Disclaimer:Criminal Minds and all its associated characters are property to CBS and no profit is being made from this story.
Chapter 28: Beyond the Imperfections
'Being happy doesn't mean that everything is perfect. It means that you've decided to look beyond the imperfections.' -Unknown
When Reid awoke, he felt light, like his entire body was filled with cotton instead of muscles and bones. His head, heavy with the grogginess of sleep, fell over to the side, his eyes still closed as he let out a small whimper. What happened? He felt so limp, so disconnected from his body- so drugged.
Was that it? Had he been sedated? He couldn't remember what happened, what had led to sedation being an option.
Slowly, he opened his eyes, feeling like his lids were glued shut together as he pried them open and blinked, looking around the dark room.
The very dark room.
Heavy, inky shadows blanketed the walls and ceiling, shrouding him in darkness. Where was his nightlight? Morgan and the nurses had always ensured that the device was turned on, a small, golden orb of light in the corner. But it wasn't on. It wasn't there.
There was nothing but darkness, darkness that was suffocating him, pressing down on his chest. Sitting like an immovable weight on his lungs, he was unable to breathe. Panicking, he tried to rise up to a sitting position, only to be yanked back down to the mattress with a humph. His eyes widened as he pulled his wrists up as far as the restraints would go, twisting them frantically in the leather straps.
He was bound to the bed, much like he had been in Andrew's care.
"No," he murmured, trying once more to pull himself up, only to inevitably snap back down, his head bouncing forward before pillowing into the bed. He pulled his knees upward, thankful to find his ankles were not tied down as well, and planted his feet firmly into the mattress as he attempted to propel himself up again, his hips now rising with the action.
But, like before, he fell back down, his knees wobbly with the exertion. Panting heavily, he twisted his body to the side, the restraints holding his wrists back as he tried fruitlessly to break the leather cuffs free of the metal bar.
A sound, much like a wounded animal, escaped his lips as he twisted to the other side, trying his luck with the other set of cuffs. He was trapped, though, kept to the bed and unable to break free as sweat began to slide down his forehead, matting his hair.
What had happened?
Why was he being restrained?
'What if I never left Andrew's care, and everything was just a dream?' his inner voice said before he could stop himself, creating the overwhelming feeling of panic surge through him, increasing his efforts to get out of the bindings.
His body rose and fell from the bed, the restraints rubbing painfully against his wrists as he contorted himself into awkward positions, trying to loosen the give the bindings had on him. He needed to get out. He couldn't stay here. What if here was still with Andrew? What if he had never left and had only succumbed to an in depth dream, fantasizing all of it?
"No, no, no," he ground out as he tried to roll onto his stomach, wincing as his arm bent back painfully behind him. The joints of his shoulders were on fire, the muscles stretching to unbearable limits as he tested the boundaries of his restraints. His wrists and arms burned in protest as he contorted himself again and again, trying with all his might to break free.
But the leather was strong and sturdy, and held his wrists in place despite his near spastic efforts to break loose. He was trapped. He couldn't get out. Stuck, stuck like an caged animal in wait for the slaughter.
"No!" he hollered, feeling his cheeks heat with rage and fear. It wasn't a dream! He had been rescued! He knew it! But the restraints digging into his skin told him otherwise, made his mind reel with the possibility that he was in fact still with Andrew. That he had never left.
"NONONONO!" he roared, his throat burning as the noise peeled through, scratching the insides with its intensity. But he continued to yell, rising and flopping back down to the mattress, ignoring the searing pain in his shoulders as he bent himself too far in the wrong direction against the bindings.
'This can't be happening,' his mind whispered through the external screaming, fear bubbling in his skin and blood. 'I can't be back there. I can't. I can't."
The door flew open, causing his eyes to widen into large saucers as he stilled his body instantly, hoping that if he didn't move, whoever it was who came in would leave him alone. Light filtered in through the hall as a shadowy figure stepped inside the room, and Reid's mind was screaming once more, mentally shaking him as it yelled out its suspicions.
'Andrew! It's Andrew! You made too much noise and now he's coming to punish you!' his inner voice chided, and he paled with the thought. He didn't care if being rescued was a dream, by this point. He just wished he could go back to it.
But when the figure reached out to the wall and flicked a light switch, bathing the room in a bright and harsh fluorescent glow, Reid's body slumped to the mattress in relief.
It was a doctor- a real doctor. And he was in a hospital room, safely stored away from Andrew and the wandering hands that plagued him.
As the doctor approached and the adrenaline drained from his body, he suddenly became all too aware of the pain and stress he had just submitted himself to. His shoulders throbbed from the strain of stretching his arms out and against the restraints and his wrists ached inside the leather straps. His lower back throbbed dully and his knees burned slightly from having twisted his legs in his search for better momentum. A thick sheet of sweat coated his face and chest, making his tee shirt stick to the tacky substance and his hair clump together into stringy masses. His entire body seemed to be heated over a fire and he couldn't help but spread his limbs out away from him to prevent them from creating even more heat. His breath puffed out from his lungs as the doctor stood by the side of his bed, examining him slowly.
