A/N: The disclaimer can be found in the first chapter. As this is a work in progress any and all constructive criticism is very much appreciated (please R&R).
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Knowing that they could potentially be reprimanded for directly disobeying orders. The team arrives at the scene and takes their time getting out of the SUV; watching as members of the forensic team, still in the process of gathering the evidence that will assist in the prosecutions case against whomever has abducted Gideon. With Hotchner in the lead, acknowledging the forensic team, they duck under the caution tap that had been tied across the driveway, to a pair of trees standing proudly on the property to keep onlookers at bay— a tactic used mainly to avoid contamination of the crime scene.
Never being the overly emotional type, Elle finds that the lump in her throat holds her hostage as she slowly brings up the rear. Once they arrive at the front door, she stops in her tracks just outside the door. This feels wrong, she muses, we haven't been invited into his world; we shouldn't be poking around. She watches as photographers take the photographs that will act as references for the detectives working the case; a member of the forensic team runs a swab across a doorframe over something of interest— dried blood, smeared by either their suspect or Gideon himself.
"Excuse me." A police officer says curtly as he pushes past her.
"Sure." She finds herself replying, more under her breath than anything else. Noticing her absence, Hotchner turns around and backtracks.
"Elle?" he gently leads her to a quiet corner in the living room. She finds herself looking around the neat, hardly lived-in looking space. She sighs in disbelief that his home is practically as she had imagined it to be. However, standing in his living room sends a shiver of discomfort through her and she sighs against it.
"Hotch, I'm fine." She tries to pass turned up lips as a smile, which of course, he can see right through. She lets her eyes wander over the neutrally decorated space. The floor is a rich coloured hardwood, covered by a beautiful area rug, which anchors the seating arrangement in front of the fireplace. Figures that he wouldn't have a television in here, she thinks to herself, running her slender fingers along the sofa back, then following Hotchner out of the room towards the office where Morgan and Reid seem busy discussing their theories as to what happened.
"Reid, you know as well as I do that there is absolutely no way in hell that Gideon would go quietly." Morgan says as he glances over a book that lies open on the antique desk. Reid sets his slight frame in the empty seat and considers the layout of the room. "I know for a fact that he would have fought tooth and nail." He adds, making his way to the window and staring into the yard beyond recalling a previous case they had worked on and all in the home thought Gideon had lost it when he began to shout 'help me' at the top of his lungs; only to be rewarded and thus satisfied by the number of lights being turned on in the homes across the street.
"Something is totally off here." Reid stands, stating his observation; he folds his arms across his chest in a thoughtful manner. "The place is trashed as though whomever it was had been looking for something, yet the rest of the house is intact." He walks over to one of the many volumes scattered over the floor. "All of this was very deliberate. This is a method used to throw us off." He adds, putting the book on the now empty shelf. Elle, still finding it difficult to will herself to move, remains glued in place just upon the threshold— unable to walk into the room. Reid gives her a quick glance of understanding. "Do you think whomever did this will contact us?" he then inquires, walking carefully through the rubble of scattered books and papers. Morgan takes a turn to sit at the chair at Gideon's desk, perhaps to gain a better perspective, Elle isn't sure— what she does know is that none of it made any sense.
"None of this is following a script, or set pattern of behaviour. I don't know. I hope so." Hotchner turns away and while he exits the office, collects Elle, guiding her towards the front door.
"You know that you didn't have to come inside." He says in a hushed tone in her ear.
"I know, but I thought I needed to in order to help." She sighs and lets her head drop to look at the ground. "Its just that everything is so Gideon. Right down to the smell." The words leave her lips before her mind has the chance to put the breaks on. "Why Gideon?" she asks shaking her head. "It doesn't make any sense." She sniffles and lets Hotchner take her back to the SUV. Standing in front of the black vehicle, Hotchner puts a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"Elle, take a deep breath and calm down. You know as well as I do that we'll figure this out." He says knowing that they are mere words, yet at the same time, when the right intension is applied they can soothe a tattered soul, soothe a worried mind, and soothe a broken heart. He does realise; however, that while he says this to settle her— he's also attempting to calm his own fears. Grabbing the file from him, she stops in her tracks.
"How many un-subs have we encountered with this MO?" she opens a passenger door and climbs into the SUV, leaving Hotchner to ponder his inquiry.
"Far too many." He replies under his breath heading back towards the house.
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Cautiously opening his eyes, they rest upon twiddle dee and twiddle dumb still watching over him. Rather, sitting at the small metal folding table playing cards, the lone naked bulb not giving off enough light to fully reveal the space. Gideon notes that there are a few windows, which are far too high to climb out of— leading him to conclude that it's defiantly a warehouse of sorts. However, the absence of sound does little to assist in enlightening him as to his actual location.
"This is ridiculous! What does the boss think?"
"That he's going to get away." The other seems to understand and discards. Neither of them truly pays Gideon any attention as he struggles to sit up.
"He's up." One of them says, eyeing their prisoner, who ignores them and finally succeeds in propping himself up against the cool cinderblock wall. His hands begin to tingle because he has been forced to keep them in one position too long. Attempting to regain the circulation, he gently massages his hands. I know they'll get these cowards; he thinks to himself as his head feels far too heavy to keep up and he lets it fall to the side. Ah, that's better, he muses once again closing his eyes against the dull light and waits— still hopeful of a quick rescue; a quick end to this nightmare.
