If Spencer thought that Remy had forgotten about his question in the rush of their confession, he was proved wrong. The sound of the coffee pot finishing its brewing had been enough to break them out of their moment and spur them back into motion. While Spencer prepared their cups, Remy disappeared for a moment, coming back with some ibuprofen for Spencer. Soon the two were settled down on opposite ends of the couch with their cups cradled in their hands and their feet tangled together in the middle. Remy let them both get comfortable before he smiled reassuringly at Spencer and said "Now that we're all settled in, you ready to answer my earlier question?"
"Pardon?" Confusion marked Spencer's face.
"What happened to you, mon cheri? What'd you leave out?"
Oh. All of a sudden Spencer found himself inordinately interested in the contents of his cup. "Is it really important right now?"
"I don't know, Spencer. You tell me; is it?"
Those calm words had Spencer sighing. His gaze shifted off his cup and down to his hands, his wrists, looking at the bruising there once more. Was it really important? Was it really something that he should be this upset over? Sure, the man had pinned him down. Sure, he'd planned on doing a whole lot more. But he hadn't. Wasn't that what counted? He hadn't succeeded. Spencer had fought back and he'd gotten free and he was okay. That was the part that counted. Right? "It's not that big of a deal." The words slid out before he even realized he'd said them. Once started, he couldn't seem to stop. "I mean, it shouldn't be. I'm here, I'm safe. It didn't happen." His hands shook a little and he clenched them tighter around his mug. His eyes were still locked on his wrists. "But…but it could've. And I, I can't chase that out of my head. I can't. Why? I shouldn't be upset over something that didn't even happen. I should be relieved that it didn't and that I'm safe. So why am I so bothered by this?"
Remy said nothing, sensing that he would get more information if he just stayed quiet. Right then Spencer was speaking so hesitantly and a little jumbled. He was almost voicing his thoughts without really paying attention to the fact that he was talking to someone at all. Remy had a feeling that everything would get explained if he just waited.
He was right. Spencer stayed quiet only for a moment before he found himself filling the silence, words tripping past his lips. "When I…I tackled him, the gun dropped away and I tried to, to get it. But he knocked me into the dirt and he used my hair to slam my head into the ground. I was stunned enough he managed to hit me. 'You son of a bitch', he told me. 'You little son of a bitch. You think you're so smart? I'll show you. I'll show you.' And he…he ripped my shirt open."
Whereas he'd been worried before, Remy was on alert now, his eyes going wide. He set his cup down on the coffee table and sat forward, eyes on Spencer's face. Suddenly the bruising he'd seen on his lover's body took on a whole new meaning and he worried about how much Spencer had left out in his story before. How bad was this going to be?
Spencer was oblivious to Remy's reaction. His eyes were closed and his hands were clenched so tightly around the cup it was a wonder he didn't shatter it. "I fought back as best I could. He pinned my wrists above my head and he, he was unhooking my belt. I managed to get my hand free and I hit him, knocked him off of me. I tried to run but he was fast and he got me before I got up. He put his knee in my stomach to try to pin me, but I managed to roll just enough to knock my knee up between his legs. When he dropped, I dove and grabbed the gun." A little shudder ran over Spencer's frame. "Like I said, nothing really…really happened. I shouldn't be so, ah, so upset by this."
"Spencer." Hands were suddenly there, taking the mug from Spencer's hands and pulling it away. Then Remy's hands were back, curling over his, giving him an anchor. Spencer clutched at them, embarrassment keeping his eyes closed. He didn't have to look at Remy, though. The man scooted close and spoke in a fierce yet gentle voice. "You've got every right in the world to be upset by this, mon amour. Don't ever think you aint got the right to your feelings. Maybe the connard didn't get to finish what he was trying, but he still scared and hurt you." Remy paused and his hands clenched tighter for just a second. "What can I do for you? What can I do to help? I can go shoot him, if you want."
