Title: Forgive Me Father for I Have Sinned
By: Lessien-Calafalas
Pairing: gen
Disclaimers: I do not own Criminal Minds, their characters, the plotlines, etc. Only this story! And sadly, I cannot write more entertaining disclaimers.
Rating: M for drug use, nothing graphic, nothing bad, but better err on the safe side...
Spoilers: Revelations
Summary: A short reflexive piece on Reid and the after effects of his ordeal. He still has to write a report, right?

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Tipity tap. Tipity tap.

Reid's long fingers softly pressed the keys, more slowly than would be expected from a 24 year-old genius. He'd never been bothered to learn how to type correctly. When you can read 20 000 words a minute, why would you have to look something up on the internet? And even more, why would he type anything? If he wanted to add what he knew to the World Wide Web, it would take him years to fill up a single wikipedia category.

Maybe when I'm retired.

He stopped his typing, his focus resting on the bright lights of the screen and not what was written on it. He had managed to write a few sentences about the case, the victims murdered savagely by the assailant...s? He wasn't sure how to write it down, and so he had made a little sign to remind him to look at it again.

If only I could write 20 000 words a minute...

He could not seem to concentrate on more than a few words at a time. With its incredible power, his brain could only focus on one short period of his life anymore. Realistically, what was a day in twenty-four years? He started to calculate it but when he realised he was not exactly 24 years-old, he gave up. The additional months and days to his twenty four years of life were meaningless, as were all the ones before them. Only one day mattered. What followed after was of no consequence as well. He did not know exactly how old he was, but he knew it had been three days, twelve hours, and twenty-three minutes since that fateful day. 72 hours and twenty-three minutes. It seemed like so little, and yet it felt like so much. A door opened somewhere in the bullpen, and the janitor walked in, waking Reid up from his little reverie. He looked at the time. 72 hours and thirty two minutes. His mind noticed how he took nine minutes to think about things that would normally have taken him... some insignificant amount of time.

He blinked rapidly and brought his hands back to the keyboard. They had unwillingly crept back up to his hair, to his throbbing head, to the wound that had been carefully stitched up on his skull. On the keyboard, his fingers felt out of place. He was hunched over his workstation, shoulders bent, unconsciously keeping the submissive but involuntary position he had been forced to stay in for a little over 24 hours. Except if you counted the extended arm when he shot Tobias...

Tobias. He knew it was unhealthy, he knew it was an effect from PTSD. But he missed Tobias, he felt sorry for him. They'd had so much in common, unknowingly. He knew how it felt, needing to engage in the delusions of a mentally ill parent while taking care of them, and surviving at the same time. He immediately felt a pang of guilt and he closed his eyes. How dared he forsake his mother once more? He had abandoned her, consciously and in cold blood, while she was not completely aware of the pain she caused him. It was not her fault, while he had control over his own actions, his own thoughts.

You do not control your thoughts, dr. Reid. The work psychologist had told him that, well aware that Reid felt guilty for something he was hiding. Hotch had made him see the shrink as soon as he was able to stand up without toppling over. Reid knew his boss did not want to repeat the same mistake as with Elle. Except he had already killed his tormentor, so what else could he do? He could actually think of many things he could do, and quite a few he had already done as well. He hadn't told Hotch he would take care of Tobias' funeral arrangements, but the senior profiler had figured it out and shown up at the funeral. It was hard not to notice him, being the only other guest along with Reid. He hadn't said much, but the look of disappointment on his face was enough. Reid wasn't sure what it meant, but he had felt guilty about it.

Everyone saw Tobias – or rather Henkel, as they called him, which made it easier for them to pour the three personalities into one mold – as one bad person, while Reid knew how it really was. Tobias had never hurt him. He had done his best to help him, the only way he could. He had run, which had saved his life. Charles would have stayed, fought, and probably killed him. Raphael... it wasn't clear what Raphael would have done. Charles had beaten him, had shattered some bones in his foot, had demolished his sense of self. Tobias had tended to him, had given him water and reassurance, and he had given him what he thought he needed the most – escape.

Tell me this doesn't help. The sentence had become a mantra, and that mantra an obsession in his mind. It embodied his feelings towards the drug – 'don't try to deny it, because we both know this helps' . He had fought against the first dose, but by the third one, he didn't even flinch anymore. He was looking forward to the escape, the orgasmic release of tension, of thoughts, of fear, guilt, and pain.

'Reid!' he jumped, his body tensing up, his chest constricting. 'Relax buddy, it's me.' Morgan was waving a hand in front of his face, looking worried. 'I didn't think I would be sneaking up on you, I've been trying to talk to you for the past five minutes. Are you okay?' Reid sighed and looked down. 'Yeah, sorry. Takes a lot of concentration to come up with this one.' He waved a careless hand towards the computer screen and the file on the desk beside him. Morgan nodded. 'I haven't done it yet either. I don't think it'll come easy. '

Morgan sat down on the corner of the desk, and they both stayed silent a moment. Morgan was looking furtively at the file, noticing how it was not opened at all. Reid saw his gaze. 'I don't need to see the pictures. Or the description.' His friend knew that. With his eidetic memory coupled with his recent trauma, he wasn't close to forgetting this case. Not in any natural way, anyway.

