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Chapter Text

The four men of the BAU team were the closest to their suspect’s house when they got the call that a disturbance had been reported there. They all immediately climbed into the SUV and headed there, not having time to wait for backup. When Aaron Hotchner screeched to a halt in front of the suspected unsub’s house, they all quickly hopped out, having donned their FBI Kevlar on the way. Hotch and Derek Morgan got to the front door first, covering each other as they burst in. Unfortunately, the house split off four ways from the front foyer so each man had to clear a passage on his own.

“Alright,” Hotch said as they each turned on their radios and stuck in earbuds, “I’ll take far left, Rossi, you take the one next to that, Morgan take the next one, and Reid, you take the far right. Everyone stay on your guard!”

They all nodded and went their separate ways, careful to keep their hands on their guns and their eyes watchful for anything suspicious. Spencer Reid’s passage ended up being long and dark with one door at the very end. Spencer stood beside the closed door, took a deep breath, and quickly opened it, pointing his gun in all directions. He appeared to be in some sort of storage room with boxes piled up along the walls and in tall towers in the middle of the room.

Spencer slowly made his way through the maze of boxes and clutter, checking around every corner he could and cursing the homeowner for his blatant lack of organization. He tripped over what looked like a broom, but caught himself before he face-planted directly into a stack of cardboard boxes. He caught his breath and turned another corner, heading out of the maze and back towards the door. He’d tried to check the whole room, but with all the piles and boxes, it was next to impossible.

He’d almost reached the door when he suddenly heard a shuffling behind him. Before he could turn around, however, he felt something cold and hard press against the back of his head and he heard the sound of a gun being cocked.

“Drop your weapon and slowly get on your knees,” a harsh, angry voice said from behind him.

Spencer was acutely aware of the gun pushing into his scalp so, trying not to panic, he carefully laid his gun on a box by the door, raised his hands above his head, and dropped to his knees. The gun stayed pressed to the back of his head and, remembering the radio that was hooked to him, took a deep breath and clearly asked, “Are you going to shoot me?” He hoped that would be enough to bring the other three BAU members in the house running.

“I just might,” the harsh voice said with some amusement. “Who else is in the house with you?”

“The rest of my team is here and some local police officers should be here soon,” Spencer answered in what he hoped was a confident voice even though he was shaking with fear on the inside. Going by the profile the BAU team had constructed of this particular unsub, Spencer knew that there was a small chance that he might get scared off and run at the idea of more people coming and possibly penning him in. “You’ll be surrounded soon with nowhere to run.”

“You sure talk big, boy,” the man said with a sneer as he used his other hand to grip Spencer’s shoulder to hold him in place. “But I don’t know if I believe you. After all, you look like someone who would say just about anything to save his own skin.”

“No, it’s the truth, I swear!” Spencer exclaimed, starting to slip from calm into panic and wondering where the rest of the team could possibly be.

As if in answer to Spencer’s thoughts, the next thing he heard was Derek’s loud, booming voice shouting, “FBI! Drop your weapon!”

Spencer wanted to cry in relief when he saw Derek, Hotch, and Rossi burst through the door, all aiming their guns at the unsub behind him. His relief was short-lived, however, because the unsub only chuckled and gripped Spencer’s shoulder harder.

“What happens if I don’t?” he asked harshly, practically ramming the gun muzzle into the back of Spencer’s head.

“Come on, man, be smart about this!” Derek warned, gripping his gun a little tighter. “You don’t want to do this. Drop your gun and we’ll tell them you cooperated. Maybe you can get a deal.”

Instead of convincing the unsub to come quietly, Derek’s statement only made him laugh out loud. “Yeah, that’ll never happen and you know it!” he answered angrily. “I’ll just be taken out anyway, whether it be here or in prison. I might as well go on my terms!”

