Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.


"What you need to know about the past is that no matter what has happened, it has all worked together to bring you to this very moment. And this is the moment you can choose to make everything new. Right now." – Author Unknown

o o o o

18 February 2011

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" Derek grinned when Penelope walked into his office. Her previously red hair was back to blonde and she rolled her eyes at him. Her normally smiling face held not a single trace of happiness. There was fury and disbelief etched into every inch of her

"Are you really doing this?" Penelope cut to the chase, disregarding any introduction as she slammed the door behind her.

"Doing what?"

"Oh, don't play dumb with me, Derek Terrell Morgan," Penelope put her hands on her hips and glared at him, her fingers digging into the fabric of her purple cardigan. "I saw you applied for the VCAC job in Chicago. You big fat jerk, you're leaving us!"

"Yes," Derek said simply, putting his papers down on his desk and leaning back in his chair, knowing this would be a long conversation. "I applied for the job. I'm going back to Chicago, Penelope. I've only told Hotch so far."

"We already lost J.J. to the state department and we've been saddled babysitting this ridiculous cadet on our team and you're leaving us?" Penelope sat down in the chair opposite and looked lost.

"Yes," he nodded again. "Going home is something I've been thinking about for a long time. And the job is a great opportunity."

"You had the chance to lead a team in New York and you didn't take it," Penelope challenged. "You could have had your own team then. Why now? Why now when we need you, you decide to leave us? You can't leave us, Derek! We need you here. I... I need you here."

"New York doesn't have Sammie," Derek told her, making sure his voice was as gentle as possible. "Three years ago, if that team had been in Chicago, García, I would have taken that job before I could have even blinked. I have that chance now. I have the chance to lead a VCAC team in Chicago and I want that chance. I want to go back to Chicago and back to Sam."

"She's not even talking to you," Penelope argued, unable to keep the anger out of her voice at the mention of Sammie. "She left you, Derek. It's been ten years and she doesn't even talk to you. You have to move on. She doesn't love you. You have to move on with your life."

"I am moving on with my life," Derek said quietly.

"Then why are you going back there for her?" Penelope looked like she might cry. "How many times have we've had this conversation, Derek? She doesn't deserve you. You've wasted ten years pinning for some stupid woman who doesn't give a shit about you."

"Penelope -"

"No, Derek. I love you to the moon and back, but you're throwing your life away waiting for her to realize that she's a moron who apparently doesn't know a good thing when she has it."

"Penelope, you're talking about my wife," Derek warned her, his voice firm and serious.

"No, Derek. I'm talking about your ex-wife," Penelope reminded him. "The one who left you and hurt you and still hurts you now. She. Left. You. Ten years, Derek. She's not taking you back. You have to move on. You've sabotaged the two relationships you almost had with amazing women because you're just hanging on to this hope that she'll take you back. You've just thrown away -"

"She has taken me back," Derek said.

"- two perfectly good chances with - what?" Penelope stopped, startled, staring at him as if he'd suddenly begun speaking in a different language.

"Sam has taken me back," Derek repeated.

"When? What happened?"

"She still loves me, Penelope," Derek reached across his desk and turned a new photograph around for her to see. "And I still love her. Very, very much."

The picture had been taken in Ponsiglione's the night before he'd left to return to Quantico. They'd been sitting with their cousins, Claudio, Edda and Vittoria, rolling semolina dough into ziti noodles. He'd been holding her hand under the table half the time and they'd stolen so many kisses that Vittoria had finally picked up a sheet of dough and thrown it at them, laughing as she did so. Gia had snapped the photograph in the midst of a kiss. Their eyes were closed, but their faces were both happy and their hands were both holding semolina dough.

Penelope just stared at the photograph, dumbfounded.

"This was taken while you were in Chicago."

"Gia took it. Night before I flew back here," Derek nodded. "I love her, Penelope. I've loved her since I was twenty-three years old. Twelve years. I'm not throwing that away."

"So, you're just going to go back there and marry her and pretend the last ten years didn't happen?" Fury and disbelief mounted in Penelope and she seemed to swell as her anger bubbled.

"Nine years," Derek corrected, his voice calm as ever, "and no. We're going to start over. She'll continue living with her mom and I'll live in our house. We're going to date and see where that leads. Obviously, I want it to lead to being married to her again, but we'll work up to that."

"So you can just wait for her to up and leave again?" Penelope spat at him. "She left you once, what's to say she won't leave you again whenever she feels like it?"

