A/N: Okay, so I've been writing a story called Midnight. If you've been reading that, sorry, I'm not feeling it for the time being, so I'm posting this instead. It's not a happy story. In fact, it's very sad. I'll give warnings at the worst parts, but I warn you not to read this lightly. Hope you like it anyway. -A
Our Scars Remind Us Where We've Been
Chapter 1: Drive
We fear violence less than our own feelings. Personal, private, solitary pain is more terrifying than what anyone else can inflict. -Jim Morrison
Bombings. They were always hard cases, seeing as how the UnSubs could get unpredictable. It was a race against time before someone else was killed.
The team had gone to the hospital and split up to interview survivors of the most recent attack. No one remembered seeing anything out of place. One moment they were on their way to work, the next they were on fire. It was a dead end.
On the way out, no one spoke. They were forced to stop because a bus stopped in front of them. A worried-looking elderly couple tried to get off as quickly as possible, but it was slow work. They were suprised to hear a small yelp from behind. Spinning around, they saw poor Reid with an arm around his neck and a gun pressed to his temple.
The man holding him certainly didn't have to work hard to overpower the genius. He was a fairly large man, built a lot like Morgan. He was grinning broadly as he firmly held the struggling man. As if reading their minds, he spoke.
"Draw your guns, and he's dead." They froze. "Now, when I say so, you will slowly set your guns on the ground. Phones too. Understand?" Reluctant, the agents nodded.
"No," Spencer hissed. "Don't listen to him."
"Shut it, you," the man growled, tightening his hold on Spencer's neck. Reid gasped for breath as his airway was restricted. The attacker returned his focus to the others. "Guns and phones on the ground. Now." Glaring daggers at the man, they did as told. "Good. You," he motioned to JJ, "come here. Slowly. Relieve my friend of his gun and cell, then get back."
She met Spencer's eyes breifly. His silently begged her not to, that nothing would be accomplished by doing what this guy wanted. Her eyes apologized for giving in to the attacker's demands. Sighing slightly, she walked forward.
"I'm sorry," she whispered to Spencer as she pulled the gun out of the holster and sat it on the ground. Next, she pulled his cell out of his pocket and laid it by the gun. Slowly, JJ walked back to where she was before, eyes never leaving her friend's.
"Good," he repeated with a smile. "Now, we're getting on that bus." They didn't move. He hissed out an irritated sigh.
"I swear, I will kill him if you don't go. Right. Now." Still glaring at him, they did as told. The man followed, still with the gun to Reid's head, still holding him in a head lock.
It was hard to get up the stairs, Spencer realized, with less oxygen than he should have been recieving. Not to mention, he'd always been rather uncoordinated. Once on the bus, the frightened bus driver shut the door. The kidnapper releaced his hold on Spencer, sending the genius sprawling to the floor. Quickly, he collected himself and took a seat, sliding over to the window.
There were a few terrified civilians, one of which was a crying little girl. They soon saw why she was crying. The attacker had stapped a bomb to her, something that made all the agents' stomachs churn in anger. The kidnapper was the bomber.
Still smiling, the bomber turned to the front. "Drive," he commanded. And, with that, the bus took off into the unsuspecting public.