Work Text:
Derek’s legs pumped as he sprinted down the endless flights of stairs. He could hear it now, he thought – the definite sounds of a struggle a short distance away. God! Why the fuck had they split up?!
He knew logically, of course, that splitting up had been the best way to cover the search of this damned building, but the thought of something happening to her (again), made the blood freeze in his veins. He made his way through the lower levels of the building, his mind replaying the half-call she was able to make through her vest mic. She had called his name and then he’d heard another voice – likely Donaldson – followed by sounds of a tussle.
Fortunately he and Prentiss were a well oiled team, despite her recent absence, and they had kept in contact during this search, telling one another which level they were currently on. And once again, Emily was in the damn basement with an unsub.
It felt like Groundhog Day, as Derek charged forward, searching for his partner and praying she wasn’t hurt (again). That he wasn’t too late (again).
He ran automatically, as fast as he could, panic rising in his chest.
Please don’t let her be bleeding out on the floor. PLEASE don’t let her be bleeding out on the floor.
He slowed as he neared the doorway, hearing her – and Donaldson – more clearly. He kept his steps lighter, quieter, and set the gun more firmly in his hands. When he rounded the corner, he froze. Just for a second.
Emily was on the floor. There was blood on her face. Donaldson – the man they had been tracking for a week now - was on top of her, choking her with one hand, a huge knife in his other, the point dangerously close to her body, pressing just below where the Kevlar vest ended, and she was gripping his wrist, using everything she had to stop him from plunging the knife into her gut.
In the second he froze, Derek pictured Emily lying on the ground ten months ago, alone in the gloom, bleeding out, impaled. In the second he froze, Derek saw Doyle – not Donaldson - and rage consumed him.
Rather than call ‘FBI’ and follow protocol, primal instinct – rage - took over, his gun forgotten, as he sprinted the distance and launched himself bodily at Donaldson.
Emily gasped in relief and exhaustion as Derek collided with Donaldson and the two of them crashed to the ground, the knife clattering a few feet away. She gasped for breath, coughing, and rolling shakily onto all fours, using a hand to massage the bruising that bloomed around her throat.
Derek grabbed Donaldson by the collar and slammed his fist into the asshole’s face. Again. Again. Again. Again. There was a loud crack as Donaldson’s nose shattered under the onslaught, but still Derek didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. He saw the face of Ian Doyle; the face of the man who had last hurt Emily; terrorised her; murdered her friends; left her bleeding out in a basement. The man that Derek was too fucking late to stop. The man who took his partner away from him. The man who killed Emily.
“Derek!” Emily rasped urgently, her voice hoarse, as she tried to tug Derek away from Donaldson.
But Derek wouldn’t stop. He kept on pummelling Donaldson just like Hotch had done with Foyet.
“DEREK!” Emily grabbed at Derek’s shoulders, trying harder to pull him away from the bloodied, unconscious – maybe fucking dead – man. “DEREK FOR CHRIST’S SAKE!” she screamed, landing her own punch to the back of Derek’s head in a desperate attempt to stop her friend from actually fucking murdering Donaldson.
Derek stopped, finally, the reality of that hit shaking him free from the vision of Doyle.
“WHAT THE FUCK DEREK?!”
He rubbed at his head, turning to see her standing over him, her lip and nose bloodied. Blood on her shirt. “Emily? Are you ok?” Derek asked, reaching out to her, blood on his hands.
Emily shook her head and backed away. “What the fuck are you doing?!” She breathed.
Derek blinked at her, and then looked at Donaldson – at his own bloodied knuckles - finally realising what he had done. “Jesus. I… I didn’t mean that. I just… I wanted to stop him. I saw you there, lying on the ground and I….” he shook his head again. “I thought I was too late again.” He took another look at Emily. “You’re bleeding.”
Emily dabbed at her nose, adrenaline numbing her from the ordeal.
Derek reached out to her again, his hand at her waistband. “No. You’re bleeding.”
Emily looked down at her shirt, seeing her blood seeping through the material and in that moment, everything that happened with Doyle, it all came flooding back.
