Summary: At the hospital there are many tears to be shed, but even more questions to be asked.
Content Warning: Guns, hospitals, death and dying mention, blood
—————————————————
Silence could mean many things in a hostage situation. At first, it was preferable; a sign that no one was being harmed. The quiet, relative calmness maintained the current body count.
But when the silence eventually broke, it rattled the earth. The second short spray of bullets was much closer to the door now. If Morgan had any longer to think, he would have held his phone to his ear to hear what Garcia was screaming into the receiver. There was no time to think, though, with his eyes trained on the doors in the hopes he would see Reid.
The SWAT team stopped dead in their tracks, trying to get a grasp of what they were about to walk into. The burst fire was too punctuated for it to have been a full scale assault. The silence settled over them again. Then all at once, a bottleneck of chaos blended SWAT and the sudden outpouring of hostages from the heavy double doors of the bank.
There was no Reid.
It wasn't even Garcia who alerted him of the fate of the people who didn't emerge. No, it was the last woman scrambling out of the doors holding a small child. Morgan rushed forward, fighting through the crowd in an attempt to get through to the inside.
"There's a bomb inside!" The woman yelled, but it seemed Morgan was the only one who could hear her. He didn't care about an explosive yet though, his mind zeroed in on the one confirmation he needed before he could care about anything else.
"Someone help, there's a girl in there! She was shot!"
Finally, Morgan had some information that he could work with. Unfortunately, it was the second to last thing he wanted to hear. With a deep breath, he turned back to see the medics scattering among the crowd of newly released hostages.
"We need medics inside!" He shouted over the fray. The woman, noticing that he was the only one listening, ran over to him with a wild look in her eyes.
"It was the girl who–" Her words caught in her throat, her breathing just as rapid as her heart, "Sh-She saved us! But they..."
"Is there a man with her?" Morgan interrupted, knowing it wasn't proper, but needing the answer before the paramedics reemerged.
"Yes!" She shouted back, clutching her baby tighter as one of the paramedics approached them. Morgan held up a hand to tell them to wait a moment longer, noticing that the woman was free of blood or other obvious injury.
"Yes..." She trailed off more quietly, "There was a tall man, with brown hair. There was a lot of blood but... I don't think it was his. He was trying to help her, I think."
That did very little to comfort him, but he still put on the calmest face he could and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Thank you. Please go with the paramedics, okay?"
The woman nodded blankly, clearly still shell-shocked from whatever she'd seen inside. Morgan's stomach knotted, his heart alternating between beating too hard and not at all.
He racked his brain to try and figure out if this was, in some way, his fault. After all, he had been aware of her being in there, and the fact that she was there with Reid. Hell, he'd even known there was some unknown. possibly relevant information in her past. Even if he found out now what was in those files, it was too late for the information to be useful.
And then, there was another commotion at the doors. The stretcher's white sheets staining red beneath the small, writhing figure currently screaming incoherently. While Morgan's eyes were on her, Hotch's were on Reid, who emerged wide-eyed and frantic. There was no hesitation before he bolted after the bed, jumping into the back of the ambulance and disappearing behind the doors.
"Morgan. Where is Reid going?" It was clear from his tone that Hotch's question demanded an answer, but Morgan was too afraid to give one. Still not entirely convinced that this wasn't somehow his fault, his voice stalled in his throat.
"If you know what's going on, you need to tell me right now." Hotch continued, his voice equally frustrated and sympathetic. They both knew that there was something bigger going on, and that whatever reason Morgan had for not sharing, it must matter.
"He knows her." It was a quiet admission that still hid most of the truth. Processing the thought out loud with the tiniest amount of pride, he continued, "He knows the girl who took them down."
"How does he know her?"
Morgan bit his tongue, understanding that the cat was already out of the bag, that Hotch would figure it out in seconds anyway. He sighed, turning to look at Hotch as he admitted, "It's his girlfriend, Hotch."
"Why didn't you tell me his girlfriend was inside?" He immediately shot back, his brows furrowed and his voice containing more force than reasonably necessary. But Morgan didn't blame him, knowing that he'd broken one of their most valuable promises not to withhold important information.
In his defense, though, he hadn't known how valuable it might turn out to be. He still didn't. However, he didn't want to make the argument right now. There were more important things to be worried about. "I'm sorry. I-I don't have a good reason."
"We both know what can happen when our loved ones are in danger, Morgan."