Spencer’s eyes went wide and he felt like time was suddenly going in slow motion. He saw his teammate’s faces change from cold and calculating to absolutely horrified. He heard a rushing in his ears and he started to hyperventilate. Then, at the same time as he heard Derek shout something he couldn’t seem to comprehend, he heard gunshots all around him, and he felt his head fly forward violently, the hand on his shoulder finally releasing to allow him to fall forward.

Spencer felt himself just staring at the boxes that seemed to surround him. He just couldn’t understand what was going on. He wasn’t in pain but he had the distinct feeling of something warm and gooey spreading over the back of his head and down his neck. Suddenly, he saw someone kneel down in front of his face and look at him. ‘Is that Derek?’ he thought absently, squinting his eyes as his vision blurred. Derek’s mouth was moving and he looked worried. ‘Is he talking?’ All Spencer could really hear was a loud ringing in his ears. ‘I wish I could comfort him,’ he thought sadly as a tear ran down Derek’s face. Spencer’s breath started hitching in his chest and darkness was closing in around him. The last thing he thought before everything went black was how much he wished he’d told Derek he loved him.

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Derek always hated to wait. He was a very impatient man by nature so he usually just barged in to whatever situation he was presented with, took control, and wrapped things up quickly. He couldn’t do that this time, however, and it was killing him.

He paced up and down the aisle between the chairs in the hospital waiting room. The rest of the team were sitting in the chairs, lost in their own worlds of worry, but Derek only had room in his mind for Spencer at the moment. He had been shocked when the unsub had pulled the trigger, effectively blowing a hole in the back of Spencer’s head. As the blood splattered and sprayed, Derek thought for sure that Spencer was dead. He didn’t even notice when both Hotch and Rossi took shots at the unsub, one bullet going into his chest, another going into his forehead.

Derek had rushed over to Spencer to take his pulse, just praying that maybe the wound looked worse than it really was. To his surprise, Spencer was not only alive, but still conscious! Derek was relieved but still immensely concerned, especially when Spencer wasn’t responsive and then suddenly blacked out.

Full blown panic hit him like a punch in the stomach and all he really remembered was shouting and threatening to carry Spencer to the ER by himself if the ambulance didn’t come soon. Luckily Hotch and Rossi were better at controlling themselves in times of crisis and prevented Derek from moving Spencer and possibly causing him more damage and pain than he already was in.

The next thing Derek knew, they were at the hospital, watching Spencer being wheeled away on a gurney with doctors and nurses crowding around him and shouting what sounded like gibberish to Derek. Hotch had guided him over to the waiting room and attempted to get him to sit down, but Derek was too nervous and fidgety to stay still. So he paced while Hotch and Rossi sat and tried to entertain themselves so that they didn’t worry themselves sick.

Derek barely noticed when JJ burst in, all flailing limbs and uncontrolled emotions, with Emily not far behind. JJ was hysterical, demanding answers and Emily was trying to comfort her while simultaneously trying to keep from losing what little control she herself had managed to keep. Hotch eventually got them both calmed down and sitting in chairs, silent tears running down JJ’s face as Emily rubbed her back. Derek hoped that someone had thought to call Garcia because he just couldn’t do anything at the moment except for continue to pace.

All he could think about was what he would do if Spencer didn’t make it. For the last few months, Derek had come to realize that he harbored feelings for the young genius, other than just ones of friendship. Derek had entertained the notion of asking Spencer out on a date a few times, but he always seemed to find some excuse not to go through with it. He had been scared of rejection, plain and simple. Now, however, Derek could only think how he’d feel if Spencer died and Derek never had a chance to tell him how he felt.

He didn’t know how long it had been since Spencer had been admitted to the hospital, but Derek guessed a few hours, when he finally stopped pacing and noticed that JJ had cried herself to sleep, her head on Emily’s shoulder. He took a deep breath and realized his feet and legs felt like they were on fire.

