The Waste Land, 39/44
Title: The Waste Land
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Characters/Pairing: Team-centric - gen
Genre: Drama/Suspense
Summary: Part Three: George Foyet has returned. His isn’t going to let the BAU forget his legacy. Ever.
Warnings: Character Death
The Waste Land
Part Three: The Reaper’s Gambit
And then-the watcher at his pulse took fright.
No one believed. They listened at his heart.
Little-less-nothing!-and that ended it.
No more to build on there. And they, since they
Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.
Robert Frost - Out, Out-
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
William Shakespeare
Chapter Thirteen - But with a Whimper (Morgan)
He lifts the gun at the last second, so that it’s pointed towards Foyet, instead of Emily.
The hammer clicks into an empty chamber.
Morgan’s heart drops.
In retrospect, it makes sense - there’s no way Foyet would take the control out of his own hands, and he does have a penchant for sadistic psychomanipulation, but for a split second, Derek Morgan had let himself hope.
Emily opens her eyes, blinking back tears, and she looks confused for a few seconds before realization hits. Then her expression turns to one of horror.
‘I’ll admit, your dedication was almost convincing,’ Foyet comments. ‘I almost believed that you were really going to kill her. Make no mistake, she will die. But not until after I’ve had my little bit of fun.’
Morgan snaps.
He is sick of George Foyet and his endless mind games. He’s sick of sitting around waiting for something to happen. So he takes action.
The gun drops from his grip, and he pulls himself upwards, simultaneously diving into a tackle. His ankles are still tied together, but he doesn’t need those to punch. His fist strikes Foyet’s face once, twice, before the other man manages to roll them, and gain the advantage.
Derek Morgan has a lot of experience at self-defense, but he’s injured, tired and angry - none of which are very good for winning this fight.
His head slams against the concrete floor, and everything goes fuzzy for a second. He needs to get up, to fight back, but he knows that that isn’t going to be happening any time soon.
Something hard digs into his thigh.
Is it the gun?
No. The gun’s a couple of feet away, but not out of reach. Whatever’s digging into his thigh is in his pocket.
The bullet.
There is a freaking bullet in his pocket.
The bullet that George Foyet had left with his unconscious body all those months ago. The bullet that he has kept on his person ever since.
For one spilt second, Derek Morgan believes in fate.
For one split second, he believes that they might get out of this alive.
But not without loss.
Foyet has a gleeful look on his face, as if this is playing out exactly as he had expected. He doesn’t take his eyes off Morgan as he lets his hand run across Emily’s cheek.
‘You watched your Unit Chief die - are you ready to watch your friend die too?’
‘Not a chance,’ Morgan spits, and there’s blood in his saliva, which explains why his mouth feels so funny.
Foyet shrugs. ‘I was going to suggest…You tell me to kill her, and I will put a bullet in her skull, and I will let you go. You tell me not to, and I torture her until she wishes she was dead, and then I’ll let you go anyway. How does that sound?’
Morgan’s breath catches in his throat. There’s only one way he can do this, and that’s if Foyet is distracted.
‘Derek,’ Emily says in a voice that’s so weak and yet so strong and the same time; part of him wants nothing more than to acquiesce to her silent plea, but he can’t. Not if he can get her out of this alive.
‘Don’t kill her,’ he whispers, and it’s the most difficult thing he has ever said in his life. He sees Emily’s eyes widen, and he sees the look of surprise in Foyet’s - as though this is what he’d really wanted, only it’s not what he’d expected Morgan to choose. In a way, it’s win-win, for the Reaper - either way, he gets Morgan to make the impossible choice, only Morgan knows something he doesn’t. He knows about the bullet.
Foyet turns around, and Morgan edges back towards the gun. Emily looks at him, understanding slowly dawning. She doesn’t know about the bullet, but she knows him well enough to realize that he has something planned. Part of that is profiling, and part of that is the near unbreakable bond that comes from spending almost every single waking hour with your colleagues.
