Part Two- Air of Hostility

Dr Spencer Reid grunted slightly as he stuffed his black go-bag into the rack above the row of seats he was stood beside. He had been trying for the past few minutes to force the offending item onto the shelf. With a final shove, the bag relented and slid into the rack. With a sigh, Spencer pulled his black blazer around himself and seated himself in his allocated seat in the aisle. He glanced around, hoping no one had seen the revolver nestled on his hip. He buckled the seatbelt across his lap and pulled it taut. Spencer rested his head back against the seat and zoned out slightly as the flight attendant directed the passengers through the safety briefing. His eidetic memory had the brief emblazoned permanently into his brain.

Spencer had been teaching seminars on geographic profiling in Las Vegas for two days but he was immensely grateful to be returning to his real passion- profiling with the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the FBI with his family. He was looking forward to sleeping in his own bed again. Spencer felt the rumble of the plane taxiing along the runway. He sighed and closed his eyes. He listened to the loud whir of the engines. His stomach sank at the familiar tug as the plane gained speed and departed the tarmac below. He was thankful that the flight was relatively quiet. A dull headache had started to thrum steadily within the confines of his skull so Spencer was thankful for the peace.

Spencer had no recollection of falling asleep but he knew he had not been asleep long. He could hear muffled voices as he returned to the present tense. Spencer creaked open his eyes to see a man pacing the aisle. His heart dropped into his stomach at the sight of the rifle hanging over his shoulder. His skin prickled with fear. The flight attendant was sobbing quietly in her seat at the front, her glistening eyes fixed to the pacing man. Spencer released his seatbelt as quietly as possible and turned in his seat. Placing his right hand on the back of his seat, Spencer eased himself up to his feet. He felt his left knee twinge at being forced into a bent position for too long; Spencer's six foot frame and airplane seats never got on well. Spencer slowly reached for his revolver and clicked the safety off as silently as possible.

"FBI! Drop your weapon!" announced Spencer, his firearm raised and held in a white knuckle grip. Spencer swallowed as the man turned on his heel and clasped his rifle in both hands. The man raised his eyebrows and laughed.

"You're a fed? Sure thing, pretty boy."

"My name's Dr Spencer Reid from the Behavioural Analysis Unit. Please drop your weapon."

"Doctor, huh? You don't even look like you could fight your way out of a paper bag."

"You don't need to do this. We can talk about this."

"I don't want to talk. This plane is under my control. Drop your weapon, agent."

"You know I can't do that." The man forced a woman to her feet and pressed the barrel of the rifle into her side.

"Drop it, agent. I mean it. I'm not afraid to put a bullet in her." The woman sobbed hysterically at the firearm digging into her waist. Spencer flicked on the safety and tossed his gun at the man's feet. The man threw the woman back into her seat and reached for the gun. He tucked it into his belt and trained the rifle on Spencer who slowly raised his hands, palms facing outwards.

"You know my name. Do I get to know yours?" asked Spencer cautiously.

"John. John Doe. That's all you need to know."

"Why are you doing this?"

"You're so full of questions, Dr Reid. Keep your hands where I can see them." Spencer gulped as the man shouldered his rifle and patted the agent's torso and legs.

He hitched up Spencer's black dress trouser leg to reveal a colourful striped sock. He retrieved the revolver from the holster around Spencer's ankle. "Jacket and tie off, doctor." Spencer shrugged his blazer from his shoulders, revealing his dark purple button down shirt and navy silk tie. John snatched the item of clothing from Spencer and slung it carelessly onto an empty seat. Spencer loosened his tie from around his neck and tugged it over his head, ruffling his brown, unruly curls. His curls brushed against the collar as he straightened it and handed the tie to John which swiftly joined his jacket. John stood silently for a moment as he eyed the clothing on the chair, then within a split second, spun around and slammed the butt of the rifle into Spencer's abdomen. Spencer curled over on himself as he felt the air forced out of his lungs. He dropped to his knees and coughed, his arms curled around his midsection. The rifle swung at his head and connected with his cheekbone. Spencer grunted as his face connected with the floor. A booted foot came into contact with Spencer's ribs, forcing him to curl in further and groan with the pain that was assaulting him from all sides. John turned to the trembling flight attendant and removed a roll of duct tape from his back pocket.

"Tie him up. Hands behind his back, feet together. Hurry up." The attendant took the tape with a shaking hand and knelt down beside Spencer who had started to sit himself up.

"I'm sorry," mumbled the attendant. Spencer coughed slightly as he tried to regain his breath.

"It's okay." Spencer brought his hands behind his back and crossed his wrists to allow the attendant to easily restrain him. He felt the tape winding around his wrists, binding them tightly together. After several layers of tape, the attendant tore the end off. Spencer moved his feet closer together. The tape was wound tightly around his ankles. The attendant mouthed an apology to Spencer as she stepped back. Spencer nodded and gave her a small smile of understanding. John snatched the roll from the attendant and tucked it back into his pocket. He grasped Spencer under the arms and dragged him up to his feet. Spencer's bound ankles could barely hold him upright. He felt himself being turned, then slammed down into a seat. Spencer groaned at the pain that flared through his ribs.

"You don't have to do this, you know. You have a plane full of hostages, but for what purpose? Have you made any demands to anyone?" said Spencer breathlessly. John considered the agent for a moment.

"Actually, I have. I want my little brother released from prison. He's in San Quentin."

"That's a tall order. I very much doubt you can get anyone to agree to his release. San Quentin isn't exactly known for minor felonies. Why don't you let me talk to my team? They may be able to make some negotiations."

"Nice try, doctor."

