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Cachorro	By : hatochiisai Category: 1 through F > Criminal Minds Views: 11087 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds, nor do I make any financial profit off of writing this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter 1

The detective watched as the small jet came to a stop. A moment later, the door was opened and a petite blonde stepped out. He lowered his head and eyed her up and down over his sunglasses.

“Hot little number, eh Hofferk?” Mumbled the man next to him.

“She’s a fed and she carries a gun. But yeah. I’d do her.” Detective Hofferek hissed back to his partner. Then he smiled and stepped forward, extending his hand. “Detective Roy Hofferek.”

“Jennifer Jareau, we spoke on the phone.” She said, smiling back. “These are SSA’s Morgan, Rossi, Prentiss and Hotchner.”

“I thought you had seven on your team.” Said the second man. Everyone blinked at him. “Oh! Sorry! Eric Horgan.” JJ took his hand, smiling.

“Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia works from our headquarters in Quantico unless we need her in the field. And SSA Reid will be joining us in a day or two. He’s in court today and tomorrow giving evidence.”

“Ah. Alright then.” Hofferek said with a smile. “Well then, where do you want to start?”

“Please state your name and title for the court.”

“Supervisory Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.” The young man on the witness stand announced. He felt the eyes of the Jury on him… It made him nervous, but his lover had coached him on how to win over a jury; show them that you are calm and confident in your testimony, even when you’re not. And so he had placed himself on the witness stand exactly as Hotch had advised. He was casually leaned back in the chair, elbows resting on the arms, fingers interlinked at just below chest level. His legs were crossed, right ankle resting on his left knee. His black slacks were riding up to show his converse and sock. It was white, and covered in a pattern of kittens chasing balls of yarn. Only the judge saw this, and the man raised an eyebrow. He wore a sapphire blue colored button up shirt with a black tie and a black vest over it, a watch chain hanging out of the left pocket. His sidearm was at his right hip, and his watch was on his wrist, over the cuff of his shirt.

“And, tell the court what you do for the FBI.” The Prosecutor told him, then with an amused smile, “In fifty words or less, in terms that everyone can understand.” Reid, who had opened his mouth to answer, snapped it shut again and blushed, looking a bit flustered at the woman’s teasing jab.

“Oh. Uh, right…” He mumbled, and thought a moment. “I’m a member of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. The public best understands us by the term, ‘Profiler’. I study the behavior of criminals, watch for patterns and with this behavior, we narrow down suspect pools, get ahead of them and catch them.” Reid finally said.

“And… how is your success rate using the art of Profiling?”

“My team has the highest success rate in the country, our profiles showing 93% accuracy.” Reid announced.

“And, how do you know this?”

“We all monitor the team.”

“We as in?”

“The team.” Reid clarified.

“I have looked over your team’s roster. Several of them have an area of expertise. What is yours?”

“Uh… Nothing officially.”

“And unofficially?”

“Um… they sometimes introduce me as their Expert on Everything.” Reid admitted, flushing in embarrassment.

“And why would they say that?” The prosecutor asked.

“Objection!” The Defense Attorney drawled. “Relevance?”

“Goes to the credibility and accuracy of the witness and his testimony.” The Prosecutor sighed, rolling her eyes.

“Objection over-ruled.” The judge said calmly. “You may answer, Doctor… er… Agent Reid?” The judge now gave Reid a look of confusion.

“Eight is fine, Your honor.” Reid said with a small smile of amusement. “… I have an eidetic memory, meaning, I remember with perfect accuracy everything I read, and when I want to, everything I hear and see with near-perfect accuracy. I can read 20’000 words per minute, and I have an IQ of 187.” Reid said.

“How old were you when you graduated High School?”

“Twelve.”

“When you graduated college?”

“I achieved my first Bachelor’s when I was sixteen.”

“And by the time you were twenty?”

“… I had BA’s in Psychology and Sociology, and PhD’s in Mathematics, Engineering and Chemistry.” Reid announced, noting that the Defense Attorney was looking restless and bored.

“And then?”

“I enrolled in the FBI Academy. I was recruited straight into the BAU from graduation.” Reid said.

“So, one could say that… you know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“… Uh. Yeah. I guess.” Reid admitted, still looking embarrassed.

“And what do you consider to be your own expertise, official or no?”

“Uh, statistics, I guess.”

“I see. So tell me, Agent Reid. What are the statistics on the chances that the Defendant, Travis Meyers, is innocent?”

“… There is no OFFICIAL statistic, but if I had to give you something… 1%.” Reid said. “And… That’s being generous towards the defendant.”

