Title: Red Angel
By: Erinne Willows
Pairing: gen
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I do not own criminal minds or any of the characters; I also do not own the song "Over my Head" by the Fray
Warnings: angsty…very angsty – mention of suicide; Reid-centric
Spoilers: none…I don't think. This takes place sometime after Elle leaves the BAU
A/N: This is my first actual serious fic (and my first criminal minds fic) I love the show. If there are any mistakes…which there probably are, I'm sorry; my grammer is terrible. I have a hard time capturing characters that aren't mine, so sorry if they're a little occ…or a lot occ. It probably is over dramatized, but that's kind of the way it fell onto the page, so…
Summary: Reid centric. Reid questions his place at the bau and in life. Very angsty.

***

It started with a simple conversation. A conversation not meant for his ears, but heard by them just the same. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop; he just found himself doing so when he heard his name.

No. It hadn't started then, that was just the moment he had dreaded and played over in his head and in his dreams. No. It started long before his joining the BAU, back when he lived in Las Vegas, back when his mom became sick, when bullies delighted in tormenting him, when his father walked out without looking back. It started when he joined the BAU, when he researched the place he would be working, when he started looking up to Agent Jason Gideon. It started with the good-natured teasing, bringing back memories of the real teasing he endured everyday at school. It started when they had finished working on a case when the victims were children. It started when the nightmares had started.

Special Agent Dr. Reid stood beside a closed brown door, letters spelling out "Agent Aaron Hotchner" in black. He held his breath as he leaned as close as he dared to the door, ear inches from the smooth wood.

"Reid." The word was said in the unmistakable voice of Jason Gideon. "You mean Reid."

His blood turned cold, icy, clogging his veins and constricting his breathing.

A deep sigh, like the next words were hard to say. "maybe he doesn't belong here, Jason."

Another heavy sigh. "You're thinking what I've been thinking, Aaron."

It hurt to breathe. Reid whirled away, shock splayed across his thin face. His soft brown eyes widened with betrayal, deepening the wounds his own thoughts constantly inflicted on him. They…they don't want me here. Realization his him in the form of a sharp pain in his gut and his spindry fingers tightened their grip around the folder in his hands. He took a deep breath to keep the tears at bay. This was not the first betrayal he had experienced; and he had know the first one wouldn't be his last. He was realistic in that regard.

He stepped away from the door in a stunned daze, desperately blocking his thoughts from too long ago; from the time when he was younger, shorter, but very much the same. I should be used to this. He reminded himself.

Reid had never been comfortable at the BAU. He had found the semblance of a friend in Morgan, who never seemed to know when enough was too much and teased the resident genius endlessly. He used to talk to Elle, though was still much to extroverted for his comfort level; and then she had left, leaving a hole in their makeshift family. He had taken JJ to a Redskins game because Gideon had set it up, but that had ended in disaster thanks to his socially awkward nature. He didn't know the new girl all the well, only her name, and was generally uncomfortable in talking to people he didn't know. Garcia…well, to be honest, Garcia had the tendency to scare him with her hyperness, though he admired her ability to be optimistic and cheery considering the job they did. Hotch he had been intimidated by, but he had always sought his boss' approval. To hear how he had failed, or worse, how he didn't belong hurt like he hadn't known in years.

And Gideon…Gideon he had always admired, always looked up to. Something about the older man instilled in Reid a sense of confidence, of calmness; he was sometimes the only person Reid felt he could truly trust. Hearing his disproval was the worst pain Reid had ever experienced.

Taking a few gulps of air, he reined his emotions in and placed a mask of indifference on his face. This time when he reached the door, he knocked without the slightest delay.

"Come in." Hotch's voice rang out.

Reid opened the door and stepped inside. "JJ asked me to give you this file." He offered a manilla folder to Hotch.

Hotch took it and placed it on a stack of folders still waiting to be finished. "Thanks Reid."

Reid gave the two men a small, halfhearted smile before turning and walking out the door.

