Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1

The road from Prineville to Paulina was, Morgan decided, a long-ass way . 

“How the hell long is this road, anyhow?” he demanded. 

“Fifty-seven miles to Paulina, twenty-one more to where the bodies are,” Hotch mumbled from the passenger seat, studying a paper map and comparing it to satellite images on his tablet. An open case file also lay in front of him. 

Morgan sighed and slapped his palm on the steering wheel. “Jesus. Seventy-eight miles. We’re barely halfway there.” 

“You’ve been complaining since we left Prineville.” 

“That’s ‘cause there’s nothing out here not to complain about.” 

“Can you believe I’m actually missing Reid and his facts?” Emily quipped from the back. 

Hotch looked up from his array and smiled ever so slightly. “Well, I doubt Dave is.” 

Morgan threw back his head and laughed. “ Oh yeah. The kid doesn't make the quietest co-pilot in the world.” 

“ Don’t sell him short ,” Dave’s voice jumped from Morgan’s phone, laying on the console. “ I’m enjoying the drive much more than you .” 

Reid added, “ Yeah, and Morgan that hurt! ” 

“Oh settle down, wonder-boy, I was just kiddin’.” 

“ Did you know that all of these juniper trees aren’t actually supposed to be here? This is just supposed to be desert, but they’re massively invasive. If you happened to be here seventy-five years ago —” 

Morgan interrupted, “Reid, why’n the hell would we ‘ happen to be here seventy-five years ago’?” 

“ Morgan I swear —” 

Hotch broke it up. “Look, if everyone wants something to do, we may as well review the case and start a basic profile.” 

“Well, six victims discovered so far,” Emily mused. “Male and female, all caucasian, varying physical description, unidentified so far. There doesn’t seem to be much connection between them, though.” 

“ Is the race a likely connecting factor ?” J.J. asked. 

“ Doubtful ,” Reid said. “ the ratio of caucasion to almost any other nationality in this part of Oregon is pretty staggering .” 

“How’d they find the bodies all the way out here, anyway?” Morgan demanded. 

Hotch glanced at his file and mumbled, “It says that a couple of cowboys found the first grave and called in the Sheriff from Prineville. The Sheriff found more bodies and called the State Troopers, and the State called us.” 

Emily sighed. “Suggesting that the locals won’t be too thrilled to see us. Great.” 

“ They almost never are ,” Rossi said, also sighing. 

Hotch rubbed his eyes wearily. “Well, that doesn’t dismiss the fact that we have a job to do, so I expect everyone,” he directed a tiny look at Morgan, “to be very patient with the locals.” 

“Why couldn’t we just fly in here?” Morgan asked, not dropping the distance subject. “There’s probably some flat-ass fields around somewhere we coulda landed in. A private airstrip or something!” 

“ Yeah ,” Rossi said. “ I looked, and there’s two airstrips. Both private. Owners said to bug off. The Prineville airport volunteered their services. ” 

“ Wouldn’t the John Day landing strip be closer? ” Reid asked. 

“ Hell if I know, I have no idea where John Day is .” 

“This is ridiculous!” Morgan exclaimed. “We’re the damned FBI, why won’t they let us use their landings?” 

“Because we’re the FBI.” Hotch looked even more tired, were it possible, and rubbed his temples. 

“ John Day’s about 116 miles from Prineville ,” Reid supplied. 

“Reid!” Morgan snapped. “We don’t care! It’s just a long way out here!” 

There was a long string of silence, and the team shared small looks. 

“The case,” Hotch very gently reminded. “Dave, J.J., Reid, you’ll talk to the cowboys and owners. The rest of us will head for the bodies.” 

Everyone agreed, and the drive again lapsed into silence.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

Dave’s first thought was that the rancher they were talking to looked exactly like what he’d pictured. A weathered, wrinkled man with wild-grown short hair and mustache. He was unsmiling, with sad and deep eyes, but he just radiated competence. 

“SSA David Rossi.” 

“Dave Carter.” His voice was slow, measured, and rough. 

“Jennifer Jareau, and Dr. Reid.” 

Dave nodded at both of them. “You’ll want to talk to the men.” 

“Are you the owner?” J.J. asked. 

“Naw.” Dave shifted, he seemed to move constantly. “‘M just the foreman. Mr. Dall’s in the Valley, he won’t be back for several days.” 

“Why is he in the ‘Valley?,’” 

“Takin’ his kids to a wrestlin’ match.” Dave dug his toe into the dirt. “Valley’s across the Cascades, Portland area. His boy’s a wrestler.” 

“Can we talk to the men?” Rossi steered them back on topic. 

“‘Course.” Dave led them at a rambling pace toward a mid-sized building. “This’s the chuck hall.” 

He led the way inside, introducing the three men inside. “Kari Stacey, Vince Sollum, Bill Terry.” 

The FBI agents shook hands and introduced themselves. 

Kari was the oldest; he stood like he was developing arthritis in his back and arms, but he, like Dave, gave off an aura of trustworthiness and respect. 

Vince had a big nose and looked like he would normally be a goofy grinning idiot, but today he looked very somber and almost as though he’d been crying. 

Bill was near Kari’s age, he had a mustache and salt-and-pepper hair that swept back. He was the tallest of the three, and even that wasn’t much. Maybe 5’8, Rossi guessed. 

All in all, they looked like solid men, honest and hardworking. 

“So you three found the bodies?” 

Bill nodded and swallowed. “Yeah.” 

“What were you doing out there?” 

“Checking fence, lookin’ for strays, fallin’ trees,” Vince said. His voice was soft and rough from crying or stress, probably both. 

“They do a lot of odd work,” Dave quietly explained. 

Vince kept going. “Kari and I were hand-fallin’ in the northeastern pasture when we . . . . we heard Bill yellin’.” 

“I saw a hand.” Bill visibly shuddered. “Stickin’ outta the dirt. I--I think I kinda screamed.” 

“Understandable,” J.J. said. She gestured to the three of them. “Would it be alright if we talked to all of you separately?” 

“Are we bein’ interrogated?” Vince asked. His voice cracked slightly in the middle of that sentence and his face went red. 

“Not at all, we just want to hear individual perspectives,” Reid put in. He was smiling gently, and hoping that it would ease everyone into calm. 

* * * * *

The FBI agents all gathered back in the “chuck hall” after the interviews. 

Rossi sighed as he sat, feeling the jet lag from a three-hour time difference. “Well, they’re definitely telling the truth.” 

“It’s hard for people without acting experience to lie about finding a body .” J.J. poured three tin cups of coffee and set them on the stove to warm. 

“Are you doubting they have acting experience?” Rossi asked, slightly smiling. 

J.J. just laughed and handed him a coffee cup. 

One drink and she moved to the faucet, filling the empty space in the cup with water, coughing. “ Wow that’s strong.” 

Reid took a long drink. “Tastes great to me.” 

“Reid you’re a caffeine addict.” 

“And?” 

Rossi chuckled. “You’d probably chew on the grounds straight if we let you.” 

Reid lifted his cup like it was a toast and grinned. “Never say never.” 

* * * * *

Hotch lifted the white sheet over one body. “How were they killed?” 

The field doctor studied his notes. “Different ways, but they were all tortured in similar manners.” 

“Such as?” 

“Burned, scalped, eyes gouged out, Achilles tendons cut, sliced multiple times all over their bodies with a scalpel or knife, males castrated, females sterilized and spayed. But there’s no evidence of sexual assault, at all.” 

Hotch stared critically at the body. “How many bodies so far?” 

“Five.” 

“Time frame?” 

“The first one could be anywhere from five to seven years ago, it’s very deteriorated. We can’t even lift fingerprints or dental records from it or the second. The last is perhaps only two weeks old, and I’ve sent a Trooper into the Bend crime lab with her dental images and fingerprints.” 

“Good.” Hotch moved to another body. “How long were they held before they died?” 

The M.E. gave a half-shrug. “Anywhere from two weeks to a month on the most recent female, and the rest we can’t say with our limited tools.” 

“Are the bodies going to be moved to a facility?” 

“Heading for the Bend medical office tonight, it’s over two-hundred miles. Probably a six or seven hour trip.” 

“So we won’t have further medical results for a couple of days.” He sighed and turned from the bodies. “Thank you, doctor.” 

He left the med tent and joined Prentiss and Morgan at the grave-excavation site. 

Morgan was digging off to the side for a rather shrimpy Pedometrist’s sample. 

“This dirt is unreal, Hotch,” Morgan panted, pausing for a moment and leaning on his shovel. “It’s all rock and sand and clay.” 

“It’s the high desert, agent,” one of the nearby Troopers said. “We’re on the outskirts of a giant volcano that circled the whole of central Oregon, all we’ve got is lava flow and rimrock.” 

Morgan just looked at him. “Great, thanks.” He looked back at Hotch. “The unsub’s gotta be physical to have buried a bunch of bodies out here, and there’s no evidence of any machinery being used.” 

Hotch merely nodded and turned to the Trooper. “Accommodations for my team, Trooper . . . . ?” 

“Calton, sir. We’ve got a tent and some cots ready to be set up, we can have an Trooper take one or two of you to Prineville to pick up some food and sleeping bags and whatever else you’ll need. I don’t imagine you’ve ever had a case quite this remote before.” 

“Not so far. Thank you Officer Calton.” Hotch motioned to Prentiss. “Can you and J.J. be responsible for the shopping run?” 

“Sure, we could probably stand the drive back.” She smiled at Morgan. 

“Oh shut up,” he growled. 

* * * * * 

“Bimart? Is that Walmart’s small-town cousin?” Prentiss asked their driver, Officer Glenn. 

Glenn snorted. “Hardly,” she said. “It’s just an Oregon-Washington-Idaho chain.” 

“Ah. Will they actually have what we need?” 

“Should. They’ve got a good camping section and some other stuff.” 

Glenn pulled into a parking spot and just said, “Alright gals, go nuts.” 

J.J. and Prentiss exchanged grins and got out. 

“Someone actually give you a list?” J.J. asked. 

“Yeah, Trooper Calton wrote down a few suggestions.” She dug the paper from her pocket. “I think we’ll be glad the Bureau is paying for this.” 

“Probably.” 

A woman called a geeting as they went inside, and J.J. gave a half-stuttered one back. 

“Much friendlier around here,” Prentiss noted. 

“Small town.” 

They both took carts and walked the aisles, not really knowing where to look but willing to spend some time learning the layout. They might have to be on the case for much longer than anticipated, and might end up coming back to the chain. 

J.J. grabbed two drawing pads and pencils for Rossi and Reid, who liked to sketch out the crime scenes and draw in general. Rossi had a more classic style, Reid a shadowy, horror style. It was very cool, really, especially side-by-side. They'd appreciate some new tools. 

Chapter Text

What Central/Eastern Oregon looks like:

(All images obtained from Google image search)

Chapter 3

Bringing back six decent sleeping bags was by far the most hilarious and difficult part of the trip. Even behind trying to pick out clothes that would fit everyone. There were only a few of each brand and kind of bag, so the mixing and matching was interesting. Their favorite was the one they picked out for Reid, the notorious cold-sleeper. He didn’t have enough meat on his bones to stay warm at night, so the girls grabbed the first mummy sleeping bag they found for him. And laughed at the color. 

