"Not a day goes by that I don't think of Richard and our love, and how much it meant to me to have that freedom to marry the person precious to me, even if others thought he was the 'wrong kind of person' for me to marry."
– Mildred Loving, on the 40th anniversary of Loving v. Virginia (1967)
Screaming filled the air again, loud even through the closed door. Hotch resisted the urge to pace, forcing his body to remain in the chair. He tried to tell himself that it would be okay, that childbirth was a natural process, and that Emily would make it through just fine. But, he couldn't stop thinking about her first child, the child that didn't survive. She had been so young then, and the baby had come early, far too early. The infant girl had never even taken a breath.
A week after that, they'd gotten word that Jonathan was dead. He'd been sure that the combination would kill his baby sister. When it didn't, he'd left her in Haley's care and joined up with the Virginia regimen of the Confederate army.
That was war. No time to mourn or grieve, you just pick up and move on. Neither had he had time to mourn the death of his beloved wife.
"She'll be fine, Aaron. You sister is a strong woman, just like her mother. And Penelope has been delivering babies since she was a teenager." David was sitting beside him, appearing calm, but Aaron knew better. The older man's fingers trailed slowly up and down the bib of his shirt, a sign as sure as any that he was worried for his niece.
"If she wasn't so strong-willed this wouldn't be happening." Hotch looked at him. "I blame you. You always indulged her too much."
"Someone had to give her a little freedom. You've always been so protective of her, ever since your parents died." Dave shook his head.
"She's my baby sister. It's my job to take care of her."
"No Aaron, it's your job to take care of your wife and children. Emily has been my responsibility since your mother died." Sadness swept over him, the same sadness that appeared every time he seemed to think about his sister.
Uncle David had been only nineteen and eager to experience life, a fun uncle that Aaron and Emily had both adored. When their parents died, Uncle David had inherited custody of his 10 year-old nephew and four year-old niece and become father and mother to them. Even at four, Emily had looked a great deal like their mother, and she was a source of comfort to Dave. He had doted on her and indulged her thirst for education and independence.
Hotch sighed. "Well, between the two of us, we shouldn't have allowed her to get into this condition."
"Do you know Aaron, I think I've seen her smile more in the last several months than I have since before Jonathan died?"
"I noticed." He looked away struggling with himself, before looking toward his uncle again. "What if the child doesn't make it?"
"We're aren't in the middle of a war anymore, and there's a very skilled midwife in there with her. A midwife that delivered three of your children," he said.
Aaron nodded. "We aren't in a war anymore, but the father is still missing, Uncle."
Dave exhaled loudly at that. "I know. Your sister has her reasons though, I'm sure."
It had been a great scandal in town when news spread that Emily Cooley was pregnant. Emily Cooley, who'd been widowed by the war at 15, and had never remarried. She'd been married to Jonathan for a day before he'd left for the war; his departure was why Dave had agreed. That and how much Emily loved the young man. Then she'd lost both him and their daughter, and it had nearly destroyed her.
It had destroyed her friend Mathew, who'd survived the war and his best friend's death only to become a slave to the bottle.
A final ear-piercing scream caused Hotch's frame to tense almost painfully until Dave rested a hand on his shoulder. This whole mess had had him stressed to his breaking point, and no matter how many times that he demanded, begged, or threatened, Emily had refused to reveal the identity of her child's father.
"She's strong, Aaron, and the child is about the right age to be born."
He nodded and they were startled when JJ appeared, her bustle swishing as she walked. One look at her pale, strained face, and the hand held delicately below the high collar of her dress, and his stomach turned over. He silently pleaded for both Emily and the child to have survived.
"What's wrong?" Dave asked, already out of his chair, the urgency in his tone betraying the anxiety he'd been hiding. "Is Emily alright? The child?"
"She's fine and so is the child."
"Jennifer?" He used his wife's given name.
"The baby, it's," she paused and inhaled. "It's Negro."
