Holding on to Forever

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas

For various reasons I haven't written for over a year. This story is angst based and at the moment I don't how often I will update as for various reasons this is hard to write but something I need to do too. Sorry. I haven't set this in a specific series as it is AU, but it roughly Season 6.

. . .

Derek sat in the dark, still trying to process the call he had received over two hours ago from his sister, Sarah. He literally hadn't moved since he put his phone down and slumped back on the couch. His half drunk mug of coffee now cold on the table in front of him, as he sat staring at the blank TV screen, his mind whirling in his heavy unmoving body.

Every ounce of his usual energy had been sucked from him, worse then the hardest blow he had ever received in the field. The news hadn't exactly come out of the blue, he knew his Mom was having some tests done, but he still hadn't expected the worse. She looked so well when he had visited over the summer, she had reassured him it was just a precaution and nothing for him to worry about. He hadn't prepared himself for Sarah saying it was cancer.

He knew he needed to move; he needed to source a flight to get home, yet he still couldn't physically get up and get going. His limbs were heavy, he felt weighed down, pinned to the couch. Slowly he reached forward for his phone, knowing the one person who could help him right now. It seemed to take forever for her answer as the rings continued in his ear. Eventually he got a groggy answer, which made him check the time, how had it got to be past midnight?

"Chocolate Thunder, what's up?" Penelope muttered, sleep thickening her voice.

"I need a favour," the desperation echoed through his own voice as he spoke.

"Anything, name it?" he could hear the rising concern in her voice, instantly changing the tone. He hated putting her through this, especially as at this point he wasn't ready to tell her all.

"I need to be on the next flight home," his voice broke as he said the final word, a tear streaking down his face as he spoke. He tried to hold himself together as he heard her get up, obviously from bed, and pad across her apartment. All the way she was murmuring something, but he couldn't respond straight away . . . "Please Baby Girl" he begged, "Just sort it for me."

"Of course, of course, but you are getting me all worried and I don't work as well when my mind is fogged by the concern that is now filling me. Please Derek let me help you?" she pleaded.

Derek let out a long sigh; "You are helping me, by getting me home as soon as possible. I will talk to you when I get back. I'm sorry . . . I just can't . . . not now," he croaked, emotion choking him as he run his free hand over his head and down to rub his watery eyes.

"Okay, okay, My Love, say no more, but remember I am always here. Whatever the time, whatever the issue! Now your flight is booked and I have sent you the details."

"I know . . ." Derek slumped back again and sighed deeply, "and I appreciate that you are always there for me, regardless. I love you for it. Thank you for sorting this for me."

"Anytime Hot Stuff, take care."

With the sound of a blown kiss she was gone. He looked at his silenced phone, the email she had sent showing on the screen. Opening it up he scanned the info then opened a new email for Hotch, requesting the necessary leave of absence, just stating that his Mom was unwell. He knew Hotch would read between the lines and realise it was more serious, but even typing the word cancer was too much right now. Pressing send he got up and headed to his bedroom, grabbing his dumped go-bag from the hall. It needed to be switched for fresh stuff before he left for the airport.

Walking though to his bedroom Derek opened the bag wide and dropped the contents onto his bed. Normally the mess would annoy him but today he was oblivious to it. Grabbing the wash kit he rummaged briefly to check he had all he needed before placing it back in. Then it was a systematic retrieval of clothes from the drawers on the other side of the room. Once these were stuffed into the bag he was done. He debated what to do while he had to wait. He could try to sleep or eat but in the end settled for heading straight to the airport, just because he couldn't face staying at home doing nothing.

. . .

Airports, Derek concluded, had their own time zone. It was the small hours of the morning yet there were still more people huddled in the bar then he had expected. Sat on a high stool facing out of the window, bourbon in hand Derek watched people pass. The place was as busy now as it would be at mid-day.

Mindlessly he swilled the contents of the glass around; buying a drink had seemed like a good idea half an hour ago. He had somehow hoped it would bring him some solace, but the normally strong liquor had been tasteless. Now it was purely a reason to be allowed to stay in the seat while he waited for his flight.

His thoughts wandered back to the conversation with Sarah, who had barely been able to contain the sobs, though he could tell she was trying. Her normally stoic demeanour cracking with each word, pauses increased as she tried to remain in control, trying to explain to Derek what the consultant had told her and their Mom. He was so glad that Sarah had been there with their Mom, who he knew had insistent she could go alone. Derek tried to recall all she had said, but all he could focus on, all he could remember was the bottom line . . . the unbelievable truth . . . the death sentence!

"Derek, even with treatment they are only giving her eight to twelve months!"