Warning, This story does (or will) contain: slash, description of crime scenes, descriptions of past crimes (yes, that scene from the last story), occasional profanity and sexual suggestion. If a particular chapter requires a particular caution I will provide it then. As always, this is evolving as I write it so I reserve the right to add to this list of naughtiness.

A burning sting consumed his feet and he cried out without hesitation. "Please, I'll recite the whole thing. You don't need to do this." His vision was dark and the burning of the soles of his feet intensified. He thrashed all he could on the strong wooden frame but he knew there was no hope of escaping his fate – escaping the pain.

Then the darkness gave way and a window opened toward the center of his vision. "Any last words?" The face had high cheekbones and a strong angular jaw but for all of its power, the skin was sallow and stretched thin which gave it a terrifying quality when a smile spread across the man's lips and he arched a patch of yellow skin where an eyebrow had at one point grown. "Tell us, why did you do it?"

He screamed, begged, and struggled against the hard wooden seat, trying to get his arms free, trying to get out of this nightmare. The curtain swung back and there he sat in the gallery, ready to bear witness to it all. He stared imploringly at the tall man in the charcoal gray suit and the deep glower of disappointment across his face. Next to the man in the charcoal suit sat a familiar face – those blue eyes – moving closer, through the glass, and toward the chair.

Then those blue eyes were all he could see as a searing pain shot through his body and he felt those rough, strong hands take hold of his thrashing head. "If you relax, it will hurt less."

The young man in the chair thrashed and screamed, catching glimpses of the angry man in the charcoal gray suit in the periphery of those eyes and the pain. Through his sobs, the young man gasped for air, trying to swallow it down like a fish plucked from its watery environment.

Spencer Reid continued to gulp and gasp until an inhaled salty, teardrop had him coughing his away into wakefulness. The pangs of overwhelming sorrow that hit Dr. Spencer Reid upon opening his eyes were enough to have him longing for the finality of his dream world. The fact that he was alive and awake was cause enough for him to plummet toward despair all over again. This was a ritual he had begrudgingly become accustomed to each and every night since he'd been released from the hospital. The dreams threatened to chase Reid from the idea of sleep for good.

Thankfully, Spencer had been spared the humiliation of anyone else witnessing his early morning routine. Morgan had tried to talk his way into staying with Reid after he'd been released from the hospital and Spencer would have none of it – he'd rather deal with the humiliation of sleeping upright in his living room alone, thank you.

Spencer was loathe to admit it but he missed Jason Gideon – he missed having a reasonable excuse for being awake all night, still at the BAU, and still at the older man's side. Jason had this way of knowing Spencer so well that he could judge just how much distance to keep and when. Reid knew he was cared for even when it wasn't readily apparent and that feeling is what sustained him for the first few months of Gideon's departure. Morgan and Hotch didn't even come close to that kind of balance when it came to Reid.

Yes, Hotch. Aaron Hotcher, also known as, the man who had served him up on a silver platter for some half-way decent recounting of a criminal's misdeeds and pathology. Reid had brought his former coworker Elle to mind – the absolute cryptic despair that hung about her before she murdered that man. Elle's despair did no longer seem so far off, or cryptic.

Christopher Keller was gone and as strange as it was to admit; he couldn't hate Keller. He understood why he did what he did and somehow that macabre understanding spared Reid from hating the dead man. Aaron Hotchner, Derek Morgan, and David Rossi were all still very much alive and Reid had a long way to go before he could afford them all the same understanding.

This last sentiment was obviously felt by more than just Dr. Spencer Reid because, during his first conversation with Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner, Reid found himself swiftly moved onto the next assignment – keeping David Rossi on the straight and narrow, while killing a book tour, and campus recruitment survey, with one trip. Reid had stood in Hotch's office speechless with confusion, anger, and the struggle to keep himself in check. He wanted to scream at Hotch – the same man that had the gall to punish him when he used his profiling and empathy skills but was more than willing to dangle him like a worm on a hook, unarmed, in front of a serial murdering sexual sadist. If Reid had any confidence that he could have verbally flayed his superior, he would have done it. As it stood, he choked over even the simplest of phrases and before he knew it, he was out the door, and on the road.

#-#-#-#-#-#

Rossi had kept Reid at arm's length for most of the journey, until the night that they checked into a hotel during their Northern California tour - a stop somewhere between Silicon Valley and San Francisco. Later that evening, after a campus guest lecture spot, Rossi made no effort to depart from Reid when they arrived at the young man's door.

