Disclaimer: See first chapter.

AU

Practical Measures

"Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent. The slogan 'press on' has solved and always will solve the problems of the human race." - Calvin Coolidge

Earlier:

Hotch watched Morgan and Savannah from the wheelchair he had unceremoniously been plopped into by a harried looking Doc who had grumbled beneath her breath about ungrateful FBI agent sons of bitches. The transfer from the table to the wheelchair had been none too gentle, but Hotch was not about to voice his concerns over poor bedside manner lest he be subjected to more of it.

His broken ankle had been elevated and Doc had attached yet another IV to his arm. Doc, Katherine, had told him what each one was for, but at the time he'd been a bit out of it and couldn't recall what each bag was doing for him or whether each was truly necessary.

He longed to be out there with Rossi and Prentiss looking for Reid and Aiken. He had really screwed things up and would be brought to task for the botched investigation, but at the moment, the only one here to bring him to task was his own conscience and it did not bode well for him.

He'd been running through what had happened at the dilapidated farm over and over again and each time, the experiences grew darker in his mind. He could see where things had gone wrong from almost the start and, try as he might, when he ran the situations and the choices he and his team had made throughout the course of that day, he couldn't say that he or they would have done things differently. It had nothing to do with the fact that they should have done things differently, because they should have, he just knew that, given the circumstances and the way things had played out, they would have made the same choices if they'd had it to do over. As ill-fated as they were, the decisions they had made were an endemic part of who they were and that is what he couldn't change.

It didn't matter that things had fallen apart and that Savannah, Morgan, and he had been injured. He knew that, though things could have been done differently, nothing would have, it would have all played out as it did, no matter how many times he ran it differently through his mind after the fact. Things had played out as they would, whether by fate or the hand of God.

Though he knew it was useless to continue to chastise himself and run through the different possible scenarios of how the day might have gone differently, he couldn't stop his mind from taking him on the counterproductive journey. In one scenario, he saw himself carrying a crying, yet safe little boy home to his grateful father. In another scenario, Reid had stayed at Mr. Randall's with JJ where he would be safe and not in the hands of some socio or psychopath. In yet another scenario, he had never opened up fire in the stormy weather that had shrouded the day and Morgan was not lying still and pale on the sterile sheets of a rural clinic.

They were all predicated on what might have been, could have been, and yet would never be and Hotch couldn't stop his mind from going through each and every one of them, even the tangents which had things turning from bad to worse. In one such offshoot, his mind conjured up an image of a bloodied and battered Reid, eyes dead and blank, staring up at nothing. Another showed him cradling a dying Morgan in his arms as the bullet that he'd shot him with tore its way through his vital organs rather than his shoulder. Each disparate scene that his fevered mind came up with grew worse than the last and he couldn't seem to put a stop to it.

As his mind continued to conjure up images of each and every member of his team injured or dead at the hands of their elusive unsub or the horrid weather, he couldn't also help but think that there was something he should be doing to help the rest of the team. The leader shouldn't be sitting it out on the sidelines, injured or not. He should be out in the field leading the search rather than sitting in a country clinic watching the beeping screen of a cardiac machine as it monitored the faltering heartbeat of one of his agents and an innocent bystander who should never have been allowed to aid them in their search. Damn it, I really fucked things up.

In spite of the anger which fueled him, wheeling himself out of the room was not an easy feat. But, he managed to make it out of the room without dislodging either of the IVs attached to him or alerting Katherine who'd left him in charge, with strict instructions to inform her if either of the other patients woke or if they seemed to be in any distress. Apparently she had some paper work to do.

Burrows and Cooper had left to return to their department. They would be on-call for the remainder of the night and probably the majority of the next morning until the storm-related emergencies died down. Though he was loath to admit it, the officers had more than likely saved all three of their lives and he was going to see about repaying that debt. They were both good men, though Doc seemed to treat them as though they were little more than ignoramuses sent to do her bidding.

Looking down the corridor in either direction for any sign of the mercurial doctor, he pulled out his cell phone and sighed in relief when it showed he had full coverage in the tiny clinic's corridor. Where the hell was this kind of coverage when I needed it earlier?

Hitting speed dial number one, his mouth twisted up into a grim smile when a familiar, cheerful voice greeted him with a, "Jeannie of the cyber world at your beck and call O' captain, my captain. Just make your request and it shall be granted."

"Garcia," Hotch began, but was unable to finish as she cut him off, worry evident in her voice as she recognized the seriousness in his tone in that one three syllable word he had spoken. Tension had worked itself across the phone line and Garcia felt worry grip her heart; something was wrong.

"What is it? What's happened?" She was tripping over the words.

"Garcia," Hotch began again, berating himself for allowing some of the weariness he felt to leech into his voice, "everything's alright," he lied.

He knew, however, that the hacker at the other end of the line would only work herself into a frenzy if she knew the condition Morgan and he were in.

"What information do you have for me on Rossi and Prentiss? Have they found Reid and Aiken yet?"

Silence answered him as Garcia took a deep breath, "Sorry sir, I haven't heard anything from them since they went to check out the shooting at the local gas station," he heard rapid typing, "both SUVs are still at the gas station, here let me try their cells." Again, there was more click-clacking and Hotch could hear a number being dialed, but it was met immediately by a voicemail for Rossi, then Prentiss, and finally Reid.

