Elysium, 8/21
Title: Elysium
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Characters/Pairing: Morgan/Prentiss
Genre: Romance/Angst
Summary: They thought that it was only going to be one night. They were wrong. An unexpected pregnancy leads Emily and Derek to reevaluate their lives.
Chapter Seven
It was 10am on a Monday morning, almost three weeks later when she found the form on her desk. She wasn’t late by any means of the word - new cases were briefed at ten - but she usually liked to get in early, if only to start attacking the inbox full of files that always managed to magically refill itself overnight.
This file, though, was different from all the others.
It wasn’t a consultation, or a report, or any other one of the sheets of paper that she found herself filling out on a daily basis. It was the sheet of paper she’d once upon a time found herself filling out over and over again, to no avail, because really, the only feeling the Prentiss name invoked was one of mistrust.
A transfer request.
It was fully filled out in black ink, and handwriting that wasn’t her own. The name and signature in the bottom left hand corner, though, shed some light onto who was responsible.
Erin Strauss, Section Chief.
There were two other spaces - one for her own signature, and one for Hotch’s, because the FBI was nothing if not strict about chain of command.
She saw the transfer form for what it was. A kick out the door.
Because she’d been right - the name Derek Morgan carried a lot of weight with the people upstairs. There was no doubt they’d been pleased with his tenure as Unit Chief, and there was no way in hell they wanted to lose him, but one of them had to go.
She, of course, was expendable.
She’d just thought it would have gone down differently than this.
Ignoring the questioning glance from Reid, who was sitting at his own desk reading a file, she walked right past him, the transfer request caught in a white knuckled grip.
She was angry.
No - that was a major understatement. She was pissed as all hell. And that has absolutely fuck all to do with hormones.
Erin Strauss had gone behind her back and almost fucked up her career once, and Emily would be damned if she was going to let it happen again. She’d resign in a public outburst before she played that game. At the same time, she wasn’t about to let Morgan risk his career for her sake.
Right now, the best course of action was to talk to Hotch.
In all honesty, she would rather have talked to Rossi - it felt less like an interrogation, and more like an actual conversation, because try as he might, Aaron Hotchner couldn’t shut down the agent inside of him. Rossi could put pressure on Strauss - he had enough blackmail material no doubt - but that wasn’t what needed to be done.
It needed to be done by the book. Chain of command and whatnot. In any case, she was pretty sure she was going to have to get used to uncomfortable experiences, because after Hotch, the next step was the Wicked Witch herself.
Steeling herself, she stopped at Hotch’s door, knocking even though it was wide open.
‘Prentiss?’ There was no hint in his voice that betrayed what he could be thinking. No indication that he could have any idea what this is about. But then, he was a lot better at compartmentalizing than Emily was. In the years that she’d worked at the BAU, she’d seen him smile maybe twice a year on average. Even less, after Haley’s death.
Still. Her field of focus wasn’t exactly indiscriminate when she was angry.
With as much composure as she could muster, she set the form on his desk. ‘Did you know about this?’ The same composure didn’t extend to her words though, and even before she’d finished speaking, she was trying to reel herself in.
He picked it up, eyes scanning down the page, over the words fresh from Erin Strauss’ laser printer and rollerball pen. His expression didn’t change.
‘Close the door,’ is all he said, and she did so, afterwards following the unspoken request to sit down.
‘You spoke with Strauss?’ Emily prompted him.
‘I did,’ he nodded, adding, in that same level tone, ‘As I told you and Morgan last month, she informed me that she would need to assess the situation.’ It was in a softer, almost sad voice that he said, ‘She didn’t tell me about this.’
‘What can we do about this?’ she asked him, the words out of her mouth before she even really thought about what she was saying, as though this was a case - a serial killer, or an arsonist - rather than her personal life. ‘What can…what can I do about this?’ she amended.
Hotch hesitated, and that, more than anything else, terrified her.
Because she didn’t really need him to tell her that horrible, awful, undeniable truth. There was nothing she could do.
‘I can arrange a meeting with the Section Chief,’ he suggested, ‘But quite frankly, I don’t think it will make a difference. You should consider the offer.’
It wasn’t really his fault, but there was that indiscriminate anger thing all over again.
‘Just like that? Consider her offer - leave the team? Come on, Hotch.’ Too late she realized just how much it sounded like she was blaming him, when really, it was her own fault. ‘I’m sorry…’ Before he could speak, she continued, saying all the things she really should have said six weeks ago. ‘I’m sorry I - we - put you in this position. Whatever happens, the team is going to be brought down by this.’
