A/N: My first venture in this Criminal Minds universe. It's a late arrival, but I'm hooked. Hopelessly. And already delving into fanfiction land! Let me know if it's worth a second chapter!

It's one of those cases where everything basically falls to pieces from the moment the unit steps off of the federal plane at the Portland, Oregon airport and boards their respective vehicles to begin their tedious investigation. A progressive outbreak of mysterious disappearances involving eleven girls—ranging from 8 to 15 years—have turned up dead, all up and down the West Coast. The first occurring off the Long Beach peninsula in Washington State, one at the border of California and Oregon outside of Crescent City, but most of the girls disappearing from the Columbia Gorge region, right outside the heart of Portland Metropolitan area. They all turn up dead from strangulation after prolonged sexual trauma, exactly five days from when they were taken, all missing the ring finger of their left hands.

They'd leave it to the state Feds over on the West Coast, but they're left mostly scratching their heads and call Quantico and request the BAU to consult. Cue the plane ride over.

A week flies by as they study CCTV videos on loop, bloody crime scene photos, and ME autopsy reports until the gruesome images begin to leave permanent imprints in their memories. Smiling faces in school pictures haunt them throughout that week, teary parents fill their ears with stories as they try to comprehend the atrocities, and municipal law enforcement posture angrily when they feel that the BAU's presence is meddling, invasive.

It winds down to a moment—the UNSUB has struck in a neighboring location just off of Highway 26 toward Mount Hood, in a tiny highland town roughly thirty minutes away from Portland. The troupe slinks into Sandy just after midnight and discover the creep's sister lives two blocks away from the high school, right where the most recent victim has turned up missing. Finding the man is surprisingly easy. He is sliding into his early model gray Corolla just as three black SUVs come screeching to a halt in front of him.

In a heartbeat a terrified girl, alive, is pulled into his arms and he has a subcompact Glock 42 pressed to the back of her skull; it's a standard police grade service pistol, likely something he had obtained illegally, and they all are fully aware of its armor piercing hollow point bullets. A host of shouting erupts which quickly descends into the sharp report of gunfire.

They are quick to respond, but obviously not quick enough—Reid is winged in his right hip, and just as he begins to fall, Hotch's left elbow explodes in red after one of the tiny projectiles enters the skin of his forearm and bounces off of bone and muscle.

The UNSUB has been neutralized—he is struck by several rounds before he hits the gravel. Somehow, miraculously, the girl avoids injury. She is on her hands and knees, sobbing her thanks as she crawls, fumbles away from the freshly dead killer.

Emily feels her stomach drop when she sees two of her men fall to the ground, and though the poor victim has scrambled away from the UNSUB and into JJ's arms, all she can think about is about the prone forms to her right, her colleagues, who are thankfully moving around, but she has yet to know the extent of any bodily harm.

She looks over and her throat closes when she sees Reid pressing his hand into his hip, and Hotch clutching a bleeding left arm.

Rossi kneels before Reid, but the young genius waves him away.

"I'm fine, it's just a glancing blow. The bullet grazed me, but it just brushed the skin a bit. I'll be fine," he mutters, holding his hand over the wound.

Emily steps over him as Rossi addresses the younger agent, and she falls to her haunches next to the Supervisory Special Agent, just as JJ collects the traumatized girl and places her in the backseat of one of the SUVs, then barks into her cell phone a somewhat controlled call for police and medical assistance. Morgan is checking the motionless suspect's neck for a pulse. A quick shake of his head confirms the man's fate.

Hotch has his eyes squeezed shut in a tense grimace, and a small groan filters through his tightly closed mouth. Emily pushes on his Kevlar covered chest when the unit chief attempts to sit up. "Hotch, lie still. I need to check you over."

His voice has lowered to a pained near-whisper. "Prentiss, it's just my arm, I'm not wounded anywhere else. Help me sit up, please."

Hotch peers down at his left arm-the dominant one-what a day to be a southpaw, he thinks sourly, and his right hand refuses to let go of the open bullet wound. The entry had been at the bottom side of his forearm and must have bounced off the bones and blown out the back of his lower bicep. He knows that it was a hollow point bullet because he had recognized the standard issue Glock from a mile away. He's owned his fair share over the years and currently carries a version of it himself. Hollow points are always a nasty shot, entering the body minimally, shattering upon impact underneath the flesh, then if the unfortunate bastard who takes this bullet is lucky enough, the outcome is gaping, raw, essentially resembling hamburger meat. He's glad he can't see the results.

Emily stubbornly holds him in place, her eyes firm but filled with emotion. "Hotch," she says with a voice trembling slightly. "Even if it is just your arm, we have to minimize blood loss by keeping you still."

He knows she is right, and he is concerned that one of the major arteries has suffered damage. He's seen gunshot wounds of extremities go two ways, as well as can be expected with minimal recovery time or horribly wrong with either immediate or eventual amputation. The thought alarms him into compliance.

Emily touches his left arm, pulling it up as gently as she can to view the carnage and tries to ignore his grimace. "Oh, God," she whispers.

Hotch watches her, tries to suppress the pained moan from surfacing. "What's it look like?"