Reid was absolutely not going to appreciate his garish, neon pink bag. 

* * * * *

- 8:54 PM - 

“This stinking place,” Morgan grumbled, scooting closer to the fire. 

“For the love of God, Morgan, shut the hell up.” Rossi actually glared at him across the fire. “You’ve done nothing but complain, this whole trip. We get it, you don’t like it here. So shut the fuck up already.” 

Everyone around the fire gave Rossi a surprised look. 

“Dave,” Hotch quietly said. 

Rossi just gave him a look that told him exactly where he could put his reprimand. And sideways, for all his look suggested. 

Reid just sat there quietly, staring at the fire, trying not to draw attention. It had been a long day for them all, and tensions were high. He was more of a mediator, he didn’t want to make anything worse. 

“Reid, you’re just gonna sit there like a damn lump?” Morgan snapped suddenly. “No facts that no one cares about? No physicist jokes no one’s gonna get? Nothing?!” 

Reid just slowly shook his head. Morgan was snappy lately, probably because he and Savanna were having some sort of relationship problems. Be damned if he’d say that out loud around Morgan, though. 

“Morgan, leave him be.” Hotch looked even more tired than normal in the firelight. 

Morgan growled and stomped away from the fire, everyone exchanging looks and shaking heads behind him. 

The girls walked up as Morgan left, carrying about four dozen bags. Glenn was helping them pack it all. 

"For Reid," Prentiss proudly announced, dropping the hot pink mummy bag into Reid's lap. 

"Hey!" Reid studied it. "I don't mind pink, but really?" 

"It was the warmest one we could find," J.J. explained, having the decency to look some embarrassed and apologetic. 

"It's fine, thanks for getting a warm one." Reid forced a tiny smile. 

Chapter Text

Yep, that's the great city of Paulina. Town population of 44. I actually lived there for a few years, but about fifty miles out of town on a cattle ranch. Exciting times. 

Chapter 4

Everyone slept in their clothes. It was twenty degrees and dropping fast, which was jarring after an eighty-degree day. 

As much as Reid disliked how “luminous” his bag was, he grew to appreciate the warmth. 

Morgan had elected to take the lightest bag and he tossed all night, unable to get comfortable on the cold ground. 

The ground under the big tent was hard and rocky, and no one slept well. 

The next morning, everyone drug themselves to the fire as soon as the sun showed itself. 

The Troopers that had stayed the night over had slept in their trucks, and looked considerably better than the BAU team. They didn’t say anything, though. They knew better.

One of the Sheriff’s deputies had breakfast and coffee on a portable stove -- the guy’d had the time and the resources to pull a camp trailer out the day before and had all of the necessary gear for a rural camp-out case. 

Another deputy dug into a cooler and started tossing out beers.

At Hotch’s questioning look, he said, “Technically, we aren’t on duty, you guys are. We’re pretty much just camping.” 

Prentiss stared at him. “It’s six in the morning!” 

The deputy just shrugged and drank his beer.

The cook passed out plates and cups, letting everyone dish themselves up and sit down at the fire. 

If one ignored the fact that there was a tent designed to study bodies in the background, it was a fairly peaceful scene. 

“Did you agents hear the coyotes last night?” He pronounced it “ky-oats.” 

“So that’s what the barking was,” Morgan mumbled. “And the screaming?” 

“Also the coyotes. They kind of scream more than they howl.” 

“Wow. Are there any wolves up here?” 

One of the Troopers glared deeply. “Damn right. And people ought to be able to shoot ‘em, damn things.” 

“Why’s that?” J.J. asked. 

“Nuisances, they kill stock and stampede animals.” 

Calton cut off the man. “No, Grader, you know damn well there aren’t. There’s two, maybe, that pass through in the winter. No more right now. And ‘sides, those ones are over in the Ochocos. None up here.” He gave a ghost of a smile. “If any of these cowboys saw a wolf up here, the three S’s would apply. Shoot, shovel, shuddup.” 

Hotch jumped in. “Even if it was collared?” 

“Depends on the cowboy, but yeah, probably. A surprising amount of stuff up here falls into the ‘Three S’ category.”

“Charming,” J.J. muttered around her coffee cup. It felt good to hold something warm. 

Everyone lapsed into quiet after that, watching the high desert wake up and light up.

But not even the sunlight in the sagebrush could erase the feeling of unease in the team.

Chapter Text

Today's classy photo for ya :) But, it is real so . . . . enjoy?

Chapter 5

Calton and Glenn watched, beer and coffee respectively in hand, as Troopers Price and Rand scrambled up a ratty juniper using only a couple of lead ropes and rusty railroad spikes they’d found. The forensics team found a body entangled in the roots and wanted a sample. Apparently, in the dumbest way Prince and Rand could possibly figure out. 

Glenn mumbled around her cup brim, “You know the office OSHA manual just burst into flames.” 

“The OSHA handbook can go right straight to hell, and be welcome.” 

“I think even Satan wouldn’t want anything to do with it.” 

"You're probably right." 

Glenn walked back to the fire, where the BAU team was setting up a crime board, and watched them work for a moment. There was a fair bit of tension between them, she saw. 

“How’s it going?” she asked Prentiss. 

“Well if I don’t get another cup of coffee I’m going to start screaming, why?” 

Glenn laughed. “Let’s get another cup, then. I need a refill, too.” 

They were quiet for a minute while pouring and taking drinks, and Glenn waited for Prentiss to relax a bit before speaking. 

“Are you guys doing alright?” 

Emily tensed up again. “Yeah . . . . our last case was bad. Very bad. Children were involved. No one’s really . . . . gotten over it yet.” 

“I’m impressed that you’re even here, then.” Glenn was silent for another minute, contemplating what she could even say. “I’ve had ones with kids, too. They’re rough.” 

Prentiss nodded tiredly, and Glenn decided to change the conversation. “So, what’s your investigation saying so far?” 

Prentiss, visibly relieved at the change, launched into their speculation on the unsub. “We’re guessing a white male, probably around six feet tall. Someone who’s killing out of rage, indicated by the torture, but also cold calculation, because of the amount of torture. And there was no rape, so he may be impotent or have something against sexual intercourse.The most recent bodies are buried shallowly and weren’t killed too far apart, so he’s getting more confident.” She rubbed her eyes and sighed. “There’s just a lot else, really, that we just can’t say for sure yet.” 

“Understandable.” Glenn looked across the hills, past the burial site and the swarms of Troopers and Sheriff deputies. She didn’t quite know what she was looking for, but she’d learned to trust her gut. “Did they find horse tracks?” she found herself asking. 

Prentiss frowned. “I . . . . don’t know that anyone’s looked. There’s probably a few, what with cowboys and all.” 

“Uh-huh.” Glenn stared at the ground. “Tanneway,” she eventually said, very softly.

“Pardon?” 

“Jeabeaux Tanneway. One of the best trackers I know of around Oregon.” Glenn started walking toward Calton, indicating for Emily to walk with her. “He was involved with tracking the Rhoden boy’s killer, back some twenty years ago. He was just learning to track then, I think.” 

“So you think the unsub’s been in here on horse?” 

“Makes sense, there’s no tracks that indicate anything motorized, and a man afoot out here is a dead man.” 

Calton was still unenthusiastically surveying the tree climbers when they found him and told him Glenn’s theory. 

“Jesus, I can’t believe I didn’t think of that,” he half-growled. “You’re right, Tanneway’s the best tracker that’ll work with us. And,” he continued before Glenn could turn away, rubbing his eyes. “You better swing by the Forest Service’s office. They’re starting to find bodies inside the Malheur Forest line.” 

Glenn very quietly groaned. “Dammit, I'd really hoped we wouldn’t have to get them involved.” 

“Well we do now. Better take one of the agents with you, it might take some convincing to get them to send someone out this late, hopefully to stay.” 

“Sure.” She looked at Prentiss. “Your Italian’s pretty down-to-business, ain’t he?” 

Chapter Text

“And furthermore ,” Rossi thundered, slamming his badge on the counter with more than a little satisfaction. “I’m Agent David Rossi of the FBI.” 

The brash old secretary paled abruptly. “Just one second please,” she said very quickly, half-running into the back. 

“Chrissake,” Rossi snarled, pacing around the small lobby and running his hands through his hair. 

The door leading to the back offices opened and Trooper and Agent looked up at it. 

A compact, sturdy woman with short brown hair was standing there, a half-smile on her face and wearing the green cargo clothes of a typical forester. She wore glasses, but they couldn’t take away the intensity and intelligence in her grey eyes. She had a brown cowboy hat on with USFS logo on it. 

“Howdy,” she said, stepping forward and shaking hands with both of them. “Ashton Hall. I’ll be heading back to your crime scene with ya.” 

Rossi’s first thought was, ‘This, like, 5’3 kid could absolutely whip Morgan’s ass over his ears.’ He chuckled to himself at the thought - Ashton looked more than capable of it . Her calm but commanding personality made her seem a good several inches taller and gave her an intimidating aura. 

“Dave Rossi.” 

“Glenn.” 

Ashton smiled. “Nice to meet ya. I’ve got to grab my bags and then I’ll follow you back up.” 

More than a little curious about her, Rossi asked, “Mind if I tag along with you?” 

“Sure.” She gave him a look that could definitely be interpreted as ‘just don’t try any stupid shit with me or I’ll kill you.’ 

Rossi liked her more and more. 

She carded them back into the offices and he trailed her through the maze of cubicles to the one he assumed was hers. There were a couple coats on the chair, an empty coffee mug on the desk, and a closed sketchbook and a laptop, but otherwise no personal effects. All of the paperwork and binders on the desk were very orderly and stowed away. 

“Are you a drawer?” Rossi asked as Ashton pulled a duffel and a backpack from under her desk. 

“A bit,” Ashton admitted. There was a tinge of irony to her voice as she added, “I don’t enjoy it very much, but I’m good at it so I keep doing it.” 

Rossi chuckled. “Usually it’s the other way around, you like it but aren’t good at it.”

“Yourself?” 

“Just a bit. I like to sketch out our crime scenes, cement them in my mind.” 

“Good idea, I imagine that’d work.” 

Ashton stuffed the sketchbook and laptop into the backpack and stood, politely refusing Dave’s offer to carry the duffel. “Truck’s out back.” 

As they weaved through more cubicles, ones Rossi actually he might be able to stomach working in, Ashton was snagged by a guy with a wildland fire sweatshirt. He didn’t even look at Rossi. 

“What’s up, Sam?” Ashton asked. 

“We have another fire up on the Malheurs, and two in the Ochocos.” Sam’s voice was high up in his throat, like he was always on his last breath. 

Ashton’s demeanor immediately changed to tense. “Are any of them controlled?” 

“The Malheur Unit one’s a controlled burn, but not the Ochoco ones.” 

“Damn.” The wheels were turning. “Any chance of one hitting around Rail-Rafter SD?” 

“Dall’s ranch? Naw, I don’t think so.” 

“Good, I’m gonna be up there for a bit and I’d rather not have to evacuate Dall’s guys.” 

Sam barked out a laugh. “Me either, stubborn sons of bitches.” 

