A/N: Alrighty, here we go - the tenth and final chapter of "Words.." Maybe now you will all get the answers you have been wanting so badly. Oh, and this chapter contains spoilers for season 5, so if you haven't seen it you might wanna steer clear. Or not, if you're super curious :) Beta read by the wonderful, fantabulous, amazing (and also very beautiful) LT. Enjoy!

-o-o-o-

"Watch your thoughts, for they become words.
Watch your words, for they become actions.
Watch your actions, for they become habits.
Watch your habits, for they become character.
Watch your character, for it becomes your destiny."
-- Unknown source

-o-o-o-

With his arm in a sling, Aaron Hotchner walked into the waiting room of Dr. Helen Schwartz's office at the FBI. Nine days had passed since the event in his apartment, when his youngest subordinate had attempted to take his life by stabbing him to death.

For a few moments, it had been touch and go for the senior profiler on the operating table, but he had pulled through like he always had. The attending surgeon had later told him that it had been no less than a miracle that he had survived, due to the massive blood loss.

Reid had gotten away much easier, having only suffered a concussion from the blow to the head. He had woken up hours later, desperate to see his superior, being nearly in tears.

Hotch remembered waking up in the hospital room, realizing that the young agent sat by his side accompanied by Morgan as well as two armed officers.

He could vividly remember Reid's words.

-f-f-f-

"Hotch, oh God, Hotch, I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry." The young agent covered his face with his hands briefly, and then looked up again. "I don't know what happened!"

"S'okay…" Hotch hissed, throat still sore from the intubation.

"No, no it's not okay!" Reid shook his head furiously. "I tried to…to…"

Hotch nodded, trying to look reassuring. "I know…"

Reid sighed, rubbing the root of his nose. "It was like…" he began. "…someone was moving my body for me, like I was on remote. I could see and feel everything, but I couldn't control my body! I just…it just…" His voice faded out, him not knowing what to say.

Morgan stepped in, placing a hand on Reid's shoulder. "He knows, Reid."

A short look at Hotch, who looked much less strong than he usually did, confirmed Morgan's assumption. Hotch knew. Reid could see it in his eyes. Even though his superior couldn't articulate the words, it was clear. Yet the young agent couldn't help feeling like a criminal. Which he indeed was. He had attempted murder on his boss. A dream come true for many, but to him it was beyond hellish.

"I'm so sorry", he whispered meekly, his big puppy eyes looking pleadingly at his unit chief.

An unreadable hiss from his superior was all he got in response, but it was enough.

Morgan squeezed the thin shoulder under his fingers. "We should go." He turned to Hotch. "I'll come back when you're a bit more awake. The doctor says you're gonna make a full recovery." Leaning in slightly, he smirked. "Like we'd expect anything less from you."

He tapped Reid's shoulder and the young agent rose. "Get some sleep", the older agent said as he led the young genius out the door.

Hotch looked at the ceiling for a short while, trying to make sense of the situation, but his mind was too foggy to piece anything together, and he slowly drifted back into blissful sleep.

-f-f-f-

Hotch shook his head and entered back into the present. Walking up to the assistant outside the office, he cleared his throat.

"SSA Hotchner, I have an appointment."

The young, brunet assistant looked up from her keyboard and smiled at the handsome man before her. "Ah, yes – Agent Hotchner. The others are already inside waiting for you."

Hotch nodded in understanding and steered his steps towards the white wooden door. Without knocking, he stepped inside.

Dr. Schwartz sat in a large leather chair on one side of a desk and Reid sat opposite her, nervously fiddling with his fingers on his lap. They both turned as Hotch entered the room. Dr. Schwartz rose.

"Agent Hotchner, welcome." She reached out to shake his hand and motioned him to sit. Dr. Schwartz was FBI's leading expert on the effects of brainwashing and the art of deprogramming and had been working with agents who had returned from missions abroad, unable to even spell their own names or chew their food. She had gladly taken Reid under her wings.

Reid threw a tentative look at his superior. It was only the second time they met after what had happened in Hotch's apartment, and Reid still wasn't sure what was moving inside the older agent's head. But he had to trust his instincts, and they told him that Hotch really did understand what had happened. And if he didn't, he would get the answers today.

"It was nice of you to join us, Agent Hotchner", Dr. Schwartz said with a comforting smile. "Coffee?"

"Please."

As Dr. Schwartz went to the coffee pot to pour another cup of java, Hotch caught Reid's eyes. He could read everything in them.

"I know what you're thinking", he said in a hushed voice.

Reid let his eyes fall to the fingers twisting hopelessly in his lap. "I'm…"

"I understand", Hotch interrupted. You don't need to explain. Did you…?" He was interrupted by the blue cup bearing the FBI logo on the side touching ground on the table before him. He straightened his back and nodded a thank you as the Doctor sat down across from them and folded her hands on the oak surface of the desk.

"Agent Hotchner. Dr. Reid and I have been very successful during our sessions. We've managed to rid Spencer's mind of the barriers and commands which were implanted there, including the prompt of your assassination."

Hotch felt a cold chill run down his spine. Someone had actually brainwashed and programmed one of his subordinates to murder him. Was there really someone who hated him that much? He could come up with a few names, but…

"We've been working eleven hours per day for six days and as far as I can tell, he has made a complete recovery." Dr. Schwartz drew a deep breath. "Unfortunately, we were not able to recover enough memories to find out who was behind all of this."

Hotch felt his heart sink more than a mile.

