The Stories We Tell, a criminal minds fanfic

Disclaimer: I own nothing; everything belongs to their rightful owners.

AN: Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read and/or review my stories, that really means the world to me! And a BIG special thank you goes to my amazing beta reader, the wonderful greeneyedconstellations!

WARNING: some parts might be triggerish! / different take on the Season 7 finale/for some reason Effy&Cook always make me think about Emily&Clyde

The Stories We Tell

"It's you and me babe. It was always gonna be you and me. It's always you and me." -Cook, Skins UK

2012

"Emily, what's not to know? It's a beautiful place."

"There are cracks in the foundation."

"Cracks can be fixed."

"No," Emily shakes her head. "They can only be hidden. They're still there."

"What," Morgan laughs. "Are you afraid the place is gonna fall down?"

Emily shakes her head once more, her eyes fixed on the house. It is beautiful, Morgan is right. But it's not what she wants.

"I'm afraid it's never gonna be as strong as it was," she says, not sure if she's still talking about the house.

Morgan sighs. "Okay, somebody's heart is not into it. What's going on?"

"I don't know," Emily sighs, her eyes meeting Morgan's. "When I first came here, I felt like I was home. And now, it's just an uphill battle."

1975

With her knees pulled up against her chest, Emily is hiding under a table in the study.

What had been a beautiful white summer dress an hour ago was now speckled with mud, the seam torn beyond repair. Yuliya would be angry. But her mother would be furious.

"What are you doing in my father's study?" Emily shrieks. Looking up she finds a boy, crouched down on the carpet as if he's about to crawl under the table as well. He's a couple of years older than her, wearing a dark three piece suit that doesn't look much better than her dress. His blonde hair tousled, falling into his eyes.

"You're Emily," the boy states suddenly. "You're the ambassador's daughter."

Emily shakes her head, sending her dark curls flying. "No," she answers stubbornly. "I'm not."

The boy smirks. "Do you think you could make some room for me?"

Emily shakes her head, but moves over anyway. The boy chuckles, before he crawls next to her under the table. They're both quiet until the boy produces a candy bar from his jacket pocket.

"Want some?" he asks.

"I don't know you."

The boy laughs. "I'm Clyde," he declares calmly, breaking the candy bar in half and handing it over. "I live here."

"I'm Emily," she admits reluctantly, taking the candy against her better judgment. She wasn't allowed to eat candy. But she was in a lot of trouble anyway.

The boy smiles. His blue eyes glittering in the dim light and Emily thinks she's never seen eyes as blue as his. They were the same shade as the sky.

"It's nice to meet you, Emily."

2012

"Agent Prentiss, there's a call for you from Interpol."

"Take a message, please," Emily murmurs absently, only half listening, her eyes still fixed on the board. The boy clears his throat.

"It's Clyde Easter," he states, and Emily turns her head abruptly.

"Your old unit chief?" Reid asks from where he's sitting at the conference table, and Emily is too startled to say anything.

"He says he has information about the Queen of Diamonds," the boy in the doorframe explains, and Emily just nods before following him out of the room.

She takes the phone with trembling hands, her palms wet and her heart beating much too fast.

"Salut ma belle. Ca va?"

The familiar sound of his voice makes tears spring to her eyes and for the first time in forever, she allows herself to admit how much she's been longing for this.

"Sorry I missed your funeral, by the way," he tells her lightly. "I was held up in Prague."

"So you're not surprised?"

"Of course not," Clyde states with a chuckle, warm and soft, telling her everything she wants to hear without actually saying it, and she has to close her eyes to keep the tears from falling.

She doesn't deserve his forgiveness. But he's forgiven her anyway.

1976

Emily's lying on her stomach under the bed, her eyes closed and her hands pressed against her ears, trying to block out Yuliya, the Nanny, calling for her.

She won't change into that stupid dress. She doesn't want to impress anyone. She just wants to play in the garden, but Yuliya won't listen. And neither does her mother.

She must have fallen asleep, because when Emily opens her eyes again she's not alone anymore. Clyde's lying on his stomach right next to her, playing a game of chess against himself.

Emily rubs her eyes, hopes Clyde hasn't seen the tears on her cheeks. She doesn't want him to think she's a baby.

