She was there again. At her front door, lips upturned in a flirty smile, Derek's mouth set in a grin just as flirty. He wiggled his eyebrows at her, and with a role of her eyes she let him inside. She had this moment memorized, locked in her brain, the sweetest, and most painful of memories.
Emily angled her head behind her, and offered him a beer. When he nodded, she sashayed off to the kitchen, making sure to give him the most seductive walk she could manage. Their relationship had been changing lately, something had just clicked into place, and they both felt it. It was as if since she'd 'died' and come back, they both realized what a gift they'd been given. She knew what tonight was about. He knew what tonight was about.
It was seeing if they could actually go through with it. If they could bury all their trust issues, fears of ruining their friendship, and worries over the Bureau, and just be two people who connected to something in each other. She'd always been attracted to Derek Morgan, not just because he was 'a chocolate Adonis' as Garcia described him, but because he was honest, courageous, strong in every way she could think, and mostly, because the man liked to make people feel good about themselves. Emily couldn't think of a more attractive quality in a man.
She strutted back into the living room, and found him lounging on her sofa like he owned the joint. The true irony of this moment? They knew each other so well, and were still putting a show for the other like they had something to prove. Maybe it was nerves.
She was there again. Sitting beside him, smirking, with barely inches between them. They'd gone through two beers a piece, most of a pizza with the works, and a SciFi flick about giant man-eating alligators. Now the movie was over, the beer was gone, and all that was left was the two of them. Two friends, two partners, and two people trying so hard to figure out how to navigate the precarious moment in their relationship.
One move would change everything. One move would mean they were both taking a huge gamble that neither had been prepared to do before this moment. This moment and with each other.
Derek smiled. "I don't think I've been this awkward with a woman since I was 19."
"Really?" She smiled, exaggerated surprise written on her face. "I can't believe Derek Morgan, Don Juan of the BAU, was ever awkward with a woman."
He chuckled. "You'd be surprised, Princess."
He looked down, clearing his throat, and Emily had a sudden epiphany. He really, truly was nervous. She made the first move. Even if she couldn't be smooth, she had enough practice to be able to fake it.
She shifted closer, moving so she was very nearly in his lap, and rested a hand on his chest, crossing the first boundary between them. Morgan was looking at her, so still, and so focused, she could almost see him breathing. He brought a hand up to her face, fingers barely brushing her cheek. Emily leaned into his touch, offering him an invitation to get closer. He took it.
The fingers of one hand ran softly from the skin beside her eye down to her jaw, while the other traveled from her thigh to her waist. Derek swallowed, and she could almost see his heart beating faster as she stared into his eyes. Emily wondered if he could feel her pulse rocket up.
Then he kissed her. It was sudden, but took so long coming. His lips brushed hers, caressing, and his tongue flicked out, running over the thin skin of her bottom lip. She opened her mouth, and moved so she was straddling him, pushing her body against his broad, strong chest. His hands raced up the back of her shirt, sending little fireworks through her body. Emily pushed her breasts into his chest, only to have him pull her back, and tug her shirt off. She quickly found his mouth again.
That's when the call came.
Emily woke up. She was there again. Another anonymous hotel room in Chicago that looked like any of hundreds of rooms she stayed in during her lifetime. It was still dark out, but that wasn't a surprise. She couldn't remember when the last time was that she'd opened her eyes to find the sun already risen outside. Like she did every morning, she lied in bed and let the minutes tick by, staring at the ceiling.
She'd flown into O'Hare four days ago, taking some of the vacation time she'd never bothered to use before now. She'd spent the last year coming every month for several days, always with a weekend in the middle so she could drag out her vacation time. Not that Hotch would have ever denied her request. He knew where she was going. The entire team she where she was at this moment. They always knew, though they hadn't asked in a long time.
When she couldn't lie there anymore, Emily pushed the covers off her body, and toed into the bathroom. Hot water beat down against her back, and washed over her head, and she tried not to imagine lake water and failed. The pungent, almost sour smell washed over her, seaweed brushed across her skin, and her hands pushed forward, carelessly brushing algae away, the growth nearly disintegrating at her touch.
