TITLE: The Best Kept Secrets

SUMMARY: Emily had it all planned: make the sheriff call the BAU to help on a series of murders, while she'd vanish before they even got there so as not to blow her cover. But nothing ever goes as planned.

CATEGORY: Hotch/Prentiss Friendship/UST/Angst/AU

RATING: K+

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Criminal Minds, if I did AJC and PB wouldn't have left the show in the first place. But anyways, no infringement intended, this is for entertainment only. Though I guess I do own Martha and Hugh Higgins.

AUTHOR'S NOTES (as of June 2011): This fic is the first part – a prologue of sorts - to a two-part story where Emily decides to try and get her life at the BAU back by going after Doyle again (See my story "Second Wind" for the sequel). I wrote this first part right after "Lauren" first aired, as kind of a therapy for me to deal with Prentiss' departure from the show.

Also, I wasn't a big fan of Seaver at the time (mostly because I felt she was kind of replacing Emily), so I figured that by including her in the story it would help me get used to her.

And lastly, I'm a sucker for romance, but this first story is more about Hotch and Prentiss' friendship (though there are definite hints of deeper feelings) and the emotional issues that Prentiss' leaving has created. The second story is a bit more of a romance.

SPOILERS AND TIMELINE: Set about 7-8 months after 'Lauren' (6x18), so everything up to that point is fair game in terms of spoilers. Aside from 'Lauren' this story also makes some direct references to episodes 'Hanley Waters' (6x20), '52 Pickup' (4x09), 'In Birth and in Death' (3x02), and the Foyet storyline. Stay away if you haven't seen the 2nd half of season 6 and don't want to be spoiled!

Part 1

I find a map and draw a straight line
Over rivers, farms, and state lines
The distance from 'A' to where you'd be
It's only finger-lengths that I see
I touch the place where I'd find your face
My fingers in creases of distant dark places

- Set Fire to the Third Bar – Snow Patrol feat. Martha Wainwright

Emily Prentiss knew what it was like to start over.

Moving around a lot as a kid, following her parents' various postings around the world, she had learned how to blend in any crowd, how to adapt to any new situations, location or people. She was good at it, great even, and with that ability came the expertise at compartmentalizing her emotions and deepest desires. That was who she had grown up to be: a social chameleon who could become what people wanted her to be. And God knew she was good at that, so good she had made a living out of it. To Emily psychological profiling only required an acute sense of observation, a strong and somewhat distorted sense of empathy and some notions of psychology, and these things had always been a second nature to her.

And therein lay the problem.

She realized not for the first time that the reason moving on was so hard now was that she had never truly been her own person until she had joined the BAU. She had found herself in that job and within her team. Being a profiler, the master of her own life, part of a team whose members had soon become dear friends, had been a blessing that she hadn't realized she had until it was too late. Just as she had finally truly found herself, she'd had to be lost again.

And that's what had made it so hard to move on now.

It should have been easy, starting over. She was used, even accustomed, to it. Step one: shake thoughts of the past away and don't look back, step two: take a deep breath, and step three: dive head on and thrive on novelty. That was all there was to it. But she couldn't, not now, ironically when it was so vital that she succeed.

Though she had settled into her new life reasonably fast, every once in a while she caught herself missing her old life so much that she couldn't breathe. It was a physical pain that constricted her chest and knotted her stomach, like a blow. It usually snuck up on her in the least expected moment as a random memory passed through her mind. And though it generally passed in a matter of minutes, even seconds, sometimes she found herself unable to get a grip on her emotions that fast and her melancholy lasted longer, making her withdraw into herself for a day or two. The solitary life she had chosen allowed her the privacy she needed to recover, alone in the comfort and quiet of her lake house.

But she didn't have that luxury tonight.

"Emmeline, are you okay, hon'? You've been so quiet all night!"

Realizing someone was talking to her, Emily focused her eyes on the concerned face of her next-door neighbor, Mrs. Higgins, and tried to force a smile. Tried to force some air back into her lungs.

"Yeah! Yeah I'm fine, I was just admiring the beautiful sunset," she replied truthfully as she gestured toward the reflected pinks and yellows on the calm lake surface. "I don't think I could ever tire of looking at it."