There was a hidden message in his words, the dark reminder of just how easily Hotch had fallen from grace when his family was at risk. Although they both knew that this girl wasn't the same as his wife or the mother of his children, love was still a terrifying, powerful thing.
"Look, I'm sorry, Hotch. I was going to tell you, but..."
"Who is she?"
"Her name is (y/n)(y/l/n). She's..." He trailed off, trying to remember the details in his current adrenaline filled haze. There was so much going on, and so much to say. Trying to sift through the facts seemed so pointless if there was nothing they could do now, anyway. "She's just some girl he met at a bar."
But when he turned to Hotch, he didn't find the solemn neutrality or stoic nature he was expecting. Shock lined his face, his eyes narrowed and avoidant when he finally asked, "How much do you know about her?"
"I had Garcia look her up," Morgan started hesitantly, noting the strange behavior from his boss, "...but all the files we found were sealed."
Even stranger was the fact that Hotch didn't seem to process the answer. He walked back to the poor excuse of a computer set up that was displaying the last still image from the backroom before the camera feed had been cut.
Seated in the back, with a deep frown and furrowed brow, was (y/n).
"I was going to ask you before we unsealed them, but–"
Hotch stopped Morgan from going any further now that he had confirmation the girl was who he thought she might be. "We wouldn't have needed to." Turning to Morgan with a distant confusion, he shook it off and confidently stated, "I already know what's in them."
—
It might be strange, but I've always enjoyed the process of washing my hands. There was something about the repetitive action that was always comforting. As a kid, I was fascinated and horrified to watch the water splashing onto the white ceramic, a different shade from when it came out of the faucet.
But the disgusting realization was okay, because the water would always return to nothingness as all the problems of the day that still clung to me slowly receded down the drain.
The water would always return to its translucency – until now. Now, the pink, red, and brown streaks continued. In fact, it seemed that the longer the water ran, the more colors were mixed with the sterile white of the hospital bathroom.
My eyes were fixated on the colors as they circled the drain, my nails desperately scratching at the skin in the hopes that I could feel clean again. The scalding water burned, but it was nothing compared to the sensation of my heart being ripped to shreds.
The usually cheery memories of her face were warping before they could even fully materialize, now tainted with gunshots and more fucking blood. I couldn't hear the sound of her voice without the overlapping screaming. When that ended, it was replaced with her quiet pleading.
'Please, help me. Help me.'
I'd always warned her not to view me as the hero I knew she liked to think I was. All of those terrible fears she'd had about my job had materialized, but not in the way either of us were expecting. Then again, I guess it was my fault.
'As long as you are mine, I won't let anything happen to you.' I'd promised her that. I'd wrapped my pinky around her ridiculously smaller one and told her that I would always protect her.
But when she had been begging for my help and telling me she didn't want to die, all I had been able to do was stare helplessly. She was so young, and I was an idiot for thinking I could keep her safe from the world. Her last words to me before she stopped talking were a fucking apology.
"Reid." Morgan's voice was behind me, but I couldn't take my eyes away from the water until it ran clean again.
"Reid!" He shouted more insistently, his hand grabbing my arm to pull it out from underneath the water. "Snap out of it! You're hurting yourself!"
It was the first time in a while that I'd actually seen my arm, the patches I could reach finally clean of her blood, but now covered in thin streaks of raw, welted skin from where I'd scratched it until it broke.
But the relatively clean appearance of my arms did nothing for the rest of me; my clothes still covered in the darkness and stench of dead tissue and iron.
Suddenly, I couldn't keep myself upright any longer, my head reeling from the sight. Before I could hit the ground, he caught me, his embrace not at all hesitant or worried about dirtying his own clothing.
"I can't get it off," I mumbled, my breathing suddenly getting hurried, "I can't get it... I-I can't–"
Slowly, he lowered us to where I could rest on the ground, my hands gripping my chest through my wet shirt like I could force my lungs to work again.
"Hey, hey. Look at me," Morgan instructed calmly, "Breathe."
"I can't."
"Yes, you can." He took a pause, breathing in slowly with the hope that I would follow suit. I tried, feeling the way my entire body shook with barely enough air to fill half my lungs. In the back of my head, I heard the way she whistled and choked on her own failing breath.
But then he was breathing out, holding onto my shoulders and refusing to look at the mess that covered me. I hated to admit that what he was doing was working. Part of me felt like it was almost unfair of me to not be breaking down right now, however backwards the thought seemed.
