Part 9- Retaliation

Retaliation: Noun rɪˌtæl.iˈeɪ.ʃən. The act of hurting someone or doing something harmful to someone because they done or said something harmful to you.

Dr Spencer Reid sighed as he downed his third coffee of the morning. He had awoken exceptionally early courtesy of a cramp in his left calf which had forced him to leap out of bed with a start and attempt to massage the agony from his leg. Spencer rubbed the back of his still aching leg as he silently cursed lactic acid. He flicked back the sleeve of his black blazer, the face of his stainless steel watch flashing in the low light above his mahogany dining table. He set his empty mug down on the table and closed the book he was reading with a soft thud. Spencer pushed against the table with his palms to ease himself to his feet. His aching muscle protested at the movement. He slid his revolver into the holster on his belt and patted down his pockets to ensure he had his FBI badge. He grabbed his tan leather satchel from the sofa and his keys from the bowl on the unit behind the door and made his way out of his apartment.

There was a bite in the air as the breeze picked up, ruffling the genius' dark brown, shoulder-length curls. He fumbled with his keys as he tried to locate the one for his ancient Volvo. Spencer was lost in his thoughts as he selected the correct key and pushed it into the lock on the driver's side door. He felt something cold and sharp press against his throat. His Adam's apple bobbed in fear as he stilled, the key frozen in the lock.

"Hello again, Dr Reid," came a deep voice from behind Spencer, the man's hot breath against the back of his neck. Spencer wanted to answer but the blade against his neck pressed harder as a stark warning against doing so, "Revolver, doctor. Nice and slow." Spencer raised his hands. He lowered his right hand to his holster and slowly drew out his piece. The firearm was snatched from his grip. His hand returned to it's previous position where it was level with his chest, palm facing outwards. Spencer squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed thickly. His satchel was tugged over his head and dropped heavily on the ground. He could feel a hand digging in his pockets. He felt his badge slide free from his blazer pocket. His watch followed his badge and landed on his satchel.

"Please..." gasped Spencer. The knife pressed harder into his neck, drawing a stinging line in its wake. Blood beaded up against the blade.

"No talking, Dr Reid. Jacket off." Spencer's hands trembled as he shrugged the blazer from his shoulders and tossed it on top of the pile of his possessions on the ground, "Do you have a tie on?" Spencer shook his head, "Good. I'm going to move the knife now, but any sudden movements or funny business and it'll be in your jugular. Got it?" Spencer nodded stiffly. He gave an inaudible sigh of relief as the knife was moved away from his throat. He felt the man roll the sleeves of his dark grey button down shirt to his elbows. The skin on his bare forearms bristled with the cold.

"What do you want from me?" asked Spencer cautiously. He felt his forehead slam forcefully into the roof of his car from a gloved hand wrapped in his hair. He groaned as he slumped to the ground, a palm cradling his aching head.

"Don't you listen? I said, no talking!" A boot crashed into Spencer's abdomen. He coughed as he tried to regain his breath. The man rolled Spencer onto his stomach with his foot and lowered himself heavily on the young doctor's hips. Spencer struggled against the weight of the man on his lower back. His arms were wrenched behind his back, his thin wrists gripped tightly together with one hand.

