A/N:I'm new to Criminal Minds - I've only been watching it for around a month and I'm pretty much caught up (and I also heard the news of a season 7 coming out soon and I really can't wait to see that). Out of all the characters in the series, I've always been more of a Hotch fan. And personally, I think there really should be more Hotch stories out there.

Disclaimer:I don't own anything.

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In the Face of Evil

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Summary:

Alternate takes on the Foyet episodes: They all knew that Foyet was evil and that he needed to be stopped at all cost. But when evil turns and corrupts their strong-willed leader, can Spencer and the team risk everything to stop him?

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Preface

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"Don't move."

The softly spoken words stopped him dead in his tracks. His first instincts were to turn, to twist his body so that he could see the man – because it certainly was a man, the man – behind him. But he held on, frozen in place because there was a certain desperation to which those two words had been uttered.

For a few moments (which to him seemed a few eternities), there was silence – dead silence.

Then, the subtle sounds of movements from behind him – light footsteps approaching until the man was almost pressed up against him. Something (it felt like a gun) prodded his back. He tried not to flinch but he couldn't help himself.

I'm a blinker.– He reminded himself calmly.

Of course he was.

Normal people blinked. More than half the world blinked. But he knew – knew someone who didn't. He bit his lip.

The light tap of the gun (he was absolutely positive it was a gun now) on his back made him jump up slightly. Then, the man leaned over him – he always seemed to loom over everything, even back then – so that his lips were near his right ear. "Relax, Spencer."

Spencer flinched again. "Don't call me that," he croaked out.

The man frowned – Spencer knew because he could feel it in his lips, the way it twisted down upon his ear. Suddenly, he leaned back. "Call you what?"

"Spencer. Don't call me that," he said almost automatically.

There was silence for a few seconds – Spencer was silently counting them (four seconds) before it was interrupted by soft laughter.

The laughter soon escalated.

Soft gone to hysterical, simple gone to mad.

The gun was removed from his back and it took all of Spencer to not flinch. However, nothing stopped (could not stop) him from turning – he needed to see him.

He closed his eyes, held his breath (unknowingly) and turned.

In Spencer's imagination, he hadn't changed one bit – the man that led their team months ago. He was still just as tall, just as calm, just as intimidating, just as wildly dedicated – he was the same man that had everything to live for. His suit and tie (which Spencer and the team had come to know as his casual wear as well as work clothes) defined his work, defined the team, defined him.

And in Spencer's dreams, the world was perfect – they still had their leader and they caught all the bad guys and there were no casualties, only happy endings with parents holding onto their children and families being reunited and the people that were sobbing were only doing it out of happiness – pure happiness.

In Spencer's head, everything was perfect, normal.

Everything made sense.

Everything was as it should be.

And if it were possible, Spencer would stay inside his head for hours, days – maybe even forever. Because there was something about reality (this reality) that made him afraid.

Because he was terrified with the very thought of opening his eyes. Because he was scared to death of what he might find right in front of him. Because he was mad at himself for not realizing earlier – way earlier, months earlier – that something had gone wrong and he hadn't picked up on it until it was too late.

Because their leader wasn't supposed to go missing for long periods of time and then suddenly show up out of the blue at Spencer's apartment and talk to him through a gun.

But Spencer knew he couldn't be stuck in his head forever – no matter how much he wanted to be. The team couldn't handle another loss and Spencer would never forgive himself if he ever ended up like his mother (mentally institutionalized by her own family with no hopes of getting out).

He opened his eyes – more from the fear that grew in the pits of his stomach than of determination to face whatever lay out before him – and the moment he did, he immediately wanted to close them again.

The man hadn't changed one bit.

His hair was still short and crisp and clean and black. His face hadn't aged one bit – he still held that seriousness in his eyes that Spencer wondered would ever go away. He was still fit and just as tall as Spencer remembered him to be. He still wore that suit – now Spencer was sure that the man owned no other wardrobe.

But there was something about him that still unnerved Spencer, that put him on edge, that made those warning bells in the back of his mind ring so loudly he was sure the entire room was filled with its sounds – that the man across from him could surely hear it just as he was sure he could also hear his heart thumping loudly inside his chest.

It took all of Spencer to let his hands lay limp on either side of him. It took all of Spencer not to bring them up his head so that he could try (in vain) to rub the pain away. It took all of Spencer not to move, to run – there was something utterly wrong with this man that Spencer couldn't seem to find and it was frustrating (completely frustrating) him to no end.

Then, there it was – as if to answer all of Spencer's desperate thoughts.

The soft cocking of the gun – the grim determination twisting the man's usually stoic features (and was that shame in his eyes or was it only Spencer's imagination?) – the tightness of his lips – the slight tremble in his extended arm.

"Forgive me, Reid. I don't want to do this. But I have to if I want to make things right again. Tell the team I'm sorry." There was a familiar softness to the words that Spencer wished he didn't recognize – it was the voice that was often used to console families, victims of the case.

It was now being used on Spencer.

The man aimed at Spencer's shoulder and Spencer's immediate thought was:

Injure, not killhe's important alive, not dead.

He looked into the man's eyes. There was shame in them – shame for what he had to do and Spencer knew at once that their ex-leader was being forced to do this.

Black-mailed.

"Foyet," Spencer found himself saying.

The man looked at him blankly – the determination was replaced by slight confusion, slight hesitation but the gun was still trained on him. Spencer wondered if he could at least delay him and find a way out before something (it) happened. "What are you talking about?"

Spencer knew he was playing dumb – he knew him too well to be fooled so easily but he decided it was a good idea to elaborate anyway if only because the longer they talked, the more of a chance he would have of getting the gun out of the man's hand.

"Foyet is making you do this."

The man stared at him. His face was stoic – something that Spencer oddly missed during the months of his absence. But then, after a moment of eerie silence, determination had set into place again.

The arm that shook with nervousness straightened and Spencer closed his eyes, knowing that his time was up even before the quiet words left the man's mouth.

"I really hope you can forgive me one day, Reid."

Then Spencer heard the shot.

And fell over, writhing under the sudden onslaught of pain that exploded inside his body. He didn't notice when the man walked around him to get to the phone; he didn't hear him as he dialed in a number and told of the situation and their location.

He didn't hear him as he announced he was leaving and walked out the door.

And no matter how much it felt like Spencer's insides were ripped to shreds, no matter how much Spencer felt like he was dying, his mind was busy elsewhere - too busy crumbling around those five horrible, cruel words.

The ones that made him want to rip out his own heart, the ones that made him feel so completely and utterly vulnerable.

Aaron Hotchner had betrayed them.

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A/N:Thanks for reading.