"Lets take some time to talk this over, Your out of line and rarely sober, We can't depend on your excuses, 'Cause in the end it's fucking useless, You can only lean on me for so long, Bring the ship about to watch a friend drown, Sit out on the ledge begged you to come down, You can only lean on me for so long." Man Overboard - Blink 182.


6. Man Overboard

He's sitting with his back against the wall, the cold bricks cooling his warm body. He can think clearer now and he sits, embarrassed and ashamed and wondering if he can defy the laws of physics and sink into the centre of the earth. The sound of footsteps approaching causes him to raise his head. He hopes they'll walk right past him, but he hears the sound of them slowing and coming to a halt before him. "What do you want Morgan?" he asks, looking up at him, "If your here to shout at me Hotch already did that," he knows he comes across as defeated but he can't bring himself to do anything else.

"I'm not here to shout at you Reid, I just want to know why," Morgan's voice is softed but his words are laced with small amounts of anger and hurt betraying his true emotions.

"Why what?"

"Why you quit the BAU? Why you started using dilauded again? Why your sitting in a jail cell? You know the usual questions," Reid smiles at Morgan's attempt to make a joke, although deep down it leaves both men feeling a little sick.

"I understand HOW but I don't understand WHY."

"What was that?" Morgan asks, realising how much he misses Reid's spontaneous quotes.

"George Orwell, '1984' Winston questions the Party that rules his country. He understands how they exert power but he doesn't understand why," Reid pauses for a minute and stares at his battered trainers. "I was tired at watching the dead bodies, tired of knowing what it felt like. I went to support groups and I tried, I really did but…"

"But?"

"Every time I saw a dead body I knew what they were thinking in their last moments, and I knew that with dilauded I could escape without any worries."

"But you were doing okay," Morgan objects, his voice is almost accusing.

"I was, but Gideon left and I stopped seeing a point in the job. I was trained for this, saw it as the ideal job that isn't easy, but you always pull through in the end. Then Gideon just leaves like everyone else, shows that this job fuck's you up more than life can. I'm sorry, I know I should have talked to someone, I just wanted to shut myself off for a few hours. I started using again but I was careful, I used less, in the end I decided I couldn't do the job. I thought I'd be ok when I left but the thing is I was groomed for the FBI, it's the only career I'd considered possible. Nothing matches the excitement, the fear or the thrill. I thought the dilauded would and when I realised it wouldn't I… It was too late," Morgan looks over at Reid, his voice had gotten quieter and quieter, and he realises with a wave of pity that unnerves him completely that the younger man is crying.

Derek Morgan has seen many things: his father die, men so deranged they believed things could be cured with magic, he'd seen his job destroy even the strongest of people. He's been scared, sad, angry, wracked with grief, yet nothing has unnerved him more than the image of Spencer Reid crying and admitting free of embarrassment that he was wrong, that he has a problem.

Because the thought of someone so smart being so completely wrong freaks the hell out of him.

"Spencer are you alright?" he asks, knowing it's a stupid question, but Reid carries on as if he hasn't heard.

"I thought that I wouldn't get this bad, that I'd get a job and quit but… I wanted a fresh start and I thought one of my happiest moments on the job was with Lila in LA," he stops and looks at Morgan, his eyes red rimmed, he gives him a watery smile. "I'm an idiot."

"What about the Aggravated Battery?" he asks, not really sure if he wants to know, but knowing he has to ask.

"Desperate affairs require desperate measures," his eyes try to burn holes in the floor.

"Who said that?"

"Horatio Nelson," they sit in silence for countless minutes, but Morgan can't stop the questions forming in his mind. He came here for answers after all.

"Do you still remember all the bad things, even when your high?"

"Kind of, it's fuzzy and there's blank spots."

"But you still remember?" Morgan presses.

"In the end yeah," Reid sighs, back to staring at his shoes.

"Why do you do it then if you know it isn't worth it?" Reid shrugs.

"I guess when… When addiction plays a part in things logic and reason go out of the window," he pauses for a second, trying to find the right words "What you know to be right and wrong are secondary to what you need, facts don't matter at the end of it," the kid has a point Morgan reasons.

"How did you break your hand,? I know you brow your nose in the assault charge," Reid doesn't answer straight away, instead he stares at the wall in front of him as if he's only half interested in what Morgan's saying. However, soon he snaps out of his focus and turns to Morgan.

