After getting off the jet, everyone started walking toward their cars, except for Spencer: he'd opted to take the subway to work before they left, and decided that he'd go home the same way. It was late at night and all anyone wanted to do was get home, so he didn't want to be a burden on any of them.

"Hey, Reid," Emily called, searching for her keys in her bag.

He turned around to face her, adjusting the bag on his shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Do you need a ride? You're not far out of my way, I wouldn't mind."

He shook his head. "I appreciate the offer, but you've been up for 42 straight hours. I'd much rather you go home and get some sleep."

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Positive. Good night, Emily," he called to her, turning his back and walking toward the subway.

Once he was off the train, he walked up the steps and stuffed his hands in his pockets. There were much better places to be at 2:00 a.m. than walking the streets, but he'd done it several times before: he was used to it. He kept to himself inside his head, hoping he could make it home soon so he could go to bed. One of the usual street thugs called after him, but he screwed his eyes shut, ignoring them and keeping his pace. If he ignored them, they tended to leave him alone and let him keep moving. Unfortunately, he wouldn't be so lucky tonight.

He felt hands grab him and slam him into the wall. He went back into his mind, keeping his eyes shut as he took blow after blow. They'd managed to get him on the ground and one of them started kicking him while another went through his bag. He felt every kick and every fist making contact with his skin, and curled up tighter. All he could think was that they could take whatever they wanted from him so long as it ended.

He whimpered to himself, reaching his hand down for his gun. He knew he was off-duty, but would take whatever trouble he was going to get into if it meant they were going to stop. He winced, holding back tears as he finally got a grip on it, holding it in the air, turning off the safety, and firing. This seemed to startle them and they took what they wanted from him before running away. He set the gun down on the pavement, a small feeling of pride and victory running through him, which was quickly replaced by overwhelming pain.

The first thing that came to mind was the fact that he had to get up. He had to get home and get some sleep: he had work in the morning and couldn't let his team down. He shook his head slightly, curling into a ball on the pavement and whimpering, crying softly. He couldn't get up or move a single muscle in his body without pain shooting through him. Instead he stayed there, hoping that somebody had heard them, or at least heard his gunshot.

A while later he heard sirens, and prayed that they were coming for him. When they came closer and seemed to stop, he curled up and started crying again, relieved. There were footsteps approaching and he heard a stretcher being rolled over. A hand touched his shoulder and he flinched, whimpering.

"Sir, can you tell me your name?"

He sighed, nodding slightly and mumbling. "S-Spencer."

"Can you tell me what happened, Spencer?" one of the EMTs asked as the other set a backboard down beside him.

He shook his head and immediately regretted it, pain shooting everywhere in his body.

"Don't worry, Spencer. My name's John, I'm an EMT, and I'm going to take care of you."

He kept his eyes shut but gave him a slight nod. After assessing his injuries, he felt a neck brace being put on him. Soon after, they rolled him back and he felt a backboard beneath him. The sound of Velcro rang in his ears as they strapped him down and lifted him, putting him on the stretcher. He couldn't describe the feeling of overwhelming relief as they put him into the back of the ambulance.

"Spencer, there's a gun, is it yours?" the other asked.

"Mhm," he said softly, practically a whisper. "'m an agent."

He felt a thumb against his forehead and whimpered, knowing that a bright light was coming. The thumb was soon joined by a pointer finger, holding his eye open and shining a light. "Spencer, can you stay awake?"

He gave another nod as he heard the doors slam shut.

The sound of the siren came on as the ambulance drove away and he winced. "How bad?" he mumbled.

He heard a sigh, and knew it couldn't be good. "You're lucky, Spencer. They could've done a lot worse."

He couldn't help but laugh slightly. That had to be the Spencer Reid motto – could've done/been a lot worse.

"No narcotics," he said, wincing and taking a deep breath.

"Excuse me?"

He whimpered, wincing. "No narcotic medications, please," he whispered, before slipping into some much needed sleep.

The next thing Spencer knew, he was in a room in the hospital, waking up. His eyes were swollen, but he managed to open them. The lights in the room were dimmed and as far as he could tell, he was alone. He sat up, whimpering, still feeling pain in several places in his body.

"Spencer?" he heard a soft voice ask. He looked over and saw a female doctor standing beside his bed in.

He nodded slightly, taking a deep breath and sighing.

"How are you feeling?"

He gave a shrug and winced, regretting it.

"We've contacted your emergency contact. You can be discharged in a few hours."

He licked his lips, biting his bottom one. "What happened?"

