FIC: Dissension and Disbelief, Hotch/Reid, Rated R
Title:Dissension and Disbelief
Author: darkhawkhealer
Fandom: CM
Pairing: Hotch/Reid preslash
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,477
Warnings: can be found here.
Summary: Under siege in an abandoned warehouse, and nobody's crazy about the only options out.
Note: Happy Halloween!
It all happens so suddenly; one second they're looking for multiple unsubs in an abandoned warehouse, the next second, shots are fired and Rossi's down.
There's screaming, and Morgan crouching in the corner yelling into his mike for backup. Prentiss and Reid have their guns drawn, but they can't actually see their attackers to fire back. Hotch is bent over Rossi, ripping away useless body armor and staunching the blood-flow from his chest.
"Stay with me, David," he orders, "I need you awake for this."
Rossi's gasping in pain, sliding rapidly into the shock that comes just before death, heedless of the bullets raining down around them.
"I can turn you, but I need your consent.You need to tell me it's okay, Dave."
Rossi's starting to convulse, weakly grabbing onto Hotch's wrist. His voice is barely more than a whisper, but Hotch hears him easily. "Do it."
"EMILY!" Hotch screams, gaining her attention. "Cover me!"
Prentiss turns her attention to the men on the floor, eyes widening and gasping in horror at the sight before her. Hotch is biting into his own wrist, bleeding freely and forcing it into Rossi's mouth, commanding him to drink.
"Ho-ly shit..." Morgan breathes, watching the bullet get straight up pushed out of Dave's chest as the wound begins to knit itself together. "Emily, are you seeing this?"
Emily nods, feeling a little faint herself. Hotch is pulling his wrist away, licking the bite closed and shaking the excess blood off. It looks like Dave has passed out and he must be fine, because Hotch is pulling him off to the side, closer to a wall and out of the line of fire.
It seems like an eternity later, but they've finally stopped firing in on the warehouse. Judging from the lights and sirens outside, the team's finding themselves hostage in a standoff.
Prentiss and Morgan have found cover and are sitting relatively comfortably, staring at Hotch. Reid's keeping an eye on the proceedings outside. Prentiss settles her back up against Morgan's arm, looking for support.
"So...You're a vampire, huh?"
Hotch looks over at her, mildly surprised. "You're taking this well."
"Hold up," Morgan interrupts. "Is that what we've decided happened? Hotch is a vampire? This doesn't strike you as a little bit weird at all?"
"Oh, it's very weird to me," Prentiss agrees, "But considering we basically saw Hotch bring Dave back from the dead by making him drink his blood, I'd say we're going to have to accept it."
"Technically, you can't turn someone into a vampire without there being some spark of life left," Reid pipes in, peering down from the rafters. "So Hotch didn't actually bring Rossi back from the dead."
Morgan gapes up at him. "You knew about this?"
"That Hotch was a vampire?" Reid shrugs. "Yeah."
"How did you know?" Morgan demands.
"It's kind of obvious when you know what to look for. Speaking of being able to tell, I'm counting six of them outside."
Hotch jumps up and runs to a nearby window, looking out and swearing softly. "It's possible we walked into some kind of a territorial dispute. I've been out of the game too long to know who we're dealing with."
"Okay. The next question would be, can we get out of here alive?"
The look Hotch sends Morgan is pained. "I don't think so. I'm weak from Turning David, and Dave's not going to be anywhere NEAR ready to move. He's starving. We'd both have to feed to have half a chance."
"Feed?" Emily asks, voice wobbling.
Hotch looks apologetic as he tries for reassuring. "I won't touch you," he promises. "You're safe."
"But...but if he's starving?"
"I wont lie, it's going to get really rough for him. But our best chance is to wait it out and let the police handle it."
"Actually," Reid corrects. "We have a thirty nine percent better chance of survival if we sneak out and come up around the side."
Everyone's scowling up at him but it's Morgan that demands, "Did you miss the part where both of them need blood before we can go anywhere? I don't know about you, kid, but I'm still using mine!"
Reid arches an eyebrow and rests his head on his hands. "Consider it a direct donation. I know you visit the Red Cross every few months; this way you know exactly where it's going."
