Rating: M

Summary: Reid is taken hostage by an UNSUB and released an hour later. But will he ever be the same?

Warning: This fic contains NON CON (not graphic)- don't read if this will disturb you. It also contains language some readers may find inappropriate.

Author's note: my first fan fic piece ever, please be gentle. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. Second chapter now up. I have to say that yes, I know the beginning scene isn't realistic and that he wouldn't have been taken that easily. That's what you get for writing when buzzed. ;p

Update: feb 15th, 2009- Corrected the formatting problems. I think. I hope.

He slept on and off, unable to get comfortable, either physically or mentally. The lights in his room dimmed but never went completely off. Finally he slipped into sleep and dreamt he was tied to a pole like a rotisserie chicken, dreamt that his father was getting ready to cook and eat him. He woke up with a gasp, both surprised and somewhat relieved that it was morning. 6:30. He would be out in a few hours.

Time clicked by slowly. He got out of bed, shuffled around the empty room, scanned half a dozen magazines before throwing the last one down disgustedly. Breakfast came- lukewarm eggs, bacon, coffee, a bagel. He ate without tasting the food, annoyed at having to wear a hospital gown, annoyed at everything. He'd had surgery- nothing major. There had been a deep tear, so they must have scoped that, sewn it up. The implications of the injuries made him feel a little hyper if he considered it for too long. Hotch, as the senior agent, would probably have read the medical file, would know what such and such meant. Hotch. God. He could remember the look on Hotch's face, Gideon's face, after the truth had come out about Morgan. Morgan, so masculine and strong, molested as a boy. Neither one had been cloying or overly protective, not on the surface- both senior agents kept a tight upper lip, and yet, they were distressed. Worried. Faces hard, eyes deeply sympathetic. How long would they- everyone on the damn team- cast pitying doe eyes on him? Too long, that's how long. After Hinkle, after the abduction, they had walked on eggshells. Shot well meaning looks to each other. And that had *only* been torture and beatings. *Only*, heh, the idea would have struck him as funny if someone else was trying to rationalize torture in such bland terms. Even for BAU agents, anything sexual and criminal carried a greater weight. A greater burden. Fuck.

The door opened and there was Garcia looking tired and artificially chipper.

"Hey great one!" She said. Reid tried to remember the previous night, but it was a blur of bodies, shouting, the feeling of being chased. Impressions more than a series of distinct, linear memories. Not a good sign. Reid nodded towards her, unsure of how to act. How were you supposed to act in a situation like this, if you were embarrassed and scared and in physical pain? Walking was painful, small little needling bursts of pain, usually bearable, sometimes more intense.

"Where is Hotch?" Reid asked, immediately wishing he hadn't. What was Hotch now, his babysitter? Protector? What?

"At home. Jack has a fever."

"Oh. That's unfortunate." Yeah, Reid, don't be awkward or anything. Is this how it would be now, carefully selected words, the easy rapport between them gone? Him, afraid of appearing weak or injured, and them, trying to make him feel normal but unsure about how, awkward and uncomfortable? Is this how it would be?

"They speak to you yet?" Garcia asked.

"Who?"

"Doctors. You can leave today, right?"

"Yeah, I think so."

The door clicked open and there was a baby doc in a white lab coat, the necessary stethoscope around his neck, a clipboard.

"Hello, Mr. Reid. How are we feeling this morning?"

"Uh, fine. Thank you."

"Good to hear it. Looked over your chart- the surgery was minor, really. We put a few stitches in, but used dissolvable thread. You don't have to do anything about them."

Reid nodded silently, glanced towards Garcia, who had apparently decided the window held a spectacularly beautiful view of the parking lot.

"I'm writing you a script for antibiotics- both for the injuries, and also a few medications in case of possible STDs. I also prescribed ativan for any anxiety, not much. It will probably be useful at bedtime, to help you fall asleep."

"I'll be able to sleep." Reid said tightly.

The doctor nodded, a "yeah, sure you will, whatever you say big guy" kinda-nod.

"I also have some information for you on sexual assault and what you can expect from yourself in terms of reactions-"

"I'm a criminologist, that won't be necessary."

"There is a list on numbers for support groups and counselors in this area. I would invite you to give them a call, although I understand from agent Hotchner that your team has access to counselors through the bureau?"

"Uh, yeah. That's true." Hotchner mentioned the FBI shrinks? Why? Because, obviously, he expected Reid to go. Great. This was getting better and better.