"What?" He blurted. He didn't wait for an answer, but headed straight for the birthing room, pushing his way inside.
He saw Penelope with a Negro servant girl, cleaning things up, and Emily on the bed, tears falling down her face as she beamed at the child in her arms. The child wasn't as dark as most Negroes, it was quite a bit lighter, but unmistakably one of them.
Emily looked up and smiled at him. "It's a boy, Aaron. I have a son."
"Yes, I see." He waited for her to comment further, but she just went back to watching her child with a warmth in her eyes that he'd never seen before now. He cleared his throat. "He's a Negro, Emily."
"Yes, I noticed that."
"Don't be smart with me, Emily. Who did this?"
She looked at him, eyes hard and face set in determination. "It doesn't matter."
"Damn it, Emily, this has gone far enough," he started, but abruptly stopped at the hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Penelope, who looked nervous.
This was not the first Negro baby that she'd delivered, not by far. Penelope had no prejudice when it came to infants; she was like a ball of light and love. She wanted every child to make it into the world and it's mother's arms safe and healthy.
"He's full term and healthy, and Emily is doing fine."
He shook her off. "I don't care that it's healthy, I care how the hell it got into her!"
"Aaron, calm down." Dave said, JJ and now Spencer as well filing in behind him.
He ignored them. "Did someone force you? Did one of the Negroes that work the field rape you?"
Emily scoffed. "Of course not."
"Then how? Why?"
"Love."
"Love? The child's father is clearly a Negro, Emily."
"And that means I can't love him?"
"That means it isn't proper. That means he forgot his place," he growled. "Give me his name."
"What, so you can take one of Uncle Dave's rifles and hunt him down? No," she spat.
"That's the least of what he's owed. I have a mind to do worse."
"He did nothing wrong."
Hotch felt his anger rise to an almost intolerable level. "Emily, what you did isn't even legal in some states!"
"Well, until Virginia is one of them, we've done nothing wrong." Her eyes had narrowed and her hands tensed protectively around the baby.
"Oh," Spencer blurted, surprisingly all of them.
"Spencer?" JJ asked, relief showing in her face.
He opened his mouth, and turned to Aaron. "I, I think I know who it is."
"The child's father? How would you know?" He asked.
The other man shifted his thin frame around. "I'm a good observer, I've noticed things. Emily always comes to the barn when he's here."
"When he's here? Who is he?" Hotch asked.
"Spencer, don't tell him!" Emily shouted.
"Remember I can fire you, if you don't." He'd hired Spencer to help run the plantation after Uncle Dave had decided to take a smaller role in things. Spencer was brilliant, and exceeding loyal to them.
Now he looked between the man who was a mentor to him and the woman who'd befriended him as an adored little brother. He swallowed. "Emily, I…"
"Spencer, please. Please don't do this." Emily's voice grew heavy.
"Spencer," Hotch pressed.
He ripped his eyes away from Emily, and he sighed. "He works with the Farrier."
Recognition dawned instantly. In fact, Derek did most of the work for the Farrier, making shoes and traveling to plantations and farms to care for the horses' feet. He could also read, which was near unheard of for Negroes.
Hotch looked at Emily. The pallor of her face and the fear radiating from her wide eyes was enough to tell him that Spencer was right. He turned his heel, and headed for the door.
"Aaron? Aaron, no!" Emily called. "Don't hurt him, please! Aaron! Oh god, please, please don't hurt him!"
He ignored her pleas, too focused now on finding the Negro man who had the gall to have relations with his sister. He grabbed a rifle from their gun rack and trudged out the barn.
Derek had arrived earlier to change out the shoes on some of their horses.
Derek finished with the last shoe for the palomino and stood up straight, holding out his hand for her to sniff. She did with a snort and then let him gently pet her. He smiled at the creature who had behaved very well for her shoeing. Ordinarily, he'd be very appreciative of that, but today he was preoccupied. His stomach was coiled in a tight, sick feeling as he worried over Emily.
