"A bully is not reasonable – he is persuaded only by threats." Marie de France

A/N: I don't own any of the Criminal Minds characters, plot, etc. all belong to CBS

This is a very long chapter, I debated splitting it into two chapters, but I wanted to keep it to one case per chapter set up so it would be similar to an episode. Also, there is somewhat graphic and violence/torture of one of the main characters so I am going to change the rating to M. Third thing, Prentiss is introduced ;)

Jade POV

It is the second week of April and I am finally getting comfortable in my role with the BAU. I have helped the team and they have all helped me figure out this internship. I am sitting at my desk reviewing my paperwork for the previous case a final time before I turn it into Aaron. Just as I am getting up from my desk, I see Garcia and Aaron leave their office, Aaron heading directly to the conference room, Garcia heading to the coffee machine. That can only mean one thing, a new case. I gather the folder and drop it on Aarons desk as I head to the conference room.

"Don't tell me, another gruesome look into the worst humanity has to offer?" I ask Aaron as I take the seat I had come to claim as my own, to the left of the podium.

"Sadly, that is what all our cases are these days. No relief from gruesome, macabre, maladjusted, horrifying and sick."

"I hope we can get there in time. How often do you get there too late?"

"As long as we get the UNSUB, I don't think it is ever too late." Aaron sighs, straightening his tie and rolling his shoulders as the rest of the BAU files in and takes their seats. "Good morning everyone. As you can see, we have a new case. Since the beginning of the spring semester, in the Adirondack Mountains of Upstate New York there has been a spree, a string of six rape-murders among the college students."

Garcia does her best to not look at the screen, or me for that matter, as she clicks her remote and too many photos of brutally tortured young women pop onto the larger than life screen, "six young women have been found in the rural area of the Adirondack mountains. Beautiful women in beautiful mountains. What was done to them was far from beautiful. Anti-beautiful, if you will. They were raped, tortured and murdered. If you are masochistic enough to look at the photographs, you will see the victims are all missing body parts, left pinkie toes, various fingers. All but the first young woman was found in or near a pool of her own vomit, which was composed of partially digested human remains." Garcia pauses, takes a deep gulp and fans herself.

"The tox screens indicate copious amounts of alcohol were in the females systems, as well as Rohypnol, which is commonly known as roofies. This can indicate the way the UNSUB is gaining access to the victims is via drugging them. The medical examiner also reports violent rape and excessive bruising in the genital area," Aaron continues presenting the case and I finally look up to the screen and my breath catches in my throat.

All six women looked alike. Beat, bruised and bloody, but like Garcia said, beautiful. And, uncomfortably, they look like me. Not exactly, but enough that it made me feel sick looking them. I look away, looking anywhere else but at the screen. I look at Reid who was already gazing my way, curious and tender. I move along the table and Rossi is also staring at me, more tender and intimate, the same look he gave me when he asked if I was expecting to meet someone by the pool in Oklahoma. I shake my head slightly, looking down to the table, my cheeks flushed and stomach tight, studying the pattern in the wood grain.

"The local police have tried to figure out who is doing this and where, but have asked for our assistance. Wheels up in thirty" Aaron commands and swiftly walks out of the conference room.

We take the jet up to New York, about 2.5 hour flight. The first half of the flight, we discuss the case, the motivations. Why would someone mutilate young women, rape them, drug them, remove fingers and toes and apparently feed it to the next victim? How can people be so sick and grotesque? It is a very bizarre case and we have plenty of work ahead of us when we land and meet up with the local police department. Reid and Blake discuss the Freudian analysis of this case, what it could mean for the UNSUB, why he is doing this, what it does FOR him. Morgan and Rossi make some comments about how low his self-confidence must be and how terrible his childhood must have been to end up like this, murdering and mutilating women, how there has to be an easier way to get laid. Aaron rolls his eyes at these comments and the team breaks up, talking about lighter subjects for the remainder of the flight.

JJ and I walk to the back of the jet, make ourselves vanilla lattes and take a seat off to the side for some girl talk. It has been a while since we got to talk and I feel like we need to catch up on some things.

"Hey, JJ, can I talk to you about something?" I ask, sipping the sweet, hot, delicious beverage.

"Mhmm" she murmurs as she sips hers as well.

"Keep it between us for now, promise?" I ask, she nods, smiling and I continue "so recently I have been talking to this guy. He isn't my normal type but I keep finding myself talking to him. I'm drawn to him. I don't necessarily think I'm attracted to him romantically but I definitely enjoy talking to him way more than I expected when we met." I say carefully, only doling out enough details that if any of our nosy profiling teammates might not be able to piece anything together.

"Oooh a new man. What is he like? Where did you meet? Why haven't you mentioned him before, Jade?" JJ asks, very excited to gossip and talk about a new beau.

"Shhh!" I giggle, "I'm hoping not to attract the attention of all our coworkers. I trust your advice about men, I don't think I need advice from some of the guys." My eyes slide from Rossi, to Hotch and land on Morgan, one option worse than the next, "Playa Morgan doling love advice, no thanks." I joke, returning my gaze to JJ.

"Okay, okay, but please, details!" JJ gushes, adjusting in her seat to curl one leg underneath her and grip the mug with both hands, settling in for a good story.

"Hmm. Like I said, he is not my usual type, I normally go for the super handsome major jock type. My last boyfriend was captain of our Lacrosse team. This guy, well, he is not. He's in shape, sure. He has to for his job. But he doesn't plan his entire life around when he can go to the gym. We met about a month ago, and I feel like I can talk to him about anything. Everything."

"That is good! You need to be able to talk to the person you are in a relationship with. Tell me about your first date!"

"We haven't actually gone on a date, all we have done is talk up to this point. Actually I don't know if I want to go on a date with him. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Do I like this guy for real or do I like him as a friend?"

"Has he made a move on you?"

"Not directly, I think he is just like that around everyone." I explain. I don't think he has ever actively decided he liked someone before and wouldn't know how to consciously decide to pursue a woman if he had to, but I won't share that detail with JJ, not yet anyway.

"Have you ever thought about, ya know?" JJ says, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

I spit out the bit of latte I just sipped, wiping my face with the sleeve of my blazer, instantly regretting it. "NO! I haven't thought about that, not with him." I think for a moment about his hands, his soothing voice, how he has made me feel and I start to blush.