He nodded, an acceptance of her apology, rather than an acknowledgment of the blame. ‘Did you want me to set up a meeting with Strauss?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she told him. ‘But…just me. Don’t involve Morgan in this. He’ll want…I can’t risk him finding out yet, Hotch. You know what he’ll do. This is between me and Agent Strauss.’
He didn’t argue as she got up to leave, only passing back the transfer request form. ‘Emily…for what it’s worth, considering the circumstances, this is a good offer. Don’t be so quick to turn it down.’
She gave him a grim smile and walked out.
…
The meeting was set up for the following morning, early enough that Emily could go downstairs to the bullpen without incurring too much suspicion; Strauss had apparently anticipated her reaction and cleared her schedule accordingly. It was not a particularly optimistic development. The Section Chief’s secretary gives her a look as she sat outside the office, tapping her foot against the floor. There was bad blood between Emily and Strauss - history that was only going to make this harder.
The secretary gave Emily a nod, and she stood, unconsciously straightening her shirt - as if that was going to do a lick of good. There was a baby bump there, but so slight that you could only tell if you were looking for it. She was fairly sure that news of her pregnancy had probably spread all the way to the FBI mail room, so much so that people she didn’t even know were giving her looks in the hallway. Maybe that was just paranoia.
Strauss did know, though, and the dirty looks from her were real. Dirty wasn’t the right word. Disdainful, maybe. Maybe that was Emily’s own contempt coloring her judgment there. She slid into the seat across from Strauss’ desk, holding the older woman’s gaze. There was a certain level of respect that had to be maintained - Emily wasn’t about to put on her rebellious face that had been honed during her teenage years, but neither would she lay down and take whatever punishment Erin Strauss had to give.
‘I would like to discuss this with you,’ Emily started, sliding the unsigned transfer form across the table.
‘The way I see it, there isn’t much to be discussed,’ Strauss said evenly. ‘I’m giving you the opportunity to take the easy way out.’ The easy way out. It sounded so…She wasn’t sure what it sounded, but she knew that she wasn’t going to let go of the BAU so easily.
‘After everything, you’re just going to get rid of me?’ Emily asked, sounded a lot more scornful than she had intended.
‘Agent Prentiss, need I remind you that you are the one that broke the rules. You’re lucky that I didn’t decide to fire you.’ Emily felt like laughing. Strauss wasn’t even going to acknowledge Morgan’s participation in the pregnancy, probably because it meant that she would have to do something about it. Never let it be said that politics was in any way fair. That said, she wasn’t about to drag him down with her.
‘I understand that.’ Emily kept her voice level, though the temptation to call Strauss on all of her bullshit was strong. ‘I just feel that leaving a transfer form on my desk was not the best way to go about things. I would like to discuss my alternatives.’
The look in Strauss’ eyes told her that there really weren’t any alternatives. That she was pretty damn lucky to be given the transfer instead of a kick out the door.
‘I considered you for the position of Acting Unit Chief while Agent Hotchner stepped down,’ Strauss revealed, and it was almost a non-sequitur, but Emily knew that Erin Strauss rarely did or said anything without a reason. ‘Ultimately, I decided that you lacked the loyalty and the experience in the Unit for the position.’
Emily’s temper flared, and she was teetering on the precipice of telling Strauss to fuck the job and walking out right then and there. She managed to hold on, though, nails digging into her palm. ‘I give my loyalty to those who earn it,’ she said coolly. ‘Not to those that hire me to spy on my colleagues.’ The words didn’t help her position, but Emily had come to the realization that nothing was going to be helping her position.
Strauss ignored the barb, letting her expression settle into a frown. ‘While I don’t believe your skills are suited to a leadership position in the Behavioral Analysis Unit, they are suited to such a position in another department. Quite frankly, your skills in linguistics and international relations are being wasted. This move would be best for everyone.’
Emily wasn’t an idiot. Strauss wasn’t just turning everything around and deciding to be friendly for no reason. She was trying to make it seem as though transferring to another unit was a good thing, and Emily wasn’t entirely sure that she was wrong. Her heart set on the BAU, she had resisted the pull of the State Department, and the CIA, and all those other places that she was told “would be good for her.” Apparently, though, the FBI had just as much bullshit politics as all the other possibilities.
‘Is that all?’ Strauss asked, making it abundantly clear that the meeting was over.
With a suppressed sigh, Emily took the transfer form. ‘That’s all.’
