A/N: So, despite how it might look, I have not forgotten about this story! Patience is not one of my virtues so I have so much appreciation for everyone who is still reading and reviewing! As I've said before, I'm trying to find more time for writing but it doesn't always work out. Anyway, here is the next chapter and trust me when I say that the story is planned right to the end and will be finished! Let me know what you think :)
/
/
The magnitude of what he'd just done slowly crept up on him as he made his way back to the crassly lit forecourt. He could still feel Emily's lips against his as he parted them to tell his first lie.
"Where's Emily?" he asked, feigned panic sliding into his voice with ease. The adrenaline hitting his veins was at least of some use.
JJ looked startled, straightening up from where she'd been leaning against the SUV and conducting a quick scan of the area.
"I thought she was in the restroom? I thought you'd gone to check on her?"
Derek shook his head, quickening his pace as his gaze darted around the gas station and beyond into the night. He hoped he wasn't laying it on too thick – acting wasn't really one of his strong points and the woman he was trying to fool was trained to read the slightest discrepancy in body language.
"She wasn't there. I thought she'd come back to the car."
Thankfully, JJ seemed too caught up processing the fact that their friend was missing to pay much attention to his inability to meet her eyes. She signed, pressing her cellphone to her ear and impatiently listening for an answer. Unsurprisingly, her first call reached Emily's voicemail. She immediately redialled, knowing that if the brunette had taken off, there was no chance they would find her until she wanted to be found.
"Hotch? It's JJ. Emily's gone."
As his colleague relayed the news to their teammates, Derek struggled to hide all traces of guilt from his face. He was a little boy again, promising his mother that he wasn't the one who had knocked the vase of flowers off the table. He was denying all knowledge of the beer in his solo cup as he opened his dorm room door to campus security.
The difference here was that though his secret was far greater, there was no reason to doubt his story. But that only made him feel more uneasy.
He stopped pretending to search the area and turned back to JJ, just as she ended her conversation.
"Hotch wants us back at Quantico," she explained.
His careful expression slipped slightly as he realised how soon he would be under the scrutiny of Hotch and Rossi. How did he think they were going to get away with this? How was he going to stay in communication with Emily without anyone noticing? The thought that she might truly end up on going it alone made his stomach churn.
"Derek, we're not going to find her here," JJ continued, softly, reading his furrowed brow to be an indication of his reluctance to leave without Emily.
Her sympathy set him on edge, and he made his way to the passenger side of the car without a word.
"She'll be okay," his friend tried to reassure him, knowing just how meaningless her words would be, but not how much they would exacerbate his increasing guilt.
/
/
As she watched the three men go into the pub, Emily's sense of caution was distorted by not only her determination but also her decreasing body temperature. She shivered and rubbed her hands together, cursing the fact that her great escape had not involved grabbing her coat from the back of the SUV.
The journey into town had been an uncomfortable one, sitting with her knees pressed against the dashboard, in the cramped cab of a delivery truck. For the best part of an hour she had struggled to make small talk with the noticeably perspiring, overweight driver, whose eyes lingered on the curves of her body at every opportunity. When he'd propositioned her with suggestions of how she might repay his kindness, it had taken everything to stop herself swinging for him.
Now she'd left one animal for the company of many more. Cockroaches. That was the best way to describe the group who congregated beyond the emerald green framed windows. She'd never expected that everyone had been rounded up when Doyle was killed. It was inevitable that some had scurried away to avoid being implicated. And it was also inevitable that they'd soon get bored hiding and emerge, unscathed, somewhere new. Just like this.
She watched the men reappear on the other side of the window, greeting the larger group with handshakes and pats on the shoulder. As she blew out her steadying breath, its cloud dissipated in the cold air.
And she waited a few minutes longer.
/
/
"Drink up," Penelope encouraged, pushing the mug even closer to Derek. Sweet tea wasn't something she had seen Derek drink in all the time she'd known him, but coffee had seemed like a bad idea given his existing level of agitation, so she'd settled on hot chocolate.
He picked up the mug and took a sip, with the faintest look of thanks to her. She didn't know what she was hoping for but the weak smile did nothing to ease her own anxiety.
Derek forced down the small amount of overly sweetened liquid in his mouth and sneaked a sideways glance at his cellphone. Surely she'd have tried to make some kind of contact, however cryptic, by now?
"Are you sure Emily didn't give you any sign she was going to take off?"
Rossi's scrutinizing gaze trapped him as the others followed suit, hoping for some clue as to the whereabouts of their friend.
"No," Derek answered shortly. "And I don't see why we're sitting around a table talking. We need to find Connor Brennan. That's where she'll be heading."
The little flicker of truth above all the lies which were swallowing him, gave him something to cling to and he wouldn't let it go. He wanted her to find Brennan and he wanted her to do it first, because he wouldn't be the one to deny her peace after all the angst which filled her life. But he wanted the team to be just behind her, and ready to bring her home.
"Or she could be trying to get to Lucy," Reid suggested, sensibly. "Emily was forming a real attachment to her and…"
"It's Brennan she wants," Derek interrupted, without any remorse at Reid's crumpled, taken aback expression.
