CHAPTER NINETEEN:
SKIN AND BONE
( aka 04x01: mayhem )

■ ■ ■ ■ ■

DALLIS WAS SITTING IN the waiting room when the rest of the team arrived. They were quick to gather around herself and Morgan, who was standing off to the side keeping an eye on the closed door that Hotch was changing behind, just in case he decided to lose it at a nurse again. Emily drew Dallis into a quick hug then handed her a bullet-proof vest to put on over her shirt. Dallis was strapping it into place when Hotch emerged, battered and bruised but alive.

"Are you okay?" Emily asked, looking him over.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "I just want to understand why I'm still alive."

"We think the idea was to maim, not to kill," Reid explained.

"Did you identify Sam, the bomber?" Hotch turned to him.

He shook his head. "Garcia put Sam and the other dead unsub into every known database. Nothing."

"I don't think you'll find him under the name Sam," Dallis muttered.

Hotch sighed. "Just tell her to keep trying."

"We know how terrorist cells evolve," Rossi continued. He was yet to say anything to Dallis but she wasn't oblivious to the scalding heat of his gaze flickering to the side of her face. Checking for injuries and, thankfully, finding none. "They learn from one campaign to the next. How to stay off radar like the London bombers."

"Yeah, but they hit at 8:50 in the morning with a series of coordinated blasts aimed at London's transportation system. And this cell targeted a lone SUV where the only people on the street are two federal agents."

"If it's not multiple targets, it's one target," Morgan said firmly. "One target, one bomb."

"Garcia said the device was placed under Kate's SUV," Rossi commented, making Hotch swallow thickly at the woman's name. There was still no word on how her surgery was going. Over an hour had come and gone since she entered that room, and Dallis was yet to shake the feeling that she wouldn't be leaving it.

"It was likely made using oxidising agents, including chromates, peroxides, perchlorates, chlorates and red mercury," Reid said. "All jammed into a device no larger than a cell phone."

"Imagine what a bomb the size of an oil drum could do," Morgan grimaced at just the thought.

"Yeah, but to make something that big, you'd need a chemical engineer," Hotch considered with a frown.

"Like the recently deceased Dr Azahari Husin," Rossi said. "Asia's most-wanted bomb maker. Authorities dubbed him the 'Demolition Man.' He treated each bomb like a work of art. One wrong move, he becomes a victim of his own creation. He'll be more revered than all of the people who died as a result of his devices."

"Stop the bomber," Dallis said. "Stop the bomb."

"To do that, we need to know how they would deploy something that big," Morgan insisted.

Sitting on the edge of the main desk -- which had been cleared of doctors and nursing staff upon the team's arrival -- was a laptop displaying the video footage of the explosion. Hotch had pressed play while they were theorising. He stared unflinchingly at the sight of his body being thrown across the street like a ragdoll.

"Did you ever find Sam's cell phone?" Hotch turned to Dallis and Morgan.

"Yes," Morgan nodded.

"Did he call 9-1-1?"

"No. He dialled one number six times, every few minutes. It was a disposable cell."

"Garcia tried to track the number but it went dead just minutes after Sam died," Dallis shared. "Whoever had it knew to destroy it."

"Well, if he didn't have a secondary device to detonate, there's only one reason that he stayed with us," Hotch said.

"And that is?" Dallis arched an eyebrow but she was slowly piecing it together. God, she hoped she was wrong. "To make sure the ambulance got to you."

Hotch gave a slight nod, careful not to strain the side of his head where he'd injured his ear. His hearing must've improved a bit since he was checked over by a doctor. Now, he could barely look them in the eye let alone read their lips.

"In a city on lockdown, an ambulance with its siren blaring and lights on, it's going to make it through every roadblock virtually uncontested," Emily remarked.

"And straight into a hospital with a bypass order on it."

"What?" Dallis gasped.

"The Secret Service has a bypass on this hospital."

"And the paramedic told you to come here specifically?" she pressed, making him nod again.

"Secret Service?" Rossi frowned. "Who are they protecting?"

It didn't matter, really. It wouldn't change the fact that they were the target the whole time. In this terrorist group's complex plan, this was the finale. Every death was deliberate, even the bomb detonating under Hotch's SUV. They'd staged each scene just how they wanted it, moving them along like puppets on strings. Now there was an ambulance with a bomb inside it only a few floors below them.

They wasted no time tracking down the Secret Service.

