Well... here it is. My first foray into Criminal Minds fanfiction. If you're so inclined, leave a review. (:

"Still, I know of no higher fortitude than stubbornness in the face of overwhelming odds." –Louis Nizer

Emily Prentiss is infuriatingly stubborn. I've seen it in her unwillingness to back down on cases. In her strained relationship with her mother. In her classic "I'm fine!" response when she knows she's not, and we know she's not. In the lack of trust she shows with even us, her closest friends, her family. We see it daily. This stubbornness can make Morgan clench his hands into tight fists in regular intervals to calm himself, and Hotch fix her with his signature glare, willing her to test him further. Reid usually tilts his head slightly and raises an eyebrow. Rossi chuckles and gives up trying to reason with her. Garcia's sheer force of will can once in a while break down her stubborn walls, but it's not often. Her stubbornness usually makes me roll my eyes and shake my head. Usually. This time around, there's no eye rolling and no shaking of my head. This time around I'm hoping her stubbornness pays off. I'm hoping her infuriating inability to recognize when to give up and pack it in is in full force, because right now she's fighting for her life.

The doctors aren't sure which outcome it's going to be. They've sent people out periodically to keep me updated. I don't listen to their sentences. I hear a word here and there, but most of the communication I get from them is non-verbal, and very subtle. A furrowed brow, a slight parting of the lips and intake of breath before speaking, a tiny shrug of the shoulders, crossed arms, shuffling feet. But mostly what I see is the apologetic eyes. I may not be an actual profiler, but you pick up on these things after hanging out with this bunch for a while. Right now, the signs are not all that positive. To anyone else, they would seem calm and professional. To me they seem apologetic. And in this case, apologetic is not good.

My mind has been racing for the few hours she's been in surgery. My phone has been buzzing seemingly non-stop. The ramifications of what's being planned are huge. All the arrangements are being made, most of the details worked out, and a tentative final approval has been given by the higher-ups. Just waiting on the crucial last detail: life or death. Regardless of the outcome, I know what I tell the team will be the same. I just don't know which outcome will make delivering the news harder.

Garcia will react predictably. Tears streaming down her face, she will grab Morgan and hold on tightly. Reid's mind will speed ahead of his feelings, and he will no doubt want an explanation of exactly what happened. Rossi will mourn for his de facto daughter, and having to face losing another colleague. Hotch's knowledge of what's going on won't stop him from feeling an overwhelming sense of loss. Until the ambulance ride, I would have bet on Morgan to grieve the loss of a friend and partner. Now, I know he'll grieve losing his partner, his friend, and someone he loves very deeply. I shudder to think that this might break him. But his anger will win over, I think, and he'll hunt down Doyle with or without permission. I'm not sure how I would react. How I might react. I'll grieve the loss of a best friend whichever outcome happens, that's for sure.

I'm alone in this inner waiting room; the team is holed up in a waiting room a few hallways away from me. I pass the time by alternating between staring ahead blankly with my hands clasped together in my lap, and staring at the scuffed floor with my head resting in my hands. I'm surprised my legs are not shaking, and that my hands are still. Files are strewn about on the chair next to me, underneath my bag. The bottom file holds her file. At least, all I could get clearance for. Her picture, background, certification and training notations, commendations, completed missions. They're all there in some capacity. There's still a lot of information censored, and I wonder just how deep into international secrets Emily got. I wonder if Doyle is the worst of her past.

A couple more hours pass with few updates, and I begin to wonder if things have taken a turn for the worse. Those non-verbal cues from the doctors updating me flash in my mind, and I feel a tinge of despair take over. I mentally berate myself for that thought. Those are not the kind of thoughts I can afford to have right now, and so I busy myself with organizing the mess of papers in the files. My eyes sweep over the pages, reading but not comprehending anything. A few words jump out at me here and there, and I catch myself chuckling slightly at the long medical history in her file. No wonder she hates hospitals so much, she's spent a ton of time in them. But then I suppose with her line of work, it's unavoidable.

Her line of work. When did it become her line of work? When did I realize that our roles were vastly different? When did that categorization happen?

I feel the small breeze from the swinging door before I hear their footsteps. I glance up and meet the eyes of two doctors. I shove the papers back into the file hastily, place it on the seat beside me and slowly rise from my seat. When they reach me, I can't help but fleetingly shoot them a questioning glance. I know it's foolish. They'll tell me even if I don't ask.

Things move in slow motion, but a thousand moments seem to pass by silently in an instant. The wait to hear the doctors' words could not have felt longer. The air is filled with tension, and it seems thick somehow as I breathe it in.

"She made it. She's critical right now, and it's a long road, but she's alive."

I close my eyes as I let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding and feel my body sag with relief. They spew a full medical explanation that I didn't hear or even care to listen to. Feeling a tinge of guilt over holding news from the team, I smile ever so slightly in hope and ask, "Can I see her?"

