Author's Note- see profile. Also, this scene takes place immediately after the events of "Profiler, Profiled" while the team is flying back to Quantico from Chicago and Morgan is attending the boy's funeral.

Disclaimer- I don't own "Criminal Minds" or any of its characters; no copyright or trademark infringement is intended and I make no profit from this work of fanfiction.

Warnings- This story contains depictions of child rape and child abuse of a major character that may be disturbing to some readers- if child rape is a subject you are sensitive to, do not read or skip the third paragraph, which contains most of the rape flashback. To a lesser extent, paragraph seven also contains events immediately preceding the main assault. These paragraphs are marked with asterisks; however, the entire story is about child rape so, again, if you're not comfortable with the subject matter, please don't read!

Truth

Reid stared out the window of the jet at the clouds passing beneath and above, cocooning them in a world of fluffy whiteness, his forehead resting tiredly on the glass and his breath creating small circles of fog. The rest of the team was either asleep or occupied with their own mild forms of amusement, all endeavoring to evade or sort out their muddled thoughts and emotions about the latest case- Morgan's case. Carl Buford and the children he'd killed, the children he'd raped- the revelation that Morgan had been one of them. It certainly explained a lot on a psychological level; for instance Morgan's behavior towards women and his casual way of flirting or "dating", if it could really be called that at all. Buford's treatment of Morgan had scarred him and rented his views on relationships- his trust with sex and the emotional closeness that was supposed to precede it in any real union- and it had made Morgan self-reliant and closed off, even though his deep compassion and empathy had been enhanced for what he'd been through.

The psychological effects of child abuse and rape were well known to Reid and to every profiler on the plane and he sighed heavily, closing his eyes and trying to hide from the deep hurt that wanted to assail him from within because, however selfishly, his thoughts weren't really with Morgan at all. Did it make Reid feel any better to know that another team member had been there, too? Experienced that horror and violation? Did it bring them any closer or provide any comfort? Or was it just another reminder of the evil that pervaded the world and that Spencer seemed unable to escape; every corner he went around, it always found him there?

*Reid shifted, drawing his arms about himself tighter in a self-imposed hug that failed to make him feel any safer or ward off the memory that came rushing back- hands and breath and sweat, his cries of pain and the other man's groans of ecstasy that were timed together, the cold metal pole between his shoulders and the man's hot body flush against his as he was held in a strong embrace and his attacker buried his face in the crook of Spencer's neck... He'd thought that night would never end and, each time he'd thought he knew the horror of it, it somehow got worse.

Harper Hillman had started it, pulling him from the library to meet Lexa Lisban. Although she'd been there, she'd not been alone and the football team had beat him and name-called him and torn his clothes from his body, laughing and mocking him and driving their boots into his ribs and their spit into his eyes. Once tied to the pole, a red marker had been pulled out and the word "FREAK" scrawled on his chest in bold letters, and the abuse continued with more harsh mockery- not the least of which were about his "psycho mom" and his dad who couldn't even stand him- and they began throwing food and garbage at him and then "hosing him off" by urinating on him. He'd cried and begged for help, but the tinkling sound of Lexa Lisban's laughter had been his only answer.

Finally, they had tired of their sport and left, Spencer still bound and shivering as they'd tossed his clothes in every direction- some out of reach on top of the goal post- and the fear he'd had of being with them had turned into the terror of being alone as darkness crept in. Hours had passed- slowly and silently- and Spencer's shoulders had ached in their wrenched position as he'd battled against the insults that still rang in his ears and throbbed in his body, wishing their mockery was less true and telling himself they were wrong to treat him like he was less than they were; less than human. He wasn't. He had potential and intelligence and- physically inferior or not- he was not weak!

Tears had slid down his cheeks as he'd stood awkwardly tied to the post, his head bowed with fatigue and pain, but then he'd heard the soft approach of footsteps on grass. Looking up, his first tangled feelings to see the lone jock walking deliberately toward him had been a mixture of suspicion and relief; he had to be coming back to untie him, right? Not hurt him more? Neither boy nor teenager had said anything as the distance between them shrank, but the jock had had an odd expression in his eyes as he'd looked at the nude form of Spencer, and it had made Spencer shift uncomfortably under his scrutiny...

*The jock's name was Mark Maloney and he'd been the only one of the football players to hang back and simply observe as his friends had tormented the twelve-year-old, and Spencer had thought briefly that he might not have approved. When Maloney was directly in front of him, he'd finally dared to ask if the teenager was going to release him, only to have a hand placed on his chest. Spencer had been unsure what he was doing and his confusion had only grown when the hand slowly began to circle his chest and then go down. Maloney's fingers had rippled against his bony ribs as they'd passed over his body, slowly and attentively, going down. And down...

Reid opened his eyes as his jaw flexed, trying vainly not to remember the rest. The fear. The pain. The helplessness... Every moment had been seared into Reid's memory, every sound and movement and feeling and horror forever etched into his mind and hidden away in a dark corner filled with other atrocities and turmoil he dared not look upon. They were there- indelibly a part of him- but he strove never to revisit those places unless forced to by necessity or to achieve some greater understanding of those events and, even then, it was dangerous.

His palms were sweaty and his heart was pounding but, to the outside observer, Reid looked calm and controlled and maybe a little weary, but nothing worse. Inside, his stomach was churning and he felt a burning cold encompassing his body as he stared out the window at the clouds with an almost hostile determination. He didn't want to think about it, he didn't want to...

Maybe the worst part of that wretched night- okay, not the worst, but definitely up there and one of the things that had haunted him most in the days and years that followed- was that Maloney never said anything. Ever. From the time he came back onto the football field and began molesting the helpless boy, to the time he walked away- Spencer freed from his bonds and shaking on the ground as he desperately tried to find his clothes through the darkness and his tears- Mark Maloney never uttered a single syllable. He'd been completely silent- with the exception of his harsh breathing in Spencer's ear- and he'd never once threatened the boy in any way; he'd never told him not to move or to be quiet before or during the assault, or not to tell anyone about it after. He'd just left, brisk satisfied strides carrying him off the field without a backwards glance to the boy who's life he'd just shattered... Nothing.

Had it been so obvious that any fight Spencer would- and did- put up would be useless, that his cries would never reach anyone's ears? Granted, it had been in the dead of night and in the middle of an empty football field, but still... And what about afterwards? How could Maloney have been so sure that Spencer wouldn't say anything to anyone, so as not to even issue a warning to be quiet just in case? There had been plenty of forensic and physical evidence left behind- Maloney hadn't exactly been careful- and it wouldn't have taken much to nail him in court and send him to prison for a good chunk of his life...

And yet, he'd said nothing.

Reid wished he could be more confused by it but, really, it was rather obvious why and how Maloney had known it wouldn't be necessary to threaten him, and the young profiler closed his eyes as his mom's face flashed before them with a tidal wave of repressed emotions blanketing him. His mom had counted on him for everything after his dad had left- the bills, the laundry, the groceries, the housework, getting her out of bed and dressed and fed and keeping her appointments... the list went on and on. Without him, her life would have fallen apart more than it already had. He was the only thing she had left- even her mind had failed her- and she was the only person he had in his life. She was his responsibility.

If he'd reported the assault or told anyone what had happened, sooner or later it would have become apparent to the police and powers-that-be that Diana Reid could not care for herself, let alone a child. The mere fact that she'd not even realized that her son was missing the night he'd been brutalized and raped would have proved that almost instantly and Spencer would have been removed from her custody and his mom declared unfit. Then she would have either ended up in an institution against her will or living alone without anyone to take care of her- how long would she have lasted then?- and Spencer would have been put in foster care until he came of age, his plans to start at Cal Tech that year derailed as he was forced to relive a night he just wanted to forget to hundreds of people in court- and possibly again to nosy therapists- for years to come.

Spencer had wanted to tell someone- anyone- about what Mark Maloney had done and what he was, but he hadn't; he couldn't. He'd had too much to lose... and Maloney had counted on that. In the end, it had been another form of control and power he'd had over Spencer.

Again, Reid wrapped his arms around himself more tightly, this time smothering the age-old tears before they were born and endeavoring to lull himself to sleep. He just had to stop thinking about Maloney, about the past, about Morgan, and focus on something safe, something that couldn't hurt him. Like statistics- those were always reliable distractions, easy to pull up at the drop of a hat and protect him from the world and, most of all, from himself- from his own thoughts and memories.