Reid sighed. "I know that I know who it was, I was thinking about it that same day…" He halted himself momentarily, but continued. "…but now I can't even make out the color of the sky when I woke up."

Dr. Schwartz nodded understandingly. "It's normal for some memories to be virtually evaporated during the process of deprogramming. It's unfortunate that it had to be this one."

"It's better than being a walking time bomb", Reid muttered dejectedly. "But still…I feel like I'm sitting on the answer, but I just can't reach it."

"We'll find out who did it", Hotch said firmly. "It's what we do."

Then the superior did something Reid was not at all ready for. He reached out across the chair and placed his hand over Reid's, giving it a squeeze.

"This is not your fault", he said in a firm, slow voice, looking Reid straight in the eyes. "I want you to remember that. You did not do this." He then let go of the thin fingers chilling his palm and stood up, facing Dr. Schwartz. "Thank you, Dr. Schwartz, for everything." Shaking her hand, he headed for the door.

"Go home, Reid. I'll see you Monday." With that, he closed the door behind him and disappeared from the office.

Reid looked at his fingers while drawing a deep breath. As he stood, he was halted by the Doctor.

"He's right, Spencer. You can't blame this on yourself. I've seen it more times than I can count. Brain washing is a very efficient way to get dirty work done while getting other people's innocent hands bloodied. Don't blame yourself; it will eat you up from the inside."

Reid nodded and gave the woman a short smile. "Thanks, I'll try."

He'd try. But he didn't know if he'd succeed.

-o-o-o-

Hotch walked through the parking garage towards his car. The black Lincoln MKS waited patiently at the far end of the garage, ready to take him home to his – hopefully safe – home. His arm ached, but he'd be damned if he let a silly thing like a stab wound hinder him in his daily life. Pressing the button on the keychain, he unlocked the car from a distance.

Only a second after the car had flashed its lights in response, Hotch's phone began blaring out the much too familiar ring tone. He groaned inwardly, not wanting to speed off to Frogballs, Arkansas at the moment. Still, he dutifully pulled the phone from his pocket. A frown spread on his face as he read the caller ID.

Private number.

Hesitantly, he flipped it open. "Hotchner."

"Hello, Agent Hotchner."

The voice hit Hotch in the chest like a sledge hammer. Or a razor sharp kitchen knife. The superior chuckle at the other end of the line told him that he had been silent for just a second too long.

"I hear you remember me!"

"How could I forget", Hotch mumbled into the receiver.

"I bet you think about me every day…", the voice continued.

Hotch cursed himself for not staying at the office for just 15 minutes longer. He could have had Garcia put a trail on the phone immediately. By the time they got the number traced now, it would be too late. In any case, he turned on his heel and began walking swiftly back to Garcia's dungeon.

"…every day", the voice kept on taunting him, "and every time you look in the mirror after you shower…"

The voice oozed of superiority, and it sickened Hotch to the brink of losing what little lunch he had managed to force down his throat.

"I'm gonna get you", he spat into the phone, "and when I do, you better pray there are cops nearby, or I will kill you."

"Oh, Agent Hotchner, how you underestimate me", the man on the other end of the line said teasingly. "That was your mistake last time. Didn't your mother teach you that you have to learn from your mistakes?"

"Listen, Foyet…" Hotch began, completely infuriated, but did not have a chance to continue before he was rudely interrupted.

"No, you listen, Agent Hotchner." The tone had changed from teasing and taunting to firm. "It was easy for me to kill all those people. It was easy for me to get into your apartment, and I enjoyed cutting you up like a thanksgiving turkey. But you know what the easiest thing was?"

"I don't care about your sick games", Hotch nearly barked as he reached the elevator doors and repeatedly banged the button.

"The easiest thing, Agent Hotchner, was to make your own agent try to kill you."

There was dead silence on both ends for a few moments. Hotch tried desperately to contain his rage, but it finally ran over the edge. "You leave my agents out of this, you sick fuck! Whatever games you wanna play, you play them with me!" His faced turned a blossoming red as he screamed into the phone.

"Oh, but I am playing, Agent Hotchner. Tag. You're it."

Click.

Hotch stood for a second with the phone against his ear, then with a scream of pure fury, he hurled the phone into the wall across the room, shattering it into a million irretrievable pieces. His breathing was erratic, and he was practically boiling inside. Foyet was taunting him, and it drove him crazy. And what was worse, he had almost succeeded in his quest to put the unit chief six feet under. Hotch swore to himself that the day they caught Foyet, he would no longer be an FBI-agent. He would simply be a man.

A man with a vengeance.

-o-o-o-

Reid stepped through the front doors of the FBI headquarters and felt a short but fresh breeze of cool air against his skin. He would enjoy the short walk to the subway station. It had been a long time since he dared walk on his own anywhere.

A couple of birds flew by over his head as he crossed the street and took a left towards the station. In his front pocket, his phone began playing its merry tune, and with a sigh he fished it out and brought it to his ear.

"Reid."

"Sweetie, you forgot your jacket in the bullpen!" The chipper voice of Penelope Garcia graced his ear.

"I'll grab it come Monday, Garcia. It's warm outside." He smiled at her concern.

"If you say so, little brainmaster. Toodles!"

Reid hung up the phone with a short chuckle. Before he could put it back in his pocket, it began ringing again. Without looking at the caller ID, he flipped it open.

"Garcia, it's okay, I'll pick it up Monday."

"Sticks and stones may break my bones…"

Reid stopped short; froze in his tracks, and stared blankly and mindlessly into thin air as the voice on the other end of the line proceeded to convey its message.

"…but words can never hurt me."

The end.