The whole team, except for JJ, who was at the other end of the hotel, looking at evacuation plans with the hotel's security guards, stood crowded around Garcia as she announced that the robot had reached its goal.

"How're we supposed to see anything?" Elle asked. "Does the camera turn?"

"No," Garcia said, typing in a command. "There's a second camera underneath it on a small winch that can be lowered down."

They watched as the image on the laptop suddenly split in two. One half kept showing the ventilation shaft, while the other showed a grid with light shining through the slits and then Garcia let the latter image show on the whole screen. She moved the robot back a half-inch until she found an opportune placement for it. Then the camera dipped down, making the audience feel as if they were watching a tape of a rollercoaster ride, but it soon stabilized. At first they only saw a wall, but Garcia maneuvered it to turn, sweeping the room.

The image that filled the screen stayed burned into their retinas forever.

"Oh god," Elle gasped. The black-and-white image didn't hide the blood on Reid's shirt, the blood on his neck or the light reflecting off the knife at his throat.

"Gideon, we have to get in there now." Morgan's voice was full of rage.

"Garcia, sound please," Gideon said calmly, not showing any of the nervousness he felt.

With a shaky finger Garcia pushed a key and a surprisingly clear sound came from the speakers. Over the noise from the ventilation and the disturbed murmur from the hostages they heard Hotchner's clear voice.

"Please, trust me."

Then the shot rang out.

They were too late.


Aaron Hotchner was a good shot, and he knew it. He had a perfect stance. He rarely, if ever, missed his intended target. He knew how a gun felt in his hand and how it felt when it was fired. He knew how strong the recoil would be and how to counter it. He knew what kind of sound it made and what a bullet hole looked like when the bullet tore through the flesh. He knew how freshly fired gunpowder smelled. He knew what color the blood turned when it slowly dried on your clothes. He knew the screaming of the one who was shot, and the screaming of those who loved the one who was shot. He knew how to wound and how to kill. He knew what it felt like to go home at night knowing he had killed someone that day. But he had no idea how much it would hurt to have to shoot a friend.

When he had assessed the situation he had weighed all his options. He knew he could not let this go on any longer, he couldn't give Veld back power over the situation. He'd lost sight of his escape and instead focused on Reid, which made him dangerous. An unsub who didn't care about escape wasn't concerned about getting out of the situation. He might not even care if he came out of it dead or alive. And those did not care about the lives of the hostages either.

He could just shoot Veld in the head, but that would mean that he would fall backwards, dragging Reid with him, still trapped between Veld and the knife. The result could be disastrous. He needed to get the knife away from him, but he couldn't shoot it out of his hand without hitting Reid's neck. So he took careful aim at Veld's wrist.

The bullet shattered Veld's right ulna, making him drop the knife immediately. But on the other side of Veld's wrist was Reid's right shoulder and the bullet continued right through it and didn't stop until it was lodged into Veld's shoulder.

The mewing sound that escaped Reid's lips would haunt Hotchner's dreams for a long time to come. What he didn't know at the time was that the bullet had broken Reid's collarbone.

Veld did fall to the floor, and he did take Reid with him, but without the knife it wasn't dangerous. Hotchner hurried forward anyway. He knew that Veld had the gun stuck into the back of his waistband.

He grabbed the front of Reid's shirt and hauled him up, lifting him off Veld, just enough so that he could roll the man over and grab the gun and throw it out of reach. His handcuffs were over at the bar with his jacket, so he had no way of securing him. He patted him down briskly, but found no other weapons.

"Stay right there," he warned. "Don't move."

Veld did move, however, rolling back onto his back so he could grab his injured wrist in his other hand. His eyes were shooting daggers and he was cursing wildly.

Hotchner immediately moved back to stay out of Veld's range, should he try anything. He grabbed Reid by the scruff of the neck and dragged him back with him.

"Do not move," he repeated and Veld obeyed, staying seated, clutching his hand to his body, rocking slightly to counteract the searing pain in his wrist and shoulder.

Reid ended up sitting on the floor, leaning heavily against Hotchner's legs, panting harshly. His head hung limply and he seemed only semi-aware. Hotchner didn't dare move his eyes or his concentration off Veld, but he needed help.

The hostages sat in a shocked silence, and since they were all tied to their chairs they could not help him, except…

"Miss Sicks," he called.

"Yes?" Her voice trembled a little as she stood up, her eyes darting between the gun in his hand and the bloodied Veld on the floor, who had now gone quiet, satisfied with staring Hotchner in the eyes, daring him to break the connection first.

"Miss Sicks, would you be so kind as to open the door and let the other agents in?"

She stood still for a moment before realizing that it wasn't really a question.

