Criminal Minds Fic-A Hinge in the Air, Chapter 4
Title: A Hinge in the Air, Chapter 4
Author: mingsmommy
Pairing: Emily Prentiss/David Rossi
Spoilers: Everything through Season 5
Rating: FRT/PG13 (Subject to change in later chapters)
Author's Notes: This fic is wojelah's help_haiti fic. She is generous and wonderful and I am very fortunate to have her as a friend. Her prompt was "good old fashioned falling in love plus h/c." The title comes from Billy Collin's poem, Japan.
smittywing and smacky30 are Superheroes! They add commas and tell me when I'm using the semi-colon incorrectly! They tell me when things don't work and when things do! They tolerate my insecurity and threaten me when I am thinking of giving up! All in a single bound! Plus they gave me all of the best lines! Superheroes, I tell you!
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
The beep is not loud or frequent, but it is annoyingly persistent.
What did I leave in the microwave? The groggy thought passes through the fog of Emily’s brain between beeps.
Since the noise is not loud or constant enough to be her alarm, it must be her microwave reminding her she heated water for tea or maybe bumped up the temperature on a tepid cup of coffee. She tries to think back to what she was doing before she fell asleep and can't. She thinks maybe she has the flu; she feels sore all over and her throat hurts, feels like maybe a couple of the fires from Hell have relocated there.
Experimentally, she raises her eyelids and knows she's not at home, not on the plane, not even in one of the endless, anonymous, innocuous hotel rooms that she seems to spend a good chunk of her life passing through, pausing only long enough to grab a few hours of sleep and a shower. She knows it's night, but there is a light on over a sink on the opposite wall and light is bleeding in from under the door. Everything is relentlessly white and blindingly chrome even in the darkened room. She shifts a little to get a better look around and feels the tug of something against the skin of her face. Raising tentative fingers she touches a strap running along her cheek and follows it to a plastic cup covering her mouth. She forces her eyes downward and sees it's an oxygen mask.
So, hospital.
She blinks her eyes, trying to clear them of the fog and film, wishing she could blink her brain for the same reasons. Breathing deeply against the mask, she turns her head and is met with the completely unexpected sight of David Rossi asleep in the chair beside the bed. Blinking again, she takes a minute to study him; she's seen everyone on the team asleep except Rossi. When Hotch was in the hospital they all took turns sitting with him, if not in his room, then close to it and he spent a good period of that time sleeping while he recovered. The rest of the team have all sacked out on the plane on the ride home except Rossi and Hotch; they tend to do paperwork, though she's always had the feeling they're both watching over the rest of them as much as dealing with the minutia of the job.
His face is relaxed and unguarded, though she can see dark circles under his eyes. She wonders which shift this is, because she's sure the team would be taking turns sitting with her and she wonders how long she's been out.
There's a rustling movement at the door and a middle aged African-American woman walks in the room, smiling when she sees Emily's eyes are open. She's wearing pink scrub pants with a colorfully patterned scrub top, so Emily assumes she's a nurse. "Hi, there." The nurse speaks quietly as she approaches the bed, her eyes flicking quickly to the figure sleeping in the chair.
"Hi," Emily responds, her voice sounding hollow and unnatural against the heavy plastic of the mask covering her face. Frustrated, she fumbles it away from her mouth. "What happened?"
The nurse takes the mask from Emily's hand with a firm grip and puts it back in place. "Keep this on." Her tone is dry as she looks at the readout on the machine closest to Emily. "We didn't give it to you because it's a stunning fashion accessory. The doctor will be by in the morning to answer any questions you have."
Emily makes a frustrated noise behind the mask, but doesn't ignore the nurse's directive to leave the mask alone. Normally, she'd probably fight the nurse, or at least the edict, but she still feels groggy, like her brain is heavy and moving in slow motion. Her eyelids move down slowly, and she sighs as the nurse speaks again. "You're going to be fine." Emily feels a pat on her arm. "Go back to sleep. It's almost morning."
But her voice is already fading as Emily sinks back into sleep.
***
When her eyes open again, the sun is up and Hotch is the one in the chair beside the bed, frowning down at a pile of papers.
"Hotch," she tries to say, but it turns into a cough and fuck that hurts.
He stands up, his expression alarmed. "Emily. Do you need a doctor?"
She shakes her head and holds up a hand, silently asking for a minute. When she can breathe without pain, she moves the mask. "What happened?"
Hotch gives her a severe look and crosses his arms over his chest. Emily looks back defiantly, but still puts the mask back over her mouth.
"Do you remember the restaurant?" He unfolds his arms.
She starts to say, "Yes," but settles for nodding instead.
"Do you remember taking a walk afterward?" His head is tilted to the side.
She remembers walking and her dress being tight, then not being able to breathe. Did she fall? She's not sure, she just remembers hearing Morgan identifying himself as FBI to someone and Rossi's face being over hers...he had been pissed.
She nods.
"It was the chef."
Moving her hand in a forward motion, she indicates he should continue.
"When you collapsed, he was right there, waiting to offer to take you to the hospital. Only it wasn't supposed to be you. He'd put Rohypnol in the Black Forest cake, thinking he was drugging Morgan. The dosage would have made Morgan dizzy, then he'd have passed out. But it was an overdose for you; you suffered from respiratory arrest. Dave did mouth to mouth until the bus got there and they were able to bag you."
"When?" she asks, still frustrated with the distortion caused by the mask.
"Two nights ago." His face softens at her expression. "You were on a ventilator until last night; they had to keep you sedated after they pumped your stomach."
The stomach pumping and the ventilator both explain the pain in her throat. She touches the oxygen mask.
He seems to sense her question. "Just until your oxygen levels even out. You'll probably be rid of it in a few hours."
"Unsub?" Emily decides full sentences are only going to highlight any communication problems.
"We got him." Hotch pulls the recliner closer to the bed, sitting after angling it so it's easier for her to see his face. "His home was full of trophies and he took pictures. Morgan's been trying to get a confession. Nothing so far, but we really don't need it."
"Stressor?" she questions after taking a breath, feeling a little like Darth Vader.
He shakes his head. "No clue so far. He hasn't asked for an attorney, but he's also not talking."
Giving him an expectant look, she makes the "gimme" motion again.
"The first couple lived next door to him. The others he appears to have seen at Chrysanthemum. Our best guess is he used the gun to threaten them into submission at first, but when word got out about mixed race couples being targeted, they started fighting and he had to change his method. That also explains the gaps in the timeline."
Emily nods her agreement.
"We're thinking he drugged the men at the restaurant...because they all weighed more than you, it probably didn't happen as quickly or as severely as in your case. The men start to feel ill or pass out and the women panic. He's there offering a quick ride to the hospital and he's got them in the van."
It's all fairly elementary from there she knows. Once the couple is in the unsub's van he's in control. And though toxicology had been run in all of autopsies, if he kept them alive for three days, then the Rohypnol would be out of their system before the bodies were found.
Hotch gives her a grim smile. "He only works Thursday thru Saturday."
It's circumstantial but with any evidence from his house, plus her own blood tests, it will be more than enough.
He looks at her, his expression a mixture of things she can't name. "It was good work, Prentiss. I wouldn't have had it turn out like that, and thank God it wasn't worse, but your instincts were good on this one."
Emily wants to smile, not at the praise - though praise from Hotch always makes her want to preen - but because he always delivers his kudos with such a severe look on his face. She's sort of curious as to what the reasoning behind the ultra serious look is. Next time the team goes drinking, she's going to ask him. But, in the meantime, there's someone who didn't think her work was so good. "Rossi?"
Hotch gives a grim smile. "He doesn't think your work was quite as sharp as the rest of us do."
She nods a little sadly.
"Emily," he says, "he feels guilty. He thinks if he'd followed his gut and yelled at me until I called it off, you wouldn't be in the hospital." He purses his lips. "Speaking of guilt? Morgan feels awful about the dessert switch. He's been fighting Rossi to stay with you."
Rolling her eyes, Emily huffs, causing a burst of fog against the surface of the mask. She can just imagine those two alpha males going head to head over who would be the best caretaker and guardian; she's glad she missed it. Then she remembers the sight of Rossi asleep in the recliner beside the bed during the night and she's grateful Hotch is stuffing the pile of papers back in his briefcase and doesn't see the flush she can feel heating her cheeks.
"You're on medical leave until you're cleared for work. If there are no complications you should be out of the hospital tomorrow." He hesitates and she knows she's not going to like what he's about to say. "The doctor here has been in touch with your primary care physician. They're in agreement that you should stay for a day or two after your release to avoid complications."
"Oh." He doesn't have to say the rest. The team can't stay, she knows that. She swallows against a surge of disappointment and loneliness. She'll be fine, she knows. Charleston is a beautiful city and a few days resting in a hotel in a beautiful city will be good for her. It's a chance to catch up on some reading, maybe even some movies. It'll be good, she tells herself.
"We're heading back this afternoon." He seems a little diffident.
"Hotch, it's fine." She's forgotten about the oxygen mask momentarily and she can't even understand her own words.
Frustrated, she moves the mask and repeats, "It's fine," then puts the mask back.
"Prentiss." His voice is severe, and she sort of feels sorry for Jack if he's on the receiving end of that often.
She gives him an innocent look that clearly says, what? I put it back.
He's frowning at her, but there's no heat to it and she smiles at him under the mask as he begins speaking again. "Rossi said he'd like to stay and fly back with you at the end of the week."
"What?" She knows her expression must clearly convey what her voice can't at the moment.
