"Did you call the CDC?"

"Yeah but…" Reid looked down, reverting his eyes and gave a sad smile, trying to think of the best way to explain the next thing. "...without knowing what type of toxin we are dealing with and in what quantity, the CDC don't have much to go from. They need to gather all their equipment, set up a perimeter and evacuate the building before they can breach the apartment." Reid clicked his tongue, not really knowing how else to explain to Hotch that the CDC might not make it there in time.

Hotch just nodded and stared into the distance, not giving any hints that he was fazed or even troubled by the news. Ever since he saw the crimson blood smeared on the back of his hand, he knew that Foyet had won. He wasn't leaving the apartment alive.

"I called Rossi," Reid said, testing Hotch's awareness. The blank stare was starting to worry him and he knew they both needed to be distracted from their own thoughts. "They are up to speed with everything that has happened and Garcia will look into Jason Wilkinson for us."

The rest of the conversation he kept to himself; The worried questions, the constant sobbing from Garcia in the background and the grim silence that came when they realized how much time they had.

"Jason Wilkinson?" Hotch asked in confusion, his brow furrowed and his mouth slightly ajar.

"Middle aged former biochemist specializing in nerve agents. He killed twenty people before he was arrested" Reid explained, watching the concentration on Hotch's face as he tried his hardest to recall the old case.

Something about it seemed very familiar, like the lyrics to a song that was long since forgotten. It was like the pieces of information were scattered, always out of reach. Hotch stretched his mind, reaching for anything tangible, anything coherent until a certain name glowed like a firefly in the never-ending darkness.

"He was targeting Gallery Place mall" Hotch finally said, his hand still clutching his chest, his breathing getting shallower and more desperate. "We stopped his car only a few blocks away."

"Exactly!" Reid exclaimed with the same pride as a teacher hearing the right answer from a student. The long pause and confused look had him worried, but he pushed it to the back of his mind, making a mental note to keep an eye on Hotch's cognitive state.

Hotch turned and looked towards the door, the cogs in his head turning like mad trying to fight through the fog that slowly descended on his mind. "Did you get a good look at the delivery man?"

Reid froze. The delivery man. He had wanted to tell Hotch but everything since had happened so fast. He looked down, the feeling of guilt rushing over him. He never forgot a face and yet this man had been standing only two feet away, looked directly into his eyes and smiled before walking away.

"Wilkinson was the delivery man" he said quietly, looking down at his fidgeting hands, his fingers entwining and rubbing against each other.

"What?". Hotch stared at Reid in shock and confusion.

"I realized it immediately after Foyet said his name."

"But you…"

"Have an eidetic memory, I know... "Reid let his shoulders fall and his head hang in a resigning manner. "I should have recognized him the minute I opened the door, but I didn't!". Reid stood up, his arms flaring out to the side, frustration and anger evident in his voice. Anger directed at himself. "Something felt off about him, but he looked normal and not long after I had signed the package, he was gone."

"Reid…"

"I should have recognized him! I should have stopped him!"

"Reid – ". Hotch raised his voice this time, the tone of authority ringing through the silent living room. "You couldn't have known."

Reid slumped back into the sofa like a rag doll, all his fight gone from his being. Of course he could have known. If only he had been cautious and focused instead of distracted by that stupid offer. If his mind can't recognize a dangerous serial killer when they are standing right in front of him, then what good is he?

A frantic tapping on his shoulder broke his line of thought and he looked to his right.

"Bucket" was all Hotch could mouth while pointing towards the kitchen cabinet. Reid saw the remaining color disappear from his face and knew an accident was about to happen if he didn't act quickly. He ran to the cabinet, pulled out a white bucket and just barely managed to hand it over before Hotch looked at him, apologized and then emptied the contents of his stomach.

Hotch's whole upper body was bent over the bucket, his back arching to expel what already wasn't there. He groaned, his stomach convulsing and twisting as the diaphragm contracted, sending more and more waves of stomach acid up his throat. It was more dry heaving than actual vomit and Reid realized that Hotch hadn't had the chance to eat anything since his last incident. He grabbed his cane and quickly made his way to the kitchen, one ear listening for the pauses between retching, hoping it would soon come to an end.

It lasted longer than the last one, each contraction of his muscles almost sending him headfirst into the bucket. When it finally slowed down and he could straighten his back, the energy had all but gone from his being. He put the bucket down and collapsed back into the sofa, his breathing rapid and uneven. Drool was hanging down from his jaw, joining the already existing rivulets of tears and sweat.

Reid returned with a glass of cold water and watched Hotch drink it slowly, the cold liquid soothing his dry and raw throat.

