Disclaimer: Don't own anything

Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Friendship/Romance (if you look for it)

Summary: Gone Country Challenge. Emily calls Morgan for help. Friendship.

A/N: I've been meaning to write a story for this prompt for awhile, but I never had the time… and I really still don't. But I thought and wanted to write one before I like disappeared for the summer. So here it is. Oh, and since I really don't have time to write an original story on my part, I took a few lines from my other stories.

Prompt: "When you get lonely call me, anytime at all. I'll be there with you always, anywhere at all. There's nothing I've got that I wouldn't give..." - The Wilkinsons (26 Cents)

Trust Me

"Hello?" He let out an exasperated sigh when no one replied on the other line. He hadn't checked the color ID and frankly, he didn't care. It was two in the morning, and if it was JJ or Hotch, he was going to be really pissed at them. After all, they just had a case. "Hello? Okay, I'm going to hang –"

"Morgan," the voice suddenly choked out.

He shot out of bed, already throwing on some clothes. He knew that voice anywhere. "Emily? What's wrong?"

It seemed like an eternity before she finally answered him. "I… don't… know where I am."

"You don't know where you are?" he repeated, slightly annoyed.

"I was at a bar," she struggled to explain. "And…I…just…I don't remember."

He could hear it in the way her voice slurred and cracked that she was crying and drunk. "Okay, just stay where you are. I'll have Garcia track your cell phone."

"Okay," she sounded unsure, which worried him. Thinking back, he realized that he couldn't remember a time when Emily wasn't sure of herself, and yet she was asking him for help now.

It made him feel sick. "I have to hang up to call Garcia," he told her, "but I promise I'll call you right back. Okay?"


And the line went dead. He sighed dramatically and just as he was about to dial Garcia's number, his one-night stand stirred. "Baby? What's going on?"

He bit his lip. Her name was Matty or Patty – something with a middle't' – but it didn't matter because she would be gone by morning anyway. "I have to go help a friend," was all he said before walking out the door, heading to someone who mattered.


It took him exactly an hour and ten minutes to find her. Garcia had managed to track her down without a problem, but it didn't help that Emily's phone had died within the next thirty minutes. So now, when he finally reached the abandoned park – one he didn't even know existed – he searched for her randomly, all the while wondering how the hell she got there in the first place.

His question was finally answered when he did stumble across her, but she wasn't alone. There was a man there, and he was knocked out or passed out (he couldn't be sure) and handcuffed to the park bench. Only then, did he realize how banged up Emily was.

Morgan took in her bruised wrists and her tear stained face. Her shirt was torn open, and a heinous looking hickey was slowly beginning to form on her neck. Her pants were undone and ripped. Red marks covered her stomach, which would no doubt turn to bruises in a few short hours.

"Emily?" he asked, unsure of how to go about the situation. He reached out to touch her hand, slowly though, so he wouldn't startle her. He did anyway, and she jumped, which was so unlike her, it caused him to freeze. Never had he seen Emily Prentiss look so vulnerable, so frighten and confused. He realized then that she looked like one of their victims. He didn't like it.


"Em," he asked, shooting a nervous glance towards the unconscious man. "What happened?"

And that did it. She broke down crying, so angry at herself, but she couldn't stop. The only time Morgan ever saw her weak was out in Colorado, when she hugged Reid, but even then couldn't compare to now.

"I… I just woke up here… with him on top of me," she cried. "I don't remember...how or when….I just…I was so drunk…"

"Hey, shhh," he soothed. "You're okay."

He opened his arms for her, and she willingly threw herself into them. He caught her against his chest and didn't dare let her go. Her essence was that fragile in his mind, that vulnerable. With one misplaced breath, she would disappear off the face of the earth, and he would be left with nothing. He hadn't known before, he hadn't fully understood, just how much his existence depended on hers.

By the time she pulled back, there was no trace of fear written on her face, only slightly shaken. However, Morgan saw through the solid armor of courage she wore around her. Her mind had created an image of bravery and selflessness which she lived off of. It was incredible, and showed just how tough Emily was. He realized then that the protection wasn't to keep people coming in; it was to prevent emotions from spilling out.

"Do you want to hold charges against him?"

"No," she shook her head. "I don't want to waste my time."

"Come on, I'll take you home," he told her.

"What about him?" she asked.

Morgan took one look at the man and spat in disgust. If the guy wasn't unconscious Morgan would have pummeled the man to the ground, but from the way the guy was bruised and beat up, he knew Emily did a pretty good job herself. But why had he assumed otherwise? She was very much capable of taking care of herself.

"Leave him. He'll wake up in the morning, chained to a bench. That can be his punishment." When she didn't budge, he added softly, "Come on. You're okay."

He reached out his hand and she took it, so he could lead her back to safety.


"Emily," Morgan asked her when they finally entered her apartment, "Why were you out this late by yourself."

