Chapter Twelve

Ethan picked up the clothes covering the floor of the bedroom. He bundled them together with the sheets from the bed, and walked down the hall to the washing machine. He'd have everything in order before Morgan and Spencer got back. Everything ready for the coming battle. It was going to be a long week for all of them.

As he wiped down the bathroom, a familiar strain of music ran through his brain. It was classical, something Spencer had introduced him to years ago, and after that it had stayed in his mind, repeating itself whenever he thought of Spencer. Last night, as they had lain in one another's arms he had heard it again. As he had pressed his mouth into Spencer's mouth its sounds had swelled and enveloped them. It had suddenly been interrupted when Spencer had whispered against his cheek, "Ethan. Help me." The first words he had spoken in many hours.

Ethan's heart had broken for Spencer, the minute Morgan had told him about his godson. In New Orleans, Spencer had told Ethan about his friends at Quantico, the relationships he had developed over the years. Ethan knew that doing so hadn't been easy for Spencer, as awkward as he was. Human relationships had always been a dance that Spencer had to work hard to learn, every new step an accomplishment. A dance other people did instinctively. Now, after seven years at the BAU, he had established a sort of family for himself. He told Ethan about how proud he was, astounded that J.J. and her husband would want him to be their son's godfather. He talked about how he intended to take his role seriously as the boy grew, teach him things, guide him. Protect him. It was a tie that couldn't be broken; Ethan suspected that Spencer might believe it was the closest to having his own child that he would ever come. And Ethan knew that Spencer had spent quality time with Henry, as often as he could. He had bonded with him. But now J.J. had tried to cut that tie. Ethan was certain that it had pushed Spencer too far, sent him running down a dangerous road two nights ago.

Last night, Ethan had once more bathed him and put him to bed. Spencer was silent and unresponsive, and Ethan was frightened but gave him room to be Spencer, to simply grieve what his life had become. All Ethan had to give were his hands – washing, caressing, assisting – and his words. He whispered to his friend throughout the bath. "Spencer, come back, Baby. Come back." After he put him to bed, he had closed the door and locked it. He didn't care what Derrick Morgan knew or thought. He had called Ethan to come to Virginia, and now this was about Spencer, not about making Morgan comfortable.

Ethan had lain down with Spencer and pulled him close. He had talked to him about the old days, school, how Spencer had achieved more than Ethan could have hoped to, even while Ethan's I.Q had been measured higher. Spencer was the one with the backbone – Ethan told him that. Spencer was the one who braved the Academy despite possessing absolutely zero athletic ability. Ethan whispered to him about how courageous he was. He reminded him about how much he loved his job – he had told Ethan about it at length. How it felt to solve an unsolvable puzzle and save a life in doing so. How Spencer surprised himself when he confronted an unsub without flinching. "You were always so brave, Spence. You just didn't know it." He had brushed the silky hair back from Spencer's eyes and kissed his forehead, "You are so much braver than I am."

He had kissed his eyes and his cheeks. He imagined that every touch he gave Spencer, because it was made of nothing but pure and noble and clean worship, could erase every molecule of the john. Ethan had kissed every one of Spencer's fingertips, kissing away the dirt of the memories. He kissed his palms in case they had been anywhere on the other man's body. He kissed Spencer's wrists and elbows and knees. He would flood away all the dirt of that encounter with a heartless stranger, with a real affection. With adoration. The rhapsody played in his mind as he wrapped Spencer in his arms, pressed his body tight against that of the young agent, and pressed his mouth to Spencer's. "I won't let you leave, Spencer. I won't let you leave. You are so brave. So beautiful. You can come back. You can survive this. Things can be good again. They can. Hold onto me." He had listened to Spencer's breathing for a long time, knowing from its uneven rhythm that he wasn't sleeping. Ethan had whispered himself to exhaustion, for hours, willing Spencer to remember something good about life. He prayed Spencer had heard something, had digested some morsel of hope. Then he felt the soft lips against his cheek, and Spencer's breath, "Ethan. Help me." Hope.

