Rated FRM. For Westenflu87.
9 July 2010 01:01 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
vanessasquest.livejournal.com in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
cm_hotch_reidHundredth Hour
by Vanessa S. Quest
Pairing: Pre-Slash Hotch/Reid
Rating: FRM
Synopsis: What would happen if Foyet found out about Reid, too?
Hi All, this is an AU version of the Episode 100, this is in regards to a challenge by westenflus87 from the IKY’dU Forum.
Aaron Hotchner had lived through man than his fair share of bad days in his life. This, however, was not a bad day. This was not even a week from hell, no what this was… these last few months deprived of his family had been torture. He had become a POW to a madman, the only saving graces to his own sanity were his team-members. For Pete’s Sake in the last year he had lost his family not once but twice!
The divorce had been bad, true it had been handled amicably, but it was still a miserable memory… and then the devil came to his door and took him to hell in a hand-basket. Nine times, Hotch had been stabbed nine times by that son of a bitch and once more when Haley and Jack had to be whisked away into protective detail. Yet all that now, he wished he could take that pain instead.
Because that would be easier, he thought bitterly to himself as his car sped through DC traffic. Hearing Haley’s voice, brimming with fear and almost an accusation as she learned of Foyet’s ‘deal’ that would have made all of this nightmare not exist. Hotch clutched the phone tightly, “Haley, let me talk to Jack…”
She was crying, silently, bravely holding it in as much as she could, but Hotch wasn’t so disaffected of a human being to not be able to tell. No, Foyet was the disaffected human being, standing in a room with her and his son playing some farce of empathy like it was anyone else’s damn fault that he got his jollies killing people and that the BAU had to intervene. For a moment Hotch damned that dead cop who brought this storm upon him, but that rage was quickly redirected at Foyet as he heard Jack’s sweet, innocent and young voice.
“Daddy!”
Hotch was almost in tears himself as he tried to give Jack enough of a warning to get him to safety. Sure the boy didn’t realize he was in danger, or that it was the last time he’d ever see his mother again alive, but Hotch knew the alternative wouldn’t have been effective. No, a distraught 4 year old would not lead Hotch to his home to find him alive. “Jack, I need you to work the case with me, buddy. Can you do that for daddy?”
When Haley was back on the phone and Jack was scampering off, all he could think about was his physical need for traffic to vanish for the next thirty minutes, completely.
Foyet was saying something to Haley, encouraging her to give her last farewells, and then the shots reverberated through his car, through the team’s headsets, and the Hotchner home simultaneously. Hotch retracted the phone from his ear, the frustration in his face clear as he realized he was still too damn far away to do anything for Haley. He just hoped he wasn’t too far away to do anything for Jack. If he lost Jack he didn’t think there would be any Aaron Hotchner left.
Morgan had made the order. He had ordered the team to move out, sans Reid thanks to his knee injury, to get to Hotch’s house as quickly as possible.
Reid had caught Rossi by the arm and mentioned, “Be careful, all of you.” His eyes were serious as they cast around the room at the fellow profilers. Garcia took that moment to snag Reid’s wrist and pull him toward a chair.
The minutes felt like hours and even with Reid pouring over everything in Foyet’s case file, including his name histories, Reid still felt like he was hindering more than anything else. He realized then what he had to do. He had kept a file on Foyet back at his apartment, he had been asked by Morgan, Rossi and even Hotch at different moments in time the past few months to set up a geographical profile for the Reaper to track him, he had been working on it in his down-time and could even recite the exact coordinates of the file in his bedroom at his apartment. He also recalled that there were aliases in that file.
He had been working on the assumption that Foyet would be near-enough to DC to track Hotchner comfortably, but far enough away to elude him. After all, Foyet’s goal was clearly Haley and Jack in order to get at Hotch, so his focus never truly settled fully off of Hotch despite what the others may or may not have thought. Foyet was goal-driven, motivated, and paid close attention to the victims he stalked, and while it was strange to think of Hotch as a victim of any kind, at the moment that was the exact victimology he needed to proceed with.
“Garcia, I have to get something from my apartment. I’ll be back in an hour.” He said, grabbing his coat and messenger bad as he made his way to the FBI parking garage.
Finally, finally Aaron saw the familiar door and driveway he’d been speeding towards. It had taken some persuasive use of horn and side-walks to get there as soon as he had, but even that wasn’t as fast as he’d have preferred.