"No," Hotch says sharply. "I don't make a habit of feeding off of my friends. It's not an option."
Morgan almost looks satisfied, just a split second before a staccato of gunfire opens up again.
Prentiss waits a moment, then straightens cautiously. "So, how much do you guys need?"
Hotch looks between the three of them, mouth set. "More than you can provide. Normally, Dave needs an extended period of sleep, while his body adjusts and resets itself. I could force him to change faster, but it's a risk."
"How much of a risk?" Reid asks.
Hotch shrugs. "I would say one in three vampires who get forced through their Change don't make it. He'd be speeding up a process that normally takes twenty four to forty-eight hours. I'd need to get at least seven, if not eight pints of blood into him, and then I'd need at least three, maybe four."
"Ten pints?" Morgan scoffs, "That's a person!"
Emily shrugs thoughtfully. "I don't know. He did just die. By way of gunshot wound, no less. It makes sense that he'd need a lot of blood."
"We don't have ten pints of blood between us!" Morgan insists.
"Can he make it on six?" Reid asks.
Hotch runs a gentle hand through Rossi's hair. "It's risky," he says, thoughtfully. "If we filter it through me first. Sire's blood always holds a little extra boost."
"Standard donation at a blood bank is a pint and a half," Reid says. "Donate twice as much and between the two of you that's the six Dave needs, plus another half a pint from Hotch to give it that boost he was talking about."
"This isn't a good idea," Hotch warns. "There won't be any point in pushing through his Change if the three of you are in shock from blood loss. We should just wait. Besides, three pints wouldn't be enough for me, anyway."
"Well, he's going to need to be active and moving anyway, when we get rescued. Unless David Rossi is going to die and he's going to assume a new identity somewhere with no books or true crime channels for the next, oh, fifty years or so."
Morgan curses, and Emily makes a little sound in her throat.
Hotch is stubborn, not moving. "No. This isn't safe. I won't put you in more danger than you already are."
Reid falls silent for a moment, peering outside. His voice, when he speaks, is detached and a little thoughtful. "I could go get one of the human unsubs for you to feed from."
The reaction is instantaneous. "No!"
"He can't!"
"Now he's going to eat the unsubs?!"
"You guys," he says reasonably. "It's the best option. Hotch wouldn't kill him, and no one will go into shock if we have one more donor."
"And why the hell aren't you volunteering?" Morgan demands.
Reid shrugs. "Because I'll be donating to Hotch after he takes care of Dave."
"Hotch is going to need more than you can give him," Emily says, glancing at the sounds beyond the door.
"No, he won't. Two pints, just like you guys, and then we can get out of here."
"Not with what you're asking of me," he says, "Especially if there are six other vampires and armor-piercing rounds out there. I can't protect you all like this. How are we supposed to get out of here, anyway?"
"Oh, that I can fix!" Reid drops from the rafters, swinging with rarely-seen grace onto a lower beam and then jumping onto a box and tucking into a roll to the ground. His eyes flash in the dim light and his grin is sharp. From his vantage point, he'd been able to see something the rest of them had missed. He disappears into a dark corner for a moment and then returns with two crates and drops them in front of the rest of the team. "Molotov cocktails, anyone?"
"Alright, fine." Morgan crosses his arms. "Let's say Hotch can push through Dave's change or whatever. And then let's say that we can burn the place down and cause enough of a distraction that we can get out of here and make it look like no big deal. And then let's say those six vampires with the armor-piercing rounds are only a minor annoyance. How exactly are we going to get one of the unsubs to waltz in here and open a vein? And will only one more person be enough, anyway?"
"Do vampires have that mind control thing you always read about?" Emily asks.
Hotch looks hesitant. "Well, yes, but..."
"No big deal," Reid interrupts. "I'll go get one."
Morgan shoots him a disbelieving look. "Just going to flash that pretty boy smile and invite him in for a cup of coffee, huh?"
"Something like that," he agrees, turning. "Hotch, focus. How do you think I knew you were a vampire? You were the only one on the team that didn't have a regular heartbeat. How do you think I knew that?"
Hotch straightens. "You're a shifter," he breathes.
"And shifter blood?" Reid prompts, ignoring the soft exclamations from the others.