Thoughts of Lucy had to remain separate from their current mission. Brennan. Emily. They had to stay on the right track.
"Spencer has a point," JJ reasoned. "None of us know exactly what's going through her mind."
"I do," he wanted to respond, but he settled for flicking his eyes towards the dark screen sticking out of his pocket. Pretending to know what Emily was thinking was a deception further than he was willing to make.
/
/
The atmosphere beyond the swinging wooden door was a fair contrast to the blustery night outside. It was warm and loud, as the usual mix of regulars and tourists talked loudly to be heard over the jukebox. For the umpteenth time in the evening, the steady beat of "The Galway Girl" set the rhythm for the pouring of drinks and increasingly drunken swaying. There wasn't much authentically Irish about the place but a carefully chosen soundtrack and the occasional lilt in the accent of a patron, combined with the promise of reasonably priced Guinness and whisky, was enough to draw in the business.
At the far side of the bar, claiming the best seats and making it clear that they wouldn't be moving for anyone, was an expanding group of men. They shouted their orders to the barmaid, who served them with a brief apologetic glance to the brunette waiting patiently in line.
"He's a dead man," one of the bolshiest and drunkest of the group declared. "I promise you, that," he slurred, leaning on the edge of the table, towards his friend.
His friend was tucked away in the corner, nursing the glass of dark liquid as he gazed into the foamy head as though it would provide the answer he needed.
"Liam's boy was a good one," another of the men piped up. "Connor won't last the week."
The man barely acknowledged the words. They were here to mourn the loss of his nephew– or to celebrate his life or avenge his death – it depended who you asked. To him, it just didn't feel real. It hadn't been long since the boy had been at his side, pretending he could stomach the heavy ale his old man and his uncle preferred, while sneaking a bottle of Bud each time he was left to his own devices at the bar. But just that morning he'd gone down to the morgue and identified the belongings of the distorted corpse that was once his brother's son.
"Give 'em some space," a third man muttered, gesturing the other two away. "Tonight's not about that."
The grieving uncle lifted his drink, wondering how many more it would take before he could have that same level of detachment between his hurt and anger. Now, as the others fuelled the idea in his head, he wanted blood. After Liam's death he had sworn he would protect Damien like his own, and he didn't know how to deal with his failure.
"What can I get you?" the barmaid asked, as she was finally able to turn her attention to the woman waiting several feet from the increasingly rowdy group.
The woman was momentarily surprised by the question – she hadn't thought as far ahead as actually ordering a drink.
"Can I get a club soda and lime?" she asked, after far too long a pause.
The barmaid turned her back to retrieve a glass from the unit, leaving Emily to take a tentative and discreet glance towards the men around her.
"That won't warm you up," a gruff voice remarked, as a middle aged man drifted away from the group and closer to the newcomer.
She acknowledged him with the briefest nod and smile. He had once kept watch while she played hide and seek with Declan in a garden. She felt her stomach flip over - her plan didn't involve being recognised so soon.
"Let me get you a proper drink."
She ignored him, pretending not to have heard as she paid and thanked the barmaid.
"I said, you need a proper drink," he continued, louder and stepping closer to her.
Emily felt the atmosphere change as several others turned in their direction to see what was happening. A hot prickle of fear and adrenaline made its way up her neck as she responded. Her anonymity wasn't going to last much longer.
"Thank you for the offer, but I'm fine with my soda," she told him, her voice clear and unfaltering as her gaze met his.
It took a second, but she was able to pinpoint the exact moment his memory caught up with what his eyes were seeing. She concentrated on taking deep, steady breaths which would disguise the fact she was shaking. These men weren't cockroaches she could stamp on; they were lions who would be more than willing to tear her limb from limb.
There was an uneasy silence, punctuated by mutterings of disbelief from those who had also worked out the identity of the once non-descript woman by the bar. From the head of the table, fuelled by his grief, anger and a drink too many, one man got to his unsteady feet and made his way towards the newcomer.
"Are you here to pay your respects, Lauren?" he asked. "Damien was just a boy when you met him."
He stumbled a little as his foot caught on the leg of the table, but his intoxication did little to detract from the menacing intonation in his address to her.
"I'm sorry for your loss," Emily answered, trying not to let her mind drift towards the thought that any one of them could snap and kill her in an instant. They blamed her for the death of their own and that kind of anger didn't fade.
"And what are your lot doing about it?" the man demanded. Brennan might have been the real target of his rage but the agent in front of him had the blood of Liam, Doyle and the others on her hands.
"We want the same thing as you," she responded, coolly.
She was slowly finding her feet in the situation, as elements of her old alias re-emerged. To get what she wanted – to get what she needed – she would go there once again.
"I want the same as you," she added, lifting her glass from the bar and moving closer to him.
He studied her closely, contemplating the alliance she seemed to be suggesting. He didn't trust her, and there was still a part of him that wanted to make her suffer, but that didn't mean she was of no use to him. And it wasn't like this would be the first time he'd tried to resurrect Lauren Reynolds.
