Chapter 3

Mugging

A friend is someone who, upon seeing another friend in immense pain, would rather be the one experiencing the pain than to have to watch their friend suffer.

Disclaimer: Criminal Minds is not mine.

She had sensed something was 'off' with Reid but hadn't said anything. Now she sort of wish she had. He might know something. Anything.

She had on a pair of shorts and a vest top and stood in front of her cooker looking at the bit of chicken breast cooking in herbs in the pan. She wasn't hungry – but she was well aware just by looking at the mess Reid was in what happened when you stopped eating. Her job was important – she needed to stay on the ball. She needed to keep with it.

Emily wiped angrily at the tears running down her face and then prodded the chicken angrily. "You bastard. You son of a bitch bastard." She smacked at it again. "If I ever get my hands on you – if I ever – oh god."

She pulled the food off the heat and turned off the cooker and stood watching it laying there in the pan. "You complete bastard."

Prentiss pulled a length of kitchen paper from the roll and wiped her nose. She put the paper in the bin and went to the kitchen sink where she turned on the cold taps and filled her hands with icy water. She splashed at her face and took in a couple of handfuls of water.

The bit of chicken she removed from the pan with a fork and placed on a small blue plate – she then walked to the window and stood looking down into the shadows. She needed to shower. She could feel the sweat running down her back and the sides of her legs and she could feel the shuddering breaths she was taking. Prentiss picked at the chicken with her fingers and wished he had made something with noodles.

At three in the morning with the half eaten chicken still on the plate in her hand she decided on the shower. The food she dumped in the bin and the pan, spoon, fork and small blue plate she added to the dishwasher.

Her clothes she slid out of in the bathroom and she stood under the shower with her eyes closed.

Maybe she fell asleep standing there.

Maybe it was the stress.

Maybe it really happened.

Emily felt rough hands over her back. One snaked its was around to her stomach and the other rested on her forehead pulling her head back so his mouth could suck and lick and kiss at her neck. It didn't last long. Not much more than a whisper in time, but she opened her eyes and in her heart she knew he had been there.

-o-o-o-

Hotch sat with his bowl of soup and bread roll and flicked through the 'places for sale' part in the local paper. He wondered if he had been too hard on Reid – but until he had his head sorted properly he was no good for the BAU. Hotch was sure of that much. He needed to give him complete space and permit him to go through the grieving process he was going to have to go through to come out the other side unscathed. If that was possible. He remembered how he looked kneeling bleeding in the snow and he wondered how he had managed to pull himself back to the place he was and where that place actually was. Maybe he was far more damaged than he initially appeared.

Aaron put the paper with the small ads in it down and stood up to put some music on. Again all the lights in the house were on and though the curtains were closed and there was a faint smell of coffee he didn't somehow feel it was safe to put music on. It made him feel vulnerable. He wouldn't be able to hear if there was someone there in the shadows he was trying to push back.

Hotch guessed – it was a pretty good guess that this was over vigilance. It would pass. He would get over it. He had to so that he could lead the team properly. He sat back down again and pulled the throw over him and looked at the picture of Jack on the mantle piece. He needed to contact him. He needed to set up some sort of time to go and see him, but not yet. It wasn't time yet. He didn't feel comfortable and safe.

He wondered if he should go and talk things over with Reid out of work. Go and have a drink in a bar somewhere. Just a chat. Buddies.

Aaron closed his eyes and removed that thought from his mind. Stupid idea. He could call him on the phone though. Just to make sure all was OK. Tomorrow. Not now…far too late now.

Sleep came in fits and starts. Small images of dreams and twists of nightmares. Of running and hiding and of failure.

-o-o-o-

Rossi had talked to Hotch about his decision concerning Reid and he had completely agreed with him on all counts. Reid was obviously still very unwell and he would have been shocked if he had just bounced back as though he hadn't been raped and beaten and humiliated in front of everyone. It just wouldn't be normal if he had just shrugged it off. Therefore Rossi was much happier with this new snappy strange Reid. This one he was more able to understand. He could empathise with this one.

The other one. The one who was closed down and empty and devoid of emotion, that was the Reid he couldn't understand. Moreover he couldn't understand why the other team members didn't find his behaviour odd.

Rossi locked up and fed the dogs. He cooked up a well done steak and had chunky potato fries with it. He sat in his housecoat and pyjamas and watched re-runs of Mork and Mindy.

He made a decision to give Reid a call tomorrow or the day after and just ask how he is doing. As a friend. Nothing more. Just as someone who cares. Reid needed to know that they hadn't all abandoned him. He wanted Reid to know that whatever happened they were here to support him through it – they were family. That's what family did.

