Paper Boats
His hands tired, tired of folding paper cranes. After folding 10,000, Hotch was still asleep.
His mind bored, bored of staring at the unmoving features of his boss. Life never really did work out did it?
His fingers bruised, bruised from rubbing down the folded paper. He hated to sight of origami now.
Still he folded, fed up of pretty little paper cranes, he folded pretty little boats. Pretty little boats with pretty little notes in them, just like those he used to write when he was little, things like 'Bring Daddy home.' or 'Stop Mummy from crying.'
-
It'd been half a year, a half damn year. Hotch was still sleeping, still damn sleeping. The team now consisted of: SSA Jason Gideon, SSA David Rossi, SSA Derek Morgan, Agent Emily Prentiss, Liaison Jenifer Jareau and Doctor Reid.
He was always curious why he was last on the list, perhaps it was that he was low in rank or that he was simply special that was why he was mentioned last. Reid smiled to himself with the irony of him being special, it was almost enough to send him into a fit of giggles.
Now, only he went to see Hotch every day. Everyone else went every fortnight or whenever they felt like a free hospital meal – which was rare since hospital meals tasted unarguably bland.
He went so often that the receptionist no longer asked him which ward he was going to, or why he was there. He went there so often that he knew every nurses' name and age. He went there so often that the doctors knew his name, age, work and his genius ways. He went there so often that the team thought that he was strangling himself internally.
That was how he ended up in a desk job; yes, he still worked with the team, flew from state to state the with the team on the jet, but he was always inside the police station, mapping, reading the letters… It was an unspoken rule but, Spencer Reid was never allowed on the field, because everyone he was on the verge of a breakdown – a major depressive episode. He laughed bitterly despite himself.
Morgan asked the same question every time they flew back "Kid, you wanna talk?" He'd respond with the same answer "What is there to talk about?" Sometimes this would lead to a yelling contest between them, both of them trading insults until Rossi or Gideon had to physically pull them apart or it would end with a game of cards in which both of them made the most careless mistakes, their minds elsewhere. Sometimes they'd glare and whisper hurtful comments until Reid would slap Morgan across the face. Sometimes, Reid would curl up and he'd shake with broken sobs slapping and cursing at anyone who got within his two feet of personal space. Sometimes, he'd sit and stare with his blank eyes, going through every single book he read through his head, trying to loose himself there.
When Gideon had tried to get him to have a week of rest, Reid came back to the office everyday to fill and file all the reports supposed to be done by the rest of the team. By the time the team got back, Reid was long gone - at the hospital. Talking to Hotch – again. Yes, he was told off for this, he'd respond in a sullen tone "But, Gideon I have nothing better to do." Gideon couldn't argue against this, it always seemed like Reid didn't have a life out of the office, even if he did he never spoke about it.
Without Hotch, Reid stuck with the drugs. The little containers that he asked the doctors for, saying that it was for some research he was doing in secret, to find some new formula. The doctors always looked at him funny when he asked for dilaudid; but never refused him when he lifted up his FBI badge.
At home, Hotch's belt, an injection needle was all that kept him company. Hotch's scent on the belt had faded and melded with Reid's... The same way Hotch was disappearing. The syringe just half-full [6 mg was more than enough], find the vein; push the sharp tip in – Heaven. The way the whole room blurred just enough for him to think that he was dying, how everything that he could touch seemed to dissolved underneath his touch. How everything turned black and white, only right and wrong, no gray spaces.
When he woke up, it would always hurt more. The way everything had its colour back, the grays had all come back – gray walls, gray fridge, gray microwave, gray table top, grey carpet, grey sofa… He much he hated that colour. Then the worse part would come, when he'd run into the bathroom and attempt to throw up but all that he could throw up was water and stomach acid, it'd sting his throat and leave a sour aftertaste.
"It makes it all better." The voice in his head whispered, "You better? My dad is a bastard, here."
"Yea, it is better. But it hurts." He'd reply
"Reid don't do this to yourself, your better than this." Hotch…
"Who are you to say that, you left me!" He lifted his arms and hit the air the force pulling hard on his shoulder. "You…" He hated the salty water that spilled from his eyes and down his face.
"Reid… Don't" Hotch…
"You feeling better?" Tobias…
"Reid please, you're killing yourself." I know Hotch…
"It always helps." I don't want it!
"Think about the things to be happy about." There's nothing to be happy about…
"My dad is a bastard." I know Tobias, I know.
"STOP!" He heard his own voice mix with the rest of voices, he was going to die – at least that was what he wished would happen to him. "Save me."
-
So now he would fold pretty and colourful little paper boats, with pretty and childish little notes.
'Hotch wake up.' 'Hotch save me.' 'Hotch I think I'm going to die.' 'Hotch I hate you.' 'Hotch come back.' 'Hotch I'm sorry.' 'Hotch, why couldn't we be together for longer?' 'Hotch it hurts.' 'Hotch I don't want it anymore.'
He'd fold them up into pretty and colourful little paper boats and throw them over the side of the boat, hoping that at least one would reach Hotch in his dreams… Then maybe he'd wake up, maybe Reid would have to die, maybe Reid would wake up and find that he'd been having the worse nightmare, maybe he wouldn't have to go to Alaska and stay in New York…
"HOTCH SAVE ME."
***
A/N: Thanks to all those who reviewed on the previous chapter! *grins* I'm still thinking of how to resolve this without making it seem to cliché for words… anyone got any ideas?