evil has never loved you as i do (2/2). reid/nathan & hotch/reid (criminal minds), pg-13.

Jun 21, 2011 19:58

See part one for more details.


"Nathan's not confessing?" Reid asks, prompting for answers when he realises no one is jumping to fill him in.

Prentiss and Morgan shake their heads. "He's not denying anything either, though, Reid," says Prentiss, "I wouldn't get your hopes up."

"But if he's not confessing, that's-that's a good sign, right?" Reid persists, agitated, clicking off the lid of his pen and replacing it, over and over. "Does he have an alibi, or-"

"He admitted to being out walking the streets at the time of the latest murder," Hotch cuts him off. "It doesn't look good, Reid."

Rossi enters, taking a seat. "I let his mother see him."

"Did you let her know we're planning on keeping him in overnight?" Hotch asks, and Rossi nods.

"You're keeping him in overnight?" Reid echoes.

"We're hoping it'll wear him down," Rossi explains, clearly not thinking about his choice of words, and Reid blanches, fingers tightening around the pen in his hand.

"Wear him down?" he repeats. "You can't just force a confession out of him by making him uncomfortable-"

"Reid," Morgan says, softly. "We're not trying to force anything. We're just giving him some time to decide what he wants to do."

"And in the meantime," Hotch adds, "I thought we could refine our profile a little more."

"I'm not sure what you need a profile for," Reid bites back, bitterly, "you clearly think you've already caught the unsub."

A tense silence. Hotch eyes Reid carefully, but Reid is staring at the desk now like a sullen teenager. "We still don't know anything more than we did this morning," Hotch replies slowly. "Whether it's Nathan or not, we need to be a little clearer on some parts of the murders. What triggered the unsub to start killing, why he decided to mimic certain aspects of the Weems case..."

"It could still just be a copycat killer," Reid says in a small voice, still not looking up at him.

"Exactly," says Hotch. "It's worth taking other ideas into consideration."

"If it's a copycat killer, you think it's someone else with a political motive?" Prentiss asks.

They begin to discuss the possibility, but no one can make a particularly strong case for any alternatives to Nathan Harris, and it only gets worse when JJ joins them, having just spoken to a bunch of motel receptionists in D.C. over the phone. None of them can give a very clear eye-witness account, she says, but they all remember a young guy, with a hood or hat pulled down and his head hung low to hide his face. They all agree on 'young', on 'shy', on 'polite', and no one can argue that it doesn't sound like Nathan.

Reid's agitation grows further when they begin to discuss the stressor, what caused the unsub to begin killing.

"If it is Nathan, he didn't start right after he was released from the hospital," says JJ, flicking through pages in the file. "That was six months ago, and the first murder was three months ago."

"So it wasn't his newfound freedom," says Rossi.

"Maybe he wanted to give the impression that he'd recovered," offers Prentiss. "Keep up appearances for a while, and then when he was no longer being watched like a hawk..."

"Could be. Sexual sadists are very good at faking it. Pretending they're just like everybody else," Rossi agrees.

"You think that's how he got out of the institution?" Morgan asks.

"Sure," Prentiss replies. "Lying, telling them what they want to hear, 'til he's considered a model patient and they can't think of any reason not to let him back into society."

"Stop it!" snaps Reid, suddenly-so suddenly and so loudly that Prentiss actually jumps, and everyone turns to look at him in surprise. He's clutching his pen so tightly that his knuckles have gone white, and he looks sweaty, unwell. "Stop talking about him like that! He's not manipulative-there's nothing in his personality to suggest that, and you know it. You're just-inventing things to make your theory sound more convincing."

For a moment everybody is stunned into silence. Hotch tries to think of what to say, how to calm Reid down-but all he can focus on is the strength of emotion in his outburst, the passion with which Reid talks about Nathan. Reid rarely shows such attachment to anybody.

"We're just speculating, Reid," Morgan says quietly, leaning in, trying to get Reid to look him in the eye. "If you have reason to believe that Nathan couldn't have lied his way out of the institution, you can tell us."

Reid drops his head even lower. "He's always been honest with me," he mumbles, and he sounds so broken that it kills Hotch to hear. He can't stand the idea that Nathan has weaved his way into Reid's life like this, manipulated him the same way he did everyone around him. Maybe he even got Reid on his side purely because he knew it might be useful when he eventually killed someone. He lied to Reid during their very first meeting and he's continued to lie for the past three years, and Reid can't even see it. Hotch knows that he's being irrational, but this kid makes him sick-he's a parasite.

"You said he wrote you letters," Prentiss says hesitantly. "Did he talk about feeling better? About his hopes for release?"

Reid frowns, sucks his lower lip into his mouth and says nothing for a moment-and it's not like he's trying to remember, more like he's trying to decide how much he wants to reveal, whether it's worth it. Hotch wants to know what the hell was in those letters that's got Reid protecting them like his life depends on it.

"Yeah," Reid says eventually. "But not-not like it was all he was thinking about. He wasn't fixated on leaving there at all. He didn't mind it. He just said they seemed to think he was doing better. I asked if he agreed with them and he said he thought so. That the urges were disappearing. He didn't make it into a big deal-he wasn't trying to convince me."

"Why did the two of you lose touch?" Rossi asks.

Reid gives him a look, a look that clearly shows how much he resents this, being brought into it and talked to like a witness. "He wasn't in the institution anymore. He had other things to focus on. Trying to find a college to get into, a part-time job, just...getting used to being in the real world again."

"So he was the one who stopped writing?" presses Rossi.

Reid throws down his pen, slumps back in his seat, rubs his hands over his tired face. "When he started talking about all that stuff, I-I just knew it meant he didn't really need me anymore. It started taking him longer to respond, and I felt like he was only doing it out of courtesy. He was moving on with his life and I thought-I thought I should let him do that. I didn't want him to cling to something that would always remind him of how things were in the past."

"So you were the first one to leave a letter unanswered?" Rossi prompts. Hotch doesn't like how much this is starting to sound like an interrogation, but it's necessary. It's either this, or they're going to end up having to get a warrant to search Reid's apartment, find those letters and have them plastered on the walls as evidence. The thought makes his stomach turn.

Reid nods. He looks at Hotch, choosing him suddenly and seemingly at random, shooting him a pleading expression that just about breaks Hotch's heart. They all know what's coming.

"When was that?" Rossi asks.

"There were...there were a couple that I didn't respond to. I don't know exactly...when the last one was," Reid says, slowly.

"Yes you do, Reid," Morgan murmurs, hand on Reid's shoulder, rubbing soothingly, encouragingly.

Reid gives them the date, in a voice that's shaky with threatening tears. JJ checks the file, swears under her breath and slides it across to Hotch. It's a week and four days before the first murder. About as long as Nathan might wait for a response. He doesn't have to say so-everybody knows, and the silence in the room is stifling.

Suddenly Reid gets to his feet. "I have to-uh," he says, his voice high, frantic, "I have to get-get out of here, so-"

And he's gone, door slamming shut behind him, the sound of it ringing out in Hotch's ears.

