A/N: Thanks to everyone reading, following, favouriting and reviewing! :) I should definitely be preparing for next week's classes just now but since I have no idea what I'm doing anyway I figured it wouldn't hurt to take 10 minutes to edit and post this chapter. Hope you enjoy it and feel free to let me know what you think :)

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After receiving a phone call from Morgan late the previous night, Hotch hadn't really managed to get back to sleep. His colleagues had arrived shortly afterwards and he had shown them to the guest room. He didn't mind the disruption; he was more concerned by the haunted look on Emily's face. In the time since she'd returned he'd seen her grow happier as she reconnected with her friends and fell in love with Morgan. She laughed more than he'd ever seen and it had been a long time since she'd shown any signs of stress. But when she and Morgan had arrived several hours before, she seemed to have regressed into the person she was seven months ago.

Now it was early in the morning and Hotch could hear movement coming from the kitchen. Assuming it was his son trying to make his own breakfast, he pulled himself out of bed and headed downstairs.

The sight which greeted him was not Jack, but rather Emily. She seemed preoccupied as she made herself a cup of coffee, and she didn't hear him arrive. Despite his best attempts not to startle her, she jumped and splashed hot coffee over her hand as she became aware of a male figure at the edge of her peripheral vision.

"Sorry, I thought you were Jack," he apologised as the mug slipped out of her grasp and smashed when it hit the floor. "Is your hand okay?"

"Damn it!" she muttered. "Sorry, Hotch. I didn't mean to wake you. Or to make a mess." She immediately started looking around the room for a cloth. "And my hand's fine," she added as an afterthought.

Hotch frowned at how on edge she seemed to be. It was as though Doyle really had re-entered her life.

"He's dead, Emily," he reminded her, knowing that he sometimes had to take a moment to tell himself the same thing in respect of Foyet. "He's not going to show up and hurt you."

"I know," she replied, but a hint of uncertainty tinged her voice. Bending down, she tried to pick up the broken mug, but in her agitated state her fingers fumbled over the pieces of porcelain.

"Sit down – I'll clean up," Hotch instructed.

"Let me," she insisted. "We've already put you to enough trouble."

"Emily…" he sighed, raising his eyebrows in an expression which told her there was no point in arguing.

Reluctantly, she pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and took a seat, while Hotch set about cleaning up the coffee.

"Maybe coffee wasn't the best choice anyway," she said with a forced laugh. "Got any chamomile tea?" Despite her attempts to make light of the situation, it was clear she was still agitated.

Hotch tried to smile but it turned out more like a grimace. He was really worried about the long term effects of the previous night for Emily. It seemed like they had only just got the real Emily Prentiss back and now something was threatening to take her away again.

"Everything okay?" Derek asked, joining them as Hotch dumped the pieces of mug in the trash. He had woken to find Emily missing from the bed and had immediately got up to find her.

"Just smashing up Hotch's kitchen," Emily responded sarcastically. "But everything's fine."

Her dry chuckle didn't fool her boyfriend any more than it had her boss and a concerned frown formed on his face.

"It was my fault," Hotch explained. "I made Emily jump when I came into the room."

Derek could see that, despite his explanation, Hotch was also worried. He instinctively wrapped his arms around Emily, not caring that they were in company. He just wanted her to feel safe.

"I want to get down the ME's office as soon as possible this morning," she told him, leaning in to his hold. "She said that she'd tell me anything she found out about the girl. We could even ask Garcia if she can help with identifying her," she added hopefully.

Morgan sighed. The ME, Doctor Pearson, was almost certain the young mother's death had been caused by a placental abruption, but the girl had other injuries which suggested she may have been involved in a struggle. From that moment, he'd known Emily wouldn't be able to walk away. Both her need to dig further into the possible Valhalla connection, and her need to get justice for the woman who had died right in front of her, would take over any thought for her own safety or wellbeing.

"Em, it's not an FBI case. Why don't you just stay here today and take it easy?" he said, knowing the suggestion would likely fall on deaf ears, but still feeling it necessary to say what he was thinking.

"I know that, but I need to know who she is and why she ended up at our door. I was the last person she saw to before she died; she begged me for help - I owe her that much. Hotch?" She looked towards their unit chief for support.

"I can let you take a few personal days. And if the police are okay with it, then you can speak to Garcia as well," he replied.

Derek immediately threw an angry look in his boss's direction – he couldn't understand why he was encouraging Emily to get even more involved than she already was. But Hotch knew exactly what he was doing – he was stopping his agent and friend from chasing the spectre of Valhalla by herself. He understood that she had to do it, but there was no way she was going it alone. Morgan very quickly caught on to Hotch's train of thought.

"Then I'll come with you," he told her. "If that's okay with you, Hotch?"

"Of course it is," Hotch nodded, glad to have Morgan on side.

Emily was very much aware of the subtle looks and silent plots being shared by the two men, but she knew they were only trying to look out for her. And she had to admit, if she was going to encounter Doyle in any form – even if he was dead and buried – she was glad to have Derek by her side. Like he always was.

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A couple of hours later, Emily and Derek were on their way to see the ME at her office. As they walked through the building and towards the room where the doctor was currently performing the autopsy, Derek was trying his hardest to distract Emily.

"But my mom really wants to meet you," he stressed, to support his suggestion that they take a trip to Chicago at some point in the next few weeks.

"She's already met me," Emily reminded him.

"That was years ago. And you weren't my girlfriend then," he added, a grin spreading across his face at the word.

"And that's probably why she liked me," she replied dryly. She didn't have a history of attracting the approval of her boyfriends' mothers.

"Come on, what's not to like about…"

Derek fell silent as Emily pressed her finger to her lips and reached for her gun. They were approaching the autopsy room and something felt wrong. She nodded towards the broken blinds on one of the internal windows, and then towards the slightly open door. Without uttering another word, he also unholstered his weapon.

Holding his gun in front of him, Morgan led the way, slowly and quietly pushing the door further open so that they could slip inside. As he did so he glanced back at Emily, his eyes telling her to remain alert, because inside there were further signs of a disturbance.

The two agents made their way across the large and sterile room, avoiding the scattered trays of instruments and broken glass which littered the floor. There were no signs of movement but the liquid which dripped from a broken jar on the counter made it clear that whatever had happened, had happened not too long ago.

"Doctor Pearson!" Emily exclaimed, as she saw the medical examiner lying on the floor beside an overturned table. She rushed towards the woman and quickly realised that blood was seeping through her shirt. "She's been shot – call an ambulance!" she instructed Derek, who had just finished clearing the room.

"Is she conscious?" he asked, as he promptly dialled 911.

"Barely," Emily responded, squeezing the doctor's hand and receiving a minimal response.

"A-agent," the woman breathed, struggling desperately to speak.

"You don't need to speak," Emily assured her with a shake of the head. "Help is on its way." She smiled reassuringly and squeezed the doctor's hand again. For the second time in the space of twenty-four hours it seemed as though someone was at risk of bleeding to death before her eyes.

"Tattoo," the doctor gasped, insistent that she had something she needed to say. "The girl."

Emily suddenly became aware of what was missing from the room – the young woman's body was nowhere to be seen.

"What was the tattoo of?" she asked, realising that the other woman was trying to provide them with identifying marks, despite the fact the body was missing.

"F-f-four-leaf…" the woman began but she choked and her words trailed off.

"Four-leaf clover?" Emily asked, feeling as though the temperature in the room had dropped by several degrees.

Regaining some control of her breathing, Doctor Pearson nodded weakly. Emily turned to Derek to make sure that he was aware of what had just been revealed. If she hadn't known him better she'd have thought the look on his face was raw fear.

"Help's almost here," she said, snapping her attention back to the injured woman. She pulled off her jacket and scrunched it up, before pressing it against the heavy blood flow from the bullet wound. "Stay with me." A surge of anger and upset fired through her body as the words left her mouth. This couldn't be happening again.

Thankfully, it wasn't much longer before the paramedics arrived. The doctor was unconscious, but she was breathing. Just.

Emily stepped away and let the medics work, drifting towards Derek's arms as she tried to make sense of what was happening. She had almost found the comfort of his warmth when she had a thought which caused her to become rigid with fright.

"The baby," she gasped. "They didn't think there was a need for protection at the hospital."

Morgan returned his girlfriend's panicked look. If whoever was involved found it necessary to steal a body and shoot the medical examiner, then they were clearly trying to get rid of evidence of something. And there was a very real risk that the baby girl lying unprotected in the NICU was a part of that evidence.