"Well come on in, it's getting chilly. Dessert's all out and ready."

Failing to shake away her nostalgia completely, Emily nonetheless managed a smile as she followed Martha in through the screen door. They often exchanged dinner invitations, and tonight Emily had once more enjoyed a wonderful meal with her neighbors. Sheriff Hugh Higgins and his wife Martha were in their mid-60s and wonderfully good people, and Emily thoroughly enjoyed their company and their parental-like concern for her wellbeing.

It was no coincidence that Emily had bought a house next to the sheriff's (though the lake view had been a no-brainer as soon as she'd seen the place) and formed a friendship with his family, though she had never admitted the reasons aloud. There was just a part of her that wouldn't let go of her law enforcement training, and in time as they'd casually started to talk about some of the sheriff's cases over dinner, she had found herself yearning to help in any way she could, providing psychological insight here, legal advice there. Of course she had never said anything about her past, to Hugh and Martha she was only Emmeline Pollard, a French teacher with great but unsuspicious insight into police work and criminal behavior.

As the two women entered the kitchen, they found Hugh standing still, staring at the phone between his hands. Emily immediately recognized his distraught expression. He had a case. A bad one from the looks of it.

"Everything alright, dear?" Martha asked as she settled down at the table and poured some tea into Emily's cup.

Hugh nodded grimly. "There's been another one."

Emily froze just as she was reaching for her cup, and looked up in alarm. "Another murder?"

Hugh nodded. "Laura Wilson, 17."

Emily barely heard Martha send a small prayer skywards as she felt the blood drain from her own face. "I know her," she gulped, "she was in my self-defense class." She shook her head. "Hugh, that's the third murder in the last couple of months, isn't it?" she asked with a frown, though she knew full well how many there had been. And while she was grieved at the news of her student's death, she couldn't help the butterflies that suddenly sprung to life in her stomach at what this meant.

"I'm afraid so. I'm starting to think this is out of my league. This is a population-of-3000 kind of town, I don't know how to deal with a serial killer," he said with a sigh as he walked to the door and put on his jacket.

Emily turned in her chair as she followed his movement through the room. She inhaled and blurted out the one thing that had been at the back of her mind since the second murder, a few weeks ago: "You know, maybe you should contact the FBI." She held her breath, heart pounding erratically, as she waited for his reaction.

He looked surprised. "The FBI? Why would the FBI take an interest in a small town's business? I'm sure they have bigger things to worry about."

"I hear they have a special unit of profilers that deals a lot with serial killers. Maybe you should give them a call?" She shrugged. "You have nothing to lose, right?"

"I don't know, Emy…"

"You're the one who keeps saying you're undermanned, dear," Martha unexpectedly chimed in, "you could use all the help you could get. Even if it's from the Feds," she added with a smirk, playing on the everlasting rivalry between agencies.

Hugh sighed as he grabbed his keys. "I'll think about it," he mumbled, before he gave them a nod and left.

Emily turned back to the table, emotions in turmoil. Calling the BAU was the right thing to do, they were after all the best at dealing with serial killers. But she knew herself; she longed to see her friends again, and she was afraid that she wouldn't be strong enough not to seek them out if they came. The need was so powerful that she had to look down to conceal her expression and focus on eating the piece of pie that had magically appeared in front of her nose.

But she knew it was useless to hope seeing them again. Even if they did decide to come and help, it wasn't safe for them to know she was here, let alone still alive. Theoretically, only Hotch knew that her death was faked, and it broke her heart to think of the pain she must have caused her dearest friends. Garcia, Morgan, Dave, Reid, even Seaver, whom she had gotten to know during the few months she'd spent mentoring her. She had spent too many hours imagining their reaction to her 'death', almost as self-punishment for not being good enough to stop Doyle when she had the chance. In her made-up scenarios, Hotch was angry with her for leaving, but she also imagined that he would be able to rationalize her decision and accept it as the right thing to do. Not knowing that her death was a fake, Dave would empathize and mourn her loss in his quiet, peaceful kind of way, whereas Morgan would beat himself up for not finding her sooner. Reid would probably keep it all inside, confused that she had run away from them when they could have helped. And Garcia… oh dear Garcia!