"I'll go," Morgan says, quietly, starting to stand up, but Hotch holds up his hand.

"No, I will," he says sharply, sliding the file across to Morgan. "And this discussion isn't over. If anyone has any more theories, please, God, share them."

With that, he goes, finds Reid in the men's room, hunched over the sink and fighting back tears. Reid glances up to see Hotch in the mirror, and then ducks his head again, ashamed.

"I just-I can't deal with it, I can't deal with the fact that this might be my fault, I can't-" he panics, hands slippery against the rim of the sink as he tries to hold onto it.

"This isn't your fault, Reid," Hotch says, firmly. "You were trying to help him by cutting off contact. You said so yourself. You didn't want to remind him of his past-it was a very thoughtful, smart thing to do."

"But I wanted to keep writing to him. I wanted it so much, Hotch. It was so hard to make myself stop but I told myself I was doing the right thing and-" his breath catches, "-I wasn't, if I'd just kept writing-"

"Remember Gideon's verdict after Nathan's evaluation?"

"That it wasn't whether or not he would kill anybody, it was when," Reid rattles off instantly, like it's something that's been haunting him all these years, "but Hotch-I-I-oh, god," his voice breaks off in what sounds like a sob, and Hotch comes closer. Reid turns around, looks into his eyes. "I should have let him die," he almost whispers, sounding terrified. "Oh god, I should have let him die."

"There's no way you could have known," Hotch says, trying to keep calm, but he feels like anything he says will be useless and the frustration of it is killing him. He knows how Reid feels, knows what it's like to have regrets this powerful. "Don't do this to yourself."

Reid is shaking his head back and forth, biting down on his lip. Hotch can see how hard he's trying not to cry, and he almost wishes that he would, would just let it out. Hotch hardly has any words left in him, and so he just says, "Come here," gestures awkwardly, lets Reid into his arms and holds him, because just for this moment it isn't strange, it isn't inappropriate. It isn't anything but necessary.

His hands tensed against the soft wool of Reid's sweater, he waits for the dam to break. It doesn't. Reid clutches at his back like a helpless child but not a sound comes out of him. Hotch is uncomfortable, his body stiff, but it seems that this is all that Reid needs, clinging to Hotch like it will somehow fix things, like Hotch can make it better, make it all go away.

"I think you should take the rest of the day off," Hotch says quietly, when it gets to be too much, when the heat of Reid's body is making him sweat and his skin is beginning to prickle from the proximity.

Reid pulls back, slow, and it's a moment before they look each other in the eye. "I want to see him," he says, then, and his voice is still weak, but certain.

Hotch considers him, his tired eyes and his mussed-up hair, his guilt and his pain. He thinks of the case, of Nathan Harris sitting silently in a room a few walls away, waiting patiently and refusing to talk.

"I'll think about it. If he hasn't given us anything by tomorrow, then-maybe." Reid nods. "But don't think about that now," Hotch says, "go home. Get some rest."

The please is on the tip of his tongue; he has to bite it back.

***
Dr. Reid is true to his word, returning the following week even though Nathan was sure he wouldn't. He looks a lot better, though still thin, still carrying his trauma in the way that he moves and the darkness in his eyes. He has a gift with him, and this time it's not a book.

"Notepaper?" Nathan asks, curiously, taking it out of its little gift bag.

"I thought we could write to each other," Reid says, with a shy smile. "I got you-I got you a pen, too, if you-" He takes the bag and turns it upside down, and a fountain pen falls out, onto the bed between them.

For a moment Nathan doesn't say anything. He doesn't know what to say. This isn't the rejection he expected, and yet it still hurts, like being kicked in the gut. "Is this because-" he starts, eventually, when the silence and the not-knowing is too painful to bear, but Dr. Reid cuts him off.

"I'll still come visit," he says hurriedly, "it's just-it's hard for me to keep any kind of regular schedule with my job and everything."

Nathan looks down at the notepaper, runs his fingernails along the edges. "How often?"

"When I can," he promises. "But I want to keep in touch with you in the meantime." He offers a tiny smile, tentative, ducking his head to try and get Nathan to look him in the eye.

Nathan looks up at him distrustfully. It feels like something is crumbling down around them; as if he's ruined whatever it was that they had. And Reid looks guilty, and Nathan doesn't want any of this, doesn't want Reid's pity. He knows it was foolish to ever think they could be something, that Reid could want him, a sick teenager in a mental hospital, but he had clung to the idea like a security blanket and it hurts to have it ripped away.

"My-my Mom is in a place like this," Reid says, quietly. "I write her every week. It's-it's amazing the things you can say in letters. It'll be just like visiting, I promise."

Nathan doesn't believe him, but he takes the notepaper and pen anyway, and Reid smiles. When he doesn't show the following week, Nathan settles down cross-legged on his bed and writes his first letter, pretending Dr. Reid is sitting across from him.

***
Reid seems a little better the next day; it's the rest of them who are worn-out, pessimistic, frustrated. They spent the rest of yesterday taking turns with Nathan, trying to get something, anything out of him. Hotch even sent Garcia in there, despite her protests. But none of it was any use. Nathan's face was blank when they showed him pictures of the victims, and his body language gave nothing away. Any direct question received only a hesitant shake of the head, not so much a no as a nervous twitch. The kid didn't ask for a lawyer, didn't even ask to see his mother again.

Reid missed all of it, went home and (Hotch hopes) slept, and today he's no longer shaky and anxious. In fact, there's little emotion visible in him at all, but he seems ready to tackle whatever the day will throw at him and that's all they can really ask for. If he's had to detach himself emotionally from the situation-well, maybe that's not such a bad thing.

The team have had a couple of discussions, and it's generally agreed upon that Reid is their last hope. Nathan may well be willing to speak if it's with Reid, and they can't pass up that opportunity. Hotch presents it as a new tactic: using Reid to get closer to Nathan, sending in someone he trusts. Morgan is the only one to argue against the idea, and Hotch has sent him and Prentiss back to D.C. to try and talk to the prostitutes there and see if they can get any more eyewitness accounts. (It's a difficult task, he knows-prostitutes are always cagey around law enforcement, even in cases like these-but it's always worth a try and they're running out of options.)

"Don't get too heavy," Hotch tells Reid, "just talk to him like you usually would. Let him guide the conversation. Treat it that way-like a conversation, not an interrogation. See how that goes and then we'll reconvene. If you're making headway we'll send you back in with some questions."

Reid nods, swallows a little nervously as he gets to his feet. He brushes himself down as though it's necessary, straightening out his blazer and tie. Takes a deep breath.

"Reid," Hotch warns, as Reid starts to head towards the interrogation room. "I'm putting a lot of trust in you with this."

"Yes sir," Reid says.

