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Spencer thinks that it might be in his best interest to get a tracker embedded in his skin. Like a family cat.
Surprisingly, this is not the first time he’s had this thought.
Other than the ridiculously tight handcuffs on his wrists, Spencer isn’t even that hurt. The unsub, Miranda Calvert, isn’t interested in hurting him. She wants her sixth victim, who’s currently safe in protective custody.
He watches as she scratches at her arms, three times on her left, then three times on her right. She taps the knife six times on the edge of her kitchen cabinet, and then switches hands, tapping the knife another six times. Even without the profile, Spencer knows that she has severe OCD.
Along with some sociopathic thoughts, she needs to kill six people in order to get her satisfaction. Of course, Spencer knows that if she got her sixth victim, the novelty would wear off within a week, and she’d quickly pick up another six victims.
Spencer sighs, attempting to change the way he’s sitting. His leg is falling asleep. As if part of a bad movie, Miranda has cuffed him to an old radiator in the living room, and it’s starting to get uncomfortable. Spencer wonders if it’s rude to ask his kidnapper for a pillow or blanket. Just something to make his stay a bit more comfortable.
He figures there’s no time like the present. “Can I have a blanket?”
Miranda whips around blinking six times in confusion. “What?”
“Well, it’s just that,” Spencer faux grimaces, “The radiator is broken, and it’s February, and the hardwood floor isn’t exactly comfortable,”
“I don’t understand,” Miranda replies, face scrunching up. She obviously wasn’t expecting a captive as calm as Spencer.
Bringing his cuffed hands up, he waves her off. “You know what, never mind. I’ll be okay.” Miranda continues to stare at him. “I was just thinking, because I know you’re not going to kill me, so I figured it wouldn’t be that much harder to make me comfortable.”
Scratching both of her arms three times, she counters, “I’m going to kill you.”
“No you’re not,” Spencer shakes his head. “If you were going to kill me, you would’ve done it already. You need to finish your pattern, and kill Deborah Knox. Not me.”
“I’ll still kill you,” She tries, but it’s weak. “I will.” Under her breath, she whispers, “I will,” five more times.
Spencer lets her finish, before continuing, “Listen, Miranda, kidnapping an FBI agent to make a trade isn’t going to work.”
Squinting, she questions, “How did you…”
“I’m a profiler,” Spencer answers. “I know that the only reason you have me here is so that you can trade me for Deborah. But that’s not how this works.”
Miranda scoffs. “Yeah, right. They know that an FBI agent is more important than some random woman! Of course they’ll want you back.”
Figuring that ‘they’ are the rest of his team, Spencer points out, “I wouldn’t be so sure,”
“What?”
“See, I didn’t want to mention this earlier, but,” He bobs his head side to side, “I’ve kind of been kidnapped before,”
Shaking her head six times, she asks, “By who? No, wait, that doesn’t matter. They’re gonna want their FBI agent back.”
“My team isn’t going to trade a civilian for me. You get that, right?”
“You don’t know that!”
“I kind of do,” Spencer counters, watching her anxiously pull at her hair six times, before twirling the knife six times in her right hand, and then six times in her left hand. “You know, the first time I got kidnapped-”
“The first time?”
Pulling the side of his lip down, Spencer confirms, “Yeah, it happens more often than you’d think. Anyway, the first time, I saved myself.”
“Your team didn’t want you?”
Spencer internally scoffs. Who could guess that some random unsub asked the same exact question as his own subconscious. Nearly every night that he can’t sleep - so, nearly every night - he’s always plagued with that question. Did his team even want him to come back? Spencer shakes the thought and puts up a pretty face. “The thing is, I ended up saving myself with zero help.”
Miranda’s face cycles through confusion, to fear, to anger. “No, no! Your team has to save you by giving me Deborah! No, no, no, no, no, no!”
“And, no offence,” He adds, just to antagonize her further, “But my first kidnapping was looking a lot more bleak than this.”
“I don’t understand,” She swallows, clutching the knife in a white knuckled grip. She clearly wasn’t prepared for kidnapping one Doctor Spencer Reid.
Giving an air of nonchalance, Spencer shrugs, “And, you know, I did kind of have a broken foot the first time,”
Miranda’s breath catches in her throat, “W-what?”
“Mmhm,” Spencer nods, keeping her distracted. “My right cuboid bone, it’s on the lateral side of the foot, if you’re wondering,” He points out. “And I was having seizures, and, well, that was on top of my concussion.” Pausing, Spencer lets that information sink in. “And I was still able to escape by myself.”