"Have they..." My voice was quiet when I dared to use it again, "Have they said anything yet?" I hoped the answer was no; if it was yes, then I didn't want to hear that news.
"No. No news is good news." Morgan replied, reading my mind and trying to reassure me all the same, "It means she's still hanging in there. She's a tough kid, right?"
I knew he didn't mean anything by calling her kid, just trying to lighten the dismal mood, but it still felt like a punch in the gut. She was twenty.
"At least, she's a better shot than you."
This time I did laugh, rubbing my eyes with my hands now that they were free of the foul liquid. "I didn't even know she knew how to shoot a gun." I knew I was whining, but I didn't care. This all felt so unfair. "Definitely not a fucking semiautomatic."
"She saved your life."
If that was supposed to help, it didn't. My emotions were on a hairpin trigger. "She—She got herself shot! She shouldn't have..." I trailed off, my hands lacing through my hair and trying to find any stimulus that would distract my thoughts pouring out of my mouth faster than I could process. "She didn't know what she was doing. She's basically still a fucking kid. And now I'm going to lose her."
I paused, looking up at him with red rimmed eyes that were started to tear again. "I-I'm going to lose her, Derek. Because I fucked up and she had to save me."
"Whoa there, that's not fair." He was stern, his hands tightening against my shoulders like the action could knock some sense into me. "She might be young, but she knew what she was doing, Reid. She would have done it whether you were there or not. She couldn't even see you. She had no idea you were in trouble."
He was right. There had been no reason for her to believe that I couldn't get out of there on my own. Like I'd just been thinking while wallowing, she never stopped looking at me like a hero. Maybe that was the real reason I hated myself so much.
"She was in trouble! This is my job – I've trained for this, and the one time someone I love is in the one scenario I'm actually useful, I failed!" My voice bounced from the walls, shaking the air in the room from the sheer volume and frustration. He was trying to keep our eye contact, but I saw the way his eyes shook as he struggled to find words to make this any better.
"You weren't there as a profiler, Reid. You were there as a man scared about the woman he loved getting hurt. It's not the same. We all know that."
But did we all know that? I wasn't so sure. We'd each been personally involved in a case before. Gideon, Hotch, and Rossi had all watched as someone they loved paid the ultimate price. That was the cost of loving us, it seemed.
"She has to wake up soon. I can't handle this," I cried, shrinking in on myself, "I-I need to see her."
"You know these surgeries take hours. Go home and clean up. I'll call you the second anything happens. But you'll be back before then and you know it." Morgan massaged my shoulders; a small comfort to the exhausted yet tensed muscles.
"I don't have my car."
"Hotch will take you."
It was the first time since this had begun that I thought about the rest of the team. The self-hatred burned anew as I thought back to how terrified I had been for her to meet them. It seemed so stupid now. I could deal with the awkward bullshit and explanations. They were nothing compared to this.
What I wouldn't have given, to be able to introduce them right now, and to see the way her face would light up with excitement and nerves at meeting the people she already knew way too much about.
"Does he know?" A stupid question, but one that needed to be asked nonetheless.
"I think they've put it together, yeah. I'm sorry. I know you didn't want it to happen like this."
"I don't care about anything as long as she wakes up." I wiped my face again, the tears catching on patches of dried blood that I tried not to think too hard about.
"She will. Now get up. This floor is disgusting." he laughed while trying to get up without having to make any more contact with the tile. "Honestly, man, of all the people to sit here..."
Then my thoughts were on her again, thinking about the way she had squealed when I licked her hand before she tackled me onto the ground. A bitter laugh escaped me. "I was rolling around on the ground in the park with her before this."
He returned my sad, unsure smile with his own. The story was brief but told him everything he needed to know about me and her. Offering me a hand, he nodded while trying to smile. "She can tell me all about it later."
I took his hand, hoping that once I started to move, I would keep going until I found myself back at her side. When I left the bathroom, I was only a little surprised to see Hotch talking to one of the physicians. My heart sunk at the sight, and I prayed that when he turned to me, it wouldn't be with any news.
But there was nothing. He was just checking in on the status of (y/n), along with the others with minor injuries from the stampede of people fleeing at once. Besides his initial, casual greeting, he was silent after I asked him to take me home. We'd made it halfway down the highway before the low hum of the vehicle and wind was broken with his voice.
"I understand this is a difficult time to talk about this, but I've found that silence is the worst course of action in situations like this. You need to get out of your own head."
