Previous part of The Big One

***

Ray and Fraser

It turned out that owning a bowling alley was really damn boring. So was doing PI work. About a year after moving to Florida, Ray Vecchio had found himself going through the Academy at the ripe old age of never-you-mind and barely making it through the physical portion. The instructors had pushed at him hard, trying to break him, but it turned out that Benny's Inuvik and moose stories worked the same way on Florida cops that they did on Chicago cops; drove them up the flippin' wall.

To Stella's ever-lasting amazement, Ray wasn't addicted to being on the streets like her former cop husband. No, Ray loved being a cop, but he loved the politics almost more. He remembered how much of a headache Welsh had gone through just backing his own men and wanted to make that easier for the mid-level rank and file. So he'd risen through the ranks until he'd gotten his own squad and then up to the Under-Sheriff. Now he was eyeing the Sheriff's job, but that was an elected position and he had to make sure they could afford the machine he wanted to put into action first.

The last time Ray's cell phone had woken him out of a sound sleep had been when a serial killer had been on the loose two years ago. No one woke Ray Vecchio unless the world was ending or the city was falling into the ocean, a law everyone knew. If the phone woke Stella in the middle of the night, Ray made everyone else's life a living hell. Early on, he'd gotten an earful of how Stanley had done this and Stanley had done that so Ray made his marital choices based on doing the exact opposite of Kowalski.

His secret to a so-far perfect marriage.

"Someone damn important better be dead," Ray hissed into the phone, sitting up.

"Under-Sheriff Vecchio, I'm sorry, but…" his assistant on the other end sounded shaken as he continued, "I'm sorry, but…there's been a massive earthquake in California. They need you to come in and coordinate volunteer shifts to fly out first thing."

Ray was on his feet and moving to the dresser for his clothes even while he asked, "How massive?"

"Someone said ten point seven? They aren't sure."

That stopped Ray in his tracks, stomach twisting almost violently in reaction. "What the fuck? Are you serious?"

"Yes, Sir."

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," he said and hung up.

"Ray? What's going on?"

Turning at his wife's sleepy voice, Ray answered, "There was a quake in California and I have to go in to coordinate volunteers."

The bedside lamp came on at that and Stella rubbed her eyes while climbing out of bed. She looked scared as she said, "Ray and Fraser, aren't they…"

"In LA, yeah, they are," he finished. "You coming?"

Stella nodded firmly and pulled open a drawer.

Ray banished the thought of Fraser dead beneath tons of rubble to the farthest reaches of his mind. No way would a quake do in Benton Fraser.

No fucking way.



Sam and Dean

Bobby yawned as he rubbed his eyes and walked downstairs. Any more all-nighters and he was going to have to start checking to make sure he hadn't been bitten by a vampire. Chuckling at his own joke, Bobby shuffled into the kitchen and started cooking breakfast. The familiar smell of eggs and bacon filled the air and set his stomach to rumbling. He smiled at the simple contentment that so rarely happened in his life.

The smile faded as he thought about the complication with two simple names…Sam and Dean Winchester. Boys who were like the sons he'd never had. He often wished that he'd said yes when John had swung by that year after Mary's death with the boys. If he'd taken them from the other man and given them the stability that their real father had never given them, how much better would their lives have been?

It was as familiar a pang on his heart and conscience as the eggs and bacon sizzling in his frying pan. Sighing, he picked up the pan and tilted it so the eggs and bacon slid out onto the plate and then brought the plate over to the table. He got halfway through before the phone rang and grimaced. Shoveling in the forkful of eggs, he got up and headed for the cell phone he'd left in the living room.

Ellen was on the ID and he answered, "Mornin,' Ellen. What can I do for ya?"

"Bobby, where are the boys?" Ellen demanded, sounding stressed.

Frowning, Bobby answered, "LA, I think. Why? Need them for a job?"

"Damn it, Bobby Singer, do you never turn on a tv or radio?" Ellen shouted. "Parts of California just dropped into the God damn ocean last night!"

Bobby dropped the phone in shock.



Brenda and Fritz

Willie Ray smiled as she kissed Clay's shoulder in the bright morning sunlight and climbed out of bed. "Rise and shine, Clay! The mornin's a wastin.' Get yourself into that shower while I get breakfast started."

He grumbled, as he always did, and rolled over, bringing the blankets with him.

Chuckling to herself, Willie Ray walked to the bathroom and went through her morning routine which gave Clay another twenty minutes to lounge in bed. And, just like always, he was snoozing away when she finished and returned to the bedroom. Willie Ray shook her head fondly and said loudly, "Clay! Get yourself out of that bed this instant!"

Clay waved an arm in her general direction and complained, "Give me five minutes, woman!"

"Five minutes and then I'm bringing ice in here," Willie Ray replied firmly.

He muttered something under his breath.

Frowning at him, Willie Ray scolded, "Don't you curse at me, Clay Johnson, or you will find yourself making your own breakfast and sleeping on the sofa."

She couldn't remember the last time they hadn't started the day that way. Maybe the first decade they'd been married, possibly the second.
Humming to herself, Willie Ray meandered through the kitchen and began pulling out the yogurt and granola he hated so much. Of course, it was that or listen to him complain about the oatmeal being made with milk when she only ever used water. She flipped on the small television that occupied part of the counter and hummed cheerfully as she began scooping the yogurt into a bowl. And then she paused as the words of the newscaster penetrated…

"…no numbers for fatalities or wounded, but we expect it to rise into the hundreds of thousands, if not the millions…"

Shocked, Willie Ray stopped what she was doing and called, "Clay! Clay, get out here quickly!"

"…we're not getting any communications from anyone in California as yet, but the government has confirmed that the National Guard has been mobilized. Volunteers from various police, fire, and emergency personnel are being organized to be sent to the state, but transportation authorities…

"What is it, Willie Ray? What's going on?" Clay demanded, stomping into the kitchen.

Willie Ray pointed at the television screen and answered hoarsely, "Something's happened in California. They said, he said…fatalities maybe in the millions!"

Clay instantly came up behind her and strong arms surrounded her waist as he said, "Try another station if this one's not giving details."

