A/N: Hello readers, it's lovely to be back! So much has happened for me since I last updated, and I thought I'd share some of it for anyone who is interested. I moved into college, survived O-Week (sort of like Rush Week for you American readers), found some awesome friends, started classes, had a slight mental breakdown, moved on from said breakdown, and then caught a stomach bug (which I highly recommend avoiding). Again, my mood is a bit up and down, but I really do appreciate your patience and understanding. Just a little PSA: Fresher Flu is a thing. I have used over 250 tissues today.

A few things before we get started. I find writing chapters surrounding the team really hard to do. Most of the time I get so caught up with the storyline of the protagonist that I can't connect with the secondary characters. But, I'm trying. I've merged two chapters into one to hopefully facilitate a faster update time. I would seriously appreciate feedback though. Tell me what was good, not so good, and how I could change these things.

Next, this story is going to be dark, and as a result, some actions and reactions from different characters that might seem out of character (OOC). So, let me be clear. I am NOT interested in any comments about how the reactions of characters are incorrectly described. What is happening in this story is traumatic, and there is no way to predict how people will respond to trauma. They may display a more common response, such as anxiety or depression, but it important to note that triggers are unique and unpredictable. And, just as triggers are unpredictable, so too are reactions. So, while the behaviour of characters in this story may not fit your narrative, they fit mine, so you need to respect that.

Okay, so, shoutouts. My eternal gratitude to my friend, Kae. She is my beta on this story and it so patient with me. Also, to the three people that have reviewed this new version of the story, here's to you! Thalium, Rumsey and 'Guest', you are keeping me going. This is for you. Finally, to Paget Brewster. She's great, and funny, and without her this story wouldn't exist.

Let's begin…

P.S. In this story, Emily's apartment is the one that we see in 'In Name and Blood' (or 'In Birth and Death' depending on where you live). Also, let's pretend that her parents don't exist, because the Ambassador is hopeless and we've literally never met her father (unless he has been featured in season 12 or 13 because I have not watched those yet).

P..P.S. I forgot to write a disclaimer about this story. I do not own, nor am I affiliated with Criminal Minds in any way. Any storylines or characters previously associated with the franchise as of 27th February, 2018 are entirely the property of CBS. Any original characters are mine and may not be used or recreated without express permission from myself. The plot of this story is also original and may not be used or recreated without express permission from myself.

[Now edited to show scene breaks. Thank you, Spooladio.]

TRIGGER WARNINGS: stalking (including having pictures taken without knowledge or permission)

Friday. 0940.

'Okay, everyone,' Aaron Hotchner says, making his way into the briefing room quickly, halting behind the chair directly opposite the screen. 'We've been called in to assist with recovering an escaped inmate.' Nodding to Garcia, Hotchner continues, directing the team's attention to the pictures now displayed on the television screen. 'Twenty-five minutes ago, the Bureau was contacted by the Virginia State Department of Corrections, requesting assistance after a high-risk inmate disappeared following a fire and subsequent rioting. As I'm sure you're aware, the rioting turned into a seventy-two hour siege, which ended early this morning. It took officials on the ground nearly eleven hours to contain the scene, remove any bodies, evacuate civilians, employees and injured parties to area hospitals, and finish thorough headcounts. It was discovered at the end of this process that one inmate and one guard were missing.'

The team sat in silence, listening intently to what they were hearing, making notes as Hotch continued his briefing.

'The missing guard's name is Walter Roberts. Initially it was believed that two guards were missing, however on a secondary sweep of a control room, the second guard was found dead in a locked storage closet. Our main problem, however, lies with the escaped inmate,' he continued. 'Garcia,' he nodded.

Taking charge now, Garcia stood and bought a prison mugshot up on the screen. The already silent room stilled as each member of the team registered who was looking back at them.

'Karl Arnold, a.k.a. "The Fox", is believed to have escaped with the help of Roberts when the siege ended late last night. After reviewing the security footage, it is believed that Roberts and Arnold stole an unmarked vehicle to exit the compound.' Bringing up the footage, Garcia continued. 'This was recorded only minutes after the hostages were released. Two men in guard's uniforms can be seen ducking away from the triage area and heading around the command centre towards the carpark. This one here,' Garcia says, pointing to the taller, lankier man, 'is believed to be Roberts. He approaches numerous cars, seemingly testing the doors until he finds one that is unlocked. The two of them then climb in and drive toward the gate, where the guard on duty there lets them through, and they drive off heading southbound.'

Hotch resumes control of the room and informs the team that the guard on the security gate has been interviewed and is not a person of interest. He did however, identify both Arnold and Roberts when showed a photographic line-up.

'A state-wide BOLO has been issued for the car, but nothing has come of it yet.'

Spencer Reid is the first one to talk, speech characteristically fast as his brain switches into gear.