“Will you please give us the profile? Again, briefly and in common terms.”

“Of course.” Reid said. “We were looking for a white male in his late thirties, early forties. Likely grew up without a steady maternal figure, with a father who changed girlfriends as often as he changed his underwear,” there was a giggle from the gallery, “or frequently brought prostitutes home. Women were not seen as nurturing creatures, but as sex objects with no feelings, and no values. He never pursued a relationship with women because he thought that they were beneath him. He would expect them to serve him, rather than him having to court them. His attitude would have been noticed. Women would avoid him. So would men in a relationship, because he likely would look down on them. See them as weak for “lowering” themselves to the level of treating women as anything but slaves. He would probably have a criminal record involving sexual harassment, assault and rape.”

“And where did this profile lead you?”

“To the Defendant.” Reid said.

A man in the gallery leaned back and looked down at his phone. He smirked and sent a text.

‘He’s on the stand.’ A few minutes later, his phone buzzed. He looked at the response.

‘Alert us when done.’ Later that day, he sent another text as he left the courthouse.

‘Back in court tomorrow.’

Reid smiled as he curled up in bed, the phone to his ear.

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Defense is gonna try to poke holes in my testimony tomorrow.”

“You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah.” Reid said. “I’m not scared of this woman. She’s a bitch.”

“She’s a good Defense Attorney, Spencer.”

“I know. But I’ve gone head to head with serial killers, I can go head to head with a lawyer.”

“… Is that a challenge?” Hotch chuckled. Reid blinked, then grinned. He rolled onto his stomach, propping his chin up in his palm and kicking his feet lazily.

“Maybe it is…” He purred, staring off into space. “Hopefully I’ll be on a plane tomorrow afternoon… and tomorrow night we can go… head to head?”

“I look forward to it.” Hotch said, grinning. “But anyway… before this turns into phone sex like last time,” Reid snickered, “It’s late. And you need to get to sleep. And so do I.”

“I love you, Aaron.” Reid sighed.

“Love you too, baby. Good night.” And Reid sighed and hung up. He stared at the empty pillow next to his own, then sighed and reached out, grabbing it and drawing it close, burying his face into it. He then inhaled, deeply. It smelled like his lover. And cuddling it close, he fell asleep.

In the morning, he headed back to the courthouse, followed the entire way by a man with tan skin and dark brown hair. And before Reid knew it, he was once again sitting on the witness stand.

“So. Agent Reid.” The Defense Attorney began, sauntering towards him with a smirk on her face. “You said that there was a chance that your profile led you to the wrong man.”

“It is very rare that something is 100% certain.” Reid conceded.

“So… there is a chance that Travis Meyers is innocent?”

“No.” Reid said firmly.

“But you just said—“

“There’s a chance that the profile led us to the wrong man. But combine the profile with the forensic evidence and I would say the probability that we have the wrong guy is… significantly less that the 1% I offered yesterday.”

“Okay, Mr. Statistics. What IS the percentage?”

“That he’s guilty? In my professional opinion, 100%.”

“Well, of course YOU say that. I’m sure you’re used to always being right. I’m sure you never even considered that you might be wrong in your… youthful arrogance.”

“Objection!” The prosecutor cried.

“Withdrawn.” The defense attorney drawled, flicking her hand in a careless gesture. After that, she bombarded Reid with questions and suspicions. Reid stayed calm and answered everything precisely, giving facts to back up his every statement. He had been on the stand for nearly an hour when he was suddenly blindsided. “Agent Reid. Tell me about schizophrenia.” The jury watched as the agent on the stand suddenly stiffened. His eyes widened, then darkened, and his face paled. He swallowed.

“… What do you mean?”

“How does one get it? Does is just randomly manifest?”

“… Schizophrenia is hereditary.” Reid said, stiffly.

“And is it true that your mother, Diana Reid, is a paranoid schizophrenic? And is currently housed in a Sanitarium?”

The prosecutor saw the look on Reid’s face. She leapt to her feet.

“OBJECTION!!! RELEVANCE?!” She howled.

“Goes to the credibility of the witness.” The Defense attorney sighed, looking bored.

“… I’ll allow it.” The Judge said. “For NOW.” And he shot the attorney a warning look.

“It is NOT Agent Reid’s mother on the stand.” The prosecutor snapped.

“No, it’s Agent Reid.” The Defense Attorney said, with a deceptively sweet smile. “Her son. Agent Reid, is it not true that Paranoid Schizophrenics tend to have an above average intelligence? Are geniuses, even?”

“… Yes.” Reid ground out between clenched teeth.

