Hotch pulled out his pen and poised it above his notebook, as Henry adjusted himself in the bed, about to begin his story.

"Take your tine there's no rush," Hotch adjusted himself in his chair as Henry nodded before looking down at the floor as he spoke;

"I've been living on the streets for about three years now and it's hard to get money if you don't got a talent. I got friends out there who play a guitar and people will throw them a dollar, a quarter or some other change, just for singing a bit of some song they learned badly. I can't do none of that, so I took to finding other ways to get money," he paused, a little unsure he should continue his story, based on the illegality of the next part,

"Hotch paused from writing and frowned upon hearing silence;

"Go on," he prompted and waited with crossed arms,

"I'm not sure I should be tellin' a cop what I do for money, it's not exactly something I'm proud of," he picked at his nails whilst Hotch looked him over.

"I'm not a cop, I'm a special agent, and we're not here to arrest you; the way you've been obtaining food and money is likely to be something we already know, and I can assure you, you won't be in any trouble, we just need the facts, Henry," Hotch waited a little longer and Henry sighed;

"Okay, okay, so first off, lemme tell you I'm not a homosexual man. I don't feel like that about guys, it's just not how I'm wired," he paused for a second to gather his thoughts before continuing;

"This one time, a guy offered me forty dollars to give him a head right? I said what the hell is wrong with you? I ain't about that life. So he shrugged and was gonna walk away but I found myself calling out to him to wait. I mean I couldn't remember the last time I'd had forty dollars in my hands and I was starving, so I said forty? Just for that? So he says he'll make it fifty, and I agreed. So we went behind Rafters, if you don't know it, it's a dive bar and strip joint around here.

Anyway, I go behind the place and I do what he wants, and he gives me the fifty and actually thanks me. That was the first time I ever did that, so when other guys came by I obliged them for the right price. I was eating every day for the first time since I could remember, with cash left over for smokes and even a fifth of Whiskey. So the other night, it's business as usual, a guy comes up to me and asks for the full works, and I say sure, he offered me a hundred. He was so intense lookin'; grey eyes, tall, bulky, stubble, kinda rough looking.

After we were done, and I walked away I was hit from behind in the back of my head, and I can't remember much else, I remember a hand reaching down to take the fifty out of my hand and I think I heard him say something but I couldn't make out what it was, I'm sorry, that's all I can tell you," Hotch finished scribbling in such a hurried fashion only he could potentially understand it. He mused for a few moments and put his pen back into his suit jacket.

"Thank you Henry, this is very helpful, I appreciate how difficult this must have been to relive such a traumatic event. If you need to, I can put you in touch with someone who can help you find a counsellor to help you to recover from this, and a homeless shelter until you're able to get back on your feet, is that something you'd be interested in?" Henry nodded;

"The shelter, I'm okay with that, but I don't want no counselling, just find the guy will you?" Hotch nodded and put his notepad away.

"I'll come back with some information once I've had a chance to talk to some local shelters to find you a place, alright? Thank you for your time, and feel better Henry," he nodded, and Hotch left him to his thoughts and his rest. He knocked softly at the neighbouring door, to see if he could get in on Morgan's interview with their latest victim. He looked through the narrow pane of glass in the door and frowned; Morgan was hugging the victim, and he was crying. As much as Morgan was a compassionate and kind person, he never grew so involved with anyone on the job. Hotch opened the door, and Morgan looked up at him with pain in his dark eyes. It was only as Morgan lifted his head, was Hotch able to see the face of the victim. A man he had loved and protected until he hadn't been able to stop him from his decline into destruction.

Hotch made his way to the bed, at a loss for what he could say. Spencer's darting eyes enveloped him and somewhere deep beyond the fear and pain there was recognition and relief. As Hotch's hand met Spencer's, the same doctor who had been outside attempting to conceal Spencer from the agents bustled in. He stopped as he walked in and his eyebrows knitted together in fury;

"What are you doing in here?!" he snapped with malicious authority. Morgan and Hotch looked up at him and Morgan rose from his chair to confront him.

