I know I'm taking a departure here from my usual stories in many ways. I've written the first several chapters already - just went off on a spree the other day and kept writing.

There is some f/f in here, so if you don't like that, don't read. And there's Demily, too. And a whole lot of messy angst. It largely follows the timeline of the show in terms of established personal relationships, but I play with them a bit during and after that.

Several chapters are spent during those many months when Emily was away and Derek thought she was dead. There will be a casefic in here at some point, but I'm not sure how much I'll delve into the actual case...we shall see. In other words, a long bit of free-form writing with pairings including: Emily/Derek, JJ/Emily, JJ/Will, Emily/Other, Derek/Savannah. Alternating points of view (Emily, Derek and JJ)

Based loosely off a prompt received in a PM. Let's see where it goes!...

March 2011

She, Emily Prentiss, was going to die. It wasn't a matter of "if," it was a matter of "when." She sat there when Doyle walked away, taking in the cool night air in deep breaths to try and calm her racing heart, and conceded to the inevitable. She was going to kill him, his team would take her down, she would die for her efforts, but it would be worth it because her family would be safe. Plain and simple.

She knew where her family was at the moment because Doyle had told her. He'd told her because he was spying on them. He must have cameras in the BAU somehow. Which meant, if she did what she planned to do, Doyle would be watching, and she wanted him to. Doyle was probably watching her everywhere and would be waiting to watch her crumble in fear on this night. She wanted to do the exact opposite and take back some control. It was selfish and she knew it. But she was scared out of her mind, and sad about dying, and her need for human connection at that moment overrode sensibility, and she just wanted this one time before she died.

The liquor store nearest FBI headquarters was crowded that Friday night. Her fingers immediately went for the bottle of silver Patron. Her favorite. And his. She paid for the bottle and made her way the three blocks on foot, using the walk to make sure she knew what she was doing and really wanted it. She swiped her ID at the side entrance without hesitation and climbed up the stairs.

The BAU floor was deserted, except for the faint glow of a screen flickering in Morgan's office. She found a dark corner, one where she could watch the door of his office, but they couldn't see her. If he was here watching a movie with Penelope on a Friday night, she knew Penelope would leave after, and he would stay to do paperwork because it probably meant he had a date he didn't want to miss on Saturday night. She knew, because unlike Doyle believed, she'd always been invited to join them, and many times she did. Sometimes she and Penelope would leave and go get a drink together before calling it a night, but Derek mostly always stayed, catching up on paperwork so he could potentially have an entire two days unencumbered by work. That's what she was counting on.

She looked at her watch. The movie had to be almost over. Sure enough, the lights went on in Morgan's office a few minutes later, and Penelope came out carrying an empty popcorn bowl, a smile on her face. "Get that paperwork done so you can have fun tomorrow night, my God among men."

Emily could hear Morgan chuckle at that. She took a swig from the tequila bottle and watched and waited. She watched Garcia make her way towards her office, and a minute later watched her friend emerge with purse in hand and get in the elevator. Taking one more swig of tequila, she walked up the stairs and made her way to Morgan's office.

He didn't notice her at first, leaning against his doorway. "All work and no play makes Derek a dull boy," she said with a small smile on her face.

His eyes landed on her, stunned. This wasn't something she'd normally say. She wouldn't normally be standing in his office late on a Friday night with a partially drunk bottle of tequila in her hand and, what she hoped, was a seductive smile on her face.

She held the bottle out to him. "Want some?"

"Emily?" he asked, concern and curiosity mixing in his voice. "I thought you said you couldn't hang out tonight."

"That was a few hours ago. I had some things to take care of. I have time now."

He gestured towards the chair opposite his desk. "What's wrong?"

She took a gamble that Doyle was not hacking into the video feed from the FBI security cameras, because Penelope would have noticed that. His cameras must be elsewhere in this building, this office, somehow. She grabbed the chair opposite Derek's desk and dragged it to the corner of the room, standing on it and flicking the nearly invisible little switch that Garcia had installed on all the office cameras in the BAU, the switch that automatically put the image on loop feed from whatever was going on five minutes earlier, their protective measure against the prying eyes of Strauss if the team needed absolute privacy. She closed the door, left the chair where it was and walked to his side of the desk, leaning against it, taking in his wide eyes, and handing him the bottle.

"Nothing's wrong, Morgan. I just stopped by to see if you were still here."

"With a bottle of Patron?"

She smiled again, "It is Friday, after all."

He looked at the bottle. "You've already done a couple of shots?"

She smirked. "Time to catch up."