"You're blushing! I think you like this guy, Jade. Give him a call when we land and set up a date. Then after that, set up a double date with Will and I," JJ gushes, very excited for me.

"I guess you are right, maybe I am interested in him. Or maybe I just need laid in general" I laugh "it has been a while since my last roll in the hay."

"Hey, nothing wrong with that, girlfriend! Go get some. If just contemplating sleeping with him makes you blush and giggle, you're probably into him."

"What if he isn't into me?"

"Is he blind? You are a hottie, Jade. I'm sure hes into you."

Upstate NY is gorgeous with the spring blossoms and nearly untouched mountain wilderness all around us. I can't help but stare as we ride from the small little airport into the police station. Every curve in the mountains brings another breathtaking view, the lush mountainsides covered in a patchwork of white, pink and yellow blossoms, and I wish I can visit this place and explore, visit for pleasure. Actually, I wish I could get away and just live in the mountains like this. Rossi says pretty much the same thing outside the local police station, winking at me as he holds the door. I roll my eyes at him, I hope he wasn't eavesdropping on my conversation with JJ and got the wrong idea, the womanizer.

The local sheriff confirms our brief, most of the victims are my exact description. Almost identical to me. I suppress a shudder at the thought. Women who look just like me are being targeted, raped and murdered. Early to mid-20's. Same basic height between 5'0" and 5'4", golden hair color, shoulder length or longer. All with green eyes. Athletic, strong, but not overly so. Conventionally pretty and beautiful.

We talk to Garcia who has been running an extensive background check on the victims, on their last known locations for the 3 days before they had gone missing. Garcia confirms the only places in common between each of the victims are the 2 art museums and the coffee shop in between. At least that helps narrow the search area down. We talk with the sheriff and his department about these museums and the coffee shop. Of course, being a smaller town in Upstate New York, the coffee shop does not have any video surveillance. The museums have surveillance at their main lobbies, but there are several service and emergency exits which have no monitoring.

As we are trying to develop a strategy, Derek's phone rings "you're on speaker babygirl."

"I will always be grateful for that warning, my Chocolate fountain of fondue hotness." Derek chuckles and smirks at his phone as we gather around to hear whatever Garcia has found.

"Tell us what you found before you get to the sweet talking."

"I think I found out something big. Something useful. The one art museum, The View Center for Arts and Culture, has a new exhibit opening up tomorrow night. A very big, fancy event is planned. Everyone who is anyone in the Upstate New York art scene will be there. If our guy considers himself to be part of that creative circle, he will be there."

"Thank you mama. Remind me to thank you when we get home."

"Oh you know I will" Garcia gushes before she disconnects the phone.

"Sounds like we have a where and a when, now lets figure out a how. Can we contact that museum and find out some details for the event and if we can get eyes in there?" Aaron asks and JJ immediately heads to the phone line.

I follow her and we call the museum. JJ talks me through it as we explain the case and our plan to the very passionate and protective museum director. They do not want cameras installed, even small, inconspicuous ones or cameras on staff's lapels, they claim it will detract from the look and feel of the event. The director assured us "art is an experience and true art captivates all the senses" and we cannot detract from that by adding cameras. JJ and I compromised and got the director to allow the three main ushers to wear lapel cameras, as well as two of the BAU are allowed to monitor the event from inside. We explain the compromise to Aaron and the rest of the team. Aaron thinks for a moment, speaks to the sheriff privately and quickly returns to the team.

He decided that Reid and I were to be the two BAU members to monitor from the inside. Derek, Rossi and I immediately begin to protest. I am not even a trained agent! I don't have a gun! I don't know how to identify subjects! I can't defend myself! Aaron assures us that is not the point, instead, I will go to become a willing target of the UNSUB. Reid will be there to help identify anyone suspicious. Reid and I will both be wearing microphones and earpieces, as well as the three museum staff workers with their cameras in place. The rest of the team will only be outside in a van monitoring everything. The UNSUB is not murdering the victims inside the museums, if anything does happen, they will be able to stop him from leaving the premises with me.

I do not feel confident in this decision. In fact, I feel faint. I have never fainted before, but I feel the way I imagine faint feels; my head is light and dizzy, my skin is instantly clammy, my vision is blurring and all the voices of the team seem distant and muffled. I sit down in the desk chair beside me, well I intend to, but I slide to the floor and everything goes dark.

A short time later, I wake up to JJ splashing water on my face and Reid crouching beside me feeling my wrist for a pulse. Embarrassed, I pull my arm from Reid's grasp and I sit up, straightening my olive green knit top and smoothing my hair.

"I'm fine guys. I promise," my voice shaking and unsteady.

"Here, drink this water," JJ offers me a second glass of water as I get up into the chair I was aiming for minutes before.

"Thank you" I tell JJ after I drink about half the glass. "I feel better. I am just very overwhelmed right now. I have no training in field work. I am not an agent. I don't know how to be a – a - a - target."

"Good thing we have a day to prepare. Lets go to the hotel and call our old friend, Emily Prentiss. She will be able to help you. Blake and I will talk you through the rest." JJ offers me her hand and leads me out of the sheriffs office.

Blake, JJ and I sit in JJ's hotel room and we call the infamous Emily Prentiss. I had heard of her from Uncle Mike, apparently she has had quite the experience going undercover and becoming a target in order to flush out a criminal. I certainly hope my experience does not go similarly, everyone laughs uncomfortably when I say that out loud. She does not answer the phone, and JJ leaves a quick message and then texts her friend. About 30 minutes later her phone buzzes.

"Prentiss! How are you, I hope I am not interrupting anything important? I have you on speakerphone. Can you help our new Media and Communication Liaison?"

"I am never to busy for you, JJ, you know that. I was in a work meeting earlier and couldn't get away. What's up? How is everyone?"

"We are doing well, the team misses you so much! I wish you were here to help us." JJ is very excited to talk to Prentiss, I can tell they were very close once, probably still are "Okay, so we have a situation where our new intern, the Media and Communication Liaison, has to become a target. She is understandably quite nervous."

"Whoa, who agreed to let an intern go undercover? Does Hotch know? Cruz?"

"It was Hotch's idea, Prentiss."

"Son of a bitch. I will have to talk to this man." Prentiss seems very upset and I do not doubt she will lecture Hotch the moment she gets the opportunity. I like her already.

