Author's Note: Contains small spoiler for L.D.S.K.
----------------------------
"No!"
Hotchner's panicked shout drowned in the other hostages' terrified screams and cries as the gun went off.
But Hotchner could not possibly care about anybody else right now. He had stood up, but then suddenly he couldn't move, he was frozen. His eyes were glued to Reid, who lay motionless on the floor. Blood was blossoming on the shirt on his back and pooling underneath him. His sightless eyes stared out into nothingness.
Hotchner was heartbroken, his stomach felt like it was full of knots. How would he tell his team? What would he tell Reid's mother? Could he ever forgive himself?
When Veld had first focused on Reid, Hotchner thought it was a good thing. Veld felt that Reid was his peer, his equal, and more beyond that. It was obvious that he felt threatened by Reid like no other in the room. Why else would he have forced him into the submissive position of kneeling? The rest of the hostages, himself included, were no more than annoying bugs on a hot summer night. Reid was really the only one who had a chance to influence Veld and to change the outcome of this drama. The only one he might listen to. Veld barely acknowledged the other hostages, only looking briefly at them from time to time to make sure they hadn't gotten loose.
So Hotchner had sat back and let Reid run the show, just like Reid had sat back to let Hotchner handle the situation when they had been held hostage by Dowd in Des Plaines. Hotchner had thought that Veld would spend his energy trying to turn Reid around to his point of view, but he had unexpectedly exploded into violence. Hotchner knew that his arrogance would not stand to be contradicted, and he knew Reid knew that too. But Reid was too honest, and not a good enough liar to play along. He knew Veld would not buy it and it made Reid vulnerable. The taunting showed how much Veld enjoyed having a power position over Reid. Reid was also influenced by his personal vendetta with this man, making him talk back, challenging him unduly. The smacks to the head, as much as Hotchner didn't like them, he could live with them, but the cigarette torture was torture for him too. Oh, how much he had wanted to stop it, but his protests were drowned out in Reid's and the other hostages' screams, not to mention that Veld ignored him. When it was over he was tense, but relieved. He still believed that Veld thought that Reid was too important to harm him too much.
But now it was clear that he had made a fatal misjudgment of the situation and he felt a great sorrow blossoming in his body.
Then Reid blinked.
Hotchner drew a ragged breath. Had he imagined it?
Reid blinked again, and groaned, shifting a little, coming alive again.
Hotchner felt a giddy laugh rise in his throat. He was alive! It hadn't been a neck shot. Veld hadn't killed him. Right here, right now, that was all that mattered.
Then Veld was with him. He picked Reid up by his arm and dragged him up until he was once again standing on his knees, swaying, but more lucid, shaking his head to clear it. Hotchner could see that the shot had been through the left shoulder. That shoulder wasn't having a very good year, he thought irrationally. Hotchner tried to catch Reid's eyes, but he didn't look his way. Instead he looked down at the floor, or up at Veld.
Veld stood, head cocked to the side, and studied Reid, who couldn't stay on his knees. He sank down on his heels, and this time Veld let him stay that way.
Hotchner yearned to go to his agent, but he didn't dare move. The acrid smell of gunpowder still hovered in the air.
"Agent Hotchner," Veld called, and beckoned him forward with a finger.
Hotchner broke out of his temporary paralysis and hurried over to them, almost slipping in the blood on the floor. Veld motioned for him to turn around, and the next thing he felt was the tape around his hands being cut apart with the knife that had killed so many women. He wondered what Veld was planning as he turned back again. Veld once again had the gun in his hand, turned on him.
"Spencer here needs a little bandage of sorts and you get to patch him up… I'm having far too much fun for him to die already."
Hotchner looked down at Reid and gave him a shaky smile when he found him staring at him with tired eyes, before he hurried to the bar and found a pack of clean bar towels on a shelf behind the bar, but no first aid kit. He stuck his head up behind the bar again and saw that Veld was leaning down, saying something to Reid.
His and Reid's guns still lay on the bar disk...
Taking a leaf from the new Reid, he decided to gamble. Keeping a watchful eye on Veld, who looked up at him once, but then back down as Reid started talking, almost as if he knew Hotchner needed a distraction. Carefully Hotchner reached out and quickly picked up a gun, hiding it behind the bar.