"Here, dear, have some tea," Martha said suddenly, bringing Emily back to the present, making her realize that she must truly look grief-stricken. Hell, she was, though not for the reasons her neighbor thought.

She cleared her throat and gave a small smile of thanks.

"Hugh can be stubborn," Martha added, "but he knows how to ask for help when he truly needs it." She smiled, "You, girl, have always given him good advice. I'm sure he'll take this one into serious consideration."

Emily smiled. "I'm glad he thinks I can help. I've always been intrigued by police work. When I was a kid I wanted to be a cop when I grew up."

"Is that how you know so much about all this? About the FBI?" Martha asked with an inquisitive expression, and for a second Emily worried that she might suspect something was off, but then shook the thought away and smiled, with a small shrug.

"That, and I watch TV a lot."

That night Emily prepared a ready-bag. If Hugh followed her advice and actually called the BAU for help, Emily had to leave the area before they got here. She couldn't risk any of them seeing her unexpectedly and blow her cover. Since she had first made her decision, her settling in this quiet little town had always been a temporary arrangement that merely allowed her to recoup and catch her breath until she was ready to fight for her old life back. She had no intention on leaving so soon, though, so her departure from the town would only be for a week or two.

After the whole thing with Doyle, the surgery and her fake death, she had wandered around France for a while, returning to the town in the Alps where her grandfather had retired when she was younger. It wasn't long before she felt restless again though, especially knowing that going back to one of her favorite childhood's spot was risky in the first place. Doyle, who by all accounts thought her dead (again), probably wouldn't come searching for her, instead focusing on finding his son Declan, but Emily couldn't take the chance. So she had moved on and, using one of the fake passports JJ had given her and the money the FBI had transferred out of her accounts, she had flown back to the US, and chosen an unfamiliar, friendly area to start afresh under a new name. Emmeline Pollard was a quieter version of Emily, one who enjoyed simple pleasures and felt at home outdoors – not unlike Emily as a child before her tumultuous teenage years. Emmeline also kept mostly to herself, which was the hardest part for Emily, who found herself truly missing the action and fast pace of big cities. But she had made her choice, and this was the life she would lead. For a while, at least.

She didn't know if she believed in fate, but it was certainly ironic that the area she had chosen for its low criminality now had a serial killer. Ever since the first murder had occurred, Emily had covertly kept tag on what was happening. That first murder hadn't qualified as a crime of passion – though Sheriff Higgins had first classified it as such – and it arose Emily's criminology instincts. However she didn't want to get directly involved, and so only used what little bits of information Hugh gave her when he discussed the cases with her. It wasn't nearly enough to build a profile, especially without visiting the crime scenes and seeing the evidence, but Emily was keeping track of the bigger picture – who the victims were, possible connections between them. The second murder had rung alarm bells in Emily's head, and she had subtly tried to raise Hugh's suspicion about potential connections between the murders. It had worked, but while he was a good cop, he didn't have much experience with dealing with that sort of thing. This would be the perfect opportunity for the BAU to help.

Whatever Hugh's decision though, she had to be ready to leave at a moment's notice if need be, and so she packed everything she needed in her duffel bag, as she had done countless times before. As a BAU profiler, Emily had always had a bag ready. She smiled as she remembered that night Hotch had showed up at her place to convince her to accompany him on a case after she had resigned. His ultimatum had been about a ready-bag, about whether or not she had one ready, and he had been right. Of course he had been right.

Emily felt a painful tug in her chest at the memory. She missed Hotch. She was surprised at actually how much she missed him, his imperturbable presence, driven personality and rare but oh-so-beautiful smiles. She'd always had a somewhat different relationship with him than with the others, probably more as a result of his own careful behavior towards her than from a lack of interest on her part, but she had often wondered, what if? What if they had met in a world where they weren't restricted by their working relationship? Could he ever have seen her in a different, more romantic light? While working under him, Emily had never truly allowed herself to consider the possibility, but the thought had crossed her mind more than once over the years, and admittedly she had been curious. Hotch had always intrigued her, and now that she had no hope of ever acting on her curiosity, the idea taunted her like never before. She wasn't one to settle on regrets or pine for what-ifs, but for some reason, not exploring those potential feelings with Hotch was one of the things she felt she had missed on.

