Title: Losing My Religion by Lexikal (Chapter Thirty Six)
Rating: M for graphic violence against a child and language (in the first chapter, chapter 8 and chapter 10 so far. Chapter 28 has Reid discussing specific acts of abuse but not at length.)
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Summary: Spencer Reid, 10, is removed from his father's "care" after being violently attacked and is fostered by his old mentor, Jason Gideon. This is a sequel to "That's me in the corner". Features child abuse, do not read if underage.
Author's Note: Wow, the first month of 2012 is passing too quickly. I need to ramble so if you want to read why this chapter took a while to get out there, read the rest of this author's note at the end of this chapter.
"For small creatures such as we the vastness is bearable only though love."- Carl Sagan
The pyramid was gone. Gideon, as promised, had taken photos of it with Reid the night after Reid met Aaron Hotchner and, so as not to prolong the torture, had hired a couple of college kids to come and "deconstruct" the pyramid and haul the debris away in their truck. Reid had stood on the porch during the entire demolition, thin arms wrapped around his belly as if hugging himself, a pouty look on his face.
"It was a great idea, buddy." Gideon said, as the last of the pyramid was carried off. "But I love you. I care about you too much to risk you getting hurt. I hope someday you understand where I am coming from."
"I do." Reid had said, sighing tiredly.
Later that day, on the 5th, the doorbell had rung right after lunch and a ruddy-faced middle aged man had been waiting on the doorstep. In front of him stood a rather nervous looking adolescent boy with shaggy hair, bangs obscuring the kid's blue eyes.
"Are you...are you Spencer's father?" The man said uncertainly when Gideon answered the door. Reid, Gideon knew, was watching from the living room, stiff and nervous as a rabbit smelling a predator.
"I...yes. I am Spencer's father." Gideon said after a moment. "You are?"
"My boy here..." the man had pushed the boy forward, none too gently. The kid staggered a bit, hands buried in his jeans pockets, still not making eye contact. "This brat of mine sold your boy some of my building materials. Cinderblocks, concrete..."
"Ah..."Gideon said carefully, trying to keep his voice calm, assessing the situation. The man seemed angry but Gideon wasn't sure what was developing, not yet.
"Tell the man your name..." The man barked loudly, and prodded the young teenager in the ribs. Gideon inwardly winced and hoped Reid, by some miracle, had decided to retreat to his room. He knew better. Knew Reid was watching and listening to every nanosecond of this uncomfortable exchange.
"I...I...my name is Daniel. Daniel...sir..." The kid's voice was warbling and he held out a thin, pale, calloused hand. Gideon took it and shook it gently. The kid had what looked like a bit of a shiner developing on his cheek.
"And tell the man why you're here!" The father barked angrily. The boy inhaled and Gideon stepped forward, hands raised in a placating manner.
"Look. My name is Jason Gideon... and you are?"
"Bob Crane." The man huffed, but he seemed to be calming down a bit. Just a little.
"And... so you are Danny? Rei...Spencer told me about a lot you. Said you were quite enterprising." Gideon said softly, eyes on the boy but watching the father out of the corner of his eyes. The boy smiled, just the tiniest fraction, a soft, hesitant smile. Gideon inwardly sighed and charted his course of action.
"Enterprising my ass! The little fucker stole my shit, then sold it to a little kid... how old was the kid you sold it to? Nine?" Robert Crane was obviously angrier than he had first appeared.
"He said he was ten..." the boy trailed, looking sheepish.
"Ten? And you're twelve. And are playing with babies..." the man would degrade his son all day, Gideon knew, if that was a possibility.
"Look...Mr. Crane? I can reimburse you for the materials." Gideon said, trying to diffuse the situation. He couldn't be absolutely certain Robert Crane was responsible for his son's shiner but his gut was already churning.
Gideon knew that abused kids often sought out, without even consciously meaning to, other abused kids. Other abused kids validated their experiences, their lives. It would make sense that Reid would warm to a boy with a similar, albeit hopefully less severe, home life. It made a sick, heartbreaking sort of logic. A child with a similar upbringing would be less likely to scorn you, to think ill of you, to make you feel like an outlier, to reopen old wounds because together, you were normal. Together your experiences, while bad, became the new status quo.
"I can reimburse you for the materials." Gideon said again after a moment. The man seemed lost in his anger, drowning in it. He blinked, finally, as if waking up out of a dream.
"And then what does this piece of shit learn? Nothing! That is very kind of you, Mr. Gideon, but he has to learn..." Bob Crane's voice had gone up an octave, obviously irate at the idea of his boy not "learning" anything.
