𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐭
ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘺

     "𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 are we doing here?" Noah asks as she looks at the selection of weapons on the table and protection gear on the rack.

"You'll see," Derek replies. "C'mon," he adds and grabs one of the bulletproof vests and puts it over her head.

"If this is your way of fun, I really don't know how I feel—"

"Relax, kid," he interjects and reaches onto the table to hand her one of the fake weapons.

"Derek," she mutters as she shakes her head.

Even though she knows it's not real, her heart races, pounding so fiercely it feels like it might tear through her chest if not for the thin shield of skin holding it back. Her gaze locks onto the weapon, and in an instant, she's back in that moment—the night she chose it was in her best interest to kill a man.

"I can't—"

"You can," Derek assures her and puts the protective glasses over her eyes. "C'mon, I'll show you what to do."

Derek walks the teen through the tactile firearms training course. She listens, but it mostly goes in one year and out the other. When he tells her to start, she stands in the room by herself before the lights go out. Noah takes a deep breath and holds her weapon out, gripping it tightly.

She walks around the house, checking all of her blind spots. She keeps her back to a wall and constantly checks her six. Derek watches from outside the course, impressed by her smooth and diligent movements.

There are quick movements as target silhouettes jump out from behind corners and doors. A dark figure ejects from a corner, making Noah swivel in that direction and hold the weapon up. She takes a shot but misses, her brief hesitation causing her to overlook the target. She quickly takes another shot, this time hitting her target, but there's a thud against her back. She drops her arms, looks behind her shoulder, and pulls her shirt to see a red paint splatter on the bulletproof jacket. She groans and drops her weapon to the ground, hitting her back against the fake wall and sliding down.

The lights come on and she can see the mock house more clearly. She doesn't look up from her position as she pushes her hair back with the protective glasses. Derek sits beside her, also leaning his back against the wall.

"Couldn't do it?" he asks.

She rolls her eyes as she turns to look at him. "Why did you bring me here? To prove that I'm weak?"

"To prove there was nothing you could've done that day to save her. You were outnumbered, outgunned. You would've gotten yourself killed."

"But at least I would've tried—"

"She did what she did to protect you. To make sure that you were safe and alive. She wanted you safe."

"And you think she wanted to die?"

"To protect you? Yes!" he exclaims. "There are a lot of words to describe Emily, but 'selfish' couldn't ever be one of them."

"Yeah, well, 'dead' shouldn't have to have been one either," she snaps as she curls her legs up to her chest.

"Look, I know this is hard, but I get it, okay?" he asks, using his own trauma as a last resort. "I know I talk about my mom all the time and how much she did for me, but...that doesn't mean my father wasn't in my life. He was my hero if anything."

Noah listens intently, knowing from his tone that the conversation is going somewhere.

"He was a great man, a great police officer, and would have been an even greater father. But I can only base that off what I remember from the little time we had together."

"What do you mean?" she asks.

"One day, we were on our way to the store and we saw a woman being robbed. My father intervened, but where I'm from, no one hesitates. When you're a bad guy, you're a bad guy. And this guy didn't hesitate to murder my father right in front of me," he pauses as he composes himself, taking a deep breath. "Shot him right in front of me. And there was nothing I could do. He just kept telling me that he was okay, but I knew he wasn't. And those last words ring in my head every day."

Noah bites her lip to hold her own tears back. "How old were you when that happened?"

"Ten," he replies.

"I didn't know that."

"I didn't want you to," he says quietly as he shakes his head. "My father was a hero down to his very last breath, and your mother was too. So I understand your experiences, but I can't pretend to understand or know what goes on in your head. That was Emily's thing. She was the only one who ever knew what was going on up there. You have to help me, talk to me, teach me. And to do that, you have to trust me."

"I do trust you," she says.

"Then trust me when I say that if Emily knew it kept you safe, then she would make the same decisions a thousand times over."

Noah peers up at him with a confused expression as if she's trying to piece together a puzzle that doesn't fit. "You really don't think if she could go back in time that she would've just told me and we would've run away? You don't think she would've thought that would've been enough?"

"No, because that's not a life worth living, Noah. You're a girl who's had so much taken from her already, she couldn't have taken your life away."

