SSA Derek Morgan leaned back in his seat with a groan, his arms reaching up over his head and allowed the stretch to loosen the tense, strained muscles through his back and shoulders. Huffing out an irritated breath, he turned to the darkened window before running a long fingered hand hard down his face. Though the team had been ready to head out fairly early that morning, a technical issue had cropped up with the Gulfstream as they waited on the tarmac for liftoff. After several hours and many apologies from the flight crew they were finally in the air en route to San Francisco and their next case; unfortunately, the delay had cost them time and in their line of work time was of the essence.
Lulled by the humming of the engines, the rest of his team were either dozing or familiarizing themselves with the particulars of the case. Though he generally found the sound soothing tonight it was grating on his final nerve. He grimaced, draining the cold remnants of his third cup of coffee, and reminded himself that caffeine was caffeine no matter how putrid it seemed at the moment. He was exhausted, aggravated, and-though loath to admit it-worried. Slipping the cell phone from the case on his hip without thinking, he glanced—for no less than the hundredth time in the last two hours-at the empty display screen. It was powered down because of the flight but he already knew what he would find when he turned it back on.
Nothing. Nada. Zilch. There would be absolutely no word from Emily.
"Damnit woman." he muttered under his breath. Morgan was a man of many contradictions. He had always thrived under pressure; however, he was also always at his best when he had some semblance of control (tenuous and illusionary though it may be) over whatever situation he found himself in. He lived by his gut instinct but also appreciated being prepared with facts and details. In this case, his gut was telling him that something was off. Therefore, it logically followed that the fact he had not had contact with his partner since the night of the interrupted exorcism did not sit well with him. At all.
A rustle from the seat across the aisle drew his gaze upward and he discovered JJ studying him, concern reflected in her knowing blue eyes.
"You ok?" She questioned gently.
He harrumphed slightly before answering, "Yeah."
When he turned away from her to face forward and rested his head back against the seat without offering anything further, JJ knew not to press. Morgan would come around. He and Emily had a special working relationship. Though the entire team worked together interchangeably it was understood that when it came time to partner up for interviews or recon they would be going together. JJ recognized that he was concerned about Emily's lack of communication-they all were-but she also had to trust her friend. She had promised to call if she needed them, though JJ doubted that reminding Morgan of that fact would ease his mind any. Sighing deeply, she settled back in her own seat and closed her eyes. Still thinking about Emily, her last conscious thought before drifting into a troubled sleep was, Girl, I hope you know what you're doing.
Face still tracked with tears-and hand still warm from Dean's grip-Emily looked back and forth between the two Winchesters, her confusion and self-loathing clear in her eyes. "I don't understand. Why would you want to help me? Don't you get it? It's my fault! It's my fault he's dead and I don't even know how or why." Her voice, husky from the crying, broke a little on the last word as her chin dropped to her chest in defeat.
At a loss, Dean cringed internally, her words and expression both hitting him like a sucker punch. A mirthless chuckle worked its way up from his churning gut and he cleared his throat to keep it from escaping. Oh, he could relate…God, could he relate. He had broken the first seal and started the planet down the yellow brick road to the apocalypse, after all. Was this how he looked to Sam? Guilty and broken and lost? He glanced at his brother over Emily's bowed head and read the understanding in the younger man's eyes.
"Trust me on this one…we both understand what you're feeling right now. More than you could possibly imagine. And we want to help you because that's what we do. We help people. We kind of consider it our family business. To be honest, a lot of times we help people and they don't even know that they've been helped. You just happen to be a little more…perceptive, than most." Sam explained with a tentative smile.
Emily glanced up incredulously, her eyes red and puffy from the most recent bout of tears. "Your family business? Seriously?"
Dean pursed his lips thoughtfully before answering. "Yeah, less of a business more of a…calling? Sammy wasn't kidding when he said this was our destiny."
"And here I had convinced myself you really were just being melodramatic. A girl can dream, right?" Emily said, wiping her eyes as she shook her head with a self deprecating chuckle. "So I guess the biggest question is, why me? Why am I right smack in the middle of all of this? You said Father Silvano is well respected, right? Would the Vatican have sent him in if this wasn't something monumental?"
The brothers' long look of silent communication was not lost on the profiler and she huffed out an exasperated, "Huh." Two sets of green hued eyes turned to her. "So not only monumental but also of unprecedented proportions. Spectacular." She chuckled again at the identical surprised looks. "Yeah, profiler? And to be honest, you guys really aren't all that subtle. Besides, even if you hadn't been doing the Winchester mind meld thing, the lack of a quick and witty retort was all the answer I needed for that one." She sighed heavily feeling a new, utterly terrifying weight settle upon her shoulders and resisted the urge to flop backwards and bury herself in the covers until the threat had passed. She wouldn't though because, damn it, Elizabeth Prentiss's daughter was made of sterner stuff than that. In a move that Dean had already come to find endearing, she once again straightened her spine and lifted her chin. Breathing deeply her eyes flickered back and forth between Sam and Dean as she asked, "Alright, so what do we do?"
