Disclaimer: Criminal Minds and all its associated characters are property to CBS and no profit is being made from this story.
Author's Note: IMPORTANT! Okay, so two things to say! The first thing is I have finally decided to make myself a separate Facebook account for my writing, original and fanfiction. There will be updates about stories, notes on ideas, sneak previews and photographs. The photos will be of original artwork (shameless self-advertisement? Meh, probably), fan art that would be relevant to stories (for example, if I write a story where Reid dresses up as a lion for whatever reason, I will not resist the urge to draw a picture of it and post it) and photographs to help the readers envision elements of the story. So far, I have several photos of the Flats up and would be delighted if you stopped by to check them out! I also have a deviantART account with the same photos, but I thought a Facebook would be better for people who either (a) aren't familiar with deviantART, or (b) are interested in updates and notes for this story, and others. So, yeah. A link is available to both accounts on the top of my profile. Feel free to add me and even hit me up on the chat if you would like. (On another note, the facebook account is new, and so it's in the works. The photos are all up, and I will be posting notes for upcoming stories and stuff.)
Second thing- I've tried my hardest to get all legal procedures and jargon as accurate possible, as well as make everything believable. I'm truly sorry if something seems out of place or what not, I did try to research as much as possible without overtaxing the worth of it. If there are any indiscretions, please be so kind as send me a PM or review regarding them and I will see what can be done to correct it!
Also remember- some things have intentionally be changed (in this chapter, Reid's father.)
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Pulling Up
'There are two ways of exerting one's strength: one is pushing down, the other is pulling up.' -Booker T. Washington
Reid pushed his food around his plate, slouching forward as he sat in his chair in the dining hall, covering his ears to the noise. He had never liked eating in the room with so many people and noises surrounding him, but he was required to.
'The less isolated you let yourself become,' Dr. Garrison had told him, 'the more inclined everyone will be to let you go away for the trials.'
It was with that thought in mind that Reid, begrudgingly, made the effort to wake up every morning at eight to join the rest of the patients for breakfasts. He made sure he attended every lunch in the hall, and every dinner. He was present for every group meeting and even forced himself to sit in the rec room or the living room for at least an hour a day, trying to seem more sociable.
But unfortunately and despite being an 'expert at everything' as he was so often hailed as being, Spencer Reid was by no means an expert at social interactions. That being said, his attempts at being sociable were just that- attempts. Weak at best and failures at worst. If it were not for his near savant knowledge of psychology, particularly abnormal psychology, he was sure he would have sent several patients into a panic attack of sorts when they tried to talk to him.
He had already tried to explain to a traumatized burn victim that the amount of injuries received from fire have significantly decreased over the years due to various factors. Needless to say, she was not entirely taken with him.
However, the doctors had been pleased enough with his effort and Morgan, along with Hotch and JJ, were to arrive shortly to escort him to New York for the trials. He just needed to pass his time until then.
Sighing, he placed his fork down and settled his chin in his hand, leaning his weight to the side as he looked around the room, letting his eyes fall on the man sitting in front of him as his mind wandered.
In about two hours, he would be temporarily leaving the hospital in order to attend the court.
In six hours, he would undergo an extensive psychological evaluation to make sure he was fit to take the stand.
In twenty-two hours, he would see Andrew again.
"What are you looking at, Fairy?"
Jumping, Reid lifted his weight so that he was more centered as he trained his gaze on the man before him, letting his mind return to the present. Confused, and as if seeing the man for the first time despite having stared at him, he furrowed his eyebrows as he said, "Um...excuse me?"
The man, appearing to be in about his mid thirties a with thinning black hair, swallowed the the large bite he had taken of his egg sandwich and said, "You're staring...stop staring." A coagulating line of yolk dribbled down his stubbly chin, but he made no move to wipe it away as he pointed at Reid and added, "I don't go that way, buddy."
It took him a moment to fully understand what the man was saying, his mouth opening slightly as he shook his head fervently and said, "No, no, no! I'm not...I mean...I wasn't-" A deep laugh cut him off, the man letting his sandwich fall to the plate as he leaned back with the guffaw. Realizing that his stammer was the cause of his amusement, Reid snapped his mouth shut and looked down at his lap, his cheeks heating up.
The man, settling down from his laughing fit, wiped his mouth, smearing the yolk across his chin. "Nervous that I caught you?" he asked, deepening the crimson shade on Reid's cheeks.
Opening his mouth but then closing it again, not trusting himself to speak without stammering, Reid looked up to meet the man's eyes, shaking his head. He cleared his throat and tried again.
"No, I...I like women," he said quietly, closing his eyes against the image of blonde hair and blue eyes that seemed to attack him at the statement.
His claim was met with raised eyebrows and a soft chuckle.
"Really, now?" the man asked in obvious disbelief.
Before Reid could respond, a voice to his right cut in.
"Leave the poor boy alone, Daniel," the new man said, smiling with amusement at the man, Daniel, as he shook his head and added, "And wipe the food off your chin. You're disgusting."
Daniel paled visibly as he grumbled something inaudible, reaching for a napkin and wiping the now fully dried on glop of yolk of his chin with much effort. As he did this, the other man turned to Reid and said, "Sorry about him. Manners aren't his good point- but living in a mental hospital causes many people to just not care, I suppose." He paused in his speech, looking upward as he bit his lip introspectively. Humming softly, he brought his gaze back down to Reid and smiled at him, the wrinkles and creases around his lips emphasizing as he did so. Sticking his hand out, he said, "I'm Henry, by the way."
