This was supposed to be a shorter fluff piece to briefly describe life in Paris and how Emily reintroduces us to the team. It got away from me really fast.
7.5k words, Part 3 of 3
Life on the run with Emily isn’t all sunshine and roses. Paris has a few rough moments until eventually you return home to DC and meet the team
Part One Part Two Ao3
“Hi sweetheart.”
Those two words from Emily’s mouth flushed warmth through your frozen body directly to your shattered soul.
Two words kicked off a maelstrom of conflicted feelings and constant movement.
Emily was alive in front of you, her big brown eyes watching you take in her battered body. She was even paler than usual, the bruises stood out harshly against her fair skin. Each breath was strained, you watched the subtle flash of pain in her eyes as the rise and fall of her chest pulled at her stitches. You couldn’t stop the tears that had been falling since they announced her death, relief bringing them out again.
She said your name and lifted her hand, the small movement accompanied by a wince.
“Emily,” you gasped as you moved forward and perched on the edge of the bed. You took her hand in yours, surprised by her cold fingers curled in your grasp. Gently, you brushed her hair from her eyes and cupped her less battered cheek in your palm. “Is this real?” Your voice trembled as you wondered. “Emily-,” if this was a dream, you didn’t want to wake up. If this was a dream, you’d be devastated when it ended. The tears fell harder at the thought, your breathing rapidly increasing.
The soft squeeze of her hand in yours helped ground you, and the soothing velvet of her voice caressed your ears. “It’s real sweetheart,” she whispered, “I’m here.” You were having trouble believing it, even as you felt her beneath your palms. “You should probably kiss me to be sure,” she smirked at you, chuckling when you rolled your eyes at her antics. Still, you leaned forward and gingerly pressed your lips to hers, breathing easier as she moved against you. She was alive. You were kissing your wife again, when you’d thought she was dead not five minutes ago.
She tried to deepen the kiss and you pulled back, raising an eyebrow at her pout. “I love you,” you whispered against her lips, “I love you, you self sacrificing idiot,” you punctuated your words with another soft kiss, mindful of her injuries.
A soft knock startled you into jumping apart like you’d been burned.
“Sorry to interrupt,” JJ was apologetic as she stood in the door, “the doctor needs to do one last check before we can be on our way.”
Right. You were going into hiding because Ian Doyle evaded capture, and he could come back at any moment. You were leaving behind everything you ever knew. Reality dampened the euphoria of realizing Emily was alive. You were to disappear without a trace, abandoning your friends and newfound family.
The doctor was reluctant, but ultimately cleared Emily for travel considering the circumstances. She kept your hand in hers as much as possible, keeping you close as the nurse helped change her out of the hospital gown and settle her into a wheelchair despite her protests. You held onto her, a living reminder of the life you were leaving, when all you thought you’d have was the photo album clutched in your other hand.
JJ explained everything when you were safely on the private jet heading to your new destination. The choice to fake Emily’s death was made when she pulled through surgery. The threat on her life had not been neutralized, and the easiest way to ensure her safety was to send her into hiding. Agent Hotchner was the one to make the call, JJ was the one to carry it out. You weren’t informed because they needed your grief at the funeral to be convincing to any who may be watching. They brought you in today when they got the call that Emily had woken up asking for you.
You were torn. In the four days you’d been mourning her death, Emily had been fighting for her life. Logically, you could understand the reasoning and separate her from the consequences. Emily had no role in the decision. You could pull yourself from the well of grief and focus on the fact that your wife was alive, maybe not well, but alive in front of you.
Emotionally you were ready to roll heads, starting with the two agents who’d planned this entire thing and watched you grieve without any intention of informing you. They stood by as you tried to process her death, tried to find the will to carry on. You were hurt on your own behalf. You were angry on behalf of the team. Derek carried so much guilt, believing he had not been fast enough. Spencer felt robbed of a goodbye, and Penelope missed her friend. They had stayed with you, cared for you, grieved with you, only for you to find out Emily had survived, and the pain was all unnecessary.
Emily wasn’t in the clear either. While she had not been part of the decision to declare her death, she had put herself in the situation to begin with. She chose not to involve her team and ran headfirst into the hands of a man with nothing to lose and everything to gain. She thrust you upon the team with no warning.
Self sacrificing idiot.
Still, wheeling Emily into the little room in Paris they’d found for you to hide in, you were too amazed that she was alive to let anything else push through.
Travelling had never been high on your list of to-do’s, but you couldn’t deny the addicting sense of adventure that came from being so far from home. You didn’t leave the hotel for more than groceries, and you didn’t speak the language, but something about the way that words you didn’t understand floated through the air as you ducked into little shops you definitely didn’t have back home made the reality of hiding for your lives sting just a bit less.
Emily had managed to teach you the bare minimum of French, giving you enough knowledge to thank the store clerk as you left and ask the bell boy to hold the elevator. In the week and a half since you’d arrived you only ventured out twice, finding the nearest grocery shop and a small clothing boutique, since neither of you were allowed to pack a suitcase. Emily was still on strict bed rest, only allowed to walk to the bathroom if you were there to assist. Her weight against yours helped remind you she was alive, chasing away the fear that you’d soon wake up, cold and alone in your bed back home.
A bolt of fear went through you when you stepped into the room and found it empty. You’d left Emily on the little couch by the tv with a promise not to move until you got back. Dread locked up your spine and you had to fight to keep tears from rolling down your face. What if you’d been discovered? Had Doyle found Emily and enacted his revenge? Could he still be here? Images of Emily lying on the sidewalk in Boston, of her battered body in the hospital in Bethesda, flew before your eyes.
She never made it off the table.
You swallowed your fear and moved as quietly as possible, ducking into the bathroom and almost sighing in relief when you didn’t find her body. Though that made the fear multiply. There were no other places she could be in the little hotel room. He must’ve dragged her somewhere else to dispose of her.
A muffled sob slipped from your throat as you stumbled back into the bedroom, no longer caring about stealth as you fumbled for the burner phone with one number in it. You had to get in contact with JJ, had to let her know that Emily was gone. She’d be able to tell you what to do, where to go.
God, you couldn’t go through this again.
“Hi sweetheart.”
Her voice tore you from your panic as you spun around to find Emily standing at the window to the balcony. You flung yourself into her arms, catching her by surprise as you sobbed into her chest. She stumbled into the wall with a pained grunt, bringing her arms around you to soothe along your back. Equal parts relief and rage warred inside you, culminating in failed attempts at a stern glare when you finally broke away.
“I came back, and you were gone,” you cried, “I couldn’t find you, and I thought he’d found us. I thought he’d ki-killed you.”
She held you as tight as she could, as long as she could, whispering apologies into your hairline as you wept into her shirt. When she could stand no more, she led you to the balcony, where your favorite cake sat on the small table. You clutched her hand as you looked between the cake and her guilty expression, confused.
“I was trying to surprise you,” she said as she sat down in one of the chairs. You slowly settled into the other, your eyes never leaving hers. “Happy Anniversary my love.”
A strangled laugh erupted as you realized you hadn’t been paying attention to the calendar enough to notice the date. A few years ago, on the first day of spring, Emily had married you in that little courthouse in Massachusetts. “The perfect day for new beginnings.”
“I’m sorry I scared you,” Emily murmured, running her thumb along your knuckles. “I was trying for a little bit of normal, since everything’s been too tense the last few weeks.”
“Just a bit,” you responded, not yet past the point of tears. “Don’t do that to me again, for the love of god,” you sighed as she squeezed your hand and apologized again. “How did you even do this?”
She grinned, “I called the concierge and paid an exorbitant amount of cash,” she winked at you. “Our love is worth celebrating, even on the run,” she waved her free hand toward the street, where the sights and sounds of Paris greeted you. “We could call this an extended anniversary trip, you know.”
“Don’t push it, you idiot,” you snorted, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “Now feed your pregnant wife a slice of this anniversary cake before she falls apart crying from the emotional whiplash.”
Grocery shopping didn’t feel so intimidating three months ago.
Three months ago you were at home, not visibly pregnant, and using your real name. Three months ago you were a different person.
Living as Kate Mills was suffocating. The exhilaration of playing a long-running game of pretend faded as soon as Emily insisted your real names stayed hidden, even in private. Kate wasn’t allowed to wear your wedding rings and be tucked under Emily’s arm in public. Your rings hung around your neck like a thousand pound weight. Being Kate Mills itched like scratchy fabric against sensitive skin, turning the flesh red and irritated, one shift away from breaking the skin.
Emily was better at this, sinking into her role as Diana Prince with an ease you envied. If she missed the sound of her name, you couldn’t tell. Where you found her new name sat funny in your mouth, she had no issue using yours.
The first time she called you Kate in private, you burst into tears. As part of the cover, Kate and Diana were roommates, not a married couple. Hearing her use Kate instead of your name in the safety of your room hurt. Did she not want to be married to you anymore? Did she want to fully leave the old lives behind? How long before she decided it was too risky to live together?
You didn’t want to be Kate forever. You didn’t want to have your baby as Kate and Diana. Kate couldn’t give your baby a name you would share. Diana couldn’t give your baby the Prentiss name that tied you together.
Despite the very thorough explanation, and constant reassurances, you couldn’t fully shake those thoughts. Your tears were on a hair trigger, and you couldn’t figure out if it was the hormones, or the fear that Emily would leave again.
That fear made any public outing stressful. Kate and Diana were just roommates, so you couldn’t exactly cling to Emily as a way to keep your anxiety at bay. The baby helped somewhat. You’d felt the first flutters of their little limbs kicking against you just a few weeks ago. Each little nudge felt like a reminder of why you were so uncomfortable, both physically and emotionally. Each movement was a reminder that you weren’t alone.
The kicks barely made a dent in the panic you felt when you looked up from the can of soup you’d been reading to find the aisle empty and Emily nowhere in sight. Your breath stopped and your heart froze in your chest as your mind went back to Boston, to that little waiting room where your world crashed in around you.
She never made it off the table.
Tears came, unbidden, as you choked in air. The soup can clattered to the floor when your hands shook too hard to keep their grasp. You barely caught the shelf for balance when your knees threatened to buckle under your weight. One sob, harsh and un muffled, slipped out despite your best efforts to hold it in. You were stuck in the grief of those four days.
She’s gone. I’m alone.
One foot in front of the other, you stumbled forward and tried to bend to pick up the can rolling in front of you. Your body didn’t fold in half like it used to, and the bowling ball you carried in your belly meant coming out of the squat you’d need to grab something off the floor was a feat. The hand you saw through your blurry tears grabbing the can was a welcome relief, even if you dreaded coming up with an explanation for the entire situation.
A half sob, half embarrassed whine slipped out when you realized the hand was Emily’s, and she was standing in front of you with a soft expression. In one hand she held the soup can, and in the other she had a package of the cookies you’d been craving for days. She squeezed your shoulder as she guided you out of the store, stopping and paying for the items you had managed to gather during your short time inside.
You had the entire walk back to the apartment to stew in your embarrassment. Emily had ducked back to the first aisle to grab your cookies when she realized you’d passed right by them. She didn’t abandon you in the middle of the store. There was no reason to lose your shit like that. This wasn’t the first time she’d stepped out of your sight and you lost your mind. She’d come back each time. Why couldn’t you realize that? Why did you dissolve into tears like a five year old when you realized you were alone?
“I’m sorry,” you apologized as soon as the door was closed. “I keep freaking out, and I know I shouldn’t, but it still keeps happening.” You couldn’t look at her as you spoke.
Emily said your name, your real name, and you drew in a sharp breath as your gaze snapped to hers. Her voice calling your name was one of your favorite sounds and you missed hearing it. Your tears grew heavier as the word reverberated in your ears and she gently cupped your face in her hands. The kiss she gave you was even softer, and soothed more of the panic from an angry wound to a small bruise. You were starting to feel better until she opened her mouth.
“We’ve got to get you more comfortable when I’m out of your sight.”
It wasn’t pointed, it wasn’t anything other than an observation, but it still rubbed you the wrong way and had you seeing red. You pulled out of her embrace with an angry huff and stood with your arms crossed across your chest.
“You think I don’t know that?” You seethed. “You think I’m not trying?”