Hotch knows he should give them privacy, but after a few minutes sitting at his desk and being completely unable to focus on anything, he heads out again, hovers outside the interrogation room. Reid has his back to the window, but Hotch can see Nathan and the kid is smiling as Reid talks to him. At first Hotch is angered by it, but when he looks a little closer he sees a sadness in Nathan's eyes. Reid is the one leading the conversation, animated, talking with his hands. To Hotch's surprise, he sees Reid reach across the table and take both of Nathan's hands in his, sees Nathan flinch but allow it, sees Reid squeeze and lean in close.

Hotch can't stand it. He pushes open the door, and the two of them instantly spring apart like guilty teenagers caught fooling around, and Hotch feels sick.

"A word, please, Reid," he grits out, and Reid apologizes quietly to Nathan before obeying.

The second the door is shut behind them, Reid's agitation is back, but it's different this time-a sort of excitement instead of anxious dread. "He's innocent, Hotch," he says, bouncing on the balls of his feet and shooting glances at Nathan through the window.

"He told you that?" Hotch asks, carefully.

"He didn't have to," Reid replies. "Can we-we need to gather everyone in the conference room, we have to start focusing on alternatives-the, the copycat theory, the political angle-" He's talking a mile a minute, already starting to hurry off in the other direction.

Hotch grabs his arm, holds him still. "What did Nathan say to you?" he asks.

"Well, he-he didn't have much to say but-I just know, Hotch, I can't explain it," Reid babbles, and shit, just when Hotch thought Reid was really coming to terms with this-"He didn't do it. He didn't, I swear to you."

Just then, Morgan and Prentiss return, striding across the bullpen towards them. Their faces are grim, but Hotch sees that Reid's doesn't fall upon seeing them.

"How did it go?" Hotch asks.

"Like pulling teeth," Morgan replies with a sigh. "Wanna get everyone together?"

A couple of minutes later, everyone is gathered in the conference room for Morgan and Prentiss to report back. Reid is still jittery, unable to sit still, and the hopeful expression on his face is killing Hotch.

"Quite a few of the prostitutes we talked to recognised Nathan from the picture," Prentiss says, choosing her words carefully, eyeing Reid. "They couldn't confirm that he'd been a client at any point, but they knew him. Said they'd seen him around."

Before anyone else has a chance to respond, Reid is jumping in. "That doesn't mean anything though, right? I mean-they recognised him the last time, and he hadn't done anything wrong, he'd just been watching."

Prentiss looks a little taken aback by Reid's reaction, and Morgan shoots Hotch a look that plainly says told you that was a bad idea. "Reid..." Prentiss says gently. She reaches out to touch his arm and he snatches it away from her.

"No, stop it," he snaps, "stop it, stop-jumping to conclusions, we still don't have any concrete proof-"

"Reid," says Hotch abruptly, unable to take it anymore. "Go to my office. I'll be with you in a moment."

"But sir-"

"Now."

Quickly, quietly, embarrassed, Reid leaves the room, and the tension he leaves behind is palpable.

"Kid's spiralled right back around into denial," sighs Morgan dejectedly. "God, it's painful."

"You think he should be taken off the case?" asks Rossi, and it's clear from his tone that he does.

"Probably," Hotch says. "Listen-I'm going to speak to Nathan quickly, find out exactly what the two of them talked about. Reid was doing so well, I don't-" he cuts himself off, getting to his feet with a sigh.

He enters the interrogation room swiftly, doesn't even bother taking a seat. Nathan looks up at him and for once actually seems nervous.

"What did Dr. Reid say to you?" Hotch asks sharply, getting straight to the point.

Nathan bites his lip, his brow creased. "He said he was going to help me," he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. He almost sounds apologetic. "He said he knew I was innocent and that he would do everything in his power to get me out of here."

Hotch, jaw clenched, stares at the kid for a long moment. Nathan ducks his head, looks down at his hands like a child being scolded. Hotch leaves the room without another word.

He finds Reid in his office, in an unsettlingly similar pose, sitting by Hotch's desk with his hands fidgeting in his lap. He looks up as Hotch comes in, speaks before Hotch has even sat down.

"You're going to have me taken off the case, aren't you?" he asks, his voice small and sad.

"Reid," Hotch says. He tries to be gentle but his voice comes out rough, harsh. "Do you have any idea of how much you've complicated things?" His anger swells up inside of him, gathers up other emotions like a wave. "You cannot make promises like that to a suspect-I don't care how strongly you feel for him, he could be our unsub, and I trusted you to treat him as such."

"But he's innocent, Hotch," Reid says, his voice pleading.

"We may not have enough evidence to convict him," Hotch says, "but what we have so far strongly suggests that he's guilty and you know that, I know you do, you're just refusing to see it." Reid says nothing. "I have to take you off the case, Reid."

Still, nothing-but when their eyes meet, he looks absolutely crestfallen, and Hotch has to look away.

For the rest of the day, Nathan still refuses to give them anything, eerily calm and quiet, not even mentioning Reid anymore. Hotch has the team carrying out pointless tasks for the rest of the day-tracking down the type of weapon (turns out it's a basic hunting knife; local stores tell them they sell so many that they couldn't possibly remember every customer), and heading down to the morgue to examine the bodies once more (finding nothing new).

They haven't been stumped like this on a case for a long time now, and Hotch can't stand it, can't even look at Nathan sitting patiently in the interrogation room because every time he does he wants to scream, wants to smash the window with his fist.

They can keep Nathan in pre-charge detention for one more night, so they do. It seems they don't have any other options at this point. The team goes home late, defeated, frustrated, and Hotch has another fitful night of sleep ahead of him.

He has finally drifted off properly when the phone rings. It's six in the morning, and Hotch awakes with a start. He grapples for the phone, thinking, in his sleep-addled daze, of Reid, and is surprised to hear a different voice on the other end of the line.

"Agent Hotchner? Detective Barnes with the D.C. police. We have another victim."

***
"Nathan's been under surveillance all night," Hotch says, pacing the length of the conference room. "We know this wasn't him."

"Do we know for sure that this murder is even linked to the others?" asks Morgan.

"Victim was a nineteen year old prostitute by the name of Lynne Davies," JJ says, entering the room and bringing up the photos of the crime scene. "Found stabbed to death in a motel room. Evidence of sexual intercourse prior to her death. No words were carved into the body and no hair was removed, but in all other respects it's very similar to the previous murders."

"No hesitation marks in the stab wounds," remarks Rossi. "He's growing more confident."

"You said the body was found at the Gateway Motel?" asks Prentiss. "That's a little out of the way, isn't it?"

Garcia, laptop perched on her knees, brings up the geographical profile. "Way out of the way," she agrees, doing a quick calculation in her head. "The other motels where the bodies were found-even the closest one is at least six miles away from there."

"So what do you think? Is it connected?" Morgan asks.

"It's gotta be, right?" Prentiss says. "I mean-I was as convinced as anybody about Nathan Harris, but-there's too many similarities here."

"Maybe he went a little further away because of the media coverage of the murders," JJ suggests.