When he'd heard news of her confinement this morning, he'd headed straight to the Hotchner-Rossi plantation. Derek desperately wanted to be inside the house, waiting on word with her brother and uncle, but Emily had begged him to keep his distance months ago. They'd met at their secret place, and she'd told he that he was going to be a father, then minutes later told him that they couldn't see each other anymore. It was far too risky.
"Derek." He looked up and smiled at the source of the voice. That smile fell very quickly at the sight of the rifle and the strained look on the man's face.
"Mr. Hotchner," he said. "I just finished with the horses."
Hotchner pulled up the gun, and cocked it.
Derek held up his hands. "Uh, I'm sure I could discuss cost with Mr. Canton, if there's a problem, Sir."
"Admit it. Say it now," the other man demanded.
"You'll have to tell me what it is that you'd like me to admit."
Hotchner's eyes hardened. "You are the father of the child just born to my sister."
Derek swallowed and dropped all pretenses, letting his hands fall to his sides. "Well, yes sir, I am."
Suddenly the butt of the musket came crashing down on his head. Derek grunted, and fell to his knees, hands going up to protect his head.
"I could have you beaten and lynched in the town square." The older man's temper was so inflamed that was barely hanging onto his sanity.
"Yes, I suppose you could." His breathing was heavy, but he responded calmly.
"You'll be dead before tomorrow."
Derek nodded. "I know it."
"Was it worth it? Were intimacies with my sister worth your life?" Hotchner demanded.
He risked looking up at the angry man. "One moment with her is worth dying a thousand times."
"I certainly hope so." He raised the rifle so it was barely inches from Derek's head.
"Wait. Please wait. Just one minute."
"Begging won't do you any good."
Derek swallowed. "I'm not going to plead for my life, Mr. Hotchner. You owe me nothing, but I was hoping you might indulge a dying man's last request."
Hotchner stared at him coldly, but didn't respond. Derek continued then. "Emily and the baby, are they alright?"
"Yes, he's healthy, and Emily came through fine."
"He?" Derek asked. "It's a boy? I have a son?"
"Yes."
The tears hit his cheeks, before he even realized they were there. "I will not plead my own case, Mr. Hotchner, but I will for Emily and my son. Please don't hurt them. Let the punishment end with me."
Derek remained on his knees staring at the end of Aaron Hotchner's rifle, waiting for a bullet to pierce his skull. He closed his eyes, and let a beautiful vision fill his mind: Emily cuddling their newborn son against her breast.
Emily sat in the bed, holding her son close to her chest. Her eyes were dry, but still stung from tears already shed. Her body didn't shake, and her chest didn't heave with sobs. In her life she'd seen too much pain and death to deal with it anyway besides going numb. But she wasn't entirely numb. No, she had her newborn son to keep a little life in her body.
He was sound asleep, one tiny fist curled around her nightgown. He was beautiful. His skin was a couple shades lighter than his father's, but much darker than hers, and he had the tiniest bit of hair on his head. When she held him, she could feel the life in him, his little heart beating against her own. It was so very different from holding her daughter, who had been tiny and still with death. She had never moved or cried, and Emily had never felt her heart beat. Not like now, her little boy was strong, she could tell, and she cherished every breath he took.
Uncle David had left shortly after Aaron took off to kill Derek. His head in his hands, he hadn't really spoken to or made eye contact with her at all. That hurt, but as with everything else, she buried the pain. Spencer had left too, unable to face her.
Penelope and JJ were still in the room. JJ, slightly swollen with the fourth child she and Aaron had created together, though the sixth in their family, looked distraught. After she'd seen the baby, she'd said very little to Emily. Penelope was adamant about hanging around for a while to keep an eye on her. The midwife had insisted that the stress Emily had experienced after the birth, and the likelihood of more coming, warranted extra care.
JJ suddenly exhaled loudly. "Emily, I have loved you as a sister practically since the moment we met, but this…this I can't condone."
