Fractures, Part 2
(Been playing around with formatting lately, apologies if things start to flip out a little in these entries as far as font and cuts go.)
Title: Fractures, Part 2
Author: Spencer Lee
Series: Breaking Spencer Reid
Rating: FRAO
Pairing: slash, Hatford/Reid
Summary: Fourth chapter of series and sequel to "Connections". The UNSUB decides to play a "game" with Reid and BAU.
Warnings: Violence, noncon, bondage, angst, slash.
Feedback: Makes me happy and confident so I feel like it's worth devoting my time to writing. :D Pwease? I know that stories usually get a 50:1 read-to-comment ratio, but let's try some new math, eh? :3
Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds or any characters depicted herein that you might recognize. All recognizable characters are the property of CBS.
Notes: Actual plot beginning! :D Also, this is a whole other ball game from chapters 1-3. Warnings say it all. The slash is closer to "implied" when you really get down to it, but it's not nearly vague enough for me to bump it down to FRM. Unfortunately, LJ said the chapter was too long, so I broke it down into two parts. This here is part 2.
( Prologue) (Chapter One: Fractures, Part 1)
"J.J., Prentiss." Hotch's voice, calm and tethering them to reality, brought the two from their blank, mortified stares.
"Yes, sir?" stammered J.J., strength ebbing within even that small phrase.
"Go to Garcia's office and tell her she doesn't need to watch all this... you all have my permission to work on any other aspects of this case, at the moment."
"Sir...?" Emily managed.
"I will not lose more Agents to psychological problems, do you hear me?" Hotch said firmly. "Go ahead. I'll handle things here."
Silently, the two girls stood from their chairs and started swiftly down the hall towards Garcia's technology stronghold. Murder videos and audio recordings of them, well, that was business. But Penelope Garcia would be spared this horror.
Hotch was alone now, watching the empty screen and listening to the sounds coming from the other end of the connection. Most people would try to convince themselves that Hatford was only trying to scare him, manipulate him, injure him. But Aaron Hotchner had spent too much time in this job to let such naive thoughts fill his mind. He knew exactly what was happening--knew the sound of a body being pushed against a wall, clothing falling to the floor. But all the law enforcement experience and psychologal insight in the world couldn't have readied himself for what he heard next.
"Oh, please no, don't... don't..." Dying down, as something hit the wall. And even more terrifying, the quiet "shhh" that followed.
He was sure Reid had spoken in a similar tone of voice, at some point, during the Henkel case. Frightened, pleading, fervently hoping for the person on the receiving end of those pleas to show mercy towards him. But this... this was far from anything he expected. Reid's voice was so small... so utterly alone, so terrified.
"Reid," Hotch said softly. "J.J. and Prentiss left. It's just me, now." Keep him talking, thinking, he though to himself, give him something to focus on.
"Hotch?" Reid asked shakily. "Hotch, I... you... you shouldn't..."
"I'm not going anywhere, Reid," Hotch promised. "I'm going to stay right here, and I'm going to talk to you, and I'm going to keep talking until you tell me to stop."
"Hotch..."
"I'll talk about anything you want. I'll even read something, if you think something specific would help. But I won't leave... I'll stay here with you as close as I can, for as long as I can."
A feeble thank-you was the best response Reid could manage at the moment, and after a few seconds, he murmured, "About reading something, c-could you?" His voice was strained, and cracked halfway through "something", while the sound of a zipper reached Hotch's ears.
"Anything in particular you'd like?" he asked. It was hard to maintain his careful, quiet tone with his vocational experience supplying all manner of possibilities for that zipper. But he kept steady. "You know what's just lying around."
"Something I'd know," Reid begged, likely not intending it to be a plea, but no longer able to control his voice. Hotch went to the bookshelf, making an exaggerated level of noise as he pulled the tattered book from the shelf. He set it down audibly on the table and flipped from page to page in search of the right place. All the while, the sounds on the other end continued without pause, just as he'd expected.
"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want," Hotch began. He heard a sigh of relief from Reid, and knew he'd made the right choice. "He makes me to lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters. He restores my soul." It was something Reid knew by heart, something to think about.
A cry of pain sounded across the connection, and Hotch nearly lost his composure. His voice faltered. But it wouldn't break. And neither would Reid.
"Even though I walk," Reid rapidly mumbled, picking up where the verse left off, "through the valley of the shadow of death..." His breath hitched in his throat and he bit back another cry. "I will... fear no evil... for you are with me."