“Alright, Sam, I’ll see you later. Good luck with the fires.” 

Sam nodded his goodbye and retreated back into his cubicle. 

“As if we didn’t have enough going wrong,” Rossi said. “Now we have fire.” 

“Welcome to Central Oregon, Agent Rossi,” Ashton drawled with a slight smile. “It catches fire all year, all the time.” 

“Great.” 

They made it outside without further interruption and Ashton pointed her assigned rig, a simple white truck that matched every other one in the lot. 

“Sorry that it’s dirty,” Ashton said as she threw her things in the back seat. 

“It’s a working truck,” Rossi merely said.

“Yep, and it’ll probably be working hard while I’m up with you guys.” She started the truck up. “Give the ol’ gal a minute to warm up." They sat in silence for a bit. "So, the FBI.” 

“Yep. My team is part of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, we catch serial killers.” 

“A noble work, and good job security too, nowadays.” 

“What are you, eighty?” 

Ashton laughed. “Mebbe, Agent Rossi. Mebbe.” She put the truck in gear and rolled out of the parking lot, falling in behind Glenn’s cruiser. “One of the reasons I picked Forestry is because I think I belong in a different time. The 1820s would have been ideal.” 

It was Rossi’s turn to laugh, not mockingly but at the specificity. “That’s a very interesting time to pick. Why?” 

“Mountain men.” Ashton gave a small smile. “And while I make changes, I wouldn’t want to be a woman then, druther be a man.” 

“Would have been hard for a woman to get any respect or recognition back then, for sure.”

There was more silence. 

“How long have you lived here?” Rossi asked. 

“M’ whole life, born an’ raised.” Ashton gave a twisting half-smile. “I did put in an application for transfer for the Montana Forest Service branch, though, so I’ll be moving up there in a couple of months.” 

“Sounds fun. Got any family here?” 

Ashton’s face was a well-made mask. “Nope. Some in Idaho.” 

Rossi nodded. If she didn’t want to say, he wasn’t going to push.

Chapter Text

James Bama's painting of a mountain man (very accurate, very well done)

Chapter 7

Unlike Glenn, Ashton took it easy on the speed up the Paulina Highway, keeping it to a smart 60 mph, as opposed to somewhere around 80-85 mph. She waved and was waved to by to almost all off the oncoming traffic. 

“About everyone knows the ‘Forest Service girl’ around here,” she explained, eyes twinkling with humor. 

Rossi chuckled. “When you leave for Montana they’ll be concerned.” 

“They’ll find someone else, they always do.” 

Rossi shifted to get more comfortable in his seat. “So how old are you, Ashton? You seem young for this profession.” He stuttered a moment. “Sorry I didn’t mean that creepily, just that . . . . no offense, really.” 

Ashton laughed. “You’re fine, Agent, I know what you mean. No offense taken. I’m nineteen.” 

“ Nineteen ?” Rossi sunk slightly back in his chair. “Chrissake, how did you even get this job?” 

“I graduated early, took several CTE and college credit classes in high school and was recommended to COCC by my forestry teacher. I took classes there on a full ride while working in wildland fire for a year and a half, got my degree, and jumped into the forestry side. I’ve been there for five months.” 

Rossi sat there in a state of shock for a moment. “ Nineteen .” 

Ashton chuckled. “You aren’t the first to be surprised, believe me.” 

Rossi shook his head. “You’re nineteen . Jesus. I thought you were . . . . like twenty-five .” 

Ashton did more laughing. “I mean, since I turned fourteen I’ve been offered alcohol in restaurants. Pretty sure they just think I’m not a drinker.” 

Rossi was still shaking his head. “Well, are you?” 

Ashton side-eyed him. “Remember you’re a federal agent, Agent.” She then shrugged. “Not usually, because I’ve had exposure.” 

“Yourself?” 

“And others. I watched my father’s alcoholic family be alcoholics for years. I never wanted that.” 

“That’s smart.” It was ‘father,’ not ‘dad.’ Suggesting estrangement, or at least that they weren’t close. 

“Why the FBI, Agent?” 

“Just Rossi, please. I was a Marine when I was younger, and I guess I just wanted to continue helping people and putting down the bad guys.” 

Ashton nodded sagely. “You have a strong sense of morality and justice, then. A strict code, am I right?” 

“Exactly.” Rossi’s impressed expression was negated to just his eyes. “You’d make a good profiler.” 

“In DC? Thanks, that’s high praise, but no thank you. I like the woods too much. I couldn’t live in a city like that.” She indicated the pistol on her belt. “I feel safer with four-legged varmints than the two-legged ones.” 

“Having seen plenty of what those two-legged ‘varmints’ do first hand, I can’t say I disagree,” Rossi agreed. 

Glenn had tracked down Beajeaux to a bar in Burns, and she split away from Ashton and Rossi at the Camp Creek road. 

“You know where we’re supposed to go, right?” Ashton jokingly asked Rossi. 

* * * * *

It was all of an hour and a half before Ashton and Rossi reached the crime scene, and another two hours before Glenn and Tanneway joined them. 

Ashton was around the fire with the team, getting introduced and caught up with all of them when Glenn and Tanneway arrived. 

Tanneway was a long, lanky man that had long hair and beard that were half-heartedly maintained. His eyes were constantly darting and he walked like a predator cat, rolling and ready to spring at the slightest provocation. He was dressed in a pair of greasy canvas pants and a dirty flannel. His cowboy hat was punched into shape and wrestled over his head, and he carried a wide assortment of what most would call junk tightly strapped around his body. He had moccasins on, looking homemade, and didn’t make any noise when he moved. 

He was unsettling, to say the least, and Morgan took one look, felt one ounce of the guy’s ‘vibe’ and walked away. 

Tanneway nodded very faintly at the group and started looking around their site. 

“I’ll be sleepin’ out in the brush,” he said suddenly, voice raw and rough as if he never used it. “Don’t try to come find me, cuz you’ll get a knife through the gut.” 

Glenn, who knew how to deal with him best, merely nodded and said, “We think a guy’s been through here over a dozen times on horseback. He’s been burying bodies out here for years, probably.” 

Tanneway’s shifty eyes were roaming the terrain, now, looking over what he could see of the excavation area and the topography around it. “He buried them un’er junipers fust, di’n’t he.” 

“How do you know that?” Prentiss asked. 

His eyes lit on her for a chilling moment, then away again. “S’ what I would do,” he said. “No sat’lite imagin’, no way t’ find graves from th’ air.” He nodded to himself. “S’ ‘ zactly what I’d do.” 

The team exchanged looks, and Hotch directed one at Glenn that just said ‘ What in the utter hell .’ 

Beajeaux stared at the fading sunset and raspily announced, “‘Night. Don’t come lookin’ fer me in th' mornin', I’ll find you.” He snickered to himself as he walked off into the deep brush. 

Glenn smiled and sighed all at the same time. “That’s Beajeaux, he’s a tracker. And trackers are weird .”

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

Carter met the team again at the chuck hall the next morning, shaking hands and offering breakfast and coffee. 

Reid very happily took up the coffee. 

“How’s the crew?” Dave slowly drawled. 

Prentiss gave an almost-sigh. “Motley, might be the best word.” 

“Or just plain weird ,” Morgan mumbled. 

Carter gave a tiny chuckle. He reminded Morgan of Sam Elliot. “Yeah, you’ll find around here that’s whut we are, fer a fact.” 

“Motley or weird?” J.J. asked playfully. 

“Little of both.” Dave’s hound dog-like eyes were twinkling. “Reckon you’ve already heard that Mr. Dall’s back.” 

“Uh huh.” Morgan stood up a little straighter. “Where’s he at?” 

“Up at th’ house, he’ll be down in a minute.” Dave shrugged meaninglessly and dug his boot toe into the floor. “He’s mighty obliged for you tryna find whoever’s doin’ this.” 

“Because they’re a murderer or because they’re trespassing?” Hotch asked, his severe face haggard and almost irritated. 

Dave gave another shrug and shook his head. “You never heard it from me.” 

Morgan snorted, mostly with disgust, and poured himself a cup of coffee. He abruptly demanded, “You got cell service here?” 

Again, a shrug. It was starting to be irritating. “In some places, mebbe. In most, no.” 

Rossi frowned. “How do you get any contact out?” 

“Boss’s got a landline, we got neighbors and trucks and horses.” Dave seemed disgusted at the little flip-phone he pulled from his shirt pocket to show them. “Damn things are a waste of time and effort up here.” 

A mid-sized man stepped through the door, clean-shaven with close-cropped hair, blue jeans and tucked in cowboy shirt. He wore a spotless white Stetson. 

A boy of about sixteen followed him in, dressed about the same. They both wore massive gold and silver plated belt buckles. 

There was no doubt that this was Steven Dall and his son. 

Dave, Prentiss, and J.J. stood up to shake his hand, Reid waved, and Morgan just stood in the corner and stared. He did not like Dall, and sensed the feeling went both ways. 

Hotch stayed in his chair. Dall hadn’t had anything about him that earned respect, so Aaron wasn’t about to stand up for him. He, like Morgan, didn’t care much for Dall. There was a pompousness about him that they had all had time to grow unaccustomed to among usually very hospitable people, and it wasn’t very liked. 

“Agents,” Dall said briefly. “This is my son, Randy.” 

Randy nodded in a slightly pretentious way at the team. He didn’t offer to shake hands. 

“Thank you for coming out,” Dall continued. “Whoever’s doing this needs to be stopped.” He swung his each of them as he talked, 'natural leader' radiating from him, and looked at all of them except Morgan. He completely ignored him. 

Hotch felt Dall’s gaze land mostly on Rossi, trying to build up, confide, preen, and eventually undermine Hotchner’s authority. It wouldn’t work, of course, because Dave had been his best friend and mentor for years and doubtlessly picked up on it himself, but Dall was still attempting to do it. Which, naturally, pissed Hotch off very much. 

He simply schooled his face and settled in for the long game. 

Randy quietly got his father’s attention. “Dad, I’ve got practice with Cam in a couple of minutes.” 

The whole team noticed the red creeping up his neck and cheeks, but Dall didn’t. He simply gave an indifferent grunt and made a ‘run-along’ movement with his hand. 

Very interesting, the team collectively thought. And potentially, very bad for Randy. 

If his father found out his son was sleeping with whoever Cam was, he likely wouldn’t be pleased. 

Oh well. Not their problem. 

Dall turned back to them and totally mentally dismissed Randy. “Do you need anything from me, agents?” 

“A shower would be nice,” J.J. admitted. 

“Dave will show you the bunkhouses, they’ve all got showers. Enjoy.” Dall turned and walked out of the door. 

Morgan’s face was twisted with irritation and disgust. “What an asshole.” 

Carter didn’t react to that statement, he just said, “Any of ya that want showers just follow me.” 

No one moved, and J.J. said, “On second thought, I would need things from my bag that I don’t have here.” 

“Whatcha need, ma’am?” 

She made eye contact and said firmly, “Things in my bag that I don’t have.” 

“Yes ma’am.” Dave looked around them. “You kin stay ‘s long as you want, the cook’ll fix up some sandwiches for lunch.” 