"I haven't asked you to condone it."
"God Emily, this could bring ruin on all of us!" JJ began to pace, one hand on her stomach, her skirt rustling against the floor.
"Oh? I thought I was the only one that they'd call a whore in town." Emily ran a hand slowly over her son's head, an action that soothed her far more than it did the sleeping infant.
"Oh, that is not the language of ladies, Emily," Penelope reminded her.
Emily smiled at her, but it was bittersweet. "Few would have called me a lady before this, I doubt anyone will after."
JJ came to stand beside the bed. "Emily, we've only got two options here. You can give up the child, surely Derek has family that would raise it."
"No," Emily said. "You can't imagine the pain of losing a child, JJ. If you could, you wouldn't ask me to live through it again."
The blond nodded. "Then you have to say you were violated. No one would fault a woman for lying about such a humiliation, or being unable to part with her own flesh and blood, Negro or no."
"And, when they ask for a name, whose do I give?" Emily glared at the woman she considered a sister.
"Derek will be dead by then, if he isn't already, they won't be able to harm him further." Her face held some sympathy, but not enough for Emily.
"I will not defame him before his death or after, Jennifer."
"Then pick anyone, Emily!"
"Accuse an innocent man? Have you lost your mind?"
JJ scowled now. "I could ask you the same. Really, Emily, what were you thinking? There's no way this will turn out well. If you parade that child around as a product of love, they will assume Aaron and David condone your behavior, and we'll never sell a leaf of tobacco or a ball of cotton again. Then we'll all starve, your son included."
Emily swallowed the lump in her throat only with great difficulty. In that, JJ was right. "Then I'll leave."
"And who will support you where ever you go?"
"I don't know, JJ."
Penelope suddenly flung her arms out in between them. "You know what ladies, why don't we table this for now. Emily needs to rest, birthing babies is hard work."
The door opened then and Aaron appeared. Emily felt her whole body deflate, as tears bit at her eyes. Her voice warbled and cracked as she spoke. "You've killed him then?"
Aaron shook his head, and stepped aside, making room for another to enter. A figure came through the door, and Emily felt her control begin to slip. Tears began to slide freely down her cheeks, and one hand moved from her son up to her mouth.
"Derek," she whispered.
He shot wary glances at the others, before walking further into the room. Derek's figure was tense, as if he expected to be dragged out and bullwhipped any minute. It was not an unrealistic expectation, nor an experience with which he was unfamiliar.
Even when he reached her bedside he was uncertain. His words were barely louder than a whisper. "I missed you."
"Me too," she said, tears flowing from her eyes. She nodded to the baby. "Isn't he beautiful?"
Derek reached up a hand to stroke the child's head. His fingers trembled as he touched his own child, something he'd wanted desperately, but feared he'd never get to do. "He's perfect," he said.
"Do you want to hold him?"
Desperately, he thought to himself, but turned back to Aaron Hotcher, who'd let him live and brought him here for reasons he couldn't fathom. When Hotchner nodded, he turned back to Emily, holding his hands out.
Emily gently shifted their son to his arms, and Derek felt himself overcome with emotion as he held his child. Stray tears slipped down his cheeks as he studied the fine features of his son.
Derek had never meant for any of this to happen. He'd never meant to get involved with Emily, certainly never meant to fill her with his child. One day, she'd come to the stables while he was working, and seen the book he was reading. One of her favorites. They began to talk, and then they began to meet secretly to talk and read. The first time they were together, he couldn't relax, so certain he was that her brother or uncle would show up with a rifle bullet meant for him. But he couldn't stop himself either.
He loved her.
"He's big," Derek said. He smiled at her. "He must be healthy."
"Penelope says that he's as healthy as she's ever seen." Emily smiled toward the midwife.
Hotchner cleared his throat, and Derek saw Emily tense, wary eyes turning toward him. "We'll give you a minute."
