𝐎𝐟 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐬
ᴇᴍɪʟʏ

In the darkness of the night, the FBI SUVs speed onto the tarmac, targeting a jet rolling to take off. I can see the other vans rolling alongside me and Spencer, knowing that my team is here. We all park in front of the jet, keeping it from moving any further. Hotch steps out of the driver's seat and the rest of the agents follow his lead.

I step out of the car, my hands gripping the door until my knuckles turn white. There's so much commotion, but I block it all out. I hear ringing in my ears, but I can see Hotch calling out to the jet with a bullhorn.

I haven't come face to face with anyone from my past since that night at the warehouse. It haunts me so much that it followed me to Paris. I had nightmares about that night, seeing his face, and feeling his hands along my body. In those moments, I just wanted someone to be there, to hold my hand, to tell me everything was okay.

Now, the team is here. I have the backup that I didn't that night. I don't have to keep any more secrets, and I don't have to face Ian alone.

While the team prepares for Chloe to come out of the jet, I go to the van behind us to grab Ian. A few of the agents are holding him in place and I triple-check the handcuffs on his wrists. I learned all of Ian's tricks once, I know better than to be fooled by him.

I grab onto Ian's arm, remembering a time when I would do this in a different way, with different intentions. There were times it was forced, and there were times when it was instinct. There were also times when the line was so blurred, I couldn't tell the difference.

As we wait behind the team, the door to the jet slowly lowers. Everyone keeps their weapons up in case of any sudden movement that makes cause for protection. After the stairs lower, Gerace comes out with his arm around Declan, his own weapon pointing to the boy's chest.

The familiar blonde hair is longer than I remember and curls at its ends. You can't miss those blue eyes, either, they're identical to his father's except there's kindness within them. I can see it, even through the fear. He's grown up so much, almost as tall as Gerace and with an athletic build to him. No matter how much he's grown up or how much he tries to hide it, I can still sense his fear, the trembling in his hands.

"Bring Doyle here!" Gerace shouts. "I want him here on his knees!"

I immediately start walking, pushing us toward him and Declan. I won't hesitate anymore, willing to send Ian to his death if it means I can save Declan. We walk Ian to the man, passing the team as they stay behind, allowing the situation to play out. I look at Ian out of the corner of my eye, realizing that this is the first time he's seen Declan too.

"You bastard," Gerace mutters to Ian. "How does it feel now? It's your bloody time now, isn't it? Now, hand him over," he says, his weapon trained on Ian.

Before anyone can make a move, we hear footsteps approaching the jet's staircase. Chloe appears in the doorway and aims her weapon right at Ian.

Derek's shout is the last thing I hear before several loud bangs sound. I feel Doyle's arm yank me down, trying to force me to the ground beside him. I quickly recover, letting go of his arm to check on Declan.

Spencer pulls out his weapon, aiming at the woman, and shoots her down from the staircase. She falls, rolling down the stairs and falling on the concrete.

Declan is lying on the ground and my heart pounds at the sight. I kneel beside him and turn him over, examining his body for any injuries, but he's clear. I breathe out a sigh of relief and hold his shoulder with a firm hand. I help him sit up and brush his hair out of his face.

I follow his gaze and see that he's staring at his father, who is lying in front of us. Ian's hand raises to check the blood that's trickling from his lips. He knows that there's no turning back. His last chance for revenge has slipped from his hands and all he can do is give up.

In a last effort to make amends to his son, the one person he always loved, he reaches out his hand. Declan peers down at the bloody, trembling fingers, holding them with a gentle squeeze.

"I remember you," he mutters, loud enough for only Ian and I to hear.

"Sorry, son," he says, his head slowly dipping to the ground.

I watch as Ian's eyes close and his fingers loosen in Declan's grasp. I never thought that I would witness this moment, the taking of Ian Doyle's last breath. He was many things to me: my enemy, my friend, my target, my business partner, my killer, and my lover. He was both sides of the coin that almost cost me everything. And now, on this day, at this moment, he's gone. And I'm not really sure how to feel about it.

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ
𝘢 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳
𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗮𝘂

"Munchkin?" Penelope asks as she softly strokes Noah's arm.