“I think we’ve intruded long enough,” Hotch said, standing. “Thank you, Mr. Carter. We’ll be going back to our camp.” 

* * * * *

“Jesus what a racist mother fucker .” Morgan slammed his hand into the steering wheel and everyone flinched. 

No one said anything, no one felt they had the right to. 

“I knew that there’d be people like that out here, but really ?!” Morgan was near to yelling. 

“Most of the people out here aren’t that way,” J.J. said gently, from the way-back seat. 

Morgan mumbled, “Still leaves some that are.” 

“That’s the case with everything, all over the world. We can’t control it, not yet.” Prentiss looked apologetic. “Give it time.” 

Morgan grumbled some more but started to calm down. 

“Is no one going to comment on Randy?” Reid asked. 

Hotch shook his head. “What about him?” 

“He’s seeing another boy, his dad’s not likely to like that.” 

“None of our business.” 

Hotch said, “His dad may never find out. Cam may be a girl. He may not be sleeping with them. There’s a lot of maybes to our apparently collective theory. Best to just leave it alone." 

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

“How are we even going to find out where anyone lives out here?” Prentiss asked Glenn. 

Glenn smiled slightly, leaning over the spread out satellite map on the table in front of her. “Better get Hall, the forester. She definitely knows this area better than me.” 

Emily shrugged and left the tent, heading for where she saw Ashton, who was talking to a pedologist. Ah to be a dirt-studier, she thought briefly. Life must be much more simple. 

Ashton saw her coming and stood. “What’s up?” 

“Glenn said you probably know this area better than she does, where people live and the roads and everything.” 

Ashton shrugged. “Maybe, I am out here three out of five days.” She followed Prentiss back to the command tent. “There’s few enough people, and far between them. You’re going to be looking to conduct interviews, right?” 

At Emily’s nod, Ashton continued, “So you’re going want anywhere from one to three days set aside for just that. It can be about three hours between places, sometimes more.” 

“Wow. We’re never going to find this guy.” 

“Never say never, he’s a cocky serial killer; he’ll have his own little tells.” 

Prentiss side-eyed Ashton. “Someone told you that you should be a profiler, right?” 

Ashton chuckled. “Yes, and I’ll say again: thanks but no thanks. I like the woods.” 

“As much as Tanneway?” 

Ashton suppressed a laugh. “I mean, maybe.” 

They carried on in silence for a few moments before Emily asked, “You in a relationship? Boyfriend/girlfriend or anything?” 

“You offering?” Hall laughed before nodding her head. “Yes I have a friend who I’m waiting on to ask me out. And if he doesn’t soon enough, I will.” 

“Any specific time in mind?” 

“Whenever I can afford to pay for dinner. Whoever asks should also pay, in my opinion.” 

“No gender stereotype in your book, eh?” 

“Not much that I’m aware of. What about you, anything romantically?” 

Prentiss was quick to shake her head. “ Oh no , I have my cat Sergio and he puts more than enough testosterone in my apartment as is.” 

They shared a chuckle over that. 

Reid intercepted them, walking fast and face frowning. “NCIS is coming.” 

Prentiss stopped in her tracks. “Wha, why?” 

“Three of our five victims have been confirmed as Navy soldiers or veterans.” 

“What about the other two?” 

“Civilian. The crime lab identified them as Deacon Summerlin and Casey Todd, Summerlin was homeless and Todd was arrested multiple times for prostitution.” 

“That’s a major low to high-risk lifestyle victim jump.” 

“That’s a major low to high-risk lifestyle victim jump. Of course, we probably haven’t found all of the bodies yet so . . . . maybe we have some more transition.” 

“If there aren’t more, that would be a big catalyst, and a large shift in M.O.” Reid frowned deeper. “We may need to start considering the possibility of a partner.” 

“Joy,” Prentiss groaned sarcastically. “Do we know who’s leading the NCIS team?” 

“Special Agent Leroy J. Gibbs.” 

“Oh yeah, I’ve heard of him. When are they supposed to be here?” 

“Within a half-an-hour.” 

Prentiss sighed. “I’m sorry Ashton, I’m going to have to meet with my team and NCIS, so nevermind about the maps. I’ll see you later.” 

Ashton nodded to both of them and went back to the pedomotrist. 

“There might be a power struggle between Gibbs and Hotch,” Prentiss said gently. 

“I hope not, Hotch took our last case hard.” Reid’s face creased. “I don’t think he’s been able to call Jack since we’ve been up here.” 

“I just hope they take it easy on us.” 

* * * * *

“Boss we’re out in the middle of butt-nowhere,” Tony complained, hoisting bags from the back of an SUV. 

Morgan whipped around and stared at him and half-yelled, “ Thank you ! Finally, someone who gets it!” 

Gibbs walked past Tony. “Rule seventeen, Dinozzo: don’t insult the locals’ backcountry, they take it personally.” 

He walked right up to Hotch and shook hands. “Gibbs.” 

“Hotchner.” 

Gibbs read the firmness around Hotch’s mouth and his hawk-like eyes and just said, “Joint case?” 

Hotch nodded and started telling him about the bodies they’d found. “Any requests regarding the victims?” 

“I’d like to have my M.E. take a look at them.” 

“Based in D.C.?” 

“Yep.” 

“Go ahead and arrange it, then. The command tent is behind us, full autopsy reports and maps are on the table. The techs are trying to get us direct phone connection from here out, but they’ll be a day or two.” 

Gibbs gave him a half-nod and smile, walking with him into the command tent. 

Tony and McGee introduced themselves to the rest of the team, explaining that their fourth teammate, Ziva, had stayed behind to assist their Tech. 

In full character, Tony immediately started trying to hit on J.J. and Prentiss, the former who informed him that she was married and had children, and the latter who told him that she made her current man poop in a box and did he really want to get to know her better?

Of course; yes, yes he did. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

As they stood around the fire that night, Tony quietly asked, “Why didn’t rule sixteen apply, Boss?” 

Rule 16: If someone thinks he has the upper hand, break it. 

“They just went through a hard case, Dinozzo.” Gibbs took a drink of his coffee. “Better to just cooperate and leave a good impression.” 

Tony gave an almost-smile. “Fornel will appreciate that.” 

“Shut up, Dinozzo.” 

“Yeah, Boss.” 

J.J. piped up from across the fire. “So, have you ever been this rural before?” 

Gibbs just nodded and kept to his coffee, and Tony started talking. “Oh well yeah, I mean we’ve been further out than this, probably even.” 

“Don’t push it, Dinozzo,” Gibbs mumbled around the cup. 

“Right, Boss.” 

“What’s your job on the crime, Dinozzo?” Morgan asked. 

“I’m the sketch-man and the photographer and do anything that he”--he pointed at Gibbs, who gave a rueful smile into his coffee--“tells me to.” 

“Are you all former Navy and Marines?” 

“Only our very famous and talkative Gibbs here, the chipper fellow.” Tony clasped the man on the shoulder, earning an uncomfortable and irritated look from Gibbs. 

“Marine?” Rossi asked, quirking an eyebrow. 

“Yep,” Gibbs said, and raised his cup as Rossi raised his. 

“Hoorah,” Rossi said with a small smile. 

* * * * *

Only Calton and Glenn were left of the Troopers, and the two Sheriff’s deputies that had brought out the trailer. The investigation was going to take weeks, at least, and neither the state nor the county had the resources available to keep a dozen people on payroll to sit around a fire and B.S. each other. 

Calton, Glenn, and the deputies were approved to stay, the deputies at half-pay, and Ashton took a mix of paid leave, sick leave, and vacation. 

When the teams asked her why she was willing to sacrifice the days, she just said, “Someone’s gotta keep you guys in line. ‘Sides, I don’t celebrate any holidays so I might as well hang out with some interesting people for once.” 

Two cowboys from the S-D continually patrolled the area by horseback, armed with rifles and pistols and looking a hundred percent like they’d stepped out of an 1800’s photograph. 

The teams started using their days to visit the locals, taking Kari in one SUV and Bill in another with them to show them where houses even were in the rural backcountry. 

Gibbs tagged along with Rossi, Morgan, and J.J., and McGee went with Hotch, Prentiss, and Reid. McGee and Reid had a few lively conversations on their long rides. 

Tony was told to watch the crime scene and grow up a bit. True to form, the words were accompanied by a head-slap. 

In regards to riding with the team, because of Tim’s usual timidness, McGee had essentially been told by Gibbs to, “do no harm but take no shit,” and he didn’t. 

McGee allowed the BAU team to have the absolute lead; when allowed into local’s homes he accepted coffee and simply paced around the room, not adding anything. He didn’t sense with any of them that he needed to, they were all just decent people trying to live and let live. 

Mostly, anyway. 

The dozenth house, ranch, really, they arrived at was a little different. Something in the feeling was just off. 

“I don’t like this,” Prentiss immediately said. 

“Man and his wife live here,” Bill said. “Don’t see ‘em much, they seem nice, though.” 

Hotch just nodded and scanned the property. He stepped from the car and started toward the door, all of the others except Bill joining him. 

They were halfway to the door when a mid-size man stepped out, whip-chord thin and holding a rifle casually in his hand. 

He spotted the suits almost everyone was wearing, albeit rumpled, and just said, “Aw nah thanks, we ain’t interested, we already got our own religion. You all just have a good day, now.” 

Hotch paused for a moment, puzzled. “Pardon?” 

“Ain’t you some o’ them Jehovah’s?” 

Reid stepped some forward and spoke up. “Actually, they just prefer Witnesses, and no, we aren’t.” He moved his coat away from his badge and gun. “We’re with the FBI.” 

McGee showed his own credentials. “And I’m NCIS.” 

The man’s face started to pale. “Jesus--shit!” 

The rifle started to move and immediately everyone had guns in hand. 

“Drop the weapon!” was heard from everyone almost simultaneously. 

The man stopped and obeyed, wide-eyed, leaning his rifle down against the house with one hand. The other was in the air. 

“Who else is in the house?” Hotch demanded. 

“I-I-n-y-I, well-” 

“ Who else is in the house ?!” 

“M’wife, Ell, she’s just in the shower an’ ya shouldn’t--” 

“Get out of the way,” Prentiss snapped, motioning for Reid to go with her into the house. Their guns were still very much in hand. 

Hotch and McGee advanced on the man. “Turn around, hands on the wall.” 

He complied, albeit grumbling and slowly. “You’re here about those fuckin’ wells, aren’t you?” he spat. 

Tim and Hotch exchanged confused glances. “We’re here because five people have been murdered.” McGee said, a little disgust and disbelief lacing his tone. 

“What’s your name?” Hotch asked, cuffing him. 

“Matt.” He craned his neck over his shoulder uncomfortably to look at Tim in confusion. “You said five people been killed?” 

“Last name,” Hotch pressured. 

“Pruitt. Well what about them people?” 

“Like I said, murdered.” Tim’s face was grim as he added, “And we’re going to find whoever did it.” 

Matt paled a little more. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

Ducky examined all of the bodies in his own lab, and then decided that he would fly them and himself out to Bend’s own autopsy center, to be closer and in the same time zone as Gibbs and team. While he didn’t appreciate leaving his comfortable, familiar office, he would much rather be able to help Jethro. 

