Breathless | David Rossi

Chapter Twenty Nine

"She hasn't said a word since we brought her in. I figured you might have better luck."

Hotch nods gratefully, turning to look at you through the mirror. You sit in the chair, your hands handcuffed to the table with no room for movement. You've been deemed highly dangerous, and to be treated as such. Hotch frowns at your dazed state, the way you stare aimlessly at your blood-stained hands.

Your brain racks the last of your memories, to work out how the fuck you ended up here. It's all hazy, almost like you dreamt it, all the blood everywhere. Your stomach churns at the thought, but you push yourself to remember, to remember where it came from. You have to know.

Just like you have to know; where is Rossi?

"No, no, no, no..." You're a muttering mess as you press the material deeper into the wound, the blood seeping through it and coating your hands. You apply firm pressure, even with your shaky fingers trying to stop the bleeding. But it just won't ease up.

For the first time in hours, you move, looking between your palms in an attempt to decipher the last memory. Who was that? Who's blood is this? A wave of panic crashes over you, your eyes darting to figure out if it belongs to you; nope.

You don't hear the door into the interrogation room opening, nor do you acknowledge the two agents that situate themselves opposite you. You glance down, your eyes wide at the dark splotches ruining your clothes.

There's blood everywhere...

"Agent Y/L/N," Hotch starts, his voice low.

You blink up, locking eyes with your unit chief. Confusion spreads across your features; what is he doing here?

"Little girl?"

You avert your gaze to Derek, relief flooding you. Sure, you trust Hotch with your life, but there's something else with Derek. There's no judgment, no need to justify yourself. You're closer to Derek than Hotch.

"Derek, what happened? Wh-what am I missing?"

Your voice trembles as you struggle to piece together the last couple of hours. It's frustrating.

"Tell me the last thing you remember." He answers softly, refraining from glancing down at your bloodied hands.

You swallow, turning your attention to your handcuffed wrists. "I-um," Your eyebrows crease in concentration.

"You took everything from me." He seethes, walking toward you with a menacing look. "Now, it's my turn."

Your eyes widen in shock, your feet planted to ground and your brain screaming at you to do something. But you can only watch, as Angelo pulls his gun from behind his back, shooting Rossi.

"David," You murmur. "David!" Your eyes are wide in terror as you glance between Derek and Hotch. "Where is he? Is he okay?!" You ramble, so many words tumbling out before you can even finish a sentence. "Please tell me he's alive."

"We don't know." Hotch fesses.

You open your mouth and close it, unable to form the correct sentence. "What do you mean, we don't know? It's either he's dead or alive?"

"Y/N, I need you to focus."

You shoot Hotch an incredulous look. "Focus? Focus on what?" Your voice begins to rise, promoting Derek to reach across and rest his hand over yours, despite his hesitation of the blood.

"Little girl, look at me." He soothes, working on calming your anger. "Look at me," He repeats. You listen, panic flashing in your eyes. "We want to try and do a cognitive interview, you think you're up for that?"