Another multi-chap fic if you'd like, or it could stay a one-shot. I have plans for it though. If you like this idea please let me know in reviews! With all my love, enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own this. Never have. Never will. :'(
It always starts out with a memory. One of the three of them. When he brought her breakfast in bed that morning, how they played in the fields with their son, how every night after everything was calm in the house they would make love under a large white canopied bed. Then it goes back to that warehouse. Him branding her chest, and throwing her around like a rag doll.
This time she broke a lamp, and a glass on her bedside table. She wakes up, and still has the image of his ice cold, cerulean eyes in her head. She can see him everywhere. In her head, on her body. She hates to look at herself in a mirror. She always covers the scars out of shame. It makes her physically sick. She doesn't like to think of the man she turned him into. The one that was so set on revenge he would brutally kill anyone in his way. She thinks she is going crazy, but she so afraid to speak of it on the outside. They'll look at her as being weak. She isn't weak. She will never, ever be weak.
She wont be able to go back to sleep. "I am Emily Prentiss.." her voice is hoarse. Like she has been yelling, but secretly she knows they are screams. She walk into her bathroom to splash her face with water. When she look up in the mirror she doesn't see her reflection, she sees her monster. He is grinning. Giving her that look that he gave her when they saw each other or the first time after she betrayed him. She screams and throws both fists forward. The glass of the mirror smashes in to thousands of little pieces. She cries, and stares at the glass sticking out of her arms. She has to get out. She has to go. She stands and runs out of her apartment crying, and starts running. She didn't grab a coat. Shoes. Anything. She just ran. It's cold. She forgot how under dressed she is. She's only in a tank top, pajama pants, no shoes, and blood streaming around her arms. She doesn't have time to think about how crazy she must look right now. It takes a couple of minutes to get to the house she needs to get to but when she does she knows she can't continue running. "DEREK! Derek..." she yells. When she does a dark figure comes running out of the house.
"Princess?" he asks me. Soon he wraps his arms around her, and lifts her. She curls into his chest, and he picks her up. When they get inside he lays her down on the couch. That's when he notices the red. On him, and their clothes. She was hysterical. She was cold, and shaking. "Em...Emily...Prentiss! Calm down! You're with me now!" he said slow, but firm. She looks up at him, and then takes a few other looks around. "You're safe baby.." he whispers. He strokes her face and makes her focus on him. After a few minutes she returns to reality.
"How...how did I...I..." he stroked her head.
"You walked. I think a better question is how did this happen?" he held up her arms.
"I...don't...don't remember. Derek! I'm not crazy! Please don't say I am crazy..." he shook his head no.
"I would never say that. Let me take care of you baby." he says lightly kissing her neck. He picks her up off the couch, and she wraps her legs around him. She's careful not to lean on him with her forearms. He carries her up the stairs and turns on lights on his way. When he starts toward the bathroom she finds herself freaking out in his arms. "Em...Emily calm down!" he says. "We don't have to look in the mirror. We can sit you so your back is to it baby." he says softly. She nods. He sits her on the counter, and turns the lights all the way on. He shuts the door, and turns on the hot water and a tiny bit of cold water. The steam from the bath will cool her down before actually getting in the bath. Derek sighs, and grabs the first aid kit. He strips of all his clothes except his boxers. He get's the glass out of her arms with a pair of tweezers. He grabs the straps of her tank top, and pulls them down. Instead of going over her head he pulls the tank top down with her sweat pants. She wasn't wearing a bra so all she is wearing is her underwear. He sees the bruises she's left on herself and the cut marks from breaking glass in the middle of the night. The scar on her stomach stands out. As does the patch of white skin where the brand used to be. She got it removed in Paris. Now all that's there is a white blotch. He comes toward her, and stands between her legs. "Princess." he says. She looks down. He traces the bruises she has, and then stands her up. He removes her underwear for her, and does the same with himself. She still isn't warm. She lets him guide them both in the hot bath. He lays down first and she follows. Her head on his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around her. This was their routine every other night since she came back from Paris. They'd slept together before Paris, before Doyle, but they were never in a relationship. Drunken nights, or lonely nights they would go to one another. It was a comfort thing.
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