Emily slowly slid the one and only key to her apartment into it's place, putting all of her weight onto the knob, allowing herself a moment of rest before pushing the door open into her dark, secluded world. She carefully put the key onto it's hook, determined not to get locked out of this place- yet. After finding a new apartment a few weeks ago, making copies of keys hadn't been high on her list of priorities. Not that she had anyone to give one to anyway. Emily was shaken from her drifting into self-pity by a soft purr escaping Sergio.
"Hey, Serg," she said in a whisper, reaching down to pet the cat's head before clicking on the lights. The sudden brightness was startling at first, and Emily quickly surveyed the room for anything out of place. She wasn't taking any chances. Despite her fatigue, Emily trudged into the kitchen and poured a glass of Scotch, probably more than she should've. But tonight, she needed it. And no matter what every counselor and doctor out there said, it helped. Emily didn't understand. It had been six months. Six months. Nearly the same amount of time as she had been presumed dead had passed since her return, and yet nothing was the same at all. How could she have thought that she could merely come back and fit seamlessly back into the lives of the six people closest to her? For a woman who prided herself in compartmentalizing her life into neat sections, and hiding her emotions the a near perfect mask, she barely recognized herself.
It was then that Emily realized what she was telling herself. She was convincing herself into leaving the people who had done everything for her. Lied, grieved, protected her. Emily rose from her position of leaning on the counter supported only by her arms and ran her hands through her dark hair, grazing her face as she did so. Startled by the sudden heat on her palms, she brushed her cheeks again, bringing back more tears onto her fingertips. If there was one thing that Emily Prentiss never did, it was cry. But here she stood, in a still unfamiliar apartment, breaking down. It began as a simple tear, which soon turned to a steady stream, the taste of salt in her mouth making her lips purse in discomfort. Emily caught a glimpse of Sergio through her blurred vision, looking confused as he watched the unflappable woman cry. However long she tried to avoid it, she knew. She knew that she couldn't keep doing this. That no matter how hard she tried, her life would never be the same as it was before the reappearance of Ian. Emily couldn't live a lie.
It was a grueling decision. Leaving her family this time would be different. It wasn't arranged for her, or above anyone's pay grade, this was her. She would be the only one to blame for any repercussions of her departure. But the only thing that even came close to being as difficult as the initial decision, was how she would handle it. It seemed only fair that no one was kept in the dark, but it also didn't seem fair to group them all together, like they didn't matter as individuals but only as a unit. Emily was still trying to convince herself that she was doing the right thing as she stood outside of Aaron Hotchner's door, just as she had six years ago, eager and, frankly, pushy. Steadying her shaking hands, she knocked softly, unsure if Hotch had even heard it. After hearing an approval from the other side of the door, she realized that she had been hoping for a delay. He was busy, or sick, anything but "Come in." Emily opened the door swiftly, convinced that if she drew it out she would change her mind again for all the wrong reasons. This is what was best for her; she couldn't let emotions get in the way of that.
"Prentiss," he said, slight surprise in his voice, "You're here early."
"Yes," Emily began, not allowing anything she was feeling escape through her words. "Hotch, I... You know how much I love this job-"
"Emily," he cut her off abruptly. "I understand. I considered leaving the Bureau after Haley, after everything with Foyet. No one would blame you..."
"I know where you're going with this, and I would like to do this myself."
Hotch nodded in approval, leaning back slightly in his chair. Emily took a deep breath, and continued, "I thought that I could come back, push what happened in Boston, in Paris, out of my life. This has proved itself to not be the case. I cannot do this anymore. I'm so sorry..."
"There's no need to apologize, Prentiss. We will miss you, but I only want what's best for you."
"Thank you. I'm putting resignation papers in to Strauss tomorrow, I thought it best for you, and the rest of the team, to know before then."
"You're telling them today, then?"
"Yes. Well, I plan to. We'll see how my emotional state holds up," Emily smiled slightly.
"I'm just here finishing up some paperwork. They should all be home today. Good luck. I will miss you, Emily. We all will," Hotch repeated, letting a hint of sadness flash over his face.
Emily turned around quickly, grateful that no one was in the bullpen this early to see her eyes turn a bloodshot red as she felt the heat rise in her throat.
As awful as she felt about disturbing them on a day off, Emily couldn't put this off. After telling Hotch, it felt real. She was really leaving. Pulling into David Rossi's driveway, she couldn't help but remember their cooking lesson a few weeks after her return.
