Welcome. Thank you for your interest in this story.

It starts at the end of 12x22 "Red Light" with spoilers for the episode, right before the cliffhanger.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of drug and alcohol abuse.

I'm not a native English speaker. Every critique concerning the story, including spelling and grammar, will be highly appreciated.

CRAVINGS

A Criminal Minds Fan Fiction.

-v-v-v-

He felt so warm, so welcome… so safe in his mother's arms…

His heart was racing yet again, this time not out of anguish or terror, but out of sheer joy.

She was holding him tight, like she rarely did before, even when he was a kid. Just like Spencer, Diana Reid had always been disinclined to share physical contact with other people. She must've loved his father so much so that she married him and allowed a child to be born in spite of all her doubts, her fears and her illness.

Her greying blond hair still had the familiar jasmine and lavender scent of her shampoo. That fact was remarkable in itself, after all she had gone through.

For just that moment, Spencer's futile attempts to find a treatment for her condition, his stupidity not to tell his friends -his family- what he'd been up to, the utter hell he had been subjected to for the last three months and every single day since he found out his mother had early onset dementia, didn't exist. For just that moment, there was only bliss.

And just like every other moment this one faded away, like a shooting star.

"Dr. Reid?"

Spencer opened his eyes to find that at some stage he had been left alone with his mother, in the hallway of the sixth floor of the J. Edgar Hoover building. The only person still present with them was Agent Grant Anderson. It was strange to hear someone calling him doctor after all the time he spent being only a number, someone whose name was not worthy of being mentioned, or remembered. Someone whose name could be mocked, too… Spencey.

He let go of Diana reluctantly.

"Where's everyone?" he asked.

"They've got an urgent case," Anderson replied, with a kind smile. "Agent Prentiss ordered me to take you home, whenever you and your mother are ready. She asked me to tell you your apartment has been cleared and the locks have been changed. She gave me the keys. It is safe now. She said you deserve to sleep in your own bed tonight."

Reid smiled too. He had to admit, in the worst moments of his life he'd seriously doubted Emily's loyalty toward him. He had indeed hated her, Fiona Duncan and almost everyone in the team, with all of his might. Many times he wondered why they deserted him, or if they doubted his innocence, but now he knew it was never the case. They all had been by his side in spirit, working hard to free him from the very moment they knew he had been arrested in Mexico. They just couldn't find a way out until the solution to all this mess was unlocked from his own mind by Tara. They had no way to know that Catherine Adams was behind this, like an Irukandji jellyfish, so petit, pretty and transparent, but at the same time so deadly with invisible tentacles that reached far beyond her solitary confinement cell at Mount Pleasant Women's Correctional Facility.

"I didn't have the chance to thank them," Reid whispered, almost to himself. "I guess I'll do that next time I see them."

"Can we go home now, Spencer?" Diana said, in her usual stern manner. "I'm hungry and tired."

"Of course," Reid's smile grew wider as he placed a protective arm around her shoulders and pressed the button to call the elevator with the other hand. "Your wish is my command."

"I need to see Cassie," the woman uttered and the smile froze on her son's face. "She didn't say goodbye. She must be really upset with me, because I called her a thief. I was wrong. I bet the one who stole my underwear was that Carol brat. I'm sorry. Cassie is a good friend. I hope she will forgive me."

The young man swallowed, trying to get rid of the sudden lump that appeared in his throat.

"I… I'm sorry mom," he whispered lowering his sight. His mouth was dry. "Cassie will not come back. But she's not upset with you, I promise. She knows there was a misunderstanding. She… found a new job in California."

"California, huh? I guess she got sick of the weather, but I'd be worried about the earthquakes."

Cassie Campbell was certainly a good woman. She had helped him when no one else did, taking care of his mother when he couldn't reach her and there was no hope for him to be free. She was killed just because she was in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Just like Nadie Ramos. She only wanted to assist him and his mother, offering her knowledge, her support and so much needed hope when everything else had failed… because deep inside, Spencer was not only looking for a remedy for his mother. He was looking for a cure for himself. He knew the odds for him to inherit her condition were very high, and if there was something that truly frightened him was the chance, the too real possibility… to lose his mind.