Hotch checks his watch. "We can only keep Nathan for about another five hours," he says, "so we'd better move fast. Morgan, Prentiss, Rossi-I want you to go to the motel, check out the crime scene and talk to the staff there. Anything that doesn't fit with the rest of the murders, take note of it. We'll stay here. Keep us updated."

Hotch can barely work for the next few hours, unable to concentrate. He keeps thinking of Reid, wondering how he's doing. He thinks of calling him, but decides against it. Then he thinks of going to speak to Nathan once more, and this he does, a last-ditch attempt at getting a confession out of the kid. He knows, deep down, that it doesn't quite fit with the profile, but there's a chance that Nathan might be a little bit proud of his kills, protective-and if he finds out they've turned their attention to another guy, he might snap.

But no luck. Nathan seems a little surprised to hear there's been another murder, but all he says is "So does that mean I'm free to go, or-?"

It's nearing midday already when the others call from the car on their way back from D.C.

"Receptionist described him as quiet. Wearing a hood," Morgan says. "Sounds like our guy."

"Nothing out of place at the crime scene," Prentiss chimes in. "Could be a run-of-the-mill prostitute murder, unrelated, but-it's pretty much exactly the same as the first two murders in the case. Stab wounds extremely similar, only difference is they're more severe, more certain."

"Which makes sense," Rossi cuts in, "if it's the unsub's fifth time."

"So what about the hair? And the word carved into Ashley Hogg's body?" Hotch asks, because it's nagging at him, because they're anomalies and they can't just be brushed aside.

"Maybe the unsub just wanted to get our attention, throw us off-track," Prentiss suggests.

"Maybe he was just trying out a different technique. Seeing what worked for him. Probably heard about Ronald Weems on the news back then," comes Rossi's voice.

"Or maybe it really was a cry for help," Hotch says, the words coming almost automatically, like he's profiling out of habit, without truly engaging his brain. He rubs his forehead, fights back a yawn.

"So are you going to let Nathan Harris go?" asks Prentiss after a pause.

"No more reason to keep him, I suppose," Hotch replies, though there's a sinking feeling in his gut at the thought of it, of setting Nathan free. Some sick part of him wants to keep the kid locked up forever, but they have no reason to, and it's pure spite that churns in his stomach, a need for revenge.

He's about to hang up when Morgan says, "Hotch? You gonna let Reid know?"

Hotch hadn't even considered not telling him. "He'll be relieved," he replies, but can't quite bring himself to say to hear that Nathan's innocent, somehow not yet convinced of it.

"You think maybe we should wait for this to blow over first?" Morgan asks.

He has a point, but-Hotch can imagine Reid sitting at home, worrying, and he hates it. He doesn't know what the best course of action is.

He sends Nathan home himself (gets only a "thank you, sir" in response from the kid, and an icy glare from Mrs. Harris), and eats his lunch alone in his office, staring at the phone. Morgan, Prentiss and Rossi return, and a heavy feeling settles over them all. They're no closer to solving this case than they were before, and it almost feels like they're further from it, their one suspect now walking free.

Hotch calls Reid when he can no longer stand it. Reid picks up the phone instantly, like he's been waiting by it for any news at all, but as soon as Hotch greets him, there's a knock at his office door.

"Just a minute," he calls sharply, irritated, and then, into the receiver, "We sent Nathan Harris home." He tries to approach it in as much of a businesslike way as he can, and pretends not to hear the sigh of sheer relief he gets in response. "There was another murder last night," Hotch goes on-it won't have reached the news yet, Reid won't know-and then the knock on his door is repeated, sounding more urgent this time.

"So he's innocent?" Reid asks.

"It looks that way-hold on," he calls in the general direction of the door, but this time it actually opens. JJ walks in, arms folded, and Hotch looks at her in surprise. "I have to go," he says into the phone.

"Am I back on the case?" Reid asks in a small, hopeful voice.

JJ is tapping her foot impatiently. "What? No, Reid, no," Hotch says, distractedly-and god, he can practically see Reid's face fall, "stay home, get some more rest. You've had a difficult couple of days. I'll call you once we solve this thing."

"Please do," Reid says, meekly. "Goodbye, sir."

Hotch hangs up, the second he does, JJ starts talking. "A friend of Lynne Davies's just reported her as missing."

"And?" Hotch prompts, puzzled by her urgency.

"Apparently Lynne was meeting with her boyfriend last night. Her friend was worried because the guy's known to be abusive-she and Lynne were supposed to meet for lunch today and when Lynne didn't show and she couldn't get in touch with her-"

"Her boyfriend?" Hotch interrupts.

"We have a name, sir. Garcia's tracking him down right now."

Within minutes, they're in the car, on their way to an apartment in D.C., owned by a Nick Reynolds. They find him slumped in the bedroom in tears, shaking, shirt soaked with blood. An equally bloody hunting knife lies on the carpet beside him. A confession is hardly necessary.

***
They help the police wrap up the Reynolds case, and it transpires that he has solid alibis for the nights of the previous murders, leaving the team with no suspects left. After a quick dinner at a local restaurant, it's getting late, and Hotch is stressed, can't face the thought of driving right back to Quantico with nothing. He decides to drop by McPherson Square before heading back-
their only lead now is the other prostitutes in the area. Morgan and Prentiss have protested, said they've already gotten everything they're gonna get from those women, but Hotch is at a loss, fists clenched around the steering wheel. They have to do something.

"We had to let Nathan go anyway," says JJ quietly from the back seat.

"Yeah, we were running out of time," Morgan adds. "Don't beat yourself up, Hotch. If it's him, we'll get him."

Hotch hasn't even mentioned Nathan, but they've clearly picked up on what's bothering him. They still don't have any proof that Nathan's the unsub, but to let him go and then find out that he still could be-it's driving Hotch crazy. They leapt to conclusions with Lynne Davies, assumed too quickly that her murder was relevant, and if they'd only thought it through and reached this conclusion more quickly-maybe they'd still have Nathan.

They split up, and Hotch and Prentiss have been speaking to an entirely unhelpful woman for a couple of minutes when Hotch notices a man watching them from across the street. He's maybe in his mid-30s, dressed in a suit and darting looks at them from where he stands. Anxious, twitchy. Suspicious.

"Do you know that man?" he asks the woman they're with, and shit, he's really grasping at straws now, and he knows it, can feel the case slipping through his fingers with every second that ticks by.

But the woman doesn't seem surprised by the question. She takes a drag of her cigarette and rolls her eyes. "Oh, that guy," she says. "Sure. He's nice enough. Likes to pretend we don't really do what we do, though, if you know what I mean."

Hotch glances back over the street-and he's surprised to see that the man is crossing, now, heading towards them, darting nervous looks back over his shoulder.

"Are you the police?" he asks when he reaches them, still looking around him huntedly.

"FBI," Prentiss frowns, "why?"

"Can we talk somewhere," he starts, and then, eyeing the woman beside them, "away from here?"

Prentiss exchanges a look with Hotch like she's thinking the guy is crazy. "Sure," she says. "Come with us."