Instead of going down to her desk, Emily went straight for the ladies bathroom on the BAU floor. She had, for the most part, held her emotions in check while with Strauss, but there was just something about having everything she’d worked towards ripped from beneath her that made tears the only reasonable reaction. The sadness quickly shifted to anger, her fists clenching, the tears still flowing unfettered. She wanted to hit something - anything - but it wasn’t the time, or the place. The good news was, punching bags were still a viable alternative during the first trimester. Technically speaking, she was on the cusp of the second, now; it was almost scary how fast things seemed to be moving.
Splashing water across her face, Emily stared into the mirror. Her eyes were red - no amount of water would fix that, and her makeup bag was in her bag, under her desk. It was, at the very least, fortunate that she hadn’t worn mascara today. Still, she kept her eyes cast downward as she entered to the bullpen, hoping against hope that Morgan wasn’t there.
No such luck.
Emily slipped the transfer form into her bag, nonchalantly, hyperaware of the familiar footsteps coming up behind her.
‘Everything alright?’ he asked, his voice warm, and damn him, he had no right to be so appealing. She wanted to hate him for being the one that did this to her, even if it really wasn’t his fault.
‘Fine,’ she muttered. ‘I just…’ She couldn’t think of the right words to finish that sentence.
‘Baby’s okay?’ His brow furrowed, and then she remembered that he’d been forced to stay behind for a consult during her last doctor’s appointment. She’d been acting distant to him since at least then.
In spite of the situation, she broke into a smile. ‘Baby’s fine.’
‘You’re fine?’ he asked again, his voice colored with the same concern.
‘Yeah.’ She bent back down underneath her desk, pulling out her gym bag. There were workout clothes in there, thanks to her desire to not let excess ice-cream consumption and baby weight take over her life. ‘I’m gonna go hit the gym. Could you tell Hotch where I am?’
Morgan raised an eyebrow. It was 9am, it wasn’t exactly unheard of for BAU agents to work out before cases were briefed. Both she and Morgan had done it numerous times, back when things had actually been normal between them. ‘Sure. Are you sure everything’s okay?’
‘Yeah,’ she insisted. ‘I’m fine. Everything’s fine.’ It stung to lie to him, but she didn’t want him to find out just yet. Chances were, he’d do everything in his power to stop the transfer from going through, and the last thing she needed was Strauss and Morgan having some kind of showdown. Things were complicated enough already.
So she grabbed her gym bag and her water bottle and took the elevator down to the appropriate floor. There were some perks about working in the FBI Academy building; they had great training facilities. She was briefly nostalgic of the days where she’d go down to the gym with Morgan, and sometimes JJ or Reid, but not often, and they would spar until they were laughing and sweating like crazy. She missed that comfortable, easy friendship that they’d had. Maybe, someday, somehow, they’d be able to salvage it.
Her workout clothes were starting to get a little tight, but not uncomfortably so. Emily tried not to stare at her stomach as she pulled her hair into a ponytail and found the fingerless gloves that she used to work out. Her “bat gloves,” Morgan called them. Exactly what they had to do with Batman, she wasn’t quite sure.
At this time on a Tuesday morning, the gym wasn’t particularly full, and most importantly, there was a punching bag free. While imagining Erin Strauss face in the center of it wasn’t particularly good for her working relationship with the woman, it did wonders for her mood, and by the time she had thrown her last punch, Emily was feeling much better than she had upon leaving the bullpen half an hour prior.
She showered before returning upstairs, letting the water wash the sweat from her body. It probably wouldn’t be anywhere near enough to fool them, but she’d been dealing with one notable stressful thing already, and hopefully they wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.
This is what you do, Emily, she told herself. You close yourself off. You compartmentalize.
She would tell them in her own time.
If only it was that easy.
…
Morgan twirled his pen between his fingers. There was a pile of consults and other various bits of paperwork sitting in his in-tray, but he had been staring at the same one for over an hour. It wasn’t that he couldn’t profile it; the thing was pretty simple. Two bodies, two different killers, no cause for the BAU to be questioned, but they were encouraged to give a little insight anyway.
He straightened in his chair as Emily returned from the gym. Her hair was wet, and she looked as though she’d just run a marathon. She looked towards him with a tired, forced smile.
There was definitely something going on.
He hadn’t missed any more prenatal appointments, as far as he was aware. He’d missed that one appointment before, due to a work conflict, but Emily hadn’t been particularly upset about it. There was different about have a child with a colleague - they knew the job. They understood the job. But that hadn’t made him feel any better about the situation.
Maybe she wasn’t feeling well today, or maybe her mother was being particularly painful, or maybe there were half a dozen other explanations that he couldn’t think of because he didn’t know a damn thing about what went on in her personal life.
