CHAPTER 8
Everyone knew Gideon was the best option when it came to who would stay with Reid until he sobered up.
What they didn't know was how difficult it was for Gideon to control himself in the heat of the situation.
"Sit up."
"Hm?"
"I said, sit up, Reid."
"Hm."
It was incredible, how easily agitated Gideon became as he stayed with Reid and watched him stumble through the remainder of his high. It wasn't anger, it wasn't spite... it was concern, pure and genuine, and for Gideon, that most often came out as agitation; but, to someone who was in another world, another state of mind... like Reid, for example, it was just painful judgement from the man he respected most.
He hated being seen this way, and he knew that that was what was happening, even in the depths of his soaring reprieve from madness.
What Reid didn't know, was how much Gideon was struggling with this as well. His quiet words of reprimand weren't meant to be critical, they were simply Gideon's father-like instinct, jumping in to protect the boy.
Make eye-contact when you speak to others.
Remember, conversations are not interrogations.
You are an asset to this team, don't ever forget that.
These were the sorts of things Gideon had to remind Reid to keep him on track.
He never imagined he'd also be adding, "For the love of God, Reid, get sober," to that list. But here he was.
Babysitting his best student, and good friend: stoned out of his mind, because the kid simply had to be. Because he was addicted.
"Reid."
"Hm."
"Stop walking in circles." Gideon hesitated as Reid continued. "Just take a seat, kid, you're stressing me out."
"Why are you here?" Reid's words were sudden.
Gideon looked up, and saw that Reid had sunk to the edge of the bed, his shaking hands folded in his lap, and his haunted eyes appearing all too hollow.
"I'm here to watch you, kid. Make sure you're okay."
Reid looked away. When he spoke, it was too simple and matter-of-fact to be believed by someone as smart as Gideon. "I'm fine. You can go."
"You must think I'm a moron."
"I'd never think that of you."
Gideon looked up again, and felt Reid's honesty hit him like a punch to the gut. He then realized this: this stuff was like a truth serum for the kid.
He pushed himself away and up from the desk, and went to join Reid, sitting next to him.
"Reid."
"Hm."
"Can you tell me something?"
"F'course."
Gideon shut his eyes as he heard the words slip together. He had to hesitate before he spoke.
"How can you do this to yourself? You're smarter than that."
Reid swallowed, and looked away, his gaze finding the window. This question hit him hard, it actually brought his sober-factor up a notch or two. Especially when the words came from Gideon.
"I...I don't know." He squeezed his eyes shut. "It's like I don't have any other choice. This... this weight, that's on me... it doesn't go away." He shrugged. "This helps."
"This, meaning the drugs."
Reid's hand found the crook of his elbow where he injected, and he lightly touched the mangled skin, studying it. He just nodded once.
Gideon sighed, and stared out the window for a moment, then at the clock, noting that no matter how much time passed, Reid only seemed to be getting less and less lucid. "I'm gonna go, okay? I'm going to let you rest for a bit, and I'll be back in a little while, to check on you."
"You're taking it away," Reid realized.
Gideon smirked, letting a hand drop to the kid's shoulder. "You always too smart for your own good." He produced a vial from his pocket, and shook it once. "But not smart enough when you're on this stuff. This is the last one. Morgan already cleaned the place out when you were talking to JJ earlier."
Reid nodded, his eyes searching the floor. It stunned him, to see how easily he could speak about his addiction with these people, now that the secret was out. The reason hit him: he could speak so easily about it because it didn't change anything. They still loved, respected, and cared for Reid, and at the end of the day, would always be there for him.
Some tiny sliver of stupidity within Reid thought maybe, just maybe, they would have abandoned him. He was so wrong.
Once Gideon was gone, Reid curled up on the bed, staring out the rain-soaked window. And he thought. He thought about where the nearest place to get drugs in Denver might be.
While he pondered this, Gideon rejoined the team in the conference room back at PD. He nodded once to Morgan, who pulled him aside.
"How's he doing?"
Gideon sighed. "He didn't seem to be sobering up much. I'm just letting him rest. Everything is... you cleared it all out?"
"The girls and I did a full sweep." Gideon nodded, glancing sideways as he palmed the last vial over into Morgan's hand.
"Good. Get rid of this." Morgan nodded, and Gideon looked over at the round table, noting the girls gathered. "What are they looking at?"
Morgan shrugged, confiding in Gideon. "Reid's notes. He was really onto something with this case."
"What'd he find?"
Morgan hesitated. The last thing he wanted was to defend Reid's drug use, but the fact of the matter was, Reid's personal experience gave him an edge when it came to looking at this case. "Print examiners missed something, that Reid noticed. The prints on the syringes matched the victims, but weren't necessarily in positions that would be easy to self-administer."
"They were planted?"
"They were positioned. The unsub was there, coaxing and holding his victims' hands the whole way. Literally."
"Assisted suicide?"
"Can't be. Like Reid said before, we can rule out group or singular suicides."
"So what's this about? Why would these victims willingly administer these doses with the help of the unsub?"
"We're thinking coercion. Their life for something else," said Morgan.
"Something they'd be willing to die for."
"Exactly."
Gideon considered this. "Coercion." He nodded, then glanced over at the girls, pouring over the notes. "He's really onto something."
"He is."
Reid was. He really was. And after he woke from a nap and found himself fully sober, he continued to work. Of course, he had turned the hotel room upside down looking for his drugs first, only to remember the failed attempt at an intervention his coworkers had so haphazardly planned. They just got in his way.
He couldn't work like this. He couldn't work sober.
Of course, he said this to himself, without even considering what had happened the last time he had thought those thoughts: he had ended up curled on the floor, high as a kite and crying as he realized no matter how he was... sober and hating his life, or high and hating himself, he still couldn't get work done anymore. No matter what. No matter how he was.
He was ruined.
This just made it worse. Upon that realization, Reid crumpled. He fell to the floor, curling up much in the same way he had only a day prior, and cried, wrapping his arms around his knees and burying his face. The hitched breaths and sobs did nothing to ease his pain, but they made it easier to release the feelings. At least a little bit.
But they didn't do enough.
And he was out the door, in the rain-slicked streets of Denver looking for a connection.
When he found one, he didn't even think about how worried his teammates, his friends, would be if they knew where he was: tucked in a corner between two buildings, ducked out of the rain with a needle in his arm. Again. But he felt safe and sound there. He felt safe and protected by the cloud that settled over him in his drugged-up haze. And he felt protected from the idea that his teammates might know...
Of course, they knew. They knew as soon as they knocked on his door later that night, only to find that he wasn't there.
And they knew. Immediately, they knew what he had done. And they knew they had to find him. To stop him, yet again, from destroying himself.
It was just a matter of whether or not they could find him in time.
