*It goes without saying that Criminal Minds – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled Criminal Minds. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.*

Chapter 1

These woods are lovely, dark and deep

But I have promises to keep

And miles to go before I sleep

And miles to go before I sleep

– Robert Frost

Derek Morgan would not have noticed the woman in the white blouse, had it not been for her deliberate attention.

She hadn't taken her eyes off of him from the moment he stepped into the little coffeehouse a quarter mile from his home. He frequented this particular place as a regular, and so the majority of the staff recognized him with smiles and chipper "good mornings'!" over the hard grind of coffee beans and the hiss of the percolators.

In turn, it wasn't unusual for Derek to recognize the other patrons who came here. To stop a moment and chat with those regulars or with the girl behind the counter. Most knew what he did for a living. It was never broadcast but they knew he was FBI and his services had been requested many times to 'look into' a suspected cheating spouse or missing child who'd only wandered off to plaster his face against the cake display.

So at first Derek thought the woman in the white blouse was another of those. But that unwavering stare . . . as if considering his worth as a man rather than a cop. He was he was being measured, and Derek found himself watching her, too.

She was attractive, he allowed, with a sweep of raven hair falling over one shoulder. Dark eyes subtly shadowed, while her lips were painted a more deliberate rose pink. Her smile was easy and confident, accentuating the healthy glow of her skin. Skin lighter than his, but not white. Latina, if he had to guess.

Her age was more difficult to pin down. Twenty five? Thirty five? He couldn't tell and that moment of indecision, that small frustration, drew him like a moth to fire.

Her smile widened immediately, as she saw he intended to join her. Picking his coffee off the counter and dropping his change in the tip jar by the register, Derek maneuvered to the woman's solitary table by the wall. Not a window seat, but a good spot where she had an uninterrupted view of the entire shop.

"Come here often?" she greeted him, her voice richly accented.

Derek smiled, showing his teeth and sat at the chair across from her. His coffee burning his hand through the cup, he set it down and cracked the lid to let steam escape.

"Now and again," he said, noncommittally.

Come here often? She meant it as a joke, tossing out that classic line and Derek felt himself unclench – surprised that he had to. He'd been unaware of how uncomfortable her attention made him. Physically, she was stunning. With eyes too focused to be anything less than highly intelligent and a quiet steadiness when her gaze locked with his. A woman who was fully in the moment, not easily distracted.

But now that he was closer, better able to gauge her moods, she seemed more innocent than womanly. As if she hadn't meant for her very deliberate stare to seem as seductive as it had.

Twenty five? Thirty five?

"What about you?" he asked, seeing that she was waiting for him to say more. "Come here often?"

She caught her bottom lip with pearly white teeth. Said, "I thought I'd try someplace new. And to answer what you were really asking me; no, you have not seen me before."

Her eyes were so dark . . . but he saw that there were tiny amber lights around the pupils, expanding into a nearly invisible starburst of color. The amber melted so seamlessly into the near-black of her irises that had he not been looking straight into her eyes he never would have seen them. Lovely. Unsettling.

"In all seriousness, I was looking for somewhere nice to drop a dollar in the morning." The woman tapped a fingernail on the side of her china white coffee cup. "I think I found the place. I'm Autumn."

"Derek," he said, easing into talking to her. Her manner was comfortable. Shoulders relaxed, face expressive and interested. Not coy, but involved and willing to talk. In a word, she came across as genuine. And that was something he could appreciate. "What made you leave the other place?"

"Hm?" Autumn lifted a single delicately arched brow.

"You said you were looking for somewhere new." Derek blew on his coffee, the steam hot against his upper lip. Still not cool enough to drink. He set the cup back down.

Autumn blinked, but smiled. Startled by the probing question, and maybe a little intrigued that he'd heard what she only implied. Derek was a man who paid attention when someone was talking to him. Like her, every part of him was right here.

"Green's Teahouse," she said after a moment, a rueful little smile curling her lips. "It was the kind of place you had to know was there, to even find it. But it was quiet. A good place to sit and watch the sun come up."

