𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐬𝐭
ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘺
𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗸'𝘀 𝗮𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁

     "𝐇𝐞𝐲, kid," Derek says softly, sitting beside Noah at the dining table. "How you doing?"

"I don't know," she shrugs. "How am I supposed to be doing?"

"No one can answer that for you," he replies through a deep breath. "But I'm proud of you. For standing up for how you feel and being strong through all the stuff with Doyle. I don't know how you do it, but you're a good interrogator, you know that?"

"It's easy when it's personal."

"No, it's not," he tells her. "It's actually harder. You have to control your emotions. Choose the right time to lose it."

Noah shifts in her seat, resting her forearms on the table. "Are you mad?"

"I'm mad as hell," he says outright. "But she's my friend."

"Does that make it right?"

"No."

"Then, what?" she asks. "We just forgive her? Act like everything that happened was right?"

"We just have to start over," he tells her. "Rebuild the trust. We can't just look for a consequence to give her."

"Well, the silent treatment was a start," she mentions. "But that can only last so long. I guess I just don't really know where to start. I don't trust her. I don't trust any of them."

"I think talking to her and spending time with her again will help."

Noah peers up at him and shows a subtle smile. "Are you kicking me out?"

"I'm making myself the backup," he corrects her. "You can come here whenever you want, but I want you to try. Go to her, spend time with her, and let her tell you everything she did while she was gone. And then tell her everything you did—the good, the bad, and the ugly. Alright?"

"Can I at least sleep here?" she asks. "I don't really feel like sleeping in a hotel."

"You'll have to take that up with your mother," he says in a teasing tone.

"You know we're in a place where I can get whatever I want from her right now, right?"

Derek chuckles as he stands from the table. "Whatever you say, kid."

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨

Emily paces outside the coffee shop where she has agreed to meet Noah. She was surprised to wake up to a text from her daughter this morning. It was sent in the dead of night, so she assumes the teen was up all night. The only reason Emily got sleep last night is because her mind had kept her awake for days, unable to stop running the moment she found out she was coming home.

A few more minutes pass until she sees Noah crossing the street. Her feet halt as her eyes focus on Noah, the buzz of the city fading away. As she watches her, it makes Emily realize how much Noah has grown. She was never there for the times when someone had to hold her hand as she walked across the street. Emily knows that Noah has never truly needed her, seeing as she came into her life as a child who had no childhood.

Emily waits for her daughter, not sure if she should open her arms or wave. She never thought she'd be nervous to see her own daughter, the person she loves more than anything. But here they are, awkwardly walking towards one another. And before Emily can have any more anxiety about how to greet her, Noah crashes into her mother's chest, her arms wrapping around Emily's torso in a warm embrace.

"Hi, sweetheart," Emily whispers against Noah's hair.

"Hi," Noah replies softly, feeling her mother's warmth shield her from the cold air.

They pull away just enough to look into each other's eyes but still have their arms around one other. Emily shows a small smile and Noah's lips copy it.

"It's good to see you," Emily notes.

"You too," Noah says before she pulls away. "It's cold."

Emily chuckles softly and turns to open the door to the coffee shop. "C'mon."

Noah walks into the coffee shop and heads for the line. Emily stands beside her, both of them peering at the menu, even though they've been here a thousand times before. Noah pretends to read each line until it's their turn.

They order and wait for their drinks on the other side of the shop. Noah rocks back and forth on her heels. No words are spoken between them. Emily steals glances at her daughter every chance she gets, wondering what she can say, but nothing seems right.

Emily's name is called and they grab the two hot drinks. They hold them tightly with both hands as they walk down the sidewalk. Noah sips on her coffee, eyeing the city around her. Emily does the same, taking in all the changes that have been made. It's shocking how much can change in a short period, both in the city and between her and her daughter.

They arrive at Emily's hotel, entering the grand lobby and going straight to the elevator. The elevator's music fills the quiet air between them as it rises to one of the top floors. Even though Noah has much to say, she bites her tongue until they are alone.

Emily leads the way to her room, opening the door after swiping her card. Noah steps inside first as her mother holds the door. She sits her coffee cup down on a side table beside the couch. She walks over to the large window, peering out at the foggy city. She looks to her side, noticing the doorway to a second bedroom.

Shit, she thinks to herself. She got a room for both of us.

Noah turns around and sees Emily sitting on the couch. She walks over and sits a cushion away from her. They both take a deep breath and wait for the other to start.

"I should say—"

"Did you—" Noah stops, showing a small smile as she realizes she spoke at the same time as her mother.

"Sorry," Emily says. "You can go first."

"I was gonna ask if you wanted to start," Noah replies. "I guess I should know what happened before I speak."

