hell_ofa_thing | To be alive is to be vulnerable. (( Roleplay ))

To be alive is to be vulnerable. (( Roleplay ))

The saying, hindsight is 20/20, had never been more true than now. Looking back, there had been hints all along that something wasn't right about the young man who had showed up at every single lecture he'd given within the last week. He'd seemed lonely, and it wasn't difficult to imagine he had few, if any, friends. People like that latched on to the slightest bit of attention, and that first night, Rossi had autographed his book and spent a few minutes chatting with him. Overzealous, sure, but he hadn't seemed dangerous. Clearly, he had completely underestimated the depth of his obsession, and just how committed he was to apparently having Rossi all to himself.

Somehow he'd managed to get Rossi's phone number, and had been calling him at work the last two days. There had also been that letter sent to his office, telling him how much he looked forward to spending time with him soon. That had been worrisome, and that had come yesterday. But in typical Rossi fashion, he was reluctant to say too much to anyone on the team, lest they worry, or get hurt themselves. More than himself, he needed to protect them.

Before he had a chance to deal with it, however, his stalker had beaten him to it. When he'd gotten in his car this morning, he'd had a knife pressed to his throat before he could put his keys in the ignition. He'd let the man lead him back inside before he fought back, which had a doubly negative effect: he'd managed to stab Rossi in the thigh, and the struggle had shattered the stalker's delusion that Rossi would be a willing captive, endeared to him instantly. Before he could think of anything else to say or do, the stalker slammed his head against the wall, and he saw nothing but blackness.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Reid was usually not a man to worry too much. People were always too busy worrying about him.

But Reid was a man who regularly studied behavior, and he had noticed something off with Rossi for the past few days. He had considered ignoring seniority and out-and-out asking Rossi if something was wrong, but then he didn't show up to work in the morning. That was concerning.

Reid had offered to check up on Rossi. Nothing looked immediately wrong when he pulled into the older agent's driveway, so Reid started to wonder if Rossi had just slept through his alarm clock or something. That didn't seem like something Rossi would do, but what other explanation was there?

He got out of his car, stepping to the front door and ringing the doorbell. Worse came to worse, he could always hunt around for a backdoor with a pick-able lock or a window to break, but he hoped he wouldn't have to destroy any of his colleague's property.

By the time Reid arrived, the stalker had Rossi's hands and feet bound with some rope. He wasn't any immediate threat, since he was still unconscious, and currently laying on the sofa in the large den. When the captor heard the doorbell ring, he quickly debated whether he should take his chances not answering and hope the person would just go away, or whether it would be safer to answer the door and try to convince that person to leave. If it was one of Rossi's colleagues, letting the door go unanswered would just worry them more.

So he moved swiftly towards the door, plastering an easy smile on his face, and answered it.

"You're probably wondering why David isn't at work," he said, with ease. If he doubted his own ability to pull this off, the man at the door wasn't likely to believe him, either. Of course, he had no idea how involved they all were in each other's lives, but it would be reasonable to assume they didn't know every single intimate detail about what their colleagues did at home. "Stomach flu. He's sleeping right now."

He made sure to keep the door cracked enough that it wouldn't seem suspicious.

Warning bells immediately went off in Reid's head. Stomach flu? Keeping Rossi down? The man was hardy as a horse, and even if he did get too sick to go to work, he would have forced himself to call.

Reid stayed calm, though. He placed his hand firmly on the door, trying to make it look innocent when in reality he just wanted it to remain open. "Oh really? I'm sorry to hear that--you mind if I come in? Everyone is worried, and I just want to check in."

He made a mental note of the gun holstered at his hip. He didn't want to use it, but in his line of work, he knew that it was sometimes inevitable.

Had the captor known much of anything at all about Rossi, he would have realized it was the absolute worst lie. The doorbell had roused Rossi a little, though, and he caught the tail end of what the man was saying. It certainly put Rossi at an advantage. Whoever was at the door would see right through it.

Reid. Reid was at the door. His stomach tightened into a knot at the thought. He'd find a way out of this on his own, or at least try to stall him until the rest of the team could get here, but the thought of Reid getting anywhere near the unstable man was extremely distressing.

