Reid no longer knew how long it had been since he had seen his team. He had given up hope a long time ago, with statistics of missing people that were never found running through his mind. So life had become just a depressing empty nothing, and his abductor only gave him enough drugs to make him high as a kite, never enough for an overdose. And since Reid could see or hear nothing in the pitch-black, sound-proof room, he couldn't find any objects to end it all with.

Not that he would, if he could. But, as he considered, he decided he just might.

He looked around as he heard the morning meal slide into his room, along with a syringe of Dilaudid and a tourniquet. Reid never found out how his abductor knew his drug of choice, because the man never entered the room. Reid had profiled him during his first few days in this hell, when he still had hope.

He figured that the man was watching him with a night-vision camera, since there is no reason a sociopath would abduct Reid just to feed him, and never to even lay eyes on him. Reid also knew that the man had lots of resources, since he was in this room with fully padded sound-proof walls, and since the man could afford to give him dilaudid every day. Honestly, Reid never figured out much, or why he was captured.

Now, Reid sat in the corner of the tiny room, scratching the inside of his arm, where the track marks were. If he weren't in the situation he were in, we would be ashamed of using the drugs, of the way he scrambled in the dark to find it every time he heard the sweet sound of a rolling syringe, of how drugs were all he could look forward to for the next day. Because every day was repetition. Although, he wasn't quite sure on what a 'day' was anymore. His biological clock was completely messed up. All he knew was that he was abducted on September 14, 2010.

But every 5 hours or so, until a longer gap which he guessed was night time, a tray would be pushed in with the same food. A corned beef sandwich with mustard on the side, a salad with ranch dressing, and an apple. A water bottle rolled in as well. Every day, every meal, was all the same. Then, after about an hour, a syringe and a tourniquet would roll in. When Reid was successfully high and asleep, he would wake up to find everything gone. If he didn't take the drugs, the man would enter anyway. Reid couldn't see the man enter, because somehow, the room outside his cell was completely dark as well. He could only hear the sound of soft, padded shoes entering his cell. When he heard this, he would desperately stand up shakily, stumbling forward, but the man always struck him away, Reid's weak form falling back to the floor..

And after a while, sometimes a bucket with a sponge and soap would enter. A razor would also enter, although Reid found it difficult to shave in the dark.

But the man at least had a toilet in the little room, so Reid had one little bit of humility.

One day, when Reid needed sound to jerk him into reality, he flushed the toilet. Over and over again. Just to hear some sound.

That day, the man had turned Reid's water off for a while.

Reid didn't do that again.

BAU Headquarters, Quantico, Virginia. Tuesday, March 13, 2011.

JJ walked past Morgan and Prentiss, who were talking and laughing about something completely unrelated to work, as usual. "You're kidding, right?" Morgan said, laughing out loud.

"I wish I was! So he pulls out this rose, and he grabs my hand. And he says, 'will you accept this rose?'" She said, mimicking a serious, love-stricken expression.

"What did you say?" chuckled Morgan.

"Well, I didn't know what the hell he was talking about, so I asked what he was doing!"

Morgan shook his head. "Way to blow a man's ego, Prentiss. He obviously planned this out in his head, way to blow it up."

Prentiss laughed. "What would you have done? So he tells me he's trying to be romantic, like the Bachelor!"

"You actually found someone nerdier than yourself. Way to go!" Morgan laughed. Suddenly, JJ brushed by them, accidentally knocking Morgan on his shoulders.

"Guys, check this out," said JJ, turning on the news.

The reporter's voice filled the bull pen. "Dr. Dwyre was reportedly removed from his office after attacking one of his patients. Doctors have said that he could have been having a psychotic break, something that he was known to diagnose. While in custody, he told police officers that he had to return to his home to check up on his patient, although no records exist of any roommates."

Morgan looked at JJ with an uninterested expression. "Yeah? He's just experiencing a psychotic break. He's delusional."

JJ shook her head. "Apparently, he has had this 'patient' for months. His coworkers say that he headed home early every day, and although he had been checked up for track marks, he was in possession of drugs. In his home were also clothes that weren't his size. Deputies want us to help out, they suspect he's holding someone captive, without any resources."