"I was thinking about the day that I left," the mother begins. "JJ got me on an unmarked jet to France. We landed in Paris and she said that there was an apartment for me. I went directly there and was ordered not to leave for two weeks while they processed a new identity for me. After that, JJ came back and gave me my new ID and passport. All I had to do was stay out of trouble and stay hidden."

"Did she tell you how long it would be until you could come back?"

"She didn't know," Emily says honestly. "She said it could be weeks, months, maybe even years. I was devastated. All I could do was have faith that someone would catch Doyle."

"If that's true, why did Derek have to hide the fact that he was looking for him?" Noah asks with furrowed brows.

"Because it was a personal mission. And there was a lot of red tape around it. He went around a lot of protocols too, it was too risky. Hotch didn't exactly make it clear why he didn't want anyone on the team putting their focus on it, but now you know why."

"Because you're alive and it could have put you in danger the closer Derek was to it."

"Yeah," Emily nods, feeling somewhat ashamed of the secret.

"Why couldn't you tell me?" Noah asks quietly.

Emily closes her eyes for a moment, knowing that no answer will satisfy Noah's question. "It was for the best. A protection order only works if it appears real."

"At the expense of your daughter thinking you're dead?"

"We knew that if he thought I was dead, he would leave you alone."

"How?" Noah asks, her buried anger breaking through to the surface. "You have no idea what was going through his head. What if he wasn't done with his revenge? What if he wanted Declan and me?! How would you know?"

"Because he never hurt you," Emily explains. "You were right in the palm of his hand and he let you go. If he wanted to, he would have killed you. If that was his plan for revenge, he would have done it in front of me."

"But after you were gone, how do you know he wasn't hunting me?"

"Derek said he never came close—"

"We don't know that—"

"He never wanted you, Noah," Emily says flat out, laying it all on the table. "Yes, he watched you for years, he knew about you days after I gave birth to you. He knew you were out there and he found you, but never once did he try to take you out. Everything he did was a test to make me angry, I just never knew he knew about you, so it didn't work."

Noah's heart sinks as she processes the hard truth. The realization that, once again, she was an afterthought. A piece in a game that she wasn't even playing. Always the collateral damage that's just in the way.

"You're right," Noah mutters as she leans back against the stiff couch cushion. "My father never wanted me."

"I don't want to be right—"

"You don't have to say that," the teen says.

"I want to say it because I want you to know that I don't think this is easy for you to hear. And I don't think it should lift a weight off your shoulders. I know that this hurts, and I know that underneath all your hatred for him, a small part of you wished he had loved you."

"I don't want him to love me."

"Noah, he was your father—"

"He's a killer!"

"But he was your father!"

Noah's head dips, regretful tears brimming in her eyes as guilt seeps into every part of her being. It burns, an ache carved so deep it feels like it will never leave her. An inner battle rages within—a battle she's terrified she's losing. The weight of her losses is beginning to overshadow the fierce love she holds for her mother, no matter how unwavering it once felt.

"I saw him," Noah says through a crack in her voice. "Almost every day. He would come to me, talk to me, try to explain what he had done. And I tried to forgive him. I tried to make him a better person, I tried because I thought you were dead!"

Her voice fades, the lump in her throat swelling and swallowing her words. Tears fall unreserved as she lifts her head to face her mother. It's still an odd feeling to look into eyes that you thought were gone.

"I thought, in some twisted way, he was all I had left," she cries.

"Noah," Emily coos as she holds her daughter's cheeks in her hands. "He was a bad man. He doesn't deserve the love you give. Sometimes, I don't think I deserve it either."

Noah closes her eyes, causing the tears to spill and fall onto her mother's hands. There are so many things that she could say, but none of them come out. Some are too apologetic or forgiving while others are too harsh.

"I don't know how to pretend this is normal," she whispers.

"Because it's not normal," Emily reminds her. "None of this is."

"I told all of my friends that you were dead," Noah says softly. "Putting aside the fact that I have to forgive you and somehow act like everything's fine, I have to explain this to everyone and try to convince them that I'm not crazy!"

"I know," Emily assures her daughter. "I know it's not easy. On top of everything, now you have to explain something you can barely talk about—I know."

"I just don't understand why it had to be this complicated."

"This was the safest way—"

"And you left me hanging out here?!"

"Noah, I told you—"

"He didn't want me!" the teen raises her voice as she stands from the couch. "Yeah, I got that!"

"Noah—"

"Why couldn't someone at least tell me?!" Noah asks as she paces back and forth. "Did you even fight for them to tell me? Or ask them if I could go with you?!"

"Because you wouldn't have been safe with me," Emily says, her daughter not interrupting her this time. "I know it's hard to believe, but you would have been in more danger with me. It was five field agents who weren't Doyle's target protecting you or the one who was. Can you see why I made that decision?"

