Title: Almost
By: nebula99
Permission to archive: Yes
Fandom(s): Criminal Minds
Genre (general, hetero or slash) Slash
Pairing/Characters: Hotch/Reid
Rating: FRAO
Summary: Hotch had sent him there. He had sent his most precious thing into the lair of a monster.
Notes: Written as a slightly late Christmas present for slash_girl who wanted to see Hotch lose it.

***

Gideon closed his cell phone quietly and turned to Hotch. "That was Morgan," he said. "Garcia got a match on the plates from the van. Wilson is the unsub."

"Wilson?" asked Hotch in surprise.

Gideon nodded. "Has to be. All the information pointing to Simmonds was just a red herring. It's Wilson. We need to call SWAT and pick him up. Do you know where he'll be?"

Hotch nodded. "He was going back to work at the prison." He stopped and then went pale. "Reid went with him," he gasped. "I sent Reid to go and look through the files with him."

Gideon took a breath. "Its OK," he said, quickly. "Wilson thinks we're after Simmonds." He leaned forwards and started the engine in the SUV. Then he turned to Hotch. "Let's go."

Hotch spent the entire journey clenching and unclenching his fists. His face was still deathly white and he could not even speak to Gideon. Reid was in the prison with a guard who had killed fourteen people, six of them police officers. And Hotch had sent him there. He had sent his most precious thing into the lair of a monster.

The SUV pulled up outside the California State Penitentiary. Hotch had opened the door and was hurrying to the entrance before Gideon had even switched off the engine. He ignored the SWAT team assembling outside; he was so intent on finding Reid. A hand clapped on his shoulder, and Hotch turned to see Gideon jogging beside him.

"Slow down, Hotch," he said, "Let the SWAT guys do their job."

Hotch stopped and faced Gideon. "Spencer is in there. He will have left his gun at the reception. He has no idea Wilson is the unsub and he's unarmed. I can't just wait."

"*Spencer*?" asked Gideon gently.

Hotch took a deep breath and exhaled forcefully. "You're a profiler, Jason. You know what he means to me. And I call him Spencer."

Gideon nodded. "I do know what he means. And that's why I'm coming with you."

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Hotch left the negotiations and explanations to Gideon, Morgan and Prentiss. He just needed to find Reid. When they got a location from the banks of CCTV, he tried not to run. He didn't want to make Wilson think there was anything amiss. He just wanted to get Reid out of here.

Rounding the corner to the archives office, Hotch stopped dead. He was too late. Wilson knew.

Reid was kneeling on the floor, his hands cuffed behind his back. The thick glass door was slid shut tight. Hotch knew from previous visits that it had an automatic locking system - and that the glass was bullet-proof. Wilsonturned and smiled at him through the glass. Hotch lowered his gun.

Morgan tiptoed back to alert the guards and to see how the locking system could be overridden. Hotch just stared at Reid.

The young man turned to look at them and Hotch felt his insides turn watery at the look of fear and helplessness that flashed across Reid's face. His nose was bleeding and he was swaying slightly. Wilson leered at Hotch and then turned back to Reid. He hit him hard across the face. Reid struggled to remain upright and then Wilson struck him again. The guard was striding back and forth, shouting and gesticulating.

Hotch's jaw tightened. He felt a hand grip his arm and knew it was Gideon. "Everyone is working on getting him out of there," he whispered. "Just stay calm."

"He's bleeding," muttered Hotch.

Wilson punched Reid in the face and he fell to the ground. Hotch clenched his fist, digging his nails into the palm of his hand. He watched Wilsonpull Reid upright by his hair and then punch him again. Reid's eyes darted sideways and widened at Hotch. He mouthed something but Hotch couldn't work out what he said. He turned to Gideon. "What's taking so long?" he hissed.

Morgan had joined them. "The only way to open that door, short of blowing it up, is to shut off the power. And we have a jail full of prisoners. They need to isolate that circuit; otherwise shutting down the power will release everybody." He looked at Gideon. "How's Reid holding up?"

"He's fine," said Gideon, not looking at Hotch.

