The Special Captive, a Criminal Minds/Tir Na Cali xover for Trope Bingo

To [personal profile] clare_dragonfly‘s prompt to this [community profile] trope_bingo card.

This fills my “au: crossover” square.

The stories before this:
Never Been Caught (and on LJ): First written, last in sequence.

Shots Fired (and on LJ): First in sequence

“Well, Crap, Where am I?” (and on LJ), after “Shots Fired”

Sweet Iced Tea (LJ), after “Well, Crap…” and before:

Refurbish and Sell

Morrigan’s “Special Captive” made his first attempt at escape somewhere in the middle of Texas.

“I told you to keep him sedated.” Cym was less than impressed, rather completely less than, glaring at Morrigan with her hands on her hips. “And now look.”

“Let him go.” Travis’s urge was more of a hope than an order, which probably saved them both from Morrigan doing something unwise. “Seriously, Morrigan. You know the Fibbies are going to be after us like woah for this one, and we can’t afford it.”

“We grabbed him, he’s ours. Nobody gets away from the slave runners, you know that.” Morrigan slid on her coat. “Travis, if I find out you let him go on purpose, I’m going to put his collar on you.

“She’s not bluffing, you know.” Cym was oh-so-helpful.

“I know. What is it with this kid? He’d just another boy genius. Of all the types for her to get attached to…”

“Think he’s noticed the tracker I jammed up his ass yet?”

“Depends on if he took a shit or not.” Their captain was already in the wind, invisible and silent in the nighttime forest. It made Travis feel a bit exposed, of course, not having her there to cover their asses. “And if he did, well, there’s your trick, too.”

“Damnit, Travis…”

“I know. You don’t like it. But it works. Well… see if the signal lines up with your whammy.”

Cym stared at the screen for a moment, then hit the com. “Mor? I’ve got a reading on him…”

“Listening.” Morrigan’s voice was the short, clipped one she often used when she was invisible.

Cym listed off the coordinates. “From the looks of it…”

“Got it. Shit, he’s shaking. Okay. Got him. Goddess blast you, kid-“

They could hear his voice over the com. “Not- not a kid. Just, the pain-“

“Well, yes. You ran away on a wounded leg. Of course it hurts. What were you – no, don’t answer that. Did you call for help? Travis?”

“I don’t see any phone signals but we ought to run. Hurry, Mor, the last thing we want-“

“Leave me. Team’ll find me.” The fibbie’s voice was weak. Well, as Morrigan had said, he’d been shot.

“Or you’ll die out here. No, you’re coming with us. You’re coming with me.”

Cym and Travis shared a glance. “Did she-?”

“Well, it’s in the contract.”

“I never-“

“Travis, you never like them. Besides, what else is she going to do? Put an FBI agent on the open market?”

“Well, he’d bring in good money. He has that sad lost-puppy look a lot of the rich ones like.” Travis flopped his hands, seeming to suggest a limp pallidness that really had nothing to do with the captive.

“And he’d bring way too much attention. She should leave him-“

“But we know she won’t.”

“I can hear you, you know. Get the door.” Morrigan’s voice was short and sharp over the comm. “He’s half unconscious. We have to hurry.”

“Just…” They all fell silent as the kid spoke. “Just some Dilaudid, please. It will help with the pain.”

Morrigan strapped herself into the back seat, the boy in her lap. “Drive, Travis. Head for home.”

Spencer Reid fell unconscious again, cradled in the amazingly protective arms of the Tír na Cali slave raider.

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