Disclaimer: I own nothing Criminal Minds related and the base of this story belongs to RoseLaurel.

I was inspired by an author, RoseLaurel, who has a wonderful set of Hotch/Reid drabbles called Live and Let Love, which you should definitely check out, especially the one called Tourniquet. But this story was actually inspired by her story 'What It Feels Like To Love.' I borrowed the base idea of Reid getting hit on in a bar and Hotch swooping in to save him. But yeah, super good, should check them out.

Spencer had always prided himself on being a perfectly rational, calm being. Need he point out just what he did for a living? The whole facing down serial killers on a daily bases sort of spoke for itself, at least in his mind. But this? Even Spencer had limits to his rationality.

Beneath the counter, Spencer flexed his hands, balling them up into fists for a moment. Of course, Spencer couldn't ever imagine resorting to something as savage as a drunken bar brawl. Well, not quite drunken on his own part as the glass in front of him was simply club soda with a lime wedge. Spencer would have preferred water, he really would have, but Morgan would have been all over him, pushing shots with questionable colour liquids at him with less than respectable names. No, Spencer did not wish to partake in anything even remotely referred to as a 'Panty Dropper.' The seltzer was simply for show, to give Morgan the impression that he was drinking a gin and tonic.

Because apparently, Morgan seemed to believe that team drinking and thus team excursions to the bar triumphed over normal bonding exercises like trust falls. While Reid wasn't all that crazy for trust falls either – Reid couldn't exactly recall ever having successfully completed one come to think of it – it did seem just slightly preferable to his present situation. Reid simply didn't like to drink and contrary to popular myth, building any sort of interpersonal connection centered around alcohol or any substance for that matter was not conducive to a relationship be it professional, friendly, or otherwise.

"You sure I can't get you a shot, sugar? They have this great one called blowjob," the nameless male beside of him cooed. Not for the first time, Reid leaned away on his barstool as the other male attempted to lean closer. And for god's sake, as if the other hadn't been forward and crude enough as it were, the male simply felt the need to continue, "All you'd have ta do is tilt that pretty head of yours back and open your mouth wide." A smirk. "Real wide."

And then, much to Reid's disgust, the man actually had the audacity to press his large hand against Reid's thigh, giving the smaller male a squeeze.

Reid balled his fists once more, narrowing his eyes. "As I have already informed you," Reid began curtly, promptly moving to pull his leg away though he frowned when the other would not concede his grip, "I am not interested." And god, people thought that he was dense! But this guy… this guy did not even remotely understand just what the word 'no' meant. After all, everything about Reid's posture said that the other male didn't stand a chance: as if recoiling wasn't enough, his hips were very much pointed away, his spine was stiffened, his shoulder was facing the male, his jaw locked in place, eyes narrowed. Didn't take a profiler to see that Reid wanted the creature that was invading his personal space to disappear.

And still, even if all of that hadn't been enough, what part of 'not interested' could not penetrate that thick, Neanderthal-looking skull? Talk about a protruding brow bone. Absentmindedly Reid wondered if perhaps his gun or badge would get the message across better.

But well, pulling a gun on a random drunk citizen would probably not reflect all that well on the BAU. Unfortunately. And well, it'd cause a scene which held the potential to ruin the team's night out. At least they should be able to enjoy themselves, right? They were still around the bar… somewhere. Morgan had claimed that this was a bonding experience but so far the only bonding Reid had seen was a couple of girls grinding against said older profiler. Of course, Derek's possible threesome or tensome or whatever the body count was up to now had no real baring on the present situation before Reid, you know, the situation that was moving his hand higher.

Quickly Reid reached down to catch said hand, giving the offender a stern glare. Though he managed to halt the progression of the appendage, he wasn't quite strong enough to forcibly remove the increasingly tight grip. God he was going to be pissed if he had bruises in the morning.

"Don't you want to play?" the male pressed and Reid wondered if his face reflected his level of disgust.

Yeah, I want to play 'go fuck yourself.'

Of course, Reid's well engrained manners and rationality would never allow him to say such a thing aloud. As if he really were trying to make Reid throw up, the man actually dropped his free hand into his own lap, leisurely stroking himself through his pants. Vile didn't even begin to cover it.