He stared at her and took a swig from the bottle before passing it back to her. She took a healthy swig herself, relishing the burn as the liquid moved down her throat.

"What 'things' did you have to take care of?" he asked, his face a mixture of deep confusion and concern with just a bit of amusement and curiosity there under the surface.

She shrugged her shoulders like it didn't matter that much. "I was meeting a man for coffee, but it didn't work out how I hoped it would."

"Sorry," he murmured.

She shrugged again. "No big deal. He was kind of an asshole, truth be told. No, he was probably the biggest asshole ever, actually," she said with a smile and a small laugh.

"So you came back here?" he asked.

She scooted a little closer, so she almost right in front of him, and hopped up on the desk, legs crossed. "Yep. Because you're not an asshole at all. Not even a little, and I wanted to be around someone like that."

In her heart, she knew she was being manipulative and awful, but she pushed those feelings down. She just needed to know before she died. She vowed she'd take Doyle down with her so Morgan would never be in any danger. And even if it didn't work out, she would definitely be dead, and Doyle would be satisfied and get the hell out of the US as fast as possible. Derek would be safe. She just needed this, one time, before her life was over.

He caught her eyes and finally smiled. "I'm glad you know I'm not an asshole."

She grinned. "That's what I was thinking about in the car when I drove away from where I met him. You and I have flirted on occasion and I thought, 'What the hell am I waiting for?'"

Derek gulped. "What?"

"Do you know how long it's been since I fucked someone and it wasn't a complete waste of time with me just wishing it was over? That's what I was thinking about as my car drove back towards Quantico instead of going home. I don't think it would be like that with you. I think with you, I'd wish it would never end." Her eyes never left his as she spoke and she watched his eyes grow wider.

"Are you drunk, Emily?"

She shook her head and smiled. "Hardly. We've gone round and round in the flirting department. Aren't you curious?" She handed the bottle back to him.

He took a quick swig, placed the bottle on his desk and cleared his throat. "Of course I am. You know that. We've both read that in each other. But it's against the rules, and it could ruin our friendship."

She almost teared up at that. Soon she'd be dead and their friendship would be over anyway. It was a thought she couldn't bring herself to fully absorb, because she would be so empty without him, without all of them, but mostly him. But she'd be dead and not feeling that. She bit back the sob and instead shifted her legs so her ankle rubbed against his knee slightly.

"Come on Derek. Just once. I just want to feel what it's like to be with someone who knows what he's doing, who isn't an asshole, and who cares about me. It's been forever."

Actually, it had been nine fucking years since she'd felt anything remotely close to sexually satisfying with someone who somewhat cared about her. Nine years. She was a completely selfish bitch for doing this to him, but she just had to know. She'd convinced herself on the drive back here that he'd enjoy having this memory after she was dead, too.

He surveyed her and stood then, his body right up against hers. Her legs parted so he could stand between them. There was something feral in his eyes, years of unacknowledged sexual tension and off and on flirtation rising to the surface. "So you want me to fuck you? Is that what you're saying? Right here, right now?"

She worried her teeth over her bottom lip, but never broke his gaze. "Yes," she whispered.

"Just once?" he almost growled.

"Yes."

"And tomorrow, it will be like nothing happened?"

"Yes."

He laughed, shaking his head, then surprised her by peppering her with questions, questions about the names of victims and unsubs from their past, all of which she answered coherently.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Just making sure you're really not drunk."

His hands reached under her shirt then, running his fingers over the skin of her stomach and back, and she shuddered, goose bumps rising on her skin. She bit her bottom lip harder so she wouldn't moan, those few seconds of touches spreading heat through her body and warmth and wetness between her legs.

"This is fucking crazy. You know that, right?" he asked.

"Yes," she whispered.

He searched her face and she met his eyes. She tried to convey desire and desperate need, because that's exactly what she was feeling; she tried to mask the deceit of it all. He must have found what he was looking for because he stood to close the blinds in his office and locked the door. Her eyes tracked his movements and his eyes locked with hers again when he turned back around. He came to stand in front of her again and placed his hand on her face.

"I always thought if one of us cracked, it would be me begging you for this," he whispered.

She felt an involuntary lump form in her throat and shut her eyes as she swallowed it back. His lips were on hers then, just a whisper of a touch at first, and then the pressure increased. Her hand moved behind his neck and she moaned when she felt his tongue lightly brush against her bottom lip. Her mouth opened and she gave herself over to the slow caresses of their tongues against each other for a few moments before realizing that this couldn't be slow, this couldn't be making love, this needed to just be fucking, or she was going to break down and cry.

She willed her brain back to the reality of all of this and moved to wrap her legs around his, moving herself to the edge of the desk and pulling his body closer to her. He moaned then and the kiss moved from gentle to hungry and needy.

She reached for his shirt first, keeping the tempo in what she felt was a safety zone, where need overrode feelings. He broke the kiss long enough to lift his shirt over his head, and before his lips could land on hers again, she lifted her shirt up and off. His hands were like electrical charges against her skin, igniting something in her that she was sure she'd never felt before.

It's because I know I'm going to be dead in a few days, she told herself. She tried to convince herself of that fact.

She ground her pelvis against his, and he moaned in her mouth. Her hands reached for his belt, deftly undoing the buckle while never breaking the kiss. She felt him step away from her a bit, wanting to slow this down, and she reached out to cup her hand along his zipper, feeling his hardness. He groaned and stepped forward again, crushing her hand between their bodies and pressing into her, giving in to the pace she was trying to set.

His hands moved to her back to undo her bra, and she moved her arms so he could push it off her body. His eyes were hungry as soon as her breasts were exposed, and he moved his mouth to capture a nipple between his lips, his tongue flicking over the tip. She gasped and whimpered and put her hands down on the desk, leaning back against them so she could push her chest closer to his mouth.

The sounds they were making and their heavy breathing soon was blocked out by the blood rushing through her body and in her ears. His mouth was magic against her skin. She moved her hips against his, trying to create any friction she could through their pants as he moved back and forth from breast to breast. She was on the verge of an orgasm and their pants were still on.

It was crazy why she was here, crazy that she actually was following through with this idea, crazy that he'd agreed, but it was absolute insanity how her body was responding to him.

It's because I know I'm going to be dead soon, she told herself again.

His hands snaked between them and she felt the button open on her pants and then the zipper pulled down. She pushed against his chest then and he moved back enough for her to stand. The both kicked off their shoes and watched each other as pants and underwear were pushed down and kicked from their legs.

Her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest as her eyes and hands traveled from his shoulders, down his chest and torso. She groaned when she saw him fully erect and then the panic set in. Occasionally she'd indulge in a trashy romance novel, when she was bored and horny at home, and always she'd roll her eyes when the size of whatever leading male was described in the book, thinking about how incredibly absurd and unlikely it was.

But now she was staring at the reality of a man being that big. Apprehension and excitement dueled within her, excitement eventually winning out. She looked in his eyes and smiled as she ran her hand up and down his length. She felt his knees buckle slightly and his lips were on hers again, groaning in her mouth.

His hands were so gentle and loving on her body, and she felt tears prick the corner of her eyes again. She needed to get back to that safety zone of pure lust and need, nothing more. Pulling her mouth away from him, she smirked again before winking, acting more bold and forward than she ever had when it came to sex, she turned. She pushed papers and the bottle of tequila to the edges of his desk before laying her torso forward on the desk, the wood cool against her chest, the edge of the desk pressing against her hips, offering herself to him.

She'd had this fantasy before, a little over a year ago, when their flirting had reached its peak. Her condo, his place, on the plane, over his desk, in a hotel room on a case - you name it and she'd fantasied about it. But then, one night after they'd grabbed dinner together, and their bantering and flirting had gone a little further than it had before, when his lips were just a fraction of an inch away from hers and they both knew with one touch, it would all be over and there would be no stopping, their phones rang nearly simultaneously. A case. They'd laughed nervously at each other and the flirting had toned way down after that.

"Emily," he moaned, his voice bringing her back to the present. It was lust-filled and needy, mixed with awe. She heard love there, too, and she quickly banished that idea from her head. Just fucking.

She was dripping wet and she felt his fingers against her, gentle and exciting at the same time. He moaned again when he felt how ready she was. She didn't worry about protection; they trusted each other so completely that they both knew either would tell the other if it was necessary. He stepped towards her and it was right on the tip of her tongue to tell him it had been awhile, to ask him to go slow at first. But she remembered that safety zone, didn't want to give too much of herself away, and instead she turned her head to look at him and moaned, "Now."

He groaned, but he moved slowly anyway, and she was grateful, because as soon as he pressed slightly inside her, she felt a little pain and her body tensed. He stilled and she felt his hand gently stroking up and down her spine until she relaxed. He repeated that process a couple more times, sinking a little deeper inside her, soothing her until she relaxed, before slowly pushing forward a little more.

Her legs were shaking with need and anticipation, and a little fear. He never rushed and after what felt like forever, but was probably only a minute, she came back to reality when she felt him fully pressed against her, his body leaning over hers and he breathed in her ear. "OK, Em?" he whispered.

