CHAPTER 24: Lauren (Season 6, episode 18)

Character(s): Prentiss, others

A/N: Of course, MAJOR spoilers regarding Emily's fate here, for any potential newcomers to the show. And more POV changes – as always, if any of that is confusing, please let me know.

This episode is very inspiring story-wise, it appears! So much drama…

"To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die." - Thomas Campbell

Bright lights. Such bright, bright lights.

Do I hear sirens? Why are there sirens? Make it stop!

OW. Fuck, that hurts! I can't move! I can't move at all!

"Shhhh, shhhh, don't talk, lie still."

Whose voice is that? Where's Morgan? Hotch… Reid…

Why's the room spinning? It is a room, isn't it? Don't know…head…hurts.

Lights off now. Good.

"She's flatlining!"

"Come on, Emily, stay with us! We're almost there, okay? Wake up!"

"One, two, three!"

Just…need…sleeeeeeeep…

Why, Emily? Why didn't you tell us?

Those were the questions currently running through the mind of one David Rossi, as he tried to make himself comfortable in one of the hard chairs typically found in hospital waiting rooms.

He knew the answers, of course. She wanted to protect her teammates. Ian Doyle was her personal vendetta, there was no need to drag everyone else into a situation they'd had no part in creating in the first place. Rossi did appreciate that she showed concern for what she saw as her true family, and knew, when this whole mess with Doyle first started, Emily likely had no idea it would escalate like this.

Unfortunately, it seemed to have slipped Emily's mind that Doyle was an unsub. Even if unsubs do have a specific target in mind, many times, they won't hesitate to at least try to get rid of anyone else that might be standing in their way.

But of course she wouldn't see Doyle that way. She saw him as a potential partner in crime. As a father. As a lover.

Well, actually, it was "Lauren" who saw him that way, another part of Rossi's brain reminded him. But still, Emily still had to see him in that light, too.

She'd always had a particularly uncanny knack for making criminals believe she was willing to listen to them, after all. To believe she was, if not on their side, at least trying to understand them, or work with them. She was an incredibly smart, resourceful woman, who could, as the team was now finding out, be as ruthless as necessary in her pursuit of the truth. Surely she had to realize this whole situation might one day come back to haunt her, to put her, and other people, at risk.

But then again…maybe she did know. Rossi was suddenly reminded of something Emily had asked him once.

It was right after the anthrax case. Emily and Rossi had been at odds on that case – she had wanted to warn the general public of the potential dangers, but Rossi constantly stopped her, telling her that orders were orders and there was nothing they could do, it was for the greater good, and so on.

This prompted Emily to pose a question to him.

"Am I naive to wish that lying is never the right thing to do?"

It was a seemingly simple thing to ask. At the time, he thought she was merely ranting out of frustration with the case. Rossi did what he often liked to do in those instances, which was play devil's advocate. Like it or not, secrecy was part of their job. Would everyone feel better knowing what all they'd been protected from? Even if they did know, would there still be anything they could really do to stop the danger once it hit?

He remembered her reaction to his argument. "Yeah, well…sometimes, our job sucks. And yet next time I probably won't hesitate to lie again."

And his now eerie response: "We got a lot of things to take with us to the grave."

An unexpected chill ran through Rossi's veins then, as he glanced out the doorway of the waiting room.

Knock, knock.

Hotch's head pokes through the door. "Hello," he says tentatively, a wan smile gracing his funeral director features.

I manage a meager wave of my hand. "Hey. Come on in."

He and JJ slip quietly into the room and come to stand on either side of my hospital bed. "How are you feeling?" JJ asks, that ever-present compassion seeping through her voice as she grips the hand I'd just moved.

"I've had better days," I answer honestly, attempting a small grin in the hopes of making the others laugh. They don't. "But I'm alive, so hey, that's something."

There's a weird, heavy silence then, and I can feel my fingers twitching, making me hate my arm restraints even more. "Are the others coming in soon?" I ask after a moment.

JJ and Hotch throw each other a nervous look. It's a deeply uneasy sort of nervous look, though, and I'm startled when my insides immediately turn to ice. I suddenly have a very strong feeling I really won't like where this is headed. Whatever this is.

"Emily…" Hotch begins slowly, his tone unsettlingly grave.