Hotch shrugs. "He has to use up some of his leave or lose it. He said he's always wanted to visit Charleston."
Emily is struggling to sit up in the bed and goes for the mask again when Hotch holds up a hand. "Prentiss." She drops her hand. "Emily. We're not going to leave you here by yourself."
His eyebrows are curved into sideways question marks over his eyes. "You do realize you almost died less than forty-eight hours ago? Do you honestly think any of us would feel good about leaving you here alone? If it was Morgan in this bed instead of you, would you get on the jet this afternoon?"
He's right. She relaxes back against the bed. There is no question, no doubt. She would stay for Morgan, for any of them, if it meant carrying them back to Quantico on her back. She nods.
Hotch, looking significantly less tense now that she appears to be more accepting of the situation, smiles at her. "I'll try to get Dave not too be too big of a pill after the first few I told you sos." She has the impression he is trying very hard not to laugh at her.
It's fairly horrifying, she decides, the idea of being completely at David Rossi's mercy, having to listen to the non-stop haranguing from him. "Can't Strauss come stay with me instead?"
Hotch's lips twitch. "I'm sure I didn't understand what you just said. But if..." Emily never gets to hear what gem he was about to offer since a doctor (well, she's assuming from the white coat and stethoscope he's a doctor) and a young blond nurse (wearing an almost identical outfit to the one the nurse last night was wearing) enter the room and Hotch excuses himself to let the doctor examine her. Pronounced as "doing remarkably well," she is allowed to remove the oxygen mask. Which is a very good thing, she decides, since she doesn't want to go into battle with Rossi hampered by the inability to yell back. The doctor says if everything continues to go well she'll be out of the hospital by the middle of the next day and home by the weekend.
Hotch comes back in after the doctor leaves. She's tired and she knows it must show on her face, because of the gentle expression on his own. Sitting in the chair again, he moves his briefcase out of the way and tells her she should rest. He even jokes about not having the oxygen mask to keep her quiet anymore. He speaks to her quietly about inconsequential things, the weather in South Carolina, sights she might see, the entire team having sworn off dessert.
She's smiling when she sleeps.
***
She's alone when she wakes again and she has to breathe through a flash of panic until she hears voices in the hall outside her door. She can't really make out what they're saying, but she hears the contrast of Morgan's rich tones with Reid's higher pitch.
There's an untouched food tray on the bed table and the room is brighter, the light a little more golden and she thinks it's probably afternoon. She has the disconcerting sensation of being a little removed from time and space. Hotch said she'd been brought to the hospital two nights ago, so that makes today Monday. But she has no idea what time it is, how long she's slept, what was going on in the world in the time she's been unconscious.
She ought to feel concerned by that, but she finds she just doesn't care that much. Taking stock, she realizes her throat still hurts, but other than the low-grade muscle aches, that is the only indication she has that anything is wrong physically. But there's a lingering lethargy clinging to her like a film. Having the next few days to rest sounds very appealing and, despite the fact he is going to give her a rash of shit, she enjoys Rossi's company. He's interesting to talk to, he's fun to go places with, and he always seems to find the best food and the best wine. There's also something easy about being with him when there's nothing to do. They've spent plenty of time on the jet side by side, both talking and not. There's a quiet acceptance she feels with him that she's never felt with anyone else she’s worked with and, truth be told, she's felt it less than a handful of times with anyone in her life.
It'll be good, she decides. Once Rossi finishes handing her her ass, it might even be fun.
The door to her room opens slowly and Morgan leans his head in. "Hey." He looks very somber. "Feel like some company for a few minutes?"
She grins and responds cheerfully. "I would love some company."
He walks in carrying a ridiculously large vase of flowers.
"God, Morgan." She chokes out a laugh. "Did you buy out the florist?"
"Hey, now." He puts the flowers on the small table beside the bed and stands, looking down at her. "You had us worried there for awhile; looking into your bright eyes is worth a few blooms."
Emily shakes her head against the pillow. "I'm fine." She's seen him polite, angry, concerned, joking, questioning and frustrated, but she's never seen such a look of such unadulterated seriousness on his face. "Derek." She captures his hand. "I am fine."
"But you almost weren't." It's flat and serious.
"Almost doesn't really count here, does it?" She gives his hand a little shake as though she can shake the belief into him. "Everything turned out all right."
"It was meant for me. If I hadn't made you switch desserts, I would have been the one that got drugged." This look she knows, she's sadly seen it on his face before: remorse.
Scooting up higher against the headboard as best she can, Emily sighs and decides to take a page from Hotch's book. "Morgan, can you imagine how I would have felt if it had been you? The whole thing was my idea. The guilt would have eaten me alive."
"If it had been me it would have knocked me out, not taken me out." His eyebrows climb to emphasize his point.
"But it didn't take me out." She's searching for the control to the bed and reminding herself not to get frustrated. "I'm fine."
Morgan drops into the recliner, but sits on the edge. "Only because Rossi was paying attention. He left the car before the unsub showed himself. If he hadn't figured out you weren't breathing and started giving you mouth-to-mouth, you would have died."
"I'm grateful to Rossi, but I'm also pretty confident one of you would have figured it out, even if he hadn't." Her tone is a little dry. She doesn't want to minimize what happened or be dismissive of Morgan's anxiety, but they've all had advanced first aid and know that checking respiration is one of the first things to do. Besides, even if by some fluke every one of them forgot what first aid they know, there's a genius amongst them and he, at least, would have figured it out.
Morgan's shoulders sag a little. "I know." He sounds glum. "But I still feel like crap."
Laughing a little, she finally finds the correct button and manages to raise herself so she's more sitting than reclining. "It was my call, I'm ultimately responsible." She gives him a cheeky grin. "Maybe next time just order something you're sure you know what it is. How can you not like cherries?"
His lip quirks up slightly. "Cherries are nasty."
"Oh, my god, no! You're so wrong." She holds up a hand in mock horror. "Cherries are perfect and wonderful. And that cake was amazing. With the exception of that whole drugging thing, it was the best dessert I've ever had."
He shakes his head. "There is something just not right about you, Prentiss." His hands are on his knees and his look switches back to serious. "I owe you."
Emily waves a hand airily. "I'll take that out in paperwork."
His smile is wide enough this time to flash his teeth. "I knew you'd find a way to exact revenge."
"I am merely trying to alleviate your guilt." She widens her eyes and bats her eyelashes a few times for good measure.
He sighs, acting put upon. "Fine. I'll do your paperwork for a week."
"A week?" She huffs. "My life is only worth a week of paperwork to you? I am hurt." Moving the back of her hand to her forehead in the classic position of melodrama, she sniffs. "Devastated actually..."
His eyes narrow to slits. "You're pushing it, Prentiss."
"Never happy." Shaking her head, she smiles at him. "Buy me a cup of coffee my first day back and we'll call it even."
"Deal," he agrees.
The door swings inward as Reid backs into the room, carrying two very full cups of coffee.
"Spencer Reid, did you read my mind?" Emily greets him happily, glad the heavy moment with Morgan is over. "You will be my hero forever if you tell me one of those is for me."
"Sure." He hands her one of the cups and she feels the heat radiating through the cardboard. "You can have Derek's."
"Hey!" Morgan really does sound indignant and Emily thinks today just might not be his day when Reid hands him the other cup with a smile.
"Thanks, Reid." She adjusts the cup to a more comfortable position, reaching out to drag the tray table towards her, then setting the cup beside the untouched food tray. "I didn't take yours did I?" She's already thumbing off the plastic lid and inhaling the aroma and she really hopes she didn't take his, because she doesn't want to be polite and give it back.
"No, I've had enough for today." He stuffs his hands into his pockets and rocks on his feet. "Yours has already been sweetened with approximately two and a half packets of Splenda, since that cup is almost two and a half times the volume of your mug at work."
Emily smiles as she blows across the top of the coffee. "Thank you, Reid."
Reid smiles at her a little shyly and rocks on his feet again. It's one of his tells, he rocks when he's nervous or excited. "I'm really glad you're okay."
Emily smiles at him, genuinely touched. "Thanks." She takes a cautious sip of the hot coffee. "Me, too."
"You're just glad it's not you in the hospital this time," Morgan says accusingly.
"There is that," Reid agrees good-naturedly. "But I see you've managed to leave her food alone." He lifts the lid on the tray to reveal a bowl of what Emily assumes is soup, a cup of what looks like apple sauce and another of jello.
Morgan snorts. "I just got here. It's not like Rossi let anyone else stay long enough to get hungry. I'm surprised he let Hotch take over this morning."
Emily doesn't know what to do with that bit of information. When she'd been awake during the night and seen him asleep she had assumed it was his turn to sit with her, not that he was taking the lion's share of the time. It didn't really make sense considering how mad he'd been at her. She tucks the knowledge away to process later when she's not distracted by Reid and Morgan.
Reid picks up the spoon and pushes the bowl of soup---beef broth from the smell of it---towards Emily. "You should eat. You were unconscious for over thirty-six hours, which is a long time to go without nourishment." He holds out the spoon and gives her a tentative smile. "The first meal is always designed to be as innocuous as possible."
Reluctantly, she puts the coffee cup down; she misses the warmth as soon as she releases the cup, but she knows what Reid's not saying. If she doesn't at least put a dent in a meal it will push back her release from the hospital; not to mention what drinking a giant cup of coffee on an empty stomach would do to her. With a sigh she accepts the spoon and removes the lid from the bowl and begins sipping the tepid broth.
"Did Hotch tell you we're headed back?" Morgan looks a little sheepish.
