A/N: suicide tw for this chapter! its not horribly graphic but still!


Sand.

It was everywhere, it was in his eyes, in his ears (which were ringing with such an extreme frequency that he wondered if his head would pop any minute), and in his hair. He felt it crunch between his teeth as he licked his lips and tried to blink.

What was going on?

Why was he wet? It wasn't raining, he wasn't near water...

His heart skipped a beat.

Blood.

Why was there blood on him? There had been the blast, the ringing, and- oh god- the screaming, he could hear it now that he was beginning to come to his senses. Was he the one screaming?

No, no he wasn't, he knew that much for sure.

But he definitely smelled blood, he could recognize the metallic tang a mile away thanks to his years at the BAU.

If it wasn't his, who's was it?

He tried his hardest to recollect everything that had happened in the last few seconds. He had been walking next to Royce and Emily -

Royce.

Emily.

Was this their blood? Had they been the one fatal step closer to immediate death?

Pure, cold panic surged through his veins.

Get up, Hotch, get up.

He didn't realize he was speaking until his voice escalated high enough for his strained eardrums to pick up on.

Now, it was time to open his eyes.

The grains of sand ripped at his eyelids, causing a burning sensation that was close to unbearable, even for him.

But he did it anyways.

It looked like he had been dropped in the middle of a tornado. Dust was swirling all around him, disorienting him even more than he already was. Chaos; screams of pain and crying children pierced the air. Hotch suddenly remembered why he needed to get up.

One, he needed to find Emily and Royce.

Two, they needed to find the source of the EID, and determine whether or not they were in more immediate danger.

And three, well, he needed to make sure they were all in one piece. And breathing.

Hotch pushed himself to his knees, staying low on the ground as he pulled his Sig out from his holster and crawled forward. His vision was clearing slightly now, and God...there was so much blood. The explosion must have been incredibly close to where they had been waiting, and Hotch stomach dropped when he considered what this could mean for Royce, and...for Emily.

After a few seconds, he could finally make out shapes in the misty sandstorm. Several hundred feet ahead, he noticed an overturned tank with pieces of the exterior completely blown off. Thankfully, he was at least coherent enough to recognize that that was not the tank they had come in. Other figures began to form around the tank, but none of the shapes seemed to be complete, and Hotch didn't really recognize what they were.

He continued to scoot forward, scanning the area for the potential bombers, and bracing himself for a very likely second wave, but as of right now, he couldn't see a damn thing besides the tank and those mysterious figures.

Oh, God.

He had gotten close enough to the tank to realize what he was looking at.

The private who had taken a fancy to Emily and his friends had been standing right here, and from their position Hotch had to estimate that they had received the worst of the blast.

And their remains would confirm his theory too.

Body parts were strewn out in front of him, humans-young men, completely obliterated in a millisecond.

He felt his heart in his throat when he glanced to his right and saw a gory chunk of torso tossed aside in the dirt, like a discarded piece of trash.

For once, he couldn't stomach looking at a crime scene, he wanted to turn away so badly. But he couldn't.

He had to make sure Emily and Royce weren't among these mangled corpses. God help him, if they were, he wasn't entirely sure how he'd be able to force himself to continue.

Well, the blood he had been coated in had definitely come from here. It didn't reassure him much to confirm that it wasn't his own, especially as he crawled through the mass grave and desperately looked for any sign of his teammates.

On one hand, he was overjoyed that he didn't find anything that would lead him to believe Emily and Royce had been killed here, but that also meant they were still M.I.A.. What if there had been a raid? What if they had been taken in by rebels, mistaken for American soldiers? He couldn't...he had to stop thinking like that. They were here, somewhere.

He considered calling out, but his screams could attract the unsub if the they were still in the area, and Emily and Royce would have to be incredibly close to hear him over the roar of shrieking and sobbing that filled the Baghdad streets on the blistering morning.