“I didn’t mean anything by it, sweetheart,” she tried to placate you, “I just meant we need to help you be less clingy.”
“So you don’t want me anymore? Is that it? Don’t want the pregnant woman you married to need you?” You knew you were being irrational, but there was no stopping it. “I’m sorry I’m such a burden. I’m sorry I’m not good at being someone else.”
“That’s not-,”
“Not what Emily? If I’m a little bit clingy it’s because you left me alone to go to Boston, and then I spent four days in hell because you died, and now I’m in a city on the other side of the world from everyone I’ve ever known.”
“I had no choice,” she spit back, “Doyle was coming after-,”
“There was always a choice,” you retorted. “You could’ve brought your team in from the start, instead of running off to be the hero without any backup. They could have been with you and kept you safe instead of telling me you died on the operating table.” Your anger deflated as fast as it arrived. “I was alone, Em. I had to watch them bury you,” you let her wrap you back into her arms as the tears came back again. She tucked you under her chin and you buried yourself into her chest, fingers twisting into the fabric of her top. “You coming back doesn’t erase everything I went through. It was so much.”
Tears soaked her shirt as she let you cry in her arms. Her arms were just as magical as you remembered, keeping you steady as the weight of everything crashed into you. She held you until your breathing settled and your tears stopped, rocking back and forth as she whispered apologies into your hair.
“I’m so sorry sweetheart,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I had to leave you. I’m sorry they faked my death. I never wanted you to go through that.” You sniffled as she apologized again and again. “I’m sorry we had to leave DC and can’t be ourselves right now.” She stopped rocking long enough to pull you back and meet your gaze. “I’m not sorry for doing everything I could to protect you, and I can’t promise I won’t do it again.”
“Just promise me you won’t go alone next time,” you whispered. “Promise me you won’t go alone, and you’ll come back.”
“I will always do everything I can to come back to you.”
Moving was the last thing you wanted to be doing as you neared the end of your pregnancy.
Emily had promised this was the last move for at least a year, having secured the apartment using an old interpol contact. She’d insisted on having state of the art security systems in place before the baby arrived, and while you dreaded the idea of a new space, you were glad to move somewhere safer than the little run down place you’d been staying at.
Though you’d gotten better at managing your anxiety when she wasn’t right next to you, she’d taken to hovering, popping up with a million questions and offers to help when you so much as shifted in discomfort. She softened when you pointed it out, and always backed off for a while when you’d eventually snap at her. You hoped being in the new place would help settle her mind.
Memories of setting up your last apartment in DC filtered in as Emily hauled the last of the boxes up. You remembered packing in her many pairs of shoes and accusing her of being a hoarder. She just shrugged and claimed she couldn’t help it when they were so cute.
“You’re cute and I can’t resist you either.”
You reminisced as you were stuck in your chair, far too pregnant to help as much as you wanted to, even if Emily would have let you make the attempt. The kitchen here was cozy, perfect for the slow, penguin waddle dance that you’d performed your first night in DC. There was in-unit laundry, you could almost smell the fresh sheets that made up your bed. You could just about see the hamper that caught your clothes as Emily pulled them off of you.
“Do you think we’ll ever be able to go back?”
Emily sat the box she’d been carrying down on the table, thinking. “I don’t know,” she eventually said. “Maybe if they catch Doyle, we could go back if we wanted to.”
“Would you want to?” You watched her carefully. You knew you wanted to go home, even if it wasn’t back to your little apartment. You wanted the familiarity of streets you knew, to understand the conversations happening around you. You missed your friends, you missed your new found family. You missed sharing a name with Emily.
“I miss the BAU,” she said slowly, turning to look at you. “I miss our friends, and the way we fit into the city. Paris is nice, but it just doesn’t feel like home. Not to me,” she paused and fiddled with her fingers. “What about you, do you want to go back?”
You nodded. “More than anything,” you took a deep breath as you tried to sort through your feelings. “I feel suffocated pretending to be someone else. I want to be me again,” Emily nodded as you spoke, apologizing for the need to be under cover until you waved her off. “I want to be able to kiss you in public if I want, even though we both know I get uncomfortable with overt displays of affection around people. I want to be us again, Emily.” You tried to stand up, giving in to her help with a sigh when she stepped forward to give you an assist. Upright, you snuggled into your spot under her chin, contorting to accommodate your belly. “I want to be home again, with you, with our little family.” You looked into her eyes, “I even miss the damn cat, Emily.”
She laughed and tucked you back against her chest. “One day, we’ll go home.” You felt her kiss your head. “The team won’t let Doyle walk around forever.” You hummed as she rocked you back and forth, slowly dancing in the quiet of the moment and the serenity of hope.
You were married on the first day of spring, so it was only fitting that your daughter was born on the first day of fall- a time to acknowledge growth and expansion as a natural evolution of the human being.
At three weeks early, she surprised everyone with her arrival, her strong lungs announcing her displeasure at her involuntary eviction. You were smitten immediately, your heart flooded with love that almost made you forget how much effort it took to get her earthside. Then you saw Emily hold her, snuggling the tiny head against her heart, whispering into the fluff of dark hair, and you melted. Your world grew to include this little bundle of sweetness and spite.
She was six weeks old when you were woken in the dead of the night by a phone ringing. It was Emily’s phone, a number she hadn’t registered and was only given to a small handful of people. Emily answered as soon as she heard it, speaking quietly as she hustled to the other room to avoid waking the baby.
You followed her to the other room when your daughter didn’t stir, curious about who could be calling at this hour. Curiosity became concern as you took in her tense frame and bite of her lip between her teeth. You watched her hang up and take a breath, looking at you.
“It’s Declan,” she whispered. She’d told you about the boy she’d worked so hard to get out of Doyle’s clutches. He was part of the reason she’d confronted Doyle in the first place. “He got a call through to his guardian as he was kidnapped. I-l need-,”
“Emily,” you stopped her, “I know.” She’d given everything to protect this boy, and would not rest until he was safe again. You knew that. You knew the woman you married. “Go. Save the world.”
She kissed you, hard and fast, “I’ll come back sweetheart. Promise.”
Her phone was pressed to her ear as she moved around the apartment gathering her things. She spoke in short, quiet sentences, efficiency dictating her words. You tracked her movements, scooping your daughter into your arms when she stirred, following Emily as she packed to leave. Her bag was packed when something she heard stopped her in her tracks, and she ended the call with a shaky goodbye.
“They got him,” she turned to you, surprise and relief written across her expression. “Doyle, they got him. He’s in FBI custody.” Shock and disbelief colored your face, your breath hitched as you took in her words. She pulled you in, holding you tight and whispering, “it’s over. We can, we can go home.” She kissed you, soft and slow this time, and you could taste the salt of her tears.
Half an hour ago, you were sleeping next to your wife before your daughter woke up demanding her next feeding, no thoughts beyond hope of returning to your home in DC. Now, an earth shattering phone call brought the idea to the forefront of your mind, a pulsing chant.
Home.
Emily hovered at the door, bag slung over her shoulder as she kissed the downy head on your chest.
“Be safe my loves,” she whispered as she kissed you again.
“Come back to us,” you told her between insistent kisses. “You have to help me pack.”
She laughed against your lips, stealing your soul with one last kiss and a final I love you, before she slipped out the door. You watched from the window as she got into her cab and pulled away, going off to save a boy you’d never met, but she’d once loved as her own.
The apartment felt empty and cold without Emily, each sound echoed into something large and looming. You felt the feeling of dread curdle the shock and excitement of the final piece of news.
It’s over. We can go home.
You’d longed for those words for seven months, through each shitty apartment, through each new identity, through each meltdown in the grocery store because Emily walked out of your sight.
We can go home.
The weight you’d been carrying since Boston started to dislodge with every breath you took. Just a little bit longer and you could shed the aliases that had suffocated you. Soon enough you’d be back in familiar streets in your familiar city, meeting up with your friends. Just as soon as Emily got back.
She had to come back.
Your daughter’s disgruntled grunt as she woke up kept you from going down your spiral. Muscle memory directed you around the space, getting the bottle to her mouth in record time. You watched her, noting how her little ears wiggled as she nursed, how her eyes fluttered open every so often and showed off that newborn blue. Her little fingers curled against you, like she was doing her best to hold the supply in place. You let her little content grunts and movements keep you calm, eventually settling her back to sleep and laying yourself down.
It’s over. We can go home.
Morning brought the thrill of remembering you were homeward bound, and the dread knowing Emily was gone. By the afternoon, she had called to tell you she’d landed and was on her way to the BAU. You didn’t expect to get many updates from her, but you were relieved with every text she shot off throughout the day. You were surprised to get a call at dinner time, telling you Declan was safe, and Doyle was gone.
You could breathe a little easier, and though part of you felt guilty that your relief came from someone’s death. The rest of you didn’t care. Doyle had escaped prison once and nearly killed Emily. His death meant you didn’t have to spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder, paranoid of every shadow.
The next week passed in a blur of motion. Emily was stuck in DC to testify in a hearing about the entire Doyle ordeal. You were in Paris, packing up your little apartment in between caring for your daughter. There wasn’t much stuff you wanted to keep. The possibility of needing to flee meant most of what you owned fit in a single suitcase. Knowing you were getting all your old stuff back made parting with the new easier. Most of the preparation was done by the second day.
As much as you wanted to go home, there were some good moments during your time in Paris. You filled out the unfinished album with proof of your life abroad. Tucked behind the photo from your wedding was your silhouette cradling a just showing bump in the first hotel room. A photo of the anniversary cake showed next, then Emily in the door of the first shit hole apartment. That was the first week she’d been allowed to walk without you supporting her weight.
Between apartments and identities, you had pictures of the day you spent as a tourist. Emily had taken you to her favorite famous places, impressing you with her knowledge on the history and significance of each stop. A stranger had been kind enough to capture a kiss between the two of you, hands intertwined over your belly.
Your newborn daughter took center stage of the album. You had pictures of her cuddled on your chest in the delivery room, pictures of her secure in Emily’s arms with kisses being laid on her downy head. You cried at the memory of bringing her home, carrying that tiny bundle through the door of the apartment you were leaving behind. She’d grown so much in the short time since those pictures it made your heart physically ache.
Emily was busy getting ready to bring you home in between prepping for the hearing. She called you as often as she could, debating furniture choices and what constituted absolute necessity for moving an infant across the world. You sent her pictures almost hourly after she called crying about missing her girls. Then she called crying that your daughter had grown in the few days she’d been away.
All too soon, and not soon enough, you were boarding the plane, the album full of precious memories under one arm and your daughter secured against your chest with the other. Emily met you at the airport when you landed, sweeping the two of you into her embrace and kissing you senseless. The sight of her raven hair and the feel of her arms around you soothed your soul, feeding the part of you that needed your family together. You didn’t realize how much her absence had weighed on you until you realized how easily you could breathe with her there.
Walking into the apartment was easier than you anticipated. Of course, it helped that you were too exhausted from caring for an infant on an international flight to give much thought to your last time in the place. Your emotional battery was drained from the frustrated glares of the other passengers when your daughter cried for half a second and wishing Emily was with you.
You didn’t have a moment to contemplate your circumstances until the next evening, when you sank down on the couch next to Emily. She chuckled at the way you slumped against her, and shifted until you could lay your head on her chest next to your sleeping baby.
“My girls,” she murmured as kissed your head.
The stark difference from the last time you were on this couch hit you in that moment. You weren’t deep in the fog of grief from Emily’s death. You weren’t curled in on yourself, hiding your growing belly from people you only knew through Emily’s stories. Emily was here, living and breathing beneath your cheek, holding your beautiful daughter as she slept in her mother’s arms.
Tears pricked at your eyes and you choked up, breathing a shaky sigh that Emily noticed.
“What’s wrong sweetheart?” she asked quietly.
“Nothing,” you looked up at her and smiled, “just thinking about how much better things are since the last time I was on this couch.”
She hummed and squeezed you tighter, kissing your head again and running her hand along your back. You let the motion push you towards the nap you desperately needed.
A thought occurred to you as you hovered on the edge of sleep. “Em?” You asked, “do your teammates know about the baby?” You felt her freeze beneath you and chuckled. “Should we invite them over then? I think they may kill you if you keep another secret from them.”
