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

A/N: The reason I chose Morgan for part of this is partially obvious, as you'll see. But the other reason goes back as far as "Lo Fi" and "Mayhem". This is all about trust. There's maybe some subtleties going on here, but forgive me. I needed to bring them in given Morgan's struggles.

Title: Trust

Prompt: Sometimes You Hear the Bullet

"Few things help an individual more than to place responsibility upon him, and to let him know that you trust him."

Booker T Washington

You can never quite be ready for that moment; that brief, fleeting brush with death that tells you life will always be a battle.

Aaron Hotchner had expected this moment for the past few months. He had not taken the deal, and the deal had caught up to him. In his head he profiled; in his heart he cried.

George Foyet was a smart man, but he had been unable to survive without killing. He needed to take the power from the one person who had refused to relent all those months ago. Aaron Hotchner had not taken the deal; he would die for his insolence.

And there was nothing in the world he could do about it now. It was too goddamn late to save himself. He had laid his sidearm on the table, and his phone was uselessly in his jacket pocket, much too far away to reach for it and dial in time. There was simply nothing he could do but smile somewhat apathetically. He had always known it would come to this. He made his choice right there and then.

To hell with any surrender. There was just no way he was going down without a fight. And so, unthinking, blindly reaching out to a faith he had never had, he lurched forward as the blast occurred, the bullet burning into his shoulder in a crude twist of darkness. He hissed and cried out, but in truth, he barely registered the shock and agony of such a thump to his system. Indeed, he simply lunged onwards again, reaching Foyet and shoving him to the ground in a ruthless tackle.

A hand flew to his leg, scrambling through blinding pain to the holster he so dedicatedly kept there in case of emergencies. He pulled at it in an agonising panic, yanking at the strap and pulling the handgun out. Beneath him, Foyet struggled and tried to pull away, but Aaron was leaning right against him; not because he wanted to, but because the right side of his body simply could no longer support itself. His torso had gone numb, devastatingly numb, save the white hotness in his right shoulder. Nothing save that feeling was registering in his nervous system; his consciousness was slowing down and soon he knew he would pass out.

He pushed the gun against Foyet's head, and considered that firing even one bullet would cause unprecedented agony in his battered shoulder.

"No deal," he said, forcing the words out and snarling as he pulled his finger against the trigger, releasing the single bullet which ended George Foyet's life.

Hotch was in trouble, and he knew it. Tears ran down his face, self pitying and angry. He could not feel the right side of his body at all- save that small hole in his shoulder which was spurting blood onto his white shirt, destroying the beige carpet, preventing him from breathing properly. He gasped to himself as he reached, crying out, for the phone in his pocket.

He pushed the buttons, moaning and snarling as he tried to balance the phone between his ear and his shoulder while pressing a hand against the flowing blood, trying to put pressure on a wound that had no intention of calming down. He spasmed against the floor when the pain got to be too much, groaning when he moved any part of his torso. He pushed one button on the keypad, feeling alone and very frightened in the empty apartment, the black mask over Foyet's dead face offering no assurance at all.

"Morgan," he coughed into the phone. "Morgan!"

"Hotch, what's wrong?!"

"Foyet," he snarled. "Come-"

"I'm on my way!" Morgan said quickly, "I'll be there as soon as possible. You hang on man, keep talking to me."

And even though Hotch was entirely unable to talk, he continued to breathe down the phone line, reassuring Morgan that he was okay, reaching out unsteadily to Foyet, making sure that he would no longer be a threat.

It took Morgan just about seven minutes to reach Hotch's building; he broke every single traffic light and road law in order to get there faster, spurring the car to speeds it had never travelled at before.

When he ran up the stairs, he dialled 911 and when he reached the apartment, he kicked his foot against the door and it snapped open. He ran inside and found Hotch about three feet from Foyet's body. Ignoring the other man, he reached for Hotch and clamped his own hand hard over the wound on his boss's shoulder, trying to ignore the growl of agony that escaped Hotch's attempt at a stoic face.

When the paramedics arrived, Morgan was pushed aside- and he called each member of the team, telling them to get to the hospital as soon as they could.

He left the apartment and walked beside the gurney until they reached the ambulance. Morgan jumped in and sat with his head in his hands as the medics kept Hotch alive. Just before he slipped into a peaceful darkness before surgery, he reached for Morgan and pushed something into his hand.

He looked at Hotch, who met his eyes briefly and smiled ever so slightly. Morgan shook his head sadly, but nodded, then turned it over to be sure.

His ID.