WRITER'S NOTE: Okay, this chapter shakes things up just a bit. Four different characters get a POV. It's mostly meant to shuffle the order of the individual character POVs. And to move the story forward. Next up, however - shuffle aside - is JJ. As always, thank you for any and all feedback. There's some dramatic stuff coming up down the line so stick with me - this rollercoaster is about to pick up speed.
And yeah, feedback does make me grin like a fool.
SHUFFLE.
Spencer Reid rubbed his hands together, felt the sweat go from palm to palm. The porcelain was cold on his feet, too cold. As he lifted one of his feet so that he could strip off his bizarrely colored sock, he stumbled a bit, his knee buckling and nearly flinging him over the toilet.
In the back of his head, he wondered just what the hell he was doing.
That morning, he'd woken up on the floor of his room, his hand throbbing from fifteen or twenty small cuts. He'd found the glass from his mirror on the marbled tile and in that moment, he'd realized that he was spinning.
Losing control more and more with each moment.
And so he'd decided to stop. Chosen to cease and desist.
Empowered himself with that decision.
None of the others had noticed his wounded hand. They were so used to his odd movements that none of them had realized that he'd been concealing his hand beneath the cuff of his sweater.
He figured he could quit without any of them ever knowing that he'd been using. Then he wouldn't have to let anyone down.
Then he wouldn't have to see their looks of disappointment.
But as the day had gone on, as morning had turned to afternoon, as the stress of the new case had begun to build and as his mind had stopped whirling as it should, instead settling for a slow and worthless sputter, he'd begun to think if maybe he shouldn't quit slowly.
Just a bit at a time.
It wouldn't take long, he'd reasoned.
Maybe a week or so. Just a little bit less with each dose.
But that plan had gone out the window when the anger inside of him, white hot and unreasonable beyond words, had begun to build.
Towards her. Towards all of them.
But mostly towards her. Not because she deserved it. Not because he hated her. He could never hate her. But because she was an easy target. One whose own eyes constantly accepted the blame.
She made it easy that way. Her guilt, her remorse. She practically invited him to hate her.
And when the anger built, it was just so easy to do exactly that. And he hated that about himself.
Hated that he could ever have feelings like for someone that he adored as much as he did her.
Adored was hardly the word for what he felt for her, but that was another matter altogether.
And it only made him hate more what he was becoming.
Nothing but a giant mess of anger, fury and desperation.
One that constantly wondered if it could find the old Spencer Reid at the bottom of the vial.
One that was sure it could. If he just used a little more.
Just a little more.
Just for today.
Only today.
Because what had happened in Garcia's office, the things he'd said about JJ, the feelings he'd had about her, well they weren't him.
And so reaching into his messenger's bag, he pulled out one of the vials and stared at it.
"Less," he croaked out as he filled a syringe up with exactly the same amount that he'd injected the night before.
What had happened in Garcia's office had pushed him over. His mouth, his mind, all of it had moved on its own. He'd said thing he wished he hadn't. Things he wouldn't have said if he'd been in control.
And he needed control.
They needed him to have control.
And so into the small space between his toes, he injected the needle, realizing that for the first time, he was shooting up while at work.
Shame flooded his senses.
Within moments, he felt better.
More in control.
Tomorrow, he reasoned, he would use less. Tomorrow, he promised, he would stop.
Jennifer Jareau stepped into her office and closed the door behind her, knowing that Prentiss and Morgan were only a few steps behind her, knowing that both of them desperately wanted to talk to her. Knowing that she desperately didn't want to have the conversations that they wanted to have.
She hoped that the closed door would send the desired message loud and clear. Talking was not something she was all that interested in.
Not right now anyway.
She moved over to her purse, which was under the desk. Dropping to a knee, she rifled through it, until her fingers closed over the small white bottle at the bottom. She flipped off the cap and tossed three, no four pills into her hand. Aspirin. Nothing stronger. Nothing to worry about.