That shuffling sound again, a little louder. Reid had stopped following along, and Hotch had already started another reading, mostly to comfort Reid, but partly to drown out the sounds he heard--another zipper, something hitting the wall, the handcuffs making a brief protest and something else falling to the floor.
"For this is what the Lord says. I will extend peace to her like a river, and the wealth of nations like a flooding stream..."
A sudden, unmistakable scream stopped Hotch's voice in its tracks.
Unbearable silence. Then--
"Isaiah... 66," whispered Reid. "K-keep going, Hotch," he pleaded. "Please, keep--" a sharp gasp, rising to a cry, then dissolving into a soft, broken litany of Hotch's name. That thump against the wall, turning steady. A minute metallic jangle from the handcuffs accompanied each one.
"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you," Hotch gently recited. "I do not give to you as the world gives."
And Reid answered, "Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid." The ragged edge in his voice told Hotch he was crying. Of course, Hotch knew Reid could never simply be broken, no matter what any UNSUB did... but that was a different thing than inflicting fractures. And that's what Hatford was doing. Bit by bit, piece by piece, chipping away at it all, trying to destroy faster than Hotch could heal and repair.
This was the game he'd intended to play all along.
And Hotch, having realized this, couldn't let himself stop talking now. Not after he'd let something like this happen, not after Reid asked something so simple of him, not with Reid in the hands of a psychopath, now helplessly sobbing his name, clinging to the last fragments of sanity, clinging to him. Reid was fighting to keep himself tethered to the world outside that basement through the last connection he possessed--voices, sound, wavelengths, vibrations. But his voice was doomed to die out from exhaustion. And if that last bridge of sound vanished, the connection would perish with it. When it did, he would break.
Which meant that Hotch couldn't stop. He just had to read, and speak, and keep his voice steady, no matter how long it would take. No matter how agonizing and how heartbreaking it would be to sit there and listen to Reid's cries, the sound of flesh against flesh against the cold wall, the only one to bear witness to this ultimate and deepest trespass against him.
So he selected another passage, and though Reid did not respond again, once Hotch resumed speaking the panic was gone from those weakened sobs, leaving only sadness and shame. And sadness and shame, painful though they were, were still emotions. Reid was still intact. Which meant that he and Hotch had won this round. And even as the timbre of Reid's whimpers told him that Hatford was attempting viciously to regain the ground he'd lost, as the handcuffs clinked at a quicker tempo, Hotch's voice was strengthened by this victory and eased its way past.
He kept reading, moving from passage to passage in that sure, comforting tone. And he continued through the final minutes of shuffling and thumping. Through the satisfied grunt coupled with the impact of something against the wall. Through the cry that escaped Reid at his own forced release. Then, through the distant sounds of the shower in Hatford's basement, through the rustle of clothing re-donned, the clatter of the chair being righted, the click of the handcuffs being refastened around those slender wrists and finally through the keystroke as the visuals came back, at which point he let his voice rest.
Reid was back in the chair, his hair soaked and his skin damp, finding some quantitative information to distance himself from it all as evidenced by his shifting eyes--eyes that spoke of boundless hurt, but shone with a peculiar radiance as they found the warm eyes of Aaron Hotchner. He would never know how Reid kept from crumbling after that, or how he could look so... alive. Neither really knew what to say, or even whether or not anything could be said. So, Hotch stayed in familiar places.
"Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it". Hellen Keller.
"To perceive is to suffer," countered Reid. Aristotle.
"His intelligence seized on a subject, his genius embraced it, his eloquence illuminated it." Paterculus.
"Some people think only intellect counts: knowing how to solve problems, knowing how to get by, knowing how to identify an advantage and seize it. But the functions of intellect are insufficient without courage, love, friendship, compassion and empathy."
"Dean Koontz?"
"I was running low," Reid admitted, closing his eyes and raising his eyebrows in defeat. A smile formed on his lips. Hotch laughed softly, and Reid gazed at him with boundless gratitude. Few people would have thought to turn to quotations as a way to reassure him, to reconnect him to the world.
"Spencer, Aaron," Hatford sonorously greeted them as he returned from whence he'd wandered off to, and Hotch fought down the anger that seared his chest when the mere sound of Hatford's voice caused a shiver to wrack Reid's fragile form. "I do believe it's time to say goodbye for another week."
"Hotch," Reid said quickly. "My mom, will...will she... will there be a service?"
"Gideon and I are taking care of that personally," Hotch assured him.
"I'll be generous: ninety seconds," Hatford announced, taking a syringe from the table.
"And Haley and Jack...?"
"They're fine. But I'm afraid no last-minute epiphanies came to save our marriage... we've decided it'd be best for us to just get a divorce. I told her to keep the house."
