Disclaimer:Criminal Minds and all its associated characters are property to CBS and no profit is being made from this story.

Chapter Thirty-Five: Loneliness

'...Yes, they're sharing a drink they call loneliness; but it's better than drinking alone...' -Billy Joel, The Piano Man

It was almost funny, in a sort of sardonic, making-the-best-of-things sense. While Reid had been imprisoned, time had become irrelevant. It was a popular technique often used by criminals who held someone captive known as sensory deprivation. Don't let them know the time of day, don't let them know the hour, don't let them know the time spent in your hell, and eventually, you'll break them. Removing the stimuli can sometimes be considered calming, like a respite for your brain. The thought of people doing it willingly for relaxation was enough to make the young doctor scoff and question the sanity of those many people.

As for him, it was maddening. No windows, no consistent routine, no clock...he couldn't be sure if he slept for an hour or for the day in that basement. He had been forced to rely on his tormentor in order to have some semblance of where he stood in the time line of that moment.

But in a hospital, it was the exact opposite. With windows so wide one rose with the sun, minutes before woken by staff, it was hard to ignore the pressing daylight. While it might have been a subtle form of light therapy, it was irksome, and he found himself struggling to shield the blinding yellow light from his eyes.

It was a tiring routine- one with even stricter guidelines than at the residential. Of course, back there they applauded the simple act of eating and anything more would have been asking too much. Here, no one seemed to care that seven was too early a time to wake up, or that maybe he was going to be hungry at eleven thirty instead of twelve thirty. Or that he'd rather read for an hour than be forced to do arts and crafts (he found he was quite deft with pipe cleaners, and had spent a solid fifty-three minutes twisting them into various shapes- from complicated hydrocarbon bonds in organic compounds to farmyard animals.)

It was one planned activity after one planned therapy after one planned activity. Pause for food. Then repeat.

If possible, adhering to this schedule was more exasperating than having no distinguished time frame.

"Spencer," he heard a voice calling and he groaned into his mattress, hoping it wasn't a nurse coming to collect him for some group therapy session. He could have sworn the scheduled 'quiet time' had just started.

A small fist rapped on his door.

"Spencer, you have a visitor."

That piqued his interests. Pushing the pillow off his head, wincing as the unrestrained bright lights flooded his vision, he rose up in his bed and watched as the petite nurse stepped aside, ushering in the tall figure of Aaron Hotchner.

He sighed in relief. Hotch.

He hadn't expected him to come so quickly- wasn't the trial still in session?

"Thank you," Hotch said at the retreating nurse before pulling up a desk chair and sitting beside Reid, carefully eyeing the arm secured to his chest and the sunken look in his eyes.

There was a moment of silence, of inspection and discomfort, where Hotch's dark eyes trailed over Reid's form- the shaggy hair, mussed from sleep, the dark bruises in the unmistakeable shape of a broad hand colored the sickly paleness of Reid's upper arms. He hadn't realized how hard Morgan had grabbed him when he induced vomiting, and his eyes widened at the sight. How frightened the agent must've been for his friend in order to forget his strength so greatly.

And Reid fell under his gaze, crumpled under the awful scrutiny. He should have just said what he needed to say over the phone, foregoing the awkward moment in which Hotch studied him the way he would an UnSub, cold and without attachment.

What must he see? A broken patient? A fallen agent? A hopeless child? Or did he just see him for what he was- a too skinny, too pale, too beaten man, body littered in scars and healing wounds- some of which were self inflicted? A straggly mental patient, trying desperately to get better but not knowing how?

He twisted his hand in the blanket, sweat lingering under the sling against his chest as he swallowed harshly, waiting for Hotch to ask what he had wanted to talk about.

But the next words had surprised him.

"When Foyet killed Haley I thought I might as well stop bothering."

Startled, Reid looked up, hazel eyes wide and questioning. But Hotch wasn't looking at him anymore. Instead, he had focused his attention on the sun that seemed ever present in the large windows, the small, chain links of the cage in front of the casement shining the dark orange of rust in the light.