"Then, why didn't you tell me?"

"Ignorance is bliss," the mother sighs. "Plus, it was need-to-know. You're not an FBI agent, you're a high schooler. I know you think your experiences makes you tough, but not that tough."

Noah rolls her eyes, huffing to herself, feeling frustrated.

"Noah, believe me, I wanted to come back—"

"I didn't need you to come back, I needed you to stay!" Noah shouts, giving in to her temper. "I deserved that!"

"Yes, you did!" Emily's voice raises as well. "I know that! And I know it's unfair that you had to grieve, I can't even imagine how sad you must have been—"

"And somehow, I feel more sad knowing that it was all fake than when I thought it was real. And I'm mad—so mad—but the emptiness I felt...it's still there. And I'm not just sad for me, I'm sad for Derek, for Penelope, for Spencer! All of these people who mourned you just as much as I did. And you come back, just like that," her voice breaks as she snaps her fingers. "You're back and we all have to move on."

"Nobody said you have to move on—"

"If I don't, I will hate you forever!" Noah says with such conviction that it's scary. "I have to forgive you if I want to love you, and I'm trying! I'm trying so hard, but it's not working!"

"I'm sorry," Emily says softly. "I'm so sorry."

Noah cries softly, almost in disbelief. "I learned what I deserve. You told me that my childhood was terrible, dangerous, unfair, sad. And then you told me that I deserved better and I didn't believe you. But you made me believe, you made me think that things were different."

"It is different," Emily pleads.

"It was different."

Emily lowers her head, her heart heavy with shame for the pain she's caused her daughter. The weight of her actions presses down on her, and she feels the sting of regret deep in her chest. Her mind replays it all over and over, each repetition cutting deeper. She tries to speak, to find the words to make it right, but her throat tightens, trapping her apology before it can escape. All she can do is sit there, shoulders slumped, wishing she could undo the hurt she's inflicted.

"I was right," Noah whispers as tears stream down her cheeks.

The teen walks to the door, Emily standing up to stop her. "Noah, wait, please wait!"

She can barely get her words out before the door slams in her face. She takes a step back, holding her breath as her chin quivers. She can feel another shrapnel of her heart sink into her stomach, falling into a pit of doubt that she'll ever earn her daughter's trust and love again.

𝗮𝗻 𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘶

"We have a while before everyone's back from court," Erin says as she opens the door to the conference room.

"Thanks," Noah mutters as she steps inside and takes a seat.

Erin goes to the other side of the table and takes her coat off, neatly setting it over the armrest of one of the chairs. She sits in the seat beside it and sets down her pen and notepad. She leans over the table towards the recorder, but pauses before she begins the recording.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes," Noah confirms with a nod.

Erin presses the record button and sits up straight in her chair. "Please state your full legal name for the record."

"Noah Portman Prentiss."

"And what is your relation to this case?"

"I am the daughter of Ian Doyle and Agent Emily Prentiss."

"Can you please tell us what you're testifying about?"

"I am testifying for the investigation and capture of my father," Noah says, swallowing the bundle of nerves in her throat.

Noah explains everything that Aaron had told her to, leaving out her total involvement. The team agreed that it would stay between them to keep Noah from being involved any further. That and the fact that it's a hard for him to swallow the fact that a sixteen year old solved some parts of the case he couldn't.

Erin listens closely to the teen's story, writing some notes for herself, but mostly relying on the recording. She buys it all, falling for every word that slips out of Noah's mouth. Some of them don't reveal everything, but the tears in her eyes are enough for Erin to believe her.

When she's had enough, Erin stops the recording and hands Noah a tissue. "Thank you. I can't imagine how much power it's taking to retell any of it."

"Will my mother be reinstated?" the teen questions.

"I'm not sure," Erin replies truthfully. "But they should be on their way back. I'll let you all know what I find out."

They both stand and make their way to the door. Noah walks alongside Erin down the hallway, but something catches her eye. She lets Erin go, but not without telling her that she will see her later. Once the woman is in the elevator, Noah turns to the wall, staring at the framed picture of her mother among the other fallen agents.

"I hope I don't look too different."

Noah turns her head to see her mother standing beside her. "No, not really."

"I really want to talk," Emily says softly, choosing her words carefully.

"We already tried that," Noah replies, her eyes glued to her mother's picture—the woman that she used to know rather than the stranger beside her.

"And you walked out."

"You made me angry."

"I have a feeling that's going to happen a lot. But there's a lot to talk about."

Noah whips around to face her mother. "You're not really in the position to complain right now."

"I know, but—" Emily pauses as her daughter walks away from her again, but footsteps approach her and she turns to see Dave. "Hey."