"Doyle already did that for her—"

"Listen to me," he says as he puts an arm around her. "There's an entire life ahead of you. And I'm not saying you have to see it now, but when you do, you'll understand Emily's sacrifice and you'll thank her for it every day of your life. And in the end, Emily gave you what she wished for you even when she was alive: a life full of experiences and challenges and love."

"Then, why don't I feel like I have that?" she asks him as her voice cracks.

"You'll have that life when you're not worried about whether or not you could have changed the past."

Noah nods, her thoughts twisting with the advice of her therapist and Derek. "I know that I can control the future. And that's all I can control."

"I just want you to see that there's more than grief," he notes.

"I know," she says as she nods again. "I tried out for the track team yesterday and I got an email earlier that I got a spot on the varsity team," she admits quietly.

"What?!" he exclaims.

"Yep."

"So, you're on the varsity track team?"

"Yep."

"Why didn't you tell me?!"

"Because if I didn't make it, I didn't wanna have to tell you that," she confesses quietly. "I wanted to make sure that I made the team first. I also didn't want there to be any pressure."

"Well, clearly no need for that," he chuckles and squeezes her shoulder. "I'm proud of you kid."

𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗸'𝘀 𝗮𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁

Noah comes out of the bathroom with wet hair and baggy sweatpants on. She tosses the towel back into the bathroom, turning to look into the living room. Penelope is standing in the kitchen, taking the foil off a lasagna that she cooked.

"When did you get here?" she asks.

"Nice to see you too," Penelope giggles.

Noah smiles as she walks up to Penelope and watches her put the lasagna in the oven. "I didn't know you were coming, especially not with my favorite thing you make."

"Derek told me you were doing better. I thought we'd celebrate."

"Better?" Noah asks. "That's a strong word."

"Well, you should take it as a good, cute thing because that's how much confidence he has in you."

The teen wears a smile as Penelope throws an arm around her shoulder. Derek comes into the kitchen and grins at the sight of them.

"What's cooking?" he asks.

"Lasagna—"

"Famous lasagna," Noah corrects her.

The blonde can't help but smile wide as she strokes Noah's hair. "You're sweet, my love."

"Savor it because it's rare," Derek jokes, making Noah roll her eyes.

"You're mean back to me," Noah declares. "That's how we are."

"You two still argue every day? Even though you live with each other?" Penelope asks.

"Of course," Noah says with a shrug. "But it's not really arguing."

"It's light-hearted jabs," Derek adds.

"Nothing serious," Noah chimes. "Well, maybe sometimes—"

Derek cuts her off by playfully hitting her arm. Noah pretends to be hurt and softly punches his arm. Derek pretends to be even more hurt and holds his arm. Noah giggles and punches him again, this time a little harder. Derek responds by pretending to hit her stomach, making the teen laugh.

"Alright, you two!" Penelope exclaims with a grin as she goes to pull the lasagna out of the oven. "You've had enough fun."

The three all gather around the small dining table. Noah likes when they do this and she's glad she's found the strength to do it with them because it makes her feel at home. She always sat and ate with Emily, even if it was over the phone while she was gone on a case. It's familial like she's never had before.

After they finish eating, Noah gets up and helps with the dishes. Derek thanks her and ruffles her hair. The two of them clean up since Penelope cooked. Noah goes to her room to leave them to do some leftover work. Penelope pulls her laptop out and Derek brings the files from his bag.

"Where were we?" he asks.

"Well, I was thinking that Emily would have utilized domestic contacts," Penelope says. "Em was already in the States when she faked Declan's death, so her associates must be in Boston...?"

"No, Garcia, she would have covered her tracks better than that," Derek says as he shakes his head, looking over the files once more, hoping something will stand out. "Why did Prentiss join the BAU?"

Penelope tuts with the irony of her next sentence. "To have a normal life."

"She could have gone anywhere with her skill set, but she chose DC."

"Maybe to be close to her mom?"

"No way, that was just by default," he replies, knowing more about their relationship from what Noah has told him than he ever did before. "She did all of this to protect a child."

"Declan or Noah?"