Further up the street, in what the man apparently deems a less seedy-looking area, he stops suddenly and takes a deep breath. "I-I saw someone," he stammers. "I saw someone with Summer the night she got killed."

Prentiss gives Hotch another look, her eyebrows raised. "Summer?"

"The hooker," the man says in an undertone. "The one who-" he lowers his voice even further, looking down at his feet, "they said on the news she had a word carved into her stomach, and I-I think I saw the guy who did it."

"Why are you only coming forward now?" Hotch asks suspiciously.

"I was one of her clients," the man says. "I have a wife, I have kids, I couldn't just-"

"All right, all right," Prentiss cuts him off, looking faintly disgusted. "Listen, can you describe the man you saw?"

The man nods. "Yeah, yeah, I can do that, he um-he was young, maybe only a teenager," he says, "and he had dark hair, brown, curly." This time, the look Prentiss exchanges with Hotch is loaded with meaning. "There was something odd about him but I didn't think much of it until I saw the news, and-"

Hotch fumbles with the file in his hand, finds Nathan Harris's photo and whips it out, holding it up to the man. His eyes light up with recognition. "That's him!" he cries, and Hotch's stomach twists.

"Can you tell us when this was?" Prentiss interrupts, starting to scribble things down on her notepad.

"Yeah, yeah, it was Wednesday. Wednesday morning. Maybe-about 2am."

The morning Ashley Hogg was killed. Hotch is turning his back and walking down the street in an instant. Behind him, he can hear Prentiss hurrying to get the man's name, assuring him she'll keep it out of the press. Hotch fumbles for his phone, dials Rossi.

"Meet us at the car right now," he says. "We're going to Nathan Harris's apartment."

He hangs up before Rossi can even ask why.

***
Dr. Reid is right.

It's amazing, the things you can say in letters.

***
For the second time, the team find themselves standing in front of the door to Nathan Harris's apartment, ready to make an arrest. But this time, there are no pleasantries. They yell, and they pound on the door, and when that doesn't work, Morgan kicks it open, because they don't have time to waste.

Nathan is nowhere to be found.

"Shit," Morgan bursts out, "he's probably looking for another victim."

Hotch is tearing the kid's bedroom apart before he's even completely aware of what he's doing, but it's Morgan who finds the laptop shoved under the bed.

"It's password-protected."

"Call Garcia," Hotch shoots back, rummaging through drawers in the bedside table, and Morgan disappears next door with his phone in one hand and Nathan's laptop in the other.

"What exactly are we looking for?" Prentiss asks.

Hotch, jaw clenched tight, shakes his head. "We need to find out where he is."

"I don't think we're gonna find that out from his sock drawer, Hotch," JJ says gently, with a hand on his shoulder that he shakes off.

"Then we're looking for evidence," he snaps. "Don't just stand there."

He knows they don't have a warrant, knows that unless they track Nathan down and manage to arrest him and get a confession out of him tonight, they're on very shaky ground, but-the thought that the kid's still out there, that he might have a woman in a motel room right now and they just don't know where-

He can hear Morgan talking in the other room, and he tries to calm down, to have faith in Garcia. The kid's bound to have left something incriminating on his laptop, because Hotch can't find anything in his room, no weapons or diaries or anything, really, to suggest he's not a normal nineteen year old boy. The books on the shelves all seem to have similar themes, true crime, but-that's hardly something they can use as evidence. He wonders if they could have this wrong, if the man from before was lying or mistaken, if it's all a big misunderstanding-but he knows that Nathan is guilty. He can feel it.

"Got it!" Morgan shouts suddenly, coming back into the room, laptop balanced on his forearms as he cradles the phone between ear and shoulder. "Thanks, baby girl." He perches on the kid's bed, looks up at Hotch. "What am I looking for?"

"Internet history," Hotch says immediately.

"Right," says Morgan, looking, "there's only one page in his recently viewed sites-he was looking up directions."

Hotch's heart leaps. "Where to?" Morgan clicks, frowns, is silent for so long that Hotch wants to explode. "What?" he urges, "what is it?"

"That's-" Morgan says, peering at the screen, "that's Reid's street." Hotch's blood runs cold; he barely hears what comes next. "JJ, isn't that Reid's street?"

JJ hurries forward, leans over his shoulder. Her eyes go wide. "That's his address."

Hotch tries to keep calm, but it feels like the room sways around him, like he's losing his grip. "We need to go," he says firmly, "now. Reid is in trouble."

He rushes from the room, and the others follow him. "Um, why exactly do we think Reid is in trouble?" Prentiss asks, trotting to catch up with him. "You told him we let Nathan go, right? He probably just wanted to meet with him and catch up."

Hotch shakes his head. He almost feels faint; he grabs onto the doorframe to keep himself steady and doesn't turn around. "Nathan Harris has been sexually attracted to Reid for three years," he manages to force out. "And given what Nathan usually tends to do to people he's sexually attracted to-"

He can't even finish the sentence. There is stunned silence from behind him, and then all of sudden, everyone seems to leap into action.

"I'll stay here," says Rossi. Hotch remembers how Dave had scoffed at the notion of Nathan going after Reid earlier-the danger clearly feels a lot more real to him now. "I'll call the police over, they can conduct a more thorough search of the apartment and we'll keep guard in case Nathan comes back here before you reach Reid's."

"I can give you directions," JJ tells Hotch, already on her way, pushing past him at the doorway, and the two of them begin to head down the corridor, Morgan and Prentiss in tow.

At Reid's apartment, they give no warning. They are running on adrenaline, on frantic worry, and it's Hotch who is breaking down the door now, throwing his full weight at it with no concern for the pain it brings. All he can think about is Reid, Reid ending up like all those girls, sprawled on a bed and bleeding out.

Morgan leaps in to help him, knocks the door off its hinges and they're in, Hotch first with the others following, guns at the ready, hearts in their throats. He heads straight for the bedroom, which means he finds them before anyone else does. The sight is his own; his eyes meet Reid's and there is a lifetime there in the split-second it takes for the others to reach them.

Reid is perched on the edge of the bed, his arms folded around himself, his body hunched over. The bedsheets are strewn halfway across the floor, the pillows crooked. He is shirtless and barefoot, his hair a mess, the sheets tangled around his ankles. The zipper of his pants is undone. Nathan's standing, unable to stay quite still and mostly dressed, though Hotch spots a discarded sweater on the floor that he doesn't recognise as Reid's. Both of them look so guilty, so ashamed, their faces flushed and sweaty-and somehow Hotch knows, knows that this wasn't all Nathan's doing. Nathan does not have a weapon in his hand, and the look that Reid shoots the kid a moment later is one that says sorry, plain and simple, a look of regret. He hasn't been forced. He entered into this situation willingly, and it makes Hotch feel sick, makes him want to drop his gun and run from the room.

It's Prentiss who gathers herself together first, crosses the room to Nathan and cuffs him without a word. He doesn't protest-offers his wrists to her, in fact, in silent acceptance.