He'd been gagged, too, and attempting to shout wasn't in any way effective. But he worked at his binds, trying to loosen them at least a little bit.

"He's sleeping," the man said again, this time with deadly calm. He knew Reid was on to him. The only chance he had at the moment was trying to stall him. He moved forward in the doorway, trying to push Reid back. "Come back later."

"Sleeping? For how long? You know, statistically, people who regularly sleep more than the recommended amount are more likely to die before their expected time. If he slept through his alarm, you should wake him up and give him something to drink. Flu symptoms are known to cause dehydration, and 73% of hospital visits for fluid loss require hospital admission, and roughly one half of those admitted to a hospital for dehydration die within the year--"

Reid stood his ground, refusing to remove his hand from the door and babbling incessantly about whatever popped into his head, because he knew Rossi was somehow in trouble, and he needed time to observe the strange man's behavior to see exactly how much trouble. His heart raced in his ears, and he was vaguely reminded of pulling a thirteen-minute profile out of thin air in the middle of a prison to try to stall a mass murderer.

Rossi had learned a few things about knot tying during his stint as a Marine, and it was a skill that he'd maintained through the years just being out in the woods. He had a cabin for a reason; he enjoyed the outdoors, camping. He hadn't realized, of course, just how handy that skill would be until now. During the course of Reid's rambling, he'd managed to get his hands unbound. He kept himself from groaning out loud as he sat up, working on the rope binding his feet.

His captor, meanwhile, was annoyed, but curious about how long they could keep playing this game. This man was persistent, he gave him that. He could've hurt Reid, if he'd wanted, but he was more interested in Rossi. Of course, he'd do what he had to do. Right now, though, he just wanted the man to leave, which was easier said than done.

"I know how to take care of him," he said, possessively, interrupting Reid's train of thought.

Possessive. Talking about 'care'. The man had some kind of personal connection to Rossi--that wasn't the kind of speech a hit man or a member of organized crime used.

"Oh, yes, I'm sure you do, but people make mistakes even if they knew what they were doing; for example, parents have ingrained instincts to care for their children, and in today's modern era, most parents take advantage of everything they have at their disposal to keep their children safe, yet there are still roughly 2,800 accidental injury-related deaths in children from ages zero to fourteen in any given year. In fact--"

So far, the man hadn't done anything outright violent towards him. It was possible Rossi was okay, but Reid couldn't bring himself to back off and risk leaving his teammate alone with this stranger, even if it's just to get help. Maybe if he stalled enough, the man's guard would go down...

Talking about David was enough to stall the captor for now; there was a reason he'd taken such an interest in him, after all. He believed he was the only one who could take care of him, love him. Of course, Rossi had resisted, and that had angered him enough to make him want to hurt him, and wouldn't hesitate to do so again, if he continued resisting.

He didn't like the implication from this man that he wasn't doing what was best for David, that he wasn't helping him or loving him properly.

His weapon, his knife, was laying on the table right by the door, if he absolutely needed to use it. He couldn't help glancing at it out of the corner of his eye, though it was hidden by the door, so Reid wouldn't be able to see it.

"You need to leave," he finally said, not bothering with pleasantries anymore. "I'm taking care of him. And if you don't leave, then I'll hurt him again if I have to. I-I don't want to, I love him..." His mind was betraying him, his delusions about his happy ending with Agent Rossi not aligning with reality, and causing him to lose the careful control he so desired. He was getting sloppy now, unstable.

Rossi, meanwhile, finally had his feet unbound. Standing up was something he had to do very carefully; any sudden movement might be caught by his captor. Not to mention that it felt like his leg was on fire, and putting any weight on it was difficult. But he managed to move a few feet so that he was hidden by the wall right next to the door.

Again? "He's hurt?"

Reid caught himself. Rossi was hurt, but that meant that he had to keep his wits about him. No more stalling. He knew what kind of UnSub this was now, and Reid knew he might be on a time limit.

"I know you didn't want to do that. I know how much you love him." Reid started pushing the door, trying to gain entrance and his mind quickly reviewing common stalker behavior before actually meeting their victim. Rossi would have been contacted somehow. At least, Reid was banking on it. "He told us at work about you. We told him you loved him, but he gets, you know, skittish sometimes. If you just let me talk to him, I'm sure I could make him understand that you don't want to hurt him..." He forced himself to swallow. "You wouldn't need to hurt him again if I make him understand."