Morgan didn't understand his change of heart, but he didn't wrack his mind over it. He may be living on borrowed time now. Instead after they'd all cleared out, he pressed his lips to Emily's, and leaned his forehead against hers. "I love you both."
"I love you too." She tugged him closer to the bed.
"Did you pick a name?" He asked.
"Not yet. I was thinking about Jesse or Edwin."
He nodded and looked down at the baby. "I like Jesse."
Dave had been sitting very quietly in the parlor, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind, each and every one focused on how to protect his niece and their business at the same time. His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the clatter and chatter of people entering the room. Aaron, Jennifer, Penelope, and Spencer, who'd returned from wherever he'd disappeared to, sat in the empty seats around him.
"Did you kill him then?" He asked his nephew.
"No, I didn't. He's in with Emily now."
Dave nearly jumped out of his seat. "What? Why?"
"Emily was truthful, he loves her and she him."
"Since when does that matter?"
"Since I saw the same pain in his eyes that I saw in my sister's."
Dave snorted. "And what do you propose, Aaron, that we set them up in a house together?"
"Of course not." The younger man looked at him, a tortured sigh escaping his lips. "I don't know what to do, Uncle."
He sighed in return. "The most practical thing, and most proper, would be to kill the Negro and give the child to the servants to raise."
Penelope gasped, but Aaron ignored it and spoke anyway. "You speak as if seeing that much pain in Emily's eyes, seeing hate in her eyes when she looks at you, wouldn't kill you."
He shrugged. "I'm an old man, perhaps its time I left to see my departed kin."
"Oh, Mr. Rossi, that's a bit morbid, don't you think?" Penelope asked.
He smiled at her. "Not at all, Mrs. Lynch."
"This does not resolve our problem," Jennifer reminded them. She turned to Penelope. "As soon as you saw that child was Negro, you should have told her it was dead."
The midwife glared. "And what would I have done when it cried, Jennifer, suffocate the poor creature?"
She didn't respond, but her faced twist with horror. JJ was a mother and had a mother's feelings toward children, no matter the skin color.
Dave shook his head as Penelope sighed. "You all speak as if that baby doesn't have your blood."
He smiled at her. "And what do you propose we do, Mrs. Lynch?"
"Oh goodness, I don't know. I do know that as many births as I've seen – white and Negro – we all come into the world quite the same, and every new mother has the same look in her eyes: pure love and joy. I have seen that look snuffed out by news of a stillbirth or death from childbed fever too many times to ever condone removing a child from his mother's arms, especially when I consider that mother to nearly be my sister."
Dave pursed his lips, and pushed himself up from his chair. He started toward Emily's confinement room, and waved the others back when they attempted to follow. When he pushed open the door, he found a scene that simultaneously made his heart warm and his blood boil.
The Negro was sitting on the bed, an arm wrapped around Emily as she nursed their son. Emily looked so happy, nearly radiating joy, and that's what made this all so difficult. He cleared his throat, startling both of them.
"Out of here, Boy. I need to speak to my niece alone." Fear blossomed vividly in her eyes, while Derek just kissed her head and started to walk away. Emily caught his hand. "No one is going to hurt him, Emily."
She let him go, but kept her eyes on him until the door closed behind him.
"I blame myself for this," Dave said.
Emily scoffed. "Really? You certainly didn't encourage it."
"Not directly, no. But I gave you a lot of freedom over the years, maybe more than was good for you."
"That's what most of the gentlemen in town have been saying for years. I suppose this would be a rather gratifying for them."
"Why would you do this, Emily? Didn't I teach you better?"
"You taught me fine. This has nothing to do with you." She held the child against her shoulder and gently tapped his back. "I lost the love of my life and our child shortly after my 16th birthday, do you have any idea about the kind of scars that leaves? I thought they'd never heal." She flicked her tongue over her top lip. "Derek reminded me of what it was like to feel loved and to truly love someone. For the first time in almost twenty years, thinking of Jonathan and our daughter didn't leave an ache in my chest. That's why I did this. Jesse wasn't intended, but I certainly don't regret him."
