Hi there readers! Soooo I know it's been a long time, and I just want to apologize for the delay in posting these next two chapters. Besides the fact that my life has been insanely busy, I had both chapters written and they were edited and ready to go and, then, I got inspired and changed a lot of the plot. That being said, theluckylama17 deserves some kind of award for putting up with my always-changing ideas and the many edits that accompanied those changes. Thanks! :)
This chapter, and some to follow, deal with some heavy subject matters. Many of you can probably guess that this is an angsty fanfic and, staying true to that, I've added a few things that may make it difficult for some followers to read. As always, fiction and stories are great to read, but mental and physical well-being is always more important. I don't want to give away what will happen, but, know, you've all been warned...
Also, as many of you can probably tell by now, I love music and I use lyrics before every chapter. I had a difficult time with the quote before this chapter, as nothing seemed to fit, so if it feels a bit "off", I apologize. Any musical or lyrical suggestions anyone may have are definitely appreciated. I'll listen to and use, pretty much, anything...
Happy Friday, and enjoy these next two chapters :)
"Honesty is what you need. It sets you free, like someone to save you. Let it go, but hurry now. There's undertow, and I don't want to lose you now." –One Republic "Someone to Save You."
Agent Aaron Hotchner thought the problem with being a profiler was that he was always looking for what was there, what wasn't, what was insinuated, and what was hidden. Nothing was as it appeared, and, once Hotch had done the job long enough, he couldn't return to oblivious observation. At that point, he knew too much and saw infinitely more.
But it was worse for Hotch to know he purposefully missed the very thing he was trained to see.
When Hotch walked through Reid's empty, but very clean apartment, about a week or so after the younger agent left for rehab, he wondered what he hadn't noticed, or had denied noticing. Hotch knew he didn't fail to perceive much of anything, so it had felt like a hard punch to his gut when Reid had admitted to having a drug problem. The night in the parking lot, Hotch assumed Reid was going detail his nightmares or struggles acclimating after the Hankel case. Hotch had been on the job long enough to understand that PTSD symptoms made sense given what happened in Georgia. He had observed Reid acting and responding with hyper vigilance, irritability, and withdrawing from the team and their attempts at comfort. Now, standing in Reid's immaculate kitchen, Hotch felt sick when he recognized that PTSD symptoms also paralleled the signs and symptoms of drug abuse.
The thought of Reid possibly being addicted to drugs had crossed Hotch's mind once or twice during the time directly after the Hankel case, but that estimation had been fleeting. Hotch remembered how he rationalized Reid's irrational behavior and snappy comments as the lingering consequences of a traumatic event. It didn't matter that Prentiss came to him one early morning, explaining how Reid wasn't well. It was understandable that the kid had ping pong emotional responses and outbursts. Hotch accepted the dark purple and blue bags outlining Reid's eyes as just another sleepless night, a common casualty of the job. When Reid started dropping alarming amounts of weight and began breaking into random sweats, bolting to the bathroom at odd, unexpected intervals, Hotch assumed that, disregarding the fact that Reid had never exhibited such symptoms before, Reid had had too much crappy break room coffee and it irritated his system, especially because he drank more than the team did combined.
It wasn't that he hadn't suspected and known something serious, but it was more like, Hotch finally realized with a pang of guilt, he hadn't wanted to confront the issues at hand. Doing so would be admitting what Hotch feared: that he, the leader, hadn't taught Reid how to handle the emotional repercussions of cases, particularly circumstances like the Hankel case. Although, in his darkened bedroom at night, Hotch tossed and turned, tangling damp bed sheets, as he wondered if he himself could have dealt with that situation and its aftermath. A few times, Hotch tried to talk to Reid, and, each time, he was met with an icy "I'm fine" or annoyed "Thanks, but I'm ok." There were several instances where he fought the urge to pry because he knew Reid wouldn't appreciate the intrusion. Action didn't occur until a rainy morning. In Reid's blindingly white kitchen, Hotch let his mind wander back to the one coworker he desperately wished he had listened to much earlier, as her concerns were the spark that lit the fire of change:
About a month and a half prior:
It was late, very late, and despite the bright overhead light, Agent Hotchner was having difficulty focusing, as his eyelids kept flickering shut at random intervals. He knew he should go home, especially after the last case, but home was becoming more and more hostile with each crime and unsub. Paperwork seemed like a safe alternative to Haley's incessant nagging.
