I'm so excited about this story, you guys. I feel like we understand each other. We all just want to see Reid being tortured and the team in turmoil. We should seek help.
Shout-out to Annber03 for calling the "have a drink by the pool" line! I was really hoping someone would catch that. Also, your multi-chapter reviews are rocking my socks. ALL of your reviews are. Keep 'em coming. As Miss Penny Garcia would say, my ears are hungry and your words are like food to them.
If I titled my chapters, this one would be called "I Have a Deep Personal Connection to Emily Prentiss's Internal Monologue."
[…]
Prentiss sat outside of Reid's hospital room hunched over in her seat, one foot tapping out a metronome, picking mercilessly at her fingernails.
She'd relieved JJ several hours ago, who had relieved Rossi, and Hotch was due at any minute to relieve her. It'd been hell trying to get Garcia to take a break; she'd already knitted two scarves and half a sweater in the time she'd spent out in the hall. But JJ, knowing her friend needed and deserved a break, dusted off the smile usually reserved for the press and told Garcia she'd really like to have some company sifting through the tip lines for awhile. As the say, charm is quite the killer.
Emily's heart had been hammering just about out of her chest for the last half-hour, and she stopped tearing up her cuticles long enough to flip her wrist and check her watch.
Five fifty-four.
Any minute now.
Hotch had told the team that Reid's doctor was going to brief them on his condition at six o'clock. Their boss was the only one so far who'd been in to see Reid besides the Providence medical staff, as he was still in serious condition - but he hadn't given any information up to the team, no matter how many hospital cafeteria chocolate mousse éclairs Garcia attempted to bribe him with.
A twinge of pain drew Prentiss's attention down to her hands. She'd fucking damn near destroyed her nails. And she'd managed to tear a hangnail on her pinky halfway to the first knuckle. She watched, almost mesmerized as a thick globule of blood welled up on her fingernail. God, did that sting. She stared as the red droplet rolled down to the tip of her finger, then dripped down to her pant leg - and she couldn't stop thinking about how much it hurt.
Then she thought about how much it would hurt to get that finger cut off by a serrated knife instead.
And suddenly Emily's little hangnail didn't hurt so bad. And she felt nauseated. Again.
She took a deep breath, held it in. That just made her feel lightheaded. So she stood up, willed the bile back down.
Were the surgeons able to reattach that finger? Did the team or the paramedics find it? Did they even look? Was it worth it? It certainly wouldn't have been a priority, considering - well, considering everything else.
Hotch appeared suddenly at the end of the hall like an apparition. Shit. When did he get there? Wear a fucking bell or something.
Emily swallowed convulsively. Whatever happened to those famed compartmentalizing skills she used to be so proud of?
She figured she looked halfway composed by the time her boss - with the rest of his team trailing at his heels like starving puppies waiting for a scrap of meat to drop - made it to the end of the hall to room 403.
"Any news?" Hotch asked, and his face blurred a bit in Emily's eyes.
She hissed through her teeth, looked up at the overhead lights. The fluorescent glow stung her eyes, made them water. "Ahhh… No. A nurse went in a little while ago, just checked his vitals. Came out smiling, so…" She trailed off pathetically, shrugging her shoulders.
Hotch nodded, lips tight in a thin, pressed line. "Well. If everyone's ready-" He turned, acknowledging his team behind him. "We can go in. I've already had Dr. Johar paged."
"We're going in? There?" Prentiss nearly stuttered, the words almost tumbling out of her mouth. She flushed red with embarrassment when Hotch just stared at her, his eyes like little beaded lasers.
"I only trust the members of this team to keep an eye on who goes in and out of this room. I'm not going to pull us away and into a conference room, even if it's just down the hall and for a minute." Hotch looked up as a petite, mousy-looking brunette dressed in dark blue scrubs approached, then extended his hand out to her. "Dr. Johar."
"Agent Hotchner," she replied, accepting his handshake heartily. To her credit she didn't back down under his intimidating glower; she didn't even flinch. She turned and her lips pressed into a thin, grim smile as she faced Hotch's team. "Agents. If you're all ready, please." She opened the door to Reid's room and gestured for the group to follow her inside.
Morgan, standing closest to the door, hesitated. His pulse was suddenly racing. He could hear his blood rushing in his ears. He felt a tight pinch at his side and looked accusingly down at Garcia beside him. She took Morgan's hand in her own, squeezed reassuringly, and whispered, "Let's go see our boy." That was all the encouragement he needed.
