A/N: I am so sorry for the delay. I'm normally quite good at writing even when I'm busy, but recently I've lacked the motivation. Anyway, thank you for reading, following, favouriting and reviewing. I hope you enjoy the update and the next one hopefully won't take so long!

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"Mom, Sammy stole my i-pad!"

"Sammy, give it back!"

"But my battery died! She needs to share! Dad!"

The shouts of the nearby family merged into one loud rumble, as Emily pushed her finger around the sticky table top, drawing circles in spilled sugar. Sighing, she pinched the bridge of her nose with her other hand.

"You're quiet. Have you got a headache?" Derek asked.

She'd barely said a word in the past hour and had now progressed to staring blankly at the table as she alternated between rubbing her temples and biting her nails.

Emily completed the circle before another deep sigh scattered the crystals in all directions. Of course she had a headache - they'd been in this bloody airport for seven hours. Not to mention the fact that the weight of her conversation with Fran was pressing heavily on every part of her body.

She should have been able to put it aside; she should be concentrating on her plan for when they finally touched down in DC. But instead she saw the older woman's tears and fearful expression. And then she remembered the warmth of being surrounded by the smell of chicken soup and the sound of easy laughter. She could feel the slightly scratchy wool blanket against her chin and see Fran take every opportunity to hug her son, or jokingly scold him for making a mess.

But before long it would all be replaced with the echo of their parting words.

"Tell him what you want."

Her own mother had never had such a strong effect on her. Why was someone who, just two weeks ago, had been nothing more than an acquaintance, able to interfere with the way her head worked?

"I'm fine," she answered, forcing an unconvincing smile.

Derek remained unconvinced as he pretended to be preoccupied with swirling the wooden stirrer around his third cup of coffee. He couldn't tell if the tension was between them, or just a result of the atmosphere in the departure lounge. However, there was one question which he'd been wanting to ask since they left for the airport, and the quieter Emily grew, the bigger it became.

"What were you and my mom talking about?" he asked, eventually, with a nonchalance that was so forced the question sounded more confrontational than if he'd made no effort to hide his real feelings.

"What do you mean?" Emily shrugged.

Derek shook his head and, after his attempt to count to ten and breathe failed, he got to his feet. His temper was already frayed from the delayed flight and the amount of time he'd spent surrounded by the screaming, whining children of other passengers. Replaying the argument they'd had every couple of days since it all began wasn't sitting particularly high on his to-do list.

"What are you doing?" she asked, looking genuinely surprised.

"I'm not doing this," he muttered, setting the paper cup on the table with such force that its murky contents splashed over the edge.

"Derek," she hissed, noticing that people were starting to look at them. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not playing the game where you shrug your shoulders and lie, when you know I'm not buying it."

He lowered his voice but his level of anger didn't falter.

"I'm not..."

"Don't even finish that sentence," he snapped.

The routine was getting old for both of them and neither had any desire to repeat the fight they'd already had a hundred times.

The family who had been bickering over the i-pad were now silent, and making no attempt to disguise the fact they were watching the fighting couple. It took every bit of Derek's self restraint not to take out his aggression on them.

"Sit down," Emily told him, her voice barely louder than a whisper, as she turned her head so that their spectators couldn't entertain themselves by reading her lips. "I'm not going to lie to you."

Her defensive tone softened, like there was a small crack in the wall she was so desperately trying to rebuild.

He did as she asked. They had both entered this relationship with eyes wide open to how difficult the other could be. It was something they had to learn to overcome.

"What were you talking about?" he asked, more calmly than before.

"Your mom is worried I'm going to hurt you," she replied.

Her eyes refused to meet his, but he trusted she was being honest. Baby steps, but in the right direction. The sex was easy. And so was the friendship and flirting. They already had the fierce loyalty to support one another through anything. But the need for openness was something new. Their respective strings of one night stands and failed relationships were all the evidence they needed to know that this part was hard, and the current circumstances only made things harder.

"What does she think you're going to do?" he asked, achieving a better balance between being insistent but not confrontational.

"Die," Emily answered with an uneasy snort. She wasn't trying to be funny, but it was near impossible to give such a dramatic answer with a completely straight face.

Derek's face remained stony. It wasn't too far-fetched a concern. Over the past few days, her increasing spells of quiet thought pushed away any fantasy that she was going to focus her attention on decorating a house when they returned to DC.

