#Walter Rossi | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hotchscoffeecup · 10 months ago

Text

“Power Struggle”

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Reader

Rating: M

Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 7.2k

Summary: For months, you and SSA Aaron Hotchner have been toeing the boundary between romance and your careers. When the unsub that's been killing women in Michigan by way of replicating Zeus' punishments from Greek mythology takes you as his next victim, it's up to Hotch and the rest of the BAU team to find you before it's too late. Hurt/comfort and angst with happy ending.

Tags: graphic depictions of violence, reader kidnapped by unsub, blood, implied SA, nudity, electrocution, scarring, hospitals

“You’re telling me someone is out here killing people to recreate, what? Greek legends?” Sheriff McCullen’s brow pinches as he shakes his head.

“Legends are stories often loosely based on a real person or event to teach us a lesson. Mythology is based on supernatural or sacred lore and explains why things came to be. It’s a common mistake.” Reid speaks quickly and methodically, as if reciting from a textbook. “It’s straight out of the mythos,” he explains, his voice tinged with something akin to excitement as he approaches the whiteboard where photos of the victims had been pinned up for review. Using a ballpoint pen as a pointer, he taps the first image of the first victim. “Regina Manford, she was found tied to a boulder in Craig Lake State Park with her liver removed. Animal predation showed birds had pecked at her while she was still alive. In Greek mythology, Zeus did this to Prometheus to exact revenge on him after he stole fire to give to man.”

Reid moves on to the next victim, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he did so. “Sarah Walters was found bound to an old water wheel that had been set on fire. Greek Mythology suggests this is a copy of Zeus’ punishment for Ixion.”

“And what did he do to deserve that?” asks the sheriff.

Reid’s lips form a tight line. “He was invited into Zeus’ home on Olympus. After attempting to seduce his wife, Hera, Zeus punished him by binding him to a wheel of fire cursed to spin forever toward the underworld. She might’ve smiled or even looked at him, and in his delusion believed she was a seductress deserving of punishment.”

“So, what? This guy sees himself as some sort of god?”

“We believe that is his delusion, yes,” answers Emily. “Each victim also bore signs of sexual trauma, this is something Zeus is also renowned for in the mythology. Our unsub thinks he’s infallible and that these women’s lives and deciding when and how these women live and die is his divine right.”

“Do we know if there will be more victims?” asks one of the detectives.

You step forward from your place between Morgan and Hotchner. “Given the number of victims Zeus punished within the mythology, we can assume he is not finished. These kills are two weeks apart. It’s been twelve days since the last body was found. We can only assume he’s currently hunting for his next victim. And when he finds one, he convinces her to go to a second location. It's once they leave the primary location that he attacks. In each case, the victim suffered a blow to the head, leaving a uniquely shaped gash in her forehead. This suggests that he strikes them with a distinct blunt object or even a ring that’s on his hand.”

“We need every man out on the streets,” Hotch states, his eyes hard as he scans the group of law enforcement gathered to receive the profile. “He stalks his victims in the city, often on the weekends when night life is busiest. He’s charming. He has no problem approaching women because he views himself as a deity and carries himself with the arrogance and confidence of one. He’s white, in his early to mid 30s, good looking, charming, and likely has a career that would’ve provided him with medical training.”

A female detective with short blonde hair sticks her pencil in the air. “How do we know that?”

“The incisions made on Regina’s body were clean, precise, and showed no signs of hesitation,” explains Rossi. “The M.E. also informed us that the hepatic artery was clamped off, meaning,” Rossi hesitates before continuing on, “meaning Regina Mansford was alive as her liver was being cut from her body.”

An uncomfortable murmuring breaks out. Hotch raises a hand, silencing them. Your mouth goes dry and you swallow, hoping your team doesn’t notice the way your eyes dilate when you look at him and the silent way in which he can command a room.

“This is why we need every available officer on the streets. Increase units in the downtown area. Have plain clothes officers on the streets. That’s where we’ll be. Thank you.” Hotch tucks his head and sweeps out of the bullpen, the rest of the team trailing after him into the conference room.

“Where do you want us?” asks Morgan as you shut the door to the conference room.

“Reid, I want you here working the geographical profile. See if there’s anything we missed that could bring us closer to a precise location where he’s kidnapping his victims. Rossi and JJ, I want you to go back to Sarah’s apartment and see if we missed anything that tells us where she was exactly on the night she was kidnapped. Derek and Emily take the north side of downtown.” He inclines his head toward you. “You and I will take the south side.”

His eyes linger on yours a moment longer than they ought to have. You dip your head and swiftly exit the room, jacket in hand as you prepare to brave not only the frigid Michigan cold but working one one-on-one with Hotch. This had been going on for months; subtle looks, brief touches where his fingers would slide over yours while passing off a case file…yet a part of you still wasn’t sure if it would ever go any further than that. You spend so much of your time with the team, it would be so easy to mistake one gesture for something that it wasn’t. Yet you knew that wasn’t true. You know behavior. You’re trained to recognize the subtlest of shifts in demeanor and body language and you know exactly what is going on.

You jump as someone pushes through the front door of the precinct. Emily’s gentle laugh disrupts your rumination. “Sorry,” she says, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She moves to stand closer to you as she zips her jacket. “The guys went to grab the cars.”

You nod and shove your hands in your pockets.

Emily arches a perfectly manicured brow. “What’s up?”

You school your expression and feign nonchalance. “Nothing, I just want to catch this guy before he hurts anyone else.”

Emily’s brow furrows and then straightens, a glimmer of knowing in her eye. “Something tells me there’s a different guy on your mind.”

Your heart skips a beat and you nearly choke on the crisp winter air. “What? I don’t—“ Your words falter as Derek and Hotch arrive, the SUVs humming to a gentle stop at the curb.

Emily eyes you, a sly smile curving one side of her red lips. “We’ll talk later.” She winks and steps forward to open the passenger side door, sliding inside and disappearing into the dark interior.

As you turn to move toward the SUV, Hotch is there, opening the door for you. The gesture surprises you, but it shouldn’t. He’d been doing little things like this for weeks now. You nod your head in thanks and as you turn your body to slide past him, his hand catches your hip. Your breath hitches in your throat as his fingers glide against the small of your back, guiding your movement into the vehicle.

His hard eyes meet yours as he shuts the door and you’re grateful for the shadows inside the car as you feel your face flush bright red. Hotch slides into the driver’s seat with ease. He shifts the car into gear and pulls onto the road, heading in the direction of downtown.

After a few minutes, you open your mouth to disrupt the silence, but his cell rings. Hotch answers and places it on speaker as JJ’s voice floats through the receiver, “Hotch, we think we’ve got something at Sarah Walters apartment.”

“What’s that?” you ask.