"We're going to do this all together, just like a family."
She tried to remind herself that just because she left the team didn't mean losing them, but a weight on her chest told her she was kidding herself. Emily was surprised to see a casually dressed Rossi answer the door, as he had assumed that he employed an army of help.
"Emily!" He greeted her warmly, before a look of confusion set in.
"I know, it's early," Emily answered for him.
Rossi, perceptive as always, replied, "What's wrong?"
She felt more confident this time, as she told him, "I'm leaving the Bureau."
"I figured as much," he said, nodding. Emily laughed, a welcome change from all of her uncharacteristic tears lately.
"Of course. The great David Rossi figured it out, probably even before I did." Emily ran her tongue over her top lip, and her tone was more serious as she spoke this time.
"I don't know what I'm going to do," she said hesitantly. Rossi nodded in understanding, his voice soothing.
"You'll find something. Weren't you the one who told me to "take the plunge" and see where it took me?"
"We don't always get second chances in life, Rossi. I say take the plunge. See where it goes."
Emily wasn't sure if she should laugh, considering how that situation had turned out. Her insecurity must've shown on her face, because Rossi laid a hand on her shoulder and said, "It's okay." Emily could tell that those words carried much more meaning than their reference to Carolyn.
Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, Emily was disappointed to see it read 8:15. The day had only just begun and she was already emotionally drained. Even though she had only made two stops, each one made her question her decision. With each goodbye, she became more and more anxious about how she would survive without this team, this family. She sighed softly, pulling into a gas station where she was the only patron. Cutting the engine and stepping out of her SUV, her nose instantly wrinkled in disgust. She had always hated the smell of gasoline- either that or her experience with weaponry and her fair share of explosions had made it unbearable.
"Guys, just breathe through your nose like normal. Smell is the weakest sense, in a few more minutes you won't even notice it."
"What about the taste?"
"I think that's in your head."
"I'm ready for that smell weakness to kick in anytime, Reid."
Emily silently scolded herself for thinking of the team again. She was going to have to stop this if she had any chance of walking away from them.
Her eyes darted from side to side, surveying her surroundings as the machine pumped liquid gold into her car. Eventually, they landed on the Saint Patrick's Day decorations of a nearby store. Her hand flew to her chest, where Ian Doyle had forever left his memory on her physical being. It may have been her imagination, but she would have sworn she could feel the outline of the clover shaped brand through her knit turtleneck, a reminder of why she was giving up all she had known for the past six years.
Emily kept her eyes trained in front of her, not wanting any more reminders of pain triggered by the blood stain on the steps that had faded considerably, but would never come out. Unlike her last stop, this place felt familiar. Her visits often occurred after one of their many "ladies nights" when both she and her blonde colleagues were in a semi-conscious drunken stupor. It would make leaving all the more difficult. Emily rang the doorbell, then again, and a third time. She was about to call it a trip and come back later, but a familiar voice behind her kept her at the doorway.
"Emily! Hey!" Much to Emily's relief, Garcia was alone. The analyst wrapped her in a hug as if she had been gone for years, when in fact they had been together less than twenty-four hours ago.
Garcia cried, as Emily had expected. However, much to her surprise, they changed from tears of distress to those of joy.
"Garcia," Emily chuckled to herself, "Are you...happy?"
"Yes! I mean no. Of course I don't want you to leave! But... I can't be mad at you. If I were in those worn black boots of yours, I probably wouldn't stay either." Emily nodded, unsure if her friend could here her whispered, "Thank you." What had she ever done to deserve friends like these?
"Ladies night. You, me, Jayje. Okay?" Garcia's voice was still thick with tears as much as she tried to fight them off.
"Garcia..."
"Em. It worked with JJ. I'm not losing you, not again."
"...If it is you and you're out there, come home please. God, Emily, what did you think that we would just let you walk out of our lives?"
Emily managed a smile and hugged her, surprised to find that she had really needed that- physical support.
"How do you do it?" JJ looked surprised by the sudden interrogation after walking into the small coffee shop to meet Emily. She sat down across from her brunette friend and smiled, "You said you wanted to meet here to talk, not so you could grill me like I'm some suspect." Emily laughed and explained, "I'm sorry. I guess I'm just a little stressed." That was an understatement if she had ever heard one.
