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Mike blinked into awareness between one moment and the next. He stared at the ceiling dispassionately, no longer experiencing a moment of confusion at the sight of a ceiling so obviously not his own. This one was a lovely shade of beige, with no cracks or water stains, and led into a pastel yellow wallpaper that may or may not have actual gold tooling. The colors were bland at the moment, the dim pre-dawn light sucking away their beauty. The bed he was lying on was plush and warm, one of the most comfortable he'd ever encountered, with 1500 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. He'd be thrilled to live it up in the lap of luxury like this under any other circumstances, but this wasn't a vacation. At least, it wasn't a pleasant vacation.
Someone coughed and Mike jerked into a sitting position, sheets sliding down to his waist and chains clanking in protest. There, on the other side of the room, he could make out a man built not unlike himself sitting in a chair that fit perfectly with their Baroque period surroundings. Their startled eyes met, the stranger's chains jangling in seeming sympathy from where they trapped his hands against the armrests.
Realizing that it wasn't someone who posed a threat, namely their host, Mike forced himself to relax and consider what this meant for his situation. When he'd first been brought to this room, there had been another man who looked similar to him, but he'd disappeared in less than a week. That man had been in much worse condition than Mike was now, but he'd watched enough daytime TV to wonder if that would really matter. It could be that their host had grown tired of him and wanted a new model.
The stranger cleared his throat and spoke in a tremulous tone.
“You're Michael Ross?”
Mike was surprised; he didn't think even the man who'd kidnapped him knew what his name was, since he insisted on calling Mike Eric. After the time he'd spent here (surely it had been weeks), even he had begun to forgo thinking of himself as Mike. Nevertheless, he nodded, grateful to have contact with someone outside the delusion.
“I'm Dr. Spencer Reid, I work for the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit,” he continued, and Mike's interest was piqued. He'd read some books by David Rossi, the man who'd founded the BAU. He never thought he'd actually meet someone who worked as a member of such an in demand unit. A leaden lump formed in his gut at the implications. If the BAU was in town and one of them had been taken by this man, they must be investigating his crimes. That meant he was one sick puppy, an even sicker one than Mike had thought.
Reid was staring at him with concern now, drawing Mike's attention back down to Earth. Mike watched as he clenched and relaxed his grip on the ends of the armrests.
“Can you talk?”
Reid's expression went from concerned to outright worried at the flash of fear that crossed Mike's face. He wet his lips and glanced at the door before trying a different tack.
“Are you allowed to talk?”
Mike shook his head slowly, the sore muscles of his back protesting loudly at the simple movement.
“Does he have any listening devices in here, or cameras?” Reid asked, and Mike thought for a moment before shaking his head again. There was no way to be entirely sure, but thought he must know that Reid looked relieved.
“Then he can't know if you talk to me, can he?” Mike still looked reluctant, so Reid tried again. “Anything you can tell me can help us out of here, and every detail counts. I can't get those from simple yes or no questions.”
Mike's resolve wavered, his fear of their captor battling with his will to live, and Reid took advantage of the opening.
“The darksome statesman hung with weights and woe,
Like a thick midnight-fog mov'd there so slow,
He did not stay, nor go;
Condemning thoughts (like sad eclipses) scowl
Upon his soul,
And clouds of crying witnesses without
Pursued him with one shout.
Yet digg'd the mole, and lest his ways be found,
Work'd under ground,
Where he did clutch his prey; but one did see
That policy;
Churches and altars fed him; perjuries
Were gnats and flies;
It rain'd about him blood and tears, but he
Drank them as free.”
Mike's lips quirked in a ghost of a smile. He darted a fearful glance at the door and decided to take a chance, unable to resist showing off that he knew such an obscure poem.
“Henry Vaughan,” he rasped, bottom lip trembling. He flinched in anticipation of the host swooping down on him in a vengeful fury, but nothing came. He panted harshly for a while, trying to get himself under control and convinced that Reid was right and nothing was going to happen. When he finally looked up, Reid was watching him carefully, brow still creased with worry.
“Fitting, considering our situation, don't you think?” Reid asked him, tone deliberately light, and Mike nodded. He forced himself to ask the most important question on his mind.
“Harvey?”
Reid looked bemused, but he seemed to know exactly what Mike meant. Mike's heart lifted at the thought that Harvey must have had contact with this man, that he must be looking for Mike even after so long.
“Your boss is a smart guy, that's for sure. And that secretary of his, she's a force of nature,” he said, chuckling nervously. “They practically led us right to the unsub.”
They sat in silence when Mike didn't respond, Mike's dread mounting. He could tell by the slowly brightening light filtering through the skylight that the host would be coming in with breakfast soon. Reid's voice broke into his thoughts, and Mike stifled the urge to tell him to shut up. It wouldn't end well if they were found talking.
“I'm told you have an eidetic memory.”
Mike nodded, eyes stuck on the ever widening patch of light.
