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Warning: Some swearing and I do allude to some child abuse...that bastard William Reid.

Enjoy!

The darkness wrapped its all-encompassing tendrils around his body. He blinked his eyes several times in a panicked effort to dispel the relentless black. Reid could literally hear the blood rushing through his body at a faster rate as his heart picked up its beats per minute.

He reached his hands out in front of him, desperate for contact with something solid to help assure him that he hadn't fallen into some sort of abyss. His fingertips quickly found the cool metal of the vault door. They brushed along the textured surface until they located the handle. His hands gripped the metal tightly before turning it vigorously, in hopes that the extra strength would force the knob to turn.

He had no such luck.

A small sob escaped his lips as he placed his forehead on the door once again while simultaneously banging his fist against the metal.

"Baker! Baker, let me out!"

The only response that permeated through the thick barrier was the faint sound of spiteful laughter.

Upon hearing the man's mocking chortles the genius had to restrain his urge to keep shouting out anymore comments. He knew from past experience that they weren't going to help anymore. For every single time a bully had stuffed him in a locker, shut him in a trash dumpster, or locked him in a janitor's closet his meager threats had never made a difference. In fact, they only served to amuse his tormentors even more which would then motivate them to mockingly bang on his various prisons in order to increase his distress.

Dropping his arm down to his side, he swallowed a few deep gulps of air and tried to stop renegade thoughts from running rampant through his mind. He knew he was in for a battle though when random scenes started coming up to the surface of the deep waters that were his memory.

He couldn't do this.

There was no way he was going to be able to weather this storm.

Feelings of doubt started crushing his lungs, squeezing out the precious air supply that he had been able to suck in over the last few minutes.

Reid knew that he had to sit down but he was reluctant to leave the door for fear of getting lost in the dark void that the room had become around him.

His choice was taken away moments later when his legs gave out beneath him. The genius's knees hit the stone floor with a solid crack. He could feel his body wobble precariously before he flung his right hand out to his side to support his weight. He took a few moments to steady his breathing as he pulled air in and out of his lungs on command. Once he felt slightly steadier he began to feel along the wall looking for a corner to huddle into for protection.

After what felt like hours of inching forward into the inky black air his had landed on the spot where the walls connected. He quickly turned his back around and pushed as far into the corner as he could manage. When the genius was satisfied that nothing could sneak up on him he pulled his legs in and rested his head on his knees.

If the lights had been on he would have easily been able to see the whole room but as it was his pupils were blown wide searching for even the smallest fragment of light. A feeling of helplessness descended on the boy as he crouched in the corner. And sooner than he expected the symptoms of his nyctophobia started to set in full force as his body once again started shaking, his breathing sped up, and sweat began to issue forth from his pores.

Unable to think of anything else to do, the doctor started to talk to himself, "Nyctophobia, otherwise known as severe fear of the dark, is a natural defense mechanism that developed when our ancestors were in their hunting and gathering phase. Early humans were often hunted throughout the night by vicious predators which fostered the fear. As generations arose each was taught by its elders to fear and be cautious of things lurking in the dark. This fear impacts some humans more powerfully than others, namely children as most adults outgrow their fear over time. Due to the fact that we are no longer a race of hunters and gatherers the fear is now associated with the fantasies that an individual's brain creates pertaining to what could happen when exposed to an environment lacking light."

Reid paused and took a shuddering breath, "Of course, I know that my personal fear of the dark is not a result of what I think will happen to me but the memories it brings of what has happened to me."

After he uttered those words Spencer squeezed his eyes lids tightly shut. That simple statement had triggered the floodgates that held his memories at bay to open.

It felt like his heart was going to come up through his throat as he heard the sounds of his father's footsteps reverberating on the hardwood floor. Nine year old Spencer was squeezed into the tightest ball possible as he cowered in the corner of his bed with the covers pulled up over his head.

His dad was angry again. It didn't take much to piss William Reid off and the small child was cursing himself for being foolish enough to push his luck that night. Spencer had just gotten his hands on "The Lost World" by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. It was a book that hadn't been on his radar before due to his mother's love of 15th century literature and he was reluctant to go to sleep without finishing it.