"Well...may I ask why you brought him here?" Gideon trailed. He wanted to keep the man talking, come to an agreement. Do something. Knew that he would have wanted to help this boy anyway, but with Reid watching the exchange it was vitally important Gideon play this just right and play it right the first time. He wouldn't get another chance, not to prove to Reid he could defuse this.
"He is here to apologize to your boy. He is here to apologize to you for associating with your son and-"
"Really? That is not necessary. Spencer is very bright and when his mind is made up, well... you know how boys can be."
"Well, at least one of them is bright. Huh?" The man smiled a cruel grin and smacked his kid on the back of the head none too gently. The boy, Daniel, seemed to shrivel even deeper into his baggy clothes, his cheeks blushing a miserable, humiliated scarlet. He nodded stiffly in agreement. Gideon found himself grinding his teeth. Could only imagine how Reid was interpreting this exchange. Did Reid think this was normal behaviour? Probably. Was the little boy watching from the hallway half-expecting his own foster father to devolve into the vicious, angry lout Gideon was now dealing with? The answer was, unfortunately, he probably did.
"He's going to be working it off, those supplies, the rest of his life, so he won't be around to play. I thought it only fair he come and apologize to your boy, let him know how stupid he was and why your boy suddenly is out a friend." The man's voice was dripping acid. It was hard to hear and Gideon knew that Bob Crane was full of shit. This was not about apologies or taking responsibility or manning up or discipline. This was about publically humiliating his son for making a mistake, for making his father angry, and it was a milder version of the same crap William Reid had pulled over the years on Reid to humiliate and degrade him. Gideon had to fight to keep the anger and sudden contempt out of his voice.
"Look. Maybe we could come to some sort of deal, to reimburse you for your supplies? Daniel, here, could maybe do some chores around my place, weeding, mowing, painting? That way he is out of your hair and Spencer learns what's in store if he ever decides to take my stuff without asking. Instead of paying you, I write you a cheque right now to reimburse you for your stuff, then your boy...he works at my place until he works that cheque off." Gideon forced a brightly fake, brotherly smile onto his face. Please take the deal.
The boy shifted uncomfortably but a little of his tension seemed to ease off. Just a smidgeon.
Bob Crane stared at the profiler for a long moment. His eyes narrowed like dried out raisins in his pudgy, doughy face. Finally he coughed and nodded, smiling a strange little smile.
"That might work. That shit wasn't cheap. You'll have slave labour till he joins the marines, though. He ain't worth much but he can work, if you..."
"God knows I could use a helping hand around here." Gideon said jovially, forcing himself to sound mildly enthusiastic. Robert Crane finally nodded. "The brat cost me 250 in supplies. 300 if you factor in time I had to take off to go pick up new stuff. That'll buy you 'im for at least a year of Sundays."
Gideon nodded. Smiled brightly.
"Would you and Daniel like to come in? I'll go get my cheque book and..."
"Not necessary. You can send the cheque home with him. I gotta be getting back. Wasted enough time on this foolishness..." Robert Crane, apparently, felt uneasy entering the profiler's home, or taking money directly.
Gideon shrugged, extended his hand again. The man looked at it suspiciously for a second like it might shift in front of his eyes and become not-a-hand and then finally shook, sealing the deal. Gideon knew the guy wanted the money, but also, on some level, wanted to control his son. By surrendering him to someone else, he was essentially losing time to emotionally beat the kid up. And on some level, that was a loss.
"I'm glad we could clear this up." Gideon said tonelessly, opening the door for the boy to enter. His father, however, was already half way down the driveway, walking quickly as if he, suddenly, could not get away fast enough. Gideon narrowed his eyes, watching the man, a million thoughts fluttering through his mind like startled crows lifting into the air, a hail of black wings and squawking madness and none of those thoughts were gentle. The profiler sighed tiredly. He could feel Reid behind him, watching from the hall, could feel the small genius burning holes in the back of his head.
"Would you like to come in, Daniel?" Gideon said, softening his tone for the youngster when the last of said youngster's father had disappeared out of sight. The twelve year old looked up and Gideon got the first good look of his face. A sad, pale face with large doe eyes, and a small, upturned nose. Bow lips, the bottom of which was swollen and bruised like a sausage. The dusting of a fading shiner around one pale blue eye, small clots of bright red blood dancing in the sclera. Yes. It made perfect, sickening sense why Reid had been drawn to this boy. Gideon smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.
Despite his facial injuries, Daniel Crane was also a strikingly pretty boy and his movements, his mannerisms, were almost effeminate. He licked his lips nervously, body language relaxing into something Gideon couldn't quite define.