"Spencer? What happened? What's wrong?"
Reid's eyes narrowed slightly as he studied the doctor, trying to decide if he recognized him or not. It wasn't a doctor that he had personally worked with, but one that he had seen around several times, and knew to be working the case of two other patients on the ward. He was young, and had always seemed rather quiet for a doctor, but had never appeared mean or miserable like some of the nurses or orderlies appeared to be. What was his name, again?
"Spencer? My name is Dr. Garrison, now can you tell me what happened?" he asked, his hazel eyes glowing in patronizing concern. Reid was getting very sick of seeing that emotion directed to him, that was for sure.
Swallowing something that seemed rather large and uncomfortable, he sat up more in the bed and looked about the unrecognizable room. Where was he?
"I...the room," he said, too distracted by the foreign surroundings to answer his questions.
Dr. Garrison glanced at him oddly for several seconds before he nodded in understanding. "You're in the quiet room, Spencer. You suffered from a rather..." he struggled to find the proper wording "traumatic flashback and we were forced to restrain you, but the beds in the normal rooms don't have the restraints."
"Why did you need to restrain me?" Reid asked, hating that he needed to rely on someone he barely knew in order to get answers. But he was having such a hard time remembering everything- the last thing he recalled was JJ saying good-bye.
"You were putting up quite a fight. One that required two of our toughest orderlies and your agent friend to hold you down," Dr. Garrison said, then grinned widely. "It was actually really impressive. They were big guys."
Reid grimaced. The one time he actually managed to have physical prowess and he couldn't even remember it? Hopefully, he would at least be able to use this against Morgan whenever he made a jeer at him.
"Anyway," the doctor continued as his grin faded. "You were fighting quite a bit and at one point you ran into the wall. Hit your head pretty hard against it, and so we had to restrain you to make sure that you wouldn't be able to hurt yourself anymore."
"I didn't do it on purpose," Reid said, immediately feeling the need to defend himself. Whether or not it was true, he wasn't entirely sure. But he would never intentionally harm himself. And this doctor needed to understand that.
"We know, but it was just a precautionary method."
Reid nodded. Then, looking about the room once more, he asked, "The light...why was it off?"
The doctor narrowed his eyes at him, as though trying to find some double meaning to his words. But when none could be found, he shrugged and said, "I'm not entirely sure what you mean."
"The lights. They need to be on," he answered, shifting his eyes to the side. He really didn't feel quite like explaining his fear of the dark to this doctor, having learned early on that not most people accepted his phobia without mocking him.
Yet the doctor just pursed his lips and then looked upwards before saying, "I'm sorry. I'll talk to the night nurses and make sure that they read a patient's file more carefully before enacting any form of treatment." Reid smiled, grateful that he needn't explain anything. Suddenly, Dr. Garrison jumped, as though forcibly reminded of something and then looked at Reid, a guilty look on his face. "I'm sorry! Let me get you out of the restraints!"
Fumbling around in his coat pockets, he finally produced a key ring and began quickly and clumsily flipping through it, accidentally letting it slip through his fingers several times. Reid felt his lips being pulled upward into a smile as he realized that this doctor wasn't exactly the most graceful.
After the keys slipped from his fingers for the sixth time, he finally found the right one and, with a quiet 'yes!' of triumph, he slipped the key into the lock of the restraint that held his left hand down and turned it. A click resounded through the room as the gears turned and the tightness around Reid's wrist loosened. With a grateful sigh, he pulled his wrist into his chest as Dr. Garrison walked around the bed and began working on the other cuff.
As he jammed the key into the lock, Reid licked his lips and asked, "My team...did they leave?"
The man looked up at him and, offering a sad smile, nodded as he said, "Yes, they did. They tried to stay longer, but because they were only given the weekend off they were called in on a case." Reid's eyes fell down to the floor then as he pulled his right, newly freed wrist into his chest as well, rubbing it gently. But his hand was slowly pulled back as Dr. Garrison held it softly in his own, examining his wrist.
"You chafed the skin pretty badly, and managed to cut yourself as well. Superficial, though. Nothing too bad," he said, though his voice was quiet and low as if he were speaking to himself. "If you come with me, I'll clean this up for you and then you can go back to your own room."
Reid nodded numbly as he sat up, immediately regretting his earlier struggle as his body creaked in pain. At the time it had seemed like a sensible reaction, like a real possibility that he might've still been in the hands of that monster. But now he felt foolish and his sore limbs only strengthened this feeling.
Slipping off of the bed, he padded across the floor to join the doctor by the door before leaving the small and secluded room behind, the light being switched off as they went.
'I've never seen the halls so empty,' Reid thought to himself as he looked around the ward corridor. Only two nurses sat behind the station, the usual hum of electronics much quieter as the activity of early morning settled down. What time was it anyway? It was about seven when his team was preparing to leave, and the sedative could last anywhere from six to ten hours. Shooting a glance at the analog clock on the wall behind the station, he gaped at the time. Four in the morning.
