(Thanks again to everyone that has been reading and reviewing on this story! It means so much to know that people are liking it. Sorry it's been over a week, but here's the next installment.)

And Still We Smile

Chapter Seven

"There is no privacy that cannot be penetrated. No secret can be kept in a

civilized world. Society is a masked ball, where everyone hides his real

character – and reveals it by hiding."

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Somehow, Reid managed to hold it together for the duration of the case in Connecticut. It wasn't that he wanted to experience a high or liked the feel of the drug in his system, after all, it was that sometimes the fear and anxiousness and feelings of failure almost overtook him and became too much if he couldn't relieve them for a while. And he supposed wryly that rationalizing like that was exactly how people moved from users to addicts, bit by awful bit.

Still, there were moments when he sensed his own nerves and guilt were about to get the better of him. Moments when he'd have to pause over a case file or before he spoke because of the shakes, or a cold sweat, or a sudden blitz of panic clawing up his throat. And as he'd pause to fight it down and regain control, he'd catch Morgan's concerned, and perhaps a little suspicious, glances, or Gideon's thoughtful, studying gaze – and in those moments he would almost crack and spill everything to them. Only his pride and fear of their being disappointed in him kept him from pouring it all out and begging for their help. Many times, he nearly took the Dilaudid he had on him to Hotch and confessed all, but he couldn't quite make himself follow through on it. Couldn't bear for them to know how weak he'd been – he wanted to prove to them that he was fine, that he'd recovered and could handle being on the job again. Because if he couldn't, would they leave him behind? Would they be sorry, but then go on with their lives and their cases, like they all – himself included – had done with Elle? Where would he be then if he lost them? Who would he be? They were all he had…

Emily Prentiss had unfortunately borne the brunt of his frustration and desperation to keep hiding when it had finally flared up and exploded during their case in Texas a few weeks back. She'd made the mistake of voicing her concern about his behavior to him and he lashed out, angrier than he had any right to be in his response. He knew it, and regretted his outburst seconds later, but by then the damaged had been done, and he couldn't even seem to bring himself to apologize to her. His purposefully missing her calls, and a flight with her and Morgan yesterday, hadn't improved matters, and she was now cutting him a pretty wide berth, not even attempting to speak to him.

A part of him wanted to be called on his behavior; wanted them to find him out and force him to get help. But the other part, the sadly larger part that was continually winning his internal debate, didn't want to admit that he was a victim of something that had slipped out of his control. The truth was, he feared that they wouldn't understand why he'd done what he had, that even they wouldn't be able to help him, or wouldn't actually care enough to try when it really came down to it. Though Reid did consider his team the best friend he'd ever had, he realized that he had only let them in so far and only trusted them with so much; too many people he'd thought he could depend on had let him down in the past and he couldn't seem to completely give over his secrets – to anyone.

So now, here he was, adrift in New Orleans as they studied an unsub who was eerily reminiscent of Jack the Ripper. They had arrived knowing most of their evidence had been washed away in Katrina, and that though this killer had had several victims, and was continuing to take more in rapid succession, they were pretty much starting from scratch as far as their case was concerned.

Just then, JJ came walking up to him, taking a cell phone away from her ear and closing it with a snap. "They've just found another body," she announced, looking around the room they'd set up in at the station. "There's not much doubt it's our unsub."

"Let's go then," Gideon sighed heavily, rising from his seat and leading them out the door and to the waiting SUVs. He knew that they would find this unsub just as they did most of them – they merely needed time and an accurate profile. What he hated was that this particular subject was especially vicious in their kills and acting on an accelerated timetable. There were going to be even more dying before they got a break on this one brought the vengeful spree to an end. He hated seeing needless people die because they simply were not fast enough.

Upon reaching this latest dump site, they were greeted once again by a somber William LaMontagne Jr. "Are we getting' any closer to this guy?" he asked, his warm drawl sounding colored by discouragement and lack of sleep. "So much of New Orleans is still devastated, and we've got something like this going on in the little bit of it that's been left standing."

"We'll find him," JJ assured, laying a hand on his arm for a moment reassuringly. "And with the connection you hold for him, because of your father, we need you in on this. Hang in there."

He nodded, gratefully returning her small but determined smile with one of his own. He had no intention of disappointing his late father, and so he had to keep going.