'Is there any indication of where they may be going? Anything in Arnold's personal effects, or Robert's locker and car?'

Hotch shakes his head, unable to verbalise his response before Reid is talking again.

'The BOLO needs to be extended nation-wide then. They've had a significant head start and may have already crossed borders. If they've switched their mode of transport, it may be harder to find them, but at least we will know the direction that they are travelling and possibly how they are travelling. Even if they headed southbound out of the gate, it would be very easy to double-back and head in a different direction, especially if they knew that they would have ample time to do so before anyone raised an alarm.'

'I agree with Reid,' Morgan piped up. 'Roberts would have extensive knowledge of the prison system, and the way in which these sorts of situations would be handled. He would know that they would have at least a few hours to put distance between themselves and the prison before anyone even realised that they were missing.'

'Has anyone from forensics been brought in to process Arnold's cell?' J.J. asks, thinking that maybe there could be something well-hidden that could point them in the direction that the men may be travelling.

'The Bureau has dispatched one. They're forty minutes out. We will get there shortly afterwards. Wheels up in fifteen minutes,' Hotch instructs, and everyone gets to their feet and walks out.

They are nearly back at their desks when the panicked voice of Penelope Garcia shrieks for Hotch. They all stop, quickly turning and hurrying to where the woman is standing on the catwalk, tablet in hand, body shaking slightly. Rossi is the first to reach her, and she tips the tablet toward him.

'They found Arnold's uniform and this…it was found in the lining of the sleeve,' Garcia manages, stumbling over each word, voice cracking.

'Oh, God,' Rossi mumbles, making room for Hotch as he reaches the pair.

J.J. notes the way that the colour immediately drains from Hotch's face, and the curse that Morgan spits out when he sees the screen. Reid falters, a small gasp the only sound he makes.

'Morgan, J.J. and Reid, go to her apartment. Secure her immediately and bring her here. Garcia, find out as much as you can on Roberts and his interactions with Arnold. Why him? How did they do it? Get me a list of places that he has connections to that could be used to hide. And track her phone. Get me a location. Rossi, you go to the prison. Process the scene and report back with anything you find or deduce. I'll go and brief Strauss and co-ordinate from here.'

It isn't until they all start to disperse that J.J. is able to reach out to Penelope and tilt the tablet toward herself so she can catch a glimpse of the screen that they were all focused on.

'Oh my God,' she breathes. 'Emily.'

She locks eyes with a tearful Garcia before hurrying after Morgan and Reid, who are already on their way to the elevators.

Garcia stands alone for a few moments, heart shattering inside of her.

'She's going to be fine,' she says softly to herself. 'She's going to be fine'

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'She has been sick though,' Reid points out, trying to reduce the ever-deepening pit in his stomach. It was extremely unlike Emily to have her phone turned off, however as the car pulled up alongside the curb opposite Prentiss' apartment, he finally found some slight relief.

'Her car's here,' he points out, willing himself to believe that she had simply forgotten to charge her phone, and that she was sleeping peacefully in her bed.

They piled out of the SUV and began moving toward the complex with some degree of urgency. Reid reaches out to feel the bonnet of the car as they pass it, informing the other two agents that it was cold. Another good sign.

It didn't take long to convince the superintendent to let them into the building. Taking the stairs two at a time, the agents made their way to the third floor of the building, pulling up outside their colleague's apartment. Morgan knocked urgently, hoping that it would be enough to rouse Emily if she was asleep. With no sign of life behind the door, but with sufficient evidence to warrant concern for their friend's safety, the agents nodded to the superintendent, and she quickly used her key to give them access to the apartment.

With weapons drawn, and flashlights in their hands, they begin searching the dark apartment, immediately forming a well-practised sweeping pattern. The main entranceway does not look any different from normal, and neither does the storage closet behind the front door. The guest room is cleared by Morgan, while Reid covers the the apartment entryway and J.J. covers the outside hallway. Silently venturing further into the space, Reid breaks left to sweep the kitchen, while Morgan covers the staircase, allowing J.J. to clear the lounge area. After soft utterances of 'clear' come from each of them, they begin to climb the stairs. J.J. takes Morgan's position, covering the doorway into Emily's bedroom while he begins to climb the stairs. He takes J.J.'s position, keeping his focus on the front door. This allows the blonde to begin ascending the staircase, gun pointed downwards, back against the wall. Reid keeps his aim on the front door, waiting for the other agents to reach the doorway before quickly joining them. With a quick countdown, they enter Emily's room, and break apart, Reid maintaining cover by the door, Morgan veering right, casting his torchlight over the unmade bed, piles of tissues and dirty kitchenware, before clearing the built-in wardrobe that takes up the right-hand wall. J.J. steps forward, also surveying the top of bed before checking behind the dresser to her left and turning quickly to examine the space between the far left wall and the queen-sized bed. Once these were cleared she moved back to the corner next to the dresser, crouching down and pointing her weapon toward the partially open door of the ensuite. She was soon joined by Morgan, who swiftly entered the room and cleared it.