"This is much better than my father's study," Clyde admits, his eyes fixed on the board. "That poor girl is still looking for you."

"Serves her right," Emily mumbles. "She's mean. She thinks I don't understand when she scolds me in Russian, but I do."

Clyde says nothing, only pushes the game closer to her. "Do you play?"

Emily shakes her head. She doesn't. Her grandfather does, but he told her she was too young when she asked him to explain the game to her.

Clyde gives her a smile, moving the pieces back to their starting positions.

"I'll show you."

2012

"Well, unfortunately, Interpol doesn't have many assets in that particular region in Africa. Maybe that's something that you could help me with when this is over."

"Work for Interpol again?" Emily shakes her head, even through Clyde can't see her. "That'll be the day."

"Not work, darling. Run," Clyde drawls all smugly and so fucking sure of himself. "You see, I've been promoted. So, the team's yours whenever you want it."

Emily feels her cheeks burn, trying to avoid the questioning stares from Reid and JJ studying her from across the table. "It's a hell of a time to bring that up," she pushes herself to answer, unable to tell him no.

"Well, you know, in our line of work, there's never a good time. Think about it. Please?"

Emily swallows. "You find me a connection I can use and maybe we'll discuss it."

She ends the call with trembling fingers.

1977

With her hands pressed against her mouth to keep herself from laughing, Emily's hiding behind a hedge, crouched down on the ground despite her fine dress.

"Come out, come out, wherever your are," Clyde sing-songs from where he's walking down the gravel pathway. His blonde hair tousled, his suit rumpled and his tie missing, lost somewhere in the garden.

There's music playing in the distance, the birthday party in full swing.

"Alright, I give up!" the boy laughs, his voice filled with joy. "Come out, let's get some cake!"

Emily rolls her eyes. Boys. Apparently all they could think about was food. Before she has the time to get up she's startled by a hand on her shoulder. With a jolt of surprise she turns around, only to find Clyde grinning back at her.

"Got you!"

"You always do!" Emily glares but Clyde just chuckles, reaching for her hand.

"One day you'll be grateful for it."

"No, I won't," Emily states with another roll of her eyes, annoyed by his attitude, scrambling up to her feet all by herself.

Clyde shakes his head, a smile still on his lips while he reaches forward to pick a leaf out of her hair. "Let's see who makes it to the kitchen first, shall we?"

Emily grins and nods, biting her lip in excitement.

"One," Clyde starts. "Two-"

Emily doesn't wait for him to count to three, she's already running. Her dark curls flying in the wind and instead of scolding her, like everyone else would have, Clyde just laughs as he starts chasing after her.

2012

It happens in the blink of an eye.

One moment she's standing, the next she's down on the ground, gravel and debris all around her. Smoke burning her lungs, the taste of ashes on her tongue. People running.

A bomb. Of course. They should have seen this coming.

Scrambling back up to her feet and brushing away the dirt from her face, Emily can't stop wondering how she ended up so far away from home.

1983

"I finally kissed a boy," Emily announces proudly, cheeks flamed red while she looks up at Clyde from where she's sitting next to him, high up in their tree house.

Clyde raises his brows. "You did?" he asks, amusement in his voice.

Emily bites her lip, laughs, blushes even more. "You were right," she states with a slight shrug. "Your first kiss shouldn't happen over a stupid dare."

Clyde grins, nods. His blue eyes looking even brighter in the sun. "I told you."

"Are you still seeing the lucky guy?" he asks a moment later, offering her his ice cream cone.

"No," Emily shakes her head, taking Clyde's ice cream. "But it'll be a nice memory."

"See." Clyde nods, a smug smile on his face, and Emily has to admit that he's not a boy any longer. "You should listen to me more often," he adds, bending forward to take his ice cream back.

"Anyway." Emily cocks her head, looking him up and down curiously. "I still wonder how it would be to kiss you."

The expression on his face is priceless. "Your mother would kill me," he informs her without as much as a blink and Emily can't help but laugh, even though she knows he's probably right.

"I'll keep you safe," she promises him with a smile, her gaze never breaking from his.

2012

"I'll call Easter at Interpol again," Emily explains, already on her way out. "Now that there's been an explosion, he might have some ideas."

