Berkview was a five-hour drive from Quantico. A trip that Morgan made twice a week. They'd chosen nightshifts for him, partly because it was the best time to be alone with Reid, but also because whatever was happening at the hospital, it was most likely happening at night.

Usually Morgan spent a couple of hours at a motel before driving back to Quantico, catching up on his sleep, but this Sunday morning he drove straight back, surprising the others with his early arrival. They were all at the office, finishing up the paperwork from the last case, and waiting for him and what news he would bring. They saw the fatigue and sadness in his eyes and body language and they all feared the worst.

"Reid? Is he okay?" Elle voiced their common worry.

Morgan rubbed his face wearily and looked away for a moment before answering. "He'd like to think he is."

"But…" Gideon prodded.

"He's losing it. We're losing him."

"What do you mean?" Hotchner's forehead was frowned with concern.

"Last night, when we first started talking he was just like he's been the last couple of weeks… he's lifeless, empty. There's no spirit left in him, only stubbornness. He's evasive and doesn't want to talk about anything but the case. He isn't sleeping, and he's thin as a rake… He'd been bitten by another patient and he didn't even care!"

"So what had changed? Is he worse?" Hotchner asked, wondering why much of this hadn't shown in Morgan's earlier rapports.

Morgan looked up into the ceiling. He didn't need to see their faces for this, he knew what they would look like. "Much worse. When I was leaving he asked me if there really were a case or if we were just humoring him because he was crazy. He was completely serious, and scared to death."

A shocked silence followed his statement as they looked around at each other. Gideon sank down on a chair, letting his clasped hands hang limply between his knees. As the weeks dragged on he had feared something like this.

"What did you do?" JJ asked.

"Nothing. What could I do? I tried to reassure him as best I could, but… all I really wanted to do was to grab him and make a break for it. I'm scared that if we leave him in there for much longer, we'll only end up pulling him out of there to put him in another institution."

"What about the information he's been giving us?" Gideon wondered. "Can we trust it or has it been compromised?"

"It's valid. His work is the only thing that keeps him going. Without it… We can trust it, what little there is," Morgan said bitterly.

"Morgan, what wrong?" Elle asked, putting her hand on his arm.

"I just hate seeing him killing himself like this for nothing. We've got nothing, we're getting nowhere, and still Reid is in there, risking himself in all kinds of ways."

"This is too much," Hotchner said. "I've heard enough. We have to get him out now."

"He won't be happy about it," Morgan said. "He doesn't want to be pulled. He wants to keep at it. He's convinced he'll find something soon. Before he… well, I'd already told him that Hotch would only authorize another week, and he still think that's his timeframe."

"I don't remember putting a time limit on the operation," Hotchner said.

"I know. I lied. I wanted him out even before he…" Once again, Morgan had trouble repeating Reid's last words to him. "I thought that when I came back today and told you that he wasn't doing too good, you'd agree. But now…"

"Well, he can forget that," Hotchner said. "He's not getting a week, and I don't care how upset he will be about being pulled. Nothing is worth risking his health like this. I only wish we'd known sooner."

"But…" Elle started.

"But what?" Morgan asked sharper than he had intended. "You want to leave him in there?"

"No, of course not. I'm just worried, that if we pull him now, won't it feel like he's made this huge sacrifice in vain? I know I would feel like that, if it were me. I think we're going to have to do some great work from the outside, we can't let this case linger on. He'll only feel bad for not being able to stick it out undercover, he'll blame every setback on himself. You know how he is. If he could take on the responsibility for the dinosaurs dying out and the outbreak of World War Two, he would."

"So, we'll work harder, dig deeper, do more research. If there is something to find, we'll find it." Morgan's voice was hard with resolution. He would not let his friend down, and he didn't want to see him hurting.

And more research they did. While Hotchner prepared what he needed to pull Reid, the rest of the team found out that Dr. Warner did not have his dead mother in the basement. In fact, she was very much alive, teaching kindergarten in Colorado Springs.

Nurse Grace lived well above her means, supporting Reid's suspicion about her stealing drugs, especially considering that her boyfriend had already had two drug-related charges against him. They decided to send a head's up to the police department when their case was over.