Emily bites her lip, and keeps the despair etched upon her face. If Foyet suspects that something is wrong, then they’re both as dead as Hotch. He tries not to look at the body.
There’s no way he can get over to the gun without arousing suspicion, so he does the next best thing. He charges Foyet again, and takes the subsequent blow, making sure he lets himself fall just that little bit closer.
‘Derek!’ Emily calls again, and it’s followed by a raw, unfettered scream as Foyet shoves a cattle prod into her neck. She tries to breathe, choking on each mouthful of air, and Morgan’s heart might as well be breaking, because he can’t stand to see his friends in pain like this. It’s bad enough when it’s over a video link, or through a bug, but being here…It hurts. Knowing that he’s already too late for Hotch hurts even more.
He remembers the first time the team had encountered the Reaper, the way he had enjoyed spending time with his female victims. That, he can use to his advantage. While Foyet had started off trying to make this about Morgan, there’s going to be a point where he’s so engrossed in what he’s doing that he doesn’t notice Derek Morgan picking up the gun, and loading it. He won’t even hear the bang.
Morgan closes his eyes at the next scream, fists clenching. When he opens them, Foyet is looking the other way, and he extends a shaky hand towards the gun. His other hand, he slips into his pocket and pulls out the bullet. He’s half afraid that it will be the wrong caliber, or unusable for some other reason, but the Reaper rarely does anything that doesn’t have significance. He wouldn’t have given Morgan a bullet that hadn’t been from one of his own guns.
At the sound of the next scream, he loads the gun, trying to dissociate himself. Emily, to her credit, has kept her gaze on Foyet, which makes things easier for the both of them.
‘Foyet,’ Morgan breathes, and the Reaper turns around as Derek raises the gun, and for a second, their eyes are locked.
‘You already tried that once, Derek,’ he says, grinning. ‘It didn’t work out so well.’
‘Do you remember…when we first met,’ Morgan says, his words coming slowly. He’s going to pass out soon enough, but he needs to do this first. ‘Do you remember what you gave me?’
Foyet’s eyes widen, and Morgan’s finger squeezes the trigger. He hears that satisfying bang as the Reaper falls backwards, a bullet through his left eye. That all-seeing eye won’t see anything anymore.
He’s over there in a second, kicking the cattle prod out of the way, even though Foyet is stone cold dead. Emily’s eyes are open, and her breath is coming in short, fast, gulps. Foyet’s body is half on top of her, his arm lying across her stomach - between them, they managed to push him off. ‘Nice shot with the Black Arrow there, Bard,’ she quips, but her voice is emotionless. She gets to her knees, hands still cuffed tightly behind her back.
‘You okay?’ Morgan asks, voice strained.
‘Hell of a question, Derek,’ she replies, shaking her head. ‘I’m alive. That’s enough for now.’
She’s right, he knows; he doesn’t think that any of them are going to be alright after today. He finds the key to the handcuffs, and frees her hands. She rubs her wrists, the skin raw.
They’re both looking pointedly away from Hotch, but she lets a hand run across the sticky blood on her face anyway. There’s a tense moment of silence.
‘We can’t leave Hotch in here with…with him,’ she says, voice distant. Death is a hard thing to accept within the first few minutes, and everything has happened very, very quickly.
Running mostly on adrenaline, they manage to find the strength to drag Foyet into another room, because it would feel disrespectful to disturb Hotch right now. Maybe they can find a sheet, or something…
‘We need to find a phone,’ Emily says authoritatively, and Morgan wonders if she’s just boxed everything away. Short-term, it’s useful, because they can’t really do anything if they’re busy having a breakdown, but long-term, it’s probably less so.
He doesn’t argue.
Morgan steps out of the room, feeling completely and utterly naked without a gun in his hand. None of their service weapons are anywhere to be seen, and the revolver is out of bullets. It is ridiculously unlikely that there’s anyone hiding in a dark, shadowy corner, waiting to jump out and slit is throat, but after the disproportionate amount of misfortune that’s hit them today, he’s feeling a little bit jumpy. He’d had his cell phone on him when Foyet had ambushed them, but he’s not sure whether it would have been destroyed to prevent tracing. Eventually, he finds the stash of disposable pre-paid cells that does not surprise him in the least.