Prentiss leads Nathan out of the room, and the others stay, uncertain of the next step, shell-shocked, lost for words. And then Morgan goes to Reid, helps him up, and Reid won't look any of them in the eye now, his tangled hair hanging down in front of his face.

"Do you wanna come to the station?" Morgan asks him in an undertone, and Reid nods.

Hotch looks around the room for something for Reid to put on-but then he sees Reid dropping to the floor, snatching up Nathan's sweater and pulling it over his head. He clutches it tight around him as he follows them out.

Nobody speaks.

***
Hotch leaves the others to deal with Nathan, sits in his office instead with Reid. He doesn't even consider the choice; he's been by Reid's side since the moment they left the apartment. The others are concerned too, of course, but they still manage to focus on wrapping up the case-while to Hotch it seems as though it doesn't matter, all of a sudden, he doesn't care.

They've brought Reid a blanket and a hot drink out of habit-it's what they do with all survivors, and Hotch still can't think of it in those terms without feeling ill, faint. Reid still won't look at anyone, and is sitting on the spare chair in Hotch's office with his knees drawn in to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs, clutching the mug that's turning his pale hands pink. If Nathan still won't give them anything, they're going to have to interrogate Reid as well, but-Hotch can't even stand to think of that, not looking at Reid now, weak and trembling and mortified.

It feels like hours, but it's only a few minutes that pass before the door opens and Morgan comes in. There's tension in the set of his shoulders, and Hotch can sense his reluctance to give the news.

"He confessed," he says, simply, eyes darting from Reid to Hotch and back again.

Reid seems to sink in on himself even further, curling up small like he wants to disappear. The steam of his drink obscures his face, now, curls the wisps of hair at his temples. The color is beginning to come back to his cheeks but he says nothing, doesn't move.

"Thank you," Hotch says to Morgan, and Morgan nods and hesitates, hovers in the doorway, clearly wanting to go to Reid. Hotch gives him a single nod, and he leaves. Hotch glances at the clock. "It's late," he says to Reid, keeping his voice as gentle as he can. "I think you should come home with me. You shouldn't go back to your apartment tonight."

It's an order, not an offer, but he doesn't say so. His tone makes it clear. The thought of Reid returning to his home, seeing the door kicked in and probably replaced with crime scene tape by now, the mess in his room, the bed where he and Nathan almost...

Reid's shoulders lift in a sort of shrug, but he says nothing. Hotch has to help him to his feet.

The journey is made in silence, because Reid can't quite speak yet and Hotch can't think of anything he should say. He thinks of offering sympathy, comfort-but all the words that come to mind seem false and insincere. His chest hurts when he glances beside him, sees Reid curled up against the car door, head resting against the cool glass of the window.

Jessica is still up when they get in, and she can't hide her alarm when she sees Reid.

"It's been a tough night," Hotch tells her in greeting, explanation. He looks back at Reid, who is standing clutching the sleeves of Nathan's sweater in his fists and looking slightly dazed. "Um-Spencer, Jessica-I think you met at the funeral."

Reid looks at her, and recognition suddenly dawns on his face. "Uh huh," he manages, "hi."

"Hi," Jessica replies cautiously, looking concerned. "I'll get out of your way."

Just then, Jack appears in the hall, peering around the corner at them, and to Hotch's surprise, Reid manages a little smile. "Hey, little guy," he murmurs, his voice raw as he gives Jack an awkward little wave. Jack smiles shyly, ducks back around the corner.

"I put him to bed two hours ago," sighs Jessica, "sorry. He waits up for you sometimes."

"I know. Don't worry about it," Hotch says. "I'll be there in a minute to tuck him in."

She nods, and they exchange goodnights before she heads to bed. Hotch shrugs off his jacket, hanging it up. "Jessica has been staying with me to help out with Jack," he explains, "I'm not sure if I mentioned it." He turns back around to see Reid standing awkwardly in the middle of his living room. "You can have my bed," Hotch tells him, "I'll take the couch."

"Oh, no, I-" Reid begins to protest, but Hotch cuts him off.

"You need as good a night's sleep as you can get," he says. "I'll hear no more on the matter."

Reid manages a smile, a tight, uncertain one, and Hotch feels his lips twitch, but he's not ready yet; he can't make his body relax when it doesn't want to and there's still so much tension in him.

"Follow me," he says, and leads Reid down the hall.

Reid stands awkwardly in the middle of Hotch's bedroom, then, his arms clutched around himself, his back hunched.

"I'll find you a towel and a toothbrush," says Hotch. "Do you need something to sleep in?"

Reid shakes his head quickly, looking embarrassed. "No, please, Hotch, don't put yourself out."

But Hotch doesn't mind; it almost feels right looking after Reid like this, as strange as it is to have his young colleague in his bedroom. It's the least he can do, in a way, because he feels guilty, guilty for telling Reid they'd let Nathan go, for not connecting the dots more quickly, for not piecing the puzzle together at the very beginning and anticipating what might come of this case. He knows it's pointless to dwell on it, and it's one of the things he's been working so hard on, his desire to change the past. It can be all-consuming; sometimes he can't stop himself going over every second, every moment that he could have taken a different action if only he'd known...

"Hotch?" says Reid quietly, shaking him from his thoughts.

"Right." Hotch turns to leave. "I'm going to tuck Jack in. I'll be back in a moment."

After giving his son a vague and not entirely helpful explanation as to what Dr. Reid is doing in their house so late at night, Hotch kisses Jack goodnight and then goes to find Reid a spare towel and toothbrush. His bedroom door is almost closed when he returns, but he enters without thinking out of habit, and starts when he sees Reid standing by the bed in only a pair of boxers that look loose and baggy around his skinny thighs.

"Ah-sorry," he says quickly, handing Reid his things.

Reid nods hurriedly, almost looking like he's blushing, and Hotch tries not to stare at how long Reid's legs are, how he can see the thick whorl of a scar in the skin of Reid's knee where he was shot, how the waistband of his boxers cling to his bony hips. He tries not to think about how he has come from Jack to Reid, checking up on them as though he has the same responsibility for both. He brings the back of his hand to his forehead, feels the sweat there. He needs to go to bed. He leaves the room without another word.

Back in the living room, lying on the sofa, his mind is running a mile a minute, and he has the sinking feeling that he may not be able to sleep after all. But his body is more exhausted from the events of the day than he realises, and he's out like a light within minutes.

He wakes an indeterminate amount of time later to a sound like a cry, and he thrashes under his blanket, disoriented. His living room slowly takes shape around him in the dark and he remembers Reid, and he's stumbling dizzy to his bedroom before he's even fully awake. He meets Jessica in the hall, hovering outside the spare room she's been sleeping in, looking tired and confused.

"I thought it was Jack," she murmurs, looking towards Hotch's bedroom.

"I'll handle it," Hotch tells her, "go back to bed."

He pushes his bedroom door open gently, sees Reid curled up tight, the sheets like a cocoon around his trembling body. He's whimpering in his sleep, clutching fistfuls of the sheets, his face screwed up in a grimace. Hotch approaches him, places a tentative hand on his shoulder. Hotch can feel the heat of his skin.

