Hello! I know I promised to write an Emergency story next but this one wouldn't leave me alone. If I get a good response from this one I'll keep going. Hopefully someone else likes where I'm going with this!

It was a commercial flight. That was bad enough. It was a commercial flight with a high school basketball team and all its attendants coming back from regional finals. That was even worse. It was a commercial flight filled with a high school basketball team that had won regional finals. That was by far the worse.

Sitting in his economy seat, thankful that Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner was between himself and the rampaging hoard, Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid tried to concentrate on the file vibrating on his lap. In his agitation, Spencer's left leg was jiggling as he tried to tune out the raucous laughter and too tall, too muscled bodies moving up and down the aisle.

"Take it easy, Reid. We'll be in D.C. in a few hours," Aaron stated, not looking up from his own file. There was nothing else to do but try to work.

"I still don't understand why we couldn't take the jet," Reid muttered quietly. He knew he sounded like a spoiled child but it had just come out.

"You know why, Reid," Aaron responded using the voice he reserved for his 5 year old son Jack when he was being impatient.

"I know, I know," Reid breathed as yet another basketball went whizzing by his head to bounce off the air plane fuselage. "Why can't the flight attendants control them?"

"I think they're been kept busy by the parents," Aaron said. While reading his report, he was also watching out of the corner of his eye as three of the fathers ordered repeatedly bottles of beer. All ready the blue collar men were too drunk to fly.

"I'm sorry, sir, but we are no longer allowed to serve you," one of the flight attendants said after the third beer. A quick nod at the Air Marshall two seats back, the woman was prepared for the violent outburst.

"What are you talking about, bitch?" the bigger of the three men demanded. His son was the most obnoxious one of the team. Apparently the apple hadn't fallen fall from the tree. Reid doubted the child had had a chance of being anything other than his father. "If I want a beer, you have to go get me a fucking beer!"

"Excuse me, sir," the Air Marshall said as he stood up to intervene. "If you do not lower your voice and stop swearing, I will have to escort you to a private room." Since 9-11, Air Marshalls had lost all sense of humour when dealing with drunks or anyone else that might cause a danger to the plane or its occupants. A small room once used for cargo had been converted into a restraining room. He wasn't going to take any chances.

"Go to hell," the large man slurred as he drunkenly took a swing at the marshal. Almost expecting the move, the tall marshal took a step back at the last second, resulting in the man missing him. The momentum of his swing sent the man stumbling into his two companions. Before he had a chance to recover, the marshal was on him. The dark haired marshal gripped the man by the shoulder and flipped him onto his stomach, a pair of zip tie handcuffs slipping easily over the man's wrists. "Come with me," he growled. "You two will join your friend if you make any more trouble."

Getting a nod of understanding from the other two men, the marshal led the loudly protesting man down the aisle toward the restraint room. The pair was closely followed by the son, who was protesting his father's innocence, and the wife. A few feet down the aisle, the marshal stopped and turned to face the duo. "You could join him too if you'd like," he stated simply.

"You can't be doing this. We're taxing paying American citizens. We have every right to free will. If that makes drinking a little too much, than we can God damn do it!" the wife shrieked, completely missing the quiet calm of the tall, dark haired man standing in front of her. The son, however, recognized the danger boiling just beneath the surface. God knew he'd seen it often enough with his dad when he'd drank too much. Luckily, that only happened once or twice a month.

"It's okay, Mom," the son said, grabbing hold of the woman's nearest arm. "We need to go sit down."

"What are you talking about?" the wife demanded as she tried to take a step toward the man. Who was he to tell them how to live their lives? Damn government.

"He's going to put us in handcuffs too if you don't sit down and shut up," the son stated as he deliberately put his body between his mom and the marshal. The last thing he wanted, despite his blustering, was for his mom to be detained as well.

"Listen to your son," the marshal instructed as he continued to lead the disgruntled drunk down the aisle.

With a great deal of coaxing, the son managed to get his mother to return to their seats. As he took his own, closest to the aisle, he glanced back toward where the marshal had taken his father but all he could see was a drawn curtain.

"Well, that was entertaining," Reid quipped. His left leg continued to jiggle. The other members of the team had been relatively oblivious to the altercation and were still joking around good naturedly.

