This chapter is dedicated to 'Prieva' because she mentioned it was her birthday a while back and I never got her a gift! Sorry it's not a tangible one, but happy late birthday all the same! Thanks for always taking the time to read and review this story.

And, as always, the rest of you readers and reviews are amazing. I'm so incredibly humbled by how receptive you all have been. I know I say this all the time, but, seriously, thank you.

Enjoy! :)


"I live my life like a burning man." -Third Eye Blind, "Burning Man."


"Are you coming Jason?" Hotch hesitated in the doorway leading to the outside. It was late, and the cool winter air seeped inwards. For a moment, Gideon's throat went completely dry. This was it. He licked his cracked lips.

"I'll meet you in the car." Hotch nodded towards his team's oldest and youngest member, closing the door softly behind him. The team had "destroyed" Garcia's cake and laughed at Monty Python, only disbanding when yawns reached all of their lips. JJ, Garcia, and Emily left together, while Morgan, Hotch, and Gideon lingered behind. Because they had carpooled and because Hotch sensed Gideon's unwillingness to leave, the two agents cleaned the small pile of paper plates, cups, and plastic utensils while Morgan had pulled Reid aside. Although Hotch hadn't heard him ask, he was almost positive Morgan told Reid he would sleep on his couch if he wanted. When Reid had smiled and said no thanks, Morgan tousled Reid's hair in a brotherly manner, calling goodbye to his male coworkers with a loud yell and pull of the front door.

"Thank you again for the books." Reid said once he heard Hotch descend the steps leading from his apartment to the parking lot. A palpable tension enter the room. Moments earlier, he had basked in the glow his team created; however, now, standing with a visibly nervous Gideon in his apartment's foyer, Reid felt something shift. Heaviness returned, and Reid silently wished Gideon would leave. He wanted to feel overjoyed to be home-not empty and detached.

"You're welcome, Spencer." Gideon's voice was husky, and it wavered where it shouldn't. Reid tried to meet the older agent's eyes, but was not surprised to see his downcast gaze. Gideon fidgeted with the zipper on his coat, reaching into the inner lining with trembling fingers.

"This," Reid saw the familiar black book in Gideon's outstretched hand. "Is yours." Jason paused, watching Reid's eyes enlarge. The older agent took a deep breath, but it did nothing to ease the rockets of nerves in his stomach. Reid finally reached for the journal, taking it gently, as if it was breakable and fragile to the touch. His eyes remained on its leather cover, although Gideon wished Reid would glance upwards so he could see the apology etched within his expression.

"This," Reid finally spoke so softly that Gideon strained to hear. "Was never supposed to anyone else's." Jason swallowed deeply, bracing himself for the inevitable blow.

"This was always mine." Reid met Gideon's stare with an oddly composed one.

"My journal was under my pillow. I have no idea how you found it, or why you took it, but I'm hoping you had enough respect for me, and for our friendship, to not read it?" His statement, although flat, was phrased like a question. Gideon sighed, rubbing a heavy hand over his tired eyes.

"I know it wasn't mine to take, Reid. But please, just hear me out-"

"You read it?" Reid's voice was rising in surprise, anger, and, if Gideon's quick profile of the tone was correct, fear.

"Spencer, I-"

"Please tell me you didn't read it..." Reid pleaded, bottom lip quivering. Any decent feelings he harbored from the night were suddenly squashed. He knew what he wrote. He remembered the desperation he felt as his pen flew across paper. He also knew that Gideon hadn't been aware of those thoughts, desires, and emotions. What he scribbled incomprehensibly during blinding highs was fuzzy to recall, even for Reid. Those memories were ones he wanted to keep tucked away from the team, especially from his mentor. Now, however, Reid felt his stomach sink.

"Just let me explain...please..." It was Gideon's turn for a whispered plea, and Spencer bit his bottom lip. He would not let Gideon see how upset he was. He was supposed to be stronger now-not the same weak agent who could barely pass a gun test and who splintered the instance situations became overwhelming and cases hellish.

"Please do." The voice that left Reid's mouth was harsher in tone than he anticipated, but rage was quickly replacing his dejection. Gideon had no right, he seethed.

"When you left, I felt responsible. It's no secret that I've helped you become an agent, Spencer. You know this, I know this, and the team knows it..." Reid nodded, cheeks darkening, as he glared at the wooden floor.

"I don't see why that's relevant." Reid shot.

"I've always helped you..." Gideon murmured. "I've always tried to help you." Reid clenched his free hand into a fist before releasing it. Would I have become an agent take an interest in me? He asked himself. Am I even capable of doing anything on my own? Is my brain the only reason I'm in the BAU at all?

"And, suddenly, I was in this situation where things had spiraled out of control. You were sinking and I couldn't help, Spencer. I tried, but I didn't know what to do..." Reid retorted before he had a chance to filter the words.

