After the Revelations - IV
Warning: As I've already noted in the first post, this story necessarily deals with drug abuse. I know next to nothing about this issue. Again, like I said, I think it's even better if my portrayal of the issue isn't exactly realistic and/or common. So please bear with me as my take on how Reid deals with the aftermath reveals itself in the upcoming chapters of this story. Please also see the note at the end of the chapter.
His mind is like a ransacked store. Everything's in fragments, lying in shreds in a bed of dust, and he cannot put his finger on anything lest they break down even more and dissolve into particles.
"...what happened at Hankel's place does not necessitate taking disciplinary action."
Good. One sharp fragment removed from his mind.
Trying to keep himself together, Reid struggled to focus on Gideon and Hotch.
Both of his bosses were in his apartment. Had both of them stayed last night? Hotch had been holding two-bags, not three. Which one of them had stayed?
He sighed, letting go of the string of thoughts, not bothering to reach a conclusion.
"You don't look well."
"I don't feel well," Reid said, as casually as he would state the statistical improbability of feeling good so soon after such an ordeal as his. He turned and met Hotch's gaze, and for a brief moment, it felt like he hadn't looked away from Gideon. Under the prominent frown, the brown-hazel of Hotch's eyes were filled with the same concerned, measuring look.
He looked around his apartment, and noticed, for the first time, how crowded it was with three people in it at the same time.
"I don't need anyone to stay with me."
At the deepening frown of his bosses, he felt he needed to explain himself. "I just - I'll go back to bed."
That wasn't an explanation, but did he really need one to get his bosses to leave his apartment? He needed to preserve a measure dignity - or whatever was left of it after stumbling out of bed in his pajamas and throwing up in front of Gideon and Hotch. Whatever was left of it after being tied to a chair, being beaten, and having a seizure in front of their eyes. Whatever was left--
This isn't true.
It wasn't dignity. It was privacy that he had been deprived of. Personal space. He felt invaded. Utterly exposed.
After ordering him a string of things to do and not do, Gideon gave him a final nod and pulled the apartment door close.
Like Raphael had done when he left the cabin for the murder of the Hayes'.
With the click of door, Reid found himself back at the cabin.
He gave the handcuffs a desperate pull. His heart leapt when his arms flailed at the forceful gesture, and with a start, he realized that he was free. He lowered his gaze and stared at the green armchair he was sitting on. Unrestrained.
Slowly bringing his arms down, he closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing.
No restrains. I'm home; I'm not in that cabin.
Opening his eyes, he lowered his leg from the coffee table and gingerly placed the bandaged foot on the floor. The soft contact minutely brought back the image of the firewood in Henkel's hand, ready to come down in a strong blow as Henkel's cold eyes stared down at him.
This will be over quickly if you just confess your sins.
Would it be over if he admitted, right there and then, that he should never have suggested JJ to split up?
An uncomfortable clench in his stomach; and Reid shook his head, willing to keep himself at the present, at the solidarity of his home. When he raised his eyes, the first thing his gaze fell on was the coffee machine.
For the first time in a long time, he didn't want to drink coffee.
He pushed himself to his feet and yelped when sharp signals of pain flashed through his nerves. He dig his teeth into his lip, grabbing the back of the armchair and skipping on his good foot as he waited for the pain to subside. The signals reaching his brain somehow filled in the cracks in his thoughts, and he found himself able to think a bit more clearly. He turned and caught sight of the sleeping pills on the table.
Well. That explained how he had slept like the dead during the night. But now, as the drowsiness wore off, Reid could easily assess the current state of his body.
He was, simply, quite sick.
Another clench in his stomach, and he let go of the armchair, balancing himself on one foot with a grimace. As he limped towards the kitchen, he remembered the conversation he had had with the kind, brunette doctor in the Georgian hospital last night; how she had explained to him the facts that he already knew but listened to anyway. Withdrawal. Spasms. Fever.
He stared at his trembling fingers and wondered if they ever stopped trembling since leaving the cemetery.
The shiver that shot through his spine when the cool breeze hit his overly-sweated body.
