Author's note: Again, thank you to everyone who has reviewed my story or sent me a PM. I appreciate all the feedback and apologise for the length of time it has taken for me to update. As ever – please review.

Warning: Spoilers for L.D.S.K. (not big ones though!)

Chapter 11

"I'm his father."

Gideon could still feel the words rolling around in his mouth. He tried to smile at the receptionist as she looked for the information for him. It was only a very small lie.

A very necessary lie.

But a lie none the less.

After a few moments, she told him to take a seat. "Someone will be with you shortly," she smiled.

Gideon sat down. He clutched the satchel to his chest, caressing the worn leather. He wanted so badly to offer the young man some comfort, to ease the suffering he was undergoing. Yet he couldn't erase the memories of the last time he had seen Reid; the terror and confusion in his eyes, his struggle against the restraints. And all the while, Gideon had been powerless to help him. Would Reid ever forgive him?

He jumped at a hand touching his shoulder. "Can you come with me please, Mr Reid?" asked a young nurse.

Gideon got up. "Er, my name is Jason Gideon," he replied. "Spencer has his mother's name."

"Sorry Mr Gideon," she said, and then she led him deep into the building. Eventually, she stopped and gestured towards a closed door. "This is one of our quiet rooms," she said. "Spencer is in here. I'm going to sit with him so Pete can come and talk to you."

Suddenly Gideon felt nervous. "How is he?" he asked.

The nurse smiled at him. "Pete can fill you in," she replied. She knocked lightly on the door and then turned the handle. She went in and closed it behind her.

Gideon tightened his grip on the satchel. The corridor was empty. The sounds of a busy hospital were very far away. He strained to listen for any noise from the room in front of him; there was nothing. The smell of hospitals – disinfectant and boiled vegetables - filled his nostrils as he breathed. He wasn't going to give up on Reid but he was nervous about the response he might get. What if the young man was still scared of him?

After a few moments, the door opened and a large man with closely cropped blonde hair came out. He smiled warmly at Gideon and held out his hand.

"Hi there, I'm Pete. I'm a psychiatric nurse," he said, speaking with a soft Scottish accent. "So you're Spencer's dad?"

The man's eyebrows rose slightly, but Gideon ignored the quizzical look. "Jason Gideon," he said, shaking Pete's hand. "Spencer took his mother's name," he added.

Pete led him to a nearby row of seats. They sat down. "Spencer was very heavily sedated when he came in," said Pete. "To be honest, he didn't know where he was or who he was for the first couple of days. It's often the case when patients have been on an emergency psychiatric ward – they come to us medicated up to the eyeballs. It keeps them quiet."

Gideon was slightly taken aback by the young man's candour. However, he remained outwardly calm. "And now?" he asked.

"We've had some rough times," said Pete with a gentle smile. "When patients first arrive, we give them one to one attention. We have a team taking turns to stay with them and we don't leave them on their own at all. I'm Spencer's key worker - so whenever I'm on duty at the moment, I'm with him."

"What do you mean by rough times?" asked Gideon.

"Spencer didn't get on too well at the previous hospital," replied Pete. "The word they used was unco-operative." He snorted and rolled his eyes.

Gideon nodded. That sounded about right.

"But we work very differently here," continued Pete. "Spencer will be medicated, but not sedated unless he really needs it. We don't use restraint unless we absolutely have to. Here, the emphasis is on talking therapies as well as using drugs."

"But how is he?" asked Gideon.

"With anti psychotic medications, sometimes things get worse before they get better," replied Pete. "He's been prescribed Risperdal – quite a high dosage at the moment. Unfortunately, the side effects can be pretty unpleasant to start with. Spencer is dealing with tremors and akasthisia – that's extreme restlessness. Not to mention the nausea, muscle pain and excess salivation. He's having a pretty difficult time."

Gideon looked up at Pete. "I have a psychology background. I've studied psychosis, but I don't have any clinical experience of it."

Pete smiled at him. "I recently read an article describing psychosis as experiencing a dreamlike state whilst being awake. Unfortunately, Spencer's dream is more of a nightmare at the moment." He gave an ironic laugh. "Its funny, isn't it? We have someone who is psychotic – completely paranoid and convinced everyone is out to harm him – and what do we do with him? Lock him up, restrain him and basically reinforce every fear he has!"

