"He squeezed my hand! Why doesn't anyone believe me?" Emily demanded. She knew she was starting to sound like a broken record, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She'd tell anyone who would listen until God himself made her stop.

"I do believe you," Reid insisted, "But it doesn't necessarily mean he's waking up. It could be everything or nothing." He was using his victim voice on her, talking slowly, gently, like she was liable to go off the deep end at any moment and she hated it.

"But he could be?" she pressed, trying to keep her voice level and not doing a very good job of succeeding. She couldn't bring herself to care.

"I suppose, maybe," he conceded reluctantly, "But..."

She cut him off. "But nothing, Reid! He's going to wake up, I just know it."

"But how?" Reid asked. "How can you possibly know?"

"I just know. I know with every fibre of my being," she insisted, "He's not gone. He's not done."

"Emily, I know you want to believe that," he said gently, "But comas aren't something the medical community full understands yet. They don't know why one patient wakes up and the next doesn't. But he's had a very traumatic brain injury and if he hasn't woken up yet, his chances..."

"Are you on my side or not?" she interrupted yet again. The betrayal in her face was clear as day. She'd thought if anyone was going to be her ally in this, it was him. Sure, he knew the statistics, the studies, the science, but he also knew Derek, as a friend, as a fighter.

"Of course, I'm on your side," he reassured, the look of devastation on her face twisting his gut with guilt. He reached out a hand to gently squeeze hers. "I'm just saying..."

"Well, don't! Don't 'just say'!" She yanked her hand from underneath his and slammed her palms down on the table. Then, softer, "Help me..."

"I want to help you, really, I do. I just don't know that there's anything left to do. He's in a persistent vegetative state now. His chances of waking up are minimal."

"Fine. I'll do this myself." She shot him a withering look before she turned and marched off.

"Emily," he called after her, guilt somewhere in his throat now, "Emily, wait!"

She whirled around on her heel with an acerbic reply on her tongue, but it died before she had the chance to say it when Desiree came rushing up, obviously flustered.

"Desi, what's wrong?" she asked, feeling panic boiling in her stomach before she knew why.

"Mama wants to put Derek on DNR..." Desiree said in a rush. It was clear that she'd been crying.

All the air rushed from Emily's lungs and she struggled to remember how to breathe. "What?" she rasped. She felt like she might throw up.

"She says he's been in the coma too long, she's tired of watching him suffer. The next time he codes, they're going to take him off life support."

"No!" Emily shouted without realizing she was shouting. "She can't do that!"

"Maybe she's right." Reid said gently. "Maybe it's time to let him go before..."

Emily glared at him and he immediately clammed up.

"I think she's making a mistake," Desiree insisted. "We have to do something."

"What can we do?" Reid posited. "I mean, short of appealing to the Consent and Capacity Board..." He paused, seeing the look in Emily's eyes. "Emily, no. Even if you did make an appeal, they're unlikely to grant it unless you're his next of kin or you have legal consent to make end of life decisions."

She gnawed on her thumbnail in thought, even though it was already bitten down to the quick. "I think I might have a way..." she said slowly.

"That's my girl," Derek said.

"How much do you know about health law?" Emily said by way of greeting.

Hotch looked up sharply at the interruption. "Emily," he said, surprised. "I didn't realize you were in town. How are things at Interpol?" He gestured for her to take a seat.

She crossed the small office, but didn't sit down. "Could you, say, make an appeal on behalf of a patient's best interests?" she asked again, ignoring his question. She wasn't there to make small talk.

His eyes followed her as she paced back and forth like a caged lion. "Why do you ask?" he asked, though he had a feeling he already knew.

"Derek's mother wants to take him off life support, but I know that's not what Derek would want," she said with utter conviction. "I need to stop her and I need your help to appeal to the Board on his behalf."

Hotch frowned. "Emily..." he said slowly.

"Don't Emily me, Hotch," she nearly growled. "Can you help me or not?"

"I want to help you, but I don't know that I can. For one thing, it would be a conflict of interest. For another, I haven't practiced health law since law school. I could talk to some of my colleagues and see if there isn't someone better able to help you, but...I don't know that there's much they can do. The law is likely going to side with his mother on this. And perhaps, we should too."

"I respect Mrs. Morgan immensely," Emily said, "But she's wrong about this."

"He's been in the coma for a long time now," he reasoned, "Maybe it's time to end his suffering..."

"Derek has never once given up on anything and he would not want us to give up on him!" Her frustration was edging into tears and she angrily wiped them away as quickly as they started. "I've never asked you for anything before, but I need your help now! Derek needs you! He's stood by you for damn near ten years, stood up to Strauss for you, argued in front of hearing committees for you and never once asked for anything in return and now you're just going to abandon him?" Her voice was rising in spite of herself.

Hotch sighed wearily, pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'll see what I can do," he agreed reluctantly. "But, Emily, I think you should prepare yourself for the possibility that Derek is going to die. Maybe it's time to say your goodbyes."

"I'm not going to let that happen," she vowed.