“There’s a sticky note in her trash can,” a garbled sound echoes through the speaker as she shifts the phone. The sound of paper crinkles as she reads, “Tony’s at 9, does that mean anything? Has Garcia come across a Tony in any of her research into the victims’ lives? Maybe an Anthony?”

An image of a neon sign flashes across your mind’s eye. “It’s a bar,” you say matter-of-factly.

“A bar?”

“I remember seeing the sign on our drive-in. It’s a bar on the south side of downtown. That could be where he’s meeting these women.”

“We’re only a few blocks away, we’ll head there now. Thank you, JJ.” He hangs up and slips the phone into his jacket pocket.

“How do you want to play this?” you ask.

“We go in, make observations, see if we can identify anyone that matches the profile.”

You smirk and a small laugh escapes your lips.

“Something funny?” Hotch asks, his voice low in his throat.

You purse your lips, pausing before you proceed. “If we go in looking like feds, we’ll scare this guy away.” You tilt your head, considering. “Well, one of us anyway.”

A slight twitch in his brow is the only indication your words have just barely gotten under his skin. “Touched a nerve, sir?”

As the traffic light ahead blinks red, he eases the car to a stop. He breathes out slowly, the amber glow of the stoplight reflecting in his eyes. In less than two heartbeats, he thrusts the car into park and with both hands clasps your face, drawing you in to kiss you with such fervor white spots dot your vision. It takes a moment to process the heat of his mouth on yours and the way his tongue slides between your lips, and before you can truly reciprocate the light turns green and he pulls back, his breathing ragged against your mouth as his forehead touches yours. “Be careful when and how you choose to call me sir.”

Before you can exhale, his eyes are on the road again and you’re driving deeper into downtown.

“Understood,” and then you add, almost imperceptibly, “sir.”

A small smile quirks at the corner of his lips, but he says nothing more as you approach your destination.

It's nearing 9:30pm when you pull up on the street parallel to Tony’s. People trickle in and out of the bar in groups of twos and threes; most are young, in their mid to late twenties.

“Right,” you say as you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to exit the vehicle. “Stay here.”

“Excuse me?” Hotch asks, reaching over your lap and grabbing your wrist to stay your hand from popping the door open. Your breathing stills and he just barely turns his face toward yours. “Since when do you give me orders?”

Unsure where the confidence to challenge him comes from, you lean in near his ear. You swallow once before speaking. “I think you like taking them.” Feeling incredibly brazen, you nip at his ear once and as the unexpected gesture disarms him; flick your wrist out of his grasp and pop the door open. You slide out of the car and are immediately greeted by the frigid January air eliciting goosebumps up and down your arms. Extending an arm overhead to hang on to the frame of the SUV; you lean down into the cab of the vehicle. “I’ve got you right here,” you say as you tap the hidden earpiece. “Let me know if you see anyone from the outside that fits the profile.”

Hotch eyes you and there’s a fierceness in his gaze. You wonder if he’s thinking of how he’ll ultimately retaliate for your little role reversal now that he’s gone and upped the ante in this little game of cat and mouse. “See you soon,” you wink and slam the door shut.

As you approach the bar, you make sure your coat is buttoned in a way that hides your sidearm and credentials from sight. The bouncer doesn’t even pretend to ask for an ID as you approach and move through the front door with ease. As you cross through the threshold, your senses are assaulted by the smell of beer on tap, the sharp tang of liquor, grease, and an amalgamation of perfumes and colognes.

Immediately you begin scanning the room. You note the layout of the bar: three exits for patrons, the one you just came in through, one near the bathrooms for cigarette smokers, and an emergency exit on the far right wall near to the kitchen. There are three pool tables all of which are occupied as well as three dart boards along the far wall. Groups of friends engage one another and dates carry on without a hitch. You approach the bar, which is centered along the far wall. Stools line the high countertop and behind the bar, two women work to fulfill the never-ending drink orders. You approach the bar and slide into one of the empty seats, relaxing your shoulders as you do so, and order a rum and coke that you don’t plan on drinking.

After a moment the bartender drops a cocktail napkin in front of you and places the drink on top. You thank her and stir the contents of the drink with the swizzle stick popped inside.

“Is this seat taken?” an unfamiliar voice causes the hair on the back of your neck to prickle and you know immediately that it’s him.

Painting on a saccharine sweet smile, you turn toward the voice. A white man, standing at about 6’2”, is smiling down at you. The neon lights behind the bar reflect in his blue-gray eyes and his honey blonde hair falls in soft waves to his shoulders. “Please,” you say demurely and gesture toward the seat. You tell him your name and continue smiling.

“Ronan Carlson,” he introduces himself as he slides in beside you and adjusts the lapels on his leather jacket, a fake Rolex peeking out from his sleeve. He’s preening, you think to yourself. The bartender approaches from behind the bar and he smiles, the curve of his lips the opening act of his charming performance. “I’ll have what she’s having, thank you.” He pulls a roll of cash from the inner pocket of his jacket, flips through several bills, and pulls a $100 bill free before sliding it across the counter to her.

The bartender’s eyes widen in surprise and he winks at her. She nods her thanks and turns to make his drink.

“That was very kind of you,” I say, stirring my drink for the thirteenth time.

He shrugs and tips the baseball cap he’s wearing down over his eyes and you know it’s to obstruct the view the cameras have of him. “It’s only money, and I think I may have made her night.” He inclines his head toward the bartender whose head is bent close to the other woman’s. She’s smiling wide and shows her the $100 bill.

Internally, you roll your eyes hard, but externally you smile and look at him from beneath your lashes. “You must have a great job, what do you do for work?”

His hand flexes as he sets his drink down on the counter and you note the two chunky platinum rings he wears on his right hand. There are symbols etched into them offset by different colored stones, but you don’t want him to catch you staring as he answers, “I’m in business for myself these days,” he says with no further explanation. “Though I used to be in the military.”

You feign surprise, though you were hopeful he’d continue to divulge information. “The military, wow. Let me guess,” you pause and allow your eyes to slowly scan him from head to toe. You remember the profile. “Army…medic.”

“Reign it in,” you hear Hotchner’s voice through the earpiece. “Be mindful of how much you reveal to him. Don’t let him know you know more about him than he’s letting on.”

You watch him assess you and your read into him. One blonde brow creeps up toward his hairline and that wicked smile curves his lips again. “Excellent guess, how do you figure?”

Leaning on to your forearms, you push your drink aside and slide your hand over his and you don’t miss the way his fingers tense at your touch.

“It’s the hands,” you say coyly. “You look like you know how to handle yourself.” He relaxes under your touch and a heat ignites in his eyes that makes your stomach churn, but you don’t let it show on your face. “You look like you know how to handle a lot of things.”

