In the early morning of Friday, April 6, 2007, Dan awoke suddenly, and with conviction. Bia was sniffing at the door, patiently, yet also with conviction. Dan groaned. How could Bia wake her up like that? Then her cell phone started buzzing beside her. Again, apparently. It wasn't a number she recognized, but she answered anyway, out of habit. The voice on the other end of the line sounded distant.
"Dan this is Reid, I'm at your apartment but I don't want to make too much noise so I didn't knock."
"Reid? It's 2am."
"I know, I know, I'm sorry, I'll explain. Just please let me in, I- I'm cold." Dan hung up without responding and sighed. Bia gave her a short, breathy "gruff" as she got out of bed, pulled on a turtleneck, and made her way to the door.
Bia sniffed her nose through the open crack and found Reid's knee. All Dan could think of was how Reid looked standing with his face so close to the wall; that timid, scared of everything and everyone, 'not certain that someone won't put a gun to his head' look. She had the strong urge to comfort him, assure him that there was, at least, one person in the world who would never, ever put a gun to his head.
Instead she quietly nodded her head and invited him in. He strutted in, almost. He had too much energy for the middle of the night. He changed postures even as he walked, like he couldn't decide what was the most appropriate way to greet her in this scenario.
"Dan, I'm so sorry to barge in on you like this…" he began, and then apologized, "but I didn't know who else to turn to."
Reid spoke so fast that all Dan heard of the second half was a distant rumbling. She squinted her eyes at him, fighting to keep them open as she fumbled at the deadbolt. "Wh-hat?" she asked breathily, confused.
"I just, I've been thinking about what you said, and I took some of what you gave me, only then I couldn't sleep, I just kept seeing bodies in my head and they won't go away and I got scared and I couldn't go much further than your apartment." He was speaking much too fast for her sleepy mind to keep up with.
"Reid, Reid, slow down honey." She led him to her couch. "You did what?" The allusion to the possibility that he could have a dangerous dose flooding his system sobered her out of sleepiness.
Reid took a deep breath. "I took some dilaudid. Only I think I gave myself too much – am I going to be-" he sucked in a short breath as the room exploded in light. Her dog sniffed at his hands and he scratched behind Bia's ears, but he wasn't paying attention. He felt like he was running his hands along a plush, brown rug. He squinted against the sunlight of day and watched a tall, blue car drive by him.
"Spencer!" His mother scolded. "Leave the cat alone, he could have diseases." He looked down at the cat his six-year-old self was crouched down and petting. Then he looked back at his mother, confused.
"Reid!" She said again. Wait, that was wrong, his mother would never call him by his last name. "Reid! Come back to me, baby." He jolted back into reality and found Dan's hands pressed against the sides of his head. He realized his mouth was hanging open and his hands were clenched around some brown fur while Bia lingered at the corner of his eye, wary to come near again lest her coat be mangled.
"I'm so sorry," he wailed, unable to deepen his voice. He licked his lips and found they were already wet with his saliva. He squeezed his eyes to shut out the embarrassment, but it never worked.
"Hey, it's alright." She replied. "Bia's fine, she sheds all the time, you didn't hurt her."
He creased his brow and a nervous tick made him shake his head a little. "What happened to me?" He asked.
"You're doing fine, hon," Dan reassured him. "You just lapsed into a hallucination and started shaking, like a mini seizure."
"It wasn't a hallucination." He corrected. He tried to focus on one spot but he found that it kept moving away from his vision. "It was a memory, actually."
"Oh?" She prompted.
"Yeah, another one of my mother. Can you tell me – is that strange? For the dilaudid to bring up not hallucinations, but memories of childhood?"
Dan frowned at him. "Your brain chemistry will break down and interpret alterations at varying speeds and with varying results. It's not terribly unusual."
"I didn't think you would remember where I lived," she shook her head and some locks bounced out from behind her ear. After she'd assessed that his shaking was due to the cold and not the drug, Dan had put him in one of her oversize sweaters and given him a blanket for his legs.
"You actually live less than four blocks from my apartment, that's really the main reason I'm here – I knew I could make it."
Dan closed her eyes for a second, and when she opened them again he was still there, staring at her with an alert, nervous confusion that made her feel sorry for him all over again. "You did the right thing by coming here." She quietly assessed his eye movements and breathing patterns to determine he still wasn't in immediate danger, then rolled her eyes and turned towards her kitchen.
"God, I need some wine."
Later that morning on April 6, 2007, agents Prentiss and Jareau stroll into BAU headquarters with their morning local coffee, chatting amicably. It was a Friday and without a time-sensitive case pressing, the team was gathering to consult on longer-term cases and to provide profiles based on evidence sent to them.
Agent Hotchner swept in the door behind them. "Alright, let's gather everyone in the briefing room. We need to get to work on these cases." He turned to head upstairs to his office, then stopped and turned back. "And good morning."
"Morgan when you see boy genius can you refer him to my stately electronic palace?" Technical Analyst Garcia stepped in, curls bouncing. "I've got to pick his brain a little about a thing."
"Ha ha, a thing, right? Sounds important. I'll tell him when he comes in."
"He's not here? His coat's here, I figured he was just early," Jareau points out. "Maybe he's already in the briefing room."
