Chapter Text
Emily: “A woman is like a tea bag, you never know how strong she is until you put her in hot water. Eleanor Roosevelt “
"God will forgive me for what I must do.”
She watched as he clicked the safety off and pointed the weapon in Spencer’s face.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“One of you does. Who is it?”
“Me. It’s me.”
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Emily lay awkwardly on the uncomfortable single bed, the bedding coarse and scratching at her wrists, which were pinned painfully underneath her, slowly going numb from their tied position. Lowering her leg from the window she heaves a sigh as she turns her head looking toward the door.
She knows now that her team are coming.
Three am.
Emily figures it must be near midnight now, which means they don’t have much time. She bites her dry, cracked lip, as the responsibility of rescuing all these women and children sits on her chest like an anvil pinning her to the bed. This is a minimal loss situation, she knows all too well what that means, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t make sure she gets as many out as possible.
The footsteps come closer and she waits, she assumes it will be Kathy coming back in to tend more to her injuries. Kathy is her best chance, it was her who made the 911 call, to save her daughter, to save the others girls yet to come. Emily will have to lean on that maternal strength and hope Kathy has the courage to do what Emily so desperately needs.
But as the door swings open, it’s not Kathy who enters the room.
Cyrus stalks towards her and Emily can see vengeance burning in his eyes. But there’s something else there too, she studies him and as he sits on the edge of the bed, she realises what it is.
Resignation.
“We had something good here.”
Emily says nothing, but waits. Cyrus has his eyes on his hands, which he’s flexing in and out of fists. Emily can tell he wants to hurt her again, that in his mind, this is all her fault. She doesn’t bother pointing out that the raid was conducted by state police and had nothing to do with the FBI. There’s no point.
“I had so much more left to do.” He sounds almost sad, wistful over the loss of his planned future, and if Emily didn’t know better, she might have felt sorry for him. “Until you came and ruined it.”
Cyrus turns then and Emily knows in that moment that she’s in for more pain. That his anger needs an outlet and she’s that vessel. “Cyrus…” she begins, but he cuts her off.
“I will punish them for their ways, and repay them for their deeds.” His hand comes up and Emily braces herself to be struck or dragged to the floor, but to her surprise his touch is gentle. He caresses her stomach lightly, where her shirt has risen, exposing her bare flesh. His hands, though gentle, cause her skin to erupt in gooseflesh and she feels a wave of nausea hit her from his unwelcome touch. She watches him, carefully trying to figure out if the gentleness is a moment of humanity that she could potentially exploit. But as he raises his head, his eyes bore into hers and she realises with sinking certainty, that it’s not.
He’s on top of her in a flash, his unbearable weight pinning her deep into the mattress as he straddles her legs. Her hands that are already painfully numb under her, tense and she tries once more to break them apart, but the rope is too tight and as it digs further into her flesh she can feel the sting of the burn.
Meanwhile his hands have begun undoing the buttons on her blouse. She tries to control her breathing, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear. “Doesn’t the bible also say not to repay evil with evil or insult with insult Cyrus?”
“Do not quote the scripture to me like you understand it!” He hisses at her, spittle flying from his mouth. Pushing open her blouse, Emily could swear he grins at the blood-stained bra and her mottled flesh, painfully bruised and purpling from his previous beating.
“Looks painful” he mutters almost gleefully and Emily bites her tongue, but as he trails the purple skin around her ribcage he pushes down and she can’t help but grimace as the pain ricochets through her ribs like an electrical current.
She meets his eye then and he shifts, moving his hands down to her trousers. Popping the button he slowly slides the zip down, his eyes never leaving hers, searching for the fear or panic that will give him total control of her.
Emily refuses to give him that.
Cocking an eyebrow, she tilts her head “Aren’t I a bit too old for you Cyrus?”
He barks out a laugh and rocks back onto his heels, so he can pull her trousers down and over her boots. “You know, there was a time when man could enjoy the fruit of any woman he liked. It is only in our modern time that we have begun to curb a man’s freedom and prohibit what comes naturally.”
“You believe that raping those little girls was a natural thing?”
“I have never raped anybody Agent Prentiss. Those girls were my wives, willing, loving wives who happily submitted to their husband.” He climbs back on top of her, laying his body along her length and she can’t help but inhale sharply as his weight jostles her already sore body. He’s above her now, and his hand grabs her face, squeezing her cheeks in his grasp as he roughly turns her head to him. Leaning down it looks like he’s about to kiss her, but instead he slowly licks a line from the corner of her lips up to her ear where he whispers “They enjoyed it, perhaps you will too” and with that he bites painfully on her ear.
He laughs as she pulls away from him and he rolls off her, standing next to the bed. He begins to unbutton his own trousers, pushing them down slightly before repositioning himself at the end of the bed. Grabbing her legs he forcefully pulls them apart, kneeling over her with a sneer. Emily can feel the hatred radiating off him.
“Cyrus, think this through. I’m an FBI agent, this will not end well for you.” She tries to reason with him. “If you’ve never been a rapist before, don’t become one now, don’t sully your name in that way.”
