Lariloveshotch - Some Grow Up To Catch Them

Actions and Thoughts

Part 3 of the Whiskeyverse --- LINK

Read the first 2 parts before this for maximum enjoyment!

Relationships: Hotch & Male BAU Reader, BAU Team & Male Reader Content: Angst, Explosions, Peril, Panic, Blood & Injury, Hospitals, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort Word Count: 17,840 Summary: Mondays are always the worst, but Reader is dreading it a little more than normal considering the last time he saw the team he was a little drunk, bleeding, and disoriented. Work should be easy compared to that, right? Takes place around mid-season 3. Note: Might be mistakes that slipped past my notice. Just pretend you do not see it lol IMPORTANT: You know the drill! Next part won't be posted until: Reblogs ≥ Likes (Reblogs must be greater or equal to likes. You can tell me your fave part of the story!) Dedicated to my lovely mutuals who left nice comments on the previous parts of this series: @hotchfiles @wheelsup30 @mayfieldss @masterwords @ralvezfanatic And to @enonymously and especially @wily-wheelchair who reblogged At Cross Purposes enough for this part to be posted! Thanks to all these people! <3 But don't let them do all the work this time and REBLOG this if you enjoyed! Thanks!

“Alright, what the hell happened the other night?”

Morgan’s voice cracked against the silence and echoed in the hallway just outside the bullpen. Your eyes drifted shut momentarily as your plan to be the last one to slip in to the office and avoid any questions for at least an hour immediately crumbled. This conversation was not one that should be had quite literally first thing on Monday morning, before even setting foot in the office.

Glancing over your shoulder, you caught sight of him striding over to you with the hint of a smile. As if pulled by a magnet in the opposite direction, your whole body drew away from his presence without you directing it to do so. Quickly pushing through the double doors, you didn’t turn to look at him again until you had the option of running toward the tiny sanctuary of your desk.

He stopped short just inside the doors and stared at you, his smile slipping away.

“Not you, too,” he shook his head slowly.

You tried to look him in the eye but couldn’t hold his gaze for longer than a second without it transforming into the leer it had been the last time you had seen him.

“What?” he thrust his arms out to the sides, “What is it, man?”

“Um…” you shifted minutely from foot to foot, one of your hands coming up to fiddle with the end of your tie.

“Look, I –” Morgan scoffed self-consciously, rubbing at the back of his neck, “I know I must have gone overboard ‘cause I suddenly woke up at home Saturday morning. I mean, I never do that.”

You found yourself nodding at his words. It was definitely the first time you had ever seen him completely lose himself. It happened to the best of people once or twice. Others, much more than that. You blinked, forcing your mind back to the present moment.

The doors pushed open as Anderson walked in, smiling and greeting you both. You side stepped to give him room as both you and Morgan bid him a good morning before he strode toward his desk. A still moment passed before Morgan turned his attention back to you.

“But…” he shook his head, “What did I do? What was so bad? Garcia’s giving me the silent treatment, and now you, too?”

The coarse stitches itched beneath the bandage hidden under the thin layer of your shirt. Your expression echoed the grimace you wore that night his grip tore your flesh open again.

I knew he was a fruit, man!

“I… uh…” you fumbled for words to possibly explain it all, mind going blank.

“Hey!” Prentiss called from somewhere behind you in the bullpen.

You turned to see her standing several paces away in front of the coffee machine, beckoning you over rather frantically as she glanced around at others passing by to start their days.

“Can you help me with this thing? I – I don’t know why it’s not working,” she craned over the machine, tapping it on all sides and muttering, “Oh, god, I hope I didn’t break it.”

Almost instantly, you began to rush over to her. You spared Morgan a backward glance and a quick shrug, taking note of the tilt of his brows before he started on his way to his desk.

“So what’s the problem?” you eyed the machine as you sidled up beside her.

Prentiss’s lips slowly curled into a smile.

“Nothing.”

Your eyes found hers and the knowing glint in her gaze rendered you motionless for a moment. A grateful smile then broke through your surprise.

“Thanks,” you muttered, fighting to rein in your expression as you faced toward the counter again.

“Mhmm,” she hummed, still smirking and keeping her eyes forward.

Continuing the charade, you let your fingers run over the smooth plastic top of the machine.

“How’s your shoulder?” she spoke quietly.

You lifted the lid and gave a cursory peek inside, the aroma of the coffee grounds wafting over the two of you.

“Alright,” you responded as you removed the pot and filled it with water from the sink, “Stitches are starting to itch a little but it’s okay.”

She hadn’t brought it up over the weekend in any of the texts you had exchanged, but now you silently prayed she didn’t ask how Morgan’s hand could have possibly caused such a wound.

“Debated just not coming in today, honestly…” you added.

She huffed a soft laugh, leaning closer toward you until your arms touched momentarily.

“Hey, no one would blame you,” she said.

You poured the water into the open lid, then put the pot back in its place and switched the machine to the correct setting that everyone seemed to ignore. Finally, you glanced at her out of the corner of your eye.

A faint smile graced her expression as she took in yours.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” she spoke, the loud burble of the machine providing a cover from any prying ears, “That was… a hell of a night.”

A wry chuckle forced its way out of your chest.

“Yeah,” you agreed, “It was mostly okay, though.”

You gave her a smile, your chest feeling lighter when you saw how she returned it brightly.

“I mean, I had fun with you,” you continued.

The skin around her eyes crinkled as she emitted a soft laugh.

“Yeah, me too,” she agreed.

The pair held each other’s gaze, the memory of a frenzied dance flitted through both minds in the same moment. You blinked as the memory skipped ahead to what came soon after. And you glanced away toward the machine that was now beginning to drip contents into the pot.

“It was just, well, you know…” you mumbled.

She nodded, her gaze drifting toward Morgan’s desk where he seemed to be taking an incredibly long time to find a suitable pen. His eyes continued to dart over toward the pair standing at the counter.

“Are you gonna tell him about it today?” she asked.

A heavy weight settled in your chest, your brow creasing. An irrational flood of annoyance filled your head, swimming behind your eyes. How did this become your responsibility? Why did you have to worry about having a big discussion, informing someone else of their actions?

Prentiss watched the range of emotions dart across your expression. Her eyes widened for a brief second, her hands coming up to wave away her question.

“Uh. I – I don’t know,” you spoke before she could, “I guess I just wanted to do my work and not really worry about it for a while.”

She nodded quickly, biting at her bottom lip as she studied you.

“Yeah,” she patted your arm, “Okay. Go ahead. I’ll bring you a cup once it’s finished.”

She jabbed her thumb at the machine, still pumping out a wonderfully strong scented liquid.

“Alright,” you smiled at her before turning away.

Skirting around co-workers, you wound your way through the paths in between the desks. Carefully avoiding the eyes that burned into your back, you made it to your own desk and sat down with a heavy sigh.

The feel of the paper beneath your fingertips allowed a deep, steadying breath to pass through your lungs. This was easy, it was methodical. Paperwork was simple, structured.

At times it was utterly boring but at the moment, the repetitive nature was exactly what you craved.

You could feel people passing by as the air around you whooshed in waves against your skin but you kept your head down and focused on your tasks.

A soft clink of ceramic against wood made you start, your head whipping up to find the source.

Prentiss smiled as she left you the promised mug of coffee, just how you liked it, and moved on to her own desk. Smiling back gratefully as she passed by, you grabbed the mug and blew at the gently coiling steam before taking several long sips. You relished the rich flavor and awaited the much needed caffeine boost as you continued to push through your large slog of work.

Eventually, your hand began to cramp and you needed to set your pen down. Blinking away the slight bleariness that came from staring so hard at your files, you sat back in your chair.

A soft groan sounded in your throat as a joint your lower spine popped. You stretched your arms above your head. You risked a quick glance in Morgan’s direction but found he was miraculously focused on his own work as well. As you looked around, you caught Reid’s eye and he gave you a tiny smile. You returned it, watching as his gaze flicked toward Morgan too before he went back to his own tasks.

The parts in your chair strained as you leaned further back, your lips pressing together as you wondered how Reid felt about the whole situation. Perhaps he had something to do with the peace you were being granted at the moment. He certainly could have told Morgan to give you some space in the time you were hiding behind coffee related excuses with Prentiss. Your fingers tapped softly against your thigh as you made a mental note to ask him later.

A trilling phone ringing ripped you from your speculation and you glanced around the busy office. Now seemed as safe a time as any to take a quick bathroom break. The others were all occupied and you could quickly dash away. Your chair creaked as you stood, but luckily the office was filled with so many sounds, it was not enough to bring any attention your way.

Your hands went to your tie, straightening it as you made your way to the nearest bathroom. You tended to avoid public bathrooms when possible, given that there was a ninety-five percent chance they would be disgusting. But the bathrooms here were kept so pristine, you had no qualms using them whenever you needed to.

Pushing the door open, you found the bathroom miraculously empty and you were able to take a stall for once. Afterward, you washed your hands slowly, methodically. The rush of the faucet hit your ears. Your eyelids fluttered as you recalled the last time you were in a public bathroom.

On a whim, you splashed a bit of the frigid tap water against your face. A muffled gasp pushed past your lips as you leaned over the sink, clear droplets falling from your nose and chin. The little shock was enough to banish any creeping feelings.

Ripping a paper towel from the dispenser, you quickly patted your face dry. The bright, white overhead lights shone harshly and accentuated the faint purple crescents beneath your eyes. You exhaled heavily from your nose at the sight. You could only hope they were less noticeable out in the bullpen.

Turning to leave, your shoes squeaked against the tiles as you stopped short when the door was pushed open from the other side.

Hotch halted in his tracks when his gaze landed on you, staring as the door closed behind him. The soft thud as it landed back into place seemed to echo in the quiet. For a couple of seconds, neither man moved, merely peering at each other in surprise.

“Hey,” Hotch said as he took a small step forward to avoid the door’s range, should it open again.

“Hey,” you repeated, your hands balling up the damp paper towel you had yet to toss away.

“I thought I made it clear that you could take today off if you needed to,” he muttered, surprise etched on his face.

A quiet moment crawled by where you held his scrutinizing gaze. You saw past the wall with the boss personality projected onto its surface, and saw the worry hidden behind it.

“Well, I don’t need to,” you responded plainly.

He stood very straight, his eyes flitting over you, looking you up and down in a quick flash.

“Okay,” he agreed placidly, giving a tiny nod.

You nodded in return. Then you turned to toss your clump of a paper towel into the bin near the edge of the row of sinks.

Hotch moved toward the stalls, giving your upper arm a soft pat as he brushed past you. A ghost of a smirk flitted across your lips as you moved toward the door.

As you strode through, your chest felt oddly tingly. You turned back to glance through the rapidly closing door, the sight of the bathroom within quickly becoming obscured.

