Waiting for the Storm to Break Part 3
Title: Waiting for the Storm to Break (part 3)
Author: Louisa and Tamoline
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: X-Men/Criminal Minds
Pairing: Emily Prentiss/Emma Frost
This is part of a story in a sequence Intersecting Trajectories. Links to the rest can be found in this post:
Masterpost
There's a storm coming, building up inside Emily. The only question is: when it breaks, will she shatter with it?
JJ catches me as I'm leaving work, dragging me into a secluded spot. At one time, this would have made my heart beat faster, whether from anxiety or from something else. Now it just reminds me of something one of the other women in my life might have done, and it twists the knife a little harder.
"Hey," she says, the word soft, questioning. It's an opening; a prelude. She obviously wants something from me. I just don't know what that is yet.
"Hey," I reply in turn, but the word is a little more clipped coming from me. It's not that I want to rebuff her -- it's the most friendly she's been with me since... But I'm just not sure how much I have left to give. I'm worn, bloody, needing to lick my wounds.
I need to not be here.
"So, how long have you known?" She doesn't need to elaborate. It's obvious what she's referring to, though her reason for thinking that I was on the inside scoop isn't. I wasn't *aware* I had that kind of a reputation.
Not for a while.
So I shrug. "Today. Just like the rest of the office."
"Oh," she says, her face falling a little. "I thought... You've been closed off recently." Her voice holds more sympathy than I could have imagined after recent events. "I thought this might be the reason why."
Her words drive a fresh spike of pain through me. Before I know it, before I can stop it from happening, words burst from my lips. "Emma left me seven days ago. To go back to her boyfriend."
It hurts and it hurts and I *still* can't cry, can't achieve release. I can't even focus on JJ as she says, "I'm sorry. I didn't know..."
"I'm sorry, too," I force out. "Sorry I haven't been able to give you more..." I make a small, abortive gesture with one hand as I try to explain. Reaching out? Pushing away? Even I don't know. If I was thinking clearly I could put this better, but I can't. I just can't. "You deserve so much more of my suffering for what I did to you, but I just don't have anything left to give you. I'm sorry."
Silence.
When I look up, JJ's face greets me with thin lips and a tight expression. Finally she says, "I swear you are *the* most infuriating woman..." She stops again, clearly making herself take a deep, calming breath before continuing. "There is absolutely no way I can talk to you about this right now, and have it go somewhere good. But don't think that this conversation is over." On that note, she turns on her heel, striding quickly away from me before I can even begin to formulate a response. Not quite a storm, but definitely not just a breeze.
I can't think of this now. It's too much.
One part of me can't help but be disgusted at my weakness, that I allowed anyone the ability to do this to me *again*. But that feeling is still a distant second place to the cold despair that's settling inside me, weighing me down. It's getting stronger though, day by day, an old friend returning. It feels oddly right, and that's just wrong.
I need to go on a hunt. Maybe, if I succeed, everything will be clearer in the morning.
After all, tomorrow is another day.
Rght?
The heat of the club is stifling after the cold night air. I can feel myself starting to melt, my resolve draining out of me as the sweat pours from my skin. I feel breathless, like there isn't enough oxygen in the air I'm breathing. Maybe this was a bad idea. But I square my shoulders, and make myself head into the crowded interior. Part of me -- a large part -- wants to turn around and run for the dubious comfort of my hotel room. It's at least partly stubbornness that keeps me moving forward, into the throng.
I try to lose myself in the music, but the pounding bass line batters my ear drums and makes my stomach roil uneasily. Every brush of someone's body against mine makes my hackles raise. The inescapable babble of voices sets my teeth on edge. None of these are good signs.
It's too hot in here, too crowded. Too loud.
Too much.
And yet, I need this with an intensity bordering on physical pain. I need to hunt. I need to find the release it brings me. I need to regain the equilibrium I lost when *she* knocked my world off its axis.
I take a deep, unfulfilling breath, trying to compartmentalise. Push the discomfort away, bring desire to the fore. Lock away all the baggage that's weighing me down. Head up, shoulders back, eyes forward. Fake the confidence I usually don't even have to think about.
I'm as ready as I'll ever be...
...Which, it turns out, isn’t nearly ready enough.
Oh, the night is filled with music and dancing and ladies romancing. Just not for me.
It's an hour or so down the line and my hunt -- such as it was -- seems to have ground to a halt.
I'm the same as I've always been, and I've always been popular here, so why aren't I getting so much as an interested glance tonight?
Eau de Desperation. Not a turn on in anyone's book, and not a scent I'm accustomed to wearing.
But I can't seem to find it in myself to care.
I should be putting my mask back on, putting myself out there. Instead, I'm sitting by myself at the bar, knocking back the latest of probably too many drinks in an effort to numb myself enough to go and get what I need.
It's not working.