The sweet, floral smell of the shampoo quickly overwhelmed it and the memories disappeared as quickly as they'd come. It had taken her five different bottles before she found a scent strong enough to drive that smell away. Emily was able to finish her shower in peace, and when she shut the water off, the bathroom air was still thick with hot steam. The mirror was foggy, and that was fine, because she didn't much care to see her own face anyway.
Emily knew how she looked. The look in Garcia's eyes told her everyday. Tired, pale, almost gaunt, and like someone had stuck a vacuum against her head and sucked out every ounce of her life force. The others had gotten used to the look, and accustomed to hiding the worry, but Garcia had never had that skill. It was okay though, she'd gotten as used to Garcia's eyes, as the tech had to hers.
She dried off and changed, picking out a top that accentuated her breasts, and the first time she'd worn it, had given her partner the constant challenge of keeping his eyes on hers. That day, a paperwork day, Rossi had come by and admonished Morgan for staring at her cleavage. He'd looked helplessly up at the older profiler, and then made her promise that she'd never wear the top to work again. Emily had smirked. That top had helped them toe closer to the line they'd eventually crossed.
It was still hours before she could even go, so she flicked on the TV and watched 'I Love Lucy' on TV Land, until it switched over to 'Green Acres', and she had to find a new channel. 'Green Acres' was not really her style. She found 'Blade' on, and decided vampires at six o'clock in the morning wasn't a bad thing. But she didn't stay to finish the end, instead grabbing her bag, and heading out to the street.
She took the train because it was easier than renting a car, and fighting morning traffic. Emily slid into an empty seat, and sat with her head resting back against the window. The rhythm of the train, and the soft sounds of the people lulled her into a state of relaxation. Her eyes began to drop.
She opened her eyes. She was there again. Running as fast as her legs would carry her, trying to keep her eyes on both Derek and the suspect. It was a park in Portland, Maine, and it was warm, a comfortable warm, with the sun shining overhead, and people out enjoying the afternoon. It would be the perfect day to curl up on a blanket with the guy you can't stop smiling at and a picnic basket. It should have been that day for them.
Instead they were chasing down a man who'd attacked five women, cut their throats so deeply he'd nearly taken off their heads, and left them naked and exposed. His fiancé had left him, choosing instead to move to San Diego with her older, wealthy boss, who'd accidentally gotten her pregnant in the midst of their affair. His reaction had been to terrorize the women of Portland, while acting out what he wanted his fiancé to feel: exposed and humiliated. What he'd felt.
Derek caught up to him on a bridge, and Emily could see the twenty seconds of the struggle before she caught up to them. The unsub was physically fit, and took Derek better than most. It was brief and it was a horror that had played out in front of her eyes over and over again. Morgan blocked a blow, but missed the next, getting clocked in the head, and falling over the weak 2 foot railing into the lake below.
Emily had already had her gun out, and demanded the unsub hit the floor. She ignored the sounds of horrified civilians, and cuffed the unsub, hooking his arms around that stupid two foot railing. Then she scanned the water for Derek, fully expecting to his head pop out, a look of disgust on his face. He didn't. It took her almost two full minutes to realize that hit he took had been harder than she thought. It took another for her to stow her gun in its hostler, and jump in after him.
The lake wasn't warm, but it wasn't cold either. It was rather the smell that got her, that sour-fresh water-fresh earth scent that was completely overwhelming. It was the murkiness of the water that made it halfway impossible to see where she was going, to see what was in front of her. That cloudiness is why it took her almost fifteen minutes to find him. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her eyes burning from the water, but she'd pressed on. She'd searched until her lungs burned from lack of oxygen, pushed her head out into the air, took a few big breaths, and then dove back in.
He was floating in an almost eerily calm sort of way. Emily had fought the seaweed around him, and dragged his unconscious form to the surface. She brought him over to a bank, and dragged him onto dry land. She tipped his head back, cleared his airway, and pushed air into his lungs. Chest compressions. Air. Chest compressions. Air. Again and again, until EMTs rushed over, and Rossi dragged her away.
