I haven't had much time to write, but after the premiere this idea would just not let go. It falls in the same world as my other Mark/Emily story (Temporary Duty).

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"The realities of life do not allow themselves to be forgotten."
- Victor Hugo, Les Miserables

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Emily sat in the hospital bed, her hands resting in her lap as her eyes stayed fixed on a nondescript part of the wall. The doctors had insisted on running some tests and keeping her there for a few hours at the minimum for observation. Some part of her had wanted to argue with them, because damnit if she didn't just want to go home, but part of her actually felt comfortable in the hospital bed because the smells and the sounds were right. She could tell it was a real hospital. She could tell the doctors and the nurses, and the wires attached to her were real.

She knew Scratch was no longer a threat; she'd seen his body with her own eyes. But then again, she had seen her mangled legs too, and felt every excruciating ounce of pain because of them.

Emily had thought that between the accident, the drugs he had dosed her with, and the drugs she'd been given in the actual hospital that she would have some gaps in her memory. She assumed that she wouldn't remember every single detail. But she did. She remembered the bleak and unsettling feeling washing over her when she saw the pins and screws in her legs. She remembered how even the slightest movement of her legs would send shockwaves of pain through her body. She remembered begging for morphine, and the shame that accompanied her words. She remembered the hopelessness that had threatened to overwhelm her from the moment she woke up in that unfamiliar place.

She remembered everything. And that was the problem. Every time she closed her eyes, she re-lived it.

Emily closed her eyes and breathed in slowly, before letting out a forced, shaky breath.

Scratch's face. Her mangled legs. The fake hospital room. The scalpel. The syringe. The flatline.

Her heart began to race and her eyes flew open, frantically scanning the room for clues that the nightmare was over. She tried desperately to find something to ground herself, but was having no luck. She could feel herself spiraling out of control, and the panic that had already taken hold was only growing.

"Whoa, Emily," Mark said, his eyes wide as he walked into the room. "Take it easy. Breathe, baby. Nice and slow, okay? Nice and slow."

Her gaze met his, and he found himself alarmed by the panic in her eyes. He reached out to take her hand, and was surprised when she swatted it away. She was truly terrified, and it killed him to see her like that.

His brow furrowed slightly in confusion at her reaction. "It's me, Em. It's Mark," he said, his tone pleading with her to calm down as he reached out again, this time for both of her hands. "Come on now – control your breaths. In and out. With me, yeah?"

He could see the fight in her eyes as she tried to convince herself to listen to him. Evidently logic won out in the end, because she began to try and match his breathing pattern. Slowly her breathing began to even out, and the panic in her eyes began to fade.

"There you go," Mark said softly, trying not to patronize her because he knew just how much she hated that. "That's better."

"I need to know you're real," she whispered, hating the weakness in every one of those words. She hated that Scratch had taken this from her. She hated that he'd reduced her to a shadow of who she used to be.

Mark's eyes widened. "I'm real, Emily. I promise you, I'm real."

"No- I can't just-" she stopped abruptly, clearly frustrated by her inability to verbalize her fears and thoughts. He could see the tears filling her eyes, threatening to fall.

"I'm here, Emily," he said vehemently. "I'm real. Please, baby, believe me. I'm real."

She shook her head as the tears that had been threatening to fall finally escaped and slipped down her cheeks. He could tell that she was trying desperately to believe him, but was struggling.

He leaned forward and felt his heart drop when she flinched. "You know me, Emily. I love you. Please believe me. Please."

She squeezed her eyes shut as she fought to believe his words. "Tell me something only you would know. Tell me something he couldn't know," she pleaded in a whisper.

Realization dawned on him as he put it together in his head. From what she'd told him, this Mr. Scratch that had kidnapped her was all about giving people hallucinations of the stuff out of nightmares. He'd had her for hours – god only knows what she'd experienced. If he'd screwed with her head in the same way he had with all those other people, then of course she was questioning everything and everyone.

He blinked once, twice, as his mind began to pull together little moments and memories that were glimpses into their relationship. Before he could put them into any semblance of an order, they began to tumble out of his mouth.

"I know that the way you like your tea is basically water that's looked at a tea bag for a couple of seconds, and that you miss drinking coffee every day but will grudgingly admit that it has helped you to relax. And I know that you and I fought about splitting the cheque at the restaurant on our very first date."

Mark paused for just a fraction of a second to gauge whether these facts had been enough to convince the woman he loved dearly that he was in fact real. Finding a pair of still terrified eyes in front of him, he continued on.

"I know that my mother absolutely adores you, and I'm not entirely convinced that she doesn't love you more than me. I know that the night I met your mother, I had to change my outfit twice because I spilled coffee on my shirt and then on my pants."