“I will tell them tomorrow,” she said, “I can’t believe it hasn’t come up yet.” You smiled at the surprise in her tone. “Surely they noticed you were pregnant. We’re profilers for god’s sake.”
“Maybe I’m just that good at keeping a secret,” you yawned, snuggling closer and letting your heavy eyes fall closed. “Maybe they’re just oblivious when it comes to us. They didn’t know we were married.”
“Sure,” Emily whispered, “that’s probably it.”
You fell asleep to the sound of her heartbeat and your daughter's soft snores.
“Would you want to come to a team building thing with me this weekend?”
“Team building?” you asked, “I’m not on the team though?”
“I’ve been threatened with bodily injury if I don’t introduce you to them properly,” Emily deadpanned.
You chuckled at her explanation. “I would like to meet them when I’m not a sobbing mess. Should we bring the little bean?”
Emily laughed over the phone, and you grinned at the joy in her voice. “I think it’ll be a good time to introduce my girl.”
Despite her best intentions, Emily hadn’t had a chance to tell the team about your daughter. A case demanded their attention almost as soon as she walked back into the building. She’d called you from the hotel the first night, begging for new pictures to cleanse the day from her brain. When she mentioned they still didn’t know about your daughter, you’d taken to speaking in code about her to see how long before the team noticed.
“We’ll come. It’ll be good to see other people.”
Whoops and good natured ribbing in the background let you know the team was nearby and giving Emily a hard time. You laughed at their antics, loving that she’d found a family that cared enough to tease her. “I love you babe,” you said, hoping it was loud enough for her team to catch and grinning when the noise kicked up again. “Now get on that plane and get back here. I’m in need of magic arms and kisses.”
“I love you too, sweetheart.” If Emily was anything she was unashamed of your love. “I’ll be home soon.”
She didn’t stay on the line long after, you shared goodbyes amongst her colleagues’ laughter and someone making kissy noises.
Cool, calm, and collected Emily was unavailable as you packed up to head over to Rossi’s that weekend. She was worried about the team’s reaction to another secret, even if it was accidental.
“Spencer might not make it, he’s still hurt about everything. Finding out about the baby might make him more upset,” she fretted. “This is the right call, right? Are you sure you want to go? We can cancel, I’ll take all the blame.”
You took on the mantle of being the reasonable one and put the baby in her arms to stop her from picking at her nails. “Em, if he’s hurt because you introduced everyone to our daughter, that’s on him,” you finished loading the diaper bag and stepped into your shoes. “Now, I put on a good bra and a nice dress that will likely end up covered in spit-up. We’re going because I want more grown-ups to talk to, and I want to make a better impression than when I was crying on the couch for hours.”
A last minute diaper (and outfit) change combined with Emily’s anxiety meant you arrived at Rossi’s right on time. The nerves that had calmed down on the drive over flared back up at the sight of the large house and when you realized everyone was already here. You weren’t sure if meeting each person as they walked in was better than meeting everyone all at once, but your decision had been made for you. Emily squeezed your hand over the console.
“Here goes nothing.”
The door swung open on the second knock, revealing a smiling Agent Hotchner. You blinked, surprised to see any amount of emotion coming from the normally stern faced man. He glanced at the car seat in Emily’s hands and chuckled. “Looks like you brought the entertainment for the evening. Come in.”
Heat pushed away the crisp fall air as you stepped inside the house. Rich wood and warm color filled the space, leaving you admiring the elegant decor. Hotch showed you where to stow your coats and waited while you debated taking your daughter out of the car seat or packing the whole thing in. The little grunts she made as she woke up made the decision for you, and you tucked her under your chin to follow your guide through the enormous house.
He didn’t say anything when you reached the kitchen, letting you walk up to the counter beside Emily like you’d always belonged there. The team was talking amongst themselves while they watched Rossi chop vegetables. All chatter stopped when Penelope noticed you and gasped.
“Is that a baby?” She squeaked, “did you two create an entire human while you were gone?” She vibrated with energy, you could see the restraint she was using to stay in her seat when she wanted to rush over.
“Damn Prentiss,” Derek chuckled. “More secrets? Next you’ll tell us you have an evil twin out there somewhere.”
“Oh, I’d know about a twin,” Penelope chimed in.
“Are you sure about that?” JJ asked, “you obviously didn’t know about that one,” she pointed at your daughter.
Penelope huffed, “That tiny bundle of sweetness hasn’t shown up on any registry within my reach. Yet.”
Emily laughed and put her hand on your back to introduce you with your name. “This is my wife, and sweetheart, this is the team.” She called out their names individually, you waved as they nodded and waved back.
“Nice to officially meet you, kid,” Dave said as he swung a towel over his shoulder and leaned against the counter. “Now who is this?” He gestured toward the now squirming baby on your chest.
“This,” you shifted the tiny bundle so the group could see her face, “is our daughter, Aurora Emily Prentiss.” You felt Emily’s soft smile as you glanced up at the team. “We call her Rory. She’s seven or eight weeks old, time has blurred together and I haven’t been awake enough to think about it.”
You got a few soft chuckles and knowing looks from the parents in the room. Penelope gave in to her urges and moved over next to you, playfully shoving Emily out of the way to get closer and make faces at Rory.
“I come back from the dead and immediately I’m chopped liver,” Emily joked.
“You kept this precious baby a secret from us, Emily Prentiss,” Penelope glowered, “I’m still deciding if I’m mad at you or not. But this cute squishy face is going a long way to making me feel better.”
Emily held up her hands in mock surrender, winking at you as you caught her eye. “All this talk about meeting my wife, and all you want to do is make faces at my baby.”
JJ laughed, “Your baby is young and impressionable, it’s too late for you.”
“Alright you people,” Dave interrupted the good natured ribbing, “we came here to learn how to cook, so let’s learn how to cook.”
Rory chose that moment to start rooting around for a nipple, and her frustrated whines told you to move fast. You excused yourself and ducked back to the living room, passing the just arriving Spencer, who tilted his head at the baby in your arms.
“Congratulations,” he smiled at you, nodding as you introduced your daughter. “She’s beautiful.”
“Thanks,” you agreed and pointed your head towards the door, “they’re in there, I know Em was hoping you’d come.”
He moved as if to step through the door before stopping and turning to you. “How did you get past JJ and Hotch faking Emily’s death?”
The question surprised you, and your glance at the man told you this was eating him alive. You managed to fish a bottle out of the bag for Rory while you thought about how to answer his question.
“She was alive,” you began as Rory took the bottle. “I focused on the fact that she was alive and breathing in front of me.”
“Every time I try to focus on that, I keep thinking about those seven months and how much it hurt knowing she was gone,” he said.
You sighed, “You’re allowed to feel hurt, Spencer. I was so angry when the dust settled. Angry at Em, angry at JJ, at Hotch, and I was so angry for you all, because you didn’t deserve to be kept in the dark like that.”
“You were mad at JJ?”
“JJ was the one who told us Em was dead. She sat with me the longest over those four days without saying anything,” you shrugged, “she was the unfortunate messenger. Logically I could see she had no choice in the entire ordeal, but it was hard to get past emotionally.”
“I came to her house crying for weeks and she never said anything. I almost-,” he stopped himself. “I can’t get past how betrayed I feel.”
You nodded, adjusting Rory in your arms, “it was different for me, Spencer. I was her wife, I was a few months pregnant, and I only had to live in that reality for four days,” you made sure to catch his gaze, “at some point, you decide if you want to continue as their friend. You have to accept their apologies and move on. It doesn’t stop the hurt. It doesn’t change the fact that you mourned your friend. It just lets you feel something else.”
“It’s not easy,” he said. “Moving on, it’s not easy.”
“No, it’s not easy,” you agreed. “But it’s necessary.”
He was silent as he contemplated your answer. Eventually he looked up at you and smiled, nodding as he moved to the door. “You coming?”
Smiling, you shook your head and nodded at Rory. “I’ll stay out here for a bit with her.” You waved him toward the other room, “Go. Reconnect with your team. Let Dave teach you how to make his amazing pasta.”
Quiet fell as Spencer left, the tension lifted and the noise from the kitchen faded into the background as you watched your daughter feed. You traced her little nose and her wiggling ears, in awe of the little being you created. The sound of Emily’s laughter rose above the chatter and you smiled, happy to hear her enjoy herself.
“Your mom’s got a lot of people that love her,” you whispered as you kissed Rory’s head. “And I’ll bet those same people will love you too.”
The warm feeling persisted all through dinner, despite Emily’s massacre of the easy dish. Rossi had declared her “a menace in the kitchen, and an insult to cooks everywhere.” Luckily, he’d made enough to feed everyone a few times over, sending you home with leftovers.
You found yourself wrapped around Emily as she lay Rory in the crib for the night. You stood behind her, chin on her shoulder as you watched your daughter sleep.
“Thank you for tonight,” Emily whispered as she turned around to wrap you in her arms.
“Of course,” you kissed her softly. “It was important to you, Em.” She smiled against your lips. “Besides, I have a feeling Garcia would have busted down our door if I didn’t.”
She chuckled quietly, leading you back to your bed. “You know, she’s going to invite herself over. I'll give it a day, maybe two.”
“I know she was pretending to not be upset that I didn’t let go of Rory,” you said as you snuggled against her under the covers. “I just wanted to keep her to ourselves for a little bit longer.”
Emily shifted, kissing your forehead as she got nose to nose. “She’s ours, sweetheart.”
“She’s ours, and you’re mine,” you yawned, “and I’m yours.”
A soft kiss landed on the crown of your head as you snuggled your way into your spot under Emily’s chin. She smiled in the dark as your breathing slowly evened out to sleep.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
The prodigal son- from a Christian story, a young man demands his inheritance from his father and leaves. The father worries for his son, unsure of his whereabouts and grieving as if he were dead. When his son returns, the father is overjoyed and throws a feast to declare to the world that his son is not dead.
I love seeing the team interact with the oc/ reader. This is how we get from Boston to the funeral. Much sad and angst interspersed with memories of your life with Emily. I did not expect to write 9k words.
9.1k word count, Part 2 of 3, Major Character Death, grief, angst with hopeful ending
The BAU team supports you in the four days from Boston to Emily’s funeral while you reminisce over your life with Emily.
Ao3
Part 1 Part 3
“She never made it off the table.”
The world stopped spinning with seven words.
Your future shattered in a single sentence. Seven words to alter the course of your life. Seven words to destroy your soul and tear your heart into pieces. Seven words to explain the worst three you’d never wanted to hear.
Emily is dead.
The words register, but they don’t sink in your brain quite yet. They root in the pit of your stomach, weighing you down, cementing the soles of your feet to the linoleum on the floor. Their weight settles in your chest, squeezing the air from your lungs and making it impossible to breathe. An avalanche of memory takes over your vision, countless lazy mornings, rushed goodbyes, late night wake ups that you took for granted and will never experience again.
You couldn’t acknowledge the grief surrounding you. You barely heard the disbelief or saw the pain crossing their faces. You were frozen. Staring straight ahead into nothingness as the room reacted around you.
She’s dead.
No more soft goodbye kisses- one for you, one for the baby. No more untangling of limbs as she got ready for work. The last real conversation you had was when she begged you to seek refuge with her team. Her soft footsteps taking her out the door was the last time you’d ever see her alive.
“I didn’t get to say goodbye.”
The tall man, Reid, said the very words you were thinking as he was pulled into JJ’s embrace. The last words you’d spoken to her was to tell her to be safe. If only she’d listened.
No. Emily couldn’t be dead. You wouldn’t believe it. You’d just kissed her this morning, just heard her tell you how much she loved you. She wasn’t dead. Couldn’t be dead. This had to be some sick joke where she’d wake up in a few minutes and be just fine.
You needed to see her.
Heart pounding, legs shaking, you stood from your chair, moving for the first time in hours. Your weight shifted, throwing you off balance and into the arms of the dark headed man who stood with you. You shook him off and continued forward, bolstered by a new wave of desperation. You needed to see your wife. Your steps took you towards JJ, towards the person who’d irrevocably changed your world with seven words. You needed to lay eyes on Emily and you wouldn’t be deterred.