"How about asking me, Gideon? Did it ever occur to you that I needed and wanted your help, even if I pushed you away, flat-out lied, or couldn't verbalize it? You can't tell me you didn't recognize how badly I was suffering. Did you ever think that a few abstract words wouldn't be enough?" Reid's chest rose and fell in large heaves and his fiery look shot daggers straight through Gideon's defenses. This reaction, and Reid's harsh, yet truthful words, were what he feared. Gideon felt overwhelmed by shame.

"I made mistakes, Reid. I made them with you, with the team, and with myself. I wish I could rewind and change what happened to you during and after the Hankel case, but I can't. Trust me, if I could, I would fix everything. I'd change it all." Reid snorted in disgust, holding the leather journal upwards in his shaking hand.

"However inadequate or lost you felt didn't give you the right to read my personal property, Gideon." Reid didn't want to be reacting so hotly, especially after how receptive and wonderful the team had been, but, at the moment, anger was stronger than any of his other emotions.

"I know, Spencer. I know." Gideon's voice wobbled, and he stared at the rows of wood as the blended from a series of boards into a unified shape.

"I wanted, I needed, you to visit." Reid admitted, tone and voice suddenly lowered and filled with a mixture of hurt and rage. Gideon's raised his eyes to meet Spencer's burning look. "When I was in rehab, I really wanted you to visit so I could explain everything to you."

"I-" But Reid interrupted his mentor before he could interject another excuse into their conversation.

"Actually," he scoffed. "I felt pretty ashamed because I failed you. When you didn't visit, I figure it was because rehab was a reminder that I had let you down."

"You never let me down or failed me." Gideon emphasized. "Not once. Not ever." He swallowed deeply, unable to stop the tears from streaming down his face. The water collected into the folds of the age lines that Reid had never noticed before. Reid didn't blink, and Gideon felt his heart sink.

"Clearly," Reid cleared his throat. Shame swelled and tears threatened to push outwards from the pool behind his lids. "I did. If I hadn't, you never would have felt the need to read this." A thick silence hung between the two men, and Reid kept his eyes locked forward. He refused to show any sign of weakness or hurt. Show him you're strong. Show him you can do this by yourself, his inner voice instructed.

"I'm sorry, Spencer. Truly, I am." Reid knew Gideon was speaking honestly, but, even though he wanted to forgive the man who had taught him so much and had invested so much time and energy into his career and well being, he felt a deep sense of betrayal wrap its familiar chains around his heart. Old walls were rising, and Spencer would be damned if he let someone else walk all over him. He had traveled too far and suffered too long to give in so easily.

"I'd like you to leave. I'll see you Monday at work."

"Spencer-"

"Now." Reid said through gritted teeth in a tone that offered no room for rebuttal. Gideon broke Reid's gaze with a curt nod, turning to fumble with the door knob. Without another glance behind him, he shut the door, only leaning against the slab when a racking sob overcame his body. On the other side of the closed opening, Reid allowed a few tears to stream down his face. He heard Gideon's breakdown and, although the realization was heartbreaking, Reid could not will himself to forgive him just yet. He waited to move until he heard Gideon's heavy footsteps clunking on the building's steps.


"What took you so long..." Hotch trailed off when he saw Gideon's tear-stained cheeks and crumpled composure. Even though the car was pleasantly warm, Gideon sunk into the passenger's seat, numbed not from the cold, but from his exchange with Spencer.

"I fucked up, Aaron." The unit chief's brow crumpled into confusion and the old, too familiar feeling of dread formed deep within his stomach.

"What happened, Jason?" He asked, keeping his voice flat and even. Gideon sighed, running a rough palm over his face. When he spoke, he kept his hand at his eyes, covering any new tears that Hotch suspected had formed.

"Remember that journal we found in Reid's apartment?" Hotch nodded and closed his lids because he knew what was about to be unearthed.

"I came back one night and read it. I took it with me because I didn't know what to do. I just wanted to help..."

"There was nothing you could have done, Jason. Reid needed to help himself. You know that." Hotch kept the judgment out of his tone, but he could feel anger rising. He had warned Jason that Reid's journal was his private property. Why had he betrayed the team's youngest agent? Gideon knew, perhaps more than anyone, how few people Reid really trusted and how long it took to gain his full, undivided trust.

"I felt responsible, Aaron. I should have done more to help the kid, but I let those feelings act for me. I should have visited him, or written a letter, or done something else."

"How do you think Reid feels right now, Jason?" Hotch asked in the same composed tone. "He trusts you, he looks up to you, and he's in a vulnerable state right now, even if he's healthier and stronger than he has been in months. He's scared that he can't be who he was, confused about how he's supposed to act around everyone now, and overwhelmed with returning back to his old life, particularly because of everything's that happened..." Hotch stopped because he knew, if he continued, his introspection into Reid's psyche would become a reprimand aimed solely on Gideon's glaring act of treachery.

"I'm not a fool," Gideon paused to shoot a knowing look at the Unit Chief. "I know what I did was wrong. I know I lost Spencer's trust." Hotch sighed, suddenly weary.