He got to his feet, noticing Emily’s eyes widen as she stepped towards her desk. Okay, so there was something going on that she didn’t want to tell him about. Still, he couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she looked, even with the wet hair, and the overtones of exhaustion, and the fear in her eyes.
‘You sure everything’s okay, Emily?’ he asked. ‘Because you sure as hell don’t look okay.’
She bit her lip. ‘The nausea just feels a little worse today. I went down to the gym to take my mind off things.’
Morgan raised an eyebrow. ‘If it’s just that, why couldn’t you tell me before?’
She gave him a look. ‘Seriously? Morgan, you are a ridiculous coddler. I tell you I’m not feeling well, and you’ll wrap me up in a blanket and call an ambulance.’
He paused. She had a point, but was that really all that was going on. He had to believe that if something was seriously wrong, she would have told him. He had to believe that she trusted him.
‘You want me to come around tonight?’ he asked, with some hesitation. His heart dropped slightly when she shook her head.
‘Honestly, I wouldn’t be very good company. I’m just gonna go home and sleep the moment it hits 5.’
Morgan nodded, mentally kicking himself for pushing too hard. Emily was completely unlike the girls he picked up at bars or clubs; she wouldn’t respond particularly enthusiastically to his persistence. He had to go slowly, otherwise she would shut him out completely.
‘Well…if you need me, you know where I am.’ She gave him a pained smile.
‘Thanks. For everything.’ She stood and gave him a quick kiss to the cheek. ‘You’re a good guy, Derek.’ The words sounded like they should be followed by “but I think we should just be friends.” He’d never been on the receiving end of that speech before, but Emily didn’t say anything more.
They relocated to the briefing room at 10am; thankfully, no new cases today. At least not yet. He didn’t think he had the cognitive capacity to work on something urgent right now, and he was pretty sure that Emily didn’t either. She was distant as JJ passed out the pile of consults, and Morgan wondered if there was something beyond what she was telling him.
He wanted to believe that since the dynamic of their relationship had shifted, Emily would be more willing to confide in him - even in matters that weren’t related to the pregnancy. Now, he wasn’t so sure. After all, what made him a more appropriate confidante than Rossi, or Garcia, or JJ, aside from the fact that he’d gotten her pregnant.
You’ve been getting closer, Morgan reminded himself. Not close enough, for your liking, his mind added.
Part of him wanted to believe that they shared something beyond a child. Maybe he was deluding himself.
Or maybe, you’re not, and the fact that you’re so close is the reason why she’s avoiding you.
He kept a close eye on her for the rest of the day, but didn’t see anything that indicated something beyond the normal issues; she looked tired, and maybe a little nauseous, but that was it. Morgan was in no way surprised when she packed up her gear the moment the clock hit five, just like she said she would.
It wasn’t until she’d left the bullpen that Reid swivelled in his chair and asked, ‘What’s going on?’
Morgan shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’
…
Emily vomited, not five minutes after she opened her front door. By now, she was used to the morning sickness, but she was still eternally grateful that it would be over soon - twelve weeks, when it usually ceased for most women, Reid told her, when she’d emerged from the bathroom last week. Listening to his snippets on the subject beat reading through pregnancy books.
She doubted, though, that he could tell her anything about what to do now. The best he could do was offer up odds, or statistics, but in the end, it was a matter of the heart. The BAU was her life, and she wasn’t entirely sure that it wouldn’t kill her to leave it behind.
But then, part of her knew that maybe she had to: the alternative was so, so much worse.
Usually when Emily was in this kind of mood - after a bad case, or a horrific date - she’d settled down with a glass of wine, and watch some guilty pleasure TV. Tonight, though, wine was out of the question, and TV didn’t really seem appropriate.
Instead, Emily trudged upstairs, tossing her bag onto the bed. It was still too early for sleep, and she knew that there was too much on her mind to even consider just resting. Her eyes fell on the framed photo that sat on her nightstand. It had been taken on one of those rare nights out where the entire team had actually managed to make it. Hotch and Rossi were both tipping back scotches, oblivious to the camera’s presence, and JJ gave a dull-eyed stare, no doubt due to the fact that Reid seemed to be caught mid-diatribe. Morgan was grinning, an arm wrapped around Garcia on one side, and Emily on the other.
This is what you’ll be losing, if you sign that form. And it’s what you’ll be losing if you don’t. That’s politics - sometimes the only way out is a lose-lose.
She pulled that single sheet of white paper from her bag, and stared at it, vaguely aware of the tear forming in her eye.
‘Goddamnit,’ she muttered.