"Is stronger than human blood," he confirms. Hotch is quiet for a moment. Then he turns to Emily and Morgan. "The choice is yours. But this is a good plan, and it will work."
The two human agents exchange a glance. Neither protest.
"Then let's do it."
Reid offers a big, brilliant grin before he climbs back up to the box he'd jumped down from. Another jump and in that split second he's in the air, he goes from two legs to four. Morgan offers another incredulous curse at the leopard slinking quietly across the rafters and disappearing through the window.
Miraculously, he's back five minutes later, delicately dragging a guy with a moderate build by the back of his neck. Emily hisses out a breath and Hotch moves until he's directly under them, holding out his arms when the cat pushes the guy off of the beam. Hotch catches him, and the cat jumps. Reid lands next to them, does a little full-body shimmy; like he needs to get comfortable in his own skin.
Emily snorts a small laugh, grinning sheepishly when they turn to look at her. "At least this answers my question of whether you end up naked when you become an animal."
Reid offers a smile of his own. "It's an acquired skill," he says. "I have to consciously think about bringing my clothes with me and back."
Hotch makes sure his back is to the team and adjusts the unconscious victim in his arms. A moment to lengthen his fangs and then he's sinking into the pulsing vein, drinking deeply and grimacing at the bitter taste of peppercorns. It doesn't take long before Hotch is pushing the memory of getting knocked out in one of the early fights into the guy's head, licking the wound closed and dropping him out of the way.
Emily and Morgan exchange another wide-eyed look, and then Emily is stepping forward, heart trip-hammering and giggling a little as Aaron takes her in his arms. Her hand goes up to his chest and he gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile.
Emily tastes of truffles; expensive chocolate and a smooth champagne center. Her hand tightens in Aaron's jacket for just a moment, before she relaxes into the sensation of the bite, waiting passively for it to be over. In deference to her, he's got his mental shields firmly in place, only catching fleeting thoughts that amuse him wryly. Trust Prentiss to be analyzing it from all angles, even while subject to a constant wave of warmth and pleasure.
Morgan, amusingly enough, tastes of the oak-barreled scotch Dave is so fond of. Just as stubborn and independent as he always is, he's tensed up against the invasion of Aaron's fangs. Aaron draws a shallow mouthful of blood, wary of hurting his friend. He hates to do it, but he sends a thought to Morgan. Don't fight me, he urges, it'll hurt less if you let me in. Morgan stiffens even more, then goes pliant, like warm wax.
He leaves them sitting together, then goes to where David is laying and opens a vein. It's a moment of mental urging to get Dave to drink, pulling deep mouthfuls of blood with a hunger that makes Aaron wince in guilt. It's because of that hunger, that Aaron lets David take more than he can afford to lose, and it's Spencer's touch to his shoulder that has Aaron ordering Dave to stop.
And then Spencer's standing in front of him, staring at him with hooded, unreadable eyes. It's the space of one heartbeat, two, then Spencer bares his throat in an offer that takes Aaron's breath away. Aaron's fingers itch and he slides one hand along a slim waist and pulls Spencer closer, even as his other hand buries itself in long, soft hair. Aaron dips his head and runs his nose along Spencer's throat, inhaling a heady scent he'd never quite noticed before. Spencer smells of something wild and primal, heat and sand and sun.
Of course. Where human blood tastes strongly of some sort of food, shifter blood is like a rare, limited-run vintage wine. It's different, it tastes of whatever animal the shifter happens to be. It is unique and intoxicating in its own right, and it easily packs twice the punch of human blood.
Spencer's breath hitches, one hand comes up to rest lightly on the curve of Aaron's shoulder as if to steady himself when Aaron's fangs sweetly pierce his neck. Spencer may smell of the desert, but he tastes of the jungle. The heat is still there, but the impressions of sun and sand are gone; replaced by stars, by rain, by trees. He shudders in Aaron's arms, and Aaron groans, pulling him closer.
Aaron is hard, pressing guiltily into Spencer's hip, and then Spencer shifts against him, an answering hardness that has Aaron dizzy with blood and lust. It's difficult, letting him go; but they're not alone, and they've a situation to attend to. There's an awareness in Spencer's eyes, a mutual acknowledgment in the space of a second that they're not yet finished with each other.
