Shadows.
He didn't even have to fully wake up to answer his cell phone. The room was dark, light barely filtering in through the window, and his eyes were foggily adjusting as he spoke. "Hotchner."
The information from the voice on the other end - not Strauss, thankfully - was taken in and digested. A possible dirty bomb. One of three that had been reported. And the BAU was needed to help them find the bomber from the manifesto that had arrived at the White House. "Did they raise the terror alert?"
"It was necessary. They've started an evacuation of the city."
"All right. I'll be in soon."
He clicked off his phone and reached over to the other body there beside him in bed. Long, slender arm, hand still resting on his chest. He smiled slightly. Haley hadn't even--
Aaron caught himself. A fraction of a moment and he'd mistaken Spencer for Haley. Even with the threat, knowing he should get up and rush into his suit, the main sick stab in his gut was that he'd mistaken Spencer for Haley. He couldn't let that happen again.
He cupped Reid's shoulder in one hand, giving him a light shake. "Spencer. Come on, we have to go in."
Reid's phone started to ring on the other nightstand. It seemed hollow somehow as he gave Reid another shake. But Spencer wasn't responding to either - hadn't responded to the sound of Hotch's. The stab of guilt was replaced with a chill of fear. "Spencer," he called, pushing Reid onto his back, fingers searching for a pulse that wasn't there. Instead, there was blood.
Blood that soaked into the mattress below and behind him, only showing after the sheets had been disturbed. Blood that dripped in near-silent taps into an already-soaked rug. Blood that coloured his hands where he'd dared to disturb the body that hadn't been asleep. That, uncovered, began to lose its meager warmth to the night-darkened room.
There was a growl of a whisper from the bedroom door.
"You should've made the deal."
Fighting against the sheets, Hotch sat up in bed. In an empty bed, in an empty room. He recognized his surroundings. There was no ringing phone, no person in bed with him. This was his apartment, not the old house.
He should've seen that, Aaron told himself. Should've seen that he'd dreamed the bed he'd shared with Haley, that he should've recognized those old windows. And Foyet. That, at least was common. Only the addition of Reid was new.
He closed his eyes, catching his breath after the dream startled him into wakefulness, and he dropped back onto the pillow. Just another night.
Just another nightmare.
The information from the voice on the other end - not Strauss, thankfully - was taken in and digested. A possible dirty bomb. One of three that had been reported. And the BAU was needed to help them find the bomber from the manifesto that had arrived at the White House. "Did they raise the terror alert?"
"It was necessary. They've started an evacuation of the city."
"All right. I'll be in soon."
He clicked off his phone and reached over to the other body there beside him in bed. Long, slender arm, hand still resting on his chest. He smiled slightly. Haley hadn't even--
Aaron caught himself. A fraction of a moment and he'd mistaken Spencer for Haley. Even with the threat, knowing he should get up and rush into his suit, the main sick stab in his gut was that he'd mistaken Spencer for Haley. He couldn't let that happen again.
He cupped Reid's shoulder in one hand, giving him a light shake. "Spencer. Come on, we have to go in."
Reid's phone started to ring on the other nightstand. It seemed hollow somehow as he gave Reid another shake. But Spencer wasn't responding to either - hadn't responded to the sound of Hotch's. The stab of guilt was replaced with a chill of fear. "Spencer," he called, pushing Reid onto his back, fingers searching for a pulse that wasn't there. Instead, there was blood.
Blood that soaked into the mattress below and behind him, only showing after the sheets had been disturbed. Blood that dripped in near-silent taps into an already-soaked rug. Blood that coloured his hands where he'd dared to disturb the body that hadn't been asleep. That, uncovered, began to lose its meager warmth to the night-darkened room.
There was a growl of a whisper from the bedroom door.
"You should've made the deal."
Fighting against the sheets, Hotch sat up in bed. In an empty bed, in an empty room. He recognized his surroundings. There was no ringing phone, no person in bed with him. This was his apartment, not the old house.
He should've seen that, Aaron told himself. Should've seen that he'd dreamed the bed he'd shared with Haley, that he should've recognized those old windows. And Foyet. That, at least was common. Only the addition of Reid was new.
He closed his eyes, catching his breath after the dream startled him into wakefulness, and he dropped back onto the pillow. Just another night.
Just another nightmare.