Unfortunately, while he was secretly exploring the Amazon basin with Malone he had let out loud squeal at the sighting of the first dinosaur. The child had immediately recognized his folly and dropped the book on top of his nightstand. He shut off the flashlight that he had been using to illuminate the pages and shoved it underneath his pillow. Sadly, his efforts had been in vain as the creak of the floorboards gave way the approach of his father.

His door was flung open with all of the might of an irrationally angered adult, "Spencer! What was that noise? Don't tell me that you've been awake this whole time. I told you to go to bed after supper."

The boy felt his lip tremble as he clenched his eyes tighter. Tears had already started to gather behind his lids waiting to escape the second his honey-browns opened wide.

A strong hand grabbed his shoulder roughly through the blanket and flipped his small body onto his back.

"Well? What are you still doing up?"

"I w-w-was a-asleep…I-I s-swear," he lied, all the while knowing that his dad wasn't going to buy it.

"Then what was that noise?"

"I-I had a nigh-nightmare," he appealed, wishing he could take the words back the second they escaped his lips.

"A nightmare? What could you possibly be afraid of?"

The quivering child tried to rack his distraught brain and blurted out the first thing that came to mind, "I d-don't remember. It was just pitch black."

"Goddamnit Spencer! When are you going to grow up? I hoped and prayed for a stouthearted son and instead I got you. A fucking wimp that's afraid of the dark. You know what, I'm going to give you a reason to be afraid of the dark!" William seethed, as he unlatched his belt from around his waist.

"D-d-daddy p-p-please!" the little boy cried out as his big eyes adjusted to the darkness to see his father joining the two ends of his belt together and snapping it in the middle.

"I will make you strong if it's the last thing I do," vowed William as he raised the leather strap up in the air.

"Agent Hotcher, is your agent planning on coming today?" the director of the FBI asked with a hint of annoyance tainting his voice.

"Yes sir. I confirmed the time with him this morning," Hotch answered, not making any excuses for the genius.

"Well, where is he?"

"That would be difficult for me to know based on the fact that I've been in here with you all morning," Hotch supplied.

A growl was issued from the director's throat at the response, "Well, go find out if he plans on joining us."

Hotchner stood up from his seat and removed his cell phone. He was slightly worried about his subordinate. Reid was never one to be late, especially to something that was so important. As the senior agent made his way from the room he couldn't help but notice the shit-eating grin that was plastered on Damien's face. That alone told Aaron that he needed to up his worry straight to outright concern.

"Morgan."

"Morgan, is Reid with you?" the agent asked immediately.

"Uh, no…I'm in my office. Shouldn't he be at the deposition with you?" the other man answered in confusion.

"Yes, but he hasn't shown up yet."

"That's not like him," Derek said. Hotch could hear the creaking of the man's leather chair as Morgan vacated it. "I'll go look in the bullpen."

Hotch remained silent on the other end of the line as he waited for an update.

"Huh…"

"What is it?"

"He isn't at his desk. Maybe he's on his way to you?" Morgan suggested.

"I doubt it. He is over fifteen minutes late. I could understand him being behind by a few minutes but fifteen is excessive, especially for Reid," Hotch countered, pacing up and down the hallway in distress.

"Yeah, your right. The few times he has ever been late it's been by microseconds. Here, let me go check and see if he got caught up with someone on the team," Morgan offered, making his way towards JJ's office.

He peeked inside the door and saw the blonde at her desk. "Hey JJ. Have you seen Reid?"

"Spence? No, I haven't seen him since earlier this morning," she answered, puzzled.

"Alright, thanks," the darker man said, taking off before she could ask him a follow-up question.

Morgan was still holding the phone to his ear as he popped into Rossi's doorway, "Rossi, has Reid been in here with you today?"

"Nope. It's just been me and Ringo," Rossi responded with a gesture toward the photo on his desk.