"We know how you feel. He trusts her, says she comes highly recommended." Blake adds in to the conversation.

"At least we are all agreed this is a terrible idea. Can you help me?" I ask almost intimidated.

"Of course I will help you. Uh, what is your name, young lady? Actually, JJ can we face time? I want to see the new protegee"

A minute later and we are face timing with a very professional, serious and smiling woman. I admire her even more now that I see her. Her silky black hair falls to her shoulders and she looks like the picture of confidence.

"That's better! And I get to see you Jay-ge! Hey, Blake, you look great."

"You look great as well. I hope you are enjoying the position with Interpol."

"Oh I am. Kicking ass has never been such fun." She tells us, positively glowing with pride in her work. "So, who is this young lady? Are you this intern Hotch is throwing to the wolves?"

"Yeah, I am Jade Bennett."

"So why does he trust you enough to throw protocol to the wind and send an intern in? Not even an intern agent, but and intern liaison?"

"No idea, really. I mean, he and Rossi seem to know my Uncle Mike pretty well."

"Mike? Bennett? No shit. The 2010 incident Mike Bennett?"

"You know about that? Yeah, that is him. Me. Yep." I mutter awkwardly.

"Honey, I know that incident well. Too well. I was part of the rescue team, well it was Clyde Easter's idea."

"Oh I had heard of his involvement. I am sorry you had to get into that incident."

"I hope your Uncle is doing well and has fond memories of me." Prentiss smiles, almost serpentine, I am sure whatever she did to rescue the incident was nothing to have fond memories of. This woman is twisted, I like it. I wish we could become friends.

"I'll pass your regards on when we get back to DC. Now, tell me what I need to do tomorrow night." I ask, getting nervous.

"Tomorrow night? Fuck, kid, I am going to strangle Hotch. What is he thinking? Even I would need more than a day to get comfortable with the details and become a target. It takes a long time to master an act. Are you an actor? Can you put on a good face and remain calm?"

"You aren't helping."

"Sorry. Jade. It is so hard. I trained for YEARS before my first assignment with SIS and Interpol. Okay. So, the absolute bare minimum of things you MUST do: Remember whatever key things your UNSUB looks for, whatever his main target is, and accentuate that. Play down any and all things that are not what he is looking for."

"Well all his victims look like they could be my twins, so that should be easy, keep looking exactly like myself."

"Where are you going to be waiting for this UNSUB. Who will be with you, please say someone is going with you?"
"Reid? Reid and I are going to a new art exhibit opening tomorrow night. Apparently all the victims were only at the art gallery and the coffee shop the 3 days before they were abducted."

"Reid? At least he has a poker face and never misses a detail. Are you comfortable wearing a wire?" She sees me making a face. "Definitely get comfortable with the wire before you go into the museum. You do not want to stick out like a sore thumb if you are fidgeting with the wire or your earpiece all night. Also, art galleries are easy. Wear a black skirt, a black shirt and a flowy floral scarf to hide any wires. Hair down, artfully messy waves. Chunky bracelets or bangles. Try to exude Parisian chic."

"I think we can come up with something like that between JJ and my wardrobe on hand" I tell Prentiss, scribbling down some notes on the hotel stationary.

"Good. Another thing, keep your eye on the art. Do not stare at the other people, do not look like you are looking for the UNSUB. Let Reid do that, let him hang toward the back of the exhibit, periodically checking in on you."

"Okay, got it. I do like art, so that should be relatively easy."

"Oh, Prentiss, the victims are all found with lethal amounts of alcohol and roofies in their systems." JJ interrupts.

"Okay then, do not drink anything, or if you must, only one sip out of a drink before sitting it down and getting a different drink. If possible, bring your own water bottle and only drink from it. Do not eat any of the food either, it is easy to mix roofies into a sauce or dip, and the downside is they usually way overdose the sauce and only one bite is enough to knock out a horse."

"Oh geez. I am an absent minded snacker. I will have to be extra careful tomorrow night."

"You got this kid. And if you are approached by someone you think might be the UNSUB, be nice, smile, make small talk, do not try to fight or subdue him. Do not let him take you out of the gallery or exhibit room, even the hallways can be private enough for him to capture you. Do call over Spencer to meet 'your new friend' and if needed, place a hand on his dominant wrist so he doesn't try to escape while Spencer approaches."

"Thank you very much Prentiss. I'd love to meet you in person some day."

"I would love to meet you too Jade." She smiles at me, it appears genuine and warm. What a nice person to go out of her way to help a complete stranger.

"We all would love to see you! Please try to come visit. Take a holiday to DC, Em!"

"JJ, you know I would love to visit more often, and you also know how terribly busy these jobs are. I will try to take my summer holiday in the states" Prentiss winks at JJ before turning back to me. "Honey, you will do fine. Do some yoga or some other calming activity before you go in there and do not worry. Spencer will be with you and the rest of the team will be outside waiting to help the instant Spencer identifies the scumbag. Well, Hotch might not be if I get in touch with him first. Goodnight girls, it is getting late on this side of the pond. I must get to bed."

"Thank you again, you are such an inspiration." I tell my new role model.

"See you soon, Em!" JJ replies enthusiastically.

"Always a pleasure Emily" Blake says with a small wave.

It is now one hour before the art exhibit is supposed to have the grand opening. I am in the bathroom of JJ's hotel room getting into my 'costume'. JJ and Blake are helping place the wire on my torso, ensuring it is in a good place to catch everything it needs to, but remain out of sight. I had brought a knee length black skirt and black boots, thankfully. JJ had a black long sleeve v-neck shirt that looks very chic and Blake had a large floral scarf they are willing to donate. JJ is also helping style my hair into artful, messy waves. We don't have any bangles or bracelets, but Blake went to the one store and picked up some bright bangles that accent the scarf. JJ sweeps an elegant cat eye along my eyelids and I dab on some soft coral, nearly sheer lip gloss. Looking in the mirror I am pleased, I think I definitely look the part. I put a few necessities into my bright blue leather clutch and we head down to meet the team in the lobby.

Entering the lobby, I glance over to Spencer Reid and he does not look like he is ready at all, wearing his typical work outfit. A blue button up shirt, black tie, navy sweater vest and navy slacks with his cross body bag. Men have it so easy, so little fashion options and lax fashion rules, it is not fair. Looking around, I notice every male member of the BAU is staring at me. Reid blushes slightly, and looks down to the book in his hands, Derek wolf whistles and looks me over, head to toe and back up again, flashing me his signature melt-your-core grin.

