Disclaimer: I own nothing; everything belongs to their rightful owners.

AN: Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read and/or review my stories, that really means the world to me! And a BIG special thank you goes to my amazing beta reader, the wonderful greeneyedconstellations!

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Pieces

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Part IV

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Past

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The mansion is still silent when Clyde makes his way downstairs the next morning.

He finds Carol and Thea in the kitchen, Carol scrubbing the windows and Thea chopping vegetables. Both women lost in their tasks, discussing the newest rumors from the Royal family.

"It's good to see that nothing has changed," he interrupts with a grin. They turn in unison, their faces lighting up the second they spot him casually leaning in the kitchen doorframe.

"Finally!" Carol announces happily, gesturing at the table. "Sit down, I'll make you some tea and then I want to hear everything you've been up to!"

Clyde chuckles, giving first Carol and then Thea a quick kiss on the cheek, before settling down at the table.

"Where is everyone?" he wonders, while he watches the two women hurry through the kitchen to get his breakfast ready, knows there's no point doing it himself; they wouldn't let him anyway.

"I don't know where the woman went, but the girl locked herself up in her room," Carol informs him as she places a cup of tea in front of him.

"Are you sure?" Thea asks, from where she's standing next to the fridge, her brows raised. "I wouldn't be surprised if she wasn't in there at all."

Clyde takes a sip from his tea, noticing the warning glare Carol throws in Thea's direction. "Emily's done that before?"

Thea nods. "Disappearing is all she does. Can't really blame the poor girl through, the way her mother-"

"Thea!" Carol cuts in sharply, and Clyde makes a mental note to try and talk to Thea alone.

"Eat up," Carol tells him when she finally puts his plate down in front of him. "Your father wants to speak to you."

Clyde stops, his appetite gone in seconds.

"Did he say why?"

Carol shakes her head. "No, just that he's waiting for you in his office."

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Clyde tries his best to delay the conversation with his father as long as possible. He eats his breakfast in slow motion. When Carol finally realizes what he's doing and throws him out of the kitchen, he keeps lingering in the hallway for another half an hour before he finally makes his way down the hall to his fathers study.

"Sit down," his father tells him sternly, the moment Clyde steps though the door.

"Carol said you wanted to talk to me," he starts, not bothering with formalities and ignoring the chair in front of his father's desk with purpose. Leaning back against the doorframe, he crosses his arms in front of his chest, waiting for his father to put him in his place. To Clyde's surprise, he doesn't.

"I want to talk to you about the wedding."

"What is there to talk about?"

"I need you to do me a favor."

"A favor?" Clyde echoes disbelievingly. "I thought that's what the staff is here for?"

"The staff can't handle the girl."

This time Clyde can't hide his amusement. "So you changed your mind?" he chuckles. "Now she does need a babysitter after all?"

His father looks thoughtful. Almost worried. "I obviously underestimated her anger, yes."

Clyde shakes his head. That was an understatement. "Despite what you might think, Father, I can't handle her, either."

"But you are here, aren't you?"

Clyde frowns. "You-"

"Yes. I told her to invite you for the weekend because I wanted to see if you'd come. And you did."

Clyde wants to groan in frustration. Fuck. He should have known that his father was up to something.

"What do you want me to do?" he asks, not even trying to deny the obvious. He watches his father lean back in his chair.

"Just keep an eye on her. Listen closely. Find out if she's planning something and just prevent it from happening. We don't need a scandal."

"Fine."

"Can I trust you with this?" There's a warning in his father's voice, unable to ignore.

Clyde nods. "Of course, Father."

As if I would ever tell you the truth.

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Clyde keeps to himself for the rest of the day, sitting in his bedroom over a paper that should have been done days ago.

A part of him wants nothing more than to leave and head back to Cambridge as soon as possible, but another part of him still wants to see how that family dinner's going to play out.

When he finds his way downstairs around eight, his father and Elizabeth are already seated at the table in the dining room. They're formally dressed, his father in a black tailored suit and Emily's mother in a dark blue dress, and Clyde's glad he had the sense to wear at least a clean button down and slacks.

He's about to ask where Emily is, when she comes rushing in through the front door. The smell of horses and the hay stuck in her dark hair indicate that she came from the stables.

"Sorry, I'm late," she announces breathlessly, before sitting down across from him.

"Where have you been?" her mother asks, her voice filled with disapproval. "And what on earth are you wearing?"

"Elizabeth-" his father starts, his hand reaching for Emily's mothers. "Let's just have dinner, alright?"

For a while they do. They're eating in silence, the only sounds coming from the silverware scraping on the plates, and Clyde briefly wonders if that's how family dinners usually go. Not that he would know. If it was, he was almost glad he'd never had to deal with them on a regular basis.