"Hotch... I'm so sorry, I..."
"It's all right. It was mutual."
"Well... if you need someplace to stay, don't ask J.J.--she's always talking about the Coello-Bannon Hotel, but it's kinda out-of-the-way."
"Emily recommended the Bernero Inn," Hotch remarked. Reid nodded.
"Yeah, she's on the right track..." he sighed, and looked a little sad as he continued. "Hotch... could you apologize to Gideon for me?"
"For what, Reid?"
"Golden Sedge. The girl who writes him every year loves it, and Gideon wanted me to help him find her some for her birthday--it's in bloom this time of year. Her birthday's already passed, though..."
"Reid, that's hardly something you should be concerned about."
"Suppose not," Reid agreed.
"Anything else to add?" Hatford asked, and Reid quivered for a moment when he realized that the man was right behind him.
"Morgan," Reid said quickly, "make sure Morgan is okay. If he goes too far, it'll be 20 and 76 all over again."
"You're right, it would," mused Hotch.
"And now your time is up," Hatford informed them. He took hold of Reid's wrist, and immediately the rest of the genius seemed to collapse in on itself. Hotch knew what this was--Reid was putting on a brave face, making it seem like they'd won, like he wasn't even fazed by all of it. But the bleak truth was that now, the mere presence of his captor was enough to send him into a near-panic-attack, and victory though it was, it was bittersweet. Something in him had changed. And both of them were afraid of the very real possibility that this fracture was irreparable.
The sedative acted quickly and Reid slumped to the side in the chair, gone from view as Hatford stepped in front of the camera.
"See you in a week." That low laugh.
The connection was severed without another word, and as soon as it was, Hotch snatched a paper and pencil from nearby. "Coello-Bannon Hotel out-of-the-way, Bernero Inn on the right track, Golden Sedge, 20 and 76 too far," he murmured as he jotted them down.
They hadn't been making friendly banter--Reid had created the conversation and directed it to something that Hatford wouldn't recognize as odd, but Hotch certainly would. J.J. and Emily didn't talk about hotels, the girl who wrote letters every year was born in November, and Morgan and the numbers made little sense; these were clues. Hotch could lie awake all night worrying for Reid on his own time, but right now, they had to find him. And thankfully, the team had already gathered in Gideon's office when he arrived.
"Hotch," Emily said immediately, her stare determined as she stood from her chair. J.J. and Gideon joined her, while Morgan remained seated and continued to comfort a distraught Garcia.
"What happened?" Gideon asked. Hotch fished the paper from his pocket and handed it to him, temporarily distracting them.
"Reid gave us some clues," he explained as Gideon looked down the list. But the decoy tactic hadn't worked. Gideon's stare was still boring a hole through him.
"Hotch, are you all right?" asked J.J., frowning. "You look... you look awful. What happened in there?" He sighed wearily; he had to tell them, after all.
Where he found the strength to speak the words, he'd never know.
Dead silence struck them like a wave when he told them what had transpired. He watched Gideon bow his head, J.J. and Emily lean closer together, Garcia choke back a sob, Morgan pull her close. It was too much. The burns, the cuts, the bruises, they'd all had their fair share of that in this job. But this...
"Let's start sorting out these clues," Gideon decided, sitting again. "Reid isn't just intelligent, he's precise. These will be better than anything we can get from profiling Hatford alone." Hotch nodded and sat in the chair nearest to Gideon's desk.
"C'mon, baby girl, you've had it rough," Morgan said soothingly as he helped Garcia to her feet. She turned to Hotch, lips pursed, tearstreaks prominent on her cheeks.
"I tried, sir... I tried to trace it, but I couldn't... I couldn't..."
"It's all right, Garcia," Hotch said comfortingly. "Thank you. Morgan, would you take her home?"
"Will do." He nodded and drew Garcia a little closer, reassuring her with a kiss to the forehead. "See? S'all right, dry those tears." He led her gently out the door, and Hotch couldn't help but be reminded of Gideon's earlier actions. Of course, Hotch had seen the bandage on Morgan's hand and the small dent in the wall of Gideon's office; he knew Morgan hadn't just calmed down for nothing. But Morgan needed a break as much as Garcia did, after that news.
"Hotch?" Emily began, throwing him a slightly distressed look. "How was he... after? All things considered, of course..."
"He was himself," was all Hotch could think to say. "Strong, in control, and thinking on his feet. All of the clues he gave us came from a ninety-second conversation just before Hatford terminated the connection."
"North Carolina," Gideon murmured.
"What?" J.J. asked, unable to keep the bewilderment out of her voice.