"Damn girl, you look fine. Has anyone seen Jade? This hot mamma is not with us" he jokes, dimple flashing.

Rossi reacts in kind, gazing up and down, his eyes lingering on my curves just long enough for me to flush, and when he drags his eyes back to my face, he winks, his hands in the pockets of his sports coat, lazy and self assured. Aaron just looks at me quickly, nods and smiles, "well done Jade. Do you always bring so much clothing?" I walk over to Aaron, my nerves building back up again.

"It was a group effort, sir. We all chipped in to this look. I don't think we normally bring too much art gallery worthy attire to work."

"All the same, you look nice tonight, they may ask you to stay as part of the exhibit" Aaron asserts, half a smile crossing his features again.

"Flattery? Are you trying to make it up to me or did you speak to Prentiss?" I ask my boss and mentor.

"Can't I compliment my teammate?" Aaron smiles, obviously trying to mend our relationship and apologize without saying sorry.

"Thank you, Aaron. If I survive, I will forgive you." I admit, returning a smile up to him.

"Lets review the plan one last time." Aaron says loudly, calling the team over to us.

"First, Jade and I will enter the exhibit, observing the guests and looking carefully over the art. I will check in periodically with the team via my wire and earpiece. Jade will focus on the art while I monitor everything from the back of the room, acting more like a bored significant other than an actual patron. We will not drink anything or eat any snacks no matter what is offered." Reid makes a pointed gaze to me, knowing it is the most important thing for me to remember.

"I know, I know. No roofies for me. Did we find out if we can bring in our own bottled water?" I ask, looking over to Aaron.

"Negative, sorry."

"Okay, and now what kind of art exhibit is it? If I am expected to make small talk with some of these people, I should probably know a few things about art. Some key words?"

Blake, Rossi and Reid tell me some interesting things about art, what to look for in a piece, what things to comment on, how to estimate the time period a piece was created if there is not a date provided. Before we leave, Reid and I eat a sandwiches and drink plenty of water to help avoid any offered food and drink. Finally it is time to head into the museum, Reid and I link arms and walk out the hotel lobby and into the waiting taxi.

Entering the art museum, which is already crowded and there is still some time before the official opening of the new exhibit. We take a brief tour of some of the older exhibits before getting into place for the grand opening. All the other patrons are dressed similarly, Prentiss was right on with her fashion advice. I am still quite nervous, but I feel confident with Spencer beside me. My arm linked casually through his as we wander through the exhibit. Before we enter the large room for the grand opening, I lean close to Spencer, saying "you are so calm, collected and handsome. Thank you for not panicking and allowing me to do that for both of us."

"I am a nervous wreck inside." He grins down at me and smooths his palm along the thighs of his pants.

"You don't show it. Remind me never to play poker with you. Also, I would like to thank you for not objecting to this physical closeness. I know you have preferences to remain a bit farther apart." I tell him earnestly, "We don't have to link arms if you prefer"

"No this is fine. But when we go into the exhibit, you will be on your own. I imagine he won't pick you if he thinks you are with me, with someone."

"I am with you, Spencer" I remind him, squeezing his arm with my own.

"You know what I mean. And, in case I have not already mentioned it, you are gorgeous tonight. If I didn't already know you, I would never have the confidence to speak to you."

"Spencer, thank you. Sometimes I even amaze myself with how well I clean up."

At this point the ushers gather all of the patrons into the exhibit room. The featured artist stands before a grand red velvet curtain and makes a small speech explaining the exhibit and what to expect. I honestly didn't understand most of it, my mind racing trying to remember how to be a target. I feel like bait, dangling on a hook in open water, helpless to avoid my impending fate. I plaster a pleasant, mildly interested smile on my face and clap politely along with the other patrons. The ushers mingle between everyone, asking if we want wine or hors d'oeuvres and making sure everyone had what they wanted. I so desperately wanted to snag the cucumber finger sandwich but Prentiss' warning flashed in my mind and I refrained.

At this point, the artist steps aside and the ushers pull the red velvet curtain back to reveal a smaller gallery full of art. This smaller room is full of art quite different from the older galleries we just saw. I can tell this art is from a different, more talented artist. Precision in the brushstrokes. Purpose. Understanding of depth of field. Basically this room is much easier to look at. All the things Blake, Rossi and Reid tried to explain to me earlier suddenly make sense. I truly enjoy the artwork and find myself smiling as I meander through the exhibit.

I am admiring the one piece, a simple sunset over a lake, and the artist who made his speech a short bit ago approaches me. He offers his hand and greets me, asking if I like the exhibit. I tell him I do, it is much better than I had expected and I am quite glad. I mention the precision I can see in his brushstrokes for this piece, and he smiles broadly. Before moving on, he shakes my hand again, gripping my hand with both of his. I too move on to admire the next painting.

By the time I make it to the last painting in this exhibit, I feel woozy. Not like yesterday before I fainted, more like I was drunk. How odd, I turn to Spencer in the back corner of the room and I giggle as I walk over to him, stumbling slightly. Instead of linking arms, I pull him close and go onto my toes to whisper in his ear, but I lose my balance, giggling more as Spencer catches me, pulling me close to keep me from falling. I haven't felt this drunk in ages. Not since New Years Eve 2012 when I drank an entire bottle of rum.

Rossi POV

Sitting in the cramped and stuffy surveillance van watching the art exhibit through the grainy cameras on the three ushers and hearing Jade and Reids inconsequential small talk was harder on me than waiting completely in the dark. I don't know what Aaron was thinking, sending the two least experienced team members into an art exhibit. Sure they blend right in with the young, posh crowd, but JJ and Morgan would have blended just as well. JJ has at least completed combat training and self defense courses. Morgan doesn't drop after throwing the first punch. This is the second serious judgment call I question from Aaron since he hired Jade for this internship. In fact, as an intern, if anything goes wrong we are ALL on the chopping block and not even Cruz has the authority to save our asses.