Gideon watched him go, unable to chase away the sudden feeling in his gut that something was wrong, and it frustrated him that he couldn't figure out what it was. He had a feeling it had a lot to do with the sadness he had seen lurking behind the young genus's eyes. He made a note to himself to watch Reid more closely for a while.

Reid opened the door to his apartment with a tired motion, allowing his exhaustion to permeate the air around him. Slamming the door shut, he flicked on the radio and flung himself onto the couch after throwing his bag in the corner. The day had been harder to get through than usual; besides his normal self-doubts, he know had Gideon's and Hotch's to worry about. He allowed his face to sink into the pillow and his brown hair to tickle his nose, his glasses pressed hard against his face; he had forgotten his contacts today. His chest hurt; it ached. Like something heavy was compressing his heart. A pained expression claimed his face, twisting his mouth until a wince escaped his clenched teeth.

I should have known they didn't want me there; the signs were obvious. What kind of profiler am I if I couldn't even see the signs? He sighed into the pillow. That's probably it. I'm not a good profiler. I should have known. I was stupid to think I could fit in.

Unbidden, memories of high school, of bullies, of the hateful words and beatings he had to endure, of the day he came home and his mother didn't recognize him, how in her fear she struck him, how he forgave her because she didn't know what she was doing, how his father left after his mother got sick, how he looked at Spencer coldly and told him he would never be anyone, how he would always be worthless. Spencer hated himself for that; for proving his father right, for never visiting his mom, for even trying to be someone when he knew it was useless. He hated himself for trying to be worth something when he knew he would always be worthless.

He allowed himself to lie on the couch, glasses cutting into his face, relishing in the pain he felt; it distracted him from the ache.

Do I want to leave? Should I leave before Hotch asks me to? No, I can't. I have to stay and help as long as I can. The people out there, the victims, they deserve help. I'll leave when I have to, but until then, I can't back out on helping. I'm the one who doesn't deserve help, who deserves all this pain.

He vaguely glanced at the radio he had turned on out of habit as the lyrics to a song by the Fray drifted from the small speakers.

"I never knew
I never knew that everything was falling through
That everyone I knew was waiting on a queue
To turn and run when all I needed was the truth
But that's how it's got to be
It's coming down to nothing more than apathy
I'd rather run the other way than stay and see
The smoke and who's still standing when it clears

He pushed himself from the couch, frowning as his glasses settled comfortable back on his nose, allowing the ache in his gut to grow; allowing the pain in his heart to increase.

Everyone knows I'm in
Over my head
Over my head…"

Reid's thin fingers pressed the off button with a grace he wished he didn't have. It hurt worse than he wanted to admit. He was graceful even in pain; and he wished he could let it all out, allow his body to rack with sobs, allow the tears to pour down his cheeks, allow himself to appear as weak as they believed him to be. But he couldn't. Years of self-preservation made it impossible to cry, to appear weak on purpose. He needed release. He needed to feel the pain. He needed…

He stared aimlessly at the kitchen, his eyes falling on a knife he had left there this morning. And he knew how to get what he needed. Walking towards the kitchen with purposeful steps, he paused for a moment at the end of the couch to shrug his jacket off and sling it over the back of the couch. Reaching the counter, he placed his fingers carefully, delicately across the edge of the knife.

Allowing his slender fingers to dance around the handle caused his breath to catch; he had never before noticed how beautiful the silver knife was. Rolling up his sleeve, he grabbed the knife. His resolve hung on the edge, and he hoped it would hurt, begged it to hurt, pleaded with it to distract him from all the memories flooding his brain. The tip dug into his flesh with precision and purpose and he hissed a bit at the pain. A crimson line flowed across his wrist. It was entrancing, the blood sliding from the wound; addicting, exhilarating, relieving. He had his release. And for the first time since he had left Hotch's office, he allowed himself to smile.

***

"Spencer, I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. Please believe me." She had tears in her eyes, but even that failed to calm the storm in his heart.

"But you did. And I can't forgive you for that." His voice was harsher than he expected. "I trusted you. You were the only person in the world I trusted."