It's Emily who breaks the silence, her words shattering the peaceful illusion immediately.

"When did you plan to tell me about Cheltenham? Before or after the wedding?"

Clyde looks up from his plate in surprise.

"Cheltenham College is a very good school," Elizabeth states without as much as a blink. "I'm sure you'll adjust."

"Your mother is right, Emily," his father cuts in, actually lifting his head to meet Emily's eyes. "It's a privilege to go there. It'll be a great opportunity for you."

If Clyde hadn't known better he'd have said his father actually meant it.

"Right," Emily nods, a look of utter defiance on her face. "Of course."

At first Clyde's sure she'll throw her plate against the wall or something, but then it's like nothing ever happened, leaving Emily as calm as ever while she keeps eating, cutting her food in tiny little pieces before finally putting them into her mouth.

He couldn't imagine her in a school like Cheltenham. They'll eat her alive.

"Don't you think you've had enough?" It's the disgust in Elizabeth's voice that makes Clyde flinch.

Emily's stopped, her fork halfway to her mouth. Clyde expects some snarky comment, but Emily stays silent. There's the hint of a smile on her face right before she shoves her fork into her mouth.

"Emily," her mother warns. And again. "Emily."

But Emily doesn't even blink, if anything, she keeps eating faster. Pushing fork after fork into her mouth in rapid speed until her plate is empty. Before she's even done swallowing she reaches over the table to grab Clyde's plate. He's too stunned to do anything but stare.

"Stop that, Emily! Right now!"

Clyde hears his father mutter something under his breath, something that sounds like here we go again, while Emily sticks her fork into the chocolate cake in the middle of the table, stuffing the dessert into her mouth with a sickly sweet smile on her face. Clyde feels his stomach flip.

Elizabeth gives up first. With a slight shake of her head she gets up and leaves the room.

"Emily," this time it's his father, his voice all calm and soothing. "Emily, please stop doing that."

She doesn't, and Clyde keeps staring in disbelief while Emily keeps eating. It's sickening to watch.

His father lasts another two minutes before he gives up too, leaving the room and heading down the hall, probably back into his office.

"What about you?" Emily asks, the moment his father is out of earshot. "Don't you have anything to say?" She gives him a mocking smile.

Before Clyde really knows what he's doing he reaches across the table, grabbing her hand tightly and forcing her to let go of the fork. It clatters to the carpet with a muffled thud.

"What are you doing?" Emily glares back at him, trying to pull her hand out of his grasp, but only halfheartedly. "Let go, Clyde!"

He doesn't, keeps staring at her instead. She looks calm, but the pain in her eyes gives her away.

She just wanted someone to stop her.

"I'm sorry," he says, loosening his grip around her wrist, before getting up from the table and fleeing the room. He doesn't look back.

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Present

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"Where's that bloody report, Anne? You said you put it on my desk but it's not there! Anne!"

When Clyde looks up from his desk he doesn't find his assistant, but Emily standing in the doorway to his office.

"I told Anne to call it a day," Emily states calmly, a smile on her lips and a devilish glow in her eyes while she saunters into the room, locking the door behind her. "I don't think you'll find the time to look at that report tonight anyway."

Clyde chuckles, leaning back in his chair and looking her up and down, pretty sure that she isn't wearing anything under her black coat.

"What happened?" he asks. Knows something did, because even though it hurts him to admit it, she wouldn't be in London otherwise.

He watches her facade fall in seconds.

"We had a case in Atlanta," she starts reluctantly, looking away. "I was supposed to...it wasn't exactly undercover work, but I was supposed to dress up and meet the guy in a club. I didn't need to; Hotch asked me twice if I was fine with it and I thought I was, but...when I looked in the mirror, all I saw was Lauren. And the moment I did, I realized how much I-" she stops herself midsentence, closing her eyes as if ashamed of herself. It takes Clyde a moment to realize that she is.

"You miss her," he finishes her sentence, trying to keep his voice calm even though he's feeling anything but. "It's understandable, Emily. You've been-"

"Stop being so bloody understanding!" she snaps suddenly. Her eyes burn with anger and frustration when she finally meets his eyes again. "I fucked up, Clyde! I fucked up and no matter how far I'll run, it'll always catch up with me!"

Clyde stays quiet, watches as she makes her way through the room, slowly opening her coat, confirming his earlier suspicion.

"I need you to remind me who I am," she states, her gaze never leaving his as she makes her way towards him, reaching for the hem of his shirt as soon as she's close enough.

"I need you to remind me that I'm Emily. I need you to-"

He cuts her off with his lips against hers. After all, he's never been good at denying her anything.

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"You were bloody convincing tonight, darling."