"Can I join you for a nightcap? I don't know about you, kid, but after today I can practically hear it calling my name." Rossi patted Reid's bristled shoulders as they both entered the young man's room.

"They have meetings for that, you know?" Reid deadpanned, looking Rossi in the eye.

After Rossi finished shushing Reid's protestations about this showing up on the bill that would be seen by the Bureau, he poured them both a drink. The entire time Reid sat uncomfortably waiting for Rossi to finish his drink and move on so he could begin his night long ritual of tossing, turning, and generally fighting exhaustion.

"C'mon , kid. I can't play chess to save my life but I'll still sit and talk," Rossi paused and placed a hand on Reid's shoulder and a freshly poured drink in his hand, "or sit and listen, if you'd prefer."

This was Reid's cue to do what he did best, deflect with a fact-laden rant on an admittedly mind-numbing topic, in this case Reid decided to share his exploits with a freshly self-translated version of an obscure Medieval text. Rossi smiled as Reid spoke at a rapid-fire pace. Rossi sat and listened only breaking his focus once more to pour himself another generous drink. Rossi sat for hours as Reid talked and talked, his voice cracked with wear, and his throat became dry when the ice in his drink disappeared. Reid's eyes had grown heavy with the exhaustion aided on by the consumption of more alcohol than he was used to.

Rossi watched as Reid weaved in and out of consciousness, fighting to stave off the alcohol's attempt to bring the curtains down on his vision. Suddenly, Reid whined, "You need to go," and before Rossi could inject his opinion, Reid let out a tortured sigh, "You won't go. Please, go," It was as if Reid had given up on having any say on what happened when another stronger personality entered the equation.

Rossi stood and pulled Reid into a standing position, placing the young man's arm around his shoulders, and hoisting him the short distance onto the nearby bed. Reid was trying to remain calm and unaffected but the alcohol had loosened his hold on his emotions and the fear he fought constantly since Keller's abuses was disturbingly palpable. He couldn't help but give in to the shot of adrenaline that coursed through him, even as he told himself over and over that this was a man he could trust with his life. No matter, he wanted him to leave. He couldn't-. Just, Just no. Reid's heart began to beat faster and his palms grew damp – a sadly familiar part of his nighttime ritual.

Reid tried to sit up but Dave placed a hand on the younger man's chest.

Reid cried out and in breathless pleas, began to beg, sounding more like a terrified child than an almost thirty-year-old genius.

"Reid," Rossi's hand rubbed in comforting circles, on a hand that had unconsciously clutched, with white knuckles, at the forearm of Rossi's shirt as he tried to lower him back to the bed. "Reid, it's okay. It's just me here." Spencer's grip softened as he allowed himself to fall back onto the pillows of his already turned down bed.

"What were you telling me about earlier…"Dave trailed off, mumbling something remotely academic sounding. Reid picked up on it and wanted to remain discussing it but he couldn't hold off sleep for much longer. Dave looked down at the younger man, smiling as Reid's eyelids gave in and slammed closed.

Rossi sat on the bed for a beats before rising quietly to his feet. For a moment, Hotch's image came to Rossi's mind – thoughts of how a father would be a better one to try and heal these wounds.

Morgan had sat with Reid for his entire stay in the hospital after Keller's attack. In that time Morgan had gathered every detail that could possibly spare Reid from appearing in-person for a deposition. What Derek Morgan wrote in his report was the only knowledge the BAU team members had of what had happened to Dr. Spencer Reid at the Oswald Correctional Facility. Morgan refused to speak of the details of those days in the hospital to anyone. Though Rossi had read the report, and that information was information enough, he knew that those details were probably not complete, and judging by way that Reid fought sleep, affecting him much more deeply than he wanted to let on.

Again Rossi's thoughts turned to Hotch, he'd been wracked with guilt over Reid's injury and filled with even more turmoil over the best apparent solution – to send Reid as far away from the BAU, and himself, as possible. Rossi had assured Aaron Hotchner many times before their departure that Reid would not hate him for this separation. He needed the time, Dave rationalized. Spencer will handle this in his own time and hanging about the BAU doing paperwork for the next six weeks was not the way for him to arrive at possibility of forgiveness.

When Rossi had left the room Reid had been still, calm, and deeply immersed in sleep. The next morning told the all too evident truth that Spencer's peace did not sustain him for long that night. The most noticeable thing were the circles under Dr. Reid's eyes – they had deepened and grown until they looked more like a small chasm right beneath his eye. Reid had tried to compensate for his lack of sleep with plenty of coffee and the combination of the two for days, going on weeks, on end had taken its toll. Reid tried to minimize his movements for fear that his shaking had become obvious.

