"It's so curious: one can resist tears and 'behave' very well in the hardest hours of grief. But then someone makes you a friendly sign behind a window, or one notices that a flower that was in bud only yesterday has suddenly blossomed, or a letter slips from a drawer… and everything collapses."

-Colette

- 3 Months Prior -

Spencer Reid was walking to his apartment after a long day at work and the closing of a particularly gruesome case. He always hated ones like that. Murders he could handle. Kidnappings he was still iffy about. Any case involving children was, as always, tragic. But something about this case had gotten to him, had shaken him up. A schizophrenic man had decapitated his wife with an axe, believing he was slaying a demon. He couldn't help but think he was lucky. Though it was a fact that most mentally ill people were not violent, when they were violent, it was bad. He was lucky that his mother never harmed him.

But that was most certainly not the only issue affecting the young man. His migraines had returned, which he had initially thought nothing of. They meant nothing the first time, so it would make sense that they would mean nothing the second time around. But he would find himself turning around, thinking he heard someone speaking, and no one would be there. He would think he saw someone walk into a building somewhere, only to look again and find that he had been deceived. It scared him more than he would care to admit. And he was afraid. He had started doing Dilaudid again to block out the supposed hallucinations, and he knew he couldn't quit, not a second time. He was afraid that the others would catch on.

As Reid neared his apartment, he thought he saw a familiar face sitting on a bench nearby. He shook his head, thinking it wasn't possible. The man had dropped all contact with him long ago. But as Reid walked past, the man spoke. "Spencer, been awhile," he smiled as he stood.

Reid glared at the man. "I have nothing to say to you," he responded coldly.

The man shrugged off the comment. "How have you been?" he asked with genuine concern hiding the underlying motive he had for speaking with the young man. "I heard about what happened. Maeve was her name?" he asked.

Reid tensed up at the mention of her. He nodded silently.

"I can make the pain go away," the man said with a slight smirk.

Reid frowned at that, but was clearly interested. "You can make it stop?"

Present -

"You can make it stop?" Reid mumbled in a half-conscious state. His withdrawal symptoms had gotten to the point where he had had to shoot up again, despite needing to make sure his three hostages remained silent. The need for the drug had outweighed his need to make 'it' stop. At least he was still half-conscious. Mostly high meant somewhat sober. He could do something, right?

Hotch glanced over at Rossi and Morgan. He was surprised to say the least regarding what had happened. Reid had injected himself with the drug, making him less lucid. He knew they could potentially try and leave, but with the hostage taker still being somewhat lucid and higher than a kite, that would be likely to get all of them killed, but it did give them time to figure things out. "I don't think he's operating alone," he said evenly.

"Neither do I," Rossi commented. "He's too nervous. I mean, anyone would be nervous taking FBI agents hostage in a federal building, but this is different. There's no way in hell he could've pulled this off alone."

"So who's his partner, then?" Morgan asked. "It would have to be someone familiar with the building, familiar with how the BAU operates… That could be any of us," he sighed. "But three of us are in here, and three of them are outside. If they were involved, they wouldn't have looked as scared as they did…"

"Do we know who they brought in to negotiate?" Hotch asked the group.

Rossi shook his head. "Best case scenario, I'd be out there. I wouldn't be able to remain objective, but I know how Reid's mind works. They would need someone calm and collected. They would need someone who would be able to work with Reid, but there are few that could…" he shook his head yet again.

"But did you watch him when he was talking to the negotiator on the phone?" Morgan asked. "He was calm, he wasn't panicked."

"You think the negotiator is his partner?" Hotch asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I think he's involved," Morgan answered.

"I wouldn't brush that off," Rossi said. "It is a possibility. A damn likely one at that. You think we can get Reid to give the son of a bitch's name?"

"Doubtful," Hotch answered. "If we even bring it up, he'll know we've been talking, and if he knows we've been talking…"

"One of us gets shot, if not all of us," Morgan finished the sentence. "What if we make a deal with him?"

"I don't think we can," Hotch answered.

"But we could make him think we could. Say that we think he's under duress, and that if he gives us the name, we can help him," Rossi suggested.

"It may be our only option right now, Hotch," Morgan said. "I'll do it. I don't think he'd hurt me."

"But we aren't dealing with the Reid we're familiar with either," Rossi reminded Morgan. "Hostage takers are always different than what everyone's 'familiar' with."

"How certain are you that he won't hurt you, Morgan?" Hotch asked, making eye contact with the younger man.

"Pretty damn certain," Morgan answered. "Certain enough to risk being shot."

Hotch nodded slowly. "When the drug wears off, try to talk to him."

As if on cue, Reid quickly glanced over at the two. "I told you three to stop talking!"

"If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?"

-William Shakespeare