"The first clue was the Coello-Bannon Hotel, that's a little ways directly north of here."
"Exactly," said Hotch. So I suggested the Bernero Hotel to Reid because it's--"
"--directly south," Emily said slowly, nodding. "And Reid said that the one to the south was on track."
"But, wait, why North Carolina, Gideon? Couldn't it be South Carolina, or anywhere south of here?" Emily queried.
"Can't be," Gideon said simply, pulling an atlas from the bookshelf. He turned to the proper page and pointed to South Carolina, tapping the page with a finger.
"Route 20 and Route 76 intersect in South Carolina," Hotch realized. "'Too far'."
"Reid's best clue was the Golden Sedge," Gideon continued. "It's an extremely rare type of flower, category S1, and it's only been found in North Carolina. It's not a flower you'd put in a bouquet, but we talked about it a few days before he went on leave. He knew I'd remember."
"So now we just have to narrow it down from there, right?" Emily hadn't looked this optimistic in a long time.
"That's what the profile is for," Hotch said, picking up the case file. "Come on. We've got a week before our next contact with Hatford, and the more we figure out about him, the better our chances of rescuing Reid will become."
The others nodded.
"Hey," Morgan said from the doorway. Everyone turned in surprise. "I got Garcia a ride-- and I am not gonna mope around the house all weekend. I'm gonna help get our boy back."
"Morgan, are you gonna be all right with this thing right now?" J.J. asked.
"I won't lash out again, I swear. I can keep it cool," he reassured her.
"I meant your hand," she laughed, and he jokingly, lightly jabbed her shoulder with his uninjured fist.
Even knowing what they knew about what had happened to Reid, the team couldn't let their focus drift from their priorities--namely, finding him. And if focus meant keeping it together the only way they knew how, they'd do it. Joke, laugh, keep their humanity at the center of everything.
J.J. went to her computer, Gideon started on North Carolina, and Emily and Morgan took the file on Hatford.
And Hotch, unnoticed, slipped away from the group to head for the outside. He needed some air... needed to get away from the job for just a few minutes. Without Haley, he suddenly had no refuge and no comforting buffer to come home to, no smile to welcome him home after the horrors brought by daylight.
At midnight, it was always quiet at HQ, especially outside. With no better ideas, he simply sat down on the grass, sighing heavily and falling back to lean against the wall of the building. In the silence, he swore he heard the fleeting echoes of what had happened earlier, still ringing in his ears. Fishing in his pockets, he looked for something, anything, to take his mind off of it. At last, he found an occupied pocket...
And withdrew his hand to see the folded note Haley had given him from Reid. He'd been so focused on the case, lately, he'd just been taking it out of pockets and returning it to pockets every day without the slightest idea why.
"Why haven't I read this, yet?" he wondered, not particularly caring that he was talking to himself. It was late, it had been a rough day, and there was no one else around, who could blame him?
Slowly, carefully, he unfolded the letter bit by bit, and found a single sentence written in Reid's handwriting with black pen. Just as slowly, he read it.
He stood immediately from the grass and hurried inside, half-running to Gideon's office. It didn't matter if all they were going to do was look at maps of North Carolina all night, he had to do something. Anything. Anything to help, and anything to stop the ringing in his ears.
"Aaron," Gideon said, surprised, as the door to his office opened.
There was no hiding from the eyes of Jason Gideon, and he didn't even bother to cover it up.
"I need to talk."
"Something bothering you?" he asked.
"Do you remember a conversation we had about four months ago? I told you I was afraid that troubles in my personal life might be affecting my work..."
"I remember, yes," Gideon said calmly, nodding. "And the answer to that question is still 'no'. You've always kept things separate."
"Jason, I wasn't talking about Haley," he said quietly.
"I know you weren't."
Four words, and yet their impact was so powerful.
"What brought this on, Aaron?" The eyes of Jason Gideon, glowing with limitless understanding and compassion, seemed to be staring straight into his heart. "The assault?"
Staring away at the bookshelf, Hotch pulled the re-folded letter from his pocket and held it out to Gideon as though it were about to explode.
"Reid gave this to Haley, for her to give to me. That's all there is."
Gideon unfolded. Read. Slowly, raised his head, and looked at Hotch. Then he stood from his chair, walked around the desk, and without hesitation enfolded the younger man in his arms. The blinds were shut; the door, locked. Everyone else was on opposite sides of the floor. No one would ever know that The Invincible Aaron Hotchner finally broke down that night; naught were present but Jason Gideon and the paper--discarded but not forgotten as its words echoed ceaselessly in his mind.