She studies the underside of his upper arm, brows furrowed. "Entry and exit wounds. I'm not gonna lie, Hotch, it's not pretty."

His fingers clutch the skin which is becoming slick with coppery smelling liquid as it seeps from the entry and exit wounds, and he realizes with certainty that if he does not get to an emergency room quickly, with one of the major vessels affected, he runs the risk of losing too much blood and slipping into hypovolemic shock, potentially dying. He can't do this to his son. Jack has no one else but him, his grandparents, and Haley's doting sister, Jessica.

"Check one of the SUVs—see if there's a first aid kit available," he murmurs to Emily, meeting her wide, dark eyes with his own. He knows that she is stifling the anxiety she feels to keep him calm, but he studies the human condition for a living, can pinpoint the minute identifiers with practiced ease. He can see it in her expression, the tiny, apprehensive slant of her eyebrows, trembling breath. "It's okay, Emily," he says in an uncharacteristic use of her given name.

Rossi is listening in on their exchange and stands once Morgan takes his place next to Reid and fills in to put pressure on his hip. "Stay there, Prentiss. I'll go look for one."

Reid motions at them and tucks a stray strand of his curly hair behind an ear. "Hotch, take your tie off. Emily—use it as a tourniquet to isolate the blood flow until the ambulance can replace blood volume with intravenous fluids."

Hotch nods, but can't seem to find it in him to let go of his elbow. Emily reaches for his neck, loosens the silk fabric and pulls it over his head carefully, then gently wraps it around his bicep just above the wound, then ties a simple knot and pulls it as tight as possible. His gasp is louder, agonized.

"I'm sorry," she mutters apologetically. Emily looks up and around for JJ, who'd been speaking to authorities the last she knew. "What's the ETA for the closest medic?"

The blond woman is nearly imperceptible in the shadows, but from her vantage point, Emily can see that her cell is still pressed to her ear. "Hang on," she says to the person on the line, then addresses her. "Looks like the closest EMT is about fifteen minutes away."

Emily feels a sinking sensation in her middle. "How about the closest hospital?"

"Legacy Mount Hood Medical Center. Looks like it's approximately twenty to thirty minutes from our location with optimum traffic conditions."

Forty-five minutes total response time for EMTs and the ride to the ER, she thinks, her heart filling with dread.

"He can't wait," Emily panics, her hand finding Hotch's forehead without giving it a second thought. "He'll bleed out before he gets to the emergency room." He silently watches her, still completely coherent although understandably subdued, and she stares back unabashedly fearful now.

Morgan shakes his head. "We have to wait for the medics. They can treat him for the blood loss on the scene."

Emily glances over at the man in exasperation. "He's already lost enough blood. I say we take him in ourselves."

"Prentiss, he shouldn't be moved," Rossi says as he kneels next to her, armed with a small white box.

"Dave, if we don't move him now, he could die," she responds, voice quivering.

Rossi speaks to the unit chief, whose color is beginning to wash out. "What do you think, Aaron? Wait for the medics?"

Hotch can feel the effects of the blood loss with the fuzzy, lightheadedness that has clouded his thoughts. He senses the growing feebleness and knows that his time is limited, especially if he wishes to ever use his left hand properly again. He fears that shock is settling in, the body's natural response to trauma, as droplets of sweat accumulate at his brow and at the base of his neck despite a fierce chill racing through him.

"Boss-man?" Morgan asks from Reid's side.

Emily palms his cheek, tapping it lightly. "Aaron," she shouts nervously. "Come on, stay with us."

Hotch's nod is almost undetected. "Yeah, yeah. I'm all right. Let's move."

Suddenly, Emily and Rossi are in motion. She runs to one of the SUVs, swings open the rear passenger door as wide as possible, and then clears any obstructions from the seats so that Hotch can lie down completely in the back.

"Morgan," calls Rossi as he rips open the first aid kit and digs around until he finds an ace bandage and a pad of gauze. Just as he presses the white patch to the exit wound, unwinds the bandage, and begins wrapping it around Hotch's midsection and arm so that the limb is immobilized, he continues, "stay with Reid until the EMT and responding units arrive. We'll see you there."

Emily returns to the men as she wipes her hands on her vest. "Should we carry him?"

Hotch touches her wrist as she reaches for his shoulders. "Help me up—I can walk."

"Aaron—"

"Prentiss," he warns sternly, pressing his right palm to the ground to brace himself. "Give me a hand or get out of my way."

She frowns at the brusque remark, but Rossi raises his eyebrows at her and shakes his head. Not now. "Okay." She counts to three and the two of them help their unit chief into a sitting position, and allow him to adjust to the change before pulling him up to his feet. He sways slightly, eyes glazed, and he grips Emily's shoulder as Rossi flanks him on the other side, holding his elbow with caution to keep it stable. "You ready?" she asks.

"Yep."

The trio moves over to the vehicle and Emily climbs into the back before her boss, and wraps her arm around his shoulder, using her free hand to hold his wounded arm. Rossi hops into the driver's seat and turns the ignition over, pressing on the accelerator before she has time to reach over and shut her door.

Thanks for reading!