Part One of Two

Like most complicated relationships, it started in Vegas, but not in the usual way. It didn't start with copious amounts of alcohol, and a night of drunken regrets. It didn't start with mindsplitting hangovers, and trying to find discarded clothes as quickly as possible before last night's sexual partner wakes up.

It started with a bullet.

The bullet that hit Emily in the vest.

More specifically, it started with a firefight.

The firefight that had her and Morgan pinned down on the opposite side of the room to the rest of the team.

Their profile had led them to the discovery that their unsub was an avid gambler at one of the casinos. So they'd come there, guns drawn, vests velcroed shut. What the profile hadn't told them was that their unsub would be heavily armed. Head of security for this casino would seriously need to start looking for a new job.

'Do you have a shot?' Both Emily and Morgan heard Hotch's voice coming in over the earpiece. Emily, being closer to the unsub, shuffled to the left until she could see him.

Then, they heard the gunshot.

Evidently, she'd been a little less hidden from view by the artificial plant-life than she'd thought. She wasn't thinking about that, though. She was thinking about the sledgehammer that had just slammed into her chest at over a thousand feet per second.

The force of the bullet sent her falling backwards, as the second shot whizzed over her head. She was vaguely aware of being pulled backwards by Morgan, and the sound of her name buzzing in her ear.

It hurt to breath. Realistically, she knew that the bullet had not gone past the Kevlar vest, but that didn't stop her from closing her eyes and gritting her teeth in pain.

It didn't stop Morgan from panicking, either.


The two things seemed to happen at once; the sound of the gunshot, and Emily dropping to the ground. If he were to think about it though, if he were to play it back in slow motion, with a timer flicking across the bottom of the scene, he would have noticed mere milliseconds between the two events. Milliseconds in which he could do nothing but watch in horror.

At first, he thought she was dead. Her eyes were closed, and she didn't seem to be moving. He heard Hotch say her name over the earpiece. He didn't respond, for fear of what the reaction would be. "Sorry, Hotch. I let Emily die right in front of me." Even thinking about it sounded stupid.

He pulled her back behind their cover, eyes continually scanning for any ominous holes, any red stains that hadn't been there before they'd come to the casino. With a sigh of relief, he realized that he didn't see any.

He couldn't remove the vest. Not while there was still the potential for live fire. Still, it wasn't quite enough for her to open her eyes, give him a pained smile, and say, 'Thank God for Kevlar.' He gave a sigh of relief anyway, and they both heard the sound of exhalation over their respective earpieces.

She was too busy focusing on the pain in her chest to notice that Morgan was kneeling close, hunched over as if to protect her. If she had noticed, he thought that she would have made a comment about being able to look after herself.

But she didn't say anything. Not about the protective stance, not about the hand on her thigh. Not even about the fact that he really should have been paying more attention to the unsub than to her. But it didn't matter.

They both heard the third gunshot as Hotch took the unsub down. After a cursory glance to check that the coast was, in fact clear, Morgan ripped off the vest, taking solace in the fact that the bullet had not fully penetrated the Kevlar.

She didn't argue as he lifted her shirt to check for injuries. Already, a bruise was forming on her lower abdomen. She'd definitely need to get checked out by the paramedics; she could have had anything from a broken rib to internal bleeding.

'Seriously, Derek,' she said, as he helped her up. 'I'm fine.' Nonetheless, she didn't try to brush away the hand on her shoulder. The hand that kept her steady.

'Paramedics,' said Hotch sternly, and between the Unit Chief hovering in front of her, and Morgan hovering at her side, she didn't have much of a choice.

'Did you know that Kevlar XP has a 15% reduction in backforce deformation and superior ballistic performance when compared to previous designs?' Reid piped up. 'It's also 10% lighter.' At Emily's dazed expression, he elaborated. 'It means that there should be less chance of rib fractures or other serious injury.'

'That, uh...That actually does make me feel better. Thanks Reid.' She smiled, patting him on the shoulder. None of them missed the wince.

Hand still on her shoulder, Morgan directed Emily towards the casino exit. Were it not for the fact that she probably would have kicked him in the shins, he probably would have picked her up and carried her the short distance.


As their apprehension of the unsub had taken place in the late hours of the afternoon, the team still had the rest of the night in Vegas. Normally, Morgan would have relished the chance to hit the casinos, drinking the night away, and maybe getting lucky on the side. That night, though, he had more important things to do.