"I've fallen in love with you."
~tbc
Title: Fractures, Part 2
Author: Spencer Lee
Series: Breaking Spencer Reid
Rating: FRAO
Pairing: slash, Hatford/Reid
Summary: Fourth chapter of series and sequel to "Connections". The UNSUB decides to play a "game" with Reid and BAU.
Warnings: Violence, noncon, bondage, angst, slash.
Feedback: Makes me happy and confident so I feel like it's worth devoting my time to writing. :D Pwease? I know that stories usually get a 50:1 read-to-comment ratio, but let's try some new math, eh? :3
Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds or any characters depicted herein that you might recognize. All recognizable characters are the property of CBS.
Notes: Actual plot beginning! :D Also, this is a whole other ball game from chapters 1-3. Warnings say it all. The slash is closer to "implied" when you really get down to it, but it's not nearly vague enough for me to bump it down to FRM. Unfortunately, LJ said the chapter was too long, so I broke it down into two parts. This here is part 2.
( Prologue) (Chapter One: Fractures, Part 1)
"J.J., Prentiss." Hotch's voice, calm and tethering them to reality, brought the two from their blank, mortified stares.
"Yes, sir?" stammered J.J., strength ebbing within even that small phrase.
"Go to Garcia's office and tell her she doesn't need to watch all this... you all have my permission to work on any other aspects of this case, at the moment."
"Sir...?" Emily managed.
"I will not lose more Agents to psychological problems, do you hear me?" Hotch said firmly. "Go ahead. I'll handle things here."
Silently, the two girls stood from their chairs and started swiftly down the hall towards Garcia's technology stronghold. Murder videos and audio recordings of them, well, that was business. But Penelope Garcia would be spared this horror.
Hotch was alone now, watching the empty screen and listening to the sounds coming from the other end of the connection. Most people would try to convince themselves that Hatford was only trying to scare him, manipulate him, injure him. But Aaron Hotchner had spent too much time in this job to let such naive thoughts fill his mind. He knew exactly what was happening--knew the sound of a body being pushed against a wall, clothing falling to the floor. But all the law enforcement experience and psychologal insight in the world couldn't have readied himself for what he heard next.
"Oh, please no, don't... don't..." Dying down, as something hit the wall. And even more terrifying, the quiet "shhh" that followed.
He was sure Reid had spoken in a similar tone of voice, at some point, during the Henkel case. Frightened, pleading, fervently hoping for the person on the receiving end of those pleas to show mercy towards him. But this... this was far from anything he expected. Reid's voice was so small... so utterly alone, so terrified.
"Reid," Hotch said softly. "J.J. and Prentiss left. It's just me, now." Keep him talking, thinking, he though to himself, give him something to focus on.
"Hotch?" Reid asked shakily. "Hotch, I... you... you shouldn't..."
"I'm not going anywhere, Reid," Hotch promised. "I'm going to stay right here, and I'm going to talk to you, and I'm going to keep talking until you tell me to stop."
"Hotch..."
"I'll talk about anything you want. I'll even read something, if you think something specific would help. But I won't leave... I'll stay here with you as close as I can, for as long as I can."
A feeble thank-you was the best response Reid could manage at the moment, and after a few seconds, he murmured, "About reading something, c-could you?" His voice was strained, and cracked halfway through "something", while the sound of a zipper reached Hotch's ears.
"Anything in particular you'd like?" he asked. It was hard to maintain his careful, quiet tone with his vocational experience supplying all manner of possibilities for that zipper. But he kept steady. "You know what's just lying around."
"Something I'd know," Reid begged, likely not intending it to be a plea, but no longer able to control his voice. Hotch went to the bookshelf, making an exaggerated level of noise as he pulled the tattered book from the shelf. He set it down audibly on the table and flipped from page to page in search of the right place. All the while, the sounds on the other end continued without pause, just as he'd expected.
"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want," Hotch began. He heard a sigh of relief from Reid, and knew he'd made the right choice. "He makes me to lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters. He restores my soul." It was something Reid knew by heart, something to think about.
A cry of pain sounded across the connection, and Hotch nearly lost his composure. His voice faltered. But it wouldn't break. And neither would Reid.
"Even though I walk," Reid rapidly mumbled, picking up where the verse left off, "through the valley of the shadow of death..." His breath hitched in his throat and he bit back another cry. "I will... fear no evil... for you are with me."
That shuffling sound again, a little louder. Reid had stopped following along, and Hotch had already started another reading, mostly to comfort Reid, but partly to drown out the sounds he heard--another zipper, something hitting the wall, the handcuffs making a brief protest and something else falling to the floor.