The man fumbled in his back pocket with his free hand, retrieving a black plastic zip tie. He curled the zip tie around Spencer's wrists and tugged hard, pulling it tight so that it cut deeply into the genius' flesh. Spencer gasped with the pain spreading through his hands and arms. The man swivelled around on Spencer's back, forcing his chest and face further into the asphalt. Using another zip tie, he tightly bound Spencer's ankles together. Spencer struggled underneath the weight of the man. Satisfied that Spencer was secured, he turned on the doctor's hips once again, crushing the young man's pelvis into the ground. Spencer let out a choked cry, his cheek pressed into the ground. The man reached into his jacket pocket and slid out a roll of thick black duct tape. He peeled a strip away from the roll and noted the way the young man tensed at the tearing sound. He tore off a long strip and set the roll down next to his knee. He gripped a handful of Spencer's hair and yanked his head back painfully, eliciting a yelp from the doctor. He jammed the tape forcefully over Spencer's mouth and smoothed it down. Spencer's brow furrowed in fear, his disjointed breaths coming thick and fast from his nose. He let out pleading mumbles. The man reached for the tape once again and pulled another strip away. Spencer desperately tried to crane his neck to see what the man was doing. His head was tugged back again and the tape pressed over his eyes. The man circled the tape several times around Spencer's head and across his eyes, essentially blinding him from the world. Spencer let out a screech of horror into the tape over his mouth and doubled his efforts to free himself. The man simply smashed his head into the asphalt, successfully knocking the genius out. The man came to his feet and glanced around to ensure he was alone. Satisfied that the parking lot was deserted, he popped open the trunk of Spencer's car. He gathered the unconscious man up into his arms and stuffed him into the small space, forcing him into a tight foetal position with his grazed and bloody forehead on his knees. The man quickly collected his and Spencer's belongings and threw them onto the back seat, then climbed in the driver's side. With a screech of the tyres, the car tore out of the parking lot.

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Spencer groaned with the waves of pain spreading through his skull. His pelvis throbbed from where his attacker had sat on him. He could feel something cold and metal against his neck. He cracked open his eyes to find that the blindfold had been removed. With blurry vision, Spencer looked down. His wrists remained bound behind his back and his ankles bound together. His knees were bent up slightly. His back was pressed against something circular and cold, his hands trapped between his back and what he was propped up against. He noted heavy chains around his torso and neck, holding him against what felt like a steel post.

"Welcome back, Dr Reid. I took the liberty of cleaning your head. Don't worry, it's just a graze," came a voice from behind. Spencer strained against the chain around his neck to find the source of the voice. The man stepped out of the shadows and edged his way in front of the terrified genius. Spencer's hazel eyes fell upon a pair of booted feet and moved up the legs, widening in recognition when his eyes met the man's face. He struggled against his many bonds, his curses muffled by the tape over his mouth. The man simply laughed and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets.

"Didn't expect me, did you? Spencer? Can I call you that?" Spencer struggled again, the chain cutting into his flesh, "You know, losing my wife was one thing. Having to live under WitSec was another. But the fact I lost my daughter... Because of you..." Spencer tensed, his head back against the pole and his chest heaving, "Lindsey killed herself in prison. All because of her girlfriend's bizarre obsession with you." Jack Vaughn glanced at his watch, "It seems you're late for work, Spencer. I think it would be a good idea for you to have a sick day. I'll call your boss for you." Jack slid Spencer's ancient cell phone from his jeans pocket and scrolled through the numbers until he found the one he wanted. He held the phone to his ear, the dialling tone echoing through the concrete room. Spencer's eyes glinted with hatred as they fixed on the smug man in front of him. A woman's voice sounded.

"Hey, Reid. Is everything okay? You're late for work."

"I'm sorry, Spencer is a little tied up right now. He and I have some unfinished business, isn't that right?" asked Jack, holding the phone near the genius.

"Mmmmppphh," yelled Spencer into the gag. Jack moved the phone back to his ear.

"Oh, yeah. I forgot. He's got tape over his mouth."

"Who is this? What do you want with Spencer?"

"I swear you agents don't listen to anything. We have unfinished business. My daughter is dead because of this man. He's going to die the same way she did."

"Your daughter? What happened to your daughter?"

"She hung herself in her cell. The prison cell she ended up in because of your doctor here."

"Surely we can come to some negotiation where Spencer doesn't come to any harm?"

"I'm afraid not, agent-?"

"Prentiss. Unit Chief Prentiss."

"Ah. So good old Aaron Hotchner has left? I'm going to send you a photo of your friend here while he's still recognisable. I can't promise that he'll be such a pretty boy when I'm done with him." He ended the call with a click and admired the trembling form on the floor. Spencer's attempt at a stoic exterior was betrayed by his fear. The thought of being hung to death terrified him. Jack knelt down and ran the back of his index finger over Spencer's cheek. Jack used the cell phone to take a photograph of Spencer and sent it. Jack came to his feet and pouted as he tucked the phone back into his pocket.

