Hi everyone! The following chapter has references to episode 2.18 "Jones." Also, I need to extend a huge thanks to "Rosie the Riveter" for her help with military information, particularly as it relates to drug abuse policies and regulations. That information would have been much harder to find if I didn't have her first-hand expertise.
Thank you for all the kind, wonderful reviews. Honestly, and I totally mean this when I say it, I really do have the best set of reviewers on the site. Also, thanks to everyone who reads this story, alerts, and adds it, or me, as a favorite. It's all appreciated.
I'll be traveling this upcoming week. I want to try and upload another chapter before I go, but, depending on time allocations, that may not be possible. If you don't read a new chapter in the upcoming week, don't worry-It will come soon (as will JJ's visit because I know some of you have been questioning when it will happen).
I hope everyone's having a happy Halloween. :) Enjoy!
"Last thing I remember, I was running for the door. I had to find the passage back to the place I was before. 'Relax,' said the night man. 'We are programmed to receive. You can check out any time you want, but you can never leave.'"-The Eagles "Hotel California"
About three and a half months prior:
"I mean, she's not ugly, but, dude, she's a bit fat." Disgusted, Reid attempted to ignore the conversation of what, he assumed to be, two college frat guys. He just wanted to drink in peace-not hear their remarks on the every single female in the populated bar. This establishment, a sports one, was not Reid's usual choice for drinks. In fact, he preferred shadowed jazz clubs with plush chairs and murmured conversations over a series of TV stations all showing some sporting event, wall-to-wall athletic paraphernalia, and rows of pool tables and lines of dart boards. Then again, Gideon's words a few hours earlier had chosen this place for him: "You're not all that hard to profile."
Reid downed the rest of his whiskey, noting that this one burned far less than the last three. He signaled for the bartender, who flirted shamelessly with the two college guys before heading his way.
"Another one?" She asked, leaning over slightly to reveal what was underneath her low-cut top. Reid avoided looking.
"You know," she mentioned while busying herself with his drink order, letting her eyes fall on the thin man with shaking hands, fidgeting legs, and bag-adorned eyes, "You'd probably be happier if you smiled once and a while."
"My unhappiness is none of your business." His voice came out with too much anger, too much force, and she saw her blink a couple times, obviously surprised that her nonchalant comment and voluptuous curves had not produced smiles and flirtatious banter.
"No need to get pissy," she retorted. "I'm just sayin', you look upset." Reid smiled, keeping his lips pursed tightly together. He gulped the glass of whiskey, shoving bills at the bartender.
"I'd like to be left alone. I can miss any damn plane I want." He understood that she wouldn't, but he said it anyway.
"Just chill out." She said in a wobbly tone. In his peripheral vision, Reid saw meat head one and meat head two look in his direction. He knew if he stayed, he'd be in a lot more trouble than he needed. Then, suddenly, her mood changed as she leaned closer to him, dropping her voice a few notches. "Do you need me to help you out?" She was seducing him, Reid understood, but he could not comprehend why his blood was boiling under his skin.
"What I don't need," he heard his tone sharpen and watched her eyes widen, "Is some dumb, slutty fucking bartender telling me what to do." Without a final thought on his uncharacteristic outburst and hostility, he turned away from the tear-filled eyes, breathing heavily and stomping to the door. Hell, he could find something better than alcohol to do the trick.
It hadn't been hard.
In fact, it had been surprisingly easy to obtain Dilaudid. One visit to his always-loud, college-aged upstairs neighbor had been lucrative. The neighbor, drunk himself, called his equally young drug dealer, who, from the looks of it, was so messed up that he didn't care who he sold what to or where this new buyer may work. Two vials later, Reid sat in the confines of his apartment, which was becoming more disorganized as time between Georgia and the present lapsed. Taking a moment, Reid stared at the bottles and syringe in front of him. This didn't seem real. Any moment now, Tobias would barge through the door. Reid could hear his soft voice: "Tell me it doesn't help."
He filled the syringe, watching as the liquid seeped into the clear, thin tube. Sitting in the dimly lit living room, Reid realized there was something soothing about this wait, this routine. Rolling up the sleeve on his shirt, Reid placed the now-full syringe down on the table, tying his arm off with the long, narrow piece of cloth he had ripped off an old towel. Without blood flow, the blue veins bulged, each one begging Reid for the injection. After a few moments of careful deliberation, Reid chose a particularly visible, elongated vein and steadily brought the needle towards it. He knew enough to do it slowly-too much at once would be fatal and, before the drugs took control, he untied the wrap, placed the syringe on the coffee table, leaned against the couch, and waited.