In return of her kindness, Nadie got only regret, fear and a painful death.

Luis Delgado was a broken man, but didn't deserve to die. Reid tried to help him. He really did, but all he managed was to get him killed, putting himself in harm's way at the same time. However, his death taught him a very valuable lesson: There's no integrity in jail. People have to do what they have to do in order to survive, even if it goes against every single one of their principles. Even if it changes them… even if it taints their souls forever.

A male victim with no name at a gas station. Another pointless death, just because he was on the path of a killer. Reid thought of a family that right now would be waiting for him at home, with dinner at the table, just to find out tomorrow that he would never come back.

And an unborn baby. A baby, for God´s sake! A tiny, innocent human being that had been conceived for the sole purpose of hurting him. Someone who didn't know anything about good or evil, serial killers or long plotted revenges. Someone that hadn't even had the chance to see daylight.

In that moment, Spencer was sure that the child wasn't going to be born. Being of no more use to Cat, she was going to get rid of it, one way or another. She had showed the world already that solitary confinement had never been an impediment to do whatever she wanted. She had lost a game and, in return, she would kill her own offspring, just to keep breaking the heart of the man who caught her.

Those victims… they were all pawns, just like Lindsey Vaughn, Lionel Wilkins and probably Calvin Shaw himself. Collateral damage in a sick game that ended with a bitter victory. Spencer Reid now was free, his name had been cleared and his mother was by his side… but he knew he didn't really win.

In his mind, they were all losers.

I'm so sorry…

He felt a sudden anxiety, a need like he hadn't had one in almost ten years. It was overwhelming. He felt like he was carrying the world on his shoulders and he just wanted to throw everything away and forget about it, escape at least for a while. He scratched the crook of his right elbow without even noticing and sighed.

The elevator finally arrived. When the doors opened to the confined space, Spencer could feel how Diana tensed and stepped closer to him. Without a word, he held her hand and she squeezed his fingers hard, almost painfully.

"I don't like elevators," she whispered to his ear. "I don't like car trunks either. Promise me. Promise me Spencer, you won't put me in a trunk again."

The young man closed his eyes, wishing for once in his life that, thanks to her Alzheimer, Diana could forget what Lindsey Vaughn had done to her, but obviously that was too much to ask to his fate.

"I don't want to get in there," she moaned, taking a step back while Anderson was holding the elevator for them. There were tears in her eyes. "Please!"

Spencer sighed again, loosening his tie tiredly. He was not used to wear them anymore. This one had been choking him for the last eight hours.

"It's alright, mom," he said. "We'll use the stairs. Agent Anderson, we'll meet you at the main door in a few minutes."

Grant nodded sympathetically and let go of the elevator door, which closed immediately in front of them. Diana let out a relieved breath when her son guided her kindly to the staircase.

As they started their way down, the man realized he wasn't the only one changed by this… experience. Catherine Adams had succeeded in breaking his mother's sense of peace and safety, for the rest of her life.

-v-v-v-

Spencer got out of the bedroom closing the door carefully behind him, after checking on his mom for the fourth time tonight. She was sleeping peacefully on his bed and he was grateful for that. It was almost three in the morning.

On their way to the apartment a few hours prior, she had asked for Cassie twice. Then, when the SUV Grant was driving had to stop at a red light in front of a gas station, she freaked out. Spencer spent the rest of the trip trying to reassure her, telling her over and over that she was safe and no one would hurt her again. She only calmed down when they arrived at his place, the one she had at last started to consider home.

Ironically that was when Reid began to feel unsettled, mostly when he saw the small notice attached to the door of the apartment right across from theirs. He thanked Emily silently for keeping it subtle, but the place still was a crime scene. A reminder of how insecure they really were. Mercifully, Diana didn't know what it meant or what had happened there, but he thought that moving house would be probably the best option. It was necessary anyway, if his mom was going to live with him permanently. One bedroom was enough for a limited time only.