He barely had the gear set to park before he ripped his key from the ignition, be damned if he gave Foyet a vehicle to flee in easily. He drew his gun before getting close to the door, ready to breach the entryway as he would any other hostile environment. His fingers curled around the handle of his Glock, his pointer resting around the trigger ready to fire in a hare’s breath if need-be. Pushing the door open and inward, he spun into the foyer before quickly mentally clearing it.
He proceeded to clear the rooms one by one until he came to the dining room and found Haley’s lifeless body. He bent down to check her pulse knowing full-well he wouldn’t find it. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes.
That chapter of his life, his great youthful romance was over and gone long before Foyet, but the finality of seeing Haley dead made it clear that it was never coming back. His furrowed brows helped to keep the tears welled into his eyes, he spotted shoes behind the curtain and proceeded to empty three slots in his magazine into the drapes Haley had insisted would be the right color for matching their fine china. He pushed the curtain aside to find a shattered window, and no body. He glared at the shoes and realized almost immediately that the son of a bitch had moved a pair of his own loafers to that position.
He left Haley’s body there knowing there was nothing he could do for her more important than find Jack, and he proceeded to search the rest of the house for Foyet.
Going up the stairs had been sinking and grounding. How he wished Morgan was his back-up in this. Morgan, who trained as a beat-cop before joining the ATF, bomb-squad and finally the BAU had more than his fair-share of experience in shoot-outs. Hotch trusted himself with a gun, his service pieces were more like appendages than equipment, but ever since Foyet had penetrated him nine times with serrated steal his movements became a bit slower, a bit less smooth and he feared the consequences of that.
He looked left then right, spotting no motion, he cleared the rooms closest before heading to the office, the last room unchecked.
What he saw made his breath hitch. Each room had been tossed, no doubt as Foyet searched for Jack in vain, the same way Hotch had searched for Foyet, but inside the cluttered chaos there was one perfectly clear indication of where Foyet was and Hotch suddenly felt his body grow eight degrees cooler.
Books were on the ground, the filing cabinet flipped, cushions lifted from the small sofa he had in the room, for when he passed out at 2AM and didn’t have the heart to slump to bed and possibly awaken Haley… all of the disarray, even the torn curtains and yet in a perfectly cleared area in the middle of the rug was a photograph Hotch hadn’t even realized he had kept at his home.
He could have sworn he took the damned thing with him to his apartment.
Staring up from that old rug he had kept from his college dorm was one of the three pictures he had ever been in with Dr. Spencer Reid alone, and right now it was more haunting than the corpse of his ex-wife in his dining room.
The gun lowered. He looked around the room for anything else before spotting what he prayed he’d find. His modified file-box wasn’t overturned. In fact it looked like Foyet missed it when he sacked the room completely, but the closer he looked the more he realized Foyet had swept from the opposite direction, he had ignored the desk almost entirely, probably giving up on finding Jack when he found that picture instead. He opened the case and curled up, just as Hotch had suspected, Jack was there oblivious to the peril he had just been in.
Hotch plucked his son up into his arms, grasping him tightly as he finally let tears fall from his face. “Jack, Aunt Jessica is going to be here soon, and so are some of my team mates. I need you to be a good boy and listen to them, everyone is going to have questions for you and I need you to answer them as best as you can, got that buddy?”
Jack nodded, “Daddy, where’s mommy?” Hotch bit his lip as he looked at Jack wondering how to proceed.
“Jack, mommy… she’s gone, buddy. Your mom’s gone.” He put a firm hand on Jack’s shoulder before squeezing it, he holstered his gun and grabbed his cell phone. He surprised himself as the first number he instinctively dialed hit voice-mail.
Eyes going wide, he started to scan the room. Foyet, that sneaky, conniving bastard had had a knack for finding Hotch’s address book last time, and somehow the stalker in him did enough research to know the names of the people he was looking for, even if he didn’t know more personal information.
During his surveillance he must have learned of Reid’s name, so did he look him up…? Hotch scoured his memory to try to recall whether or not he had put Reid’s address into that book or not. He quickly flipped to check the next pages of R’s to find Rossi’s address listed and swore under his breath. So he did keep this one up to date, too. Damn.
Dialing Morgan, Hotch found the ringer to cut off after one cycle.
“Hotch!”
“Morgan, where’s Reid? He’s not answering his phone.”