Nodding, she picked up the remote and changed the channel until finding one with a map on it. There were big lines drawn through various parts of it and the top portion of the state was gone altogether.

"Oh, my Lord, Clay!" Willy Ray exclaimed.

His arms tightened and he said, "Hush now and let me hear."

"…only a rough guesstimate of the damage to the state from last night's earthquake. We don't have specifics regarding where the coastline broke away, but according to data released early this morning and collated by the White House, this is a rough idea of what is left of California…"

Los Angeles was still there, but an earthquake that had destroyed part of the country meant that there would only be devastation everywhere else. Brenda, her baby, could be dead, buried under rubble, or alone and trapped, or alone and hurt, dying, bleeding out…

A sharp burst of pain struck across her face and Willie Ray stared in shock at Clay whose hand was still in the air.

"I'm sorry, Willie Ray, you were hysterical," he said, pulling her in close.

As she held tight to her husband, Wilie Ray prayed as hard as she could that her baby girl was safe.



Danny and Mac

Stella didn't even have to push her way through the crowd with Don and Hawkes in the lead. They all had overnight bags packed with clothes and essentials. Even though there was no way of knowing if Danny and Mac were even alive, Stella couldn't stay behind. She knew that Mac would be ticked at her leaving the lab to be run by whoever the Chief could find, but there was no way the plane was leaving without her.

Their embarkation point was in the United Airlines terminal of La Guardia, the meeting point for a large group of LAPD. The NYFD and EMT volunteers had already left at four that morning, according to the email that had gone out with staging instructions. It was only just going on seven and she'd had absolutely no sleep. Adrenaline and grief had kept her on the move from the moment Adam had let her go to right that moment. She would likely crash on the plane and sleep the whole way, but that was fine. She would need the sleep later for rescue operations.

Once they got to the check-in point, Stella waited impatiently in line with the guys, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet.

"Stel, you should save a little of that for later."

Stella grimaced at Don and answered, "I can't help it. Excess adrenaline."

Don gave her a knowing look as he said, "Turn around and I'll massage some of that away so you can sleep on the plane."

"Wait until we're on the plane, then you can have your wicked way with me," Stella teased half-heartedly.

It took twenty minutes before they were finally at the front of the line. The woman behind the desk wore a badge herself on a chain around her neck and said, "Name, badge number, and emergency contact right there."

Stella filled out the information and then stepped aside for Don and Hawkes to do the same. Once they had, she fell into step with them and they were on their way. Or were until she heard a shout of, "Stella! Stella, wait! Flack! Hey, Flack!" and turned in disbelief to find Adam waving wildly at the other end of the terminal.

Don muttered, "You have got to be kidding me. What in hell is Ross doing here?"

Chuckling, Stella said, "He's trying to get by security, for one. Come on."

Hawkes grinned at her and replied, "I'll go find us all good seats."

"Put Ross by the bathroom," Don ordered, lips twitching into a reluctant grin.

Hawkes gave a little salute and headed onto the plane.

Stella and Don walked back to where two good-sized security officers were glaring at Adam. The tech stood meekly enough, now that he'd gotten their attention, but Stella remembered Mac's admiration for the younger man's tenacity and courage. She felt al little of that herself as she greeted bluntly, "You're not a cop, Adam, you can't go."

"But I can help!" he protested. "C'mon, they're my friends, too! Danny saved my life, remember? I have to go, Stella. Flack, help me out here!"

Don shook his head and said, "You're a civilian, Ross. There's no way you're getting on that plane."

Glaring at them each in turn, Adam exclaimed, "I can help! How many people on the ground are going to have experience putting together communication hubs? Huh? What about repairing hospital equipment? Okay, okay, and um, I can totally work on electrician stuff too! I apprenticed with my uncle before college. See, my dad really wanted me to follow in the family business, but I wasn't going to just hang out and make money when computers were…anyhow. I can do whatever needs to be done out there! You're going to need techs, not just cops!"

Stella bit her lip and looked at Don for his opinion.

Rolling his eyes, Don told her, "Not my call, Stella, you outrank me. Besides, you have to clear it with command first."

She looked back at Adam's hopeful gaze, but that wasn't what decided her. He was right. None of them knew anything except how to get people out of a collapsed building safely, keep civilians calm, or triage broken bones. They would need someone who could reassemble communications at the very least.

Thoughtful, she pulled out her cell and dialed the Chief's number.



Van and Deaq

Fuming at the lackwit behind the counter, Billie repeated, "I'm a cop. I'm needed back in LA! You have to put me on whatever flight is going back there!"

It just figured. It really did. The one time she left the damn state, it fell into the God damned ocean. Somehow, she knew that she could blame this on Van. Somehow, it was his fault.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but no flights are leaving Oahu at all," the hapless man replied. "There are cracks in the runway from the earthquake."

Billie clenched her jaw and said through her teeth, "Get me a fucking manager right now."

He swallowed nervously and nodded, hurrying away from the counter.

"Don't you think you're being a little hard on him, Billie?"

Glancing at new husband, Billie retorted, "I wasn't hard enough! Like the runway's really cracked? Please. They're just too chickenshit to fly back to the mainland."

Thomas grinned at her and then walked over to wrap his arms around her shoulder, blue eyes looking down with obvious love as he said matter-of-factly, "You know I love you, right?"

Wary, she answered, "Yes."

"Then know that I'm saying you're acting unreasonable from a place of love," Thomas told her, kissing her forehead. "Even if they aren't being chickenshits, LAX is probably torn to pieces. I doubt any plane could land there. They're probably flying people into Vegas and driving from there, given what the devastation levels have to be like."

A thought she didn't even want to contemplate.

"Look. I'll call my buddy and he'll gas up his helicopter and we'll get there that way, how's that?" he offered.

Startled, sometimes she forgot that he was rich, Billie exclaimed, "Yes! That's perfect! Thank you, Thomas. This means…"

"They're your men," he interrupted with a knowing look. "You need to make sure that they're all right. C'mon. Let's leave the poor man to his newly shredded ass and get off this island."

