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Chapter Text

Derek Morgan could remember the day that Spencer Reid had collapsed to the floor in almost perfect detail.

It had been a tough case for all of them: prepubescent girls raped and murdered, then left hanging out of dumpsters with their limbs attached by barely a thread. They'd managed to save the life of one little girl, but lost the chance to arrest the unsub when he slit his neck from ear to ear, bleeding out before they could even call the paramedics. Morgan had wondered then if the little girl they'd saved - Annabel Spring, eight years old - would ever forget the sight of her captor smiling at her dreamily from the other end of the room, the light slowly fading from his eyes as all the blood in his body spilled out onto the floor.

The air in the jet was anxious. Tense. Nobody slept a wink, even though they all looked like they'd been dragged from hell and back. Reid in particular looked tired, and Morgan counted a few times where the young doctor had almost fallen asleep but jerked himself back to full awareness at the last moment. The last time it had happened, he reached out with a thin arm to grab a book lying on the opposite seat and buried his nose in it, only pretending to read. The pages, Morgan noted, were barely turning. He couldn't blame the kid for wanting to be left alone; everybody else wanted the same. Out of the eleven known victims of Phil Mclean, the BAU had managed to save one. The other ten had died, their last moments full of pain and terror.

Sometimes the BAU lost before they even arrived on the scene.

The air was somehow even heavier back at the office, a sharp contrast to the warm, sunny weather outside. Hotch had told them to go home, get rest, be refreshed for work the next morning, when there'd undoubtedly be some new horrific case for them to solve, and they'd have to push away all their thoughts of little Annabel Spring until she was just a vague memory in their minds. All but one of our minds, Morgan had thought bitterly. Hotch and Rossi had disappeared into their offices as per usual, and JJ had left earlier than the others to have some sorely needed downtime with Henry and Will. Garcia had left only minutes before, and Morgan was left alone with Reid in the bullpen. He ambled over to Reid and tapped his shoulder.

"Hey kid," he said, attempting a smile. "Need a ride home?"

Reid shook his head. "It's fine," he muttered, signing off on a file and adding it to his pile of finished paperwork. "I'll go home in a few hours, I just really want to get this paperwork finished so I don't have a massive pile tomorrow."

Morgan raised his eyebrows. "That tiny pile? You could have that finished in five minutes."

"It's been a long day," he replied, not looking back up. Morgan waited for a few moments, then sighed and settled down at his desk, clicking his pen with a flourish.

"Then I guess I'm waiting," he replied.

Reid looked up and frowned. "Morgan, no."

"Yes, kid," he said, earning a loud sigh from Reid. "If we're being honest, me giving you a ride home is more a benefit for me than for you. I need the company after a case like that. We both need it."

"…Fine," Reid replied, though he didn't look happy at all. "I'll wrap this up quickly."

"Take as much time as you need, kid," Morgan smiled, leaning back in his chair. "Where is everyone?" he asked, eyeing the nearly-empty bullpen. "What, did the Director suddenly give the entire BAU staff a holiday while we were away?"

"Fraternization seminar," Reid answered distractedly, closing his eyes and rubbing his temple. "What did you and Garcia do this time?"

"Oh, wouldn't you like to know?" Morgan grinned when he saw the slightly embarrassed flush in his friend's face.

"Not particularly," Reid mumbled, dropping his pen. "I'm done. Too much work."

Morgan didn't like the way Reid seemed to be almost struggling for breath, and noticed the paleness of his face, the way his fingers kept creeping up to rub at his temple, the slow way in which he was moving. "Kid, you okay?"

Reid grimaced and muttered a barely audible reply. "Headache," he said, so quietly Morgan almost didn't hear. He nodded; he remembered the year that JJ had been gone, and he especially remembered Reid telling him about the splitting headaches he'd been quietly enduring for most of the year. Morgan had thought they'd began to thin out over the past few years, but apparently he was mistaken.

"How long have they been back?" he asked, worry tingeing his tone.

Reid shrugged. "They never really left," he said, standing up from his desk and slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder. "They didn't happen as often, but they've always been here."

"Reid, why didn't you say anything?" Morgan asked quietly.

The younger man shrugged again. "They were getting better," he said simply. "Can we go?"

Morgan nodded and turned towards the exit, making a mental note to mention the headaches to Hotch if they ever got too bad. Unless Hotch had already noticed, in which case Morgan wasn't as good a profiler as he originally thought. He didn't realise that Reid wasn't following him until he turned around and saw him leaning over his desk, breathing heavily, with one hand pressed to his forehead.

"Reid?" Morgan asked, trepidation creeping into his chest. "What's wrong?"

"I…" Reid's face had taken on a grayish tone, and his eyes were glassy and unfocused. "I'm f-fine, really…"

And then Reid's eyes had fluttered closed, and he fell to the floor before Morgan could even think to catch him.

"Reid!" Morgan rushed over to his friend, trying to overrule the natural panic that was beginning to take over. "Reid, can you hear me?"

Reid's eyes fluttered open at the sound of Morgan's voice. "..chest hurts," he murmured weakly, sending Morgan's brain into overdrive.

"Hotch! Rossi!" he bellowed, pulling out his phone to call 911. "Get down here!"

Hotch was kneeling down beside him in an instant, calmly but quickly checking Reid's pulse, tapping his cheeks firmly, calling out Reid, can you hear me? all the while Reid seemed to get paler, his breathing shallower. Rossi was the one who guided the paramedics over to them, giving them details like Reid's age, medical history, discreetly informing them of his past addiction in the same quiet tone Hotch had used when his unit chief had told him -

- all while Morgan sat there uselessly, holding Reid's listless hand with the long, too-thin fingers and the inexplicable calluses and small scabs dotting his knuckles.

There were no arguments as to who was riding in the ambulance with Reid. Morgan clambered in the back with his phone in his hand, promising to call Hotch if there were any…changes in the young doctor's condition. In return, Hotch had promised to call the others as soon as he could, and had thusly scurried away with Rossi to an SUV.

They were about half way to the hospital when Reid opened his eyes, blinking sluggishly and wincing as he cleared his throat.

"…Morgan?" he croaked, gazing at the older man with glazed, confused eyes.

Morgan breathed a small sigh of relief and responded by gripping the younger man's hand even tighter. "Spencer," he breathed, watching his friend frown in confusion. "It's all right, you're going to be okay. We're on our way to a hospital."

Reid frowned further. "Hospital?" he managed to rasp out. "I…why?"

"Pretty Boy, you collapsed," Morgan told him, smoothening his hair down.

Reid's eyes began to glaze over again, his grip on Morgan's hand weakening. "…Not pretty," he whispered, before his eyes closed and his fingers became completely limp.

Morgan looked up to the paramedics in panic. "Is he okay?" he asked, feeling his friend's limp wrist for a pulse.

The paramedic glanced at a few monitors and nodded tersely. "Low blood pressure," she explained, giving Morgan's shoulder a comforting squeeze. "He needs medical care urgently, but we won't lose him."

Morgan's throat felt dry, rougher than sandpaper. "Thank you."

Beneath them, Reid lay unmoving on the stretcher, paler than snow itself.

Chapter Text

"Like I said, I don't know a thing." Hotch's voice rang clear in the stark silence of the hospital waiting room, phone pressed against his ear. "Not yet. He's still being examined."

Rossi walked into the room, carrying coffee for Hotch and himself. "Who?" he mouthed to Morgan, who was cradling his own cup of coffee.

"Garcia," he said quietly, moving over so Rossi could sit down beside him. "I already called JJ. Henry's a little sick, so I told her to stay home and we'll update her if anything changes."

Hotch sighed heavily. "Are you sure?" he asked, but Garcia had already hung up. He pocketed his phone resignedly. "Garcia's coming. I told her not to worry, but…"

"But this is Penelope Garcia we're talking about," Morgan sighed, nodding.

"Does it honestly surprise you anymore?" Rossi pointed out.

"When one of her 'babies' is in danger? Not at all," Morgan chuckled.

"So what exactly happened?" Hotch asked. "Reid seemed relatively fine during the case."

"He didn't look too sharp on the jet," Rossi interjected. "Kid was barely turning the pages of his book. I thought he fell asleep, to be honest."

"He was spaced out a little during the case, too," Morgan replied. "I caught him staring off into space more than once."

"And you didn't think to tell me?" Hotch frowned.

Morgan grimaced. "He said he hadn't been feeling well," he replied. "He made me promise not to tell you…Maybe he just overworked himself."

"God knows it wouldn't be the first time," Rossi muttered.

"He should still know better than that," Hotch frowned. "How many times have we told him not to overwork himself?"

"Reid was the one doing a lot of the geographical profiling," Morgan pointed out. "And that turned out to be the last factor we needed to pin our unsub down."

"He feels like his geographical profile is the last step we need, feels pressured to perform at his best, ends up pushing his body past the limit and ignoring his body's warning signs," Rossi nodded. "Sounds like Reid, all right."

"The worst part is, he was right," Hotch sighed, sitting down heavily in a plastic chair. 'Without Reid's geographic profile, we would never have caught McLean."

"We wouldn't have caught him then," Rossi corrected him. "Our profile was accurate, and we would have tracked him down eventually. Reid just sped the process up."

"But how many more victims would McLean have taken if it weren't for Reid's profile?" Morgan argued. "We can't tell."

"We didn't exactly catch McLean in the first place," Hotch sighed. "The bastard slit his neck before we could lay a hand on him."

Morgan shook his head. "Why is it all the real sickos get off easy?"

"The same reason why the BAU can't seem to hold down any members for an extended period of time anymore," Rossi said darkly. "Life is unfair."

Morgan winced at the harsh tone in Rossi's voice. Not that the man was wrong; the BAU had definitely had their fair share of lost agents. Elle, Gideon, Prentiss, Todd, and now Blake hadn't been able to cope with the pressure and left, some more abruptly than others. Morgan knew that Reid had been affected by Gideon, Elle, and Blake's departures in particular, due to the rather obvious abandonment issues the younger man had. Eventually he'd recovered from Gideon and Elle, but the wound from Alex was still raw. Not that he blamed her for leaving; after all, she'd said goodbye first, something which not everybody else on the list had done. Morgan suspected it was more due to the fact that Blake was one of the only people on the team who could keep up with Reid intellectually, who could actually understand some of the more advanced techno-babble he spouted out.

Morgan sighed and leaned back in his chair. "He'll be fine," he assured them, though he wasn't sure he believed it at all.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Three months earlier

"It's over. We got him," Hotch's voice came over Rossi's cellphone.

Rossi breathed a sigh of relief, hanging his head. "Any trouble?"

"None. He came quietly."

"That's a first," Rossi remarked. Across from him, Reid walked into the office carrying two coffees. 

"Did they get him?" he asked, handing one coffee over to Rossi.

Rossi nodded, gratefully accepting the hot drink. Reid sank heavily into one of the office chairs. "About time," he muttered under his breath. Rossi arched an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

"I'll notify the cops here," Rossi said. "We had fun back at the precinct."

"You did?" Hotch sounded mildly interested. "What kind of fun?"

"A guy ran in claiming that he had a bomb strapped to his chest. It was really a bundle of carrots and other various vegetables. He was high on some new-fangled drug, most likely."

Rossi could almost hear Hotch raising his eyebrows. "Certainly sounds eventful," he remarked. "So I take it you and Reid had a good time?"

"Oh, it was fabulous," Rossi said dryly. "We never want to leave."

"I'll look into making some arrangements," Hotch answered. "We're heading straight to the jet."

"We'll meet you there," Rossi replied, hanging up. He turned around to face Reid, who was leaning forward in his seat, arms braced against the table. "Still bitter over not going on the raid?" he joked.

Reid didn't move.

"Reid?"

"W-what?" Reid suddenly said, head jerking up. Rossi winced when he saw how pale the young man looked, the dark circles under his eyes only emphasized by his complexion. "Jesus kid, are you sure you're not sick or something?"

Reid shook his head. "I was already tired before the case began," he explained, beginning to gather up his papers. "I was actually hoping to get a little more rest, but this case got in the way." He yawned, emphasizing his point. "Don't worry. Once I get home I'm going to go straight to bed and get some sleep."

"You sure look like you need it," Rossi agreed. "Do you ever get much sleep anyway?"

Reid didn't look surprised at the question. "No," he shrugged. "But I think it's about time I tried."

"You know, there's medication for this sort of thing-" Rossi started to say, but Reid shook his head vehemently.

"No."

"No? Why not?" Rossi frowned.

Reid shrugged. "Doesn't work," he muttered, gathering up the last papers and walking abruptly out of the room.

Rossi sighed; in hindsight, the reasoning behind Reid's refusal to try medication for his sleep problems were slightly obvious. With a schizophrenic mother and a chance - albeit a slight chance, but still a chance - of inheriting the condition himself, Reid's fear of meeting the same fate as his mother probably prompted him into thinking medication automatically labeled him as unable to take care of himself. He was wrong, of course, but that didn't mean Reid didn't believe it wasn't true.

The sheriff walked in wearing a bemused expression. "The young guy bumped into me and I nearly knocked him over. Light as a feather, that guy. Didn't seem to realise I was there. Is something wrong?"

Rossi breathed out slowly and shook his head. "Nah. It's nothing."

Or so he had told himself back then, anyway. The kid had a right to privacy.

oOoOoOoOoOo

"How's my baby?"

Morgan looked up from his phone and saw Garcia, hair messily pulled into pigtails and rumpled clothing, walking briskly into the waiting room. Rossi had left with Hotch to discuss "the previous case" with him. Morgan didn't believe the older man for one second, but suspected that they didn't care either way. It was plainly obvious that they were discussing Reid, and what could be wrong. Maybe one of them had remembered something, Morgan hoped.

"They said he'd recover, back in the ambulance," he shrugged. "And that's about it."

Garcia was silent for a few moments. "That's it? That's really all they said?"

Morgan nodded. "Yeah," he sighed distractedly. "A doctor will be in soon, most likely. Until then, all we can do is wait."

"I'm not good at waiting," Garcia confessed.

"You've also proven to be good luck to Reid in hospitals," Morgan smiled slightly. The joke itself was dark, but Garcia smiled anyway.

"I don't know, maybe it was the whimsical and otherworldly superpowers of the Matt Smith figurines by his bed," she grinned.

Morgan chuckled. "C'mon, Babygirl. You know you saved Pretty Boy's life back in there," he replied, scooting over in his seat to allow her to sit next to him.

"All a part of being the fabulous tech-goddess you see standing before you," she smiled, but Morgan could see the lingering traces of guilt and fear that remained from her take-down of Reid's assailant a few months ago. Truth be told, Morgan was damn proud of her for taking action and saving a life, and reminded her every time she expressed doubt over her actions.

Hotch and Rossi returned, just as a doctor walked in carrying a clipboard. "Spencer Reid?" he called, looking around the waiting room.

Hotch nodded and waved a hand. "Right here."

"I presume you're Mr. Reid's team?" the doctor enquired. "I'm Dr. Ford. We've been informed of his occupation."

"And not of his status as a doctor?" Morgan raised his eyebrows.

The doctor frowned. "No, actually. He's quite young to be a doctor. Impressive."

"Three PhDs," Hotch quickly explained. "How is he?"