"You don't know her, Baby Girl. You weren't there," Derek felt his temper beginning to simmer. "It was hell. We were in hell. She was so lost and confused and just devastated. She could barely talk or walk, Penelope. She couldn't feed herself. You know what brain injuries to the frontal lobe do? It changes the way you think, your behaviour. Her entire life changed, Penelope."

"So she threw you away when you could have helped her. She doesn't deserve you, Derek. She just gave up on you and left!"

"She left me because she didn't want to hold me back," Derek told her plainly. "Sammie knew my dream was to get to the FBI. She didn't think I could get here being married to her the way she was."

"And what do you think she's going to do the next time the urge strikes her?" Penelope crossed her arms over her chest.

"It's different now. She's made amazing progress. She knows leaving was the wrong thing. We still love each other. I love her as much as I did when I married her and I am going back to Chicago, I'm applying for the job with Violent Crimes against Children, and I'm going to rebuild my life with her. So I'd appreciate a 'Congratulations, Derek. I hope you'll be very happy.' because this is happening."

"Congratulations, Derek," Penelope stood. "I hope you'll be very happy."

And she left.

With a sigh, Derek leaned back against his chair and let his head fall back until he was looking at the ceiling. He stayed that way until the knock on his door just a few seconds later. Derek lifted his head to see Hotch standing in the doorway.

"That went well," Hotch said simply.

"How much did you hear?"

"Last minute or so," Hotch entered the office and closed the door behind him. "I just got out of a meeting with Strauss."

"Is she going to recommend me for the job?" Derek asked.

"She's talking to the section chief in Chicago right now. You have some tough competition, but I think you'll get it. You're the most qualified of the current applicants," Hotch sat down in the seat Penelope had occupied. "I'm sending my own recommendation later. Have you told anyone you're going back to Chicago?"

"No," Derek shook his head. "Just Sam and I know. And you and Penelope and Strauss. We're waiting until everything's set before we tell everyone. I don't want to get anyone's expectations up and then not get the job. Gia would be crushed, not to mention the Moms and my sisters."

"And Samantha?"

Derek looked at his hands. "I don't know. I think she'd be upset. I know she wants me to come home, but... I'm afraid that if our plans fall through, she'll take it as some sign from God that it's not supposed to work out."

Hotch didn't speak, he just sat waiting.

"I need this to work out," Derek admitted, his voice breaking. "Even if this job doesn't work out, I'm going back to Chicago. I'll figure something out. I'll make it work. I can't lose her again. I lost her twice, Hotch and I can't do it a third time. I sat by her bed waiting for her to die and I got a second chance with her and then I lost her again. I didn't have a chance to fight for her. I have her back a third time, a third chance. I'm not striking out a third time. I'm not letting this fail."

"If I had a second chance with Haley, I'd do the same thing," Hotch told him. "I lost Haley because I didn't fight for her. I would never make that mistake again."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

28 February, 2011

Sammie looked up as the bell rang when the door to Emilio's Bakery swung open.

"Good morning," she smiled as she greeted the stooped Mrs. Pirlo, who came to the bakery every morning at 9:45. Before Mrs. Pirlo even opened her mouth, Sammie was reaching for a small loaf of egg bread.

"Do you have a small loaf of your egg bread?" Mrs. Pirlo asked, her voice quivering as she spoke. "I do love your egg bread."

"Of course," Sammie nodded, her smile firmly in place. "Emilio's own recipe."

"God keep his soul, Emilio certainly could bake," Mrs. Pirlo simpered, taking the wrapped bread from Sammie.

"God keep his soul," Sammie agreed, thinking of her great-grandfather. "And we'll keep his recipes."

"I remember when Emilio opened this bakery," Mrs. Pirlo reminisced and Sammie smiled blandly. Mrs. Pirlo had the same conversation every time she came into the bakery, regardless of who stood behind the counter. "He was so proud - I was just a little girl at the time, Emilio was such a young boy, didn't speak a word of English."

"If he was still alive, he still wouldn't speak a word of English," Sammie laughed.

"Or at least he'd pretend not to speak what little he spoke," Mrs. Pirlo laughed with her. "I haven't seen your young man lately. How is your husband, Samantha?"

Sammie's heart clenched at Mrs. Pirlo's innocent comment the way it always did when Mrs. Pirlo mentioned Derek. But it wasn't hurt that followed, the way it had for so long, but rather excitement and trepidation. He was coming home. She'd let him go and he'd come back.