The teen's eyes shoot open, searching for any danger. She inhales sharply as she sits up from the couch, moving with a swiftness that Penelope wasn't expecting.

"Hey, relax, everything's fine," Penelope assures her. "I just wanted to tell you that they're back."

Noah's heartbeat comes down by the second, remembering that her father is dead. For once, there's no need to panic or fear that he could be close, but it'll take a while for that to sink in.

"Thanks," she mumbles and sits up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

Noah stands after a few moments and fixes her hair. It was the first time she had slept in days, so she was down pretty hard. Penelope reaches out and fixes some of the strands that Noah missed and pulls on the teen's shirt to straighten it out.

Noah offers a small smile before walking to the bullpen. Derek is the first to notice her as she walks in, standing up straight and clearing his throat. The rest of the team catches the hint and turns to face her. She eyes all of them as they part to make room for her in their circle, but Noah pauses as they reveal her brother.

"You okay?" Derek asks as he rests his hand on her shoulder.

"Yeah," she whispers, her eyes not leaving Declan's.

"You should talk," Derek says, nodding towards the round table room.

Noah locks eyes with Declan, who gives a soft nod as permission. Penelope steps up and offers to show them to the room, Declan following after her. As Noah moves to follow, she feels a hand on her arm, forcing her to halt. The teen looks up at her mother, their gaze settled on one another. In that brief, charged moment, neither speaks, but a thousand unsaid words pass between them—grief, guilt, longing, and an unspoken plea for something neither is ready to give.

Noah moves her arm, Emily preparing herself for rejection again, but instead, she feels Noah's fingers intertwine with hers. The mother is grateful for the action, no matter how brief and gentle. Noah lets go, walking off to catch up with Penelope and Declan.

They enter the familiar meeting room, and Penelope immediately overcompensates in the silence. "You two can stay in here as long as you need. Can I get you some water? I can close the blinds, leave them open. Is it too dark in here because I can—"

"I think we're good," Noah interjects with a small smile. "Thanks, P."

Penelope nods and backs away, giving them the space they need. She joins the team in the bullpen, all of them sitting around the desks in the middle as Emily recounts the details of her time in Paris. In between her stories, her eyes glance up at Declan and Noah, watching for any signs of how the fragile conversation is unfolding.

Unlike the reunion happening in the bullpen, the round table room has a heavy tension. Noah settles in one of the chairs, watching cautiously as Declan sinks into the seat beside hers, turning it towards her to give his full attention.

"I'm Declan," he says, holding out his hand.

"I'm Noah," she replies as she hesitates to shake his hand, but does so. "This feels really weird."

Declan chuckles before he pulls his hand back as silence falls over them again. "Thank you for what you did," he mentions. "They told me that you helped with the case and tried to warn Louise."

"I tried," she shrugs.

"It was something," he assures her. "I mean, if anything, maybe when it happened, she was...more prepared, less confused. I don't know, I don't really know much about this kinda stuff."

Noah's eyes fall to her lap, not being able to meet his. They're just as blue as his and his lips curve into the same mischievous, charming smile. She nods at his statement, not wanting to display how bad it hurts to know how different their lives turned out to be.

"No matter how much you experience, you don't get used to it," she says with a shrug.

"You were there that night, right?"

Noah nods as she leans back in her seat. "Yeah," she sighs.

"He gave you a scar," he notes.

She rolls her sleeve as a response, displaying the four-leaf clover seared into her skin. The swelling stopped after a few days, the redness and bruising faded after a few weeks, and the scarring healed after a few months, but the wrenching inner pain never mended.

Declan's eyes broaden as he recognizes the symbol. It takes him back to his childhood, but he saw it on the arm of every person who worked for his father. It was always something that was stuck in the back of his mind, but he couldn't picture why until now, seeing it singed on his sister's skin.

"I can get the scar softened with a laser, but they said it won't erase it, it'll just make it less noticeable," Noah mutters.

"I'm sorry that you had to be there that night. I can only imagine how scary that must have been."

Noah's not sure how to respond. She was terrified, and it scarred her for weeks, but she doesn't want to show that. In all honesty, she's tired of giving her father the satisfaction that she's scared of him, even in the afterlife.

"I'd rather have never known any of this," Declan says honestly.

