Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the TV series, Criminal Minds.

This story has been stuck at the back of the line for a while and decided it was tired of waiting patiently... starts a bit slow, but bear with me?

Constant

Part 1

By
N. J. Borba

Emily keyed her lock, pushed the door open and flipped on the entry hall light. She then leaned against the door jamb and faced her date. Mick Rawson stared at her desirously, causing her stomach to flop, but not in a good way. The date had gone reasonably well, but she wasn't sure why she'd invited him up to her place. Had it really been so long that she was desperate. Not that Mick Rawson was anything to be ashamed of, his charm and boyish good looks matched with low-slung jeans and a sexy accent did provide a certain allure.

And he had saved her life.

But there was still something off about him, and it was more than just his inflated ego. She'd dealt with plenty of those before. It was something she couldn't pinpoint, but something she didn't much care for. With second thoughts firmly in place, Emily smiled demurely and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. "Thank you for dinner. It was very nice," she pulled away, taking a small step inside her condo and hoping that he'd get the hint.

"Nice?" the man looked hurt. "I thought surely it had been at least enjoyable. Nice is just a polite American term for bugger off."

"Not when I say it. It was a very pleasant evening," she insisted. "But I really feel like it should end here. I'd like you to go now."

"I don't think you want me to leave yet," the man persisted. He leaned against the opposite side of the door frame and reached out to gently caress her cheek. "Because I keep getting the feeling that you're saying things you don't really mean. You seem a little frightened of pursuing this obvious attraction between us."

She sighed, growing frustrated and running out of politeness. "I called you back last week and I spent the evening with you tonight," Emily pointed out. "The date is over, though. You were kind enough to walk me up here, but this is where it ends."

"It would be much more fun if I stayed," Mick said as he leaned in for a kiss.

"I believe she said she wanted you to leave," a voice interrupted.

Emily pulled away from her date and spotted Derek standing in the hall just behind them. She didn't think she'd ever been happier to see the man, though she was surprised. She was also a little concerned by Morgan's appearance, the haggard look in his eyes and the forward slump of his shoulders. And the odd fact that he was holding a duffle bag in one hand. Her date didn't seem perturbed by the interruption, though. In fact, he actually extended his hand in greeting.

"Derek Morgan, I never forget a name," the accented man intoned.

Morgan stared at the hand but didn't shake. "Mike, right?"

"Uh, Mick," the other man replied, dropping the outstretched hand to his side.

"Right," Morgan replied dismissively.

Mick also noticed the bag Derek had grasped at his side. "Is this a case thing?"

"Yes," Derek's answer was short as he continued to glare at the man.

"Say no more then." Mick turned his attention back to Emily briefly. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable just now. You can't blame a feller for trying, though, can you? I'll call you soon," he insisted. "We should do this again." With a wave and a slight bounce in his step, Mick turned and retreated down the hallway.

Morgan's head shook. "What a…"

"Jerk," Emily cut him off.

"Excuse me?" Derek wasn't surprised she'd said the word, but rather unsettled by the way she'd been starring straight at him while saying it.

She scoffed, entering the condo while tossing her purse and keys onto a table by the door. "You were completely rude to him," Emily clarified. "You could've shaken his hand. And what was with that Mike comment? You worked with the man," she reminded him.

"You asked him to leave, Emily. And he wasn't leaving," Morgan recalled. "In my book that makes him the rude one."

A sigh escaped her lips. Emily didn't even know why she was upset. She'd been the one wanting to cut the date short, and Derek had actually provided the perfect excuse. "Never mind, I'm just going to grab my duffle bag," she said, making her way toward the stairs.

"Why?" Derek asked.

The level of frustration he was causing her at the moment belayed any happy feeling of seeing him a few minutes ago. "Because we have a case, right? I'm assuming that's why you're here," but even as the words left her mouth she realized something wasn't right. He wouldn't show up at her door with a go bag if they had a case. Headquarters usually called to notify them of any case that cropped up while they were at home. "But that makes no sense, because JJ would have notified me," she voiced the thoughts aloud. "So… why are you here?"