"Was I?" Emily chuckles, offering him a look that makes clear that she knows damn well how good she's been. She'd done the job practically all by herself. Again.

"Let's celebrate," she murmurs, pulling him closer with her hand around the collar of his shirt. "It's the least I deserve, don't you think?"

She pulls him in for a kiss, and even though they're not alone on the jet and her behavior is anything but professional, he lets her.

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Past

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When she bursts into his bedroom two hours later, he's still sitting over that paper that should have been done days ago.

"Ever heard of knocking-" he snaps, and stops when he gets a look at her.

She's wearing another one of those breathtakingly short dresses, black silk and red velvet, over a pair of fishnet tights. Her long hair is falling straight into her pale face, her makeup perfectly applied, her eyes all big and dark and her lips tinged scarlet. She looks anything but sixteen, and the way she's standing there in the middle of his room, all poised and bloody beautiful, he can't stop thinking about-

"There's an underground party tonight. Do you want to come?"

It takes him a moment to register what she just said and another to catch the dangerous spark in her eyes.

"Underground party." Clyde swallows, forcing himself to meet her eyes. "You're underage, remember?"

"Actually, I'm not, " she states, holding her ID in his direction.

Clyde frowns, getting up from his desk and crossing the room in two strides. "Where did you get this?" he asks, examining the fake ID between her fingers. It was done just right.

Emily gives a slight shrug, pulling back her hand. "You know there's nothing you can't buy. So, are you coming?"

Clyde shakes his head. "No, and you won't go either."

"No?" Emily smirks. "And how do you plan on stopping me?" She looks amused.

"I'm going to go get your mother."

"Good luck with that; she left with your father half an hour ago."

Clyde blinks.

"Well, have fun at home then," Emily adds and turns, making her way towards his door.

"Where are you going?"

"I told you there's an underground party, and I'm going with or without you."

With one last look over her shoulder she saunters out of his room, all confident and tempting, making Clyde curse under his breath. How can a girl not only five years younger than him, but broken beyond repair, make him feel so insecure?

"Emily, wait," he calls before he can think better of it, already reaching for his leather jacket.

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Present

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He knows she's there the second he steps out of the elevator. The flowery scent lingering in the air, unmistakably hers.

He finds her in the living room, sitting on the floor, with her head against the floor length windows. Her eyes closed, her fingers curled around a photo in her hands.

"Emily," he starts, slipping out of his jacket and leaving it on the couch before crossing the room in heavy strides. Unease growing in his chest.

"Emily?" he tries again, crouching down next to her. "Can you hear me?" He reaches for her hand carefully, afraid he might startle her.

"Matthew," she whispers hoarsely, and he watches her eyelids flutter. "He's dead." She blinks as if it's hard to keep her eyes open, and something just isn't right.

He reaches for her cheek and stops.

"Em, you're running a fever. How long have you been sitting here?" She mumbles something, but it's not making much sense.

"Come on, darling, you need to lie down. Let me help you upstairs." He pushes the sweaty hair out of her face, wondering if there was anything in the medicine cabinet that hadn't expired yet. "Do you think you can get up?"

Emily leans forward to rest her head against his chest. There's something on her blouse and it takes Clyde a moment to realize it's blood.

"Emily," he starts, his hand caressing her cheek. "There's blood on your clothes. Do you know what happened?"

At first she doesn't respond and he's about to ask again, when she starts mumbling, her eyes still closed.

"Nosebleed...need to call...BAU...work..."

"They don't know you're in London?"

She keeps mumbling, something that sounds like a no, but he's not sure. Clyde sighs, frowns. And then it hits him.

Matthew is dead.

Matthew. Matthew Bennett. Italy, 1985.

He's startled when he feels Emily's fingers curl around his wrist, her fingertips freezing cold, an odd contrast to her otherwise feverish skin.

"Don't ever leave," she whispers quietly. "Please don't ever leave me."

"I won't," Clyde assures her, pulling her closer into his arms. "I promise, I won't."

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She blows her cover in the blink of an eye.

It's not exactly her fault, even though Emily won't tell Clyde that. After all, it had been she who assured him that Tsia was able to do this.

She'd been wrong, horribly wrong, and if it hadn't been for Clyde she would be dead.

There's blood on her dress and her hands and her face. Not hers, but from the guy crumpled on the dirty floor, their target. They were supposed to arrest him, not kill him.

"Take that," Clyde says, and Emily blinks and frowns at the leather jacket he's holding out for her. It takes her a moment to understand what he wants and by the time she does, Clyde's already put the jacket around her shoulders.

"Are you hurt?"

"No," Emily rasps, her throat dry, burning. "You came just in time."

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Disclaimer: I own nothing; everything belongs to their rightful owners.