AN: Thank you all so much for the outpouring of support on this fic! I've already gotten such amazing feedback, and I can't thank you enough. There is a chance that I won't be able to update for the next two weeks due to family being in town this week and me being out of town next week. As you can imagine, beyond me not having time to write, there's a lot of stress as well. Anyways, I hope you enjoy, and please leave a review!

"Would a bullet get through that door?" JT asked him, somewhat rhetorically, since there was no reason for Malcolm to know the answer to that.

"Maybe, but that's not necessarily our best option," Malcolm answered. He gave JT the look like he always did when he was coming up with some crazy plan that Gil would hate but ultimately go along with, thus forcing JT to go along with too. "This door here-" he pointed a thumb at the exit door "-is the only way off this jet. Unless this man plans on killing himself as well as us, which is highly doubtful, or else he wouldn't be yelling so passionately into his radio, then he'll have to come out of the cockpit in order to make any kind of escape. If you have a gun, you might be able to persuade him to stay."

"And what if he has a gun too?" JT shot back. "Just waiting for him to come out and hoping that I'm the only one with a gun is not the upper hand I like."

Malcolm pondered for a second before answering. "Even if he does have a gun, I doubt he'll shoot us." At JT's look of 'what makes you so sure', Malcolm continued. "If he wanted to shoot us, why not do it at the airstrip? It's not as if there would have been witnesses. No, if he wants to kill us, he'll only do it by crashing the jet, and probably making it look like an accident. Finding our bodies with GSWs would make it clearly a homicide. The alternative is that he's trying to bring us somewhere other than our intended destination, but that's less likely, since then he probably would've tried to keep us in the dark about anything being wrong until we landed. No, the most likely scenario is that he's going to crash the jet and kill us, but I doubt he wants to die too, which leaves us at the original plan. He'll have to come out of the cockpit, and jump out this door with a parachute if he wants to live. We just have to wait him out and stop him from leaving." Malcolm nodded, secure enough in his plan. Well, it wasn't much of a plan, but it did seem to be their only option.

"We can't shoot him either though," JT pointed out. "I don't know about you, but I certainly don't know how to fly a plane. We need him alive and able to fly if we want to get out of this."

Malcolm sighed. "You're right, and if he's smart, he'll know that we can't hurt him. So, we need to convince him that the only way he'll survive is if he flies us to safety."

"Can't you just do one of your freaky Jedi mind tricks on him?"

"I can't profile when I have nothing to work with," Malcolm replied around a smile. As much as JT's teasing could get annoying - although at least it wasn't hurtful like it used to be - Malcolm did love Star Wars, so he couldn't be too mad about the comparison. "All we know is that he's Eastern European, and he's working for someone else, likely a larger organization. They have to have feelers everywhere to know that I was planning on attending the conference and traveling via private jet. They were able to get to my pilot and scare him into doing what they said, and getting me to replace him with one of their own. A plane crash is dramatic, over the top even, and much more difficult than simply killing us. It takes a lot more people to coordinate, and people to find the crash site and make sure we're dead before anyone else gets there. This is likely a revenge killing, the brutality of which makes me suspect we're dealing with the mafia, or some similar acting crime syndicate. Based on the language, likely Albanian." Malcolm stroked his chin in contemplation of his profile. Yeah, that seemed right.

"You got all that from having 'nothing to work with'?" JT asked sarcastically, but Malcolm could see his smile.

"Well, that's a profile of the bigger picture, of the organization, not this man planning on crashing the jet. Suspecting he's in the Albanian mob means nothing if it doesn't help me figure out how to stop him from doing this." Malcolm started pacing. He needed to think. There had to be a way out of this.

"How would he even open that door?" JT asked. "Don't they only open in emergencies? Something about air pressure making the door weigh two tons or something like that," he pondered.

Malcolm nodded. "Whatever he's planning, it doesn't mean anything good for us," he muttered. As much as he tried to hide it, the whole situation was bothering Malcolm a lot more than it normally would. If it were only Malcolm in danger, he wouldn't care much, but JT was just an innocent bystander. Whatever was going on, it wasn't about JT, it was about Malcolm, and the older man was just getting caught in the middle. That wasn't fair. It was one of the many reasons why Malcolm didn't have friends. He got everyone he cared about hurt, one way or another. Malcolm had been trying so hard to get JT to like him, finally feeling like he had a home at the precinct and could try to make friends again, and now, because of him, there was a good chance that JT was going to die in a jet crash. It was no wonder the man had always kept his guard up around Malcolm. He was a seasoned enough detective to be able to just know when someone was trouble. Malcolm lightly scoffed. For all the good that had done for JT this time.

"What is it?" JT asked, likely thinking his scoff had meant something to do with their current predicament.

"No, nothing, it's- it's nothing," Malcolm replied. He needed to refocus himself. They could still survive, they just needed to figure out how. "Since it isn't exactly easy to get one of these doors open," he gestured to the door, "Stover is going to have to change the pressure in the cabin, which definitely isn't good for us."

"That doesn't tell me what to do," JT pointed out in exasperation. Malcolm just shrugged. He didn't know what to do. It wasn't exactly a situation he had ever thought he'd find himself in before.

"I don't know," he admitted, his voice falling a bit at the end. He was the profiler, he was supposed to have all the answers to save them, and yet he had nothing. Absolutely nothing. If Stover changed the cabin pressure in order to release the door, then there was a good chance that Malcolm and JT would both be down for the count, and unable to do anything to stop him. The change in pressure would likely be so sudden and so severe that both JT and Malcolm would be rendered useless in mere seconds without proper protection, while Stover, who they could assume would be wearing some form of SCBA in order to protect himself, would be escaping and leaving them to die. "If he changes the cabin pressure, there's nothing we can do, we'll die," he said. "Even if we get to the oxygen masks in time, Stover will be gone by then, and we can't fly a jet, so that's it. We die either way." Malcolm knew he was spiraling, but he just didn't know what to do. As the reality of the situation sunk in more and more, he realized just how helpless he was, and he couldn't do anything to change it.

"Dude, we're gonna figure it out," JT said, his voice surprisingly gentle. The man held out one of his hands, as if he were going to rest it on Malcolm's shoulder, but changed his mind. The hand turned into a fist, which then banged on the door to the cockpit once again. "Open up, Stover!" he shouted, but got no response. There weren't any voices in the cockpit any more, shouting into the radio in Albanian or otherwise. It was too quiet. Stover was about to do something.

"Whatever is going to happen, I think it's about to happen," Malcolm rushed out. JT jogged back to his bags and returned only a few seconds later with his Glock, his face perfectly calm.

"We've got this," JT said, sparing Malcolm a sincere glance before returning his attention entirely to the door.

Even expecting it, even knowing that it was coming, the sudden loss of cabin pressure was jarring. Malcolm felt a sharp pain in his nose and deep in his ears. Warm blood trickled down from what Malcolm knew to be burst blood vessels. At their altitude, he and JT had no more than a minute to act before it would be too late.

Malcolm struggled to keep his breathing even as more panic began to set in. He needed to breathe evenly if he stood any chance of surviving. JT's breaths were heavy, and a quick glance proved that he too was dealing with burst blood vessels. And yet, the door was still closed. The oxygen masks had fallen from their places, but if they moved to go put them on, they would likely miss their only opportunity to stop Stover. But if they didn't go put them on, they might be dead before the man even left the cockpit. Perhaps that was exactly what the man was planning on.

"Go grab a mask," JT ordered in a low voice, almost a growl. "I got this." But there was no way that JT would be able to handle everything on his own. Malcolm could already feel himself succumbing to the effects of hypoxia, if the sudden headache, dizziness, and fatigue were anything to go by. JT was surely suffering from the same effects.

"You too, come on," Malcolm insisted. Once they had oxygen masks, they could try to convince Stover to stay via use of JT's Glock. Clearly the man wasn't going to come out of the cockpit before the two of them were down for the count. With a grumble, JT followed Malcolm back to their seats, staggering slightly in their dizziness, and put on the life saving oxygen masks.

The sudden steady flow of oxygen into Malcolm's lungs felt practically euphoric. The fogginess that had been building in his mind started to fade away as the crisp air began to reduce the effects of hypoxia. The fatigue was only slightly reduced, but Malcolm could fight through it. He pointed at the door to the cockpit when it finally began to open, but JT was already on top of it, his gun still at the ready.

"Stover, stop!" JT shouted, but the pilot wasn't in any rush to obey. As Malcolm had suspected, he was wearing both a parachute pack and an SCBA, and was making his way to the door. "Don't!" JT shouted, then took a shot at the man.

Stover let out a shout of pain as his leg crumbled beneath him. The bullet had hit him in the thigh. Blood was quickly pooling around him, some shooting out at high velocity. That was an arterial spurt. JT had hit the man's femoral artery. Stover was going to bleed out and die, but maybe the man hadn't realized it yet.

"You better fix this plane or you're gonna die too!" JT shouted at the man. Neither Malcolm nor JT could stop the bleeding and keep their oxygen masks at the same time, since the masks hung from the ceiling, but the masks would only be useful for a few minutes anyway. Most jets and planes were only equipped with enough oxygen to last until the aircraft could be brought to a safe altitude, where the masks would no longer be required due to the safe pressure outside the plane. He and JT had already been using the oxygen for at least a minute, so they likely only had a minute or two left. But he could feel the jet descending, likely on a crash course with the Atlantic, or perhaps the Appalachians. Depending on how far they'd descended, the pressure could've equaled out and they would be fine. That was probably a risk that Malcolm was going to have to take.

The man cursed loudly in a language that Malcolm was just going to assume was Albanian until he was proven otherwise, and tried to put pressure on his own wound.

"I would rather die than let down my brothers," Stover said, all pretenses of being American gone. He had a thick Eastern European accent that he was no longer attempting to hide as he had been before. His voice was muffled by his mask just as JT's had been. Perhaps the man knew his time was ending after all.

That was it. It was time to take the risk. Malcolm wasn't going to take any more chances. With one final deep breath of the remaining oxygen, he quickly got over to the man and picked him up by the armpits, and began to drag him back into the cockpit.

"Bright, wait!" JT shouted. He let out a curse before taking his own deep breath and getting over to help Malcolm, weapon still drawn. Stover tried to fight them, but injured, he wasn't in any shape to take on an ex-FBI agent and an NYPD detective.

"It's really in your best interest to land this jet," Malcolm insisted as he tore the SCBA off the man. There was no way that if he and JT had to suffer any more hypoxia that Stover would be breathing easy. Whether the man knew he was dying or not, Malcolm was going to play any card he had in order to save his and JT's lives.

"I would rather die than let my brothers down," Stover repeated, glaring at the two of them. JT kept his gun focused on the man as Malcolm scurried into the pilot's seat. There was nothing but green hills below them, and it was getting closer. They were going to crash into the Appalachians.

"You really don't, trust me," Malcolm said, eyes wide as they roamed the various panels and controls that he had no idea what to do with. "Family can take advantage of you like no one else, try to get you to do things you'd never do, just because you're family and you trust them."

"If anyone knows that, he does," JT added from behind him. "You should trust him, and fly this damn plane back to the ground, safe and sound."

"If my death takes yours, then it will be worth it," the man seethed, but he was rapidly growing paler. He was losing a lot of blood. Malcolm and JT could breathe fine, but if they didn't land the jet, then it wouldn't matter, and all three of them were going to die.

"You didn't by any chance fly jets for the military, did you?" he asked JT as a last hope.

"Not even close," JT replied, but tucked his Glock into the front of his pants and came to stand beside Malcolm in the pilot's seat. The front of his pants was never JT's holding place of choice for his weapon, but with a bad guy behind them, Malcolm agreed that the small of his back was not the most advisable place to keep it.

"I still trust you on this more than me," Malcolm rushed out. He slid out of the seat and took a knee next to Stover. "Why do you want me dead?" he asked the man. Stover was definitely going to die, it was only a matter of time, but Malcolm wanted to get as much information from him as he possibly could. "Who are you working for?" It was a cliche line, but an important question. Stover didn't seem too keen on answering either one.

Instead, Stover spit in Malcolm's face. "Shko qij veten," he cursed through clenched teeth. Malcolm grimaced and wiped the spit off his face. He didn't need to speak Albanian to know what the man was instructing him to do. Trying to get him to say anything would be a dead end. He was too devoted to who he saw as family to betray their secrets, especially when he already knew he was doomed. Malcolm shook his head and moved back to JT.

"Any luck?" he asked, despite knowing the answer.

"We're completely cut off, there's no signal on any of the radio frequencies," JT answered as he took the headset off.

"Should I just start pressing buttons? I mean, it's not as if things can get worse," Malcolm suggested with a shrug. What else were they supposed to do? They couldn't even call their families and say goodbye, since they still didn't have any signal.

Stover let out a delusional sounding chuckle. "Oh, things can always get worse, boy," he said. Stover was leaning against the wall, his hands having fallen limp from where they had been pressed against his wound. He was fading quickly. They didn't have the tools to save him even if they were under normal circumstances.

Malcolm took his own suggestion and began pressing random buttons and flipping levers and turning dials. What was he going to do, crash the plane?

"Dude, what the hell?" JT chastised as he swatted Malcolm's hands away.

"Well what did you have in mind? We're going to die!" he shouted at JT in frustration. "You're going to die, and it's all my fault," he continued in a low voice. That painful reality had been slowly becoming more and more clear. "I'm so sorry, you don't deserve this."

"Stop," JT said, his voice and eyes both clear. "Whatever happens, it's on that dead nutjob." JT motioned towards the man on the floor behind them, who was now at least unconscious, if not dead. "And I'm not givin' up so easily." He turned his attention back to the control wheel.

"Will you at least tell me what JT stands for?" Malcolm asked as he buckled himself into the jump seat at the back of the cockpit. It was the only bit of safety he could procure. JT had strapped himself into the pilot's seat as well, and gave him a hearty laugh.

"Not on your life, kid," he said. "'Cause we're gettin' out of this. I'm gonna do what I can, you just hold on. People survive plane crashes all the time. We're gonna be just fine."

JT's voice sounded steady, but Malcolm's trained ear could pick out the subtle inflections that spoke to fear. The man was trying to stay strong for him, but Malcolm could tell that deep down, he was scared too.

Malcolm tried and failed to keep his breaths even as he scrambled to grab on to anything he could. He could see the mountains clearly. They were going to crash in mere seconds, and quite possibly die.

"JT, I'm so sorry," he rushed out one more time before closing his eyes and turning away. Malcolm held on as tight as he could, and prepared for oblivion.