Flowers at the Office: Part 10 (Finale)
Part 10 by Half_Broken_Moon

Story by Vanessa S. Quest & Half_Broken_Moon

Beta'd by CMAli

Things were tense, undeniably and horribly tense, inside the bullpen today. Penelope Garcia walked past Hotch's office, heels clicking behind her as she remembered the grumpy look he gave the team as he stalked into his office with Rossi and Strauss behind him. She knew all too well what was going on in there. She was thankful that her only task right now was to head back to her sanctuary and let Rossi take care of the situation. She also needed to try and keep Hotch from getting fired because he was understandably worried about Reid.

Full, red lips pulled downward at the memory of her poor friend. How he had put on a brave face to hide away the despair and fear he felt in that sterile, void hospital suite. He was indeed one of the best actors, even better than her, but he was foolish to think he could hide the truth from them especially with those sad eyes.

Garcia halted near the end of the hallway and turned to look at the door. 'Good luck Hotch' she thought, then kept walking to her waiting monitors and other expensive equipment.

XXX

It was still too early in the day for Aaron Hotchner to play politics. It was still too early in the day for Aaron Hotchner to deal with Strauss. Rossi, however, was perfectly fine in every which way.

All three, however, were eager to leave Agent Hotchner's office. But to do that required compromises. Aaron Hotchner, master hostage negotiator, had become a hostage to the situation and demands of his boss. Dave played mediator as they tried to reach a conclusion.

"Look," Strauss shifted in her seat, her bottom clearly tired from sitting in a very uncomfortable chair. "I understand your concern for your agents, this one in particular."

Hotch rose his brow subtly so as not to give away the boiling pit of annoyance he was feeling in his stomach. 'This one in particular…' does she even care? She does, of course. Even a person driven by power like Strauss still had a heart, small but there. He attributed it to some farce of maternal instincts, Reid's age and her own, the likely way she thought he'd view it too. That saved him one headache at least.

Strauss continued, "But you can't just abandon your duty like that, especially when we are short two agents. Do you hear me?"

Ah, Hotch wanted to smile. Strauss was using her strict motherly tone. She was getting fed up.

"Yes I hear you," Hotch finally quirked a friendly understanding smile as a substitute for the dry smile. "I'm fully aware that we are two men down. I'm also aware as to why we are at the position we are in. One is recovering, and the other is, well…maybe you can refresh my memory as to why. So when you asked me if I could hear what you just said, then yes, yes I can hear you."

"Huh," Strauss let out an exasperated sigh. "Look, I know you've been under a lot of stress because of the court case and the pursuit of Mr. Johnson, but we need your unit on the Maryland case. Governor McCoy called me personally and wants you in Maryland as soon as possible."

"I promise you Agent Reid will be safe and secure. I'll personally make sure of that."

That was surprising.

"I'll have to settle a few things first." Hotch stood up from his chair and shook hands with her for the agreement. "Thank you again for being so understanding."

It was Strauss's turn to lift her brow at him. A small gentle smile curved to one side, barely noticeable but so clearly there, "Same here. Thank you Agent Hotchner, Agent Rossi."

After she left Rossi chuckled into his fist and shook his head at his younger friend. "She has a soft spot for the kid, doesn't she?"

"Strauss may be power hungry, but she's not blind. Reid is good for her professional brand. I'm surprised she isn't dangling him in front of politicians like an engagement ring, but even she has the sense to realize he doesn't fare well in political situations," Hotch looked up at Rossi with dark, tired eyes.

"Heh," Rossi settled himself at the same chair Strauss previously sat her pompous behind in. "Engagement rings…now that's something to think about."

Hotch flashed him a warning glance. He knew what was creeping inside that salt and peppered head. Ever since Reid and Hotch had been going 'steady' Rossi and Morgan never let the opportunity for little playful and teasing jokes. Reid still made that murderous face at the two then would walk away blushing when he was out of their sight. Hotch missed seeing that. Every day he hoped he could get that back.

"I'm glad," Rossi smugly smirked. Hotch perked his head up, surprised at the two little words that came out of Rossi's mouth like tiny darts. "It's good to know that two messed up people like you could find love in the most impossible settings anyone can ever imagine. There is hope for us all."