"Jesse? You've named him then?"
"Yes, though I suppose I can't give him his father's name. He'll have to be a Cooley." When he didn't speak, she continued. "I know you're disappointed in me, Uncle. I'm sorry for that, but I can't and I won't apologize for being with Derek, for loving him, or for my son."
"I didn't imagine that you would."
"I can leave. That might be easier for everyone, and I hear that they look more kindly on independent women up North."
"They may look more kindly on independent women, but they won't on a white woman with a Negro son. The North claims to be more enlightened, but they're only kidding themselves." He paused. "You will stay here with us."
Morgan stood on the periphery of the parlor, keeping his distance from the others. Mr. Hotchner had said nothing, just sat and spoke quietly to his wife, the young man he ejmployed, and the midwife, whom Derek very much wanted to thank. He shifted nervously, hoping that Mr. Rossi wasn't railing against Emily for their relationship. He'd have gladly taken that bullet from Hotchner's rifle if it meant that Emily and Jesse were protected.
Jesse. He had a son.
"Derek." He started at Hotchner's voice, but turned to him. "I don't suppose you have a solution for this problem you've helped create?"
He bristled at the idea of his son as a problem, but hid it. He was good at hiding his feelings, good at hiding his pain, especially from white folk. A bullwhip splitting open your skin teaches you to be good at hiding things.
"I just want Emily and Jesse to be safe, sir."
"Oh, you've named him then?" Mrs. Lynch smiled at him.
"Yes, ma'am, we did."
"He's a beautiful little baby, I'm almost jealous."
He saw genuine warmth in her face, and relaxed the tiniest bit. "Thank you, ma'am."
Hotchner seemed to give up, and turned back to his wife and Spencer Reid. Derek cleared his throat. "I wanted to extend my gratitude to you, Mrs. Lynch, for delivering him safely and making sure Emily came through it well."
"Aw, you're quite welcome. I just love babies, and Emily is one of the strongest people I know."
"That she is, ma'am."
Their conversation was cut off as the door to Emily's room opened, and Mr. Rossi appeared. He cleared his throat. "Emily and I have reached a compromise on this matter. Please come inside everyone, you too, Mr. Morgan."
When he got inside he didn't go to Emily, he smiled at her, but kept himself on the away from the others.
Rossi began quickly. "I've already spoken to the servant girl who assisted Mrs. Lynch, and she agreed to keep quiet on what she's heard. Mrs. Lynch you've been a friend to this family long enough that I trust you'll keep this all to yourself?"
"Of course I will."
He nodded at her. "Mr. Morgan, you will go without punishment. This as long as you will not claim paternity of this child."
He swallowed and it tasted bitter. "Yes, sir."
"I will say this to you though, regardless of how my niece feels about you, you have seriously misjudged your place in society. I'd urge you to think long and hard about that, or the family of the next white woman you put in a condition may not be so generous."
"There won't be another woman, Mr. Rossi. Regardless of how you may feel about me, I do love your niece, and I always will."
Rossi didn't comment, just continued his explanation. "Emily and the child will continue to live here, and to everyone outside this room, Emily was attacked and violated some months ago by an unknown assailant. We are well known to the people in this town, they won't question it, and they will understand Emily wanting to keep the child."
Emily looked away as he said that, averting her eyes against the lies they'd have to tell. He wondered if it hurt her as much as it hurt him.
"Everyone comfortable with that?" When no one commented otherwise, Rossi seemed to lose his steam. He shook his head tiredly, and left.
Derek turned to the others. "May I please have a minute with Emily?"
Mr. Hotchner frowned deeply, but nodded all the same. "But make it quick, you've already been in here long enough that it will look suspicious."
"It's okay, you can say he came to get payment and stayed to take me home. You don't mind do you?" Mrs. Lynch asked.