"Derek is doing well," Sammie told her, smiling to herself with the knowledge that she was actually telling the truth this time. She actually knew he was doing well instead of simply saying he was but not having any real idea.

"Tell him hello for me," Mrs. Pirlo said. The conversation continued blandly, but Sammie's head was not involved. Family members in white aprons with an Italian flag embroidered on the front swirled around her, putting baked goods on shelves and in cases and Sammie spoke on autopilot until Mrs. Pirlo left, her mind far away as she thought of Derek and what her life would be like when Derek came home.

Maybe they'd spend the mornings he wasn't in the office working together in the bakery or at one of the restaurants. Maybe they'd be at Paola's flower shop or maybe they'd just spend the mornings at home, together, making up for the time that they - she - had wasted. For so many years, she'd squashed down how much she'd missed him, the way she wanted to have him back, that now, knowing he was coming home and that he still chose her despite everything she'd done, she couldn't contain her excitement.

His plane would land at O'Hare in less than an hour and he would go straight to his interview. Sammie could barely keep herself from jumping up and down when she thought about the fact that she would see him later today.

"Calm yourself, little cousin. How much sugar did you put in your frap this morning?" Claudio laughed at her as the bells chimed behind Mrs. Pirlo and he carried trays of fresh cupcakes out to the front for her to decorate during the lull that always happened right before ten. "These are to be sunflowers, alright? You remember how to do sunflowers?"

Sammie nodded, picking up the bag of green icing and icing the base easily. She had long ago came to a peace with the fact that people would forever be asking what she did or did not remember. Sometimes, on her bad days, she lost her temper with the question and flew into a uncontrollable rage that left her exhausted and weepy. When those days came, she most often could not remember the things she was asked about, which spurred her frustration even further. She forgot to brush her teeth, forgot which door led to her room, mixed up words and couldn't tell a five dollar bill from a ten. Not remembering, not being able to do for herself was hard.

She gently pressed an Oreo down into the centre and trading the green bag for the yellow, creating petals with a gentle flick of her wrist. Her hand paused after the second row of petals and she looked to Claudio. "Three rows or four?"

"Three," Claudio told her, lifting the loaves of rye onto the wire shelves.

"Thank you," Sammie said, carefully adding the final row of yellow petals and then added leaves to the cupcake. Finally, she picked up a fondant ladybug and gently placed it on the leaves. "Good, yeah?"

"Beautiful. Do as many as you can before the rush starts," Claudio took his empty trays back into the workroom and Sammie turned to the next cupcake. By the time the next person walked in the door at 9:58, all four dozen sunflowers sat in the display case next to the biscotti. From that point on, Emilio's was so busy with a line forming out the door that Sammie never had a moment to check her phone for a text from Derek and barely realized the time passing until Derek walked through the door to the bakery at six with a dozen red roses in his hands and a smile on his face.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

7 March, 2011

"I love you, you know that, right?" Morgan said, holding his iPhone to his ear and turning away from Prentiss to get out of the car as he pulled to a stop at K and 9th.

"I know," Sammie nodded, though he couldn't see the action. The television was muted in front of her with the news about Ian Doyle on every channel. "I love you too. Please, be careful?"

"I'm always careful, Sam," Morgan told her, thinking of the fact that, barely twenty-four hours ago, he'd been fired upon by a machine gun as he hid behind his SUV. She did not need to know that. Morgan beeped the car locked behind him and he stepped up onto the sidewalk on the outside of the police tape. "I have to go. I'll call you when I can." Morgan ended the call and Prentiss came to walk beside him as they went up the steps to the third floor.

"Samantha?"

"Yes. She saw the news. Knew we'd be working it. She was worried."

"She loves you," Prentiss said. Her voice sounded sad, sort of resigned and Morgan tried to study her face, but she was turned so all he could see was her ear.

"I love her," Morgan said as he flashed his badge at Metro Police.

"Don't let her go, alright?" Prentiss said, stopping him with a hand on his forearm before he could enter the apartment building. "Whatever happens, no matter what, don't let her go, Morgan. Life's too much to go through it all alone."

"I... I won't," Morgan stared at her serious face in surprise. The brief flash of regret and pain in her eyes startled him. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she nodded and began the trek up the flight of stairs to the crime scene. Morgan followed after her and they took in the scene in silence, each making their own observations and mental notes.