"It looked worse than it really was," Dr. Ford began. "Dr. Reid's red blood cell count was dangerously low, meaning his body and brain weren't getting enough oxygenated blood. Has he been fatigued, or showing any other physical symptoms prior to his collapse?"

"He's been sleep-deprived for a while now," Rossi answered. "I spoke to him about it a few months ago."

"He had a migraine right before he collapsed, although he's been having them for a while now," Morgan added. "Since 2011 or so. He told us they stopped, but I guess they came back."

Dr. Ford nodded. "Migraines and fatigue are both symptoms of anemia, so that make sense. We've given him treatment for his anemia, but he'll need medication and a more nutritious diet to fully regulate the condition. Which brings me to my next point, conveniently enough."

"Anemia?" Rossi frowned. "Surely that's not the only reason why he collapsed."

The doctor shook his head. "I'm afraid not. Has Dr. Reid taken any medication recently?"

"Not to my knowledge," Hotch answered. "Why?"

"Dr. Reid's blood pressure was extremely low, which can be lowered by certain medications. Antidepressants, diuretics, beta blockers - those sorts of things. Anemia also causes low blood pressure, and the anemia was due to a lack of sufficient nutrients and vitamins."

"So, he hasn't been eating enough?" Garcia asked.

"Some people just have lower red blood cell counts than usual and don't get diagnosed properly until they're older, but in Dr. Reid's case, he's clearly suffering from malnutrition," Dr. Ford explained. "You mentioned he was having migraines? If he's been sick recently, that could be the reason why he hasn't been eating properly. His malnutrition wasn't so bad that he needs to be hospitalized further than overnight, but he did need urgent attention when he first collapsed."

"So how are you treating him?" Hotch asked.

"Right now he's being given vitamins and nutrients, combined with a blood transfusion for the anemia. If everything goes well, which there's no reason to doubt that it will, he should be ready to leave in a day or so."

"Is that it? He's just free to go?" Morgan frowned.

Dr. Ford nodded. "He will need to take medication for the anemia and vitamins for his nutrition regularly, but if he keeps to the meds then he shouldn't have this problem again. Of course, he will need to recover from his illness and begin eating regular meals, but like I said, it shouldn't be a problem."

"Can we see him?" Garcia asked hopefully.

Dr. Ford nodded. "He actually stated he wished to speak to Agent Hotchner," he told them. "He is tired, so you can all visit in the morning. Right now I suggest that you all head home and get a good night's rest."

"But-" Garcia began to protest, but the doctor cut her off.

"No buts! Dr. Reid needs to rest fully. I had to pull some strings just to allow him to talk to Agent Hotchner," Dr. Ford admitted. "Don't worry. In a few days, he'll be completely fine."

"Is he lucid?" Hotch asked.

Dr. Ford nodded. "He's looking pretty good for someone who just collapsed from exhaustion. I'll show you to his room."

Hotch nodded towards his team. "I'll call each of you after I'm finished," he promised, walking down the hallway and out of sight.

Garcia pressed herself closer to Morgan. "Do you really think he's okay?"

"He's a strong kid," Rossi replied. "He'll be fine."

Morgan sighed heavily, wrapping an arm comfortingly around Garcia's waist. "Reid is stronger than we give him credit for," he reminded her.

He just hoped to death that his sentimemt was true.

Chapter Text

oOoOoOoOo

 

"Knock knock."

 

Reid looked up from his hospital bed and saw Hotch standing at in the doorway, unable to read the older man's expression. "I was hoping you'd stop by," he said tiredly, gesturing for his boss to come in.

 

"I wouldn't dream of not coming to see you," Hotch replied, sitting down in one of the plastic chairs by Reid's bedside. Sighing heavily he clasped his hands under his chin, resting his arms on his knees. "What happened, Reid?"

 

Reid swallowed. "I've been really sick recently," he said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. "Migraines, nausea, just run-of-the-mill issues. My doctor told me it was probably a stress thing."

 

"Probably a stress thing?" Hotch repeated. "Anything else?"

 

Reid looked down. "He said I should take some time off work. Once," he added in defensively, seeing the scowl that his boss was giving him. "He only said it once."

 

Hotch sighed heavily. "Reid, once again, you are not a medical doctor. I don't care if you've got an IQ higher than Einstein and a billion degrees, your doctor will always know better than you."

 

"You don't get it," Reid said quietly.

 

"What, Reid? What don't I get?" Hotch asked, concern lacing his tone.

 

Reid sighed and smoothed back his hair again. "The BAU is my home. It's sad that I think of my workplace as my home, but that's what it is. I'd rather be here with the people I think of as my family than at my apartment, doing nothing but watching old TV reruns and wasting my time."

 

"We could have arranged for you to stay behind as a consult on cases, rather than leaving you out entirely," Hotch pointed out. "We need you working to the best of your ability, and if that means you have to take a break from traveling with the team, then that's just the way it has to be."

 

"I solved the case," Reid pointed out. "I never would have solved it if I'd stayed in D.C."

 

So Rossi's conclusion was more-or-less spot on, Hotch reflected. He sighed, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. "The BAU works as a team, Reid. We would have solved it eventually, even if you weren't available."

 

"But how many more victims would have died?" Reid challenged him, looking him dead in the eye. "How many more little children would Mclean have kidnapped, raped and murdered? How many more families would he have destroyed?" The younger agent's voice broke a little on the last sentence, and he averted his eyes down to the thin bedsheets.

 

Hotch paused before he answered. "I used to wonder the same thing," he finally replied, staring off into the hallway.

 

Reid looked up. "Really." He arched an eyebrow. "With all due respect, I'm a genius with an IQ of 187, and most of our cases are solved by me noticing some tiny little detail that everyone else missed. Without me on the team, you guys wouldn't solve our cases half as quickly."

 

"That's the kind of thinking that lands you in trouble with a job as demanding as the BAU," Hotch reminded him. "Yes, the work we do is important, but your wellbeing is just as important."

 

"It's not though, is it?" Reid replied. "Sometimes, one tiny detail can mean another innocent person dies. That person - and their family, their friends, anybody who knew them - have their lives changed forever as a result of our incompetence."

 

"Getting sick isn't incompetence, it's human," Hotch stressed to him.

 

"When was the last time you took a sick day off work?" Reid challenged him, raising an eyebrow. "Never mind a sick day, when was the last time you took a vacation day?"

 

Damn. He's got me there, Hotch cursed. "I'm the unit chief, I have more work. It's different for me," he argued.

 

"You know, I used to think that too, but then I started talking to Anderson. As is turns out, unit chiefs are not required to always travel with their team on cases," Reid said, eyebrow still cocked. "All that extra work? You force it upon yourself for no reason."

 

Hotch sighed. "You're right. I don't always have to travel with the team. Maybe if I didn't, I wouldn't have lost Haley." The mention of his deceased partner was a low blow against Reid, but Hotch figured the man needed some incentive to accept Hotch's point of view. "But I have my reasons."

 

"Which are?"

 

"I travel with the team because it's my job to make sure that everyone is safe," Hotch emphasized, looking Reid dead in the eye. The younger agent didn't break the contact. "That includes you, Reid."

Reid was silent for a few moments, biting his lip. "I don't want to take much time off work," he said finally. "A few days. A week at most. How long did the doctor say I should stay here for?"

 

"Overnight," Hotch replied, glad that Reid had finally come to his senses. "But you'll also have medication to take for a while afterwards. No narcotics," he added, noticing Reid's panicked expression.

 

"Medication?" Reid echoed.

 

Hotch shrugged. "Vitamin pills. Iron tablets. A change in diet."

 

Reid groaned and flopped back down onto the pillow. "Uggghh."

 

Hotch watched him bemusedly. "What?" he asked. "You don't like the idea of changing your diet?"

 

Reid shook his head emphatically. "Surely the iron tablets will be enough? It's not like my red blood cell count is so low that even the tablets won't be enough." He paused. "It's not, right?"

 

"No," Hotch replied, "but you've got to do what the doctor says. Reid," he said sternly, seeing the younger man pout.

 

"I will, I will!" Reid said. "So how long before I can get back to work?"

 

Hotch studied him suspiciously. "You're very eager to go back."

 

"I feel like we covered this five minutes ago." Reid rolled his eyes.

 

Hotch held up his hands in surrender. "Fine. You're staying at home for a week," he told him. "The whole week, no exceptions. If we get a case, I'll have Garcia come round and set you up with a laptop so we can Skype. Do we have a deal?"

 

"Am I allowed to say no?"

 

"No."

 

"Then yes, that sounds excellent."

 

"Good," Hotch replied, standing up to leave. "You're probably tired, so I won't keep you much longer. Get some rest, okay?"

 

Reid nodded restlessly, eyeing a magazine on the other side of the room, near the door. "Can you get me that?" he asked.

 

Hotch shook his head. "No reading when you're meant to be sleeping." His eyes darted across to the magazine, noticing its predominantly-pink cover. "That's a Cosmopolitan, Reid. What would you want with that?"

 

"Remember what I told you? Diverse stimulation is the key," Reid replied with a crooked grin.

 

Hotch chuckled lightly, heading towards the door. "As it always is with you. Always looking for stimulation," he smiled. "Morgan will pick you up from the hospital tomorrow sometime. Call one of us if you need anything."

 

"Will do," Reid replied, yawning slightly.

 

He sounds tired, Hotch thought. The stress he's been under lately finally caught up to him.

 

The last thing he saw of Reid that night was the younger man's eyes closing, head resting softly against the pillow.

 

oOoOoOoOo

 

That night, Reid's dreams are filled with the screams of children and the blood of those he couldn't save. His dreams are filled with that every night, but this time the images are accompanied by the harsh lights of the hospital that seep through his eyelids and into his brain, casting a bright filter into his dreams, lighting up his nightmares. Nothing can escape his attention now.

 

He sits perfectly still in the middle of a beautiful, tranquil park. The bench he sits on feels cold and his body feels sluggish and heavy. For a while he simply sits, relishing in the beauty of his surroundings. In the distance, he can see his team laughing and joking with each other. His current team are there - Hotch, Morgan, JJ, Garcia and Rossi - as well as the one's he'd long said goodbye to. Elle, with the smile that had gradually become rarer and rarer after the assault that had eventually driven her away from the BAU, from Reid. Gideon, whose eyes did not carry the same heavy guilt and anguish that Reid had seen in them after the bombing. Emily, looking happier than Reid remembered seeing her in a long time. Blake, with a dazzling smile and a small boy at her side. Ethan, he remembers. 

 

He doesn't bother to move and sit with his team. Instead, he smiles at them from afar, waving softly. The smile upon his face feels plastic and fake, but none of them seem to notice. They talk to him, but he remains at a distance. He can't bring himself to move to sit with them; he simply has no energy. It's as if he's become glued to the ground, the motion he can force himself to undertake the fake smile upon his lips. His team are so close, yet so far away, and Reid doesn't want to trouble neither them nor himself by pushing himself past his limit. They're all such good people, and he doesn't want to interfere with his petty personal problems. Instead he simply sits there pretending to be happy, looking around at the calm and tranquility - the control - around him.

 

And then Reid blinks, and the illusion is gone.

 

The park is no more, replaced by a dark, dirty alleyway. He sits alone on the cold, trash-laden ground, knees pulled up to his chest. There are a collection of bloodied needles and syringes scattered around his feet, and Reid jumps to his feet suddenly and steps on them, smashing them into the ground and breaking them.

 

"I don't need you anymore," he mutters, gritting his teeth as the syringes shatter. 

 

"You have something better," a voice murmurs from behind him. Reid whips around and sees his team - his old team - standing behind him with condemning expressions. Elle. Gideon. Emily. Alex. 

 

Reid blinks in confusion, and the scene changes again. This time he's in a white, painfully white room, barely lit by one swinging bulb right above his head. There are only a few pieces of furniture in the room, but each one has its own designated space marked out for it, each the perfect size for its relative object. A fridge, well-stocked with food. Overflowing with food, Reid realises. All sorts of junk food and soft drink is practically spilling out from the door. Photographs of all his bad memories are inexplicably taped to the door, its handle warm and inviting. Reid licks his lips hungrily, reaches out for the handle -

 

And then notices the sink and toilet in the other, smaller half of the room. There are words carved into each of them, words like MONSTER and GUILTY and WORTHLESS. Some of the insults he remembers from high school, others are too vulgar for him to even repeat in his mind. And still they call out to him, much more than the stocked fridge did. He needs the release, the control that comes with being cleansed and purged, and there is only relief as he takes his toothbrush from its holder and sticks it straight down his throat -

 

The starkly lit room vanishes, and the beautiful park comes into view. Reid is once again sitting completely still on the bench, his co-workers only a few yards away, none of them any the wiser. He feels more relaxed than he has in a long time, healthier, cleaner.

 

He knows this kind of behavior isn't natural, yet he doesn't want to bother his co-workers. They wouldn't understand the kind of release he got from it. All they'd want to do is make him stop entirely. Reid doesn't want to stop, he just wants someone to understand.

 

He sighs, smiling his fake, plastic smile to his team once again. What they don't know can never hurt them.

 

oOoOoOoOo

 

"You ready to go, Reid?" Morgan asked from just outside of the doorway. It had been twenty-four entire hours since Reid had collapsed, and according to the doctor, he was practically back to normal. Morgan was, of course, incredibly skeptic, as were the rest of the team. He'd made a promise to Hotch that if anything at all seemed odd or off about the younger agent, Hotch would know.

 

"Uh-huh," came the reply. Reid emerged from his old hospital room, looking much better than he had in a few months, Morgan realised.

 

"How're you feeling?" the older man asked Reid, offering to carry his bag for him.

 

Reid shook his head, clutching his bag a little closer to him. "Actually, I feel pretty good," he announced, fingers tapping with restless energy. "I think whatever medicine they gave me also cleared up my random sickness, because I'm not feeling any of that now. Can we go get something to eat?" he asked suddenly.

 

Morgan raised his eyebrows. "Did you not just have hospital breakfast?"

 

Reid looked at him disbelievingly. "Firstly, you know as well as I do that hospital food is a disgrace to all other sources of nutrition. Secondly, I had iron tablets after that, and they leave the most disgusting aftertaste." Reid wrinkled his nose. "It tastes like someone roughly inserted a massive metal rod down my throat."

 

Morgan winced. "That bad?"

 

"That bad, and then worse. I can't wait to eat something and get it out of my system."

 

"So where do you feel like going?" Morgan asked, unhooking his keys from his belt.

 

Reid paused. "Anywhere with orange juice," he declared.

 

"You're cheating on coffee with orange juice? Damn, Pretty Boy, how do you think your poor coffee feels?"

 

Reid visibly stiffened when Morgan called him 'pretty boy', causing Morgan to stop and frown. "Hmm? Reid?" he prompted, touching the younger man's shoulder lightly.

 

"Nothing. I just don't like being called that anymore," Reid answered, voice uncharacteristically tight.

 

"I…I can stop, if you'd like me to," Morgan said.

 

Reid smiled slightly. "Could you?" he asked, breathing a sigh of relief when Morgan nodded. "Sorry. I just get uncomfortable when you or someone else calls me that now. It never used to be an issue."

 

"Then why is it an issue now?" Morgan asked him.

 

Reid shrugged. "I don't know. I'm thirty-two years old now, I guess it just got a little…weird, after I hit thirty and all."