He turned away from her. And when he looked back, he could hear her voice echo in his head; then it was Gideon's, then Hotch's. He closed his eyes and wished he could let out the scream that was tearing up his throat. But the darkness swallowed him in the pain, and he knew nothing more.

Spencer Reid woke with a start, sitting up with a jerky motion, eyes wide and sweeping the room. He could still hear her; hear the words she had said behind his back; hear the harshness in his voice when she apologized. He closed his eyes, holding back the flood that was threatening to release itself from his frail body. He had grown thinner in the weeks since he started using cutting to relieve the pent-up emotion inside him. His diet was suffering, and the sleep deprivation was starting to get to him.

He glanced at the clock, groaning when the bright red numbers only blinked 2:30. He had only gotten about two hours of sleep. He flopped back against the pillows, draping his arm over his eyes. The pain was back; the ever present ache that burned his stomach.

He rolled over onto his side and gently extracted himself from the covers. And gently slipped into the kitchen to give himself another dose of relief.

It had been weeks since Gideon had talked to Hotch about Reid, and he once again found himself in the former's office discussing the latter. Sighing as he waited for Hotch to return, he allowed his mind to wander to the last serious discussion they'd had about the genius in question.

"We need to talk about Spencer." Aaron started.

"Reid." Jason said heavily, suppressing a sigh. "You mean Reid."

Aaron sighed, clearly looking uncomfortable as he nodded. "Maybe he doesn't belong here, Jason."

Jason allowed his lips to release the sigh he had been holding in. "You're thinking what I've been thinking, Aaron."

"He deserves something greater. He could have been something greater." Aaron forced himself to make eye contact with the senior profiler.

"I know. But he did apply here, he chose to be here. I'm sure he has his reasons." Jason assured.

"You're right." Aaron said. "Of course, you're right. I was just concerned that maybe…maybe he's wasting his talents here."

"I've had the same concerns. But I'm certain he wants to be here. He's always so eager to help." As if doubting his own thoughts, he turned his eyes to look out the window.

"At least, I hope he wants to be here." He whispered to himself, sure Aaron couldn't hear.

He allowed a sigh to escape his lips. As of late, Reid had not been looking so good; he had lost weight and didn't spout out random facts like he used to. He seemed to lack confidence, was always second guessing himself, and while he hid it well, Gideon could see the flashes of pain that slashed the young genius's eyes. He spent a great deal of time wondering what went on in the young man's head; why he felt the need to prove himself to everyone. The meeting with Hotch was about that very subject. He was worried, and he was certain Hotch was as well. He lowered his eyes as guilt flooded his mind at the thought that he hadn't been able to figure out what was wrong.

The door opened with a slight creak and Gideon looked up to see Hotch walk in. He didn't seem surprised, quite the contrary, to see Gideon sitting in front of his desk.

"Aaron, we need to talk." Jason started.

Hotch nodded before closing the door.

Reid had spent a lot of time the past few weeks contemplating life and his place in it. His mind often drifted back to his past, to the memories he had desperately buried in the recesses of his brain. His brain had a tendency to focus on the things he tried to hide; it was rather annoying, actually.

Most of it was on her; the girl he had trusted with everything. With all his secrets, with his smile, with his laugh, with his heart. And she had taken it all and crushed them; crushed him. He reminded himself he should have known better than to trust someone. But as introverted as he was, he needed human contact, he needed to know someone cared about him; someone without the obligation to care, of course.

He remembered her smile the most; the way her lips curved at something he'd said and allowed the slightest bit of whitened tooth to show. She had seemed to genuinely care, to genuinely like him.

He should have been suspicious when she told him he was cute. He should have been suspicious when they started studying together. He should have been suspicious when he would find her randomly staring off into space with a slight smile on her face. He should have caught on. But he didn't. And it was an overheard conversation that tore his world apart.

"I can't stand to be around him; I can't believe you dared me to be his friend, Kristy." It was her voice; he'd recognize it anywhere.

"Hey, don't act like it's all so horrible. You're the one getting help on your homework, Cynthia. You're the one enjoying having him on a string like this." The voice burst out laughing. "Really, though. Don't you think the boy deserves a break?"