“Hotch, man we’re almost there… is, is Haley, is Jack…?” He couldn’t form the words, he didn’t have the heart to fill in the words hanging in the air, ‘are they dead?’
“Foyet’s gone. Jack’s safe… Haley… Haley’s…” Hotch looked at Jack before looking at the wall, “She didn’t make it.”
“I’m so sorry, Hotch…”
“Morgan! Is Reid WITH you?”
“No, man, he’s still at Quantico with Garcia… I didn’t want to chance him coming into it with Foyet here. His knee’s still really messed up.”
“He isn’t answering his phone. We need to find him. Now.”
“Hotch, what’s going on with you? Why do you need to know where Reid is? Haley’s…”
“Because Foyet has HIS address and name, now!” He strained to force his voice quiet, he didn’t mean to yell despite how frustrated he was. “Foyet isn’t here, he couldn’t find Jack so he moved on to the next best thing.”
“…And that’s Reid…?” Morgan said incredulously.
“I can explain this later, but we have to find him before Foyet does.”
Reid shot his eyes around the room several times. Somehow this didn’t feel right. Something was out of place, he couldn’t place what though, which surprised him since he had always been good at those puzzles.
His crutches still firm in his grasp, he began turning his head around, right and left searching for more of a presence than a difference, his right hand creeping toward his gun that he kept attached at his hip. He suddenly felt a chair strike him in the back, sending him sprawling to the ground. As he rolled over he caught glimpse of it. The file on Foyet was moved. It wasn’t tucked neatly to the side of his bed between his nightstand and mattress, now it was on his nightstand. Seriously, how did he miss THAT?
His eyes came to contact with the Reaper’s, or should he say with George Foyet’s? His eyebrows crinkled as he reminded himself that Hotch’s not-blinking is probably how he survived nine felts with a knife at the hands of this particular madman. Spencer Reid cursed himself for being a blinker at that moment.
“Why are you here?” Reid said, darkly. In the background he could hear his own phone going off, the ring he had set for Hotch. The tone was almost identical to the one for the rest of the team, it was two beeps shy in the middle, instead of a tweet-de-de-de-de-deet it only went tweet-de-de-deet, a subtle way to assure the others didn’t pick up on his own anxiousness to hear Hotch when he called.
He knew now wasn’t the moment to think about how he awkwardly had a crush on Hotch, and how he used every point of his 187-IQ to keep the best profilers in the BAU off his back about it for the last year. No, instead, a more important and time-sensitive topic would be what brought a serial killer into his apartment after the man made it so obvious he was intent to making Hotch suffer.
“Oh, you haven’t figured out why I’m here… have you?” Foyet smiled, “Aren’t you supposed to be a genius?”
His eyes narrowed, greatly annoyed at how Reid who played a pivotal part within tracking him down couldn’t figure out why he’d come here… how oblivious could he be? “I guess I’ll fill you in, you know… it’s more fun when we’re both on the same page.”
Reid continued reaching for his service piece only to have his crutch torn from and used against him like a croquet mallet, his gun slid under the bed well out of reach.
He stifled his wince, still keeping forced eye-contact with Foyet, still cursing himself for being a blinker as it made the forced-stare that much harder.
“I think your boss fancies you.” He smiled, “I’m pretty good at being able to tell things like that. It’s a gift, I know… and that brings me to your next question, doesn’t it? Why I am here?”
Reid nodded curtly expressing his urge for Foyet to continue, Hotch just called him and he didn’t answer. Garcia was the only one who realized he was at his apartment so either Hotch would piece things together or… Reid felt somewhat doomed. Hotch just lost Haley, maybe even Jack and was probably calling to get in touch with SOMEONE to tell them that Foyet was gone. Not to get in touch with Reid to give him some sort of heads-up… Still, if he stalled long enough maybe he could make it through this. Don’t blink! He continued to mentally coach himself.
Foyet gave him a strange look. “You’re strange, you know that?” He licked his lips, “Here I am telling you that your boss has a special fondness toward you, and you don’t even look phased… but you can’t gather why I’d be here, because he has a special fondness for you, and why that would make me want to hurt you.”
“I get it. You’re a sadist.” Reid said flatly.
“All too true, but I’m here to kill you because he let one of his family get away. Does that piss you off? That you’re going to die because he sacrificed you for them?”
