This was supposed to go up last night. But an unexpected trip to the ER and a trip to pick up discharged patients from the hospital delayed that. Anyway, here it is! Last installment.

Disclaimer: Yeah.

It didn't take long for the local and state police to find the house. By then, the agents and their charge had purged themselves of any inappropriate laughter. Hotch and Emily knew it was the prospect of the basement and the horrors it would hold that kept Natalie quiet now. Not knowing what possible traps would bar their way, the FBI had opted to wait until they had more equipment before trying the door that led down into the darkness. Natalie had remained outside in the sunlight with Emily while streams of cops entered and exited the house. The unsub's body had already been removed by a team from the morgue and forensics was photographing the remainder of the scene. Everything would need to be documented. Even the paramedics had arrived to check them out and record their injuries. Hotch's injuries weren't life threatening, but the bruises were already starting to bloom across his ribs. The small cuts Emily had received from flying shrapnel had been documented as well. Measurements and photographs taken, their statements on what had happened recorded. By that time, Natalie had become almost silent again. The local cops still called her Abigail and the FBI, along with Prentiss, weren't correcting them. Natalie's new identity would be preserved to every extent possible. But her quiet, and the accompanying stillness, had Hotch and Emily concerned.

"You don't have to go in there again," Emily told her. "We have enough personnel and equipment here."

For a long moment, Natalie just stared off into the woods. They were at the back of the house and Emily wondered if Natalie was thinking of Abigail – the survivor who'd fled – and her path through those woods. Natalie took a deep breath and closed her eyes before speaking.

"I know. But I still see it when I close my eyes… the dark of the basement. I couldn't really see anything, so my mind makes up things to go in the darkness."

"I'd say that's normal," Emily told her.

"Maybe… maybe if I go down, if I actually see it – see what's really there – I won't keep being so afraid."

Emily was quiet for a while as she tried to determine the best way to respond. She could hear the small note of hope in Natalie's voice. She didn't want to quell it, but she didn't want to be dishonest either. Of all people, Emily knew that there were some things that never really left you.

"Maybe. But… I don't think everything you went through will just go away like that. Being a victim and a survivor… it changes you. There are always scars – physical and emotional – and scars never disappear. They fade. They… become less. I think, if you go down to the basement, if you see what's really down there, it may help those scars fade a little bit more. You'll probably still have dreams or nightmares about what happened. But maybe they won't be so bad when you can fill in some of those blanks. You can take hold of your fear."

Hotch approached as Emily spoke. "The forensic team is wrapping up their investigation on the shooting. They're ready to go into the basement." He looked into Natalie's eyes, "I can have one of my agents take you back to the hotel. You don't need to be here for this."

"I think I do," she told him. "I want to go down when you open the door."

Hotch nodded his assent. "We'll need to clear the area, make sure he didn't set any traps and confirm that there isn't an accomplice, and then I'll come get you."

Natalie nodded and watched him walk back to the house. And she waited.

It took nearly an hour before Hotch came for her. They'd opened the door and cleared the space, confirming there were no other potential suspects laying in wait and that the unsub hadn't booby-trapped his lair. Hotch refused to bring Natalie into the area until he could guarantee her safety. When he finally walked over to where she sat at the back of the SUV, Emily was sitting with her. Prentiss had gone into the house several times to check on the progress and speak with her former colleagues. She enjoyed their camaraderie and the easy pattern they all fell back into. Even Alex was able to be fall into those easy rhythms that Emily was so good at fostering.

Hotch watched the two women as he approached. Whatever they were discussing had brought some color and animation to Natalie. She smiled broadly and her hands waved wildly.

"… and after he'd eaten through the doorframe, that dumb dog got into the kitchen and ate the entire roast we were supposed to have for dinner! When Mrs. Adams found him passed out on the table, she started screaming."

"Oh my god, it's a miracle she didn't kill him!"

"Baby redeemed himself when someone tried breaking into the house when Mrs. Adams was there by herself the next day. He cornered the guy in the library. Mrs. Adams heard him yelling for help and found Baby growling about an inch from his balls. The guy was actually in tears when the police showed up."

Emily laughed again and Hotch could see the dimple flicker in Natalie's cheek as she joined in. He wished fleetingly that he didn't have to interrupt them – that this interlude of happiness could continue and Natalie could go home to her giant dog without what she was going to experience next.

"Emily, Natalie. They're ready." Hotch felt his heart clutch a little at the total disappearance of their smiles, of the little dimple.