"Not if he's stupid enough to not realize I'm using him." She let out a laugh.

It hurt. He had stood there, dumbfounded as his only friend in the world proceeded to trash him. I should have known; you can't trust anyone.

Then she had the nerve to apologize, to deny everything he'd heard. But the damage was done; no matter what she said, it couldn't reach him anymore. He was too far inside himself. He was done trusting.

He was broken.

***

The knife slid along his skin with greater ease, weeks of practice making it more of a routine, more of an addiction, more of a need. He had skipped dinner again, ignoring the way his stomach grumbled feebly in protest. And he was certain he wouldn't sleep that night either, his nightmares becoming more and more disturbing, harder and harder to sleep through; images from all the cases they'd seen, especially the ones with children; and hateful words that always echoed when he woke. This was all he had - his only friend; the only thing, he had convinced himself, he needed. He sighed in relief as the pain dulled. It was the distraction he needed, the searing pain, the way his blood slid down his arm with grace, with precision. It was the lack of feeling he hated, the apathy that flooded his feelings and took control of his life. The knife dug deeper, searching for the pain he was certain had to accompany his actions. It never came and he slung the knife into the sink in anger, grimacing at the annoying clang that rang from metal on metal contact. He glared at the wound for a moment, but the expression quickly faded as exhaustion took over.

He sighed. The lack of feeling bothered him. He picked up the knife once more. I have to feel the pain, if I don't, the ache will never go away. I can't live like this, I can't. I can't impose on others anymore. What good am I as a profiler if I can't feel anything? What good am I as a person? Does it even matter? Would they notice if I wasn't there? They don't need me, I'm certain of that, so maybe…maybe it'd be better if…if I didn't exist. I know they'd be happier. I know…I'd be happier…

He dropped the knife once more, this time is shock. What…what am I thinking? He turned away to the nearest distraction, trying his best to ignore the bloodstained knife lying in the sink as he placed a shaky hand over the scars on his arm. His weary steps led him unconsciously to the bedroom and he stared at the bed, knowing it wouldn't provide relief, knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep, knowing the nightmares would haunt him, knowing the faceless people in his dreams would ask him why he couldn't save them, knowing the Gideon in his dreams would tell him he was worthless and leave like his father had done, knowing the Hotch in his dreams would tell him he wasn't wanted, knowing the Cynthia in his dreams would tear him down, knowing the loneliness would overwhelm him when he woke. He couldn't handle it. He was drowning; drowning in the hole those around him had helped him dig and fill with water, struggling to stay above the surface. But it hurt and ached and he didn't think he could hold on much longer.

He collapsed onto the bed without even bothering to change, ignoring the blood that leaked onto the sheets as his brain convinced him he deserved the words in his dreams, that he was worthless and useless; that he wasn't needed.

The next day dawned a mixture of pinks and oranges, coloring the sky in beauty, a beauty Reid found upon seeing it, that he no longer appreciated. He glanced instead to the clock, noticing he was late to work. Curses rang through his head. He sat up, but the ache in his stomach caused him to slump back down. I can't do this. I can't go in and know what they're thinking, I can't go in knowing they don't want me there. I can't bear to hear their words echo in my head anymore. They don't want me there anyway. Maybe…maybe today is the day.

He picked up the phone and quickly dialed.

"Gideon. It's Reid." He paused. "I'm sick, so unless we have a case, I think I should stay home today." He held back his useless facts about transmitting sickness. I don't want to bother him with useless facts. His voice was low, pained; he hoped Gideon just thought he was really sick.

"Okay, Reid, you take it easy today. We don't have a case yet, and if we do, we'll call. Get some rest." Gideon's voice was gentle in Reid's ear, but all Reid could hear was the voices that echoed from the few hours of restless dreams.

