A/N: So, here's the deal. I'm pretty much just winging this fic. I mean- I have a broad main idea where I want this to go, with the major details and a few minor ones, but no exact dialog or anything like that. For example, the character of Charlotte was a spur of the moment creation- I just really wanted to have a POV of some bystander seeing Reid taken, but then I thought up Charlotte and all her back-story. Not that I don't totally love her now. ;) That being said, I'd like to know from you guys if you want Charlotte to have a bigger role in this. I already have her in one more scene for sure- but after that, I can leave her out entirely. But I'm not sure I want to, which brings me back to asking you guys. So let me know what you think, and about anything else- because after this chapter- I don't have anything written. Let me know if there is specifically anything that you'd like to see someone do or say or something like that and I might put it in. Just drop me a line. I want to hear from you guys!

Also, as you read on, you may feel that Gideon is slightly out of character- and I wish to explain. This all takes place post Gideon leaving the BAU. Since he has yet to come back on the show, I feel I have a little leeway as to how he would be/react to things after his slight break down/midlife crisis or whatever you want to call it. That being said- this is how I depict Gideon to be if he were to return- not as a weak or broken person, but a lost and confused person. Do you get what I mean? And well, if you still don't like it- tough tities!

SHOUT OUTS TO: purplerayz, danicali80, Noskilz, harrietamidala1691, morgo7kc, AgnesSophia, kat4u, JLeStar97, ShadowxUplifted05, TheFanFicAddict, 68luvcarter, Bracali, nicci15, catdoctor, N'kala, momiji'sunusedhalo, BlondeSlytherin, KASEY64, PheonixTearsHP, MeaParavitas, and donttouch, who gave me the kick in the butt to get this chapter done and out for today. ;) I love you all! :D

Right! So- story.

Got it!

Enjoy. ;D

Reid slammed into the floor of the van. His eyesight was blurry as it was from the punch to the face a second before, but now he flat out couldn't see due to the impact with the floor forcing his eyes closed. He heard the door slam, someone yelled "GO!" and he felt the van tires screech against the pavement outside as they sped away from this place. It all happened in a few seconds.

Reid's shoulder throbbed terribly as he tried to push himself up, but before he could even open his eyes, he was flipped over onto his back and there were hands grabbing him. There was a pair on each of his wrists, forcing them together and as far above his head as they would go against the floor. Then there were two more pairs, one on each of his had already taken his gun- how many of these guys were there?

Though he still fought, all Reid had managed to do was twist and falter his attacker's grips feebly. He didn't stop his squirming until one of the masked persons struck him across the face. He couldn't stop the small pained gasp escape his lips.

"Where's you tracer?" the masked person in front of him asked angrily.

"What tracer?" Reid replied vehemently through clenched teeth, staring straight back into the man's face- what he could see of it anyway through the ski mask. Why bother trying to hide? These guys already appeared to know more than Reid would've liked them to, so why lie when they already knew the truth? Well, he certainly wasn't going to help them. At least he could send them a message- show them that he didn't care what they wanted; they weren't going to get it, not from him.

"If he's not gonna talk, than shut him up!" the driver shouted back to them.

The man in front of Reid pulled out a roll of duct tape from his back pocket and torn off a strip. Spencer knew no matter what he did, it was going to cover his moth one way or another, but that didn't keep from trying to turn his head away as the tape approached his face; he was going to be as uncooperative as possible. The man forced the tape on roughly, pressing it sharply into Reid's flesh, tightly across his mouth. Though he knew it would do nothing, and certainly no good, Spencer gave the man the dirtiest look he could muster.

"Who's got the scanner?" the man called to the others, looking around. What? How did they get a scanner? Who are these people?

An arm, that Spencer couldn't tell whose it belong to, reached over him holding what slightly resembled a metal detector wand, like the ones security had at the airport. Wait a minute- it was a metal detector! How do they know it's made of metal? How do they know about the tracers at all? Who are these people?

The man took the wand and started to glide it through the air just above Reid, starting with his arms. Two sweeps on each revealed nothing, so the man moved on to his torso, sweeping side to side, back and forth, making sure he was positive he didn't leave a single millimeter of skin un-scanned. He reached Reid's right hip bone and heard that sweet pinging sound that his ears had been straining for. He moved it back and forth a bit, hovering over the spot, listening to the 'ping' fade in and out, pinpointing exactly where it sounded over the skin.

He reached into his back pocket again, pulled out a butterfly knife and flipped out the blade. Reid's eyes grew wide with terror.

"Hold him still!" the man shouted at the others, as Reid doubled his fighting efforts tenfold.