You caught sight of Hotch as he paused in front of a stall, turning back in the same moment, his eyes finding yours through the waning sliver just before it shut completely.

The bright sun that shone through the windows had faded slightly when you finally broke free from your trance, whipping a file on top of the stack you had piled up on your desk. You slowly turned your head and exhaled sharply when a joint in your neck gave a crack.

The clock on the wall informed everyone that it was now well past noon, running closer to one o'clock. You rubbed at your eyes before glancing around to catch Prentiss look up and give a faint smile.

You gave a minute nod. Leaning back, the hole in your stomach suddenly made itself known as if your stretch had provoked it.

That coffee was ages ago.

A late lunch seemed to be in order.

Taking special care to not look anyone in the eye, you grabbed your things and made your way out of the room.

The sleek, grey elevator closing in front of you allowed a deep breath to release from your chest. Finally, you were away from any fleeting glances. Your stomach emitted such a loud rumble, you found yourself grateful for the empty elevator for another reason entirely.

Out on the street, the midday air warmed you quite quickly. The sun against your skin was a stark contrast to the cool air conditioned state of the building you worked in. You closed your eyes momentarily, turning your head toward the sky and inhaled deeply.

A waft of something delicious hit your nose. Your eyes snapped open and you spied a man hurrying by on the sidewalk with a paper bag in hand that contained what seemed to be some kind of bagel sandwich.

Stomach grumbling at the sight, you turned and began walking in the direction he had come from. Weaving in between people, you kept a sharp eye out for anyone else with a bag or cup with a similar design that the man’s bag had printed on it.

Only a few minutes later, you smiled when you spied an awning with the very same design. Walking in, you weren’t surprised to find it bustling with customers and the staff members scurrying about behind the counter.

You slotted yourself into the back of the long line for ordering. You already knew what you wanted. That bagel sandwich smelled like a dream and your heart was set on it.

Pulling out your phone, you thought it wise to check it while you waited. No missed calls or sudden messages yet. You let out a heavy breath.

Absently, you scrolled through everything possible in your phone while taking a couple of shuffling steps forward in line. Clicking through your contacts, you finger stopped when you landed on a new one that had recently been imputed but had yet to be used.

Javi

You fixated on the contact for so long, you didn’t realize you were suddenly several paces away from the man in front of you in line. Moving up quickly, you stowed your phone and banished all thoughts of anything except food.

When it came to be your turn at the front you hastily ordered the egg and bacon bagel sandwich along with an iced coffee. After stating your name for the order, you rushed out of the way to allow the next person their go.

The smell of various cafe foods swirled and danced in the air around you as you shuffled around people to head toward the single person tables.

Once in your seat, you looked about and felt a tickle of restlessness on your back. You should have brought something to occupy yourself with.

Pulling your phone out again, you stared at the little illuminated screen.

Your finger hovered over the selected contact for so long, it started to tremble slightly.

You clicked it before you could think better of it and were putting the phone to your ear to listen to the nerve-wracking ring. By the time it rang for a fifth time, you figured there would be no answer and you pulled the phone away to end the call.

“Hello?” a voice answered.

You put the speaker back to your ear, stunned.

“Hello?” he repeated.

“Hey,” you finally found your voice, “Uh, you might not remember me. We met at the bar the other night –”

Javi’s laugh cut you off.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said, his tone shifting from wary to pleasant, “Are you kidding? How could I forget?”

“Heh,” you chuckled self-consciously, your hand tapping against your thigh.

Javi continued, undeterred.

“First off, and I take personal offense to this, you had no idea how to drink a Jägerbomb and then –”

“Is that what it’s called?” you interrupted with disbelief, recalling the odd drink that required dropping one glass into another.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “Man, you don’t get out much do you?”

“Well,” you tiled your head, releasing a light scoff, “You saw what happens when I do.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “I left for, like, five minutes and I come back to you basically bleeding out. And your really weird group of… friends taking you away.”

Your throat grew tight and you struggled to swallow around the phantom pressure that coiled around your esophagus.

“What, uh…” Javi’s light tone gave way to seriousness, “What exactly happened there?”

You gripped the phone a little tighter, swallowing before speaking again.

“It was – It was just an accident,” you managed to say.

He was silent on the other end for a few moments, possibly under the impression that you would expand on that. When you didn’t, he spoke up.

“Listen, I, uh,” he gave an airy chuckle, “I hope I didn’t, um… read things wrong that night.”

Sitting up straighter in your seat, the words tumbled from your lips.

“Oh, no – no, um, it was my –” you stuttered, your neck suddenly growing hot, “I thought that you…”

You picked at a nick in the table with your fingernail, wondering how to reveal you assumed he was into Prentiss. When you didn’t finish your thought, Javi continued.

“Are you sure?” he pressed, “You looked kinda… Well. Let’s just say, I didn’t think you’d call.”

You could almost picture him rubbing at the back of his head nervously.

He had good reason. The paper with his phone number hastily scrawled onto it was nearly illegible, thoroughly worn from the amount of times you had folded and unfolded it. It had nearly found a home in the trash on more than one occasion until you finally saved the number in your phone.

“Well, I was…” it was your turn to release a nervous laugh, “I was kinda messed up by time you gave me the number.”

“Yeah, okay, that’s fair,” he agreed.

A staff member shouted out a name and you jumped a little, pulling the phone away from your ear for a moment, but it wasn’t yours that she repeated.

“Sorry about…” you paused.

You didn’t know exactly what you were apologizing for. There was the obvious of the insane manner in which you parted ways. The way you had been too dense to realize who the object of his attraction was. And of course… Morgan. But you weren’t sure if Javi himself was aware of that one. You had a strong suspicion but you dearly hoped you were wrong and he hadn’t heard Morgan’s drunken words.

Realizing you had gone silent for too long, you cleared your throat before finishing your thought.

“Well, take your pick.”

You were graced with his hearty laugh at your parroting of the same words he said to you that night at the bar, the sound pulling your lips up in response.

“Well, damn. That’s hard, there’s just so much to hate about you,” he said, laying the sarcasm on thick.

The laugh that pulled from your chest was a little louder than appropriate for the public setting and you glanced around before speaking again.

“I guess there was one thing I… wanted to say sorry for, specifically,” you hesitated, “Uh, I don’t know if you noticed but one of my friends was really drunk. Like, black-out drunk.”

“Oh, yeah. I remember,” his nod was almost audible, “He could barely stay on his feet. Are you talking about, uh, what he said? After I came outside?”

A hot spike of nerves rammed through your gut at the confirmation that he had heard Morgan’s drunken comment after all. His voice had gone soft as he asked the questions and your nail dug deeper into the groove in the table.

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” Javi tried to wave it off, “That was, uh, pretty tame compared to most things I’ve heard.”

It was meant to put you at ease, but it only served to compound your guilt. Your continued tense silence must have made your thoughts clear, as he spoke again hurriedly.

“It – It’s fine, really,” he reassured, “I mean… I’m guessing you wouldn’t hang around him if he really was… you know, not cool.”

Your finger stopped scratching at the dark wood as you swallowed with difficulty.

“Uh…” you couldn’t get much else past your lips.

Your chest had begun to rise and fall more harshly. His words had struck a target in your throat that you had been unaware of. You tried to clear your throat.

“Hello?” Javi paused, most likely checking that the call was still going, “Um. Are you good?”

“Y-Yeah,” you said, your voice a little hoarse, “Yeah, I’m good. You?”

“Yeah,” he spoke with a breathy chuckle, “Well, uh, you wanna make it all up to me?”

Your heart soared at the possibility.

“Yeah,” you replied honestly.

“Alright. I just need one thing,” he said.

“Sure, anything,” you said.

“Buy me a coffee,” he declared.

Your eyes snapped up, scanning the bustling place as if Javi were about to stand up from one of the other tables and reveal himself.

You couldn’t undo the other night, but you could do this. Coffee and a chat with someone who knew next to nothing about you but seemed to enjoy speaking with you.

Perhaps it would help. He didn’t look at you like you were about to break at any moment. He didn’t ask you how you were doing every twenty minutes, didn’t watch your every move. It could be fun, refreshing.

“Yeah,” you laughed, “Okay.”

“Great!” you could hear the smile in his voice, “When are you free?”

You paused, considering it. Today felt far too soon.

“Does tomorrow evening work?”

“Yeah, I’m down. I’ll see you then,” he said.

You could picture him drumming his hand against a table as he spoke.

“Alright, bye,” you said, ending the call.

You slowly set your phone down on the table, unblinkingly. Your phone chimed after a few moments and you saw that Javi had texted you the name and address of a coffee shop along with a little smiley face. A soft chuckle left your chest at the sight and the thought of him typing that out.

The cafe had become rather subdued, all the patrons glancing around at each other. You hadn’t noticed the way the chatter died down to muted mutterings.

It took the staff member another two tries of shouting your name for you to process what you were hearing. Shaking yourself free of your thoughts you realized you were holding up the delivery section at the counter. Standing in a rush, you quickly scurried over and apologized quickly as you retrieved your iced coffee and bacon bagel sandwich.

Heading back to your small table and carefully avoiding the judging gazes of the other customers, you sank down into the chair. Spying the deep gouge you had left near the corner, you discreetly covered it with a napkin. You took a sip of the coffee to quell the deep grumblings your stomach was making at the smell of your food.

Unwrapping it, you wrestled back a groan of delight at the fluffy looking egg nestled above the perfectly cooked bacon inside of the bagel. You were only a single, savory bite into your late lunch when your phone rang once again.

Brows drawing together, you fished it out of your pocket and swallowed your bite before you were ready to.

“Hello?” you answered slightly hoarsely.

“Hey,” JJ replied, “We have a case.”

Your feet pounded against the floor, the loud heavy sounds echoing through hall as you rushed back to the building. Garcia was waiting at the doors to inform you that the team had already headed down to the cars. Thanking her, you gave her arm a quick squeeze before you dashed off to the garage as your heart rate picked up.

If they were down there already, it was clearly serious and time was of the essence.

The air dropped to a slightly cooler temperature as you made your way into the parking structure, your footsteps echoing off the cement walls. Rushing over to the team’s usual set of cars, you saw them split between three cars. You paused for just a sight moment, a few feet away, wondering which you should join.

Hotch finally spied you from one of the driver’s seats and beckoned you toward his car.

Grateful, you jogged over and opened the back door. Prentiss greeted you quickly from the passenger seat as you slid into the back.

“Hey,” you said breathlessly as you swung the door shut with a slam, “What do we got?”

Hotch had already begun to pull the car out as you were still closing the door and you turned to watch the others follow suit closely behind.

He launched into an explanation, with Prentiss chiming in periodically with bits of her own.

