41 hours in and Emily lay half asleep on her side. Her knees were slightly bent and her arms were in the most comfortable position she could achieve, with her wrists still bound behind her back. 18 hours they'd been tied there, now. The joints of her arms were screaming at her the loudest, despite the maturing welts and chromatic bruises settling in on her face and torso. She was exceptionally fit, yet her body liked to use situations like these to remind her that Thirty had come and gone. Emily could take a beating well enough, yet joint stiffness insisted upon being her biggest adversary. Figures…, she thought wryly to herself for the eleventh time that day.

It had been several hours since her last visit from Kathy. At least, so she thought—time was becoming harder to gauge. The kind woman had brought Emily water and tended to her wounds the first time, then she sparsely returned a few times more, to help Emily to the bathroom. Now, Emily lay thinking of nothing, as she had fully exhausted her cashe of busying thoughts. The silence surrounding her was disrupted only by familiar murmurs and dull thuds emanating through the walls of the compound. Until recently, she had spent countless hours and brain cells scheming methods of communication with the outside. She played out every possible scenario regarding her escape and the safe extrication of Cyrus's followers. She had plans A through Q fully memorized by Hour 32, and by this point, Hour Whatever-Something, she was done reciting the steps. She just lay still and quiet, welcoming sleep of whatever quality, whenever it would take her.

Out of the silence, Emily stiffened. Her ears perked as she registered the clicks and scratches of a brass doorknob being unlocked then carefully rotated. Would Cyrus's henchman be back again to drag her down to the chapel, for yet another prophetic peacocking? Would it be Kathy, back to care for Emily? Could it possibly be… Reid? All these thoughts flooded Emily's mind at once, and she had a millisecond to live in the unknown before all wonder was shoved from her mind. Harsh reality needed room for itself.

The door opened just a third of its span, and in slipped Benjamin Cyrus. He quickly turned and gently shut the door behind him, then turned the lock. Emily's eyes locked on the man and tracked his every move. Heat started to rise in Emily's face. She started to hear her heartbeat against her eardrums, but she remained composed. She willed herself to face each second as it came. Is he here for that? Is he going to do it now? Emily barely registered her own thoughts. She was pure sympathetic nervous system.

As Cyrus turned from the door knob to face Emily, the pair of them locked eyes, but neither made a sound. Emily noted Cyrus's expressionless face but clocked a dark hunger in the man's eyes. She knew that look. Every woman on this planet had come to know that look. Guarding herself, Emily met him with an equally blank stare.

Emily swallowed hard as Cyrus approached her slowly. He reached out underhandedly and took firm hold of her chin. Then, he gently and meticulously rocked her head from one side to the other. He seemed to be assessing his handiwork. Though, as the man's expression remained unwavering, Emily found herself allowing doubt into her mind. She remained guarded, but allowed herself, for just a moment, to wonder if this was an act of remorse. Is he regretting what he did to my face? Though Emily was sure she knew better, the thought creeped its way into her conscious mind and nearly dragged hope along with it. However, before the optimistic thought uhad time to make itself comfy in Emily's head, Cyrus unceremoniously released her chin from his fingertips as he took a step back from the bed.

Emily watched the man's hands as they traveled to his own belt buckle. The heat in Emily's face began to build again, and the throbbing in her ears intensified until it was replaced completely by a high-pitched ringing. The sound was so loud, yet Emily was so acutely aware of the silence surrounding her and the predator standing before her. The silent ringing was punctuated first by the friction of leather sliding against denim, then the light jingling of metal parts loosely colliding, and finally, the unmistakable sound of a zipper's metal teeth distinctly unclasping themselves in quick succession.

So this is what's happening, then. Emily thought to herself, resigned. Emily closed her eyes and heaved a sigh, as she rolled herself onto her back. She saw no point in waiting for Cyrus to force her body into this position, as she was too sore and too restrained to put up a fight. She thought she'd save herself from any more agony as best she could.

Emily inadvertently rolled her eyes as she opened them, before fixing her gaze on a small crack in the ceiling above her. Her body was actively rejecting what was coming, but in her mind, she wasn't quite scared. She was annoyed, truly aghast thinking of the predictability of men like Cyrus. She was angry as well—angry at the audacity of men like him who think they have so much power, yet are so weak to their own libido. She could do this. She could take this. She had used her body before, to beat men not unlike Cyrus. Sure, this time was different—but not that different, so she told herself.

I can take it.

Emily's breathing hitched and then quickened as Cyrus approached her with his unfastened trousers. He reached out and grazed her right jawline with his fingertips before taking both hands to the neckline of her button-up shirt. In one swift motion her blouse was ripped open and her torso was exposed. Emily rolled her eyes shut and clenched her jaw, as she suppressed any urge to make noise. Cyrus briefly peeked under Emily's bra and haphazardly fondled her breasts before turning his attention to removing her bottom garments.