"Is he getting any better?" asked Gideon hopefully. "He was absolutely terrified – of everyone."

Pete grinned. "Ah, yes – I gather there was a fairly messy freak out in the ER! Poor guy wound up in restraints?"

Gideon nodded slowly. He wasn't too sure what to make of this cheerful Scotsman.

Pete continued. "Don't worry – I've seen it all before! Full on psychosis is scary stuff for all concerned and we're not out of the woods yet. But I think we've made a wee bit of progress – he's certainly calmer. The main problem is that I can't get him to eat anything."

Gideon looked puzzled. "He won't eat? I thought those meds normally increased appetite?"

"They do," replied Pete, "But Spencer is convinced he's being poisoned. We're dissolving his meds in water as he will drink, but he just won't touch any food." Pete sighed. "And unless he does eat something soon, the docs are going to be looking at sedating and tube feeding him."

Gideon's face fell. "Does he know this?"

Pete shook his head. "I don't want to try to panic him any more than he already is. I'm trying to persuade him to eat anything – the hunger must be driving him mad."

"Can I try?" asked Gideon, "Will he see me?"

Pete thought for a moment then shrugged. "Lets give it a go," he said, "Be warned though – he's calmer, but he's still going through a pretty bad time. His speech is a lot clearer, but his thoughts are still jumping around."

He moved towards the door. "Ready?" he asked.

Gideon nodded. He was ready.

-------------------------------------------

Hotch pulled up at the entrance to the farm. Despite the cold, he lowered his window and breathed in the chilly winter air. It was good to get out.

He had spent a couple of days at home with Haley and Jack, trying to relax and be a family again. Haley knew that Reid was in the hospital but Hotch had pretended not to know anything else about his condition. He played with his son and spent time with his wife, but it felt as if he was going through the motions.

Looking around his house he felt so angry. He had been trapped at Quantico for so long, unable to get out and look for Reid – he thought he would be relieved to be somewhere else. But he knew that Jessica Child had been in his home, sitting on his couch, making friends with his wife. All the time, planning a terrible act of retribution – one that Reid had taken the full force of.

The frustration of being unable to do anything constructive whilst Reid had been missing was still running through him. Despite breaking down once, he still felt as though he was only just containing his emotions. He couldn't talk to Haley; he couldn't talk to anyone about how he felt.

Usually, he felt some kind of closure when they found the unsub. The pain and suffering caused to the victims still haunted him, but at least the team had done something to bring it to an end. In Reid's case, they had done nothing. Jessica had practically given them her address and Hotch was sure that if the letter hadn't given him enough clues, she would have walked into the Bureau to give herself up. His failure to get one step ahead of her still rankled. He couldn't even have the satisfaction of bringing justice to the bad guys.

Hotch got out of the car and headed for the desolate farmhouse. Jessica had given her lawyer the address and the CSI team had headed out to gather any evidence. He needed to see for himself where Reid had been held.

One of the CSIs led him down the stone steps and into the underground room. Hotch nearly gagged at the stench of mildew and urine. Dried pools of vomit scattered the floor. The filthy blanket was being bagged as evidence.

Hotch put on his gloves and picked up the shackles lying on the floor. He ran his fingers along the cold chain and felt a lump rise in his throat. He blinked a few times and stood up. "Is there anything else here?" he asked abruptly.

"Upstairs," said the CSI.

In the kitchen there were supplies of PCP and LSD and a variety of preparation paraphernalia. Lying on the table, neatly folded in evidence bags, were the clothes Reid had been wearing when he was kidnapped. Hotch picked up the bag with his woolly hat inside. If Reid hadn't put this on, if he hadn't been wearing Hotch's jacket, if he hadn't been driving Hotch's car – he wouldn't be in a psychiatric hospital now. Just something as simple as a favour for his boss had put him through hell. Hotch closed his eyes and sighed heavily. He thought about that morning.

He had been to see Jessica again and she had told him about Reid's captivity. Leaning back in her chair, a scarf covering her head, she had spoken softly.

"The guys gave him a few hours for the full effects to kick in, and then they went down at regular intervals."

"What did they do?" asked Hotch, his fists clenched under the table.