Rossi launched immediately into their remaining stops on the schedule. "I'll be taking the today's session at SF State's College of Behavioral Sciences."

At first the words didn't really register with Reid but then he absorbed the intended meaning and looked up at Rossi with tired gaze of confusion, Rossi just shook his head. "Reid, you can barely stay awake through your breakfast," the idea of lightening his tone never occurred to Rossi, "today, once we check into my cousin's place, try to get some rest." For the last three states Rossi had been telling Reid about how much he could look forward to his experience in the North Beach district of San Francisco. Rossi's cousin had inherited the business through generations beginning somewhere when area was still known as the Barbary Coast and it was, Dave said with a hint of pride in his voice, reputed to have provided board to pirates as well as at one time serving as a brothel –now, it was a bed and breakfast. The hotel had also been one of the few to survive the 1905 and 1989 earthquakes and had the level of grandeur to be expected of even the most modest pieces of history. The lobby ceiling was all carved wood the color of deep amber. The floor was a beautiful cascade of green and blue tiles giving a feeling of instant, lush calm. Suddenly, the room was filled with booming when a large barrel-chested man rounded the corner bellowing Rossi's name, or some version thereof.

They threw their arms around each other and embraced jovially. After a kiss on either cheek, the men broke contact and Rossi turned to Dr. Reid, "This is Dr. Spencer Reid, he's a colleague at the-"

Before Spencer could here Rossi finish the rest of the sentence he was swept up off his feet in a similarly jostling hug. Reid just fell back onto his heels when the man let go. The larger Rossi took the lead through the lobby to check them in and, thankfully, Spencer thought, to their rooms. Rossi didn't need to work too hard to convince Reid to stay in, get settled, and catch up on some of his sleep.

#-#-#-#-#-#

Two hours of tossing and turning before Reid slowly drifted to sleep and back into a familiar nightmare.

Suddenly propelled forward across the cement floor, he threw himself in between the black length of a nightstick and Keller's body. It was that slightly pink, newly exposed skin on his head. The thought of beads of precipitation coursing down his neck and they secured him to that frame…he couldn't let it happen. Reid sat inside himself, screaming for his body to stop for his hands to obey his will and just let it happen. Let the guard beat Keller. Let Reid return home sad, broken but completely in one piece. Reid was already screaming as he felt himself guided into his fate; the cold cement of the cell wall as bit into his cheek and then grated at his knees, Keller's sick affection, and the excruciating pain of it all. All he could do was lay there and move silently, defenselessly through his fate.

#-#-#-#-#-#

As usual, Reid awoke choking and gasping for breath. His pillow and shirt collar had become wet with tears and to Reid's disappointment the room was still light. Reid couldn't stay in the room – it was too quiet. Reid quickly unpacked his bag and pulled on a change of clothes, tossed some water on his hair, ran a comb through it, and then headed out the door.

Stepping out of the main doors of the North Beach Hotel was like diving into a rushing river of confused but exuberant tourists, chattering locals hurrying on about their day, and burst of the occasional female face painted like a showgirl but dressed in a velour tracksuit and thong sandals – a lady on her way to one of the many Columbus Avenue strip clubs. Reid looked out into the crowd headed in all different directions and entertained the idea of heading back up to his room but the immediate chill that ran through him convinced him to take a deep breath and jump. The current of people picked Reid instantly and guided him in the direction away from the Bay and past a park that looked out onto the beautiful white spires of a church. Spencer found himself caught up in the motion of the crowd until he passed several large single-pained glass windows, each displaying colorful renditions of classic literature. In the windows above the store were not-so-covert political statements drawn in chalk. 'City Lights Bookstore', he read the title as he walked through the doorway and up a short, but steep, set of green stairs.

The store was lined with coffee colored bookshelves that seemed to go up to the ceiling – a dangerous prospect for a San Francisco bookstore, Reid mused. Spencer had neglected to notice a sign in the window for a book signing scheduled to take place in an hour. Reid squeezed his way through the crowd until he came upon a room that had been prepared for the event. Reid wanted to leave. He'd dealt with book signings for the last few weeks and he still had plenty more to go and was not in the mood to be in the midst of one during his few moments of freedom. In an attempt to get out of the shop after going down a flight of winding stairs and then up tow more flights of winding stairs Reid found himself, not outside, but in singularly empty room that could have appeared as an enchanted attic to the right mind. In the air hung scent of old books and sun-warmed air, the oxygen was thick and a little moist. The floors and bookshelves alike looked as if they were fashioned from wood as old as the city itself. The overtones of marijuana and incense hung about thinly a reminder of the former occupants of the building – some of the greatest and most rebellious minds the 1950s and '60s had to offer. Reid looked around at the shelves –all poetry –everything from the first Valentine's Day poem to Alan Ginsberg's Howl, the work that had been conceived in these very walls. Reid was already combing through the titles, searching out something familiar, he'd buy it and read it aloud every night before bed – maybe that would bring him some peace.