Emily? That definitely can't be good.

"We need to talk."

You don't have to do this. You can stop right now.

As the persistent little voice in JJ's head grew louder, so, too, did the clicking of the heels of her shoes against the floor, as well as the incessant rumbling of her stomach. It seemed to her the noises, both internal and external, practically echoed throughout the hospital hallway. She would almost swear her teammates could hear her from their spots in the nearby waiting room.

Five more steps towards that very room.

I came back to give them hope. Not to devastate them.

Four more steps.

Tell Emily there's been a change of plans. Take Hotch aside later, tell him the same thing. We can protect her some other way, can't we?

Three.

Turn around. Damnit, turn around!

Two…

Six pairs of eyes turned towards her as she appeared in the doorway. Five of those six faces immediately crumpled as they noticed the look on her face – the tears in her eyes, the trembling of her lips.

Reid was mouthing the word "no", the increasingly desperate pleading in his eyes breaking JJ's heart into a million pieces. Morgan looked like he was going to be sick. Rossi and Seaver looked horrified, yet tried to still hold on to a shred of hope. And Garcia – oh, God, Garcia, don't start sobbing already, please.

I can tell them I need to head back for a moment, talk to the doctors. I can tell them I've yet to hear any updates. Tell them she's still out due to surgery.

"She never made it off the table."

He's escaped. Again.

I don't think I stopped shaking for a good hour or so after JJ told me that news. The doctors had to come back in and sedate me. Hotch had to tell me to stay quiet, lest anyone be tipped off.

I have to pretend to be dead, to leave my friends – my family - and Doyle's escaped. And you want me to stay quiet?!

Where the hell were Hotch and JJ going to send me that Doyle couldn't find me? Antarctica?

No, they were going to send me back to Europe. More specifically, to Paris. An area of the world I was familiar with, they reasoned, allowing me to adjust more easily. It'd be almost like a vacation - I'd stay in one of the most gorgeous cities in the world! One I'd been to many times!

…and one I wouldn't get to enjoy anymore. At least, not the way I wanted. I'd have to wear some disguise every time I went outside. Either that, or I'd become a shut-in. I'd be looking over my shoulder, wondering if each new day was the one where Doyle would find me. Where I'd look back and see him lurking, stalking me, terrorizing me.

I wouldn't be able to call any of my friends for help, either. I'd realized far, far too late this time how much I needed them, how important they truly were. Had I told them what was going on earlier, maybe Doyle would be in custody now. Or dead. Maybe they wouldn't be sitting in a room just a few feet away from me, sobbing and grieving, and I wouldn't have to run away, and wonder if I'd ever see any of them again. Any other outcome would've been better than this one. I know that now.

What a "vacation". Welcome home, indeed.

No. No, she's not gone. I refuse to believe she's gone. She wouldn't give up on us like that.

This is a dream. A very, very bad dream. That's all there is to it. And you're there, Reid. And you, Morgan. And Rossi, and Seaver, and Hotch, and...

As Penelope Garcia stared at the empty couch - the spot on the jet that everyone had agreed they would allow Emily to stretch out, relax, and rest upon when…when they planned to have her join them on the trip back home - however, she realized just how real all of this truly was.

Emily Prentiss was dead.

Garcia couldn't make sense of that sentence.

Part of that, Garcia knew, was due to the fact that it'd only been a few hours since they'd received the news. But she also knew she'd still have a hard time accepting that concept a month, a year, five years, ten years (and beyond) from now.

Every time her teammates left on a case, Garcia would send up a prayer for them to come back, and in one piece at that.

The second half of that prayer hadn't always been heard. About the only people she could think of that she hadn't gone to visit in the hospital, in the entire time she'd been there, were Gideon and Rossi. She'd visited JJ, but that was for a happy occasion, the birth of her godson.

But Hotch had been stabbed and nearly blown up. Morgan had been beat up. Reid…well, where did one begin with him? Elle had gotten shot. And Emily…

She had survived Cyrus. Garcia remembered being glued to the TV when Emily and Reid had been held captive at that polygamist compound, nearly having a heart attack when she saw the building explode. Emily had been bruised, scratched, sported one hell of a black eye. But she'd made it.

