He collapsed in the dimly lit basement of the apartment.
His consciousness was a little blurry.
Someone beside him was saying something.
"You know you have to stab yourself repeatedly.
It's not fatal.
Do you have a deep understanding of the human body? I'm not bragging, but I'm really an expert. "
The cold knife pierced his body.
The tearing pain came again.
The pain took over all his senses.
His mind was a little blank.
He knew he couldn't show his fear.
He also stubbornly believed in something. "My team …"
"Your team, unless I want to be caught.
Otherwise, your team won't be able to catch me. Don't be stupid.
You can't make this decision. "
The short knife was pulled out and raised again. Blood dripped from it.
He controlled himself not to look away.
He told himself not to be afraid, but he could imagine what would happen next.
"Relax.
Your body will gradually lose consciousness.
If you can relax, everything will be much easier.
The most difficult part.
Will you faint from the pain? "
The sharp knife entered his body.
He groaned and clenched his hand. Endure, don't moan, don't give in, he told himself.
"I know that profilers think that stabbing is a kind of compensation for sexual behavior. If someone is incompetent, they will use a knife instead. Do you think so, Agent Hotcher? Maybe this will change the way you do profiling."
The bloodstained knife reflected the light slightly. He felt that it was a little dazzling. His vision blurred, and then the knife slowly moved down. The incessant pain seemed to have numbed him …
Hotch opened his eyes abruptly. The pain in his body came like a tidal wave. He panted slightly. After a while, he realized that he was still lying in the ward. Not long ago, he said goodbye to Haley and Jack here. He closed his eyes.
"Do you want some water?" A cup was offered.
"Thank you." Hotch propped himself up and sat up. He paused for a moment and frowned slightly. He reached out to take the cup and took a sip. The warm water made him feel better. He glanced at Bruce, who was standing by the bed. "You're still here?"
Bruce gave a little smile as an answer. He couldn't possibly say that he only felt at ease when he saw her. The panic he felt when he found out about Hotch's accident earlier in the day hadn't dissipated. Only by seeing her in person did Bruce feel slightly better.
"What time is it now?" Hotch saw that the sky outside the window had already darkened.
Bruce took out his phone and looked at it. "It's almost nine o 'clock. Do you want to eat something? "Although he had been injected with glucose, it was hard to guarantee that he wouldn't want to eat something.
"No, thank you for your visit."
Was this the meaning of sending him off? Even though Bruce was reluctant, he still picked up the backpack that Hotch had placed on the floor. When he was about to leave the room, Bruce turned back to look at Hotch. "Are you sure you don't need painkillers?"
Hotch's face was terrifyingly pale, and there was cold sweat on his forehead. It seemed like this had disturbed him even in his sleep, but he still shook his head. "No, I can beat him." Even though it didn't look good, Hotch was still very determined as if he was trying to convince himself.
Painkillers weren't completely harmless to the body, and taking large amounts of them could be addictive.
But Bruce realized that Hotch had used the word "he" instead of "it". What the hell did that damned Foyet do?! Bruce's heart was filled with anger.
"You will. Good night." Bruce walked out of the room and walked down the corridor. He slowly stopped and sat on a chair in the corridor. He couldn't just go back like this. He couldn't do it.
.....
The next morning, not long after Hotch woke up in the ward, Bruce appeared in the ward. "Good morning. Are you feeling better? I brought oatmeal and egg rolls. Come and try them. This shop is very good. It's full every day. "
When Bruce gazed at you with a smile, it was a sincere smile instead of just a polite smile. It was easy to be touched by his sincerity. His dark eyes only reflected you, as if you were the only person in the world that he saw.
When Hotch came back to his senses, he had already nodded in confusion. Bruce was already happily setting up the table on the bed as if he had found a treasure. Then, he placed the breakfast on the table.
As Hotch ate his breakfast, he saw Bruce looking at the medical record hanging at the end of the bed. He had a strange feeling. He thought about Bruce's smile just now. He had never seen Bruce like this. Although Bruce was gentle and polite to most people, there was an unruly arrogance in him that he didn't know about. It wasn't his attitude toward people, but more like his attitude toward the world. Bruce didn't intend to treat people and things with a condescending attitude, but there was something in him that he didn't realize. Hotch couldn't exactly describe what it was, but it was a little like the disdain of a wise man who had seen through things.
However, no matter what that attitude was, it had disappeared from Bruce. Hotch recalled the smile just now. Bruce's eyes were bloodshot, and there was a green shadow under his eyes. There was also a cautious and even pleading attitude. Hotch didn't know why, but he found it strange.
Breakfast ended in silence. Not long after, a nurse walked in. "Sir, please leave the room. I have to check the patient's wound and change the dressing."
Bruce obeyed and left the ward.
"Mr. Hotcher, is that your friend?" the nurse asked with the medical record.
"Yes, what's wrong?"
"He sat on the chair in the corridor outside the ward for the whole night."
.....
When Bruce returned to the ward, Hotch leaned against the headboard with a serious expression. He seemed to be thinking about something. When he entered the ward, he locked his gaze on him.
Bruce felt a little uncomfortable. Of course, he usually wanted to attract Hotch's attention, but not this serious or even probing gaze. This kind of direct gaze made him feel like he was being seen through.
"I heard from the doctor that you sat outside for the whole night. I think we need to talk." Hotch went straight to the point.
"Alright." Bruce smiled. There was a hint of helplessness in his smile. He pulled a chair over and sat beside the bed. He almost knew what Hotch was going to say.
"I …" Hotch seemed to be hesitating. In the end, he used a more direct method. "I accidentally learned the flower language of the white hyacinth. I'm not sure if that's what you want to say …"
"Yes." Bruce looked up at Hotch. No wonder he felt that Hotch had been paying more attention to him recently. So it was because of this.
"I'm very surprised." Hotch paused. "There's a big age gap between us. I know you lack a father in your life, but I think …"
Father to hell. Bruce suddenly felt irritated. He interrupted Hotch. "I'm sure I can tell what I want," he said through gritted teeth.
"But I only see you as an excellent colleague, a friend." Hotch's words were calm and straightforward. Even though he knew it might be cruel to Bruce, he was just describing a fact.
Bruce lowered his head slightly, trying to hide the emotions in his eyes. Even though he already knew, when these words were said clearly, Bruce still felt a sharp pain in his heart.
"Jones?"
"Can you call me Bruce? Please."
Hotch did not say anything. He used his silence to express his firm rejection.
Bruce suddenly raised his head. There seemed to be tears in his eyes, but there was not much disappointment, anger, or sadness on his face. He said slowly in a gentle voice, "I love you, but this has nothing to do with you."
Due to the height of the seats, Bruce had to tilt his head slightly to meet Hotch's gaze. The morning sun outside the window shone on their faces. Bruce realized that Hotch's eyes were not pure black. Under the sun, they were a dark brown, not as cold as black.
Brosnan smiled and looked at Hotch with a certain piety in his eyes. He slowly repeated his words and got up to leave. He did not know how gentle his smile was.
'I love you, but this has nothing to do with you.'
Nine out of ten things in life did not go your way. He did not expect to get a response. But …
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