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Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live: - Norman Cousins

Disclaimer: Criminal Minds is not mine.

Spencer ordered a coffee and sat by the window looking out at the parking lot. It was a bright day out there but inside himself it was grey and miserable. He had thought that this trip would make him feel free again, but it seemed to just be causing him stress. He had hardly any money left and so would have to sleep in the car and that wasn't a prospect which he really much liked the thought of. Alone in the dark in a car. He couldn't think of many worse situations he could be in. Actually he could but they were not thoughts he was going to permit himself to think about today.

He felt dirty and even though he had slept he was tired, but more of a tiredness of his spirit than one of his body. He drank down to the last dregs in his coffee mug and stood to go. The woman behind the counter gave him a curious look as the unshaven scruffy tramp with no shoes walked out and made his way to a big SUV parked out the front. The two things seem incongruous and so she picked up the phone and made a call to her friend at the local PD.

A trip into the village was a through and through. He had no money left for the luxury of purchasing clothes. These would have to do until he arrived at where he was going. The gas in the tank was slowly getting lower too.

Reid had the windows open and the warm air was blowing on his face. He was not far outside the village when he saw the flash of the police lights behind him and then the 'whoop' of the siren. He slowed down and then pulled over onto the side of the road. He hadn't got as far as he had wished, but it was Hotch's car. He supposed it was only far he returned it. He sat with his hands on the steering wheel awaiting to be told what to do.

"Put your hands out of the window."

So he did.

"Open the door from the outside."

So he did.

"Step out of the vehicle."

And as he did they were on him. He was pushed to the road with an 'umph' but didn't struggle or shout or make demands.

"Hands behind your back."

He felt the cuffs snapping around his wrists and it was now things started to go very wrong for Spencer. A panic of the highest degree suddenly swept through his brain and all words they were saying to him were lost.

"Where are your documents?"

He started to wriggle his hands.

"Where are your documents and where did you get this vehicle?"

He rolled over onto his back.

"Stay still you thieving little shit."

He kicked the police officer in the knee. Even though Reid was barefooted, he had experience of hand to had combat – thanks to Morgan – and he aimed and kicked right and sure. Reid thought he heard the knee make a strange popping sound and the officer who had been asking the questions fell to his knees and howled in pain. He could sense someone about to bend down over him and in a quick movement Spencer didn't know he even knew about he had twisted and kicked the other patrol officer in the head, sending him flying backwards into the middle of the road.

"Cuffs cuffs cuffs." Spencer began to chant. "I need the key." Tears in his eyes he looked back at the first officer he had damaged. He was getting to his feet again so another turn and the heel of his foot met the cop's chin.

Thankfully the roads were empty. This is why he was travelling on them but now he had to just get away. Let Hotch have his car back. The keys he found and then he struggled to unlock the cuffs. Hours playing with things like this when he had nothing to do paid off as finally after what seemed like an eternity he got free.

Both men still out for the count and so Reid grabbed a note pad and pen from one of the breast pockets and a scribed a note for Hotch.

'Hotch, I'm sorry..' And he signed it off 'Reid.' And left it under the wipers on the drivers side.

He thought maybe that there was more he should say. Maybe explain why he just attacked these good men. He was sorry about that, but he couldn't have those things on his wrists ever again.

Spencer looked off to the side of the road and the farm land stretching as far as the eye could see and started to walk.

………………………..

At around the time Hotch was getting a call to tell him his car had been found, Floyd was being dragged back to his cell.

Hotch wanted to know about the driver. They told him.

"It's OK Agent Hotchner, we will get the person who did this."

Hotch wanted to know – "You don't have the person who was driving it?"

And he was told. "He looked like a junky and fought like a wild cat. Took down both cops and got out of the cuffs they had him in. He won't get far."

Aaron just stood and looked at the phone for a while as the knuckles on his hand turned white. "Did he give a name?" He finally asked

"No name given Sir. They didn't get as far as taking details."

"Oh – what about a description, can you tell me what he was wearing as I am hoping it is my friend in which case there is probably a reason why he defended himself."

"Says right here. 'Longish dirty hair – dressed like a tramp – no shoes.' Does that sound like your friend Sir?"

A big sigh.

Whilst Hotch was having the conversation with the Police officer Floyd was thrown back into his cell. They threw a bucket of water over him to wake him up and they smiled.

"How are you feeling now? Not looking quite so sure of yourself now are you?"

Floyd stared back at them. He would get out of these bindings and he would kill them. They had underestimated him. "You can't do this to people. You can't treat me like this."

One of the guards came in the cell with Floyd whilst the other just stood grinning.

He was a big bloke. Not as big as the guy he was here for killing, but big enough and Floyd didn't much like the look on his face. "You a smoker it says in the records. You want cigarettes?"

Floyd did a quick frown considering his options. Attacking was not one of them. He had a feeling his right ankle was broken, and he definitely had broken toes and fingers and so he just looked and said nothing.

"It also states in your records that you prostitute yourself. Well I rather like the look of your sweet white ass boy. I will pay you. In smokes or get you a joint or two. Pretty little English accent you have there - A fag for a fag maybe."

"You can't do this. I will have my lawyers on you so fast you won't know what the fuck has hit you." Hissing at the prison guard through muzzled lips.

"Poor thing." One of the other guards said with a lilt of laughter in his voice. "I thought he was meant to be a genius and he hasn't worked it out yet?"

A peal of laughter hit Floyd's ears and now he really was getting bothered. "Worked out what?" He could feel hands moving over his bruised back and now down to his hips.

A voice whispered in his ear. "You don't exist. No one will come looking for you. You have no rights to a lawyer. You are officially already dead. You have a death certificate and so we can do what we want."

"And you will wish that certificate really was yours." Finished up a muscle bound Hispanic looking guy in standing in the doorway – waiting his turn.

Around the time Floyd was getting raped (yet again – and no he wasn't particularly enjoying it) – Reid was walking barefoot towards some small buildings in the middle of the field. They looked like workers huts, but right now there was no one using them. They were clap board and old, but he still had to put his shoulder to the door to make it open.

The room reminded him horribly of the one he had been kept in my Hankel. He just stood for a while and looked at the room, then walked in and closed the door behind him. He walked around the small room touching little things as he went by them. Talking quietly to himself under his breath. He found matches and he found candles. This would have to do for now. He also picked up a small penknife from a rickety shelf.

Now Spencer sat in the corner of the room and curled up with himself. His feet hurt from walking across the fields. He thought they would have come looking for him by now but this just showed him how unimportant even attacking two police officers was. He wasn't even worth the bother of following. He was nothing.

Reid sat huddled down in the wooden shack and ran his thumb along the still sharp edge of the small knife and listened to the sudden wind and now the rain hammering on the wooden ceiling. He could hear thunder rumbling away in the distance. He had found shelter just in time.

When the door flew open, pushed but the sudden gusts Spencer leapt up and pushed it shut again. He then grabbed a chair and slid it up under the shacks door handle. The glass in the one window rattled and something outside creaked and squeaked, so Spencer lit a candle and watched the flame and wondered how long it would take him to walk to where he was going and what the chances of getting a lift now were and would he be on some sort of wanted list for striking a police officer?

He watched the wax drip down the side of the candle and set it down on the floor next to him. He could feel the wind rushing up through the gaps in the boards on the floor and the door rattled and complained against the chair.

Spencer pulled his hood up and covered up as much of his face as he could and then pushed up the sleeve on his left arm. He sat and watched as some force somewhere took control and the candle now sitting in his right hand dripped clear wax onto his white flesh.

……………………..

By the time Hotch got to his car the wind was howling and the rain was belting down. There was a low rumble of thunder and a long way off a quick crack of lightening.

A bit of paper with smudged ink on it got whipped out from under Hotch's windscreen wiper and flew away with the other rubbish caught up in the wind. All eyes looking down trying not to get the sudden foul wind in their eyes, the bit of paper drifted out of view across the fields Reid had walked through.

…………………..

When Reid was huddled into his corner trying to work out why – Floyd was laying amongst the torn up bedding he had trashed previously and wondered how this was happening. He should have been able to control this better. Everything seemed to be slowly slipping away. His mind wasn't working as fast as it should. He needed time to think and to plan out how to get out of this mess but they permitted him no rest. They didn't let him sleep. Every time it looked like he was going to they woke him up again - with fists or boots or batons.

Not that he needed much sleep – he just needed them to let him heal.

There is no better than adversity. Every defeat, every heartbreak, every loss, contains its own seed, its own lesson on how to improve your performance the next time: - Malcolm X