There's a dull ache in her stomach, but she tells herself that's it's just her nerves, rather than the fact that she might have been seriously hurt by the explosion.

She calls his number as she goes, wishing she'd called him months ago. Wishing she apologized for accusing him of betraying her, when in reality she'd been the one betraying him. But she never had and now it just didn't feel right.

Clyde answers after the first ring, making clear he's already been waiting for her call.

"I'm so sorry about what happened," he starts. "Is your team all right?"

"No," Emily answers truthfully, her eyes darting back to the building. "What about Chad? Is there any connection?"

"No, no, nothing yet. But, um, if I had more help, say, running the London Gateway office, you'd have your answer much quicker."

"Yes, you should fix that, "Emily says, breathing against the growing pain in her stomach.

"Well, I'm trying," Clyde chuckles, and Emily can't help but roll her eyes.

"You have always had bad timing," she states, even though she knows it's not true.

"Oh, come on, Emily, don't you miss this? Think about it."

And despite the seriousness of the moment, Emily can't help but smile.

"Yeah," she answers softly. "I will."

1984

She wants to tell him, desperately wants to tell him, but every time she starts talking she just can't. Too afraid of what will happen if she does.

She remembers what he told her about the first kiss, about the first time, about the fact that it shouldn't happen with anybody. That it was something special she shouldn't throw away. And she remembers her first kiss, so sweet and innocent only a year ago. But now the memory is tainted too, reality crushing it under it's heavy weight.

She locks herself up in her room for most of the summer, curled up on the four-poster bed with the curtains closed to block out all the light.

All she wants is to forget.

When she slips into his father's study, taking the revolver from its hiding place in the top drawer of the old mahogany desk, she knows exactly what she's doing. She also knows how to use it, knows because she's been taught years ago. She just never thought she'd need it.

The metal feels cold against her skin, soothing the burning pain and she can't help but smile, thinking that it'll be over soon. She shuts her eyes, counting backwards in her head.

3...

2...

"What do you think you're doing?"

Before she really knows it, the revolver is pulled out of her grasp and out of her sight. Emily blinks, startled, ashamed. Furious. Her eyes finding Clyde's.

"Give it back," she tells him bluntly. "It's none of your business."

Instead of answering her, he just shakes his head. There's something in his eyes she hasn't seen before and if she hadn't known better she'd say it was fear.

"Give it back, Clyde," she tries again, terrified when she realizes she's close to tears. "Give it back. Please."

She doesn't remember saying that word ever before. She never needed to ask for anything. But now she does and she keeps saying it over and over again, throwing her fists against his chest in frustration.

"Please, Clyde. Please, please. Just give it back to me, please!"

But he doesn't budge, doesn't give in. Instead he grabs her wrists, stopping her from hurting herself even further and pulls her close against his chest. Emily tries to push him away, but of course he's stronger and no matter how much she struggles against his grip, she can't free herself. She starts yelling, calling him every bad word in every language she's fluent in until her throat burns and she's about to choke on her tears.

When her legs finally give way from under her, it's Clyde who keeps her from falling.

It's then that she starts talking, telling him everything, the words spilling from her lips like the tears falling down her cheeks.

2012

"I found Will," she states. Her eyes fixed on the timer of the bomb.

"Is he mobile?" Hotch asks her over the earpiece, and Emily briefly shuts her eyes.

"Negative."

"All right, where are you? I'm on my way."

"No," Emily cuts him off sharply. "You gotta get everyone out." He starts arguing, but Emily won't have any of it.

He has a son, a life, where she has nothing at all.

1985

She's lying in the sand, with her eyes closed and the sun kissing her skin. Her hands resting on her flat stomach.

It hurts.

It's also still bleeding and she's scared.

John is high as usual, and what scares her even more, so is Matthew. He's never taken anything with them before, now he was worse than John. Both boys hadn't even noticed when she'd left the house.

She feels the water creep closer and she wonders what will happen if she doesn't move. If she keeps lying there, waiting for the tide to come and take her out into the sea.

She's been there before, only a year ago, and she can't stop thinking that if Clyde hadn't stopped her in time, none of this would ever have happened. She'd never have ended up pregnant; she'd have never had the abortion. She'd have never ruined not only John's life, but Matthew's as well.