“I've never met someone else that had one before. I've always wanted to,” Reid said, and Mike's shoulders tensed with surprise. He was getting tired of that, it was really starting to hurt. He pulled his gaze from the light and Reid smiled encouragingly.
“Couldn't have picked a worse time,” Mike said, his weak voice holding a hint of dry humor. Reid spread his fingers as much as he could in a “What can you do?” gesture, and Mike harrumphed. He looked from Reid to the light and back, and Reid decided to press the issue.
“Is he going to be here soon?” he asked. Mike shuddered and didn't bother to answer, knowing that Reid would be reading all the subconscious cues his body gave away anyway. It would lower their chances of getting caught talking.
“My team should be here soon, we almost had him before I was taken last night. They're the best, and he's far from it. Him taking me probably gave them the last of the evidence we needed,” Reid said reassuringly. Mike forced a smile, knowing that he was only trying to help, even if Mike couldn't bring himself to believe that they would be rescued. Reid leaned his head against the back of the chair and didn't speak for a while, wrists working fruitlessly to free themselves from their confines.
Mike allowed his thoughts to drift back to Harvey's office back at Pearson Hardman, trying to imagine what Harvey could be doing right now. There was no way his boss had taken time off from work to look for him, but Reid had said that it was thanks to him and Donna that they knew where to find him. Maybe Harvey would be pacing his office, or staring out the window at his spectacular view, eyes unseeing. Donna would be standing behind him, cell phone clutched in one hand while she waited for someone to call with news on Mike. They'd be silent, knowing there was nothing more they could do now that they'd found the bastard who'd taken Mike and put the best people available for the job on his tail.
When the call finally came, Harvey would look at Donna and see in her eyes the good news – or maybe it would be bad news. Maybe they'd be devastated, all their efforts to rescue him coming to nothing but someone recovering his lifeless body. God, what would it do to his Grams?
Shouting disrupted his daydream, and he shrank back in fear at the sound of pounding feet racing towards them. The door burst open and their host appeared in the doorway, hair a mess and suit torn, bleeding sluggishly from a cut on his temple. The host turned furious eyes on the doctor, seeming to grow ever larger as he stalked forward to tower over him.
“How did they find me? What the hell did you do?” he shouted. Reid recoiled in disgust at the spittle hitting his face, enraging the man more. He dealt Reid a vicious blow across the mouth, busting his lip, but Reid turned his head back to face him in defiance.
“I didn't have to do anything. You're sloppy, you led us right to you,” he said, and the man pulled his arm back to strike him again. The sound of a hammer cocking froze him for a moment. Mike shivered in fear, his chains jangling, and the man's face contorted into a mask of fury. He grabbed for Reid, trying to finish the blow, but a gunshot rang out from the doorway, the bullet catching him high in the shoulder.
The host cried out in pain and clutched at his back, falling to his knees, and Mike's vision grayed as people came pouring through the door. In the midst of the confusion he caught bulletproof vests emblazoned with FBI, men dressed in SWAT uniforms bearing intimidating guns, and paramedics swarming to those who were injured. He couldn't clearly recall anything that happened or how his chains came off, his memory was a big blurred nothing until he was seated on the back of an ambulance clutching at a blanket and he looked up to see Harvey running towards him.
Mike stood on quivering legs and stumbled forward, ignoring the paramedic telling him he really needed to sit back down, to throw himself into Harvey's arms. They clamped tight around him, making his back throb in agony, but he didn't care because they were safe and warm and Harvey. The tears started falling then, and he couldn't bring himself to be ashamed, too relieved that he'd been told the truth and he was really free. Harvey didn't say a word, clinging to him with all his might like he thought Mike would disappear if he let up for even a second, tell-tale dampth spreading on Mike's own shoulder.
They stayed like that for what felt like hours, propping each other up and reveling in being close like they never thought they would be again, until Mike was so exhausted that his legs buckled. Harvey caught him and called for a paramedic, and with their help dragged Mike back to the ambulance. Once Mike was seated he stared up at Harvey, drinking in the sight of his open, exuberant expression, unable to look away even to acknowledge Donna. It didn't seem to bother her any; she bustled past Harvey to drop a kiss on Mike's cheek and sit next to him with an arm lightly around his back, a comforting presence against his side.
Harvey cupped Mike's cheek in his hand and stroked it gently with his thumb before his attention was caught by an approaching pair of men, one of them wrapped in a blanket to match Mike's. He tilted his head in gesture of respect and stepped back to stand beside Mike, hand a bright patch of warmth on Mike's nape.
Reid smirked cheekily at Mike, and his companion, a handsome dark-skinned man, rolled his eyes.
“I told you so,” Reid said, and Mike cleared his throat.
“So you did,” he answered, never more glad to hear that obnoxious phrase. He held out one shaking hand, and Reid clasped it in his with no hesitation.
“Maybe we could talk again once you're feeling better,” he offered, and Mike gave a real smile. At least something good might come out of this whole ordeal. Well, maybe two. He met Harvey's warm eyes and gripped his free hand.
“I'd like that.”