"Hey, who have you got in here?" Morgan asked.

"Why is that information important to you?" one of the guards -- the one who seemed to be in charge of things -- looked Morgan up and down warily.

"The ambulance I drove in here," Hotch spoke over him. "Where is it now?"

"In the basement. Why?"

"There's a bomb in it."

"It's rigged to assassinate whoever it is you're protecting," Emily added, which was enough for him to start barking orders at his wide-eyed men behind him. "You need to get them and everyone else out of here right now."

"I can't do that," he shook his head. "He's undergoing surgery as we speak."

"The paramedic I came in with, do you have eyes on him?" Hotch asked.

They scanned the security cameras, finding him in a hallway just outside the basement with what looked to be a phone in his hand. Rossi was quick to contact Garcia to see if she could jam the frequencies in the area, but Dallis didn't hang around to hear her response. Morgan had slipped away from the group on silent but determined feet, heading towards the stairs that would take him down to the basement. Instinctively, Dallis followed, letting the door slam shut behind her.

"What are you doing?" Morgan glared.

"What are you doing?" she retorted, waiting with her hands on her hips.

"I'm getting this ambulance out of here."

Dallis swallowed. Here goes nothing. "Then I'm coming with you."

"Oh, not you're not."

"Try and stop me."

For a moment, neither of them moved. Morgan was going to see this through, Dallis had no doubt about that, but she'd be damned if she turned back scared and let him do this on his own.

"Never leave a man behind, right?"

Morgan scowled. "Don't use my words against me."

But Dallis knew she had won when he continued to lead the way down the stairs.

The basement was void of life when they crept around the corner, guns raised. There was only one ambulance parked in the waiting bay. Dallis dreaded the thought of looking inside but kept forcing one foot in front of the other.

"Morgan?" her ear-piece crackled with Garcia's wary voice. "Dallis?"

"Yeah, baby?" Morgan answered.

"You sound stressed," she said.

"Do I?"

"No idea why," Dallis remarked.

Garcia huffed. "You also sound stressed. Where are you? I know you're not with the others."

They shared a brief look, coming to a stop just outside the ambulance's back door.

"Not where we want to be right now," Morgan admitted when Garcia repeated their names again. "Garcia, take this down for me. FDNY-108."

"That's an ambulance. Are you okay?"

Dallis didn't -- couldn't -- answer. She'd looked through the window and almost immediately flinched backward at the sight of the blinking red lights of a fridge-sized bomb.

"It's not too late," Morgan reminded her.

"Not too late to do what?" Garcia's voice had started to shake.

"Nothing, baby," Morgan said, then prompted Dallis with a nudge of her arm. "You can go back to the others. I won't hold it against you."

Everything in her wanted to flee but Morgan already had the door open. Dallis would be no better than the unsubs if she sat there and waited for Morgan to potentially lose his life while protecting everyone else. That was who Derek Morgan was, who Dallis Cohen would forever strive to be. Why not start now?

She gritted her teeth and planted herself at his side, deeply unsettled by the repetitive beeping that emitted from the unholy device now only inches away. The bomb was a mess of wires and metal cylinders that would surely wipe out more than just the hospital, but then that would only be an added bonus for this terrorist group.

"Garcia, how long can you keep jamming the cell phone lines?" Morgan asked.

"A few minutes, max. Why?"

"Because we're going to have to get this ambulance out of here."

"Or," Garcia snapped. "You can just evacuate the building like everybody else!"

Morgan shook his head even though the only person who could see him was Dallis. "As soon as the airways are clear, this thing's going up."

"Going up?" she cried. "That's in, like, three minutes because that's when the satellite moves position."

"Then we've got three minutes," Morgan declared, this time to Dallis. "I'm going to try my hardest to defuse this thing or give us more time. Can I count on you to drive like we're in GTA, Cohen?"

Dallis was positive she'd forgotten how to breathe. It felt like someone had wrapped a hand around her throat (not in a good way, either) and was squeezing the life out of her, but before she knew it she was behind the wheel of an ambulance, foot flat on the accelerator, counting down the potential last few minutes of her life.

"Garcia, I need you to find somewhere nearby that we can park this thing," she ordered as the sirens pierced through the silence of the outside world. Her ears were ringing so loud that it sounded like she was talking under water, but she hoped Garcia managed to make sense of what she was asking. "Tell everybody, and I mean everyone, to hightail it out of there right now."