Veld suddenly looked at him suspiciously, putting a hand on Reid's injured shoulder, clamping down. Reid cried out, shying away from the grip.
"Are you coming back or not?" Veld called.
Behind the shelter of the bar Hotchner slipped the reassuring weight back into his ankle holster, hoping he would be able to get to it later. He then picked the towels up and hurried back. He squatted next to Reid.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey." Reid's voice was thick with pain.
"Don't worry, we'll fix this," he said, diverting his eyes downwards, to his feet. Reid's gaze followed his eyes and Hotchner hoped he'd understood, like he had before.
Hotchner sat down on his heels for better balance and tore the towels into long strips, and then folded them into thick squares. Veld took a firm grip on Reid's shoulders as Hotchner pressed two make-shift compresses to his wounds, one in the front and one in the back. He didn't think it looked too bad. It was a straight through-and-through, but it was bleeding heavily.
Reid grimaced, hissing through clenched teeth, sweat running down his forehead. He was holding his breath to keep from crying out.
"I'm sorry," Hotchner whispered, unsure if he was apologizing for hurting him now, or for what had happened before.
"It's okay," Reid reassured him.
Veld took over the compress on the back as Hotchner began winding duct tape tightly around them to secure them in place. His necessary actions elicited more groans from Reid. When he was finished he patted Reid's knee, hoping to give him some small comfort. This was neither the time nor place for long conversations. He really wanted to stay here with Reid, healing and supporting him, but he knew it wouldn't be allowed. So he stood up and faced Veld.
Veld studied his handiwork. "Very good." He let him dry his hands on another towel before motioning him to turn around so he could tie him up again.
When he was done, Hotchner turned to Veld. "Listen-"
But Veld interrupted him. "Listen…" he said with a taunting voice. "Do you hear that, Spencer? Do you hear how full of his own perceived authority he is? How he expects everyone to automatically do as he says, just because he says it?" Turning back to Hotchner he asked condescendingly, "So, what is so important, Agent Hotchner?"
Hotchner refused to be sucked into his game. "You need to start communicating with the agents on the outside if you want to get out of here. You can't stay here forever."
Veld cocked his head and appeared to be studying him, but Hotchner didn't budge or look away.
"Once again," Veld said, "You're expecting everything and everyone to think and behave by your norms, as you would. It's somewhat entertaining to see the single-mindness you and the likes of you demonstrate at every turn… and you are supposed to be a behavioral analyst. No wonder you depend so heavily on Spencer and agent Gideon. Tell me, agent Hotchner, have you ever stopped to wonder why I never show up on any security tapes from any of the crime scenes?"
Hotchner didn't answer, instead he let Veld keep up his oration, which he seemed to enjoy.
"It's because I do research. A foreign concept for you perhaps? Now, don't give me that look, I know you are an educated man, but true research is an art form only few can master. Isn't that true, Reid?"
But Reid did not want to participate in the man's games if it meant insulting his coworkers and friends.
"Once I have found my next girl, I look at the blueprints of the hotel she lives in. And not just the current blueprints, but the ones from when it was built and every remodeling in between, with electric, water and ventilation schematics, so that once I'm here, I know where to go and how not to be seen. It's amazing how many records are public. And I can tell you right now, that I know of at least two ways out of this room that aren't through the door. There are ventilation shafts above us large enough to fit a man and behind the paneling on the wall behind the bar I have access to an abandoned dumbwaiter shaft that will take me down to a cleaning supply storage room in the basement, from which there are only a few steps into the underground garage. Granted, this wasn't where I had intended on ending my evening, but I am a thorough man. I know every escape route there is from this hotel."
"So why are you still here?" Hotchner tried to stay calm, but this was really bad news that he hadn't anticipated.
"Let's call it… unfinished business." Veld put his hand on Reid's head.
"No," Hotchner shook his head vehemently in denial. "No, just leave now while you still can."
"No," Veld said. "According to my research," he pulled the last word out, making it sound very condescending. "These walls are soundproof, so I figure I still have a couple of hours before they manage to get the necessary surveillance equipment into the ventilation shaft. I intend to use the time I've got left."
Suddenly Reid spoke up. "It's okay, Hotch, we're just going to talk for awhile. I have some questions myself actually."
They both looked down at him as he turned his brown eyes up on them.
"Reid…" Hotchner started, but Veld interrupted him.
