Disclaimer:Criminal Minds and all its associated characters are property to CBS and no profit is being made from this story.
Author's Note: So, two things.
First, I want to thank each and every one of you for your support and your patience. As of right now, my nephew, Josh, is receiving surgery to remove the last of his tumors and will hopefully be stealing my dinosaur stuffed animals and my boyfriend's attention again in no time! So, thanks again for being so understanding, it's incredibly appreciated.
Second, since my leave, it would appear Fanfiction has allowed for stories to now have their own images or "book covers". I have been secretly wanting this feature for years and now that we have it...I realize the only art I can do is the physical form, not the digital type. Anyone who can do it is quite honestly a god to me.
So, that being said...CONTEST! If you feel charitable and have some free time, make an image to be the cover of the Doctor's Patient and send it to me. I'll choose a winner by the end of the story and use that as the cover. Send a pm if you're interested! Thanks!
And now, without much adieu...
Chapter Thirty-Six: Saying Goodbye
'Never say goodbye, because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting.' -J.M. Barrie
The words of Reid's confession hung in the air, suspended and expanding to the size of the small room itself, infesting the once clean and purified oxygen molecules with a poisonous substance. He tried to swallow it back down, closed his eyes in the hope that if he closed them hard enough, everything would cease to exist. What was it about pain and regret that made your entire knowledge of physics fly out the oversized, sun-filled window?
If possible, the ensuing silence was even more poisonous, and he could have sworn he felt the air grow thicker, more viscous. Instantaneously, he regretted ever saying anything. What had he been thinking? What sort of reality altering high had his and Hotch's talk induced? What had been said that made him feel so untouchable all of sudden?
Lowering his head to his hands, he said, blush creeping over his cheek, "Nevermind. Forget I said anything." He tossed the blanket that was laying over his legs aside, shuffling to the end of the bed. He stood, wobbling slightly as his body- still dizzy with the remnants of the drugs- swayed in place.
"Spence," he heard JJ say, pressingly, but he continued to pad to the door, having to take small steps and lean against the wall to ensure he wouldn't embarrass himself further by falling to the ground. "Spence wait," she called again.
"I need to speak to the nurse...the doctor...you should just leave, visiting hours are almost over anyway," he mumbled, receiving an eye roll from the blonde.
Reid had always been stubborn, a trait she thought stemmed from him having to practically survive on his own. More importantly, he had also always had incredibly low self-esteem. The genius had been forced to grow up long before his time, but unfortunately learning to be confident in oneself had not been with the territory. He was shy, and awkward, and never seemed to feel certain with who he was unless his precious facts and science were there to back him up.
She knew he wasn't the person she should've been attracted to. Girls were drawn to strong men, with bulking forms and healthy builds. It was part of nature, primitive as it were, that women needed men who could fight their way to live, produce offspring that could do the same. Genetically speaking, she shouldn't be attracted to the lanky, sinewy form of Dr. Spencer Reid. She shouldn't find his complete lack of grace and footing adorable, and she shouldn't have loved the way he fell into his world of books and spoke of facts like they were scripture. She had heard his rants before, had recalled him saying, with blushing cheeks, that men were attracted to curvier women with shiny, full hair and lush red lips because it meant they were more ideal mates. And that women were no different.
But she defied all logic and found herself head over heels in love with him as well. He was by no means what was considered an ideal mate, but dammit all to hell, she loved the little quirks that made Reid...well, Reid.
And she wasn't going to let him run away from his confession.
"Spence, please, let's talk," she said, tentatively reaching out and placing a hand on his shoulder. She felt her mistake immediately as the muscles tightened beneath his skin and slim hospital shirt. She retracted her hand, muttering a string of apologies, but the damage had been done. And he had swiveled around on the balls of his feet, eyes wide and gaping as he fell back against the wall, his legs finally giving out beneath him.
"D-don't," he begged, the whimpering noises that laced the letters stabbing through her heart.
"Spence...I...I'm sorry," she said weakly, her brow furrowed. He had never reacted this way to her touch before. Why had it bothered him just now?
But the look in his eyes said that he was already gone, that her touch had pushed him back inside the caverns that was his mind, hiding in the shadows now as the more deranged Reid that lived between reality and the past lurched forward, a wild, fearful look about him. "Please! Stop!" he yelled out, scrambling further back so that he was pressed against the pale green wall. "Please! It hurts!"
Her head was shaking as she knelt before him, waving her hands feebly in front of her face as she attempted to calm him down without touching him any further. Her cheeks- now red with the combined heat of her tears and anxiety of the moment- itched from the salt water and she tried to soothe him with her words.
