Work Text:
"Murder will out, this is my conclusion."
"We know little of the things for which we pray."
Geoffrey Chaucer
RRRRRRRRRR
It was light and light and light and light and
Light-
“Agh,” he rubbed his eyes again, almost compulsively rather than any real need to clear his vision. The luminescent lights overhead were blinding, the sound of paper files rubbing against each other to his left grating on his entire being. It was what he had experienced in Miami tenfold but why did it have to happen at work?
“I think we’re looking at something psychosomatic.”
I’m not crazy.
“Hey, are you ok?” a soft voice asked, a hand on his shoulder heavy and heavy and heavy- and gone.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Shaking his head, he’s fine fine fine. He has work to do. “Really.”
“Really. You don’t look fine. You know you can always do this tomorrow, it was a long case-”
“I said I’m fine, Emily,” he snapped, and the guilt was too long coming.
“Geez, sorry I asked.”
There was a pounding in his brain, in his temples, and if he could’ve taken a power drill to his skull to bore it out he would have. He could still smell the blood tangy and salty sprinkled around the room and the muffled chanting in another language and the way the light was much too bright glinting off the handle of a gun.
“You have ghosts.”
Ghosts. Sitting on your head.
“I have to, ah, I have to go… d-do something,” he muttered, standing. One hand twitched to the back of his chair to steady himself. He stumbled away before anyone could stop him.
RRRRRRRR
When Prentiss looked up again her clock read “2a.m.” and her stack of paperwork was only two-thirds smaller than it had been three hours ago when they had all come in after their free day after the case. She set down her pen and leaned back, rolling her neck to work out the kinks and wondering if she’d have to visit her chiropractor again for all the damage these desk chairs were doing to her back.
That was when she realized that the desk area across from her was empty. Frowning, she kicked back from her chair to get a better look at the cubicle and noted that the paperwork stack was much higher than her own, when realistically it should all be gone if Reid hadn’t been back by now.
She was still looking at it with concern when Morgan walked in.
“Hey Morgan, have you seen Reid?” she asked, and he gave her a curious glance.
“No, why?”
“Because he got up a while ago and hasn’t been back. I must have zoned out again because when I looked up his desk was still empty.”
Instantly Morgan was on edge, and it showed in the way he stalked over to the desk, leaning over it with an almost too-calm expression.
“How long ago did you say?”
“It must have been around one,” she said, and her clock was suddenly accusing in its bright, glowing numbers. Something uneasy was stirring in her chest and it reminded her uncomfortably of their latest case, wrapped up Friday night they’d had the weekend to themselves. It was Sunday night and official reports needed to be made, though, so they’d all regrouped late to work and all of them should have still been there.
“You didn’t see him this weekend at all, did you?” Morgan asked suddenly. Prentiss shook her head.
“No, you?”
“No,” and he sounded supremely unhappy about it. “Prentiss, I don’t like it, I don’t like it at all. Why would he just up and leave?”
“So you don’t think he’s still in the building,” she said, eyes narrowing. Morgan shook his head slightly but there wasn’t any doubt on his face.
“I don’t know….”
“No, I was thinking it too,” she said. “It’s just a gut feeling, but… something’s not right. I mean, it doesn’t make any sense, but-”
“I’ll try calling him,” Morgan said. He turned and pulled out his phone, flipping it open and dialing before pressing it to his ear, mouth set in a hard line.
“I’ll tell Hotch,” Prentiss said, rising. It was probably nothing, they shouldn’t be freaking out if Reid decided to leave his work until Monday morning- well, this morning, technically- but something was telling her that things weren’t alright, and she’d been a profiler for too long to ignore that feeling, especially where their youngest member was concerned.
She strode up the steps to the offices and knocked on Hotch’s door, seeing him start through the half-tilted blinds.
“Prentiss? What’s wrong?” he asked when he opened the door.
She glanced down at Morgan and saw him dialing again, but when he looked up he shook his head. She took a deep breath before turning back to Hotch.
“Reid’s missing,” she said. The effect in her unit chief was as obvious and palpable as it had been in Morgan, a stiffening of the shoulders and mouth, a certain set of the jaw, the way his eyes grew dark and his strides lengthened as he headed down the stairs in front of her. She followed, trying not to look at Reid’s empty desk.
She should have known.
"Hotch, I must have called ten times in the past few minutes- he's not picking up," Morgan said, snapping his phone shut and trading a worried glance with his superior officer when they hit the floor. Hotch took a deep breath, but looked deeply unsettled.
"Prentiss, did you see Reid leave?" he asked, turning to face Prentiss.