He began with statistics and facts related to planes and air-travel, since it was a subject near at hand and most likely to be effective, and took himself through the steps. He felt himself relax a little after five minutes, but Maloney was still at the back of his mind, dancing with Morgan's tearful and angry eyes and the image of Carl Buford- a man just like Maloney. He tried to cover up the faces with another statistic, followed by another, then began reciting the numbers of PI.

3.14159...

He was struggling to recall if the 26'th number was an eight or a three and was just starting to lose himself in the problem and the beginnings of a light doze when a familiar voice abruptly ripped him back to reality once more.

"Mind if I sit?" Gideon asked, causing the younger man to jolt upright to full alertness and look at Gideon in surprise and confusion.

It took a second for Reid's mind to catch up to the situation and for Gideon's request to be processed before he nodded mutely. He would rather be alone right now, but he didn't want to appear to be out of sorts- something the gifted profiler would easily pick up on and piece together. Besides, he liked Gideon's company and it might be distracting, just as long as they didn't start rehashing the case.

"Go ahead." Reid replied, glancing at the seat across from him, which Gideon promptly slid into. Reid drew himself up straighter and waited nervously for the other man to speak while affecting small fleeting smiles to dispel his own tension and worry; if there was one thing Reid didn't like about Jason Gideon, it was the feeling that he was an open book whenever he was with him.

Gideon glanced out the window, taking his time as usual and seeming unconcerned with the stretching silence. Outside, the sky had darkened, turning the clouds into mountains of navy velvet overlaying a blackened world below. On a better day, it would have been beautiful but, tonight, it was somber and lonely and Reid had no desire to look at it except to see his mood reflected. Instead, he kept staring at Gideon and patiently- or impatiently but obediently- waiting for him to begin.

Finally, Gideon turned back to his protégé, a sad and tired smile softly touching his features. "Tough case." he stated simply.

Reid swallowed and nodded, relieved that the silence had been broken at last and that he had a way to divert attention away from his own unease and concerns. "You never really thought Morgan did it, did you?" he asked quietly, sure he already knew the answer but wanting to hear it anyway.

"Of course not." Gideon replied. "We both know him- we know what kind of man he is and what kind of man he's not- and he's not a child killer." he asserted with conviction.

Happy, this time Reid's faint smile was genuine, but it quickly faltered again. "But if this had just been another case- and we didn't know Morgan- do you think we would have ended up sending the wrong man to prison?"

Gideon shook his head. "If this had been another case and it got to that point, Morgan would have talked, would have told us about Buford. No man is that desperate to keep his past hidden." he concluded.

The statement made Reid uncomfortable as he wondered if that was really true- if he would ever tell anyone about Maloney if he was in Morgan's position- and he broke eye contact, shifting quickly to cover up the reaction. He hoped Gideon hadn't noticed... "Then, you don't think we've ever gotten the wrong person?" he pressed, taking another moment before he was able to look up at Gideon again.

"We can only do our best." Gideon replied honestly. "We do our job, we give the profile, we follow where it leads us, we check it and recheck it- but it's always possible to make mistakes."

That wasn't very reassuring and it was obvious Gideon knew it.

"All I can say- the best anyone can say- is that I've never put away anyone I didn't absolutely believe to be guilty." Gideon went on, putting emphasis on the last part. "We don't decide everything and, if they're not guilty, then hopefully that will come out in the trial. We can't let our faith in the profiles be shaken." he encouraged sagely.

Reid nodded, placated even if not entirely comforted and knowing he was right, but there was a knot in his chest as he thought about Maloney and that horrible night and he again glanced down at his lap. After all, he wasn't really bothered by the case or the chance that their profiles could lead them to the wrong person, but he didn't dare to speak the truth or tell Gideon what was really on his mind. By the stretching silence, however, it was clear that that was exactly what the other man was waiting for- probably what he'd come over there in the first place for- and Reid knew he had to say something.

There was something Reid wanted to ask- a question burning in his mind like acid, one that was very old and that he'd asked himself a thousand times, but was still unresolved and was nagging him once more. But he didn't want Gideon to know the truth...