"Sorry sir, they must still be out of range, I'll keep trying."

"Thanks Garcia," Hotch answered grimly, "anything on JJ's end?" He almost hated to ask, though a small part of him hoped that at least one of his field agents was safe and sound and not fully enmeshed in the nightmare that this day had become.

She'd handled the press expertly, as usual, and had gone to the Randall house to sit and wait with Steve Randall in case Aiken returned home. They wanted to make sure that Steve and an officer was there, just in case. The Rubin County police force was tapped; all of the officers were either already aiding them in the search or dealing with storm related issues, so it had been decided that JJ would wait with Mr. Randall.

A moment of strained silence stretched over the line and Hotch's heart clenched in his chest. Had he somehow managed to lose yet another agent to this screwed up search? Garcia's sharp intake of breath caused Hotch to hold his breath in anxious anticipation of the dire news she was no doubt about to tell him. Hanging his head, he closed his eyes and listened with a wariness that seeped deep into his bones.

"Ah sir, she's on another line, just called. Here, let me link you," Garcia's smooth computer keystrokes soon had the separate lines of the two agents linked; all three were now able to communicate with each other.

Opening his eyes, he allowed a grim smile to spread across his face and he gripped the handle of his wheelchair tightly, hoping that he'd receive some good news for a change.

"Sir?" JJ said in a whisper.

"Yes JJ, go ahead," Hotch wondered why his agent was uncharacteristically quiet. His heart dropped. Was she in danger?

"Something seems off about this case," her voice came out in a hushed, breathy tone, as though she was walking at a rapid pace, trying to make an escape.

"What do you mean?" Hotch sat up in his chair, grimacing and hissing as pain shot up his leg due to his hasty readjustment.

"Mr. Randall," the sound of a door clicking shut shot across the phone line and JJ's voice once again resumed its natural, confident tone, "something is off about him. Nothing I can really pinpoint, just a gut feeling at this time, but he doesn't seem at all upset by the death of his wife or son and he has not even once mentioned his missing son, Aiken."

"What are some of the things you've noticed about his behavior?" Hotch leaned forward in his chair, listening intently.

She spoke somewhat hesitantly as she gathered her thoughts, "Well, he didn't seem to notice the crime scene tape cordoning off the kitchen. I attempted to draw him out in conversation, but he kept looking at the door or out the front window. He doesn't know what Aiken might have been wearing today. He didn't ask a single question about what happened. He didn't even respond when I explained that Aiken was alive, but had gone missing. He just didn't seem interested in what had happened period."

"All of that could be due to shock, he just lost his wife and one of his sons, and the other is missing," Hotch reasoned.

"That's what I thought at first as well, but then he almost compromised the primary crime scene to get a beer. He even offered me one. He seems anxious, as though guilty of something or afraid. I get the feeling that his reluctance to talk is not out of grief. I know people handle grief differently, but he's behaving as though he knew it was going to happen before it happened; almost as if he planned it himself," JJ took a breath.

"Garcia," Hotch barked, "check into Mr. Randall's background, particularly his phone records and bank history. Go back…six months… see if there's anything out of the ordinary."

"Already on it sir," Garcia, in anticipation of Hotch's command, had begun looking into Randall's background the minute JJ had indicated something was off about the man. It chilled her to the marrow to think that he could be behind the grisly attack on his family and that his little boy, who was out there, lost, could possibly have no one to come home to when he was found.

"JJ," Hotch's voice had a hard edge to it.

"Yes sir?"

"Watch Mr. Randall, see if you can find anything on him at the house."

"Yes sir."

"And JJ?"

"Yes?"

"Be careful," Hotch's voice was strained with worry, "call me when you find something."

"Yes sir," the phone clicked off on her end.

"Garcia," Hotch rubbed at his temple which had begun to throb.

"Yes sir?" Garcia's fingers were flying across her keyboard and her eyes were darting between multiple computer and television screens looking at a vast amount of information, which she quickly pared down to that which was pertinent. She narrowed her focus and expertly ignored every superfluous bit of information that came across her line of vision.

"Call me when you find something," Hotch was about to hang up the phone when Garcia's voice had him sitting up even further in the wheelchair and wincing once again as his injured limb was jarred by the sudden movement.

"Holy cow!" Garcia exclaimed, regarding one of the multiple computer screens more closely. She had hit the jackpot.

"What is it?" Hotch clenched the phone tighter to his ear.

"Um, sir, well Mr. Randall is under investigation by the FBI on suspicion of insurance fraud and laundering money for the mob, oh my…" Garcia answered guardedly. She was still gathering information, her eyes moving rapidly as she read the monitors before her, searching them for further incriminating information. "There was a lump sum transfer of ten thousand dollars to an account for a Ms. Jennings who does not seem to exist," did the man have another family? "And sir," there was a pause, "enrollment for both boys' private schooling was cancelled on the same day as well as Mrs. Randall's car insurance. It seems that Mr. Randall was experiencing some financial difficulties as well. His wife is independently wealthy, but he cannot access her funds."