That last part had Spencer letting out a startled laugh. His eyes opened and he blinked a few times to clear his vision. Remy was right in front of him, watching him steadily, and there was such strength and caring—love—in his eyes. Spencer felt some of his tension start to ease just looking at him. He didn't say anything at first, just shifted his position on the couch without ever letting go of Remy's hands. Once he was situated, he tugged on Remy's hands, pulling him in so that they ended with Remy cradled in his arms, resting carefully against his chest. Spencer let his arms wrap around the man and he smiled. "This is what you can do." He murmured to him. "This right here is enough." He needed Remy's touch right now, more than anything else, yet he didn't know how he would handle being restrained by anything right at the moment, even something as gentle as Remy's arms. This solved it nicely. He held Remy to him, felt those long arms loosely wrap his waist, felt as Remy laid his ear over Spencer's heart as if simply needed to hear that heartbeat.
How long the two lay there that way, Spencer didn't know. It was so peaceful, though. After the day he'd had, this was exactly what he needed and he didn't want to move. The peace of the night, the warmth of the man curled against him, the comfort in the silence around them, all of it soothed down that aching, panicked part of him deep down inside. Little by little it lulled him down until his body grew so relaxed, it was a natural shift into sleep. Sleep and the feel of Remy in his arms was the perfect healer from the events he'd lived through.
He was awoken later by the feel of Remy shifting in his arms. He made a soft, questioning sound, and Remy's hands smoothed back his hair while he shushed him. "It's all right, mon amour. I'm just gonna make a quick trip to the store for some things. I aint got nothing to make you dinner with." He said. The idea of being alone had Spencer shifting, instinctively trying to move closer to Remy, and the Cajun responded by stroking his hair back again. "Je sais, je sais, bébé. But I'll only be gone for fifteen minutes, maybe less. You'll be fine till I get back. You're safe here, cher. I promise." He leaned down and Spencer woke up enough to return the kiss that he felt pressed against his lips. Then Remy was tucking a blanket around him and Spencer drifted back to sleep, out before Remy had even fully gone out the door.
Neither knew just how much that promise would come back to haunt Remy later.
Spencer woke once more to a hand in his hair. He arced up into the touch, thinking that Remy had come back and was watching him sleep again. He'd done it before and Spencer had woken up to a hand running through his hair and Remy's eyes on his face. He sighed into that touch now and enjoyed it. Then a voice spoke above him and Spencer felt as if a bucket of cold water splashed over him. "Oh, Spencer. What have they done to you?"
Spencer's eyes snapped open and he found himself staring up into a pair of bright blue eyes. In a flash, Spencer was rolling sideways, off the couch and away from the hand in his hair. He hit the coffee table and sent it skidding sideways, but he didn't care. He didn't even pay attention. As quickly as his aching body would allow, he rose to his feet. Paul rose right along with him. For a brief moment Spencer could only stare, his mind utterly blank. He opened his mouth and out came the first thing he thought of. "What are you doing here?"
"Look at you." Paul said, instead of answering. His eyes ran up and down Spencer's body. "Look what they let happen to you! You're hurt."
"Paul…what are you doing here?" Here, in Remy's house. How did you get here? Have you been following me? Oh, God. I need to get a phone. Or my gun. I need to get to my gun. "You can't just break in here, Paul."
Temper flashed briefly over Paul's face. Then it was wiped away by that same almost manic concern. "I had to come! Look at you! They don't know how to take care of you like I do, Spencer. No one does. I never would've let you get hurt like this. It's a good thing I came for you. I won't let anyone hurt you ever again."
Shit. Shit! Spencer took a few cautious steps sideways. His brain scrambled, trying to think of some kind of plan to get himself out of here. Paul was by the couch, positioned close towards the front door. It also put him close to the hallway. To get to a phone or his gun, he'd have to go to either the hall or down to the bedroom. To do that, he'd have to get past Paul. Just…how? He took another cautious step, eyes locked on Paul. "I got hurt at work. It's a hazard of the job. Sometimes that happens."