She had also survived a nasty car crash. She'd been in the car with a local officer, carting a criminal to the station. The car had flipped, and she'd, again, been slightly injured, but she made it out of that, too.

The first half of Garcia's prayer had always, always been answered. She knew she could breathe easy again every time Hotch, Morgan, Reid, and Emily stepped off the elevator. They'd been through multiple dangers, and they came back each time. Almost as though they were invincible.

Yet one stab in the side this time, and with that, Emily was suddenly, inexplicably gone.

When I got shot, the bullet ricocheted through the side of my body! It just barely missed my heart…and I survived!

Maybe…maybe if I'd just stayed home, like I often do, she'd still be here.

God. Damnit.

That was all Derek Morgan seemed to be able to say lately.

It had been twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours since the news that shattered the small world of the BAU team of Quantico, Virginia.

It was early in the morning, very early, and Morgan couldn't sleep, for obvious reasons. He'd stalked the hallways of Rossi's house (where everyone had gathered to stay for however long they needed), and now paced back and forth through his living room.

He wanted to scream and curse. At Doyle, for taking Emily away. At Emily, for all the secrets and lies that she couldn't work up the nerve to confess to him, for having an affair with a known terrorist. But doing that would wake up everyone else, or if they weren't asleep, it would upset them further.

He wanted to punch something, throw something. Imagine it was Doyle's face he was bashing in. But he chose instead to keep his fists clenched together. He didn't really have the money to pay for the damages.

He wanted to cry. For feeling angry towards Emily in the first place, for not running to her aid the moment he first suspected something was wrong with her. For losing her. He hadn't cried since the news – he'd come very close, but for some reason, he just couldn't quite make himself let the tears flow.

He'd already gotten sick, so that was taken care of. Not that he still didn't feel queasy inside.

"Morgan?"

Morgan turned then at the sound of the timid voice. "Garcia," he'd breathed. "What are you doing up?"

"Probably the same thing you're doing," she'd answered, her voice still raw and shaky. He saw the smudged mascara on her face, and his heart broke for her. "Can I come sit with you for a while?"

Morgan could only nod at her request, settling himself on the couch, arm stretched out in invitation. Garcia scurried over, immediately planting herself right up against his side, feeling his arm drop onto her shoulder, tightening into a comfortable grip. The two of them didn't say anything for a good hour or so. All they heard was the tick-tock, tick-tock of Rossi's grandfather clock, along with the occasional sniffle from Garcia.

"I can't get it out of my head."

Garcia blinked, turning to look up at Morgan. "What?"

"Emily. The loft. I saw her all bloody and bruised. I felt her hand going cold."

Garcia put a hand to the side of his face, a tear trickling down her cheek all the while.

"I know I should take comfort in the fact that I was there with her while she was…" Morgan took a deep breath. "But I can't. Because ultimately, she wasn't with any of us when she actually…you know. She was with doctors. Strangers." The thought made his eyes burn with tears.

There was nothing they could do. It was too late. If I'd just gotten there a few seconds earlier, it might not have been. Morgan's chest started to heave.

"I couldn't save her, Garcia." His voice took on an increasingly frantic tone now. "I tried! I tried so hard! I told her to hang on, but I couldn't...I -"

Morgan felt his body start to shake, felt Garcia's arms tighten around him, pull him close. He buried his face into Garcia's shoulder, and finally began to cry.

The intense, bright sunlight bore down on Spencer Reid, who currently had the mother of all headaches. Normally this meant he'd immediately throw on his sunglasses, not taking them off the rest of the day.

But today, he would not do that. He was attending Emily's funeral, after all. It wouldn't be respectful.

He, along with Morgan, had been picked to be at the front of the pallbearer line. Reid wasn't sure how he felt about that. On the one hand, if he shed a tear, nobody, save for Morgan, who'd be on the other side of the…coffin, would see him. And he knew Morgan wouldn't say anything, probably because he'd be shedding his own tears.

On the other hand, if he started tearing up, that meant he was in danger of breaking down and crying. Again. He and Morgan were being asked to lead everyone in carrying Emily to her burial spot, for god's sake. How on earth did anyone expect a person to stay composed while doing that? He couldn't do his job if that happened!