"See what else you can find," Hotch was removing the IVs from his arm. He was not going to sit around while the rest of his team was out there working or missing, not when so much was at stake. He didn't like feeling useless. He needed to be out there doing something for his team, there was nothing he could do for Morgan or Savannah at the moment, Doc was more than capable of taking care of them. Taking a quick peek into the room, he let out a relieved sigh that neither of them had woken during his absence.

Edging himself out of the wheelchair so that he didn't jar his aching leg once again, he eased himself up to a tentative standing position. Using the chair for leverage, he kept one hand on the back of it and another on the wall for support. Keeping his leg slightly elevated, he carefully hopped his way around the chair.

Taking a deep breath, he let go of the chair and quickly placed his other hand on the wall and scooted his way along the hallway. A light sheen of sweat broke out along his brow and his breathing was coming in labored gasps by the time he'd made it halfway to the front door. His lungs burned with the effort and a coughing fit had him clutching his side. His head swam as a bout of queasiness attacked him and he was reminded that Doc had warned him he might be developing a chest cold. Even so, he kept his eyes steadily on his destination and ground his teeth against the pain that shot up his leg. He was not going to let anything stop him from making it to the front door.

He was so intent on reaching his objective that he didn't hear the light approach of footsteps behind him. A gentle, yet firm grip on his bicep forestalled him as he was whirled upon by a rather irate looking Doc. One hand on his arm and another on her hip, she raised a single eyebrow and sent him a frosty glare.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" She tossed her head back, her green eyes flashed in warning and the explanation he'd prepared died on his tongue.

He swallowed against a sudden onslaught of panic, he felt like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He attempted to loosen her grip on him, but she dug her fingers in as though anchoring herself to him, and he felt anger pulsate through her in waves.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Hotch kept quiet, sensing that she was trying to calm herself down before she did something she'd regret and he didn't want to say anything which would cause her to lose her cool.

"Ten," she finally said softly and opened her eyes.

He attempted a smile, but realized his mistake as soon the corners of his lips lifted and her eyes narrowed dangerously. He hurriedly subdued his smile, but had the feeling that he had been too late to escape her formidable wrath.

"Crap," she sighed and closed her eyes once more.

She'd been so angry when she had gone to check on her patients and had found one of the missing. She'd known that she shouldn't have left him alone. She'd assumed that by giving him some sort of duty to perform, he'd feel as though he was being useful and stay put like he should have. Apparently it hadn't worked. A quick look in the corridor had confirmed her suspicions; she'd known that it would be hard to keep him here.

He'd struck her as a man of action and she knew that it had to be hard for him to be here, out of the action, and to keep still and heal while there were others out there who needed help. He was a take charge kind of guy and she had a feeling that he felt responsible for everything that had happened today, including those things he'd had little or no control over. Hell, she'd be willing to bet that he probably even felt responsible for the bad weather and the shitty cell phone reception.

She knew that one of his people was missing and that, because of the storm, he was also out of contact with a large portion of his team. It couldn't be easy for him, she knew that, and yet, even that thought did little to temper her choler at his audacity. If he thought that he could just slip past her without her noticing, he had another thing coming. She might be a backcountry doctor, but she was no idiot bumpkin.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine…she counted off mentally, saying only the final digit aloud, "Ten." It was something that her grandfather had urged her to do when she got angry and sometimes it even worked. Apparently, this was not one of those times because when she opened her eyes, Hotch was grinning goofily like some silly little boy caught at nothing more than having his hand in the cookie jar trying to bring a fistful of cookies out only to have it stuck at the opening because he was unwilling to let go of the lot of them to get his hand out.

Shaking her head, she narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. "This isn't going to work," she sighed, "sorry grandfather." She rolled her eyes heavenward and scowled at Hotch, gripping his arm tightly enough to leave bruises. If she could do so without feeling guilty or in breach of the Hippocratic Oath that she'd sworn to uphold, she'd shake some sense into the idiotic man who continued to look at her with a sheepish grin held firmly in place.

Scanning his face with critical eyes, she noted with some measure of satisfaction that he flinched a little at her look of approbation. He was taller by her than at least two feet, so she had to crane her neck and stand a little on her toes to get a good look at him and what she saw caused her to table her righteous indignation momentarily in favor of raw fury.

"You insufferable, ingrate," she seethed.

He was far paler than he'd been when Burrows and Cooper had brought him and the other two in and sweat coated his brow in a thin sheet. His brown eyes had a glazed look that she knew bespoke of a significant amount of pain and he was swaying precariously. He was leaning heavily against the wall and she knew that if she released her grip on him, he'd more than likely topple ingloriously to the floor.

It'd serve him right, she thought to herself before determining that such an action would definitely be in violation of the codes of conduct and ethics she'd agreed to follow as a medical student. If she'd known what future awaited her, she might have begged off of the promise entirely. It hadn't taken into account men like Agent Hotchner or some of the other imbecilic men she'd had to deal with on a nearly daily basis.

She lowered her eyes and looked at the leg he held slightly off the tiled linoleum floor and clenched her jaw. Blood was seeping through the bandage she'd wrapped around it. It hadn't needed stitches earlier, but she'd be willing to bet that this little unaided excursion through the hallway had caused the wound to tear enough to warrant them now.