I drain the last of the drink I don't really want, then raise my hand to signal the bartender for another.
"Let me get this one."
The voice is familiar, even through the alcohol buzz. Despite the way my gut clenches, I school my features into just the right kind of smile -- generically pleasant, but not too friendly -- and look up at the speaker.
"Fancy meeting you here."
She smiles back with what looks like genuine happiness. "Hi Emily. How have you been?"
Heartbroken. Or maybe just plain broken. Not that I have any intention of saying that aloud.
"Fine, thanks. You?"
"I'm good, thank you." She pulls up a stool beside me.
"You look good," I say, unthinkingly. As soon as the words are out of my mouth I want to cringe, to hide, to bolt without looking back. She does look good, all raven hair and smooth, olive skin. Her eyes are a rich brown, so dark they're almost black, and they're looking at me with frank appreciation.
"Thanks," she says, dimpling a little. "So do you."
"Thank you." What else can I say?
"So, about that drink...?"
I open my mouth to say no, thank you; to make some excuse or other. Instead, I hear myself say: "Thanks. I'll have a double vodka tonic."
This will not end well.
As I gently drift into unwelcome consciousness, I become aware that I'm definitely still a little drunk from the night before.
"Emma," I murmur at the back in front of me. How could you let me do this to myself?
But that isn't Emma.
It's never going to be Emma again.
The tousled dark hair on the pillow in front of me seems vaguely familiar, even in my current state.
Mona.
Crap.
How could I be here? Last night after a certain point is a complete blur.
How could I let this happen? I don't get this drunk, not anymore.
How could I do this to her? Again? It was like a bad dream before when I had to tell her I really wasn't interested in more than a one night stand.
Can I do that again? I'm broken, so very broken, shards lying on the floor.
I'm a coward, such a coward, but I really can't. I rise from the bed slowly, cautiously, doing my best not to rouse the sleeper. Her breathing remains constant as I make it out of the covers. Safe. Luckily I can find my clothes easily enough, carefully retrieving them from where they lay scattered around the room. I'm composed enough to make a quick check of my possessions and then I'm out, leaving Mona behind me.
The worst of it is that I almost wish that I could go back to that foggy half state when I was just aware of another warm body in the bed with me. When I thought, just for a little while, that Emma was with me.
I've got to get rid of her from my heart. She's killing me.
My arrival at work later that morning does not go unnoticed.
"Hey, Emily. How's life treating you this morning?" Morgan asks cheerily.
And far, far too loudly.
I wince. "Better before you boomed at me, even if it is unreasonably bright today."
"Had yourself a good night?" It's around this point that I notice his good humour is a little forced this morning, and the reason why -- the Alvarez mess -- crashes back down on me.
Still, no need to dampen the mood of the rest of the team. I summon up a mask of lazy satisfaction and purr, "Oh, Morgan, you have no idea."
His grin broadens, becoming noticeably smirk-like. "Got to have a word with your girl Emma, make sure that she isn't tiring you out too much."
The words hurt somewhere, reopen deep wounds some place else, a place that isn't here. I don't think about that, though. I can't think about that.
My mouth, on auto pilot, replies: "If you can convince her to stop doing *anything* she wants, you're a far better person than I."
It's true. So very, very true.
From across the room, I notice JJ's watchful gaze, her eyes holding something that looks far too much like thoughtful concern for my liking. Her look sharpens for a moment as our eyes meet, then she breaks it off and turns away.
Meanwhile, Morgan is shaking his head, a rueful -- and, perhaps, a touch more genuine -- smile on his face. "Uh uh," he says, emphatically. "Not going there."
I smile back like my heart isn't aching and say. "What's that? The great and powerful Derek Morgan backing down from a challenge?"
"There are challenges and then there's suicide. I may only have met Emma once, but she strikes me as the kind of woman who always gets what she wants. *Always*."
Yes. And then she throws it away when she doesn't want it anymore. But I can't say that, so I start to muster another witticism only to break off when I notice that JJ has inexplicably joined us.
"Good morning, you two," she says, with her usual pleasant smile. "Sorry to interrupt, but I just want a quick word with Emily."
She does? Why? Surely she isn't going to continue what we started yesterday. This is neither the time nor the place.
I keep my expression light, showing only a normal and reasonable amount of curiosity.
"Good morning, JJ. What is it?"
"I just wanted to let you know that I managed to get reservations at The Cosmopolitan for lunch. The table's booked for 12:15, so you need to leave at noon on the dot. I have a meeting that's almost certain to overrun, though, so it's probably best if I meet you there."
"The Cosmopolitan?" Morgan raises his eyebrows. "Are you two celebrating or something?"
"No, just taking a proper lunch break for once."
The glint in her eye says I'm buying. I guess that's fair. I owe her, after all.
"And you didn't invite me? I'm hurt." He does the soulful eyes thing at JJ.