"Early bird?"

"No," Autumn laughed, now. Her voice richer, layered with subtle complexity. "But I find peace in the dawn. No demands or voices to intrude. Only me and my time. I find it steadies me."

Now that was something he understood. Derek had precious little time to himself – acutely aware of the phone clipped to his belt. All the time; he was always on-call. He envied Autumn her morning Zen.

Derek gleaned two bits of information from what she said. First, her work was demanding for her to feel she needed this time. The second is that her former spot – Green's Teahouse – must have gone out of business. Her eyes sparkled with pleasure when she mentioned it. She wouldn't have replaced a spot she loved with a coffee joint downtown if it was still there.

"Good choice, then," Derek offered. He tilted his head to indicate the shop they were in. "Though I can't promise you quiet. This place is busy in the morning."

Autumn said nothing to that, only smiling over the lip of her cup as she took a slow drink. Savoring her sip as if there was no more delicious cup of coffee in the world. The rich fragrance of dark roast wafted around the both of them. A ding at the door as someone came into the shop. Derek didn't look over there, his attention fixed on the beguiling woman sitting with him.

She smiled and set her coffee down, no color having come off on the white cup. Her lipstick was expensive. That agreed with his assessment. Her white blouse was a soft silk so fine that it seemed liquid draped over her shoulders. Billowing loosely, but still touching her body in the right places to bring modest attention to her womanly figure. She wore bits of gold. Enough to sparkle enticingly in the bright morning sunshine, but such understated pieces. Higher middleclass. Casual wealth.

Despite his observations, Derek was having unusual difficulty in reading her. It was rare for him to feel that he was missing something; that he was being successfully manipulated and for the life of him he couldn't figure what about Autumn pricked at his instincts. Maybe that was why he stayed, while his gut warned him to withdraw. To watch himself.

"Might be busy here in the morning," Autumn said, breaking through his inner monologue. "But I noticed the shiny new Starbucks opened around the corner. Should have closed this places' doors but hasn't made much of an impact. Points to this little place. Excellent coffee, or is it the company?"

Derek smiled, mildly amused by Autumn's assessment of the coffee shop's value and with the very slight attempt at flirting. "I'd like to think the company has something to do with it."

"Hm. Now, I have a question for you." Autumn gave her cup another little tap with her fingernail. Derek nodded, inviting her to go on. She did, "What kind of name is Sylvester's for a café?"

That was so unexpected that Derek laughed out loud. Not because he disagreed, but that he'd asked himself the very same thing when he first began to frequent the spot.

"Named after the owner's cat if you can believe it," he told her, still chuckling a little. Autumn's eyes sparkled with shared amusement and she leaned eagerly forward to hear the rest. "Girl fresh out of college opened this place and couldn't think of what to call it. I think she might have settled."

"Sylvester?" Autumn mused. "She named her cat Sylvester? Like in the cartoon?"

"Just like in the cartoon."

"Clever."

He thought so, too. An original name, at least, for a shop that sold coffee and heavy pastries.

"So, tell me. How did you find this place?"

Derek tilted one shoulder in a shrug. "Same as you. I wandered in one day and just kept coming back."

"Hm."

"What?"

"You don't like to talk about yourself," Autumn remarked. She offered a small, playful smile. "Shy? Or do you have something to hide?"

"Maybe I have something to hide," Derek said without hesitation. He smiled in return, to show he was kidding. "I have secrets. Big ones."

"Oh? Like what?" She took another small drink from her coffee, the gesture accentuating the challenge in her voice. Eyes like obsidian jewels sparkled with mischief, making the gold crown around the pupils gleam.

He pointed out, "If I told you, they wouldn't be secrets."

Derek followed her example, taking a sharp swig from his paper to-go cup. Still too hot, the drink scalded his tongue. He grimaced in pain and swallowed hard, feeling the liquid-burn slide all the way down.