After going through the script Emily had unintentionally developed, she repeated, "So how do you do it? How do you just pack up and leave?" JJ was silent for a moment, still trying to process everything Emily had just thrown at her. Then she took a deep breath and became the woman everyone knew her to be- kind, motherly.
"When do I leave?"
"The end of the week."
"They can't just take you away..."
"Our loss is someone else's gain..."
"It wasn't easy. Especially since Strauss was pushing me out with all of her bureaucratic shi-" JJ stopped short, as if she were talking to Henry.
"Anyway. What I was trying to say was, it's hard. But you'll get through it. Emily, you're not saying goodbye to us. We won't let you," JJ smiled, which Emily returned.
"That's what Garcia told me."
"It's true. Without you, we're just a couple of girls who can only take a few shots before they call it a night." The two erupted in laughter, drawing glances from other customers, many of whom hadn't gotten their caffeine fix yet. Emily bit her lip and looked down in effort to divert attention away from them, the corners of her mouth still turned upwards in a smile.
Penelope Garcia sat alone on her couch, no where near out of tears. She had put on a brave face for her friend to help soothe her very obvious pain. Penelope wouldn't be able to live with herself if she knew that she had made one of her best friends' day even worse. But Penelope was not okay, not by a long shot. One by one, her family was leaving her, them. Even Penelope herself had considered leaving. Although she had told Kevin that that she couldn't leave the BAU, she couldn't help but wonder what life would be like if she didn't spend day after day surrounded by the scum of the Earth on her screens. She couldn't help but wonder what possessed JJ, or Rossi, to come back. And she couldn't help but envy Emily Prentiss, just a little.
She shot a look at the clock. Noon. Kevin wouldn't be home for a while. She took out her phone and dialed a familiar number.
"Hey, baby girl. What's up?" Derek asked in his usual flirtatious manner. She was taken aback.
"Derek... what is wrong with you?"
"Me? Wait, doll face, why are you crying?"
"Because-" Penelope froze in realization. "Oh, God."
Emily's heart broke when she saw Spencer Reid open the door to greet her. But, not immediately registering the pain on her face, he greeted her in usual fashion for the doctor. "Oh, hey Emily! I was just about to call you. There's a new Russian movie playing downtown again and-" His eyes move to her hands, which she is wringing nervously. "You've been picking your fingernails again."
"I know, I only do that when I'm stressed. Listen, Reid, I..." Her eyes were glistening, tears pooling, hot in her eyelids.
"Emily, what's going on?" Reid asked, his voice less sweet and innocent than before her "death." He had changed.
"I'm leaving the Bureau." Reid looked as though he had just been told that he only had an hour to live. A silence stretched between them, neither knowing what to say.
"Reid? Say something, please," Emily pleaded.
"But...but... You just came back. How, how could you?" He looked up at her, so hurt, so youthful.
"Reid, I am so sorry. You have to believe me. I just, I can't do this anymore. Nothing is your fault."
"I'm sorry the explanation couldn't be better, Spencer, and I'm sorry it doesn't make more sense. But I've already told you. I just don't understand any of it anymore."
Emily saw the pain in his eyes, the memories of all those who had left Spencer Reid behind. She took his hand as they sat in silence. This time, the silence was welcome, giving each of them a moment to their thoughts. Eventually, she took him in a hug and whispered, "This isn't goodbye," before walking out the door. No, Emily. As much as you'd like to believe that, I'm afraid it just might be.
"I'm having a bad day." That day on the plane, Hotch hadn't realized how bad Emily's bad days were. He could tell himself that he should've profiled her, all rules aside, that he should've noticed her emotional instability. But in all honesty, none of that would've helped. Emily had a mask, one that couldn't have been broken easily. None of them - apart from Dave - could've seen what she was feeling, and if they did, it would've been too late. Once that woman made up her mind, no one could change it- most wouldn't even try.
"This isn't a whirl, Agent Hotchner... I belong in this unit. And all I'm asking you for is a chance to show you that."
That's how he knew that this time, when she left on her own terms, there would be no return.
David Rossi had seen a lot in his day. But he couldn't think of anything that remotely resembled the intricately complex life of Emily Prentiss. He couldn't blame her for leaving, none of them could. He needed to get out of the house - clear his head. Because although today was only the second time she had ever been inside, his house only reminded him of her.