"No you're not. Besides, it's going to be epic girl talk. You wouldn't be interested."
"I might be."
"Trust me. You're not." Her smile softens the firmness of her words, soothing away any actual hurt feelings that may be lurking beneath the playacting. Not that I think there are any, really. Morgan's ego is generally a little more robust than that. "Anyway," she continues. "I'd better run. Bye, Morgan. See you later, Emily. Don't be late!" And with a cheery wave, she heads off.
I guess I have a lunch date.
Noon arrives with the speed and inevitability of an oncoming train. Great. The one time I actually want the morning to go slowly, it races by. That's life, I suppose. This time I'm the one at the table, waiting for JJ. The pause in tempo doesn't help settle my nerves any. I know it's the silence before an oncoming bullet, the lull before the storm.
When she comes, she's shining brightly. Smiling to the world, lighting up the room. The front may not be a good sign -- she's feeling like she needs to hide her mood -- but it's far from the worst.
"Emily," she says, like she hasn't just seen me less than an hour ago in the office.
"JJ," I greet her a little laconically, still unsure of what exactly is going on here.
Small talk is apparently the order of the day, at least whilst we are ordering. As soon as the menus have gone, though, her demeanour changes and she's skewering me with her deep blue eyes.
"Why?" she asks, simply.
"'Why' what?"
"Why did you think I wanted you to hurt? Why did you think that would help?" She leans forward a little, eyes narrowing. "Why did you think I'm the kind of person who would appreciate that kind of thing?"
I take a moment to think before answering. "It's just what I deserve after how I treated you. I guess... I wanted you to know that I didn't take it lightly."
She closes her eyes a moment. "Oh, Emily..." Not anger, nor disappointment. If I had to nail it, I'd say empathy.
I'm not too numb at the moment to feel bad for that. She always did care too much for her own good. "Sorry," I say. I don't specify what for.
"Did you really think that might help repair things between us?"
I shake my head, almost convulsively. "Not at all. It's nothing compared to what I did to you. For that matter, nothing compared to..." I trail off. This isn't a time to compare wounds, especially self-inflicted ones.
"Compared to?" Naturally, she wasn't letting me off that easily.
I look down at my hands, fidgeting nervously on the table."Telling you about... Amanda," I almost have to force the word out, then adjust my face into a smile and deliberately lighten my tone. "You must have realised by now how hard it is for anyone to drag secrets out of me. Even me, apparently."
She ignores my false levity. "Was it that difficult?"
I go back to examining my fingers. "You're one of two people I've ever told, and the other was around at the time."
"Oh."
I look up. "I didn't mean to make you..." I say and wave a hand in the air.
She regards me steadily. "I haven't forgiven you."
"I didn't think you would." It hurts anyway, a cold burning sensation over and above the general ache.
"But I would like to try and rebuild what we had."
"Really?" Despite my best efforts, I can't help but be hopeful.
"It may be stupid, but I still like you." She contemplates her drink for a moment. "More precisely, I like the part of you that did its best to reach out when you thought I needed it, even when things were at their worst."
I smile a little sadly. "I couldn't not." I’ve always liked her too much not to.
She looks at me. "So, tell me about what happened with Emma."
For the first time in a little over a week, I open the front door to my apartment. It's just like I left it, with an extra dash of shattered dreams.
Talking with JJ may not have helped much, but it was enough.
Enough to be here again, my violated sanctuary. I should never have let anyone else (Emma) around here.
As I go further in, I see everything is as it was when she left, and I resist the urge to start moving everything around. It hurts, but it's a useful pain. A necessary pain.
I have to make sure that this never happens again, that I never leave myself so vulnerable to someone else.
It's what I promised myself after Amanda.
I'll do better this time.
But the first thing I need to do is have my long delayed talk with Celia.
I finally feel like I actually can.
Thank you, JJ.
"Hello, stranger," Celia chirps from the other end of the phone. "Been busy at work?"
It's only been a couple of months since I've needed to hunt, since she would have had a far different assumption about this call, since...
Her.
"Something like that," I say, noncommitally.
"What's happened?" she asks, instantly going on the alert.
"Can we meet up tomorrow morning?" I ask instead of answering her question. "Usual time, usual place."
"why are you talking to me, not..." I can practically hear the gears click into place for her. "Something's happened, hasn't it?"
"I don't want to talk about it now," I say stiffly, then relent a little. JJ has given me that much. "She's gone."
"That *bitch*!" celia explodes, apparently deciding to ignore my less than stellar record with relationships and move straight to blaming the other party. "She-," she breaks off. "Of course I'll meet up with you. Unless you want me to come over tonight?" she makes it a question.
I can't. It still feels too raw here. And I still need to collect myself.
"Thanks, but I'll be fine." For certain values of fine.
