Child of Autumn (Part II)

[arwen_lalaith]

Title: Child of Autumn
Category: Fairytale/Drama/Angst/Romance
Rating: FRM
Pairing: Morgan/Prentiss
Summary: As if her life wasn't really fucking complicated already...all she needed was a pair of wings and to be at the centre of an interspecies war.
Author's Note: AU. Written for the cm_bigbang. Accompanying artwork created by the epically awesome sarah_jones can be seen HERE.


Emily sighed heavily as her gaze dropped back down to her desk and the paperwork in front of her - she’d barely made a dent in it because she’d been so preoccupied all afternoon attempting to be subtle as she watched Morgan in his rather particular efforts to not look back at her.

And it was killing her inside.

After the last disaster that was the conversation in the parking garage and the way she’d felt, she hadn’t been eager for a repeat performance, deciding it would definitely be best not to force him to try and hash through their issues at work either.  Instead, she’d waited for him to leave his desk, then left a note on his chair apologizing and asking if she could drop by his apartment later to talk.

But that was going on an hour and a half ago and still nothing.  She had watched him open it from the corner of her eye, she’d seen the way his jaw tightened ever so slightly as he read.  When he hadn’t immediately reacted, she assumed he was contemplating it and she more than understood - she shouldn’t expect him to jump just because she was ready to talk.  But with no evidence of a forthcoming reaction from him, a sinking feeling began to weigh heavily on her heart.

It seemed that he really didn’t want to fix things.  Maybe her friendship with Morgan was actually over...

******

Morgan looked back to the note Emily had left for him.

He’d spent the better part of two hours, reading and re-reading those words, trying to decipher the subtext and read between the lines, searching for her real meaning.  Because he really wanted them to mean what it would’ve meant had he been the one writing the note...that she had the same feelings for him as he had for her.

But that couldn’t be true, though, could it?

That would explain why she had been acting so strangely towards him and why she didn’t want to spend time with him lately.  Was that what had been confusing her - the way she felt towards him?

He remembered the first few weeks after he’d realized how he felt about her as being awkward because he wasn’t sure how to deal with her normally.  In fact, looking back on it, he realized he might have subconsciously avoided her at the time...  And the more he stared at her words, the more hope he felt rising inside - maybe he was biased, but what else could it be?  She didn’t say that he’d done something to upset her - she said there had been some developments and she was confused about her feelings concerning those developments.

And obviously those developments somehow pertained to him because he was the only one suffering from their effects.

But despite just how badly he wanted that to be the truth, an hour’s notice was hardly enough to prepare him for a conversation postponed by weeks of freeze-out, especially if it was about to cause a major change in his life.

The separation was killing him as well, though - in his heart, it felt like they’d broken up a little.  Maybe it was almost better when he was pretending to believe the lies he continued to let her tell him.  At least it was interaction on some level...but then again, he had only been turning a blind eye to the fact that the damn woman was breaking his heart.

She was right, they couldn’t go on like this.  Maybe he should just take her up on the offer to talk tonight and spare the entire team prolonged difficulty and prevent them from having to choose sides.  He looked up to say something, to let her know he was willing to talk too...but he was too late, apparently she had slipped away without him noticing.

He cursed internally, chastising himself.  She extended an olive branch and he ignores her until she just up and leaves, probably thinking he didn’t want to fix things.  He remembered her crying in the parking garage and felt a stab of guilt, hoping he hadn’t done that much damage to her yet again.

******

Lately, now that she was getting more in touch with her fae side, Emily had found it more and more difficult to keep it separate from the supposed ‘proper’ human persona.  Especially now, as her hurt feelings grew so strong as to overwhelm her ability to focus on controlling her magic.

It wasn’t yet five, but she knew that if she stayed at her desk a single second longer, she knew she was going to lose control and something bad was definitely going to come from it.

