"Hotch shes back," Reid croaked into the phone, his voice hoarse and frail. Aaron was already out of bed, heading out the door in slippers and pajamas. He stopped getting dressed for these phone calls since he just wound up sleeping at Reid's when he got there. This had became a regular thing for them now, but Hotch was convinced that Reid was really just scaring himself. Regardless, he found himself in route to his young agents apartment.

"Stay calm, Spencer," he noticed Reid seemed to relax easier when he was addressed by his first name, so outside of work; he used it as much as possible, "I'm coming. Just sit down." He heard the labored breathing of the man on the other end of the line, listening as it slowly escalated to hyperventilating; and pushed the accelerator to the floor. He listened as Reid mumbled something about a case file he had to finish, even though Reid hadn't been in the office for two weeks now. Hotch had requested (demanded) that he take some personal time after the case involving the Schizophrenic young man named Ben. Reid complied unwillingly, refusing to answer his calls for two days; until one night Reid called him in a state of panic, much like tonight and many other nights.

Hotch was grateful that Reid lived relatively close, and he was unlocked the door to the apartment in under fifteen minutes. He hung up his cell phone once the door was unlocked and dropped it on the nearest table before searching for Reid. The apartment was silent; eerily silent. Hotch felt his heart rate increase slightly in discomfort, but he slowly headed down the hallway to the bedroom anyway. He passed the bathroom door on his right, taking note that the door was slightly ajar. He hesitated to push the door open and hit the lights; blinking to adjust his eyes. He found Reid curled up between the toilet and shower; phone still clutched to his ear. The younger man had his eyes shut tight against the intrusion of light, one hand held out in a defensive-surrendering gesture. "Spencer, it's me. What's wrong?" Hotch spoke quietly, keeping his distance as his distressed friend blinked up at him.

"Emily was here," he whispered, his pupils enlarged so much his whole eye appeared black. Slowly, Hotch crouched down in front of his agent. This was only one of the many times in the past few weeks that he'd wanted to tell the man before him that the woman who held his heart was still very much alive. He wanted to tell him that all they had to do was find Doyle and she could come home. Shaking the thought, he reached a tentative hand out to take the phone from Reid's long bony fingers-

"You know that's not possible, Spencer. You had a bad dream," Hotch soothed, setting the phone on the edge of the sink and hoisting Reid to his feet.

"No, it wasn't a dream. I was reading a book, and I looked up and she was there," Reid protested, his voice distant. Spencer glanced up at the mirror on their way out of the bathroom and spooked, leaping back suddenly. Hotch steadied him and pulled him out into the hall, letting the smaller man back up against his chest. This was another new habit of his young friend- mirrors held a secret demon that Spencer saw reflected in him- or at least that was what Hotch thought he was seeing. The first time it happened, he attempted to ask; and all he got was a stuttering statistic that 45% of the population have an intense fear of mirrors, mainly because they believe they are the windows to a different dimension. He didn't ask again.

They stumbled into Reid's dark bedroom, and Hotch gently eased back the covers. "Lay down, everything is okay," he reassured when Spencer gave him a desperate, uncertain look. "I'm here, Spencer. I'll be sleeping right over there," he gestured to the recliner in the corner of the room that served as Reid's reading chair. Spencer only hesitated another few seconds before slowly lowering himself onto the bed. Hotch had a brief thought of why- out of the rest of the team- did Reid call him? Not that he was complaining, because he never minded helping Reid in his time of need; but he'd always assumed he'd call Morgan or Garcia first. Or Emily, came an after thought; and he quickly chased it away.

He made sure Reid was laying comfortably in bed before taking his usual spot on the chair. His pillows and blankets were folded neatly on the dresser, right where he'd decided to keep them when he figured out this was going to become a recurring event. He made himself comfortable and shut his eyes; planning on just resting them, since he knew he wouldn't be able to fall back asleep again. He heard a shallow breath and a muffled sob from the bed, and he knew Reid was crying. The first time this happened, he'd attempted to try to help his friend; only to discover that Reid wasn't very accepting of a shoulder to cry on. After he'd been shoved away the first time, he'd always taken to listening silently while the other man cried himself back into a restless, nightmare-filled slumber.

Reid didn't fall asleep tonight though, and Hotch heard him tossing and turning long after the quiet cries of sorrow ended. At first, Hotch thought he was having a nightmare and considered getting up to wake him; until Reid threw the covers back and went to get a glass of water, returning with one for himself and a second glass that he set on the dresser next to him. Reid knew he wasn't sleeping, which Hotch had been curious about; yet he didn't speak. He took a seat on the edge of the bed and ran his trembling hands through his unruly hair while Hotch took a few sips of the water. They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, but was really a mere minute, before Reid turned to lay back down. Right before Reid turned his head, Hotch could have sworn he saw a ghost of a smile play across his thin lips, and it gave him the chills.