"You," she jabbed a finger at him, "stay right here." She didn't wait for his acknowledgement of her order, but released her grip on his arm and whirled on her heel. Hoping that he wouldn't do a face plant without her support, she stalked back to the wheelchair which was thankfully only halfway down the hallway; he hadn't been able to make it too far in his current condition. What the hell had he been thinking? She fumed.

She wheeled the chair over to him quickly, observing that he had managed, just barely, to remain standing, propped up against the wall. His eyes were drooping by the time she'd managed to coax him back into the wheelchair.

His jaw was locked in determination and, in spite of the obvious state of fatigue he was in; he managed to spear her with a look of ill-concealed contempt.

"You can't keep me here," it was little more than a hoarse whisper and yet it held the entirety of the rancor that his look was shooting her way. "My team needs me."

"Your team," she answered dryly, looking him squarely in the eye as she knelt to adjust his bleeding leg so that it was elevated, "I'd imagine, is more than capable of doing the job they've been trained to do. You'd be little more than a liability to them in this condition. You wouldn't have even made it out of the door without collapsing, let alone been any help to them."

She stood abruptly and placed the back of her hand against his forehead. Crap, the hapless fool has managed to increase his fever. She'd have to use a thermometer to get an accurate temperature, but she'd be willing to bet that it was nearly a hundred and one, if not higher. If that was the case, she'd have to figure out a way to keep him immobile and bring his temperature down.

"Let's get you back to the others," she leaned over the back of the chair and spoke harshly into his ear. "You've not only managed to exacerbate that wound in your leg, but you've given yourself a fever in the process. I might have to put some stitches in and will have to administer some more Tylenol. If that doesn't work," she punctuated each word with a precision borne of irritation which was barely being held in check, "then I will have to resort to more stringent methods of bringing the fever down. Just what the hell were you thinking?" She straightened and wheeled him down the tiny corridor, past the now useless IV drips which had been torn out of his arm and strewn haphazardly about the hallway.

"That I'd failed my team when they needed me," his words were spoken faintly, yet Katherine heard them loud and clear and felt a tinge of sympathy for him, "and that I couldn't fail them again."

She paused before entering the room where Morgan and Savannah were resting.

"Agent Hotchner," her voice, though sharp and businesslike, was void of acrimony, "I doubt your team feels that way. Whatever happened out there, I'm sure it wasn't your fault and that they don't blame you."

"I'd feel better if I was out there, doing something, rather than sitting here in a wheelchair," his words were spoken with bitter defeat. "It's not like I'm an invalid," he gestured at his leg. "All I need is a crutch and I'll be fine." He turned so that his pleading eyes could search out hers.

Shaking her head, she wheeled him into the room and knelt in front of him, placing a hand on his good knee.

"Agent Hotchner," she licked her lips, "unfortunately a crutch is not going to be enough. If you'd made it out the door in your current condition," she breathed in deeply, "I'm afraid that you would have caused far more damage than you have already and there is no doubt in my mind that you would have either ended up in the hospital in need of a blood transfusion and fighting off a nasty infection or in the morgue." She'd spoken the last few words in a fierce whisper.

"But I feel fine," Hotch insisted, unaware of how slurred his words came out and how much he sounded like a little boy asking to stay up, 'just one more hour'. He was having a hard time keeping his eyes open and his leg felt as though it was on fire, but he was determined to go and aid JJ or join his remaining agents in the search for Reid and Aiken. He couldn't fail them. He was their leader, they needed him.

His eyes drifted closed, though he fought hard to keep them open, as a needle was plunged into his leg, just below the reddened wound Doc had deftly unwrapped. Doc gave him another shot of Novocain above the wound, cursing under her breath as he lost consciousness. Once the area was numbed, she wasted no time in swabbing the wound with iodine to cleanse it and then nimbly stitched it closed. It hadn't taken more than five tight stitches, but she'd deemed it necessary given that it had torn when he'd attempted his escape.

Too bad Burrows and Cooper had left; she could use their help in getting Agent Hotchner onto a bed and into a more comfortable position. Sleeping as he was, he would wake up with a painful crick in his neck. Serves the stubborn mule right, Katherine snorted as she slipped the thermometer beneath his tongue. She placed a pillow behind his head, adjusting him so that he'd be as comfortable as possible, chiding herself for being much too accommodating to foolish men with martyr complexes.

"101.9, let's see if we can't bring that down."

She frowned, knowing that it could easily increase if infection set in or if the man attempted to do anything strenuous. She replaced the IVs he'd divested himself of, hanging fresh bags of antibiotics, a fever reducer which contained a mild sedative (she was not going to have him traipsing about the halls undoing her good work again anytime soon), a normal saline drip to combat dehydration, and a unit of type O blood for the blood he'd lost.

She chastised herself for not taking his case more seriously when she'd first treated him. Looking at things in retrospect, she realized that she hadn't been as thorough as she should have. He'd clearly been worse off than he'd claimed to be and than she'd first ascertained. She'd somehow deemed his injuries of less import than the other two injured patients whom she'd seen earlier and that could have cost him his life.

