Spoilers all the way through Season 4 including iTo Hell…and Back/i 4X25
Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds, I am making no profit from the writing of this fic.
smacky30 is the best beta in the world, an amazing friend, confidante, cheerleader, ass kicker and hand holder. This simply would not have seen the light of day without her encouragement. I am grateful for her. Oh! And she gets credit for the title, too.
Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death. -Anais Nin
***
The pre-dawn grey has started to lighten with a rosy tint around the edges and the unrelenting birdsong of a summer morning has begun in earnest by the time Dave opens his eyes for the first time on what turns out to be the longest day of his life.
Emily's side of the bed is empty when he wakes and he frowns. He's always been an early riser, but she likes to linger under the covers as long as she possibly can. Dave likes that, likes waking up with her in his arms or at least within arm's reach. Most mornings he watches her sleep for a little while, enjoying the sight of her dark hair spread out against his pillows, dark lashes against her cheeks, face relaxed and unguarded. Then, he either wakes her with kisses (weekends) or slips out of bed to put on coffee and make her some breakfast (workdays).
At first, they only spent the weekends together, but one or two nights a week has morphed into four or five nights a week when they're not on the road. Neither of them talks about it or how they now have each others keys and each home now has allotted drawers and closet space. But more and more, they're spending the nights at his place and he wonders how much longer it will be before they're both living here. It's mid August; they'll be up to seven nights a week by Christmas he's willing to bet. He'd like that; well, he'd like that provided it doesn't prompt an Oh my god what the hell are we doing freak out from Prentiss. Of course they've never really talked about what the hell they are doing. He's not sure if neither of them wants to start the conversation or if they're just waiting for it to blow up in their faces. He supposes at some point they will have to talk about it, but he doesn't see the point until it becomes necessary. Hopefully in the "I need more drawer space" type of necessary, not the "Oh my god, we are so fucked" type of necessary.
There will be time for worrying about that later. Now he needs to find his future-maybe-roommate. He puts a robe on over his pajama bottoms. Prentiss has permanently commandeered all of his pajama tops, but he's not complaining. They certainly look a damn sight better on her than they do on him, and there's a casual intimacy about it that he likes. She's not in the bathroom, but he takes a minute to use the facilities and brush his teeth before he goes downstairs looking for her.
He smells the coffee before he's halfway down the stairs and finds a full pot in the kitchen, but no Emily. The Great Room is empty too, but there's a faint sound of movement from the sunroom. When he rounds the corner there she is, still dressed in his pajama top, her arms crossed over her stomach, staring out one of the almost floor to ceiling windows.
Deliberately dragging his feet just a little, to alert her to his presence, he moves into the room. The sun isn't even fully up but the room is already warm, and he automatically flips the switch to turn on the two ceiling fans. "You're up early."
She doesn't turn and when she speaks, her voice is a little bleak. "They're fighting."
Puzzled, he moves to her side. "Who's fighting?"
Nodding to the window, she breathes a sigh. "The hummingbirds."
It was in the spring when they'd still been living out of their go bags, alternating houses when she'd balked at spending the weekend with him. At first he was afraid he'd done something wrong and had gotten aggressive about why. He ended up feeling like an idiot when he discovered that after hearing the first hummingbirds of the season had been spotted, she put up her feeder and was anxious to see if the one she had the year before returned to her feeder this year.
So, he had spent the weekend at her brownstone and the next weekend when she'd come to his house he showed her the new feeder just outside the sunroom, reporting that he had seen a hummingbird feeding the day before. Now his lips quirk at the memory of how enthusiastically she thanked him.
"We got a second one?" Following the direction of her gaze, he sees one of the tiny creatures dive bombing the other each time it attempts to approach the feeder. "Huh. Probably a territory issue." He slips an arm around her waist. "We could put up another feeder."
Leaning against him, she sighs. "Yeah. That would be good. I think I read somewhere they're pretty territorial."
His fingers slide against the cotton covering her hip as they watch the defender begin to feed, speeding wings surrounding the body that appeared to be hanging in mid-air. Dave isn't a bird watcher but he does see the appeal, the beauty of the hummingbird. And, well, Emily loves them, so that's all he really needs. After a few sips the bird flits away and he pulls her a little closer. "So, what's with the up before dawn routine, Prentiss?"
She shrugs. "I don't know. I woke up a couple of hours ago; just couldn't get comfortable enough to get back to sleep."
Frowning, he turns her so he can look at her. "You couldn't get comfortable?"
Tilting her head slightly, she shrugs again. Her eyes seem a little brighter than usual to him and her normally fair skin seems even paler. "I don't know. I was just restless." Wilting a little under his look, she concedes. "Okay, I don't feel great."
He presses his hand to her forehead. "Do you have a fever?"
"No." Bringing a hand up, she lays it against her cheek, and frowns. "No, I don't."
Snorting, he runs his hand around to the back of her neck. "If you have a fever you can't feel it."
Her voice is just a little bit testy when she replies. "Yes, you can." Then her lips quirk up. "One of my nannies used to do that."
"Do what?" His palm rests against the back of her neck and he doesn't think she's too much warmer than usual, but he can tell she doesn't feel well. He's wondering what his chances of getting her to stay home from work today are. And how suspicious it's going to be if he comes down with whatever she has.
"The back of the neck thing to judge if I was running a fever instead of the forehead." Shaking her hair back, she drops her head to his shoulder. "Did your mom do that?"
"Nonna," he supplies, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close, then loosening his grip as she tenses in his embrace, grimacing. If she's sore, it could be the flu. "How many nannies did you have?"