Reid stared at the hand before him, involuntarily move back from it as he felt his pulse begin to quicken. He contemplated not shaking it, letting it sit before him as if he hadn't seen there. Despite his almost clueless quality regarding interaction, he did know that not shaking a proffered hand was exceedingly rude.
'But living in a mental hospital causes many people to just not care, I suppose,' his thoughts mused, willing him to just turn away from Henry's hand and to use the older man's words as his excuse. He couldn't though, the manners he was taught so permanently etched into his mind. Swallowing hard as he tried to push his fear of hands down into his stomach, where apparently a large amount of butterflies had taken residence, he slowly moved his own hand closer, giving him ample time to change his mind at any point.
But before his movements could even become obvious, Henry pulled his own hand back and said, "Sorry, should've thought about that." Looking around the room, in turn making Reid do the same thing, he shrugged and added, "This is a trauma ward. Not many people here take kindly to touch."
At this, Reid's pulse only hastened as his heart rate sped up, his lip twitching nervously as he withdrew his hand and placed it, shaking, on his lap. Was it really that simple to know what had happened to him? Did simply being a patient on this specific ward, combined with his post-traumatic habits, tell everyone what he had been through, as though he were wearing a sandwich board describing it all?
His vision blurred as sweat crept down the slope of his brow and fell into his eye, his head bowing at the thought of being so shallow, so easily read. Would he be forever stigmatized because of this? If he met someone on the streets, years from now, would he still be unable to shake their hands, and in not doing so, betray himself and his secret?
There was something so horrifying about having others know about it- it was something that was deeply embarrassing and completely his own. Why should strangers be able to know immediately his life story, while simultaneously keeping their own under lock and key? Would he be judged? Would people avoid him?
Look down at him?
Laugh at him?
Call him weak?
Or, worst of all...
Pity him?
"Henry, I think he might be...well, you know, a fruit-" Daniel started, only to be interrupted by Henry who rolled his eyes with a large flourish of his hand and incline of his head.
"Really, Daniel, the poor kid finally comes out of his room and you attack him for zoning out? You're going to scare him away," he admonished, shaking his head as he reached for his coffee, sitting on his tray in a paper cup and plastic lid. After taking a sip, he sighed contentedly and added, "And you know what they say, those who accuse others of something are often trying to take the suspicion away from themselves."
Daniel blanched, his mouth opening slightly as Henry sniggered, taking another gulp of his coffee.
"I am not gay!" Daniel argued in his defense, his hand rising and then coming down hard, slamming against the table. The trays jumped from the surface and clanked back down, Henry's half-eaten muffin falling to it's heavier side with the force. An orderly, sitting on a chair set aside from the twenty-some odd patients, looked up from her book jerkily at the louder than average noise.
Gray eyes narrowed as she honed in on Daniel, her lips pursing before barking out, "Watch your temper, Mr. Bartkowski."
Looking morosely at the nurse, Daniel shook his head and turned back to Henry, jabbing his finger in the air as he said, "I'm just saying, I ain't go that way. You got it?"
Henry smirked as he leaned closer to Reid, whispering softly, "Methinks he doth protest too much."
Reid, who had hitherto watched the interaction in reserved entertainment, still silently battling his worries in the back of his mind, snorted inelegantly before clamping a hand to his mouth, ducking his head.
"What are you laughing about over there?" Daniel asked gruffly, making Reid reach for his own coffee and busy his mouth before he could say anything, which would only make the situation worse. The warm liquid however was a welcomed distraction, his love of coffee still quite prevalent despite being limited to a cup a day.
"So, what was your name? I didn't catch it?" Henry asked, waving away Daniel's question as he picked another piece off of his muffin, which still sat on it's side.
Coughing slightly on his coffee in his haste to put it down to answer, Reid said, "Oh, sorry. I'm ugh..." he stopped, wondering if he should add the titles he normally would, in any other place. But would 'SSA Dr. Spencer Reid' really mean anything in here, this little room that seemed so closed off from the world it was nestled into? Deciding it didn't, he shrugged his shoulders to himself and said, "Spencer." No titles, no surname. Just Spencer.
'Weird,' he thought, realizing just how odd the singular name felt on his tongue. 'I've never been just Spencer.'
All his life, he was always endorsed by something other than his name, be it a title, a nickname or adjectives.
Diana and William's boy.
That smart kid.
The child prodigy.
Pretty Boy.
Boy Genius.
Dr. Reid.
Agent Reid.
Never was he just Spencer, except in this place, where time seemed to stand still and where the world was nonexistent. The only people alive were those sitting around you, as they were the only people you ever saw, could ever converse with. Not even the news and media were enough to penetrate the shield of isolation that wrapped itself like a dome around the hospital. Aside from the movie that was forced upon them, nothing else existed to prove there was life beyond the one Reid was reluctantly secluded in.
But it felt almost liberating, to finally not have to live up to expectations or to be hassled by the skeptical looks he often received when he said he was from the FBI. So many of the people he met always seemed to know him before he knew them, forcing him to have to be everything they wanted and thought of when they had heard that 'that really smart kid' was coming. For the first time in his life, he wasn't expected to blow someone away with facts and statistics or be the stereotypical nerd he was often teased as being.
"Spencer? Alright," Henry said, smiling amiably and nodding. "So, why is it that in the past two weeks you've suddenly decided to join us? Did you get bored in your room?"