The team had been called in to help as soon as possible to a small, woodland town that was within driving distance. A series of explosions had been set off with a variety of different methods. Yesterday alone, there had been three fires set. One had been in a small gas station market in the early hours of the morning, another at an abandoned house around midday, and the final one in the middle of a small, outdoor shopping street in the evening.

Only the single staff member of the gas station had been injured, but it was luckily rather superficial burns and scrapes from when he was thrown to the ground outside after the blast. If he had been inside the shop, it would have been much worse. No one in the shopping street had been injured.

“Why are we just hearing about this now?” you asked.

Hotch took a sharp turn on the road and your hand shot out to brace against the car door.

“Aside from yesterday, there was only one minor fire a couple of weeks ago that they ruled out as an accident,” Hotch said, “The local police said the ones from yesterday were done so randomly, they couldn’t be sure if it was the work of the same person.”

Prentiss gave a light scoff as she tossed her head back briefly.

“Three explosions in one day?” she said, incredulity dripping from her words, “And they didn’t think that was cause for alarm?”

You shared a look with her, your own scoff coming out rather harshly.

“So, what changed their minds?” you asked, your fingers twisting the seat belt.

The following quiet thrummed with a vibrating intensity as Hotch pressed down on the gas pedal a little harder.

“Well, they made it clear to get there as quickly as possible,” Prentiss said, her nose scrunching in thought before her voice dropped to a low mutter, “So, I guess we’re gonna find out.”

You know what you did.

The local police chief showed the team the ashen note with the accusation scrawled on it after they arrived. The piece of paper now sat on the table between everyone, glaring up at them. They were momentarily situated in a small room in the police station.

The chief assumed the eight meant that they had until eight o’clock that night until the unsub struck again and there would be another blaze somewhere. They were asked to build a profile as quickly as possible in order to find the person before the next explosion could happen in a place where a greater number of people could be hurt.

The team was skeptical about the eight meaning a time, but they still didn’t want to risk it. Time was always of the essence with any case, but this one had everyone exceptionally tense as the minutes ticked by.

Hotch spoke quickly, his back not even touching the chair as he assigned tasks.

“We’re going to need to split up and visit each of the sites,” Hotch ordered, “See if we can find any connection between all of them. Starting with –”

He tossed a photo on the table. Everyone gathered in close to peer at it.

“The gas station.”

The photo displayed the tiny shop of the station, blackened and charred. The ashy remains of shelves and products scattered across the floor.

“We can go check that one out,” Morgan volunteered, his fist nudging you, “Right?”

All team members stilled as their eyes flitted between the pair of you and Hotch, waiting to see what his say on the matter would be. The wind faded from Morgan’s sails as he noticed the way the others were silently regarding you and the slight shift in the already tense air.

Morgan let his hand drop onto the table with a dull thud that was much louder than normal in the tense silence.

“Oh, my god, just tell me already!” Morgan groaned, slumping in his chair as he looked at everyone in turn with exasperation.

“Morgan,” Hotch spoke quickly, “Now isn’t the time.”

Morgan shot upright in his seat.

“Well, when is?” he spread his arms as he gazed at all of the other team members before jabbing a finger at the photo on the table, “I can’t focus on this with this thing hanging over my head, man.”

You kept your gaze trained on the photo, feeling Morgan and the others watching you. Even Hotch was quiet for a moment, giving you the option to handle it yourself.

“It’s fine, we’ll go check it out,” you said, looking up to give everyone a clear view of your calm expression.

Hotch gazed at you evenly until he gave you a resolute nod.

The drive to the crime scene was rather silent, with only sporadic snippets of small talk interspersed between theories. You tried to keep on track, throwing out ideas of why people tend to lean toward fire and destruction.

Morgan stayed in that lane with you, analyzing what could possibly make someone angry enough to do so. This wasn’t the work of someone that simply got off on the chaos of it all, there was obviously some sort of grievance that the unsub was reacting to. Whether it was real or perceived was another matter entirely.

The sun that had been so pleasant a mere hour ago now beat down against your neck once you arrived at the gas station and exited the car.

You fell into step alongside him, your feet crunching loudly over the loose gravel. Scanning the environment, you attempted to put yourself in the unsub’s shoes. You pointed out that coming at an angle from the back would hide the unsub from the security camera outside.

After gleaning all you could from the smoky remains of the place, you set back to the station. The tires tore through the pebbles, sending some flying in all directions as Morgan pulled back out on to the road.

You kept your gaze pointed out of the window, watching the large trees flit by quickly. Your mind raced as you pondered what this unsub’s goal was. It clearly wasn’t hurting as many people as possible, considering they targeted an old abandoned house as well as the other locations.

“What are you thinking?” Morgan’s voice pulled you from you trance.

You blinked, turning away from the window to look at him. He was glancing at you furtively, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel.

“Don’t you think it’s weird that…” you muttered, your mouth twisting in confusion, “It’s almost like the gas station worker’s injuries were just an accident. The unsub clearly waited until they knew no one was inside the building.”

Morgan nodded, his expression growing thoughtful as he took a turn in the road.

“Yeah…” he mumbled, “So what do you think it means?”

You shook your head, scratching at your neck in agitation.

“I don’t know,” you said, frowning as you thought aloud, “Just… kinda weird that we’re on the clock like this… And no one has really been hurt, you know?”

The silence dragged out as Morgan rubbed at his chin before looking to you with the same confusion in his gaze that you felt.

Back in the small room at the police station, the air sparked and crackled as everyone hung around in varying states of quiet agitation. The other scenes had offered little insight and building an accurate profile so quickly would prove difficult. It certainly wouldn’t be enough to figure out where the unsub might go next, there simply wasn’t enough information yet. But time to get more information was exactly what police chief made it clear they did not have.

Everyone had taken their seats, looking over the facts and throwing ideas out.

Hotch had risen to speak with the chief when he burst in asking for an update. After trying to explain to the man why they felt the eight on the note didn’t mean a deadline, he only became further irritated.

“I thought this was your whole job?” he threw the question at Hotch, stepping close into his space, “Aren’t you guys supposed to be the best at knowing what this guy’s gonna do?!”

You bristled when you noticed how the older man was nearly toe to toe with Hotch, the pent up energy radiating from him. Hotch remained steadfast and though you couldn’t see his face, you could guess what it looked like at the moment.

Before you could think better of it, the sparking in your gut had propelled you up and out of your seat until you were beside them.

“Problem, Chief?” you asked measuredly, as you stopped mere inches away just as he was doing to Hotch.

The chief blinked at your approach, the aggression in his gaze fading as he backed away, grumbling something under his breath about the FBI. You glanced sidelong at Hotch and saw his carefully constructed mask of neutrality paired with authority that he crafted specially for situations like this.

You retreated back to your seat, avoiding the eyes of the rest of the team. Reid and JJ were burning holes into your head from their end of the table. If they had lasers in their eyes, they probably would have fired their beams to the middle of your brain by now.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw when Hotch returned to his seat at your left side. On the other end, you noticed Prentiss exchange a brief look with Rossi.

As Hotch brought his seat closer to the table, he looked at you momentarily and gave you a quick nod before addressing the others.

“Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath, “What do we know?”

He let his hands fall onto the photos they were given and spread them out in order.

“Three blasts,” you said, “Where no one got hurt on purpose.”

Reid’s brows furrowed, the pen he was fiddling with going still in between his fingers.

“What? What makes you say that?” he asked as he leaned forward.

All eyes were on you as you gave your explanation, Morgan already nodding along from his spot to your right, having had heard your speculation on the drive back.

Rossi tapped a rhythm against the table, his other hand rubbing over his mouth as he seemed to take in your words.

“Okay,” he said, “So, let’s just say he’s not doing it to harm anyone. What’s the point of this then?”

JJ shook her head, her hands forming a half shrug motion.

“Maybe he just likes the destruction?” she suggested.

“Yeah, but explosions and fire?” Prentiss said, her brows raising, “It’s one of the easiest things that can slip out of your control.”

A deep sigh passed your lips as you let your head rest in your hands, raking your fingers through your hair.

Morgan noticed your growing agitation and reached over to give you a soft clap on the shoulder.

At the feeling of his touch, a gasp was wrenched from your throat. You jerked away instinctively. The momentum propelled your chair sideways and you nearly rolled right into Hotch. Morgan was left with his hand still partially aloft, his eyes wide as he stared at you and then to everyone else.

“Dude, what is it?” Morgan threw his arms out, “What? Did I try to fight you or something?”

Reid lightly worried his bottom lip as he peered between you. JJ and Prentiss exchanged tense looks, Prentiss picking at her thumb nail. You glanced at Hotch, now mere inches away, a slight heat building under your skin at your overreaction as you carefully scooted your chair away from him and back to it’s original spot.

“No, nothing,” you muttered, training your eyes on the photos, “It’s fine, let’s try and figure this –”

“Oh, come on,” Morgan said, indignant, “How am I supposed to get anything done if you’re – what, you scared of me?”

“No,” you repeated sharply, your hands clasped together tightly on the table’s surface.

“Really?” Morgan said, the single word as bitter as vinegar as he let his hand fall on to the table with a huff.

“Ohh-kay,” Rossi cut in, his voice jamming into the exchange as he dragged the word out, “I think we’re all just a little frustrated. Maybe we should take a quick break?”

He looked to Hotch questioningly, who gave a nod as he began to push his chair back.

“Yeah,” he said, addressing everyone, “Let’s clear our heads, meet back here in five minutes?”

Reid seemed like he was trying to sink right into the floor, like he couldn’t wait to exit the now incredibly tense room. Prentiss looked just as eager and JJ appeared eerily blank. The soft creak of everyone’s chairs as they moved to stand filled the thick, heavy air for just a moment.

Then Morgan scoffed and spoke under his breath, his gaze downcast.

“Yeah, so you can find another way to avoid me?”

The crack of the pen slammed down against the table had everyone halting in their movement, eyes snapping up in surprise at the sound.

JJ gazed at Morgan evenly from the other end of the table.

“Can’t really blame him,” she said with a wry shrug, her mouth rather tight.

Ice dropped into your stomach when you saw the irritation burning behind her eyes as she continued.

“Hell, I probably wouldn’t know what to do either if you had me bleeding and –”

“JJ,” you pleaded in a wheeze.

Reid tried to put a hand on her arm in the same moment but the words were already blurting from her mouth.

“– called the guy who hit on me a derogatory term.”

The silence that followed could have been cut and served up on a plate.

“No…” Morgan gaped, “I – I did that?”

“JJ,” Hotch admonished quietly, fixing her with a level stare.

She finally looked away from Morgan. Turning to Hotch, her eyes widened as the realization of what she had just done seemed to dawn on her. She turned to you, her hand coming to rest in front of her mouth.

You clenched your hands into fists, pressing them hard into your lap. Heat spread like wildfire in your veins, mostly from embarrassment and shock but also a spark of anger. You absolutely could not let it catch and flare to life. You always worked to keep your anger in check, you couldn’t let it get out of control now.

“Did I?” Morgan turned to Prentiss, at a loss.

She looked at him, slightly paralyzed as she glanced around at the others. When Morgan looked to Rossi, he was much the same as Prentiss and glanced toward you with uncertainty.

The unsub could possibly strike again in a matter of hours. You didn’t understand why time was being wasted on this. You pointedly remained silent in the hopes that Hotch would put a stop to all this.

“I… No, there’s no way,” Morgan shook his head as he turned his attention back to you.

Irritation flared in your chest and flooded all the way down to your toes after hearing how he denied it and suddenly the dam broke.

“No?” you fired at him, tone cracking like a whip, “You want me to call him so you can ask him yourself? He heard what you said, man. Forget my shoulder, that might be the worst part.”

You were on your feet without recalling doing so, your chair clattering behind you. Before the bellows could stoke the flames of your temper, before your voice had a chance to rise further, you took the best course of action and removed yourself from the situation.

Though you already knew you had messed up having an outburst like that, you avoided a much more horrible scenario. You shook out your tight fists, taking in deep breaths to steady yourself as you stalked away and pushed into a small, unoccupied room.

Sinking down into a chair, you let your head drop heavily into your hands with a soft groan. Your mind drifted longingly to the time before everything got so difficult. The tick of the watch on your wrist was loud, right next to your ear. You let the steady beat calm you, willing your heart to match the pace.

After several bracing ticks, the door opened slowly after a quiet knock. Unmoving, you listened to the soft padding of footsteps coming toward you.

“Sorry,” you muttered without bothering to look up.

The shiny, almost reflective shoes you could see from under your arms were enough for you to be certain who you were speaking to.

“It’s alright,” Hotch said as he lowered himself to a seat beside you.

A huff left your lips as you finally lifted your head. There were no traces of anger anywhere in his expression that you could detect.

“Oh, really?” you smirked in disbelief, “You tell JJ it’s alright?”

His expression mirrored yours, a flash of mirth dancing in the background of his gaze.

“Well. I think it could’ve gone a lot worse,” he murmured, an eyebrow quirking at the thought before his tone shifted into more serious territory, “But out here, we need to be able to rely on each other. No matter what else may be going on between us personally. I’m going to talk to Morgan, too. But you still shouldn’t have spoken to him like that –”

You shook your head before you cut him off.

“No, I know I shouldn’t have –” a heavy groan left your chest as you dragged your hands through your hair, “Honestly, I was already kinda over it. It really wasn’t even that bad. But just now, when he said “no” it just – it made me so mad for some reason.”

“Well, we’re not exactly on a relaxing retreat at the moment,” he said, “We’re all feeling the strain.”

You fell heavily against the back of the chair, your hands coming up to scrub harshly at your face.

“Ugh, god…” you lamented, “When this is over I just might actually go on a relaxing retreat.”

A soft snort sounded from your side and you looked to find Hotch nearly grinning as he studied you, the skin around his eyes crinkling.

“W-What?” you said, your lips upturning despite yourself.

“Nothing,” he murmured, shaking his head, “I’m just imagining you trying to relax on a retreat. It’s… very amusing.”

Forcing your expression to remain neutral, you nudged your foot against his.

“You’re gonna go, too,” you declared seriously, biting back your smile, “If any one desperately needs a retreat, it’s you.”

Hotch laughed properly at that as he shook his head at you. An odd lightness emerged in your chest at the sight, remembering the easy moments shared over whiskey at a late hour. You finally cracked and felt your own laughter rush forth at the sheer incredulity of the turn in conversation.

When your mirth subsided, you glanced at your watch before looking back at him with a slightly raised eyebrow.

“Don’t worry,” he said, waving a hand, “I decided a ten minute break would be more appropriate.”

A soft, amused huff left your nose at this. Grateful for the extra minutes, you let yourself slouch in the chair, eyes drifting shut, and tried to think of absolutely nothing.

“So…” Hotch spoke after a couple minutes of silence.

You shifted to look at him again. The slow quirk of his lips was the only hint you got at what the rest of his sentence would be, yet you never would have guessed it.

“You did call him.”

The silence in the room pressed on you heavily. Your lungs momentarily lost the ability to take in air as you gaped at his raised brows and smirking lips.

“Uh – I,” you faltered, whipping upright in the chair.

Your mind provided a flash of the look on Hotch’s face when he spoke to Javi that night.

“Well…” you stared at him wide-eyed, your hands clasped so tight around the armrests that your knuckles were turning white.

Hotch’s features smoothed out, fading from teasing into a muted disbelief as he noted the apprehension thrumming through your rigid form.

“You don’t think that I…” he faltered, a brief flicker of something like hurt in his eyes.

The door opened once more, causing both of you to jump and whip around.

JJ skidded to a halt just inside the room, her lips pressed together as she regarded you.

“Hey,” she breathed, taking a small step toward you, “I – I’m so sorry I said that. I don’t know why I did it. I should have let you decide if you wanted to talk about it, I –”

Hotch watched as you rose from your seat. You cut her off gently with a hand on her arm to stop her apology.

“It’s okay,” you said carefully, “Really. It’s fine. Let’s worry about it all later, okay?”

JJ blew out a harsh breath, glancing to Hotch quickly, before giving you a grateful nod and falling into step with the both of you to head back to the rest of the team.

You gave a sidelong look at Hotch, catching him still studying you with a worried tilt to his brows. Swallowing and turning your gaze forward again, you couldn’t believe the relief you felt at reentering the room you had been so eager to exit mere minutes ago.

Tensions only ratcheted higher with each passing hour. The closer it got to 8 p.m. the more agitated the chief got with the team.

With only a partially complete profile but not much else to go on, there weren’t many answers they could give him. Even Garcia couldn’t find anything of note about any of the targeted locations or any suspects that fit. Irritation hung in the air like fireflies, sometimes flying right into their faces when they least expected it.

Not to mention the fact that whenever Morgan attempted to speak to you about anything other than the case, he’d find himself cut off by someone else. The message rang clear to him after about an hour of this occurring and he focused only on the work.

Once the clock announced it was eight o’clock, a sudden stillness washed over everyone. Even Reid stopped moving entirely as the team gazed at one another in quiet apprehension.

The chief barreled into their room a few minutes later, informing them rather testily that they would keep a close eye on all the news outlets.

Minutes crawled by, slowly turning half an hour into a whole hour.

Prentiss peered at you, her brows raised silently. You shrugged helplessly at her.

After nine o’clock pushed forward into 9:38 and there was still no word, the team came to the conclusion that they were safe from another disaster. Their suspicions about the note proved to be correct.

The chief failed to appear in their room again.

The wooden stirrer scraped softly against the bottom of the ceramic mug. You added another spoonful of sugar to your coffee, feeling like you were wearing a weighted vest as you stirred.

The break room’s name suddenly became crystal clear to you as you stood alone, heaving a sigh. Another half hour had slogged by with not a single new insight that could help the team.

Tossing the small stick into the trash, you raised the mug to your lips and took a long, desperately needed sip of coffee.

The break room door opened behind you and you turned, only to set your mug down on the counter with a loud clack.

Morgan approached you cautiously, his thumbs hooking into his pockets as he stood a couple of paces away.

“Reid told me,” he said, “What I did and, uh, said that night.”

“Okay,” you said plainly, moving to exit the room.

“Come on, man, you have to know I don’t really think like that.”

“Yeah, I do,” you said, then gestured past him, “Can I please just –”

“Oh, that was real convincing. Look, I shouldn’t have said those things, alright?” Morgan heaved out a huge sigh, his jaw tight as he gazed at you, “I don’t even remember saying it. I – I still can’t believe I said it. But –”

Your fingers dug into your eyes, breathing slowly as you willed yourself not to get heated again. A presence lingered just outside the door that you failed to notice in the moment your eyes were closed.

“Just stop, dude, we’re fine. Honestly, I’m just glad you didn’t say a lot worse,” you muttered, “I’m getting tired of talking about this. And we have an unsub to find.”

You skirted past him to exit the small break room that had begun to feel like an interrogation room instead.

“Hey, hold on –”

The sensation of his fingers curling around your upper arm–

Sparks of alarm flew across your brain.

“Dude!” you exclaimed.

You twisted away from his touch, spinning around, your back now to the door.

Morgan held his hands up, palms facing you, his mouth falling open at your outburst.

“What?” he asked plainly, stunned.

“Seriously –?” you rasped, your throat going dry.

Memories clawed their way to the forefront of your exhausted mind.

Your lungs screaming for air. Morgan cackling too close to your ear. The flames tearing across your shoulder.

The breath skittered out of your lungs as Morgan’s eyes grew wide with realization.

“We just talked about that,” you ground out the words.

Morgan watched as your eyes screwed shut and you took a deep breath, gently rolling your right shoulder.

“Oh, damn. Right,” Morgan shook his head at himself, “I –”

Morgan’s gaze focusing on something past you made your turn to follow his line of sight.

Hotch stepped through the doorway, studying the both of you coolly.

You tried to stand straight, to look normal, but once glance at the way Hotch was scanning you and you knew it was futile. You chest puffed out as you forced yourself to take in a great breath, some of the spikes of alarm already fading.

“Give us a minute,” Hotch muttered firmly as he locked eyes with Morgan.

Morgan tried to catch your eye, lingering in the hopes that you might speak up and perhaps negate the need for Hotch’s order.

You said nothing.

He dipped his head in a low nod as he stepped around Hotch to exit the room.

“I’m fine,” you spoke between slightly gritted teeth.

Hotch merely stared at you evenly, his hands sliding into his pockets as he allowed your tone to float in the air between you and refute your words.

“Maybe it is too soon for you to be back,” he suggested, “If you need to take some time, you know you’re allowed to do that.”

You were already shaking your head vehemently.

“No. I can work,” the words came out firm.

His lips pressed together in a rather resigned line.

“What makes you so sure about that?” he asked.

You lifted your gaze, holding his steadily.

“You’re here, too,” you said.

The quiet that followed was so loud it nearly burst your eardrums. You didn’t break his gaze. You knew if he was half as obstinate as you thought him to be, he couldn’t possibly contradict your claim without damning himself.

A full thirty seconds passed. Both studied each other, unyielding.

“Let’s go help the others,” he spoke at last.

You nodded, and followed as he led the way out the door.

As the minutes ticked away relentlessly and midnight fast approached, the team accepted that they would not be headed to bed tonight.