“He didn’t and wouldn’t, but even if he did… It wouldn’t hurt me at all. I’m in the FBI, you don’t scare me the way you scare other people.” Reid added to himself that he scared him on a different level separated by a fine line of scholarly interest.
“That may be true, other people don’t know just how focused my work is. They don’t get to see the pictures of what I do, I had to rush with Haley, which is a shame, she was much more my type than you are… ah, well. It’s best we get started though.”
Jack got away. Reid thought to himself, almost smiling… almost. The situation at hand was enough of a deterrent to keep him from outwardly relaxing. Somehow it would be alright as long as he took the place for a child.
Reid saw the sheen of a knife blade before he swung his other crutch defensively in front of him. He might not be the sort to kick doors down like Hotch and Morgan, but there was no way he was going down without a fight. Albeit, with his knee in the state that it was in, that wasn’t as bolstering a statement it could have been for himself.
Reid began to categorize the things within his grasp. Inside his bottom nightstand drawer he had mismatched socks, 12 pair in fact… well, 24 unique socks, no matching set was in the drawer coupled or uncoupled, it was bad luck. Underneath that he had a flashlight and some light reading-- War and Peace, and a full clip. Underneath the first drawer, taped in a holster, was an extra gun he had gotten for ‘self defense’.
He grabbed the drawer and pulled it hard, fully dislodging it from the furniture and sending his socks in the air, aflutter. He smacked the drawer into Foyet’s thigh before letting it crash to the ground where his hand quickly reached for the magazine and pulled it out before Foyet could grab him. His hand snaked into the drawer and pulled out the Smith and Weston tucked away for certain emergencies that may or may not come up. With fluidity and grace he was sure adrenalin was to blame for, he clicked the magazine into the handle before pulling back the slide and clicking off the safety. All this took approximately 4.7 seconds. Apparently that was 1.3 seconds too long.
The knife ripped into his shoulder and Reid let out a howl, he kept the gun trained forward and into Foyet’s core, pulling the trigger as he blinked twice, only to open his eyes with Foyet holding the barrel of the pistol firmly to his own chest and smirking. The knife sliced into Reid again, this time puncturing between Reid’s 9th and 10th right ribs. He felt the crushing weight of 1 atmosphere deflating his lung by putting it under positive pressure.
The air hissed out of the hole Foyet made, the blood around the wound bubbling and gurgling faintly, Reid couldn’t hear it over the pounding of his arteries in his ears, that sound was far more pronounced than the soft moist one so distal to him.
Foyet pulled the gun from Reid’s hand with little effort after thirty seconds, Reid’s head rolled back as he tried to keep himself awake, he was drowning, drowning in air, air collecting on the wrong SIDE of his lung, gasping to keep up as much negative pressure he could to fill his left lung as much as possible. He tried desperately not to do the math with the skewed percentages of how much blood was going to his right lung and returning to his circulation unoxygenated and still seeping in CO2. It wasn’t truly a 50-50 divide, slightly more went to the right lung, there were more vessels to the right bronchus and lung, respectively than the left, there was more surface area, and the rate was exponential, half of a half of a half of a half, etcetera was still carrying oxygen. All that meant he was going to pass out soon, and when he did, he’d probably die.
“Hotch, JJ just checked in with Garcia, she said Reid was due back half an hour ago, that he went to his place.”
“That’s ten minutes from here. Morgan, I need you to stop by here… have JJ stay behind with Jack… I have to go get him.”
“Wait, what?!” Morgan looked at the phone incredulously, as if somehow Hotch would be able to see the look in his eyes accusing Hotch of being desperate and crazed.
“Morgan!” Hotch said, affirming his decision, he grabbed his keys. “Jack, I need you to go in your room and pack for a trip. You need to pack three days worth of clothes, okay? Three days, how many pants do you need…?”
“Three.” The boy said proudly.
“That’s right, good job buddy, can you do that for me? Can you pack for me?”
Jack nodded as Hotch deposited his son into his bedroom, “Now once your done you wait in your room and someone from my team will pick you up. Then you and I’ll spend some time together… do you understand?”
He nodded again, that was all Hotch needed to see. He kissed his son on the forehead before sprinting out the door and to his car. Hotch disconnected the phone with Morgan, making the ten minute drive in silence punctuated solely by the wailing of his sirens.
