Prologue
It is said that Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. SSA Aaron Hotchner knew that a woman scorned hath no fury like a grieving parent.
Reid looked at Morgan. Morgan looked at Hotch. Hotch stared down the barrel of a gun. The man aiming it at him could contain himself no longer.
"How could you say things like that? How could you stand there, with a child of your own, and say something like that? How could you live with yourself, knowing that you—"
"You cannot—"
"—knowing that you sentenced my daughter to death?" The man jerked the handgun, a CZ 75B 9mm, in Hotch's face. Hotch didn't flinch. The man silently shook in fury for several seconds before he calmed, a tear forming in the corner of his eye. "It wasn't your call to make."
"Sir, we don't mean you any harm," Morgan said as he stepped forward, gaining confidence in the fact that the man didn't seem to mean any harm to them in turn. "We do our jobs—and we do them well—but it is physically impossible to save everyone. It would be suicide for us to even try."
The man glanced at Morgan, then back at Hotch. He closed his eye and the tear dropped.
"So please, drop your weapon," Morgan continued, raising his hands as he stepped closer. "We will do what we can, if you will let us go." He placed his hand on the barrel of the gun and started to pull it down.
The man's eyes snapped open. He growled as he tried to jerk the gun back up, taking Morgan by surprise. Morgan's hand slipped from the barrel, and he grabbed for the man's wrist as he tried to recover control. The man pulled and twisted, forcing Morgan's arms to the side and trying to pry his hands away. The struggle went to the concrete floor as each man pulled on the gun, and Hotch was sure that the man would be willing to use it if he regained full control of it. He started to move in to help when he saw that Morgan was beginning to lose, and he felt Reid right behind him.
Then, the gun discharged.
