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

A/N: This is something of a chapter for the team- but a lot of it is emotion and character based. I hope I got it right. And as a bit of a tiny testament, the quotes you see here are the last words spoken by Hotch in the Season Four Finale.

Everything in italics represents a flashback.

And finally, this is a long chapter. Tomorrow's my birthday, so I might not update. Forgive me! :D

Suffer and Save

Chapter Ten- One Day

***

"Sometimes there are no words, no clever quotes to neatly sum up what's happened that day. Sometimes you do everything right; everything exactly right, and still you feel like you've failed.

Did it need to end that way? Could something have been done to prevent the tragedy in the first place?"

***

He looked around until he couldn't anymore, and then he sat down- hard- on the plastic seat, and let the tears fall. He buried his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes until they burned. His head hurt, his lungs hurt, his back ached and he felt that his soul was well and truly destroyed.

It was just too much. Even when he thought back, it was too much. It was a disaster scenario, a nightmare. A brush with the Devil in his hometown.

***

Hotch knew the building well enough to know where he was going. He left the light on in the basement of terror and he walked away without a word, holding her in his arms, tucking her as close as he could. He would never, ever, ever let go of her again. He would never let her into such dark and lonely places; such suffering and such hate.

He swore it, right then and there, into her ear, "I will never let you go again Emily. Never."

The soft, cracked whisper that responded scared him more than anything. She had been broken and defeated, entirely lost and alone- desperate screams for help and hours of crying teamed with days of exhaustion meant she sounded like half the person she had been.

"I'm sorry Aaron. I'm sorry..."

"This was not your fault. You have nothing to be sorry for. It was him Emily, not you. Never you," he said deliberately, his voice shaking despite his determination.

She nuzzled her nose into his neck and tried not to shake.

"Aaron. Take me home," she sobbed, "Take me away from here."

His race through the darkest days of his life, was over.

"I will Emily," he said, tears threatening to slip down his cheeks, "I swear I will."

***

Morgan stood about four feet from him, but said nothing. There was nothing to say. Nothing in the world that could make it better; that could make them feel better for what had happened- such a waste of life. He sighed miserably and pressed his back against the wall, sliding down until he hit the floor, rubbing his head with his hands.

***

Morgan ran down the corridor with Reid fast on his heels. He went down the stairs as fast as he could, hitting the first floor corridor and racing down it to the next set of stairs. He didn't even realise that Reid had stopped and was glancing at the floor. He just ran on. He made it to the ground floor and yelled for everything he was worth, calling Hotch, wondering where the hell he was, trying to see through the dark corridors and failing.

Then he saw movement. Someone was up ahead. Out of the darkness came Hotch, with Emily gathered in his arms. His mouth was set, his lips pushed together, his nose bleeding slightly and a cut on his eyebrow. But he was alive- and so was Emily. And that meant they could get out.

"Hotch, man! Upstairs, there's a bomb. It's set to a timer I can't find- I have no idea when it will go off, but when it does we're dead. We need to move- now!" he said, panting heavily and trying to rush the other man, who now looked as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

***

Reid wasn't totally sure what to do with himself. He had been sitting in the same seat, next to JJ, for what felt like hours. He had seen Hotch collapse into sadness, and he had seen JJ wiping tears from her eyes. He could see Morgan just across the room, sitting with his legs bent, his arms wrapped around his knees, his head against the wall, his eyes closed.

Reid thought about the statistics for crimes like these. He had seen it all before, day after day, week after week, month after month. The most prolific serial killers in the world- he had seen them all, Frank Breitkopf, Floyd Feylan, sometimes they blurred into one. And yet he had never seen anything quite like the Randolph Family.

***

Reid left Morgan run ahead when he saw the dot on the floor. Through the dust, he could see a small speck on the floor- and it was a speck that looked very much so like a drop of blood. He stamped his foot against the worn carpet to dislodge the dust, and found another drop. And as he walked the path in the opposite direction to Morgan, he found more and more- until he got to a door.

And when he opened it, he could feel the nausea sweeping through his gut.

He had never seen anything like this before. Body after body, stuffed into the room. On top of each other. Dried and congealed blood on every surface- walls, floor, ceiling. It became clear to Reid that this was the room that would stay in his mind forever.

And he knew from looking that some of these bodies were over four years old. Some were entirely decomposed, some with skin still attached- and the more recent ones, the ones whose faces he could still see, were the worst.

Over two years, Thomas Randolph had dumped nineteen bodies on the streets of Matoaca. But there were tens more that he had abandoned in this room- and his two year streak, Reid suddenly realised, was entirely to bring the FBI down to Matoaca to hunt him.

He had known who Emily was, and when the opportunity arose, and Louisa Black had escaped him, Thomas Randolph had gone to finish his business with the FBI.

Reid took one last look at the room. There were at least seventy bodies in it. Seventy. Seventy young women whose lives had been destroyed by the malevolent soul of a man seeking revenge.