"Well, you're just going to have to quit that job." Paul said matter-of-factly. "It's too dangerous for you anyways. Like I said, it's a good thing I'm here now."
"How did you find me, Paul? Have you been following me?" Another few steps sideways.
It was like Paul underwent a transformation. It was one that Spencer had never seen happen until the very end. The man flashed that dangerous smile at Spencer; the one he knew intimately. It always meant trouble. The concerned, caring edge dropped away to a sort of mocking humor that was all the more chilling. "Really, Spencer. Did you think you could actually hide from me? Of course I found you." He took a step forward and Spencer almost tripped trying to take a few steps back. He ran into the wall, not caring about the pictures he crashed into. Paul just shook his head. "You shouldn't have run away from me. I'm going to have to punish you for that now, you know." Those words were said so cold and casual, as if he hadn't just spoken about protecting him from anymore hurt. In that look, those words, Spencer saw that whatever sanity Paul had still held the last time they'd seen one another, it was long gone. He wasn't the same person anymore. His obsession had taken over his life. It had changed him. And that obsession was with him. That meant there was no simply walking away from this. Talking Paul down just became increasingly difficult.
His best bet was to make some sort of distraction and race down the hall to the bedroom where his gun was. It was his best chance. Only, the wall was against his back; there was nowhere for Spencer to go when Paul took another step forward. Spencer pressed his palms flat against the wall and tried to summon up that bit of strength he'd been discovering in himself ever since he met Remy. He tried to find the courage he'd been working so hard on building. "You and I are not together anymore." He said. The words barely came through a throat that was almost closed off in terror. But somehow he forced them out and gave them a strength he didn't feel. "You need to leave, Paul, before Remy comes home."
His words didn't seem to have any effect. The other man rolled his eyes at him. "Enough of this, Spencer. You've had your little rebellion and I've put up with more than you deserve." Paul warned him. He stopped right in front of Spencer and pinned him with those cool eyes. "Now, go pack your things. We're leaving."
"No."
Where the courage came from to say that single word, Spencer didn't know. But it slid out. He felt his eyes widen after he said it but he didn't take it back.
Paul looked surprised. "Excuse me?"
You can do this. You can do this! "I said no, Paul. I'm not going back with you. I'm never going back with you. I told you—..."
The backhand to the face sent Spencer flying straight to the floor. He hit the ground with a solid thump that had him seeing stars. He tasted blood. Yet there wasn't time for any of that. Spencer barely recovered before he shoved off the ground and launched down the hallway. He only made it a few feet before a body hit his and slammed him face first into the ground. Spencer fought with everything he had, ignoring the pain to his already bruised body. He fought to break free. But Paul's body was stronger and the man pinned him down and suddenly a cloth was pressing over Spencer's face. One whiff and he knew what it was. He tried so hard to yank that hand away, to buck his head free, but Paul's grip was stronger. Eventually, Spencer had no choice, he had to draw in a breath. That sickly sweet scent filled him and he couldn't keep up his fight. Slowly but surely the world started to swim around him. With one final, soft sigh, everything around him went black.
Remy knew something was wrong the minute he pulled into his driveway. His front door was standing wide open and he knew that he'd not only shut it when he left, but locked it as well. Seeing it open like that had a sick feeling building like a knot in his stomach. He didn't even think about it as he shut the car off and scrambled out of his car. He didn't think about what could possibly be waiting inside, or how dangerous it could be to rush in there. All he thought about was that he'd left Spencer sound asleep on the couch.