Reid awakens instantly, draws in a sudden gasp of breath and clutches at Hotch's wrist so tightly that it hurts. His eyes are wide and he looks utterly lost, panicked.

"Reid," Hotch says, "Reid, it's okay. You were having a nightmare." Reid stares blankly, frightened. "It's okay. It's me. It's Hotch."

There's a glimmer of recognition in Reid's eyes and then he seems to calm, his breathing gradually returning to normal, muscles going from taut to slack as he lets go of Hotch's arm.

"Sorry," he mumbles, his voice a little hoarse.

"You don't need to apologize." There's a moment of silence, and Hotch pats the bed awkwardly, asks, "Are you okay here?"

Reid nods sleepily. "It's fine. It's comfortable. It smells like you." A pause. He covers his face with his hands, rubbing at his eyes. "Sorry. That was inappropriate. I-I'm really tired."

Hotch opens his mouth to respond, but quickly realises that he can't think of a single thing to say to that. "Do you need some water? When was the last time you ate?"

"No, I'm okay," Reid replies.

Hotch isn't entirely convinced, but he doesn't want to coddle him, so he nods and turns to leave.

"Just-Hotch?" comes Reid's voice, small, from behind him. Hotch turns back. "Would you-would you stay with me?" He looks so young, his pale face looking out from the sheets. Hotch hesitates, uncertain. "Just for a minute, I-if I go straight back to sleep, the dreams usually pick up right where they left off."

Hotch gives in at that, and is about to draw in the chair from the corner of the room when Reid shuffles aside, to the other side of the bed, making space. Something twists in Hotch's mind, some sense of unease, but he goes to the bed anyway, clambers unsteadily on, settles down on top of the covers where Reid was lying moments before. There is a warmth there, from his body, and Hotch tries not to think about it.

"Thank you," Reid says, faintly, curling in on his side.

Hotch lies on his back, his hands clasped and resting on his stomach, and says nothing. He is wide awake now, suddenly, and he stares at the ceiling dim above him, hyper-aware of each tiny movement Reid's body makes. He hasn't had someone else in his bed for a long time now.

"Hotch," says Reid quietly, and the silence had stretched on for so long between them that the sound of Reid's voice makes Hotch jolt, just a little.

"Hm?"

Reid shifts uncomfortably beside him. "I-" he starts, and then swallows, and his voice sounds even more weak than it did before, like he might be fighting back tears. The realisation of that makes Hotch go tense; he clutches his hands together more tightly, fingertips pressing down hard between knuckles. "I just have to-" Reid pauses again, he inhales shakily. "I knew, Hotch."

Hotch waits, but nothing further comes. "What do you mean?" he asks quietly.

"I knew," Reid whispers. Hotch can feel Reid's eyes on him. "I knew that Nathan was the unsub."

Hotch digs in his fingernails. "He told you?" He tries to keep his voice steady, but if Reid was keeping secrets for Nathan, that's serious.

He can see, out of the corner of his eye, Reid shaking his head. "But only because-because I wouldn't let him." Reid's voice breaks. "He was trying to tell me, Hotch. That's why he came over. He was ready to confess and I-I wouldn't let him, I didn't want to hear it. I knew, I knew deep down what he was trying to say and I just-I couldn't stand to hear it, I thought that...I thought that as long as he didn't say it out loud I could go on pretending."

Hotch says nothing. He's not sure there's anything to say.

"I would have done it," Reid goes on, tearfully. "I would have-I would have slept with him anyway. If you hadn't come-" he breaks off. His voice is meek and scared-sounding, like he's afraid of himself, of the truth he's admitting. "What does that make me?" he asks, voice ringing out in the quiet of the night.

Hotch does not know how to answer. Perhaps it makes Reid many things. Foolish. Troubled. Desperate for intimacy.

"Very much in love," he says eventually, and the words surprise him, seemingly coming from some distant part of his mind, unbidden.

There's a thoughtful silence, and then-

"I think I was all along," Reid admits quietly. "But...Hotch, he killed five girls because I wouldn't reply to his letters. He did that because of me, and-and I still love him. I don't know how to stop." He shifts beside Hotch, uncomfortable. "The first time he kissed me was when I visited him in the hospital. I was coming off the Dilaudid and I barely knew what was happening but...I never told him he shouldn't have done it. And then the things he used to write to me-" he breaks off. "I never told him that he shouldn't. I never acknowledged it. I could have put a stop to it, Hotch, but I didn't. I think-I think I liked it." His voice grows quieter, ashamed. "I'd never been wanted like that before."

There is an ache in Hotch's heart. He is silent.

Reid exhales and when he speaks again his voice is thick; Hotch knows now that he's crying. "I'm sick," he breathes.

Hotch shakes his head fervently, his hands clasped so tight now that they hurt. He longs to reach out with them instead, but he can't. He doesn't know what he wants those hands to do.

"You can't even look at me," Reid whispers, and before he can stop himself Hotch is turning, rolling over, taking Reid's face between both of his hands and looking into his eyes. It's all he can do, and maybe it's all Reid needs. Words are no good now, and it's a silent sort of reassurance that he offers. Without speaking, he is saying, I know you. You are kind. You are good. There is nothing wrong with you.

For a second, Reid looks almost scared. He's startled, his breath caught in his throat, one tear rolling its way down his cheek and wetting the pillow beneath his head. Hotch stares into Reid's eyes like he's seeing something there, something he recognises, and then Reid is pulling closer, bridging the gap between them. He kisses with a fierce need, a desperation, and Hotch feels it, a frantic plea, I need this, I need this.

Reid is unpractised, and his lips taste of salt, and Hotch thinks of him kissing Nathan Harris like this and it makes him want to hold him tighter, kiss him harder, banish every trace. A surge of possessiveness, of anger, swells inside of him-Nathan almost had Reid, Reid would have given himself to him, this fucked up kid who might have killed him afterwards simply because it's the only thing he knows. Hotch is angry at them both, but most of all with himself, for not quite seeing it, for refusing to see it for what it was. For refusing to see so many things, until it was too late.

Every part of Reid's body is begging Hotch not to stop, but his words come back in Hotch's brain, I barely knew what was happening, and he thinks of the night Reid's had-of the week Reid's had-and he forces himself to pull away. He can barely take the look of dismay he gets in response.

"Reid," Hotch says, and it hurts, it physically hurts to reject him like this. "Reid, no. You're-you're upset."

He can still taste him and it's making him dizzy; he still has one hand cupping Reid's face and it feels like he needs it there, to anchor him.

"No," says Reid brokenly, "I want this."

Hotch has to draw back, because the words make him want to do it all again and he can't, he can't take advantage of Reid like this when he's vulnerable. He starts to get up, to leave, because he doesn't trust himself.

"Hotch," Reid pleads. "I just-please, just stay. Just stay with me, at least. I don't want to be alone right now."

