Reid turned around, sitting up and turned his tired eyes on the other man, dislodging the hand on his back.

"Hey, Morgan," he said, looking at a point somewhere over his shoulder. "Since when do you call me Spencer?"

Morgan shrugged. "That's what they call you in the lounge."

"You talk about me?" Reid didn't sound very happy.

"Not specifically, we talk about all patients. So, how are you doing?" Morgan changed the subject.

Reid shrugged a little. "I'm doing okay."

"You look tired."

"It's the middle of the night."

"No, not just now. All the time. And you've lost weight. Don't you eat?"

"Have you tasted the food here?"

"Ha ha, very funny… Reid, you have to eat. You're not well. I talked to Hotch and Gideon, told them how you are doing. Hotch and I want to pull you, right now, but Gideon wanted us to ask you first."

"At least Gideon trusts me." Reid crossed his arms defensively over his lean torso.

"We all trust you, Reid." There was a sharpness in Morgan's voice.

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. It's just… this place is getting to me more than I thought it would."

"Which is why Hotch and I want to pull you."

"No, you can't pull me." There was desperation in his voice.

"Have you got anything?"

"No… not yet. I have feelers out though. I'm in a unique position here to observe both the patients and the staff. No one knows who I am."

"But what about you? Are you sure it's not too much?"

"I don't like it in here Morgan. In fact, I hate it. I hate every minute of every day. But I can't give up. Then where would we be?"

"You… we… haven't made any progress. It's been a month. You can't stay in here for ever. You are on your own, unprotected."

"You're here."

"I only have two shifts a week. What if something happens between them? I didn't like this from the start, and I like it even less now. Please, Reid, let it be. We'll find another way to solve this. It's not worth it."

"I'm okay. Nothing's happened. Yes, I'm uncomfortable, and eat crappy food and would love to go outside for a while, but I'm okay."

"What's this then?" Morgan took his arm and held it out towards him, looking at the scabs.

"A little run in with another patient. It's nothing. Just a scratch." Reid pulled the arm back, hiding the bite mark against his body.

"Please, Reid. Are you sure you don't want to be pulled?"

Reid hesitated for a minute, but then said. "Yes, I'm sure. I'll see this through."

Morgan sighed, recognizing his defeat. "Okay, we'll do it your way. Another week. That's all Hotch is prepared to give you. Next Sunday, we're pulling you, no matter what."

"Okay."

He still hadn't looked Morgan in the eyes.

"We miss you, you know." Morgan said gently.

"I miss you too." Reid said automatically but emotionless. He reached under his mattress and pulled out a wad of papers, torn out of a legal pad. "These are my observations since last time. Did you find anything on Doctor Warner?"

"He's got some pretty big debts. Gambling problems."

"Oh."

"You sound disappointed."

"I was hoping you'd found out that he lived in a rundown motel just outside town with his mother's mummified body in the bedroom."

"We'll look into that," Morgan said with a smile. "We're checking everybody, in and out."

"Nurse Grace is stealing drugs. I think Eric Harding has been misdiagnosed. This place is an absolute mess. The staff is incompetent, to say the least. Once the case is over, I want to shut this place down, or at least this ward."

"We'll talk to Matthews about it. Take it easy tonight, okay. Try to get some sleep. I'll keep watch." Morgan stood up.

"Morgan, wait." Reid reached out and grabbed his wrist to keep him from leaving.

Morgan stopped and looked down at him, seeing only his large, pleading eyes.

"The case is real, right? There is something going on in here, isn't there? You're not just humoring me because I'm crazy?"

For a second, Morgan's face was completely unreadable, his expression galloping between emotions before it turned into concern.

"Oh, Reid. No." Morgan sat back down on the bed. "Of course there is a case, and you're not crazy! There's nothing wrong with you. You're not really a patient here, you're only pretending, remember? We'll solve this and then you'll be back with us at BAU, where you belong. You're not crazy."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that if I were you."

Reid had lowered his head and kept his gaze on his own stomach, his voice so soft that it was almost inaudible. In a way Morgan was glad he was no longer looking at him. The look in Reid's eyes had been so raw that it had scared him.

"No, Reid. You're not crazy. Don't you trust me?"

"With my life."

"Then trust me. If you can't trust yourself, then trust me. I would never lie to you, I swear."

He really didn't want to leave now, but he knew he had to. The other staff thought he was just in the bathroom; he couldn't be gone too long.

"Try to get some sleep, Reid. Please. It will all work out in the end."

"Good night, Morgan."

