akacinno's A/N: Thank you for the reviews guys! We appreciate it. : ) Enjoy chapter two!

dieselwriter's A/N: Hurray for more flashbacks! And a bit more insight into the lives of our favorite team.

Italics are, like last time, flashbacky.

Chapter Two

Megan Clarke would be the first to admit that perhaps she wasn't particularly athletically advantaged. While her arms were strong and her hands steady, she was of a relatively average build and height and her legs were notoriously short. So while she was good with a gun, her body just wasn't made for sprinting.

"No no no no no!"

Of course, that didn't mean she didn't know how to run.

Clarke practically flew down the stairs, bag swinging wildly behind her. Reid galloped along in her wake, messenger bag banging on his hip heavily.

"No! NO!" Clarke called out in vain; the subway train made its way down the dark tunnel, wind blowing cruelly and red lights flashing as a final taunt before it disappeared.

Clarke hunched over, hands on her knees, riding out the stitch that was sending spasms of pain throughout her abdomen. Reid was at her side a moment later, likewise attempting to catch his breath.

She looked over at his sweaty face and had to give a shaky laugh.

"What's…so funny?" Reid panted out, hair looking even more out of sorts than usual.

"For having long legs," Clarke continued to giggle even as she winced, "you really are a lousy runner."

"Well, it's not like you," he coughed, "are in much better shape."

"But I've got short stubby legs," she massaged the stitch away and held her foot out in front of her as proof.

"Ah, but I have no muscle mass."

They glanced at each other and Clarke's attempt at suppressing a grin manifested into a snort of laughter. Reid watched her with a bemused expression.

"You do realize we have to wait a half hour for the next train now, don't you?" he asked her with a half smile.

"I do," she replied a little breathlessly as she led the way to the closest bench. "This has all the makings to be one of those days, you know?"

"One of 'those days'…?" Reid trailed off the question, a curious look in his eyes.

"You ever get that feeling? That nothing's going to go the way we want it to?"

"Frequently," Reid said, not breaking stride. "Although I often chalk it up to paranoia."

"You calling me paranoid?" she picked the cleanest part of the bench to sit on and flopped down unceremoniously.

"I think sleep-deprived would be a more accurate description for yourself," Reid sat down next to her and both eyed the dark subway tunnel wistfully.

"So you're calling yourself paranoid."

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a shadow of a smile.

Derek Morgan's quaking hands clumsily worked around his head. His movements were fast and efficient if a little shaky; he quickly had Reid's bludgeoned head and torso uncovered, and he was at least pleased to see the Kevlar vest had protected his back rather well.

"Talk to me Reid," Morgan rose to his feet and placed a foot on either side of Reid's body to better dig him out, ignoring the scratches and scrapes his legs felt when found knee-deep in the rubble. "You always have something to say; this is the only time I'm giving you free reign in a conversation."

He was able to work even faster when standing; he was bleeding and sweating but soon had enough of Reid to gently take hold of his shoulders and shift him to his side.

The younger agent's face was a mess of blood and grime, but he was breathing with a slight wheeze that made Morgan doubt he had ever seen his friend looking better.

"C'mon, kid, time to wake up," he wiped his cheek lightly, minding the gashes marring his face to evaluate the ghostly skin he found under the filth.

Morgan grinned in success when Reid's eyes blinked open, looking as if he'd rather keep them shut. The older agent wondered vaguely when he had last been able to smile, because surely that previous time should not have warranted such a response when compared to this.

"Easy does it, Reid. Tell me where it hurts."

Reid didn't attempt to move; his eyes were bright in contrast to his dirtied face as he blinked a few more times and swallowed with a wince.

"Morgan?"

"Yeah, kid, it's me. Medics are on the way. Where does it hurt?"

His eyes glanced around momentarily, as if searching out an answer. Morgan stooped lower to keep his concentration.

"Everywhere?"

"I'm going to need specifics here, Reid."

Reid closed his eyes, pain etching his features, before he swallowed again and looked back up at him.

"My head, mostly," he said hoarsely, trying to look away from Morgan's critical gaze but the older agent followed with him, earnest in his attempts to garner information. "But I can't…my hand's stuck."

