Disclaimer: I don't own the super show that is set for its season premier this week (woohoo!)

Hi friends. Thanks for commenting, favoriting, and following my story. You are all amazing and I love the support that you've given me. There isn't much action in this chapter; its more focused on setting the tone. I promise you we are building up to something good though. Just give me a few more chapters and I don't think that you'll be disappointed.

Please forgive any typos.

Enjoy!

The second Reid closed the door to his darkened apartment he allowed his body to collapse to the floor with his back supported by the wood.

How could he have been so stupid? Why did he open his big mouth to Morgan? Tears that he had tried to curtail in the car began to flow steadily down his cheeks. He knew in that moment that he was weak. He broke his mental promise to himself. He wasn't supposed to tell anybody about the real horrors that had occurred on that godforsaken island. His intention was to keep all of his humiliation to himself and push it into the recesses of his mind to be forgotten eventually along with all of the other degrading things he went through over the course of his thirty-one years.

Unfortunately, his supposed resolve had let him down. Now one of the people he thought of as his best friend knew about some of the ugliness that scarred his soul. Of course, he had already shared with Morgan one of the most mortifying experiences in his life a few years ago. His friend had taken it well, but Reid still saw the pity lingering in Morgan's eyes whenever he looked deep enough. When Reid had gotten home after he had let the story of the goal post slip out he chastised himself incessantly. He had decided way back then to keep the rest of his secrets locked inside. Pity was for the weak and Reid refused to be weak.

But here he was again in the same situation as before, mentally berating himself for sharing a secret. Why couldn't he control his mouth? It was like it had a mind of its own. In fact, his mouth was what had gotten him into this situation in the first place. John even said that it was Reid's ability to weave words that attracted the large man to him. Honestly, if Reid really thought about it all of his trouble stemmed from his inability to control his words.

If he had never told that story to JJ in the grocery store John would have never chosen him as his next target. If Reid wouldn't have told JJ that they should split up outside of Tobias's barn he would have never been kidnapped the first time. If he wouldn't have been so eager to learn and participate in class discussions he would have never been picked on by jealous bullies in school. If he hadn't had written all of those letters to his mother about his job and friends than Randel Gardner wouldn't have drawn his team into the macabre game that caused Elle to be shot. If he had never written all of those articles for scientific journals he would have never attracted Maeve's attention and she may still be alive.

If…

Right then and there Reid decided that he was no longer going to let the "ifs" rule him. He was going to take the "ifs" out his life's equation.

He was going to stop talking. Words were what had gotten him into all of his messes, so the lack of them would be what stops them from happening all together. Of course he wasn't foolish enough to think that he could just become a mute. No, he knew that talking was an integral part of his job and that it was a necessity to get along in society. But that didn't mean that he had to elaborate, go into detail, or spout off random facts that nobody needed. He would cut out all the unnecessary stuff and just stick to the basics. No one needed or wanted to hear from him anyways. After all, his so called friends had all gotten exasperated with his talking. At some point in time, each one of them had made it known to him that they really didn't want to hear what he had to say.

Sitting there alone in the dark Reid had finally found the perfect solution to all of his problems; silence. Deep down he knew that the more silent he allowed himself to become the better. Since people wouldn't know a thing about him they wouldn't be able to hurt him or those he loved. Also, his friends wouldn't have to find out the details of his most excruciating moments. There would be no pity in their eyes, no sorrow for him, and no sympathy for the things that he had endured.

Silence…it was such a simple concept with so many important implications for his future.

Morgan dialed Hotch as soon as he shifted into drive. He wanted to tell his superior and friend that he had made progress with their favorite genius.

"Hotcher," came a stern voice over the phone.

"Hey Hotch. I wanted to call and let you know what happened with Reid," Morgan explained all in one breath.

"Good, and then I can let fill you in with what happened with Agent Cruz," Hotch responded anxious to hear about the traumatized agent.

"Well, I found him out on the street corner lost in a daze. I was yelling his name trying to get him to stop and talk to me when the signal changed. Hotch, man…he didn't even bother looking and he almost walked right into a speeding truck. I barely managed to reach him in time, but I was able to grab him around the waist and throw him to the ground. He started flipping out and struggling against me like I was some sort of assailant. It took me a few minutes to calm him down and get him to realize that it was me," Morgan explained.

"Is he alright?" Hotch asked hoping that Reid didn't receive another injury from his clash with Morgan.

"Yeah, he got a little scuffed up but nothing he can't handle. Except…," Morgan trailed off.

"Except what?" Hotch asked not liking the mystery behind that word.

"Except his stomach started bleeding," Morgan said gently.

"What? How hard did you throw him down?" Hotch practically yelled incredulous that Morgan had injured the already bruised and beaten man.

"Calm down Hotch. Let me explain. Look, I didn't know he was bleeding at first. He was on the ground rubbing his midsection and I noticed a piece of gauze sticking out from underneath his scrub shirt. I asked him what it was and he immediately shut down my questions. I let it go for a bit because I wanted to convince him to let me give him a ride home, which I eventually did. But not before I tried to help him up off the ground and he flipped out again. All I did was grab him under the arms to lift him up and he yelled at me not to touch him," Morgan described as he pulled into his driveway and parked the car.

"What did you expect? He's was held against his will by a psychopath over this past week, and god only knows what that man subjected him to. Of course he didn't want to be touched. You should have known that," Hotch criticized his fellow agent.

"I know. I know. It was a stupid mistake. But there's more. I saw some red spots start to develop on the outside of his shirt. Hotch, man…the kid has a wound that he and the doctors neglected to share with us," Morgan said with sorrow etched in his voice.

"I knew he was hiding something," Hotch said not surprised by the new information.

"Yeah, so did I. But honestly, that's not even the worst of it. I had to pry it out of him, but Reid is in a deep depression. He won't let me call him pretty boy anymore because he feel disfigured, and he thinks talking about everything would just burden us. Worst of all he thinks that it's his fault that he was kidnapped. Reid is so ashamed of what happened that he can't convince himself to confide in us. The kid is in a dark place right now, and I'm pretty sure that there is even more to the story than what I got out of him tonight," Morgan concluded feeling emotionally drained as he sat in his darkened car waiting to hear what Hotch thought.

"First of all, was his stomach wound alright? What caused it?" Hotch asked wanting to make sure that Reid was at least physically okay for now.

"Yeah, he told me about it in a burst of anger. He promised me that he didn't need a hospital and that he was going to see to it when he got home. As for what caused it, I'm not at liberty to say. I promised him that I would keep his confidence and I think this is something that he wouldn't want me to share. I can guarantee you that it isn't life threatening though," Morgan said knowing that Reid wouldn't want the rest of the team to know about the brand that was engraved in his flesh.

"I guess that will have to do for now, but he is going to have to include it in his statement if he hopes to come back," Hotch said. "Second, do you think he is hiding more than just the one wound from us?"

"I…yeah I do. The way he has been reacting to everything makes me think that there is way more to what happened on that island than meets the eye," Morgan said in defeat.

"I agree. You seemed to have made some progress tonight though. So, I want you to make it your mission to whittle away at his defenses. You need to get him to start talking about whatever it is he is hiding. The sooner he starts sharing his experiences the sooner he will start to heal," Hotch ordered.

"Gotcha. I was already planning on heading to his place tomorrow after work to talk to him some more. But don't you think it would be helpful for you and the rest of the team to work on him too?"

"No. You said it yourself, he is too ashamed to open up to all of us. I think right now you are our best bet on getting him to share what happened. Of course, if you find yourself hitting a wall with him you could always play the Garcia card," Hotch said with a hint of a smile. No one could resist Garcia forever, and she seemed to have a magical way of getting people to let their guard down.

"Yeah, there's always Garcia isn't there," Morgan agreed knowing that his bubbly goddess could be very persuasive.

"Thanks for keeping me updated Morgan," Hotch said, "We'll talk about this some more in the morning with the rest of the team.

"Hey wait. You can't hang up with me just yet. What happened with Agent Cruz?"

"Oh. Well, after Reid's outburst in the office Agent Cruz wouldn't listen to reason. Reid is officially suspended without pay until he comes in and speaks with Agent Cruz again. As of right now, I don't know when that will be. Especially if Reid is as bad off mentally as you say he is," Hotch told Morgan.

"Wasn't there anything you could do? I mean, doesn't the man understand that Reid went through a traumatic experience? The kid needs time to come to terms with whatever happened. Surely Cruz can see that," Morgan complained.

"I think he does see that, but after the way Reid spoke to him he is trying to save face. He knows that he was callous of Reid's feelings but right now he's too prideful to admit it," Hotch said.

"Well tough shit. He needs to admit that he made a mistake and tell Reid that he can take his time," Morgan vented against the arrogance of his new boss.

"Well, I don't see that happening anytime soon. So the best thing we can do is get Reid to open up and Cruz time to lick his wounds," Hotch concluded.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Morgan conceded. "I'll see you tomorrow Hotch."

"Bye," was all the other man said before he hung up the phone.

Morgan pressed the disconnect button on his cell phone and extracted himself from the car. As he walked into his house all he could think about was how much more his best friend could be hiding. He knew that whatever else remained unsaid probably didn't hold a candle next to the brand gracing his friend's stomach, and that thought scared the shit out of him.

Reid was ultimately roused out of his thoughts by the slamming of a door somewhere in the community hallway. He quickly wiped his hand across his face in order to dry the salty drops that were still escaping his bloodshot eyes. He noticed that he was still propped up against his entryway door and decided it was time to get up. After a bit of a struggle, the injured agent hauled his aching body upright and braced himself against the wall. It was then that he set his sights on discerning the shapes that made up his darkened abode.

Unfortunately, the room looked like nothing but a shadowy blur due to his lack of contacts and tear clouded eyes. Instead of turning on a light he decided to navigate the living room based on memory. He misjudged his walk and rammed his injured leg into the couch on his way to the bedroom. The bite on his leg started throbbing as he continued his journey but he just buried the pain deep down with everything else and focused on his goal.

