These chapters will be short and not always so sweet.

David Rossi ran over to the limp body of the young man on the other side of the room. He checked for a pulse and was relieved to find one, though it seemed weak. He looked up and down; the kid was so thin, frail and pasty looking. He clearly hadn't eaten anything substantial since the week before. Rossi took one of the younger man's wrists and went to put him in the recovery position when he felt a warm sticky substance on his hands; he looked down to see his own hands marked in deep crimson, blood. He pulled up Spencer's sleeves and noticed both arms were covered in deep scratched and nails marks.

"He's self-harming." The doctor noted angrily. "And for a few days I see."

"It's not intentional." Rossi commented. Mitre looked at him sceptically. "It's only a means to an end. He was pinching himself to keep himself awake. I saw it in 'Nam, heck I did it myself. It's a common soldier's technique when the adrenaline drops off and you still have to stay alert." He looked at the young man as he put him into the recovery position. "Why though is the question?"

"Why what?"

"Why is he so desperate not to let his guard down, forgive me if I'm wrong but usually paranoid schizophrenics that haven't taken any medications are not capable of having enough soundness of mind to eat and drink barely enough to survive and to perform tasks that require such thought patterns as to think of ways to stay alert from an era he was not even born in." Rossi looked at the patient as the medical staff brought him to the hospital wing.

"Normally no, that's why I called you in. Something is not right." The doctor acknowledged. He showed Rossi to a bathroom where he could wash the specks of blood off his hands.

After which rang the Unit Chief back in Quantico. "So, what is your opinion?" Hotch asked.

"I'll let you know when I talk to him." Was the Italian's response.

"What do you mean?" the SAC demanded.

Rossi recited what had occurred when he went to meet Spencer Reid. "I'm going to be honest Aaron; there is something exceptionally peculiar about this. It's not sitting with me at all. I really want to talk to this kid."

"Well call us if you need anything Dave. We've no cases planned." And with that the phone call ended. Rossi walked towards the hospital wing, waiting to see the status of the young Spencer Reid.

CMCMCMCMCMCM

Spencer had never felt so dizzy. All he could think about was the painful twisting in his stomach as he body attempted to cope without any real sustenance for the sixth day in a row. He knew exactly how much water and salts he required to stay alive. And he had taken the chance to nap intermittently at the times that the orderlies, nurses and doctors changed shifts and when the security checked the other halls at night.

It was then realised that his surroundings were wrong. The room was too bright. It smelt too clean, and the bed sheets too starched. He gasped and allowed his senses go into hypersensitive mode. The first thing he noticed was he had a nasal cannula blowing oxygen into his nose, drying his throat as it went into his lungs, then he felt the wires, on his fingers taking his pulse, on his chest taking an ECG, and the tubes connecting to the catheter in his arm, which he had no doubt was pumping hydration fluids back into him after his weeklong neglect of his body. He felt bandages on his arms, and legs where he had scratched himself relentlessly in hopes of staying awake. The wounds stung slightly as a result he assumed of disinfecting and cleaning before bandaging. And the straps keeping him safely secured to the bed.

He then took in what he could sense around him; the beeping of the machines monitoring him, the slight breeze of a fan not too far away, raising the hair on what little of his skin was exposed in its path. The sound of Dr. Mitre talking to a nurse or other doctor in the far distance, and his immediate vicinity…..he froze. Another person breathing, the sound of them shifting in an uncomfortable plastic chair. And a grunt, telling the young man that it was a male, more than likely older. He opened his eyes ever so slightly and looked to the noise; fearful of whom he would find looking back at him.

"Good afternoon Mr Reid. You gave me quite a scare my name is David Rossi, and I am here to talk to you about a few things. When you're ready of course." The man's tone was polite and neutral. You didn't have to be a profiler to see the absolute terror in Spencer's eyes and he was cursing the fact one of the living legends of the industry was sitting a mere three feet away. He had to think fast. He needed to make it seem like his panic was because of the schizophrenia and not at the realisation at who it was sitting with him. Thankfully thinking on his feet was something he was able to do, well.

He sat up and just stared at the far wall, and was grateful that little enough time had passed for him to look like he was just going into shock before he began to pace his torso back and forth rubbing his hands on the blanket and regulate his breathing so that it appeared as though he had gone into a catatonic state. He heard the older man call for his doctor, he felt the man's touch him as he checked his vital signs. Fear kept his pupils constricted, meaning the doctor got little reaction from them.

"Not surprised really, this has happened twice before. He'll snap out of it in an hour or two, hopefully." And with that the doctor walked out again, leaving a watchful Rossi looking at the youth.

"I have no idea who or what the hell you're hiding from kid, but it must be something big to say you put this much effort into being kept in a shithole like this." He said folding his arms. Spencer stopped and looked over at the gruff looking man. "You know my name; I saw the recognition in your face when I said it. You know what I am and what I do. So you can't bullshit me."

"Please, please don't tell them." Spencer begged the man.