"See you tomorrow, then," she says. "Take care of yourself, okay?"
"Will do," I say.
For certain values of taking care of myself.
Even Celia’s usual smile can’t hide her worry. As soon as she sees me, she gets to her feet and hugs me tightly.
"Hey," she says softly, and holds me two, three, four beats longer than usual before releasing me.
Just enough to let me know how concerned she is, not long enough to suffocate me.
"Hey."
She waits until I’m seated before continuing, skipping our usual small talk to cut straight to: "So, what happened?"
‘What did you do?’ are the words that she’s polite enough not to ask, but they're written all over her face.
How well we know each other, she and I.
"It’s not like that," I say, answering the question she didn’t ask. My 'Not this time,' remains unspoken. "We never talked about her past, not really. And-" I break off.
"Yes?"
"She has someone else. An actual relationship. A boyfriend. That she went back to."
"I see," Celia says in a quiet, deadly voice.
It's a tone I’ve heard before...
* * *
Who was that knocking on my door? I hadn’t been expecting anyone.
Certainly not Amanda. It it was her, I didn’t quite know how I’d react.
Though some kind of explanation might be nice.
I opened the door to find Celia, bag in hand, standing in front of me.
"Hey, stranger," she said, her words not containing their usual exuberance.
"Hi," I said, then unable to resist asking the obvious question, "What are you doing here? I thought you were settled in DC?"
Heedless of her luggage, she stepped forward and hugged me, tightly. "You look like shit," she advised me. "And a little birdie told me you might appreciate some company."
I couldn’t help smiling a little, although it felt almost physically painful. "Who was your spy?"
I never reveal my sources." She quirked a grin, which quickly faded into a plaintive expression as she looked at me with large eyes. "Well, are you going to let me in?"
"I guess I don’t have much of a choice," I said, looking at the carry bag she was toting. "Come on then."
I left her in the living room while I picked the guest room up a little to make it look neat. Well, neat-ish. A little warning might have been nice.
Then again, given how I was feeling at the moment, a little warning might have given me sufficient time to come up with an excuse as to why she couldn’t visit.
I suspected that was certainly what she thought.
Back to the living room, and we chatted for a while. She sipped a beer, whilst I stuck to juice. The way I was feeling, alcohol would only make things complicated. More complicated. And I'd had enough of 'complicated' to last a lifetime.
Finally, just as I knew that she would, she poked the elephant in the room.
“So, what’s going on with you and work?”
I looked down at the ground. I really didn’t want to talk about it. “Don’t you already know?”
“I know what people are saying,” she said, an acid edge to her voice. “I want to know what actually happened.”
“I’m not really sure I know,” I murmured, and then went through the facts as I knew them. I tried to be as dispassionate as I could be, but Amanda just kept on sounding worse and worse and Celia’s lips just got thinner and thinner.
After I’d finished, she looked me deep in the eyes and asked, “Emily. Did you do anything else wrong? Are you leaving anything out? Gods knows I wouldn’t judge you, but I have to know right now.”
I shook my head. “No.”
She smiled. “Good. I didn’t think that you would have. But you never know.” Nodding to herself, she slipped her phone out of her handbag and said, in a tone that sent chills down my spine. “Let’s get this sorted out, then.”
Politics. Favours, string pulling, the kind of thing that can make or break careers. I should have stopped her, said that my case should just be left to the wheels of internal affairs.
But I just didn’t feel like I had the strength any more.
I just wanted this to be over.
* * *
Emma doesn’t deserve whatever hell Celia is going to rain down on her head. For that matter, I’m not sure that Celia really realises who she’s thinking of tangling with.
It would be a fight that almost might be worth watching, if one of the participants wasn’t a friend and the other was... Emma.
“Thanks, but if I wanted you to handle this, I’d have asked you to.” I mean to make my tone strong, resolute, but it just comes out weak, drained.
Celia looks profoundly unconvinced, so I add: “Please.”
It’s enough. Celia scowls and says, “Fine. But don’t expect me to like it.”
I manage a wan smile. “I really can’t please you, can I? You’re not happy when I’m not dating, you’re not happy when I finally do date and end up getting my heart broken. Weren't you the one that told me that the risk was just a part of the game?”
She gives me a grin that almost looks like she isn’t trying a little too hard. “Maybe I just expect more from you, Ms Prentiss.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t know why you’d think that, given my history.”
“Obviously you just need to date more. I need some ammunition on you to match the likes of Jake.”
Despite myself, I feel a little better. “Or Matt. God, what a disaster he was.”
“Exactly. So it’s my sacred mission to see you back up on the dating horse as quickly as possible.”
“Thanks.”
“Not a problem.”
As I relax, I realise that I've really really needed this.
Maybe it’ll be enough to help heal the hole inside of me.
Maybe it’ll even leave me up to facing going on a real hunt some time soon, because god knows I’m overdue.