"Don't worry, Spencer. I'm not going to hang you yet. I'm just going to hurt you first." An evil smile quirked at the corners of Jack's lips as he reached for his sawn off shotgun propped up against the wall.

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Emily's heart thudded against her ribs, her dark eyes wide in horror and her cell phone in her shaking hand. She struggled to get her breath. Her phone pinged, snapping her out of her thoughts. She glanced at the screen to see it was a picture message from Spencer. As she opened the message, she realised that it was from Spencer's phone, but not from him. He was seated up against a metal pole in what appeared to be a dark basement of sorts. His hands were behind his back and his ankles bound together by a zip tie. A heavy chain was wrapped several times around his chest and neck, holding him flush to the pole. He had a large abrasion and deep purple bruising to his forehead. A large strip of black tape was pressed over his mouth. Emily pressed a palm to her chest in an effort to steady her pounding heart. She clambered to her feet and threw open her office door.

"BAU! Round table! Now!" Her legs could barely carry her to the conference room where she was met with six puzzled faces. Emily stood at the front of the room, her hands pressed to the table to keep herself from collapsing.

"What's going on, Em?" asked JJ. Emily turned to Penelope.

"I need you to bring up the last message sent to my phone." Penelope nodded and typed into her laptop. She let out a choked gasp at the photograph of Spencer on the wall monitor.

"Oh my god. Is that-?" asked Tara. Emily nodded.

"Yeah. I just received a call from Spencer's phone and then was sent this. He is planning to kill Reid in revenge for his daughter killing herself in prison. We need to search for recent suicides in female prison inmates with a focus on ones Spence was integral to locking up. We need to try and track Reid's phone too."

"His phone's off for now but I can put an alert out on it so it lets us know when it turns back on again," responded Penelope, her mascara streaking her face with tears.

"Do that. Let's find this son of a bitch."

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Spencer could only watch as Jack aimed the muzzle of the sawn off shotgun at his left knee. His pleas were left unheard, muffled by the tape over his mouth. He shook his head desperately. Jack's finger danced over the trigger, a coy smile on his face as he watched his prisoner attempt to plead with him. The sound echoed around the concrete walls as Jack fired. Spencer squeezed his eyes shut and let out a scream of agony as the bullet obliterated his kneecap and tore open his flesh. Bile crept up his throat. He bucked, desperately trying to keep the bile down as he knew he would be unable to expel anything from his mouth.

"Did that hurt, Dr Reid?" Spencer retched, losing the battle against the bile in his throat. Jack reached out and tore the tape from Spencer's lips. Spencer turned his head to the side and emptied the contents of his stomach beside him. He raised his head and glared at Jack.

"You bastard. Lindsey got what was coming to her. She stalked me, framed me for murder and kidnapped my mother. All because her and the bitch she was in love with had a vendetta against me." Jack shoved the muzzle of the gun into the remnants of Spencer's knee. Spencer let out a scream that tore at his throat. He was unable to prevent the small sob that passed his lips. Jack turned to a small table nestled against the wall and set his shotgun down. His fingers crept towards the roll of tape.

"Apologise for that, Dr Reid."

"No," answered Spencer vehemently.

"What?"

"I said no." He noted the man toying with the roll of duct tape, "If you're going to gag me, then go ahead. I'm not apologising for the truth," Jack visibly tensed, his hand tightly gripping the roll. He turned back to the genius with roll in his hand and pulled some of the tape away. He tore off a long strip and advanced on his victim. Spencer glared at Jack as though daring him. Jack smoothed the tape firmly over Spencer's lips. Spencer jerked his head forward in an attempt to headbutt the man but the chains kept him restrained to the pole.

"You're a little feistier than I remember, Spencer. Let's see how long you can keep that up." Spencer tugged against the zip tie around his wrists in an effort to snap the plastic but it held fast, slicing into his skin. Jack jammed two fingers into Spencer's knee with a sickening squelch. Spencer chose not to react, his eyes fixed with hatred on Jack, his breaths leaving his nose with snorting sounds. Jack gripped Spencer's jaw and shoved his head back, his fingers leaving bloody prints on Spencer's cheek. Spencer tried to tear his face away from the hand but it was kept firmly in place. Jack chuckled as he turned on the cell phone, snapping another photograph and sending it to Emily before closing off the phone again.

