Jet Lag

Chapter 5: Please

10 hrs. 53 mins since the crash
Garcia

"Sir, they're supposed to check in." Chief Cruz is an understanding, far more understanding than Strauss, gentleman. "They're behind schedule."

Her blue skirt, eyeshadow, glasses, and dress shirt radiates from in his doorway. He knows how strange the team can be. He knows the connection. That connection saved him.

"Siiir, Hotch always checks in." Worry is written all over her blue-stained face. "What if something's wrong?"

Cruz seats his pen down. He looks up from his file, Agent Hotchner had faxed them to him a handful of hours ago, and sighs. "When was the last time they reported in?"

Holding the bridge of his nose he looks up, waiting.

"Seven hours ago. They should have been home five hours ago." Garcia taps her feet together anxiously waiting for an answer.

Six hours. That seems right. Why hadn't she just checked before she came up? Dammit.

Cruz looks up from under his palm. "Six hours," Cruz repeats. That's not good. "I'll report it." He shuts his file and turns to the phone," I'll call you when I locate them."

Garcia nods, worried for the news she may get back but to flustered to push the matter.

The Team

"Hold still." His memory is failing him.

"On three."

Where is he?

It's cold. It's-

"Open his shirt." Painful. Pain, that's all he knows. All he feels.

"Come on, Reid. Wake up. We need you, pal."

He sees white. The sky is white. Cold rain lands on his lips. His water-starved, blood cacked lips.

"Hotch? You found him."

There's a great pressure that sinks down over his battered chest and he can feel himself being moved but he can't pull himself into conscious movement.

"Focus," it's Rossi. He's worried. "How do I dress this?"

A horrible burning spreads across his chest and it's warm, and it's awful, and he wants it to go away, but it's the warmest he's been in what feels like years.

"He needs an I.V. port supplying constant nutrients to make up for the severe dehydration and a supply of morphine." Reid peers over his superior with a sharp eye. "Immobilize his shoulder, use his tie around his shoulder to his arm. Keep his head elevated to the high-risk factor of infections." Reid's body leans back and holds his side until he can manage to catch his breath.

"Reid?" His own voice is surprising. It hurts but it comes to no surprise since everything seems to feel that way.

"It's just my chest." Reid tries to encourage but Hotch can pull himself

Emily, well really a blurred brown-haired woman, leans into his line of vision. "Hotch?"

Pain that makes his vision blur erupts across him.

"Is he okay?" He's pushed down while being told to 'lay down', 'stop', and 'you will hurt yourself worse'. He doesn't care about himself. They're already looking after him he wants them to look at Reid. Protect someone who needs it. He doesn't need it. He doesn't want it.

"Why didn't any of you do pre-med? Take a damn anatomy class?" Rossi asks turning away from Hotch to reach out for the bottle of bourbon. "Nutrition! That would help. But nooo." Rossi lifts Reid's shirt up. "I just want you to know that you shred years off of my life. I should have stayed retired." He looks along his chest," I didn't even have anatomy classes as an option in high school. How do I know if this is a broken rib?"

"Hotch," Emily chides, he wonders why she isn't worried about Reid like all the others? "Lay still."

She looks him over. His nose is bleeding, his skin is cold, his arm is laying limp against his chest, his eyes are cloudy and unfocused, and he can't seem to focus. He looks like death. She assumes that the way he's got his eyes squinting tight that he feels like death.

"Reid's fine," it's a lie and it feels like a lie but she knows that if she speaks the truth they'll lose Hotch too. If Hotch doesn't go trying to save the world, per his usual plans, then they don't have to worry he's hurt himself more. If Hotch doesn't hurt himself then they don't have to worry about getting Reid over to him to see what how he's hurt himself.

"He's not okay," Hotch tries to seat up again. There's so much going on that it is overwhelming. There's crunching in the woods. There's groaning beside him. And there's pain. Just pain everywhere.

"Seat still. Seat still." She pulls him into her lap. He keeps fighting until his pallor turns into just white. "Hotch?" She shakes his shoulder and his move slowly to where she is. "Hotch?" He blinks but her calling his name seems to have no affect on him. "Hotch. Hotch." She shakes his shoulder, trying to get his attention. Everything's going to hell. Reid isn't up. Morgan's off the wall. Rossi torn between Reid and Hotch and Hotch... "Aaron please." His first name. Where did that come from? She can feel tears falling. Is he dead? Dying? Sweet nothings. They fall from her mouth. "I'm here. It's okay. I've got you. You're okay. You're gonna be okay. We're gonna get out of here. We're gonna go see Jack. You're gonna hold your son. We're going to go home and you're gonna find someone who loves you. One day you'll find someone who loves you more than living. You'll find a girl who looks into your eyes and sees more than just brown eyes staring back at her. She'll see green when you're laughing. A hint of blue when you look into the sky. She'll see red when you fight. Gold when you laugh and she'll feel whole when you kiss."

She looks down at this man in her arms.

"Please." It's one final plea for them to live. For them to leave this hell. "Okay? Just live. Just live."

I am so sorry that I haven't updated all week
-S.H.