"I was high and I fell over… I was fascinated with the idea that it didn't hurt, so I went into my kitchen and punched my fist against the glass until it smashed… It tickled, Paul didn't find it so funny though," Morgan feels a little sick and scared, genuinely scared, at the thought of Reid being so senseless.

"Who's Paul?"

"He kind of looks after me," Reid mutters, and Morgan can tell this insight into his life is rapidly diminishing.

"Looks after you?"

"You know, makes sure I eat and haven't died or something," it's the tone of his voice that makes Morgan snap, the word 'died' just emphasising it.

"Damn it Reid look at me!" Reid turns to face Morgan, if he wasn't being shouted at he'd have enjoyed seeing his friend again. "I watched you get captured and tortured for two days, you died and you fought with all your might to be found. But you're now sitting there, talking to me about dying as if it's nothing, as if it wouldn't hurt anyone… You're wrong, it would hurt us. First Gideon and now you, for god sake kid pull yourself together!" Reid stands and walks towards him. There's a slight desperation in his brown eyes, oceans of hurt and drops of frustration.

"I've tried Morgan, for fuck's sake I'm tried and I've failed over and over again… I, I'm not used to failure but I can't do it, and at the end of it all it's not like I'd get to be in the FBI again and things would be back to normal. I don't know what to do with my life now, but believe when I say I've tried to pull myself together," he looks at Morgan, begging him to understand and with a faint relief he sees a vague sign of understanding in a sea of anger and pain.

"We could help you get back on track you know, get you to a rehab, why not?" he asks when he sees Reid shaking his head.

"I… I don't want to Morgan, I just… Can't you just accept that I'm tired? That I want to go to sleep, that I might want to…"

"Want to what Reid?" he never explicitly finds out what it is, an officer walks up to him.

"They're interviewing Holden Taylor again." Morgan nods and looks back at Reid who has taken up his starting position of leaning on the wall. He doesn't know what else to say.

"I tried kid," he says and he leaves the room.

"I tried too," Spencer whispers but the cry falls on deaf ears.


Morgan observes Hotch and Prentiss interview Taylor "So your related to Martin, I bet it must have annoyed you when he refused to allow you into his gang," sympathy coats Prentiss's words, "Did that cause you to kill these people?" she asks.

"I never killed anyone," Taylor mutters.

"But you did try to get in," Hotch reassures, Taylor looks up his face a blanket of distress.

"So what if I did? Does it matter, I never got in anyway."

"Didn't you say earlier you had no interest in gangs, that you didn't want to be bossed around?" Hotch stands and looks over at the suspect.

"Oh, that's right, maybe you thought seeing as he's your brother he would let you in, he would ignore the fact that you're a weakling," Prentiss mocks.

"I'm not weak," Taylor whispers, mostly to himself. Hotch and Prentiss share a glance, both seeing that they've found his Achilles Heel.

"Then why were you not accepted? Can you not shoot? Are you too arrogant? You got angry at the lack of acceptance and killed these men to show that you were tough, that you could handle it didn't you!" Hotch's voice rises.

"And you can handle it can't you?" Prentiss smiles, but the plan backfires.

"I didn't kill those people," he protests.

"We already know you don't have an alibi," Hotch argues.

"I was at home!"

"And no one has been able to prove this!"

"Listen Taylor," Prentiss reasons "I don't understand this, you killed these men to prove to your brother you could do it yet you don't tell anyone, I mean was he meant to assume that it was you who killed them because judging by your appearance you don't look capable of it. What's your endgame?"

"He would know I did it though."

"Oh really and how exactly?" Hotch's unimpressed tone intervenes.

"Because-"

"I mean face it you're weak, you couldn't even fight a guy and injure him badly, how do you think your brother would see you? As strong? I think Agent Prentiss and I have had a mistake of suspecting you, you're clearly not capable of murder."

"I've been trying to tell you that!" he doesn't sound relieved, there's a frustrated spark in his eye, he needs someone to know. Hotch looks to Prentiss, tired and closes the file on the desk with a sense of finality.

"Well I guess we're back to square one," he stands and Prentiss follows. "Remind me to reprimand the Agent who thought to look at these" he glances contemptuously towards Holden "Weaklings was a good idea? Now I think about it, it's almost impossible to think someone like him is capable of murder," Hotch is almost at the door when Holden speaks.

