Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds or its characters. This is purely for my and others' enjoyment.
Dr. Spencer Reid had never planned on buying a piano, to be honest, he had never seen the point. Between the cases he was handed at the Bureau and the number of intellectual journals he corresponded with, there simply weren't enough creative juices flowing through the young genius' brain to focus on taking on a hobby. He had also seen it as a waste of time, if only because the music could easily be rewritten as math. It wasn't until meeting Sammy that he had found that, while simple in some aspects, there was a beauty in the melody created by his own hands. In a way, music was its own language, with the true meaning only known to those who played. He hadn't told anyone of this, assuming that the others would either be too busy to care or would tease him. While he had become somewhat accustomed to the good-natured needling of his teammates, there were times when some of the comments hurt.
While his mother had always told him that he was incredible and that he had nothing to be ashamed of for being so extraordinary, he felt his life would be so much easier if he was ordinary. He loved his abilities and how they made his job that much easier, but just once, he wished that he could relate better with his peers. He winced as his eidetic memory replayed the conversation he'd had with Seaver, "I'm sorry," "For what?" "Asking." She had come up to him and tried to find a common ground for their interests, and all he'd done was lecture her about how her show was a rip off of Doctor Who; not one of his finer moments. Ashley had been with the team for a month, yet he was still so awkward around her. He suspected it largely had to do with, in addition to being incredibly pretty, she was closest anyone had ever been to him in age. Although she was twenty-six and he was twenty-nine, the three-year age difference was nothing compared to the age difference he shared with his teammates. Hotch easily had twenty years on him and both Morgan and Prentiss had at least a decade on him. Rossi was old enough to be his father, and Garcia had been in college by the time his dad had left. The only one, before Seaver, even remotely close to him in age was JJ, and even then, there had been a five-year age difference.
The thought of his perky blond friend brought a nostalgic smile to his face, it didn't matter that he saw her for brunch every weekend, it just wasn't the same as the 1,820 days they'd spent working cases together. The practical jokes they'd played on Morgan, the laughs they'd had with Garcia, the bond they formed; it was all gone. He knew his feelings were ludicrous, JJ wasn't dead and it was normal for co-workers to come and go, but he couldn't help feeling that her exit had ripped a hole in his heart. Their relationship had always been more intimate than that of anyone else on the team, never romantic, but stronger than what would arise from the normal bonds between co workers. He had been to talk to her about almost everything, from dating advice to dealing with the emotional backlash of dealing with his mom, without the fear that she would ever judge him or repeat his words to the others; no matter how dark they may be. Not even Morgan was privy to every worry he had.
There had only been two times where Spencer hadn't been entirely forthcoming with JJ. The first had been after his rescue from Tobias Hankle, and the second had been, well, now. He had been experiencing excruciatingly painful headaches for the past two months, but had told no one, not even JJ. It wasn't that he didn't trust them or that he didn't think they would care, but that he did not wish to see them worry. They all had enough on their plates without him adding his problems to the mix. No, it was better for everyone if he kept it to himself, at least until he had a better understanding of the tricks his mind might be playing on him.
The warmth of a body in the seat next to him roused him from his musings, if only because he always took the subway when the minimal amount of passengers would be present. Evidently this would not be the case tonight, for it seemed everyone and their brother wanted to ride this train. Quelling an exasperated sigh, Reid attempted to shift his focus back to the internal argument he was having with himself. Would he or wouldn't he mention the headaches to anyone? "Rough night?" his neighbor asked. Reid glanced over, immediately taking in the ruggedly-built older man. He would appear young if not for the grey in his hair and beard, and looked if he would be unsuited for the dark suit he wore. Not wanting to appear rude, Spencer muttered, "Rough week." The man grinned with a smile that didn't reach his dark eyes. "I imagine working in the BAU would be difficult for anyone, wouldn't you agree Spencer?"
