A/N: I have no idea why this chapter took me so long but I played with it a lot before settling on this version. Thanks for reading and reviewing and I hope you like this update.

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"Get her to Lauren. If it all goes wrong and you can only do one thing, you have to get her to Lauren," the older of the two men had instructed. His words directed at the young woman sitting in the next booth, though his eyes focussed on his companion.

"But Lauren's dead," the younger man said pointedly.

"So was Emily Prentiss," came the reply, accompanied by a knowing grin.

The young woman had taken a sip of her drink, feeling the slow burn of the whisky on her throat, as she contemplated the plan. Get her to Lauren. A simple command. With the potential to start a war.

Six months later, that war was under way. And at the centre of it all was the baby, currently under the protection of armed men and with no idea of the chain reaction of events her very existence had brought about. It complicated everything that the police and the FBI were involved. But, as she assessed the extent of security surrounding the NICU, the young woman settled her mind on the view that it was better than many of the alternatives.

She was inconspicuous enough to go unnoticed in the busy hospital corridor. Her face reflected just the right mix of grief and fear to fit in amongst the terrified parents. But it wasn't the doctors and nurses she had to worry about. Or even the police for that matter. She was risking her life by coming here, just for a glimpse of the child she hadn't quite managed to get to safety.

Something had gone wrong; many things had gone wrong. There hadn't been time to resurrect Lauren. Even leaving that aside, she'd left it too late to act. Chickened out. The result was that she would struggle under this guilt and grief until one day she disappeared under its weight.

But maybe it wasn't too late for the child.

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"Emily, say something."

It was morning and he'd told her. And now she was staring into her cup of coffee and avoiding his gaze.

"She looks like Declan," Emily responded slowly, after a drawn out pause. "I think I already knew that. Somehow."

She stirred another spoonful of sugar into her coffee. It must have been nearing the consistency of melted toffee by now.

"Taking tips from Reid?" he asked, with an uncertain laugh.

"What?" she replied with a puzzled expression, before taking a mouthful of the overly sweetened liquid and screwing up her face.

"I'll get you another cup," Derek offered, but she shook her head.

"I want to get to the hospital."

"Why?" he wanted to ask. Had she not heard him? The baby was Doyle's. The Valhalla connection made sense. She needed to distance herself; she needed to pull herself away from the world that had almost killed her. Not to dive further into his legacy. He studied her expression closely, and was troubled to see that behind the mask she wore for the world, and behind the exhaustion and residual shock which he could discern, lay flickers of unfamiliar and unknown emotions and thoughts.

There was a lot Derek didn't know about her time as Lauren Reynolds. He was sure he didn't want to know exactly what she had felt as she went to bed with a terrorist. That part of Emily's life was compartmentalised deep inside, further away than anything else she had ever seen or done. And while he was almost certain it was for the best, it made him uneasy that she had so little to say to him on the matters they were currently facing.

"Are you coming?" she asked, already slipping her arms into the jacket.

He sighed. Right now wasn't the time to fight her on this.

"Just let me call Hotch and let him know where we'll be," he replied, his lack of enthusiasm over her plan not going unnoticed.

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She was sitting in the waiting area beside the nurses' desk when the dark haired woman and her muscular partner approached and presented their badges. Envy flickered across her eyes as the two agents were immediately taken along the corridor and allowed entry to the small isolation room. It didn't seem fair that they had access when she couldn't even see the only family she had left.

It was only twenty minutes later when the man emerged, looking frustrated and a little hurt. He strode down the corridor, snatching his cellphone from his pocket and pressing it to his ear.

"I can't watch her do this," he told the caller. "She's too involved."

Her hopes dared to rise for the first time in a long time at his words. That didn't sound like the impenetrable Agent Prentiss she was preparing herself to approach.

"I'm not going to sit back and wait for her to find some other way to let him kill her," he continued, lowering his voice as he remembered where he was. It was evident the person on the other end of the phone was trying to calm him down but it didn't seem to be working.

After a few more similar exchanges, he ended the call and stopped pacing the corridor. Then with a quick glance back towards the isolation room, he headed in the direction of the elevator and a way out of the building.

Whatever was going on, she'd find a way to make it work in her favour.

