Title: Filthy
By: TheLovethief
Pairing: gen
Series: 1) Escalation
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: previous non-con
A/N: This is a sequel to my previous story "Escalation". For a better understanding, I'd suggest to read that one first. Thanks to my beta reader editor frog!
Disclaimer: Criminal Minds is not mine.
Summary: While Reid is trying to overcome his trauma, the other BAU-profilers investigate a new series of murders in DC.

***

They were watching him. He could feel their gazes boring into his back. Apart from the disturbingly colorful lights that were coming from the various clubs and bars, it was a deep dark night. He didn't know what time it was, nor did he know where he was. He had no idea what he was doing in this dubious street that was crowded with even more dubious looking people.

He felt dizzy, but kept walking. He didn't dare to stop, just wanted to get out of this shady quarter as soon as possible. Once in a while he lifted his head slightly and glanced up to make sure he wouldn't run into someone – or something.

"Hey, pretty boy! In a hurry, are we?" The sudden voice from behind caused him to freeze instantly.

He didn't like this tone of voice. It sounded too kind somehow, almost...cheerful. His brain tried feverishly to send signals down to his legs that screamed – "Run!" - but he couldn't move. And when the hand grabbed his upper arm from behind, he knew it was too late.

He was turned around against his will and saw the stranger's gaze wandering slowly from his head to his feet.

"Nice," the unknown man said.

For the first time he dared to look at this forthright person. He was tall and seemed to be of an athletic build. And he was wearing a suit.

The sight was too much. In panic he tried to pull his arm out of the other man's firm grip. Instead of letting go, however, the stranger used his other hand to grab his throat. The guy with the suit squeezed firmly and shoved him roughly against the near stone wall of one of the dance clubs.

With wide eyes, he stared at his attacker. Then his gaze shifted to the other people on the streets. Some were even looking, but no-one tried to intervene. He was alone. The fingers were holding his neck with increasing pressure. He could hardly breathe.

He noticed how the stranger began to fiddle with his own belt and he could feel the man's tongue running along his jaw line. His assaulter was so busy with getting what he wanted that he didn't realized what was going on until the blade pierced deeply into his guts. The unknown man made a strange bubbling noise and looked with surprise at his belly.

With shaking hands, he pulled the knife out of the taller man's body. He stared at the bloody blade.

Then he watched the man with the suit fall down on his knees.

He let the knife drop and ran. Someone came after him. He could hear the steps behind him coming closer...

Spencer Reid's eyes shot open. He lay in his bed panting as he stared up at the ceiling. It was dark and completely silent. The only thing he could hear was the quick beating of his heart that was echoing in his ears.

Not again, he thought and sighed heavily. This horrible dream had been haunting him for several weeks now – apart from slight modifications it was always the same scheme. Each time Reid ended up killing his offender. He didn't know what to make of this.

Slowly he turned his head to look at his digital clock. The red numbers told him it was four in the morning. Spencer got up abruptly and hurried towards the bathroom. Five hours had passed already since he'd had his last shower.

He felt incredibly filthy.

---

"We have a new case. Briefing in five," SSA Aaron Hotchner said as he walked through the bullpen of the FBI office in Quantico. It was Monday morning and most agents had already started to do their paperwork.

Quickly Derek Morgan got up from his chair, eager to leave the unfinished files on his desk. He caught up with his boss. Side by side they made their way through the bureau.

"Bad case?", Morgan asked when he noticed the serious expression on Hotch's face – even more serious than usual.

Aaron nodded. "Very."

Since there didn't seem to come any more information, Derek decided to approach the "taboo subject".

"Uhm, so when's Reid going to return from sick leave?", he asked as casually as possible. "I mean, it's been two months since..."

Aaron stopped short in front of the conference room. He sighed. They had hardly ever talked about what had happened in Las Vegas. Once a week Hotch had visited Reid at home to see how he was doing. However, his youngest agent had made it very clear that he didn't want to see anyone else, that he needed time for himself. The team leader had respected his wishes and told the others to do the same.

Hotch rubbed his tired eyes.

"He's supposed to be back next week," he told Derek quietly, not wanting to spread the news already. "Of course, he has to pass the psych evaluation first. It's on Friday."

Derek put on a small smile. "I'm sure he'll make it. Kid's tough."

---

Meanwhile Reid was having his second shower of the day. The first one he'd taken in the early morning hadn't been enough. It was never enough.

He stood in the small cubicle of his tiny bathroom and let the steaming hot water run down his body. He could feel it trickle from his head to his feet. Spencer knew the temperature of the water was too high. A shower shouldn't hurt.

But it was a good pain. That sort of pain that distracted him from the agony he could still feel inside him. Although the physical wounds had healed by now, Reid was sure he would always remember what it had been like.

He turned off the shower. Still he felt not nearly as clean as he wanted to be and deep inside he knew he never would be.

Reid stepped out of the cubicle and grabbed a towel. Suddenly he could hear a sound. He held his breath and listened.

Someone was knocking firmly on the front door.

Spencer put on his far too big bathrobe and wrapped it tightly around his far too thin body.

Warily he went downstairs and approached the door. He hated doors. Who knew who was lurking behind them? Could be anyone...

Another knock. Reid froze again and cursed himself for being so damned paranoid.

Get a grip, man!

He took a deep breath and opened the door.

Too late.

The postman had already started his car. Reid watched the mail van driving away. Heaving a sigh, he closed the door again and walked to the kitchen. He needed more coffee.

---

"The good thing is, we don't have to fly through the whole country," JJ started the briefing. "The murders took place in DC."

The team's media liaison took the remote of the oversized screen and started the gruesome slide show. Several pictures of bloodied bodies appeared.

"We have three victims, all male, 35 to 50 years old. They were all stabbed in the stomach or chest and bled to death before the paramedics arrived," the blond agent explained.

Prentiss looked at the photographs of the corpses. "When did it start?", she asked absent-mindedly, still examining the wounds in the victim's torsos.

"About a month ago," JJ said. "The second man was killed one week ago. Last night they found the third body."

"The time between he murders has become much shorter," Morgan stated. "If it's the same killer, he's escalating."

"That's why they called us now. They're pretty sure that it's the same killer," JJ replied and took one more look into the file.

Hotch frowned. "How so? There's a long period between the first two murders. What's the connection?"

The media liaison tucked some loose hair strands behind her ears and smiled. "For one thing all victims were killed within a half-mile radius..."

"Well, it's a high-risk area," Derek interrupted and scanned the police report once more. "Strip clubs, gambling bars..."

"True," JJ conceded. "However, some witnesses remember someone running from the scene. Since it was dark when the killings happened, no-one could give a detailed description. But they all said they saw a tall, slender young man there."

"They didn't try to stop him?", Emily asked.

"Obviously they didn't realize what had happened at first," the blond agent said referring to the witness reports.

Morgan snorted. "Or maybe they just didn't care."

Aaron was about to stop the speculations when Penelope Garcia stormed into the conference room.

Four curious pairs of eyes watched her fumbling with the technical tools below the screen.

"What is it?", Hotch finally asked.

"I just received a video from the police," Garcia began and took the remote control from JJ. "It's a recording from a surveillance camera in one of the strip clubs where the latest victim had been seen last."

They looked expectantly at the big screen. Penelope pushed the green button and started the film.

It was a typical club scene: Colorful lights breaking through the darkness of the room, lots of drunk people laughing and watching how the barely dressed women on the stage are getting completely undressed.

"Well, that's...good quality," Morgan stated with his mouth slightly open. He couldn't help but notice the talented dancers.

"Wait, wait a second," Prentiss suddenly called.

Garcia pushed freeze frame button.

Puzzled faced turned now to the dark haired woman. Emily indicated to the screen. "There in the front row. Is that Reid?"

Now everyone continued scrutinizing the frozen image.

"Oh my god," JJ exclaimed when she detected her young colleague standing right in front of the striptease girls.

"What was he doing there?", Derek asked with an utterly incredulous expression on his face. "I mean,...I thought...after, you know, after Vegas and all...," he trailed off.

"All right, everyone – stay calm," Hotch ordered firmly. He was completely dumbfounded by this video himself, but didn't want his team to start the speculation game again. "I want you to go to the PD and see if you can find any other connections between the victims," he said to Morgan, Prentiss and JJ. "And talk to the witnesses once more. Perhaps they'll remember something else."

The women nodded.

Morgan frowned. "You're not coming with us?"

"No," Aaron replied curtly and got up from his chair. "I'm going to have a chat with Reid."

***

It was only a short drive from the BAU office to Reid's apartment. It was a quiet journey. Hotch had turned off the radio in his car and focused on the roller coaster that seemed to be racing through his mind. The team leader didn't have to think about the route to his youngest agent's place. After all, he had been there several times after their return from Las Vegas. Each Wednesday he'd visited Reid to see how the traumatized man was handling the situation.

