Author's note:

Hi, I don't really know where to start.

Firstly, I used to write many years ago and for certain reasons I suddenly stopped. Nevertheless, I've decided to give it another opportunity although it's been hard for me to get inspiration and find the right words these days, but I'm trying.

Secondly, English isn't my first language. It's the first time in my life that I write something in English so I want to apologize for the mistakes that I'll make. It's been complicated, because I usually think in Spanish, and I wrote this story in Spanish in the first place, so I found it more difficult to translate this than to write something in English from the beginning, due to the fact that both languages have differences in the structures of the phrases. So I think that maybe the reading can be a little dense? I don't know, just let me know, please. And if you see any mistakes or if you know another way of writing certain parts or expressions, let me know too.

I'm really nervous about this, I'm aware that maybe people don't want to read something with grammar mistakes or with bad writing and I understand that. So if this is really bad, just tell me and I'll just erase it. I already have regrets, I probably shouldn't be doing this. I think I'm crazy for doing it, the more I read it, the more possible mistakes I find, and OMG I've got so many doubts.

This is also the first time that I write something about Criminal Minds. But I'm so in love with the characters, and so so in love with Demily, that I decided to give it a try. I don't know if nowadays there are still people who ship this couple and read their stories. So I hope someone will write a review with their opinion.

This chapter is like an introduction, so if you like it I'm already writing the second chapter which will explain some things better.

I don't want to entertain you anymore, so I really hope you give this a try and that you like it. Be honest.


"Sometimes I think we don't even miss people, but a stage of ourselves, something we saw in them and in the coming and going. Nostalgia for departure is nothing more than the illusion of not being able to be what we were in other times. "

Anonymous


"Do you know where I came back today? To that place where we used to scream. It's been ten years before this now ageless, the monster still lives and there is still no peace ".

— Love of Lesbian

March, 2014

"Don't be a stranger."

She never thought that an insignificant phrase used as a farewell would mark her so much.

She'd just got out of the shower, barefoot and with her hair still wet, she walked like a ghost down the hall to the kitchen. She grabbed a glass from the cupboard and although the feeling of tightness in her chest told her that a heartburn was on the way, she opened a bottle of white wine, which she had kept for months with the tiny hope of drinking it in the company of someone other than herself. Then she sat on the windowsill of her living room just to get lost in the views of a London spring night.

Get lost.

Get lost in the depth of her thoughts, and perhaps, hopefully, not come back.

"Don't be a stranger."

Hotch had told her that just the day before moving to the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. They were in the meeting room with a champagne glass in hand, celebrating her farewell party with the team, and this time she didn't know if she had been lucky or unlucky to be a part of it. Garcia wiped away her tears, while the rest debated between hugging her and letting her go or continuing the torture for a few more minutes. Rossi was the first one to approach her and seconds later the rest joined in a collective hug that at that moment didn't seem to predict a final goodbye, but a "see you later".

And then, just when she was about to walk out the door, Hotch told her: "Don't be a stranger".

She thought it was an absurd phrase, the typical one that it's said when you say goodbye to someone you don't know too well, that you know you won't see again for a long time and with whom you'll lose contact. Something that she couldn't identify with at all. Emily Prentiss was many things, but she would never be a stranger. Not with them. Not with her family.

And there she was, a year and a half later, sitting on the living room's windowsill of her large apartment, observing privileged views that few Londoners had access to, sipping a glass of wine and wearing a lingerie night set that no one else would enjoy, except for herself. Anyone would think that that was enough and a more than deserved reward for a person who'd just returned home after spending the entire day at the office. Maybe it was, for anyone that had a life outside of work, a partner, friends to hang out with in the park at weekends, or parents and siblings to visit once a month. But it was not enough for her, perhaps because she was tired of coming home alone and sitting in front of the window as a mere spectator. Life went on behind those crystals for all those people whose day hadn't yet ended and Emily Prentiss had ended up becoming something she'd never imagined.


One month earlier

It was like old times, like before, like always. They were in a bar, just after JJ's kidnapping, standing, gathered in a circle, glasses in hand and background music. For a moment she thought that nothing had changed and although they could talk about anything while they caught up on their lives as if they'd seen each other last week, the truth was that it felt like the world had been spinning without her for the last year. She saw them and apparently everything was the same, but everything was different.

A few hours later, when only Morgan and her remained drowning their tiredness and lack of sleep in a drink, waiting for her last hours in Washington to come to an end, Emily knew it. It was no longer there. That strange feeling of complicity and intimacy that they had with a simple look. It was gone. His eyes were the same and his smile was still sincere, but it felt like they were miles apart even though they were sitting next to each other.

She saw him look at his phone's screen over and over again, as if he were waiting for it to light up suddenly with the entry of a text or a call that would save him from continuing to drag on their insubstantial conversation.

"Are you expecting something important?" she asked, smiling as she indicated the phone with a nod. "Or maybe someone?"

She felt a pang in her chest, between a mixture of bitterness and a lot, a lot of nostalgia. The worst thing was that she didn't know why.

"Something like that," he answered enigmatically, looking back at the screen.

"You don't have to stay with me, Derek." she lowered her gaze. "What's her name?" she asked without waiting for a real answer. But Derek Morgan smiled, with that smile. "His" smile. And her blood ran cold.

"Savannah," he whispered in a low tone of voice, "we've been dating for a few months." He didn't dare meet her eyes, "almost a year."

"One year? Wow, this is unexpected!" she smiled again, trying not to show that she felt an uncontrollable urge to cry. "Derek Morgan in a relationship. She must be very special."

He looked at her and it was all it took for Emily to confirm it.

"She is," he whispered again.

"And how did you two meet?" She didn't want to know the answer. She wanted to close her eyes very hard, hoping that when she opened them everything would return to its place. To the way things should be.

"We are neighbors, we knew each other by sight. One day when I returned from a bad case, she came over to talk. We started dating, one thing led to another and you know… " he shrugged.

Emily nodded. She knew she had to answer, say something, but she couldn't think of anything appropriate. So they stood there, silent again, looking at each other from time to time.

Finally, Morgan picked up the phone and after looking for something on it, handed it over.

"It's her," he pointed to the photo that the device was showing.

"She's gorgeous, Derek," she couldn't recognise her own voice. "You've got extremely lucky, buddy."

Savannah was perfect as far as physical appearance was concerned. She didn't know her, but the smile that the screen showed was enough to prove that she could never compare to her.

"And tell me, Princess, is there anyone special waiting for you to come back?" he smirked as he leaned an elbow on the bar counter and played with his beer bottle.

She wanted to say no, that although she seemed to have achieved everything professionally, on a personal level her life was far from perfect. She wanted to tell him that although she had a wonderful job, financial stability, and a roof to sleep under, none of that made her happy. She wanted to express that her constant urge to escape and start over somewhere else had no longer the desired effect. She wanted to tell him that nothing sated her anxiety anymore, that her inability to make a real connection with someone was driving her crazy. She wanted to yell at him that she missed him, that she wanted him to leave Savannah and for them to really try to have a relationship. But she couldn't tell him all that, because she didn't know if she would do it for the right reasons, because it was selfish, because it was too late, because it wasn't fair.

"No one important, you know I don't like to tie myself to anyone." she tried to return the smile one more time as she swallowed the lump that was beginning to form in her throat.

"You are such a heartbreaker," he joked.

"Always," she nodded.

Restlessness. Anguish. Despair.

She tried to find a reason for her state of mind, but she couldn't. It wasn't just jealousy, nor it was envy. It was still... nostalgia. But nostalgia for what? To be something again? To be friends again? Partners? Because that's the only thing they'd always been, right? Friends and partners. Maybe she just missed them, all of them. Although perhaps she missed Morgan the most. Maybe what she wanted was to go back in time and stop running, to go back to being everything they had been, to the good times, to the smiles, to the team nights in a bar, to the team dances in a pub, to the team's famous pool battles, to the movies with a blanket on the couch, without the team, but with him. Maybe she actually was envious knowing that he'd finally found someone with whom maintain a stable relationship. Maybe she was scared because this time it seemed for real. Maybe she really was jealous. But who was she jealous of? Savannah or Derek? Maybe she was jealous and she was envious that everyone continued their life without her, that now, apparently, everything was better than before. Perhaps she was afraid of realizing that she had lost her place within their lives.

"Don't be a stranger."

The choking sensation that she'd felt since Morgan had named Savannah began to seem real and tangible. She could swear that large and rough hands were around her neck and they squeezed more forcefully and mercilessly as the seconds passed. She stopped feeling the ground under her feet, and she knew that if she didn't seek a solution soon, nothing could stop the sea of tears that threatened to flow from her eyes.

"Everything alright? You seemed to be deep in thought."

"All good," she lied, "It's just been a very long day. I don't remember when was the last time I slept. " she couldn't meet his eyes.


March, 2014

Emily didn't have to try very hard to remember those imaginary hands around her neck because she still felt them there. Something had ended up breaking that day and she wasn't sure if it was the relationship they never had or if it was her.

At last. After all.

Somewhere along the way she'd gotten lost. Perhaps at first she'd convinced herself that she would find her route again if she tried hard enough, but after thousands of unsuccessful attempts, and checking the map over and over again, everything became clear. The right path had always been there, what she'd really lost was herself and what she really missed wasn't the team, or Derek, or her previous life.

Emily Prentiss. Her essence. Her reason for being and for feeling. Her reason to breathe. Her reason to love and to be loved.

Everything was gone.

She was gone.

There were no more twists and turns to take, doors to open and paths to choose. There was no longer a key and there was no longer a padlock. Those walls behind which she used to hide were gone, because she no longer needed them, because she no longer had anything to hide.

And she cried, at first.

And she felt uneasy, afterwards.

And there weren't more tears, in the end.

Just emptiness.

Just darkness.

She no longer felt the cold, nor the heat. She no longer felt the joy, nor the sadness. She no longer felt compassion, anger, or resentment.

She didn't even feel the pain anymore.

Anything.

Just a body, breathing but not living.

A body.

Her body.

And fear.

Just fear.