"Enough to learn they didn't like moving with each new posting." She presses a kiss to the side of his neck. "Once I got used to it, it was pretty cool. Learned most of my languages from nannies."
Feeling a brief flair of sympathy for the little girl she was, he finds himself worried for the woman she is. "I think you should stay home today." By home he means here in his house, but he doesn't clarify.
"Rossi, I can't." Her voice has the slightest whine to it and he smiles a little. "I have that consult with Violent Crimes and a conference call with the prosecutor on the Trenton case."
"All of that could be put off. If you're coming down with something you should stay in bed." He wonders what all her symptoms are, but he also knows if he presses too hard she'll shut down.
"Probably something I ate," she mumbles.
Giving her a playful shake, he pretends to be indignant since he made her dinner last night. "Hey, now."
Laughing weakly against his neck, she amends. "Something I ate for lunch."
"That's better," he grumbles but rubs his cheek against her hair.
"I'll take some aspirin; I'll be fine." She's resting against him, making no move out of his arms and he decides not to push her. It's Friday and if she is coming down with something she can stay in bed all weekend.
Still. "Make a deal with me, Prentiss?"
Already shaking her head, she snorts. "Oh, no, Rossi. The last time I made a deal with you I ended up wearing something the size of a postage stamp and high heels."
He smirks at the memory, then kisses her cheek. "That was a bet, not a deal; not my fault you lost. And for the record, you looked pretty damned fabulous in that postage stamp. I thought I proved that to you at the time."
"You did." Her voice has a smile in it and he can feel her breath against his skin. "So, what's the deal?"
"Promise me if you don't feel better by lunch you'll come home." Again, he doesn't spell out that "home" is the one they're standing in. Idly, he wonders if she's one of those people who is whiney and demanding when they're sick or one that wants to be left the hell alone. He has a feeling he'll be finding out over the next few days and he's oddly grateful for the opportunity.
Drawing back, she looks at him. "A deal implies an exchange of some sort. If I make this promise to you, what do I get in exchange?"
"I'll allow you to complain all weekend about my sexist, chauvinistic, paternalistic and generally overprotective behavior while I take care of you." He is really not pleased with her pallor and only the fact that she's giving him a bit of attitude is keeping him from hauling her to the nearest doctor, kicking and screaming or not. Not that the attitude would stop him if that's what he decided she needed, but if Prentiss is giving him lip, she's not at death's door.
"I'd do that anyway, Dave." Her smile is not as bright as normal, but still has plenty of sass.
His hand cups her face, his thumb stroking across her cheek tenderly. "I know. I just won't argue."
Her eyebrows climb and she purses her lips. "That, I would have to see. " She leans into his touch, her eyes closing. "And you'll put up another hummingbird feeder?"
Kissing her forehead, he nods. "I'll do it tonight."
When he feels something relax in her he wonders if she needs to give herself permission to be sick; as focused and driven as Prentiss is, it wouldn't surprise him. He wishes he knew the thing to say to get her to just stay home, but he doesn't, so he makes himself be satisfied when she nods. "Okay, it's a deal."
***
The first time he tries her cell phone it's just past noon. He's just leaving a meeting at the Hoover Building and he wants to see how she feels, push her on her promise to go home if he needs to. She didn't eaten any breakfast, even refused coffee and had seemed to be moving at half speed while she was getting ready. The call rolls to voice mail after a few rings, but he knows her session with the Violent Crimes guys could easily have run over, so, he doesn't think too much about it.
The second time he tries he's through the snarl of downtown DC traffic, merging onto I-395 and she should be out of her meeting but it doesn't even ring, just goes straight to voice mail. He frowns and wonders if she has packed it in and gone home already. Though if she decided to do that surely she would have called him? He checks his voice mail and finds four messages: one from his third ex-wife looking for a donation to whatever charity she's on the board of these days, two from his publisher about the galleys for the latest book, one from Jimmy asking if he and Emily want to get together for dinner this weekend. But no Prentiss.
He dials again, feeling relief when it rings and there is an almost immediate answer but not the usual crisp "Prentiss" or the more intimate toned "Hey" when she sees it's him calling; instead it's a very wobbly "Hello?"
"Prentiss?"
"It's Garcia, sir." He recognizes her voice now though it sounds off. Is she crying?
"Why are you answering Prentiss's phone?" His chest is tight and he's fighting cold dread. "Where's Emily?"
Garcia swallows so loudly he can hear it, but he feels hyper aware, like he can hear everything, see everything, feel everything. "JJ found her passed out in the Ladies Room." She takes in a shaky breath. "The ambulance just left. Hotch rode with her."
Feeling like he's been simultaneously dowsed with hot oil and ice water, he thinks he might be dreaming; he hopes he's dreaming. "Where is she, Garcia?" He is distantly aware he's yelling, but he doesn't care. "Where the hell is she?"
"They're headed to Potomac Hospital." That makes the most sense; it's the closest hospital to Quantico. "JJ and I are trying to locate a number for her mother. The last number she has for her emergency contact isn't working anymore."
"Check her cell phone history for a call Wednesday night." Emily had had an awkward conversation with her mother shortly before bed night before last and it had taken her a little longer than usual to relax afterwards. He hopes she'll trust him enough to tell him the whole story of her family some day; but it's up to her and he has a few untold stories himself so he doesn't press.
If Garcia wonders how he would know where to look he doesn't give her a chance to comment as he merges onto I-95. "I'm on my way to Potomac. If you hear anything in the meantime, call me."
He barely hears her "Yes, sir," as he ends the call and flips on the SUV's blue lights.
TBC…