Author's note: This is my first CM (or anything at all actually) fanfic. I hope you like. This chapter is sort of a prologue, because I couldn't resist getting started on getting into their heads. Sorry it's kind of long - I wanted to give everyone a chance. Of course (sadly) I don't own Criminal Minds or anything to do with it. I just like to have fun with it. Reviews would be lovely.

Emily lay in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. She didn't get it. She'd spent every night alone the whole time she was away, but now that she was back it felt totally unnatural. But she'd spent every night alone when she'd lived here too. She sighed and rolled onto her side. She couldn't stop her mind whirring, thinking about her team, her family. She had hurt them so bad. It had been necessary, she knew. There was no other way. She had to protect them, and herself. But it sucked. She'd hurt them and they were still hurting now and she was scared. She desperately wanted to reach out to them all, to wrap her arms around every one of them and apologise for everything. But it was the middle of the night and they weren't ready and she was scared they never would be. That she could never really come home, because for them she was already gone. Maybe she could never really be Emily Prentiss again. She shivered, feeling more alone than ever as she pulled her quilt around herself and closed her eyes. I wish Hotch was here. Her eyes shot open again. Wait, I what? But the moment it had crossed her mind she knew it was true. She hadn't allowed herself to even consider it in the months she was somebody else, but Emily Prentiss loved Aaron Hotchner, and she wanted him here by her side. She had to give him time. She had to let him get used to her being back. But then she had to tell him. Breathless, she rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling again.

JJ sat on the bathroom floor, sipping a glass of water then resting her head against the cool tiles on the wall, blinking hard to push back the tears and the nausea. This position had become familiar to her – the twisting, churning feeling of the guilt turned her stomach regularly. She had kept this from her team and they were all hurting. She could hardly process the fact that she had Emily back, she was home, she could show up at her door and they could go out for coffee together… She hated herself for hurting Spencer, and he hated her… He'd probably never forgive her, not really. Every night for months he'd show up and she'd let him in and she'd hold him as he cried, let him fall asleep on her, and sometimes she'd fall asleep too and sometimes she'd end up in here, running the shower to cover up the sound of her guilt. She closed her eyes and cried silently. I'm sorry.

Spencer curled his knees up to his chest and rested his forehead on them. If he could just forget for a moment. If he could let go of all the moments JJ spent comforting him, keeping the most important thing in the world from him… But he couldn't forget, and his mind kept playing them over and over and he couldn't make it stop. He hated that – when his mind did something he had no control over. It scared him more than anything. And Emily was back now, she was here, and he wanted nothing more than to hug her, to feel that she was real, to spend time with her laughing and being teased and just loved, because she had loved him like her little brother, he knew that - but he couldn't bring himself to open up again. To let her in. Because he had tried so hard to force her out, force himself to admit that she was gone, that he could never have that again, and now… Now he was afraid there was no going back.

Garcia sat on her sofa, cuddling a sparkly purple cushion to her chest as she half-watched an old black and white movie whose name and plot she had not quite taken in. She allowed tears to flow down her cheeks as she tried to process all of the things she was feeling. She was so unbelievably happy that Emily was alive, and well, and home. But she was also hurt, and scared, and it felt like at any minute Emily would be snatched away again. Every moment she tried to be happy and to think about spending time with Emily, her death hit her all over again and she was overcome with a wave of grief that she had to fight back against. Emily is alive dammit! she would tell her brain. And eventually it would subside. And she'd allow herself to feel happy. And she would think, I'll ask Em out for coffee and shopping tomorrow. And then her brain would go into lockdown – Emily is dead, it would say firmly. You need to stop this Penelope. You need to let her go. As it had for all those months when she would wake up forgetting and then have to remind herself. She was so damn confused. She picked up her cell phone and fired a text off to Emily: 'Hey loved one. Know you are loved. You better be sleeping.'She switched the sparkly cushion for a soft, fluffy one, lowered her face onto it and sobbed.

Admitting defeat, Derek got out of bed and went to the kitchen, poured himself a glass of water and sat down, head in hands. It was just too much. He could still see the blood, the piece of wood sticking grotesquely out of her abdomen. He could hear himself begging her to keep looking at him. Stay with me baby. And he could hear her telling him to let her go and he had told her he wouldn't and... And then she was gone and he was supposed to let her go. Dammit he'd tried, but he never managed it because his heart was never in it. Now that she was back though… He could barely look at her without seeing the light leave her eyes as she slipped into unconsciousness. And the overwhelming guilt he felt at not getting there sooner, in time to save her. He should feel relieved. It wasn't true now. They had made it in time, she had made it, they had got to her in time and she was safe, she was home. But those feelings he'd built up, all of that hurt and guilt and absolute painful failure that had built up over all these months just wouldn't leave him. He pounded his fist on the table, feeling the lump rise in his throat.

Rossi sat in his favourite leather armchair, the dog far too big for his lap but stubbornly lying there anyway, snoring. If he wasn't careful he'd have no blood in his feet by the end of the night, but he was glad of the company, and the soft fur to stroke as he stared into the darkness. It was a lot to process. He had come back to the BAU with unfinished business, with something to prove. But he had gained a family. Something to fill up his life like he could never have imagined. When they had lost her, he'd tried damn hard not to let it affect him. He had seen a lot – a lot of colleagues had died in the field, it was the way the job worked, here and in the Marines. But this team was different. Emily was different. She was an outstanding agent and an amazing woman, and her loss was a lot to stomach. And his family had fallen apart with grief, and he had lost everything again. And now she was back. He couldn't believe it. He wasn't really sure he did believe it. He leaned down to nuzzle the dog, feeling numb more than anything else. He didn't know how long it would take for him to be able to process it, to playfully wink and nudge her and make some joke again… Without feeling like he was talking to a ghost, that she'd disappear any moment.

Hotch couldn't sleep. He sat up in bed, head back against the wall, with the bedside lamp on because he couldn't bear to be alone in the dark right now. He had barely slept since he had made the decision. He had understood what he was doing, understood that it was the only way to save her, but he also understood that he was betraying his family in a way that could tear them apart. And now… He had forced JJ to keep the most painful secret he could imagine. He had put them all through the absolute hell of losing her, of grieving for her, and he didn't know whether they'd ever forgive him. She had been all alone all this time, with no idea when or even if she could come home… He had hurt them all, because there had been no other way, because he had to protect her and it was his job to make these decisions. And he had lost her. He had allowed her to walk away because it was the only way to save her life, but the moment she was gone, the moment he came home to his empty bed and wondered whether Emily Prentiss could ever come how, he knew. He loved her. He wanted her here, with him, always – he at least wanted to try. And he had been too much of a stubborn, by-the-book ass to notice and admit it to himself in time. But he wouldn't let it happen again. He would give her time to settle in, to get back to being herself, to start to mend her relationships with the team. And then he would tell her. He had to tell her.