Rubbing a hand up her leg he watches her breasts heave with her breathing “But you already call me rapist, already you have written my story with your lies.”
“Tell your own story, end this now and have a peaceful resolution. You can share your message with the world and write your own history.”
“No.” His hand has reached her thigh now, and she fights every urge within herself to clamp her legs shut. “There’s no other way out of this now, it doesn’t matter, none of us will be here to hear the dawn chorus.”
Her stomach drops, she knew it was likely, knew that his plan was likely going to be murder suicide. For a moment she thinks of how boringly predictable he is. But that moment passes fleetingly and though she has been still until now, she moves into action.
Raising her legs she lets one booted foot smack into the side of his head whilst the other aims lower and plummets into the soft flesh of his stomach. Cyrus falls backwards, the wind knocked out of him and his head spinning from the knock to his temple. Emily uses the moment and pushes herself off the bed, moving to the door she tries to open it, but with her hands tied behind her back she’s unable to before he’s on her again.
“You wicked whore!” He grabs her by the arm, spinning her around to stand her in front of him before he raises his hand once more and brings it down, colliding with her already swollen and bruised face. The force knocks her down, but he’s there again, this time grabbing her by the rope that binds her hands, forcing her up into a standing position. He pulls her against him, the rope tight in his fist, pulling her arms slightly higher than comfortable and Emily gasps at the pain.
He says something else to her, his other hand reaching forward to grab her breast and as Emily cries out as his teeth sink deeply into the flesh of her shoulder she hears mixed voices outside. A woman, Emily presumes it’s Kathy, and a male voice, no doubt one of Cyrus’ goons, set to guard the door. Emily knows this isn’t a rescue, she can feel Cyrus kicking her legs apart, his hand on her breast pinching painfully, pulling her back into him.
But the sound of Kathy’s voice reminds her. Reminds her that this isn’t just about her, or Cyrus, or Spencer. But it’s about all those children, and delusional women who were sold a lie.
Squeezing her eyes shut Emily knows that they are listening. Just fifteen minutes ago she had been communicating with her team, she knows that they can hear her. And she knows that if the tables were turned, she would be readying to come in, to hell with the plan, she would be coming in to rescue her teammate. But Emily can’t be the reason why so many people die, her mind flashes to the baby, the sweet little girl with wispy blonde locks, who has already lost so much today.
So she utters those words once more. “I can take it.” Opening her eyes she focuses on the blinds, where minutes ago the red laser had shone through, connecting her with her team.
Cyrus laughs cruelly in her ear “Is that your motto Agent Prentiss?” His hand that was on her breast comes up to her throat and he squeezes tightly. Emily’s hands spasm behind her back and the corner of her eyes go blurry from the pressure. He releases his hold and she gasps for breath as he drags his nails painfully down her chest.
She knows this is inevitable, she tries to prepare herself. This time, as he throws her face down over the bed, she calls out again “Please, don’t, listen.” She punctuates her words, tries to make it sound like she’s talking to him, begging him to listen to her, but she knows that if her team are on the other end of those listening devices, they will get the message.
Emily feels Cyrus position himself behind her and she lowers her head to the bed. She will do what she needs to do to get through this, but as he reaches forward and grabs a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back and pulling her up, she inadvertently cries out. Feeling his other hand come up and push aside her underwear she once again stares at the blinds, and says loudly and clearly, “I can take it.”
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Morgan makes his way back to the tent, confident that Emily will get the women and children out. He claps his hand on Dan’s shoulder, hearing Emily’s voice had boosted him. They all heard the beating she took before; they were all worried sick about her, but hearing her voice, hearing her so calm and lucid, reassured him.
That was until he caught sight of Hotch and Rossi. The older man sat defeatedly on a chair, his hands in his lap and his head tilted back, concern flashing across his tired face. Hotch meanwhile stood, leaning forward on the table with both fists, his head bowed and eyes scrunched closed as if in pain.
Furrowing his brow, Morgan strode over to the pair, “Emily knows what time we’re coming in, she’s going to get the women and kids out.”
Dave turns to look at him and mutters quietly, “We know.” He gestures to the table and Morgan notices the radio for the first time. He’s still confused, unsure why his seniors’ body language is so dejected. This was good news, communicating with Emily about the plan meant at least one of them knew what time they were going in. She had told him where Spencer was, so even if Spencer didn’t see Hotch’s note on the take-out containers, Morgan knew where to find him, knew where to go first.
“Looks painful”.
“Is that Cyrus?” Morgan questions and Dave gives him the slightest of nods.
All three men stare at the radio, it’s quiet for a moment, but then Emily’s voice comes through. She sounds nonchalant, almost playful, but they know this woman, they can hear the anguish lacing her words “Aren’t I a bit too old for you Cyrus?”.
There’s a sinister laugh and what sounds like a bed creaking and fabric crumpling. Morgan can't peel his eyes off the radio as he listens to Cyrus spew his twisted thoughts out. “You think raping those little girls was a natural thing?” They hear bed springs again, Cyrus’ voice too muffled to pick up but Emily’s sharp intake of breath comes through the speaker like a knife to the heart.