"For this is what the Lord says. I will extend peace to her like a river, and the wealth of nations like a flooding stream..."
A sudden, unmistakable scream stopped Hotch's voice in its tracks.
Unbearable silence. Then--
"Isaiah... 66," whispered Reid. "K-keep going, Hotch," he pleaded. "Please, keep--" a sharp gasp, rising to a cry, then dissolving into a soft, broken litany of Hotch's name. That thump against the wall, turning steady. A minute metallic jangle from the handcuffs accompanied each one.
"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you," Hotch gently recited. "I do not give to you as the world gives."
And Reid answered, "Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid." The ragged edge in his voice told Hotch he was crying. Of course, Hotch knew Reid could never simply be broken, no matter what any UNSUB did... but that was a different thing than inflicting fractures. And that's what Hatford was doing. Bit by bit, piece by piece, chipping away at it all, trying to destroy faster than Hotch could heal and repair.
This was the game he'd intended to play all along.
And Hotch, having realized this, couldn't let himself stop talking now. Not after he'd let something like this happen, not after Reid asked something so simple of him, not with Reid in the hands of a psychopath, now helplessly sobbing his name, clinging to the last fragments of sanity, clinging to him. Reid was fighting to keep himself tethered to the world outside that basement through the last connection he possessed--voices, sound, wavelengths, vibrations. But his voice was doomed to die out from exhaustion. And if that last bridge of sound vanished, the connection would perish with it. When it did, he would break.
Which meant that Hotch couldn't stop. He just had to read, and speak, and keep his voice steady, no matter how long it would take. No matter how agonizing and how heartbreaking it would be to sit there and listen to Reid's cries, the sound of flesh against flesh against the cold wall, the only one to bear witness to this ultimate and deepest trespass against him.
So he selected another passage, and though Reid did not respond again, once Hotch resumed speaking the panic was gone from those weakened sobs, leaving only sadness and shame. And sadness and shame, painful though they were, were still emotions. Reid was still intact. Which meant that he and Hotch had won this round. And even as the timbre of Reid's whimpers told him that Hatford was attempting viciously to regain the ground he'd lost, as the handcuffs clinked at a quicker tempo, Hotch's voice was strengthened by this victory and eased its way past.
He kept reading, moving from passage to passage in that sure, comforting tone. And he continued through the final minutes of shuffling and thumping. Through the satisfied grunt coupled with the impact of something against the wall. Through the cry that escaped Reid at his own forced release. Then, through the distant sounds of the shower in Hatford's basement, through the rustle of clothing re-donned, the clatter of the chair being righted, the click of the handcuffs being refastened around those slender wrists and finally through the keystroke as the visuals came back, at which point he let his voice rest.
Reid was back in the chair, his hair soaked and his skin damp, finding some quantitative information to distance himself from it all as evidenced by his shifting eyes--eyes that spoke of boundless hurt, but shone with a peculiar radiance as they found the warm eyes of Aaron Hotchner. He would never know how Reid kept from crumbling after that, or how he could look so... alive. Neither really knew what to say, or even whether or not anything could be said. So, Hotch stayed in familiar places.
"Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it". Hellen Keller.
"To perceive is to suffer," countered Reid. Aristotle.
"His intelligence seized on a subject, his genius embraced it, his eloquence illuminated it." Paterculus.
"Some people think only intellect counts: knowing how to solve problems, knowing how to get by, knowing how to identify an advantage and seize it. But the functions of intellect are insufficient without courage, love, friendship, compassion and empathy."
"Dean Koontz?"
"I was running low," Reid admitted, closing his eyes and raising his eyebrows in defeat. A smile formed on his lips. Hotch laughed softly, and Reid gazed at him with boundless gratitude. Few people would have thought to turn to quotations as a way to reassure him, to reconnect him to the world.
"Spencer, Aaron," Hatford sonorously greeted them as he returned from whence he'd wandered off to, and Hotch fought down the anger that seared his chest when the mere sound of Hatford's voice caused a shiver to wrack Reid's fragile form. "I do believe it's time to say goodbye for another week."
"Hotch," Reid said quickly. "My mom, will...will she... will there be a service?"
"Gideon and I are taking care of that personally," Hotch assured him.
"I'll be generous: ninety seconds," Hatford announced, taking a syringe from the table.
"And Haley and Jack...?"
"They're fine. But I'm afraid no last-minute epiphanies came to save our marriage... we've decided it'd be best for us to just get a divorce. I told her to keep the house."
"Hotch... I'm so sorry, I..."