Prentiss watched as the rest of her team entered into the room. Morgan and Garcia, then JJ, then Rossi. She took a step forward, then realized her knees were shaking so badly she thought she might collapse right there in the doorway.
If she peered into the room she could just barely see a mass of tangled brown curls in the bed.
Oh god.
Why was this so hard?
"Prentiss?" She turned to see Hotch standing very close behind her. He had that questioning look on his face - he knew something was wrong, he just didn't know what yet. Damn. She always forgot how good of a profiler that man really was. "Is everything all right?"
"I - yeah. Yes. Sir. I'm just going to run to the restroom. I'll be back in a jiff." Back in a jiff? Jesus Christ, who was she, her mother?
Hotch watched Prentiss scurry off but he didn't pursue her. He had bigger fish to fry. Whatever issues she was dealing with would have to wait.
He stepped into the hospital room and joined his team. Garcia had already taken up residence in the plastic visitors' chair by the bed and had Reid's un-bandaged right hand clasped in both her own. Finally seeing her friend and teammate had once again brought on the tears that seemed to have been flowing nonstop for the last twenty-two hours.
Morgan and JJ hadn't looked away from Reid's sleeping form, while Rossi actively avoided that entire side of the room, his full attention on the doctor.
Dr. Sujeh Johar hadn't performed Reid's surgery but she'd been in charge of the agent's medical care since he'd been admitted. She was young, not particularly unattractive, with thick, curly black hair tied back in a short, very messy, very frizzy French braid. When she spoke she had a distinctive Indian accent, but it was obvious she knew English just as well as she knew Hindi. She was a very small woman - she almost looked like a teenager - but even in the short amount of time Hotch had dealt with her he could tell she was an extremely competent and very capable young woman. There was no one more equipped in the entire state of South Carolina for Hotch to trust in taking care of an injured member of his team. (You don't trust women as much as men.) Hotch swallowed the acrid memory and turned to Dr. Johar, nodding at her to begin the briefing.
"First of all," began Dr. Johar, "I just want to lay to rest any concerns you all have about your teammate's care. Dr. Reid is in good hands, I assure you. Providence may not be a large hospital, but we more than make due."
Prentiss skirted into the doorway nervously. She'd thrown up her coffee dinner in the toilet stall and splashed some water on her face. Then she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. The gaunt, pale woman staring back at her wasn't the Emily Prentiss she used to recognize. She'd changed somehow, over the course of these last few years. They'd been her best - her proudest - but the rewards hadn't been without sacrifice. It wasn't just this single incident, it was all the incidents - all the close calls and people they didn't save that made her who she was today. She had to believe she was better, stronger for it. That was the only way she'd survive - the only way she knew how. She once told her mother that she enjoyed her work, that she "got satisfaction from the results." She wondered if that was still true, if that Emily Prentiss still existed somewhere.
JJ caught her eye from beside the bed, waved her in. 'Man up, Emily,' she thought to herself, and she stepped inside.
Johar tipped her head in a slight nod of recognition at Emily but continued addressing the group. "Dr. Reid woke up briefly a few hours ago but he was very delirious due to the post-op medication. He'll probably wake up periodically every few hours, but don't expect him to be very coherent until around midday tomorrow. He'll need lots of rest for the next few weeks, but I don't expect we'll have to keep him in IC for more than a couple more days. After that I'd be comfortable transferring him to a facility a little closer to home." The doctor paused, then looked to Hotch for direction. "Agent Hotchner, shall I describe the injuries?"
Hotch nodded his head. "Yes." He looked around the room at the members of his unit. "We're a team."
"All right. I understand you all know the basics so I'll skip all that. Dr. Reid was stabbed fifteen times. Twelve in the chest and abdomen, once in the right shoulder, and twice in the upper left thigh. He lost a lot of blood, but it's fortunate his blood type is AB Positive - the universal recipient. Due to internal bleeding, our surgical staff had to remove the appendix and a portion of the large intestine. Amazingly all his vital organs were left completely untouched, though honestly I'm not sure if this was on purpose or just lucky."
Rossi exchanged a deliberate glance with Hotch. They knew the truth. Nothing Brandt did was accidental. If he didn't hit any of Reid's vital organs then it was without a doubt intentional. He did intend for him to die, but he apparently didn't want it to be quick. He wanted Reid to suffer as much as possible as he bled out waiting for the team.
"One of Dr. Reid's fingers was severed," the doctor continued, gesturing to the agent's left hand wrapped in thick white gauze.
