Author's Note: Back in Stars Hollow again! Or here, more specifically, a couple miles down the road. I was honestly SHOCKED to see that I haven't updated this since November 2010. I have no idea where time goes, but it definitely goes much too quickly and with very little fanfare. And it wasn't purposeful to put it aside this long, just happened. But last weekend all the little images to wrap this suddenly began playing in my mind, so here we are! And let this give hope to all of you still waiting on Gingerbread! See, my muses don't abandon anything, but sometimes it just takes a while to circle back around again :)

You'll probably have to go reread the last chapter, and we're picking up immediately from there.

And Round and Round We Go

"HOTCH! HE'S GOING TO RAM US!"

Before Emily had even finished her sentence, Hotch had already slammed the car into reverse. Then his foot was pressed to the floor as he twisted around and began peeling backwards down the road.

"Do not fire unless you have a clean shot," Hotch hissed as Emily yanked her weapon from her holster, "we only have one spare clip each."

And this was how a perfectly benign situation went completely to SHIT in a matter of seconds! A simple house to house and now they're being run down by Christ only knew who! And whoever was driving the pickup . . . the glass was tinted . . . was roaring up on them for all of one of those demonic vehicles out of a Stephen King novel.

And as they sped backwards, to Hotch's chagrin, dirt from both vehicles . . . he knew that they were almost kissing bumpers . . . was flying up and blowing into the open windows.

It was half blinding him with the dust settling into his contacts.

But fortunately for his vision . . . and his driving . . . it took only seconds before they were barreling back into the clearing that ran the expanse in front of the decaying house. And not really having any maneuverability at all . . . he was still going in reverse and the house and the surrounding forest were boxing them in on three sides . . . Hotch tried jerking the wheel to the left to spin away from the truck.

The move wasn't successful.

The pickup rammed their back left corner, and Hotch cursed as they were shoved back towards the far tree line.

If they were rammed into the forest, they were screwed.

"Send this address to the team with a 911 on it!" He yelled to Emily over his shoulder, "and then I'll line you up to go for the tires!"

As he saw Emily scrambling for her phone, Hotch did a half assed J turn, shifting from Reverse to Drive as he zagged the car to the right.

Then he swerved again, this time barely missing the truck's grill . . . but he did end up bouncing over a piece of junk lying in the yard.

He was pretty sure it ripped off the muffler.

Basically . . . he grunted as a lawn gnome bounced off the hood . . . he was down to doing a lot of donuts trying to get around the pickup and back to the road.

But the truck was considerably bigger than them . . . at least an F2 . . . and so far he'd been blocked move for move.

"Okay!" Emily yelled as she finished tapping out a one handed SOS to the group list, "sending right . . ." her finger dropped onto the green button, "NOW!"

Obviously ordinarily a regular 911 call would do, but they weren't exactly in a metropolis.

Christ, their team was bigger than the ENTIRE sheriff's office! And that was the only law enforcement game for miles around.

And also . . . Emily winced as their car was rammed again and the phone went flying into the dash . . . the sheriff and his deputies didn't deal with the type of people that they dealt with day in and day out. The team would contact not only the sheriff to get them some immediate backup, but also the nearest field office to get them the type of support that they truly needed.

And at the moment that was the kind that showed up with semi-automatic weapons.

But in the meanwhile . . . Emily sucked a breath as she slid the safety off her pistol . . . time to try to even things up a bit.

"LEFT!" She yelled to Hotch as she leaned out the window.

As the car swerved again . . . for just a second . . . the whole front right end of the pickup suddenly appeared in front of her.

She fired twice towards the tire. One bullet clearly nicked the rubber . . . the other ended up in the door.

Damn it . . . she cursed to herself . . . with them spinning like a top, there just wasn't the stability for any decent aim.

It was like trying to hit a target while riding the teacups at the local fair.

Still though . . . Emily spit a strand of hair out of her mouth . . . there were always points for trying. So as Hotch spun them around a rusted wheelbarrow, she risked one more bullet.

This time aiming dead center into the darkened windshield.

Though she wasn't actually trying to execute the unseen driver . . . hence aiming for the center of the glass rather than the left side . . . she didn't much care if she did. When people tried to kill her and her team, she tended to not give a shit whether or not they survived the attempt.

She was funny like that.

And fortunately the shot through the windshield was enough to get the other driver to swerve, but it wasn't a long enough serve for Hotch to make a move around the pickup. And as the driver regained control of the truck, it was obvious that she had pissed him off.

He was now coming at them at breakneck speed.

And the grill was racing right towards the passenger's side of their rental car.

"HOTCH!" Emily screamed as she braced herself for impact/a lifetime of paralysis.

But then suddenly they were roaring backwards. The truck still rammed into them . . . but thanks to Hotch's defensive moves . . . the impact was focused on the engine block, rather than the passenger block.

If they'd had the time, she would have kissed the man who kept her out of a wheelchair.

So even though the hit was hard and spun them halfway around . . . the seat belt was slicing painfully into her flesh . . . Emily was just grateful that her injuries seemed to be confined to some minor whiplash and faint nausea.

And then for a split second . . . when they stopped spinning . . . she thought that maybe they had a shot at escape. The front end of the car was facing towards the dirt road.

And the truck . . . for the first time . . . wasn't blocking their path.

Please God . . . she prayed . . . just a little break here. That's all I'm asking.

But apparently God was busy with other things . . . or perhaps he just didn't care to get involved, because when Hotch shifted gears again . . . nothing happened. All Emily heard was his cursing and a screeching sound as smoke began to rise off the right front wheel well. They weren't moving.

Something must have bent with the last hit.

FUCK!

Just as Emily processed just how bad that was . . . they were sitting ducks . . . Hotch was grabbing her and covering her upper body with his as he screamed.

"HEAD DOWN PRENTISS!"

That was the last thing that Emily heard before the track slammed into them again. The jolt was horrendous. And then were was nothing but the terrifying shrieks of metal crunching and glass breaking.

They were flipping over . . . and over.

Once . . .

Twice . . .

Oh Jesus . . . she bit back a scream as a branch knifed through the window, just missing her eye . . . please let it STOP!

But it took another half a roll before that happened. And based on the pain in her bones . . . and the angle she was hanging at . . . Emily realized that they had bounced into a tree.

And that they were upside down.

Mostly.

"Are you okay?"

Hotch's breath was hot and ragged in her ear. And Emily tried to nod as she fumbled her arm out to dig her fingers into his thigh.

"Yeah." She sucked in a shallow breath as he slowly disentangled himself from her body, "I think so," she did a quick physical assessment of her body, "everything hurts but I don't think anything's broken," she brushed her hand over her cheek and pulled back bloody fingers, "the cuts seem superficial. You?"

She was definitely sending a thank you note to the makers of their rental car. For all the metal crunching . . . the car was definitely totaled . . . the impact had been on the back end and not the front passenger section.

That . . . from what she could see . . . had done what it was supposed to do in a crash, retain most of it's basic 'human protecting' shape.

"Yeah," Hotch blinked as he tried to focus in to get his bearings, "same I think."

He knew that they had to get moving . . . that they were still in danger . . . but his head was spinning, his equilibrium was fucked and his world had gone ass side up.

Really . . . he tried to suck in a breath from a chest that felt like it had just been used for kickboxing practice . . . he just needed a second. But that's when he processed the sound of an engine gunning, and remembered that he had no time to take one.

This wasn't over yet.

"He's coming again!" He hissed while pushing past Emily to get her door open, "Get out! Get into the woods!"

The car was leaning against the tree, and she was on the side closer to the ground. And as Emily scrambled to get her seatbelt off . . . and he did the same . . . he prayed for her to get out before they were hit again.

Emily's breath was ragged as she first slid down to the windshield beneath them, and then moved to climb out of the mangled car.

But unfortunately they'd landed at such an angle, that when the door fell open, there was barely six or seven inches of clearance to fit a human body through.

And she wasn't fat, but still . . . she felt a crushing despair fill her chest . . . her hips were NEVER going to clear that space!

But before she could get those words out of her mouth, Hotch was behind her, pulling her gun from her hand and shoving her towards the little gap.

"NOW Prentiss!" He yelled, "NOW!"

That's when she processed that a new noise had filled the air . . . silence.

The engine had been turned off.

Oh shit!

And that was enough motivation to get her to try to do the impossible . . . contort her body like she worked for cirque du soleil.

So with Hotch pushing her along . . . pulling off her holster, and plucking at her clothes when they got caught on the twisted metal . . . she scooched and shimmied and swore her way inch by inch through the tiny space.

The sticky branches and pine needles were digging into her palms as she dragged herself forward.

It felt like it was taking forever, but she knew that mere seconds were passing. And after an agonizing pressure on her pelvic area . . . enough to make her eyes water, it felt like she was being run through a meat grinder . . . her hips suddenly popped through and her upper body was free.

From there it was nothing to slip her legs through the space . . . though it did take contorting like an earthworm to make it happen.

She flopped to the ground half on her side, and then Hotch's face was in the small crack behind her. He was dropping her Sig into her hands.

"Go," he hissed, "into the trees."

"But," she blinked up at him as she started to protest leaving him behind. But then she realized.

He would never fit through that space.

The only way out for him would be to scramble out the other door and over the top of the car. But there was no cover on that side. And an exit from that angle . . . over a slippery car hood . . . if the door even opened . . . could take as long as twenty or thirty seconds.

Thirty seconds of complete vulnerability.

The UNSUB would get him with either the truck or a bullet.

And realizing then that Hotch was trapped . . . truly . . . Emily's felt a burst of pure rage fill her.

Well that was just BULLSHIT! And she wasn't going to leave him here to get pancaked into a pine tree!

Fuck that!

"Give me your Glock," Emily whispered furiously at Hotch as she pushed herself up to a crouching position, "I'll keep you covered until you can get out."

Hotch's jaw twitched once before he twisted around to yank his spare weapon from his ankle holster.

"Safe distance," he ordered as he slapped it into her hand, "I'm going to try to get out through the windshield."

"Right, I'll cov . . ."

Before Emily could even get the offer out, Hotch had cut her off with a glare.

"Just move Prentiss," Hotch shot back with a harsh whisper as he slipped his gun from his holster, "Safe distance. NOW!"

Emily knew better than to argue with that tone . . . there was only one response he wanted to hear.

"Yes, sir," she whispered as she pushed herself off the ground, "but I'm staying close," she continued fiercely, while wiping away a tiny trickle of blood and sweat running into her eye, "we're both getting out of here."

And with that she turned and began moving further into the trees.

Hotch watched to make sure Emily got out of sight in the underbrush before finally letting out the breath that he was holding.

At least she was relatively safe.

So . . . he snapped his head around to reassess his own exit . . . what the hell was he going to do? The UNSUB just sitting out there doing nothing was causing him some serious concern.

And though he'd love to take a second and climb up to peek out of the driver's side window, he didn't much relish taking a bullet to the forehead. That's what he was figuring the UNSUB was up to right about then.

Polishing up weapons for target practice.

And not wishing to play the part of the poultry in the upcoming turkey shoot, Hotch twisted around to slide into the backseat.

Though he'd told Emily that he was going to try to go out the windshield . . . the glass was half popped out . . . after looking though, he saw that there was a pool of something forming beneath the hood of the car.

And whatever the something was . . . he was praying it wasn't gasoline . . . it was probably flammable. And he didn't much relish being covered in anything flammable if bullets were about to be shot at him.

So with a grunt he levered him around the seat cushion and into an awkward heap with his ass on the roof of the car, and his legs on the back seat. Then he hurriedly scrambled to yank open the back door.

This one was far enough from the ground that it would swing wide enough for him to get out.

Or it would have . . . his eyes suddenly widened in horror . . . but it was stuck.

FUCK!

Just then Hotch heard the creak of another door . . . one that was opening . . . and he felt, for the first time in a long time . . . a genuine panic flood his body.

The UNSUB knew this would happen.

Of course he did. That's why he'd slammed been slamming into the back end and not the front . . . he didn't want to kill them outright . . . he'd wanted to crumple the doors.

Limit their exits.

If this was the UNSUB's first big chance to hunt big game . . . man . . . then he wasn't going to be satisfied with a simple car wreck to take them out.

Not this guy. Not after the things that he'd done to those animals.

And there was little doubt in Hotch's mind that this was the UNSUB that they'd been looking for.

Who else would come after them with such vehemence?

He'd wanted to hurt them first. Because in his mind . . . Hotch's eyes began to dart around maniacally as he tried to figure out his next move . . . he knew that this UNSUB, needed the torture/kill for there to be any point to the kill at all. And when Hotch flashed on all of the animal corpses that were jammed into that freezer, that was enough of an adrenaline shot to clear his mind to work out his last big move. Well . . . he shifted his body around . . . last big move before he put a bullet under his chin.

He was NOT going to end up dissected as anyone's science experiment.

And with that cheery thought driving him on, he braced his heels against the back door he'd been trying to get open . . . then he pulled up his knees . . . and slammed his feet back down as hard as he could.

Nothing.

So he tried again . . . sweat started pouring down his face . . . and again . . . and again . . . and then one more time.

And in between every furious grunt of exertion, he could the sound of footsteps moving towards him. They were coming slow . . . enjoying the hunt, probably even more knowing that his prey was stuck in a metal box . . . but the truck couldn't have been more than twenty paces away.

And just like the movie monsters, this monster was going to get there eventually.

At that point Hotch felt like his heart was going to pound straight through his chest like that alien creature, but then finally . . . miraculously . . . he got his break.

The door popped open.

It was just an inch . . . and it screeched when it did it . . . but it was enough to fill him with elation.

'Thank CHRIST!' He thought as he kicked again, this time nearly taking the door off it's hinges as it went flying back.

Then Hotch was shimmying forward, dropping his legs through the open space just as he heard the footsteps from behind him begin to pound across the ground.

The UNSUB had just realized his prey was about to get away.

The fall to the ground wasn't far . . . only a few feet until his shoulder slammed into the dirt . . . but it still hurt like a bitch. The wreck probably was the cause for that.

These were the moments where Hotch knew that he was starting to get too old for this shit.

But he didn't stop to wax philosophic on his future career plans, not with a fledgling serial killer racing up behind him armed with God knows what from his little arsenal of toys.

So with the adrenaline still flooding his body, he rolled over, pushing off the ground with one hand, right before he ran into the darkening forest.

He got about twenty feet in, barely making cover behind a mossy oak before a shotgun blast threw the bark up into his face. It cut him under the eye.

FUCK!

Before he could move to fire back . . . he couldn't even see yet where the shooter was . . . he heard three quick shots being fired through the trees.

Emily.

And then there was a scream from the UNSUB and Hotch darted his head around to see a white male in his mid-thirties, dropping to the ground.

He was howling as he fell . . . it was clear that he was gravely wounded . . . but the shotgun was still in his hand.

Hotch took care of that.

One bullet into his forearm resulted in another scream . . . and making use of the right hand impossible.

"PRENTISS!" He yelled as he ran towards the body now on the ground, "PRENTISS! ARE YOU HURT?"

"No!" Emily called back and she came running in from the other direction, "no, he never saw me!"

As they both converged on the body . . . each stopping by a tree ten feet back on either side . . . Hotch spared his agent a quick glance to make sure that she looked relatively okay.

Her hair was a mess, she was covered in dirt and pine needles, couple rips in her clothes and cuts on her face and hands. But otherwise . . . his gaze snapped back down to the UNSUB . . . she seemed all right.

"Is he dead?" Emily asked breathlessly as she stared down at the body in horror. It wouldn't be the first bad man that she'd killed . . . but even if they were bad men, she still never enjoyed the process of taking a life. And if the day ever came when she did, she knew that would be the day for her to turn in her badge and her gun.

That meant that the abyss had been looking back into her for long enough.

Hotch's gaze narrowed as he stared down at the body for a moment. Then he shook his head.

"No," he started moving in with sights held on the UNSUB's throat, "not yet."

His chest was still moving . . . and he also had a hunting knife hanging off of his hip.

Just as Emily started to take a step towards Hotch and their injured attacker, she heard a noise coming from back towards the area by the car.

She froze, her eyes popping open as her gaze locked with Hotch's equally alarmed one.

Somebody else was about to join them in the forest.

A/N 2: Yes, I know another cliffhanger, so many of them! But I actually have the rest of the scene spinning out in my head to the end of the story, but it would it would have been too long to try and write it all up in one go. That said, if possible, I'm going to see if I can work out the draft as my next item because I THINK, that I could maybe wrap it in just one more chapter. And then it would be done. Yay!

I tweeted when I was writing this that I had to dig out a matchbox car to write the crash scene. And that was the first time I felt like a real writer :) It's true though. I was using my coffee cup as a prop tree and the coffee table as the open field trying to figure out the position of everything when you're moving around in a half upside down car. It was hard! At first I had Hotch climbing into the backseat and then I'm like, wait no, he's on the roof! So it was much easier for him to get in the back than how I'd planned his day :)

If you're reading Second Chances, you know I wrote a scene where Hotch also 'disarmed' a man with a bullet. Here I had him opt for the forearm shot, as sort of a juxtaposition between him acting cool and in control, and him on the dark edge that he was in the other story.

Last note, I had so much sympathy for Emily when I was having her climb out. There's nothing like that pain from an injury in the pelvic area. If you've ever run for a train and slammed into a subway turnstile that didn't open when you thought it would, you'll know what I'm saying!