Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds
Warning: Disturbing events
Authors Note: Thank you to those who reviewed and read my story! I really appreciate it! Reviews really help motivate and I know this sounds like a broken record but after reading this story see if you can tell me what you think. Feedback good or bad is better then no feedback at all. Especially if I plan on getting any better. But otherwise, I hope you enjoy!
Previously: Emily seemed to grimace in pain at the thought of Hotch manhandling her shoulder, but managed a weak smile, "Yes sir." Hotch pushed himself to his feet and began making his way to the back of the plan, in search of medical supplies. He gave Emily a quick look before he dwelt any further. Her being alive, her being with him, gave him just the slightest bit of hope. "So I'll just wait here then." Emily called after him. Hotch smiled.
"Life comes from physical survival; but the good life comes from what we care about"-Rollo May
Reid
The pain was only getting worse. His mind now regretting the decision to regain consciousness. His body aching, every inch laced with an immense pain. It was consuming him. The pain. The fear. He felt his body quiver, shudder from the lack of knowing what was happening. He couldn't think, couldn't ignore his situation or retreat to his mind, his solace. The pain. He felt it in his stomach, a tremendous aching. Like sharp daggers, it made his breath hitch in his throat. He felt it on his skin, painful tendrils layering it's surface. It was everywhere.
But something wasn't right.
Though his thoughts were hazy, he knew something was different. A feeling of loss, an unnatural goness.
Something missing. What? He didn't know.
And again his fear and pain bested him, and he once again returned to the blackness that had so recently embodied him.
Emily had always been strong. So when Hotch saw the broken and defeated expression befall her face, he felt something inside him crumble. Her eyes a wandering mess as they glazed over the plane wreck, filling with unshed tears. The deep unsteady breaths slightly chocked and uneven.
Taking a deep steady breath Emily said in a small voice, "Do you think we will find them?" Her eyes remaining trained on the wreck, not daring to look over at Hotch. "I mean do you think that they are even still alive?" She shook her head, her gaze turing downward.
Hotch, too observed the plane, his eyes not really perceiving what they were directed to. The daylight was begun to fade and the sun had basically set. The moon now taking over. It was getting dark. Slivers of moonlight beginning to cascaded over the craft and shown through the holes in the wreck. Their silverly, once reassuring glow, casting eerie shadows over the ruin. The glints of light intensifying the look of blood and ash.
Soon visibility would be gone. Then where would they be? Without light, the rest of the team would be all but lost, trapped in this horrific wreck. Any hope of them being alive, struggling to cling to life, would diminish and there would be no reason to continue. How much time did they have? Minutes? Hours? It would be impossible. Every member, alive or dead, needed to be recovered before night completely fall. But how?
"Yes. We just can't waste any more time."
...
They worked harder then they had ever before; moving between the debris and obstacles that persistent to obstruct them. The tangly mess that worked to hold them back, prevent them from finding their friends. They worked together, a well oiled team. And between the both of them, with in a matter of minutes, had located a body.
Rossi.
The man a broken mess strewn under a pile of rubble. His body still clinging to his seat, restrained by the belt that held him firm. His face was caked with blood, dust, and ash. The skin of the side of his face red and littered with boils and pustules, seeming to been blasted by the flames. They worked slow, moving cautious, carful not to jerk his left arm which was obviously broken. And seeing as Prentiss was only capable of using one arm, the other slung in a makeshift sling around her shoulder, Hotch was left doing much of the heavy lifting. Though he was not unable, his body wasn't coping well with the strain.
Nonetheless, this was Rossi and pain didn't matter anymore.
Hotch exhaled shakily, his back curved in a pained positioned over an airplane seat that held Rossi hostage. Emily rested her good hand on the man's shoulder. "We have to take this slow. Don't strain yourself."
Hotch nodded. It was weird for him to be directed by Emily, as he had always held superiority. But what did it matter anymore? Pushing that aside, he gazed up at her battered face and managed a small smile. Through the dissipating light, Hotch could see the small reassurance it offered the young woman. He then straightened and continued.