Had he really been out for that long?
"I guess you could say my primary purpose here is the emergency doctor," Dr. Garrison said, smirking as he noticed the way Reid's mouth hung open as they passed the clock. "I'm the one they'll call in for immediate action if the patient's assigned doctor is off the clock or unavailable."
"Aren't you the treating doctor to some patients?"
He nodded. "Not nearly as many as the other doctor's though."
"I guess that makes sense," Reid mumbled, rubbing his wrists some more. It seemed that the more time that passed, the more the cuts and shallow ligature marks stung. He really needed to stop overreacting...
"In here," the doctor said as he held a door open for Reid, leading him into the nurse's room. He had been in here several times since his stay on the trauma ward, his nearly healed wounds requiring constant surveillance for infections and proper healing. Lifting himself up onto the examination table, he watched as Dr. Garrison flew around the room to collect various medical supplies.
"If you don't mind me asking...what about the lights being off made you panic so much?"
Reid looked up as his hand was pulled away from him once more, the palm splayed open to the ceiling as the doctor began to gently rub a damp cloth over the area, cleansing it. As his skin was pulled in varying directions, he bit his lip in thought, debating the question. Should he tell the doctor the truth? That he panicked because he had experienced another flashback? While he knew full well that honesty was the surest route to recovery, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of fear as he thought of something else: would they consider him to be regressing if he was suffering from flashbacks?
Was he regressing?
It would be so easy to lie and get it over with, to not be given a special note saying that he needed to be given 'extra supervision.' But the psychologist in him knew better. And so, with a shuddering breath, he said, "I thought I was back with Andrew. The restraints and the dark...that was how he kept me."
The dabbing of the cloth stopped as Dr. Garrison looked up at him, his eyes blinking curiously. Slowly, he began his tender care of the cut as he turned back to Reid's wrist, saying, "I'll speak to the nurses and your doctor about this. Maybe we can find an alternative for you." Switching hands to repeat the procedure on the other wrist, he added, "You're safe here, as I'm sure you know. Besides, I met your team earlier, and they wouldn't let any danger come to you."
"If that were true, than I wouldn't be here."
Reid stilled, his mouth slacking open.
Did he really just say that aloud? Did he really think that?
Was that really his voice? It sounded so unfamiliar, laced with so much venom.
He looked up to the doctor, who had stopped his methodical cleansing to glance up in surprise at the young patient. He did say it aloud, didn't he? Why else would he be given that look?
"I...I don't know why I said that..." he murmured, his lips twitching as he spoke. "I know it's not their fault, I-"
"No you don't," the doctor responded, cutting him off as he let Reid's hand fall back into his lap, heading to grab antibacterial ointment and application pads.
Reid felt himself still as he leaned back, resting his weight on the balls of his palm. Had he really insinuated that Reid did blame his team? Infuriated, he snapped his hand back just as the doctor reached for it and yelled, "It isn't their fault and I know it!"
Dr. Garrison sighed. "Than why did you say what you said?"
"It was just a Freudian slip..."
"Spencer," he started, reaching out for Reid's hand once more and smiling when he didn't pull back, gently applying the ointment as he went on. "I read your file. You're too smart not to know what a Freudian slip is and misuse it."
Before he knew it, Reid was doing the one thing he seemed incapable of not doing- spouting our remotely relevant facts.
"Freudian slips- named after Psychoanalyst Sigmund Freud- is based on his theory of the unconscious mind harboring the most traumatic memories and most secret and unspoken desires and wishes. The slip is when the unconscious mind interferes in speech or thought and misinterprets a word or action, or speaks the wrong word. It is believed that when someone has a Freudian slip that they are voicing what not even they themselves are aware of they're feeling and wanting," he flatly answered, the counter coming quickly and without permission from his mind. It seemed as if his thoughts sometimes connected directly to his mouth, passing by the part of his brain that filtered out what he did and didn't- needed and did not need- to say.
Dr. Garrison nodded as he finished cleaning his right wrist, applying a thin layer of gauze to it. "Exactly."
"I don't think it's their fault..." Reid said, rather pathetically, as he tried to defend what not even he believed anymore. Why else would he say that, if he didn't believe it? If not in the forefront of his mind, he still had to have thought it to say it. But for some reason, he was unable to let the doctor believe he was capable of thinking those blaming thoughts. He didn't want him to know that he harbored animosity to any of his teammates.
But he did.
"You should talk to them about it. Your teammates, I mean."
Reid shook his head, immediately dismissing the idea. "I can't. I know they already blame themselves. I can't let them think I blame them, too," he answered as the doctor then went on to his other wrist, applying the same antibacterial ointment to it. "It will just make everything worse."
"How different is it?"