Hanging up the phone, he allowed his feet to drag him to the shower where he turned the water all the way up; until he was sure the water would burn. In fact, he hoped it would burn. Because if he actually felt something, if the pain could stir him from just existing, he wouldn't go through what he planned today. The knife was in the sink, blood from the night before staining its beautiful silver tip. Maybe…maybe I should just kill myself. He allowed this thought to get him through the shower as his thin, malnourished body reddened under the scalding water. Today is the day…

Gideon placed the phone on the hook, butterflies filling his stomach. He walked out of his office, scanning the team in front of him. He sighed.

"That was Reid. He says he's sick and unless we have a case, he shouldn't come in. I decided not to push it." He didn't really believe the young man was sick; the voice on the phone sounded pained, as if something was hurting the voice on the other end.

"Really?" Morgan asked disappointment clouding his eyes. "Man, I was so excited. Our little genius was one year older today." He gently slid the party hat off his head.

Gideon allowed his eyes to drift to the banner set up along the wall with "Happy Birthday Reid" in red block letter, then to the cake on Reid's desk. Something about the whole situation didn't seem right.

"I was really hoping a party would cheer him up." Garcia spoke up. "I mean, he's been looking a little down lately. Man, it's gotta suck to be sick on your birthday; poor Reid."

"Yeah." Morgan agreed placing his hat on Reid's deck next to the cake.

"What'll we do with the cake?" JJ asked. "We can't eat it without him; it's his birthday cake."

"I'll take it to him. I should probably make sure he isn't sicker than he thinks he is, he has a tendency to not notice these things." Gideon was reminded of the time he came in with the flu and insisted nothing was wrong. They had finally sent him to the doctor when he coughed and sneezed his way through he day.

"That's a good idea." Hotch said gently. "We'll get started on the paper work. Tell Reid we hope he gets better soon."

Gideon nodded before gathering the cake and heading towards the door. The butterflies beat harder against his stomach.

Reid stared at the knife in his hands. He had done this daily, sometimes twice a day for weeks. It was like an addiction, a growing addiction he couldn't control. But today…today was the last day, this was the last time. He wondered what it would be like to die, to feel his body lose awareness, to slowly slip into unconsciousness, feeling his blood slide down his arm without seeming to end. He had never been particularly religious, but he wondered if an angel would come and take him down to Hell, where he was certain he belonged. Or if it would be the devil himself. Or if no one would come and he would once again be all alone – in life as in death. It seemed only fitting.

He told himself he'd fix it if it hurt. The first second he felt pain, he'd stop. But at the knife trailed down his arm, he found nothing, that nothing had changed. His brain began to fade away, disregarding the urgent knocking at the door. He allowed himself to fall to the floor, let the knife fall from his limp hand. And as he stared at the ceiling, waiting for death to take him, he grinned as he saw an angel floating towards him.

It was funny. He never thought his angel would be the crimson color of blood.

***

Gideon knocked on the door with an urgency unlike his usual calmness. He pulled out his phone to call Reid, but felt his heart stop as a thud echoed through the door. Panic filled his eyes and he hurriedly placed the cake on the ground glaring at the door. He kicked the door as he would to get into an Unsub's house. He pushed his way in, running through the apartment, stopping when he reached the opening to the kitchen and found his agent lying on the floor, blood staining the white tile, a knife at the edges of his this fingers.

There was blood. Too much blood.

"REID!" His voice came out a strangled cry as he rushed to the unconscious agent's side. "Reid." He whispered. "What have you done?"

His phone was out, he was calling an ambulance, he was tying a dishtowel around the cut on Reid's arm, he was frantically searching for a pulse, he was calling Hotch, he was holding Reid in his arms; he never noticed he was crying until the emergency personnel pried him from Reid's body, assuring him that Reid was still alive. He was holding Reid's hand, he was staring at the pale face that a day ago had been full of life, he was sitting in the ambulance, never once letting go of Reid's hand, hoping he hadn't been too late.

He didn't even notice he was covered in Reid's blood.

