A Matter of Survival.

It's like; everyday I go on without him I lose a part of myself. I thought I could handle it until one day I looked in the mirror and it wasn't me looking back. I was broken. I'm broken and I don't know how to go on: - Anon

Disclaimer: Criminal Minds is not mine.

Flanders was rushed to surgery. How he could get shot like that and still be alive they didn't quite understand, but x-rays showed all three bullets in there. They decided that they couldn't remove them. It would be too dangerous and though it was argued that it would be good for everyone if he died on the table it was not ethical. They needed to get him better enough to be sent to death row, or failing that spend his life in solitary. These were the options. Nothing else was going to be even considered.

Aaron tried to visit, to find out what was going on but they would tell him nothing. Too close to the case. Sorry.

He visited Reid who had been released with out charge after the drug test results came back and they realised that there was no way this man could have been awake that night. They were shocked at the levels of substances in his blood and advised he went and got advise on how to get clean.

"I don't have a drugs problem."

Was his answer.

Reid was back in the apartment, spending his days pacing the big main room or standing staring out of the window. He needed to do something. He wanted to help Floyd but he couldn't get close. They wouldn't let him visit. They would give him no information.

The bruises faded as did the memories of the pain.

Aaron's visits were something he looked forward to. They would just sit on the couch and hold each other and be happy they could just relax and try to recover, though Reid's recovery was going to take a long time and Aaron though he wished it dearly couldn't see Spencer ever being emotionally stable enough to cope with working within the FBI. This obviously is not taking into account that he had a small problem with painkiller dependency and the not very palatable problem concerning his consumption of human flesh.

They ate pizza which they got delivered and they watched cartoons and ate Ben and Jerry's in all the different flavours they could find and slowly Aaron was moving a few things into the apartment. His toothbrush appeared, and a suit was hung in the wardrobe. Spare shirts folded and placed in a drawer.

Reid spent a weekend alone and spent the time removing Floyd from his life. He took his clothes and placed them in a box. Every intention to take them to the some homeless shelter. He sat on the bed and looked at the pile of beautiful clothes in the box. Shirts and jeans and waistcoats and heavy winter coats. He pulled out a shirt and held it to his face. The smell sent his head spinning and brought tears to his eyes. He removed the checked short sleeved shirt he was wearing and slipped on Floyds. It was too big really but if he put on a waistcoat too? He slid his arms into the dark blue waistcoat and buttoned up the small golden buttons.

Standing looking in the mirror with his head spinning and his mind slowly clouding he turned on the hot tap in the bathroom basin and watched the mirror steam up. He really thought he was recovering from Floyd. He really did think that after all this time – all these months that he had been able to haul his arse into gear and realise that he had just been a punch bag, but now standing here watching his face slowly fade in the mirror he knew there was never going to be an escape.

He lifted a finger and wrote in the steamy glass. 'Where are you?' Then he walked back to the lounge and stood in the last place he stood with Floyd and looked out of the window.

Aaron arrived two days later and saw Spencer kneeling on the floor, curled up tightly and rocking back and forth. He stood and looked and listened for a while. Then walked slowly over to Reid and crouched down next to him placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Spencer, has something happened?" Reid's head came up and his red eyes locked with Aaron's.

"Everything and nothing. I don't know what to do. I need him."

Hotch wrapped his arms tightly around Spencer. He knew this sort of thing might happen. It was something he was prepared for yet it was still hurting. As he pulled Reid close he also got the strong smell of Flanders. He buried his face into Reid's neck breathing in the young mans soft scent and the heavier stronger smell of Floyd. His head span and his thought processes slowed as the two men knelt on the wooden floor and hugged and cried.

…………………….

He did a lot of swearing and cursing. Locked in solitary with armed guards outside his door. They had left the bullets lodged in his head as it didn't seem to be doing any harm. It would be interesting to see how it effected him. He had tremendous nosebleeds. He could spray his cell with blood. He screamed and smashed him self against the walls even knocking him self out on occasions but still they wouldn't give in to his demands of needing to see Spencer. He needed to get out of here. It would be a simple job to get the door open. That wasn't a problem. The armed guards outside might pose a small hitch in his plan. They would open fire on him if he just walked out of the door and they had orders not to talk to him so he had to think of another way to get out and he could think of only one. This plan would have to rely on Spencer or Aaron doing that which he would hope. He had just that day slipped open his mind just enough to see what Reid was feeling. Grief. He was grieving. He felt bereft. This was good. This would serve his purpose well as long as he could carry out his bit of the plan.

It took a while of planning. Not something you would do lightly but not something they were looking out for. Floyd had never – apart from the tantrums shown any desire to self harm. He decided on his plan. It would depend of self control. He needed to stay calm and he needed to keep spiking and topping up Spencer and Aaron.

…………………….

They held each other through the night. Spencer on his side with Aaron laying behind him holding him tightly. The comfort Spencer needed to survive. To help him feel whole. He pressed back on to Hotch so he could feel no space between the two bodies and fell into a deep sleep.

Both men had the same dream. They dreamed of a funeral. Of a burial – just the two of them standing at the grave side looking down a long way into the pit the casket had been placed. It was such a long way down they could hardly see it. They stood and watched as bricks and cement was poured over the top and then the earth was replaced. In the dream Reid dropped a single red rose and Aaron a daisy. They stood holding hands and watched.

When they awoke and compared dreams Reid insisted it was a message. But what it was and what it meant they had no idea but they felt a renewed loss in their hearts. As they showered they each wished someone else was with them too and Reid missed the feeling of pain as the soap was rubbed over his back. Aaron didn't miss the bruises which used to cover Spencer, but he did miss the flinching was his hands moved down to hold Reid's hips and pull him back close.

…………………..

Once a day Floyd was removed from his cell and wearing double flexicuffs on hand and feet he was taken to a small open space. The was no grass beneath his feet but there was a sky to look at. He would stand still and look up at the sky muttering to himself. They guards had at first tried to work out what he was saying but it was nonsensical so they gave up on that. He stood with his arms slightly out to his sides and his heels together, leaning slightly back just staring up.

"I'll be with you soon." He whispered.

How he got hold of it they will never know. But get hold of it he did. They assumed he lifted it from a guards pocket at some point, though which guard would have been foolish enough to carry a small blade on him?

He walked back into his cell to see his food waiting for him. He pushed the uneaten dinner to the side of the room and knelt on the floor. He heard the doors lock and concentrating for a while he could sense they had moved off. Floyd pulled the small blade out from the back of his waistband. 'Claim me Spencer. Bring me home.' He looked down at the knife.

The small knife dug deeply into Floyd's neck. The blood sprayed up the wall and the door. A quick swift fatal slice to his neck.

Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell: -Edna St. Vincent Millay