She sighed. "It seems you were mugged near the subway. Your bag was found empty, your badge was missing, but your gun was right beside you." He thought to himself how she would have known he was in the FBI, but then realized she had access to his records. "You have a few fractured ribs, a dislocated shoulder, broken nose, split lip, your eyes are swollen, a slight concussion, and you needed several stitches in your forehead. You might not want to put too much weight on your left leg for a few days, and you have an injured right wrist. Trust me, I've seen a lot worse."

He exhaled. "The shoulder should be kept in a sling, unless you say otherwise. And the ribs, I should put ice on, get rest, take pain medications, and for the healing process, take a deep breath at least once an hour."

"Not your first time?"

He shook his head slightly. "You said you contacted someone?"

She nodded. "I personally called him a half hour ago, he said he'd be on his way as soon as he found a babysitter."

He sighed to himself, feeling slightly guilty that he'd not only woken up Hotch, but needed to take away from his time with Jack. He leaned back against the pillows, feeling every muscle ache. "No narcotics?"

She shook her head. "As stated in your file."

He mumbled a quick thank you before taking a painful deep breath, falling asleep.

He was woken up by the sound of footsteps coming into his room. He sighed, not wanting to face his superior, but willed himself to open his eyes and look at him.

"Hey, Hotch," he whispered, wincing slightly.

Hotch shook his head. "Not the time to be casual, Reid."

He gave a quick sorry before sitting up on the bed, biting down on his lip.

"Did you see who did this to you?"

He swallowed, shaking his head. "Not tonight, but um… I've seen them before, every time I walk back from the subway station. They usually taunt whoever walks by, but nothing ever happened that I saw. I thought they were harmless."

"Could you describe them to a sketch artist?"

He nodded slightly. "Just… just not now. I'm tired." He ran a hand over his face, wincing. "Tomorrow?" he asked pleadingly.

Hotch knew the best time would be now since it was fresh on his mind, but didn't want to press the issue. Instead he agreed. "I'll stop by your place on the way in with an officer and a sketch artist."

He took a deep breath, whimpering. "Thank you. Can I go home?"

"I'll fill out your discharge forms and give you a ride." He patted his good shoulder softly before walking out.

In the time Hotch was gone, Spencer tried getting out of the bed, but it was a losing fight. He groaned internally, leaning back and waiting for him to come back to the room. Hotch walked back in, setting his go-bag at the foot of Spencer's bed. He raised an eyebrow, looking up at him.

"None of your things have been recovered, and I doubt you want to leave the hospital in that gown."

He shook his head as Hotch went through his own bag, taking out a pair of sweatpants and a zip-up sweatshirt. He set them down on the bed, looking up at him. "Do you want me to get a nurse to help you into these?"

He thought about it and quickly nodded, thinking about how painful it was just to sit up.

After a nurse helped him get dressed, he limped out of the room, walking over to Hotch. No matter how many times it happened, he would never get used to seeing the youngest member of his team hurt. Hotch wrapped an arm around his waist carefully, walking him outside.

"Do you want to lie down in the backseat, or-"

"Front seat's fine," he mumbled, and Hotch opened the door, helping him in.

The ride to Spencer's apartment was quiet until Hotch parked in front of the building. Before Spencer could protest, he got out, walking around and helping Spencer out of the car. Hotch took a key out of his pocket as he helped Spencer up the stairs.

"How-"

"I called your super before going to the hospital," he explained. "What floor are you on?"

Spencer winced just thinking about it. "4th."

He wrapped an arm around Spencer's waist wordlessly, guiding him up the stairs.

"Hotch, it's fine, I can get into my apartment-"

"Reid, for once in your life, shut up."

If he had the energy, he'd have come up with a witty response, but he said nothing. He continued to limp up the stairs until they made it to his apartment. Hotch reached over, unlocking the door and helping Spencer inside.

"Couch or bed?"

"Bed, please," he said, remembering how hard the hospital bed was and wanting to be comfortable. "Down the hall, last room."

Hotch nodded, walking him to the bedroom and helping him up on the bed. Spencer laid back and Hotch grabbed the blankets at the foot of the bed, pulling them over him.

Spencer took a deep breath, wincing. "They took my credentials, Hotch."

"You can get new ones." He walked to the bathroom and came back with a glass of water and a few Tylenol pills. Spencer sat up, popping the pills into his mouth and drinking the entire glass.

He bit down on his lip. "Why is it always me?"

Hotch sighed, looking over at his agent who he always felt obligated to protect, feeling like he'd failed him. "I wish I had an answer for you, Reid. I really do."

Spencer laid back again. "…Thank you," he said quietly. "You didn't have to come to the hospital-"

"You're part of my team and, therefore, my family, Spencer. Anytime there's something wrong, I'll be there for you. Now get some sleep."

He smiled appreciatively. "And Hotch?"

Hotch turned to face him. "Yeah?"