"Do you realise just how many years you can go to prison for obstruction of justice?" he quirked an eyebrow at the doctor who stammered profusely.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," he put his hands to his hips like a petulant teenager.

"This patient is connected to our case and you were attempting to hide that from us. Not only is it illegal it's confusing. Why would you want a vicious attacker to get away from us?" his eyes narrowed suspiciously as the doctor scrambled for an answer.

"I don't want that, why would I want that? It's just not good for the hospital's image, you know how it is; HR are always breathing down our necks about keeping things private, maintaining an image," he shrugged almost nonchalantly, which triggered Hotch to stand up and weigh in on the situation;

"Your image is worth a man's life? His dignity? You clearly have zero comprehension of how we operate, Doctor…?" Hotch waited for the response he'd prompted with impatience;

"Clements," he glared back at Hotch and sighed.

"Doctor Clements, we do not release names or faces of living victims unless they give us explicit permission or they are giving a public statement. The fact your hospital is treating a multitude of serial rape victims with adequate care and compassion can only make your hospital look better. Would you like me to have a discussion with HR because I'm not sure they are the ones with the problem here?" Hotch stared him down until he looked away in defeat.

"Fine, fine, take what you need but this patient doesn't have much to say. He couldn't even tell us his name. It was on some ID card in the pocket of that coat, he probably stole it though so we have no way of knowing who he actually is," Doctor Clements pointed to the long brown coat that Hotch then moved to pick up. He pulled out the ID card and felt his throat tighten a little with latent emotion; it was his F.B.I. ID card. He'd kept it for two years out here in this cold and unforgiving city; the last symbol of the man he once was, and hope that he could regain himself.

"This is his real name, I can confirm that," Hotch put the ID card in his pocket and placed the coat down on the chair once again.

"How? Like I said, he probably stole the coat from Goodwill or something," the doctor eyed Spencer with disdain.

"We know him," Morgan spoke shortly to the doctor who raised his eyebrows in curiosity and, as Morgan glimpsed for a second; fear.

"You know him?" he repeated like a Blue Macaw learning to speak.

"Yes, we know him," Hotch remained vague and alluded the question.

"How do you know him?" the doctor narrowed his eyes once more and kept one hand on his hip in impertinence.

"We're not at liberty to say," Morgan smiled slyly, and Hotch twitched a smile.

"Once this patient is ready to be discharged, we'd like you to call us, we're going to be taking him with is, we'll make sure he's safe and has a place to go from now on," Morgan smiled warmly at Spencer, whose tear-stained cheeks shone in the florescent hospital lamps. The doctor merely nodded and handed Hotch a notepad in anticipation for his contact details. Hotch obliged and walked out of the room, but not without turning back to Spencer;

"Everything's going to be alright now, Reid," Spencer looked up at him meekly, and he nodded, and he sighed in relief. He reluctantly let go of Morgan's hand and they left the room. As they trailed the corridors in a maze looking for the exit, Morgan pulled out his phone;

"We have to tell them back at HQ, Hotch," he looked to his boss for permission and after he nodded stiffly, Morgan punched in Garcia's number;

"Hey Baby Girl, listen, you're gonna have to trust me on this but something's come up and it's important…

Liana paced up and down, biting her nails and trying to swat away the paranoid thoughts she couldn't escape.

"Maybe he's been abducted by aliens," she looked to Billy in wide-eyed horror.

"Don't be stupid Lia, what would they want with Spencer anyhow?" he rolled his eyes although, he too was allowing more and more worry to mount up against him.

"What do they want with any of us? They abducted me once," Billy rolled his eyes even further into his head;

"He hasn't been abducted by aliens, but maybe a john grabbed him," he looked up at her and she frowned;

"A what now?" he sighed as he explained himself as calmly as his frustration would allow;

"One of his guys, you know, he was on his way to meet one of them last night, maybe they whacked him," he shrugged brazenly but his blood was running cold at the thought. He moved to the fire barrel and attempted to warm his hands over the flames, his ragged gloves more hole than glove after so long.