"When can we drink the wine?"
"Okay, how about now?"
But somehow his trip intended to make him forget led him to the FBI Academy. And he wasn't surprised when he entered the sixth floor and saw Aaron Hotchner's office light on. Rossi didn't bother knocking- he guessed that the unit chief had been doing the same thing that he had.
"Hey." Hotch turned around, looking down, a bit embarrassed, at the contents of the glass he was holding.
"Hey, Dave. Sorry about this..."
"It's after noon, Aaron. And, frankly, I was hoping you'd pour me some. I just waiting until I got here so I could keep the safety of my fellow motorists intact."
They both managed a slight smile as Hotch filled Rossi's glass.
"So she told you," Hotch didn't phrase it as a question; he already knew the answer. Rossi nodded slowly, letting the liquid fill his body with a buzz of warmth.
After talking to Reid, Emily's doubt about telling each of them separately faded. She had seen how Gideon's abrupt departure had affected them, especially the team's youngest member. She couldn't do that to them. Nor could she wait until all of her unresolved craziness finally burst, causing her to do something she regretted. Yes, she had heard to stories about the BAU agent who shot a man in cold blood- claimed self defense or not. Elle Greenaway, however, wasn't the only profiler to take a trip through the Bureau rumor mill. The cadet who's father is the infamous Charles Boshop was a hot topic, and Emily herself provided the most gossip for a while. Emily's thoughts, which had finally drifted away from the day's events, were interrupted by a loud rapping at her door. She instantly froze, a pit forming in her stomach as she realized who it was.
"Prentiss, I know you're in there." She reluctantly opened the door, quickly looking away as she caught the eyes of Derek Morgan. Emily stepped aside, letting him in, and he didn't hesitate.
"How could you not tell me?" Anger dominated his voice.
"I didn't know how," she replied softly.
"You didn't know how? Why not just show up at my place and tell me you're "leaving the Bureau" because you couldn't take it or whatever crap you fed everyone else?" He moved to sit down, then decided against it, running his hands over his bald head. Derek's eyes had the same look they had all those months ago, watching her come back from the dead. The anger was replaced by pain and confusion.
"Derek, I... This was one of the hardest decisions I have ever had to make, you have to trust me."
"Trust you? You, of all people, cannot be giving me a lecture on trust. How many times have I told you that you can trust me, no matter what. But you kept me in the dark."
Emily held her tongue, knowing that this was not the time to point to out that it had just been the once.
"Morgan, I am so sorry," Emily tried not to sound pleading, but her eyes begged him to listen. "When I said I didn't know how, I meant it. It was too hard to figure out how to tell the man who has carried my coffin, held my hands as I died, that I was leaving. Again." She turned her head to the wall to whisk away a tear before it could run down her face.
"Prentiss. I'm not angry," Derek said. But his face told a different story.
Not angry, maybe. But sad, hurt, confused- all of those could almost begin to describe his emotions.
"I just need some time," he said after a moment of silence. He was gone before she could say any more, leaving her to slowly slide down the wall onto the ground, wondering how many friendships she could sever in a few hours.
JJ entered her house, surprised to hear no activity. She set her purse down on the counter, walking into the living room, where she found Will asleep on the couch. She laughed to herself, shaking her head, before waking him gently.
"Will, honey. It's the middle of the day." He opened his eyes lazily and attempted to explain himself.
"Henry is at a friend's house, and its been a long week..." JJ just rolled her eyes chuckled before sitting on the couch next to him.
"What did Emily have to say?" JJ had expected him to ask- it was all she had thought about on the drive home.
"She's leaving... for good."
"Leaving? As in leaving the team?" His New Orleans accent drawing out each word.
JJ nodded, laying her head on his shoulder, her blond hair splaying across his t-shirt.
"How are you?" Will asked, concerned.
"It'll be... hard. There's still some tension from her return and all." Will tightened a bit at this; he hadn't been too pleased to learn that JJ was keeping secrets from him as well.
"I'm worried about them," she continued. "Morgan will be angry, no doubt, but he'll recover eventually. But Reid... He had such a hard time last time, I can't help but wonder if this will..."
"You really have become a profiler, haven't you?" Will jested, which JJ responded to by turning her head to give him a playful death glare.