Somehow, though, miraculously, Reid managed to control himself. He'd spent the walk going over the history of pallbearers in his mind.

In western culture, pallbearers were often male family members, close friends, or colleagues of the deceased.

That's definitely the case here, thankfully, Reid noted.

In some Asian cultures, pallbearers were outsiders, given a tip to perform the services.

As painful as having to do this was, Reid knew he couldn't stand the thought of some stranger taking Emily to her resting place. Emily certainly wouldn't like the idea, either.

In the United Kingdom, the casket is carried on the shoulders.

No way you'd be able to lift me, handsome, Reid could picture Emily saying in her gentle, teasing tone.

That did it. The composure Reid had managed to hold on to for most of the service was cracking.

He'd never be able to play poker or chess with her again. He'd always acted stunned when she'd beat him in a game, but he'd loved playing with her. She challenged him.

She was the only one he'd talked to about his headaches. He knew she wouldn't baby him - she never had. He'd always been able to turn to her with his problems. Her or JJ. Now he'd lost both of them in very different ways.

Their birthdays were only a few days apart. It'd been her idea for just the two of them to always get together and have their own little birthday/fall/early Halloween celebration. One glance at her birthdate on her headstone was enough for Reid. He quickly looked away, the tears freely falling now as he set the coffin down.

"Goodbye, Emily," he choked out in a barely audible voice, patting the side of the box, before he turned and joined the others.

Ashley Seaver watched the other blonde woman lay her flower on the coffin. My god, we could practically be sisters.

She sensed JJ noticed the similarity, too. Why else would she be looking away any chance she got? Why else did she seem spooked when she did have to interact with her?

I've replaced her. As if this whole situation wasn't awkward enough.

She hated thinking like that. Of all the things to be upset about right then, feeling awkward should've been at the very end of her list. Still, she couldn't help but feel that way regardless, not just about JJ, but about the passing of Emily, too.

Not because she had difficulty mourning Emily. She didn't. Sure, she may not have known her as long as the others did, but she'd liked getting to know her. Emily was the first person she felt she could truly talk to about her past. Rossi and Hotch knew about it, too, of course, but they knew about it in a "case study" sort of way. Reid, sweet as he was, had unnerved her a bit with his ability to rattle off facts about a case he wasn't even involved in, and Morgan had seemed unsure of what to say at all. And Garcia – Ashley had often felt like she was being sized up by the woman. Like she was on some sort of trial period with her.

But Emily…she befriended Ashley right away. She knew what it was like to be "the new girl", Emily had told her, and had managed to ease some of Ashley's concerns about the rest of the team. They were nice, welcoming people. They just needed time to adjust to change.

In turn, Ashley had felt comfortable opening up to Emily. She'd talked about her childhood, her father, the crimes he'd committed, the conflicted feelings she had for her dad. Emily had been ever patient, listened, sympathized. She'd let Ashley know that all the issues she dealt with were perfectly normal. That she wasn't defined by her past. That she could go on, had gone on to prove herself to be a brilliant, talented, tough young woman, worthy of joining the team.

Ashley wanted to laugh at that last statement. If Emily was watching from wherever, she had to know just how much Ashley had let her, and the team, down this time. That's why she felt so awkward standing here with everyone else today, paying her respects. She didn't deserve to be here.

She'd watched one of their last hopes for finding Emily, a weasel of a man named Fahey, get shot in front of her. That was the second time she'd seen someone get shot and die in front of her, the second time she'd been splattered with someone's blood. It was an image she still had difficulty getting used to.

I can't do this. I thought I could, but I can't. I'm not a profiler. This is too dangerous, and I'm scared. That's what she'd tried to tell Rossi when he came to her for help. But he was persistent. She could do this. She was unbiased, after all, the lone upside of having only been with the team a few months. Ironically, her experience with destruction of families could prove useful as well.

She'd tried to bring whatever she could to the case. But it had all been for naught in the end.

I couldn't stop my own father from killing people, after all. What made anyone think I'd be able to help stop Doyle from killing Emily?

Getting the final zipper dealt with, I toss the suitcase onto the floor and flop down on my bed, just taking a moment for myself.