"Okay, okay," Garcia said. "Head North and floor it. I'll tell you where to turn."

In a cruel twist of irony, the seconds that once crept past like hours now seemed to slip through her fingers like water. Behind her, Morgan shouted every colourful curse word he could think of as he plucked at wires like he was navigating a landmine. From what Dallis understood, he'd done nothing to decrease their time or explode them but he was also having no luck saving the day. This was a bomb prepared to detonate, it was just a matter of when and where, and Dallis and Morgan would be the judge of that.

"How much time, Garcia?" Morgan exclaimed.

"One minute and fifty seconds," she said on the brink of tears.

Dallis was past the point of crying. Her thoughts were racing to rival the speedometer, taunting her with everything she knew she'd miss if she closed her eyes in one minute and fifty seconds and never got to open them again.

Happiness.

Friendship.

Love.

She'd die without one more of her mother's hugs, without telling her brother how proud she was of him. Without kissing a man she was in love with.

"Signal's coming back online," Garcia warned as Dallis swerved around the next corner, pushing the ambulance beyond its limit. There was smoke rising from the engine but she couldn't let it deter her, not now. "Dallis, drive to the opening then both of you get the hell out of there! You've got thirty seconds until full coverage."

Dallis would never get married, never have children. She would have nothing to leave behind, a legacy that would immortalise her, and she had so much more to give.

"There's something I really want you to know, Garcia," Morgan said.

When Dallis glanced back at him in the rear view mirror, she found him sitting there in defeat, clinging to the back door handles as the park Garcia was directing them to slowly crept into view.

"Twenty seconds!"

"Please, Garcia."

"Save it," she begged him, crying now. "Just get out."

"Dallis?"

She shook her head. "We're not quite there yet."

"Okay," he said. "You know what you are, Garcia?"

Twenty seconds had spilled into ten, then five, then one.

Dallis swung her door open, letting her foot slide from the accelerator as she jumped and ran with the last bit of energy she had left. She had to trust Morgan had done the same, for the world had exploded again, lifting her body high into the air. When she collided against the hard ground, Dallis swore then that she'd touched Heaven. An angel fallen from grace.

There was pain, everywhere.

Burning, everywhere.

Smoke blanketed the New York City skyline when she pried her eyes open.

Heart hammering, crying out.

Alive.

Rough hands frantically patted her leg, making Dallis jolt into a sitting position as the dirt-streaked linen of her pants caught on blistered skin. Morgan was hovering over her, putting out the flames that threatened to eat through her clothes right down to her marrow. Dallis was so elated to see him that she couldn't help but laugh.

"Garcia?" Panting, Morgan sat back, a finger pressed against his ear-piece. "I'll tell you what you are to me. You're my God-given solace."

"Excuse me?" Dallis drew her brows into a frown, clutching her chest as if he'd shot her. She could hear Garcia trying to laugh along on the other end of the line but every hiccup came out as a sob. "I risked my life in a bomb-rigged ambulance. What am I to you, Morgan?"

"You're my number one," Morgan said, squeezing her hands in his. "My sister."

Dallis smiled. "Can we please go home now, brother?"

■ ■ ■ ■ ■

FIRST, THEY RETURNED TO the hospital so that the blistering skin on Dallis' leg could be treated. It was superficial at best -- a first degree burn, perhaps a very minor second degree -- which Dallis knew from the fact she could walk with no more than a discomforted grimace, but it was easier to have a professional look over it, knowing she would need medical clearance before she could return to the field again. They found the others already waiting for them, including a very unimpressed Hotch. Dallis would've feared the silent treatment from him but she chalked it down to sheer exhaustion -- that, and the news that Kate Joyner had died. He left them to their own devices without much more than a glare, meaning that Dallis was alone when Rossi joined her.

"Hey, you." Her teeth flashed in a fleeting smile but it was a gesture that Rossi couldn't bring himself to return. "Look, I know what you're going to say."

"Oh, you do?"

She swallowed, suddenly lost for words. He spoke with a tone she recognised from the times she'd watched him interrogate unsubs. Blunt, determined to see her crack. She wanted to sink into the hospital bed and disappear.

"What you did was reckless," he declared, and if it wasn't for the open door behind him, she had no doubt that his voice would've started to rise. "Putting your life on the line like that? And Morgan's?"

