A/N: So it's been a while but I've finally got a new chapter for you. Thank you, as always, for reviewing and reading. This is mostly Emily/Derek fluff, but with a major plot development and I hope you enjoy it. I thought a little break in the action was called for.

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Emily was released from the hospital shortly after the doctor had finished stitching her shoulder, with a prescription for painkillers and instructions to rest for the next couple of days. But still, hours later, Morgan found himself waiting on a hospital ward rather than taking care of his girlfriend at home. Or at least at Hotch's house. He didn't think the blood stained floor of their apartment would do much to help Emily relax.

"Come on Em, you heard what the doctor said. You lost a lot of blood - you need to be taking it easy." He spoke softly but firmly, not wanting to antagonise the headstrong woman, but also making it clear that she had to start prioritising her own health.

Emily barely acknowledged him. She was too caught up in her own thoughts. Thoughts of terrorists and four-leaf clovers and guns. Thoughts of blood and death and the nagging pain that seemed to be spreading throughout her body. And thoughts of the innocent and blissfully oblivious baby girl in the incubator in front of her.

"Emily?" Derek continued, prompting her to respond.

"I want to stay here a little bit longer," she replied, glancing between the child and the police officers who guarded the door to the isolation room which was being used to ensure security was stronger and easier to manage. It didn't seem right that, instead of being with her parents, this little girl would be spending the first days of her life surrounded by armed bodyguards. Even the number of hospital staff with access had been limited to those necessary to meet her medical and care needs.

"It's getting late," he commented, pointedly.

"She doesn't have anyone," Emily responded with even more force.

She returned her attention to the child, placing a disinfected hand through the hatch in the side of the incubator and smiling as a tiny hand wrapped itself around her finger when she gently pressed it against the baby's palm. A tired smile crept across her face at the girl's strength.

"There are enough doctors and nurses to take care of her," Derek stated, unsure how to react to this uncharacteristically maternal side which Emily seemed to be showing. He'd seen her interact with Henry and with young children that she'd encountered as part of their work, but he'd never seen her like this before. "She'll be fine. We can come back in the morning," he said, changing tact as he realised that Emily had already formed some sort of an attachment to the girl.

Emily watched the baby slowly drift back to sleep, before she lifted her head and let her eyes meet Derek's. He seemed to be pleading with her to leave and as she felt the tired ache of her body and the heaviness of her eyelids, she realised that it wouldn't really do anyone any good in the long run if she exhausted herself.

"I guess I'm kind of tired," she admitted quietly, giving him a small smile, which quickly slipped from her face as she got to her feet and found her legs had all the strength of a tub of jello.

"I got you," he said, immediately slipping an arm around her waist.

She leaned against his body, allowing him to support some of her weight. Over the course of the past day she had let herself depend on him more than she had in all of the time they had been together. And while the circumstances were certainly undesirable, she couldn't help but think that this new side to their relationship wasn't all bad.

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When Hotch returned to his house in the early hours of the morning, a part of him hoped that his colleagues would already be asleep. Moments before he'd planned to leave the office he'd received a phone call which, just as seemed to be the norm with this case, had provided them with some answers but equally created a greater number of questions. As he stepped into the dimly lit living room, he discovered that his wish had been granted in part. Morgan was awake but Emily was dead to the world.

"How is she?" he asked, taking in the scene before him with a frown. Emily was curled up against Morgan, with her head resting on his chest and her hands tightly gripping the blanket that was draped across her body. Even in her sleep she looked so vulnerable and clingy, and not at all like the unshakeable federal agent and ambassador's daughter that he was used to.

"Exhausted," Morgan replied, lifting his head to face Hotch but continuing to run his fingers through the sleeping woman's dark hair. It had only taken her minutes to fall asleep once they sat down, but even now he could feel the tension which exuded from her body.

"I should let you both rest," Hotch remarked, after a long pause in which he debated whether to share the latest update or leave it until morning.

"What's going on?" Morgan asked, sensing the other man's unease.