Wilson stepped forwards and banged his fist on the glass. Hotch glared at him as the guard made a gesture, dragging his hand across his throat, and then laughed. Reid's head was bowed and he was panting heavily. He was swaying from side to side, looking close to collapse.

Gideon held more tightly to Hotch's arm as Wilson picked a knife up from the desk. They saw Reid yelp silently in pain as the knife dragged down his arm, leaving a crimson trail that quickly soaked his shirt sleeve red. Hotch realised that he was trembling. Wilson had tortured each of his victims before killing them and the injuries inflicted on the police officers had been particularly brutal. Knowing that he was cornered and that the officers outside the door would have a difficult time in opening it, the temptation to kill Reid would be a strong one. Wilson had glorified in each of his kills and Hotch was sure that he would be unable to resist the chance to torment and murder Reid in front of his colleagues. He tried to take deep breaths to calm himself, unable to tear his eyes away from Reid.

The young profiler had let his head drop to his chest. His body was starting to sag as the blood ran down his arm and pooled on the floor. The cut was deep. Wilson ground his fingers into Reid's hair and pulled his head upright again, turning it forcefully to look through the door. The guard was still shouting at him.

Prentiss tapped Hotch on the shoulder. "They should be able to cut the power in five minutes, Sir," she said.

Hotch didn't look at her. "He doesn't have five minutes," he snapped. "Make it sooner."

The tension in the corridor was palpable. They all looked at the brutal tableau in front of them, playing out behind the screen like a silent horror movie. Reid was biting his bottom lip and wincing with pain and his eyelids kept fluttering shut. He let them close and grimaced as Wilson stabbed him in the thigh. The guard shouted something at him and he opened his eyes again, looking imploringly at Hotch.

Prentiss whispered to Gideon and he nodded. Then he turned to Hotch. "They've isolated the circuit. Power goes off in thirty seconds. Remember, the lights will go out too. Stay focussed on Reid and get him out of there."

Hotch nodded. The corridor was full of officers shifting their feet and cocking their weapons, ready to storm the room, but Hotch could hear none of that. The only sound was his heart thumping so loud it seemed to reverberate off the walls.

Wilson seemed to know the game was up. The blade flashed as he plunged it into Reid's belly and then there was darkness. The door hissed open and the agents rushed forwards.

Hotch was aware of officers groping around and shouting to each other, but he remained fixed on getting Reid. He ran into the room and then stopped as his foot slipped on something wet. He heard a whimper and dropped down, feeling in the pitch darkness. His hand brushed across something soft and he shouted for a light. The beams of flashlights crossed and swirled around the room and he saw Reid, slumped up on the floor, his shirt covered in blood.

Not waiting for the EMTs or anybody else, Hotch scooped the young man up in his arms and started to run for the exit. He barely felt the weight as his footsteps thundered along the corridor, echoing round the institution's walls. He could see people in front, faces turned towards him.

"Get out of the way," he shouted, "I need an ambulance." He could hear gunshots and shouting behind him but he couldn't look back. He needed to get Reid out of there. He paused and looked down at the limp figure in his arms - the bright red blood looked so garish against his pale skin. Then Hotch started running again, yelling, "Help him, help him."

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Sitting in the ER, Hotch looked down and realised with jolt just how much blood was on his clothes; how much of Reid's blood. He looked at his watch and sighed. He had carried Reid to the ambulance, refusing to let go of him as the EMTs had worked, putting up IVs, attaching monitors, replacing blood soaked pads. Gideon had met him at the hospital and they were waiting together for news. It had been such a long time. Morgan was fetching coffee for everyone and Prentiss was sat quietly in the corner, having realised that keeping her distance was the most useful thing she could do.

Eventually, an obscenely young doctor approached them and informed them that although Reid had lost a lot of blood, he was going to be fine. He was out of surgery and they could go up and see him. Gideon leaned closer and gave Hotch's hand a squeeze. "He's OK," Gideon whispered.

Gideon tugged off his sweater and handed it to Hotch. "Take your jacket off and put this on," he said, "Don't let him see you covered in his blood."