"Yeah." She swallows, noting the slightly pained, uncomfortable look on Reid's face. "Suckers. I'll be down here soaking up the southern sun while you're slogging away at your desks."
Thankfully, Reid smiles a little but Morgan shifts in the chair. "It feels a little bit like we're leaving a man behind."
She shakes her head. "Seriously, Morgan. It'll be more like a vacation than anything."
"I get smacked in the head with a shovel and have to retake a tactical defense course," JJ says coming through the door, Emily's go bag in her hand. "You eat cake and get a vacation. How is that fair?" She drops the bag and bends over the bed to give Emily a hug that is slightly awkward due to the angle.
"JJ, you have to know how to work the system." Emily grins. "Besides, the team can do without me for a few days. But you?" She shakes her head. "You are indispensable."
JJ sighs dramatically. "Makes me wish I wasn't quite so good at my job."
"Yeah, you should work on slacking off and screwing up more," Morgan says from the chair.
"I could say something about copying your work ethic, but you might take it the right way," she returns dryly.
"Ow." He winces as Reid snorts. "We need to get you home. You get mean when you've been without your men too long."
JJ nods. "That is the plan. Wheels up at three o’clock. In the meantime, why don't the two of you clear out for a minute and let me help Emily into some more comfortable pajamas. You can come back when she's changed." Her fingers flick the sleeve of Emily's hospital gown. "Not that it isn't simply gorgeous..."
"Hey, you don't know what I had to do to get this outfit," Emily says as Reid and Morgan move out the door.
Looking amused, JJ bends to retrieve Emily's bag. "The little black dress was a lot more flattering."
Emily heaves a happy sigh and swings her legs around the side of the bed. "That is the perfect dress."
Looking a little chagrined, JJ unzips Emily's bag and offers it to her. "It was the perfect dress."
Pawing through the contents of her go bag, Emily frowns. "What do you mean 'was'?"
JJ watches as Emily pulls out a pair of red and black plaid pajama pants and a red t-shirt. "They had to cut it off of you."
Hearing she had been in respiratory arrest hadn't given Emily pause until now. "Seriously?"
"Yeah." JJ nods. "I mean, not on the street or anything. Just, after you were brought up here, they gave Hotch your personal possessions and the dress was basically two scraps of black material." She gives Emily her best "mom" look. "The situation was fairly urgent."
Emily nods, scooting towards the edge of the bed. "I gathered. Shame about the dress though."
JJ helps her stand. "One of the detectives at the police station suggested it was too dangerous to be on the street anyway. Though I think he used more colorful language than that."
Emily snorts then breathes through a moment of light-headedness as she finds herself standing. JJ has a steadying hand on her arm as Emily contemplates the logistics of changing clothes while not quite steady on her feet. "I bet that went over well with Hotch."
"Every bit as well as you'd imagine." Hotch likes to keep a good working relationship with the local forces, but he also doesn't tolerate any disrespect from anyone towards any member of the team. "I thought Rossi was going to punch the guy." She smiles fondly. "I'm always glad Rossi is on our side."
Emily doesn't comment as she half stands, half leans on the bed as she puts the pajama pants over first one foot, then the other.
JJ is busy undoing the back closures of the hospital gown. "Garcia wants you to call her, by the way. She was frantic; I think she's hacked the hospital's system a dozen times since Saturday night." She hands Emily her t-shirt over her shoulder. "If you find yourself with upgraded tv channels or prescription linens or something, you know who to thank."
Emily pulls the shirt over her head, laughing a little. "I'll call her in a little bit." Grabbing her toothbrush and toothpaste out of the bag, she moves away from the bed, but then has to stop as she sways a little.
"Good." JJ offers her an arm and helps her to the small bathroom. "Yell if you need help."
Glad for both the help and the privacy, Emily doesn't lock the door since she does feel surprisingly wobbly. She uses the facilities, washes her hands, then studies her reflection as she brushes her teeth. She's pale, more so than usual, even her lips look lighter than usual and the skin under her eyes is so dark it almost looks like bruising. Her hair, surprisingly, is no worse than her average bed head, but still not a sight for public consumption. Either someone washed her face while she was unconscious or all of her make-up wore completely off and since it's been over a day and a half, it really could be either one. There's a bit of adhesive on her cheek, gray and tacky; she knows its probably residual from the ventilator tube but she hates the feel of it against her skin. The truth is she hates the way she looks altogether.
I need to get some make-up on before Rossi gets back, she thinks, then she stops, spits toothpaste froth in the sink and wonders why it matters. Morgan and Reid have both seen her, Hotch was here this morning, she can't have looked much better then. Why should she care if Rossi sees her looking so...awful? "Don't do this to yourself, Prentiss," she tells her reflection firmly.
"You okay, Emily?" JJ calls through the door. "Do you need something?"
"Just a little horrified at how I look." She shakes her head at herself, but continues anyway. "Could you get my make-up clutch out of my go bag? And my brush?"
"Sure," JJ says cheerfully. "Though really, Emily? You were given a near lethal overdose two days ago. Nobody cares how you look, as long as you're here."
"Well, I need to make myself look a little less like the corpse I almost was." Emily winces at her pallid reflection as she finishes brushing her teeth, tapping the toothbrush against the porcelain to shake to excess water from the bristles. Then she runs the folded washcloth under the water, squeezing out the excess as she hears JJ approach the bathroom door.
She knocks lightly and Emily opens the door and leaves it open. JJ leans her shoulder against the door jamb and watches her friend's reflection as she runs the damp cloth over her face. "You are pretty lucky, you know."
Emily smiles. "I know." She puts the washcloth aside and unzips her make-up bag, rooting around in it, using touch instead of sight to locate her moisturizer. "It drives my mother crazy, how often I've been hurt doing this job. I think she always manages to be in town right after I've been involved in an incident. She likes to rail about me being unlucky because of all the bumps and bruises."
Pulling out the frosted glass bottle, she pumps some of the cream across her fingertips then rubs her fingertips gently across her face. "But I don't really see it that way. The people we deal with are dangerous. Volatile." Reaching into the bag again, she finds her foundation and sponge. Working quickly, she dots the foundation on her cheeks, her chin, her forehead, then begins daubing at the dots with her sponge.
"I really think we're all extraordinarily lucky as many close calls as we've had, we haven't lost anyone." Emily doesn't mention Gideon's name. Even if he's not with them any more, he's somewhere out there in the world; hopefully, he's happy and if he won't allow himself to be happy, she at least hopes he finds moments of peace. She meets JJ's eyes in the mirror. "Do you know how lucky I feel it was me and not Morgan? Or how lucky we are the killer chose us?"
JJ nods and gives a soft smile to Emily's reflection. "When I was pregnant with Henry, I kept wondering how I was going to see all the things we see and come home to a baby. I honestly wasn't sure I'd be back after my maternity leave. But when he got here?" She raises her eyes to meet Emily's in the mirror. "It actually made me more committed to the work we do. I have to do this job so his world will be a better, safer place."
Emily nods in understanding as she reaches for her eyeliner. "Yeah." She thinks that's part of the reason Hotch came back to work, why he keeps going, even after all the job cost him, he keeps doing the job for Jack.
"I think you're right, we're all lucky." JJ's eyebrows raise. "Though I don't know how lucky you're going to feel when Rossi gets through chewing on you."
Heaving a sigh, Emily tosses down the eye pencil. "I know." Studying her reflection, she realizes she's still pale but her complexion is even and the eyeliner makes her eyes look less sickly. While she's not fully made up, she decides this is sufficient. She looks better and there's no need for the full treatment. As long as no one, Rossi her traitorous mind supplies, runs screaming from the room she'll call it a win. Besides, she's had about all the time on her feet she's interested in.
JJ helps her back to bed and, while Emily is fussing with the covers, goes to the door to tell the guys they can come back in. Morgan and Reid are followed by Hotch and Rossi who evidently arrived while Emily was applying her make-up. She does everything she can not to keep looking at Rossi, trying instead to concentrate on Reid's monologue about the historic significance of Charleston. "It was originally named Charlestown for Charles II of England who gave the land of the Carolinas to eight of his friends after the Restoration. Because of its importance as a port and it's placement along the coast it was a pivotal piece of geography in both the Revolutionary and Civil Wars."
Morgan claps him on the shoulder. "Wheels up this afternoon, kid. We don't have time for you to go over two wars with Emily."
JJ checks her watch and grimaces. "Yeah, we should really head towards the air strip now."
Morgan kisses Emily’s forehead and JJ kisses her cheek. Reid stands at the foot of her bed and gives her his Reid-wave and a shy smile. Hotch looks at her seriously. "If you need anything let us know. We'll see you both when you get back." She nods and Hotch and Rossi shake hands, then the team is out the door, their voices trailing down the hall.
The silence in the room is like a living thing when Rossi turns and looks at her. "How are you feeling?"
"Um." She huffs out a small laugh. "It seems really stupid to say after being asleep for a day and a half, but, tired."
He nods. "That's natural. Your system is still recovering from the respiratory arrest plus all the drugs have to be lingering."
She looks at him standing at the foot of her bed, hands on his hips beneath his jacket, looking serious, but not quite as pissed off as everyone has led her to believe. "Rossi."
"Yeah?" Okay, there was an edge to that. Maybe he's angrier than he appears.
"Dave." She looks down, then back up. "I know you weren't happy about us going into that restaurant." Pausing for a moment, she can't help but interpret the look he's given her as no shit and she loses a little of her nerve, but she makes herself push on. "I just wanted to say thank you for, um, saving my life."