She feels the need to cry, but she can't. She hasn't cried since the night Clyde pulled the revolver from her grasp. Hasn't cried since she told him what had happened at the party she wasn't supposed to go to.

She hasn't talked to Clyde since then either. Hasn't answered any of his calls or any of his letters. Had refused to spend the summer in England for the very first time.

She couldn't look at him, too afraid of what she would find in his eyes. She'd never told anyone else about it either.

What good would it do?

When the water has reached her chest she finally forces herself to get up, her wet clothes clinging to her body and making it even harder to walk. She stumbles forward, the heat and the blood loss finally taking its toll, the world spinning dangerously around her. She's blindly reaching for something, someone, to hold on to. But she's alone, her part of the beach deserted.

She's losing her ground two steps later, bracing herself for the impact; falling. She never hits the ground though. Strong arms are pulling her back up, curling around her waist, holding her gently and even before she opens her eyes, she knows who it is.

"What are you doing here?" she rasps, her throat dry, burning. Her whole body on fire and she wonders if she's running a fever.

"You called me," Clyde drawls softly. "Last night, don't you remember, darling?"

She doesn't. But it doesn't really matter, all that matters is that he's here and when he pulls her into his arms bridal style, Emily just shuts her eyes and allows him to carry her.

2012

Hotch keeps yelling at her over the earpiece, telling her to get the hell out of the building. So does Will, but Emily ignores them both, tries to think as the timer counts down the seconds.

How many times can you cheat death?

And while she's running out of time, reaching for the yellow wire with trembling fingers, Emily can't stop thinking: I should have said yes.

1991

Emily's in a club, wearing nothing more than a black skirt and a shirt that's barely a shirt at all. With her eyes closed and her hands tangled between another woman's blonde curls, she's swaying to the music, dancing, her lips never losing contact with the beauty in front of her.

She doesn't know her name, but it doesn't matter. She won't remember any of it in the morning anyway.

She's pulled backwards some time later, a voice calling her name, a voice somewhat familiar, but she's too high to really understand what's going on. She's stumbling, faintly aware that someone else is keeping her on her feet, half carrying, half dragging her away from the dance floor and out of the club. Her protests tuned out by the blaring music.

It doesn't take long for the cold night air to sober her up and she finds herself sitting on a bench in front of the club, a familiar looking leather jacket around her shoulders. Her head resting against someone else's chest.

"You know, Clyde," she slurs dryly. "I was having fun."

Clyde chuckles, but he doesn't seem amused. When she feels his hand reaching for her necklace it's already too late to stop him.

"You're calling this fun?" With a sad look on his face he turns the small vial in his hands, the flaring anger in his eyes making clear that he knows what she keeps there.

"It's none of your business," she snaps, reaching for the vial nestled in his palm intuitively. But she's too high to accomplish anything.

"If you mess up and I have to bail you out it is my bloody business, Em," Clyde throws back, his blue eyes burning. "I saved you before, Emily. You remember that, don't you?"

Emily blinks, startled that he would bring that up. He never had. Not once in all those years. She looks away.

"That was different," she whispers, fighting against the need to close her eyes.

Clyde shakes his head. "Was it?" he wonders, and Emily wishes she hadn't noticed the quiver in his voice.

"Stop punishing yourself, darling," he adds a moment later, before letting go of her hand. "Stop wasting your life. The one you got is the only one you have."

2012

When she leaves the building, the sunlight is too bright. She squints her eyes, blinks and tries to gather her surroundings. The pain in her stomach all too present now. But stubborn as she is, Emily just grits her teeth, refusing to give in.

She makes her way out onto the sidewalk on wobbly knees, telling herself to just keep walking. One step after another. One step after...

I need to call him.

Steadying herself with one hand against the wall of the building, she reaches for her phone with the other. But when she finally manages to get it out of her pocket her sight is blurry and she can't make out the numbers anymore. Angrily, she rubs her eyes with the back of her hand, but the motion makes her unsteady, and when she reaches for the wall again her phone hits the ground.

"Emily?" A voice calls from somewhere close behind. "Are you alright?"

She nods, gestures blindly toward the ground. "Phone," she mumbles, wondering why her words sound so slurred all of a sudden. "I need to make a call."

"Emily, are you hurt?" This time Emily realizes it's Rossi talking to her.

