"Our unsub is a 30-40 year old male. He was born and raised in this city and have been active in the BDSM community for at least the past decade. We believe that he experienced sexual and emotional abuse during his childhood or teenage days, most likely by a female authority figure in his family or school," Hotch briefed with a clear, flat tone to the police officers & detectives in the headquarter of Portland Police Department, "We believe that this trauma led him to the BDSM community where he seeks sexual fulfilment in the form of abuse and humiliation by a woman, especially those bearing physical characteristics of his abuser."

Emily added with more information as I perked my ears while keeping my eyes on the data on my screen.

"Based on the timeline of the murder, we think that a major life altering experience had triggered his emotional instability, causing anger and a sexual frustration that he could no longer satisfy even with the most intermediate sexual act offered by the BDSM community. This major life altering experience could present itself in the form of losing a job or a death of loved ones."

Reid continued with a complimentary insight, "...or caused by a rejection from one of his mistresses, should he somehow gained unrequited feelings that's not reciprocated by the subject of his affection. If that's the case then this first kill is more likely an accident in a form of a crime of passion that coincidentally gave him momentary sexual release. When the high wears off, he likely go back to relive this high by finding other dominatrix that bears physical characteristics as all his current victims: a white female, petite, blonde hair and dark eyes."

Hotchner nodded in agreement. "After he gain much confidence in murdering these women, he would go back to relive his first emotional and abuse encounter, then murder his first abuser. After that, he won't ever stop unless he is caught."

"Portland has the biggest number of BDSM community throughout United States," added Derek, "Considering that this community values secrecy, I suggest to widen our search to underground or elite BDSM clubs without the presence of uniforms."

"Thank you, Agent Prentiss, Dr. Reid and Agent Morgan," said Hotch before addressing the room. "If you have any further questions please talk to any member of BAU. Thank you."

With that, the meeting was dismissed, and Hotch turned his focus on me. "Dawson?"

"Cross-referencing...and..." I mumbled, frowning in concentration. A single beep sounded from my screen, "I shortlisted seventeen names in relation to all five victims."

I felt Derek resting his weight on the back of my chair as he leaned down to look closely at the list on my screen. With his face so close to mine, I could smell his expensive aftershave on my nostrils.

Quoting Penelope, he smells glorious.

I had to shake myself inwardly from the stray thought before I heard him speak up. "Try filtering the names based on physical fitness. Since our unsub doesn't favor direct confrontation with the victims, he might be of small stature or have a health condition that affects his ability to subdue his victims in case they fight back."

My fingers moved on their own to his bidding. Another beep. "Eight names."

"And since two of the murders were caused by poisoning, try shortlisting the ones who work, have business or is affiliated with healthcare," added JJ.

My fingers worked furiously on my keyboard. When the computer beeped again, a ghost of smile tugged on my lips. "Three. Mason Andrews, Cole Jameson and Ronald Sanjeev-and their personal information are sent to your tablet," I said as I pressed Enter with a satisfying click.

"Alright. We split up," instructed Hotch, "JJ and Rossi will go to Andrews, Reid and Derek to the Jameson's while I and Prentiss to Sanjeev."

As the team dispersed, Derek kept his eyes at my screen, "Okay baby, do one more favor for me."

"Give it to me," I said, readying all ten fingers on my keyboard.

"Try searching for 'sexy' and 'brilliant' in this screen of yours and see what you find."

Sexy-

The moment his words registered to my brain, I had to press Backspace four times to undo the word I accidentally typed on the FBI Database search bar. I smiled as I pinched his stomach, causing him to hiss a feigned pain at me.

"Go," I chuckled, taking my cup of coffee in my hands and brought it close to my lips, "Maybe you'll get discounts for your next dominatrix appointment."

Derek chuckled, not exactly denying it. Maybe he did date a dominatrix before.

Suddenly my mind began to imagine Derek being a submissive male, pleasing a woman clad in tight leather, receiving numerous of whipping down his back with a thank-you coming from his lips.

"You know, statically speaking there is little to no chance that a man like Morgan would go after dominant women such as dominatrix. Not while he himself being a natural dominant," Reid began to ramble, "If he is anywhere within the BDSM community, Morgan would present himself more as the Dom, taking the role of the handler and protector of his submissive, usually a fragile looking, shy, meek woman such as y-"

"TMI, Spence!!" I whined, covering my face with random report paper, hiding my heated cheek from both men.

While Derek laughed in amusement, Spencer merely shrugged. "Just saying. Derek is drawn to protect and nurture the weak members of the pack, that's why he is showing unusual affection towards you and Garcia."