Billie winced and admitted, "Maybe I could have been a little nicer."

Laughing quietly, Magnum agreed, "Maybe a little, yeah."

With an arm around her waist, he led her out of the nearly empty airport.



Morgan, Garcia, and Kevin & Hotch and Reid

By the time Kevin had gotten to the BAU, Penelope had been able to take control of the nearest satellite and reposition it over the area where the rest of the team was supposed to be. She'd taken screengrabs of what had at first been too difficult to interpret. It had taken them a good half hour of working together to reconstruct the photo and once they had, she'd run from the room.

Kevin had watched her trajectory and known she was going for the ladies room and, as much as he loved her, he couldn't intrude. Her bubbly and open personality hid a deep need to keep her darker emotions like grief and anger hidden from the world. She wanted to be the person that everyone went to, to be cheered up, not the person who needed cheering. It usually took Morgan to get her to own up to anything that had really hurt her, which Kevin didn't begrudge. He'd only been in their lives for six incredible months, he totally understood that it would take time for her to trust him the same way.

So he'd given her ten minutes and then gone to knock on the restroom door. She'd eventually come out after repeated, soft tapping of his knuckles on the door. When she had, Penelope wrapped her arms around him and started crying, throwing his entire theory of her out the window. Or maybe he'd graduated in her estimation. Whatever the reason, Kevin had held her tight and murmured comforting words.

Once Penelope had washed her face and then dried it, she asked in an almost accusing tone, "Why aren't you even shaken up by this?"

His eyebrows had risen in surprise and he'd answered, "Until I see a body, no one's dead, Penelope. I believe in things I can see, you know that. The section of land they were on didn't drop off the seismic shelf, so that means all they had to do was survive a bad earthquake. A really, really bad earthquake, but Morgan knows how to take care of himself. He's not going to get killed in one and I don't think the others did, either."

A crooked smile had surfaced on her face and she'd said, "I love you, Kevin, I totally do."

He'd smiled brilliantly in the pleasure that curled in his stomach. He just couldn't hear those words often enough.

And then Strauss had come barging in to ruin the moment demanding to know who'd commandeered the CIA's satellite.

Now, five hours later, they were both pulling data for FEMA which was punishment and duty both. On the plus side, Penelope still had a backdoor into the CIA's satellite and rearranged it now and again to check for their team.

***

John & Derek and Fritz & Brenda

When the earthquake struck, John honestly thought that they'd failed in stopping Skynet and the AI had attacked. Forget that they'd found every last scientist and either convinced them not to work on the project or the scientist ended up dead at someone's hands, if not theirs. Forget that future John Connor had saved Derek's life at the last second by sending another soldier back to take out the terminator that killed him the first time. Forget that Cameron herself had calculated their success in defeating Skynet after the final showdown that year to be 99.98365%.

When the earthquake threw John from his bed, his first thought was, "I failed."

And then Derek was there, hauling him physically with an arm around his waist to the doorway and shielding him from falling ceiling tiles. John held tight to his uncle with one arm and braced himself with the other. When the shaking stopped, Derek immediately began patting him down, demanding, "Are you hurt? Are you all right?"

John grabbed Derek's hands and squeezed to get his attention. The soldier had flashbacks sometimes and it was hard to tell when he wasn't really present. Pale blue eyes were wide with worry when he looked at John, but rational. John smiled even with his heart pounding heavy from adrenaline. "I'm fine, Derek."

Derek let out a sigh of relief and then offered a crooked grin and said, "Sorry. Old habits."

John put his hand on Derek's chest to find the other man's heart racing just as fast and admitted, "My first thought was Skynet."

Derek's expression softened and he gripped John's shoulder. Before he could do more than that, the world moved violently under their feet again. John staggered in the opposite direction from Derek, not expecting another quake so fast on the heels of the original. It felt too strong to be an aftershock, not that he'd ever been through an earthquake before. He crawled back to the doorway, knees bruising on the moving hardwood floor. He met up with Derek at the bedroom doorway where his uncle used his greater reach and bulk to surround John and keep him in place.

John knew the bungalow styled home they'd rented wouldn't take another hit; it was close to fifty years old. Cracks had already appeared in the walls and half his bedroom ceiling was already on the floor. As soon as the tremor ended, he stood and hauled ass outside, not letting go of Derek's hand.

A third quake hit just as they made it out. It didn't feel as bad, but that was relative because the world kept falling down around him. He fell off the patio and onto a large rock that drove the air from him in a rush. He rolled off, struggling for air and instinctively covering his head. Car alarms mixed with human screams, crashing trees and even a few explosions.

Strong arms scooped him up and John clutched at his uncle's shoulders. He was carried willy-nilly over the still-moving ground. How Derek kept his balance, John had no idea, but they ended up in the street by the time the shaking stopped.

John had always known how strong Derek was; it showed in his broad shoulders and muscled body. He'd seen it countless times in the other man's tireless stamina. He'd never experienced it quite so viscerally before, though, held as if he weighed nothing and carried without apparent effort.

Derek slowly lowered him and John found his footing tentatively, expecting the ground to start moving again. Hands still gripping Derek's shoulders, he gasped, "Jesus. What's going on?"

Derek looked grim in the moonlight, the only source available. "I don't know. Skynet had taken over by now. If there was an earthquake like this before, I don't remember."

Maybe some instinct warned Derek, he'd grown up in Los Angeles after all. He grabbed John and pulled him in tight just before the mother of all earthquakes knocked them right off their feet. John landed on top of Derek, locked in his arms and then rolled so the bigger man again covered him protectively.

It seemed to go on forever. Trees fell all around them, as did the phone and power lines. John kept his arms wrapped around Derek's waist and a leg hooked over his uncle's hip. His mind went blank under nature's onslaught, his world reduced to Derek's sheltering body.

When at last it was over, neither of them moved. John's whole body shook with adrenaline and fear. It wasn't until he tried to move that he discovered his fingers clenched too tight in Derek's shirt; they cracked when he forced them to let go. Derek knelt back suddenly, situated between John's legs as the one on Derek's hip fell aside. He stared down at John for a long moment and John could only stare back, mind racing with too many thoughts to handle. John felt the echo of Derek still on top of him, a belated and completely inappropriate heat running through his body.

