The Room

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00:00 AM

14 Hours Left

Derek Morgan was a protector. Growing up, even before his father passed, he was a protector to his family, protector of his mom and his sisters. Of course, when he joined the BAU, he became very protective of his team, of his Baby Girl. And whoever was tasked to be in the field with him, he was protective his partner. More often than not, that person was Prentiss.

She was his SSA equal on the team. Combat and training wise, she was just as capable as he was. He knew it. The whole team knew it. He felt secure with her at his side, knowing that she could handle her own. But even if she didn't need protecting, he still felt very strongly that it is was his duty to protect those he cared about from harm and danger. Including her.

For Morgan, there was an innate need to be the first one in a burning building and the last one out, so to speak. If there was a bullet to take, he wanted to be the one to take it. And when he couldn't protect or— when he failed to protect in his self-appointed position as a protector, he took it deeply personal.

It was why Prentiss' sacrifice and her death all those months ago hit him so hard. One of his worst fears had come true. As her partner on that case, he was responsible for her life and he couldn't save her. He wasn't fast enough, didn't ask enough questions that would, maybe, have put him arriving at that warehouse just a minute earlier.

Upon her return, the man had learned to forgive himself for it. But Emily being back never meant that the memory of him holding her hands as she slipped in and out of consciousness didn't still hurt. It changed the way conducted himself in the field, and unequivocally intensified his need to defend and protect his team.

It was why he asked for Prentiss' training re-certification back when she officially rejoined the team. It was why, now, he always seemed to go the extra mile to prevent injurious circumstances from happening. Granted, he understood that he was only human, and that in this line of work, harm, danger and calamity were bound to occur.

Still, he could take every precaution. In fact, he needed to. Emily had teased him about it many times since he said it, but the statement still held true: in the field, simply apologizing doesn't bring people back from the dead. "Sorry, I made the wrong call" could never begin to compensate for the sheer grief and pain that a person's loved ones might be going through— "sorry" could never reverse the effects of destruction.

And what she was asking him to do, it felt like destruction. If he accidentally hurt her, he wouldn't be able to forgive himself. Sure, he could try not to let things get out of hand, but he also didn't know if she'd be able to forgive him for the results if they did. He was concerned about her well being, he was concerned about how exactly the unsubs would react. More than anything, he was concerned that it was in contempt of who he was as her partner, as a person, and as a protector. There just was too much left to chance.

So, when she asked him to do what she was asking him to do, he had every reason to be dead set against it.

"No." He remarked rigidly.

"Morgan, if we do the opposite, we can disillusion them."

She was trying to convince him, and had been for the past 20 minutes.

They both agreed that they needed to lure the unsubs out. They had been wracking their brains for ways to do this the moment they found themselves here. But after their earlier dispute, their solution would have to be some other way than faking sex. They would have to do something that would encourage their captors to reveal themselves, without explicitly giving them what they wanted.

Morgan's original suggestion might have worked, but after much consideration, he could understand why it was better to keep it as they promised: as a last resort. Right off the bat anyway, he could admit, that wasn't the way to go. It was too personal and too risky for both of them.

However, this was personal and risky for him. The thought of it actually made him physically sick. To stage an argument that escalated into a violent display of spousal abuse— it turned his stomach.

He would never raise his hand to any women, but especially not to a woman he cared about. Never had he descended so low. Never in his life would he. And even if it was marked— more of a performance than actuality, he didn't want to have that on his conscience.

"Emily, you don't know this is going to work." He contested.

"I know the profile." She responded assuredly,"And I know that we have to at least try this. It will provoke them, but we gotta make it seem real."

"I'd rather not." He said.

"C'mon," She persuaded, her inflection raising in a playful tone,"It'll be like sparring."

"Prentiss, no, it won't." He grumbled.

She cocked her head to the side, and spoke nonchalantly,"Just throw me against the wall a few times. I can take it."

"I don't want to hurt you." He said, emphasizing each word so it was clear why he was refusing to follow through with this plan.

"Morgan." She said his name almost accusingly, "We train together all the time. I kick your ass all the time. You know this won't hurt me."

