Chapter Text
Monday, February 7th 2011
It was snowing when Hotch stepped out of his car. He wasn’t sure why he was surprised but it had shocked him when he noticed his jacket had started to accumulate a thin layer of white. Hotch had never been a big fan of snow. Growing up in Manassas, he had always felt dread as February approached. The neighborhood kids would invite him to go sledding and Hotch would look at his mom with pleading eyes, only for her to shake her head and mutter something about his father disapproving. Hotch knew it was for his own good, especially in retrospect, but he still felt a small drop in his chest every time he stepped into the snow.
Hotch wondered if this would ruin his plans. He was supposed to be doing follow up interviews with the witnesses of a case they had a few months back. It was becoming increasingly hard to prosecute the serial killer they had caught who had an affinity for blonde prostitutes. Jurys had little sympathy for women who sold their bodies. Hotch was hoping speaking to some of the witnesses again would help solidify the guilty verdict. He couldn’t take any chances. He was looking for a couple of the women, the first one was a young woman who went by the pseudonym Cherry. She was slimmer than most of the women on the street and had poorly dyed red hair. Hotch spotted her talking to a john and waited to see if they’d walk away together. When they didn’t, he approached her.
One flash of his badge and the call-girls scattered. She stayed put though, clearly recognizing him. Hotch was grateful for the small conveniences.
“Nice to see you again Agent Hotchner,” Cherry said. She had taken to leaning against the underpass wall, but even feet away Hotch could smell the nicotine gum she was chewing. Her clothing was less lewd than the other women on the street but provocative nonetheless. Hotch suspected it had something to do with her desire to feign modesty. Unlike some of the other women on the streets, Cherry had never seemed resigned to her line of work being the rest of her life.
“You as well.” Hotch had learned to always profile a prostitute before speaking to them. Some preferred politeness, while others were suspicious of it. The ones from more upper class backgrounds who had fallen prey to drugs or trafficking tended to prefer the polite tact. Hotch didn’t know too much about Cherry besides what he had learned in their initial interview, but he suspected she had come from a rich family and spiraled into addiction. Her nails were very orderly, almost natural looking, her hair was always brushed neatly, and Hotch could see her nose running. Whether it was from cocaine or the cold though, Hotch didn’t know.
“Surprised you came back. Thought a man like you would want to stay off the streets. Maybe go back home to a pretty little wife.” Despiste Cherry’s words, her tone held no malice. She seemed genuinely confused. Hotch couldn’t blame her.
“I was just hoping to do a follow up interview about James Forrest,” Hotch said simply. Cherry’s face remained impassive. “The Underpass Slaughterer?” Hotch resented having to resort to the overblown media names, but it was necessary sometimes. Cherry stood up straighter.
“‘Course.” Cherry spit her gum to the side, clearly wanting to give her full attention. “Anything for Cynthia.” James Forrest’s MO had been particularly cruel. He would hire two working girls, one blonde, the other not. He would have them start to make out before he shot the blonde one. Forrest would then tell the other girl if she made a sound he would kill her. He would force them to clean up the blood of the blonde, before tying them to something in the room and leaving them there. Cherry has been the other in one of Forrest’s many killings.
“This may be difficult for you, so if-” Hotch was cut off from his typical speech with a small huff.
“Yeah yeah agent, just ask your questions.” Hotch could see the emotional turmoil behind her eyes. For a moment, guilt came over him. But it quickly washed away. His job wasn’t to clean up messes, it was to prevent them.
The questions he asked were standard follow up questions. Hotch asked her about that night, some things about her personal life, and if she was willing to go on the stand. The last question clearly gave her pause. It usually was the one that most people weren’t sure about, especially those who felt threatened by the unsub. Even though Cherry likely knew the unsub wouldn’t be able to hurt her, the perception of her testifying could. But they needed her testimony. Hotch had a feeling appealing to her lost friend would be the most effective way to convince her.
“Please. Your testimony is important to getting justice for Cynthia.” When Cherry’s face remained unsure, he added: “It’s what she would have wanted.” That was always a risky line. Sometimes the witness would lash out in grief, claiming that Hotch had no idea what he was talking about. Other times, it was the perfect finisher. Luckily, Cherry fell into the latter category, and gave a nod.
“Okay. Do you need my number?” Hotch wrote the number down before giving her his business card.
“If you need anything, do not hesitate to call.” Hotch always extended that gesture but he found he was very rarely called. Cherry gave an affirmative nod though. Thinking they were finished, Hotch began to walk away, only for Cherry to tug on his sleeve.
