A/N: THANK GOODNESS! Finally, my lovely muses have returned. I'm so sorry this one took forever. Hopefully the abundance of wonderfulness/pain are enough to keep me from getting yelled at.

Disclaimer: *See Chapter 1*


The constant contortion taking form in his chest was an ironic comfort now. Several weeks had passed and already the foreign feeling was becoming one of comfort to him. A sensation that once brought tears to his eyes was now one that managed to bring him a kind of peace. He couldn't help but wonder if it was all due to the years invested in putting away the most prolific murders in history. Hours spent looking into the personification of evil. It only made sense that an ache like this would be something to smile about. Emptiness he understood for loss was an emotion his father taught him at an impossibly young age. But ten and forty something left room for a great deal of growth and understanding.

The latter was an ever constant struggle. No amount of lives lost prepared him for something like this. One minute Savannah is giving birth to the most precious of human beings and the next, she was lying cold and lifeless in a box, the only notion of change indicated by the black shirt and dress pants he was now dressed in. How they found a way onto his body he hadn't the slightest idea. So far as Derek could tell, his every muscle remained frozen, keeping him tied to sheets that now took the shape of his virtually motionless body. It was a wonder he even managed to wake up this morning, the last time food touched his lips unknown.

Penelope had likely forced it, floating in and out of his room periodically. If it wasn't for the fact that she was almost always joined by a small bit of something, he had to wonder if she was simply checking for signs of life. As much as her constant presence irritated him; as much as he wanted to be left the hell alone, somewhere in the back of his mind he had to remind himself that even though she hardly talked about it, she'd lost just as much at a much younger age. That wasn't to say that he banished her completely. In fact, half the time he willed himself to take hold of her wrist, quiet in his request for her to stay. And even though she never smiled, Garcia quietly curled up beside him, the two often falling asleep together leaving Reid to keep Hank entertained. Sometimes he let himself cry. Other times he wound her golden locks around his fingers, thanking his lucky stars for the woman curled up on his bare chest.

His eyes were now dry as sandpaper, the natural tendency to blink made impossible. For a man who almost never cried, rivers had taken form along his cheeks for days. As exhausted as he was from lack of sleep, an electrical charge of awareness kept him wide awake. While part of him hoped to find his wife in dreams, an even louder voice demanded consciousness. Hypervigilance was the only thing that would keep his baby safe. At any moment the same man who dared to take his wife could….Just the thought rose bile in his throat, his pulse quickening on pure instinct. Despite the frigid winter in his veins, the sweat of his palms forced a tightened grip on a door to a world he wished to escape. He wouldn't have to be there for long, surrounded by countless signs of life. Derek only needed to be reassured of one. A fragile existence that had no grasp on just how much he'd already lost. Afterwards, he would shrink back in behind these walls and none would be wiser.

The minute the door eased open, every sound silenced to mere echoes were now only heightened to hushed murmurs, most coming from the mouths of people he hardly recognized. Electric blues that almost always demanded a comfortable smile across his face were shining with their own sense of loss. Derek knew that it had less to do with the absence of his wife and more to do with the quiet cloud that seemed to follow his every move. It frightened him to know just how easily Garcia could read him. Daily he thanked the universe for gifting him a woman like her. Today was surely no exception. Especially when every word he wished to speak stayed trapped in his throat, their escape followed by feelings that would easily take over every part of him.

The shaky sigh that escaped him rattled Derek to his core, the scent of her hair washing over him like a shield. He almost expected her to say something but instead she only pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, and the weight of his son into his arms. Rubbing his arm quietly, Penelope began the quiet glide across the room, stopped only by a shaky grip that turned her attention.

"Don't…." he pleaded, his voice distorted from lack of proper use. "Please…." Nodding silently, warm fingers wrapped around his in the only other subtlety she could think to give him.

"We'll do this together," she murmured. Derek swallowed hard, shaking his head. "They're here for you, baby boy."

"No…."