Without looking her in the eye, Derek replied, "My place is being fumigated. I thought maybe I could crash here tonight?"

Something about him was completely off in Emily's opinion, and more than just the exhaustion she saw in his eyes. But then, her whole evening had felt off; going on a forced date with Mick mainly because JJ had pushed her into it, and Mick pressuring her. "I should have just gotten the cat," she mumbled, kicking off her shoes. "My extra room is actually an office, so you can take my bed," she offered. "I'll sleep down here on the sofa."

"I don't want to kick you out of your bed, Emily," he protested. "I can crash on the sofa."

"Just take the bed, Morgan. It's fine," she insisted. "You're too tall to fit on my sofa and you look exhausted, so just…" Emily waved a hand toward the stairs. "Make yourself at home. I have clean towels in the linen closet if you want to shower," she concluded, as if she had house guests every day.

As she watched Derek take slow, almost painstaking, steps up the stairs, her curiosity surged. And worry settled in her stomach. She did her best to shake it off as she locked her front door and made sure all other doors and windows were secure. It was the same routine she partook of when home. The job had made her overly cautious. With the condo in order, Emily realized she didn't have anything to wear or cover up with downstairs. So she headed up to her room.

"It's just me," she announced, softly knocking on her half-closed bedroom door. "You decent?"

Emily pushed the door in after not receiving any sort of answer from her co-worker. She walked inside to find Derek sprawled on the bed atop the covers with all his clothes on. Even his shoes remained fastened to his feet. But he appeared to already be asleep. Emily tiptoed to her bathroom and grabbed a few items. Then she plucked some pajamas from a dresser drawer as quietly as possible. She walked the items out to the hall, but she dropped them on the floor and re-entered her room a moment later.

Derek was snoring softly as she approached the bed. Even though he'd been a jerk, there was no way she'd allow him to sleep in his shoes, especially not when he was clearly dead tired. No cases had been pestering them for a while now; a while meaning a week, which was actually a long stretch for them. So the mystery of his exhaustion continued to plague her as she carefully eased each boot from his feet. It wasn't until she grabbed a throw blanket to toss over him that she spotted the bruises on the knuckles of both his hands.

"What's going on with you?" she whispered, pulling the blanket up to his chest.

She quietly left the room and picked up her pile of things from the floor before heading downstairs. With the sudden realization that it was probably one of his project houses that had caused the bruising on his hands, Emily relaxed a little. She changed, brushed her teeth at the kitchen sink and then curled up on the sofa with a folded sheet and a soft blanket. Her eyes caught sight of the night sky outside the largest window in her living room. A scattering of stars twinkled for her.

But a vibrating cell phone interrupted the tranquil moment. She reluctantly grabbed it from the coffee table. Emily figured it was probably Mick leaving her a message. In fact, she wouldn't have put it past the man to make her a booty call. But as she pulled up the text her eyes narrowed. "I know who you are," she read, "I know you were with him tonight. Leave him alone. He's mine, and I will love him all the days of my life."

Emily contemplated the message for a second and then chuckled. "Got to love the random wrong number text," she said, tossing her phone back onto the coffee table and thinking someone in the world was a wee bit jealous and possessive. That thought actually made her happy to be single.

Her eyes contentedly focused on the stars again before she fell asleep.

xxx

Emily knocked against her bedroom door, but she didn't bother waiting for a response before entering her own room. Derek was still sprawled on the bed, her afghan covering his legs only. She carried two mugs of coffee inside and sat one down on the nightstand. "Rise and shine, Morgan," she greeted.

"What time is it?" he questioned, rolling onto his left side and reaching for the coffee.

"Seven thirty. And you need to suck that coffee down fast and get changed," Emily instructed. "We have a crime scene to visit in Annandale. A woman was murdered last night; local police think it might be connected to another case from a week ago. We're supposed to be there in fifteen minutes," she concluded.

"I need a shower," he replied.

"So do I, but we don't have time," Emily let him know.

"We could save time and shower together," he suggested.