"Spence...please, listen to my voice. It's me...JJ."
"You're not real!" he argued.
Her blue eyes widened. No. She wouldn't let him revert back to this.
"Nonono, I am real. I'm just as real as you," she urged, but her words were drowned out by the thundering of footsteps. Reid's calls for help had been answered in the form of three orderlies and two nurses.
"What happened?" the nurse asked, the slight jump to her voice betraying the calm she tried to portray.
JJ was stammering, stumbling over her words. "I...I don't...he..."
"NO!"
Her voice was cut off by the sharp command barked out by Reid, responding to an orderly who had attempted to lift him from the floor.
"Don't touch him," JJ said, moving to step forward only to be stopped by a nurse.
"They'll calm him down, I'm going to need you to step out of the room..."
Just then Reid lashed out, his hands and feet slicing through the air as he fought the three men coming towards him, trying to wriggle his lithe form between them to freedom but they were faster than him, catching hold of his wrists and ankles. Even as he tried to use the bulky dressing and sling that held his arm to his chest as a weapon, they avoided his blows easily. But the contact only caused him to react more violently, and he thrashed out, using all of his body as he bucked forward and back, swung his hips this way and that, in an attempt to get out of their tightening grasps.
"They can't touch him!" she yelled, anger pounding in her temple and making her blood boil. Why weren't they listening?
The nurse standing in front of her sighed in frustration and tried to nudge the petite blonde towards the door, to no avail. "It's called holding. We try to save sedatives as a last resort."
Her jaw dropped open. "It's inhumane! Touching makes it worse!"
But no one listened to her, the attention drawn to the small man who had just knocked over a desk chair, causing a loud bang to fill the room.
'She stood aside, disjointed from the sea of nurses and doctors, the flailing limbs that slowed as he was 'held'. But the orderly, only slightly larger than Reid himself but with a more fine tuned form, had just managed to gain the upperhand, holding his body against the panicking man and pinning him to the floor, his forearms trying to lock Reid's own swinging arms against his sides, seemingly too rough on his already slung arm.
It was barbaric, and the sight of it churned her insides. "Stop! Please! You're scaring him!" she tried to call over the cacophony, her words holding little semblance amongst the shouts coming from the orderlies, the grunts from the man holding Reid down, and the pleas that were emitting from the agent himself, his voice only an octave above a whisper, but somehow demanding a full audience, resonating louder than all the others.
"No! Stop...Andrew...make him stop..."
And he was picked up, just like a rag doll, his hands still held to his side as another orderly took hold of his knees, binding them. Together, they deposited him on his bed, the third and final orderly pulling the restraints from the side of the bed and locking them down onto his ankles...
His waist...
His wrist from his good arm...
His chest...
And all the while the man, his eyes held shut as though the whole world would melt away, muttered and pleaded for help that wouldn't come, for the hands to just go away.
Her throat tightened, clenching within her neck. How was this better than sedating him?
He pulled against the bindings, the leather only causing him to sweat even more, the salty fluid already slicked over his whole body, his hospital issued pants and shirts sticking to his skin. He was exhausted, his movements sluggish and weary as he felt the adrenaline wear out of his system, the panic of being tied down weighing on his chest.
Cautiously, he opened his eyes, the image before him dizzying. The scene alternated confusingly, flickering images of Andrew and Varney that gave way to the even more nebulous forms of men in white scrubs. His breath was heavy and ragged as he tried to focus on what lay before him. He could feel the stabbing pain at the base of his spine, the wetness of tacky blood and seminal fluid sticking the gown and bed sheets to his buttocks.
But he felt the occasional poke and prod of hands that weren't there. The tight clasp of scratchy fabric covering his upper arm as his blood pressure was taken. A cold, metal prong was thrust into his ear, accompanied with a high pitched beep. A thermometer.
Where was he?
Twisting his head to the side, his vision swimming with the movement and blotchy with multi-colored stars, it took several seconds for his sight to clear as well as it would. As if looking through a gossamer veil, he saw the shadow forms surrounding him, could hear the muffled voices. Was there cotton in his ears?
And just like that, the image changed, and bending over him was Andrew, examining his body. "No," he muttered, trying to shake the scene from his mind.
What was real?
Was Andrew his reality, or was it the shadow forms that poked at him with medical instruments?
Was there any difference by this point?