Ziva announced that she would go with him, in such a way that he knew she wasn’t asking. 

He talked her ear off the entire six hour flight. 

* * * * *

Matt’s wife let out a scream when Prentiss and Reid burst into the bathroom, guns drawn and ready for use. 

She was butt-nekkid in the shower, and there was a pistol next to the sink. 

Reid took the gun while Prentiss retrieved some clothes, ordering her out and into some clothing and a pair of cuffs. 

She screamed and cussed and bawled the whole time, and they drug her outside to the porch. 

Matt glowered at her. “Jesus Christ, Lani, yer worse than a whore in a blizzard. Shut the fuck up.” 

Prentiss and McGee exchanged unimpressed looks that just said, “ Wow .” 

Lani, or Ell, or whoever the hell she was, quieted down, still sniffling and hiccupping once in a while. 

“What do you want?” Matt growled, glaring at all of them. 

“What did I just tell you?” McGee said, irritated. “Murders.” 

“Yeah,” Matt grumbled. “You ain’t usin’ that as a cover to look at some wells, are ya?” 

McGee rolled his eyes. “We have better things to do with our time, Matt.” 

Reid added, “And that would be the Department of Agriculture’s job, anyway, not the FBI’s.” 

Matt just grumbled something and looked at the ground. 

Hotch turned to Reid and said, “Call the troopers at camp and let them know where we are. I’d like them to pick these two up and take them to Prineville’s jail.” 

Matt’s head snapped up. “Hey now, mister, you ain’t no call to do that. I pay your wage with my taxes, you know! You can’t do this!” 

They ignored him, and he started cussing again. 

Reid made the call. 

* * * * *

The Bend office was surprisingly unwelcoming and uncooperative to Ducky’s request, even though he’d sent confirmation before he came. 

It wasn’t until Ziva explained, in her very threatening Mossad way, that they were NCIS and were coming in whether they liked it or not that the desk jockeys got out of the way. 

“Thank you very much, dear,” Ducky said as they walked the corridor to their room. “I thought those bloody uppity bastards would never let us in.” 

“It’s only because they didn’t want me to kill them.” 

“Indeed.” 

* * * * *

Gibbs and team were having problems of their own. 

They had crossed a cattle-guard and apparently one of the bars had been bent upward because they blew a tire. 

With all five men equally trying to be helpful in putting on the spare, Rossi and Gibbs eventually just stepped back and watched the others. 

Three men were already more than enough to put a tire on. 

Gibbs and Rossi exchanged more formalities for a bit, getting into backgrounds and hometowns. Three wives was the funnier tip-point.

There were more similarities between them that they wouldn’t discover, informality and professionalism working against that, but that was something they would never know.

Chapter Text

The spare tire was put on in short order and the drive resumed down the narrow gravel track. The suspension in the SUV was severely tested on the rocky, pot-holed road. 

Kari was driving after the cattle-guard incident. 

Gibbs and Rossi sat in the back, both of them in jeans and button-up shirts. Morgan was in jeans and a short-sleeve, and J.J. was the only one in a suit. She was sitting next to Rossi, who took the middle. J.J. would have sat there instead, but Gibbs was a man she didn't know. Rossi gracefully just took the middle instead. 

They were truly in the middle of nowhere, on a dirt track that barely existed and in a stretch of scraggly juniper and sage that could jokingly be called habitat. 

Gibbs looked right at home. 

All of the windows were down despite the powdery dust, and Rossi and Gibbs shared the left-hand window, staring over the sage plain. 

"Coyote," Rossi muttered, pointing. 

Kari looked, growled, stopped the SUV, took his rifle from where it sat beside the passenger seat, opened the door, and shot it all in one motion. 

"What the hell did you do that for?" Morgan demanded. 

"It's wasn't just a ki-oat, agent," Kari calmly explained. "See how big it was, and it's markings? That was a wolf dog. They're cattle killers." He racked another bullet in and pocketed his spent shell. "Like with cougars. We shoot on sight." 

He looked around for a minute more, got back inside, put his bolt-action back beside Morgan's seat, and drove on as if nothing had happened. 

Rossi looked at Gibbs, and Gibbs just shrugged. "Cattle killer." 

"Uh huh." 

"I'm sorry, agents," Kari said. "But you have to understand that things are different out here. And as long as Hall, the ODFW gal, isn't with us, we have to protect our interests that way. When we get out here to Red and Eva Cole's--that's who owns this--I'll tell 'em about it." 

"And they won't care?" J.J. asked. 

"They'll be damned grateful. Had I found the cougar that's been going after their dogs, they'd have given me money." 

Rossi frowned. "You have many cougars out here?" 

"Way too many." Kari looked back at Rossi in the rearview mirror. "You guys been walking around under tree cover for four days now? You've probably been an arm's reach from two or three, and never saw a single one. They may not attack people all the time, but you better look like a human when they see you or you're gonna be lunch. I don't even want to think of how many I've walked or ridden under that just decided I wasn't worth the effort." 

J.J. physically shivered. "That's creepy." 

"Like I said, just look like a human and you'll be fine. Crouched down or hunched over, you don't look human, you look like any other food." 

Morgan shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, we'll keep that in mind." 

Gibbs smiled very slightly to himself, and so did Rossi. They'd both hunted before, they knew the Rules to being outdoors. 

There were no more incidents on the drive up, and soon enough they pulled into the driveway of a ranch house. A man was out by the barn that sat catty-corner to the main house, driving cows into a back pen, and a woman was gardening by the porch. She already had half a basket of vegetables pulled up. 

They were both somewhere around sixty or seventy, the man was white and the woman was black. 

"Howdy, Eva," Kari called to the woman as he stepped out of the SUV. Red just waved a hand in their direction and continued moving stock. 

Eva stood, small, short, and all smile. "Come on in, folks, I've got some lunch on the table and some coffee on the stove." 

Kari grinned. "Yes ma'am." He turned to the team. "Eva is the best turned cook around here, you don't ever turn her food down." 

The team nodded and followed him into the house. 

Chapter Text

“Anyone around here who might have been hiding something like that?” Rossi asked Eva. 

“Lord no, not murder.” She shook her head and poured herself another cup of coffee. “Illegal wells, sure. Stolen stock? Maybe. But murder ? That’s a whole different thing. People up here just aren’t like that.” 

“Anyone you know of with grudges that could become this violent?” 

“Not a one. Everyone’s got their scores and issues; it’s Paulina, you’ll always be on someone’s toes. But like I said, folks here aren’t like that. You have an issue with someone, you meet him face-to-face and fist-to-fist, if anything.” 

Red came in then, a taller man but stooped to mid-height. He was a grinner too, with an iron-grey mustache and thinning, swept-back hair that matched it. He had transitioning eye glasses, so he looked a little . . . . odd coming inside. He was wearing short chaps and regular brush-popper clothes (a term that had been explained earlier to the teams as a uniform of brush resistant protection, to avoid getting sliced up by steers or junipers or snakes or everything else out in the inhospitable area). He was through and through cowboy, was the point. 

“Red,” he introduced, shaking hands all around. 

He must have been losing his hearing, because he leaned very close, very into personal space, like he was trying to touch noses or teeth. Coupled with his natural stoop, it was a little unnerving. But at least it seemed like he didn’t mean to be doing it, so it was just a little uncomfortable. And when whoever he was grinning into took a step back, he just stepped with them. 

Harmless, but still. 

Rossi asked him the same questions, got the same answers, the same shocked expressions and the assurance that they were perfectly safe. Red patted the revolver on his hip as he said it, and gestured to the main bedroom. “Got a gun safe with a few rifles and shotguns. Country boy can survive, right?” 

Kari slapped him on the shoulder. “Damn straight, Red.” 

“Well Gramma Beulah didn’t raise no fool.” 

Morgan quietly muttered to Gibbs, “Of course he had a ‘gramma Beulah.’” 

Gibbs smiled very slightly. 

Without any reason to stay when the Cole’s obviously didn’t know anything about the case, they bid goodbye and drove out. 

Another long drive for Morgan, because they had to re-route all the way back into Prineville to get a new tire from Les Schwabs, the State’s general provider. 

Morgan was appropriately thrilled. In all his excitement, he almost stepped out of the moving vehicle. 

* * * * * 

“So,” Tony said, sitting down in a camp chair next to Ashton Hall. “You’re the ‘Mall-herr’ forester, right?” 

She smiled slightly, but didn’t look up from her book. “Close, agent. Myself and my district manage for the Ochoco and Maury ranges, not the Malheur.” 

Tony frowned, obviously trying to decide whether she was lying, his information source was lying, or if he had just misheard. Couldn’t be the last one, obviously. 

“Hm. I was told otherwise.” 

“Yeah, common mistake. Ochoco also encompassed Malheur at one point, over fifty years ago, but not anymore. They’re still so close it’s a natural transpondance. Even the Profilers and State Troopers that came to get me had the wrong forest.” 

“Oh.” Tony nodded and looked around, trying to think of something else to say. “You’re . . . . pretty interested in the woods, then?” 

Ashton actually laughed. “Have you met Tanneway yet?” 

Tony pursed his lips and frowned in thought. “Uhh, no?” 

“Well you’d remember him if you had. You think I like the woods? He’s something else entirely.” 

“What, crazy?” 

Tony very suddenly felt the point of something his back, and froze. Whoever was holding whatever it was, he figured gun, started chuckling in a half-demented kind of way. 

A glance at Hall showed her totally relaxed and devoid of fear. 

“Oh, sonny, sonny, sonny.” 

The point disappeared and Tony whirled, hand on his pistol but not drawing it. Tanneway stood there, dressed the same as he had been four days before and holding a stick. He was snickering wildly, exposing uneven, yellowed teeth. At least not rotten, but Tony recoiled all the same, disgust rippling over his face. 

Tanneway laughed walked away, shouting back over his shoulder, “Ain’t crazy, sonny! You’s the one s’crazy!” He disappeared back into the brush, like he’d never been there at all. 

Tony was still staring at where he’d disappeared in shock. “What in Jesus --” He whirled to Hall, who was still reading her book in unconcerned manner. “What the hell help is he? Why’s he here?” 

“He’s the tracker.” She gave a smile that was half not-funny. “And trackers are weird .” 

* * * * *

Kari said he’d show them the best restaurant in town (not much to choose from), and Rossi volunteered to treat them. That was all the motivation needed. 

It was a half-bar half-eatery, which Kari told them was very usual, so they were sat down in the almost empty restaurant section but given plenty of strong drink choices. 

Still wearing his sunglasses and plainly irritated, Morgan told the waitress to bring him the strongest shot of whiskey she had and the best beer as a chaser. She certainly didn’t argue. 

Everyone else just wanted coffee, brewed extra strong, please. Biscuits and gravy were the day’s special, so they ordered five plates of that. 

Morgan looked straight at J.J. and said, “Of course --” 

Everyone just growled, “ Shut up .” and ate their food. 

Morgan shut up. 

It was an hour before the car was ready to get back on the road, and they spent most of it in the restaurant, Gibbs and Rossi swapping Marine stories and comparing familiar Mexico land trademarks to Kari’s Central Oregon species. Very similar, needless to say. 

