I didn't update until now because I was taking a break; I was swamped by homework up until Thanksgiving Break, and I just... dropped off the face of the earth... Went to Pandora for a bit (Yep, I finally saw 'Avatar' this weekend). Pretty country. Anyway...

...But the good news is, I'm back! ...And so is JJ in this chapter (She may be gone on the show, but I still wanted her to be part of this story in some capacity; I like her too much to let her leave just yet)!

Warnings for whump... Maybe spoilers if you squint...

Again, nothing is mine; I just play in the sandbox in my free time (If I don't have classes or homework). I promise to put everything back. Scout's honor! :D

….

The pen is mightier than the sword. ~Benjamin Franklin

As soon as they'd arrived at the station, Hotch had ordered an update on the profile, and that the results of all tests on evidence found at this last crime scene were to come directly to him. Finally, they checked the security cameras in front of the Resort; it was worse than they'd imagined.

They had watched Reid leave the hotel and walk toward his car, calling Hotch as he did so. As soon as the phone had been put away, a man with a baseball bat had crept up behind the retreating profiler and smacked him over the head. Reid had fallen to the ground like a Christmas tree, his head hitting the pavement, hard; the bruise created by the bat was minimal when compared to the small gash on the side of Reid's head.

At least they'd found the source of the blood spatter on the concrete outside the hotel.

Then, a second man showed up to help drag Reid toward another vehicle, the SUV, the realized, where they'd stripped him of everything but his boxers, and clothed him in a green tee shirt and pants similar to those of the other victims, down to the leaves sewn onto the material, before another car pulled up next to the Bureau-issue SUV where the first man was now stuffing Reid's clothes into the back seat.

A third man got out, helped the other two restrain Reid's hands and feet, blindfold and gag him and finally the three UnSubs threw him into the car before they all piled into the vehicle and sped off, leaving the camera footage to run for four more hours before Orlando PD and the BAU arrived to discover the gristly scene.

"Multiple UnSubs," Rossi had growled, shaking his head in disbelief. Prentiss had tried to put on her mask, the one she wore when compartmentalizing, but the mask had cracked long before she had it in place; it didn't take a profiler to see the tears sparkling in her eyes. Morgan had run his hand over his bald head before pounding on the table of the conference room and storming out into the station, a look of pure fury alight on his face. Hotch had slumped into his seat, a hand pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to even out his breathing before he lost himself to the grief and rage building in his chest.

Not since Foyet, he mused, or even Frank, had things been this bad. Not with Bale, or even the Fisher King, had they felt so lost. Not even with the blackouts in Los Angeles, when Billy Flynn had taken Ellie, and killed Matt Spicer had they felt so helpless. And things hadn't felt so dark before... not since Tobias Hankel, and that shack in rural Georiga.

::::

It was late in the evening, not long after midnight, by the time Garcia's flight landed in Orlando, and Morgan had arrived to pick her up. She stood by the luggage carousal, tapping her foot impatiently as he hurried toward her. She looked as though she was about to start crying; he chest heaving with short breaths as she tried to remain strong.

"Do you need me to get anything for you?" He asked, taking her in an embrace. He felt her collapse in his arms, moaning as if in pain. "Hey, Mama," he whispered, tilting her head up to face him, there were faint tear tracks on her cheeks. "We'll get him back; we'll find the bastards so fast that they won't even know what hit them. I promise."

"Morgan, I came as soon as I could," she began in earnest. "The moment you called, I started packing. I booked the first flight I could get and I was just walking out the door when I remembered… And I couldn't leave her hanging… We'd planned this lunch date for so long, and as soon as I called her, she knew something was up, Derek… I tried to tell her no, but of course she insisted… What was I supposed to tell her?"

"Whoa!" Morgan began. "Garcia, slow down Baby-girl. I'm sure everything sorted… itself…." Morgan looked over Garcia's shoulder, and did a double-take before finishing his sentence. "…Out."

Because walking away from the carousal, her rolling suitcase trailing behind her as she came, was JJ.

"If anyone asks," JJ explained. "I'm a concerned third party that is involved with the investigation, simply a civilian who knows Spence."

"You wanna help?" Morgan asked.

"In any capacity possible," JJ replied. "I'm not going to stand around when I know he's in trouble."

"Does Hotch know? Or Rossi, or Emily?"

"They will."

Morgan nodded. "…What about your luggage?" he asked, nodding toward JJ's suitcase; Garcia was still enfolded within his embrace.

JJ smiled; it was forced rather than the easy smile that she usually put on for them. "I got it," she told him as she strolled past.

::::

Reid opened his eyes to feel sunlight warming and blinding his face. He scrunched his eyes closed, furrowing his eyebrows as he rose from the wood floor.