Seventy.

Closing his eyes and trying his best to ignore the torrid smell of death and decay, Reid closed the door and ran after Morgan- along the way, desperately yelling for Rossi.

The bomb was meant for each of them. Thomas Randolph would keep them in the building until at least some of them were dead.

It was his mission to destroy the BAU.

***

JJ got up after five minutes and walked away. She needed coffee- and she needed it badly. Along the way she stopped and just stood in the middle of the hall. How was it that with all these people passing by, she felt so goddamn empty? So alone?

She had wanted to call Will, talk to Henry, be with her family and have them be there for her. But she couldn't bring herself to do it. Not until she knew the full story- not until she knew that they were going to be alright.

While she stood there, Garcia came from the same machine she was headed to. Penelope stopped and looked at her. But she didn't say anything. In truth, there was nothing to say. It was all still a little bit raw. She put her coffee on a free chair next to where JJ stood, and then she wrapped her arms around the other blonde in a warm embrace, hoping that someday soon, everything would be alright.

***

She had hung up the phone some three or four minutes beforehand. And she was standing in the street with Garcia, fidgeting, trying to work out what was going on inside, trying to make it all work out in her head, imagining scenarios where they would all emerge into the sunlight of the day, Emily standing with them, the entire thing having been only a practical joke.

But she knew that wasn't true.

Garcia was nearby, her fingers pressed to her lips, her face a contortion of concern as she willed her team to come back to her; to tell her they were all okay.

But there was a bomb in there. And she knew that some of the team didn't know where the rest of them were. And she knew that at any second, that bomb was going to blow them to pieces; she might never see them again.

It had been bad when it was just Derek.

It was worse when they were all involved.

Within a few seconds though, Morgan ran from the building and Hotch followed, blinking in the sudden sun, Emily wrapped in his arms, alive but severely injured and severely hurt.

Reid came through just seconds later, his face paler than usual as he headed away from the team to a nearby hedge.

JJ had never, ever seen a member of her team throw up before. Neither had the rest of them, and Morgan immediately went to ask him what was wrong.

And seconds later, Morgan was running back to the building, screaming for Rossi at the top of his lungs.

And right at that moment, the entire structure exploded outward in a rage of flame. Scarlet redness overtook the morning, and the sun seemed blocked out by the smoke that blew from the Hotel Grande, destroying its filthy secrets, destroying the lies it held, the lives it had extinguished.

Almost in slow motion, JJ moved forward, joined by Reid, trying to pull Morgan back from the flames.

***

Hotch looked up when the door opened. He was beckoned, and he rose immediately to go with the doctor.

***

Aaron left the building as quickly as he could, holding her, feeling her in his arms, thanking whatever God existed that she was, at least, alive. It would never truly be a consolation; he knew in his heart that there were days to come in which she would wish she had died. But at right that moment, she was alive and she was safe.

And that was what mattered most.

He saw the paramedics running towards him, the media somehow having got wind of what was going on, cameras pointing in his direction. And all the while, he tried not to cry. To hold on.

He was at JJ's SUV when it exploded, the building flying up in smoke. He sheltered her head and ducked his own, looking around to make sure everyone was with him.

But they weren't.

***

Rossi ran up the stairs as quickly as he could, following Thomas Randolph to the roof. The roof again.

It was here that he had faced a monster. And it was here that he would face another one, a darker, deeper, uglier one. But all monsters had something in common. Thomas Randolph too was part of a common denominator. His family had fucked him up. And because of that, Randolph had had to take a long, hard look at himself.

He had chosen, and what he had chosen was a dark day for mankind. No matter how fucked up a person is, Rossi figured in his head as he stepped onto the roof, no matter how much a family destroys the core values of society and the moral promise for a life worth living, there is no way that passing the parcel is alright.

There is no way you can fuck lives up as a mark of vengeance- a blazon of personal glory, a despicable front of ignorance in a world that sees too much of it.

Thomas Randolph turned to look at David Rossi, and the look on his face was demonic.

"You killed my brother," he said.

"No," Rossi said, "And I won't kill you."

"It doesn't matter if you kill me now," he said.

"Why's that?"

"Because in one minute, this building goes up in flames, taking you to Hell."

Rossi was suddenly very aware of the mistake he had made. Unfinished business was one thing. But it was Thomas Randolph who had business to finish; not Rossi.

Thomas Randolph's business was already complete.

So when Randolph pulled out the gun and pointed it at his own head, Rossi didn't move. And when the shot was fired, and Randolph staggered, lifelessly, backward, Rossi closed his eyes for a moment, before turning to run.

As he ran down the stairs inside the building, the gracious curve of the limp body spilling over the rooftop and to the ground was overshadowed by the sudden crack of a flame beginning. Rossi pelted on, feeling the dust move as the building tore itself apart.

The end of a legacy of agonising pain.

***

Rossi walked back to his team in the waiting room of the hospital. He had suffered a broken ankle on his departure from the building, a piece of rock falling against his leg. His ears were ringing and his throat was burning and dry. His face was cut, and his hands were a little burned.

But he was fine.

It didn't make the day any more of a success. But he was fine.

***

"And what about my team? How many more times will they be able to look into the abyss. How many more times before they won't ever recover the pieces of themselves that this job takes?"

***

Emily wasn't sure what to do, or what to say, when he entered the room. She had, only hours before, been as close to him as she needed to be. But now she was in a hospital bed, a gown wrapped around her, her face bloody and bruised, her arms cut, her legs damaged, her back and stomach assaulted in a vicious cycle she would never forget.

And the man she loved more than anything was the one person she wanted more than anything in the world.

And he was the one person she felt she could never look in the eye again.

Aaron walked to her bedside and sat down in the chair. He had heard nothing from the doctor. He didn't know what she had truly suffered. He knew that she was strong; she would tell him, in time.

He tentatively reached his arm out and touched one of her hurt hands. The skin felt warm and familiar, despite the pain. Her wrists were red raw and still bloody. Inside, he was screaming that nobody should suffer like this. Not her. Not anybody.

"Emily..." he started. But he wasn't sure of what to say. To say sorry seemed useless and unreal. So he said nothing for a time.

"Aaron you don't have to be here," she said, her voice still croaky and damaged, raspy and sore. He looked at her- and she met his eyes, a sense of determination in her face.

"You can go," she said.

"I... I don't want to go," he said, unwilling to force his presence on her, but also unwilling to let go.

"Yes you do. Of course you do. I wouldn't want to be here either."

"I don't understand," he said.

"You don't have to stay with me," she persisted. "I'm damaged goods Aaron. You don't want to stay with me."

Her voice sounded incredibly sad and he felt like crying again. She had lost all of her confidence and self esteem. She felt unworthy and dirty.

"Emily, I love you," he said, telling the truth. "I'm not leaving. No matter what, I'm not leaving," he said, "I won't."

She looked him in the eye again, and saw the watery gaze he was giving her. She watched him lift her hand, slowly and carefully, to his lips, and when he kissed her hurt fingers, a tear fell down her face.

"I'm not going to leave," he said.

***

"Well?" JJ asked, roughly an hour later when he emerged from the room. He had stayed with her, held her hand and watched her as she fell asleep. The doctor met him at the door and walked with him to his team, as they finally gathered together to hear the truth, much though they dreaded it.

"She's going to be fine. She's shook up and there are some bad injuries. But you got there in time to save the worst," the doctor said quietly. "You saved her life," he said to Hotch. "She says that you stopped his attempt at sexual assault. She didn't suffer that."

Hotch breathed a sigh of relief, and he wasn't the only one.

"She's hurt, of course, and she'll need a lot of recovery time, and time to regain her trust. But given time, she will make a full recovery."

And then he was gone, and the BAU sat in the waiting room together, slowly beginning to talk it through, working out what had happened, and quietly mourning the loss of almost ninety women- most of whom would never now be identified.

Reid felt battered and still sick- his face was pale and drawn, and he was silent, not talkative, and quite solidly alone. JJ was exhausted and felt useless, her emotions in tatters as she considered what Emily had been through- and what the other women had seen, while that file had sat on her desk for over a year before Bill Daly called her directly for help. Did she cause this?

Morgan couldn't remember a time when he had felt so low. He hadn't spotted any of it. He hadn't seen the tricks, and he hadn't been able to disarm a bomb, despite the fact that that was part of his training. He would never quite trust himself again. Garcia was resting on Morgan's shoulder, stroking his hand and feeling unsure of herself. All of her searching, every day she looked- and just down the road, a man had killed over eighty women in the worst ways, torturing them and defeating them, taking over them- so many lives destroyed.

Rossi believed that he had failed. He had failed to stop the death of Thomas Randolph- and though the world was maybe a better place for the end of that evil, he still felt responsible that over twelve years ago, he had not seen the signs of a boy possessed by his own demons, in a house of horrors that rivalled every other case he had dealt with in his career.

And Hotch sat with his sleeves rolled up, entirely devoid of emotion. It was either bottled up inside for later, or he had cried enough tears in the last three days that he simply had no more to give; he couldn't be sure of which it was.

He sat in the hospital, waiting for Emily to wake again, and feeling quite entirely as though he had failed. And in failing, he failed Emily- and he failed the team. There was no way back from the darkness he knew they would all now face. The doubts, the self loathing, the raging nightmares and pain. Even though he knew that they had done everything right, he couldn't help but feel that the damage caused would stretch beyond the 89 dead women and the two killing members of the Randolph family of Matoaca.

The damage caused would challenge him, and his team, in the harshest of ways in the weeks to come.

***

"Like I said, sometimes there are no words, no clever quotes to neatly sum up what's happened that day. Sometimes, the day just... ends."

Aaron Hotchner

***