Her hand shook as she reached for a pen.
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Characters/Pairing: Morgan/Prentiss
Genre: Romance/Angst
Summary: They thought that it was only going to be one night. They were wrong. An unexpected pregnancy leads Emily and Derek to reevaluate their lives.
Chapter Seven
It was 10am on a Monday morning, almost three weeks later when she found the form on her desk. She wasn’t late by any means of the word - new cases were briefed at ten - but she usually liked to get in early, if only to start attacking the inbox full of files that always managed to magically refill itself overnight.
This file, though, was different from all the others.
It wasn’t a consultation, or a report, or any other one of the sheets of paper that she found herself filling out on a daily basis. It was the sheet of paper she’d once upon a time found herself filling out over and over again, to no avail, because really, the only feeling the Prentiss name invoked was one of mistrust.
A transfer request.
It was fully filled out in black ink, and handwriting that wasn’t her own. The name and signature in the bottom left hand corner, though, shed some light onto who was responsible.
Erin Strauss, Section Chief.
There were two other spaces - one for her own signature, and one for Hotch’s, because the FBI was nothing if not strict about chain of command.
She saw the transfer form for what it was. A kick out the door.
Because she’d been right - the name Derek Morgan carried a lot of weight with the people upstairs. There was no doubt they’d been pleased with his tenure as Unit Chief, and there was no way in hell they wanted to lose him, but one of them had to go.
She, of course, was expendable.
She’d just thought it would have gone down differently than this.
Ignoring the questioning glance from Reid, who was sitting at his own desk reading a file, she walked right past him, the transfer request caught in a white knuckled grip.
She was angry.
No - that was a major understatement. She was pissed as all hell. And that has absolutely fuck all to do with hormones.
Erin Strauss had gone behind her back and almost fucked up her career once, and Emily would be damned if she was going to let it happen again. She’d resign in a public outburst before she played that game. At the same time, she wasn’t about to let Morgan risk his career for her sake.
Right now, the best course of action was to talk to Hotch.
In all honesty, she would rather have talked to Rossi - it felt less like an interrogation, and more like an actual conversation, because try as he might, Aaron Hotchner couldn’t shut down the agent inside of him. Rossi could put pressure on Strauss - he had enough blackmail material no doubt - but that wasn’t what needed to be done.
It needed to be done by the book. Chain of command and whatnot. In any case, she was pretty sure she was going to have to get used to uncomfortable experiences, because after Hotch, the next step was the Wicked Witch herself.
Steeling herself, she stopped at Hotch’s door, knocking even though it was wide open.
‘Prentiss?’ There was no hint in his voice that betrayed what he could be thinking. No indication that he could have any idea what this is about. But then, he was a lot better at compartmentalizing than Emily was. In the years that she’d worked at the BAU, she’d seen him smile maybe twice a year on average. Even less, after Haley’s death.
Still. Her field of focus wasn’t exactly indiscriminate when she was angry.
With as much composure as she could muster, she set the form on his desk. ‘Did you know about this?’ The same composure didn’t extend to her words though, and even before she’d finished speaking, she was trying to reel herself in.
He picked it up, eyes scanning down the page, over the words fresh from Erin Strauss’ laser printer and rollerball pen. His expression didn’t change.
‘Close the door,’ is all he said, and she did so, afterwards following the unspoken request to sit down.
‘You spoke with Strauss?’ Emily prompted him.
‘I did,’ he nodded, adding, in that same level tone, ‘As I told you and Morgan last month, she informed me that she would need to assess the situation.’ It was in a softer, almost sad voice that he said, ‘She didn’t tell me about this.’
‘What can we do about this?’ she asked him, the words out of her mouth before she even really thought about what she was saying, as though this was a case - a serial killer, or an arsonist - rather than her personal life. ‘What can…what can I do about this?’ she amended.
Hotch hesitated, and that, more than anything else, terrified her.
Because she didn’t really need him to tell her that horrible, awful, undeniable truth. There was nothing she could do.
‘I can arrange a meeting with the Section Chief,’ he suggested, ‘But quite frankly, I don’t think it will make a difference. You should consider the offer.’
It wasn’t really his fault, but there was that indiscriminate anger thing all over again.
‘Just like that? Consider her offer - leave the team? Come on, Hotch.’ Too late she realized just how much it sounded like she was blaming him, when really, it was her own fault. ‘I’m sorry…’ Before he could speak, she continued, saying all the things she really should have said six weeks ago. ‘I’m sorry I - we - put you in this position. Whatever happens, the team is going to be brought down by this.’
