Evolution, a Spencer Reid/Criminal Minds Fanfic

Chapter 46. Prognosis

Morgan, Reid and Ana waited.

They occupied themselves with the time-worn traditions of pretending to read year-old magazines and pretending to enjoy weak, vending machine coffee. Every once in a while Reid and Morgan would exchange looks, both wondering how Rossi was faring and when they would see him again. Phone reception didn’t reach the monastery. That didn’t stop the agents from trying Rossi’s number repeatedly, as though they expected the connection to surprise them and heal itself organically.

Hotch had been whisked away to have his knee x-rayed and his wounds cleaned. After an hour or so, a doctor with a lined, kindly face and a jovial expression did his best to allay their worries. Hotch would be fine…in time. His knee had dislocated. Because of the severity and the extensive swelling, they had immobilized it and would decide between applying a cast or simply wrapping it, depending on how it looked in 48 hours.

“He’ll be sore and stiff for a while, but, all in all, he’s a lucky boy.” The doctor shook his grizzled head. “Most of what we see out here are hiking accidents, or campers getting lost. It doesn’t pay to underestimate Mother Nature. I can’t tell you how many cases of exposure we get each year. A lot of them end in a casket, instead of a cast.” He finished scanning Hotch’s chart and looked up with a warm smile. “If we cast his leg and he complains, you tell him that.”

“Sure. Thanks, Doc.” Morgan beamed his relief in a wide grin. “When can we see him?”

“He’s exhausted. We have him on an IV for the dehydration and we’re giving him antibiotics to stave off any infection in his wounds. You can drop by, but odds are he’ll be asleep for several hours.”

The doctor flipped Mr. Hotchner’s chart closed and was about to leave when something occurred to him. He turned back, interrupting the relieved sighs and quiet discussion that had begun, as the three friends considered their next move.

“One more thing...” All eyes were on him, wondering if the rosy portrait of Hotch’s recovery was about to be eclipsed. “That mark on his chest. How’d he get it?”

Reid glanced from Ana to Morgan and back. “He’s got a lot of scars. Is that what you mean?”

It was the doctor’s turn to look skeptical. “C’mon…You brought him in half-naked. You didn’t notice?” When all three people before him continued to look clueless, he rubbed his face with one hand, privately thinking of all the strange things he’d seen in his long years of practice. And even more privately assessing the trio before him.

“Well, it’s not a tattoo and it’s not a birthmark…” There was still no sign of recognition among the patient’s friends. “It’s a whitish mark. I don’t know if it’s permanent. Might fade, in time. Maybe.” Clearly no one was going to confess any knowledge about Mr. Hotchner’s chest. The doctor wasn’t surprised. “It looks like a handprint.”

Ana and Reid exchanged guilty looks.

Morgan felt his way to the nearest chair and dropped into it.

Some days, as much as you tried to avoid them, mysteries found you anyway.

xxxxxxx

Dr. Bescardi clutched her container of flash drives to her, wrapping her arms around them with the protective determination of a mother bear defending her cubs.

“You will NOT touch these, David Rossi. You can’t be that benighted. It’s the same as…as…as smashing La Pieta…as dashing garbage across the Sistine Chapel’s ceiling. You cannot be that much a barbarian!” Her Italian accent was becoming more pronounced, increasing with her distress.