The UnSub's eyes drifted down to the floor for a moment before jerking back up to peer at Reid. If he really could help him...

"I do love him," he admitted quietly, though his muscles were tensing up, fingers curling into a fist at his side. He barely noticed Reid moving inside until he'd already gotten past the door. The UnSub moved swiftly, reaching for the gun he'd tucked into his back pocket, rather than the knife. He hadn't come here intending to hurt Rossi at all, or at least he tried to tell himself that. The way he'd rejected him on the phone last night, and the way he'd fought back this morning, though, had made it impossible not to, and he'd stolen David's gun this morning after he'd tied him up. Just in case. He held it firmly in one hand, near his chest. What if this man tried to take David?

"Y-You'll just try to take him from me. You can't have him," he practically spit at him, clenching the gun harder. It finally occurred to him to turn his head and look for David, but the couch was already empty. Shit.

"David!" He shouted, turning to look around the room, and then facing Reid straight-on again.

Rossi had a matter of seconds to act on his decision; Reid was here, which meant Reid had his gun. But he'd heard his captor draw a weapon, heard the familiar click of the safety coming off. He'd taken his gun, and the knife was probably within arm's reach. They were both at risk, but the way Rossi figured it, Reid was in more trouble at the moment, since the UnSub didn't know where Rossi was, and he was getting more agitated.

The mere idea of Reid being in the line of fire made his breath catch in his throat. It was risky, he knew that, but not acting now when he had this small window of opportunity was even riskier. And he could handle something happening to him far more easily than he could handle Reid being hurt, or something worse. So he took a few steps away from the wall and pounced on the man, grabbing one of his arms and holding it behind him while he threw another arm around his waist. He flailed wildly, but Rossi kept his arm steady until the man shoved them both back against the wall. Rossi managed somehow to knock the gun out of his grip, and it went sliding across the floor.

"Reid--" He tried to speak, to say anything, tell him to grab the gun, or just get to safety. But anything he'd been about to say was cut off as the table came crashing down beside them and the UnSub grabbed the knife, not hesitating before he jammed into Rossi's abdomen.

It all happened so fast; he could process it, but he couldn't stop it. As Rossi grappled with the man--Rossi's leg something was wrong with his leg he needed help--Reid grabbed the gun that had fallen on the ground, bringing it up and pointing it at the UnSub, but then he saw Rossi stabbed.

It felt like the world slowed down. He shut off his feelings for the moment--if he panicked or screamed or lost it in any way, Rossi would die--and he struggled to get a clear shot on the UnSub. Aim, fire, and follow through.

It took him a moment to find the shot he wanted (though it felt like forever) and he pulled the trigger, praying that his aim was true and that Rossi would be okay.

His shot hit its target, and the UnSub collapsed on top of Rossi. His movements were shaky, erratic, and soon he rolled off the man he'd just stabbed, choking and gasping for air as his eyes closed. Rossi tried to sit up, and winced, pressing a hand to the wound on his abdomen. His fingers were slick with blood, but he couldn't tell how much; craning his neck wasn't even possible.

"Reid," he breathed out. He'd shot the UnSub, so he was probably all right, but he needed to know, and hear his voice.

Instinctively, Reid unloaded the gun's magazine, then let the useless weapon fall on the ground far from the UnSub. If Reid needed a gun, he had his own.

Then he ran to Rossi, kneeling by him and pressing his hand over Rossi's on his abdomen, putting pressure on the wound even though blood kept leaking through his fingers. His throat was tight, his heart pounding--no, no, no, Rossi couldn't die like this. No. No!

"Stay with me, Rossi," Reid said, struggling to maintain some semblance of calm as he took out his cellphone, dialing 911 to call for an ambulance.

"911, what's your emergency?"

Rossi's blood smeared on his phone and his cheek, but he hardly noticed. He quickly told the operator to send an ambulance--there had been a break-in and he had one federal agent down with two stab wounds and a man down with a gunshot. He hung up then, dropping the phone so he could press both hands on Rossi's abdomen.