He nodded, an acceptance of her apology, rather than an acknowledgment of the blame. ‘Did you want me to set up a meeting with Strauss?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she told him. ‘But…just me. Don’t involve Morgan in this. He’ll want…I can’t risk him finding out yet, Hotch. You know what he’ll do. This is between me and Agent Strauss.’
He didn’t argue as she got up to leave, only passing back the transfer request form. ‘Emily…for what it’s worth, considering the circumstances, this is a good offer. Don’t be so quick to turn it down.’
She gave him a grim smile and walked out.
…
The meeting was set up for the following morning, early enough that Emily could go downstairs to the bullpen without incurring too much suspicion; Strauss had apparently anticipated her reaction and cleared her schedule accordingly. It was not a particularly optimistic development. The Section Chief’s secretary gives her a look as she sat outside the office, tapping her foot against the floor. There was bad blood between Emily and Strauss - history that was only going to make this harder.
The secretary gave Emily a nod, and she stood, unconsciously straightening her shirt - as if that was going to do a lick of good. There was a baby bump there, but so slight that you could only tell if you were looking for it. She was fairly sure that news of her pregnancy had probably spread all the way to the FBI mail room, so much so that people she didn’t even know were giving her looks in the hallway. Maybe that was just paranoia.
Strauss did know, though, and the dirty looks from her were real. Dirty wasn’t the right word. Disdainful, maybe. Maybe that was Emily’s own contempt coloring her judgment there. She slid into the seat across from Strauss’ desk, holding the older woman’s gaze. There was a certain level of respect that had to be maintained - Emily wasn’t about to put on her rebellious face that had been honed during her teenage years, but neither would she lay down and take whatever punishment Erin Strauss had to give.
‘I would like to discuss this with you,’ Emily started, sliding the unsigned transfer form across the table.
‘The way I see it, there isn’t much to be discussed,’ Strauss said evenly. ‘I’m giving you the opportunity to take the easy way out.’ The easy way out. It sounded so…She wasn’t sure what it sounded, but she knew that she wasn’t going to let go of the BAU so easily.
‘After everything, you’re just going to get rid of me?’ Emily asked, sounded a lot more scornful than she had intended.
‘Agent Prentiss, need I remind you that you are the one that broke the rules. You’re lucky that I didn’t decide to fire you.’ Emily felt like laughing. Strauss wasn’t even going to acknowledge Morgan’s participation in the pregnancy, probably because it meant that she would have to do something about it. Never let it be said that politics was in any way fair. That said, she wasn’t about to drag him down with her.
‘I understand that.’ Emily kept her voice level, though the temptation to call Strauss on all of her bullshit was strong. ‘I just feel that leaving a transfer form on my desk was not the best way to go about things. I would like to discuss my alternatives.’
The look in Strauss’ eyes told her that there really weren’t any alternatives. That she was pretty damn lucky to be given the transfer instead of a kick out the door.
‘I considered you for the position of Acting Unit Chief while Agent Hotchner stepped down,’ Strauss revealed, and it was almost a non-sequitur, but Emily knew that Erin Strauss rarely did or said anything without a reason. ‘Ultimately, I decided that you lacked the loyalty and the experience in the Unit for the position.’
Emily’s temper flared, and she was teetering on the precipice of telling Strauss to fuck the job and walking out right then and there. She managed to hold on, though, nails digging into her palm. ‘I give my loyalty to those who earn it,’ she said coolly. ‘Not to those that hire me to spy on my colleagues.’ The words didn’t help her position, but Emily had come to the realization that nothing was going to be helping her position.
Strauss ignored the barb, letting her expression settle into a frown. ‘While I don’t believe your skills are suited to a leadership position in the Behavioral Analysis Unit, they are suited to such a position in another department. Quite frankly, your skills in linguistics and international relations are being wasted. This move would be best for everyone.’
Emily wasn’t an idiot. Strauss wasn’t just turning everything around and deciding to be friendly for no reason. She was trying to make it seem as though transferring to another unit was a good thing, and Emily wasn’t entirely sure that she was wrong. Her heart set on the BAU, she had resisted the pull of the State Department, and the CIA, and all those other places that she was told “would be good for her.” Apparently, though, the FBI had just as much bullshit politics as all the other possibilities.
‘Is that all?’ Strauss asked, making it abundantly clear that the meeting was over.
With a suppressed sigh, Emily took the transfer form. ‘That’s all.’
