Anger
Chapter Title: Anger (Week 33-36)
Title: Here Comes Baby (9/?)
Author name: allkindsoffics
Main Pairings: Morgan/Reid/Prentiss
Characters: Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid, Emily Prentiss
Rating: nc-17 (for a wee-bit of sexing) (overall nc-17)
Word count: 1952
Warnings/Spoilers: threesome relationship
Part of To Pick Up
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Summary: Emily's angry and the nursery is finished.
Author’s Note: I love feedback, thanks!
Previous Part
It’s not that she’s just angry at Derek and Spencer; she’s angry at everything, every fucking thing that exists in the world. She’s not exactly sure why, and she knows it’s completely irrational to be this fucking angry. She can’t stop it; she tries to pull away from the rage that circulates in her blood stream, but it’s encompassing. The best she can do is sequester herself in the basement and wait for the anger to pass. She knows that they’re handling her with kid-gloves which kind of irritates her more, but also satisfies the monster tearing at her. She’s glad Fran’s gone home, because she’s kind of embarrassed, not that she’ll admit it.
“Emily,” Spencer comes down the stairs slowly.
“What?”
“Derek and I painted a wall in the nursery; we wanted to make sure it’s what you want.”
“Of course, it’s what I want; I spent hours picking it out,” She huffs, and Spencer folds his arms over his chest.
“I know, but Derek said that sometimes the color isn’t always what people had in mind, even when they spend months picking it out. We wanted to be sure it’s what you… we had in mind.”
“All right, help me up.”
He helps her up from the couch, but she pulls away quickly when she’s stabilized. He follows her to his office turned nursery; he’d asserted that he could move his desk into the library where he spent most of his time anyways. Spencer’s office was after all usually very empty. He likes curling up in the recliners in the library more than sitting at the hard-backed desk chair anyways. It would still be the library, but Derek and Emily had moved the books they liked and used the most into the bookshelves in their own offices to allow Spencer his own space.
She nearly stomps into the nursery; she can feel the anger boiling. It’s like someone turned on the burner without alerting her or gaining her permission. Derek’s crouched over a paint tray, the floor is covered with a tarp, and blue painter’s tape outlines the windows and covers the outlets. Derek looks up and smiles at her hesitantly. His forearm and face are speckled with tiny paint drops, and she glances at Spencer and realizes he’s in a similar state. She finally looks at the wall and it’s perfect which makes her feel like a complete ass.
“That section’s done,” Derek indicates the left side of the wall.
“It’s exactly what I want,” she says, but she realizes her voice is still a little harsh and almost too detached.
“I’m glad, Em,” Derek says as he picks up a roller to finish the rest of the room.
“You should go rest, maybe, take a nap,” Spencer says as he attempts to kiss her forehead.
“Reid,” she scolds, and he jolts at the use of his surname. She knows he’s right and following doctor’s orders, but it still grates on her nerves, “Don’t.”
“Sorry, Emily,” he concedes and moves to help Derek.
She hurries to the bedroom, before letting out an almost weepy, “Fuck.”
They come in an hour later; quietly, they take separate, quick showers and dress. Emily pretends to be asleep and lies curled in the middle of their large bed. She feels the anger start to break, when Derek places a light kiss on her protruding stomach, pushes her hair behind her ear, and kisses her forehead and Spencer strokes her stomach and gently kisses her, now exposed, neck.
They leave and she lies in bed for a little longer. She closes her eyes and imagines taking a sledge hammer to the cracking façade of her anger. It’s helping and after a while she decides to go downstairs with them. Quite possibly, maybe, apologize for her ridiculous behavior. Maybe, she’ll be demonstrative with kisses or words and tell them how much she truly loves the nursery, all that they’re doing, and the men themselves.
She finds them in the living room. There’s a movie on, but neither is watching. Spencer is reading a parenting book and Derek is trying to distract him. It’s obvious that Derek’s been at it for quite a while, because he’s kissing his neck and palming Spencer’s growing erection.
