Disclaimer: These characters are not mine.

A/N: I set myself the challenge to write a love story, and this plot wouldn't leave me alone. The fact that the first backdrop that popped into my head for Morgan and Prentiss to finally get together was the Apocalypse may make me a bad shipper. I'm willing to live with that. This is for all those who begged me for a pairing in my last fic, and though this is quite a departure, I'm hoping some will still enjoy it. I'll never understand why the M/P fandom isn't bigger than it is... these two seem to work on so many levels and are an absolute blast to write.

Into the mercy seat I climb
My head is shaved, my head is wired
And like a moth that tries to enter the bright eye
I go shuffling out of life just to hide in death a while...

And the mercy seat is burning, and I think my head is glowing
And in a way I'm hoping to be done with all this weighing up of truth.
An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, and I've got nothing left to lose
And I'm not afraid to die

-Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

"Have you seen him yet?"

Emily Prentiss started at the flash of yellow and fuchsia that seemed to appear out of nowhere at her side. She looked down at her friend's grip on her arm and fought back a smile before greeting her. "Morning to you too, Pen."

Garcia barely took a breath, only leaned in to kiss her on both cheeks and continued, rapid-fire. "Yes, yes. Good morning, you're beautiful, and I love you dearly, but have you seen him?"

"Seen whom? I was just going to get some coffee." She gave the blonde a pointed look saying (as if it were necessary,) I haven't had any yet.

Penelope, as always, either missed the implication or chose to ignore it. "Um, the new guy the Components brought in yesterday for questioning? Okay, I know he's an Outlaw and everything, but Emily, he is a god." At Emily's look, she hastened to draw an imaginary X over her heart. "No exaggeration! Em, I swear to you, JJ and I caught a glimpse yesterday when Rossi went in to start the interrogation. This man is like a chocolate Adonis."

"Chocolate Adonis?" Emily raised an eyebrow.

"Don't interrupt me while I'm fantasizing. Yes, like a glistening chocolate Adonis. I just want to-" She bared her teeth in a mock growl and clawed the fingers of one hand. "I just want to go over there and claw my way down his perfectly-sculpted chest. And then he'd wake up and say something sexy. Like," she shook her head, seemingly at a loss for a moment. "Like—come here, babygirl. And I would. I totally would, and I'd spend the rest of my life as his babygirl sex kitten and—"

"Babygirl…" Distracted, Emily didn't notice her friend's sudden change in demeanor until a tug at her arm told her the blonde had suddenly stopped in her tracks and was now staring at her, mortified.

"Oh, Em, I—I didn't mean… Criminy, I wasn't thinking."

"What?" Emily was confused for a moment, then let her expression soften as she caught onto her friend's train of thought. "Oh, no. Pen, it's not that. It's just a funny nickname, is all. It jumped out at me."

Penelope looked doubtful, brown eyes wide and seemingly searching her face for some tell that there was more she wasn't sharing, and Emily had to smile. She had always loved Garcia's eyes, wide and pretty and honest and surprisingly perceptive. She was dazzling today, as always, in pink and gold, and was now studying her with her familiar brand of sweet concern.

"Are you really okay, Em? I mean, not just right now, but in general?"

It was Emily's turn to link an arm through hers, tugging her playfully towards the break room. "I'm fine, Penelope," she assured her. "I'm just thinking."

"Thinking about what?" Emily could tell her friend was not convinced. "I know," Penelope added quickly. "I know you've been through a lot lately. But you always get all sad and doubty when you think too much, and you know how much I hate it when you're sad."

"Penelope," Emily squeezed her friend's arm affectionately. "I'm not sad. And doubty isn't a word."

"It is too a word. It's that thing you do when you're thinking too much and you go all hazy on me even though I try to tell you that your friends are here, and they want to help you if you'll let them, and then you say you know and you believe me, but I know you don't really because it still seems like you're a zillion miles away and I feel like I can't reach you."

They had stopped walking, Penelope drawing back to study her again. Emily couldn't help the surge of guilt she felt looking into her friend's misting eyes. "I'm not a zillion miles away," she reassured her softly. "I'm right here with you guys. I promise."