He paused again and this time was relieved to see her let out a shaky sigh. Her arms reached out for him, and he didn't hesitate in wrapping his arms around her tightly. He'd never seen her quite so broken and so vulnerable, and he knew that in a few hours she would hate that he had seen her this way. For the moment it didn't matter though, and he held her tightly as his shirt grew wet with her tears that had broken through the dam.

"It's all right, Em. You're here, you're safe," he murmured, gently rubbing circles on her back as her body shook with sobs.

Slowly, too slowly, her tears began to subside, and he could feel the tension leaving her body. She was the one to break their embrace, and did so with a half-chuckle that took him by surprise. "You were so nervous that night," she said with a small smile, her gaze locking with his.

Mark let out a laugh that was filled with relief as he sat down in the chair next to her bed. He stayed on the edge of the seat though, ready to jump into action if she needed, but his worry receded just that little bit.

"Can you blame me? Your mother is an intimidating woman," he said, cracking a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. The Emily he'd fallen in love with was still in there somewhere – Scratch hadn't taken that away – but it was plain to see that she was far from the 'fine' that she would no doubt say when she was asked.

She smiled again, but it faded quickly. Mark could tell there was something weighing on her mind that she was arguing with herself about whether to admit out loud or not by the way she was twisting her hands in her lap.

"You don't have to talk about it right now if you don't want to," he said softly, knowing everything was still fresh in her mind. It was a rarity for him to give her an out since he spent most of his time trying to pry information from her and get her to talk, but he knew she'd gone through hell, and he wasn't about to make her re-live it.

Emily exhaled heavily as she began to pick at her nails, her eyes fixed intently on her hand and avoiding his gentle gaze. "I died," she said quietly after a moment spent summoning her courage. "Or at least – I think I did."

Mark felt his stomach drop. He hadn't gotten any details from anyone about what had been done to her. He'd made his initial assessment of her physical injuries after she had slowed her breathing – which were mercifully and miraculously not serious – but beyond that he had no information.

"But you're alive now," he tried to reassure. He knew his emotions were plain as day to see on his face, but he tried to keep them in check – she needed him to be her rock right now. "You beat him, and you're here."

"Yeah," she said softly. Unconvincingly.

Mark couldn't find the words to comfort her and give her the peace she was so obviously in need of, and made him feel painfully inadequate as he reached over and held her hand tightly. I'm here.

"There was a moment – when he pulled back the sheet and I saw my legs, mangled and full of metal…" she trailed off as her breath hitched. Mark blinked as her words echoed in his head and he felt his already tenuous grip on his composure begin to slip away. …mangled legs? …full of metal? Just what the hell had he made her believe?

Emily inhaled, her breath shuddering. "I wasn't so sure I'd ever be able to come back from it, even if I did get rescued," she admitted, her voice shaky and barely louder than a whisper.

Mark reached for something – anything – to say, but all words had escaped him, so he gave her hand a squeeze and tried to convey comfort, love, and reassurance in it. He actually felt a flash of anger that Scratch was dead, because he would've liked to smash his head into the ground a few dozen times. Or a few hundred.

"I was so scared."

Mark's eyes widened fractionally and he swallowed to try and banish the lump that had set in his throat. To hear her admit that out loud... Emily Prentiss was not a weak woman; she was fierce, and loyal, and not someone that you ever dreamed of screwing with. But then, Mark thought, maybe admitting that was a testament to her strength…

"But you didn't break, didn't let him win. You beat him."

"Yeah," she said, her tone still far from convincing.

"Baby," he said softly, his own voice shaking despite his efforts to keep it even, "what did he do to you?"

Emily let out another shuddering breath. "You remember how I told you about Scratch, and how he screwed around with people's heads?"

"With drugs and then suggestion, yeah?"

She nodded. "Well he crashed a truck into our car to give himself an opportunity to get at me."

Mark blinked once, then twice before he could speak. "Why?"

"Because he thought I knew where Hotch was, and he has-," she stopped for a moment and corrected herself, "had a grudge against him after their last encounter."

Mark frowned. "Why would he think you knew where he was? Isn't the whole point of witness protection that no one knows the location?"

"Yeah, but Stephen and I had started to put together a fake trail for him to find. We figured he wouldn't be able to let it go and would jump at it."

Mark opened his mouth to ask a clarification question, but stopped when he saw the tears falling from her eyes.

"What? What is it, Em?" he asked softly, standing from the chair next to the bed and leaning onto the bed next to her.

"He killed Stephen. He's dead because of me."

"Oh, Emily," he sighed as he opened his arms up and wrapped them around her tightly again, feeling her body shake with yet more sobs. "No, no, no. Scratch killed him, not you."