"I was just there," Morgan stated. "Figured I'd drop everything there in case Hotch locks us in for the weekend."
"What's that about me?" Hotch asked, stepping out of his office and locking it behind him, arms full of folders.
"Hey have you seen Reid this morning?" Jareau asked.
"No, why?"
"Boy genius is late, mark your calendars!" Garcia chimed.
"Well are his keys on his desk? His bag?" Prentiss asked.
Morgan was closest. "No keys, no bag," he announced, checking the coat pockets. The only thing he pulled out of the coat was a business card. He flipped it over. "Bank of America," he read. "Georgia Sullivan. Maybe he got a date." He grinned at the thought.
"Well that's innocuous enough," from Prentiss. She rolled her eyes at Moragn's 'date' comment.
"Reid doesn't bank with Bank of America though. Why would he have this card?"
"Maybe he decided to switch for some reason," Prentiss suggested. "I don't think a business card is cause for alarm. He could have forgotten his coat last night and just be a little late this morning. Speaking of late, where's Gideon?"
"Reid? Change something about himself? C'mon Prentiss." Morgan chuckles.
Hotch was having none of the fun, as usual. "Garcia, call his home and cell. We can't raise the alarm yet, but if he doesn't come in by 10, I want Prentiss and Morgan to take the day and find him."
As it happened, Reid was not there by 10, nor 11, nor 12. Garcia's attempts at reaching him via cell were returned with voicemail. Morgan turned the business card over in his hands.
"Garcia, can you call Bank of America and ask if Reid recently opened an account?" He finally asked.
"You got it, sugarface."
"Are you worried?" Prentiss asked, having noticed the pensive, absent look on Morgan's face.
"I don't know if we should be worried yet. Concerned, yes, because this is certainly not like him, but I'm not sure yet." Prentiss put down the folder she was holding. "I hope this is nothing."
"She has one Spencer Reid in the system but date of birth indicates that he'd be about sixty. Sorry plums, Miss Georgia peaches doth never seen our young Reid."
Morgan looked away. That didn't make sense. "Why would Reid have the business card of someone he's never met?"
Garcia looked expectantly chipper. "Suspend your judgment, my doves. Are you ready for another mystery?" She held up Georgia Sullivan's business card. "This number right here, above the fax – it isn't Georgia peaches' office number. It isn't even affiliated with this bank."
Agents Morgan and Prentiss exchanged a look.
"Before either of you say anything, I've already ran the number. You two loves are driving to DC."
"It's a drug contact," Prentiss explained to Morgan. They were in the car. "Dealers can give clients their phone number, they don't have to put it in their contact list, and it won't raise suspicion if found."
Morgan shook his head. "But why would Reid…" he trailed off. They were stopped outside of Danielle Stadler's apartment.
Prentiss looked out the window. "We both remember the case in Atlanta*." They exchanged a look and got out of the SUV. "We've been back from that case for two months and he's never missed a day of work, until now."
"Maybe he thought he could cope with what he's been though. Today must have been a bad one. We all know how strange he's been acting."
"Oh, I do," said Prentiss, recalling how defensive he'd been towards her in Houston last week.** She'd called him out after he'd been abrasive towards a shelter employee, and he in turn had lashed out at her at the suggestion that not all was well with him. "We all have our secrets. Sometimes we hide them better than others."
They got a loud response to their knocking in the form of a large, barking dog. When the door opened, it was to the face of a twenty-something brunette woman, who shushed her dog and smiled politely. "Sorry about Bia," she said.
Prentiss smiled back. "Hi there," she said to the dog in a higher-than-normal pitch. To the women: "Is she friendly?"
Danielle Stadler checked the strange woman up and down, noting the tightness of a holster at her waist. Both she and her man wore dark clothing, and had the closed faces of closed people. "Go ahead, she'll be nice so long as you are."
Prentiss nodded in understanding. "Dogs make some of the best guards."
Danielle shifted against the door frame. "I like the company. Can I help you two with something? I take it you're not here to meet my dog."
Morgan stepped forward. "Ma'am, we're with the FBI." Prentiss showed her badge. "We're here looking for somebody – perhaps a client of yours."
"Client? I don't understand."
"We're not after you or your business," Prentiss assured her. "Just take a look at this photo for us." He held up Reid's picture. "Does he look familiar?"
She glanced at it, brows furrowed. "Yeah. His name's Reid. Reid Hankel."
Prentiss' lips parted in quiet surprise, and she and Morgan exchanged a look. "Do you know where he is right now?"
"I don't. Honestly, I don't," she said at Prentiss' misbelieving glance. "I wish I could help you, I do, but I don't know him all that well. He came by last night, but he's not here anymore. Look- is he in some sort of trouble?"
*The Big Game and Revelations, episodes 14 and 15 of season 2, both took place in Atlanta, Georgia.
**Distress, episode 17 of season 2, took place in Houston.
A/N: I actually wasn't planning on continuing this story when I wrote chapter 1, but that seemed like such a waste! Please help my progress by reviewing. Is there too much dialogue? Should there be more dialogue? Does any cannon character seem out of character? Do you get a sense of surroundings, or do you want more setting descriptions? For me, it's easy to visualize because character mannerisms, voice, and setting are all already in my mind. I'm trying not to distort the content with misleading descriptions, but I do want to know what works for readers! Thank you!