Frowning, Reid thought about his answer, not wanting to break the seal of this new found identity by revealing to much. While he was so used to rattling off his credentials and experience within the FBI, he wasn't so sure that that was something he wanted to do. He had just recently discovered the freedom of being Just Spencer, and he wasn't ready to give it up so soon. So, hoping that Henry would understand, he said, "There's some stuff I need to do, legal stuff, and in order to be allowed to leave I needed to make more of an effort to socialize."
There, concise and too the point. No mention of his honored ranks among the Federal positions, or boasting of his genius qualities. Just the relevant.
Henry nodded, stroking his chin in thought. "That'll be nice, getting out for a bit. Even if it is for something as tedious or stressful." Reid nodded, his thoughts returning once more to the trial. To seeing Andrew.
"Stressful, yeah," he said, almost unintentionally as he began to poke his leftover pancakes with his fork and push it around his plate, saturating it in syrup.
"You know," Henry began, slumping his shoulders as he turned back to his food, his voice and body language far less open than they had been. "The reason I'm here is because my son was involved in a lot of bad things. Gangs and drugs and stuff like that, you know? And one day, I got a call from the police, saying they found what they thought might have been his body. They wanted me to come down and identify it." He paused, biting his lip as his eyes misted over, the obvious signs of remembrance clouding over his features.
Reid raised his brow and tilted his head to the side, wondering why he was sharing something so private and painful, but unsure of how to say that he didn't need to continue with it if it hurt so much.
"It was him, and he had been murdered. Of course, I needed to testify in court in order to have the guys who shot him put in jail. It was the least I could do. I...hadn't been the best of fathers, I know, so I had to stand trial for him. It was really stressful, but I found that squeezing a stress ball helps a lot." Turning back to Reid, he smiled and said, "I actually have one, if you want to borrow it for your trip. The questions can be brutal, and can remind you of some...not so good things, but having something to occupy yourself with and release some of the nerves can make it easier to bear."
Opening his mouth, Reid muttered the only thing he could think to say, his awkwardness returning to him with awful precision. "I...I'm sorry."
Waving his hand dismissively, Henry forced a smile on and said, "Don't be, you have your own problems to work through, you don't need to worry yourself with mine. I was just wondering if you would like to borrow a stress ball if you didn't already have one. So, will you?"
After a second of thought, Reid nodded, smiling slowly. "Yes, I would. Thank you." Whether or not the object would prove to be of any use to him, he was unsure. But the gesture was kind and heartfelt, and he felt inclined to accept it.
"When are you leaving? So I know when to get it to you?"
"Today, actually."
Henry whistled. "Soon, than? Alright, I'll grab it after breakfast and give it to a nurse to get to you," he said. He then smiled, placing his coffee down on his tray and grabbing it as he stood. "I'm going to go shower, so if I don't see you before you leave, good luck, Spencer."
Reid smiled. "Thank you, a lot."
"My pleasure," Henry called back, leaving the dining hall after depositing his tray on the counter. A couple of minutes later, and once he had effectively picked his food until it was a mess of pancake bits and syrup, he stood from his seat and left, heading to his room where Tori would be to give him another haircut.
"Have to look your best," she had told him, saying that his hair looked good both short and long, but not in the awkward phase it was currently in. While Reid wasn't a vain person by any means, he rather liked his hair and considered it to be one of his better qualities; short, long or in between. But he knew she was right- walking into a court room with hair that was so long it had turned into a mass of bunchy curls, yet too short for the curls to not stick up in awkward angles would not make him seem sane.
And with his history of the past five months, seeming sane was everything.
xXx
"For the record, please state your name, date of birth, and the title and position you hold in the FBI," the psychologist, a Dr. James Griffin, asked as he balanced the clipboard on his lap, his pen raised over it as he looked expectantly at Reid over his rectangular spectacles.
"SSA Dr. Spencer Reid, born on October 9, 1981," he answered slowly and carefully, his hands tossing the stress ball back and forth over his lap as he watched the FBI appointed doctor scribble the answer down.
Looking at the next question, he asked, "Do you have any physical problems that you are concerned about, seeing a doctor for, or take medications for?"
Reid thought for a moment, sucking in his lower lip as he bit it gently, wondering if psychological problems would be counted in this. Deciding they didn't, as this was a psych evaluation and the answers would not be received so easily, he replied 'No.'
A mirror on the opposite side of the room, straight across from where Reid sat, hid Hotch, Morgan and JJ from view. But he knew they were watching, and listening intently.
'They're probably coming up with their own interpretations of my answers,' he dismally thought, knowing from experience just how hard it could be to turn off those damned profiling instincts. Without meaning to, he would always find himself looking further into actions, examining everything said and not said, and thinking over a list of psychological disorders. After all, had it not been said that everyone suffers from at least one disorder?
"Do you feel depressed, suicidal, or exhausted- more so than what is considered usual?" the doctor asked, drawing Reid's attention away from the mirror.
After a long, drawn out second, Reid nodded and breathed out, "Depressed and exhausted, yeah, but not suicidal." He tried to keep his voice quiet, so that only the doctor would hear his answer, even though he knew just how futile that was. The highly sensitive equipment that sat among the room would pick his words up and relay them back to the three people behind the window. Not as if that mattered, really. It wasn't as if they didn't already know his current mental state.
But nonetheless, Reid felt his cheeks flame in embarrassment at having people so close to him hearing these confessions.
"On a scale of one to ten, how bad is your depression- daily and right now?"
Raising his eyes to the top of his head as he thought, he said, "Daily? Seven. Right now? About five."