Garcia gasped out a hushed, "Oh!" before squeezing Reid's right hand tighter. She looked up, distraught, at Morgan standing beside her. "No one told me that. Why didn't anyone tell me that? JJ, why didn't you tell me that? My poor baby…"
"Garcia…" Hotch chastised. His tone was warning but his eyes were soft and sympathetic.
At Hotch's cue, the doctor went on. "It was the left pinky, at the second knuckle. Luckily, it was recovered at the scene by one of the paramedics and kept on ice so it was successfully reattached in surgery. It's healing very well and with time I don't expect any lasting damage except for slight loss in mobility." Dr. Johar cleared her throat, brown eyes once again flitting briefly to Hotch before she addressed the group. "The damage done to Dr. Reid's left knee was significant. When Dr. Reid was shot, he was fitted with an endoprosthesis - a prosthetic kneecap that's designed to feel and function like a real one. This was - um, ripped out, it seems. The damage was…severe and - unfortunately - irreparable."
When she didn't continue Morgan knew his theory had been realized. A sensation like being submerged in ice cold water washed over his body as he opened his mouth to speak. "His leg." His voice was a whisper, a croak. "Were you able to - to save the leg."
Dr. Johar looked Morgan directly in the eyes, and her sympathetic silence spoke volumes. It was all the answer he needed. She shook her head slowly. "No. I'm sorry, Agents. The damage done was too severe. The lower leg was practically detached from the thigh. There was virtually nothing but skin holding them together. There was nothing that could be done. It had to be taken a few inches above the knee. I am so sorry."
"Dr. Johar and I have already discussed Reid's options," Hotch interjected quickly before anyone had much chance to react, taking control of the conversation. "She's recommended a prosthetist in Virginia. Reid is going to lead a full, productive life after he recovers. He'll be able to return to work and, in time, probably even field duty." A thin ghost of a smile lightened Hotch's exhausted face for a moment. "Although I think he'll still have to leaving kicking down doors to Morgan."
Morgan let out a shaky, humorless laugh as he turned away from the group. He brought his fist up as if he were about to strike the wall, but he flattened his palm instead and rested it firmly on the white plaster.
"Hey," Garcia said gently. She stood up from her chair and moved to rest a hand on Morgan's shoulder. "We'll get him through thi-"
Morgan jerked his arm away in a quick, harsh motion that caused Garcia to jump and back up a step into the bed. "Don't." His body was tense, wound, like a predator readying to strike out, but his voice came out like sandpaper - rough and flat, and it was devoid of any emotion. Morgan took a few deep breaths and then calmly said to the wall, "I'm fine. I just need a minute." He brusquely weaved around his teammates and out the door.
For a moment no one moved until Garcia took a small step toward the doorway. "I should-"
"Let him go," Rossi said, his voice tired but sagely. "He's fine. He just needs to walk it off."
[…]
The hours passed slowly for Hotch. He sat next to Reid, keeping silent vigil. He had a stack of paperwork and open case files resting at the foot of the bed, which he was using as a makeshift work center. He'd been at it for hours and his vision began to blur. The words on the pages ran together and Hotch pulled away, sighing and rubbing at his eyes. The steady beeping from Reid's heart monitor produced a never-ending rhythm. With his eyes closed and his foot tapping along in beat, it almost sounded like a lullaby. He could very nearly feel his own heart sync up with the sound of Reid's. It brought with it the most minuscule feeling of comfort.
Morgan was supposed to have relieved him over an hour ago but the younger agent was nowhere to be found. Garcia had tried calling him multiple times and had even resorted to tracing his phone, but he'd apparently shut it off.
Hotch wasn't concerned. Morgan just needed to blow off some steam. The younger man had a temper - he always had - and he'd let it get the better of him on more than one occasion. But he always came back, and Hotch was confident that it would be soon; as loyal to the team and his friends as Morgan was, there was no way he'd let himself be apart from Reid for too long. He needed to watch over him. He saw it as his job.
A slight increase in the heart monitor's rhythm caused Hotch to bolt upright in his seat. He searched Reid's face in a near panic for any sign of movement, but he found none; his subordinate was as still as he'd been since Hotch sat down six hours ago.
He sank back and ran a hand down his face. He could almost feel the adrenaline drain from his body. He tried to pull his eyes away from the young man's pale face and back down to the files in front of him but he couldn't. Had Reid always been that thin? The rings under his eyes looked like dark bruises and his cheeks were so sunken in that it gave him a skeletal appearance that caused a shiver to race down Hotch's spine.
