CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:
INTO THE FLAMES
 ( aka 04x01: mayhem )

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"WE'RE GETTING REPORTS THAT an explosion has rocked a neighbourhood in the vicinity of the Federal Plaza. Authorities have closed down the entire area and are not going to give any information at this time..."

Dallis pressed her foot flat against the accelerator, urging the SUV further down the road. She had her phone pressed between her ear and her shoulder, knuckles bone-white around the steering wheel. The Homeland Security building wasn't far from the Federal Plaza -- it was certainly close enough that the ground trembled with the force of the explosion, shocking both her and Morgan into silence -- but every second it took them to navigate traffic felt like an hour.

Beside her, Morgan spewed out another series of curse words as his call failed to go through once again. Dallis wasn't having much luck either. For the fifth time in two minutes, Rossi's phone went straight to voicemail.

"Hey, listen," she tapped Morgan's arm, nodding her chin towards the radio. "Turn it up."

"Breaking news now! We are just getting an update. The bomb is now reported to have been inside an SUV. A black SUV parked just blocks from 26 Federal Plaza."

The blood rushed from Dallis' face. The force of those four sentences was enough to knock the breath from her lungs. She had her team spread out across the city and knew only one of them was safe. This was different to when she found Garcia. She'd fought her way through the uncertainty, the terror of having one life hanging in the balance. What was she meant to do with six?

"Oh, God," she exclaimed, her chest rising and falling with every shallow breath. Her phone slipped down the side of her seat but she made no move to reach for it. She was frozen, stuck watching everything she knew and loved threaten to shatter. Her eyes darted to where Morgan sat motionless. "Morgan..."

"Keep driving, Dallis," he said, pressing the button that would set off their sirens. The wail was like a Banshee call, a heralding of Death. "I'm going to try Garcia again."

It took several attempts that left Dallis on the brink of a breakdown, and then she heard the blissful sound of Garcia's voice through the speaker.

"You're okay," her sigh of relief was heavy.

"We're almost back at the Federal Building," Morgan said. "What the hell's going on?"

"We're going over the closed-off circuit footage right now."

"Who else have you checked on?" Dallis asked, waiting anxiously for her answer.

"You're the first," Garcia said. "Rossi and Reid called me."

So three of them were safe. Good. But what about the others? That meant either Hotch, Emily or JJ were in harm's way. Dallis swallowed thickly against the nauseous feeling creeping from her stomach to her throat. Focus. She guided the SUV around a particularly sharp corner, blasting the horn at the cars too slow to move out of her way.

"Keep us on the line while you check on everyone else," Morgan ordered Garcia.

They listened to the hum of the dial tone before Emily's voice briefly slowed the erratic thumping of Dallis' heart. "Is everyone okay?"

"I've spoken to Rossi and Reid," Garcia said. "Morgan and Dallis are on the line with us."

"Emily, where are you?" Morgan asked her.

"I'm following Detective Brustin to one of the NYPD's Critical Incident Command Posts."

"One of them?"

"Yeah, after 9/11 they decentralised," Morgan explained. "They had way too many eggs in one basket on that day."

"Has anyone talked to JJ?" Dallis redirected the conversation, reminding them of what was at stake. Why they had multiple Critical Command Posts wouldn't matter if somebody on their team was dead or dying.

"JJ was headed back to the hotel," Emily gasped.

"In an SUV?"

She hesitated. "I think so."

"Okay, stay with me," Garcia muttered. They could hear the tremble of her fingers struggling to type in JJ's number on the other end of the line. "I'm going to dial her mobile."

But like with Rossi, it went straight to voicemail. "This is Agent Jareau, Communications Director for the FBI's Behavioural Analysis--"

Mid-sentence, the line went dead. One by one, each phone dropped out of the call until Morgan and Dallis were left listening to the sharp crackle of static. What was wrong with the phone lines in the area? Had the unsubs hacked into them as they had with the surveillance systems?

"Where am I going, Morgan?" Dallis asked as she sped through the red light at an intersection. "Federal Plaza or a Critical Command Post?"

"The Plaza," Morgan said without hesitation. "We need to see for ourselves what's happened."

But when they arrived at the crime scene, first responders had the area blocked for several yards. Everywhere she looked, there were people preparing but not acting -- police officers, the bomb squad, firefighters, paramedics. Dallis threw the car into park and sprinted after Morgan towards the nearest officer.

"Hey! Who's in charge here?" she demanded, flashing her badge at anyone who spared them a second glance.

They were eventually directed to Captain Warner, a stern-faced man separating his officers into groups. He seemed calm and composed despite the flicker of flames burning in the distance. Dallis scanned the area and only managed to make out two figures. She couldn't see who it was. Hotch and Kate? JJ and Will? Either way, they weren't moving.