Instead of going down to her desk, Emily went straight for the ladies bathroom on the BAU floor. She had, for the most part, held her emotions in check while with Strauss, but there was just something about having everything she’d worked towards ripped from beneath her that made tears the only reasonable reaction. The sadness quickly shifted to anger, her fists clenching, the tears still flowing unfettered. She wanted to hit something - anything - but it wasn’t the time, or the place. The good news was, punching bags were still a viable alternative during the first trimester. Technically speaking, she was on the cusp of the second, now; it was almost scary how fast things seemed to be moving.
Splashing water across her face, Emily stared into the mirror. Her eyes were red - no amount of water would fix that, and her makeup bag was in her bag, under her desk. It was, at the very least, fortunate that she hadn’t worn mascara today. Still, she kept her eyes cast downward as she entered to the bullpen, hoping against hope that Morgan wasn’t there.
No such luck.
Emily slipped the transfer form into her bag, nonchalantly, hyperaware of the familiar footsteps coming up behind her.
‘Everything alright?’ he asked, his voice warm, and damn him, he had no right to be so appealing. She wanted to hate him for being the one that did this to her, even if it really wasn’t his fault.
‘Fine,’ she muttered. ‘I just…’ She couldn’t think of the right words to finish that sentence.
‘Baby’s okay?’ His brow furrowed, and then she remembered that he’d been forced to stay behind for a consult during her last doctor’s appointment. She’d been acting distant to him since at least then.
In spite of the situation, she broke into a smile. ‘Baby’s fine.’
‘You’re fine?’ he asked again, his voice colored with the same concern.
‘Yeah.’ She bent back down underneath her desk, pulling out her gym bag. There were workout clothes in there, thanks to her desire to not let excess ice-cream consumption and baby weight take over her life. ‘I’m gonna go hit the gym. Could you tell Hotch where I am?’
Morgan raised an eyebrow. It was 9am, it wasn’t exactly unheard of for BAU agents to work out before cases were briefed. Both she and Morgan had done it numerous times, back when things had actually been normal between them. ‘Sure. Are you sure everything’s okay?’
‘Yeah,’ she insisted. ‘I’m fine. Everything’s fine.’ It stung to lie to him, but she didn’t want him to find out just yet. Chances were, he’d do everything in his power to stop the transfer from going through, and the last thing she needed was Strauss and Morgan having some kind of showdown. Things were complicated enough already.
So she grabbed her gym bag and her water bottle and took the elevator down to the appropriate floor. There were some perks about working in the FBI Academy building; they had great training facilities. She was briefly nostalgic of the days where she’d go down to the gym with Morgan, and sometimes JJ or Reid, but not often, and they would spar until they were laughing and sweating like crazy. She missed that comfortable, easy friendship that they’d had. Maybe, someday, somehow, they’d be able to salvage it.
Her workout clothes were starting to get a little tight, but not uncomfortably so. Emily tried not to stare at her stomach as she pulled her hair into a ponytail and found the fingerless gloves that she used to work out. Her “bat gloves,” Morgan called them. Exactly what they had to do with Batman, she wasn’t quite sure.
At this time on a Tuesday morning, the gym wasn’t particularly full, and most importantly, there was a punching bag free. While imagining Erin Strauss face in the center of it wasn’t particularly good for her working relationship with the woman, it did wonders for her mood, and by the time she had thrown her last punch, Emily was feeling much better than she had upon leaving the bullpen half an hour prior.
She showered before returning upstairs, letting the water wash the sweat from her body. It probably wouldn’t be anywhere near enough to fool them, but she’d been dealing with one notable stressful thing already, and hopefully they wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.
This is what you do, Emily, she told herself. You close yourself off. You compartmentalize.
She would tell them in her own time.
If only it was that easy.
…
Morgan twirled his pen between his fingers. There was a pile of consults and other various bits of paperwork sitting in his in-tray, but he had been staring at the same one for over an hour. It wasn’t that he couldn’t profile it; the thing was pretty simple. Two bodies, two different killers, no cause for the BAU to be questioned, but they were encouraged to give a little insight anyway.
He straightened in his chair as Emily returned from the gym. Her hair was wet, and she looked as though she’d just run a marathon. She looked towards him with a tired, forced smile.
There was definitely something going on.
He hadn’t missed any more prenatal appointments, as far as he was aware. He’d missed that one appointment before, due to a work conflict, but Emily hadn’t been particularly upset about it. There was different about have a child with a colleague - they knew the job. They understood the job. But that hadn’t made him feel any better about the situation.
Maybe she wasn’t feeling well today, or maybe her mother was being particularly painful, or maybe there were half a dozen other explanations that he couldn’t think of because he didn’t know a damn thing about what went on in her personal life.
