Part 15- Surrogate Son.
"I told you, Agent Hotchner. You should have made a deal. I might not be able to get to Haley or little Jack, but I can still take something close to you."
Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner froze at the chilling voice message that had been left on his work cell phone. He had been chasing George Foyet for months and the man seemed to slip through his fingers at every turn. His scars prickled at the thought. It had only been a matter of weeks since Foyet had stabbed him nine times and left him at the doors of St Sebastian Hospital. Haley and Jack had been forced into hiding through witness protection. Aaron pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and gave an exasperated sigh. He could hear a high pitched laugh sound from the bullpen below him. He came to his feet and parted the blinds at his office window.
Derek Morgan was lounging in his swivel chair at his desk with a crunched up ball of paper in his hand. Dr Spencer Reid was huddled over his desk, his brown, shoulder-length curls brushing against the manila folder open in front of him and his crutches nestled against the desk. Jennifer 'JJ' Jareau was stood behind Spencer, her fist firmly pressed into her mouth to stifle a giggle. Emily Prentiss was watching from behind Derek. Balls of paper littered the floor behind Spencer, each one having missed the genius. Aaron felt warmth flush through him as he watched his team. The ball Derek had been holding was launched at Spencer and successfully bounced of the doctor's head. Spencer sat up and glared at the dark-skinned agent. Aaron flicked back the sleeve of his blazer to check his watch. The team had worked solidly from the BAU office for the entire day on consults and paperwork. Paperwork that everyone except Spencer loathed. Aaron closed the blinds and turned back to his desk. He could hear the sound of shuffling from the bullpen as he reached down behind his desk and grabbed his black leather briefcase. A bottle of twenty-five year old Scotch was waiting for him at home. He flicked off the desk lamp, plunging the office into darkness. As he exited the office, Aaron noticed that everyone but Spencer had left. Aaron jogged down the few steps to the bullpen.
"Aren't you going home, Reid?" asked Aaron. Spencer's head snapped up, hair hanging wildly over his face.
"I will be soon. I just want to finish these files."
"I can wait and give you a ride?" Spencer gave a sheepish, tight-lipped smile.
"Oh, no. That's okay. I'm looking forward to getting some air. It's been pretty stifling in here today." Spencer tugged uncomfortably at the collar of his shirt. Aaron gave a rare smile in return.
"Okay, but don't stay too late."
"I won't. Goodnight, Hotch."
"Goodnight, Reid." Aaron gave Spencer a wave and headed for the elevator. Spencer sighed and glanced around at the scattered paper balls behind him. Using one of his crutches, he rolled the balls closer to where he was seated so that he could easily pick them up without aggravating his injured knee. He gathered each one up and dropped them into the waste paper basket under his desk. He would plot his revenge against Derek, come hell or high water, and he would make sure it was spectacular. With a flourish of his thin wrist, Spencer signed off on his last report and closed the folder with a gentle slap. He slid it on top of the pile of completed folders in his tray. He tugged his black blazer from over the back of his chair and shouldered it over his purple button down shirt and grey sweater vest.
The air was crisp and fresh as Spencer stepped outside of the FBI offices in Quantico. He leaned heavily on his crutches, his braced knee bent slightly. Shades of navy and black melted into pinks and oranges as the sun was setting. He sniffed the cool air, the lingering scent of petrichor from the previous night's thunderstorm filling his nostrils. He was grateful that the subway station was a short distance from the office. With crutches tapping against the pavement, Spencer made his way to the subway.
The subway ride had been relatively uneventful which was hardly a surprise to Spencer, given that a football game was being televised, so most people would be at home with their cans of beer in front of the television. Spencer thought longingly of the new book sat on his coffee table at home. He somehow managed to drag himself up the two flights of stairs to his apartment and unlock the door with well-practised ease. Pain tore through his knee beneath the brace from overuse. Spencer gritted his teeth against the pain and hobbled into his apartment. He gave the front door a nudge with his foot so that it shut with a click and locked it behind him. He stepped forward and rested his crutches against the back of his brown leather sofa and dropped his battered tan leather satchel onto the cushions. He shrugged off his blazer and slung it over the back of the sofa, then rolled the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. He gathered his crutches under his arms and tossed his credentials, ID card, watch, handcuffs and his Smith and Wesson onto the sofa before turning and shuffling off to the bathroom, kicking his converses off on the way.
As he returned to the lounge, Spencer noticed that his front door was swaying slightly. He was sure he had locked it behind him, though his pain-addled mind was failing him at the best of times of late. He pushed the door shut again with the tips of his fingers and pushed his key back into the lock and turned it to secure the door again. He felt the cold steel of a gun grazing against his scalp. He swallowed thickly and stilled, his fingers tightly clenched around the handgrips of his crutches.
"Good evening, Dr Reid," came the almost robotic, distorted voice behind him.
"Foyet... " muttered Spencer.
"You catch on quick, doc. Me and you are going to take a little trip." Spencer jutted out his chin and straightened, shaking his head stiffly.
"I'm not going anywhere with you."
