A/N: I could not figure out this chapter. But I've finally got something I'm happy to share, and I hope it's long enough to start making up for the delay. Thanks for reading and reviewing and I really hope the next chapter won't take me so long!

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"What do you want?" Emily asked, her eyes suspiciously scanning the surrounding area, and her hand hovering over the spot where her gun normally rested in its holster. She regretted leaving it in Hotch's safe.

The other woman remained quiet as her gaze also darted around the garden and towards the grey parking lot.

"Not here," she mumbled, having exhausted the burst of courage it had taken for her to approach Emily. "They might see."

For the first time since the stranger appeared, Emily looked her straight in the eye. She was surprised to find the same frightened expression that she had seen just days before. There had been nothing she could do to help the last girl who had come to her for help, and she decided there and then that this time it would be different.

"Is this to do with Ian Doyle?" she asked, watching the eyes in front of her widen before they resumed their frantic search for danger.

Once she had assured herself that no one was about to swoop in and kill her on the spot, the woman nodded.

"Please, help me," she begged, grasping Emily's hand in her own.

"It's okay. I know a place we can go to talk," Emily replied, before she could doubt her decision. Something warned her that she shouldn't be getting further involved, but she couldn't help herself. "I'll help you," she promised, in full knowledge of the conflict between what she was saying and the words she had uttered to Morgan.

Pushing all thoughts of the fight her actions would undoubtedly cause out of her mind, she ushered the girl out of the garden and prepared to begin her own investigation into the life and death of the mysterious young mother-to-be.

/
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"You're sure we're safe here?" the young woman asked quietly, as Emily poured tea from the pot into the china cups which sat at opposite sides of the table between them.

"I'm sure," she replied, a brief survey of the room confirming her assessment.

The café was one at which she'd spent an afternoon off with Garcia and JJ the previous week. It was dimly lit and split into sections divided by an assortment of beaded curtains and screens, offering at least the illusion of privacy for its customers. Best of all, it was tucked away from the busy main streets in a location which provided sufficient twists and turns to assure her that they hadn't been followed. A week ago she'd thought it unnecessarily quirky, but today, as she sat in the one corner which offered a full view of the half-empty establishment, she was glad she knew of it.

"Who told you about Lauren Reynolds?" she asked, launching straight into the purpose of leaving the hospital for a more discreet meeting place.

"A man," the young woman replied. "A friend of Doyle's; I don't know his name. But I was told to bring my sister to Lauren Reynolds - to you - if we found ourselves in trouble. They gave me your address."

"She was your sister?" Emily thought aloud, suddenly becoming aware of the similarities in facial features between the dead girl and her companion.

"Her name was Sophie," the girl nodded. "When they attacked her I brought her to your apartment. I left her at the door. She was supposed to be safe."

"There was nothing I could do," Emily responded sadly. "She was gone before the paramedics got there."

"How did she die?"

Emily was caught off guard by the question; for some reason she had expected that the girl's sister would have known the details.

"She was in labour - did you know that?" she began slowly, only continuing when the other woman nodded. "She started bleeding when she gave birth and then... The medical examiner thought the placenta might have detached from her womb when she was injured.

"Did she suffer?" The young woman's eyes were filled with tears but she was successfully stopping them from spilling onto her cheeks.

"It was quick," Emily replied, offering the best reassurance she could. "Before she died, she said something," she continued tentatively. "Do you know what Valhalla means?"

"It was Doyle's name," the girl replied quickly, looking immediately uncomfortable.

"I know that. I just wondered if there was something else."

The girl shook her head and shrugged, desperate to move the conversation along. Emily eyed her suspiciously.

"If you want my help, you have to be straight with me," she told her seriously.

"I am. I don't know what Valhalla is. I just know that it's bad. Please, believe me," came the desperate response.

Emily was still unconvinced but decided not to push the matter.

"What's your name?" she asked, hopeful the girl would now be willing to give her this information to keep her on side.

"Marissa," she replied, without a pause and without even a trace of reluctance.

"Is that your real name?"

"It's what everyone else calls me," she shrugged.

"Marissa, who hurt your sister?" Emily asked, testing out the name, and determining that a more accurate identity wasn't the most important matter.

Marissa looked behind her, as her anxiety rose once again. No source of danger revealed itself, and the only person who seemed aware of her existence was the waitress who gave the seemingly staring customer a quick smile.

"Sophie and I ran away from home four years ago," she began, keeping her voice low as a final measure of security. "We were on the street and they took us in. We had to work for them; it wasn't so bad at first. But then they found other uses for us..." she trailed off, looking ashamed.

"Did your pimp hurt Sophie?" Emily asked quietly, showing no sign of judgement.

Marissa nodded, picking up the cup of rapidly cooling tea from the table and pressing it against her lips as she tried to avoid making eye contact with the dark haired agent.

"Do you work for Doyle's men?" she continued, trying to piece together the explanation which was unfolding.

Before Marissa could answer, they were interrupted by the ringing of Emily's cellphone. With a quick glance at the display, she silenced the call and returned her attention to the girl in front of her. Everything else could wait.

/
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"She's probably still in the NICU," JJ remarked as Morgan slammed his phone onto the desk in a temper, having tried, for a third time, to reach Emily.

"I know," he sighed, glancing up to face his friend as she perched on the edge of his desk. "I should get over there - it's not like I can do anything here," he added with a humourless laugh.

"It's only temporary, Derek," the blonde reasoned, though her tone was sympathetic.

His interview with internal affairs couldn't have been much worse, and he now found himself suspended, pending the outcome of their investigation. He suspected that Strauss's dislike of two agents being in a relationship hadn't helped his case.