 

Morgan shrugged. "I think I'd be a little weirded out too," he admitted, prompting a bigger smile from Reid. "It would be kinda like Rossi calling me pretty."

 

"Ugh. The sheer mental image alone is enough to make me want to vomit," Reid groaned.

 

Morgan laughed with him, clapping the younger agent on the shoulder. "Come on, doc. We'll find a real good breakfast place and you can binge on terrible food all you want."

 

Reid grinned in response. "I can hardly wait."

Chapter Text

hey reid. u want 2 go 2 a club wit the team? I can pick u up at 7.

Reid's fingers hovered over the buttons of his cellphone, his brain going into overdrive at the very thought of going to a club. He did not like clubs. Too many people staring at him, not enough oxygen, too low self-esteem to really enjoy himself. Even if Morgan had offered to pick him up, the offer didn't sound too enticing.

Depends. Will everyone be there? he texted back. A few seconds later he got a reply.

yeah, you'd be the odd one out. it would only be 4 a few hrs at most. u in yet?

Reid sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose in exasperation. Was it really worth trying to convince Morgan that clubs were never going to be a fun place for him? Probably not, he shrugged, and replied back with a sigh of defeat. Fine. Seven it is.

When Morgan texted back, Reid could almost hear the triumph in his friend's reply. sweet! see you then.

Reid ran a hand through his hair and flopped back onto his couch, his apartment seeming suddenly empty without the anticipation of Morgan's replies to rely on. He glanced at the clock and was relieved to find that it was only five-thirty. Good. I have lots of time, he thought, lifting himself off the upholstery and making his way into his bathroom.

The bottle of pills stared menacingly at Reid from his medicine cabinet, taunting him with their empty promises of a healthy body and soul. Beside them were the two things he'd always kept in his medicine cabinet - a bottle of ipecac syrup, and an empty vial that used to contain Dilaudid.

The vial served as a constant reminder of his struggle with the drug, as a reminder that he'd been through hell and back and still made it. Alone, he reminded himself with a bitter smile. The team hadn't helped him much during that period. Sure, they'd made speeches and given him little pep talks, but at the end of the day, pep talks weren't what Reid had needed. What Reid had needed was a firm guiding hand, an older authority figure who he knew he couldn't fool. He'd hoped Gideon could be the one to set him straight and made sure that his behaviour in New Orleans couldn't be excused like his snappy comments and general bitchy attitude could be, but apparently the senior profiler was too caught up in his protégé's genius that he couldn't see the man needed serious help.

Well, that's in the past. I got off the drugs by myself. I know how to take care of myself.

Reid's eyes fell upon the bottle of ipecac sitting innocently next to his medication. Personally, he preferred the traditional method of using his fingers, but his gag reflex had been dulled over constant abuse and pushing his body's reflexes past the limit. Sometimes he considered using a toothbrush or a fork, but he'd heard too many horror stories about people sticking them down their throats and accidentally swallowing them, needing a trip to the emergency room. Reid knew that he couldn't afford to let that happen to him. Garcia would be doing one of her routine check-ups on her "babies", she'd see Reid's recent admission, demand to know what was wrong and that would be the end of any semblance of control he'd have over his life. Reid also knew that abusing ipecac could lead to heart and muscle damage, but on days like this where he felt so mentally and physically exhausted that even the smallest action was hard, the ipecac was the ultimate solution. It was cheap and easy to buy, quick-acting, required little effort and produced effective results.

Using my fingers was always such a struggle, anyway, Reid reflected, grabbing a hold of the ipecac syrup. This is a much better solution.

His medication he'd received from the hospital sat there, untouched and collecting dust.

OOoOoOoOo

He drinks the glass in front of him and everything immediately turns hazy, like every nerve in his body has simply turned numb. Reid loves this feeling, the sense of normality he feels when he can finally shut off his big brain and just think about nothing for a few hours. He's never been a lightweight, contrary to popular opinion - he gets drunk quickly, but hangovers are a rare occurrence for him. Which is lucky, he thinks with a laugh bordering on unhinged, because the amount of alcohol he's planning to drink tonight would probably kill a man with a lower alcohol tolerance.

He'd forgotten how much fun the feeling of escape could be. Reid's glad that he chose to let Morgan pick him up, because this is better than anything he could possibly be doing at home. Not being with his friends - he doesn't really give a damn whether they're there or not. What matters is that he feels floaty and weightless - and that's not just the alcohol - and he plans to enjoy every second. The rush of alcohol combined with the feeling of emptiness that the ipecac syrup had granted to him mere hours beforehand makes him feel alive and without a care in the world, but mostly, it makes him feel in control, and that's what he's truly after.

But now his stomach growls and he feels hungry, so hungry all of a sudden. He curses his stomach and pays five dollars in cash for a bundle of peanut butter chocolate bars from the snack bar, ignoring the fact that he'd specifically made sure that he'd purposefully emptied his stomach before arriving. He'd forgotten that part of himself as soon as the first drink had touched his lips. He was no longer Spencer Reid, the genius with an IQ of 187 and teammates who were oblivious to his apparent bulimia, but Spencer Reid, the normal man who enjoyed normal thinks who just happened to be a genius and could eat anything without feeling disgusted with himself later. Reid eats all ten of the chocolate bars he bought and relishes the feeling of something finally filling his stomach. He's not a freak anymore, he thinks, finally relieved. And once he's eaten those ten, he needs more, and ends up spending another ten dollars and eats another twenty. He feels the eyes of his coworkers and of the bartender on him suspiciously, but he doesn't pay it any attention. Instead, he downs another glass and finds something else to focus his attention onto.

Dancing isn't one of Reid's most obvious talents, but he's too out of it to care about how stupid he looks and abandons his team in favor of "getting his groove thang" on, as Morgan calls it, with a gaggle of women from across the bar. He doesn't see the amused and slightly bewildered expressions of his coworkers, who have simply decided to let him do his own thing. Reid is a genius, after all - he knows everything. They can't help him any more than he himself can.

After dancing for a while, however, Reid remembers one of the least appealing side-effects of repeated self-induced vomiting - feeling ill to the point of throwing up whenever he's presented with any kind of strenuous physical activity. The dancing was obviously too much on his delicate system, and he politely (yet slightly drunkenly) excuses himself and slips out the back entrance, into an alleyway. There's a few other drunks and madly-kissing couples, so Reid finds himself a corner of the alley beside some trash cans and empty beer bottles and waits for his stomach to settle down.

He ends up vomiting, of course. The couple kissing near him look at him with disgust and move somewhere else. There's one incredibly drunk man who cheers for him and Reid gives him a dead stare. The man quickly shuts up, and Reid collects himself for a few more moments before making sure that he's clean and vomit-free before making his way back inside, heading over to his coworkers.

"You don't look too good, kid," Morgan comments. "Want me to take you home?"

Reid smiles at the thought that Morgan would give up a night of clubbing and dancing for him. "Yeah…" he slurs, grabbing a hold of the older agent's arm for support. "Yeah, that'd be nice…"

Morgan raises his eyebrows as Reid almost falls over. "Jesus! You really had a lot to drink, didn't you?"

Reid nods disjointedly, wincing as the sharp movement makes the world spin on its axis. "Sorry…" he says weakly.

Morgan laughs. "Kid, you got nothing to be sorry about. You're just having a good time."

And it's then that Reid starts laughing, though he doesn't quite know why.

oOoOoOoOo

Morgan arrived at the BAU at nine o'clock on the dot, his briefcase carried in hand. JJ met with him as he stepped out of the elevator, immediately greeting him with a fresh cup of coffee.

"Thought you'd be needing this," she said with a slight smile. "After the night you had last night and all." The younger agent tapped a fingernail on his sunglasses. "Sunglasses inside. You know everyone can tell you're hungover, right?"

Morgan managed a grin. "In a building full of profilers? Most definitely," he remarked. "I wonder how Reid feels right now. Considering he drank more than me, I'm guessing not too good."

"Spence comes back today, right?" JJ asked him.

Morgan nodded. "His health is back to normal. He's sure been making up for all those lost nutrients."

"By taking the supplement pills, I hope?"

"By eating about half his body in weight," Morgan corrected her. "Who knew someone so skinny could have such a big appetite?"

"Did you see him last night? I swear he spent at least fifty dollars on those little peanut chocolate bars," JJ laughed. "I couldn't eat so much chocolate even if I tried."

"Hey, those things were delicious," a familiar voice protested. JJ and Morgan turned around to see Garcia and Reid making their way towards the bullpen.

"You feeling okay after last night, kid?" Morgan joked, hanging an arm off the younger agent's shoulder.

Reid flushed. "It wasn't that much," he muttered. "You'd drink that much if you were as thirsty as I was."

"Oh honey, you practically drank the whole bar," Garcia teased him. "So how are you feeling anyway, boy genius?"

"Surprisingly, I feel quite fine," he answered.

Morgan whistled. "Wow. Who knew our resident genius as such a heavyweight?"

The team made their way to their desks in the bullpen, Garcia leaving a basket of cupcakes on Reid's desk. "And they're for Reid and Reid only," she stressed. "I see how you slip Reid half of your files, Morgan. Do not try and steal his cupcakes."

"They can have some," Reid interjected absently, beginning to clear his workspace of the paperwork that had piled up while he was absent. "I'm not particularly hungry right now."

"Then save them for later," Garcia replied impatiently. "Or even just let JJ have one. But under no circumstances does my chocolate god here get to steal any from you."

"How has JJ earned cupcake privileges and I haven't?" Morgan complained.

Garcia shrugged. "I like to tease you," she answered sweetly.

"We're sharing," Reid said firmly, picking up a cupcake and holding it out in front of Morgan. "Morgan, would you please take this cupcake? I'd very much like you to have it."

Morgan grinned and took the cupcake from Reid, bowing as he did so. "Why thank you," he said, with a sideways smirk at Garcia. "A true gentleman if I ever saw one."

Reid smiled thinly. "All of you can just go ahead and take one. I'd feel guilty if I didn't share."

Garcia placed a hand to her heart. "I thought what we had was special," she protested in mock-hurt. She hesitated. "Well actually I tasted one - okay, like five - of these before, just as testers, and they were pretty damn delicious, so I'm kind of glad I get to have another one," she admitted reaching across and grabbing a cupcake from the pile. "I forgot how delicious they were."

"Is having a picnic in the middle of the bullpen a trend now?" Rossi asked, walking down the short flight of stairs to greet them. He clapped a hand on Reid's shoulder. "Congratulations on not being hungover. I thought you were gonna wake up bending over the toilet bowl."

Reid raised his eyebrows. "You think I can't handle much alcohol?" he joked, turning towards the stairs where Rossi had emerged from. "I have to go down to the archives and get some older files. Can we save the cupcake party for later?"

"You have to have one," Garcia coaxed him, pressing a cupcake into his palm. "You know you want it," she whispered coyly into his ear.

Reid paused. "One," he said finally, taking a reluctant bite.

Garcia squealed and grinned at him. "Are they delicious or are they delicious?"

"Delicious," Reid agreed, already walking towards the elevator. "See you guys later."

The four of them watched as the younger agent pressed the button for the elevator and promptly disappeared from view. Morgan raised his eyebrows and turned to the others.

"Anyone get the feeling he's being a little…cold to his coworkers this morning?" he asked.

JJ nodded. "He could still be feeling a little ill," she suggested, though there was no conviction in her voice. "Viruses like that don't just disappear in a week."

"Yet he was bright and chipper last night," Rossi reminded them. "Let's keep an eye on him. Make sure he's not doing anything reckless."

"Reid hates to feel like he's been babied," Garcia interjects softly.

Morgan eased into his chair and picked up a file, clicking his ballpoint pen. "Then I guess he's just got to stop giving us reason to worry," he shrugged, immersing himself in his work.

oOoOoOoOoOo

When Reid didn't come back for another half an hour, Morgan got worried.

Nobody on the BAU's floor had seen him in that space of time, so Morgan went down in the elevator to the archives floor, stopping people on the way and asking if they'd seen the young profiler. He hadn't had any luck until a young intern had reported that he was fairly certain he'd seen Reid heading into the bathroom. Morgan had thanked him, sending the intern off with a sense of pride that the great Derek Morgan from the BAU had spoken to him.

Morgan pushed open the door to the bathroom so gently that it barely made a sound. From one of the further stalls, he could hear soft sobbing, so quiet that he could almost convince himself that he was imagining it. As he paused at the entrance to the bathroom it continued, but as soon as his shoes squeaked on the gleaming tiled floor as he stepped in, there was a soft gasp and the sobs and sniffles abruptly stopped. The bathroom was silent once more. Morgan sighed and closed his eyes as he let the door fall closed behind him.

"I know you're in here, Reid."

Again, there was silence. Morgan frowned and crossed his arms. "We can play this game all day if you want, Reid. I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's wrong."

This time, Morgan heard Reid clearing his throat and sniffing. "Go away," he said, voice cracking softly. "I'll be fine. I'm just…still sick."

"Then why are you crying?" Morgan asked softly.

"Headache," came the reply, unconvincing and too quick for Morgan's liking. The older man sighed, stepping closer to the stall he assumed was Reid's.

"Reid, you know you can trust me with anything, right?" he asked, inching closer toward the stall.

"It's nothing."

"Open the door," Morgan told him, voice soft and free of judgement. He was slightly surprised when the soft sound of the stall unlocking echoed around the room and the door swung open, revealing Reid, face tear-stained and fingers scratching imaginary patterns in the crook of his elbow.

"What?" the younger man hissed, pushing a strand of hair behind his temples fiercely.

Morgan blinked. "Kid, what's going on with you?" he breathed.

Reid laughed humourlessly. "What's not going on?" he sniffed, reaching up and rubbing his eyes. "It's been a tough few weeks for me, okay? I've been sick. There's been tough cases. My…" Reid's voice cracks. "My mom has been getting worse these past few months."

Morgan paused, considering laying an arm around Reid's shoulders. He decides against it, figuring the younger man would consider it patronizing. "You should have told us," he replied, keeping his voice calm and collected.

Reid shrugged. "What would you have done?" he said, the dark circles and redness around his eyes making him seem twenty years older. "I just need some space," he told the older man firmly, before darting past him and heading for the exit.

Morgan whipped around. "Reid, wait-"

"Space!" he heard the younger man shout from outside, and the door slammed shut.

It was then that Morgan knew he couldn't let it drag on any longer.

 

Chapter Text

Morgan returned to the bullpen, scanning the floor for signs of Reid. Apparently the younger agent had decided to skip out on going back to work entirely; among the many desks in the bullpen, his was the only vacant one. Sighing, he stepped down the stairs and eased himself back into his own workspace, swiveling on his chair to face JJ.

"Reid hasn't been around, has he?" he asked his coworker.

She frowned and shook her head. "Not since he left before," she replied. "Everything okay with him?"

Morgan sighed. "No. Not good at all." He relayed the events of the past half hour to JJ, watching the younger woman sigh in resignation.

"His mom?" she winced. "No wonder he's been so off lately."

"I'm not sure if it's as simple as that."

JJ frowned. "Such as?"