Jessica shrugged. "I told them to scare him – make sure he had a bad trip. So they had a little fun."

"Fun?" asked Hotch, struggling to keep the fury out of his voice. "What did this fun involve, exactly?"

"I only know what they told me," replied Jessica, "They beat him a few times, held his head under water till he nearly passed out, and used a lot of loud noise. It worked pretty well."

"So it would seem," said Hotch.

Jessica smirked at him. "You know – he got so scared he actually wet himself? Can you believe that? I think that was after they held him down and screamed at him. It really didn't take much. And don't forget – I can only tell you about the stuff I know about." Jessica winked at Hotch.

Somehow, he had controlled himself during the conversation, but after leaving her, Hotch found himself throwing up in the men's room. He truly did not know what turned his stomach more – the fact that this horror had been meant for him, or the fact that Reid had endured it. And nobody but Reid knew exactly what he had endured.

As Hotch headed back to the car, he fingered the cell phone in his pocket, willing it to ring. He could do nothing more with this investigation. He needed a new case. He needed to win this time.

-------------------------------------------

Gideon followed Pete into the room. The lighting was low and there was very little furniture – a mattress on the floor and a couple of chairs that were bolted to the ground. There were cushions and beanbags heaped in one corner. He was struck by the isolation of it. No sound from outside penetrated the walls and it seemed very far away from the rest of the hospital.

Pete and the other nurse spoke quietly and then she left the room. Pete gestured to one of the chairs and Gideon sat down. Then he turned to look at the other occupant.

Reid was dressed in some sweatpants and a t-shirt from his apartment. He was pacing back and forth, his bare arms wrapped around his thin frame, hugging himself. His hair fell over his face and he was talking, softly and rapidly. He took no notice of Gideon or Pete.

Pete picked up a file and made some brief notes. Then he looked up and spoke to Reid. His voice was gentle and kind. "Spencer," he said, "I'm back now."

Reid paused, and then continued walking back and forth. His speed began to increase and he started to run his fingers repeated through his hair. Gideon caught a glimpse of his face – bruised, pale and in need of a shave.

Pete got up and walked over to Reid. "Spencer," he said, "There's someone here to see you."

Reid stopped pacing and his head snapped up. He looked at Gideon and his eyes widened. Gideon froze, waiting for him to start screaming again.

Instead there was silence. Reid stared at Gideon, shifting from one foot to another. Gideon tried to express all the warmth he felt for the young man with a gentle smile.

Then Reid spoke to him. "When's my mom coming?" he said, his voice sounding hoarse. He brushed his hand across his mouth.

Gideon didn't move. "She can't come right now," he replied. "But she loves you."

Reid turned away. "She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah," he said softly. Then, he walked over to the far corner of the room and leaned back against the wall. Slowly he slid down the wall until he was sitting. He hugged his knees to his chest and his feet tapped alternately on the floor, as though pedalling.

Pete leaned towards Gideon. "Not a bad start," he said, quietly. "Why not try talking to him? Keep your distance and don't make eye contact just now."

Gideon nodded. His instinct told him to gather the frail young man in his arms and just hold him tight, but he knew he had to take it slowly. He got up gradually and crept over to where Reid was huddled. He sat down on a pile of cushions, distant enough not to frighten him but near enough to talk to him. And then he waited.

Reid was watching the wall opposite. Suddenly, his face crumpled and he started to breathe more rapidly. He bent his head down onto his knees and threaded his fingers into his hair. They twisted into his scalp as he rocked and tapped and began to whimper.

Pete looked over with concern. "Spencer?" he asked. "You OK, pal?"

Reid didn't answer him. Instead his whimpers grew louder and more anxious. He shuffled back against the wall and began to tread more frantically against the floor. His shoulders were twitching and when he lifted his hands, Gideon saw that they were shaking.

"Spencer?" he asked tentatively.

"So much blood," whispered Reid, "So much blood. Its coming – I can smell it."

"Where is it?" asked Gideon.

Reid frowned at him, and then pointed at the far wall, his arm shaking. "There – its there. It's everywhere."

He hugged his knees tighter and alternated between looking at the wall and dropping his head down onto his chest. Every time he looked up, he flinched. The whimpers grew into moans. Reid's breathing was coming faster and soon he was gasping.