"It was an accident," JJ continued. "And it'll be sorted out in no time. No one really thinks you can't control a gun, or that you shot your girlfriend on purpose." She couldn't help but smirk slightly at the ridiculousness of the latter part of her statement.

Derek's face showed no sign of amusement.

"Emily doesn't need to be worrying about this as well; I'm meant to be looking after her," he responded.

"Emily can take care of herself," JJ reminded her friend, arching one eyebrow in a knowing fashion. "And she'd be beyond pissed if she knew you were talking like that."

Derek contemplated his friend's words and expression for a moment. Her warning was good humoured but he knew she was telling the truth. Still, he couldn't shake the image of Emily bleeding in the hospital corridor from his head.

"I shot her," he mumbled quietly, staring at the ground.

"It was an accident," JJ repeated forcefully. "Get out of here and see her before I tell Garcia you're moping around the office."

"I think I should give her some space," he responded. He had been wondering if Emily was intentionally avoiding his calls. "We got into a fight."

"You're as bad as each other," JJ sighed, shaking her head. "Go to the hospital, grovel, and kiss and make up," she instructed, sliding off the desk and playfully shoving his shoulder. "And remember I'm here. For both of you."

"Thanks, JJ," he smiled, though he was far from feeling okay.

Once he was alone, he retrieved his discarded phone, and once again redialled his girlfriend's number. He sighed as he was greeted with the sound of her voice telling him to leave a message after the tone. It seemed he'd only be able to make his uncomfortable apology in person.

/
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"Are you sure you don't need to get that?" Marissa asked, as Emily's phone lit up on the table between them.

Emily's gaze flickered towards the screen, though she already knew who was calling. She also knew that she should answer, even if only to let him know that she was okay. But she didn't want to give Marissa the opportunity to escape the conversation before she had answers.

"It's fine," she insisted, cutting off the call and turning off her phone. "Now, did you work for Doyle?"

Marissa was a little startled by the aggressive edge to Emily's tone, and the agent immediately regretted her forceful approach.

"I'm sorry. I just... I want to catch whoever was responsible for your sister's death," she apologised, knowing that she had more selfish reasons for her solo investigation than getting justice for the girl.

"We didn't work for Doyle," Marissa answered cautiously.

"Then how did you know him?" Emily asked, being careful not to sound as though she was pressuring the other woman.

"He was Sophie's client. I think he just wanted to get to our boss - you know, piss off his rivals," she replied, her face dropping as she realised she'd revealed more than she'd intended.

"His rivals?" Emily questioned.

"They'll kill me," Marissa mumbled, her eyes once again resembling those of a frightened animal.

"I'll protect you."

"You can't."

An uneasy silence fell between them, punctuated only by the occasional clinking of china from the kitchen or a laugh from the other customers, whose business in being in the cafe was far more innocuous than that of the two women.

"Let me try," Emily pleaded. "You wanted my help."

"But not in this way," Marissa replied, with a flicker of confidence returning. "I just want my niece to be safe; I can take care of the rest."

Emily considered the young woman sitting before her. She was skinny - unhealthily so. Her chipped nail polish and harshly bleached hair made it clear that, despite someone's attempts at moulding her appearance a certain way, she was no high end escort. And, though her washed out palour and tired eyes gave the impression of someone much older, Emily was certain she was only in her early twenties. She was vulnerable and Emily didn't feel comfortable with the idea of leaving her to go back to the men who had caused her sister's death. But at the same time, there was a lot that she didn't know and she didn't want to scare the girl away by being too pushy.

"At least take my number," she said, scribbling her contact details onto a napkin.

Marissa accepted the napkin and tucked it into her purse.

"Will you make sure the baby is okay?" she asked.

"Of course," Emily promised. "But I want to help you as well," she persisted. "Please, give me a name; tell me who you work for."

Marissa glanced nervously around the room, before she reached for the pen Emily had left on the table, and picked up her own napkin. She quickly scrawled something across the thin paper before thrusting it into Emily's hand.

"Thank you," Emily told her, retrieving several bills from her purse and sliding them across the table. "Take a cab," she instructed. "We should leave separately. Just in case."

Marissa got to her feet, eager to remover herself from the risky meeting.

"Are you sure I can't get you somewhere safe?" Emily asked.

"Nowhere's safe," Marissa replied, avoiding eye contact with the older woman.

Though Emily wished she could offer reassurance, she suspected the girl was right.

/
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Morgan paced the corridor outside of the NICU, with his cellphone pressed against his ear. She wasn't there. He couldn't contact her. And his pulse quickened as his mind ran through all the situations which could account for her apparent disappearance.

"Emily," he gasped in surprise, when she emerged from the elevator.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Where have you been?" he demanded, ignoring her question in favour of asking his own. "I've been calling you."

His concern was quickly turning to anger that she had seemingly been avoiding his calls.

"I went for a walk," she lied. "I turned off my phone."

"Bull," he responded.

"Derek..."

"I got suspended," he told her, watching as realisation dawned across her face.

"I'm sorry, I..."

"You forgot I was being interviewed by internal affairs?" he asked, subconsciously raising his voice to the point that the nurses at the desk turned to watch.

"I didn't forget," she insisted uselessly. They could both see through everything she was saying.

"Where were you?" he asked again?

Emily took in a breath and blew it out, all the time picking at her ragged nails. The man before her was so much more than a colleague - that was possibly the greatest difference between now and the last time she had decided to go it alone. A part of her was desperate to tell him everything she had learned, but the other part needed her to work by herself - that was a habit she just couldn't seem to escape.

"Emily?" he pressed, his tone firm, but his eyes softening and searching for his girlfriend behind the defensive front she was presenting.

She couldn't put off her decision much longer. It was time to let him in or push him away - there was no more middle ground.