Outwardly, Spencer appeared to get along. He was withdrawn and jumpy, but considering the circumstances Hotch thought he was doing quite well. However, the senior profiler was more than surprised by the video footage they'd just watched in the bureau. Reid had never been known for his enthusiasm for night clubs, let alone strip bars. And after the events in Vegas...

Hotch's thoughts were interrupted when a familiar house came into sight. He pulled over and stopped the engine. For a minute Aaron remained sitting in his car, simply staring at the front door of Reid's apartment. He wasn't quite sure what exactly he wanted to talk to Reid about. He just had this uneasy feeling that the young profiler was not supposed to be in this bar while on sick leave.

With a sigh, Hotch climbed out of his car and went up the few stairs to Spencer's door. He rang the bell and waited. For a very long moment, nothing happened. Then he could hear the sound of footsteps behind the door.

"Reid?", Hotch called warily. "Reid, it's me, Hotch. Open up, please. I know you're there."

More seconds passed until finally the door was unlocked.

It opened only few centimeters, barely enough to reveal Reid's face.

"Hotch...," he stated slowly. "I, uhm, I didn't expect you. It's not Wednesday yet."

Aaron put on a friendly smile. "I know. May I come in nonetheless?"

Although it was a rather rhetorical question, Reid seemed to actually consider his options for a minute. Eventually he opened the door wider and stepped aside to let his boss in.

Hotch let his gaze wander through the living room. Ever the profiler, he tried to find out more about Reid's emotional status by analyzing the condition of his apartment. He noticed quickly that there was nothing noticeable. Everything was clean and neatly arranged – just like last week.

Aaron sat down on the couch and looked at his agent, who was standing near the wall, his arms wrapped around his torso. Reid was wearing too big gray sweatpants and a long-sleeved black shirt. Since it was in the middle of June and accordingly hot, this outfit appeared considerably too warm.

"So, how's it going?", Hotch asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

Spencer didn't move an inch away from the wall.

"Everything's alright," he said and forced his arms to loosen their tight grip. He knew all about body language and how a defensive posture looked like. And he certainly didn't want to provide his superior with any evidence that in fact everything was not alright.

"So, why are you here?", Reid asked once more. "It's Monday, isn't it?"

Aaron frowned. Apparently, the younger man set great value on their weekly visiting routine.

"Yeah, it's Monday. But I was around and thought I drop by for a moment," he lied. It didn't felt like the right time to tell Reid about the case – not yet.

Spencer seemed to relax a bit. He smiled slightly and took some steps toward the couch.

He indicated to the kitchen. "Do you want something? Coffee? I just made some," he offered.

Hotch nodded. "Sure."

Although he didn't really have much time, he wanted to make Reid feel more comfortable.

Relieved to have something to do, Spencer went to the kitchen while Hotch stayed in the living room.

Suddenly the older man heard the rattling sound of breaking glass. He hurried to the kitchen and found a cursing Reid kneeling on the floor, trying to pick up the shards of what had once been the coffee pot.

The younger man glanced up at his boss. "I dropped it," he explained the obvious and looked miserably down at the mess of glass and brown liquid.

Hotch approached him slowly, careful not to step into the bits and pieces on the ground.

"Fuck!" Reid suddenly exclaimed and lifted his hand. Hotch could see the blood dripping from a deep cut in Reid's palm. Hastily he crouched down next to his subordinate and took his hand to look at the wound.

Spencer pulled away instantly and got up. "It's okay," he muttered.

With a doubtful expression Hotch moved to the kitchen sink. "You should hold it under cold water," he advised and tried to get a hold of the injured hand once again.

This time, Reid slapped away his boss' hand. "I said it's alright," he hissed. "Don't treat me like a girl. I'm not a girl!" Now he was shouting.

Hotch was completely taken aback. Where had this come from? Instinctively, he stepped back to give Reid some space. The doctors in Vegas had told him that the young man might have trouble to deal with too much closeness in the near future.

He lifted his hands in a calming gesture. "Sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"No problem," Reid cut him short. "I have another pot. I'll make fresh coffee."

Hotch watched how Spencer fumbled with the coffee filter. His hands were shaking slightly and even though the young man was wearing wide clothes, Aaron could see how thin he was. Had he lost even more weight?

"Do you eat?", the senior profiler asked.

Reid pushed the power button of the coffee machine and went to the living room, not caring about the mess on his kitchen floor anymore.

Hotch followed him, but kept his distance.

Wearily the younger man slumped down on the couch. Since he made no attempt to reply, his superior tried again:

"Reid, I asked you a question."

"Hm?" The young man glanced up. "What was it?"

Hotch frowned. He wondered if Reid had actually forgotten the question on his way to the living room or if he was just stalling for time.

"I asked if you eat regularly. You look thin."

"Uhm, of course, I eat. Why would I not?" Reid twisted his hands in his laps and looked anywhere but at Hotch.

Aaron sat down next to his agent, careful not to get too close. "Coffee doesn't count," he said gently. "You need to eat properly."

Spencer stood up abruptly. "Who are you? My mother?", he said too loudly and disappeared in the kitchen again.

Hotch groaned. He couldn't avoid the impression that Reid kept running away from him. A look at his watch told him that he should go back to work soon.

When Reid returned with two cups of coffee, Aaron decided to get to the point.

He waited for the younger man to sit down and cleared his throat. "So, have you gone out lately? Maybe met some friends..."

A puzzled expression on Spencer's face. "What friends?"

Hotch smiled weakly. Good point, he thought. Well then...

"Someone saw you in DC last night," he finally said. "More specifically, in a quite notorious strip bar called 'Pandora's Box'. I'd like to know what you were doing there, Reid."

Spencer's face went pale – even paler than it had been already.

"I...uhm...," he started slowly.

"You what?"

Reid jumped to his feet. "I'm gonna be sick," he managed to whisper before storming upstairs to his little bathroom.

Again, the older man followed – hesitantly. Wondering why a simple question was enough to send Reid over the edge. By the time he reached the top of the stairs, the retching noises had subsided. All he could hear now was the heartbreaking sound of a young man who desperately tried to prevent choked sobs from escaping his mouth – and failed miserably.

Hotch stepped into the bathroom and knelt next to Reid who was still leaning over the toilet, clinging to the porcelain bowl in the dire need of something to hold on to.

The senior profiler was at a loss. He wanted to touch Reid, to comfort him, but he didn't know how his agent would react to actual physical contact.

On the other hand, he couldn't just sit there and watch. Maybe it was the father in him that made Aaron reach out and place a gentle hand on Reid's back. The younger man tensed immediately, but didn't move away. Encouraged by this, Hotch started to rub slowly through the fabric of Spencer's shirt.

"It's okay," he said with a soothing voice. "Just breathe."

Reid nodded barely noticeable and drew some shivering breaths. After a few moments of silence, he let go of the bowl and leaned back against the close tile wall, forcing his boss to take away his hand.

"I had to try," he whispered, his eyes focused on the white floor.

"Try what?", Hotch asked quietly.

Reid glanced up at him nervously. "I had to try with...the girls and all. To see if...," he stopped, unwilling to express aloud what pathetic intention had led him into the club.

Realization hit Aaron. Of course...

"I have these dreams," the younger man suddenly continued. He wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and told Hotch about the nightmares that had been plaguing him for over a month now.

The senior profiler listened, grateful that Reid was talking to him at all.

However, by the time Reid had finished his detailed description, Aaron wished he would have never heard about it.

This can't be a coincidence, his brain reasoned.

This has to be a coincidence, his heart screamed.

"I'm afraid I have to go now. But why don't you come over for dinner in the evening," Hotch offered. "We could talk about...these dreams." He couldn't confront Reid with his suspicions. Not now. He was sure there was a rational explanation for this, and he was determined to find it today.

"Uhm, sure. Why not. Thanks."

The two profilers got up and moved downstairs to the front door.

"I'm gonna pick you up around seven, alright?", Hotch asked on his way outside.

"Okay. And sorry for..."

"Hey, don't apologize," the older man interrupted. "See you later."

Reid gave him a timid smile and closed the door.

Back in his car, Hotch took his cell phone and pushed speed dial number 3.

"Hotch, what's up?", the voice on the other side asked in a slightly alert tone.

"Morgan, I just talked to Reid. We might have a problem."

***

"He didn't do this." JJ paced the office of the DC police department. As soon as Hotch had returned from Reid's place, he'd gathered his team in a vacant room to fill them in. He'd told them about their youngest member's strange behavior and about his nightmares.

"He's got nothing to do with the murders," the blond media liaison said loudly, shaking her head to underline her statement.

The team leader stood at the window and watched his agents' reactions. "We can't ignore the facts," he stated quietly.

JJ stopped and looked incredulously at her boss. "You can't seriously believe that Spence would do something like that!"