An eyebrow curves in her direction. "So you think because I was pissed off about the operation that I was going to let you lay on the street and die?"
"That's not what I said." It's amazing how fast he can whip up her temper.
"That seems to be the inference if you're thanking me for something anyone would have done whether they knew you or not." His words are relatively even but his expression is stormy. "A stranger on the street would have given you help."
"Oh my god, Rossi." The team can't even have cleared the hospital entrance yet. If she had any idea where her cell phone was, she'd call them to come get either her or Rossi because it definitely isn't a good idea for them to even be in the same state at the moment, much less the same room. "And if a stranger on the street had given me help, I would thank them, too." His face clears a bit at that, but she's still irked. "Just because you didn't get your way, you don't have to be such a baby."
His head snaps back and the black look is back. "It wasn't about getting my way, Prentiss. It's about your complete disregard for proper procedure when you're hellbent on something."
"Where is your phone?" she snaps.
"What?" Now he looks both perplexed and pissed.
"Your phone. Where is it? Because I think you need to call the kettle and tell it it's black."
He blows out a breath and finally drops his hands off his hips. "There is a difference, here. Did it ever occur to you that maybe I have more experience in the field than you and that it might give me a better idea about what could be a dangerous situation?"
The level of fury she's feeling has her shaking and underneath the ire is hurt; he's never treated her like she was a green agent. There has been a time or two when he'd seemed to think she'd let emotion overrule common sense, and she's always proved him wrong. But he has never once, not even in those first months back with the BAU when his arrogance rivaled his skill, intimated he thought her abilities were lacking. She makes a frustrated, angry noise. "Look, it's not like I'm fresh out of the Academy with no training or experience." Refraining from adding asshole takes all of her willpower.
He presses his hands to the footboard of the bed, leaning toward her aggressively. "I didn't say you were. What I said was I have more experience than you and that might make me better able to see when an operation is too dangerous."
While his voice is calm, she feels a little like she's been slapped. "Or maybe you're a control freak who gets pissy when you don't get your way."
His mouth tightens, but he nods. "Maybe I am. But that doesn't change the fact that the operation was too dangerous and should never have happened."
"It was a success! We caught the guy." She shoves her hand through her hair, pushing it back from her face.
"At what cost, Emily?" His eyes are blazing and he's gripping the footboard tightly. "We would have caught him eventually. You never had to put yourself in danger."
Bunching the sheet in her fist, she speaks slowly, each word filled with outrage. "He was a serial killer looking for his next victims. He was hunting--"
"No." He shakes his head. "You provided him with an opportunity to hunt."
"So, you honestly think it would have been better to risk the lives of some other couple than go through with that?" She makes an incredulous noise. "Rossi, you're wrong."
"Tell that to someone who didn't have to watch you fall on the street or wait for you to breathe," he snarls. "Tell it to someone who didn't have to listen to the EMTs say they were losing you or watch you on that ventilator."
He straightens and his eyes are overly bright, maybe a little moist. "When you've watched somebody you care about...a team member, a friend, almost die because they took an unnecessary risk, then you can tell me I'm wrong." When he raises his hand to point an accusing finger at her she sees his hand is shaking slightly. "Don't tell me I'm wrong when you didn't have to watch that. Jesus, Emily," his voice is raw, "do you not get how close you came to dying? Do you think I...any of us, could have moved on after that?"
It hits her then; he's not being arrogant, he's not being patronizing, he doesn't doubt her as an agent. He's simply looking for a convenient outlet for his fear turned to anger and frustration; he really only has one goal: keep the team safe and whole at all costs.
She's a woman in a field dominated by men and she was raised not to show her emotions. Not that she never cries, but when she needs to she does so in private and certainly never at work. Still, it's been a rough few days and she's physically exhausted and emotionally drained. All she's had to eat in forty hours is coffee and beef broth. Everything prior to that was pumped out of her stomach.
And Rossi is standing here yelling at her, not because he's angry but because he was scared. The worst part, of course, is that he's not wrong. She doesn't think she's wrong either; she thinks it was the right thing to go in and draw the killer out, possibly save two unknown lives. It's part of the job, often having to choose the lesser of two evils, but she does know, does understand, how devastating it would have been for all of them if things had been worse.
Swallowing hard, she tries to stop the trembling of her mouth and blink back her tears, but it doesn't work. Biting her lip, she blinks harder, only that makes the tears roll out of her eyes. Bringing a shaking hand to her face she wipes them away viciously, but they're replaced immediately by more. She wants to tell Rossi to leave, but she knows him. Hell, he's Rossi, he's not leaving until he decides he's going. So she just stares at him, tears falling, but chin set defiantly.
She sees the moment he absorbs that she's crying. His anger falls away and his expression softens. It's not that she's expressing her emotions or the feeling she's showing weakness when crying that she hates the most. It's this, the impact it has on other people, men especially; it feels like she's taking advantage, using an unfair weapon and she fucking hates it.
If they’re going to fight, she wants to fight fair. Though Rossi probably wouldn’t feel the same way; he probably fights to win, never mind fair.
"Emily," he says softly.
"Oh, no," she says, swiping at her eyes again, proud that there's no discernible wobble to her voice. "Don't you dare stop just because I'm crying."
He moves around to her side. "What if I'm stopping because I'm being an asshole?" Tentative fingers touch her arm.
"When has that ever stopped you before?" she sniffs as he sits on the edge of the bed facing her.
Rossi barks out a laugh then puts a gentle hand on her hair, moving over the top of her head. "You're just gonna have to forgive me for being an asshole. I was scared, Emily. We all were." His hand is large and warm as it continues to stroke across the top of her head. "You were there in that dress and you were so pale and you weren't breathing. It was like some sort of fucked up version of Snow White."
Snorting through her tears, she crumples the bed sheet in her hand. Even though he's not yelling at her any more, she doesn't seem able to stop crying. It's natural, she supposes. Events are catching up to her and reaction finally setting in. It actually has very little to do with Rossi chewing her out. "Sorry," she says on a shuddering breath, pulling a corner of the sheet up to wipe her eyes.
"Emily." He pulls her forward a little. "C'mere."
It's easy to let him wrap his arms around her in a gentle hug, tuck her head between his neck and shoulder and just let herself cry. His hands warm a path up and down her back and he doesn't tell her to hush or ask her to stop crying, he just holds her, making her feel safe.
There's something about Rossi that is comforting. Unlike Hotch or Morgan, Rossi doesn't hesitate to touch. He'll give her a hand up, put a guiding hand on her back, touch arms or hands. None of it is sexual or sexist, it's just Rossi. He's tactile and that comes through in the ways he deals with people, how he expresses affection, how he offers comfort.
He's excellent at offering comfort, she thinks, because she'd like nothing more than to move permanently into his arms, take up residence between his neck and his shoulder, just south of his cheek against her hair. She sighs, knowing she shouldn't let her thoughts trend this way. It's not politically correct and it's certainly not smart, but she's too tired, too wrung out to analyze it or even scold herself for it. Promising herself she'll stop this when she gets back to DC, she burrows just a little closer to his solid warmth and inhales his rich, male scent.
Her tears have quieted, but he hasn't made a move to pull away. He's probably waiting for her, so, reluctantly, she begins to draw away. She feels his arms tighten briefly then loosen and he, too, pulls back. "Better?" He's bending his head to look in her eyes.
Dumbly, she nods, looking around for something to wipe her face. Rossi grabs the box of tissues from the bedside table and puts them beside her on the bed. Emily grabs a few. They're rough, institutional grade and fall apart after just a few swipes at her face.
Dave makes an impatient noise and reaches into his pocket for his handkerchief. She expects him to press the soft linen into her hand, but he tilts her chin and gently dabs at her cheeks and under her eyes. "So," he says, his tone conversational, "this is the job. We have to make hard choices sometimes." He's studying the movement of his hand across her face, not looking into her eyes. "And sometimes we don't agree on what the right decisions are."
"Yeah," she says quietly, her voice watery as she sniffs.
He frowns a little. "You're a good agent, Emily. But you're also--" He stops, takes a breath and starts over. "You're my friend. I don't think this team would function as well as it does if we didn't all care about each other. But that also means we can't be objective when one or the other of us is in danger."
Emily thinks about all of the times each of them has had a brush with an unsub, from getting treatment sitting on the bumper of an ambulance to weeks in the hospital and all the accompanying anxiety for the rest of the team. She thinks about the ranch in Colorado and how frantic she had been when the explosions started until she was able to set eyes on Reid.
"I know you're right." She looks at him, trying to be as honest as she can be without starting the fight again. "But we do dangerous jobs, we deal with the most dangerous people society has to offer and that means we're going to get banged up some."
Rossi frowns at her, tucking his handkerchief back into his pocket. "Which is exactly why we should always be prepared for every operation, take every necessary precaution."
Frustrated, she throws her head back against the pillow, wishing for a wall to bang it against instead. "You're just not going to let it go, are you? You just have to win, don't you?"
"Prentiss." His eyebrows go up and he grins. "If you're confined to a hospital bed, just out of a coma, and I can't win an argument with you, when am I ever going to?"
Despite the feeling of frustration that he's not listening, she can't help her smile. "I'm going to call it a draw and say we agreed to disagree."
He sits back in the chair and smiles wider. "And I'm going to say I won, you lost. I'm right, you're wrong and you'll be more careful in the future."
She shakes her head. "Rossi?"
"Yeah?" He looks completely pleased with himself.