Emotionally and physically drained, his body still worn from the drugs he had attempted to overdose on, he switched his brain off, trying to numb the pain from the forced penetration. Words drifted in and out from around him.
'...I assure you, perfectly ethical...'
'...You are living in a fantasy world, Spencer...'
'…Ethical?...Against his will...'
'...Your paranoia is out of control...'
"Shut up," he mumbled, his voice weak. His worlds were blending together, no longer separate, no longer distinct. It made no sense, and it hurt, throbbing in his temples. He wanted to press a hand to his eyes to alleviate the pain of the light but the bindings prevented him.
Whether Andrew or the indistinguishable forms resided over him, he gave in. It was too much, and so he lolled his head to the side and let sleep overcome him, the exhaustion taking over.
The last words he heard were 'He is a patient in my psych ward, and I will treat as I see fit!' And it was with a heavy heart that he realized it was a truth in both realities, and the two worlds he sought so hard to distance from each other were frighteningly similar.
xXx
Reid let out a harsh sigh, still asleep as he adjusted his position to gain some sort of comfort, though the leather straps and sling must've made the process an ordeal.
JJ didn't look up, only continued to stare at the hand she held between her own, smoothing her fingers over the rough lines of skin, highways and valleys that personalized Reid's hand like the maps he so frequently worked over. And just like his maps, they were now marked and branded with the ghosts of unspeakable crimes.
It was all too much.
The weight of the situation finally settled in on her shoulders and her knees were already beginning to buckle under the added weight. She had wanted this. No, she couldn't be cliché and say that she had been dreaming of his admittance to love for forever. Because she hadn't. She couldn't even look back and say, 'that right there is when I fell in love with him!' There was no such moment, no such specific point in the time line. She didn't fall head over heels, no love at first sight. In fact, she had been slightly put off by the eccentric genius- as most were. She remembered her eyes widening and reeling backwards at the quirks she had now come to love. And then, from there, she gradually adjusted to his outbursts, his momentary displays of apathy. Smiling through his long winded tangent while shooting sidelong glances at the apologetic looking Morgan and Hotch.
Tolerance became friendship, and she started to enjoy his presence, welcome his facts. She smiled when she saw him, the sense of familiarity warming her. She laughed at those rare moments he made a joke, worried herself senseless when he was present in any sort of danger.
And somewhere along the lines, she went from liking his company to wanting it. She was sad to leave him at the end of a work day, dragging out her goodbyes for as long as possible. She would arrange her paperwork, and rearrange it again, hoping that maybe Reid would give her an excuse to stay longer. And her heart lifted immediately when he spoke, his words becoming irrelevant as she tuned into the twitch of his lip, the glint in his eyes, the tilt to his head. She memorized his features, every inch becoming etched into her memory, every slight imperfection and deviation from symmetry cherished in her minds eye.
And the realization came suddenly, nothing big, no fireworks display, no bells. But a realization all the same that she loved him, and wanted to be the one to hold him after a nightmare, to make him his morning cup of coffee.
He had confessed his love for her, and, in regret, tried to run away from her. If anything, his episode had been proof of one fact: she had no right to take his words at face value. She had stood by his side, she had literally hugged him and told him it would be okay, wiped his tears. It was possible, likely even, that he didn't really love her.
Her chest hurt at the thought, that she was nothing more than a vessel who had played into what he needed and he had desperately latched onto what she gave. But she couldn't disillusion herself.
Reid was hurt, he was in pain, and he was in need of someone who would give him love and patience, and close their eyes against his embarrassing breaks in realities and roll with his punches. He could've easily confused gratification of this need with love.
And even if he did love her, and had simply been too uncomfortable to share this with her, it wouldn't be fair of her to make anything of what he had said. He couldn't maintain a romantic relationship. He wasn't stable enough for that, and any hope of him being able to was put on hold for years now.
No matter what she tried to tell herself, she couldn't have a life with Reid. Not this Reid. Maybe he thought he loved her, maybe he thought he needed another's love. But the truth remained that she couldn't accept his love, knowing she would forever question if she was what he truly wanted, or if he only wanted her for what she represented.
"Excuse me?" a harsh voice said from the doorway, and she looked up to see the nurse from before- Nurse Ratched, as she affectionately referred to her- standing with hands on her hips. "Visiting hours are over. You can come back in the next block, at five." And with that she turned, a scowl in place.
JJ rolled her eyes, hoping that a shift change would remove the nurse before she returned to visit with the rest of team. She focused her gaze back to Reid's sleeping form, his eyes twitching beneath the unnaturally dark lids and the corners of his mouth occasionally flinching.