"Wait!" one of the other men cried. It was one of the men holding Reid's legs. "What if it's just a metal plate or something?" the man asked. Reid's profiling kicked in- this man was already remorse for something he hadn't done. This man didn't want to do this; this man didn't want to be here- so why was he?

"Well then, that's just too damn bad!" the man with the knife said. "He had his chance to own up and didn't take it. Now, he has to deal with that!"

The man returned his attention to Reid, struggling on the floor to break free. The man took the knife in one of his fists and brought both hands forward to undo the kid's belt. Spencer's eye got impossibly wider as he continued to fight. The man pulled down Reid's slack to mid thigh and the reached for his boxers. Spencer was going absolutely crazy; if he kept on as he was, he was more likely to hurt himself let alone get free. Thankfully, the man only tugged on the boxers, pulling them down about two inches to reveal Reid's hip bone clearly, leaving him still covered.

The man held the knife in his hand, almost like a scalpel and brought it to Reid's skin. Reid could only watch as the blade pressed deep into his body, releasing his blood to flow freely down his flesh and onto the floor. The tape covering his mouth only muffled Spencer's scream. He could have sworn he saw the man holding his leg look away.

The man with the knife went back into the wound and cut again, making it deeper still. The others were starting to have a very difficult time holding the kid down and still.

"There." The man with the knife said, "That should be plenty deep- now, to just get it out." He said with almost a cheerful tone.

Reid looked down at the man and saw he no longer held the knife in his hand- he held nothing in his hand. The horrible realization struck Reid then that the man planed to pull out the tracer- with his bare hands.

Reid let his head fall back to the floor, bracing himself for what was to come.

But it wasn't enough.

The man's fingers entered him, tearing his skin, expanding his wound. Reid back arched against the floor in agony as the others still fought to hold him down. His eyes were squeezed tight in pain, his head thrown back as all that was able to leave him was a muffled shriek, tearing at his throat. Reid could feel the man's finger's searching in him; he could feel them probing every last millimeter of his wound, scraping against the sides. Then they stopped.

"Gotcha!" the man grunted more to himself than anything.

Spencer felt a tug, a pull inside him, and it wasn't loosening. Reid cried out again as the man continued to pull at the tracer. Spencer felt it slide no more than a centimeter. The surrounding muscle seemed to pull together in its wake as though it was air tight. With one last gut wrenching yank, the man managed to pull the tracer out with a disgusting squelching sound of suction caused by the blood, all followed by Reid's scream and a metallic thud as his body went limp and he hit the floor of the van once more.

The man chuckled as he examined the small cylinder in his hand. He reached forward towards the panting Reid's face and grabbed the scarf around Reid's neck and wiped his hands clean of the boy's blood off on it. He then waded up the scarf and placed it against Reid's hip and wiped away the blood. A sharp intake of breathe from Reid let him know it was still exceedingly painful. Not to mention the heaving of his chest as the kid tried to steady his breathing through the pain. The man placed the tracer in the waded scarf and handed it to the man holding Spencer's leg that had had the objection before.

"Get rid of it." He order the man. The man holding Reid's leg nodded.

The man that had the knife pulled Reid's boxers and pants back up, buckled his belt and told the others to "Keep him quiet!" The man turned away and went to sit up front with the driver.

Spencer was drained. He had nothing left after all his fighting, and the incision had all but made him pass out. It was all too easy then, for the others to once again flip Spencer over, force his hand behind his back and bind his wrist and ankles together with plastic wire ties.

They then picked him up from under his arms and forced Spencer to his knees. Someone behind Reid grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his head up, then shoved a rag over his gagged mouth and nose. Spencer tried to move his head one way or the other, away from the rag, but the hand in his hair stopped him. The hand was harsh and pushed the cloth heavy against Reid's face, practically suffocating him as the chemical fumes wafted up into his nose, burning.

The man didn't remove his hand until Reid's eyelids started to droop. Reid's breathing was becoming very deep and slow as he sunk to the floor. He saw the man that had objected standing in front of him, looking down at him, still holding Reid's bloody scarf and tracer. The man's eyes- they looked . . . sad, disappointed. But as soon as Reid thought he saw this it was gone and instead they had a look of determination.

That was the last thing Reid saw before a blindfold was put across his eyes and tide tightly in a knot, jabbing him in the back of the head. The last thing he thought before the blackness the chloroform caused took over, was how pissed off Morgan was going to be.

"Where- is- Reid?" Gideon repeated slowly through clenched teeth, still struggling to speak through his horror. He was starring daggers into Hotch as he looked at the man that had no answer, certain he would strike him down if he even sensed a lie.