Hotch was barely aware of his surroundings as he stumbled along the corridor with Gideon. All other noise was muffled apart from his own heartbeat, echoing like it had done in the prison. He turned to Gideon.

"I put him there," he whispered. "I put Spencer in that room."

Gideon's face was warm. "You weren't to know about Wilson," he said.

"I was trying to protect him," continued Hotch in a low voice, "I wanted him to be safe so I kept him away from Simmonds. And I nearly got him killed."

Gideon stopped and embraced his friend. "Don't torture yourself with what ifs. He is OK now and he's going to need you to stay strong. You did a good job."

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Reid stayed in hospital for a few days, insisting on discharging himself as soon as he was able to get out of bed. Hotch stayed with him almost the whole time, barely speaking, just being there.

Once they were back in Washington, Hotch insisted on taking the young man up to his apartment. As he opened the door, Reid turned to him; "Don't you need to get back and see your family?" he asked.

"No," replied Hotch, "I need to make sure you're OK."

"I'm fine," said Reid with a smile as Hotch took his bag into the bedroom. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of tablets. "And anyway, I now have my new best friend - Tramadol!"

Hotch turned to him. "Not too many of those, remember?"

"Yeah, I know," replied Reid replacing the bottle, "Opioids are potentially addictive, but Tramadol has a fairly low risk of dependence, and anyway, I'm not planning on taking them for too long. I want to be back at work as soon as I can."

"Spencer - you were stabbed. You need to give yourself a chance to recover. You've had surgery - for goodness sake, take it easy for a while." Hotch pointed to the couch. "At least lie down."

Reid nodded at him. "OK, I'll rest up for a bit," he said. He winced and gasped as he lowered himself onto the couch.

That brief acknowledgement of pain was the last straw for Hotch. He had remained in control up to that moment. He had stayed strong whilst watching his lover being beaten and stabbed. He had run with him in his arms to the waiting ambulance, had unlocked the handcuffs quickly and efficiently, had held onto a limp, pale hand as the EMTs tried to stop Reid bleeding to death on the way to the hospital. He had stayed motionless, speechless during those long hours in the ER as Reid's blood had dried hard on his clothes. He had sat on a hard plastic chair in a hospital room, holding Reid's hand whenever they were alone. He had grabbed rare hours of sleep, just enough to stay alive. He hadn't cried, he hadn't screamed, he had just kept going, kept on being SSA Hotchner - the boss, the one in control.

And now, seeing the pain flicker across his lover's face - the control fell away. Hotch felt his eyes fill up with tears and could no longer hold them back. He looked at Reid and let the tears fall, silently at first.

Reid's expression turned to one of concern. "Aaron?" he asked gently, "What's the matter?" He held out his hands to his lover.

Hotch didn't move. His shoulders were starting to shake as the tears flowed down his cheeks, trails of liquid merging and spreading over his face. "I almost lost you, baby," he croaked. He looked with sorrow at his lover and started to sob. "I al . . . almost lost you, b . . . baby," he stammered.

"Aaron," said Reid gently, "I'm OK." He started to push himself into a sitting position. "Come here," he said.

Hotch took a step forward and then sank to his knees. He wrapped his arms around Reid's legs and held on tightly. Then he buried his face in Reid's lap and sobbed. He cried at the memory of being helpless, of fearing the worst, of wanting to scream but being unable to. His body shook with deep, wet sobbing as he held on to his lover. Gentle fingers stroked through his hair with tenderness as he gulped and shuddered.

Hotch clung to the young man who sat patiently, caressing and comforting him. He cried like a child, loud and messy, howling out the fear of being alone. This was how his son had cried when he thought his mother was lost. Hotch hadn't cried like this since he was a little boy. He had never come this close to losing his most precious thing.

Eventually the tears subsided. Reid kept on stroking his lover's hair as his breath hitched and he sniffed and gulped. Then, Hotch lifted his head and Reid took his face in both his hands. He leaned forwards and kissed both of the wet, red eyes. "I'm here, baby," he said softly, "All in one piece."

