Prologue: Carter

Doctor Carter was about ten years on the wrong side of middle-aged, about to come off a damn long shift, and in desperate need of a cigarette. Still, his last patient of the day had given him something to smile about. She was a forty-five year old federal agent who'd just come out of surgery for a gunshot wound with amnesia.

Carter had left her for twenty minutes and by the time he returned she'd figured out enough about herself to briefly convince him that she'd regained her memory. It turned out she made a living for the FBI figuring people out without ever having to meet them. With a sense of humour that often got him into trouble, Carter found it laughably appropriate. For now, at least, that agent's past self was only as accessible to her as the psychology of a killer she'd never laid eyes on.

He tried to explain to her that her memory would very likely come back on its own within a day or two - even just a few hours if she was lucky. Yet she insisted on approaching her condition with scientific methodology and intricate attention to detail. At her request, he'd had an intern run down to the gift shop to buy her a little notebook. In it, she jotted down the observations she was making about her character. She ran through it on a regular basis to make sure she could still remember writing each dot pot, trying to ensure that the memories she made in the present were secure. He told her not to beat herself up if she forgot.

A few of the agent's friends – or, at least, her colleagues - had been by earlier, while she was still asleep. When she woke up after the surgery, he'd offered to call them back, but she was uncertain. No, that was the wrong word. The agent had been very certain – she didn't want to see anyone.

"If I'm not going to recognise them, then there's no point," she told him briskly. "If my memory comes back in a couple of days, they can visit me then. If it doesn't and I really do have to start again, I want to make sure that my view of myself isn't perverted by other people's opinions."

"They've been very worried," Carter felt obliged to tell her, but as something of a solitary man himself, he was happy to tell the agent's supervisor that she wasn't up to visitors when she persisted.

He was just about to leave the floor and head home when a blonde woman in a suit jacket and skirt caught up to him.

"Sorry!" she apologised, sounding genuine. "I know you're leaving, doctor. I won't keep you long. You were treating Emily Prentiss, weren't you?"

Carter raised an eyebrow. "Yes," he replied. "I assume you're a colleague. I've already talked to your supervisor. Agent Prentiss does not wish to be disturbed."

"But she's awake?" the blonde exhaled heavily and for a second Carter thought she might collapse. He offered an arm to steady her but she shook her head, embarrassed. "No, I'm fine. Sorry. Emily's really okay?"

"She's awake," Carter confirmed, glancing at his watch. "I'm on my way out. You should go home too. Someone will give Agent Hotchner a call if anything changes."

The blonde looked uncertain. "Do you think I could just… look in on her for a minute?" she asked. "I won't disturb her if she's sleeping."

Carter was about to tell her that no, that was impossible. He liked Agent Prentiss and he appreciated her scientific dedication to decoding her personality. If she said she didn't want to see anyone, then no one was getting in that door. She had enough to deal with - even if the amnesia was, by all evidence, going to be a temporary ailment. You never did know with the brain. It was a delicate instrument.

Still, despite Carter's best intentions, something in those blue eyes stirred him.

"I didn't catch your name," he realised, leading her to the side of the hallway. She clearly wasn't going home without a fight, so they might as well get out of other people's way.

The blonde looked embarrassed again. "Agent Jennifer Jareau," she introduced herself, taking out her credentials. "I work with Emily. But that's inadequate. I know you don't want to let just-a-colleague in to see her if she's not well. I honestly think she'll want to see me, though, doctor. She just took a bullet for me."

Carter nodded reluctantly. "She was awake when I left her. I'll ask her if it's okay for you to have a short visit." His lips straightened into a firm line. "She'll probably say no," he warned her. "Agent Prentiss suffering from amnesia. It will almost certainly pass but at the moment she's preparing for the worst. She's decided that she doesn't want to hear anything about herself from others. She wants to figure everything out herself."

Jennifer nodded and the look in her eyes was fiercely determined. Carter almost smiled but stopped himself just in time.

"How's your list going?" he asked Emily as he opened her door.

"It's growing," Emily answered, sounding conflicted.

Carter expected there had been a few times that she'd opened her book, been unable to remember writing down a certain point, and felt like the list really was growing—completely organically and of its own accord. "Find out anything interesting?" he inquired.