When the oblivion came in sudden surges of lights, color, and beauty Reid had not remembered before, he ignored the fragments lingering from his old self, telling him in a voice that was quickly fading that this wasn't going to work and that it would certainly not help.
He had injected Dilaudid on his own. Tobias was nowhere around, except in his dreams and ghost-like daily apparitions, and Reid closed his eyes, feeling euphoria's startling release. Why hadn't thought to do this on a daily basis? If he had, there would be many planes to miss.
And when Reid realized that he wouldn't care if he missed every plane for the rest of his life, he laughed out loud, wondering where Gideon was, so he could tell him he was no longer struggling.
Present Day
Bolting out of bed and covered in a thin sweat, Reid half-expected to see his apartment as it had appeared just moments before-somewhat disorganized and dimly lit. Instead, he noted a weak light entering through the glass windows. Outside his room, the bustles of the patients and nurses soothed his rapid breathing. Reid understood that what he had just remembered was a real memory-one that he had stored away, vowing to forget. Rubbing his eyes, Reid let his bare feet fall on the cool floor, enjoying how real the sensation of frigid tiles felt on his skin.
That was just a few weeks after Georgia, Reid's brain reminded him. He knew there were other times-other memories-that he had blocked out. Whether Melinda's suicide had stirred something in him or whether a few hours of decent sleep had, Reid couldn't tell. Instead, he padded his way to the nurse's station, asking for a clean towel and showering products so he could wash the past few days down the drain.
The shower was warm, soothing, and once he was dry and dressed, Reid wandered into the lobby. It was quieter than usual, and Reid stood at the entrance to the entertainment room, wondering what to do. As if understanding his bewilderment, a nurse spoke.
"Everyone's farming or in afternoon groups, honey." He turned to face a short, dark-skinned woman next to him. Her name's Angela, he remembered. Her eyes were a light brown, and Reid saw that they were filled with sympathy only years of hardship could create.
"Dr. B said that you and Mr. Lambert can attend night group later on, so, until then, you're a free man." She joked, revealing a set of slightly crooked teeth. Reid looked at her brightly colored scrubs and felt a pang of homesickness for the tech analyst.
"Do you like cards?" He asked her hopefully, watching as her cheeks dimple when she smiled.
"Sorry Dr. Reid," Angela spoke jokingly. "But it's too early for a card game, I'm not working the night shift today, and I don't feel like losing all the candy I brought in, but something tells me the night nurses want a rematch." Reid smiled, staring at the even tiles on the hallway's floor.
"I guess..." Reid surveyed his surroundings, "I'll watch TV?" She nodded, motioning towards the room to his left.
"You may have some company." Angela said, plodding back to the nurse's station. Knowing who would be in there, Reid headed into the entertainment room with its worn ping pong table, outdated magazines, and dog-eared books. On the checkered blue and white couch, he saw Mike, absentmindedly shoving candy into his mouth, staring at a daytime talk show with intense interest.
"I wouldn't pin you as a talk show kind of guy," Reid joked, sinking into the soft, worn cushions. Mike smiled, but did not look in his direction, extending a hand of candy forward, which Reid took gratefully.
"This one's really good," Mike said through a mouthful of sugar. "Oprah's helping people with their wardrobes." Reid turned his attention to a woman with, perhaps, worse style than he had. No doubt, the show would transform her looks and life.
"She's really excited." Reid raised his eyebrows. The woman was shrieking, jumping up and down, and practically wetting herself. Mike grinned, facing him now.
"You should have seen the one before her. I thought she was going to drop dead." And, with the sudden realization of what he had said, Mike's face froze. Reid felt his own muscles tense.
"I uhhh..." Mike stammered.
"I know what you mean." The men sat in an awkward silence for a moment.
"Thanks for helping me get her down today." Mike didn't face Reid, but his crunching on the candy grew louder and more forceful. Reid understood he was anxious about their conversation-he was too.
"I don't think you should thank me," Reid stared at his hands in his lap, feeling the cushion shift under Mike's weight. "I didn't really help much after that." Mike's Adam's apple bob under the weight of coated sugar.
"I don't think it matters, though. You saw her, she definitely wanted to die." Reid sighed at Mike's words, running his hands through his hair.
