It's been 27 days since they lost Emily.
Not long enough to grieve. Not long enough to even wrap his brain around the fact that she is gone. But there is no mistaking it either. There is a hole in the office. Similar to the one JJ left, but different…deeper…because JJ can come back if Hotch wants her to, but Emily… There's no coming back from where she went.
He has nightmares now. Different from the ones he has had most of his life. Somehow, these are more vivid. Worse than the others. Because sometimes, in them, Emily is just a shell by the time he gets to her. Sometimes she blames him for not coming sooner. Sometimes she pulls that damn stake out of her side, even though she knows better.
It hurts to be here right now. It hurts to be him right now.
The funeral was surreal. He still doesn't quite believe it. Nothing registered as it should have. It was like a dream. A perfect spring day…and so much sadness…. Two things like that shouldn't exist together, and yet Derek knows, they do. They do all the time. Beautiful and ugly coexist. Lies and truth coexist. Life and death. Pain and love. He remembers nothing. No, that's not true. He remembers standing by Emily's coffin. He remembers how he and Garcia both reached for one another in the same moment. Derek grasped her hand and squeezed. Hers felt small and incongruously warm. He didn't pull away, even though it had reminded him of his last moments with Emily.
He gets home after a crazy case involving a mentally ill kid. Throws his keys on the counter. Checks his phone. He still sometimes expects calls from Emily. Some voice mail about a case. Or something short and snappy. He still has one saved, thank God. Still listens to it more often than he should.
"Derek. Question. How dumb is your dog?"
He had forgotten all about it until afterward, when he heard something else entirely. Something between the lines:
"Derek. Question. Will you take Sergio?"
When he went back to the house days after he and Rossi were there, Derek found the little dark fur ball. Heard him first, actually. Scratching at the door. Meowing so forlornly that Derek didn't know if he could actually do this. He scooped up the cat. The carrier. The food and water bowls. The little cat village with two holes. The animal bed. Then, he left, and didn't look back.
That's how he ends up with a black cat wrapping itself around Derek's legs, and Clooney, standing his huge self on the wide windowsill, holding as if Derek won't notice a 100-pound mutt.
"Clooney!" Derek snaps suddenly, scaring his already skittish dog. "You think I can't see your ass up there? Down. Now." Clooney gallops down, with all the finesse of a clumsy horse.
"Were y'all nice to each other?" Derek asks, feeling a little crazy. More than a little sad. Why the hell wasn't Emily here to take care of her own damn cat? Why did they have to let her down? Why couldn't he have been just a little faster?
"Hey, cat," he says, though he's never been a cat person. Even though Sergio has yet to move from his bed, which Derek put behind an easy chair. He still can't bring himself to call Sergio by name. He might change it. He might not. He hasn't decided yet. One thing's for sure though, Sergio is definitely feeling this loss. Derek is still not seeing him eat regularly. "I miss her, too," he says, sympathetic.
Clooney, too, has a sense that something is wrong. He has kept a low profile. Tried to be good. Which, for him, is a challenge. He's a Humane Society dog - come to think of it, didn't Emily say something once about volunteering there? - so he's got issues. Runs away in thunderstorms. He's known to knock down full garbage cans and entire Christmas trees. Catch animals and bring them happily inside to show Derek. That's typical stuff, though. He also flinches when you raise your voice or raise a hand. Jumps if you touch him unexpectedly. So Derek tries to remember and not be too hard on him.
He goes through the motions. Finds something in the fridge for himself. Feeds the animals. Then, Derek collapses on the couch in front of ESPN. Soon, though, his head is in his hands. Soon, tears are falling and he can't stop them.
"Why the hell did you run?" he screams angrily, to no one. "Don't you know we would have helped you?"
The cat vacates. Derek hears the bell on his collar jingle. And he doesn't blame Sergio. He wouldn't want to be around himself right now either.
It's been minutes or hours. Derek really isn't sure. All he knows is that he is damn lost right now. He can't get it together and he's damn well not calling the shrink or any of his team. They got enough to deal with.
The couch sinks deeply next to him. Clooney's head is in Derek's lap. The dog is shaking - no doubt terrified by Derek's show of temper - but he is here. He knows.
And somehow, having the dog here makes it easier. He bows his head. He lets his tears get lost in Clooney's brown and white fur. And he holds on.