Morgan looks between Hotch and Rossi “We really going to just sit here and listen to this?” Dave raises his hand to him, a silencer as they listen to Emily try to reason with evil.
“...already you have written my story with your lies.”
Morgan shifts on his feet, moving forwards slightly so that he’s closer to the radio. He looks at Dave. “Rossi! He’s going to rape her.”
“We don’t know that. Emily’s right, she’s not his type, it doesn’t fit the profile.” Dave tries to calmly reassure Morgan.
“To hell it does, he’s a rapist, statutory or not it’s rape.” Dave doesn’t answer him, so Morgan turns to Hotch who has barely moved a muscle. “Hotch! We can’t just do nothing.” He pleads with his boss, the man’s face is thunderous, his pallor green and Morgan can see the conflict playing out behind his eyes. “It’s Emily, Hotch.”
“How many radios are on this frequency?” Morgan doesn’t take his eyes away from Hotch’s face as Rossi speaks to him. “Morgan!”
“There’s six parabolic microphones set up, each has three receivers, there’s this one, Dan has one and the other in central control.”
“Go get the two other receivers. Turn them off.” Morgan looks incredulously at Rossi who holds his hand up and continues “Turn them off. Then head to tactical and await further instruction. That’s an order, Morgan.”
Morgan looks once more to Hotch, who still hasn’t moved. He waits. Rossi is his senior but Hotch can overrule him and Morgan silently begs him to do so. Morgan knows he has to follow orders, but he can’t believe that Hotch would willingly let this happen to Emily. But Hotch gives him nothing, he hasn’t moved, his body tense and eyes locked on the radio. Cursing under his breath Morgan turns on his heel and storms away.
Rossi turns back to the radio, the sounds coming through are unmistakably that of a struggle. “You wicked whore!” Rossi closes his eyes as he hears Emily’s cries of pain, when he opens them again Hotch is shaking his head.
“We’re going in.”
“Hotch.”
“Dave, I’m unit chief. We’re going in.” He stands, and turns around aimlessly, his brain not focusing as they hear the cries of pain come from the radio.
“Aaron, we’d be risking the lives of everyone in there, Emily included.”
Rossi is up now, standing next to him, a hand on his shoulder, settling him in the spot. “This isn’t a beat down Dave, we both know what this is, Morgan is right, we have to go in.”
He turned to look at his friend, and Rossi notes that not for the first time today, Hotch has tears in his eyes. “Alright, let’s find Morgan. Dan and a team should head upstairs to find Emily, let’s get a sniper on the window to get a shot at Cyrus. Morgan can go find Spencer and you and I can try and get as many out as possible and for the love of God, let’s hope they’ve not rigged the place to blow yet.”
Hotch nods, thankful that Dave still has enough about him to make tactical decisions. Both men turn to leave, but as Hotch reaches forward for the radio, they hear her voice come through, unmistakably clear “I can take it.” Hotch feels his stomach drop and wonders for a moment if he’s going to vomit. He can feel Rossi looking at him and Hotch sinks down into the chair, angry at Rossi for the way he’s looking at him, infuriated at Prentiss for being so God damned selfless, enraged at Cyrus for what he’s doing, but most of all angry at himself for putting her in this situation.
They listen solemnly as Cyrus taunts her, Hotch stroking his fingers along his forehead with a frown. As they hear Emily gasp for air, Hotch brings his fist down onto the table loudly, making the agents in the corner look up from their papers. “Please, don’t, listen”. He hears it and though he immediately understands, when Rossi reaches forward to turn the radio off Hotch puts his hand over it, stopping him. “I’m her unit chief.” He states simply, like it explains everything.
Dave observes his friend, he knows how Aaron will be beating himself up for this. Knows that in some righteous way Hotch thinks he should have to hear what’s about to happen. Dave knows the man well enough to realise several things. Firstly, that Hotch wants to punish himself, that no good will come from anyone hearing what happens next and secondly that Hotch feels someone should have to bear witness to what Prentiss is about to go through. That in Hotch’s mind, if he hears it, he shares it, and shoulders that with her so she doesn’t have to go through it alone.
Shaking his head sadly, Dave reaches under Hotch’s hand and picked up the radio saying quietly “It’s violation enough, Aaron.”
Just before Rossi turns the radio off, they hear her voice one last time. Strong and unwavering in the face of evil “I can take it.”
Dave flicks the switch, silencing the radio before anymore can be heard. He inhales and turns to Aaron, ready to try and bring him back down, but he can see the man is shaking with rage. “Aaron…” he begins slowly but it’s no use. Hotch is up and on his feet, his hands taking the table with him, flipping it over in anger sending papers flying and smashing lamps as they land on the floor.
“Fuck!” Hotch bellows, as he storms out of the tent, the sand kicking up behind him as he leaves.
Hotch: “There is only one way in which one can endure man’s inhumanity to man and that is to try, in one’s own life, to exemplify man’s humanity to man. Alan Paton”