It was easier said than done. Although, I guess he already knew that.
"I can't stop. My brain won't stop. It just keeps... showing me. Over and over again." I mumbled, continuing to rub my eyes like the external force would stop the images playing on repeat. "I can't stop trying to figure out where the bleed was and what the odds of survival are and how long it took us to get to the emergency room and— "
"She's the girl from the phone, right?"
The sudden shift in conversation succeeded in breaking my concentration. I turned to him with furrowed brows and an unsure pout. "What?"
"Months back, I called you to find out where you were. A girl answered your phone. It was her, right?"
My pout shifted into a shy smile. It felt wrong for my muscles to make that shape right now, but the memory was just too pleasant to pretend like it didn't make me exceedingly happy.
"Yes." I said quietly, my fingers tangling together as I tried to recall the way it had felt for her to drape her arms over my shoulders, whispering into the phone at my ear.
"You must have been seeing each other for a while now."
For some reason, this didn't feel as awkward as it should have. I had always pictured the conversation being so stifling and uncomfortable that it would be difficult to speak, but it wasn't.
"It was... complicated." I still wasn't eloquent in my response. Hotch seemed to understand, responding in his own vague generalities.
"Not enough to break you two apart, it seems."
"Yeah, guess not." Not yet.
If Hotch could hear the uncertainty in the words, he didn't mention it. He'd let it go, instead focusing his efforts on validating my choice in women. "She was very impressive. Eventually you should see what she did." It was high praise from him, and I was a little shocked he didn't make the same joke Morgan had made in the bathroom.
"I'm not sure how familiar you are with her past but... her father trained her well. And because of that, she saved the lives of dozens of people."
Wait, what was that? I didn't have time to focus on the bizarre new information, with him immediately continuing.
"You should be proud of her."
Once again, I felt my chest tighten as the air was knocked out of me by the statement. Both members of my team that I'd spoken to so far had told me what a hero she was. That she'd saved the day.
"I am. I'm proud of her. I just wish she hadn't done it. I wish..."
I was trying to find a way to explain that I didn't give a shit about anyone else right now. It was wrong and bad, but it was true. I didn't care about how many people lived if it cost her life. It wasn't worth it. And that was the thought that led me down the path we were always supposed to avoid. It seemed so inevitable.
"I wish it could have been me that got shot instead."
"I'm certain she wouldn't have appreciated that." He said it like a joke, and the jarring sound of the words in such a cadence tore me away from the destructive cycle in my mind again. He glanced over to confirm he'd succeeded before continuing with a gentler tone. "It's clear that you love her very much. I'm sure she knows that, Reid. That kind of thing is powerful."
Even knowing that we hadn't been that far when the conversation had started, I was shocked to see that we were already parking in front of my building. The idea of being alone again so soon was harder than I'd thought it would be. Hotch must have sensed the hesitance, because he looked over at me with the utmost sympathy.
"I'm confident that things will work themselves out. Even if it doesn't feel that way right now."
I nodded, choosing to accept that he was the expert here, not me. I knew all about the statistics of grief and death and dying, but right now I wasn't sure which category I was supposed to fall into. Everyone always told me my intuition was terrible, so I'd just have to... wait.
"I can take a taxi back to the hospital. I'm sure you have other things to do." I said, realizing that he was waiting for me to get out of the car. I didn't mean to seem like I was rushing, but I didn't want to waste any more time. The quicker I cleaned up, the quicker I could go back to the hospital. It wouldn't change how long it took them to let me see her, but I wouldn't have to worry about missing my first (and possibly only) chance to see her again.
"If it's alright, I was planning on waiting with you. I might not know (y/n) but I am acquainted with her father and I'd like to talk with her when she's able. Before the prosecutor can find her."
Narrowing my eyes at the second mention of her father, I gave another brief nod. "Sure," I mumbled, deciding that it was a question for another, better day.
—–—–—–—–
The lights filtering through the window and blanketing the bed I lay in may have illuminated the room, but I felt no warmth from their touch. It was an unsettling lack of feeling that was quickly forgotten when I felt a hand snake around my waist, pulling me back against a body that held all the warmth I sought.
"Good morning, Mrs. Reid."
It wasn't just his breath, but his words that tickled my ear. A smile sprouted across my lips as I shimmied back against him, laughing as he peppered kisses along my neck.