"You heard the man. We're just going to talk for awhile." He had a snide grin on his face. "So why don't you be a good little FBI agent and sit down again and stop disturbing us."
----------------------------
Gideon stared at his cell phone, willing it to ring. Veld hadn't called once, and that scared Gideon to death. He hadn't made any attempt to negotiate, had made no demands. He was much too comfortable in there, since he didn't seem to be in any hurry to leave. What could he be doing in there?
Agent Fisher came into the security room just off the reception area where the team was gathered. She was accompanied by Captain Greene from the SWAT team and the manager of the casino/hotel. His name was Alex Brubeck and he had none of the authority or poise that Geoffrey Lohan had commanded. He was a short, balding man who looked as if he was almost drowning in his expensive suit and he was very nervous.
Introductions were made before Gideon turned to Greene and asked, "What can you do?"
Greene looked apologetic. "Not much, right now. The room has been soundproofed…"
"That's right," Brubeck chimed in. "We fixed it a couple of years ago. It's supposed to be a place to go to where you can't hear the casino. A romantic hideaway. Also, we give private concerts in there sometimes. It's very popular."
"Thank you," Greene said, "Anyway, there are no other ways in and the doors are barred. We need to cut through them to get in, but it'll be noisy."
Brubeck squeaked, "There must be a way to fix this without damaging my hotel."
They all ignored him.
"What about surveillance?" Morgan asked.
"The only way to get it into the room is via the ventilation shafts. They are big enough for a man to get through, but…"
"It'll be noisy," Morgan finished.
"Right, our only option is to send in a robot equipped with a fiber optic camera and a microphone."
"But…" Elle probed.
"But we don't have one. It has to be flown in from Washington. I've already made the call, but it's going to be a few hours, at least."
"So we're in for a long wait," Gideon summarized.
"I hate this," Morgan muttered.
----------------------------
Reid was in trouble. His shoulder hurt and he felt dizzy. Having to stay upright was an incredible challenge and he felt pressured to stay focused. Veld kept talking to him and there were a lot of things that he wanted to know too. But Veld had been talking about his utopian world order for ever by now, and it was hard for Reid to keep up with him. The man obviously loved the sound of his own voice and apparently his megalomania crack hadn't been too far-fetched.
Wishing he could push his sweaty bangs away from his face he looked up at Veld, interrupting his rant. "How did you come up with the anagrams? What's the significance of those?"
"Significance? You shouldn't read too much into things, Spencer. Always keep things simple, that's the way to do it. But it's really a nice little story behind it. You see, I always knew my name was an anagram for the city I lived in. It's why I let my mother change my surname when my parents got divorced. I thought it was funny. Then one day after work I was out at a bar and met a girl whose name was an anagram for Indianapolis. Great conversation starter, huh? And during the night I started to think, if you could find Indianapolis in Cleveland, then who could you find in Indianapolis? Indianapolis was only in town for a job meeting, so I followed her to her room, and killed her. It was very spontaneous of course, but very invigorating. I've been able to perfect my technique since, but the first is always the first... I was bored at work anyway, so I quit and went to Indianapolis, and it only took a week or so before I met Syracuse. It was so exciting, and I decided to see how far I could take it."
The way he kept referring to the women by their anagrams rather that their names made Reid uneasy. It was so degrading, and they didn't deserve it. "But why did you kill them?" he asked.
"What else was I supposed to do with them? Take photos and make a scrap book? Besides,what's a life or two in the grand scheme? Haven't you heard? The world is vastly overpopulated."
"So you killed them for environmental reasons?"
"Of course not, what do I care about the environment? I killed them because I could. It's really too bad that my little game has to end. Who knows who I might have found in Kansas City, and beyond that... I was thinking about branching out, going to other countries. But it's not like I'm getting reimbursed for my travel expenses, am I?" He smiled a crooked smile, one that Reid found it impossible to return. Had the man no conscience?
"Don't look so disapproving. That's just hypocritical of you. After all, you've killed too."
Reid hated that this man knew so much about him. "That was different," he said.
"Different? Oh, I've heard this before. Because it was a righteous shooting, it's okay. Killing is allowed in self-defense and defense of others... You know what I hear, Spencer? All I hear is that government sanctions make it okay to do things that are forbidden to others, as a way of establishing power-patterns and belittling those not in the inner circle. And you have been so indoctrinated into their mindset that you buy into it. You think that you are better than I am. But you know what? That does not change anything. A man is dead, because of a decision you made. You, Spencer, killed a man and he is dead and nothing will change that. It is no different from what I do."
