Reid is walking home. At least he thinks he is. The street he's on is dark, rain making it difficult to see clearly. People are all around him pushing, getting in his way, or is it him getting their's, it's hard to tell. Looking down the busy sidewalk, at the neon signed store fronts, the cars crawling along the kerbside, he isn't sure if he's taken the wrong train or just gotten off at the wrong stop, but nothing looks familiar.
A spike of fear pinches at the bottom of his spine, tingling like electricity all the way up until the tiny hairs at the back of his neck stand on end. He doesn't remember taking the train. Hell he doesn't remember leaving the BAU. An image quickly flashes before his eyes. Fleeting, its there then gone again but Reid remembers stairs, dark stairs. The tingling sensation intensifies and Reid doesn't need reminding its a visceral reaction to danger. He spins around, looking over his shoulder, but sees no one he recognises. Shaking it off he continues walking, the feeling of cold dread increasing with every step, hoping to discover something that may point towards home. The last memory he has before finding himself out here, wherever here is, is sitting at his desk in the BAU listening to Morgan talk to someone over the phone, a woman. He was cancelling a date. They were catching up on paperwork, serial killer files and interviews. Had to stay late. He... he was going to the basement to fetch old case files... Reid remembers facing the basement stairs. The very dark, very cold basement stairs...
'You're weak boy!'
The second he hears the voice Reid breaks into a run, scanning the crowd, looking over his shoulder he runs straight into a group loitering outside a bar.
'You're being stupid,' an unfamiliar man says to his face without moving his lips.
'What?' Reid gasps, stumbles backwards, smacks straight into a woman walking in the opposite direction.
'You're alone out here you know. Nobody cares.' Her voice is high and lilting, almost playful, a stark contrast to her disgruntled frown.
"No, no my friend's, they'll help me." Reid stutters, righting himself.
A hand comes out of nowhere and grabs his wrist, pulling him backwards into a dark side ally. i 'They already tried but you wouldn't let them.'
"No. No that's not true. They never… " he tells the obviously homeless man whose holding out his hand as if asking for change.
His vision swims all of a sudden, colours running, his world turns blue.
'Your weak!' Charles Hankle's voice comes out of nowhere.
"No!" Yanking his arm free of his capture Reid backs away, throwing both hands up to cover his face. i This can't be happening, this can't be happening...
He hears laughter eminating unexpectedly from somewhere deep inside his already very confused and overcrowded mind and squeezes his eyes tighter as if not seeing can block it out.
'He's reliving the worst moment of his life.'
It's Hotch's voice which echoes inside his head this time as he re-emerges onto the street, continuing his quest to find a way home. He'd said those very words to him in Denver while searching for the unsub with PTSD. Reid remembers thinking that he knows how that feels. Every night in fact. Like a Technicolor recreation of his own lost moment. He remembers it all. Things had been fuzzy at first but then the longer he went without the vials the clearer his mind became. Standing by those basement stairs he remembered how dark it had been that night in the cemetery, how cold...
He's scared again, but doesn't know why. Spencer opens his eyes and finds himself sitting on the floor, leaning against a door in a small stairwell. People are walking by him, some stepping over him. He feels strange and touching his cheek which comes away wet Reid doesn't understand what's happening to him. Shouldn't he still be at work? Before he can think more he hears a tinny beep and it takes a few seconds to realise the continious noise is coming from him. Patting himself down frantically Spencer grabs and flips open his book bag, feeling around inside. Latching onto the small rectangle chunk of plastic he pulls out his cell phone. It stops beeping but Reid can see by the numbers on the tiny screen this isn't the first time the same person has called. Scrambling up off the floor, rejoining the crowds in the street his fingers fumble over the small buttons. He attempts to redial the number, but his hands are shaking too much, making the simple task near impossible to complete. Lifting the phone to his ear Reid thinks he makes a connection, hears the tell-tale ringing not once but twice when out of nowhere an elbow bumps his arm sending the phone crashing to the floor. It splits in two, the battery flying off separate from the rest into a puddle. Reid quickly drops to the floor moving along the wet concrete, gathering the pieces, frantically forcing them back together. He turns it over in his dirty palms, but unsurprisingly it doesn't switch back on and feeling the despair well up to unimaginable heights lets out an internal cry of distress. He's lost, alone and has no way to call anyone for help.
"Reid!"
Spencer snaps his gaze back to his phone, desperately hoping he managed to make the call after all, but the screen is still dark. Putting all the evidence together, memory loss, hearing voices, not knowing where he is or how he came to be here Reid can only assume one thing-
He must be losing his mind.
...
"Garcia?" Hotch barks when she falls unexpectedly silent after uttering an uncertain uh-oh down the line.
Steering around the corner one handed he can hear her chair wheels roll over her office floor, "Sir I had him, he was making a call, but the signal's dropped completely, he must have turned it off I'm sorry."
She sounds utterly despaired, but as is the norm recently he doesn't have time to make her feel better, so Hotch tries the next best thing. "Garcia call Morgan, tell him to check his apartment again then return to the office. I'll carry on to his cells last location."
Hotch looks out the windows of the SUV into the late afternoon spring rain scanning the streets. It's warm outside still, but that doesn't mean there won't be repercussions for being out in this without a jacket. He's still reeling over how none of them had noticed until an hour ago that Reid was even missing, but then that's what happens when they get busy. Everyone's so engrossed in their own work nobody was watching when Reid suddenly picked up his book bag, leaving his gun and badge behind and walked out the door.
