MIDNIGHT VISITOR

SUMMARY – Morgan knows something is wrong and he just can't let it go. He goes to Emily's apartment to confront her about her strange behavior. Will she trust him with her secrets, or will she continue to push him away? ONE-SHOT

COPYRIGHT DISCLAIMER – I do not own Criminal Minds, nor any of the show's recognizable characters or plotlines. No copyright infringement is intended.

CHAPTER 1

When Derek Morgan left Quantico that night, he'd had no intention of ending up here…

He'd been fully prepared to go straight home. To see his dog, Clooney, and order Chinese take-out. He'd been planning to get to sleep early for once and recharge after their latest grueling case. He'd never meant to end up here…

But as he slid into his truck and tossed his go-bag into the back seat, he couldn't keep his mind from drifting back to her. How her go-bag had been less organized, and she'd had less clean clothes than usual on their last trip, almost as if she'd been living out of it for a few days already before they left on the case.

Gripping the steering wheel firmly in his hands, he couldn't help thinking of her hands. Her normally immaculate hands, and how she'd bitten her normally long nails down to stubs. Still, he'd sighed, an exhausted, resigned sound, and turned the key in the ignition, no intention of driving anywhere but home.

As he made to pull out of his parking spot, he'd instinctually checked his rearview mirror, an unconscious gesture. He was the last one in the lot and he knew it, but he'd checked anyway. And the second his eyes found the mirror, he'd been back in the city cab, discussing the latest case's bizarre MO with his partner. His mind wouldn't let go of the look of apprehension in her eyes when he'd asked what was going on with her, that momentary fear he'd seen there before she quickly covered her reaction.

And then he was driving, still fully intent on going home, even as his mind circled back again and again to his partner. It honestly wasn't until he found himself stopped in front of her apartment building that he realized there was no way he could just let this go.

He thought about calling first, to see if she was even still awake, before he went up to her apartment. But as he reached for his phone, he couldn't help remembering all the times in the last few weeks she'd stepped out to take mysterious, personal phone calls. All the times a quiet ding had signaled a message which brought that fearful glint into her eyes before she quickly put down her phone again. He hadn't meant to end up here, but he was here now, and he wasn't willing to let her inevitably ignoring his calls send him on his way before he saw her.

With every step he took, climbing each flight of stairs towards her tiny apartment, he let his mind run through all the little things he'd noticed her doing, all the things that added up to something being very wrong.

He had no intention of ending up here, but now that he stood before her door, he knew that he had been right to come.

There wasn't any light pouring under her door, and he might've thought she was sleeping after all, if she hadn't chosen that moment to cross her dark little kitchen. Derek listened to the floor creaking quietly for a moment, trying to determine why she might be awake and walking around in the dark, before the apartment fell silent once again.

He took two more, long, deep breaths before finally raising his hand to rap a soft knock on her door.

He'd thought he'd been very quiet, and he'd honestly expected to have to knock again, louder, before she even realized he was there. But the sudden crash of breaking glass and the startled, "Shit!" that reached his ears made it quite clear she had heard him after all. And that he had frightened her.

"Emily?" he spoke through the still closed door, his worry evident in his tone as he realized he couldn't hear her making her way to the door, "Are you alright? It's Morgan."

"Derek?" her voice reached him, subdued as if she was asking herself and not him, and so full of relief, "Hold on."

He could hear her then, walking toward the door, her steps clicking distinctly in addition to the soft creaks of the floor, as if she was still wearing her boots.

He listened as she undid the chain, and flipped over one, two, three deadbolts. Click. Click. Click. Down the door frame. And his apprehension grew with each sound as he wondered who she could possibly be hoping to keep out with that many locks.

Finally, the door slid open, and she stepped aside quickly, letting him in without any fuss. Though he did notice that she poked her head out and looked up and down the empty hallway as she did, seemingly checking to see if he had been followed. The gesture made no sense to him, but it also brought clearly to the forefront in his mind a similar gesture from just days before. Her frequently checking the side mirror in the SUV as he drove them from crime scene to crime scene, her foot tapping nervously as she checked again and again for a tail that was never there.

"Emily, are you alright?" he blurted out as he watched her close the door and relock each deadbolt before refastening the door chain. It was then that he noticed she was in fact still wearing her boots, and the same clothes she had worn on the plane home, nearly four hours ago. In fact, her holster and sidearm were still firmly in place on her right hip.

"Of course," she replied easily, her voice calm, even as her right hand still flitted nervously beside her weapon, "Why wouldn't I be?"

Morgan wasn't sure what to say, because he knew full well that she wasn't in fact okay at all. He was a profiler. He noticed and analyzed behavior for a living. That wasn't something he could just shut off, it was instinct at this point. And everything about her behavior lately was telling him something was wrong.

"I wasn't expecting you," she spoke again when he remained silent, breaking eye contact as she made her way back into the kitchen, "You startled me," she added as way of explanation when she flipped on the overhead light and the broken glass on the floor came into view. He remembered hearing the glass break when he first knocked, but only then realized he had frightened her into dropping it when he arrived.

"Who were you expecting then?" he asked as he took a seat at her kitchen table. He wasn't sure that he was right until she froze at his words. It was only a moment, and then she resumed cleaning up the glass and water from the floor, but it was enough to confirm her suspicions. The locks. The shoes. How jumpy she was. Her gun still on her in her own home in the middle of the night… It all added up to a very concerning picture for Morgan, one she had just unwittingly confirmed.

Completely ignoring his question, she instead asked, "What are you doing here, Derek?"

"I'm worried about you," he answered honestly, trying to catch her gaze as she tossed the last of the glass shards in the trash, but she was studiously avoiding making eye contact.

"I'm fine," she answered automatically, almost without thinking about it, but he had come to expect that.

"No, you're not," he told her, standing and crossing the kitchen until he was right in front of her and she was finally forced to look at him. His hands found their way to rest atop her own where they gripped the edge of the sink, and he squeezed them comfortingly, "Something is wrong. Please, Emily, tell me what is going on with you…"

She moved to extricate herself from his hold, only to find him blocking her path, "Nothing is wrong. I'm- "

"Please do not say you're fine," he cut her off, "Talk to me."

"What the hell do you want me to say?!" she snapped. She hadn't meant to get angry, but the way he was holding her, with her back pressed against the counter, she felt like a caged animal, and he just kept pushing… "I'm sorry," she whispered after a moment, "It's just been… I'm not… It doesn't matter, Derek. Please, just let this go," she finally managed to string together her jumbled thoughts in a more subdued tone.

"No," he answered calmly, but his tone firm, and his stance unwavering, "I will not let it go, Em. I've been letting it go, brushing it off, pretending it wasn't happening, for weeks. But something is happening here, and it does matter, and I can't ignore it anymore… So please, Emily, talk to me."

Valiantly as she tried, she couldn't keep the tears from pooling in her eyes as his words hit her, and as the first of them escaped, running freely down her flushed cheeks, she found herself nodding silently, accepting his loyal determination to help her.

"Ok," she finally said, "Ok," and he pulled her into a tight embrace before guiding her back to the kitchen table. He would sit with her here all night if he had to; it was time to find out what was really going on with his partner.