A/N: Like I said before, the timeline for this is really off, so bear with me.
HAPPY HOLIDAYS! (I don't know what you celebrate.)

Chapter 5: Rescue Me

"For someone who needs refuge, a key is provided."
― Anna Keesey,

When Mike came to, he could feel nothing but pain. His entire body ached, and every movement was a struggle. His neck and stomach were on fire. Mike looked around, careful to keep his neck steady. The room was dark, so Mike knew he'd been here for a while. How long, that, he didn't know. What he did know, was that he was hungry and really thirsty too. He needed to get something in his mouth – water, and something that wasn't old socks. Mike's lips were starting to crack, and his throat was parched. Paul wasn't around, but Mike knew better than to underestimate him. He could have mounted cameras to spy on Mike; although they wouldn't do much good in the dark.

The loud ringing of his phone sliced through the darkness. Even though his head was pounding, and his body cried out every time he moved, Mike knew he had to answer the phone. He couldn't handle another round of whatever Paul had in store for him, and this could be his only chance. With his pants around his knees, and his hands tied, Mike forced himself to devise a plan.

He eased himself down the bed, shimmying the pants up his legs. In doing so, the rope around his wrists tightened, cutting into his skin. Mike squeezed his eyes shut, trying his best to ignore the pain. He raised his hips, attempting to finally reach his phone. The sealed wound on his stomach split and started to bleed. The beads of sweat travelling down his body stung like acid. He paused, staying completely still.

Maybe he could wait this out. He could pass out, be burnt, branded, beat up. Paul could break every bone in his body, but Mike knew there was no way Paul could kill him. Paul was capable, no doubt about that, but killing a federal agent? He'd already been arrested for suspicion on Juan's murder – but even though he'd been cleared on that, Mike's sudden disappearance would cause a lot of questions.

The phone rang out. Guess Mike's decision was made for him. He would be stuck here as long as Paul's depraved heart desired. With the pain and thought of death making him light-headed, Mike made a last-ditch attempt to the phone. He flicked his feet upward and curled into a ball. He crooked his neck and gripped the phone with his teeth. Mike almost passed out from the pain, but the little success spurred him on. He flung his neck back and with a great deal of accuracy, and a shitload of luck, the phone landed next to his head.

Even though Mike couldn't talk, thanks to the socks in his mouth, he prayed that the phone would ring again. He couldn't take much more of this – the pain was getting to him. Black dots danced in his vision as the darkness drew near.

GRACELAND ~ GRACELAND ~ GRACELAND ~ GRACELAND

"He's not answering!" Spencer yelled, slamming the phone down. What he didn't realize was that he was shaking – perhaps 'trembling' was the better word – with fear. "What if Paul did something to him?" Morgan wrapped his arms around Spencer, leaning his head on Spencer's shoulder.
"Don't – You can't think like that." Morgan whispered, "Mike's probably in the shower or something. Try again later." Spencer nodded slowly - he had paled - and Morgan was worried. He let go of Spencer, "You okay?"
"Yeah. I'm…" Spencer leaned against the wall, steadying himself, "I'm, uh –"
"Spence?" Morgan hovered over his husband, clearly distressed over Spencer's condition. His phone rang, and he swore before answering it.

"Morgan."
"We have a case." Morgan recognized the voice as his boss, Aaron Hotchner, "It's rather sensitive. Serial killer with a body count of over 35 – previously arrested for assault with a deadly weapon. Charges were dropped when the victim recanted."

"That sounds awfully convenient…" A stifled moan escaped Spencer's lips as he crumpled to the floor, "Shit! I'll call ya back, Hotch." Morgan rushed over lifting Spencer from the ground, and rests him on the couch before calling 911. "Spencer? I need you to wake up." Morgan grabbed one of his shoulders, shaking lightly.

The ambulance arrived within minutes. People – especially paramedics – really seemed to care about law enforcement personnel. They loaded Spencer onto the gurney and set off down the road. Morgan followed close behind in a black SUV. Then it hit him. Maybe he should call Mike. I mean, if Spencer was that worried about him, then Mike would want to know, right? He grabbed Spencer's phone (which had been rudely shoved into the cup holder) and scrolled down the contacts. 'Mikey' was the most recent call made. Morgan pressed call.

GRACELAND~GRACELAND~GRACELAND~GRACELAND

It sounded far away, but it was definitely there. There, in the dark room, Mike's prayers had been answered. His phone was ringing again. Mike smashed his face against the screen, the action doing nothing to help stop the pounding in his head.

"Hello, is this Mike? My name's Derek, I'm married to Spencer." The strange voice tapered out – or maybe Mike stopped listening. Either way, he was thankful for it. Suddenly, Mike realized his eyes were starting to close. He was finally going to die, and he would welcome death with a smile. "Mike? Spencer's in the hospital. He collapsed –"Mike seemed to have a change of heart and made as much noise as he could, straining his vocal cords, hoping that his muffled shouts came out at least semi-coherent.

Morgan didn't need to be an FBI agent to know that Mike was in trouble, at least hurt enough so he couldn't talk. By some strange miracle though, Morgan seemed to understand him. "Did Paul do this to you?" Morgan asked – he had to help Mike.
Mike yelled some more, pushing his body to the limit. "I'm gonna put a trace on this call, okay? Stay on the line." Morgan was answered by the sound of faint breathing on the other end. "Mike? I need you to stay awake."

A/N: Morgan and Mike finally meet! Looks like Mike's gonna be outta that hell-hole soon. Aren't you glad? I am. J