"Never thought we'd be taking one of these down," he notes, reaching to take the photo off the wall, but it doesn't budge.

"I already tried, it's screwed in," Emily tells him.

"You're kidding."

"I got this," Penelope says as she holds up a screwdriver.

Emily smiles, but the expression falters as her eyes drift back to the photo. If she's being truthful, she does look different—almost unrecognizable. The woman staring back at her feels like a distant stranger, a version of herself so far removed that she can no longer grasp what it felt like to be her. Outwardly, the changes are subtle, barely noticeable to anyone else. But inside, where it matters most, everything has shifted. Her mind, her heart, her very sense of self—transformed in ways she can't fully articulate.

As Dave unscrews the frame, the rest of the team joins them in the hallway. Although, Derek walks past with a flat expression. He wishes it was as easy to take back his grief as it is to take the photo off the wall. Aaron goes to talk to him, but Erin interrupts them, calling everyone to the round table room.

Noah watches as everyone files into the bullpen, her gaze lingering as Erin gives her a subtle nod. Without hesitation, the teen follows, joining the group as they gather around the table, standing beside her mother. The tension in the air is palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. No one says a word, and no one takes a seat—everybody is too tightly wound, their unease radiating in the heavy silence.

"The committee made it clear they will not support a rogue team," Erin says with a firm expression as everyone holds their breaths. "Agent Prentiss convinced them you were not that. They will be watching you closely, so I suggest you play by their rules."

"So we're okay?" Penelope asks.

"The suspension has been lifted for everyone," Erin confirms.

"Thank you, ma'am," JJ says with a wide smile.

"There may be more paperwork considering your...situation," Erin says as her gaze falls on Emily. "But the team is lucky to have you. If you're interested."

"May I think about it?" Emily asks.

Noah furrows her brows, surprised by her mother's words. Her gaze shifts upward, locking onto Emily's. In that moment, Emily's eyes speak volumes—a silent conversation meant for Noah alone. There's a vulnerability in her expression, a quiet plea for approval that only her daughter can interpret.

"Of course," Erin nods.

Noah holds Emily's gaze for a moment longer, her initial surprise softening. Slowly, she gives the faintest nod, an unspoken assurance passing between them. Her expression shifts, offering a flicker of understanding and quiet support. No words are needed—her agreement is clear.

"I'm in," Emily says with a smile.

The team look around at one another before they express laughs of relief.

"I have a stack of cases on my desk. I'm happy to pass them along," Erin says quietly to Hotch.

"I'll pick them up in the morning," he agrees.

"Emily, what did you tell them?" Spencer asks, curious to know how Emily convinced the comittee that what the team did was right.

"I told them the truth—that this team is essential. We're not just good at what we do; we save lives. We all took an oath to protect this country, and that's exactly what we were doing. We didn't go rogue—we made a difficult call, but everything we did was for the good."

Everyone's smiles are warm, filled with appreciation and love. From the outside, it looks like everything is perfect. Emily is alive, Aaron has returned from Pakistan, JJ's been promoted to profiler, Noah has her mother back, and, for once, they're all together. But beneath the surface, there's an unspoken tension—a reminder that even in moments of joy, the scars of the past linger, and not everything is as seamless as it appears.

"Noah?" Erin asks.

"Ma'am?" the teen replies.

Erin nods towards the door. "A word."

Noah walks to the door, the team talking amongst themselves, the excitement of being suspension-free distracting them. The teen stands in the hallway with Erin, wondering what could be wrong.

"Aaron tells me that you had a part in finding Doyle and Declan," the woman says quietly. "Although he wouldn't tell me what you did, he told me it meant a great deal, so thank you."

Noah smiles awkwardly. "I'm not sure if I should say 'you're welcome' or if this is a trap."

Erin chuckles under her breath. "It's a thank you."

"Then you're welcome."

"Maybe you'll be one of them someday," Erin says, her gaze looking past Noah and back into the room of agents.

Noah quietly observes the team as they celebrate. Their relief is palpable, their laughter filling the room. They're brilliant and dedicated to their roles, and Noah feels a deep sense of pride in knowing them. But beneath that pride, a knot forms in her chest. Their work—the work that defines them, that makes them so exceptional—is also the very thing that has caused her suffering. The violence, the danger, the constant threats—they're all a direct result of Emily's job, and it's Noah who has to endure the consequences. It was the job that put Emily in Doyle's crosshairs, the job that forced her to fake her own death and leave Noah behind in the aftermath. It's the reason Noah had to face the pain of her mother being dead, the reason she endured the constant fear of losing everyone she loves. In the end, it's Emily's job that has cost Noah everything—her sense of safety, her trust, and the life she could have had, all sacrificed to the chaos that comes with the work her mother chose.