He had to consider his options, and as of right now, everything looked pretty fucking bleak to him. He lowered his body back down to the ground for a moment, suddenly feeling faint from the amount of energy it had taken to crawl through the blinding sand. He just had to think of a plan...he was trained for this...

Hotch almost emptied his entire clip into the air when he felt a quick jolt of contact, like someone had shoved him from behind. He didn't waste any time, and despite his aching body he wheeled around and pointed the gun straight at the attacker's face.

"Hotch!"

Emily.

His Sig slipped from his fingers as soon as he registered the terror in her eyes from staring down the barrel of his gun.

"Oh my God, Emily." He gasped, reaching up and hurriedly brushing her completely disheveled ponytail away from her face. "Are you hurt? Are you okay? Oh God, you're bleeding."

"Yeah, I just bit my lip really hard when I hit the ground and the blood got everywhere. I'm okay, are you okay? You're covered in it."

He took in her appearance; his primary concern was her arm. Her gaze was stained with dried blood, and he allowed himself to exhale once he realized her stitches were fine. His eyes traveled to her appearance, streaked with mud and blood, and his heart shattered when he noticed that there were pure fair lines running down her cheeks where the dirt and blood had been washed away.

She had been crying.

He realized he had been to.

"Yes, it's not mine. It's..."

He motioned over to the horrible scene a few yards away and Emily's breath caught in her throat. "Oh my God."

"I know." He pushed back the lump in his throat and tried to bring Emily's focus back to him. "Emily, did you see Royce? Where did you come from?"

"Behind you, I crawled over because I figured the bomber...or bombers could still be here. I don't know where Royce is but... God Hotch, so many civilians. It's not fair."

"It's not fair, I know. But we can't worry about that right now. We need to find Royce and figure out what happened."

Emily bit her wounded lip and stared off into the distance. Hotch resisted the urge to shake her, now was really not the time to disassociate, he needed her fast reflexes and sharp mind now more than ever. But when her expression changed slightly, he followed her line of sight.

Royce was pulling himself over to the duo, half-limping half-crawling and holding his massive assault rifle in one arm. He wasn't covered in nearly as much gore as Hotch or Emily.

"Agents!" He whispered urgently once he got close enough. "Are you alright? Please tell me all that blood isn't yours."

"It's not, but Chief..." Hotch pointed over to where the privates' bodies were scattered about.

Royce's expression dropped for a full second, before he forced himself to harden again and with a quick sniff, he turned his attention back to his team. "A goddamn horror show."

"What happened? Where did you get thrown?" Emily asked, her voice strained.

"Not far, I presume, I was extremely disoriented at first but I forced myself in the direction of the tank; I knew if you both were okay you'd go there too."

"We need to go back to it now. We can regroup and get more reinforcements out here, and a CSI team." Hotch said.

"What? We can't leave all these people! We don't even know if there's going to be another blast, usually terrorist attacks have multiple waves, we can't abandon them!" Emily frantically cried, her voice raising too high for Hotch's comfort.

"He's saying we'll come back with more people, Prentiss. We would cause more harm than help here, we need more people." Royce placed a hand on her shoulder, and Emily suddenly went rigid.

Hotch braced himself for her sharp rebuttal to the physical contact, but once she didn't relax after a few seconds, he straightened up and tried to regain her attention.

"Emily, what is it?"

Her chocolate brown eyes were wide, seeming to take up half of her face. "We're not alone."

"What do you mean?" Royce asked, his tone demanding.

Emily slowly pulled her Glock from her holster, and Hotch was instantly following her line of sight and doing the same with his weapon. Now was not the time to doubt her, she was rarely wrong, and she was obviously seeing something he wasn't.

"Where?" Hotch leaned down next to Emily, close enough to whisper into her ear. "Don't point, just tell me."

"My 12 o'clock, in that doorway. He's been watching us for the past few minutes. He's the only person not panicking, and he has a cellphone in his hand."