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Penelope jumped in her seat and gasped at the pinging noise on her laptop. She glanced around at the others, eyes wide with hope.

"His phone just turned back on!" Emily whirled around in her seat to see a new picture message had been sent.

"Open the message." Penelope typed frantically on her keyboard to open the message. It was a photograph of Spencer still tied up and bound to the pole. This time, his head was forced back into the pole with a bloody hand and his lower left leg was hanging by a tendon and some torn flesh to his thigh. His skin was deathly pale, the bruising on his forehead and the bloody fingerprints on his cheek providing a stark contrast to the rest of his translucent face. Tara pressed a hand to her mouth to quell a wave of nausea. David bowed his head and prayed silently with his hands clasped together. Matt and Luke were rendered speechless. JJ sat in silence, tears tracking over her cheeks. Emily stared in horror at the screen. Penelope was on the verge of hyperventilating. Another pinging sounded on her laptop. Emily gave Penelope's hand a firm but comforting squeeze to bring her back to Earth. Penelope turned her grief-stricken eyes to Emily, then to the alert on her screen.

"I have a match. Lindsey Vaughn hung herself in her cell three weeks ago. She was DOA."

"Okay. We need to speak to WitSec about Jack Vaughn. He has Reid. Wheels up."

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Jack had left Spencer alone with his thoughts and his agony. He was exhausted and weak from the blood loss, yet adrenaline kept him from sleeping or falling into unconsciousness. He prayed that the team would figure it out quickly. Witness protection would be a minefield to navigate, but he held hope that the team would manage, just like they had when he was incarcerated. Sweat beaded his forehead, his hair clinging to his skin. He zoned out of the sound of Jack entering his prison with a first aid kit. He watched silently as Jack knelt down in front of him and set the bag down on the ground and unzipped it. Jack gazed at the remnants of Spencer's leg thoughtfully.

"I guess there's nothing left of this. I think it's going to need amputating." Spencer narrowed his eyes at the older man. Jack made quick work of the remaining tendons and flesh by using his knife to sever them. Spencer's lower leg came away into Jack's hands. The flesh of his amputated limb had turned a sickly grey colour. Spencer watched as the zip tie was cut and his limb was dropped into an open garbage bag. Jack removed a pack of powder from the kit and opened it.

"This is a clotting powder used by the military. Really handy in the field." Jack lifted Spencer's stump and poured the powder onto the end. Spencer let out a muffled scream and tried to jerk away from the onslaught of agony spreading through his thigh into his hip. Jack quickly bound the stump with gauze and bandages. Spencer's eyes rolled back into his head and his chin dropped to his chest as unconsciousness finally took hold. Jack considered the young man. He looked pitiful, sitting there bound, gagged and unconscious with only one leg. He smiled to himself and came to his feet. He set about tying a rope into a noose and draping it around one of the beams above his head.

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Emily trembled in anticipation as she pulled the Velcro straps of her Kevlar vest tightly around her torso. She glanced up at the disused warehouse, her raven-black ponytail tickling the back of her neck. The rest of the team were kitted up and ready to go. Emily drew her glock from her holster and turned to the others.

"Let's go." Torch lights swept across the floor, dust floating in the beams. Emily gave a silent signal to others to split up and search different areas. She edged cautiously towards a room just off the side of the main warehouse room, Matt close on her tail. She held her breath as she stepped into the room. The sight that met the pair made their blood run cold. Spencer was no longer bound to the pole. He was balanced on one leg on a wooden stool. His hands remained tied behind his back and the tape remained over his mouth. A rope had been tied into a noose and was coiled around his neck. His skin was pale. His pools of hazel were filled with horror as he shook, desperately trying to maintain his balance. His eyes watered with unshed tears as he shook his head at the pair, his pleas lost into his gag. Jack had a booted foot poised next to the stool, ready to kick it away at any moment.