Anderson had noticed his concern and offered to stay. Spencer pretended to be nonchalant as he sent him away, arguing that now the team required his presence more than him, but he fact that anyone who knew him still treated him like a child, even when he was a thirty-five-year-old man that had been in jail accused of murder, truly bothered him. After all, when he was a teenager he spent six years taking care of his mother all by himself. Didn't they all know that? He had been perfectly capable of doing so then. It shouldn't be any different now.

Finally at home, he'd had the chance to shower alone for the first time in more than three months. For a private person and a germophobe like him, it had been pure torture to have to share his daily cleaning routine with lots of other men, not being able to hide his bare, pale and lanky figure from them. It became even more of an issue after Shaw asked him if he was heteroflexible.

Today it would've been perfectly justified to remain enjoying the hot water for a while, instead of the nearly frozen and highly chlorinated one they had at Millburn Correctional Facility. However, he wasn't used to long showers anymore. He managed to wash himself thoroughly in just above three minutes, even having time to enjoy the scent of his sorely missed favorite shampoo. After that, he had put on an old white Star Trek t-shirt and black sweatpants as pyjamas, realizing that they were now too loose. He had probably lost more than a few pounds during his stay at that hellish place, but it was perfectly logical for someone who had been barely eating or sleeping for such a long time.

Thinking about that, he'd decided to be naughty and had ordered a pepperoni pizza with extra cheese from his favourite late night Italian restaurant, but once they got it, he barely touched it. He had thought it was only the jail food that was awful, but now he supposed he may had a problem with his taste buds, because everything felt like cardboard to him. It was not a total loss, though. At least Diana liked it.

After dinner, he'd taken his mom to the bedroom and tucked her in. She had asked for him to stay until she fell asleep and he did it happily, even reciting Mary Darby Robinson's The Wish for her. She fell asleep around the fifth verse and he thought it was going to be the same case with him, he was so tired… However, after he laid down on the couch in the living room, he only tossed and turned for almost three hours.

Right now, he went to check once again if the main door was locked, looking through the peephole for the fifth time tonight. The hallway was empty, just like the four previous times. He sighed, afraid that he was starting to develop OCD, on top of everything.

He stared wistfully at the couch, with the pillow and blanket on top of it. It was a snug piece of furniture, much more comfortable and warm than the cot in his cell in Millburn. He had spent a fair amount of nights on it in the past, after watching a Star Wars marathon or maybe reading a few books. And he was completely spent… but he didn't seem able to shut his brain off. He just couldn't sleep.

He scratched the crook of his right elbow absentmindedly, not noticing how reddened his skin was for doing it repeatedly.

He licked his lips nervously, thinking that he needed some rest or he would go crazy.

He couldn't help his mind to fly to the past, to a winter night in Georgia and the young man who died there, ten years ago.

The young man who he killed, ten years ago.

He almost died with him then. He almost lost his mind… but there was a little something that helped him go through his horrific ordeal and survive. A little something that silenced his brain, numbing first his pain and his fear, and later his guilt and his sorrow. It was a fleeting relief, but still…

Dilaudid.

He knew it was stupid to think about it now. It was ridiculous. It was dangerous. And he couldn't help it, even if drugs were what landed him in jail in the first place. He bit his bottom lip hard, wishing with all of his might that he could get away of these thoughts.

He was, after all, a genius.

But… was he? His IQ had flown out the window the moment he decided to take his schizophrenic mother out of a mental health care facility in Houston, to bring her home and give her some experimental medicine that wasn't legal in America, hiding it even from his best friends. He had let his desperation take over his common sense, offering himself on a silver platter to his enemy and putting everyone and everything he loved at risk.

He sat down on the couch and ran his hands through his hair, clenching his teeth.

Maybe he could do something to distract himself? Read a book? Practice a new magic trick for Henry and Michael? Play a little chess? Put the pictures in his mom's scrapbook in the right order again?

Dilaudid.