"Emily."

Prentiss didn't respond. She knew when anyone started "Emily-ing" her, she'd touched a nerve or crossed a line. It always irked her, and she never hated her name more than when it sat in people's mouths only for them to spit it out at her like that. Regardless, for the moment, she seemed to back down.

The man labored a deep breath. It would be insanely unfair and reckless for an 190 pound man to go all out in a one-on-one with a 130 something pound woman. Sure if they marked it, it might be like sparring. But he knew as well as she did, that, sometimes, during their sessions, they could get carried away. Swinging and taking a few real punches in place of the soft blows when one of them had taken a case extra hard… or when they were upset with each other.

But unlike with sparring, they had no gear to protect themselves from each other. This could be raw, and brutal. And with everything going on between them, he feared that her suggestion might evolve into something purely abusive.

"Derek, I can't make you do this." She whispered gently.

Before she spoke again, she moved towards him, entering his personal space and leaning in close. She didn't know what or how much the unsubs could hear, but she wanted to be sure that what she said next, was privy to the agents' ear alone.

"But if we don't do something, pretty soon we won't be able to do anything. We're going to get to the end of this 24 hours, and somehow we're not going to be able to put up fight before these unsubs murder us."

"What if it doesn't work?" He asked.

"Then we stop." She promised him.

Morgan shook his head, more at himself than at her. He was going to agree— even if he was still uncertain, still worried about the different ways that it could get out of hand. And why agree?

He'd quickly come to conclusion that no plan that either of them could come up with would ever be comfortable for both of them at the same time. It was a simple and unpleasant fact of being in the situation, but at some point one of them would have to relent. And wanting to avoid a repeat of earlier, Morgan figured it was time to compromise. Time to trust her, and to not to let his strictly kept role as protector prevent them from trying anything that could possibly help free them.

"Okay…" He said softly.

"You sure?" She asked, surprise coloring her voice.

He clenched his jaw,"No, but I trust you so… we'll try this."

She offered him a look of both sympathy and gratitude,"Thank you…"

Before they separated, Morgan took her hands in his and squeezed them gently. He hoped the gesture would assure her as much as it seemed to fortify him. Then he pulled away, crossing to the other side of the room to prepare himself for what they were about to do.

Exactly how they started this was key. It had to be something fraudulent, but genuine. Minding the profile, it really needed to be something about infidelity. The opposite of a virtuous relationship. It needed to encourage him to lash out at her. The female dominant wouldn't want to see the substitute for her submissive partner overpowering her, and, likewise, the submissive wouldn't want to hear that the substitute for his wife had been unfaithful.

Morgan paced back and forth. He was nervous as hell. We're both smart agents, we can both play a part. He kept assuring himself. However, that didn't seemed make the thought of it any easier, or conscionable. He was still slightly unsettled with what he needed to do, but it was time to follow through. He was nothing if not a man of his word. He'd made up his mind to grit his teeth and play along.

"Emily, do you think I'm dumb." He intoned.

"No…?" She responded honestly.

He locked eyes with her, hoping to indicate that the charade had begun. She dipped her head in an imperceptible nod, and he continued,"Bullshit."

She blinked, his hostile tone taking her by surprise," Well, you seem upset about something. Want to talk about that?"

"Sure," He snapped, "Let's talk about you and Amari."

"The detective?" She questioned, "What about him?"

"You guys seemed to hit it off the other day, you tell me."

"He was nice." She admitted with a shrug,"We had one thing in common. That's all."

"You sleep with him?" He asked bluntly.

"What?"

"Are. you. sleeping. with him?"

For a moment, her was mouth agape as her brain seemed to struggle for the words to reply to him,"I-I don't know what you're talking about."

"So, you do think I'm dumb," He accused her,"I saw him come up to your room the other night, what do you expect me to make of that?"

Prentiss scoffed,"Not that it's any of your business, but he was just dropping off some paper work."

"Dropping off paperwork doesn't take til 3 in the morning, Emily!"

"Hold on." She said,"Have you been spying on me?!"

"Maybe if you weren't sleeping around so much, I wouldn't have to!"

