Criminal Minds One Shots

High as the Violent Femmes

"FBI!" Morgan called as we all rushed inside, spreading out with our guns drawn and searching the building. He motioned for me to take the stairwell, the SWAT team spreading out to the left wing and the local cops, with JJ and Hotch, taking the other wing, leaving Reid, Prentiss, Morgan, and Rossi to cover the stairs with me.

I lead point, my gun drawn and my back pressed against the right wall to make it easier to cover the landing. It was dark, but a faint light was coming from the landing. All the sudden it darkened and then grew light again, and I called quietly over my shoulder, "There's someone on the stairs."

Morgan nodded in affirmation, drawing up next to me on the stairs, blocking his downward escape route if he tried to flee. We drew nearer, and then I could make out the distinct silhouette of a man resting with his back on his pack pressed against the corner post, one foot braced on the windowsill and the other on the floor, a gun balanced on his elbow on his knee as he aimed out the window where the light was coming from.

Just who we were looking for.

"FBI, put down the gun," I snapped as I hurried up the next few steps.

He suddenly turned on me before I could climb the last two steps and close the distance between us, though, and a loud 'crack' sent pain exploding through my arm. I gritted my teeth and resisted the urge to clutch my arm, instead aiming my gun and firing at the same time as Morgan. I'm not sure who's bullet hit the sniper who had just shot me, but he went down with a grunt and a thud, his gun clattering to the concrete next to him.

I exchanged a glance with Morgan and then lowered my gun, clutching my right hand over my upper left arm. Damn, that hurt, and I tried to ignore the warm wet blood oozing out between my fingers as I turned and started descending the stairs.

Reid glanced at me and too late I realized he noticed I'd been shot.

"Did you get hit? Let me see," he insisted.

"It's just a graze, I'm fine," I lied, but inside I was cringing at how much worse my arm would hurt if the doctors had a chance to look at it.

"Have the paramedics check it out," he commanded.

"What are you, Hotch?" I asked but then grimaced.  One of the local cops had just brushed past me on the way up the stairs and had accidentally bumped my arm.

"McDowell, did you get shot?" Morgan suddenly called from halfway up the stairs.

"Just a graze," I lied through gritted teeth, continuing down the stairs. The sooner I could get out of here, the better.

"I don't think so, kid. There's too much blood for that," Rossi remarked as he caught up to me, pointing at the steps where a trail of red drops marked my path down the stairs.

Reid gave me a look, and I sighed but then made another feeble attempt at arguing, "It looks worse than it is, I'll be fine."

Rossi shook his head and placed a hand on my back to guide me out the door, Reid on my other side as they led me out to the waiting ambulance.

I sat down on the tailgate and grudgingly removed the hand clutching my arm--my fingers had rings of blood around them, dripping down and trailing to my wrist--to reveal the deep red hole torn in my shirtsleeve.

The paramedic examined it--not without poking and prodding and causing me more pain despite my insistence that I was fine--and reported, "The bullet's embedded in your arm. You'll have to have surgery to get it out," before he started wrapping it with a bandage to prevent blood loss and then attempting to give me a shot of what I could only assume was morphine or some other painkiller.

I refused and shied away, but Reid grabbed my right arm and held me still so the paramedic could plunge the needle into my bleeding arm, and within seconds I was high as the Violent Femmes and too loopy to make a complete sentence, and then I was out.