Everyone had spread out to think.

Reid was spinning his chair in soft, half-circles as he stared at a map that marked the known locations of the explosions.

JJ had her feet tucked beneath her on the tiny sofa that was in the corner, turning the pages of a collection of old reports on fires in the town.

Prentiss had the end of her pen in her mouth as she studied the photo of the charred abandoned house.

Rossi turned the ring on his finger absentmindedly as he also observed the map on the board.

Morgan tapped his fingers against his knees, not looking at anything anymore but leaning back with his eyes closed.

Hotch was slouched in his chair, his hands resting on top of his head as he peered between all the evidence gathered.

You had called Garcia back a couple of hours ago to let her know nothing bad had happened after eight o’clock and to let her know she had not been “forgotten” like she had claimed.

“What’s the point of me being here if it’s just gonna be the seven of you going off to do everything on your own?” she had complained.

Your lips quirked up at the memory of how she had sounded so genuinely hurt and the way you cheered her up by promising to watch a movie together when you returned.

The pen in your hand scribbled aimlessly against a piece of paper. You let it glide and form random lines. They mirrored what the inside of your head felt like.

Sighing, you stood and stretched with a quiet groan.

“Anyone want any more coffee?” you asked generally.

Everyone turned to you, mostly all shaking their heads except for Reid who nodded appreciatively.

You gave him a thumbs up as you left to the break room again. The sounds of the station had grown slower, quieter. All the local officers looked subdued and worn out.

Entering the room and heading toward the coffee machine, you were surprised to find someone had recently brewed a fresh pot that was mostly full. Grabbing two paper cups, knowing Reid wouldn’t want someone else’s mug, you began to fill them both.

You were only just stirring in the sugar when a voice sounded behind you, making you jump and nearly spill the coffee all over yourself.

“Woah,” Morgan said, a surprised chuckle pushing past his lips, “Easy.”

You turned to give him the ghost of a sheepish smirk. He lingered silently for several moments. Clearing his throat, he finally spoke.

“Can we just do all this again?” he said, with a half-smile tinged with regret, “I don’t like bein’ like this, man.”

He gestured between the two of you with a heavy sigh. You found yourself nodding in agreement.

“Me neither,” you muttered.

“Look, I…” Morgan glanced away for a moment before steeling himself, “You know I have no problem if you’re, you know, gay or –”

“Wh – I’m not gay, Morgan,” you cut him off, whipping your head around to see if anyone was within earshot.

Morgan faltered, blinking as a current of confusion swam across his face.

“Uh, you’re not?” he threw his hands out, “Well, then why are you so pissed at me for this?”

A scoff pushed past your lips as you shook your head, turning back to the coffees.

“Wait. Please,” Morgan’s tone softened as he scurried to your side, “I just – I thought since you were this mad, just about something I said –”

The breath came harsh from your chest, and you could almost hear your blood pumping in you ears. Every word, every thought that you had been pushing away finally bubbled up to the surface and burst out in a rush.

“Do I have to be gay to not want you to say homophobic things?” you said, looking him dead in the face, “And I’m not mad. I’m just… It was kinda embarrassing, man. And disappointing. That guy, Javi? He was real nice. Just because it wasn’t… the worst you could’ve said, doesn’t mean I don’t wish he didn’t have to hear you say anything at all. I’ve seen firsthand how little thoughts like that… can lead to actions. Which lead to bigger, scarier actions. It can – It can really make people feel unsafe, man. Like – Like they aren’t allowed to exist.”

You realized your breath was coming quicker and you forced your mouth shut. You blinked rapidly, a hot spiral coiling deep in your gut. You had disclosed much more than you intended to.

Morgan had gone still as he took in all of your admission. His fingers tapped nervously against each other at his side, remorse swimming in his eyes. You shifted from foot to foot, unsure of where to look now, wondering if you could walk away without him trying to stop you.

“Damn it,” Morgan said under his breath, a hand coming up to scrub at his face in agitation.

A tug pulled inside your chest at the sight of his rising guilt.

“Look, Morgan. It’s – I know that you’d never –” you began, your hand reaching out toward him tentatively.

“Hey!” Reid called, as he leaned in through the doorway, cutting you off, “Come on, we might have the unsub.”

You shared a stunned look with Morgan, silently agreeing to shelve the conversation for the now before rushing off in unison after Reid.

The tip that came in to the station directed them to a large expanse of property with several buildings spaced out across the land where the unsub could be hiding. Hotch sent everyone off, splitting up into groups to cover as much ground as possible.

The buildings were spaced so far apart, you couldn’t even see where the others were, not even a glimpse of their lights. The dry, unmaintained grass crunched lightly under your feet. Slowly stalking around a vast, old brick building, you held your gun down at your side. You glanced at Morgan, with his back pressed up against the wall, and nodded silently toward the back end of the building.

He nodded back as he began creeping ahead, the cold darkness of the night only serving to make both men extra cautious. You had agreed silently to walk around the perimeter first, attempting to check the windows without alerting anyone that may be inside.

The exhaustion, irritation, anger, everything that had been warring within gave way to adrenaline as you poured all your focus to the matter at hand. Finally, the both of you pushed into the building from the back entrance and immediately swept your field of vision. Your small flashlights cast concentrated beams of light across the interior.

Old machinery and what appeared to be long forgotten crates of random storage filled the large building.

Your footsteps sounded painfully loud as you checked behind every object where anyone could possibly be hiding, your chest rising quicker with each spot. You kept your ear trained on Morgan doing the same on the other side of the space.

Finally reaching the other end of the large, open area at the same time, you both lowered your guns.

“There’s nothin’ here, man,” Morgan heaved out a breath, the tension dropping from his shoulders.

“Yeah,” you blew out your own deep breath as you glanced about, “Think it was just a prank call?”

Morgan shook his head, shrugging and letting his hand fall sharply against his side.

“Whatever this is, it’s a waste of our time,” he muttered, moving past you toward front exit, “I mean, what’s the point of all this?”

You remained still as his words sunk into your brain. Something snagged in your mind, the clarity from the burst of adrenaline that remained still thrummed in your limbs.

What’s the point of me being here if it’s just gonna be the seven of you going off to do everything on your own?

“Morgan…” you murmured, brow creasing.

He turned back to you, his hand on the door, already pushing it open. Your eyes landed on the small square just above the door.

Heart racing, you lunged forward to stop his motion.

“Morgan, wait!”

He was already through, the door swinging open and pulling something free from the block above their heads. Morgan was turning to follow your gaze when you tackled him through the doorway, shielding him as best you could as you turned to look behind you.

The door was swinging shut.

It didn’t close fully before it was blasted off its hinges.

The darkness that enveloped you was like tar, thick and sticky, clinging to you and unwilling to release you. Hands were under your arms, dragging your limp form across a bumpy terrain. Each sharp movement over a rise or dip in the ground caused flares of pain to dance across your torso. A harsh ringing hit your ears, like someone had just hit the world’s largest tuning fork an inch away from your head.

“I’ve got ya,” a labored voice near your ear cut through the ringing.

Blinking blearily, your eyes peeled open. In a dull daze, you registered that the vision in your left eye wasn’t working correctly. Only a blurry darkness was visible, creating an unsettling one-sided perspective of everything.

The sight of your own legs dragging slack in front of you appeared like something happening on a film screen you were watching, as opposed to reality.

The hands dragging you must have deemed your journey complete, for you came to a halt. The scorching that spread across your chest from the harsh movement faded to a blessedly dull simmer. A weak wheezing sounded in your ears.

Your eyelids seemed to be the only part of your body responding at the moment. Apart from the wheezing, the all encompassing ringing drowned out almost every other noise.

Soft jostling from behind made you blink, and you felt what seemed to be someone propping you up against their chest as they sunk down to sit on the ground. The hands rested carefully on your upper arms, holding you in place and tucking your head beneath their chin.

“I’ve got ya, kiddo,” the voice came again.

You knew that voice. Didn’t you?

You managed to turn your head to the right, and spotted a shiny ring, glinting a raging orange, on the hand at your side.

Rossi’s ring.

Burning pressure built on your chest like someone was slowly releasing a palate of bricks to rest atop of it.

A stifling cloud of smoke hung in the air.

No.

Wait.

Something else.

Alarm slashed through the thick wool in your head.

There was something–

Pushing away the burn, you forced your arms to obey your will and pressed your scraped palms flat against the ground, sharp, dry grass poking into your wounds.

“No, no,” Rossi’s grip tightened a fraction, “Don’t move. It’s okay, it’s me. It’s Rossi. I’ve got you, kid.”

The blurry sight of the blaze overtaking the brick building a distance away had you straining against Rossi’s hold.

There!

You had to get back.

“N–” a cough wracked through your body, dry and husky.

“No, no. Listen to me,” Rossi muttered, pressing lightly against your chest to keep you flush against him, “Listen. Don’t try to get up just yet.”

Patches of fuzzy edged blackness skirted across your limited field of vision when Rossi touched your chest. The burn spread wildly through your torso, mirroring the inferno before you. A groan tore past your lips, a grimace twisting your features. Your chest rose hard and fast, the wheezing in your ears growing louder and quicker.

Weakly, you fought to sit upright against Rossi’s grip.

Your arm outstretched toward the flaring windows of the building.

“No!” you rasped.

Rossi didn’t understand–

“M – Morgan!”

Rossi had been running the instant he recovered from the intense shock wave of the blast. Even from the smaller building he had taken on his own, he could still feel it.

He ran toward the sound, his breath coming harsh when he saw the flames roaring to life and beginning to consume the interior of the building. The anxiety rendered his mind useless as he tried to remember who had taken this building.

When he finally reached it, he turned the back corner and his heart dropped at the sight before him. You were lying on the ground, frighteningly still, and a right mess. He pushed away the fear at all the blood he could see seeping from your form.

In a split second, he leapt into action. He rushed to your side, squinting and shielding his eyes from the thick smoke that billowed from the nearby windows. After a brief once over to rule out any obviously broken bones, he had hooked his hands under your arms to drag you away before he could debate it a moment longer.

The smoke made it difficult to know for sure, but he thought he spied two other forms ahead in the distance and he heaved you in that direction. Chest heaving from the exertion and the dwindling oxygen in the air, he came upon another grunting and gasping team member.

“Hey! Oh, thank god, I – couldn’t carry both of them,” Prentiss panted, sweat and ash smudging her face as she held an unconscious Morgan, exactly the same way Rossi dragged you, “You okay?!”

“Yeah,” Rossi grunted, “You?”

She had nodded as they continued pulling the other two away until the growing heat of the building didn’t feel like it was cooking their eyeballs.

Now, he fought to keep you still in his arms as you struggled agitatedly.

He took stock of the blood running down your face from a spot near your eye, the area bloody and swollen. The glint of something embedded in your face, a jagged piece of shrapnel. He winced at the thought that your eye might be damaged beyond repair. Crimson trails flowed down your head and the back of your neck. And another dark spot spread slowly on your torso.

He knew it was best for you to not move. He had already risked moving you and potentially causing more damage. But you had been lying on the ground, so scarily limp and far too close to the building that was currently roaring and cracking.

The blazing heat was incessant, even at a distance. He wouldn’t be surprised if the hair on his arms had been singed off in the process of getting you to safety.

You were trying to speak, and Rossi shared a horrified look with Prentiss when your voice came out in a weak, dry cough. He tried to reassure you, knowing you were probably operating at the slowest capacity.

“No!”

When you strained against him and began reaching toward the building, he held you still with confusion

“M – Morgan!” you lamented.

Understanding flooded the fully conscious pair when they heard this.

“It’s okay!” Prentiss called breathlessly, “I got him. He’s here.”

You tried to move in Rossi’s arms, he felt your arms trembling from the effort.

“Here,” he said softly, “Hang on.”

He rose to a crouch and rotated the pair of you carefully.

Prentiss, sat on the ground and cradling Morgan, shifted into the line of sight from your one working eye. He was still out cold, but he seemed largely unharmed by some sort of miracle.

Rossi settled back down, feeling you finally relax in his grip as you took the sight. Your horribly weak wheezes slowed as you looked at them.

“It’s alright,” Prentiss said, wiping at her forehead, smearing the blackness across it, “You’re gonna be okay. I – I already called the ambulances.”

Pounding of footsteps brought hers and Rossi’s attention away and they heard Hotch, Reid, and JJ yelling in the distance.

“Here!” Rossi yelled.

He craned to look down at you but your eyes had fluttered shut after taking in Morgan and Prentiss, going fully limp against his chest.

“Hey,” he suppressed the instinct to shake you awake, “Kid, come on. They’re almost here.”

The distant wail of sirens growing closer was all he got in response.

Morgan shifted, his head feeling rather heavy as he blinked blearily to find Prentiss at his side, watching him carefully. She looked like she had just attended a finger painting party where the only colors available were grey and black.

“Hey,” she said, “Take it easy.”

Sitting up slowly, he groaned as his mind processed the fact that he was lying on a gurney. The thick, choking smell of smoke still clung to the inside of his nostrils. The slight tremble of everything around them made him realize they were inside a moving ambulance.

A medic appeared at his side. After getting a light flashed in his eyes and his scrapes cleaned off, they let him try to reorient himself.

“What… Wait,” Morgan rubbed at his head, eyes screwing shut, “Wait, we – we were… Why –”

Prentiss put a hand on his arm, prompting him to look at her.

“The building went up. You were caught in the blast.” she spoke quietly, “We’re all headed to the same hospital. Everyone’s mostly fine.”

Morgan tried to sit up straighter, his chest rising quicker.

“Mostly?” he repeated, “What do you mean ‘mostly’? What –”

Prentiss squeezed his arm, pressing her lips together momentarily.

“Well, it was you, and, um…” she trailed off, blinking rapidly.

Morgan’s blood stopped pumping for a split second.

Your yell echoed in his mind.

He squeezed Prentiss’s hand when he remembered how you had thrown yourself on top of him.

Hotch gripped the steering wheel so tightly that JJ feared he might rip it off before they could reach the hospital. He stayed right on the tail of the ambulances that carried Morgan, Prentiss, you and Rossi.

Reid was nearly thrown into the door of the backseat when Hotch took a sharp turn. JJ turned back from the passenger seat to glance at him. They could only stare at each other in concerned silence.

The sight of Morgan and you lying unconscious on the ground had rendered all of them still in shock for a few seconds. They didn’t have much time to react before the medics arrived and were carting everyone away.

They left the firefighters at the scene, jumping into a single car to follow behind their teammates.

What felt like eons later, they reached the hospital and everyone was bolting inside. When Hotch merely stood in an incredibly disconcerting silence, staring rather vacantly, JJ attempted to get answers from the nearest staff member. She quickly explained who they were and what had just happened.

Soon after many questions that felt absurdly unnecessary, they were being directed to a waiting room. There they found Rossi and Prentiss collapsed into chairs, their shoulders touching.

Reid rushed over to give Prentiss a tight squeeze as she stood up. JJ followed suit after him. Hotch walked over and put a hand on Rossi’s shoulder silently.

“We’re… probably not gonna get word on the kid for a while,” Rossi murmured, sounding rather sapped of energy.

“What about Morgan?” Reid asked.

“He woke up on the ride over,” Prentiss said, rubbing her hand on her thigh, “They think he’s pretty much fine, but they’re running scans on him now just to be safe.”

A collective relief spread through the others, Hotch releasing a sigh as he rubbed his fingers over his eyes.

They all settled into seats, preparing for a long wait for any news. An hour somehow felt triple its length as they waited without a visit from any staff member.

Fatigue caught up to them, crawling up their legs and coaxing them into fitful sleep.

Reid’s head had fallen sideways against Prentiss’s shoulder as he finally fell to the heavy pull after the clock passed two in the morning.

“Hey,” Rossi spoke quietly, rousing him and the others. “Why don’t you go on home?”

“No,” Reid’s brow furrowed, “We can’t.”

“Here,” he produced a card from his wallet, “Take this. Go get a few rooms nearby. Go ahead and get some rest. Save a room for me, I’ll stay and let you know anything once I hear it.”

JJ looked like she was about to protest, as did Prentiss, but Hotch spoke up as he shifted in his seat.

“It’s a good idea,” he said.

Reluctantly, the trio was ushered away and reminded them several times to call the moment they heard any news. Once they were alone in the room, Rossi turned his gaze to Hotch. He was hunched over in seat, his arms resting against his knees as he gazed into space.

“I should have sent you with them,” he remarked.

Hotch turned his weary gaze on him and Rossi knew he would have failed if he attempted to do so.

Hotch lost a firm grasp on how much time had passed by. He alternated between pacing the room and sinking heavily into his seat.

When the door to the room finally opened again, both he and Rossi shot up to meet the doctor that entered. He appeared to share their exhaustion. He explained how they had to remove several pieces of shrapnel from your body, and the main concern was a large piece that had gone into your torso. Hotch felt his breath speed up when he heard how close it had come to fully puncturing your lung.

“What about his eye?” Rossi asked.

“Also rather lucky it was just a gash above the eyebrow,” the doctor said, “He could have been blinded if the object had landed any lower.”

“But he’s okay?” Hotch asked, his hands clenched at his sides.

“He’s definitely not going anywhere for a while, but he should be,” the doctor replied, “We can’t know for sure until he wakes up but being so close to an explosion like that, it might have caused some damage to his brain. He might have… trouble remembering things or be confused and disoriented. His body had gone through a lot, so it might be a while before he wakes. We going to have to watch him carefully to make sure he doesn’t have any trouble breathing and everything’s healing correctly.”

“Can we see him?” Hotch said.

The man hesitated, looking between both of them.

“I can let one of you in at the moment,” he said.

Hotch locked eyes with Rossi.

“Go ahead,” Rossi nodded at him.

The walk to the room as the doctor lead the way passed in a stuttering blur. He blinked forcefully, willing himself to remain calm. When the man paused outside a door and opened it for him, he halted just outside.

“Sir?” the doctor said.

“Yeah, thank you,” Hotch muttered.

He walked into the quiet room, gaze locked on your unmoving form. Somehow, the sight of you in the bed with monitors hooked up to you and oxygen flowing into your nose, bandages across your head and face, was worse than when they had found you after the blast.

A shaky breath left his lips as he tentatively approached your bedside.

“Hey,” he whispered.

He tried and failed to remember the last thing he had said to you. Glancing backward, he was glad to find the doctor had closed the door behind him. Slowly, he reached out and let his fingertips rest on your arm. He scanned your face for any sign of a reaction.

When you remained still, his head dropped forward as he let out a harsh breath. He kept his fingers where they were, contenting himself with the reassuring feel of the warmth of your skin under his touch. He glanced up to the beeping monitor, finding the number that signified your pulse.

Alive.

At least you were alive.

“You better wake up,” Hotch muttered, blinking hard against the burn in his eyes.

He blamed it on the effects of the smoke.

Morgan had finally been freed from the short observation they were holding him on. After asking about his colleagues, he was directed to the room where you had ended up. Lingering in the hall, he checked his phone and replied to the texts he had received from Prentiss hours ago when he was still getting his scans.

Rossi appeared from around the corner, a vending machine sized bag of pretzels in hand. He approached him slowly, a hand coming up to give his back a quick pat.

“Good to see you on your feet,” he said, “Gave us a scare, there.”

Morgan looked to him briefly, his arm coming up to drape loosely around Rossi’s shoulders for a moment before dropping away again. He looked back to the room that contained his teammate and boss.

“Safe to say,” Rossi murmured with a quirk of an eyebrow, nodding at the door, “Pretty sure you’re forgiven.”

Morgan gave a small nod, swallowing thickly. Rossi fiddled with his bag, heaving in a deep breath.

“I won’t lie, it was pretty damn scary all around. You knocked out. Him with a piece of metal sticking out of his face.”

Morgan shook his head, his gaze growing hard.

“What?” Rossi questioned.

“I can’t believe I’m walking out of here, man. With barely a scratch. Thanks to him,” Morgan spoke stiffly, his jaw clenched, “While he’s –”

He ran a hand over his head, blowing out a long breath.

“What if he doesn’t…?” his voice grew quiet as he trailed off, unwilling to speak the fear into existence.

“He’ll wake up,” Rossi said resolutely.

Morgan finally turned to him, regret painting his features.

“How do you know?”

Rossi locked eyes with him, a firm belief in his gaze.

“Because he has to.”

The words were spoken with such authority that both had to believe it. Several beats passed where they allowed themselves a brief time to revel in the fact that they were okay. Hospital staff walked back and forth in front of them and they watched silently.

“Feeling in fighting shape yet?” Rossi asked, nudging him with his shoulder.

“Huh?” Morgan said, surprise in the single word.

“You gotta help me with the most difficult part of all this,” he nodded solemnly, “Worse than any unsub.”

Morgan’s brows drew together as he peered at him silently, wondering what could possibly be worse.

Rossi quirked an eyebrow wryly.

“Convincing Hotch to let us take turns waiting with him,” he concluded.

Morgan couldn’t hold back his wide grin and genuine peal of laughter.

“Ooh, man,” he groaned lightly, “I think I’d rather take my chances with another blast.”

Rossi smirked, their quiet chuckles lifting the grim air off their shoulders for a moment. Morgan then skirted around him, giving his arm a pat.