With a resolute sigh, she pushed those useless thoughts away and put her bag under her bed, before deciding to settle for the night. She called her ever-loyal Ambassador – a joyful black and white Boxer mutt she had adopted a while back - who happily jumped up onto the bed next to her, and she settled down and tried to get some sleep.

As per usual, the next morning Emily rose up early for her daily run around the lake. It was a beautiful fall morning, the yellow and orange leaves of the trees turning wonderful shades of golden in the morning sunlight. Ambassador, excited for the outing was close on her heels, and she was just about to leave the yard when she saw Sheriff Higgins's truck pull into his driveway. Not wasting a second, she jogged the short distance that separated their driveways and called out his name when she was close enough.

He waved in response, and walked to meet her halfway.

"Any news?" she asked as she took in his tired expression. He must have been up all night working the case.

He sighed, taking off his hat to scratch his graying head. "I expected it would get easier in time, seeing those crime scenes, but it doesn't."

"Do you think it could be the same killer?"

"Possibly, the team's compiling the evidence as we speak."

Emily bit her tongue, trying to refrain herself from saying too much. But he was at a loss, and she could help! "What about cause of death, was she killed the same way as the others?"

He looked up at her, a little surprised.

"I'm just saying," Emily started again, "if you think they were all killed the same way, you really should contact the FBI."

"Already have."

Emily did a double take. "Oh?"

He nodded. "Yeah, but don't get your hopes up. They said they'd 'look into it and get back to me,'" he said with a little anger. "Look, Emy, I know you're just trying to help, but I don't have time to get stuck in bureaucratic crap. You know as well as I do the Feds won't respond until it's too late and we have another victim on our hands. I ain't waiting for their return call before I act, that's for damn sure."

Emily once more bit her tongue and said nothing, though she was dying to defend her beloved team's reputation. They were always fast.

"I need to catch some sleep before I head back, I'll see you later," he said as he gave her a nod and walked away, disappointment and weariness making his gait slower than usual.

Emily went through her day feeling more distracted than usual. She was teaching French and Spanish a few hours a day at the local schools, which kept most of her days busy. She also taught self-defense three times a week at the community center. Most of her clientele were young women, but she also had a few male teenagers. Lately she had also started advertising for self-defense classes more adapted for older women, who seemed too intimidated to join a younger crew, and so far the response seemed enthusiast enough for her to make it happen. Though it wasn't much, it was her way of protecting the people of the town against dangers she was way too familiar with.

However, Laura Wilson's murder served to show it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. Emily didn't know her very well, but the girl had seemed really sweet and driven. Why her? Emily knew there was always a reason, and sometimes it was as stupid as being unlucky enough to fit the victim profile. It seemed like this was the case here and Emily was starting to wonder about some kind of community center connection. She hadn't known the other two victims, but had heard of them, as they both had been active members of the community, though in different ways. The local schools were really encouraging community involvement with the students, and so there were dozens, if not hundreds, of kids volunteering or working there or through the center for different organizations.

When she got home that night, she hadn't heard back from Hugh or Martha, so she assumed that they didn't have any major news. Before going to bed, she took Ambassador out for a quick walk, enjoying the cool crisp in the air and the cloudless night sky. As she walked back, she noticed car headlights coming up the lane, and assuming it was her neighbors, she walked up to meet them.

She was surprised to see Higgins's deputy Caroline Hills get out of her car and walk in her direction. "Hey Emmeline, they need you at the station."

Emily frowned. "Is everything alright?"

She shrugged slightly. "I don't know. I'm just the messenger. The sheriff tried your cell earlier, but when he didn't get an answer he sent me to check up on you."

"Okay, let me take this crazy beast back inside and I'll be with you in a second," Emily smiled as she called Ambassador and took her inside. Though confused that Hugh would ask her to actually join the investigation, Emily couldn't help the thrill that bubbled in her chest in anticipation. On the way to the station, Emily made small talk with Caroline, whom she had met a bunch of times in town.

If she hadn't been so distracted by Caroline's guy problems, she might not have missed the unmistakable FBI-issued SUV neatly parked in front of the building.

End part 1

Notes: As per usual, I'll try to post this story fairly quickly, so stay tuned…