Emily had watched the paramedics shock his chest, and pump and ambu-bag over his mouth. She'd watched them bring him back to life.
The train stopped. Emily jerked awake, her sleep-sluggish eyes finding the sign for her stop, and pushed her way off the train.
She was there again.
The doors to the University of Chicago Medical Center. The doors to hell. She nodded at the security guard, who nodded back with a bittersweet smile. She's a familiar face, but no one goes to a hospital that often for anything good. She didn't even have to tell the receptionist her name, the young woman just smiled, printed the sticker, and handed it to her. There wasn't any need for directions, she knew where the elevators were located, what floor she had to go to, what wing on that floor, and the number of the small private room. She didn't even need the room number anymore, just got there by sight.
This was a nationally ranked medical center, and she the second she stepped foot into it, her entire body was filled with loathing. But she rode the elevator up without revealing her feelings, nodding at the doctors she recognized, the same as she had the guard and receptionist, and walking calmly off when it arrived at her floor. She went down the familiar path to her wing, turning down the hallway, and going past the rooms she'd never bothered to look in. Nobody was here for a good reason. Not in this wing.
Still, every time she got to his room, saw him sitting in bed, she instantly smiled. "Hey Derek."
He didn't react to her voice, or the fact that she was moving through his room. That wasn't a surprise though, he never did, and he never would again. Emily stood beside his bed, ran a hand over his cheek, and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. He was propped up by pillows, his head angled slightly toward her, and his eyes moving randomly with no direction or meaningful purpose. His mouth was open, a bit of drool glistening against his chin. Emily wiped it off and then sat in the chair beside the bed, and took his hand. Even from just his hand and arm, she could see how much of his muscles had wasted away from non-use. There wasn't enough physical therapy in the world to maintain the strong physique of Derek Morgan.
She'd relayed all the team news on her first visit. Rossi was thinking about transitioning to teaching part-time, and Garcia was pregnant, carrying what was sure to be the most amazing hacker on the planet. Either that or the child would hate computers. She was in a constant state of anxiety, panicked at the idea of being a mother, of being completely responsible for the life inside of her, but already so in love with it, it kind of took Emily's breath away. The tech also wanted her best friend there to hug her and tell her everything would be alright.
Emily was pretty sure that was the hardest part for Penelope.
Of course, she'd made sure to tell him everyone else was doing fine, and send their greetings along. He was still missed terribly by everyone. Reid was not adjusting very well; he'd retreated inside his shell and she feared he'd never come back out. Hotch still occasionally tried to send "Morgan and Prentiss" to a crime scene, victim's house, or wherever. JJ still occasionally looked for him, her face filling with this look of confusion and then pain when she couldn't find him. Rossi just looked sad, like he was getting too old for dealing with all of it.
His mother kept him updated on family news, Sarah on current events, and Desiree always made sure he had the newest hit songs for the Ipod the nurses controlled for him. With nothing else to do, Emily had made a habit of reading to him. She'd gone through almost all the Vonnegut novels, and was on the last one now. It was "Mother Night", their favorite, and maybe that was why her voice shook when she began reading, picking up from where she'd left off yesterday.
She'd had to stop a few times so the orderlies could come turn him so he wouldn't get bed sores, and to let the nurses could check his medications, fluids, and start his feeding tube for lunch. He didn't need a respirator, or any other equipment to stay alive, just the feeding tube. Sometimes he was spoon-fed, but that was difficult and time-consuming, and it was hard to get enough food into him that way. Emily had fed him herself a couple times, especially early on, and watching how difficult it was for him to take in a spoonful of oatmeal made her feel sick.
A year and a month ago, he'd nearly drowned in a lake in Portland, Maine. She'd saved his life.
That afternoon a doctor had come to tell them his brain had been deprived of oxygen for a long time. He was in a coma.
Three days later, he'd woken. But not really. He was in a vegetative state, they'd said. He could wake from that any minute.