Hotch sighed. "Reid was in the area when these men got killed and he dreamed very vividly about the crimes. Plus, he fits the personal description in the witness reports."

"The descriptions are very vague," Prentiss pointed out. "It was dark, the passersby couldn't make out any detail."

JJ nodded. "Yeah. A lanky young man – could have been anyone," she exclaimed.

"Could have been Reid." Morgan's first comment startled them all into silence.

For a moment, the other three agents simply stared at Derek who sat on a chair, leaning forward with his arms rested on his knees.

JJ was about to respond in a rather unfriendly way, when suddenly the door opened and chief detective Samuel Jacobs appeared.

"Are you finished in here?", the middle-aged man asked and looked quizzically at the profilers. He wondered was was going on with these guys. Were they talking about the case? Why did they shut him out? He was the leading detective, after all. In any case, Jacobs was glad about having a reason to interrupt the secret meeting. "One of the witnesses is here. You said you wanted to talk to her once more."

Hotch nodded briefly in Prentiss' direction. The brunet agent nodded back in understanding and led JJ outside to talk to the woman who'd just arrived. Detective Jacobs went with them to see if the interview would perhaps reveal something new.

Hotch and Morgan watched the door closing again. The team leader scrutinized his younger colleague who rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand.

"What are you thinking?", Aaron asked after a few seconds.

Morgan leaned back in his chair. "They don't understand. They don't know what happened."

Hotch knew exactly what Derek was talking about. "They're not stupid."

Aaron hadn't told JJ, Emily and Penelope what exactly had been done to Reid. He wanted to protect what little was left of the young doctor's privacy. Still, he was sure that the female agents had figured it out for themselves.

"I think they have a pretty good idea of what happened to him," Hotch stated very quietly.

Morgan arose from his seat. "But they haven't seen it."

"So you think he might have killed these men?"

"I don't know, Hotch." Derek glanced briefly out of the window, before turning back to face his superior. "I just can't get this picture out of my head. How he lay there..." He swallowed hard. "Perhaps that was the straw that broke the camel's back. Maybe...maybe he just snapped."

Morgan hated himself for even thinking that Reid might be a murderer, but he couldn't help it. They had dealt with so many similar cases that he had to at least consider the possibility.

Of course, Hotch knew that too.

"I'm gonna have dinner with him in the evening," he said. "Hopefully, I'll get him to open up in a more comfortable atmosphere."

Morgan shook his head slowly. "Hotch, if he actually did this..."

The funny ring tone of his cell phone cut Derek short before he could utter his thought.

"Garcia? You got something for me, baby girl?"

Morgan listened. And listened. And frowned.

"Thanks," he ended the call uncharacteristically curtly.

"What's going on?", Hotch asked, somewhat alarmed by the unjoyous expression on Morgan's face.

"Garcia checked the criminal records of the victims," the younger agent began.

Aaron interrupted. "The second victim had been convicted for sexual assault. We knew that already."

"Yeah," Morgan conceded. "What we didn't know, however, is that the other two guys were accused of rape as well. The charge was dropped in both cases because of procedural errors."

Stony-faced, Hotch took in the information. Catchwords such as link, revenge and motive flashed in the back of his mind.

"I see."

Meanwhile JJ and Prentiss were trying to pump some more information from the woman who'd come to the police station.

"Mrs. Rogers, we're with the FBI," the media liaison introduced, trying to keep her professional smile in place – despite of the unpleasant discussion she'd just had with her colleagues. "We know you already talked to the police about the murder, but we need you to tell us once more. Every detail you can remember, please."

The young woman nodded, inwardly cursing herself for going to the cops in the first place. She couldn't care less about this dead guy. Confronted with Feds, however, she saw no other way than to co-operate.

"Well, as I said already," she began, stressing the last word. "It was pretty dark, many people on the streets. They were hanging around before the clubs, you know, smoking, chatting, making out..."

Emily pressed further. "And then you noticed that something wasn't alright," she suggested, attempting to get to the point.

"Not at first. I saw the bigger guy grabbing the skinny boy. He pressed him against the wall and, well, they were doing stuff." She shrugged. "I thought they were a couple or something."

Appalled by the woman's indifferent attitude, JJ inquired: "What made you think that? You said he grabbed the younger man..."

"Duh, I guess I thought they were playing rough. What the hell do I know?"

"OK," Emily said quickly. "What happened then?"

The witness thought about it for a moment. "Uhm, I saw the kid running away. Someone started to scream. Only then I noticed the other guy lying on the ground. That's it."

"How did the, erm, the kid look like?", Prentiss wanted to know.

"As I said, it was dark. Couldn't recognize his face," the young woman stated in a slightly annoyed tone. She wondered how often she would have to repeat this story. "He was white, I think. Tall but thin and he had long hair. I noticed that when he ran away."

The female agents nodded, both not looking very satisfied.

"Can't tell you more, really," Mrs. Rogers said firmly and got up from her chair. "Can I go now? I have other stuff to do."

"Yeah, of course. Thanks for coming again," Emily replied.

They watched her leaving. "Long hair," JJ muttered absent-mindedly. "That does not bode well at all."

---

Reid was nervous. All day long he'd been thinking about Hotch's visit in the morning. Only one hour left and his boss would come to pick him up.

Enough time to take a shower, he thought and went to the bathroom. He'd already chosen the clothes he was going to wear in the evening. Brown cords and a gray long-sleeved shirt. And a black sweater vest over the shirt. And a jacket. Probably it would be cool outside later. He was sure he could do with a jacket then.

The more Reid thought about the dinner with his boss, the more nervous he got.

In an automatic movement, he locked the door of his bathroom and stripped down. For the fifth time today, Spencer stepped into the tiny cubicle and let the hot water wash the filth off his body.

To Reid, the shower was the best place to let his mind drift. He knew something was very wrong. Hotch's behavior, his sudden appearance without any warning and the invitation to his house – in the sum that was just odd. Reid had never been at his superior's place before. There was some special sort of intimacy in this and Spencer was scared to do or say something inappropriate.

In a week he was supposed to be back at work. Therefore, he had to prove Hotch that he was alright. He needed to pull himself together and act like a completely normal person for a change. Have a nice dinner, keep the food down and chat about trivial things. He could do that.

He stepped carefully out of the shower and put on his clothes for the evening.

Suddenly, there was a loud knock on the front door. Reid jumped. Was it seven already? Time truly flies away when you're under the shower, he mused and ran quickly downstairs.

In front of the door he stopped short. What if this wasn't Hotch knocking? What if...

Don't be such a pussy!

Spencer inhaled deeply and opened the door. He couldn't quite suppress a sigh of relief when he saw his boss' face.

"Hotch! You're here already?"

"Ready to go?", Aaron asked, indicating towards his car.

The profilers spent the short drive in silence, both too occupied with their own thoughts. Reid felt rather uncomfortable. He didn't know what to say and what to do with his hands. So he just kept fidgeting with his fingers and staring out of the window.

After about half an hour they finally arrived at Hotch's house. It was big. Too much space for a single person, Reid thought. He knew that Haley had left Aaron, and how much his colleague had been affected by the loss of his family. Right now, however, he was glad that he wouldn't be confronted with her – or with anyone else.

Much to Reid's surprise, Hotch turned out to be a fabulous cook. The younger man almost sensed some faint feeling of appetite when his boss served the delicate grilled chicken.

They didn't talk about anything in particular. Hotch had no intention to distress Reid during their dinner. He was glad that his subordinate was eating at all – even if it were only tiny bits of chicken that disappeared in Spencer's mouth.

"That was great, Hotch," the younger man said after finishing about a quarter of his meal.

Aaron smiled weakly and started to put the dishes into the sink. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. Why don't you make yourself comfortable on the couch? Want a beer?"

"Sure, thanks," Reid said and moved over to the living room. He actually started to relax a bit, though his stomach was already protesting against the unfamiliar supply of real food. Spencer sat down on the couch with his arms wrapped around his upper body and waited for the cramps to be over.

Hotch came back with two bottles of beer in his hand. He didn't want to be "the boss" at the moment. Only a friend.

He was just about to take a seat next to Reid when the doorbell rang.

"I'll be right back," Aaron murmured and left his guest alone with his beer.

Spencer considered if he should take a small sip, but decided against it for now. He didn't want to provoke his already rebellious stomach any further.

When Hotch finally came back after a very long minute, he wasn't alone.

With big eyes, Reid stared at the man who had entered the room with his boss. He was wearing a suit.

"Reid, this is Dr. Emerson," Hotch said calmly. "I thought you might wanna talk to him."

The young doctor averted his gaze from Hotch to the unknown man with the suit and back to Hotch. He had no idea what was going on here. "Talk about what? Who is this?"

"Dr. Gerald Emerson, a friend of Aaron's," the surprise guest introduced himself once more. "My special field is PTSD and its different forms. I think I'm gonna be able to..."

And while Dr. Emerson continued his introductory speech, Reid felt the delicate chicken rising up his throat again.

***

Aaron Hotchner and Dr. Gerald Emerson stood awkwardly in front of the closed bathroom door, listening to Spencer Reid being violently sick. After the psychologist had introduced himself, the younger agent had made a run for the toilet, and reached it just in time.

"What happened to that kid, Aaron?" Emerson whispered, still a bit shocked by the unexpected overreaction he'd just witnessed.

Hotch crossed his arms and leaned tiredly against the door frame of his bathroom, while the retching noises of Reid bringing up his dinner again continued.

"I told you, he's been kidnapped and tortured," he replied weakly.

"I know what you told me," the psychologist countered. "What did you not tell me?"

Wordlessly, Aaron put a hand on the older man's elbow and led him back to the living room. He didn't want Reid to overhear their conversation.

Both men sat down on the couch.

"What is it?" Emerson asked once more.

Hotch sighed and looked at his friend. He'd known Gerald for many years now and knew he could trust him with this. Nonetheless, he wasn't sure if it was the right thing to get the psychologist involved without Reid's knowledge. On the other hand, he needed to find out the truth about his youngest agent's mental condition.

"His abduction was very bad. They...assaulted him," Aaron said hesitantly. It felt like betrayal to say this.

Emerson looked at the profiler with a serious expression.

"Was he raped?"

Hotch cringed. Until now, it had never been expressed aloud. To actually hear the words, felt like a blow to the team leader's chest. Now everything seemed so much more real...

"Yes." Aaron swallowed hard. "Among other things."

The experienced psychologist drew a deep breath. "Why didn't you tell me, Aaron? I would have approached him differently if I'd have known about that."

"Known about what?" The soft voice from behind stopped the conversation abruptly.

Hotch and Emerson turned around to see a very pale Reid standing at the entrance of the living room. The young doctor's eyes flickered nervously from his boss to the unexpected – and unwanted – intruder.

The psychologist was the first to react. Slowly, he got up from the couch and took some steps towards the sick looking agent in the door frame. Emerson was careful not to look too bluntly at Spencer and not to make any sudden movements. Now that he was informed about the young man's ordeal, he knew how to act properly.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Reid. It was not my intention to distress you," he said calmly.

Spencer eyed the man before him suspiciously. He was of an average height, but robustly built and seemed to be in his late fifties. His thin hair was accurately cut. Combined with the decent glasses and the neat clothing, it gave him a rather academic appearance.

"It's okay," Reid croaked, wincing at the sore feeling in the back of his throat.

Emerson nodded. He was glad that the young man was still here and had not simply run away. The trained eyes of the psychologist noticed that Reid was repeatedly glancing at Hotch, as if pleading for an explanation.

This is not going to work, he realized and decided to get the senior profiler out of the way for a little while.

"Aaron, why don't you go and make some tea? I would assume Dr. Reid's stomach could do with some soothing liquid right now."

Startled, both profilers looked at Emerson, Hotch slightly irritated, Reid with a hint of panic in his eyes.

Finally, the team leader rose from his black leather couch and moved towards the kitchen. "Alright, I'll be right back." He threw one last glance at his two guests, and then closed the door behind him. Aaron had a pretty good idea what Gerald expected of him. He was willing to comply and take his time with the tea.

"Spencer...may I call you that?" Dr. Emerson looked briefly at Reid, who just gave a nod in reply. "OK. Don't you wanna take a seat, Spencer?"

The psychologist had made himself comfortable on the sofa already. He leaned back and watched the younger man's reaction.

Reid wanted to go home. It had been a mistake to come here in the first place. Why would his boss invite him to dinner? He'd never done this before. Of course, there had to have been a reason. Inwardly, Spencer scolded himself for being so damned stupid as to believe Hotch just wanted to spend time with him. Sure, the older man was trying to help – but not as a friend. No, he was simply a superior who was worried about the functionality of his team's walking encyclopedia.

Heaving a sigh, Reid moved slowly towards the couch. He really didn't see a way out of this. It wasn't like he could just leave. Hotch would ask questions Spencer was not willing to answer. Damage limitation. Those were the key words. He needed to convince this shrink that he was all right.

Reid slumped down on the very edge of the couch, grateful that he didn't have to stand on his wobbly legs any longer.

"So, uhm, I didn't quite catch your name?" Spencer decided to take the offensive.

"I'm Gerald Emerson. I worked for the Bureau for almost fifteen years. That's how I met Aaron," the older man explained. "I was responsible for the annual routine psyche evaluations and worked several times with him. We stayed in contact even after I left to open a private practice."

Reid's brain switched into name search mode immediately. Emerson. He couldn't recall that name and mused that his own career in the BAU had started after this man had quit his job as an FBI psychologist.

"Why did you leave the Bureau?" Spencer continued his inquiry. The best way to avoid questions was to keep asking questions, he figured.

Gerald Emerson smiled knowingly. He realized what kind of strategy the younger man was trying here, but chose to go with it for a little longer.

"Well, I'm slowly getting on a bit and to work for the FBI can be rather stressful, even if you're not a field agent," he said and added with a slight chuckle: "I thought it was time to clear the way for my young, eager colleagues."

Reid put on a fake smile. He was just about to ask another question when the psychologist interrupted.

"About the vomiting, Spencer," the older man began and watched how the false grin on Reid's face faded instantly. "I take it that you do this regularly?"

---

Cautiously, Derek Morgan walked through the very tidy apartment that looked so very different from his own.

In the kitchen he stopped and shifted indecisively on his feet. After a few moments, Morgan grabbed his cell phone and speed dialed number 2 on his list.

"Hotchner."

"Hotch, it's Morgan. How are things going over there?"

"Hard to tell. He's talking with Gerry. I'll make sure he stays for a while."

"Good. I'm not sure what exactly I'm looking for here."

"I don't know. Just look if you find something suspicious. And don't make a mess. He can't know about that. Not yet."

"Hotch, I don't know if..."

"Morgan, do it. And hurry."

"You're the boss." Derek hung up. With a frustrated groan, he made his way to the bedroom.

---

"I don't wanna talk about it."

"Spencer, this is a severe problem. If you react with throwing up each time you're faced with a demanding situation, there's no way you can go back to work," Emerson said. He was aware that the vomiting itself was not the real problem, but rather a symptom of something entirely different.

"I'll be fine," Reid replied curtly and turned away from the older man.

The psychologist sighed inwardly. This was going to be a hard work.

He tried a different angle. "Aaron mentioned you're having nightmares. Do you wanna talk about that?"

Emerson could almost see Reid thinking, searching for an escape route out of this compromising situation.

"It's not that bad," the young agent replied, letting his gaze drop to scrutinize his hands. "I guess it's a normal mechanism of the brain to process a suffered trauma."

The other man stared at Reid, appalled by the rational coldness resonating in that statement.

The way he talked about "a trauma" - as if this was something that happened to another person, as if it was not a personal experience at all.

The silence in the room became almost oppressive, when suddenly the door opened. With a big mug of tea in his hand, Hotch warily entered his living room.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said and put the drink on the table.

Gerald Emerson stood up. "No problem," he reassured. "I think we're done for today, anyway. Don't want to ask too much of Dr. Reid."

Aaron watched his subordinate relax noticeably. Spencer was obviously glad to be off the hook – at least for now.

He indicated to the steaming hot drink on the table. "I made peppermint tea. Take your time with it, Reid. I'll just see Gerald to the door. "

The younger profiler didn't reply, but took the mug in his hands.

His boss interpreted that as an approval and guided his friend to the front door.

"What do you think?" Hotch asked in a low voice on their way out.

The psychologist frowned. "He's far from being all right, Aaron. He hasn't processed what happened. Not in the slightest."

The senior profiler had already anticipated this answer. "What do you suggest?"

"Honestly, I think he should be in a clinic, at least temporarily" Emerson stated matter-of-factly.

At this, Hotch stopped short and looked at the specialist. The shocked expression on his face was not lost on the older man.

"It's not only because of the mental trauma," the psychologist explained further. "By the looks of him, I doubt he eats regularly. And if he does, he brings it up again. It would be irresponsible to leave him alone with these issues."

Hotch closed his eyes for a second. Reid's biggest fear was to become like his schizophrenic mother. Aaron knew that by now. So how was he supposed to get Reid into a mental clinic? No way, there is no way...

"This is just an advice," Emerson interrupted Hotch's manic train of thought. "Talk to him and let me know what you're going to do."

Aaron gave a slight nod. "Thanks for coming, Gerry. I really appreciate this."

The men shook hands and parted. However, before Hotch stepped back into the house, his cell started to ring again.

"Morgan?"

"Yeah."

"What is it?"

"You should come here, Hotch. I found something."

***

Hotch and Reid sat silently in the car, driving back to the younger man's apartment. He hadn't spoken a word since Dr. Emerson had left. Reid was afraid that if he spoke, his voice would betray the anger and disappointment he felt.

It had been a trap.

The thought that his boss had lured him to his place to make him talk to a shrink was nagging in the back of his mind. He wondered why Hotch would do that. Reid was going to see a psych anyway that Friday. That was an inevitable regulation. After the events in Vegas they had to make sure he was ready for field work again. Reid was fine with that. A private and also involuntary session in Hotch's house on the other hand...

"I need your help with a case," the senior profiler suddenly announced. "I know that officially, you're still on sick leave but I'd like to hear your what you think."

Reid's mood brightened immediately.

"Sure," he said quickly, all anger forgotten for the moment. It was a big relief that Hotch wanted to talk about work. Reid smiled. Obviously his boss still valued his opinion.

"We have three male victims in DC," the older man began, his eyes remaining focused on the street ahead. "The killings started a month ago. Three weeks passed before the second murder was committed, and last night they found the third body. All killings occurred within a half mile radius..."

"Any witnesses?" Reid interrupted. His brain was in complete profiling mode right now.

"Since the murders took place in a crowded street, there were some people who saw a suspicious looking man running away," Hotch explained further. "Unfortunately, it was late and dark outside. Therefore no-one could actually see his face."

Reid nodded, taking in the provided information. "Did you find any connections between the victims?"

"Yes." The team leader cleared his throat. "We found that all three victims had been accused of sexual assault, but only of them had been declared guilty in court."

"Well, the most obvious motive would be revenge. Maybe a rape victim or..." Reid trailed off. He could almost hear something clicking in his mind. His brain wanted to create a link as it used to. His subconscious tried to prevent that from happening, but it was already too late for the young doctor to ignore the obvious.

Reid swallowed hard. "Where exactly were these men killed?" he whispered, though he didn't want to hear the answer.

"Nightclub district, very close to 'Pandora's Box'. I take it you're familiar with the area?"

There was something in Hotch's voice that wasn't supposed to be there. He sounded...nervous.

Reid started to panic inside. He knew where this was leading. He'd told his superior about his visit in that club. He'd been there on the same night as the latest murder had been committed. And from what Hotch had told him about the case, he knew he fit the profile.

Revenge...

He wanted to get away from the senior profiler who had once more lured him into a trap by confronting him in a moving car.

All Reid could do was to try to get his boss to talk.

"Hotch," he started hesitantly. "You don't really believe..."

"I don't know," the older man replied curtly and noticed with a fair share of relief that they had arrived at Reid's place.

Without another word, Hotch pulled over and climbed out of his car. The other profiler remained a few more seconds in the passenger seat before slowly following his boss. As he walked towards his apartment his mind was racing at an insane speed. What was happening here?

Reid stopped short. An all too familiar SUV stood in the driveway behind his own vehicle.

"Is that Morgan's car?" he asked, causing Hotch to stand still as well. "What is Morgan doing here?"

With his mouth slightly open, Reid stared at the car.

Hotch sighed. "He's waiting in your apartment." With that he turned around again and moved further towards the entrance; the younger man stuck on his heels.

"What?" Reid called, but didn't get an answer. "Hotch!"

In this moment, the door to his flat opened and a rather anxious looking Derek Morgan appeared.

"Come on," he simply said and moved back into the hallway of the small apartment.

Hotch followed with a grim expression on his face. "What did you find?" he asked without preamble.

The two older agents walked quickly upstairs.

Helplessly, Reid watched how his colleagues invaded his private space. He was still at a loss of what was going on. Of course, he had an idea, but...there was no way they could seriously believe he had something to do with the case.

As Morgan entered his bedroom, realization hit the young doctor. Suddenly he knew what his friend had found.

"Stop!" Reid almost yelled. It was very unlike him to raise his voice, but it did the trick.

Startled, both profilers turned around to face him.

He glanced briefly at the pile of blood-stained clothing in the corner and drew a deep breath. "I... I know what that must look like. But there is an explanation."

Hotch silently crouched down next to the compromising clothes and stared quizzically at his subordinate.

"What's this about, Reid? Whose blood is this?"

The younger man's gaze dropped to the floor. He couldn't meet his team leader's eyes.

"It's mine," he whispered.

Morgan stepped closer. "What?"

Reid didn't look up. "It's mine. My blood."

"Were you hurt? What happened, kid?" There was nothing but concern in Morgan's voice. He wanted to place a hand on his friend's shoulder, but Reid recoiled.

Hotch watched the scenario with a frown on his face. Unlike Morgan, he didn't try to approach the genius physically, aware of the traumatized agent's fear of too much closeness.

As it had become a habit, Reid wrapped his arms tightly around himself and took another step back.

Morgan was completely out of his depth. The strange behavior of his co-worker started to seriously worry him.

"What happened, Reid? Did somebody hurt you?"

"No." Very small voice.

"Then how..."

But Morgan didn't get any further.

"It's complicated," the doctor squeezed out.

"Give it a shot, kid."

"Sometimes, I have to...I mean I need to do... something..." He paused a second. How to explain this without sounding like an absolute nutcase?

He glanced up for the tiniest moment. Hotch and Morgan were gazing at him and he wanted to disappear. He didn't want their attention. He didn't want anyone to see him. He just wanted to be left alone.

Now, however, with the murders and all he saw no other way out.

Very slowly, Reid pushed up the left sleeve of his over-sized sweater and lifted his forearm.

Morgan grabbed the younger man's wrist without thinking. Reid tried to pull away, but didn't have the strength to escape his colleague's firm grip.

"You did this?" The older agent stared incredulous at the damaged arm, then at Reid's terrified face.

"Let him go, Morgan." Hotch's smooth voice didn't leave any room for argument.

Morgan released his grip and Reid pressed himself instantly against the nearest wall. He stood there for a moment, wondering what to do next.

Finally: "I...I need a shower."

And he ran frantically towards his bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind him.

Only few moments later, Hotch and Morgan heard the sound of running water.

Dumbfounded, the younger agent looked at his boss, as if the senior profiler had all the answers.

"Hotch, what the hell was that?"

"Well, obviously he has some problems." The unit chief knew himself that this was not the most insightful statement of all times, but right now he had no idea what else to say.

Morgan looked at the bloodied clothes once more. "Did you know that...?"

"Of course not!" Hotch barked. If he'd known about it he certainly would have done something about it.

But again there was this annoying voice deep inside that said: "No, you wouldn't have done anything. You preferred to turn a blind eye on the matter from the very beginning."

Morgan scratched the back of his head. "At least we know now that this is no-one else's blood. That's a good thing," he tried to be optimistic.

"We only know what Reid told us," his boss pointed out. "Whether we like it or not, he's still a suspect and these things... " He gestured to the clothes. "...must be analyzed in the lab. We have to make sure that this is really his blood."

Morgan groaned and closed his eyes briefly. Although he knew that Hotch was right, he didn't like this at all. They were treating Reid like an ordinary suspect. As if the kid hadn't been through enough crap already.

The team leader could see the battle that was raging inside his colleague. It was probably very similar to his own emotional turmoil, only the older agent could hide it better.

"Get an evidence bag," he simply ordered.

Morgan gave a small nod in defeat and went downstairs to get the necessary things from his car.

Hotch used the time to make a call. Never taking his eyes off the bathroom door, he dialed and listened.

"Aaron? Didn't expect to hear from you so soon."

"Sorry to bother you, Gerald, but I need your help."

"Of course. What can I do for you?"

"It's about Reid. You were right. He's not doing well. I want him in a clinic." A heavy sigh escaped Hotch's lips at this admission.

"I'm glad to hear that. You're doing the right thing. I'll find him a place in a nice clinic. And it goes without saying that I will work with him personally."

"Thank you. I'll call you after I talked to him."

The call ended.

Hotch looked warily at the still closed bathroom door. He couldn't hear the running water anymore. Apparently, Reid was done showering.

The senior profiler stepped closer to the bathroom. He was about to knock, when a quiet hissing noise sounded through the wooden door.

Hotch was alert. "Reid? Open up, please," he said, trying to sound calm, but the edge in his voice was unmistakable.

"Reid! What are you doing?"

"Nothing." A mutter from the inside. "Just...give me a minute."

Again, there was a pained hissing sound.

Hotch rested his forehead against the door and listened to his agent performing his hidden actions.

***

By the time Reid came out of the bathroom, Hotch felt like he'd aged ten years. The unit chief sat on the couch in the younger man's living room, watching his subordinate approach him with a wary expression on his face.

"What kept you so long in there?" Hotch asked, even though he was well aware of what had been going on behind the closed door.