Confused by the sudden, ambiguous question, Reid furrowed his brows and twisted his lips as he looked up to the doctor, trying to figure out what he was inquiring to. But after a minute or so passed and the gauze was firmly wrapped around both his wrists, he finally, in exasperation, asked, "How different is what?"
"Being a patient to being the doctor," he said simply, striding over to the sink to wash his hands despite having worn latex gloves throughout the whole procedure. Before Reid could retort, he said, "Before, you saw disorders and treatment through one scope- the doctor wanting to help. Now, you see it through a different scope- the patient wanting help but not knowing how."
He opened his mouth to (quite rudely, if he were being honest with himself) ask the doctor what exactly that had to do with his predicament when the doctor once more cut him off and said, "If you were working a case and came across someone who showed the potential signs for becoming a criminal in later life, due to withholding anger, what would you advise that someone to do?"
Biting his lip as he thought the scenario over, he said, "Alright, alright. I get it. I'd advise that someone to try to forgive those who he feels wronged him and talk it out, if not to the person of anger than a licensed therapist. But, I'm not someone showing potential signs of criminal behavior." He knew that didn't matter, so why did he say that? He knew that it was just a thinly veiled allegory to his situation and that a mentally disordered criminal was nothing more than a violent mentally disordered patient. So why did he try to act like he didn't think he and the fictional criminal were the same?
Dr. Garrison, after cleaning up the remaining mess that had been made, opened the door once more for Reid and gesture for him to hop from table. Hesitantly, he obliged, walking through the framing just as the doctor spoke. "You know better than that. I know you do. But the only way you can truly get better is to confront the anger and betrayal you feel. If you like, we can set up meetings where your team can come in- together, or individual- and you can talk to them about it with your therapist." At his skeptical look, he said, "It will help you get better...don't you want to get better?"
Of all the questions he had been asked since he was rescued, that was the one he now came to despise the most. Of course he wanted to get better! Why wouldn't he? There were a couple of occasions where, upon being asked that question, he had to resist the impulse to say, "Why, no, not at all! I've actually grown quite accustomed to hating myself and the world I live in. Residing in a hospital for the rest of my godforsaken life, fearing the past and, above all, hands sounds like a splendid idea! Now, if you don't mind I'm going to go into my room and commence the next thing I have written on my schedule- sulk, from two in the afternoon to three in the afternoon. Ta-ta!"
'What a ridiculous question,' he thought, nearly scoffing outwardly. Yet, he knew the reason why doctor's asked this: sometimes, when someone lived too long with a bad habit, such as drug use or self mutilation, they form an attachment to the action. And then, when they need to let go of the habit, they were unable to. Not because they don't want to, but because it is comforting- something that they are familiar with and, ironically, feel almost safe with.
No one wanted to be sick or unhappy, it was a matter of whether or not they willing to venture into the unknown in order to no longer be sick or happy.
"I'm getting sick of that question," he mumbled under his breath as they turned the corner in the hall, pass the nurses' station, to get to his room. Clearing his throat awkwardly and saying louder for the doctor to hear, he said, "Yes, I do want to get better. But I don't know if I can talk to them. Not about that, at least."
They reached his room, the door left open and the lights turned off. However, the small glow of the nightlight could be seen in the corner.
"Well, think it over and when you have an answer, leave me a message with a nurse. She'll get it to me and I'll see what I can set up for you, if you'd like," he said, stepping aside as Reid walked through and entered the room, sitting down on his bed softly as he looked up to Dr. Garrison.
"Okay. Thank you," he said, just as the man turned to leave. When his door frame was empty of any figure, he sighed and lied down on the mattress, not even bothering to put the quilt that sat in a folded pile at the foot of his bed over him. He had only said thanks for politeness sake, of course. He had no intention of making any of his teammates feel more guilt than what was necessary. They didn't need that.
Even though, and he would never admit it aloud, a small part of him thought they deserved all the guilt in the world.
xXx
ONE MONTH LATER...
"Hey, Reid man, get up," a voice pervaded through Reid's dream, reaching out to him and slowly pulling him back to world of the waking. Groaning and rolling onto his stomach, he pressed his head deeper into his pillow and tried to hold onto the pleasant dream he was having.
A sigh followed this action. "Sleeping Beauty, come on I got a surprise for you!"
The dream now fully gone and already forgotten- as even his enhanced memory was no match for the will of his own mind- Reid gave into the demanding voice and opened a single eye, rolling it at Morgan.
"Is the surprise for you to leave me alone?" he mumbled, wanting to curl up again and go back to sleep. He was beginning to think that his dosage of Seroquel was just a little too high, as he slept most of the day away, but he was not entirely willing to tell the doctor this. He enjoyed sleeping as much as possible- his dreams lasted longer than reality now.
Except, of course, when Morgan grew impatient and wanted his company.
"Ha, funny, man," the agent said as he folded his arms over his chest and shrugged extravagantly. "Fine then. I just thought that since Dr. Greene gave you clearance to go outside you might want to join me on a walk, but if you real-"
Morgan never finished his sentence as Reid barreled upwards, sitting up so quickly on his bed Morgan nearly fell over.