A jaunty jingle broke the tense silence and Katherine jumped at the sudden noise of the cell phone ringing in Agent Hotchner's breast pocket. When the man didn't stir, she gingerly reached for the phone and flipped it open.

"Hello?" She spoke uncertainly. Should she have let the phone continue to ring?

"Uh," the voice on the other end sounded equally doubtful, "Who is this? Where is Agent Hotchner?"

"This is Doctor Katherine Fitzgerald. I own and run a small clinic in Rubin County. Agent Hotchner is currently a patient of mine. What can I do for you?" Katherine straightened up to her full height and worked out some of the kinks in her back.

"You can help by letting me speak to Aaron Hotchner," the voice on the other phone sounded slightly put out and Katherine bristled at the tone.

"He is currently indisposed and unable to speak with anyone at the moment. Can I take a message?" Katherine raised an eyebrow, imagining the woman on the other end doing the same.

"What happened?" The voice was laced with worry and some of Katherine's ire dissolved. "Is he alright? I just spoke with him about twenty minutes ago."

"Sorry," Katherine sighed, "with whom am I speaking?"

"Agent Jennifer Jareau of the BAU, I'm a colleague of Agent Aaron Hotchner's. Is he okay?"

"He'll be okay," Katherine assured, if the man doesn't end up killing himself before I can heal him. "He, Agent Morgan and Savannah Breighton were brought here by officers Burrows and Cooper. They had been injured in some sort of firefight, from what I can gather, and have sustained various injuries that I expect each to fully recover from."

"He didn't mention any of that when I spoke to him," JJ's tone was accusatory.

"No, I'd imagine not," Katherine rubbed at the headache that was forming in her temple, "far be it from Superman to let anyone know when he needs help. I caught him trying to sneak out of the clinic without doctor's approval."

JJ chuckled at the note of weary wryness in the doctor's voice, knowing just how stubborn Hotch could be and how what a handful he could be. "Is Agent Morgan available?"

Katherine looked over at the other agent propped up on the bed. His eyes were open, watching her. She jutted her chin in his direction and he nodded slightly, wincing as the movement pulled at his shoulder injury.

"He just so happens to be," Katherine said as she handed the phone over to the agent and walked over to check on Savannah who was just beginning to stir.

"What's shakin'?" Morgan asked quietly.

"Are you okay?" JJ put her own discoveries aside. She needed to know that her teammates were okay.

"Yeah, I'm fine, just a flesh wound," he prevaricated, trying to make his voice sound as light as possible.

"And Hotch?" She knew that Morgan was lying, but didn't call him on it, he was getting proper medical care and she had to trust that he'd be fine.

"He's fine." Morgan's eyes swiveled over to the man sleeping in the wheelchair.

Hotch's brow was furrowed darkly in sleep and he was frowning as if deep in thought. His fingers were twitching and his lips were moving soundlessly. He appeared to be dreaming and from the looks of it, it wasn't a pleasant dream. He'd have to get the doctor's attention and see if she could wake him.

"Morgan," JJ's voice was chiding.

"He probably looks worse than he really is," he capitulated, shaking his head.

"What happened out there?" JJ's heart skipped a beat.

She'd called to deliver Hotch some rather disturbing news, but that was all lost in the realization that the older agent had lied to her earlier. Something bad had happened and he'd kept her in the dark about it. Why?

"To tell you the truth," Morgan took a deep breath and expelled it audibly, "I'm not sure. Everything happened so quickly. One minute Reid was there, and the next…" he wracked his memory to try and remember the events that had led to him and the others being hospitalized and it was all a jumbled mess of muddled memory. He couldn't pick out a single image and focus on it long enough to put words to it that would make sense to JJ.

"What happened to Reid?" JJ couldn't tamp down the panic that had surfaced at the mention of her younger colleague. She felt completely out of the loop. "What about Rossi and Emily?"

Morgan blinked. He had no idea where the other two agents were, his mind was a little fuzzy on all of the details. Had Hotch mentioned something about them on their harrowing journey from Savannah's? He couldn't remember.

"I'm not sure. I think they might be out looking for the missing kid and Reid, he was taken. Garcia will know more," he spoke with much more confidence than he felt. Tiredness was starting to sap him of the little reserve of energy he'd had when he first awoke when the phone had rung.

"I'll check in with her once I'm done talking with you." JJ could tell that Morgan was fading fast.

He was beginning to sound lethargic. She didn't like it, but if she had to, she could wait for answers. She just wanted this case to come to a close. What she'd learned about Mr. Randall had turned her stomach. It didn't look as though she'd be able to pass the information on to Hotch and ask for his lead, she'd have to act on her own.

She'd been unable to contact both Rossi and Emily earlier and doubted that the lack of cell phone reception had changed much in their situation. She'd try them again, but had little hope she'd be able to get through. She just hoped that they'd both fared better than the others had.

"That sounds like a plan," Morgan yawned and laid his head back against the pillow. Before the phone fell out of his hand and to the floor, Katherine had snatched it up and arranged the pillow so that he wasn't lying at an awkward angle.

"Did you find out what you needed to?" Katherine asked, not unkindly.

"No," JJ sighed, "what happened?"