"I was the reason she died, you know," he continued, barely paying notice to Reid's sudden shake of his head, his mouth dropping open to protest the statement. "It's true, and everyone knows it. I had the power to make the killings stop. But I couldn't do it...I couldn't let a murderer walk and allow the families of his victims to feel like they would never know peace. And what if...what if something happened to me, and I died before Foyet? It wouldn't be surprising...with how often we get into stand offs with the UnSub...and not to mention the stress alone..."

He trailed off, shifting in his chair. He looked decidedly uncomfortable, like he was waiting for Reid to tell him to stop, that he didn't need to hear any of this. And he considered saying it, considered raising a hand and changing the topic. But he couldn't, his intrigue making him immobile, his want to know too consuming. He might possibly be the only person to ever hear any of this, how could he turn it down? It was selfish, but he made no motion to stop this.

Hotch took a steadying breath. "I thought that we would find him before anything happened, I guess you could say I was over confident. But then...then he found her. And he tricked her." His words hitched, like he was speaking over tears. And he probably was, his eyes pressed tight against the painful memory as he tried to collect himself, regain his standing. Reid bowed his head, out of respect, knowing the man was struggling enough to let him listen to these words, and the least the young agent could do was make it so he didn't have to watch his reaction.

"I don't think I regretted anything so much as not taking Foyet's bait. As much as I know it was the best thing to do, to continue looking for him, a part of me wished I hadn't. What if he had gotten Jack too? I couldn't...couldn't lose both...they..."

Reid winced at the pain he heard in his boss's voice, and in a moment of sympathy, shook his head. "Hotch-"

"No, Reid." The roughness in his voice frightened him, and he looked up, his eyes meeting Hotch's. The slight shine of tears could be made out on the lower lid, but he remained unwavering, his face the tight, emotionless mask it normally was. "You need to hear this."

So he fell silent, feeling wrong, like he shouldn't be listening to any of this. But he had been given explicit permission to do so, and was even told he needed to.

Hotch sighed, returning to his story. "Like I said, when Foyet killed Haley, I thought I might as well stop trying. I tried helping innocent people, it ruined the best relationship I've ever had. I thought of getting a desk job, but then Haley's death would have been in vain. It seemed like no matter what I did it was the wrong choice. So why bother?

"I know what you're feeling, in my own way, Reid. No one feels pain the same way, not even for two people who experience the same exact things in the same exact circumstances. So, I can't say for certain that I know what it feels like to have been through what you went through, not even those five other men can say they felt exactly what you felt."

He paused for a moment, letting the words sink in, watching as Reid bit his lip and curled inward slightly, his face flickering with the remembered pain.

"At first, you didn't want to believe it happened. It didn't matter how illogically you had to think, how much you had to alter your perception. You turned it around, tried to tell yourself it didn't happen- couldn't have, and then you'll wake up from the nightmare. But then...then you don't wake up. And you become angry because it happened and- with all your training and expertise- you let it happen. So you blame someone else so that you don't have to shoulder the responsibility and shame.

"I blamed Foyet, for his sick nature. I blamed whatever happened in his life to make him that way. I even blamed Haley...for not keeping her guard up and being more careful."

Reid was listening intently now, his eyes focusing on the interwoven strands of cotton that made up the thin hospital blanket. He remembered the day Haley died in more detail than he would've liked. He remembered the exact misplacement of fallen and broken furniture, the sound of footsteps as they marched purposefully across the floor, the exact color of blood- the different shades of red forever staining the carpet.

If the memories of that day were enough to make Reid shudder and fight back tears, what must it be like for his unit Chief? Reid remembered everything in near perfect clarity, a blessed curse of his eidetic memory. But there was so much to it than just having instant visual recall and knowing exactly where something was placed and how the body was positioned. What he saw was the house, ruined and home to a crime scene. Picture perfect images, not a single thing out of place from how it had actually been, photographs taken by his mind.

