A/N: So, it's been a while... I think everyone knows that life happens (good, bad and everything in between) so all I will say is that I do intend to finish this story just as I planned when I started writing it. Ideally it will not take the best part of 2 years to post the next chapter! As always, thanks for reading and let me know what you think.
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For the second time in one night, Emily found herself in a vehicle with the kind of man her basic human instincts told her she should avoid. As they passed through the suburbs, she made a mental note of the landmarks on the other side of the fogged up windows, in case she should need to run.
The quickly staling smell of alcohol on her companion's breath made her glad he had nominated a sober friend as a driver, even if that did mean that they were sat side by side in the backseat of the car.
"Relax, Agent," he chuckled, filling the vehicle with a thick smog as he sucked on the end of a cheap cigar. "If I wanted you dead, I'd have done it by now."
The words didn't give Emily much comfort. Her hand searched for the comfort of her cellphone or a gun – neither of which could be found by her hip. Being unarmed and disconnected from her team did not leave her with much of a sense of security.
From what she had seen so far she understood that Brian Connelly seemed to have slipped seamlessly into Doyle's place after his death, earning fear and respect in equal measure from the remaining men.
"Where are we going?" she asked, knowing the question was a waste of breath before it had even left her mouth.
He inhaled deeply, blowing one last puff of smoke through the thick air, before rolling down the window and throwing the glowing end of the cigar onto the road.
Emily turned to the flash of a breeze like a sunflower turning to the light. She wasn't sure when the sense of claustrophobia began but it had been following her for weeks now. The window closed with a whir before she even had a hint of relief from the cold air.
"Turn the heat up," he ordered their silent driver. "It's a cold night," he added, turning to Emily with a grin.
An uncomfortable sheen of sweat stuck Emily's shirt to her back, as she stretched out the fingers on the hand he couldn't see, clenching and unclenching her fist as she tried to rid herself of some of the nervous energy. Where were they going that was taking so long?
"You want the same as me, right Lauren?" he asked, the sudden question sounding as though it had escaped another conversation and drifted into the car.
"Right," Emily agreed, supressing a shudder and swallowing thickly.
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Derek glanced at the screen of his cellphone. He'd given up on trying to be subtle. Two minutes had passed since he last checked and the only thing which had changed was the time. There were no messages and no missed calls. It had been over three hours and she hadn't made contact.
"Derek, did Emily say anything to you about where she thought Brennan might go?"
JJ's question went unheard as his eyes noticed a slight difference on the illuminated screen.
His battery level decreased to 37%.
"Morgan?" Hotch demanded, his patience waning. The agent was understandably distracted but if anyone had a clue to Emily's whereabouts it would be him.
"Sorry, what did you say?"
He turned to Reid instead of JJ, revealing how little he had been concentrating.
"Did Emily have any ideas about where Brennan might go?" JJ asked again as he finally turned in her direction.
"No, she didn't say anything about that," he answered, still showing limited interest in the conversation, despite his best efforts to be engaged. He needed to be somewhere that he could stare at his cell away from the eyes of four agents trained to analyse body language.
It was Rossi that gave him his out.
"Why don't you go home?"
The team waited for his answer.
"I should be here. I can't sit this one out – it's Emily," he responded, hoping his protests would be convincing. He couldn't be seen to be too desperate to be on his own.
Penelope's hand came to rest on top of his.
"You need to look after yourself," she insisted. "You're exhausted."
There was no charade required on his part to confirm she was correct about that. In other circumstances he would have been heading straight home to bed.
"I'll drive you," Rossi volunteered.
Derek nodded once to signal his agreement. There was no way they would let him take off by himself and he had to save his energy for bigger things.
Penelope squeezed his hand.
"Hang in there, baby boy. It'll all be fine."
He felt the pressure not only over his fingers but also in the spasm of guilt right at his core.
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It had been a relief to get out of the car, even if only to walk up the steps of the townhouse. Her shirt was saturated at the small of her back and it felt good to have cold air circulating around her. The neighbourhood wasn't completely unknown to her. At a glance it seemed nice – upmarket and quiet with a neat row of trees lining the sidewalk – but she knew that a question hung over the sources of income for several residents of the street. It was the sort of place where the money from organised crime was used to keep wives and children tucked away from the murkier parts of the city.
The room she'd been shown to was clearly his, but the hallway gave away the existence of a wife. The feminine touches she'd passed were a contrast to the mahogany and leather of her current surroundings. The office wasn't uncomfortable but it was designed to be intimidating. Big furniture and limited lighting. Her eyes eventually came to rest on the vast, black, empty fireplace.
"Should I light the fire?" he asked.
"It's warm enough," she responded, taking a sip of the scotch he had forced into her hand.
It burned from the moment it touched her throat until the alcohol stung her empty stomach. She grimaced slightly at the lingering sensation of pain and rumbling.
"You don't like it? I only serve the finest to my guests."
He wore a look of offense but she could tell he was playing with her.
"I haven't eaten for a while," she responded.
"Then we'd better do something about that. What is it they say? An army marches on its stomach."
He was enjoying the position she was in. Before they'd even left the pub he'd ensured she'd been searched for any wires or weapons. He knew she was on her own and he took delight in the fact that she'd had to reach out to him. He'd have been lying if he said he hadn't toyed with the idea of shooting her the moment she turned her back, but there was something about her having to work with the very people she'd once betrayed that was even better than her death.