"Good night." He squeezed Reid's shoulder before standing up and leaving the room.

Reid waited until Morgan had locked the door behind him, smiled at him through the window and left. Then he crept down under the blanket again and imagined himself in his own bed and his own apartment. He lay facing the wall, as always, trying to protect his privacy a little from the night round's harsh flashlight that would shine in through the window once a night, sometimes more. He drew his legs up against his chest and re-crossed his arms in front of him.

But sleep didn't come easy in this place. He hadn't slept more than four hours a night since he'd been here. And they had never been consecutive. Apart from his nightly rounds when he'd go out to snoop around, to check that the patients were still in their beds, and the staff was in the lounge, it was impossible to relax in this place. Even when he was asleep he was listening. Listening to the cries and moans from the other patients. Listening for footsteps, coming for someone, coming for him. He'd moved passed exhausted two weeks ago and was now running on fumes and sheer willpower.

Three months ago a nurse at the institution had gone to Dr. Isaiah Matthews, the director of Berkview, and told him that she had found strange markings on some of her patients and that several of them had begun showing strange personality changes. Also, the suicide rate at the ward had dramatically skyrocketed, and even though she never mentioned murder or any kind of foul play, she had clearly been suspicious.

Three days later she had been found dead in her apartment.

The police had investigated and ruled it as suicide. They had investigated Berkview as well, but found nothing. Dr. Matthews, however, was not satisfied. Since Berkview was a federal institution he went directly to the FBI and his old college roommate, Jason Gideon.

Gideon had listened seriously to him and had then invited him to tell his story again to Hotchner. Even though there was no love lost between the BAU and those who usually inhabited institutions for the criminally insane, the team took pride in believing that every victim of a crime was equally important, especially those who, for one reason or another, were incapable of defending themselves.

The undercover operation had been Reid's idea. The team had been distinctly unhappy about it, but Gideon had backed him up, knowing that the younger man had something to prove to himself, not as an agent, but as his mother's son.

Matthews had been very skeptical, but was persuaded by Gideon and Reid who impressed him with his knowledge and understanding of schizophrenia. He had helped put together Reid's fake medical chart, while Hotchner set up his new identity. Matthews had also supplied them with the blueprints of the hospital and information about the entire staff and all patients. He also vowed to find a way to make sure Reid was never given real medication, only sugar pills.

He'd been able to get Morgan a temp position as an orderly for two nightshifts a week, on Wednesdays and Saturdays. Morgan was to be Reid's contact man, and for real emergencies Reid would contact Matthews, but unless it was absolutely necessary, they would have no contact, to avoid suspicion.

On the day Reid was committed he was met by Dr. Lux, who was to be his personal therapist, and Dr. Matthews, who always oversaw the admittance of new patients. Matthews had then smuggled Reid a master key that would get him in or out of every door in the hospital. It was a considerable risk, but it was necessary. Reid was to keep it concealed on his body at all times.

He'd been admitted as a newly diagnosed schizophrenic and during the first weeks of his stay he'd carefully scaled his faked symptoms down as he let the supposed medicine do its work. He'd become a surly and standoffish young man. He'd given himself an angry, sullen personality, wanting to stay distanced from the other patients. He was here to observe, not to interact.

Sunday

The public wake up call sounded through the speakers that were built into the wall. At the same time all their doors were automatically unlocked. Reid always jumped right out of bed when he heard it. Most of the patients were not morning people, and this way he could be alone in the shower room. He grabbed his towel and toilet bag and went out into the corridor.

"Good morning," Nurse Frank greeted him cheerfully as he went around making sure everybody was getting up.

"Mmm," Reid answered, as he disappeared into the shower room, which also held a row on sinks with the only mirrors in the house over them, safely hidden behind Plexiglas. There were low-voltage electrical outlets in between them. Electric shavers were the only ones allowed here.

Reid looked at himself in the mirror. Morgan was right, he didn't look well. He was pale, with deep shades on the skin under his eyes. It took a lot of energy to always be so withdrawn and constantly on edge. Trying to maintain a schizophrenic persona was exhausting and he was constantly afraid that he would go from faking it to the real thing. In this place it was easy to be sucked in and just let go of reality.

A motion behind him in the mirror tore him out of his musings. What was that? He turned his head… and gasped horrified, backing up until the sink painfully dug into his lower back.

Anthony was hanging naked from a shower head, a torn up towel wrapped around his neck. His face was black, his tongue hanging out, his arms dangling. Jim's shower stool lay toppled by his feet.