They opened the curtains, very aware that they were in the bedroom of one of their closest friends. Their eyes took a moment to adjust, but once they did the disarray of the room became completely apparent.

'Damn it, Prentiss,' Morgan sighs.

'Did any of you know?' J.J. asks.

The men shake their heads, all of them kicking themselves for not realising how unwell their friend truly had been.

J.J. heads to the bathroom off the master bedroom, noting the sudd marks rimming the bathtub from where the water had been left in for too long without draining. There is a large pile of dirty clothes in the corner underneath the free-standing sink. The bin is overflowing, and she reaches out to retrieve an empty medication box poking through the mountain of dirty tissues. She turns, cataloguing what she is seeing, before returning to the main room to pass the box onto Reid.

'I found these in the bathroom, along with more tissues than you can imagine,' she shares.

Reid is standing next to the bedside table which is littered with medication containers, a couple of cups, a tub of menthol rub, some nasal spray and an asthma puffer.

'She's got prescription pain killers, antibiotics and steroids here,' he says.

'Steroids?' Morgan asks quizzically, reaching over the bed to lift the covers where they seem to have landed after being thrown off by their friend.

'To open her airways, I think,' Reid supplies. 'Emily just said she had the flu, right?'

'That's what she told me when I spoke to her,' J.J. answered. 'Why?'

'I think she's had an infection. By the looks of these medication doses, it's a bad one too. The combination of the inhaler, antibiotics and steroids seems to suggest a possible chest infection, one that she is unlikely to have recovered from yet.'

'What does that mean, Reid? How sick is she?' Morgan pushes, worry increasing by the second.

"Well, this is a ten-day course of antibiotics,' he says, removing the lid of the bottle and shaking the tablets into his hand. 'One tablet, twice a day is twenty tablets in total, and there are fifteen here. So she is on day three of ten. Improvements usually aren't seen for at least forty-eight hours, and combined with what we know about the severity of the infection,' he continues, pausing before finishing his train of thought. 'It's not good. She needs another dose tonight or she will deteriorate, and without the aid of the steroid or inhaler, she could very well become critical in a matter of days.'

J.J., on the verge of tears, excuses herself, quickly descending the stairs trying to collect herself. The men give her a moment before joining her at the foot of the staircase.

'Okay,' Morgan said forcefully, pulling their attention back into focus. 'Let's look around down here. What's out of place? Is anything missing?'

J.J. walks toward the window, pulling the heavy curtain aside, allowing daylight to stream in through the enormous window. It was then that the unkempt state of the lower floor became completely apparent. There were dirty dishes all over the place, rubbish ranging from cereal boxes to piles of tissues covering most surfaces, and the normally organised living area was a mess of pillows, blankets and DVD cases. On the staircase behind them, a pile of magazines had been discarded in one corner, and a sweater had been stuffed between one of the rods holding up the hand rail.

'God,' J.J. mutters. 'How did I not realise she was this bad?'

Morgan looks at her, gently saying, 'how could you have known though? You know Emily – she plays things close to the vest.'

'I spoke to her last night, Morgan. I was going to come over with some food and tissues, but she said she was fine. She always says she is fine,' J.J. finishes, her distress now evident in her voice.

Reid steps toward her, reaching out to touch her shoulder.

'It's okay, J.J.,' she offers, but she is not interested in being placated.

'It's not "okay", J.J. spits back, shrugging Reid's hand away. 'None of this is "okay". God, Reid. First you tell us that, not only are Emily's whereabouts unknown, but she is extremely sick, and then you say that it's "okay".'

'J.J.,' Morgan warns, willing her to stop before she goes too far. They were all worried about Emily, and all felt guilty for letting her slip through the cracks over the past week, but it wouldn't help anyone if they were being hostile toward one another.

'No, Morgan, just stop,' J.J. finishes, hand raised to indicate that she wasn't willing to listen to him any further, before turning on her heel and marching toward the door.

Again, Morgan called her name, to which she replied, 'I'm going outside to call Hotch. I'll be you by the car,' before pulling the door closed behind her with a loud bang.

Morgan looked over to Reid, who in turn faced him, a look of bewilderment and guilt written plainly across his face.

'She's just worried,' he offers, and they follow behind the blonde.

Upon exiting the building, they ask the superintendent to lock up, and to call them if she saw or heard from Emily again.

Stepping into the open air again, a chill swept through the men as an icy breeze whipped past them. They bury their hands in their coat pockets and walk with their heads down toward where J.J. is standing, finishing her call with Hotch.

'Okay, Hotch,' she said quickly. 'We're heading back now.'