His fear grew when he found the scene waiting inside. His coffee table shoved across the room, pictures knocked off the wall and onto the floor, an end table tipped over sideways. And Spencer nowhere in sight. The sick feeling in his stomach grew bigger. His legs carried him further into the house. Maybe Spencer was in here somewhere. Maybe he was hiding from whoever had done this. Maybe he was just tucked away somewhere, waiting for Remy to get home, or waiting for help. Maybe…maybe…maybe…
Spencer was nowhere. He wasn't in a single room in the house. That sick feeling had tripled by now. He felt like he was going to throw up. Someone had come in his house and Spencer…Spencer was gone. Remy knew enough to recognize the signs of a struggle here. Spencer hadn't gone willingly with whoever took him. And Remy knew someone had taken him. He wouldn't just leave with the place like this, and all of his things were still here. His messenger bag, his phone, his gun. All of it. No, he hadn't left. Someone had taken him.
Only one thing came to mind. One person that Remy could think of to call. Terrified in a way he had never known before, Remy raced to his phone and he dialed a number of the only person he could think of to help. When the person answered, Remy wasted no time. "Derek, it's Remy. You need to get over here, now. Someone's taken Spencer…"
In no time at all, Remy's house was crawling with FBI agents, local police, and a crime scene unit. Photos were being taken of the living room and the hallway and the place was being dusted for fingerprints. Everyone was doing what they could to try and piece together exactly what had happened here. To get out of their way, Remy was in the kitchen making up a fresh pot of coffee. It gave him something to do so that he wasn't just sitting there thinking about Spencer and what might be happening to him right now. Wondering whether he was hurt. It hadn't been long ago that Spencer had been standing here in the kitchen, making a pot of coffee as he spoke of what had happened today. Now…now this.
He shook his head to try and clear those thoughts and went back to gathering cups from the cupboard. Turning, he placed them on the bar in front of the four agents there. Three of them were seated at the counter bar and Aaron stood at the end, all of them watching Remy as he moved nervously through the kitchen.
"Why don't you walk us through what happened since you and Reid got home?" Derek suggested. He seemed to be taking a slight lead on things here. Most likely because he was the one that Remy actually knew.
With the ease of one who had bartended for quite a few years, Remy easily poured coffee and gathered the cream and sugar for them all as he told his story. "We didn't do anything special. I brought him here, got him cleaned up and tucked into bed. He slept for, oh, an hour maybe. Then Belle showed up and I went out to answer her knock. Spencer, he heard us at some point and came on out, told us what happened while he made coffee. Then Belle went home." His hands didn't falter as he put the pot back, but his heart gave a didn't tell them what came next. It wasn't their business that they'd stood there and Spencer had said 'I love you' to him. They didn't need to know about that private moment between them. That was a memory Remy wanted to hold close to his heart, not share amongst the world. He cleared his throat and tried to act as if he hadn't been just staring at the coffee pot. He turned and busied his hands, digging around in the cupboard for a bowl and a big bag of chips. It was ingrained in him from childhood to offer food and drink to guests in the house. "After Belle left, Spencer and I talked alone on the couch for a while. I curled up with him and he fell asleep again. I knew he'd need to eat when he woke up and I didn't have much for food in my house, so I woke him up enough to tell him I'd be back in about fifteen minutes." I promised him he was safe here. Oh, Dieu! "He went back to sleep. When I got back, my front door was open and everything was as you see it."
"Have you noticed anything strange lately?" Dave asked next. "Any strange calls, any people outside the house that shouldn't be there?"
Remy set the bowl of chips on the counter and shook his head. "Non. No hangs ups, no strange cars on the street, none of that. I been keeping my eye out, just to be careful, but I aint seen anything." Fear wasn't something that Remy dealt with well. He didn't like to be afraid. But anger…anger was comfortable. He would much rather be angry than afraid. That anger was in his voice and in his body now as he leaned against the counter and glared toward them, demanding "Why are you here instead of hunting down that fils the putain? You know he's the one behind this!"
"Who?" Emily asked.
Who? Were they kidding him? No sooner had that thought hit than Remy realized that, of course they wouldn't know. Not only had they not known until tonight that Spencer liked men as well as women, but Spencer just wasn't the type to tell people that he had a problem. It wasn't surprising that he kept quiet about Paul. He was so convinced that Paul was harmless and that he could handle him. Now he was going to pay for that belief.
