His reaction to her threat, or rather, the assumed reason for it seemed genuine. Sure, she wasn't feeling very much like her self at the moment, but she was still trained to watch for all the telling ticks of body language. So either he was a very, very good liar--definitely possible--or he was telling the truth.
In the end, it was the way he had covered himself up that sold her. It was a self-conscious act, a defensive act, but not in the flighty way that a man caught red-handed would have affected. And if he had roofied her, why stick around to face the reaper?
Still, she had no idea who he was or what he was doing in her house, or rather, her and Abby's house for the time. At least not until he continued speaking. A CSI from Miami. Derek and Deb had told her that West seemed to have a hard on for law enforcement types, so that bit of information jibed and really it would be an odd thing to make up on the spot.
She felt a pang at the thought of Deb and Derek but immediately pushed them from her mind. She had more pressing matters to deal with at the moment.
She hesitated before answering his question, which was fine because he went on to fill in many of the details himself, his summary of the night at the bar stirring more memories, these blessedly innocuous. Thinking back, she did seem to recall someone of his general description hanging around at the bar. She had been busy with Derek and Wilson at the time, but she had a vague recollection of him.
"Emily," she said, giving a quick nod to confirm is recollection of events. "You were talking to Abby, right? The bartender?" she clarified, not knowing whether they had actually exchanged names. Feeling a little less suspicious, but only a little, some of the tension in her muscles eased and she stopped clutching the sheets as if they were the only thing protecting her from the rapture.
And speaking of sheets, she realized that she was hogging all of the available cover in the room. Hesitating longer than she probably should have, she found and untangled a sheet, managing to only flash a bit of leg and a tiny amount of cleavage during the awkward shuffle of bedclothes.
"Here," she said, maybe just a little grudgingly, tossing the sheet onto the bed and tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. "So you don't, uhm, remember anything, either?"
He nodded. "Abby, yeah." Eric confirmed what Emily stated and left the statement where she left it. Something nagged at him that it probably wasn't the best time to bring up spotting her and Batman when he and Abby went to ...follow suit. It was especially a poor topic given that they somehow managed to find themselves in a similar scenario.
"Thanks," he uttered softly, immediately taking the sheet and draping it over his legs then the pillow momentarily before removing it. Eric wasn't sure of anything other than his body giving him every indication of recently being laid. Maybe it was a lingering effect from his tryst with Abby. He really didn't know. It was best just to answer her question. "No. Last that I remember was being with Abby."
He felt bad at the nervous way that Emily stood there and kept from staring too long at her. "Hey, I'll uh, turn over and throw the pillow over my head if you wanna grab one of my shirts and shorts. Then maybe you can sit and we can think out loud a little more. Maybe toss me a pair of boxers and shorts when you're done?"
"I'm fine," she said, a little too quickly and a little too harshly, all a result of her complete unease, but she was starting to think that was hardly his fault. She sighed, and her tone was softer when she spoke again. "Actually, that sounds like a good idea."
Before moving, she waited until he had turned over, pillow over his head. He would hear the sounds of her searching the room a bit, coming up with an oversized tee and a pair of panties that she was certain were hers. She wasn't at all sure how she felt about the latter but she dressed in the tee and palmed the underwear after frowning at them for several seconds.
His shorts were all to big on her slender frame so she skipped them in the end, tossing them on the bed much like she had the sheet, following it with another tee.
"I'll, uh, be right back," she said, deciding that she could just as easily grab some bottoms from her own room. And it would give him the privacy he needed to change.
She was gone a minute or so, plenty of time for her to throw on a pair of jeans and him to dress. Or escape, the appeal of that option stronger than it should have been when she needed to know what had happened, regardless of how much she really didn't want to know.
She knocked lightly on the door frame, just in case he hadn't had enough time, and spoke, her voice a notch louder than normal to compensate for standing outside of the room. "Anything start clicking for you, yet?"
He could say one thing about Emily: She was definitely a woman. First, she shot him down only to accept his offer then run out ...and come back. Eric felt something land on the bed before her hasty exit. He glanced over then finally sat frontward once more, grasping the boxers and shorts she had tossed for him. He honestly didn't expect Emily to return. Eric still thought it was a good idea to don the clothing. He stood up from the bed, pulled up the underwear and bottoms then opened a drawer and tugged on an a-shirt.