"You will if you don't want me to go right over to Agent Jareau's house and put a bullet between little Henry's eyes." Spencer suddenly felt his mouth go dry and his heart skipped a beat. "Stay right where you are." George snatched the crutches away from under the genius's arms with one hand, forcing him to stumble to keep his balance, the gun still trained on his head in his other hand. Spencer's knee twinged and he hissed with the pain. George tossed the crutches to one side with a clatter against the wooden flooring. He stepped up to where Spencer stood with his back to him. Spencer was balanced on one leg, his injured leg gingerly brushing against the floor. George glanced down and chuckled at the one striped sock and one spotted sock.
"Couldn't find a matching pair this morning?" asked George.
"I don't wear matching socks. It's bad luck."
"Never took you for the superstitious type, doc."
"I'm not." George snorted derisively. "Listen, Foyet. You don't need to do this. Abducting me won't help your case in any way. The whole of the FBI and law enforcement are looking for you."
"It'll draw out Agent Hotchner. I can't get to Haley and Jack, so I'll have to find a different way to hurt him."
"So you think by taking me, you can hurt him?"
"Of course I can. You're the weakest link of the team and you're like a son to him. I mean, look at you. How did you get the knee injury? Trip over air?"
"I was shot in the knee protecting a doctor."
"Never took you for the protective sort." Spencer let out a dark laugh.
"Then you clearly don't know me at all." George gave a huff of frustration.
"Okay, okay. Enough chit chat. Now, I'm going to tie you up nice and tight and get you ready to go. Hands." Spencer hesitated, his breath trapped in his throat. "Don't forget that little Henry's life is on the line here." With a defeated sigh, Spencer reluctantly put his wrists together behind his back. George pulled a roll of grey duct tape out of his jacket pocket and pulled some away from the roll. He wound it tightly several times around the thin wrists, binding them together. He smirked at the pained wince from the doctor.
"Don't move, doctor." George moved over to the sofa and gathered the handcuffs, slipping them into his jacket pocket. He turned back to Spencer who was absent-mindedly testing his bonds. "Turn around." Spencer turned as best he could on his good leg. His hazel eyes glared hatefully at the intruder. George held up the tape in front of Spencer's face and pulled another length away from the roll. Spencer immediately knew what it was for.
"You don't have to do that. I'll be quiet."
"We both know that's not true, doc. You just have to let all that knowledge out of that big, beautiful brain of yours." George tore a long strip off the roll and smoothed it firmly over Spencer's lips, patting him lovingly on the cheek. George produced a length of black cloth from his pocket which he draped across Spencer's eyes and pulled tightly, knotting it at the back of his head. Spencer's pleas were muffled by his gag. George slung Spencer over his shoulder in a fireman carry, unlocked the door, and made his way down the stairs, allowing the door to swing shut behind him. He knew that no one would see him. He had scoped the doctor's apartment block for long enough to know that the majority of the residents were older people and were cooped up in their residences at such a late hour. Spencer struggled against the serial killer's hold over his thighs.
Once the pair were outside the apartment block, George unlocked a dark sedan parked nearby. He tossed Spencer onto the floor of the back seat with a groan. Spencer kicked his unencumbered leg out in a blind hope to nail George. George simply laughed and grabbed the thin ankles and pinned them between his knees. He pulled more tape away from the roll and bound the agent's ankles together tightly and pushed them inside the car. He leaned over the trussed up doctor and used the handcuffs to bind one of his bound arms to the rail underneath the passenger seat. Spencer could only lie there and listen in silence as George closed the back door and climbed into the driver's seat. Heavy metal pulsed through the speakers of the car. He pressed his forehead against the cushion of the back seat. He knew that Aaron and Derek would be pissed when they realise that he had been kidnapped again.
...
Aaron was usually first in, closely followed by Spencer. The pair were workaholics and Aaron liked to make a head start on the additional reports he had to complete and sign off the team's reports before the rest of the team arrived for the day. It was unpredictable when a case would come in and they were required to up sticks at the drop of a hat and travel to some part of the country for an uncertain number of days. He made his way up the few steps to his office and dropped his briefcase behind his desk with a soft thud. He slumped into his swivel chair and sighed at the pile of folders in his tray.
Aaron expected to hear the familiar clicking of Spencer's crutches against the floor but it never came. His brows twitched slightly but brushed it off. He soon heard the low rumble of chatter of the agents filing in for the day. A pool of dread formed in the pit of his stomach. He never heard the doctor's crutches. Spencer never arrived after the others. A single voice piped up.
"Anyone seen pretty boy?" Aaron slowly lifted his head. Spencer had not turned in for work. Aaron picked up his cell phone and dialled Spencer's number.
"This is Dr Spencer Reid. I'm afraid I'm unable to take your call right now, but if you leave a name and number, I'll get back to you as soon as I can."
"Reid? It's Hotch. Is everything okay? You haven't shown for work yet. Call me back." Aaron sighed and dropped his phone on his desk with a hollow clatter. No sooner had he put the phone down, the screen lit up and a shrill tone sounded. Aaron gave a sigh of relief at the name on the screen- Reid. Aaron scrambled to answer the phone.
"Reid? Is everything okay?" A low, malevolent chuckle responded.
"Ah, Agent Hotchner. It's good to hear your voice. Your little doctor is fine for now. He's a little tied up though. Grey looks good on him, and it looks even better when it's keeping that pretty mouth of his shut. He sure had a good number done on his knee. The grinding of the bones as I was tying his legs was really something. I have a pretty strong stomach, but even that turned me a little queasy."