"Agent, who says men like me can't take out men like your victims?" his voice is soft, rational and controlled but his mind is anything but. Hotch turns towards Holden.

"I didn't say you can't but its highly improbable," he makes another attempt ot leave when Holden calls him back.

"What if you were to attack them from behind? A first blow to daze them, then you could beat them and hurt them and they wouldn't know what to do. If you lead them to an alley, with minimum security of course, you can hurt then with whatever you can find, like beer bottles, posing the bodies would just be for an ego boost." Hotch stops him.

"Holden Taylor, you are under arrest for the murders of-" Taylor's eyes widen.

"What? Wait! This isn't real it was hypothetical!" his voice is panicked.

"We never told you how the men were attacked, what was done to them, or in fact where they were killed, but you can describe the main events at each murder and have no alibis for the night in question." With that Hotch leaves the room and Prentiss follows, two officers enter to take him to a cell.

"We never got a direct confession out of Taylor, it might not hold up in court," Emily said worriedly.

"We have DNA evidence that should be through later tonight, that should be enough to convict him," Prentiss decides to trust the former prosecutor. They meet the team in the conference room.

The atmosphere isn't that of the usual celebration after catching the unsub, instead they're reserved and subdued. The ending seems different, they were so determined to catch the unsub, and now that they have, they're unsure on how to act. "What do we do now?" Morgan asks.

"We go home," Rossi replies without missing a beat, and proceeds to clear files from the table.

"What about Reid?" Morgan asks, knowing that Prentiss and JJ are thinking the same thoughts.

"What about him?" Hotch questions while helping Rossi pack up.

"We can't just leave him like this," although Morgan knows he's fighting a losing battle. Hotch looks at them, his expression pained but serious.

"We don't have any choice, we have no authority over him. He resigned and where he is, is down to the choices he made," Hotch explains patiently.

"But he's an addict, he can't help-" JJ is silenced with Hotch's stare.

"I know you all see Reid as a younger brother, but remember he's a grown man with a separate life to lead. If he wants help he knows where we are, at the end of the day we're his colleagues, not his family," he looks at the team, they still want to fight it but know they'll just lose. They depart the conference room leaving Hotch alone.

Outside the air is fresh and cool in their lungs. Prentiss wants to get on the plane and leave but at the same time feels something instinctively wrong about leaving Reid behind. She knows however that Hotch spoke sense, he is - however hard to imagine - a grown man who can do with his life what he pleases. But it doesn't make things any easier.


He decides to get a later flight, to make sure DNA found on the body matches Holden Taylor although he knows it will. The police station is still busy, in fact busier still at night. Hotch checks his watch, knowing he's missed Jack's bedtime. A knock at the door draws him out of his work and he looks to see Carmichael at the door, "Prints are back and they're a match, it's the right guy, there's an officer outside ready to drive you to the hospital."

"Thank you. Goodnight," Hotch knows that Carmichael too has been waiting for the results before he called it a night. Hotch stands and check his watch, twenty past nine, he's running a little late. He packs up his files and heads out of the station. He steps into the cold night air and climbs into the warm car, he knows that this will be awkward and people will be angry, yet deep down he knows this was the best decision. The car drives past street after street and Hotch wonders how far away the hospital is. He wants everything back to normal as soon as possible, but even in his mind things aren't so simple.

He thanks the officer who waits outside as Aaron walks into the blindingly bright hospital. The secretary is a peppy girl of about nineteen, the sort that screams safe and successful. "I'm hear to see Dr Spencer Reid," he says. The woman types and there's that awkward silence when waiting for files to load.

"He's on the third floor, room three hundred and nine. He discharged himself half and hour ago," she says with a smile,

"Thank you," he replies and makes his way towards the lifts, deciding that he's too weary - and a little lazy - to bother climbing the stairs. When he gets closer to the room his nerves grow, yet when he sees Spencer perched on the edge of the hospital bed in the work clothes he wore seven months ago relief floods through him.

"Hey," Reid says smiling and Hotch notices immediately that he's withdrawn and unsure how to act, however he can't blame him.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

"Doctor says that I'm undernourished but I should be okay, and I need to make a doctors appointment when I get back to Virginia." he says, before he gets up and grabs his coat and satchel. "I've been discharged but I decided to wait in case I ran into anyone," he said.

