Disclaimer: I do not own the CM characters; that right goes to the show and actors. Other characters are my own creation and hopefully do not match anyone in real life.
Author's Note: Totally AU. This was written before Hotch's break-up with Haley and before meeting Reid's mother. So, the pair are still together and my thoughts on Reid's mother and home are not canon.)
Special Agent Aaron Hotchner sighed in resignation as he leaned over and grabbed the bag that was about to pass out of reach. Considering that this was its third pass in front of his oblivious teammate, he decided that if he didn't secure it they'd stand in front of the baggage claim conveyor belt until it was time for them to leave on their return flight. It would have been nice if they could have used their own plane, but with the rest of the team in Michigan that hadn't been an option. At least he'd been able to use the extra time to call his wife Haley (who had taken the opportunity to pack up their son and visit her mother) and let her know they'd arrived safely.
"Reid, let's go." No response from the younger man, who had his nose buried (figuratively speaking) in his laptop. **Probably revising his seminar notes for the umpteenth time,** the senior agent decided. The application of judicious force (a sharp nudge of an elbow that shook the computer's screen) drew his companion's attention back to the real world - or as much of it as the young Ph.D. inhabited at any one time.
"What?" The hazel eyes blinked a couple of times as he took in the bags grouped around his team leader's feet and the fact that they were the only ones remaining in the baggage claim area. "Oh." The eyes dropped toward the ground in embarrassment as he hurriedly closed up his computer and stuffed it into its carrying case. "Sorry."
Hotch allowed the younger man's grab for the bag closest to him and lifted the rest of them easily, smiling reassuringly. "Don't worry about it, Reid. At least this way we should avoid the line at the rental counter." Not that there would have been much of one at this late hour, but he wasn't about to say anything else the other man trailed in silence. Silence from an excited Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid was rare enough not to risk breaking with idle conversation.
It only took a few minutes to complete the rental paperwork, and then they were pulling away from the airport curb and heading for the convention hotel. Reid immediately returned to his computer and Hotch hid a smile as he contemplated the week ahead of him. **Only Reid would think of a weeklong FBI seminar as a vacation. But then, with him giving a lecture every day and a hotel full of people more than willing to listen to him and to exchange ideas, maybe it is for him.** He checked the air conditioning; even this late at night the humidity in Florida was stifling to a Northerner. **That should keep him out of my hair long enough for me to spend some time just relaxing. Maybe get together with Caldwell and Truday between making sure Reid does some relaxing himself and gets more than 8 hours sleep during the week.**
This time the smile made it to his face. The last time Reid had gone to one of these things, Morgan had been the designated keeper (though no one would have dreamed of telling Reid that), and the poor man had come home with a teammate completely wired and bouncing off the walls from mental stimulation and lack of sleep. From what he had told them, the trip back had been...an experience.
The blare of horns brought his attention to the road and he hurriedly brought the car back into his own lane. It was then that he realized how slow his reflexes were and how blurred his sight was getting. A quick glance found Reid collapsed in the passenger seat, his computer at his feet. Alarm cut through the growing fog long enough for Hotch to pull the car over to the side of the road. He fumbled for his cell phone, and then dropped it as flashing lights suddenly appeared in the rear window. He glanced at the mirror to see a state police car pull up behind them and two policemen got out, tugging at their leather gloves as they moved forward. One went right, opening the passenger door and catching Reid's body as its support was removed. The other came around to his side, and Hotch managed to unlock his door. He tried to speak as the officer opened it, but darkness rolled over him before anything came out.
Consciousness returned slowly, and Hotch opened his eyes just as slowly, blinking against the harsh light that flooded the room. The high humidity argued against a hospital, as did the feel of a rough hard-packed dirt floor beneath him. The smell of vegetation that filled the air seemed to indicate a jungle setting, which just didn't make sense. Nor did the bare ceiling which filled his vision.
After a few minutes, he finally felt alert enough and strong enough to move. He carefully struggled to a sitting position. The world swung wildly on its axis, and he grabbed for the edge of the rude cot that lay against one wall. When the dizziness faded, he realized that he'd been stripped of coat, shoes and belt, as well as the contents of his pockets and of course his gun. With a little effort, he pulled himself up to sit on the cot and looked around. The room – no, the cell - was small and adequately if rudely appointed. Besides the cot, which was bolted to the wall and held only a thin straw mattress and an equally thin blanket, there was a small rough table and a portable toilet. The walls were rough-surfaced concrete; the only door was solid metal with a small viewing port. There were no windows; only a couple of small vents allowed air circulation. Illumination came from a bulb securely contained in a metal cage bolted to the ceiling. All in all, it looked like it was designed to hold a determined prisoner and at first inspection offered nothing in the way of weapons or tools. Somebody had prepared well for his arrival. But the thing that grabbed his attention was the fact that the "accommodations" were only for one person, and there was no sign that Reid had even been in the room.
The only warning he got that visitors were at the door was a solid "chunk" as the bolt was shot back. The door swung open and the two "police officers" entered the room. Only now they were dressed in cut-off khaki pants and open cotton shirts in Caribbean style. Considering they both topped him by more than four inches and outweighed him by at least 30 pounds, he forced himself to relax, knowing he was in no condition to challenge them. He watched as one stayed by the door, not taking his eyes from him, and the other carried a large paper cup and a covered paper plate to the table. Hotch addressed the watcher.
"Where is my partner?" There was no reaction, let alone a response. "Small, skinny guy...probably talking too much?" Still nothing. The second man returned to the door and started out. "Wait! Where is Reid?!" Hotch jumped up, and immediately the first man took one step forward and straight-armed him back into the wall with insulting ease. Before he could recover, they exited the cell, closing the door behind them and re-engaging the bolt.
As Hotch regained his wind, which was the only thing that kept him for cursing aloud, his mind started trying to figure out what was going on and how he could work his way out of it. Unless things changed drastically, he wasn't getting out of his cell except through the door, and if his brief encounter with the Bobbsey twins was any indication that wasn't going to be an option any time soon. He classified them as flunkies...dangerous, yes, but following orders. The whole setup spoke of careful planning and preparation. Their car had been rigged, the fake police ready and waiting to take them as soon as they were vulnerable. The cost and effort of getting them out of the country (if one of the Caribbean islands was really where they were) would not be small. That meant the questions were (1) had they been personally targeted or was the attack Bureau-related (it had been too-well coordinated to be random), (2) why had they been taken instead of killed outright (not that he was complaining for the moment, but it opened the door to all sorts of unpleasant alternatives), and (3) what was the unsub's ultimate goal. After several minutes of fruitless introspection, he got up and went to investigate what the guards had brought.
It turned out to be water and a plain sandwich of coarse bread around a filling of some meat spread. Nothing to write home about, but at least it was something. Even without his watch to tell him how long he'd been unconscious, his stomach told him it was long enough that food was a good idea. He forced himself to eat slowly, stretching out the food as much as possible but not saving something that would only spoil in this climate. He did save half of the water, not assuming that he'd get any more. He could do without food a lot longer than he could go without water. That thought inevitably led to how much longer he could last than Reid.
Ruthlessly he shut that line of thought down. Until he could do something constructive, it would be a waste of energy to worry. Somewhat refreshed, he carefully positioned the cup to avoid spillage. If any opportunity presented itself, he wanted to be as prepared as possible. His focus narrowed, and he began a detailed search of his cell. But in the back of his mind, thoughts of what might be happening to the young agent could not be dispelled so easily.
TBC