"Foyet... What do you want?"
"Well, I can't get to Haley and Jack so I need to find another way to get under your skin. What better way than your subordinate, or should I say, surrogate son? I know you'd do anything to find him." Aaron squared his jaw.
"Let me talk to Reid."
"No. I need to get the good doctor settled first. He's a little out of it. I'll call you in the next couple of hours." The call cut off, leaving Aaron sat in a stunned silence. George Foyet had Spencer. With shaking hands pressed to the edge of his desk, Aaron came to his feet. Everything was sluggish and moving in slow motion as he exited his office and approached the bullpen.
"Everyone. Conference room. Now."
Aaron felt lost in a daze as he made his way across the platform to the conference room. Everyone stared at him in confusion from around the table. He sunk into a chair with his face in his hand. He dragged his palm down his face and turned to the team.
"I just received a call from Reid-"
"Where is he? Is he okay?" cut in Derek. Aaron drew his lips into a thin line.
"Morgan, please. It wasn't Reid. It was the Reaper." Derek narrowed his dark eyes at the unit chief to try and detect the hint of a lie.
"Say what?"
"Foyet has kidnapped Reid." The atmosphere hung thick and tense over the group as they considered Aaron's words and the impact of them. This was no longer personal to Aaron alone. It was war against the BAU. Derek came to his feet and ran a palm across his bald scalp. He curled his fingers into a fist and slammed it hard into the nearest wall.
...
Spencer's memories were jumbled. He could recall being taken from his apartment but could not remember anything after that. He was confused by the blood that had become dried and sticky down the side of his face, tracking over the duct tape over his mouth. His head was steadily pounding with each heart beat. He weakly tested his bonds. His hands were still tightly bound behind him and his ankles bound together. He attempted to open his eyes a fraction as his head swayed unsteadily on his neck. He was sat on a concrete floor with his back resting against a wall and his knees bent slightly. He cautiously lifted his head to observe his surroundings. George had his back to him as he fumbled around on a fold out table. Spencer attempted to adjust his position slightly, the back of his head pressed against the wall to steady himself. He appeared to be in a storage unit of sorts. He narrowed his eyes at the open laptop on the table. At the sound of fabric brushing against an aluminium wall, George turned on his heel with a wide smirk across his face.
"Nice you to finally join me!" Spencer scrunched his face in pain as George's voice pierced his aching head. "You decided to be a naughty little agent and make a whole bunch of noise. I had to pull over and clobber you real good over the head, then kill a passer-by who heard you. Hope you had a nice nap." Spencer knotted his brows together in a frown and turned his hateful glare back to George. George chuckled. "You're about as scary as a kitten, doc. I hope your acting skills are up to scratch. Time to give Agent Hotchner a show." Spencer felt his stoic facade slip slightly, hazel eyes filling with despair as George tapped a button on the laptop. At first, it was a blank screen, then it filled with an image of the team seated at the conference room table. Spencer's skin prickled with fear. His heart clenched at the horror written into the features of every member of his team, his family.
The light from the laptop screen flashed against the sharp edge of the knife that George grasped in his leather-gloved hand as he crouched down next to his prisoner. He held the blade over Spencer's throat. Spencer's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly. He tried to focus his attention on Penelope, her tears tracking over her cheeks in black lines. He had no doubt in his mind what George was going to do. He was a creature of habit after all.
"Agent Hotchner! Good to see you again, old friend! How are you healing up?"
"Fine. Listen to me, Foyet. Reid isn't part of this. This is between us. Just let Reid go." George chortled and shook his head.
"You aren't hearing me, Aaron. Going after your family is the only way I can hurt you. You hid Haley and Jack from me so I went after Dr Reid here. The only way to put an end to this is to stop hunting me."
"No. Whatever it takes, I will find you." George turned his head back to Spencer and pouted at the young doctor.
"I guess he wanted this to happen." Spencer's breath caught in his throat as the tip of the knife came to rest against just under his collar bone. Spencer shook his head at George. George pushed down on the knife painstakingly slowly. Spencer's eyes squeezed shut and a muffled scream passed his taped lips with the blade gliding too easily through his muscle. Blood blossomed across his shirt and soaked into his sweater vest as the knife was withdrawn.
"There's one. How many do you think Dr Reid can take, Aaron? Do you think he could beat your record?" Spencer locked eyes with the killer and started yelling at him from behind the tape, his words unintelligible. "Something to say, doc?" George leaned forward and ripped the tape harshly from Spencer's mouth.
"H-Hotch! Don't make the deal! I-I can take it," panted Spencer. George raised his eyebrows at the young man.
"Oh, you can, can you? Let's test that resolve." George moved the knife down to Spencer's injured knee and held it to his knee between the straps holding his brace taut around his injured limb.
"Don't you fucking dare," snapped Spencer. George smirked as he forced the knife down into his kneecap. Bones and cartilage crunched and ground around the blade. Spencer gritted his teeth to hold back a scream. A scream that was unleashed by the team on his behalf. "Fuck... Fuck!" It was unnerving to hear the genius swear. He was always so articulate and mild-mannered.