She stared at Donaldson, lying in a bloody heap with Derek knelt beside him. And she saw herself, lying bloodied ten months ago…Derek knelt beside her. She remembered how he pled for her to stay alive; to stay with him. She remembered his protests as the paramedics had pulled him away. In fact, that look on his face was the last actual thing she remembered before blackness took her. The same look as he had now. And in that second, her legs almost gave way at the memory.
“Emily?!” Derek called, seeing her stagger a step.
“Don’t touch me.” she choked, her mind caught in the moment of her death, before turning and running from the scene.
“EMILY!” He took a step to follow her and then stopped. “Fuck.” He hissed, regarding the unconscious man. He was on duty and he had a job to do. He cuffed Donaldson, called for a paramedic and waited impatiently for the EMC and Hotch to arrive so he could hand Donaldson over and get after Prentiss.
“Jesus! What the Hell has been going on?!” Hotch demanded.
Derek shook his head and ran a shaking hand over his scalp. “I don’t know, Hotch. I couldn’t stop.”
“Where’s Prentiss?”
“I just kept hitting him.” Derek breathed, oblivious to Hotch’s question. “He has choking her and…”
“MORGAN.” Hotch said firmly, waiting until Derek looked at him. He could see genuine fear in his Agent’s eyes and his heart broke for him. For all of them. The past year had been a shit show and they had all been through the wringer. He was ever humbled by how his team had fought to try and hold themselves together when Emily was thought to be dead. And he had been humbled again when she returned and he watched them all try their damnedest to rebuild what had been so badly broken. “Where is Prentiss?” he asked again, more gently.
“She, uh… she left. I need to go find her.” He looked at where the medic was checking Donaldson over. “I’m sorry Hotch, I just –“
Hotch waved a hand dismissively. “You don’t need to say it.” The memory of his own bloodied hands fresh in his mind. He had beaten his own demon to death and his team never once abandoned him. Now it was his turn to return the favour. “He was resisting. You did nothing wrong.”
“I did.” Derek replied. “And I’ll face it. But I have to go after her, Hotch. I can’t let her down again.”
Hotch nodded. He had spent months trying to assure a grieving Derek that he bore no blame in Emily’s death… but he knew that the only way Derek would ever truly believe that was if he heard it from Emily’s own lips. “Go to her, Morgan.” Hotch nodded.
*
As soon as Derek was in his car and on his way his heart began to settle. He had an instinct as to where she would go, but he needed to be sure, so he grabbed his phone, the number on speed dial. “Hey baby girl.”
“Hi handsome. What do you need?” Penelope cooed in a sultry voice over the phone.
“Always you, honey.” he smiled, Penelope’s voice soothing his very soul. “I need you to locate Prentiss for me.”
Panic edged its way into Penelope’s voice. The last time Emily had gone missing, it ended in a funeral. “Wasn’t she with you? Oh God – what’s happened?” she asked, fear colouring her voice.
“Hey, calm down P. It’s nothing bad.” (he hoped). “But I know you kept a track on her phone and vehicle after the whole Doyle thing, and, uh…”
“Why’d she go? Why didn’t she tell you where –“
“Calm down, baby.” Derek cooed. “I’ll tell you all about it later on, okay? But it’s all good. I swear.”
Penelope exhaled slowly. “Okay, I believe you.” She decided. “You wanna know where she is?”
“Yeah. I’ve got a pretty good idea, but I need the most gorgeous genius I’ve ever known to confirm it.”
Simpering with delight, Penelope squeaked softly. “I might be able to oblige you. But only because you’re such a dreamboat!”
Derek laughed softly, tamping down the urgency he felt. “Takes one to know one, baby.”
After the briefest moment - “Got her! She’s, uh, at home.”
“At home?”
“Yep. No seedy bar. No clandestine abandoned building. No CIA headquarters – just home.”
His suspicion confirmed, Derek exhaled in relief. “Thanks. I owe you.”
“Coffee, donuts and a kiss!” she reminded him. “Not necessarily in that order. But all three are requirements.”
Derek laughed his thanks, hung up and headed towards Emily’s apartment.
It seemed only a matter of seconds before he was parked; out of the elevator; and hammering on her apartment door. “Emily? Emily, it’s me. Will you open up? Please?”
The door swung open, and she glared at him, bruises on her pale skin. “Jesus Derek, will you stop shouting! There are folks trying to sleep, ad I do NOT want to give Brian an excuse to be up my ass.”