But someone without that ability had to have seen it a different. Maybe the shape of the couch and the color of walls faded away in Hotch's memory, becoming nonexistent and ceasing to be important. Maybe all Hotch could see was Haley's blood covered body, listless and splayed on the no-longer-colored carpet. Maybe he didn't see anything when he thought back. Maybe a veil of emotions kept it hidden from view, and all he could remember was the heart stopping fear, the sudden pang of failure and lost all mingled into one awful thing. Feeling Haley's form, holding it to him, searching for the rapidly disappearing warmth and ignoring the slick feeling of his fingers sliding over blood, of having it stain his shirt.

Which was worse? Seeing everything for what it was, or feeling everything?

"But in the end, Reid, it didn't matter whose fault it was. Because it happened. And placing blame and responsibility doesn't make the hurt go away. Blaming people won't make it so that Jack will hear his favorite bed time story read to him by his mom. It won't give Jessica her sister back. And I won't ever have a second chance with my wife.

"But at the same time, wishing something would change is no better. Jack doesn't deserve to lose both his parents- one to a gun, the other to grief. And my team doesn't deserve to lose a unit chief because of a..." he closed his eyes here, thinking of just the right words to use. Finally, he opened them and sighed, finishing, "Because an UnSub was one step ahead of us. And the only thing we can do, is force ourselves to get better because of those people who don't deserve to lose us. At the time, it seems like a burden. Like everyone else is being selfish, wanting you to get up in the morning and do something when all you want to do is crawl further under those blankets. But then there's a moment were it doesn't seem like a such a burden."

Suddenly, the ghost of a smile lifted his face, his eyes glassy with tears and haunted by his speech. And then he looked up at Reid, shaking his head, exhaling a breath. "For me, it was knowing that Jack missed her too. I don't know why that was it, it should've been something a bit more drastic I think...But knowing I wasn't the only one who was in pain made it easier for me to move on so that I could help out my son with the death of his mother.

"Eventually, Spencer," he started again, the use of the first name not lost to the young agent, "You'll realize the earth is still rotating. And you'll find the thing that makes it okay to move on again. You just have to keep going."

Numbly, and after a tentative moment, Reid shook his head, the sound of his heart loudly pulsing in his ear- could Hotch hear it too? His boss- his private, stoic boss- had just opened up a part of him he surely kept well locked for no one to see, and let only his youngest agent hear. Had he felt his words would help? That the moment of letting his boundaries down would be beneficial to him, even if it was a difficult task to overcome?

Reid swallowed harshly. The knowledge- and privilege to know such knowledge- was special to him, and he couldn't let this openness be in vain by ignoring his advice. He had to at least try.

"Now," Hotch started suddenly, his voice calm and commanding, any remnants of the last twenty minutes gone and swept away. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

xXx

"You can wait right here, Agent Jareau," the nurse said, nodding her head to one of the chairs in the dining hall she had just unlocked as the slender blonde slipped through. "I'll get you when Agent Hotchner is done with his visit, alright?"

JJ nodded eagerly, her tendrils of blonde hair whipping against her fevered face. "Thank you," she said, breathy and winded as though she had run the several miles from the courthouse to the hospital instead of driving. The nurse nodded and left, leaving the agent in the small room made up of only three tables, six chairs placed around each table.

She nearly accosted Emily for the keys when Morgan had told them what had happened. That Spencer- lovely, innocent Spence- had just tried to end his life. How could they have not seen it? How is that trained profilers- the best of the best!- had missed not one, but two sadistic serial killers, and the signs of suicide that in hindsight were present in the young man?

The answer was there before she even had to summon it. Denial. The were in denial that Reid was sick, just as Reid was in denial that he fit the victimology. It was a continuous loop, an endless cycle of denial and regret. It was getting old quick.