When he returns, Emily’s covering Hotch’s body with a sheet, muttering something under her breath. A prayer, he realizes, the moment he’s within hearing range. Derek Morgan doesn’t hold much stock in prayer today.
‘Found a phone,’ he says, holding it up. Emily’s face breaks into a sad smile.
‘I guess it’s time to call in the cavalry.’
They huddle together closely, holding each other up, as the call goes through. Then, he hears Penelope Garcia’s voice, and damned if it isn’t the most beautiful thing in the world.
‘Speak quickly, mortal, I haven’t got all day.’
‘Put me on speakerphone, baby girl. Then we’ll see how long you’ve got.’
‘Derek?! Oh my god! Are you okay? Are Hotch and Emily with you? Please tell me you’re okay.’
He hears the cacophony in the background, and then the clatter as someone apparently manages to find the speakerphone button.
‘Okay, hot stuff, you have Rossi, the Goddess of all Truth, and two very stubborn Supervisory Special Agents who should both still be in hospital on the line.’
‘Foyet’s dead,’ Morgan reveals. ‘He won’t be bothering us anymore.’
‘Do you have Hotch and Emily with you?’ Rossi asks, and there’s a long, deadly silence. Morgan looks towards Emily.
‘I’m here,’ Emily chokes out, her voice starting to crack. She wraps her arms around herself, half-shivering. Hotch…’
‘Hotch is dead,’ Morgan says, the reality of the situation starting to sink in properly. Aaron Hotchner, their boss - their friend - is dead. The line crackles, but no-one speaks. He thinks he hears a sob, but still, no-one speaks.
Morgan closes his eyes, tears starting to fall. He almost misses the response when it does come.
‘Stay where you are,’ Rossi says. ‘We’re on our way.’
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Characters/Pairing: Team-centric - gen
Genre: Drama/Suspense
Summary: Part Three: George Foyet has returned. His isn’t going to let the BAU forget his legacy. Ever.
Warnings: Character Death
The Waste Land
Part Three: The Reaper’s Gambit
And then-the watcher at his pulse took fright.
No one believed. They listened at his heart.
Little-less-nothing!-and that ended it.
No more to build on there. And they, since they
Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.
Robert Frost - Out, Out-
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
William Shakespeare
Chapter Thirteen - But with a Whimper (Morgan)
He lifts the gun at the last second, so that it’s pointed towards Foyet, instead of Emily.
The hammer clicks into an empty chamber.
Morgan’s heart drops.
In retrospect, it makes sense - there’s no way Foyet would take the control out of his own hands, and he does have a penchant for sadistic psychomanipulation, but for a split second, Derek Morgan had let himself hope.
Emily opens her eyes, blinking back tears, and she looks confused for a few seconds before realization hits. Then her expression turns to one of horror.
‘I’ll admit, your dedication was almost convincing,’ Foyet comments. ‘I almost believed that you were really going to kill her. Make no mistake, she will die. But not until after I’ve had my little bit of fun.’
Morgan snaps.
He is sick of George Foyet and his endless mind games. He’s sick of sitting around waiting for something to happen. So he takes action.
The gun drops from his grip, and he pulls himself upwards, simultaneously diving into a tackle. His ankles are still tied together, but he doesn’t need those to punch. His fist strikes Foyet’s face once, twice, before the other man manages to roll them, and gain the advantage.
Derek Morgan has a lot of experience at self-defense, but he’s injured, tired and angry - none of which are very good for winning this fight.
His head slams against the concrete floor, and everything goes fuzzy for a second. He needs to get up, to fight back, but he knows that that isn’t going to be happening any time soon.
Something hard digs into his thigh.
Is it the gun?