"Stop being a smart ass, and help me look at this case," Hotch threw the file from across his desk toward Rossi.

Before Hotch and Rossi could get down to some real work, Aaron's cell phone started to buzz on top of a stack of papers. He picked it up hoping it wasn't Reid on the other end with one of his recent paranoid bouts. No, now he felt guilty for thinking that. Strauss really got under his skin today to be in such a foul mood. Just the sight of her was enough. "Hello?"

Rossi frowned at the sight of the color draining from Hotch's face. "Hotch?" He asked, wary and concerned.

Hotch shot out of his seat, files scattered on the floor, "Jack! It's okay. I'll be right there. It's okay. Just be really quiet, okay. It's going to be okay."

Rossi jumped out of his seat, ignoring the pain in his knee that made contact with the corner of the desk, and crossed the office as quickly as he could, "I'll get everyone ready."

XXX

'This's like the nightmare I had last night…'

He was trapped, trapped inside his own room of his apartment in that dream. All his doors were blocked by sharp thorns, snaking from every corner. The windows fared no better. Reid looked outside but there was nothing. Just black eternity, the room itself incased in a surreal darkness despite his ability to identify his surroundings.

Tim was outside, coming closer and closer-calling for him, promising love and devotion. Reciting a deeply, deeply disturbing list of what he was intending to do to him. 52 things he wanted to do to him-would do to him. When Reid thought Tim had left, he closed his eyes in relief. The second he opened them Tim was standing right before his eyes. That's when he found himself lying on their bed. Legs tangled by sheets and Aaron squeezing his arms together.

In his mind, that flash of memory of being held by Aaron in bed gave his mind a fraction of solace before reality cracked him in the jaw with a sucker punch.

This time it wasn't a nightmare. This was really happening. It was so odd that Reid even questioned if he was hallucinating. No, this was real. Everything hurt. He was the lone guardian between Jack and the man that had done such horrible things to him once before, his chest heaved in pain as if his heart was in a struggle to beat from a lead encasement too tight for movement.

The pain didn't last long enough as Reid regained his senses. A calm merciful numbness made its way all over his body. The tornado of every unpleasant emotion he'd ever experienced-and some new ones-were too much for his body to grapple with. Reid couldn't even feel the steady stream of blood running down his pant leg anymore. All these sensations were replaced by a hollow coldness, ice water in the veins, he believed the metaphor was.

"Spencer, honey," Tim's menacing voice echoed from the stairway. He was getting closer now, Reid could hear his footsteps. Each step Tim placed was methodical and paced with the graces of a feline sneaking upon its prey readied to pounce, bat and eat its kill.

Spencer.

Just the sound of his name brought him back to his senses and into his body, or more precisely, into hyperacute awareness. No longer was he in a painless haze of nightmares and waking dreams, he was in this situation, and he had to think to get out of it. Coming to grips with this, he did what comes so well to him-he analyzes and he thinks.

Reid realized that his body must have reacted to the memory of being trapped in Tim's own house at the moment he heard Tim call him a few seconds ago. All he could remember from then until now was a blur.

'Okay… breathe… breathe… Jack is inside the house,' Reid could feel his mind getting clearer and clearer. His large brain began to organize his thoughts like he did before many, many times when he was in danger. 'You survived anthrax for God's sake. Jack needs you. Aaron needs you to keep Jack safe. Jack is all that matters now.'

He absolutely hated that the reason why he's back to focused mode was because Jack was inside the house. Reid knew that the safe room provided reasonable protection, but Tim wasn't reasonable, Tim's a monster. A monster capable of anything and the only real way to keep Jack safe was to get him outside of the house, away from said monster.

Reid strained his ears as hard as he could focusing on any footsteps so he could pin-point Tim's whereabouts. Tim had walked past Aaron's office and instead headed to the master bedroom. Figures Tim would assume Reid would be hiding there first instead of Hotch's study. Good, that gave him the advantage for now. He looked out the window, in the middle of the day in a suburb and to be expected, not a single neighbor out for a walk or cutting the grass.

Tim was now skulking through the main bedroom and opening whatever he could find. Closets, drawers, boxes, anything that looked like Reid owned it. The ruckus made Reid assume he would be gathering up his possessions, probably hoarding them as a physical manifestation of his desires. Reid could only speculate what sort of perverted thoughts were striking Tim as he did so, but he was far too nauseated to want to know what his intents were.