HOPE! He had heard it from Spencer's own lips. Now, the work could begin. Now all he had to do was pull Spencer home. Ethan had laughed against Spencer's neck. He kissed him fiercely. When Spencer began to kiss him back, he let himself go completely. He felt Spencer's arms tighten around his ribs, and he heard himself begging Spencer to tell him how to heal him. Ethan surrendered pride and surrendered reason. He devoured Spencer with his mouth, his hands and his whole heart. He didn't care if he never loved so hard again, for the next fifty or sixty years that he would be on the earth. He just wanted to save Spencer's life. He didn't want to be in a world where Spencer Reid had self-destructed.

Where with other lovers, there had been heat and passion, now with Spencer there was an all-consuming fire. It began in a place within Ethan of which he had never been aware before, something hotter and deeper than he knew existed. Ethan felt himself falling, tumbling down, lost in it. He inhaled Spencer's scent and imagined that it could nourish him for years. He licked and kissed Spencer's skin and felt that it was food from Heaven. He took Spencer's cock in his hand and lay it against his own cheek, nuzzling it, and smiling as he felt it grow hard and heated. He kissed it with the same full heart as he kissed Spencer's brow. He took it into his mouth in the same way he covered Spencer's mouth with his own: protectively, reverently. He tasted every inch and when he heard Spencer's cries, felt him writhe, he felt his own hardening and with it his determination grow. He wouldn't let Spencer slip away. He would pull him back with sheer strength of love.

He saw a fire come into Spencer's eyes as they teased and embraced and rolled one another in the sheets. He saw life come back. He determined to slide his hands over every part of Spencer's body, bringing joy back into it somehow. When he slid his own cock into Spencer he did it slowly, feeling the response of Spencer's skin, his breathing, watching the muscles in his back ripple in excitement. He moved smoothly in and out of the young man, making it last as long as he could, and felt Spencer coming back to life.

After Ethan had spent himself, and lay with his cock warm inside Spencer, he listened to Spencer's soft breathing under him. "We will win this, Baby. You and me. It will be okay. I swear to you it will be okay." He felt his own heart pounding for a long time as he lay there. For longer than it took his breathing to slow and even out. He wanted to whisper the words, and once he mouthed it without saying it out loud. He knew it would be too much. He knew that this enormous love he felt for this man – more than he believed most people ever knew in their lifetimes – would not be returned. There would be gratitude, and the love of a friend. But there would never be the desperate, all-consuming kind felt for a lover. Ethan found it sad suddenly, that Spencer could not experience the same feeling that he did this night making love to Spencer; and he found it deeply sad that he, Ethan, did feel it and it didn't really matter.

He sighed heavily and kissed Spencer's shoulder blade, and rolled off to lay beside him. He looked at Spencer's pretty face. "I won't leave you until you tell me to, you know."

The dark eyes opened and searched his. "I know." Spencer lay on his belly and stroked Ethan's side with long, elegant fingers.

After a time Ethan said, "Baby, why didn't you call me? I would have come."

"I know."

"Spencer, why a stranger? I don't get it."

Spencer turned his face away. Ethan placed a hand on the back of his head, rubbing it. Then he saw the angular shoulders shaking, heard a muffled sound, and moved his hand to rub Spencer's back. "Why?" he whispered.

Spencer turned his face back toward Ethan's, brushing hair out of his eyes, wiping the back of his hand over his wet face. He sniffed. "How could I call you? What could I say? 'Come and fuck me now Ethan. I need that but I don't love you.' You're worth more than that. You deserve better from me than that."

"So you picked up a john?"

"I wanted it to be. . . low. I wanted it to hurt. I needed it to be ugly. You wouldn't have . . .you wouldn't have done it like that. God, Ethan, I'm so lost. I'm so lost." He moved into Ethan's arms and sobbed against his shoulder.

"I know Spence, " Ethan whispered. "But you know, I'm a big boy. I know what I'm getting. I need you too, you know. I need you too."

Spencer quieted. He clung to Ethan tightly. Ethan whispered into his hair, "Look, let's just get you together. Then we'll talk about the logistics of this. For now all that matters is that I'm here. And that you are going to get your life back."

