Emily had been back two weeks when Derek let her know she needed to get her takedown recertification. It wasn't exactly the truth, but how else was he supposed to make damn sure nothing that happened with Doyle could ever happen again? His own confidence in being there for a partner in the field had been shot that night the previous March.

He came clean eventually, and Emily agreed anyway. That weekend, she showed up at the gym - the same gym where Derek had taught Reid to throw a good punch years ago - dressed in sweats and ready to go.

"First," he said. "How are you feeling? I'm not about to do this if you're not ready."

"I feel like kicking your ass," she said coolly. "Now are you here to recertify me, or coddle me?" All this babying irritated the hell out of her. What Emily really wanted was to be treated the same as she always had. Seven months away had been seven months too long. She had missed them. And she felt different enough without Derek constantly confirming it for her by asking how she felt. Yes, she nearly died. But she wasn't dying now, and she wasn't about to start behaving like some delicate flower because she'd been through hell.

Derek smiled widely, pleased by her response. "Now, get ready," he cautioned. "Cause I'm about to teach you some BJJ." He moved his hips slightly, as if to music that she couldn't hear. In the background, she could hear irritating rap music from early in the decade. She was glad that they didn't have to listen to that.

"Sounds filthy," Emily returned, her eyes shining. She recognized the acronym for Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. It definitely sounded better abbreviated.

"Come on, Prentiss. This is serious stuff," he argued, sobering before her eyes.

"You're right. I'm sorry," she apologized, schooling her face to show no emotion. She knew full well that Derek wasn't finished blaming himself for what happened to her, and Emily knew it was her duty as his partner to ease the guilt, even if it meant poking a little fun at the situation. If they were two guys, it would come with the territory. She couldn't handle the wounded looks he gave her, whenever she tried to make a joke out of what happened.

Keeping a grave face was difficult, especially when the moves Derek taught had names like The Clinch, The Rear Takedown and The Mount. All were so rife with sexual innuendo Emily could barely contain her personal commentary.

They were practicing The Back Mount when she couldn't help herself. "I should have definitely tried this one on Doyle," she managed, breathing heavily while astride Derek. He lay facedown and struggled like an unsub.

"Prentiss, would you stop with the Doyle stuff?" he panted. "It ain't funny."

"Oh, it's funny," she countered. "It's funny that you blame yourself…when…clearly…it was Hotch's fault," she joked breathlessly, pinning Derek with her body weight, pushing her stomach against his face at his instruction. "He killed the lights in the warehouse."

Derek's response was muffled, and Emily refused to let him up until he tapped the floor, indicating they were moving onto the next lesson. They practiced in that gym for hours, with only a small break for lunch.

Their final lesson was The Rear Carotid Restraint, which Emily was well familiar with. "I think I actually tried this one on Doyle," she said gleefully. In handcuffs," she said, with her arm carefully around Derek's throat. The last thing she wanted to do was choke him out.

"Why are you so ornery, woman?" Derek asked, coaching her through the move that she already knew.

"I'm not ornery. I'm just…trying to get you to lighten up on yourself. If it were reversed, you wouldn't want me blaming myself for months, would you?"

Derek, of course, wasn't in a position to respond. But once they finished and Emily was gathering her stuff, he approached her.

"No."

"Excuse me?" she asked, turning, still bent over repacking her gym bag.

"No, I wouldn't want you blamin' yourself."

"Good. Then please stop. It isn't your fault. There was nothing any of you could have done for me that wasn't done. Now. You wanna get some dinner? I'm starving."

"Sure. I know a place," he said.

Over Chinese food, late that evening, Emily couldn't help asking. "So, am I the only one you've imposed your helpfulness on this way?" She took a bite of rice and waited.

"Prentiss," he scoffed. "What kind of question is that? I help everybody. I taught Reid to throw a punch, taught JJ how to act around dogs, and I taught my girl, Garcia, how to shoot a gun."

"You took Garcia to the shooting range?" Emily asked, incredulous. "How'd that go over?"

"Pretty well in the end. Everything I teach goes well…" he boasted, offering her a cocky smile.

It felt nice being here with her, as friends and coworkers, without the constant weight of guilt. He liked that Prentiss showed up, even though she was well acquainted with most of the techniques he showed her. He liked that she gave him ten hours of her time when she really didn't have to. She was that kind of person.

"Of course," she nodded. She thought a minute as Derek ate his egg roll and she stabbed her sweet and sour chicken. "So, who taught you?" she asked, a wicked gleam in her eyes.

"Who taught me what?" Derek asked, glancing up from his plate.

"How to do everything you showed us?"

"My father taught me to punch. Hotch taught me to shoot. Ah, Rossi taught me how to act around dogs. And Gideon gave me plenty of opportunities to implement my black belt training," he said wryly.

"I take it they weren't open to taking a lesson from you…" Emily ventured.

"I'm always there if they need me," Derek said, looking her in the eye.

"Yes, you are…" she said quietly.