“Don’t let it happen again Agent Hotchner,” Cherry said, the emotion clear in her voice.
“I will not,” he promised. It was an empty promise but it satisfied her. This time, she walked away, towards the girls she had been with before. He hoped for her sake they wouldn’t notice her glistening eyes.
As soon as she was a little ways away, Hotch began looking for the next person he needed to find. She had a distinctive port-wine stain on the left side of her face. Even in the dim lights of the underpass, Hotch suspected he could find her.
Hotch began to head to the other end of the underpass, when he noticed something alarming. Although the underpass was full of half awake drug addicts, this one seemed particularly out of it. He was dressed like a hooker but he was clearly struggling to stand. All his weight was leaned against the wall making his hair fall in front of his eyes and obstruct his face. If Hotch had to guess his pupils would be completely blown. Hotch knew he should just walk away, but he couldn’t. There was a conservation to be had on the morality of sex work, whether one could truly ‘buy’ someone’s consent, especially when the harsh mistress that was capitalism continued to invoke her wraith. But even beyond that, with the amount of drugs in that man’s system, there was no argument to be made for consent. It wouldn’t be bad to just check on him.
“Are you okay?” Hotch asked the young man, trying to get a look at his face. He placed a hand on his shoulder causing the man to jerk his face up and pull away. That’s when Hotch felt all the air leave his lungs. In front of him was Spencer Reid. The long gone Spencer Reid. His former teammate Spencer Reid. The dear friend and co-worker he had spent months missing Spencer Reid.
Years ago, his team had been involved in a particularly difficult case. Hotch had made a bad call and sent two of his least trained agents to follow up on a witness. That witness had turned out to be their unsub, who caught Spencer Reid alone and kidnapped him. The BAU had watched live as their friend was tortured and injected with drugs. But Spencer was smart, leaving clues for his team, leading them to find him. In the aftermath of his torture, Reid was given two weeks off. Instead of coming back after those two weeks though, he turned in his resignation. Every member of the team attempted to reach out to him, and while he responded at first, eventually their attempts to communicate went unanswered.
The team concluded he just wanted to forget them all, it had hurt, but they knew it was ultimately his choice. Their technical analyst had continued to keep track of Reid anyway, until one day, almost a year later, he seemed to simply vanish. His rent stopped being paid, he stopped showing up to his new job at Georgetown, and he ceased all contact with his mother.
At first, everyone was concerned again. Penelope Garcia checked database after database, Derek Morgan checked his apartment daily, and Jennifer Jareau used her contacts to ask around. Nothing worked, and eventually the effort wanned. They agreed that Reid was smart, and had likely made himself scarce to start a new life. None of them could blame him, so the search came to a halt.
But now, standing in front of Hotch stood Spencer Reid. His pupils were so blown that the light brown was a razor thin ring surrounding blackness. Both arms were full with needle marks, old and new, and scratches to accompany them. Some were actively bleeding. Large eye bags rested up his eyes and his cheekbones looked far too hollow.
“Spencer?” Hotch finally managed to say. There was no response from the man in front of him. Reid simply stood there listlessly. The fact he wasn’t responding to his name greatly concerned Hotch. He knew this man was Spencer Reid. Was he so high he didn’t recognize his own name? Hotch noticed a john waiting, staring at Reid, clearly hoping Hotch would go away. Hotch knew what he had to do. He had to keep talking to Reid. “How much?”
That got Reid’s attention.
“200 for two hours or 600 for a night.” His response was simple, scripted. Hotch felt himself unable to speak for a moment. He had secretly hoped Reid would push him away, insulted at the mere suggestion. “800 if you want me to bleed.” Hotch felt himself hold back a gag.
“600,” he said instead. Reid nodded, still expressionless, and followed Hotch to his car. The john who had been staring sighed and walked away. Hotch was very glad that Jessica had already agreed to watch Jack for the night, as he wasn’t sure what excuse he could have possibly made.
Tapping on the wheel, Hotch drove aimlessly for a few minutes, thinking about where to go. He couldn’t go to his house and it wasn’t like he knew a secondary location to take a prostitute. Maybe Reid would know.
“Do you have somewhere you usually go?” Hotch asked.
“There’s a parking lot down there,” Reid said, pointing down a nearby street. “But if you want a bed, there’s a motel two blocks left and then to the right,” Hotch nodded, planning to turn left. “Or, this works too.” Reid placed his hand over Hotch’s crotch.