"I asked him to join the team. I asked him to hunt Scratch," she protested.

"You didn't crash that car," Mark replied, trying to find a way to assuage the guilt that was clearly overwhelming her.

"But he wouldn't have been there if it weren't for me."

"Stop it, Emily. You're going to make yourself sick with this guilt – it wasn't your fault."

She opened her mouth to protest, but before she could say anything there was a knock at the door.

"Sorry, I was just coming to check on you," JJ said softly, her expression falling at the sight of her friend.

Emily pulled out of Mark's arms and hastily wiped away the tears. "It's fine," she said as she sat up a little straighter.

"How are you doing?" JJ asked uncertainly.

"I'm okay," Emily answered immediately. "Considering," she added with a guilty smile when Mark and JJ both shot her a look.

JJ's eyes narrowed, clearly not believing a word her friend had said. "I can go, if you need a minute-"

"No, no, it's fine," Emily said, waving off the offer. "How is everyone else?"

Mark held in a sigh as he reached over and grabbed her hand, offering support to her as she got a report on everyone's status. Emily had put her work hat back on and had pushed her emotions to a far corner in her mind. He knew he wasn't going to get any more answers from her about her time with Scratch, but he also knew that she couldn't keep all those emotions bottled up. She needed to let them out…but getting her to do that would be difficult, that much he was sure of.

"Are you sure you aren't hungry?" Mark asked as he leaned against the frame of the door to their bedroom, watching Emily with concern. "I can make you some eggs and toast, or some-"

Emily shook her head. "I'm fine. Honestly, I just want to sleep."

Mark's brow furrowed ever so slightly as he considered her answer. He'd figured that the prospect of sleeping would be far from the top of her list, given her tendency to have nightmares.

"Do you need anything else?" he asked, well aware that he was hovering, and that she was liable to rip into him if he continued it much longer.

"Mark," Emily said with a sigh, her head tilted to one side ever so slightly. "I'm okay. Just come to bed," she said, patting his pillow.

He needed no further invitation and slid under the covers next to her. It took only seconds for her to close the space between them and rest her head onto his chest, her body nestled up closely to his.

He did his best to curb his surprised reaction at her actions. While she was far from an ice queen, she also wasn't typically the cuddling type. She valued her space, and didn't tend to seek out physical contact like this…but then, these were extenuating circumstances.

"I love you," he whispered, his eyes closing as he tilted his head down to press a kiss to her head.

"I love you, too," she whispered back.

They laid in silence for a few minutes before Mark decided to push her a little bit. He knew she was still holding in most of her emotions about Stephen's death and everything she had gone through, and that she desperately needed relief from the guilt and the tension. She hadn't had a chance to really process everything, and now that the adrenaline had worn off and there wasn't anything to distract her from it – it was bound to hit her hard.

He heard a soft sniffle that she was clearly trying to hide from him and knew it was his moment.

"It's okay," he said softly, pressing another kiss to the top of her head. "Let it out, Em."

Mark could tell that she fought the inevitable for a moment, but the tide of emotions that she was trying to hold in was too strong to be held any longer. He held her a little tighter as her tears started up and she curled into him further, seeking comfort from the feelings of fear, sadness, guilt, anger, among a sea of emotions. He felt his own heart clench as he heard and felt the sobs wrack her body, and he felt tears of his own fill his eyes as he realized just how deeply this was affecting her.

Eventually he felt her tears lessen and then disappear completely. Whether it was from sheer exhaustion or that she was just all cried out, he wasn't sure, but he knew she was still awake. She had said earlier that all she wanted to do was sleep, but Mark knew that wasn't true. He knew that sleep would be elusive without the help of medication, even if she wasn't doing everything in her power to stay awake. He knew she feared falling asleep because of what lay waiting for her in her nightmares. He knew she was scared that she would wake up and not know what was real and what was lingering from the hell that were her dreams.

He pressed another kiss to the top of her head and stroked her head gently as he tried his best to bring a sense of calm to her world that was no doubt still spinning out of control. "I'm right here, baby. I'm real, and I'm here, Emily. I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere."

He heard another sniffle, and knew that she'd heard his words. He let out a soft sigh and held her a little tighter as the wheels in his mind began to turn, thinking of more instances and memories that could prove he was real and not a hallucination when she inevitably woke from a nightmare.

I know that you find the concept of black pudding disgusting, and that you cringe every time I even mention it. On our date night last week, you told me about the time you and your grandfather pranked your mother with a dead fish. I know that you always finish your fries before you eat your burger, and that for some strange reason you absolutely love dipping them into a chocolate milkshake. I know that you stole my fire brigade t-shirt months ago when I was on shift, and that I likely won't be getting it back any time soon...

Thoughts? Do let me know...