He willed himself to continue with his work. He looked down at the open file beside him - Reid's employee personnel file - and the half-completed forms in his lap - temporary leave of absence notice.
He had to believe Reid would come back. He had to have faith that he'd be strong enough. After all, Hotch hadn't thought he'd walk away after what happened to him with Hankel and he was proven wrong then. True, he stumbled a bit at first, but Reid really had come out a little better for it in the end. He was head and shoulders a better agent now than he was two years ago.
Hotch had been so convinced that when they'd made it to that graveyard in Georgia they were going to find a corpse. In fact, when they heard the gunshot and found Reid hunched over Tobias Hankel's already dead body, he first thought that Hankel had killed Reid and not the other way around.
Hotch had promised himself he'd keep a better eye on Reid after that. And not just on him - he swore he'd keep a closer watch on his entire team. He made a silent vow to be a better leader, and look at what all happened on his watch since then: Jason had a nervous breakdown and disappeared, Garcia was shot by an angel of death, Reid managed to get himself poisoned with Anthrax - and now this. He failed spectacularly.
The pencil in Hotch's hand snapped suddenly. The loud crack shook him back to his senses. His attention was once again drawn to Reid, who apparently had been startled awake by the noise.
His breath caught as he looked down on the young genius. All the things he'd planned on saying to him (apologizing for) once he'd woken up were pushed out of his mind. Light brown eyes cloudy with sleep, confusion, and a cocktail of non-narcotic painkillers darted around the room in a familiar mechanical fashion until they finally settled on his boss. Reid blinked several times in uncertainty before his eyebrows raised slightly in understanding.
"You saved me," he croaked, his voice raw from disuse.
Hotch swallowed around the lump in his throat. The emotions he'd blocked out for the sake of working the case since they received that phone call last night hit him with the force of a freight train. Tears unashamedly pricked at his eyes as he grasped Reid's hand in an almost certainly bruising grip, shaking his head miserably. "Reid," he breathed, "I am so sorry."
Reid shook his own head in return. "Hotch, don't…" He licked his dry, cracked lips and swallowed; his mouth felt like a desert. "I… Water, please?"
Hotch blinked down at him dumbly, then realized that while he was receiving vitamins intravenously, Reid hadn't had anything to drink in well over twenty-four hours. One of the nurses had helpfully placed a jug of water and a few paper cups on the side table once Reid had started to come around earlier that afternoon, and he stood up to pour some. His back turned, he heard Reid clear his throat and speak again.
"Did you catch him?"
Hotch's hands stilled and he set the jug back down on the table. He couldn't bring himself to turn and face him. "Not yet," he replied. "But we will. Garcia's tracking his accounts and his face is on every news broadcast in the country. Brandt won't be able to make a move without us knowing."
Finally Hotch moved back to the bed. He sat down and held the cup up for Reid, angling a straw toward his lips.
"I can do it," Reid told him stubbornly as he took the cup. Hotch watched him drink most of the water before the young man handed it back to him. He could tell Reid was already getting tired again and he knew it wouldn't be long before he fell asleep.
"Reid, do you want me to get your doctor? She said she'd speak with you once you woke up."
The young agent closed his eyes and considered for a moment before slowly shaking his head. "Later," he said. "I won't be able to stay awake that long, I think." He looked up at Hotch. "What's your plan?" Not waiting for an answer, he continued on, mumbling sluggishly to himself. "Mission-based killers need to know their work has been completed… I'm assuming JJ issued a press conference? Announced that Brandt had failed in his attempt to kill me?"
"Reid-"
"Hotch."
Hotch stared at Reid using his best authoritative glare, the one that used to make the insecure, skittish young man wither and fold when he first started at the BAU, but now he just stared right back at him. Reid could be unbelievably hardheaded at times, and apparently recovering from being nearly stabbed to death was no exception. Hotch sighed, rolling his eyes lightly, and Reid lazily adopted a triumphant little smirk. He knew he'd win.
Hotch scrubbed tiredly at his temples. "You need to rest, you know."
"I could use the distraction. It helps take my mind off the pain."
"Can't you just - shut your brain off, or something?"
"You know I can't," said Reid cheekily. "Besides, I plan to work this case as much as I'm able."
Against his better judgment, Hotch conceded to his subordinate's request. "Yes, it was reported that you survived Brandt's attack. We…announced what hospital you were taken to. We decided the best course of action would be to try to draw Brandt out of hiding as quickly as possible by-"
"By using me as bait."
Hotch scanned Reid's face for any resentment, any hint of malice - but there was none. He just looked exhausted.