“Stop,” Hotch said firmly. Reid quickly pulled away, obviously confused and a little scared. It was weird of a john to refuse contact and clearly Reid didn’t recognize him. “I just prefer a hotel,” Hotch lied. Maybe if he could get him alone, he could talk some sense into him. Reid’s face changed back to its previously listless expression.
The motel was rundown and dirty. The rooms were clearly surge charged for all the johns and hookers who came through here. The cost of discretion ran high. The man at the counter paid him no mind and simply accepted his money and handed back a room key. Hotch spotted an ATM, he didn’t carry around 600 dollars in cash.
“Can you make it to the room?” Hotch asked. Reid nodded. “Alright here,” Hotch said, handing Reid the key. “I need to take some money out.”
At the ATM, he paused. Was he really about to pay 600 dollars to his washed out former team mate? The money would clearly be used for drugs though likely part of it would go to a pimp. Hotch had learned during the investigation into James Forrest that to work that underpass you needed to pay a pimp. It was a popular site and overcrowding would hurt everyone, therefore there was muscle lurking in the shadows to chase off any hookers who weren’t supposed to be there. The thought of Reid having a pimp made his stomach churn. He didn’t want to pay for Reid’s addiction or give money to whatever bastard he was paying up to. But what was the alternative? Hotch knew Reid would just find someone else who would fuck him even though his eyes were glazed over. That thought made Hotch shudder even more.
After withdrawing the money, Hotch made his way to the motel room. It was on the second floor all the way at the end, the number eight was falling off the door. The door was unlocked and inside Reid sat on the bed, still emotionless. It took a second to Reid to process the opening and closing of the door, but when he noticed Hotch standing there, he began talking:
“So what do you want? For me to beg?” Reid paused as though he was considering Hotch. “You to beg?” he asked more dubiously.
“Do you not recognize me Spencer?” This time Hotch saw a twitch of recognition at his own name. It was subtle enough that most people wouldn’t even notice it, but Hotch was trained to notice the small details.
“What, we do the whole boyfriend experience thing once? Sorry to tell you I lied, my name isn’t Spencer.” Reid’s expression had gone back to neutral.
“Are you serious Reid?” That clearly alarmed the man more. This time, it would’ve been noticeable to anyone. “It’s-” Reid cut him off, surging forward and kissing him. Hotch quickly pushed him away. Reid was high as a kite and didn’t even recognize him. A look of hurt flashed across Reid’s face.
“Look I’m sorry I don’t recognize you. But you did agree to a night. Just tell me your name and I’ll moan it as much as you want.” The hurt was gone from Reid’s eyes and instead there was a look of mock seduction. It was so clearly fake but Hotch suspected most people didn’t care. When Hotch didn’t respond, Reid added: “Just tell me what you want, and I’ll do it,” a hand reaching out to graze Hotch, only to miss when the man took a step back.
It was clear Reid wasn’t going to recognize him in this state. But he looked exhausted and maybe with sleep he would sober up enough to recognize Hotch.
“I want you to go to sleep,” Hotch said simply.
“Oh,” Reid said, drawing out the syllable. “You want to wake me up with your cock in me?” Hotch felt himself unable to respond. How could people do that? It was bad enough that Reid was clearly high but to want him to be even more helpless?
“No,” Hotch said vehemently. “I will not touch you, I promise. You just look like you need sleep.” Reid looked at him with distrust.
“Listen man, if you’re gonna wake me up with your cock, I need to know. I mean I can act like I wasn’t expecting it, but I do need to know.” After the wave of disgust that people would do that passed over Hotch, he felt a little relieved. At least Reid had boundaries.
“No really, I won’t do anything.” Reid stood unconvinced. “How can I convince you?” Hotch asked desperately. Reid needed sleep and Hotch needed him to be more sober. Sober enough to remember him at least.
Reid stood, clearly thinking for a bit. Hotch wondered if it was taking so long because of the drugs or if Reid’s mind had really slowed down since Hotch knew him.
“Alright,” Reid eventually agreed. “I have mace though and I know to hold it tight. So if you try anything…” Reid’s face was now listlessness mixed with false rage. It was likely his attempt to be intimidating.
Hotch put his hands up in surrender and backed into the chair in the corner of the room. Reid stood still for a moment, before he walked over to the bed and laid down. He laid on top of the blanket, the mace clutched in his hand, and just closed his eyes.
“Do you want the lights off?” Hotch asked. He wasn’t sure how Reid could sleep with the bright overhead lamp shining down on him.
“No,” Reid said before he backtracked, his eyes now popping open. “Unless you want to.”