"He was going to drive that ambulance away with or without me," she retorted in the line of fire. "Yell at me as much as you want, but I'm never going to apologise for being there to have my friend's back, so if that's what you're here for then you're wasting your time."

But Rossi's expression remained stony. A muscle worked overtime in his jaw as he resisted the urge to close the gap between them. "I've never known you to be a stupid woman, Dallis."

Fury lit a path from her head to her heart. She went to stand up but let out a whimper when her leg accidentally caught on the corner of the bed. At once, Rossi's face faltered, revealing the raw truth he'd concealed beneath with such care. Dallis was tense when he stepped towards her, but then he drew her into a hug he took an age to pull away from. She only let herself sink into him when he sighed her name into her hair, fearful but desperate to keep her close.

"I'm not stupid," she insisted but the words came out muffled with her face pressed to his shoulder. She clung to his shirt with trembling fingers. "I know we scared everyone, but it turned out okay."

"Maybe it did this time," he said. "But I'd never forgive myself if you died, Dolcezza."

She wanted to ask what that word meant. Dolcezza. He'd never called her that before and yet it rolled off the tongue with complete ease. Whatever it meant, she liked it. She liked that it was hers only, that her friendship mattered that much to him, that he understood her even when they were fighting. Friends like him were hard to come by.

"It's nice to know you care about me," she murmured.

Finally (much too soon), he let her go, scanning the bandage on her leg with sharp eyes. "What can I say? I'm a changed man since I joined this team."

"We've wormed our way into your heart," she nodded. "It's okay, you can admit it."

"You've got no idea."

"I'd do it for you too, you know," she said, to which he made a noise of confusion. "I'd risk my life for you. For anyone on this team."

His jaw locked once more. "I would never expect that of you."

But deep down, both of them knew he would do the same. In a heartbeat.

■ ■ ■ ■ ■

THE RED WINE STREAMED from the mouth of the bottle, pooling like blood at the bottom of her glass. She lifted it to her mouth, a pink lipstick stain marked the lip of the cup. This was her fourth refill in the span of half an hour, but who was counting really? It was girls night. Finally. It took them nearly two weeks after returning from New York, and this was the first night the four of them had off at the same time to get drunk (except poor JJ), eat greasy food for dinner, and bitch their hearts out as Pride and Prejudice played in the background.

Dallis sat on Garcia's yellow couch in a plain black sweatshirt and sweatpants. Her long legs were strewn across Emily's lap. The dark-haired woman was using her thigh as a coaster, balancing the stem of her wine glass between her thumb and index finger as she told them the nitty gritty details of her latest hook-up.

"I think he could've been Troy's cousin, Dallis," she exclaimed.

Dallis giggled into the cushion she had resting on her lap. Garcia had started to braid her hair but got distracted halfway through, leaving one half of her hair in waves and the other unevenly plaited by Garcia's tipsy fingers. The woman in question was perched on the armrest behind Dallis, her wide eyes staring in horror as Emily gave an insistent nod.

"He fell asleep on top of me."

"Before he...?" Dallis' giggling had her in a chokehold when Emily merely groaned and hid her face behind her hair. "Oh, Em, we do know how to pick 'em."

"Does Will have any single friends?" Emily asked JJ, who was sitting in the corner armchair with her legs tucked up to her chest.

Next to her on the side table was her non-alcoholic beer. She'd taken one sip and declared to Dallis that she was right -- it did taste like flavoured water. She hadn't touched it since and it had almost been an hour, but she seemed content enough just watching her friends steadily decline into drunken stupors, snacking on popcorn Garcia had made with extra butter. Scattered across the coffee table between them were the remnants of the pizzas they had for dinner as well as a giant tub of ice cream that probably should've been put in the freezer.

"I can ask him," JJ said, the corner of her mouth twitching as she fought back a smirk. "There might be a few men in his precinct, but he's about to resign so you'll have to snatch the offer up quick."

Emily hummed in consideration. "Only if they've got that accent." With a sip of her wine, she cleared her throat, dropping her voice into an exaggerated attempt at Will LaMontagne's charming Southern twang. "Howdy, baby girl."

"Uh, excuse me," Garcia's brows furrowed. "That's Derek's nickname for me only."

"And I don't think I've ever heard Will say howdy," JJ imitated Emily with a shake of her head. Like Dallis, Garcia had decided to braid her hair, but at least hers was finished.

