These Endless Days, 8/?
The drive back to the BAU is silent, but Morgan’s too busy thinking to care. He’s not entirely sure what had just happened - if he wants to be cynical about it, then it’s a really fucked up booty call, but at the same time, he knows that it’s a lot more serious. His knuckles feel like they’re permanently clenched - he wants nothing more than to tear his way out of his own body, and charge into that house and rip their throats out.
Even as a wolf, he’d be dead in seconds. One on one, all other things equal, a vampire versus werewolf fight is fairly evenly matched. Each species has different skills, different advantages, that come in useful. One werewolf versus an entire house of vampires - not to mention one of the Fallen...he’d be dead in seconds. It wouldn’t even take a silver bullet.
There has to be another way.
Technically speaking, she wasn’t being held against her will - there was no legal avenue that he could think of for knocking down their front door.
He has to trust that Emily knows what she’s doing.
It’s a tough question. After all, it’s only been a couple of months. He lusts after her, certainly, but trust? That’s something that takes so much longer to build up. Even after all that they’ve been through.
She doesn’t trust him - that much, he knows. After all, if she’d trusted him, she would have told him why she’d really come back. He’s smart enough to know that she’d been hiding something, but he’s just not sure what.
Really, though, he’s very much aware of the fact that Emily Prentiss is the kind of person who would try and kill her mother without coming to any of them for help. As terrible as it sounds, that’s the kind of mistrust he can deal with. At least that means that she hasn’t betrayed them. But it also means that she’ll probably get herself killed if he doesn’t do anything about it.
He’s torn between following his instinct, and following his heart. The thing about being a werewolf is that instinct can be overpowering, all-consuming. Every single instinct is telling him to turn the car around.
His heart pumps ferociously, and his fingers grip the steering wheel even tighter, and he can feel the wolf inside of him trying to push its way out. It doesn’t care what the practical option is. It doesn’t hesitate. It doesn’t think about whether or not it will win or lose.
All the wolf wants is to fight.
He pulls the car over and tries to let his body relax. Driving angry is not going to help matters - steering with paws is something that he does not want to try anytime soon.
You know why you’re upset? the voice inside his head asks. Because she’s part of your pack.
No. He tries to argue against the point. She can’t be part of the pack - she’s a vampire, not a wolf. Vampires are everything that werewolf packs are supposed to hate.
And yet he doesn’t hate.
And yet his team are more of a pack than any of the other werewolves he’s known have ever been. Hotch is the alpha, and Reid is the scrawny kid that everyone tries to protect. Definitely a pack instinct there, even if Morgan’s the only werewolf among them.
And you don’t leave members of the pack behind.
...
‘A war,’ Hotch says flatly. Another man might have sighed, or let his fingers run through his hair, but Aaron Hotchner keeps his expression stoic. It’s one of the things JJ likes best about him.
She shakes her head. It’s all so damn fuzzy. ‘Maybe, I don’t know.’ The thing about psychic powers is that sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference between what you can hear from the people around you, and the stuff that’s coming from somewhere else, and the stuff that’s just inside your head to begin with. ‘It’s just...every single thing we come across about this - about Anath’s Circle, about the vamp and ‘wolf stuff...It feels like it’s wrapped up in darkness.’ The description sounds so cliché, and yet she can find no better way to describe it.
‘So what, you think we should stay out of it?’ Rossi queries. JJ shakes her head again.
‘That’s just it,’ she says. ‘I don’t think we can. Whatever happens, happens.’
‘Do you really believe that?’ Rossi’s eyebrow is raised, and she doesn’t even need to read his mind to sense his doubt. ‘Short term, maybe psychic powers can predict some stuff, but on a scale this size?’
JJ gave him a look. ‘Come back and ask me once you’ve had your first vision,’ she says, because really, the feeling is not one that can be adequately described to anyone else. Unfortunately, that means that all they have to go on is her word. Fortunately, they’ve worked together long enough for the rest of the team to have some trust in her abilities.
She only wishes she could have the same trust.
...
Emily’s almost certain that she won’t be disturbed until morning. Her mother had been bad with personal matters seven hundred years ago, and she’s bad with them now. The elder vampire is smart enough to keep her distance until morning.
Emily makes sure that the door is shut, and she unzips her bag. The thing had cost a fortune, made from a material designed to be impenetrable from psychic forces - anything inside is undetectable, whether from magic, or from any other means of discovery.
She pulls out a dagger, running the flat of the blade across her fingertips. It glints in the light, but her image does not reflect. Emily Prentiss is a vampire, but she would rather be a ghost.
She holds the blade still, as if waiting for someone to burst into the room, pushing her to the floor. Nothing comes. She puts the dagger back in the bag, and pulls out a second object. A long, wooden stake.
The wooden burns against her skin. Without penetration, it can’t do any damage, but the possibility of it hangs over her, like a dark shadow.