"Are you busy?" Hotch heard a soft knock and a familiar voice before he looked up from the papers and forms that covered every spare inch of his pine desk. Emily Prentiss stood in the doorframe, appearing as unsure as she did the first day she had arrived at the BAU, clutching a cardboard box in her trembling hands. She was wet from the rain, and Hotch did not know what he was more surprised at: the fact that Emily was at his office even though she had the next day off, the fact that she knew he'd be here, or that it had been raining steadily outside his office window and he hadn't noticed.
"Yes," Hotch explained with a welcoming, small smile, "But I could use a break." He motioned for Prentiss to enter his office and watched as she shut the door with a gentle click behind her, although the deserted BAU ensured that no one would overhear or interrupt their conversation. In a few quick strides, she was sitting in the chair directly across from his desk, bouncing her legs up and down in order to alleviate her obvious nervousness.
"I'm guessing this couldn't wait until morning?" He asked with raised eyebrows.
"It is morning," Emily nonchalantly pointed at the clock that read 4:00 A.M. Hotch nodded, beaten.
"Is everything alright?" He asked, although he was nearly positive that she hadn't meandered into his office in the wee hours of the morning for mere social talk. Emily sighed and ran her hand through her wet hair, but did not speak. Hotch surveyed the team's newest agent before continuing softly.
"You're anxious." Hotch commented, unable to keep the concern out of his voice. Very rarely did Prentiss outwardly express her inner emotions. 'What if she can't take the job anymore?' Hotch asked himself. If she quit, it would be hard on the team, which was still struggling from the recent calamity that befell its youngest member. What came next, however, surprised Hotch:
"I don't know how to do…say…this, so I'm just going to put it all out there, alright?" It felt like she was asking his permission, so Hotch nodded, signaling for her to keep speaking.
"I'm worried about Reid. Look, I know he suffered through something traumatic during the Hankel case. I'm not arguing that fact or trying to invalidate it at all, but…" her eyes scanned the orderly office for a moment, fastidiously avoiding her boss' stoic eyes. Hotch watched her blink rapidly as it occurred to him that stone-faced Emily Prentiss was about to cry.
"Whatever you're going to tell me, Emily, is confidential." Hotch reassured. Prentiss nodded to herself and regained a fragment of her normal composure.
"I went to a diner tonight, after we got back." Hotch nodded, knowing that Prentiss went instead of sleeping. The last case had been challenging for everyone, and he wasn't surprised that the others did things to distract themselves from the nightmares they would soon face. After all, he was doing paperwork at four in the morning.
"And Reid was there." Although Emily meeting Reid at a diner after a tough case was not implausible, the nervous, fidgeting Emily Prentiss in front of Hotch suggested that something had gone amiss.
"Did something happen?" Hotch tried to keep his voice professional, but he could tell that curiosity outlined his words by the way the question came out sounding rushed.
"He…" Emily toyed with her fingernails, which Hotch noticed were chewed to stubbed points.
"Something wasn't right with him…" she trailed off, clearly revisiting the memory.
"What was so upsetting that you felt the need to come here and tell me immediately?" In any other situation, this question would have sounded accusing, but then, Hotch had realized, he felt himself start to panic. He knew what agents on the edge were like, and something told him when Reid saw the cliff's descent, he may welcome its steep, sudden drop.
"He asked me if I ever wanted to escape…" Her dark eyes met his, and Hotch tried to ignore the swirl of emotions in Emily's stare. "He asked me if I ever wanted to disappear."
"In what way?" He was already moving to action, collecting and stacking papers into a subconscious order.
"It sounded like…" Emily trailed off once more.
"Emily, you and I both know this is important." She sighed before speaking. Across the desk, Hotch felt exhaustion emanating outwards.
"His pupils were dilated, Hotch. It was like he wasn't there." She paused, and Hotch waited, knowing there was more.
"Was he under the influence?" Emily shrugged.
"I didn't smell any alcohol on him, but he may have been drunk." Hotch didn't ask her to elaborate what other drugs she thought Reid may or may not be using.