~~/~~

Reid was startled as he was shoved down the stairs to the basement with J.J., to see that there was already another hostage there. She sat on a chair beside a cabinet and watched calmly as Nathan Birke shoved them to the floor. J.J. hit her head on a bed frame as she fell and cried out. Reid put his hand softly on her shoulder as she sat up, "You okay? You okay?" J.J. nodded and rubbed her head.

"Please," she said to Birke, "Where's my baby?"

Birke smiled without answering, "Just stay put, all of you." Slowly he turned and left, closing the door behind him. Reid paced the room swiftly, and then moved a chair to climb up to the one window beside the woman. The window was narrow and low, too small for any one of them to go through it. He excused himself to the woman as he leaned over her to look out at the growing police presence. He listened to the sirens and knew that Hotch was already working with the local sheriff to ready hostage negotiations. Snipers and swat would be already en route. With two F.B.I. agents as hostages, they would be pulling out all the stops. He saw Morgan standing in the street with Rossi and Prentiss. They looked at the house and he wondered if they knew he was standing at the window. Where were the binoculars?

He stepped off the chair and looked down into the face of the elderly woman. "I'm Dr. Spencer Reid. I'm . . I work with J.J."

"Yes, I know Dr. Reid. She has told me some wonderful things about you." She smiled up at him softly.

"She has?" Reid glanced at J.J., unsuccessful at keeping the surprise from his eyes as he did.

"Spence, this is Sister Anne. She was visiting this morning. . . God, Anne, I'm so sorry."

"I'm certain that there is nothing for which you should apologize J.J.," she assured, "Dr. Reid, why didn't they tie us up?"

"Well, there is really no need to," Reid said as he crossed the room to sit on the bed. "They are armed, we are downstairs and we can't climb out these windows. They just need to keep us all together, really."

"Spence, I haven't seen Henry since they got here." J.J. choked.

"Was he sleeping when you last knew? He probably still is." Reid watched J.J.'s face, unsure what else to say to offer comfort.

The trio were silent for a time, and Reid rubbed a hand over J.J.'s shoulders, and stole occasional glances at Sister Anne. A nun. He had never spoken to a nun that he knew of. He was certainly expanding his horizons lately. He had heard somewhere that most nuns were well-educated. At least they might have some interesting conversation while they were here together trapped in the basement. He wondered how long that would be. Hostage negotiations could take hours, or days.

Then he gasped softly, thinking about his habit. He had three vials with him in the bag. He could stretch it out. He'd be all right. Stopping the Dilaudid abruptly would result in respiratory failure. He sighed. He needed to keep his faculties about him, needed to be careful.

"Spencer, what is it?" J.J. studied his face with concern.

"I'm fine. What's the other one like?" he asked J.J.

She rolled her eyes and looked at him, "Not much different than the first. Quieter."

"So this one is the alpha."

"I think so."

Suddenly they heard a cry. . . Henry. J.J. was on her feet, running up the stairs. She tried the doorknob but couldn't budge it. Something was blocking the door from the outside. Suddenly the door swung open, and she backed down the stairs a few steps, nearly losing her footing. Birke's companion stood there at the top of the stairs, gun aimed at the young mother. "Where you going?"

"J.J. . ., " Reid began, and stood.

"He needs to eat." J.J. fought to stay calm, her fists balled at her sides. "Please."

"We'll feed him. Get back down there."

She hesitated, not comprehending being denied access to her crying child.

The convict stepped back out and closed the door. J.J. could hear something being jammed against it from the outside. She slowly descended the stairs and crossed the room to sit beside Reid, her fist still clenched. They sat in painful silence, listening to Henry's cries. J.J.'s body trembled. They looked up at the floor as they heard heavy footsteps crossing into the kitchen. Then after several minutes, the crying stopped.

"It's okay, J.J.," soothed Reid, his voice shaking. "They are feeding him."

She looked at him, large blue eyes pooled with moisture. "Spence, what are we going to do?"