Natalie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Okay," she said. Emily gave her a brief pat on the back – it was both comforting and encouraging. As a group, they trudged back to the house one last time.

For Natalie, the trip down the stairs was initially surreal. She'd built up so much terror in connection with the basement where she'd been held that the banality of the space seemed odd. At first, it was just a basement; dim and a bit dusty, but only a basement. Beyond the door from the kitchen was the wooden staircase Natalie remembered from her escape. It seemed more rickety as she descended than she remembered from her flight up to freedom. But she remembered the splinter she'd received and was careful not to touch the rough-hewn banister. The police who'd descended the stairs first – weapons drawn and checking for possible accomplices – had turned on the few lights that brightened the space. It wasn't much, but Natalie was able to see the things she'd missed when she'd been running for her life in the dark. The walls and the floor were unfinished wood and stone. The bulbs that hung from the ceiling were naked and cast odd shadows on the dirty surfaces.

The pockets of cool, fresh air that Natalie remembered seemed to correspond to alcoves or large pantries. Some of those closets were jammed with ridiculously ordinary hodge-podge: rakes and shovels and other gardening tools, broken flower pots, an ancient looking garden gnome, simple household tools. One looked to be nothing but shelf after shelf of jarred vegetables, fruits, and jellies – all homemade and labeled in a careful hand at some point. But other alcoves were not so simple. As she peeked into one, Natalie froze as she surveyed its contents. There was a single row shelves that, unlike their counterparts in the other spaces, were bare; instead, clothes were heaped on the floor. They were school uniforms – blazers and sweaters with various monogrammed school crests. Another pile contained plaid skirts of various sizes, simple button down shirts, panty hose, tights, and knee socks. There was another pile of shoes. Almost without thought, Natalie stepped toward the pile of blazers. They were dirty and mouse-eaten, but she half-wondered if she would find hers there. As she stepped closer, something else caught her eye. A row of bags – backpacks, messenger bags, purses, school gym bags – made her come to a stop. She spotted one, near the front end of the line. It was small, covered in a layer of grime like the clothes. For a moment, Natalie wanted to go to that bag, rescue it from the darkness, and run back up the stairs and into the dying sunshine. But she couldn't move. She just stared at the bag, remembering the last time it had hung from her shoulders.

At first, the agents around her were confused by her sudden motionlessness. Emily was the first to recognize the clothes and bags for what they were – she'd worn her share of private school uniforms as a kid.

"Do you want to leave?" she asked quietly.

Natalie took a slow, deep breath, exhaling before she spoke. "No," she responded. She turned away from the small space that held the last physical remnants of Abigail Lentz. After she left, Hotch spoke with the crime scene technicians and detectives about making sure the clothes, shoes, and bags were matched up with the known victims and returned to their families. Those would be the easiest matches. But he knew the volume of belongings in that alcove belonged to more than the victims of which they were aware. It would take time to connect those clothes and shoes and bags to other missing or murdered girls. Abigail's things would go to her parents. One day, if Natalie wanted them, her parents could give those things to her.

It wasn't long before Hotch caught up with Natalie, Emily, and his agents. They stood at the back of the basement, where the unsub – or one of his ancestors – had dug out and around the foundation of the house. Someone had created a sub-basement of sorts, rigging wood and stone supports on the walls and ceilings to maintain the stability of the structure. They stood silently with a gaggle of cops and crime scene technicians, watching as a team of paramedics assessed an unconscious woman on the floor of a dugout pit.

It was clear that the unsub had taken at least some time with her. There were bruises on her arms and legs, her left eye was swollen and her lip was split. Hotch thought maybe the fingers on one of her hands had been broken, but he couldn't be sure in the dim light.

"Did she say anything?" he asked. It wasn't a question directed to anyone in particular. He wasn't even sure he'd voiced the inquiry until one of the local cops responded.

"Only a little, sir. I think she initially thought we were him; she cried a little, tried to get away. We were able to get her calmed down while we waited for the EMTs. She just kept saying, 'I'm not her.'"

Hotch stepped up to Natalie then and took her hand. She looked up at him and he could clearly see the horror and guilt in the brown depths. Natalie opened her mouth, tried to say something, but Hotch cut her off.

"This is not your fault. You did not do this to her. Do you understand? He did this. He did all of this. And he will never hurt anyone else again."

Natalie just nodded. They waited as the paramedics passed with the young woman on a gurney. The final victim. The last one who would know the terror of the unsub that still didn't have a name.