No. The gun’s a couple of feet away, but not out of reach. Whatever’s digging into his thigh is in his pocket.
The bullet.
There is a freaking bullet in his pocket.
The bullet that George Foyet had left with his unconscious body all those months ago. The bullet that he has kept on his person ever since.
For one spilt second, Derek Morgan believes in fate.
For one split second, he believes that they might get out of this alive.
But not without loss.
Foyet has a gleeful look on his face, as if this is playing out exactly as he had expected. He doesn’t take his eyes off Morgan as he lets his hand run across Emily’s cheek.
‘You watched your Unit Chief die - are you ready to watch your friend die too?’
‘Not a chance,’ Morgan spits, and there’s blood in his saliva, which explains why his mouth feels so funny.
Foyet shrugs. ‘I was going to suggest…You tell me to kill her, and I will put a bullet in her skull, and I will let you go. You tell me not to, and I torture her until she wishes she was dead, and then I’ll let you go anyway. How does that sound?’
Morgan’s breath catches in his throat. There’s only one way he can do this, and that’s if Foyet is distracted.
‘Derek,’ Emily says in a voice that’s so weak and yet so strong and the same time; part of him wants nothing more than to acquiesce to her silent plea, but he can’t. Not if he can get her out of this alive.
‘Don’t kill her,’ he whispers, and it’s the most difficult thing he has ever said in his life. He sees Emily’s eyes widen, and he sees the look of surprise in Foyet’s - as though this is what he’d really wanted, only it’s not what he’d expected Morgan to choose. In a way, it’s win-win, for the Reaper - either way, he gets Morgan to make the impossible choice, only Morgan knows something he doesn’t. He knows about the bullet.
Foyet turns around, and Morgan edges back towards the gun. Emily looks at him, understanding slowly dawning. She doesn’t know about the bullet, but she knows him well enough to realize that he has something planned. Part of that is profiling, and part of that is the near unbreakable bond that comes from spending almost every single waking hour with your colleagues.
Emily bites her lip, and keeps the despair etched upon her face. If Foyet suspects that something is wrong, then they’re both as dead as Hotch. He tries not to look at the body.
There’s no way he can get over to the gun without arousing suspicion, so he does the next best thing. He charges Foyet again, and takes the subsequent blow, making sure he lets himself fall just that little bit closer.
‘Derek!’ Emily calls again, and it’s followed by a raw, unfettered scream as Foyet shoves a cattle prod into her neck. She tries to breathe, choking on each mouthful of air, and Morgan’s heart might as well be breaking, because he can’t stand to see his friends in pain like this. It’s bad enough when it’s over a video link, or through a bug, but being here…It hurts. Knowing that he’s already too late for Hotch hurts even more.
He remembers the first time the team had encountered the Reaper, the way he had enjoyed spending time with his female victims. That, he can use to his advantage. While Foyet had started off trying to make this about Morgan, there’s going to be a point where he’s so engrossed in what he’s doing that he doesn’t notice Derek Morgan picking up the gun, and loading it. He won’t even hear the bang.
Morgan closes his eyes at the next scream, fists clenching. When he opens them, Foyet is looking the other way, and he extends a shaky hand towards the gun. His other hand, he slips into his pocket and pulls out the bullet. He’s half afraid that it will be the wrong caliber, or unusable for some other reason, but the Reaper rarely does anything that doesn’t have significance. He wouldn’t have given Morgan a bullet that hadn’t been from one of his own guns.
At the sound of the next scream, he loads the gun, trying to dissociate himself. Emily, to her credit, has kept her gaze on Foyet, which makes things easier for the both of them.
‘Foyet,’ Morgan breathes, and the Reaper turns around as Derek raises the gun, and for a second, their eyes are locked.
‘You already tried that once, Derek,’ he says, grinning. ‘It didn’t work out so well.’
‘Do you remember…when we first met,’ Morgan says, his words coming slowly. He’s going to pass out soon enough, but he needs to do this first. ‘Do you remember what you gave me?’
