There's an involved explanation as to why I wrote this story, which I'll include after the last chapter (there will be four), so I don't spoil anything. For now enjoy, and thank you for reading!

I do need to send out a quick plea, if anyone works in the medical field I could use your expertise. Please PM me or note it in a review!

"Impossible is just a big word thrown around by small men." - Muhammad Ali

They had left the buildings and humans back in the small town the team was stationed in. For almost ten minutes they'd seen not a house, or a barn, or a church, or even just a person bicycling. It was just endless trees and hills in this part of Pennsylvania. It was almost strange, serial killers were born, raised and prowled everywhere, from the desert to the city, to this piece of miserably empty land. Well, empty of people.

Emily was certain she'd never seen so damn many trees in her life. Oak, Maple and Poplar, green and full, blocking most of the waning sunlight, and pine and spruce filling in the spaces, blocking whatever light the other trees might have let in. It made the landscape look cool, like autumn when little kids run around in the comfortable weather catching lighting bugs.

It was actually 80 degrees with unbearable humidity.

"Where is this guy supposed to be at?" Morgan asked, turning toward her.

Emily glanced at the directions on her lap, then at the dashboard. "We've gone about eight miles, so another quarter of a mile and there should be a turn-off to his property."

"What's the name?"

"No name, it's just a driveway," she said.

He glanced at her, an 'are you kidding' look on his face. Emily just shrugged.

They were heading to a possible suspect's house to ask him about the murders. The local cops seemed to think it was extremely unlikely the old guy was killing people, but then the bodies were turning up not too far from his middle of nowhere home.

"There!" Emily cried suddenly.

Morgan whipped around. "Where? I don't see it."

"Back there." She gestured behind them.

Grunting his annoyance, Morgan slowed slightly, and jerked the wheel in the FBI defensive driving version of a u-turn. Emily gripped the dash and was momentarily thankful the road was empty. Literally empty.

Going slower now, Morgan noted the turn, and cranked the wheel toward the left, taking them onto a lonely dirt road. The shock absorbers on the SUV were no match for the dusty road, and she felt every dip of a pothole, and awkward shake of the loose stones. Her hands were still holding the dash for dear life.

Morgan suddenly hit the breaks, but not quick enough, and had to jerk the wheel to the left to avoid the thick, low hanging branch that would have torn threw the windshield. Instead, the SUV went off the road into a ditch, where Morgan lost control for only seconds, but long enough for the wheels to swivel and put them in the path of a massive and likely ancient maple tree. Emily cringed, squeezing her eyes shut as they made impact. The crash of metal sounded like demons screaming, and the pop of air bags startled her seconds before it hit her in the face. It all ended with the tired hiss of the engine.

She opened her eyes to find Morgan studying her intently. "Are you okay?" He asked.

Emily took a minute to get her bearings, smacking the airbag out of her way. "Yeah, I don't think I hurt anything. Are you?"

He nodded and grinned. "I've got a hard head."

She smiled. "So what do we do?"

"Go talk to this guy. We're here for it anyway, and he might be able to help us get out of here."

He was already opening his door when she responded, voice low. "And if he's the unsub, we might be really screwed."

The heat outside was a shock to her system, the humidity clinging to her skin, and Emily was estimating five minutes before she was feeling the itch of cleavage sweat. She hated cleavage sweat.

"Damn it." She walked around the car to find Morgan holding up his cell phone and cursing the trees. He looked at her. "No service."

Emily sighed. "Isn't this how horror movies start?"

Morgan grinned and threw an arm around her. "Don't worry, Princess. I'll protect you." She rolled her eyes at him, and he leaned close and whispered. "And, if I remember correctly, there's usually a bit of skin in those flicks, even a little lip action."

Emily scoffed and pushed him away, smiling. "If you find a swimming pool out here, you might just get lucky."

Morgan chuckled and winked at her. "I'll keep that in mind."

They walked up the dirt road, swatting at bugs and trying to appear like stoic professionals even in the oppressive heat. Twenty minutes of walking lead them to a small cabin that looked surprisingly well-maintained, and a compact sedan. Perfect to fit under a low-hanging tree branch that would take out anything taller, like a government issue SUV. Morgan took the lead, and they walked up the front steps to the little front porch and he knocked on the door.

No answer.

Morgan knocked again. Still no answer.

"Mr. Talbot! We're from the FBI, we just have a few questions for you!" Emily called.

