MANY thanks for the reviews on the last chapter. They were so detailed and thoughtful I found myself going back and reading them several times over! I appreciate each and every one, and I love to hear feedback about my writing.

This one's a bit shorter, but it's actually one of the very first things I wrote for this story. Consider this a tease for all you Morgan-Prentiss fans.

I suppose you could say it's somewhat tagged to "Fear and Loathing" and "Open Season".

Happy reading! =)

"And I find myself trying to stay by the phone, 'cause your voice always helps me to not feel so alone " – Fort Minor, Where'd You Go?

It's been a few weeks since we buried her. Since we tried to say goodbye. Since Garcia has been able to smile. Since Reid hasn't wandered around with a lost look in his eyes. Since I was able to function properly.

My emotions are all over the place. I try to be strong for everyone, but there are moments where I can't seem to get a handle on my grief, or my anger. Demolished walls in my properties, an answering machine full of unanswered messages from concerned friends and family, and one voicemail on my cell phone that I can't seem to delete are all proof of this.

That message is like a drug to me. Just hearing her laugh as she tells me about a book I absolutely need to read brings a bit of peace to my mind, even if just for those 30 seconds. I'll listen to it repeatedly, hoping to remember the way she looked when she laughed, or the little mannerisms that were just so... her.

I'd come across the message the day after JJ delivered the news. The day after she left us. The day after we'd all lost a part of ourselves. The day after our family was fractured. Consumed by my own grief, I'd withdrawn from the world. I ignored all the incoming calls, the grief still too raw to speak with anyone. When I finally summoned the strength to answer one of those calls, I found I'd missed the call by a few seconds. I dialed the familiar string of numbers to access my voicemail and check the message that had been left for me.

"You have eight new messages and one saved message," the automated voice told me. I pressed my thumb to the screen to select the option to hear the new messages, but as luck would have it I didn't. Instead I heard her familiar voice, and I felt both the numbness in my heart subside and an ache settle in at the same time. I closed my eyes and felt tears make their way down my face as I listened over and over to that message, willing her to come back.

This morning is hard. It's the day of our semi-regular workout. The day that we'd train beside one another, knowing each others' movements and quirks intimately, making it all the more difficult to best one another. The day that we'd make bets on the outcome to up the ante. Loser buys the coffee, winner picks the place for breakfast, or on more ambitious days, loser takes 10 consults from the winner's pile.

I take my phone out of my pocket and dial my voicemail. I press the familiar string of numbers and hear the automated voice, "You have one saved message."

I turn on speakerphone, place my phone beside me and close my eyes, letting the familiar voice fill my silent room.

"Derek, hey. It's me, Emily. I know I'll see you at work tomorrow, and this is probably just a bit of overkill, but I just had to let you know about this book. You're gonna absolutely love it. You just have to read it. It's all about this..."

My thoughts wander as I smile at her rambling. She never could shut up when it came to books. I absolutely loved that about her. The always perfectly poised, independent, and classy woman I'd come to know as Emily Prentiss would sometimes let her inner nerd out, and a shy, almost vulnerable side would appear.

Over the years I'd seen flashes of this side, more as we got to know each other and became closer.

"You have to understand. I'm a nerd. And I can fool people for days, weeks even, but sooner or later I blow my cover and say something so geeky, and then he doesn't respond and I lose all confidence."

"What did you say?" I reply questioningly.

"Kilgore Trout."

"Guy has a problem with Kurt Vonnegut?"

"You know Kilgore Trout?" her tone is one of surprise, and a smile plays on her lips.

"I read Slaughter-house Five when I was 12 and it blew my mind," her eyes and smile widen considerably at my admission. "Seriously, I couldn't get enough so I just kept going and I read 'em all."

She replies enthusiastically, "Yeah, yeah! Me too. What's your favourite?"

I reply without having to think at all, "Oh, Mother Night."

"The one about the American spy!"