The tears were back at his soft voice in her ear, and she frantically blinked, not daring to turn her head and even catch a glimpse of his eyes. On the drive back to the office, she thought about trying to figure out where Doyle had his camera, to make sure she could smile at it when she and Derek got to this point. That was the last thing on her mind now.

This had stopped being entirely about fucking the second Derek kissed her, and she knew it.

She nodded her head and hissed out a "Yes."

He pulled back slightly and then pushed forward again and a low, involuntary moan escaped her. Her heart was fluttering rapidly and erratically, every one of her nerves were tingling and her legs were shaking. This might actually kill her before Doyle or his men could get to her.

She felt his lips on her shoulders, and he kept moving slowly. Her moans were constant and she finally breathed out a "More."

His torso lifted off hers and his hands were on her waist. He pulled further out and pushed back in a little more forcefully and she was instantly seeing stars. She could feel the edge of the desk pressing into her hip bones and she welcomed the bruises she'd have tomorrow, so she could remind herself this was real, because what she was feeling right now surpassed any reality she'd ever lived when it came to sex.

She moved her arm so she could press her mouth against it and muffle the near constant moans she couldn't help. And then he stopped moving and pulled out of her. She felt his hand on her hip. "Emily, turn over. I want to see you."

She was too close to the edge to argue, to remind herself that this would be well outside that safety zone, if he could actually see the emotions on her face. But she turned over and he was inside her again in a heartbeat, groaning and burying his head against her neck. Her arms and legs wrapped around him, holding him close. She welcomed the kisses that came next, welcomed the moans that were muffled by his mouth rather than her arm.

He seemed to be holding her right on the edge, changing his rhythm and angle whenever he felt her starting to tighten around him. Her fingers dug deeply into his back and when she couldn't take it anymore, she moaned, "Right there. Don't stop."

Four thrusts later she tore her mouth away from his and threw her head back on the desk. She heard things falling as her arms reached out to grab onto something before they landed back on his body, on his ass, pushing him harder against her. She felt his hand reach up to cover her mouth, cover the sound of the scream that ripped through her as her body shook around him and she literally thought she was going to black out.

She felt him lift his body off hers slightly, groaning and then he bent forward and his mouth landed on the side of her left breast, sucking on the skin as he moaned and emptied himself inside her.

It was a monumental effort, her best acting job ever, better than the job she did for months on end with Doyle, when she swallowed back her tears and met his eyes when he lifted his head. You're a beautiful, amazing man, Derek Morgan, is what she thought. But instead she smiled at him and a huffed out a, "Damn, Morgan."

But he didn't join her in her light-hearted mirth. He said it. "You're beautiful, Emily."

She played on, being kind but not letting too much emotion loose. She put her hand on his cheek. "Thank you. And thank you for this."

He searched her eyes and let the mood be light, giving her a lopsided grin, "I'd say 'anytime,' but that probably would not be a good idea."

She huffed out a laugh. "Probably not."

He held her for a couple of minutes, hugging her to him, neither of them saying anything, before he pulled away from her body. She bit back a sob at the loss of contact, and the inevitable loss of him that she could very soon start measuring in hours rather than days, she was sure.

She stood on rubbery legs and they both started putting their clothes back on, smiling at each other, but quiet. When they were fully dressed, she reached up and gave him a hug, squeezing hard. "I value your friendship, Derek. More than you can imagine. Like this never happened tomorrow, okay?"

Silence for too many seconds, and then, "Of course, Emily."

Her heart was hammering. She shouldn't have done this to him. Then again, she was pretty certain them sleeping together would be on his bucket list. She gave him a parting smile and a quiet "Goodnight," as she opened his office door, and managed to get to the stairwell before her body was visibly shaking.

The three blocks back to the liquor store were the ultimate walk of shame in her damp underwear and stickiness she could still feel on her thighs. She knew she was as good as dead, but he didn't know that. She'd fucked him goodbye and he didn't even know it was a goodbye.

She didn't know if Doyle had surveillance on her at the moment, if he had surveillance in her car or in her condo. She knew he wouldn't come after her just yet, he wanted to torture her and stress her out and make her a complete quaking pile of fear first. No, he wouldn't gun her down there on the sidewalk or in her condo on that night, but she desperately wanted privacy.

She got in her car and drove a mile until she saw the lights of a Holiday Inn. She got a room, and got the door to that room closed before she leaned against it, sank to the ground and let the tears finally come. She gathered her knees up and leaned her forehead on them as she sobbed, and with every shuddering intake of breath she could catch the scent of his cologne, his scent, all around her.