"Look, I'm not seeing anyone else." She insisted.

"Bullshit, don't lie to me." He barked,"All I'mma tell you right now is don't play that game anymore. You're my partner, you belong to me."

"You know what, fuck you!" She shrieked,"You don't own me."

"What did you just say to me." He dared her to utter the same words again.

Just like clockwork, the words rolled off her tongue, "FUCK. YOU."

In a reactionary move, the man lunged at her. He refused to touch her just yet, but there was fabricated aggression in his eyes, "Don't you talk to me that way." He snarled.

"I'll talk to you however I fucking please." She spat, and then shoved him backwards, hard. "You're a piece of shit Derek. A real low life. piece. of shit."

As she spoke, Emily moved close to be up in his face. She brought her fist, with pointed index finger, to his chest, and as she jabbed it into his pec, she continued,"You really think you're god's gift to women? The only one who could ever "satisfy me"? Well, here's some news: you're not. So, BACK THE FUCK OFF."

He breathed furiously, "Take your hands off of me." He commanded. But before she could even respond— before she could decide if she wanted to remove her finger from his chest or not, he snatched her wrist and threw her hand away from his body.

Emily looked at her hand and then back at his face. Her eyes twinkled, something mischievous, so he knew to expect something. Then, immediately, with her open palm, she stuck him across the face. Morgan's face contorted at the level of energy she exerted.

In another choreographed move, he grabbed her by the shoulders and shunted her backward, crushing her into the wall. She squeezed her eyes shut, and he did, too. Clearly, he'd exuded more force than either of them anticipated, but she retaliated by kicking him unsympathetically in the stomach.

Morgan doubled over. Straightening up quick enough only to grab her arm and twist it— but not too far. Emily let out a manufactured yelp of pain.

In his ear, it sounded so real, he quickly let go. They weren't a minute into their false display, and already he felt like they'd done too much. He searched her face for a sign to end it, but she nodded to him ever so slightly, assuring him that she was fine. They needed to keep their heads in the game. So, he took her by the shoulders again, and pressed her up against the wall.

A mixture of false anger and real pain in his eyes, he wanted to suggest maybe it wasn't working. To shake some sense into her and beg her to stop. But just when it seemed too soon to call it quits, the intercom providentially queued up.

"Colossians 3:19: Husbands, love your wives, and do not be harsh with them." The male unsub's voice spoke. Ill-tempered, he spoke it like a command, as if it were meant to deter them from continuing what looked like abuse.

Morgan and Prentiss snuck a small, passing glance of achievement, but there was no time to slow the rush of what they had started. Now that they had their captors' attention, they had no choice but to continue.

Emily began to flail in his grasp as he held her in place, "Take your hands off of me you asshole!" She growled.

Once more, for good measure, Morgan marked slammed her against the wall— this time intentionally with less force, but enough to make it look convincing.

She cried out, and then she dug her heel into his gut. The sharp pressure made the man loose his balance, and not long after, he dropped to his knees. Prentiss wriggled free from his grip, and started to dash toward the bedside. But before the brunette could even make it that far, Morgan seized her by the ankle. She tripped, face planting onto the ground with a loud thud.

"Ow! What the fuck, Derek!" She groaned, flipping onto her back to manage the discomfort all over her body.

Stumbling over to where she lay, Morgan dropped down beside her. He pinned her arms down with knees. He curled his hand into a fist, and before he administered the blow, he looked deep into her eyes. I can't take it, she communicated with just one look. He hated it, …but he was going to do it. Briefly, he shut his eyes, and with minimal effort, he struck her just below the ribs.

She released an ear splitting cry of pain, and then dramatically recoiled from the blow. Prentiss rolled over, and in doing this, Morgan's position on top of her, abruptly became his position underneath her. And payback was bitch. When she punched him, she punched with effort that made him feel like she actually meant it. Her knuckles meeting the bones in his chest, his face and then his chest again. Was she really fighting him?

"Ephesians 5:33," The female unsub's voice came boldly over the intercom,"Let each one of you love his wife as himself, and let the wife see that she respects her husband."