"We should check around, see if anyone needs help," Derek said at last, standing.

John nodded and accepted Derek's hand up and the steadying one on his waist. He still felt shaky and a little off-balance, his stomach tight in a knot. Half a block down the street, they found a woman trapped under a tree, her husband frantically trying to pull it off her. Derek added his strength and John pulled the woman free as carefully and quickly as he could.

Even with a back injury, the man proved as stubborn as John's family. He watched closely as they finished taking care of his wife as best they could. John held the woman's head as Derek bound it to a large board found nearby and then they carefully turned her onto her back. She was pretty, even under all the bruising. And then the man collapsed unexpectedly, groaning in pain.

John knelt next to him, waiting until the man could draw a breath before asking, "You all right now?"

Nodding, the man replied, "I will be. My back goes out now and again. The only thing I can do is lie down and wait for it to get better. Great timing, right?"

Derek winced and said, "Perfect. Look, I'm Derek and that's my nephew, John. I'm going to see about getting your wife taken care of, you just take it easy."

The man grabbed Derek's arm and said, "Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but are you qualified?"

Derek replied wryly, "I wouldn't say I'm a doctor, but I've tended men and women in battle."

The man's eyes widened and he looked startled, maybe a little embarrassed somehow. "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to…"

"Don't worry about it," Derek interrupted. "Get some rest."

Nodding, the man took his wife's hand and closed his eyes, clearly taking the order to heart. Or maybe he was just in too much pain. Then his eyes opened again and he said, "She hurt her wrist in the second quake."

Derek carefully looked the arm over. It was only a few seconds later that his uncle said, "Nothing I can do except splint it. She needs a hospital. John, find a car."

John nodded and jogged off, checking cars as he went. His thoughts flashed to his mom and Cameron, thankfully out of the state tracking down another shipment of thermite. Not that his mother was paranoid or anything, but she really kinda was. John could get behind it though. They all knew there were still Terminators in present day, sent back from the future on different missions. They had to have a ready stash of thermite to destroy them on hand. Charley, on the other hand, was somewhere in the city doing a night shift. John tried not to think about it.

He finally found a four by four that wasn't crushed by a tree or too badly damaged or in a sinkhole. John hopped in the driver's seat and hot wired it, driving carefully back to where he'd left the others. He pulled on the emergency brake and hopped out of the truck to find Derek had splinted the woman's arm and found a door and placed it beside her covered with blankets.

Derek motioned John over and said, "Help me get her on."

She was very light and they'd loaded her onto the door and then the truck in a matter of minutes. It was a lot more effort to get the man in the back, conscious and in pain as he was, but they were ready to go in short order.

John sat in the passenger's seat and startled when Derek reached out to grip the back of his neck. He looked over, but the darkness and soldier's mask made it impossible to tell what Derek was thinking. Derek quirked a grin at him and unlatched the emergency brake.

The sirens that John had been hearing for a while as a kind of background noise intensified. He saw a police car with lights flashing barreling down their street, coming right at them. Then he saw there were two cars and tensed. He thought in disbelief, They can't possibly be coming for us!

But one screeched to a stop in front of the truck and the other right beside. Derek's hands tightened on the steering wheel, the noise breaking John from his shock. He grabbed Derek's thigh and said in a low, urgent voice, "Wait."

Derek hissed out a breath, but didn't do anything else.

A tall, slender black man practically jumped from the vehicle in front, shouting, "Chief! Chief, you okay?"

John frowned and thought, Chief?

"We're back here, Gabriel!" the man in the back with his wife shouted.

Two older men got out of the other car, one of them leaning on it for support as he walked around from the passenger side. The taller one put an arm around the injured man's waist and all three descended on the back of the truck.

John squeezed Derek's thigh again and ordered, "Stay here."

Derek's jaw flexed, now visible in the headlights, but he gave a short, sharp nod.

John climbed out of the truck and walked around the back. He looked at the semi-circle of men around the truck and said, "Hey ah, we should get going. We don't even know if the hospital's in working order."

The taller older man shook his head and said, "It's not, kid. Follow us, though. We've got a triage unit set up at the station."

Station... Chief... John glanced at the men more closely and saw the badge on the black man's belt and the guns in shoulder holsters on all three. They were all cops. Blinking in shock, he asked the injured man in the truck, "Wait, who are you?"

The man huffed out an amused breath and said wryly, "They're not here for me, John, I'm just FBI. They're here for Brenda. Congratulations, kid. You're not just saving my wife, you're saving the Deputy Chief of Police's life here."

John's first thought was, Derek's going to stroke out.

And then he nearly banged his head on the truck as he thought, Mom is gonna *kill* me!



Spencer & Hotch

It was such a relief to Spencer to know that Morgan was okay, even though Emily was hurt. He was worried about why no one was saying anything about Jordan, because there was really only one reason to keep quiet. He couldn't do anything about it, though, and concentrated on not passing out. At least his tongue had stopped bleeding so profusely, if not altogether.

"Spencer? Where in the hole are you?"

Spencer jumped a bit at Hotch's question, he was so unfocused. Pulling out Hotch's tie, he said loudly, "Ower Heeyah," and grimaced at the lack of coordination from his bitten tongue. It was a stupid injury,  embarrassing even. He'd long since lost the handkerchief Hotch had given him so there was nothing to stop the sluggish bleeding. It felt twice its usual size, but so far his breathing was okay.

"Okay, stay there. Sheriff McLean is going to try moving the largest chunk of pavement. There might be some caving in of the hole's walls."

That was when he notice the low, rumbling noise that hadn't really penetrated before. It sounded like some kind of heavy machinery. Spencer called out, "Ohay." and then coughed when some blood slid down the back of his throat.

The sides of the sinkhole did crumble as the sheriff moved the large slab of pavement. Spencer covered his head and pulled his ruined shirt up to filter his mouth and nose. It was a slow ten or so minutes later that the falling dirt stopped and Hotch's face appeared over a slightly larger than man-sized opening. He was dirty and a line of blood marred the right side of his face from temple to chin, but he was definitely in one piece.

