Disclaimed!

There is a bit of strong language in this chapter, just thought I'd warn anyone who might be offended!

Let me know what you think.

...

Hotch winced as the masked man hung up the phone call then pulled him to his feet and flung him into the wall.

A few other disguised men hung back near the door, obviously fearful of the dominant male who had initiated the beating.

Hotch was a fit man, especially for his forty plus years, but he'd been injected with some drug upon being bundled into the side of the van which, after gaining consciousness, had made him groggy.

Besides, he wasn't stupid enough to challenge the armed man who had five or more large, burley men as backup, especially when his gun and spare weapon had gone missing.

All the men were dressed identically in black slacks and black jumpers to compliment their black balaclavas.

The well built, darkly dressed leader came within inches of the profiler's face. "Do you know why you're here Agent Hotchner?"

"No." Hotch coughed, feeling his chest tighten from the repetitive blows.

The masked kidnapper scoffed. "Well let me enlighten you."

"Please, do... I think however you've made a serious mistake." Hotch smirked confidently, while internally praying for a way out.

"You're a cocky little Fed aren't you?" The man tilted his head and sighed. "Why are all of you fucking Fed's so damn cocky?"

"Our over inflated egos might have something to do with it." Hotch suggested with a soft groan as he slid down the wall slightly out of his takers grip.

Laughing, the unknown man threw a punch to Hotch's jaw. "I forgot you're a profiler. Tell me Agent Hotchner, how do you plan on profiling your way out of this one?"

Hotch frowned momentarily, the voice of his captor sounding somehow familiar. "I..."

Another masked man opened the door to the small interrogation room and stepped between the group that had congregated nervously at the door and edged closer to the dominant UNSUB. "Can I have a word?"

"I'm a little busy here, mate." The masked man's fists were clenched around Hotch's shirt threatening.

As he slammed Hotch into the wall again, the newcomer stepped forward again. "This will only take a minute, mate."

The leader turned at the sarcastic tone of his colleague and nodded once, but not before punching Hotch in the gut and allowing him to drop to the ground, only to kick him several times before moving towards his backup. "Make sure he stays down."

As soon as the two masked men had separated from the rest of the group they took of the masks and hovered next to the two way mirror looking into the concrete interrogation room.

The leader of the wayward pack was Holcombe, JJ's driver from earlier the day before, while the second man was the front seat passenger.

Holcombe pushed the stocky man back slightly with his fingers. "What the fuck's your problem Mike?"

"My problem? I'm not the one beating on an FBI agent." Mike spat back angrily.

Holcombe scoffed. "He's a liability."

"JJ's going to be pissed. She wouldn't have broken protocol and talked to him."

"JJ's not going to find out about this but if she does, I won't hold back. I'll make sure she's destroyed and first to go will be that man," Holcombe pointed to Hotch, who was surrounded by the five other men who were individually taking turns to kick him. "Then it'll be you, am I understood."

Mike pursed his lips and nodded. "Understood."

Holcombe turned as though he was about to rejoin the other group but quickly, he turned and suddenly collided his fist with Mike, bringing the large man to the ground by forcing Mike's body into his knee and kicking him in the groin. "I have to get reacquainted with Agent Hotchner. Excuse me."

He left Mike to squirm on the floor, while readjusting the balaclava on his face. Holcombe took a deep breath and took hold of a metal chair to drag into the room.

The sound of metal clawed along the concrete floor before the masked leader placed it in the centre of the room.

"Get away from him." Holcombe ordered, smirking as the five men, all government employees, instantly parted.

He took hold of Hotch who was crouching on the floor and placed him on the chair with no difficulty. "Do these look familiar?"

Hotch looked up with puffed up, bruised eyes at his handcuffs dangling down from his captors hand. "Yeah, they're... erm, mine."

Holcombe cuffed the profiler to the chair and ordered one of the men to secure his feet with some strong plastic handcuffs. Stepping back, Holcombe grunted in appreciation of his own work. "Tell me Hotchner, do you use your cuffs on the sweet ass blonde chick you were with last night?"

"Leave her out of this." Hotch replied gruffly.

Holcombe chuckled again, encouraging his colleagues to do the same. "You're a touchy little thing aren't you? You can talk to us Hotchner. You were in her house a long time... well, long enough to have fun with her."

"I told you... to leave her out of this." Hotch repeated with breathless venom.

Holcombe raised an eye. "Or what? You'll stare me down?"

"I'll rip your fucking heart out." Hotch glared menacingly.

Holcombe paused momentarily, realising the seriousness of the man's words. "Tough guy are we?"

"Uncuff me and we'll see." Hotch taunted.

"I've read a lot on you, Agent Hotchner. Your accomplished career and train wreck of a marriage are seriously impressive. Tell me whose better in bed, the dead ex wife you got killed or Jennifer Jareau?" Holcombe teased with a small smile closing the gap between them so they were eye level.

Not biting on the man's bait, Hotch bent his head backwards before snapping his forehead forward, colliding it with Holcombe's, giving him a Glasgow kiss.*

Hotch laughed confidently when the dominant male stumbled to the ground, the other men surrounded the agent closely but was pushed back as Holcombe slowly got to his feet, still disorientated by the head butt. "Don't, I want him all to myself."

Holcombe snarled before clenching his fists, as Hotch continued to laugh. The masked kidnapper raised his fists and began pounding Hotch's face, blood instantly began pouring from the wounds as Holcombe went to town on his cuffed guest.

...

After several fruitless phone calls, JJ rested her head on her arms on the desk in her office. Groaning, the blonde looked up to the clock on the far wall. It had been at least twelve hours since anyone had seen their Unit Chief.

JJ had known her feelings towards the stoic profiler had been brewing for months now.

What those feeling meant, she had no idea, but right now she knew her feelings were strong and important enough for her to have called every top director she had the private number too, asking for information.

Deep down, JJ knew Hotch's disappearance was something to do her work of the last fourteen, or so months.

Deep down, she knew this was all her fault.

The pain she felt in the middle of her chest filled the petite blonde with dread. She had to see Hotch again and soon otherwise, JJ was pretty sure the pain in her chest was going to suffocate her.

Taking a few deep breaths, JJ took out her phone book and began dialling. Right now the team had no information but if the Pennsylvanian called the right person maybe she could find a link to the supervisor's disappearance.

If only she knew who the right person was.

Another hour past, followed by another in a deadly pace before JJ felt the tears begin to spring free.

The phone calls were a dead end.

The team were no-where near understanding what had happened nearly fifteen hours ago and after Jessica had popped her head through the agent's door, the two little boys were starting to ask questions.

Standing, ready to make face to face demands to her bosses at the Pentagon for military assistance, JJ froze.

Her phone was ringing, and sometime between the first ring, and her finger pressing accept, she knew she found him. "Jareau."

...

Outside the room, Mike was leaning against the mirror listening to the groans and grunts coming from the assailant throwing his punches and his helpless victim's strained response.

Pressing his hand to his sore jaw, Mike sighed and reluctantly grabbed his phone from his trouser pocket.

Pressing number two on his speed dial, Mike held his breath till the person answered. "Jareau."

"JJ, its Mike Stewart from yesterday." Mike kept his voice low, almost afraid Holcombe could hear him through the glass.

He could hear the blonde almost thinking out loud. "Mike, hi, is everything okay?"

"No, JJ nothings okay. I need you to come down here to the Baxter facility." Mike regretted his words the minute they left his mouth.

JJ bit her lower lip. "What's going on?"

Mike sighed lowly. "Holcombe has Aaron Hotchner."

...

*A Glasgow kiss is slang for a head butt – I know it's called many different things in different places.

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