Rossi patted his dogs goodnight and left dog treats out for them. Hopefully they would all sleep through the night for once.

-o-o-o-

Morgan went to the gym after work tonight. He thought it would be better to try to get him to sleep at night. It didn't work. He didn't like being there. He felt people were watching him. Which they probably were and usually he lapped up the attention, but today – tonight – he just wanted to be alone and the gym wasn't the place to be for that. He went to the steam room and rested until he began to feel light headed and sick.

A quick drive home afterwards took him down a road he didn't often travel. Actually it was out of the way. It wasn't on his way home and he didn't really know why he was here. Something had lured him to come home this way.

He saw him. He was easy to spot. Tall and thin with a very distinctive walk. He was dressed down, but in a fashion far more fitting for this area. Spencer walked with his head down and his elbows in tight at his sides.

Derek wondered if he should call out to him, but then thought that was probably a very bad idea. He pulled the car over and watched him standing leaning with his back against a wall and one leg bent so that the sole of his boot was against the bricks. He was looking at something in his hands, but from here Morgan couldn't see what it was. It looked like he was twisting it around his fingers.

A tall blonde guy walked up to Reid and started to talk. He saw Reid look up and do his tight smile at him. At this point Derek's hand was on the door handle about to leap out and save his kid bro from the dangers of tall yellow haired guys, but Spencer was shaking his head and pointing down the street.

The guy moved on and Spencer stayed against the wall fiddling with whatever it was he had in his hand. He stayed like it for about half an hour – twisting and twisting his fingers – completely unaware of what was going on around him. When he moved off finally he pushed whatever it was into his pocket and walked in the direction of the subway.

Morgan shook his head. Tomorrow he would have to call him. Tell him that he saw him. Obviously whatever Taki and Floyd had done to him had done a lot more damage than anyone realised. He was just relieved that Spencer hadn't walked off with anyone. That was a small blessing. He watched the familiar figure until he was out of sight and then he turned his car around and went home.

He showered and ate some fruit and took to his bed early.

A dream:

In his dream he was laying in bed and someone came and stood at the end of his bed. All he could see was a shadowy form but he knew the voice only too well.

"I saw you watching him."

"I'm worried for him."

"He'll be fine. I gave him something."

"The thing he had in his hand?"

"No – the thing living in his soul. He will be alright."

"I don't understand."

"You don't have to Agent Derek Morgan. Just remember that I gave him someone to protect himself with. He needs to get on with his life."

"Hanging around street corners with rent boys?"

"If that's what it takes, it really depends on how he interprets the gift I gave him."

That was the dream. When Derek awoke he was cold and the drapes were drifting in a strange unfelt breeze.

-o-o-o-

He stood on the platform and wondered what to do. Sure go home. Have a shower. And ultimately tonight he had to do the same as always, but tomorrow and the day after? He felt lost.

Spencer squished himself up as tightly as he could on the train and avoided looking at anyone and he pulled the strands of hair out of his pocket and started to twist them around his fingers again. Floyd's hair. His proof. He sighed and leaned his head back against the graffiti covered window behind him.

Reid didn't see them coming. Had he been looking he probably wouldn't have changed much of what he was doing anyway. But he would have seen the hands coming in the snatch what he was playing with.

As he felt the hand grabbing his and pulling at the length of hair wound around his fingers he let out a small yelp of surprise and looked up to see a huddle of youths in hoddies. Spencer's fingers bent and fisted around the strands of hair as his big eyes looked up into the dark faces.

"What you got?"

Reid tried to poke it back in his pocket.

"Give it here!" and the glint of a knife.

Spencer's hand stayed in his pocket. "I don't have anything you will want. Take my money – there's not much though. My wallet is in my left front pocket. Do you want me to get it for you?" His eyes flickered from one dark face to the next.

"No – I want what you had in your hand." And the knife was waggling now in Reid's face. "So hand it over." The youth leant forwards now and grabbed Reid under the jaw holding tightly and digging fingers into the side of his face. Pain shot through his jaw and across the side of his face and burst out of him via a nose bleed. It didn't seem to put the guy off though who was now being jeered on by his mates.

"Cut him!" The chant began, and now Reid knew that this small time gang leader had to do what was expected or lose face. He felt the blade rest against his cheek.

"Cut cut cut." Being sung in the background.

"Give me what you had or I will stick this in your pretty brown eye."

"Hazel." Reid tried to move back away from the blade but his head was hard against the window.