Looking back to the mirror, he stared at his reflection, vaguely wondering if he was staring at anyone. He always questioned what it might feel like to be someone under suspicions of a crime, knowing someone was watching you but not knowing whom. It could really be maddening.
"Have you ever wanted to harm yourself?"
Not taking his eyes away from his reflected image, he said, "Not intentionally, no." He was mesmerized by the way he looked- not in the way someone might be when they were conceited, but in the way someone who had never encountered a mirror before, and was fascinated by their new found looks, would be. While he had a mirror in the personal bathroom that connected to his room in the hospital, he had never really looked in it. Not truly, at least. Aside from several fleeting moments, when curiosity got the best of him, he tried his best to avoid what he knew would be reflected back at him.
Pale, yellowing skin.
Sunken, dead eyes.
Visible bones.
Lanky hair.
Shallow cheeks.
All the signs that he had been destroyed and beaten by Andrew and Varney were there, in the mirror- impossible to ignore or deny. Every time he saw himself for what he was, had now become, it was like someone had taken a spoon and hollowed him out, like one would a pumpkin to be made as a jack-o-lantern. It was this reason that kept him from looking at himself, if he could help it.
But now, having a large and expansive mirror placed directly before him, and with nothing of intrigue to look at, he was forced to see his reflection.
It was with his obvious surprise that he realized how much had truly changed.
His skin, though paler than it was before he was captured due to lack of sun, had finally lacked the sheen of poor health, and instead resembled more a look of polished porcelain, seeming far more intentional. Full cheeks, no longer concave, made his slim stature seem less so, his cheekbones no longer protruding sharply outwards. This change, occurring in more than just his face as the rest of him had begun to gain more weight, was because of the past two weeks, in which he forced himself to eat every meal he was given, he knew, and he began to wonder exactly why he was so opposed to eating in the first place if this was the result. The bags under his lids, while not gone, were less prominent, and were no longer a sickly shade of purple. But the real change was just above the bags, in his eyes.
Once dull and constantly sporting a lost and hopeless expression, the dark, muddiness of his eyes seemed to retreat somewhat, the gold and green flecks more noticeable. Somehow, his eyes not only appeared lighter, but they also seemed shinier, as though it was simply the lighting in the hospital that had made them look so dark and shadowed.
Chancing a glance overhead at the singular fluorescent light, he knew that the lighting couldn't be the reason.
"Dr. Reid?"
Jumping in his chair and twisting his body to look at the doctor, he frowned apologetically and shifted slightly, squeezing the stress ball in his hand. "S-sorry. Could you repeat the question?" he asked.
Sighing, the doctor said, "Could you explain your answer, please?"
Thinking back to the last question, and his given response, he paled slightly, mentally cursing himself. 'Stupid, stupid, stupid!' his mind berated himself as he resisted the urge to thump himself in the head. Swallowing nervously, he shifted in his seat again and said, "I ugh...in the shower. Sometimes I would think about things and..." He trailed off, biting his lip as he looked away, inclining his head to stare at the ceiling as though it were the most interesting thing in the world.
"You would scrub your skin raw, or burn yourself in the water?" the doctor pressed quietly, urging him to continue.
Reid shrugged. "Both, I guess," he answered quietly, turning his head away from the mirror, ashamed. Were they pitying him, looking at him differently now? Now, he was thankful for the barrier between him and the others, and that he could not see their faces. He didn't think he could handle it from them, his family.
"When was the last time you did this?"
After a second, Reid said, "Seven weeks ago."
The questions continued, some causing him to fidget more than others as he worried the stress ball in his hands, thankful to Henry and his kind offer. Working his hands had allowed him to focus on something while he impassively rattled of answers.
Do you have any specific fears that you are aware of? If so, what?
Yes, inheriting my mother's schizophrenia and the dark.
How debilitating are these fears?
More so, in the past couple of months.
Does anyone in your family do drugs or drink excessively?
Yes, my father, he's an alcoholic.
Is he recovering or still using?
I don't know.
After nearly an hour of the test proceeding in this manner, the doctor handed the clipboard to Reid, saying, "Could you please look your answers over and then sign at the bottom to verify them for analyzing." Nodding and taking the clipboard, he did this, scanning the twenty-two pages of content in a minute and then scrawling down his signature.
Dr. Griffin smirked when he received the clipboard back, shaking his head as he said, "You really read it all that fast?"
Reid just nodded, his eyes trained on the stress ball as he squeezed it in his hand, his fingers digging into the foam material.
"Impressive," he heard him mumble before heading to the door of the interrogation room, the clipboard in hand. "We'll process the information you gave us and give your superior, SSA Aaron Hotchner, a call when we know if you're fit enough to take part in tomorrow's proceedings."
"Okay," Reid answered, standing up from his chair as the door was opened for him. He walked through, thanking him as he went, and headed over to Morgan, Hotch and JJ, where they stood behind the mirror as he had known they would.
"Hey," JJ said with an encouraging smile as he approached. "You did really well in there, Spence."
"We'll see," he responded as he pocketed the stress ball, thankful for having worn something more leisurely than his usual work attire and therefore containing much larger pockets.
Morgan frowned. "Don't worry, man. You didn't say anything that could keep you from court."
Reid nodded, though he wasn't fully aware of the conversation that took place around him afterwards. He went through the motions of putting on his coat and walking with them to the car, where they would go out for dinner with the rest of the team and then head to their hotel rooms, awaiting the call and preparing for the trials.