"You know," Mike pondered, passing the candy back to Reid, who shook a few pieces from its bag. "I've seen dead people before in some really fucked up states, like half blown apart..." Reid understood the reference to his time in combat and he nodded, urging Mike to continue.
"But it's some chick I knew in rehab who stays with me. It was just so..."
"Real?" Reid offered when Mike failed to articulate his thoughts. Mike nodded vehemently.
"Exactly. War's very surreal. One minute, you're driving and patrolling. The next, your lying next to your vehicle, it's on fire, and your buddy is missing a leg, bleeding everywhere, and screaming for help."
"I know what you mean." Reid felt the familiar surge of understanding. "Crime scenes are like that." Mike met his eyes, showing him he was listening.
"You go to a scene to observe a dead body, and you dissect it-you look for clues that will tell you how this person died. Yeah, it's honorable to bring justice and all, but..." Reid bit his bottom lip for a moment, letting his eyes fall on the TV screen.
"It's hard because you have to separate yourself, although you know somewhere inside of you that the dead body you're scrutinizing-the victim-used to be a real person." Mike's long exhalation made Reid jump.
"Well," Mike began, somewhat amused. "I guess it's no wonder we're drug addicts." Reid smiled, reaching out for more candy that Mike offered.
"Dr. B told me I have to remember my rock bottom." Mike rolled his eyes, but Reid noted it was in a kidding way, almost like Morgan would have done when he rattled off some statistic or fact at an inappropriate time.
"I thought you had a great memory there, kid?" Mike teased. Reid shrugged, picking at his fingernails.
"I do, but I'm really good at compartmentalizing." Mike observed how Spencer fidgeted, unable to reach full comfort. In his short time knowing him, Mike quickly understood the kid never sat still and, Mike rationalized that if his body did that, then his brain had to be moving at even faster rates.
"If it will help," he offered. "Want to hear mine?" Reid felt his eyes enlarge and he swallowed past the lump in his throat.
"Mike, It's not-"
"I think," Mike contemplated. "Today is different." Reid nodded, falling silent. He didn't have to wait long before Mike began speaking, keeping his eyes anywhere but Reid's.
"It was right after my third tour. The minute we got in ally territory, we drank. Drinking in the military isn't a secret. I mean, we all do it, but there's nothing like the drinking you do when you're being deployed or returning home." Reid nodded, wondering if it was comparable to the times he had drank himself into a stupor after a rough case. Sometime told him it probably wasn't.
"I wasn't in good shape already. Yeah, I served my time, but the last was the worst." Mike shuddered, as if suddenly cold. Reid saw his hands grip the edge of the couch, causing his knuckles to turn white. One glance at Mike's eyes told Reid he wasn't there. Cautiously, he reached out and brushed Mike's arm.
"You don't have to do this, Mike." Reid kept his voice calm and steady in a way that, oddly, reminded him of Prentiss. His tone seemed to restore Mike's sense of balance. He shook his head no, protesting Reid's rationale.
"No, it's okay. Where was I?" His face contorted in thought. "Oh yeah, so I came back, hungover and hell-bent on forgetting. I saw a lot of men and women die that third time. Good people who had families, kids, you know?" Reid nodded, meeting Mike's gaze. "Some of the guys used to take coke to stay up during late night rounds. I didn't do it while on tour, but I remembered one of them saying how wonderful it felt. He said it was like he could do everything at once and still function, just on hyper-speed." Mike smiled at some memory he either did not want to share or could not verbalize. Reid shifted his weight, crossing his arms over his chest.
"So, I went to a buddy of mine. This kid I knew in high school, and he got me some coke. Not a lot, but enough to make me realize how well it worked. I could get a lot done, and I didn't have to sleep..."
"No nightmares then?" Reid asked, understanding completely.
"Yeah, at first, it was once. Then, it was a few times. And then," Mike gave a low whistle. "I was fucking crazy all the time." Reid couldn't help it when his mind felt the needle against his arm, the familiar sense of weightlessness, and the longing for more. Just a little more, anything really, to make it all go away.
"It didn't work, though, did it?" Reid asked, keeping his voice low. Mike chuckled bitterly, shaking his head no.
"I blew through some money. Stole some from my parents, pawned some of my sister's jewelry. My family isn't stupid. They figured it out and gave me an ultimatum-get help or get out."
"So you left?" Reid had not sensed the catastrophe yet, and he questioned Mike, knowing there was more.
