Desiderium: longing for something that has been lost

Chapter 20

"do i dare, disturb the universe?"--- t. s. eliot

_________

Las Vegas

February  20, 2008

5:46 pm

________

For as far back as Spencer's scattered memories could rearrange themselves, he was always certain that he had a strong distaste for the texture of brick. 

When he was a child, back when he lived in a home, and had two parents, that at the very least tried to love him, there was a brick wall that circumnavigated the house, gathering in the bottom of the house like a tight belt. He had hated that wall, he and the wall, unfortunately being the same height, he'd come in contact with it an unfortunate amount of times. It all resulted in him avoiding the wall like the plague, and adding yet more fuel to his parents arguments concerning him. 

Spencer's eyes flew open. 

He couldn't see anything, no matter how hard he strained or begged his eyes to adjust to the light, it was dark, no chance of light reflecting off of anything in here. 

Giving himself some time to calm down, his chest had been heaving from both the shock of waking up in a new place, and it being completely impenetrably dark, he tried to understand just how he got here. 

Everything had been so confusing to him for the past few days, a sure sign he had been weaned off whatever cocktail of drugs he knew was being given to him. But now, he heaved in a quick breathe and let out again, he truly didn't know how he had gotten here. 

He'd think about that later. Right now he could feel he was pressed up a brick wall, and he couldn't ignore the little rough edges tearing into him any longer. Carefully he extended his legs, and pulled himself forward, just until he was an inch or so from the edge of the wall. God forbid he lost the wall, then he'd truly be lost in this expanse of darkness. 

Somehow he missed that his hands were tied together. A spike of fear rushed through him and he wondered what exactly had happened to him. This wasn't normal. His wrists already were aching from the treatment they had received and he dropped them into his lap. 

His breathing accelerated and he winced as the sore muscles began to tighten up. Curling up, he focused on breathing, and trying to putting together his fractured memories. He remembered the agents, and the tech girl, (what was her name, why couldn't he just remember) he remembered the book, and he remembered waking up. But god, if he didn't remember how he somehow managed to end up here. 

He stayed like that, arms cradled over his head, head in between his knees, as he demanded his memory to return his memories of the past few days to him. 

Suddenly a soft strain of music slipped into the room out of nowhere, the beginning of a haunting lullaby. 

_________

One of Morgan's fondest memories consisted of his father bring him along on his patrol. He'd buy him coffee and doughnuts and Morgan always felt so grownup as he drank the coffee, mostly because his mother had forbidden him from drinking it. 

His father throw an arm around him, pull him close and say, 'and how is Derek Morgan today?'

He'd let out all his worries and stresses, all his victories and wins. 

He'd desperately needed that when suddenly the worse thing to happen him wasn't a failed math test, but something no child should ever bear.

He needed him now. 

'Morgan'

He'd give up anything to hear one last word of wisdom from his father.

"Morgan" Garcia's voice was shaking with fear and he shot awake. "Careful dummy, you have a head wound." Her voice quivered and he could tell that she was just a few steps from hysteria.

She was across the room from him, her bright dress dirtied by blood and dirt.  A flash of anger shot through him as he took in her bruised face and chained hands. Looking up, he realized that he was in the same predicament, and pulled himself up to sit more comfortably against the wall. 

"What happened?" His voice slurred and he cleared his throat. 

"I don't know, we were being tailed, and I called Rossi, and then I think we were hit, and then I don't know Derek, I woke up here and you weren't waking up, and I panicked because you weren't waking up, and I don't know where we are and god, I don't know where Spencer is either-" 

"Ok," He pulled in a deep breath, feeling his chest strain. "Ok, it'll be ok. Just, hold on for me, I need your head in the game for this." 

Somewhere a door creaked open and he shot her of what he hoped was strength. She nodded back to him, and he pushed himself back against the wall.

"Agents? Are we finally awake yet?" Their captor casually walked in between them, and grinned at them. 

Morgan frowned. The profile was wrong, this was all wrong. The man in front of them, was young, he wasn't old enough to have been the family annihilator back in the 80's. Something was dangerously wrong here, and it was costing him. 

He squatted down in front of him, and snapped a finger. "Not what you were expecting, huh. Yeah, well, we all make mistakes, now and again. You just happened to make a massive one this time round." 

Morgan breathed in slowly, trying to recall the profile he had given. "It's not all a mistake." His voice was rough and he frowned.

He laughed. "Yeah, you sure were hitting straight on the whole revenge mission bullshit that's for sure." He leaned over and patted him roughly on the cheek. "You did get that right." 

There was a rustle of chains, and then Garcia's panicked voice, "Oh my god, where is he? What did you do with him?" She leaned into the wall as the man stood up, and turned towards her. 

"Who, who, has you all flustered now?" He rested a hand on her thigh and squeezed, winking at her.

Morgan yanked against his chains. "I swear to god, touch her again..." 

"And what Agent Morgan, really, what are you going to do?" He squeezed her leg again, and then stood up looking at the two of them. "To answer your question, tech girl Garcia, my dear little Spencer is just fine at the moment. Perhaps a little indisposed, but unharmed, if it puts your mind at a temporary ease." 

"What do you want with him? He's got nothing to do with this."

He rolled his neck, and considered the ceiling for a few lingering seconds. "Agent Morgan, that son of a bitch, has almost everything to do with this." 

"How so?" If he was hell bent on talking, then Morgan was going to at least get information out of him. 

He scoffed. "You know what it's like," He paused and steepled his fingers together. "to be handed a torch, and deep down, you know that this, one thing, will become your life's work. You'll live and die by it." He looked at Morgan and laughed. "I've been given a torch to carry, a burden to put to rest, if you will, Agent Morgan. And nothing will stand in the way of my carrying out my duty."

"And you," He crouched in front of the him, eye to eye. "Will be my witnesses. So help me god."