"I- I don't know." Hotch finally said, seemly slightly shocked by his own words; whether from the fact that he didn't know, or that he had said them- he didn't care. Where was Reid?

Without another word or glance, Gideon flung himself around and stormed out of Hotch's office, already shouting at the top of his voice, down into the bullpen.

"Emily! Have you seen Reid?" He asked, worry etched in every line on his face, in the very tone of his voice as he downed the stairs too quickly, not even looking where he was going. He had eyes only for Emily and her answer. Gideon never called her Emily; he never looked like this- worn, afraid. It frightened her more than anything. What was going on?

"No, I- he, he hasn't come in yet." Prentiss replied, worried and at a loss. The second the 'no' had formed in her mouth Gideon had turned his attention to Morgan turning his head so quickly it seemed as if he had been looking at him the whole time. Emily had barely gotten her response out of her mouth before Gideon was speaking to Morgan.

"Morgan? You?" He asked breathlessly, his mouth remaining open while he waited for an answer, unwilling to except Emily's more than accurate one. Hotch had come out of his office and was walking down the last step to join them all in the bullpen, as Gideon waited stock-still, his very breath hanging on Morgan's answer.

"No. Emily's right, Gideon." Morgan said, obviously trying to stay calm.

At this, Gideon turned away quickly, starting to pace around in a small hurried circle, one hand on his hip as the other flew up into his hair grabbing at his roots, forcing himself not to do this, not to cry, not to break down, not to fall to pieces. But- how could he not? His last hope was gone; the hope that it wasn't true, it was all lies, that he had assumed wrong. He had never wanted to be more wrong in his entire life.

"What are we going to do, Hotch?" Gideon asked his ex-coworker, his voice cracking.

"Gideon, you need to-" Hotch began but was interrupted by JJ running around the corner, seeing Reid's desk empty and taking in Gideon's appearance. She all but screamed out:

"No! It can't be true!"

"JJ! What's wr-" Hotch began but was once again interrupted by JJ.

"I just received this 9-1-1 call from the local PD." She said, addressing all of them as she reached into her pocket, pulled out the recorder there and pressed 'play.' The room was silent as it was filled with the tone of a ringing phone and then that of a very calm, trained operator. It was ironic to the situation, undoubtedly. JJ wondered how it must be like that for all emergency situations when that number was dialed. What was she doing? She had to focus on Reid. The operator answered.

"9-1-1, what's your emergency?"

"Yes! Hello? I just saw a van pull up to the sidewalk and three men jumped out! They grabbed a man then through him in the van and drove off!" It was the voice of a woman, a young woman, and you didn't have to be a profiler to know she was scared.

"Ma'am? Can you tell me where this happened?" The operator asked calmly as though this woman hadn't just called her to tell her that she was possibly the last person to see that man alive.

"I'm on West Avenue. Right outside the convenience store. A bunch of people, saw not just me." The scared woman said, trying to gather herself and be useful.

"Ma'am, do you know who this man is that was taken?" The operator asked with a slight strictness in her tone, showing the importance of the question.

"His name's Spencer. He works for the FBI."

JJ then cut off the recorder. Everyone stood in silence. They took barely a moment to let the fact that Spencer and been abducted off a busy street in broad daylight, before they were all moving into action. Hotch was the first to speak.

"Morgan. Call Garcia. Tell her what's happened and to trace Reid's phone." Hotch immediately began to list out orders. Time was important and they didn't know how much Reid had. "JJ. I need to interview the witness that made the 9-1-1 call."

"She's already at the station. The officers are holding her until we arrive." JJ replied immediately with a determination minimally shadowed by sadness.

"Good." Hotch said, continuing on as if there were no break in his process. "Emily and Morgan, go to the station and talk to the witness. Find out who she is and how she knows Reid."

Morgan started to turn away. Prentiss nodded her head before she interrupted. "Reid has been walking to work for the past few weeks. His attackers would have to have been watching him to know that their best opportunity to grab him would be then." Having added her two, hopefully helpful, cents, Emily turned to follow a stunned Morgan. JJ could hear their hushed undertones as they walked away.

"Why didn't Reid tell me he was walking to work?" Morgan asked quietly, hurt.

"Because he knew you'd make a big deal about it and freak out." Emily replied simply. They had gotten too far away for JJ to hear Morgan's retort but judging from his hands flying in the air, Reid assumption had been proven correct.