Morgan looked around at the other workers surrounding them, before wheeling his chair closer to JJ and lowering his voice to a mere whisper. If he didn't respect the younger agent's privacy, he would have told JJ bout the signs that he'd noticed; the way Reid constantly seemed weak and fatigued, the copious layers he always wore to cover up, the fact that he could count the number of times Reid had eaten something in front of the team in the past month on one hand, the unexplainable, tiny scabs present on the man's knuckles. Combined with the incident they'd had a few mere moments ago in the bathroom, it was pretty damning proof that there was something abnormal going on with Reid, and Morgan had a good idea what it was.

But how would Reid feel if he just went and told JJ that he suspected the younger agent had an eating disorder? Despite how the team had a tendency to baby him - and Morgan had realised that and was trying to correct it - Reid was still a very private person and preferred solitude when he was upset or grieving. If Morgan went and told everyone that he had an eating disorder without talking to Reid first, he knew that he would see it as a major invasion of privacy and most importantly, a betrayal of his trust. Morgan could still remember the way Reid had blown up at JJ after Prentiss returned to the BAU like it had happened yesterday. Eventually things went back to being relatively normal, but even so, Reid and JJ's relationship had suffered to the point of being broken near beyond repair.

So instead, Morgan simply opted for the simpler route. "Look, I know something is going on. We've all noticed it. Reid and I had a conversation a few minutes ago, but I don't know if he would be comfortable sharing with anyone but me." Not the complete truth, but not a complete lie either. "It's serious enough that I have to inform Hotch,

JJ nodded, but Morgan could tell she was a little upset. "I get it," she replied. "Just…just make sure that Spence is okay, right?"

Morgan smiled and nodded, patting her hand gently. "Always," he said, standing up and making his way over to Hotch's office.

oOoOoOoOo

Reid could feel Morgan's eyes on him the second he walked back into the bullpen.

JJ's eyes too, he realised, exhaling in resignation as he noticed that both of his BAU coworkers were hastily averting their eyes and getting back to their paperwork. He bit back an annoyed huff; had Morgan already told JJ about their meeting in the bathroom? Now Reid knew he had to be more careful where he purged, at least. Unless Morgan had gone and told Hotch, in which case, he was screwed. Still, Morgan had no evidence of what had really been going on in that bathroom. That was always Reid's number one priority after purging - if you're in a strange place, you leave no evidence. Years of avoiding bullies in high school had given Reid the uncanny ability to blend into any background, a social chameleon. It had also been a curse when he arrived in the BAU; he wanted so desperately to be taken seriously, yet he couldn't shake the mild-mannered professor act he'd been forced to take on as an act of self-preservation. Despite the fact that the cops of the week still had a tendency to snicker whenever he was introduced or started going off on a ramble, Reid realised that he could use his mask that had slowly consumed him as an advantage, even in the field. He had lost count of the number of times that people hadn't deemed him a real threat, and had subsequently lowered their guards. His mask grew to the point where even his team had fallen for it.

And they claim to be profilers.

"Reid," JJ called out to him with what Reid could tell was a forced smile. "Hotch wants to see you in his office." Sure enough, he could see his unit chief gazing at him intently from the depths of his office, his eyes seeming to pierce into his own.

Reid huffed. "Did you do this?" he scowled, aiming a glare at Morgan. "Did you tell Hotch about…" he shot JJ an uncomfortable glance, "what happened this morning?"

Morgan exhaled heavily and looked away. "You know we all care about you, right?"

"Maybe you care too much," Reid replied, before hoisting his messenger bag up over his shoulder and marching straight to Hotch's office. He had an awful feeling deep in his core that he wouldn't be staying at work for much more of the day.

Hotch answered almost immediately as Reid knocked on the door. "Come on," the older man said without even looking up. As soon as Reid closed the door, he gestured to a chair right on front of his desk. "Reid, please take a seat."

The younger agent sighed; he could tell from the no-nonsense tone in his boss' voice that he wouldn't be able to escape this one. Shrugging his messenger bag off his shoulders, he promptly sat down and folded his arms, one eyebrow arched. "Well?" he asked sharply, wincing internally when his tone came out more biting than he expected.

Hotch sighed and put down his pen, looking Reid dead in the eyes. "Reid, you know we care about you."

"That's what you all keep telling me, at least."

"Lately, you've seemed off. You've been fatigued, weak, you collapsed once at work-"

"Has my job performance suffered?" Reid asked.

Hotch blinked. "No," he answered truthfully. "Your performance on the job has been exemplary as usual."

"Then why is my illness an issue?" Reid replied innocently.

"I'm speaking to you as a friend, Spencer, you've-"

"Reid," the younger agent interrupted. "On the job, my name is Reid. Not Spencer."

"Are you intimidated when someone addresses you by your first name?" Hotch asked, arching one eyebrow. Reid clenched his fists; his unit chief was seriously resorting to profiling?

"I merely find it unprofessional," he explained coolly. "You don't call Morgan or Rossi, or even Garcia by their first names. Why do you treat me differently?"

Hotch sighed and rubbed at his forehead. "Spen - Reid, your recent actions and behaviour has left the entire team very worried about your wellbeing. We know you've been ill, but with all due respect, we do know for a fact there is something you're not telling us, and as your unit chief, I need to know if you could potentially compromise a case."

"My actions have left you concerned?" Reid repeated disbelievingly. "So this is all my fault?"

"No, Reid! Stop putting words in my mouth!" Hotch could barely keep himself from shouting at the younger agent. "We're profilers, Reid. We know. What we don't know is why you won't tell us."

Reid laughed bitterly. "No, Hotch. You don't know. Nobody on this team could possibly understand what I'm going through. Don't forget that I'm a profiler too."

"Reid, do you have an eating disorder?"

Even though he had been expecting them, the words still felt like a punch to the gut. One part of him was so angry, angry at his team, angry at the world, angry at himself for not being able to cover it up. The other, smaller part of him felt strangely relieved, though he knew he still wouldn't be able to open up to anyone about his problem - because he did realise that's what he had, even if some people didn't think he did - just yet. Reid simply wasn't ready to feel so emotionally and mentally exposed in front of another person, not even his team. They'd seen the raw wounds left on him by his father, Hankel, Gideon, and every godforsaken unsub he'd ever sympathized with, but this? This was nothing compared to them. This was something he'd been struggling with for most of his life; it felt like it was a part of him now, something that could never be taken away. Reid knew it was dangerous to start thinking like the disorder defined him, but presently, he simply didn't care. He felt the small pinpricks of tears behind his eyes and he angrily blinked them away. Reid could count on one hand the times he'd ever cried in front of the team; not after Hankel, not after Gideon, not after Owen Savage. He would save the tears for later, alone in his apartment and binging on every single bite of food he could find.

"Where's your evidence?" Reid said, head held high. He wouldn't back down until he was presented with solid proof, something he knew Hotch couldn't provide.

"Collapsing at work. This 'sickness' you've been using as an excuse for everything lately. Constantly being fatigued and cold. Bundling up with a mountain of layers. Calluses on your knuckles. The fact that Morgan just caught you leaning over a toilet bowl, presumably vomiting. The attitude you've taken with me now, which is so jarringly different from your usual attitude that it's harder to not see that something is going on with you. Pick one." Hotch sounded tired, and for a second, Reid felt bad for putting the older man through so much worry. Then the unexplainable anger came back into play, and all reason on Reid's end was forgotten.

"Each of those can be easily explained without bringing eating disorders into the equation," Reid replied calmly.

"But when combined with each other, they provide a rather logical conclusion," Hotch finished. He leant forward heavily, resting his folded arms on the desk in front of him. "Reid, it's obvious that you have some kind of problem. I know that you're the type that internalizes his inner pain, but remember, we're all here to help you whenever you need it."

That was the final straw for Reid. "Really?" he asked, leveling Hotch with a cool stare. "I don't remember you being there for me back when I had PTSD from Hankel and could barely function as a human being without having to self-medicate with illegal substances. I don't remember anyone being there for me when Emily miraculously came back from the 'dead' and I was just expected to get over being lied to - and almost relapsing as a result - overnight. I don't remember anyone being there for me when the woman I loved was murdered in front of me, and you all expected me to be fine after a few months and a few false promises. I don't remember anyone being there for Elle, when her PTSD got so bad that she felt compelled to kill a man in order to feel just a little safer."

"We were always there when you needed us, you only needed to ask," Hotch began to explain tersely, but didn't get very far before Reid interrupted.

"Sometimes people are too afraid to ask!" Reid exploded. "You know my background, Hotch. People who have no support system as a child and as an adolescent are typically isolated in their adult years due to sheer force of habit and often find themselves lacking the ability to properly trust others, even in their closest social circles. They typically also develop self-esteem issues which serve only to further impair their social skills. I knew it would be obvious I had a problem after Hankel as soon as I returned to the BAU and found I could barely look at the crime scene photos without being triggered. What I didn't count on was having to deliberately ignore calls from the team and miss a damn plane to finally get someone to pay attention to me. Not that the advice Gideon gave helped me at all." Reid took a pause from his tirade to take a deep breath. "In the end, I got clean all by myself - how I've always had to handle things. I did it after Hankel, I did it after Emily, and I did it after Maeve. I can do it now, too."

Hotch stayed silent for a very long time, never once breaking eye contact with his subordinate. Finally, after a long minute of tense silence, he sighed deeply and clicked his pen. "In that case," he began, "I'm obligated to suspend you from work until your problem is resolved."

Reid felt his mouth drop open. "Excuse me?"he spluttered, feeling angry tears pricking the backs of his eyes again. "You want to suspend me based on what? You have nothing," he grated out, rubbing his eyes angrily with his forearm.

"No, but if I suspect you could be a liability in the field, I have every right to take you out of the team for an indefinite period of time," Hotch replied, fixing his younger agent with a serious stare. "Reid, we can all tell that you're not up to bat right now, and if I-"

"I wasn't up to bat after Hankel either!" Reid exclaimed incredulously. "Why the hell didn't you try and help me then? Or any other time I was struggling?"

"You have until noon, then you're officially on medical leave," Hotch answered impassively, bending back down to finish of his paperwork. "There will be no argument on this, Reid."

"You can't just put me on medical leave without my consent," Reid tried to argue, but Hotch fixed him with the deadliest glare Reid had ever seen.

"Morgan will be at your house by eight tonight. Be sure to let him in."

The room was silent for a few more moments. "Is this really it?" Reid's voice was soft and hesitant in the tense silence of the office. "I just have to…leave? Until when?"

Hotch's gaze softened. "Until you're better," he replied, giving his agent a small, tight nod.

"And what if I can't live up to your standards?" Reid challenged him, one eyebrow raised.

Hotch sighed. "Use your time off, Reid. Figure out what it is you really want. Morgan will be waiting."

Blinking half-formed tears away angrily, Reid sniffed and stood up, slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder. "You know," he began, absently scratching at the crook of his elbow. "Back when I first joined this team, I thought you'd always have my back. For a while, you did. You had everyone's backs. But then Elle happened, then Hankel, then Gideon, and…" Reid chuckled darkly. "Now I realise I was wrong."

He walked out of Hotch's office and strode down the steps to his desk with his head held high, swearing that someday, he'd be well enough to return.

I'll fake it if I have to.

Chapter Text

Reid stormed into his apartment, slamming the door behind him and throwing his messenger bag carelessly down onto the floor. "Who the hell does Hotch think he is?" he yelled into empty space, tears pricking his eyes once more. Too angry and beyond reason to care, he simply decided to let them flow down his cheeks as he immediately went for his fridge. It was disappointingly understocked when he opened it, mostly inhabited by leftovers from the Chinese takeaway that he'd had to endure a few nights ago when Garcia had insisted that they have a Doctor Who marathon. The rest consisted of was microwaveable noodles - which was for some reason, he'd decided to put in the fridge - and some weird kind of soda he hadn't had a chance to sample yet. Rolling his eyes, he grabbed the noodles, shoved them into the microwave and drank half the bottle of soda. His eyes watered from the taste - much too sour for his liking. Grimacing, he decided the taste didn't matter - only the feeling did. Sure, he felt uncomfortable cramming half his body weight in food into his mouth whenever he felt the urge, but the resulting purge gave him a feeling nothing else could replicate - the feeling of control. Control that Hotch had taken away.

Forget Hotch. Eat, drink, then figure out a solution.

The noodles weren't really hot enough for him to eat, but goddamnit, he wasn't ready to wait. He demolished the entire cup within minutes, moving on to the Chinese takeaways. Definitely not as fresh as they were on the night of the Doctor Who marathon, but he didn't care. Food was food. Bingeing was bingeing, purging was purging.

The next three hours Reid spent on the couch, feeling somewhat satisfied at having eaten every single edible item in his apartment. He watched nature documentaries on subjects he already knew mostly everything that they were talking about, if only for a distraction. He watched some kind of god-awful soap opera with a guy in it that looked kind of like a younger Morgan, Reid noticed with amusement. When he finally took a glance at the clock it read six-twenty-five - just over an hour and a half before Morgan came over and forced him to talk about things Reid simply wasn't ready to divulge.

God, could his team not understand that? He. Wasn't. Ready.

Reid didn't know if he'd ever feel ready. There was one last option he could try, of course, which right now, was really his only option.

He sighed, gathering his messenger bag, his phone, his badge. Left a note to the team on the table, along with his gun. Took one final look around his apartment, before sighing and turning to leave. "Well apartment, it's been fun," he muttered, tucking his hair behind his ears and closing the door behind him.

oOoOoOoOo

Three weeks earlier

Hotch practically leapt out of the SUV as soon as he sloppily parked it against the curb, immediately striding over to the detective in charge. The sirens of police cars wailed around them, the flashes of blue and red lights almost blinding to Reid. He'd gotten one of his migraines again - at the worst possible time. Typical, he snorted to himself. They always choose the worst moments to flare up, don't they? The dark sunglasses he was wearing did virtually nothing to stop the pain. God, he needed to purge badly. Bingeing and purging seemed to be the only things that helped the headaches now. Reid had a vague hypothesis that they showed up when he was under intense stress or worry, or a fundamental lack of control over his life, and that the purging tricked his mind into thinking he still had some semblance of control. Not that he really cared - if bingeing and purging was the only thing that eased the pain, then binging and purging was what Reid would have to do. Until he got better medication, at least.

"Detective Hadlow, what's the situation?" Hotch asked the detective, tone stern and commanding. Reid and Morgan both stood behind him, Reid not daring to look up any further in fear of the police car lights making his headache even worse.

The lead detective sighed and rubbed a hand over his forehead. "We've got our killer in there with a hostage, threatening to kill the poor guy if he doesn't get what he demands. We've tried negotiating, but to no avail. He wants a medic to patch up a bullet wound he received in the first standoff, won't accept anything else."

Hotch growled and paused for a moment to think. "All right. BAU, over here."

The team assembled quickly on the asphalt, Reid standing in between JJ and Morgan. He made sure to face away from the lights and sirens, trying to look up at his team while simultaneously keeping his eyes down. He noticed JJ looking at him with carefully masked concern and rested a hand on her shoulder briefly, before letting it drop back down to his side. No reason anyone else needed to see that he was this close to almost collapsing right there and then.

"Craig Elliot won't give himself up unless one of us goes in and talks him down," Hotch said quietly, glancing quickly up the others. "He's requested a medic for the bullet wound on his shoulder, and this might be our only chance to nail him. Reid, are you up to it?"

Reid blinked, feeling the curious gaze of his team members focused on him. "I…uh, sure," he muttered, shrugging helplessly.