Emily flipped through the pages and shrugged. "I don't like jelly," she told him. "And when I said so to the nurse she brought me a pudding cup, which I didn't like either. I don't think I like desserts. …I'm also bored out of my mind. I want to go home."

"Maybe you just don't like hospital desserts," Carter quipped, ignoring her statement about leaving. She was going to be here for a while no matter what happened with her memory. "Although the pudding cups aren't bad… I've been known to steal one or two off the cart myself."

"Weren't you going home?" Emily asked, narrowing her eyes a little.

Carter grinned. "Well-remembered!" he confirmed. "But I ran into one of your colleagues on the way out. Now, I've already told your supervisor to instruct them to clear off until you're ready for them, but this woman pleaded with me to ask your permission to come in—quickly. I told her you'd probably say no but I thought I should ask. She says you took that bullet protecting her, so you can add brave to your list, I think."

"No, I can't," Emily answered sharply. "Because I didn't figure it out. What if the person I was before was brave, but the person I am now isn't? Or maybe you or 'this woman', whoever she is, misinterpreted what I did as brave when really it was stupid and thoughtless or I was suicidal or God knows what. I don't even know if I believe in God. I don't want to see her."

Carter nodded understandingly but just as he turned to leave, intending to respect Emily's wishes and tell the blonde to go home, she came in herself. Throwing him an apologetic look, she took a bold step toward the bed.

"Sorry, Doctor Carter," she threw out, not really sounding it. "I'd have waited but I knew Emily would stick to her guns and tell me to leave." She turned to the patient. "Em, you hate hospitals and—despite the way you act—you hate being alone even more. That's why you bought a cat. His name's Sergio—I think that was the name of someone you knew, growing up in Rome. You never told me who." Jennifer seemed amused by Emily's look of furious forced calm, like it was exactly what she expected. "I know you don't want to hear any more so I'm going to shut up. I just want you to know that I'm someone who knows you well and I'd really appreciate it if you let me sit here for a while. Even if you're angry at me, at least I'll know you're alive and as hard-headed as ever."

"What if I say no?" Emily asked, folding her arms over her chest. Carter knew, although perhaps Jennifer didn't realise, how much the stubborn gesture would have pained her. She had only woken up from surgery four or five hours ago.

"Then your doctor will have to have me thrown out," Jennifer replied, mimicking Emily's position with ease.

For a few moments, the two women faced off against one another. Then a smile broke across Emily's face. "Stay," she acquiesced. "But if you say one more word I'll have you bodily removed."

When Carter returned the next morning, he made a point to see Agent Prentiss before any of his other patients. He felt mildly guilty about that, since her condition was stable, but he told himself it was just so he could see whether or not her memory had returned.

"How's the list?" he asked again as he poked his head around the door.

"Great," Emily replied lightly. "I think I'm a lesbian."

"Well, okay," Carter laughed, unable to conceal his surprise. "Does that observation have anything to do with the remarkably persuasive blonde you apparently took a bullet for?"

Emily winked, a cheeky smile on her face. Carter didn't think he'd seen her so happy yet—but then again, she had been shot the day they met.

"I told her she could come again," Emily replied. "Only her though, not the other people I work with. Tell the nurses—no one but her."

"Did she tell you anything more about yourself?" Carter asked curiously.

Emily's smile turned sly. "Not on purpose," she answered. "We didn't speak after you left. But she told me things without words... I wonder if the me-before-I-got-shot had a crush on her. I didn't get the impression we were dating. Maybe she's straight."

"Your superhuman powers of perception couldn't pick up on that?" Carter had to tease.

Emily shook her head. "It's not a superpower," she chided him. "It's odd—I feel like I'm fundamentally a pessimist but, in this case, I find myself prone to wishful thinking."

Now Carter laughed. "Sounds like you're in love," he told her. "But I'd be careful if I were you. It may be, when you get your memory back, that things aren't the way they seem right now."

Emily accepted this with a serious expression. "Thanks for checking in on me, Doctor."

Oh, so she'd picked up on that then: his almost completely unnecessary visit. Carter shook his head fondly as he left the room. He could only hope that his own suspicion—that this Jennifer Jareau had some pretty intense feelings for Emily too—was half as sound as Emily's observations.