What Happens Next

XVII. Help

"I struggled with addiction. I still struggle with addiction; and although my contact with mu drug-of-choice was not preventable, the outcome of the situation was. I should have gotten help. I should have asked for it myself, but that is a very difficult thing for people who are in my situation to realize. No matter how 'safe--' and I use air quotes there for a reason-- your job seems to you now, you can never guarantee that something bad won't happen. I thought I was relatively safe walking around that unsub's property that day. I would not have believed that splitting up with my partner would lead me to be kidnapped, and suffer with addiction more than a decade later. Bad things can happen to anybody in this line of work, so we need to do something about it. We need to have a support system in place so that when we end up in that place of feeling like we aren't in control of our lives we already have somebody there who knows us, and can help us. Mental health is not something that only needs to be addressed when we are at the end of our rope. Counseling and therapy are not resources we gain access to after something bad happens to us. We need to stay on top of it. You need to stay on top of yourself so you don't end up like me-- a man with three PHD's and four kids he doesn't get to see."

Reid stared out into the crowd of FBI agents, students, and civilians, all invited to attend his lecture. He nodded his head curtly, indicating the end of his speech. Clicking the remote, he projected the last slide of his powerpoint which contained information on the bureau's mental health support options. 

He stepped off the stage, allowing himself to be swallowed by the swarm of people. Some rushed to leave, some scanned the QR code on the screen. Others lingered, talking to each other, or searching out their companions in the crowd. Few searched for him, asking questions, or thanking him for his work. 

A redheaded woman approached him nervously, she quietly called out to him, receiving no response as her voice fell into the sea of other voices. 

"Dr. Reid!" she tried again.

"Hello, yes. What is your name?" he responded, whipping around to face her. 

She was young. Maybe in her late twenties. Her hair flew out around her face, and her ginger curls appeared unwashed and untouched. Her freckled face was pale, and her red lips dark. She appeared sick, and her hands tightly crossed over her stomach, gripping her dark purple sweatshirt, told the same story. 

"I'm Elizabeth," she nodded, a smile slipping from her lips. She did not uncross her arms, or offer even a hand to shake. 

"How are you, Elizabeth," Reid asked, his voice having a noticeably calming effect on the girl before him.

 "I'm okay," she smiled. Her tiny figure, and sunken eyes telling another story.

"Okay," he began, scanning the girl's face, "what brings you to me?" 

Her eyes darted to the floor, and her body tensed. She didn't breathe out immediately, instead, she held her breath as she decided what to say. 

"How. . ." she thought for a moment, "how did you decide to reach out after something had happened?"

"It took a long time," he recalled, "Eventually I realized that I loved my job and I loved my team so much that I knew I had to get help if I wanted to keep living my life."

"Do you think you would have stopped if you didn't have anything to care about?"

Her eyes did not leave the floor. Her already pale knuckles were stark white, and her skin laid taught, stretched over them with the force she used to grip her clothing. Although he knew he would have let himself die in the shed with Tobias if it weren't for his team, he figured it was his best bet to lie to this girl.

"Yes, I think I would have. If you don't have anything to care about now, that only means you haven't been around long enough to find it. Life gets so much better when you find it. I want you to meet my friend, Elizabeth," Reid reached his hand over to the girl, placing it gently on her shoulder, "follow me."

He guided her back toward the stage, where a woman with dark hair, and a black suit stood, watching the auditorium empty slowly. 

"Dr. Finnigan, this is Elizabeth. I think she might need someone to talk to," he said, releasing the girl to his friend. 

"Hi Elizabeth, it's nice to meet you," Dr. Finnigan held out her hand to shake with the girl. 

Elizabeth carefully held out her hand and shook it. Trying to smile at the woman before her. 

"Why don't you come with me?" prompted the psychiatrist. 

"Okay," she nodded, looking to Reid for assurance. 

"She can help you," he said, smiling to the young woman, and watching her follow his friend behind the stage. 

He looked out, amazed at how quickly the auditorium had emptied. His eyes scanned the room, noticing the few groups of people still lingering through the room. They fell on a brunette standing with her arms crossed over her chest at the door. Her dark brown hair, now streaked with gray, framed the face of a woman he once knew. He dismounted the few steps he had climbed by the stage and pranced over to her. 

"Emily!" he called, excitedly enveloping her in a warm hug.

"Hey Reid!" she said into his shoulder.

He pulled away, allowing himself to appreciate the sight of his once close friend's face.

"What are you doing here? Aren't you in Denver now?"

"Well. . . I was, but then uh, Andrew got caught in a situation that was more dangerous than it seemed and," she breathed heavily and closed her eyes, "he didn't make it."

"Oh Emily," Reid placed his hand on her shoulder.

"No. No," she shook her head, avoiding having to deal with the pain of her loss, "Keely was already living on campus, so she didn't need me there, and when the director called me personally, telling me that they had reconsidered my dismissal from the possibility of taking over for him, I came back here."

"Emily Prentiss, director of the FBI. Wow. Congratulations," he marveled, "I'm sorry it came out of so much pain."

"Well, you know me, pain is all I know," she joked, her unconvincing smile falling quickly.

"So how are you? I mean-- Are you doing okay?"

"I'm surviving. I adopted a dog, his name is Alpha. He's really helping me get through this."

"That's good!" Reid insisted, trying to bring the conversation back from the hole it had fallen into.

"Yeah. . ." she trailed off, "anyway, your speech was pretty impressive. I'm glad you're doing okay now."

The smile that grew across his face faded when she suggested he was doing okay. He pressed his lips together and nodded, his eyes on his hands.

"Thank you," he diverted.

"Yeah," she nodded, knowingly,  "well, it was nice seeing you, Reid. I missed you."

"I missed you too, Emily. Hey, do you want to get coffee or something? Catch up?"

"I'd like that," she smiled.

Reid held out his arm, allowing her to loop her own through it. He lead her to the parking lot where they agreed to meet at the Starbucks across the street.

Reid hurriedly pranced to his car, excited to spend time with his long lost friend.