"It's the least I can do, Mrs. Lynch."
"You should still be quick about it," Hotchner said and lead the ladies out. The very quiet Spencer Reid was the last to leave, shooting what appeared to be an apologetic look at Emily before closing the door.
He walked over to her, and she finally looked at him. "I'm so sorry, Derek."
"It's okay. I should be grateful just to be alive."
"It's not okay. Nothing about this is okay."
"Emily…" He shook his head and gave in. "You're right, this isn't okay. A man should be responsible for his child, he should be part of his child's life. My father, he never claimed us, and I swore to myself that I'd make sure my kids knew that I was their father and proud of it." His father had been a plantation owner that had taken a liking to one of his slave girls. "I feel like a coward."
"If there's a coward here, Derek, it's me. I just don't know what else to do." Tears were hanging in her eyes, and her voice was heavy and thick.
He nodded. "We do whatever we need to do to protect Jesse. He's safer and much better off here with you. You'll make sure our son has a good education, like he'd get if he was your color instead of mine, good clothes, not rags like I grew up in, and maybe get him a dog? I always wanted a dog."
Emily laughed, but it was filled with tears. "I promise, all of it. May wait on the dog until he's a bit older though."
"Well, I suppose if you want to be practical about it." He smiled. The tears still fell down her face. He ran a hand over her cheek. "Don't cry, Emily. Not on our son's birthday."
"You are very late, I lost control over my emotions hours ago," she joked.
"Then think about the amazing person Jesse here is going to be when he's all grown up, and smile. Maybe he'll even be a doctor or a judge."
Emily smiled and rested a hand on his face, just below his eyes. "Maybe he'll be the one to change everything that way he can marry the woman he loves no matter the color of their skin."
"Yeah, maybe. You never know, maybe the world will change itself, and you and me, we won't have to wait so long." With that he pressed his mouth to hers and tasted her lips for maybe the last time.
His body begged for hers, begged to feel complete for the first time in months. But Derek couldn't indulge, and maybe he never should have in the first place. Both of them knew that this was never meant to end happy, it never could, not in their world. They'd gone ahead with it anyway, falling into each other so completely it was almost overwhelming. Even knowing this moment, he wouldn't have made his choices differently.
Derek sat on the bed close to her, and took his newborn son into his arms, careful to support his head. They had created this beautiful child together and in that moment crossed a divide that the rest of the country was still trying to overcome. They'd found beauty and love in each other, as different as they were, and he saw that reflected in Jesse's delicate features.
After several minutes, Derek returned to infant to his mother, and kissed them both. He turned to leave, and continued to move even as he heard Emily's quiet sob. His chest felt tight and his head heavy, but he pushed his feet forward. When he closed the door, his hand tightened into a fist, and it took every ounce of restraint he had not to slam it into a wall.
He dragged himself away, hating the world even as sought out the kindly Mrs. Lynch so he could take her home.
Two Years Later
Emily held her young son's hand as they walked through the fields. It was early July and the humidity made the heat balmy and almost oppressive. The scent of ripe and rotting fruit was heavy in the air, made stronger as the heat hurried the decay process. But the tobacco plants were still green and tender, growing close to the ground in small groupings of leaves. She'd grown up on this plantation, and the little plants gave her a homey feeling.
Jesse trotted along, eager for a walk with his mother. Really the boy would walk anywhere. As soon as he'd learned all he wanted to do was walk and run and climb on anything and everything. Emily reached over and picked a plump blackberry from a bush that grew wild on the edge of the field and gave it to Jesse. He smiled at her, popped it in his mouth, chewed and smiled wider at the sweet taste.
"Ma'am." One of the field workers passed, tipping his hat to her. Emily offered him a smile and a nod.
As they neared the end of the tobacco field, Emily began to look around them for any prying eyes. It was late, so most of the workers had finished for the day and returned to see their families. With a glance behind herself, Emily lifted Jesse onto her hip and ducked into the forest that bordered the field on this side. It used to be a utilized part of the property, but the area had become long overgrown years ago.
