A/N: Short and sweet, ladies - but I have a feeling you'll like it... Enjoy, my pretties! Beta read by the lovely LT :)
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"The pain of the mind is worse than the pain of the body"
-- Publilius Syrus (Roman author, 1st century B.C.)
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Hotch sat on the couch, leaning over the living room table which was covered with files and pictures. Like every evening, he sat there, looking at them, and tried to pinpoint the moment where his life had ultimately gone down the toilet. He knew every word in the files by now, but he still kept them fanned out in front of him, hoping that some miniscule detail would jump out and tell him everything he needed to know. Months had gone by and there still had been no such luck.
The knock on his door took him by surprise. Getting late night uninvited visitors was nothing he was interested in. He left the couch, taking his Glock from the kitchen table. Holding it tightly in his hand, the superior peered through the peep hole in the door.
Frowning, he took a step back and placed the gun on the hallway table. The three separate locks on the door took a few moments to open, but the door finally slid up.
"Reid? What are you doing here?"
The lanky young agent didn't answer his superior but simply looked at the floor before him.
"Did something happen?" Hotch began to feel concern for his subordinate. He had been through so much the last couple of weeks, maybe it finally had become too much for him. "Come in."
Reid shuffled through the door and into the apartment. Not a single word was uttered between the two men for a few moments while Hotch re-locked the door and followed his younger colleague into the room. He still couldn't figure out why Reid was there at all. "Do you want something to drink?"
Still nothing but silence from the young doctor, so Hotch took matter into his own hands. Pouring himself a scotch, he also poured Reid one; only half the amount in the second glass though. Hotch wasn't sure how Reid was at holding his liqueur. He took a few steps over towards the silent man standing in the middle of his living room and held out the scotch for Reid to take. "Here."
But Reid didn't take the glass. He simply stared at the floor, seemingly not willing to move at all.
Hotch frowned once again. "What's the matter with you?" When there was no answer, the superior placed the second scotch glass on the table next to him. "I can't help you if you don't talk to me, Reid."
Suddenly, there was a spark in Reid's eyes. Without a word, he turned towards Hotch and walked past him, into the kitchen.
Hotch followed. "Reid."
No answer.
"Reid."
Nothing but a silent back glaring at him. Reid's shoulder blades moved, along with his arms, but out of Hotch's field of vision.
"Reid, I'm talking to you." Hotch was losing patience and closed the distance between the two in four steps, placing his hand on the younger man's shoulder. He wasn't ready when Reid turned around a little bit too fast, and something sharp grazed Hotch's stomach.
Stepping backwards quickly, Hotch looked in shock as Reid held the kitchen knife in a grip that turned his knuckles white. The knife had brushed against his shirt as the young agent had turned around, but hadn't pierced Hotch's skin.
Once again, there was silence reigning in the kitchen. Hotch stared in disbelief at his subordinate, trying to make out what the younger man was thinking. He struggled to locate a feeling in those glazed eyes, just a single spark of recognition or empathy. But there was nothing. The blank stare emerging from Reid's eyes told Hotch but one thing.
This wasn't Reid. He needed to find Reid in there.
"Reid", he said slowly and evenly. "Reid, listen to me. Don't do this. You are stronger than whoever is making you do this."
No response. The young agent simply stood there staring blankly at his superior, knife in his hand. Not a single muscle would move. Hotch mentally and physically prepared for the worst.
"Spencer. I know you're in there somewhere, and I know this isn't you. You have to fight this. Don't do this." He had raised his hands slowly while talking and now held them parallel with his chest. "Give me the knife."
Hotch took a gentle step towards Reid. And all hell broke loose.
Reid's arm jerked up over his head, and with a short yell he threw himself towards his superior, aiming the knife straight at his heart. Hotch caught him on pure instinct, grabbing Reid's arm with one hand and using the other one to shove the thin frame up against the kitchen counter. He was astounded at the strength his subordinate was displaying, as he suddenly found himself slammed up against the fridge, struggling to pry the knife out of Reid's hand.
"Reid!" he yelled, knowing full well that there would be no response. "Drop the knife! Let go!"
But all he got in return was a knee in the groin, and groaning he sunk to the floor, refusing to let go of the knife. Reid yanked at his arm to free it, hammering Hotch in the face and over the head with his free fist. "Stop…" Hotch growled as he fought his subordinate off the best he could. He didn't want to hurt the younger man.
Deciding enough was enough, Hotch gave Reid a hard push, sending him reeling backwards into the kitchen counter. He hit it with a dull thud, but was just as soon up on his feet and lunging at his superior. Only this time, Hotch was ready. As soon as Reid was within range, Hotch landed his fist on the young agent's face with full force. There was a disturbing cracking sound as Reid tumbled backwards, knife still in his hand.
Hotch scrambled to his knees and threw himself over Reid before the younger man could get up. The searing pain in his left shoulder made him wince and realize that he had not been quick enough to escape the knife. Straddling the young agent, he tried desperately to knock the blade out of Reid's hand by banging his wrist against the linoleum flooring. Finally, the knife skidded over the floor and landed in the far corner of the kitchen.
Reid made a fierce attack towards his superior and managed to turn the table on his superior, giving him a full 180. Hotch suddenly found himself pinned to the floor by a frame 30 lbs lighter than his. Reid grabbed the older man by the hair, lifting his head off the floor. With full force, he slammed the older man's head down, eliciting terrible, dull banging sounds. Once, twice, three times, and the fourth made the superior's fighting body go limp.
The young man jumped off Hotch's flaccid body and scrambled for the knife. His corduroy pants made his knees slip on the linoleum, but his palm finally found the blade and his hand mechanically gripped it. Spinning around towards his superior, Reid raised his hand, brandishing the knife.
Before Reid could even move forward a single inch, his body was slammed back down to the floor. This time, the knife flew from his hand on impact, and the young agent did not rise again. Blood dripped slowly from his forehead and the corner of his mouth.
Hotch panted, sitting back on his heels. He dropped the cast iron frying pan on the floor with a clang. It was the first thing that had reached his hand as he'd shoved his arm into one of the open cabinets to find something to defend himself with. His head was still spinning from the repeated impacts on the floor, and he began noticing that there was blood everywhere on his t-shirt. The knife had hit his shoulder and most likely severed an artery. Blood was literally pouring out, pulsating down over his chest. Memories flashed briefly before his eyes, telling the entire story of how much blood there was the last time he had been stabbed. Also in his own apartment. Shaking his head, he began standing up, but failed. The thin veil of gray floating over his eyes threatened to render him unconscious if he didn't do something right now.
Crawling over the floor, holding his injured arm close to his chest, he reached the living room table and with shaking fingers, he grabbed his cell phone. Dialing, he put the phone on speaker and placed it back on the table while searching the pile on the table for something.
"911, what's your emergency?"
"This is Special Agent Aaron Hotchner of the FBI, I have two…" his head spun, and he had to lean on the table momentarily. "…two agents down on 715 Beecher. The Langham building, apartment 121. I need…" His head spun again. "…an ambulance."
"I'll send two units right now, Sir. Sir?"
Hotch had left the phone on the table, crawling back to Reid. He hated doing it, but knew he had to for his own safety. Pulling dizzily at the young agent's arms, he fastened his cuffs around both wrists behind the lanky back. Reid was breathing slowly and shallowly as he lay face down on the floor.
Making sure they were not too tight, Hotch leaned back against the counter, closing his eyes. Moments later, he drifted into unconsciousness, so many questions still spinning in his head. Blood continued to pour from his wound as he slowly slipped away from reality and into oblivion.
