Note: Hey, again sorry for taking so long. Between work and church events, its been really really busy. Hope you enjoy it, and please pray for the real Doc. He and some of our people are again in Poland on mission trip. Last time they went I didn't know how dangerous it was and Doc hadn't practically adopted me as his own kid. I'm sure God will look out for them, but our prayers can't hurt. enjoy, please review, and I'll try to be quicker if there are still people reading this!:)
Hotch was starting to come around, and through his blurry vision saw Gideon slumped over in a chair opposite him. He wasn't clear on how they got there, but it was obvious to just about anyone that this was not good. "Gi-" His voice failed him, and he had to clear his throat and try again. "Gideon? Jason, wake up! Are you okay?"
Gideon stirred, but did not awaken. Hotch squirmed in his seat, trying to twist free of the duct tape holding him at the wrists, biceps, chest, ankles, and knees. It was no use. He was stuck. There was nothing to do but wait.
Unfortunately, there wasn't much time to wait. Doc opened the door, and strolled in. Ignoring both his captives, he slipped on a pair of gloves and absently wiped a streak of blood from Gideon's forehead with a piece of gauze. Glancing over, he noticed Hotch was awake. "Hey, you woke up quick. Pity. It makes it that much worse for you."
"What?" Hotch asked. "I've seen what you did to the other victims. I don't think there's much that can make it worse."
Doc seemed to consider it. "Physically, you're right. But think about it. You know what's coming. I still have some preparation before we get started, and you just have to sit there, waiting." He winced, looking sympathetic. "I'll hurry. There's no need to put you through the mental torture too."
Too? That could not be good. So he was the physical one, Gideon was the one forced to watch. Hotch felt sick to his stomach. Was it a lucky guess, or was Doc on the level of a profiler? It would hurt Hotch beyond measure to have to watch Gideon suffer for the purpose of evoking a reaction from him. But it would absolutely destroy the older man. It seemed that Gideon was always the one having to watch those he cared about suffer. He got there too late to save his girlfriend from Frank. Reid through first the Tobias Henkle ordeal then the struggle with drugs. His team in Boston. Assuming they survived it (you always have to assume you'll survive), this might be the final blow that would shatter the already cracked and battle-scarred psyche. Hotch clenched his fist tightly and vowed that he wouldn't make this horrific ordeal they were about to endure any tougher on his friend.
Of course, he knew he was deflecting, focusing on his friend's impending trauma rather than his own, but there were certain ingrained coping mechanisms in the human mind and they were there for a reason. Because they worked.
Doc finished hooking the ECG leads to Gideon and began working on Hotch, carefully cutting away the white button-up shirt with trauma shears. There was a spot of blood on the blades, and Hotch thought he recognized them as the shears tucked into Teri's belt the last time she had been seen. The thought slammed home to him, and he remembered what they had been doing there. "Teri and Trevor? Are they dead?"
An unreadable look crossed Doc's face, and that shook Hotch a little. He didn't like things he couldn't read. "No," Doc replied. "They're not dead. I haven't finished yet. You guys showed up, and…well, they're waiting for me to get done."
"Are they conscious?" A new voice spoke from behind them. Gideon cleared his throat as Hotch had to strengthen his voice. "Are they waiting somewhere in pain while you mess with us?"
Doc scowled at him. "What do you think I am? Some kind of monster?" His voice rose with rage. "Do you think I'm doing this for fun? I hate hurting people, but it's the only thing I can do to help! I didn't want to hurt Teri and Trevor, or any other people from my town. It hurt me as much as it did them!" The coldness settled back into his blue eyes, replacing the pain and regret. "You guys, though…I might enjoy this." He picked up a scalpel, flipped it around in his fingers, and stepped over to Hotch. "You're the ones who led Teri to figure it out. It's your fault I had to hurt them. Yeah, I might enjoy this…"
Without warning, he stepped up and jammed the scalpel into Hotch's side. Despite the promise he had made to himself about making it easier on Gideon, he could not keep back a small cry. It wasn't the scream that was threatening to emerge, but it brought an equally distressed cry from Gideon. Hotch struggled to get away as Doc drove three quick punches to the undamaged side of Hotch's abdomen, driving the air from his lungs. Another punch fell in the right side of his rib cage, and he groaned as the bones splintered.
He paused in the assault to check his data. "Great!" he said, clapping his hands. You guys are doing great! These readings are perfect!"
"What is this about? Why do you have to do this?" Gideon implored. "Why is it important?"
"I don't have time!" he exclaimed. "I don't have time to get into it! It just has to be done! I have to help!" He swung another punch at Hotch's ribs and reached for the table. "I have to finish. You guys and the Mitchells are the last. Then it'll be over and they'll be safer!" He picked up a taser from the table, placed it on Hotch's sternum. The electricity shot through his body, and he spasmed wildly in his bonds.
Tears streamed down Gideon's face at watching his friend, his protégé in such pain. Watching Reid go through the Henkle ordeal had been bad enough through the video feed, but this…sitting here in the room, watching this bastard torture Hotch was unbearable. He fought valiantly to free himself, but the tape held tight. Then a burst of inspiration hit. Josh Williams and Jimmy Hagar. If the one who was watching died, he killed the other. So if the one watching passed out…maybe he would stop for a while. Buy the others some time to find them. As Doc zapped Hotch again with the taser, Gideon slammed his head against the back of the chair. Hard. Then again. And again.