Chapter 17

AN: Hang on, boys and girls, 'cause the ride's just beginning.

Reid knocked her out with a fast, solid punch. He didn't bother using, and not only because of the dangers. He wanted it to hurt. A lot. Unfortunately for his intentions, Reid was a lot stronger than most people took him for, his lean, lithe build hiding his strength, and it only took one hit to steal away the redhead's consciousness. Once she was slumped back against the wall, Reid hurried back over to Kat's body. She was pale, so pale, the black liner around her eyes standing out in sharp relief against her skin. Her lips, which, he recalled, had been a lipstick-ed shade of deep, purplish red on the night she'd gone missing, were now cracked and dry. The lipstick was mostly gone, having been chewed away nervously. What was left was a softer, gentler color: fitting, really, considering her current state. And yet, it also struck him as wrong. Kat wasn't gentle, wasn't soft. Without really thinking about it, Reid knelt beside her, reached out a finger, and wiped it swiftly across her mouth. His finger came away red, with both residual lipstick and blood. Her lips, though, were now a more natural shade of pinkish-pale, albeit stained on one corner with drying crimson.

"Shit, Kat," he murmured, eyes staying locked on her face. Bad as that was, he'd rather see the faint bruise on her temple and the chalky paleness of her skin than the bloodied pad on her chest. "What am I gonna do now?" He lifted a hand, not sure what he was doing with it, and let it fall again. He wanted to touch her, and he wanted to run. Slowly, Reid sat back on his heels. He reached out and picked up Kat's right hand, holding it carefully in both of his own. He felt for her pulse, then pulled away quickly, disturbed at the slowness, the feebleness, of the beat. He felt strange and awkward holding her hand, so he laid it gently back down across her waist.

Reid blinked hard, drawing in a long, calming breath. He let it out with a woosh, dropping to sit with his legs drawn up to his chest, and leaned his forehead on his knees.

There in the cold, lonely room, with two unconscious bodies, covered in someone else's blood, Reid was afraid.

He was alone.

For the first time in his life, Reid was alone.

Always, always before, they'd been there. When he'd needed someone, when he'd hated the world, when he'd wished they'd just go away, the Four had been together. Now, if what the witch said was true, that was no longer true. The others were not here. They would not come. His Zipties had just broken.

And…

As much as he hated to admit it…

He didn't know what to do. Had no idea, in fact. Hadn't gotten any further than making sure Kat didn't bleed out onto the floor, and getting some info out of the redhead. Now they were trapped, and they had less than fourteen hours at best to live. Always before in situations like this, Caleb had been there to make the decisions. Reid had bitched, disagreed, argued, resented… and had obeyed, in the end. As much as he might rebel with his own life, Reid had never been willing to risk everyone because of his own pride. He had always known that Caleb, when it came down to the bitter end, was the better leader, the better planner. Not smarter, per say, but just… better at this whole how-to-stay-alive-and-beat-the-bad-guy thing.

And now Caleb wasn't there, and Reid was left with Kat's life on his shoulders and no. Way. Out.

As soon as she'd told him that he was trapped, Reid had of course tested it with his powers. He'd felt the barrier that had been so cleverly concealed when he charged in, and knew it was the truth.

No way out.

Check mate, indeed.

"No," Reid uttered harshly, head still on his knees. "Not like this." He hated the sound of his own voice, the fear he could hear in it. He looked up, looked around, saw himself as from above. A kid, a lonely, helpless kid sitting in the upright fetal position next to a dying girl and across from an unconscious psychopath. Blood everywhere. No sound. He tried, but couldn't really come up with a more pathetic image.

Disgusted, Reid got up and paced, gnawing at his lower lip. He didn't bother leaving the room: he'd seen on his way up. There was nothing else in the house. No furniture, no nothing. Just… empty.

Sighing, Reid stopped. This wasn't helping. Ok. What to do?

"Make sure Kat's all right," he said aloud, this time taking comfort in the sound. Following his own command, Reid went to the fallen girl. He checked her pulse again, found the same thready beat. There was a strand of sweaty dark hair mixed with a single clump of white across her forehead. Before he could stop himself, Reid had reached out and brushed it away. He stared at his hand: it was shaking. Suddenly, he took Kat's wrist again and found her pulse, almost desperately counting the beats. Somehow, seeing his fingers contrast against her skin so baldly as he moved her hair… it brought it all home again, and harder. It was really true. She was badly hurt. She was dying, and he was what? Just pacing around doing nothing? Waiting for the end? Waiting for Kat to take her last, faint breath here in this cold, ugly little room while some psycho bitch gathered the last drop of her blood and used it to perform whatever sick ritual she had planned?

Jaw clenched, Reid straightened away from the prone body before him. His hand, still resting lightly on Kat's forehead, buzzed with electricity as a shot of defiance coursed through him. He jumped back, cursing, as Kat's body jerked with the force of his stray energy shock. He watched in horror as an interconnected foam of red bubbles pushed through her lips to pop silently, sending tiny flecks of crimson across her cheeks and chin. Slowly, hazily, her eyes opened. They widened with a dumb kind of terror, an animal emotion made up of white-eyed panic and dilating pain. Reid fell to his knees and took her hand, not caring now about the awkwardness, staring helplessly at her weakly working jaw as she tried to speak. His gut ached and he wanted to retch as Kat found his gaze, the animal fear and pain in her eyes taming to a silent pleading: don't let this be real. Please, please, don't let this be real.

"Don't- don't try to sit up," he said, voice breaking as she coughed weakly and then let out a hiss of agony. She stopped moving, and he felt her hand spasm slightly in his. "It's gonna be ok," Reid told her, lacing their fingers together so she could feel his hand there. "I won't let you die."

"-hurts-" Her words brought another bubble of blood to her lips. He opened his mouth, but could find no words, so he just knelt there, holding her hand and her gaze as slow tears ran from the outer corners of her eyes and trailed down her temples into the silky tangle of her hair. "I- can't-"

"Shh. Don't try to talk, either."

"- feel-" The terror was present in her voice, a raw, trembling fear that brought to mind a dog caught in a bear trap, whimpering for rescue. It made Reid feel sick, the same kind of sick that seeing her lips tinted with that softer, rose-colored shade had made him. She shouldn't be this scared, this wounded. She shouldn't be…

"Kat," he whispered helplessly, watching the tears of pain and confusion and fear slide down her bloodless skin. She closed her eyes, either from exhaustion or... The weak grip her hand had on his relaxed, and the muscles of her face went lax. "Kat?"

He bent his head, listening for her breath, one hand going for her pulse.

"Come on. Come on, babe, breathe for me." Nothing. No weak rasp from her lungs, no thready, wavering pulse. His fingers searched her wrist, his grip tightening. "Come on!"

It took at least a minute for Reid to drop her hand and rise to his feet, stumbling backwards. He swallowed, face twisted with disbelief and the beginnings of a dangerous anguish.

She lay there, one hand across her waist, the other arm sprawled out to the side where he'd dropped it, head tilted towards him.

"My fault," Reid whispered, bringing his hand before his face and staring at the blood there. His eyes fell to Kat's still features. "My fault."

Dead.