He licks his lips and turns the ring on his finger. “Tell you what,” he says as he picks up his drink. He places the glass to his lips and downs its contents. “Why don’t we get out of here?” He looks down at you from beneath dark lashes. “And I’ll show you just how much I can handle.”

You stand up and flash him a grin. “Let me quickly freshen up and I’ll meet you out front.”

His lips quirk into a smirk, “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

You smile as you slip away toward the bathroom. As you push through the crowd you inform Hotch that the unsub is on his way out.

“There’s a line growing out the door,” he answers over the earpiece. “Does the description match the profile?”

“To a T,” you answer as you push past a couple with their tongues in each other's mouths. The amount of patrons has increased dramatically over the last hour. The volume of the music makes it hard to hear through the earpiece. You push your way into the restroom and are surprised to find it empty. Fortunately, the outside noise is muffled. You begin to describe Ronan’s appearance and note the jacket and hat he’s wearing. “He’s wearing two oddly shaped rings,” you add. “I think it’s what’s caused the unusual injury to the victims’ faces.”

“I’ve got him. He’s cutting through the line toward the parking lot.” You hear the car door open and slam.

“Got it, I’ll be right there.”

“Good work,” Hotch says over the open line.

You smile to yourself as you unbutton your jacket, glad to be on the receiving end of his praise. For a split second you wonder what else you could be on the receiving end of if you continue to play this game with him. After the case, you remind yourself. Priorities. Priority number one is getting this sick bastard off the street, and he’s right here within your grasp. You shoulder the door as you reach for your gun, positioning your thumb over the rotating hood to dislodge your weapon from its holster.

Over the speakers, an employee is calling to celebrate someone’s birthday. The crowd is distracted and pushing toward the source of celebration. The bar erupts into an off key rendition of Happy Birthday but you don’t hear it as 30,000 volts of electricity course through your veins. Your muscles spasm and lock up as you fall forward. Pain radiates from your abdomen in waves that crash over you again and again. You try to tell your body what to do as strong arms catch you and pull you into a chest that smells like cigarette smoke, but your limbs don’t cooperate. You feel his nose root into your hair as his lips find your ear. “How’s that for capable?”

As he shoulders your weight and steers you out through the emergency exit you hear Hotch’s voice in your ear. “It’s not him!” There’s an edge of panic in his voice as he says your name. “Do you copy? It’s not him. He gave another man $500 to wear his hat and jacket into the parking lot. It’s not him. Do you have eyes on him?”

Dark spots the edges of your vision as he drags your dead body weight. You try to focus all of your ability on getting out any words that can signal to Hotchner what’s happening, any at all but your mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton.”

You hear the tinkling of keys and a door slide open. Pain rattles through your skull as he throws you into the back of whatever vehicle he’s operating. Pain slices through your wrists as zip ties slice through the skin there. Through tunnel vision you see him leering at you. He’s backlit by the streetlights.

As his fist flies toward you, you finally manage one word.

“Aaron.”

•

When you come to, the first thing you feel before the splitting pain in your head threatens to cleave your mind in two, is cold.

Your mouth is dry, but as you move to lick your lips you realize you can’t because there’s a gag in your mouth. You try to move your hands, but they’re bound too. Zip ties cut into each wrist, securing them at your sides on the legs of a wooden chair. When you try to shift the chair, you learn that it’s bolted to the floor and your legs are spread open; zip ties at your knees and ankles keep them apart. Except for your bra and underwear, you’re naked. He undressed you. You feel the wound from the stun gun before you glance down at your stomach and see the two bloody pinpricks in your abdomen. You feel your heart rate increase as panic begins to set in. Do not panic , you tell yourself as you take a steadying breath. The minute you start to panic, you’re dead. You close your eyes and piece together the last dredges of your memory.

Tony’s. Sitting at the bar. The unsub. Ronan. Hotch was in pursuit. And then there was just pain.

Hotch.

The pain in your skull is overwhelming and you’re not sure if you can feel the earpiece anymore.

“Hotch,” you attempt to say through the gag. “Hotch, do you read me?”

You close your eyes as hot tears brim along your lash line when there’s no response. The signal is out of range or the unsub found the earpiece and removed it.

A door creaks open on squeaky hinges and your eyes dart toward the source of the sound. Ronan walks through the door with a sick smile on his face. As he saunters toward you, he rolls the sleeves of his flannel up to his elbows. Without looking away from you, his arm drops to his side and he scoops a folding metal chair with one hand, carrying it with him as he edges closer to you.

You flinch as he cracks the chair down in front of you, forcing it open. He chuckles as he takes a seat. His eyes skirt the length of your body and you wish any limb were free to deliver a blow to his smug face.

He reaches into his back pocket and withdraws your badge. He flips it open and holds it up to your face, the way his eyes flit between you and your credentials makes your lip curl.

“An FBI agent,” he says slowly. He slaps your credentials shut against his denim-clad thighs. “Hot damn!” he shouts and whoops. He throws your badge to the wayside and it clatters against the cement floor. “I’m going to take my time with you.”

It could’ve been hours. It could’ve been minutes. The torture is unrelenting and the pain is unending. Your chest heaves as you brace yourself for the next surge of electricity. Ronan, if that’s even his real name, twists the knob on the amplifier and taps the jumper cable clamps in his hands together. He smiles when he hears the buzz of electricity between them. As he presses them into your thighs, you cry out in pain as the shockwaves paralyze your body and mind and the pain overwhelms you.

“YES!” he roars as he pulls them away from you. He’d taken his flannel off, but now he peels off his t-shirt, balls it up, and uses it to wipe the sweat off of his face.

With the voltage no longer coursing through your veins, you slump forward, chest heaving as your scrambled brain fights to stay alert.

He drops the cables and clasps your face in his hand, forcing your chin up to meet his wild eyes. “You just don’t quit, do you? You're special.” He strokes your cheeks with his thumbs as if he cherishes what he’s doing to you. “You are worthy of a god.”

When you come to Ronan is watching you. He’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees, chin resting on his clasped hands.

“She wakes,” he muses.

You glare at him and his brow pinches. He purses his lips together like he’s been stung, but his eyes are alight with amusement.

“You,” he says, gesturing up and down your body, “look beautiful.”

You don’t need to look down to know the number of bloodied burn wounds spanning the lengths of your legs. If you couldn’t keep track of any other thought, the count was all that kept you grounded. There were ten. Five on each leg. Your wrists and ankles bled from the way you’d pulled against them with every shock he delivered.

He reaches forward and this time you don’t flinch. He hooks two fingers into the gag and pulls it down over your chin, his fingers trailing your lips as he does so.

“Here,” he says, bringing a bottle of water to your lips. “Drink.”