She laughed, glad that he seemed to be in better spirits after a good night's sleep. "In your dreams, big guy," Emily continued the long tradition they had of playing a harmless game of cat and mouse. It had started shortly after her arrival at the BAU, when they'd openly flirted over their mutual love of Vonnegut. And Derek had carried it further throughout the years, from hoping for a dip in her hot tub to shooing off Reid one night when the three of them had gone out for dinner.

It was playful, but she knew it could never go anywhere. At least that's what she kept telling herself.

"You're no fun, Prentiss," Morgan groaned as he took a swig of coffee, stood and promptly removed the t-shirt he'd slept in.

He was about to unzip his jeans when Emily put up a hand. "Hold on there a second, Mr. Exhibitionist. Let me grab some clothes before you start stripping."

As she hurriedly gathered clean underthings and outerwear, Derek stood watching her. He finished his coffee and tried not to laugh at the uncomfortable grimace on her face. "Would it really be that terrible?" he asked, "The two of us in a room together… naked?"

Emily spun around to face him. "I don't know what's going on with you, showing up late at my place when you could have gone to Reid or Rossi or even Garcia. Chasing off my date, collapsing like you'd just run a dozen marathons back-to-back and then waking up to be all… flirty with me." She finally caught her breath. "If there's something you need to get off your chest, I'm a pretty good listener," Emily offered. "Otherwise, we need to keep things work related."

Derek stared at her for a long moment, crushed by her final words. But he also realized what a mess he'd been last night. "I'm sorry I was a jerk last night," he openly apologized, "And this morning. You're right; we have a job to think about."

A curt nod came from her before she fled the room, planning to change in the small powder room downstairs.

They were out the door ten minutes later, refilled coffee mugs in hand. Derek offered to drive, hoping to smooth over some of the tensions from earlier. Emily agreed, though she began to regret it when they arrived at the murder site. Hotch and JJ watched as they exited Derek's SUV, eyes aimed and curious. She and Morgan decided it best not to even touch on the subject. "What have we got?" Derek asked.

"Thirty-eight year old female, Caucasian, brunette," Hotch began as he led them toward the townhouse. "Single, lives alone, neighbors called 911 at about three this morning. They claim to have heard screaming and then a gunshot several minutes later."

Inside the house, everything was immaculate. No dust, no clutter, not a single thing out of place. The front and back doors hadn't been tampered with. No broken windows. The gang trudged upstairs to the victim's room. It told a very different story. Blood covered a large area of the bed, broken candles and glass littered the hardwood floor. "Kayla Francis was a successful architect at a nearby firm. Well known for her design work on the new elementary school six blocks away," JJ informed them.

"Actual cause of death?" Emily asked.

"Not sure yet," Hotch replied. "I sent Reid and Dave to talk with the ME."

Morgan poked around the room. "Anyone see our guy leave the house after the gunshot?"

"A shadowy figure dressed in black," JJ answered, having gone over the police reports already.

Emily nodded. "Good and vague, just the way I like my eyewitness testimony," she commented derisively. Something caught her attention by the door that led to the attached bathroom. There was a smear of blood on the knob. She used a gloved hand to open the door, which swung inward. Emily then stepped inside the bathroom, gave it a quick sweep but found nothing. Then she decided to peek behind the door. "Might want to take a look at this," she called to the others.

The four of them crowded into the bathroom and read the bloody message on the back of the door. "To join these two people…" Derek's brows bunched. "What is that about?"

"Familiar," JJ mused. "But I don't get the two people reference with only one victim."

"I have two other cases that might help it make more sense," an unfamiliar voice joined their conversation. The team moved back into the bedroom to greet the tall blonde-headed detective. "Greg Henderson," he introduced himself, handing a file to Hotch. "Lead detective on the first case from a week ago. Well, what I thought was the first case, anyhow. You'll want to review both these cases."

Hotch frowned. "I thought you said there was only one case possibly similar to this?" he questioned.

"Just happened to double check this morning and found another case in Baltimore that could tie into our two," Henderson replied. "It occurred six weeks ago. You should look at the pictures," he pointed to the file.

Opening it, Hotch gazed at another door painted with red lettering. "We are gathered here today," was all it said.