Hotchner could hear her behind his back as she hurried across the room, could hear the rattle as she released the latches in the floor, the trouble she was having with trying to turn the lock with her hands still bound behind her back and finally her voice as she timidly told someone,

"Agent Hotchner says it's okay to come in now."

He heard the trample of feet and could sense the rest of his team as they came up on both sides of him.

"Have you got him?" he asked tersely.

"Hotch, you okay?" Morgan asked.

"Have you got him?"

"Yes, we've got him."

The second he got confirmation he holstered his gun and sunk to his knees, taking hold of Reid, giving his tired body extra support. When Reid felt the safe arms around him his body relaxed and slumped even harder against Hotchner, his forehead resting against Hotchner's neck. Hotchner could feel hot blood soak through his shirt. He was heartsick when he saw all the blood. There was so much of it… For a moment, but only a moment, he allowed tears to form in his tired eyes, before he resolutely blinked them away.

"Hey, how're you doing?" Hotchner asked softly into Reid's hair.

There was no reply, no reaction.

"Reid?"

Crooking his arm around Reid's neck he tilted his face up. His eyes were closed, his mouth partly open. Hotchner pressed two fingers to the pulse point on his throat and held them there. When he finally realized he wasn't going to feel anything, no matter how long he waited, he became frantic.

"Gideon! Gideon, help me! He doesn't have a pulse!"

He desperately tore at the tape around Reid's wrists, needing to be able to lay him down flat. One single thought was running through his head. 'Please, please, please, please, please, please, please…' The tape was slick with blood, making it difficult to get a grip, but it finally tore apart under his desperate fingers, and he gently lay Reid down on the floor, holding a hand under his neck to support his head. He ripped his shirt open in one move, buttons flying all over the room.

Someone was calling for an ambulance, he wasn't sure who. Maybe it was him?

Gideon fell to his knees on the other side of Reid, tilting his head up, holding his own breath as he listened for Reid's, but he couldn't hear anything. Hotchner's trembling fingers were tracing Reid's ribcage, finding the xiphoid process of the sternum and measured two fingers up. Putting one hand on top of the other, duct tape still clinging to his wrists, he began compression. In the mean time, Gideon had pinched Reid's nose, opened his mouth by holding his jaw and was giving him mouth-to-mouth. Together they got into a pattern with five compressions, then a breath, five compressions, then a breath…

Elle had been helping free the hostages, but left one of them with only one arm free and rushed over when she heard Hotchner's desperate plea. She was left standing over them, with her arms wrapped around her own body, not being able to tear her eyes from Reid's lifeless face.

Morgan, who was almost sitting on the squirming Veld, trying desperately to secure him, started yelling for back-up. Fisher and Greene hurried over, grabbing hold of Veld to free Morgan to go to his team. Seeing that Reid was being taken care of, he did the only thing he could think of. He wrapped his arms around Elle, pulling her close, feeling her tears against his neck as she twisted her head to keep her eyes on Reid.

"Come on, Reid. Come on, buddy," he chanted under his breath. "You can do it."

Garcia sat riveted, staring at the black and white image on her laptop, unconsciously gnawing on a thumbnail. She wanted to go in there, be in the room, hold someone's hand. But she couldn't move. She was deadly afraid that something would happen on the way from here to there, that she'd miss something, that she'd be too late. She one-handedly fumbled with her cell phone and called JJ.

Several agonizing minutes passed.

When Gideon suddenly swayed and had to put his hands on the floor to support himself, Morgan pushed him out of the way to continue the mouth-to-mouth. Gideon had given Reid all his oxygen and kept none for himself, and now he sat panting next to him, a hand on his head, unwilling to relinquish the physical contact. His thumb moved in soothing circles over Reid's hair.

Elle fell to her knees next to Gideon, clutching his other arm. Gideon turned his head and kissed her temple, not knowing if he wanted to comfort her or himself. Together they kept a silent vigil, watching their teammates fight to save their friend.

In the middle of everything JJ came rushing in. She came to a sudden stop at the heart wrecking sight, and clasped both her hands over her mouth in horror, as if to stop the silent cry building in her chest. Elle looked up and saw her, extending an arm to bring her into their midst, where the team clung together, seeking solace in each other's presence.

During all this time Reid lay motionless on the floor, his features lax, not responding to their efforts, a blood pool forming under him. No one had bound his second gunshot wound yet.

Hotchner was blind to the world. He didn't notice his teammates or the other people moving around them. No sounds reached his ears, no other sights reached his eyes. All he was aware of was the harsh elasticity of Reid's ribs as they moved under his hands, the red blood that covered his chest and Gideon's fingers repeatedly seeking out Reid's pulse point, but never finding the positive response they were hoping for. 'Please, Reid,' he kept thinking, 'Please, please, wake up. I'm so so sorry. Please, Reid. Please.'

Had it been an eternity yet?


TBC