Rossi was free a few minutes later, but the battle wasn't over. Now with a clear view of the man, both Emily and Hotch could see the condition he was in. The burn they had hoped only remained on his cheek extended downward and covered his shoulder and a little of his forearm. The skin burned away, revealing a dark blacked excreta of boils, mounds of pustules oozing green white ooze, and rivets of blood as it flowed freely. His left arm hung like dead meat, useless and weighted, and held tinges of blue as the blood flow was slowly blocked.
Emily leaned in slowly, her hand shaking as she attempted to answer the question that hung in the air. Was he even alive? They couldn't see whether his chest was moving or not, and telling by their sharp intakes of breath, none wanted to face the truth. But she had to, for both their sakes; they needed to know.
An eternity passed. The moments moving like decades, time slowing to a stop, as Prentiss made her steady decent toward Rossi. Her breath caught in her throat, she had ceased to breath. Both her pointer finger and middle finger gingerly pressed against the side of the man's neck. She waited.
"Oh my God." She shakily rose to her feet. Her breath hitching dangerously in her throat. Her eyes were wet, the tears flowed freely down her face. She turned to face Hotch. "He's alive."
Relief was evident, for the both of them. Hotch's whole body seemed to sigh, an invisible weight lifting from his shoulders. A small victory. He couldn't stop the tears that flowed from his eyes. He couldn't help the shuddered sobs that escaped his lips. "Oh thank-thank..." He couldn't even finish, his words breathy and unsteady. He felt light headed, his mind cloudy and his heart racing. It took all his strength to fight back the tears, to halt the sobs, and turn into the leader he had always been. The leader he needed to be.
"Ok he's in bad shape. Prentiss I need you to get the medical kit and start fixing him up. Ill pop his shoulder back in, but you need to do the rest. I have to keep looking."
"Yes sir." Prentiss nodded in agreement and did as she ad been directed. Seeing a flips of the old Hotch, the commanding hard ass, was enough to send a little flutter of hope through her body. Maybe, just maybe, things would turn out as they had been. Doubtful.
...
Hotch stumbled through the wreck edge on unsteady legs. His eyes analyzing every inch of his surroundings. His heart was pounding against his chest threatening to burst free. His hands shook. Pain? Anticipation? Relief? It could have been all those things, but seeing Rossi alive had given Hotch something that he hadn't had since Emily had been found. Will.
It seemed to come and go; not dare lay residence in any one permanent place. He had felt it vaguely when he had learned that he had not been the only survivor, that Emily too had lived. It had been a feeling like no other. A fluttering in his chest that gave him the hope, the will, to keep going. But as fast as it had appeared, it had vanished. The anguish, the despair once again setting in.
Now it had returned, a reassuring and strong feeling coursing through his body like electricity. Vibrant and alive. Emily. Rossi. Alive. The thought of it sending a small smile to his beat up face. Alive.
"Hotch." Emilies worried voice interrupted his thoughts. Immediately, he turned to face her. His view obstructed from the lack of light.
"What is it?" His tone was higher and much more strained then he would have liked. He took a deep breath, working to control himself. The rickashay of emotions that flooded through his body. "Emily?"
A shudders breath alone filled the empty cabin, accompanied by a small sob, "Hotch, I-I see a...a hand."
Confusion. Terror. Why had she said it like that? He knew why. Deep inside, he dreaded the reality. Despite his knowing he persisted, clinging to a small shred of hope that he was wrong. "Who does it belong to Prentiss?"
Another sob, inadvertently answering his question. His body, heart, once again filled with dread.
"It's-It..." She paused, another sob escaping her lips. A sharp cry soon followed. Her agony hitting Hotch like a brick wall. It's intensity filling the cabin, making his heart seize in his chest. It took everything inside of him to remain stoic, to keep a straight unwavering expression, and wait for the words to come. He knew that when they did, everything he had once held, all that will he had just clung to, just claimed he had possessed would be washed away. He waited, dreading every second. "It's just a hand, Hotch. Oh God, oh God..."
...