"I don't have to tell you that you're going to have to work at rebuilding that trust. You know Reid, Jason. He's not going to rebound quickly and he certainly won't while he's readjusting to being back at the BAU and back with the team." Oddly, Hotch's words, although anticipated by Gideon, relieved him. He leaned into the seat-back, closing his eyes to garner a strand of composure.

"I'm getting too old for this, Aaron."

"For what?" Hotch asked, although he knew. When his fingertips tingled and his heart quickened its pace, he knew. At times, he felt the very same way.

"For this," Gideon opened his eyes, weakly gesticulating his hands at the dashboard. "For this constant battle we're fighting. If you and I were to stop running around for just one second and if we were to take a look at the time behind us, we'd realize we're losing. We have been for years, Aaron." Hotch felt his lips press into a thin line. Never in all his time working with Gideon had he heard the older agent, who he respected and revered, talk with such negativity. Looking back months later, Hotch knew it had been a sign, a quick foreshadowing even then, but, now, sitting in the darkened car, he tried his best to slip in the only advice he knew Jason would understand.

"My grandfather used to tell me that the 'years teach much which the days never knew.'" Hotch said softly, wanting to edge a sense of hope into his dejected colleague. Gideon sighed, looking out the car window at Reid's third floor apartment. He thought he saw the long profile outlined by lamp light in a window, but, when he squinted again, the curtains were still drawn, creating a barrier between Reid and the outside world.

"Ralph Waldo Emerson." Gideon said to Hotch with a nod of his head. In the silence that followed, Jason Gideon knew he would not sleep that night. He also knew he'd return in the morning after Reid had attempted to sleep. He'd offer an explanation and he'd allow Reid to slam the door in his face or listen.

"Drinks?" Hotch asked, twisting the key in the ignition so the car was no longer idling.

"Lead the way." Gideon said, never taking his eyes off the road.


From his apartment window, Reid watched the short exchange. He had no idea what Hotch and Gideon were saying, but, with bubbling anger, he knew it would be about what had just transpired between he and Gideon.

How could he? Reid raged, clutching the journal in his fist. This is exactly why trusting others never works. You should have kept everything to yourself. You should have never allowed your personal and professional lives to mix so much.

Reid stared at the journal, feeling the weight of his drug abuse, words, and anxieties. Then, without understanding why or how, he was in the kitchen, digging through a junk drawer that was brimming with take-out menus, discarded and unused chopsticks, and outdated manufacturer's coupons. In the back, he found the blue lighter. Reid flicked the metal gear with his thumb, watching as it clicked and then ignited into a long flame. Feeling numb to the tears streaming down his face, Reid swore at Gideon, stationing himself above the kitchen sink.

Reid's memories merged into one as he brought the flame to the bottom left corner: There's only one shot in that gun, boy. You're not all that hard to profile. Tell me it doesn't help. He's using God to justify murder. You are not responsible for this. I knew you'd understand. I guess the day this job stops gnawing at your soul and your hands stop feeling cold, maybe that's the time to leave.

"Liar." Reid grumbled to the empty kitchen. His angry voice reverberated off the wall, slamming back to him at deafening levels.

The journal caught quickly, congealing the leather first before burning the pages. Reid watched as his looped penmanship morphed into ashes. He tried to hang on as long as possible, dropping the flaming journal into the kitchen sink when the fire scorched his fingertips. With a rush from the faucet, the journal became a pile of soggy, clumped black flakes. Reid stared at the sodden heap with detachment before heading to his bedroom. Fully clothed, he curled into a ball in the center of his icy bed.

In the apartment above him, footsteps paced back and forth, from one to side to the next, and Reid listened to the patter, hoping it would help soothe his anger. Instead, Reid couldn't help the sobs from rushing forward. Whatever feelings of joy he had harbored just mere hours earlier, were now dislodged, scattered around his room like broken shards of glass. He wanted to believe he was a stronger person. He tried to tell himself he was, but the raw feeling overwhelmed him until his limbs were shaking and his vision blurred. The familiar urge twisted in his gut, seeping to his veins, pumping plangent thumps through his body. Things had not changed. He had not changed. The world had tricked him, and, now, Reid realized with a surge of misery and tears, he was still alone. And the only thing he could manage to do was curl into a tighter ball and cry.

So Reid cried.

He cried for what happened during the Hankel case. He cried for Tobias, his fanatic upbringing, and his lifeless body on the cemetery grass. Reid cried about his addiction, the people he had hurt, the confusion he had caused, and the mistakes he had made. He cried for the trust he had bended into thin, unrecognizable forms, and he cried for his inability to stop it all. He cried for the betrayal he felt over Gideon's actions, the burned words, and for the love and warmth he felt earlier that night. He cried for the past, the future, and for the closure he still knew he needed. He cried because he wanted to go upstairs and score a hit from the college neighbor. He cried because he longed for nothing other than the euphoric sensation only Dilaudid could provide. If anything was going to change, Reid realized through chocked sobs, he'd have to do it himself.

And, when he was exhausted from crying, Reid pulled the covers over his trembling body. Maybe, he hoped, morning would be better. Maybe, he prayed as his lids closed, he'd be better.