"He said that? I can go out?" he asked intrepidly, as though it was too good to be true. It was, really. Five months locked inside. Five months away from the world- the real world. The outside world, as it was intended.
He barely waited for Morgan to finish his nod before sliding down onto the floor and opening the drawers that were built into his bed, pushing clothing aside to find something to wear. 'I hardly doubt this will keep me warm,' he thought, looking disparagingly at his thin nightshirt and worn flannel bottoms.
"It's not too cold. Jeans and a sweater and you should be fine," Morgan said, smirking as he walked to the hall. "I'll be waiting for you out here." Reid waved him off, eliciting a chuckled from the man as he closed the door behind him, shaking his head.
He knew that Reid wouldn't turn down the option to go outside. Hell, anyone would want to go outside after five months cooped up. But as Morgan's thoughts turned to what he had planned to talk about during the walk, his smile faded instantly as his stomach began to wretch and twist uncomfortably. Sighing softly, he rested his shoulders and head against the wall, his eyes closing against the glaring lights above him.
However, the vibration of his phone at his side made him groan as he reached for it, flipping it up and opening the message from Hotch.
'Don't forget to tell him the news. He needs to know what's happening, and have his say in what to do.'
Rolling his eyes, he replied to the message curtly and professionally before jamming the device back into his pocket and resuming his leisurely position. Why did he even need to ask Reid what he wanted to do? He knew the kid well enough to know what he would want to do.
'Too stubborn to do what's best for him,' he thought. But what was best for Reid? He hadn't been very open- to Morgan or the doctors- so he had no idea what was going on in the genius's mind. He just hoped that Reid would consider all the consequences before answering.
The door opened and Reid stepped through, smiling excitedly as he started to walk down the hall, motioning for Morgan to follow.
"Come on, I have group at two," he explained, turning the corner as he continued to stride quickly to the set of double doors that would lead them to freedom- to the outside.
Morgan laughed. "Reid, that gives us two hours."
"Two hours doesn't make up for four months, Morgan," he said lightheartedly, but Morgan felt his stomach tug violently at the words. Was that meant to sound as scathing as it seemed, or was that just his perception?
The walk from the ward and through the lobby seemed to be too long for Reid, who walked at such a quick pace despite his slight limp that Morgan was surprised that he hadn't started to pant or at least breathe heavily. But when they walked down the steps leading into the doors that stood between them and the outside- Reid taking them two at a time- he finally paused, turning to Morgan with what was decidedly the widest grin he had possessed in nearly half a year.
Morgan strode past him, opening the door and gesturing outside as the cold air blew in, crumpled and dead leaves coming in with it. "Geniuses first," he said with a chuckled as Reid happily walked through.
He inhaled sharply, the breath colder and fresher than his lungs were used to. They burned with the new sensation and seemed to expand painfully in his ribcage, the wind searing the inside of his nostrils and biting his nose. But he didn't care in the least. In fact, he welcomed it. It felt so natural, so fresh and new and needed. His hair, which had grown another inch and had now managed to grow into full ringlets, was tossed back in the breeze, his exposed ears turning red and stinging with cold.
Watery hazel eyes closed as he let himself take it in- one sense at a time.
The smell...
It was crisp and clean, a pure aroma saturated with the natural scents of cut grass, decaying leaves and frozen dirt. While he had never been one for the study of aromatherapy, nor was he someone who had a particular affinity towards pleasant smells- a scent was a scent, nothing more- he had decided that nothing could ever compare to the wonderful things he was smelling right now.
The feel...
Stooping over, he let his bare, slowly numbing fingers run over the frost-bitten grass, feeling each chilled and dying blades individually as he internalized the feeling. When the tips of his fingers met something thinner and more delicate, he smiled, knowing he had stumbled upon the leaf.
The ridge were dry and leathery, crinkling softly under the pad of his thumb as he traced the curves of the leaf lightly, feeling the way it had bent into itself. His fingers followed the veins, carefully examining each and ever hole that had damaged it.
The sound...
Wind rushing through empty trees, whistling in his ears as leaves rolled around on the paved walkways, fluttering lightly in the breeze yet making a large wave of shuffling noise. Birds, chirping and flying overhead as the prepared for the long and strenuous journey they would make.
The sight...
Now, he opened his eyes, looking first at the leaf he was still gingerly holding. Red. The leaf was dark red, muddy with brown pigment and the veins slightly darker than the rest of it. His hand seemed to glare brightly outside, the dark red leaf- the color of a rich wine- making the whiteness even more luminescent in contrast.
Letting the leaf slip out of his hand, he turned to look around him, smiling at the multitudes of color. The sweeping hill that the Residential Treatment Center sat on was covered in golden stalks, while the courtyard he and Morgan stood in was a dying green, littered by the many leaves.
He felt Morgan move to stand beside him, and without looking at him, he said, "You know, the last time I felt like this was when I first escaped from Andrew."