“Let me see her,” you saw the guilt and empathy written on JJ’s face. “I have to see her.” A hand on your chest stopped your forward momentum. You heard JJ’s gentle rebuff, the compassion in her voice telling you Emily’s injuries were so severe, that she wouldn’t want you to remember her like that. “I have to see her,” you repeated, your voice getting louder as they told you no one was allowed in. “Let me go,” you struggled against the strong arm that had moved to grip yours, keeping you from pushing past and into the surgery wing. “I’m her wife goddammit!” Your shout cast silence over the waiting room as all eyes turned to you, surprise and heartbreak evident in their expressions. “Please,” you begged. Your voice broke as the choked sob broke forth, “please let me see my wife.”
Your knees gave way when you were denied again, sobs pouring forth as you begged to see her. Arms wrapped around you before you could fall, holding you tight as you wept. You couldn’t see who, you didn’t care. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t feel, and yet you felt every possible emotion all at once. Everything was heavy, nothing made sense. You were outside your own body, staring down at the mass of people gathering around you, coaxing you into a hard plastic chair, pushing water into your hands, rubbing circles on your back.
You would never see Emily again.
You first met Emily standing in a movie theater lobby where your date stood you up. Your friend had told you about this woman, that she was cool and fun and right up your alley. She’d set up a date at the theater, a movie followed by dinner, all paid for by her since you were reluctant to go on this outing to begin with.
Dating in general, blind dates especially, hadn’t gone well with you. You struggled to get out of your own head and past your nerves to make any conversation or impression. You had accepted that you’d be alone forever and had learned to enjoy being single. Being single meant you could decorate your little apartment however you damn well pleased, could go to bed whenever you wanted, and could put your Christmas decorations up as early as you wanted without anyone to tell you no.
Of course, you wouldn’t mind having someone. You dreamt of someone to hold you during the cold nights, to spend the holidays with, hell, someone to help you keep your apartment clean. You wanted to be in love, but you’d learned to be happy without it. That didn’t take the sting out of being rejected without a word.
Your mood was sour, and you couldn’t stop the tears threatening at the corner of your eyes. No amount of look on the bright side stopped the angry feelings as you stared at your phone and waited for a call.
“Hey, can I run something by you?” Someone had moved to stand next to you. She was smiling at you hopefully, long black hair swept over her shoulder. “I need an unbiased opinion.” You were curious, so you nodded. Her grin widened, “If I come across a pretty girl crying alone in the theater lobby, should I try and cheer her up, or leave her alone?”
Stunned, you laughed lightly and wiped your tears away. “That obvious, huh?” You shook your head and shyly smiled back. “I think she’d appreciate the attempt.”
“Good to know,” she relaxed as you laughed, “think she’d be okay if I invited her to dinner?”
“Probably ought to tell her your name first.”
She laughed and stuck her hand out. “Emily, Emily Prentiss.” You shook her hand as you introduced yourself. “Now, I’m not entirely sure how this works, but I’m pretty sure we’re married now?”
You slammed back into your body at the door to your apartment, the key clutched in your hand. You don’t know how long you stood there, staring at the door, lost in the memory of Emily’s cheesy pickup lines and easy flirtations. You couldn’t tell the time, guessing it must be mid morning from the low light of the hallway casting long shadows across the walls and adding to the haunted feeling in your chest. Emily would never cross this threshold again. Never struggle to get her key into the stupid lock, or shove you against the door to kiss you so hard your soul left your body.
A voice calling your name startled you and put an end to your spiral of misery. The same woman who’d destroyed your heart stood next to you, her hand laid on your shoulder to ground you in reality. You could do nothing but watch as JJ slowly slipped the key from your hand and turned it in the lock. Gently, she ushered you in the door, stepping in and locking it behind her. Autopilot helped you put away your things, pushed you through the routine of coming home. It divorced you from your feelings and allowed you to function. Survival mode.
You didn't speak. You couldn’t. Speaking would open the floodgates again, and you had no energy left to cry.
JJ led you to the kitchen where she had you sit down, taking charge of your almost catatonic state. “What can you eat right now?” She was trying to take care of you, a nice enough gesture you supposed, but the thought of food made your stomach churn, even though you knew food was important, if not for you then for the baby. JJ did not accept your owlish blink in response to her question. “I know you haven’t eaten since you got to the BAU, and it’s been at least eighteen hours.” Emily had told you JJ was incredible at her job, kind, compassionate, and fiercely protective of the team, their little found family. Apparently that included you now. You startled when she crouched down in front of you and used a napkin to wipe the tears you hadn’t noticed were streaming down your face. “Just a little something,” she pressed the napkin into your hand. “Dry toast ok?”
She sat with you through each slow bite of food and long sip of water. She didn’t try to fill the silence beyond explaining the rotation the team had discussed on the plane. A decision had been made that you shouldn’t be alone. You didn’t disagree, though you weren’t sure if you could stomach someone else in your space. Part of you desperately wanted to be left alone to wallow in your grief. You were wary of inviting these strangers into your space, into the little bubble where you and Emily were separated from the world. The rest of you appreciated the attempt to keep you from drowning in your feelings. If Emily trusted them with your life, then you could trust them in your home.
“You should try to get some sleep,” JJ got your attention as you finished your toast, taking the plate away to wash. You considered it. You were exhausted, but you weren’t tired enough to sleep. This was not uncommon for you. Many nights Emily would find you in bed, restless and unable to put down the anxiety from the day and let your mind relax. She’d crawl into bed and hold you, wrapping you into her arms and laying your head on her chest. The sound of her heartbeat and her nails gently scratching your scalp soothed you every time, and you told her that her arms were magic with how much they made everything better.
What you wouldn’t give for her magic arms right now.
Since sleep wasn’t an option, you grabbed Emily’s favorite hoodie- the one you cuddled when she wasn’t there to help you sleep, and settled into her favorite corner on the couch, where you could imagine yourself snuggled on her lap. Nights with Emily usually ended on the couch, the two of you wrapped up in each other while some show played in the background. At some point a blanket was tucked around your shoulders while you stared at the television. You assumed JJ turned it on since she was sitting on the opposite end of the couch. God knows you had no knowledge of your surroundings.
The sound of the door opening broke your heart. For a split second, you relaxed, anticipating Emily’s smiling face to pop around the corner. You expected to hear her happy sigh as she flopped down next to you so she could pull you into her arms and kiss you so deeply your head spins. Instead, Agent Hotchner came in and carefully sat in the armchair, his furrowed brow and deliberate tone shattered the remnants of your wistful thinking.
During Emily’s tenure with the BAU, you’d received two calls from Agent Hotchner, and one visit when he dropped off your very grumpy and very injured wife. Emily had been in a car accident and would require monitoring and extra care as she recovered. Emily had put Hotchner down as her emergency contact to help keep you a secret, but made him swear to call you if she was badly injured. You had a feeling the only reason he called you was to avoid another angry phone call, like after the first time she’d been injured and you weren’t informed.
“Goddammit Emily, why am I just finding out about this now? You have a concussion, and your nose is definitely broken!” You were frustrated when your wife came home covered in bruises and a couple fractured ribs. She tried to brush it off, saying it was minor, and she hadn’t needed to go to the hospital. “You were beaten to hell by a cult leader, Emily. You came home with care instructions. Don’t tell me it’s nothing.” You helped Emily into bed despite her grumbling, snarking right back, “you are my wife. I am allowed to be worried about my wife. Suck it up, Prentiss.” Agent Hotchner was somewhat apologetic when you called the next morning and insisted you be notified anytime Emily received medical attention.
Now, Agent Hotchner was there to discuss Emily’s funeral. God, she’d been gone for twelve hours and already you were expected to deal with this? You were overwhelmed and you were sure it was obvious. “I shouldn’t have to do this. She should be here, this can’t be happening,” you whimpered. You curled around yourself on the couch, arms wrapped around your middle, protecting the secret of the barely there bump. The tight curve of your belly reminded you of your baby, Emily’s legacy, and how your child’s mother deserved to be memorialized.
You had to do this.
“Agent Hotchner,” your voice wavered as you searched for words. You felt JJ’s hand settle against your shoulder and squeeze gently, lending you strength. “I don’t know what’s normal. I don’t really care about the details,” your breath hitched and you had to wipe at the tears falling down your face again. “Emily wouldn’t want anything extravagant. Maybe just a eulogy or two and whatever honors she’s due. Whatever is enough to let us say goodbye.”
By the time Agent Hotchner left, you were drifting in and out. Your mind was finally catching up with your body, and you were going to sleep whether you wanted to or not. The afternoon passed in hazy dreams of Emily moving around the apartment with you, waking to the startling reality of her absence. You couldn’t keep track of the times JJ pushed you to drink water, or put dry toast in your hand. You could barely separate dream from reality.
Darkness had fallen outside your windows when you finally surfaced. Your cheeks were raw and your head ached from the constant flow of tears. You were alone for the first time since yesterday morning, vaguely recalling JJ waking you when she left. The apartment was cold, each movement echoed as you pulled yourself up and forced yourself into the kitchen. Your body demanded sustenance, and dry toast wasn’t going to cut it anymore.
A knock at the door signaled the end of your alone time as you let the next agent in. Derek Morgan stepped through the door with a soft smile and an easy, “Hey there.”
Emily had described it as “big brother energy,” and watching him pack fresh groceries into your kitchen, you had to agree. There wasn’t much conversation as he filled the fridge, just little questions about placement and firm rebuffs when you tried to help. When everything was settled he leaned against the counter and looked at you. You felt like he was staring straight through to your soul, instinctively you shrank in on yourself.
“So, little miss mystery princess,” his grin couldn’t completely mask the pain in his eyes. “How long have you had our Emily locked down?” He was shocked at the answer, letting out a low whistle. “Five years. You must’ve tied the knot right before she started at the BAU.” You nodded in response, letting him continue. “And she never cracked. Damn Prentiss. Still surprising me.” You smiled sadly.
“Were you in on the secrecy plan,” he asked, bulldozing your answer with a shake of his head, “you shrink in on yourself under attention, so I’m guessing you’re very shy. Couple that with the iron will you must have to marry Emily, I’d say you were just fine with being under the radar, maybe even the mastermind of the whole thing.”
You shook your head. “Not quite. It was an accident really. Em was worried about the reaction to her orientation, and it kind of spiraled from there.” Derek tried to protest until you waved him off. “She didn’t want to out herself at the start of a new job, and by the time she was comfortable with the idea, it had been too long. Plus she was terrified of someone coming for revenge and thought I was safer as a secret.”
“There are quite a few holes in that theory,” Derek said.
“It’s easy to see that, looking back,” you sighed. “I was content to be in our little bubble, where we weren’t a badass FBI agent and a boring civilian with a boring job, we were just Emily and me. Two women in love doing things people in love do.”
People in love did all sorts of silly mundane things. They danced in the kitchen when the light got low and the dishes were done. They snuggled on the couch watching movies until they fell asleep. They talked about their days, about their feelings, about distant plans for days off and trips out of town. Soft and mundane things, rough and unhappy things.
There was laughter in the love. Emily dropped terrible pickup lines on you to get an amused snort. You loved rearranging her shoes to be lined up in mismatched pairs. She hung up your clothes with the hangers backwards. You’d go out for dinner and Emily would make a game out of tossing fruit down the neck of your top, “for later.” No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t beat her impeccable aim. Though you did appreciate her hands-on approach to cleaning you up when you got home.
“I’m glad she had you,” Derek interrupted your fond memory, his voice wistful as his face grew somber. “Even if she never told us, I’m glad she had you.” He met your gaze with his own teary eyes, his thick eyebrows furrowed. Your breath hitched when he knelt in front of you and took your hand in his own.
It was warm, his palm rough and calloused, evidence of hard work and strength. He held yours between both of his hands, wrapping you in his strength and comfort. It was kind. It was meant to be soothing. It made you miss Emily.
“I’m so sorry,” tears ran down his face as he spoke to you. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t bring her home.” He was devastated. Emily had called him the protector, the one most likely to run into danger if it meant saving lives or getting justice for the victims. You could see it written on every fiber of his being. Just as you could see how badly he felt knowing he failed.