“Well, you’re on first watch right now,” he gave a faint smirk, “I gotta go wash all… this off me.”

He gestured at his darkened skin and clothes, ash smudging nearly every inch.

Rossi blew out a heavy breath, gaze drifting across the hall to land on the door of your room and imagined the utterly resolute state Hotch must be in on the other side of it.

“Hurry back,” Rossi muttered, raising an eyebrow at Morgan.

The night sky had given way to daybreak when Morgan awoke from his nap. After a heavenly shower where he scrubbed himself clean and rubbed his sore muscles, he had fallen like a log into the bed of the hotel room.

After checking his phone, he returned Rossi’s missed call and agreed to trade places at the hospital. He had sounded dead on his feet. Morgan didn’t envy him. He knew Hotch was probably more stubborn than ever and would not listen to any suggestions to take a break.

Arriving at the place, he passed Rossi in the hall and handed him the room key.

“Good luck,” Rossi muttered, the darkness under his eyes wasn’t just from the ash. He patted Morgan on the back as he continued toward the exit.

Lingering outside your room, Morgan gathered his courage and tapped a knuckle against the door as he entered.

Hotch’s head lifted toward the sound, his features shifting into surprise at the sight of him. A distant corner of Morgan’s brain latched onto how odd the sight of Hotch with no tie or jacket was.

“Hey,” Hotch said softly, passing a hand over his face and sitting up straighter as he surveyed him, “How are you feeling?”

Morgan stepped in slowly, his eyes on your pale, still form on the bed.

“Well,” Morgan shrugged, “A couple of scrapes, a few bruises. Took about an hour long shower to get rid of that smoky stench.”

He lifted his hands and let them fall at his sides with a slap, making Hotch huff quietly in amusement.

“But other than that, I’m alright,” Morgan sighed.

He pulled up a chair on the other side of the bed, looking back at you. Hotch stayed quiet, allowing Morgan to take in the sight in his own time. He noted the way Morgan’s hands had balled up in his lap, one of his fingers scratching at his thumb erratically.

“Is he…” Morgan murmured as he looked at the needle piercing your skin, “Is he gonna be okay?”

Hotch stayed silent long enough that Morgan turned his gaze toward him. He was staring at you, his lips in a tight line. Hotch looked away from your face to meet his eye and nodded.

“They say he should be,” Hotch muttered, his mouth a rather tight line.

“Should be,” Morgan repeated derisively, shaking his head.

One of his legs began to bounce rapidly as he ran his gaze over your body and the bandages visible on your face, head, and arms. The stark whiteness of them seemed to sap any remaining color in your skin, giving you a deathly pale look.

“You know… He saw it. Right before the bomb went off, he yelled at me. He – he pushed me down and covered me, Hotch. If he hadn’t… I don’t know. I’d probably be the one in this bed right now. Or.. worse.”

Hotch was silent for a while as he took in this new information, the monitor beeping loudly for several moments.

“Speculation doesn't do us any good, Morgan,” he spoke quietly.

Morgan’s fingers tapped agitatedly against the armrest of his chair.

“But look at that,” he pointed at the thick bandage just above your left eye.

“Rossi said he had a shard of metal in there,” he tapped a finger on his own face to demonstrate the location, “He was one inch away from losin’ an eye, man.”

A wry scoff tore from his lips, a smirk of disbelief cracking across his face.

“I don’t get him,” he spoke tightly, “I mean, the dude’s pissed at me but then risks his life? To save me? I…”

“I don’t think he is,” Hotch gestured at you and the room as a whole, “Clearly.”

Morgan was apparently unable to find a way to argue with that, for he went silent and peered at you again.

Hotch did the same, a heavy sigh exiting his nose and his hand in front of his mouth.

The steady beep of the monitor kept the time for them, counting off the minutes. Morgan had entered an almost meditative state, lost in the steady tone, when Hotch threw a wrench in the silence.

“He can’t keep doing this,” Hotch muttered, his brow creased.

Now, it was Morgan’s turn to gaze at Hotch with surprise.

“What?” he asked.

“This,” Hotch repeated, a tinge of frustration leaking into his previously calm tone, “He has little to no regard for his own safety. He keeps running headlong into danger, into the literal line of fire for us.”

Hotch’s frown deepened as he shook his head.

“That’s not how decisions should be made in the field.”

Morgan bodily turned in his chair to gape openly at Hotch in disbelief.

“Hotch,” he said, voice going rather high with skepticism, “All due respect, but are you kidding me, man?”

Hotch turned his agitated gaze away from the unconscious man and onto the other staring at him with wide eyes.

“You know I wish he wasn’t lying here right now,” Morgan began, gesturing toward you, “But if I’m being real with you, and I was the one who saw the bomb before he did…”

His shoulders rose in a harsh shrug.

“I probably would’ve done the same thing,” he leaned forward to drive home his point, “Can you honestly tell me that you wouldn’t have?”

Hotch’s expression had become rather fixed.

The beep of the machine was the only thing that answered Morgan.

A thick fog enveloped your whole being. You weren’t even sure if you had a being… You felt like… you were thoughts, floating around a vast, black nothingness. You dreamily bobbed along, not a single care to worry about.

Eventually, the heavy mist grew thinner. Cold began to creep in.

Light peeked through the darkness.

With the light, came a bright, searing feeling.

Taking in a stuttering breath, your were plunged back into a physical form.

You heard your own agonized groan as you fought to remember how to open your eyes.

“You’re fired.”

Your eyelids moved slowly, blinking so languidly that you nearly slipped back down into unconsciousness once more. The pillowcase crinkled under your ear as you managed to turn your heavy head to the side where the weary voice had originated from.

Hotch was folded into a small hospital chair, elbows on his knees, gazing at you from behind his hands clasped together at his lips. Darkness was visible past the small window behind him.

The first thing to filter through your snail’s pace of thoughts was that he had shed his suit jacket, giving him an undressed look despite being fully clothed. The second was the dark shadows under his eyes that contrasted starkly to the pallor of the rest of his face.

“What –” you grimaced as the word scraped on its way out.

Flames tickled up your throat, you swallowed with difficulty.

“Where am I?”

“It’s alright,” he reassured quietly, “You’re in the hospital.”

At this, your eyes opened wider.

“What?!” alarmed tinged your tone, “The – the team?”

Hotch quickly leaned forward until he was on the edge of his chair, hovering with his hand outstretched like he was about to keep you down in the bed.

“It’s alright, it’s okay,” he murmured, “Everyone's fine.”

A labored breath passed through your lips as your eyelids grew heavy again.

Hotch watched silently as you slipped back into unconsciousness, his fingers slowly moving back and forth over one another.

Cracking your eyes open, you winced as you felt a tug above your left brow. Blinking, you turned your head slightly to find Hotch watching you. His gaze was so steely, it was nearly a glare.

“You're… angry,” you rasped.

He said nothing for a moment, pausing as if he were about to deny it.

“Hmm. Well,” he muttered, “Good to see you still have your observational skills.”

After a moment of regarding him silently, a hazy memory floated up to the surface of your mind.

“Did you…” your brow creased with the effort of remembering, “Did you fire me? Or… did I – dream that?”

A soft huff came from Hotch’s lips.

“I did warn you to never do this again,” he said, the playful tone undercut with just a whisper of sincerity.

“Do… what?” you sniffed, grimacing as you noticed the nasal cannula threaded across your face.

Your hand wandered up toward it, instinctively wanting to remove the foreign object from your nose.

“Leave that,” Hotch said.

You dropped your hand onto your chest as you turned your head toward him again.

“C’mon,” you blinked heavily at him, taking in a labored breath, “Hire me back.”

Your hazy gaze locked onto his concerned one, a lazy smirk pulling at your lips.

“How am I gonna… pay for these hospital bills?”

Hotch shook his head softly, letting it fall into his hands for a moment as soft chuckles emanated from behind his arms.

“Barely conscious,” he muttered, “And you’re already joking.”

You gave a soft laugh of your own. Hotch lowered his hands in time to watch your face twist into a faint grimace as you cut yourself off. You inhaled with effort, your chest rising slowly with an audible wheeze.

He brought his chair closer, the armrests nearly touching the edge of the bed. Your gaze flicked over him.

“Stop that,” you ordered weakly, your eyes fluttering shut.

“What?” Hotch asked.

Your eyes creaked open again to peer at him blearily.

Hotch watched you with concern, leaning closer to catch your faint speech. Your hand came up toward his face. He stilled, fixating on you as your hand cradled his temple. Your thumb brushed at the crease between his brows, smoothing it out.

Hotch’s chest stopped moving up and down for several long seconds.

“Stop… worrying,” you muttered.

Your hand fell back onto the sheets as your eyes fluttered shut once again.

Hotch remained completely still, eyes slightly widened, until someone rushed by in the hall, shouting something. He blinked, coming out of his stunned state, and fell heavily back into his seat.

The time he had gone with hardly any sleep except fitful dozing was now incredibly difficult for him to calculate. His chin slipped from his hand as he nearly fell into sleep again. Shaking himself, he straightened in his chair as he scanned your form for any notable change.

A soft ringing tore his attention away from your face. He peered up at your monitors, trying to find the source. All of them beeped steadily.

Rubbing his eyes, he stood up and followed the noise. Realizing it was coming from the bag of your personal affects, he opened it and fished out your phone that had amazingly survived the explosion.

On instinct, he brought it to his ear and answered the call.

“Hello?” Hotch said rather wearily.

“Hello?” a man repeated, confusion evident in the single word.

“Who is this?” Hotch asked.

“Javier Madrigal. Who’s this?”

“Aaron Hotchner.”

“Sorry, I must have called the wrong number. I thought I called a, um – someone I met recently but –”

The realization thrummed through Hotch’s limbs as his sluggish mind finally placed the voice he had heard what felt like a lifetime ago.

“You called the right number,” Hotch cut him off, “I’m his… We work together.”

“Oh. Oh, wait,” Javi paused, recognition blooming in his tone as well, “Yeah! I remember you, man. Real serious, tall dude, right?”

Hotch had nothing to reply to that with.

His gaze flitted over to the pale form lying so still in the bed, debating whether he should try to wake him or if he should end this call immediately.

“Uhh, why are you… answering his phone?” Javi asked lightly, but the nervous energy still bled through the phone speaker.

Hotch tried not to dwell on the manner in which he had asked, at the implication under the words.

“He’s in the hospital. He’s not awake at the moment,” Hotch said, wondering exactly how much was appropriate to tell this man.

“Wait, seriously?” Javi’s tone dropped everything except a growing worry, “Is – Is he alright?!”

Hotch paused, his hand coming up to rub at the hair at the back of his head.

“It might be a while before he’s out, but yes. He should be.”