Morgan set into the bar to get buzzed (on his own dime) and J.J. went with him, just to watch him and make sure it stayed at a reasonable level. 

The hour was very long in passing. 

Chapter Text

They drove right back out once the tire was replaced and a new spare was added, for free. It was why the State went through Schwabs, they had a good business trade. 

Morgan was buzzed enough that he just crawled into the back, slithered around the various equipment, and went to sleep. It was much quieter after that, save for occasional snoring. 

Kari was still driving, and the native Paulinian had them going a good ninety miles an hour on the straight stretches, a good three times the speed of most of the posted corners. And when Rossi commented on it, Kari just told him that that was how it was when you got used to driving a good couple hundred miles every week for supplies. 

It was dark before they made it back to the camp, and everyone had gathered around the fire for dinner and catch-up time. 

A patrol of State Rangers had joined them, and they brought out a couple of Prineville Policemen to say hello. And to give an update: two bodies had been found in Prineville. Scalped, burned, tortured, fresh. Not dead more than two days. One man, one woman. The woman was a Marine. 

“Shit.” Hotch uncharacteristically growled. The case was spinning out of control and they had too little to go on. 

“He’s escalating,” J.J. said. “But maybe this time he’ll have made mistakes for us.” 

“Transfer the bodies to the Bend coroner’s office,” Gibbs said. “My M.E. can take a look at them there.” 

One of the Policemen spoke up. “Hey, we’re required to take it to our own and conduct our own autopsy before--” 

Gibbs stepped right up to him. “Officer,” he said quietly, but with menace. “Transfer. The. Bodies.” 

“We can’t just listen to any cowboy who--” 

Gibbs almost shoved his credentials into the man’s face. “I’m NCIS, officer. Get my bodies to Bend. Now.” 

The man paled, nodded, and gestured for the Rangers and them to head out. Gibbs watched them drive away with no small amount of satisfaction. 

* * * * *

The Rangers had given them pictures of the bodies and the dump scene in lieu of actual visitation, and the teams studied them under lamplight in their tent. 

“His victimology is all over the place,” Prentiss said. “And so is his risk-factor.” 

Morgan had a headache, but he was a little less waspish after his long nap. “Pretty boy, are we still looking into Native American influence because of the scalping?” 

Reid studied the recent picture compared to one of the bodies in the burial sight. “Yes and no. Commonly, most Native Americans decapitated and mutilated the bodies of their enemies so they couldn’t harm their killer in the afterlife. Scalping was just considered a trophy-catching exercise, but it’s the one people remember the most commonly. Because of the lack of unattached body pieces and chopping, I don’t think we’re dealing with someone who is killing because of a Native American background or culture.” He moved to the maps on the table. “And I don’t think we’re dealing with a forensically educated person, either, and we sped up his timeline by taking over his dumping ground. But that’s still a major difference, to go from dumping in a secluded area, probably under nightfall, where no one may ever find the bodies, to showing them off in an alley only forty feet from Main street. Sure he’s been building to this, but you can’t just make that adjustment on the fly.” He sketched two circles around Prineville’s dumpsite and their camp, then turned to the others. “One, I think we can triangulate where he may live or work out of with the circles, and two, I think there’s more bodies in Prineville.” 

* * * * *

Gibbs stared at him. “What do you mean, more?” 

“Well, I mean that his immediate reaction wouldn’t have been to go straight to a busy section of town. It would have been to find another secluded place like this one, and bury bodies deeper. But instead, he’s found what works, where he’s comfortable, and how to do it. He’s dumped bodies in town before, and they haven’t been found. Because he’s getting braver. He wants attention.” 

“But he still seems to be targeting victims at random,” Prentiss said. “Other than the Marines . . . . Reid, where is the nearest Marine base?” 

DiNozzo answered first. “Oh, that would be the recruitment center in Bend. I, uh, did a little training there.” 

McGee looked straight at him. “Let me guess, a lady friend was involved?” 

DiNozzo looked offended and surprised. “Well. I mean, what business is that of yours, McSnoot--” Gibbs slapped him on the head and he shut up. 

Reid picked up on Emily’s last thought. “Bend is a target-rich environment, not only at the recruiting stations but also at the COCC campuses and the stores and everywhere else. It would make sense for that to be his hunting ground.” 

Rossi pointed out, “There could be a connection to the local stigma around here for Bend people. Everyone we’ve met out here so far has hated Bend with a passion.” 

Hotch gave a nod. “That could be connecting.” 

McGee looked around them as they all fell silent for a long moment. “So this is what you guys do? That’s really cool, actually.” 

“Hey, McFanboy,” Tony snapped. “Shut up and let them do their thing.” 

“No, we appreciate it,” Reid said quickly. He winked at McGee, and Tony looked between both of them rapid-fire. 

“Remember Delilah, McGee,” he whispered urgently. 

“Tony, shut up.” 

Hotch looked around the tent. “Everyone get some rest, we’ll have to head to Reid’s circle-point and Bend and Prineville tomorrow. We need all eyes open.”

Chapter Text

Morgan elected himself to stay at the site while the Gibbs-Rossi group went to Bend and the McGee-Hotch group went to the geographical marker Reid had outlined, and also check out the Prineville dumpsite. 

Liaison in Redmond for lunch and info-swap. 

Everyone brushed up their clothes a bit, all of them back to suits except for Gibbs, who decided he didn’t give enough of a damn to care, and headed out. 

Tony joined the Gibbs-Rossi group in Morgan’s absence, all smiles and bad jokes. Rossi learned that in an irritating way, he was actually pretty funny. Still, it was running pretty dry before they reached Bend, a good two and a half hours later. 

Instead of Kari, Glen volunteered to drive because she knew--and tolerated--Bend and Redmond’s street layout. 

She took them to the popular attractions of Bend, and even though it was a cloudy Fall day, people were everywhere . 

“Well, I know why Kari refused to come,” Rossi said, staring around. “After a good week of seeing only twenty people, this feels ridiculous. And claustrophobic.” 

Gibbs nodded, a little distractedly. “Uh-huh.” His phone buzzed in his shirt pocket and he answered it with a little smile after seeing the caller ID. “King, how are ya, my brotha?” 

They couldn’t hear the other half of the conversation, but it didn’t take any genius to guess as Gibbs stiffened and said, “What.” 

“Shit,” Rossi sighed. “More bodies.” 

Gibbs listened for a bit, then simply said, “Okay, coordinate your end and tidy up. Get on the first flight to Redmond, Oregon you can. I’ll get ahold of Fornell and Director Vance.” And he hung up. 

“More NCIS?” Tony asked. He was sitting in the middle back, right next to Gibbs. 

Gibbs just nodded. “Yep.” 

* * * * *

They met at the Pancake House in Redmond, a little place on the outskirts of town. Good food, good atmosphere, and most importantly, a corner where they wouldn’t be overheard. 

And coffee. Strong coffee. 

Gibbs went outside and made several long calls, presumably to his Director and the FBI and anyone else that would have to approve such a force-gathering. 

The Prineville alley was, unsurprisingly, a forensic treasure trove, but not for anything they were looking for. There was plenty of repetitionatory evidence of drugs, alcohol, other blood, urine, feces, all sorts of unsavory things a lot like every alley was, but this particular alley also had samples of sperm and semen a short distance from the body’s original position. It was as recent as the body. 

“So he’s getting off on the deaths,” Prentiss said. “But at the scene? That’s risky.” 

Gibbs came back in and sat down. 

McGee looked at him and asked, “Pride and LaSalle, Boss?” 

“Yep.” Gibbs sat down and started digging into his lunch. 

Tony nodded approvingly and explained to everyone else, “NCIS agents from New Orleans.” 

J.J. got a confused expression. “They found bodies from our Unsub in New Orleans?” 

Gibbs nodded and said around his cup, “They did. The bodies are a few months old. They found the first in the stomach of a bayou gator, the second in a submerged shipping container. One mile apart.” 

Prentiss put her head in her hands. “Oh my God, this is getting unreal. The magnitude alone . . . .” She groaned. “Holy fuck, I don’t know if we’re going to be able to catch this guy.” 

Hotch sighed. “We will. We have to.”

Chapter Text

Pride and Lasalle in cold-weather gear, forgive the shottiness I'm not the best artist but I invest way too much in the things I want to see. 

Anyway, Chapter 16: 

Gibbs and Rossi, becoming fast friends, took the long drive back to the Redmond Airport the next day to pick up the New Orleans team. 

Pride and Lasalle, wearing sunglasses and multiple layers of coats, stepped onto the tarmac and visibly disliked the cold. But they spotted Gibbs and meandered over, shaking hands with Rossi and handshake-hug bro-back-slapping with Gibbs. 

“My brotha!” Pride declared. “Good to see you again.” 

Gibbs grinned. “Likewise.” He gestured to Rossi. “S.S.A. Dave Rossi. We’re joint with them on this case.”

They nodded and loaded up into the car, settling in for the long drive. 

“So,” Pride drawled. “How far out is this place, anyway?” 

“About two hours, give or take.” Gibbs grinned at Pride and Lasalle’s expressions. 

Pride looked Gibbs up and down and laughed. “You been out in the boonies, brotha. Switchin’ your career to cowboy?” 

“Maybe, it's a lot more peaceful.” 

Lasalle’s face was serious. “That’s probably what your body finders thought, first, too.”

Chapter Text

The National Guard was the next to come for a visit, and they stayed and B.S.’d for awhile about Facebook buildings in Prineville (the team was struck with the revelation it might not be Bend, it might be Facebook), and the price of housing and every other damn thing going wrong in the state and in the Union. When they finally left, the teams gathered around. 

“Our killer could be a veteran or a soldier,” Reid said. “Likely local, tired of “foreigners” coming into his state and town. Probably deployed at some point, with all of the necessary experience to stalk and kill victims.” 

Lasalle, wolfing down the local “cuisine” of flapjacks, fried deer backstrap, and cheesy salsa potatoes, frowned. “If he’s an employed soldier, how’s he got the time and resources to do all this?” 

“Then he’s probably not an employed soldier,” Rossi said. “But he could be practically anyone else. Hotch, do we have our communication lines set up?” 

Hotch nodded. “As of twenty minutes ago.” 

“Good, we need to call Penelope.” 

* * * * *

“I have over a thousand matches in Central Oregon,” Garcia said. “I’m gonna need a lot more to narrow it down.” 

“Someone with little to no attachments, or family,” J.J. put in. “It wouldn’t be possible for a guy with this much aggression.” 

“Ok, still three-hundred hits.” 

“No one working a job as part of a team,” Pride tossed out. 

Lasalle looked up at him and grinned. “When’d you become a profiler, King?” 

“Probably when someone started stealin’ my chicken sandwiches from the fridge back home,” Pride teased, poking Chris on the arm. “So stop doin’ that.” 

“Garcia we’re probably looking for someone who either owns a lot of property or works for someone who does,” Hotch said. 

“Fifty hits.” 

J.J. put in, “A really big guy, two-hundred pounds and probably upwards of five-eight. In the service he would have had multiple reprimands for using excessive force.” 

