Shall we see if Emily can get herself out of the jam she is in? I'm curious as all get out and I'm the one who wrote it. Must have a short attention span.

Consciousness returned in bits and pieces. Sounds and smells would punch temporary holes in the fog enveloping Emily's mind only to be filled seconds later. As time passed the holes grew bigger and the fog started to recede. Her mind now registered voices and she fought to wake. She let out a low moan and the voices fell silent.

"Here."

Something wet was pressed to her lips. Her sluggish mind said it was water and Emily drank greedily.

"That's enough." The water was taken away. "Don't want you throwing up all over me. Now open your eyes."

Emily struggled to obey. Her right eye opened to a slit but her left seemed to be glued shut.

"Hold still."

Her ears registered the sound of water being poured and then something rough and damp touched her cheek and she instinctively jerked her head back. A hand clamped onto her jaw.

"I said hold still," the voice hissed.

The pressure on her jaw increased until Emily complied. She silently endured having the rough material run over the side of her face. A hand patted her lightly on the cheek.

"There. Try again."

This time Emily was able to force both eyes open and winched at the light. To her, she was staring directly into the sun when in actuality the room was dimly lit. Squinting against the nonexistent glare, she tried to focus on the blurry shapes across from her while the drummers in her head continued their relentless pounding against her skull.

With each blink the fuzzy shapes slowly converged into the form of Ian Doyle. He was leaning back casually in a chair, one ankle resting on his knee, a water bottle in one hand and a bloody rag in the other.

"Look who has decided to join us. Enjoy your little nap?"

Emily licked her lips. Doyle gave her another sip of water. "Not particularly," she croaked.

He smiled. "Well someone has been eagerly waiting for your arrival. He's been calling your name on and off for the last three hours and it was starting to get on my nerves."

Shit, she silently swore, she had been out cold for three hours. That was not good. Probably means she has a concussion to go along with the now broken hand and wrist that throbbed from being tied behind her back.

Carefully Emily took stock of her situation. Doyle had dumped her on a wooden chair but had not tied her to it. He probably figured the concussion would prevent her from escaping and he was right. She doubted that she could take a couple of steps before falling flat on her face. Through half closed lids she looked around. She vaguely remembered being dragged out of the faucet factory. They must be in Doyle's fallback hideaway. Judging from the smaller size of the room, the low ceiling and the ductwork they were in the basement of a house and an old one at that. The foundation was made up of stone, not the cinderblock or concrete found in newer homes.

Directly behind the reclining Doyle was a door that probably opened into the room where he had stashed Jack. Through it she could just hear him calling out her name.

Doyle's smile broadened when he saw her looking over his shoulder. "Do you want to verify that I hadn't harmed a hair on his head?" he asked reading her mind.

"Yes," she said in a low voice.

He stood, calling out as he walked over. "Jackie, me boyo, guess who has finally decided to grace us with her presence." He swung the door open and Jack sidled out between him and the doorframe, giving Doyle a guarded look. Doyle pointed and Jack's face broke out into a relieved grin.

"Em'ly," he whispered. Jack scampered over, climbed into her lap and wrapped his arms around her neck in a hug. He leaned back and looked at her curiously when she didn't return the hug.

"Sweetie, are you okay? Mr. Doyle didn't hurt you, did he?" Emily asked while sweeping her eyes over him, looking for any abrasions or bruises.

"No." Jack shook his head. "He just scared me." His gaze drifted up to her forehead. "You're bleeding." He turned and glared accusingly at Doyle. "He hurt you."

"It looks worse than it is," she said, trying to mollify the boy like she had tried with Reid when Cyrus had beaten her. Neither one believed her.

"Are we going home now? You said we could."

Emily sighed. "I know I did but it looks like Mr. Doyle and I have a few things we need to talk about first. Sorry."

Jack played with a strand of her hair. "That's okay as long as you don't take forever. I don't like this place any better than the other one."

"I won't." She gave him a smile and then nodded to the door. "Jack, why don't you wait in the other room while we talk. I'll come and get you when we get done."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Jack gave her one more hug before sliding off her lap. As he walked passed Doyle he paused and abruptly kicked him as hard as he could in the shin. "That's for hurting Em'ly."

Emily suppressed a smile as her little defender marched into the room and slammed the door shut behind him.

Doyle's eyes flared in anger, his hands clenching into fists. "I warned him," he snarled.

He took a step toward the door when Emily called out. Jack with his sudden burst of chivalry had unwittingly drawn Doyle's ire. She had to redirect his anger to her. She could take it, Jack couldn't.

"Now you're going to take out your anger on a little boy? That's not very mature."

He froze and turned his steely gaze on her. She could see him grinding his teeth. She knew in that instant that she was in for a world of hurt but it would be worth it if it kept Jack safe.

"But then beating up a woman who can't defend herself isn't much better. Why don't you untie me and give me a fighting chance?" She gazed up with what she was a hopeful look. "I'll give you a run for your money."

When he didn't move, she continued. "I seem to recall whipping your ass."