"Yes, but I didn’t know he was leaving for good. He looked agitated, and he never leaves his paperwork until morning, but I thought maybe he was just going to talk to Garcia or use the bathroom. After that I didn’t pay much attention," she said.
"He’s not with Garcia- I called her, too," Morgan said, and Emily's frown deepened.
"You think-?"
"I don't know," Morgan said, but it was the most important question- the only question- and it reverberated unspoken in the air between them, apparent in every facial movement, every hint of intonation in their voices. They didn’t need to be profilers to read each other now.
“Prentiss, you get Rossi, Morgan, get Garcia,” Hotch said. “Conference room in ten minutes. Both of you try calling Reid again.”
They nodded, and split up.
Exactly nine minutes later they were sitting at their round table, each having been apprised of the current situation and bubbling with their own sort of panic. Garcia had tried tracking his phone as soon as Morgan told her that they thought Reid was missing, but it was turned off and that had sealed the deal for all of them that something was wrong- Reid may have been technologically stuck in the 1920s with typewriters and things that went ding! but their phones were extensions of their job and consequently always on and on their person. Each of them had been targeted too many times to take risk. Those precedents loomed in their minds now, especially as Garcia pulled up security videos from the front of the building.
“There, 1:15 a.m.,” she said, just as Reid’s figure walked into the screen. He had his back to the camera but there was something unsteady in the way he walked, the way his fingers were tapping compulsively at his pants leg and his head seemed to twitch to the side every few seconds. In a heartbeat he was gone out the doors, no one there to stop him because the building was practically deserted this late. “There’s no other sight him on the cameras anywhere else.”
“And that was over an hour ago,” Morgan said. Prentiss’ couldn’t help the guilt that burned in her stomach or the panic that threatened to overwhelm her- something was wrong with Reid and she hadn’t noticed, she’d let him snap her away and now he was missing and it was like when he was using all over again but this time the terror was more immediate. This wasn’t the first time something had happened to Reid, but considering his list of past traumas- and all of them had quite extensive lists- it had the potential to be more severe than she wanted to contemplate.
“But I don’t understand,” Garcia said, black-painted nails flailing on her hands as she struggled for comprehension. In the drab meeting room her pastel pink dress and vivid pale blonde hair stuck out like a butterfly in the remains of a forest fire, but for once Prentiss appreciated the color. It helped to keep the darkness at bay, at least in their minds. “Why would he just up and leave, and turn off his phone? Are we sure he didn’t just want some privacy?”
“There’s something different this time, baby girl,” Morgan said grimly.
“This isn’t like Reid,” Rossi said, frowning at the table, gears in his mind turning. Watching the veteran profile was a thing of beauty, yet now it was also indicative of a problem none of them wanted to have. “And did you see his body language? He looked agitated, but Prentiss says he didn’t look like something triggered him.”
“He just started rubbing his eyes, then got up and left, said he had to go do something,” she confirmed, remembering the way he’d blinked in the light, shaken his head, how his hand trembled holding pen to paper. Maybe he was just sick, she’d thought. Maybe.
She’d thought. If she’d really done that she would have stopped him and made him talk; instead, she’d let him go with hardly a word and then forgotten about it until it became obvious. The only thing that kept the guilt from drowning her was the knowledge that it wouldn’t help them find Reid.
“What are you thinking, Rossi? I know that look,” Hotch said, and the older profiler shook his head, looking impossible weary. When he opened his mouth it was obvious that it was the last thing he wanted to say.
"We’ve all been wondering if maybe Reid’s using again,” he said, and no one denied it, even Garcia, worry flitting across her features. “But that didn’t look like Dilaudid, and if he needed to shoot up he wouldn’t have left the building- it arouses too much suspicion. Just… hear me out.”
There was a collective breath, and no one exhaled.
“Schizophrenia most often reveals itself in the late teens and early twenties, and genetically Reid's chances of it passing him by have never been good," Rossi said, and Prentiss didn't miss the way his hands tightened on the back of the chair.
"Our last case- Miami," she said, eyes widening even as she smothered her shock at Rossi’s train of thought. She shared a look with each of them. "He was acting weird, wearing sunglasses inside, he seemed distant, almost lethargic. And he said he faked a headache to stall the UnSub but he didn't look like it was fake."
"I knew we should have done something then- it’s been obvious that something’s been bugging him for a while now, but he wouldn’t talk to me when we got off the plane and this weekend he wasn’t returning my calls," Morgan said and his jaw tightened. "Hotch-"
"If Reid really is suffering from a schizophrenic break, we have to operate under the impression that he's completely without logic," Hotch said, interrupting Morgan before he could voice what had always been Reid's darkest fear. "This changes the playing field completely, but we shouldn't treat him as a threat. His gun is in his desk, so he's unarmed, and even with an hour's start he probably hasn't gotten far. It’s doubtful he’d take the train or go near people without someone calling an alarm so odds are he’s on foot."