"It's all right. It was mutual."
"Well... if you need someplace to stay, don't ask J.J.--she's always talking about the Coello-Bannon Hotel, but it's kinda out-of-the-way."
"Emily recommended the Bernero Inn," Hotch remarked. Reid nodded.
"Yeah, she's on the right track..." he sighed, and looked a little sad as he continued. "Hotch... could you apologize to Gideon for me?"
"For what, Reid?"
"Golden Sedge. The girl who writes him every year loves it, and Gideon wanted me to help him find her some for her birthday--it's in bloom this time of year. Her birthday's already passed, though..."
"Reid, that's hardly something you should be concerned about."
"Suppose not," Reid agreed.
"Anything else to add?" Hatford asked, and Reid quivered for a moment when he realized that the man was right behind him.
"Morgan," Reid said quickly, "make sure Morgan is okay. If he goes too far, it'll be 20 and 76 all over again."
"You're right, it would," mused Hotch.
"And now your time is up," Hatford informed them. He took hold of Reid's wrist, and immediately the rest of the genius seemed to collapse in on itself. Hotch knew what this was--Reid was putting on a brave face, making it seem like they'd won, like he wasn't even fazed by all of it. But the bleak truth was that now, the mere presence of his captor was enough to send him into a near-panic-attack, and victory though it was, it was bittersweet. Something in him had changed. And both of them were afraid of the very real possibility that this fracture was irreparable.
The sedative acted quickly and Reid slumped to the side in the chair, gone from view as Hatford stepped in front of the camera.
"See you in a week." That low laugh.
The connection was severed without another word, and as soon as it was, Hotch snatched a paper and pencil from nearby. "Coello-Bannon Hotel out-of-the-way, Bernero Inn on the right track, Golden Sedge, 20 and 76 too far," he murmured as he jotted them down.
They hadn't been making friendly banter--Reid had created the conversation and directed it to something that Hatford wouldn't recognize as odd, but Hotch certainly would. J.J. and Emily didn't talk about hotels, the girl who wrote letters every year was born in November, and Morgan and the numbers made little sense; these were clues. Hotch could lie awake all night worrying for Reid on his own time, but right now, they had to find him. And thankfully, the team had already gathered in Gideon's office when he arrived.
"Hotch," Emily said immediately, her stare determined as she stood from her chair. J.J. and Gideon joined her, while Morgan remained seated and continued to comfort a distraught Garcia.
"What happened?" Gideon asked. Hotch fished the paper from his pocket and handed it to him, temporarily distracting them.
"Reid gave us some clues," he explained as Gideon looked down the list. But the decoy tactic hadn't worked. Gideon's stare was still boring a hole through him.
"Hotch, are you all right?" asked J.J., frowning. "You look... you look awful. What happened in there?" He sighed wearily; he had to tell them, after all.
Where he found the strength to speak the words, he'd never know.
Dead silence struck them like a wave when he told them what had transpired. He watched Gideon bow his head, J.J. and Emily lean closer together, Garcia choke back a sob, Morgan pull her close. It was too much. The burns, the cuts, the bruises, they'd all had their fair share of that in this job. But this...
"Let's start sorting out these clues," Gideon decided, sitting again. "Reid isn't just intelligent, he's precise. These will be better than anything we can get from profiling Hatford alone." Hotch nodded and sat in the chair nearest to Gideon's desk.
"C'mon, baby girl, you've had it rough," Morgan said soothingly as he helped Garcia to her feet. She turned to Hotch, lips pursed, tearstreaks prominent on her cheeks.
"I tried, sir... I tried to trace it, but I couldn't... I couldn't..."
"It's all right, Garcia," Hotch said comfortingly. "Thank you. Morgan, would you take her home?"
"Will do." He nodded and drew Garcia a little closer, reassuring her with a kiss to the forehead. "See? S'all right, dry those tears." He led her gently out the door, and Hotch couldn't help but be reminded of Gideon's earlier actions. Of course, Hotch had seen the bandage on Morgan's hand and the small dent in the wall of Gideon's office; he knew Morgan hadn't just calmed down for nothing. But Morgan needed a break as much as Garcia did, after that news.
"Hotch?" Emily began, throwing him a slightly distressed look. "How was he... after? All things considered, of course..."
"He was himself," was all Hotch could think to say. "Strong, in control, and thinking on his feet. All of the clues he gave us came from a ninety-second conversation just before Hatford terminated the connection."
"North Carolina," Gideon murmured.
"What?" J.J. asked, unable to keep the bewilderment out of her voice.