Prentiss shook her head. "I don't know. I don't think this is our case. Why do they want us?"

Hotch suddenly stepped out of his office, briskly walking down the stairs. "Because they can't get him to talk, he's in a psychotic break. And they've found evidence," he said grimly.

He held up pictures of a shirt with blood on it. "It's not his. They've checked. There's also hair on it."


March 7, 2011

Reid had just shot up with dilaudid. JJ appeared before him, and he reached out to her, with his fingers outstretched. "JJ," he said, his voice raspy from lack of use. "JJ," he said, trying desperately to make her hear him.

After a while, JJ disappeared, leaving him alone in the dark again. He yelled out in frustration, grabbing his long hair and pulling at it. Angry, he reached around in the dark for the razor that had entered a while ago. With tears streaming down his face, he broke the disposable razor, not minding slicing his hand open in the process. He slashed at his wrists without thinking, wanting to end the useless time he was spending.

Suddenly, he was overcome with regret, thinking of his mother, and of his team. "God dammit," he said, crying. He pulled off the tee shirt that is abductor had supplied for him and pushed it on the gash, slowing the bleeding. As long as he was alive, there was always a flicker of hope.

Present Day (March 13, 2011)

"So they want us to get him to talk, in case the person he has dies of dehydration or something?" asked Morgan.

Hotch nodded. "It's local, so it's easy commute anyway. We haven't worked with the local PD since . . . so just, be professional, all right everyone?" he said, walking off.

The team grimaced, thinking of the last time they had worked with local PD. Last time, they were trying to find Reid. The thought made JJ's eyes tear up, and Morgan just shuffled papers, muttering something about finding Rossi to tell him. He stalked off.

"JJ, you ok?" asked Prentiss, putting a hand on JJ's shoulder comfortingly.

JJ nodded. "Yeah, yeah I'm alright. It's just, I don't know, don't you ever wonder if we could have found him? I mean, we could have, we're the BAU-"

"Jayge, we did everything. You know it. So just stop beating yourself up," said Prentiss, compartmentalizing. She was affected by the loss of the baby of the team as well. Reid was just, Reid. And when he disappeared, the team fell apart for a while.

Hotch had become more professional than ever, becoming more of a drill sergeant than a team leader. He knew he had to stay strong, but he couldn't help but imagine what life would be like if his son just disappeared off the face of the earth like Reid had.

Morgan got angry easily, and quickly got a reputation as being 'hot-tempered'. He never spoke about his missing friend, and changed the subject whenever he was brought up. When Garcia had visited Morgan, she found a huge hole in his wall, and when she asked for an explanation, he shrugged, and said, 'I got in a fight with the wall, and I won'. For a while, he almost jumped for joy whenever he saw a tall guy with long-ish hair, as if he still hoped Reid would just pop out of nowhere and say, 'Hey, Guys! Miss me?'

JJ cried. A lot. She empathized even better with the families of victims, and the experience had made her better at her job, as depressing as that sounded. She refused to make anyone else Henry's godfather, because she was still hopeful that he would return.

Prentiss compartmentalized, until once she exploded on the janitor who was cleaning off Reid's desk. After that, Reid's desk had stayed as it was, although the team pretended they didn't notice the out of date newspaper sitting on it, or the dust that was generating on the surface of his miscellaneous items..

Rossi was the one who tried to keep everyone calm, and since he didn't know the kid as well, he could do so, without getting too involved. But when the team wasn't around, he had allowed himself to mourn Reid's loss, because he knew as well as anyone that Reid was probably never going to be found alive.

Garcia, for a while, acted like the sun didn't shine anymore. It took a long time before she started coming up with witty remarks to her team, but even then she wasn't as full of life. The team wasn't complete anymore, and whenever a statistic was stated, they would all think about how Reid would have wanted to update his 'database'.

Police department of Quantico

"Agent Hotchner, haven't seen you in a while," said Detective Morris, the lead detective on the case. Detective Morris was a tall, somewhat chubby man, with dark hair and dark eyes. He looked intimidating to anyone but those who knew him well enough to know that he was a kind, caring man.

