Title: The Lost Ones
Rating: R
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Characters/Pairing: Morgan/Prentiss
Genre: Romance/Suspense
Summary: Chicago, 1997. A beat cop and a federal agent join forces to solve the mystery behind the disappearance of a homeless teenager. They uncover a conspiracy that turns their fight for justice into a fight for their lives.
Author's Note: So this story is the winner so far in the polls I put up at LJ and ffdotnet. We're slowly drawing to a close, so hopefully I should be done with it sometime before the end of the year *g*. For those interested, the fics with runner-up status at this point are Wait for the Wheel and The Clockwork Boy, but I have been working on finally (finally) posting the next chapter to Play the Game, so expect that up at some point too. Tell me what you think, how you feel, whatever. Hopefully the wait for the next chapter shouldn't be as long.

The Lost Ones

Chapter Twenty-One

Morgan paced the small cell, his body pumping with adrenaline. It seemed bitterly ironic – no sooner than they'd made the decision to fight back the next time the doors opened, their captors had decided not to actually open them.

It had been several hours since they'd last seen another person. He no longer had any idea what time it was, or how long they'd been there. The effects of their captivity were starting to take their toll; even with the adrenaline, he was feeling weak from blood loss and other injuries. He was sure that Emily was no different. If they didn't act soon, they wouldn't be able to act at all.

He wondered if there were people looking for him – he knew for a fact that his mother and sisters would not stop hounding Lieutenant Heller until they received some kind of answer. He almost felt sorry for his boss, but not too sorry. Getting out alive was his main focus.

'What do you think?' Emily asked him, her voice low. She was sitting in the corner of the room, her arms wrapped around her knees. She looked about as bad as he felt, cheeks sunken and hollow, dried blood matting her hair. If they did ever get out of this, a shower would be pretty high up on their list of "things to do." And food, his stomach reminded him with a rumble; while there was a half empty bottle of water that they'd been drinking from sparingly, he couldn't quite remember the last time he'd eaten. Whether that was a side-effect of the concussion, or if the sensory deprivation was worse than he'd realized, he wasn't quite sure.

'They can't leave us here forever,' he shrugged, testing the doorknob again. It had been locked the last hundred times he'd tried it, and nothing had changed. If it weren't a heavy, steel monstrosity, he might have considered kicking it down. As it stood, though, doing so would probably result in a broken foot. That was the last thing he needed.

'They probably could,' she shrugged. 'Lock us in, pack their stuff up. We die of starvation and anyone looking finds our bodies once they start stinking too much.'

There was a long pause.

'Wow,' Emily said, stunned at her own words. 'Morbid, much? I guess I lose my inhibitions when I'm being held captive by massive jerks.'

Morgan was about to reply when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Evidently, his reaction was present in his body language, because Emily stood, casting a sideways glance to Stevie, who had fallen asleep in the fetal position. They'd made a silent agreement not to involve him in their plan – not because they couldn't trust him, but because if things went south, they didn't want him getting any more hurt than he already was.

The word "plan" was something of an overstatement, though. The strategy involved straight out attacking if there was only one of them, and causing some kind of distraction if there were two. Three or more was an anomaly that they hadn't quite taken into consideration, and with the injuries they had between them, any plan wouldn't have been any more complicated than "kick them and run like hell."

He and Emily shared a look; it might have said "this is it" but "are we insane?" was an equally likely message. He stepped around so that he was behind the door hinge; the position would either give him a split second advantage, or a bullet in the head.

The door swung open, and Emily's head inclined just the slightest touch. Just one, then. The next few moments were a blur, at the end of which there was an unconscious man at his feet, plastic tray with a few slices of bread on it knocked to the ground, and Emily had a gun in her hand. Knowing that he probably had the advantage over her in hand-to-hand combat situations, he didn't argue.

'We need to get moving,' she said, and Morgan didn't need telling twice.

Stevie had stirred somewhat during the commotion, such that it only took a few soft words to wake him up. Morgan wanted to avoid touching the boy, where possible – he knew what it was like, to be in that state where you were unsure whether or not you could trust someone.

'We're going to get you out of here,' Morgan said firmly, leaving no room for doubt, even though there was so much of it.

'My mom…?' he asked, and Morgan knew that he was referring to Rita, rather than his biological mother.

'She's fine, buddy. She's worried sick about you. I told her I'd bring you back.'

The boy nodded, getting to his feet. 'I think I saw an exit, when they were moving me around.' His voice was soft, but there was a strength behind it that Morgan admired. No kid should ever have to go through so much, and yet Stevie was getting through it.

Emily took the lead, the gun out in front of her. She was breathing heavily, and Morgan knew he was too. They were so close, and yet so far away.

His heart sunk when he heard the voice. The "hey!" that was so definitive of them being in a place they weren't supposed to be.

He saw Emily turn, finger against the trigger. Her eyes were wide, and all Morgan could do was watch as he heard the sound of two near simultaneous gunshots piercing the air.

* * *

Aaron Hotchner awoke with a jerk. He'd fallen asleep on somebody else's desk, files pressed to his face. Every lead he followed was a dead end, but he wasn't quite ready to believe that Derek Morgan and Emily Prentiss were dead – there would have been bodies, if they were.

As if on cue, Lieutenant Heller was at his side, a stony look on his face.

'Something happened?' Hotch asked, noting the file in the Lieutenant's hand.

'Civilian called in a body, patrol officers from another precinct checked it out. African-American male – early to mid-twenties. No signs of a white female.'

Hotch let out a sigh. 'You think it's Morgan?'

The Lieutenant shook his head, 'The officers that took the call have never met him, so it's too early to say. No-one's identified the body yet. I'm going down there now, if you'd like to come.'

Hotch nodded, packing up the file that he'd fallen asleep on. He had the sinking feeling that he'd be investigating a murder, rather than just and abduction.

He wasn't wrong.