It was just after nine when he found himself knocking on Emily's hotel room door, hoping that she hadn't gone to sleep yet. The paramedics had given her painkillers, and instructions to rest, but if he knew Emily, she was probably still up, refusing to follow the orders on principle alone.

She answered the door in a worn t-shirt and sweatpants, TV remote in hand. 'Stargate repeats on the Sci-Fi channel,' she explained, stepping back to let him in. He found it curious that she didn't even question his presence.

'Reid, Rossi and JJ hit the casinos,' he said casually. 'Reid reckons he can run a profit of at least a grand before the end of the night.'

She nodded; all three of them had – in isolation of each other – checked on her before they left, almost two hours ago. She had warded them off fairly quickly, not wanting to ruin their night for her benefit. She was just about to do the same with Morgan when he interrupted her.

'I'm not going anywhere.'

She shrugged slightly. It had been worth a shot.

'Tell me what's on your mind,' he offered. 'Whatever you tell me doesn't need to leave this room.' He recognized the troubled look on her face; she was in doubt about something.

'I thought I was going to die,' she revealed eventually. 'Just in that one moment between getting shot, and realizing that the vest had taken the hit, I thought that this was the end of the line. That I'd never get a chance to do the things I wanted to do with my life. I'm two years shy of forty, and I haven't had a real relationship in over five years. I don't even have time to get out and have a one night stand. And I just can't help but thing that it's too late. That I've missed my chance for marital bliss, for parenthood, and if I had died today, the only people that it would have made any impact on at all are the team.'

It was rather a lengthy speech for the usually reserved profiler, a speech that Morgan realized was propelled somewhat by a blood-alcohol level above zero. She wasn't wasted, but she was drunk enough to have her inhibitions lowered just that little bit.

'We're not just a team,' he said, putting a hand on her thigh. 'We're friends.' He didn't want to say "family" – it would have made what he was about to do just that much more difficult. He leaned forward, and kissed her softly on the lips.

She didn't pull back; rather, she curled her arm around his neck and pulled herself even closer towards him. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't wanted this. She had wanted this ever since he had made her feel welcome on the team, just by engaging her in a conversation about a book. It was the kind of guy he was.

'Life's short,' she murmured, fingers breaking apart their bodies to reach his shirt. She rubbed her palm against his firm chest, reveling in the warmth. She pushed him back just a little bit more, so the shirt could be lifted. Her head pressed against his bare chest. It felt safe, unlike some of the other men she'd been with.

He lowered his own head, resting it atop her dark locks. This was different to the sex that he usually had. With his job, he rarely had time for anything beyond a quick fling; the women he was with usually preferred things hard, fast, and over within a week. This, though, was different. His relationship was Emily was much deeper than with any of the women he had previously been intimate with. He saw her almost every day. He cared for her deeply, and he did not – did ­not ­– want to hurt her.

'Where do we want to go with this, Emily?' he asked, inhaling the scent of her hair. It had an almost vanilla aroma to it.

'Just something to ease the pain every now and then,' she said, her words muffled by his chest. He nodded. He wasn't sure he could handle a long-term, committed relationship, even with someone he knew as well as Emily.

He lowered his hands so that he could remove her shirt, and with this pro-active turn of events, she pulled him backwards into a lying position. His hands were planted either side of her, fabric of her shirt crumpled up under his left fist. He didn't want to exacerbate her bruising by putting all of his weight on top of her.

He joined his mouth to hers, tasting the alcohol that was still lingering on her breath. She reciprocated his eagerness, trying to draw him closer without letting their bodies touch. Pulling back slightly, his gaze moved a little bit lower, appreciating the fact that she had decided to go bra-less this evening.

'Are you just going to stare at them?' she asked, mirth evident in her voice.

He did not answer with words, but rather clenched her nipple between his teeth, an action which elicited a surprised – but not disappointed – gasp from Emily. Were she not in the throes of ecstasy, she would have marveled at his upper body strength – the way he managed to pay such lavish attention to her breasts whilst still making sure he didn't aggravate her wounds. It was a feat made even more difficult by the way she arched when he hit a particularly erogenous spot.