The scrapbook had brought priceless memories to him and his mother, but now, every time he saw it he would see Lindsey Vaughn laughing. Messing with it, ruining one of his mom's most valuable possessions. He thought about destroying it, but that wouldn't be fair for Diana. It would take away the last anchor she had to her fading memories, just to ease his mind for a while. It was not fair.

But then, nothing in his life seemed to be fair, ever.

Dilaudid.

No!

He got up and started to pace back and forth the living room, like a caged lion.

Please… I want to sleep. I need to sleep. I'm going to go crazy…

He looked around his place searching for something that could distract him, make him forget at least for a while all of his struggles.

Then, he remembered.

A couple of years ago, he decided to make a pre-Christmas reunion at his place. It was something small, a few beers and sandwiches with the team, and Garcia's cupcakes. Even so, knowing David Rossi wasn't too much of a beer person, he bought a bottle of Highland Park scotch for him. He ended sharing a drink with him and Hotch, but three quarters of the liquid were still in the bottle when he put it away in one of his living room cabinets, next to his record collection. He had completely forgotten it, until now.

Reid went to his cabinet and opened it, wavering between wishing and dreading that the scotch bottle wasn't there anymore. But it was.

He sighed and brought it out, not even bothering to close the small door again. He went to the kitchen and grabbed a black mug with the image of Darth Vader from the dish rack next to the sink. With trembling hands, he opened the bottle, poured half the cup and drank it in one gulp, the intense heat of the golden liquid burning his tongue, his throat, his oesophagus and his almost empty stomach. He coughed and grimaced closing his eyes for a moment, allowing the numbing effect of the drink to bounce between his stomach and his brain.

You shouldn't do this. You're not in the right state of mind. You'll just get an epic hangover, a little voice said in his head. But I need it. I need it so much, I want to forget, said another.

He chuckled. He had barely started to drink and he was hearing voices in his head already.

He went back to the living room and sat on the couch again. He poured another drink, but this time he took more time to have it. He hated the bitter taste and the smell of the whiskey, but he enjoyed the sweet sensation of warmth that grew all around him. Maybe that was why Rossi liked it so much.

Four shots later, he just ignored the mug and started to drink straight out of the bottle. There was not much scotch left, anyway.

He was dinking to forget, but the resulting effect was quite the contrary to what he was expecting.

He saw himself crossing the Mexican border by foot, concealing his face from the security cameras with a cap, hiding what he was doing from everyone. He saw himself sneaking some of Nadie's medicine into his mother's orange juice, betraying her trust and becoming a liar. He saw himself at the laundry room in Millburn, concocting some poison and mixing it shamelessly and seamlessly with Frazier's stash of cocaine. He saw himself making a shiv, thinking that if he wanted to survive he would have to get rid of Calvin Shaw, one way or another… He saw himself choking Catherine Adams almost to death, with his bare hands. He would've killed her, if it wasn't for JJ.

"Psyc… psyc… psychopaths," he said and hiccupped, then laughed again. He had been drinking too much, too fast. His speech was slurred and his cheeks flushed. "We're all the same."

Soon, the bottle was empty. He tried to put it next to the mug on the coffee table, but he didn't calculate the distance properly and it fell to the floor, bouncing on the carpet.

"Spencer Reid, youuuu idiot," he scolded himself. "As al-as always."

All of a sudden, out of nowhere he thought about Aaron Hotchner. He didn't think about him at all during the time he spent in jail, not even after he was drugged against his will, yet again. At that moment, he'd had many other things to worry about, such as how to keep himself alive. But right now, in the solitude of his living room, he knew his former boss would be very upset for what he was doing to himself. He would admonish him for his recklessness, but then he would offer support and advice, just like he did so many times through the years, when things got too rough and Wednesday movie nights were not enough.

Spencer still had Aaron's number on his speed dial, knowing full well there wouldn't be an answer anymore.