“Ok,” Garcia said. “Three hits, a woman named Jerry Tucker, Navy, and two men, Jon Jackson, Navy, and Gentry Kodlek, an M.P. Tucker and Jackson were dishonorably discharged, and Kodlek just went M.I.A. five years ago, they say they assumed he died in Iraq, but his file says he was never deployed to Iraq.” 

J.J. frowned. “A military cover up?” 

“I can’t say for sure, but our two Navy soldiers are on record for multiple cases of collusion and friendship of a more . . . . sexual nature. They were investigated by, guess who? Kodlek.” 

Rossi frowned. “Kodlek could have gotten dirt on them, so they killed him and covered it up somehow. Maybe that’s how they discovered how much they loved killing. They’re doing it for each other.” 

“How does that explain the torture?” Tony asked. 

“They’re probably sadomasochists,” Reid said. “Garcia, how much property is owned between them?” 

“Uhhh, around three-thousand acres.” 

“And I bet we’ll find Jackson out there, somewhere,” Morgan muttered. “But that’s a lot of territory, so why in town?” 

“The risk.” Rossi poured a cup of coffee. “The more dangerous it feels, the more sexual gratification they can get. That’s why we found semen in the alley, they couldn’t contain themselves.” 

Lasalle sat his clean plate on the ground and leaned forward in his camp chair. “So I hear the newspapers callin’ our killer the Sagebrush Slasher. Personally, I think we oughta call ‘em Bonnie and Clyde.” 

Hotch growled. “We shouldn’t call them anything except for a killer.” He turned to Rossi. “Has Tanneway made any decisions on the tracks yet?” 

“Yep,” Rossi said, tanking a languid drink of his coffee. “Two horses. Not wearing horseshoes. Could have been wild, except something about weight and how deep the tracks were, so they had to be ridden. But he lost them in the sagebrush.” 

“Great.” Hotch sighed. “Garcia, send the two addresses to our phones, we’ll split up the main houses and hit them around two in the morning.” 

“Yes sir.” Garcia’s voice broke a little bit. “Please be careful.” And she ended the call.

Chapter Text

The raid was massively uneventful. They stormed the separate houses in full force, and just found Tucker making two-a.m. ramen and Jackson sleeping. They arrested them and drove them the full hour to the Crook County jail. 

Gibbs and Rossi interrogated each of them separately for close to four hours, and all they got was a wad of spit from Tucker and the occasional cuss from Jackson. 

They were real refined. 

“They definitely killed Kodlek,” Rossi told the teams, gathered in the Sheriff’s Office lobby. The sheriff himself, Jim Gautney, was also listening in. “And I guaran-damn-tee they killed all the others, too.” 

Tony squinted around. “Yeah, but they still haven’t confessed. And it’s, like, six in the morning. Can we go hit up a hotel or a diner or something?” 

“Jackson and Tucker have lawyers coming in from out of town, anyway,” Hotch said. “And they’ll want time alone, and we need to give the forensic teams time to gather enough evidence to stick to our two sailors. Meantime, we can find a restaurant.” 

Lasalle looked at Gautney. “Any suggestions on eateries?” 

Gautney, a heavier-set man, grinned and said, “Y’all better try the Club Pioneer.” 

* * * * *

The atmosphere was great, the beer was better, and the food was phenomenal. 

And, amazingly, it wasn’t expensive. 

Clam chowder, chicken caesar salad, “cowboy dirty fries,” prime rib, “angel in the Ochocos,” whiskey chicken, bacon-wrapped filet, and a pioneer wagyu beef burger were the most popular choices among the teams, with Lasalle still picking off of everyone’s plate and passing around his own. 

The place had a very old-west down-home feel, with pictures of Crook County dating back to the 1880’s all over the walls. A waist-high running board of polished juniper board ran around the room, and the entire place was tastefully decorated in cowboy fashion. 

It was even better than Gautney had promised it would be. 

They were there for most of an hour before boxing up leftovers and putting in calls to family, the usual breakfast/lunch tradition on a slow day. 

Hotch contacted the forensic teams, who told him they had more than enough evidence for conviction. Jackson had kept boxes of underwear and bras from the victims under his bed, and Tucker had several thousand dollars worth of dead women’s jewelry in her closet. 

They found the scalps and fingers and toes and other bodily souvenirs in various places, mostly in fridge and freezer but a few hung around the house like trophies. Like someone would hang an elk head on their wall. And they found way more material than known victims. 

Only seventeen bodies had been found, some so old that juniper roots had grown through them, but they had evidence of at least twenty more. 

* * * * *

From catalogs of the “trophies,” the body parts and the jewelry, Garcia started searching the Missing Persons database for matches, and sent over the identities of those she could find. Half of them remained nameless. 

Tony, Reid, and McGee picked up Ziva to start notifying families and to settle what would be done about the bodies. Some were so deteriorated it was impossible to tell whose it was, but no one wanted to send the wrong one by mistake. Even if no one ever found out, it would still be awkward.

And it wouldn’t be honorable, especially for the sailors and Marines among the dead. 

Chapter Text

Rossi was agitatedly rubbing his palms together after his next interrogation session. “They aren’t talking,” he said. “Especially now that the lawyers are here, they’ve clammed up tight. They aren’t going to tell us where the bodies are.” 

“Not even when you told them about all the evidence?” Reid asked, frowning. 

“No. They’re apparently willing to spend the rest of their lives in prison, or execution.” 

“You’d think they’d gloat,” Reid mused. His frown only deepened. “Did the forensics teams find evidence of Kodlek being dead?” 

Hotch frowned then too. “No, they didn’t, but they found faint traces of his DNA around both homes.” 

“It’s possible they never killed him, just kidnapped him. Perhaps that’s what they enjoy, torturing people in front of him and not allowing him to die. Maybe that’s why they aren’t talking, they don’t want us to find him.” 

“Well if he’s still alive, we need to.” Hotch looked over at Gautney. “How long would it take to sweep both areas?” 

Gautney thought about it for a moment. “By air, maybe a day or two, but you’d miss a lot under tree and rock cover. By four-wheelers, two or more weeks, and there’s places you still wouldn’t be able to get to. And on horse, it would probably take three weeks, but that’s the most effective way.” 

“We’ll have to mix methods then. By air first, then four-wheelers, and after that by horseback, so we can narrow down the possible search radius. Can you organize that?” 

Gautney took another long considerate moment, then finally nodded. “Yes sir, I’ll have everything ready to go by tomorrow morning. I’ll be in touch with you on where to meet.” 

* * * * *

Rossi tried one more time to trip them up, dropping Kodlek’s name a few times. They didn’t budge. 

After that they didn’t bother staying, it was too pointless. So they all went back to camp with the collective goal of drinking until dark. 

The Deputies stood around the fire with them and passed around beer and Pendleton whiskey, more than a little excited to get the stories Feds told when they were uninhibited, and also to try and get as many people as they could drunk off their asses. 

It would make a good office story when everything went back to normal. 

Reid and Hotch were among the first out around eight, to get some rest for the coming busy morning, and Gibbs chased everyone to their tents an hour later. With an eye for the future, he nominated himself to get everyone in bed at a decent time. They would have to be up at three-a.m. anyway. 

Watching the helicopter, sending out the fourwheeler teams, and finally, getting themselves in the saddle and scoping it out for themselves. 

It was to be an eventful day.

Chapter Text

Deputies barged into their tents at one a.m. and demanded they go immediately . 

“We got fire inbound!” one of them barked. “So getch’er asses up!” 

Everybody stumbled and staggered to gather their things up fast, the deputies still yelling all the while. 

The smell of smoke was getting stronger every minute, a sickly bitter sweet sugary smell, like a woody embalming fluid smell, that meant junipers were burning. Faces screwed up in disgust, the teams darted around trying to get all of their case files and documents out. 

“Status of fire crews?” Hotch demanded one of the deputies. 

The man shook his head with irritation. “They won’t intervene! Fire was caused naturally, they won’t touch it!” 

Hotch stared at him for a moment with disbelief. “Why not?” 

“Natural causes, I told you. Look, we gotta go!” 

Hotch gave a brief nod and charged back to his people, helping them throw things into pickups. 

The deputies had the camper ready to move in record time, and they started tearing down tents and throwing them into trucks. Glenn and Calton, having been in Prineville all night helping Gautney set up the raid, hauled ass into the campsite and bailed out of their flashing and blaring car, dragging away supplies. 

Flames were beginning to show by the time everything they could get was loaded up, and everyone stuffed themselves into vehicles and got the hell out. 

Hotch happened to clamber in with Ashton, and he abruptly demanded, “Why won’t wildland fire put this out?” 

She shrugged and sighed, concentrating hard on the potholed road ahead. “This is Central Oregon, Agent Hotchner, it’s become a recent policy to allow the area to burn once in a while if it started naturally, in order to preserve the landscape long-term.” 

Hotch uncharacteristically grumbled for a moment, then sighed himself. He leaned back in his seat and rubbed his eyes, burning from the smoke. 

“I’m sorry, Miss Hall, I shouldn’t have snapped.” 

Ashton just shrugged. “I get it, Agent, I really do.” 

* * * * *

The search was still conducted, it was just done with a bit more of a harried frenzy. 

The properties to be searched were at least some fifty miles and a highway as the crow flies from the fire, so they just went there and waited for cell signal and the Sheriff. 

Dall had stayed on his ranch, ready to beat back the fire if it crossed his property line. 

Morgan had commented about that, “Asshole won’t even let fire trespass.” 

A helicopter was sweeping the area a good hour before Gautney’s convoy made an appearance, consisting of a good dozen pickups and SUVs towing trailers of ATVs and horses. 

The chopper made fast but thorough passes across the land, with a buoy-like object hanging by the landing struts trying to detect any structure or cavern either above or under the ground. 

The teams were unfamiliar with the technology, but were informed that it had been temporarily loaned to the Oregon State by NUMA, of all things. The NUMA Operations Director, Dirk Pitt, had been searching the Oregon interior forest system for a mysterious fort whose legend dated back to the fourteenth century. He had just recovered it, apparently, when the State called in a favor and set up fuel drops along his route. He and his partner, Al Giordino, made the trip in three hours and started sweeping with their high-tech gizmo. Pitt had adamantly declared that it would perfectly do the trick if what they were looking for fell under his sweep areas. 

Giordino was flying and Pitt was faithfully watching odometers and gauges, occasionally dropping markers to the ATV team of possible targets, that all were red herrings in his opinion. All of them indeed turned out to be enlarged aquifers, a couple buried mine shafts, and once or twice a very large coyote or badger den. More like an animal mansion than home, the ATV team, which had been mostly made up of Sheriff’s department and Military volunteers, had joked. 

Ashton Hall was in close, and irritated, contact with the wildland fire team, receiving status updates on the current fire in the old campsite, and also being told that a fire had been started near their location on private ground. They were sending in a team of hotshots from Redmond’s Air Center to deal with it until the rest of the service could be properly mobilized. 

It was frustrating, and the team caught Ashton uncharacteristically swearing at the phone operator. 

“Well excuse the fuck outta you , I don’t give a shit! I just need units out here, now! Lives are on the line and I’m backed by the power of NCIS, the FBI, and NUMA. Get some asses on the line with hoses in their hands!” And she hung up with all the authority and anger of a thousand honey badgers in management positions giving orders to the lion janitorial staff. 