I can't even watch the video feed, there is nothing useful to be gained from ushers flirting with pretty girls or opening curtains dramatically. I just stare absently and think about how I would have handled this case differently from the start. Suddenly we hear Jade giggling. We all look to the monitors trying to see if she is in any of the frames. Thankfully, one of the ushers is nearby and he turns and watches as she stumbles over to Reid, giggling more as she trips into him, embracing him like she is completely wasted off her ass. How much wine had she drank?

Over the wire we hear Reid talking, mostly to Jade but also to us, "Jade, Jade, are you okay? What happened to you?"

"No drinkies, I'm okay Spencerrr" she drawls, still leaning heavily on Reid, their arms wrapped around each other.

"Jade, you didn't even take a drink, I've been watching, what is wrong?" Reid asks, concern and fear coloring his voice.
"I know. I think the artist had something on his hands when he shook my hands like, like, 10 minutes ago. Both of his hands." Her speech more slurred and disconnected by the second.

"The artist?"

"Yeah, Spencerrrr the guy who told us about the exhibit before the big curtains went wooooosh" She giggles more, leaning her face into his neck, muffling both their voices.

"Oh no. He just shook my hand a minute ago too. Just before you turned to me." Reid, pulls her down, tries to guide her to the door.

Unfortunately, she is unable to stand stable on her own and the usher who has the camera on his lapel notices. Fortunately, he helps her gain her balance. Unfortunately he guides her into a back service hallway, with Spencer following, descending into giddiness as well, his protests becoming feebler as he attempts to follow. The usher half guides, half drags Jade into a service closet and the camera is ripped off and goes blank. Immediately Morgan and I are running into the museum, guns and badges drawn.

"Federal agents, please stand back!" Morgan shouts.

We run frantically, dashing through the museum and pushing patrons out of the way, and I can hear JJ, Blake and Aaron not far behind. We rush through the exhibits and get into the back hallway, searching for any sign of our team. The service closet door is locked, Morgan struggles with it for a few minutes before shooting the lock, the gunfire echoing even louder in the museum hallway. Throwing the door open, we see a small room completely empty, save a janitors cart, mop and bucket. JJ and Aaron arrive, panting a minute later, with Blake following not long after.

"Where the hell did they go?" I shout, furious, frustrated.

"What happened? Where did Reid go?" Morgan shouts as well.

Blake, the sole source of reason in the entire BAU, notices something, a small rectangle on the floor that does not match up with the rest of the floor tiles. Morgan bends down to investigate and finds it is a trap door. Without hesitation, Aaron and I hop into the passage underneath. Clicking on our flashlights, we rush through the passage, searching for any sign of Reid and Jade. 5 minutes later the passage opens into an empty garage. Beyond the open garage door is a small alley, no other doors open onto it, just empty dumpsters and barred windows. The street beyond is one block from the highway on ramp, they could be anywhere by now. The surveillance van is located 1 block in the wrong direction. Struggling to catch my breath, I look at Aaron, desperate and frantic. He too is out of breath, simply nods. The BAU will do everything in our power to get them back, he will make sure of it.

Reid POV

Everything seems hazy as I regain consciousness. How long have I been out? Where am I? Is Jade okay? What happened? The haze feels familiar and I am very concerned. It is not unlike the withdraw symptoms after taking the Dilaudid. Breathing deep I try to control my panic as I open my eyes to see my surroundings. I am laying on an army surplus cot located in the center of a very small office of some sort or perhaps an unused storage closet. I can see tall metal filing cabinets along the wall to my right. The room, whatever it is, is illuminated by a single bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling. In front of me is a completely bare wall, painted very dark green and looking like it has never been cleaned. The remaining wall, to my left, has some metal cabinets affixed along its length, from 4 feet high and extending up near the ceiling, along with the only door I notice, a small basic door without any windows.

I crane my neck to try and see the wall behind me, but I cannot. I cannot move because, to my rising horror, I am chained to the cot, one chain for each of my limbs affixed to a leg of the cot. I try to free myself, rolling and twisting my limbs each in turn and together, trying to find a weakness or escape. As I struggle, I notice something, my ankles appear to be attached to the corner opposite of where they lie while my wrists are chained to the corner closest. I don't think I can get even one free and fear creeps in, my heart races and I begin to sweat. I think back to all the things Emily taught me, both before and after her faked death, but not a single suggestion helps and I am as stuck as I was when I regained consciousness.

Chuckling darkly to myself, wishing I had paid better attention to every lesson Emily and Morgan have tried to give me over my career with the BAU, I resign myself to life on the army surplus cot. Things like this only ever seem to happen to me. I wonder how long I have been here. Can't have been too long as I don't feel terribly starved and my voice wasn't yet hoarse from disuse and dehydration. As my chuckle dies off, I notice that I can hear what is going on beyond the small wooden door. Sounds of struggling, grunting and groaning greet my ears. The only thing I can smell is dampness. Musty, moldy dampness. Perhaps I am being held underground.

After a few minutes a rough male voice begins singing a childhood melody to Jade. The simple rhyme of "this little piggy" with Jade making sounds of ever increasing struggles and occasional cries of anguish. No pain, per se, but definite anguish. Following what felt like hours but probably only minutes, Jade falls silent. The sounds of a squeaky faucet being turned and someone rinsing out some type of cloths or fabric for probably 10-15 minutes. Pouring of some sort of beverage from a larger container, maybe a decanter. Then a brief pause, placing a glass on a table or some other wooden sounding surface, then the longest span of silence where my heart rate approached 150 bpm, before the doorknob to my torture room slowly turns as a there is a sound of a key is slid through the lock and I find myself holding my breath.

Exhaling, the door opens and a man enters. A young man, pale and gangly. Almost sickly looking. He has something in each of his hands. In his right hand, a large crowbar and in his left, a surgical scalpel. I feel terrified, more so than I ever have before, not liking what either tool implies for what is to come. I whimper, unable to control my fear and panic. I try to raise my head and gaze around this man to see if I can glimpse Jade or gather any further information about where we are being kept, to no use as he quickly slams the door behind himself, door rattling as it settles against the frame. When I cannot see anything about the room other than it appears to be as dim and grimy as the one I am in, and nothing at all about Jade, I whimper again. Realizing, in my pitiful state, she is not just the intern. I think about Jade all the time. She is so much more, I love her. I fall asleep thinking of her, wake up with her face in my minds eye. Any time I get to talk to her, I finally forget about Maeve. I finally feel like I can breathe. Back to the present, I struggle, frantic, against the chains once more. The gangly, half-crazed man approaches, wielding both implements dangerously, an insane grin stretching broadly across his face.