"It can wait," Hotch insisted, but the look that Morgan gave him in response told him that he wasn't fooling anyone. "The lab found a partial match with the baby's DNA," he admitted, subconsciously lowering his voice in case Emily wasn't as sound asleep as she appeared.

"Who?" Morgan responded, though Hotch's face had all but answered his question.

"Doyle," he confirmed, his eyes focussing on Emily, willing her to remain oblivious to the name he had spoken.

"But he's dead!" Derek exclaimed, quickly dropping his voice to a whisper when Emily mumbled in her sleep. "How?" he breathed quietly, an uneasy chill running down his spine at the thought that the tiny child they'd spent most of the evening watching, was the product of a monster. And a dead monster at that. Equally concerning, was the fact that Emily's seemingly automatic connection to the child made sense. The exact details of Lauren Reynold's relationship with Ian Doyle were not something which they discussed, but it had always been clear to Derek that Emily had been drawn to the terrorist in a way that ran deeper than the requirements of an undercover operation.

"He died seven months ago; the doctors think the girl was about eight months pregnant. It's possible," Hotch replied. After receiving the phone call from the lab, he'd had to take a moment to collect his more rational thoughts and rid himself of the initial shock of Doyle's name and DNA cropping up in the present tense. Now it seemed Morgan needed to do the same.

Before either of the men could say another word, Emily shifted her position and groaned, slowly waking at the sensations of pain and stiffness which coursed through her body from her injured shoulder and the various bruises she had obtained in her collision with the suspect.

"I'll give you some privacy," Hotch announced, a look of concern expanding across his face as he watched her. Emily needed to be looked after right now and he knew she wouldn't allow Morgan to help her if their were any spectators. However, as he left the room, he admitted to himself that there was also a selfish reason behind his decision. He didn't want to be the one responsible for causing her anymore distress. And he had no doubts that the latest update would do nothing but that.

It was only seconds after Hotch's departure that Emily groggily opened her eyes and turned her head to see Morgan frowning.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty," he smiled, forcing any trace of shock or unease from his voice. But he was too late; she'd already seen his unsettled expression.

"What's wrong?" she mumbled, grimacing as she became more aware of her own body and its protests at even the slightest movement.

"Nothing," he assured her, gently helping her to sit up and smoothing down her unusually messy hair.

"Liar," she replied, raising her eyebrows high above her tired eyes. The shadows which surrounded her gaze and her paler than normal skin told him that she needed a lot more rest than a few hours napping on the sofa. And she certainly didn't need to hear any more difficult news.

"Hotch was just telling me that internal affairs want to speak to me in the morning," he answered. It was plausible enough that he was sure she'd believe it and, while his boss hadn't actually said anything about it, the rest of the statement was likely true. It was only a small lie and he had to ensure she went back to sleep. No one was built to withstand everything she had faced since the previous evening and even someone like Emily needed to recover a little before she took on anything else.

"It'll be okay; it was an accident," she told him, fixing her wide, dark eyes on his in a way that made him feel inexplicably more settled, and gently stroking her hand against his bare forearm.

"Shouldn't I be the one looking after you?" he grinned.

"Well, I suppose you did shoot me," she responded teasingly, with a shrug of her shoulders, which she instantly regretted.

"That's karma," he told her, matching her tone and feeling somewhat relieved to hear that her sharp wit was still intact, as he carefully eased her arm back into a less tense, and hopefully less uncomfortable, position. "Are you okay?" he asked, sounding more serious when the pained expression on her face didn't relax.

"Sore," she muttered, giving up any hope of maintaining a poker face.

"How does painkillers and bed sound?" he asked, offering her his arm to help her onto her unsteady feet. Silently, she followed his lead, resting her head against his shoulder as he wrapped her in his arms. "I'll take that as a yes then," he continued, kissing her lightly on the forehead.

She'd be better in the morning. Rested. Stronger. More Emily-like. He'd tell her everything she had to know then. But for now Morgan had nothing more to offer her than comfort and warmth. And from the way she leaned heavily against his form and allowed him to guide her upstairs, he could tell it was all she needed.