A/N: Here we go on a ride that actually made me cringe last week in the wake of the Boston Marathon attack, the Ricin letters, and the explosion in West, TX. But there are enough differences I hope no one will think I'm doing a "ripped from the headlines" kind of thing with the terrorism aspect of the story. It was actually in progress before the news reports and I actually stopped writing it for a couple of days and even considered dropping it completely. But the capture of the second Boston terrorist spurred me to move forward with it. I hope I did the right thing.

Please keep the victims in Boston and West in your thoughts as they and their families move forward in healing. And hail to the police and security personnel who stopped the Ricin laced letters before they reached their targets. It's a crazy, crazy world out there, folks. Hope my crazy little stories help you forget it if just for a little while.

-AR

Dr. Lara Westfallen is waiting for Emily when she walks into the office. She is stunned by the haunted look in the woman's eyes; a look she hasn't seen in a long, long time.

"Oh, Emily," she says compassionately.

Emily tries to smile but can't. "I…I…"

Westfallen gestures towards the inner office. "Come in and sit down. Would you like a drink or anything?"

"Got a whiskey?"

Westfallen smiles. "Sorry but no. Water or apple juice only, I'm afraid."

"I, uh, guess a water might be good."

"Of course. Have a seat."

As she retrieves the bottle of water the doctor uses the time to study her patient. Emily sits on the edge of the sofa, her elbows on her legs as she sits hunched over. Her hands wring together and she seems to be looking around as if expecting an attack at any moment. Considering the varying things that had happened to the woman in the time Westfallen had seen her, she has never seen Emily so out of sorts. She hands Emily the bottle of water and sits across from her.

"What's wrong, Emily?" she asks softly.

"I was…was…shit…" she tries to take a drink but sees how much her hand is shaking. She sets the bottle down. "I was almost raped." She takes a shuddering breath. "Again."

"Oh, Emily. How did it happen?"

"Hotch fucking sent me into the woods with Morgan who was already hurt. He reinjured his arm and I was left out there with the fucker raping brown-eyed brunettes. They fucking let me down, Doc. They let me DOWN!"

She buries her face in her hands. Westfallen slowly stands and moves to the couch. She reaches out and lightly touches Emily's arm, not surprised when the woman flinches.

"I'm sure they didn't mean to."

"Fuck. Of course they didn't. But they did. Again." Emily stands and starts to pace, hard marching steps, her arms wrapped tightly around her body. "When I was with Interpol I knew Clyde Easter would get me killed or worse. I knew it. But I never expected it from Hotch and I sure as hell didn't expect it from Morgan. I fucking told him if he couldn't handle the trek to stay behind. If he had it would have been different. But no, he fucking insisted he was fine. But he wasn't. He fucking WASN'T!"

She stops and braces herself against the wall as she starts to breathe heavily.

"If he had been healthy the horse wouldn't have been able to dislocate his arm again. If Hotch or Rossi or Reid had been there they wouldn't have fucked up their arms." She sobs. "And then Hank couldn't have gotten his hands on me."

Westfallen maintains her position so as not to crowd Emily. "Emily, tell me what happened."

Emily turns and leans back against the wall. "I was alone."

She tells the doctor about the horses running off and being returned by a seemingly nice ranch hand. And how she had insisted Morgan go down with the man since he was hurt. Then Anna's boyfriend showing up. And finally about going off alone to see the last 2 sites so she could get the heck out of the park.

Westfallen takes a deep breath. "So, you volunteered to go off alone?"

"That's NOT the POINT!" Emily hollers. "I wouldn't have HAD to go off alone if Hotch hadn't fucking sent MORGAN! That's the God damned point!"

"So in all of this, who is to blame, Emily?"

"Blame?" Emily repeats. "Fucking Hotch and Morgan are to blame! Hotch shouldn't have sent him and Morgan should have had the balls to say he wasn't healthy enough to go!"

"I see. So there is no blame for the rapist?"

Emily stares at her in shock. "He…I…well, he…I mean, yes he has some blame for what actually happened but he's not to blame for what put me alone out there!"

"You told me you volunteered to ride off alone."

Emily leaps away from the wall. "WHOSE FUCKING SIDE ARE YOU ON?"

"I'm on your side, Emily. That means making you accept everything that went on and recognizing that you had a part in the attack on you."

Emily stomps towards her. "Don't you DARE blame me for what happened! I was tied up! I'd been knocked out twice! I couldn't do a damn thing as he started to tear…tear…tear the shirt off of me. It WASN'T my fault!"

"I'm not blaming you for the attack or what he did to you, Emily. I would never do that. But you will not get past the fury if you don't admit to yourself that you're angry with yourself."

Emily is literally shaking with rage. "I…I didn't come here to get blamed for this shit. I'm fucking done."

Westfallen stands. "Emily, please, don't go. You need to work through this. I dare say it will take more than one session but don't walk out of here this angry. Please, if not for yourself do it for your children. Don't let them see you this angry."

Emily's eyes narrow. "Fuck you for trying to use them against me. I'm done," she reiterates.

She pushes past Westfallen. The doctor tries to stop her once more but Emily ignores her, slamming the door forcefully as she storms out. Westfallen sighs.

"Please, Emily, come back soon," she says towards the door, praying Emily will heed the prayer.