This was inspired by the trailers for tomorrow's episode, and Prentiss's third time doing the flirting with a psycho thing (well, I suppose Viper was just a jackass). Just once, I'd love them to have one of the guys flirt with a female killer, and deal with the yucktastic feelings afterward. That, and I don't think the show really handles the flirting thing well. Viper was okay, but 'The Fox' could have been handled much better (and way creepier) if they'd created a new killer, rather than fit a previous killer with a prepubescent girl fetish he didn't have the first time around. So, thank you for reading, and reviews are always greatly appreciated!

It started with a handshake and a smile.

"I'm Ellie, nice to meet you." It was close enough to her name that she might actually remember to answer to it.

"Josh, it's a pleasure." He smiled like a Ken doll, perfect white teeth that sat in a beautifully chiseled jaw. His handshake was firm, but his hands were surprisingly soft, and he nudged her toward the dance floor, one hand on her back with just the barest pressure of his fingertips.

He lied about his name too. His name was Jack Donahue, and this was straight out of his playbook as they knew it.

In the three-inch heels, she was almost his height, maybe an inch shorter, but that didn't seem to bother him. The heels also made the already short dress look even shorter. Short dresses were tricky for her, she was tall and most of that height was from long legs. She tended to buy dresses that were no shorter than two inches about her knees, otherwise she risked looking trashy. This one was a dark red, criss-crossed from the straps over her breasts, fitted at the waist, and a couple inches above her knees.

Morgan had whistled, Rossi and Reid had smiled, and Hotch had tried to pretend he didn't notice anything.

"So Ellie, what brings you into town?" He smoothly slid her into his arms, and danced to the soft jazz coming from the band off to the side.

"Visiting an old friend actually. I was supposed to meet her here tonight, but she baled at the last minute...though I'm not sure I'm disappointed by that." Another smile, shifting a little closer, suppressing the instinctive shivers. Of disgust, not excitement.

"Not sure," he said with mock hurt. "I'm just going to have to work harder."

And, he spun her, and Emily's stomach turned violently as he pulled her back in. She made a soft sound of pleasure.

Dancing, conversation, and a glass of good wine (only one, she needed to keep her bearings), and smiling, always smiling. Flirting shamelessly, but never forgetting what he was, how this dancing and romancing ended for his victims.

Two hours later, he pulled her away from the table for one last dance, drawing her flush against his body for the slow, sensual beat. The hand on her hip shifted slightly, and then his thumb was rubbing circles, sending an electric current up her body, causing a shiver. Mistaking it for pleasure, he leaned so close she could feel his lips move against her ear.

"I don't normally do this, but...come home with me tonight." He kissed her neck.

She offered a throaty chuckle. "Awfully sure of yourself."

His fingertips trailed over her arm, and he looked at her all innocent, little boy eyes. "Are you going to say no?"

Emily smiled. "Where's your car?"

If he were any other man, she'd be able to feel his erection by now. But Jack wasn't turned on by sex. Jack was turned on by pain.

She accepted his kiss and his hand, and let the sadistic psychopath lead her out of the hotel bar toward his car in the lot. She did not look at the white van advertising a flower delivery company on the side, nor the dark, nondescript sedan on the other side of the parking lot.

He helped her, like the perfect gentleman, into his Lexus, closed the door, and went around to his side. As they drove his hand moved from her hand, down to her bare thigh, fingers trailing under her dress. She pretended to enjoy it.

She did not check the mirrors to make sure they were being followed, it was too risky. She had to trust the team, and the transponder they placed on the Lexus. They turned off the highway onto the small back road, and from there onto what amounted to a dirt road.

"Jesus, are you an eccentric millionaire or something? Where do you live?"

Fingers gently rubbing her thigh, getting higher. "My grandfather's house actually, I spent summers here as a kid."

Then it came into view, the house they hadn't known existed. It was big, and beautiful, if not a tad Gothic. "It's amazing," she said.

The car came to a stop, and suddenly he was leaning over and kissing her, and she'd just adapted to that when his mouth disappeared and a cloth was suddenly pressed over her mouth and nose.

She yelled, and tried to smack away his hand, successful only after about a minute. Already growing dizzy, she got her belt unbuckled as he reached for her. She clumsily swatted at him, her head beginning to pound-no flat out ache.

"Are you sure you're okay to do this?"

"Don't worry, Hotch, it's not the first time I've been the proverbial worm on the hook."

Somehow she got him in the eyeball, he shrieked and called her a bitch. She went for the door, wondering what the hell was taking the team so long.

Jack liked to play with knives.