"I don't have the particulars, but Agent Hotchner, Aaron, had a nasty gouge in his leg that I have stitched up and a broken ankle as well. Agent Morgan, Derek, came in with a bullet in his shoulder. I was able to remove it; it hadn't nicked any arteries, major or otherwise. I was able to stitch it up quickly and he should recover full use of his arm with time and therapy. Savannah also suffered a gunshot wound to her arm that was easy to patch up. From what I can see, all three of them are equally blessed with dumb luck. But," she paused, "they'll all make full recoveries. I'll see to it," her voice had a steel edge to it that JJ found herself trusting almost instinctively.

"Thank you, when Hotch wakes, please tell him that JJ called and have him call me back if he's able to."

"Will do," Katherine assured her, "and," she hesitated, "take care of yourself; I'd hate to have another member of your team taking up the few remaining beds I have available in my clinic."

JJ laughed. "Will do. Take care of them for me."

"No problem, though if that bullheaded agent tries to undo my handiwork again, I cannot make any promises that you won't find him in a neck brace when you come to retrieve him," Katherine half-threatened.

"I doubt if he'll try to leave again," JJ assured, though she knew that if he got the chance and if he was able to, he'd do his best to be where he felt he was needed most and if that meant eluding a surly doctor to do it, he would. Hanging up, she tried first Rossi's, then Emily's and finally Reid's phone. Each went directly to voicemail. From the relative safety of her vehicle, she dialed one last number.

"Garcia?"

"What can the mistress of cyberspace do for one of her favorite female agents?" Garcia's normally cheerful voice lacked some of its effervescence, yet JJ was grateful to her colleague for trying to ease some of the trepidation she felt.

"Garcia, fill me in on what's going on, where are Rossi, Emily, and Reid?" JJ was used to being on top of things and this case had her feeling as though she was treading neck deep in quicksand and she didn't like it.

This whole search had gone downhill from the minute they'd entered Rubin County, Alabama. As Garcia filled her in with the details she'd been missing due to a lack of cell reception from key members of her team, JJ's blood ran cold. How could things have spiraled out of control in such a short period of time?

The wind and the rain continued to howl and rage around her, and though she was warm and safe from the elements in the cab of her SUV, she shivered as Garcia continued to talk. While she'd been essentially babysitting Mr. Randall, her team had been braving the storm and fighting battles she'd been completely unaware of and it didn't sit right with her.

"And that brings us to the present," Garcia finished dispiritedly. "What's happening on your end?"

Garcia was the vendor and purveyor of knowledge, the only contact that seemed to know what was going on at any given time on this case and she felt as though the world was a bit skewed on its axis. It made her slightly uncomfortable, and she felt as if the lives of her team rested on her shoulders rather than on Hotch's.

"I wanted to ask if you'd come across anything pertaining to an Enrico Mazzoni? I found some files with his name in them on the pretext of looking for evidence which would lead to his wife and son's killer." JJ had her suspicions, but wanted them verified. "I think Steve Randall might be getting suspicious of me."

She didn't want to confirm to JJ that Aiken's father was a dirt bag who'd paid to have his wife and sons killed because he wanted access to his wife's fortune to get himself out of debt to a mobster and to start a new life on some remote island, but that is what the evidence pointed to. She'd rather have had her intuition be off in this case. She'd rather have discovered that Mr. Randall loved his family and would have done anything to keep them safe, that he was a good man who wanted his only living son returned to him safe and sound. Instead, what she'd uncovered in files and notes was an elaborate plan to rid himself of his family and gain his wife's fortune so he could start a new life free from ties to the mob and his family.

Taking a deep breath before delving in, Garcia shared the information she too had uncovered about Enrico Mazzino and the ties that Mr. Randall seemed to have with the nefarious mobster.

"Randall seems to owe Enrico Mazzino a significant amount of money, and has been paying him off a little at a time from moneys he'd proffered from his boss' petty cash. Not enough to tide the big time mobster over and there's been an investigation launched into his corrupt business practices. It seems he got himself into some really hot water and is looking for a way to save his skin."

"Too bad his family had to pay for his mistakes," JJ rejoined harshly.

She looked out of the windshield, garnering the resolve not to march into the house and put a fist through the man's face. She absentmindedly fingered her holstered weapon, debating whether or not to take it out and arrest the man without arranging for backup first. The rain was still coming down in sheets and she didn't relish leaving the warmth and security of her vehicle when the time came.

Her eyes narrowed as a dark shadow crossed her vision. It was hard to see through the pouring rain and she immediately dismissed the fleeting shadow as an animal seeking shelter in the storm.

"JJ," Garcia's voice came out concerned and edgy, "be careful. Enrico Mazzino's a dangerous man and, I…I just have a bad feeling about this."

The shadow passed across the Randalls' porch for an instant and JJ pulled her service pistol out. In one fluid motion, she slipped from the dry confines of the SUV's cab and made her way toward the house.

"Garcia, call for backup," she hurriedly shouted into the cell phone nestled between her shoulder and ear as she stealthily made her way to the house.

"What's going on?" Garcia clutched at the pen she had been twirling aimlessly in her hand and she nibbled nervously at her bottom lip as her colleague shouted over the line. Her heart raced as a gunshot rang out over the line followed by a distinct, deafening, CLICK, and then silence.