They found a lot of little things, about a lot of people, but nothing that would indicate any kind of involvement in any kind of strange happenings at the institution.

The problem was that they didn't have a profile, for the simple reason that they still didn't have any evidence that there actually was any foul play going on. All they had was a dead nurse's suspicions. But they were adamant. They would not give up until they knew the entire staff better than their mothers did.

And then they heard about Anthony's death and everything changed.

Now they desperately needed someone on the inside, and Hotchner decided to postpone ending the operation for 24 hours, unless something happened. He just hoped that Reid was up to the challenge, that they weren't asking too much of him. He wished there were some way to contact him and talk to him, but 24 hours wasn't a very long time… was it?

The rest of the day passed in a haze for Reid. His wheelchair had been pushed into the dayroom. He didn't move it or change position, he simply sat there as the day passed. He saw Andrew's body being wheeled out, but he didn't care. He saw policemen flutter around, but he paid them no heed. The conversations in the dayroom were of no interest to him. When someone spoke to him he looked blankly at them until they gave up and left him alone. At lunch he mechanically ate whatever they put in front of him, but later he didn't know what had been served. At group he sat staring at a stain on Dr. Warner's tie without listening or participating in anything being said. It was late afternoon before the drug finally started to wear off, and he came to the realization that he was well and truly disgusted with this place and everyone in here. He skipped dinner and spent the evening curled up in his room, not wanting to do anything or see anyone. When the door automatically locked at 10 p.m. he sighed in relief and fell into a weary sleep.

Monday

Reid felt that Dr. Lux had dragged their session out until infinity this morning. She was convinced that seeing Anthony's body must have left him utterly traumatized, and nothing Reid said or did could convince her otherwise. And his tantrum, as she called it, when she wanted to give him a sedative was so interesting that he had to sit through several of her misguided theories and promise to start keeping a dream journal before she would let him go. He was then late for lunch, which meant that he was last to arrive to group therapy that afternoon.

The only available seat was next to John Unenge. 'Crap,' he thought. He sat down and pulled his feet up on the seat. He wrapped his arms around his legs, crossing them at his ankles and hid his face in his knees, letting his hair build a wall between him and the world, hoping that they would let him be this time.

Dr. Warner was leading the session today. "Okay guys," he said cheerily, always with the annoying 'I'm one of you' attitude. "Who has something they want to talk about?"

The room was quiet. Anthony had always been the one to open, and he would talk until he was stopped. Now no one wanted to start.

"Okay then," Dr. Warner said, looking around the room with they eyes of a high school teacher who wanted to see if anyone had done their homework. "John, why don't we start with you today?"

John wasn't a psychopath in the medical sense. Though he lacked conscience and empathy, he also lacked the charm and manipulative abilities connected with the diagnosis. He had little self-control and always wore his emotions on his sleeve. His emotions mostly consisted of anger and indignation over some perceived injustice. He was a short-tempered narcissist with a really mean sadistic streak that had landed him here. Reid could bet a year's salary that this was not a man who would want to talk about either his childhood or his feelings. He was absolutely right.

Dr. Warner started with what he thought was a very innocent question about where John thought his anger originated from. Could he remember the first time he acted out in anger, and what did it feel like just before the anger surfaced? More questions along the same line only served to rile John up and he grew angrier and angrier and started shouting at Dr. Warner, who took it all in stride and tried to turn his current anger into a therapeutic tool.

Reid had raised his head and shifted his eyes between the men in what felt like an odd tennis match. He wondered which of the two who were the crazier. Could Dr. Warner not see how provocative he was being? Reid shifted his chair a little further away from John.

The turning point came when Dr. Warner voiced a theory that John would have been severely bullied and abused as a child, and that as a teenager and adult he had set out to take his revenge wherever he could find it. John, however, did not care at all for being portrayed as a week, bullied, defenseless child.

"No!" he screamed, "No, that's not right. You don't know anything." He stood up, screaming in anger, stretching his arms out as if he wanted to take hold of Dr. Warner and shake him, just as his whole body was shaking with anger. Suddenly the part of the chain that connected the handcuffs to the belt burst. He looked around wild-eyed, surprised at this unexpected albeit limited freedom.