Then David groans, and it's back to business.
Author: darkhawkhealer
Fandom: CM
Pairing: Hotch/Reid preslash
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,477
Warnings: can be found here.
Summary: Under siege in an abandoned warehouse, and nobody's crazy about the only options out.
Note: Happy Halloween!
It all happens so suddenly; one second they're looking for multiple unsubs in an abandoned warehouse, the next second, shots are fired and Rossi's down.
There's screaming, and Morgan crouching in the corner yelling into his mike for backup. Prentiss and Reid have their guns drawn, but they can't actually see their attackers to fire back. Hotch is bent over Rossi, ripping away useless body armor and staunching the blood-flow from his chest.
"Stay with me, David," he orders, "I need you awake for this."
Rossi's gasping in pain, sliding rapidly into the shock that comes just before death, heedless of the bullets raining down around them.
"I can turn you, but I need your consent.You need to tell me it's okay, Dave."
Rossi's starting to convulse, weakly grabbing onto Hotch's wrist. His voice is barely more than a whisper, but Hotch hears him easily. "Do it."
"EMILY!" Hotch screams, gaining her attention. "Cover me!"
Prentiss turns her attention to the men on the floor, eyes widening and gasping in horror at the sight before her. Hotch is biting into his own wrist, bleeding freely and forcing it into Rossi's mouth, commanding him to drink.
"Ho-ly shit..." Morgan breathes, watching the bullet get straight up pushed out of Dave's chest as the wound begins to knit itself together. "Emily, are you seeing this?"
Emily nods, feeling a little faint herself. Hotch is pulling his wrist away, licking the bite closed and shaking the excess blood off. It looks like Dave has passed out and he must be fine, because Hotch is pulling him off to the side, closer to a wall and out of the line of fire.
It seems like an eternity later, but they've finally stopped firing in on the warehouse. Judging from the lights and sirens outside, the team's finding themselves hostage in a standoff.
Prentiss and Morgan have found cover and are sitting relatively comfortably, staring at Hotch. Reid's keeping an eye on the proceedings outside. Prentiss settles her back up against Morgan's arm, looking for support.
"So...You're a vampire, huh?"
Hotch looks over at her, mildly surprised. "You're taking this well."
"Hold up," Morgan interrupts. "Is that what we've decided happened? Hotch is a vampire? This doesn't strike you as a little bit weird at all?"
"Oh, it's very weird to me," Prentiss agrees, "But considering we basically saw Hotch bring Dave back from the dead by making him drink his blood, I'd say we're going to have to accept it."
"Technically, you can't turn someone into a vampire without there being some spark of life left," Reid pipes in, peering down from the rafters. "So Hotch didn't actually bring Rossi back from the dead."
Morgan gapes up at him. "You knew about this?"
"That Hotch was a vampire?" Reid shrugs. "Yeah."
"How did you know?" Morgan demands.
"It's kind of obvious when you know what to look for. Speaking of being able to tell, I'm counting six of them outside."
Hotch jumps up and runs to a nearby window, looking out and swearing softly. "It's possible we walked into some kind of a territorial dispute. I've been out of the game too long to know who we're dealing with."
"Okay. The next question would be, can we get out of here alive?"
The look Hotch sends Morgan is pained. "I don't think so. I'm weak from Turning David, and Dave's not going to be anywhere NEAR ready to move. He's starving. We'd both have to feed to have half a chance."
"Feed?" Emily asks, voice wobbling.
Hotch looks apologetic as he tries for reassuring. "I won't touch you," he promises. "You're safe."
"But...but if he's starving?"
"I wont lie, it's going to get really rough for him. But our best chance is to wait it out and let the police handle it."
"Actually," Reid corrects. "We have a thirty nine percent better chance of survival if we sneak out and come up around the side."
Everyone's scowling up at him but it's Morgan that demands, "Did you miss the part where both of them need blood before we can go anywhere? I don't know about you, kid, but I'm still using mine!"
Reid arches an eyebrow and rests his head on his hands. "Consider it a direct donation. I know you visit the Red Cross every few months; this way you know exactly where it's going."
"No," Hotch says sharply. "I don't make a habit of feeding off of my friends. It's not an option."