She ran down the flights of stairs leading to the parking garage, feeling her wings wriggling, her glamour stretching to its limits, and she knew it was only a matter of time before it gave way under the strain.

She only managed to drive a short ways before the glamour’s ability to protect her against the iron-permeated air of the car started to fail and she could feel the burning ache eating at her lungs.  She had to pull over as her vision started to swim and she could feel the blood vessels in her head start to pulsate.

Coughing and sputtering, she toppled out of the vehicle, narrowly missing an oncoming car as she staggered towards the sidewalk where she collapsed into a trembling, sobbing heap.  She couldn’t have said how long she lay there, getting strange looks from passersby, but despite being very aware of the wide berth people were giving her, she couldn’t bring herself to care just then.  And it was a good several minutes before the fresh air had washed the iron from her system and she once again trusted her legs to support her.

Her steps were shaky as she wandered, half dazed, through the park she’d chanced upon in her confused race home.  She should’ve gone straight home and she knew it, but being close to nature - well, as close to nature as you could really get in the middle of Washington DC - calmed her nerves.

She was very aware of all the impurities in the air as it grazed across the skin of her chest and she knew that her glamour had torn; she tried her best to cover it by pulling her blouse higher while she waited for her stores of magical energy to recover.

That was when it had happened - she didn’t see who it was, all she remembered was the uneasy feeling that someone was following her, but whenever she spun around to try and catch them in the act, there was no one.  Even so, something continued to prickle at her instincts and she licked at her lips anxiously as she smelled faerie blood.  Then, what she later realized should have been obvious blindsided her, with the blinding pain of a shielded faerie’s iron blade piercing her abdomen.

Bleeding, sobbing, and confused, she had been left for dead there in the middle of the park.  She lay there, blood oozing from between the fingers of a half-hearted attempt to staunch the bleeding, waiting for someone to come to her rescue or her assailant to come back and finish her off.  Eventually, she called Hotch, her words escaping in a hurried jumble as she plead for help.  Whether he had understood her oxygen-deprived train of thought or not, he agreed to come get her.

******

Hotch looked down at Emily, leaning against the porcelain edge of her bathtub, pressing a crimson-soaked gauze pack to her stomach.  Dried tears and blood and what had once been neatly done makeup stained her cheeks.  Her glamour was torn to hell, giving her a half-molted look.  The tears were less of pain than they were over Morgan, but whatever knowledge he might have had on the subject, he chose to ignore, focusing instead on the ‘almost died’ part.

“What were you thinking?” he demanded.  “Do you realize how much trouble you would’ve been in if I hadn’t come?”  When she had called him, voice trembling with pain and fear, he hadn’t had the heart to chew her out just then.

“Yeah, I almost fucking died, I remember,” she replied acerbically.

“I don’t think you understand how serious this is.”

“Save the lecture,” she paused to cough up some blood, “I’m a grown woman, Hotch, I can make my own decisions.  Screw being the queen of the faeries or whatever the hell this is - I never wanted this!”

“You don’t have a choice in the matter,” he replied flatly, “You are the heir - the only heir - to the Seelie throne and it’s your responsibility to rule or the Unseelie fae will be free.”

“And what if I don’t want to?” she retorted.

“Then the contract lapses and the Unseelie Court will be free from control, once again free to roam the Earth, causing havoc as they please.  The daemons that Rhiannon locked away will be freed and will slaughter humans en mass.  Those that survive will realize the existence of faeries and declare war to eliminate the threat to their survival and they will lose.  Think about that, Emily; you would be single-handedly responsible for the collapse of society as we know it.”

“Find someone else,” she said slowly and seriously.  She raised a hand, palm out, and with a burst of energy, she slammed the door in his face, nearly sending him toppling backwards.

******

“Emily, you’re being stubborn,” Hotch sighed exasperatedly.  “Open the door.”

“No!”

“If you don’t open the door, you’re going to bleed to death.”

“Go.  Away.”

