The Chase (Criminal Minds)

Weakness

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Morgan reached for his phone and looked at the caller ID, immediately answering it.

“Hey, PG-“

“There’s no time for greetings, Sugar,” Garcia rambled quickly.

“I just got off the phone with Reid.”

“Reid? Is he alright?” Morgan asked, nervously, and looked around the room.

Garcia tapped her nails anxiously against her desk.

“Yes…no…” She stumbled on her words, not sure how to respond.

“Ugh, just put me on speaker!”

Morgan held the phone away from his ear.

“Inside voices, Garcia.”

He put the phone on the conference table, drawing the team’s attention, and turned on the speaker.

“Okay, you’re on,” Morgan concluded.

“Hello there, my pretties,” Garcia quickly greeted the team.

“So, I just finished talking to Reid. He asked me to do him a favor, which was looking up the names of all the Literature Professors working at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas in 1990-“

“Why 1990?” JJ interrupted.

“Shhh, Blondie, you’ll find out in a minute!” Garcia hissed.

JJ made a face as Garcia continued her informational rant.

“Anyways, I did my research and found seven names. If you exclude our victims, there’s only four.”

“What are their names?” Rossi asked, mid-yawn.  It was two o’clock in the morning and the team was tired.

“Beatrice Clark, Jeffrey Dallas, Hunter Prescott, and Diana Reid.”

The team sat, letting silence coat the thick air.

“What does this mean?” Prentiss worryingly asked Garcia.

Garcia took a deep breath and tightly held the closet stuffed animal she could find.

“It means, If this is our unsub’s hit list, we’re most likely looking at his next victims.”

…

Reid hovered over the sink, leaning on his elbows as he slid his hands down his face. Even though he had a watch on, he checked the clock above his head.

Two-thirty.

No wonder he felt exhausted. He officially hadn’t slept in three days.  Lowering his eyes from the clock, he involuntarily caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Not knowing why, he felt a moment of deja-vu. 

Then it hit him.

The need.

Not the need for comfort or attention.

The need for release.

The need for Dilaudid.

He continued to stare at his reflection as he thought back to the small container of Dilaudid still hidden away behind his bookshelf at home. He didn’t keep it, because he was saving it. He kept it, because he was afraid. Afraid that even one distant glance at the container would trigger his addiction, again.

He violently slammed his fists down on the marble counter-top in front of him as shame quickly poisoned his mind. He paced the perimeter of the bathroom.

How could he be so weak?

At the moment, his mom wasn’t even in any danger, yet he still found a way to overthink the situation, as usual, and scare himself.

He turned his head and looked at the door. The team was probably wondering where he was. It had been forty-five minutes since he stormed out of the conference room. He felt bad for what he did. He lashed out at them for something they had no control over. They should have fired him from the team already. He was a horrible friend, let alone person in general. He regained his composure and unlocked the bathroom door, leaving his worries behind him as he left.

When he made it back to the Conference room, he quietly opened the door, not wanting to disturb his fellow profilers and their thoughts.

Unfortunately, he was greeted with seven pairs of eyes staring him down, head to toe. He quickly bowed his head and shuffled towards his chair. At first, he thought he was being stared at with anger, but being a profiler, he soon realized they were all looking at him with a sense of sympathy. Garcia must have told them about their talk. He awkwardly stared at the table as Hotch walked up behind him.

“You don’t have to worry,” He whispered.

“We’re going to end this son of a bitch once and for all.”