Disclaimer: For the last time, I do not own Criminal Minds.

A/N: Well guys, the last chapter, thanks again to all who reviewed and added the story to their alerts and favorites. The support is greatly appreciated.

--

The police were loading Muriel into a van for transport as the ambulance was leaving with Nikki Duval. The team was still inspecting the basement and noted the plastic sheeting on the floor effectively trapping Nikki's blood and hair; the workbench with its ample collection of knives, some caked with dried blood. They saw the fireplace where Muriel had burned the sheeting, clothes and other remnants of the women she killed. Under the stairs they discovered a scissor jack that Muriel must have used to hoist the women up so she could cuff them to the ceiling bolt. Lastly they looked at the cage that was used to hold Fletcher. Morgan put a gloved hand on the wire that was, he felt, relatively strong, but not strong enough to contain the will of a feisty young genius.

"I'm amazed he got out of here," Emily said, "And yet I'm not."

"I know what you mean," Dave replied as they mounted the stairs to give way to the CSI technicians. "The kid's pretty impressive."

Hotch picked up the stun gun that had been discarded on the kitchen floor. "You can say that again."

Reid and Fletcher entered the kitchen from the hallway. "How are you doing Fletcher," Emily asked?

"I'm okay Agent Prentiss," the boy said, but Reid felt, just a bit too brightly.

"Fletcher, we have to take you to the hospital," Reid told the child.

"No, I'm okay, I've only got a couple of scratches," the boy replied.

"I know that Fletcher, but you have to be checked over by a doctor. We also need to talk to a child psychologist. You saw some pretty nasty things and there could be some repercussions from that that we need to watch out for," Reid explained. The boy looked skeptical, "I'll be right there with you, okay." The child nodded begrudgingly.

The BAU members were silent on the ride back to San Francisco, listening to Fletcher's prattle. "Did you know that Napa means 'land of plenty' to the Wappo Indians and that Napa Valley contains a quarter of California's wineries? George C. Yount is credited with planting the first grapevine in Napa Valley." The boy continued to babble the rest of the way, Reid thought, to cover up his fear and anxiety. Sometimes intellect was a shield, but Spencer knew, only a temporary one, and eventually it would shatter and Fletcher would be left with the raw emotion, open and vulnerable. Fletcher, his doctors, his family, his teachers and his friends, had to be ready when that happened.

--

The rest of the team had headed back to the precinct to tie up loose ends, leaving Fletcher and Reid at San Francisco General. JJ assured Reid that she would call Wendy Dillard and inform her that they had rescued Nikki Duval. She also promised to call Fletcher's parents. Emily said she would speak to Theresa and let her know that Mickey Donovan was in custody and Fletcher was safe.

Fletcher saw Dr. Sellinger in the ER who pronounced, after checking the boy over and doing x-rays, that his only injuries were the cuts on his forehead and hand, the bruise on his face and the stun gun burn on his neck. Then Fletcher was seen by Dr. Sharon Wakefield, a kindly gray haired child psychologist, who was to assess the injuries that couldn't be seen with the naked eye, an x-ray or CAT scan. Reid went through explaining for the second time that evening, who he was, and why there was no legal guardian there for the child.

Reid left Fletcher with the doctor saying he'd be right outside the door. While he waited in the waiting area, he dialed the cell number Fletcher had given him for his mother. He could see JJ on the muted TV screen giving her press conference. The phone rang four times before it was answered by a sleepy "Hello."

"Ms. Fletcher," Reid confirmed the woman's identity before carrying on. "This is Supervisory Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid," Reid said, thinking this woman was one who might respond to a full title.

"Yes," she replied, "What can I do for you?"

What can you do for me, Reid thought, what can you do for me? How about hop on a plane and forget your head hunting for a day and be here for your son. What he said was, "I'm here at the hospital with Fletcher and I thought you might like an update on his condition."

"Oh, of course," she responded in a clipped tone. "Though someone named, oh I can't think of her name right now, it started with a J. Anyway she told me Fletcher had been rescued and he was okay."

"He has only minor injuries; he's in with a child psychologist as we speak to try to stave off any psychological damage. I'm sure he'd appreciate his mother being here," Reid tried to impress upon the woman.

Anise Fletcher sighed heavily. "Look, Agent Reid, Fletcher is a very independent child; we brought him up to be that way, not a whiny baby. He'll get through this just fine."

"He's eight years old for Christ's sake." Reid angrily paced the waiting area. "He's seen things that most adults couldn't handle and you say he'll be fine," Reid shouted. "On second thought, don't hurry back, I don't think you'll be much use to him anyway," he said, punching the end button on his cell phone. He paced the corridor, clenching and unclenching his fists, looking for something to punch. He suddenly knew why Morgan sometimes felt the need. It must have shown because people passing were giving him strange looks. He had to get it together before he went back in the room with Fletcher. The boy was too bright not to realize something was wrong.

The door opened and Dr. Wakefield exited. Reid looked at her, anxiously awaiting her assessment. "Dr. Reid, the child seems to be handling the situation very well although he would not admit to me that he was afraid. He told me about everything in surprising detail but wouldn't admit to any kind of fear. I'd like to keep him overnight since his caregiver at home also had a traumatic experience and might not be at her best in handling him at the moment. It's unfortunate his parents aren't available." Reid told her about the conversation with Anise Fletcher. "That possibly explains it; it's been drilled into him not to be a whiny baby. I'll see him again in two days unless something happens tomorrow, then call me immediately." She handed him her card. "I should tell you to look for…"

"I know," Reid said, "Nightmares, sleeplessness, irritability, agitation, hyper vigilance, angry outbursts, and withdrawal."

She smiled. "I think he's in good hands." She turned and left down the corridor.

Fletcher was sitting on the bed when Reid entered the room. "How are you doing," he asked?

"I..I'm okay," the boy replied. He looked down and remained silent for a few moments before saying, "Can I tell you something." He looked up at Reid.

Reid nodded as he sat beside the boy on the bed, "You can tell me anything."

"Promise you won't tell my Mom," Fletcher stipulated.

"Fletcher, I…"

"Promise," the boy said again.

"Okay, I promise," Reid replied.

"You know when I was in the trunk of that car and in that cage," he looked at Reid for confirmation and he nodded. "I was really s..scared. You don't know what it's like to be handcuffed and held prisoner. Nobody knows where you are and you're just waiting for some crazy person to come and kill you." Tears filled his blue eyes.

"I know," Reid said, "You're hoping and praying that someone will come but you keep thinking they'll come too late, so you decide, in the end, it's up to you." Tears filled his brown eyes as he caressed the blond head.

Fletcher looked up at him, his eyes wide with disbelief and curiosity, then he reached up and removed Reid's glasses. A lone tear fell down Reid's cheek. "You do understand," the boy whispered.

"Uh hmm," Reid nodded as Fletcher curled into the safety of his arms and let the tears flow at last.

As the moon over San Francisco peeked into the hospital room window, it saw a tall man and a small boy sobbing well into the night.

--

As the sun peeked over the horizon, it glimpsed an empty hospital bed and a tall man asleep on a recliner chair with a small boy sleeping curled in his lap. The sun shone brightly through the window as San Francisco began another day.

--

THE END