She sighed heavily and plumped down on her couch. It was almost four in the morning. "I… I had a nightmare. I couldn't sleep, so I went out to a bar." She paused to give him a sad eye smile. "I'm sorry I woke you up."

He sat down beside her and squeezed her knee for comfort. "Hey," he told her gently. "Don't worry about it. I'm glad you called." He glanced down at her bruised wrist. "Are you okay?"

"I guess."

A silence spread over them, and he silently watched as she traced her thumb over her wrist. Even in the dimly lit room he could vaguely make out the outline of the scare that she was tracing. He had never noticed it before, until now. Slowly, he lifted her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye. "We all have are secrets, Em. If you need someone to tell them to, I just wanted to let you know that I'm here."

"I trust you, Morgan," she told him, just barely bringing the words to life. "I do. I just…"

"You wouldn't have called me if you didn't," he pointed out.

She chuckled at that. "God, I hate profilers." She looked away from him then, and he almost didn't hear her whisper, "It's the same nightmare. It always is."

"What happened?"

She took a deep breath, before continuing, "I…it was during one of my mother's political conventions or whatever. I was so board, so I decided to go to my room, but this guy…"

The way she told the story made him wonder if she was talking about just a nightmare or a reality, but then again, maybe it was both. And as much as he wanted to question her about it, he new better, so he laid in silence, until he thought it was necessary to talk.

"This guy he was so drunk. I forget his position, something a little below my mother, I didn't really care at the time."

He knew now that she wasn't talking about some dream. She was talking about politics and her childhood. A subject she didn't like to talk about, and he never knew why.

"He followed me to my bedroom," she choked out, struggling with words. "I...didn't know he was there until he already locked the door. When I said get out, he called me a slut."

"You're not."

"I… he…" she trailed off, burying her head in her hands

"It's okay, Em. You don't have to tell me."

"No. I want to," she told him quickly, and he simply nodded his head. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she finally blurted it out, "It was the only time I felt anyone had feelings for me besides hatred."


She spoke almost non-calamity about the ordeal. How he'd entered her room. How he acted the day it happened. How old she was. How he acted towards her the day after. How her life hadn't been much happier because of it. How she looked at sex after it.

Morgan gripped the edge of the couch so hard he thought he would tear the material. He took a deep breath in through his mouth and held it. And the more he listened to the story, the more he found it harder to breathe, the harder to think. He could feel her sorrow now.

"I tried telling people, like my mom. No one believed me."

Morgan pulled her into a hug then, one she willingly accepted, and once she was in his arms, he breathed in the scent of her. "It's okay…"

But it wasn't. How could it?

"There's more," she told him, her voice muffled against his chest. Then there was an enduring pause. "You won't like it…"

"I already don't like this story," he told her honestly. "I don't think it could be any worse."

She pulled back, her face contorted in a hurt expression. "You will think of me differently," she told him, never quite meeting his eyes.


Emily took a deep breath. "I was so upset, emotionally abused. I had no friends. No family. I wanted to die, Morgan."

Then everything made sense. The scar. Why she didn't get along with her mom. Why she hated politics. "No. Don't you dare think that," he whispered, pulling her back to him.

She turned away from him, ashamed. "I did. I tried and it hurt. We went to Italy two weeks after that. It was her media cover up. That way, she didn't have to explain why her daughter tried to kill herself. From there, I guess everything fell apart." She met his eyes, and then with a forced smile, she added, "But that's a different story."

"You can tell me that another time. But you're okay now?" He almost wished she hadn't had told him. Now the thought would burn inside him, and he could do nothing about it. How he wanted to kill the bastard who had done this to her. Unfortunately, that bastard was already dead

"A single shot to the head," Emily told him. "He did it himself. I don't really rememeber why."

"Emily, it's okay now. He can't hurt you."

"I hate it," she told him. "I hate having to lock my emotions away. I hate having nightmares."

He held her as she cried. An hour must have passed before he felt her starting to fade away. However, he knew she was trying to fight it. "Emily," he whispered. "Go to sleep."

"Morgan," she choked out suddenly. "I see him when I close my eyes. I remember what he did."

"He can't hurt you anymore, Em. He's dead. Now sleep."

"I know, but –"

"He can't hurt you. I'm here, for you."


"Yeah," he promised. "Anytime, anywhere you need someone to talk to, I'll be there."

"Thank you, Morgan."

"And Em…"

"Yeah?" she asked, pulling out of his embrace to meet his eyes.

"But if one day you call and there's no answer, come fast to see me. Okay? Cause I just might need you."

She smiled then, a true one that wasn't forced or weak, but a genuine smile. And with a kiss to her forehead, he returned that simple gesture.

The end. Hope it was okay. That saying or whatever was taking from a quote. I don't remember the exact quote, or I'd credit it. I think it's called I'll be there, or something along those lines.