He chewed on his lip. "Please don't tell the team. I don't want them to worry about me."

"Reid, you're going to need to take a few days, they're going to know something's wrong-"

"Please," he repeated, looking up at him. "At least until I've healed up. I know you're going to say to take a few days-"

"The rest of the week-"

He winced at the thought, but continued, "-and they have enough to worry about. Just… give me a few days."

He wasn't happy about it, but he agreed. "Get some sleep, Reid. I'll be by in the morning to check on you."

He nodded slightly, resting his head against the pillow and drifting off. When Hotch saw him finally fall asleep, he sighed, turning around and walking to the door. He couldn't help but take it personally when somebody hurt a member of his family, and hoped that he'd be able to get enough information from Spencer to catch them.

The next morning, Spencer woke up to somebody knocking on his door. He whimpered, looking over at the clock and seeing that it was 8:30: he needed to get up and get ready for work. He quickly pushed himself off the bed and winced, remembering everything that had happened just hours ago. Limping over to the front door, he opened it, greeted by two police officers and his boss. Sighing, he pulled the door open, limping over to the couch and sitting down.

Hotch walked in, the officers following. He took the seat beside the couch and looked at Spencer. "How are you feeling today, Reid?"

"I've had better days," he mumbled, resisting the urge to rub his eyes to wake himself up.

"Can you tell me what happened last night?"

He sighed, knowing this wasn't for him, and instead was for the police officers so they could find who did this to him. He nodded, chewing on his lip. "I'm an idiot and I refused a ride home from my co-workers, choosing to take the subway instead. I walked out of the station and heard taunts and jeers, but you get used to that walking down the street that late at night, or should I say early in the morning." He swallowed, screwing his eyes shut. "They grabbed me, shoved me into a wall, beat me, threw me into the ground so hard my shoulder dislocated, and they were relentless. I-I did the only thing I could think of and reached for my gun. I shot it into the air and they took off. All I remember after that was getting into the ambulance and waking up at the hospital. They stole whatever was in my bag, as well as my credentials."

"Did they photograph your injuries at the hospital?"

He nodded slightly. "And I'm sure they have a full copy of the injury report ready. They could probably explain my injuries better than I could at this moment." He cleared his throat. "Excuse me, I just need to get something for the pain-"

"I've got it," Hotch said, putting up a hand and walking out.

Spencer sighed, biting down on his lip until Hotch came back. He took the pills, swallowing them and glancing over at the officers. "Sorry about that. Next question."

"Was there any sexual assault?"

He winced, but shook his head. "I shot before anything could happen."

They saw Spencer was uncomfortable and moved on. "Your boss says you've seen these men before?"

"Mhm. They're always around that station late at night. I see them every time." He bit down on his lip. "I never had a good feeling around them, but with my job, it feels like anyone is a potential danger."

"Understandable." One of the officers moved closer. "Can you describe your attackers?"

He was dreading this moment, but gave him a nod, closing his eyes. "There were three of them, and I can give a basic physical description for each one. The first is white, mid 20's to mid 30's, just under 6 feet, and brown hair. The second is Hispanic, probably mid 30's and 6'2", and bald. The third is darker-skinned, though I'm not sure his ethnicity. He's definitely the leader of the group and starts the taunts. Mid 30's, between 6'2" and 6'4".

The officer finished the descriptions and started rough sketches. Once he was done, he held them out to Spencer, who opened his eyes and nodded.

"Thank you, Agent. We'll get back to you if we catch them."

He sighed, nodding again. The officers quickly talked to Hotch, about what Spencer couldn't hear, and left.

Hotch turned to face him. "Reid, if you need to talk-"

He quickly shook his head. "I just, I need to get some sleep. A few hours definitely wasn't what my body needed."

"Should I put on some coffee or get you something?"

"I'm fine," he lied, running a hand through his hair. "I just need some sleep."

Hotch sighed. "Are you sure?"

"Positive." He pushed himself off the couch, wincing. "Not a word to the team," he reminded him.

"I won't say anything. When they ask why you're out-"

"I needed a few personal days to check on my mother," he finished, looking up at his superior.

"If you need anything, just give me a call."

"I'll try not to, but thank you. Now, do you mind?"

He shook his head, picking up his keys off the table. "Get some rest."

"I will."

He waited for Hotch to leave and limped over to the door, setting both locks and double-checking that they were secure. He went to his room, unlocking the drawer beside his bed, checking that his gun was in there if anyone dared to break into his apartment. Once he was sure he felt safe, he changed into a pair of pajamas, lying back on the bed. He reached over to his cell phone, putting it on silent. If one of his co-workers were to check on him, he could get back to them later, after he's slept.