"When she's ready, I have the names of some people – psychologists, psychiatrists – people who can help. Will you make sure she gets them?"

"I will. I promise," Hotch told her. He stood there for a moment, watching her lost in her memories that place. "Can everyone back out for a minute, please?"

The paramedics were already gone and the local cops ushered the crime scene technicians away from the pit. There would be plenty of time for them to gather evidence. Hotch's team followed them out one by one. They passed by Natalie and gave her a small nod, except Rossi. He stopped and took her hand.

"You are the bravest woman I have ever met. It's been a privilege working with you, cara," he told her gently. She squeezed his hand and, in a moment of grace that had his team in tears, pushed up to the tips of her toes and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. It was a small gesture, but Rossi felt her forgiveness in that gentle touch and closed his eyes to embrace it. He returned the squeeze of her fingers before following the others out. Hotch, Emily, and Natalie remained.

For a moment, Natalie stood, taking in the basement – the dark, the pit. She knew there was more to see. There was a rabbit warren of other rooms further back; rooms where she and the other girls had been shackled, rooms where they'd been beaten and raped.

"It'll never really go away, will it?"

"No," Emily told her. "It won't. You'll never completely forget, but it doesn't have to run your life either."

"I'd hoped that coming down here… confronting it, maybe… I don't know. I don't want to keep carrying it with me."

Hotch took her hand again. He wasn't typically into physical displays, particularly with victims, but he knew this time was important. They both needed that connection. "You don't have to carry it with you, Natalie. It will always be something that happened to you. But it doesn't have to define who you are. You've built a wonderful life. Now you can go back to it knowing that the person who hurt you can never hurt you again. You helped put a stop to him. It can't change the past, but it's something that you can carry with you as you move forward."

Natalie nodded. "I don't think I want to be down here anymore," she told them.

"Then let's go," Hotch told her. He kept her hand in his as he guided her away from the pit. As he led her through the basement, Natalie reached behind her for Emily's hand. Both agents held on, gave her the support she needed as she climbed the basement stairs and left most of her nightmares behind.

Three Days Later

After leaving that terrible house in the woods, Natalie had returned to her parents' home in Delaware. Photos of the Lentz family holding one another had run in almost every paper in America. But the BAU had been able to keep Natalie's new identity from reaching the media. Every picture identified her as Abigail Lentz, the girl – young woman now – who'd escaped from a psychotic butcher. Hotch knew she would return to her home and work in Surrey soon. Her father had already made arrangements that would help her fly back to Europe and once more slip into the life she'd made. George Lentz had spoken briefly with Hotch, thanked him for helping his daughter close the door on this part of her life.

"Do you think I did the right thing?" he'd asked. "Sending her away?"

Although the other man had not voiced them, Hotch heard the underlying questions. Did I really protect her? Are the deaths of those other girls my fault? Will my child ever be okay?

"I don't know if Natalie told you, but I have a son. I've killed to protect him. In your position, I can't say that I would have done anything differently. As a father, I know how you did it and I know it wasn't easy. You gave your child up to provide her with some safety and security, the opportunity to heal. She's become a wonderful young woman. I'd say that you can take solace in knowing that," Hotch told him. "The rest… the others… I've been doing this so long now that I can tell you unequivocally that nothing you did changed what was going to happen. He was a sadist and a murderer. There would have been more victims simply because of what he was. That had nothing to do with you or Natalie."

George nodded at his words before offering his hand. "Thank you, Agent Hotchner, you and your team. For everything you've done – for her and the others."

Hotch had left Natalie with her family and flown back to D.C. to wrap up the reports on the case. Positive identification of the unsub had not yet been made, although there were several strong leads that he knew would eventually pan out into a name and background. But Hotch was happy to leave that to others. He knew that the forensics analysts had collected enough evidence to keep a team of investigators busy for years. The information being gleaned from the evidence from the house in Pennsylvania would be compiled into a profile of the unsub. He and his crimes would be studied and cataloged.

But for Hotch it was more important that his victims be identified and their families notified. Some of the clothes and shoes and bags had already been connected to the known victims and returned to their parents or other family members. The contents of the school bags were helping identify some of the unknown victims – school IDs, driver's licenses, library cards, and bank cards were the primary source of information. Hotch was being kept informed of the progress of the victim identification process. When they'd located the first body – buried under the high shrubs that had shielded parts of the property from view – he'd known they would eventually find them all and return them to their families. It was the only part of the case that remained open for him. Finding each of those girls and bringing them home.

