Disclaimer: I do not own anything Criminal Minds related. Characters are merely borrowed and will be put back later. ;)

A/N: This takes place just a few hours after the events of season 4's finale. This is just one of a number of scenarios running around in my head for what truly occurred, but be warned either way: If you've not seen the episode, this is a SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER story.

Title: After the Storm

Prompt: Emily's Adventure

***

"And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be."

***

She felt as though she had been running forever. She just couldn't get there fast enough. For the rest of her life, she would end up trying, and trying, and trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together, but the tears streaming down her face and the utter dejected empty feeling in her gut prevented her from thinking clearly.

It had been, officially, the worst phone call of her life. A very breathless Derek telling her to get to the hospital. Her heart had frozen up, her mind had reeled and she had felt very, very ill. Who was it? What had happened? Who was hurt?

And the odd thing was that he hadn't said Hotch. He hadn't said Hotchner. He hadn't even said the Boss. He had said Aaron.

And that had her crying harder than ever as she stumbled to her car.

Only to find that the left front tyre was flat. Useless. And she was too far from any station to get it fixed. And it was 3am. And dear God, why did these things always happen when you least wanted them?! Was it some form of supernatural smiting that made the worst so utterly crap?!

Thunder rolled overhead and Emily was suddenly oddly aware that the night was about to get a whole lot crappier. She started to run, her keys in her hand, her phone in her pocket, determined to get to the nearest main street and catch a cab. She had to get to that hospital.

The first splashes of rain reminded her that she had no hood, and neither had she an umbrella. She had literally just arrived home and sat in the silence for a while, thinking about the awful outcome of the case they had just seen. She was still wearing her high heels, she could still feel the filth of that Ontario farm, and she was still caught in a loop of madness, trying to fix the case in her head, trying to pretend in part that it hadn't happened, that it wasn't real, that nothing in the world could truly be that way.

But it was.

She ran on, ignoring the water pounding on her shoulders and her face, ignoring the fact that she was soaked in seconds, her blouse half transparent, her body shuddering in the icy rain. She ran and she ran and she ran, as hard as she could and as fast as she could, until eventually, panting, she had to stop. She walked the last twenty steps to the main street and looked about for a cab she could hail.

And then she realised that she had no money in the world to pay for it. Cursing under her breath and lapsing into tears all over again, she reached for her cell phone. And the battery was dead. She sobbed out loud and threw her head back in total despair. She was tired, she was hungry, she was upset and she was wet. And she was at least three miles from the hospital. Her feet hurt and she had a headache- and she felt like throwing up because Aaron Hotchner was, for all intents and purposes, lying on a hospital gurney dying while she was out here.

She knew that she had to recollect and she had to get to the hospital. The only way she was going to get there was by running. So she ran. Her feet pounded against the ground as she jogged. Her heart was thumping wildly in her chest and she still felt too upset to properly function. Her hair, in the wet, had curled out of its usually straight professionalism, and she was positively breathless from running.

The few people on the streets turned to look at her as she ran, knowing that there was something wrong. But nobody dared stop her- and even if they had tried, she was in such a state that she simply would have shoved them out of the way in her determination to get to that hospital as soon as was humanly- or even inhumanly- possible. Lightning flashed and thunder roared- she couldn't hear herself think, and she thanked whatever God existed that she couldn't think the dark thoughts her head wanted to think. What if he's gone?

It seemed to take her forever to get there. She had no way of knowing what time it was, but when she saw the hospital just a few metres from her, she almost cried for joy. She didn't have to run anymore. Her heart felt as though it was trying to break free of her chest and she was having major trouble breathing properly- but she had made it, exactly as she said she would.

She didn't remember mush of her journey to get inside the establishment, and the next thing she registered was that she was at the reception area, dripping water, red faced and shaking. She coughed out the name she wanted and was told where to go somewhat dubiously, the nurse on duty at the desk asking her more than once if she was alright.

And in truth, Emily was not alright. She had strained herself to her limit. Exhausted, cold, battered and emotionally unstable, she was dying on her feet and she knew it. But she walked on regardless, because she had to know if he was okay.

***

"Where is she? Why won't she pick up the phone?! Could he have gotten to her too?" asked Morgan, pacing anxiously, half catatonic with worry.