Ten minutes, which somehow seemed to get trimmed down to seven minutes, Hotch thought as he punched his car to 80mph, far faster than what was ‘safe’ but at the moment he didn’t really care to make the argument for getting better rates on his car insurance. He called Reid again, hoping that somehow the young agent just stopped to get coffee on his way back to the office and that was why he was late, the alternative being far too gruesome and fresh in his own mind.
Haley’s accusing brown doe eyes were looking up at the ceiling as if arguing even to the end that Hotch needed to raise Jack to believe in romance, that he had to know love existed and was worth-while. Sure Hotch had his suspicions that Haley knew why he had checked out of the marriage, it was possible she realized he had wayward feelings, but she also knew he never acted upon any of them. Despite how much he wanted to reach out and touch Reid’s hair, to smell it, he never did such a thing. Just as much as he dedicated himself to keeping up the charade, he tried to be a good husband to her, even if every tenth time he couldn’t get himself up for her.
He remembered a few of those times, try as he may to get excited for his wife he couldn’t do it, so he’d blame a case or say he had a headache and try to escape the grim reality that he’d rather have Dr. Spencer Reid bent over his desk in his office than his wife in any and he meant ANY sexual fantasy he could play out with her.
Those were the very thoughts that had brought him to this horrible situation, Hotch chastised himself. Foyet was getting under his skin greatly, he couldn’t even safely fantasize about a person before they came into danger. He yanked open his glove-box and pulled out a set of keys. On that keychain was a set to the doors of each of his agents, Gideon had even left him a key to his cabin at one point, and never opted to ask for it back. In a correspondence they had had years later, Gideon explained that he wanted Hotch to have access to someplace anchoring, and if it ever came a time when that wouldn’t be his own home, that he could use the cabin in it’s stead.
He was almost tempted to take him up on the offer, except he knew that the cabin had also had a severed head in it thanks to the Fisher King. A small part of him wondered if Reid would be forced to move after this, thanks to Foyet’s knowledge of his home address or if he’d somehow manage to get by despite the fact.
No answer again.
He dialed Morgan, “How far out are you from Reid’s?”
“We just pulled in to your place, Hotch. JJ’s heading inside. Prentiss, Rossi and I’ll get to your position in ten minutes. Wait for us, Hotch.”
“Reid might not have ten minutes.”
“Hotch!” It struck him how much it sounded like Morgan was whining, both would do the same thing though, they both knew that was an order no one on the team would follow. Especially knowing what Hotch felt for Reid, alright, so vaguely understanding something was going on behind the scenes, well… maybe that wasn’t the best way to put it. Nothing was going on, but after this, there was going to be something, whether Hotch would tender his resignation after-the-fact would be entirely up to Reid’s reaction to it.
Hotch hung up on Morgan unceremoniously before crossing the threshold into Reid’s apartment lobby thanks to the access key.
His emotions were storming as he stood outside Reid’s door, there was the clear scent of fresh blood, and the way it was hitting Hotch told him there was probably a lot if the smell was forceful enough to make it through the closed door. Much like how he had stood before entering his own home, he slid the key into the lock, his left shoulder leaning against the door, left hand holding the key, right hand holding his service piece. He took a deep breath before shoulder-shoving the door wide open.
“FBI!” He barked as he entered, with the scent of blood he doubted innocent findings, but he still hoped that he could be wrong, he wished he was wrong and that Reid would just look at him in stupefied shock, maybe coming out of the shower and wondering why Hotch had stormed his apartment.
He’d settle for the glassy but alive look in Reid’s eyes as he struggled to keep Foyet at bay with his one crutch. He’d settle for it, you see, because Reid’s ALIVE. He could see Foyet was in Kevlar, and realized it after the first three shots did little to faze him from his frenzied attack of Reid, who valiantly continued to deflect the most severe of blows with the one crutch.
Hotch toppled into Foyet, nearly tripping over the other crutch that had found itself behind Foyet. Before long, Hotch was on top of Foyet slamming into every sturdy piece of furniture Reid owned, and it appeared that Reid was a fan of Tudor styled pieces, everything he owned was large and clunky, old world. Subduing Foyet and beating him unconscious seemed to be about the same to Hotch, losing himself to the scene he didn’t even hear Foyet as he surrendered over and over and over again.
“You got me… I surrender…!” Foyet’s head was driven into the corner of Reid’s dresser, then repeatedly into the hardwood floor, splashes of crimson that was less oxidated than Reid’s bloodstains splattered into medium velocity pellets.
