She rolled over in bed for the hundredth time that night, still clutching her cell phone to her chest. The digital clock on the nightstand informed her that it was 3:15am-she had been lying here for four hours waiting for a response, unable to sleep for the fifth night in a row. She checked her cell phone again, chastising herself for being so pathetic. She had always prided herself in being strong, in keeping her composure.
This week was the straw that broke the camel's back.
"JJ, what are you still doing up?" he sleepily moaned from under the covers, not needing to look at the blonde in bed next to him to know exactly what she was doing.
"Give it a rest, Jayje...just try to go to sleep," he begged, burying his face into his pillow. He didn't understand, but then, how could he? JJ had closed that part off from him, the secret part of her that only one person would ever see. She had already given her heart away. He didn't know how she felt. She had to protect him from that. She always had to protect him from the truth.
She slipped her feet over the side of the bed and felt her toes hit the cold wood floors, not giving heed to his muffled, noncommittal grunt.
She crept across the room carefully and slipped through the cracked bedroom door, down the hall, to the guest bedroom, still hopefully clutching the phone in her right hand. There was an old, wooden chest of drawers where the young mother kept some of Henry's old clothes, or clothes that she no longer wore. She slid open the bottom drawer, and painfully took out the red sweater that was folded neatly on top.
A lump formed in her throat as she brought the sweater to her chest-it still smelled of almonds, of lilacs, of some familiar scent that she couldn't quite put a name on but knew so painstakingly well that it made her heart ache.
It smelled like her.
The blonde collapsed on the bed, still holding the red sweater to her chest, wondering how she had survived the past five days, and not even daring to think of the next five after that.
She would have to face the facts someday-that Emily Prentiss wasn't coming back. That she would never get to see that brilliant smile as the dark-haired agent waltzed into her office every morning with matching to-go coffee cups from the little cafe across the street. She would never again hear her insert little French phrases into conversation like it was the most natural thing in the world. There would be no more late-night philosophical talks in hotel rooms in random cities across the country. No more Girls' Nights Out, with that devilish grin sitting across from her, daring her not to fall even harder as the alcohol surged through her system. They would never get to go to Paris, and do it the right way the second time around.
All of this had been viciously ripped away from her, so suddenly, and no one seemed to understand how devastating it was. Even Jennifer hadn't realized how hard Emily's exit would be, until she found herself latching on to the older agent for one last hug, holding on for dear life. Until she found herself lying awake every night, waiting for Emily to break the crippling silence between them...and still, she waited.