"By setting a trap," Hotch carefully amended. "You have twenty-four hour protection. Someone from the team is either in here with you or outside the door at all times. And building security is monitoring the video feeds. Don't worry," he assured him.
"Didn't say I was worried," Reid quipped. He yawned, lethargic, and his eyes drooped a fraction more. "'S a good plan."
"Go back to sleep." He'd meant it to come out as an order, but Hotch could hear the affection in his own voice; he sounded more like a father than an FBI unit chief. "Someone will be here when you wake up. And your doctor can speak to you then."
Reid opened his mouth as if to speak, but his glazed eyes flitted over to the door and whatever words he was going to say died on his tongue. One corner of his mouth tugged up into a half-grin. "Hey…"
Hotch twisted in his seat to see Morgan standing stock-still in the open doorway. He mentally chastised himself. Some bodyguard he was; he hadn't even heard the door open.
Morgan stepped just into the threshold of the room and Hotch could see Rossi hanging back behind him. Morgan nodded at Hotch briefly and said, "Hotch, sorry I'm late. You're out, I'm in."
Hotch rose from his chair and gathered up his files and notes in one arm, then bent down to clap Reid gently on the shoulder, evidently shaking him back from almost having drifted off again. "We're glad you're okay, Reid," he said. He knew his wording sounded a bit formal, but he hoped that his tone and sincerity conveyed his concern well enough. In lieu of a verbal response, Reid briefly patted Hotch's hand, still on his shoulder, in an awkward gesture and nodded once (although it could have as easily been his head just lolling onto his shoulder in fatigue; Hotch wasn't sure).
Hotch passed by Morgan, who didn't even look up at him, all his attention on the scrawny young man in the bed. Hotch would have to sit Morgan down, give him a talking to about priorities, about obligations, about his duties to the Bureau and to the team - later. It could wait. Right now he was exactly where he needed to be.
As he joined Dave out in the hall, pulling the door closed behind him, he could faintly hear just the beginning of a conversation, both agents' voices raw with emotion.
"Reid - god, I am so-"
"Stop. Morgan, don't you dare."
"I just… Kid, I'm so happy…"
Their words faded out as the door shut with a quiet click. Hotch turned to Rossi and the older man could practically see the tension radiating off his unit chief. "You talked to him," stated Hotch.
Rossi shrugged it off, the unsaid "thank you." "Found 'em at the park down the street just sitting on a bench. Without a jacket, the moron."
Hotch hummed noncommittally in response. "How is he?"
"He's angry," Rossi told him. "And he doesn't know what to do with that anger. He's a protector, Aaron. That's the role he feels comfortable in on this team. And he feels like he's failed."
"He hasn't."
"You don't need to tell me." Rossi turned to look back at the closed door. "He just needed to lick his wounds in private."
[…]
Reid had woken up a few times for short stints throughout the night, but he was mostly very groggy and only awake for a few minutes at a time. It was when JJ was sitting with him that finally his eyes looked sharp and alert as opposed to hazy - and he asked for his doctor. JJ, for whatever shameful reason, flushed with anticipation. A hard ball of dread had formed deep in her stomach. She had no idea whether Reid realized the true severity of his situation, or if he was coherent enough yet to even be aware that he'd actually lost a limb and would now be considered handicapped - or if he knew how close he came to dying.
When Dr. Johar stepped in JJ politely stood up. She patted Reid's good hand miserably and then skittered out of the room before her teammate could see the hot tears springing to her eyes. She sat outside in the hall breathing deeply. She had to do something to quell her nerves or she'd get sick.
JJ pulled out her phone and hit the third speed dial button, bringing up Will's name. She hesitated with her thumb over the send button, craning her head to make sure no nurses were within earshot.
The phone rang four times before he picked up and JJ heard that familiar, easy Yat drawl. "Hey there, darlin'."
His voice was instantly cathartic to her, purging the stress and tension of the last few days. She let loose a gross sob as Will attempted to soothe her over the phone.
And that was all they did. They didn't carry a conversation; there was no need. For twenty minutes they sat there, halfway across the country from each other, her howling and him placating.
When Dr. Johar stepped back out, JJ offered a rushed goodbye before ending the call. She shoved her phone in her pocket and bolted up from the chair in one quick motion, looking expectantly at the doctor, who immediately extended both her hands in a calming gesture.
"Agent, please," Dr. Johar began, "it's all right. Dr. Reid is fine. He's just resting."
