There have been many cases in which Reid has gone off to some unknown location and returned with answers that seemed to always fit the profile. Maybe to talk to a girl, or to read up on some new material, even a team of profilers as successful as his could never figure out what it was. The whole time, it was you. A teenage girl in a psych ward. You’re a child prodigy he’s come to genuinely care about, and you are the perfect pair of fresh eyes when he needs it. The only reason no other detectives are willing to give you a second look is because, well. You’re hard to understand. You go off on tangents, you have breakdowns, sometimes you regress, sometimes you have bursts of anger. You’re severely bipolar with depression, ADHD, OCD, and svicidal tendencies. You had an addition cvtting yourself by the time you were 11, and you had tried to k1ll yourself twice before you were 13. Everyone considers you too high risk. Except for him. He has a paranoid schizophrenic mother, he knows how to deal with the mentally ill, and quite honestly? You’re the most comforting presence he has most days. It’s not hard to understand you when he simply listens to what you ask, to what you say, and watches your behavior. He enters your room, white walls, no sharp corners, a full size bed and a decent size couch (upgrade from the small twin side bed and blank room apart from that that he personally demanded from the doctors). You sit on the floor curled up, staring blankly at a wall when he enters, smiling. “Hey. I’m late by 5 minutes and 26 seconds, sorry about that, a doctor stopped me in the hall for a bit.” he seats himself on the couch, crossing his legs