"Thanks," he said again, leaving the other profiler with a curious look on his face. "Hotch, I'm getting a bad feeling about this."

"Go try Garcia," the superior advised over the line.

"I doubt he'll be with her. She's been kinda avoiding him lately."

"Try her anyways," he ordered without asking for more details on their strained relationship.

"I'm headed there now."

Morgan stood outside of his tech goddess's doorway and knocked twice before entering. His effervescent coworker swiveled around and beamed at his entrance.

"Hot chocolate! It's great to see you! I've been kinda cold lately."

"Easy there mamma. I'm not here for pleasure-"

"Oh the pleasure I could give you," she cut him off.

"Not now sweetness. Have…uh…have you seen Reid?"

She perked up a bit at his question, "Have I? Why yes, I was conversing with boy genius a mere forty-five minutes ago. I took him some cookies and made my peace with him. Why do you ask?"

"Are you sure it was that long ago?"

"Yeah, I remember because he was due at the deposition not long after we talked," she said as worry started coursing through her at Morgan's line of questioning.

"Well, he didn't show up to West's hearing. They're waiting on him right now."

"That's strange. He said he was going to head there right after he was done down in archives."

"Archives?" Hotch's voice sounded through the phone.

"Archives?" Morgan parroted.

"Yeah, Agent Bellancia called and said she had pulled the files he needed. Which was strange because…uh oh," she stopped midsentence.

"Uh oh? Wait, what was strange?"

"Uh…well, after he hung up with Bellancia he told me that he didn't remember putting in an order for her to pull anything. He…uh…he decided to go down and see what she retrieved. He thought maybe she mistakenly called him instead of a different agent. Reid was going to help her straighten everything out," Garica explained with growing dread.

Hotch, who had heard everything loud and clear, didn't waste a second, "Morgan get down there. Now!"

"On it," the black man said before he hung up and sprinted out of the technical analyst's office.

"Oh dear," she muttered, getting up from her chair in order to go fill in the rest of the team.

The lightning strike of pain that came from the downward swing of his father's belt sent agony sizzling through Reid's prone body. He knew it wasn't real but he couldn't keep from crying out at the remembrance of the strike. It was just another drawback to his eidetic memory.

Before his body underwent each of the fifteen hits that his father had administered that night his memory whisked him off to another unpleasant memory of the dark.

The second crack of the belt coincided with the slam of the front door behind a teenage Spencer Reid. He had just arrived home in Vegas after a six hour bus ride next to the smelliest man on the planet. The teen wished he could afford to take a plane but the price compared to ground transportation was insane.

"Mom? I'm home!" the youth called out into the darkened house.

His mother hadn't been of the right frame of mind to decorate the house for the holidays in years but usually at least one light would be on to help her navigate at night.

"Mom? Why are all the lights off?" Spencer asked the seemingly empty abode. His foot kicked over a stack of books that had been left haphazardly in a pile by the door. The boy cursed as he shuffled the novels out of his way with the tip of his toe. He had put all the lights on timers before he had left for college knowing that the dark could trigger her episodes faster than anything else. Diana's daily caregiver knew that too and she should have been on top of any burnt out bulbs or messed up devices.

"Mom?" he called out again, hesitantly this time, as he walked past the living room and into the dark hallway. The narrow passage was devoid of light due to all the bedroom doorways being closed tight, effectively blocking out any of the moonlight that might have shined in through the windows.

Spencer stopped midway down the hallway and strained his ears for any sign of life.

Nothing.

He decided that his best choice was to go check his mom's room.

Once he got to her door he nervously reached out to grasp the door handle. Spencer held his breath in anticipation, silently saying a prayer to whatever deity may exist above. 'Please let her be asleep,' he thought as he turned the door handle.

He slowly pushed open the door and whispered, "Mom?"

Diana's room was utterly dark, her blackout curtains sufficiently cutting off all light sources. He felt along the wall next to him for the light switch. At this point he didn't care if he woke his mother up, he needed to assuage the worry that was building up in the pit of his stomach. His nimble fingers found the switch and pushed it upwards.