Hotch lowered a rope and ordered, "Put that under your shoulders and we'll haul you up."

Spencer did was he was told and took as strong a grip as he could with shaking hands and aching elbows. It was nothing like the rock wall Morgan and Rossi had egged him on to try the previous month. The ground fell under his feet and he kept landing face-first into the dirt on an upward trajectory. Finally on solid ground again, Spencer curled onto his side shivering with reaction and panting for air.

Hotch immediately knelt beside him to check for further injury. Spencer was too tired to protest, but he caught Hotch's hand and used it to sit up. He wrapped his arms around Hotch's shoulders, buried his face against his lover's throat and just held on.

Hotch's arms went around Spencer's waist and his lips pressed to the top of his head and then his ear before he murmured, "I thought I'd lost you."

Spencer let out a shaky breath and admitted, "Thought I waz dead fo' showa."

Hotch chuckled, a faint sound, and pulled back. Cupping Spencer's face, he said, "You probably shouldn't talk."

Spencer made a face, but nodded.

Hotch slid an arm around his waist, shifting to sit beside him properly. "Is it still bleeding?"

Leaning against him, Spencer nodded.

Sheriff McLean walked over and said, "I'm going to the fire station to see what's left. You can see about getting your boy fixed up there."

For once, Spencer didn't have the energy to object when someone talked about him instead of to him. He was more than willing to let Hotch lead in this instance.

Hotch nodded and stood, gently pulling Spencer up with him. Spencer coughed on another trickle of blood and spat out the rest. Hotch kept his arm around Spencer as they walked to a somewhat damaged cop car a short distance away. It started up, which was all he cared about as he settled in the front seat between the two men. Spencer rested his head on Hotch's shoulder as the sheriff slowly pulled away from the remains of the police station.

They stopped four times to help other people taking almost an hour to go five miles. Spencer stayed drowsing in the car as Hotch and the sheriff continuously got in and out of the car. His head started throbbing about five minutes after the adrenaline stopped flowing. By the time they reached the fire station, Spencer felt woozy and sick to his stomach. He could barely summon the strength to get out of the car, even with Hotch's help.

Spencer felt even more nauseous only a few steps from the car. He managed to whisper, "Aawon, don't feew good," just before throwing up. Or, trying to throw up. His tongue had swollen further and only the force of his vomiting cleared his airway. He would have collapsed if the other man hadn't tightened his grip in time.

"Spencer! Spencer, breathe through your nose," Hotch ordered when the heaving stopped.

Spencer was dully surprised to find himself on his hands and knees, supported by both Hotch and the Sheriff. A slick line of bile and vomit lined the dirt below him, something he noted from a distance.

Unfamiliar hands lifted him unexpectedly into the air and he flinched, struggling until he landed on a gurney. They rested him on his side and he vaguely heard Hotch describing his injuries and symptoms. All he really felt was the hot press of his lover's hand on the back of his neck, a comforting bit of connection.

Then something sharp stuck into his throat and an artificial darkness fell within seconds.


Charlie & Ted

Ted had never been in an earthquake before and never wanted to be in another one ever again. He did have to applaud the architects of their house though. Whoever had designed and built it deserved a medal because while it was stupidly located at the top of a hill, the mansion had mostly survived the slide down the canyon wall in one piece.

Not that Ted could say the same thing. His ankle was toast and he'd hit his head multiple times hard enough that he was seeing double. At least Charlie had never got around to getting a lot of furniture because it was probable that he'd be buried beneath it all instead of trapped  by his own injuries.

"Ted! Ted! Answer me, buddy!"

A flood of relief surged through him at Charlie's call and he croaked out, "Over here!" Clearing his throat, he shouted louder, "Charlie! I'm over here!"

A flashlight beam cut the darkness and then Charlie climbed over debris and into the living room. The relief this time was visceral, seeing the other man completely unhurt and seemingly as unfazed as ever. Ted relaxed against the wall and smiled as Charlie came closer and then crouched in front of him.

Charlie smiled back at him and then cupped his face. "Hey."

Ted's smile widened. "Hey. It's about time you got here to rescue me."

Charlie's grin twitched towards wry as he said, "I'll do better next time."

"You better," Ted warned, his voice shaking a little as he remembered the wild ride down the canyon. "No more hillsides. Ever. Really? I'd love to leave LA altogether."

Charlie abruptly dropped the banter with the flashlight and hauled Ted in for a hug, strong arms holding him fiercely tight. Ted held him right back, unable to speak for the quiver of belated fear twisting his stomach and closing his throat.

They stayed like that for a few minutes and then Charlie slowly pulled back just enough to kiss him. And really, that wasn't much of a surprise. Charlie had always been really protective of him and getting out hadn't changed anything. He'd never touched Ted in prison, no matter what Detective Reese or others might think, but Ted hadn't missed those intense looks or what they signified.

What did surprise Ted was suddenly realizing that he felt that exact intensity right back and kissed Charlie like his life depended on it. Charlie gentled the kiss after a few minutes of desperate making out and then stopped altogether, resting their foreheads together.

Charlie finally said, "C'mon. Let's get you out of here."

Ted nodded, keeping hold of Charlie's hand. There was no way he'd let go again. Not until, say, they were in Chicago or Boston.


Shawn & Lassiter

Carlton didn't want to leave Shawn with the young man so devastated, but there was work to be done. He waited until Shawn passed out from a combination of emotional turmoil, physical pain, exhaustion and drugs before heading out. He found the overworked and stressed doctor in charge of Shawn's case and said, "Don't let anything happen to him or I will find you."

The doctor swallowed at his quietly delivered words and nodded. "Of course, Detective."

He had to be satisfied with that, even though he really wasn't. Carlton left the hospital and used the car of the girl who'd hit Shawn. She was still in the hospital being treated for shock, just like the rest of the non-injured portion of the remaining population. Carlton's mind shied away from how many people had to have died in the quake and focused on the immediate problem.