They shared a look, and Morgan tried the knob, which turned easily in his hand. Emily nodded that she'd head around back, and almost simultaneously, they drew their weapons, keeping the Glocks aimed at the ground.

She could smell a fire burning and something rotting underneath that, but it was mostly covered by the smell of burning meat. She moved toward the back, her body tensed, bracing for any noise or movement. She heard Morgan enter the house as she got a look at the backyard. There was a worn and possibly handmade table and chair set, and a large fire ring with something black and burning in it. Something human.

Slowly she moved closer, always aware of what was around her. She studied the figure, which while badly burnt, she could still make out characteristics. It was male, older judging from the wrinkled hand hanging out of the fire ring. Their possible suspect.

The unsub was here, he just wasn't the man who lived here. She needed to warn Morgan. Her focus slipped only for a minute, but it was long enough for a man to come out of nowhere and slam into her body. She hollered for Morgan as she fought against the figure, her Glock flying out of her hand. She was on her back, completely prone and hating herself for it when a sharp, agonizing pain hit her right thigh.

Her scream was almost drowned out by the three shots fired into the unsub's body.

Hearing his partner's blood-curdling scream of agony would definitely be at the top of Morgan's list of most terrifying things ever. Not far below the sound of the bullets impacting his father's body.

He rushed over and pushed the unsub off of her, checking first that he was definitely dead before focusing on Prentiss. She was sitting up now, hands around the knife still imbedded in her thigh, face already two shades paler from the pain. Instead of panicking or whining about the pain, she turned and regarding him calmly. Her face was tight with annoyance, as if a knife protruding from her thigh was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

"Well, this is just great," she muttered. The she sighed. "I think he missed the arteries."

He played along. "You certainly have a way with people, Prentiss. What's this going to be, you're fourth hospital visit in five years?"

"Third."

"Third?" He didn't believe that.

"Hotch didn't make me go after the 2x4, I just saw the paramedics." She said this as if she was defending something.

"Right...let me go inside and get first aid supplies. Do not pull that thing out, and don't try to move." He spoke as he picked up her Glock and set it back in her hand.

"Yes sir." She saluted him.

He ignored the sarcasm and headed into the house. It was surprisingly clean and well-maintained, and Morgan was instantly thankful its murdered owner was neat. He didn't spend too much time admiring it though, his body was still trembling, with adrenaline or fear, he wasn't sure. Emily had nearly died again, because he didn't have her back. They should have stayed together to clear the house, then the backyard. He knew that, but they'd split-up anyway, and he hated himself for it.

Still silently admonishing himself, Morgan searched through the house. He assumed the man in the fire outback was the man they'd come to look for, killed so the unsub could use his property. The old guy was unfortunately also modern, so the only phone he could find was a cell phone, which like his own, had no signal. There was also a first aid kit with a small amount of gauze, so he took that and a clean bed sheet and ran back outside to Prentiss.

"You find a phone?" Emily asked.

"No, all he seemed to have was a cell phone. No reception." He knelt down, gently nudged her hands away from the bloody wound, and tried to get a look at it.

"What? Uh, that could be a problem."

"Don't worry, we'll just take the sedan...I'm going to have to tear your pants."

She nodded, much more focused on their lack of transportation. "You found keys?"

"No, but if I can't find them, I'll just hot-wire it." He tore the leg of her pants right off, leaving her right leg in what might have passed for really short shorts.

Emily winced. "You know how to hot-wire a car?"

He grinned at her. "Course I do." Then he focused back on the bloody mess of her leg. His hands were already stained red and she was covered up to her elbows.

"That's going to scar."

He glanced at her disgruntled expression, and turned up the charm. "From the snow-white skin tone, I'm guessing these fine legs don't see much sunshine anyway."

"Ha ha."

"Alright, I'm going to have to move your leg a bit to get the gauze and sheet wrapped around, so this is going to hurt."

She nodded. "Better than bleeding out."

Carefully, Morgan lifted her leg, and wound the small amount of gauze around the dagger, noting with relief that it hadn't penetrated the back of her thigh. Prentiss was tense, and the occasional gasp or whimper came from her mouth, but she didn't complain. He set her leg down to rip the sheet into long, thin strips, and heard her broken warble as he lifted her leg again. He wrapped the limb until the knife was stable in the wound, and wouldn't move around and make the injury worse. That would keep the bleeding to a minimum until they made it to a hospital.

