Disclaimer: See first chapter.

Control

"Enough organization, enough lists and we think we can control the uncontrollable." - John Mankiewicz, House, The Socratic Method, 2004

Hotch blinked. How long have I been out of it? The scenery that met his blurry gaze was completely unfamiliar and for a moment disorientation reigned. Strange trees passed by the windshield and Hotch wondered briefly if the trees were moving past him or if he was moving past the trees. Am I driving? I shouldn't be driving if I think trees are moving. His body felt oddly heavy, it was difficult for him to focus on anything and he felt drunk. I should never have let Garcia talk me into going out for a drink. I really shouldn't be driving. Where exactly am I?

Hotch reoriented his eyes, trying to get them to focus. Where the hell is the steering wheel? Panic took over as he attempted to locate the steering wheel, but failed. I am going to crash! The thought screamed in his mind, in bright, bold red lettering and he drew in a sharp breath as the trees loomed closer and he felt his body move forward of its own volition. Unable to control the vehicle without the steering wheel, he threw up his hands in front of him, trying to stop his head from smashing into the dashboard. His body tensed for the impact and he jerked awake with a loud gasp. Heart pounding loudly in his ears, it took him a minute to realize that the crash had only been a dream built on half-awareness. His eyes had been opened, but exhaustion had allowed the images he saw to be twisted into a sort of dreamlike hallucination nightmare.

"You okay there?" A voice boomed loudly in his ears, reverberating in his head. He couldn't quite place the voice and fell into a state of partial awareness again, though this time he knew that his thoughts were not entirely based on reality as paranoid thoughts assailed him. He struggled to break out of this panicked state of mind, but found himself wondering if the voice belonged to someone who had kidnapped him or was going to do strange experiments on him. If only everything weren't so fuzzy.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see the dark blue of a police uniform. His memory started to return to him in slow motion pictures, one after another, like snapshots from a Polaroid camera; indistinct at first, but gaining clarity the more he focused on them. They remained rough around the edges as they began to develop.

"You okay?" The voice again.

Blinking, Hotch attempted a sideways glance at the speaker but was stopped by momentary vertigo. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out of his parched lips. He settled for a slow nod of his head, though in reality he wasn't sure whether he was okay or not.

"Just lay back and rest easy," the man advised and Hotch realized that he was sitting forward in his seat, with his hands on the dashboard. His muscles were so tense that he literally could not comply with the request. He couldn't lie back because his taut muscles would not allow him to.

Noticing the obvious discomfort of the FBI agent, Burrows leaned over and gently pried Hotch's hands from the dashboard, easing him back into the seat.

"Shouldn't be too much longer," Burrows said conversationally, "Doc's place ain't but a couple more miles off in that direction," he gestured vaguely, knowing that Hotch wasn't really paying much attention to what he was saying, but wanting to reassure the man that all was well nonetheless.

Hotch allowed his eyes to close once more and focused at the distorted images that replayed in his mind, hoping to figure out where he was and why he wasn't the one at the wheel. He was almost always in control and it terrified him that he was so out of it that he couldn't even remember where he was or who was driving a vehicle he should have, by all rights, been driving. He was never this out of control in any situation, too many people counted on him to be the one in control. It was his duty and one that he fulfilled with great pride.

It was a lack of control that had cost him his marriage. Or maybe it was his unwillingness to give up control that had ultimately cost him Haley. He had been incapable of successfully juggling a personal and professional life. What did that say about him? If he couldn't control the situation at home, how would he be able to control it at work? Did he have any right to be the lead agent when he couldn't even handle a marriage? Or maybe his marriage had held him back from his work and with its dissolution, he would be a better agent? At the moment, he didn't feel like a better agent. He felt like an agent who had let his entire team down.

The garbled images that played about in his mind became clearer with each passing moment. They had been searching for a witness to a violent crime and he had shot an innocent woman. Morgan had also been shot and both their witness and Reid were missing. The rain had caused flooding on what Hotch thought of as a Biblical scale and he had been unable to get them to safety. The man driving was a police officer and he was bringing them to some sort of clinic for medical attention.

"Dr. Reid?" Hotch managed to croak out between his dry lips, chancing a sideways glance at the officer.

"Uh," Burrows looked briefly at the agent before turning his eyes back to the road, "he's not with us. Not really sure where he is."

"Anyone looking for him?" Hotch frowned.