Carlton used every back road he knew to get to the Chief's house and found it mostly intact. He also found Juliet and Buzz with the Chief, along with a handful of patrolmen and women and most of the neighborhood. Juliet's arm was in a sling and Buzz had a serious shiner, but the Chief and her one-year-old daughter were miraculously unhurt. A makeshift headquarters had apparently been set up. He accepted hugs from both women and a pleased, very enthusiastic handshake from Buzz. The Chief had her little girl on her hip, the child looking shell-shocked from her experience in the quake. Carlton could sympathize.

Juliet immediately demanded, "Where's Shawn? Wasn't he with you?"

"Shawn's in the hospital with a severe concussion and dislocated knee."

"Oh no, his bad leg?" the Chief asked.

Carlton nodded. "He's in traction for at least a couple of weeks, probably longer."

Juliet sighed in relief. "At least we know where he is and that he's relatively okay."

The Chief nodded as well, blond hair falling in her face to be dashed away impatiently. "And Gus and Henry?"

"I came here first to check on you since...well. You know about the coastline?"

Both women nodded soberly and Buzz said, "Half the town's just gone. All those people."

Juliet immediately put an arm around his waist and said, "Don't think about it right now."

"Not that I'm complaining," Carlton said, frowning, "but why were you all here in the first place?"

The Chief flashed him a wry smile and said, "Stoneware party."

Carlton blinked. "No, really. Why were they all here?"

Juliet rolled her eyes and repeated, "Stoneware party. Shawn mocked it mercilessly when he found out, remember?"

A vague memory surfaced from the week before, something about stone age pineapple pizza, and he nodded. "I'm going to look for Guster and Henry now. Shawn...he's beside himself."

Because no matter how much Henry and Shawn fought, they cared deeply for one another. It was as complicated a father and son relationship as Carlton had ever witnessed. And Guster was Shawn's best friend in the world, following him into insane escapades left and right.

"I'll go with you," Juliet said instantly.

Carlton shook his head. "You're needed here. Only one of us should be AWOL right now."

The Chief nodded reluctantly and said, "He's right, Julie. I need you here."

Juliet looked torn, but ultimately stayed put. She got a working radio and gave it to Carlton outside, saying, "You be careful."

Carlton gave her a brief smile, sober though it was. "I will. I'm glad you're all right."

Juliet beamed at him and gave him another hug before stepping back.

Carlton got back in the car and left. The house was a beacon of light in the rearview mirror and he had to force himself not to look back at it. There was too much to be done and he had to get back to Shawn before the young man conned his way out of that hospital bed.


Don, Colby, & Charlie

Charlie kept from passing out by reciting every single statistic he knew about baseball. More specifically, Don's stats in his minor league run and his high school games. When he knew that he wasn't going to faint from fear or pain, Charlie opened his eyes and said what Colby had ordered him to say aloud in seemingly impossible situations...

"One thing at a time."

Unbelievably, it helped.

He said it again, deliberately. "One thing at a time."

He was able to draw in a complete breath and let it out slowly.

Charlie carefully felt the object that had pierced his shoulder. It was a narrow, rounded object and he hypothesized that it was some kind of rebar since it wasn't flat or sharp and therefore not a cooking implement. Not one in their kitchen, at least. He didn't feel overly woozy, so he must have been unconscious for long enough that the wound had started to scab. That was good.

Using his uninjured hand, Charlie felt tentatively at the other items on top of the ironing board and found they were mostly wooden boards, outside of the large kitchen table. He wasn't actually trapped by any debris, simply pinned by whatever had pierced his shoulder. That was also good.

"One thing at a time."

Charlie didn't know how long he'd laid there panicked and unthinking, but the darkness was just a little lighter as he assessed the situation. Taking a short, sharp breath, Charlie held it and shifted his upper body to test the thing pinning him to the floor. Agony flared through him radiating out from that point, but whatever it was moved with him, likely shifted by his first attempt to move. That was very good. He wasn't truly trapped.

He closed his eyes again and let himself just breathe while waiting for the pain to subside. When he could think clearly again, Charlie opened his eyes and discovered that he could make out actual outlines of his surroundings, that the sun had risen as it always did.

"One thing at a time."

Charlie forced himself to wiggle out from under the table, not bothering to stifle the cries and grunts of pain as he did so; there was no one to hear so it didn't matter. He panted through it and let the tears fall as he crawled backwards until he sat upright, braced against what used to be the kitchen sink cabinet.

He took a long time to regroup from that small effort. Touching his wound gave him the wet sensation of blood which meant he'd restarted the bleeding. The light continued to grow and reveal the devastation of what used to be his childhood home. The craftsman house was a good eighty years old and Charlie saw straight through to the back yard from where he sat because the entire back wall was  gone.

"Charlie! Charlie, where are you? Charlie, answer me!"

Tears of relief and joy escaped at his father's frantic shout. And then Larry joined in the shouting and he half-sobbed with emotion, unable to force it back for a few seconds. He whispered harshly, "One thing at a time," and got his breathing under control again, even as they kept shouting for him.

Charlie finally called out, "In the kitchen, I'm in the back!" and nearly laughed hysterically at the words he'd said thousands of times during his life. Such mundane words to describe such a horrific situation.

It was only minutes later that they came running around to the back yard. His father's eyes widened in horror and fear when he caught sight of Charlie sitting there. He froze and threw out an arm to stop Larry's attempt to rush inside. Alan immediately said, "No, Larry, don't. No one move. Charlie, do not move."

At that, Charlie did laugh. It was a weak, somewhat hysterical sound that he couldn't stop from escaping. "I'm not moving, Dad, believe me."

Alan's dark eyes flickered all around the remains of the house and it was then that Charlie at last saw himself in his father. He knew that Alan was calculating and measuring and running through decades of knowledge of schematics and blueprints in his mind just like Charlie did the numbers of the universe. Alan knew his house inside out. On top of that, he knew every tensile strength and breaking point of everything that made his house from the first nail to the last board. If anyone could get him out safely, it was his father.

Alan turned to Larry and repeated, "Don't come in."

Larry protest, "But Alan, I need to..."