"I'm going to give you my card in case you have any questions about medication or anything else. Any excessive pain, swelling or bleeding that continues beyond…"

"Thank you, it's okay." Reid raised his hand, nodding fervently. He got it.

"Okay." The Doctor glanced at Garcia. "This must be your ride."

"Excuse me?"

"You were under anesthesia yesterday, so the hospital requires someone drive you home and…"

"Yes, I'm driving Dr. Reid home." Garcia cut in. The doctor nodded, handed Reid the prescription. Looked Reid up and down.

"We have some extra clothes if you wish-"

"It's okay, I brought some." Garcia responded, lifting a backpack. The young man nodded, scribbled something on the clipboard.

"Alright then. I'll have someone bring in your shoes."

"What about my clothes?" Reid asked. He could remember them, knew they would be ruined, spotted with blood, other fluids. He still needed them. Would burn them later in the fireplace.

"Um, one of your people already collected them. As evidence?"

Reid wanted to swear, just nodded. What evidence? Why bother? Underwood was dead, it was over. What fucking evidence? Who took them- Hotch? Reid's mind whirled, he suddenly wanted to punch something. Hotch maybe… Damn it! He'd had his watch on too, a fancy, waterproof Casio his mother had got him a few birthdays ago. Did Hotch have the watch, his sweater vest, all of it? Did it matter.

"My watch?" Reid could barely get the words out. He wasn't sure what he was feeling. Humiliation? Anger? What?

He wanted his clothes. His watch. *His* Things. What fucking right did they have…?!

(They're FBI agents and your friends, Reid. You know they had to)

(Shut up brain.)

Blood, and fluids. Excrement maybe. Maybe. Oh God. And he didn't want them looking at them, prying them over with gloved fingers. Nothing to be done about it now.

"Okay, well, good luck, Mr. Reid." The doctor turned and left, apparently a little unnerved by Reid's demeanor. The door clicked shut.

"You brought clothes?" Reid said, trying to keep his voice light. Garcia nodded.

"As sexy as that hospital gown is…" Garcia stopped speaking, looked down. Reid's heart was hammering.

"I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that."

"It's okay, Garcia. Clothes?"

"Yeah, sure. Here." She thrust the backpack at him like a peace offering. "I'll be outside."

Reid nodded, walked over to the bed. Laid out the clothes. Boxers, socks, sweat pants, a t-shirt. Must've come from Morgan's personal collection, definitely wasn't his stuff and he doubted Garcia owned this stuff. Okay. He dressed quickly, glanced around. The clothes were baggy on him, too big, definitely Morgan's, but it was okay. He'd change when he got home. Garcia came back in with his shoes, threw them over to Reid. He slipped his feet into them without bothering to undo the laces. His shoes looked funny matched with Morgan's baggy sweats and Quantico T-shirt.

"Wanna go?"

Reid nodded tightly, fought down the urge to snap at Garcia with sarcasm. Of course he wanted to go. Fuck.

Garcia stopped the car outside the pharmacy, got out. Reid slid out, the prescription balled in his hand. His wallet and ID had been in the backpack, but no watch. It was almost 10 on a weekday and the place was thankfully nearly empty. Reid went to the pharmacy counter, avoided the pharmacist's curious eyes, recited his medical insurance number. The pharmacist nodded and took the crumpled paper, moved around slowly, whistling The Simpsons theme.

"It'll be about 10 minutes, sir." He said after a few minutes and Reid nodded, ambled off.

Garcia had a little basket with fruit juice in it, a couple tins of soup, crackers.

"Knowing you, your place is out of food." She smiled.

"It's okay. I'll order in." Garcia was irritating him. He knew she was just trying to help, he *knew* that, but every time he heard a can fall into the basket he felt a surge of resentment. Anger.

"You can order in, I'll have soup." Garcia was staying. Of course. Reid took a deep breath, let it out slowly. The urge to punch something had returned.

"It's okay. I can stay on my own, Garcia." His voice was tight, full of emotion. Nearing exhaustion. Garcia didn't seem to notice, or if she did, she didn't let it sway her answer.

"Oh, I don't think so. Morgan rented one of the Bourne movies and is waiting for us." She grinned, winked at Reid. When Reid refused to do anything but stare back blankly, the smile faded a bit.

"I know… I know how hard this is right now, Spencer." Her voice was almost inaudible, lost over the sound of Reid's blood whipping through his head and an irritating, high pitched ringing. He felt ready to collapse.