"Jack Vaughn? You don't need to do this. I understand that you're upset about Lindsey but this doesn't help her or anyone else. We know you blame Spencer for her death but Lindsey made a choice, one that had long-lasting implications for herself and Spencer. He didn't ask for any of this. He tried to save Lindsey from a lifetime of violence when he tried to stop you killing that boy. Spencer didn't have the luxury of being whisked off by WitSec and given a whole new life like you did. He had to live with that," said Emily. Spencer's eyes stung as the tears began to fall. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling and tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

"Lindsey would be alive if it wasn't for him. She and her lover could have had a good life. Instead her lover was obsessed with him. Now she's dead and he's still alive."

"That's a choice Lindsey made. She had to take accountability for her actions. Just like you have to. What satisfaction will you get from Spencer's death?" asked Matt, his dark eyes fixed on the older man.

"Because then I'll know that the person responsible for what happened to Lindsey will be dead too."

"But he's not responsible for that. Lindsey was. We appreciate that it hurts, but this isn't the way to take that pain away," gasped Emily.

"You have no idea how I feel or what will make me feel better."

"No, we don't. But what's next? Huh? Your wife dead, Lindsey dead, Spencer dead. When does it end?" enquired Matt. Jack gave a slow breath out of his nose.

"It ends now." In a split second, Jack kicked the stool away from under Spencer's foot, quickly followed by the sound of several shots being fired. Jack crumpled to the ground, eyes wide open and glazed, four bullet holes in his chest. Matt holstered his firearm and darted towards Spencer and used his arms to hold him up to relieve the pressure around his neck. Emily also holstered her gun and turned the stool the right way up. Matt handed her his flick knife. She clambered up onto the stool and severed the rope. Spencer collapsed against Matt, his head lolling onto his shoulder.

Matt gently lay Spencer down on the ground and pressed two fingers against the side of his bruised neck, relieved to feel the steady thumping of his heart beat. Emily looked at him expectantly.

"He's alive." Matt gently peeled the tape away from Spencer's mouth, revealing raw and inflamed skin. He eased the young doctor over onto his side. Emily sliced through the zip tie holding his wrists together. His skin was bloody and bruised.

"I need a medic in here," ordered Emily into the microphone clipped to her vest. Matt shook Spencer's shoulders.

"Hey, Reid. Open your eyes for me." A groan passed the young man's lips as his eyes fluttered open, "That's it. You're okay. Medics are on their way."

"Matt?" rasped Spencer, fire running through his throat.

"Yeah, Reid. We're here." Spencer nodded softly and closed his eyes, his head falling to the side.

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The wait was long and stifling. The silence hung heavily in the air. No one said a word to anyone. Emily nibbled anxiously on a hangnail. JJ's feet bobbed up and down against the floor, her blue eyes fixed to a spot on the wall, her hands clasped between her knees. Luke carried trays of takeout cups of coffee. Matt paced the waiting room. David prayed in the corner. The doors to the emergency room burst open, attracting the group's attention. Penelope bustled through the doors, her bright yellow dress with matching shoes, glasses and flowers clipped into her golden curls.

"Anything?" she asked breathlessly.

"Nothing yet," answered JJ.

"No news is good news, Penelope," responded David softly. A fiery-haired doctor entered the waiting room, her surgical mask around her neck. She glanced around the room.

"Family of Spencer Reid?" The group gathered around her, "Are you family? Legally, I can only speak to his next of kin."

"I'm Emily Prentiss. I have power of attorney for Dr Reid's welfare. His mother doesn't have capacity. You can speak freely in front of us all." The doctor nodded with a smile and flicked a sheet of paper over on the clipboard tightly gripped between both hands.