"You and I both know that what everyone decides to do in their off time is not my concern." Hotch argued, keeping his tone gentle.
"It wasn't just that, Hotch." Prentiss argued, debating how to choose her words. "His eyes were dead. It was like…" A thick silence hung in the air before Hotch broke through its barrier.
"Like what?" His own voice sounded scared, even to him.
"I think he was going to hurt himself." Emily sat back in the chair, staring at the flat, white ceiling ignoring the tears traveling down her cheeks. Hotch reached for the tissues on his desk.
"Do you think that's a real possibility?" Emily fidgeted, but accepted the tissue Hotch handed her. "Because, if it is, you and I are both aware of the measures that need to be taken."
"I don't know. I mean, this is Reid we're talking about..." She blew her nose loudly, completely unabashed by her crumpling composure.
"It's just," she fidgeted in the rigid chair, "He's not acting like himself at all. I'm aware that I don't know him as well as everyone else, but I can profile, and you cannot sit here and tell me he's alright." Her voice, which had wavered just moments prior, was now determined. Hotch remembered when he first met Prentiss, she had been brutally open with him about her family's political roots and her obvious disapproval of the nature of political affairs. Her honesty had been one of the things that made him give her a chance then and, now, with Emily sitting across from him, Hotch acknowledged how much he both admired and respected her sincerity.
"You're right," he asserted. "Reid is struggling right now." Prentiss nodded in agreement, bit her lip, and stared at her practical, but comfortable, black boots.
"Do you know why I hired you, Emily?" Hotch asked, switching the topic of conversation. Confused eyes met his own.
"Because my paperwork was messed up and it would be too annoying to fix it?" Emily asked sarcastically and with an underlying tone of puzzlement that told Hotch she had no idea where he was taking their discussion.
"Not exactly," he chuckled.
"Or was it because I wouldn't leave you alone?" Prentiss grinned, and Hotch couldn't help but return the smile.
"Actually, those things didn't hurt." He teased. He watched as her muscles released some of their tense stature. "But, I remember you very frankly discussed your family and how you resented politics, even though someone in my position might have very well abused political ties in order to succeed in this field."
"With all due respect, what does this have to do with Reid?" Hotch gave Prentiss a contemplative look, catching her dark eyes with his own.
"I saw something in you then. Your candor made me realize that I had to keep my priorities straight. This is about justice, and about the team, not some overhead agenda." Prentiss nodded, wondering if Hotch had lost his mind too.
"What I'm trying to say," Hotch explained, knowing Emily was more than a little perplexed, "Is you've never been anything but honest with me, so when you say something's wrong with Reid, I know that it's the truth, however much I don't want to acknowledge that."
"Thank you," Emily's voice was filled with emotion again. "I appreciate that."
"I'm worried about Reid, too." Hotch admitted to her, remembering how he suddenly found the papers on his desk increasingly interesting.
"The whole team is," Emily agreed, ignoring the sudden urge to reach out and give Hotch's hand a reassuring squeeze.
"Between us," Hotch began, meeting her gaze for the acknowledgment of discretion, "I should have done something about this situation much sooner."
"Hotch," Emily's eyes widened in disbelief and concern. Since when did Hotch admit guilt and feelings so openly? "It's not your fault. These things happen. It could have been any one of us. You know that." Her words were gentle and her voice soft, and Hotch felt something in him ease at the sound.
"Tell me, besides tonight, what else has you so worried?" Hotch looked at his colleague, addressing her with the deep eyes she knew. The ones that told her he would do something, anything, to help.
"I'm sure I'm not the first person to say he's lost weight." Hotch did not respond, neither confirming nor denying that other members of the team, mainly Garcia, had mentioned Reid's rapidly shrinking body mass.
"He looks awful," Prentiss began, avoiding Hotch's eyes again. It felt wrong to talk about a coworker like this, especially to Hotch, but she also knew she had to do something. This couldn't continue much longer. If it did, Emily figured, Reid would either quit or get himself killed.
"How so?" Hotch understood, but he wanted to hear it from Prentiss. It had to be that way because, then, this whole scenario would be real. It would not be just a nagging thought or suspicion that circled his mind whenever he had a moment's rest.