"Good plan, there's a car waiting outside, we can leave," Hotch gives a rare smile, they walk down the hall Reid's uneasiness and curiosity rising.

"So was I right? Was it either Peter or Holden?" Reid asks eagerly, unable to contain his curiosity.

"It was Taylor, and I apologise for shouting at you in the station."

"It's fine," and Reid find he really doesn't mind, that's not what's bothering him anyway "Did the team buy it?" he asks nervously, Hotch gives Reid a weary glance that, for a second, makes the man look a lot older than his age.

"If I didn't know you were working undercover I would have found a way to get you into rehab faster than the speed of light," this unnerves Reid a little and he stays quiet. He's nervous now about the teams reactions, if they'll be angry at him for lying to them. When they exit the hospital Reid looks up at the sky, the stars are invisible due to light pollution, yet it reminds him of the sky in Virginia, after Georgia a star filled sky had never brought much wonder or happiness to his mind.

"Do I have a lot to explain to the team when I get back?" he asks when they're in the police car and driving through the busy streets.

"If I were you I'd arrive at work dressed in a S.W.A.T. uniform," this alarms Reid, unsure whether or not to take Hotch literally, after all the man never jokes.

"Are they that mad?"

"I'm not sure about them but Morgan told me Garcia threatened to kill you," Reid swallows, real fear shivering up his spine. He sits back in the police car and stares at the traffic running past, he wants to go home.


They reach Virginia at midnight and stumble wearily to Hotch's car, "Thanks for the lift," Reid mumbles, his right hand holding a burning hot coffee cup.

"No problem," Hotch replies, he's tired and knows with joy that the paperwork done at the station earns him an hour extra in his bed.

"Do I get extra vacation time? Two months in jail is not pretty," He tries to joke but his voice is strained.

"Yes Reid you do, in fact I'll be surprised if Strauss doesn't kick you out of the office until next week at least," Hotch says, knowing Reid won't take too much time off, he's seen others do undercover, they need time to adjust but in the end they just want normality.

"But what about the team, should I explain it to them before the week is up, I wouldn't put it past Garcia to fly to LA to drag me back here."

"For Garcia's sake come in tomorrow but take a break Reid, visit your mother or do… Whatever it is geniuses do in their spare time," Hotch says smiling and Reid knows Hotch's informal attitude is down to relief and sleep deprivation.

Most of the car journey is spent in silence as Spencer stares at the streets he's missed so much, the park he plays chess in, the bookstore with a coffee shop where he reads every Friday. He thought, in LA, when he returned to Virginia he would be happy, that he'd just slot right back. But it isn't that easy and he scolds himself for thinking it would be. He doesn't feel like SSA Doctor Spencer Reid, but he doesn't feel like Reid either, he knows he's stuck somewhere in the middle just waiting for the point where things will turn back to normal. Of course he's not so naïve to think that the normal won't be filled with distortion, be corrupted by the lies but over time, he reasons, the feelings of loss will diminish. When the car stops he doesn't move hoping Hotch will understand he needs to talk "What's wrong Reid?" he hears Aaron ask.

"This feels weird, I spoke to Morgan in the station and told him the lies, I'm worried at how mad he's going to be."

"It'll work out, they'll understand and get over it," Hotch says reassuringly, although Reid feels anything but reassurance.

He finds it weird to be back in his apartment, remembering to switch on the lights for Hotch's sake he looks around the room. It's as clean as ever, the familiar books crammed into shelves, his pitiful DVD collection and minuscule TV, his laptop sits at on the desk in the corner. He wanders into his kitchen and finds his shelves stocked with enough food to last him until tomorrow, he makes a mental note to thank Aaron.

Without thinking about it he grabs some towels from the cupboard in the hall and steps into his shower, as the water runs down him he thinks. He thinks about his life for the past eight months and how he had to deceive his friends. He wonders how angry they'll be at him for misleading them. He glances at his arms, six marks in each, he didn't use dilauded, he'd empty the vials, sterilise them and fill them with saline solution, when he thought someone might have to see his arms he shot up the tiniest amount. He remembers another reason as to why Strauss picked him, his doctorate in Chemistry made him aware of the risks.