"My name is Jason. I am...Spencer's dad. Spencer? Why don't you come say Hi to Danny."
Instantly he heard his foster son scampering down the hall. Daniel entered the residence, ducking his head slightly, face drawn and wary but apparently not as wary now that Reid was in the picture.
"You're 12?" Spencer Reid said by way of introduction. Apparently the mini-crisis that had just enfolded on the front porch wasn't important enough in Reid's world view to earn a comment. "You told me you were 14!"
"I...I know. I am ahead in school..." The boy looked suddenly even more embarrassed. "I skipped two grades and I am tall, so I just..." The kid trailed again. Shrugged as if being ahead in school and tall explained lying about one's age.
"Well, I am only 9, but I turn 10 this Tuesday. But tomorrow, Saturday, is the party. Can you come? My Dad's friend David is coming, he is the guy I told you about, the one who works for the FBI catching serial killers and terrorists and..."
"I don't think my Dad will let me come." Daniel said sadly, voice low and uneasy and under that unease there was the first tang of anger.
"My Dad can work that out. He is great at talking to people!" Reid assured, without even glancing up at Gideon. Gideon inwardly sighed, but smiled down at the twelve year old who had glanced up at him hopefully.
"I'll do my best." Gideon said and the boy smiled hesitantly, clearly wary of working up too much hope lest it be dashed.
"Um...so what would you like me to do or clean or..." Daniel asked Gideon, apparently remembering why he was there.
"Oh that! You don't have to do anything, Gideon just said that so your Dad wouldn't be mad and later you can just tell him you painted the upstairs hallway or something..." Reid declared speedily.
"Actually," Gideon interjected, throwing a warning look at Reid. "You guys can go out in the backyard and get the shovels and fill up that massive hole with soil. When you're done that, you can lay some new grass."
"Gideon!" Reid shouted, scandalized, even though Daniel was already nodding his head obediently.
"Reid, you made that hole, now you can fill it back in. I don't want a muddy swimming pool next time it rains."
"But..."
"No buts. You can show Daniel where the shovels are, okay?"
"But..." Reid piped back up, and it was at that moment Gideon realized how safe and comfortable Reid really felt having him as his foster father. Daniel was watching the exchange uneasily, as if he expected it to come to blows and Gideon was pretty sure that Reid himself had once watched his father with equal if not greater fear, jumping at every command and walking on eggshells. The fact that Reid felt safe enough to talk back and whine was a sign of just how far he had come in learning to trust. It made Gideon want to suddenly hug his foster son, even though Reid was pouting and whining and acting intentionally infantile. Gideon reigned in his emotions and stared down at the boys with a look that said he was losing his patience.
"When you're done filling it up, you can come back in and play Nintendo. Okay?" Gideon kept his voice stern, but inwardly he was smiling. He also knew Reid was showing off to his new, older friend. It was to be expected, but was still a little funny to watch Reid trying to be the alpha male in a group of two kids.
"Fine..." Reid sighed wearily and began to hobble his way down the hall. Gideon smiled and walked slowly towards the living room, listening to the boys' conversation.
"Your dad lets you call him by his last name?"
"Yeah, cause he's an FBI agent most of the time and that is what his colleagues call him. We have a good relationship. He doesn't treat me like I am a kid or anything."
"Why does he call you Reid?"
"Uh...that's my last name. My mom's last name but she died and...it's complicated, okay? That's just what he calls me."
"Okay. He seems nice, your dad. But what hole are we supposed to fill in?"
"Where the pyramid was. Said it was dangerous. Silly huh? I even showed him our blueprints"
"Oh. He seems really nice."
Gideon heard the back door open and then bang shut.
It took less than an hour for the hole to be filled in, despite Reid's initial protests, and when Gideon set foot onto the back porch he saw Reid sitting cross-legged on the cross, chattering about fire ants. Daniel had removed his t-shirt and was pounding the last of the mud into the hole.
"He didn't help you at all, did he?" Gideon asked sternly, walking over to expect the work.
Daniel looked at Reid before shrugging uncomfortably. That was all the answer Gideon needed.
"You're paying for him to work." Reid said, sounding a little sheepish. Gideon sighed. He would talk this over with Reid later.
"Well, it looks great. You guys can go in the house if you want. Danny, there is kool-aid and soda in the fridge, Reid will show you. You guys can help yourself."
"Um... what should I do now?" Daniel said quickly. Gideon glanced back down. The kid's cheeks were flushed, streaked with dirt.
"That's good enough. I figured you worked hard enough for one day." Gideon said gently.