"My team are due to meet me at the airport. They're going to start digging when they realise that I'm not there. I work with the best technical analyst in the bureau. She'll find us." Spencer felt his heart swell at the thought of Penelope Garcia with her neon colours, blonde hair, her kind smile and her desk full of trinkets. John began to pace again, rubbing his temples.

"You're not going to talk your way out of this. I will take down this plane with everyone on it if I don't get what I want." Spencer's hazel eyes locked onto the agitated man.

"Let me talk to my team. Let me get them to negotiate." John twisted around and glared at the bound agent.

"I have a better idea. I have an agent. They'll do anything to get you back."

"Not true. The FBI wouldn't hesitate to risk my life to save the many." John leaned in close to Spencer. Spencer could feel his hot breath on his face.

"No, but your team will." John sneered, a yellow toothed grin etching his face. Spencer swallowed hard. John's icy blue stare chilled Spencer to the bone. John reached into his back pocket for the roll of duct tape again.

"You don't have to do this," said Spencer in a low voice. John tore off a long strip of tape from the roll and smoothed it over Spencer's lips. Spencer could only watch silently as John fumbled through Spencer's jacket pocket and retrieved his cell phone. The man scrolled through the phone numbers and smiled to himself as he found one. A dialling tone filled the tense air as the phone was put onto loudspeaker and placed on a seat.

"BAU offices, Quantico. Emily Prentiss speaking," came the calm, professional tone of Emily Prentiss on the other end of the line.

"BAU of the FBI?"

"Yes, sir. Can I help?"

"Actually, you can. I have one of your agents here. A Dr Reid. How long for depends on you."

"Who are you and what do you want?"

"My brother released from San Quentin."

"Let me talk to Dr Reid."

"He's a little tied up at the moment. I will hurt him until I get what I want. He talks a lot. The tape is working wonders at shutting him up. In hindsight, I should have gagged him earlier. Would have saved me the headache I have right now from listening to him." Spencer rolled his eyes. His own headache had increased in intensity with the hit to the face. His cheek stung mercilessly, "So, to show I'm serious..." John's voice trailed off as he raised his rifle with both hands.

Spencer had not prepared himself for the fire that ripped through his thigh. He let out a muffled scream and squirmed in his seat as the bullet tore through the muscle and bone. Blood dripped in steady splats on the grey carpet. He breathed heavily through his nose, his head resting back against the seat. Emily's voice sounded far away as she shrieked in horror.

"Carl Brown. San Quentin. Get it done, or the next bullet will be in his brain." The call went dead. John stood over Spencer and admired the clean hole in the top of his thigh. Spencer fired him a glare, his chest heaving as he tried desperately to will away the red hot agony crawling from his hip to his toes. With a malicious smile, John gave Spencer's injured thigh a squeeze. Spencer's howl of pain was lost into the tape over his mouth. John spun around to the flight attendant.

"Get the first aid kit and patch him up. Go!" The attendant darted to her feet and retrieved the green box from a small cupboard behind her. John glanced over his shoulder as he started down the aisle, "And don't even think about untying him or removing his gag or you'll be next." She gave a shaky nod and dropped to her knees in front of Spencer's rigid form.

The flight attendant popped open the box to reveal stacks of bandages, dressing pads, gloves and peroxide. Spencer's pain-filled eyes fell upon her name badge- Alex. Her immaculate makeup had tracked in lines down her face with tears. Her breath hitched as she pulled on a pair of gloves over her manicured hands. Her hands trembled as she retrieved a dressing pad and the bottle of peroxide. Alex glanced up at Spencer who tried to offer a reassuring look.

"I'm sorry, sir. This is going to hurt." Spencer nodded and shuffled himself further back into the seat to steady himself and to prepare for the onslaught of pain. Alex uncapped the bottle and held his leg firmly with her left hand. Fire ravaged Spencer's leg as the peroxide was poured into his wound. Spencer squeezed his eyes shut and jerked against the sheer agony spreading in waves throughout his limb. Bile crept up his gullet which he managed to swallow down.

"Sorry, sorry," mumbled Alex as she pressed the pad to Spencer's leg. Spencer's eyes rolled back into his head as he slumped in the seat, unconsciousness taking hold.

Spencer let out small mumbles as he came to. His head throbbed and his leg felt heavy. He had no idea how long he had been unconscious for. There was a jumble of voices but the haze over Spencer's mind prevented him from being able to pinpoint whose voices he could hear. He groaned as a hand shook his shoulder.

"Spencer? Spencer! Can you hear me?" Spencer forced his eyes open to see Emily crouched next to him. She gripped a corner of the tape over Spencer's mouth and gently peeled it away. Spencer gasped.

"Emily?" rasped Spencer.

"It's okay, Spence. We're here. We got word that the flight had been hijacked and was forced to make an emergency landing. We got him."

"Good." Spencer winced as he tried to move his leg. Emily tugged at the tape around Spencer's ankles, successfully tearing it apart and prying it away from his trousers. The renewal of circulation sent a new wave of pain through Spencer's limb. Spencer gritted his teeth.

"Spence, I need you to sit forward for me so I can free your hands." Spencer shuffled towards the edge of the seat and leaned forwards. Emily tore apart the tape around his wrists. Spencer's hands automatically reached for his leg, "Come on, there's an ambulance on the tarmac." Emily draped Spencer's right arm around her shoulders and curled her left arm around his waist. She eased him up onto shaking legs and guided him out of the plane.

A gurney was already waiting at the rear of the ambulance. The medics quickly took over from Emily, guiding the trembling man onto the gurney and buckling the straps over his legs and chest. Spencer was handed a breather which he pressed to his lips and took in a long inhale. It quickly numbed the dull throb in his leg. The gurney was loaded up into the back of the ambulance. Emily climbed in, ducking her head, and seated herself next to Spencer. Spencer gazed at her with pain-filled eyes.

"I'm taking the train next time."