Maybe.
Author: Louisa and Tamoline
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: X-Men/Criminal Minds
Pairing: Emily Prentiss/Emma Frost
This is part of a story in a sequence Intersecting Trajectories. Links to the rest can be found in this post:
Masterpost
There's a storm coming, building up inside Emily. The only question is: when it breaks, will she shatter with it?
JJ catches me as I'm leaving work, dragging me into a secluded spot. At one time, this would have made my heart beat faster, whether from anxiety or from something else. Now it just reminds me of something one of the other women in my life might have done, and it twists the knife a little harder.
"Hey," she says, the word soft, questioning. It's an opening; a prelude. She obviously wants something from me. I just don't know what that is yet.
"Hey," I reply in turn, but the word is a little more clipped coming from me. It's not that I want to rebuff her -- it's the most friendly she's been with me since... But I'm just not sure how much I have left to give. I'm worn, bloody, needing to lick my wounds.
I need to not be here.
"So, how long have you known?" She doesn't need to elaborate. It's obvious what she's referring to, though her reason for thinking that I was on the inside scoop isn't. I wasn't *aware* I had that kind of a reputation.
Not for a while.
So I shrug. "Today. Just like the rest of the office."
"Oh," she says, her face falling a little. "I thought... You've been closed off recently." Her voice holds more sympathy than I could have imagined after recent events. "I thought this might be the reason why."
Her words drive a fresh spike of pain through me. Before I know it, before I can stop it from happening, words burst from my lips. "Emma left me seven days ago. To go back to her boyfriend."
It hurts and it hurts and I *still* can't cry, can't achieve release. I can't even focus on JJ as she says, "I'm sorry. I didn't know..."
"I'm sorry, too," I force out. "Sorry I haven't been able to give you more..." I make a small, abortive gesture with one hand as I try to explain. Reaching out? Pushing away? Even I don't know. If I was thinking clearly I could put this better, but I can't. I just can't. "You deserve so much more of my suffering for what I did to you, but I just don't have anything left to give you. I'm sorry."
Silence.
When I look up, JJ's face greets me with thin lips and a tight expression. Finally she says, "I swear you are *the* most infuriating woman..." She stops again, clearly making herself take a deep, calming breath before continuing. "There is absolutely no way I can talk to you about this right now, and have it go somewhere good. But don't think that this conversation is over." On that note, she turns on her heel, striding quickly away from me before I can even begin to formulate a response. Not quite a storm, but definitely not just a breeze.
I can't think of this now. It's too much.
One part of me can't help but be disgusted at my weakness, that I allowed anyone the ability to do this to me *again*. But that feeling is still a distant second place to the cold despair that's settling inside me, weighing me down. It's getting stronger though, day by day, an old friend returning. It feels oddly right, and that's just wrong.
I need to go on a hunt. Maybe, if I succeed, everything will be clearer in the morning.
After all, tomorrow is another day.
Rght?
The heat of the club is stifling after the cold night air. I can feel myself starting to melt, my resolve draining out of me as the sweat pours from my skin. I feel breathless, like there isn't enough oxygen in the air I'm breathing. Maybe this was a bad idea. But I square my shoulders, and make myself head into the crowded interior. Part of me -- a large part -- wants to turn around and run for the dubious comfort of my hotel room. It's at least partly stubbornness that keeps me moving forward, into the throng.
I try to lose myself in the music, but the pounding bass line batters my ear drums and makes my stomach roil uneasily. Every brush of someone's body against mine makes my hackles raise. The inescapable babble of voices sets my teeth on edge. None of these are good signs.
It's too hot in here, too crowded. Too loud.
Too much.
And yet, I need this with an intensity bordering on physical pain. I need to hunt. I need to find the release it brings me. I need to regain the equilibrium I lost when *she* knocked my world off its axis.
I take a deep, unfulfilling breath, trying to compartmentalise. Push the discomfort away, bring desire to the fore. Lock away all the baggage that's weighing me down. Head up, shoulders back, eyes forward. Fake the confidence I usually don't even have to think about.
I'm as ready as I'll ever be...
...Which, it turns out, isn’t nearly ready enough.
Oh, the night is filled with music and dancing and ladies romancing. Just not for me.
It's an hour or so down the line and my hunt -- such as it was -- seems to have ground to a halt.
I'm the same as I've always been, and I've always been popular here, so why aren't I getting so much as an interested glance tonight?
Eau de Desperation. Not a turn on in anyone's book, and not a scent I'm accustomed to wearing.
But I can't seem to find it in myself to care.
I should be putting my mask back on, putting myself out there. Instead, I'm sitting by myself at the bar, knocking back the latest of probably too many drinks in an effort to numb myself enough to go and get what I need.
It's not working.
I drain the last of the drink I don't really want, then raise my hand to signal the bartender for another.
