I. Into the light of the dark black night

All she'd wanted was t fit in. All the cool kids were doing it, John had told her. She'd trusted him. He and Matthew had taken her under their wing when Ambassador Prentiss had been assigned to Italy. And now…

Now everything is a complete mess. The boy she'd trusted was nowhere to be found and Matthew careful mask is doing nothing to hid the turmoil he's so obviously feeling. She swallows and looks away. She can't help thinking that it's her fault; that she'd made him look like that. It's another decision she can put on her list of regrets. Where had it all gone wrong?

"Hey," Matthew says, digging into the pit she's falling into. He's been doing that a lot recently, she knows. She also knows there are tears in her eyes as she looks at him, brutal, painful things. If this is the kind of punishment God inflicts on people, she'd told him in that doctor's office, terrified and broken, I don't know if I want to believe.

Matthew is there with her. He hasn't said it, but the way he looks at her, the way he very deliberately takes her hand, speaks to the fact that maybe he too is questioning the religion he'd been raised in. She doesn't like it, if she's honest, hates that this is the situation that looks like it's undermining the foundation of his life, and hers too. But he stands beside her right outside that church like there's absolutely nothing else he would be doing. She thinks it might be more about proving a point than his faith.

But then his lips are pressing gently against her forehead and he's lacing their fingers together. "Come on."

The pews are full – it's Sunday in Italy – but as she and Michael make their way down that center aisle, she feels terrifyingly alone.

II. When somebody loved me, everything was beautiful

Emily Prentiss is alive again. Actually, she has no idea what everyone's been told about where she'd gone or what she'd been doing.

It's been days. Days of constant moving, constant debriefs, constantly talking about the man she loves as if he is the devil incarnate. Days of plotting and planning how to get a little boy out of Ireland and into the US. Everything's jumbled in her head, blurring together painfully.

The worst part is she'd known it was coming. The writing had been on the wall when she'd checked in with her handler. And she's tried to prepare herself. Really, she had. It hadn't worked. As she sits on the Interpol plane, surrounded by Easter, the rest of the team, and a handful of other random agents, she feels painfully alone.

III. She's trying, but the canyon's ever widening

She's not stupid. In fact, objectively, she's quite smart. So when she walks into the BAU on her first day, her first case, she knows there isn't a single member of those she's supposed to call a team that even likes her, let alone trusts her.

She doesn't care. Much. Okay, she cares but it's not the first time she's had to prove herself. She knows it won't be the last either. Putting aside the fact that she's a female in law enforcement, she's gotten the sense from this 'team' that whomever she's replacing did not choose to go. But she cannot think about that. She will prove herself. And she is all but giddy when she gets to the chance to climb on the BAU jet to Guantanamo Boy.

Except they sit on opposite sides of the plane and it's a physical representation of her loneliness.

IV. I walk a lonely road, the only one that I have ever known

It's her fight. It will always be her fight. It was her fight to start and it sure as hell will be her fight to finish. She will not drag her team down with her, she will not drag her family down. Ian Doyle. The name gives her shivers and warms her stomach at the same time. She loved him. She loved Ian. She didn't love Valhalla, not really. The ruthlessness was and still is utterly terrifying and she knows what he's capable of. She's seen what he's capable of.

The thing is, she knows what she's capable of too. She's capable of everything he is and more. She's capable of finding him, she's capable of luring him out, of protecting herself. She will command this fight. She will take him down.

Even when Garcia calls her, even when Doyle threatens the team, even when she's captured, tortured, branded and everything goes to hell in a hand basket, she holds on. She's determined to win, however she has to. She shoves Declan in his face, the lies that she never loved him. She tells him what he wants to hear, what he thinks he needs to hear. And when it starts to look like it's not going to turn out like she'd planned, she keeps him talking. She does what she has to, to keep him away from her team. But then they're there. Morgan's leaning over her, telling her to hang on, to stay with him.

There are EMTs and the team. She hears Hotch and Morgan, even Reid's choked yell, but they don't get it. She hopes they never do. Because there are so many people around her, so many people praying for her to come out of this in one piece, but Emily feels like she's about to die alone.

V. These wounds don't seem to heal, this pain is just too real

Paris should be beautiful. It is beautiful. She's glad she's been before, because seeing it under these circumstances isn't just painful, it's torture. She can't see the city, hates leaving her adorable little apartment. She knows what Hotch and JJ are going through to keep her safe and she won't jeopardize it.

That doesn't mean she doesn't want to. She's written them all letters upon letters upon letters. She has pictures to show Garcia and neat little facts she's found out for Reid. She's got enough architectural information to fill a book for Morgan and a very carefully selected list of French wines for Rossi. It kills her to be away from them, breaks her heart that they all think she's dead. Having online Scrabble with JJ only goes so far, and even that's been a bit sketchy since JJ returned to Afghanistan.

She wants to know how Garcia's doing with Sergio. She wants to talk to Jack about summer vacation and the games he wants to play in the park. She wonders about Reid's headaches, if Hotch is working himself too hard, if Morgan managed to find his pick up football league again.

She sips a latte in a tiny little French café. It should feel like a strange sort of holiday. It just feels lonely.

Plus:

She's never had a day like this. She's talked to Morgan, she's talked to Reid, she's tried to make them see that no one had a choice. There was never an option not to fake her death. It's the most ridiculous thing she's ever been a part of and when it hadn't torn her apart, it had felt like the most twisted recovery period ever.

But this. This is so much better.

They're full, completely and entirely, seated around Rossi's frankly massive dining room table. They've been plied with wine – she did end up presenting that list of wines to their connoisseur – and food that they'd all managed to prepare half decently well with Chef Rossi's guidance. It feels a bit like the old days, warm and fun and absolutely overflowing with laughter.

This is good, this is right. They have an uphill battle, she knows. There's so much they're all holding back: sadness, anger, frustration, pain… But as she looks around at them, she does not feel at all alone.

Section titles in order: Blackbird – The Beatles; When Somebody Loved Me – Sarah McLachlan; Does Anybody Hear Her – Casting Crowns; Boulevard of Broken Dreams – Green Day; My Immortal – Evanescence;