His grief was still there but he hadn't felt this alive in a long time.
"Run out and get us a couple of burgers and fries," he instructed the man who had driven them back to the house. "I'm feeling hungry myself."
The man left the room without question and Emily took a larger gulp of her drink, if only to give herself some false courage when its numbing effect kicked in. She wished there had been another way to get what she needed than this.
"Alone at last," Connelly remarked. "Now take a seat, Lauren, and we can get down to discussing business."
"It's Emily," she replied, with a spark of defiance.
"You keep telling yourself that," he chuckled.
/
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Derek played with the car radio, tuning it from one station to another, as Rossi drove him to his apartment. He didn't trust himself to hold a conversation without somehow giving away his complicity in Emily's escape.
"They're moving Lucy out of state," Rossi informed him as he turned the radio off to stop the younger agent jumping to another station. "Just to be safe."
Morgan nodded.
"Is she still with the Bureau?" he asked.
"Until it's safe for child services to take her into their care," Rossi responded.
Derek said nothing. It wasn't his place to comment on the arrangements for her protection and he certainly wasn't engaging further in the conversation that he suspected his colleague had in mind.
They drove on without another word until they reached his apartment.
"What are you doing?" Derek asked, when Rossi also unclipped his seatbelt and switched off the engine.
There would only be a few hours until morning and he wanted to wait out the rest of the night, and wait for the call that he prayed would come, alone.
"I'm making sure you're okay."
"I'm fine."
Rossi paused for a moment, scrutinising his colleague's expression. Derek's worn out eyes were tired and desperate. He needed some time away from everyone's watch to let out the frustration and despair he was doing his best to hide, but the older man knew there was further motive to his desire for solitude. He was almost certain that Emily would try to make contact.
But he had to put some faith in his team mate.
"Don't do anything stupid, Morgan," he advised, re-fastening his seatbelt and turning the key in the ignition.
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Eating had sharpened her mind and provided some much needed energy, even if the first few bites had been a struggle. While Connelly had wolfed down his burger in a matter of minutes, she had nibbled at the edges, forcing down each mouthful with a swig of watery coke. She felt sick at what had already been done and at what she was doing. The arsenal of weapons being constructed and laid out across the desk didn't help. It seemed wrong that she was doing nothing to get the guns out of their hands.
"He was last seen checking into a motel around 70 miles from here. If we head out now, we can surprise him before morning."
Connelly, long finished with his meal, snapped a cartridge of ammunition into a semi-automatic rifle and pointed it at the corner of the room, trying it out for size as he spoke.
"How do you know?" Emily asked.
"You're not the only one with connections in local law enforcement," he responded with a grin, placing the rifle down and picking up a handgun. "You're more of a glock girl, right?"
She was taken aback by his question. Was he really offering to arm her?
He extended his arm towards her, the barrel of the gun pointing towards the floor with the handle ready for her to take hold. Cautiously, and still in disbelief, she reached out to accept it.
Something hard and cold slammed into the back of her neck before she could take a proper grip of the weapon. Her stomach flipped as she heard the click of the mechanism and release of the trigger. And then she stumbled forward as the man behind her lowered his weapon and the pressure on her neck was gone.
The man was smirking, pleased with himself for making her jump, but Connelly's face showed no trace of amusement.
"I'm trusting you," he warned pressing the handle of the glock into her palm and letting her shaking fingers tighten their hold. "If you cross me he'll be right behind you twice as fast, and there will be a bullet in your brain stem before you know what's happening."
Emily took a stabilising breath and got used to the feel of the new gun in her hand. Its reassuring weight calmed her slightly but didn't shake her doubt that she'd ever be able to pull off what she was attempting to do. Especially if getting out alive was the aim.
"Do you understand?" Connelly demanded.
She bit her lip and nodded.
"We want the same thing," she assured him once again.
/
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The apartment was a mess. Opening the door involved pushing aside a thin carpet of mail which had been posted through the letter box. It was mostly junk, with the occasional bill and a reminder letter for Emily to get her flu shot.
There were still dishes by the sink from the last time they were home and he didn't even want to look to see what lurked in the fridge.
Their bed was scattered with discarded clothes and hangers from their last minute packing.
A mug sat on the coffee table stamped with her lipstick.
In the end, Derek moved the mug out of sight, knocked an assortment of magazines, newspapers and an empty packet of chips onto the floor and then lay down on the sofa. A nearby socket allowed him to charge his cellphone within arm's reach.
Almost too exhausted to form a coherent thought he let his eyelids close. Surely she should have made contact by now? She couldn't still be wandering the roadside, formulating a plan. She would have needed to find somewhere to stay the night, or to stop for a few hours at least. All she needed to do was access a phone and tell him what was going on. She had promised not to shut him out this time.
He didn't think he'd fallen sleep until the gentle buzz stirred him awake. Groggy and a little confused as his brain caught up with his body, he answered the call.
"Hi. It's me."
Her voice drew him even further from sleep.
"Emily? Where are you?"
"I'm okay. I promise. But I can't talk."
"Emily, let me help you," he pleaded.
"I love you."
The line went dead and he was alone before he could even repeat the words back to her. It was only the call log that convinced him that it hadn't been a dream.