She turned back to the men, face stony, skin pale. In answer to the unspoken question lingering in the air, she simply pursed her lips and shook her head slightly: there was no news on Emily's whereabouts.

'Hotch asked us to come back in to go over Arnold's records and correspondence, and follow up on any avenue that may link him and Roberts together outside of prison,' she supplies, and they all turn toward where their vehicle sits. However, while Morgan and J.J. begin to move toward the SUV, Reid instead moves to the rear window on the passenger side of Emily's car.

'What is it, Reid?' J.J. asks, slowing her steps cautiously.

'I don't know,' he admits. 'I thought I saw something.'

He cups his hands around his face, peering further in through the glass before he processes what he is seeing. A poker chip. A red poker chip attached to a keyring. A keyring that he gave Emily after she once again beat him in his own game. A keyring that he knew held her house, work and car keys. A keyring that she would not leave lying haphazardly in the backseat of her car.

Moving with renewed urgency, Reid reaches down and tests the door handle before him, pulling harshly on it as it swings open. He looks up toward his colleagues, eyes wide and scared.

Morgan moves first, immediately moving to look through the driver's side window, where he has a clear view of Emily's thermos and winter coat. He looks up to where Reid was previously standing, just in time to see him standing back up, lips parted slightly, Emily's crushed phone between the glove he now held in his hand.

'Guys,' J.J. wavers. 'I've got blood.'

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Red and blue lights light up the quiet, unassuming neighbourhood like strobe lights at a club. The forensics team have started to trickle in, as have numerous FBI personnel. Curious onlookers track their every move, whispering to each other urgently. Aaron was wrapping up his briefing with Section Chief Strauss when he had received the call for assistance from Morgan. With a cursory glance around the cordoned area, Hotch spots the members of his team. Morgan has approached a group of civilians milling about the entrance to the building, presumably some the tenants in the neighbouring apartments. One is holding a reusable bag which appeared to be full of food, and another holds a young child, no more than two years old. The boy is squirming, the mother unsuccessfully trying to get him to settle down. Morgan crouches putting himself into the child's line of sight, speaking to him in a way that results in a small giggle. Moving on, still walking towards the centre of the taped-off area, the unit chief sees Spencer Reid, pointing at something on the ground. The forensic technician standing next to him is nodding furiously, following what is sure to be a rapid-firing of facts and directions from the young agent. The final team member, and the one that he is approaching, is standing nearly motionless, staring at the section bitumen below her, where another technician is kneeling, rubbing a cotton swab against the road.

He calls out to her, and JJ turns, worry written deep within the contours of her face. She nods, and returns her gaze to the ground as he sidles up beside her.

'It appears to be blood,' the man below declares, holding the now bright-pink stained swab up for them to see. He reaches toward the kit sitting next to him, replacing the small dropper into the bottle of hydrogen peroxide sitting on the top tier of the open box. He then finds a cylindrical case and slides the swab in, sealing the lid tightly. 'You know the drill though,' he continues distractedly, referring to the conclusive tests that the agents will be receiving at a later juncture.

The agents nod their thanks, and take a few steps to the side, avoiding the darkened patch of road before moving toward Emily's SUV. The doors are open, and a team of experts are finishing pulling on their protective gear.

'Her keys were are on the floor in the backseat, and Morgan found a thermos and her coat in the front,' J.J. states solemnly. 'Reid found her phone in the gutter. It's on its way to Garcia now.'

'Did you find anything in her apartment?' Hotch asks, moving slowly around the bonnet of the car, examining the vehicle and road as he goes.

'Apart from the medication, nothing suspicious. The house is a mess, but it looks more like she was too sick to clean up. There are dirty dishes, and piles of clothes and tissues everywhere. A few things like that, but nothing to suggest that someone was in there with her,' she adds.

'Okay,' Hotch nods, looking toward where Morgan and Reid are now talking before moving toward them, J.J. following closely behind.

'Anything?' he asks when the agents turn toward him. Reid simply shakes his head, and Morgan mumbles his negative response. 'Okay, here's what we'll do. J.J., I need you to head back to the office. Co-ordinate with Garcia and Rossi to try to tie Arnold and Roberts to Emily. There must have been some point of contact somewhere along the line. Morgan and Reid, go door-to-door and see if anyone heard or saw anything this morning, but also ask about the last few days. Were there any suspicious vehicles or people in the area? Did they see something that didn't sit right? Anything along those lines. I'll go and speak with the forensics lead and call you when they open the apartment and vehicle to us.'

The agents all nod, turning to walk towards their various assignments, but Hotch adds one thing before they leave.

'I know this is personal, and I know that we don't have much time, but we need to take our time processing this information. We can't afford to miss anything.'

A silent nod passes between the agents, all equally as aware of what is at stake, and all equally as terrified about losing whatever battle they were about to face.