"W-we're not saying he could hurt someone, are we?" Prentiss gasped, pen moving swiftly between her fidgeting fingers. She looked at all of them in disbelief, from Morgan's worried expression to Hotch's stony one.
"We can't rule it out," was all Hotch said, but Prentiss shook her head.
"No, this is Reid we're talking about. He would never-"
"We know that, Emily," Rossi said softly. "But we can't underestimate what's going on in his head right now. His mother's schizophrenia didn't manifest as a danger to others, so there's a good chance we'll have to worry more about Reid hurting himself than someone else, but we can't take any risks, especially when it looks like he didn’t even have a trigger to manifest this break. It just happened, and that makes it unpredictable."
"Yeah, fine," she said. "Alright. But we have to help him, and we can't treat him like an UnSub to do that."
"It's our best shot at finding him," Morgan said. "Think about it- he's alone, out of his mind, probably going through something that's been a personal nightmare of his since he was a kid. This is the last thing he ever wanted to happen and now he's out there with no support system."
All throughout the meeting Garcia had been silent, but now her head lifted and she looked at Morgan, mouth slightly open. She licked her lips, pressed them into a thin line, then spoke.
“So Reid’s gone all Beautiful Mind and… a-and we have to profile him?” she murmured, looking as uncomfortable as everyone else at the table now that it had finally been said. They did it every day without meaning to, and part of it was what made them an effective team, but families didn’t pry and profiling like this was the ultimate invasion.
“Baby girl, this may be the only way we can help him,” Morgan said, but Garcia just shook her head.
“No. I mean, I know, just… you know how I always feel skeevy going through people’s computers to find out all the icky details about their lives, how it helps catch the person who killed them? Knowing that doesn’t make the bad feeling ago away,” she said, but had to press her mouth closed again. There were tears dotting her eyes and she couldn’t look any of her teammates in the face.
Taking a deep breath, “I know this will help, but that doesn’t change that it feels wrong.”
“I know,” Hotch said softly. “And it’s the last thing any of us want to do, but the longer Reid’s out there alone the greater the chance that he’ll hurt himself or someone else. We need you on this, Garcia.”
Morgan didn’t even have to look to know that Garcia was reaching for him, and their hands squeezed, resting on her shoulder.
“Ok,” she said, nodding resolutely. “Tell me what you need.”
RRRRRRRRR
“Symptoms, Garcia,” Hotch said, fists leaning against the table on either side of the phone, eyes riveted on its dark screen.
“Ok, symptoms and markers for schizophrenia,” she said, the sound of rapid-fire typing in the background. “Ah, delusions, peculiar way of speaking or writing, deterioration of work or academic performance, change in appearance or hygiene, change in personality, increasing withdrawal from social situations, inability to sleep or concentrate, irrational or fearful response to loved ones-”
She broke off with a small, choked sound, her ragged breath echoing from the phone as she collected herself. Morgan resisted the urge to run down to her booth- she was strong, she could do this.
“That… that’s it, sir. All the major ones.”
“Reid’s always spoken his own language,” Morgan said, crossing his arms, “But lately he has been withdrawn. He told me a few days ago that he only read five books last week, like it was a big problem.”
“He cut his hair around the time his headaches started,” Prentiss chimed in, exchanging worried glances with her colleagues. It was frightening how closely Reid could or did fit into those symptom descriptions, and if he really had schizophrenia then she didn’t want to think about the panic he must be going through right now.
“He fits the profile to a T,” Morgan said grimly, and he couldn’t have known that in her booth Garcia had squeezed her eyes shut to hold back the tears, painted fingers still on her keyboard. “Now we just have to figure out where he’d go. I’m Reid, I’m having a breakdown without an obvious stressor, what do I do?”
“Not home,” Prentiss said. “There’s nothing of meaning there, not really. This building is more a place of comfort for all of us than our apartments.”
“What about his mother?” Morgan asked, and Hotch frowned in confusion.
“She’s in L.A., even Reid wouldn’t try that. He’s probably too delusional to get anywhere near people without setting off alarms.”
“No, but she’s his first thought whenever cases with schizophrenia or mental disorders come up, whenever he gets scared that it’ll happen to him.” The words were absolute poison, but they were the only things that could save him. “Whatever’s going on in his head right now, I’d bet it has something to do with her. She could be the closest thing to a stressor.”