"Shut up."
TBC...
Chapter 5
Author: mingsmommy
Pairing: Emily Prentiss/David Rossi
Spoilers: Everything through Season 5
Rating: FRT/PG13 (Subject to change in later chapters)
Author's Notes: This fic is wojelah's help_haiti fic. She is generous and wonderful and I am very fortunate to have her as a friend. Her prompt was "good old fashioned falling in love plus h/c." The title comes from Billy Collin's poem, Japan.
smittywing and smacky30 are Superheroes! They add commas and tell me when I'm using the semi-colon incorrectly! They tell me when things don't work and when things do! They tolerate my insecurity and threaten me when I am thinking of giving up! All in a single bound! Plus they gave me all of the best lines! Superheroes, I tell you!
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
The beep is not loud or frequent, but it is annoyingly persistent.
What did I leave in the microwave? The groggy thought passes through the fog of Emily’s brain between beeps.
Since the noise is not loud or constant enough to be her alarm, it must be her microwave reminding her she heated water for tea or maybe bumped up the temperature on a tepid cup of coffee. She tries to think back to what she was doing before she fell asleep and can't. She thinks maybe she has the flu; she feels sore all over and her throat hurts, feels like maybe a couple of the fires from Hell have relocated there.
Experimentally, she raises her eyelids and knows she's not at home, not on the plane, not even in one of the endless, anonymous, innocuous hotel rooms that she seems to spend a good chunk of her life passing through, pausing only long enough to grab a few hours of sleep and a shower. She knows it's night, but there is a light on over a sink on the opposite wall and light is bleeding in from under the door. Everything is relentlessly white and blindingly chrome even in the darkened room. She shifts a little to get a better look around and feels the tug of something against the skin of her face. Raising tentative fingers she touches a strap running along her cheek and follows it to a plastic cup covering her mouth. She forces her eyes downward and sees it's an oxygen mask.
So, hospital.
She blinks her eyes, trying to clear them of the fog and film, wishing she could blink her brain for the same reasons. Breathing deeply against the mask, she turns her head and is met with the completely unexpected sight of David Rossi asleep in the chair beside the bed. Blinking again, she takes a minute to study him; she's seen everyone on the team asleep except Rossi. When Hotch was in the hospital they all took turns sitting with him, if not in his room, then close to it and he spent a good period of that time sleeping while he recovered. The rest of the team have all sacked out on the plane on the ride home except Rossi and Hotch; they tend to do paperwork, though she's always had the feeling they're both watching over the rest of them as much as dealing with the minutia of the job.
His face is relaxed and unguarded, though she can see dark circles under his eyes. She wonders which shift this is, because she's sure the team would be taking turns sitting with her and she wonders how long she's been out.
There's a rustling movement at the door and a middle aged African-American woman walks in the room, smiling when she sees Emily's eyes are open. She's wearing pink scrub pants with a colorfully patterned scrub top, so Emily assumes she's a nurse. "Hi, there." The nurse speaks quietly as she approaches the bed, her eyes flicking quickly to the figure sleeping in the chair.
"Hi," Emily responds, her voice sounding hollow and unnatural against the heavy plastic of the mask covering her face. Frustrated, she fumbles it away from her mouth. "What happened?"
The nurse takes the mask from Emily's hand with a firm grip and puts it back in place. "Keep this on." Her tone is dry as she looks at the readout on the machine closest to Emily. "We didn't give it to you because it's a stunning fashion accessory. The doctor will be by in the morning to answer any questions you have."
Emily makes a frustrated noise behind the mask, but doesn't ignore the nurse's directive to leave the mask alone. Normally, she'd probably fight the nurse, or at least the edict, but she still feels groggy, like her brain is heavy and moving in slow motion. Her eyelids move down slowly, and she sighs as the nurse speaks again. "You're going to be fine." Emily feels a pat on her arm. "Go back to sleep. It's almost morning."
But her voice is already fading as Emily sinks back into sleep.
***
When her eyes open again, the sun is up and Hotch is the one in the chair beside the bed, frowning down at a pile of papers.
"Hotch," she tries to say, but it turns into a cough and fuck that hurts.
He stands up, his expression alarmed. "Emily. Do you need a doctor?"
She shakes her head and holds up a hand, silently asking for a minute. When she can breathe without pain, she moves the mask. "What happened?"
Hotch gives her a severe look and crosses his arms over his chest. Emily looks back defiantly, but still puts the mask back over her mouth.
"Do you remember the restaurant?" He unfolds his arms.
She starts to say, "Yes," but settles for nodding instead.
"Do you remember taking a walk afterward?" His head is tilted to the side.
She remembers walking and her dress being tight, then not being able to breathe. Did she fall? She's not sure, she just remembers hearing Morgan identifying himself as FBI to someone and Rossi's face being over hers...he had been pissed.
She nods.
"It was the chef."
Moving her hand in a forward motion, she indicates he should continue.
"When you collapsed, he was right there, waiting to offer to take you to the hospital. Only it wasn't supposed to be you. He'd put Rohypnol in the Black Forest cake, thinking he was drugging Morgan. The dosage would have made Morgan dizzy, then he'd have passed out. But it was an overdose for you; you suffered from respiratory arrest. Dave did mouth to mouth until the bus got there and they were able to bag you."
"When?" she asks, still frustrated with the distortion caused by the mask.
"Two nights ago." His face softens at her expression. "You were on a ventilator until last night; they had to keep you sedated after they pumped your stomach."
The stomach pumping and the ventilator both explain the pain in her throat. She touches the oxygen mask.
He seems to sense her question. "Just until your oxygen levels even out. You'll probably be rid of it in a few hours."
"Unsub?" Emily decides full sentences are only going to highlight any communication problems.
"We got him." Hotch pulls the recliner closer to the bed, sitting after angling it so it's easier for her to see his face. "His home was full of trophies and he took pictures. Morgan's been trying to get a confession. Nothing so far, but we really don't need it."
"Stressor?" she questions after taking a breath, feeling a little like Darth Vader.
He shakes his head. "No clue so far. He hasn't asked for an attorney, but he's also not talking."
Giving him an expectant look, she makes the "gimme" motion again.
"The first couple lived next door to him. The others he appears to have seen at Chrysanthemum. Our best guess is he used the gun to threaten them into submission at first, but when word got out about mixed race couples being targeted, they started fighting and he had to change his method. That also explains the gaps in the timeline."
Emily nods her agreement.
"We're thinking he drugged the men at the restaurant...because they all weighed more than you, it probably didn't happen as quickly or as severely as in your case. The men start to feel ill or pass out and the women panic. He's there offering a quick ride to the hospital and he's got them in the van."
It's all fairly elementary from there she knows. Once the couple is in the unsub's van he's in control. And though toxicology had been run in all of autopsies, if he kept them alive for three days, then the Rohypnol would be out of their system before the bodies were found.
Hotch gives her a grim smile. "He only works Thursday thru Saturday."
It's circumstantial but with any evidence from his house, plus her own blood tests, it will be more than enough.
He looks at her, his expression a mixture of things she can't name. "It was good work, Prentiss. I wouldn't have had it turn out like that, and thank God it wasn't worse, but your instincts were good on this one."
Emily wants to smile, not at the praise - though praise from Hotch always makes her want to preen - but because he always delivers his kudos with such a severe look on his face. She's sort of curious as to what the reasoning behind the ultra serious look is. Next time the team goes drinking, she's going to ask him. But, in the meantime, there's someone who didn't think her work was so good. "Rossi?"
Hotch gives a grim smile. "He doesn't think your work was quite as sharp as the rest of us do."
She nods a little sadly.
"Emily," he says, "he feels guilty. He thinks if he'd followed his gut and yelled at me until I called it off, you wouldn't be in the hospital." He purses his lips. "Speaking of guilt? Morgan feels awful about the dessert switch. He's been fighting Rossi to stay with you."
Rolling her eyes, Emily huffs, causing a burst of fog against the surface of the mask. She can just imagine those two alpha males going head to head over who would be the best caretaker and guardian; she's glad she missed it. Then she remembers the sight of Rossi asleep in the recliner beside the bed during the night and she's grateful Hotch is stuffing the pile of papers back in his briefcase and doesn't see the flush she can feel heating her cheeks.
"You're on medical leave until you're cleared for work. If there are no complications you should be out of the hospital tomorrow." He hesitates and she knows she's not going to like what he's about to say. "The doctor here has been in touch with your primary care physician. They're in agreement that you should stay for a day or two after your release to avoid complications."
"Oh." He doesn't have to say the rest. The team can't stay, she knows that. She swallows against a surge of disappointment and loneliness. She'll be fine, she knows. Charleston is a beautiful city and a few days resting in a hotel in a beautiful city will be good for her. It's a chance to catch up on some reading, maybe even some movies. It'll be good, she tells herself.
"We're heading back this afternoon." He seems a little diffident.
"Hotch, it's fine." She's forgotten about the oxygen mask momentarily and she can't even understand her own words.
Frustrated, she moves the mask and repeats, "It's fine," then puts the mask back.
"Prentiss." His voice is severe, and she sort of feels sorry for Jack if he's on the receiving end of that often.
She gives him an innocent look that clearly says, what? I put it back.
He's frowning at her, but there's no heat to it and she smiles at him under the mask as he begins speaking again. "Rossi said he'd like to stay and fly back with you at the end of the week."
"What?" She knows her expression must clearly convey what her voice can't at the moment.
Hotch shrugs. "He has to use up some of his leave or lose it. He said he's always wanted to visit Charleston."