"Which one?"

"The left."

"Okay, that's okay, just take it easy," Morgan rose to stand above him again. "I'll get you outta here, don't worry."

Morgan set back to work, the only sounds around him included the ever-approaching sirens of the ambulances, Rossi's nearby efforts, and Reid's wheezy breathing.

"What happened?" Reid asked hollowly.

"UnSub blew himself up," Morgan answered, having exposed the evidence. "There's not much left of him."

"How're the others?"

"Worry about yourself for now, Reid," he evaded, brushing his filthy hands on his pants before moving on to the last part of Reid still covered up. He grimaced when he followed the left arm to find a large chunk of solid cement concealing his hand. "So far you're the worst off."

"But who found the Un…." Reid's sentence was cut short and his breathing hitched as the mini-boulder was moved off his hand.

Morgan tried to hide the noise of disgust when he found his friend's mutilated hand. All of the fingers looked broken and the wrist might have been as well. Not a single patch of skin was identifiable through the welts, bruises, blood, and soot.

"A warning would have been nice," Reid finally breathed after a minute of silence, his voice higher than normal.

"Sorry," Morgan maneuvered around to sit at Reid's side once again.

"I'll be okay," Reid looked relieved that Morgan hadn't tried to move him. "Go help the others."

"I told you you're the worst one right now," Morgan said, keeping his eyes on Rossi and Hotch, the latter having just joined the hunt as they worked in the same area with resolute faces. "Let me at least stay with you until the medics get here, okay?"

Morgan's goal of nonchalance towards the situation sounded relatively pathetic to himself; he was itching to assist in locating the absent female agent, but seeing his friend covered in blood and dirt, looking even worse off than he had after contracting Anthrax…Morgan couldn't just leave him, alone and helpless.

Reid blinked up at him owlishly.

"Thank you."

Morgan automatically took it as a bad sign that he didn't put up a fight or, more likely, debate on another plane of intelligence that Morgan would have had difficulty opposing or fully comprehending. And he certainly didn't approve of the nearly white smudge of skin exposed on his cheek.

"Can you move?"

The young agent frowned but otherwise remained still.

"I'm missing a shoe."

Morgan gave him another genuine beam; the humor livened Reid up, made the little visible skin on his face look healthier.

"How's everyone else?" Reid spoke up again, most likely to block out the noisy sirens accompanying the approaching ambulances. His eyes were surveying his superiors without reserve, satisfied with Rossi's grim yet physically acceptable appearance and less than thrilled with Hotch, broken both in looks and the way he carried himself around the disaster site.

He blinked around in confusion when he realized who wasn't present.

"Where's Emily?"

"It's Thursday."

Clarke looked over at Reid, her grin dropping in an instant.

"You always get off a stop earlier on Thursday," Reid kept his gaze on her, studying her intently. "Where do you go?"

Clarke looked away uncomfortably, shifting in her seat to find a better position.

"Same place I go every Thursday."

He stared at her and a beam surfaced in her face.

"The gym, Spencer. We can't all have your natural skin-and-bone physique."

"Hey, I work hard at this," he flexed his long fingers, returning her smile.

He didn't stop trying to decipher the secret buried in her blue eyes, even an hour later when she exited the subway car one stop and two and a half minutes earlier than every other day of the week.

David Rossi would be the first to admit that perhaps he wasn't the most sentimental individual. Certainly his three ex-wives could provide enough evidence. But in his line of work, forming intimate connections with others just didn't pay off in the long run. It was one thing getting to know your teammates; it was quite another to have them become a surrogate family.

David Rossi would also be the first to admit that he wasn't fond of following unreasonable rules, especially those made by himself. The job used to be a rather solitary affair, but since his return, he couldn't help but make these relationships within the team.

"So you're enjoying California then?"

"The weather's perfect all the time. You'd hate it."

He cracked a smile and shifted the phone from his left to his right hand.

"What can I say? I'm just a cold climate kind of guy."

"Yeah, I remember. I think you were the only one who enjoyed that case in North Dakota when it snowed three days straight."

"No, I think even I agreed that was miserable. Although I can't say enough how much I enjoyed having an excuse to ride a snow mobile."