"Well, that is some salty language, doc!" George twisted the knife in Spencer's knee, forcing the bones to separate further with a sickening squelch.
"Bastard..." choked out Spencer, an involuntary tear tracing over his cheekbone from the corner of his eye. "Thanks for setting my recovery back to square one, asshole." George wrenched the knife back out, blood quickly soaking through the black dress trouser leg. He came to his feet and wiped the blade across Spencer's shirt sleeve.
"Excuse me, agents. Dr Reid is going to be gagged again for his language just now. Didn't you teach your agents proper etiquette, Aaron? Or did that clonk on the head do more damage than I thought?" Spencer watched the older man grab the roll of duct tape from the table and tear off a long strip. He advanced on his prisoner who simply tilted his back against the wall in defiance and forcefully jammed the tape down over his mouth, pressing it down firmly to ensure it was secure with his palms, his fingers cupping the young man's jaw. Spencer attempted to wrench his head away.
"Nuh uh, doc. Behave." George plunged the knife deep into Spencer's side. Spencer let out a muffled groan and tried to move away from the agony assaulting his abdomen. His vision blurred horribly and his eyes fluttered. He desperately wanted to stay away awake but the darkness was stronger and pulled him into the abyss, the cries of his team merely an echo.
...
Aaron's face remained unreadable as Spencer slumped against the wall. The genius' shirt and sweater vest were stained with deep crimson blotches. A ruby pool had formed under Spencer's limp knee. Blood dripped steadily into the pool like a leaking faucet. Aaron knew from personal experience that the stab wounds would not prove to be fatal in themselves, however blood loss and infection were very real concerns. After all, Spencer appeared to be in a basement or storage unit of some kind, given that the walls were of a corrugated metal. Aaron furrowed his brow. Penelope let out a choked sob. George's face appeared in the shot.
"Looks like the good doctor has gone to dreamland. I'll call again when he finally wakes up." The video ended, leaving a blank screen. David turned to Aaron.
"How do we work out where this jag-off is? He's never kidnapped anyone before. This is a massive change in MO," huffed David. Derek pursed his lips.
"Did anyone else notice the walls? They're corrugated metal. You only see those types of walls in storage units. Baby girl? Could you run a search of storage lock-ups and run them by any of Foyet's aliases?" Penelope scoffed.
"Can I? What do you take me for? On it right away, my delectable piece of chocolate fudge." Derek smirked. Penelope stared at her laptop screen for a moment, deep thought etched into her tear-stained features. "Guys, I might be able to track the next video." All eyes turned to her. There was a beat.
"Keep running that search, Garcia, and when he calls again, get ready to trace it," instructed Aaron. Penelope nodded, brightly coloured nails flying across her keyboard.
"I can do that!" Aaron turned to the rest of the team. Horror and despair was written into everyone's faces.
"Everyone should take a short break. We're limited until Foyet contacts us again, or unless we get a hit on a storage unit." Aaron noticed Derek open his mouth to argue. "Before you say it, Morgan, I'm not giving up on Reid. Even you know that our hands are tied until he contacts us again. Reid is strong. He'll be okay." Derek clamped his mouth shut and nodded. The group dispersed from the table. Penelope's laptop flickered as it continued its fruitless search.
...
It was a wave of sheer agony that stirred Spencer from the darkness in which he had descended. A muffled groan escaped his taped mouth as he attempted to straighten himself from his slouched position. His left shoulder throbbed steadily and fire ripped through his side. His knee felt unnervingly numb. He cautiously peeled open his eyes and blinked several times to clear his blurred vision. George was pacing, twirling his knife repeatedly in his hand as though he was waiting for something. Spencer silently observed his injuries. Blood had begun to dry on his shirt and trousers, pasting them to his skin. He rested the back of his head against the wall and took in some deep breaths through his nose. George turned on his heel to see that his prisoner was finally awake and pocketed his knife. In a few steps, he was crouched in front of Spencer. He reached for Spencer's face and gently peeled the tape away from his mouth and scrunched it up, tossing it to one side. The gentleness of George's actions was concerning to the genius. He took a moment to take in some deep breaths through his mouth and ran the tip of his tongue across his dry, flaky bottom lip.
"Nice of you to grace me with your presence, doc." Spencer winced at the sharp pain in his shoulder. His hazel eyes fell upon the red blinking light on a camera in the corner of the room. George held up a bottle of water. "Drink. Can't have you dying on me just yet." He uncapped the bottle and pressed it to Spencer's lips. Spencer eyed the water warily. "It's a sealed bottle and poison isn't exactly in my MO." George tipped the bottle up slightly, allowing the doctor to gulp the contents down. Once the bottle was empty, George re-capped it and slung it into the corner of the room. Spencer glared at George.
"Agent Hotchner doesn't care for me the way you think he does. Our relationship is purely professional, and even then, that can be debatable." A pang of hurt spiked in Spencer's heart at his lie. He hoped that if the team watched the recording from the room, that they'd understand. That Aaron would understand. Just like he did in Georgia. George chuckled slightly and shook his head.
"Nice try, kid. A plus for effort. Really. But I'm not stupid. I've seen the way he protects you."