“Derek,” Spencer moans; it’s half plea, half warning. The moan ignites something in Derek who throws the book on the coffee table and starts unbuttoning Spencer’s shirt.
Derek pulls off Spencer’s shirt and then his own, before straddling Spencer’s hips. Derek’s holding Spencer’s face in his hands and her stomach coils. Part of her is incredibly turned on and urges her to glide up behind Derek to trace his spin with her lips. The other part is extremely jealous and worries that this is the ultimate betrayal and rejection; their way of saying they don’t want her anymore. She knows she’s crazy to think the second, but it’s off like a wild goose and she can’t catch it.
Spencer’s hands are now down the back of Derek’s pants. Derek’s pushing back against Spencer’s hands and Emily can hear him almost purring. Derek digs through the end table’s drawer and shoves lube at Spencer. Derek shucks his pants and urges Spencer along. Spencer’s cock is barely out of the zipper and his pants only around his thighs when Derek guides him in.
Emily knows if she stays, she’ll do something stupid. She goes to the bedroom and lies in their bed. She knows, rationally, that they’ve never had an “all three must be present for sex” clause in their relationship. She knows she’s taken advantage of both Derek and Spencer without the other. She knows they’re not being covert or rejecting her. She knows they still want her, but it doesn’t stop her from reminding herself that they were a perfectly happy, well-adjusted couple before she came along. They brought her into this relationship, and she’s always felt like she doesn’t have equal footing. They can work without her, but she’s never worked without both of them. She’s always felt like she needs them more than they need her. She rolls onto her other side and ends up with her face in Derek’s pillow. It smells like him, but there’s a whiff of Spencer’s shampoo from their post-coital cuddles and tears well in her eyes.
As quickly as she can she spills out of the bed and waddles to the guest bedroom. She curls around the pillows that don’t smell like cologne or shampoo but detergent and falls asleep.
She wakes up the next morning and knows immediately someone’s in the room. She rolls over gently and peers up at Spencer. He’s sitting on the bed, his legs folded under him like a pretzel, his hands holding his ankles, and his face wrinkled in thought.
“Good morning,” she says; her voice gravelly with sleep and emotion.
“Emily, why did you sleep in here last night?” He asks softly.
“I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately and I didn’t want to disturb you two.”
“Emily,” he replies; clearly, he doesn’t believe this fabrication.
“Honestly, I just wanted to sleep by myself,” she tries; imitating the tone she used yesterday.
“All right,” he concedes but doesn’t move.
“Spencer?”
“Yeah.”
“If something happens during the delivery and the choice is between me and the baby.”
“We’ll choose you,” he says steadily.
“No, no,” she shakes her head, “I want you to choose her.”
“Emily, no.”
“I want our daughter to have a chance to live, choose her.”
“Emily, what brought this on?” He asks hesitantly, and she thinks of the couple she knew, before they invited her in. They were good together and could be good together after she was gone; they’d take good care of their daughter. She knows if they lost her but had the baby, they could make it. But if the reverse were to happen, she doesn’t know if the three of them could stay together. They’re all so extremely attached to a person they’ve never met before; it’s alarming and frightening. She wouldn’t want to compound her misery by losing the baby and then losing them.
“Just thinking.”
“Emily, maternal death is highly unlikely. Even with preeclampsia.”
“I know, but I need you to promise me, Spence.”
“Okay, I don’t like it, but I promise. It’s your health and your life, and I’ll always respect your decisions about your body even when I don’t agree.”
“I know.”
It’s three days later when Derek and Spencer drag her to the nursery; accomplishment radiating off them. They lead her upstairs and the room is beautiful; she sees all the wonderful gifts from their baby shower, a day bed that impeccably matches the crib even down to the sheets, a comfy glider, and a dresser that has a changing pad on top. It’s exactly how she imagined it and she doesn’t know she’s crying until Derek’s thumb wipes her tears away.
“I love it,” she smiles.
“Good, I have a feeling that we’re going to be spending a lot of time in here.”
They laugh together and she feels her anxiety wane.