"Right," Hotch continued. "then, Rossi!" Hotch turned to address the man that had been staring down upon the scene from the stairs he just now started to descend. " You and I will go to Reid's place. Someone there must have seen something. We'll interview the other tenants, see if they noticed anyone or anything suspicious."

Everyone broke to leave, hurrying about getting their boy back. Three however were unmoving: Hotch, Gideon, and JJ who hung back slightly away from the others knowing what was to come.

"Hotch-" Gideon began with a slightly pleading, slightly angry tone, but was cut short.

"Gideon, you need to comprehend that you are a civilian now. You need to understand what that means in terms of this case and any limitations that I will not be able to over look or allowed to. Do you understand?" Hotch said hurriedly, almost pleading at the end, trying to get the man to understand; he already knew what this was leading up to- the second that the box in Hotch's hand had been delivered to Gideon, he knew.

And so did Gideon.

"I do Agent Hotchner, but you too must understand that in no longer being an agent, I am no longer required to take orders." Gideon replied. He wasn't angry, he wasn't hurt. He was determined, and he wasn't going to be told by anyone, including Hotch, that he would not be "allowed" to do the one thing he believed could save Reid.

"Gideon!" Hotch called after the man as he stormed away. Hotch knew he would stay in the building. He needed to know everything he could about Reid, plus he couldn't yet do anything to save Reid until he had information. He would only get that here.

Hotch sighed, knowing he'd have to deal with this better later, he turned to JJ. She was well aware he had not assigned her anything because he didn't want the others to hear it- not yet; that was why she stayed, to receive her assignment, which she unfortunately already knew.

"JJ." Hotch spoke in undertones, not wanting any of the other agents to hear. "I need you to take this to the lab." He silently and gently handed over the box in his hand to her.

He continued quietly, glancing to the sides, making sure no one was listening. "I know you're going to open it, but don't do it here. Go to your office and then take it down. I'll tell everyone else. They'll all know soon." As he spoke his quiet words seemed to soften. JJ understood that there was nothing good in that box.

Hotch quickly turned and left with slight speed to his step, the same way the others had to get something to help them find Reid. JJ didn't wait all but more than one still, horrifying second where she stared down at the box, imagining all the travesties within. After a beat she absorbed the fact that the only way to know, was to open it.

She turned on a dime, letting her hair whip out behind her in her wake as she rushed off towards her office. She didn't care about being subtle right now. She had to know!

She reached her office, opened the door and slammed it behind her locking it. She went over to the window overlooking the bullpen and twisted the blinds closed, after a great deal of effort; her hands were trembling. She set the box in the middle of her desk and turned the desk lamp on once she was behind it.

It was a normal, extremely ordinary, monotonous, routine looking kind of cardboard box.

Unlabeled.

Small.

It sat there. The flaps were folded carelessly over the top, simply to cover the contents after it had already be opened.

It sat there. JJ took in every last wrinkled line of cardboard, every crease, trying to find some sign of what it held.

Nothing.

And it still, just- sat there.

The thought that this simple, small, ordinary box could contain- anything! All of which swimming around her head were nothing good for Reid.

Open the box.

JJ closed her eye and took a deep breath through her nose, fanning calm. She opened her eyes and forced her trembling hands to take the flaps in her fingers. She pulled them back- one. . . two. . . three-

JJ practically jumped backwards from a mixture of shock and fear, hitting her chair, smashing it into the bookcase, causing things to come crashing to the floor.

"Oh, GOD!"

She had screamed it. She was sure of it. And the only thing that had stopped her doing it again was her own hand that hand shot up to her mouth. Her other hand gripped out at the wall for support before she collapsed, as she looked down into the box that held an all too familiar blood soiled purple scarf and placed delicately on top of it, was a small narrow metal cylinder covered with blood.

JJ couldn't stop herself from crying out once more into her hand, thankfully muffling it. She slowly let her hand fall from her mouth as she approached the box again. Her chest was heaving from her uneven breathing from the shock.

Then she saw it.

On one off the flaps was writing. It was on the underside, so that we the box was opened, it would be readable. It was one word. One word in a very neat and fanciful handwriting- almost like calligraphy but not quite that intricate. One word. Just one.

Marco?

A/N: Ta Da! Did you like it? Let me know! This ended up waaaaaaaaaaaaaay longer than I planned for it to be (by nearly a thousand words.) And hoorah for more spur of the moment ideas! I'll give you a cookie if you guess which one it was. ;) And don't for get to put in your two cent about Charlotte! :D

Do it or she dies! Nah- I won't kill her- well. . .nah-well . . . ;)

P.S- 'cookie'= codename for SHOUT OUT! ;)