Maybe when he was healthier, happier, she might trust his words enough to return them. But not now, not when the only time he looked at peace in the world was with the heavy burden of sedatives and exhaustion, dulling him into a forced, dreamless sleep.
Sighing, she gingerly squeezed his hand and rose from her chair, placing a chaste kiss on his lips before leaving the room- and his confession of love- behind.
But she didn't have much time to think over her visit, for as she stepped out into the hallway of the psychiatric ward, a voice pulled at her memory, pushing and pulling deep into her subconscious. The gravelly, rough yet endearing voice filled her head, drawing out images and scenes from within her hippocampus.
"Visiting hours have just passed, I'm sorry."
"I can't go in even for a little bit? I traveled very far to come here and I-"
"I'm sorry, sir, but you can return at five."
The face was finally paired with the voice, and her eyes widened. 'No,' she thought. 'It can't be.' She couldn't believe it, and she turned around to face the nurses' station, needing to reaffirm what couldn't possibly be true. But it was, and she let out an audible gasp of surprise when she saw the man standing only feet before her, now turning in her direction at the noise.
And she said, in a low incredulous whisper, "Gideon?"
xXx
Morgan sat outside the courtroom, his brain wired on coffee and adrenaline as he sat beside Garcia who was worriedly filing her nails, making a small exclamation of pain every now and then as she brought the emery board a little too close to her skin.
The trials had come to a close, and tomorrow the defense attorney and prosecutor would be giving their closing arguments and then the jury would be set off to determine the fate of Heath Varney. It seemed surreal that after all this time, all this commitment and dedication, it would come to a close. There would be an official note on the case file that it was over, solved and the criminals put away, and the file could be slipped into the archives. And then...what?
Would they move on? Continue in their life as they had before? Morgan would be off of suspension shortly and would return to his team, and Reid could begin his therapy for real, the comfort and security of knowing that the men who broke him were locked away.
But there were so many ways it could go. So many alternatives. There was always the chance Reid wouldn't pull through, or that he would never quite be Reid again. It was almost scary, to think of the unknown. Before, the future had been so certain. They would go on, fighting UnSubs and saving innocents, eternal and present as they were. That wasn't the case anymore. It felt uncomfortable and overwhelming, having what should've been a set in stone path had now been entirely destroyed, unwritten and up to the fates.
It hurt to think, his eyes struggling to see but squinting against the pain of being kept open. The caffeine pumping through his body had created an off kilter effect, his mind dizzy and in need of sleep but his body searing with activity, ready to move if necessary and his skin crawling over his bones. He needed, sleep, not coffee.
"Agent Morgan?"
He looked up, furrowing his brow at the police officer before him. "Yes?"
"Varney is asking to speak to you," he said slowly.
"What?"
"Well...not you specifically. He wanted to speak to Agent Hotchner originally, but when I said he was unavailable, he asked for any one of you guys," he corrected, rolling his shoulder forward.
Morgan nodded, sucking in his lower lip and chewing it thoughtfully. "Did he say why?"
The officer thought back for a moment before shaking his head. "No. Do you want me to find out for you?"
He turned to look at Garcia, who sat in obvious attention now, her lips parted slightly as she looked between Morgan and the officer. He rose an eyebrow, as if asking for her opinion. But she only shrugged, her voice small as she said, "What about Reid?"
Morgan stared at her for several seconds afterwards, their eyes carrying on a conversation the officer was not privy to. And then, slowly, he sighed and turned back to the other man.
"No, it's alright. I'll...I'll speak to him," he answered, not truly realizing what that implied. Had he really agreed to sit in a room where he would be forced to interact with Varney, and not throttle him? What could the man even want to say to him?
As he stood and followed the officer down to the courthouse holding cell, he found himself tightly clenching his fists, the muscles in his hands and arms tensing with the motion. His nails dug into his rough skin, and he closed his eyes, wishing Varney's neck was resting in the palm of his left hand, and Andrew's in his right. His limbs twitched with the want, and he could suddenly understand why an UnSub might feel like he had to kill someone.
He entered the hallway of holding cells, the ground level of the building, each side lined with two cells.
"Last one on the right," the officer said, pointing needlessly in the direction as though the layout were more complicated than it was. Morgan followed ahead, glancing in through the window as he waited for the door to be unlocked.
The expression on the ex-officer's face was absolute boredom, like he had better places to be outside of the jail cell, like he was missing out on poker night with his friends. His chin was resting in his hand, elbow sliding slowly over the table. The relaxed expression made Morgan tighten his fist.