The entire time, his thoughts were simply centered around Morgan's and JJ's words. Though he knew they were said to reassure him, and would have been said regardless of the success of his interview, he hoped beyond fathomable hope that they were right. Even if he himself couldn't take the stand, he at least wanted to be there- wanted Andrew to see him and know that he didn't win. That this experiment failed like all the others and that now, there wouldn't be another one to continue in it's tracks.
And despite how angry and vengeful it seemed, he wanted nothing more than to see the man pay for what he did.
To him, and to the five other men who had previously haunted him.
xXx
"This is our room," Morgan said as he walked into the hotel room with Reid by his side, flicking on the lights.
The door led into a small entrance hallway, with what Reid assumed was the door leading to the bathroom on the right. Opposite it was kitchenette area, with a mini-fridge, a microwave, and a coffee machine, which Reid was eternally thankful for. The hallway opened to a small room with beige walls and two full sized beds, each decked in silvery-blue bedding and too many pillows. A nightstand sat in between the two, a phone and a lamp on its surface, while on the other side of the room was the large dresser and the television set, which Morgan immediately headed over to and turned on.
He grabbed the remote and flopped down on the nearest bed, flicking through the channels as Reid slowly and cautiously moved through the room, realizing that this wasn't the first night Morgan had spent here. Two suitcases were placed beside the bed, one opened and spilling with clothes, and the other untouched.
"Is that...?" Reid began, pointing towards the suitcase beside the empty bed.
"It's yours, yeah. We took the liberty of packing more formal clothes for you, since you didn't have any at the hospital," Morgan answered. Reid nodded, feeling a small twinge of anger at having his privacy invaded that way. But just as the emotion came, it left, a new question in mind as he thought of something he hadn't really had the time to consider.
"What about my apartment? And the stuff in it?"
Had he been evicted? Did he even have a home to return to? He hadn't paid rent in months, so was it possible all of his stuff was just gone, thrown out onto the streets, while another person moved into his home? How could that have happened? How did he not even think about it? He felt the start of what he had now come to know as a panic attack coming on at the prospect of having nothing to return to, but just as his head began to feel light and his chest clenched with the struggle to breathe, he heard Morgan's nonchalant answer.
"It's taken care of, you'll be able to go right back to it when you're officially discharged," he said, smiling slightly as he changed the channel after a commercial came on.
Reid knitted his brow as he moved over to the second bed, slowly lowering himself onto it as he asked, "But...how? I haven't paid any of the bills, and it's not being maintained and-"
Morgan rose a hand to quiet him as he chuckled to himself, shaking his head. "Don't worry about it, Kid. It's taken care of."
"But-"
He was interrupted by a knocking sound, but it was coming from the side instead of in front of him, where the entrance door was placed. Jerking his head in the direction of the noise, he was surprised to see another door, set to the far side of the room and beside the dresser.
At his confused and wondering look, Morgan said, "Technically, we're off duty agents, and you're a ward under Hotch's care, since you're not in the hospital and he promised liability to you. So, our room is connected to his." As Reid nodded, his mouth forming a small 'O' in understanding, Morgan called out for Hotch to come inside.
The door creaked open and the man entered, his jacket removed so that he was only wearing his dress shirt, pants and tie.
"Are you all settled in?" he asked, looking pointedly at Reid as Morgan turned off the television and sat up, eagerly watching Hotch.
"Yeah, I guess. Everything was put here for me so..." Reid answered, falling silent as he looked at his suitcase. What had happened to his apartment? Why wouldn't Morgan say?
"Did they call, Hotch?" Morgan asked.
As if just now remembering that the trials would be occurring the next day, and that Hotch was the middleman between him and deciding factor of whether or not he could attend, Reid jumped at the words and lurched off of the bed, standing attentively as he turned to fully face his boss. He swallowed nervously and clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding as he waited for the answer.
He wanted - he needed!- to be able go. He had to say yes, he had to.
Hotch nodded, letting a small and rare smile pull his lips as he said, "You were cleared."
Breathing a sigh of relief, Reid fell back down on the mattress, smiling lazily up at both Hotch and Morgan, who were each exchanging wide grins.
"See? Told you they'd let you in. You worry too much, Pretty Boy," Morgan said, shaking his head with his words as he leaned back down on the mattress.
"I better get back to my room now. I have statements to prepare and whatnot." Moving back to the door leading into his own room, he turned back to the two and said, "Get a good night's sleep, we have a long day tomorrow. And Reid, Dr. Greene wanted me to make sure you took your medications."
'Of course,' Reid thought, resisting the childish impulse to roll his eyes as he nodded, sitting up once more and reaching for the bag he had deposited beside his bed. He bid Hotch a good night as he pulled the satchel into his lap and began sifting through it, trying to find the foil wrapped Seroquel as he tried to push his self-defeating thoughts away from his mind. But it was of no use, he couldn't help but feel like a kid in need of a babysitter at those words.
He constantly needed watching.
Watching to make sure he took his meds.
Watching to make sure he wasn't submitting to terrifying flashbacks and anxiety attacks.
Watching to make sure he wasn't going to hurt himself.
Watching to make sure he wasn't going to break.
He felt fragile, like there was a big sticker on his forehead that read 'Handle With Care' that everyone but himself could see. And he hated it. He hated being a burden to others, and seeming even weaker in their eyes than he had before. Or was it in his own eyes that he seemed weak?
"Here."
He looked over at Morgan, who was handing him a cup of water. Smiling his thanks, he took it and, after popping the small, blue pill into his mouth, took a sip of the water to chase it down.