'Oh, God, Morgan.' Her words were labored, as though speaking was far more effort than she could handle at that point. He wasn't finished though. She gave a moan of disappointment as he pulled backwards; it was a disappointment that was not made any easier by the fact that he had moved immediately to her sweatpants. Still, knowing that it was far more difficult to remove clothes from a dead weight, she attempted to make his task easier by lifting her legs.

Though he had removed her pants for easier access, he wasn't quite ready to move down there yet. His lips explored her body in detail, avoiding only the lower abdomen. It was an unconscious action he was sure – the profiler in him liked to pander to the needs of the woman, and right now, Emily needed to feel loved. And it was working. When he finally did slip his fingers beneath the elastic of her panties, she was smiling – the kind of smile he hadn't seen on her in a long time.

He kept watching her face – watched her eyes closing as he ran his left hand up her thigh to where her legs met. The other hand soon joined it, and with practiced precision, his fingers explored from her clit to the curves of her buttocks, as if trying to map out the female genital model by touch alone.

When she let out the first moan, if he wasn't already engorged, straining the seams of his jeans, that would have sent him over the edge. A lesser man might have exploded at the sounds she made, the muscles that spasmed as he pushed the first finger in. Her wet heat seemed to pulsate at his touch.

Her excitation extrapolated as he slid in another finger, then a third, and a fourth, leaving his thumb free to rub circles against her swollen clit. He thrust his fingers in and out, feeling the contraction of her body as she drew closer to a climax. Then, her body relaxed around him, over almost as quickly as it had started.

'Oh, God, Morgan,' she repeated, in a voice that had even less energy than before. Though he had scarcely done more than move his fingers, it had taken everything out of her. 'That was…Oh God.' For Emily, it was rare that someone cared enough to pay attention to her needs – usually, it was in, out, and done.

It took a couple of minutes of slow breathing before Emily was anywhere near starting the road to recovery. She leaned into Morgan's touch as he ran his hand along her exposed thigh. It was then the she realized that, though she had "benefited" from the experience, he was yet to be satisfied. With that thought in mind, she turned slowly so that she was facing him. Her hand went to the belt of his pants.

'What are you doing?' he murmured, making a small noise as her fingers brushed the bulge in his pants.

'I'm taking off your pants so you can fuck me,' she replied matter-of-factly.

'Are you sure?' he asked, not even trying to mask the concern in his voice. 'I don't want to hurt you.'

'I'm a big girl, Morgan.' She slid the jeans down, laughing in disbelief when she saw the protrusion of flesh from the fly of his boxers. Maybe this would hurt a little more than she had intended. 'Just a second,' she continued, after her brief moment of surprise. 'Condom.'

She usually kept a box with her; an as yet unused security measure. Her attempts at opening the box were a little overenthusiastic – it had been a while since she had done this, with anyone.

'How many do you think we'll need?' asked Morgan, grinning, as brightly colored packets split over the bed.

'You tell me,' she replied, eyebrows raised. Then, she simultaneously ripped the packet open with her teeth and pulled down his boxers with her remaining hand.

On impulse, she ran her tongue along the crown of his cock, watching him shiver at the stimulation of nerve endings. When she slipped her mouth over the top of it completely, she heard him moan. Lips curling into a smile, she pulled away, replacing her touch with the latex of the condom.

Emily pulled herself upwards, straddling his thighs, their fingers intertwining. His erect cock pressed into her pelvis. 'I'm not very good at top,' she admitted. 'My sexual repertoire is limited to thrashing about, and making embarrassing moaning sounds.'

He didn't say anything, simply grinned. He pulled her closer towards him. She shook her head, almost sighing at his smug expression. She lifted her hips slightly until she was at just the right angle to let him slide in. She gasped at the sudden intrusion; he wasn't exactly petite.

And that simply caused his grin to widen. Now that he was sheathed inside of her, he took a hold of her waist, pulling her towards him, and then rolled, taking care not to press too heavily into her bruised ribs.

As he climaxed, he saw the look in her eyes – a light that had been absent since their caseload had taken a dark turn. In that moment he knew that this wasn't just a onetime thing.

This was something else.

A/N: Thanks to Windy City Dreamer, who betaed this. I don't really write smutty smut very well, so this was difficult. Part two will be up as soon as I write it, but it won't be a happy ending. Sorry.