Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside.

Warnings: This is mainly a general fic or team fic (omg me writing general!? The world is probably coming to an end or something I am sure). However there are clear references of Emily/Rossi and BLANTANTLY obviously schmoop and etc for Reid/Hotch. Nothing huge though, this could be considered to be mainly a general team ficlet (if you squint). In the first chapter anyway...

Authors Note: Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. This is my first Criminal Minds story so I am especially looking for feedback.

*This story will be a two parter. So let me know if you would like to see the second part. Depending on the response, since I have like...oodles of half finished ficlets on the go right now, I will determine if there is enough interesting in the story to continue. Especially since this is my first foray into Criminal Minds fanfiction.

-Story's title is lyrics from the song: "What if" by Safteysuit. I would recommend listening to it as you read, I wrote it while I had it on replay, and it provided me with a tone or mood in which to write.

Cause you know that I'm always all for you

"Courage is fire, and bullying is smoke." - Benjamin Disraeli

None of them sensed the fire until it was almost too late.

They had all been up for close to fifty hours straight, none of them stopping long enough to have more then a few power naps each on one of the few thread-bare and slightly lumpy couches that decorated the break room of Battle Mountain, Nevada's aging station house. Everyone was strung out on too much coffee, not enough sleep, and that certain kind of stress that only comes from a case with a kidnapped toddler.

Tensions were as high as the stakes, and hearts were clenched tightly in all their chests as the hours past, and all the progress they seemed to be making was watching the two young parents, both rising professors at the local college get progressively more and more hysterical, breaking down unashamedly in each others arms, as the mother, a striking red head, made heart wrenchingly, broken noises from the shelter of her husbands arms, his strong frame racked with his own grief as he buried his pale face in her rich curls. It was the kind of case that hit just a little bit too close to home...for all of them.

So when they finally found her, safe and sound in an old play pen shoved inside a weather beaten trappers cottage in the middle of the backcountry, all messy red curls, sticky fingers, and cooing up at them all happily, they couldn't help but nearly collapse in relief.

It wasn't long after the suspect had been secured that they had all collectively crowded around the rickety old playpen, their smiles turning delighted, wide, and indulgent as the little toddler immediately fastened her attention on their leader, sparing little attention to anyone else as her pudgy little arms went straight up into the air, babbling happy nonsense at him as she clearly demanded to be held.

It had been the kind of moment that had almost the whole team wishing they had a video camera for, not just for proof and future blackmail purposes, but all knowing full well that Garcia was never going to shut up about being stuck at the police station going over grainy security footage and missing it all.

But quite quickly all thoughts of Garcia's future tantrum faded into the background because Hotch's face had softened, and a look of such relief and pleasure had spread across his face as he bent down and scooped her up, a rare, full-blown grin smoothing over his normally stoic features as she wriggled into him happily, grubby little fingers digging into his short black hair, patting and poking at his chin and cheeks before twisting downwards to investigate the hard edges of the bullet proof vest he wore with the full blown curiosity that only a two year old could so fully express.

And even then, everyone was still just a bit too punch-drunk on the rookie's well meant, but utterly failed attempts at making the 'city folks' what could only be loosely termed as 'espresso', not enough sleep, and the sheer relief of the moment to notice the way Hotch's eyes went soft in a whole other way when Reid's long fingered hand somehow found it's way over to trickle a little pink socked foot, eliciting a high pitched giggle from the ginger haired girl, a big goofy grin spreading across his features as the toddler eyed his playfully waggling fingers closely, somehow wiggling in Hotch's arms in a way that she could stick a pudgy little leg out, as if to encourage more tickling before lurching it away as his fingers neared, childish peals of laughter echoing all the way up to the tree tops as she laughed at her own cleverness.

And soon, even if anyone had seen the look the two men had shared, their eyes suddenly meeting over the top of her curly red-haired head, it was all forgotten in the next moment, when the tot chose that moment to stick her tiny fingers in between Hotch's slightly parted lips, squealing in glee when he didn't miss a beat and pretended to gnaw on her little fist, seeming entirely oblivious to the fact that he still had an audience, a very..rapt audience at that!