Hotch must have noticed that Derek had stopped his incessant pacing because he got up and walked over to him. He grabbed Derek’s arm and gently guided him to a chair, sitting down next to him and crossing his legs at the knee. He didn’t say anything, but Derek knew that he was probably waiting for an explanation on why he had pretty much lost his mind in the last few hours.

Derek took a deep, shuttering breath and put his hands over his face. “What if he doesn’t make it, Hotch?” Derek whispered without looking up. He didn’t think he could stand looking anyone in the eyes at the moment.

“You can’t think like that,” Hotch answered softly as he ran a hand up and down Derek’s back in a comforting gesture. “Reid is strong. If anyone can survive this, he can.”

Derek smiled slightly, knowing that Spencer had beat the odds before which meant that he could do it again. “I know,” Derek said, his voice still quavering slightly. “I just wish… I wish I had told him…”

“You wish you’d told him how you felt?” Hotch supplied gently, continuing his ministrations as Derek whipped his head around to look at Hotch with wide eyes.

“How did…” Derek started, completely taken aback that Hotch knew about Derek’s feelings.

Hotch chuckled slightly and said, “Everyone knows, Morgan.” He smiled kindly at Derek and continued with, “Everyone can see how you look at him and act around him. Just like everyone can see that he completely reciprocates your feelings for him.”

“Really?” Derek asked in disbelief, not quite allowing himself to trust Hotch’s words. Derek wanted Spencer to love him like he loved Spencer, but he had always just assumed that his feelings would be one-sided.

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” Hotch said firmly but with a smile. He then patted Derek on the shoulder, got up, and walked back over to where he had been sitting next to Rossi, leaving Derek with his thoughts.

Derek didn’t have much time to mull over his newly gleaned information, however, because almost as soon as Hotch had sat back down again, a doctor in bloody scrubs walked through the door. “Family of Spencer Reid?”

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The members of the team all stood up and approached the tired-looking doctor who had an electronic tablet in his hand. “How is he?” Derek asked before anyone else got the chance.

“I’m Dr. Allen Picoult and I’m in charge of Spencer’s care while he’s here,” the doctor introduced as he stuck his unoccupied hand out.

Hotch reached out and took Dr. Picoult’s hand, shaking it briefly before asking the same question Derek had asked moments before. “How is Spencer?”

Dr. Picoult sighed and reached a hand up to rub down his face. “Spencer presented with a gunshot wound to the back of his head,” the doctor began, reading from and scrolling through the notes written in the tablet. “He was extremely lucky because, when we took a closer look, we discovered that the bullet had angled up and toward the left, causing minimal damage to the interior of the brain. The skull was shattered at both the entry point, which was right above the base of his skull, and the exit point, which was two inches above his left eyebrow, almost right at his hairline. The bullet grazed his brain, injuring the parietal lobe, the temporal lobe, and the frontal lobe. We’ve stopped the bleeding and temporarily removed part of his skull to control the swelling, but we won’t know the full extent of the damage done until he wakes up and we can do a full evaluation.”

“What does all that mean?” JJ asked shakily, trying to control her tears but failing miserably.

Dr. Picoult sighed again and said, “The damage caused by the bullet was concentrated on the left hemisphere, but swelling and bleeding may have caused minor damage to the right hemisphere as well. Each brain hemisphere controls the opposite side of the body, so most of the effects of the damage will most likely be on his right side. Each hemisphere of the brain is also divided into different lobes that each control different aspects of a normal functioning body. Spencer received damage in three of those lobes: the temporal, parietal, and frontal. The temporal lobe is responsible for things like understanding language, memory, hearing, sequencing events, and organization. The parietal lobe controls things like sense of touch (such as pain and temperature), vision, hearing, motor skills, and spatial and visual perception. The frontal lobe dictates many things like personality, behavior, emotions, judgment, planning, problem solving, speaking, writing, body movement, intelligence, concentration, and self-awareness.”

