppets, to wreak havoc and hatch a plan and be Cat Adams.

"Okay."