“Well, you’re not going to get out this time!” Miranda growls, but even if he wasn’t a profiler it’d be obvious that she’s terrified.
Good. Spencer can work with that.
“You know Miranda, there’s something else,”
At least she tries to look disinterested for a few seconds, before caving and asking, “What’s that?”
“Well, after my dad left when I was a kid, I picked up a new hobby,”
“I don’t understand,” Miranda gulps, holding the knife out in front of her, in a defensive position more than anything.
Separating his hands from the handcuffs and bringing them in front of him, Spencer finishes, “I learned how to do magic.”
Shock wears off quickly, and Miranda lunges with the knife.
Spencer easily dodges it, pulling her arm behind her back, forcing her hand to loosen. A few seconds later, she’s forced to drop the knife.
“You don’t understand!” She cries out, “I need to kill Deborah! I need it!”
Dealing with her struggling, Spencer grunts, “I know it feels like that, Miranda, but that’s just your brain, thinking that you have to do things in sixes-”
“I need to!”
“Miranda-”
She cries out, managing to elbow Spencer in the gut, but he isn’t deterred. Miranda then slams her head back, catching Spencer’s chin.
“You don’t understand!” She yells out. Despite her smaller size, she puts up a good fight, determined to complete her six person ritual. Suddenly, Miranda drops down, and when she swivels back up she’s holding the knife.
Miranda swipes to the right, but Spencer dodges it. She then grabs his wrist, pulling him close, and then swipes the knife left across Spencer’s abdomen.
The stinging wound gives Spencer enough adrenaline to kick her down, knife clattering to the floor once again. Although Spencer isn’t Morgan by any sense of the name, he still pulls a mean right hook, knocking Miranda out. He quickly takes his handcuffs and places them around Miranda’s wrists.
Taking a step back along with a deep breath, Spencer drags a hand over his face. He then lifts up the edge of his dress shirt to reveal the wound. It’s superficial, but long, and for a few moments Spencer is mesmerized by the blood forming little rivers down to his hip. A second later his brain kicks in, and he pulls his shirt back down, pressing his left hand to his side.
Miranda had taken him to an old apartment complex. It’s closing in just a few weeks, and most of the tenants have already left. He isn’t sure who owns the apartment they’re in, but he’s eternally grateful that they left a landline.
Spencer dials the number that he’s sure he would’ve memorized by now even without his eidetic memory.
“Hotchner.”
“Hey, Hotch,”
There’s a sharp intake of breath before Hotch confirms, “Reid?”
Sounding a bit like a lost teenager, Spencer requests, “Can you come pick me up?”
“Reid, where are you? Are you hurt?”
“I’m pretty sure I’m at the complex on Carlisle, but I’m not sure which apartment-”
Hotch cuts him off, “Reid, are you hurt?”
Dragging his lip to the side, he confesses, “I, uh, I got nicked,”
“Nicked by what? Do you need an ambulance?”
Spencer peels his shirt back, wincing at the amount of blood that’s beginning to cake on his shirt and the hem of his jeans.
“Nicked by what, Reid?”
Slowly, Reid answers, “A knife,”
There’s cursing on the other end, before Hotch instructs, “Stay there, we have your location and we’re going to have an ambulance meet us there,”
“That’s really not necessary-” Spencer starts, but is immediately cut off.
“Reid you were just stabbed,”
“I wasn’t stabbed ,” Spencer weakly counters. “I was slashed,”
Spencer can hear a few panicked conversations in the background before Hotch continues, “Are you putting pressure on it?”
“With my hand, yeah,”
“See if you can find a towel or rag,”
He nods even though Hotch can’t see it, and replies, “I know,” Before milling around a stranger’s kitchen, trying to find things they haven’t packed up yet.
“Just hang in there, we’re ten minutes out.”
“I’m not dying or anything,” Spencer points out, but Hotch doesn’t seem interested.
The unit chief just sighs and requests, “Sit down, and put pressure on your wound.”
“I am, I am.”
“And the unsub? Calvert? Is she alive?”
Glancing down to the figure slumped against the wall, Spencer can see the rise and fall of her chest. “She’s unconscious, but alive.”
Spencer can hear sirens on the other end along with Hotch’s, “Good.”
The BAU reaches the building before the ambulance, and Hotch takes the stairs two and three at a time. And although Spencer wouldn’t expect anything else, the door being kicked down by Morgan still makes him jump.
“Pretty boy?”
“Reid?”
Spencer quickly looks up and stands, pointing to Miranda. “There’s Calvert.”
Ignoring her, Hotch inspects his youngest agent, making a face when he sees the blood seeping through the thin kitchen towel onto Spencer’s fingers.