"I showered," Reid said curtly. It wasn't a lie, after all. Since it wasn't the complete truth either, he continued quickly before his boss got a chance to speak again. "Where's Morgan?"

"Back at the office. I told him to get your bloodied clothes to the lab." Hotch settled for a sincere answer. There was no point in concealing the hard facts.

Reid started fidgeting again. "Why would you do that? I told you the blood is mine." He sounded more than a bit agitated.

The older man leaned back and gave his subordinate a scrutinizing stare. "All I have is your word, Reid. I'm afraid that's not enough in the current situation."

The young doctor looked as if he'd been slapped. "It should be," he whispered.

The disappointment and sadness in these words was not lost on Hotch. However, he didn't have much of a choice at that point. The unit chief drew a deep breath. "We need to talk about something."

Alarmed by the serious tone in his superior's voice, Reid moved slowly to the couch. He sat down as far away from Hotch as possible and looked miserably at his hands, expecting the worst.

"I talked with Gerald, uhm, Dr. Emerson," the senior profiler began hesitantly. "I asked him to find you a place in a clinic."

Reid's head snapped up. That was worse than the worst. "What?" was all he managed to squeeze out.

Hotch saw how his agent's face went from pale to death pale. He cleared his throat. "I think you need help."

Morgan walked through the BAU headquarter at Quantico with the plastic bag in his hands. He needed to get the sample of blood stained clothes to the lab. Normally he would have brought any evidence to the responsible police department but Hotch and he had agreed to wait for the test results before getting Detective Jacobs involved. If it was actually Reid's blood there was no need for anyone else to know about it.

With the note that only he or Hotch were to be informed about the results, Morgan handed the bag to one of the lab technicians.

"You'll get the results first thing in the morning," said the man who was working the night shift.

Morgan nodded. It was almost ten o'clock in the evening. Since there was nothing more he could do right now, he decided to call it a day and go home. He had called Prentiss earlier to see how things were going in the PD. Apparently, the chief detective hadn't been overly amused about his and Hotch's sudden disappearing.

JJ and Emily had managed to appease Jacobs by giving away a rather accurate profile of the Unsub. Of course, the policeman didn't know how eerily perfect their youngest team member fit the description.

Even the female agents were partly kept in the dark. They still didn't know what exactly had happened to Reid – at least not officially.

Morgan slumped tiredly into the seat of his car. The kid has a motive – his brain screamed at him. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep this knowledge away from his colleagues. They were a team after all and he didn't want to lie to them. Sooner or later they would find out anyway.

I'll talk to Hotch about that tomorrow, Morgan thought on his way home, wondering what it was his boss wanted to discuss with Reid in private.

"I won't go to a hospital." Reid paced his living room at about the same speed as his mind was racing, trying to make sense of his superior's words.

"Reid, I'm not blind," Hotch said quietly, trying to calm the young man. "I can see that you are struggling and I'm not willing to let it spin out of control...again."

The young doctor stopped short. "You think I'm crazy? I'm not!" He raised his voice, terrified by the idea of getting locked up with insane people. People like...mom. "I haven't done anything. You can't do this. You can't force me."

Hotch had expected to meet with resistance, but the vehemence of Reid's protest surprised him a bit. "No, I can't force you," he agreed with a certain sharpness in his voice. "But look at you, Reid. You're a nervous wreck, you don't eat and and you're even hurting yourself. I want to help you – not as your boss, but as your friend."

Reid snorted. "Friend," he repeated in a disgusted snarl and turned to leave.

"Wait," Hotch ordered in the most authoritative tone he could manage.

The younger man froze in the movement. His superior rose from the couch and stepped as close to his subordinate as he considered safe.

"Look, it's very simple," Hotch said slowly. "You are a suspect in a case we're working. I don't want to think you might have something to do with the murders but I can't ignore the facts."

Reid made an attempt to interrupt, but his boss lifted a hand to shush him. "I'm talking now."

The younger man shut his mouth again and let his gaze drop. He couldn't believe that Hotch seriously considered him as a suspect. For years, Reid had been trying to earn his team leader's respect. Now all his efforts were rewarded with distrust.

Hotch made himself clear. "I can't just leave you alone as if nothing had happened. You either go to the clinic and let Gerald help you..."

"Or?" Reid asked, although he already knew the alternative.

"Or I have to tell the head detective about you. As unit chief I'm supposed to inform him but I'm willing to hold it back if..."

"If I go to the hospital," Reid concluded.

"Yes."

The younger man smiled self-deprecatingly. "I guess that's where I belong."

"Perhaps for a little while," his boss said quietly.

A long minute of oppressive silence.

Finally Hotch spoke again. "It's late. Pack some stuff. I want you to stay at my place for the night."

Reid didn't argue. He didn't have the energy anymore.

It was a silent drive, followed by a restless night. Hotch found it hard to fall asleep. Every few minutes he could hear whimpering noises and muffled words coming from the spare room where Reid had laid down. The team leader wondered what his agent was experiencing during these seemingly very vivid dreams. Hotch stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, listening to pained sounds, hoping that he'd made the right decision before sleep finally took him.

The next day started as silent as the last one had ended. The two equally tired profilers sat in Hotch's kitchen, sipping coffee. The older man wanted Reid to have at least some cereals for breakfast but the doctor had declined the offer with a small shake of head. Hotch didn't bother to push him.

It was only eight in the morning when the unit chief's cell phone rang.

"Hotchner." Listening. "Ok, we'll be there in an hour. Thank you."

Reid watched his boss with an anxious expression.

"That was Gerald," Hotch explained quickly. "He has arranged something for you in a hospital where some of his patients are accommodated."

The younger man swallowed.

Hotch stood up and put the empty mugs into the kitchen sink. "We should go now."

Derek Morgan was on his way to the police station to meet his team members. Due to the unsettling events of the previous day, the agent hadn't slept very well. Hopefully today would bring some good news, Morgan mused as he arrived at the parking lot of the PD.

He had just locked his car when his phone began to vibrate in his pocket. A look at the number that appeared on the display caused his heartbeat to quicken noticeably.

"Agent Morgan?" the voice on the other side asked as soon as he flipped his cell open.

"Yeah."

"We have some results."

With an inward sigh Hotch walked through the main entrance of the St. Lousianne's Sanatorium; Reid continuously one step behind him.

Dr. Emerson was already awaiting them in the foyer of the impressive building.

"Hello Aaron," he greeted his old friend before turning to the younger, very unhappy looking man behind the senior profiler.

"Spencer, I'm glad you made the right choice," Emerson announced in a friendly voice.

Reid didn't reply. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, turned around and watched the other patients and some staff members leaving and entering the house.

It had hardly been his choice to come here. He didn't want to be here but there didn't seem to be another option.

"Alright, let me take you to your room," the psychologist said when he got no response.

The two agents followed Emerson through the clinic hallways. The sanatorium appeared to be very nice. The walls were painted with light and warm colors and decorated with lovely pictures. The hospital was located in the middle of a big park and from the higher floors of the building one could have a glorious view.

Reid hated this place. All the nice decorations could not belie the true character of the clinic. It was a madhouse, he thought over and over. A nice madhouse, but still a madhouse. And the young agent wanted nothing more than to go home.

"Here we are," Dr. Emerson said and stopped in front of one of the light orange doors.

The three men stepped into the small room. It was plainly furnished but looked quite comfortable.

"I'll give you some time to unpack, Spencer. Our first session is at 11, before lunch. I'll pick you up then." Emerson placed a comforting hand on Hotch's shoulder and left the room.

The senior profiler wasn't quite sure what to say. He was aware that being institutionalized was the worst scenario imaginable for Reid.

"He's a good man. Let him help you," Hotch finally said, trying to sound optimistic.

Reid let his gaze wander through his prison cell in disguise and looked pleadingly at his superior. "Please don't leave me here," he said in a small voice.

For a brief moment, the older man just wanted to grab the packed bag and take the boy back home. However, the reasoning part of his brain won this round. He had to make sure Reid got the professional help he needed. It was the right thing to do.

"Don't fight them, Reid. Everyone wants to help you. I'll come to visit in the evening," he promised and turned to leave.

Reid's breath became shallow. "Hotch!" he called out, but the older man had already closed the door behind him.

The young profiler just stood in the middle of the room for a while, trying to cope with the suffocating feeling in his chest. He wondered if this was how his mother had felt when he'd sent her to the hospital.

Finally, when it became very clear that Hotch wouldn't come back to take him home, Reid sat down on the bed, still unable to tear his eyes away from the door.

He stared at the entrance, not knowing what to expect or who would come through the door next. And he felt just as scared and forsaken as he had in that damn underground maze in the Las Vegas desert.