"You get used to it," Johnny's voice explained softly from the corner of the room. A second later, there was a scratching noise being made in the wood. Reid raised one hand to shade his eyes and saw Johnny using a small piece of chalk to mark that another day had passed. Reid glanced over the marks. Yesterday there had been 42 vertical and diagonal lines across the wall, and with the addition of the one Johnny was now marking, there were now 43. For the first time, Reid glanced around the room.

It wasn't very big, about six and a half to seven feet long and six feet wide. The floor, walls and ceiling were all made of wood and there was a door also made of wood on the right hand side of where Reid was standing. Old metal grating near the edge of the ceiling explained the sunlight shining on his face

Six more days, Reid mused for a second before the sound of a door slamming, and heavy booted footsteps were heard walking toward their room. The door opened to reveal a buff man with a thick beard and a scowl who pointed at Reid and beckoned him toward the door.

Reid rose stiffly, glaring at the man in front of him for a moment before making his way forward. The other man's hand fisted on the back of Reid's shirt and shoved him unceremoniously into the hall, straight into the waiting arms of two more 'pirates,' who then proceeded to drag the younger man from his quarters and toward the deck; Reid heard Johnny yell something offensive toward one of their burly captors before the wooden door was slammed shut and locked with a wooden bolt across the wooden door.

Again, the sun hit the young profiler head on, and he tripped when the 'pirates' shoved him out onto the deck, stumbling and falling to his knees. An uproar of laughter echoed across the deck, and Reid, reminded of his high school days, moved to stand up, to stop the jeering, peerless laughter and prove he wasn't weak….

….Only to be stopped when the ice-cold blade of a sword was rested in the pale patch of skin between the collar of Reid's shirt and the base of his neck.

"Hello, Peter," the voice of 'Hook' whispered in the boy's ear. "Sleep well?"

The other 'pirates' continued to laugh and jeer as their leader towered over the younger man. 'Hook' smiled at them for a moment before setting another sword down, the hilt facing Reid. He stepped back, watching Reid as he glanced at the sword lying in front of him.

Many thoughts flew through Spencer's genius mind; true, he did not know how to use a sword, and could admit that he'd never handled a sword in his life, unless you counted the sword buried within the chest of the late Frank Giles, one of the 'un-repentive bad men' that had led the team to The Fisher King, a past UnSub with similar delusions to the UnSub Reid was dealing with now.

But, he knew the theory behind swordplay, the way to hold a sword, the stance a swordfighter took; the many hours spent reading his mother's many books on 16th Century Literature had helped in that case. While recovering from being shot in the knee, he'd gone to the local gym for extra physical therapy, and because the pool was used about as often as the Potomac River during 'Free Swim,' and had watched some fencing classes, and of course had been dragged into mock Lightsaber fights with some of the young men in his apartment over the years; Jordan Lee, a college student on his floor, had a passion for Star Wars.

But now, lying on the deck of a ship, Reid eyed the sword, remembering the last run-in with an instrument like this…

'Till the Hour be None….

….Can you forgive yourself, Mr. Garner?

Reid reached for the sword, his eyes shut against the glare of the sun.

Can I forgive myself …No, I can't

A flash of light… pain…

Reid opened his eyes to see 'Hook's' booted foot standing on his outreached hand, pressing it hard into the deck of the ship. Reid yowled, instinctively bringing his hand into his body and curling into a ball. Seconds later, he felt boots jabbing and kicking into his body. He lashed out, his fists and bare feet returning blows of their own. Someone grabbed both his slender hands in one meaty palm, and Reid once again felt coarse rope wrapping itself around his wrists.

"NO!" he yelled, and a second hand slapped itself around his mouth. Reid bit down until he tasted blood, and spat as the hand was quickly removed, the owner howling in pain. Someone's boot connected with Reid's skull and he blacked out once again.

...

I am not young enough to know everything. ~James M. Barrie

...

A/N: ...Are you wanting more?

Special thanks to my reviewers: CMSP, The-Vampire-Act, Noel Ardnek, SayidRocks, SSAFunbar, 68luvcarter, zannabanana and ripcurl. aus! You are so amazing! :D

And for my anonymous reviewers:
CMSP: It's not that Johnny doesn't help; he simply cannot help. His uncle keeps him locked in that room all the time, and his only companions are his chalk, the days he counts, and the victims he comforts and heals. He can't fight back, but he wants to, especially with Reid now in there with him.
RIPCURL. aus: I'm glad you like Johnny. And yes, Morgan will most likely put his emotions behind him... But it doesn't mean they won't resurface later. It's why I love writing Morgan as a character so much; he's fun to write for when he's in a good mood, and a force to be reckoned with on a case (especially when Reid's involved).

...Reviews are like leftover homemade cranberry sauce and stuffing, delish! And... No one's guessed where I got Johnny from (someone came really close, though... He is a pirate, of course... And loves his rum... Savvy?) :D

*~N_CBAU~*