You clamp your lips shut and turn your face away. He laughs and shakes his head. “Come on now, don’t refuse me. That’s not how you show gratitude when a god shows you mercy.”

You muster as much hatred into your stare as you focus your attention back on him. “Mercy?” you hiss, and your voice is hoarse from screaming against the gag. It hurts to speak. You pull against your restraints. “This is what you call mercy?”

“I’m only testing you to see if you’re worthy,” he says by way of explanation. "You've lasted longer than the others."

“Worthy of what?” you ask, but you already know the answer.

“To be my Hera.”

“How is what you’re doing to me, what you did to those other women, going to help you find her?”

“They weren’t worthy,” he answered. “They couldn’t take my power like you could, my lightning. They were false. They needed to be punished.”

He leans in, his lips close enough to yours that you can feel his smoky breath on your skin. “But you, you deserve to be rewarded.” Your skin bristles at his words. His lips find your jawline and you grimace as he drags them up the side of your face. When he pulls away, dried blood flakes onto his skin.

“Don’t be afraid,” he soothes as he smoothes your sweat-drenched hair away from your face. “You’ll enjoy it.”

Unable to suffer any more of his poisonous bullshit, you rear your head back and slam it forward. Pain explodes behind your forehead, but it’s worth it to hear the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking. He roars in pain and clutches his bleeding nose. White light blinds you as he backhands you and curses your name. His ring splits the skin of your cheek open. The force of the blow causes you to bite your lip and you feel your teeth cut into the chapped skin there. You spit blood at him, angering him further.

“You are false!” he screams, spittle flying from his mouth as he shoves the gag back into your mouth. “You are not her!” He moves to pick up the jumper cables, twisting the knob of the amplifier all the way up causing the bulbs overhead to flicker. You know this is it. If he touches you with those, it will kill you.

Bracing yourself for the killing blow, you go to the grave knowing you did not give in to this bastard.

It never lands.

Instead, three shots ring out and he’s falling to the floor dead at your feet. As the unsub’s body falls, Hotchner’s frame comes into view and a choked sob escapes your lips. He holsters his weapon and runs to you. Emily and Morgan are right behind him. Morgan passes Hotch a Swiss Army knife from his pocket and he makes quick work of the zip ties binding you to the chair. From the corner of your eye, you see Emily turn off the amplifier and check Ronan’s pulse.

Unable to hold yourself up, you fall forward into his ready arms, letting yours fall over his shoulders. Hotch drops to his knee to support your weight. “You’re okay,” he says as he pulls the gag free from your mouth and you sob into his chest. He smooths your hair back from your face, his eyes assessing the damage done to you. Blood stains his shirt, your blood.

“Morgan, your jacket.” Hotch orders.

Without hesitation, Morgan unfastens his bulletproof vest and unzips his jacket. He passes it to Hotch who drapes it around your shoulders in an attempt to preserve some of your modesty.

“I need a medic!” he shouts before directing his attention back to you.

Your eyes waver as you try to keep them open. You lock in on the depths of his warm brown eyes. “You’re going to be fine,” he says but his voice sounds far away.

“He wanted someone to be his Hera,” you say weakly.

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Hotch soothes.

You swallow and it hurts your throat to do so. Your lips crack open, “You found me.”

Hotch cradles your head against his chest. “Of course I did.”

You wince as the sound of a gurney crashes into the room, the metal wheels squealing as it draws near. Your head swims as you’re swept into the air and laid out on its cushiony bed. A light shines in your eyes and voices are overlapping. Blindly, you use what strength you have left to drop your hand off the side. Unable to focus your attention on where he is, you know he’ll hear you. “Don’t leave me.”

And as you lose consciousness, you feel his hand slip into yours.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

•

A steady beeping fills your ears as you slowly come to. Your eyes feel bruised and you don’t think you have it in you to open them, but you feel something around your wrists and bolt upright. Pain crashes over you in a wave. It was a dream. You’re still bound in that basement. The beeping increases, growing louder and faster. Someone says your name and you feel hands on your shoulders. You try to swing your fist and are surprised when your arm follows through and makes contact with flesh. Did you break through the zip ties? You hear your name again, clearer this time. A man. He’s asking you to stop, to relax.

“It’s me,” he repeats and says your name again. “You’re safe. You’re in the hospital.” He says your name again. “It’s me, it’s Aaron.”

You stop fighting and blink hard. Hotchner’s stern face comes into view, except there’s concern wavering in the depths of his brown eyes. His brow softens as you relax. A small smile turns the corners of his lips. “Hey there,” he says. A nurse rushes into the room and he raises a hand, “We’re fine, here. Thank you.”

The nurse looks at you and you nod. She looks unsure about leaving but ultimately relents. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake.”

Aaron cups the back of your head in one of his hands and gently begins to lower you back down onto the pillows behind you. You allow him to guide you and feel the tension ease from your muscles as your back sinks into the surprisingly plush hospital pillow.

As the adrenaline wears off, you’re finally able to take stock of your injuries as the pain quickly makes itself known. You feel your pulse beating in your skull, pounding at your temples, eyebrow, and cheekbone. With shaky fingers, you touch the places where you remember the unsub striking you. You feel a thick bandage taped over your right eyebrow and steri-strips over your cheek. Your lip is swollen from where you bit it.

Bandages encircle your wrists and there’s an IV stuck in your hand. You’ve been dressed in a hospital gown and the sheets are drawn up to your waist covering the burn wounds. You don't have to see them to know how bad they look. The pain is telling enough.

“Is he dead?” you ask, lowering your hand back down to the bed.

Hotch’s lips form a tight line. “Yes.”

You blink back tears as that information sinks in. “Good,” you whisper in a choked voice. You blink and allow your head to loll to the side. A colorful bouquet of roses and carnations dotted with plastic ladybugs and butterflies sits in a clear vase on the side table.

You smile, “Garcia?”

Hotch smiles in turn. “It was tough to convince her to go home and get some sleep, but I promised her I wouldn’t leave you alone. Even then, it was still a hard-fought battle.”

You chuckle and wince as the movement irritates your injuries.

Hotch telegraphs his next move, and you know it’s to avoid startling you. He cups his hand over your uninjured cheek and strokes the skin there with his thumb.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he says, and his voice sounds tired and pained. “I should’ve gone inside with you.”

“Hotch, don’t.” You reach up and wrap your fingers around his wrist. “Don’t do that to yourself. He didn’t know I was with the FBI until after he took me. If you’d been there, he might’ve pegged us as law enforcement and taken off. He might still be out there and we’d be finding another dead woman in a matter of days. You know I’m right.”

Hotch closes his eyes and heaves a heavy sigh. “I could hear you.”