Morgan almost looks satisfied, just a split second before a staccato of gunfire opens up again.
Prentiss waits a moment, then straightens cautiously. "So, how much do you guys need?"
Hotch looks between the three of them, mouth set. "More than you can provide. Normally, Dave needs an extended period of sleep, while his body adjusts and resets itself. I could force him to change faster, but it's a risk."
"How much of a risk?" Reid asks.
Hotch shrugs. "I would say one in three vampires who get forced through their Change don't make it. He'd be speeding up a process that normally takes twenty four to forty-eight hours. I'd need to get at least seven, if not eight pints of blood into him, and then I'd need at least three, maybe four."
"Ten pints?" Morgan scoffs, "That's a person!"
Emily shrugs thoughtfully. "I don't know. He did just die. By way of gunshot wound, no less. It makes sense that he'd need a lot of blood."
"We don't have ten pints of blood between us!" Morgan insists.
"Can he make it on six?" Reid asks.
Hotch runs a gentle hand through Rossi's hair. "It's risky," he says, thoughtfully. "If we filter it through me first. Sire's blood always holds a little extra boost."
"Standard donation at a blood bank is a pint and a half," Reid says. "Donate twice as much and between the two of you that's the six Dave needs, plus another half a pint from Hotch to give it that boost he was talking about."
"This isn't a good idea," Hotch warns. "There won't be any point in pushing through his Change if the three of you are in shock from blood loss. We should just wait. Besides, three pints wouldn't be enough for me, anyway."
"Well, he's going to need to be active and moving anyway, when we get rescued. Unless David Rossi is going to die and he's going to assume a new identity somewhere with no books or true crime channels for the next, oh, fifty years or so."
Morgan curses, and Emily makes a little sound in her throat.
Hotch is stubborn, not moving. "No. This isn't safe. I won't put you in more danger than you already are."
Reid falls silent for a moment, peering outside. His voice, when he speaks, is detached and a little thoughtful. "I could go get one of the human unsubs for you to feed from."
The reaction is instantaneous. "No!"
"He can't!"
"Now he's going to eat the unsubs?!"
"You guys," he says reasonably. "It's the best option. Hotch wouldn't kill him, and no one will go into shock if we have one more donor."
"And why the hell aren't you volunteering?" Morgan demands.
Reid shrugs. "Because I'll be donating to Hotch after he takes care of Dave."
"Hotch is going to need more than you can give him," Emily says, glancing at the sounds beyond the door.
"No, he won't. Two pints, just like you guys, and then we can get out of here."
"Not with what you're asking of me," he says, "Especially if there are six other vampires and armor-piercing rounds out there. I can't protect you all like this. How are we supposed to get out of here, anyway?"
"Oh, that I can fix!" Reid drops from the rafters, swinging with rarely-seen grace onto a lower beam and then jumping onto a box and tucking into a roll to the ground. His eyes flash in the dim light and his grin is sharp. From his vantage point, he'd been able to see something the rest of them had missed. He disappears into a dark corner for a moment and then returns with two crates and drops them in front of the rest of the team. "Molotov cocktails, anyone?"
"Alright, fine." Morgan crosses his arms. "Let's say Hotch can push through Dave's change or whatever. And then let's say that we can burn the place down and cause enough of a distraction that we can get out of here and make it look like no big deal. And then let's say those six vampires with the armor-piercing rounds are only a minor annoyance. How exactly are we going to get one of the unsubs to waltz in here and open a vein? And will only one more person be enough, anyway?"
"Do vampires have that mind control thing you always read about?" Emily asks.
Hotch looks hesitant. "Well, yes, but..."
"No big deal," Reid interrupts. "I'll go get one."
Morgan shoots him a disbelieving look. "Just going to flash that pretty boy smile and invite him in for a cup of coffee, huh?"
"Something like that," he agrees, turning. "Hotch, focus. How do you think I knew you were a vampire? You were the only one on the team that didn't have a regular heartbeat. How do you think I knew that?"
Hotch straightens. "You're a shifter," he breathes.
"And shifter blood?" Reid prompts, ignoring the soft exclamations from the others.
"Is stronger than human blood," he confirms. Hotch is quiet for a moment. Then he turns to Emily and Morgan. "The choice is yours. But this is a good plan, and it will work."
