"Reid… call CDC and inform them… that we have a situation involving… a possible bioweapon."

The pain was too strong to ignore or hide anymore. Hotch doubled over, both arms wrapped around his abdomen, brows lowered, eyes squeezed shut and his teeth gritted together to keep himself from screaming.

Reid watched in horror, not entirely sure what to do.

"Hotch, can you hear me? What symptoms are you experiencing?"

Reid's words were ringing through his pounding head, and he wished for the boy to just, for once, be quiet. Everything around him felt overpowering and out of place. He groaned, trying to acknowledge the young agent the best way he could but his skull felt like it was breaking through his head and his insides were twisting into a knot.

A sudden wave of nausea washed over him and he barely had time to excuse himself before he ran to the toilet and emptied the whole content of his stomach. Reid made a mental note to add nausea and vomiting to his growing list of symptoms as he made his way to the on-suite bathroom. He found Hotch on his knees, hugging the toilet for dear life, one violent hurl after the other, his chest heaving and back arching.

His throat was on fire as he expelled the last remains of his breakfast, not regretting barely eating anything for lunch. He had hardly touched anything for the last week and a half, but he always made sure to cook a nice meal for Jack - usually his favorites. When his stomach had finally stopped churning and the onslaught of vomit had quieted down, he slowly got up on shaky legs, flushed the toilet and looked at Reid. Dark rings supported his red and puffy eyes as tears trickled down his pale face and sweat shimmered in the yellow bathroom light.

"We need…" Hotch was struggling to speak without sharp pain shooting through his head with each syllable. He took a deep breath, steadied himself on the edge of the sink and used all his energy to finish what he needed to say. "We need to seal this place off… Close all windows, air vents and gaps leading to the outside…Get a spare set of clothes for me in the bedroom and… please, whatever happens… keep Jack in his room. "

Hotch's body was swaying and another stab of pain almost sent him tumbling to the ground. Reid rushed over to offer him a supportive hand, but Hotch extended his arm towards him, signaling Reid to stay back.

"Don't…come an-any closer… please." He held onto the sink, his arm shaking from the continuous strain.

"Hotch, you need help"

"You…c-can't…toxin"

"Hotch, I've been here the whole time. It's highly likely I've already been exposed, it'll just take longer."

Hotch stared at Reid and his face dropped. He was right. Reid had been there this whole time, sitting next to him while he was starting to show symptoms. If Reid died, it would be his fault.

Reid noticed the shift in Hotch's face and body language and quickly added "But I feel fine. It's possible I haven't been…but my point is that we are in this together. Let me help you. "

Hotch silently nodded, too exhausted to argue. Reid went and wrapped Hotch's free arm around his shoulder, supporting his weight until he could steady himself and the wave of pain had subsided.

Hotch leaned his whole weight against the sink, trying as best as he could to turn on the water and pour some into his palm. His movements were sluggish and his hand couldn't hold the water long enough for it to reach his mouth. He sighed in defeat and moved his mouth under the running tap, not caring that more water was running down his neck than into his mouth. The cold liquid was so refreshing against his burning throat.

With shaky legs and Reid's support, he moved towards the shower. They had no high-pressure hose for the decontamination so a shower would have to do.

"Where are your scissors?" Reid asked casually as he slowly let go of Hotch. Even in his current condition, Hotch still managed to look at Reid like he had suddenly grown another head.

When he didn't get an answer, Reid continued "Any clothing that has to be pulled over the head should be cut off to avoid contact with the face." He turned around towards the door, ready to go find the scissors on his own accord.

Hotch sighed. "Top drawer…on the right"

It didn't take long until Reid was back, scissors in hand and sporting a satisfied smile. He had found them on his first attempt, no messy rummaging through drawers or hunting around the apartment blindly.

Hotch tried his best to cut through the fabric of his sweaty gray shirt. His arm felt heavy and weak and his fingers were cramping around the handles. No matter how much strength he put into the task, the fabric barely split. After the third attempt, Hotch let out a frustrated groan and let his arm fall down in surrender, scissors barely balancing in his grip.

With no words needed between them, Reid stepped slowly forward and removed the scissors from Hotch's hand. He locked eyes with Hotch, a silent reassurance that he could be trusted with this, before moving to Hotch's back, gently positioning the fabric between the two blades. Being careful not to touch the skin, he moved the scissors slowly up his back, cutting the shirt from hem to neck. Not in a million years had Reid imagined that he would be standing here, cutting the clothes of his boss's shaking body.

As bare pale skin revealed itself inch by inch, it occurred to Reid that he would soon have to undress as well. Even though he hadn't been in direct contact with the toxin, he knew the right procedure for decontamination was to scrub down everyone who could be contaminated. Anxiety started to rise through his body, his heart beating out of his chest. He had never exposed himself to anyone before. Even in gym classes in school he had waited till the rest of the boys had showered and dressed before taking off his kit. It wasn't just because of body insecurities. He knew if he dug deep enough, he would probably find some form of childhood trauma hiding at the edges of his subconscious, but it was a place he did not want to explore.

Hotch's body shuddered as the fabric separated, sending goosebumps traveling up his back and out to the rest of his body. He stared at his shaky hands, cursing his frail and weakened state. He hadn't been this helpless since the time Foyet's blade had nearly killed him. It had taken him weeks to recover at the hospital, nurses always hovering around him like he was a small child incapable of doing anything by themself. Determined to regain some of his independence, he took a deep breath and pulled as hard as he could on his shirt, making sure to get both arms out of the sleeves. It wasn't the easiest thing to do, but right now he just needed a win, no matter how small.