Nothing.

His heart started racing, panicked upon realizing he couldn't banish the dark.

"M-m-mom? Where are you? I-i-it's me, Spencer," he implored to the black void that was Diana's bedroom.

The genius couldn't maintain his calm any longer as fear for his mother coursed through his veins. Had she succumbed to an episode? Was she out wandering the streets? Why hadn't her nurse noticed?

His lanky legs stumbled over themselves as he tried to back up. The next thing he knew a vase was shattering over the top of his head.

"Spy! Spy! I knew it! I knew you were coming. How dare you think you could infiltrate my house? I'll show them…your superiors are going to regret the day they decided to send you to take my secrets!" Diana shrieked in the darkness, as her fists gathered the fabric at Spencer's shoulders and tugged him backwards down the hall.

The boy was disoriented from the blow and it took him a few minutes to realize what was happening. The fog cleared from his head as his body halted on the cool linoleum tile of the kitchen floor.

The pale moonlight spilled in through the kitchen window giving Spencer a good look at his mother. He took in her disheveled appearance and knew that she was too far gone at the moment to be even remotely reach with his words. His only option at the moment was to get out of the house and wait until morning. Usually the light of day helped to scatter her illusions and bring her back to lucidity.

Spencer slowly gathered his knees underneath him and started to push his body up from the floor when his mother let out a screech of fury and pushed him with all her might. Unwittingly the boy hadn't noticed that she had dropped him right next to the open doorway leading downstairs but he quickly realized his folly as his body bounced off of each step on its way down into the basement.

He hit his head hard on the concrete and laid sprawled on his back unmoving. The teen could feel a trickle of blood travel down his forehead and before long he was trying to blink the blood out of his eye. He tried to prop himself up on his elbows but a sharp pain stopped his movement, signaling what was surly a break of his right ulna. Spencer felt tears spring to life as all the pain from his various injuries assaulted his nervous system all at once.

His mother's voice drew his attention moments later as it emanated from the top of the stairs. "You can't spill my secrets if you can never leave," she pronounced victoriously as she slammed the door shut.

Spencer laid on the ground in the pure darkness and let out a defeated sob when he heard the click of the lock followed by the sound of Diana pushing the china cabinet in front of the door, sealing him in tightly until she regained her senses.

Morgan practically jumped down the flights of stairs without his feet touching a single step. He only made contact with the landings whilst he took advantage of the railings to push off from in order to gain momentum. He was down the stairs in record time, intent on not letting anything get in the way of finding his friend.

Derek busted through the stairwell doorway and sprinted down the hallway to the glass entrance leading to the archives. An elderly agent flashed him a face full of malice at his noisy arrival. She stood up from her perch behind her desk and asked him in a peeved voice, "What is the meaning of this?"

"Dr. Reid! Where is he?" Morgan demanded walking around her desk, determined to search every vault for signs of his geeky partner.

Agent Bellancia's face softened a bit at the mention of Spencer but still held its disdain for Morgan's manners, "He isn't here. As far as I know he came down to look at his files and left. Look agent…"

"Morgan."

"Look Agent Morgan, you can't just go in there," she called out at the hulking man positioned in front of the first vault. "You need a key."

Morgan grasped the handled and tried it anyways. "What do you mean, 'As far as you know?' Weren't you down here?"

"No, I was on lunch. Mr. Baker was in charge while I was gone."

Morgan's face paled at the mention of Baker's name, "Agent Baker? From Internal Affairs?"

"Mr. Baker isn't an agent and he sure isn't in Internal Affairs. He's a temp in human resources. He covers for me every day. The bureau doesn't feel the need to utilize another agent down here for just a half hour a day so they decided to assign a civilian with the job of coming down here to watch over my precious records," she said, unable to hide the affront she felt at the agency's obvious slight for her position.

"Fuck," Morgan muttered under his breath. "What room did you have Agent Reid set up in?"

"Vault five."

"Open it. Now!" he barked as he took off down the hallway without waiting for her to follow.