Very authoritatively. 

Pity she didn’t have a landline, Rossi mused, or the slamming phone would have done her tone much more justice and finality. 

As she began saddling a horse, she told them about the new fire through anger-clenched teeth. “And I’m going with you,” she said as she tightened the stirrups, “because I know how to get us out of a burn zone reasonably intact.” As pissed and intimidating as she was, no one dared to tell her she couldn’t. 

Pride casually summed up the general feeling by drawling, “Yes ma’am.” 

Pitt’s voice cackled over the headsets they had been provided. “One more possible, but it’s right near the fire line and’ll be gone inside of five minutes.”

Chapter Text

I get way too invested in my fantasies, let me just say. 

Chapter 21

Kodlek slammed himself weakly against the heavy metal door, his emaciated body hardly even making the thing shudder. It was to be expected after five years of captivity, of course, but that didn’t make the knowledge any easier to bear. 

Kodlek tried several more times, sobbing in frustration and pain as he rammed an already dislocated and bruised shoulder against the metal. There was a sudden loud crunch, and he crumpled to the floor, all but crying in anger. His shoulder and clavicle had broken again. 

Rubbing his also-broken mandible across the dirt floor, he looked up with tear-filled eyes at the thing he hated the most. If the damn door wasn’t there, the sadists couldn’t get to him. Couldn’t hurt him. He could get out. Go home. 

Home.  

God he missed home. Missed his wife. Missed her smile. Missed their little baby girl . . . . God how old would she be now? How long had he been here? Was it a decade? Two? It felt like more than that. Would she even know him? Would his wife? God what were their names?

What were their names?  

Kodlek pressed his face into the dirt and sobbed himself into unconsciousness. 

* * * * *

Everyone was on horseback racing toward the spot Pitt had marked out, the ATV team also racing toward it from the opposite corner. Pitt’s voice came over the headsets as they bounced over, telling them where to find it. Giordino circled the helicopter over the site, two hundred yards up. He was trying to avoid spooking the horses, but had no luck. They were fidgety range ponies, not trained show horses. McGee, Pride, and Reid were all tossed to their butts on the rocky ground. 

“Oh for FUCK’S SAKE !” Morgan yelled, gesturing angrily up at Giordino. “Move the fuck away!” 

Everyone could hear Giordino laugh over the mic. “Uh-huh. You’re welcome for showing the spot,” he drawled. And he did move over about a mile, giving the panicked horses a chance to regather. 

Pride, McGee, and Reid’s horses all trotted back after a few minutes, lonely and scared and wanting companionship. Their riders just rubbed their butts and got back in the saddle with a few little mumbled cusses. 

Ashton circled the group, shoving her horse’s shoulder against them. “Hey, we gotta go!” she reminded sharply, spurring her horse into a run toward the bright red phosphorus field marker a quarter mile away. 

The flare had landed just to the side of two old scraggly junipers, so there was bare ground with only a few hints of bunch grass in twenty square feet. And there were the telltale signs of four-wheeler tracks, leading right under the junipers. And where they stopped, there was a locked hatch. 

“We may have found it,” Hotch said into the mic. “Standby for confirmation.” 

They dismounted and tied the horses to the juniper limbs before drawing guns. Ashton volunteered to stay up top, keep an eye on the fire line, and watch their backs. She patted her pistol as she said it. 

So they descended into the dark hole. 

* * * * *

Kodlek was still laying wedged in the dirt when he heard the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. 

Shit. They were back. And they had more prisoners with them, more people to torture in front of him. 

Kodlek moaned softly, rubbing his forehead back and forth in the dirt, wishing to be able to phase through the dirt and just die.

The padlock on the outside of the door rattled sharply, and Keldock gave another unintentional moan of fear. Jesus there were so many outside. 

He forced his trembling right arm to drag the rest of his limp body toward the corner, where he had hollowed out a hole long ago to sleep in. There was no digging out, though, because there was concrete just a foot below the dirt. 

Keldock practically fell into his hole and lay there, twisted on his broken shoulder and infected right leg. He gave a short groan at the pain, but his body was already so battered he was becoming numb to the pain. 

There was a booming sound and he flinched hard, wriggling himself further into the hole and feeling cold concrete touch his side. It burned. 

The door slammed open and banged the inside wall with such force a chunk of concrete fell, and Keldock actually yelped in fear, grating his shoulder into the concrete and screaming more at the lancing pain.

People were coming inside, flashlights strobing wildly and hurting . 

Keldock whimpered low in his chest without meaning to, throwing his left arm protectively over his head. They’d drag him out eventually, he knew, but damned if he wanted to make it easier for them to hurt him. 

Someone he didn’t know was talking, a woman. Shit, it’s a woman. They know how much it bothers to watch. How hard it is to watch a defenseless girl being slowly killed in the most agonising way possible. 

Shit. 

Kerbow resigned himself to the poor woman’s fate, feeling tears he really couldn’t afford to waste drip into the dirt. They hadn’t given him water for several days now, and no food for more than a week. 

He didn’t remember what having no pain even felt like anymore. 

There were hands on him, touching him, pulling him out of the hole. Kerbow thrashed against them weakly, but hardly dislodged them. If anything, they clamped down harder. One of them found his shattered shoulder and he screamed sharply, trying to keep it in but failing. He heaved sharply for breath as blood started dripping from his nose and mouth, accompanied by a searing pain. Must have ripped his throat again. 

The hand on his shoulder let go and moved elsewhere, where the pain was lesser despite still being present. 

They lifted him from the hole and started walking. He hadn’t seen light in a long time, since the last victim was paraded in and tortured in kerosene light. Even that made his eyes grey over and burn now. 

His eyes were clamped shut in fear, but as sunlight hit his skin he forced them open to face the painful sun. It felt amazing. 

“Hey,” someone said softly. 

Kerbow suppressed a sob. Now that he’d had a chance to feel the light again, taste the air, if he went back down into that hole he would die. He wouldn’t be able to fight to live anymore. 

“Noo-ooo,” he grated, feeling blood splash and smear on his teeth and chin, panting, “Puh-lee-ze, no.” 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” the same voice continued. “Can you look at me? I’m Jennifer Jareu, with the FBI. You’re safe now, alright? We’re getting you out of here.” 

Kerbow muttered incomprehensibly, but miraculously relaxed in their grip. “‘Kay,” he half-slurred, blood bubbling between his lips. “‘Kay.” 

J.J. unmuted her mic. “We need to fly him out now .” 

Giordino made a confirmatory noise. “We tried patching in Airlink, but they’re unresponsive. We’ll land away from the fire and load him up ourselves.” 

“Okay.” J.J. gestured for them to put Kerbow down, then spread her coat out next to him. Everyone followed suit, making a rough stretcher that would work for short distance. 

Ashton was tying the horses in a line using their long reins, giving the fire an occasional worried glance. “We need to go!” 

Everyone nodded and took a coat sleeve. There was only room for eight to carry Kerbow, so the rest mounted and kept pace with the frantic stretcher-bearers.

The chopper had landed a half-mile away, and it was a frantic race between them and the wildfire, which was gaining ground every minute. 

Pitt and Giordino raced across the ground toward them on foot, jumping to relieve Pride and Rossi, who gratefully let them. They were just shy of running, and Kerbow groaned softly as he was jostled along on the rough ground. His shoulder was searing him. 

Ashton had handed the pony-line off to Rossi and rode back and forth behind the ground group, urging them on and looking back fearfully. 

The fire was gaining, and they were still a quarter mile away. The rotors were audibly struggling to keep going in the smoky, ashy air. 

All Ashton could think was: Shit.

Chapter Text

The hotshot team dropped right behind them, holding chainsaws and axes and shovels. One of the chainsaw men, likely the group leader, stepped forward and asked, “You the evac. team?” 

Ashton motioned for everyone else to continue on while she talked to him. “Yeah, good to see you, Mountz,” she said gratefully, circling her nervous pony. “We’re outta here on helicopter, you got this?” 

Mountz, who bore a stunning resemblance to Rossi but a tad thicker in the waist, just nodded. “Yep, you go ‘long. Make sure everyone’s safe. The Sheriff probably wants help gettin’ his stuff outta here.” 

Ashton nodded and took off again for the teams, who had just made it to the helicopter’s struts and were struggling to lift Kerbow into the whirly-bird. 

She caught up as they--very quickly--decided who would go along with Kerbow to the Bend hospital. J.J. and Reid volunteered and were approved. 

Ashton took the reins for their horses and barked, “Okay, everyone else butt those saddles! Hotshot crew don’t need us in their way!” 

If there hadn’t been such tension and anger in the air, they might’ve found that to be pretty damn hilarious. As it was, a couple of them just blew air out their noses and got into the saddle. 

* * * * *

They had helped the Sheriff pack up his men and equipment and then thanked the tired hotshot crew before making their slow way down to the Prineville hospital to be checked out. 

Morgan his slammed his shoulder into the door of Kerbow’s cell and sprained it, and Lasalle had fallen ass over teakettle down the stairs and splitting open a few unexplained stitches on his back that needed to be resewn. 

J.J. called them from Bend before they were halfway to Prineville, thankfully in cell service, and told them that Kerbow had gone into cardiac arrest while in the air, and while they had gotten him stabilized again, the doctors were horrified about his status and made no promises. 

They had contacted his wife to update her. She was remarried. She didn’t want to see Kerbow. Her daughter couldn’t, either. Shut up, hang up, and leave me the fuck alone.

Chapter Text

Kerbow had been regularly injected with vitamin shots to keep him alive in his dungeon-like cell, supplements mixed in with the oatmeal-meat-vegetable mush they occasionally gave him. They would put liquid vitamins C and D and sometimes calcium into the bucket of water they would leave by the door, but it wasn’t enough and it wasn’t natural. Kerbow last recorded weight from the Army was a decent one-seventy-four pounds, but now he weighed in at just one-oh-nine. Most of his muscles had atrophied into almost nothing. 

The doctors weren’t hiding the fact that they were pissed , and stated in no uncertain terms that they were putting their full reports into the case file to put Jackson and Tucker in prison for a long damn time. Kerbow was far from out of the woods, but they were cautiously optimistic that he would be able to recover. Provided that he could keep his hope and fighting spirit, which was an iffy chance at best. 

J.J., Prentiss and Ziva, all becoming fast friends, located Kerbow’s sister and father, living together in east Texas, and picked them up at the Portland airport to get them in to see Gentry. They were happy to hear he was alive, but hearing that he’d been tortured all this time deeply saddened them. They expressed the irrational but understandable guilt of not questioning his death before. 

The New Orleans and NUMA crews had already departed for their respectful homes, and NCIS and BAU teams were starting to settle down and pack up to go home. They were all missing family and friends and pets, given that they’d only had a few hours between the last case to see them. 

Both teams had aircraft at Redmond, so they rode out together one last time. 

“You know,” Morgan said slowly. “I might actually miss this stupid drive. It’s pretty, in a dumb way.” 

Everyone just laughed. 

They’d left CSIs and the Troopers whatever was left of the case, they were going home. And they were going to hug their folks real tight when they got there.