"Oh, Derek," Autumn said very seriously. "Secrets are meant to be shared, or else they risk being lost forever."

Derek set his cup down, letting his hand linger on the hot paper sides for a second. Feigning casual. "You speaking from experience?"

A sad little smile touched Autumn's pink lips.

"When I came in," Derek said carefully. "You were already here, waiting for me."

Testing her response to his statement, but it wasn't such a long-shot. From the moment he stepped through the door, she hadn't taken her eyes off of him. Not appreciatively or with lust, but contemplative. He'd sensed he was being considered. It's what pulled him into her orbit to start with. Anything else and he would have politely declined her invitation to join her. The table she'd chosen, he realized now, was deliberate. Out of the way. Small. Two chairs.

Autumn did not admit that she was, in fact, waiting for him.

She didn't need to.

It was in the way her eyes dipped, her gaze falling to her hands folded a little too stiffly on the table between them. The slight current glossing over the surface of her coffee, to show she trembled. It was all so subtle, so contained he knew she was trying very hard to hold herself together . . . and succeeding.

"Oh, Derek," she said, lifting those startling eyes to his. "Secrets are complicated. For everyone who has a secret, there's someone else who needs to know what it is. I do believe that some are meant to be shared, so that they are never lost. Important things given as gifts, to those you trust. I believe that with all my heart."

And then there are those you keep. Holding them closest to your heart, in a secret place where no one will ever see them, Derek silently finished for her. A dull ache beat in his chest, pricking at memories best left buried. Secrets he couldn't be rid of, no matter how hard he tried to exorcise his demons.

A rueful smile curled Autumn's lips. "You understand."

"Why were you looking for me?"

"Because I need you, Derek," she said, surprising him. "I need your help."

XxXxXx

Derek followed Autumn out of Sylvester's, matching his stride to hers. Her shiny black shoes clipped sharply on the cracked pavement outside. His own steps were relatively quiet, the soft leather of his boots better absorbing the shock of his weight on the sidewalk. It was only seven in the morning and already the day turned hot. Sweat prickled at the back of his neck. The collar of his t-shirt growing damp where it was pressed into his skin.

Autumn had no purse. No jacket. Nothing that she needed to grab when she stood up from their table, her raven hair glistened in the bright morning sunlight. It was light that caressed her skin; deepening the amber lights in her eyes to where they seemed to glow.

Derek had seen many women in his line of work. Many women outside of work, too. He could keep both perspectives separate – able to appreciate a woman's appearance with the clinical detachment of a profiler, rather than the baser attention that comes from lusting after a body. But the cop in him did pause to wonder why he followed her out of the coffee shop when she asked.

"Thank you for this," Autumn said, sensing Derek's growing hesitation. Her smile was genuine, gratitude spilling over. Also a profound relief and he thought that coming to him was very likely a last hope. Her last-ditch effort at having herself heard.

Derek did not say this out loud.

"Can't imagine what you must think of me," she continued. "Poor little woman, can't manage things by herself."

Autumn folded her arms across her stomach, her blouse pulling over her shoulders. A clean, crisp white. He saw no bruises or markings to suggest she'd been beaten; her movements were smooth without any wince to betray soreness or an injury beneath her clothes where he couldn't see. Not that it meant anything. Not all abused wives had busted lips. And she did carry herself with the sort of polished poise of someone who was very used to hiding the pain she felt inside.

And if her husband was rich, connected, there would be very little she could do. Nowhere to turn. A painful truth, but there you have it. Money buys deniability. She would have had no one.

"I don't think that," Derek said. The pause between her words and his response had stretched for too long. Autumn bristled, undoubtedly thinking that is exactly what Derek thought of her. She was weak.

Even without seeing the place she was leading him, Derek knew where they were going. A parking lot two streets down, which is where Autumn would have left her car. From there, it was a quick walk to Sylvester's. You couldn't park directly in front, so a lot of people did that.

Whatever situation she was in, she refused to divulge it. Not in a crowded café, or while on a public street. He could understand that. He applauded her effort.

"Look, it's not that I don't have options. I do."

Derek paused on the street, the tall metal bar of a chain-link fence swaying in a stiff breeze beside him. Autumn stopped too, and turned to him. The wind teased in her hair, lifting those heavy tresses off her shoulders.

"You never said what sort of trouble you were in."

She hadn't, and the spark in her ebony eyes betrayed her. She didn't want to tell him. Whatever it was – spousal abuse, or more – she was keeping it to herself. Derek saw the walls come down and felt that if he didn't say something now she would close herself off and he wouldn't be able to open that door again.

"Look, I want to help you," he said and that was the truth. "But you got to be straight with me."

"I am being straight," Autumn said.

There it was. Her nerves cracking.

The warm morning wind gusted again; the fence clacking noisily. It would have been so easy for Derek to push, confident that only a little more pressure would turn those cracks into a full break. He made the conscious decision not to. Behind the strange golden glow in Autumn's dark eyes was a vulnerability that warned him to tread more carefully.

She was not an unsub.

Autumn drew a sharp breath. Her breasts rose and fell on a sigh.

She was still so calm, and et the stiffening of her shoulders . . . the way she quickly pulled herself together so that the sadness in her eyes turned to glass; hard and cold. Finding the strength needed to face the FBI man who walked with her.

"I meant what I said," she told him. "Thank you for this. You have no idea how it means to me that you listened."

The phrasing of that statement pricked at his instincts.

"Who hurt you?"

A sad little smile touched her lips. "Nobody hurt me, Derek."

"What happened to you?" he rephrased the question.

Derek followed Autumn into the brick alcove between the lot and a bookstore, sunlight shining off the many colorful hoods of parked cars. Clouds slid lazily across the sun, plunging the city in cool shade for only a moment before moving on. Summer heat already soaring even though it was still so early in the day. Derek scratched at the back of his neck, irritated by the prickle of sweat forming there.

"Oh, Derek," Autumn gave another heavy sigh, air whooshing through parted pink lips. "You're asking the wrong questions."

He countered, "What are the right questions?"

No response. Derek scanned the parking lot, surprised to find that he was on the wrong side of the fence. Autumn had led him between the chain-link and the solid length of a brick wall. So focused on her he hadn't paid attention to where he was going and that was a shocking lapse.

He did not see the liquid gold crown in Autumn's eyes flare; the color spilling out from her pupils in a burst of color. Spectacularly bright against the ebony-brown of her irises.

Derek turned around, animal instinct shooting a single warning up the length of his spine. It was all so fast that he didn't even think to reach for his weapon.

With the solid palms of her hands, Autumn slammed her full weight into his chest. Pressing him back against the solid bricks of the wall behind him; the suddenness of her attack startling. White pain erupted, slicing into his throat with pitiless intensity. Blood poured from his severed artery in a rush of heat down the front of his chest.

"S-stop," escaped in a whoosh of air from his lungs.

His head fell back, hands pushing against the body pressing against his. He couldn't dislodge the woman and she refused to let go, holding him even tighter as he struggled. Freeing himself wouldn't save him. He knew that. That was his lifeblood draining away; pouring out of him so quickly he lost the point of whatever else he might have been thinking . . . like sand running through his fingers.

Derek's head was full of the scent of Autumn's floral shampoo, and the high whistle of noise in his ears as he bled to death.

She had her face buried in his throat, and the pain in his throat pinched; a sharpness digging even deeper. Darkness pressed even closer, filling his vision with flickering gray points. Pressure building in his sinuses. His heart beating . . . beating . . .

Derek experienced a moment of profound clarity, and it was like the sun breaking through the clouds. A single precious second before he succumbed to his own death. He did not think of his family. His friends. His team. He wasn't gifted with a movie-reel of his life's greatest hits, or the worst. None of that.

His finale thought was very simply one of disbelief; he never saw it coming . . .