"Come in," Eric answered with a husky tired quality still in his voice. He smacked his lips a little then swallowed as he sat on the side of the matress. One hand randomly scratched the tuft of hair on the top of his head, dragging his hand slowly off of his head and raking along his jaw and the stubble on his face before dropping his hand on the bed. "Besides the bar? No." He looked over at the brunette and mentally smirked at her remaining in his t-shirt. It had been a while since...
Eric didn't want to think of who had commonly wore his shirts. His ex would drown in them. Emily didn't resemble her in the slightest. ...He was still thinking about it. Her. He shook his head slightly as if physically shaking the memories out of his mind. To Emily, he most likely only looked as if he was shaking his head at the situation. "Anything like this happen here before? I haven't heard of anything like this since I've been here."
She hesitated only briefly, then stepped back into the room, still minorly annoyed that he didn't seem all that worried about what may (or may not) have happened between them. But then that was probably due to the fact that he was an adult male.
And adult males that looked the way he did weren't usually entirely new to the experience of waking up with unfamiliar bedmates. Maybe she was passing a little bit of judgement there, but really, if this were an unfamiliar thing, wouldn't he be at least a little concerned?
Her lips thinned a little at his assurance that he remembered nothing, though she had no real right to be annoyed with him over that considering her recollection of what had landed her in his bed was just as blank.
She shook her head. "Shared memory loss? No, not that I know of. I haven't been here that long, but no one has mentioned it to me." And she was pretty sure at some point that at least Derek would have. "It's probably all West's doing. Something to do with those damn masks."
Her lip curled in the vaguest trace of a snarl. West was in for it when she got her hands on him.
"Probably," he answered with a nod, standing and walking around Emily to slip on a short sleeve button down. He left the shirt unbuttoned and raked his fingertips over the top of his head in an attempt to comb down his hair. The very put off way she stared him down did nothing for his confidence.
Eric stood on the opposite side if the room to give her some distance that would hopefully ease Emily up a little. He could understand the uneasy feeling of not being able to remember more than the average Joe. "I hear he likes messing with people. It's definitely a way of accomplishing that."
There was some selfish satisfaction in not being alone with the memory loss. It would have been worse otherwise for him. However, Eric didn't dismiss how disconcerting it had to be for her. Emily was unnerving with her obvious anger. Particularly with being the first time they met.
"Look, I know you don't know me but I'm not gonna say anything." His eyes were a mixture of pleading and apologetic as they finally remained locked on hers. "Even if I remember anything, I'm not the type to kiss and tell. ...Not after being raised by a Russian dad, a Cuban mom, and three older sisters."
He was careful not to make light of the situation but hoped to break down the tension a little by giving up something about himself. Eric didn't know what else they could do under the circumstances. His shoulders relaxed after a small shrug that was a physical expression of not knowing what else to say but left himself open. And dropped his eyes again.
"That's the party line," she muttered, giving a vague nod of agreement. She sighed, running her hand through her hair. "Though I think that's putting it pretty mildly."
She wasn't sure what else there was to say. Neither of them remembered a thing, and if West was the reason for their amnesia, which seemed the most likely scenario, then they could probably try to piece things together for hours and not get anywhere.
He spoke up again, distracting her from that rather frustrating thought, his assurances managing to get a small smile from her. Oh, if only he knew that word getting out of whatever they had done was the very least of her worries. "Well, thanks but if it's something that West wants told, then it'll be told."
What she didn't add, at least not aloud, was that she hoped if West did choose to broadcast something over his creepy private network, then she hoped it was this and not her tryst with Derek. While she didn't see things going very well when Deb found out, it would be better done in private, that was for sure.
And as much as Eric's instant acceptance that they had had sex annoyed her, the ebbing adrenaline in her system made it harder to deny that, so far as she was concerned, West probably had his pick of x-rated material. Sure, there was a chance that nothing had happened, who was to know with both of their memories wiped clean, but she doubted it.
"I appreciate it though." The words were accompanied by another small smile. "So, youngest of three sisters, huh? Sounds fun," she said, dryly, looking to change the subject. There really was no use flogging the dead horse in the room, but to abruptly get up and leave, especially when he apparently lived there too, didn't seem the best idea.