"Oooh look, the slut's new boyfriend is awake" He cackles, brandishing the crowbar in my direction and I feel my stomach drop out of me. If he is calling her a slut, what is he doing to her? Is he treating her like the victims? Has he removed her toes?

I continue to struggle against the chains. He approaches, stopping out of reach of the crowbar and I breathe a sigh of mild relief however I don't stop my struggling, I feel my skin becoming raw, red and probably bleeding against the restraints. He might be crazy, but he sure is thorough in applying restraint chains. He transfers the scalpel to his right hand, pulls up a metal folding chair from behind me and sits to my left side, still holding the crowbar and the scalpel, the crazed, wild and hungry look still apparent in his eyes. He starts rambling about "your slutty girlfriend" and "how easy she gave it up to him". He keeps talking, laughing to himself at the parts he found particularly amusing. He pretty much narrates what all he did to Jade while I was unconscious. I begin to cry without realizing it, hearing how he raped her, how he forced her to drink so much booze, and even more drugs. How she is "too dumb" to say the words that will set her free. He tells me what he wants, what he has always wanted, she has to say she loves him and he will set both of us free.

More maniacal laughter from our captor and her abuser, because he knows she won't. They never do, he croons. I hope she is alert enough to pick up on it, to hear him now. I know the door is flimsy enough to hear through. Also, I know from our discussions, she is very astute. Maybe not as intelligent as I, but I believe if she is alert, her mind clear she would definitely piece together what he wants her to say. Since he realized that he told me too much, he raises from the chair, throws it against the wall where it clatters to the floor folding on itself. He tosses the scalpel beside it and steps closer to me, raising the crowbar as I brace for impact. The half-crazed man hits me with precision, knowing exactly where to strike me to break the bones and avoid the internal organs. I feel several fingers on my left hand crush and shatter as well as two or three of my ribs on the left side. I try to avoid breathing deep, crying or making any sound as the fractured ribs send shooting pain throughout my entire body as I take even the smallest breaths. He leaves just as crazed as he entered, the key turning in the lock, trapping me inside once again.

I strain my ears as I struggle to get my breathing under control to minimize the pain in my left side. I try to position my hand in a way that my fingers are not in excruciating pain as well. As calm and as comfortable as is possibly right now, I focus. Only silence greets my ears. I cannot hear the gangly half-crazed man, nor Jade, in the next room. I cannot hear any signs of our team coming to save the day from my fucked up mistake. How could I not realize the artist himself is the UNSUB, or at least part of the team. The gangly half-crazed man was not the artist, nor the usher. They must be a well orchestrated trio with some sick game planned. Maybe all three men take part in the abuse, torture and rape of the females. The silence drags on for so long even my dark thoughts abandon me and I drift off into a fitful slumber.

When I wake again I am first aware of Jade screaming so loud and full of anguish and distress that I forget my broken bones as I struggle anew against the chains until my own pain makes me stop. Maybe that was his purpose, break just enough bones to prevent me from struggling and getting free, keep me in enough pain that I am easily awakened by her shouts and completely incapable of helping her. Physically torture her and mentally torture me.

Jade is screaming and crying so much, so loudly it takes me a few minutes to hear our captor shouting as well, "Say it, say it slut!" he shouts, sounding more deranged than when he was telling me about the abuse. "You are getting wet and creamy, slut! Say it!" He shouts, laughing at his words or whatever torture is going on beyond the wooden door. I begin to cry in sympathy for my dear friend. I have never felt so powerless, so hopeless to help someone in need. Not even when I witnessed Maeve being murdered, had I felt so hopeless. At least everything I did that day was my own choice. If only she would say those 3 words, we could be released. Or more likely he will go off the deep end and murder us both. After too many long minutes of screams, cries and his shouting, he runs the water and pours from the decanter again. The same ritual of cleaning something for 10-15 minutes. Crazy as he is, he certainly follows a pattern.

Again, after way too long of a silence, the key slides into the lock, he unlocks your door, and enters brandishing those same weapons. I hadn't noticed him collecting the scalpel last time, or perhaps it was another one. He pauses at the same spot, just beyond the reach of his crowbar.

"Your slut didn't say it again. How can you fuck someone not smart enough to say the right thing? Are you one of those sissy boys?" he cackles darkly, gesturing to my groin with his scalpel. "Well, rest easy you pretty city boy. She didn't damn ya yet. She's in one piece. For now." He picks the chair up, unfolding it and facing me. He unties my left hand. The broken one. I immediately cradle it to my side, assessing the wound as well as the ribs he also crushed. Before I can fully assess my health, he thrusts an unopened, completely sealed water bottle under my nose. I grab for it and instinctively say thanks. I struggle to crack the seal on the water bottle, only able to use my crushed left hand, but manage to open it under his wild stare and maniacal laughter, and I was whimpering and moaning at the sharp pain it caused. I drink the whole bottle, parched. How long have I been here? There are no windows, I cant see a clock or my watch. It feels like its been days, weeks maybe. Has he been feeding me?

After I drink the last drops from the water bottle, he rips it from me, forces my left hand back to the cot and re-latches the chain. He resumes his regaling of what horrors he submitted Jade to. This time I can't hold back, I openly cry when he tells me about the rape, about how he says she begs for it, especially since I've heard her cries and screams. None of them are in any way mistaken for ecstasy.

He leaves, satisfied of my misery and my hydration. Again, I am alone with my thoughts and listening to hear any inkling of Jades status. It remains silent on her side of the door for so long I drift off to uncomfortable, nightmare filled slumber once again.

Jade POV

I regain consciousness slowly, stirring, every bone aches. I can feel my nakedness, my backside pressed into a rough surface, not a stitch of clothing in the damp, musty and chilly room. The smell is almost overpowering, the dampness. My wrists are pulled together over my head and chained to the table I am on, as well as both of my ankles. Assessing my condition further, I also can feel my toes are all broken as well as two of my fingers. "Fuck" I mutter to myself. Opening my eyes, blinking a few times to adjust to the dark room, I look around, it appears I am in some basement workshop or something similar. There are very small slits of windows near the ceiling of the room I am trapped in. However, no light shines through them. Either what lies on the other side is some larger garage, warehouse or it is nighttime.