The monitor beeped out a steady, comforting rhythm as Gideon sat impatiently next to his sleeping agent. The doctor had told him Reid would be okay, but still…but still he worried. They had told him Reid was malnourished, sleep deprived, and dehydrated. Gideon hung his head in shame. He hadn't seen this coming. He should have seen this coming. It was his job to notice the little clues. He hadn't seen all the clues, couldn't piece the ones he had together in time, and Reid…Reid had almost…

He rubbed a hand against the old t-shirt he was wearing. He had changed, certain Reid would not like the first sight he sees after waking up to be his blood. His other hand hovered around the edges of Reid's, uncertain if the agent would be uncomfortable waking up holding hands with his mentor. Gideon didn't want to do anything to upset the already fragile state of mind Reid was in.

He heard a soft groan from beside him and he looked up to see dull eyes staring into his own. It was the dullness that scared him, the apathy he could see in those eyes.

"Reid?" He prompted, whispering gently, but still loud enough so that Reid could hear him.

"Gideon." Reid's voice was hoarse, rough, coarse; filled with pain. He sounded broken.

Maybe he is. Maybe he is broken. And I couldn't see it in time, I couldn't stop it. Gideon allowed his thoughts to drag his head down, his eyes towards the floor.

Reid took a deep breath, then sat up. "You're disappointed in me." He sounded like a lost child.

Gideon's head snapped up. "Reid, I…"

"Why did you save me?" The question was sharper than either expected. Reid cleared his throat and tried again. "Gideon, why did you save me?"

Gideon saw the pain blatant in Reid's eyes. "Why do you want to die?" He asked back, ignoring Reid's question for the moment. Why do you want to die so badly?

Reid's gaze drifted to the ceiling. "What's there to live for?" He muttered to himself, unaware that Gideon heard him.

Gideon felt like his heart would burst. "You have us. You have the team. Why would you give that up? Reid, we care about you…"

"Why would you lie about something like this! You didn't even want me there!" His head snapped down to glare at him.

Gideon balked at the anger in Reid's voice.

"You and Hotch. You don't think I deserve to be where I am. No one does." The anger was quickly fading. "And I should have expected it. I know you think I'm worthless, that I don't belong on the team, I know Hotch thinks so too. And the rest? They'd be happier without me. Without having to deal with my annoying tendency to spout out random facts, without my social awkwardness. You'd all be better off. And I know how you really feel now, so you can stop pretending. I'm not worth it; I'm not worth the effort it takes to pretend."

Reid's eyes were glued to the blanket covering his legs, hair hiding his eyes. Gideon could feel the pain in his voice and his chest constricted at all the emotions Reid had been holding in.

"I'm sorry, Gideon. I'm sorry for being worthless and for disappointing you. I…"

"Don't apologize, Reid." Gideon cut him off.

Reid flinched, missing the reason for Gideon's interruption.

"Why did you save me, Gideon?" He whispered, allowing the tears to well up in his eyes.

"Reid…" Gideon took a deep breath before reaching his hand up to grab Reid's chin and pull his head up to where they were looking each other in the eyes.

"Reid, you have nothing to apologize for. You haven't done anything wrong." He sighed. "Hotch and I don't think you're worthless, neither does the rest of the team. And I wasn't disappointed in you, but in myself for not noticing you needed out help. We most certainly think you deserve to be wherever you want to be, especially here. We are not annoyed by your random facts; just amazed that you can remember so much. And your help on cases is vital and very important because you can see patterns and connections we can't, especially not in time to catch the Unsubs."

Gideon paused for a moment. "I'm sorry, Reid. I'm sorry we never voiced how much you mean to us and I'm sorry we didn't realize you needed help."

"Gideon, I…"

"I saved you because you don't deserve to die." Gideon said, eyes never leaving Reid's.

"I just…I just wanted to feel something." Reid whispered as Gideon dropped his hand and Reid's head fell forward again. "Something, anything."

"Reid, what made you think we didn't want you, or that you don't deserve to be here?" Gideon asked quietly.

"I heard you…you and Hotch. You were talking about if I really belonged here, if I really belonged on the team. I didn't mean to listen, I was just delivering a folder, but I heard you. And it reminded me of what the students used to say in high school." Reid whispered, allowing the tears to slide down his cheeks. "And I just thought you thought I was worthless and unwanted."