"Don't SAY that," Liana bit her nail too far and the metallic taste of blood tainted her tongue although she barely noticed. Billy shrugged and pulled out a smoke. He foolishly leaned into the fire to light it and somehow escaped being maimed by the dancing devils within the barrel.

"I'm just trying to be realistic; it's a shitty world and shitty things happen to people like us. He knew the risks," Liana snarled at him when he said that;

"So what? We give up on him? After everything he's done for us, the awful, and brave things he's done to get us money, food, smokes, everything he's done for us, that's it? You write him off like he's just some passer by we got a dollar from?" her eyes brimmed with tears that threatened to rage down her dirty face in clean lines.

"No, that's not what I'm sayin' but sometimes people don't come back Lia. My whole life was people just not coming back. My daddy didn't come back, my wife didn't come back, my dog didn't come back. It's a way of life; people leave, people die; people don't always come back," he turned his back on her and continued to puff out billows of toxic air; he would not show her the trepidation and the tears he held, for he was the only one left among them to be strong.

The settlement had become a family when Spencer arrived. It had no longer been just a space where a group of homeless people barely survived, Spencer had united them all, and in making them a family, he had restored faith in humanity to Billy, and he would not stand around here waiting for that family to be restored. He knew he had to do something but he felt powerless to execute a plan. He was impotent in that moment, and it enraged him. Liana was curled up next to the fire barrel, her matted hair a dancing mosaic up against the rusted metal. She sobbed quietly as the little demons poked and prodded her brain, feeding her delusional ramblings. She uttered nonsense into to the fire, her spindly fingers placed upon the heated metal barrel; she was no longer lucid. Her support system missed a vital component and she had no other choice but to shut down.

It was three days later that Spencer was deemed fit enough to leave the hospital. As promised, Morgan and Hotch were there to greet him, the full team desperate to see him and begin the large process of healing and rebirth. Spencer was reluctant to leave New York; even though it had shown him little but harsh reality and malevolent distrust, he had become one with the symbiosis of the world around him here. He knew he couldn't leave without closure, and he knew the men who had returned after so long to rescue him, would take initiative and help the settlement. That was the condition he had in his head for them; he would not leave them behind, for they had stopped him from expiring on the coldest of nights two years ago.

"I need to show you something. The place I've been living and the people who helped me survive for so long out here. I can't just get on a plane and disappear leaving them to languish alone after every night they helped me when…" he trailed off, his intention was never to project bitterness, after all had allowed his own decline, and refused to allow their gracious offers of help. He would have given up on him too if he had been in such an impossible situation.

"Reid, I-" Spencer held up his hand to stop Morgan;

"No, I don't need you to do that. I'm about facts, I always have been. No amount of trauma or impoverished living will change that. I'm still smart, I'm still me, I'm just at a stage of lying dormant I suppose. I'm almost completely off Dilaudid, I did that myself, so give me a little credit okay?" Spencer twitched a little as he spoke, he wanted so to believe the words he was speaking to them, he was afraid of showing them his truly broken self in a bid to minimise their guilt. He realised quickly that he could not hide anything from the profilers he once worked with, some of the greatest minds in the country. They too hid their pity, thus making him all the more despondent.

They helped Spencer into the car and he pointed them in the right direction towards the settlement. He retained his incredible memory through adversity and trauma, and it was barely any time until they pulled up at the underpass. He could see the huddled shape of Liana by the fire barrel that had kept him almost warm at night, the hunched but pacing figure of Billy, a smoke in his mouth, contemplating as always. Four or five others he had helped over the two years he'd been enveloped in their society. He looked to reconnect these forgotten souls to the world as well as him self, he sought to bring them back to life, relinquishing their ghostly identities in the process.

As they climbed out of the car, Billy's head whipped around and he took on a protective stance. He was a suitable mix of afraid, on guard and puzzled as he saw the two well-dressed, official men beside their long-time companion.