"Yes they are. We've been looking for you all day. They all have their respects to—"

"They're here for them," he corrected. "Helps thm look better." As accusing as they were, the words were true for most. He could count less than a dozen attendees who truly gave a damn about how he was feeling.

"Fran's been asking for you," she said cautiously. His mother. Of course she would be. If anyone understood the agony ripping at his chest it would be the woman who years before had suffered the loss of her own love. As comfortable as it was to know this, Hank Morgan Sr. died a hero. Savannah had just…died. Though his legs could barely carry him, he stumbled his way to the kitchen, the one place he knew she was always most comfortable.

"Mommy…" Barely able to hear himself call out to her, the woman turned, wrapping her arms around her son without hesitation. As many times as she'd heard the term slip out of her daughters' mouths, Derek seemed to have forgotten the word all together. Not since he was ten years old had she heard it fall out of his mouth. His voice sounded terrifyingly small in that moment, making her wish that she had it in her to restore it to the confidence of the grown man she'd raised.

Derek's head almost immediately settled on her shoulder, the fact that he was almost two heads taller than she was hardly relevant. He let her warmth come around him slowly, the sensation an easy opposition to the cold he invited. As Fran's only son, he was probably one of few boys who barely blinked when peers called him a mama's boy. Perhaps because the bond with his mother was the only one any of them had a clear enough picture of anymore. In that very moment, he embraced the title more so than he probably ever had.

"I'm so sorry, baby." Morgan nodded, Hank's soft breath a gentle reminder against his neck. His wife wasn't gone but for a moment gone enough that he let his chest tighten, the explosion against his ribs enough to rob him of his breath.

"Hurts…"

"Yes it does," she murmured.

"When does it stop?" he almost pleaded. As much as her heart already broke for her son, his question created even smaller pieces.

"I wish I could tell you, sweetheart." He allowed himself a few more minutes of his mother's comforts before daring to pull away slowly, the baby's soft whimper flashing, the smallest hint of happiness through his body. Allowing even that felt like betrayal. But there was something about it that left the moment completely out of his control. If there was any comfort in this day at all it was that Hank would never remember this, with no recollection of the blade that tore at his father's lungs. "We're all here for you," she whispered.

"I know…" he nodded, his tone void of the life he was somehow still living. Part of him wondered where his sisters were among the throng of people who were only really here because they had to be. The other was grateful to be left alone, at least for the moment. He knew he had hands to shake, people to thank, most of which would be gone in no more than five minutes' time, their good deed for the day done. And he would do it. Not because he believed a word that they said but because it was…expected. All he had to do was push through empty words and he would finally be left alone to mourn.

The minute he stepped out into the living room, condolences started to filter out. Though he knew they deserved to be looked in the eye, he couldn't be bothered. Every last one of them would leave and go home to their families while his had been torn to pieces. Thankfully, they hardly seemed to notice. The grip on each one of their hands lasted a few short seconds before they pulled away slowly, a sadness between him and the stranger no amount of eye contact needed to express. He'd lost count of the number of people who tried (and often failed) to offer their comforts. Derek was beginning to realize that the lack of importance he placed on their attempts to be human had more to do with the empty words that they found than the idea that he hardly knew them. Because in his experience, words were only as good as the actions behind them.

He didn't know how long Spencer had been standing there but the sense of familiarity that washed over him was enough to loosen the rock-hard tension in his shoulders. In this moment he was more grateful for his silence than ever before. Morgan knew in his heart that Reid meant no harm by his tangents but the idea that he was willing to stand quietly beside him spoke more about the agent's loyalty than any wealth of knowledge ever could. His guests had likely formed a long line, patiently waiting their turn to say what they had to because the various shades and textures to hands kept coming without pause. His responses were equally as robotic, his entire body swimming with a pain he dared not show.

Thankfully Hank was quick to fall asleep as the minute he stepped out of the kitchen, Derek's emotions completely lost on the newborn. He must've gone through at least half of them before the baby so much as moved, a soft cooing floating to his ear. The change in posture served as a soft warning, the next hand to rest in his palm one he'd grown more accustomed to than he realized. Without hesitation he gripped it tightly, letting their touch linger in prolonging the hold he had on it.