"Alright, let's see if we can get you standing." Morgan put an arm around her waist, and helped ease her off the ground.

"That's not too bad," Emily said thoughtfully. Morgan nodded, and then gestured her to take a step, and but Emily managed only to give an agonized whimper and nearly fall down.

"Okay, okay, easy. There's another way to do this." She looked at him skeptically, and Morgan smiled. Her eyes flew open wide when he swept her into his arms, and headed toward the front of the house.

"I could have walked," she growled.

"Yeah, sure you could have." Ignoring her annoyance at being carried, Morgan headed to the small sedan, and rested her back on her feet near the passenger's side door. He grinned. "Unless of course, you're about to tell me you can drive?"

Emily scowled. "Shut-up and help me in."

Morgan chuckled, and got the door open, helping her ease her way into the seat. He left the door sitting open, rather than have her roast to death while he searched for keys, and took off back to the house and the unsub. He kept the search thorough, but as quick as he could make it, his partner's sickly pallor ever-present in his mind.

He would find keys, and drive back to town for medical assistance. Prentiss would be fine. She'd be hobbling and bitching and moaning, and giving some poor doctor a hard time in hours. At least that's what he told himself. There was a sick feeling burning in the very center of his gut that told him it wouldn't be that easy. He couldn't shake the feeling that something else would go wrong.

And it did.

No keys. He found house keys, but no car keys. Not in the house, the shed, the unsub or the still smoking former late owner of the house.

Minor setback. He could hotwire the car. Twelve year-old, baby-faced Derek Morgan had learned from a couple of the older boys in the gang he ran errands with, and further developed his technique in training for undercover work. Car boosters were more fun than drug dealers or pimps any day.

Morgan slid into the driver's seat, and let his fingers slid along the underside of the steering column.

"No keys?" Emily asked. There were beads of sweat on her face, whether from the heat, the pain or her body's struggle to heal itself he didn't know, and didn't particularly want to find out.

"It's alright, I can hotwire it." He found the bundle of wires, and tugged until they were visible to him. He took the wire cutters he'd found in the house, and snipped the appropriate wire, and carefully pealed away some of the colored casing so the actual wire was exposed. Holding the cover part of the wire, and put the two ends together, waiting for a spark that didn't come.

Emily didn't comment, but he could feel her watching him, almost sense her anxiety growing.

"It's alright, I got it," he insisted. He kept trying, earning the slightest rumble that abruptly died. He twisted the ends together and cut one of the other wires. He knew it wouldn't work, that he'd picked the right wire the first time, and to prove him right, the windshield wipers starting moving, squeaking obnoxiously against the dry glass. He let those pieces fall apart and tried another wire, keeping up the cycle until he had no more wires left to try.

This was not fucking happening.

"So this day just keeps getting better and better," Emily said. She was watching him, and he knew that look on her face. It was that don't try to bullshit me, I know we're in trouble look.

Morgan sighed and slammed a hand against the steering wheel. Emily didn't flinch, or react except for a barely perceptible lift in her eyebrows. "Alright," he said suddenly, "There should be cell reception by the road, I'll just carry you down the drive, and call the team from there."

"Or you could just leave me here and go down yourself," she suggested.

"No," he said. He was not leaving her injured and alone, not for any length of time or any reason. Not when his stomach was twisting sickly around itself, and his mouth was dry from the bad memories floating through his brain.

"Why not?"

"Just no."

"Come on Morgan, you can't carry me that far without hurting yourself."

He shook his head. "I'll be fine, don't worry."

Emily groaned. "I won't consent to this plan until you tell me why you don't just leave me here."

"You don't need to consent, I'll just grab you."

"You want to put that theory to the test?" She asked.

Now Morgan groaned. "Because I got visions of coming back to find you dead. So, no, alright?"

That shut her up, and Morgan didn't waste another minute in the car. He tucked his cell phone into his pocket, and ran around to the passenger's side. He opened the door to find Emily waiting with an uneasy expression on her face.

"At least stretch or something so you don't hurt yourself," she said.

Morgan obeyed. "You seem to think you weigh a ton. I hate to break it to you princess, but you aren't that big."

She just rolled her eyes.

After a minute, he got close to her, directed her to swing her arms around his neck, and lifted her easily into his arms. "See, this isn't so bad. I bench press more than you."

"Yeah, yeah, He-man."