***

Dr. Gerald Emerson had been working as a psychologist for more than thirty years. During his career he had seen all shades of PTSD and had worked with many traumatized people. Even after he had quit his job within the FBI, lots of agents kept consulting him about their problems. They trusted him; talked to him about their most private feelings – things they did not even share with their colleagues and families.

Of course, not all patients found it easy to confide in a psychologist. In some cases it took many sessions and much patience until they were finally willing to open up and disclose their fears and anxieties. One of those people was Dr. Spencer Reid who was now sitting in Emerson's office in an rather defensive posture. With his legs crossed and his arms tightly wrapped around his chest, the young agent sat on the soft orange couch. His hazel eyes darted through the room as if expecting something horrible to happen at any minute.

The psychologist leaned back in his armchair, watching the clearly uncomfortable man in front of him. Emerson wasn't quite sure where to start. Before Aaron Hotchner had left the clinic to go back to the police station, he'd told his old friend all he knew about Reid's ordeal in Vegas as well as about his first kidnapping and the problems that had followed.

The experienced psychologist was rather appalled by the amount of terrible things Spencer Reid had been through at his young age. He was all the more determined to help the young man in dealing with his issues. Of course, there was no way he could approach such heavy subjects at the very beginning of the therapy. Trust had to be earned and right now the young profiler reminded him more of a trapped animal than a willing patient.

"So, did you make yourself comfortable in your room, Spencer?" Emerson started the conversation. Begin with something harmless...

Reid's gaze shifted towards the older man who sat some feet away in an apparently expensive leather armchair.

"I unpacked my things," the agent replied coldly. He's trying to lure me into talking.

Emerson nodded, pleased that his patient didn't refuse to talk at all. "I'm sorry, the room is very small. I couldn't procure a bigger one in time for your arrival, but I hope we'll be able to provide you with a more comfortable room soon." Show him that he's not a prisoner.

Reid shrugged. "I don't plan to stay here for too long." Damn. Don't get defensive. Play along.

The psychologist decided to ignore that. He was very well aware that the profiler had not come here willingly which was the worst start imaginable for therapy. But Emerson had promised Hotch to help his agent and he was going to keep that promise.

"Aaron told me some interesting things about you," he said. Try a different angle.

Reid began to torment his upper arms with his finger nails. "Oh?" he pressed out. God, what did Hotch tell him?

Emerson went on. "Yes. He told me that you started your career within the FBI with only 21 years on your back." He could see the younger man relaxing the grip around his torso. Talk about work. That's the way.

Reid nodded.

"That's remarkable, Spencer. Usually they only except applicants 25 years of age and older. Did they recruit you directly from university?"

The younger man cleared his throat. "I...uhm, I attended one of Gideon's lectures about profiling," he said slowly, wondering why the shrink was so interested in his career. "We got into a conversation afterwards and...I guess he put a good word in for me. Anyway, he told me to submit my application and they accepted it."

Dr. Emerson smiled lightly. It's not going too badly. "And I take it he guided you then, helped you establish yourself in the Bureau."

"Of course, he...," Reid trailed off. Jason Gideon was on his top five list of things he didn't want to talk about. However, once the memories were activated he couldn't quite suppress them. They were nice memories. "He helped me," the young agent confirmed quietly.

The both thoughtful and hurt expression on Reid's face was not lost on the psychologist. He'd heard about the senior profiler's unexpected retirement. Hotch had also told him about Gideon's role in the Las Vegas case.

"He means a lot to you, doesn't he?" Emerson asked softly.

Reid started digging his nails into the skin of his upper arms again. "He used to."

---

"So the blood is Reid's?" Hotch asked as soon as he entered the office in the DC police department. Morgan had already called him on the phone to inform him about the test result.

"Yes, they analyzed several samples from different clothes. It's all his and..."

"Wait, wait," Emily Prentiss interrupted the rushed report. Until then Morgan had refused to tell her or JJ anything at all. The women were still completely in the dark about what had happened at Reid's place. "What blood? What tests?"

Before her colleague got a chance to answer, the door opened and JJ stepped into the otherwise vacant room. "Hotch! Thank God you're here," she exclaimed, clearly relieved. "Jacobs is getting really upset. It's his case after all. He wants to know what's going on."

"So do I," Prentiss interjected. "What happened?"

The two female agents looked quizzically at their teammates.

The brunette woman probed further. "What blood were you talking about?"

JJ's eyes widened. "Blood? What blood?"

Morgan drew a deep breath. "Alright, look, it's..."

"Stop." Hotch's piercing voice ordered.

The younger man turned at his boss. "Hotch, we have to tell them. We're a team. They need to know."

The unit chief rubbed his tired eyes.

"What do we need to know?" JJ pressed.

Hotch sighed. "We found bloodied clothes in Reid's apartment."

Prentiss frowned. "Was he injured?"

"You could say that, yes," her superior agreed. There was no need to tell them that the young agent had caused the wounds himself. "We had to get the blood tested to make sure it was really his."

The brunette agent's frown deepened. "Why?"

Noticing the exhausted expression on his boss' face, Morgan stepped in. "Reid was at the crime scene when the murders happened, remember?"

Both women nodded, still unsure of where this was going.

"Well, therefore we had to at least consider the possibility..."

"Wait," Prentiss cut him short. "You're not actually considering him a suspect?"

Hotch looked at her with a serious expression.

JJ shook her head. "No, Hotch! Spence would never hurt anyone. You know that!"

"And...," Prentiss continued. "...he has no motive. That doesn't make sense at all."

"It does," Morgan insisted, earning himself another stern glare from his superior.

"Tell me the profile," Hotch suddenly said to Prentiss.

The dark haired agent frowned. "You know the profile!"

He simply stared at her.

She sighed. "Alright. Well, given the witness reports we're looking for young man, probably mid-twenties to mid-thirties, slender, long hair," Prentiss recalled. "We also know that the victims have all either been convicted or at least been accused of sexual abuse which led us to the presumption that the Unsub has been abused himself, perhaps even raped." She paused to collect her thoughts. "In this case the motive would be revenge. Reid doesn't fit that description!"

Hotch looked briefly out of the window, before turning to face his team members again.

"He does."

---

Emerson and Reid were sitting at a table in the dining room of the St. Lousianne's Sanatorium. The psychologist had suggested they have lunch together after their first session. Of course, Reid hadn't seen a way to decline without drawing even more attention to himself.

A middle-aged, well-rounded woman with a pretty face approached the table. The tag on her yellow tunic said "Betty".

"What would you like, gentlemen?" she asked, a twinkle in her eyes at the sight of Emerson. He was a well-known guest psychologist in the hospital.

The two men looked down at the menu of the day. They could choose between three different meals.

"Erm, I think I take the salmon with fries and vegetables," the older man said after a while. "And please be unstinting with the salt." He gave the Betty a winning smile and turned his focus on Reid.

"Spencer, what do you want?"

The younger man thought about it a moment. Fish was definitely out of the question and he had his doubts that he could stomach the chili very well.

"I'll settle for the vegetable lasagna," Reid decided and put the menu down on the table.

"You got it," Betty said and disappeared into the kitchen.

The profiler glanced around. Most of the tables in the big hall were occupied by people in informal clothes. Patients, Reid mused. There were also some staff members sitting together, enjoying their food. He looked out of the big window. It appeared to be a nice summer day. The sun was shining and only some harmless feathery clouds were sprinkling the azure sky.

It took only a few awkward minutes until Betty returned with two plates in her hands.

She placed the hot meals carefully on the table.

Good grief, Reid thought as he eyed the ordered lasagna. It was huge. He couldn't even tell the color of the plate because it was covered with food.

"I, uhm, I don't think I can eat it," he said with a small voice.

Emerson glanced up from his own lunch and gave Reid an encouraging smile. "You don't have to eat all of it. Just as much as you like." He was aware that the agent was way too skinny and needed to eat regularly. On the other hand, the psychologist knew from experience that forcing someone to eat would only bring new problems.

Reid picked up his fork and took a few small bits. The lasagna smelled really good and tasted even better. The profiler felt the food settling in his stomach and all he wanted to do was run to his room and into the bathroom.

He laid the fork down and took a sip of water. "I'm tired," he lied. "I'd like to rest a bit in my room if that's alright."

Emerson looked at the almost untouched meal before his patient and sighed. "Sure," he said. "We'll go for a walk later. It's nice outside." It wasn't a suggestion.

Reid nodded and rose from his chair.

The psychologist watched the slim person walk away. He knew exactly what the young man wanted to do in his en suite room. There was no use in intervening. Not this time. It was the first day for Reid in the clinic and no-one could expect any miracles to happen so soon.

Emerson took his cell phone and dialed a number.

"It's Gerald," he said when the other person answered the call. "Is there any way to locate Jason Gideon? I think he might be the key here," the psychologist stated, his eyes still looking at the door where Reid had disappeared.

He listened to the voice on the other side.

"I see."