She laid her head down on the table, the laminate cooling her forehead. What had she'd done wrong? She tried so hard- she tried giving him space, she tried opening up to him...but nothing seemed to work, like he was intent on being miserable.

Miserable...it seemed so foreign a adjective to use when describing Dr. Reid. While he most certainly retained what Garcia often called a 'kicked puppy look' he was by no means miserable. Was he? She tried to recall those nebulous moments before the Catskills, before the file was placed on her desk.

She remembered sitting around two tables pushed together in a Chinese restaurant, teasing and laughing as the intelligent agent struggled to work the eating utensils, fumbling the chopsticks in between his dexterous fingers and trying to carry the food- noodle by peanut sauce covered noodle- up to his mouth, held precariously between the two end of the chopsticks.

She remembered Reid walking into the bullpen, ridiculous get up and all, as he taught them about Halloween in only the way an overexcited genius could.

She remembered Reid's shameful admission about his childhood, about his mother, and his fear of becoming like her. The contradiction he felt of loving her and wanting to be nothing like her surreal, like it had been penned by Shakespeare's very hand in a long forgotten manuscript.

Everything about Reid was ethereal- not in a handsome, god like way (Reid was good looking, and 'adorable' in Garcia's own words, but lacked the physical prowess and confidence that gods were often associated with.) No, Reid was ethereal simply in who he was. A child from a home that was beyond broken, a home that was shattered into little shards of glass that pricked his hands and left lasting scars when he tried to put it back together. A child who had no solace, no friends to huddle around with at school, no mother's embrace to hold him and kiss his tears away, not consistently at least. A child who never really grew up, but was simply thrown into adulthood all the same, saw things no one should ever see. And yet...he seemed happy.

'No,' JJ admonished in her thoughts, with such ferocity she nearly slammed her hand through the table. He was never happy, now that she thought about it. Barely happy was the term she would use. Happy as he thought he could ever be. He laughed with them, and loved them, and even called them his family...but he wasn't happy. He was hanging on to the proffered hand of acceptance, wanting more but too grateful for what he already had to seek it.

If he was less passive, how different would his life be? Would he have friends outside of the BAU? Would he spend his weekends out in the town or on a friend's couch with a bottle of wine instead of curled up in his armchair, book in hand and several more to the side? Would he even have a girlfriend?

Something twitched inside her chest at the notion, like someone stretched out her heartstrings and strummed them like a single chord on a guitar. She was jealous, she knew, at the idea of another girl- a nameless, faceless, imaginary girl- arm in arm with Spence.

Did he even want a girlfriend? She knew he did have an interest in relationships, if only a natural, boyish curiosity, but did that really mean he cared enough to commit to a full time girlfriend? He was so private, so secluded to himself, that she didn't quite think he would truly welcome another into his life.

But maybe that was what he needed. Not necessarily someone to love him- Spencer was more than capable of functioning in life without needing validation. But maybe what he needed was someone to wake up to, someone to have the coffee ready when he slept in, someone to smile at his quirks instead of raising a brow and gigging behind his back.

Someone to just make him feel less alone.

And somewhere along the lines, she came to the conclusion that she wanted to be that person.

But did Reid?

"JJ?"

She jumped, a gasp leaving her lips as she shook her head, blinking dreamily as she looked up at Hotch.

"Oh...Hotch..."

"You came to visit Reid?" he asked, and she nodded, slowly.

She would go to hell and back for him, a psychiatric ward was no different.

"Well, he's ready to speak to you now, if you were waiting for me to leave," he said, nodding his head to indicate the direction of Reid's room. She nodded, standing as she hoisted her bag over her shoulder. But the look in her boss's eyes stopped her, and she paused, narrowing her gaze.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

He lowered his eyes to the floor, clearly ruminating whatever it was that weighed down on his mind. After a second, he looked up and his lips twitched in a failed attempt at a forced smile. "Nothing, JJ. Everything's going as best as it can be," he answered carefully, each word chosen with precision.