He listened to her laughter over his cell phone and sighed nostalgically.

"So how's life at the BAU? Have any interesting cases?"

"We just got off of one in Indiana and we're headed to D.C. this afternoon."

"Ah, Chief Paige. Should be a fun time."

The image of Alexander Boyd's body with the back of his head blown off flashed through his mind. It was quickly replaced with that of finding Emily Prentiss at death's door mere months ago that felt like a different lifetime.

"Emily?"

David Rossi had seen many gruesome victims in his time working at the FBI, but few were colleagues. And only one was currently right below him, lying in the remains of a collapsed hotel room, looking closer to death than life. Hotch hovered at his side, looking shaken.

"Is she even breathing?"

Rossi didn't like to see the Unit Chief upset, but he hated hearing the pained gasps of air he took to inflate his lungs with broken ribs.

"Get the medics, Aaron," Rossi nodded toward the hallway, determined to stay at the injured agent's side after taking as long as it had to find her. "I'll take care of her."

"Dave—"

"She's breathing," Rossi reassured, but wasn't particularly confident in how long that statement would remain true. "But she needs help. Clear the area so the medics can get to her and Reid."

Hotch nodded and scrambled through the debris, struggling to shift heavy pieces of concrete to make a path. Rossi watched him meander like a drunken man before returning to the beaten Prentiss, sorrow in his eyes.

Her only saving grace had been the Kevlar vest; while plenty of shrapnel had embedded into her arms and legs, her protected chest at least looked unharmed. Aside from the large bed spring skewering her right shoulder, her gravest injuries looked to be the burns covering all exposed skin, including her face.

But she was breathing, even if it was shallow and erratic, and for that Rossi would be forever grateful. He hadn't needed to lie to Aaron.

"Sir," an EMT toting a portable defibrillator approached the pair of agents, his partner following right behind. "We're going to need you to step aside."

Rossi looked between the two EMTs, wondering how someone so young could possibly be qualified to help Prentiss when she was in such a state. But he stood and moved out of their way so they could work, their words coming rapidly and with such a practice that David mentally scolded himself for doubting their capabilities.

The EMT that had first spoken to him called over a third and together they maneuvered Prentiss onto a stretcher without waking her. As they carried her past him, he found the need to speak up.

"I'm riding with her," he said in a way that brooked no argument, but again he shouldn't have worried. Both of the EMTs carrying the stretcher nodded at him as they continued to pick carefully through the wreckage and into the mostly-cleared hallway.

Rossi followed, feeling uncharacteristically insecure at his lack of control in the proceedings.

"Sir? Are you still there?"

"Yeah, sorry. It should be fun."

"I'm sorry, sir, I don't know what time it is up there, but I've got to head into work. It was great hearing from you though."

"Yeah, I suppose it's that time for me as well," Rossi said, checking his watch. "I just wanted to know how things were going."

"I appreciate that. Although I have to say, no one around here has game like you do, sir."

"No one around here does either," he laughed along with her.

"I guess I'll talk to you later then. And good luck on your case."

"Thanks. You take care, Ashley."

"You too. Bye."

Rossi flipped his phone shut, watching the screen flash the time before it went dark.

FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit, Quantico, Virginia
April 23rd

Hotch arrived at the BAU around ten, unable to get much sleep. He set his briefcase in his chair in his office and momentarily paused. He let out a defeated sigh, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Picking up his coffee cup, he left his office and headed toward Garcia's tech lab.

He knocked once and heard her chipper admission.

"Hola, Señor Hotchner," Garcia greeted, turning slightly to see her boss. Her bright fuchsia ensemble today did not faze Hotch as he neared her desk.

"What have you found?" he asked, her cheerful demeanor deflecting off his cold tone.

"Several things, sir," she said, unperturbed. "One glaringly obvious and unfortunate, if you would direct your attention to the screen."

She pulled up a series of gruesome crime scene photos with two clicks of her mouse.

"That's not Boyd…" Hotch's brows furrowed in concentration, taking in the new details.

"That would be because it is Robert Wheeler," she confirmed, her eyes avoiding the bloody images taking space on her desktop. "Found at nine o'clock this morning with a bullet in his right temple.