His way out was easy enough, at the station Carmichael had given him a liquid to simulate death, all he had to do was make it look like an overdose. He knew it was Paul who found him and Spencer feels bad for putting him through that, knowing that he genuinely cared about him, it makes him feel like a bastard. He knew of course Paul wouldn't have stayed with him, he needed to avoid the police and when he woke up at the hospital after a few hours he was told the place was clear of drugs, except the syringe. As he lets the water run down him he feels old, he thinks about everything he had to do in order to keep up a façade. He had to punch his kitchen window to allude to being high, get arrested for drug possession, pretend to break a man's arm - another undercover cop - to get charged with aggravated battery and spend two months in jail. Reid knows there was a lot he was expecting to be asked of him when he joined the FBI, but he honestly couldn't say that those events were part of it.

His growing weariness eventually outweighs his reluctance to leave the shower, and as he wanders about his room in his pyjama bottoms and t-shirt he feels frustrated. He had some naïve hope that perhaps when he went into his flat and had a shower he'd rid himself of the person he'd been for the past seven months. Instead he feels lost, as if he is covered in a casing that separates him from reality and makes him unable to feel like himself. As he climbs into bed with the hall light on to stop the darkness from taking over, his nerves attack. They eat away at his insides like hungry sharks, snapping and twisting until he lies in his bed, drenched in sweat and staring blankly at the ceiling. Turning his head slightly he sees it's three in the morning and he knows his sleep will be fragmented at best, that he'll arrive in the office just after Hotch and probably be surrounded and questioned by the team as if he was an unsub handing himself over.

He curls into the foetal position, shaking and shutting his eyes to the pain in his stomach coiling tighter and tighter. He'd give anything not to have to go in tomorrow yet knows that the event is one of life's unavoidable situations. When he opens his eyes he realises how tired he is but when he closes them he suddenly feels fully refreshed. He knows he could probably search his flat, find a bottle of wine and knock himself out for the night, but then he'd miss work the next day and Hotch would get worried. Every time, no matter how fake, he thinks of the interrogation he mentally flinches. He never imagined he'd been on the receiving end of Hotch's anger, the one time he did in New Orleans he knew he was too stoned to really care. So it's Hotch's wrath, or, the team's confusing and anger. He knows each one is a death sentence. He sighs and lies on his stomach, cuddling into the Darth Vader soft toy that Garcia had bought him years ago. Sleep, he knows, doesn't really matter, it's not like he has a full day of work tomorrow anyway.

Of course it isn't really their reactions that are bothering him, not deep down anyway. Its that thought, that thought that won't go away, that thought that reminds him that after Hankle he could have ended up like that. He know of course that the team would have tried, in a round about way to intervene, but he also knows, in the end, he wouldn't have accepted help, he would have travelled a path that was breaking down from overuse. He knows it would have been a one way ticket. It's with these thoughts that he lets go, lets go his thoughts and emotions, his fears and hopes, he empties his mind long enough to drift off into an abrupt, dreamless sleep.

And when he wakes up the worries flood back, cover him like a layer of paint and dry. When he wakes up he finds he still isn't SSA Dr Spencer Reid. When he wakes up he punches the wall, scared, frustrated and anxious.

He doesn't know who he is, or who he will become, still stuck in the limbo of identities. Yet when he puts on Spencer Reid's grey trousers, purple shirt, brown cardigan, grey coat and beloved purple scarf, he feels himself morph into another character to fill the blank page of his mind. He knows how to act, what to say and how to be. It's just another Act in the play of his life. Shakespeare said the world was a stage for a reason and as he braces himself for the teams reaction, he realises how literal the Bard's words are.


So there you go, the whole reasons this story gets to come under mystery, I really hope it wasn't a let down and I tried not to make it appear out of the blue. If your confused then message me and I'll explain as best as I can. To lolyncutI'm happy you worked it out, I didn't reply because, well the answer was in the next chapter. I would have made this chapter the ending but I wanted to write the team's reactions and give Reid some closure, even though he isn't real... :D. I apologise for grammar and or spelling mistakes and I hope you enjoy.

DISCLAIMER: Criminal Minds isn't mine. If it was Thomas Gibson would have had his contract renewed already so my beta Please Insert Name would stop going on and on about it.