"Oh, Reid." Gideon breathed. "No…no, we weren't…Reid, Hotch and I were discussing if maybe you were wasting your talents here. You could have done anything you wanted and we were wondering if we were holding you back. We just wondered it you…oh, Reid. We just thought of all the things you could be doing and wondered if this was best for you. You will always belong on the team."

Reid looked up. "You…you actually want me to stay?"

"We don't want you to leave." Gideon smiled at the awestruck agent.

Reid looked at him as if determining if what Gideon said was the truth.

Gideon stared at him, poking at the thought at the back of his mind that was really bothering him.

"Why do you think you're worthless?"

Reid stared at his hands. "My…my father told me that when he left, after mom got sick. He told me I would never be anyone, that I would always be worthless no matter what, and that everyone around me thought the same thing."

Gideon lightly touched his arm. "You are not worthless." His voice was strong.

"Umm…excuse me." A nurse walked into the room. "Dr. Reid has some visitors; so you want to see them?" Her question was directed to Reid, who wiped the tears off his cheeks and nodded; she opened the door.

Hotch led the group, followed by Morgan, JJ, Garcia, and Prentiss; the latter four wearing party hats, Hotch was holding a cake Gideon had to assume was new.

Reid looked confused at their appearance until Gideon whispered "Happy Birthday." His eyes widened. "My birthday?" He whispered.

"Happy birthday, Reid." Morgan walked over. "Man, I'm sorry you had to be sick on your birthday; that really sucks." He turned to Gideon. "It's a good thing you went to check on him if he was sick enough to be in a hospital."

Gideon smiled. "A very good thing."

Reid managed a small smile and a "thank you" before Morgan moved and JJ took his place.

Reid slowly came to the realization through all the "Happy Birthday's" and grins that they all thought him sick and didn't realize what had really happened. He supposed he owed Gideon for that.

When Hotch walked over to him, he dropped his head, unable to look his boss in the eye. But Gideon had already talked to him while the others were wishing him happy birthday, or while he was sleeping, because after he wished Reid happy birthday, he also confirmed what Gideon had said earlier. He also told him he had not told the team what had happened, a Reid had already figured out, and had no intention of doing so. Reid thanked him and Hotch placed the cake carefully on his lap as Garcia and JJ hung the "Happy Birthday Reid" banner Garcia had brought, on the wall where he could see it.

"We didn't want you to miss your party," Morgan explained. "So we brought it to you. How does it feel, genius, to be another year older?"

"Pretty much the same." He smiled a genuine smile for the first time in what seemed like ages. "Thank you."

As the team gathered around Reid, Hotch and Gideon stood to the side.

"Is he going to be okay now?" Hotch asked.

"I hope so." Gideon sighed.

"You don't know?" Hotch found that hard to believe.

"He's a hard person to figure out. We didn't even know he was suicidal." Gideon looked at Reid's back with pity. "I had to beg and plead to keep him out of the psychiatric ward. You should probably pull some strings."

Hotch nodded. "What'll happen when he's discharged? He can't go back to his apartment if we're not even sure he's stable." Hotch looked to Gideon, knowing he had it all planned out.

"I'm bringing him home with me, where I can keep an eye on him. We've got to be more positive around him and make sure he knows we think he's doing a good job."

"Most definitely." Hotch agreed.

"Hey!" Morgan called. "Come have some cake and sing. You can't just stand over there and look all professional when we're having a birthday party!"

Hotch and Gideon grinned at each other.

"He's got a point." Gideon pointed out.

Hotch nodded.

Surrounded by the team, singing to him over a cake with no candles (because the nurse wouldn't let them light them), Reid felt more at home than he had ever felt and allowed his happiness to swell in his chest, relishing the feeling. It was better than apathy, better than pain, and better than the release he had felt in death.

He had been looking for feeling, and finally, after almost losing it, he had found it.

He realized it had been there all along; he just hadn't been able to see it.

A/N: I just didn't have the heart to kill him. I like this version better – where he has a heart-to-heart with Gideon.