Spencer shuffled to the side once more, moving onto the next shelf when he felt something warm knock into the side of his intruding leg. Reid didn't pause to consider the source before clearing halfway across the room and groping for the gun he knew full well, he wasn't carrying. Immediately the source of unexpected warmth moved to his feet. There stood a man seemingly in his early thirties, hair shaved to stubble and a short goatee being the only hair visible, and easily clearing six feet in height. The unidentified man let the book drop to the floor as he put his up in a show of surrender. "Man, I'm sorry for startling you," and when Reid just stared at him incredulously, he continued, "I know it's kind of spooky up here, right?" Then he remembered and lowered his voice, moving slowly closer to Spencer so he didn't have to shout as the voice of the presenting author was now audible, "I came up here because it's quiet and, admit it, if Kerouac's ghost is going to be hanging out somewhere, don't you think it would be here?" Now the man sounded more like an excited boy talking about his favorite ballplayer than grown, seemingly rougher, man waxing philosophical about Kerouac's ghost. The older man suddenly looked down at his shoes, possibly embarrassed by his enthusiasm.

"Are you visiting the city?" Reid mimicked the other man's hushed tone, moving hesitantly closer when the other cocked his head the first time that he uttered the question causing Reid to repeat himself.

"No, not really visiting. I live Daly City but it's almost San Francisco – it's a short train ride into the city. How about you? You've got the style down pretty well if you are a tourist." He said looking Reid over; the Chuck Taylor Converse shoes, fitted slacks, a vest of the same color and a contrasting dress-shirt underneath – with sleeves rolled to the elbows, of course. Reid's hair had ended up as a happy accident as haircuts went and it left him with some length but still was manageable and generally good-looking. It was true though, Reid could have easily passed for a Silicon Valley wunderkind on shore leave.

"Thanks, but I'm not from here. I'm out here looking at colleges," Reid said not completely missing the possible inference.

"Lucky bastard!" The man hissed at Reid and then beaming at him with a million watt smile, "Good for you! I missed that chance. Enjoy every damn minute of it! What are you studying? Make me jealous a little." He said sincerely looking at Reid like he had stumbled on some rare artifact.

"Well-" Reid was cut off by a surly-looking hippie wearing dreadlocks and a sour expression, "You're taking away from the atmosphere that our artist-in-residence is trying to cultivate with her students." The young man said after catching both of their eyes.

"We're out of here – no worries," The gregarious stranger said grabbing at Reid's hand.

"Wait!" Reid cried out forgetting about the artist-in-residence and their failing atmosphere. A surge of chastising hushes followed the two men as they exited the bookstore and Reid found himself pulled quickly across a side-street no larger than alley. Next, Reid was pulled in the direction of a short steep set of stairs that this time led him into the back room of a bar - a bar that was smoky (despite California's ban on smoking in bars) and bathed in multi-colored light from the stained glass surrounding the bar, blocking out the view from the street.

"I've got to go back for that book," The insistent stranger said as he tossed his leather jacket into the wooden booth and slid in after it, "I'd gone there for it special and I'm not about to give it up that easily."

Reid's head was still swimming from the rapid change in location and allowing this stranger to pull him even further from a familiar path. "Are you a writer?"

The young man shook his head, "She said we should write if we want to understand what we read better but I don't really like it – mostly 'cause I never had to do it. Better things to do in high school, I guess. I was a stupid kid."

Reid just looked at the stranger still puzzled. Instead, he said the most dense thing possible, "I doubt that. You seem passionate about it now?"

"Yeah, I guess it's one of the better things that stuck." The stranger said looking down at his hands. Before Reid could respond a man came over and clapped his companion on the back "Mike fuckin' Peralta? Holy shit, dude! I didn't know they let you go? How the hell'd that happen?" Mike looked over at Reid apologetically.

"Allan! Good to see ya, man." Mike said, standing and throwing one arm around the other man's shoulder and muttering something in his ear that already had Reid wanting to bolt for the door. Rossi had left him for all of an evening and already he was in a mess.