"But...um...would you mind if I maybe stay and-"
"He wants to stay and hang out!" Reid interjected. Gideon nodded.
"That is no problem, Danny. You're welcome to stay."
"If...my Dad wants me here to...you know... he wants me working." The boy's voice hummed with anxiety. Gideon could almost hear the kid's heart beat in his voice, it was pounding that hard.
"If you hang with Reid, that's work as far as I am concerned. Means I get some time to myself." Gideon said softly. It wasn't exactly a lie. The older boy nodded seriously.
"So...like... baby sit him, you mean?"
"Gideon!" Reid shrieked, obviously offended. Gideon glanced at his foster son, smiled gently. Nodded despite himself.
"Sort of. Except I will be here too and you guys are hanging out. Remember, help yourself to anything in the fridge. I am going upstairs to read." Gideon said, trying to sound relaxed. He knew Reid's new friend had what many people would call "a difficult home life". Just how far it went, Gideon didn't know. He'd have to talk to Reid.
As a profiler, Gideon knew the stats on child abuse. Over 3 million children were publically reported in the US to child protection agencies every year, but the actual numbers were much higher. Most abused children were never "helped". Approximately 50-60% of child fatality cases due to maltreatment were not labelled as such, but instead called "accidents". Nearly a full half of all child abuse victims were Caucasian. Mothers were more likely to physically abuse and kill their children than fathers, while fathers were more likely to sexually abuse and rape their children. A full third of females were sexually abused before the age of 18 and approximately 1 in 6 boys were victims of sexual abuse. When physical abuse, mental abuse and neglect were added to the picture, the number of children who were abused in some way at least once during their childhood was nauseatingly high. Add in other personal traumas like early death of parents, accidents, diseases, bullying and it was a wonder that anyone made it to adulthood even half sane.
It was one thing to intellectually know the stats and to know, on paper, how common violence was in all its forms. It was another thing altogether to foster a severely abused child displaying symptoms of Acute Stress Disorder and severe anxiety in general, and to meet his first real friend and see that said friend, by all outward appearances, was also a victim.
It made Gideon want to scream. No doubt Reid had chosen this kid, warmed up to him, because he had subconsciously profiled him and deemed him safe. Deemed him a fellow survivor on some level. That was part of it.
But not all of it. Child abuse was a freaking epidemic and the implications were terrifying. Gideon had never really wondered where evil came from. He wasn't a religious man. He understood sickness and pain and that it was often cyclical and inter-generational and became magnified. But sometimes, it was too much.
"Can we make more kool-aid if we run out?" Reid said, snapping his foster father out of his thoughts.
"What?"
"More kool-aid. If we run out. Can we make more?" Reid said again, as if Gideon was a little daft. Gideon smiled. Such a simple, easy request.
"Yeah. Sure. Just clean up if you spill."
Reid rolled his eyes. Of course he would clean up. He wasn't a baby.
Gideon leaned forward, gave his foster son a gentle kiss on the head and ruffled his hair. Reid squirmed in mock embarrassment and rolled his eyes.
"I am really glad to meet you Daniel. Reid really needs friends and I really need not to be forced to play Nintendo every day." Gideon said lightly. Daniel Crane smiled and nodded. Over the last hour and 15 minutes or so, a lot of his initial anxiety had dissipated. Not all of it, not by a long shot, but enough that the kid no longer looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack.
"Can we make pizza pops in the microwave?" Reid asked, apparently jealous of the 5 nanoseconds of attention Gideon had shown his friend. Gideon sighed and nodded.
"Yes. Pizza pops. Kool-aid. Popcorn. Pudding snacks. You guys have fun within reason. I'll be happy as long as I don't get stuck with a ton of dishes and you two don't get speedy high on coffee. And please put your garbage in the actual garbage. I am talking to you, Spencer Reid. Deal?"
Reid grinned. Daniel smiled shyly and nodded. Gideon retreated to his bedroom to record the latest events and news, and his suspicions about Reid's new friend. He planned to have an informal talk with Reid later, find out more about the young boy in his living room with the bruises and the darting, wild eyes. Now was not the time.
Daniel Crane didn't leave until 9:19 p.m. He and Reid spent the day playing Nintendo, squealing with delight. When Gideon came back downstairs at 5, the living room was littered with snack pack pudding cups, the plastic from pizza pops (they must've consumed 6 or 7 each) and at least half a dozen empty Pepsi cans. Daniel had immediately eyed the mess and rushed to clean it up.
"It's okay. I am just making coffee. It's only a mess if it stays that way." Gideon said, hoping the kid might relax and sit back down. The boy watched him uneasily until Reid pulled on his shirt and screeched that it was his turn at the Nintendo helm.