"I wish you weren't going to go after him," he responded, with no trace of humour to lighten the mood.

"I know," she agreed. "But I'm never going to be able to walk away."

"I didn't think you would."

They were leaning closer to one another, angling their bodies and speaking in hushed voices to create privacy from the nearby passengers. The frustration which had made him want to leave minutes before now made him want to grab hold of her and pull her close. Because this infuriating woman had a tighter grip on him than anyone he'd ever met and he was beginning to doubt he'd ever felt normal without it.

"I won't do anything stupid," she promised him.

"It's not just Brennan," Derek sighed. "You're heading straight into the middle of a turf war."

He wanted to support her; he wanted a life with her that wasn't controlled by a ghost. But if he lost her then there would be no point to any of it. It had once seemed that the most difficult part of ridding themselves of Doyle would be finding a plastic surgeon capable of fixing her scars. How he wished they could return to that.

She tentatively placed her hand over his, in a silent apology for her inability to do the one thing he needed her to.

"What else did my mom say?" he asked.

Emily sighed, the frayed edges of her nails brushing against his knuckles.

"She thinks we should talk about Lucy and about whether I want a baby."

"Do you?" he asked, without missing a beat. He couldn't ignore how natural she'd looked with Lucy in her arms. And parenthood was something he could think about without panic surging through his chest.

"I need this to be over," she answered, dodging the question.

He turned his hand underneath hers and interlinked their fingers, deciding not to push the subject. One thing at a time.

"It will be. But you need to promise me something?"

She squeezed his hand and nodded.

"I'm doing this with you," he continued.

She laughed, so quietly that she barely made a sound.

"That sounds more like you're making the promise."

Her eyes lifted to his, as her attempt to break through his seriousness failed. They both knew she was the only one who might struggle with that deal.

"I promise," she nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat and feeling a slight relief from Fran's disappointment.

Derek gave her a weak smile and tightened his grip on her hand. Another step forward. Another glimpse beyond her armour. And he had to believe it wasn't another carefully crafted front.

Because what waited for them at home would require them to be strong.

/
/

In DC, the rain battered the ground as Reid and Rossi frowned gravely at the crime scene in front of them. It was a wash out. The tents had barely been erected quickly enough to cover the bodies and all other forensic evidence was now running along the gutter and into the storm drains.

"Cop killers," Rossi muttered, staring at the Kevlar clad body on the ground. The bullets had gone straight through the officer's vest, like it was nothing more than a part of a costume.

The arms deal had taken place; the secret which surrounded the unknown use of Valhalla had been revealed.

And the bloodbath Marissa had warned them of had taken place.

"How many fatalities?" Reid asked. They'd only been called to the scene when it was all over. It was the MPD's organised crime unit who'd been laying in wait, preparing to ambush a simple weapons trade.

"Two of us and three of them," the detective replied. "And one of the Irish lot is on the way to the ER."

"Any sign of Connor Brennan?" Rossi enquired.

"We didn't know he was involved," the detective began, showing a flash of his embarrassment at having missed the involvement of a serial killer in the operation he'd tried to take down. "He showed up in the middle of the shooting and cornered one of our rookies."

"Is the rookie okay?" Rossi frowned.

"She's a little shaken up. And he got away."

The detective turned away from the agents and surveyed the scene as he spoke. He wasn't used to being caught out like this.

"Do you think she'll be able to answer some questions?" Reid asked.

The man's eyes drifted to where the young officer was being comforted by a colleague.

"Go easy on her," he told them. "We don't come up against psychos as much as you do."

/

/

By the time Emily and Derek finally landed in DC, it was long past when they'd both hoped to be in bed. As they waited by the baggage carousel, Derek wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and she leaned heavily against him. In the hours which had passed since their fight, their frustrations had eased and the were now just tired together.

"Maybe we should try to get a hotel for the night," he murmured as he kissed her forehead. He couldn't face the thought of trying to set up a bed in the house before they could even lie down.

She nodded slightly, but he knew she was hardly paying attention.

"Do you think Hotch will let me take a look at what they've been doing while we were away?" she asked, already planning her strategy for the next morning. "I know that they already have a profile, but I know his fantasy world better than anyone else."