“It’s fine,” Hotch responded. Reid seemed just tired enough to trust him as he shut his eyes again. Within only a couple of minutes, Reid’s body relaxed and his breathing even out. Hotch couldn’t believe how tired the other man was. He clearly barely slept, it was alarming.
Hotch almost wanted to stay awake and keep watch over Reid. It was a weird sort of protective instinct he hadn’t felt since… well since his late wife. But that would be creepy and Hotch was starting to feel tired. He had work the next day, and needed to sleep. So instead, Hotch pulled off his tie and turned it into a makeshift sleep mask before curling up into the chair, and trying his best to fall asleep.
Tuesday, February 8th 2011
Hotch woke up when he heard the motel bed creek. His back was sore and his neck was crooked. He pulled off his sleep mask replica and looked for the clock. It was a little before 6am. Reid was sitting up, rubbing his eyes, his pupils now down to a much more reasonable size. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a bottle of liquid that seemed to be some sort of opioid. Hotch was about to try to stop him, when Reid stopped himself.
“Aaron Hotchner?” He said, his tone clearly disbelieving.
“It’s been a while Reid,” Hotch said as kindly as he could muster. He was tired and in pain. He was too old to be sleeping in chairs.
“You fucked me?” Reid said crudely. Hotch couldn’t help but cringe. Last night it had made sense that Reid was cursing and slurring. But now it seemed strange to hear the young man he had once worked with curse. Though, he wasn’t quite so young now.
“Of course not. You were high and are a prostitute. I’m a federal agent.” Reid was just staring. His face was not as emotionless as it had been last night though, now it clearly displayed shock and disbelief.
“Plenty of federal agents fuck whores,” Reid said, his face now steeled with a slight inquisitive look in his eye. “Arguably, they prefer the ones so high they can’t think. Much more compliant that way.” Hotch stopped himself from wincing. Corruption in the bureau was a huge issue and one that disgusted him. If he found out any of his fellow agents were having sex with hookers so high they couldn’t even look straight, he would make it his personal mission to have them terminated.
“I am not corrupt.” Reid’s lips picked up a little at that.
“Good to see you haven’t changed then Agent Hotchner.” At some point, Reid had slipped his bottle back into his pocket along with the mace. “You still gonna pay me though?” Hotch pulled out his wallet and held out the cash.
“Is it too much to ask you not to use it on drugs?” Hotch asked. Reid let out a loud laugh, the first look of amusement Hotch had seen from him growing on his face.
“What else would I use it on?” Reid replied rhetorically, grabbing the money and stashing it in his briefs. He was clearly putting in effort to look uninterested in Hotch. It wasn’t a poor act. Hotch just knew when someone was lying, even a trained liar like Reid. He wasn’t going to comment though.
“You know I had to ask,” Hotch said instead. Reid nodded at that and began to walk towards the door.
“Well Agent, this has been enjoyable, but I really do have to go.” Before Reid could reach the door though, Hotch blocked him. “Seriously?” Reid said, clearly annoyed. “If you were gonna fuck me should’ve done when I was blissed out.” Hotch made sure to stop his feelings of disgust from showing on his face.
“Take this please,” Hotch said, handing him his business card.
“No way,” Reid said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “When johns have needs they come to me, not me to them. You’re not special.”
“No that’s not what I meant,” Hotch said. He was finding it increasingly difficult to figure out what Reid was thinking. His mind kept telling him to think of the socially awkwardly but incredibly intelligent man he knew years ago. But every prediction that came from that had been wrong. “Just take it in case you need me.”
“I won’t need it.” Reid shifted his weight slightly, a clear sign of nerves. Although that may also have been from the fact that he was more sober than last night.
“Then don’t call. But take it,” Hotch said before adding a light: “Please.”
“If I take it, can I go?” Reid asked.
“You can go even if you don’t take it,” Hotch said, moving away from his obstructing the door. Reid visibly relaxed at that.
“Alright,” Reid finally relented, snatching the card and putting it with the money. Hotch couldn’t help but note the value of the card in Reid’s eyes. He put it right where he hid his money. The real question was, was that more important than the bottle and needle in his pocket? “Goodbye,” Reid said simply, opening the door and walking out. Before Reid closed the door behind him, Hotch saw the sun was now rising. It was a red sunrise, utterly gorgeous, with Reid right in front of it. But then, Reid closed the door behind him, and Hotch was simply standing alone in a sticky motel room with a flickering dull yellow light.
If Hotch had been less exhausted, he might have considered it a sign.