“What?” you whisper. You try to sit up and wince as the movement stings the wounds in your legs and abdomen. Hotch stands and helps adjust the pillows behind your back before sitting back down in the chair at your bedside.

“Not for very long. He drove out of range, but I heard him speaking to you. I heard the blows land. I heard your head smack against the floor when he threw you in the van.” He stops and shakes his head. “I felt so helpless. I was afraid. I couldn’t get to you, just like,” his voice catches in his throat. “just like I couldn’t get to Haley.”

Your heart breaks for him as he speaks. You reach for his hand and take it, squeezing it. “Aaron, you did get to me. You saved my life.”

He clears his throat and swallows. “Yes, but we were almost too late.”

“But you weren’t,” you state, your tone firm. “Aaron, look at me.”

He hesitates and inhales deeply before lifting his gaze to yours. The corners of his eyes soften as he meets yours and you smile. You gently tug his hand, “Come here.”

Hotch glances toward the door and then back at you, “The doctor—“

“Isn’t going to do shit,” you finish. “I’m the one that endured hours of torture. Pretty sure I’m allowed some close comfort.”

He lets out a shallow laugh. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Standing, he shrugs out of his suit jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair. With one hand he loosens his tie until he’s able to pull it up and over his head. He tosses it onto the chair and circumnavigates the bed, assessing the best way to join you on the small mattress.

You groan as you slide over. Hotch reaches out to stop you but you silence him with a pointed look. “Mind the IV,” you say as you pat the space beside you.

Hotch acquiesces, using the tips of his fingers to raise the IV drip enough for him to slide into bed beside you. He slips an arm around you and drops the feed. It falls across his torso. The feel of his arm around you is comforting, like a security blanket, like safety. You relax into him, and rest your head on his chest. His lips brush against your bandaged brow.

“Not quite how I imagined we’d first be sharing a bed,” you joke softly as you nuzzle in deeper against the wide plane of his chest.

You feel him smile against your hair. “Only you could joke at a time like this.”

“If I can’t laugh at what’s happened, I’ll never be able to close my eyes at night.”

“Well, if that’s the case.” He rubs the bare skin of your arm in small circles. “I’ll be there until you can.”

You turn your head to look at him then, your heart full. This is happening. His eyes are on yours and you push yourself toward him ever so slightly. He closes the small gap between you and presses his lips to yours. It wasn’t hungry and primal like the kiss in the car. There would be plenty of time for that later. This kiss was light, tender…healing.

“Sir, I’m sorry. I tried to go home, I really did but as soon as I got there I—” Garcia’s voice abruptly cuts off. You look up and her initial look of surprise turns to one of abject joy.

You feel your cheeks flush as Emily and Morgan appear in the doorway behind her. Morgan’s eyes widen and Emily’s brow arches as a smile curves her lips.

“I, uh, brought backup.” Penelope giggles. She remembers she’s holding something. “And cookies! I couldn’t sleep, so I baked. I figured I could bribe you into going home and getting some sleep.” Her words leave her mouth at a mile a minute. “I thought you’d fight me on it, so I brought some muscle.” She gestures with a tilt of her head. “They’re the muscle.”

Morgan exhales and points a finger at you and Hotch. “Can someone explain to me what’s going on here?”

Emily elbows him and he drops his arm. She takes the tray from Garcia and walks it over to the side table where she places it next to the flowers. She winks at you as she turns back to Garcia and Morgan. “It’s about time,” she says.

Penelope laughs as she hooks her arm in Emily’s. “What's it been? Two, three months?”

Morgan guffaws. “Months?”

Penelope pats his face with a ring-adorned hand. “My sweet oblivious profiler. Come on, hot stuff.” She takes him by the hand and leads him from the room. Emily shakes her head and laughs. “Men.”

“Safe to say the team knows.”

Hotch releases a breathy laugh and kisses your forehead again. “I know what will be the first thing on the agenda at tomorrow’s debriefing.”

•

6 weeks. It had been 6 weeks since you’d pressed the elevator button that would bring you back to the office. The weight of your gun feels right where it sits upon your hip, your gait more familiar to you now than when it wasn’t holstered to your side. You nervously adjust the grip on your go bag. You’d packed and repacked it the night before.

This morning as you were getting out of the shower, you stared at yourself in the mirror. Your cheek had healed nicely though the skin on your brow that had been split by the unsub’s ring had scarred, severing the tail end of your eyebrow from the rest of it. The ligature marks around your wrists and ankles had healed and the skin was smooth once more. The stun gun had scarred your abdomen, but all that remained were two purple pinpricks of scar tissue no bigger than the size of an infant’s thumbnail.

Your legs are a different story. The front of your thighs are an array of mottled scar tissue. One burn had gone so deep that they’d needed to graft skin from your calf to salvage it. The wounds no longer hurt physically, but you’d woken up from nightmares on more than one occasion.

You were never alone though. Garcia worked remotely on secure laptops with VPNs as often as she was able. Rossi brought you home-cooked Italian at least twice a week and talked with you over numerous glasses of red wine. Reid brought black-and-white foreign existentialist films that you didn’t understand, but his enthusiasm as he watched made you happy all the same. Emily and Morgan brought coffee and donuts as often as they could and Hotch…if he wasn’t at the office or visiting Jack, he was with you. On several occasions, he brought Jack. Jack would sit on the bed beside you, playing with his toys, narrating the adventures of his action figures as Aaron stood in the doorway, smiling. At night, when you had woken in a cold sweat, Aaron was there with a washcloth to wipe it away. When the bandages had stuck to your burn wounds and it felt like your skin was being peeled apart, he got your pain medicine and helped change the dressings, holding you until the pain had passed.

You blink as the elevator dings, signaling you’ve reached your destination. You take a deep breath and smooth down the front of your blouse as the door opens wide. Everything looks the same, yet everything feels like it's changed as you approach the desk you occupy perpendicular to Emily’s. A smile crosses your lips as you see the Welcome Bac k card on your desk. Two vases of flowers sit behind the card. One is almost exactly like the one from the hospital so you know it’s from Garcia. The other, a bouquet of purple tulips, has a note attached to it. You open the note and read it.

Glad to have you back. Things haven’t been the same around here without you. -AH

Hotch. You should’ve known. You smile and tuck the note into your purse.

“Hey, hey, look who’s finally decided to get her ass back to work.” Morgan’s charming laugh is followed by Emily chastising him.

“Ignore him,” she says as she places a steaming mug of coffee on your desk.

“You’re a godsend,” you say by way of thanks and take a long drink. Two sugars, no milk, just the way you like. “Wow, Emily, that’s perfect. I needed this.”

“How come you don’t remember how I take my coffee?” Morgan asks pointedly.

She shrugs, “Chicks before dicks, Derek.”