Hotch can't deny him this, but as he settles back on the bed he can't look at Reid either. He can feel Reid's eyes on him, and it's a long time before either of them manages to fall asleep.

***
When Hotch wakes to the sound of his alarm at 7am, he is lying on top of the sheets in his bed, with Reid beneath them beside him. He can feel him-he looks down to see Reid's foot peeking out from under the covers, brushing against his own-and he remembers the feel of Reid's lips, the hunger in that kiss. He eases his foot away, and Reid wakes up, opens his eyes blearily.

"Time for work?" he asks, with a brave smile.

Hotch frowns. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea."

But Reid insists-says work will help keep his mind off things, keep his brain occupied, and Hotch has to admit he has a point. They're sure to have some paperwork from a different case for him to deal with, and it seems better bringing him into the B.A.U. than taking him back home, where a new door is scheduled to be put in today and it's unlikely to be a particularly relaxing environment.

Hotch offers to lend him a shirt-he can't stand to see Reid in that sweater of Nathan's again-and Reid is reluctant but agrees. They eat breakfast in a reasonably comfortable silence, and Hotch resists the urge to feed Reid a couple of extra slices of toast, and then they drive to work. The team do not do well at hiding their surprise when the two of them arrive together, but they're respectful, for the most part giving Reid his space.

Reid comes into Hotch's office at lunchtime, hands over an impressive stack of papers.

"You did all that this morning?"

Reid smiles sheepishly. "I guess I had a lot to distract myself from."

Hotch nods sympathetically, expecting Reid to leave then-but he doesn't. Instead, he looks at Hotch carefully, like he's readying himself for something. He opens his mouth like he's about to speak, and then stops himself. Leans forward across the desk, tucking his hair behind his ear. Timid and hopeful like a teenager.

"Reid," Hotch hears himself say, his voice strained, "no." Not here.

Reid's face falls. He's so close, and he smells like Hotch's deodorant and detergent and it's making Hotch light-headed. He immediately feels guilty, wants to make things better-but what Reid wants from him, Hotch isn't sure he can give. He doesn't understand what any of this means, whether Reid is just crying out for help or if it's something more.

He offers to drive Reid back home after work, because Reid shouldn't have to enter that apartment again alone. It's like cleaning the blood from Elle's walls; it's the aftermath, the return to normality, and sometimes it can't be faced without help. Reid unlocks his new door with his new key, and then seems frozen, standing at the threshold to his home and remembering.

Hotch goes in first. He strips the sheets from the bed, bundles them into the washing machine, calls out to Reid and asks him where to find clean ones. As he makes the bed, Reid edges closer, stands in the doorway to the bedroom and watches him.

"Hotch," he says suddenly, and so quietly that Hotch almost doesn't hear him over the rustle of sheets. He sounds afraid. "Do you-do you think my life was at risk?"

Hotch goes still, looking up at him. Reid is gazing as if into space. They didn't find a weapon on Nathan, but-Hotch remembers the tape, Gideon asking, Do you think about hurting Dr. Reid? He remembers the silence that followed, and then Nathan's voice coming back, as if over a bad connection, as if overseas. He remembers the boy sounding close to tears as he confessed, I think about hurting everyone I'm attracted to. A deep, shaky breath. I know I'm fucked up.

"Maybe," Hotch says honestly.

Reid nods faintly, staring blankly at the bed. Hotch makes it to the door just as Reid's knees give out, just as he begins to crumple against the doorframe. He holds him up, and this time he kisses him, because he cannot help himself and because right now it's what Reid needs. Someone who wants him. Someone who won't hurt him. Someone to give him hope that things can be different.

***
"Would you-" Reid begins, in Hotch's office at the end of a long day, nervous as he approaches the question, "would you come with me to-"

"Spit it out, Reid," says Hotch, gathering up his things into his briefcase.

"Would you come with me to visit Nathan?" The words all come out in a rush.

Hotch looks up at him, taken aback. It's been three months since the case closed, and he and Reid are-he doesn't quite know what he and Reid are, exactly, but their kiss in Reid's apartment was not their last, and there is some semblance of routine now, of nights spent at Hotch's when Reid doesn't want to be alone. Jessica raises her eyebrows each time Hotch brings Reid home from the office with him, but does not ask questions. Sometimes they do more than just lie beside each other, and it makes Hotch feel old and young again at the same time, and sometimes guilty, like he's taking something he doesn't deserve. It makes him worry about his own ability to do his job, about compromised judgement, about whether or not he could fire Reid if it seemed like he should. (And if it already seems like he should, and he simply cannot tell.)

But mostly-mostly it makes him happy, for the first time in a long time. And so it happens.

His voice softens. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

"I haven't had any closure, Hotch," Reid says, "I need to. I need to see him again. I feel like he's always there in my mind, and he only has his mother to visit him and-"

"You don't need to feel sorry for him," Hotch reminds him, a little sharply, but it seems that Reid can't help it.

Hotch relents, anyway. It's the idea of closure that convinces him. He tells himself that maybe if Reid sees Nathan just one last time, he'll be able to put all of this behind him, to move on. But later, sitting there beside Reid and looking at Nathan on the other side of the glass, he realises it was foolish to hope for such a thing.

Nathan's appearance has changed more in the past three months than it did in the three years they went without seeing him-he looks older now, the lines in his face harsher and more set. There's anger and danger behind his eyes that couldn't have been picked out before, not even when he had just committed murder. He is still anxious, though, scared and suspicious, and he latches onto Reid the second he sees him. Without words, he pleads for redemption-though not for freedom. He's not quite naive enough for that.

Their conversation is odd-not what Hotch expected, perhaps, though he's not sure what he did expect. They don't talk about Nathan's situation, about the past, about anything that happened or almost happened. Instead they talk about the books Nathan has borrowed from the prison library, and the conversation is vague and sort of fragile, as if the slightest mention of the truth of their situation could bring everything crumbling down around them.

Hotch is silent, watching, and gradually he realises that Reid and Nathan are not saying goodbye. This is the first visit of many. After this, they will perhaps send letters. The cycle will begin again and he is powerless to stop it. There is something between them that Hotch will never be able to understand, no matter how hard he tries. It's in Reid's nature, this self-destructiveness, this longing to help those who can't be helped, and there's something in the way he looks at Nathan, something in his eyes that Hotch has never seen at any other time. With a sinking feeling, Hotch realises that Reid may never look at him that way.

But, sitting in the car after they leave, Hotch reaches for the clutch and Reid grasps his hand, and when then their eyes meet Hotch thinks he catches a glimmer of it. Maybe he's fooling himself, but, as Reid leans in close, his thin hands clinging to Hotch's back as he kisses him, he thinks that maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe Hotch can't give Reid security, stability, safety-but he can give him something better than Nathan.

And maybe that's the best he can hope for.

End.

! [ship] criminal minds: reid/nathan, ! [ship] criminal minds: hotch/reid, ! [character] criminal minds: hotch, ! [character] criminal minds: reid, ! (fic), ! [fandom] criminal minds, ! [character] criminal minds: nathan

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