"I'm good," she tells him, blinking against the sunlight. "Just-"

She never gets to finish that sentence.

1998

He finds her again. Just when she needs him to.

She fucked up, at least that's what the law says, sitting in an office, waiting for her supervisor to end her career.

When the door finally opens, it's not her supervisor though. Standing in the doorframe to the office is Clyde, wearing a tailored black suit and sunglasses, looking like he just stepped out of a spy movie.

"What's the occasion?" Emily asks, unable to keep her lips from curling into a smile as Clyde walks into the office with sure steps, the door falling shut behind him with a thud.

"I want you on my team," he states, all smug and handsome, not missing a beat. " I want you to work for Interpol."

Emily chuckles. "You want me to work for you?"

"No, darling. I want you to work with me. That's a difference."

Emily blinks, caught by surprise. "Why would you want to do that?"

"Why not?" Clyde returns dryly, settling himself on the edge of the desk.

"Because I just fucked up a case?"

"You didn't fuck up, Em."

"No?" Emily laughs. "That's not what my supervisor said."

"I already talked to him. If you agree to work for Interpol he's willing to let this go."

Emily shakes her head. "Why are you really here?"

"You're one of the best and not even your supervisor can disagree with that. Don't let this case ruin your career."

Emily shuts her eyes. "Is that all you want?" she asks. "Talking me into working with you?"

"No, darling. Actually..."

The brush of his fingers against her cheek makes her eyes flash open in surprise, and when he bends forward to kiss her, Emily is more than willing to meet him halfway.

2012

"I need a medic over here! "Rossi starts yelling, and Emily wants to tell him to stop making such a fuss and to leave her alone, but the words never come. She's doubled over a second later, retching.

Rossi keeps calling for a medic while Emily keeps wondering why he sounds so panicked. When she opens her eyes all she sees is red. She blinks furiously, confused, and it takes her a moment to understand that she's vomiting up blood. The sight alone makes her knees buckle.

There's more yelling and Emily decides it's probably a good thing she choose to wear a red shirt today. She blinks against the blinding sunlight, tries to make out her phone on the sidewalk somewhere.

She can't die. Not today. Not before-

2004

They meet up behind a pub, somewhere in Dublin in the middle of the night. Their case not as easy as they thought it would be, and all Emily really wants is for it to be over. It could be, at least for her, Emily knows. All she needs to do is say the word. One word and Clyde would pull her out, bring her home.

But this isn't just about her, not anymore, and what's worse is she can't tell Clyde. He wouldn't understand. How could he? And so she gives him a reassuring smile instead, and when he doesn't look convinced she throws her arms around his neck, pulling him closer and closer.

Who knows if they'll ever get another chance?

He pushes her backwards against the wall with steady hands, their bodies moving in perfect sync until there's no space between them and the world blurs in front of her eyes.

"I'm going to marry you," she hears him whisper against her ear, while she's still trying to catch her breath. "As soon as this case is over, I'm going to marry you."

Emily blinks, surprised. Not sure if she heard him right.

"It's you and me, darling," he breathes, his forehead resting against hers. "It was always gonna be you and me."

2012

When she wakes up in the hospital, days later, there's someone to her right, holding her hand. And without a doubt Emily knows it's him.

She blinks and blinks and when she finally manages to open her eyes she finds his.

"Take me home," she rasps, her voice just as broken as she feels. "Take me home, Clyde."

He nods, bending forward until his lips find her forehead. "I will, darling. I will."

III

2013

They visit Cornwall in the middle of July. The old mansion looking exactly like Emily remembers. Every corner filled with memories of a stubborn little girl and a boy with eyes as blue as the sky, chasing each other through the house and across the lawn.

"You know what's sad," Clyde asks, his arms slung around her waist, the two of them looking out onto the ocean from where they're standing on the cliff behind the house.

"No, what is?" Emily murmurs quietly, her dark hair dancing in the wind. A tang of salt in the breeze.

"We got too big to hide under my father's desk." The seriousness in his voice makes her chuckle.

"There's nothing to hide from anymore," she states softly, her wedding band sparkling in the sunlight when she leans back into his embrace. And the moment she does, she knows it's true.

Disclaimer: I own nothing; everything belongs to their rightful owners.