"Let me go. Now. I will not ask again," Reid snapped rather venomously.

The male's eyes lit up in an almost… delight, and for the first time that evening, Reid felt a small twinge of fear. At first this man had been a simple irritation, but that look? Instantly he slipped into profiler mode, trying to assess the level of threat that this drunk presented to his wellbeing. The other was clearly controlling as evident by the tight grip he was keeping on Reid's leg; the other couldn't accept being turned down; he had sought out Reid as his target who had in fact appeared to be alone, had a somewhat meek and absentminded disposition, and, to the untrained eye, very much seemed as though he would not be able to defend himself against a much larger opponent; the man was overly aggressive but that much was a given; he was also considerably intoxicated. While being drunk was nothing rare given their current venue of choice, it was certainly a factor for Reid to consider. After all, alcohol wasn't known as liquid courage for no reason.

Over all, this situation was not boding well with Reid and the man was exhibiting rather unsub-like tenancies. A murderer? Perhaps though Reid didn't think it all too likely, not at this present point in time if the male still required the alcohol to help him along. Rape? Kidnapping? Both exceedingly likely, however.

Despite the fact that if Reid so much as raised his voice he would gain not only the attention of the bartender and bouncers, but he would also alert five other very armed and dangerous FBI agents, the thought never once crossed his mind to make a scene. Instead he was already trying to concoct a subtle way to escape the situation, one that avoided drawing attention to himself and troubling the people around him.

The male before Reid licked his lips, excitement seeming to flash across his eyes. His grip tightened and Reid had to swallow down his yelp of pain; he was now quite positive that there would be bruises. "Well?" the man pushed, spinning Reid around to face him, a sloppy grin spread from ear to ear. "Aren't you going to show me your 'or else?'"

"I never said 'or else,'" Reid growled through his teeth.

"But it was implied sugar. Come on baby, show me what you got. No? Oh, so you're just a little tease then, aren't you? Playing hard to get," he mused, his smile turning into a sneer that made Reid's skin crawl.

Before Reid could respond, the man grabbed him by the back of his head and jerked him forward. To Reid's utter horror, the other crushed their lips together. Reid fought to jerk back but the fingers now entangled within his brown locks and the nails digging into his neck and scalp prevented Reid from getting too far. If anything, his struggles only seemed to encourage the man who roughly shoved the thin male back against the counter to awkwardly pin Reid's arms as he continued to assault the profiler's lips.

As Reid felt a tongue push insistently against his lips, he swore that if it came into his mouth, he'd bite the muscle off. He never got the chance, however, as it would seem that Hotch's manners dictated that he wasn't above a drunken brawl; before Red even knew what was happening Hotch was very much forcibly removing the male from his position against his subordinate. Of course, Hotch's act of heroism was both a good and bad thing. A good thing because, well hey, Reid hadn't exactly been planning on taking the unsub in the making home with him. So thank you Mister Boss Man for that, but well, it was bad because the drunk's fingers were still very much holding onto Reid's hair… which meant that when Hotch damn near tackled the male off the stool, Reid was dragged along for the ride and boy did that hurt.

Reid cried out as he was ripped into the fray, hands instantly shooting up to try and pry himself free, clawing at the skin that he came into contact with. He wasn't exactly sure how he or his long hair managed to get free but a few moments later and he was able to stumble back to observe the scene that was unfolding in front of him. Hotch, his stoic, never out of his suit and tie section chief, had the man on the floor and was straddling him as he repeatedly rained blows down upon the man. Red was stunned. He just stood there and stared.

Thankfully it would seem that someone had managed to retain enough brain cells to react; Morgan lunged forward (from where, Reid hadn't the faintest idea). Except, instead of pulling the two males apart like Reid would have hoped, Morgan seemed bound and determined to help his superior out.

"Hotch! Morgan! Stop!" Reid tried yelling but none of the three males seemed to be paying him any attention at this point, far too busy with trying to gain the upper hand. Poor guy never stood a chance; as if Morgan or Hotch wouldn't have been formidable enough on their own.