"What can you see?" asked Gideon.

Reid switched his gaze to the floor. "Blood," he choked. "It will have blood, they say; blood will have blood."

Gideon frowned. He knew those words – was Reid quoting something? Maybe that was a way to connect to him.

Pete moved closer to Gideon. "Spencer – where is the blood, mate?" he asked gently. "It's OK, I'm here."

"Everywhere," moaned Reid, his voice getting louder. "The blood's everywhere. I can't get away from it."

Reid was really panicking now. He clawed at his hair and drummed his feet. Then he looked at Gideon. "No-one helped me," he whined.

Gideon suddenly remembered where the words had come from. He responded with another quotation from the same Shakespeare play. "Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?" he asked gently.

He saw something flicker across the young man's face. His movements became less frantic. Then the look of panic returned. "So much blood," gulped Reid.

"Spencer," said Pete, "Do you think you might be remembering this? Do you think the blood might not be here now?"

Reid frowned and bit his lip. Then he shook his head. "All over," he said, "It's all over my hands."

Gideon tried again. "Here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand." He smiled paternally at Reid. "Let me see your hands, son." Reid hesitated, swallowing hard, and then held them out. They shook so hard they were almost blurred.

Gideon spoke softly. "There's no blood on them, Spencer."

Pete squatted down. "Remember Spencer, we talked about this? What you can do?"

Reid nodded. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"OK then," continued Pete softly, "Just turn away. Don't look over there and it will go away."

Reid turned his body towards Gideon. "A countenance more in sorrow than in anger," he whispered. "You're disappointed in me."

Gideon though for a moment – the quote was from a different play. Maybe it was Hamlet – the story of another troubled young man. He shook his head. "No," he said, "I'm not disappointed. I just want to help."

Reid looked miserable. "You keep saying I'm a failure, I'm useless." He stamped his feet harder on the floor. "Everyone knows."

"I have never called you useless," said Gideon, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice.

Reid's voice grew higher. "You did." He was starting to become more agitated. He wiped his hand across his mouth again.

Gideon spoke more firmly. "Spencer," he said, "That wasn't me. I don't think that of you." He paused for a moment, wondering whether to remind the young man of what had happened in Illinois. Then he spoke. "Do you remember what I said to you on the way back from Des Plaines? I told you to remember three things?"

Reid frowned at him.

"The third thing I told you to remember was that I was proud of you," continued Gideon. "I still am. I'm proud of you."

Reid was silent. He looked at the floor, tapping his feet and wiping his mouth. Gideon waited, hoping some of what he said had got through to him. He cared so much for this young man and he wanted so badly to help him. He felt Pete place a hand on his shoulder. He turned towards him.

"Spencer needs to take his meds in a minute," Pete said.

Gideon nodded, then reached into the satchel and pulled out a Hershey bar. "Can he have this?" he whispered. "He likes sweet stuff."

Pete nodded. Gideon turned back to Reid. "Spencer," he said gently, "I brought this for you."

Reid looked up and his face fell. "I can't eat it," he muttered. "They're trying to poison me, I know."

Gideon held out the candy bar. "There's no poison," he said. "I know it's hard for you to trust anybody right now, but believe me, no-one is going to give you poison anymore. There is no-one trying to hurt you now. Anyway – this still has the wrapper on – no-one could have put anything in it."

Reid's eyes filled with tears. "I'm hungry," he whispered.

Gideon smiled at him. "Me too," he replied. "Want to share?" He handed the candy bar to the young man.

Reid examined it. He started to try to open the wrapper, but his hands were shaking so much that he dropped it. Gideon scooted closer.

"I'll help you," he said, picking up the candy. He opened the bar and snapped it in half. He handed a piece to Reid. "Its just candy," he said, "Watch me – I'll eat it too." Gideon took a bite. "Tastes good."

Reid brought the candy to his mouth with trembling hands. Tears rolled down his face as he started to eat it. He gulped down the candy with sniffs and sobs. Gideon took his hand and squeezed reassuringly.

"I'm proud of you, son," he said.

TBC

Author's Note: In case anyone is interested, the three quotations about blood are from Macbeth, and the last one is from Hamlet.