All clear.
It was amazing how two words had the ability to tilt the world's axis, changing her life vastly in less than a second. Topsy-turvy didn't even begin to describe the last few years. And now it was over.
All clear.
She thought she'd spend the rest of her days on the run, switching from blonde to ginger, green-eyed to grey. Head down, low profile, acquaintances but never friends, trysts but no romance. A series of name from every nation – Claudette, Inge, Olga – a new name, a new tongue, a new story.
Emily Prentiss knew her team was the best of the best when it came to profiling. Of course she had faith in them. But Ian Doyle had been a shadow looming over her shoulder for years, and he was an expert in his own right, in the fine art of total annihilation. Never did she imagine he'd be captured so soon, much less killed.
Yet it had to be true. JJ wouldn't lie to her.
Two years on the run. Now Doyle was dead and she was going home.
Details? In all honesty, she didn't give a rat's ass about the details. The minute JJ had given the word, she had a one-way ticket from Charles de Gaulle to Washington-Dulles in her possession, her meager possessions packed in a single carry-on and ready to go.
She hoped for a place to crash, a position back on the team, and a bottle of brown hair dye so she could get rid of the horrendous blonde look she'd been sporting the last three months. And if the headstone on her premature grave could be removed? Well that would just be the icing on the cake.
Now, though, as the plane circled above the DC and the Washington Monument came into sight, she wondered if rushing home had been the right thing to do. Fingering her worn copy of On the Road – the single piece of home she'd brought with her – she read through the faded notes in the margins. Commentaries, notes, silly inside jokes, half in her handwriting, half in Morgan's. Vonnegut had brought her and Derek closer together when they first partnered up. It was their secret escape from the horrific crimes they faced, and the foundation of their entire friendship.
Away from the States, away from everyone she loved, it was Vonnegut that brought her comfort during the darkest nights, when nightmares kept her awake and every creak and bump had her convinced that Doyle was moments away from finally taking her life.
No. That was a half-truth. It was Derek's notes that brought a smile to her face and hope that one day she'd be home again too.
It was Derek she dreaded facing the most.
Aaron and JJ knew, had arranged the whole thing. Rossi had been in the business long enough to understand why things had to be this way. She hoped Reid would logic his way through it. And Penelope? She'd be shocked, but glad to have her back in one piece.
But Derek. Derek, who had been her partner. Derek, who she was supposed to trust with her secrets. Derek, who was angry from the start that she hadn't asked for help fighting Doyle.
Would Derek understand?
If there was one thing Emily knew about Derek Morgan, it was that he valued honesty over everything. Loyalty. Integrity. Though she'd never intentionally lied to him, she'd done what she thought was best.
And it was for the best, for God's sake. Morgan was an easy profile. He cared so much for the people around him. Would willingly give his life for any of them. Doyle would have killed him in a heartbeat.
She could already imagine the feelings of betrayal, guilt, anger that would come when JJ told him the truth. The thought alone filled her with trepidation.
"It's currently sixty-five degrees in Washington DC. Weather is partly cloudy." Emily was shaken from her thoughts by the carefree voice of the flight attendant. The girl twirled a lock of red hair around her finger as she spoke into the intercom. Nerves maybe? Probably her first professional flight.
Once a profiler, always a profiler.
"Please fasten your seatbelts and place your seat backs in the upright and locked position. Thank you for flying United today, we hope to see you again!"
She settled back, eyes shut tight. Despite all the time they spent airborne, Emily had no love for take-offs and landings. Hands clenching Vonnegut, she waited for the tell-tale bump of the wheels on the ground.
Back to the place she used to call home.
OOO
Somewhere between the gate and the terminal, it dawned on Emily that she should have asked who was picking her up. She assumed it would be JJ, perhaps Aaron, though with Jack being close to eight now, he was probably busy with homework and extracurriculars. Honestly, she didn't care who it was, as long as it was the smiling face of one of the people she loved most.
Did she hope it might be Derek? Of course she did. But she wasn't holding out hope. She was realistic, and realistically, she had no idea how to begin explaining the last two years. How did you tell your best friend that they'd mourned in vain? That even as he helped pack your apartment and donate your belongings to Goodwill, you were hiding in the shadows of a Serbian alley, waiting for a sign that your cover was blown?
She didn't know if she'd ever have the words to explain why she'd done what she'd done. To finally tell him the whole story of Ian, Declan, and Lauren, and how one simple job ended in so many deaths.
"Excuse me," the man formerly sitting behind her apologized as he pulled his bag from the overhead compartment, hitting her knee as he moved it to the floor. It startled her from her thoughts. She hadn't even noticed they were at the gate.
Grabbing her own carry-on, she joined the long line of exhausted travelers in disembarking the plane. Head down and glancing side-to-side, a natural reflex now, she walked swiftly past Panda Express, Dunkin' Donuts, and three different shops filled with souvenir FBI and CIA gear. Dulles was a huge airport, and walking from the gate to the parking lot took a good fifteen minutes.
As she exited the secured area, she was greeted by taxi drivers, chauffeurs, and anonymous family members, holding up signs with last names, first names, and glitter-coated welcome home signs. Emily briefly perused the signs, checking to see if JJ had hired a driver to take her to one of the hotels near Quantico for her debriefing in the morning.
No luck. No JJ or Aaron either.
The disposable cell phone she picked up in Paris was dead, so payphone it was. They were tucked away behind the currency exchange, antiques from a different error hidden away. Propping her purse on top of her duffel bag, she began digging through the rubble. She had to have a quarter somewhere.
This bag is bottomless, she thought, picking up her bag and unloading her belongings onto the bench in the booth. Hand lotion, tissues, her copy of Vonnegut.
"Son of a bitch," she muttered, pushing aside some old receipts and a container of colored contacts.
"Lookin' for one of these, blondie?"
Emily froze.
There was a moment of hesitance where she wanted to tell him he had the wrong person. Shield her face, disguise her voice, flaunt the dyed blonde hair, and respond in Hungarian. But she was paralyzed, entire paralyzed, at the sound of Derek's voice. Nothing had changed (really, why would it have?). The deep, melodious sound exerted the same calming effect it always had.
His hair was longer. It was only by a centimeter or two, but it was the first thing she noticed. His eyes were warm, but she couldn't read his emotions. If he felt betrayed or happy, or even relieved, she would never be able to tell.
Once a profiler, always a profiler.
"I'll trade you a euro?" she said hopefully, hesitantly, holding up a twenty-cent piece.
It was an unspoken request for understanding. A promise that this time there would be no more secrets between them. That if he could be patient, he would know everything, and understand that everything she'd done, she'd done for the team, for their friendship, for the family they had formed over the past five years.
Derek's face remained stern for all of thirty seconds. Then a smile broke through as he plucked the coin from her hand.
"I won't even ask for the extra five cents."
A smile, an honest-to-God smile, spread across Emily's face as she pulled him into a tight hug.
She was home.
Authors Note: Thanks for taking the time to read this incredibly dated story. I've been dealing with quite a bit of writer's block/loss of creativity for a year or so now - been stuck on a lot of stories I've had brewing. So I figured I'd take a chance and try finishing a super old one-shot I had floating around. I started this story back in 2011, between Season 6 + 7, and it's just sat on three different computers in the interim (I have a heck of a gift for breaking computers...) without being finished. Reviews and feedback are always appreciated! - Jac