I hear something soft, muffled. It sounds like my name. It almost sounds like Spencer. I shake my head, impossible. The UNSUB only takes females. The shaking causes a new wave of pain, every bone in my body aches anew, my head absolutely pounding. How long have I been here? My calves are propped up in stirrups and I am laying on the most uncomfortable wooden work table. Like some medieval, backwoods gynecology clinic. I almost chuckle but stop myself, certain it will hurt more. Everything I do hurts new places on my body that I wasn't even aware could hurt. Then there is the terrible soreness between my legs and I realize I have been sobbing aloud. The UNSUB has already been raping me while unconscious, I sob harder as the realization sinks in.

Again, I swear I can hear Spencer Reid calling my name. I do shake my head again despite the wave of agony. It's probably some after effects of the roofies causing the headache and pain in my head I tell myself, probably causing auditory hallucinations as well. I didn't know it could be absorbed through the skin, but maybe it is some new street version.

After maybe 5 more minutes I think I hear it a third time, louder and clearer, if only slightly.

"Spence?" I croak, my voice so hoarse. I must have been screaming in my drugged up condition while he raped me so roughly my thighs and everything in between are aching and on fire now.

"Don't drink anything. He's drugging you and raping you. I'm chained in the closet over here. He's been gone maybe 3 hours by now. He's insane. He has no sense of reality. He told me if you say 'I-I-I love you', he'll let us go. Don't drink anything he offers you. Say you love him. Get us out of here" Spencer tells me rapidly. He sounds okay, hoarse but okay, as well as terrified he will be caught talking to me.
"What? Why are you here? He doesn't take men. Is he hurting you too?" I ask my friend and teammate frantically, my voice somewhat clearer this time.
"No, don't worry about me. I'm just a little claustrophobic back here, that's all." Spencer manages that dark chuckle that gives me shivers. That reminds me he was once addicted to pills.

"Spence-" I am about to ask him about the drugs but he cuts me off.
"Shhhh he could be coming back any second. Do not give any indication that we talked. Remember, I love you. Uh. Remember that's what you are supposed to say." Spencer mumbles, trailing off, quietly. I can hear him shifting on whatever he is chained to in the closet.

"I love you too Spencer" I whisper, vowing with all my heart. I promise myself to stay awake until the crazy rapist shows up, plotting how to save us both. I have come to truly feel for Spencer these last few weeks. When he helped me with the media in Oklahoma, chatting in the bullpen at work, escorting me into the art gallery, all of it has been such a pleasure. I had been a fool to pretend I wasn't falling for Spencer Reid, hard. Not like I could do anything about it, being assigned to the same team.

Finally, after several very long hours, he returns, but not from the door I can see near the windows in front of me. From somewhere behind me. No matter how I twisted on the table, I couldn't see him in the dim lights and deep shadows until he was practically upon me. It was then that I remembered I was naked. I tried to pull my thighs together, bring my upper arms down, across my chest but to no avail. The chains didn't give enough slack to offer any modesty. What does it matter, he has had plenty of time to memorize every inch of my body. I see what Spencer was saying, this guy is crazy, he has a wild look to his eyes, something is missing there.

That maniacal laugh that haunted my nightmares, or maybe those were reality? It brought me back to the present. He dropped his heavy duffle bag next to the bed and began loosening the leather belt. "The sluts awake" he chuckles and it sends a chill to my core. Every cell in my body is revolting and attempting to get away from this man, pure evil. I remember Spencer's warning. I look into his eyes, his wild icy blue eyes, and say it imagining another man in his place, "I love you" I croak, still hoarse.

He just laughs louder. "You think that's what I want? Dumb slut!" And he slaps my face, so hard it turns my face away from him. He steps down to the end of the table, positioning himself between my legs, still shackled in the stirrups. His filthy hands, looking like they just spent 8 hours working on cars, covered in oil and grime, grip his wrinkled cock and slide it swiftly into my most private slit. Dry. No preparation on his part, no consideration for me. I try to stifle the cry, certain Spencer can hear every noise, but I cannot control the sobbing cry that erupts from deep in my chest. I lose any and all control, and just sob and cry loudly as he laughs ever louder as he rapes me. Again. His grimy hands grip my hips, feel my flat stomach, trace around my nipples as I sob, cry, scream and moan in pain, embarrassment and genuine sadness that this is how I will die. If the team hasn't found us by now, will they ever? The crazy man, our captor, my rapist, finishes with a roar, a groan of animalistic pleasure. His wild eyes and that animalistic tone makes me wonder if he is even human. I cry louder as I can feel the seed leaking out of my slit.

As he withdraws his wrinkled and spent cock from me, he grasps the toes on my left foot, definitely all broken. He sings the awful lullaby "This little piggy" and wiggled each broken toe with each verse, moving to the right foot and singing again. He paused after he finished the song, as if he were waiting for something that never happened, some reaction beyond my crying and sobbing, eventually he wanders over to the basin sink, wets a washcloth thoroughly and returns to my side. He wipes all the outward evidence of his crime away. He swipes into my folds and slit, and gets every drop as I whimper and cry, body trembling at his touch. Somehow this is more humiliating than the actual rape. Feeling him cleaning me so intimately, it is somehow more violating, degrading and more humiliating. I close my eyes and pretend it is some other males touch, remove myself from this horrible reality. Surely this is all a nightmare and I will wake up in my bed untouched and whole.

Satisfied with his attempts of cleanliness, my rapist offers me a drink. I take a mouthful, careful not to swallow. Smiling his maniacal grimace, he swiftly grabs the duffle bag and turns away. I spit the beverage on the floor as he enters the room next to the basin sink and taunts Spencer briefly before beating him with whatever was in the duffle bag. I couldn't see what he retrieved before leaving the bag at the door. The sounds are horrific. My sobs turn into full body tremors as I cry out and scream for mercy for my friend. As soon as the beatings start they end. My captor and rapist swiftly collects his belongings and leaves out the door I cannot see. I struggle to remain awake. I have no clue about the passage of time.

To my best estimate several more hours passed. It might have been as brief as 5 minutes, it might have been a day or more, until I hear a rattling at the door, the one I can see by the windows, the door that I assume leads to a garage since it remains exactly as pitch dark on the other side of the windows as ever. No fading or lightening of the darkness. I cannot see the source of light behind me but I assume it is near the door I also cannot see. It offers only enough light to distinguish the rough shapes of the room I am in but none of the specifics. Of course.