And then, he thought about Derek Morgan, the one he considered his brother. They had promised to stay in touch, but Reid knew right from the start it wasn't going to be the case. One phone call away worked in the beginning, however, slowly but surely calls started to be less and less frequent, on both sides. When Derek and his family moved back to Chicago, they stopped altogether. Now they were in different tunes. Morgan had a brand new life, far away from Reid's troubled mind and his world of mental illnesses, blood, unsubs and murder.

That was why Spencer asked Garcia specifically to not let Morgan know when he was put in jail. Not only didn't he want to bother or worry him. He was completely embarrassed, humiliated, appalled for what had happened. Even now, he didn't feel worthy to look at his best friend's face.

He exhaled and his eyes stung with tears.

Right now, by using alcohol as an easy way out, he was betraying not only his lost friends –his family–, but also the ones that remained by his side and fought for him, in spite of everything. JJ, Emily, Garcia, Tara… even Luke or Stephen, whom he had known for less than a year. If they could see him now, they would be so ashamed…

What was he going to do now? How was he going to be able to pick the smithereens of his life, and stick them together in some semblance of normalcy?

He didn't know.

He felt sick, disgusted by his weakness, his foolhardiness and the bitter liquor threatening to come back the same way it had gone down.

Suddenly, he put both hands on his mouth and got up, stumbling blindly toward the bathroom as fast as he could. He barely made it to the toilet in time to empty the contents of his stomach. It wasn't really that much, but he kept dry-heaving for a long time, until the painful retches turned into silent sobs.

Completely wasted, he fell to the floor in fetal position, holding his head in his hands.

At that moment, he just wanted to die.

And it seemed like maybe the Providence, the Lord or his own body had compassion on him, because some time later his tears subsided, giving way to his utter exhaustion.

He fell asleep deeply for the first time in more than three months, right there, on the cold tiles of his bathroom.

-v-v-v-

When Spencer opened his eyes, the light around seemed so bright that it felt as if someone had pierced them with a needle. He moaned and squeezed them shut, putting his hand on his face briefly. The soreness in his body told him that he had fallen asleep on a hard surface and had been lying there for a long time. A headache was growing at the back of his head.

He felt someone moving softly above him. He could hear fabric rustling and identified a faint sweet scent that was too much like the cherry blossoms at the National Mall.

Wondering who that person could be, he shielded his eyes from the bright light with his hand, grimacing a little before trying to open them again.

When he did, he believed he had finally snapped.

No…

Because he was lying on the floor… at his cell in Millburn.

And right in front of him, sitting on his cot with her ankles crossed, was a woman.

In the beginning, he didn't know who she was. All he could see from his point of view was the white fabric of a long fluffy dress, a pair of delicate silk sandals on her pale feet, and hundreds and hundreds of pencil tally marks littering the floor, the walls and even the bars of his old grey cell.

"What… what's happening? Who are you?" he dared to ask, in a whisper. His voice was coarse and his tongue felt as if it was covered with sawdust.

She stood up and crouched in front of him, allowing him to see her beautiful long, wavy dark brown hair, her gentle blue eyes and the smile on her angelic face. The familiar cherry blossom smell came from a few little pink flowers that were crowning her head.

"Maeve…" he whispered.

"Spence…" she greeted.

She caressed his stubbly cheek with the back of her fingers. Her touch was unbelievably warm and soft, he couldn't help to lean softly into it, sighing.

"Did I… did I die? Or did I just go crazy?" he asked. She chuckled.

"Neither one nor the other," she said. "This is just a dream. It's the easiest way for you to listen what I need to say."

He nodded biting his bottom lip, somewhat disappointed.

She straightened herself and offered a hand to help him stand up. As he did, he could see the whole of her chiffon-cladded beauty before they sat down on the cot, next to each other.

"Although I am a little jealous," she said playfully. "I didn't get harps, candles and golden-edged wine glasses in my setting."

He opened his mouth to say something, but she placed her hand softly on his lips.

"Shhh. I understand, Spence. It's not your fault. There are reasons for everything."

He lowered his sight. She placed her hand below his chin to make him look at her again.