“Sorry.” He nodded, stepping through the door. “Brian?”
“Fucking Brian.” She sighed. “My neighbour. He used to stop at 007 jokes, but now he thinks I’m the damned Messiah. Or Bobby Ewing.”
“Huh?”
“Back from the dead. Yeah. Like that’d be a fun conversation to have with a dude who’s already a bit of a nutjob.” She groaned.
“Yeah, I guess so.” He nodded. He hadn’t honestly thought about how Emily’s reappearance might affect her personally – and he wondered whether her mom had been in on the lie as well?
“I’m gonna have to move out, aren’t I?” she sighed, still thinking about Brian. “I can’t avoid him forever.”
Derek listened sadly – there was no disguising the depression in her voice here. At work she covered it up, hid it, around the team – pretended she was okay. Shit – maybe they were all pretending these days?
“How did you know I was here?“ She sighed, answering her own question. “Garcia, right? I know she put a tracker on my phone and in my car.”
“You knew that? But you didn’t remove them?”
A shrug. “She was so worried about me when Doyle was a threat. I couldn’t do that to her again.”
Derek nodded. “I get it.”
“It’s awkward, isn’t it?”
“It doesn’t have to be.” He noted.
“We’re all just… walking on eggshells. Dancing around one another.”
“Look, we can talk about that after you’ve seen a doctor for that wound.” He said, gesturing to where the bloodstain was turning dark on her shirt. Thankfully it didn’t look too serious, but to watch her standing there, acting as if she wasn’t hurt was unsettling.
“You nearly killed Donaldson. You know that, right?” she pointed out, accusingly – and craftily shifting the focus away from herself. “Is that what you did to Ian, huh?” She shook her head in disappointment. “Find him and beat him up? For me? I thought you were better than that.” She knew it was unfair, but she couldn’t help it.
“I… I guess I lost it.”
She scoffed. “You think?!”
“Look I screwed up, I know that, but being pissed at me doesn’t change the fact that you need to get to a hospital –“
“No. It’s not that deep.”
“Baby.” He cooed, reaching to her. “You’re bleeding.”
“I know.” She croaked.
He could tell that maybe she was afraid to look, and he wondered if her mind might play the same tricks on her as it did him. Where he saw Doyle and not Donaldson, maybe Em was afraid to look in case she saw a wooden stake rammed into her gut?
“Let me see?” he asked gently.
She shook her head.
“Let me see.” This time it wasn’t a question.
“Don’t.” she breathed weakly, closing her eyes as his hand reached for her.
“Why not?”
The words caught in her throat.
He heard her crying softly as he lifted her shirt to assess the wound. “I’m sorry.” he whispered, afraid he was hurting her. His eyes first took in the fresh wound – bleeding quite freely, but fortunately not too deep. And then he saw her other scar. The bigger one. The one that Ian Doyle left her with ten months ago. It had healed, sure, but her skin was mangled and puckered there, and he raised his eyes to hers, seeing the self-disgust in her expression and he immediately understood. “Baby.” He whispered, setting her shirt back in place. “You need to get it looked at.” He told her.
“I’m scared.” It was almost too quiet to hear. Words that she hated to say aloud.
“Of what?” Derek asked, just as softly. “You can tell me. Whatever it is. I’ll keep you safe.”
“I can’t go in an ambulance. Couldn’t, I mean. Not after…Ian.”
“You felt it too, right? That deja-vu.” He took a breath. “You might need stitches – or at least a tetanus shot…”
“I know.” She admitted tightly.
“Then why not let the ambulance -”
Emily laughed in disbelief. “Last time I was in a fucking ambulance I died, Derek!”
“What?”
She looked away. “Yeah. I coded. I was gone for nine minutes.”
Derek dropped heavily onto her couch, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Jesus Christ.”
“And all his saints.” Emily added, wincing at the pain in her stomach.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She shrugged. “You already grieved my death once. No point in making you do it again.”
“But… we thought it was a lie, and it wasn’t.”
“It was, though. The death you mourned was a lie.”
Derek stared at her. “You died Emily.”
“Bobby Ewing.” She laughed flatly.