The door continues to rattle. "Spencer!" I shout. "Spence, I think its them! The team is at the door. Are you there Spencer?" I shout, eager and hopeful for the first time since I entered that art gallery. How long ago was that?
An even softer reply than before comes, you can't tell what he said, but he was still alive. His voice is weak and soft. Whatever our captor is doing to him must be brutal.

A few seconds later, that door bursts open and a very frantic David Rossi rushes in, sweeping his handgun along the perimeter of this dusty room. Finally I can see it appears to be a workshop for a mechanic, car parts and tools litter the walls, cabinets and counters. I whimper and he runs to my side, shrugging out of his FBI windbreaker to cover me, finally giving me some modesty. His eyes rave over my body, not in the predatory, animalistic way of my captor, but in a caring way, assessing my wounds, making sure I am okay, or at least okay enough, I am not broken beyond repair, making sure I am still in here and not a useless, spent shell of a human. A victim that will never return. He works at the cuffs and restraints at each of my limbs, swiftly freeing me. I flex my head and neck in the direction of the door by the basin sink and shout with all my remaining energy "Spencer is in there. He sounds terrible" and my voice comes out a hoarse, weak croak, breaking and barely a whisper by the end of the sentence.

Hotch and Morgan bust that door next, I hadn't even noticed them entering the room. The rest is a blur. At some point I had grabbed Rossi's hand and wouldn't let go. I kept staring into his warm brown eyes, needing the connection, the security. I needed to know I was finally safe. Eventually medics load Spencer and I onto an ambulance against both of our feeble protests. Once the doors to the ambulance close I realize that I am no longer holding Rossi's strong, comforting, powerful hand but rather my fingers are entwined in Spencer's delicate hands. I glance over and he is sleeping peacefully. I can't disrupt that, so I keep my hand in his until they unload us and send he and I to opposite ends of the ER for evaluation.

I awaken to a nurse practitioner speaking to the team in my hospital room. According to her, both agents to make a full recovery. I sigh with some relief, not realizing how worried I was for Spencer. Despite her assurance that I will be fine, I feel like I am already laying in the pit of my own grave. Spencer and I are both dehydrated and have several broken fingers and toes. Spencer has 2 cracked ribs. I have 4 cracked ribs and a concussion which I have zero recollection of receiving, fittingly. I asked the doctors and nurses, they all assured me I hadn't gotten pregnant by the rapist, but if by some medical error I did, they provided me with some phone numbers of good doctors and clinics in DC. By the time Spencer and I are released from the hospital and cleared for the flight home, the rest of our team had wrapped up the case. They all took turns sitting with us, updating us on the case and bringing edible food.

The night before we were to be released, Rossi slept in a poorly stuffed armchair at the end of my bed. That night I had a dream, a memory. I remembered some of the things I had said as the team was retrieving Spencer and I from the garage warehouse. I made a fool of myself in front of Rossi and didn't even give him the dignity of walking away as I had a death grip on his hand. Yet, he was still here, unable to leave me alone, by myself in the safety of a hospital room. The local police had provided guards on the hospital unit, but he always was watching out for my safety, the insufferable bastard. I am not sure if Aaron knew he was here. I woke before him and just watched the old man as he slept very uncomfortably in the barely padded and too small armchair. He finally stirred when the nurse aid delivered my breakfast tray. I offered Dave half of the cup of coffee and the bowl of nearly fresh fruit. He gracefully declined, leaving the room. He returned about 30 minutes later with my discharge paperwork and two cups of proper, aromatic and life sustaining coffee.

I sit up at the edge of bed to attempt getting dressed, reaching for my bag with my clothing, Dave asks if I need JJ or Blake to help and I shake my head and thank him. He heads out to give me some privacy despite having seen it all when I was shackled to that table. I slip the hospital gown down over my shoulders and tug and on my liaison official outfit, somewhat wrinkled, and meet the rest of the team at the nurses station, hobbling carefully on the newly issued crutches from the hospital physical therapist. Spencer looked haunted when he joined minutes later. How much had he heard? How much had he endured of his own? Did I look that terrible as well? Is it the hospital lighting?

We both limped, effected by our injuries, surrounded and supported by our team, directly from the shuttle to the airport and onto the waiting jet. Spencer claimed the couch as always and was asleep before his short, curly topped hair hit the pillow. JJ sat on the seat at the end of the couch, lifting Spencer's feet from the cramped edge of the couch and tugging, placing them on her lap. Motherly or best friend? Either way it was adorable.

Morgan and Aaron sat near the front of the jet in Aaron's preffered private corner. Blake took the diagonal back corner and buried her nose in a paperback novel. I looked to the seat next to Rossi, he offered an open palm, gesturing for me to sit down. I do sit down, facing Morgan and Aaron completely across the cabin of the jet. A small radius of open air between the two of you and the rest of the team. I quietly and swiftly apologize for what I said and what Rossi had to see in that garage.

He forgives me just as swiftly, chuckling as he offers me a sip of his Scotch which I decline due to the pain meds.

"Why would you ever apologize? Hotch is the one who should be apologizing, groveling at your feet for forgiveness." Dave counters, looking sympathetic.

"I said some odd and unwarranted things when you found me. Thank you for covering me with your windbreaker. Thanks for everything," I smile to him, his warm eyes tender.

"Like I said, Piccolina mia*, no need to apologize. If I were to be upset every time someone said something regrettable to me I would never find rest."

"You mean it?" I ask, leaning back and getting comfortable in the reclining seats of the jet.

"Mhmm, I am a man of my word," Dave replies as he finishes his Scotch.

We continue chatting as I begin to feel the exhaustion catch up to me. Swiftly, almost too swiftly, I fall asleep and don't even feel my head sliding against the senior agents shoulder. The scent of his cologne is comforting and familiar. I feel safe as I drift off to sleep. I don't know if the soft kiss to the top of my head was a dream or reality.

I definitely did not notice the strong arm wrapping around my shoulder pulling me closer or the dark glare from Aaron Hotchner directed at David Rossi as my breath slowed, evened out and I found my first good rest in 9 days.

Piccolina mia = my sweet one/my little one

"Not wanting to die was another universal constant, it seemed." Robert J. Sawyer