You wanted to tell this broken man his guilt was misplaced, that he was not to blame. Emily had known the risks when she left. You knew they pulled out all the stops to find her, and he’d been there to hold her before she’d passed. You wanted him to know that you were thankful, thankful she’d been held by someone who loved her before she died. You wrapped one of his hands in yours and squeezed, “It’s not your fault Derek. It’s not anyone’s fault,” you managed to whisper before you dissolved into a fresh wave of your own tears.
It’s her own fault. Self-sacrificing idiot.
Crying left you exhausted, but the thought of facing the bed you shared with Emily was too daunting. You could put off sleep as long as you needed, so you did, settling back into Emily’s spot on the couch and putting on Fellowship of the Ring. The story of the ordinary person asked to do something extraordinary was compelling. In a lot of ways you related to Frodo, content in your life and often lost in your books until given something incredible. Sometimes you felt like Sam, protecting your person as best you could, even if it just meant bringing a little comfort from home.
You don’t know where you fell asleep, but you were suddenly watching Emily get riddled with arrows as you fled an angry horde. Even as she was hit, Emily still fought tooth and nail, sword singing as she cut through her enemies and shouted at you to run. You were stuck in place, trying to run to her, but your limbs were leaden and wouldn’t move. Your sword arm wouldn't raise, you couldn’t defend yourself against the horde, and Emily was fading fast. She hit her knees and her eyes met yours, you watched in horror as she uttered one final “I love you” and collapsed. You woke up sobbing as the horde overtook you.
Derek left the next morning after fixing a delicious looking breakfast that tasted like ash in your mouth. He didn’t comment on the way you picked at your plate, instead he quietly cleaned up his mess and packed away the leftovers. You accepted the hug he offered when he left, fresh tears erupting as his comforting presence washed over you. He gave you a tearful smirk and playfully flirted, “Don’t cry because I’m leaving, just enjoy the view as I walk away.” You shook your head at the audacity.
The lighter mood dissipated in the hours after Derek left. You tried to fill the time, but JJ and Derek had taken care of most of the chores that needed done, and you were too despondent to get lost in a book right now. Your body demanded movement, and your hands ached for something to do. Grocery shopping would be redundant, and you didn’t have enough dirty laundry to justify running the washing machine.
Dusting every last surface in the house made you realize you had an ungodly number of knick-knacks and trinkets. Emily had little souvenirs of her travels, odds and ends she’d picked up at airports and different places around the globe. You had filled the empty spaces with the odd bits, ranging from movie memorabilia to hand crafted figurines that caught your fancy at local craft fairs. Each piece helped make your apartment home, lived in and uniquely yours. They also collected a ton of dust in a relatively short period of time.
Midafternoon saw your little project done and dusted, your body content with the movement, and your back starting to ache. You huffed in amusement at your little pun, moving to put away your supplies when you realized someone was at your door.
“Hello Mrs. Prentiss,” your visitor said.
“Agent Rossi,” you recognized him immediately from Emily’s team. “Come in.”
“I brought lunch,” he held up a large container of homemade pasta and you led him into the kitchen. “Feel free to call me Dave. Agent Rossi is for people who aren’t family.” You were surprised to be given the privilege, and he noticed. “Emily was part of our family, and you were her family. That makes you one of ours kiddo.”
You gave him your first name as you gathered utensils to eat. He was pleasant company, accepting your offer of dining together by dishing up the plates and making sure you ate enough for his liking. Somehow the pasta sat better with your stomach, even if you couldn’t taste it.
He didn’t stay long, and you were grateful. You didn’t think you could handle being around another person while you fell apart at the idea of gaining a new family. Emily had been your only family by the time you moved with her to DC. Your deeply religious family hadn’t taken your coming out very well, cutting you off and denying contact with your younger relatives. You’d been devastated, losing your home, your church, and anyone you’d ever known in one fell swoop. You didn’t regret it, being out was freeing, a breath of air without a boulder sitting on your chest. Being with Emily was grounding, she made sure to remind you that you were worthy of love, and let you grieve the life you knew.
Having a new family, beyond the one you made with Emily, had never really been a thought in your mind. Never in your wildest dreams did you think Emily’s coworkers would claim you within hours of meeting you. Of course, you also didn’t anticipate meeting them hours before she died. Apparently grief can bring people together. You’d lost your wife, but you gained her family. Not the ideal scenario by a long shot.
You properly met Dr. Spencer Reid just after your meager dinner of leftovers. He arrived full of nervous energy, twisting the strap of his messenger bag as you invited him inside. He asked you to call him Spencer, since you weren’t interacting in any professional capacity. He declined your offer of dinner, following you into the living room and standing awkwardly in the doorway.
“I know you don’t really know me,” he said, “but I just wanted to feel close to Emily right now, and I hoped maybe you’d let me keep you company.”
Your heart broke as you studied the man. Messy hair atop a boyish face lined with exhaustion. Red rimmed eyes betrayed tears he was holding back. Trembling fingers played with the hem of his sleeves as he worried the fabric in his anxiety over your potential response. He relaxed, a slight smile slipping on his face when you accepted his offer.
He was quiet, walking through the apartment and taking everything in. He asked about your odd collection of stuff, filling in details about the characters or describing the cultural significance of some of the art pieces. When you didn’t stop him, he began explaining the things he learned about Emily from what he found, “Each photo shows Emily leaning against you or with her arm around you, signaling she uses physical contact to confirm emotional connection, likely caused when she wasn’t held enough as a child.” Emily was always touching you, wrapping her arms around you or simply brushing shoulders. His analysis was dead on just like Emily had said he would be.
The first time you remember hearing about Dr. Reid, Emily had only been with the BAU for a few months. She came home from a case in Houston absolutely wrecked.
“Do you think I’ll ever be enough?” She was laying with her head in your lap, your hands running through her hair and scratching at her scalp. You were the only one to see her strong, stoic facade fade. The only one to see her shed the mask she had to build during these cases. You were the only person she trusted with the raw vulnerability of when her heart was laid open under the weight of the crimes she helped solve. Your love for her expanded in those moments, holding her tight against you until she could relax into your arms.
“I’m still an outsider,” she said, her voice small. “I try so hard, I do everything I can to be prepared and to be useful, and still,” she sniffled, “I’m on the outside.” You held her in your lap, wiping her tears as they spilled onto her cheeks. “Reid was so unbelievably cold when we were talking to this woman, and then he snapped at me when I called him out on it. I’ve never seen him so callous, and he told me I didn’t know what I was talking about. It shouldn’t bother me as much as it does. I know I’m making room for myself in a tight-knit group, and that it won’t be easy.” Her eyes squeezed shut and tears clung to her long lashes. “I just feel like I won’t ever be enough for them.”
She was enough, and you told her so. You repeated it again and again for weeks until she quit worrying about it, finally cemented into the team dynamic. Emily had become protective of Spencer, telling you about her amusement with some of his obscure facts, and her amazement when he made connections no one else could have found.
She was proud of all her teammates. They were her family. Which is why she went to Boston alone, to keep her family safe.
Self sacrificing idiot.
Spencer left, and you found Emily’s spot on the couch. Since you were still avoiding the bedroom, you put on The Two Towers to watch as you inevitably fell asleep clutching her hoodie.
Water surrounded you, soothing your battered and bruised body as you floated along, fighting to stay awake through a haze of pain. You couldn’t move, your arms were too heavy and your legs too weak, your whole body was tired. The river carried you along, lost in your daze. Bright sunlight blinded you to your surroundings, until you were lost in the shade of your wife smiling at you. She leaned in to kiss you, her lips just brushing yours when you heard the echo of a voice that was not hers.
“She never made it off the table.”
You were underwater, dragged beneath the surface in an instant, grasping at the image of Emily that slipped through your fingers like sand. Each second made you more frantic, you thrashed against the force that was pulling you to the depths. You woke up tangled in the blanket on the couch, movie long over and the mid afternoon sun shining through the cracks in the curtains. You’d slept over twelve hours.
The couch was not the ideal place for your pregnant body to sleep, and it screamed at you for putting it through two nights of terrible support as you shuffled around tending your needs and gathering things. Still, you returned to Emily’s spot, ignoring the deep ache in your bones as you spread out your prize on the coffee table.
Emily loved pictures, and she documented the big moments of your life in photo albums she carefully put together. Books of still images told the story of your life together, snapshots behind fond memories. You browsed through the collection, brushing over the road trips taken over long weekends, rare vacations, and your first apartment, the nostalgia fading when you came across the first ultrasound in the unfinished album she started after you decided to have a baby.
“Have you ever thought about kids?” Emily asked one day as you snuggled in bed. She’d come home from a tough case the night before and clung to you until she felt settled enough to put it down. You were taking advantage of a rare, lazy Saturday, basking in the warm sunlight streaming through the windows while Emily held you in her arms. It was blissful, it was peaceful. You gave her question the thought it was due before you answered. You had thought about children. Many times, in fact. Little feet running so little hands could make a mess of your home, little faces with mischievous grins identical to the one Emily wore when she made you laugh. A dark headed girl, or maybe a boy with your hair. Maybe both. She smiled when you gave her your answer, wistful at the life you described. “I can’t stop picturing it,” she whispered, “I want kids. With you.” She met your gaze then, shy and hopeful. “Do you, with me? Can we try?”
The process was long and awful at times, but Emily was your rock. She’d held you through each painful injection, sat on the phone with you when she couldn’t be there in person. She cried with you after each failure, and shed joyous tears when you finally had good news. You’d never seen her so ecstatic, and the way she celebrated both you and your child made your heart turn to mush.
Two kisses each morning and night, one for you and one for the baby. I love you’s in different languages whispered against your belly while you cuddled. Emily will be the most amazing mother.
Would have been the most amazing mother. You felt your throat constrict and tears begin as you remembered that she was gone, and you had to carry on without her. You had to pick up the pieces of your heart and hold them together to raise your child.
You shook yourself out of the overwhelming spiral and tucked the album away. You could deal with those feelings closer to time, you were too tired to bother at the moment. An envelope of loose photos caught your attention. Recently developed, a picture of a smiling Emily cuddling the recently adopted Sergio sat on top of the stack.
Damn it, you’d forgotten about the cat.
Sergio had been a reluctant addition to the household on your part, though you’d grown into a tenuous not-quite-enemies over the months he’d been there. He was definitely Emily’s cat, and ignored you while she was gone, unless it was to tell you his bowl was empty. His silence the last few days was confusing until you found his bowls. You guessed your visitors had sneakily taken care of him, so he hadn’t bothered to seek you out, unlike the people who’d only known you for a few days.
One such person was the one and only Penelope Garcia. You knew who she was the moment she entered your field of vision, her colorful wardrobe and barely restrained enthusiasm matched Emily’s description to the last detail. She chirped a greeting as she walked into your apartment with a presence that lifted some of the heavy, her bright smile and bouncing curls were a fresh breeze cutting through the stale air. She made herself at home, taking her bags to the kitchen before you had a chance to fully take her in.
“How are you holding up?”
You didn’t realize JJ had walked in behind Penelope, or that she had settled on the couch next to you until she spoke. She seemed oddly calm, almost apologetic as you blinked at her, confused by the flurry of color that had been absent the last couple of days. Her eyes flitted over your face as you stared at her, analyzing you the same way Emily used to. The lump in your throat returned at the thought and you turned away, swallowing thickly, glaring at the wall as you failed to hold back tears again.
“I thought so,” she spoke softly, pressing a tissue into your hand. “We brought food, and thought we’d stay with you tonight and help you get ready for tomorrow.”
Right. The funeral. You’d been in a haze since Boston, and time had lost all meaning. You were conflicted then, still hurt that JJ had been the one to bear the news, but thankful she’d had the presence of mind to help you push the arrangements forward. Emily would get the send off she deserved, even if you were too lost to pull it together.
Penelope walked into the room, interrupting your millionth stare down with the wall.
“Alright Kittens,” she clasped her hands together, faking enthusiasm. “As I am the self-appointed director of this unfortunate sleepover, here’s how I see this going. The Mysterious Mrs. Prentiss,” she pointed at you, “needs to be reminded that she is a human and not a sad blob on the couch.” You squinted your eyes as you glared at her, appreciating the care but unwilling to dislodge yourself. Getting off the couch was a battle lately with your center of gravity shifted, and you were not willing to ask for help. “No glaring, missy.” Her expression was playfully stern as she waggled her finger at your pout. “If I know our Emily, she wouldn’t want you fusing with the cushions on the furniture.”