Seeing that the security guards were moving towards him at the same time as Dr. Warner tried to calm him with words, he backed up, turning over his own chair and bumping into Reid's, which was pushed away.

Reid put his feet back down on the floor, wanting to get away from the crazed man, but he wasn't fast enough. Somehow believing that this was something he could use for his own good, John wanted protection against the guards. He wrapped the chain that linked his arms together around Reid's neck, pulling him backwards.

A strangled gasp came from Reid as he desperately wanted to keep breathing. The sharp pull made him lose his balance and he stumbled backwards, toppling his chair over. His body wanted to continue downwards, but the sharp pain around his neck and John's biceps had other ideas. Instead he was left hanging in midair until he could get his feet under him again. John pulled him into his chest. The chain bit harshly into Reid's neck and his fingers clawed at it, making red marks on his skin. When that didn't work, he moved his hands higher, trying to scratch John in the face. But John was too pumped up on adrenaline to notice the little mosquito he was holding.

He was swinging Reid around from side to side, trying to keep him between both him and the guards, and him and the doctor, who was trying to placate him with gentle words and calming hand gestures.

Reid saw the other people advancing on them, but he didn't pay them much attention. His mind was focused on one thing only; to be able to breathe. John's erratic movements made the chain slack a little from time to time, and Reid's mind worked overtime to be able to foresee those moments, and when they came he took big gulping breaths, only to find his airway closed again a second later. It was so frustrating. He could feel the air in his mouth, he just couldn't move it down his throat.

'Help me, someone, please help me. Gideon? Morgan? Where are you? I need you.' His thoughts began to jumble as his surroundings became fuzzy.

John had found the door and was backing out into the corridor. Did he really think he could get away? And why didn't the guards do something? Jump him or whatever. Where were the trigger-happy, syringe-wielding doctors when you needed them? Dark spots floated in front of Reid's eyes as the blood in his brain lost its source of oxygen.

John's feet were still chained together, making him take small, jerky steps. But when he pulled Reid over the threshold, Reid's feet got caught on it and he stumbled, his head hitting John's chin painfully. John roared and threw his head back, upsetting his own delicate balance and ended up falling. He sat down hard on the floor, Reid falling onto his legs. John quickly parted his legs and pulled Reid up so they were sitting back to chest.

Reid's abused throat was on fire, as were his lungs and his entire chest. His world consisted solely of floating colors and sounds, mostly the roaring in his ears. He didn't know if it was John roaring, or his own head affected by the loss of oxygen. And then his body couldn't take it anymore. A dark black came from the corners of his eyes, robbed him of his sight and then his sense of feeling and lastly of his consciousness. His last thought was 'I'm sorry,' but he didn't know who he was apologizing to. His body went limp.

"Spencer? Spencer? Can you hear me? Are you all right?"

There were faces all around him, floating around, shouting to him and to each other. But none of them was the faces he wanted to see. What was he doing here without his friends? He didn't want to do this anymore.

Hands were touching him, lifting him, prodding him. He wanted them off, he wanted to be left alone, but no one was listening to him. Maybe he wasn't even talking.

Reid was asleep, but nor really. It was more like dozing, the pain in his neck and throat made rest impossible.

Dr. Matthews had come down as he was brought into the infirmary. He'd been given anti-swelling drugs to reduce the swelling in his neck and help ease his breathing and he'd been propped up against pillows so he'd remain upright all night. At first he'd had an oxygen mask, but now he only had a nasal cannula.

His throat was really tight. It reminded him of a high school biology class where the teacher had made them all breathe through straws to imitate what an asthma attack felt like.

The unyielding steel band across his chest had loosened a little, but it still felt as if there wasn't enough room for the lungs to expand. He knew, of course, that there was. The feeling was just the muscles, tired from having to fight to re-oxygenate themselves.

The outside of his neck was hot to touch as the bruising spread around it. The skin was raw where the chain had chafed his skin. The inside of his throat was sore, like a really bad cold. He remembered being sick as a kid, having sore throats. At times he'd wished he could just rip his own throat out, convinced that it could not possibly hurt so much if there simply wasn't a throat to be sore. He'd thought nothing could ever hurt so much. Boy, had he been wrong.

