Here's the next chapter. Many thanks to those who reviewed the previous chapters. I find that reviews always seem to bring a smile to my face and brighten my day. =)

"Home is where somebody notices when you are no longer there." –Aleksander Hemon, The Lazarus Project

I can't believe it. I don't want to believe it. She up and disappeared on us. Did she think we'd let her go without a fight? Not after everything we've been through together. Beatings, shootings, stabbings, drug addictions. Any number of overly nefarious acts by unsubs. Not after all of that. She has to come home. Has to.

My phone rings, and a very quick conversation later, devoid of my usual witty banter, I'm typing away on my keyboard, bringing up her information file on my computer. There's a few numbers listed. Hotch wants me to try them all, so I tackle them one by one, starting with the most recent listing. Each call breaks my heart a little bit more, and each lack of answer wears my hope a little thinner.

Soon there's only one number left and hopelessness is overtaking me. My mind's wheels are spinning frantically, imagining how scared she must be. How alone she must feel. I think of our conversation in the bathroom. I realize now she was saying goodbye. And I hate her for it. I hate that she knew and didn't ask for help. I get why, but... we're a family. Her dirt is our dirt. It's inconceivable for me to imagine life without her. Life without Emily Prentiss, my Emily the Strange, my salsa-dancing, ass-kicking, completely gorgeous brunette, would suck.

I hate change. I've never dealt with it well. And desperately try to avoid it all costs. But this is a big thing. And it's already happening. There's no way to avoid it. She's already trying to do the noble and brave thing, and leaving us behind in the process. The waves of change that will follow from this if it doesn't end well are terrifying. I hate change.

I feel the tears prick my eyes, and I grab a tissue to wipe them away. Bouts of anger wave through me periodically and I squeeze a stuffed, fuzzy unicorn situated on my desk to vent the emotion. It's frustrating how good she is. She knows everything we do, we know next to nothing of what she does. I have faith in the team, I really do, I just hope we get to her in time. I'll never forgive myself if we don't. I should have known something was up. She'd been tense for days. Weeks, even. How did none of us notice?

I remember our last girls' night, or rather remember some of it. I know for sure there was way too much alcohol, and definitely not enough dancing involved. I remember we gabbed about anything and everything for hours. How adorable Henry is, the complex relationship that is Kevin and I and whether or not we'd ever make some babies, Emily's favourite places that she'd travelled to. We'd even begun planning a European adventure for ourselves, Emily promising to act as a translator and guide. That was weeks ago. Had she already known about Doyle then? Was she sleeping with one eye open by that point? Was she sleeping at all? Was she planning her exit?

I take a deep breath to calm my speeding thoughts. One last number and then back into delving into every nook and cranny I can find about our E. I hit the key, and the phone dials the old number. I wait for the familiar voicemail tone, and try to stay calm. The tone sounds, and I realize this may be the last conversation I ever have with her. One-sided or not, whether she actually gets the message or not, this might be the last time I talk to her. Fresh tears crop up and I shut my eyes to stem the flow. I take another breath and begin leaving the message.

"Hey, it's me. Hotch asked me try all of your numbers, and I have this as an old listing and you probably don't even use it anymore but if it is you and you're out there..." I rush through the first part, rambling a little bit, and trail off at the end slightly unsure of what exactly I want to say.

I take a small breath, "Come home. Please."

I hear the desperation in my own voice as I plead with her to come home. Emotion tinges my speech, and I pause for a moment, feeling a wave of anger and frustration with her overtake me, "God Emily, what did you think? That we would just let you walk out of our lives? I am so furious at you right now."

I stop to take a breath and reign in my anger, remembering that she's all alone, and is probably terrified, hiding in some god awful hole in a wall just so she can take out a man who doesn't deserve to be breathing the same air as her. All to save us.

"But then I think about how scared you must be, hiding in some dark place all alone."

A thought crosses my mind as I finish the sentence. She isn't alone, but she doesn't know that. She needs to know that. She needs to know that we can save her. That we can help her. That we want to help her.

"But you're not alone, okay? You are not alone. We are in that dark place with you. We are waving flashlights and calling your name, so if you can see us, come home. But if you can't, then..."

I trail off because despair settles deep inside of me. She needs to come home. We need her to. I need her to. Moments pass by in silence as I wrestle with the pit forming in my stomach and the ache settling into my chest. One more plea for her to stay alive. To come home to us. I picture her listening to this message, and searching it to find strength. Listening to it and finding the resolve to stay alive.

"Then you stay alive," I tell her, my voice breaking once more. But she needs a reason, something to fight for, because knowing her she may have already accepted her death.

"Because we're coming."

And I can't say anymore so I end the call. I pray that we can find her, and save her from this monstrosity of a man, and bring her home safely. Because no matter what she thinks has to be done, her death is not a fair trade for our safety. Not by any means. And so I wipe away the tears, straighten my glasses, and begin doing what I do best: searching every nook and cranny there is, and worrying about my babies.

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