He fell silent, watching her ‘tells’ as she shrugged off the weight of what had truly happened to her. “You can’t just…pull that shit on this, Em.” He whispered.
“What shit?”
“That compartmentalisation bullshit. Not with something as big as this.”
She laughed. She laughed, and it sounded cruel, but she couldn’t help it. “It’s all fucking ‘big’, Derek. I kept Ian Doyle safely locked away in a box inside my head for seven years. And before that, I kept Emily Prentiss locked away – from him – for eight months. I kept her locked away from him, and from me, for another seven months. Dying? That’s a piece of fucking cake to hide, Derek. It’s easy because it’s better for you guys to not know. As far as you’re all concerned you THOUGHT I was dead, but I was really alive. For you guys, that’s good. You think it’d be better if they thought I was dead, then mourned me, then were able to be happy to see me again – only to learn that, yes, I did die, so they can feel bad for me all over again and revisit that pain that they had just gotten over? You really think that’d be better?!”
Derek blew out a breath. “Yeah, I do. Not better for us – but better for you. Better for you to open up and tell us everything. Let us fucking understand, Emily. Let us be there for you. Trust us. Show us that you trust us. Let us share the load. Hell, maybe it’d help more than just you.”
“Spencer and JJ you mean?” she asked softly.
He nodded.
Emily chewed at her lip. “What if it just makes it all worse again?”
“What if it makes it better?” he challenged.
“Is that a dare?” she half joked.
“If you need it to be.”
“You know I can’t back down from a dare.” She wiped at the tears in her eyes. She wanted to trust him – to trust herself… but she was so damn scared.
“How about I dare you to let a doctor look at that wound, huh? You let me call a paramedic to come here – to your apartment – and I’ll stay with you the whole time, every second of it.”
“It hurts Derek.” She gasped, pressing on the wound.
“Let me help you. Let me at least take a look.” He dialled 911 and told her to take the shirt off.
Emily numbly unbuttoned the grimy garment as Derek asked for urgent assistance for a Federal Agent. It felt surreal, like she was caught in some time loop. Basements and blood; Doyle and Donaldson. Derek. How could ten months ago feel like only ten seconds?
Derek hung up the call. “They’ll be here ASAP.”
“You’ll stay?” she asked, unable to keep the shake from her voice.
“Of course.” He cast his eyes over the wound – the blood flow had slowed substantially, but it was a nasty little injury. He almost turned away, but his eyes caught something else, and his breath caught in his throat when he saw what he initially thought was a tattoo on her chest.
Emily realised immediately that he’d seen it. She had been so lost in her thoughts, in her memories, that she’d forgotten to keep it hidden. She immediately rebuttoned her shirt. “Sorry.” She mumbled automatically. “Ian.” She added as an explanation.
Derek frowned. “He tattooed you?”
“Branded. It’s, uh… it’s a brand.”
Derek just stared at her. He must have misheard. “A what?”
“Brand. Like property or… cattle.” She said, not meeting his eyes.
The power of speech had deserted him. A brand?! That stinking asshole branded her? Was that another thing that she kept locked away? What else was there? What other shit was she carrying alone?
“It’s okay.” Emily said, acknowledging the shock on Derek’s face. “Ian’s way of reclaiming me.”
Derek stammered a few syllables. “That bastard. That fucking rat bastard.” He eventually breathed. “I’m so sorry, Emily.” He reached out to her, but she stepped away.
“To Ian, I was a rat.”
“’Ian’? IAN? How the fuck can you call still him that, like, like he’s your friend?!” he yelled. “Like he’s –“
“What? A lover?” she half laughed.
“I don’t understand you.” He breathed.
“Wanna know something Derek? I don’t either. I can’t… make you understand when I don’t understand myself! Do I hate him? Fuck yes! But…I have to hate me as well. I knew what he was. I knew what I was doing. I seduced him. I used him. I spent eight months with him; living with him; making arms deals; doing heinous shit, Derek. Things I am not proud of. And I fucked him. And…I made love to him, and there were times when it almost seemed like he was a good person, you know? And I wasn’t me. I wasn’t Emily - I was Lauren, and Lauren loved him. And Declan. But Emily loved Declan too, and no matter how good I am at filing it all away… it’s still there. And I know I hurt you, I hurt all of you, and I’m sorry for it all, Derek – but you have to understand why I couldn’t tell you. Why I was afraid to tell you.”