"I'm a liability to the team. I'm constantly being abducted or injured. Everyone knows that the team would be better off without me, they just don't have the decency to tell me. Trust me, you'd be doing them a favour by killing me."
"A little dark, don't you think?"
"You're the expert on the dark and deranged," shrugged Spencer. "So, what happens now? You're never going to get Haley and Jack. Hell, even we don't know where they are. I very much doubt Agent Hotchner will give himself to you for me."
"Ah, Dr Reid. I want to see Aaron suffer by watching someone else suffer. Those three little stabby-stabs were just the beginning."
George came to his feet and dragged a wooden straight-back chair into the centre of the room. Spencer watched him anxiously as he grabbed several lengths of rope and dropped them next to the chair. George grasped the front of Spencer's sweater vest in his balled up fists and tugged the genius to his feet. He dropped Spencer heavily into the chair. Spencer gritted his teeth at the new wave of agony throughout his body. George wound a length of rope around Spencer's torso, binding him to the backrest of the chair, trapping his bound hands behind him. He bent down at the doctor's feet and tied more rope tightly around his bound ankles. Spencer bit his lip to stifle a yelp of pain as the rope around his ankles was pulled underneath the chair, forcing his toes to brush against the floor, and was knotted to the rope around his torso. More blood leaked from the stab wound in his knee. Spencer swallowed hard, his eyes wide with horror as George unbuckled the genius's belt and tugged it free of his waistband. Spencer shook his head frantically.
"No. Don't do this." George snorted with laughter.
"You think I'm going to do that to you, doc? Dear boy, I'm a sadist not a rapist." George moved around behind the chair and wrapped the leather belt around Spencer's slender neck. He pulled harshly on the belt, eliciting a choked gasp from the young man, before buckling it tightly at the back of his neck. He wrapped the rest of the belt around the top of the chair and padlocked it to the buckle, forcing his neck to arch backwards, before tossing the key into a darkened corner of the room. Spencer breathed heavily against the rope across his chest, despair etched into his features. He was unable to lift his head without cutting of his airways and was unable to see what George was doing, so he stared morosely at the ceiling. George appeared in his line of sight with the roll of duct tape in his hand and a menacing smirk on his face.
"Nice and uncomfortable, Dr Reid?"
"Go to hell," growled Spencer as he tested the tightness of his bonds.
"There's that mouth again! You really do have an attitude! Looks like I need to gag you again." Spencer stared fiercely into George's eyes. George chuckled to himself as he tore a long strip from the roll and pasted it firmly over Spencer's mouth, using his calloused thumbs to press it down to his skin. "Just beautiful." George gently caressed Spencer's cheek. Spencer turned his face away as much as he could. "Aw, come on, doc. Don't be like that." George pulled out his knife and teased the tip of the blade along the sharp edge of Spencer's jaw. Spencer gulped against the belt around his neck.
"I know what we can do. I know how much you love the dark and I think it'll really get to Aaron when he gets to watch this." George leaned in close, his hot breath against Spencer's ear. "You're going to love this." Spencer's brows knitted together and his entire frame trembled with fear. George peeled more tape away from the roll and tore off more strips, layering them over Spencer's eyes to block out any sliver of light. Spencer's chest heaved, ragged breaths leaving his nose. George fished in his trouser pocket and removed a pair of ear plugs. He pushed them firmly into Spencer's ears. The genius squirmed in an effort to remove the offending objects. George chuckled to himself as he grabbed the length of black cloth from beside the laptop and draped it over Spencer's duct-taped eyes. He pulled it tightly, ensuring it covered his ears and knotted it at the back of his head. Spencer released a muffled shriek of terror. George turned to the laptop and tapped a button on the keyboard to power it up. The blank screen was soon filled with the faces of the BAU agents at the round table.
...
Aaron felt his blood flow like ice through his veins at the sight of his subordinate on the screen. Spencer was arched uncomfortably in a chair with his ankles pulled harshly underneath and tied to the ropes binding him to the backrest. His neck was curved backwards, a leather belt securing him to the back of the chair. His chest visibly rose and fell with each ragged breath he took in through his nose. George was seated in a fold up chair next to Spencer, a smug grin on his face and the knife twirling between his parted knees. Penelope let out a choked sob into her palm. Derek curled his fingers into a fist, itching to jump into the screen and punch the serial killer. David clasped his hands on the table and bowed his head in silent prayer. Emily thought through various scenarios in her head to help her compartmentalise. JJ nibbled on her thumbnail to try and distract her attention from her trussed up best friend. Aaron felt his stoic mask slipping at the sight of the young man trembling from head to toe.
"Hello again, BAU! I figured Dr Reid here needed some time in solitary confinement so I took away his voice, his vision and his hearing. He has no idea what we're doing right now. Is it bothering you, Aaron? Seeing him like this? I know about his pathetic fear of the dark so the poor kid must be quaking in his boots." George cast a glance to his right. "Would you look at that? He is!"
"What's it going to take for you to let Reid go?" asked Aaron.
"You know very well, Aaron. Stop hunting me. Let me go on my merry way and I'll release Dr Reid."
"Let us talk to him."