Emily is struggling to sit up in the bed and goes for the mask again when Hotch holds up a hand. "Prentiss." She drops her hand. "Emily. We're not going to leave you here by yourself."
His eyebrows are curved into sideways question marks over his eyes. "You do realize you almost died less than forty-eight hours ago? Do you honestly think any of us would feel good about leaving you here alone? If it was Morgan in this bed instead of you, would you get on the jet this afternoon?"
He's right. She relaxes back against the bed. There is no question, no doubt. She would stay for Morgan, for any of them, if it meant carrying them back to Quantico on her back. She nods.
Hotch, looking significantly less tense now that she appears to be more accepting of the situation, smiles at her. "I'll try to get Dave not too be too big of a pill after the first few I told you sos." She has the impression he is trying very hard not to laugh at her.
It's fairly horrifying, she decides, the idea of being completely at David Rossi's mercy, having to listen to the non-stop haranguing from him. "Can't Strauss come stay with me instead?"
Hotch's lips twitch. "I'm sure I didn't understand what you just said. But if..." Emily never gets to hear what gem he was about to offer since a doctor (well, she's assuming from the white coat and stethoscope he's a doctor) and a young blond nurse (wearing an almost identical outfit to the one the nurse last night was wearing) enter the room and Hotch excuses himself to let the doctor examine her. Pronounced as "doing remarkably well," she is allowed to remove the oxygen mask. Which is a very good thing, she decides, since she doesn't want to go into battle with Rossi hampered by the inability to yell back. The doctor says if everything continues to go well she'll be out of the hospital by the middle of the next day and home by the weekend.
Hotch comes back in after the doctor leaves. She's tired and she knows it must show on her face, because of the gentle expression on his own. Sitting in the chair again, he moves his briefcase out of the way and tells her she should rest. He even jokes about not having the oxygen mask to keep her quiet anymore. He speaks to her quietly about inconsequential things, the weather in South Carolina, sights she might see, the entire team having sworn off dessert.
She's smiling when she sleeps.
***
She's alone when she wakes again and she has to breathe through a flash of panic until she hears voices in the hall outside her door. She can't really make out what they're saying, but she hears the contrast of Morgan's rich tones with Reid's higher pitch.
There's an untouched food tray on the bed table and the room is brighter, the light a little more golden and she thinks it's probably afternoon. She has the disconcerting sensation of being a little removed from time and space. Hotch said she'd been brought to the hospital two nights ago, so that makes today Monday. But she has no idea what time it is, how long she's slept, what was going on in the world in the time she's been unconscious.
She ought to feel concerned by that, but she finds she just doesn't care that much. Taking stock, she realizes her throat still hurts, but other than the low-grade muscle aches, that is the only indication she has that anything is wrong physically. But there's a lingering lethargy clinging to her like a film. Having the next few days to rest sounds very appealing and, despite the fact he is going to give her a rash of shit, she enjoys Rossi's company. He's interesting to talk to, he's fun to go places with, and he always seems to find the best food and the best wine. There's also something easy about being with him when there's nothing to do. They've spent plenty of time on the jet side by side, both talking and not. There's a quiet acceptance she feels with him that she's never felt with anyone else she’s worked with and, truth be told, she's felt it less than a handful of times with anyone in her life.
It'll be good, she decides. Once Rossi finishes handing her her ass, it might even be fun.
The door to her room opens slowly and Morgan leans his head in. "Hey." He looks very somber. "Feel like some company for a few minutes?"
She grins and responds cheerfully. "I would love some company."
He walks in carrying a ridiculously large vase of flowers.
"God, Morgan." She chokes out a laugh. "Did you buy out the florist?"
"Hey, now." He puts the flowers on the small table beside the bed and stands, looking down at her. "You had us worried there for awhile; looking into your bright eyes is worth a few blooms."
Emily shakes her head against the pillow. "I'm fine." She's seen him polite, angry, concerned, joking, questioning and frustrated, but she's never seen such a look of such unadulterated seriousness on his face. "Derek." She captures his hand. "I am fine."
"But you almost weren't." It's flat and serious.
"Almost doesn't really count here, does it?" She gives his hand a little shake as though she can shake the belief into him. "Everything turned out all right."
"It was meant for me. If I hadn't made you switch desserts, I would have been the one that got drugged." This look she knows, she's sadly seen it on his face before: remorse.
Scooting up higher against the headboard as best she can, Emily sighs and decides to take a page from Hotch's book. "Morgan, can you imagine how I would have felt if it had been you? The whole thing was my idea. The guilt would have eaten me alive."
"If it had been me it would have knocked me out, not taken me out." His eyebrows climb to emphasize his point.
"But it didn't take me out." She's searching for the control to the bed and reminding herself not to get frustrated. "I'm fine."
Morgan drops into the recliner, but sits on the edge. "Only because Rossi was paying attention. He left the car before the unsub showed himself. If he hadn't figured out you weren't breathing and started giving you mouth-to-mouth, you would have died."
"I'm grateful to Rossi, but I'm also pretty confident one of you would have figured it out, even if he hadn't." Her tone is a little dry. She doesn't want to minimize what happened or be dismissive of Morgan's anxiety, but they've all had advanced first aid and know that checking respiration is one of the first things to do. Besides, even if by some fluke every one of them forgot what first aid they know, there's a genius amongst them and he, at least, would have figured it out.
Morgan's shoulders sag a little. "I know." He sounds glum. "But I still feel like crap."
Laughing a little, she finally finds the correct button and manages to raise herself so she's more sitting than reclining. "It was my call, I'm ultimately responsible." She gives him a cheeky grin. "Maybe next time just order something you're sure you know what it is. How can you not like cherries?"
His lip quirks up slightly. "Cherries are nasty."
"Oh, my god, no! You're so wrong." She holds up a hand in mock horror. "Cherries are perfect and wonderful. And that cake was amazing. With the exception of that whole drugging thing, it was the best dessert I've ever had."
He shakes his head. "There is something just not right about you, Prentiss." His hands are on his knees and his look switches back to serious. "I owe you."
Emily waves a hand airily. "I'll take that out in paperwork."
His smile is wide enough this time to flash his teeth. "I knew you'd find a way to exact revenge."
"I am merely trying to alleviate your guilt." She widens her eyes and bats her eyelashes a few times for good measure.
He sighs, acting put upon. "Fine. I'll do your paperwork for a week."
"A week?" She huffs. "My life is only worth a week of paperwork to you? I am hurt." Moving the back of her hand to her forehead in the classic position of melodrama, she sniffs. "Devastated actually..."
His eyes narrow to slits. "You're pushing it, Prentiss."
"Never happy." Shaking her head, she smiles at him. "Buy me a cup of coffee my first day back and we'll call it even."
"Deal," he agrees.
The door swings inward as Reid backs into the room, carrying two very full cups of coffee.
"Spencer Reid, did you read my mind?" Emily greets him happily, glad the heavy moment with Morgan is over. "You will be my hero forever if you tell me one of those is for me."
"Sure." He hands her one of the cups and she feels the heat radiating through the cardboard. "You can have Derek's."
"Hey!" Morgan really does sound indignant and Emily thinks today just might not be his day when Reid hands him the other cup with a smile.
"Thanks, Reid." She adjusts the cup to a more comfortable position, reaching out to drag the tray table towards her, then setting the cup beside the untouched food tray. "I didn't take yours did I?" She's already thumbing off the plastic lid and inhaling the aroma and she really hopes she didn't take his, because she doesn't want to be polite and give it back.
"No, I've had enough for today." He stuffs his hands into his pockets and rocks on his feet. "Yours has already been sweetened with approximately two and a half packets of Splenda, since that cup is almost two and a half times the volume of your mug at work."
Emily smiles as she blows across the top of the coffee. "Thank you, Reid."
Reid smiles at her a little shyly and rocks on his feet again. It's one of his tells, he rocks when he's nervous or excited. "I'm really glad you're okay."
Emily smiles at him, genuinely touched. "Thanks." She takes a cautious sip of the hot coffee. "Me, too."
"You're just glad it's not you in the hospital this time," Morgan says accusingly.
"There is that," Reid agrees good-naturedly. "But I see you've managed to leave her food alone." He lifts the lid on the tray to reveal a bowl of what Emily assumes is soup, a cup of what looks like apple sauce and another of jello.
Morgan snorts. "I just got here. It's not like Rossi let anyone else stay long enough to get hungry. I'm surprised he let Hotch take over this morning."
Emily doesn't know what to do with that bit of information. When she'd been awake during the night and seen him asleep she had assumed it was his turn to sit with her, not that he was taking the lion's share of the time. It didn't really make sense considering how mad he'd been at her. She tucks the knowledge away to process later when she's not distracted by Reid and Morgan.
Reid picks up the spoon and pushes the bowl of soup---beef broth from the smell of it---towards Emily. "You should eat. You were unconscious for over thirty-six hours, which is a long time to go without nourishment." He holds out the spoon and gives her a tentative smile. "The first meal is always designed to be as innocuous as possible."
Reluctantly, she puts the coffee cup down; she misses the warmth as soon as she releases the cup, but she knows what Reid's not saying. If she doesn't at least put a dent in a meal it will push back her release from the hospital; not to mention what drinking a giant cup of coffee on an empty stomach would do to her. With a sigh she accepts the spoon and removes the lid from the bowl and begins sipping the tepid broth.
"Did Hotch tell you we're headed back?" Morgan looks a little sheepish.