As he placed the glass back down onto the surface of the bedside table, he looked up to meet Morgan's curious eyes. He was about to ask him why he was staring at him that way, but was cut off by Morgan asking, "What does that one do?"
Looking back down at the small, broken foil seal he still held in his palm, he thought before answering, "It's Seroquel. It's used to treat schizophrenia, mania, and depression in bipolar patients. It can also be used alongside other drugs to treat depression, and it also can work as a sleep aid." After a moment, he added, "I have it for depression and for sleeping." He held his hand out over the table and turned it over, letting the little piece of garbage fall onto the surface as he returned to his bag, promising himself he would throw it out later.
"What else do you take? I know you told me before, but I can't remember," Morgan asked, his voice subdued and gentle as though he knew how much he might be crossing the line, but his curiosity made it impossible for him to step back.
Pursing his lips, Reid shrugged. "Klonopin for anxiety and depression, and Wellbutrin." At Morgan's expectant look, he explained, "It's used to treat depression mostly, but I have it for ugh..." he paused, swallowing harshly before continuing, "the um, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder."
Morgan nodded slowly, his dark eyes seeming lost and distant. "Are you ready to face Andrew?"
"I think so," Reid answered as he stood from the bed and headed over to the suitcase, searching for pajamas to wear. He heard the sound of the television being turned again, tuning into The Young and The Restless as Morgan went about his way. Pulling out dark blue flannel pants and a gray tee shirt, Reid pushed himself up off the floor and made his way to the bathroom to change, thankful he had taken the Seroquel when he did now that his nerves were getting the best of him.
In less than twelve hours, he would be walking into the court room and facing Andrew.
Andrew...
The man who kidnapped him.
The man who tortured him.
The man who broke him.
Sliding his jeans over his hips, he looked down at his legs- the pallid skin tone, skinny appendages with traces of lean muscle and the ugly white and reddish brown scars. Andrew had done this to him. He was the reason why every area of his body was marred somehow, with some disgusting and grotesque imperfection. It was because of him that every time he undressed to change or shower he would be assaulted by memories of that week.
Screwing his lips into a scowl, he quickly slid on the pajama bottoms, thankful to not have to look at the scars that stuck out so plainly from the rest of him. He hated the way he looked now. He hated the way his skin rose in healed over sections. He hated the way people looked at him. He hated the way everything reminded him of those seven days. He hated the way he shrunk away from hands.
But tomorrow, Andrew wouldn't see that.
He would only see SSA Dr. Spencer Reid, putting yet another sick and deluded criminal where he belonged.
xXx
"How do I look?" Reid asked, stepping out from the bathroom and spreading his arms out to show off the outfit. He wore simple gray, pinstriped pants with a matching vest over a dark purple dress shirt, a yellow tie in place. Morgan, looking up at him after putting on a sock over his right foot, laughed deeply at the sight.
Reid stiffened as he looked down at himself, his cheeks turning a slight pink as Morgan's laughter continued to ring in his ears. Did he really look that ridiculous? He thought he looked rather nice...
"Sorry, Kid. But it's just weird is all," Morgan responded, his laughter dying down as he slipped his feet into his shoes and began tying them.
Quirking a brow, Reid said, "I used to wear stuff like this all the time though."
"Exactly," he answered, looking up at him as he moved over to the other shoe, his grin wide and showing off his perfectly white teeth. "After spending five months seeing you in nothing but sweat pants and tee shirts, it threw me off a little."
Bristling at the comment, Reid claimed, "I wore other stuff."
"Yeah, but jeans and tee shirts aren't very...Reid-like either."
As Morgan stood and made to grab his suit jacket to put over his white dress shirt, Reid furrowed his brow at the words. "Reid-like?" he repeated, wondering if he really had been so unique that he created his own archetype among them. Did they all consider certain things to be 'Reid-like'? Frowning, he followed the agent's actions and grabbed his lightweight fleece jacket, throwing it over his slim shoulder before grabbing his bag and doing the same.
They were on their way to meet the others at the courthouse, Rossi, Emily, JJ and Garcia going ahead as Hotch stayed behind to escort them. Or rather, to escort Reid, as Morgan was more than capable than being on his own.
No, it was Reid that he had to worry about, and Reid that he had to responsible for.
'One thing is certain,' he thought as he removed the morning's dose of Wellbutrin and Klonopin from the pocket of his bag, popping them in his mouth. 'I'm getting really tired of needing constant supervision.'
A knock at the door connected his room to Hotch's pulled him out of his melancholic thoughts and he turned in time to see Morgan open the door, a fully dressed Hotch stepping through.
Looking at his off-duty agents, dressed and ready for the day, he closed the door behind him and called out, "Let's go. JJ called and told me that reporters and picketers are already starting to get there, so it's best to beat the majority of them to it."
As Reid stood and followed them out the door and into the main hall of the hotel, he furrowed his brow and asked, "Picketers?"
"Reid, a federal agent was involved in a serial crime case. Of course there are picketers," Morgan answered, only to be followed up by Hotch who shook his head.
"It took a long time to find a suitable jury because everyone was biased in the case," he said, holding open the back entrance and then, when both men had stepped through and into the bright and chilly outside, led them to the car. "Pretty much everyone wanted Varney and Wright in jail before the screening process, so it took a bit to find people who were open to the case."
"Oh," Reid said, opening the back door to the black SUV and sliding into the seat, setting his bag to the side as he leaned forward. "Was it really that sensationalized?"