"Fine." George reached over, untied the cloth from the back of Spencer's head and pulled it away. He came to his feet and removed the earplugs. The team was horrified at the sight of the tape covering Spencer's eyes. "Your team want to talk to you."
"Reid? It's Hotch." Spencer's head craned slightly and darted around in an effort to locate the voice. "Spencer? You're going to be okay. You're stronger than you think. We will get you out of there. That's a promise." Spencer stilled, the leather cutting into his throat. George gently prodded the tip of the knife with a gloved finger. Spencer was straining to hear George's movements. George pressed the blade to Spencer's cheek bone and drew it across. Spencer grunted and attempted to move his face away. Blood beaded up and trickled over the duct tape. Spencer's breathing audibly sped up. George hummed to himself as he debated where to stab the young man. He jabbed the blade under Spencer's ribs and then withdrew it. A choked cough sounded. George drove the knife down to the hilt into Spencer's un-injured thigh. The genius let out a muffled scream before his head slumped, unconsciousness taking hold.
"I guess the good doc couldn't handle the heat." The feed instantly went black. A ping sounded on Penelope's laptop. The technical analyst's mouth gaped as she turned her attention to her computer.
"I've got a hit. He's at Warne's Storage Solutions near the docks. Unit four A." There was a beat, everyone straight in their chairs and eyes wide, waiting desperately for their orders.
"Get your gear. Let's go and find Reid," instructed Aaron. He reached out and grabbed Derek's bicep. "Morgan, when we get there, I want you to focus on finding Reid." Derek's head bobbed in response.
"Understood. What about you?"
"Foyet is mine."
...
George knew he did not have much time left with his captive. After all, he consistently underestimated the BAU. After all, they managed to locate him each time he went off the grid. George gripped the edge of the tape over Spencer's eyes and carefully peeled each layer away. The young man's eyes were swallowed by dark circles, his skin deathly pale. George set about removing the belt from around the doctor's neck and untied the rope holding his torso to the chair. He took the opportunity of Spencer being unconscious to grab the bundle sat on a nearby box. George set the bundle down at his feet and used his knife to slice through the tape holding the doctor's wrists together. Lifting one limp wrist at a time, George easily slid the straitjacket over Spencer's arms and drew it tightly around him, buckling the straps down his back. He pulled the leather strap at the neck of the jacket around Spencer's throat, buckling it as tightly as possible.
Spencer let out small mumbles as he came to. His eyes fluttered several times before he could fully wrench them open. He could feel his arms being crossed over his chest. He glanced over his shoulder to see George pulling the leather straps around his back and fastening them behind him. His hazel eyes widened in alarm as he realised that George had put him into a straitjacket. Spencer's pleas were left unheard as he fought to escape the garment, tears streaming down his face, mingling with the blood on his cheek. George chuckled darkly as he yanked Spencer back into the chair and bound him to it with the rope once again. George crouched down next to the chair. Spencer's eyes were desperate and pleading.
"Sorry, doc. Our time together has come to an end. Your team will have located us by now and be on their way. You can thank Agent Hotchner for this." Spencer's brow furrowed in confusion. George jammed the blade down into the right side of Spencer's chest. The young man squeezed his eyes shut in sheer agony and another scream escaped his gagged mouth. A loud wheeze was audible from his lungs. The black cloth appeared in Spencer's line of sight once again before being pulled across his eyes and tied tightly at the back of his head. George positioned himself behind the chair with his gun trained on the doctor's head.
...
Aaron let out an exhale as he withdrew the Glock from the holster at his waist. The anxiety and anticipation was palpable amongst the team. They were desperate to get Spencer back, though they were concerned about the condition that they'd find their colleague and brother in. Derek knelt down at the door and picked the lock. A satisfying click indicated that they had access. With their bullet vests strapped tightly around their chests and their guns raised, the team silently made their way into the storage unit. It was deceptive in size, with a small partition separating them from where they knew Foyet to be. Aaron felt every synapse prickling with rage as he stepped through the partition. His gun was angled on George's forehead. Spencer's breaths were shallow and uneven, his chin resting on his chest. The team knew how much being restrained in a straitjacket, blindfolded and gagged would destroy Spencer's psyche.
"So, you found me, Agent Hotchner? Well done. Miss Garcia doesn't get enough credit. I don't know much time the doc has." George glanced down at his prisoner.
"This ends now, Foyet," snapped Aaron. "Drop the weapon." George traced the barrel of the gun up and down the side of Spencer's face.
"Always so demanding, Hotch. You know what you have to do to get out of this."
"You know I'm not going to do that."
"That's too bad, Aaron. Dr Reid is dying right in front of you and all you give a damn about is your own pride. That's cold." Aaron clicked the safety off his gun and steadied his finger over the trigger. As George lifted his gun, a single shot was fired from the end of Aaron's Glock. George fell backwards away from Spencer, a hole in the centre of his forehead. A thin stream of blood trailed over his face and a large crimson pool formed under his head. The team holstered their weapons and made their way over to Spencer. Aaron knelt down and pressed two fingers into George's neck, but he felt no thrum of a pulse beneath his fingertips. Emily untied the blindfold and tugged it away from Spencer's face. Derek scooped up Spencer's chin and lifted his head, running his fingers through the young man's long, dark waves.