Morgan furrowed his brow as he inclined his head, his eyes narrowed in intrigue. "Escaped?"
Reid finally turned to him, his lips parted and his eyebrows raised high as though he hadn't meant to let such a personal account of the week slip through his filters. But after a second of scrutinizing each other, Reid shrugged, knowing that Morgan would not simply let it be forgotten about.
"Yeah. I um...managed to get away but then Varney caught me," he answered, trying to sound nonchalant as he started walking down the path, his hands sliding into his pockets.
"Was that when he shot you?" Morgan knew he was pushing the limits- Reid was very careful to not go into too explicit of detail about his stay- but this was the first opportunity that he had been handed. He needed to at least try to get Reid to speak. Without causing flashbacks, that is.
Tentatively, Reid nodded. "I thought he was going to help me but...that was when I realized he was working with Andrew, I guess." He swallowed, trying even harder to keep the memories away. But unbidden, images of that day seemed to come to the forefront of his mind.
The wonderful feeling of dewy grass beneath his fevered feet and toes.
The smell of fresh air when compared to the sterilized basement.
The light- painful in all it's radiant glory was nonetheless a symbol of his feat.
And then...
The sound of his name being spoken in shock.
The surprised and confused look on Varney's face.
The deafening roar of the bullet as it rocketed through the barrel of the gun.
The malicious glint in Varney's eyes...
"Reid!"
He jumped, looking to Morgan in surprise. He had stopped walking, standing stock still and now behind his friend as he regarded him with a look of concern.
"Sorry. I was just...remembering..." he muttered, trying and failing to sound casual as his voice cracked and squeaked embarrassingly. Clearing his throat, he then said, "Let's just change the subject. Please?"
"Actually," Morgan said, worrying his lower lip between his between his teeth as he rubbed his head awkwardly. "I need to tell you something. About Andrew and Varney." Reid shifted his weight slowly and bit his lip as he looked past Morgan, his gaze distant.
Ducking his head, Morgan asked, "Will you be okay or should I save this for another time?"
Reid remained unmoving for a period of time, his eyes flitting about as though alternating between remembering the past and debating the question. But after a moment, he puffed out air exaggeratedly and shook his head as he slowly began to walk again, suddenly less enthused about being outside. "No, I'll be fine. What is it?" he asked, staring down at his feet as he walked.
'Liar,' Morgan found himself thinking, his trained eyes looking the young patient over slowly. Reid's hazel eyes were focused on his feet, his jaw clenched and twitching with what Morgan knew was him chewing the inside of his cheeks. His mouth was pinched tightly and his head was bent down low, the loose, brown rings falling into his eyes. He wasn't fine with it, but his desire to know as much as possible about the case made him lie. He was not going to let himself become sheltered simply because he was upset. And even though Morgan was irritated that he would lie, he had to admit the admiration he felt for him right then.
Sighing, Morgan shook his head, deciding to say it and get it over with. 'It's now or never,' he thought, feeling a sinking weight in his gut as he said, "Their trials are coming up- they've been scheduled in two weeks for Andrew and three weeks for Varney."
"Oh," was all Reid said in his response, his gaze not straying from his feet and the ground beneath it. He was trying to act impassive, they way he would if this had been any other case but his own. If another man had been selected as the sixth victim instead of himself and the case had been solved in that manner, Reid never once leaving his team. And perhaps- in another universe, one separate from his own- that Spencer had accepted Morgan's invitation to go along with him, and Andrew had instead turned to another, more easily accessible victim. But that wasn't this universe, and Reid wasn't that Reid- the smart, careful one who didn't let his desire to prove himself or emotions get in the way of protecting himself.
"I still feel so stupid, you know," he said inattentively, his voice unwavering as though he were discussing something as casual as the weather. This time, he didn't wait for Morgan to turn to him with an inquiring look as he added, "When I was in there- the basement- I kept telling myself how stupid I was for letting it happen."
'Aren't we chatty today, Spence?' he thought, wondering why exactly he was being so forthcoming wit everything. Maybe being relatively silent about his ordeal for four months was effecting him more than he knew, and his subconscious mind was screaming for someone to know what he didn't want to know himself. Or maybe the vengeful, vindictive part of him simply wanted Morgan to be kept up at night with the knowledge of what he allowed to happen fresh in his mind's eye. 'Misery loves company,' he mused, decidedly hating this new and revenge seeking Spencer.
"I think we all felt that way," Morgan said, rubbing his hands together as he tried to keep warm. Had it suddenly gotten colder? He was almost sure it had, his body now aware of every biting breeze and stinging wind that came his way.
Reid cocked his head to the side, letting his eyes look up at Morgan sideways. "What do you mean?"
"As much as I don't want to speak on the team's behalf, I think it's safe to say we all felt stupid, especially when we realized who his partner was." Looking at Reid to make sure that he was alright, he continued. "It was just upsetting to know that at any other time we could easily and quickly rescue any kid but the second you were captured it was like we didn't know what to do."