"I'm Agent Morgan, this is Agent Cohen," Morgan held up his own badge, not that Warner paid them much attention. They were like two mosquitos buzzing in his general vicinity; pests but tolerable ones. "We're looking for Agent Hotchner. Aaron Hotchner."

"Go back to the Federal Building," came Warner's automatic reply. "There are evac marshalling spots. Check in and make sure they know where you are."

"Not happening," Dallis exclaimed with a firm shake of her head.

Morgan blocked Warner's path, forcing him to stop and look at him. From beneath his cap, Warner's dark eyes narrowed. "Get out of my face or I'll have you bodily removed, Agents."

Dallis tried to remind herself that he was only doing his job -- what they had directed him to do, mind you -- but all sense of reason went out the window when they heard a screaming male voice begging for help on the other side of the barricade.

Hotch.

"Hey, the area's restricted!" One of Warner's heavily suited-up officers pointed his rifle in their direction.

Dallis forced her hands up, resisting the urge to reach for her own gun tucked in its holster. They needed to get to Hotch. If they pressed Warner too much, they'd lose their only hope. Hotch was relying on them. Dallis would just have to keep telling herself that, repeating it in her head like a mantra.

"Please," Morgan shouted. "That's our boss down there!"

"My orders are what they are," Warner popped his shoulders in a shrug.

"I don't give a damn what your orders are."

Finally, Warner allowed himself to show a shred of compassion, but he was a man with responsibilities and two strangers wouldn't keep him from fulfilling them. "I get it, Agents, but we've been told by you that responders are the targets. So, until the blast site is cleared, no one goes in."

"Let us be the exception," Dallis pleaded, wincing when they heard Hotch's screaming start again. How could they stand there when one of their own was in danger? "You've got your orders and we respect that, but we know what we're getting into, what we're risking if we go in there. Let us make that decision for ourselves."

Warner's silence was an answer in itself. Morgan took another brazen step into his bubble. "You're Marine Corps, right?" It wasn't a question. He knew simply from the way that Warner stood with his feet at an even distance apart to his shoulders, from the determined set of his jaw. "Right?"

"Please, go back to the marshalling point."

"I'm not doing it," Morgan snapped as Dallis scoffed. "We're not just going to let our man lay down there like that."

"Family," Dallis exclaimed.

Hotch would do it for them in a heartbeat. No matter the cost.

"'Never leave a man behind.' You do remember that, don't you?"

"Go," came Warner's quiet reply.

Before he could change his mind, Dallis shoved past the barricade, feeling every harsh slap of the concrete against the soles of her shoes. The shadows suddenly parted to reveal with sickening clarity every gritty detail. There was an unfamiliar man kneeling beside Hotch, whose white shirt was ripped and splattered with blood. Some was his own, it leaked out of his ear like a river of fire, but most of the blood belonged to Kate. She'd dragged herself halfway down the street in a delirious haze, leaving streaks of it in her wake. Dallis held a hand to her mouth, lowering herself down beside Kate's oddly bent legs. She was awake but slipping in and out of consciousness, whimpering incoherent words under her breath.

"Hotch, hey," Dallis said, but it wasn't until she grabbed his shoulder that he realised -- or, better yet, heard -- that somebody else had joined them. "Are you alright?"

He didn't answer, redirecting their attention down to Kate. "We need to get her out of here."

"They're not letting any ambulances down here until they clear the scene," Morgan shook his head before nudging the stranger back. "Kid, you've gotta get behind the barricade."

"Go, Sam," Hotch mumbled when he refused to move.

"Good luck," Sam said before moving to leave.

Dallis watched him linger a few feet away and frowned to herself, but then Kate let out a sharp cry and the last thing on Dallis' mind was a stranger. When she glanced back over her shoulder, he was just around the corner. Out of sight, out of mind.

"Can we carry her?" Morgan asked Hotch, who didn't react. "Hotch! Can we carry her?"

"No, I tried," he cried out, shifting uncomfortably. As he moved aside, Dallis caught a glimpse of Kate's back. Hotch's hand was the only thing stemming the blood flow. Beneath his fingers was carnage. Ripped skin, torn tendons, milky white patches of bone. "She's going to bleed to death if we don't get her out of here. We've gotta do something."

Morgan's phone rang before he could answer. "Garcia, I've got Hotch but listen to me. You've gotta get someone down here right away. You hear me? Right now!" All of a sudden, his eyes widened. His head snapped up to scan the street. Searching for something. Someone. "What? You're absolutely sure?"

Dallis followed his gaze to Sam, who'd stepped out in front of the burning car. He held out his arms and smiled. Your move. Slowly, she stood up, reaching for the holster clipped to her waistband. Still, Sam stayed, transfixed by the sight of Kate's blood.