He looked up at Morgan and formed a smile –he knew it looked more like a grimace of some sort- that meant he wanted to be alone to go back to work. Morgan nodded and stood again, and started walking towards his own desk. 'You've had enough time alone for tonight, and I need to be working too. Do you mind if I keep you company?'

Actually yes I do. Reid shook his head, knowing full well it was a rhetorical question. He forced himself to look at the screen and try to concentrate, but it was difficult knowing Morgan was staring straight at him. It wasn't too long though before his mind wandered off to the Georgian woods again.

Confess! He had so many things to confess. He had been an hypocrite to pretend he had nothing to confess. Everyone had something to confess.

I sent her away. That was the worst one, the most painful thing to confess. He had convinced himself over the years that it had been for the best, and he knew that logically it was, but Charles had been able to tear open the scar of a child's broken heart.

I had them killed. The poor couple that died because of him. How he had wished the team would get there in time, in some way or another. At that point, he didn't care if they found him at all, but he was hoping for the miraculous appearance of his team at the scene of the crime. Unfortunately, the miracle was too late.

I hurt Hotch. He knew he had made the right decision, it had saved him, but he felt guilty about what he said about his friend, his boss. It had to come from somewhere, right? His brain could give him a thousand reasons why it was the logical thing to do, but he didn't care.

JJ... he had split up, he had left her alone at the barn, he had run away much too far and had been unable to help her. He hadn't talked to her yet, but he could only imagine what she'd gone through.

It was all my fault. He had stared through the window, frozen in place. He had attracted Henkel's attention on them. He had suggested they split up. He had run away before JJ could say otherwise. He had left her alone. He had walked straight into the lion's den, carrying fresh meat. How could he complain when it was all his fault?

I stole. A childish voice was pushing at him, 'thou shalt not steal' the background over which 'DILAUDID' was written in his photographic mind. He unconsciously tried to feel guilty about stealing, and not about what he had stolen, but it was not working. His sense of ethics was too strong, and yet not strong enough. The vials were in his satchel and he had already used them. It did offer a miraculous recovery from the whole ordeal. I'll deal with this later. Tell me this doesn't help. Tell me this doesn't help. Tell me this doesn't help.

His gaze focused back on the computer screen, staring at his far-from-finished report. He knew he was not above the law, but couldn't he get away with the report this time around? It wasn't fair. He didn't need to write down all of his traumatizing experience in a report for everyone to see. Technically, for only a few persons to see, but with Garcia he had learned that secrets are always known, confidentiality is always shared, and sealed records are a complete lie. What if she goes looking for it afterwards? God, what did she see? After a few hours, his surroundings had been blurred and he had not noticed the red light – blinking or not? On or off? He had other things to think about. Did she see me cry out in pain? Cry like a child? She'll have to write a report too and she will report me. They will put me on desk duty forever. I can do my job. I can beat this, I'm strong, I'm not weak, I'm not weak...

A hand was once again on his shoulder, but this time he did not jump. What good would it be, since he was chained to the chair anyway? He looked up and saw it was Morgan again, and he realised he was not chained to the computer chair.

'Dude, you're not in the same world as me right now. You need to take a break.'

What did he hear? I'm not weak, I'm not weak... what kind of strong person has to say that? I should not need to convince myself. He sighed and looked at Morgan.

'Sorry. This... this is kind of difficult for me.' The words surprised him as they left his mouth. Wow, how could he be so honest? Sure, it was a very vague kind of honesty, but he had not meant to say even as much. 'I'm tired' or 'I'm bored', but not 'this is difficult for me'. If I was strong, this would not be difficult for me. None of the others would have problems working on this. They compartmentalise better than me.

'Listen, I'll go get some coffee. You're allright waiting here?' Morgan asked him. Another rhetorical question. Both of them knew he was not allright waiting here, but for different reasons. Reid nodded, then remembering that talking was a normal thing to do, added 'Yeah, thanks. One third sugar, remember.' Morgan laughed and left the room.

Tell me this doesn't help. Reid surprised himself at thinking that he would rather have Tobias here with him than Morgan. Why did he feel like Tobias understood him better? It's not like Morgan had not lived through his share of trauma and abuse.

Thou shalt honor thy father. Not only was he not honoring his father figures, now it had crept to his brother figure as well. His hands moved towards his satchel and took the two vials out. He moved them around in his hands a few times, like chinese steel balls, then chose one. The same way I chose who lived and who died. His hands started to shake slightly when he picked up his satchel and felt around for his syringe. Tell me this doesn't help.

Tell me this doesn't help.

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