Before Reid could follow his slippery thoughts to their conclusion, Allan had left them only to return with two drinks and a knowing nod to Mike.

"I'm Mike, by the way," He said looking slightly embarrassed and annoyed by the earlier display.

"Spencer," Reid said extending his hand across the table.

"You said you were looking at colleges," Mike said drawing Spencer's drink away from him. "How old are you?

"Old enough to have run through college, graduate school, and a doctorate," Reid smiled playfully, drawing his drink back to him as Mike's eyes widened in shock.

"So whatcha checkin' out schools for? You an inspector or something? You go around make sure they're teaching it righ, huh Teach?" Mike flicked a sunflower seed that he'd pulled from his pocket at Reid.

"I'm on a recruitment tour for work." Reid tried his best to stay nonchalant.

"Cool," Mike said as if he'd already forgotten what had prompted that answer. "So do you like poetry or were you just lost?"

"My mom taught early poetry in college," Reid said looking into his drink, suddenly intimidated to meet Mike's gaze.

"Ah, so the vocation is in your blood – sweet. I'm afraid I'd be following those girls in those fuzzy track suits if I were to walk in my mom's footsteps." Mike said with a laugh.

"I'm sorry," Reid said because he never could find what the right response to that kind of childhood.

Mike laughed loudly again, taking a hearty sip of his drink, "Man, Spence! Now I remember why I like some classes, playin' with teachers can be a lot of fun," he said with another laugh, "Naw, my mom was a housewife that saw my brother and me off to school every day and cooked us dinner every night. I'm just fuckin' with you, Teach."

Spencer took a second polite sip from his drink and then scooted to the end of the booth, making ready to exit, "I should be going."

"Listen, Spence. I'm sorry." He said holding up his hands again, a mirror image of his first sighting in the bookstore. "I wasn't just saying it to say it. I really want you to tell me about school, your experience at school. I won't ever get to go so tell me about it." Mike's hand drifted across the table and reached for Reid who evaded him but Mike remained reaching emptily for him anyhow, "If you have to go, let me walk you home."

Reid let out a sigh and sat back in the booth. After weighing his options staying here, in this colorful bar, with a kind stranger was a much better alternative than the nightmares that awaited him on his pillow.

"I didn't have as much fun as you're imagining," Reid said taking a more serious sip of his drink and then forcing out a laugh of his own."I didn't exactly run with the popular crowd."

"Oh I did," Mike said quickly, "and their all a bunch of assholes. So forget about that and tell me about the best thing you've ever read." Mike said with another bright smile. Mike's lack of hair, solid build, and resonant voice should have been enough to conjure images of Keller but that man couldn't have been further from his mind at that point. At the moment he felt differently, for just a moment he allowed himself to entertain the fantasy of what it would have been like to have someone like this man by his side through the halls of his Las Vegas high school. Mike looked to be only a few years older than himself so the brief fantasy of senior Mike shielding him from the madding crowd was wonderfully endearing.

"The best ones," Reid said moving forward conspiratorially, "are read to you." Reid then felt the need to qualify that, "Or at least that's what my mom always used to say."

"I think you're right, Spencer." Mike said smiling after a long swallow of his refilled drink, "that's how I heard some of the best of them. When I wasn't ready to read them she'd bring me the tapes of someone else reading them. Do you listen to those? Books on tape?" Then Michael looked down at his drink, "then again, you don't need to, huh?"

"Sometimes it's the experience of having it read to you not the words itself," Reid said with a bit of kind diplomacy, then his tone shifted into another enticement. "Then again, maybe there is a voice in your head that sounds like Jeremy Irons when you're reading Lolita but not I, and it is something of an experience," Reid said again with that air of conspiracy and a smile. Michael's voice wasn't a dead ringer for the British actor but the depth and rasp where almost the same. Then Reid retreated, worried that his innuendo had been less than subtle.

"I'll have to remember that the next time I'm looking. I'd heard about the book but I'd never read it." Mike said earnestly, "Did you read that in school?"

Reid laughed and shook his head. "It's one of those books that you learn about on your own or through other sources," Reid smiled. "It sounds like you've attended classes recently, who recommended those books to you?"

"Oh," Mike said, looking away, "Yeah, trade school, sort of. I had a teacher that was really cool and she'd lend me books outside of class. She worked with me on reading as well. And no, it's not like it sounds either. She's married." He added almost as an afterthought.

"What was the first book she let you borrow?" He asked.