"This UnSub is identical to our previous killer in DC, except for one sneaky difference. Carl Faison always went for the headshots, right between the eyes; however, this new guy will take any headshot, even from the back."

"What do we have on the victims?"

"With the previous case, the victims were a colonel in the military, sheriff, US Marshal, and judge. This time around we have Boyd the Cop and Wheeler the Detective."

Hotch closed his eyes while Garcia relayed the information. When she finished with the victims, he opened them.

"The credentials were stolen off the bodies as well?" he asked.

Garcia nodded solemnly.

"Yes sir."

"Okay," he said with a heavy sigh and Penelope offered a sympathetic smile. "Do we have anything on their backgrounds?"

Garcia gave him a sly smile.

"I am nothing if not thorough," she bragged and pulled up a window on her computer. "Alexander Boyd: married with three children. Joined law enforcement at age twenty two-"

"What about his criminal record?" Hotch interrupted.

"Nothing," she said, peering up once again at him. "He's clean."

"That's of what's been reported," he disagreed. "The judge had a drug problem, but was never charged with it."

"Well I can keep rooting around, but so far I have zilch on Boyd. Our detective, on the other hand, had trespassing and vandalism charges when he was sixteen, had it expunged two years later, and nothing since. Unmarried, no kids, but he does leave behind a pretty cute basset hound."

Hotch shook his head, undeterred.

"Until we can prove otherwise, we'll say that the only thing that's changed is the MO. Keep digging, Garcia."

"Yes my liege," she said, quick to pull the brutal images off her screen.

"And I don't think I have to tell you this, but this is our first priority. No new cases until we get this guy."

"Of course, sir," Garcia looked over at him seriously. "No rest or explicit innuendos until we d—"

Her expression froze and her focus shifted to something over his shoulder, causing Hotch to turn. Erin Strauss stood in the doorway, expression neutral.

"Good morning, Aaron."

"Erin," Hotch inclined his head, and Garcia turned back to face her computer, cracking a secret smile at the odd exchange.

"Would you mind stepping into my office for a moment?"

"Not at all."

Strauss led the way out of the room and Hotch faintly heard Garcia mutter a drawn out 'Awkward' as he followed.

"How was Indiana?" she asked lightly as they travelled the short trip.

"Not without its difficulties," he answered, "but we found her in the end."

"And how is Agent Clarke working out?"

"She's a good asset," he said, and as they approached her office, he bypassed her to hold the door open, "and a strong addition to the team."

"So she's adjusting well? Thank you," she added as she stepped inside.

"She's still learning," he said, closing the door behind him. "But she's picking up on the team dynamics quickly. She gets along well with everyone."

"I see she hasn't had to fill out any reports yet."

Hotch lingered by the door momentarily before entering the office further.

"The opportunity has yet to present itself."

"A month in and no legitimate field work, Aaron?"

"She has field work experience."

"With your team?"

They stood off momentarily, Hotch by her laden bookshelf and Strauss by her desk.

"I'll make it a priority."

"See to it," was her final comment on the matter. "Come, take a seat."

He sat in the proffered chair as she took her time to find her own seat, clasping her hands on the desktop.

"Where's your head, Aaron?"

"It's in this case," Hotch said, fully expecting the question. "DC's about to have a serial killer; they need our help in this."

"They asked for you," she nodded her head, leaning forward as if the physical act of getting closer to him would create a breakthrough. "And your team has the best insight on this guy. He's picking off law enforcement and there's going to be a lot of trigger happy cops after him. I need your level head in this one."

"Rest assured you have it. All of ours."

"Don't make me regret my decision to allow you on this case, then," she placed her hands palm up on the desk in an act of compliance. "And please keep a keen eye on Agent Morgan; it's hard to forget his, ah, fervor from last time."

"You have my word," Hotch kept his gaze stern as he rose from his seat.

"Keep me updated," she called out as he left, causing him to miss the brief but sad frown that washed over her face.

akacinno's A/N: Things will become clearer very, very soon! Don't fret. ; )

dieselwriter's A/N: Hark? Did we just do a cameo? Hmm...the game's afoot! Next Monday, that is. Thanks for reading!