Letting out a weary breath and pounding a fist once against the door, he took a moment to regain his composure - he worked very hard at reigning in his faerie temper, but she was testing him.  “I’m sorry,” he bit out as if the very words tasted bitter, “Would you please just...”

He was saved yet another shouting match by a knock at the door.  Fresh glamour in place, though hardly strong enough to fool anyone, Emily emerged from the bathroom to answer it, but not without shooting a frosty glare in Hotch’s direction first.

Morgan rubbed a hand over his face when the door opened on a rather worse for the wear looking Emily.  He felt a stab of guilt in the pit of his stomach as he took in the sight of her puffy eyes and blotchy cheeks, her obvious tear-stained face.  He struggled to find something to say, clearing his throat uselessly as she stared at him with an almost pained look, clearly wishing he were anyone else.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything this afternoon - I was thinking about what you’d said in your note and then you were gone before I even realized.  But if you still want to talk...I’m here now,” he said awkwardly.

Emily chewed her lip, at a loss for what to say.  She was so weak that just remaining standing was causing her limbs to tremble and her head to spin - she barely had enough blood to maintain basic life function, let alone power thought processing.  She could send Morgan away, but that would without a doubt be the death knell for their relationship - he would never understand her turning him away without talking for at least a minute after she’d nearly begged him to talk.

But all panic aside, the silver lining was that he did want to talk - he didn’t hate her.  Maybe things could still be fixed...  And that realization sinking in made her almost deliriously happy and she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck.  “Of course, I want to talk,” she whispered, shutting her eyes and just enjoying the feeling of his much missed hugs.  “I’ve missed you so much.”

Morgan couldn’t resist folding her into his embrace and holding her as if he never wanted to let go, his chest tightening as he leaned down to breathe in her scent.  He couldn’t remember the last time he had been able to hold her like this...  God knew he had missed her like crazy - hearing she had missed him too was more than he had dared to hope for.

The drive over had left him plagued with worry, but the way she had reacted, her obvious tears, and what she’d said in her note now had him positive that he was right - she had feelings for him...

She leaned back and shifted her weight anxiously from foot to foot, seeing the expectant look on Morgan’s face.  “I, umm...  I’ll be right back, I just...have to...” she struggled to find an excuse to run upstairs and have Hotch heal her gaping stomach wound.

But before she could turn away, Morgan had grabbed hold of her hand.  “Emily, wait...  I, umm, I don’t think I can stand to wait any longer to have our conversation...  And, if you want to tell me what I think you want to tell me, then I want you to know that I absolutely feel the same way.”

Emily’s brow wrinkled in confusion.  “I’m sorry?”

He looked a little taken aback for a split second, not ready to completely pour his heart out and declare his undying love for her, but needing to at least give her a sign to let her know they were on the same page.  And he should make the first move, she was clearly too nervous to say anything based on how she was acting.

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.  “I figured out what you wanted to tell me, why you’ve been acting so strangely...so, I wanted to tell you I forgive you.  I remember how I felt when I realized and I think I was acting a little strangely around you too.”

Emily stared at him, completely lost as she struggled to compare the words coming out of his mouth to what she’d written in her note.  Understanding slowly dawned on her and her eyes widened in comprehension and alarm.

She was literally shaking as she took several deep breaths, desperately trying to work up the courage to tell him the truth.  She affixed him with a sad smile, “Derek, that’s not...”  She paused to clear her throat.  “That’s not what I wanted to...”

And that’s when she heard the unmistakable thudding of feet on the stairs, sending a shot of adrenaline racing through her veins.

Seeing Morgan glancing from her panic-stricken expression to the staircase, she rushed to give some kind of explanation, “Morgan, I...”  But she didn’t have time to finish before Hotch got to the landing and came face to face with this disaster waiting to happen.