***

"Agent Hotchner! Where are you going?" There was a hint of hysteria in Detective Jacob's voice as he called after the chief of the BAU who was once more on his way out of the police station.

Hotch stopped and turned around on the doorstep. "We gave you an accurate profile," he said, sounding more than a bit stressed out. "That's all we can do. It's your job to find the killer."

The policeman looked at him with a somewhat dumbfounded expression. "But...I thought you were gonna help us out here?"

The senior profiler sighed. "I have to go back to our headquarters for a while. My agents Prentiss and Morgan will help you going through the video records again. Agent Jareau is currently preparing a press conference." Hotch gave a slight nod in JJ's direction. The media liaison got the hint and moved quickly towards the detective, putting a smile on her face and a hand on his arm.

"I need your help with some organizational issues," she said quickly, gently turning the detective away from Hotch. "We also need to discuss how to distribute your men on the streets tonight."

Still looking rather confused, Jacobs nodded and hesitantly followed the pretty blond woman that touched him ever so lightly on his arm.

Hotch used the moment of distraction to discreetly leave the police station. He needed to talk to Garcia.

---

The park around the St. Lousianne's Sanatorium was huge and provided many different routes to ramble through the woods and over the meadows. For the patients of the clinic it was like a green haven; a place to take a break from everyone and everything; it offered a brief escape from the emotional exertions of therapy.

However, sometimes the psychologists decided to relocate their sessions to the park. Gerald Emerson used to do that very often if the weather permitted it. From experience he knew that many patients felt more relaxed and less trapped in the wide open area and because of that found it easier to open up during a walk. A simple physical movement like walking gave them the possibility to let off some negative energy and focus on the real problem.

That's why Emerson had concluded that a session in the park would be the right thing for Reid. For about ten minutes the two men had been silently walking side by side through the light woods – simply enjoying the pleasant warm breeze of the nice June afternoon.

"Did you get some rest after lunch?" the older man asked as they turned onto another footpath that led to a flowery meadow.

Not wanting to destroy the built up peacefulness with an upsetting conversation, Reid replied curtly: "Yes."

"Am I right in assuming that you usually don't get much sleep at night?" Emerson continued, ignoring his patient's obvious wish to remain silent. Sooner or later they would have to touch delicate subjects, and the psychologist figured that it would be in Reid's best interest not to drag it out longer than necessary.

The young profiler just kept walking, looking anywhere but at the shrink. "I'm fine."

"Really?" Emerson countered. "Aaron told me about your nightmares."

Reid stopped. "Great," he said in a suddenly very upset tone. "If he told you everything already, what do you wanna hear from me now?"

The psychologist looked with a curious expression at his patient. "Are you mad at Aaron?"

The agent just glared at him. "What do you think?"

"That's irrelevant, Spencer. I want to know what you think," Emerson shot back. Of course, he would never get agitated during a session himself, but he had to make clear that he was no-one to play mind games with – not even for genius Dr. Spencer Reid.

The younger man started to pace the narrow path. Apparently he felt the urge to move and since he didn't make any attempt to run away, Emerson decided to let him keep moving.

"Hotch lured me into a trap!" Reid blurted, out of the blue. "He said he would make dinner and suddenly you were there and..."

"I agree that it wasn't the best way to handle the situation," the psychologist stated matter-of-factly. He had already told his old friend that it hadn't been helpful for future therapy to ambush his subordinate like that. "But despite his somewhat misguided means, he did the right thing. You know that, don't you?"

Reid shook his head violently, still running in small circles. "No, he had no right to do that! I can deal with things on my own. I'm not crazy and I do not belong into a nuthouse!" He was almost shouting at this point. Until now there had been no time for him to comprehend the events of the past two days. However, now that Reid found himself arguing with a shrink in the park of a mental institution, the situation became painfully clear to him.

With a quieter voice he went on: "I appreciate what you're trying here, Dr. Emerson..."

"Gerald," the psychologist interjected.

Reid nodded. "Gerald, I know you're trying to help but I really don't need that." He stopped pacing and used his right hand to wipe away the beads of cold sweat that had appeared on his forehead. "I don't wanna be here, I...I don't..." The young profiler started to sway as his legs seemed to become wobblier with each second passing.

Emerson frowned and moved cautiously towards his patient. "Spencer?"

"I don't feel so good," the profiler whispered, tucking long strand of hair behind his ears with shaking fingers. "I think...I'm gonna...fai..."

"Whoa!" the psychologist exclaimed and put his arms around the thinner man who was about to fall to the ground. Swiftly he supported Reid to the nearest wooden seat that was luckily only a few feet away.

The older man sat down next to his patient, watching him, trying to assess the young agent's condition.

"Keep your head down," he advised calmly and put a hand on Reid's back, causing him to lean forward. "Breathe."

With his face almost on his knees, the profiler drew some deep breaths. He felt seriously sick. It wasn't the usual post-eating sickness, though. He didn't feel the urge to throw up. Actually, he didn't feel anything at all. It was as if life had been drained out of him from one minute to the next.

Emerson kept rubbing slowly over Reid's trembling back, making a mental note to get the kid checked out properly as soon as possible. "Just breathe," he repeated.

When finally the younger man leaned back against the backrest, the psychologist brought out a small bottle of ice tea from his satchel and handed it to his patient. "Drink," Emerson said.

Reid took a few sips of the cold liquid, thankful for the soothing effect it had on his still sore throat.

After a few minutes of silence, the older man spoke again. "Why do you fight this so desperately, Spencer?" he asked gently. "I know you want to appear strong; you want to show your team that you can handle the situation by yourself." He paused. "But strength is also to know when to ask for help."

The profiler looked down at the bottle in his hands. He didn't reply.

Emerson tried again. "Do you want to go back to work?"

At this, Reid glanced up at the man beside him. "Of course," he said in a hoarse voice.

"And you do understand that there is no way for you to go back there in your current condition?" the older man continued.

Reid started fidgeting. "I, uhm..."

"Please be honest."

The agent sighed resignedly. "Yes."

Emerson smiled slightly. "Good. That's a start. Aaron told me you're a valuable member of his team. He wants you back at work as soon as possible, Spencer. And I promised him to make that happen."

Reid nodded and almost returned the smile.

"Alright, let's go back," the psychologist suggested. "Do you think you can walk?"

The younger man rose slowly from the seat. His legs still felt like jelly, but not nearly as shaky as before. "Yeah, I think so."

With careful steps the two men went back to the Sanatorium.

---

A shrill shriek escaped Penelope Garcia's lips as the door to her small chamber called an "office" was forcefully opened. The stern look on Hotch's face made her want to shriek again, but this time she just swallowed and suppressed further noises.

"Sir?" she merely asked.

Hotch stopped close behind the technical analyst's chair and stared into the screen of her computer.

"Garcia, I need you to find an address for me. It's urgent," he explained quickly.

The blond computer specialist sighed with relief. Apparently the serious expression on her superior's face was not directed at her. "Sure thing, boss. Addresses are my specialty." She held her fingers close over the keyboard, ready to work some magic for her chief.

Hotch cleared his throat. "Jason Gideon." Gerald had told him that bringing back Reid's mentor might be important in order to help the genius heal. The team leader himself couldn't really see how Gideon's appearance could be of any use in helping Reid's recovery, but if the experienced psychologist thought otherwise – then so be it.

Garcia had expected anything but to hear the retired profiler's name. "Erm, Sir?"

"I need Gideon's location, Garcia," Hotch urged.

"Of course, I will try but I, uhm, I guess he doesn't want to be found...," she trailed off, feeling incredibly uncomfortable right now. She considered herself not in the position to talk about anything regarding Gideon. Garcia could remember vividly how Gideon had chased after that insane Frank guy and how broken the gifted profiler had appeared to her. She'd always felt somewhat uncertain in the senior agent's presence and after all the crap that had happened in Vegas...

"Garcia, please," Hotch said, more firmly this time. "It's for Reid."

Instantly the tech girl turned around to her computer again. "Yes Sir," she replied hastily and started to do what she did best.

---

Exhausted, Reid arrived at his room in the hospital. The walk back had taken almost an hour. They'd had to stop every now and again so the profiler could sit down and rest for a minute.

All he wanted to do now was to take a hot shower and lie down again.

He opened the door and stepped in, heading straight to the bathroom. Since there were no windows in there, he fumbled for the light switch next to the door frame.

The blinding halogen lamps went on and highlighted the person that was already standing in the bathroom, leaning with his back against the white tiles.

Reid froze. He stared at the young dark-haired man who seemed so very familiar yet appeared to come from another world.

"Jase?" was all Reid managed to squeeze out.

A smile spread on the unexpected guest's handsome features. He pushed himself away from the wall and approached the person he'd been looking for for so long.

Only inches away from Reid he stopped and licked his lips. "I missed you, Matt."

***

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