"The kid," Morgan nudged Hotch, who Dallis wasn't confident could hear anything. He spent more time looking at their mouths when they spoke than he usually would. The blast could've easily burst his eardrums. "He's the bomber!"

"Go," Hotch said, and that was all Morgan needed.

Dallis glanced from Morgan's quickly retreating back to Hotch, who'd squeezed his eyes shut with a pained grimace. She let her hand drop from the holster, kneeling opposite Hotch so he could see when she was speaking to him.

"Do you want me to help you move her?" She was careful to enunciate each word.

He went to shake his head and gasped, using his free hand to shield his ear. "Like I said, I've already tried--"

"With Sam," she pointed out. "Who wasn't really helping."

Hotch's hesitation was brief but Kate's silence was a scream that rivalled the ringing in his ears. He directed Dallis into position, whispering soothing assurances to Kate even though she was unconscious now. It was more for his own peace of mind and Dallis pretended not to notice the tears cutting rivers through the grime on his cheeks.

Red and blue sliced through the dark sky as an ambulance rounded the corner in Morgan's absence. One lone paramedic rushed to join them.

"She's got an arterial bleed in her back," Hotch said. "And I'm doing my best to hold it closed."

"We were about to move her," Dallis added.

The paramedic, feeling Kate's neck for her pulse, remarked, "It might be a good thing you didn't get a chance." He flicked a look at Hotch. "Are you okay?"

"I just want to get her out of here."

"Her pulse is weak and thready," he said after a moment. "I'm going to need your help, okay?"

He was talking to both of them, but Hotch's free hand had reached out to find Dallis' wrist. Even now, he was still trying to resume the role of her boss, to maintain a semblance of normalcy that Dallis didn't want or need. Hotch was down to rock bottom but clawing with broken fingers back to the light above. "Dallis, I need you to find Morgan. Help him track down Sam."

If that was even his name, she thought with a scoff. Really, they should've noticed the strange 'coincidence' straight away. Nobody else was around when the SUV blew up but the one person who was present happened to be a guy named Sam? This unsub was reckless to the point of plain stupidity.

"Hotch, he's got it covered," she insisted, yet Hotch had made up his mind.

"Please, Dallis."

Slowly, she pushed to her feet, sparing one last sad look at Kate's broken body. She had a horrible feeling she'd never see her open her eyes again, and despite everything they'd disagreed over, she grieved for a brilliant woman.

"I'll be right back, Hotch," she promised, then took off in the direction Morgan had disappeared in.

The back streets were yet to be barricaded off by first responders, allowing her -- and by default, Sam and Morgan -- to easily blend into the crowd of fleeing civilians. Dallis latched onto a shop owner's arm, asking if they'd seen either man. Bit by bit, person by person, she tracked them down to the substation. As she took to the stairs two at a time, she heard the indignant echo of Morgan's yelling bouncing off the walls.

Dallis kept her gun out in front of her as she rounded the corner behind Morgan. The platform had quickly cleared out, leaving the train with its doors still open stranded on the platform.

"Only me," she called out, aware that if she spooked him too much, Morgan would shoot first and think later.

"Jesus -- Dallis?"

"Hotch has a paramedic with him," she said, deliberately keeping her explanation short and sweet. Sam was nowhere to be seen but his hiding spots were awfully limited. She could feel the prickle of awareness creeping across her skin. Someone was watching them, listening. She refused to give them the satisfaction of knowing anything else about Kate's condition.

The two agents fell into step beside each other. Together, they moved like a well-oiled machine as they cleared each train carriage meticulously. Dallis stayed at Morgan's back, allowing him to power through without needing to glance over his shoulder. Every door he slammed open, she'd close and lock behind them, preventing Sam from somehow sneaking up on her.

Everything was quiet, like the aftermath of a storm. The wind stopped howling, the splattering of rain ceased. The sky showed them forgiveness. Before and after.

They came to the final carriage and there was still no sign of Sam. Dallis approached the propped open guard's door, swinging herself out onto the ledge. The empty railway was only lit by the dim red glow of the emergency lights. She dropped down onto the rubble, feeling like she'd just entered Hell itself.

"We know you're in here, kid," Morgan shouted. "Show me your face, you coward! You've got nowhere to run. There's nothing down here for you!"

"Is that all you see?" The question seemed to come from the walls themselves. How Sam had concealed himself so well, Dallis didn't know. "Darkness?"

"You heard us the first time," Dallis spat. With each rough exhale, her breath lingered in a sheer white fog in front of her face. No light, no warmth. Not quite Hell, then, but something damn close. The cold air was unforgiving. "Come out and face us!"