The agents continued to ignore the voices. Morgan ejected Emily off of him, and as he fumbled to stand up, she stifled a groan. His first instinct was to help her up, but there was no opportunity to do so. She quickly scrambled to her feet and lunged at him, taking vigorous and aggressive swing after swing at him.

None of her punches landed, as he caught her fists and threw them down. But him doing that, only seemed to enrage her. And not in a pretend way— but actually. "Emily." He said, her left hand aiming for his person, again he tossed it to the side. "Emily!" He tried again, but in his pursuit to stop her, he dropped his defense and took a nasty blow to the face.

Morgan grimaced, his jaw throbbing. He didn't know what was going on, but it was time to put a stop to it. Urgently and forcefully, he took hold of both her wrists. She fought him fiercely, struggling against his strength as he walked her backward into the table and bent her backward over it. There, he rested his forearm on her collar bone and he pinned her down.

"Husbands, love your wives, and do not be harsh with them!" Both voices shouted through the speakers, but neither of them could pay the unsubs' scriptural demands much mind.

Just as he'd done before, Morgan looked into her eyes. But something had changed, and rather suddenly. It was like nothing he'd ever seen in her before. They were vacant, completely devoid all but one emotion: vengeance.

Violently, she used her feet to kick him off her. He stumbled back, but like a stretched rubberband, he snapped back, pinning her down onto the table once more. Only this time, the wooden frame collapsed under their weight.

In the mess of the wooden debris and shattered plates, Prentiss gasped like she was drowning. He moved from where he'd fallen on top of her, and yet, she still inhaled like the air was water. Discombobulated and distressed, Morgan opened his mouth to ask if she was okay. But before he could speak, she was arming herself with a piece wood.

Then she did what he least expected. Raising the table leg in the air, she brought it down and began to bash him with it. Three painful whacks to the abdomen later, and he knew. Somewhere, at some point, she'd crossed over. She was getting carried away.

"Let the wife see that she respects her husband!" The unsubs raged.

Emily screamed aloud, something warlike and guttural. She was about to exact another vengeful blow, but he knocked her weapon out of her hands, the table leg whipping her in the face before it landed on the ground.

Morgan cringed as he watch her draw back in pain, but then quickly went to her and took hold of her by the shoulders once more. He wanted to make sure that she was alright, that she knew who he was. More importantly, that she was aware of where she was. Standing still, face to face with her, he could streaks of tears running down her face, but her dark eyes were wide, blank, emotionless.

With gentle ministrations, he stroked her shoulders, hoping to break the reality of the facade in her mind. Of the many things that Morgan considered could go wrong, unearthing a traumatic memory that trigged a conditioned fight or flight response was not one of them.

He wanted to pull her into his arms, and hold her. Tell her it was over. He even made a move to do so, but just before he could complete the embrace, she pressed the palm of her hand firmly in the center of his chest to stop him.

"Wait." She said almost inaudibly,"Listen…"

Morgan looked at her, perplexed and almost furious. She'd come out from her daze, and so promptly, it confused him. Was it real or was she provoking him? The look in her eyes, he couldn't have imagined that as much as he didn't think she could manufacture it. But given the circumstance, there wasn't really much time to mull it over. He focused on what she was asking him to listen for.

Then, he heard it. A hissing noise coming from the ventilation.

It sounded like a thousand snakes slithering to snack on their evening meal. It sounded like no antemortem bruising and no defensive wounds. It sounded like their captors were coming for them, hours before the 24 hour mark.

This was the plan, and it worked. But dammit if they both weren't a little terrified. Morgan looked at Prentiss, and she back at him. Even though she was trying to maintain a brave face, the blank look in her eyes had been completely replaced with fear and uncertainty.

Neither of them knew what was going to happen. They didn't know where they would wake up— if they would wake up. And even if he couldn't, all Morgan knew is that he wanted to protect her from it. So, as he felt his heart rate slowing and his eyes getting droopy, he pulled her in close, hugging her tightly. One last gesture to make sure they both understood, they were not alone.

And within less than 10 seconds…

Everything went dark.