Hotch fixed him with a serious gaze. "You don't have to if you're not up to it," he told his agent, though Reid could see the look in his unit chief's eyes. Reid was the only way the hostage could be saved.

"I can do it," Reid insisted, fiddling with his Kevlar vest's straps idly. "I have the most medical knowledge out of anyone on the team. I'm the most logical choice."

"Come on, Hotch. Reid's had a lot to deal with this year, he doesn't need this on his plate," Morgan interrupted.

"I can do it!" Reid insisted, a little more sharply than he intended. The look Morgan gave him bordered between surprised and hurt.

"Reid." Hotch fixed his youngest agent with a serious stare. "Are you comfortable with this?"

"Of course I am." Reid lifted his head and held Hotch's gaze for a few more moments, before his unit chief blinked and nodded.

"Then it's settled," Hotch announced, patting Reid on the shoulder as the team began to disperse around them. "Remember, Elliot is paranoid and in the middle of a psychotic episode. Play into his delusions, feed his fantasies. We want him convinced we're not the bad guy here. You're just the normal medic he requested to treat his bullet wound. You're not dangerous. Remind him that he can still be the good guy."

"I know all that," Reid The two shared a look, before Hotch clapped him on the back once more.

"I know you do." Hotch offered Reid a quick, blink-and-you'd-miss-it smile before leaving him alone, about to try and talk down a madman.

Detective Hadlow handed him a first-aid kit, complete with a medic's badge. "Good luck in there son," the older man murmured to him, taking Reid's gun when Reid offered it to him. "Sure you won't need this?"

"You don't need a gun to kill somebody," Reid replied with a grim smile. "Besides, the unsub will get suspicious when he sees me, a supposed medic, with a gun I shouldn't be authorized to carry."

"Fair enough," the older man nodded.

Reid dipped his head in reply, wasting no time entering the corridor leading to the area of the warehouse Elliot was keeping his hostage. The agent could hear their unsub before he could see him, the winces of pain and the occasional screamed profanities, presumably at the hostage. He kept quiet until he reached the doorway. Elliot had his back turned and was bent over the phone, listening to Detective Hadlow's announcement that a medic should be arriving to treat him very soon.

"Craig Elliot?" Reid called out softly, watching the panicked man whip around and point a gun straight at him.

"You don't look like no medic," Elliot snarled, his eyes wild and feral.

"I am one," Reid insisted, keeping his eyes trained directly into the unsub's own.

Elliot's eyes narrowed. "Take those damn sunglasses off," he growled, turning back to his hostage and slamming his cellphone against the floor, where the screen shattered into hundreds of glittering pieces. As he turned, Reid noticed the bullet wound that had penetrated Elliot's shoulder was bleeding again. Elliot must have somehow injured it waving his gun around, he deduced. Slowly, he obliged Elliot's earlier request, reaching up and taking his sunglasses off, placing them gently on the floor and waiting passively for Elliot's next order.

"Get over here," Elliot muttered, waving his gun in Reid's direction. The agent made his way slowly over to the unsub, approaching him with vast amounts of caution. The hostage looked up at him desperately with frenzied, bloodshot eyes, begging him to help him with a silent plea. Reid deliberately avoided the hostage's gaze; if Elliot saw him making eye contact, he would immediately be suspicious and his cover could be blown.

"Show me your badge," Elliot growled, gun still pointed towards Reid. Reid slowly took out the medic's badge from the first-aid bag and placed it on the ground, his actions slow and deliberate. Elliot grabbed the badge as soon as it left Reid's grasp and examined it closely, his attention towards Reid temporarily swayed. The hostage let out a muffled whimper and Elliot snarled, turning on him and thrusting his gun into his hostage's face. "Shut up!" he screamed, making Reid flinch and suck in a deep breath, concentrating on not trying to plug his ears. The unsub's excessive loudness and the bright overhead lights only served to make his headache even worse.

"You seem legit enough," Elliot snarled, turning his attention back to Reid. "Fix my arm, or I swear to God you will not leave this room alive."

"Okay," Reid said, trying to maintain his cool air, in an effort to subdue both the hostage and the unsub. "First, I need to clean the area."

"Whatever," Elliot sniffed, watching Reid cautiously as the agent reached into his medical bag. His eyebrows raised as he caught sight of Reid's hands, a twisted smile appearing on his lips. "Hey. I've seen that before."

Reid looked up at Elliot and blinked. "Excuse me?"

Elliot laughed and pointed to Reid's knuckles, and the slightly raw patches present there. "Your knuckles. I've seen that shit before back in high school. A girl I used to know had it too. Blonde, on the cheerleading team, super skinny…"

"It's not like that," Reid replied uncomfortably, but Elliot could obviously tell he'd hit a weak spot.

"I saw her do it once, you know," he interrupted. "At a party. I'd slipped out to have a smoke, she'd slipped out to stick her fingers down her throat and puke everything up. She didn't notice me." Elliot's face soured at the thought. "She never noticed me. Didn't even notice me sneaking up behind her to slit her throat."

Reid paled. Elliot's first known victim had been blonde, a former cheerleader, and had their throat slit. A medic wasn't supposed to know that, so Reid instead coughed politely and moved to clean the blood around Elliot's bullet wound. "A cat attacked me the other day," he tried, knowing how lame it sounded even as the words escaped his mouth.

"Oh no, boy. I know what you are," Elliot grinned cruelly at him. "You're one of those freaky bulimia people. Disgusting, that's what it is. Real menaren't worried about how damn skinny they are." Reid grit his teeth and tried to continue cleaning the wound while ignoring the unsub's ramble. "You must be one of those goddamn faggots," Elliot continued with glee, watching Reid's strained expression. "Yeah, that must be it. Disgusting trash. How screwed up do you have to be to even become like that? I bet you're alone. No girlfriend, no boyfriend. Nobody wants you." Reid sucked in a breath and threw down the cleaning wipes, reaching into his bag for a scalpel.

"I'm going to dig the bullet out now, okay?" he said quietly, though Elliot didn't hear him.

"I mean, look at you! You can't even look me in the eye, boy! I bet it was all your mother's fault. I bet she was a real whore, always bringing home men. Maybe that's how it all started for you, right? Your mother couldn't raise you - arrrrgh!" Elliot suddenly howled in pain as Reid raised the scalpel in a fit of pure anger, and stabbed it deep into his arm, blood spurting out of the new wound and splattering lightly against both of their faces. "You little bitch!" Elliot spat out, before howling in pain again as Reid jammed the scalpel directly into his eye. He fell to the ground clutching at his face, dropping the gun and leaving it for Reid to grab. The hostage howled from around his gag, watching the unsub writhing on the ground in horror.

"I'll kill you!" Elliot snarled, reaching for the gun in a last ditch attempt, all the while clutching at his now profusely bleeding eye. His outburst was silenced when Reid quickly aimed and shot in dead in the middle of his forehead. His eyes rolled back into his head as he slumped to the floor, all traces of life gone.

Reid let out a shaky breath and stared at Elliot's corpse, unsure and afraid of what he'd just done. He could very dimly hear the hostage screaming, the sounds of doors being kicked open and general chaos around him, the light weight of a hand on his shoulder, leading him away from Elliot's body and out of the warehouse. Through the strange cotton wool-like filter that seemed to be wrapped around his brain he could faintly recognise Morgan in front of him, lips moving. Even through the haze, it was still too damn bright. "My sunglasses," he frowned, moving his head slowly in an attempt to find them. He thought he could have heard Morgan say something along the lines of kid, we've found them, they're right here, but he couldn't really be sure. He looked down at his hands and faintly registered the still-wet blood coating them. As the general haze and confusion faded away, something else rose within him - sheer, unbridled panic. "Morgan?" he called out, voice high-pitched and much too strained for his own liking.

"Reid? Reid!" Instead of the faint, distant Morgan from before, this Morgan was too defined, too real, too close, no control, he just needed his own damn space for once, he just needed some time alone-

"Get it off me!" he shrieked, shying away from Morgan's firm grip and desperately trying to find anything to wash the blood off his hands. Everything seemed too real, too much for Reid to handle, and in that moment, the only true coherent thoughts Reid had were the ones that Elliot had told him.

Unwanted. Unloved. Disgusting trash.

oOoOoOoOo

Hotch winced as he glanced at the clock - five minutes past eight o'clock. Morgan should be at Reid's by now, he thought, wincing yet again as he thought of how he'd treated his younger agent earlier that day. Hotch knew that he hadn't dealt with the situation in an ideal way; he'd never been one who believed that the case always took precedence before the team. He'd failed to do anything about obvious trauma before, the most glaring of his mistakes being Elle after her assault. Pushed into a situation that forced her to play the victim and relive her ordeal a second time, all while on her unit chief's orders, had done a number on the capable, compassionate agent. Reid had been the same, his obvious PTSD and underlying drug problem being subjected to bystander syndrome by his very own team, the people who he considered his family. He'd only dealt with Reid so harshly before because frankly, he was terrified of making those same mistakes again. If he didn't deal with it now, what would happen later? What if it just snowballed into an even bigger problem and ended with tragedy?

Even so, his treatment of Reid during their confrontation was by no means acceptable. Forcing someone to talk about issues they don't feel confident talking to even with someone as close as their makeshift family would do neither parties any good. Hotch knew that. So why did he insist on suspending Reid in order to get him to talk?

Hotch sighed and rubbed at his forehead. Terror that the situation would spiral quickly out of control, he thought to himself. At least Morgan might get better results than me.

As suddenly as Morgan had appeared in his thoughts, his name appeared on Hotch's phone screen as his ringtone played. "Speak of the devil," Hotch muttered, taking the call. "Hotchner. Morgan?"

"Hotch, we have a problem," came Morgan's tinny voice.

"Which is?" Hotch asked, feeling panic rising from deep within his stomach.

"Reid. He's…he's not here, Hotch. There's a note, his gun, and…he's just gone."

Chapter Text

To the BAU,

I'm sorry for just taking off like this and leaving nothing but a note. I'm not pulling a Gideon here, but I'm not sure that I'll come back to the FBI, either. I need time to think about what I want to happen from here on without anyone hanging around my apartment or looking over my shoulder every two seconds. I don't know how long I'll be away for, or if I'll come back to Virginia at all, but maybe that's for the best. I do know that if I tell you where I plan to stay you'll just follow me there, and I really don't want you to. Instead, have Garcia put a track on my cellphone. It's turned off, of course, but you'll know when it turns back on, and that'll be when I'm ready to talk. Don't try and find me. I'll make contact in my own time.

- Reid

P.S - No, I have not been abducted by a serial killer and forced to leave a note. I'm not a child, and I'm perfectly capable of leaving my apartment without one of you to back me up without getting killed. Stop worrying about me.

oOoOoOoOo

In the short span of half an hour, the entire BAU team had assembled at Reid's apartment. Morgan must have read the letter over a thousand times before Hotch had shown up, the older man's eyes uncharacteristically raw and vulnerable. Morgan didn't know exactly what had happened that afternoon in Hotch's office but figured that it must have been Reid's catalyst, judging by the timing of his decision and seeing Hotch so on-edge and jumpy. Hotch read Reid's letter quickly, eyes moving quickly from left to right as he frowned.

"I take it your talk with him didn't go too well," Morgan grimaced.

Hotch sighed deeply, placing the note down on the table. "No," he replied, looking away. "Not at all."

"How so?"

"I screwed up," Hotch admitted after a slight hesitation. "I bullied him into taking leave. I didn't take any responsibility for failing to help him or Elle properly after their respective traumas. I barely even listened to him, Morgan. He has such a hard time trusting others now, what about now that I've effectively betrayed him?"

"Hotch, we all have a hard time trusting others, but if there's anyone in this team who can forgive and forget, it's Reid," Morgan told him.

"What about his father? Gideon? JJ, after Prentiss came back? It took a long time for the dynamics of the team to correct itself again. What if it doesn't this time?"

"Hotch? He'll be okay. Reid always is." Except when he's not, Morgan silently added, but Hotch already knew that. Morgan's words would be the closest thing Hotch would get to some kind of peace of mind until Reid returned, and for that, he was grateful.

JJ arrived next, the slight swelling of her bottom limp the only thing that betrayed the anxiety hidden under her stoic façade. Rossi arrived with her, immediately taking the note Reid left from the table where Hotch had left it and scanning it, his lips quirking into a smile at the end.

"Does he really think we'll think that?" he chuckled, setting the note back down.

"With the lack of faith I showed I had in him today, I wouldn't be surprised," Hotch muttered darkly.

"Thinking thoughts like those won't get us anywhere," JJ told him firmly. "Right now, we're focused on Reid."

"You want my honest opinion?" Morgan said thoughtfully, everyone's eyes turning to him. "I think we should let him take his time. I know that he's going through a really rough time right now, but tell me, apart from collapsing at work, when was the last time he's let it interfere with his wellbeing?"

"Are you saying that Reid's eating disorder isn't harming him?" Hotch raised an eyebrow.

"Not at all," Morgan interrupted quickly. "I just think we should give Reid more credit than we're giving him right now. He's like what, thirty-three now? He's a capable agent who has every right to take a holiday while he's on forced medical leave." He looked over to his unit chief. 'No offense, Hotch."

"I think you're right," Rossi nodded, gaze thoughtful and pensive. "Reid's not some hothouse flower. He knows what he's doing."

"That doesn't mean we can't worry about him," Hotch remarked.

"It's not like we'd be risking our careers by letting him go, either," JJ reminded them. "As far as the Bureau is concerned, Reid's on medical leave. What they don't know can't hurt them."

"Somehow I don't think Garcia will like this idea of letting Reid come back in his own time," Morgan sighed.

"And you'd be damn right!" came a familiar voice from the doorway. Garcia stood there, make-up slightly worn and hair looking frazzled. "What did he say?!"

"It's okay, babygirl," Derek soothed her, putting an arm around her. "Reid is fine. Here, he left a note."

Garcia snatched it from Morgan's hands and scanned it, eyes darting fiercely from right to left. "What does he mean, he might not come back!? He has to come back! He's part of our family!"

"Garcia…we've decided not to try and track Reid down." JJ winced as she saw Penelope's eyes widen.

"Why the hell not?!"

"Garcia, Reid has made it abundantly clear that he needs his space," Rossi began, "and we'd like to ask you to politely refrain from tracking him down."

"And with all due respect, Rossi, that's going to be a very hard thing for me to do," Garcia replied tautly. "I track people down. It's what I do for a living. And when one of my family is hurting and they're suddenly just gone, and I have the ability to find them and make sure they're okay, I just…"

"We know, Pen." Derek moved closer to her and put his arm around her shoulders as she started to sniffle, wiping at her eyes delicately and smearing her eyeliner slightly.

"We know it will be hard," Hotch told her, giving her a solemn stare. "But right now, the only thing Reid feels he has control over is what he eats and who he surrounds himself with, and taking away that control would only harm him. As I learnt earlier today," he added.

JJ exhaled, placing her hand son her hips and looking around the apartment. "So it's settled. We wait."

"What more can we do?" Rossi sighed. "The kid's nigh-impossible to track down if he doesn't want to be found, anyway. If we do look for him, we'd need the Bureau's resources, and in time, we'd be found out and Reid's cover would be blown."

Hotch nodded, grimacing darkly. "He left his gun here, but not his badge. He wants to let us know he's not a danger to himself, and that he's not resigning just yet. Reid will be okay."