Just as before the click of well executed, deliberate steps followed by a slight pause can be heard— getting louder as they approach the door. Gideon knows them to be the footsteps of the man he's supposed to know— in which case, he must at the very least be the boss of his 'guards'. Just like his last visit, the door opens and the man in the expensive suit enters. Gideon takes in his appearance, his stature, and his face for a moment, only to recognise him from one of the various files they deal with. Indeed, he is familiar and Gideon almost shudders at the thought of what he is capable of. He is just one of Michael Russo's many contacts. Gideon recalls reading Hotchner and Morgan's reports pertaining to their case in Baltimore; locating a missing FBI agent a few months ago. Despite his recollection, he cannot think of his name. Lifting his eyes to the man standing in front of him— attempting to show no fear.
"What purpose does this serve?" he demands; his voice is gruff even in his own ears, very reminiscent of sandpaper as its dragged over a wooden surface. The man merely steps further into the room.
"All in due time." His reply is simple. "Will one of you get him some water!" he snaps, pausing and quietly observing the dishevelled man leaning against the wall before him. "I'm sure that you are well aware of the fact that good help is terribly hard to find." He adds. Gideon doesn't bother satisfying him with an answer, he has long ago had this guy pegged. He knows to wait is his best course of action. One of the creeps returns with a glass of water and holds it out towards him. He carefully accepts it between his two shaky, bound hands and takes a sip— trusting that if they were going to kill him, they would have done so already.
"Thank you." He says in a quiet, even, kind tone, happy to hear his voice returning to normal. The suit only ignores him and walks towards the table where the 'guards' have been playing cards to pass the time. Sitting in the metal fold-up chair, he leans towards Gideon.
"Between you and I, Agent Gideon this is nothing personal— it's just business." He pauses for a moment as if choosing his words with a great deal of care. "From my understanding of the situation, you and your team have been quite the thorn in my bosses side." Gideon merely stares back, not satisfying him with a response. "You don't seem to understand the repercussions of him having to hide out. The cops would have nabbed him the first chance the had." At this hint, Gideon's eyes grow wide.
"Anthony?" the name flies easily from Gideon's lips as he recalls the combo arson/torture/murder case they had worked on a few months back. The man in the suit doesn't reveal anything, only continues to stare at the seasoned profiler.
"As I said before, this isn't personal. I'm a businessman, so this is how it's going to go." He says in his sly matter of fact filled tone.
"You claim that this isn't personal— neither is what I do. All I do is try and make the world a bit better for the innocent." He cuts him off before he has the chance to lay down his terms. "However, taking into consideration that you have kidnapped a Federal agent; the probability that you will even have the option of negotiation for a lighter sentence, is slim to none— and I'm banking on none. Between you and I— you and your goons here will be caught. It's merely a matter of when. Enjoy this freedom while you can." He says having to let his chin rest on his chest as another wave of dizziness and the bile creeps up his throat, causing him to feel nauseous. The suit ignores Gideon's remark and continues to lay the groundwork for his carefully calculated plan.
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Although she is well aware of the fact that Gideon's abduction isn't her fault, a strange sense that the weight of the world firmly resting upon her shoulders, works its way through her body. It's no wonder Elle cannot find sleep this night, and tosses the covers off in frustration. Reaching for her silk housecoat, she slips it over her long arms and secures it around her slender waist on her way out of her bedroom, her sanctuary. Her aimless wandering has led her to the kitchen, where she mulls around for the ingredients for a remedy her mother used to make whenever she couldn't sleep. Standing at the stove, she heats the thick liquid, stirring until it simmers; then carefully pours it into a mug, she walks into the living room. She doesn't bother with lights, as every nook and cranny are known to her by heart— and she stands at the large window, pulling back the curtain to stare out at the quiet street, basked in the gentle light of the nearly full moon and the street lamps.
Blowing over the mug, to cool its contents slightly, she sips in hope of the comfort it offered so long ago. However, this time, this night is of little assistance and with a sigh, she lets the curtain slip from her slender fingers back into its place alongside the window and she resumes wandering. Sitting in one of her favourite chairs, she picks up the book she had been reading earlier and finishes the contents. Heading back towards the kitchen, she rinses the mug and places it in the sink before going back upstairs to try and get some rest—the hours; however, continue slipping by far slower than usual as her thoughts once more return to finding a way to assist her colleague, her unknowing mentor, and possibly her friend. Still unable to sleep, she snuggles into the bed, arranges the covers over her lean body and stares up at the ceiling as though the answer will somehow appear.
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Haley turns onto her side, moaning softly in her sleep and reaching out towards Aaron's side of the bed expecting him to be there. When her fingers rest on his empty pillow, she opens her eyes.
"Aaron?" she whispers as her eyes adjust to the darkness and with that the realisation that he isn't there. She sits up, uncovers herself before grabbing her terry cloth bathrobe and heads downstairs. She stands at the foot of the stairs and watches him for a long moment, his jet black hair shimmers with moonlight as he sits on the sofa staring at, what she is sure is the wall. Almost as though he's emerging from a daze, he turns his head.
"Haley, did I wake you?" he seems distant to her, distracted by everything happening around them.
"No, what's going on?" she inquires, knowing that she's bending the 'we don't talk about work' rule. She quickly closes the distance between them, settling herself in his arms, resting her cheek on his chest and listens to his heart beating. She knows and appreciates the fact that he tries his best to differentiate between his home and work life, however, she needs him to talk to her— as its obvious that he needs her to understand.
"Haley, I." He stops himself. She plays with the buttons of his shirt.
"It's okay, I know you need to talk. It isn't healthy for you to be brooding like this." She adds, lifting her head and looking into his dark eyes.
"I don't know if we're going to find Gideon." He whispers, kissing the top of her honey blonde head.
"Yes, you will. I have faith in you, and I'm sure he does too." She kisses his chin and places her head back on his chest.
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To Be Continued…