She smiled a little and Eric felt the heaviness lighten on his chest. He gave a cautious crooked grin, slipping his hands deep down in the pockets of his shorts and bringing his shoulders in together--giving a sheepish expression. "I didn't have it too bad. They fought over clothes and boys too much to really pay attention to me. I've only got two left now and they still spoil me a little with mom. My dad never understood it. Even the cat was a girl."
He had ceased the tense stance midway into his first sentence. Instead, he folded his arms in front of his chest just before mentioning having only two sisters left. Years had passed since Eric had lost his closest sister but he was still hollow from her absence. A head injury didn't allow him to clearly remember losing her. He had grown to feel blessed over his last memory with Marisol being a happy one. None of which he was ready to talk about now.
"How about you? Any brothers or sisters?" he asked with the hint of a grin lingering on his lips.
Her smile faded as he explained that he only had the two sisters now. Even if he were the baby, the missing sister still had to have been pretty young when she died. "I'm sorry to hear that," she said, meaning it. "About your sister."
She had seen enough loss in her line of work to have known something of that pain, even if she hadn't had personal experience in that area. Which is also why she wouldn't pry. It wasn't a necessary thing, not when she wasn't in the middle of a case, chasing down an UNSUB, and reopening painful emotional wounds being the fastest way to catch the bastard.
Despite having to explain, however vaguely, the loss of one of his sisters, he seemed to have relaxed a good deal more as he talked and she realized the same could be true of her, at least within reason.
She shifted in her seat and shook her head, immediately brushing away the few strands of hair that had fallen into her face. "Nope. What you see is what you get. I suppose my parents wanted to stop with perfection," she said, her tone dry as three day old toast.
"My mother's an ambassador, and I think there's a one kid maximum when you're not sure which continent your next job will be on. Kids are great for photo ops, but it's hard to move quickly and often if you're the Brady Bunch."
He appreciated her genuine sentiment yet only showed it with a sad eyes and nod of his head. Eric released his crossed arms, finding it comfortable enough to pull out the desk chair in the room and straddling it backwards to pay an audience to Emily.
Her humor was welcome and he snickered accordingly at her deadpan comment about her parents stopping with perfection. He couldn't understand the life of an only child as anything more than theory. Eric couldn't help but comment in a playful to contrast her final words.
"I dunno..." he lingered as his lips pulled into a greater grin. "I think you were onto something about them stopping at perfection." His arms laid one over the other on the top of the chair-back as he sat perfectly straight while smiling. He shot her a wink then rested his head on his arms.
"I could lie and tell you my parents kept trying until they reached perfection, but I won't. My family's anything but perfect. I'm lucky my father didn't toss me off the side of the boat to feed the sharks on the trip over from Cuba, considering I wasn't actually his."
His story was slightly muttered after declaring his family imperfect. Eric kept his eyes with Emily's until the final admission. Just as his sister's passing left a void, his mother's lie still stung although years had passed since discovering the truth.
Why he felt comfortable admitting that to a complete stranger, Eric didn't really know. There was something about her admittance that prompted his. It was possible he still felt for her discomfort over their awakening. Emily was attractive and down to earth. Why not make an attempt at friendship?
In the end, it was the way he had covered himself up that sold her. It was a self-conscious act, a defensive act, but not in the flighty way that a man caught red-handed would have affected. And if he had roofied her, why stick around to face the reaper?
Still, she had no idea who he was or what he was doing in her house, or rather, her and Abby's house for the time. At least not until he continued speaking. A CSI from Miami. Derek and Deb had told her that West seemed to have a hard on for law enforcement types, so that bit of information jibed and really it would be an odd thing to make up on the spot.
She felt a pang at the thought of Deb and Derek but immediately pushed them from her mind. She had more pressing matters to deal with at the moment.
She hesitated before answering his question, which was fine because he went on to fill in many of the details himself, his summary of the night at the bar stirring more memories, these blessedly innocuous. Thinking back, she did seem to recall someone of his general description hanging around at the bar. She had been busy with Derek and Wilson at the time, but she had a vague recollection of him.
"Emily," she said, giving a quick nod to confirm is recollection of events. "You were talking to Abby, right? The bartender?" she clarified, not knowing whether they had actually exchanged names. Feeling a little less suspicious, but only a little, some of the tension in her muscles eased and she stopped clutching the sheets as if they were the only thing protecting her from the rapture.