After finishing a call with his counterpart in Pennsylvania – discussing the most recently identified victim, a 16 year-old from Connecticut – Hotch glanced out the window at his team. They were gathered around Reid's desk where they sat with Emily, enjoying the last bit of time with her before she headed back to London. It was good to see them laugh, to see the genuine happiness on their faces. The nature of their work burned out agents faster than anywhere else in the Bureau. But their ability to move past the horror, to absorb it, mourn the victims and what had been done to them, and continue doing what they did every day, awed him. He could wonder at it, but there was no need. The reasons for the survival were there – the laughter and happiness they brought to one another. They were bright spots of light, offering friendship, hope, and kindness in darkness of their work. No matter where their careers ultimately took them, these people would always be beacons guiding one another through the sorrow of their profession.

When he stepped out onto the catwalk, he stood there for a few moments, absorbing the sounds of their laughter. He memorized the tableau of his team – several of them nearly doubled over laughing – as Emily recounted what could only be a story about Derek, who gesticulated wildly and attempted to grab her and cover her mouth as he blushed. Emily danced away from him as she finished her story and Morgan just hung his head in defeat. Garcia wiped tears from under her eyes and even Rossi guffawed at whatever wild tale Emily had told.

It had been like this since they'd returned from Delaware after leaving Natalie with her family. Emily had taken a few days to wrap up the paperwork and spend time with her friends and colleagues. There was still no confirmation yet that the victims from Europe were the work of the unsub in Pennsylvania, but the volume of evidence was so enormous that it could months before the forensics teams were able to make any definitive links. The various police agencies were eager for an answer, but they were content to let the Americans handle the tragedy that follows in the wake of a serial killer. If and when confirmation linking the unsub to the deaths in Europe was made, they would be informed and provided with everything they needed to notify the families and close their own cases.

But now it was time for Emily to return to London. The team had hoarded their time with her while she was stateside – dinner and drinks, lunch, coffee. No one knew when they would all be together like this again. So Hotch made his way slowly down the catwalk, listening to the chatter and laughter. Like the others, he wanted to savor this time. He knew that these warm memories would be used to combat the ones that still too often dragged him from a panicked sleep. The BAU team was aware that the brighter moments were what fought back the dark that pulled at their souls at the end of every day. More than any other person he knew, they treasured the moments of levity that life offered, cobbled them together to form armor against the horrors they witnessed. It was never completely vanquished, but the pain and suffering could be held at bay.

As he walked down the few steps to the team, Hotch heard Morgan complain, "Why do you always find it necessary to tell that story?"

"I haven't told that many people!" Emily objected.

"Just my mom, my sisters, my aunt, my cousin," Morgan responded.

"Well, this is the first time I've told the team. And I haven't told Hotch yet!"

Hotch interjected from behind Morgan, "If this is something I'm going to have to report to OPM, please don't tell me."

Garcia, JJ, and Reid snickered. Rossi grinned widely, "What they don't know won't hurt them."

"Now I know I don't want to know," Hotch said with a smile of his own. "Emily, are you ready?"

"Is it time already?" Garcia cried. Tears were already forming behind her glasses. "I didn't realize it was so soon. I miss you already," she told Emily as she wrapped her in a fierce hug. "Call me as soon as you get home."

Emily squeezed her just as tightly. "I will. Promise you'll come visit me again soon."

"I will," Garcia promised before releasing her friend and leaving. Hotch had seen the tears streaming down her face. Departures were always hard for her, but he knew JJ, who was hugging Emily now, or Morgan, who was waiting his turn to say goodbye, would seek her out. Either or both would dry her tears and tease a smile out of her.

"We miss you, Emily," JJ told her.

"I miss you guys, too. I'll try to make it back for Henry's birthday this year," Emily promised.

"We'll hold you to that," JJ promised, before releasing her to Morgan.

He closed his eyes as he held her close. "Miss you," he whispered.

"I miss you, Derek. Come see me," Emily asked.

"I will," he promised. "Call me after you call Penelope. Promise?"

"Promise," she told him before letting him go. He and JJ left together to find and console their technical analyst.

Emily shook hands with Alex. "It was nice to meet you," she told her. "You're a damn fine agent."

Alex smiled, unable to resist Emily's charm. "Having met you, I understand the giant hole that was left for me to fill."