Emily squinted and grimaced as the man above her unfastened her trousers and began tugging them down her thighs. I can do this. I can do this, Emily encouraged herself as she found it harder the remain composed.

As the event progressed, Emily became evermore aware of the audio transmitters planted in the building. She remembered that her colleagues and supporting federal staff were likely monitoring every mic. She prayed Rossi, Hotch, and Morgan were focusing their attention on more active transmissions. Regardless, she vowed to keep quiet so that her current ordeal would not be captured by any proximal bugs. Cyrus wasn't making a sound. He had his own people to hide his depravity from. Emily resolved to stay quiet too. Maybe she was lucky he wasn't in a preaching mood at this hour. Maybe this encounter could go entirely unnoticed.

Maybe it could be like it never happened.

It was less than a minute by the time Cyrus had bared Emily's lower half, leaving her slacks scrunched and dangling around her left ankle. Her face was hot. Her ears were ringing. Though Emily became aware that Cyrus was inside her, she was late to register the assault had begun. And yet, she viscerally felt the excruciating intrusion the moment it began. All was surreal as Emily tried to process that so many contradictory facts were true all at once: The encounter was so incredibly quiet (barring grunts and heaves from her attacker), yet the ringing in her ears was so, so loud. She felt far away, yet inescapably close. The man was physically hurting her, profoundly, yet she felt entirely numb from her scalp to her soles. To ground herself, Emily wrenched her eyes open and stared determinedly at that crack in the ceiling. Nothing contradicted that crack. Nothing combatted its realness. And that crack wasn't hurting her. That blemish in the ceiling was true and tangible and unmoving. She would fix her gaze on it until this was over.

Emily felt the man release inside of her, but she didn't react to it. She was still existing both somewhere and nowhere, but the crack was correctly in its place on the ceiling. Cyrus dismounted, then wiped himself off on Emily's sprawled shirt before tucking himself away. He nonchalantly reconnected the fastenings of his lower garments. He took four steps to the door, handled the knob, took exactly six seconds to collect himself, then disappeared into the hall beyond. *click*

Emily's gaze was still fixed on the ceiling straight above her, but the click of the lock hit her like a defibrillator. Her senses returned to her all at once. Emily gasped, turned to her side and curled in on herself, allowing herself to sob heavily into the linens of the twin bed, muffling the sounds as best she could. I could take it. I did it. I took it. I'm okay. It's over. It's done. The mantras played on repeat in her mind for nearly an hour. Eventually, as the adrenaline drained from Emily, sleep swooped right in to tuck her away for as long as it could manage. She was grateful for the reprieve.

*Knock knock knock* Emily woke with a start, held her breath, and fixed her eyes on the bedroom door. She felt cold pins and needles in her spine as her fear reignited. However, she was soothed just milliseconds later as she registered the familiar sound of knuckles gently rapping at the door. She wasn't surprised to see Kathy emerging from behind it. The caring woman always used the soft knock to announce herself before entering.

Emily was calm and grateful to see her visitor. However, the kind and gentle woman who had already entered the room several times that day was certainly not prepared for the scene she encountered upon walking in. This time, everything wasn't as she'd left it.

Kathy halted and her eyes widened as she processed the image of the half-naked agent lying curled and defeated upon the mattress. Kathy felt dread, guilt, and empathy pour through her body all at once. Her eyes grazed the scene, then dropped to the floor as the clear truth of the scene hit her. She turned on her heel, shut the door, and locked it. Kathy then walked toward the vulnerable agent cautiously. She abandoned the water glass she was carrying on a credenza to her right then squatted at Emily's bedside, crumpling handfuls of the bed linens in her fists.

"Sweetie, who did this?!" Kathy asked with genuine concern and bafflement, a hush to her voice.

"You know who did this, Kathy." Emily had no space left to entertain willful ignorance.

Kathy's mouth fell agape and she shook her head as she failed to find words. Emily watched as a battle of conflicting thoughts swept across the mother's face.

"You made that 9-1-1 call." Emily said pointedly. This was her chance to get through to the woman.

Kathy darted her eyes and stood up to start fussing over getting Emily "decent." She reached for Emily's bottom garments with one hand and used her other to feed Emily's ankle back through her pant leg. "This is all my fault. If I hadn't made that call…."


TBC ...

In a scenario like the one presented in minimal loss, we know the only reason it wasn't worse, is bc we had cbs to deal with.

I am interested in exploring the aftermath deeper. Hang tight.