“And you are the genius son of a genius paranoid schizophrenic?”

“… Yes.” Reid hissed. The woman’s smirk widened when she saw the fury in the young man’s eyes.

“So tell me… how do we know that you’re not like her? How do we know that we can trust what you say?”

“I’m an Agent of the FBI.” Reid said, his voice ringing clear. He would not allow his anger to take over. “I undergo regular, thorough psychiatric evaluations with the Bureau doctors, in addition to my own doctor.”

“Your own doctor?”

“Yes.”

“So you admit to seeing a doctor regarding your mental health?”

“I admit that I have a doctor who understands my mother’s condition and the chances that I could develop it as well. And he understands that I am concerned about this. And so, at my request, he does psychiatric evaluations on me regularly. I also monitor myself for any signs.”

“Why?”

“I’m an FBI Field Agent. If we even suspect that schizophrenia might be manifesting within me, I need to be removed from the field immediately.”

“And when was your last evaluation?”

Reid checked his watch. “One month, one week, four days, three hours and twenty three minutes ago. And before you ask, I was proclaimed to be of sound mind.”

“Is it not true that the FBI Profilers are known for outwitting the bureau shrinks? That you all wrote the protocol for performing these so-called evaluations?”

“That is true.” Reid said with a nod. “But the reason I am in the Bureau is to help people. To stop the bad buys. If I go out there mentally unstable, people could die. And that is probably the thing that I fear more than anything else in this entire world. I will not cheat on an evaluation and risk the lives of innocents, or the lives of my team.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t, Agent Reid.” She snorted in a condescending tone. “Nothing further.”

Reid left the courthouse, weary, his nerves shot. That Defense Attorney had hit below the belt. But he was done. He had been dismissed and was ready to join his team.

“Hey Hotch. I just booked a flight… Yeah, Flight 1724, I’ll be arriving at eight fifteen. See you then.” Reid told the man, then hung up his phone. Behind him, a man sent a text.

‘Flight 1724’.

Reid tried to relax in his seat… he hated commercial flights; he had been spoiled by the BAU’s jet… He leaned his seat back and closed his eyes. Once they had reached cruising altitude, he pulled out his MP3 player and stuck his earphones in, turning on not Beetoven or Mozart as he team would have guessed… but the ‘STAR WARS’ soundtrack by John Williams. He immediately moved to ‘The Force Theme’ and it had him relaxed fairly quickly.

They had been cruising for nearly an hour when suddenly, the fasten seatbelt sign came on and the captain’s voice was heard over the speakers in the cabin. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are going to need to make an unplanned landing.” Gasps went up. “No need to be alarmed at this time, all systems are functional. We have been diverted. Please remain in your seats.” Reid removed his ear buds and watched as a man got out of his seat and moved to the front of the aircraft. After thinking a moment, Reid stood and followed.

When he reached the cockpit, the door was open. Reid frowned and peered in. The man was speaking with the pilots. One of the pilots made a double take at Reid. The man whirled, drawing his gun.

“Federal Air Marshall!” He barked, and Reid jumped, eyes wide. He put his hands up.

“FBI.” He gasped.

“… Take out your badge.” The man said, and Reid nodded.

“I am armed.” Reid warned him, before moving his jacket aside. The Marshall watched as Reid’s hand moved past his revolver and to his pocket. A moment later, he pulled out his wallet and passed it over. The Marshall flipped it open and checked. Then he nodded and handed it back, holstering his side arm.

“Agent Reid.” He said with a nod. “Marshall Gerardo Parras.” The pair shook hands.

“What’s going on?” Reid asked.

“… Someone made radio contact with this aircraft.” The Marshall said. “And has ordered us to land at the abandoned airstrip just ahead.

“Who?” Reid asked.

“We don’t know.” One of the pilots gasped “But… whoever it is has my daughter!”

“… You’re a profiler?” The Marshall asked, and Reid nodded.

“What did they say?” He asked.

“Nothing.” The Marshall told him. “Instructions were given by his daughter. She said that the men would hurt her if we didn’t do what they said. And if we obey, they promise that this will be a short diversion and the flight can continue on its way with no one harmed.”

Reid frowned. “Then for now, do as they say. We’ll see what they want.”

The plane landed smoothly on the abandoned runway. A small private plane, about the size of the BAU’s jet was sitting on the cracked tarmac, with several men wielding automatic weapons standing outside of it. Reid and the Marshall both moved out into the cabin and peered out the windows towards the plane. An old set of stairs was being wheeled towards the door of the plane.

“Thank you for your compliance.” Came a voice over a megaphone. “We have come to collect something and then we will be on our way. You may then continue on yours.”

“Thick accent…” Reid murmured. “Mexico…?”

“South American.” The Marshall said. Reid blinked at him, and the man smiled. “My mother is Peruvian.” Reid nodded. Then, a little girl was taken out of the plane and set down. One man knelt and gave her a little push. She began walking towards the plane. She looked to be about five or six.

“That must be the daughter…” Reid murmured.

“Here is the girl! Now send out Cachorro!” Reid froze.

Cachorro.

His mind swam out of focus as a shudder ran through his frame.

“We are going to have your first lesson now. You belong to me, Cachorro. Every inch of you…” Fingers trailed down Reid’s chest.

“Stop.”

“Shhhh… I am your master. You do not speak unless spoken to.”

“I am a Federal Agent!”

“Not anymore, little one.” Hands on his pants…

“… Don’t.” Hands unbuttoned the pants, then slowly slid the zipper down. “Please…”

“Better. Asking nicely will help you get what you want. But not this time.” The pants were peeled off of Reid’s body, leaving him naked. Dark eyes stared at him, burning in lust. “… Not bad.”

“Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop looking at me…” A chuckle.

“You have a nice body, Cachorro. Do not be ashamed of it.” And then there was a hand on his ankle.

“… W-What are you doing?!” His leg was lifted and bent at the knee and his foot was placed into a stirrup. “What are you… please… don’t… please…” His foot was strapped there, followed by the other foot. A shudder when hands ran up the insides of pale legs. A hand pressed against his inner thigh, feeling his femoral artery… his rapid pulse. Hands fastened straps around his legs right above his knees and then linked them with a spreader bar, keeping his knees, and therefore his thighs, spread wide.

“We are going to learn that everything comes from your master. Food. Water. Pleasure…” Fingers trailed over his length, teasingly.

“Don’t… please…”

“Be silent.”

“No! Let me go! I don’t want this!”

“What you want does not matter.”

“I am NOT your slave!”

“I will not tolerate attitude, Cachorro.”

“Fuck you!”

“I tire of your stubborn mouth.” Then hands gripped his jaw and forced his mouth open shoving a tongue gag between his teeth… once turned on, it began to move realistically. He squeaked in shock, writhing.

“Shush, Cachorro. Now the pleasure begins.”

“No…” Reid breathed. Marshall Parras stared at him.

“Are you alright?” He asked, eyeing Reid’s pale complexion.

Then, another voice was heard over the megaphone. The same voice from Reid’s memory.

“Cachorro. It is time to come home.”

“No… no no no…” Reid breathed, and stumbled backwards into the aisle of the plane, one hand covering his mouth and the other pressed to his stomach as he turned horribly pale. The voice was heard again and he closed his eyes.

“This will happen one of two ways, Cachorro. Either you will return to me on you own, or I will come in and take you by force. If it is the second option, people will die.” People on the plane began to freak out.

“What the hell is a cachorro?!” One woman was screaming.

“It means ‘Pup’!” A man responded. “Is there a dog in the cargo hold?!”

“Someone get it and toss it out!”

“All this over a dog?”

“ENOUGH!!!” Marshall Parras shouted, flashing his badge. “Federal Air Marshall! I need everyone to sit down and be silent.” Slowly, they obeyed. “Is anyone transporting a dog?”

“… He’s not after a dog.” Reid managed to choke out. Parras and the other passengers looked at him. “… His name is Arturo Coronado. And he’s after me.” The Marshall stared at Reid.

“Why?” Parras blurted.

“Ten seconds, Cachorro.” The voice boomed.

“… I… He… Pen… I need a pen.” Reid gasped, his heart pounding. A woman who had been working on paperwork handed it over. Reid took Parras’ hand and scribbled down a number. “This will get you in touch with my Unit Chief, Aaron Hotchner. Give him the plane’s number and tell him it’s Coronado.” And he set the pen down. “You. Open the door.” He said, pointing at a flight attendant.

“What are you doing?!” Parras cried, chasing after him.

“Five seconds.” Came the call

“Going out to him.” Reid said.

“You can’t just—“

“Four.”

“I’m not going to let people die!” Reid snapped. “And believe me, he WILL follow through on his threat. Starting with that little girl!” He said, indicating the pilot’s daughter who was standing at the base of the stairs. Parras just stared at him. The door opened.

“Three.”

“Call Agent Hotchner as soon as you’re airborne.” Reid said to the Marshall, and stepped out into the blinding sunlight.
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Cachorro