Garcia gave her a small smile but still seemed to have her doubts. "It's just, JJ and I worry about you, Emily. And we want to help you, but you have to let us in. Listen," Garcia took a step closer. "Things happen. Terrible things. And of course you never forget, but at some point you've got to let go and let us help you move forward. The Bureau needs you, Em. We need you."

Emily smiled. "You're right." She took a breath and let it out slowly. "And maybe I have been a bit distant lately. But believe me, Pen, it has nothing to do with you and Jayje. I love you guys. And I'm—I'm happy. I really am." Emily reached again for her friend's arm. "Come out with me tonight. Drinks on me—I owe you guys. Plus there's this cute new agent in Enforcement who I'm pretty sure was made for JJ. I want to get her plastered before bringing it up for the first time."

Mollified, Penelope returned her conniving smirk delightedly. "There you are! Lady, welcome back, and never, ever leave me again." Emily laughed as Garcia pulled her even closer and continued in an excited mock whisper. "And I think I know exactly the guy you're talking about. Brown hair, cute baby blues, some sort of accent…?"

"So have you seen him yet?" JJ doled out the three heavy, frosted mugs she had brought from the bar and slid into the bench beside Garcia.

Emily rolled her eyes. "Seriously, you too, JJ? This must be one hell of an Outlaw they've got in there."

"Honestly? Whatever Pen told you about him is true. He's really, really… impressive."

"See, Em? Even JJ vouches for me. I would have described him a bit more colorfully—"

"And you certainly did," Emily reminded her.

Penelope nodded. "But if JJ confirms it then you've got to believe me."

"I never said I didn't believe you… So what is it about this guy that's got you two all hot and bothered? Aside from his 'perfectly sculpted chest and 8-pack of the gods,' of course" Emily smirked and took a swig of her beer.

Penelope opened her mouth on a breath, but stopped as she obviously sorted through the myriad responses that had come to her mind. JJ just shrugged. "I don't know, I mean—it's the whole mystery of it, I guess. He turned himself in, you know."

At this, Emily's brow rose in surprise. "Turned himself in? How? Why would he do that?"

"It happens, you know that. Just walked up to some Components in the middle of last night. Apparently it all went down without so much as a peep from either side."

Emily frowned. "There's got to be something he wants. Who is this guy?"

"Ah," Penelope said. "I believe figuring that out would be your department, my love. My department, for the foreseeable future, is going to be trying to get a grope of his biceps." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Emily laughed, but something she couldn't pinpoint exactly still bothered her. JJ noticed. "What is it, Em? Sure, there might be something more going on, but the Bureau's equipped to handle bigger threats than a single Outlaw who's already in custody. And Rossi's been interrogating him all day without a hitch."

Emily shook her head as if to clear it of doubt. "Yeah, I know. Just me being paranoid, I guess." She shot her friends a self-deprecating smile and quickly changed the subject. "So, Jayje…"

JJ immediately went on the defensive. "Oh, no. No you don't, you guys. I'm good, I like my life, just leave it alone."

"JJ please, just hear us out," Penelope practically whined. "He works in Enforcement. So cute. Sexy but quiet, you know? Like his Mama raised him right."

"And the accent," Emily added, as if no further explanation was necessary. "Come on, just picture it: candlelight, a little dancing, amazing blue eyes that just scream 'undress me'…"

"I dunno, Em. Seems more like your type—are you sure you don't want to date him?"

"What do you mean my type? He's perfect for you."

"I agree, Jayje," Penelope nodded soberly. "Will is neither a recluse nor a sociopath, so Em's clearly not interested."

"Hey!" Emily protested. "But no, I don't want to date him. I just happen to think that Will is a kind, respectful—"

"—Hot British dude with a sexy accent, badge, and gun. See? Just your type." JJ smirked.

In her surprise, Emily must have taken a moment too long to reply because suddenly JJ's face and voice had grown serious again. "Hey, you okay?"