"Hang on a second," I protested, putting the report paper away from my face, "Me and Garcia are not weak."

"Out of the eight of us you two were the only one unarmed and possess no martial arts skills to defend yourselves should the need arise," countered Reid.

At this point, Derek was watching me and Reid with a grin as we were having the debate of our lives; like were playing a tennis match.

"I can simply fold my laptop and hit your head with it," I threatened the genius with the curly hair, but failing at hiding my smile.

"I highly doubt that, Liz, seeing that first, you think of your gadgets as your babies and you would never hurt them just to hurt me-"

"Thank god they're Military Grade, Reid-"

"-and secondly, I saw you shooing away a papery spider that crawled on your desk by blowing air gently towards them, not crushing them like a normal person would do, which suggest that you hate violence and therefore I conclude that harming others possibly will cause you pain, and that's why you chose to join the FBI as the Tech Analyst instead of a profiler, that way you don't need to inflict pain on others while still significantly give back to society and have closure each time a case is closed, unlike the time when you work as a 9-1-1 dispatcher. What I don't get though, is why you chose the BAU instead of other units in the bureau that deal with less gore, dark cases of humanity. It is not a secret that we in the BAU is always dealing with cases that expose us to the darkest side of humanity."

I was flabbergasted by Reid's rambles. In fact, it took me a while to recognize that what he said about me was pretty on point. I found that I had no answer to counter his lengthy argument. At my bafflement, Reid shrugged again. "Well, your skill would be wasted by just being spent as a 9-1-1 dispatcher. I think you do belong here with us better in BAU."

With that, the genius boy left, leaving me astounded and slightly tender on my chest. Derek followed Reid, but not before placing a sweet kiss on my forehead, then leaving me without any words to catch our unsub.

***

Two more victims were murdered in the past three days. Our unsub was accelerating.

The search brought us to a BDSM club frequented by our unsub, which meant making calls and interviews for twenty plus new suspects and witnesses, who more than often, were highly unhappy that the FBI even found their name and meddle into their kinky business.

"...if you have any other information, please give us a ca-" Rossi sighed, pressing the phone handle on his forehead before ending the call. He was obviously being rudely rejected again. His eyes met mine and I smiled in sympathy at him.

"For a bunch of male subs they are pretty aggressive. Maybe they're not in the mood," I teased him with a grin of my own.

"Nice try, kiddo. These men might be submissive in bed with their mistress, but not necessarily a submissive to the outside world, especially towards any other male perceived as being threats to them, such as, SSA David Rossi."

"That's a strange duality," I commented.

Rossi shrugged. "To each their own," he agreed.

"Dawson," Emily approached my temporary working space in the middle of the busy Portland PD headquarter, her movement brisk and tainted heavily with urgency in it. Immediately we sat straighter in anticipation as we watched Prentiss took a post-it note and wrote something on the yellow sticky paper. "Trace Derek's cell and link it to our coms. One of our male suspect just gave Derek a call, they're online now, and we need to find his location fast because he thinks that the unsub is currently somewhere nearby and a murder attempt is happening."

With that being said, I put on my headphones and worked quickly with Derek's cell number to extend the current conversation to our coms, so that our team, both here and out there at the field, and two assigned detectives on the case could get in the loop of the conversation.

"...have no idea. She arranged a blind transportation for me to her dungeon," said the man on the phone as soon as the conversation was linked to our secure network. "Hurry, she's dying!"

"Okay, sir, you need to calm down. We are tracing your cell right now-" Derek walked in with his cell to his ear, his chocolate eyes intense with focus as he nodded at Emily who passed him a note while Derek attempted to calm the man who was freaking out on the phone.

As soon as he reached my desk, I handed him a headphone while he swiftly switched talking from his handheld device to the headphone, and I took his cell, connecting it to the USB that was linked to my laptop.

"Triangulating," I murmured to my teammates, including Hotchner, JJ and Reid that was en-route and were listening from their respective coms. My fingers were typing furiously as I worked as fast as I could to isolate the signal.

"I can't hear out and no one would be able to hear me. The Mistress keeps her dungeon sound proof."

"...I think there's a bee on the wall."

"Did you just say 'bee'?" Morgan repeated.

Bee...

I gasped in realization. "Induced anaphylaxis!" I exclaimed, panic fueled my fingers to worked faster, narrowing the general area of the caller, while my mouth blabbered out something else entirely to my teammates, "I think the unsub is trying to kill the dom lady by using her allergy to bee sting. Hotch, JJ or Reid won't be able to make it in time."