"Let me get this one."
The voice is familiar, even through the alcohol buzz. Despite the way my gut clenches, I school my features into just the right kind of smile -- generically pleasant, but not too friendly -- and look up at the speaker.
"Fancy meeting you here."
She smiles back with what looks like genuine happiness. "Hi Emily. How have you been?"
Heartbroken. Or maybe just plain broken. Not that I have any intention of saying that aloud.
"Fine, thanks. You?"
"I'm good, thank you." She pulls up a stool beside me.
"You look good," I say, unthinkingly. As soon as the words are out of my mouth I want to cringe, to hide, to bolt without looking back. She does look good, all raven hair and smooth, olive skin. Her eyes are a rich brown, so dark they're almost black, and they're looking at me with frank appreciation.
"Thanks," she says, dimpling a little. "So do you."
"Thank you." What else can I say?
"So, about that drink...?"
I open my mouth to say no, thank you; to make some excuse or other. Instead, I hear myself say: "Thanks. I'll have a double vodka tonic."
This will not end well.
As I gently drift into unwelcome consciousness, I become aware that I'm definitely still a little drunk from the night before.
"Emma," I murmur at the back in front of me. How could you let me do this to myself?
But that isn't Emma.
It's never going to be Emma again.
The tousled dark hair on the pillow in front of me seems vaguely familiar, even in my current state.
Mona.
Crap.
How could I be here? Last night after a certain point is a complete blur.
How could I let this happen? I don't get this drunk, not anymore.
How could I do this to her? Again? It was like a bad dream before when I had to tell her I really wasn't interested in more than a one night stand.
Can I do that again? I'm broken, so very broken, shards lying on the floor.
I'm a coward, such a coward, but I really can't. I rise from the bed slowly, cautiously, doing my best not to rouse the sleeper. Her breathing remains constant as I make it out of the covers. Safe. Luckily I can find my clothes easily enough, carefully retrieving them from where they lay scattered around the room. I'm composed enough to make a quick check of my possessions and then I'm out, leaving Mona behind me.
The worst of it is that I almost wish that I could go back to that foggy half state when I was just aware of another warm body in the bed with me. When I thought, just for a little while, that Emma was with me.
I've got to get rid of her from my heart. She's killing me.
My arrival at work later that morning does not go unnoticed.
"Hey, Emily. How's life treating you this morning?" Morgan asks cheerily.
And far, far too loudly.
I wince. "Better before you boomed at me, even if it is unreasonably bright today."
"Had yourself a good night?" It's around this point that I notice his good humour is a little forced this morning, and the reason why -- the Alvarez mess -- crashes back down on me.
Still, no need to dampen the mood of the rest of the team. I summon up a mask of lazy satisfaction and purr, "Oh, Morgan, you have no idea."
His grin broadens, becoming noticeably smirk-like. "Got to have a word with your girl Emma, make sure that she isn't tiring you out too much."
The words hurt somewhere, reopen deep wounds some place else, a place that isn't here. I don't think about that, though. I can't think about that.
My mouth, on auto pilot, replies: "If you can convince her to stop doing *anything* she wants, you're a far better person than I."
It's true. So very, very true.
From across the room, I notice JJ's watchful gaze, her eyes holding something that looks far too much like thoughtful concern for my liking. Her look sharpens for a moment as our eyes meet, then she breaks it off and turns away.
Meanwhile, Morgan is shaking his head, a rueful -- and, perhaps, a touch more genuine -- smile on his face. "Uh uh," he says, emphatically. "Not going there."
I smile back like my heart isn't aching and say. "What's that? The great and powerful Derek Morgan backing down from a challenge?"
"There are challenges and then there's suicide. I may only have met Emma once, but she strikes me as the kind of woman who always gets what she wants. *Always*."
Yes. And then she throws it away when she doesn't want it anymore. But I can't say that, so I start to muster another witticism only to break off when I notice that JJ has inexplicably joined us.
"Good morning, you two," she says, with her usual pleasant smile. "Sorry to interrupt, but I just want a quick word with Emily."
She does? Why? Surely she isn't going to continue what we started yesterday. This is neither the time nor the place.
I keep my expression light, showing only a normal and reasonable amount of curiosity.
"Good morning, JJ. What is it?"
"I just wanted to let you know that I managed to get reservations at The Cosmopolitan for lunch. The table's booked for 12:15, so you need to leave at noon on the dot. I have a meeting that's almost certain to overrun, though, so it's probably best if I meet you there."
"The Cosmopolitan?" Morgan raises his eyebrows. "Are you two celebrating or something?"
"No, just taking a proper lunch break for once."
The glint in her eye says I'm buying. I guess that's fair. I owe her, after all.
"And you didn't invite me? I'm hurt." He does the soulful eyes thing at JJ.