She opened her mouth to question further but he dismissed her quickly.

"I have some paperwork to fill out now. Enjoy your visit." And with that, he turned and left, leaving only the squeak of well polished dress shoes in his wake.

Something about his look terrified her. It was the same look he wore when Reid first disappeared, and when he had told her Reid was gone, and in his place a puppet hollowed out by Andrew. It was the look of losing an agent.

She stepped out of the room, her footsteps pounding in tune with her heart, and the nurse pointed her in the right direction, where a nameplate by the door had a strand of scotch tape stretched over it, bearing the name Spencer.

The door was open, and she could see Reid's silhouette. He was sitting on his bed, writing quickly and intently in a marble composition book, his hair flailing somewhat to the side, awkwardly holding the book down with his slung arm. The image made her smile.

It took her back to those times, watching Reid scribble in his paperwork at his desk, his long curls getting in the way, seemingly oblivious or uncaring to Morgan slipping some extra sheets onto his already decent sized pile.

She shattered the image though by knocking on the door, alerting Reid to her presence.

She wasn't sure what she was expecting. From the way Hotch had reacted, she thought he would have digressed. That he would lunge at her, claiming she was a hallucination. Yelling at her to leave him alone.

The smile was unexpected.

"You came to visit?" he said, the slight tilt to his voice showing his surprise.

She smiled back, relieved to find he seemed fairly...happy. "Of course. I had to wrestle Emily for the keys and argue why I wasn't important to trials to come, but I made it through the fight. And everyone else will be coming in soon."

His smile slipped, and then fell. "Oh, alright..."

She frowned. "Aren't you happy to see them?"

He shook his head furiously. "No, I am! I just..." he sighed, then managed a sad smile. "It's a long story better left for later, alright?"

She nodded, no really understanding but enjoying this new light-hearted Spencer. 'Why did Hotch look so sad?'

No, this young man looked nothing like what she thought a suicidal patient would look like. He looked renewed, like he had been given a new lease on life. Maybe the pills did work into his system, and in his death, the old Spencer returned.

Somehow, she didn't think overdoses worked that way though.

She lowered her bag onto the desk provided to all rooms and eyed the chair Hotch had pulled up briefly before walking towards the side of his bed and laying her palm beside him. "Can I sit here?"

He smiled slowly and nodded, moving over so she had room. Once settled, she let her gaze wander over to his spiky handwriting over the lined pages. "What are you working on?" she asked, trying to read the page. But he quickly snapped the book shut and placed it on his bedside table.

"Just...some notes," he said idly in a tone that closed the conversation. She pinched her lips, nodding out of respect as she stared at the black and white spotted cover.

"Can I make a confession?"

She startled at the sudden question, and turned to look at him. His head was bowed, and he was focusing on his cuticles, a faint blush covering his cheek.

"Yeah...sure," she answered uncertainly.

He licked his lips. "Do you remember how you read to me, after the car accident?"

Now she was blushing, remembering the night she laid her book down and crawl into Reid's bed- without invitation, and without even a consensual agreement. Did he find out? Had a nurse from the hospital told him what happened? Was he angry and going to yell at her now? She swallowed roughly.

"Of course..." she answered slowly, testing the waters.

"I was awake the whole time," he admitted, his face turning a painfully bright red now as he ducked his head even further, trying to hide behind the curtain of hair that had been cut off prior to leaving his the residential facility.

JJ leaned back, quirking her brows at the confession. He was...awake? Well that certainly wasn't what she was expecting to hear. He didn't answer when she had called him several times, hadn't protested when she laid down in his bed. Had he...had he wanted her to? His arm had wrapped over her, protectively, but she had assumed that was a reaction to feeling someone move closer, a meaningless impulse while sleeping. Had he been conscious even through that?