The best stakes are made from the oldest trees. Magic flowing from the heart of the earth. The better the stake, the easier it is to kill a powerful vampire.
This wood is old. It took Emily a long time to find it, and she’s hoping like hell that it’s going to work.
This vampire is the oldest one of all.
Even as a wolf, he’d be dead in seconds. One on one, all other things equal, a vampire versus werewolf fight is fairly evenly matched. Each species has different skills, different advantages, that come in useful. One werewolf versus an entire house of vampires - not to mention one of the Fallen...he’d be dead in seconds. It wouldn’t even take a silver bullet.
There has to be another way.
Technically speaking, she wasn’t being held against her will - there was no legal avenue that he could think of for knocking down their front door.
He has to trust that Emily knows what she’s doing.
It’s a tough question. After all, it’s only been a couple of months. He lusts after her, certainly, but trust? That’s something that takes so much longer to build up. Even after all that they’ve been through.
She doesn’t trust him - that much, he knows. After all, if she’d trusted him, she would have told him why she’d really come back. He’s smart enough to know that she’d been hiding something, but he’s just not sure what.
Really, though, he’s very much aware of the fact that Emily Prentiss is the kind of person who would try and kill her mother without coming to any of them for help. As terrible as it sounds, that’s the kind of mistrust he can deal with. At least that means that she hasn’t betrayed them. But it also means that she’ll probably get herself killed if he doesn’t do anything about it.
He’s torn between following his instinct, and following his heart. The thing about being a werewolf is that instinct can be overpowering, all-consuming. Every single instinct is telling him to turn the car around.
His heart pumps ferociously, and his fingers grip the steering wheel even tighter, and he can feel the wolf inside of him trying to push its way out. It doesn’t care what the practical option is. It doesn’t hesitate. It doesn’t think about whether or not it will win or lose.
All the wolf wants is to fight.
He pulls the car over and tries to let his body relax. Driving angry is not going to help matters - steering with paws is something that he does not want to try anytime soon.
You know why you’re upset? the voice inside his head asks. Because she’s part of your pack.
No. He tries to argue against the point. She can’t be part of the pack - she’s a vampire, not a wolf. Vampires are everything that werewolf packs are supposed to hate.
And yet he doesn’t hate.
And yet his team are more of a pack than any of the other werewolves he’s known have ever been. Hotch is the alpha, and Reid is the scrawny kid that everyone tries to protect. Definitely a pack instinct there, even if Morgan’s the only werewolf among them.
And you don’t leave members of the pack behind.
...
‘A war,’ Hotch says flatly. Another man might have sighed, or let his fingers run through his hair, but Aaron Hotchner keeps his expression stoic. It’s one of the things JJ likes best about him.
She shakes her head. It’s all so damn fuzzy. ‘Maybe, I don’t know.’ The thing about psychic powers is that sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference between what you can hear from the people around you, and the stuff that’s coming from somewhere else, and the stuff that’s just inside your head to begin with. ‘It’s just...every single thing we come across about this - about Anath’s Circle, about the vamp and ‘wolf stuff...It feels like it’s wrapped up in darkness.’ The description sounds so cliché, and yet she can find no better way to describe it.
‘So what, you think we should stay out of it?’ Rossi queries. JJ shakes her head again.
‘That’s just it,’ she says. ‘I don’t think we can. Whatever happens, happens.’
‘Do you really believe that?’ Rossi’s eyebrow is raised, and she doesn’t even need to read his mind to sense his doubt. ‘Short term, maybe psychic powers can predict some stuff, but on a scale this size?’
JJ gave him a look. ‘Come back and ask me once you’ve had your first vision,’ she says, because really, the feeling is not one that can be adequately described to anyone else. Unfortunately, that means that all they have to go on is her word. Fortunately, they’ve worked together long enough for the rest of the team to have some trust in her abilities.
She only wishes she could have the same trust.
...
Emily’s almost certain that she won’t be disturbed until morning. Her mother had been bad with personal matters seven hundred years ago, and she’s bad with them now. The elder vampire is smart enough to keep her distance until morning.
Emily makes sure that the door is shut, and she unzips her bag. The thing had cost a fortune, made from a material designed to be impenetrable from psychic forces - anything inside is undetectable, whether from magic, or from any other means of discovery.
She pulls out a dagger, running the flat of the blade across her fingertips. It glints in the light, but her image does not reflect. Emily Prentiss is a vampire, but she would rather be a ghost.
She holds the blade still, as if waiting for someone to burst into the room, pushing her to the floor. Nothing comes. She puts the dagger back in the bag, and pulls out a second object. A long, wooden stake.
The wooden burns against her skin. Without penetration, it can’t do any damage, but the possibility of it hangs over her, like a dark shadow.
The best stakes are made from the oldest trees. Magic flowing from the heart of the earth. The better the stake, the easier it is to kill a powerful vampire.
This wood is old. It took Emily a long time to find it, and she’s hoping like hell that it’s going to work.
This vampire is the oldest one of all.