“Are there any places around here that hold significance for the both of them?” Prentiss asked. “I mean, she’s been institutionalized for almost a decade. I know he sends her letters, but somehow I don’t think the post-office is his endgame.”
“Alright, we should send someone to search his apartment and his desk again,” Hotch said. “Garcia, have you gotten in touch with J.J. yet?”
“Ah, yes, she’s on her way-”
“Tell her to go to Reid’s apartment,” Hotch said. “We’re working on a profile to determine where he’d go and that’s the best place to look for indicators. Tell her that Prentiss is on her way and that Morgan, Rossi and I will spread out around town.”
“You got it, sir, Garcia out.”
Hotch fixed his team with a hard look.
“A break can last anywhere between a few hours to a few weeks,” he said. “And right now Reid is out there probably experiencing a mild-to-severe one. There’s no time to alert anyone; the best we can do is find him and get him home safely, and proceed from there. Rossi, Morgan, and I will look at some of Reid’s favorite haunts. Prentiss, I want you to meet J.J. at his house and see if you can find anything. Keep your eyes peeled. An hour is long enough for him to have gotten home and then some so we should mark a perimeter in the District of Columbia. However, we can’t rule out that he would come back here.”
“Understood, sir,” Prentiss said, rising. Morgan did as well and Rossi straightened up. If anyone had seen them in that moment, there would have been no doubt that they would find Reid if it was the last thing they did, but within their heads and hearts all they could see was Dilaudid, Tobias Hankle, Reid’s schizophrenic institutionalized mother and the father who abandoned him, and every incident where there had been a weapon or UnSub trained on him and the team couldn’t interfere. This time there was no one to shoot, to rush, no way to call and negotiate- there was only Reid’s mind, and the part of it that may not even recognize them anymore.
RRRRRRRRR
J.J. swung open the door to Reid’s apartment, biting her lip when she realized it hadn’t even been locked. Inside the apartment was as meticulously organized as ever, every book on its shelf, not a speck of dust on the coffee table, all of the pictures on the walls perfectly level. As she picked her way further in she realized that all of the lamps were unplugged, and when she flipped the kitchen light switch it came on to the dimmest possible setting.
Growing more and more unsettled, she continued back into the bedroom, still looking intently for any signs of strange behavior. It was when she hit the bedroom that she paused.
His bed was made. Reid may have been slightly obsessive compulsive, but after years of knowing him J.J. knew that he was a messy sleeper- whenever he was on the plane he would fidget, blankets ended up wadded on the floor, the pillows inevitably followed, and he never, ever took the time to make it in the morning unless half-heartedly pulling the wrinkled sheets all the way up counted. Instead of being normally rumpled, his bed was made pristinely and perfectly, everything probably folded to a mathematical degree. The pillows were fluffed and straight, the corners folded, not a ripple in the smooth surface of the blankets.
After her once-over of the room she realized that there were no pajamas in his hamper either, or in the washing machine a room over- they were all folded neatly in his drawers.
“Hotch,” she said once he picked up his phone, something vile rising in her throat as she pictures the deep circles under his eyes, his shuffling movements on the last case and how he didn’t sleep on the plane-ride home even though he looked exhausted.
“What is it? Did you find anything?”
“Yeah, and it’s not good,” she murmured, circling the bed. “I don’t think he’s been sleeping here for days, the bed’s made and all of his pajamas are in the drawers. The couch looks lopsided so maybe he crashed there but not for very long. This is way beyond insomnia. I don’t think he’s slept in weeks.”
The silence on the other end of the earpiece was deafening, the empty spaces between it large enough for J.J. to wedge in her own guilt. Her new job had literally pulled her away from her team and now something terrible had happened to Reid, but she hadn’t even known it, hadn’t seen him in too long because someone who earned more money than her had decided the Pentagon needed her more than her family did. The BAU was her family, and then Garcia had called in the middle of the night to tell her that Reid’s worst nightmare had come true and no one was there to help him. Will hadn’t even had to hear her speak before he knew something was wrong and told her to go, whatever it was, because they needed her.
“Alright. Keep looking for anything that might indicate where’s he’s gone or where his head’s at,” Hotch said. This time, the silence sounded final.
J.J. kept scanning the house, looking for anything that might clue them in to where Reid was, but she couldn’t find anything that indicated a place beyond his usual haunts- the park, work, the Indian place a few blocks away, the library. Her breath sounded too loud to her own ears as she turned into the final door of the apartment- the bathroom- and flipped on the lights.