"Come on, pretty boy. Wake up for me." JJ's eyes were fixed in horror at the knife still protruding from Spencer's chest. She went outside to liaise with the other law enforcement officers and guide the medics inside. Emily fumbled with the knot in the rope binding Spencer's torso to the chair whilst David tackled the tape and ropes around his ankles and under the chair. Spencer's eyes peeled open and blearily looked around before landing on Derek's face. Derek carefully peeled the tape away from Spencer's mouth.
"M'rg'n?" mumbled Spencer sluggishly. He gave a harsh cough, blood trickling over his lips and down his chin.
"Yeah, it's me, kid. You're going to be alright. Let's get you laid down so the medics can take a look at you." Spencer nodded slightly. Derek wrapped his arms around Spencer and gently slid him from the chair, lying him down on the floor. They rolled him onto his side, blood continuing to ooze from the corner of his mouth. David and Emily held him in place whilst Derek got to work loosening the straps of the straitjacket. Spencer's arms dropped to his sides as he was turned onto his back. One side of his chest was rising and falling. The side obstructed by the knife remained still. The medics quickly descended on the young doctor, cutting the remainder of the straitjacket and his clothing away. His torso was marred with deep black bruising, dried blood and stab wounds. They attached the EKG electrodes to his chest and inserted a cannula into the back of his hand. A rapid beeping sounded an hurried words were exchanged between them. They quickly slid a tube down Spencer's throat, wrapping peach medical tape around the tube and securing it over his jaw. A bag was attached to the end and pumped steadily. His limp form was lifted onto the gurney and rapidly whisked away. Derek did not give the medics the chance to refuse entry when he climbed into the back of the ambulance, his hand firmly clasping Spencer's limp fingers.
...
The atmosphere of the hospital waiting room felt heavy and stifling. Derek closely resembled a caged animal as he paced circles into the worn flooring. He held his head in one hand and the other firmly gripped his bulletproof vest. Emily picked numbly at a hangnail, her hands between her anxiously bobbing knees. JJ had somehow managed to curl herself into a tiny ball on the chair, her blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. David swirled the contents of a disposable cup, grimacing at the sight of the foul hospital coffee. Aaron had his arms folded across his chest, his brows pulled tightly together and his eyes fixed on the floor. The tension was cut by the sound of someone clearing their throat.
"Family of Spencer Reid?" All eyes turned to the dark-skinned female doctor who's jet-black hair was pulled back into a hair elastic and she wore dark green scrubs under her crisp white coat. "I'm looking for a Mr Hotchner." Aaron straightened and set his jaw.
"That's me. I'm Dr Reid's medical proxy. Anything you say to me can be said to them. I would tell them anyway." The doctor nodded and flipped over a page on her clipboard.
"My name's Dr Allison. I was the lead trauma surgeon looking after Dr Reid. Firstly, he has a mild concussion from being hit over the head with a blunt object. Secondly, he has several wounds consistent with a bladed weapon. The wounds under his left clavicle, right abdomen and right thigh missed major structures and have been stitched up. The cut on his cheek has also been stitched. The stab wound under the ribs on his left side grazed his lung and led to some internal bleeding which we drained laparoscopically and repaired the damage.
The stab wound to the right side of his chest was more significant and tore through the upper lobe and caused the lung to deflate. We call this a pneumothorax as the chest cavity filled with air. We have inserted a drainage tube into the pleural cavity to remove the air and help the lung to re-inflate. Dr Reid started to go into respiratory distress and was intubated by the EMTs on scene. His breathing was extremely laboured on arrival so we have kept him intubated and placed him on a ventilator to take over his breathing and let him rest. We anticipate keeping him on the ventilator for around seven days. He may wake during this time once the sedation wears off, however it is crucial that we continue to manage his airways whilst he is weak.
The wound to his knee was substantial. Not only did it undo the previous surgical repair, but tore through his ligaments and tendons, as well as chipping the bones in several places. We have pinned his knee to stabilise the joint. Now, I appreciate Dr Reid's record says no narcotics, however it was in his best interests to give him a low dose of morphine. The pain would send him into a cardiac arrest." The doctor visibly stewed over her words for a moment. "There's no easy way to say this, agents, but we lost Dr Reid for a short time on the table. It was touch and go for a couple of minutes as we fought to restart his heart." The words hung heavily on the group.
"Can we see him?" asked Aaron, his own heart thumping loudly in his ears at the bombshell that his young colleague, his surrogate son, had in fact died on the operating table.
"He was moved to ICU fifteen minutes ago. We had to wait to ensure there were no further complications in the recovery suite before we could move him. I can allow all of you to visit for a few minutes, but hospital policy dictates that only one person can stay with him. You'll find him in ICU 187. It's on the third floor. I have handed his care over to the intensive care consultant there. Dr Morrow will answer any questions you may have." Dr Allison turned on her heel and dropped the clipboard onto the nurse's station with a clatter.
The elevator ride was equally tense. No one uttered a word. The anxiety about how they would find their resident genius was shared between them and palpable. A robotic voice indicated that they had reached the third floor and the steel doors slid open. A sign on the beige wall indicated that the intensive care unit was to their right. Aaron was the first to approach the ward doors and push them open. The ward itself was long and wide, with single rooms lining the corridor on either side of a highly polished floor. Spencer's room was located the furthest away. The ward was silent, save for the beeping and hissing of machines. The team made their way as quietly as possible until they reached Spencer's room. A grease board on the wall next to the door read Spencer Reid and had Dr Morrow written underneath.