But right now and with this terrible banger of a headache, three would hardly be enough. Four just might, five would probably be pushing it.
She stood up and glanced around the room, searching for liquid. Finally her eyes settled on a half-empty water bottle sitting next to a stack of files. She tilted her head slightly, observing that the files looked like they were about to slide and collapse. Create chaos in their wake.
How damned appropriate.
A small chuckle and then she picked up the bottle, popped the pills and washed them down. The irony that she'd experienced almost this exact moment less than twenty- four hours(then with sleeping pills) was hardly lost on her.
But she didn't think Morgan would kick down her office door because she'd just chosen to pop a few aspirin.
Or at least she hoped not.
A knock on the door made her turn towards it and she sighed. Apparently the closed door hadn't sent the message she'd hoped for.
"It's open," she more breathed than said. And as the door began to open, she moved her hand over the desk and pushed the aspirin bottle towards the floor. It fell just right, landing next to her wallet inside of her purse. She allowed herself the smallest of smiles, refusing to think about the reason she hadn't wanted whoever was entering to see bottle.
She hadn't wanted them to worry.
She hated when people worried about her.
She hadn't when people doubted that she could do her job.
"JJ," Emily said as she entered, her face showing her concern. "Everything okay?
"Yeah, why?"
"Your door is closed. Your door is never closed."
And this was true. Which only reminded JJ once more of the statement she'd been trying to make, the statement which Prentiss had apparently ignored completely.
"It closed behind me," JJ lied.
Emily offered her a small thin smile. "Okay. Well Hotch wants us all in the conference room to de-brief."
"Sure," the blonde replied, stepping past the older woman.
"Hey, JJ?"
She turned to look at Emily. "Yeah?"
"We are all here for you. I'm here for you," Emily said, locking eyes with her younger co-worker. She could see the resistance there, buried beneath the weariness. Still, she pushed on. "I don't care how stupid you may think it is or if you think you don't have a right to feel the way you do, I'm still here and I'm willing to listen whenever you're ready to talk."
For a moment, JJ felt her mouth open, like she wanted to say something, but couldn't quite get the words out. Then, feeling a gasp gurgling up through her throat, she settled for clamping her mouth shut and nodding slowly.
She wasn't sure it wasn't a lie, but then again, she wasn't sure it was a lie either.
Because the weight was getting heavier
And it occurred to her more than a time or two that just letting it out, just venting the pain, well maybe that'd help.
Or maybe it'd just make her weak.
She wasn't sure which.
And so the struggle within went on.
But Emily didn't need to know that. Even if she most certainly did.
"Good," Emily said, her eyes staying with JJ's for just a moment longer.
Making their point, JJ knew.
Then, once satisfied that her point had been made, she turned and walked away. A few seconds later, JJ followed.
"Okay, let's review again," Hotch said once JJ and Prentiss had taken their seats. He gazed over at the women, saw that they were both wearing neutral expressions. Unreadable and yet somehow they both look somewhat troubled to him. His eyes went to Reid next, who seemed calmer than he had just twenty minutes earlier.
Twenty minutes earlier, after his conversation with Garcia, he'd seemed almost angry. Impatient. Irritated. Gideon had even told him to get some air. Apparently it had helped.
Hotch suspected that something else had as well.
And was more annoyed than he cared to admit that there just wasn't the time to figure out what. Not yet at least.
Because like always, people were dying.
And not just on the inside.
"Three victims that were chosen, one was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. He should be excluded from the profile," Morgan started.
"One was a father with a large family, one was a deadbeat and the other one was a player," Reid continued, his voice squeaking a bit. If you didn't know better, you'd almost think that he was his old self. Eager, curious and quick with an answer.
"So their marital status is probably not part of what made the Unsub pick them.," Emily said, more to herself than the other. She glanced up and Hotch caught her eye. And because he could tell she needed it, he nodded. Her lip quirked just a bit, appreciative. He reminded himself to do that more often. Because she was a good agent. And because, if he pushed all of his irritation over how she'd came to be a member of the BAU away, the trust was, she deserved to know that she was a good agent.