JJ smirked at you when you turned to her in incredulous disbelief. “She’s not wrong.” You huffed at her refusal to save you from Penelope’s agenda. “I left you in this exact spot, in these exact clothes two days ago.”
Crap. Had you really forgotten to take care of yourself the last couple of days? You supposed it was possible, you did forget about the cat.
“Eat, shower, teeth,” Penelope redirected your attention as she listed off your options. “These can be accomplished in any order, but they must be accomplished.”
Emily was absolutely correct in her description of Garcia. She was bright and bubbly, though you could see how she tempered her enthusiastic nature. Her accessories were colorful, her hair an art piece in its own right. She commanded the room as soon as she entered, confident and knowledgeable, probably about all things. Yet you could see the trademarks of the faux upbeat attitude. She grieved just as much as the others of the team, you could see the dark circles that her concealer couldn’t fully hide and the red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes behind her delightful glasses. Penelope Garcia was full of complicated emotion, determined to care for you even though you saw the hurt flash when she called you Mrs. Prentiss.
You acquiesced, and heaved yourself off the couch with a groan. The shower was heavenly, hot water massaging your body and sending some of the weight from the last few days down the drain. Brushing your teeth rid the last taste of ash from your mouth. You felt like a new person by the time you were wrapped in a towel and standing at the doorway to your bedroom, where the weight set back in and took your breath away.
Everything you saw had Emily written all over it, from the nightgown she wore piled on the duvet she chose, to the blazer hanging off the side of the chair in the corner. You could just make out the underwear she’d landed in the basket next to the closet with her impeccable aim after she’d peeled them off of you with her teeth. She’d lived in this room, she’d lived with you in this room. You stepped inside.
Within the hour, you were back in the living room, fully dressed and fed. You’d accomplished Penelope’s tasks and were ready to resume your post on the couch, sure that the other women had already found and were going through the photo albums you’d left on the coffee table.
Autopilot carried you through the door, but the body already in Emily’s spot stopped you in your tracks. You froze for a second, fighting back rage you knew to be irrational. How could Penelope have known she had sat down in the same place Emily spent every movie night? How could she have known you had reserved that spot indefinitely to pretend you were sitting in Emily’s lap? She couldn’t have known, and it wouldn’t kill you to sit in the open spot on the other end, since JJ had taken the arm chair.
Penelope called your name, redirecting your attention. “Nice to finally meet you, for real this time. Now, you precious bundle of intrigue, how did you slip my inescapable web of knowledge? I couldn’t find any record of a marriage license with Emily’s name.”
“That’s probably because we got married last minute at a small courthouse in Massachusetts, and they probably haven’t digitized everything yet,” you smiled softly at the memory, “that or the homophobic clerk burned it as soon as we walked out the door.”
Emily was driving the rental car on your trip down the east coast before you moved into DC. She was burning her accumulated leave time between her transfer from the midwestern FBI office and the BAU, and happily planned a week-long road trip to see the sights and find future vacation spots. You’d been dating for a year by that point, but had only decided to move in together when Emily was offered the transfer.
Part of the holdup was your religious upbringing. If sex before marriage was an issue, moving in together before marriage was a huge problem. As much as you tried to ignore the teachings that made perfectly normal things a sin, some of it stuck around.
It wasn’t your only hang up, living with Emily would mean you had no where to go if she ever got tired of you and kicked you out. No matter how often Emily tried to reassure you, it lingered in the back of your mind. At one point she suggested getting married, “it’ll be a lot harder for me to get rid of you if we’re legally bound.”
That moment played in your mind as you tried to work through those lingering hangups. “Em,” you interrupted her terrible rendition of the song playing on the radio, “would you ever get married?” The closer you got to your destination, the more the idea pushed into your mind.
“As long as I’m marrying you sweetheart, I’d do it in a heartbeat,” she glanced at you and smiled, “I’m sure there’s a courthouse nearby, we can do it right now if you want.” She stopped the car in front of a roadside diner, ushering you inside and into a little booth. “I’d marry you with paper rings, baby.”
You mulled it over while you ate. As a child, you’d imagined a ceremony with the big white dress and the long walk down an aisle so your father could give you away to the man you loved. Now, the woman you loved sat across from you, and you no longer cared about any ceremony. You just wanted to call Emily your wife and mean it. The fact that you’d take her name and wear her ring was a bonus.
She twisted the straw wrapper around your finger and smiled. “Ready when you are, my love.”
“Let’s do it.”
The album with your wedding photos was in Penelope’s lap, opened to the picture of the two of you showing off the straw paper rings. “We dodged a lot of hateful stares, and Emily had to pay someone $100 to get them to take that picture,” you turned the page to Emily kissing you on the courthouse steps.
“That is so unbelievably cute, I can almost forget how mad I am that she never told us,” Penelope was enamored with the story, and she stopped you when you tried to apologize for the secrecy. “Nope! No apologies today. Only happy memories about good times and smiles while you tell us about Emily outside of the job.” She picked up the next album. “God, you two are adorable. Tell me about these.”
You went through the vacation albums, through the first apartment, through the candids Emily took at random. You laughed at each exasperated expression, especially Emily’s when you caught her by surprise. There were many happy moments to choose from, like the classic “first day of school” picture from Emily’s first official day at the BAU. You made her pose in the living room, laughing while you caught the silly grin and middle finger directed at you on camera. JJ and Penelope ate each story up, happy to hear more about their friend.
Their curiosity was mostly sated by the time you called it a night and shelved the books, hiding away the album with the sonogram. You wanted to keep this last piece of Emily to yourself as long as you could.
Morning on the fourth day brought heaviness, a somber feeling that contrasted harshly with the laughter from reliving memories the night before. Your dreams had you wandering the woods, a mourning veil trailing in your wake as you approached Emily’s tomb. Perhaps your subconscious was reminding you of her funeral today. Or it was a consequence of falling asleep while watching Return of the King.
The weight of the day bore down on you, immediately eliminating the benefit of finally sleeping in your own bed. You ached physically and emotionally, your body already anticipating the headache from all the tears to come as you said your final goodbyes to your wife.
You chose your outfit, skipping over the dress that never failed to get Emily’s attention.
She shocked you speechless when you found it on the rack and she threw it on the floor to tell you it looked perfect. You returned the favor every time you stepped out of the closet wearing it. She loved to see it on you, and was always eager to get you out of it, proving time and time again that it looked good on the floor.
Her wandering hands were always on you. On your first date she was a perfect gentlewoman, chastely holding your hand throughout the evening as much as you allowed. Over time she got bolder. She kept a hand on the small of your back when you were out together, and it drifted down to squeeze your ass when no one was looking. Anytime she drove, she laid her hand on your thigh, and her fingers would creep higher and higher until you redirected her with an exasperated sigh.
You felt wrong to be sitting in the passenger seat without her touch.
You felt wrong stepping out of the car without her meeting you at your door.
Emily’s funeral began with somber opening words and a half hearted attempt to lighten the mood with a joke that fell flat. You felt a silent laugh break through the fog during the uncomfortable silence that followed, remembering the line Emily used when your first date stagnated during dinner.
“I would flirt with you, but I’d rather seduce you with my awkwardness.”
The date ended after she dropped you off at your door, and kissed you goodnight. You had just stepped inside and were swooning against the door, fingers lingering where her lips had been moments before, when you heard a knock. Emily was on the step again, holding a bouquet of flowers.
“I meant to give these to you when I picked you up,” she laughed nervously, “I think I panicked on my way here and forgot to bring them up with me. So here,” she held the bouquet out so you could take it, “pretty flowers for a pretty lady.”
A long stemmed rose did not have enough presence to hold the weight of your goodbye. It could not compete with the joy of colorful wildflowers plucked on a whim and pressed into your hand. It could not find her soul and convey all of your love.
This was the last time you’d be this close to Emily, standing with her BAU family and surrounding her casket. Each rose carefully placed against the lid tore a piece of your soul away, until there was nothing left as you laid yours on top of the pile.
You stood at the graveside long after the rest of the team had gone, watching the breeze nudge the flowers. The sunlight warmed your body, even as you felt frozen solid. You weren’t ready to leave, to walk away from the greatest love you’d ever find. You had a taste of being with someone, and you couldn’t accept that you’d be alone again.
Emily was gone. Your wife was gone.
“Do you think I’ll ever stop crying?” JJ had returned to your side and laid a gentle hand on your shoulder as you spoke. “Just when I think there’s nothing left,” you chuckled as you wiped your eyes again, “something else comes up and there’s more.” You turned and looked at her, unable to stop the tears or the hitched breaths. “How am I supposed to survive this if I can’t stop crying?”
She wrapped you in a hug, protective and fierce in a way that helped steady you. Her warmth leeched into your body, freeing you from your frozen vigil at the graveside. It reminded you that Emily had been gone since Boston, and her team had taken care of you. Even in the few hours you had to yourself, you had the knowledge that they were in this grief with you, and you weren’t truly alone. They’d keep taking care of you, if you’d let them, and eventually you would survive.
JJ let you pull out of the hug when you were ready, keeping her hand on your arm. “Will you come with me? I need to show you something, and wearing heels in grass is not an ideal situation.” Another chuckle slipped out as she squeezed your arm and you nodded to her request. She carefully led you out of the cemetery, keeping you from stumbling when your heels sunk too deep. The standard suv surprised you when she stopped beside it. “It’s a bit of a drive,” she said as she opened the door.
You didn’t expect the destination to be the federal building where this nightmare began. The never ending tears dried up for a moment as you looked at JJ in disbelief.
“I need you to trust me. Just for a little bit longer.”
The building was just as cold and formidable as it was four days ago, concrete walls and harsh lighting made every step feel insignificant. There was constant movement, people desperately chasing leads and tracking trails before they ran cold. The bureau never stopped, not even as they buried one of their own.
It wasn’t fair. Emily was dead and they moved on as if they didn’t care. Just four days ago she was part of this machine, working with every fiber in her being to see monsters stopped and justice served. They acted like she was never there, like she wasn’t important enough to remember.
You wanted to scream. You wanted to stop in your tracks and grab the nearest agent and shake them until they admitted she mattered. Emily was your wife and she gave up her life and she mattered. How could they not see that she mattered?
Agent Hotchner met you in the BAU conference room, ushering you to have a seat at the round table. He didn’t fidget as you lowered yourself into the chair, didn’t fill the air with meaningless small talk as you settled. There was no need, the look on his face told you enough.
“You have more bad news, don’t you?”
He nodded, waiting for you to get control of your breathing.
“Ian Doyle evaded capture, and we have reason to believe you may be in danger.” He didn’t mince words. You felt the tears again, and clutched Emily’s ring around your neck to calm down enough so he could continue. “We’d like to move you into protective custody.”
Emily promised her team would keep you safe. Your mind whirled as he explained the process to you, how you’d be cut off from your life in DC and moved to an undisclosed location to assume a new identity. The idea was overwhelming, but you clung to Emily’s promise. The team would keep you safe from the man who may be after you. You couldn’t let Emily’s killer get their hands on the last of her legacy.
“When,” you croaked, “when do I leave?”
“Immediately,” JJ explained. “We’ll need to meet up with her at Bethesda, but you’ll be on your way to the new location by this evening.”
They got you into a disguise before you left the BAU, pulling you along when you stopped to watch a maintenance man hang Emily’s picture on the wall.
You were truly leaving her behind, leaving everything you’d built together to fall apart while you hid yourself and your child from the man who took your world apart. You were leaving everyone who’d known her, everyone who would remember her laughter and quick wit, and everything about her. There would be no one else to help your child know their mother, everything now fell to you.
JJ got you settled in the car and climbed in to sit in the seat beside you while two nameless agents drove you toward the unknown. She pulled the unfinished photo album out of her bag and placed it in your lap.
“I noticed you lingering on this last night, and with everything happening, I thought you’d want to have it. I know I’d want to have mine.”
Your fingers traced along the spine, feeling the texture of the familiar cover. You pressed a hand to your belly at the sight of the ultrasound on the first page, feeling and seeing the proof of the life you carried, proof of the love you’d shared with Emily. That hand moved to your mouth to muffle the gasping sobs that let out when you turned the page to find Emily kissing you on the courthouse steps the day you got married, opposite the paper rings that started it all.
In front of you was the proof that it all happened, something you could show your child about their mother. Something to remind you that it had happened, that she had loved you just as fiercely as you loved her. You thanked JJ in a quiet whisper.
The hospital in Bethesda was a shock to your senses as you left the quiet of the car. The nameless agents trailed behind as JJ led you through hallways and past countless rooms until you arrived at the ICU. You wondered what the purpose of this stop was, how meeting up with someone who was going to take you away would work at the hospital. Were they visiting someone? Were the extra agents here to tag them out?
Could you actually trust some stranger with your life?
You stuck as close as you could to JJ, the only person you knew in the fast moving hospital. It was easy to be unnoticed in the crowd, and it would be just as easy to get separated, and you weren’t ready to lose the last bit of living familiarity you had left.
She stopped outside the door to a patient room and turned to you, squeezing your arm for a moment when she saw the fear on your face.
“Why don’t you go on in? I need to talk to her doctor to make sure she’s well enough to travel.”
Anxiety washed over you as you nodded and turned to the door. There’d been so many strangers in your life the past few days, and now you were about to meet another one, when they were at their most vulnerable, and you obviously had been crying for days.
You were heading into more unknowns, more overwhelming situations alone, without Emily.
You missed her.
You needed her.
God, you just wanted-
“Emily.”
You were numb and frozen at the sight of the person on the bed. You’d recognize that face anywhere, beaten and bruised, you’d spent far too long studying her to not know it at first glance.
“Hi sweetheart.”
Lazarus- from a Christian story, Jesus learns of the illness of a friend. He returns to find the sisters mourning their brother’s death four days prior. He shares their grief and performs a miracle, raising Lazarus back to life.
I fell headfirst into the Emily Prentiss fandom without ever watching an episode of Criminal Minds. I’ve consumed so much fanfic over the last couple of months that I decided to actually watch the show. Being who I am, I googled and found out what happened to Prentiss over the course of the show, and the idea for this fic hit me like a truck. First in a three part series. First time writing mostly angst. First time posting my fic to tumblr instead of just Ao3.
4.8k word count, Part 1 of 3 Major Character Death, angst no comfort
Set right after Emily lands in Boston. Reader is pregnant. Emily sends you to the BAU when she decides to go after Ian, worried that she will fail. The team doesn’t know about you, or that you are married to Emily.
Read on Ao3
Part 2 Part 3
“Hi sweetheart,”
Two words that, in the right context, made you feel warm and loved.
Those two words said in the middle of the day and in that tone was not the right context.
Something was going on. Something big, something Emily couldn’t tell you about.
It was heavy, and she was struggling under the weight of keeping this secret. Your never phased, calm in the face of danger, wife had become almost paranoid in her attempt to keep you safely in the dark. You gathered something from her covert intelligence days had resurfaced, necessitating her vigilance at all times. Her protectiveness had skyrocketed when you got pregnant, but this felt different. She was hyper vigilant the longer this went on, moving you to a hotel with the damn cat when something spooked her.
You were first worried when she started picking at her nails again, a nervous habit you hadn’t seen in years. Then she got cagey, snapping at you in response to your gentle questions. You never asked her to spill her secrets, you only wanted to know how to help. She was quick to apologize, never actually intending to cause the hurt that came with her brusque words, telling you that she was fine and there was nothing you could do.
Of your time together, you’d never seen her struggle so hard to convince herself.
Emily was good at keeping secrets. She knew how to dodge questions, how to redirect suspicion or give an unsuspecting non answer. It’s how she kept your existence a secret from a team of highly trained profilers. She would admit it if they asked directly, she wasn’t a liar, especially not to people who risked their life for her on a daily basis.
She kept you secret to keep her work at the BAU from coming after you. She worried about unsub’s families seeking revenge and directing their anger at you. It wasn’t unprecedented. No one could harm you if no one knew about you. They couldn’t harm your child if they couldn’t find you.
Keeping you secret meant phone conversations were always brief, Emily preferred to show her love in person anyway, but traveling for a case made that impossible. The most affection you’d seen in her texts were the simple smiley faces she sent as a good morning when she was stuck in a hotel. Otherwise the workday was radio silence. You never expected a call during business hours. Certainly not a phone call where her voice shook and you could hear her barely restrained tears.
“Sweetheart, I need you to listen to me,” she said, “You need to leave right now, and go straight to the FBI building. Tell them you’re there to speak with Agent Hotchner.” You protested, trying to get her to explain, trying to understand the urgency in her voice. You’d never been inside her workplace, had only ever met her boss when he called to have you retrieve your injured wife when they returned from a case.
“Emily, you’re scaring me,” you whispered as you clutched the phone in your hand. “What’s going on? Why do I need to go?”
“Please, my love,” you heard her breath hitch as she begged. “Just do it. Come to the FBI, go to the BAU and ask for Agent Hotchner. He’ll explain what he can.” Her voice was thick with thinly veiled fear, and it fed yours. Emily regularly came face to face with some of the scariest people and things imaginable. She didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, didn’t react rashly. She was terrified now.
“Won’t you be there?” Silence answered your question, making the pooling dread sit heavier in your belly, threatening the nausea that had yet to leave you. “Emily?” You knew your wife well enough to know the answer, that her refusal to answer was because she didn’t want to lie to you, but the answer wasn’t what you wanted to hear. “Why?”
“I need you to be safe.” Her voice was steady, almost harsh as she cut off your question. She said your name, not any of the sweet pet names she always used, but your legal name, focusing your attention on her next words. The chill of fear rattled your bones at the sound of your name. “I have to go, and you have to be safe.” You could just about see the tears streaming down her lovely face, “I’m so sorry sweetheart. I know this is bad, I know what I’m asking you to do. I need you to trust me.”
You trusted her implicitly, just as she trusted you. As soon as she’d asked the first time, you’d started gathering your things to leave. A quick email to your boss was all the notice you dared to give, not when Emily sounded so afraid. Time was of the essence. She trusted you to listen to her instruction, and you trusted her need to keep you both safe.
“I trust you Em. I’m scared, but I trust you. I’m going now.”
“Thank you my love,” you heard her sob in relief. “My team will keep you safe, I promise. Just stay as close as you can.”
“You’ll come home, right?” You knew better than to ask if she’d be safe. Just from the tone of her voice, the fact she’d called, you knew she was walking into danger. “Promise me. Promise me you’ll come home to us.”
“I will try. With every fiber of my being I will try.”
That was the best she could do. She wouldn’t make a promise she wasn’t sure she could keep. But you knew she would try. You had to accept that.
“I love you. More than words. Be safe my love.” You could feel the gravity of your words weighing you down, a heavy lump forming in your throat from the sobs trying to break forth.
Emily’s response was calm and clear, like a burden had been lifted from her shoulders and she could breathe for a moment.
“I love you sweetheart. I love you both so much.”
You cried when the line went dead, sobbing at the finality in that last I love you that sounded like a goodbye. The reality that crashed in around you was suffocating. Emily was actively running into danger to keep you safe, and she wasn’t sure she’d survive. She left you with a declaration of her love that felt like an apology wrapped in grief.
How would you find hope when she sounded so broken?
Walking into the BAU made you feel like a toddler going to school for the first time. A sea of people worked the bullpen in a flurry of activity that made you dizzy. The visitor tag pinned to your lapel felt like a shield, blending in with the countless others in crisp suits and spotless uniforms. Everyone had a task, it seemed, and they were too busy to hear your attempts to ask for help.
Eventually you found Agent Hotchner in the overwhelming number of stern faced men in dark suits. He stood at a board covered in photos of things you’d never unsee, no matter how quickly you averted your gaze to focus on his tie. You watched him pin something new to the board as you reached the edge of the team circled around him, your vision tunneling in on the small thumbnail you recognized as your wife’s face.
Agent Hotchner noticed you as the team broke the huddle. He directed you out of the bullpen, cutting through the crowd to lead you into his office. He directed you to take a seat as he sat in the other chair.
“How can I help you, Mrs. Prentiss?” He asked.
You felt the dam break and all your thoughts tumbled forth at once. “I’m sorry, Emily told me to come here, but she wouldn’t say why. She sounded like she was crying. She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t even call me. Why would she call me? She told me to find you, so I did. I don’t know what to do now, what do I do now?”
He listened to your rambling explanation, even as it bordered on hysterics. “Now you take a breath, and help us find her.”
“How can I help you find her? She didn’t tell me anything about what’s going on,” you said, your hitched breathing calmed down the longer you were in this stoic man’s presence.
“You said she called you to tell you to come here. Did she say anything else?” His question was direct, to the point with little room for interpretation. You didn’t think she’d said anything else besides the ‘I love you’ that sounded like goodbye.
“She said I have to go,” you remembered. “She said I have to go, and you have to be safe. She said her team will keep me safe.” You whispered as the final thread came to you. “She said she was sorry, and that she would do her best to come home,” you were crying again, remembering how unsure she sounded in her final promise to you. “Agent Hotchner, she doesn’t think she’ll come home.”
The flurry of activity that followed your conversation in his office was overwhelming and agonizing. You were led to Emily’s desk, avoiding curious glances from everyone she’d worked with and trying to make yourself invisible. The last thing you wanted to be was a distraction to the effort to find Emily, but you couldn’t face sitting alone in the quiet of Hotchner’s office. If they introduced themselves, you couldn’t remember, faces and sounds had blurred together the longer you waited, and you were trying to avoid hearing anything about the man they thought was after your wife. The less you knew, the easier it was to hold on to hope.
A new agent walked into the bullpen with a presence that demanded attention. The energy shifted from a tired hopelessness that came from going in circles to a quiet determination, bordering on tentative relief. They took the board of nasty things into the conference room when they gathered to hear what she had to say.
Your nerves were shot by the time two agents came to collect the keys to your apartment. You called Emily’s phone every twenty minutes, leaving the same message in her voicemail.
Please call me. Please be safe. I love you. Emily, I love you. Come home.
Each unanswered call sank like a stone in your gut. Your mind whirled, each ring unending and so final. She always took your call, even if it was just to tell you a quick “I’ll call you back.” She wasn’t answering, and you could feel your insides twist as time went on.
Emily’s desk was organized in piles. A large stack of files needing attention and a small stack sat in a tray labeled “done.” Pens lay scattered across the open surface, and a handful of sticky notes were stuck to the bottom of her computer monitor. Signs of Emily that you noticed as you stayed in her chair, staring at her desk while the rest of her team stayed huddled in that conference room and playing with your rings to try to redirect your thoughts from the end of her phone call.
I love you sweetheart. I love you both so much.
You bit back a sob, turning your head toward the ceiling to blink away the tears threatening to fall. Between the emotions of the day and the physical discomfort you felt on top of being in a strange place, you were fighting a losing battle. Openly weeping in the BAU bullpen was at the top of the list of things that would get you noticed, and any attention spent on you, was attention taken away from saving Emily. And you desperately wanted them to save Emily.
When the agents returned from your apartment with a chain holding a ring, you remembered hers. Emily had told you she kept her ring in the drawer of her desk when it wasn’t around her neck. You slid open the drawer and relaxed when you saw the familiar gold glint of the simple chain that carried the ring that matched yours. Part of you hated the idea that she left it behind, like she’d gone into battle without your love to shield her. Part of you thought of different symbolism, that she’d placed your love, her most treasured possession, in the hands of her team and trusted them to keep it safe.
My team will keep you safe, I promise.
Maybe she left it on accident, or maybe it was intentional, but either way her ring was staring at you from atop a file marked confidential, next to an assortment of pens and paperclips. Typical Emily organization, you snorted as you picked up the necklace and closed the drawer. The weight was comforting in your grasp, warming quickly to the temperature of your skin, like you were holding her vow in the palm of your hand. You put the chain on, laying her ring close to your heart where your vows were kept.
Your musings were interrupted by movement from the conference room. The team was gearing up to leave. You watched Agent Hotchner approach and you clutched Emily’s necklace tighter in your hand. Anticipation curdled the lighthearted feeling you’d just had into rotted meat churning in your guts.
