Burning. That was all Spencer could feel, extending from the tips of his numb fingers to his toes. His entire being felt as though it was on fire. His ribs ached with each wheezing breath. His brown curls clung to his forehead which glistened with cold sweat. Spencer felt like he was suffocating. The congestion in his nose made breathing almost impossible, aside from the occasional whistling of air trying to squeeze its way past his inflamed nasal passages. Am I dying?... I didn't even get to say goodbye… JJ… Henry and Michael… The team… Spencer desperately tried to open his eyes but even his eyelids hurt which he did not think was biologically possible. A figure swam before his eyes. His vision, already abysmal without his spectacles, was hindered significantly by the drugs in his system. Spencer squinted, desperately trying to figure out who was stood before him. As he slowly raised his head to get a better look, Spencer's eyes widened. Maeve… She looked like an angel. She had a glow about her and eyes were peaceful. They had had a similar encounter after Spencer's head injury. Maeve stepped forward and gently caressed Spencer's chiselled cheek, fingers dancing over the tape around his face. Spencer felt tears stinging his eyes.

"Mmpf," was all Spencer could respond with. His hot tears streaked his cheeks as he squeezed eyes shut.

"Spencer. You really do get yourself into some situations. You remember our last conversation? Only you can decide when it's your time. It's not now though." Spencer's eyes snapped open, a new determination and fire in his eyes. Maeve was gone, leaving him alone.

Spencer twisted his right hand in the flexi-cuffs. He knew what he was about to do would be very painful but he had to at least try. He pulled back on the cuffs until the plastic was cutting into his thumb joint. He gasped as he felt blood trickle over his skin. He kept going as he felt his thumb dislocate and more blood escape from his skin. Spencer swallowed back a wave of nausea from the new burning agony that spread through his hand. He felt his thumb slide free from the cuffs thanks to the crimson liquid that was coating his hand. After this, his slender fingers easily slid out of the cuff. Spencer breathed a sigh of relief as he shook out his hand to regain sensation in his numb fingers. He quickly grabbed his thumb and pulled it back into place with a sickening pop. Spencer glanced around, then attempted to free his other hand which was not made easy by his bloodied and numb hand. Once his left hand was free, Spencer tried to free his ankles. They had used zip ties on his ankles which he knew he would not be able to break. He twisted his ankle back and forth, easing the tie down the chair leg. His right leg came free first, closely followed by the left. The intact zip ties hung like strange ankle bracelets around his jeans legs. Spencer tried desperately to remove the tape from his face but it held fast against his skin and his fingers slid as he tried to grasp it. It'll have to wait… I need to get out of here… Spencer crept forward, his blood dripping steadily in his wake with gentle thuds on the ground. As he approached the door, he fumbled with his watch, wrestling a pin free from the strap. He thrust it into the lock and twisted it until he heard the sweet sound of a click. With a sigh of relief, Spencer swung the door open and disappeared into the shadows.

Spencer kept to the shadows in the corridors, moving as swiftly and quietly as possible. He kept his bloody hand in his jeans pocket to keep it from leaving a trail. He felt as though he could collapse on the spot but he knew he had to keep moving. The corridors seemed endless. He came across a flight of stairs leading down to a fire exit. Spencer silently descended the stairs and glanced around before using what little strength he had left to push the bar on the door and let it swing open. Daylight assaulted his vision, making him shield his face from the light. He squinted and looked around. The cool air was refreshing against his battered skin. A small town was within walking distance. Bracing himself, Spencer broke into a run.

Spencer slowed to a walk. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure he hadn't been followed. He wrapped his arms around his thin torso in an effort to warm himself. Breathing was becoming more difficult, made worse by his running. The town was quiet an reminded him of an old Western movie. The sky was darkening, threatening to spill at any moment. A cold wind whipped around Spencer and through his hair. He shivered. He spotted a small convenience store to his right with the lights on. Wasting no time, Spencer quickly made for the store. The bell above the door tinkled as he pushed it open. The older clerk behind the counter frowned at the dirty, battered figure that entered. He drew his shotgun from under the counter and pointed it directly at Spencer. Spencer's eyes widened and he raised his hands. Blood was congealed in the creases of his palms. He could only utter a muffled plea to the clerk. The clerk knitted his brows further, holding his shotgun steady.