He'd been transferred to Chicago, and several weeks after his near-drowning, the doctor here had upgraded him to a Persistent Vegetative State. His mother had sobbed and cursed, and generally broken down in her daughters' arms.
Last month, on her trip to visit him, the doctor had examined him again. Fran and the girls had been standing by the bed, hanging on the doctor's every movement. Emily had plastered herself against a wall, out of the way. The doctor checked his notes, made some scribbles, and amended his earlier diagnosis. Derek Morgan was now in a Permanent Vegetative State. Fran and the girls had cried, but Emily had stayed against the wall, completely numb.
Hours of reading later, Emily had finished the book. The last of Vonnegut's novels, and the favorite of both of them. She stashed the novel back in her purse and pulled something else out instead, stowing the object in her pocket. Emily pulled her chair closer to the bed, and allowed herself the brief luxury of resting her head on his chest. A chest that wasn't as taut or firm as Morgan's had been.
One night. That was all they got. One night of making out like teenagers that was interrupted by the phone call she'd grown to hate. The phone call that brought them to Portland, and took an amazing man from the lives of all the people who loved him.
If there was one thing this past year had taught her, it was that. Derek was already gone.
Her fingers tensed against his chest, gripping the hospital gown, and then releasing it. A few stray tears trickled from her eyes, but she quickly wiped them away. Emily sat up then, pulling the object from her pocket. It was a syringe. She glanced at the door, confirming it was closed before pulling the cap off. She pulled the plunger enough to suck in some air, and then turned to look back at Derek. Again, she caressed his jaw, smiling at his face, and his beautiful, dark eyes.
Emily picked up his IV line, and inserted the needle, eyes fixing on Derek as she pushed the plunger down. She removed the needle, capped it, and stowed it back in her pocket. Derek tensed on the bed, eyes widening briefly before sliding shut, the monitors going crazy around him.
The door flew open, and medical personnel came streaming in, calling out medical terms and numbers as they tried to bring him back to life. But what he'd had this past year in the hospital hadn't been life. It had been existence. Derek Morgan was a man meant for life, for living, not for existing. He'd have hated this existence. People spoon-feeding him, changing his feces and urine bags, bathing him, and turning him every couple of hours just so he didn't get bed sores.
No, he'd have rather been gone. Maybe seeing his father for the first time in thirty years.
They couldn't bring him back this time. The doctor was very apologetic, and promised to call Fran and break the news to her.
When Emily dumped the syringe in a subway garbage can, she felt nothing. No pain, no sorrow, and no remorse. She felt nothing as she left the subway and headed back to the hotel and up to her room. Once inside, she walked into the bathroom, got a look at herself in the mirror, and wondered when she'd begun to look like that. When her eyes had started to look as vacant as Derek's.
Then she felt it. Like a wave crashing over her head, like a riptide pulling her under. She abruptly dropped to her knees and began to cry. Loud gut-wrenching sobs. She was in so much pain. It felt like something was ripping her stomach apart, like her body was burning and there wasn't any amount of water that could put it out. She trembled and she sobbed, and felt like she might vomit, but she held it back. She could hardly breathe over her sobs, and even feeling her nails digging into her own arms was nothing compared to the emotions rushing through her. It was like a physical torrent overwhelming her body.
She was there again. But no...no, this was new.
Emily wrapped her arms around her stomach, and bent over at the waist, contracting further and further into herself until she collapsed onto the bathroom floor.
She felt like she was drowning.
Okay, so this may be the most depressing fic I've ever written. I have no idea what inspired it, or where it came from. It was just one of those where the muse grabbed me by the throat and held me until I finished.
Now, much as I hate doing this, since this deals with a controversial subject, I feel obligated to do so. I welcome all reviews, constructive criticism, etc, but if you plan on reviewing this story with the sole purpose of voicing your disgust because you disagree with euthanasia, please don't. I really just don't have the energy to deal with people getting pissy at me because I wrote something that disagrees with their world views. Sorry to get defensive with those of you who had no intention to do that.
Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think!
If you're looking for story updates (which have gotten a bit off track), please check my profile.