“We believe she’s gone to Boston to confront our unsub. We are heading there now,” he informed you in his calm, steady voice. The churning intensified, worried you’d be left behind, yet anxious at the thought of travelling with them. “I’d like you to come with us. You may be able to help find her.” Your disbelief must have shown on your face. “Out of all of us here, you have known Emily the longest, and definitely know her more intimately than anyone. You may be able to give us crucial insight that we wouldn’t have otherwise.”
The idea that you could help solidified your decision, and you soon found yourself settling into a seat near the back of the plane, as out of the way as you could get. Just before takeoff, you thought to check your phone again, just in case Emily had finally tried to contact you. Maybe you’d try to call her one last time, maybe she could be convinced to stop, to come home. Your heart dropped when you saw the voicemail notification from a number you didn’t recognize, and you pressed play to hear her voice.
“I’m about to move in and I don’t know how this is going to go. I just need you to know that you are the light of my life. Everything I do is to make the world that much safer so you can shine forever. Don’t ever let your light dim, sweetheart. I love you with everything I am.”
You felt the walls shrink in tight around your body and a ringing noise sounded in your ears. Your mouth dried out. Your heart stopped, and your lungs quit working.
That was a goodbye. You were holding her goodbye in your hand.
Your body slammed back into motion when your phone was pulled out of your hands by the blonde agent that had rocked up to the BAU like she owned the place. There was no stopping the silent sobs as you pulled one heaving breath after another into your lungs.
Emily was walking into certain death and you couldn’t stop her.
You couldn’t help her.
“God, it sounds like a suicide note. Hotch, something’s happening with Emily and I can’t get a hold of her. I think she blocked this number.”
Air couldn’t come into your lungs fast enough. You were panicking. You wanted Emily.
“Take care of her. I’ll get us in the air.”
“Oh my god!”
The ringing in your ears was deafening, sending your head spinning and overwhelming you with nausea. Closing your eyes made the world spin faster, made every jolt and motion of the plane that much sharper.
Everything I do is to make the world that much safer
You scrambled from your seat to the back of the cabin, barely making it to the bathroom in time to wretch into the toilet, emptying the contents of your stomach into the bowl. The acrid taste of bile burned your throat, adding to the cacophony of emotion and the deluge of physical sensation.
Don’t ever let your light dim.
Her words were forever seared into your brain, burned into your memory, carved into your bones. You were her light in darkness, and she was the reason you kept burning.
This would be the first promise to you she’d ever broken. She wasn’t even going to try.
I promise to try with every fiber of my being.
She promised. She wouldn’t break a promise like that. Why would she send that message unless she wasn’t going to try?
Your chest hurt and you couldn’t breathe. You were drowning in the abyss of grief and pain that only got louder.
God you needed Emily.
Everything would be alright if you could hear her call your name one last time.
The sound of your name drifted in over the ringing of your ears, faint and wavering, but you heard it. You heard Emily calling your name, just as you wished to hear it. Like a lifeline, you grasped the sound, heaving yourself to the present. The voice morphed as you gasped back into reality to find yourself folded in half, knees curled to your chest in the galley of the plane. Your blurry vision found the source of the voice kneeling in front of you, giving you just enough space to try to breathe. She kept saying your name, pulling your attention to her instead of letting you drown in the raging storm of your mind. “Breathe. In and out. Nice and slow.”
“Em-Emily,” you chanted her name breathlessly. “She’s- I can’t-,” you reached out and grasped the hand she offered you. “She can’t die.”
She squeezed your hand in hers, grounding you to the present, guiding you to breathe. Your broken gasps slowly settled into deep breaths, calming your heart as she kept speaking to you, holding your gaze with her own.“Just breathe,” she kept her hold on your hand, exaggerating her breaths to help you time yours. “We are doing everything we possibly can to help her. That’s all we can do. Just breathe.”
Logic was finally making sense as air settled in your lungs. You were on a plane, heading to Boston with the only team in the world that could help Emily survive this. Panicking was the last thing you should be doing right now, even if the last message she’d sent had torn right through you. You let the agent help you up from the floor and press a water bottle into your hands.
“Thank you,” you mumbled, embarrassed. “I just-, I never thought something like this could happen.” You took a shaky sip of water, averting your eyes from her kind gaze, “I don’t know what I’ll do if she doesn’t survive,” your hand covered your mouth as you broke down in sobs and you let the agent pull you in by the shoulders. “She’s off, doing God knows what, fixing to get herself killed, and I’m here-,” you half chuckled as you pulled yourself away and tried to force your breath to calm. “I’m crying into your shoulder and I don’t even know your name.”
She smiled at you, gentle and reassuring, and the gesture helped more than you expected.
“I’m Agent Jareau, but call me JJ,” she said. “Now you know my name, and crying is ok. Emily is important to you, and you’re wearing her necklace so you are important to her. You are right where you need to be ma’am.”
“She wore it a lot?” You reached up to grasp the necklace, your fingers tracing the band of the ring.
“All the time. I’m surprised she left it behind, actually.”
Emily was always proud of you, and the confirmation that she wore your love in public, even if she hesitated to reveal you, made your heart soar. Your mind finally settled enough to wipe your face clear and go back to your seat.
You settled back into your chair, avoiding the tentative half smiles and compassionate glances. The embarrassment of having lost it in front of these people hit you full force, twisting your gut and making you fidget. Yet another reminder that you didn’t quite measure up to badass FBI agents.
The team stayed gathered around a computer manned by a woman you could only assume was Penelope Garcia. You were frozen as you half listened to the conversation, your focus sharpening as they showed a surveillance video of Emily storming an SUV. This was not your Emily, your Emily is caring and cautious, protective of any life she came across. This Emily was ruthless and dangerous, firing an automatic weapon like it was nothing and throwing something through the shattered car window. It still hurt to see this unrecognizable Emily laid out on the sidewalk, two bullets in her chest. You couldn’t stop the tears falling, especially when Agent Hotchner confirmed the best chance they had to save her was if Emily was facing torture.
Tears streamed down your face even as you kept yourself silent. Your eyes faced forward, staring out the window yet seeing nothing. You hugged yourself tightly, arms wrapped around the barely there bump hidden under your clothes. The image of Emily sprawled on the ground haunted you, even though you knew she had a vest on, even though you watched Ian Doyle haul her up and drag her away. It would have been too easy for that to have been the end of your wife.
“Hey,” the deep warm voice shook you from your thoughts and helped bring you back to the present. By the confidence and protectiveness pouring out of him, you gathered this to be Derek Morgan. His hand slid into yours and squeezed. “We’re gonna do everything we can to bring her home, alright?” You sucked in a shaky breath and willed yourself to relax. Emily trusted her team, you should try.
“I know,” you whispered back, feeling a fresh wave of tears in your eyes.
You let yourself fade into the background as they tossed around theories the rest of the time in the air. You let them load you into an suv, sandwiched between JJ and Garcia, and lead you into the conference room of the local FBI office. You watched the team in their element, in and out of interrogations, digging information out of places you’d never thought to look, building a profile that made you believe more and more with each passing moment that they would save her.
Not knowing Emily’s past had never bothered you before. She’d told you she’d been involved in some covert and deep cover work, but you’d never wanted to know the details, so you tuned out when the British man started rattling off details of the operation that was currently haunting you all. Then you heard mention of a child.
“She wouldn’t have left a child in that,” you said, trembling under the attention from the room. “She wouldn’t have left a child in the middle of some scheme.” She’d felt like a pawn in her parent’s political ambitions, there was no way in hell she’d leave someone else to that fate. She’d told you so many times.
The room stayed quiet for half a beat before Penelope found a child matching the description. Then the collective group stopped breathing at the images that populated the screen. A woman and child, tied up and bloodstained, a gun held to their heads.
A beat passed and then air returned to the room with a new sense of urgency. An address was found, and you watched Hotchner and Morgan begin to coordinate the rescue mission. Hope co-mingled with terror as they addressed the troops.
“Prentiss is the only friendly in the building.”
“Once they know we’re on site, there’s nothing to stop them from killing her.”
“Look at the fingernails,” you’d returned back to the conference room, waiting with the rest of the team for the op to begin. They were analyzing the photos, and zoomed in on the hand holding the gun. You knew that hand, those destroyed fingernails. Why was your wife pointing the barrel at a child?
“It can’t be real,” you whispered. “She wouldn’t shoot a child. She wouldn’t- there’s no way,”
You remembered her waking up in the night, not long after you were married, crying. She’d collapsed into your arms as she sobbed over and over, “It wasn’t real. It had to look real, but it wasn’t real.” She wouldn’t give you specifics, and you didn’t want them, but she said she had to save a young boy, and saving him meant staging his death to look real. “I keep hearing the gun go off in my dream.”
“She was protecting the boy. You said the bodies were never recovered, that’s because she staged the photos to fake their deaths.”
The realization was relayed to the ops team, and soon enough it began. You held your breath at the command to cut the power. You flinched at the sound of each silenced shot. Every second that passed was an eternity you spent praying to a god you weren’t sure you believed in. You don’t know when someone grabbed your hand. You couldn’t take your eyes off the screen to find out who.
Loud gunfire echoing through the room over the comms startled you, a gasping sob slipped out before you could catch it. The stealth part was over. Now it was a race to find her before the bad guys could kill her. You could feel your tears, for the hundredth time today they were falling down your face as your heart pounded in your chest.
“I got her,” Derek Morgan’s voice came over the speaker, the sound of his relief flooding the room. You almost didn’t hear the rest of his communication over your mumbled gratitude and the rush of your breath finally relaxing .
“Stay with me,” his voice was begging, pleading, and with every broken note the relief that had stitched your heart back together shattered. “HELP ME.” The world stopped mid motion as his mic went silent.
You don’t know how long it took to get the medic to your wife. You don’t know who caught you when your knees gave out, or who helped you into the suv to get to the hospital. The time between hearing Derek’s desperate cries and the agonizing wait in the surgery waiting room passed in a blur.
I love you sweetheart. I love you both so much.
Seconds stretched into hours. Minutes passed in an eternity, dragging you through broken glass with each tick of the clock. You couldn’t escape the pain, each memory that played stole your breath away with the possibility that you wouldn’t have the chance to make new ones with Emily.
Unless she couldn’t pull through.
You tried to pull yourself out of your memories, out of the grief that had no right to be present yet. Emily wasn’t dead. She was in surgery. Any minute the doctor would walk out to let you know she was in recovery. You’ll wait by her bedside and she’ll open those eyes that hold your soul captive and whisper how much she loves you. You’ll call her a self-sacrificing idiot and she’ll come home. You’ll help her recover, and she'll be there for you, getting the weird food you’re craving and rubbing lotion into your belly. She’ll hold your baby in those same arms that wrap around you when the world gets too hard.
She’ll pull through.
Time marched on in the tense waiting room. You watched her team as they waited alongside you, anxious and exhausted. Emily’s phone call felt like it came in weeks ago, but the call history on your phone said it had been a little over twelve hours. The team had done so much in that short time, gathering everything they needed to save Emily while you watched and waited. You were kind of amazed at how they had kept on working, pretending your presence wasn’t an intrusion and not asking too many questions. You doubted they just accepted you were just *close* to Emily, your reaction to her voicemail on the plane was more than enough evidence to something more. Some day, when Emily was healthy again, you wanted to be introduced to them properly.
The shift in the room alerted you to movement at the door. When JJ stepped out, you briefly wondered why they had called her back instead of you as Emily’s next of kin, though you quickly reasoned that the others weren’t aware of your relationship to Emily, or you were too zoned out to hear them call. Then you noticed JJ’s stiff body language and her red-rimmed eyes. Your heart dropped through your stomach.
“She never made it off the table.”
The Garden of Gethsemane- part of the Christian crucifixion story written in all four Gospels. After the last supper, Jesus leaves his disciples to go into a garden and prays for hours, in agony the entire time. Ultimately, he is betrayed by Judas and taken to be killed.
I instantly imagined her mother stepping out one morning and finding one of Daniela's gifts. Maybe a habit she developed when Alcina first adopted them. No birds were harmed in the making of this sketch, totally was an experiment*
theartofmadeline
vaporwave
kianamaiart
romaincrisis
