Uh, hey guys... (Ducks behind overturned table) You have no idea how sorry I am for leaving you in such a bad place. That must of been like, five or six months?! Once again, very sorry. I give you full permission to pie me in the face. (I like lemon mirage the best, but chocolate is perfectly acceptable.

I'm not going to give you an excuse, because there really isn't one.

A big shout out to all the guest reviewers (or if its just one of you, I'm not too sure) who have never relented in reviewing so I get that sweet little email alert, urging me to creep going. Thank you!

Anyway, thank you so much to all the favourites, followers, and reviewers for this story. You're all awesome!

Disclaimer: not mine, bladeee blah blah

Before the SUV had even the chance to roll to a stop, Morgan was out and running towards the derelict building, the others not far behind. As his feet thudded into the tarmac again and again, his heartbeat kept in sync. By the time they had found the retired airport, his wristwatch told him that they were two minutes over the deadline. Morgan could only hope that Workman's clock was slow.

He reached an old sliding door and, without even checking that it was locked, slammed his shoulder into the glass, grunting as the sharp shards cascaded over his body, opening up small cuts and wriggling their way down his collar, rubbing his neck and back raw every time he moved. He didn't mind; the pain drove him along, reminding him that it was nowhere near as bad as what Reid was going through.

If he could still feel it.

The thought made him want to throw up on the dusty linoleum, but he didn't have enough time to expel the contents of his stomach, each second could make a huge difference in the rescue.

The worked their way agonisingly slowly through the huge halls that the general public would've once used. Subconsciously, his mind took in his surroundings. It would've once been a light and welcoming place, but the windows had been covered in blackout plastic and the lights had been ripped from their sockets for reuse, the only illumination worth mentioning being the torches strapped under the barrel of their guns. All the furniture that wasn't bolted to the ground had been removed, the rest empty and neglected. The air was stale and chocking with the dust which covered every surface.

After they cleared the domestic departures and arrivals, they had to tediously work their way back and enter the isn't national section.

They hadn't gotten very far through when Morgans foot skidded across the floor, and he only just managed to catch himself on a grimy railing, which was also slippery. A ball of dread lodged in his throat, he trained his torch to the floor.

It was covered in long smears of blood, and handprints decorating the wall and railing, like someone was continually trying to help themselves up. Small scraps of skin and scabbing littered the ground. Nobody said anything for a while, the stunned silence growing.

Emily stepped forward and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. She knew that there wasn't any point in saying it might not be Reid's, the chances were about one in five hundred, though Reid would've been able to give them the precise statistic.

Instead, all she quietly said was, "it's still fresh." They might still have a little time.

Nodding slowly, he motioned for most of the group to move along the hallway, to the outside, where the trail was heading, and silently sent Emily and two SWAT members along the other way, deeper into the compound. Gritting their teeth and muting their ears to the slithery sound their boots made every time they stepped in their friends blood.

Finally, they burst into the main halls the public would've used. Skirting around the edges of their gruesome trail, they burst into a run, Morgan motioning for teams of three SWAT members to cover any stores, rooms and desks, to rejoin the main group as fast as they could after.

They raced into the duty free, weaving their way impatiently through the maze of counters, thumps and muffled curses to be heard whenever a knee or toe was stubbed. After they cleared the shops, it was easy going through the lines of the uncomfortable waiting chairs.

The trail then ended, in front of one of the ground level accesses. Morgan did a quick check for any trigger wires, the previous bombing incident that this UNSUB had cooked up still fresh in his mind. There were none, and so he dried the handle.

It was locked.

The door itself, following basic security set up, locked automatically after you closed it, with a big heavy deadbolt.

Frustration clawing at his chest, Derek didn't even bother to wait for a battering ram, or look for an alternative way out. Instead, he backed up a few paces, and promptly sprinted straight at the massive floor to ceiling window beside the offending door. With a ear splintering crash the dirty glass shattered, and the blackout plastic ripped from the staples that was holding it up, enveloping Morgan like a dusty, rather thin blanket. The SWAT members and the team behind him, rather taken aback by his actions and at the same time not at all surprised by them, shuffled out behind him. I was probably a matter of time until one of them had done something similar.

Groaning, Morgan clambered to his feet, winded and scraped, just in time to see a black, plane shaped speck fade into the horizon. After a desperate search around, they confirmed that the UNSUB, with Reid, had gotten away.

They hadn't been fast enough.

=================(L)(I)(N)(E)(B)(R)(E)(A)(K)================

"You need to see this, all of you." Emily called softly, from inside the departures lounge. She could tell, just from their body language and the fact that they weren't holding someone at gunpoint; that they were too late.

Choking with sobs, whimpering and almost to the point of hysteria, the team followed. When they got closer, JJ noticed tear tracks down Emily's cheeks, her eyes red and hair ruffled, but didn't say anything; she probably looked no better. No one could fit any words in, their minds working at top speed and ridiculously slow at the same time. Every step they took in their friends blood, every time they glanced at each others anguished faces they were reminded of their failure.

They passed the point where they had split, and continued for a little longer before they came to a hangar like door, propped slightly agar. The trail of blood continued further into the room behind.

With a simultaneous deep breath, the tea, filed through the door.

If they had been keeping their grief even slightly restrained before, it all came tumbling out.

The sight they were affronted with was a small space, containing one wooden pellet and a sparse blanket for a bed, and a dim lightbulb hanging from its wire, and not much else. Like the hallway, smears of blood were everywhere, some old, and some newer. This was the place where Reid had spent the last few days.

But they most heart-wrenching thing were the faces. Arranged in the group on the wall beside the door, each one of the team saw their own messy portrait, in Reid's obvious style. All of it done in his own blood.

JJ was the first to collapse, sobbing, soon followed by Rossi, then Emily, and so on, until they were all huddled together on the ground, crying for the team mate they thought they had lost.

Past all the grief clouding his mind, Hotch hung onto one thought.

They hadn't found a body.

And even if they did, he doubted they would ever stop until they brought this son of a bitch down.

Um, so, yeah. Mild swearing, right there. It kinda felt right. Was that too gory? please tell me if it was.

I'm honestly not too sure when the next update will be, but I'm kinda getting they hang of this fanfictioning thing again. (This is me, having just finished the chapter and posting it close to midnight where I am)

Loved it? Hated it? Want to give death threats if I don't update?

REVEIW!