Last chapter before the end. You should know this whole story so far has been a set up for the conclusion. 'Hope it was worth it...

Last chance to guess what will Garcia do... I'll probably put the answer up tomorrow!

QUOTE: (so lucky I found this quote!)

"As a single withered tree, if set aflame, causes a whole forest to burn, so does a rascal son destroy a whole family."
- Chanakya

CHAPTER 9

When Yukie got on the bus, Hotch cautiously peered towards Prentiss and Seaver who had been standing a small distance away. They both shook their heads in the negative: still no sign of the suspect. He sat on the bench and put his head low, resting it in his hands, to hide the fact that he was speaking into his wire:

"I don't think Yukie knows anything about the killings; although she's been trying to protect herself from her brother, she probably has no idea what he's capable of. Sooner or later, he'll go after her, but I want her protected right away, in case he makes up his mind tonight. Send a couple of cars to pick her up at her bus stop and keep her secure until we have her brother in custody. Got that?"

He looked to Prentiss and Seaver and they nodded slightly. They turned to the wall and picked up their cells to confirm with Sorrell – who had probably heard the request – the need for back up. Garcia provided Yukie's address and nearest bus stop.

Meanwhile, Hotch got up from the bench, stretched his shoulders as if getting tired, while he spoke once more to his wire equipment:

"I'm going to walk for a while to buy us more time to find him; I'll head north on M Street, it's more quiet over there. Hopefully, if he follows, it will be easier for you to spot our man and there will be fewer passersby at risk... Prentiss and Seaver, stay far behind, you're too visible. He can't suspect you're following me."

And Hotch crossed the street and headed towards the corner of M Street.

Morgan was furious: "What is he doing? We can't follow him without exposing ourselves!"

"And we still have not found the pick-up truck, yet!" protested Reid. "We've covered all the area between the bar and the bus stop and nothing! We need to head east and north of here..."

"He knows we have his back. I just wish he had his earpiece on, so we could let him know when to duck, if necessary..." Rossi responded, grimly. "Reid, you take over for Seaver and Prentiss: follow him, act like you're a student just having a stroll..."

"I'm a block from M Street and one block south from the bus stop: I'll need to walk a bit faster than a stroll to even get Hotch in my sight!"

"You have your vest on, kid?" Morgan inquired.

"Yeah, I actually put it on, under my jacket... I'm sweating buckets!" he answered.

"Good man, do what you can," Rossi interjected. Reid did not answer, he just started to run.

"Girls, head back to the SUV and grab your vests. Then start "patrolling" by going around and coming south on M Street." Morgan ordered. "This guy has wheels and we're on foot, we can't chase him if he spots us..."

"Copy that," Prentiss replied and they headed back toward the bar where their SUVs were parked.

"I think I'll join them, I'm too far from all of you right now, anyway," Rossi said.

"Understood. I still see Hotch... and Reid is approaching..." Morgan described the scene at his corner, one block east of the bus stop. He was all in black and hiding in the shadows, no one could see him – he hoped. He was trying to spot any suspicious movement, but despite his scrutiny, he still had not located the suspect.

Five minutes after Reid passed by the stop and followed Hotch at a stroll pace, Morgan caught the glimpse of a dark vehicle turning north on the next street, east of where he was.

"I think I just saw a black pick-up truck head north, one block east of here," he announced with tension in his voice. "I can't see you anymore, Reid, I'm heading your way," and Morgan moved out of the shadow, jogging toward M Street.

Garcia was listening to their communications and watching on a map where they were heading. "Please be careful, Derek, keep your face out of trouble..." she whispered, too low for anyone to hear. Louder, she let him know: "There's a park on M Street three, four blocks from where you were, it takes a whole block..."

"I see it coming up, Hotch is walking by it already. It's pretty quiet down here," Reid added, still strolling with his hands in his pockets, watching and listening intently at everything around him.

He heard the sound of a truck rushing from behind him, but the truck rolled by and headed straight for Hotch about a block away, easy to spot in the dark because of his white shirt.

"Hotch!" shouted Reid.

Hotch turned around and saw the truck. He had no gun, no vest, no cover; he ran towards the nearest trees in the park, which were about sixty feet from the sidewalk.

The truck veered and stopped, pointing its headlights at him. The driver opened his door and grabbing his gun while standing on the doorstep of his truck, aimed for Hotch's head.

Reid was running toward the scene, gun in hand, and alerting the others to move in; Morgan was sprinting, still a distance behind him, while Rossi, Prentiss, and Seaver were approaching the park from the north-west corner, sirens blaring. Sorrell was approaching from the south, lights and sirens on. The sounds of the team approaching did not distract nor deter the madman; he fired just as Hotch was ducking and disappearing behind a tree; the bullet hit its bark and a chip of wood went flying.

Garcia jumped when she heard the gunshot; she faintly heard Morgan curse, then tires screeching as the SUV suddenly stopped. She heard several guns cocking and voices shouting "Freeze! FBI! Drop your gun!" and other orders thrown at the killer.

Nakamura was surrounded by Reid and Morgan approaching on one side, and by Rossi, Prentiss, and Seaver on the other. He could hear more cars approaching, as Sorrell and his men joined the group. The young man wanted to start shooting at everyone, but he could not hope to re-aim his long gun while five handguns were pointed at him. He stepped down from the truck, arms in the air, still holding his gun in his right hand.

Garcia heard the sirens, the cars, but could not make out what else was happening.

"What's going on? Everyone okay? Derek?..." she anxiously called. She sometimes got to follow the team, live, as they confronted an unsub, and often she would have visuals, but this time she could not see what was going on and it terrified her.

"We got him, Garcia; we're okay, he shot a tree!" Derek explained briefly.

Grateful, she let out a loud sigh of relief.

Reid, still out of breath, slowly headed toward Hotch's hiding spot, easily visible with the exposed white pulp marking the damaged tree. He took long strides, calling out: "Hotch! It's safe, now!" The headlights were glaring in his direction, effectively blinding him; he could not have seen what was going on by the truck.

"Hotch?" he called again, picking up the pace. The dark shadows of the trees contrasted sharply with the bright trunks, and as he approached, he noticed the deeper ground beyond the large roots was draped in blackness.

He spotted a splash of white on the ground and his blood froze as he discovered Hotch lying face down, not moving.

"Man down!" he screamed back to the team and started running the few remaining feet. He landed next to Hotch and right away tried to assess if he could find any wound or blood, but found nothing. With Morgan who had joined him, Reid turned him over, protecting the head and neck with his forearms and felt warmth on the skin of his wrist: blood, a lot of it.

He showed it to Morgan who was at once speaking into his wrist radio: "Garcia! Send an ambulance!"

"Right away!" she replied, but she had already started to type her request before the order sounded. "What kind of injury?" she asked, breathlessly.

"Head wound, gun shot," Reid answered her.

No! The gory crime scene pictures were replaying in her head; this was her worse-case scenario happening, a nightmare becoming reality. She sent the request and waited, listening with tears already drowning her eyes. Hotch's wire was a better feed and she could follow what the team was saying. They had all rushed to the park, leaving the shooter to Sorrell and his men. Sorrell did not stay behind for long, however, and joined the team, eager to offer his help and support.

Reid had grabbed a clean handkerchief and was putting pressure on the wound, on the side of Hotch's head.

"The bullet must have ricocheted," he surmised.

Several flashlights were now held above him; he lifted the blood-soaked cloth and leaned down to look at the wound for a moment. "It looks like the scalp was cut open by the bullet, but the skull seams intact."

"The bullet grazed him," translated Rossi, and Reid nodded.

"It knocked him out, possibly gave him a mild concussion. He'll need some suture points, but probably no surgery, I don't think," he was trying to sound clinical and detached, but was quite tense. Rossi, relieved, thanked him by grabbing his shoulder and he kneeled down next to Hotch.

Reid was still holding his head and putting pressure on the wound, but Rossi wanted to check if Hotch was regaining consciousness.

"Hotch?" Rossi gently tapped his face, one side, then the other.

"No! Stop!" pleaded Hotch, sounding like a sleepy little boy, which intrigued and amused Rossi. But the pleading turned to terrified begging when he tapped Hotch's cheek again: "Please! No!" Hotch screamed and anxiously put up his hands, trying to protect himself, but both limbs soon flopped down, inert, as he lost consciousness again. Rossi stopped, palms in the air, shocked by the reaction he had accidentally provoked.

Confusion was on every face. "What's going on?" they heard Garcia's voice in their earpieces, but no one had an answer for her.

"Is he dreaming?" Prentiss ventured.

"I don't think that's it," corrected Reid. "It's more likely... Traumatic head injuries can sometimes trigger the resurfacing of old memories... especially memories of trauma." He looked to Rossi whose face was livid with understanding. Morgan, too, was starting to feel sick. Prentiss could not believe it; she turned to Seaver and Sorrell who looked puzzled.

"I think I hear the ambulance," said Prentiss, as the faint wailing of sirens could be heard, approaching. They waited in silence, but as the sound got louder, Hotch began to stir and opened his eyes. He looked up to Rossi, needing a few seconds to focus his gaze.

"Nakamura?" he grunted.

"We got him, he's in custody," Rossi reassured him.

Hotch felt Reid's hands holding him and reached up to feel the painful spot on the side of his head.

"We need to put pressure on it, help stop the bleeding," Reid told him, gently.

"I thought he hit the tree!" Hotch wondered out loud.

"He did, but the bullet grazed your head," Rossi explained.

"Damn," said Hotch. He sat up and started to get up from the ground, taking over for Reid and putting pressure over the wound. Reid and Rossi were surprised by his rapid moves and Hotch was up on his feet before the ambulance's siren finally stopped.

"You're okay, Hotch? Any dizziness? Any double or blurry vision?" Reid anxiously asked him.

"Yes. No. And no." Hotch replied, clear and deliberate. They all smiled, glad to see their boss back to his usual efficient mode.

"That bullet did not slow you down long!" Rossi joked.

Hotch's eyebrows shot up in reply and he checked the drenched cloth he was holding, placing it back on his wound again, after folding it differently. He walked slowly around the tree, reached out with his free hand and touched the scarred surface of the bark where the bullet chipped the wood. They did not see the twinkle appear in his eyes:

"It looks like you guys owe me one," he declared with a grave tone. The group, overwhelmed, stared in silence.

"I'll make you a deal," he added with a lighter tone; and with a finger pointing upward, he stated his offer: "None of you ever say a single word, or ever mention anything about my singing... and we're even!" he finished with a wave of the hand. "And that goes for you, too, Garcia!" he ordered, talking into his wire. He then made his way toward the ambulance.

Half shocked, half amused, the team had no choice but to concede. They felt a mix of relief and disappointment: he had managed to quickly muzzle them before they had even begun to tease him about his singing!

"He bounces back fast!" exclaimed Sorrell.

"He's like a boxer," Seaver commented. "'Got to stay on your feet to win the fight..."

With surprise, they turned to her, and Rossi asked, incredulous: "You like boxing?"

"Eh..." she quickly started to walk away, but Rossi, Reid, and Sorrell followed her, curious to hear more about boxing from the young agent.

Morgan looked to Prentiss. The woman looked hesitant, but soon made up her mind: "I'll go and get the wire equipment..." and headed toward the ambulance. Morgan had a little smirk. His phone rang.

"How's Hotch?" Garcia asked, very curtly.

"He's okay, he's on his way to the ambulance. I guess they'll take him to the hospital for some stitches."

"Well, tell him I'm very angry. I don't like to be scared out of my mind! And I hate it when I hear everything and nothing at the same time..."

"Are YOU okay, Baby Girl?" Morgan was hearing her anger and fear.

"No. I was bawling my eyes out and I look like a racoon! I'm shaking; I'm feeling sick to my stomach... And what am I going to do with my recording? I can't figure out what was going through my head! Where do I ever get those crazy ideas?"

"I don't know, my friend, but you better calm down and figure it out! We'll be back tomorrow..."

"Promise me you'll never scare me like that, ever!" she then entreated Morgan.

"I... promise I'll do my best to never cause any tears to flow from those beautiful eyes..." he replied.

"Oooh... Tears of joy are okay... Thank you, sweet prince," she finished and hung up.