Remy didn't get a chance to explain his answer. Derek took care of that for him. He looked as if someone had struck him, eyes a little wide and mouth just slightly open. "Paul." He breathed the word out. "Son of a bitch, I can't believe I didn't think of him. Paul. But Reid said he'd backed off! That he hadn't heard from him for quite a while now."
"He hasn't." Remy confirmed. "That don't mean the man disappeared. I know Spencer was still worried about him. He watches over his shoulder a lot and he don't like being alone at his apartment no more. He don't come right out and say it, though. He don't have to. I understood. That's one of the reasons we stay over here so much instead of there."
"Who is Paul?" Aaron interrupted. His serious expression was locked onto Derek.
Derek unfroze all in an instant, the snap from concerned friend to serious agent a change that was easily visible. "Paul is Reid's ex. The one he had the bad breakup with. The guy was showing signs of being a rejected stalker. He kept calling until Reid had to change his number, would show up at random places, and he even set him a vase of flowers at work one day. They had a bad breakup and Paul wouldn't accept that it's over." Even as he was talking, Derek was pulling out his cellphone and dialing a number. The person must've answered because Derek suddenly started to step away at the same time as saying "Not yet, mama. I need you to run down a name for me. Paul Veers."
That left Remy with the other three agents. He looked at these people, people that Spencer called friends, people that he had trusted with his life countless times already, and he couldn't stop himself from seeking a reassurance that he knew they couldn't technically give. "Spencer speaks highly of all of you. He says that you're the best at what you do. You'll bring my man home, won't you? This Paul, he aint…I mean, he won't, he won't hurt him too bad, will he? He won't kill him?" It took everything Remy had to force those last two words out.
Dave fielded the question, his expression professional, though his eyes held a wealth of sympathy mixed in with his own worries. "Rejected stalkers generally want their significant other back in their life. They want the relationship the way that it used to be. So long as Reid plays it up, makes Paul think that he wants to be with him, then Paul won't have any reason to hurt him. Reid just has to play into the delusion."
"And Reid's a good profiler." Emily added in. "He'll know what to do and he'll do everything he can to stall for time so we can find him. He'll be looking for a way out the whole time, too."
A soft sigh ran through Remy and his eyes closed. Those around him saw as he slumped slightly underneath the weight of his worry. "Je sais. I knowhe will. It's the things he'll have to do to stall that worry me."
No one had any response for that.
Spencer woke slowly and very disoriented. Whatever had been on the rag to knock him out left his head feeling fuzzy and jumbled. Luckily, he woke alone. There was plenty of time for him to become fully coherent and to remember what had happened. He remembered the fight in Remy's house, the rag over his mouth, and then the dark. There were vague memories of movement, something swaying around him, but it was all fuzzy, soaked in whatever drug he'd been given, and his brain couldn't seem to focus now long enough to really look at anything. The headache he'd had before from his earlier knocks to the head had now come back full force, made worse by the drug—chloroform, it had to be something like chloroform—and it left him feeling like his head was splitting open.
As soon as he could manage to think somewhat past the pain and the fuzziness, he took stock of himself and his surroundings. The agent in him took over and assessed his situation and his wellbeing. What he found was enough to have him wanting to panic. The room around him was a bedroom, one that he was unfamiliar with. He was lying on a bed with his wrists tied with dark blue rope. It was wrapped around both wrists and looped up through the middle in a, a leash, that ran up to the top of the mattress and then disappeared down under the bed somewhere. There were no new marks on him, not that he could feel. At least, not any that couldn't be attributed to the fight in Remy's house. But, he became aware of another important fact as he cast his awareness over himself—he was dressed only in his pajama pants. The panic bloomed stronger and he reflexively jerked his hands down, trying to bring them to cover himself, or get them free, he didn't know. But they were caught up by the rope and stopped before he could move them even an inch. So the rope wasn't just restraining him, it was a tight leash as well that kept his hands in place above his head.