"Was Reid okay after Tobias Hankel?" Garcia pointed out, and the room fell silent.

oOoOoOoOo

Spencer Reid was ten years old when he was a sophomore. The school was hesitant to let him skip ahead all those grades, but Diana Reid insisted, and so he was let in. The school had an excellent reputation for those students who needed extension work, or for those who were falling behind. They also had an anti-bullying policy and the PTA reportedly worked tirelessly to enforce those rules.

Of course, that was what it appeared to be on the surface. Anyone who actually attended that school would know that the teachers were often lazy, half of the students were maniacs, and the anti-bullying policy was very rarely enforced.

And you'd especially know it if you were Spencer Reid.

It had started as somewhat of a game for him before moving onto something that took over and controlled his life completely. His dad gave up on his family a few short months before Spencer started sophomore year, leaving a ten-year-old child to support both he and his schizophrenic mother. His dad deposited small amounts of money into their bank account every so often, but it wasn't enough to make up for abandoning him. Spencer had always thought he was weak and useless; wasn't that why his dad had left? Because he wasn't worth the time to take care of? Because he would never amount to anything? Because he would never be normal and strong, like other children his age?

That was how the game started. Spencer would set himself challenges; nothing big, just small things. How fast he could finish a novel. How much homework he could do in one night. How much food he could eat without throwing up. He always pushed himself too far with that last one, and usually lost the challenge when he did indeed end of vomiting from eating far too much junk food in a single sitting. Even though he lost, he enjoyed how it seemed like his feelings were disappearing down the drain.

Sometimes, when there was too much stress for a ten-year-old to handle and no way to relieve it, he made up new challenges. How deep he could cut without stopping from the pain. How much could he pick at his nails before they started to bleed. How long he could go without eating a thing. That last one he rather liked - the feeling of becoming empty, not giving in control, feeling strong. He was good at that challenge, he found. It made him feel sharper and more importantly, it gave him control.

It also made him easy picking for his bullies at school. There was one incident where a senior lifted Spencer straight into the air without any problem, before easily throwing him across the classroom. He'd broken several bones that day, and while he hated the pain and the feelings of weakness that came with it, he secretly loved it that he was small enough to be thrown across a room with no effort. While he may have been physically weak, he could be proud of his self-control.

Most of the time, anyway. There were times when Spencer was so hungry, and so desperate to feel anything other than the hollow pit in his soul, that he would give up and eat everything he could find in the house. When he had demolished everything he could find, he'd go out to the supermarket on his street corner and buy as much junk food as he could afford, before making his way back home and eating even more. The staff at the supermarket used to try and stop him from buying so much candy, but Spencer was smart, and had ways around them.

But after the initial high and elation that came with the feeling of being full again, came the feelings of self-loathing and disgust for himself. Disgust so strong and so volatile that it came in the form of extreme nausea and throwing up every last little thing he'd binged on, purging his body of the weakness that had momentarily consumed him. Each and every time that it happened he promised himself that it would be different next time, that he wouldn't give in to temptation and would instead remain pure and untouched, his self-control and discipline remaining strong.

It never worked. He always ended up bingeing again. It was a vicious cycle he only managed to break out of when he left high school at the age of twelve, and started college. He was so swept up in gaining degrees that he had no time left to try any challenges again, choosing instead to lose himself in a world of new knowledge and intellectual pursuits. When he was under intense stress or started getting too bored, he would relapse back into his old habits, but they were largely dropped. He still struggled with the feelings of self-loathing and shame, but chose to drown them in books and studies. There were significantly fewer bullies at Caltech than there were at high school, which made for a much more pleasant experience. While he still didn't eat much and was most certainly malnourished, he wasn't starving himself to the point where had no energy to do anything. He told himself that part of his life was over, that now that high school was over he would be the best Spencer Reid he could be.

It was a lie. He never really got better.

oOoOoOoOo

It was close to ninety degrees, Reid was incredibly tired, and he was stuck wearing a massively oversized jumper that made the heat even more unbearable. He'd forgotten just how hot summers in Vegas could be, much to his annoyance. The fact that he'd checked his email at an internet café and found about a dozen emails from Garcia only annoyed him further. Honestly, I don't know how I could have been any clearer about my not wanting them to contact me, he thought as he exhaled shortly, looking up at a sign for another internet café. The woman at the counter gave him a strange look as he walked in, which Reid didn't connect with the fact that he was wearing about fifty layers on a day that had a temperature roughly equal to the temperature of the flames in Hell, but he was soon set up with a computer and a connection.

He didn't know why he chose Vegas to visit first; if anything, he wanted to travel and see more of America, not go back to his hometown and revisit ugly childhood memories that mainly consisted of him getting beaten up and feeling self-conscious about his body. Kind of like his memories of the BAU, if one thought about it in a cynical light. Whatever. He didn't take a break to get angry about his past, he took it to try and find some kind of hope for his future.

He'd told Alex that he no longer felt the future was behind him. Now, he just had to find a reason to make that seem true.

Time to check up on an old friend.

Spencer was somewhat surprised when he saw that the friend he was Googling hadn't changed her name or even bothered to hide her new state of residence; after her ordeal, he would have thought she would have been more careful with her privacy. He'd have to ask her later, he decided. If she even wants to talk to me, he added bitterly.

She even had a Facebook profile, Reid discovered. She still looked the same, if not better - long, dark hair, piercing eyes, but a friendly kind of warmth about her gaze, even if she did look a little intimidating. Closer inspection of her profile revealed that she had no more than twenty accepted friends, and posted next to nothing about her private life. Best of all, Reid could see the state where she now lived, and therefore his new destination.

Elle Greenaway, 37, currently residing in Tampa, Florida…

oOoOoOoOo

Chapter Text

Reid had heard a lot of things about Tampa in his lifetime; sub-par public transport, no state income tax, and most of all, the heat. He was no stranger to heat, having lived in Vegas for about half his life, but had failed to realise just what living in Virginia for over ten years had done to erase his body's natural thermometer's progress. Now, walking down the streets of Tampa and carrying his oversized sweater in his arms, he realised just how unprepared he'd been. In an uncharacteristic moment of lack of foresight, he hadn't remembered to pack any short-sleeved shirts, or anything made of light material.

Fantastic. Maybe I'll die of heat before I ever reach Elle anyway, he thought, wiping the sweat from his forehead for the third time in sixty seconds. Upon researching her further, he'd found that she now managed a small antique store on an obscure corner. He'd never really thought of Elle as the type of person who would be interested in selling antiques, let alone the purchasing, trading and distributing of said antiques, but that type of thinking only served to lead Reid further down the path of just how little anybody from the BAU really knew about Elle.

Well, it's been nine years. I think it's safe to say I know even less about her now than I did then, Reid thought, stopping when he almost crashed into the very store he was looking for.

The door made a welcoming ding as he opened it. The profiler inside of him immediately hypothesized that it was a sign of hyper-vigilance, having a foolproof way of detecting when anybody who might be harmful walked into the store. The friend inside of him politely told the profiler to shut their trap and stop assuming things about people they hadn't met in nearly a decade. An elderly lady gave Reid a confused glance as he walked in, obviously wondering what a young thirty-something man with undeniably boy-band-looking hair was doing in a shop that sold items that would just collect dust on the average young man's mantelpiece. He gave her a small smile in reply, watching in bemusement as the lady hurried away.

"Tim? Is that you?" came a familiar voice from around the back of the store. Reid gritted his teeth and prepared himself for what would undoubtedly be an awkward and possibly physically painful meeting as Elle Greenaway emerged from the back room, keeping her eyes locked on the chipped vase she held in her hands. She didn't look that much different; she'd dyed her hair black, perhaps in an attempt to disguise her identity. She also looked a little thinner, although not unhealthily so. "I think we could fix it up pretty easily, but we've gotta handle it delicately, otherwise…" Elle stopped in her tracks as she finally looked up and saw Reid standing awkwardly at the counter, hands shoved into his pockets so she wouldn't see him fidget. Her eyes widened, and Reid would have thought it almost comical if her face hadn't paled as if she'd seen a ghost. "Reid?" Her tone was incredulous yet somehow pleading, like she was begging for it not to be him. Reid bit his lip and nodded cautiously. Some welcome.

"Uh…yeah," he stammered, wondering why he'd ever thought this had been a good idea.

Elle was completely silent for a few seconds as she simply took to staring at him in confusion and - was that bitterness? "Shouldn't you be chasing down some sick bastard?" she said snidely as she rested the chipped vase on the counter, refusing to break the eye contact with her former coworker.

"It's my vacation time?" Reid said, internally cursing for sounding so unsure of himself. Jesus. What must Elle think of me now?

"How did you find me?" Now Elle just sounds confused, and almost afraid. Not quite afraid. Elle Greenaway never showed fear. "Did Garcia track me down?"

"Actually…" Reid's throat constricted. "I did. I googled your name and birth year which gave me your Facebook profile, which gave me your state, which gave me a refined search area, which I then used to find an Elle Greenaway your age who owned this antique store, which…" He trailed off, seeing Elle staring at him like he was an alien.

Elle moved closer to him then, as if she was studying him like a scientist would observe an experiment - and then pulled him into a fierce bear hug that Reid was not at all prepared for. "Spencer goddamn Reid!" she exclaimed, and Reid was surprised to find himself hugging back. "How are you?"

Reid paused. "I've been better," he answered cryptically. "What about you?"

Elle shrugged. "Fine," she said, equally as cryptically. "What brings you here?" She stopped, eyes widening. "Please tell me you're not here to look at antiques. You're nerdy, but you're not boring."

Reid gave her a lopsided smile. "And what if I was?"

"Then I'd kick you out," she replied flatly, but the glint in her eye told Reid she was joking. "Hold on, I've gotta deal with something out back. Chris!" she shouted, making Reid flinch. "I'm taking that vacation time I turned down this morning."

Reid's eyebrows shot up as a voice sounded out from the back room. "The hell? I just fixed the shift roster! Do you know how long it took me to-"

"I don't know or care, I'm taking it," Elle replied back, grabbing a set of keys from her pocket and dropping them with a clatter onto the counter. "Remember to get Tim to fix the vase!"

"Elle, I swear to God if you walk outta here right now, you-"

"See you, Chris!" Elle replied back, and Reid swore that he could see a smirk on her face. She strode confidently towards the shop exit, beckoning Reid after her.

"What was that?" Reid asked as soon as they were out of earshot.

Elle shrugged. "Chris is a dick. He doesn't have the authority to fire me, but he thinks he runs the place. I enjoy winding him up."

"Do you usually treat him like that?"

"I have a habit of fucking up my career." Elle grimaced as soon as she'd said it. "Come on, we're going this way," she said, eagerly changing the subject as she practically pulled him down the street.

"Where exactly are we going?" Reid asked, speeding up his walking to keep pace with her. Had Elle always been such a fast walker? He bit his lip when he saw Elle's furtive glances over her shoulder, the way her shoulders were tensed even in broad daylight.

The scars don't go away.

"A café I frequent. They have the sweetest coffee I've ever tasted. Do you still use an entire twenty spoons of sugar in your coffee?"

The last thing Reid wanted to do was eat, but his stomach growled reluctantly as soon as the thought entered his mind. Damn it. Betrayed by my own meatpuppet. "It's increased, actually. I now have twenty-five spoonfuls of sugar with every cup."

Elle rolled her eyes fondly. "Come on, genius. Time's a wastin', and I don't trust Chris to get that damn vase fixed."

o o o

It had been a slow week for Derek Morgan without Reid there with him at the office. Despite the younger agent's reserved nature, he was also Morgan's only BAU companion in the bullpen until Blake's replacement was hired. By the time that seven days had passed since Reid had decided to take a hint from Gideon, Morgan missed him. Worse, he was bored. He'd do anything to hear some kind of interesting - yes, Morgan found them interesting - fact or statistic from Reid.

What he didn't want to hear was the news that seven people had been stabbed to death in two months, along highways in Oregon.

"Seven people in two months is a lot," Morgan noted, eyeing Garcia from his place at the round table. "Why didn't the authorities call us in sooner?"

"Pride. Stubbornness. Failure to realise the severity of the situation. Pick one." Garcia flicked to another slide. "This is Stacey Hann, twenty-three years old, last seen at a gas station. She's believed to be this unsub's next victim."

"She fits the unsub's type. Female, petite, green eyes," Rossi commented. "What percentage of Oregon's female population has that combination?"

There was an awkward silence, one that should have been occupied by a fact or statistic from their resident genius.

Goddamnit. They needed Pretty Boy back. The sooner, the better.

"All right. Wheels up in an hour." Hotch stood up from the round table as the team followed, then fixed Morgan with a glance. "Morgan, Garcia, I need to speak to you for a minute or two in my office."

Garcia looked toward Morgan with panicked eyes. What did you do? she mouthed silently. Morgan shrugged subtlety, aware of JJ's confused expression and Rossi's - was that sympathy?

Hotch had managed to disappear out of the conference room before anyone else, leaving Garcia and Morgan standing there as Rossi and JJ filed out, starting up a conversation about Henry. "Did we displease the King of Profilers?"

"He sure didn't look too happy," Morgan sighed, eyebrows raised. "I can't think of what I've done. Have you done anything illegal recently, like hack into Prince Harry's Facebook, or cheat yourself free Beyonce tickets?"

Garcia paused. "I did do this one small thing, I took a-"

Morgan held up a hand. "Baby girl, I love you, but if you confess something illegal to me, I'm gonna have to act on it."

She grinned. "Hmm. And what would that entail, exactly?"

"A cozy night spent in a prison cell, accompanied by a hunky security guard," Morgan suggested as they made their way to Hotch's office.

"Mmm. Sounds delightful," Garcia replied, silencing herself as the two approached Hotch's door.

Hotch looked less than amused as the two of them entered his office. He sighed and placed his pen neatly by a stack of paperwork, and gestured for them to sit down. They obliged, Garcia gazing intently at a photo of Jack and his father.

"He's getting so big!" she exclaimed. Morgan resisted the urge to cringe at her obvious attempt at distracting Hotch.

"Garcia, have you had any contact with Reid over this past week?" Hotch asked suddenly, frowning deeply.

Garcia paled, inhaling deeply. "No, sir," she said breathlessly. Morgan raised an eyebrow; while she might not have been lying, she was definitely hiding something.

Hotch too raised an eyebrow. "Have you made any attempt to find him?"

"…Yes." Garcia held Hotch's gaze, fingers drumming nervously against her knees.

Morgan blinked. "Well? How's he doing?"

"He's staying in a hotel in Tampa, Florida," Garcia began breathlessly. "I'm sorry, I just had to find out where he is, if he is okay-"

"Garcia, we specifically asked you not to track him down," Hotch began, but Garcia interrupted.

"I know! I know, okay? It's just really hard to focus on work when I know that one of my family is hurting, and I just…I needed to do it. I know it's an invasion of his privacy, but I promise you, it will not happen again."

Hotch gave her a solemn look for a while, then finally sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I'll hold you to that."

Garcia did a little excited-nervous gasp, smiling gratefully. "Thank you, thank you so much sir," she began to gush, but Hotch cut her off.

"I also found an interesting photo lying in full view on your desktop." Hotch's face remained stony as he pushed a screenshot of the accused photo over the desk they sat at.