"Talk to me, Rossi."

He knew the effects and symptoms of shock, and how easy and deceptively inviting that warmth and darkness filling his mind was. He could feel Reid's hands, hear his voice pleading with him to speak. If he could just hold on to that, muster up all of his reserves to say something, he could keep his eyes open for Reid.

For Reid.

All he could think to say, through the fog settling over his mind was, "You okay?"

Reid let out a strange laugh with a hysterical edge to it. "You're the one stabbed and you're asking me if I'm okay." He leaned in, pressing harder on the wound. The ambulance would come soon. He just had to keep Rossi awake until the paramedics could show up. "I'm fine. I'm fine. You got him before he got me."

"I thought he'd..." He breathed harshly as a wave of pain hit him. Keep talking, keep talking... "...hurt you." He'd been shot once before, a long time ago; the feeling of coldness settling over him was vaguely familiar, the rapid pulse, the way his words made sense in his head until he spoke, and then they felt sluggish and disjointed. "You have to be...okay." They had established that he was, but it felt important for some reason for Rossi to say that, to justify why he'd done what he'd done.

His eyes met Reid's, but they felt glassy, and his eyelids were just too heavy; they drooped as his head lolled to the side.

Damn. Damn damn damn damn--

Reid swore softly. "Rossi, Rossi, keep talking. Listen to me, okay? Listen." His words started coming faster. The blood was all too warm and sticky. Where the hell were the paramedics?! "You're going to get through this, okay? You're going to get through this and then probably try to work again before you're fully recovered and Hotch is going to call you out on it but you'll work anyway because that's what you do and that's what you've always done--it's going to be okay. Talk to me."

He didn't remember the last time he felt this afraid. It felt like his heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest. "Talk to me!"

The words sounded muffled, like they were coming to him from a great distance, but he could hear them nonetheless. He could hear the panic in Reid's voice, too. He couldn't remember ever hearing Reid sound that afraid.

He could say anything. He had to say something, he had to reassure him somehow. His fingers tightened around Reid's, though it was almost imperceptible, given his lack of strength right now.

"I'm not gonna..." His eyes slid closed again, and he snapped them open. "...not gonna leave. Promise."

There were sirens in the distance, getting closer and closer until they stopped completely, and the medics rushed in.

The medics pushed Reid out of the way. He hovered, unwilling to let Rossi out of his sight. This wasn't the first time he saw one of his team members surrounded by medical personnel. It wouldn't be the last.

But Reid refused to leave.

When the paramedics loaded Rossi onto the ambulance, Reid insisted on riding with them, which they allowed.

He would hover as long as he could. He only paused to text Hotch the news and the name of the hospital they were headed to. He intended to stay with Rossi as long as the paramedics allowed.

They didn't object to Reid riding with them, and since he wasn't interfering with the work they needed to do to stabilize him, they let him be. Once they pulled up to the hospital, though, they rushed him away from Reid, out of his scope of vision.

Almost an hour passed before they came out to update him; they'd taken Rossi to surgery to repair the internal damage. The knife had penetrated the spleen, nicked an artery. They had to remove the organ, repair the artery, replace the blood lost. It was another few hours before the surgeon came to speak to Reid.

"He's groggy, but stable. We're expecting a full recovery, but for now he'll need to take it easy, get lots of rest. You can see him."

Reid nodded, some color coming back to his face and relief washing over him. He had been sitting curled in the waiting room the whole time. He didn't even ask about the stalker who had done this. He just walked past the medic, going to Rossi's room and sitting down next to the older agent's bed.

"Rossi?"

He didn't react immediately to Reid's voice, though his name lingered on the edge of his periphery, poking at his groggy mind, still sluggish with the anesthetic working its way out of his system. It took far more effort than it ordinarily would, but he finally opened his eyes to half-mast and managed to turn his head just enough so that his eyes could settle on Reid's face.

"Spencer." He couldn't remember the last time he'd called Reid by his first name. The fact that it came out now was more instinctive than it was intentional.

If he was going to use first names, Reid was too. He smiled, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

"Hey, David. The doctors said that you'll be okay." He let out a small chuckle. It was less from humor than it was from sheer relief. "And the team is going to kill you when they find out you didn't mention your stalker to anyone. Fair warning."