Hotch checked the clock before walking inside and saw that he was running late. Hoping that it could go undetected, he went straight to his office and sat at his desk.

Emily raised an eyebrow. "Is he ever late?"

Derek shook his head. "Not that I remember. Do you think something's up?"

"Not sure," she said, sitting up straight in her seat. "He could just be lagging after not getting sleep until 3:00 a.m. last night. I know I'm feeling it."

Derek smiled, nodding in agreement. "Here's hoping it's not another case we have to look at."

Hotch reached over to his phone, dialing JJ's number.

She answered. "Hotch?"

"JJ, who's your contact for the D.C. police?"

She thought to herself for a second. "Victor Barnes, wh-" before she got a response, he hung up and looked up the number, dialing.

"Victor Barnes."

"This is Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner from the Behavioral Analysis Unit, I need to speak with your chief of police immediately."

Without another word, he was connected.

"Yes, this is Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, I spoke to a few of your officers this morning about one of my agents-"

"Spencer Reid?"

He leaned back in his chair. "Yes. I need to know what actions are going to be taken."

"We think there might be a connection to several muggings that have occurred in the D.C. area over the last month, two involving sexual assault. The fact that they've now attacked a federal agent-"

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You want my team on the case." It was a statement, not a question.

"I understand it's personal for you, but your team is our best chance to find them. The files are on their way to your media liaison as we speak."

He knew there was nothing he could say to change the situation, so he just nodded. "If she accepts the case, I should be seeing you shortly."

Derek looked over at Spencer's empty desk. "Is Pretty Boy going to grace us with his presence today?"

She shrugged, checking her watch. "Damn, it's 10:30 and he's still not in? What, did he oversleep?"

"I don't think the kid was born with the ability to oversleep. Like clockwork, he's probably up at 8:00 a.m. every day."

"Well, tell that to the empty desk sitting in front of me."

Derek saw Garcia walking over to the break room. "Good morning, Baby Girl."

She smirked. "I'll show you a good morning, hot stuff." She walked over, leaning against his desk. "What's up?"

He pointed over to Spencer's desk. "Any idea where Pretty Boy is today?"

She frowned, shaking her head. "Nothing came in on the sick line today from him. One of you gave him a ride home last night, right?"

"I tried," Emily started, "but he said he could take the subway."

Hotch looked out and saw the team wondering about their missing co-worker. He walked out of his office, leaning against the railing. "Get to work."

Garcia looked up at him. "Before I do, just a quick question. Do you know where Reid is today, sir? He didn't put in for any vacation time, and he didn't call in sick-"

"Reid's going to be out for a few days, checking on his mother in Vegas. Now everyone, get back to work."

Emily quickly grabbed the folder she'd been working on, reading it.

The next day, JJ groaned, setting down what felt like her thousandth case file that morning. She took a quick sip of her coffee, setting it down and picking up a new file from the top of her pile. She flipped it open, taking in the information: eight mysterious muggings in the D.C. area over the past month, two involving sexual assault, the latest taking place two nights prior. She internally winced, looking at the photos from the crime scenes, as well as the injuries on the victims. There were several broken bones, bruises, and other injuries scattered across their bodies.

She looked at the newest photos and saw a male victim with several injuries, including his eyes being swollen shut, a broken nose, stitches, a split lip, a dislocated shoulder, and fractured ribs. He'd been able to give vague physical descriptions of the unsubs, which would definitely make their jobs easier. She turned back to the photos and studied the picture of the eyes, noticing something familiar about them. It took her a few minutes, but she realized that she knew those eyes: she'd been looking at their owner for years.

Shaking her head, she read the file again and got up, closing the folder and walking to Hotch's office, closing the door behind her.

"Hotch, we have a serious problem."

He put a finger up. "I'll have to call you back." He hung up, glancing up at JJ. "What is it?"

She chewed on her lip, setting down the case file on his desk. "There's been a series of muggings in the D.C. area over the past month. Two victims were sexually assaulted, the rest seriously injured. No deaths yet, but part of the case file stuck out to me."

He tried his best to look as if this was new to him and raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

She sighed. "It became federal the second they attacked an agent."

"JJ-"

She exhaled. "They got Reid. Those pictures – he's really hurt, and I'm willing to bet this is why none of us have seen him in two days. Hotch, we have to take this case."

"You do understand you have a serious bias-"

"I also understand that Spencer Reid is the last person on the face of this planet who deserves this, because all he does is worry about everybody else," she started, lowering her voice. "We have to do this for him. We have to find who did this and put them away so he can feel safe."

He looked up at her. "So you want to present this case to the team?"

She nodded. "Absolutely."

He didn't want to, but he reluctantly agreed. "Call the meeting."