Hotch squinted and locked in on what she was talking about. A shadowy figure was hovering behind the entrance structure of a building a good distance away. Far enough away to not be affected by the bomb, but close enough to activate it and watch as the bodies burned.

"I see him too." Royce murmured, glancing over to the side. "I don't know where the other patrolling troops are, or if they're even still alive, but I think we should try to do something about this."

"Agreed." Hotch muttered, watching Emily's jaw clench as she lifted herself up slightly.

He kept his eyes trained on the man, who was seemed to be staring straight through him. He must know by their body language (or at least Emily's, she looked like she was about to pounce) that they were coming for him.

Hotch's thoughts were confirmed within the next minute, because the man gave one last long look at the Agents and bolted into the building.

The word "go" hadn't even left Royce's lips before Hotch and Emily rocketed from their position on in the dirt. Despite the dull pain, Hotch pushed forward, forcing himself to sprint full speed ahead despite the very possible explosion of another bomb. They didn't have time to be cautious right now, they needed their bomber.

And he was going to get him.

Emily, surprisingly, was right on his heels. He knew she had been putting in a little bit more time in the gym with Morgan lately, but her speed right now was definitely impacted by pure adrenaline.

She matched his pace within the next few seconds as she shot through the doorway with every bit of energy she had. Hotch was about to reprimand her for her recklessness, until she snapped her gun forward and charged forward, completely taking point in front of him.

If they were back in Quantico and she ever pulled that move, he could have easily put her ass on desk duty for months, but he knew she wasn't doing it out of disobedience; time was of the essence and she was moving faster. She made the right call, and he had to cover her back now.

"Where did he go?" She hissed, pivoting around, her hair almost swatting Hotch in the face. "This building isn't that spacious."

"I'm not sure, be extremely careful." He growled, making sure she wouldn't break rank again no matter how much it made sense. Emily might be incredibly courageous and reckless to a fault, but she didn't have a death wish. "He's most likely going to try to fight his way out, or take us down with him."

"Where's Royce?"

"Behind you." The rasped whisper of their leader echoed in the dim room.

"Out the back!" Emily yelled, running in the direction of the back of the building. Hotch noticed a flash of color that could only be clothing as the man booked it out the back door and into a back alleyway, and his stomach flipped when he remembered last night's alley scene.

Emily was out in front again, just like last night, and Hotch's anxiety only worsened as she put more distance between them. He sucked in a deep breath and pushed himself harder, forcing his body to catch up to her slender frame as she weaved around obstacles and gained ground on the suspect.

She was about five feet behind him, and Hotch only a few feet behind her, when the man suddenly wheeled around, clutching a sleek black handgun between his fingers.

Time seemed to halt and inch forward in slow motion.

The man was white, and his hair was shaven so closely to his head in such a uniform fashion that Hotch felt his breath catch.

He looked like he would belong in the military.

Hotch's complete horror didn't stop there. Emily had skidded to a full stop in front of the suspect, inches away from his chest. The man could easily reach out and touch her, or press the gun to her forehead and end it within a second.

And now, he looked like he was saying something to her.

She didn't even have time to raise her weapon before the unsub's finger pressed the trigger.

The POW sound exploded in the open air, and bright red spurts coated the ground as the man fell to the dirt, lifeless.

Except Emily hadn't been the one taking the shot, and at the moment, she was in complete shock.

Hotch's mouth hung open as he slowed to a walk.

The man had turned the gun on himself in an instant, but it hadn't been a very clean execution. He'd missed the exact entry points for a headshot, and instead had blown his brains out, quite literally. And they were currently covering Emily's front, from her hair to her thighs.

He finally felt like he could move forward at a normal pace again, and his first immediate concern was the woman in front of him who looked like she might just lose it.

"Chief, can you give us a second?" Hotch asked, watching Royce lean down and look on pitifully at the man's face, or what was left of it.