“Let me see it,” Hotch requests, pulling Spencer’s left hand away via his wrist. Grimacing at the blood, he asks, “Are you feeling dizzy? Light headed?”
“I’m fine, Hotch,” Spencer mutters, awkwardly dropping his arms limply at his sides.
“Sit back down,”
“Hotch, I said-”
“Reid,” Hotch interrupts, “Sit back down. You’re bleeding a lot.”
With a frown, Spencer counters, “No I’m not,” Before looking down at his side. “Oh. I guess I am.” He unceremoniously drops back down, barely cushioned by Morgan’s quick movements.
“Reid?”
“‘M alright,” He mutters unconvincingly.
Hotch keeps his hands on Spencer’s side, but looks up to Morgan. “See if you can find another towel or something,”
Already stripping off his jacket Morgan replies, “Take this.”
Wordlessly, Hotch places the FBI jacket over the kitchen towel, and replaces his hand on top. His heart clenches when Spencer gasps out from the new pressure. “Sorry,” He warns, before pressing down with his other hand.
After a few moments, Spencer asks, “Do you think this will need stitches?”
“Yes.” Hotch responds without thinking twice.
“So a hospital?” Spencer concludes.
Minutely shaking his head, Hotch confirms, “You were going to go to a hospital whether or not you needed stitches,”
While scrunching his nose, Spencer whines, “Why?”
This time, Morgan’s the one to answer with an eye roll. “No offense, pretty boy, but your complaining isn’t gonna get you out of the ER.”
Spencer narrows his eyes, but doesn’t say anything.
Hearing sirens outside, Morgan grunts, “I’ll go bring the paramedics up.”
Watching Spencer’s eyes blink a few sluggish times, Hotch questions, “Reid? Still with me?”
“Still with you,” Spencer confirms, albeit tiredly.
A few moments later finds them joined by four paramedics, two that go to Miranda, and two that crouch next to Spencer and Hotch.
“Sir, can you move your hands?” One of them requests Hotch, who begrudgingly takes away the jacket and kitchen towel from his subordinate’s side.
The other paramedic takes Spencer’s wrist to check his pulse. “Hi,” He starts, “I’m Daniel. Can you tell me your name?”
“Er, Reid. Doctor Spencer Reid,” He stutters out.
The paramedic smiles at him. “Oh, ‘doctor’? Good for you.” Daniel genuinely replies. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“Unsub nicked me with a knife,” Spencer states indifferently.
Daniel pauses at the usage of ‘unsub,’ but still continues, “How long ago was that?”
“A little under fourteen and a half minutes ago.” Comes the easy answer.
The other paramedic announces, “This is more than just a nick,” Causing Hotch to cross his arms a little tighter.
“We can get a couple four-by-sixes on and get him to Harthridge. We have the backboard?”
“Yep,”
Alarmed, Spencer quickly announces, “I can walk. I can totally walk by myself,”
Hotch gives an unamused look while Daniel explains, “We’re just being extra safe, Doctor Reid. We don’t want to create more tears in any tissue, especially because we’re going to have to go down stairs,”
“It’s really not necessary,” Spencer tries again, looking up to Hotch for assistance.
Raising his eyebrows, Hotch sighs, “Sorry Reid.”
“C’mon pretty boy,” Morgan starts with a laugh, “It’ll be like you’re flying!”
“I will hurt you, Morgan,” Spencer mumbles, the threat having as much weight as a kitten with their claws out.
Making their way down the stairs, Hotch asks, “Want one of us to accompany you to the hospital?”
With a scrunched face, Spencer replies, “Nooooo,”
“Did you say Harthridge?” Hotch asks the paramedics with a nod towards Spencer.
“Yes,” The paramedic confirms, “It’s about five miles west of here.”
“Thanks. Don’t let him leave.” Hotch mumbles, turning back to the crime scene.
The ambulance ride is largely uneventful.
It’s full of 4x6s patches of gauze and stale medical tape. Spencer manages to stay away from an IV when he reports that he doesn’t take narcotics.
Once he’s in the hospital, a fairly young resident stitches him up, and gives him tylenol, along with a few antibiotics.
Rossi ends up being the one to pick him up, laughing at the hospital grade t-shirt that he’s now supporting on his frail frame.
Leading him out to the SUV, with a smile Rossi claims, “You know, ragazzo, this whole kidnapping thing is getting a bit out of hand. When we get back to Quantico I’m gonna get Garcia to install a tracker in you.”
With a grin of his own, Spencer admits, “I was actually just thinking the same thing.”