"Yes, and I'm sure you remember agents Jareau, Morgan, Prentiss, and Rossi" said Hotch formally as he introduced them.

Detective Morris shook hands with them as they entered. "Yes, I remember. Last time we worked together wasn't the best of circumstances. Now, I assume you understand the case?" he said, getting quick to the point. "We believe this is time sensitive, so we needed your help."

Hotch nodded. "Yes, we understand. Agents Morgan and Prentiss were hoping to visit Dr. Dwyre's home, if you don't mind," he said. "Rossi and I would like to speak to Dr. Dwyre as soon as possible, if you don't mind," he said.

Morris nodded. "Of course. We're holding him here. Right this way," he said.

Hotch entered the interrogation room immediately, followed by Rossi. The two men sat down, across from Dr. Dwyre.

Dr. Dwyre was an attractive man, for a crazed sociopath, of course. He was a decent height, about 5' 11", with light brown hair and hazel eyes. He was 36 and rather intelligent, with his degree in medicine. He had been decorated in awards for his achievements in psychology, particularly with the causes and treatments for mental illnesses, like schizophrenia.

Hotch laid the file out in front of Dr. Dwyre, and began with cautious, (not noticeably so) interrogation. Hotch wanted to know the lucidity of the man, to understand how to pursue.

"Dr. Dwyre, do you understand why you are here?" asked Agent Hotchner, with a piercing gaze.

Dr. Dwyre looked up, an arrogant and speculative look in his eye. "You know, I understand how you people work, you Behavioral Analysis experts. I'm a psychiatrist, after all. I understand exactly how the mind works. And I know you are searching for whether or not I understand my situation and if I can tell the truth. And to tell you, agent, I am perfectly capable of telling you why I am here, so yes, I understand why I am here," he said in a smooth voice. "And by the way, could I get your name?"

Hotch rapidly began profiling the psychiatrist. Dr. Dwyre obviously had a bit of a narcissistic personality, like when he said, 'I understand exactly how the mind works'. Hotch, with his experience as a profiler, knew that no one could ever know exactly how the mind works. And he certainly did not know how Dr. Dwyre knew that he was a profiler. Hotch had never mentioned it. He barley spoke ten words before Dwyre took over the conversation.

"I'm Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, and you aren't just here for a brutal and unprovoked attack on one of your patients. You're here because the so-called 'patient' that you need to get home to needs to be found. Yes, Dr. Dwyre, during your 'not so lucid' moments, you let that slip," Hotch pressed as Dwyre let his composure slip for a moment.

"I didn't . . ." he trailed. Dwyre panicked on the inside. They knew? Then his experiment would be useless. It wouldn't work.

"So you need to tell us before that person dies of dehydration. Because I'm taking a wild guess and saying that he's not just rooming rooming with you, judging by the blood in his shirt." Hotch pressed, taking a step forward in the interrogation.

Reid curled up on his side in his little cell. It had been a full day now without his abductor bringing him food or water, and he was getting thirsty. But that wasn't just it. He had been on a set schedule. He needed the drugs, he had gone 24 hours without them now.

Reid had noticed that he had violent tremors, and that he was shaking. 'Great,' he thought. 'Withdrawl.'

He began to talk aloud. "Maybe I'll just die here. What a wasted . . ." he thought, his eyebrows scrunched together. "Year? Hmmm, now I'm going crazy, talking to myself." Then, he had a pain in his stomach, and knew he was going to be sick.

He crawled towards the direction of the toilet, feeling around as quickly as he could before finding the cold ceramic and vomiting. Gasping, he flushed the toiled, frowning as he realized the sound was off. The water drained, but it was not replaced. "Damn, now the water is off," he said, frowning. He began itching at his arm again, anxiously scratching at the scabs created by his syringes, with the dilaudid that he had injected blindly. Feeling around for a vein was much harder than it looked, and more than once he missed the vein and his high was less than satisfactory.

Looking back now, he wished he hadn't given in to the drug that had rolled into his cell a few months after his capture.