The door swung open, and Varney pulled back in his chair, leaning fully against the hard metal backing and folding his hands on top of each other. He smirked up at Agent Morgan, his eyes alight the way they had been at that first day they met. Had his eyes shone that way from youth and joy, like he first speculated, or simply because he was sizing up everyone he met. Examining them and seeing if he would want them, if they would fit his victimology. Were his eyes glittering that way because he saw Reid and knew he'd be perfect?
Morgan pulled up the chair on the opposite side of the table, plopping himself down as he clenched his jaw and crossed his arms over his chest.
"What the hell do you want?"
Varney started to chuckle. "No time for pleasantries, Derek?"
His jaw tightened. "I don't give a damn about being pleasant with you," he spat venomously, snarling with the words.
Varney sighed in exaggeration. "No...I suppose you don't." He smiled here, suddenly and quickly as though struck by a wonderful and exciting memory. "I thank you for taking the time to see me. I honestly didn't expect any of you to accept the invitation-"
"You have five minutes," Morgan pressed, sparing a glance at the watch wrapped around his wrist to begin the countdown.
The man stilled, his mouth snapping shut as he sobered. "Alright..."
Looking upward at the offensive and glaring light, he chewed his lip and said, "Now, you and I both know I'm going to jail."
"Where you belong," Morgan snapped, looking at his watch. Thirty seconds had passed.
Varney nodded slowly, as if in resigned agreement. "Sure. See, Agent Morgan, there is something that's been weighing on my mind, and I had hoped that I could...put it at piece, so to speak," he started, nodding his head to the side for emphasis on the words.
Morgan narrowed his eyes. Was he...asking for help? He shook his head before he could even feel the motion, his neck swiveling to the side as he said furiously, "There's nothing you could say that would make me want to help you.
Varney looked affronted. "I don't want you to help me. It's my family that needs help."
"What?" Morgan asked incredulous, the surprise clear in his voice.
"I need someone to help my family," the man repeated, indifferent to the agent's shock.
"What the hell is your problem?" Morgan whispered lowly before he could even stop himself. And then he lost control of his mouth, the words coming through without his volition, spitting poison with each hard letter. "I'm getting pretty confused here, Varney. Are you a sadistic murderer or a family man?"
Varney lowered his gaze. "I didn't kill anyone-"
"No, no. Of course not. You just led them to a madman, brutally raped them and hid it up so the police officers- the real police officers who actually care about people- had a dead end trail to follow. No, you're not a murderer, of course not," he near yelled, slamming his hand down on the table as he moved in his chair, wanting to run around and jog off his rage.
The man before him seemed to shrink several feet, his face sullen like a berated child. If Morgan hadn't known better, he would say he looked ashamed. But he did know better, and he knew what this man was capable of, the things this man had done without a second thought. The people's live he had ruined, the lives he let be destroyed. He knew who this man was, and he also knew sociopaths were excellent at faking emotions.
"What the hell is going on, Varney? What are you trying to get?" Morgan demanded, leaning his full weight towards the table as he laid his arms atop the surface.
Varney shook his head, his lower lip quivering. "I just...they need help, agent. My wife..." he closed his eyes, pressing the lids firmly together as several fat tears slid down his cheek. "My ex-wife can't work. She was in a car accident a long time ago but her body never recovered and she can't do any type of work. Shawn...he needs to get into a good college and he can't do that if he has to start working as soon as possible just to pay the bills and-"
"And what do you expect me to do about that?" Morgan answered, his voice shaking a little more than he would have liked. There was something too real about the tears, about the slight, pinched tightness to his voice, the way his words wavered over his tongue like it was a struggle to get them out. It didn't seem like an act, it seemed like the genuine concern of a father.
Varney bit his lip. "I just...don't want them to get lost into the system..."
Morgan looked at his watch.
Three minutes, twenty-two seconds had passed.
"They're my family-"
"And what about the victims' families?" Morgan pressed, covering his broad torso with his arms. "What about them? Don't they matter? Or is it only when you're family is jeopardized that you care?"
"Don't punish them!" Varney yelled, his voice strained like it was being pulled taut. He raised his head, his face tear streaked and blotchy with random patches of heated, red skin. "It's not their fault I did this...they deserve as much help as anyone else."
An uneasy silence settled over the two, and Morgan had to turn away, the look in the man's eyes too...too human. It was an odd thing, truly. Normally it was the lack of humanity, the monster lurking within the shadows of the pupils, that made a shiver run down his spine, shaking the individual bones and cartilage. Wasn't this what he and every other profiler wanted? Wasn't that their job? To not just catch the criminal, but to understand him? To make him human?