Reid looked up at him, eyes ablaze with fury.
"No, Lance," he stressed the name to make is sound as accusing as Veld had just done. "The difference is that I did not want to kill him. I found no pleasure in it. I got no kicks out of it. The difference is that I went to that man's funeral and looked his mother and his sister in the eyes and stood up for my actions."
Hotchner was taken aback. He hadn't known that Reid had gone to Dowd's funeral. He had thought that Reid had been okay with the shooting. Had he been wrong?
But Veld wasn't moved at all. "You keep telling yourself that, Spencer, whatever makes you feel good. But some day, you'll come out of your protected environment and see things my way. You just need a better influence, that's all."
Reid did not want to go down that way, so he changed the subject.
"Why did you leave the footprints?"
"Artistic reasons. I thought they'd leave certain flare of noir. Also they'd keep you guessing."
"And you wrote their names on the walls, cleaned the drain… leaving signatures all over."
"I take pride in my work. I wanted people to notice. I have never been one to skulk around in corners."
"You wanted to be caught?"
"Well, hip hip hooray for the deduction skills of the FBI, but you are wrong. I merely wanted to be challenged. But it took forever for anyone to notice and even longer for anyone to figure it out. I assume you were the one. I was hoping there would be someone out there to match me, but you surpassed my wildest dreams. I thought you were a little slow when we first met in Las Vegas, that's why I left the cipher, to see if you really were the person I had read about. You see, I read up on you, as soon as I heard the BAU had my case. You were on sick leave then, which was a major disappointment. But you more than made up for it, you were very fast once you got started."
"What about 1956? What's the significance of that?"
"Oh, you picked up on that as well. Bravo! Well, 1 plus 9 plus 5 plus 6 equals 21. You grew up in Las Vegas. You must know that 21 is always the winner."
"And you think you'll win this game?"
The question was left hanging in the air.
----------------------------
Hotchner was in hell. There was no other way to describe it, having to sit here, waiting while Reid was bleeding at the mercy of the man who had hurt him, and not being able to do anything about it.
He thought that Reid was amazing. He could see how hard he was struggling to stay upright, to stay coherent, to stay conscious. He hated seeing him like this.
'Keep him taking, Reid,' he thought. 'Keep him talking and in a good mood, and maybe, just maybe, this won't end too badly.'
But he couldn't quite see how that was going to happen. His make-shift bandages were doing their job, but not well enough. Hotchner could see fresh blood on Reid's shirt. The cigarette burn glared angrily at him and his face was bruised. Reid was swaying a little and his chin kept dropping down to his chest, but it came back up every time and he kept talking, asking questions.
Hotchner was amazed with the young man's strength. But he hated that he had to be so strong. Sure, being an FBI agent was always connected with certain risks, but this was too much. It wasn't long ago that Hotchner had had to go to a hospital when he wanted to see Reid, and he didn't relish having to repeat the experience. And he most defiantly didn't want to visit his grave.
So far they had only talked, just like they had said, but for how long? Hotchner did not want to see Reid get hurt anymore, but how could he stop it? He was taking advantage of the fact that Veld didn't appear interested in his other hostages, so his hands were busy behind his back, trying to free himself. It was just tape, god dammit. If he could just get a tear somewhere… It was frustrating work, but looking at Reid made it feel easy.
----------------------------
Reid's head was swimming and it was difficult to concentrate. His body was pounding with the desire to lie down. He tried to listen to Veld's ranting, he really tried. He knew it was important. But odd thoughts kept popping up in his mind, good, bad and mundane all mixed together, and he couldn't stop them. He'd forgotten to water his plants before he left for Atlantic City… the book he'd read the night all his classmates were at their senior prom… the thick braid of auburn hair he always sat behind at his psychology class his junior year in college, what was her name again?… his freezer ought to be defrosted… the trick candle on his 24th birthday cake… the view from his mother's hospital window… the Flintstone socks one of his college roommates had worn for luck during midterms… He could feel himself starting to drift away.
"Are you even paying attention? How dare you be so insolent?"
