"Whoever battles with monsters had better see that it does not turn him into a monster. And if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you." -Friedrich Nietzsche

Her skin looked snow-white in the moonlight coming through the tiny window. It almost seemed to glisten, to radiate. Of course it might've been the starching contrast to the shining blade of the knife that had that effect on her skin. The knife that was there, way too close. Of course, he'd imagined this, seen it in his nightmares countless times. He couldn't even recall the number of times he'd woken up in a cold sweat because of it, because of her. It was always a chance, he knew, that she'd end up in that situation. What he never could've imagined however, was that he would be the one holding the knife.

"Tick tock Agent Morgan." the voice said. That voice. God, it was even worse than being face-to-face with an UnSub. That way, at least you knew who you were dealing with. But not now. It was just there, mocking him, not giving anything away. He was smart; that much Morgan knew for sure. But they'd been completely off with the profile. The team still was. There was no way they were going to find them now. He had to face the inevitable.

"I won't do it.", he said, with all the strength he could muster up. Her body seemed to twitch at that. She was turned away, not looking at him, or the knife looming above her back. Once he said that though, she turned towards him, looking him dead in the eyes. The look in her eyes was solemn, serious. It was meant to let him know she could take it. That she could deal with the pain. Maybe she could, but he could not. He couldn't live with himself if he ever hurt her. God, he felt like a monster. This was what the UnSub did. He made you feel like a monster, sucked all the life out of you until you didn't want to live anymore, and left you out to die, knowing what you did. He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't hurt her, he wouldn't be a monster.

"Do it. Morgan, I can take it." her eyes seemed to be burning holes in his. His hand shook- he knew this was the only chance of giving them more time. She knew it too. But he couldn't. The look in his eyes told her that. The mix of hurt, weakness, anger and just pure sadness.

"Emily, I can't, I'm sorry.", he said, tears threatening to fall as he lowered his knife to the ground and slowly turned towards the camera. The only way out now was to throw a curve ball. It was their last chance, his last resort. He hoped to god it would work; that it would at least buy them enough time for the team to figure it out. For the team to find them. He had to do this, and it had to work. It just had to. For his sake, and for Emily's.

"Kill me instead.", he stated simply, making fierce eye contact with the camera.

"Morgan!", Emily's shout sounded more like a cry than a warning. But he knew what it was meant to be: a warning, an apology, and all the things left unsaid between them. All in that one word. Yet he understood.

"I love you Em." he said as the mechanical door slowly swung open, reveling a dark hallway on the other side. And he stepped out, sighing, taking one look back at her, taking her in. He needed that memory. Especially if what he was about to do was going to work. So he tried to memorize her: the way her hair fell on her face, the way her skin glistened in the moonlight, how beautiful her dark eyes looked today. Once he was sure he'd memorized everything, that he wouldn't never forget how she looked that night, under the moonlight, he shut the door.

She was left there, tears streaming down her face, back against the slightly padded wall, with words she never got to say on her lips. She might never get to now, she realized, and this only turned her tears into sobs.

"I love you too.", she whispered to the dark room, wishing he'd hear. Wishing he'd understand how much she meant it. Wishing he knew what she would do to see him again, safe and sound.