"Bananas and toast are part of the BRAT diet" Reid explained as he placed a banana and a plate full of toast on the coffee table and sat back down next to Hotch. "Historically, it was used in pediatrics when kids got sick and couldn't tolerate anything, but this diet is helpful for anyone who has nausea, vomiting or diarrhea. The BRAT diet acronym stands for bananas, rice, applesauce and toast but since I could only find Bananas and toast in your kitchen, I guess you are only having BT"

Reid couldn't help but giggle at his own little joke and Hotch had to admire his friend's ability to find amusement even in bad situations. He carefully took a piece of toast from the plate and nibbled at it, not wanting to upset his stomach more than it already was.

"What else do you remember about Wilkinson?" Reid asked out of the blue, his eyes focused on every little bite that Hotch was taking.

"He…" Hotch took a moment to search his mind "...experimented on victims before his first attack. Dave and I were assigned the case when three people were found dead in their own home, only one week apart. Cause of death was…"

Hotch paused and looked at Reid whose face was flashing multiple emotions, his mind in deep thought.

"What if…" Reid said, scratching his chin "you are Wilkinson's latest test subject?"

The sound of a needle dropping could be heard over the immense silence that followed. Time felt paused, non-existent. The threat was suddenly much bigger and much more imminent. If Wilkinson were looking for ways to test his new toxin, who knew how many people would be in danger.

Hotch quickly grabbed his phone and not soon after pressing the buttons, a panicky voice could be heard over the line. Reid smirked at his boss's facial expression. Clearly Garcia was approaching this with her usual zeal, making it very hard for Hotch to contain his frustration. After repeating the phrase "I am fine" for the umpteenth time, Garcia finally gave up her 20 questions and Hotch put her on speaker.

"We believe that Wilkinson might be up to more than we first assumed." Hotch started before Reid frantically took over. "There is a big chance that he could be repeating his pattern and that Hotch is only the beginning. "

"Oh that is not good," said Garcia, the panic in her voice rising "What am I looking for?"

"All nerve agents cause their toxic effects by preventing the proper operation of an enzyme that acts as the body's off switch for glands and muscles." Reid moved his fingers in quotations as he said the words "Off Switch", trying to explain the mechanism as simply as possible." Without an off switch, the glands and muscles are constantly being stimulated. Exposed people may become tired and no longer be able to keep breathing."

"Reid"

With a look of almost surprise, Reid clamped his mouth shut, wondering what exactly he had said wrong. He had explained a body's reaction to nerve agents as clearly as he could, and his air quotes had been on point. Garcia might not have been able to see them, but Hotch could.

Hotch cleared his throat and directed his attention to Garcia. "We need you to look into previous deaths in homes caused by heart failures. Start your search from when he was released till present day."

The sound of keys being pushed rapidly could be heard before Garcia hung up the phone to do her magic.

"Did you smell, see or feel anything when you opened the package?" Reid asked, staring back at the brown box on the dining room table.

Hotch shook his head. "I- I don't remember smelling or seeing anything…". He moved his hand automatically to wipe at his nose. "I only remember feeling my nose running shortly after."

"I think I know exactly what nerve agent Wilkinson is using". Reid fumbled through his pocket and found the list of symptoms and his notes written on a small, lined piece of paper.

"I have been going over your symptoms and from what I can gather, I think the nerve agent is Sarin". Reid folded his hands together and Hotch knew he was in for another spiel.

"Nerve agents are generally colorless to amber-colored, tasteless liquids that may evaporate to a gas. Agents Sarin and VX are odorless; Tabun has a slightly fruity odor and Soman has a slight camphor odor. Since you could neither see nor smell the toxin, it's a good indication that - "

Reid was suddenly distracted from his important lecture by the sound of Hotch retching into the already half full bucket. He must have spaced out while talking as he neither saw nor heard the buildup of nausea or the bucket being pulled up to Hotch's weak form.

The glass on the table was already empty, so Reid got up and poured another glass of water, wondering if it would even make a difference at this point. Hotch's body was expelling fluids quicker than what was possible to keep up with. His body was breaking down and it wouldn't be long before the lack of fluid was the least of his problems. Soon, the person he looked up to and saw as a father figure, would be convulsing and suffocating right in front of him and there was nothing he could do. He shook his head to clear his mind from the daunting thoughts and grabbed a banana for good measure.

All the food that Hotch so carefully had eaten, came right back up, leaving his stomach empty and aching once again. He wanted to curl up to minimize the tight grip he felt in his gut, but the bucket was in his way, standing firmly on his lap. Tears ran in a never-ending stream down his face, some falling down into the puddle below.

He wiped his mouth in his sleeve, relieved that the nausea had finally subsided and found large drops of fresh blood soaked into the fabric. His stomach flipped as he looked down, the sight making him feel queasy all over again. The inside of the bucket was covered in bright red spots.