She swatted at gnats, and wiped sweat from her brow. It was too damn hot to wear a many layer dress with a heavy bustle attached to the back. Emily tended to favor work dresses, which were less involved and less cumbersome that proper ladies' clothes, but all of her work dresses were in the wash. She sighed and picked her way quickly through until she knew they were out of eyesight, and then she set Jesse back on the ground.
Emily knew the way by heart, had learned it as a child wandering the land in a state of perpetual boredom. It had been her secret hideaway where she went to think and read and wonder what her mother and father were like. When she'd met Johnny that had all seemed like girlhood dallying, as she became wrapped up in more womanly concerns. Then the war came and the whole world changed in the blink of an eye. Death was a constant, inescapable companion for all, and the glorious South fell to its knees.
She began those four years a sweet, naïve girl, but she'd ended them far stronger than she'd ever dared imagine she could be.
When the house came into view, she quickened her pace in time to her quickened heartbeat. It was tiny, barely a cottage, something built many years ago for favored slaves, and she'd guess, probably to cover the master's affair. It was stone and only one room, though it was a big room and had some shelves on which Emily stored a few books. This was her hideaway and the place where she'd fallen in love with Derek. This was where she'd gotten to know his body, his strong muscles and all of his scars. The first time her fingers had drifted over the network of long, toughened scar tissue on his back, she'd nearly cried.
A gift from his half-brother, he'd said. The master's son, who'd inherited Derek, and his mother and his sisters as well, when their father died unexpectedly.
She twisted the doorknob and pushed it open, Jesse tugging on her hand eagerly. He ran immediately to the figure on the sofa and pulled himself up beside him. Emily followed after him, and when Derek stood to meet her, she pulled him into her arms, crashing her mouth into his. His arms wrapped around her, hands on her back holding her close. When they finally pulled apart, she smiled widely at him. "I've missed you."
"I've missed you and Jesse both. He seems so much bigger every time I see him." He pulled her onto the sofa beside him, Jesse climbing into his lap and half babbling, half talking.
"He is growing fast," Emily said.
The town had bought their story, rallying around her and at the same time still not accepting her son. That was to be expected though, at least no one had seemed surprised or offended that she'd kept Jesse. Of course, if they had, she'd have used what Penelope called "language not suited to ladies" to voice her complete disinterest in their opinions.
"So, have you been good for your mama?" Derek asked the toddler.
Jesse nodded and tried to grab Derek's nose. A few months after his birth, Emily had engineered a meeting through a sympathetic Penelope. Like she had today, she'd come through the woods, infant Jesse cradled in her arms, and burst into the house, nearly crying at the sight of him. It had become a pattern after that, a way for them to stay connected and Derek to be part of Jesse's life. It was only for a couple hours a few times a year, but they both treasured this time so much.
Emily leaned close to him, sighing happily when his arm curled around her. These were the moments she lived for now, the precious few when her family was whole. Jesse climbed onto her lap, but only for minutes before going back to Derek's. The boy seemed to make a game of that, Derek encouraging him with lame attempts to catch him.
It was bliss.
A/N1: Don't hate JJ, Hotch and Rossi too much. They may have seemed harsh, but honestly, I probably should have made them more harsh. I probably should have had them kill Morgan if I was going to be completely accurate, but I wanted a happy ending. Well, I wanted a happy-ish ending, and this is as happy as I could make it while also being realistic.
A/N2: This idea came to me while on a trip to Gettsyburg, PA (famous American Civil War battle site). It was originally conceived as a sweeping epic that went back and forth between a present-day case-fic with the team, and a historical romance with their past lives. And there were ghosts too. Seeing as how that would be far too time-intensive for a fanfic, I pulled out the part that most persistently pounded against my brain and and it became an AU fic instead.
Thanks for reading and reviews are much appreciated!