He came to stand before her. "Feels like we have done this before. Now what is that word? Oh, yes. Déjà vu."

"More like a nightmare," she muttered and was rewarded with a hard slap to her left cheek that wrenched her head to the right. Emily tasted blood from where her teeth had cut into the side of her mouth. Slowly she turned her head back to him.

"I would control that tongue of yours if I were you," he warned.

"Well, you're not," she retorted earning a harder second slap that split her lip and almost knocked her out of the chair.

Emily gently prodded the lip with her tongue. "Now that you have me why don't you let Jack go?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Because he is of no use to you. My old team doesn't know about Declan. I never told them. Why don't you just drop him off on a street corner somewhere? Someone will get him back to his father."

"And that will stop his father from pursuing me?"

"Hell no. Hotch will hunt you down but releasing Jack unharmed would keep him from killing you."

Doyle appeared to be considering her suggestion.

"Which would you prefer? Buried in an unmarked grave in Potter's Field or spending the rest of your life in a cushy American prison? I might even consider bringing Declan for visits."

He chuckled. "Nice pitch, Emily. You were very convincing but its not going to fly."

Emily shrugged. "Can't blame a girl for trying."

He smiled. "No, I can't," he agreed and then the smile faded. "And I don't like being made a fool of." His foot lashed out and knocked the chair out from under her.

Emily went down in a heap. She landed on her bound hands, sending a new wave of pain shooting up her arm. The back of her head bounced off the floor with enough force to make her see stars. With a grunt she rolled onto to her side to find Doyle standing over her. He let his gaze slip over her, studying her from top to bottom, undressing her. Emily did not like where this might be heading.

"I just realized I haven't examined my handiwork from our last get together," he smirked, bending down.

She tried to push away. It was one thing to let a curious little boy look at her scar, it was quite another when the man wanted to relish in the pain he had caused. Enjoying her discomfort, Doyle reached for the hem of her shirt. Emily's knee shot up smashing into his jaw. His head jerked back, jaw snapping shut with an audible click.

He rocked back on his heels. "Aargh," he roared, rubbing his aching jaw. "You're going to pay for that." He aimed a kick at her ribs.

Anticipating the attack, Emily twisted to one side to protect her ribs and ended up taking the full brunt of the boot-clad kick with her left hip. There was a flash of excruciating pain before the leg went numb. Doyle tried a second time. Again she dodged it and took that blow on the same hip. The third time around Emily wasn't so lucky. The toe of Doyle's boot grazed her side, not hard enough to break any ribs but enough to knock the breath out of her.

While she gasped for breath, Doyle straddled her legs, lifted up her shirt and placed his hand on the scar. "Nice." He grinned maliciously and pressed down, reveling in the pained look that flashed across her face.

"And now for my masterpiece." He shifted his weight to pin her more effectively to the ground. Slowly, provocatively he ran his hand up under her shirt and along her chest. Reaching her breast, he caressed it with his fingers, searching for the clover brand.

Doyle's eyes narrowed and he removed his hand. "What did you do?" he hissed.

"What?" Emily coughed.

He surged to his feet. Grabbing her by the front of her shirt, he hauled her up. He leaned in until they were almost nose-to-nose and stared into her eyes. She matched his stare with one of her own.

"What did you do?" he repeated in a low voice shaking her.

Emily smiled. "Oh, that. I told you I had enough ink so while I was lounging around in the hospital I had a plastic surgeon remove it. He did a pretty good job. Just some minor scarring. Now you can't tell what it used to be." Though the brand may be physically gone it was still permanently burned in her mind.

"Bitch." Furious that she had discarded another one of his gifts he turned and smashed Emily face first in the wall. She was out cold before her body hit the floor.

"What the hell is going on?" Erin Strauss demanded turning from the window in Hotch's office with her arms crossed. Hotch stood still and said nothing, knowing her tirade wasn't finished.

"First your son was simply missing. Then he wasn't and was with his Aunt. And now he has been kidnapped by of all people Doyle. Which one is it, Agent Hotchner?" she regarded him with her lips pressed in a thin, disapproving line.

"The third one, Ma'am," he answered calmly.

"I see. Now tell me why I wasn't in on this little secret?"

"Because you would have wanted to form another task force and you would have also taken the team off the case."

"Damn right I would have." She laid both hands on the edge of his desk, leaned forward and said in a voice tinged with annoyance. "What made you think that your team could find Doyle when other agencies have been unable to do so in the last five months?"

Hotch paused then quickly made his decision. "I have a source," he hedged.

Strauss blinked. "A source?" she asked skeptically.

"Yes, Ma'am. A source that has an intimate knowledge of Doyle."

"Is this 'source' reliable?" she asked.

He could hear in her voice the quotation marks she had put around the word 'source'. "Absolutely. I trust her with my life."

Strauss pounced. "Her?"

"Yes. Her."

"Just who is this source of yours?"

Hotch did not hesitate. "Agent Prentiss."

She stared at him dumbfounded. "Did you just say Agent Prentiss as in the late Emily Prentiss?"