And hadn't Varney just become so very human?
He didn't like it.
This wasn't supposed to happen. They had already signed off on the profile, had already classified him as an apathetic sexual sadist. It wasn't right. This just didn't happen. They hunted down UnSubs, and subconsciously categorized them into two types- the UnSubs who deserved no empathy, and the UnSubs who pulled at their heartstrings, the ones who were victims themselves, the mere product of an abusive household, of an even more sadistic mind.
This wasn't supposed to happen. There was no middle ground- there couldn't be a middle ground. It would complicate things, it would breach that territory where there ethics were questioned, where they had to acknowledge that someone could be a monster of their own making, but still very fleshy, still very human, and still very in need of human things.
Where there should have been scales and horns, there was instead skin, flawed with age, and hair, graying with stress. Where there should have been practiced nonchalance, and hatred, there was desperate fear and unconditional love for the children who had most assuredly disowned him as a father, who ignored the fourth, empty chair at the table and talked over his space like he never existed. This wasn't what a monster looked like, this wasn't what a monster sounded like.
Repressing the urge to clench his eyes shut and cover his ears the way he would when he was a young boy and in the midst of a temper tantrum, he closed his eyes against the building pressure in his temple and said, "And what do you think I could do for you?"
"You know as well as I know that...having...this in your family makes you a pariah. If I know my wife..." he paused again, grimacing as he swallowed and corrected, "Ex-wife, she's already planning to move across the country to get away from everyone...it's a small town. And my kids...all it will take is for one college to look at their history and see...who they're from and turn them down."
He raised his arms up on the table, lowering his head into his hands. "I know you have the connections...I...please. You're supposed to help people." He looked up, his face composed though blotchy with the whisper of his worries. "So help my family."
The FBI agent was silent, his mouth hanging open slightly as he stared at the man before him, unknowing what to say.
But what do you say, to the man who single handedly turned your whole world upside down, altered everything you had? The man who ruined your best friend, turned your brother against you? And then asked for help?
Not only did he ask for help, but Morgan knew he was right. The children- Shawn and Lilly Varney- would be forever ostracized. And they would fall through the cracks. He had seen it a thousand times before. The mother would become an invalid, too ashamed of her past and too depressed to work and socialize. And the kids would scrabble by, maybe giving out a fake name, trying to become as anonymous as possible. He had seen many a child drop out of school to pay the bills the mother could not, when the father was in the hands of the justice system- if they hadn't been taken away by social services before them. And while he abhorred the man before him, would it be right to ignore the innocent children- now eleven and eight- simply because of this loathing?
But what do you say?
Shaking his head, he pushed his chair back and stood up. He looked at his watch.
"It's been five minutes," he stated, his heart rushing and his ears drumming as he turned on his heel and knocked on the door, the officer opening it seconds later.
"Agent Morgan," Varney called, pleaded.
But he didn't turn back.
If Morgan had turned around before slamming the door, he would have seen the man crumple, his head resting in his folded arms as his shoulders gave the slightest of shakes. The monster had just been slayed, and he did not like how the blood covered his guilty hands.
xXx
Author's Note: I have no idea why, but this chapter was an ordeal to write. I must've written at least five versions, and this was the one I settled on. Honestly, I'm not too happy with the result, but I think it's decent enough to post. Perhaps it could be that the story is finally coming to an end (I SWEAR THIS TIME!) and ending subplots and the story all at once tends to make everything kind of chunky.
And, as Mary Sue and dramatic a character as Gideon was, I loved the role he played for Reid, and would be remiss to not include him in a story where Reid's tragedy was publicized so thoroughly. I wrestled with doing it for so long, and finally caved.
Let's play a game! Answer these questions in your review and get a prize!
1.) What do you think Hotch and Reid discussed? The answer will be revealed next chapter, but what do you think could've been talked about to give Reid a new lease on life? 2.) Varney's lawyer has worked with what he had, and turned his whole case into a slander defense against Reid's mental instability. Because of this, Varney's convinced he's going to jail and revealed a new side of himself in this chapter. Do you feel any differently about him? Hate him more? Hate him less? Hate ME more? 3.) How do you feel about Gideon coming in to visit our favorite genius? How do you think everyone else will react? 4.) How would you like to see this story end?
Again, thanks for all your patience and understanding! You're all such a wonderful group of readers.