Her heart slammed against her ribcage with enough force that she thought it would unbalance her, but she merely tightened her fingers on the door frame and swallowed her panic. There, sitting on the sink with another on the floor, was a bottle of Dilaudid and a syringe with some drops still left inside. She stayed in the bathroom long enough to judge how long he’d been using- weeks, by the look of his stock- before stumbling out in an attempt to hold down her dinner.
“Emily was right,” she said into her earpiece, shocked by the calm in her voice despite the roiling panic in her blood. “He’s been using again, and for a while judging by the state of his bathroom. Hotch, if he’s really having a psychotic break-”
“Then it’ll only be amplified by the drugs,” Hotch finished grimly. “Did it look like he’d used recently?”
“Definitely,” she said. “Whatever happened after he left work, he stopped by here first. The stuff is fresh in his system. Why would he do that? He knows the effect drugs have on stuff like this-”
“But he’s probably desperate, and out of his mind already,” Hotch said.
“He would have done anything if it meant making it stop,” J.J. murmured.
RRRRRRRRRR
When Emily approached the tall apartment building a light above the driveway flickered on, illuminating the stars and gleaming numbers outside the doors. It was nice, and she had too many memories here of Doctor Who marathons, the night a nearby theatre had been showing Solaris in its original Russian form, making mac and cheese and Reid talking about how he was thinking of getting a cat- Emily was in favor, Sergio got lonely and Reid could do with some full-time company.
The night air was damp and cool and the sound of her boots in puddles was loud in the stillness as she clicked up the drive, gun concealed beneath her jacket. She had just mounted the last staircase to Reid’s apartment when a door to her left opened and a small, timid face peeked out.
“Hello?” she murmured, and in the light Emily saw that she was an older woman, dressed in a blue night robe, no ring on either of her hands.
Something connected in Emily’s brain, and she stepped off the stair and approached the woman.
“Hi, I’m Emily Prentiss,” she said, smiling softly. “I’m a good friend of Spencer Reid-”
“From 408?” she said, and Emily could read the apprehension in her gaze, the nerves- something had happened. “Are you one of his FBI friends?”
“Yes, yes that’s me,” Emily said. “Listen have you seen him tonight?”
She nodded vigorously, and from the nature of her body language Emily could tell it hadn’t been a cordial encounter.
“He came home a few hours ago, and I tried to say hello but he was muttering to himself, and he didn’t look quite right.”
“Has he been acting strangely recently too? Are there any other incidents you can think of?” Emily asked. The woman frowned, but licked her lips thoughtfully and Emily felt her heart plummet.
“Well he’s away so much, you know, but he’s been slower lately. Normally he’s always very alert and bright and talks my ear off whenever we meet in the stairwell, but he’s been so quiet lately I’ve been worried. And tonight he didn’t even talk to me, just looked… irritable, and upset.”
“Thank you very much. He’s missing, and we’re very worried about it. Can you tell me anything else about his habits, maybe places he goes during the day, or a routine?” It was a long shot, but Reid was friendly with all of his neighbors as far as she knew and it was possible an older, unmarried woman like her would have latched on to the younger male presence in the apartments, clearly she had strong maternal instincts.
“I’m afraid I don’t know,” she said, sounding truly upset. “H-he likes going to the bookstore a few streets down, always comes home with too many bags to carry, bless him. And the park, but other than that I don’t know. I’m truly sorry, I hope you find him and that he’s alright. He’s such a sweet man.”
“I know. Thank you for all your help, ma’am. We’ll find him,” Emily said. The woman nodded and closed the door to her apartment, and Emily turned back to the stairs. One more flight.
Three more steps.
Open the door-
“Oof!” The door flew open just as she reached for the handle, and she and J.J. nearly ran into each other before Emily pushed herself back from the door. The blonde woman’s eyes were wide, her chest heaving, and Emily’s brow furrowed in immediate concern.
“J.J., it’s me,” she said, putting her hands on J.J.’s shoulders. J.J. took a deep breath, but still appeared shaken.
“Sorry, just startled me,” she said. “Hotch said you were coming but I didn’t know when-”
“That’s fine,” Emily said, moving past her into the apartment. “Did you find anything?”
“He’s been using again, and recently,” J.J. said, and Emily couldn’t suppress a shudder. So their first instinct had been right.
“I talked to his neighbor downstairs,” Emily said as she looked over the apartment, trying to discern anything out of place. “She said he likes to go to a bookstore, and the park, and that when he came back here he was definitely behaving erratically.”
“That affirms the theory about a schizophrenic break, then,” J.J. sighed. When Emily turned to her she was leaning against the wall, staring at her shoes and squeezing her eyes shut. “If I hadn’t been dragged away- I should have been there, Emily. I should have known something was wrong but instead I get a call out of the blue and I’m completely shocked because I haven’t been there for him. Now he’s alone and-”
“J.J.,” Emily said, but she didn’t approach the other woman, didn’t do anything, because there was nothing for this. “This is not your fault. Reid was sitting right next to me two hours ago and I noticed that something was off, but I didn’t do anything. Then I learned that he just walked out of the building in the middle of a psychotic break and I could have been the one to stop it. But we can’t think about that- it doesn’t help Reid.”
J.J. nodded slowly. “You’re right. I scanned the apartment, and it looks like he’s been suffering from major insomnia, and he definitely used tonight.”
“Nothing else, nothing to indicate where he went?” Emily asked. J.J. shook her head, but didn’t move to open the door again.
“You should look it over again- I’m not a profiler.”
“You might as well be,” Emily murmured, but her former teammate didn’t respond. She combed through the entire apartment while J.J. called Hotch and they updated each other, and by the time she got back to the main room the other woman was perched on the edge of the couch, phone clutched in her hand.
“They’ve been combing the streets by the bookstore and the community college where Reid took a few classes,” she informed Emily, but her eyes were dim- no change, then. “Did you find anything?”
Emily held up the old leather bag with the initials D. R. on it, something like hope flickering in her chest and co-mingling with the dark fear that had already set up residence.
“Maybe.”
RRRRRRRRR
"Reid?" Morgan called, jogging down the alleyway, heart beating a mile a minute.
Ried Reid Reid Reid Reid
Where was that kid?
"Reid!"
"Morgan!" Hotch called, racing down the alley behind him. "He's not here. Emily thinks he may have headed towards the park- come on."
Morgan circled again, nostrils flaring as he fought the helplessness clawing at his chest. He was profiler, dammit, he knew these people inside and out, they were his family, but he couldn't for the life of him think where to find Reid. And if he failed now...
No.
No.
He followed Hotch out of the alley, footsteps shattering the quiet.
RRRRRRRR
Every sound was amplified, every light, sensation that raced across his skin as he stumbled along the nearly-abandoned city streets. Even the dim light of the moon was too bright for him, his hands twitching to his eyes every five seconds because the prickling was only getting worse.
Make it stop make it stop
"Make it stop," he muttered, digging his palms into his eyes. When he stumbled over a trashcan he fell completely, his normal poor coordination only getting worse as he walked practically blind. His hands were sweaty when he pushed himself up and wiped them compulsively on his jeans. Squinting, he cast about for something, anything, familiar.
But the world was a blur and the edges of every object were rimmed with stabbing light. The sound of a passing car grated on his ears. It was too hot with his jacket on, he had to get it off- get it off-
"Get if off," he muttered, yanking off the deep blue garment as if it burned and letting it drop as he staggered away. Laughter from across the street was an assault, the flickering streetlamp a dagger taken to his eyes, the feeling of rough, wet stone beneath his fingertips as he dragged a hand along some building's outer wall-
find the team
find your family
"I don't have a family," he whispered weakly.
He walked on, clutching the chess box to his chest, not even feeling the cold.
RRRRRRRRRR
“Why the park?” Morgan asked as he followed Hotch out of the alley. It was a thirty minute walk and they’d already scanned the area, but hadn’t gone too close to it. So far they’d covered much of the district between them, but Rossi was currently still at the college and Morgan’s phone read 3:32a.m. and he was more scared than he’d ever been.
“Prentiss found an empty chess bag at his home that belonged to his mother- it was empty, and a neighbor told her that he frequents the park on Saturdays.”
“To play chess,” Morgan said, remembering distantly the genius’ love of the game. He used to go there to play with special needs children, he recalled. And if the chess set, like the bag, was his mother’s, there was a good chance it was the first place he’d go.
“Exactly. He’s alone, he’s afraid of his own mind, what would he do to try and regain control?”
“Go to a familiar place for reassurance and repeat a routine that calms him down, a test and a way to de-stress,” Morgan filled in as they traveled swiftly down the street. He took his phone out of his pocket and called Rossi- he picked up after the first ring.
“Hey Rossi-“
“I found Reid’s jacket,” Rossi said, and Morgan swallowed suddenly past the lump in his throat. “Near the college science building, and a janitor told me he saw a twitchy guy walking around with a chessboard clutched to his chest, mumbling to himself. It’s Reid.”
“Yeah, and we know where he’s going.” Morgan quickly filled in Rossi, who promised to get there as soon as he could, and followed Hotch down the barely-lit street, heart hammering in his chest.
Each step they took was one closer to Reid, closer to helping their errant teammate before he hurt himself or did something-
He didn’t think that. Couldn’t think that. Soon they’d all be at the park, and Reid would be there, and they’d get him home and get him help.