"Hey old man." I whispered, turning to face him. Some deeper part of me was surprised to see exactly what I expected. Hazel eyes bouncing across my face while my hands tangled in his mousy brown locks. "What are you doing up so early?"
Before he could answer, there was a high-pitched cry muffled through a speaker, although I could hear it in the hall. While I turned towards the sound, he just laughed, "My body was prepared."
"What is that?" I asked, trying to understand why this felt so familiar and so very unreal.
Spencer didn't seem concerned at all, slipping out from under the covers and putting on enough clothes to be presentable. "If I had to guess, I'd say it's our daughter." He said with a smile, glancing back at me like it was the simplest conclusion in the world. "If you've forgotten that, you should go back to sleep."
He walked over, planting a kiss directly on my forehead as I clutched the sheets closer to my body.
"You stay here," he mumbled before breaking away, "I've got her."
I didn't need memories to know that this wasn't an entirely uncommon experience. Something told me that Spencer jumped at basically any opportunity to hold a baby – especially if it were his. If it were? I thought. He'd just told me it was ours.
Ours.
Shaking the thought away, I climbed from the bed, noticing that the hardwood floor underneath me didn't feel cold, either. Nonetheless, I carried myself to the wardrobe just to realize that I was already dressed.
The unsettling feeling continued, but the world around me seemed so inviting, I didn't want to think too hard about it. So I exited the room, only making it halfway down the hallway that seemed peculiarly longer than I remembered.
A small child that I instinctively recognized as my son stepped out from one of the rooms with a wide pout, holding onto a small adipose plush. "Mom," he whined, "the baby woke me up again!"
His big brown eyes were hidden behind glasses, but they still looked so much like their father's. I reached down to them, sweeping the willing child into my arms with no hesitation. He felt so much lighter than he should have, but I just assumed it was from muscle memory.
"I'm sorry, love." I cooed, holding him closer to me and feeling soft breath against my shoulder. "How about we go start breakfast? Then later we can take a long nap."
"I hate naps."
"Only for now," I dutifully reminded him while we made our way to the kitchen, "You'll miss them sooner than you think."
There was a faint huff from him, his toy bouncing against my back. "You always say that."
I set him down on the couch, tapping lightly on his nose and watching as his glasses tilted down.
"Because it's true."
Any objections were quickly muted by the sound of the tv clicking on. The familiar classical music that accompanied Baby Einsteins filled the room. A calmness washed over me, allowing me the peace of mind to begin preparing coffee and food.
It all seemed so remarkably effortless, like I'd done it a million times before. But it also felt foreign and new. I wondered if this was what it meant to be happy. That was, until I saw Spencer poke around the corner carrying a baby that was squirming so much I was honestly scared she might claw his eye out.
"So," he started with an exasperated tone, trying to dodge tiny hands, "apparently there is only so much I can do before even the biggest daddy's girl wants her mother."
The laugh I returned shook my chest, carrying me over to him with a mug in hand. "Thanks anyway. I'll trade you the baby for coffee."
"I love you too much for words, little girl."
The words twisted my gut. Why did they make me so sad? I didn't say them back, finding my lungs empty. He didn't seem to mind, walking over to the couch while I cradled the now already sleeping infant in my arms.
I don't know how much time passed, but it felt like none at all. It was like I'd turned around to find the full meal beside me, the light from the sun already fading. Maybe Spencer was right, and I should try to go back to sleep.
"Hey mommy?" My son had appeared next to my leg, as if on cue.
"Yes, dear?" I asked, albeit a bit distantly. I hoped that he was already ready for his nap, like his sister clearly was. I tried to find a clock, but there were none around.
That's strange.
"I think daddy is waiting for you."
The tiny voice ripped my attention away again, and that sick feeling deep in my stomach returned. "What are you talking about? Your father's right here."
But when I turned to motion to the couch, I found there was no one there. Something told me that there had never been anyone there. My chest tightened, and my arms began to shake.
"Spencer?" I called out, noticing that my arms only held a blanket. "Spencer, where are you?" Louder now, I tried to drown out the sounds of blood rushing in my ears. The panicked breathing should have felt like something, but there was no burning and no lightheaded rush.
I wanted to shout out the names of my children but realized I didn't know them. They weren't here, either. Suddenly, it felt like someone was tearing me open, and I looked down to be met with nothing but blood drenching my entire lower half. It pooled on the ground below, staining the blanket that had fallen into the mess.
I was alone.