Finally, Reid licked his lips, drawing a breath. "Do you think-" he hesitated, momentary panic stalling his thoughts as he second-guessed himself for a split second. He regathered himself- rallying his courage and telling himself he could do this- and began again, getting it out slowly and with difficulty as he tried to make it sound innocent. "Do you think... that Morgan will ever get over what happened? What Carl Buford did to him?" he wondered, forcing the question out and at last managing to look Gideon in the eye. His heart was pounding and his chest was tight, and Reid was almost as afraid that the insightful profiler might somehow see through him as he was of what the answer might be.

Gideon shrugged casually- apparently missing or misreading his friend's apprehension, much to Reid's surprise and relief. "He's done well so far- look at how far he's come, what he chose to do with his life." he pointed out. With admiration and affection, he continued to reason to the younger agent. "Helping save lives and stopping criminals, doing good; Morgan hasn't let Buford define his life or who he is, and he hasn't let Buford stop him from achieving his goals. Whatever scars or problems he still has to work on, we shouldn't doubt he's capable of overcoming them... not if we believe in him."

Reid's eyes dropped as he listened, trying to assess if the words could apply to him as well. A bittersweet smile tentatively crossed his lips as he decided he'd done okay with his life- maybe not great and certainly not perfectly, but he'd done okay. That was something to feel good about, wasn't it? Morgan hadn't let Buford stop him from joining the BAU or pursuing any of the careers he'd had before that; likewise, Reid had managed to get through college and earn the doctorates he'd wanted in the amount of time he'd wanted and had gotten into the BAU as he'd always planned as soon as he was eligible. That wasn't being defeated by the past or having his life dictated by people like Maloney who'd hurt him; that was something else, something that required strength...

"Do you believe in him?"

Reid looked up at Gideon sharply, the question having taken him by surprise as he'd fallen into his own musings, and- as he stared at Gideon- he knew the other man wasn't doubting his faith in Morgan; just quizzing him, as he often did. All the same, Reid took a moment to consider his answer- for both himself and Morgan- before slowly nodding with a small but true smile.

"Yeah, I do." he replied.

Gideon smiled back approvingly at him. "Then don't worry." he stated softly, the matter seemingly closed to him. "If and when he needs us, we'll be here for him."

There was a pull of warmth and hope in Reid's heart, although he feared to put full stock in Gideon's assurances, but for the moment he chose to accept the comfort and believe in it. A wave of fatigue hit him suddenly and he realized how truly tired he was, Maloney's memory still circling his mind restlessly but weakening enough now to allow the young man to sag in his seat. Reid's gaze darted quickly about the cabin at the other members of team, most of which were by now curled up under blankets sleeping, and the desire to be alone returned to him.

Licking his lips, he regarded Gideon again. "I think I'm going to try to get some sleep." he announced warmly, reflecting his appreciation to the older profiler as Gideon nodded understandingly.

"Sounds like a good idea." he agreed.

Standing, Gideon patted his shoulder as he passed and Reid's eyes trailed him in surprise as he started to walk toward the back of the plane- away from the seats and tables. "You're not going to get some rest?" he guessed.

"No," Gideon confirmed, pausing to glance at his younger team mate with a mischievous grin, "there's coffee calling my name."

Befuddled, Reid turned back around in his seat as Gideon reached the mini kitchenette area and poured himself a cup, wondering at the atypical behavior… but maybe Gideon was more rattled by the case then he was letting on. Or maybe he just wasn't tired. Reid sighed, giving up on finding an explanation as exhaustion rolled over him, knowing how hard Gideon could be to predict or understand sometimes and lacking the energy or will to sort through it now, and slouched down.

Yet, as tired as he was and as much as he longed for the arms of sleep to envelope him, his mind remained racing and his heart remained plagued, despite Gideon's assurances. Not wanting to draw attention to himself, he looked out the window at the clouds and tried to see something other than the darkness he feared and beyond the fall that only those who learned how to fly could survive. Reid shoved thoughts of Maloney back into the corner of his mind, but the struggle to keep him there was taxing, and he stared out at the clouds that passed so slowly...

Minutes later or hours later, he finally drifted off into a weary sleep, his eyes closing as the jet soared high above the world that had hurt him.