Derek stared at me for a second. I could almost see the gears behind his bald head turning. "Excuse me a moment, Mr. Harris. Please don't hang up," he told the person at the end of the line before covering his microphone with one hand and turned to me.

"That's not going to be a problem," I heard the man on the line mumbled with a tremble in his voice.

Derek looked deep into my eyes. "Elizabeth, I think you should take this call."

Whenever Derek used my complete first name like that, he was always being serious.

"What? I-I'm not a negotiator," I blanched slightly at him, shrinking under his out of the blue suggestion.

"This is not a negotiation, baby. This man simply needs your help. For now, focus on helping him help Donna Valentina."

His eyes encouraging me silently as understanding dawned on me. Right now, I wasn't needed as an FBI agent, but more as a 9-1-1 dispatcher.

"I'll patch him through me," I said before redirecting the call to me. With a deep breath, I started, conjuring as much of calm into my voice. "Mr. Harris, my name is Elizabeth. I will be helping you from now on while you wait for help to arrive. Help is coming."

"Oh, thank god!"

As I introduced myself to him, I hacked into 9-1-1 Dispatch Center's secure network and logged in to their database using random Portland 9-1-1 dispatcher's ID; consequences be damned. "Alright, Mr. Harris-may I call you Randy?" I asked as I peeked at his registered caller ID.

"Yes, call me anything you want, I don't care."

I switched my screen to the Dispatcher's guide for dealing with Severe Anaphylaxis.

"Alright, Randy," I said, mustering my Late Night DJ's voice, "Now do you know if your mistress is carrying an EpiPen with her?"

My laptop beeped, notifying me that my program has suceeded in pinpointing Randy's exact location.

"Yes, she was reaching for it just before she collapsed."

"Good. Can you see it now? It should come in a bright orange plastic injector."

I took a post-it note while I spoke to Randy and scribbled the building name and the address of his location, handing it to the closest person next to me blindly while I switched my screen back to the 9-1-1 Dispatch Database.

"Yes."

"Excellent. We can help her. Now I want you to grab that EpiPen for her."

There was a pause at the end of the line. "That's going to be a problem," he murmured, his voice distressed, embarrassed even, "I'm a little tied up around here."

I watched Emily pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration, while some other people tuning in to the conversation each showed their distress in response to the situation. A detective rubbing his cheek, Rossi closing his eyes, Morgan clenching his jaw and a female police officer massaged her temple.

They just didn't know that 9-1-1 Dispatcher Database contains absolutely every available emergency scenarios. Any bad situation that anyone on earth could think of, the database got it covered. I pulled up the data relating to male BDSM bondage to my screen.

Suddenly Randy cried to me, "She's choking! She's trying to cough, but air can't get in!"

"I hear you. I think her airway is closing," I replied calmly as I typed on my keyboard, "Did you say you are completely bound? There's no room for you to wiggle free?"

"Unfortunately, that's the point of this position."

"What position would that be exactly?" I asked as I pulled up a series of male bondage pictures, "Hogtie Frog Legs? Uhh, Spread Eagle Strappado?"

"'Shouldering the Rifle' is the official term," informed Randy helpfully.

"Okay. All right, Randy," I affirmed as a picture of a man with both arms tied behind his back diagonally flashed on my screen. "So your right arm is the one that's up above your head, correct?"

"Yes."

"And your hands, are they touching in the back, or is there a gap of space?"

"Yeah, there's some space."

"Okay. Is there anything hard or sturdy in the room that's within your reach?"

I heard Randy shuffling around before speaking again. "I have enough slack to reach a couple of rods that are sticking out of the wall."

"Are those rods pointing towards you?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I do have an idea, Randy. It is a bit unorthodox."

"Anything for Mistress."

"I need you to take your shoulder and slam it up against one of the rods and dislocate it."

"What?" Randy said in protest, "No! I may be a masochist, but I'm not crazy. Can't the people coming here just untie me?"

"Yeah, I'm afraid they're not going to make it in time. But if you dislocate the shoulder, you should be able to bring your arm up over your head to untie yourself-"

Randy cut me with a wheezing sound. That can't be good. "She's turning blue!"

Anxiety rose within my chest. "Randy, you have to help her-"

"I can't! I'm afraid!" he whined, "I don't come here to be frightened. I come here to be humiliated!"

I paused for a moment. An idea came to me, but before I could think too much about it, I quickly put that idea into motion and went with it.

I relaxed my shoulder and leaned back against my chair. Putting on my game face, I scoffed, as if in disgust. I looked to my side.