Derek glanced over Hotch's shoulder as he flipped to the second picture. "Dearly beloved," he read the bloody words on yet another door. "Isn't that…"

"Wedding ceremony vows," Emily nodded. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join these two people," she strung the three messages together. "Were the other victims couples?" she asked. "Maybe there was a man here last night that got away from our UnSub," she proposed.

"Doubtful," Hotch spoke. "The other two victims were also single white females, about the same age. Alicia Witt was thirty-seven. Candace Jennings was thirty-nine," he revealed. "Both victims were sexually assaulted, cut numerous times with a small blade and then shot in the head." He looked to the rest of the team. "My guess is Dave and Reid will discover the same thing about Kayla Francis."

"How about fingerprints in the bloody words?" Morgan asked.

"Nothing," Henderson replied. "No prints of any kind, anywhere. Guy must wear gloves," he shrugged.

Prentiss remained focused on the text itself. "The vows have to be very significant, why else would someone write them? Our UnSub could have been jilted, or somehow stung by his wife or fiancé," she suggested.

"Possible divorce," Hotch added. "He could be upset at her for breaking the vows they made to one another." He turned his attention to Morgan. "Get Garcia on this right away."

Morgan nodded and dialed. "Hey, baby girl," he greeted, switching to speaker phone mode.

"Whatever can I do for you today, kind sir," Penelope drawled in an overly dramatic fashion.

He grinned and caught Emily's eye, noticing that she was keeping a close watch on him. Derek still felt bad for his changeable mood and resultant interactions with her, but they really did need to focus on work at the moment. "I need you to run some names," he rattled off the three women for her. "Pay particular attention to previous marriages, broken engagements, restraining orders from any guy they may have dated," he suggested.

"Got it," Garcia quickly replied. "Anything else?"

"Maybe search various sets of wedding vows," Emily spoke up. "Look for any underlying meanings, symbolism. We think this guy may be taking the line, till death do us part, a lot more seriously than his ex-wife," she concluded.

"I've never been a fan of that part," Penelope responded. "Bringing death into your wedding vows, no matter how good natured, it just seems a little creepy. Personally, I'm all in favor of the much more optimistic version which ends with loving and cherishing all the days of your life. Now that's a keeper."

Hotch sighed. "Just see what you can find," he spurred the tech back on track before the call ended. Then he doled out further orders for the team to continue their investigation, "JJ, I want you to go with me to talk to the other victim's families. Prentiss and Morgan, I need you to speak with Kayla Francis' family. Find out if she was seeing anyone, and who else had access to her home. This guy must be known to all of them, or at least non-threatening enough for them to let him in willingly," he concluded.

As they exited the victim's home and walked toward Derek's SUV, all Emily could focus on was what Garcia had just said about wedding vows. It sparked her interest in the text message she'd received last night. "All the days of my life," she whispered. The words she'd previously dismissed suddenly seemed far too similar to their case to just be a coincidence.

"What was that?" Derek asked, having heard her mumble something as they entered the SUV.

"Nothing," Emily covered, not sure what to do with the information just yet.

xxx

"Mrs. Fisher, was your daughter engaged or in a serious relationship of any sort?" Emily asked.

The woman who sat across from them was short and slight with dyed copper hair and brown eyes. Actually, her red-rimmed eyes revealed to them that she'd been crying, notified less than an hour ago about her daughter's death. "No, Kayla is single, has been for a while now. She was the lead architect on that elementary school project, her first lead at the new firm. She took it so seriously, even supervised a lot of the construction. She loves her job," the woman paused a second, "Loved her job."

"So, she hasn't even been casually dating?" Derek questioned.

Mrs. Fisher shrugged. "Not that she mentioned to me. The last relationship I know of was with Doug Peterson. Nice young man, but he didn't want anything serious."

Emily nodded. "Was Kayla ever married? I notice you don't share the same last name," she pointed out.

"She was married just out of high school to Brandon Francis," the woman spoke that name with some malice. "He got her pregnant, but she lost the baby shortly after they were married. Kayla tried to get pregnant again, because she was foolishly in love with that boy," Mrs. Fisher lamented. "They were married for three years before he just up and left."