The feel of his drenched shirt sticking on his back as JJ hugged him.
The cool surface of the round glass when he clasped the tiny bottles in his palm-
Breathing through his nose, he stopped the train of thoughts, and pulled the fridge door open. Without throwing as much as a glance at Gideon's breakfast tray, he poured himself a glass of milk, feeling the pleasant coolness of the glass in his palm. He pressed the cold glass onto his cheek before taking a sip.
A thunder rolled outside and lightening flashed across the dimly-lit room, and Reid became aware of the rain for the first time. His lips slightly twitched; he had always found the sound of rain meditative, calming. He carefully lowered himself at the table and listened to the peaceful humming, letting his eyelids drape over his sight as he sipped the milk.
Six minutes.
Six long minutes of calm and peace before a sharp twinge hit his abdomen like a knife.
He gasped, doubling over the polished surface. The abruptness had caught him off-guard; he knocked down the empty milk glass as he gripped the edges of the table. He did not bother to hold back the groan that eased itself out of his lips, for there was no one to appear strong for, other than himself.
That, he couldn't fool. Not after all that had happened.
After three agonizing minutes, the pain began to subside, and Reid forced himself to straighten, as much as he dared to, and fixed his eyes on the bedroom door. Ridiculous, how far away it seemed, but he made it his ultimate goal to reach the bed, where the rest of this agony could assault him. There was no escaping from the withdrawal, so Reid only prepared himself to face it as best as he could.
It took him three minutes, three pauses and two loud moans to reach the room.
He slowly climbed onto the crumpled sheets and lay on his side, shivering as he felt the increasing fever take hold of him.
"They're burning fish hearts and livers. They believe it keeps away the devil."
The heat pulsing from the stove engulfed his face, burning his nostrils, cluttering his airway.
With a gasp, his eyelids fluttered open. His eyes wandered around the empty room as he desperately tried to control the pain. What kind of invisible power, he wondered, could make him shiver so forcefully? He took deep breaths and tried to concentrate, as though he could stop the excruciating spasms by sheer willpower, and he wondered, why on earth, he had insisted on being left alone.
His father's last look at him. The goodbye.
That sense of abandonment.
I'm not weak!
"I don't give a damn whether you're weak or strong."
There Henkel was again, raising his voice over Reid's clouded thoughts. Soon, he found himself having to divide the little strength he had between trying to quiet Henkel's voice and suppressing the waves of shivers that seemed too eager to take hold of his body.
Click!
Choose.
He turned around on the wrinkled sheets, screwing his eyes shut as though it would block out Raphael's imposition.
"Your team members. Choose one to die."
The click of the revolver as the trigger went off.
I won't do it.
"I won't do it," he muttered, squeezing the side of the pillow to make his point across.
Trust me. It helps.
His mother, looking at him with those sad, blue eyes as the nurses from Bennington help her out of the house.
"Do you know what this is? It's God's will."
Click!
Click.
"Reid?"
Someone calls his name, but he knows it's not real because he's alone here. Ain't nobody will hear him where he is.
Something amazingly cool is pressed onto his forehead, sending sharp flashes through his mind like an ocean wave crushing against the shores, and he hears a moan.
He sees Morgan. Morgan is frowning; he looks worried, but Reid doesn't wonder why. He's worried, too.
He feels compressed. Not just the tightness in his chest, not just the mist in his brain, but an all-encompassing compression from all dimensions, physical and beyond. He's semi-senseless, detached, like he's wrapped in a layer of stretch-film, and he needs a voice, a touch, something sharp enough to cut through it, to give him gateway to reality. But there is none. He's far too deeply embedded in this nightmare, and there's no sight of awakening soon.
So he gives up, and lets himself be carried away with voices and visions. Maybe, Morgan will admit him to Bennington, and maybe Reid will then understand how his mother felt. That is the least he deserves.
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A/N: Just in case it's not already clear: Up to this point, Reid has never once used, or thought about using the bottled he took from Hankel's body. If anything in this or previous chapters led you to think he might have, please point out what made you think so and I'll go back and fix it. Thanks.