"But you're hurt," choked Hotch, "He hurt you. I thought he was going to . . ."

"Shhh," interrupted Reid. "He didn't. And I'm OK - a bit bruised and battered, but I have all ten pints back inside me now and I'm fine." He caressed Hotch's damp cheek and then kissed his forehead gently.

Hotch lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry Spencer," he said softly. "I don't know what came over me."

Reid gently tilted his chin upwards. "Don't apologise. It was scary - for me, and for you. You *are* allowed to cry sometimes, Aaron. Everybody does." He smiled. "Even Supervisory Special Agents."

Hotch gave a faint smile. "And geniuses?"

"Oh, at least once a week," said Reid gently. Then he bent to kiss Hotch softly on the lips.

Feeling the young man's lips against his own, Hotch began to kiss him back. He let his mouth fall open and brought his hands up to caress Reid's hair and neck. He felt Reid's tongue slide gently into his open mouth and he knew he was getting hard.

Then Hotch pulled back. "Spencer, are you up to this?" he asked him, with concern.

Reid smiled at him. "I don't think I'm ready for shirt ripping stuff just yet, but slow and gentle seems pretty good." Then he slid an arm around Hotch's shoulders, pulling him closer and kissing him again.

Without breaking the kiss, Hotch managed to swing his lover's legs round so that Reid was lying on the couch. Then, still kissing him with gradually increasing urgency, the older agent climbed on next to him.

They lay in each others arms, kissing and caressing. Anxious not to hurt Reid, Hotch kept his touch gentle, avoiding the bruises and dressings. He ran his fingers down the young man's face, stroking his jaw and his neck. He pressed his crotch against Reid, feeling the frisson as his erection rubbed against Reid's through the cloth of their pants.

Reid opened his mouth wider and Hotch pushed his tongue in, while slipping one hand in between them to tug open both his zipper and Reid's. He felt Reid's hand slide down his back and then move to undoing his belt. Kissing each other harder, they managed to free both cocks and to start to move together.

Hotch resisted the urge to grab his lover and thrust hard against him. Reid needed slow, gentle sex right now and that was what he was going to get. Hotch couldn't bear to break the kiss, so he concentrated on that, probing Reid's mouth with his tongue and feeling the young man respond.

The couch wasn't big and there was no room for them to do anything apart from cling to each other. Hotch moved his hand to grasp Reid's cock and his own, relishing the throaty groan this drew from his lover. He continued the kiss as he stroked both their cocks.

Reid started to groan and press his lips harder against Hotch's mouth. He thrust his hips and Hotch responded by stroking harder. He felt Reid's body stiffen and then he was coming, kissing Hotch frantically and clinging onto him. And for a moment, Hotch forgot to be gentle and pulled Reid tightly to him as he came.

The two men lay quietly in each other's arms, letting their breathing return to normal. Then Hotch ran a finger down Reid's cheek. "I tried not to hurt you," he said softly, tears pricking once again at the back of his eyes.

Reid gave him a warm smile. "I'm fine. I have Tramadol, remember?" He gave Hotch a chaste kiss. "You should get home," he said.

"I just can't let go of you," said Hotch. "Let me hold you for a bit longer."

Reid burrowed his head into Hotch's neck. The older man stroked his lover's hair and down his back, wanting to imprint the feel of him onto his hands. Then, reluctantly, he started to get up. He cleaned them both up and then gently pulled Reid's pants off. "Bed," he ordered, trying not to look at the dressing on the young man's thigh.

"OK, *boss*," said Reid, pushing down hard on the couch to help him stand up. Hotch reached out and swung the young man into his arms, carrying him to his bedroom and sitting him gently on the bed. He finished undressing him and then put him into bed.

"Now stay there," he said firmly, "That's an order."

"Yes sir," smiled Reid.

Hotch started to move towards the door, then turned back to Reid. "You said something," he started, "When Wilson was holding you. You said something to me."

Reid nodded at him. "I told you not to worry about me."

Hotch walked over and kissed his lover on the forehead. "As if I could stop doing that," he said softly.