And then the bouncers were finally stepping into the fight as well as Rossi strangely enough. Rossi, however, proved himself to be vital; as the bouncers struggled to contain Hotch and the man who seemed hell bent on ripping each other apart, Rossi quickly went to subdue Morgan in a less physical manner.

There were growls of, "What's going on here?" from Rossi, narrowing his eyes as he stood in the way of Morgan and the men.

"Hell if I know but if that guy pissed off Hotch that much then it must have been bad," was Morgan's retort, shifting as if he were going to try and get around Rossi, but Reid stopped paying attention to them and his gaze instead focusing on Hotch whom was fighting against the bouncers. It wasn't long at all before the other FBI agents made their way over, not quite understanding just what had happened, but they were quick to take the enraged Hotch's side. After all, they all shared Morgan's notion that to set Hotch off, even if he was absurdly drunk, it couldn't have just been nothing.

After much fussing and yelling and general confusion, the group of FBI agents found themselves removed from the bar but at least the bouncers had had enough sense to escort the man out the back way to avoid the fight being continued in front of the establishment.

As they stood there, Hotch was still fuming, pacing in a manner that made the rest of the team weary to approach him. They exchanged glances, each silently inquiring of each other just what had transpired but no one besides Reid and Hotch seemed aware of the circumstances and Reid refused to meet their gaze. Finally, unable to take it anymore, Reid moved towards Hotch.

Hesitantly, he interjected himself in his boss' path, hands nervously tugging at the hem of his own shirt. "Hotch, please, calm down," Reid tried gently, unsure of what to say. To see Hotch so… angry, so unlike Hotch, it was almost worse than having to deal with that man.

Reid swallowed. And he had been the cause of Hotch's anger.

"Calm down?" Hotch snarled as he stopped in his tracks, a tone that made Reid flinch back. "Reid, what he did, what I'm sure he was planning on doing—"

"I know," Reid interjected hurriedly as it would seem that Hotch was the only one who had witnessed just what had taken place, and well, quite frankly, Reid had no interest in anyone else finding out. As if the team didn't already baby him enough.

Hotch sighed, closing his eyes as he turned from Reid, running a hand through his hair. At least he had stopped pacing. After a moment of silence passed in which each member of Hotch's team felt terribly uncomfortable and unsure, Hotch opened his eyes, his composure once again having retuned – the perfect poker face buried anything that he may have been feeling, making him all too unreadable. The only signs that anything had taken place out of the ordinary were a slightly ruffled suit, his bloody knuckles and a bruise already starting to form on the male's jaw. Reid wasn't sure whether or not this made him feel better.

Someone behind them – maybe it had been JJ? – cleared his or her throat, a gesture that seemed to remind Hotch that they were not alone.

"You walked here, Reid?" Hotch finally asked though it really sounded more like a statement than a question if you asked Reid. Nonetheless, the younger male nodded, eyes slowly falling to the ground. He had always found meeting Hotch's gaze incredibly hard, but right now it was entirely impossible. "And you're sober?" Another nod though Reid was surprised to find Hotch's keys suddenly in his hands. "Then you'll drive. I trust the rest of you are sober enough to take yourselves home or at least responsible enough to call a cab?"

"Hotch, what—" Morgan started though Hotch abruptly cut him off without even the faintest sign of remorse.

"Not now," and no one dared protest, the group once again falling into an uncomfortable silence that was only broken when Hotch spoke again. "Reid, get in the car. I will see the rest of you Monday." Obediently, and with Hotch's guiding hand on his shoulder, Reid made his way over towards where Hotch had parked and climbed into the driver's seat while the older male went around the vehicle to get in the passenger side.

Reid didn't know why he was so nervous. After all, Hotch was clearly beyond belligerently drunk. There was no other way to explain Hotch's complete lack of rationality in the bar… And Hotch was just being responsible by having someone sober drive him home.

Reid swallowed. Then again, Hotch did seem awfully mad. He was probably going to yell. He couldn't help but wince at that thought. Reid hated being yelled at, but he supposed he deserved it after allowing that mess to happen.