"No you're not. Besides, it's going to be epic girl talk. You wouldn't be interested."
"I might be."
"Trust me. You're not." Her smile softens the firmness of her words, soothing away any actual hurt feelings that may be lurking beneath the playacting. Not that I think there are any, really. Morgan's ego is generally a little more robust than that. "Anyway," she continues. "I'd better run. Bye, Morgan. See you later, Emily. Don't be late!" And with a cheery wave, she heads off.
I guess I have a lunch date.
Noon arrives with the speed and inevitability of an oncoming train. Great. The one time I actually want the morning to go slowly, it races by. That's life, I suppose. This time I'm the one at the table, waiting for JJ. The pause in tempo doesn't help settle my nerves any. I know it's the silence before an oncoming bullet, the lull before the storm.
When she comes, she's shining brightly. Smiling to the world, lighting up the room. The front may not be a good sign -- she's feeling like she needs to hide her mood -- but it's far from the worst.
"Emily," she says, like she hasn't just seen me less than an hour ago in the office.
"JJ," I greet her a little laconically, still unsure of what exactly is going on here.
Small talk is apparently the order of the day, at least whilst we are ordering. As soon as the menus have gone, though, her demeanour changes and she's skewering me with her deep blue eyes.
"Why?" she asks, simply.
"'Why' what?"
"Why did you think I wanted you to hurt? Why did you think that would help?" She leans forward a little, eyes narrowing. "Why did you think I'm the kind of person who would appreciate that kind of thing?"
I take a moment to think before answering. "It's just what I deserve after how I treated you. I guess... I wanted you to know that I didn't take it lightly."
She closes her eyes a moment. "Oh, Emily..." Not anger, nor disappointment. If I had to nail it, I'd say empathy.
I'm not too numb at the moment to feel bad for that. She always did care too much for her own good. "Sorry," I say. I don't specify what for.
"Did you really think that might help repair things between us?"
I shake my head, almost convulsively. "Not at all. It's nothing compared to what I did to you. For that matter, nothing compared to..." I trail off. This isn't a time to compare wounds, especially self-inflicted ones.
"Compared to?" Naturally, she wasn't letting me off that easily.
I look down at my hands, fidgeting nervously on the table."Telling you about... Amanda," I almost have to force the word out, then adjust my face into a smile and deliberately lighten my tone. "You must have realised by now how hard it is for anyone to drag secrets out of me. Even me, apparently."
She ignores my false levity. "Was it that difficult?"
I go back to examining my fingers. "You're one of two people I've ever told, and the other was around at the time."
"Oh."
I look up. "I didn't mean to make you..." I say and wave a hand in the air.
She regards me steadily. "I haven't forgiven you."
"I didn't think you would." It hurts anyway, a cold burning sensation over and above the general ache.
"But I would like to try and rebuild what we had."
"Really?" Despite my best efforts, I can't help but be hopeful.
"It may be stupid, but I still like you." She contemplates her drink for a moment. "More precisely, I like the part of you that did its best to reach out when you thought I needed it, even when things were at their worst."
I smile a little sadly. "I couldn't not." I’ve always liked her too much not to.
She looks at me. "So, tell me about what happened with Emma."
For the first time in a little over a week, I open the front door to my apartment. It's just like I left it, with an extra dash of shattered dreams.
Talking with JJ may not have helped much, but it was enough.
Enough to be here again, my violated sanctuary. I should never have let anyone else (Emma) around here.
As I go further in, I see everything is as it was when she left, and I resist the urge to start moving everything around. It hurts, but it's a useful pain. A necessary pain.
I have to make sure that this never happens again, that I never leave myself so vulnerable to someone else.
It's what I promised myself after Amanda.
I'll do better this time.
But the first thing I need to do is have my long delayed talk with Celia.
I finally feel like I actually can.
Thank you, JJ.
"Hello, stranger," Celia chirps from the other end of the phone. "Been busy at work?"
It's only been a couple of months since I've needed to hunt, since she would have had a far different assumption about this call, since...
Her.
"Something like that," I say, noncommitally.
"What's happened?" she asks, instantly going on the alert.
"Can we meet up tomorrow morning?" I ask instead of answering her question. "Usual time, usual place."
"why are you talking to me, not..." I can practically hear the gears click into place for her. "Something's happened, hasn't it?"
"I don't want to talk about it now," I say stiffly, then relent a little. JJ has given me that much. "She's gone."
"That *bitch*!" celia explodes, apparently deciding to ignore my less than stellar record with relationships and move straight to blaming the other party. "She-," she breaks off. "Of course I'll meet up with you. Unless you want me to come over tonight?" she makes it a question.
I can't. It still feels too raw here. And I still need to collect myself.
"Thanks, but I'll be fine." For certain values of fine.
"See you tomorrow, then," she says. "Take care of yourself, okay?"