You sputter and choke on your coffee.

“Look,” he says as he pats you on the back. “Her first day back and you’re gonna kill her.”

At that moment JJ passes by with a file in hand. She raises it in the air and gestures to the conference room. “We got a case.” She smiles at you warmly. “It’s good to have you back.”

Together, you, Morgan, and Emily enter the conference room where Reid, Hotch, and Rossi have already gathered. Once you’re all sat, JJ begins presenting the case. You review current victims and why the Sacramento Police Department has invited you onto the case

“Sacramento PD is expecting us this afternoon. We’ve got a long flight ahead of us. Wheels up in thirty, understood?”

A chorus of ‘yes sirs’ echo throughout the room. As the team gathers their belongings and moves to leave, you wait for Hotch to catch your eye. You wink at him before mouthing, “Yes, sir.”

1K notes · View notes

cumulo-stratus · 1 year ago

Note

reader being flustered at small touches from Spencer? like touch-starved spencer who would be all over reader when alone?

Fantozzi[s.r]

The BAU decides to have a movie night at Rossi's house, and Spencer you and Spencer find a quiet corner to sit in. You both fall asleep and cuddling ensues..

WARNINGS- established relationship, pronouns used, mentions of alcohol

Spencer reid x male reader ][ fluff, secret relationship ][ masterlist

a/n- ugh this is so cute, i know it's a little different but i hope you enjoy anon!

1.3k

It was a quiet night at Rossi's. The team had gathered for a quiet night together, and Rossi graciously offered up his mansion.

By 8:30, everyone had arrived and was gathered in the large living room sipping on various drinks from cocktails, to seltzer. You and Spencer arrived together, as you had driven him straight from the office after finishing the never ending paperwork.

Everyone was spread out on the various leather couches, settees, and chairs. You and Spencer had found a spot next to each other on a large chair. Spencer was sunk into the large saggy chair, and you were perched on the wide armrest, leaning against Spencer's side, a seltzer in your hand. Spencer's hand loosely gripped yours discreetly at your side.

Spencer got clingy when he was tired, and by clingy I mean touchy. But you guys had not exactly told the team about your relationship yet, so Spencer had to settle for discreetly holding your hand.

Neither you nor your boyfriend had been paying much attention to the conversations going on around you, until Penelope called you and your boyfriend's name.

“Brainiac, Pretty Boy, we’re watching a movie for team bonding! What do you wanna watch?” Penelope's voice was giddy as she yelled across the room to the couple. Everyone gave a collective eye roll when she said team bonding, as while you and Spencer weren't paying attention, there had been extensive arguing over watching a movie, and penelope's main argument was that it would serve as “team bonding”. Everyone dismissed it first until hotch nodded and agreed with Penelope- it was settled.

“Derek wants to watch die hard, and although I love my chocolate thunder- no. JJ thinks 10 things i hate about you, and Rossi wants to watch some old italian movie-” Penelope was interrupted in the middle of listing the options by an annoyed Rossi, “its Fantozzi actually, a cinematic masterpiece of the 70’s..” Rossi would've continued, but Penelope waved him off and continued listing.

“And I think we should watch the princess bride, aka the best option!” Penelope spoke with a giddy glee, but her face fell when Spencer gained a look of confusion and asked what that movie was about.

“You’ve never seen Princess Bride?? Spencer Walter Reid- I demand we watch it right now.” Spencer was a little taken aback by Penelope's insistence, but obliged, agreeing to watch the movie.

Not 30 minutes later, the lights were off and Rossi tried to figure his own TV while JJ made popcorn. Eventually Penelope just took the remote out of Rossi's hand, tired of him struggling.

“I'll take that as my cue to get popcorn” Spencer said as he lifted himself with a heave from the large leather chair. But you grabbed his arm with a pout on your lips at the loss of warmth, “where are you going?”

Spencer chuckled lightly, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze as he comforted you, “well you want popcorn right?” Spencer's tone was a bit teasing, but loving nonetheless.

“fiiiine!” You let go of Spencer's hand and sigh dramatically, flopping back into the large leather seat as Spencer turns his back to you, chuckling, to get popcorn.

A few minutes later, Spencer returned with a big bowl of buttery popcorn and a blanket he'd picked up on the way in his arms, a timid smile on his lips.

Your face lit up despite the now dark room when your boyfriend entered. “Popcorn!!” You spoke with glee and Spencer smiled at his boyfriend.

Everyone began to take their places and you and your boyfriend settled in next to each other. There was a blanket over you and Spencer's laps, and the large popcorn bowl sat on top. Spencer leaned into his boyfriend's side, causing you to blush a bit at the contact, feeling heat creep up your cheeks.

The movie started, and everyone was silent, enjoying the movie. And by the time they had gotten to the fight scene on the cliff, the amount of comments you heard coming from your right had died down.

When you noticed the lack of facts about fencing, or the architecture, or something, you looked down at your boyfriend, to find him half asleep, his chin resting on his fist.

His eyes were half closed, and he took long blinks, before perking up again for a second.

“Spence?”

The sound of your voice startled him, causing him to jump a bit and rub his eyes saying, “yeah I'm awake- I'm here-” your boyfriend was very clearly not very awake.

Less than a minute later, Spencer was falling asleep in his hand again. You just sighed and smiled to yourself knowing he needed the sleep.

By the time you got to the halfway point in the movie, you felt a weight slump against your shoulder. You didn't have to look to know it was Spencer.

You could already feel the heat creeping up your cheeks and behind your ears at the contact. Spencer was clinging to you like a koala, which he tended to do in his sleep often.

Spencer didn't get a ton of physical love as a kid, and not much as a teen and young adult- so meeting you was a bit of a change. But a very welcome change.

Spencer shifted a bit, and his face was now tucked into your neck, his arms were wrapped tightly around you, and one of his legs slightly overlapping with yours.

You were a puddle pretty much, but your head was on a swivel, making sure your coworkers were too absorbed in the movie to notice the two guys cuddling in the back.

But that didn't last long as within minutes your head had dipped down to lay on Spencer's, your eyelids getting heavier by second.

Finally, the weight became too much and you let your eyes stay closed this time, drifting off peacefully as you snuggled farther into Spencer, forgetting where you were.

Spencer was woken up by the lights being turned on, blinding him a bit despite his eyes being closed. Still half asleep, Spencer grumbled a bit and shifted around, trying to stuff his face further into your shoulder to block out the light.

But what caused him to lift his head from the warmth and peace of your neck, was the sound of giggling and the click of a photo being taken. When Spencer finally managed to peel his eyes open, he found most of the team staring at him. And then he remembered why they were probably staring.

there were some mixed reactions, as previously mentioned- penelope was giggling to herself at the photo she had just taken. Both JJ and Emily had unsurprised smiles on their faces. Your boss smiled at your boyfriend and shook his head slightly. Rossi just didn’t care, more interested in his cigar.