Morgan leaned over to look at the photo and frowned. "Is that Hotch's faced photoshopped onto a-"

"A hedgehog," Garcia supplied quickly, face white. "Because, y'know….Hedgehotch*."

There was a tense silence.

"…Sorry Hotch, but that's Reid-level genius," Morgan grinned, looking over at Garcia. "Can you send me that?"

"Delete it," Hotch said immediately. "I hope to God no one else has seen it."

"…I sent it to JJ earlier this morning," Garcia replied, biting her lip. "I'm sorry."

Hotch sighed, running a hand down over his face. "How many other people have seen it-you know what, I don't think I want to know."

"Only us and JJ, I swear," Garcia nodded. Beside her, Morgan stifled laughter unsuccessfully.

"I like it. Hedgehotch for unit chief. Hedgehotch for President."

"Hedgehotch for the recycle bin," Hotch replied dryly. "Grab your go bags and head to the jet. We're late enough getting there as it is."

o o o

The fact that Elle's gone isn't really the worst thing. Reid can handle losing a friend. He's lost them before - Ethan being one of the most prominent.

No, the guilt is the worst thing.

Reid thinks he could have stopped Elle. He knows he could have stopped Elle. That night, when she'd offered him the drink, he took it without hesitation. He could tell she was surprised that he could tolerate straight gin. The truth is, Reid can handle a lot worse than just gin. Reid is no stranger to self-medication.

He didn't really understand it until it happened to him. Nobody does. Until Tobias Hankel snatched him away and changed him, he couldn't understand what it was like to feel someone's presence inexplicably inside of you, gnawing at your soul until you will do anything to get them out.

Elle and he are different, Reid eventually learns. Elle cracked, while he merely bent.

Chapter Text

o o o

The one good thing about the café Reid and Elle went to was the air conditioning.

They sat in the far corner in between a potted plant and a large window plastered with posters and advertisements. The potted plant was attracting a few flies in the hot weather, so Reid let Elle take that seat and instead sat with his back to the window. He didn't miss the way that her eyes rarely met his; she was too busy scanning the window behind him, eyes shifting from left to right. More signs of hypervigilance, his brain automatically supplied.

Elle glanced at the menu, fingers tapping idly against the wooden table. "So, what are you thinking of getting?"

Reid shrugged. He wasn't really hungry, his stomach having shrunk from his eating habits. "Just a soda, I think. I ate before I got here."

Elle looked up at him. "You sure? You ate like a pig nine years ago."

"No I didn't!" he protested, but it was in good spirit. Elle smiled and stood up.

"I'll go and order the food, you stay here and keep the seat," she said, taking her purse out of her bag. "And watch this," she added, tossing her bag at him. Reid caught it roughly, watching as she left for the counter. The glint of something metal inside the bag caught his eye, curiosity suddenly overwhelming him. Do I really have enough guts to go through Elle's bag? he wondered, hesitating as his finger rested on the half-opened zip. It's probably just a necklace or something.

…Screw it, I'm opening it anyway.

There wasn't as much in Elle's bag as he'd expected there would be. He deliberately avoided the metallic object he'd seen until he'd felt around in the rest of the bag, though the anticipation soon got the better of him. Wincing at the feeling of invading Elle's privacy, his eyebrows shot up as his fingers curled around the barrel of a gun.

A gun? Why does Elle have a gun in her-

Somebody tapped him on the shoulder suddenly. "Are you looking through my bag?"

Reid shook his head and thrust the bag back at her. "Nope," he replied, thankful that he could keep his voice at a reasonably level pitch.

She raised an eyebrow. "Right," she replied, sitting back down. "Ten to fifteen minutes for the food. Or in your case, a soda. Not even a smoothie."

"And what did you order?" Reid asked pointedly.

Elle frowned. "A bagel, but that's not the point." She took her bag back from him and zipped it shut so that the gun couldn't be seen. "So, how are you really?"

"I'm good, thank you," Reid said politely, unconsciously biting his lip. He made a mental note to try and stop that particular habit as soon as he got the chance. Too much risk that someone will notice. Especially a former profiler.

Elle raised an eyebrow. "Really? Because you look like shit."

Reid's eyes widened. "Um…okay? I guess I look-"

"No, I mean you look ill," Elle emphasized. "Your hair and clothes are fine. Better, even. But that doesn't mean a thing when you look like you're about to faint."

Do I really look like I'm about to faint? Reid wondered, before realizing he felt like he was about to faint. Over the past few weeks, that feeling had become the norm for him, seemingly without realizing it. The thought both disturbed him and made him pleased. That means I'm doing it right, something inside his mind told him. He did his best to ignore it, instead resting his chin in his hand.

"I feel fine," he replied, trying his best to sound confused.

"No you don't, Reid," Elle replied, twisting her mouth. "Look, you don't have to tell me what's wrong. We haven't seen each other in nine years. Anything could have happened during that time."

Reid grimaced. "Yeah. A lot of interesting stuff happened after you left."

"To both of us, it seems." Elle smiled bitterly, twirling a salt shaker on the table. "I don't feel comfortable sharing all of it."

"Neither do I."

"…But a little bit of talking with friends often helps," Elle replied, voice softening. "You can trust me."

Reid looked away and sighed, opting to stare out the window rather than focus on Elle. "I have…trouble eating sometimes. When I'm stressed, angry, lonely. And these days, it seems like I'm feeling like that more and more of the time."

Elle nodded slowly and looked him in the eyes, forcing him to do the same to her. "And you know that type of behaviour isn't healthy."

"Yeah, I know. Logically. Doesn't stop me from going through with it," Reid snorts, biting his lip. "It's just…People think I'm a logical person, and I guess I am. I used to believe that the answer to any problem can always be found with nothing but sheer logic. But what I'm going through now…even when I know it isn't logical, that I don't have to purge every time after I eat, that I don't have to starve myself on a semi-regular basis to prove I can hack it…it still gives me comfort. I know it shouldn't be, but I don't know how to stop. I don't know if I can."

Elle takes a moment to process his words before sighing and leaning forward on her elbows, her voice lowering. "Reid. I only knew you for a little more than a year, but in that year, you proved yourself to be one of the strongest people I've ever met. I know you don't think that's true," she said firmly, holding up a hand as Reid began to protest, "but trust me, it is. And I know that you can deal with anything that comes your way."

Reid was silent for a while before he began to speak, voice quiet. "About six months after you left, something bad happened on a case. I was pretty messed up after it. Drugs made it easier, and I ended up getting addicted." He grimaced bitterly. "So, how strong am I now?"

If Elle was surprised that Reid was a recovering addict, she didn't show it. "Anyone who can beat addiction is a strong person in my books."

"Does that include you?" Reid asked pointedly, inhaling deeply when he saw Elle's microscopic flinch.

"Yeah. Believe it or not, I stopped drinking. Got myself a job I enjoy, one where my life isn't in danger. I'm still freaked out by some things, and I don't always feel safe, even now. That's why I keep a gun in my bag." Elle laughed as Reid blushed. "Yeah, I saw you looking in my bag earlier."

"I'm sorry," Reid said sheepishly, fingers drumming nervously on the table.

"Don't be. I'd go snooping around in someone's bag if I thought they had a gun in it too." Elle paused. "Listen, Reid. The team gave me chances to talk, and I never took them up on it. You know what happened to me. Don't make the same mistake."

Reid nodded slowly, thinking over Elle's advice. "I actually came out here to escape them. Hotch wasn't being very…understanding."

Elle smirked. "I know the feeling." She straightened up, flexing her shoulders. "Listen, Reid. I don't know how long you're in town for, but I'm always willing to talk. I'd actually like to talk more, to be honest. You know where I work, and Garcia probably knows where I live."

"…Thank you. I think I do too," Reid smiled, feeling genuine happiness that he hadn't felt for a long, long time.

o o o

Chapter Text

They'd spent a good part of an hour just sitting at the table, having let themselves fall into easy small talk. Reid still felt slightly dizzy and only took small sips of his soda, having drunk about half of his by the time Elle had finished her entire bagel. He was almost sure it had escaped her notice until she sighed heavily and sat up straighter.

"You mentioned your team wasn't being very understanding."

Reid shrugged. "Not all of the team. Mostly Hotch just being his business-oriented self."

"I can understand that." Elle glanced outside, as if she was making sure Hotch wasn't outside listening. "He can be that way."

Reid shifted uncomfortably in his seat, recalling the events that had lead to Elle's departure from the team, and her fight with Hotch right before it. "He's mellowed out in recent years. Possibly."

Elle smiled faintly. "So not the whole gang, then. Has the team even changed since I left?"

"A lot of things happened after you left," he replied, somewhat uncomfortably. "I mean, it's been almost ten years."

"A lot of things could be anything."

"They weren't exactly what I'd call good things."

"I wouldn't expect anything less from such an unhappy bunch of people." She gave a small laugh at Reid's frown. "What? I mean, you can't tell me I'm wrong."

Reid leaned back into his seat, feeling more and more tired by the second. "JJ found herself a husband," he told her with a smile. "And a son. Morgan's in a long-term relationship, Garcia appears to be in one again. Gideon…retired."

"Happily?"

"Hopefully," he replied after some consideration.

"And then there were two." Elle leant back and tapped her fingers against the table. "Spencer Reid and Aaron Hotchner."

"Um." Reid paused awkwardly for a second. "Hotch…he divorced Haley. So he was single for a while, he's seeing someone now." He decided not to tell Elle about Foyet; as much as he disliked Hotch right now, he wasn't about to share that with someone his boss wasn't exactly on great terms with.

"Ouch. Still, nice he's seeing someone again. What about you?"

He shrugged, "Single. Not quite ready to mingle." Reid rested his chin in his hand, suddenly feeling dizzy and slightly nauseous. It would pass in time; those bouts of sickness always did. He just needed to get something quickly into his system, and he'd purge it later. It would be fine.

"Not one person?" Elle replied in slight disbelief. "I mean, I know you think otherwise, but you're not ugly."

"There was one," Reid muttered, chin still resting in his palm. "Didn't work out. Still single." Just not by choice.

Elle sensed the bitterness in his voice and decided to change the subject. "Those waitresses aren't being very subtle wanting us to leave," she remarked, flashing the sweetest smile she could muster at a disgruntled-looking waitress staring in their direction. "We should probably leave now."

"Agreed," he said, starting to stand up. The room span, and he could feel his legs suddenly give way. He grabbed onto the edge of the table with shaky arms, breathing heavily and focusing his attention on a spot on the ground. Deep breaths. Stay focused. You're fine. He only looked up when he felt a steadying hand on his forearm; Elle was looking at him with concern, holding him up.

"Jesus Christ, what the hell?" she asked, with a hint of incredulity.

"I'm fi-" he began, but Elle cut him off.

"Oh, Don't give me that I'm fine bullshit, you ridiculously self-sacrificing man. You look like you're gonna pass out."

"Thanks," Reid muttered, rolling his eyes. "What a compliment."

"Do you need to eat?"

"I already said I-"

"Do you need to eat?"

Reid gulped. "You know, you can be very intimidating when you want something."

"Yeah. That's what all my exes say."

"I wonder why I'm not surprised by that statement at all."

Elle rolled her eyes and exhaled shortly. "Right. If we order more food now the employees here are going to think we're weird. We're going to walk to the nearest fast food joint, we're going to order a huge platter of food, we're going to sit down together and eat it all and we're going to fucking enjoy it because right now we all need to eat and eating when you need to is a healthy habit that I'd expect geniuses would have. All right?"

Reid nodded, immediately regretting it as the room began twisting and turning again. "I don't…" he muttered, pressing a hand to his forehead as his dizziness grew and grew. "I don't think I can walk."

Elle's eyes widened. "Okay, sit back down before you break something. Please," she said, keeping a steady hand on his arm.

"I…" he muttered, before giving up on speaking and focusing all his energy into not keeling over onto the floor.

"Reid? Spencer!" he heard Elle exclaim. The last thing he felt before hitting the ground was his friend's hand on his arm, and then there was nothing but silence.

You'll be fine…

o o o

CalTech, 2002

Reid hunches over his fifth stack of papers for that day, inching his way through them piece by piece. It's after five o'clock in the evening, and the library at CalTech is close to closing for the day. He doesn't care; the librarians trust him enough to be able to give him the keys to lock up himself.

"You look like you're having fun there," a voice comes from behind him. Spencer stifles a gasp of surprise and turns around, instinctively covering his work. A man around fifty years old is standing behind him with an unreadable expression.

"You're Jason Gideon," Reid realises with a start. The older man smiles with - is that amusement?

"I am," he says, and promptly sits down opposite Spencer without warning. "What's all this for?"

"Research position in the government," he replies, somewhat uncomfortable. "This is data on spree killers in the last ten years."

Gideon takes the paper from under his hands without asking and studies it, a quizzical look on his face. "Those are some pretty difficult numbers there. Ever thought of taking Harvard's Math 55?"

"I don't particularly relish the thought for working for the NSA."

"Does anybody?" Gideon asks. Reid chuckles a little, more for Gideon's own benefit than anything else. He doesn't bother with a reply, but as the silence lingers between them Gideon doesn't say a word.

"I'm sorry, but…why are you here?" Reid asks abruptly as the silence becomes unbearably awkward..

"I saw you attending one of my lectures," the older man explained, and Reid felt himself blushing even further. "You rushed out quickly in the middle of one, and I was intrigued as to why-"

"I'm not sick," he interrupts, watching Gideon's face evolve into one of mild surprise. He remembered it all too clearly - the feeling of suddenly needing to purge, suddenly needing control. He'd managed to sneak in the back after his trip to the bathroom, but apparently his escape hadn't gone unnoticed like he'd intended.

"I wasn't implying you were. I was just worried about you," Gideon replied impassively.

Reid shifts uncomfortably under the older man's gaze. "Well, I was fine. Thanks, I guess."

"You didn't sound very enthused about your research position before," Gideon notes.

Reid shrugs. "It pays the bills. Not very well, but it pays them."

"I think I know somewhere better for you," the older man begins to propose, straightening in his chair. "Good money, good experience, you get a nice badge. You'd be perfect."

Reid bites his lip and leans forward, resting a hand on his chin. "Go on."

o o o

There were bright lights, an eerie silence, and a large, blurry figure hovering above him.

"Gideon?" he rasped, eyeing the figure blearily.

"Elle, genius," came the reply, and he felt something whack him lightly on the arm. Sure enough, Elle was standing over him, an incredibly disapproving look on her face.

"Where am-" he began, only to be interrupted.

"The hospital," she said, sitting down in a plastic chair beside him.

He struggled to sit up, but sat back down when he saw Elle's glare. "You took me to the hospital?"

"Of course I took you to the goddamn hospital. You think that you'd collapse to the floor and I'd just run off into the sunset? That I'd let you die?"

Reid swallowed awkwardly, careful not to let Elle see his wince as he felt the roughness of his throat. "I-"

"Because that's what could have happened. You could have died." Elle's tone wasn't so light-hearted anymore. "There weren't enough red blood cells in your system due to a lack of nutrients. Something about that guilty expression you're wearing right now makes me think this has happened before."

Reid couldn't quite look her in the eye. "It has."

After a few seconds of quiet, she cleared her throat. "I phoned your team," she announced bluntly, filling the tense silence.

