A/N:

I know, I should have enough stories on the go, but this has been developing in my head for months and I really wanted to get it down and share the idea and see what people thought. Plus, I need to write something angsty after all the Christmas fluff! However, my other stories are very far from being abandoned and the next chapters are in progress at the moment!

Anyway, this is a sequel to Ready or Not. Reid is going to seem a little OOC to begin with, but that's intentional and part of the story. It will make sense as the story progresses. Whereas Ready or Not was from Parker's perspective a lot of the time, this one will be very Reid focussed. It's going to be quite dark and a lot of things won't be clear at first, but I hope you can trust me that I've really thought this one out and everything is for a reason.

If you haven't read Ready or Not then it might help for a full back story, but all you really need to know to follow this is that Parker is Strauss's niece and she's pretty messed up and traumatised, and Reid is the person she started to open up to,but as of the end of Ready or Not, they were just friends.

Disclaimer: I own nothing associated with Criminal Minds, but Parker, and any other OCs are mine.

I hope you like the idea/first chapter and please let me know what you think :)

/
/

How did that saying go? If you're going to play with fire you'll get your fingers burned?

They'd been setting flames and dancing through them for months now. Seven months to be exact. And so far they'd avoided the inevitable explosion, but it was always hanging over them. One careless spark and it would all burn down.

Tonight was no different to the others. They'd eaten dinner as a group - an attempt to unwind after a long week and a tense stand-off with their UNSUB. She'd been a little quiet, but she'd fixed a smile to her face as she sipped her wine and complimented Rossi for his excellent choice of restaurant. Upon returning to the hotel some of them had gone to the bar. When he'd said he was tired, she'd wished him a goodnight before taking her seat between Morgan and Prentiss.

It was two hours and twenty minutes later that he heard the familiar, soft knock at the door.

No words passed between them as he let her in and she unzipped the sweatshirt she'd thrown over her pyjamas. He took the book off his bed and set it on the bedside cabinet. She threw herself down amongst the pillows, and he sat beside her, taking hold of her hand and gently caressing her bruised knuckles.

She pulled him on top of her before he knew what was happening. Their lips crashed together, her teeth biting down and drawing blood in her eagerness to lose herself.

"Parker..." he breathed, pulling away and licking the metallic taste from his lip. They needed to slow down.

"It hurts," she pleaded. "Make it stop."

"Let me see," he instructed softly, though he knew she wasn't really talking about the physical pain of her latest injury.

With hesitant, shaking hands, she rolled up the bottom edge of her oversized T-shirt. His hand felt cold as it cautiously skimmed the blue and purple marled flesh above her ribs. She didn't flinch from his touch like she had from the paramedics who tried to examine her. Long after Campbell's wounds had healed, she still couldn't stand to be touched. Except by him.

She'd soon had enough of the tender moment and stretched her arms up, arching her back and removing the garment entirely.

Whatever he was about to say caught in his throat at the sight of her body. He knew every freckle, curve and scar by now, but it didn't stop him freezing for a moment every time she undressed.

By the time he'd recovered, she was tearing off his shirt.

"Parker," he said, uselessly, as once again, the part of his brain that knew this was going to do more harm than good in the long term tried to tell him to stop.

But that voice was quickly silenced, as his fingers moved to assist her in unfastening his pants.

He needed this as much as she did, no matter how he tried to convince himself it was her messed up desire that drove their arrangement. In fact, it was following his discovery of his mother's illness that they first slept together.

She pulled herself onto his lap, legs wrapped around him. She really wasn't wasting time tonight. Her nails dug into his back as they kissed. His kisses quickly slid from her lips to her neck as she tilted her head, directing him in their well rehearsed routine.

His teeth pressed hard against her skin and she gasped. It would leave a bruise she'd have to explain or hide in the morning, but that wasn't a concern for the present time.

They were together, and oblivious to all physical and psychological pain. That's all that mattered.

But for some reason, the voice that told him this was wrong, became louder.

His hands moved into a more platonic hold as he tried to pull their bodies apart.

"No," she muttered, grabbing onto him and pushing herself closer.

"Parker, we shouldn't be doing this," he sighed.

"No," she muttered again. "Stop it!" Her voice became louder as he untangled his legs from hers and rolled off of her body. "No!" She shook her head, tears forming in her eyes. "We need this," she whispered.

"We could talk about what happened today," he suggested. "It might be... healthier."

"I don't want to talk," she mumbled, climbing off the bed and searching for her clothes.

"Just for a minute," he tried, not wanting her to leave more upset than when she'd arrived.

"No!" she snapped, grabbing her T-shirt and pulling it over her head. In the process, she stumbled forwards, knocking into the bedside cabinet. Her head bumped the corner and the lamp crashed to the floor.

"Parker!" he exclaimed, jumping up to help her and noticing the smear of blood she was wiping across her forehead.

"Get away from me!" she responded. She was embarrassed - she'd thrown herself at him and he'd brought it to an abrupt end. How could she have thought sleeping with a colleague would ever be a good idea? This thing they'd been doing was never going to last.

"Parker!" he called again, as she darted towards the door, giving up on finding the rest of her clothes.

"Leave me alone, Spencer!"