Mike's brow suddenly darkened as if he'd been challenged. Reid looked at him quizzically. Mike leaned over the table, "Swear you won't laugh. I mean, damn, for all I know you were probably one of those Matrix child prodigy types. Swear you won't laugh."

Any twinge of intimidation Reid may have felt, fell away like gossamer threads and was replaced with a kind of mourning, "We all began at the beginning. I wouldn't ever laugh at that kind of thing." Reid said passionately, his voice rising a little, "I don't like to think that you've been subject to that kind of cruelty too." Before Reid could stop himself, almost like he was back in his dream – along for the ride in his own body and powerless to stop the progression, Reid stretched his hand across the table and placed it atop Michael's toughened knuckles. Reid didn't know what to think when Mike reached out and enveloped Reid's fingertips with his own, "We've all been subject to some kind of cruelty, right?" Mike smiled and squeezed Reid's hand and breaking out in that bright smile added, "So will you let me walk you home?"

But when Mike felt Reid's hesitation, he loosened his grasp on Reid's hand, and backed away as Reid's complexion lightened and he appeared almost ashen in the dim light. "I'm sorry," He said looking straight into Reid's eyes, "I thought we were on the same page, Spencer."

Reid took another swallow of his drink, going as long as possible before he had to meet Mike's gaze, "No," Reid blushed as he spoke, "You didn't misunderstand me, but I don't want to go back there, not yet."

Michael rose from the bench, dragging his leather jacket out behind him. He walked to Reid's side of the bench and held out his hand, "I can get you so far above everything you'll forget their ever were problems."

Reid knew he should leave behind something, anything to tell whoever cared, where he had gone. Then a stronger part of him was defiant, yelling that he'd voluntarily spent a week behind bars with Keller, could there ever be a situation more dangerous, more disquieting then that? Reid reached out and took Michael's hand and allowed himself once again to be led blindly at the whim of the other man. As they walked down another alley-like street Reid began to worry when Mike turned to him suddenly and grasped him by the shoulders, the same glistening smile reassuring the younger man, as Michael drew him closer. Michael released his hold grasp on Reid except for a warm, guiding hand on the back of Reid's neck, "You're safe with me, Spencer. I want to forget as much as you do. Trust me to get us out of here?" As Mike spoke he moved closer, teasingly close to Reid's lips when he whispered, "You tell me about what I'll never read and I'll show you what you'll never find in your classrooms," Mike nuzzled Reid's neck and murmured a request so low that it practically made Reid's chest shiver with vibrations, "Let go, Spencer. Trust me," Reid let out a long-held breath and rested his forehead on Michael's shoulder and allowed the other man to guide him a few steps forward and then turned to reveal a gleaming black and steal motorcycle.

Michael opened his first saddlebag and pulled out a jacket and helmet and then opened the second saddlebag to reveal another single helmet. Before putting on his own helmet, Mike walked up to Reid and gently slung the leather jacket around his shoulders, "Trust me to take you out of that over-sized head of yours," he said kissing Reid's forehead. "Look at me, Spencer." Mike said gently, trying to bring Reid's eyes away from his hands as he zipped the jacket around Reid.

Reid walked over to the hulking piece of steel and taking the older man's hand, slung his leg over the other side. Then Michael leaned the bike toward him and he was on in front of Spencer. Michael leaned back before starting the engine, "So what's the verdict, professor?"

Reid wrapped his arms around the warm man in front of him, "Get me out of here."

The machine rumbled beneath them, a sharp snap of the kickstand, and they were off. Reid leaned back, unsure of where to put his hands, groping for a place to grasp onto behind him but when he found nothing he instinctively went for the most obvious option, around Michael's waist. Reid was feeling assured of his decision until suddenly they both leaned to the side and turned onto the steepest hill Reid had ever seen. The motorcycle grumbled and gave a few belligerent jerks before ascending the hill in a smooth charge. It was when they reach the crest of the hill that Reid began to think that the alternative to forgetting may not be worth it. The potential descent made his palms sweat just considering it and he dug his hands into the worn leather of the Mike's jacket. If timed correctly on the descent, a vehicle could move through each intersection without stopping until well after the bottom of the hill. The light changed and before taking off, Mike took a hand of the handlebar and gave Reid's white-knuckled hand a firm squeeze. Before Reid could fully absorb the contact he felt his stomach drop as they soared down the hill. They sailed past rows of Victorian-style homes that seemed like they were on such a slant that they were practically built on their sides. Each intersection they crossed caused the motorcycle to lurch forward as if it was threatening to leave them behind – Reid tried not to panic the second time he came up out of his seat and for a moment, putting distance between he and the bike.