Reid roused just in time to feel a hand close viciously around his throat. Veld had one large hand wrapped around Reid's throat and was squeezing. Reid's eyes widened as tried to draw breath, but Veld's hand tightened even further, putting pressure on his larynx. Reid started to struggle, but had no traction and nowhere to go and Veld was relentless.
Hotchner watched with his heart in his throat. His father's heart that had been awaken by a precious little soul just a few months ago, now screamed at him not to let one of his other kids get hurt. He couldn't sit still anymore.
"Stop it!" he shouted. "Stop it, he can't breathe!"
He stood up and took two steps in their direction.
Veld turned to him, gun pointing straight at his chest, the other hand still squeezing Reid's throat and Hotchner froze mid-stride.
"Sit down, agent Hotchner."
"Let him go, please." He didn't care that he was begging.
"As soon as you sit down."
Hotchner looked at Reid's face. His lips had taken on a tinge of blue and his eyes were panic-stricken. He stepped back again and sat down.
Veld released Reid who fell coughing and wheezing to the floor and then he descended on Hotchner. A powerful right-hook snapped his head around on his neck and pain immediately blossomed in his jaw. Veld grabbed his shirt and pushed him back until his chair was teetering on its back legs, threatening to topple over and pushed his face right into Hotchner's.
"Who do you think you are, to tell me what to do? I am your better and should be treated with respect!" He was so upset that he was spitting as he talked.
Hotchner had an uncomfortable flashback to his argument with Reid. Had he sounded like that?
"Do not interfere."
He then shook him again and released him. The chair toppled backwards. Hotchner's head bounced painfully against the floor and he gritted his teeth against the pain and the strain in his shoulders as his bound hands were caught underneath him.
When he looked up again Veld had left him. He was talking to Reid, dragging him up from the floor, wanting him to kneel. But Reid didn't have it in him anymore, though he put up a valiant effort.
Seeing something in his peripheral vision, Hotchner turned his head and saw a red purse, left on the floor by a hostage. It was lying on its side, and Hotchner suddenly had a flash of what Haley would keep in her purse. Nail file, keys, eyelash curler, and other sharp objects. He needed to get into that purse to find something to help cut the tape.
He looked back at Veld. He had gotten Reid up in a sitting position and was just pushing the gun into the waistband on his pants. Instead he pulled out his knife. "Guns are rather impersonal, don't you think? I've never really cared for them. A knife on the other hand, it becomes an extension of your arm, and extension of your mind. You can feel it as it tears through the flesh, unlike a bullet where you can only see it. There's a certain beauty in it…"
Hotchner closed his ear, hoping that Veld would stay theoretic and not want to demonstrate. The purse was only a couple of inches away and he sat up and started to wiggle towards it. Turning so that his back was towards the purse he bent back and searched for it with his hands, the whole time keeping an eye on Veld. When he felt the purse with his fingers he tried to get it into a position where he could reach the locking mechanism with his fingers. It appeared to just be a snap button on the side but it was difficult to get to it without dropping the purse. He began to sweat as he strained his arms ever further. The sound when it snapped open was so loud he thought it must have been heard in Timbuktu. Looking around he saw that many of the hostages were watching him. He glared angrily at them until they turned away. The last thing he needed was for Veld to look up and realize that he was the focus of attention. He'd might as well shout out, "I'm trying to escape, please catch me."
He slipped his hands into the purse, praying that he would find something in there to help him. After having gone through a lot of knick knacks he did indeed find a nail clipper. Bringing it up and extending the nail file on it, he began the slow work of sawing through the tape with his hands in an impossible angle.
----------------------------
When the robot arrived it came with a surprise.
"Have no fear, your fairy godmother is here!"
"Garcia?" Morgan was astounded. "What are you doing here?"
"They needed a technician to go with the robot and I volunteered. I have been known to work in the field every now and then, you know. Besides, I've worked on this baby, written new software for example. Making it bigger and better. Or rather smaller and better."
She put a special-made case on the table and lovingly opened it. From it she picked up the robot, about the size of a cereal box with caterpillar treads. She powered up her laptop and then pushed a couple of switches on the robot. A light was switched on in the front and on Garcia's laptop they could see an image of Garcia's midriff before she put the robot down on the table. Pushing different keys on her keyboard she made the robot move in different directions. Satisfied that everything was working, she tied the end of a string from a kite-handle at the back and handed it over to Greene.