Derek nodded, laying a hand gently on her shoulder in the hopes of calming her down. “He was always a threat, wasn’t he? You always knew he might come after you?”
Emily nodded. “I always knew there would be a day when someone came for me.”
The look in her eyes hit him like a hammer. “I’m sorry.” He breathed. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop him.”
“How could you have when I didn’t tell you about him?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.” He turned his head at the sound of sirens.
“I guess that’s for me.” she said.
“Yeah.”
“You won’t go?”
He shook his head. “I won’t go.”
“What if I need to go in the ambulance.” It wasn’t a question, just a… fear said aloud.
“It’ll be okay.” He assured her. “I’ll be right there. I’ll keep you safe. I will.”
“I know you will.” She nodded. Wiping a tear, she fought to change the subject. “How is Donaldson?”
Derek snorted in disgust. “Hopefully hurting a Hell of a lot more than you are.”
Emily smiled. “I’m sorry I hit you.”
“I deserved it. I needed it. I just lost it today.”
“You lost it when you found Ian, too.”
“Yeah I did.”
She smiled again. “You got him good, huh?”
“For you. I got him for you. He whimpered like a pussy.”
Emily swallowed down the lump in her throat. “I appreciate it, Derek. Truly I do. No one has ever fought for me like that before. It means a lot.”
“We’re partners.” He said simply.
“Can you… get past what I did?”
He nodded. “I shouldn’t have let it cloud me in the first place. I’m sorry about that. Sorry I judged you. Can you get past that?”
“Already have, Derek.” A knock at the door caught their attention, and Emily stiffened instinctively.
Derek gave her a wink and jogged to open the door. He sat right beside, holding her hand, her as the paramedic checked over her wound.
“You’ll definitely need a few stitches and to make sure the wound is clean.”
“Can you do that here?” Derek asked, flashing his badge as an incentive.
The paramedic chuckled. “I’d like to – but my ass would be in the fire if I did, Agent. I can put a dressing on in the meantime, but sutures need to be done in a more sterile environment.” He smiled. “Fortunately it is fairly shallow.”
Derek nodded. “I hear that. I’ll drive her to the hospital.”
“The ambulance is right outside…”
“We’re good.” Derek assured him. “Thanks for coming out.”
Once Emily was temporarily patched up and they were alone again, Derek helped her to her feet. “Your carriage awaits, Princess.”
Emily smiled. “I feel like a jerk. A Federal Agent scared of a fucking ambulance.”
Derek grinned. “You are a jerk. That’s true.” He winced as she slapped his arm. “What I meant to say was: of course you’re not a jerk.” He paused and added, “And being afraid is totally okay. You went through a lot. I know therapy is mandated, but I know you, too, Prentiss. So if you ever want to let those walls down - to a friend – instead of some stuffed suit, well…I’ll be there.”
She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “I missed you, Derek. For all those months…just knowing that you were the one with me when I… when he hurt me. That you tried so hard to save me, and they told you I was dead. I’m sorry. I’m sorry you went through that. I’m sorry I lied to you. If I could change it…”
“Hey,” he cooed, “It wasn’t your call to make. I don’t blame you, not for any of it. I hope you can believe that.”
“I do.”
He bit his lip, weighing up his words. “I know you haven’t felt like a part of us since you came back. But you are a part of us and I want you to know that if you need to talk to me – about anything – that I’ll listen.” He grinned. “But I promise not to profile you.”
“I’ll try too, y’know, to be more open with you.”
“No pressure, okay. Let’s just get you sewn up.”
She sighed. “I’ll look like a patchwork quilt.”
“Hey – you’re alive, Emily. Believe me: that’s a good thing.”
She smiled. “That’s something that I haven’t been sure about for the best part of a year.” She caught the look in his eyes and reenforced her smile for him. “I’m working on it, Derek.”
“You’ll get there.” He assured her confidently.
“I’ll get there.” She agreed. “And maybe you’re right. Maybe I need to tell the team the whole story. Will you test the water for me? Let me know?”
He kissed her temple softly. “You already know, Princess.”