But then, maybe a heartbeat later, everyone else was suddenly laughing too, amused chuckles turning into genuine peals of laughter as the tension finally broke, with relief, happiness, and that particular type of giddiness that only come from the type of near perfect end that a case like this brought, dousing them all to the skin in it's unchecked emotion.

And for the first time in a long time, a deep throated laugh joined them, it was rumbling, and slightly hoarse, as if it hasn't been used in a long time, but it was real and genuine, and it was contagious. And soon girlish giggles joined in the teams laughter, the girls little face scrunched up in mirth, as she attempted to duplicate her first comedic act, fingers flying dangerously close to Hotch's lips again but not quite being able to reach until Morgan's big hands lightly tickled at her protruding little baby belly, and everyone started laughing all over again.

She was still chattering away, grinning and pointing around with chubby fingers at her new surroundings excitedly, one fist curled tightly in the collar of Hotch's shirt, as she began to investigate his ear bud in earnest, still poking at it curiously as the paramedics screeched onto the scene, her bright green eyes still taking in the helplessly relieved laughter of the others, as they watched their stoic leader reduced to mere putty in her capable little hands.

For once they left the arrest of the deranged female unsub to the local leo's, barely making it back to the police station to fill out the paper work, and watch the tearful, relieved reunion of the family, before they all piled back into the SUV's and drove back to their hotel rooms where they could they could all pass out properly. With everyone just a bit too tired to notice the way Hotch watched Reid from the drivers side mirror, the younger agent having conked out in the backseat almost before he had finished buckling himself in, his tousled head half resting on Garcia's shoulder who in turn was quite frankly sprawled across half of Morgan's, the three of them already dozing before they had even reached the highway.

The waxing afternoon gave away to the soothing darkness of night, but none of them were up to appreciate it, with the moonlight charm of the mountainous background, the stars standing out bolder and brighter then in the city going unnoticed and unappreciated as they slept on, with luck giving them nearly ten uninterrupted, hours of rare, restful, dreamless, nothingness.

But fate is a force that is dictated by no man, it follows no clock, or moral code, and it waits for no one. So, when the small explosion shivered up the ten storey lakeside hotel, it didn't matter that it was four in the morning, or that the only ones that could have noticed the small implosion of gas and splintering metal were the employees that were caught in the blast itself, with even the early morning desk clerk having been down in the kitchens where it had all taken place, cajoling a few oven fresh bagels out of the bleary eyed chef. It also didn't matter that the first floors alarm and sprinkler system failed, letting the small gas fire grow, licking across the counters, and consuming the chairs and tables of the dining hall until it burned into the walls, digging into the hardwood and insulation, until it finally shorted out the electric circuits, the power fizzling out with a mangled electronic keen as trails of fire dripped up through the walls, digging deep into the wooden beams, slowly melting fibreglass and plastics, as simmering flames scorched menacingly at the metal.

What mattered was that the fire was raging before the secondary alarm system finally kicked in, the blaze far too intense now to be fully controlled by the merger little water sprinklers. What mattered was that there were ten floors of rooms in the nearly empty hotel, and the team was on the fourth, and that smoke was already creeping under the doors, sneaking into the lungs, their sleep deep, senses dulled by exhaustion and already hampered by the steadily disappearing oxygen.

The smoke burned, it sunk deep into the skin until you could actually feel your cells dying, feel the oxygen in them shrivel, twist, and close off. It was like dying while you were still alive and whole, still mostly conscious and alert as your lungs started struggling to draw breath through the thick grey and black sludge, your eyes streaming with unbidden tears until you aren't sure if it just the smoke that is making you cry, or something else entirely...

The smoke does strange things to the mind, it veils almost everything in darkness, the shadows become monsters in the black, while it illuminates certain things until they are bright beacons in the gloom. It leaves the taste of acid on your tongue, deadening the taste buds, and yet it heightens ones hearing until you swear you can hear every crackle, every creak, hiss, and pop of the flames until it is all that is echoing in your mind, leaving you deaf to all the rest, making the screams and cries around you turn warped and distorted, blanketed and hushed amidst the grey blackness.

But mostly it make a lot of normally really complicated things seems painfully simple.