The two human agents exchange a glance. Neither protest.
"Then let's do it."
Reid offers a big, brilliant grin before he climbs back up to the box he'd jumped down from. Another jump and in that split second he's in the air, he goes from two legs to four. Morgan offers another incredulous curse at the leopard slinking quietly across the rafters and disappearing through the window.
Miraculously, he's back five minutes later, delicately dragging a guy with a moderate build by the back of his neck. Emily hisses out a breath and Hotch moves until he's directly under them, holding out his arms when the cat pushes the guy off of the beam. Hotch catches him, and the cat jumps. Reid lands next to them, does a little full-body shimmy; like he needs to get comfortable in his own skin.
Emily snorts a small laugh, grinning sheepishly when they turn to look at her. "At least this answers my question of whether you end up naked when you become an animal."
Reid offers a smile of his own. "It's an acquired skill," he says. "I have to consciously think about bringing my clothes with me and back."
Hotch makes sure his back is to the team and adjusts the unconscious victim in his arms. A moment to lengthen his fangs and then he's sinking into the pulsing vein, drinking deeply and grimacing at the bitter taste of peppercorns. It doesn't take long before Hotch is pushing the memory of getting knocked out in one of the early fights into the guy's head, licking the wound closed and dropping him out of the way.
Emily and Morgan exchange another wide-eyed look, and then Emily is stepping forward, heart trip-hammering and giggling a little as Aaron takes her in his arms. Her hand goes up to his chest and he gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile.
Emily tastes of truffles; expensive chocolate and a smooth champagne center. Her hand tightens in Aaron's jacket for just a moment, before she relaxes into the sensation of the bite, waiting passively for it to be over. In deference to her, he's got his mental shields firmly in place, only catching fleeting thoughts that amuse him wryly. Trust Prentiss to be analyzing it from all angles, even while subject to a constant wave of warmth and pleasure.
Morgan, amusingly enough, tastes of the oak-barreled scotch Dave is so fond of. Just as stubborn and independent as he always is, he's tensed up against the invasion of Aaron's fangs. Aaron draws a shallow mouthful of blood, wary of hurting his friend. He hates to do it, but he sends a thought to Morgan. Don't fight me, he urges, it'll hurt less if you let me in. Morgan stiffens even more, then goes pliant, like warm wax.
He leaves them sitting together, then goes to where David is laying and opens a vein. It's a moment of mental urging to get Dave to drink, pulling deep mouthfuls of blood with a hunger that makes Aaron wince in guilt. It's because of that hunger, that Aaron lets David take more than he can afford to lose, and it's Spencer's touch to his shoulder that has Aaron ordering Dave to stop.
And then Spencer's standing in front of him, staring at him with hooded, unreadable eyes. It's the space of one heartbeat, two, then Spencer bares his throat in an offer that takes Aaron's breath away. Aaron's fingers itch and he slides one hand along a slim waist and pulls Spencer closer, even as his other hand buries itself in long, soft hair. Aaron dips his head and runs his nose along Spencer's throat, inhaling a heady scent he'd never quite noticed before. Spencer smells of something wild and primal, heat and sand and sun.
Of course. Where human blood tastes strongly of some sort of food, shifter blood is like a rare, limited-run vintage wine. It's different, it tastes of whatever animal the shifter happens to be. It is unique and intoxicating in its own right, and it easily packs twice the punch of human blood.
Spencer's breath hitches, one hand comes up to rest lightly on the curve of Aaron's shoulder as if to steady himself when Aaron's fangs sweetly pierce his neck. Spencer may smell of the desert, but he tastes of the jungle. The heat is still there, but the impressions of sun and sand are gone; replaced by stars, by rain, by trees. He shudders in Aaron's arms, and Aaron groans, pulling him closer.
Aaron is hard, pressing guiltily into Spencer's hip, and then Spencer shifts against him, an answering hardness that has Aaron dizzy with blood and lust. It's difficult, letting him go; but they're not alone, and they've a situation to attend to. There's an awareness in Spencer's eyes, a mutual acknowledgment in the space of a second that they're not yet finished with each other.
Then David groans, and it's back to business.