"Mph," was Hotch's only reply. He hated to make fun of other people's misfortunes. He knew all too well how quickly a person's life could change for the worse. He continued to read his file. As distracting as the noise of the other people were, he simply tuned them out. It was a skill that any good leader learned quickly. Another vital skill was the ability to still hear the noises while cataloguing them as background or something that needed to be listened to.

Taking his boss's unspoken prompt, Reid turned back to the file. As he scanned the paperwork from the case they were heading back to D.C. to testify for, Spencer's mind wandered. The rest of their team, Garcia, Morgan, Rossi and Emily were still in Los Angles. There was a serial killer stalking the night time streets, apparently at random, killing people and then putting their bodies on display. From what they knew so far, the killer was emulating the film 'Seven' with Brad Pitt and Morgan Freeman. What they haven't been able to do was narrow down the list of suspects.

In the midst of this case, the prosecutor of a case they concluded three months previously had contacted Hotch, asking for him and Reid to return to D.C. to testify before the grand jury. For some reason, they were needed to testify in person, something that rarely happened, and so had had to return without the others. It frustrated the Unit Chief to no end to leave in the midst of an ongoing case. It wasn't something that he would normally allow but they also needed to make sure that the unsub from the old case was kept in jail for the rest of his natural and unnatural life.

As a result, Hotch and Reid were travelling across the country with a group of high schoolers. Reid hadn't liked his high school companions when he'd been forced to endure the outdated institution the first time around. The fact that he was no longer a twelve year old genius didn't improve his opinion of high school students.

Abandoning the paperwork, Spencer looked closer at the other people on board the plane. He really didn't need to read the files. He had an eidetic memory and knew everything contained therein. He was simply using the ruse of reading to keep from having to interact with the people around him. As he glanced up from the pages, he found a young girl of about two staring at him over the back of the next chair.

"Emily, don't bother the young man," a voice floated over the cushioned back. While Reid couldn't see the person who'd spoken, he could see the slender but strong pair of hands reach up to pull the child back down.

"It's all right," Reid said as he looked into the dark haired girl's brown eyes. She had an impish grin that won his heart instantly. It was an odd sensation for the young genius. He usually didn't like kids, any kids, except maybe Jack and Henry, J.J.'s son.

"Pretty!" the little girl cooed as she gazed back at Reid. The grin spread to a full on smile that lit up her round face.

"Emily!" the unknown voice gasped. Then a blond head appeared as Emily's mom got up on her chair to get control of her daughter. "I'm so sorry," the woman said, her cheeks burning brightly with embarrassment.

" She's fine," Reid said, his own cheeks turning a little red. Emily smiled happily at him while Aaron tried to stifle a quick laugh beside him.

"She likes boys. I'm so sorry," the mother said as she gently wrestled her child back into her seat.

"Well, Spencer, it looks like you have a fan," Aaron said, his mouth twisting in a suppressed grin.

"Be quiet," Reid responded as he turned back to the file. If he could, he would have pulled the manila file up to cover his face. He could feel his ears and cheeks burning still.

OOOO

A half hour of silence and they were flying over the Rocky Mountains. Reid distracted himself by staring out the small air plane window. He had to slouch slightly to see out of it. Again, he cursed having to leave the jet behind. He could see the landscape below beyond the rear of the wing.

As Dr. Reid watched the jagged, snow covered peaks pass by, he became aware of an odd vibration through the soles of his shoes. Alarmed, he turned to mention it to Hotch just as a loud pop drew his attention back to the window. In that instant, Reid swore he felt his stomach fall down somewhere around his knees. The engine he could see on the wing was billowing black smoke with flames snaking out behind.

"Hotch?" Reid said as he pulled his eyes away from the sight.

"Yes?" Hotch replied just as the plane leapt to the left. Then they were careening to the right. The other passengers began to scream as the ones that hadn't remained in their seats were thrown around the cabin.

"Get into your seats!" the flight attendant announced over the P.A. system once she reached the microphone. "Fasten your seat belts!"

"Oh God!" a woman several rows ahead screamed hysterically. "We're going down!"

Ok, what do you think? Should I continue?