Between where Hotch and Foyet were and where Reid lied, Hotch saw movement. Not from Foyet, though, which for all of his boiling anxieties kept making him hit his head into the floor to assure he didn’t even twitch funny… it took him a solid 6 minutes to realize Reid was the one who was moving, he apparently crawled to the phone before dialing 911 from his cellular.
Reid who had begun the pain-staking process of dragging himself closer to Hotch, found himself caked in the blood of Foyet, his own, and what he suspected was some of Haley’s.
“Hotch…” Reid had wheezed, “…gotta stop… ‘s dead…”
His hands finally ceased their rigid vertical movements to survey what he had just done. They were shaking, his hands were shaking from the adrenalin, or maybe it was the fear? Whatever was making him shake was inconsequential, Hotch decided as he saw Reid and the state he was in.
“Oh my god, Reid!” Hotch’s mind quickly fumbled into first-aid techniques as he stripped off his tie and proceeded to tourniquet Reid’s right arm that was covered in blood before Reid shook his hand free.
“Hotch! Stop!” Reid hissed out, he used his hand to draw attention to the blood-source, “I’s bad”
Hotch didn’t know if Reid was asking him or telling him, but despite it he knew what had to be done and what had to be said, “You’ll live… Reid. You’re going to pull through it…”
Reid closed his eyes, blinking them repeatedly while clenched to hold back a swell of tears. “’m a blinker…”
“Reid…?”
“e said you like me…” Reid continued to press his right hand into a particularly bad slash-wound. “s’at true? Do y’ like me?”
Hotch kissed Reid’s lips, “You have to hold on… the others will be here any minute now, an ambulance will be behind them…”
Reid locked eyes with Hotch, a faint smile on his lips, “Y’do like me ‘en… it wasn’t a lie…” The far away look in Reid’s eyes was hallowing, Hotch clutched Reid’s left hand tightly in his.
“Please stay with me, Reid… I can’t lose you too… I can’t!”
Reid’s eyes flitted across the room before falling back onto Hotch’s and then making another pass of the room, “Y’already told me… ‘m not gonna die. Y’know I wouldn’t defy an order…”
“Then I order you to be okay.” Hotch offered helpfully. He heard Morgan at the door, by the sounds of it paramedics were arguing that it had to be cleared before going in, themselves. Hotch broke contact with Reid for only a moment to race to the door and pull it open, “It’s clear… Foyet’s down… dead. Reid’s in bad shape, multiple stab wounds.”
Morgan just gaped at how the once-white business shirt of Hotch’s could be so soaked in red, the sleeves were slicked with liquid.
“Tell me that’s not all Reid’s…” He let out in shock as paramedics pushed in.
They quickly triaged Reid to go first, working to apply pressure on the several stab-wounds, an oxygen mask donning his mouth and nose as they observed how blue his lips and finger tips were.
Rossi and Prentiss, perhaps the most capable of compartmentalizing, took action to secure the scene, Prentiss pulled Hotch and Morgan out, telling them to ride in with Reid as they started to process the scene, she proceeded to call JJ and Garcia and share the news. It wasn’t good news, but it wasn’t bad news, not yet at least. Not until Reid was in the hospital and there was a more solid pulse on his condition. Rossi announced for Prentiss, “Foyet’s dead. He’s not coming back from that.”
He tilted Foyet’s head to show an indented skull that was about the same depth and shape as the corner to Reid’s dresser, conveniently accented in blood-red and brown hair-tufts.
Reid’s eyes fluttered open and closed, he was sure he was dreaming for a solid ten minutes as he stared at Aaron and Jack Hotchner pacing and sitting in the room respectively.
It took Morgan coming in while flirting with a nurse to make Reid realize he was really awake, after all, despite his immense IQ, or maybe because of it, he had never fathomed some of the pick-up lines Morgan would use.
“Nurse, you must have a fever because you are HOT…” Just wasn’t the kind of thing Reid’s imagination could produce on it’s own.
He closed and opened his eyes slowly several times before finally announcing, “’m not dead… right?” He groaned as he tried to pull himself into a seated position, Hotch had quickly crossed over to Reid’s side to nudge him back down into the bed, the nurse taking the other side of him took his vitals before hitting the call button to the nurse’s station. “’Cuz I don’t think I deserved to go to hell… an’ this feels like it…”
“That’s just the joys of being stabbed half a dozen or so times.” Hotch edified.