"Yeah." She swallows, noting the slightly pained, uncomfortable look on Reid's face. "Suckers. I'll be down here soaking up the southern sun while you're slogging away at your desks."
Thankfully, Reid smiles a little but Morgan shifts in the chair. "It feels a little bit like we're leaving a man behind."
She shakes her head. "Seriously, Morgan. It'll be more like a vacation than anything."
"I get smacked in the head with a shovel and have to retake a tactical defense course," JJ says coming through the door, Emily's go bag in her hand. "You eat cake and get a vacation. How is that fair?" She drops the bag and bends over the bed to give Emily a hug that is slightly awkward due to the angle.
"JJ, you have to know how to work the system." Emily grins. "Besides, the team can do without me for a few days. But you?" She shakes her head. "You are indispensable."
JJ sighs dramatically. "Makes me wish I wasn't quite so good at my job."
"Yeah, you should work on slacking off and screwing up more," Morgan says from the chair.
"I could say something about copying your work ethic, but you might take it the right way," she returns dryly.
"Ow." He winces as Reid snorts. "We need to get you home. You get mean when you've been without your men too long."
JJ nods. "That is the plan. Wheels up at three o’clock. In the meantime, why don't the two of you clear out for a minute and let me help Emily into some more comfortable pajamas. You can come back when she's changed." Her fingers flick the sleeve of Emily's hospital gown. "Not that it isn't simply gorgeous..."
"Hey, you don't know what I had to do to get this outfit," Emily says as Reid and Morgan move out the door.
Looking amused, JJ bends to retrieve Emily's bag. "The little black dress was a lot more flattering."
Emily heaves a happy sigh and swings her legs around the side of the bed. "That is the perfect dress."
Looking a little chagrined, JJ unzips Emily's bag and offers it to her. "It was the perfect dress."
Pawing through the contents of her go bag, Emily frowns. "What do you mean 'was'?"
JJ watches as Emily pulls out a pair of red and black plaid pajama pants and a red t-shirt. "They had to cut it off of you."
Hearing she had been in respiratory arrest hadn't given Emily pause until now. "Seriously?"
"Yeah." JJ nods. "I mean, not on the street or anything. Just, after you were brought up here, they gave Hotch your personal possessions and the dress was basically two scraps of black material." She gives Emily her best "mom" look. "The situation was fairly urgent."
Emily nods, scooting towards the edge of the bed. "I gathered. Shame about the dress though."
JJ helps her stand. "One of the detectives at the police station suggested it was too dangerous to be on the street anyway. Though I think he used more colorful language than that."
Emily snorts then breathes through a moment of light-headedness as she finds herself standing. JJ has a steadying hand on her arm as Emily contemplates the logistics of changing clothes while not quite steady on her feet. "I bet that went over well with Hotch."
"Every bit as well as you'd imagine." Hotch likes to keep a good working relationship with the local forces, but he also doesn't tolerate any disrespect from anyone towards any member of the team. "I thought Rossi was going to punch the guy." She smiles fondly. "I'm always glad Rossi is on our side."
Emily doesn't comment as she half stands, half leans on the bed as she puts the pajama pants over first one foot, then the other.
JJ is busy undoing the back closures of the hospital gown. "Garcia wants you to call her, by the way. She was frantic; I think she's hacked the hospital's system a dozen times since Saturday night." She hands Emily her t-shirt over her shoulder. "If you find yourself with upgraded tv channels or prescription linens or something, you know who to thank."
Emily pulls the shirt over her head, laughing a little. "I'll call her in a little bit." Grabbing her toothbrush and toothpaste out of the bag, she moves away from the bed, but then has to stop as she sways a little.
"Good." JJ offers her an arm and helps her to the small bathroom. "Yell if you need help."
Glad for both the help and the privacy, Emily doesn't lock the door since she does feel surprisingly wobbly. She uses the facilities, washes her hands, then studies her reflection as she brushes her teeth. She's pale, more so than usual, even her lips look lighter than usual and the skin under her eyes is so dark it almost looks like bruising. Her hair, surprisingly, is no worse than her average bed head, but still not a sight for public consumption. Either someone washed her face while she was unconscious or all of her make-up wore completely off and since it's been over a day and a half, it really could be either one. There's a bit of adhesive on her cheek, gray and tacky; she knows its probably residual from the ventilator tube but she hates the feel of it against her skin. The truth is she hates the way she looks altogether.
I need to get some make-up on before Rossi gets back, she thinks, then she stops, spits toothpaste froth in the sink and wonders why it matters. Morgan and Reid have both seen her, Hotch was here this morning, she can't have looked much better then. Why should she care if Rossi sees her looking so...awful? "Don't do this to yourself, Prentiss," she tells her reflection firmly.
"You okay, Emily?" JJ calls through the door. "Do you need something?"
"Just a little horrified at how I look." She shakes her head at herself, but continues anyway. "Could you get my make-up clutch out of my go bag? And my brush?"
"Sure," JJ says cheerfully. "Though really, Emily? You were given a near lethal overdose two days ago. Nobody cares how you look, as long as you're here."
"Well, I need to make myself look a little less like the corpse I almost was." Emily winces at her pallid reflection as she finishes brushing her teeth, tapping the toothbrush against the porcelain to shake to excess water from the bristles. Then she runs the folded washcloth under the water, squeezing out the excess as she hears JJ approach the bathroom door.
She knocks lightly and Emily opens the door and leaves it open. JJ leans her shoulder against the door jamb and watches her friend's reflection as she runs the damp cloth over her face. "You are pretty lucky, you know."
Emily smiles. "I know." She puts the washcloth aside and unzips her make-up bag, rooting around in it, using touch instead of sight to locate her moisturizer. "It drives my mother crazy, how often I've been hurt doing this job. I think she always manages to be in town right after I've been involved in an incident. She likes to rail about me being unlucky because of all the bumps and bruises."
Pulling out the frosted glass bottle, she pumps some of the cream across her fingertips then rubs her fingertips gently across her face. "But I don't really see it that way. The people we deal with are dangerous. Volatile." Reaching into the bag again, she finds her foundation and sponge. Working quickly, she dots the foundation on her cheeks, her chin, her forehead, then begins daubing at the dots with her sponge.
"I really think we're all extraordinarily lucky as many close calls as we've had, we haven't lost anyone." Emily doesn't mention Gideon's name. Even if he's not with them any more, he's somewhere out there in the world; hopefully, he's happy and if he won't allow himself to be happy, she at least hopes he finds moments of peace. She meets JJ's eyes in the mirror. "Do you know how lucky I feel it was me and not Morgan? Or how lucky we are the killer chose us?"
JJ nods and gives a soft smile to Emily's reflection. "When I was pregnant with Henry, I kept wondering how I was going to see all the things we see and come home to a baby. I honestly wasn't sure I'd be back after my maternity leave. But when he got here?" She raises her eyes to meet Emily's in the mirror. "It actually made me more committed to the work we do. I have to do this job so his world will be a better, safer place."
Emily nods in understanding as she reaches for her eyeliner. "Yeah." She thinks that's part of the reason Hotch came back to work, why he keeps going, even after all the job cost him, he keeps doing the job for Jack.
"I think you're right, we're all lucky." JJ's eyebrows raise. "Though I don't know how lucky you're going to feel when Rossi gets through chewing on you."
Heaving a sigh, Emily tosses down the eye pencil. "I know." Studying her reflection, she realizes she's still pale but her complexion is even and the eyeliner makes her eyes look less sickly. While she's not fully made up, she decides this is sufficient. She looks better and there's no need for the full treatment. As long as no one, Rossi her traitorous mind supplies, runs screaming from the room she'll call it a win. Besides, she's had about all the time on her feet she's interested in.
JJ helps her back to bed and, while Emily is fussing with the covers, goes to the door to tell the guys they can come back in. Morgan and Reid are followed by Hotch and Rossi who evidently arrived while Emily was applying her make-up. She does everything she can not to keep looking at Rossi, trying instead to concentrate on Reid's monologue about the historic significance of Charleston. "It was originally named Charlestown for Charles II of England who gave the land of the Carolinas to eight of his friends after the Restoration. Because of its importance as a port and it's placement along the coast it was a pivotal piece of geography in both the Revolutionary and Civil Wars."
Morgan claps him on the shoulder. "Wheels up this afternoon, kid. We don't have time for you to go over two wars with Emily."
JJ checks her watch and grimaces. "Yeah, we should really head towards the air strip now."
Morgan kisses Emily’s forehead and JJ kisses her cheek. Reid stands at the foot of her bed and gives her his Reid-wave and a shy smile. Hotch looks at her seriously. "If you need anything let us know. We'll see you both when you get back." She nods and Hotch and Rossi shake hands, then the team is out the door, their voices trailing down the hall.
The silence in the room is like a living thing when Rossi turns and looks at her. "How are you feeling?"
"Um." She huffs out a small laugh. "It seems really stupid to say after being asleep for a day and a half, but, tired."
He nods. "That's natural. Your system is still recovering from the respiratory arrest plus all the drugs have to be lingering."
She looks at him standing at the foot of her bed, hands on his hips beneath his jacket, looking serious, but not quite as pissed off as everyone has led her to believe. "Rossi."
"Yeah?" Okay, there was an edge to that. Maybe he's angrier than he appears.
"Dave." She looks down, then back up. "I know you weren't happy about us going into that restaurant." Pausing for a moment, she can't help but interpret the look he's given her as no shit and she loses a little of her nerve, but she makes herself push on. "I just wanted to say thank you for, um, saving my life."
