A/N: I had this idea a while ago and I finally decided to post it. I plan to write a scene for every character, though some might be a lot more difficult than others. Anyway, I hope you like it and please let me know what you think of the idea or the first chapter.
This is set towards the end of season 7 just before Emily leaves.
Emily was exhausted but somehow she still couldn't sleep. As she lay in the dark room, and her eyes adjusted to the lack of light, she focussed on the shapes and shadows on the plaster of the ceiling and allowed her mind to drift.
She knew she should leave; she'd known it for a while. This wasn't healthy – it wasn't how normal people lived their lives. Normal people didn't spend their lives enduring so much emotional and physical pain.
Battered. Bruised. Damaged.
Her medical records must tell a sad story. How many more concussions and gunshot wounds would it take before someone forced her to walk away? How long before this twisted life choice killed her?
She supposed it had already succeeded in doing that. Twice. And probably a little more than anyone else realised.
"Lauren Reynolds is dead," her own voice echoed. And she knew that more than just an alias had died when all traces of Lauren disappeared. She wondered how much more of herself had withered away in the time that her own name had been etched upon a grave stone. The Emily Prentiss that returned from the dead wasn't quite as whole as the one that had been before.
Not that it mattered in the grand scheme of things. What difference did a little more darkness or scepticism make when you surrounded yourself with the worst of mankind?
The sound of her ringing cellphone broke through the stillness of the room. The familiar name flashed up on the screen and the flutter of anticipation stirred in her stomach.
"Prentiss," she answered, her voice strangely alert given the late hour. Her already active mind only sped up as she listened to the voice of the caller. "I'm on my way."
Another case. Another chance to do the one thing she was certain she could do. Another adrenaline rush. Another chance for more pieces of Emily to break away.
She'd leave eventually – this wasn't home anymore.
But she could never leave the way of life. She'd twist and distort and adapt until she was an entirely different person. Or until she was the sort of dead from which she could not return.
That was the only way she knew how to live. Even if it meant leaving the people she loved behind.