"He looks like he hasn't slept in weeks. It's almost like he has the flu…you know, he shakes a lot, sweats, vomits in the bathroom when he thinks no one's in there..." Hotch raised his eyebrows. What the hell had Prentiss been doing in the men's room?
"Morgan told me." She explained, unashamed by the realization that Hotch thought she was peeping into the men's bathroom stalls. Hotch nodded, once more signaling for her to continue.
"Not to mention, he's jumpy, anxious, and he's been really irritable." Hotch signed, running his hand tiredly over his face in a motion he associated with Gideon. In fact, the older agent had said these same things about Reid a few days prior.
"These are all legitimate concerns." Hotch agreed, hating how his stomach was twisting into knots.
"What do we do?" Emily asked the inevitable, and Hotch didn't know how to respond, so he went with the truth.
"You should go home and try and get some sleep." Hotch was moving again, knowing he may have wasted precious minutes already. Somehow, the situation in front of him did not seem real.
"Sir-"Hotch cut Prentiss off before she could retaliate.
"You're exhausted, upset, and if Reid sees you with me, he may become even more agitated that you came to me after speaking with him tonight." Emily sighed, balling the tissue in her hand.
"And you?" She questioned.
"I'm going to go see if I can find him." Emily nodded, rising to her feet when Hotch came around the front of the desk.
"What's your plan when you do?" Hotch met her eyes before answering.
"I'm not sure." And, in the silence that followed, Hotch vowed he would figure everything out. He had to because, after all, Hotch told himself, he was the team leader and Reid was his responsibility. It was more than that, though. It always had been an unspoken vow that Reid, the youngest member of the team, was the agent they all tried to protect more than they tried to protect themselves. Hotch saw the boy's genius, but he also saw the insecurity, the pain, and the avoidance of things and people that had wronged him in his short, but tumultuous, life.
The loud bangs of a backfiring muffler from the street outside the building brought Hotch back to his present position in Reid's apartment. You didn't figure it out, Aaron, his brain mocked. Hotch felt sick when he realized that he failed to act until Gideon's print-out and Reid's confession in the parking lot. I should have known he was addicted. I should have been a better listener. I shouldn't have waited for all the facts to fall into place. Hotch's thoughts circled in loops in his mind. You did know, his inner voice debated. You were in denial. Even with all the violence he had seen over the years and the agents he knew who had lost their nerves and sanity, Reid addicted to drugs felt like a whole new realm of terror that Hotch simply could not grasp. The night Prentiss came to him had been a night he wished and wanted to forget for a long time, yet Hotch found it impossible to now, as memory came flooding back to him…
About a month and a half prior:
The pavement was slick and wet with rain, as Hotch drove slowly around the deserted city. He didn't know where Reid would be, but something told him he had not stayed anywhere near the twenty-four hour diner, which was conveniently placed by the downtown bars. His agents were allowed to do whatever it was they liked during their time off, but Hotch could not picture his youngest agent downing glasses of amber liquid in some loud, sordid bar.
So Hotch tried deserted parks, empty swing sets at playgrounds, and shadowed walking paths. He tried main streets with darkened storefront windows, even peering into filthy alleys that he had visited during previous cases. He repeatedly drove by every empty bus stop and train station and had almost called it a hopeless search before circling towards the last park that had wooden bridge overlooking the swollen river.
And he had been completely beside himself to see Reid, thankfully on the street side, leaning over its railing, peering down at the rapids below.
The white lines were the only markings on the road, and Hotch pulled his car to the side, crossing the street without looking. It didn't matter-it was way too early for any car to be on the road anyway.
If Reid heard him pull over, exit the car, and approach with too quick footsteps that did not hide the anxiety Hotch felt, he didn't move an inch. In the falling rain, Hotch saw the agent's face was pointed downwards, wearing a vacant expression he did not recognize. He was shaking, although Hotch couldn't tell if he was cold or if it was from something else. It wasn't warm, and he fought the urge to shove his own hands in his pockets. Instead, he placed a gentle hand on Reid's left shoulder.
"Reid? What are you doing here?" The boy's body gave a sudden lurch, but he did not respond or indicate that he recognized the composed voice. Hotch realized the shaking was not only from the cold, but also from Reid's heavy sobs.
"Go away." Reid attempted to sound strong, but his voice wavered and cracked.