Sam's laughter was mocking and nearby. Morgan hefted his torch in its direction, revealing the boy in question. He'd removed his shoes. The bare soles of his feet balanced precariously on the metal rims.

"You listen to me, you son of a bitch," Morgan growled. "You get your ass off those tracks and put your hands on top of your head. Do it now!"

Sam did as he demanded but his smirk refused to waver. "You will lose in the end."

Dallis forced a laugh of her own through gritted teeth. Morgan's anger had gotten the better of him, it had him in a chokehold, but Dallis refused to show this boy the true hurt in her heart. He didn't deserve it. She refused to play his game. "Overconfidence leads to failure, kid. You're not the first criminal we've caught."

"You're wrong," he insisted with blind faith. "You wanna know why? Because you fear what we embrace."

In the blink of an eye, he'd thrown himself off the metal, his bare feed colliding with the tracks. Dallis watched his limbs jolt with electricity, his eyes rolling to reveal the slimy white sclera. Foam and blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. Gone.

Morgan's hand on the back of her head as he directed her face into his chest tried and failed to shield it from view. Eventually, the electricity stopped shocking Sam, allowing them to slip back onto the train. Dallis' legs went numb. She dropped onto the nearest bench, letting her gun rest on her thigh.

"We need to call the others," she mumbled, feeling around in her pockets but coming up empty-handed. Her phone. She must've left it in their car, forgotten under the seat. "Morgan, can you..."

"Yeah," he nodded.

Vaguely, Dallis heard bits and pieces of him reassuring someone they were safe, but every time she blinked she pictured Sam's skin frying from the force of the electricity. She angled her head over the side of the bench, unable to keep the contents of her stomach down any longer. A moment later, Morgan's hand landed on her back, rubbing circles until she'd calmed down enough to wipe the corner of her mouth and breathe again.

"Rossi wants you," he muttered. "Can you talk?"

She nodded, grimacing against the sour taste on her tongue. She clutched the phone to her ear, allowing Morgan to guide them off the train and back onto the platform.

"Dallis," came Rossi's frantic voice on the other end of the line. So close yet so far. "Dallis, can you hear me?"

"I'm here," she said, feeling the harsh prick of tears behind her eyes. "Dave..."

"I was so worried about you," she heard him mumble. The sudden decrease in volume wasn't lost on her, as if he was trying to prevent prying ears from hearing him, but Dallis had no space left in her mind to figure out what that meant. "I thought... Well, you didn't answer your phone, then Garcia called to say you were chasing after the unsub..."

"I left it behind," she explained. "My phone, I mean."

Rossi sighed. "I'm just glad you're okay. You're heading to the hospital now to check on Hotch, alright? I'll see you soon."

She wanted to see him right away -- all of them -- to replace the memory on loop in her head with something sweet and familiar, but she settled for the promise of soon. With that, she said her goodbye and handed the phone back to Morgan, who redirected them to their SUV with ease. Dallis fished her phone out from under the seat before settling into the passenger side, allowing Morgan to drive them to Saint Barclay's Hospital where the ambulance had reportedly taken Hotch and Kate.

The trip was quick but Dallis had a few spare minutes to chew on some breath mints she found in the glove compartment. She also searched through her phone's notifications. There were dozens of missed calls from Rossi and the others as well as from her parents and Austin, who had seen everything going down on the news. She sent them each a text letting them know she was safe, pocketing the device as they stopped in the empty parking lot. There was nobody else around but hospital personnel, striking Dallis as odd before they even made it through the door.

"Doc, FBI." Morgan flashed his credentials at the first doctor they came across. He was sitting behind the main emergency room's desk. "How's Aaron Hotchner?"

"He's got acute acoustic trauma in his right ear and I pulled shrapnel from his leg--"

They were interrupted by the man of the hour. "I don't need this. I just need my clothes!"

Hotch was in a nearby trauma bay. They found him ripping off the cable connecting him to a heart monitor. The nurses had taken his blood-stained shirt and dress pants, leaving him in a hospital gown that thankfully covered his back. The last thing Dallis needed to see that night was her boss' ass. It was one thing to watch an unsub end his life, but getting up close and personal with Hotch would scar her life for good.

"Hotch, please, just calm down," she begged as she and Morgan chased after the doctor.

"Morgan, Dallis, where's Kate?"

"She's in surgery," Morgan said, making Hotch sigh and call out, "Where are my clothes, please?"

"Hotch, your go bag is on its way."

Finally, he stopped, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "Has anything happened since the first blast?"

"Nothing," Dallis confirmed.

"And Sam?"

"He's dead."

"Guys, the profile's wrong."

"Then we need to start all over again," Dallis sighed. "Let's get the others down here."