Rossi too was concerned. Emily was one of those people who always answered the phone. And Morgan had made the call to her over an hour and a half ago. There was no way she should have taken so long to get to the hospital. Everybody else was here- JJ had forced herself from the couch where she had been wrapped, crying, in Will's arms. Rossi had gotten a cab to the hospital because he had drank three glasses of scotch to get over the pig farm. Morgan had been in the church, begging God to tell him why such a thing could happen. Reid had been on his way to catch a plane to see his mother, but he had delayed to get to Hotch and to be there for his team. And Garcia, who had been tucked into her duvet, in tears, watching her home videos and crying for the want of something better to do, desperately out of touch with the "everything happens for a reason" mantra that kept her sane, gave up her suffering to be at that hospital.

And Emily. Emily, the person who was generally Hotch's partner in the field, was nowhere to be found. She wasn't seen and hadn't been heard from in over 90 minutes. And the thought rushing through all of their heads was that she might have been a victim too. They had no way of knowing what Foyet had been thinking.

They had no way of knowing where he was or where he was headed. It made sense to target Hotch, maybe even Morgan, but Foyet was a raging lunatic and a madman. There was no way of ascertaining what his next move might be. In his heart, Reid knew that Foyet was a more prolific serial killer than ever Frank Breitkopf.

In the odd silence that had fallen over the team, Reid fixed his arm around JJ's shoulders and smiled at her, pressing his lips together in a half hopeless gesture. The smile didn't touch his eyes and JJ dropped her head.

Hotch was in surgery. Had been ever since they had gotten to the hospital. They had been told to prepare for the worst. And Rossi wasn't quite sure, even after all these years, how one was to prepare themselves for the worst.

While he thought about it, he glanced up the corridor, and what he saw lifted him from the wall into a short but fast run. "Emily!" he called, as she lapsed against the wall of the corridor and tried to regain her balance. He reached her just before she fell to the ground, and he sat with her against the wall for a few seconds. "Emily, what the hell happened?" he asked as Morgan joined them.

"Where is he?" she gasped out.

"He's in surgery Em," said Morgan softly, and then he directed his attention to Rossi. "I'll get her some water."

Rossi held Emily's hand and helped her to calm her breathing. With all of her running, and her crying, and her worrying, she had worked herself into a dizzying panic attack. And though she knew that Garcia had once suffered something just like this, she knew that she had not felt this strongly.

"Is he going... is he gonna be okay?" she asked, half anticipating a poor response.

Rossi looked straight into her eyes. "It doesn't look like it. They've told us to prepare...."

"For the worst." She finished sadly. Rossi nodded.

Emily got to her feet slowly, and gladly accepted the glass of water Morgan offered her when he returned. "Thanks," she murmured hoarsely, and she walked with them to meet the rest of the team.

"You look like you've had the adventure of a lifetime," Reid commented.

"Yeah. Flat tyre. Couldn't get a cab because my wallet was at home- and my phone battery died," she said, rolling her eyes mildly as she calmed down. She was a mess, but she could tell from looking at JJ and Garcia that they too had had a bad night of it.

"When is he due out of surgery?" she asked quietly, but nobody could give her any answer. It was the kind of surgery that had no time limit. They would try to save his life; no matter how long it took. She knew that Hotch was a fighter. But there are some things a person can't fight, and she knew that his defences, like everyone else's, would be weakened by the horror they had faced in Canada.

***

They waited for a very, very long time. Emily's hair dried, a hospital blanket wrapped around her keeping her warmed. The storm passed into nothing, the thunder let up and the lightning ceased, and the sky lightened into something more desirable. A watery sun rose and shone its clean light on the world.

And a doctor walked out of surgery, blood splayed across his scrubs, his face mask down, sweat shining from his forehead, his eyes tired and glazed. Emily looked at him and her face twisted. Please. Please. Please don't say he's gone. Don't tell me that.

"That man is a fighter," the doctor said, shaking his head slightly. "I've never seen anyone survive something like that. But he did. And he'll be fine."

A very triumphant tear fell from Emily's eye and she gasped out loud, feeling that awful twisting nausea leaving her stomach. He's fine. He's going to be fine. Rossi nodded and smiled, "thank you so much," he muttered, almost not believing that such good news could exist. Morgan clenched his fist in the air and grinned, exhaling sharply. And Garcia watched as Reid hugged JJ delightedly, almost in slow motion. Her team were going to be alright. The worst, at least, was over. She met Emily's watery eyes across the seating area, and Emily smiled.

He's fine.

***

When they brought him out, the team clustered around him to make sure that he was alright. He was asleep, totally knocked out, and needed time to recover, but he would live. Emily was the last to reach the bed as it rolled along the shiny hospital floor, but she reached for his hand and squeezed it ever so gently, smiling sadly.

And when he squeezed back weakly, she knew for sure, and the happy tears came.

He's fine.

***

"And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light, that shines on me,
shine until tomorrow, let it be."

The Beatles

***