"We can probably rule out race as well," Gideon commented, leaning over to point at the pictures. "Barrett and Bell were both white, but Alvarez was Latino."
"Financial status as well," Hotch said. "Alvarez DiSparto had a good job, but because of how big his family was, he was barely scrapping by. Thomas Bell, well he was dirt poor. Gibson Barrett was very well off. He had almost a hundred thousand put away."
"So much for victimology," Emily sighed.
"No, it's there," Gideon insisted. "We're just not seeing it. There's something that ties these three men together. "
"Besides the fact that they're men," Morgan noted.
"Okay, let's break up then. Prentiss, you and Morgan go interview Mrs. DiSparto," Hotch instructed. "Find out if her husband was acting at all oddly before the attack. And if not, find out what he was doing. Anything and everything you can."
"Sure," Emily nodded. Morgan also signaled his acknowledgement with a brief incline of his head.
"Reid and I will talk to Thomas Bell's ex-wife," Gideon said. "See if maybe her husband had been in contact with her."
"That means JJ and I will take Barrett's office."
"His office?" JJ blinked, speaking up for the first time since the meeting had begun. Hotch wondered if she'd been paying attention at all, but then quickly dismissed that because it was JJ and even in the worst of states, she was always on her game.
They had a lot in common, Hotch mused. Both of them worked too hard, were too stubborn and far too controlled.
She smiled more, but it was a poker face, just like his scowl.
"Unless you know of someone else that he might have confided in," Hotch answered, meeting her eyes. She shook her head, the motion quickly breaking the visual contact. Quickly telling him that she didn't want him looking into her because she wasn't sure what he'd find there.
"Okay then," Gideon said as he pushed himself to his feet. "Everyone meet back here at five at the latest."
Quick nods of agreement and the room emptied. Hotch turned to JJ.
"You want to drive?"
And suddenly she laughed. It was exactly what he'd been hoping for.
Then, wrinkling her nose, just a bit, "Really?"
He shrugged. "Sure."
And again, she smiled. Maybe her eyes even danced.
He felt relief wash over him because well, that was something.
This job could rob that from you. The ability to smile without reserve. The ability to laugh without reason. The ability to act like a small child about the silly things in life.
Like getting to drive the company car.
She'd driven Gideon in to the office earlier that day, but that had been her car. This was the company car.
She was usually the one buckled into the backseat.
Like one of the kids.
And now she was smiling like a kid,
If you still had that, Hotch figured, then in the end, maybe you could still be okay.
"Hey, girl," Derek said as he entered the room. She looked up at him and smiled, relieved that her door squeaked when it opened, relieved that she'd been able to change the screen she'd been working on before he'd been able see it.
Because she wasn't quite ready to share with the class just yet.
"Hi," she smiled, tilting her cheek to accept a small kiss. "What's up?"
"Nothing. We're on our way to interview the wife of one of the vics. I just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing," And then he smiled, the one which deepened every line of his face. The one that met his eyes.
"Oh, sweet," she said, touching his cheek. His hand went over hers and she remembered why she adored this man. "I'm fine." And though she knew it was a lie, she was pretty sure he didn't. And for now, that'd do.
"You need anything, girl?"
She shook her head.
"Okay." Then he turned and started for the door. Just outside of it, Garcia could see Prentiss waiting. Suddenly he stopped and turned around. "You'll tell me when you're ready, right?"
Scolding herself for thinking that he wouldn't be able to see right through her, she nodded slowly. "You know I will."
"Okay," he said again and this time he left.
She turned back to her screen, pushed a button and brought up the image she'd been staring at before Morgan had entered.
The one showing that drug tests run by the hospital after Reid had been brought in had shown a significant amount of Dilaudid in them.
The ones showing that he'd been injected numerous times.
The ones that told her exactly what wqs going on with Spencer Reid.