"I believe so," Burrows smiled reassuringly, "he and the boy, Aiken."

"Good," Hotch allowed his eyes to close once more, "how are Agent Morgan and Miss Leigh?"

"They haven't so much as stirred since we got in the SUV, but they're still breathing," Burrows peered at the two in question, mentally taking stock of their medical condition. Both were terribly pale and much too still for his liking, but their chests were still moving. That had to be a good sign.

"Rain stopped," Hotch was looking out the windshield through half-open eyes.

""Bout time," Burrows grinned, "wondered if it was ever gonna stop for awhile there."

"Me too," Hotch grinned lopsidedly, feeling a bit more like himself.

"Well, here we are," Burrows pulled into a short, paved driveway and parked as close to the door as he could get without actually driving up onto the porch. He sighed in relief when he spotted Doc's mint colored 'vette and Cooper's squad in the small six-car lot.

He jumped out of the SUV and helped Hotch out, leaving him to stand on wobbly legs while he honked the horn twice before racing to the passenger side of the vehicle. Hotch followed at what felt like a snail's pace. His injured leg nearly giving out on him halfway around, he stopped and leaned on the hood, pulling back in surprise at how hot the metal felt beneath his hand.

As soon as Burrows had Savannah half-way out of the vehicle, Doc and Cooper were there with a wheelchair. Depositing her safely in it, he turned back to pull Agent Morgan from the vehicle.

"Give us a minute," Doc called back over her shoulder, pushing the wheelchair up the porch and into her clinic.

Neither Burrows nor Hotch listened. Burrows pushed the unconscious agent toward Hotch who grabbed him under his arms, careful not to jostle his injury. Burrows took the agent's feet and they carried Morgan into the clinic, nearly bumping into Doc in the hallway.

"Thought I told you to wait," she ushered the men into a small room filled with medical equipment. They deposited Morgan on a bed in the middle of the room. Hotch leaned back against the exam table and exhaled loudly through his mouth, quelling the dizziness that tugged at his consciousness.

Small, but strong hands guided him away from Morgan's side and into another sterile, white-walled room. "Get up on that bed," a steely woman's voice commanded and Hotch wearily complied, "now lie back," he reluctantly obeyed, his eyes blinking in the painful, too bright light that was suddenly shone in his eyes.

"Hmmm, no concussion," he felt firm hands poke and prod him as he was examined. He flinched when the hands brushed his injured leg, "we'll get that cleaned and dressed," something small, round, and cold was placed against his chest and he was one again commanded, "breathe in…breathe out…breathe in…out…sounds good, now sit up…breathe in….out…in…hmmm…out, sounds like you might be developing a bit of a chest cold," the small, red-haired woman smiled up at him. Patting his thigh, her hands guided him to lie down.

"Shouldn't you be checking on the other two?" Hotch croaked. He wasn't the one in need of immediate medical attention. Savannah and Morgan were in much worse shape than he was.

"Do I tell you how to do your job?" The woman snapped, quirking an eyebrow, her lips in a grim line as she continued her examination of Hotch's leg. Pulling her plastic exam gloves off and tossing them in a nearby garbage can, she left the room, tossing back over her shoulder, "Stay put!"

"She's a bit fiery," Burrows said apologetically as he entered the room and sat in a chair next to Hotch, "but she's damn good at her job. She'll take good care of your man and Savannah. Don't worry," he consoled, following Hotch's pained gaze out the door.

"How long has she been a doctor?" Hotch turned to look at Burrows. The woman hadn't seemed old enough to be a full-fledged doctor. She was slight and small; she looked more like a child to Hotch than a doctor. Her green eyes had flashed impatiently at him when he had questioned her and her face had turned red, causing her freckles to pop out on her face, making her look even younger.

"Since about the age of ten," Burrows chuckled, shaking his head. "She started shadowing her grandfather 'round about that time. She grew up in Houston, but her parents were killed in a fire, so she came here to live with her grandparents," Burrows explained when Hotch looked at him in confusion.

"She graduated, oh about ten years ago. Was the top of her class from one of the best medical schools in the country," he gestured to a plaque on the wall containing her credentials, "coulda gone into practice anywhere, but chose to come back here and open up a clinic. She also helps out at the hospital," he chuckled and shook his head when Hotch's face showed signs of immense relief.

"So," Hotch grimaced at the dull pain that throbbed from his leg, "she's…" pain shot up his leg and he clutched at it, groaning.

"She'll be turning forty her next birthday," Burrows stood, grabbing Hotch's shoulder in a gesture to help ease his pain, knowing that it would offer little comfort, but wanting to do something for the stoic man, "don't tell her I revealed her real age, she'll have my head."

Hotch returned the officer's smile weakly as Burrows eased him back onto the bed and sat down once again, "Secret's safe with me," he whispered, closing his eyes against the pain that had suddenly decided to make itself known.

"Can you go check on the others?" Hotch asked as another wave of pain washed over him.

"Sure," Burrows stood and walked out of the room, gesturing for Cooper to take his place next to the agent. Doc had all but ordered them to keep an eye on the man and make sure he stayed on the bed. She didn't trust him to follow her directive to 'stay put', sensing that he was a man who liked to be in control and would be ill-at-ease with her decision to examine him first, knowing that there were others in need of medical attention.

"Doc," Burrows popped his head into the room, "how's it going in here?" She had a mask on and was washing her hands. Agent Morgan lay on the table in the middle of the room. He was so still that Burrows wondered if the man was still breathing.

"Get in here and put a mask on," Doc continued her meticulous washing, not glancing at Burrows, "I'm gonna need some help here," she finished washing and dried her hands, pulling on fresh gloves. Burrows reluctantly entered the room and pulled on a mask, going over to the sink to wash his hands when Doc gestured for him to do so. This wouldn't be the first time he'd helped her out, but it didn't mean that he was happy about it.

"Don't worry, you'll just be handing me things," he could hear her smile under the surgical mask. She expertly hung a bag of blood and some other bag filled with a clear liquid from a stand and started an IV for the blood and clear liquid in the back of Morgan's hand.

"I'll be using a local anesthetic," she concentrated on applying clear surgical tape to keep the IVs in place, while talking to Burrows. Though, whose mind she was trying to ease, he couldn't be sure. Drying his shaking hands, he put on a pair of gloves and stood off to the side until Doc gestured for him to come closer.

"How's Savannah?" He braved, standing opposite the petite woman who bustled about, checking the instruments and various equipment.

Piercing him with an impatient glare, she clipped out, "She'll be fine for the time being. This one's lost quite a bit more blood and the bullet needs to be removed. It's a little too close to an artery for comfort. That satisfy you?" Katherine hated having her medical decisions questioned.

"Just curious," Burrows placated, shrugging his shoulders, "Agent Hotchner, the man you examined," he gestured toward the room he had recently left, "asked."

"Humph," she picked up a needle and plunged it into Morgan's arm below his injury, "want to tell me what happened?" She picked up another needle and applied it just above the man's wound before tossing it into the hazardous waste bucket.

"Uh," Burrows swallowed, "not sure exactly what happened. Did you hear what happened at the Randall place?" At her nod, he continued, "Well, the FBI came to investigate. A couple of agents went to Savannah's place to search for Aiken, he went missing you know. I guess there was some sort of shoot out resulting in Savannah and Agent Morgan here being wounded. Aiken and another agent are both missing."

"So, you don't know how long he's had this bullet in him," she turned her sharp gaze to him.

"No, sorry Doc," Burrows looked away.

"Hand me that scalpel," she wasted no more time and began to work on getting the bullet out of Morgan's arm, cleaning the wound, and stitching it up, thankful and a little concerned that he hadn't woken up during the procedure. Hanging another bag of blood, she checked the clear liquid, tapping the tubing that ran down to his arm and adjusting the vice that controlled how quickly the liquid entered the man's veins. Pulling off her gloves and mask, she disposed of them and indicated for Burrows to do the same. In all, it hadn't taken more than twenty minutes and they were out the door, heading toward the room in which Savannah lay.

Doc had already started an IV drip and had hung a bag of blood; Burrows wondered when she had taken the time to do that. Probably before he and Agent Hotchner had brought Morgan in. She replaced the waning bag of blood with a new one and handed him a mask before donning one herself. They washed and put on new gloves, repeating the surgery she had performed on Agent Morgan.

"I think we'd best keep our patients together," Doc had Burrows wheel Savannah's bed into the room that Morgan occupied, setting up the equipment to monitor both of them. Satisfied with their stability, she left the room to go take care of Agent Hotchner, "Keep an eye on them," Burrows sat in the chair she pulled up for him, nodding his head in assent.

"I thought I told you to stay put," Hotch turned around at the sound of an angry voice. A small red-haired woman dressed in blue scrubs stood in the doorway. One fist on a hip, she blocked his only exit.

"Burrows was going to check on the others for me," he answered feebly, his injured leg buckling under him. Grasping the edge of the exam table with numbing fingers, he leaned his weight off of the injured leg, "it's been over an hour," his brown eyes looked into her fierce green ones, an unspoken plea in them.

"Cooper, help the man back onto the table," she continued to block the door with her body and turned her glare to the young officer who sheepishly went to help the agent back onto the table.

"Sorry, Doc I couldn't stop him," he looked away from her piercing glare, turning red in embarrassment. The man was injured and he had been unable to keep him from getting off the exam table. Pathetic, absolutely pathetic. Determined to prove that he wasn't as inept as he appeared to be, Cooper grasped the FBI agent's arm firmer than was necessary and attempted to maneuver him back onto the table.

"Tell me how the others are," Hotch ground out, resisting Cooper, glaring back at the woman who continued to block his path.

"They're stable," she shifted her gaze to him, "now, get up on that table so I can take care of that leg."

"I want to see them," Hotch returned her gaze, pushing Cooper away.

"Just as soon as I get that leg taken care of agent," she raised her eyebrows, "don't you trust me?"

"I'd just feel better seeing them," he answered steadily.

"You're going to have to take my word on that," she returned, "I got the bullets out, cleaned and stitched up their wounds, and replenished their blood. They are stabilized and you going to check up on them is not going to do you or them any good. As a matter of fact, it could do more harm than good," she looked him up and down as he trembled in pain, "now, are you going to get back on that table and let me do my job?"

Hotch assessed her with a searching glance and nodded, accepting Cooper's help back onto the table.

"You're sure they're okay?" He looked into her bright green eyes as she once again assessed his head for injuries. She nodded in response.

"No sign of head trauma," she announced dryly, as though speaking into a tape recorder, "though patient's actions would seem to indicate otherwise." Her hands moved down to check, once again, for signs of tenderness in the belly that might indicate an internal injury.

"Care to tell me what happened?" She asked. Her back was to Hotch as she gingerly checked out the wound to his thigh and his swollen ankle, "Burrows wasn't very elaborate in his explanation."

"To be honest, I'm not really sure what happened," he drew in a sharp breath through his teeth when she applied pressure to his ankle.

"So, both your agent and Savannah were shot, you somehow got a puncture wound in your thigh that is developing a nasty-looking infection and twisted your ankle. What happened?" She gently straightened out his ankle, noting the change in his breathing as he attempted to bite back the pain.

"I fell while running, twisted my ankle and a nail went into my thigh," he squeezed his eyes as a blinding pain tore through him. Swallowing, he continued, "I think…I think that I shot Savannah during a shootout. I didn't know it was her," a choked sob broke through his resolve, "She shot at me, I think," he blinked back tears, angry at his vulnerability.

"How long ago did all of this happen?" She ignored his moment of vulnerability, bringing him back to cold, hard facts, something he was much more comfortable with.

"I'm not sure," his voice cracked. Coughing he began again, "maybe two, three, four, five hours ago?" How the hell had he lost track of so much time?

"Hmmmm…" she applied some salve to the small cuts and abrasions on his face, "how did you get these scratches?"

"Running through the forest," he replied easily, grateful for the change in topic, "the branches attacked without mercy."

Chuckling, she cleaned out the small cuts on his arms, surmising they had been afflicted in the same manner as the ones on his face. She applied the salve to them as well, "You grew up in the city, didn't you?" She teased.

"How'd you guess?" Hotch relaxed a little, though his mind was still on Morgan and Savannah as well as Reid and Aiken.

"Only city folk and the foolish don't remember to hold the branches back," she smiled.

"Doc," Burrows ran into the room, out of breath, "Agent Morgan's awake."

"You didn't let him get up did you?" She rounded on the panting man who shook his head. "Good, how's his breathing?"

"Seems normal," Burrows' breathing had returned to normal, "he asked about Savannah and Hotch and seems thirsty."

"Well, go back to him, make sure he stays put and get him some water, use a straw and watch that he doesn't take too much at once," she instructed, "let me know if anything changes. If he is in pain, go ahead and get him some Tylenol, it's in the cabinet over the sink. He may just go back to sleep, if he does, let him." Burrows nodded and left the room.

"I should really," Hotch attempted to sit up, but was pushed forcibly down by Doc.

"Stay put," she finished his sentence, "I'm not finished with you yet."

"But," she put a silencing finger on his lips.

"You are in no condition to get up off that bed," she finished putting the salve on his arms, "let me take care of your leg and then we will wheel you over to the other room," at the mortified look on his face, she added, "in a wheelchair."

"Thank you," he whispered.

"No problem," she smiled, "I am going to clean out the puncture wound in your leg. You are going to feel the prick of a needle and then hopefully nothing more than a strange sensation as I clean out the wound. I may need to put some stitches in; I'll let you know when the time comes." She bent to her work, cleaning out the wound efficiently.

"I'll give you some antibiotics through an IV," she looked up at him, while covering his injury with clean gauze, "looks like there's no need for stitches at the moment, but we'll keep an eye on it. Now," she paused, looking him in the eye, "it's time to set that ankle of yours. This will hurt, but I'll give you some Tylenol and a lollipop when we're done."

"You got any cherry flavored?" Hotch smiled, propped up on his elbows.

"We'll see," she turned her back on him and checked the alignment of his ankle as well as the swelling. It was a dark purple in color and was swollen to nearly twice its size. Sucking air in between her teeth, she gently lifted the ankle, checking it for any protruding bones. Wishing, not for the first time, that her non-functioning x-ray machine had been fixed. She'd been without one for over a month now. She placed the ankle back on the table and prodded it, knowing that it was causing excruciating pain for her patient. He was no longer propped up by his elbows, but had fallen back. A sheen of sweat beaded his pale skin.

"Almost done," she smiled tightly, "I'm afraid that you did more than twist your ankle." She felt a break. How he had managed to walk and stand on it baffled her. She set and wrapped it, careful to make the process as pain free as possible.

Pain knifed through Hotch, took his breath away, and left him nauseated. He grasped the thin sheet beneath him crinkling it in his fists, willing himself not to throw up or lose consciousness. Blackness shrouded his vision, broken only by swirling stars that darted through the black mist that pulsated with pain. He bit his bottom lip and scrunched his eyes, holding his breath to stave off the pain. He bucked up off the table, only to have Cooper push him back down and hold him in place. Surely a broken ankle shouldn't hurt this much, get a grip, he chastised himself.

"Done," Doc hung an IV, opting to wheel him into the other room on the mobile table rather than put him through more pain with a transfer to a chair. She gave the shaking man two Tylenol and a sip of water before collapsing onto a chair and running a tired hand over her face.

"Damn, lost their trail," Rossi looked at Prentiss who continued to search the surrounding forest, pointing her flashlight in first one, then another direction. Coming up with nothing, she nodded grimly.

"I got something over here," Carter gestured the pair over using his flashlight to guide them to where he stood next to a tree with what looked like a piece of torn white fabric clinging to a broken branch.

"Good eye," Rossi reached for the thin piece of fabric, holding it under his flashlight. Narrowing his eyes thoughtfully, he rubbed it in his fingers, "Hey Prentiss, I think this might be from Reid's shirt." He handed the piece of torn clothing to her. After briefly examining it, she handed it back to Rossi, nodding. It could be his shirt.

"Looks like whoever wore this shirt headed in that direction," Carter pointed to his left where he could make out a makeshift trail of broken branches, which at first glance appeared random, but on closer inspection seemed to form a trail.

"Do you think Reid did this?" Rossi asked Prentiss.

"If we can follow it, so could the person who took him," she shook her head; "I don't think he did this deliberately if that is what you are asking. Looks like he was limping." Frowning, she looked at the forest ahead, too much ground to cover and it didn't look as though Reid was doing too well. If they didn't find him soon, what were the chances that they would find him before his captor caught up with him and Aiken again? What were the chances they would even find him and Aiken alive?

Aiken grasped Reid's hand painfully; he could hear the rustle of the leaves just outside their hiding place. They had been discovered. His heart beat in his throat, choking him in fear. Closing his eyes, he rocked back and forth, stilling when Reid held him closer and gently shushed him, assuring him that everything would be alright.

How could everything be alright with the monster standing just outside of their hiding place?