"Yes, Ma'am. I did."

Strauss began to pace. Hotch calmly watched her. "I'm confused. You're telling me your source is Agent Prentiss who has been dead for months? I seem to recall attending her funeral."

"You did," Hotch said matter-of-factly. "I faked her death."

Anger burned in her eyes. "Why wasn't I informed of this? She was, excuse me, is one of my agents."

"There wasn't time. I had to act immediately and the fewer the people who knew, the safer she was."

Strauss stepped into his personal space. Hotch never moved or blinked. "Who else was involved in this charade?" she demanded.

"Myself, Agent Jareau and the Director. The protection detail assigned to her at the hospital only knew her by her fake name."

"Agent Jareau," she said flatly.

"Yes, Ma'am. With her State Department connections, Agent Jareau was able to procure three fake passports and bank accounts that Agent Prentiss would need while in hiding."

Strauss rubbed her forehead. "Where are you hiding her?"

"She was in Paris for the last three months."

"Was?"

"She returned when she learned that Jack was missing. She wanted to help."

"Where is she now?"

Hotch paused. "I don't know. We've lost contact with her."

"Are you saying we have three people unaccounted for?"

"It would appear so."

"This is one hell of a mess, Aaron."

"I got them, Sir," Garcia said brightly, barging into the office unannounced. She skidded to a stop when Hotch and Strauss turned to stare at her. "I'm sorry," she stammered and started to back up. "I thought you were alone."

"Obviously not. You do know that there is such a thing called knocking? Try it next time," Strauss retorted.

"I'm so sorry, Ma'am. It won't happen again. I'll come back later." Garcia turned to flee.

"Garcia, what did you get?" Hotch called out, stopping the technical analyst in her tracks. He did not like it when Strauss ran roughshod over one of his people.

"I got the results on the blood found at the scene." She fiddled with the Pad in her hands. "I knew the lab techs wouldn't consider our samples as a high priority. Murder out ranks kidnapping, you know that kind of thing. So I made it my business. I kept calling every ten minutes hounding them until they bumped ours to the top of the list." She frowned. "Some of them were rather rude. They didn't seen to realize…"

"Penelope, the results," Hotch cut in.

"Oh, right." She adjusted her glasses. "The blood wasn't Jack's."

Hotch closed his eyes briefly and breathed a sigh of relief. Jack was unharmed. "Whose was it?"

Garcia bit her lip, gaze flicking nervously between the two faces. "It's Emily's and so is the vomit."

Strauss threw her hands up in disgust. "Great. This is just great. Not only do we have three people missing now we have one who is injured, possibly severely. What else can go wrong?"

Jack sat with his back to the wall watching the door and listening. He could barely make out Doyle and Emily's voices. He was a bit worried though. He had never heard two grown-ups talk the way they were. To him it sounded like they were throwing things around the room. His Mom and Dad never talked like that. They had on occasion raised their voices but they never tossed stuff at each other. He clutched the red panda tighter. His whole body jumped when something big crashed into a wall and then their voices fell silent.

Minutes passed with no sounds coming from the other room. Getting an uneasy feeling in his stomach, Jack stood up and was about to go and investigate when the door banged opened. Mr. Doyle and the man he had bitten earlier came through dragging something between them. Jack froze in shock. It was Emily they were carrying and she wasn't moving. They dumped her unceremoniously in the middle of the floor. Both men turned and left. Before Jack could even take a step, Doyle poked his head back into the room.

"Didn't want her to break her promise," he said and closed the door. The sound of the lock being thrown echoed through the room and freed Jack from his paralysis.

"Em'ly!" Jack cried rushing over and dropping to his knees beside her still body. She laid face down on the cold floor. Thinking she was sleeping, he reached out and gently shook her by the shoulder. "Wake up, Em'ly," he pleaded. "Please wake up."

Getting no response he leaned over in an attempt to see her face. From the way she was laying he couldn't see. To Jack her position didn't look comfortable so he decided to do something about it. Sliding his arms under her torso he pushed up with all his strength and managed to roll Emily over. With a final big push, Jack got her on her back. He sat back to catch his breath. He hadn't realized how heavy she was. He shook her shoulder again and was disappointed when she didn't stir.

Silently he looked her over. Jack took in the fresh blood trickling from the head wound, the bruised cheek, the small scrapes and cuts incurred when her face had connected with the stone wall, the split lip and the bloodied nose. It occurred to him at that instance that Mr. Doyle hadn't been throwing things around in the other room he had been throwing Emily.

Jack's indignity rose and he glared at the locked door. He had hurt her again. That wasn't right. His Daddy taught him that hitting people especially girls was wrong and Emily was a girl. Well, he'll make sure to tell Mr. Doyle that when he came back. Retrieving the red panda, he curled up at Emily's side and laid his head on her chest. Jack fell asleep to the steady and strong beat of Emily's heart.

Oh no! Will Emily wake up or will Jack be forced to deal with Doyle on his own? Turn in next week for the next, I hope, exciting chapter. There is always the possibliity it could be a down right downer of a chapter.