After one last hair-raising intersection they turned onto a busy street that led them into dense Cyprus trees and the cool smell of grass and fog – Golden Gate Park. Michael turned them into the park and followed a paved road into the fog and the sweet smell of sea air. After a few short twists and turns they emerged from the park and went up the highway with the consuming fog enveloping them and the veiled roar of the Pacific Ocean to their left.

They began to approach another dense gathering of Cypress trees and an equally menacing hill. This ascent was easier, Reid was becoming accustomed to the movements and they were almost second nature. After a few zigs and zags around two very narrow bends in the road, they approached a vista point, barely illuminated by the remnants of light left by the newly set sun. Once Mike had killed the engine, and worked to loosen Reid's grip on his middle, Reid swung his leg clumsily behind himself in his best attempt to dismount the motorcycle. Through sheer luck, Reid came back on both feet solidly and stood there using all of his energy to stop his legs from shaking. Mike came to his own feet effortlessly and immediately began to unfasten his helmet and remove the knit cap he was wearing underneath. Michael scratched at his head and then in a show refocusing, shook his head and turned to face Spencer. "How ya holdin' up, professor?"

Reid crossed his arms around himself in an attempt to find some sort of steadiness. He could feel the color drain from his face and his lips become as ashen as the fog with the last thing Michael had said. This was déjà vu of the worst kind.

"Well, that answers it," Mike moved closer and Reid flinched when he took the helmet from his hands, "Easy there, Spencer," Mike said as he popped the lid on one of his saddlebags – stowing their helmets inside. Mike pulled a blanket from the other and looked up at Reid with a look of soft reassurance, "Do you hear that?"

Reid looked at him with a look of incredulous frustration. That question does nothing for my ability to feel safer at the moment. Reid resisted the urge to vocalize it, instead just shaking his head in denial.

"Exactly," Mike said, putting the half folded blanket around Reid's shoulders and walked him over to yet another seemingly steep path. Reid walked it without question until they came to a turnout with a wooden bench and a small empty patch of grass on red clay dirt – a turnout that overlooked one of the most beautifully desolate locations Reid had ever seen. Michael stepped up behind him and Reid sighed at the warmth and welcomed relief from the bone-chilling wind.

Mike wrapped his arms around the younger man, "They call this 'Land's End' and I think it's pretty right on, don't you? It's like some mythical gateway or something," Mike's voice had grown low and rich with sincerity and then he caught himself and turned from Reid with a cough, "It feels like that to me anyhow, after being surrounded with concrete all day, every day, for so long. I bet as a teacher you know what I mean, "Mike said rapidly, almost like he was embarrassed again at his gentle musings.

Reid took in a deep breath of the cool misty blanket that enclosed the point; leaving a small piece of visible ocean directly below the vista and the sight of a lone back rock, close to shore, that was being battered by the angry blue waves, "I'm not used to being outdoors in a remote place like this and not feeling a sense of dread." Reid said matter-of-factly, wishing immediately he could take it back.

Mike missed the allusion, instead drawing Reid back against him and kissing his cheek, "No need to be nervous, you're not alone out here."

Reid was able to suppress the urge to tell him that in his actual line of work being with someone in a remote location was usually a precursor to the standard horror he dealt in, it most certainly was not a means of assuaging alarm. Spencer continued to shiver and the intensified when Michael turned Reid in his arms to face him. "I know that look," Mike said in a tone of genuine caring, "I won't ever ask you to talk about it but I can handle it if you need to talk about it."

Spencer cocked his head quizzically at the older man. Lately, like after Marshall Parish, Reid had become accustomed to the vague pleasure of laugh in someone's face or cutting them up verbally when they attempted some weak platitude of pity. There was something about Michael's absolute self-assured sincerity that made Reid resist the urge to push him away. Reid combed through his brain trying to find the words for Michael and when he saw that Michael's face was slowly beginning to darken with worry, Reid knew it was time to abandon the search. Reid rested his hand next to Michael's and found it take up without hesitation. Spencer took one last of sip of the moist air before reaching toward Mike and clumsily placing a quick kiss to his lips. Spencer could feel the other man's hand at the back of his head as Michael smile spread out against Reid's lips and a chuckle in the back of Michael's throat resonating into the lingering kiss that the older man tried to entice Reid into moving into deeper.

