High and Drowning

Chapter 4

wall [wôl]

a verb

to enclose an area, to protect it or lend it some privacy. 

_________

It had been two months since he had first injected himself. Since then, he had found a dealer. 

He made sure it was a clean dealer, wouldn't cut his drugs with anything, but the fact that he had to check made him feel sick. 

He thought he had thrown everyone off his tracks. Sure he had messed up a few times. He had purposely missed a flight in New Orleans, and he had been really aggressive to Emily. But he slowly realized, through his drug-haze, that he would just have to work harder at building walls. Work harder at severing ties. 

And it worked. He separated his personal, from his public so strongly, even he struggled at times. His walls were impenetrable, solid walls of facts and intellect that he hid behind, a terrified addict who was too scared to stop. Too comfortable to stop. 

He kept his emotions behind there too. Behind a wall, his emotions ran wild and tried to slip through the cracks. But really, he was from Las Vegas. You can't be from Las Vegas and not have some sort of poker face. 

They really thought he was doing alright. That the issues he was dealing with had disappeared. That whatever it was that bothering him simply left. 

They were wrong, it was still there, but he was just better at hiding it. 

And then, something happened. It was like some one took a sledgehammer to his wall and sent pieces of him scattering to the four winds. 

It was a blow he didn't expect, he didn't deserve. 

One day, Gideon left, and didn't come back. 

_________

He knew something was wrong when he woke up that morning. He had fallen asleep, waiting for Gideon. 

Slightly panicked because he was never late. The chess game was abandoned, pawns toppled over, and a knight lay on its side, forlorn. 

He picked up the pieces and set them upright. 

Hotch came by and told him Gideon was probably just in his cabin, that he had to get away for a while to clear his head. He did that from time to time. 

The day stretches on, and still Reid feels like something isn't right, maybe its the air, or maybe it's just him. 

He practically runs to his car, determined to drive through the night if he had to, to see if Gideon is all right. Every mile he drives, he feels sicker and sicker. 

As he walks through the door a wave of deja vu hits him, and he blinks, holding off the building tears. 

A letter. 

That's it. 

A letter. 

_________

Truth be told, Gideon leaving was the last straw for him. Whatever resolve he had about giving up his drugs was crushed and he quickly turned back to them, hoping to drown the betrayal and pain he felt. 

The belief in happy endings. 

He shut his eyes, Gideon's words bouncing around in his skull. How ironic, that he would write that to him. 

There was no such thing as a happy ending. Not for him anyway. 

His phone buzzed to life. 

He grabbed it, partly thankful for the distraction and partly disgusted at how late it was. He answered, realizing a second too late, that he still sounded high.

"Yeah?" He mentally berated himself. He never answered the phone like that. 

There was a pause. A cough. And then-"Just wanted to see how you were doing." 

Ah, Morgan. Ever the knight in shining armor. 

"You know..." He rubbed a knuckle in one eye. "Why are you calling so late?" 

He could hear Morgan sigh on the other side of the phone. "It's like 11:15, Reid, that's not late." 

To you maybe. He heaved a sigh. "Morgan, is there, uh, is there a point to this conversation. Because I'm pretty tired." Passive aggressive, but true. 

A long pause. "No, not really, just wanted to check up on you. Wanted to make sure you were good with what's been going on." They both refused to acknowledge the elephant in the room. 

"Yeah, man, I'm great." He was cringing. Why did he say that? He never things like that. 

"Ok." Another pause. Please hang up, please hang up. "Well, I'll uh see you tomorrow?" A question, like he almost wondered if he expected Reid to show up tomorrow.

He bit his lip, fingers tapping nervously. "Yeah, I'll uh, see you tomorrow." 

He was not looking forward to tomorrow. 

_________

Morgan put his phone away, and laid back down on his bed, trying to come up with some sort of explanation for the conversation he had. 

He'd be the first to admit, Reid had been acting strange, but come on, he went through it, really went through it. 

Morgan had watched him die for heaven's sake. You're entitled to act a bit moody once you've died and been brought back. 

He just couldn't wrap his head around the other aspects of his behavior that changed. His mood swings, the far looks in his eyes, the trembling in his hands. And that was just the beginning of it. 

The kid had lost weight somehow. Gone from acceptingly skinny to railroad skinny. Morgan had a sneaking suspicion he was thriving on coffee and an occasional bagel. He really didn't know how to bring that up, without getting it thrown back in his face. 

Then there was his face. Dark circle under haunted eyes. He knew insomnia when he saw it. Hell, he'd been the victim of it more than enough to realize that Reid was suffering. 

But he couldn't place the trembling. Or the nausea. 

He'd caught him, in the bathroom while on a case. He was bent over the toilet, shuddering, and Morgan had just walked in. And he froze. 

Reid slowly stood up, flushed the toilet, wiped his mouth, and fixed him with a pair of teary eyes. He blamed it on the heat, and the food, and walked out, his legs barely supporting him. 

Morgan groaned, he had bought that excuse, because it was hot, and the food was awful. 

But. 

He does run to the bathroom a lot. 

He turned on his side, trying to put the pieces together. Trying to find ways to help out his friend. 

He'd talk to him, when he got the chance. 

His mind still racing, he fell asleep.