And speaking of sheets, she realized that she was hogging all of the available cover in the room. Hesitating longer than she probably should have, she found and untangled a sheet, managing to only flash a bit of leg and a tiny amount of cleavage during the awkward shuffle of bedclothes.
"Here," she said, maybe just a little grudgingly, tossing the sheet onto the bed and tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. "So you don't, uhm, remember anything, either?"
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"Thanks," he uttered softly, immediately taking the sheet and draping it over his legs then the pillow momentarily before removing it. Eric wasn't sure of anything other than his body giving him every indication of recently being laid. Maybe it was a lingering effect from his tryst with Abby. He really didn't know. It was best just to answer her question. "No. Last that I remember was being with Abby."
He felt bad at the nervous way that Emily stood there and kept from staring too long at her. "Hey, I'll uh, turn over and throw the pillow over my head if you wanna grab one of my shirts and shorts. Then maybe you can sit and we can think out loud a little more. Maybe toss me a pair of boxers and shorts when you're done?"
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Before moving, she waited until he had turned over, pillow over his head. He would hear the sounds of her searching the room a bit, coming up with an oversized tee and a pair of panties that she was certain were hers. She wasn't at all sure how she felt about the latter but she dressed in the tee and palmed the underwear after frowning at them for several seconds.
His shorts were all to big on her slender frame so she skipped them in the end, tossing them on the bed much like she had the sheet, following it with another tee.
"I'll, uh, be right back," she said, deciding that she could just as easily grab some bottoms from her own room. And it would give him the privacy he needed to change.
She was gone a minute or so, plenty of time for her to throw on a pair of jeans and him to dress. Or escape, the appeal of that option stronger than it should have been when she needed to know what had happened, regardless of how much she really didn't want to know.
She knocked lightly on the door frame, just in case he hadn't had enough time, and spoke, her voice a notch louder than normal to compensate for standing outside of the room. "Anything start clicking for you, yet?"
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"Come in," Eric answered with a husky tired quality still in his voice. He smacked his lips a little then swallowed as he sat on the side of the matress. One hand randomly scratched the tuft of hair on the top of his head, dragging his hand slowly off of his head and raking along his jaw and the stubble on his face before dropping his hand on the bed. "Besides the bar? No." He looked over at the brunette and mentally smirked at her remaining in his t-shirt. It had been a while since...
Eric didn't want to think of who had commonly wore his shirts. His ex would drown in them. Emily didn't resemble her in the slightest. ...He was still thinking about it. Her. He shook his head slightly as if physically shaking the memories out of his mind. To Emily, he most likely only looked as if he was shaking his head at the situation. "Anything like this happen here before? I haven't heard of anything like this since I've been here."
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And adult males that looked the way he did weren't usually entirely new to the experience of waking up with unfamiliar bedmates. Maybe she was passing a little bit of judgement there, but really, if this were an unfamiliar thing, wouldn't he be at least a little concerned?
Her lips thinned a little at his assurance that he remembered nothing, though she had no real right to be annoyed with him over that considering her recollection of what had landed her in his bed was just as blank.
She shook her head. "Shared memory loss? No, not that I know of. I haven't been here that long, but no one has mentioned it to me." And she was pretty sure at some point that at least Derek would have. "It's probably all West's doing. Something to do with those damn masks."
Her lip curled in the vaguest trace of a snarl. West was in for it when she got her hands on him.
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Eric stood on the opposite side if the room to give her some distance that would hopefully ease Emily up a little. He could understand the uneasy feeling of not being able to remember more than the average Joe. "I hear he likes messing with people. It's definitely a way of accomplishing that."
There was some selfish satisfaction in not being alone with the memory loss. It would have been worse otherwise for him. However, Eric didn't dismiss how disconcerting it had to be for her. Emily was unnerving with her obvious anger. Particularly with being the first time they met.
"Look, I know you don't know me but I'm not gonna say anything." His eyes were a mixture of pleading and apologetic as they finally remained locked on hers. "Even if I remember anything, I'm not the type to kiss and tell. ...Not after being raised by a Russian dad, a Cuban mom, and three older sisters."