Spencer was finally awake enough to register what was going on and blushed, hard. Even the tips of his ears were pink as he tucked a piece of hair behind it like he always did. Spencer looked down, stuttering.

“I- well, he was tired and he- he didn’t mean to fall asleep on me and-“

Derek cut him off, “so, pretty boy and brainiac huh, took ‘em long enough,” Derek was dismissive, it was no surprise to him. He didn't miss the glances you threw at each other from across the room.

You were blissfully unaware of what the whole team had witnessed as you finally came too, mumbling something about five more minutes to spencer. Spencer couldn't help but have a lovesick smile on his face at your cuteness, the big strong FBI agent with a gun- grumbling about five more minutes in the lanky genius’s arms.

The End

join my taglist here

#criminal minds #spencer reid #bau #bau team #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x male reader #spencer reid x gn reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fan fiction #criminal minds fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fandom #mgg #mgg fic #matthew gray gubler

287 notes · View notes

dr-spencer-reids-queen · 1 year ago

Text

Amplification: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.4k

Summary: A deadly spread of Anthrax is going around infecting and killing people. One of your own is affected that completely tears your world into two. How will you over come this?

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

"It will become fine dust over all the land of Egypt and it will become boils breaking out with sores on man and beast through all the land of Egypt." - Exodus 9:9

"I want to go back," you say in the elevator heading up to the office.

"Me too. Maybe we can make this a monthly thing. You know, go someplace really fancy for the weekend."

"I'd really like that," you grin and pull him closer. You two are the only ones inside the elevator, so you don't feel bad when you kiss him like you would in the bedroom. "I love you."

"I love you."

"No, I mean I'm in love with you. Every part of you."

"You stole the words right out of my mouth," he laughs.

The elevator doors open and the smile is lost from your face. The entire BAU floor is covered with people from the military. Something is happening but you're not sure what. No one is visually panicking but you can feel it all. Derek and Emily are by the glass doors just watching the chaos.

"What the hell is going on?" you ask and join their side. "Why is the Military here?"

Without stopping to talk to anyone, you head into the briefing room where JJ, Rossi, Hotch, and some strange woman are.

"What is going on?"

"Guys, this is Dr. Linda Kimura, Chief of Special Pathogens with the CDC."

"Hello. I'm sorry to meet under these circumstances."

"What circumstances?" Spencer asks.

"Last night, twenty-five people checked into emergency rooms in and around Annapolis. They were all at the same park after two in the afternoon yesterday. Within ten hours, the first victim died. It's now just past seven in the morning. The next day, we have twelve dead."

You take the files and read through them quickly.

"Lung failure and black lesions. Is this Anthrax? This doesn't kill that fast."

"This strain does."

"What are we doing about potential mass targets like airports, malls, and trains?"

"There's a media blackout."

"We're not telling the public?" Email gasps.

"We'd have a mass exodus. The psychology of group panic would cause more deaths than this last attack. If it does get out, whoever did this might go underground or destroy their samples."

"Or if they wanted attention and don't get it, they might attack again. Doesn't the public have the right to know that?"

"I agree with Emily here. The public has a right to know this," you agree.

"If there is another attack, there's no way we'll be able to keep it quiet. Our best chance of protecting the public is by building a profile as quickly as we can. What do we know about this strain?"

"The spores are weaponized, reduced to a respirable ideal that attacks deep in the lungs. It's odorless and invisible. This is a sophisticated strain. Only a scientist would know how to do that."

"These lesions are doubling in size in a matter of hours."

"It's not the lesions I'm worried about, it's the lungs. We don't know how to combat the toxins once they're inside. The reality is, we may lose them all. The remaining survivors have been moved to a special wing at Walter Reed Hospital. I'd like for your offices to become a small command center."

"We'll be working with military scientists from Fort Detrick," Hotch says.

"General Whitworth is coming here?" Rossi asks.

"He's in charge of site containment and spore analysis. Determining what strain this is will help inform who's responsible."

"My team is in charge of treating all victims," Linda informs.

"Reid and Y/N, go with Dr. Kimura to the hospital and interview the victims. Morgan and Prentiss, there's a hazmat team that will accompany you to the crime scene." Linda brings in some pills for everyone in the room. "This is Cipro. Everybody needs to take it before we go."

"We don't know if it's effective against this strain, but it's something."

You take a deep breath to calm yourself and grab one of the cups. You look over at JJ who is trying to suppress her concern. As soon as she takes it, she leaves and heads to her office to be alone. You know she's worried about her family. If she can't tell the public, then she can't tell her family about the risks.

Before you can go to the hospital, you need the files on all the victims who have been affected by this strain. JJ has all the files, so you and Spencer follow her to her office. She is looking at her phone with a look of concern on her face.

"Do you have the files on the victims?" Spencer asks.

"Did you see this memo from the director? Office phones and emails are being monitored."

"Yeah, they're trying to protect the media blackout. Files?"

"Right here."

She hands them over to him.

"Thanks. I want to see what kind of medical treatment the victims received before we head to the hospital."

There had been another strain of Anthrax that was going around in 2001 where the suspect put the Anthrax on envelopes. It affected a lot of people but it was never this deadly.

"Why do you think the suspect in 2001 stopped sending the letters?" JJ asks about the previous incident.

"I have no idea, but if he hadn't, it would have been much worse."

"The worst part was not knowing when it was gonna be over. You know, feeling safe opening mail again."

"Five people died. Many more were exposed and gotten sick including a baby who was admitted into the hospital after lesions appeared on his skin."

"How did he contract it?" JJ asks worriedly.

"I have no idea. The baby must have come into close contact with a tainted letter or crossed paths with the unsub himself."

"How old was the baby?"

"Seven months."

Fear and panic spike from JJ. She thinks about her own son getting this. She wants nothing more than to contact her family and warn them.

"Did he survive?"

"We gotta go. Dr. Kimura's waiting. I'll call you from the hospital."

"Spence. Did the baby survive?"

"Yeah, but, I mean, that was a curable strain. This thing's entirely different."

"Spencer, you are freaking her out," you whisper. "She has a baby of her own." Spencer goes quiet and decides to leave before he says anything worse. "JJ, listen to me. Henry is going to be fine. Will is going to be fine. I am your son's Godparent, so I say he's going to be just fine. You can't think like that."

"Like what?" she whispers with tears in her eyes.

"Like that. You're going to go home and be with your family who are going to be fine. I love you, but I have to go now. Keep your head up, JJ. They're gonna be fine."