So no one really commented on the fact that the first room Rossi had run for was Emily's, or that he had kicked down the door with a near desperate curse when his door shaking knocks had elicited nothing from inside. Or that he had remained there, in the middle of the hallway, his sharp eye's fixed on that stubborn whitewashed door, choking on the billowing smoke of the hallway despite the handkerchief pressed against his mouth as he squared his shoulders, his eyes flashing and fierce as he struck forward with a wordless shout and broke inside, bits of the door splintering off at all sides from the sheer force of his kick.

He wasted no time, the fire now glowing ominously through the broke door, the room already veiled in a thickening layer of grey as he half-hauled the woman from her blankets, grasping her by the loose drawstrings of her old university sweats, easily supporting her weight as he towed her out of the room, the fire licking at the walls only a few rooms down as they burst from the door frame, their pace jerky as slow as she hung from his grip limply, far too groggy to be catalogued as anything but the beginnings of smoke inhalation.

And no one would have really commented on how he had yelled at her, hitching her closer into the shelter of his chest as he shook her, his voice taking on a urgent, and worried quality that rarely left his lips as he slapped her cheeks, leaning in until his lips were brushing her ear, shouting and yelling for her to wake up as he wrenched them through the hallway, escaping through the last corridor and rounding the corner just as a burst flame exploded out from the wall behind them. Leaving them no choice by to continue towards to stairs, with the petite dark haired woman in his arms just begin to fully waken, shaking her head, vainly trying to break the smokes hold. Not yet realizing yet that without him, she would have never woken up.

And neither did anyone comment when they stumbled out from the building, his arm firm and possessive around her waist, his grip just a bit too tight and steady to be considered as the helping hand of a team mate, or how her ebony head pressed right into the curve of his shoulder, her idle hands dancing from her sides, to the empty air, brushing down his side, before resting for a moment on his singed coat sleeves, smoothing down his unrolled shirt cuffs before repeating the same nervous cycle all over again.

No one would have been really surprised at Derek's heart wrenching moment of indecision when he stumbled out of his own room, coughing and shouting, his jeans only half done up as he called out, his team members names getting swallowed in the gloom, taunting him with half formed echoes and no answers. The smoke even played tricks on his eyes as it swirled and thickened, testing him with shadows of figures that seemed solid one moment, but then disappeared into nothingness only a second later.

His eyes flickered from Garcia's room two doors down, to Reid's at the other end of the hall. His voice hoarse as he wordlessly bellowed his frustration, fist slamming against the wall so hard it shook the plaster, before as he made his decision and ran for his baby girl, mind screaming until it almost drowned out the sound of JJ as she wrenched her own door open only a few seconds later, her blond, sleep mussed hair flying as she whirled, lithe fingers still buckling on her side arm as she looked around, her eyes wide as she took in the flames, and the smoke, spotting Morgan a few doors up, shirtless and barefoot as he sprinted across the ember strewn carpet.

She didn't even hesitate when Morgan saw her, motioning that he was fine before he cried out only a quick: "Get Reid!" at her, his fist already pounding on Garcia's door as JJ took off. Her small feet beating down the burning hall, smoke thickening until it forced her to her knees, the fire crackling along the baseboards, the scent of singed hair and burning clothing becoming so much that she could taste it, feel it coating her tongue until she was gagging on it, retching up burning, acrid air as she forced herself forward.

But she couldn't reach the door in time, because right then, the window beside it warped and then shattered with the heat, and that sudden whoosh of air that came tumbling through fanned the fire to a roar. And in only a few seconds, faster then she could move or even react, the flames were climbing the walls and burning into the ceiling above her, and the fires that had been slowly simmering in the walls around them exploded outwards, enveloping Reid's door and the walls surround it in a wreath of angry reds and oranges, and to her, in that moment, the world might have well as gone up in flames as well, her ears and eyes filled with the sight and sound of that damning flame.

She screamed out wordlessly, the sound mangled and almost animal in its grief, in the sheer agony and frustration of being unable to go any farther, yet being just as unable to leave. And as she struggled to breathe, all she could see was a horrifying double image in front of her. Because Reid's door had suddenly turned into that farm, with the moonlight illuminating the run down barn, where beyond it all she could see was the swaying corn fields in the distance, the usual smells of a rural farmstead overpowered by the sickly sweet, yet metallic smell of fresh blood, and the sour tang of human sweat.