Reid's head snapped upward at the mention of the BAU. Who was this guy? "I wouldn't if I were you." The mystery man said, catching the hand sliding for his messenger bag. "What do you want?" He asked, hoping to diffuse the already tense situation. The dark eyes bore into his, "We're going to get off at the next stop," the man said, "And you're going to willingly come for a ride." Spencer's glared at the man, "And if I don't?" He asked, estimating the probability of him being able to draw his gun before any casualties occurred (about 37.86%). His neighbor chuckled, "Well, in addition to my men and I shooting up this entire train of innocent bystanders," Reid's eyes flickered to the four men seated around their general vicinity; "I have another chip that might interest you." The man pulled out an iPad and handed it to him. Confusion lined Reid's face, followed by worry as he realized exactly what he was seeing. There was a truck outside the building the BAU was housed in, and within the truck, was enough C-4 to level the entire building. The others! He thought, not knowing whether or not anyone was still working. He silently cursed himself for leaving his cell phone at the office, there was no way for him to call and warn them.
Realizing the implications of the situation he was in, he turned to his neighbor and stated, "I go willingly, and your man disables that bomb." The man smiled at this. "You come willingly, and no one needs to die tonight." he confirmed. Reid's shoulders slumped in defeat, "alright, what do you want me to do?" "Cuff your hands behind your back." his neighbor ordered. As inconspicuously as possible, Reid drew out the standard issue handcuffs and slipped one loop on his left hand. His shoulders slumped further at the second pinch; rendering him incapacitated. With a slow exhale he asked, "now what?"
The man gave no indication he had heard Reid's words, but only slipped a heavy duster over Reid's shoulders, effectively hiding the other man's bound hands. "Son," he said, "are you feeling alright? You look so pale." Reid gave a believable cough and leaned against the cool window pain. The man's features clouded with false concern, "Come on," he said in a reassuring tone, "this is our stop." An arm encircled his shoulders, pulling him upright. Reid allowed his captor to usher him off the subway, noting that the man's henchmen picked up his piano as they exited. The velocity of the departing train blew his sideswept chestnut curls into his eyes, partially clouding his vision. Spencer's mind raced, attempting to think of some escape, while he attempted to effectively play the role of a ill son being helped by his father. The strong hands pulled him up the stairs and into the crisp winter air. Ironic, he thought with bitter amusement, four years and six days since Tobias took me and now I'm in the clutches of another psychopath.
He allowed himself to be led across the street from the terminal and into a dimly-lit alley, where a darkly-tinted van was waiting. The man's associates, who had previously been walking behind him, were now throwing the van's back doors open. They've tossed my keyboard, he noted, why not just leave it on the subway then? His musings were cut short by the hard shove to his shoulder. "Get in!" his captor commanded. With slight difficulty, Spencer maneuvered himself so that he was seated on the floor of the back of the van. His unadjusted eyes noted a bucket seat facing rear traffic, as well as multiple chains sunken into the vehicle floor. A meaty hand grabbed the collar of his sweater, yanking him backward. "Hands!" a gruff voice commanded. Spencer obliged to the best of his abilities, reaching his cuffed hands as far behind him as he could.
The owner of the meaty hand attached one of the vehicle's chains to his left arm before uncuffing him. "Sit!" it's owner commanded. Reid scrambled into the bucket seat, as someone resecured his hands behind the seat, while another henchman attached a chain to each ankle. His captors spent five minutes testing and retesting the chain securing his cuffed hands to the vehicle floor, as well as the ones encircling each of his ankles. It was only when they he was assured of his captive's inability to escape did the dark-suited man approach him. "Breathe into this," he said, holding a rag towards Spencer's face. Spencer glared up at him, "Why?" he snarled. The other man chuckled at his insolence, "I just want to make sure that your trip is as uneventful as possible. But, if you would prefer I call my associate." No!" Panic and desperation was laced through Spencer's voice. "No, please. I'll do whatever you want. Just call off your man!" he begged. His captor smiled and held out the rag. Without a moment's hesitation, Spencer breathed deeply. The acrid scent overloaded his senses and the darkness swiftly took him.