It may sound like no big deal, especially to FBI security who thought he was crazy bawling them out for letting Doctor Reid walk out of the building unsupervised, but since Reid's terrifying and still unexplained seizure in the office last week he's been showing increasing signs of sickness and confusion. Everyone's noticed of course, but all enquiries into his health have been shut down with an emphatic 'I'm fine'. They've been concerned to the point that whenever he's not within at least one team member's sights they experience a moment of general unease, which after a prolonged unexplained absence like this one has inevitably led to panic. For Hotch that panic quickly turned into anger once they ascertained he'd left the building without saying anything and were forced to track his cell because he wasn't answering it.
Scanning the crowd of late afternoon shoppers and commuters still filling the sidewalks he's about to give up and turn around when his luck improves considerably. Spotting the one he's looking for on the other side of the street Hotch slams on the brakes and throws open the door.
"Reid!" He calls into the throng of passers-by, relived and yes certainly angry expression in place as he makes his way across the road.
Even though the rain has tapered off into a light mist, making visibility a little better, it's still the 'get soaked after only a minute' kind which Hotch has no intention of hanging around in. As he gets closer he can tell Reid still doesn't see him by the way he's standing in the middle of the sidewalk, arms wrapped tightly around his middle avoiding contact with the people moving around him. Hotch's initial relief that's he's not hurt quickly transforms into alarm as he approaches, because despite being alert and standing Reid does not appear to be alright. In fact he looks confused and very, very scared.
There's people congregating around the area he's trying to get to despite the rain and pushing his way through them at a jog, worry now driving him Hotch loses all sense of boundaries between himself and his subordinate by taking Spencer into his arms the second he's within grabbing distance.
"Where the hell have you been? And why aren't you answering your cell?" He barks, words coming out harsher than intended as he squeezes the thin shoulders tightly. "You hurt?"
Pulling back without breaking contact Hotch visually inspects him for injury. Spencer's staring back at him, wide eyed and terrified. His eye sockets are nothing but sunken black rings, wrists so thin Hotch is positive he could link one hand around them twice and he has to wonder exactly when Reid went from skinny to malnourished and how they missed it.
"Hotch?" Reid blinks, eyes finally registering him, "really you?"
"Yes Reid its really me," Hotch forces calm into his voice. "What are you doing out here?"
"I don't ... my cell broke…" the kid shakes his head, holding out the broken phone, "I don't know, I don't know, I don't know-"
The phrase is repeated a few more times until Hotch tells him to shush. He isn't comforted by the fact their boy genius with the eidetic memory can't remember how he came to be here, but first things first, he wants to get them off the street and out of the rain. They break apart, but Hotch keeps his hand on the kid's arm, dragging him toward the car.
"Where am I going?" Reid asks, sounding more like his usual self.
"My house," Hotch is broking no argument and not explaining.
Reid doesn't question him.
….
Morgan pulls up in the Hotchner's driveway with a foreboding sense of Deja-vu, only Haley's standing on the lawn this time having opened the gates. He climbs out his truck to be greeted by an evening which is pleasantly cool after the afternoon's storm, mocking him with its freshness and promise of new beginnings.
"Hey, Derek," Haley greets him sadly.
"Mam," he smiles back politely just like his momma taught him.
"They're both inside."
He picks up on her sad tone, but doesn't ask, instead enters the family home prepared for anything.
"What's going on?" He queries finding Hotch standing in the kitchen, arms folded over his chest, staring forward, an expression like none he's ever seen on his boss' face before.
Directly in his line of sight is Reid, sitting at the kitchen counter, head down, sad eyes focused on the coffee cup jumping in his shaking hands. Without a word Hotch pushes away from the counter top he's leaning on and walks over to address Morgan.
Standing close by his side he whispers in his ear. "His mental state has altered, he doesn't remember leaving the BAU or how he ended up in a neighbourhood he's never been before. From what he's described, the way he's acted since I brought him home I think he's experienced a very intense flashback."
"That fits with what Garcia found on the BAU's security cameras." Morgan eyes him seriously. "She said she can track Reid walking normally toward the files basement, but then he gets to the top of the stairs and stops dead for at least five minutes. Then he turns around and quickly heads out the main doors."
"Definitely sounds like an episode." Hotch agrees, "Or another seizure."
"What the hell is wrong with him?" Morgan snaps, feeling his irritation keenly with their helplessness.
Hotch's narrow eyes slide and study Reid intently. "You remember at the hospital last week they said outside factors could be a cause for the seizure, but without further tests they couldn't be sure?" He spins back around, pinning Morgan with an inquisitive glare. "Well he's been refusing blood tests since Hankel."
"He's scared of needles" Morgan shrugs.
"But was he scared of needles before?"
They share a look and Morgan admits he really doesn't know for sure. "Only thing Reid's ever admitted to having a fear of is the dark."
"I think it's time we ask him again." Hotch's voice is low, almost dangerous.
It takes a minute for Morgan to work out exactly what he's suggesting. "You want to do a cognitive interview with him now?" He gapes. "When I suggested it to get him talking two months ago you and Gideon said no. What's changed?"
"He's confused." Hotch shrugs sadly, dropping the suspicious tone. "He wants to know what's happening to him and frankly so do I."
"Not to step on your toes Hotch, but have you considered he knows and just isn't telling us? Kids not exactly been himself recently."
"I think it may have started that way, but whatever this is he's repressed it. The seizures could be altering his perceptions, making it easier to block out whatever memories he's trying so hard to forget. And now he's suffering flashbacks?" Hotch takes a breath, steadies his voice and continues much more lowly, "Morgan if we let him bury this then we'll lose him. If any of our fears over his coping methods are true then he's risking a hell of lot, you really want to stand by and let him lose everything because of a bruised ego?"
Morgan huffs. "Yeah okay I'm still pissed about New Orleans and his recent bratty attitude, but I'm not that petty." He sighs hearing his own words and realising that's exactly what he's being. "Fine, you're the boss, I'm in. When?"
Hotch stares back at him, features unchanging, "now"