"Morgan's at my house?"

"Yeah. He told me to tell you that you have an excellent selection of Wittgenstein." Garcia's voice was light but her eyes were hard, sharp, watching Reid. Filing away his behavior for later consideration.

Reid sighed. He wanted to be alone. Maybe open a bottle of wine, listen to some music. Take a long, long hot bath. He did *not* want to be babysat.

"Aren't you guys needed at work?"

Garcia pretended not to hear him, held up a magazine.

"What do you know. O.J. wrote another book." She dumped the magazine in the basket, grinning devilishly. Reid blinked heavily, walked back to the pharmacist's counter. The man behind the counter nodded when he saw Reid, came over with a plastic basket filled with orange bottles, a jar of cream.

"This is the ativan, sublingual tablets. These are 2 milligrams each, so one is probably all you need. This cream is for…. will help with swelling, and it has an antibiotic…." The Pharmacist now seemed as uncomfortable as Reid. Maybe more so.

"Um, thank you. Got it." Reid nodded. Was itching to get out of there.

"Okay. I assume you've been instructed about the other medications?"

Reid nodded quickly, glanced backwards. Garcia was at the checkout, paying. The pharmacist slid the pills and cream into a brown paper bag, handed the drugs to Reid. Reid smiled politely, walked back to Garcia. His… insides hurt. Twinged. Little bursts of moderate pain.

Garcia collected the bags, didn't seem to notice. Good. One less thing to worry about.

____________

"Hi Sugar!" Garcia said when she let herself into Reid's apartment and laid eyes on Morgan. He grinned and nodded.

"Hi Baby doll. Reid!" He stood, dressed in similar sweats and a Quantico t-shirt, an open can of Budweiser in his hand.

"Looks like you made yourself at home." Reid said dryly, glancing around. Morgan nodded, grinning.

"At least you have cable, or I'd be insanely bored by now. You don't get ESPN though."

Reid nodded, pleased Morgan wasn't coddling him. Good. Good.

Garcia wandered into the kitchen, began putting groceries away.

"Hungry?"

Reid shook his head, wandered towards his bedroom. The door was still shut. Good. He pulled jeans from his closet, a shirt, a wool sweater. He felt chilled, cold, and it was awfully *nice* of agents (your friend, Reid, your *friends*!) to come and keep him company, but…

Distantly he heard Garcia laugh, could hear Morgan's deep, rich voice as he responded. Some things never changed. Despite himself, the corners of his mouth twitched a bit.

They watched all three Bourne movies. Morgan sat on the edge of the couch, Garcia nearby in the arm chair, lightly touching Morgan's arm every time the action heated up. Reid watched, dazed, his stomach upset from the antibiotics and the miserable hospital food, his insides aching.

"This is totally unrealistic. Even if they had trained Bourne and he was a potential threat, the amount of training and money they invested in him-" He had discovered that if he interjected some comment or other every so often, Garcia seemed to stop staring at him with those puppy dog eyes, and that was more important than his desire to be quiet. He couldn't stand to see the *pity* in their eyes. It humiliated him, but more than that… angered him.

"Ludlam's the man, Reid. You don't diss Ludlam."

"I'm not *dissing* him Morgan. I'm just saying… look at that! Nobody moves that fast, especially someone with apparent brain damage significant enough…."

"Ninjas move that fast, Sugar. That's how they disappear." Garcia was slightly buzzed from beer, her cheeks flushed a little- probably from more than the beer, Reid thought wryly. Reid had had a couple himself, could feel his anxiety, shame, all the stifling embarrassment lessen a bit. If he didn't move quickly or think about why Garcia and Morgan were sitting in his living room drinking beer in the middle of a work week, he could almost pretend nothing had happened. Almost. Still, the beer was making him too relaxed, and he knew alcohol loosened the tongue. Is that why Morgan had brought it? To get him to talk? Is that why?!

(Relax, Genius. Relax. Maybe he needs to relax. You ever consider it's not all about you?)

(FUCK *you*.)

"Um, I'm going to bed now." Reid said, exhausted, standing up, tipsy from the beer. Garcia looked up, searching his face for… something… he kept it as neutral as possible (give away nothing!). "I'm just really tired."

"Of course you are!" Garcia said earnestly, rising to hug him. Reid nodded, pretended he hadn't seen her edge forward for the hug. "Good night." He said flatly. And then he went to his room. He was asleep almost instantly.