Gideon made some calls. Spoke to Rossi about Reid and the upcoming party and Aaron Hotchner and the Mesoamerican pyramid and the fall of that pyramid. Rossi listened, chuckling in all the appropriate places, thoughtful and brooding during the serious bits.
"You can make an anonymous child abuse call regarding the friend, but if they send somebody out and the boy covers for his father, the father might not let him spend any more time with you. It's tricky. On the one hand, if you have concerns you don't want to ignore them. On the other hand... a brusque father and mental abuse do not mean those bruises are a result of physical abuse. It sounds like it, and I'd bet money on it, but you need to know more. This isn't a toddler you are dealing with and older kids can and will cover for their abusers. On the one hand, even if they found nothing there would be a file open. On the other hand...I would speak to Reid first. See what he knows, and maybe offer his friend an ear. I don't envy your position."
"Thanks, David." Gideon said, sighing softly. "Could just be he fell of his skateboard or something. Reid told me the boy is clumsy. However..." Gideon trailed. Rossi finished the thought.
"Being a clumsy kid is the oldest child abuse excuse in the book."
"Right." Gideon said and sighed again.
"You said he removed his shirt doing chores. You see any bruises or anything on his chest, his back?"
"No. Nothing. But I didn't get a super good look, you know, and even if there was nothing, it doesn't mean there wasn't at some time. His lip is bruised and his eye is bloody. So something happened."
"Yes. But he also was selling off his father's cinder blocks and concrete and helping Reid construct a pyramid in the backyard, so that tells me this kid is, fearful behaviour aside, a little on the wild and inventive side. If you had seen me as a kid you would have assumed I was beaten daily. I was littered with bruises from tree climbing and building stuff. Some kids really are accident prone."
"Don't make me worry about you, now, David."
"Jason, really. Also, if his father was abusing him, why risk taking his stuff? Most of the battered kids I have spoken to or read about were afraid to take a piss without written permission." Rossi's voice was soft, introspective. He was used to profiling killers, not abused kids.
"Yes. But there are always the wild cards; the kids who decide, fuck it, I am going to get beaten anyway, I might as well push the envelope... I mean, if a kid has got nothing to lose, they've got nothing to lose by being bad..."
"Just keep your eyes and ears open. Like you always do." Rossi said. The conversation shifted into a talk about a sexual sadist in New Orleans, then back to Reid's new lawyer, Hotchner.
"I am glad Reid likes him." Rossi said when Gideon retold the story of how his foster son and the young attorney had met.
"Speaking of Hotch...and Daniel...well, his birthday is tomorrow. The party, anyway. The actual birthday isn't until next Tuesday, but Saturday is when Hotch can come, and Kevin. And I am sure Reid would love it if you would stop by."
"I wouldn't miss it for the world." Rossi said, and his smile was evident even over the phone. "What does he want?"
"Jesus, David, that boy has amassed more stuff in the 6 weeks or so he has been here than I had during my entire youth. He doesn't need anything else. Really."
"I'll get him something. Geniuses are surprisingly easy to shop for. They are interested in so damn much..."
"Party starts around 3. Or, as Reid calls it being cute, "noon". So I can tell him you're coming?"
"Yeah. And I'll check out the new friend when I am there, give you my read on him."
"Thanks."
Gideon disconnected. Wrote a few more lines in his journal and shut the book before wandering downstairs. The day had passed. It was time for Daniel to go home.
That's it for this chapter, and as promised, the return of the rambling A/N (stop reading now if you are bored): These author's notes are turning into a mini story of their own, Haha. Like always, review, my awesome loyal fans! I need to squeeze more life into every day (gulps down some black Irish hazelnut coffee- you guys have probably figured out I have a thing for coffee). I have been really energized by life lately. I have two quirky birds with psychological issues (both rescue birds, one has nocturnal panic attacks, the other plucks himself silly) and an elderly cat and care for 4 rats. I also recently got a worm factory to compost my organic scraps and a bunch of free red wiggler worms (Eisenia Fetida) for my factory and I am collectively calling them the Borg. If you read the last chapter (chapter 35), you probably read the little bit about de Nerval and his pet lobster Thibault. I was thinking about getting a lobster for over a year. You see, technically, I am not allowed any more pets (the worms aren't pets!) and I figured if I got a lobster, I could keep it around and just claim it is dinner if anyone asks. I do live a ten minute walk from the ocean... but I have a feeling my building manager won't believe me.
Review, review, review. Each review, I will write a page for. Or a thousand words. Yeah. Something like that. REVIEW!