" 'Course...I'm going to examine him for evidence or...something."

Hotch didn't have time to worry for Royce, he knew he'd definitely seen worse, but a suicide that graphic at such close range was bound to rattle anyone.

The bile in his throat was still choking him up himself.

Ignoring his personal qualms, he firmly gripped Emily's shoulders and pulled her away from where she was locked in place, staring down at the unsub with her jaw on the ground.

As soon as he touched her, his hands were coated in gore and...brains. His stomach threatened to empty itself.

"It's all over me."

Her first words made him jump slightly, he wasn't sure why. It didn't matter.

Stopping in his tracks once he had given the body enough of a wide berth, he gently pushed down on Emily's shoulders, and - just as he suspected - her trembling legs folded with the tiniest amount of pressure as she came to a sitting position.

That miniscule amount of movement was enough to set her surely upset stomach off, and vicious heaves racked her crumpled frame.

Hotch dropped down next to her, trying to look away when her vomit mixed with the suspect's blood that was dripping off her body into the dust.

"Breathe." He said once her retching turned into a violent coughing fit. He reached out, unfastening her helmet and letting it slide to the ground. They were somewhat safe for the time being, and God knows the extra weight was just adding heat.

She began to calm, well, relatively speaking. At least her coughing stopped.

Emily looked over at Hotch, and he forced himself not to grimace at just how much blood was coating her face right now.

"Hotch."

"What?"

Her breathing still wasn't regular, thanks to the sprinting and the added shock value of the snap-suicide, and her shallow gasps for air were starting to worry him a bit.

"Honey, I know it's hard but you really need to try to take deep breaths."

He paused, a sweeping wave of embarrassment washing over him as he realized he let an endearment slip, but Emily was definitely too distracted to care. She just nodded and squeezed her eyes shut, curling into herself to place her head between her scraped up knees that were now visible through the fresh tears in her pants.

"Better." He muttered once she didn't sound like she was at the risk of running out of oxygen.

She finally lifted her head and blinked open glassy brown eyes. Emily inhaled and pulled her shoulders back before mechanically turning her head to face Hotch.

"I think...I must have been a shitty person in my past life, because karma has really fucked me these last two days."

Hotch snorted and shook his head. Of course she would try to brush this off with a joke, that was so Emily and in a way, a weight came off his shoulders. She was fine.

"Maybe it's because you run too fast." He said slowly, watching her dark eyes flash.

"Or you're just slow as molasses."

He almost chuckled. "You're probably right,"

She returned the almost-chuckle with an almost-smile, but quickly turned her gaze back down to her crimson colored hands.

"He said something to me."

"What did he say?"

She gulped and her face fell again, her body following with a sharp shudder.

"He said, 'we do this because of people like you'. I don't know what he means, or who 'they' are but, I think someone is seriously pissed off that we're here."

Hotch's brow furrowed. The statement didn't really make sense, there had been a lone bomber today, and if his assumptions were correct, the unsub had been referring to the previous murders, that were also executed by seemingly single suspects.

It was a clue, however. Something that they could definitely use, at least to get one step ahead for next time. If there was a pack mentality, it meant everything in the profile had to be altered.

Maybe, just maybe, this horrid exchange had been a blessing in disguise.

"C'mon," He finally replied, pushing his weary legs up and cautiously tugging Emily with him as she gathered her head gear. "Let's go get you cleaned up, we'll talk about it more later."

She nodded again, her eyes cast downward as the pair stiffly walked over to where Royce had been patiently waiting.

Emily's hand was knotted into the back of Hotch's shirt, her fist clenching so tightly Hotch could feel her nails dig into his skin through the fabric. A lumped formed in his throat once more. Emily wouldn't be caught dead holding onto ANYONE like this, and it was a testament to just how shaken she was that she was doing it to him. He wrapped his arm around her slender hips and locked his hand in position right above her waistline.

So if she faltered, he'd catch her in an instant.

...