JJ sucked in a huge gulp of air before speaking. "So - he knows? You told him about - everything? Even the-?" Suddenly at a lack of words, she waved her own hand in a jerky motion at her own leg.
"The amputation?" the doctor finished for her. "Yes. And honestly, he took it fairly well. We talked briefly about his options going forth from here, and…" She chuckled, shaking her head amusedly. "I think that man knows more about prosthetics than I do. He kept going on and on. It was fascinating, to tell you the truth. I eventually had to basically threaten him with a sedative to get him to stop talking so he could go back to sleep."
JJ laughed out loud through the tears still brimming in her eyes. "Yeah, that sounds like our Reid…"
"You can go back in, Agent, but please let Dr. Reid rest," Johar advised, once again adopting her professional demeanor. "That conversation took quite a lot out of him. It's…a lot of information to process."
"Of course." JJ nodded, and then took Johar's hand in her own, giving it one firm shake. She looked into the doctor's eyes and earnestly said, "And thank you. For everything."
Dr. Johar smiled politely. "Of course, Agent," she replied before turning and walking off down the hall.
When JJ reentered the room, she found Reid still awake, though he looked significantly more drained than he had when she left. "Hey, Spence," she greeted cautiously (when did she start being cautious around Reid?). "How're you doing?"
"It's not that bad, you know," was the stern response. JJ crinkled her brow in confusion, but before she had a chance to ask Reid ploughed on, a bundle of subdued excitement. "There have been a lot of significant advances in prosthetics in recent years. In fact, in 2007 a prosthetic arm was created that operates solely on brain impulses using a technique called targeted muscle reinnervation. And lots of transfemoral amputees go on to lead very normal, very successful lives. With high quality prosthetics and physical therapy, most can begin to walk fairly normally after just a few months…"
JJ smiled wanly and let Reid ramble on for several more minutes until he eventually talked himself to sleep. She knew it comforted him - facts to Reid were like a security blanket wrapping around and protecting his body. And despite the warm familiarity of statistics, she could hear the barely discernible tremor in his voice, one that wasn't caused by fatigue or medication - but fear.
And that hurt her more than anything.
[…]
Hotch hadn't slept much since the BAU arrived in Blythewood eight days ago. He justified it by considering the difficulty of the case and complexity of the unsub, then the stress of Reid's attack, and of course being separated from his family had been weighing heavily on his mind (and Foyet was always back there as well, boxed up neatly in a corner but definitely not forgotten). However, when he did sleep, he did not dream. He would wake a few hours (or one hour, or twenty minutes - who could keep track?) later from a dark, restless void feeling more exhausted than before.
But that night he did dream. Two nights after Reid first woke up in the hospital Hotch took Prentiss's advice and intended on getting a full night's rest. The entire evening he was plagued by nightmares of what could have been - of discovering Reid's lifeless body, only it had been ripped to shreds, and instead of Ayden Brandt being responsible they found The Reaper still standing over him, his blood dripping from the man's mouth. And then he looked down again and Reid's corpse had morphed into Haley and a white hot panic seized his chest because how did she even get there and did it even matter anymore because look at her look at what he did to her and what happened to Reid and where was Jack oh god was Jack all right-
And he'd never been more relieved to be bolted awake by his ringing phone in his entire life.
Hotch scrabbled in the dark for his cell phone on the table beside his bed. His palms were sweaty and he fumbled for it briefly, nearly knocking it off the table, before he grasped it tightly in his shuddering hand. He held it up to his face, squinting against the glowing light of the screen, and recognized the number as being Sheriff Hadley's personal cell. He cleared his throat and accepted the call, brusquely muttering, "Hotchner," into the phone.
"Agent Hotchner? It's Walt Hadley," the sheriff responded gruffly. Even over the phone the older man's voice sounded tense and coiled, like a compressed spring. "I know it's late and I hate to be botherin' you, but your team needs to get to Providence Hospital right away."
That hot terror was back, gripping at Hotch's insides again and squeezing them in beat with his hammering heart. He sat up the rest of the way in bed, all thoughts of his nightmare forgotten. "What is it?" he managed to croak out in the steadiest voice possible.
Sheriff Hadley inhaled deeply and grimly reported, "We got another body."
[…]
Whew, that was a long one. So don't hate me for crippling Reid. It had to be done. For reasons.
To those of you expressing concerns about me finishing this story in a timely manner, please don't fret your pretty little heads. I do have quite a bit of this drafted out and I know how it's going to end (kinda sorta). Expect some twists along the way though. In the meantime, reviews fuel my fire. You guys are so cool.