Reid stuck the needle into his arm, finding a vein right over the old scars. He pressed down on the syringe, pulling it out again in a swift and familiar motion. Five years after Tobias, after the addiction and the recovery, his work was down the drain. He knew this wouldn't help him get over Emily, he knew. But it could make him forget, if only for a little while, and that was enough to keep him going.
"Jennifer, the only reason you were able to manage my perception is because I trusted you. I came to your house for ten weeks in a row crying over losing a friend, and not once did you have the decency to tell me the truth."
"I couldn't."
"You couldn't? Or you wouldn't? What if I had started taking Diladid again? Would you have let me?"
"You didn't."
"Yeah, but I thought about it."
That was almost enough to send him over the edge. JJ had been his only solace. But now, the blind trust he had had in them was damaged. Not broken beyond repair, but it would take more time.
"I'm leaving the Bureau..."
Her words echoed in his head, no matter how hard he tried to forget. This was the last straw. This was one goodbye too many.
The lights are flashing red and blue, lighting the pitch black sky. Sirens, officers shouting orders, screams, disrupt the peaceful neighborhood. But Morgan notices none of this, all he can hear is Hotch's voice coming through his radio, "Agent down! Agent down!" Morgan skids the SUV to a screeching halt, resulting in surprised shrieks from a few onlookers drawn outside their homes by the commotion. Not bothering to take the key out of the ignition, he sprints towards the house. "Agent down! Agent down!" echos in his mind, blood pounding in his ears. How long has it been? More importantly, how much time did he have? The first door he saw was locked, but opened with one swift kick. He entered the house, screaming. "Hotch! Hotch! Where are you!" "Basement," was the faint reply he got. Scrambling to find a staircase in the darkness, Morgan felt harried, scattered, unlike his usual crime scene demeanor. But this was no usual crime scene. He saw Hotch crouched down on the floor next to Emily. The unit chief stood up, explaining quickly where the bullet had hit her neck. Morgan paid no attention to his words, but kneeled down next to his fallen partner. "Emily, Emily, are you there? Please, tell me you're still here with me," he pleaded. This was all too familiar. Suddenly he was back in the warehouse in Boston, and a wooden stake was stuck in Emily's abdomen. "No, baby, stay with me!"
Morgan woke, covered in sweat, thrashing furiously on his couch. It took a few moments for him to realize where he was. Not in Boston, not in a basement in a far away city, but home in Virginia. Relief washed over him, but it was short-lived.
"This was one of the hardest decisions I have ever had to make, you have to trust me."
It was only after he picked up his phone and began to dial a familiar number, did he notice the time. 2:30 in the morning. Well, it was too late now.
"Morgan? It's half past two, are you insane?" Emily's voice came through surprisingly clear.
"I know you weren't sleeping."
Emily managed a slight smile, unknown to the man on the opposite end of the call.
"I... This is going to sound stupid. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I had this dream, this nightmare-"
"Derek, I'm fine. In that sense, anyway. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you again," she said, getting quieter.
"I know. I understand, Em. This job, it's a lot to take. Especially after everything that's happened." Even over a year later, Derek tried not to mention Ian Doyle's name- ever.
Normally, Emily would defend herself, whip out a clever comment that made Derek Morgan regret ever suggesting that she was weak. But this was not normal. So she slowly nodded to herself and stayed on the line, both of them finding some comfort in the other's silent support.
Emily stepped off the elevators, taking a deep breath. It took everything she had not to run into the BAU and tell Hotch she was wrong to want to leave. To take her seat at her desk next to Morgan's, flirt with him a bit, tease Reid. Keep her life exactly the same. But she kept going, not stopping again until she reached her Section Chief's office. Her hands shook as she turned the doorknob, but steadied as she set the file onto Erin Strauss's desk. Emily didn't want her last memories of her second home to be of the woman who had always doubted her, tried to get Emily to do her dirty work, and jeopardized all of their jobs more times than she cared to count. So she briskly turned around, heels of her black boots clicking on the tile as she walked out. If Strauss noticed her, she didn't say anything. Emily passed by the glass doors leading to the bullpen, a flood of memories rushing back to her all at once. She bit her lip, but her eyes turned a bloodshot red despite her efforts to contain her emotions. She had wanted something. A feeling, maybe, that she was doing the right thing. A sense of closure. But, Emily realized, she would never get that. Not yet anyway. Moving on would take time. So Emily Prentiss tore herself away from the doors, and left.
"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages."
William Shakespeare