Me: What do you do when you have writers block and you're on a deadline?

Dad: I don't know, sweetheart.

Me: I'm still working on the story for that contest and I've come a part where I have to write a fight scene and I'm not good at those.

Dad: Well I've seen a lot of movies and no one in Hollywood is either.

Me: (laugh) Well I don't have the luxury of having actors to make it look good; it just has to sound good.

Dad: You'll get it.

Me: (grumbles) you're no help.


"H-Hotch please," Reid begged, trying in vain to remain calm, "Please don't do this. L-let me h-help you."

"No one can help me now," the killer's vicious voice came from the back of his throat.

"Y-yes I can. If you just wait for Morgan and Rossi, we can all figure out how to make this easiest on you and Jack. Please, Hotch. Think about Jack, will you?"

Once again, Hotch's fist went through a wall. This time his fist flew past Reid, missing his face by barely an inch, smashing through the wall behind him. "Don't tell me about my son, you know-it-all piece of shit!"

Reid defensively raised his hands in front of him. "I-I'm sorry, Hotch. I didn't mean-"

"SHUT UP!" Hotch roared in Reid's face. The overwhelming smell of liquor on Hotch's breath combined with his own fear made him want to vomit.

Hotch ripped his hand out of the wall, and with the other forcefully shoved Reid against the wall so hard that it almost knocked the air out of Reid's lungs.

Reid could still breath, but it was difficult to say the least. He was more filled with more terror in that moment than he had been at any time before in his life.

Raphael was nothing compared to this.

Reid had very little time, less than two seconds in fact, to process his next series of thoughts. Was Hotch about to kill him? How could he talk him down? Was it even possible to talk Hotch down at this point? How on God's green earth (and Reid didn't even believe in God) was he going to get out of this alive? Would he be better off if he fought him? Could Reid fight him? Was he physically capable of fighting Hotch?

Fight or flight?

Reid was well aware of the affect that adrenalin and the mixture of other brain chemicals released during high-stress situations could have on ones ability to perform a difficult physical task requiring strength and agility that may otherwise be lacking, as well as the fact that the logic of the conscious mind was less prone to inhibit the survival instinct of the subconscious mind in situations such as the one with which he was currently faced.

Hotch's hand moved to Reid's neck, not applying enough pressure to restrict breathing, but enough to keep Reid pinned.

Fight or flight?

The flight option was gone, leaving Reid with only one choice.

Reid grabbed Hotch's outstretched arm by the elbow and squeezed two highly sensitive pressure points while at the same time kicking his friend turned assailant in the shin.

Hotch cried out in pain and reached for Reid's neck with his free hand. Reid pushed him away and kicked him again, eliciting another pained yell as Hotch fell to the floor.

Fight or Flight?

Reid had a clear path to the door now. Or so he thought. Reid mad a mad dash for the door, but no sooner had he gripped the doorknob than Hotch grabbed Reid by the ankle and pulled him to the ground. He gripped his ankle tightly; Reid could barely move his leg. Hotch pulled himself closer to Reid, trying to crawl on top of him. Reid tried to kick Hotch with his lose leg, but his attacker dodged his foot.

Reid found an opportunity to pull his leg free, however, when Hotch seemed to be momentarily distracted by something. Had he realized what he was doing and stopped on his own? Reid would have no such luck, because as soon as he had crawled as far back from Hotch as the placement of the dining set would allow, he realized what was wrong.

Hotch's eyes were fixed on the cabinet drawer where Reid new that Hotch kept his gun. Reid also knew that when Jack was not home, the gun was kept loaded.

"Hotch!" Reid said warning and pleading at the same time.

Fight or Flight?

All of a sudden, the air in the room changed and something snapped inside both desperate men. At almost the same precise moment, they both darted in the direction of the cabinet. Hotch, being closer, reached the drawer half a second before Reid did, and for the next minute or so they were a tangle of struggling limbs and aggressive grunts as they fought for possession of the handgun.

Just when Hotch was beginning to gain the upper hand, they heard a sound that Reid knew was his saving grace: trampling footsteps coming up the stares. The distraction was enough for Hotch to quickly yank the gun out of Reid's hands and level it to his head. Reid raised his hands in surrender just as he heard Morgan's voice yelling from the other side of the door.

"FBI!"

Three, two, one.

With one fluid motion the door down came with a loud crash and Morgan stepped inside, followed closely by Rossi.

"Hotch," Morgan warned, "We all know that this is not how you want things to be, so let Reid go and put the gun down."

"You don't know what the fuck I want, Morgan!"

"We know you don't want to hurt your team, Aaron," Rossi answered for his teammate. "Look at the kid, he's terrified."

"Reid," Morgan tried to comfort their former boss' hostage and gave a barely noticeable nod. Reid gave his friend a knowing look. It was mutually understood what Reid was supposed to do.

Slowly, Reid shifted to one side then took one small step towards Morgan and Rossi.

"Don't fucking move!" Hotch commanded. "Do you think I'm a fucking idiot, you little brat?"

Reid shook his head rapidly. "N-no, Hotch, you're not an idiot. You're one of the most brilliant men I know!"

"Don't kiss my ass you scrawny little prick!"

"Let him come to us, Hotch," Moran insisted, speaking firmly but remaining calm. "Let Reid come to us, then we can talk."

"Talking won't help me anymore," the gunman who had once been their friend argued.

"Neither will shooting Reid," Rossi reasoned. "If you pull that trigger you won't out live him by two seconds, and don't think that just because we're old friends I'll hesitate to kill you, Aaron."

"Look, Hotch," Reid began trying to negotiate his own way out, "You told Morgan that he doesn't know what you want. You're absolutely right; we don't know what you want. I came over here not intent on accusing you or interrogating you, but helping you. I still want to help you, Hotch, but you need to tell us what you want."

"I…" Hotch hesitated and began to slowly come down from his anger, it was visible on his face. He lowered the gun a few inches and averted his eyes. "I want her back, Reid."

"Hotch," Reid said in a manner that was as soothing as possible considering the fact that he still had a gun to him. "Hailey…she was gone before Foyet. Before you even divorced, the marriage was over. But all of that is beside the point. The point is that Hailey is gone. She's dead. And I know that makes you angry, but at some point you will have to accept it."

Hotch looked up again, this time making eye contact alternating between Morgan and Rossi. "I want her back," he repeated.

"Reid's right," Rossi said. "Aaron, listen to me. Hailey is dead. I want you to say it. 'Hailey is dead.'"

Hotch shook his head as if trying to clear it of an unwanted thought. "No. I want her back. I love her and I need to get her back!"

Just as Reid was about to take advantage of Hotch having his gun down, Re raised his gun again, this time straight at Morgan. Reid did not have time to react before the shot rang out.


I know what I said last chapter, but the death will have to wait until next chapter!