"Will do," I say.
For certain values of taking care of myself.
Even Celia’s usual smile can’t hide her worry. As soon as she sees me, she gets to her feet and hugs me tightly.
"Hey," she says softly, and holds me two, three, four beats longer than usual before releasing me.
Just enough to let me know how concerned she is, not long enough to suffocate me.
"Hey."
She waits until I’m seated before continuing, skipping our usual small talk to cut straight to: "So, what happened?"
‘What did you do?’ are the words that she’s polite enough not to ask, but they're written all over her face.
How well we know each other, she and I.
"It’s not like that," I say, answering the question she didn’t ask. My 'Not this time,' remains unspoken. "We never talked about her past, not really. And-" I break off.
"Yes?"
"She has someone else. An actual relationship. A boyfriend. That she went back to."
"I see," Celia says in a quiet, deadly voice.
It's a tone I’ve heard before...
* * *
Who was that knocking on my door? I hadn’t been expecting anyone.
Certainly not Amanda. It it was her, I didn’t quite know how I’d react.
Though some kind of explanation might be nice.
I opened the door to find Celia, bag in hand, standing in front of me.
"Hey, stranger," she said, her words not containing their usual exuberance.
"Hi," I said, then unable to resist asking the obvious question, "What are you doing here? I thought you were settled in DC?"
Heedless of her luggage, she stepped forward and hugged me, tightly. "You look like shit," she advised me. "And a little birdie told me you might appreciate some company."
I couldn’t help smiling a little, although it felt almost physically painful. "Who was your spy?"
I never reveal my sources." She quirked a grin, which quickly faded into a plaintive expression as she looked at me with large eyes. "Well, are you going to let me in?"
"I guess I don’t have much of a choice," I said, looking at the carry bag she was toting. "Come on then."
I left her in the living room while I picked the guest room up a little to make it look neat. Well, neat-ish. A little warning might have been nice.
Then again, given how I was feeling at the moment, a little warning might have given me sufficient time to come up with an excuse as to why she couldn’t visit.
I suspected that was certainly what she thought.
Back to the living room, and we chatted for a while. She sipped a beer, whilst I stuck to juice. The way I was feeling, alcohol would only make things complicated. More complicated. And I'd had enough of 'complicated' to last a lifetime.
Finally, just as I knew that she would, she poked the elephant in the room.
“So, what’s going on with you and work?”
I looked down at the ground. I really didn’t want to talk about it. “Don’t you already know?”
“I know what people are saying,” she said, an acid edge to her voice. “I want to know what actually happened.”
“I’m not really sure I know,” I murmured, and then went through the facts as I knew them. I tried to be as dispassionate as I could be, but Amanda just kept on sounding worse and worse and Celia’s lips just got thinner and thinner.
After I’d finished, she looked me deep in the eyes and asked, “Emily. Did you do anything else wrong? Are you leaving anything out? Gods knows I wouldn’t judge you, but I have to know right now.”
I shook my head. “No.”
She smiled. “Good. I didn’t think that you would have. But you never know.” Nodding to herself, she slipped her phone out of her handbag and said, in a tone that sent chills down my spine. “Let’s get this sorted out, then.”
Politics. Favours, string pulling, the kind of thing that can make or break careers. I should have stopped her, said that my case should just be left to the wheels of internal affairs.
But I just didn’t feel like I had the strength any more.
I just wanted this to be over.
* * *
Emma doesn’t deserve whatever hell Celia is going to rain down on her head. For that matter, I’m not sure that Celia really realises who she’s thinking of tangling with.
It would be a fight that almost might be worth watching, if one of the participants wasn’t a friend and the other was... Emma.
“Thanks, but if I wanted you to handle this, I’d have asked you to.” I mean to make my tone strong, resolute, but it just comes out weak, drained.
Celia looks profoundly unconvinced, so I add: “Please.”
It’s enough. Celia scowls and says, “Fine. But don’t expect me to like it.”
I manage a wan smile. “I really can’t please you, can I? You’re not happy when I’m not dating, you’re not happy when I finally do date and end up getting my heart broken. Weren't you the one that told me that the risk was just a part of the game?”
She gives me a grin that almost looks like she isn’t trying a little too hard. “Maybe I just expect more from you, Ms Prentiss.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t know why you’d think that, given my history.”
“Obviously you just need to date more. I need some ammunition on you to match the likes of Jake.”
Despite myself, I feel a little better. “Or Matt. God, what a disaster he was.”
“Exactly. So it’s my sacred mission to see you back up on the dating horse as quickly as possible.”
“Thanks.”
“Not a problem.”
As I relax, I realise that I've really really needed this.
Maybe it’ll be enough to help heal the hole inside of me.
Maybe it’ll even leave me up to facing going on a real hunt some time soon, because god knows I’m overdue.
Maybe.