"Who pretends to be a Nazi," I add with an encouraging nod.

Her eyes flash with excitement, "You are who you pretend to be..."

"So be careful who you pretend to be," I finish the quote with a large smile, and see her respond in kind.

I hadn't considered the full extent of that quote until now. Perhaps there was a reason she was so attached to it. Maybe it hit home with her for all the wrong reasons. Had there come a point for her when Emily had stopped pretending to be Lauren and had become Lauren? She was in deep undercover for months, playing a character with no opportunity to be just Emily. She was always Lauren. Ian Doyle's Lauren Reynolds.

'Be careful who you pretend to be.'

Was that what had spurred her to leave her team and join the FBI? Declan's safety surely played a large role, but maybe it was more than that. Maybe she lost herself. Maybe she realized she needed to be careful of who she was pretending to be, because she was losing sight of exactly who she was. Maybe somewhere along the way she got scared that she wasn't just Emily playing a character anymore. Maybe she realized she needed to stop pretending to be others and start being herself.

"-anyway, sorry for this. You must think I'm insane or something. Well... I'll see you tomorrow at work."

She had left that message months before her death. I had never gotten around to deleting it, and we had never gotten around to talking about the book.

The automated voice prompts me to make another selection, and I select the option that will play it again.

"Derek, hey. It's me, Emily."

I let myself relax as her words wash over me like an ocean of calm and normalcy. Every word, every intonation, every pause, every laugh. It's committed to memory. I could recite it perfectly. But I hear something else every single time I listen to it.

"She asked me how they could do it. How those men could hunt and kill people in the woods."

"What'd you tell her?"

"That they don't think like we do. But... The truth is... that we do think like them."

Her gaze lowers to her hand as she focuses on picking at something indiscernible.

"Yeah, we do, because it's our job. We need to know how it feels," I reply. There is a hint of something I can't quite place in her eyes.

"We hunt these people every day. The question is how different are we – us and them."

Her expression turns to one of pensive reflection, and she breaks our gaze to look out the window once more, silence taking over.

I realize now that that expression was one of reflection, but not in the way I had assumed. Her thoughts probably turned to questions she had no doubt been asking herself for years after Doyle. Manipulation is a common skill among many of the unsubs we chase. Her CIA days are proof enough that she was a skilled liar and manipulator herself. She likely asked herself the very same question – how different was she from Doyle. He manipulated people to get what he wanted, and she – Lauren – did the same.

Or maybe she turned her thoughts to the difference between Emily and Lauren. She was undercover so long as Lauren, maybe she stopped being Emily. Maybe she gave in fully to being the character of Lauren, and it scared her. Maybe, in her mind, there was no difference between Emily and Lauren.

I'm torn on the issue. While I have trouble wrapping my head around what she did, and what she played a part in as Lauren the international weapons dealer, I can't help but think of Emily compartmentalizing it. But maybe it reached a point where the boxes in her mind finally got so full of Lauren-related things that she stopped. Maybe she just had to let herself be Lauren, and instead she started compartmentalizing Emily.

I can rationalize with myself that she took down a dangerous criminal and protected the life of an innocent young child, but when I think of at what cost, I have difficulty remaining rational. She allowed herself to get close to Doyle, allowed him to fall in love with her. And I'm convinced there's some part of her that fell in love with him, as twisted as that seems. Was imprisoning him worth that price? No doubt that's a question that Emily asked herself.

But as angry as I am with what she had done, I can't bring myself to stay that way. My thoughts and emotions always give way to fond memories. Conversations with her, unspoken moments on cases, teasing Reid about his hair, or the way she looked as she held Henry as a newborn.

The automated voice prompts me once more, and I bargain with myself. One more play, then off to work. Just one more. I hit the button, and close my eyes once more, enjoying the sound of her voice.

"Derek, hey. It's me, Emily."

As always, if you have the time and are willing, I do so appreciate your thoughts and feedback. :)