Morgan could practically feel the blood draining from his face as he looked from Emily to Hotch, his brain desperately trying to make sense of the situation...Emily and Hotch spending time together, pairing off together on cases, her note...  He wasn’t crazy!  A burst of jealousy exploded in the pit of his stomach - they were having an affair!

He’d come here to declare his feelings for her, convinced that she felt the same way, and it turns out that all this time - anger bubbled up in his chest - she was sleeping with the boss.

He felt all the muscles in his jaw tense; he wanted to just crawl into a hole and die.  Motion from the corner of his eye caused him to once again look to Emily who was nervously rubbing her stomach.

His voice was like sandpaper as he croaked out, “Girl, are you...pregnant?”

Morgan was seeing all of his dreams of a future together with Emily shatter before his very eyes.  God, if only he hadn’t convinced himself that she’d felt the same way.  This possibility had never occurred to him, at least not since he had convinced himself he was letting his jealousy get the better of him...but she really was with Hotch, apparently for long enough that she was pregnant and showing.

How could he be so blind as to miss this?

And though it was unfair and he knew it, he couldn’t help but let his pain be overridden by fury towards the man in front of him.  That son of a bitch!  How could the bastard do this do her!?  He didn’t meet her eyes, but he turned to Emily and ground out, “I’d like to speak with Hotch for a moment.”

She stared at him for a moment, the picture of his face only short minutes ago and how happy he had been flashing through her mind left her feeling like she’d really been stabbed in the heart.  She wanted to touch him, to give him a hug, to try and make him feel even a little bit better.  But she knew that her touch would offer no comfort.

Hotch gave her a slight nod and she dejectedly turned on her heel to slink upstairs like a kicked puppy.  Once she had disappeared down the hallway, Hotch turned to Morgan.  “Listen, Morgan...”

And then, Morgan’s fist sharply contacted his face.

Blood dribbled onto his shirt as Morgan’s fist connected with his nose.  “Fuck!”  Pinching his nose to try and stop the blood, Hotch gave Morgan a look of disbelief.

Ignoring the look of pain and bewilderment on Hotch’s face and the unavoidable consequences of what he’d just done, Morgan closed the gap between them.  His words dripped with bitterness as he growled, “All these years you’ve been on my case about the rules and protocol every time I so much as toed the line and you...”  He jabbed his boss’ chest with a finger, fury actually causing him to shake, “You hypocritical son of a bitch!  You’ve been fucking one of your agents!  Did you even wait until you were divorced to start to hit that!?”

That’s when he heard the words he’d just said and he instantly froze, feeling shame flooding through him for talking about Emily that way.  He had done it to hurt Hotch, to make him feel ashamed about his hypocrisy, but all he’d succeeded in doing was make himself feel ashamed for being so disrespectful about someone he cared so much for.  As upset as he was with her, it didn’t changed the fact that he loved her...

Taking a slow, calming breath, he continued, “How could you do that, man?  For months I’ve been keeping my feelings to myself because I thought you’d never allow it.”  He knew there was no guarantee that Emily would have felt the same way about him, but at least he deserved a chance to find out...and now, he’d never know if he would have had a shot with her.

“I don’t know exactly what you think is going on,” Hotch said, brow creased, “But I can assure you that you are completely off base.  Really, if you’d just let Emily explain, things will make much more sense.”  That last part was probably a lie, but anything would be better than whatever was seemingly going on here.

Morgan felt his eyes start to burn and he stared at the doorknob, not wanting Hotch to see him so weak.  “I can’t do that right now, man,” he choked out over the lump in his throat.

Emily immediately came racing down the stairs at the sound of the door closing.  She turned from the closed door to Hotch and back again.  “What...  Where did he go?  He just left!?”

“Emily, I think right now...” he started to placate, but she didn’t let him finish.

“Did you tell him?” she asked desperately, “Please...”  When he didn’t reply, she took off at a run down the hallway in a desperate effort to catch up to Morgan.  She called his name as best she could around the sob she was attempting to hold back.