"You and I both know I can't do that right now." Hotch argued, keeping his pitch composed. It, however, did not seem to calm Spencer.
"Please, Hotch." Reid pleaded with his boss in a tone that nearly caused tears to fall from Hotch's own eyes. "I just want to be alone."
"I'm not leaving you at five in the morning on a bridge in the pouring rain, Reid." Hotch couldn't help it when the authority crept into his wording. Damnit, he was responsible for this mess. And, judging from the situation, it was one hell of a mess.
"Fine. Stay then. I don't care." Reid mumbled, wiping excess water from his face. Hotch leaned his elbows against the rail, imitating the young man's stature.
"What's going on, Reid?" His voice was soft, and it occurred to Hotch just then that he had never bothered to ask this query before, even after Georgia. It seemed irrelevant then because the pain was fresh and apparent. Now, months later, Hotch felt as though he should have asked this question daily.
"Nothing!" An explosion of built up emotions startled the stillness in the morning air. "Why does everyone keep asking me that!" Reid's face had grown red with fury, and Hotch watched as his self-control crumbled.
"Alright," Hotch debated. "I will leave you alone." Hotch was not surprised when Reid's very confused, dilated eyes met his own.
"You will?" Hotch nodded.
"Sure, if you tell me what you're doing on this bridge at this hour." Then, the awareness set in, and Hotch saw Reid's normal state return as he picked at his fingers. The rain began to ease its intensity, but Reid's shaking grew worse. It wasn't warm, and Hotch was surprised that he wasn't colder given the fact the he was soaked straight through his suit.
"It's not what it looks like." Reid mumbled, staring outwards at the gray sky that outlined the swirling water below.
"It doesn't look very good, Reid." The younger agent sighed, his shoulder sagging forward. Inside, Hotch was glad that he had not found Reid on the other side of the bridge. His considerable negotiating skills aside, he knew that would have been a situation that would not end well.
"I just need to think, ok?" Reid sounded scared, lost, and young, as he rested his forehead on his trembling hands.
"On a bridge in the rain at five in the morning?" Hotch pushed.
"I'm not going to jump off, if that's what you're implying." Reid belligerently faced his superior, eyes burning with anger once more.
"But you were thinking about it?" Hotch dared to ask the question he had been thinking since he had placed his car in park moments earlier. And, as quickly as it had appeared, Hotch saw Reid's anger disappear. The eyes that turned away were now filled with pain-more sadness that Hotch had ever seen emanating outwards from the hazel orbs before.
"I'm drunk right now." Reid said, as if it was an acceptable response for Hotch's query.
"You're off duty. That's fine." Hotch conceded. "But that still doesn't answer my question, Reid." Spencer sighed, rubbing his eyes with balled fists before speaking very quietly.
"Don't tell me you haven't ever imagined it before…" It took Hotch a second to realize Reid admitted to thinking about suicide. In the rain that fell around them, Hotch surveyed the evergreen tree line, the pointed rocks below, and the white-foamed water that hid depths up to 20 feet. If Reid had been planning to test his curiosity tonight, Hotch knew the elements alone would have helped him succeed.
"My actions aren't in question right now." Hotch shifted the conversation away from him, although he knew very well what the edges of darkness felt like. He remembered its comforting presence and how reassuring the unknown felt with its soft edges of oblivion. After his father had died, Aaron Hotchner had entered a dark void, only to be released after time had lapsed, where he found himself standing on a thin ledge, peering down at the sudden rift that had formed between the present and the time he had been lost.
"Tell me what's going on, Reid. I want to help you."
"You sound like Prentiss." Reid grumbled, kicking his foot against the base of the bridge in a childish way.
"She's worried about you too." Reid did not look up from ground. "We all are." Hotch continued.
"I said," Reid spoke through clenched teeth. "I'm fucking fine."
"Really?" Hotch questioned, his voice rising with intensity. "In all my time knowing you, I've never heard you swear like that."
"Well, there's a first time for everything." Reid answered sarcastically.
"Reid, you've lost weight. You're irritable, anxious, and it looks like you haven't slept in weeks." Hotch pointed out these things with a gentle tone, ignoring how Reid evaded his prying eyes.
"I don't have to be happy all the time," Reid argued. Soaking from the rain and struggling to answer Reid's responses, Hotch could sense he was losing some type of battle, although he could not place what was at stake.
"No one says you have to, either, but I don't think you've been happy for a long time…"
"Since Tobias?" Reid interjected, breathing the name into the early morning air.
"Is that how it feels?" Hotch queried, attempting to keep his voice neutral.
"Forget it." Reid mumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets and turning towards the street. "Can you just leave me alone?"
"Sorry, Reid." Hotch gave him a sad smile. "I don't think I can. I don't know how safe you are right now. Actually, I think you may try something dangerous if I do leave you alone."
"I won't go for a morning swim," Reid tried to kid, but, even through the rain, Hotch could see the tears welling in his eyes.
"Reid, please. Talk to me." In any other situation, Hotch's actions would be considered begging, but they hit a nerve with the younger agent, whose features crumbled into a knot of pain.
"I'm not crazy," Reid whispered in a voice that sounded like he was begging Hotch, and maybe himself, to believe his words. Swallowing the emotion that was blocking his throat, Hotch spoke in a stern, but soft, voice.
"I know you're not, Reid, but I'm worried about you right now. You and I both know that this," Hotch gestured outwards at the bridge, rapids below, and falling rain, "Isn't normal, even for you." Reid teetered a bit on his feet. 'He's not just drunk,' Hotch recalled thinking later on. 'He's under the influence of something else too.'
"I'm having a hard time." Reid stated. "It's no big deal." Hotch wiped some water out of his eyes.
"I think it is a big deal, Reid." Spencer shrugged again, staring at the chipped white paint on the bridge's railing. "It's understandable, though."
"I'll be ok, alright?" Reid said, trying to keep his voice steady. It sounded like he was trying to reassure himself more than he was Hotch.
"How-" Reid interrupted Hotch before he could continue.
"Can you just drive me home?" Hotch heard the shame outlining Reid's words. The kid was drunk, talking to his boss in the rain, and admitted to having a hard time. It was enough to make anyone jump of a bridge, Hotch surmised.
"I can do that, but," Reid's head shot up at Hotch's proposition, "You and I are going to finish this conversation at a later date, preferably later today or early tomorrow." Reid nodded, staring at his saturated converse sneakers.
"Come on," Hotch clasped a fatherly-like hand on Reid's bony shoulder. "Let's get in the car before we both catch pneumonia." And Reid had followed, allowing Hotch to blast the heat on the way home. He even blinked his living room lights to signal he was in his apartment after a silent car ride across town. Later, while standing in a blazingly hot shower in the early morning hours, Hotch had decided he was going to make Reid have another psych eval first thing when the team arrived from their day off. Obviously, the kid had lied in his last one, and Hotch vowed that he would personally sit-in on this next one. Before that, however, he would tell Reid he was not allowed to be on the team unless he never found him on a bridge again, regardless of the side.
Now, standing among Reid's belongings, Hotch felt his eyes burn. His intentions for good had been squashed the very next day, when Reid had arrived late, and evidently hung over. Hotch tried to stop the younger agent before he boarded the plane, but Reid had rushed out of the conference room. There wasn't enough time before takeoff, and Hotch had seceded to Morgan's insisting that Reid stay on the case. I knew better, Hotch thought. It wasn't right to keep Reid on active duty. What if the case went wrong and something happened to him? It could have been much worse. Had his judgment as leader been clouded by something? Since when did he let emotionally distraught agents work? Elle, his inner voice reminded. With a sinking feeling, Hotch knew that this situation was worse, so much worse, than the last team member's self-implosion had been.
Only Hotch knew about where Reid had been the night before and, judging from Reid's behavior, he had been more intoxicated than Hotch thought. It was very apparent that the young agent had not recalled anything, although Hotch found this hard to believe. Reid was the master of shoving unwanted memories into his subconscious, and Hotch figured the kid would remember sooner or later.
Now, with the burden of memory weighing down on him, Hotch wanted to forget, although he knew that pushing away pain and its affects was messy and bore harsh consequences that always returned with increasingly painful, unmatched intensity. Instead, Hotch stood in Reid's apartment, wanting to set things right and restore the order back to the team and Reid's world. And when things still felt and remained tilted and dark, Hotch understood he had failed.