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Emily gave Morgan a little time to himself before she set off to look for him. The tension between them since he'd revealed the baby's parentage had been uncomfortable to say the least. It was clear that she hadn't reacted the way he had expected. Or the way he had hoped. She knew that Hotch's phone call had just given him a convenient reason to leave the room and, more importantly, the baby. While Emily felt an even greater need to protect the orphan, it seemed that Derek saw nothing but Ian Doyle when he glanced into the incubator.

"Everything okay?" she asked tentatively, as she made her way through the hospital peace garden to the bench where he sat staring into space.

"Hotch wants me back at Quantico to speak to internal affairs," he replied without turning to face his girlfriend or showing any sign that he was going to do what he had just described.

"It's raining," she remarked, sitting beside him.

"I don't like hospitals," he responded, offering an innocuous explanation for his decision to sit outside in the drizzling rain.

"I don't want to drag you into this," she told him, placing her hand over his in an attempt to close the distance the tension put between them.

"It's too late for that," he answered flatly.

Emily turned towards him, a questioning look on her face.

"What do you mean?"

"You're involved. That means I am," he answered in the same blunt tone.

"I didn't force you to do anything," she replied, beginning to sound less careful and more defensive.

"Do you really think I have a choice?" His exasperation and frustration overspilled, causing him to meet her defensiveness with a hint of anger.

"Derek..."

"Emily, I can't sit back and wait for him to hurt you again!" he interrupted. "This is just like the last time."

"I can take care of myself and this is nothing like the last time!" Her voice grew louder. "Doyle is dead!" There was something in her voice which suggested that she needed to reassure herself of everything she was telling him.

"Then why does it feel like he's about to take you away again?"

Derek was now on his feet, having pulled away from Emily's touch.

"Don't be so melodramatic," she responded, trying to keep her tone calm. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Forgive me if I don't trust you on that," he muttered. She'd done it before, and while her reasons had been good, the results had almost killed him. He didn't doubt that she'd go off on her own again.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Her temper flared as Morgan also stopped making any attempt to curtail his true feelings.

"You're shutting down; you're not speaking to me!"

"I'm speaking to you right now!" she snapped pointedly. By this point they were both on their feet and it was clear to anyone passing by that they were in the middle of an argument.

"But you're not telling me anything," he sighed.

"What do you want to know?" She raised her eyebrows and pushed her rain soaked hair out of her face.

Several questions buzzed around his head, but each carried a loosely disguised criticism which he knew he would come to regret. They were tired. The last couple of days had been unbearably stressful. The damage they would do by continuing this argument wasn't worth it.

"I need to get back to Quantico," he told her, hoping that she'd offer to come with him. But she remained quiet. "You're staying here?" he asked, though it wasn't a question he needed answered.

"I'll see you later," she responded coolly, though a hint of an apology danced across the tip of her tongue. "It'll be fine," she added. "With internal affairs, I mean."

He nodded, fighting with himself over whether he should be the first to say he was sorry, or whether he should leave. Though he didn't like the idea of walking away, he wasn't particularly eager to apologise before she did, and he began to head for parking lot.

"Derek?" she called, chewing anxiously on her lip. She was already feeling guilty for the tone she had taken with him.

He turned back to face her with an expression as regretful yet stubborn as hers.

"I love you," she told him, her voice sincere and stressing the importance of her words. It wasn't quite saying sorry but it made the point she needed to.

"I love you too," he replied, softening slightly. "Just stay out of trouble for the next few hours," he added, his attempt at a grin falling flat under the effects of his residual anger and his very real concerns for her wellbeing.

"I'll try," she promised, forcing her lips into a weak smile and, as he walked away, wishing that their first real fight had come at any time other than now.

/
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After Morgan left, Emily took a few minutes to compose herself, intending to head back to the NICU. In her preoccupation with their argument and the never ending thoughts of Doyle and the baby, she hadn't noticed that someone had been watching her since she came outside. In fact, she almost walked straight into the strangely familiar young woman.

"Sorry," she mumbled as they danced around one another on the path that led through the deserted garden. "Can I help you?" she asked, a sense of unease growing, as the woman seemed to intentionally block her way.

"I'm looking for Lauren Reynolds," came the woman's calm reply, and Emily felt a chill spread through her body and leave her frozen to the spot.

"I'm sorry, I can't help you," she replied as steadily as she could, while her eyes searched for any hidden source of danger, or more importantly, for the man that could help her. Why hadn't she just apologised? Or better yet, gone with him?

"I think you can," the woman persisted, eventually locking her gaze with Emily's. "Please."