Blinking back tears, Garcia tapped in the number to Rubin County dispatch and called for the backup JJ had requested. She just hoped it wouldn't be too late. It seemed that all of her team members' lives lay in the balance and she was now the only member who had escaped harm on this morbidly twisted day.

The dirt of the Randalls' driveway had turned to mud, which slowed JJ's progress toward the home. The shadowed figure was hard to make out through the impeding rain, but to JJ it looked as though it had stepped onto the porch and was now perched in front of the large bay window to the left of the door. Now certain that it was neither a case of her eyes tricking her or a wayward animal seeking refuge from the rain, she crouched and made her way toward the front door, using the bushes flanking the driveway for coverage.

"Halt! FBI!" She shouted.

The figure paused on the front porch and a gunshot rang out as she stood and aimed at the rain-blurred shadow, displacing her cell phone in the process. It clattered, unheeded, to the muddy earth. JJ took cautious aim through the torrential rain and pulled the trigger. The report of her weapon sounded dull in her ears and she couldn't tell, through the heavy rain if she'd hit her mark or not.

The shady silhouette moved rapidly around to the other side of the house and into the woods. JJ, gun held before her, pursued as swiftly as the muddy earth would allow her to. She lost her target at the edge of the woods. Hair, wet and tangled, stuck to her face and she swiped it out of her eyes. Peering at the shadows within the densely packed woods, she strained her eyes in a fruitless effort to distinguish one ungainly shadow from the next.

Cursing loudly, she swept the area surrounding her for any signs of the individual she'd been pursuing. Her trained eyes summarily determining that she was completely alone at the edge of the wood bordering the Randalls' property, she turned back to the house and approached the front porch cautiously. Whoever had visited Steve Randall had not been here to make a sympathy call.

She scanned the front porch, and her eyes lit upon a spatter of fresh blood on the doorjamb. Apparently she'd managed to hit her quarry. She smiled sardonically and continued her meticulous survey of the, thankfully awning protected, front porch. She painstakingly made her way from the front door, stained with a smattering of blood from whomever she had shot, to the bay window which gave the Randalls a view of their front yard. A large portion of the glass was cracked and web like trails spread outward from what was unmistakably a bullet hole.

Peering cautiously through the fresh hole in the front window, JJ closed her eyes briefly in frustration when she recognized Steve Randall. He'd been sitting on a recliner in the front room when JJ'd left to call Hotch. Now, his prone body lay crumpled at the base of the chair.

Reaching into her jacket pocket for her cell phone, JJ raked her hand through her hair in irritation as she discovered that it wasn't there. She hoped that Garcia had called for backup and that officers were on their way as she entered the house to formally confirm Steve Randall's death. She would wait until the officers arrived to process the crime scene, but needed to ascertain that he was, indeed, dead.

She kept a vigilant eye on her surroundings. The shooter might not have been working alone and she was in a vulnerable position. She'd feel much less jumpy once the backup she'd asked for came. She just hoped that they'd be able to get there quickly and that the storm would not delay them.

Mud trailed her as she stepped into the home. She shook off the water which had managed to soak her even beneath her government issue FBI jacket and removed her muddy shoes at the entryway. Padding stocking footed into the living room, she knelt next to Steve Randall's prone form and felt for a pulse she knew from his ghostly white pallor would not be there.

Blood pooled from a neat, precise round wound to his forehead. His face was frozen in a mild look of surprised horror and his eyes open, stared up, unseeing, at the ceiling spattered with his blood and brain matter which had spread up and outward from the impact of the bullet. The recliner he'd been sitting in before he rose, presumably to escape his shooter, was splotched crimson with his blood as well.

Steve Randall was dead. Though JJ had little respect for the man, she grieved for the little boy who'd lost his entire family in a single day. Sighing heavily, she stood and paced back toward the front door, her blue eyes cautiously taking in her surroundings as she waited for backup to arrive.

Her mind wandered to the plight of the others on her team. Where were Rossi and Emily? Had they found Reid and Aiken yet? Were they safe? Had the man who'd brutally murdered Aiken's mom and brother succeeded in killing the little boy or had he already been captured?

There were too many questions without answers running through her mind. She shivered as her thoughts lingered on different scenarios, each more sinister than the last as she continued to dwell on something completely beyond her control.

Blue and red strobes of light cut across her line of vision and she shook her head to clear it. Backup had arrived. Plastering a dismal smile on her face, she welcomed the officers, gesturing toward where Steve Randall lay dead in the living room. As officers Burrows and Cooper helped her process the crime scene, she explained what had happened and her suspicions that, in spite of his best efforts to avoid repercussions for his illicit activities, Steve Randall had been killed by one of Enrico Mazzino's hit men.

For the most part they took it all in stride, Burrows mumbling angrily as JJ explained that Steve had hired someone to kill his family, Cooper shaking his head in sorrow when she asked if they'd heard any word from the search party. Photos were taken, fingerprints dusted for, a sample of the blood spatter which peppered the front door was taken, and a chalk-line was drawn. The house was now almost entirely cordoned off with crime scene tape.

"I don't suppose we need anyone to stay here now, least not after we get the body off to the morgue," Burrows scratched his head. "Doesn't sound like Aiken's bound to return here on his own."