"Calm down," his voice was soothing, somehow. The rational side of him appearing from somewhere he didn't know. "We can't focus on that," he took a second to choke back a sob, "w-we have to focus on finding the others." Emily was sobbing, her face buried in Hotch's chest. He didn't remember how he had gotten there, just moments ago he had been somewhere else, alone, but somehow he had managed to comeback, to offer her with much needed comfort. It was clear, even if it was never admitted that they were desperate and required the consolation that only either of them could give.
"I'm sorry," Prentiss mumbled, pulling back from Hotch. She adverted her gaze, using her one good hand to wipe the tears from her eyes. They had lost their intensity, their strength. The power they had once held had dissipated and had been replace with a fear and longing that pained Hotch to see. Irreversible. "I didn't me-mean I should-ldn't have broken down like that. I'm sorry."
Hotch shook his head, knowing what it was like to hold the responsibility of required strength. He knew how painful, how difficult it was. Part of him pleaded to completely give into the terror and fall apart. And inside him, he desperately wanted to. To Emily's surprise, Hotch brought her into a reassuring hug. His arms strong and gentle. Only for a second he felt the flutter return to his chest.
"Don't be." He didn't dare break their contact. If not only for Emily, but for himself. He felt alone, afraid and holding someone, knowing someone he loved was with him was enough to again fill him with the drive to continue. The darkness continued to fall, the night sky replacing that of the sun's light. And they had only found Rossi.
"Thank you." Her voice was soft, still weak from her sobs. She pulled away from him slowly, knowing it was necessary. The comfort draining away the farther she moved away. Her heart seized at the familiar feeling of fright and detachment. It didn't matter, though.
JJ, Morgan, and Reid were still missing.
...
Rossi was stable. Emily had managed to find the medical kit and provide enough treatment to his wounds to keep his body 'healthy' for the time being. It would have to do for now, a temporary fix. In the morning, after the rest of the team was found-she could not bare to think otherwise- real solutions would be found.
She had left Rossi laying where he had originally been placed. They didn't dare move his body more then necessary for fear of making any of his injuries worse. His breathing had improved. The shallow and shaky breaths that he had been taken had slowed- the result of no longer being constricted- and deepened. He was stable.
"Wish we had a damn flashlight," Hotch muttered, his voice deep and stronger then before, as again his foot caught and he was sent stumbling through the wreckage. He didn't fall, narrowly escaping injury, and remained swaying on his unsteady feet. Prentiss gripped his arm tightly.
"Slow down Hotch. You can't risk getting hurt." They continued on, squinting to see through the darkness. They were about to start searching around a pile of debris when hotch stopped suddenly. His abrupt movement caught Emily off guard and she collided into his back. She couldn't hide the worry that filled her voice, "Hotch?" Desperately she tried to understand what was happening.
Hotch's breathing remained sharp. He seemed to be trying to speak but he couldn't bare it through his gasps. "I-I.." But he was cut off as his body began to shake.
"Hotch?!"
He didn't reply. From behind him, in a position she could change she stood solidified, not knowing what to do. A raspy cough began erupting from the man. A loud torrent of angry hacks and grunts. A roar of agonizing belts. Each explosion cutting him off from breathing. Between coughs, shuttered sobs, and attempts to speak, he gasps for breath.
"Em-m.." He again attempted to say something, when the episode seemed to slow. But his effort was awarded with another round of hacks. All the while, his body shuttering and jolting.
An eternity later, the coughing slowed and Hotch's body seized to convulse. He risked taking a long deep breath, knowing another fit could be underway. But when none came he risked a sigh. His hands, which had been clutching his chest instinctively shakily released their grip on his shirt and dropped to his side.
"Hotch?" Her worried voice filled the now still and tranquil cabin. "What the hell just happened!?"
Slowly, he turned to face her. "I hav..."
He didn't get a chance to finish; a loud gasp cut him off.
What was wrong now?!
A sliver of moonlight illuminated the horrified expression on Emily's face. Her dark eyes, wide, gleaming with unknown terror. And she was looking directly at him.
"Oh God.."
"Emily?" Hotch worked to keep his hoarse, corse voice calm. But in reality, fear was beginning to consume him, beginning to gain control. His strength dissipating.
"What is it?"
A deep breath now, prolonged and unsteady.
"Hotch you just coughed up blood."