Aaron glanced through the glass of the window pane to find the lights in the room had been dimmed. A small light at the head of the bed highlighted the unconscious man's features. Spencer looked small and frail in the bed, his arms down by his sides and the starched white sheet pulled up to his waist. His wrists were encased in foam medical restraints. The hospital gown he wore only covered one shoulder, the other exposed and a thick tube protruding from under his arm. A piece of large, blood-stained gauze was taped to his chest. His knee had been bandaged and braced and was elevated on pillows. Horrifyingly, his brows were drawn together in fear. His long, dark hair framed his pale, angular face. Tubes and wires left his arms and his chest and were connected to various bags or machines. Worst of all was the plastic tube that rested against the corner of Spencer's mouth between his teeth and was connected to the machine that forced mechanical breaths into him. Medical tape held the tube in place over his stubbled jaw. Another piece of gauze was taped over the cut across his cheek. Dark purple bruising surrounded the bared slender neck. Aaron felt like his world crumbled away from under his feet. He was unable to stop the swell of relief in his chest at killing Foyet. The man needed to be stopped permanently and Aaron had been the one to do that, though he did have a pool of guilt in the pit of his stomach at the fact that stopping Foyet came with the expense of Spencer's life.
...
Aaron had lost track of how long he had kept vigil at his subordinate's side. As much as the other agents had argued, Aaron sent them back to their homes to rest. Penelope had visited and made her mark on the room, draping a knitted blanket over Spencer's legs and tying helium balloons to the foot of the bed. A stuffed bear with a bandaged head was tucked under Spencer's arm. Aaron grasped Spencer's right hand in his own, hoping that his warmth would spread through to Spencer's icy fingers. He glanced over at the young doctor's face and swiped a damp sponge over his dry and cracked lips, taking care to avoid the breathing tube. Eyes darted back and forth behind Spencer's closed lids as though in REM sleep. Aaron leaned over and rested a palm on the genius's forehead.
"Spencer? It's Hotch. If you can hear me, squeeze my hand." The brief tightening on his hand was minimal, but definitely there. "Reid? Open your eyes for me." Spencer's eyes parted slightly. "That's it. Well done." Spencer blinked sluggishly and turned his attention to his dark-haired superior. A rare smile was spread across Aaron's features. Spencer frowned in confusion.
"Spencer, I'm going to ask you a couple of simple questions. I only want you to answer with one squeeze for yes and two squeezes for no. Can you do that?" His hand was squeezed once. "Good. Now, I have to warn you that you have a breathing tube in. The doctors have had to take control of your breathing for you due to the damage caused to your lung. You won't be able to talk to us, so you'll have to communicate with us like this. Do you understand?" Spencer responded with a single squeeze. Spencer's eyes rolled down to his hand when he felt a tug on his wrist. His face tightened with alarm at the sight of the restraints. The young man's panic was visible
"Spencer? Look at me." Spencer's eyes snapped back to Aaron's face. "It's okay. They're to stop you pulling the tubes out. You're safe. Do you understand?" Tears welled in Spencer's eyes as he gave a single squeeze. "Do you want to know what happened?" Another squeeze. "You went into respiratory distress and the paramedics had to intubate you. The stab wound to the right side of you chest punctured your lung and caused it to collapse. You have a tube in to remove the air. The damage was substantial to the point that you need to remain on a ventilator for a week. The stab to the left side grazed your lung and caused internal bleeding. There was some damage to the bones, tendons and ligaments in your knee so they had to pin it. The other stab wounds didn't cause any lasting damage and you have a concussion." Spencer blinked in disbelief. His eidetic memory meant that he could recall every injury with vivid detail, however he was confused by why he was unable to feel more pain given the extent of the injuries. He glanced over to his left and noticed the pump connected to the IV in the crook of his left elbow. His eyes widened in horror and he tugged weakly against the cuffs to try and remove the needle.
"Spencer? Calm down. I know you don't want narcotics but they are essential to your healing right now. You went into cardiac arrest in surgery and they struggled to bring you back. The pain would send you into a heart attack. I promise you, I won't let you get addicted. Do you trust me?" Spencer's eyes searched Aaron's face for subtle signs of deceit. A single squeeze. Aaron released a relieved exhale.
"Thank you. I'm sorry I wasn't there to protect you. I'm sorry that Foyet went after you to get to me." Spencer squeezed his hand twice. For all he wanted to tell Aaron that none of this was his fault, his voice was trapped behind the breathing tube. Instead, he slipped his hand out of Aaron's and started signing as much as he could within the confines of his restraints. Not your fault, Hotch. Aaron knew enough American Sign Language to understand.
"I'm proud of you, Spencer. Proud of the way you held your own against Foyet." Uh-oh, you called me Spencer. Aaron chuckled. He noticed the way the young man's hand movements slowed and his eyelids drooped. "Get some rest, Reid. I'll be right here." Spencer gave his hand a squeeze.
"Sleep well, son."