It’s typical for her not to be able to sleep now or only for short periods; she aches constantly and can’t wait for her due date. She shuffles to the nursery and sits in the gilder. She pushes herself back and forth. She’s ready; she knows it’s called nesting for a reason. They’ve set up the nursery and she’s been doing last minute things around the house; at least, she’s been making them do the last minute things, because they won’t let her. She feels nested and ready. She rocks for a little bit longer before heading back to the master bedroom. She slides, as well as a pregnant woman can, through the door. Before she can make it to the bed, her vision darkens, she feels her legs shake and give out, she tries to call out to them, she feels the floor, she tries to ease herself down, and the last thing she hears is the rustling of covers and shouted expletives.
SPENCER INTERLUDE
The sounds come through his thick fog of sleep. Emily’s cry and Derek’s curse pierce his relative calm; his arms and legs spasm out reaching for something to leverage him into action. He finds nothing and settles on the jolting presence of the floor beneath his knees as he tumbles out of bed. A bedside lamp has been switched on and Spencer can see Derek crouched over Emily. His heart pounds and deafens him; Derek’s looking at him with urgency, but he’s not sure what he’s saying. Realization dawns, Derek wants him to call 911.
The phone call is a foggy, mechanical process; he reports the address, symptoms, and circumstances to the, in his mind, incredibly too calm operator. Reality only hits when they’re trying to climb into the ambulance, and the medics refuse, declaring only one person is allowed. Derek pulls the FBI card, something Spencer knows he hates to do, but it works and they’re rushing to the nearest hospital.
When they arrive Emily is rushed to a room, and Derek and Spencer are left to paperwork. Derek shoves it into Spencer’s hand and he mechanically fills out Emily’s medical history. They won’t let them back into the room and the grip Derek has on his hand is causing his fingers to tingle. But he barely gives it a passing thought, because he returns the intensity of the squeeze; the one thing that continually flashes in Spencer’s mind, though, is he hopes to whatever being that governs earthly miracles that he doesn’t have to fulfill his promise to Emily.
“Anger is a short madness.” -Horace
Next Part
Title: Here Comes Baby (9/?)
Author name: allkindsoffics
Main Pairings: Morgan/Reid/Prentiss
Characters: Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid, Emily Prentiss
Rating: nc-17 (for a wee-bit of sexing) (overall nc-17)
Word count: 1952
Warnings/Spoilers: threesome relationship
Part of To Pick Up
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Summary: Emily's angry and the nursery is finished.
Author’s Note: I love feedback, thanks!
Previous Part
It’s not that she’s just angry at Derek and Spencer; she’s angry at everything, every fucking thing that exists in the world. She’s not exactly sure why, and she knows it’s completely irrational to be this fucking angry. She can’t stop it; she tries to pull away from the rage that circulates in her blood stream, but it’s encompassing. The best she can do is sequester herself in the basement and wait for the anger to pass. She knows that they’re handling her with kid-gloves which kind of irritates her more, but also satisfies the monster tearing at her. She’s glad Fran’s gone home, because she’s kind of embarrassed, not that she’ll admit it.
“Emily,” Spencer comes down the stairs slowly.
“What?”
“Derek and I painted a wall in the nursery; we wanted to make sure it’s what you want.”
“Of course, it’s what I want; I spent hours picking it out,” She huffs, and Spencer folds his arms over his chest.
“I know, but Derek said that sometimes the color isn’t always what people had in mind, even when they spend months picking it out. We wanted to be sure it’s what you… we had in mind.”
“All right, help me up.”
He helps her up from the couch, but she pulls away quickly when she’s stabilized. He follows her to his office turned nursery; he’d asserted that he could move his desk into the library where he spent most of his time anyways. Spencer’s office was after all usually very empty. He likes curling up in the recliners in the library more than sitting at the hard-backed desk chair anyways. It would still be the library, but Derek and Emily had moved the books they liked and used the most into the bookshelves in their own offices to allow Spencer his own space.
She nearly stomps into the nursery; she can feel the anger boiling. It’s like someone turned on the burner without alerting her or gaining her permission. Derek’s crouched over a paint tray, the floor is covered with a tarp, and blue painter’s tape outlines the windows and covers the outlets. Derek looks up and smiles at her hesitantly. His forearm and face are speckled with tiny paint drops, and she glances at Spencer and realizes he’s in a similar state. She finally looks at the wall and it’s perfect which makes her feel like a complete ass.
“That section’s done,” Derek indicates the left side of the wall.
“It’s exactly what I want,” she says, but she realizes her voice is still a little harsh and almost too detached.
“I’m glad, Em,” Derek says as he picks up a roller to finish the rest of the room.
“You should go rest, maybe, take a nap,” Spencer says as he attempts to kiss her forehead.
“Reid,” she scolds, and he jolts at the use of his surname. She knows he’s right and following doctor’s orders, but it still grates on her nerves, “Don’t.”
“Sorry, Emily,” he concedes and moves to help Derek.
She hurries to the bedroom, before letting out an almost weepy, “Fuck.”
They come in an hour later; quietly, they take separate, quick showers and dress. Emily pretends to be asleep and lies curled in the middle of their large bed. She feels the anger start to break, when Derek places a light kiss on her protruding stomach, pushes her hair behind her ear, and kisses her forehead and Spencer strokes her stomach and gently kisses her, now exposed, neck.
They leave and she lies in bed for a little longer. She closes her eyes and imagines taking a sledge hammer to the cracking façade of her anger. It’s helping and after a while she decides to go downstairs with them. Quite possibly, maybe, apologize for her ridiculous behavior. Maybe, she’ll be demonstrative with kisses or words and tell them how much she truly loves the nursery, all that they’re doing, and the men themselves.
She finds them in the living room. There’s a movie on, but neither is watching. Spencer is reading a parenting book and Derek is trying to distract him. It’s obvious that Derek’s been at it for quite a while, because he’s kissing his neck and palming Spencer’s growing erection.
“Derek,” Spencer moans; it’s half plea, half warning. The moan ignites something in Derek who throws the book on the coffee table and starts unbuttoning Spencer’s shirt.
Derek pulls off Spencer’s shirt and then his own, before straddling Spencer’s hips. Derek’s holding Spencer’s face in his hands and her stomach coils. Part of her is incredibly turned on and urges her to glide up behind Derek to trace his spin with her lips. The other part is extremely jealous and worries that this is the ultimate betrayal and rejection; their way of saying they don’t want her anymore. She knows she’s crazy to think the second, but it’s off like a wild goose and she can’t catch it.
Spencer’s hands are now down the back of Derek’s pants. Derek’s pushing back against Spencer’s hands and Emily can hear him almost purring. Derek digs through the end table’s drawer and shoves lube at Spencer. Derek shucks his pants and urges Spencer along. Spencer’s cock is barely out of the zipper and his pants only around his thighs when Derek guides him in.
Emily knows if she stays, she’ll do something stupid. She goes to the bedroom and lies in their bed. She knows, rationally, that they’ve never had an “all three must be present for sex” clause in their relationship. She knows she’s taken advantage of both Derek and Spencer without the other. She knows they’re not being covert or rejecting her. She knows they still want her, but it doesn’t stop her from reminding herself that they were a perfectly happy, well-adjusted couple before she came along. They brought her into this relationship, and she’s always felt like she doesn’t have equal footing. They can work without her, but she’s never worked without both of them. She’s always felt like she needs them more than they need her. She rolls onto her other side and ends up with her face in Derek’s pillow. It smells like him, but there’s a whiff of Spencer’s shampoo from their post-coital cuddles and tears well in her eyes.
As quickly as she can she spills out of the bed and waddles to the guest bedroom. She curls around the pillows that don’t smell like cologne or shampoo but detergent and falls asleep.
She wakes up the next morning and knows immediately someone’s in the room. She rolls over gently and peers up at Spencer. He’s sitting on the bed, his legs folded under him like a pretzel, his hands holding his ankles, and his face wrinkled in thought.