"I don't know that it's such a good idea sending you off to charm a sadistic psycho, especially dressed like that."

"Well, you'll sweep in and play hero before he gets a knife in me, can't tarnish that image Garcia has of you, now can you?"

She nearly fell to the ground as she stumbled out the door, clutching the handle to keep her upright. Shit, what had he given her?

All kinds of knives. Serrated blades, smooth blades, double edged blades, paring knives, hooked gardening knives, hunting knives, even a few daggers.

"Most sadists don't have a type, they'll take anyone, any sex, any race, any age...but this guy, he has a type, his mother's type. Brunettes, mid-thirties to forties, confident, know we could use that."

"Oh, I hope you're not thinking what I think you're thinking."

Emily made to run, but an arm snaked around her waist and held her back. She bent at the waist and used the dual force of her arms and legs to try and break away.

He took very good care of his knives, they could tell from the clean edges of the wounds. No tearing, smooth, ultra sharp blades.

"It could potentially be very dangerous for her, we should rule out all our other options first."

"The last victim might still be alive, Reid. It's worth the risk just to get her away from him."

She broke free, but not before burning agony shot through her left leg. But, it wasn't too deep she could tell that, even as dizzy as she was, and Emily used all of her energy to half-run, half-crawl away from him. Her heart was beating so fast, her chest hurt, and her lungs burned as she tried to gulp in enough oxygen.

Sirens, blue and red lights added to her dizziness for an almost psychedelic effect. Tires squealing on pavement, doors slamming, but she didn't dare stop moving. She ran headlong right into someone, and would have knocked him to the ground if someone hadn't caught them both.

She finally looked up, trying to make sense of the world past the dizziness, the headache, the flashing lights and the noise. Reid. Rossi.

She let herself sink to the ground, turning slowly to watch Morgan tackle Jack to the ground. Hotch kicked away his knife, and waved the locals into the house to search for the missing victim. Rossi yelled for paramedics, way too loudly, and way to close to her head. Reid was examining her leg, getting all blood all over himself. A long slash on her calf, not deep, at least it wouldn't scar too bad.

She swatted at the paramedics. "His last victim is inside, go help her. I can wait."

"You're bleeding and can barely sit up without wobbling, we should really-"

Emily cut him off. "I was drugged, the dizziness will go away, and the cut wasn't fatal, I'll be fine."

He went to object again, but apparently she could glare even drugged out, cause he shut his mouth, and he and his partner raced toward the house with their gurney.

Rossi looked at her. "So what, you're just going to sit here and bleed until they're done?"

"Sure." Then she bent over, holding her head in her hands, willing the headache to go away, or the dizziness to abate, something.

Suddenly Hotch's face was very close to hers. "Prentiss? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, he drugged me with something. There should be a cloth in the car, probably chloroform...did you find the victim?"

He nodded, and gestured toward the house. The paramedics she'd sent away were wheeling a gurney out the door, a blanket covered figure on top, her dark hair hanging off on one side.

"She was alive?" Emily had hoped, but not expected.

"Barely, they have to get her to the hospital. A second ambulance is on the way to take you as well."

"It's not that bad. Just need some gauze and sleep." And, a couple tylenol for her aching head. Was Hotch always this loud?

"And, stitches. The hospital will probably monitor you overnight, since we don't know what he gave you."

"Great, maybe they can give me some morphine for this headache." If she had to sleep in a hospital, the least they could do was drug her into oblivion.

Rossi snorted. "That must be one hell of a headache."

"Shove your nose in that rag, and you'll find out," she said.

The paramedics arrived then, and began poking and prodding her. They wrapped her leg in gauze to help stop the bleeding, and offered to take one of the guys for the ride. Reid was designated to ride with them, careful to take a seat and keep out of the way of the EMT in the back.

When the door closed, Emily let her head sink back into the gurney and closed her eyes. It felt like there was a little league team in her head, smacking her brain with their aluminum bats. The worm got a little too close to the fish this time, and she'd be limping for a while to prove it. Fish? Hell, more like a piranha.

She hated playing bait. She'd need a bathtub full of bleach to wash it off this time, to wash him off her, to sanitize her mind of that smile, that charm. Emily was damn tired of being a worm on a hook. But, she knew she'd do it again.

A chance to get a victim out alive...she'd do it again. And, again. Because living with a scar, no matter how ugly, was a lot easier than living with the guilt, with cowardice.

"Emily? Are you alright?" Reid's soft voice pulled her out of her mind, but she kept her eyes closed. He took her hand in both of his, thin pianist's fingers holding it delicately.

"Never better."

Said the worm to a fisherman.