She wasn't sure how to feel. Angry that he had tricked her? Most certainly not. It was endearing, almost. Upset that he hadn't told her the truth from the beginning? A little, but she hadn't exactly been so open now had she? Happy that he had wanted her to stay?

With no other reasonable action to take, she started to chuckle, the light, airy sound becoming deeper and louder as it turned into a laugh. Reid's head shot up, his face wry in confusion. Why was she laughing?

"JJ?" he asked slowly, wondering what in the world could be so funny, unless she was laughing at him.

She waved a hand in front of her face as her laughter died down. "I...I'm sorry. I just...I should have know...I'm sorry, I'm a little...embarrassed."

Reid knitted his brow. "Why should you be embarrassed?"

She looked at him, her lips pulled upward into a pretty smile as she said, "Spencer, you pretended to be asleep, but I practically threw myself on you and slept in your bed without...well, I guess you did know. But the idea is still there."

Reid's face stilled, his expression indiscernible as he steeled himself and looked up into JJ's eyes. His eyes focused sharply, burning intensely into her own as his pupils slowly began to dilate, taking in her appearance more fully. His lip twitched slightly as he said in a low and hesitant voice, "I could have asked you to leave, if I wanted you to." He paused, letting his gaze slip slightly. "I just...didn't want you too."

"Spence...?" she asked quietly, feeling both uncomfortable in the sudden turn of events and wanting them to continue.

Reid swallowed slowly and added, "Hotch told me that there would be something...something that makes me realize it will all be okay again. I don't know what it is, because nothing in my life was ever..." he shrugged, chewing his lip as he struggled to find the right words. "Nothing was ever okay. It was acceptable, I guess. But not okay. I would just think about how eager everyone was to leave work for day...Morgan wanted to go to a club, Garcia wanting to join him, Hotch wanting to get home to Jack...and I would realize that...unlike everyone else, I was happier at work than I was at home.

"I don't know what could make everything normal again, and I don't think I want it to be normal anyway. I want it to be...better."

He refused to meet her eyes now, staring at his lap as he pulled at loose threads in the blanket, making them even looser. His body was humming with anxiety, his bones trying to break free of his skin and run away. He needed to stand- to walk and to move. But he couldn't- it was now or never and he had already made it so far, he needed to see it through to the end. So, trying to still the quiver of his body and block out the pounding noise of his heart, he closed his eyes- for once not wanting to take anything in- and said, "I'm only saying this now, because I told Hotch something that will...change everything. And if it works out the way I want it to, than it will be okay. It will be more than okay. But if it doesn't, it will still be okay because...I won't have to be reminded of what I could have had every day."

To say JJ was lost was an underestimate. Everything Reid was saying was both sending her swooning and then making her want to call a nurse over immediately. What had him and Hotch discussed? What could have been said that would simultaneously make Reid look so...Reid again? So vindicated, so free of restraints, but at the same time make him see only one of two ways that his life could go? She was hanging on to every word now, not sure what she expected him to say and even less sure of what he would say.

"JJ..." he started, sighing as he returned his gaze back to her. "You're one of the nicest, most amazing people I've ever met in my life-"

She willed her body to remain still, wanting to grab the nearest doctor she could find. Was he saying his final goodbyes?

"You're smart and confident and compassionate...and beautiful." He had to ground the word out, his cheeks burning a brilliant crimson now. After a second of opening his mouth and snapping it shut several times, his lips twitching, he finally said, "And I think I'm in love with you."

xXx

Author's Note: I thank you all for you condolences, it means so much to have you all keep my nephew in your prayers. He has been doing better, and even though he has some bad reactions to his treatment here and there, he's making a lot of progress (he even has frequent temper tantrums, so he clearly hasn't lost his spunk! Lol)

I know a whole lot doesn't happen in this chapter, but I think this was a nice little place to end it. The next chapter will be similar to this one in that there isn't a lot of action, but a good deal of progression in the actual plot. Hope this format is driving you all crazy right now!

I hope you all enjoyed it!