I've only got three suitcases ready to take with me – most of what I need or want I'll be buying in my new place. But Hotch and JJ did take some time to pack a few special items for me. Two of the suitcases have some of my outfits (JJ had spent hours while I was still in the hospital trying to pick out which outfits she thought would be best for me to take along) as well as a few of my favorite books.

I'd specifically requested Morgan's favorite Kurt Vonnegut book, and that went in the third suitcase, along with other mementos everyone had given me over the years. A couple necklaces, one from my mom, and one from Ashley – a thank you gift after one of our long talks. One of Garcia's little Troll dolls. A copy of the movie 'Solaris' (if I ever came back, I vowed to take Reid up on his offer to watch that film together). A bottle of wine from Rossi (JJ figured I'd probably need that, given everything going on). There was nothing from JJ or Hotch in there. They said they'd each send something along soon.

All the rest of my stuff would stay in my apartment. Either that, or my mother and my friends would stop by and pick out their own things they wanted to keep with them. I'm weirdly impressed with the detail involved in trying to convince the others I'm actually dead.

And someone was going to take Sergio. I had a sneaking suspicion as to who that someone would be, and I felt a small measure of comfort knowing he'd be in good hands. I freaked myself out a bit, feeling like one of those crazy old cat ladies, as I'd broke down crying while saying goodbye to Sergio that morning.

If that's how I reacted to leaving my cat behind, perhaps it's a good thing I didn't get a chance to say goodbye to my friends.

Hotch collapsed onto his couch immediately after checking on his son.

First week back at work was officially done. He'd been granted the weekend off. Hotch wanted so badly to spend the majority of it sleeping, taking a break from the mess of thoughts running through his head. Instead, he planned to use it checking up on his team. It had been their first week back, too, and he wanted to see how they were.

Well, and to make sure they didn't suspect anything.

Hotch sighed, running a hand through his hair. How the hell did he think he'd be able to pull this off? Seeing his team grieving was enough to break him right then and there - if their behavior the past week was any indication, Hotch was scared for them.

Garcia's "spark" had completely disappeared. She burst into tears at the most random of moments, having had to excuse herself many times, and her tears had been infectious. Morgan was tense. Anxious. He'd snapped at everybody at least once this week. For the first time ever, Hotch was actually terrified of Morgan.

Reid retreated into a state of total isolation. He came in, but spoke only in relation to anything work-related, and in brief sentences at that. At the end of the work day, he went straight home. Hotch didn't even want to think about what he might be doing once he got home – that fear was the biggest reason he came up with the "team checkup" idea in the first place.

Seaver kept to herself as well. Anytime anyone would try and talk to her, she'd just find some excuse to walk away. Rossi tried to stay strong for everyone's sake, as he always did. But there was a moment each day when he retreated into his office and remained there for a very long time. He kept looking as though he was desperate to talk to somebody, anybody about this…only to get silence in return.

And JJ. She was back at the State Department now, but Hotch had kept in touch with her each day. She told him Reid stopped by her place one night to talk. That was slightly reassuring news. But then she'd started going on about how hard it was to lie to his face, how she wanted so badly to tell him the truth. She was caving, and Hotch was panicking.

It had only been a couple weeks, and already everything was falling apart. And the scariest part for Hotch was that he had no clue how he'd handle the inevitable fallout.

Some leader he was.

People are passing by the small cafe. Couples are snuggling close, everyone's chatting and laughing away. Just another ordinary evening.

For everyone except me.

I finally see JJ make her way through the crowd, coming to join me at the table. This has to be quick. No time for small talk, goodbyes.

"Passports from three different countries, and a bank account in each one to keep you company," she explains. It all looks to be in order. She's thought of everything. Like she always does.

"Thank you." It's all I can manage to say right now. I'm too nervous, too upset, too angry to dare say anything else.

"Good luck." JJ gives me a warm smile. I think it's the first time she's smiled in quite a while, and my heart breaks for her.

And with that, I pick up the materials and walk away, ignoring the voice in my head that's begging me to turn back, tell her I changed my mind. I can't do this. I don't want to do this.

Lauren Reynolds is dead.

Emily Prentiss is dead.

"Deception is a cruel act... It often has many players on different stages that corrode the soul." - Donna A. Favors

Pallbearer information taken from Wikipedia. As usual, reviews/critiques/etc. continue to be welcome!