His panic combined with that sudden movement brought to life the nausea that had been sitting quietly before. His head throbbed and spun and he felt his stomach churn and then rise up his throat. Just barely did he have enough time to roll far to the side before his body was heaving. Everything in his stomach, which admittedly wasn't much, came racing back up. His head throbbed so badly with the force of his heaving that he didn't even hear the door to the room open. He had no idea anyone was there until a pair of hands were suddenly on his head, holding back his hair. He was in too much pain to jerk away, even when Paul's low murmur reached his ears. "Shh, shh, there you go. You got it. Just get it all out, yeah, just like that."
When the heaves finally stopped, Spencer was weak and dizzy. His body had been through way too much today and the fight and being drugged had only made it worse. It made his body pretty pliant as Paul half lifted him and pulled the blankets out from underneath him. Spencer really tried to wake himself up; he tried hard. But he could barely summon the energy to keep his eyes open to watch as Paul took the dirty bedding out and came back in with clean. The lower half of the bed was made up and then Spencer was partially lifted, bit by bit, so that Paul could make the bed underneath him. Eventually he was lying once more in the center of the bed, on cleaning sheets, and Paul was sitting beside him, wiping his face with a damp cloth. "There now." Paul murmured. "Isn't that better?"
Spencer licked dry lips and grimaced at the taste there. Immediately the cloth wiped over his lips, taking the remnants of his sickness away. He wanted to flinch back from Paul's touch. He wanted to shout at the man to get the hell away from him. Only by sheer will did he manage not to. Antagonizing Paul would be beyond stupid right now, and Spencer was far from stupid. He needed to play this very, very carefully. The defiance he'd shown back at Remy's couldn't come out here, wherever 'here' was. Swallowing pride, Spencer made himself be the person he knew Paul wanted. "Thank you." He said politely.
He was rewarded with a beaming smile. "You're welcome. Anything for you, Spencer. I told you, I'm going to take care of you now."
It took a lot of effort, but Spencer made himself smile. "Thank you. You always take good care of me."
"Of course. I love you, Spencer."
The rag disappeared off his face and Spencer watched through heavy eyes as Paul got up. He reached down and smoothed back a bit of Spencer's hair, smiling down at him. There was a light in his eyes, though. One that had Spencer wanting to shiver. "You just rest here, Spencer." The man told him. "Just rest. I'll go out and make you some soup so you can start getting your strength back. You don't have to worry anymore. I'm here to take care of you now." With that pronouncement, Paul turned and hurried out of the room.
Though his body was exhausted, Spencer's brain was still running faster than most people's brains would fully awake. He knew what had happened to him and he knew what was going on here. Paul had taken him so he could 'take care' of him. He's a stalker who is seeking to have the item of his affections. If I just keep calm and play a part, I can stall for time for the team to find me. He told himself. That last part was the hope that he had to hold on to. The team would find him. They would come for him. Remy would come home and find him gone, find the signs of a struggle, and he'd call the team in. They'd know that he was taken. From there, it wouldn't be hard to figure out that it was Paul. Remy and Derek would know and they'd say something. A momentary pang hit Spencer at the thought that his whole team would now know about Paul. But he'd deal with the embarrassment if they just got him out of here!
But there was one thing that Spencer had learned over the years. While he could hope and pray for his team to come and find him, he couldn't count entirely on that. Sometimes there were just too many things that got in the way, or not enough information. They were the best of the best but they weren't miracle workers. While they would do everything they could to find him, he needed to be doing everything he could to find a way to get free.
First things first, he had to have his strength to get free. He had to be able to keep his eyes open without exhaustion tugging at him. He needed sleep and he needed food to get his strength back. When Paul got back with the soup, Spencer would eat it, and he'd play his part as best as he could. At the same time, he'd put his famous mind to use and he'd figure a way out of here. Somehow. He had to! Because the alternative didn't bear thinking about.