We’re coming for you, man. Just hold on.
RRRRRRRRRRR
He had known Reid for four years, three months, and twenty-days, and each moment had been a privilege, strange as that seemed to him now.
Even after three wives Rossi felt more family to his teammates than the women of his past relationships, and that family was what had gotten him through these past four years, three months, and twenty-days. Their job was filled with horrors for all of them, but some of them had been suffering for much longer, and under his watch Reid had only continued to do so.
Rossi’s grip on the jacket tightened as he jogged down the street towards the park where he would meet his teammates, promising himself and Reid that this would not be the last day of their acquaintance. He would have four more years and three more months and twenty more days and beyond with his family and the loveable genius that was its baby, its responsibility, the secret-keeper and the greatest secret on his own. But now he was a time-bomb and Rossi had never prayed before, but he was praying now. He knew what Schizophrenia did to people, and to someone like Reid, whose mind was his haven, his treasure, the only thing he believed that added to his worth? The loss of that would be more shattering than he could comprehend.
He would find him, he would give him his jacket back because it was freezing and wet outside, and he wouldn’t let him out of his sight until he was Reid again.
RRRRRRRRRRR
Hotch thought about Jack. And how lonely they could all be, and how none of them should ever be alone.
He thought about how Reid was alone.
And he thought about Jack.
RRRRRRRRR
“Hey there honey,” his mother whispered, watching him set up the chess set from her position on the wall.
“You aren’t real,” he mumbled, bent low to critically examine the exact spot on which he put each piece. The dead center of each square. Perfectly, mathematically aligned, the lines dancing in front of his vision glowing red perfection.
“Of course I am,” she laughed, and she sounded young. So young but he couldn’t look at her because the moon was bright and the silence hurt his ears and he was boiling beneath his skin but he’d locked her away so she couldn’t be here-
“Everything is real to us, sweetheart. It’s all in our heads, remember?”
There were tears branding lines in his cheeks when he looked up and saw the young woman now sitting across from him, chin balanced on her hands. A bright smile was on her face, and her eyes were clear clear like the moon. Her voice enunciated every syllable perfectly; a voice meant to read.
“No. I’m not-”
“Like me?” When she reached out to push back a strand of his short hair she felt too real and fear squeezed his heart. Why could he feel her? She wasn’t real, he knew it, but he couldn’t accept it and that was the heart of what losing his mind meant.
His rationality was screaming at him.
But he was too deaf to hear it.
“You always knew there was a chance, kiddo. More than a chance.”
He buried his head in his hands and tried to tune her out but he couldn’t.
“Your move, honey,” she whispered. When he looked up she had moved the far left white pawn forward, was looking at him expectantly with clear blue eyes. Her gaze had never been so intelligent or controlled in his lifetime, never brimmed with so much self-awareness.
“No,” he said. She blinked, hurt.
“If you never move, you’ll never get anywhere.”
“I don’t want to go where you are!” he yelled, rising to his feet, smacking the chessboard so that it flipped and the pieces flew like snow or rain before smacking the ground. His mother was still sitting, hands half-lifted imploringly.
He shook his head in agitation.
“There, mother, I said it. I don’t want to be like you, I’ve been terrified my whole life of being like you, and that’s why I don’t visit. Because I’m guilty and it isn’t your fault but I can’t stand to see what I might become!” he was yelling and yelling and yelling and the park was filled with lights, his eyes hurt the dilaudid hadn’t helped hadn’t subdued him before he snapped-
“Did you know that we’ve caught three killers this year who all had schizophrenia as the leading trigger for their crimes? If I had my gun with me who knows what I’d do, I mean, I’m a genius, right? How many people could I kill before the team found me? Ever since my headaches started Morgan’s been worrying, and Emily-”
“Reid,” Morgan murmured, raising his hands to show that they were empty. Reid’s voice stopped in his throat, the rant, the madness. He could feel his mother’s hand reach from behind to entwine with his.
“Hey, Morgan,” he rasped, throat dry. Wait, Morgan? When had Morgan gotten there?
And behind him, Hotch, a look too long and disappointed on his face for Reid to linger on it. Rossi was a few paces away, clutching something in his hand- his jacket. Wait, where had his jacket gone?
Morgan paused a few steps away, as if afraid he might spook Reid, and Reid laughed softly. Of course, of course they were scared. He was crazy, out of his mind, mental. Losing it.
Stuck in the middle of a psychotic break, and the fact that he was cognizant of it did nothing to help. His mother’s hand was still real in his and it was still like the park was flooded with light, even though realistically there were only a few stars, nearby streetlamps, the occasional meandering car whose headlights were on low.