Swallowing was painful and he was suddenly aware of how often he swallowed reflexively. He'd been eating ice chips the entire night, enjoying the partial numbness they left behind.

He'd been given mild pain relievers, but not much. Instead the doctors had decided, over his head of course, to give him a sedative to make him sleep though the night. Dr. Matthews, however, had heard his protests. Reid didn't know if Matthews had managed to switch the drugs undetected or if he was just a really good actor, but whatever had been in that syringe, it hadn't been a sedative.

So here Reid was, pretending to sleep the sleep of the heavily drugged, with nothing to distract him from the ever-present, oh-so-annoying, impossible-to-ignore, pain.

He was alone in the infirmary, which consisted of four beds. John had been taken to an isolation cell somewhere. The room itself was dark, but the brightly-lit nurses'/doctors' office was on the other side of a large window, through which he could see Nurse Frank with his feet up on the desk, reading a magazine. He was in the bed furthest away from the office.

Something broke through Reid's light doze. A sound. What? Keeping as still as possible, he turned his head and peeked through his eyelashes. Dr. Lux was in the office. It looked as if she and Frank were arguing about something. Then they left. Both of them. Reid's senses were immediately alerted. He slipped out of bed, leaving blankets and pillows in an array to make the bed look less empty. His master key was pinned to the cuff of his sweatpants. He quickly unpinned it and opened the door. Barefoot he made no sound as he hurried along the corridor. He came to a screeching halt when he almost ran around a corner where Dr. Lux and Frank stood waiting for the elevator, but he managed to stay hidden until they got onto the elevator. Reid kept watching the display until it told him what he needed to know. Two floors down. His key opened the door to the stairwell and he snuck down it, listening by the door but hearing nothing.

He carefully opened it, hearing the staccato beat of Dr. Lux's heels down the hall. He hurried after them. They were on their way to the cells of the dangerous patients. Staying behind the corner he looked at the cells that were all in a row. The doors were heavily enforced with a hatch for the food tray and a window covered by another hatch. Dr. Lux and Nurse Frank stopped in front of one door, unlocking it. RJ Lawson stepped out into the hall, and suddenly he and Dr. Lux were kissing.

Reid could feel his jaw drop. What the…? This could not be happening. But his arms were around her, hers clasped around his neck as she stood on her toes. Nurse Frank just looked bored, until he said something that made the other two break apart and they started walking back towards Reid.

Not wanting to be caught he sprinted a few feet and found a broom closet in which he hid. This door, as all others at the hospital had a window in it and once he was sure their footsteps had passed he peaked out, just in time to see the trio make their way down the stairwell that led to the basement.

Reid had memorized the blueprints of the hospital before coming here, and he wondered what they could possibly want down there. There was only the laundry room, some storages and the janitorial office. But his curiosity was well and truly awoken by now, and he would not be left behind.

He could hear them speaking quietly to each other as he came down into the basement, but then suddenly everything was quiet. A door to a storage room stood slightly ajar and he approached it cautiously. The room appeared empty. He wandered around the shelves for awhile, trying to pick up a trace or a sound. Something about this room was bugging him, but he wasn't sure what it was.

Then he saw it. The faint, semi-circled scrapes on the floor. They looked as if a door had been opened here. Looking up he saw only a shelf with cleaning supplies. But unlike the other shelves in the room, this one had a hard back. Why? The shelf must be movable. Dared he try? How much noise would it make? He hadn't heard anything before. What if they were right behind it? He would get caught. And he was unarmed. He couldn't go in. Hotch would kill him for putting himself in unnecessary danger. No one was missing so no one was in immediate danger. And with what he had seen tonight there was really no question about who was behind the strange things that had been happening, even though he still didn't know exactly what it was they were doing. If he could just get this information out, then they would have enough to pull him out.

Finally.

Now he just needed to get back to the infirmary without getting caught.

The next morning, Dr. Matthews found a note under his door. It simply read, 'Call G'.

TBC