"Have you figured out where it's going in?"
"Sure. The schematics are over there." He nodded to another table, and Morgan hurried to fetch them for her as Greene left the room.
"Keep hold of the string!" she called after him. "We have to be able to pull it back if it malfunctions."
"Malfunctions?" Gideon said skeptically.
"It almost never happens," Garcia said cheerfully.
----------------------------
Reid was tired. He hadn't slept much the night before and he'd been up for close to twenty hours now, not to mention that he'd been shot. He couldn't figure out why Veld was still here. He must know that time was running out, if he wanted to make an undetected escape.
Reid hoped that Hotchner would make his move soon. He hadn't quite understood his hint, but he knew him well enough to know that he was planning something.
"Hey, wake up!" Veld grabbed his jaw, digging his fingers in painfully, shaking his head until Reid was once again looking into his eyes with what he hoped was a steady gaze.
He wanted to scream at Veld to go away and leave him alone. To get his twisted little game over with. But instead he said, "What?"
"You sound irritated," Veld noted.
'No shit, Sherlock,' Reid thought, but his only answer was a glare, showing just how fed up he really was.
But Veld just laughed at him, and started regaling him with stories about the, in his opinion, stupid people he'd met during the last year. How they had all swallowed his rouse without blinking. The gullibility of the human race was apparently a pet subject of his.
Reid wondered what Veld really wanted from him. A slap on the back and a "Good job, partner"? Well, he was going to have to wait a long time for that.
----------------------------
Hotchner, however, could see very well how fed up Reid was and he was worried that Reid would soon do something incredibly stupid, just to get a reaction.
But at least he was making progress. The nail file had dug through most layers of tape and every few minutes he kept pulling his hands apart, hoping that he could tear the rest apart with brute strength. When the moment finally came he froze for a moment, making sure Veld hadn't heard or suspected anything.
Because of his extensive work with the nail clipper, circulation in his hands were not a problem. His shoulders, however, felt as if they had been ripped from their sockets. The other hostages still stole furtive glances at him, but they were not a threat. Veld was.
Hotchner waited until Veld had his back turned to him before he grabbed the gun from his ankle holster and quickly stood up.
He would never know if Veld had sensed the motion behind his back, if he'd seen him out of the corner of his eye or if had simply been expecting him to do something. But before Hotchner could even say something, Veld had pulled Reid up with an arm that he had treaded under Reid's bound ones, and then hooked around his torso He then pushed the knife firmly against Reid's throat, balancing on his jugular vein.
"Agent Hotchner," he said. "Have we not already done this once today? I don't know where you got the gun, but you would do best to put it down."
But Hotchner stood firm. This time, he vowed, he would not relent. This time he would come out the victor and Reid would be fine and there would be a happy ending for all those involved. Except maybe for Veld.
"Let him go, Veld," he growled.
"Or what?" Veld taunted him? "You'll shoot me? That will only result in Spencer's death as well. Is that what you want? Put down you gun and stop playing a hero."
Reid felt the cold steel bite into the skin next to his Adam's apple and it forced his chin up and his head back as he instinctually tried to get as far away from the knife as possible. But Veld was relentless, and the knife followed his movements, keeping the threat very real.
Besides the cold fear in his gut, Reid also felt very exposed and humiliated. He was standing helpless with a madman behind his back, staring at his boss, who was facing him with a loaded gun. Hotchner was trying to reason with Veld.
"This hotel is surrounded by FBI agents, where will you go?"
"Wherever I go today, I will take Spencer with me. You just have to ask yourself, is it worth it? Which do you want most? Me in prison, or him alive? You can't have both."
He illustrated his point by driving the knife through Reid's skin. Reid gasped as he felt the stinging pain, and the blood that started running down his neck.
"No," Hotchner said, inching closer. "There are other choices. We will find a solution that is satisfying for all of us. Let him go and I'll look the other way while you go down the dumbwaiter shaft you were talking about."
"I don't believe you. The moment I let him go, you'll kill me." Suddenly there was a hint of panic in his voice. Hotchner looked menacing and perhaps he had underestimated him.
"No one will die here today." Hotchner kept speaking to Veld, but for his last statement his eyes locked with Reid's.
"Please, trust me."
And Reid did.
Hotchner fired his gun.
----------------------------
TBC