"Left?" Morgan asked. "Where is he now?"

A head shake was the woman's answer. "Kayla never has been able to locate him. But she managed to get a judge to sign off on their divorce after Brandon had been gone for ten years," she explained. "During those years she poured herself into school and then studying for the architectural exams to be licensed in this area. That boy tarnished her first real relationship. I think it's why she hasn't dated much since. And now she never will again."

Emily placed a hand against the woman's back as she began to cry again. They stayed that way for a few minutes while Morgan went in search of some Kleenex. "Mrs. Fisher, I'm so sorry for your loss. I just need to ask you one more thing and then we'll leave you alone," Emily prompted. "Did Kayla recently make any new friends? Not necessarily boyfriends. Just anyone she might have mentioned, even a new co-worker?"

The woman wiped her nose and eyes with a tissue Derek handed her. "She did mention one friend the last time we spoke. The woman's name was Tammy, I think. I recall Kayla saying they met at a coffee shop on Tenth Street; The Mocha Jive."

"Did you ever meet this woman?" Morgan asked.

"No," her head shook again. "Why? Do you think she has anything to do with what happened to my baby?"

Derek sighed. "I doubt it, ma'am. But it's always a good idea to investigate any new acquaintances, as well as old. Do you happen to know this woman's last name? Where she works or lives?" he searched for more information.

"Sorry," Mrs. Fisher replied.

"You've helped us a lot," Emily assured the woman. "Thank you for your time," she said as she and Derek both stood. Emily noticed how small and lost the woman appeared to be, sitting alone on the sofa. "Is there anyone we can call for you?" she offered.

"Time is all I have now," the woman shook her head. "No, there's no one. My husband's been gone for many years and now Kayla…"

Emily always hated the goodbyes. They were the hardest, often times even worse than examining a dead body. The dead were able to move on. The living grieved and never stopped searching for answers. But there was really nothing more they could do for the woman at the moment. She placed a card on the glass-top coffee table. "If you think of anything else that might help, or even if you just have questions, please feel free to call us," Emily insisted.

xxx

"We have a name, Brandon Francis," Derek relayed to Hotch via cell phone. "He's Kayla's ex-husband who disappeared under some mysterious circumstances years ago."

The call was on speaker so Emily could hear as they sat huddled in Derek's SUV outside of Harriet Fisher's home. "And there's a woman Kayla Francis recently met, Tammy. No last name," Prentiss added to the conversation. "I wonder if this woman could be connected to Brandon Francis in some way… a second wife, maybe."

"I'll get Garcia to run it," Hotch conveyed. "Dave and Reid are done with the ME. We're all headed back to Quantico, meet us there," he signed off.

Emily sat back and couldn't help watching Derek for a moment, her focus on the case switching to concern for a friend in the blink of an eye. Black coffee and a new case seemed to have woken him. But she knew better. She'd known him long enough to suspect there was still something going on. "Morgan, I meant what I said earlier this morning. You know you can tell me anything, right?" she reiterated her offer.

Derek's eyes slid her way as he hesitated to start the vehicle, both hands clasped tightly around the steering wheel. He wasn't at all surprised by her words or the sentiment behind them, but he was impressed by her keen sense of timing. "I do," he replied, his thoughts tumbling backward to the last few months of his life. "Prentiss, there might be a favor I need to ask of you in the near future," he let his guard slip a little.

"Anything," she easily replied without hesitation. "What sort of favor?"

"I'm not exactly sure yet," he cryptically replied. "And I'd really appreciate it if you didn't ask questions right now."

She swallowed, her worry growing deeper. "Okay," Emily agreed, though a bit reluctantly.

He turned the key in the ignition and pulled away from the curb, grateful of her quiet presence. Derek hadn't even felt comfortable talking to Garcia about the things swirling in his head at the moment. "I hope you understand that it goes both ways," Morgan spoke up again as he steered into the flow of traffic on the busy residential street. "I mean… you can talk to me about anything, too," he offered. "You know that, don't you?"

Emily nodded, though she wasn't yet willing to tell him about the odd message on her phone. "I do."

To Be Continued...