"This guy took two in the chest," Morgan finally broke the silence. "Went quickly." He walked out of the apartment to stand next to Prentiss in the hallway at the feet of the caramel-skinned female lying dead on the ground. "One straight to the forehead. The holes were made by a forty-five. So she comes to the door and he shoots her. She didn't stand a chance. This has to be the work of our guy."

Morgan was staring at the Jane Doe while he spoke and didn't notice Prentiss fighting back nausea.

"She might be on our list; we should run her prints."

"I need some air," Prentiss' words came out in a rush and she turned towards the stairs. Morgan watched, concern blatant on his face she wove her way through Metro Police. He snapped a picture of both faces and sent them to García for facial recognition before following after his partner. By the time he caught up to her, she had lost the contents of her stomach on the pavement outside the building.

"What'd you do? Pull a Whiskey Pete?" Morgan came up behind her as she coughed and sputtered. He knew her well, knew she hated to show any sign of weakness and hated pity or sympathy. Despite her advice before entering the crime scene, Morgan knew she would hate being asked outright if she were alright. Especially after the conversation about trust they'd had on the car ride to Byron Delany's house earlier that day.

"Uh," Prentiss straightened, "I don't know what that means, but if it involves getting vomit on your boots than, yeah, I'm guilty."

"You need a soda? What can I do?" That was as close as she would want to being offered help. She cleared her throat, trying to dispose of the aftertaste of vomit.

"I live ten minutes from here. Can we swing by, cause I think I got it on my pants too."

"Hotch wants us to get back," he reminded her.

"I-I know. I'll be really quick, I promise."

Something was bothering her. He could tell. He didn't need to be told, he just knew something was wrong and she was hiding it from him.

"Okay."

ooo ooo ooo

"It's not often that we know the subject's name and, in this case, knowing Ian Doyle's identity doesn't give us very much," Hotch stood at the centre of a room full of representatives of every task force assigned to the case, military and civilian, as Morgan and Prentiss walked through the glass doors to the bull pen.

"He's known to a select few and those who know him well either work beside him or they're on his list. Two or three of his victims worked for CWS and were responsible for his transport to North Korea. There were seven operatives on the mission all together and the remaining five have been warned."

Morgan stopped beside an ATF agent and listened, his arms crossed over his chest.

"All the federal and international agents responsible for tracking him down are now on his list of targets. We'll find Doyle the way we find any other offender. By studying his behaviour. We'll dissect his every move since he regained his freedom."

Prentiss stopped to stand just behind and to the right of him and Morgan turned to look at her. She did not return his glance.

"When he escaped from North Korea, he killed a man and used his vehicle to cross the border into Russia."

Morgan stopped listening. He knew the rest. Instead, he turned around to look at his partner. Her eyes were exhausted. "You good?"

"I'm good," she nodded, her voice quiet and her expression resigned and determined.

Not believing her even a little, he accepted her affirmation of well-being without pressing her for the truth and turned back to Hotch.

When he looked to Prentiss again, she was gone.


A/N:

I just got back (like... literally 3 hours ago) from a week in California with Ren. I had a great time! We got her all moved into her uni housing and it was basically the best. I missed her sooooooo much. And now I miss her all over again. :(

This summer has been insane. I took three classes - Philosophy of the Human Person, Ethics and Introduction to Scripture (Yay Catholic uni requirements? It kind of (read: totally) sucked. And then I worked 24 hours a week. So I literally left my house at 8:30 in the morning, went to school, ate lunch in the car on the way to work, worked and then got home at 9:30 at night. Every day. All summer long. And I worked every Saturday. I'm getting re-exhausted just thinking about it. By the end of the summer, I was so thoroughly exhausted and depressed it was insane. But then I got to spend a week with my bestie.

Okay - everything starting from "This guy took two..." to the end was taken from 6x17 "Valhalla" written by Simon Mirren and Erica Messer. That dialogue is absolutely not mine and the action prose is a description of the action in the episode. Much of the next chapter, when I get around to it, will be taken from Lauren. It's such a huge event that happens that it's hard not to include giant chunks of the actual show in this story. So, I apologize in advance.

Thanks for baring with me while I deal with an insanely busy time in my life. The last several months have been constant and non-stop for me. I've honestly barely had time to sleep, but less write anything that wasn't for school.

Love,

Thalia