And we're back to the angst. Hope you enjoy!
Reid woke to the sound of footsteps. Oh, no, he thought, his mind not yet fully awake. Not again…
However, once he managed to open his eyes, he noticed that his surroundings were quite different than the ones Raul had kept him in. The room was made of cinder-block, painted a chalky yellow color, and the lights within it were all working at full capacity. The odd assortment of chairs and various tables were stacked neatly against some of the walls, and he found he was laying on one of the metal tables as though it were a bed. A shiver crawled up his spine, but it was tempered a bit due to the thick blanket that someone had put overtop of him. Reid clutched the deep green fabric and pulled it tighter around his bare frame.
"Your people are out getting some clothes," a voice said, startling Reid from his trance-like state.
"Hu-what?"
"Clothes. They should be back any minute." Reid vaguely recognized the voice—it was the same man that had helped him on the beach. He tried to remember the name, but that piece of information was not forthcoming.
"You're the…"
"Yep. I'm the." The man sat in one of the folding chairs, looking as though he were waiting on the world to come to him.
"Where's…"
"Your people are also busy 'cleaning up'," the man said. Reid now remembered that he was a naval agent of some sort, but couldn't quite place him. "That one guy, Morgan, he practically insisted he stay here with you, but your boss knew better, it seems."
Reid slowly began to sit up, his long fingers still clutching the thick blanket. "Is it that cold in here?" the graying man asked, the question not unkind but coming out almost as a bark.
"N-no," Reid replied. "It's just…I…"
"Uh-huh." Something about the man's face told Reid that he understood.
"I'm sorry," Reid said. "I forgot your name."
"Gibbs," the man replied. "Agent Gibbs, NCIS."
"The Navy police," Reid said, realizing why he'd seemed familiar. "It's a little odd, isn't it? Investigating a non-Navy case?"
"How do you know it's not?"
The younger man blinked at the question. "Well, I know neither Oliver nor I have anything to do with the Navy…"
"No. Doesn't mean someone else there didn't."
Reid let his head fall into his hands as he thought. The fog was lifting, but it was fighting tooth and nail to remain in place. "Cassie," he said finally, drawing out the word like an anchor line. "Her dad was a lieutenant, she said…"
"Yep. And your friend Parker dragged my people into this long before that," Agent Gibbs replied. "Gotta say, he's persistent."
"Who, Kyle?"
"Yep."
"Yeah, he can be," Reid acknowledged. Especially when it comes to people he cares about. Last time he nearly shot a suspect in North Dakota because he wouldn't tell him what he wanted to know."
"What did he want to know?"
"Where someone had taken his little brother. He'd been kidnapped, and the suspect was our only lead."
"Mmm."
Reid's head began to clear, and he noticed the thick metal door that loomed in front of him. "It's unlocked," Agent Gibbs said, flicking his gaze towards the brown barrier.
"I didn't…"
"You were."
"How long have I…?"
"Twelve hours. Give or take."
Just then the door opened, and a short bespectacled man walked in. "Ah, Jethro," the man said, his Scottish accent hard to miss. "And how is our patient?"
"Just woke up, Duck," Agent Gibbs replied. "He's all yours."
The sound of those words together made Reid's skin crawl. They're not… he thought briefly, a tinge of worry creeping over his frame. The short man settled into the chair that Agent Gibbs had vacated, and the younger man had left, closing the door behind him.
"Who…who are you?" Reid asked, trying to put a little distance between himself and this strange person.
"It's all right, my boy—I am a doctor. Or rather, a Medical Examiner," the little man replied. "Dr. Donald Mallard, but you may call me 'Ducky'."
Reid still shied away. "It's all right," the doctor said, not unkindly. Heaving a deep breath, Reid slowly allowed the man to remove the thick blanket from his frame and let him take the once-over. Every time Ducky tried to touch him, he flinched.
"There's not a lot of bruising, though it's quite apparent you've been knocked around a bit," the little man said. "In that regard, you were quite fortunate."
A small snort escaped from Reid's nostrils. "Sometimes the worst bruises are the ones you can't see."
"Quite right." As Ducky began to check Reid's chest and rib cage for broken bones, he noticed the look on the younger man's face—it was tight, pensive, as though he were waiting on the worst to happen. "I imagine your story is quite different than the one your friend Mr. Lawrence has to tell."
"You…you've seen Oliver?"