Reid's eyes widened. "You did what? Why?!" he asked, scrambling to sit up in his bed.

"Also, since they told me you would - lie down, for Christ's sake - since they told me you would wake up soon, I took the liberty of having someone on standby waiting to talk to you," she responded primly, picking up Reid's phone from the bedside table and handing it to him. "Say hello to the BAU Boy Brigade."

Reid took back his phone wearily. "Boy brigade?" he muttered, but pressed call anyway. "H-hello?" he answered, cursing internally as he stuttered.

There was a flurry of activity on the other end of the line. "Uncle Spence!" a voice shrieked directly into his ear.

Reid squinted. "Henry?!" he exclaimed, giving Elle an incredulous look. She simply shrugged, motioning for him to continue. Just go with it, she mouthed.

"Give me that!" came a separate voice. There was some kind of distant scuffle between the two voices and Reid suspected that someone had taken the phone off Henry. The scuffle ceased and there was a breathless sound of excitement.

"Spencer!" came another familiar voice.

Reid's eyes widened. "Jack!?"

"Yep!" he replied cheerfully. "When are you coming home? We miss you!"

"Uh…" he stammered, giving Elle a panicked glance. She only raised her eyebrows in response.

Jack continued, oblivious to the awkwardness on the other end of the line. "Are you coming back soon? Henry's been really lonely with just me around."

"Yeah," Reid answered slowly, watching as Elle's smirk turned to a genuine smile. "Yeah, I'm coming home soon."

Jack gasped audibly. "Really?!" he shrieked. "Henry! Henry, he's coming back!"

There was a faint gasp of really?! from in the background, and hurried footsteps running from the room in excitement. There goes Henry telling his mom, he thought. No backing out of it now, then.

"Do you promise? Henry'll get upset if you don't," Jack warned him.

"As soon as I can, Jack. I promise," he replied, finding himself smiling faintly as he heard Jack's cheers on the other end of the line.

"Great!" the child exclaimed. "I gotta do homework now, so I can't stay. Hurry back!"

"See you soon," Reid said somewhat weakly, still slightly shocked at being won over so easily. Jack hung up, leaving only Reid and Elle.

"You made a promise," Elle reminded him. "To a ten year old boy. Break that now and you're basically scum."

Reid turned back towards Elle and gave her a mockingly disapproving look. "You're a manipulative one, Greenaway. But still, thank you. I…I think I needed that," he admitted, giving her a tentative smile.

Elle returned his grin. "Anything for the team."

o o o

Chapter Text

Reid’s stay in the hospital was thankfully, only a short one. He enjoyed this for two main reasons; the first was that staying in a bed all day made him want to take his gun to his head and pull the trigger many, many times. The second was that he only had to endure a minimal amount of hospital small-talk with his team, in which he did nothing but bury his head in a book while the team hovered around him, waiting for him to initiate a real conversation (which he would never do in a million years.) He wasn’t actually reading - he was far too anxious to really concentrate enough to get through even a page - but the team wouldn’t realise that. While he had already been dreading the day that his admittedly poor nutrition would bite him in the ass, in reality it had been so much worse. In some ways he did feel better, like a huge weight had been lifted off of his shoulders, but as soon as he looked at one of his co-worker’s faces and saw the undisguised pity it felt as if that weight had rolled right off his shoulders and settled straight into the pit of his stomach, the sensation unfamiliar after spending so long without any real weighted feeling there.

 

Reid always knew that his lifestyle wasn’t sustainable. Years of extreme restraint in a diet combined with a distinct lack of physical activity would weaken anyone physically, but Reid was even more prone to illness than most, and had been more harshly affected than he would have hoped. In a way, his eventual exhaustion gave him some sick sense of relief; the fatigue reminded him he was human, that he was a real person who deserved things, was allowed to want them.

 

Despite his vast amount of knowledge and information retained from all sorts of medical textbooks and self-help guides, Reid had never been able to figure out the core issue behind hIs apparent eating disorder (though he didn’t exactly apply the term to himself. Nor did he really know how a doctor would diagnose him, supposing he visited one; to his understanding, a diagnosis of anorexia nervosa would require Reid not realizing just how thin he was. He had no such delusions about his body, being able to clearly see the way his ribs were starkly outlined against his skin, how sharp and angled his body had become. Bulimia nervosa would be a much better-fitting diagnosis given his habit of purging, but even so required the patient to be unduly influenced by their weight. No, his eating habits were too uninfluenced by his perception of his weight for him to be diagnosed with one of the more commonly known eating disorders. He supposed he would be a slight anomaly if any doctor were to examine him, as the research he’d done on eating disorders had mainly focused only on those two, mixed with a little of binge eating disorder. It made him smile, in a bitter kind of way. After all, Spencer Reid had never been one to try and fit in.

 

o o o

 

The hospital bed was cold, lumpy, and the mechanism that lowered the bed had been broken for half an hour.

 

Reid bit his lip in frustration, pulling uselessly at the lever. If there weren’t nurses coming in every thirty seconds making sure he wasn’t running around and wasting precious energy, he would be out of bed and fixing it (and probably making improvements to its design in the process). The lever refused to budge, and he collapsed back down onto the bed in frustration. Surely a nurse will be here soon to make sure I haven’t died, he thought, crossing his arms and gazing out of the window. Then maybe something will get done around here.

 

As if on cue there was a knock at his door, which one of the nurses had kindly closed at his request.

 

“Who is it?” he called out listlessly, picking up a book so he had an excuse not to look at whoever came through the door.

 

“It’s Penelope,” came a familiar voice. The door was pushed open as Garcia poked her head in, eyeing him with poorly-disguised concern. That was the worst part of it all - the looks his friends gave him, the ones filled with pity. In his nightmares, the pity turned to disappointment.

 

“Come in,” he sighed, after pausing long enough that he realised Garcia wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon unless he went to the trouble of calling a nurse in.

 

“Uhm, Jack and Henry were wondering if they could come and see you again sometime tomorrow,” she asked, pulling up a seat next to his bed. Reid could see she was trying hard to keep the anxiety out of her voice.

 

“That’s fine,” he answered dully, preferring to gaze out of the window stubbornly instead of facing her directly. He knew it probably crushed her, but it had been less than an hour since Morgan had left and he didn’t feel like putting on a pretense just so he could protect her feelings.

 

“So...whatcha up to?” she asked after an awkward silence, only serving to up the already-thick tension in the room.

 

“I was going to try and sleep, but the mechanism that lowers the bed is stuck,” he muttered. “I suppose sleeping at one-twenty-three in the afternoon is slightly pathetic.”

 

“I could go get someone if you want,” she offered quickly, but Reid raised a hand in protest.

 

“No, it’s fine. I’ll get it eventually.” The two settled into another tense silence for a minute, before Garcia cleared her throat.

 

“There’s something I thought you should see,” she announced a little awkwardly, sitting down on a chair beside him - the one next to the window, he noted - and keying in a few words on her laptop. She spun the screen around on her lap so he could see, and he leant forward slightly to view the image.

 

Reid squinted. “Is that...is that Hotch’s face on top of a-”

 

“Hedgehotch!” Garcia exclaimed with visible - and possibly a little disturbing - glee. “I thought you might appreciate a fine work of art.”

 

“I’m not sure that’s appreciation I’m feeling,” he mused. “But it’s definitely a work of something.”

 

“You’re struck with awe, deep inside. I can feel it.”

 

“May I ask about the backstory to this? Assuming there is one.”

 

“Nothing really,” she smiled. “It was a terribly slow day and I had a sudden hankering for harmless fund and create Photoshoppery. I thought it might cheer you up a little,” she added hopefully, waiting to gauge his reaction.

 

He gave her a small smile - one that was half-exaggerated, but still a smile. “Well, I think it worked. Thanks.”

 

o o o

 

Unsurprisingly, the next solo visitor to his room was Hotchner.

 

The beginning small talk was less awkward than Reid had originally envisioned it to be. He asked about Jack, Hotch told him about his schoolwork, Reid corrected him on everything he got wrong with it. For a few blissful minutes, everything seemed to be back to normal. Eventually, Hotch sighed and rested his elbows on his knees, leaning forward on the flimsy hospital chair. “I think we need to have a serious discussion, Spencer.”

 

Reid’s mouth tightened. “Again with the first names, I see.”

 

“If I treat you like an employee, would you even bother listening?” Hotch retorted.

 

Reid’s mouth quirked. “No, probably not.”

 

“You’ve let it affect your work when you promised it wouldn’t.”

 

“I thought you just said you weren’t going to treat me like an employee,” Reid replied, holding his boss’ gaze evenly.

 

“No, you’re right. I’m treating you like a friend who broke a promise they made to me.”

 

“That seems harsh given my current situation.”

 

“And what is that current situation?” Hotch asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Why don’t you tell me? Since you seem to know so much about me already.”

 

There was silence for a few more seconds, and Reid could see Hotch had paused in order to phrase his next sentence as delicately as possible. “That you have a mental illness. Would I be correct in saying that?”

 

“That would depend on who you were talking to.”

 

“The team agrees. Psychologists agree. The doctors here suggested it more than once,” Hotch added, raising Reid’s eyebrows.

 

“They’ve never met me before,” he replied, but Hotch interrupted.

 

“You haven’t properly uttered the phrase eating disorder not even once in this discussion. You’re avoiding the issue.”

 

“So it’s an issue because you believe it’s one. My view doesn’t matter, clearly.” Reid shrugged. “Sometimes I eat a lot. Sometimes I barely eat for weeks. Depends on what I feel like,” he added, watching Hotch’s expression change to one of undisguised concern.

 

“And that as never struck you as strange, or unhealthy?”

 

“My eating habits are only disordered when you compare them to the general populace. Who’s to say who is right? Maybe they’re the ones doing it wrong.”

 

“You think that because you’re a genius you can pass off a legitimate mental illness as a part of your intelligence?” Hotch questioned, eyebrows furrowed.

 

“I am the one with the degree,” Reid replied with a hint of a smirk. It quickly disappeared when Hotch leaned forward, hands braced on his knees.

 

“Look, Reid,” he started. Reid noted that he had reverted back to a last name basis. “We all want you to get better.”

 

“If that were true then you wouldn’t have told the nurses to check on me constantly,” Reid remarked dryly. Hotch’s eyes widened slightly at that, making Reid’s roll in return. “It was obvious,” he explained. “I figured Elle hadn’t asked for it, since she has actual tact .”

 

“And if we hadn’t cared about you we wouldn’t have flown all the way out here and booked a hotel just to see you,” Hotch remarked.

 

“You didn’t have to do that anyway.”

 

“Well, we did.”

 

There was another tense silence before Reid finally breaks it.

 

“I want to come back to work as soon as possible,” he said, though both of them knew it was a discretely-phrased question.

 

Hotch sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Of course you do. Reid. You always do.”

 

o o o

 

"Are you sure you’re ready to leave the hospital yet?" Morgan asked, tapping his fingers against his crossed arms impatiently as he waits with Reid in the line at the pharmacy. He’d eventually been given a prescription for low blood pressure after assuring his team (having stayed in Florida with him and starting up many an awkward conversation) he would seek professional help back in Quantico. It wasn’t exactly a lie when he’d said that; while he definitely wanted to visit for the sake of knowing how exactly his eating habits would be classified, he had no real desire to change his eating habits. Of course he didn’t. His body was the one that needed the fixing, not his diet. Human beings are made to adapt, and his body would eventually cope with his diet. He hoped.

 

"Of course," Reid answered back equally impatiently, peering out to see how close he was to the counter. "I didn't think the line would be this long on a Sunday morning. Apparently nobody in Florida goes to church."

 

The older man nods in agreement. "Some of these people look like they need Jesus," he added darkly, peering at a woman who was bottle-feeding her baby what looked like cola.

 

"That's abnormally judgemental of you," Reid remarked dryly, turning his attention to the woman. "And that's a lot of calories," he added under his breath before he realised Morgan would hear him. Thankfully, his friend didn't appear to hear him, and instead cleared his throat to grab Reid's attention. Normally he wouldn’t have necessarily cared about the calorie content of foods, but the fact that a baby was drinking it had raised some suspicion.

 

"Wanna do a profiling exercise?" Morgan suggested lightheartedly after a beat of silence.

 

Reid’s eyebrows raised. "Such as?”

 

"Uh…" The older man furrowed his eyebrows. "Profile the person at the counter based on what they’re buying."

 

"So basically, invade a stranger's privacy and guess what illness someone has by their medication? That's like looking through a witness' bathroom cabinet at their house when we're interrogating them. Low.”

 

"But also possibly helpful.”

 

“In zero point zero zero one percent of cases, maybe.” The line was moving slightly faster now,

 

"I’m in line too. If we end up profiling all these people as freaks, how do you think that makes me feel?” Reid asked pointedly.

 

“It was never a serious suggestion,” Morgan eventually replied, and their conversation was replaced by a tense silence. Reid finally got to the counter and gave Morgan a pointed look that said please go away while I get this and spare me possible embarrassment , to which the older man obliged. He slid the prescription over the counter and cleared his throat to talk. His voice had gotten scratchy over the last few months as a result of the constant purging and irritants he ingested to induce it, though he was mostly able to hide it by drinking water and using throat lozenges.

 

“Spencer Reid, fludrocortisone?” he started, watching as the pharmacist skimmed over his prescription.

 

“Yes,” she nodded, grabbing a white bottle of pills from a shelf behind her. “That’ll be fifteen dollars.”

 

“Sure,” he replied, digging around in his bag for his wallet. His vision suddenly blurred, and he grabbed onto the counter to steady himself. The ground lurched violently even as he did so, and from the corner of his eye he felt Morgan rushing over and grabbing his arm. He shook his head and brushed it off him, leaning on the counter and handing over the money.

 

“Oops,” he offered lamely, blinking to try and clear his vision. The room was still spinning slightly, and his stomach felt almost painfully empty. Morgan had tried to convince him to eat during the wait for the prescription, but Reid had refused. Now Morgan would be insufferable for the rest of the day, hounding him to eat something more than a few mouthfuls of hospital food; while he’d been fed through a tube for the first day, since then he had been allowed to eat on his own. Not that he really had.

 

“Jesus Christ,” the woman exclaimed, before returning to her previous professional manner. “No charge after that. Just take it,” she says, pushing the bottle of pills towards him. “You look like you need it.”

 

Reid blinked, pushing off Morgan’s hands and nodding his appreciation to the chemist. “Thanks,” he muttered, cheeks flaming with embarrassment. Morgan gave him a look that clearly said what the hell are you doing, you just got out of hospital, did they forget to fix you there or something and the younger man made sure not to make eye contact with him. The dizziness hadn’t quite faded by the time they reached the carpark, and Reid wasn’t looking forward to the long car ride to the airport, which would no doubt be filled with screaming children and angry fliers whose flights had been cancelled.

 

“So that didn’t look like a man who’s ready to leave the hospital,” Morgan commented after he was seated comfortably in front of the steering wheel.

 

Of course. Of course he fucking went there, Reid cursed internally. He’d been waiting for his coworker to comment on his little stumble the entire walk over to the car, but he’d let his guard down as soon as they’d actually stepped into it. In hindsight, it was a foolish thing to assume that the older man would be kind enough to prod at him.

 

“Don’t be an asshole about it,” he muttered, slamming the car door behind him.