The line was quiet for a moment as the other man processed Hotch’s words.

“Shit… Okay. How – What happened?” Javi sounded genuinely concerned.

Hotch glanced over to you, blinking harshly, hating how entirely still you were apart from your chest stuttering up and down.

“There was an explosion,” he took in a great breath, as if ensuring the air was clear of smoke, “He got – He got pretty banged up.”

“Goddamn…” Javi murmured, his voice slightly muffled like he had a hand over his mouth, “Well, shit. That’s a hell of an excuse to stand me up.”

A beat passed.

“Excuse me?” Hotch’s brow creased as his hold on the phone tightened.

“We had a date.”

Hotch’s widened gaze fell onto the unconscious man.

“A date?”

Even through his drowsiness, Hotch noticed you’d been grimacing quite often in your sleep. The next time a doctor came in to check you over, he’d mention it.

He must have drifted off for a while because he opened his eyes at the sound of rasping breaths. You were awake, your hand at your chest as you seemed to struggle to take in air.

You looked to him, frightened at the fact that even the oxygen being delivered directly into your nose didn’t seem to help much.

“Is the pain getting worse?” Hotch asked in a rush, his gaze boring into yours, “What’s happening?”

You noted how he kept his expression carefully blank, a tactic he used a lot at work, but the angle of his brows clued you in to how horrid you must look.

“I – I don’t know,” you gasped.

Hotch tilted his head, lips pressed together. Your eyes squeezed shut as your breath came accompanied with a lick of fire in your chest.

“Okay,” you gritted your teeth, “Maybe.”

Hotch watched as your frame shuddered, your nose scrunched, and a thin layer of sweat broke out across your brow. He was opening his mouth to suggest calling a doctor when your hand shot out toward him.

“What?” he asked, alarmed, as he grasped your hand.

“H–Hotch –” you wheezed.

Hotch’s fingers squeezed together in your tightening grasp, producing a faint wince of shock from him. Your other hand came up to your neck, fingers clawing at nothing but air around the strained muscles of your throat.

“Okay. Hang on,” he pulled away from you.

The pang of guilt that he felt when you gave a frightened grimace as he disappeared from your side could be dealt with later.

One of the machines next to your bed began to shriek. The sound served to quicken his run to a sprint toward the door.

“I need help in here, please!” he shouted out into the hall.

Mere seconds had never felt so prolonged.

Hotch’s breath came in short pants as he hung outside of the door frame, his frenzied gaze scanning up and down the vacant hallway. He glanced back toward you to see your eyes fluttering, the machine’s beeping growing more shrill.

He felt pulled in two directions at once. The urge to rush to your side and another to sprint to find help. Both warred against each other, pulling him from both sides equally and resulting in rooting him to the spot instead of doing either.

“In here, please!” he called again, voice cracking, any care for other sleeping patients now dashed to pieces.

The moment he heard hurried footsteps approaching from all sides, Hotch rushed back into the room and skidded to a halt at your side.

“They’re coming, they’re coming,” he panted, hands hovering slightly above you.

Your eyes fell on him but they were so panicked, he was unsure whether you were recognizing him at this point. Your hands moved erratically around your chest and throat as you thrashed as hard as your weakened body would allow.

Hotch’s own breath was coming hard and fast at the horrible sight of you unable to breath. It was the same thing all over again. He blinked hard, forcing his sight to clear away the images of dark, murky water rising quickly over their heads.

Rossi didn’t bother calling to announce his arrival, knowing Hotch would tell him it wasn’t necessary. His best chance at getting him to go to the hotel was if he showed up without warning. Walking toward your room, he turned the corner and halted.

Hotch stood in the middle of the hallway, his back turned as he looked in the opposite direction. The sound of hospital staff speaking in hurried tones was fading around the far end of the hall.

He approached and looked into your room to find it empty.

It was easy to surmise what had just transpired. He cursed under his breath before cautiously approaching Hotch, who was utterly quiet apart from his ragged breaths.

“Hotch,” he called softly.

No reaction.

“Aaron,” he said.

Hotch finally turned, a blank wide stare landing on him.

As he turned toward him, he wobbled as if he were a precarious stack of books that someone just piled another heavy volume on. His hand shot out instinctively for the nearest thing to steady himself on. It just so happened to be Rossi.

“Okay,” he said, his hands firm on Hotch’s upper arms as he caught him, “Come on. It’s alright.”

He guided Hotch back into the room and eased him into a chair.

“It – It’s fine,” Hotch managed to force out, his gaze still rather vacant.

“Mhmm,” Rossi hummed pointedly, sarcasm tinging the sound, “Sure looks like it.”

He fished out his phone and flipped it open, dialing a number.

“Hey, bring some water and anything easy to eat,” he spoke quickly into the speaker, no introduction or preamble.

Rossi hung up and focused on keep Hotch conscious, coaching him to get his breathing back to a regular pace.

Later, Morgan entered the room with a water bottle, a couple granola bars, and a bag of pretzels. Hotch was already shaking his head when he laid eyes on Morgan.

Rossi shared a long-suffering look with Morgan.

“Come on. It’ll do him no good if you end up in a bed right next to him,” Rossi said.

Together, they managed to force Hotch to eat one of the bars and half of the bag, along with one full water bottle.

“He… he couldn’t breathe,” Hotch muttered.

Morgan met his haunted gaze.

“How long has it been?” Hotch asked.

Rossi glanced to his watch.

“I don’t know,” he said, “Twenty minutes since I showed up.”

Hotch’s eyes drifted shut as he leaned back in his chair, completely drained.

“How long can you go without breathing?” he whispered before falling asleep.

Everything hurt. You weren’t sure where you were or what was happening but the pain was a certainty. As you surfaced back into wakefulness, you realized that every breath brought a dull flare of pain.

Peeling your eyes open, you saw the blank ceiling above you and the rectangular lights. You shifted as you realized something hard was on your face.

“Hey, there,” a voice came from your left.

You turned to see Morgan watching you, a smile pulling his lips upward. You blinked slowly, something in the back of your mind giving way to relief at the sight of him.

Weakly a hand came up to your face, trying to pull the obstruction away.

“Leave it,” another voice came from your right.

You looked to find Hotch watching you. A strange sense of déjà vu filled you for some reason.

“Your lungs need all the help they can get,” he said with a horribly spent air.

The knowledge that you were wearing an oxygen mask slowly filtered into your brain and you relaxed.

“I…” you tried, but your chest burned.

“No, no, no,” Morgan shushed you, “It’s all good, man. Just… rest, alright?”

Nodding minutely, you felt yourself following his direction immediately. Hotch shared a subdued look of amusement with Morgan at the sight.

“You can go ahead to the room now, Hotch,” Morgan said, “I got it. Go sleep in an actual bed for a while.”

Hotch passed a hand over his face, finally appearing to consider the words instead of instantly rejecting them. Morgan cocked an eyebrow.

“And honestly, man?” he said, “You kinda stink.”

Hotch tore his gaze away from you to fix Morgan with a wide stare, disbelief coloring his face. Morgan grinned brightly. Hotch broke into a slightly delirious fit of laughter. Morgan chuckled as well, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

Hotch finally stood and patted Morgan’s shoulder on the way out.

Morgan didn’t even look behind him before he spoke.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll call ya if anything happens,” he said, beating Hotch to the punch as he paused at the door.

Hotch closed his mouth, smirking before exiting.

The rise and set of the sun had passed three times before you could manage to stay awake for significant periods of time. You kept forgetting things you had already asked before, or asking to see members of the team that had just been in to visit you. This brought a terrible panic over Hotch but after an assessment from the doctors, they informed him that it was a concussion that would eventually heal.

On the fifth day, you suddenly sat up straighter and winced at the sudden motion.

“Hey, easy,” Hotch admonished carefully from his seat, putting his book down.

“No, no, I – I just remembered,” you rasped, the oxygen mask still on your face, “Garcia. Call Garcia! Get – Get her safe. Where – where is everyone?”

Hotch was already used to these bouts of confused babble, scooting closer as he attempted to reassure you that the team was fine.

“Hotch!” you exclaimed, reaching out and grabbing his arm, “The – the unsub. It – it wasn’t about…”

You paused, head ducking as you took in several labored breaths.

“They were after us,” you muttered, “The note. The – the eight. There are eight of us.”

Hotch stilled, taking this in. It did seem odd to him. But the preoccupation of you in this state had overridden everything else.

The fact that the other explosions were so random. No one targeted specifically.

The convenient tip call that came in.

The only time anyone was injured coming as a result of that call.

The eight on the note.

Your grip on him tightened and brought him out of his thoughts.

“Okay,” he agreed, “I’ll tell her, don’t worry.”

He watched as the tension bled from your form and you began to slip back into sleep, the strain having sapped your energy. Fishing his phone out of his jacket, he called Garcia to let her know and then told the rest of the team, just in case.

By the eighth day, you were mostly able to stay awake for the whole day. You had finally been able to switch out your oxygen mask for a nasal cannula. Though it still bothered the hell out of you, it was still miles better than the uncomfortable mask that dug into your face.

You had told Hotch the day before that he didn’t need to stay by your side anymore. You were lucid enough now to realize that he had spent the whole time in the hospital along with you and that guilt of that fact was settling in.

He had waved off your words, but you still forced him to at least go get something to eat from the hospital cafeteria. You had joked that you were sick of seeing him and were rewarded with his unreserved laugh before he complied to your order.

A doctor entered about ten minutes later.

“Well,” he said, clapping his hands together, “Quite a ride. But if you’re ready to go home, you can now. Of course, you’re going to need help getting around. No strenuous activity for at least two weeks and even after that, take it easy.”

You nodded eagerly, you had never longed for your apartment as much as you currently did.

“And of course, you’ll be given oxygen to take with you,” he continued.

You looked at your hands, wondering how you were going to get up the stairs to reach your floor.

“Sir?” the doctor prompted, “Do you have someone waiting at home that can help you?”

“Yeah, I’ll be alright,” you said.

“So, you do have someone who can help you?” he repeated, his eyebrows raised as he peered at you over his glasses.

You faltered for only a split second.

He pursed his lips, looking down at a paper on his board.

“If not, you might as well just stay here,” he murmured, his brow furrowing as he looked at your chart.

“No, I – I can –” you tried, pushing yourself up straighter in an attempt to look healthier.

The doctor gave you a sympathetic but firm look.

“You can’t be on your own, sir. Not yet,” he said, “I’m sorry, but if you don’t have anyone who can –”

“I’ll be there.”

Both you and the doctor turned at the sound of a new voice.

Hotch passed through the open doorway, a nurse with a waiting wheelchair following in behind him.

As it turned out, an explosion wasn’t the most stupefying thing you would experience this week.

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