Foyet’s eyes widen, and Morgan’s finger squeezes the trigger. He hears that satisfying bang as the Reaper falls backwards, a bullet through his left eye. That all-seeing eye won’t see anything anymore.
He’s over there in a second, kicking the cattle prod out of the way, even though Foyet is stone cold dead. Emily’s eyes are open, and her breath is coming in short, fast, gulps. Foyet’s body is half on top of her, his arm lying across her stomach - between them, they managed to push him off. ‘Nice shot with the Black Arrow there, Bard,’ she quips, but her voice is emotionless. She gets to her knees, hands still cuffed tightly behind her back.
‘You okay?’ Morgan asks, voice strained.
‘Hell of a question, Derek,’ she replies, shaking her head. ‘I’m alive. That’s enough for now.’
She’s right, he knows; he doesn’t think that any of them are going to be alright after today. He finds the key to the handcuffs, and frees her hands. She rubs her wrists, the skin raw.
They’re both looking pointedly away from Hotch, but she lets a hand run across the sticky blood on her face anyway. There’s a tense moment of silence.
‘We can’t leave Hotch in here with…with him,’ she says, voice distant. Death is a hard thing to accept within the first few minutes, and everything has happened very, very quickly.
Running mostly on adrenaline, they manage to find the strength to drag Foyet into another room, because it would feel disrespectful to disturb Hotch right now. Maybe they can find a sheet, or something…
‘We need to find a phone,’ Emily says authoritatively, and Morgan wonders if she’s just boxed everything away. Short-term, it’s useful, because they can’t really do anything if they’re busy having a breakdown, but long-term, it’s probably less so.
He doesn’t argue.
Morgan steps out of the room, feeling completely and utterly naked without a gun in his hand. None of their service weapons are anywhere to be seen, and the revolver is out of bullets. It is ridiculously unlikely that there’s anyone hiding in a dark, shadowy corner, waiting to jump out and slit is throat, but after the disproportionate amount of misfortune that’s hit them today, he’s feeling a little bit jumpy. He’d had his cell phone on him when Foyet had ambushed them, but he’s not sure whether it would have been destroyed to prevent tracing. Eventually, he finds the stash of disposable pre-paid cells that does not surprise him in the least.
When he returns, Emily’s covering Hotch’s body with a sheet, muttering something under her breath. A prayer, he realizes, the moment he’s within hearing range. Derek Morgan doesn’t hold much stock in prayer today.
‘Found a phone,’ he says, holding it up. Emily’s face breaks into a sad smile.
‘I guess it’s time to call in the cavalry.’
They huddle together closely, holding each other up, as the call goes through. Then, he hears Penelope Garcia’s voice, and damned if it isn’t the most beautiful thing in the world.
‘Speak quickly, mortal, I haven’t got all day.’
‘Put me on speakerphone, baby girl. Then we’ll see how long you’ve got.’
‘Derek?! Oh my god! Are you okay? Are Hotch and Emily with you? Please tell me you’re okay.’
He hears the cacophony in the background, and then the clatter as someone apparently manages to find the speakerphone button.
‘Okay, hot stuff, you have Rossi, the Goddess of all Truth, and two very stubborn Supervisory Special Agents who should both still be in hospital on the line.’
‘Foyet’s dead,’ Morgan reveals. ‘He won’t be bothering us anymore.’
‘Do you have Hotch and Emily with you?’ Rossi asks, and there’s a long, deadly silence. Morgan looks towards Emily.
‘I’m here,’ Emily chokes out, her voice starting to crack. She wraps her arms around herself, half-shivering. Hotch…’
‘Hotch is dead,’ Morgan says, the reality of the situation starting to sink in properly. Aaron Hotchner, their boss - their friend - is dead. The line crackles, but no-one speaks. He thinks he hears a sob, but still, no-one speaks.
Morgan closes his eyes, tears starting to fall. He almost misses the response when it does come.
‘Stay where you are,’ Rossi says. ‘We’re on our way.’