He wanted to follow after her; he wanted to apologise, even to take her back to bed if it would make her feel better. There was always tomorrow to break their dangerous habit.

But he was completely naked and, by the time his brain had grasped how to cover up, she'd slipped out into the hall, letting the door bang shut behind her.

Collapsing down on the end of the bed, he held his head in his hands and sighed. He'd really screwed this up, and he had no idea of how to make it better.

/
/

It was six o'clock in the morning, Emily Prentiss was already in her running gear, and she was ready to kick her youngest team-mate's ass if she didn't get out of bed soon. The early morning run, before heading home, had been Parker's idea after all.

"Parker! If you don't get out here now, I'm going to smash the door in!" she shouted, only half joking.

Upon receiving no response, she sighed and shook her head. Why had she bothered getting up for this?

The scream from the stairwell quickly made her forget her annoyance at her colleague's tardiness. She ran in the direction of the noise, to be met by a distressed looking maid running in the other direction. The woman couldn't seem to get away from the stairs fast enough.

"What's wrong?" she asked, as the woman collided with her and gripped onto her arms.

"I think she's dead. She's not moving and there's so much blood!" the woman gushed.

As kindly as possible, Emily moved her to the side, entering the stairwell with a sickening sense of dread settling in her stomach. Instinct told her that she wasn't about to stumble on an unknown victim, and it didn't take long for her fears to be realised.

Sprawled out at the foot of the flight of stairs which lead to the next floor, like a discarded rag doll, was her missing friend. Emily crouched down, trying to avoid the pool of congealed blood, and pressed two fingers against Parker's neck. Her skin was cool to the touch and she felt the bile rise in her throat at the possibility the girl really was dead.

But then she felt the faint beat of a pulse - the only sign that her friend had a chance.

Pulling out her cellphone, she dialled 911.

"I need an ambulance," she demanded, begging the young agent to hold on a little longer and frantically trying to piece together an explanation of what had happened.

/
/

Spencer woke early from a restless sleep. He glanced around the room and was instantly reminded of the previous night by the broken lamp. Deciding it was better to try to make amends before the flight home, he reached for his cell and dialled her number. He should have known he'd only get her voicemail.

"Parker, I'm really sorry about last night. I didn't mean... I'm just... I'm sorry. Please call me or if you don't want to speak just now then I'll see you on the jet." He hesitated, unsure how to end the message; it wasn't like he had much experience of making such calls. "Bye," he added, awkwardly and quickly, before hanging up.

While waiting on her response he took a quick shower and got dressed, tidying the hotel room as he went. He found her underwear at the foot of the bed and sighed as he thought of how upset she'd been.

When his phone rang he pounced on it straight away, without checking the identity of the caller. He was immediately unsettled by the sound of Hotch's voice, and by the time the reason for his call became clear he felt so nauseous that he struggled to make it to the end of the brief conversation.

Moments after hanging up, he sprinted to the bathroom and vomited. As he splashed cold water over his face, his regret focussed on one particular decision from the previous night.

Why hadn't he gone after her?

/
/

"Prentiss? Have you heard anything?" Hotch asked, as he and the others joined Emily at the hospital.

Emily was pacing a quiet area of the waiting room, with her arms folded across her chest. It was obvious her tough exterior had been shaken and she was chewing her lip anxiously. Hotch's question pushed her close to breaking.

"She has a serious head injury. She's lost a lot of blood and her CT scan shows some brain swelling," she answered, doing everything she could to compose herself.

"What else?" Hotch asked, noticing that Emily was holding something back.

"There are bruises on her neck - teeth marks," she explained. "And she was only wearing a T-shirt. No underwear."

A sickening look of realisation struck the faces of the whole team.

"She was sexually assaulted?" Hotch asked for confirmation.

Emily nodded, struggling to look directly at her boss.

"That's what the doctors think," she replied.

As the team's horrified silence continued, Spencer turned even paler than the rest. JJ reached out and squeezed his hand, knowing how hard he took it when one of their own was injured. He felt his palm sweating beneath her grip, as he contemplated the months of deception that would now be revealed. They were supposed to be his family and he'd been lying to them about one of the most significant aspects of his life for the better part of a year.

"Spence, she's tough," JJ reassured him, growing concerned at his peculiar expression.

All Spencer could think of was the feeling of Parker's skin under his lips and fingertips; their bodies intertwined and leaving all kinds of traces. The bruises - had they been caused by him? It was a worrying fact that he could only hope so.

She had to be okay; that fight couldn't be it.

But it dawned on him that he didn't have the luxury of simply waiting and wishing and hoping for her survival and a chance to apologise.

Her body was covered in his DNA. They'd had sex a matter of hours before. And no one else knew that there was nothing unusual in that turn of events.

The others made a move to find seats in a quieter part of the waiting room, but Spencer cleared his throat with a nervous cough and approached his boss. A sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead and his sweater vest felt oddly too tight. Guilt quickly mingled with his anxiety: she could be dying and he was worried about getting into trouble with their unit chief.

"Hotch?" he croaked, forcing himself to swallow and clear his throat once again, allowing his dry mouth to form words. "There's something I need to tell you."