Alan held up a hand and ordered, "Stay here. This is vital Larry. I don't even know if the floor will hold my weight plus Charlie's. Three people is an unacceptable risk. Don't let anyone else come in after us, Larry, I mean it."

When Charlie heard that, he took several short breaths and pushed himself upright, gritting his teeth against the pain. He couldn't let his father risk himself, not for anything.

"Charlie no! Don't move!"

Charlie leaned against the cabinet and gasped, "Dad, no. I can't let you come in if it's unsafe."

Alan's hands remained upraised and he said, "Charlie, let me get you. I know this house and you don't. I know where to step. Just, stay there, okay. Let me come get you, please."

And maybe it wasn't just the house being unsafe. Maybe Alan needed to save his youngest son. There was something in his father's voice that Charlie had never heard before, something that made him nod slowly and said, "Okay. Okay, not moving."

Alan let out a slow breath and offered a faint smile. "Okay. I'm coming in."

Charlie kept hold of the cabinet, not wanting to lose what little ground he'd gained in the 'getting upright' department. He honestly wasn't sure that he'd get back up again if he sank back onto the floor. Charlie's mind automatically kept track of the five minutes and forty seconds it took for Alan to pick his way across the debris strewn kitchen to reach him.

Alan carefully lifted Charlie's good arm and put it over his shoulder, wrapping his arm around Charlie's waist as he said softly, "Lean on me, son, I've got you."

Charlie did. His strength was rapidly failing, but he concentrated all he had left to put his feet wherever his father directed. The trip back was almost twice as long, likely due to Alan's mental calculations of how much stress their combined weight caused at any given moment. Each foot was deliberately placed. Every step carefully decided. Charlie started sweating about thirty seconds into the agonizing trek. The fifteen feet from kitchen sink to back porch was the longest journey he'd ever had to make and most of it was blurred with a shifting fire of agony that ranged through his shoulder and back to his spine.

"Larry, now, grab his feet."

Charlie barely noticed as Larry and his father picked him up entirely and rapidly, if unevenly, carried him around to the front of the house. Between one blink and the next, he'd been stretched onto his side in the backseat of his Prius, miraculously still in one piece. His head rested on his father's thigh and he felt soothing fingers brushing through his hair.

Charlie sighed and ached to know what had happened to his brother and Colby. Not knowing if they were alive or dead hurt much, much worse than the stabbing in his shoulder. Pressing his face against his father's leg, he was glad for the injury and pain because at least it gave him a legitimate reason to cry.

He whispered, "One thing at a time."


Eliot & Nathan

Hardison had found them a relatively undamaged SUV half a block from the office. They'd loaded Eliot into the back and made their very slow way to the nearest hospital only to find it engulfed in flames. He'd tried not to think about all the helpless patients dead inside and ordered hoarsely, "Keep going."

Haridson had driven across the city before finding a hospital that wasn't so much rubble. They'd carried Eliot inside and he'd been triaged, but left until a doctor could be spared from surgery to look at him. So they'd sat in an overcrowded hallway for hours and Nathan had gotten angrier and angrier. He knew, in his head, that there were other cases demanding more attention, but that didn't matter to the panic fluttering deep in his gut, the certainty that something was very wrong.

Morning came before he successfully, and literally, grabbed a doctor.  The petite blond woman glared at him, the bruise on her face standing out in sharp relief under the unforgiving fluorescent lighting. In a sharp, southern accent, she said, "Get your hand off me."

Nathan instantly retracted his hand. "I'm sorry, I am, Please come look at my, uh, friend, Eliot. He's been unconscious since the quake and no one will look at him. Please."

Those blue eyes remained on him a moment before she nodded decisively and said, "Lead me to him."

The brusque woman took Eliot's vitals and flashed a penlight in Eliot's eyes before testing his reflexes. Whatever she found caused her to frown and walk to the very busy nurse's station a short distance away. Nathan heard her tight, angry tone but not the words behind it. Whatever she said caused a swirl of medical people to descend and transfer Eliot to a gurney and wheel him away.

A protesting noise escaped Nathan without his permission and he started walking after them, but the doctor stopped him by stepping in front of him. She gave him a compassionate look and patted his arm. "Your partner will be in excellent hands, Mr...?"

Nathan didn't like the way she'd done a one-eighty to nice and answered warily, "Ford. Nate Ford."

She guided him back to a seat and said, "My name is Dr. Charlotte King. I'm in charge around here and believe me when I say that my staff numbers among the best in the country."

Nathan almost didn't want to know, but asked, "What's wrong with him?"

Charlotte sat next to him and explained, "We have to run tests first, but at first glance it looks like Eliot may be in a coma. I will personally keep you informed of his condition and as soon as he's in a room, I'll bring you to him. Once we determine where the bleed is, we'll get him into surgery."

Numb, Nathan said, "Eliot has a brain bleed?"

"As I said, first we need to run tests but...yes, that's my best guess from the initial exam," Charlotte confirmed.

"Nate? Where's Eliot?"

Nathan glanced over to where Hardison stood a short distance away, a couple of water bottles and cereal boxes in hand.

Charlotte stood and patted his shoulder again. "I'll let you catch up your friend and be back with news."

Nathan nodded and watched her leave. The recriminations started immediately. He should have made someone look at Eliot right away. If he had, maybe Eliot wouldn't be so bad off. If he'd done something, Eliot might even be fine by now.

"Nate? C'mon, man, you're scaring me."

Nathan looked back at the black man and swallowed against a dry throat. "I think we should be scared."


Leland & Randy

It took most of the morning, but the water did recede to the point where they weren't clinging to the chimney anymore. All Leland wanted to do was get Randy somewhere dry and warm. The younger man didn't look at all well, shivering constantly with his lips nearly blue. Not that Leland felt all that great, but he had more weight to him than Randy; he could absorb some of the cold better. At least they could sit on the roof instead of treading water. And the sun was warm, which helped even more.

Making a decision, Leland said, "C'mon, Randy, off with your clothes."

Randy blinked slowly at him before shaking his head and stammering, "N-no, sir, uh, Leland. I'm f-f-fine."