Noah furrows her brows as she replies. "Why? You'd never know the truth, you'd be kept in the dark your whole life and never know it."

"You can't fear the unknown," he tells her. "You can't be angry at what doesn't exist to you."

"I don't think that's true. I think holes in your past haunt you. You can say you don't care, but you know it's not true."

"Well, what if you don't know the holes exist?" he questions. "What if the holes are filled with lies?"

"I think you always know."

"What makes you say that?" he asks.

"I lived with a foster family until I was fifteen. They never told me outright that I was adopted, but I knew. From a very young age, I felt it," she says as she picks at her fingernails. "There was something deep that made me different from them. I knew I didn't belong there."

"But with your theory, that would mean we're like him," he says, referring to their father. "And I don't think you're anything like him."

"I'll have to disagree with you again," Noah says with a small smirk.

Declan laughs as he rolls his eyes. "So this is how it's gonna go?"

"It sounds bad, but I do think I'm like him," she says, her smirk fading into a frown. "I have his temper, his holding of grudges, his excitement from breaking the rules. I think the difference is that I don't use it for evil, and the rules I bend don't get people hurt."

"Hm," he hums, thinking to himself for a moment. "You know, I once held a grudge against this kid in sixth grade because he started hanging out with my best friend. And in tenth grade, when he asked the girl I had a crush on to prom, I saw it as this ongoing feud between us. In reality, it was nothing. I had this weird hatred for him, but I never knew why."

"Did you kill him?" she asks bluntly, making the boy laugh.

"No, no I didn't."

"Whatever we inherited from him doesn't have to be bad," she explains. "Knowing about him doesn't have to be a bad thing, either. I mean, at least, we were kind of the only thing he ever cared about. Shouldn't that mean something?"

"Maybe," he shrugs. "But we don't have to let it mean anything."

"No," she agrees with a smile. "I wouldn't know you if it wasn't for him. And I wouldn't know Emily. And if I didn't know Emily, I wouldn't know any of my family," she adds as she looks out the window at the team.

"If it wasn't for him, we wouldn't exist," Declan notes.

"Hey, there's that," she replies with a soft laugh.

Declan smiles at the sweet sound. "You laugh like her," he mutters.

"Like who?"

"Emily," he chimes. "You do a lot of things like her. Your smile, picking at your nails when you're nervous, the way you see the world, even though everyone else thinks you're all tough."

"Do you remember anything about her from when you were younger?"

"Yeah, of course," he nods with a grin, staring off into space as he remembers his time with Emily. "She would always play with me, read to me at night, and triple-check that I brushed my teeth in the morning. And, even though I didn't know why, she would tell me to play hide-and-seek when there was a threat, but she would never forget to come find me. She was protective, kind, and fun. Other than Louise, she was the closest thing to a mother I ever had."

Noah swallows the lump in her throat, trying to hide her jealousy. "What about him?" she asks.

"Yeah," he says softly with a nod. "Not very much, but enough."

"You don't remember anything bad?"

"No, he was just...my father, I guess. But I remember Emily more than Ian, actually."

"Really?"

"I remembered her voice more than anything," he notes.

"Hm," Noah hums shortly with a smile as she bites the inside of her cheeks. "That makes sense."

"Did you know the brain remembers bad memories more than good ones? I'm in this psych class at school and we were just learning about this. We remember bad things that happen to us more vividly. It's also easier for us to visit those memories the further they get," he explains, watching as Noah nods along. "But I remember Emily more than Ian, so maybe it doesn't have to be that way."

Noah takes a deep breath, knowing that she's a product of his psychology theory. "Maybe it's said to be that way because we're supposed to learn from the bad stuff."

"Or maybe we don't have to learn from it," he suggests. "Maybe we shouldn't. Wouldn't it be better to take away from good experiences than bad?"

"You can't just forget the bad things that happen to you."

"Why not?"

"Because you wouldn't be who you are without them."

"Is that the type of person you want to be?" he asks, not missing a beat. "Someone who lives in the past? Who remembers the bad more than the good?"

"Are you trying to be a therapist?" she asks with a chuckle. "Because you would be annoyingly good at it."

"I'm just saying that you can do whatever you want," he reminds her. "You can be whoever you want and you decide what happens up here," he says as he points to his head.