He got to his feet, noticing Emily’s eyes widen as she stepped towards her desk. Okay, so there was something going on that she didn’t want to tell him about. Still, he couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she looked, even with the wet hair, and the overtones of exhaustion, and the fear in her eyes.
‘You sure everything’s okay, Emily?’ he asked. ‘Because you sure as hell don’t look okay.’
She bit her lip. ‘The nausea just feels a little worse today. I went down to the gym to take my mind off things.’
Morgan raised an eyebrow. ‘If it’s just that, why couldn’t you tell me before?’
She gave him a look. ‘Seriously? Morgan, you are a ridiculous coddler. I tell you I’m not feeling well, and you’ll wrap me up in a blanket and call an ambulance.’
He paused. She had a point, but was that really all that was going on. He had to believe that if something was seriously wrong, she would have told him. He had to believe that she trusted him.
‘You want me to come around tonight?’ he asked, with some hesitation. His heart dropped slightly when she shook her head.
‘Honestly, I wouldn’t be very good company. I’m just gonna go home and sleep the moment it hits 5.’
Morgan nodded, mentally kicking himself for pushing too hard. Emily was completely unlike the girls he picked up at bars or clubs; she wouldn’t respond particularly enthusiastically to his persistence. He had to go slowly, otherwise she would shut him out completely.
‘Well…if you need me, you know where I am.’ She gave him a pained smile.
‘Thanks. For everything.’ She stood and gave him a quick kiss to the cheek. ‘You’re a good guy, Derek.’ The words sounded like they should be followed by “but I think we should just be friends.” He’d never been on the receiving end of that speech before, but Emily didn’t say anything more.
They relocated to the briefing room at 10am; thankfully, no new cases today. At least not yet. He didn’t think he had the cognitive capacity to work on something urgent right now, and he was pretty sure that Emily didn’t either. She was distant as JJ passed out the pile of consults, and Morgan wondered if there was something beyond what she was telling him.
He wanted to believe that since the dynamic of their relationship had shifted, Emily would be more willing to confide in him - even in matters that weren’t related to the pregnancy. Now, he wasn’t so sure. After all, what made him a more appropriate confidante than Rossi, or Garcia, or JJ, aside from the fact that he’d gotten her pregnant.
You’ve been getting closer, Morgan reminded himself. Not close enough, for your liking, his mind added.
Part of him wanted to believe that they shared something beyond a child. Maybe he was deluding himself.
Or maybe, you’re not, and the fact that you’re so close is the reason why she’s avoiding you.
He kept a close eye on her for the rest of the day, but didn’t see anything that indicated something beyond the normal issues; she looked tired, and maybe a little nauseous, but that was it. Morgan was in no way surprised when she packed up her gear the moment the clock hit five, just like she said she would.
It wasn’t until she’d left the bullpen that Reid swivelled in his chair and asked, ‘What’s going on?’
Morgan shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’
…
Emily vomited, not five minutes after she opened her front door. By now, she was used to the morning sickness, but she was still eternally grateful that it would be over soon - twelve weeks, when it usually ceased for most women, Reid told her, when she’d emerged from the bathroom last week. Listening to his snippets on the subject beat reading through pregnancy books.
She doubted, though, that he could tell her anything about what to do now. The best he could do was offer up odds, or statistics, but in the end, it was a matter of the heart. The BAU was her life, and she wasn’t entirely sure that it wouldn’t kill her to leave it behind.
But then, part of her knew that maybe she had to: the alternative was so, so much worse.
Usually when Emily was in this kind of mood - after a bad case, or a horrific date - she’d settled down with a glass of wine, and watch some guilty pleasure TV. Tonight, though, wine was out of the question, and TV didn’t really seem appropriate.
Instead, Emily trudged upstairs, tossing her bag onto the bed. It was still too early for sleep, and she knew that there was too much on her mind to even consider just resting. Her eyes fell on the framed photo that sat on her nightstand. It had been taken on one of those rare nights out where the entire team had actually managed to make it. Hotch and Rossi were both tipping back scotches, oblivious to the camera’s presence, and JJ gave a dull-eyed stare, no doubt due to the fact that Reid seemed to be caught mid-diatribe. Morgan was grinning, an arm wrapped around Garcia on one side, and Emily on the other.
This is what you’ll be losing, if you sign that form. And it’s what you’ll be losing if you don’t. That’s politics - sometimes the only way out is a lose-lose.
She pulled that single sheet of white paper from her bag, and stared at it, vaguely aware of the tear forming in her eye.
‘Goddamnit,’ she muttered.
Her hand shook as she reached for a pen.