"Oh, yes. Nasty concussion, but he'll be fine after some time. Also a broken rib and that gash on his forehead…"
Reid shuddered a little as Ducky's hands ran across the younger man's back and the tips of his shoulder blades. "There doesn't seem to be anything broken," the man said finally, and the relief was palpable when the man stepped back from his 'patient's' frame. "But, I expect, that's not all that can break, now is it?"
"I'm…I'm sorry?"
"My dear doctor, you're shaking like a leaf and it's well over a hundred degrees in here," the little man said pointedly. "And like your friend, you seem to be wary of being touched."
Reid stared a moment. Does he know?
"Like I said, your friend Oliver has his own story," the doctor continued. "And, like him, I imagine you have yours."
He wants me to tell him! Reid realized. No! I can't… He bit his lips in frustration, his heart crying to pour itself out to someone, and yet feeling ashamed and embarrassed to breathe a word. Reid's hands flew up to his throat, where he noticed that the hateful 'collar' that had been locked around it was gone.
"Oh, that bugger," the doctor said as Reid's eyes asked the unspoken question. "That was beyond barbaric. Took industrial strength bolt cutters to cut that loose, and then we worried we'd wake you up while we did. It's a good thing you were so exhausted…" Reid watched as the little bespectacled man reached for something in his black bag, rifling through the container just as he himself would look through his messenger bag.
"Th-thank you," Reid said softly.
"Don't mention it. Bastards needed one on their necks, I would imagine." Ducky pulled a flashlight from the bag and flipped the device on, pointing the lighted end at Reid's neck. "Hmm. There's some pronounced bruising around the throat, but it doesn't seem serious."
"He…he pulled on the 'leash'," Reid said quickly. "He wanted me to…"
"To what, doctor?"
"Nothing." Reid closed his eyes, hoping that the little man wouldn't press the issue further.
"Dr. Reid," Ducky said simply, his voice calm but firm. "I imagine in your profession you often worry that the darker side of the work will overcome you."
"What of it?"
"I'm just saying that, sometimes—just sometimes—it is better to release those emotions rather than lock them away." The man sat down finally in the chair, trying to make himself comfortable as possible.
"I'm…I'm finished?"
"The physical exam, yes. You were dehydrated and suffering from slight malnutrition, but aside from the bruises there's really nothing physically wrong. You were fortunate."
Reid's mind went back to that horrible bedroom, when he was forced to 'teach' Oliver a 'lesson.' It then flickered to the davenport where his 'secret' had been discovered, and then the bathroom…
"Fortunate is not the word I'd use to describe it," Reid spat, wrapping the green blanket around him like a shield. "Oliver was luckier in that regard."
"A concussion and severe wounds to the face, and he was 'lucky'?"
Reid shivered. He could still feel Raul's hands crawling up and down his flesh, still hear the sound of his persistent voice calling him 'querido'… "Like I said, some bruises are worse when you can't see them."
"The blood, on your face…"
"Blood?"
"Yes. It seems there was an 'incident' just before you were discovered…"
Reid's mind raced. The beach. The argument. Raul's decision to 'take him' by force. His breathing began to deepen, and before he knew it he was on his feet and pacing, the personification of a bull trying to control itself in a china shop. "That bastard," Reid spat angrily. "How could he?!"
"How could he what?"
"He tried to rape me!" Reid nearly shouted, and before he knew it hot tears were falling down his cheeks. "He kept touching me, kept violating me, kept forcing me to submit to whatever sick desire he had planned for me to…" The last few words came out as a sob, and Ducky once again watched as an otherwise healthy young man poured his heart out onto the floor. After several minutes Reid picked his head up from his lap, having sunk to the ground and curled his knees towards his chest. "I can still feel him, touching me," the profiler whispered. "It's irrational, I know…he's dead, after all…"
"It's all right," the medical examiner said kindly, though not belittling the situation. "Is there anything you'd like to tell me? Perhaps lift a weight from your chest?"
Reid's eyes told just how badly he did, but his mind was apprehensive. "You…you won't tell them…?"
"As your friend learned earlier, I am a licensed physician. It would be unethical, and I am well-known for my adherence to ethics."
The younger man heaved a deep breath. "He…he wouldn't stop," Reid began.
"Who?"
"Raul. That was the man who 'bought' me. He…he wanted me to become his querido, which I think means 'lover'…"
Ducky nodded, silently urging the young man to continue.