Leland restrained an eye roll and said, "You're not fine, you're going to get hypothermia. We'll strip and sit together to get warm while our clothes dry."

But Randy shook his head again and repeated, "No."

Frowning, Leland said, "Randy, what? I've seen you plenty of times in the locker room. It's not like you have anything to be ashamed of."

Randy hugged himself and then sighed. "I told you I came back because Sharona and I didn't work out."

Leland had no idea where this was going, but nodded. He'd often wondered how things had gone so bad so fast. Randy had only been gone four months before reapplying for his old job. Leland had been so happy to get him back that he hadn't dug any deeper.

Biting his lip, Randy said, "That's not...it's not the whole truth."

A bad feeling started in his gut and Leland reached out to grip Randy's shoulder. He gave an encouraging squeeze and said, "You know you can tell me anything."

Randy's blue eyes met his and then darted away with a haunted look in them. He cleared his throat and said slowly, "It was supposed to be a quiet job. Settle down in the suburbs. But...we got a serial killer my first week there. The BAU came in to help and, and I did everything right, Sir, I think you'd be proud how I handled it. Only, I got caught like a stupid rookie. He set off a grenade when I chased him into a warehouse without backup and I couldn't get out. I, I jumped through a second story window and landed hard. But I got burned first, and, I...I don't remember, but they found his body with two gunshots in his chest so I guess I got him. No one else was in the building anyhow."

Leland could count on one hand the number of times he'd been stunned speechless. This moved directly to the top of the list.

"I'm not, you know, looking for sympathy or anything, but, but I'm not really...you know, attractive anymore under my clothes. I just needed to, to let you know, so you're not surprised," Randy finished.

Leland pulled Randy in tight, his heart suddenly racing just like it had when he'd been sure that wave was going to kill them. He'd almost lost Randy and never even knew it. This wonderful, loyal, sometimes idiotic man had nearly died and he hadn't had a clue. "Jesus, Randy. Thank God you're okay."

Randy shook in his arms, though Leland didn't know if it was from the cold or the emotion from his memories of that time.

He held on until the shaking stopped and then pulled back a little and ordered, "Look at me."

Eyes wide, Randy did so.

Leland spoke clearly as he said, "Listen carefully, Randy. I don't give a flying fuck what you look like under your clothes. I love you. Do you hear me? Now take off your damn clothes so we can dry off and get warm."

Randy let out a shaky laugh and nodded. A smile graced his lips and Leland relaxed a little at it. The younger man always bounced back if given enough support and Leland had every intention of being that support from there on out.

They draped their clothes over the chimney to dry off and he saw that Randy's back and left side were a mass of hideous scarring. Leland traced some of the raised skin with his fingertips, causing Randy to shiver. Most of the front of his body had been spared, he must have almost been at the window when the blast caught him, but his back really was a mess.

"Sharona couldn't handle it. Not the scarring, she didn't care about that, but that I was going back to work like nothing had happened."

Leland met his gaze. "She wanted you to give it up."

Randy nodded and said, "I couldn't, Leland. I just...he would've won."

Leland understood completely and pulled him in for another hug. "For what it's worth, I'm glad you didn't give up."

Randy hugged him back, saying, "It means a lot, thanks."

Leland kissed him briefly and they sat facing the sun. The light reflecting off the water that surrounded the house helped a lot to warm them up. Putting his back to the cold brick, Leland pulled Randy between his legs. He wrapped his arms around Randy's slender waist and kissed the slope of a textured shoulder. He grinned a bit and observed, "You know, it's not like I'm some prize for you to write home about. I'm old enough to be your father and have the bad back and knees to prove it."

Randy chuckled at that and leaned back against him, getting comfortable.

"You were supposed to argue," Leland said, wry.

Randy just laughed softly again.


Eric & G, Sam & Marty, Kensi & Nell

All they knew was that communication with Ops was down, just like communication in the entire city, maybe the entire state. Probably the entire state. The hotel in which they'd set up the stakeout had mostly survived all four quakes. They'd all gotten through unscathed, barring Sam's broken wrist and Kensi's head injury. He hadn't even felt the broke wrist until they'd realized there wouldn't be any more quakes, too pumped up with adrenaline and worry.

Sam had never been so glad for his strength as when he'd hauled Marty bodily back onto the hotel balcony from where the blond had dangled precariously after the second quake. Given they were on the fifth floor at the time, Sam hadn't had a single problem holding onto the other man even as he'd protested the near-stranglehold arrangement at first. Marty's constant barrage of words stopped at quake number three and by the end of quake number four, Sam was wishing he'd start up again just so he knew Marty was really okay.

The hotel was new and thoroughly up to scale on the building codes. It was also not on the water. Neither could be said of Ops or the Boathouse where Nell, Eric, and Hetty were last known to be. While only two stories, Ops was made from solid stone and built like a fortress with reinforced steel everything. If it fell, those within would be crushed without mercy.

No one asked G to slow down as he navigated the van through the ruins of L.A. way too fast. It was dawn by the time they reached Ops because all the raised potions of the freeways were gone and they'd driven surface streets the entire way. There were sinkholes and rents in the pavement which made for an actively painful journey since G didn't make any concessions, torturing the poor Challenger and wringing every spare horsepower from her.

G barely parked the car before jumping out and running to the Ops building which was distinctly at an angle it shouldn't be. Sam's heart twisted as he heard his best friend shouting for Eric. Kensi's voice joined in as she hunted for Nell, further digging in the emotional knife. He climbed out of the car to rush after them, almost guilty with the knowledge that his lover was safe and sound while his two best friends had no idea about the fate of theirs.

Marty laced his fingers with Sam's good hand as they reached the door G had managed to pry open with Kensi's help. Sam accepted the connection and met Marty's worried gaze. Not knowing what they were going to find inside, he said roughly, "I love you. If you do anything stupid in there, I'll kill you."

The smile Marty flashed him was about half the brashness it usually was, but still pure Deeks. "Got it, Boss."

They walked into Ops together, Sam mentally preparing for the worst and hoping for the best.

***