"But I don't get to decide what happens here," she says as she gestures to everything outside of her mind, the experiences that she had to endure because of other peoples choices.

Declan wonders if he should feel defeated, hearing her shoot down everything he's trying to make better. He's starting to understand how much pain their father has caused, no matter how removed he was. He doesn't know what it feels like to lose everything. He can tell that everything Noah has loved has at some point turned into everything she's lost.

"You do get to decide what you do with it though," he says. "You don't have to let it get to you. You don't have to get angry, or sometimes you can. And you don't have to punish her for trying to protect you."

"It's more than that—"

"We lost our father today," he reminds her, making her fall silent. "No matter what he did, we lost someone today. It doesn't feel good."

"No," she agrees softly. "No, it doesn't."

"And you lost Emily, but you got her back. We both did. And I know she kept things from you, left you here, let you think she was dead, but there comes a point when you have to let that go and just embrace that you've been given another chance."

Noah remains silent, her heart thumping in her chest as she tries to contain her anger. She has to accept that people will think differently because they haven't been through everything she has. Declan may be the only person who can relate to her, but even he doesn't understand it all.

"Where will you go?" she asks him. "You can come with us—"

"I'm good," he assures her. "I have to go back to school. I've got a place with some friends and their families will have me. Don't worry about me."

Noah peers up at him with a hopeful expression. "Promise you'll come back? You'll spend Thanksgiving or Christmas with us or something?"

"As long as you promise to make up with Emily," he teases as he stands up.

Noah mirrors his action and glances at her mother through the window. "You don't have to worry about that. I can't stay mad at her forever."

"Does she know that?"

"No," she says honestly. "But I think I'll stay mad a little longer."

Declan laughs and nods at her answer, accepting it. "I'll be back."

Noah smiles as she gazes at him, finally feeling safe to look into his eyes. And instead of meeting Ian's gaze, she sees her brother—the one she didn't even know existed until seven months ago. A bond she should have had her entire life, stolen from her by forces beyond her control.

They descend the staircase outside Hotch's office to join the team in the bullpen. Noah leads the way, stopping when she sees Dave and Aaron waiting for Declan. She turns to her brother, wishing they didn't have to part. Without a word, they reach for each other, wrapping themselves in a quiet, comforting embrace—a connection neither of them wants to break.

"See you around," Declan says before pulling away from the embrace and placing his hand on her shoulder. "Sister."

Noah gazes into his eyes, feeling a love that she once knew. The love for a sibling, a fearless protector, a built-in companion, a trusted ally, and a friend. Her champion, the person who picks her up before she even knows she's falling. She knew this love before, but it was betrayed and dragged away from her in handcuffs.

"Brother," she says with a nod.

Declan walks backward to the agents, showing a charming smile. Emily's eyes meet Declan's for a moment and her hand raises to wave to him. Declan smiles and waves back, somehow showing all of his gratitude in just his gaze. Then, the elevator doors slide open, and he's gone, almost as quickly as he came in.

Everybody starts to pack up and go to their offices and desks. Noah watches as their worlds start turning again, but her mother is stuck, standing near her desk like it's a foreign object. As everyone starts to head out, Noah steps up to her mother.

"Where are you staying?" she asks.

"I got a hotel room down the street," Emily replies with a timid smile. "There's two beds."

Noah turns to glance at Derek, who's waiting for her by the glass doors. "I think I just want to be in my own bed tonight," she says softly. "It's been a long day."

Emily nods, trying to hide how much it hurts. "Y-Yeah, of course. I-I understand."

Noah moves back and forth on her heels, not sure what to say. She doesn't want to make the situation any worse than it is, but she can't help the anger that's still weighing her down.

"Can I at least have a hug before you go?"

Noah's eyes brighten for just a moment before she nods. She steps forward, wrapping her arms around her mother, slowly piecing together their connection as her body reverts to its old ways, their arms finding the perfect placement that was once second nature.

Emily presses her cheek to Noah's hair, holding her daughter the way she dreamt about for months. Her throat tightens and tears sting her eyes, slowly falling down her cheeks.

But even as she holds her, the embrace feels fleeting. She just got her daughter back, but just as she feared, it feels like she's losing her all over again.