The team was shocked into silence by Dr. Picoult’s long speech. Upon noticing this and seeing the devastated looks on all of their faces, he quickly added, “But the brain is a tricky organ. Spencer received minimal damage to these lobes so the effects could range anywhere from severe to not present at all. Like I said before, we won’t know the full extent of the damage until he wakes up and we can do an evaluation.”

“So… he could wake up a completely different person?” Derek asked thickly, his emotions quickly getting the best of him.

“It is possible that he will not act or react like the person you know,” Dr. Picoult said hesitantly. “But, again, the effects of the damage could very well be minimal. We really won’t know until he wakes up.”

“When will he wake up?” Hotch asked as he pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to allow his worry for his teammate and friend to overcome him completely.

Dr. Picoult sighed once more and said, “It could be anywhere from a few hours to a few days. He had a very serious injury and his body needs to recuperate and come to terms with the wound. However, his vital signs are strong and he’s responded well to all treatments so far. I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I expect him to wake sooner rather than later.”

A few of the team members nodded at the doctor’s statement but they all remained silent, not knowing how to respond. It was good that Dr. Picoult expected Spencer to wake up soon, but what would Spencer be like after he woke? Would he remember them? Would he be able to speak, or walk, or see? What kind of recovery was he going to have to suffer through? Or was he even going to ‘recover’ at all? They all realized that things were going to change because of a single, damnable bullet… but just how much was going to be different?

Hotch broke the silence by asking, “When can we see him?”

“He’ll be coming out of post-op here shortly and I’ve assigned him a private room in the ICU since he’s FBI,” Dr. Picoult answered, once again looking down at his tablet. “Once he’s situated in there, I’ll have a nurse come to get you. It’s shouldn’t be more than 30 minutes or so.”

Hotch nodded and, in a soft voice, said, “Thank you, doctor.”

Dr. Picoult nodded back and gave them all a sympathetic smile, then he turned on his heel and walked out of the waiting room, leaving a wave of shock and devastation in his wake.

The team members each slowly went over to different sections of the waiting room, not knowing what else to do with themselves other than sit back down and think over what the doctor had just told them. How were they going to deal with this? How was Spencer going to deal with this?!

Derek put his head in his hands and just tried to regulate his breathing. He was too stunned to cry or even really think about what life was going to be like here on out. All he could concentrate on was Spencer’s smile, his all-too-rare laugh that was more like a giggle than anything else, his rambling facts, the way his eyes lit up when he learned something new… Would Derek ever see or hear those things again? How was he going to live through each day if Spencer wasn’t… well, Spencer anymore?

“Try not to think about it too much,” someone said and Derek looked up to see Rossi sitting beside him.

Derek sighed and leaned back against the chair, continuing his deep breathing in order to attempt to remain calm. “How can I not think about it?” he asked in a hoarse voice and then cleared his throat.

“Just remember that you can’t fix things by worrying over them,” Rossi stated sagely as he crossed his legs and placed a comforting hand on Derek’s shoulder. “Plus, you know better than most that the kid’s brain works differently than everyone else’s. There’s not a chance in Hell that something as insignificant as a bullet would ever destroy someone as beautiful and unique as Spencer Reid.”

Derek smiled at Rossi’s words. He knew that Rossi was as worried as they all were, yet he was going out of his way to comfort Derek (and Derek really appreciated the gesture).

Rossi smiled too and then continued. “And if he does get stuck with some problems over this, he’s got all of us to back him up and help get him back on his feet. He’s going to be ok, Morgan. I feel it in my cuore, my heart.”

Derek swallowed and took another deep breath. “Thanks, Rossi,” he said softly, trying to keep the smile on his face. The older man’s assurances helped to alleviate some of Derek’s worries, but there was still a cold knot of fear in the pit of his stomach over what he would see when they were finally allowed in Spencer’s room, and what would happen when Spencer woke up.

Rossi nodded and patted Derek’s shoulder a few times in a show of support. The waiting room then sank back into silence as they all tried to compose themselves and will the hands of the clock to tick faster so they could see their injured friend.