"Got on a bus that day and went to my ex the next town over. I begged her to take me in, she did, left for work, and I proceeded to get as high as I could, but I couldn't find anything. By the time she came home, I was pretty messed up. You know, paranoid, crying, sweating, shaking. She put me to bed, calmed me down..." Mike trailed off, glancing at the television show. Reid fidgeted again, wondering where this confession was heading and how it could help with his suppressed memories.
"What happened then?" He asked in a composed voice eerily similar to Dr. B's. Mike shrugged, stared at the floor, and Reid looked at the opposite wall when he pawed at his cheeks.
"I stayed with her for a while, but she found out about the drugs. You see, kid, I wasn't entirely truthful with her about why I needed a place to live." Reid couldn't help but feel as though he understood somehow, but could not unearth why.
"She got pretty pissed, we fought, she wanted to kick me out, but..." Mike trailed off again, squirming uncomfortably.
"She was pregnant?" How Reid knew, he couldn't explain, but his intuition spoke for him.
"Damn," Mike faced him with watery eyes. "You must be a good profiler." Reid gave him a small smile.
"I don't think she wanted to tell me like that, but we decided I'd go get help at the VA the next morning..." He took a deep breath before continuing.
"I couldn't sleep that night and somehow convinced myself that I didn't need a kid." Mike's voice was increasing speed. "I didn't need to be responsible for another life when I couldn't take care of my own, so I ran." No longer able to control his emotions, Mike's chocked sobs echoed off the walls. Unsure of what to do, Reid hesitated before reaching for the tissue box on the coffee table, handing a bunch to Mike with shaking fingertips. Mike blew his noise noisily, acknowledging Reid's presence with a stiff nod of his head. Spencer avoided watching Mike's heaving shoulders, staring at the TV as the woman received a new hair cut and had her makeup professionally applied.
"Sorry, kid." Mike spoke just as a commercial for toilet bowl cleaner came onto the screen, and Reid glanced at his splotchy red face that was still damp with salty tears.
"It's okay." Reid kept his voice gentle, like he would when interrogating a traumatized victim. If Mike caught this subtlety, he didn't acknowledge it.
"What happened the when you couldn't sleep?" Reid figured that the absence of tears and sobs made it alright to pry. Mike eyed him for a moment before speaking so quietly that Reid had to strain to hear.
"It was kind of damp out that morning. Maybe it had been raining that night before...I'm not sure." Mike shrugged, rubbing his face with large palms. Reid inhaled, trying to calm the surge of feelings, but it was too late. He was already gone:
The pavement was soaked, glistening under thick yellow watts of light emanating downwards from the overhead flickering streetlights. The sound of the rain was beautiful, soothing beyond anything Reid had ever felt before. The world pulsated with his heart, slowly swirling in and out with the pattern of his high. His steps felt wobbly, his own body weighed down with drenched clothing, but, God, this was all he ever wanted. The rough wooden bridge under his feet and the swirling rapids below. There was some kind of divine power here, Spencer simply knew it.
"I just walked, and I knew I had to do something. I couldn't be someone's father. Not me-the war veteran turned crack addict." Mike's louder tone brought Reid to his present situation.
"Then what?" Spencer's own voice was a whisper, but his body had begun to recoil from the inside out. What was happening? What was he remembering?
"I walked far, a few miles from the apartment, and there was this river. It wasn't like I wanted to or even thought about it, but I went to the river that's over this large bridge. I can't swim that well either...I mean, I can do most other physical stuff, but the water is so different...I'm not made for it..." Mike's words clashed into one another above Reid's head as he struggled to stay in the present.
It was raining, he was soaked, but somewhere inside, Reid knew it didn't matter. It felt good to be numb, lost, and alone. He thought of the team then, and he wondered what their faces would be like when they heard. Imagining Morgan's face particularly pained him, but he ignored it. They didn't understand. They couldn't possibly. Underneath the bridge, the water swelled upwards, breaking the surface in groups of white foam. If he wanted, he could be on the other side with one stretch of his leg over the white, paint-chipped railing...Who knew it could be so easy?
Reid brought himself back to the entertainment room and to the very real sense that he had just remembered something in the form of flashbacks, and, from the way he broke out into a cold sweat, it wasn't good. Glancing at Mike to shift his attention away from the onslaught of memory, Reid noticed his friend's cheeks were red with shame.