In another situation, JJ comforting the detective and her physical contact with him might have upset Reid, or had him wishing he were brave enough or smooth enough to actively seek her comfort and attention. Normally, he might have felt as vaguely jealous as he ever really got. But he merely twitched his gaze away quickly, irritated, and not needing anything more to torment his peace of mind just then.

Meanwhile, Gideon had bent over the body, examining the slashed throat and other injuries. Motioning Reid forward so that he could show him a peculiar one of the many lacerations on the victim's torso, he actually missed the expression of trepidation on his young colleague's face. But Reid did step up to the body, quickly re-schooling his features not to reveal any of the revulsion and nausea suddenly rising in his throat.

Swallowing hard, he knelt beside his mentor and managed not to flinch as Gideon pointed out the particularly nasty gouge that appeared to enter and then slice neatly around all the major organs like someone had been carving meat. He even managed to choke out some plausible theory on their reason for doing it, and an obscure fact about Jack the Ripper and some of the macabre keepsakes he had taken from his victims. But he could barely hear his own voice speaking and through the roaring suddenly engulfing his head he hardly registered enough to know what he had said.

He could feel the shaking starting again in his limbs, and if he didn't get away, everyone else was going to notice too. Panicked, wishing he had found a way to sneak some of the Dilaudid that morning when he had wanted to, he stood quickly, awkwardly mumbling some sort of an excuse about forgetting or needing to get something, and backed away from the group.

Walking off as fast as he could without arousing suspicion, he began looking for someplace to hide, to get himself together. Before long he came to a deserted, shadowy alley and slipped down it.

Before he had hardly stopped, he was bent over, heaving, vomiting his repulsion and fear out on the wall and ground in the alley. He couldn't stop, emptying his stomach of all he'd eaten and still pulling up acid and bile, as if his body would never be purged of all the poisons that were battering it from the inside and out. Both his mind and his body were betraying him suddenly, unable to continue the charade. At least he had gotten away from the others first. He needed help, but he couldn't ask for it, even now.

Finally, he stopped heaving and slumped down, rocking back on his heels and wrapped an arm around his torso and swiping the other across his mouth. Planting his hands on the ground, he tried to push himself up, but found his was too weak to stand yet. And too empty and defeated to even want to get up and rejoin his team. Falling forward to his knees, head bowed slightly, he had to wonder if the misery would ever end.

Then, a hand came to rest on his shoulder with a gentle squeeze. Startled, Reid jerked away, for a second his paranoia tricking him into thinking his running away to this alley had lured him into the unsub's grasp. But when he turned his head and met eyes with Gideon, he knew he was facing a much more reasonable fear. He hadn't been careful enough this time; Gideon had figured it out and followed him. Now he knew Reid wasn't alright and there wouldn't be any more hiding or sneaking under his radar.

"Reid?" Gideon questioned softly, not saying anything more, merely keeping a sturdy hand on Reid's shoulder and peering hopefully into his eyes, wondering if this young man he loved as his own was finally going to let him in, let him know what was going on in that massive, haunted mind.

Reid shook his head, as if trying to signify that it was nothing, he'd just not felt well and stood, even though he leaned more on Gideon to do it than he would have liked. But he knew he would have to do more than that. Jason Gideon wasn't going to accept anything less than the truth. Reid knew it, and he was losing the will to want him to anyway.

"What's going on?" Gideon's words were solemn, letting Reid know that he'd decided it was certainly something and that he had his own definite opinion about what it might be. But he wanted to give Reid one more chance to tell him honestly himself, rather than being forced to profile a friend. He was concerned, of course, if Reid were sick, but he was plagued by the gut feeling that Reid wouldn't be so sick right now if he hadn't been keeping something from them.

Reid looked at him, not sure how to start, not having a single word to utter in answer, when usually he had so many. He knew he didn't want to fall apart here, to be pouring out the whole story at a crime scene. "Could we not talk about it right now?" he asked Gideon, his voice edging up nervously at the end of the question. "I think I've probably lost enough face right at the moment."

Gideon offered a small smile and chuckle at Reid's attempt to lighten the mood of the situation at least slightly, and clapped the young genius on the shoulder as they walked back out of the alley together. "That will be fine," he assured, just before they got near the others, "but we will talk later."

Reid nodded his understanding. He was going to have to tell Gideon the truth. And he didn't know where he'd stand when the truth came out.