"Cops! They're cops!" he hissed and the other settlers backed away into the corner, even Liana snapped out of her reverie and scrambled away from the incoming strangers. Spencer held his hands up calmly;

"It's alright, it's alright, they're not cops. They're my friends. They're my old colleagues," he took in their suspicion and Billy frowned;

"The ones that left you when you lost your job? When you were in need they abandoned you? Why would you ever bring them here, where it was safe and you were free?" he spoke with words dripping in acid.

"They didn't…I mean in retrospect yes, they did, but I told you how I was, the depths to which I had lowered myself. I didn't…they tried to help me, more than once and I turned them away," Spencer looked at his hands, the betrayal leaving his lips he awaited the judgement of the gallery of faces before him.

"Why? Why would you turn them away? For a life on the streets, a life with no prospects, our life…" Liana whispered in between the mutterings to the invisible forces inside her head.

"I was an addict. Addicts don't make rational decisions. I wanted nothing from them because I deserved nothing from them in my eyes. I fled. I sold the last of my belongings to get the night bus out of Virginia. I didn't care where it went I just wanted to disappear to a world that I created for myself, a stupor of my own creation based on a product of my inadequacies. I wanted to become a ghost. They chose not to find me because I think…I think they knew I didn't want to be found. They had every opportunity and the means to find me but they chose not to. They knew I had given up. As much as I wanted to blame them for giving up, I couldn't because I gave up first," Hotch and Morgan shared mournful glances as Spencer spoke from such a profound place they had no way to refute it, and they didn't deserve to do so.

"I brought them here to see what became of me, and why I'm even here for them to take back into their lives. The settlement is the only reason I'm still here. The night I stumbled from the bus in a stoned and delusional mess, I ended up a mile from here. You, Liana, were begging for change nearby, I could hear your voice in the distance as I lay in the snow, considering the existential nature of my thoughts; the prospect of dying alone on the snowy streets of a place I had never called home. I felt arms pulling me, grabbing me from the ground, I could feel myself being carried and taken somewhere but no concept of where. I woke up in the settlement. It had little to offer but kindness, a small fire and a modest meal and so I took it. I was guarded for many months until I told you who I was, not because I was not trusting of you, but rather I was ashamed of myself and how I got to be the wreck you came across that night," Liana, Billy and the others remained in a stunned silence at the revelations swayed in the air like wisps of clarity amongst the New York smog.

"So you're going?" Billy remained stoic in his delivery but his eyes betrayed his delivery. Spencer nodded still a little unsure;

"I think so, I think…I think it's time I faced..reality, but not yet; there's a killer, a rapist in these streets and they're here working the case, so they will have to stay at least for a little while," Spencer looked up, afraid to meet the gaze of the settlement. Billy nodded, as Liana took his hand and whispered to herself. Hotch spoke up into the fractured silence;

"We're in a position to help you, if you're open to it. Rehab, shelter, education, we can forge those connections," Liana eyed them cautiously;

"Hey mister, do you really work for the FBI?" Hotch nodded and showed her his badge, she looked impressed her eyes childlike as she smiled. Billy remained guarded and kept her back from them, pulling back her outreached hand.

"You can trust them, I would never put you in danger. Liana, Billy, everyone, this is Derek and Aaron, they work for the F.B.I and they want to help us, all of us," Spencer held out his hands in welcoming.

"Hold on, what even happened to you? Where were you?" Billy held up his hand to keep a distance.

"It's a long story, and I'll tell you everything I promise, just…come with us, please? There is so much more you need to know, and surely it would be better to talk when we're warm, dry, and with food inside of us," Spencer counted on their trust in him to grant them the platform to help them in their hour of need. One by one they shuffled forward, willing to take a step towards a new life. Hotch and Morgan opened the car door, and helped them inside one by one.

Morgan called the local police department to arrange for another unmarked car to pick them up and take them to a safe place to talk. They looked around fearfully, back and forward to Spencer as if her was their leader in a world gone mad. They headed towards The Bowery Mission; a shelter in Manhattan for those less fortunate, and Spencer dared to smile; life was ready to change again, and he was ready.