He was careful not to make light of the situation but hoped to break down the tension a little by giving up something about himself. Eric didn't know what else they could do under the circumstances. His shoulders relaxed after a small shrug that was a physical expression of not knowing what else to say but left himself open. And dropped his eyes again.
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She wasn't sure what else there was to say. Neither of them remembered a thing, and if West was the reason for their amnesia, which seemed the most likely scenario, then they could probably try to piece things together for hours and not get anywhere.
He spoke up again, distracting her from that rather frustrating thought, his assurances managing to get a small smile from her. Oh, if only he knew that word getting out of whatever they had done was the very least of her worries. "Well, thanks but if it's something that West wants told, then it'll be told."
What she didn't add, at least not aloud, was that she hoped if West did choose to broadcast something over his creepy private network, then she hoped it was this and not her tryst with Derek. While she didn't see things going very well when Deb found out, it would be better done in private, that was for sure.
And as much as Eric's instant acceptance that they had had sex annoyed her, the ebbing adrenaline in her system made it harder to deny that, so far as she was concerned, West probably had his pick of x-rated material. Sure, there was a chance that nothing had happened, who was to know with both of their memories wiped clean, but she doubted it.
"I appreciate it though." The words were accompanied by another small smile. "So, youngest of three sisters, huh? Sounds fun," she said, dryly, looking to change the subject. There really was no use flogging the dead horse in the room, but to abruptly get up and leave, especially when he apparently lived there too, didn't seem the best idea.
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She smiled a little and Eric felt the heaviness lighten on his chest. He gave a cautious crooked grin, slipping his hands deep down in the pockets of his shorts and bringing his shoulders in together--giving a sheepish expression. "I didn't have it too bad. They fought over clothes and boys too much to really pay attention to me. I've only got two left now and they still spoil me a little with mom. My dad never understood it. Even the cat was a girl."
He had ceased the tense stance midway into his first sentence. Instead, he folded his arms in front of his chest just before mentioning having only two sisters left. Years had passed since Eric had lost his closest sister but he was still hollow from her absence. A head injury didn't allow him to clearly remember losing her. He had grown to feel blessed over his last memory with Marisol being a happy one. None of which he was ready to talk about now.
"How about you? Any brothers or sisters?" he asked with the hint of a grin lingering on his lips.
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She had seen enough loss in her line of work to have known something of that pain, even if she hadn't had personal experience in that area. Which is also why she wouldn't pry. It wasn't a necessary thing, not when she wasn't in the middle of a case, chasing down an UNSUB, and reopening painful emotional wounds being the fastest way to catch the bastard.
Despite having to explain, however vaguely, the loss of one of his sisters, he seemed to have relaxed a good deal more as he talked and she realized the same could be true of her, at least within reason.
She shifted in her seat and shook her head, immediately brushing away the few strands of hair that had fallen into her face. "Nope. What you see is what you get. I suppose my parents wanted to stop with perfection," she said, her tone dry as three day old toast.
"My mother's an ambassador, and I think there's a one kid maximum when you're not sure which continent your next job will be on. Kids are great for photo ops, but it's hard to move quickly and often if you're the Brady Bunch."
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Her humor was welcome and he snickered accordingly at her deadpan comment about her parents stopping with perfection. He couldn't understand the life of an only child as anything more than theory. Eric couldn't help but comment in a playful to contrast her final words.
"I dunno..." he lingered as his lips pulled into a greater grin. "I think you were onto something about them stopping at perfection." His arms laid one over the other on the top of the chair-back as he sat perfectly straight while smiling. He shot her a wink then rested his head on his arms.
"I could lie and tell you my parents kept trying until they reached perfection, but I won't. My family's anything but perfect. I'm lucky my father didn't toss me off the side of the boat to feed the sharks on the trip over from Cuba, considering I wasn't actually his."
His story was slightly muttered after declaring his family imperfect. Eric kept his eyes with Emily's until the final admission. Just as his sister's passing left a void, his mother's lie still stung although years had passed since discovering the truth.
Why he felt comfortable admitting that to a complete stranger, Eric didn't really know. There was something about her admittance that prompted his. It was possible he still felt for her discomfort over their awakening. Emily was attractive and down to earth. Why not make an attempt at friendship?
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