Powerless

Chapter 1

It was 5:30 in the morning when a pounding on your door stirred you out of your much-needed deep sleep. Groggy, you sit up in bed and rub your eyes, trying to regain vision as you reach for your phone.

17 missed calls. 10 from Aaron Hotchner. 3 from Penelope Garcia. 2 from Derek Morgan. 1 from Emily Prentiss. and 1 from Agent Strauss. Shit.

"Y/N," you hear a familiar voice through the door as you make your way through your apartment, still finding your bearings. Looking through the peephole you furrow your brows and open the door, taken aback when Derek all but barges in.

"Where the hell have you been?" he asks, locking the door behind him. You look at him quizzically, confused as ever when he pulls you in for a hug. "Nobody could get in touch with you, we were worried"

"Morgan I was asleep," you laugh, stiffening in his arms and pulling back with a confused expression. His face shows that something is wrong, but it's so clear that you would've known that even if you weren't a profiler. "What's going on? I had my phone on silent and saw all of the missed calls. Is everyone okay?"

"Everyone's fine, you were the last one to be accounted for," he explains, still not giving you much information. "We really need to go, though. I need you to pack a suitcase, not a go-bag. A suitcase with at least 3 weeks worth of clothes."

"You need to tell me what's happening," you pry further, an uneasy feeling washing over you. "Derek, who's after us?"

"Arlo Green escaped from prison last night," he sighs. Your stomach drops at the name of the heinous serial killer you had arrested months ago, and the only thing scarier than his violence and intellect were his connections. "Hotch will explain more on the jet but Strauss is sending the whole team to a compound while they try to find him. It's bad."

"Is there a credible threat? I feel like going completely underground is extreme," you walk toward your bedroom and motion for him to follow. He sits on the bed with concerned eyes, ignoring your question and watching as you pull a suitcase from your closet. "Where exactly is this compound, anyway? Like what should I be bringing?"

"It's on an island off the coast of Florida, near the Bahamas. I brought a few bathing suits," he shrugs. You nod, haphazardly tossing every swimsuit you own into the suitcase and following it with shorts, shirts, and sundresses. "I wouldn't worry about work clothes too much, Strauss also said if we need anything she'll send someone to our places."

The act of packing for a tropical vacation had never been so stressful, sweat dripping from your brow as you run around trying to make sure you have everything you need. After 20 or so minutes of frantic searching and yelling at your co-worker to just throw anything he finds in the suitcase, you're all packed and ready to go.

"Y/N," Derek chuckles as you start to head toward the door. "You might want to put on something else for the flight. Just a guess."

Shit. You look down and shake your head at the fact you nearly left the house in old men's boxers and a tee shirt from your senior year of college that said "drink-a-thon 2014". Running and changing into a pair of leggings and a less boozy oversized tee, you toss on your baseball cap and head out the door, taking a moment to look back at your apartment before locking up.

"It's gonna be alright, you know," Derek senses your uneasiness and nudges you playfully. "There will be armed guards. Just think of it as a vacation! Rossi got there a few hours ago and told me there's a giant pool and a swim up bar and a hot tub. Plus apparently whoever was hiding out there last left it stocked with booze, so there's that"

"Yeah," you shrug, still a little nervous. You had been a member of the BAU team for a little less than a year, and while the team had made you feel at home and you've gained close friends who make you feel safe, this whole situation is unsettling. But there's no choice. "I need a tan anyways."