"The offer's open to you as well. If you're ever looking for a chance to get away, I'd be happy to show you around London."

"I might take you up on that," Alex said.

Emily turned to Reid and pulled him into a gentle hug. "I miss you, Dr. Reid."

"I miss you, too," Reid said quietly. He kept his thi arms wrapped around her while Emily's hand rubbed up and down his back. It was comfort and friendship and kindness in a single gesture.

"Call me more," Emily instructed as she released him. She knew an order to email her would be wasted.

"I will," Reid promised as he also let go. He gave her one of his sweet, boyish smiles before wandering off to find the others. He needed a little morale boost as well.

Rossi picked up Emily's bag and slid his free arm around her waist, guiding her out of the BAU and to the elevator with Hotch trailing behind them. "Cara, it sounds like a broken record, but I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too, Rossi," she told him as she tipped her head onto his shoulder. "You know, the UK has a pretty decent tradition of serial homicides. You could always take a sabbatical for a research project."

"I might do that," Rossi told her. When the elevator doors opened, Emily hugged him and accepted a kiss on each cheek in farewell. "Take care of yourself, Emily Prentiss," he told her.

"You, too," she said as she climbed into the elevator box with Hotch, who'd taken her bag from Rossi as the older agent had made his goodbyes.

The ride to the ground floor was brief, but a quiet sadness filled the compartment. Hotch was discrete and pretended not to notice Emily wiping away the tears that had sprung to life as they made their way down. Neither had much to say as Hotch drove her to the FBI's airstrip. Emily had intended to book a flight back to London on her own, but Hotch had pulled a few strings and arranged for the BAU jet to take her back across the ocean. She'd helped them catch one of the more prolific serial killers in recent history. She deserved more than a 10 hour flight in coach on a crowded commercial flight. When Hotch stopped the SUV in the jet's hangar, he killed the engine and they sat in silence.

"I once thought that leaving the BAU would mean leaving behind everything I'd seen; a clean slate. But it doesn't really work like that, does it?"

"No," Hotch admitted. "It doesn't. None of it ever really goes away. You just… deal with what's left behind." After another moment of silence, Hotch turned to his former subordinate. "Will you do me a favor, Emily?"

She turned to face him in the seat. "Absolutely."

"Will you check on Natalie for me? See how she's doing? If she's… dealing well with everything?"

Emily smiled. "Of course I will," she promised before exiting the vehicle.

They made their way slowly out of the hangar and across the taxiway to where the jet waited. There were only a few minutes more before the Emily needed to be on board and seated. But they both stopped at the stairs leading into the plane.

"Thank you, Hotch," Emily told him. "I didn't realize how much I needed to see everyone again."

"I didn't realize how much we needed to see you."

She smiled again, full and open. It popped a dimple in a cheek. "You know, the offer's open to you too."

"What offer?"

"To visit. You should bring Jack."

Hotch returned the smile and leaned in to wrap his arms around her in a tight hug. She reciprocated the embrace, holding tight and absorbing the warmth and comfort.

"You're one of those lights, Emily. The ones that beat back the memories and the pain," he said as he released her. He pressed a kiss to her cheek before letting her go completely.

"You're one for me as well, Hotch," she told him before mirroring his gesture with a soft press of her lips to his cheek. Without saying anything more, she took her bag and made her way up the short flight of stairs.

Before she could enter, Hotch called to her. "Emily!"

When she looked over her shoulder, a bit puzzled at being called back, he smiled again. "You know… the Bureau is considering opening a liaison office with Interpol – to improve interagency cooperation. Maybe…"

Emily smiled back. "Maybe," she told him before heading into the plane.

Hotch watched as the cabin door was shut and sealed before walking backward away from the jet as the engines were started. He caught glimpse of Emily through the cabin windows as she moved through the compartment and took a seat. She looked through the double-paned Plexiglas and gave him a small wave as the plane pushed back and taxied to the end of the runway for takeoff. He watched as the jet roared by again, giving another brief wave goodbye, and thought about all the happy things that kept the dark memories at bay.

"Maybe," he said.

The end?

Happy, happy birthday, to my dear Tigerlily. This is finally done.

I hope everyone who's read this has enjoyed it. This will probably be my last fic and it was incredibly difficult to finish. (possibly because it was my last? Who knows?). As always your thoughts and constructive criticism is welcome. Feedback is helpful; assholes are not, so behave accordingly. Thanks to everyone who stuck with this over the last 2 freaking years.

Yours - SLUMP.