By the time she managed to catch sight of him again, he’d already reached the parking garage.  “Derek, please, wait,” she begged to his determinedly retreating back.  She momentarily considered using her mesmer, but she hadn’t quite perfected it yet and she didn’t want to have to use magic to force him to listen to her.

“Derek!” she sobbed, reaching out to grab his shoulder, but coming away with only a fistful of his shirt.  “It’s not what you think!”

He whirled around.  “What, Emily!?  Haven’t you stomped on my heart enough already?”

“I’m not seeing Hotch, I swear!  And I’m certainly not pregnant...  Look!”  She reached for the gauze covering her abdomen to prove the so-called ‘baby bump’ he was seeing was only the bandage and nothing more.

But in the process of tearing away the bandages, her loose glamour tore as well, giving Morgan more than he bargained for.  “What the hell...” he breathed, brows knitting as her green belly seemed to glint in the sunlight.

“Shit,” she hissed under her breath, attempting to cover up.  But in her panic, she couldn’t pull enough energy out to repair the hole.  She briefly considered turning tail and running - it’s not like he was going to believe her anyway.

In for a penny, in for a pound...  She brought her hands up to scrub at her face, peeling away at the glamour there.  She wriggled her shoulder blades until a crack erupted along her back, freeing her wings until she looked like she was wearing some kind of Halloween costume.

She meekly tossed her hands up in a gesture of helplessness.  “There you go...” she said quietly, “You wanted to know what’s going on with me, well here it is.”

And for once, Morgan seemed at a loss for words.  “I...umm...” he stammered dumbly, “What exactly is ‘it’?”

“Faerie,” she mumbled, as if embarrassed.  At his clear questioning look, she repeated slightly louder, “I’m a faerie.”  She didn’t bother clarifying the specific race of faerie, doubting that he either cared or understood.

******

Fine.  Emily told herself.  If Morgan thought she was crazy and a liar and a whore and whatever else he no doubt must think of her after last night...  If she was such a damn screw up like Hotch said and she was just going to bring down the Seelie Court anyway, then so be it.  She wouldn’t waste any more of their time.

She’d go right to the Unseelie queen now, if it weren’t for the fact that she owed someone the truth first.  That, and the fact that she was curious to know who she really was...or was supposed to be.

The problem was, where would one even begin to look for a changeling baby?  It shouldn’t seem like such an issue for their heir to the Seelie throne...but she’d spent so much time trying to avoid faeries that is was counterintuitive to try to seek them out.

She’d heard that the Seelie fae often held court in a local fruit orchard, beneath the stars, past where the glow of the city lights ended.  And if you listened closely to the Southbound wind, it carried notes of their ethereal songs that, should one stop to listen, would ensnare them in the melody and lead them to the revelry where they would dance for weeks on end.

It was as good a place as any to start searching for her doppelganger.

She sat herself beneath one of the apple trees in the orchard, watching the revelry of the Seelie Court, while trying not to draw attention to herself.  She’d purposefully distanced herself from the others, still anxious that she smelled of iron, despite having abandoned her car at a deserted gas station a few miles out and tentatively hovering the rest of the distance - which was, in and of itself, a comment on her fear of being taken for an ironsider, because it had been the first time she’d used her wings for any extended time or distance and she was still extremely unsure of their capabilities.  She didn’t want to look foolish in front of the other faeries if they should give out and send her falling to the ground.

Amidst the overgrowth, faeries danced to music played on a strange array of instruments by minstrels perched in trees around the grove.  There was a group of dwarfs, seated among the strawberries and blueberries, who appeared to be playing some form of Liar’s Dice with acorns and stones.  Long-haired sprites were combing each others’ hair with their fingers while others made wreaths of blossoms to set upon their heads, all the while laughing and gossiping.  Still others dined on the fruit and strange delicacies of their own creation - she’d taken a glass of mead and a slab of colorful faerie bread.  Queen Rhiannon sat on a throne of greenery, her dress a shimmering blue that glistened and flowed among the leaves like a pristine spring, several handmaidens in dull silver gowns seated around her, gazing up at her in adoration.