Derek ran his fingers up and down the soft sleeve of the sweatshirt he now had no hope of reclaiming, as he considered his response. He was going to support her, regardless of how much he'd rather she spent the remainder of her medical leave choosing wallpaper for the house. Throughout their stay in Chicago, Hotch had given them regular, albeit brief, updates on what was happening. Emily had absorbed and analysed every word and he'd known she would be hitting the ground running upon their return. Whatever he did, it would be to make sure she wasn't alone.

"I think he'll have a tough time stopping you," he grinned, squeezing her arm.

"Thank you," she told him. It was obvious that he was trying too hard, but the fact that he was trying at all was all that she needed.

He kissed the top of her head again, enjoying the brief moment of calm and closeness between them.

"Let's get out of here," he said, spotting their bags on the carousel and stepping away from her to claim them. They weren't quite going home, but it was as close as they could manage for the time being.

/
/

The young officer was perched on the backseat of a police car, with her legs outside of the vehicle and a paper cup clasped between her hands.

"Officer Shaw?" Rossi called, as he and Reid approached.

The woman nodded, visibly straightening up and trying to disguise her distressed expression. It was only her second week on the job and suddenly everything she'd insisted she was ready to take on had become a lot scarier. The steam from her cup drifted outwards as she spoke.

"It's Ashley," she told them, needing not to be "Officer" at that moment.

"I'm SSA David Rossi, and this is Doctor Spencer Reid."

Ashley Shaw remained quiet, waiting to be asked a direct question. In all honesty, she wanted nothing more than to go home and never put on her uniform again.

"Do you think you could tell us what happened?" Rossi continued.

"With Connor Brennan?" she asked, unnecessarily.

"Yes, when did you first see him?" Reid responded, encouraging her to go on.

She closed her eyes for a moment, blinking back tears of exhaustion or thinking deeply - the exact purpose was unclear as looked back towards the agents. In that time, her mind played back the sounds and images of the flying bullets and frantic commands from her superiors and colleagues.

"I'd just taken cover to the side of a container," she told them. "There were still some crates inside - we'd waited until they were part of the way through unloading them before we struck."

"And what happened then?" Rossi pressed, sounding as gentle as he could be.

"I saw someone out of the corner of my eye. He was armed, and I drew my weapon, but he continued straight towards me. I thought he was going to shoot. I had my finger on the trigger but I just couldn't..."

"It's okay," Rossi told her, soothingly, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"He managed to grab one of the cases from inside before he left," she said. "I don't know what I was doing..."

As another sentence trailed off, a new look of frustration flickered across her eyes, before she turned them to the ground. Spencer recognised the look from the way he'd felt in his early days with the bureau. It was hard not to blame your own inexperience when something went wrong.

"No one is blaming you," he reassured the young woman. "It's not your fault - Brennan is extremely dangerous."

"What do you think he's going to do with the bullets?" she mumbled, feeling marginally comforted by Reid's words, but still focussing her gaze on the ground rather than the men.

"That's not for you to worry about," Rossi replied. "I'll make sure someone gets you back to the precinct."

The officer didn't need to let her mind speculate on what might happen. It was for the BAU to worry about the fact their suspect now had the power of armour piercing ammunition to add to his arsenal.

/
/

"Is that JJ?" Emily puzzled, as she and Morgan headed through the arrivals gate to find a familiar face waiting on them.

There were very few people waiting for their families and friends at this time of night, and the blonde agent stood out amongst the smattering of suit clad businessmen and drivers. But while they were surprised by her presence, Emily was glad to see her friend.

"How much of the day has Garcia spent tracking our flight?" she asked, as JJ greeted them with a small smile.

"And when did you start running a car service?" Derek added with a laugh.

JJ simply returned another half-smile, before her expression turned serious again. She bit her lip anxiously and took a deep breath. It was so good to see them, and while they were evidently tired from their journey, they looked much brighter than before they'd left. Emily, in particular, had lost the permanent look of physical and mental pain which had coated her face prior to their time in Chicago. She hated that she was about to threaten the progress they had made.

"What's wrong?" Emily asked, her eyes narrowing at JJ's hesitant demeanour. It had quickly become apparent that something wasn't quite right.

"We need to get back to Quantico," she told them, gravely. "There's been a development."