Reid silently opened the door and crept toward the master bedroom's door. The swishing sounds of Tim opening all the drawers were a bit louder, so were his ramblings.

"Speeeencer," Tim called out from the room. "Spencer, where are you? I promise you that I'm not mad. I still love you."

'Love? He doesn't even know what that is.' Reid thought as he steadily slid his hand to the doorknob and twisted it. Gun drawn, ready and waiting.

"We have a beautiful estate in Southern France waiting for us. You'll love it there. You speak French, right? I'm sure you do; you're so smart. If you don't then that's okay, too, you'll learn it right away. I can't wait to hear you speak French. It'll sound so beautiful coming from your lips. I can help you learn it because I took French lessons myself. I'm very good at it," Tim rambled on. "Plus près de Dieu est celui qui est amoureux. That means 'closer to God is one who is in love.'"

It was now or never. Steady long fingers heaved the twisted knob forward making the door swing inward. He peeked through the slit and could see Tim's slim back from across the room. The man was standing at the foot of the bed humming a little, careless tune. A pile of what seems to be Reid's own clothes and belongings sit there as Tim carefully arranged them all into two sets of brown leather suitcases. Brand new and probably cost what Reid makes in a month's salary.

Something shiny caught Reid's hazel-brown eyes. It sparkled like it wanted his attention. Reid rolled his eyes involuntarily-a knife in his sleeve. How original.

'Deep steady breaths' Reid reminded himself. 'Jack is downstairs. I need to keep him safe. I need to keep Jack safe. Hotch needs him to be safe.' the young agent said as he slinked closer. That knife had to go first.

"Hands up," Reid called from behind Tim's back. "You have the right to remain silent."

"Tsk tsk," Tim casually turns around, eyes lit up with excitement and relief. Reid felt the bile rise up to his throat but showed him no fear. Instead his face wore a mask of calm impassivity that veiled his disgust.

"There you are. I've been looking all over for you. I even packed your things," Tim lifted one large and expensive suitcase filled with Reid's belongings with his left hand. The other beckoned towards Reid. "Now, can we go?"

XXX

Panic, pure and blinding panic. Hotch, Prentiss, and Morgan were speeding down the highway, sirens blaring and lights flashing. None of the three agents didn't say a word to each other, instead the only conversation would come as Hotch would speak a few comforting words to his son. Everyone could hear the handful of Jack's choking sobs.

"Daddy, I heard something loud," Jack said through shaky breaths. "Hurry Daddy!"

Hotch gripped the phone, knuckles white against his black sleeve. "I'm almost there Jack. Just… just stay calm okay buddy? Everything is going to be okay."

"Daddy! Hurry!" Jack then let out a shriek before he dropped the phone.

"Jack- Jack!" Hotch shouted. "What's happening?"

Morgan pushed the gas pedal to the floor.

XXX

Reid pointed the gun at Tim's face but the man didn't flinch, nor care. He only smiled mischievously down at Reid, curious, amused, thinking how silly Reid was acting. His thoughts on why Reid was a little upset at him, but knew his lover would get over it once he sees the horizon of the Ocean in their private plane gave him that confidence. "Put the gun down honey. I know you're a little mad. I messed up, I'm sorry. Put it down, please?" Tim asked sweetly.

"I won't."

Tim's toothy grin widened and his eyes crinkled with excitement as he looked at Reid's gun trained on him. "Trust me, you don't want to do that," then he slightly turned his head towards the side and mused, "I think I should say hello to that little munchkin I unfortunately missed a few minutes ago."

Reid cocked his gun and growled. "The knife. Put it on the floor. Now."

"We both know I'm not going to do that just yet, but… I'll promise not to hurt the little one or come back for that man you like so much if you leave with me," Tim raised the suitcase to emphasize his point. "Our flight leaves in an hour."