She was back there, back where horror had a taste, and guilt was an emotion that she could feel enveloping her like a second skin. And slowly, as she watched the carpet a few meters in front of her spit, and crackle into flame, she realized that this was the same feeling, that looking up at that burning door gave her the same feeling that she had had before. The feeling that she had failed the younger man all over again.

And she still saw it, even when her eyes had slowly shut, seeing that dilapidated, run down farm house..the horrors of her failure still spread out mockingly across the computer monitors, flickering across the inside of her closed lids even when Derek reached her, hoisting her up by her waist and away from the little patch mosaic carpet that she had slumped over on, unmoving, unable to breathe in the cloying thickness.

She hardly even noticed as the bigger man easily yarded her out of the tunnel of flames, finding that everything had gone strangely numb, like she was about to break out in a case of pins and needles, with everything slowing down, slow..going so slow.. And it was almost a relief because it was stopping her from thinking about that door, about Spencer..again.

But then, quite suddenly, they broke through the thickest barrier of smoke. And then everything was spinning again, everything was confused and strange. Breathe? It seemed like a strange concept, and it wasn't until Morgan smacked her hard across the back, yelling at her to take a god damned breath before she passed out, that she realized that she still hadn't.

She was still sucking in shuddering, grateful little breaths when Garcia suddenly appeared, emerging out of the blackened air like something out of a demented version of a Disney fairy tale, her blond hair loose and glinting in the harsh, erratic light, a brightly coloured scarf held up to her face, inching up her nose until it sent her glasses hanging slightly askew, her eyes blown wide in panic and worry under the winged frames.

But she had no time to really absorb any of this, because then Garcia was right there, talking quickly to Morgan, as she pressing up against his mocha brown skin so she could take one of her arms. She wanted to say something, to tell them, to ask them about the others...but when her mouth formed their names, the sound was lost in the snarling roar of the fire.

Finally, Morgan wrenched them forward, unable to do anything as the fire began to race them down the corridor, and they had to stumble away, the fire leaving them with no choice but to hope that the others had made it out ahead of them as the ceiling of the hallway behind them began to give way..

The three of them stumbled out of the fifth floor's fire escape, having to climb up to the next floor, pushing determinedly through the rising smoke to find a safe route to the rickety metal staircase that bordered the outside of the older building. They yelled at the panicking people around them, trying to instil order in the chaos but few stopped to listen, preferring to make their own way through the glowing, ember red gloom.

When their feet finally met with solid ground, their limbs were already trembling with the heady, explosive mixture of exhaustion and adrenaline, lungs rebelling at the sudden clarity of the air, leaving them hacking, their faces streaming with smoky tear as they fought for breath, barely registering the wail of emergency sirens in the distance as they sped down the highway towards them, preferring to huddle into each other collectively as they sought to regain their breath.

Seconds...maybe minutes later they were spotted by Rossi and Emily, and everyone's faces turned momentarily relieved and grateful, hands fluttering and pressing at each other's shoulders and sparse night clothes as if to reassure themselves, as if they could find reassurance in the solidity they found there...and they did...they did until the empty spaces in their circle became horribly apparent.

They looked up as one, eyes alert and clear for the first time in hours, searching, expecting to see them emerge out of the billowing smoke and falling ash at any moment. They fully expected to see their leader emerge, looking every inch the lead FBI profiler, still decked out in his black suit and red tie, still whole and immaculate, as if even the fire didn't quite dare to touch him. They expected to see Spencer emerge at his heels, his long, colt-like legs unsteady, his clothes singed, rumpled, and ash-covered, but looking for all the world as alert, and alive as he always did, his big doe eyes blinking hugely as he took it all in, worry lines etched into little furrows between his eyebrows until he saw the rest of them safe and whole, before the hint of that still so innocently open, and pleased smile twitched at the corners of his lips, his eyes going pleased and soft as he took them all in.

But the exits that only seconds before had been teeming with coughing, and yelling guests was now trickling to a sluggish stop... And none of them had expelled a big-eyed, messy haired youth, or a tall, hard-edged, sable haired man. There was nothing...They weren't there.

Hotch and Reid...they were missing...

"A little fire is quickly trodden out, which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench." - William Shakespeare