"Is that why it was upsetting?"
Morgan jumped, looking up at Reid with wide eyes and gaping mouth, startled with the way those words were spoken. They were bitter, taunting- shaking with barely concealed anger and raised at the edge so that they had a snapping, spitting way about them. Did he mean to sound like that, so resentful and hating or was that just Morgan's imagination?
"Reid, what do you mean?" he asked, trying to sound good-natured. But when Reid spun around on him, the inch difference in their height suddenly seeming more like a foot as he hovered over him, Morgan realized that he hadn't imagined the way those words were spoken at all. Reid's lips were no longer pinched in reminiscent trepidation, but in fury, his hazel eyes dark and stormy as he glowered at his partner. His jaw shook with both rage and from being clenched so tightly and the tendrils of hair that were visible swayed with the involuntary motion.
When he spoke, the words seemed forced, as though he wanted to yell them instead of say them, grinding them out spitefully. "Was that why it was upsetting? Because it was worse then your usual track record? Not because every second spent where you were sitting, safe and comfy in an office trying to figure it out, was another second I was spent screaming in pain, being tortured?"
Morgan, unable to speak from sheer shock and from being caught off guard, simply looked at Reid, his head shaking slowly from side to side. "Reid, that's not-"
"A week, Morgan! Do you know how that breaks down? Seven days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours. That means ten thousand and eighty minutes. Six hundred and four thousand, eight hundred seconds!" Reid paused, the numbers ricocheting off the enclosed buildings as he took a deep breath before taking a step closer to Morgan and shaking his head. "It took you six hundred and four thousand, eight hundred seconds to find me. Do you have any idea," a shaking breath breaking up the words as his voice quieted, visibly trembling as he continued, "how long that feels like?"
"Reid," Morgan started to speak, but stopped, realizing he didn't know what to say. How long had he felt this way? Was that why he refused to talk about how he felt, a part of him too hateful and unable to speak without blaming his friends?
But didn't Morgan deserve the blame?
Reid had turned away, letting his gaze linger on a nearby oak tree, bare of leaves, as his chest rose and fell heavily, white, wispy puffs of air exiting from his nose. His cheeks were pink and his hair still shook in front of his face as his eyes, stormy and covered in a thin layer of tears, were partially hidden from view. But Morgan could still see the emotions surging through them, like a black rain cloud that loomed over the world, anger, hate, sadness and betrayal lurked within the teary mass of hazel.
"I...I didn't mean to leave you there. We tried as hard as we could to find you," Morgan said, hating the fact that his voice seemed to betray him, the calm and sturdiness that was usually found in his words nowhere in sight.
Reid shook his head as he started to walk again, faster than before as he limped slightly off his leg, incapable of walking too fast without his leg becoming stiff and sore. 'The cold probably makes it worse too,' Morgan thought before Reid's cutting voice broke through his mind.
"You didn't try hard enough."
It was said quietly, as though Reid had never truly intended for Morgan to hear. But he did. And for some reason, it infuriated him.
"What do you want me to do, Reid?" he asked, following after his friend and finding it quite easy to keep up with him, his limp severely slowing him down. "Trust me, if I could, I'd go back in time and change anything! But I can't do that, and neither can you." Flailing his arms about in exasperation, he said, "Do you want me to say I'm sorry? Because I am! I hate myself, Reid! Every night I have nightmares about what happened and what could have happened! And every time, in those nightmares, I'm the one who hurts you!"
Morgan rounded on him, standing in front of Reid and blocking the path, his arms spread outwards as if to prevent him from trying to walk past. Reid came to a stop, gazing down at Morgan with hard set eyes, resembling more Hotch than the young genius.
Swallowing, Reid said in a low, shaking voice, "You left me there. You didn't do anything." Raising his voice, he yelled out, "You let it happen!"
Reaching his breaking point, Morgan countered, "So did you!"
Reid opened his mouth, as though to retort, but thought better of it as he let his eyes flit down to the ground, the hard edge to them gone. His lips were parted slightly, the thin clouds of his breath materializing once more as he ducked his head, the curls falling in front of his face, yet not long enough to hide it fully yet.
Moving closer, Morgan bowed his head as well, trying to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry. If I could go back and make it never happen, I would. I...I'm sorry, Reid. I don't know what else to say," he told him, reaching out tentatively to put his hands on his shoulders. Reid regarded his hands wearily, yet made no motion to push them away, allowing Morgan to gently grasp onto him.
"Reid...please...forgive me. I know I don't deserve it but-"
"No," he interrupted, moving his gaze upwards. "You do. I shouldn't blame you or anyone else. It was my fault. I knew I-"
Morgan shook his head. "No one deserves the blame but Andrew and Varney."
Reid stopped, his mouth slacked open as he blinked back what had been the start of tears. Slowly, and after much thought, he said, "Is it wrong that I want them to suffer as much as possible?" His voice wavered with what Morgan could only classify as fear.
