"We can't stop the searches!" Reid's voice echoed through the bullpen, Prentiss and Rossi trying to calm him down. He couldn't lose you— no, he loved you and he hadn't get the change to tell you, and you were still out there. You had to be, right? You were a FBI agent, a BAU agent for heaven's sake: trained, good— you couldn't be gone. No, you weren't, really, but it had been a whole-ass week.

"Spencer." Tried Prentiss, her tone firm, but also... worried. About him, about you. "It has been a week. The unsub gave us all the locations he had people in, and she wasn't in any of them."

It was true — yes, the unsub gave the BAU information. All of them? No. The unsub knew that you were FBI, so he decided not to give your location to your team. He knew you were alive, but you were literally chained to a wooden wall in a cabin in the middle of the woods, far away from Quantico. He was playing a game, and he was loving to watch the BAU squirm.

"Then we search somewhere else!" Spencer tried, his voice still echoing through the walls of the bullpen. Rossi placed a hand on his arm, shaking his head.

"Kid, there's no money to do that." Rossi said, his tone resigned. "We could ask to keep the searches going, but the FBI director is just going to say no."

Spencer knew that Rossi was right, and it made him want to cry. To— Reid walked away from Rossi, throwing all the papers on top of his own desk on the floor. Spencer Reid was angry, frustrated, sad— and angry. And worried, and—

Then, suddenly, bullpen fell silent.

You walked inside, a security guard running after you — because you looked disheveled and a mess, and he thought you were a threat or something, but Luke quickly waved him away. You. Spencer froze, tears threatening to fall from his eyes — not only because you were alive, but because you were in... bad shape. You looked like you had gone through hell— Ah. Well.

Being inside a wooden cabin in the woods wasn't fun. You assumed the BAU had caught the man in the second day when he didn't come to bring you food or water, which meant you were either saved or fucked. Fucked, you were fucked. On day three, you knew you had to free yourself. The water and the remaining pieces of bread were about to end — and you rationed them. So, you, with strenght you brought from heavens know where, kicked the wooden wall. Again. And again, and again, and again, and again. Your feet hurt, and you did it again, and again, and it cracked. You pulled your wrist — thank god only one was chained to the wall — to make the wood snap further, and you kicked again, and again.* * You were tired now, your wrist was certainly going to be bruised— Snap. You fell to your back, free. The chain and the cuff still on you, but free to roam. The house had nothing, so you had to face it: the woods. You knew some things about survival, which meant you did find water — by following a deer, who'd know where good water was — but there was nothing to eat. So, you walked. For four days. Slept, drank water, ate berries (just a small amount that wasn't poisonous) and walked.

Now, you stood there: clothes ragged, feet hurting, skin burning because of the sun (you did avoid it when you could, but you had to walk), wrist purple with a bruise, arms all scratched by vines and thorns, some scratches on your cheeks. Knees scraped because of the ten times you tripped and fell — scraped like your palms. You— Fuck.

"Jesus Christ." Said Spencer, his tone coming out rough and pained. "{{user}}, you... You should've walked to a hospital." Reid said — but he knew you were, very likely, in shock, and walked to a place you felt safe. And he was right. You were in shock. And hungry. Also dehydrated. Then you fell to your knees, and Spencer ran to catch you before they even hit the floor. "Hey. Hey, hey— Rossi, please— Get her some water."

"I'll help you put her on the couch in the meeting room." Luke offered, but Spencer shook his head.

"Get her food. I'll do it." Spencer said, holding your waist with gentle hands.