"Can I help you, young man?" Spencer's response was muffled as he pointed to the tape around his face. The man's features softened as he took in the appearance of the person who had just entered his store. The left side of Spencer's face was shades of black, purple and blue. He had blood over his nose and down his cheek. The bruises spread down the side of his neck. His right hand was swollen, bruised and covered in blood. Spencer cautiously stepped forward as the clerk lowered his firearm, his hands still raised.

"What in the world happened to you?" Spencer grunted again. The clerk grabbed a pen knife from his pocket and moved around the counter until he was stood directly in front of the young man. Spencer gave a small whimper as the clerk flicked the blade out in front of his face. Spencer squeezed his eyes shut as the blade approached his face. Instead of cutting his skin, the clerk carefully cut the tape next to his ear. The clerk pocketed his knife again and reached up, gently peeling the tape away from Spencer's face, then tugging the sodden material out of his mouth. Spencer greedily took in a deep breath.

"Thank you," he rasped. The clerk narrowed his eyes.

"Who are you, young man? What happened to you?"

"My name is Dr Spencer Reid. I'm a FBI agent. I was undercover but was found out. I managed to escape. Please. I mean you no harm, but I must ask that you back up. They tested a genetically engineered strain of COVID-19 on me." The clerk slowly backed away, his brown eyes fixed to the agent in front of him. Pain blossomed in his head. Spencer pressed his palms to his bruised eyes, teeth gritted in pain.

"Are you okay?" asked the clerk. Spencer shook his head, his shaggy hair swaying where it hung down his wrists.

"I'm gonna have a... Have a..." His mouth and brain were uncoordinated with one another as nebulas and stars flashed before his eyes. Spencer's mouth bobbed as he slumped to the ground.

Spencer could only feel jostling as he tried to pry open his eyes. A bright white light seared his retinas, causing him to groan in pain. A pair of gentle hands pushed him back down as he tried to sit up. Something plastic was irritating his nose. Spencer reached up a hand to try and identify the offending item. He caught side of a bandage around his hand. Spencer managed to crack open his eyes to see a female paramedic seated beside him, gloved hands holding his shoulders down into a pillow, a respirator over her face.

"Wha-? Where?" asked Spencer, his voice gravelly with the inflammation in his throat.

"You had a seizure, Dr Reid. The store owner called us. We're taking you to the hospital. Do you have a history of epilepsy?"

"Yes. I have temporal lobe epilepsy. Had an intracranial haemorrhage about six months ago." Spencer's eyelids fluttered.

"You'll be drowsy for a while. We gave you a stat dose of Diazepam." Spencer nodded groggily, "Is there anyone we can call for you?"

"Jennifer Jareau. She's a BAU agent in Quantico," whispered Spencer, his eyes closed.

The paramedic glanced over the sleeping man on the gurney. He had clearly been through hell. She slid her cell phone out of her pocket and searched the number for the FBI offices in Quantico. A voice answered.

"FBI offices, Quantico."

"Hi. I need to speak to a Jennifer Jareau in the BAU. My name's Alice and I'm an EMT with Astoria Fire Department."

"Hold one moment while I transfer you." There was a beep before a female voice responded.

"SSA Jennifer Jareau. How can I help?"

"Hi. My name's Alice. I'm an EMT with Astoria Fire Department. A Dr Spencer Reid asked me to call you."

"Spencer? What happened?"

"He entered a convenience store in quite a state. He had a seizure in the store. We're taking him to St Anthony's to be checked over."

"I'm on my way." The call abruptly ended. Alice pushed her cell phone back into her pocket and made a note of the agent's observations.

JJ threw open the doors to St Anthony's and glanced around with wild blue eyes, chest heaving. She barged past a gaggle of nurses to reach the reception desk. She slammed her palms down on the counter top of the desk. The nurse behind the computer looked up at her, eyebrows raised.

"I'm looking for Dr Spencer Reid," breathed JJ.

"We don't have a doctor on our payroll by that name."

"He's a patient. He was brought in by EMT." The nurse visibly blushed at her own error.

"Sorry about that, ma'am. He's in isolation at the moment. There's kit outside of his room. You'll need to wash your hands and put on a gown, apron, respirator and face shield. Take the corridor to the left and follow it round until you get to the end." JJ swallowed thickly and nodded, turning on a dime and pacing down the corridor.

JJ quickly found the isolation area. A small table was situated next to a wash basin. She turned on the faucet and washed every inch of her hands in accordance to the poster in front of her. Her heart was racing. She had no idea how she was about to find her best friend. She dried her hands with a paper towel and pressed the pedal down on the bin with her booted foot to pop open the lid. She dropped the paper towel inside and began putting on the kit as instructed by another poster on the wall. Once she was fully kitted out in gown, apron, gloves, respirator and face shield, JJ turned towards the door. A wipe board next to the steel door had Spencer's name scrawled across it. JJ gulped and pushed open the door. She let out a gasp of horror at the sight of her best friend in the bed. Spencer lay on his back, hands down by his sides. Bandages adorned his right hand, particularly encasing his thumb. Black and purple bruising circled his closed eyes, then extended down his face and neck, disappearing into the neck of his hospital gown. A bulky oxygen tube fed him air through his nose. Butterfly strips held together a cut across the bridge of his nose, above his eyebrow and another across his cheek. His lips were dry and cracked with two large cuts on either side of his bottom lip. Another person in the same kit was jotting down observations. The person glanced up at the company.

"Hello there. My name's Dr Wilson. You must be Jennifer Jareau?"

"Y-yes," responded JJ, her eyes fixed unblinking on the man in the bed.

"He's stable. We've got him on non-invasive ventilation and he's sedated."

"What happened?" JJ glanced up to see various x-rays on a lit up board on the wall behind the doctor.

"Well, I know the EMTs told you how he was found. He has dislocated to his right thumb but managed to reset this. He has taken quite a beating. He has a mild concussion, bruising to his face and neck, broken nose, fractured cheekbone and several lacerations. We know he had a bleed on the brain six months ago. A CT scan has showed that this has remained stable. He has been infected with COVID-19, though this isn't a strain we've seen before. I don't know if you know where Dr Reid has been, but he is showing ligature marks of restraints on his wrists and ankles. I would say he has been held captive."

"I don't know. He was reassigned and wasn't allowed to tell us where he was going." JJ slowly stepped up to the side of the bed and took Spencer's bandaged hand into her own, "Spence? What on earth have you gotten yourself into?" She sighed and stared at the peacefully sleeping man.

Spencer groaned. The pain in his head pulsated in time with his heartbeat and the steady beeping he could hear. His nose felt less congested, though was still swollen and had large plastic tubing stuffed into his nostrils. He weakly brushed his hand against his face to try and rid himself of the uncomfortable tube and the neoprene strap holding it there. A pair of soft hands grabbed his wrist and lay his hand back down. Spencer knotted his brows. He was lay down but this felt comfortable. The soft hands rubbed soothing circles into the back of his hand. Spencer's eyes fluttered.

"Spence?" Spencer swallowed, his mouth feeling dry and coarse.

"JJ?" JJ gave gasp of relief. Spencer managed to open his eyes a sliver and looked at her.

"Welcome back, Spence. What happened to you?" Spencer ran the tip of his tongue over his lips.

"I was sent undercover. I had to pretend to be a microbiologist who wanted to create a deadly strain of the COVID-19 virus. They found my credentials. When they found out, they beat me and infected me with genetically altered strain of the virus. There's something big at play, JJ. I'm in danger. I know things."

"Spence..." Spencer opened his eyes fully and swallowed again.

"JJ. You don't understand. They will come after me and they will kill me." Spencer stared up at the ceiling. His entire body throbbed. The burning in his joints remained, though had subsided a little. He had to pray that the team could keep him safe.