"Well, Noah wasn't born yet," he reminds her, talking in a lower volume to avoid Noah overhearing them. "And I would assume that she already had a plan to give her up for adoption."

"So you're saying that she came here just so she could be close to the kid?" Penelope thinks out loud. "Which would make sense if she knew she was losing Noah."

"And if she did, she probably had people she could trust living right here," Derek keeps the string of theory going.

"Right, so domestic contacts. There are a surprising few in our nation's capital, one of which is dead," she explains as she hands Derek a paper. "Ben Corelli."

"He was the forger," Derek says as he puts the pieces together. "Doyle killed him and Prentiss' friend. He worked out of his apartment, remember?"

"Yeah, and we processed his belongings," Penelope says, snapping her fingers as she finds the file of all the belongings. "Now, this would have been easier if he had gone digital."

"There's an art to all of this," Derek says as he looks through the folder. "This guy was meticulous. Definite control freak."

"Yet, he's dead. He couldn't control that."

Derek huffs quietly to himself. "There can't be a lot of I.D.s for children."

"Actually, you'd be surprised," she says as she pulls out all the scans she took of Declan's different I.D.s.

"Okay, but didn't Prentiss live in Reston, Virginia for a while?" he asks.

"Yeah, before we knew her, she rented a big house in a cul-de-sac."

"Why would she live way out there?"

Penelope looks through the I.D.s until she comes across one that can't be mistaken. "To be close to Declan, who had blond hair and blue eyes."

"Well, I'm sure they've changed his hair color by now."

"Yeah, but you can't change those cerulean blues," she says as she shows him the scan of the child's I.D. card. "Just like Noah's," she mutters to herself.

"Here's the nanny," Derek says as he pulls her card. "She still lives in Virginia."

"Declan's way older at this point, he must be in college," Penelope mentions. "I can look him up and see where I get."

In the other room, Noah is sprawled out on her bed as she plays on her Nintendo with her headphones on. Sergio is curled up beside her, his breaths deep and slow as he's content with her presence. After a while, Noah takes her headphones off and hears Penelope getting ready to leave. She gets off her bed and walks into the living room, falling right into Penelope's open arms.

"See you later," Penelope coos as she pulls back and cradles Noah's cheeks. "Sweet girl," she mutters before kissing the teen's forehead.

Noah smiles and walks Penelope to the door. After she leaves, Derek heads to take a shower, leaving the teen alone. She turns to look at the dining room table and sees Sergio lying across a bunch of papers and files.

"Silly boy," she giggles as she goes to pick him up, but as she does, her eyes roam over the files.

She gently puts Sergio on the floor as she sees a picture slipped under one of the papers. She slowly slides it out and her heart clenches at the photograph. The fabricated proof of Emily's revenge on the father of her child. The heinous act that eventually led to her death, taking the life of Ian's son while nurturing the one of his daughter.

But it was all fake. Fabricated, manipulated. A lie. Was it all for nothing?

She wonders if Derek was right. Maybe one day she'll thank Emily for what she did for her and she won't harbor blame—toward herself or anyone—for her mother's sacrifice. She'll come to terms with what happened to her mother and herself. But for now, she can accept everything except Emily's death and the unsettling truth that she still doesn't understand.

Another part of her is angry with Derek. He's trying to solve it without telling her and leaving her in the dark about Declan. The trust that she gave him earlier is slowly crumbling away. She knew it was too good to be true, that it was something she couldn't believe in.

She pauses for a moment, realizing the gravity of her next move and the trouble it could lead to. But she brushes the thought aside, pulling out her phone. Noah swiftly snaps photos of all the documents from Doyle's case, then carefully arranges them back on the table as if nothing had been touched.

Just as she puts the last page back, Derek comes out of his bedroom. "Hey, kid."

"Hey," Noah replies nonchalantly.

"You hungry?"

"Uh, no," she says quietly. "Sort of lost my appetite."

"Alright," Derek replies and opens the fridge to find something to eat. "Let me know if you change your mind."

"Okay," Noah says before walking to her room. She softly closes the door behind her and sits at her desk. She opens her laptop and plugs her phone in, uploading the photographs to her files.