For the first time since they made themselves at home in Garcia's apartment, there was a moment where no one said anything. JJ's eyes drifted to the television screen, consumed by the moment Mr Darcy professed his love to Elizabeth Bennett. Garcia wandered off into her kitchen, mumbling something about more popcorn, leaving Emily to gaze curiously at Dallis tipping her glass from side to side. The wine sloshed back and forth with the movement.

"You're quiet," she noted, nudging her leg to get her attention. "Something on your mind?"

"Or should we say someone?" JJ corrected slyly.

Dallis hesitated, then decided to just go for it. There'd been one thing on her mind ever since their return from New York. She could've googled it herself or she could've just asked him considering he'd said it more than once since their return, but there was no other time like the present.

"What does dolcezza mean?"

Emily's response was immediate. "Who said that?"

Dallis shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"Yes," she said as JJ turned off the television and Garcia stopped midway to the microwave.

Oh. So this was a big thing, then. Maybe Dallis should've just gone to Google. At least Google couldn't tease her.

"Rossi," she mumbled.

JJ grinned, holding a hand up to cup her ear. "Sorry, what was that?"

Dallis scowled. "I'm not saying it again."

Emily must've decided to take pity on her. She patted Dallis' leg, careful to avoid the healing wound on her calf. The burn had patched up nicely and the doctors were advising her to let it air out. With any luck, she'd be back in the field next week. Desk duty was boring her out of her mind but Erin Strauss was nothing if not a stickler for the rules.

"It means sweetness," Emily said. "Or gentleness."

"Oh."

"You're David Rossi's sweetness, Dallis," Garcia cooed, clutching a hand over her heart in a mocking swoon. "Oh, how positively romantic."

"I can just see the Rossi-Cohen children now," JJ ghosted a hand over her stomach while Dallis covered her furiously red cheeks. "They'd be gorgeous. Intelligent. Profilers, no doubt."

"Let's make a bet on how long it takes them to admit it," Garcia's eyes glittered deviously, which did nothing to help Dallis calm down. "I give it two weeks."

"Two weeks? Come on, let's give Dallis more credit than that," Emily scoffed, then hid her curling mouth behind her wine glass. "Three."

JJ looked first to Dallis, whose shoulders slackened with a defeated sigh, "You might as well."

"Alright then. A month."

Fortunately, they soon got distracted by the topic of JJ's baby (baby fever was real and it had the four women caught in its deadly embrace), but it wasn't long before the men of their office were inevitably mentioned again.

At this point, they should've just invited them to girls night, Dallis thought with a wry smile.

"Okay, okay," Garcia clapped her hands together. "Fuck, marry, murder."

"Not sure that's how you're meant to play this game," Dallis frowned but she sat forward anyway, curious to know how this would go.

Garcia shrugged. "Yeah, well, it's my game, and I give you Derek, Hotch and Rossi."

Damn. Curiosity really did kill the cat.

"Oh, that's a tough one," Emily winced, then disappeared into the kitchen in search of Garcia's bottle opener. "Good luck."

"No, you know what? I can do this."

Dallis definitely couldn't do this.

"Oh?"

"Go on."

She took a large gulp of her drink, pouting when the last few drops left her glass.

"Fuck Hotch," she said just as the others had started to believe she'd chicken out.

"Are you joking?" Emily's laughter echoed around the room.

"What, like you wouldn't?" The sudden silence made Dallis' smirk feel that much more satisfying. "Thought so. No, fuck Hotch and marry Rossi."

"Dallis Rossi does have a nice ring to it," Garcia nodded thoughtfully.

"And kill Morgan," Dallis shuddered. "I love him, but he'd never let me live it down if I spent the night with him, and I couldn't do that to my girl Garcia."

"So you wouldn't marry Morgan either?" Emily's smile crept back onto her face as she curled up on the lounge once again. "You'd only marry Rossi."

"Okay, fuck off."

"Fuck Rossi, you mean," Garcia winked.

Dallis ducked her head, refusing to catch her eye as she dragged herself off the couch in search of the bathroom. They let her go with a few more teasing comments, and Dallis was grateful for the minute of privacy the closed door allowed her. Running cold water from the tap on her hands, she let some of the droplets trail across her face, cooling down her heated skin. Once she'd dried them on a towel, she looked through the phone she'd been avoiding since leaving the office.

DAVE: Try not to get too drunk tonight, Dolcezza. How does tea and coffee sound before work tomorrow?

Well, then. Maybe the girls weren't that far off their predictions.