"What?!" Spitting as he spoke.

"My eyes, they're not brown, they're hazel." Think what to do. Think.

"I don't give a shit what colour they are your stupid fag!"

Spencer uncrossed his legs and placed his hands on his lap. "I told you – take the money – but the security cameras are watching this. You won't get away with it. If you hurt me then you will be in a whole lot more trouble than you will be if you just walk away."

He felt the blade press against his skin. He knew this person meant trouble. Equally he knew that he was as bothered by the escalation of this situation as Reid was. Spencer put a hand up and placed it over the one holding the knife. "Just put it down and walk away."

It pressed harder against his cheek. "Give me what you have in your pocket."

Reid knew that the longer he could keep him talking the better the chance of defusing this or even better, someone would join the carriage and they would move on.

"What I have will be of no value or interest to you. I have money in my wallet. Take it and go." Carefully he pushed the hand away from his face. He moved his other hand down to his pocket to remove his wallet and it was now that things began to go wrong.

There were five of them and only one of him. They dragged him from the chair by his legs and though he reached out and tried to grab for something to hold onto they were too quick and there were too many of them. Spencer felt a fist land on his face and a boot in his ribs.

He could feel a hand try to reach into his pocket and so he attempted to roll onto his side and keep it out of hands reach. His nose was bleeding uncontrollably now as a boot caught him under the chin cracking his head back against a metal pole. He howled in pain as his jaw which was still not fully healed took the damage.

Something punched him hard in the chest and now all he could do was to put his hands over his head to try to protect himself and curl up as tightly as he could. It really didn't last long. Probably from the time they dragged him from this seat until they ran out of the carriage doors as the train stopped at a station was only a couple of minutes.

No one else got in the carriage he was in at that stop and so he permitted himself the luxury to lay and rock and try to pull the pain away and put it somewhere else. The next stop was his. He needed to get up and get off the train at least. He didn't know what sort of damage they had done to him but he didn't think his face was cut. The blood there was just from the sensational nose bleed he had suddenly been possessed by.

Spencer could feel the train slowing down for his stop. Slowly and carefully he rolled onto his front and then got to his hands and knees. He was aware that he should report this. They would just get away with it and torment some other poor commuter, but Spencer just needed to get home.

People stared at the tall thin stumbling blood covered young man who looked ill – but no one offered help. Best not to. Keep you nose out of other peoples business. If he wanted help he would ask for it. They ignored him and tomorrow he would be forgotten. Not really that unusual to see a drunk guy who'd been in a fight. Avoid them. Don't get involved – especially if blood was involved. Not worth the risk.

It was about a fifteen minute walk from the subway to his apartment block. Each step was harder than the next. Five minutes into the walk he hand to stop with one hand on his chest and another on the wall of a building and empty what little he had in his stomach onto the paving stones. He cold smell the alcohol and it made him heave all the more until there was nothing coming up except stomach acids and finally he was able to wipe his face with the back of his hand and continue his walk home. Ten minutes in and his head began to spin. He stood very much how Morgan had seen him with one leg bent and his back against the wall trying to keep the world from spinning madly.

Five minutes later he was moving again. Spencer was vaguely aware that where he hand his hand still clamped to his chest that his fingers were wet. He stopped and pulled away his hand and looked at his fingers. A small frown spread over his face.

"He stabbed me." He muttered as he stood looking at his hand as though it had grown an extra finger. Quickly he placed it back over his chest and stumbled the last few minutes to his apartment. Spencer punched in the security number to get in the main doors and then tiredly walked to the lift. He stabbed at the button impatiently with his finger. He wanted to get in and see what the guy had done to him and to check on the treasure in his pocket. He was too afraid to take it out again unless someone else saw it.

As the elevator doors 'pinged' open he stepped in – pressed the floor number he needed and leaned on the back wall letting the car take him up towards home.

Once in Spencer carefully took the strands of hair out of his pocket and popped it in and evidence bag he took from a kitchen drawer. He then took it to his bedroom and put it under his pillow.

A quick look at the clock told him he was running late. He didn't have time to shower now but he did have time to change out of the dirty clothes. As he pulled of his top he could see clearly the hole in the right hand side of his chest. Curiously he ran fingers over the wound and then looked at the tips of his fingers. No time to think about it now. He had no time left. Quickly he pulled off the jeans and in just his boxers he knelt down on the floor.

"I'm here. I'm not late." He said to no one and put his hand on the floor in front of him and looked down at the floor.

-o-o-o-

Somewhere in the dark and the shadows a curled up form lay in the dirt and howled like an animal in pain.