Not all too surprising. For someone who spent years of their life battling hateful beings and seeing what emotions and people were capable of, it could easily become a concern that the things they saw would get the best of them. That they would turn into the monsters they hunted on a daily basis.
"If it is, than were both wrong, Pretty Boy," Morgan said, offering a small smile as he loosened his grip on Reid's shoulder. "I see a death sentence for Varney, to be honest."
Reid shook his head. "No, that's not good enough." At Morgan's confused glance, he shrugged away from his grasp and said, "I...that's the easy way out. He doesn't...doesn't deserve to get off so easily."
Sighing, he stepped around Morgan and headed off the paved path towards a small seating area, his leg aching with the cold. Morgan followed him, in silence, sitting down beside him on the wrought iron bench. They sat shoulder to shoulder, staring at the ground, simply listening to the wind against the leaves and branches. But when Morgan's phone vibrated against his leg, he sighed, knowing before he even pulled it out that Hotch was reminding him once more of his duty.
"Are you going to check that?" Reid asked, his brow furrowed as he looked down at Morgan's pocket where the phone sat, untouched.
"I know what it says."
"Oh, I wasn't aware you were psychic," Reid said jokingly, stretching his legs out only to wince when his right leg throbbed. "Stupid leg..." he mumbled.
"What if I were to tell you that there was a way for you to effect the outcome of their trials and dictate their fates?" Morgan asked quietly, his hands clasped together in front of him as he leaned forward, his elbows propped on his knees.
The younger agent seemed to perk at this, sitting straighter and twisting his body so that he could better look at his friend. "I...Can I?" he asked, an eyebrow raised.
But as Morgan turned to look at him, his mouth opening to speak, realization struck him. "Wait. You want me to testify?"
He didn't answer. He didn't need to.
Settling down on the bench and slumping forward, his eyes gazing out at nothing, he shook his head slowly. "I don't know if I-"
"You don't need to," Morgan answered, cutting him off. Raising his hand and gesturing for emphasis, he added, "We have enough evidence without you taking the stand, but it could always help. It's up to you though."
Reid nodded, but he had stopped listening to the agent, his mind abuzz with more thoughts and activity than it had for months. Did he want to testify? Could he testify? While Morgan had stated that him being there was not entirely necessary, he knew that he was stretching the truth. Reid was the only surviving victim of their crimes, the only person able to give a firsthand account of what Varney and Andrew had done. His testimony could mean the difference between serving justice and being shafted by the legal system. But was it worth it?
He was no stranger to the ways of a court, and he began forming a list of the questions he would be asked on the stand. The evidence wouldn't be in question- there was more than enough evidence to be given. It was his admissibility that would be examined and torn to shreds.
'Is it true that you were hospitalized for a psychotic fracture that lasted three months?'
'Wouldn't this break effect your judgments and memory of the event?'
'How did a trained profiler encounter both of these murderous criminals and not realize it?'
Would he be able to sit in the same room as Andrew and Varney when his own memories of them were enough to send him into a panic attack? Would he break down in the court room and only do damage for his side of the case?
He shuddered at the thought, the idea of sitting across from the two men sending shivers down his spine that shook his bones so that they clattered together. To be so close to them...
Could he handle it?
But there was something strangely enticing about the same prospect. To come face to face to the men who had tried to break him and prove to them that they hadn't succeeded- that he had won, and they had failed- seemed so alluring. A part of him wanted that so bad, wanted to gloat about how far he had come to the men who had brought him to Hell and left him there.
But he wasn't that much better, was he? He was sane, yes, but how sane could he truly claim to be? He still suffered from crippling flashbacks and was incapable of speaking about his week. Dr. Greene was become impatient with his lack of progress, he knew, and one nurse had even had the nerve to tell him that he would most likely never leave. Did he really have much to boast? What if they looked at him and were simply satisfied, knowing that they had permanently effected his life?
'It doesn't need to be permanent,' he thought, chewing his lip in thought.
"Reid?" Morgan called, pulling him out of his careful weighing of the two options.
Looking up, Reid made his decision in that instant, raising his chin defiantly as he said, "I want to." Before Morgan could even respond, Reid stood and began to walk back to the building containing his ward, turning around after several long strides and waiting for Morgan to follow.
"Where are you going?" the agent asked, rising from his sitting position and catching up to his friend, his eyebrows knitted.
"To schedule an emergency meeting with Dr. Greene," he responded nonchalantly. "I figure that I have two weeks to at least manage the anxiety, so I need to get started as soon as possible."
Quirking an eyebrow, Morgan chuckled lightly. "And why is getting better so important to you all of sudden?" he asked.
Reid stopped, turning to him as he let a small smile pull on his lips. "I want to prove them wrong."
xXx
Author's Note: In the next installment of The Doctor's Patient: The Trial!
Will Reid be able to keep his cool around Varney and Andrew? What will be their sentencing? Will this story ever end?
Find out, in Chapter 29!
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