As despicable a man as Reid had found Anthony to be, they had shared a dinner table and inadequate counseling for over a month. This was much different from seeing a dead body at a crime scene. At least at a crime scene, he expected it. This was pure shock.

He took two halting steps towards the slowly swinging body, before regaining his senses. He ran for the door, slamming it open.

"Help!" he called at the top of his lungs. "Help me, he's dead." He moved back into the shower room as the staff started pouring in to the room. He backed into a corner and tried to make himself invisible. He had to stay in character, but he also had to be an agent, and this was what he was here to investigate. He should have looked closer at the body before letting the others in, he berated himself. But what if this was murder and the murderer had stood right outside, waiting for him to make the discovery? He or she would then have become suspicious. No, he'd done the right thing. He knew that Matthews would make sure a proper autopsy was done this time, probably by FBI personnel. The BAU would be all over this. They could solve it without him.

There were purple spots on Anthony's torso, right below where the towel was wrapped around his neck. They looked like small bruises. Petechiae bleedings maybe? Those were common with asphyxiation. There would be more in his face and eyes if that was the case, but it was impossible to tell due to the discoloration of his face. Or were they simply bruises? Was this truly a suicide? Reid didn't want to think that it was. He didn't remember Anthony showing any suicidal tendencies. He tried to look for other markings or wounds on the body, but the people were moving around, constantly blocking his view of the body from the neck down.

So instead he looked at the staff that was gathered around the body, debating how to get him down, and whether to do it now or if they had to call the police first. The doctors, Warner and Lux. The nurses, Grace, Frank and Angela. The orderlies, Adam, Marcus and Leyla. Were any of them responsible for this? Had one of them gone to Anthony during the night and done this to him? But who? And why? And what had been done? True, Anthony was a sadistic child molester and very few would mourn his passing. But the person doing these things to Berkview's patients was a sadist as well, and who knew how long he or she would be content to stay within these four walls. This had to be stopped.

Then Dr. Lux turned and saw him covering in the corner. She said something to Dr. Warner and then walked briskly over to him.

"Spencer, are you okay?"

He jerked his head in what was supposed to resemble a nod, his arms wrapped around his own body, looking like a poster boy for misery.

"Don't worry, everything will be okay. We'll talk about this later, you'll feel right as rain in no time. Angela," she turned around and called for a nurse. "Fetch me some diazepam for Spencer, would you?"

Angela nodded and disappeared, but Spencer protested. "No, no, I don't want anything. I'm okay. I don't want any drugs. Please."

"It's okay, Spencer. It's not dangerous. It will just help you relax a little, to forget about this dreadful sight. Don't you want that Spencer? A little peace and quiet?"

"No, I'm fine. This is nothing, I've seen much worse," he said, but he couldn't hold back a look of nausea as he watched Anthony swirl slowly on the towel.

Angela came back, with a syringe and a vial. Dr. Lux prepared the syringe with what Reid thought was an unnecessary large dose.

"No, please," he pleaded. "It's not necessary." He wanted to stay alert, he needed to be around for the investigation, to snoop around, to listen and observe.

"I'm the doctor here, Spencer, and I say it is. Hold out your arm, please."

"No!" He was starting to panic, a wave of helplessness washing over him. Why wouldn't she listen to him? Because she thought he was insane, his mind told him. But still he backed away. It was his body, he should have some say.

"Don't make trouble, Spencer," Dr. Lux said calmly. "It's for your own good. Trust me. Now, give me your arm, please."

"No. I don't want it. I don't need it." He was almost shouting. He knew it wasn't helping his case any, but this was too much. Being given medication would truly mark him as sick. If he let the drugs into his body, he could just as well admit to being insane. But he wasn't. He wasn't like the others in here. He wasn't sick. Was he?

Dr. Lux had lost her patience. "Frank," she called and before Reid could move the burly nurse had locked him in a bear hug from behind, trapping his arms to his body. He still fought, truly panicked now. He tried to kick Frank, to pull lose, to keep his arm away from the syringe, but it only resulted in Dr. Lux drawing more liquid into the syringe before plunging it into his arm.

"No, no. Don't do this to me. I don't need it. Why won't you listen?" He was sobbing now as he watched the drug disappear into his body.

He felt the burn as the medication quickly spread through his blood, and his head started to swim almost immediately. This was so unfair, he thought as his legs turned to rubber and his eyes drooped. He could feel Frank locking his arms around him to keep him upright until Angela brought a wheelchair. With one last, drugged look at the hanging body from the ceiling he was taken out and away from the investigation his team counted on him to conduct.

TBC