"What a sorry excuse for a sub," I sneered. I could feel Morgan's eyes boring into the side of my head, probably regretting his decision on letting me take point.

"I-I... What?"

"You're not worthy to be making this call right now, are you?" I mocked, a cruel smile played at my lips as I mentally separated myself from the crowd of law enforcers around me"...Cowering like a worthless little nub. Tell me, Randy. What comes after beta?"

"Permission to speak, Queen Elizabeth?" he said with a different calm in his voice, like a sated child.

He ate up all my bullshit.

Channeling the cruel, mean girl inside me, I hit my desk with my palm, the loud pounding sound effectively made everyone else around me flinch with shock. "Permission denied!" I yelled at him. "See, you've crossed the wrong queen now. We both know how pathetic you are. You look at baby carrots with envy."

Next to Emily-who looked at me wide eyed with a shit-eating-grin on her face-Derek was trying to hide his attractive smirk with his index finger and thumb as he kept an arched an eyebrow at me. There was a heated look deep within his chocolate eyes that would normally made me shrink under his gaze. But this time, a life was on the line and I couldn't let that silly intimidation of his gaze to side track me. So I stayed in character.

Instead, I lifted my chin challengingly at Derek, locking our eyes in response to his teasing, flirty gaze as I kept my ears focused on Randy. I only allowed Derek a ghost of my smug, dominate-you smirk.

I continued. "You haven't earned the right..." I pound the desk again for effect, "...to be speaking to me."

Randy whined at the end of the line. "Please, My Queen. I'll do it," he begged meekly. "Is it gonna hurt?"

Relieved by what I heard, I answered, still maintaining a condescending tone. "Oh, like hell. And I expect a thank-you for the pain," I emphasized on the word 'thank you'.

"Yes, My Queen," Randy said obediently.

It felt like forever when Randy shuffled again as the room around me went silent, and everyone held their breath collectively. A bone crunching sound cracked through the line, followed immediately by a loud groan of pain that was Randy's. I couldn't help but break character momentarily, cringing to the fact that I had manipulated this man into hurting himself.

"Thank you. I freed myself!" exclaimed Randy, following my instruction to the T, even with the thank you. "Hold on a minute...Okay! I got the EpiPen."

"Okay, good. Jam it into her thigh now," I instructed.

A moment of silence, then Randy made another wheezing sound. He inhaled and exhaled loudly in relieve.

"Oh! She's alive! She's breathing! Ah!" he cheered, I heard his smile.

Derek shifted one ear of my headphone and leaned close to my ear, whispering lowly that Hotchner had found the said dungeon among the storage warehouses. His breath was warm against my ear, giving me a tingling sensation.

"Help has arrived, Randy. You're safe now."

"Thank you, My Queen. That was amazing."

It was over. Queen Elizabeth signed off, and the awkward Agent Dawson came back. Heat burned my face as I responded for the last time.

"I didn't feel a thing."

I cut the line and put down my headphone on the desk. But when I realized that half the precinct was looking at me, sneering and whispering amongst them, my first instinct was to slid down my chair and hide under the table.

I did just that almost comically, and the last faces that I saw as I buried myself under the desk in shame was Rossi's and Prentiss' amused chuckles. I couldn't even look at Morgan, the detectives, or think of how Hotch, JJ and Reid was listening to the whole thing remotely.

My eyes pricked at the thought.

Derek was the only one who knelt and bothered to sit next to me under the desk. His eyes looked like he wanted to tease me like hell at first, but upon seeing my face, his eyes softened and he seemingly changed his mind.

"I'm so proud of you, cookie," he sighed softly, brushing a strand of my red hair gently and tugged it behind my ear. "You amaze me. Baby, you were brilliant and resourceful."

I forced a smile, but couldn't keep it long for him due to the knot forming on my stomach. "Derek," I began with a shiver, "How much trouble am I in for hacking into Portland's 9-1-1 Dispatch Database?"

Derek chuckled as he saw my eyes. "You're looking at up to five years in a federal prison. Ten, if this was not your first time."

"Prison I can do," I replied, knowing that he was only joking, "But having to live with what I've said and done today, or crawling out of under this desk?" I shook my head.

"Don't worry." Derek gently placed an arm around my shoulders, then placed a sweet kiss on my forehead, before resting his cheek on top of my head. "I'll protect you."

I believed him.

***

[Author's Note: So what do you think so far? Did you notice anything familiar from the scene above? Comment, vote or hit that like button if you ship Liz and Derek as much as I do! Thanks for reading!]