Sharing twin glances of mild anger and slight amusement, Morgan and Hotch both nodded as they sat in the front, Morgan twisting in his seat to face Reid. "The only thing more sensationalized than a federal agent getting involved in a case like this is something happening to a child. So, expect a lot of media attention when we get there."
Needless to say, there was no amount of preparation suitable for what Reid saw when they finally pulled up to the Courthouse. A large crowd of people- holding signs, chanting words, giving news reports- stood outside of the steps, and he subconsciously pushed himself down into the seats, his stomach feeling like it floated into his throat. He couldn't go out there- there were so many people! He wanted to vomit just in anticipation of all the attention that would surely head his way.
Parking the car in the designated lot and turning the key in the ignition before pulling it out, Hotch turned to Reid, his eyebrows raised in question. "Are you ready?"
"No," he answered honestly, looking out once more at the crowd of people reporting this event, waiting for him to come out of the enclosed vehicle so they could jump him with questions and demand comments.
"Look, man, just think of something. Recite a novel or some obscure physics theory in your head," Morgan suggested, undoing his seat belt and preparing to open the door. After a moment in which Reid seriously contemplated not entering the building at all and waiting until the end to hear the news of the trial, he sighed and did the same, stepping outside of the car and immediately being joined by Morgan and Hotch, who flanked either side of him.
"I'll go first," the superior said, stepping in front of Reid as Morgan fell to the back, forming a train as they walked through the crowd, reporters and picketers turning their attention to them almost instantaneously.
'According to quantum law,' Reid mused in his mind, his head bent down as he stared at his feet, trying to avoid tripping or stepping on the back of Hotch's shoes with so many cameras around. 'Schrodinger's illustrated theory of the cat is an example of a superposition of states, neither dead nor alive. Known as quantum indeterminacy or the observer's paradox, it is impossible for anyone to know the true status of-'
"Dr. Reid! How do you feel about seeing the man who did this to you again?" a reporter asked, trying to push her way through to the young agent. His concentration broken, he was suddenly aware of all the questions being thrown at him, the attack of words and jeers causing his eardrums to pound and beat heavily.
"What do you think will be the outcome of Andrew Wright's trial? Do you think he will get off on the insanity plea?"
"What about Heath Varney's trial in the coming week? What do you think is an appropriate sentence?"
"Will you be able to handle seeing these two men?"
"Do you blame any of your fellow agents for this tragedy that occurred?"
'Dammit, Hotch,' he thought bitterly, trying to plug his ears to the noise around him but knowing he couldn't physically do so. 'Walk faster!'
The man refused to meet his unvoiced urges however, walking a steady and collected pace as he kept the air of professionalism about him even as so many reporters swooned in like vultures to the carcass.
'Maybe if I walk faster and start kicking the heels of his shoes...' he mused, almost childishly as he slowly sped up his walk and tried to kick his boss's feet in a manner than seemed unintentional. But despite having longer legs, Hotch somehow managed to avoid every aimed kick that head his way, causing Reid to huff in frustration. He wanted to be inside the courthouse as soon as possible, and Hotch's need to always look calm and stoic was making this feat difficult.
Didn't he hear all the questions that were being hurled at Reid? Didn't he know that he wanted to just stop hearing them?
"Dr. Reid, how far have you come since being rescued by your fellow teammates?"
"Do you think you will continue to work for the BAU after this?"
Speeding up even more so that now he was noticeably trying to nudge Hotch along, Reid ducked his head down even lower and began wringing his fingers around each other. 'Maybe this was a bad idea,' he thought, feeling his legs wobble with unease as his levels of anxiety rose. 'Maybe I should have just stayed at the hospital.'
Was that really what he had been brought down to? Someone who needed to be sheltered from the world and all the judging eyes? Had he really fallen down that much?
"Relax, Kid," he heard Morgan whisper from behind him, his neck stretched out so that there wouldn't be any accidental contact between their bodies, which would only worsen the situation. "Were almost there. Twelve steps left."
Nodding, Reid let his head fall back to the steps, concentrating at what Morgan had said.
Eleven steps left...
Ten steps left...
"Agent Hotchner, how has your team handled the temporary lost of two of your agents?"
Seven steps left...
Six steps left...
Five steps left...
"Agent Morgan, will you be able to keep your temper in check around the two defendants?"
Two steps left...
One step...
They reached the landing and Hotch opened the door, Reid quickly rushing inside to escape the barrage of questions.
'Thank God that's over,' he thought, following both Morgan and Hotch now as they brought him to the court room where the trial would be held, their strides long and hurried. After several minutes and two different occasions in which they climbed up large staircases, they made it to the assigned courtroom, one of the larger ones, and found that, upon opening the double door, it was already filled with people.
"The team's over here," Hotch said, pointing to the appropriate side and sparing not a moment in making his way over there. The closer they got, the more Reid could make out the golden haired head of JJ, the recently dyed red hair of Garcia, the graying black hair of Rossi, and the sleek black hair of Emily. They were sitting in the first bench behind the Prosecution, looking around and waving them over when they caught sight of the three agents.
"How bad was the crowd when you got here?" Rossi asked gruffly, shuffling over so that there was room. After sparing a quick look at the currently empty Defendant table, Hotch placed himself on the end of the bench closest to the aisle, forcing Reid to move farther down- farther away from where Andrew would be.
"Pretty obnoxious," Morgan answered, sitting in between Garcia and Reid, with JJ and Emily at the end.
"How are you feeling?" JJ asked quietly, shuffling closer to Reid so as to not have to raise her voice too loud to speak to him.