Spencer fought the urge to panic. He tried to remind himself of all of the generic people he saw on the street every day; couples, singles, and a mix of any combination and none of them would be standing where he was now and waiting to be maimed or murdered. Finally, Reid pulled back fully intent on asking Michael to follow through with his promise and take him safely home. Then Michael removed the blanket from Reid's shoulders and spread it out on the small patch of grass next to them. Michael sat down, not looking at Reid, keeping his focus on the darkening view and the chill of the fog.

Reid wanted to sit down. He didn't want to acknowledge that maybe Michael's words did mean something. Reid wondered if he wore what Keller had done to him so plainly. He wanted to go home. "I can't…"Reid began but became silent when Michael stood.

"You want to head back downtown?" Michael said extending his hand but not yet moving to pick up the blanket.

Reid was becoming flushed and fidgety, if he'd not been out in the middle of nowhere, he would have already gone somewhere, anywhere he didn't have to face up the memories that were threatening to creep in even in this most remote location.

"Please?" Reid had intended for a stronger response, anything other than that pathetic phrase that sent him right back to the cold concrete of Keller's cell and the overwhelming pain.

"Spencer," Mike said, lowering his voice and walking toward Reid, "Spencer, it's okay. I'm not angry." Michael caught Reid's elbow and guided him back into an embrace. "You're safe with me," he kissed Reid's forehead as if to impress the point on the young man even further. Michael pulled the blanket from the ground and balled it into a semi-organized sphere, tucking it under one arm, he took Reid's hand with his other and brought the back of it to his lips. "Home it is."

Michael guided them on a gentler path than the one that had gotten them to Land's End and before Reid knew it they had arrived at his hotel. This time Michael hopped off the bike first and helped to pull the nearly sleepwalking Spencer from the bike. The cold fog and the closeness of another warm body had worked it magic on Reid's long-suffering exhaustion and he was ready to fall into sleep. "Think you can make it up there without falling asleep in the stairwell," Mike whispered in Spencer's ear as he supported the younger man on his feet. Spencer lolled his head against Michael's shoulder.

"This won't last," Spencer whined tiredly into Michael's shoulder, "I don't sleep. He'll never have to worry about sleep again and I guess, I don't either," Reid said in a tone of punch-drunk ruefulness.

"Good night, Spencer." Michael said, pulling the young man upright and kissing him softly one last time before letting him move under his own steam.

"I wish you could stay," Reid said absently, as if the decision was not his, "Good night." Reid walked through the door Michael had held open for him and made his way to his room, weakly hoping that the spell of Land's End would continue guide him toward a peaceful sleep.

#-#-#-#-#-#

An ear-piercing shriek cut through the dark, foggy night. "Alejandro, you're an asshole!" The blonde with the dripping make-up yelled out before her feet came out from under her and she took to a piece of cardboard and began careening down a cement 'slide' that had been created on the side of one of the steeper hills in the Castro District.

"That's 'cause you're a pussy, Trish!" The thin dark-haired young man yelled at the girl with the dripping make-up who now lay at the bottom of the hill in the throes of a drunken giggle fit.

"Isn't that like, uh, the fag calling the kettle…or whatever the hell the phrase is?" She shouted out in between bursts of giggles.

"Fuck you!" The thin college-age kid in dirtied club clothes yelled before snatching up a piece of cardboard and blasting his own way down the cement slide to join his friend at the bottom.

They laid there giggling and staring up at the fog-veiled stars. "You were right," Trish said in a breathless voice of elation, "playgrounds are much better now that we can drink," She paused, hearing what she'd said and then began giggling hysterically again. Alejandro stood and extended a hand to the girl on the ground, "One more before we head back to the Muni and then to State?" When Trish shook her head, beginning to look a little green around the gills, Alejandro bolted up the hill calling over his shoulder, "You're a lush, you know that, right?"

"Fuck you," Trish mumbled as her eyes began to close as the waves of nausea from the second big blue drink hit her brain. "You're the baby," she slurred as she looked up at the figure that had appeared above her. "You done?" She cocked her head, looking up from the ground, frowning a little when she felt the roughness of the dirt that had worked its way into her hair.

When the shadow above her didn't answer she struggled to get up, "Can we go back –"

Two gun shots rang out and ear-piercing shrieks once again cut through the foggy sky, only to be silenced moments later.

A/N: Friends, I have returned! Yay! It's summer break and so I have some time to indulge in all things fantasy. This story has been floating around in my brain for the last couple of months and I'm hoping it comes across as well as it has been dancing around upstairs ;) I look forward to your thoughts on the new character (like him? hate him? don't trust him?). Okay, well that's all for now. Thanks for taking the time to consider my work once again.