"Listen. Right now, those reasons are worrying me," she admitted, looking at him in the eye. "Your mother is safe. You just got released from prison. You are a free, innocent man, but you still see yourself here, behind bars. Why?"

He exhaled, nowhere near ready for what he was going to say, but he said it nonetheless.

"What I… what I wanted the most was to prove my innocence and get out of jail, but Maeve… I'm not innocent. Everyone knows it. I may not have killed Nadie, but I needed so badly to hurt the men who abused me in prison… I enjoyed, I craved to see them bleeding, crying, being as frightened as I was. For me, to see them suffer was… like getting high. Now I think I'm just like them. Cat was right. We are the same. I don't deserve to be free."

"Do you want to do it again? Do you want to see more people hurt, would you enjoy seeing someone else in pain? Would you like to see them dead?"

He rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully, taking a few moments to answer.

"That's the root of the problem, my beautiful… I don't know. And even if I told Cat that I could cross the line back, right now I feel like I am not strong enough."

"It's funny. I think you are the strongest person I met."

Spencer snorted.

"How can you say that? I let Dianne kill you."

"No, Spence, you didn't. I let Dianne kill me, and she almost killed you too. It's time to acknowledge that. I should've trusted you from the beginning, let you find her and set me free, but I didn't. It was my mistake. The worst part is that, even now, you keep paying the price for my death. It's been four years, and I'm still a burden for you."

"Maeve, no! You'll never be a burden for me! I love you!"

"I love you too, but you know what I'm saying is the truth. Cat used me to hurt you. On top of all the tribulations you already had, she took advantage of your greatest desire, your craving to be a father, to have a family of your own. She tore your heart out of your chest and even so, you defeated her. You recovered your freedom and your mother. Only someone very strong can achieve that. What you did in jail was the only thing you could do to survive. And none of them died. You could've killed them just as easy, but you didn't. You could've killed her too, no matter if JJ was there to stop you or not. You have something Catherine Adams lacks. You have compassion, empathy, faith in people. You have love. You will never be the same as her."

"I wish I could be as confident as you are."

She smiled, placing a hand on his chest. He put his hand on hers, trying hopelessly to swallow an unexpected lump in his throat.

"Trust me," she murmured. "I live in your heart. I know it."

He laughed, but couldn't help a tear running down his cheek.

"Maeve Donovan… I don't think I'll stop loving you, ever. I'll always cherish the time we shared. Those will always be the best days of my life. I should've said that when you were alive, though."

There was a moment of silence.

"Spence… as momentary as it was, for me what we had was wonderful. Never doubt it. Finding you was the best thing that could happen to me… even though we weren't meant to be together. I think it's time to accept that. However, I haven't changed my mind. Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone. We find it with another."

"Thomas Merton," he whispered, smiling sadly.

"I'm not asking you to forget me. I still want to live in your heart… who wouldn't? But you have been lonely for a long time. It's time to move on. You need someone with whom you can truly find the meaning of life. You need someone to relief that craving that has been troubling you for so long. You need someone to lean on when you are troubled. Someone with whom you can create a family."

Suddenly, Maeve got up and went to the cell's door. Spencer saw her as she smiled beautifully and offered her hand again.

"Life is out there, Spencer. You just got another chance. Get out and live while you can. Find a woman to love, have children, share time with your mom. Stop worrying about the future, because we never know how much time we have left. Live the present. Come on!"

He nodded, with a hint of a smile on his face. Then, he stood up and took the hand she was offering. She pulled him graciously out of the cell with a laugh and in that moment, everything changed.

He found himself alone, standing on a carpet of small pink petals that were falling around him like snow, on a wide path flanked by enormous cherry blossom trees. There was a warm, soft wind. Above him, the deep blue sky shone in contrast with the full bloom branches. Yet, for the first time in years, he didn't feel lonely. He knew Maeve was in his heart, and she would be there forever. That didn't mean he was not open to love.

He also had a feeling that was almost strange to him, something he unknowingly had lost a long time ago… but now he had recovered.

He had hope.

-v-v-v-