What caught Emily’s attention, though, were the small children running about, as ubiquitous as the scent of apple and cherry blossoms.  They were clearly mortal and it didn’t take a genius to know that they must be the other side of the changeling story.  A young boy with orange-red curls and pudgy cheeks ran past her, nearly running sidelong into an outstretched iridescent pink wing.  He stumbled back for a moment as if just noticing her for the first time, then continued around her to stand on his tiptoes beside the tree, straining to reach a low-hanging apple.

For some reason, she’d never been very maternal and was extremely uncomfortable around children, so rather than risk speaking to the boy, she stood to find another quiet nook to observe from...but in the process, her clumsiness found her stumbling forwards to be swept into the faerie ring where an assortment of unnatural creatures held hands and skipped about a slowly blooming ring of mushrooms.  To her left, a satyr who gripped her hand tightly with sweaty palms as he clicked his cloven goat hooves together.  To her right, a violet faerie, shooting her a wink and a seductive smile - as violet faeries tended to be known for.

The tales she had read told of mortals wandering off a path, distracted by the lights of the will-o’- the-wisps, being trapped inside a faerie ring where they were doomed to dance for days or even weeks on end.  But it was only the length of a song or two when the girl to her right pulled them away from the rest of the dancers, dragging her to a dilapidated stump holding old tin cans and carved goblets filled with drink.

Emily sank down to the mossy cushion of the forest floor, taking a cup and ending up sloshing mead over the edges, dribbling down her chin and staining the silk nightgown that was the only garment she didn’t have to ruin in order to make room for her wings.

The girl sank down next to her, half in her lap, and pressing a strawberry to her mead-soaked lips.  Half-choking on the fruit, Emily coughed and spluttered, then licked the red juice from her lips as the cloying faerie leaned in to weave her long fingers through her raven locks - whether braiding them or tangling them, Emily couldn’t be sure.

Shockingly purple tresses flitted across her face with the fruit-scented breeze as the girl’s forehead came to rest by her ear, as if she were attempting to meld their two bodies together.  But Emily’s attention on the toadying girl was lax, for not five feet from them, another little changeling child lay among the blossoms, surrounded by fawning faerie women.

The girl, maybe four years old at most, had lengths of hair like woven night sky to rival even that of the Seelie Queen - random strands wove in waist-length braids, interspersed with flowers of all colors.  Plucking petals from a flower, she sang a nonsensical song that the doting women seemed to find most amusing - a song that, decades ago, her father used to sing her to sleep.

In her signature awkward fashion (it was nice to see that some things hadn’t changed...), she half-stumbled from where she was sitting to go talk to the girl...  At the sudden movement, though, the purple-haired faerie had a sudden change in demeanor, her sculpted nails deceptively sharp as the grip upon Emily’s upper arm tensed like a bear trap springing.

Emily whirled around to tell her to back off, just in time to see maroon lips being pulled back to bare unsettlingly long and pointed canines in a silent growl.  Momentarily taken aback, Emily’s mouth hung open for a moment, lost for words.  Had she been on her usual profiler form, she might have thought to make some noise - any noise - to attract some attention.  As it were, though, her guard was down.  It didn’t even occur to her until the last minute to try and ward her off with magic and by the time she had thought to do so, she didn’t have the concentration to build up her magical energy.

The other faerie easily got the upper hand on her, spindly fingers gripping at her throat - the concentration in her angular face so intense that her inhumanly long canines gouged into her lip, drawing blood which dripped down to splatter on Emily’s cheek before her forked tongue licked her lips, then Emily’s cheek.  Emily’s vision of the twisted visage swam and she struggled to maintain consciousness...there was no way this could be real, she told herself.