"You jumped?" He whispered. Mike didn't answer, but Reid knew it was the truth.
"It wasn't like I planned it," Mike argued, although Reid's tone had not been accusing. "But..."
"The opportunity presented itself?" Reid questioned when the familiar recognition of empathy flowed through his veins. Why do I know how that feels? He asked himself.
"I almost drowned. Some early-morning fisherman saved me." Mike shook his head from side to side in disbelief. " At the hospital, they put me on suicide watch, my parents showed up." Mike faced Reid with hardened eyes once more. "They've always looked at me with pride, kid. Always," he emphasized. "But their looks were different. I hurt them a lot...I know it too...In the hospital, I begged them for that ultimatum, and" Mike motioned outwards with his hands, "here I am."
"Why the sudden change of heart? You still could of used..." Reid didn't understand Mike's ability to suddenly shift gears from addict to hopeful rehab patient. Although Spencer had been desperate when talking to Hotch, it was not his choice. It was rehab or face the consequences associated with talking to Morgan in a drunken stupor.
"After I saw my parents, my girlfriend came and showed me her ultrasound picture. She went to the doctor that morning, thinking I had left already to go to the VA, and a few hours later got the call that I tried to kill myself..." Mike was silent, and Reid just waited.
"I can't imagine getting a fucking phone call like that." Mike shook his head again in disbelief. For a moment, Reid tried to envision his drunken confession from Morgan's perspective. God, he must have been so confused and angry with himself. Reid's brain understood. He must have felt horrible...responsible...When his cheeks burned, he dislodged the memory and subsequent thoughts from his mind.
"But that picture..." Mike trailed off, smiling slightly to himself. "I know you're young, kid," Mike shot Reid a sympathetic smile that Reid returned. In a way, Mike reminded him of Morgan, teasing him but making sure he was alright at the same time. "But trust me when I say nothing prepares you for that. There was this living thing- part my kid-growing inside her, and I thought it was kind of crazy, but I helped create that, you know?" Reid didn't know, but he made a mental note to ask Hotch about that particular feeling.
"When's she due?" Mike smiled wide this time.
"Four months. We're having a son." Reid wondered if his own father had been this overjoyed and overwhelmed when his mother declared her own pregnancy. He couldn't help but feel detached from Mike's happiness.
"I am curious about one thing, though." Reid began, waiting for Mike to glance his way. "How come the military didn't kick you out? I know they have a drug policy." Mike nodded, as if he expected this question.
"The morning before I came here, I was supposed to pass a piss test, but I went into my commanding officer, explained the situation, requested medical leave, and, thankfully, everything worked out in my favor. A lot of guys aren't so lucky though..." Reid nodded forcefully.
"Thanks for sharing that with me, Mike. I know it wasn't easy." Mike shrugged off Reid's acknowledgment.
"I think it did help... I remembered some things..." Reid did not elaborate, but attempted to fill his voice with appreciation. What Mike had just revealed was difficult, at best, and Reid really did feel for grateful for the confession because he knew it was hard for Mike to discuss. But, if anything, Reid felt even more confused-what had he remembered a few moments prior? Why now? And why did it feel like his recovery was not worth the effort?
"Anything you can piece together just yet?" Mike asked in a soft tone he only reserved for those he truly cared about. Reid recognized the gentleness and ran his hands through his hair, showing a glint of white teeth as an offering of understanding and thanks.
"I'm not sure." Mike nodded, accepting Reid's statement as truth.
"It will come sooner or later, you know that right?" Reid met Mike's eyes. "And when it does, you won't be prepared. There's no way to be ready for any memories of what you did when you were using." The sinking feeling in Reid's stomach told him Mike was correct, however badly he wished he wasn't.
"I'm really good at shoving things aside." He told Mike, who tossed candy into his mouth.
"The problem with that tactic, though," Mike debated. "Is you don't realize how bad it is. It hurts to do that, kid. It hurts more than you can even realize."
"I've done it one way or another throughout my whole life," Reid admitted.
"We all push things away to some degree," Mike agreed. "But you can't run forever. Sooner or later, it all will catch up to you." Reid bit his bottom lip to keep the tears inside. He's right, his thoughts told him. Silence came forwards, wrapping around the two men with heavy chains.
"Candy?" Mike offered, extending the bag to Reid, signifying the end of their conversation. Reid responded with an outstretched hand. A new show came onto the television and both men eased into the cushions in silence, watching the lives of others.