A/N: You guys are the best! Thanks for all the positive reviews!
As always, I own nothing. If I did, Shemar Moore would be seen shirtless a LOT more!
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"When are you coming, Derek?" Penelope whispered quietly. She lay on a twin bed, the blankets underneath her worn and yellowed. She kept touching her ring, calming herself by imagining Derek as he asked her to marry him.
"I told you before. Derek Morgan will never find you." The mechanical voice sneered.
"And I told you, Derek won't leave me here. I know him. He'll find me. It might take forever, but he will find me!"
"He has already moved on. He went out with a woman last night. Tamara, I believe her name was."
Penelope stared for a moment, then snorted. "He wouldn't be with Tamara again. Above all else, Derek is honest. He'd never ask one woman to marry him only to go to another days later."
"He might if he thought you were dead."
"Wh..Why would he think that? He knew where I was."
"Well, it might have something to do with the make up job I gave you while you were…sleeping."
"You drugged me! I didn't sleep. What do you mean, make up job?" Penelope's mind was whirling as she fought against the cuffs holding her securely to the bed frame.
"See for yourself. I send it to him myself." The man cackled and showed her an 8x10 photo of herself. She had a red circular mark in the middle of her forehead, looking incredibly similar to gunshot wounds she had seen in the past, complete with a small trickle of blood. Her clothes were askew as if they had been torn away, and dark purple and blue splotches showed on her thighs and stomach. If she hadn't known better, she would have sworn she was looking at a crime scene photo of a woman who had been raped and murdered.
"He won't believe it." She said defiantly, although doubt was beginning to creep in.
"Oh, but he will. I am a very good artist, Penelope. Very good indeed. You see, all of the men in my family have a particular talent. Mine is makeup and photography. My brother is the jock of the family, went into the Army and became a Ranger. Toughest guy I've ever known, and brilliant with a weapon. My cousin is a computer expert, the best there is. My father was an expert in turning men into men. It was a harsh school, but we all learned well."
"Please, just let me go. What do you want from me?"
"Me? Nothing at all. You are simply safe here from detection. However, you are a gift. Be proud, for you are the greatest gift that this particular recipient will ever receive."
"What recipient? What are you talking about?"
"In time, sweet Penelope… in time."
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"Derek, you need to get some rest. You're not doing anyone any good here." Hotch insisted, watching his agent closely.
"I need to be here, Hotch. I can't sleep until I have her back. I just…every time I close my eyes I see her. I LEFT her Hotch! I left her to go play cowboy and to get the UNSUB. She had just asked me to be more careful. I should have listened. I never should have left her."
"You had no way of knowing that it was a group. You only knew of the one shooter, you had no way of knowing he had a partner, much less two of them."
"I just should have stayed with her. She was already scared, Hotch. Why did I leave her? Why would I make that worse?" Derek scrubbed his head with this hands hard in frustration. "They've had her for five days, Hotch. We both know the odds. If I ever get her back, what's the likelihood of her being the same?"
"She won't be the same, Derek. None of us are after witnessing horror. But Penelope is much stronger than you give her credit for. She will find a way to stay herself. She hasn't lost herself to this job, and she won't lose it to evil either. Have faith in her Derek, just like I know she is having faith in this team to find her."
"I have a delivery for SSA Derek Morgan." A tall, slim man in a UPS uniform stood in the room with a cardboard letter mailer.
"I'm Derek Morgan." Derek stood, and signed for the package.
"Have a nice day, Sir."
"You too," Derek said dismissingly as he ripped open the cardboard strip.
"NO! Oh, God no. Please!" Derek yelled as he pulled out a photo, and dropped to his knees, tears streaming down his face as he stared at the picture in front of him.
Penelope lay handcuffed to a bed, face and body bruised, clothes torn and worst of all, a bullet wound in her forehead.
"Derek! DEREK!" Hotch yelled, trying to get his attention, but the force of his grief was too high, and he didn't hear him.
"Oh, Baby Girl. Please, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Baby Girl. Please…Forgive me, oh God, please forgive me!"
The team gathered around him as Hotch ordered everyone not in the BAU out of the conference room. Varying stages of grief and pity were obvious. JJ and Reid both cried freely, JJ hugging Morgan's back as she cried. Prentiss turned away, not wanting anyone to see her obvious distress, while trying to stay strong. Rossi bowed his head, silently saying a prayer he had learned in his childhood. Hotch stood ramrod straight, grief lined in every pore, yet not allowing himself the chance to let go of it.
Outside the conference room, the outer office was quiet, as the officers and detectives watched the team fold in on itself, offering support to each other.
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Derek Morgan sat in his hotel room, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He wasn't normally a drinker, but tonight, he would make an exception. His solace was gone. He had no buffer left between him and the cold, harsh reality of life. He swallowed hard. His Baby Girl wouldn't smile again, or laugh at old movies. He'd never hold her after she screamed in fright from a horror movie, or kiss her quiet when she was chattering nervously.
The phone rang but Derek didn't answer it. He didn't want to talk, didn't want to debrief. He knew it was someone from the team, but didn't care enough to answer. The only person on his team he wanted to hear from, he had killed. He sighed heavily. There was only on way to fix this. Only one way to take the blame away. He put the glass down as he picked up his service weapon and held it to his head. The pain ended now.
A/N: Don't hate me! I couldn't resist the cliffie!