“7.” Reid specified, “Well, 7 stabs, and 4 slashes… slashes don’t count as stabs, right…?”
Morgan smiled, “You had us scared, pretty boy. You’ve been out for two days.”
Reid’s eyes met Hotch’s, “Two days…?” The real question he wanted to say had sat firmly on his tongue, refusing to be said. Hotch seemed to interpret it though because he decided to explain his and Jack’s presence.
“We came by to visit you today, I also came in for the necessary paperwork for …well…” He looked at Jack, Reid felt like scum for bringing it up until he realized that technically he didn’t.
“I’m sorry for your loss… really, Hotch, Jack…”
Jack shrugged, he began staring at his feet, Hotch offered, “He’s adjusting right now.”
Reid merely nodded, if he really had slept two days why was he still so tired…? “Foyet…?”
“Deceased.” Morgan was the one to offer up that insight. Reid let the thought mull over in his mind. “Strauss wants a report about the incident as soon as you’re up for it… and for the record, I went to your place with JJ to pack up some of your things, since it’s a crime-scene and all.”
“But Foyet’s dead… why do they care about a crime scene when the culprit’s…” Reid closed his eyes as the thought finally sunk in, this was under internal review. “I’m sorry… I should’ve stayed back at the Bureau…”
“Reid, no one’s blaming you for any of this. We all know damn well who’s at fault for this mess, and may he rot in hell.” Morgan looked at Jack realizing his language probably wasn’t as kid-friendly as he was trying to keep it. “Foyet did this, not you, so don’t feel guilty you dig? We’ll watch your back, both of yours… but there’s going to be some questions and I figured I’d give you a heads-up before you got back.”
“You mean like why Foyet went after Haley and then came after me…?” Reid asked. Hotch nodded once, solemnly. “Isn’t it obvious that he was targeting members of the BAU? And that once he completed the first part of his ‘mission’ he had to come after the next part?”
Reid let out a long sigh.
“You need to rest, Reid. Hotch is going to be at his apartment with Jack for a while, and you have all our numbers. The nurse will let me know once they know how long you need to stay here and Rossi’s got a bag of your stuff packed up for you. I think he likes your pen though, so make sure that’s still in your bag when you get it.”
“The one I use to write to my mom with…”
“He’s a writer, go figure he’d like pens.”
“…He uses a laptop.” Reid’s fatigue riddled voice almost came off dead-pan.
“If you need anything Reid, call. Any of us, we’re all here for you if you need us, same goes to you, Hotch. I don’t want you guys shutting in on yourselves. You got me? I know this post isn’t mine for much longer… but that’s an order you both best plan to follow or I will not be gentle on you.”
Reid smiled slightly, and he could have sworn that Hotch’s lips raised in at least one corner a few millimeters.
“We should let Reid rest now. Jack, are you hungry? Let’s get you something to eat.” Morgan nodded before walking out the door, a few moments later Jack stood up from the chair nodding as he was led out the door. Hotch stopped to turn around.
“Reid, know these three things, I’m glad you’re alive, We’ll get through this, and I meant it when I said I love you.”
Reid suddenly blushed, “…W-when did you say that?!”
“You’ve been unconscious for two days, Reid. When do you think I haven’t said that?”
“Don’t tell me you weren’t just here on coincidence…”
“Wow, you are a genius.” Hotch smiled before walking out of the room, taking Jack with him to get some lunch, leaving Reid to gawk at the door and wonder what just transpired.
The End.
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on 9 July 2010 08:11 am (UTC)thanks!
Mods
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on 9 July 2010 03:11 pm (UTC)no subject
on 9 July 2010 04:19 pm (UTC)What are the minimum req's for tagging...? I thought it was title, rating, and author... since pairing is pretty much a given here.
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on 9 July 2010 05:26 pm (UTC)no subject
on 9 July 2010 06:20 pm (UTC)no subject
on 9 July 2010 01:00 pm (UTC)no subject
on 9 July 2010 04:20 pm (UTC)no subject
on 9 July 2010 06:08 pm (UTC)no subject
on 9 July 2010 06:23 pm (UTC)I'll see when I can work on a squee-quel of fluff/hurt-comfort. It may even be a darker romance, I don't quite know. But when I do, I'll link it to the forum under the same 100 prompt, and it'll of course be here. <3