Rossi and Hotch work with General Whitworth and the CIA to figure out what's going on here. The CIA said there are a few overseas terrorist groups with funding and capability for this. The FBI and CIA need to look at anyone who is going to profit from poisoning everyone, especially people who have patents on Anthrax vaccines. Not to mention anyone with access to weaponized spores like people from universities, scholars working in bioweapons research, and employees of labs who keep germ collections.

General Whitworth and his men are trying to decode the strain and learned that the additives used to strengthen the bacterial capsules don't exist at the CIA research labs, and there aren't any known labs to have these substances. He'll provide a list of all scientists in the CIA Anthrax programs just so the FBI can rule out anyone who decides to have a side project.

This unsub is someone who has the ability to manipulate and weaponize Anthrax, so it doesn't matter what General Whitworth's views are on the BAU. Someone above him believes in the power of profiles, so he has no choice but to listen to orders.

You and Spencer reach the hospital with the people who are sick with Anthrax. The public doesn't know what is going on so there isn't a lot of panic going around, but the ones that are affected are struggling very hard. There is only one person who is well enough to answer some questions since most others are either dead or close to being dead. Dr. Linda Kimura leads you and Spencer to Abby Belle's room.

"Hi, Abby," Linda says gently. "Are you feeling any better?" She shakes her head no. "This is Agent Reid and Y/N from the FBI. If you can, will you talk with them?"

This time, she nods. You walk around to the other end of the bed and hold out your hand for her to take. She doesn't know what's going on but what harm would this do? She lifts her hand just enough for you to slip your hand underneath.

"Abby, I'd like to try to do a memory recall exercise with you to take you back to the park, if that's okay." She nods. "I need you to close your eyes." She does. "Yesterday afternoon, you rode your bicycle to the park. How did the sun feel on your skin? The breeze through your hair? Can you describe for me what you heard and the people that you saw?"

"It was warm... windy," she whispers. You allow her words to take you back to that day. The park was in full effect with a bunch of people enjoying the sun. There is a game of men playing football, kids swinging on the playground, dogs running around with each other, people on bikes, and others walking the trail. "There were guys playing football... Kids... I see free... Me seen fee me. Free knee."

Her speech is screwed up from whatever the Anthrax is doing to her, and she is panicking.

"It's alright, Abby. You just rest now," Linda says.

"Me mock fee key me free," she whimpers.

"Just rest, Abby. Thank you."

You, Spencer, and Linda leave her room to give the doctors an opportunity to work on Abby.

"What's causing her aphasia?"

"The poison is infecting the parietal lobe which impairs her speech. Some of the other patients displayed the same symptoms shortly before they died."

"There's nothing that is helping them? Nothing is working?" you ask.

"The only thing that's helping them right now is the morphine."

Emily and Derek reached the park in Maryland which has been closed for observation. Emily is against not telling the public about this, but she isn't in a position of authority to make that call. So, instead of telling people the truth, officials have told the public there is Methane buildup in the sewage system. Since they're oblivious as to what's going on, they believed it.

There is a certain spot in the park that has high levels of Anthrax where the unsub most likely released the attack. The wind spread the Anthrax around the park and hit everyone who was there. It's weird because you didn't think that a park would be a target for anything. Terrorists usually target symbols like the White House, Pentagon, and the World Trade Center. The park is nice but it's nothing like a symbol building.

It could be symbolic for the unsub like how Ted Kaczynski sent bombs to Berkley where he taught, to Michigan where he went to school, and to Chicago where he lived. The suspect who attacked with Anthrax in 2001 sent letters to two pro-choice senators whose politics he opposed. People like that can't help but attach a personal motive to the places they've targeted, so this park must mean something to the unsub.

In the last two hours alone, more people have come into the hospital seeking medical attention for being sick, and the panic and fear are getting to you. No one knows what's going on, and humans fear the unknown. You're trying hard not to let it get to you but for someone with your abilities, it's hard.

You wipe your eyes before the tears have a chance to fall, and Spencer takes you off to the side.

"Hey, it's going to be okay."

"Is it? How do you know?"

"I don't," he sighs. "I have hope that we're going to figure this out because we always do."

"I wish that'd give me comfort." You look around the hospital and see parents hugging their sick children and people comforting their loved ones. "Promise me you won't do something stupid."

"What?"

"We're the only ones that know what's going on. Please don't do anything stupid. This is your life. I can't bear the thought of losing you. Please be careful."

"Only if you promise to do the same."

"Sorry to interrupt, but this whole thing is baffling me. Seventeen out of twenty-five people are dead. This strain is duplicated every thirty to forty-five minutes. It's poisoning the lungs and causing massive hemorrhaging and organ failure."

"Whoever created this had to at some point go to the trouble of testing it. First, they start with rodents, then advance to larger mammals, and then they do a very small trial run with people. There's no way this was his first human test run."

"We would have heard about a previous anthrax attack," Linda says.

"Not if it presented itself as something else," you state. "Is there anything that happened recently that was kind of like what's happening now?"

"Yeah, actually."

She tells you what happened a couple of days ago and gives you files on the patients affected. Your phone rings and you and Spencer go into an empty hospital room to answer the phone. You place JJ on speakerphone.

"Hey, JJ."

"Hey, you have me, Hotch, and Rossi."

She sounds like she's been crying because she is so worried about her family. She can't tell them anything but she wants to so badly.

"JJ, are you okay?"

She doesn't comment.

"It turns out that two days ago, two people in two separate Baltimore ERs, and one person in a Philadelphia ER slipped into comas and died suddenly. The COD on all of them was meningitis. Doctors didn't test for Anthrax because the illnesses presented themselves as meningitis, but I think it can be caused by Anthrax."

"Did they show symptoms that we're seeing now like the lesions?"

"They wouldn't have if the bodily functions expired as quickly as they did."

"How quickly?"

"They were all dead within three hours of being admitted."

"Wait, the first patient died yesterday at ten in the morning."

"If they inhaled a higher concentration of the strain, it would cause a quicker death through organ failure without exterior physical symptoms."

"What are their names?"

Spencer looks through the files. You can feel JJ's sadness through the phone. You'd love nothing more than to tell Hannah about what's going on, but she's in New Jersey and likely won't be affected. Will and Henry live right in the danger zone.

"JJ, listen to me. I need you to breathe. Henry is going to be fine and so is Will. You're going to go home and see your family. You need to tell yourself this."

"Okay, their names are Gale Mercer who was thirty-one, Martha Finestein who was forty-eight, and Albert Franks who was fifty-two."

"Did they visit the same place on the day they were affected?"

"Gale made a credit card purchase at a bookstore owned by Albert."

"We'll send Morgan and Prentiss out there to investigate."

"Remember, JJ, breathe," you say before hanging up.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

63 notes · View notes