“Good morning,” she says; her voice gravelly with sleep and emotion.
“Emily, why did you sleep in here last night?” He asks softly.
“I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately and I didn’t want to disturb you two.”
“Emily,” he replies; clearly, he doesn’t believe this fabrication.
“Honestly, I just wanted to sleep by myself,” she tries; imitating the tone she used yesterday.
“All right,” he concedes but doesn’t move.
“Spencer?”
“Yeah.”
“If something happens during the delivery and the choice is between me and the baby.”
“We’ll choose you,” he says steadily.
“No, no,” she shakes her head, “I want you to choose her.”
“Emily, no.”
“I want our daughter to have a chance to live, choose her.”
“Emily, what brought this on?” He asks hesitantly, and she thinks of the couple she knew, before they invited her in. They were good together and could be good together after she was gone; they’d take good care of their daughter. She knows if they lost her but had the baby, they could make it. But if the reverse were to happen, she doesn’t know if the three of them could stay together. They’re all so extremely attached to a person they’ve never met before; it’s alarming and frightening. She wouldn’t want to compound her misery by losing the baby and then losing them.
“Just thinking.”
“Emily, maternal death is highly unlikely. Even with preeclampsia.”
“I know, but I need you to promise me, Spence.”
“Okay, I don’t like it, but I promise. It’s your health and your life, and I’ll always respect your decisions about your body even when I don’t agree.”
“I know.”
It’s three days later when Derek and Spencer drag her to the nursery; accomplishment radiating off them. They lead her upstairs and the room is beautiful; she sees all the wonderful gifts from their baby shower, a day bed that impeccably matches the crib even down to the sheets, a comfy glider, and a dresser that has a changing pad on top. It’s exactly how she imagined it and she doesn’t know she’s crying until Derek’s thumb wipes her tears away.
“I love it,” she smiles.
“Good, I have a feeling that we’re going to be spending a lot of time in here.”
They laugh together and she feels her anxiety wane.
It’s typical for her not to be able to sleep now or only for short periods; she aches constantly and can’t wait for her due date. She shuffles to the nursery and sits in the gilder. She pushes herself back and forth. She’s ready; she knows it’s called nesting for a reason. They’ve set up the nursery and she’s been doing last minute things around the house; at least, she’s been making them do the last minute things, because they won’t let her. She feels nested and ready. She rocks for a little bit longer before heading back to the master bedroom. She slides, as well as a pregnant woman can, through the door. Before she can make it to the bed, her vision darkens, she feels her legs shake and give out, she tries to call out to them, she feels the floor, she tries to ease herself down, and the last thing she hears is the rustling of covers and shouted expletives.
SPENCER INTERLUDE
The sounds come through his thick fog of sleep. Emily’s cry and Derek’s curse pierce his relative calm; his arms and legs spasm out reaching for something to leverage him into action. He finds nothing and settles on the jolting presence of the floor beneath his knees as he tumbles out of bed. A bedside lamp has been switched on and Spencer can see Derek crouched over Emily. His heart pounds and deafens him; Derek’s looking at him with urgency, but he’s not sure what he’s saying. Realization dawns, Derek wants him to call 911.
The phone call is a foggy, mechanical process; he reports the address, symptoms, and circumstances to the, in his mind, incredibly too calm operator. Reality only hits when they’re trying to climb into the ambulance, and the medics refuse, declaring only one person is allowed. Derek pulls the FBI card, something Spencer knows he hates to do, but it works and they’re rushing to the nearest hospital.
When they arrive Emily is rushed to a room, and Derek and Spencer are left to paperwork. Derek shoves it into Spencer’s hand and he mechanically fills out Emily’s medical history. They won’t let them back into the room and the grip Derek has on his hand is causing his fingers to tingle. But he barely gives it a passing thought, because he returns the intensity of the squeeze; the one thing that continually flashes in Spencer’s mind, though, is he hopes to whatever being that governs earthly miracles that he doesn’t have to fulfill his promise to Emily.
“Anger is a short madness.” -Horace
Next Part