"Understood. My name's Dr Callahan. I led the surgical team on Dr Reid. He's going to be okay. He has a mild concussion so he'll have some intense headaches and light sensitivity for a while. He has some inflammation in his throat from both the hanging and his restraints. His cognitive functions were intact prior to surgery so I have no concerns about brain damage. He has some deep cuts and bruising around his wrists from tight restraints. He also has a small stable fracture to his C2 vertebrae from the hanging. He is wearing a collar right now to keep it stable, but there's no paralysis and this will heal on it's own. Now, my biggest concern. His left leg was amputated at the knee. We've had to take more of the leg away to just above where his knee should be. I have no idea how this happened, but Dr Reid has lost a lot of blood and infection has set in. To aid with the inflammation in his throat and to help him fight the infection, we have had to place him in a medically induced coma. We expect to bring him out of the coma and wean him off the ventilator in the next forty eight hours. Your quick actions saved him."

"Can we see him?" asked Emily.

"Certainly. I'll let you all see him but hospital policy dictates that only one person can stay with him. He's in ICU 204. Straight along the corridor." Dr Callahan gave a small smile as she flipped her paper back down and moved over to the nurse's station.

The group were horrified at the sight of Spencer in the bed. He looked incredibly frail, his skin blending in with the crisp white sheets he lay on. A plastic cervical collar was strapped around his neck, holding his head up. A plastic tube protruded between his parted lips, a white Velcro strap wrapped around the crook of his neck which housed the blue buckle holding the tube in place. A thick pair of tubes were attached to the one down Spencer's throat and to the machine that hissed in time with each forced breath. Foam cuffs were fastened around each of Spencer's bandaged wrists and tied to the bed rails. His forehead and chest were shades of black, purple and blue. As they continued their inspection, they noted the cannula in his right hand that led to a bag of clear fluid and a small bag of yellow fluid. Another was taped into the crease of his right elbow which led to a series of pumps. A cannula was taped into the crease of his left elbow which led to a large bag of blood. Their eyes fell upon the lower half of Spencer's body which had been covered with a thin, pale green blanket. They instantly noticed the missing limb. Emily's phone pinged, breaking the silence.

"Police recovered Spence's leg. His knee was obliterated by a sawn off shotgun. The force of the shot destroyed the prosthetic knee cap he had from when he was shot there years ago," said Emily.

"He'll be okay, Emily. I think he knew what was going to happen as soon as the shot was fired. He'll adapt. He's a strong kid," responded David with a small smile as he rested a hand on Emily's shoulder.

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Two days later...

Spencer could feel the haze melting away from his mind. He could feel the plastic around his neck and the foam cuffs around his wrists but this didn't feel like the same restraints he wore with Jack. He could feel the oxygen cannula seated under his nose. He creaked his eyes open and groaned with the onslaught of light. He tried again. The room had darkened a little. Spencer traced the tip of his tongue over his dry and chapped lips. His neck ached and his throat felt as though he had swallowed razor blades.

"Hello?" came Spencer's strained and raspy voice.

"Hey, Spence." Emily's face appeared in his line of vision. Spencer hated being laid flat on his back with people looking down on him. It felt like he was in school again.

"Emily? Wha-? Where?"

"Shh. Don't try to talk. You still have some inflammation in your throat. You're in a collar right now as they found a small fracture in your C2. It's stable though. You're not paralysed. You have a mild concussion." Emily fell silent as she contemplated her words. Her usually stoic mask slipped for a moment. Spencer furrowed his brow and mouthed 'what' to her, "Your leg was amputated above the knee."

"I know." Spencer's response startled her. She gave a small laugh.

"I thought I told you not to talk," Spencer gave a tired, lopsided smile.

"That's what he said. Right before he smashed my head into the top of my car."

"Reid! Stop talking dammit, or I'll make them put you back under and intubate you." Spencer chuckled and mouthed 'sorry' to her, "I'm glad you're okay though." Spencer was unable to nod so he simply circled his thumb and index finger into the universal okay symbol, "He's dead. He can't hurt you anymore."

"Good."

"Spencer Reid!" Emily playfully slapped her palm over his mouth. She noticed the genius' eyes drooping. She cautiously removed her hand. He mouthed the word 'tired' to her with a smile dancing on his lips. Emily watched as the young man's breathing slowed and evened out as he fell back into a peaceful sleep. He would be alright. Emily just knew it.