The words were out of my mouth before I even had time to consider what I was asking. I wasn't even sure that I wanted to see her. But I shake my head at myself. Of course I want to see her. The two doctors glance at each other. One seems to shrug ever so slightly, and the other looks contemplative for a moment. He is still thinking when I met his gaze, and he must have seen my desperation, because he smiles ever so slightly.

"Okay," he says quietly and he beckons me with a small gesture.

I follow them down the various hallways, the files tucked away in my bag that's slung over my shoulder, my phone clutched tightly in my hand. After hours of speeding thoughts, I am surprised when my mind seems utterly blank. I had expected to be inundated with thoughts, but my mind is seemingly, perhaps blissfully, empty. When we reach her, I am struck by how small and how fragile she looks among the mess of tubes, wires, bandages and various machines beeping in rhythm. This is not the Emily Prentiss I know. This is not the woman who carries herself with confidence and class. This is not the woman who goes toe-to-toe with Morgan in his rigorous training. This is not the woman who left to face a dangerous criminal by herself. This is not the woman who curses in any number of languages in frustration. This is not the woman who bravely flirts with and encourages serial killers to coax information from them. This is not the Emily Prentiss I know.

With small and tentative steps I walk toward the chair beside her bed. I place my bag and phone on the chair, and take the last few steps to the bed. I faintly register the echo of footsteps as they move away from me – the doctors must have left. Somewhere along the walk to her room tears had begun to form in my eyes. As I reach a hand out to gently brush a few strands of hair from her face, I feel the tears trail down my face.

"Hey," I say softly. I swallow to try and rid myself of the lump in my throat. It stays lodged.

The only response is the continued beeping of the machines and the steady rise and fall of her chest.

I open my mouth to speak further, but no words form. It's funny really. She and I can gab with Garcia for hours over coffee or wine about just about anything. And here I am, in the moment where she perhaps needs that more than anything, and I can't utter a single syllable. I feel the lump in my throat once more and swallow again in vain to try and make it disappear. What do you say to someone who's just survived being tortured, beaten, and viciously stabbed with a table leg? What do you say to someone who's going to lose everyone that she loves? What do you say to someone who may never live her own life again? Just what can you say?

I grab her hand, and it somehow gives me the strength to speak again.

"You are an incredibly stubborn woman, you know that?" I can't help but let a small laugh escape my lips.

I almost expect her to respond with some witty remark, or roll her eyes. Almost.

"I'm so sorry Em. I... I had to do it. For you. Please understand that. Please. I didn't want this, but it's the only way. We'll catch him and then you can come home. Come home to your family."

My voice is barely a whisper as I try to fight the tears. My hands tremble ever so slightly as I hold back sobs.

"We love you Emily Prentiss. Don't you ever doubt that. Don't you dare forget that."

I give her hand a gentle squeeze and it back on the bed. The monitor's beeping changes rhythm for a moment when I let go of her hand, and I wonder if she heard me. I grab my phone, make the call to the higher-ups with the news, and receive an official approval for the go-ahead. I throw the phone into my bag, and give Emily one last look before I turn quickly and briskly walk out of the room. Any slower, and I fear I won't be able to exit the room at all.

I put my bag on my now vacated chair in the waiting room and take a moment to compose myself. Even if they are stressed and their focus is on Emily, my expressions and body language cannot give me away. I consider wiping away the tears that still have not stopped, but realize it would be a futile effort at best. I take a deep breath and push open the door to the hallways which lead to the waiting room housing the team. With each step I have to steady myself. The team doesn't see me right away, and I take in their worried faces. With another deep breath I step fully into the room and see their eyes meet my gaze. Shock and despair flash across their faces before I can even open my mouth. I close my eyes for what seems like forever to compose myself to deliver this enormous lie and start of what will surely be months' worth of deception. I swallow, feeling the lump in my throat and knowing it will prevent me from being able to speak.

"She never made it off the table."

The words feel like arrows straight to their hearts, and fresh tears make their way down my face as I watch them all break. I squeeze my eyes shut to stop the tears, and replay my conversation with Emily in my head.

It's been hours since I delivered that terrible news, and the team has all gone. Where to, I'm not sure. I make my way back to Emily's bed and grab her hand with mine. The monitor's rhythm of beeps changes again, and I'm certain she feels my presence. She is still frail and fragile looking, and her heart seems somehow heavier than when I saw her last.

"They're gonna be okay. Eventually. We'll find him Em. I promise you that. I'm not letting this bastard win. We'll deal with Doyle. You just..." I trail off unsure of how to finish.

I sigh and raise the corners of my mouth into a small but tired smile, "You just keep being stubborn."

Like I said up top, if you're so inclined, leave a review. :)