Hotch stood with his shirt in his hand, not quite sure what to do with it. His mind felt foggy and he struggled to think. He leaned against the wall for support, his head pounding louder than ever and that was when he saw it. Something right in front of him that gave him an idea.

Reid watched as Hotch moved to a plastic laundry basket standing neatly in the corner by the shower. He admired Hotch's thinking as the man opened the lid and placed his torn-up shirt through the opening. The contaminated clothes needed to be contained and Hotch might have found the best temporary solution until a more permanent one would be available.

As Hotch turned around to walk back towards the shower, Reid saw, for the first time, the ten angry raised scars on his bare torso and arms. They were all pink, still healing from the violent penetrations of Foyet's blade. A long scar ran down his sternum, a surgical one Reid guessed as he tried to revert his eyes. Some were longer than others, slithering their way across his flesh and painting a vivid picture of the horrors that occurred that night.

He had never considered the reality of it. He had joked with Garcia about it on those quiet days after the stabbing when the incident was still very fresh and people didn't know how to cope. He had been more occupied by the idea of Hotch's blinking abilities than the man's trauma and healing process. Being faced with it now and watching his discomfort and insecurity as he covered his chest, made Reid feel extremely guilty.

The look of shock and disbelief in the young man's face had made Hotch very aware of his sudden vulnerability. He had never shown his scars to anyone, not even his doctor when they turned red and infected. They were his to carry, no one else. A constant reminder of the day he lost everything.

To make things even, Reid quickly took off his vest and unbuttoned his shirt. He was wearing too many clothes for a warm summer's day, but it was the clothes that made him feel comfortable. The familiar feeling of anxiety was rising in his chest, but he needed to show Hotch that he wasn't alone in this. He closed his eyes, trying to regain control of his emotions as he removed his tie from around his neck. He had no visible scars on his body to be ashamed of, but he did have a horrid past that was remembered by tiny pale marks in the crook of his right elbow.

"Reid, what are you doing?" Hotch asked in a state of pure shock as the younger man suddenly stood half naked in front of him.

"The right procedure is to decontaminate every person who has been in or near the exposure site and since your whole living room is now the exposure site -" Reid waved around with his hands to demonstrate his point. "- that includes me."

Without paying much attention to Hotch's half dangling jaw, Reid moved past him to place his clothes into the basket, discarded his pants and briefs and walked right into the shower.

Hotch was left standing alone in the bathroom, struggling to unhook his button from its loop. His hands were cramping and shaking and his thumb and index finger couldn't quite get hold of the silver knob. He sucked his belly in, trying to provide more space for his fingers and loosen the hem but the short intake of breath left him winded. He needed to do this. He wasn't going to ask Reid who was now standing nearby and toweling off, avoiding any glimpse in Hotch's direction. He could do this himself.

Five tugs and a near fall later and Hotch was finally ready to have his shower. Standing in only his boxers, he watched as Reid turned towards him, a towel wrapped around his skinny waist and his long hair in an untamable mess.

"Do you by chance have any clothes that i could borrow?" Reid asked with an awkward smile as he fiddled with his hands in front of him. His head was lowered and his eyes were momentarily looking up at Hotch to check if his boss had understood his question. He knew that none of Hotch's clothes were going to fit him perfectly, but thanks to their almost shared height, pants and shirts might fit him better than anyone else.

Hotch nodded. "In the bedroom -" was the only thing he managed to say before Reid had left the bathroom, eager to get away from the awkward situation that had been brewing around them since their clothes were shed.

Finally, all alone, Hotch pulled off his boxers in one swift motion and threw them with the rest of his discarded clothes. He turned on the water and let his hand dive under the flowing beam, feeling the cold water slowly turning hot in his palm. The thought of taking a shower had primarily been about getting rid of any traces of toxin, but the longer he was standing there, listening to the flow of water and feeling the warmth on his fingers, the more he craved it.

He glanced at the door, making sure Reid wasn't anywhere in sight, before stepping into the nice hot shower. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, letting the water wash all his pain and worries away. For just a moment he felt normal, like the day never happened. He washed his hair thoroughly, taking his time massaging the shampoo into his scalp before dipping his head back underneath the water.

He opened his eyes to reach for the soap and everything around him was suddenly blurry. With wet fingers he rubbed at his eyes, hoping he'd just gotten a little shampoo in them. He pushed his worry aside, fumbling through the unclear patches of colors that were now his vision, and felt something hard and slippery on his fingers. He closed his hand around it and brought it closer to his face, studying it intensely to see if he could pick out any clear shapes or lines. It was all just a blur, a mixed palette of different shades of white and gray.

He bent down to wash his legs and felt another dizzy spell hitting him out of nowhere. He straightened himself up and suddenly had no idea where he was. The cubicle seemed to shift and shape in front of him, every wall looking exactly alike. There was no sign of the sliding door or the knobs, no matter how many times he turned around. He felt his heart racing and his breathing escalate. He was having a panic attack.

Head spinning and chest rapidly moving, he slid down the nearest cold wall until he was sat hugging himself on the shower floor, water gushing next to him. He closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing, his whole body spinning from lack of oxygen. The numbness in his fingers were spreading rapidly up his arms and into his chest. He squeezed his hands, trying to get the blood pumping and get some movement into his extremities. He needed to get up, to finish the shower before Reid would find him in a worse state than he had already seen him in.

One hand at the time, he pushed himself up on shaky legs, using the walls to steady himself. He took a final deep breath, clearing his mind from any doubt, fear and hesitations and moved his hands in front of him to find the sliding door that blocked his only way out.