"How long before the coroner can get here?" JJ looked at her watch. Only forty-five minutes had passed since she'd witnessed Steve get shot, yet it felt as if it had been several hours. She was exhausted, but knew that this day was far from over.

"With this weather?" Burrows played with the bridge of his hat. "Could be half an hour to two hours, could be longer, there's no telling. Coroner lives on the other side of town and with trees down and some parts of the road flooded, could take him some time to get here."

Closing her eyes, she rubbed her temples.

"Either of you got a cell phone I can borrow?"

JJ smiled gratefully as Cooper handed her his phone. Rolling her shoulders to work out some of the kinks in her stiff muscles, she paced the small foyer as she waited for Garcia to pick up.

"Tell me this is good news," the computer genius' words came out as one jumbled mess, "and that I don't have another agent missing or injured or…"

"Garcia," JJ cut the worried tech expert off before she worked herself into a frenzy.

"Oh thank God!" Garcia fell back against her chair and let out the pent up air she'd been holding in since she'd heard the gunshot.

She'd tried JJ's cell after arranging backup and when the agent hadn't picked up, she'd called Hotch only to be told by a Doctor Fitzgerald that he was currently out of commission. After trying to reach Rossi, Emily, and Reid, though she knew it would be fruitless, she'd waited anxiously for a call from any one of them. She'd left messages for them all and had almost given up hope on having a single call returned.

"When this is over, we are never returning to Rubin County, Alabama to work a case ever again. Cell phone reception is almost non-existent and I don't like it when I can't reach you guys."

"I for one happen to agree with you." JJ rubbed the back of her stiff neck.

"Just tell me you weren't shot too," Garcia demanded.

"I wasn't shot," she consoled, "Steve Randall was."

"Did you catch whoever shot him?" Relief was evident in Garcia's voice.

"No, but I think I clipped him. He was quick, ran into the woods before I could catch him. Didn't even turn around to shoot at me. Could you look into Enrico Mazzino, see if he ordered a hit on Steve Randall?" JJ arched her back until it cracked.

"Sure thing," Garcia's fingers were already working to get the necessary information. "Just promise me one thing," her fingers paused above the keyboard.

"What's that?"

"That you'll stay safe. That you won't join one of the others who are missing or out of commission and that you will never, ever do anything like that to me again. I almost had a heart attack!" Garcia's voice escalated causing JJ to wince a little and hold the phone away from her ear.

"I promise," she chortled, rolling her eyes.

"Good, because I don't think I can handle losing another one of you to this freak storm or crazy, messed up case," Garcia spoke somberly.

"I hear you," JJ nodded.

She wouldn't be able to let go of the anxiety sitting in the pit of her stomach until she saw Hotch and Morgan with her own eyes and until they were reunited with Reid, Emily, and Rossi.

She just hoped to God they were all still alive and would remain that way, though her heart sunk with the knowledge that Reid had been taken by the man who'd killed Mrs. Randall and Braden. It reminded her too much of what had happened with Hankel and how they'd almost lost him then, how it'd been all her fault. She didn't know if he could survive going through something like that again.

"Keep me posted and I'll call you once I uncover the dirt on Enrico Mazzino." Garcia hated to hang up, hated to break the connection she had with the one team member left with whom she could communicate.

"Will do," JJ assured her before reluctantly cutting off their connection and handing the phone back to Cooper.

"If you want, Ma'am, we can wait here with the body until the coroner arrives," Cooper offered.

"No," though JJ wanted to do nothing more than go check on Hotch and Morgan, she wanted, no, needed to see this thing through as well. "I'll stay until the coroner arrives. I was the one who witnessed what happened and was the first on the crime scene."

"We'll stay with you then, Ma'am." Burrows bowed his head and leaned against the frame of the doorway leading to the living room.

"I thought you were short staffed with the storm." JJ looked from one officer to the other. Both had a look of resolve on their faces.

"No tellin' if the man who shot Steve Randall will be comin' back or not," Burrows stated plainly, "you called for backup, we're backin' you up. It'd be damned remiss of us to leave you out here alone with an armed man out in the woods, wounded or not." He crossed his arms over his chest.

"And you said he'd be here…" JJ trailed off.

"Anywhere between a half hour to two hours," Burrows supplied.

Cooper took up a position on one side of the large bay window, watching the edge of the woods where JJ indicated the shooter had disappeared. It was hard to see anything, even though the rain had started to let up, darkness was beginning to settle in, not even the light of the moon which was just beginning to rise gave much illumination. It was going to be a long night.

"You might want to make yourself comfortable," Burrows inclined his head, indicating a chair opposite Cooper's position. "We're in it for the long haul."

Nodding in acquiescence, JJ took up position opposite Cooper, watching for moving shadows at the edge of the woods.

The moon, a pale, otherworldly pearl crouched low in the clouds, readied herself for the weary night ahead. A mournful, piteous howl rent the still night air and JJ shuddered involuntarily as the hairs on the back of her neck stood up and goose bumps rose on her arms. Looking over at Cooper, she gained some solace in the thought that at least she wouldn't be facing the night alone. She wondered where she would be when the sun rose the next morning. Where any of them would be after this hellish night.