He skidded to a halt in front of the daunting metal door with a five etched in the steel. He banged his hand on the door and called out, "Reid! Reid? Can you hear me?"

"Agent Morgan, I am sure he isn't in there anymore. Mr. Baker told me explicitly that the young man had been in and out pretty quickly," she admonished, incredulous with the impetuous agent.

"With all due respect ma'am, you need to stop arguing with me and open that door now," he said through gritted teeth.

She huffed in derision and stuck the key in the door. A deep click resonated through the room as Agent Bellancia turned the handle and pulled open the door.

The dark void of his childhood basement didn't hold the genius long as his brain switched the scene before him to one more recent. He was sitting in an uncomfortable chair with a soft cloth wrapped around his eyes. He could feel the barrel of the gun that the bane of his existence had rested on his shoulder as she praised his intelligence.

Somewhere in front of him he could hear quite intakes of breath as the woman he considered his girlfriend watched him get manhandled. He desperately wanted to rip the blindfold off his head. It made him feel powerless and insignificant in such a dire situation. He needed to see what was happening in order to better assess his chances of getting Maeve out of here alive. But he couldn't and it was killing him.

So instead of dwelling on what he was lacking he did his best to distract Diane. He spouted out whatever random thoughts that came to mind and tried to give her the approval she was so desperate to receive.

Diane? Why did her name have to be Diane? It was just too close to his mothers. Was it the universe's idea of a joke?

He must have said something wrong because suddenly the muzzle was shoved right into his chest. He could feel her hand shake with emotion; she wanted to believe him.

He barely registered her demand as she tore the black cloth from around his head. Shock stole through his body as he finally laid eyes on the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He had no words to describe the exquisiteness she exuded, and for him that was saying something.

And then in that darkened prison he uttered the words that broke his heart yet conveyed all the love he had for her, "I'm sorry. I don't love you."

"I understand."

His words weren't good enough for Diane though. She needed more. She needed to flaunt her victory in a way that Reid hadn't anticipated.

He knew the moment she leaned in that he was doomed. He tried to kiss her, to gather the love he felt for Maeve put it into that kiss. He tried to make it believable but he failed.

And all hell broke loose around him. The fight between him and Diane was a blur, just like the pain from her bullet.

He was sprawled on the floor when clarity started to take over. Spencer's mind seemed to recognize the direness of the moment and it finally defogged enough to allow him access to every nook and cranny of his brain.

Words.

He needed to use the one skill he had that had gotten him out of many tight situations.

"Me for her," he could hear himself offering.

"You would do that? You would kill yourself for her?" Diane cried out, unable to keep the jealously out of her voice.

"Yes!"

Alas, Maeve's declaration that Thomas Merton was the one thing Diane could never take from them pushed the unbalanced girl over the edge.

In slow motion Reid watched as the gun was raised high in the air and discharged. He could hear himself yelling something inconsequential, something that had no effect on Diane's actions. And for the rest of his life he was doom to watch over and over as the woman he loved fell lifeless to the ground next to her killer.

In the darkness of that room he cried, heedless of who was watching. The last thing he remembered of that night was kneeling in the inky pool of darkness that was surrounding his beloved. He had then gathered Maeve into his arms and clutched her tightly to his chest, rocking back and forth while keening his heartache for all to hear.

The first thing Morgan registered when the vault door was open was the fact that it was devoid of any light. The next thing he grasped was the sound of Reid's desperate cries echoing off the thick concrete walls.

"Lights! Where are the lights?" he yelled at Bellancia, unmindful of his tone.

Bellancia, hearing the sounds of sorrow stemming from the darkened room bustled over to the outer wall and flicked the switch.

Morgan hustled into the vault and looked around, desperate to find his distressed friend.

The genius wasn't near the door and he wasn't perched at the table. It dawned on the darker man that his friend would want to find the most protected spot in the room upon being lost in the dark. He turned to the corner and spotted the trapped agent huddled up in a ball sobbing his heart out at whatever images his brain had dredged up.