It was so strange to see Rossi on the hospital bed. Reid was used to being the one lying out after getting shot or sick--not worrying over a teammate doing the same.

He gave himself a minute before answering, breathing in and out deeply, opening his eyes up a little bit more so he could see him better.

"Think I'd rather...deal with the stalker," he joked. Breathing was something he had to be careful with, at least right now. It was interesting, to be so aware of the act of breathing, when it generally just came so naturally and without thought. It was a bad joke, but probably reassuring in how characteristic it was of him.

"You came to check on me. This morning." He meant it as a question, of sorts, but it didn't quite come out that way.

Reid laughed, but once again, it was from relief more than anything. Rossi was using black humor. He would be alright.

"I don't blame you." Who cared about a stalker when Aaron Hotchner was pissed at you, right?

He shifted his position, although his fidgeting calmed down as he became more and more assured that Rossi was fine. "Sure I did. You didn't show up for work, and I got worried. We all did."

They were all worried, of course they were. He would've been worried, too. If it had been Reid--

"Could've been hurt," he murmured, brows furrowing together darkly. He wasn't, and that was a relief. But he could have been. He'd been through the worry and fear of seeing his teammates hurt, nearly dying. They were family, and he couldn't lose any of them. Reid had been hurt before, and it had been hard to deal with then, but the idea of it now was even harder to reconcile. It made sense, in some ways; they'd been working together longer now, grown closer, more connected. They often split up together out in the field, and Reid felt almost like a partner, even though none of them had just one per se. He couldn't quite make sense of it, certainly not now when he was so groggy. But there was something that had changed, shifted, somewhere along the way. He couldn't even attempt to define it right now.

But if Reid had been hurt--

"Don't ever do that again."

Reid crossed his arms and arched an eyebrow. He had had a small crush on Rossi before he had come to the BAU--it was hard not to after having read his books all through college--but now that crush had been replaced by... well, attachment, he supposed. Attachment he had with all his teammates. Love. But it was different somehow...

"If you don't keep a stalker to yourself ever again, I won't have to." Because like hell would he just walk away if the situation were the arise again.

The point had been made, and it was one he didn't have much leverage to argue with. Had the situation been reversed, he would have been just as insistent that Reid never keep that sort of thing from him. He owed it to Reid, and he knew it.

"I'll tell you," he promised. He'd seen how well it had worked out, keeping it hidden. His hand probed gently at his wounds, trying to assess the damage. "How bad was it?" Most of the pain was still dulled by medicine, so it was hard to gauge the true extent.

"Good. I'll hold you to that." And he was serious. He would get angry if Rossi tried to pull that again.

He frowned, looking up at all the machines and tubes connected to Rossi. "It was pretty bad. They took out your spleen and you nicked an artery. We're lucky that you didn't bleed out." If Reid hadn't been so relieved that Rossi was alive, he would have been scolding him. Oh well, he could leave that to Hotch.

He was getting sleepy; in typical Rossi fashion, he didn't want to have to sit here with him, worrying, when there wasn't much he could do. On the other hand, he appreciated the company. Reid's company. Dammit, he was gonna have to figure this out, try to make some sense of these feelings.

"Hard to keep my eyes open. You don't need to stick around, I'm sure the docs know what they're doing."

Reid stayed perched on chair, cocking his head. "If you don't mind, I'd rather stick around." He knew it was irrational, but he felt like Rossi was somehow safer if he was there with him. Like the simple action of watching could avert disaster. "Go ahead and rest."

It served as a testament to how tired he was that he didn't make any other protests, however weak they might have been. There was something reassuring and affirming about just being able to sit there and keep vigil, watching the other person just continue to breathe. Live. Rossi nodded slowly, letting his eyes close. Before he drifted completely to sleep, he reached for Spencer's hand.

"Thanks," he murmured. For being here, for saving me, for... He'd finish that thought later.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

To be alive is to be vulnerable. (( Roleplay ))

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

/sorry I wrote a novel XD

No worries XD

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Another novel. XD OMG I love threading with you. <3

Likewise! This is so exciting X3 X3

Indeed. Always fun getting into their heads like this.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject