TWENTY ONE

(This is it—the last chapter—with the exception of the Epilogue—and I would absolutely love to hear what everyone thought! I've had over 3000 hits, but relatively little reviews. I would like to know what worked in the story—and what didn't. All input is definitely welcomed! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.)

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

Morgan watched the drama between his boss and his colleague and had to smile, even though he was currently escorting David Marks to the nearest police cruiser.

It hadn't been Todd who was the shooter, but David. They'd yet to figure out why.

When the shooting had started, Morgan's first thought was to hit the deck. He did, taking Todd Marks to the ground with him. DiNozzo, Gibbs, and Hotch were mere nanomoments behind him.

Morgan's second thought was for Emily and Agent David. He didn't know where the shooter was aiming, whether he was concentrated on the men on the front porch or was just spraying the neighborhood with bullets.

Morgan's mind replayed the last few moments in perfect detail. They'd been talking to Marks on the porch and he'd known the kid wasn't the shooter. He'd been about ready to motion to Hotch he was returning to the vehicle when the first rifle shot had sounded. He'd hit the deck, aware of the rest of the team doing the same.

They'd waited for a bullet to strike near one of them, but it never had. It was then Morgan realized the son of a bitch shooter was most likely aiming at the most vulnerable members of their team. He'd shoved Marks toward DiNozzo and started to move, knowing they'd have to get to the girls quick.

From what he'd heard, it was a single barrel shotgun and it would take the shooter precious seconds to reload. If he could get behind him—it would be a relatively easy take down. He looked at Hotch and mimed his plan. The older man wasn't paying attention, all of his concentration was focused on the dark blue SUV parked almost two hundred feet from their location.

Morgan's gaze followed Hotch's and he nearly puked when he saw the condition of the vehicle. No glass remained in the windows, he couldn't see the passenger side. He had no way of knowing if the occupants had ducked in time or not.

For all he knew, both women were dead. Or badly injured.

He had to get behind the shooter. And fast. He'd army crawled off the porch and behind the hedges. Used the neighbor's backyards as cover and circled the block. The way the neighborhood was set up there was only one spot that would make a decent sniper's nest—a tree house four houses down and across the street, situated in a tree maybe twenty feet off the ground.

He had the son of a bitch apprehended in less than five minutes from the first shot. He'd frog marched the man back to the waiting team, as DiNozzo had hurried up to him to assist. Morgan had willingly handed Marks over to the NCIS agent—they'd be making the collar, not the BAU—and turned back around toward the women's SUV.

He was in time to see Agent Gibbs pulling Officer David from one side, and Hotch pulling Emily free of the other. His mouth quirked at the way Hotch handled her. As if she was delicate, fragile, even.

Morgan knew that to be a lie. Emily Prentiss wasn't the least bit fragile.

But she apparently didn't mind—letting Hotch hold her to him. Morgan watched as she leaned her head against his boss's chest. Her big dark eyes were closed, but it was Hotch who seemed more upset about the recent events. Morgan couldn't ever remember seeing him that visibly upset—not even when Elle had been hurt, or Penelope, or when Reid had been held by that bastard Henkle.

Morgan knew then that Hotch had more than just an attraction to Emily, that the man was starting to develop some extremely deep feelings. He wondered briefly if Emily was aware of it, but looking at her as she clung to the boss man, Morgan somehow knew his friend had some inkling.

He just hoped they figured things out soon—it was obvious to him that the two were good for each other. And if he'd learned anything in this job, it was too take your chances when you're given them. You might not get another.

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

Hotch finally let go of the woman in his arms, finally becoming aware of just where they were—and who they were. "We need to get you and Officer David to the hospital. Get the glass out, check for any other injuries."

"I'm fine." Emily protested, weakly. She was shook up, but with him beside her, felt strangely all right.

"Still, you'll go, it's standard procedure." Hotch said, one arm around her back as he led her to an ambulance. It had roared up scant moments after the shooting stopped.

"Yes, sir." She said softly, letting him know she understood what he wasn't saying.

"Emily, don't call me sir again, ok?" He squeezed her shoulder, lightly, eyes running over her one more time, just to make sure.

"Ok, I'll remember that." She murmured. "So we got him."

"We got him. He'll go away for the rest of his life." Hotch said, unnecessarily, as he gave her a little boost into the ambulance. "I'll take care of things here. Call me when you're done in the ER, understand? I'll come and get you."

"I'll do that." She said, watching as he took a step back. Watching as he moved to take charge of the new crime scene.

Watching as he looked over his shoulder at her, just one more time, before morphing into the Aaron Hotchner, SSA, that she was most familiar with.

But as the doors of the ambulance closed before her—and Ziva—she had the fleeting feeling that things were never going to be the way they were, ever again.

And this time—she was okay with that.