Once he reached his destination he quickly peeled off the soiled clothing that he had been donning all day and threw them in the small trash bin by his dresser. The moonlight provided the only radiance in the room and it had to fight its way through the closed blinds to even make a showing. For the first time in his life Reid found himself embracing the dark instead of being fearful of it. Because of the inherent absence of light he wouldn't have to see his repulsive image in the mirror.

Ignoring the reflective surface on the dresser he hobbled into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He left the door to the bathroom open allowing some slivers of moonlight to help him see. He removed the bandages that encompassed his body and discarded them. The dressings that had encircled his waist were damp from the fresh blood that had spilled out due to his encounter with Morgan. All of his body's effort that went into healing the soldering iron wound had been ruined and set back at square one. In fact, he could still feel some blood oozing out since there were no longer bandages against his skin to staunch the flow.

On top of having to remove all of the dressings from his various wounds, he also had to wrap his casted hands in plastic bags. The doctor had been adamant that he keep his casts dry and therefore they had to be protected from the cleansing water. It was such a nuisance, but one that he deserved due to his inability to protect himself.

The shower felt like heaven to the depressed genius. It seemed to work miracles as it washed away the blood and grim that seemed to be caked on the agent. He stood in the warming flow for longer than needed and allowed its therapeutic spray to massage his sore body.

Reid didn't know how long he stayed there but decided it was time to get out when the water started to drop in temperature. He reluctantly exited of the porcelain tub and wrapped a towel around his waist. The brand had stopped bleeding at some point during his wash and needed to be redressed. Reid took out his emergency kit and began to tend to the multiple injuries that littered his body.

By now his eyes had adjusted to the shadowy room and it caused him to see his hideous blemishes standing out in contrast to his skin. He quickly wrapped them up in the stark white bindings glad to be hiding them from his eyes again.

Once Reid had fully taken care of his sore body he dressed in his most comfortable pajamas and settled down into bed. He closed his eyes and hoped that sleep would soon find him, but he just wasn't that lucky. When his eyes slammed shut his brain recalled images of John hovering above him with a devious grin. He could feel hands roaming over his body caressing his most private of areas and metal bindings capturing his hands and feet.

He sat up abruptly and gasped for breath. The images were so vivid that Reid was reaching for a gun that wasn't there. It was then that the he realized that he had no way to protect himself. Panic slammed into Reid's mind and sent his heart rate through the roof. The scared genius flung himself out of bed and raced down the hallway to the kitchen. He grabbed a large knife out of the block and turned around to wield it against an unseen assailant.

He stood there a few minutes awaiting an attack that never came. His heartbeat slowed down and he came to the understanding that what he saw had all been in his mind. He admonished himself for being so foolish. John was over a thousand miles away stranded in the bayou. He was safe in Virginia locked up tight in his apartment.

"Stop being so paranoid," he scolded as he walked back down the hallway still clutching the knife in his right hand. "Anyways, I can't fire a gun with a broken index finger. At least with a knife I can still stab someone with or without all of my fingers working."

Feeling a bit safer now that he had found a weapon to keep at his bedside, Reid laid back down. He didn't even try to fall asleep again that night. Instead he fixed his position so that he could see the door and stayed up all night anticipating signs of danger. Reid would be damned if he was taken by surprise again.

John had been on the road since early this morning. Maybell had gotten him up with her before the crack of dawn and told him to get on the road. Since he was used to early mornings anyways, John easily rolled out of bed and started out on his mission.

He had been on the road for about three hours when he decided to stop off in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. Normally he wouldn't need to pull over so soon into a journey, but he had something special that needed to be done.

It was already turning into a blistering day in the Deep South and the heat was oppressive at eight in the morning. John immediately felt sweat beading on his brow the moment he stepped out of the car. He smiled at the feeling, relishing the heat and humidity. The Louisiana native embraced the weather as he walked into the local post office.

He was clutching a parcel that he intended to send via overnight service to his boy. He already had the package addressed to Dr. Spencer Reid and the return address was from a local pharmacy that was across the street from the post office. He knew that his boy would be immediately suspicious of anything he received in the mail, but he hoped the return address would throw a little bit of confusion into the mix too.

Standing in line with a self-satisfied smile John couldn't help but fantasize about how the boy would react to his gift. The image of the kid panicking turned John on a little bit and he could feel a twitching below his belt confirming his arousal. It was unfortunate that the fisherman wouldn't be there to see the boy's face. Nevertheless, he knew that the thoughts of how his taunt was going to affect the kid would get him through until he could see the object of his desire again.

After he went through the whole rigmarole of mailing the package John walked over to a fast food joint and enjoyed a quick greasy breakfast. He planned on driving halfway by the end of the day and finishing off the trip tomorrow. That way the package would have plenty of time to reach its intended recipient and instill the terror that it was meant to inflict.

John let out a content sigh when he got behind the wheel of the car and realized that he was less than forty-eight hours away from seeing his boy again.