A/N: Hey! Here’s another one, this one is for Y/N being Morgan’s girlfriend, and being targeted by the unsub. I have chosen to make it in switching perspectives. - Fuckerees
Warnings: Descriptions of wounds, Y/N close to death.
You wished you were more like him. It sounds funny, but in the duration of time that you’d been held, you had finally admitted that.
The him that you were speaking of was your fiance, Derek Morgan, and as every aching minute passed, you wish you had one ounce of the strength that he held.
It wasn’t that you were a weakling, you were a very strong young woman, with determination and quick wit, but this was something he could have handled so much better than you.
Looking down at your raw and bloodied wrists, you grit your teeth as you try once more to slip your right wrist through the binding, and cry out as the frayed ties dig into your open flesh.
You weren’t sure how much time had gone by, you’d lost track after the first few hours, and now you were just desperate to get out.
Closing your eyes, you take a few shaky breaths and wince as your chest burns with the effort, you were trapped, there was no doubting that, but you had to keep trying to get out of here.
In the darkness that seems to close in on you every second that goes by, it’s impossible to tell just how bad your injuries were, but you were not a dumb girl, you knew it was bad.
It was almost as bad as being shackled to the wall of a basement, dank with age and grimy with mold, the floor beneath you wet with dirtied rainwater from the broken window to your left.
You were struggling to remember what happened, you knew when you got out of here that you would need to know for sure the details of what happened in order to pin down the case, if you were anything, you were the proud fiance of an FBI agent.
At the moment you didn’t feel so proud, you felt ridiculous and embarrassed, you knew exactly why you were here, and it made your stomach twist.
Thirty one years ago, your mother was part of a group of young women who took revenge on a man who shattered her, she, along with five others, took the law into their own hands.
As a teenager, working hard in school and fighting off the seemingly never ending bills, your mother had taken a job at a diner three blocks from her house at the time.
Her friend Delainey had been the one to put in a good word for her, as a cook at the same diner, they grew closer when they became coworkers.
Although as close as family, Della, as everyone called her, had a secret that she refused to divulge, not until the same dark secret overtook your mother’s life as well.
Two weeks into her job, she had been walking home alone, as Della was working a longer shift than she was.
As she passed by the street sign that was commonly known as the beginning of downtown, she was taken from behind into the back of a car. What happened after was something you figured out yourself, as she would never tell you.
Growing up, you had come to learn that Della had been a victim too, alongside three other women who worked at the diner, Debra, Lasella and Kathrine. It wasn’t until months after that they had come to the realization that they weren’t alone, and it wasn’t until a month after that that they executed their plan.
That plan was what had landed you here, in the hands of some twisted fuck who had her own plans. It was her husband that had been their attacker, but those women weren’t ones to let him get away with it.
They set up Kat as bait, and when he’d come for her, they had beat down his car, his face, and his ego before hightailing it home and living life as if nothing had ever happened.
You had to give kudos to your mum, she was like an iron warrior, and you were trying to live up to her as you fight against the binds once more.
The footfalls echo down the hallway long before she enters he room, it’s been that way since she strung you up, it was a tell, it told you when to expect her entrance, and gave you time to stop fighting and play the semi-comatose victim.
Dropping your head back down and against the wall, you let your eyelids droop and have your jaw fall slack, you played into her mindset and that was that.
The most frustrating part of this entire case wasn’t knowing that she was hurting, that she was scared and lost and angry, and I wasn’t there, although that was really hard to handle.
What got to me the most was the fact that I knew exactly where she was, and I had to wait outside in the rain, hand on my gun and ready to make my move, just waiting.
It was like the first time we had ever met, I was waiting in line at the coffee house to get a drink, and her card kept getting declined. I knew that feeling, I hadn’t always been as lucky as I was now, so I’d gone up and paid for it.
Or our first date, I was waiting in the foyer of her home, listening to her have a one sided argument over how she looked, only to have my breath taken away when she rushed down the stairs and into my arms.
My favourite moment that included me waiting, was the day I proposed to her.
It was a cold October evening, and I’d been standing out front of our shared apartment, just waiting on her to get her shoes on and join me. We were going to take a drive down to the cafe on the outside of town.
I’d taken her by the hand and opened the car door for her, kissing her on the cheek as she slipped into the seat, smiling up at me with that smile that caught me off guard every time.
I’d spent more of my time waiting for her than anything else in the world, and it absolutely drove me to the brink of insanity that my baby girl was now waiting on me.
Flashes of colour, snippets of sound, that was all that you could remember of the moments that you thought were your last.
She had come into the room absolutely fuming, there was a patrol car out front and she was certain that you had some way of getting them here. She only ever hit you when she got angry, but she was angry a lot, and this time was the absolute worst.
You can still feel the way the wrench felt across your face, the sound it made when it collided with your torso and legs.
The dazzling red that dripped in front of your eyes, at least before they started to swell shut, the right one that was. The green of her shirt as she knelt in front of you, leaning in as close as possible, before all of her weight fell onto your chest.
The blurred blue and white of the vest, the feeling of the most painful breath you’d ever taken, as she’d been dragged off of you, brilliant brown eyes peering into yours.
You were almost sure that you were dying, and the last thing you had wanted to see were those eyes, that was it.
Hospitals had never been my cup of tea, not after Prentiss, not after Spencer. The way that she looked, so frail and full of colour in such a white, gigantic bed, it chewed away at my insides.
She had four cracked ribs, a shattered right knee cap, broken nose and infected wounds around her wrists and ankles. Like a blanket of black and blue, she was no less beautiful than the first time I saw her, but this time was more painful.
Her eyes had fluttered a few times, and she’d murmured a few words, but it was impossible to tell how well her mind was functioning after the disgusting beating that she took, or at least that was what they kept telling me.
I lean onto the bed, propped up on my elbows, and press my lips to her hand. She’s staring at me, and we’re both aware that the other is conscious of every small move that either of us make.
She’d breathed my name, like a whisper on the wind, and I’d just smiled down at her. It didn’t take a lot of words between the two of us, it never had, but it was nice how she would speak softly every once in a while.
“She’s going to be away forever, as long as I can possibly make it” I would promise her that forever, that woman was sick, and she was never getting out.
“I know baby, don’t worry” she reaches up to place her hand on my cheek, and I kiss it softly. “I know why she took me, she was sick, I understand”.
That was her, understanding and forgiving, even on death’s door. “You amaze me, you know that? We’re going to get you through this, you’re going to get better no matter what”. She was the pillar of perseverance, I knew she would do it without me telling her, but it didn’t help to let her know that I was there.
“I will get better, you’re just going to have to wait”
I’ve heard her call for me, almost glad to see me again. Like I’ve been gone, lost in the dark. She’s said, “Welcome home,” in the light of the moon with the hounds all around. I feel like I’ve been on some long journey that she never wanted me to go on, but watched from afar.
“Stop worrying now,” she says, “The storm has passed and you have survived. Maybe not whole, but at least this time new.”
Far away, my body aches. She takes my hand. “Do not waste your scars. They were the death of a you I did not recognize, and who did not know me. I am glad for them; for you were lost, and now you are found.”
Typically I don’t share my meditations with anyone, not even my moon sister. But I’m sharing this one in preparation of next week’s season finale of SouthWind Charm (the podcast) where, in my segment, I will be discussing spiritual rebirth after tragedy and why, sometimes, it takes loss to bring again balance.