He turned to her, shrugging his shoulders as he reached into his messenger bag and pulled out the stress ball, bouncing it between his hands. "Nervous, I guess," he answered, knowing that it was an understatement of grand proportions. Nervous wasn't even the start of it. His stomach, as though torn between which direction to take, seemed to drop with heaviness and rise into his chest all at once, as his blood and pulse seemed to move too quickly through his veins, making his fingers twitch as he tossed the ball back and forth over the small distance.
"Is that why you have the stress ball?"
"Yeah. They also gave me extra anxiety medications, just in case," he said.
They sat in silence for a while, Reid throwing the ball back and forth, somewhat amazed that he was able to balance it so well and had yet to drop it. Even though it wasn't necessarily a difficult thing to do, he had, what Garcia and Morgan referred to as, the coordination skills of an intoxicated toddler. It was an exaggeration of course, but not entirely off based.
After throwing the ball into his left hand, JJ reached out and took hold of his right, wrapping her small, soft fingers around his own long and bony ones and pulling it into her lap, squeezing lightly. Startled but not displeased with this development, he raised an eyebrow and turned to look at her, his cheeks heating up once more. "JJ, what-"
Frowning, her lips pursed into a tight and straight line, she looked over to the aisle and let her eyes linger there. Following her gaze, he contorted his torso and looked over the bench, squeezing her hand when he saw Andrew walking down the aisle, handcuffed and in between two police officers.
The first thing Reid noticed about him was how slow and lethargic his movements were, his feet dragging behind him and his arms barely moving as he walked. 'Dampened dopamine levels,' he thought, knowing that the zombie-like movement was a common side effect of some drugs used to treat schizophrenia. Sluggish steps aside, Andrew was now wearing glasses, hazel eyes clear and dull, devoid of light, as he looked down at the floor, seemingly entranced by it.
Reid wasn't even aware his breathing had picked up and become ragged until he heard it, his breath scratching out of his throw and sounding sickly as his chest rose fast and shallowly. Andrew was so close.
So damned close.
He could hear the sound of water as it rushed over the rocks, rapids from variations in height making the roaring sound of water as it crashed back down even harder on the ears. He could feel the fear, new and blood boiling as it burned through his capillaries. The rocks beneath his feet as the water lapped up his ankle, the notes by his side.
Andrew was beside him, closer than he should've been. And then...
He was falling off the rock, swooning from where his head had been hit. His leg crashed and cracked as he fell and he broke through the surface of the water, his lung filling with the startlingly cold liquid that stabbed him like knives.
He was drowning, unable to breathe. A fist grabbed his hair and pulled him upwards, the journey to air seeming like it took hours of chest collapsing pain...
"Spence!" JJ gasped, twisting her fingers as she tried to pry his grip away from her reddening skin.
Shocked from his memory, it took him a couple seconds before the situation registered, and he released his hold on her hand, opening and closing his mouth. "I...I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you...I'm sorry..." he said, snapping his hand back and resting it in his lap.
She rubbed her hand and fingers for a minute before reaching out and grabbing his hand again, making sure to place her palm more over his fingers so he couldn't squeeze too hard again. "Don't be, I guess I sort of expected something like that to happen," she said, smiling at him.
He wanted to pull his hand back so that he didn't hurt her again, but he couldn't. He was too selfish, he knew, but he liked the way her hand felt around his own, her soft skin over his slightly more calloused skin. Her thumb was rubbing smooth circles into the juncture of his thumb absentmindedly, somehow calming him.
How was it that her hands were the only hands that didn't scare him, or make him cringe away with fear? Had anyone else have reached out and grabbed his hand, he would have panicked, becoming a frenzied mess to get away. Yet when she did it, he could only wonder how it was possible to ever go so long without feeling her skin on his.
Letting his hand lay in her lap, he turned to look back at Andrew, taking a sharp intake of breath when their eyes met. He wanted to look away, anywhere but at those cold and dead eyes. But he couldn't. They were glued in place and he had to remind himself not to squeeze JJ's hand again.
The judge entered, the door slamming with finality as he took the stand. Right before the Bailiff stood, demanding that all others do the same, Andrew smiled fondly at Reid, a look of adoration and familiarity alighting his otherwise dark eyes.
xXx
Author's Note: I had to include at least one scene of the other patients in the ward, as that gives the opportunity to come up with really interesting and unique characters that would otherwise seem too crude. Ah anyway, thanks for all the reviews, alerts, and favorites! Here are some specific replies.
Omgnotagain- The story has broken down to research, and inferences. I tried researching psychological incidents similar to Reid but- and no surprise here- there weren't any that I could find. Needless to say, I had to use what I know about disorders and psychology/physiology to kind of...assume what would happen. My biggest fear is that some extensively trained in psychology (and, most recently, law) will read this and find a multitude of errors. I tried to prevent this, but you never know. Thanks for the review, and I'm glad you love my story!
La Ange Noire- Which quote might that be? Hm, curious... Anyway, I'm glad you think so and continue to enjoy the story!
Lolyncut- The overall consensus seems to be that they deserve a fate worse than death (I'm thinking crossover with Harry Potter to introduce the dementors, no?) And ah, picketers and the like...how irritating, but I felt that in such a high-profile like case there was bound to be some. Thanks for the review!
To the other reviewers, thanks again! It always makes my day to see at least one person enjoying this bizarre concoction of my mind!
Remember to stop my profile and find the link to see the photos if you're interested!