"The first clue was the Coello-Bannon Hotel, that's a little ways directly north of here."
"Exactly," said Hotch. So I suggested the Bernero Hotel to Reid because it's--"
"--directly south," Emily said slowly, nodding. "And Reid said that the one to the south was on track."
"But, wait, why North Carolina, Gideon? Couldn't it be South Carolina, or anywhere south of here?" Emily queried.
"Can't be," Gideon said simply, pulling an atlas from the bookshelf. He turned to the proper page and pointed to South Carolina, tapping the page with a finger.
"Route 20 and Route 76 intersect in South Carolina," Hotch realized. "'Too far'."
"Reid's best clue was the Golden Sedge," Gideon continued. "It's an extremely rare type of flower, category S1, and it's only been found in North Carolina. It's not a flower you'd put in a bouquet, but we talked about it a few days before he went on leave. He knew I'd remember."
"So now we just have to narrow it down from there, right?" Emily hadn't looked this optimistic in a long time.
"That's what the profile is for," Hotch said, picking up the case file. "Come on. We've got a week before our next contact with Hatford, and the more we figure out about him, the better our chances of rescuing Reid will become."
The others nodded.
"Hey," Morgan said from the doorway. Everyone turned in surprise. "I got Garcia a ride-- and I am not gonna mope around the house all weekend. I'm gonna help get our boy back."
"Morgan, are you gonna be all right with this thing right now?" J.J. asked.
"I won't lash out again, I swear. I can keep it cool," he reassured her.
"I meant your hand," she laughed, and he jokingly, lightly jabbed her shoulder with his uninjured fist.
Even knowing what they knew about what had happened to Reid, the team couldn't let their focus drift from their priorities--namely, finding him. And if focus meant keeping it together the only way they knew how, they'd do it. Joke, laugh, keep their humanity at the center of everything.
J.J. went to her computer, Gideon started on North Carolina, and Emily and Morgan took the file on Hatford.
And Hotch, unnoticed, slipped away from the group to head for the outside. He needed some air... needed to get away from the job for just a few minutes. Without Haley, he suddenly had no refuge and no comforting buffer to come home to, no smile to welcome him home after the horrors brought by daylight.
At midnight, it was always quiet at HQ, especially outside. With no better ideas, he simply sat down on the grass, sighing heavily and falling back to lean against the wall of the building. In the silence, he swore he heard the fleeting echoes of what had happened earlier, still ringing in his ears. Fishing in his pockets, he looked for something, anything, to take his mind off of it. At last, he found an occupied pocket...
And withdrew his hand to see the folded note Haley had given him from Reid. He'd been so focused on the case, lately, he'd just been taking it out of pockets and returning it to pockets every day without the slightest idea why.
"Why haven't I read this, yet?" he wondered, not particularly caring that he was talking to himself. It was late, it had been a rough day, and there was no one else around, who could blame him?
Slowly, carefully, he unfolded the letter bit by bit, and found a single sentence written in Reid's handwriting with black pen. Just as slowly, he read it.
He stood immediately from the grass and hurried inside, half-running to Gideon's office. It didn't matter if all they were going to do was look at maps of North Carolina all night, he had to do something. Anything. Anything to help, and anything to stop the ringing in his ears.
"Aaron," Gideon said, surprised, as the door to his office opened.
There was no hiding from the eyes of Jason Gideon, and he didn't even bother to cover it up.
"I need to talk."
"Something bothering you?" he asked.
"Do you remember a conversation we had about four months ago? I told you I was afraid that troubles in my personal life might be affecting my work..."
"I remember, yes," Gideon said calmly, nodding. "And the answer to that question is still 'no'. You've always kept things separate."
"Jason, I wasn't talking about Haley," he said quietly.
"I know you weren't."
Four words, and yet their impact was so powerful.
"What brought this on, Aaron?" The eyes of Jason Gideon, glowing with limitless understanding and compassion, seemed to be staring straight into his heart. "The assault?"
Staring away at the bookshelf, Hotch pulled the re-folded letter from his pocket and held it out to Gideon as though it were about to explode.
"Reid gave this to Haley, for her to give to me. That's all there is."
Gideon unfolded. Read. Slowly, raised his head, and looked at Hotch. Then he stood from his chair, walked around the desk, and without hesitation enfolded the younger man in his arms. The blinds were shut; the door, locked. Everyone else was on opposite sides of the floor. No one would ever know that The Invincible Aaron Hotchner finally broke down that night; naught were present but Jason Gideon and the paper--discarded but not forgotten as its words echoed ceaselessly in his mind.
"I've fallen in love with you."
~tbc