"Hm? Yeah. No, yeah, I'm good. Just, he's not British. He's—I don't know, Cajun or something, I think."

JJ gave her a funny look. "Okay, I never said he was British, but good to know."

"You said 'hot British dude'… It doesn't matter. So can I give him your number or what?"

JJ rolled her eyes. "Get your ears checked, Em. I said 'hot Bureau agent.'" She sighed. "Yeah, fine. Give him my number, but I am warning you two, this guy better be every bit as amazing as you're describing or you're both banned for eternity from my love life… Em? Hey, Emily!"

JJ's voice, which had faded into a background monotone, suddenly snapped back into clarity, and Emily started. She was so sure she had heard… but why on Earth did it matter anyway? "Yes. Yeah…" she took a moment to get her bearings, then grinned across the table. "That's awesome, Jayje. Trust me, you two are going to get along great. I just have this feeling."

But her two friends had stopped smiling. "Emily, are you really okay?" JJ asked kindly. "You seem… I don't know, maybe you're about to get sick or something?"

Emily waved her off. "I'm fine. Just déjà vu—sorry for zoning out on you."

Garcia shook her head and spoke almost hesitantly. "You've been out of it all day, Sweetie. You know you can talk to us. About anything."

Emily shrugged. "If there was something that needed talking about, I would talk." Neither woman responded. She sighed. "It's nothing. It's stupid."

"It's not stupid if it's bothering you, Sugar." Penelope reached across the table to cover her hand with her own. "Talk to us."

Emily hesitated, then took a long swig of beer. "Do you guys ever get the feeling something's wrong, but can't pinpoint it exactly?"

"Wrong with what?"

"Things," Emily gestured vaguely. "People. Life." She snorted. "God, I sound like an angsty teenager."

"Emily, what you've been through this year—" Penelope offered softly.

Suddenly, Emily felt her temper flare. "Stop it, okay? Just stop. Despite what you may believe, not everything is about my dead baby." She blinked back the tears that suddenly threatened to spill at her own caustic words. "I told you I'm fine; this is not about that."

Penelope looked as if she were about to crumble, and JJ made a sudden move forward as if to try to hold her. Emily felt all the vitriol drain from her as suddenly as it had risen. She rested her forehead in her hands and let out a shaky breath. "Or maybe it is. I'm sorry, guys. I just—I'm sorry."

JJ reached over the rub her arm, and Penelope gave her a watery smile. Emily laughed shakily and wiped at her eyes before any tears could fall. "Look at me, no wonder you guys think I'm losing it. Let's talk about something else, okay? I brought you guys out to have fun, not for a drama-fest."

"Sure," JJ said. "But you know it doesn't bother us, right?" Beside her, Penelope shook her head firmly in agreement. "We just love you and want you to be happy."

"I know," Emily answered, honestly. "I know, and I am. I love you guys too."

She wasn't lying, exactly. Emily Prentiss was happy. JJ and Penelope were like the sisters she never had, keeping her deepest secrets and demanding nothing less than the very best she had to give, even when she wasn't feeling up to giving it. Losing Grace, whose life had been over before she had ever drawn a breath, had been the most painful ordeal she had ever experienced, and the two women had practically carried her through it, piece by broken piece. There had been a man, of course, but that hardly mattered anymore. Emily couldn't even conjure up his face in her memory, and she had no interest in trying too hard to do so.

Perhaps that did explain why she had had the most persistent feeling lately that something was off. As if she had spent her entire life looking at the same painting in her hallway, only to find one day that someone had come along and changed all the colours on her. Emily let her hand drop absently to her abdomen, knowing that the void she still felt there would probably never go away. She simply couldn't shake the feeling, though, that that wasn't all there was to it. Though she had trouble articulating what it was that was nagging at her, she was becoming more and more certain of one inexplicable truth:

Something was missing.

Her job at the Bureau sounded simple enough: interpret and predict human behaviour. Emily didn't know why she was so good at it; she didn't remember ever particularly trying to become an expert, but she was, apparently, a bit of a rarity. Her team functioned like a well-oiled machine: Rossi extracted information, the Doctor ran the raw data and identified significant patterns, and she analysed and interpreted those patterns into meaning, wrote her report and recommendations, and passed it on to Hotchner. Garcia maintained the Bureau's integrated Network and everything that interfaced with it. JJ was, essentially, both their face and their voice.

Emily smiled down at the new dossier waiting for her on her desk, labeled simply: Subject 8991. The preliminaries from Garcia's Chocolate Adonis, she guessed. Perhaps she could get something juicy to share with her friend; Emily knew any piece of lurid gossip would thrill her. She slipped the data stick out from its folder and plugged it into her workstation. Her eyes scanned quickly over the first few data sets the Doctor had compiled.

It only took a few minutes. First, Emily realized, for no discernable reason, her palms were sweating. The further along she went, the worse it got. Her fingers were trembling now, and her heart raced, throbbing loudly in her ears and pounding against the inside of her skull. Emily realized belatedly that she had been holding her breath and gasped for air. Within minutes, it was as if everything was falling into place, yet everything remained jarring and unfamiliar and unbelievably strange.

With a violent shove of her chair backwards, she practically stumbled away from her workstation, leaning heavily against the outside edge of her desk and trying to catch her breath. She squeezed her eyes shut. "Don't do this," she whispered to herself. "You can't be losing it. Not now, not after everything." She took a few calming breaths and blew them out slowly past her lips until her heart rate had slowed somewhat and she could see straight. Then, she marched back to her chair and sat down.

No, she hadn't been imagining things. Suddenly, all the colours were precisely what they were supposed to be—but she had never seen this painting before in her life. Emily knew immediately that if she wanted answers, she only had one choice: she was going to have to meet Subject 8991.

She didn't know why she did it—she already had full access to interrogation rooms—but she copied Rossi's access code while he was on break, then waited, busying herself with inconsequential busywork and not really focusing on anything, until the rest of the team was gone for the night. Then she hurried over to Interrogation Room 1, punched in Rossi's code, and slipped inside.

She stood with her back against the door, hesitating for several minutes before advancing into the room. Penelope and JJ had been right—he was impressive. The Outlaw (Subject, Emily corrected herself. Once one is a Subject of the Bureau, they are to be rehabilitated or incarcerated as the Bureau sees fit, but they are no longer considered an Outlaw no matter what their past) lay face up and semi-reclined in a shallow bath cut into the floor. The chest and shoulders that emerged from the glistening whitish goop in which he was partially submerged were heavily muscled. His well-built arms rested on the floor to either side of him, his eyes were closed, and he may have looked as if he were simply relaxing were it not for the thick metal wires sprouting from several electrodes on his hairless scalp. The wires ended at the workstation in the back corner of the room from where Rossi would normally do his work. Out of habit, Emily moved to go sit at the workstation, but something made her stop, turn, and make her way slowly over to the unknown Subject. She dropped to her knees beside him and spent a long moment studying his face, waiting for some piece to come loose in her consciousness as it had earlier.

Nothing. You're losing it. Walk away and pretend this never happened. She knew, though, she didn't have any choice in the matter. Emily reached out to touch his cheek.

The walls receded into shadow, the floor darkened to a cold, grey stone. The shallow, illuminated pool of viscous liquid disappeared. Faint light from an unidentifiable source flickered into the gloom as if from behind rotating slats—a ceiling fan? Propeller blades? A voice (source, again, unseen,) lofty and disinterested, as if recorded and played back, was chanting, no, counting. Subject 8991 was awake, pacing. He was naked, and he did not see her.

All this in only seconds. Then, all gone. Everything faded to a hazy white. Emily shielded her eyes. Subject 8991 was standing in front of her, the only discernable sight from a background of nothingness. He wore some sort of loose, white dhoti from waist down; his top was bare. His smooth, bronze skin nearly shone as if burnished. He was looking at her, and he was smiling, a wide, unfettered, even cocky grin that made him even more beautiful than he had been to begin with. His eyes twinkled with it.

"Emily Prentiss," he greeted her. "I thought you'd never make it."