An eyebrow curves in her direction. "So you think because I was pissed off about the operation that I was going to let you lay on the street and die?"
"That's not what I said." It's amazing how fast he can whip up her temper.
"That seems to be the inference if you're thanking me for something anyone would have done whether they knew you or not." His words are relatively even but his expression is stormy. "A stranger on the street would have given you help."
"Oh my god, Rossi." The team can't even have cleared the hospital entrance yet. If she had any idea where her cell phone was, she'd call them to come get either her or Rossi because it definitely isn't a good idea for them to even be in the same state at the moment, much less the same room. "And if a stranger on the street had given me help, I would thank them, too." His face clears a bit at that, but she's still irked. "Just because you didn't get your way, you don't have to be such a baby."
His head snaps back and the black look is back. "It wasn't about getting my way, Prentiss. It's about your complete disregard for proper procedure when you're hellbent on something."
"Where is your phone?" she snaps.
"What?" Now he looks both perplexed and pissed.
"Your phone. Where is it? Because I think you need to call the kettle and tell it it's black."
He blows out a breath and finally drops his hands off his hips. "There is a difference, here. Did it ever occur to you that maybe I have more experience in the field than you and that it might give me a better idea about what could be a dangerous situation?"
The level of fury she's feeling has her shaking and underneath the ire is hurt; he's never treated her like she was a green agent. There has been a time or two when he'd seemed to think she'd let emotion overrule common sense, and she's always proved him wrong. But he has never once, not even in those first months back with the BAU when his arrogance rivaled his skill, intimated he thought her abilities were lacking. She makes a frustrated, angry noise. "Look, it's not like I'm fresh out of the Academy with no training or experience." Refraining from adding asshole takes all of her willpower.
He presses his hands to the footboard of the bed, leaning toward her aggressively. "I didn't say you were. What I said was I have more experience than you and that might make me better able to see when an operation is too dangerous."
While his voice is calm, she feels a little like she's been slapped. "Or maybe you're a control freak who gets pissy when you don't get your way."
His mouth tightens, but he nods. "Maybe I am. But that doesn't change the fact that the operation was too dangerous and should never have happened."
"It was a success! We caught the guy." She shoves her hand through her hair, pushing it back from her face.
"At what cost, Emily?" His eyes are blazing and he's gripping the footboard tightly. "We would have caught him eventually. You never had to put yourself in danger."
Bunching the sheet in her fist, she speaks slowly, each word filled with outrage. "He was a serial killer looking for his next victims. He was hunting--"
"No." He shakes his head. "You provided him with an opportunity to hunt."
"So, you honestly think it would have been better to risk the lives of some other couple than go through with that?" She makes an incredulous noise. "Rossi, you're wrong."
"Tell that to someone who didn't have to watch you fall on the street or wait for you to breathe," he snarls. "Tell it to someone who didn't have to listen to the EMTs say they were losing you or watch you on that ventilator."
He straightens and his eyes are overly bright, maybe a little moist. "When you've watched somebody you care about...a team member, a friend, almost die because they took an unnecessary risk, then you can tell me I'm wrong." When he raises his hand to point an accusing finger at her she sees his hand is shaking slightly. "Don't tell me I'm wrong when you didn't have to watch that. Jesus, Emily," his voice is raw, "do you not get how close you came to dying? Do you think I...any of us, could have moved on after that?"
It hits her then; he's not being arrogant, he's not being patronizing, he doesn't doubt her as an agent. He's simply looking for a convenient outlet for his fear turned to anger and frustration; he really only has one goal: keep the team safe and whole at all costs.
She's a woman in a field dominated by men and she was raised not to show her emotions. Not that she never cries, but when she needs to she does so in private and certainly never at work. Still, it's been a rough few days and she's physically exhausted and emotionally drained. All she's had to eat in forty hours is coffee and beef broth. Everything prior to that was pumped out of her stomach.
And Rossi is standing here yelling at her, not because he's angry but because he was scared. The worst part, of course, is that he's not wrong. She doesn't think she's wrong either; she thinks it was the right thing to go in and draw the killer out, possibly save two unknown lives. It's part of the job, often having to choose the lesser of two evils, but she does know, does understand, how devastating it would have been for all of them if things had been worse.
Swallowing hard, she tries to stop the trembling of her mouth and blink back her tears, but it doesn't work. Biting her lip, she blinks harder, only that makes the tears roll out of her eyes. Bringing a shaking hand to her face she wipes them away viciously, but they're replaced immediately by more. She wants to tell Rossi to leave, but she knows him. Hell, he's Rossi, he's not leaving until he decides he's going. So she just stares at him, tears falling, but chin set defiantly.
She sees the moment he absorbs that she's crying. His anger falls away and his expression softens. It's not that she's expressing her emotions or the feeling she's showing weakness when crying that she hates the most. It's this, the impact it has on other people, men especially; it feels like she's taking advantage, using an unfair weapon and she fucking hates it.
If they’re going to fight, she wants to fight fair. Though Rossi probably wouldn’t feel the same way; he probably fights to win, never mind fair.
"Emily," he says softly.
"Oh, no," she says, swiping at her eyes again, proud that there's no discernible wobble to her voice. "Don't you dare stop just because I'm crying."
He moves around to her side. "What if I'm stopping because I'm being an asshole?" Tentative fingers touch her arm.
"When has that ever stopped you before?" she sniffs as he sits on the edge of the bed facing her.
Rossi barks out a laugh then puts a gentle hand on her hair, moving over the top of her head. "You're just gonna have to forgive me for being an asshole. I was scared, Emily. We all were." His hand is large and warm as it continues to stroke across the top of her head. "You were there in that dress and you were so pale and you weren't breathing. It was like some sort of fucked up version of Snow White."
Snorting through her tears, she crumples the bed sheet in her hand. Even though he's not yelling at her any more, she doesn't seem able to stop crying. It's natural, she supposes. Events are catching up to her and reaction finally setting in. It actually has very little to do with Rossi chewing her out. "Sorry," she says on a shuddering breath, pulling a corner of the sheet up to wipe her eyes.
"Emily." He pulls her forward a little. "C'mere."
It's easy to let him wrap his arms around her in a gentle hug, tuck her head between his neck and shoulder and just let herself cry. His hands warm a path up and down her back and he doesn't tell her to hush or ask her to stop crying, he just holds her, making her feel safe.
There's something about Rossi that is comforting. Unlike Hotch or Morgan, Rossi doesn't hesitate to touch. He'll give her a hand up, put a guiding hand on her back, touch arms or hands. None of it is sexual or sexist, it's just Rossi. He's tactile and that comes through in the ways he deals with people, how he expresses affection, how he offers comfort.
He's excellent at offering comfort, she thinks, because she'd like nothing more than to move permanently into his arms, take up residence between his neck and his shoulder, just south of his cheek against her hair. She sighs, knowing she shouldn't let her thoughts trend this way. It's not politically correct and it's certainly not smart, but she's too tired, too wrung out to analyze it or even scold herself for it. Promising herself she'll stop this when she gets back to DC, she burrows just a little closer to his solid warmth and inhales his rich, male scent.
Her tears have quieted, but he hasn't made a move to pull away. He's probably waiting for her, so, reluctantly, she begins to draw away. She feels his arms tighten briefly then loosen and he, too, pulls back. "Better?" He's bending his head to look in her eyes.
Dumbly, she nods, looking around for something to wipe her face. Rossi grabs the box of tissues from the bedside table and puts them beside her on the bed. Emily grabs a few. They're rough, institutional grade and fall apart after just a few swipes at her face.
Dave makes an impatient noise and reaches into his pocket for his handkerchief. She expects him to press the soft linen into her hand, but he tilts her chin and gently dabs at her cheeks and under her eyes. "So," he says, his tone conversational, "this is the job. We have to make hard choices sometimes." He's studying the movement of his hand across her face, not looking into her eyes. "And sometimes we don't agree on what the right decisions are."
"Yeah," she says quietly, her voice watery as she sniffs.
He frowns a little. "You're a good agent, Emily. But you're also--" He stops, takes a breath and starts over. "You're my friend. I don't think this team would function as well as it does if we didn't all care about each other. But that also means we can't be objective when one or the other of us is in danger."
Emily thinks about all of the times each of them has had a brush with an unsub, from getting treatment sitting on the bumper of an ambulance to weeks in the hospital and all the accompanying anxiety for the rest of the team. She thinks about the ranch in Colorado and how frantic she had been when the explosions started until she was able to set eyes on Reid.
"I know you're right." She looks at him, trying to be as honest as she can be without starting the fight again. "But we do dangerous jobs, we deal with the most dangerous people society has to offer and that means we're going to get banged up some."
Rossi frowns at her, tucking his handkerchief back into his pocket. "Which is exactly why we should always be prepared for every operation, take every necessary precaution."
Frustrated, she throws her head back against the pillow, wishing for a wall to bang it against instead. "You're just not going to let it go, are you? You just have to win, don't you?"
"Prentiss." His eyebrows go up and he grins. "If you're confined to a hospital bed, just out of a coma, and I can't win an argument with you, when am I ever going to?"
Despite the feeling of frustration that he's not listening, she can't help her smile. "I'm going to call it a draw and say we agreed to disagree."
He sits back in the chair and smiles wider. "And I'm going to say I won, you lost. I'm right, you're wrong and you'll be more careful in the future."
She shakes her head. "Rossi?"
"Yeah?" He looks completely pleased with himself.
"Shut up."
TBC...
Chapter 5