"Derek…." The agent blinked, finally pulling his gaze up to meet the eyes it belonged to. Only four people had ever said his name so gently, each of them distinct from the others. Hers was a tone he'd memorized in his sleep.

"Emily…" In that moment the idea that she'd come from so far away to say anything to him was completely lost on the new widow. Prentiss was as good as a dream then. He'd certainly done enough sleeping to make imagining her a possibility. But her hands were warm. Her hold was sure. Even while knowing he should, he didn't really care about those who followed. After squeezing his shoulder gently, Emily wordlessly fell in line at his other side, a gesture he didn't even think to ask for.

"These ones you're gonna wanna look at," she whispered. He doubted that. Even so, he found himself trying to find their gazes. JJ…Will….their newest edition fast asleep in his mother's arms. Hotch and Beth. He found himself wondering where each of their sons had gone, concluding that they were probably scattered among the strangers.

"Uncle Derek." Henry was quieter than he'd ever been, the glasses he wore fogged up at the corners.

"Hey little man," he mumbled trying not to choke on his words as he sank to his level.

"I…I'm sorry for your loss." The agent managed a small smile, the words he'd been given a comfortable surprise to hear. Whether his parents had taught him to say that or his godfather was slowly rubbing off on him he didn't know. Either way he nodded squeezing the little boy's shoulder.

"Thank you." Behind him stood Jack, his posture one of a boy who had already been there one too many times. At nearly twelve years old, he was at an age where hugs were few far between. For Derek he seemed to make an exception, stepping forward and wrapping his arms tightly around his uncle, letting himself linger as the two shared a moment of mutual understanding in loss. "She'd be real proud of you," he murmured.

"Hope so..." he mumbled. "If uh…If you ever wanna…you know, talk about it and stuff…"

"I know who to call," he nodded. As quickly as he appeared, the preteen was gone, likely off to find comfort in the long tables of untouched food.

"She was a good woman." Words he probably heard a thousand times today but these ones were laced with a knowing that only his mother seemed to have. Meeting Rossi's eyes, he bobbed his head expectantly, knowing that the older man who eased the team with his own brand of humour brought an equally present sincerity to his offering. He barely caught the folded check that slipped into his coat pocket, narrowing his gaze.

"What's this?" he muttered.

"With everything else going on….Expenses shouldn't be…." Derek scowled shaking his head with more confidence than he'd been able to find in the last few weeks.

"I don't want your money, Rossi. I can cover my own wife's…"

"I know." Both let the last word remain suspended and unspoken. "I'd like to help in any way I can." Derek could think of at least a dozen other ways the older man could have done that, the least of which was making him a charity case.

"I don't need your charity," he said evenly. Even while he said the words, the folded piece of paper continued to burn a hole in the fabric of his clothes. The fact that Emily had taken hold of his free hand kept it there, almost as if the two had planned it this way.

"Consider it a gift," he corrected. The agent rolled his eyes, a hardy scoff slipping past his lips. Just because he looked at the man as a father didn't mean it was suddenly his job to "ease the pain". Savannah's absence was one that stung like fucking hell. Nothing was ever going to take that away, least of all large amounts of money. Even though he knew it was coming from a good place, in a gesture that was unique to who Dave Rossi was, it made him feel sick. Beyond being raised to "make his own way", the numbers etched on this slip of paper were going toward what felt like an elimination of the woman he loved. His expression was hard as he dared to look the older man in the eye, determined to stare him down, hopefully enough that the money would fall back into his hands. Instead, all he could find were words he'd already exhausted to the point of nonexistence.

"Thank you…I'll pay you back every penny," he mumbled. The senior agent shook his head. Money going any which way should be one of the last things on his mind

"Just love that little boy." Morgan nodded carefully, an accusation of doubt balancing on the tip of his tongue. Did they really think he would do anything less than that? From then on faces and voices were nothing more than a blur, Sarah having replaced Spencer at some point during the many exchanges.

"I can take him," she offered already slowly peeling the baby from his shoulder.

"No," he almost snapped. "I've got it." His older sister blinked, looking him over with concern he knew all too well. "I can hold my own kid."

"I know you can," she said softly. "I was going to change him and bring him right back to you." A sudden sense of panic came over him then, the thought of anyone but him….anyone but them doing anything to his son making his blood simmer under his skin. "Maybe get him something to eat."

"I…I would rather you didn't," he said slowly. His mother's brows shot straight up, making the fact that they sat on Sarah's face almost enough to comply.

"D…." When he refused to relinquish the baby, his sister shrank away slowly, crestfallen at the idea of being denied her nephew, the pang made worse by the emptiness in her little brother's expression.

"I can do it," he muttered. Emily's hand gripped his forearm lightly, his attention pivoting without a moment's hesitation.

"You need to sit down," she warned.

"I'm fine," he countered harshly, the change in his words startling Hank from any dream he might've been having. The sound snapped his head right back, his neck almost giving under the instant pressure. "I'm sorry," he murmured kissing the baby's forehead in an attempt to soothe him. Nothing was going to quiet his own pain, at least not today. But if he could provide his son with at least a moment of comfort, he wasn't completely incompetent.

"Morgan, you're shaking," Emily whispered. "Give your sister the baby for a minute."

"I can take care of my own kid," he repeated gripping his son harder despite the tremble he found in his limbs.

"Do I have to go find Garcia?" Derek looked up then, the raven-haired woman giving him a warning he hadn't hear in years. Every defense he'd built in the last five minutes began to slip as the name rolled off her tongue.

"No." Prentiss sighed, a pain shining through her eyes that he hadn't ever seen before. Concern? Maybe. But Emily had always shown concern in her own hardened ways.

"Morgan please…" A dozen rebuttals were ready to fire then. He could tell Emily had seen the fight in him and yet, little by little, his eyes shined with reluctant resolve.

"Nobody else touches him, you hear me?" Even as she remained skeptical, his friend nodded, already scanning the room for a familiar head of blonde hair. Among the many strangers, he followed his friend as her figure grew smaller with every step. Eventually able to blink, she'd somehow disappeared, her absence pressing him up against the wall once more, this one closer to the kitchen….Closer to his mother. Whether or not she reappeared didn't matter as much as being generally closer. Such was a familiar pattern between them that often went without explaining.

While Fran found peace in cooking large meals, Derek couldn't even conjure up the thought of food. As much as seeing his mother would give him comfort, the smells would leave him wanting to vomit. Over the last few days he'd done so much of that there was hardly anything left of the usually buff man. A small part of him had expected Fran to say something about how thin he'd gotten. An even larger part was grateful as hell that she'd kept her mouth shut. It was already hard enough to wrap his head around the fact that his clothes hardly seemed to fit him anymore. Though he wasn't a stick, his bones were certainly beginning to peek through.

The voices around him were slowly starting to merge, most of the bodies, as he'd expected, long gone. All that seemed to remain were members of his true family, each giving him the wide berth needed to grieve. They hadn't quite gone home yet but they weren't floating around attempting to comfort him either. Knowing they were there, knowing that even in his pain they were willing to share a space was enough to make a lump rise in Morgan's throat.

"Y'all don't have to stay," he whispered, knowing that only he could really hear himself. Whiel his eyes scanned the much smaller room, he scaled the wall, quick to find the floor and a place to rest his head, the new position bringing on a new batch of tears he couldn't hide even if he wanted to.

Coming back down the stairs, Emily scanned the room, her usually kept together composure cracking slightly at the sight of Derek finally giving into exhaustion. Sliding down beside him, she let their knees touch, Morgan finally able to see that her attire seemed blacker than usual. Despite his best efforts a shallow laugh bubbled to his lips.

"Who died?" he muttered dryly. Prentiss gave him a half smile, the positioning of her cheek freakishly natural as it came to rest against his son's face. Does she have a baby now too? Not until that very moment did his eyes find a way to take in the presence and absence of two very different people. That should be Savannah he thought, the idea forcing him to fight back his own trapped emotion.

"You don't have to do that," she whispered. His brow went up in question making Emily shake her head. "Hide," she added simply. "You've lost someone you loved. You need to let yourself feel it….process it."

"I am." The agent shook her head, remembering all too well his earlier hostility.

"You're angry," she pointed out.

"Course I'm angry," he shot back, wondering how in the world she expected anything less than that.

"Good."

"Good? How is that good?" Watching Hank's tiny hand subconsciously take hold of her collar in his sleep was the only thing capable of softening his edge.

"Because it's normal," she said softly. Morgan scoffed.

"What do you expect?"

"Nothing. I just want you to feel it," she mumbled. Derek rolled his eyes. Of all people, Prentiss was the one telling him to "feel things". The one who kept just as many secrets, most dedicated to roping in her emotions.

"Oh I'm feeling it, alright," he growled. They must have been sitting there in ten minutes of absolute silence before he even opened his mouth again, his eyes ablaze with new fire. "I'm feeling angry. Real angry." Emily nodded. "They couldn't even deliver a baby."

"This one?" she asked brushing her lips lightly across his tiny temple. He couldn't help but be filled with genuine surprise. She still had time to be a smartass? Or was it more that he'd never known Prentiss to be so nurturing. Sure they'd learned about Declan but that didn't necessarily speak to her tendencies toward…That was general concern for a child.

"Don't…"

"Morgan, he's right here."

"His mother's dead. She's dead 'cause they killed her." That wasn't exactly right but for the moment she allowed it. What Savannah had done was more along the lines of unintended sacrifice.

"And Montolo almost killed you," she said carefully. Derek glared, his eyes on the edge of accusing. Ready words would have tumbled from his mouth if he didn't see the knowing ghost in her own. "Just like Doyle almost killed me."

"Ian Doyle tortured you."

"And left me to die." Derek shivered, the memory one of the easiest and most painful to recall. "And I did. JJ wasn't lying when she said I died in there."

"Prentiss…"

"Ian Doyle held a damn gun to my head. But that's not what killed me. That man killed me a long time ago….A big part of me. So believe me when I tell you that I understand. I understand that Chazz left a hole in your heart. I know that despite that hole, you are still here. You are still able to hold your son in your arms. I may have just met him but I know those aren't his father's eyes."

"What are you saying, Emily?"

"Chazz Montolo ripped your life apart. But you live. You live so that this little boy still has his daddy."

"His mama is dead. I was gonna tell Hotch that I quit the team…"

"You what?"

"I lost my dad, Emily. Doing exactly what we do. And he was just a street cop…I didn't want that for him. I was gonna do this right."

"So what now?"

"I…I don't know," he said honestly. Weeks ago he was ready to turn in his badge. In a lot of ways he still was. All it took was one talk with Hotch and he was…free. He could work construction, build dreams for other families. Maybe that would help ease the fact that his had been so blatantly destroyed. But Montolo was still out there. His wife's murderer still walked these streets. "He's still out there." Prentiss nodded. "I don't want him going anywhere near my son."

"You're not gonna let that happen."

"Damn right I'm not gonna let it happen. I'll kill him." The gravity of the conversation didn't stop a small smile of pride from coming across her face then.

"Without the hardware you just end up in jail. What happens to him then?"

"I don't know, Prentiss. All I know is I'm tired. You saw what happened to Gideon. He just…It ws all just too much."

"Alright look, I've got all the respect in the world for that man. He did his time. He gave what he had t o give. It wore him down. It took the fire out of his eyes."

"What?"

"The fire. The one that gets us in our cars at 2 in the morning. The one that keeps us up for days. Long enough to catch the son of a bitch. Derek, I'm not telling you what to do but….I don't think you're done quite yet. If I'm wrong, I'll be supervising every single renovation—".

"I don't renovate…I restore." She only readily ignored him.

"If I'm right…I'll be right behind you, gun loaded and ready." Derek couldn't for the life of him remember the last time he'd heard her talk like this. Sure, he'd initiated various conversations like it, but most were directed at her. This one was for him to hear. And he did. Every ounce of sincerity she often kept in her glances and subtle touches finally brought to words.

"Prentiss, you're not even here anymore." Though she did well to hide it, Morgan noted the slightest micro-expression, the combination of words making him feel guilty. The woman had just taken the first flight out of London to be there for him. She probably hadn't even gotten a decent sleep yet either. "That's not what I meant."

"I know what you meant," she said.

"How are you gonna do that from Interpol?" He softly chuckled at Emily's attempt to look offended. Or maybe she really was, if only a little.

"Who dragged JJ's ass back from the desert?"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry."

"Damn right you're sorry," the agent muttered, a light-hearted glint in her eyes he didn't even know he missed as much as he did until that very moment.

"What I'm saying is, you don't have to fly all the way out here to—"

"…save your ass? I don't know if you got this yet but I'm pretty sure that's exactly what's happening right now."

"You sound just like Garcia…."

"I'll take that as a compliment," she smirked.

"Sorry Prentiss but there's only one of her."

"I know," she said softly. "But I think that right now, you need an extra shot or two of common sense and that's what I'm here to do. Derek, whatever you need from me…"

"I know," he said, only so sure of those promises from a select few people in his life.

"And this time, I'm not on an hourglass. It was a one-way. Just in case it took a little bit longer than anticipated to get through that thick skull," she joked.

"Emily, you can't just give up your job to—"

"I'm not…There's bad guys here too."

Prentiss…"

"Morgan…" The tone alone silenced him quickly. Only three women seemed able to shut him up fast enough. One had taken over his kitchen. The other was nowhere to be found. The third carefully laced the fingers on her free hand with his in a gesture so reminiscent of hours before that he couldn't help but think he was actually fast asleep in his room.

"I missed you, Emily."

"So I heard," she smirked. When Hank began to stir at her shoulder, he already sat with hands outstretched. "Come to join the party?" she asked, with a tenderness that pulled at the agent's mangled heart.

"There's not a whole lot going on, bud. You can go back to sleeping if you want." The infant hardly acknowledged his father, taking a much greater interest in simply looking in on the exchange.

"And miss all the food? That's not any Morgan I know." Derek snorted watching his son look on in wide-eyed fascination at the woman who held him.

"He won't be on solid foods for a while yet. He won't miss much."

"I'm sure he'll be asleep in a minute. Pretty sure he just wants to make sure you're okay."

"More like checking to see if you've killed me yet."

"If I wanted to kill you I could do that easily. And quietly," she corrected.

"Right. He uh…He might be looking for something in a bit actually. Not sure what kind of schedule Garcia's got him on but judging by the fact that she's not looming over us yet I think we're still safe. He's pretty relaxed about being handed to people, which I know makes the fight I had with Sarah look really stupid. I just….Certain hands….For right now….certain hands."

"Derek, she's your sister."

"I know, I know just…"

"Alright. We'll go find Garcia." Whether or not it was meant to, the exclusive club stung just a little. Derek already kept a tight enough circle, for the moment extended to his child. But if the baby took after his father, she would be—

"He likes you," Morgan whispered. Not that either of them could really tell absolutely if that was true. For now it was enough that he wasn't screaming in her arms.

"Doesn't everybody?" she teased.

"Morgans are very particular…"

"Oh really?" I never noticed.

"Well…certain hands…" he mumbled.

"I know."

"Just don't go starting world war 3 over him, alright. You two and pretty boy. For now that's it."

"Alright. What if your mom wants to—"

"Mama will usually just take him. Can't say no to her. I can bitch at Sarah and Des as much as I want."

"Whatever you say, Morgan."


A/N: :D