"Usually?" She nodded. "The first thing we do is research. It's probably not all that different from your approach, actually." Sam replied, slipping comfortably into the exposition. "We'll start gathering information on all of the people involved. Look into their backgrounds. Figure out how they relate. Then we start looking at places they may have been. Other people that might connect them. Learn as much as we can so that when we finally make contact we're as prepared as possible."
Emily looked at him, eyes now dry and glittering speculatively, "And exactly how do you make contact with them? Something tells me that you aren't always 'reporters' with the local paper."
Dean had the good sense to look contrite when she focused sharp brown eyes on him. "No, not always. Sometimes we're teddy bear doctors." He cracked a small smirk that quickly wilted under her scrutinizing gaze, before squirming slightly. "Look Em, our line of 'work' isn't exactly recognized by mainstream society and sometimes we have to bend the rules a little to get the job done."
She groaned at the implication. "Why do I get the feeling that I really, really don't want to hear this?"
"Because you probably don't," Sam stated bluntly, "but the fact is, Dean and I decided that we were going all in on this one. If we're going to be working together to figure this out, we have to be completely honest with you. It may come back to bite us in the ass but you laid all of your cards out for us to see and it's only right that we do the same."
"Ok dude, enough with the poker metaphor." Dean smirked again at Sam's long-suffering eye roll before sobering to focus his attention back on Emily. "Like 'The Gambler' over there said, we are going to lay it all out but there're a few things we need to cover before we do. First of all: it's vitally important that you keep mention of us to a minimum when you check in with your team. Not mentioning us at all would be even better." At her quizzical look he expounded, "Suffice it to say we've had run-ins with the FBI before and they haven't always ended pleasantly."
"How unpleasantly?" Emily questioned with a sinking sensation in her gut.
"Bear in mind that it wasn't our fault. Wrong place…wrong time…damned shape shifter." Dean qualified, scowling at the memory.
"How unpleasantly?" Emily repeated more insistently.
"Well…um…we…uh…wewerewantedforawhile." Sam stuttered quickly, tripping over the final words.
"Wait. You were wanted? By the FBI? For a while?" The incredulous look was back and was now accompanied by the incredulous tone. "Last time I checked the FBI doesn't just give up on wanted fugitives. Why aren't you wanted anymore Sam?" Both brothers looked distinctly uncomfortable as her eyes darted back and forth between the two. "Dean?"
Dean cleared his throat and sniffed, pinching the bridge of his nose before answering, his voice pained. "Do you remember that small town police station that blew up in Colorado about a year ago? Official report said it was a gas leak?" At her slight nod, he continued, "several bureau agents, most of the local cops, a secretary and two fugitives died in the blast?" Looking at her pointedly on the 'two fugitives' he gestured first to himself and then to Sam.
Ignoring the small gasp of understanding he continued unfazed, "Agent Victor Henricksen was a thorn in our sides for two years. Dogged us like nobody's business. Gotta give it to him…dude was good too. And thanks to an anonymous tip from an old 'friend', " he sneered on the word, "he caught up with us in Monument. Took us in." He chuckled humorlessly, "Man, he was convinced we were Satan worshiping freaks who had a bunch of buddies on the outside ready to break us out. What we actually had was a bunch of demons ready to swarm down to take us out." Dean sighed deeply. "Really long story short? He got possessed, we exorcised him via a blessed toilet, and he saw the error of his ways. After we exorcised the demon swarm, Henricksen…just let us go. Said he would tweak some reports and that the official story would be that we had died in a helicopter crash. The demons had already torched the chopper and killed a couple of agents. It would fit the story." He cleared his throat again, his own self loathing brutally apparent in the forced humor, "Unfortunately for Henricksen, his induction into the demon hunter club was a baptism by fire, literally. After he sent us on our merry way, Lilith, the self proclaimed demon leader moseyed her way into the station and toasted everyone. Blew the place sky high. The only upside was that the FBI assumed that we were still inside. It's kind of hard to be wanted as a fugitive when you've been proclaimed dead." He looked up and met Emily's eyes again. "We don't need to land back on the radar Em, too much is at stake. We aren't the bad guys. You know it. You've seen what's out there. Just be subtle when you talk to the team, please? That's all we're asking."
His concern was palpable and Emily swallowed hard at the pleading in his tone, afraid to tell him that she might have already alerted at least one member of the team to their identities. Garcia may not have made the connection yet…but how long would it take her to put it together? Two Dean and Sams, be they of one Bonham and one Page or two Winchesters would certainly not escape her friend's genius radar for long.
A/N~*cringes* I know. I know. I am a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad fanfiction author for making you all wait almost a month for this chapter. *hangs head* I have no excuses other than the fact that RL and my new job have been keeping me crazy busy. It's been easy enough to write drabbles (they're *really* short!) and to read and review (I read *really* fast) but finding chunks of time large enough to sit down and continue digging into the meat of this one? A lot harder to come by. Forgive me please? :) Enjoy (: