Elizabeth and Dave share a coincidence. And the time is drawing closer to the ultimate show down.

Sweet Glow of Mercy

Elizabeth Prentiss crept down the long dark hallway. Her hand reached out blindly to touch the wall as she guided herself to escape. He hadn't been back in a day and she decided to make a break for it. Her insides quaked with fear as she opened the door to her prison. She couldn't breathe as the latch disengaged.

Looking around, she saw the hallway void of anyone. This was her chance. But as she continued her escape down the long, winding hallway, she felt fear fill her gut. Where was she? How big was the chateau? Maybe she was walking around in circles. She needed a light - something to help her find her way.

A sound caught her ear. Rats! The clicking and high pitched screeching way they communicated would always stay with her. A cold chill broke out over her skin. She had to keep forward.

Putting one foot in front of the other, she made her way around the corners, past doorways, down stairs. Another turn drew her up a winding staircase. Climbing up, it seemed to go on forever. She didn't know if she was going up or down. She lost all sense of direction as vertigo threatened to claim her. But she had to keep going. She had no choice. She had to escape.

A light at the top of the stairs drew her in. ESCAPE! Her heart beat faster as a new burst of energy claimed her. Taking that last step, she nearly shouted in victory. She was getting out and going home. She was going to find Emily and hold her close. She was going to take the longest bath in history.

All she had to do was walk thru that door.

"You can do this, Elizabeth. Turn the knob. Turn it!" she commanded herself.

Hesitantly, she turned the cold knob. Freedom was waiting for her.

As the door swung open, she blinked against the harsh, bright light. Was that the sun? It was cold and it didn't burn her eyes. Was she in hell?

A whimper. So sad. So final. Turning her head, she rubbed her eyes and looked around. Her eyes made out the figure sitting in the chair against the far wall. Dark hair, beaten half to death…oh God! That was Emily. That bastard had caught her and now he was holding her prisoner.

She had to run and get help. No! She had to stay! Her mind debated the moment. She had to save her daughter. That was her duty as a mother! But Emily would want her to run. What could she do? She could call Agent Hotchner; he would know what to do! Stop thinking foolish, she commanded herself.

The sound of a hammer on a gun being pulled back turned her blood into ice.

Run, Mom, Emily communicated non-verbally.

I can't; I have to save you! Elizabeth returned.

No! Don't let him hurt you!

I can get help.

"It's too late," Doyle spoke out loud. He leveled the barrel of the gun at Emily's temple. "I told you, Elizabeth that you were going to watch me torture your daughter. Don't forget to say good-bye."

The sound of a gun firing filled the air.

"NO!" Elizabeth screamed.

Sitting up in bed, Elizabeth tried to catch her breath. The room was dark - save for the light of the moon shining thru the large bay windows. The room was warm, but she was so cold. Where was she? Was she still alive? Her thoughts raced.

Covering her heart, she felt the rapid beating. She was still alive, but was Emily? Oh God, she had to save her daughter!

Moving to the edge of the bed, she was stopped by a firm hand gripping her arm.

"Where do you think you're going?" Doyle asked darkly.

"I - I…needed to go to the bathroom," Elizabeth replied weakly.

"You can stay here. Lie down, a thaisce," he commanded. "You need your energy. Emily will soon find us and I want you to be at your best when you say good-bye."

Elizabeth thought about pulling away and trying to make her escape. But it would be fruitless. She was naked and he was faster. And when he caught her, he would punish her with something worse than a beating. Her poor body couldn't take much more. She had no choice, she had to stay.

Lying down against the cool sheets, she tried to ignore the arm that was thrown around her waist. She tried to think of the dinner party she had missed the other evening. Had the Countess of Rochester shown up with all the gaudy jewelry she was famous for? Had the Ambassador of some small country gotten drunk and started telling dirty jokes? Was the pate Danish? Was the caviar Russian?

She hadn't been there, but would it have mattered? Erin was dead and life was going on without them. It was so unfair.

And her Emily was out there somewhere. And when Doyle found her, they were as good as dead.

There was no way any of them but the man lying beside her was going to walk out of this hell alive.

A single tear slipped from her eye.
*****

Em sat up in bed and let out a loud gasp. Then her shoulders shook with heavy, heart wrenching sobs. Immediately, Dave was awake and by her side.

"Tesoro, what's wrong?" he comforted as his arms went around Em's slim form. Tucking her face into the crook of his shoulder, he felt her hot tears on his bare skin. "Was it a bad dream?" he asked softly.

Em shook her head. "N-n-no. It was a prem-premonition."

"Your mother?" He smoothed his hand over her hair.

"Yes." She tried to mold herself closer into him. She needed his security and his strength.

"You dreamt she was dead?" Dave asked softly.

"Yes." Em wept openly as the dream came back in full force.

"But there was something else…" Dave prompted. He tightened his grip around her. "Was it you?"

Unable to speak, Em shook her head violently.

Dave took a deep breath. "I see. Was it me?" he asked. Silence was his only answer. Pulling back slightly, he crooked a finger under Em's chin. He tilted her face to his. "Was it me?" he repeated softly.

The lights from the street below flickered in the window and made her tears glisten like diamonds.

"Yes."

"Nothing is going to happen to me. I won't let Doyle get that close."

"I'm the one who had to shoot you!" Em cried.

Dave gave her a wry smile. "Fulfilling the wish you made when we first met?" he joked.

"It's not funny, Dave!"

"Tesoro, do you know how many women have dreamt about shooting me? None of them ever came close."

"I own a gun."

"So did five of them. And three of those five were sharpshooters."

"It was real. You died in my arms."

"I can't think of a better place to expire."

"Dave…I'm serious!"

Dave held her gaze with a serious look. There was no joking in his tone. "Emily Prentiss, there is nothing I won't do to help you get your mother and send that Irish bastard to hell on a fast train. But if it comes down to your mother or me, you take the shot."

"I can't," Em argued.

"You can, and you will."

"Dave…"

"I love you, Emily. Remember that if and when you have to pull the trigger." He held her so close, she felt her ribs hurt. "Imagine the parties all my former lovers and wives will throw for you; you'll be the toast of D.C."

"I should shoot you now," she whispered but a slight smile tugged at her lips.

"Why waste the moment before it arrives?" Kissing the top of her head, Dave closed his eyes and breathed in her scent. He wanted to burn the moment into his brain and heart forever. But he would never tell her. Em had enough to worry about.

"Let's get to sleep; we have to follow that lead first thing," he reminded.

"Okay."

Kissing her deeply, Dave laid her down on the mattress and covered her body with his. Slowly, he began to make love to her. He took his time to kiss every single inch of her body. His hands touched her as though they were handling delicate china.

And when he made them one, he hoped she felt the love he had for her.

Because he didn't want her to know what he couldn't say: he had dreamt his own death, too.