"I promise not to shoot you if you comply with my orders," Reid counters and sorely wished he could just shoot him dead. Why not? He's right there with no gun, he's armed with a knife. It could be so easy, but he knew that Hotch didn't need another dead body being found in his house. There might be blood on the carpet but that's the worst that could happen if Reid did this right. "If you'll just calmly…"

"Our flight leaves in an hour," Tim repeated, his sense of urgency in his plan made him brazen- foolishly so. "I know you won't kill me. You're not the type."

Reid growled. Tim should have seen him back in Georgia all those years ago. That might change his opinion.

"Fine," Reid lowered his gun towards Tim's knee cap and fired.

Tim screamed at the top of his lungs, buckling downward, suitcase up in the air. "What did you do?"

Reid let out a breathy laugh.

"You hurt me!" Tim glared, eyes wide, as he clutched at his bleeding knee for dear life. Reid just stood there, gun still aimed true.

"Why? I came back for you! I didn't want to leave you there with those outsiders, but I had no way of saving you then… But I came back! I mean it! I love you, Spencer, my darling… We can still make this work out-so why would you shoot me?"

"Knife!" Reid shouted and that was enough to strike Tim silent. As silent as uttering curses and promises can get.

"Jesus, this hurts… Alright, alright, I'm getting the knife. I'm putting it down. Don't shoot me, again!"

After thirty seconds Tim slid the knife from out of his sleeve and dropped to the side. The young agent grabbed the knife, gun still pointed, and placed it in-between his back and the band of his pants.

Bzzzzzz.

A soft muffled buzz was heard from across the room. Reid recognized it as his own cell and that Tim had flung it carelessly while he was on his rampage minutes ago. Reid sighed. He wanted to keep his distance from Tim but he had to call Jack and tell him he was alright, at least. The boy must be terrified, reliving the moments when his mother died. Guilt panged in Reid's heart at the thought. The guilt spread like a virus when he realized that they might have to move to a different house: one preferably with two baths, three bed rooms, and no murderous visitors.

Reid slowly made his way to his cell phone and dialed Jack. It was busy. Damn. He placed it in his pocket for the meantime. He returned his attentions to Tim writhing in pain on the floor.

A shot to the knee, 'Huh' Reid thought. He knows how much that hurts. It really must hurt Tim. The pain must be almost unbearable. The knee cap must be shattered by the bullet. Medial collateral ligament must be torn. But he's able to keep his balance standing on one leg, there's no damage to the femur. Reid can't stop himself from thinking, 'That's a shame.'

Tim was huffing and clenching his jaw shut. Reid thought that he, himself, took it better when he got shot in the same knee. Heck, he even shot the unsub and even sent the doctor away to help the man.

Lateral collateral ligament is intact.

Reid angled down his neck to look at the wound with no intent on stopping the gushing blood.

Posterior cruciate ligament is probably intact.

He can see among the gushing red a gaping bone-white and grey of the synovial bursa.

Ah, the articular cartilage. That's where the bullet must be wedged, the patella is shattered.

"Spencer!" Tim whimpered, one hand hesitated to rise from his knee, ghosting towards Reid almost pleaded to have contact. "Spencer…"

Sunken brown eyes flinched. He's still talking. Reid wants to make him stop. Whatever spark of emotions he had before was gone. All were now replaced with a dead, numb feeling that spread throughout his body: disgust, hate, fear, all gone now. All left space for a spectacle of rage Reid had never felt before in his life.

Aaron had told him he was going to be ok, he was going to be safe-that he was imagining things.

"We can still make things work. I forgive you. You forgive me for leaving, don't you Spencer?"

"Shut up!" Reid grabbed Tim's collar and lifted the slightly heavier man up a little, despite the fire that raked up his center for it. "Shut up!"

"Spencer…" Tim cringed as a rush of new pain enveloped him.

"Stop it!"

"We still have time Spencer. We can," Tim winched again, "make it. The plane…"

"Shut up!" Reid yelled out and suddenly felt light as he lost himself. As if watching a movie from outside of his own body. In this private viewing of the violent movie, he was somewhere calm and rational, albeit slightly amused with what was happening.

While on this supposed out of body experience, Reid saw himself pummel Tim in the face. His own thin face reddened with fury. Fists were flying all around; the blood vessels bulged on his forehead.

To his surprise Tim was fighting back. The out-of-body Reid winced when he saw Tim's hand connect to his jaw, then his cheek, then his stomach, even one to his stitches. Any punch Tim landed made no difference whatsoever to the genius, though, he was in a place beyond pain. He let all the rage he was storing inside him release in a flash flood. It was the most satisfying thing he felt before he was taken away from it.

Reid inhaled a sharp breath. Mind and body connected once more in that breathy epiphany. A wet sticky sensation was the first he registered, followed by a sharp ripping pain on the side of his stomach.

Oh.

He was bleeding.

A lot.

At the realization of the wound, all the feelings he discarded earlier hit him like a freight train, along with a new dizzy sensation. His vision became blurry.

Reid wilted into the wall, his left hand clutched at the bloody, sore wound and embedded knife, his right hand held fast to the gun he clutched to for safety. Why hadn't he thought to shoot? His finger pulled against the trigger only to realize he already had it pulled down. The damn thing picked a hell of a time to jam.

Tim painfully sulked at the sight of him, "Come on, don't give me that face," he brushed a stray bang from Reid's forehead then tried to reach for the gun in Reid's hand. The genius snapped out of his daze at the realization. Adrenaline was pumping through his body again, and he used the rush to fight back with full force.

The mad man only managed to help the gun fly from Reid's hand. Black metal falling across the room in a soft thump against the door. Tim ignored his injured knee and started to crawl towards it leaving a small trail of blood. To Reid, it was as slimy as a path a snail would blaze.

Tim's never going to give up.

He never will.

Tim has it planned out already. He'll grab the gun, get Reid to help him down the stairs, shoot Jack, climb into the Mercedes, get inside the private jet, have a team of doctors work on them both, then go to France. He can smell the champagne and the ether already. The judge and the prosecutors who were supposed to protect Reid from this were putting the noose on him instead.

Reid pulled the knife from his wound.

"Augh," Tim exhaled a gasp. Something warm was seeping from his side, he could faintly smell bile and metal, and inside the hole in his belly he could see the dark red that he knew was his liver. "Spen-Spencer…" Tim said through quivering lips then went limp on the carpet.

Reid let go of the knife, sticky with blood, decorated by red swirls of his fingerprints. He struggled upward as he ignored the pain at the side of his stomach, as hard as that was. "Jack," He had to get to Jack downstairs. Just to make sure.

The trip down the stairs was slow and arduous. Once his legs caved it became much quicker and punctuated with the unpleasantness of taking a tumble down half a flight of stairs. With a clatter, he fell to the landing; long thin fingers clutched the wall, decorating bloody streaks in his wake as he forced himself back upright. Reid finally made it to the small closet downstairs before pushing the closet door open. "Jack," he whispered, feeling the scratchiness of his throat and not finding the strength to speak louder. "Jack, it's safe to come out now… Jack?"

Jack's frightened, muffled sobs could be heard through the wall. He was talking to someone, Reid observed. Hotch most likely. He would like to talk to him, too. He leaned against the secret door in attempt to bolster his strength and dexterity to work on the latching mechanism, but before he could open the entrance of the safe room, the weight of darkness swallowed him whole.

XXX

"I'm sorry." Hotch sat on the hard plastic chair across from Reid's bed in the hospital room.

Reid sighed, but shook his head at the apology. "Don't," he said as he stroked Jack's hair. The boy managed to crawl onto Reid's bed and fall asleep while both adults were talking about something Jack had no interest in listening to.

"I shouldn't have left you both there when…"

"Don't start," Reid tightly smiled at Hotch. Earlier he was justified in guilt tripping the unit chief, but he soon got tired of it and even felt guilty about it. "You don't have to apologize a hundred times. I accepted your first ten apologies. Look…Jack was so tired of hearing you say I'm sorry, he even fell asleep."

Hotch reached for Reid's hand and brushed his thumb over the soft skin. Silence fell between the two-the only sounds emanating were from the hospital machines and Jack's soft breathing. Then Hotch opened his mouth once more but was stopped by Reid's fierce glare.

The team was waiting outside, all relieved that Reid's injuries weren't as grave as they could have been. Reid perked up when he heard a burst of laughter coming from outside the door. Garcia must have said something to Morgan, and he wondered what was so funny.

"So…" Reid stopped stroking Jack's hair for a short moment. Wondering if he should even be asking such a question. "Is he…gone?"

Hotch quirked a smile, "His case has become a federal one. His family doesn't know enough people to get to the judge presiding over him this time. The prosecutor is a personal friend of mine from when I was a DA."

"Oh… I thought I…" Reid turned red from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears.

"No, but you did a number on him. If it were me, however…"

"Aaron," Reid warned. "Please. Jack is here." Brown eyes fell upon the crown of the little boy's sandy blond head. "He deserves a present for all he's been through."

Hotch nodded and let his free hand land on Jack's shoulder. "What do you suggest? A new bike?"

Reid chuckled, "For all of what he's been putting up with, I think ten bikes driven by robots wouldn't cover it. I was thinking something along the lines of a trip. You know the one with the mice, the ducks, and the princesses."

"Spencer, you mean Dis…"

"Shh!" Reid covered up both of Jacks ears. "I don't want him to freak out and start jumping all over me."

"Right," Hotch chuckled, and he brushed Reid's stray lock from the top of his head. "Sorry."

Reid grumbled at the word but let it slide this one time. "So he's gone."

"Gone," Hotch reassured. "And, from what I hear, unable to walk."

"Oh," Reid chewed on his lip. "So… Are you sure he's going to be put away? That this time he'll really be gone-gone?"

"Yes. Judge Waller is not about to let him out on bond a second time, and this second attempt all but proves his guilt in the first incident. For the first time in his life he'll have the book thrown at him like he deserves."

Reid took in the words, nodding as his eyes pricked with tears. The concept that it was actually over was so hard to come to terms with. He couldn't help but reiterate, "So… He's really gone? It's over…"

"Spencer." It was Hotch's turn to interrupt his lover. Reid just shifted uncomfortably in the bed but managed a weak smile.

"So what now?" Hotch's fingers swept under his lover's eyes clearing them of tears.

"Well, you continue your recovery, and once you're given a clean bill of health, we'll take Jack to D- to see the mice, the ducks, and the princesses," Hotch grinned when Reid rolled his eyes slightly. "After that, we'll get you back to work."

"That sounds good," Reid made a long suffering sigh. "I miss work."

"I know." Hotch dropped his hand and let it sit on Reid's, again, this time squeezing it slightly. "You do know what that means."

"Psychological evaluations. I'm well aware," Reid squeezed back. "Maybe your psychologist friend won't detest the sight of me. Despite it all, I really think he's capable."

"I'm sure if you apologize to him and maybe walk his dog for a month," Hotch laughed, "I'm sure he'll forgive you."

Reid frowned, "Dog?"

Hotch leaned over Reid and kissed him on his wrinkling forehead. "Yes. A Saint Bernard named Tiny. You should get some rest. Good night Spencer."

"Are you serious about the dog?" Reid's frown grew deeper. Hotch skillfully avoided the question which wasn't helping ease his concern about potentially walking an erratic dog for a month.

Hotch scooped Jack into his arms and walked across the hospital room toward the door. He turned back and smiled at his lover who was softly smiling back at him. They both drank in the sight of each other, not willing to let go.

"You still didn't answer me about the dog…"

Hotch flicked the lights off and let out an irritated sigh, "Good night, Spencer."

Reid smiled, "Aaron, it's against his profile to have a Saint Bernard. He requires more control and show-that breed is too messy with the drool… You're teasing me." His eyebrow ticked, "Besides, I didn't even address his mother-issues. There's no way I'd have to walk a Saint Bernard."

Hotch's eyes twinkled, "You're right. He actually has a Great Dane named Tiny. Now go to sleep. I love you."

"I'm sorry about all of this…"

Aaron looked at the sleeping boy in his arms then looked back to Spencer, "Besides talking about disproportionately clothed animals, we should have a long talk about what neighborhood we should move to. It's high time we build a proper home. What do you think?"

"I think I love you more than coffee, and I love coffee an awful lot."

"Good night Spencer. I'll tell the others to visit in the morning."

The End.

A/N: We plan on continuing this cowrite as a series called Paths of Light and welcome you to read more. Thank you all for reading and reviewing, we hope you enjoyed this at least half as much as we enjoyed writing it! And thank you to the lovely CMAli for beta'ing this! You're amazing!