Derek still remembered the horror he'd felt at finding out that you were missing. The weeks spent looking for you, re-forming profile after profile, and wondering what was happening to you. Why did you go missing? Every morning he woke up and checked the news, praying you weren't found face down in a lake somewhere or left as a mound next to the roads. He'd lost it a few times, been so pissed off about the whole thing that he threw a file or a book at the wall, or broke a glass. But everyone was upset.

Reid kept going off about statistics, how most kidnapping victims were dead within the first 72 hours, how now all you were looking for was a body. Derek knew he was upset too, he knew that Reid was coping the best he could with statistics, but it pissed him off.

Derek also remembered the relief he felt when they got a location when Garcia called him with an address. He'd almost broke down sobbing once he broke down the door and found you tied to a damn torture chair. Derek had carried you out to he medics, the building was full of booby-traps. It wasn't safe for an EMT to go through with a table.

He hadn't left your side since you'd been emitted to the hospital. They'd caught the punk that hurt you, sent him to prison. When Derek wasn't talking to your unconscious form, he was watching the trial on the hospital TV, or he was shooing off reporters from the room. The dicks just wanted to make money off of pictures of you in what was probably the worst and most vulnerable moment of your life.

And now you were awake. Derek put his jello aside and sat forward in his chair, watching you carefully. He didn't want to startle you, he'd let you slowly realize where you were and that he was there with you. "Hey," he said softly, tucking the blanket more securely around you. "Morning, sunshine. You finally up?" He smiled gently and tilted his head. "Missed you."