“They really came for you,” his mother murmured. Despite knowing that he shouldn’t, that it made him even more unstable, he looked back at her, but she was staring at Hotch. “You’ve told me so much about them, but they really care, don’t they.”
“Of course they do,” he snapped irritably. She smiled mildly.
“I guess you never really did need your father.”
“What? What does that-”
“Who are you talking to you, Reid?” Morgan asked. Reid swung his head around to regard his fellow agent, his friend, dark eyes riveted on the spot on the other side of the overturned chessboard even though he couldn’t see anything.
“My mother.” He swallowed.
“Anyone else here?”
Reid shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. Then he was sinking to his knees, one hand still clasped in hers, the other clutching his forehead. The needle marks in his arm stung but Rossi was there putting his jacket around his shoulders and there were softly hands, polished in the light, gripping the hand digging into his forehead.
“Spence,” J.J. whispered. Hotch enveloped his other side, an arm gripping around his waist protectively. They didn’t try to pull him up, just held on and waited, breath soft on his face, on his mind.
He hadn’t cried in years, but the tears came freely now.
“I didn’t hurt anyone,” he said. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you I was using, or about the headaches-”
“Reid,” Emily pressed, kneeling in front of him. “Hey, look at me, this isn’t your fault.”
“We’re going to help you,” Hotch said. “You just have to let us.”
His eyes and nose and throat were on fire. There was empty syringe in his apartment bathroom. The ghosts in his closet were screaming into the night. On the bench, his mother was crying, too, as Morgan picked up fallen chess pieces. There was a queen embedded in the mud before his feet.
“OK,” he said, but the word was broken and cold. “I’m so- I’m so sorry… so sorry…”
RRRRRRRRRRR
J.J. held his hand while Emily got coffee, and Morgan wouldn’t leave his bedside so it was Rossi who ended up contacting the bureau about what happened. Hotch stayed as close as he could between talking to doctors and nurses and asking if Reid wanted another blanket, water, more caffeine, a book from his apartment, music, an endless list of things to remind him that he was not his mind.
All the while his mother sat in the room’s only unoccupied chair, reading aloud from Chaucer, and much as he tried to drown her out he was lulled by the familiar tale.
“Reid? You with me?” Emily asked, concern knit on her brow. Reid shook his head and nodded towards the empty chair.
“She’s reading,” he sighed, thankful that Emily didn’t give him an insane look.
“What book?” she asked gently. She eased down onto the side of the bed and passed him coffee, even though the doctors had said it wasn’t good for him.
“Chaucer, she used to read it to me as a kid, you know,” he said. Realistically he knew there was something in the IV they’d given him, but it was slow-working and he sipped the coffee to keep the heaviness on his eyes at bay. Who knew what waited in the darkness for a mind that wasn’t all there?
“Who gave him coffee?” a stern voice asked, and Reid looked up to see Hotch standing in the hospital room door, frowning at the cup. Emily looked away guiltily and Morgan whistled, and it felt like coming home.
“You know he’s supposed to be sleeping,” Hotch said. It reminded Reid of the heaviness again, eyelids fluttering against his will. He put down the cup just in case, and felt J.J.’s hand warm in his. Somewhere down the line Garcia must have come in too, because she was standing behind Hotch. That, or she was a hallucination, too.
His mother shook her head.
“No, honey, she’s here. But even if she was a ghost you’ve got nothing to worry about. Yours are friendly. I promise.”
“Oh, Reid!” she cried, rushing in and enveloping him. She smelled like citrus and sugar, a rhapsody of pink and black that assaulted his eyes but he didn’t mind. “I went through your life, and I’m sorry, but it was the only way we could find you- even though technically J.J. and Emily figured it out- and I know you can’t help it but please try not to do that again I thought you were dead or rambling or wandering like a lost puppy who didn’t know which way was up-”
“Garcia,” he said past her smothering hug. “I’m-”
Fine?
Funny. He’d never be fine again, not really.
He swallowed the word and just patted her back awkwardly until she moved away, clutching her purse and still looking at him with tearful eyes. Morgan wrapped an arm around her shoulders as she took a deep breath.
“Right, Hotch said you need to sleep. Sorry. Go… sleep. Or whatever.”
He would have laughed but he was too exhausted, there was a furry creature curled up on his chest and vibrating in his bones. Its great golden eyes blinked at him, lazily, before shutting, and it lay its head down on his collarbone, tail curling around its small, sleek grey body.
“I have a cat,” he murmured in surprise.
And then he was gone.