"I'm not a real political man, I watch CNN, but I'm not sure I could tell you the difference in Iraq and Iran. But I know Jesus and I talk to God and I remember this from when I was young... Faith, hope, and love are some good things he gave us and the greatest is love."
Alan Jackson
******
"Hiya beautiful," the man slurred when he slummed on the stool next to her. It doesn't take much to know that he was drunk. Emily rolled her eyes and ignored him as she took another slip of her beer. Why does every other man assumed that when you were alone in the bar, you automatically wanted his company? She had a horrible day and it seemed that it was about to get even worse by the look of the guy beside her. She heard him growl and before she knew it, he grabbed her arm and forced her to look at him. Emily flinched at his appearance, he reminded her too much of someone she was trying to forget.
"You look at me when I talk to you," he demanded; spit flew out of his mouth.
Emily scowled at the sight. "Look, I'm not interested. Back off!" she raised her voice, bringing attention to them. She was this close to punching him in the face when a newcomer grabbed that drunken man by his wrist and demanded for him to let her go.
Emily glanced over at at the newcomer, surprised. She didn't expect to see him here. The drunken man contemplated for a moment and even in his drunken state, he knew he was no match for this new guy. "Whatever," the drunken man spat and let go of Emily's arm. He left them alone but not before he shoved the newcomer aside.
"Thanks Morgan," she said as he sat down beside her.
"Can I sit here? Or should I move away before you punch me?" he asked teasingly after a moment.
She laughed softly, "You can sit here."
Morgan raised his hand to get the bartender's attention and nodded in thanks when his drink was placed in front of him. "So, why are you here?" he asked, breaking the silence between them.
"Morgan, I –"
"Can I get you a drink, sweetheart?" She got cut off by another drunken man.
"No thanks," she said sarcastically.
The drunken man began running his fingers down her arm, "Come on..."
"She's with me," Morgan stepped in before Emily had the chance to say anything. He tugged her away and moved to an empty booth.
"Thanks... Again," Emily sighed as she settled into the booth. "I was about to punch him," she added.
"You haven't answered my question."
She stared at her beer for a moment, wondering if she should tell him what happened with Karl Arnold earlier. Then she figured, why not? Compartmentalizing stuff doesn't work, maybe it would be better for her to get it off her chest.
"If I told you my reasons, would you tell me yours?"
He laughed, "Is this a trade?"
"More like an exchange," she shrugged.
"An exchange it is."
"You first," she said.
He sighed, "I almost died today. Our unsub, she almost shot me."
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"I got lucky," he shrugged. "But our victims, the ones left behind... I know how it feels to be left behind. Sometimes, I wonder, would anything change if my dad was still alive?"
"I hate to say this, but no one knows the answer to that question."
He shrugged but said nothing. "Why are you here?"
"I was hoping you would forget we had a deal," she laughed dryly.
"No way," he smiled.
"I wanted it to go away," Emily began, "When we were interviewing Karl Arnold, I flirted with him to solve the case. I made it personal, and he made me more uncomfortable that I ever felt... And that man, the one you saved me from, looked like him. It's not going to go away, is it? This feeling..."
In her eyes, he saw the swirling emotions threatening to consume her. The sorrow, the anger, the despair, the desire, and the fear, they were all there. And if he was honest, he would had admitted that they were lurking just over his shoulder, waiting to overcome him as well. He knew exactly what she was going through. They were standing at the edge of the cliff to combat the evils of this world.
One wrong move, and they would fall.
******
After a couple of beers, the pair unconsciously moved closer to each other. Maybe it was under the influence of alcohol. Or maybe they just needed some sort of human contact after a disturbing day.
"Why do we keep doing what we do Morgan?" Emily asked abruptly as she stopped in front of her apartment. "Is it even worth it? I mean, we work 24/7. We have no life. But things like that never stop happening."
"It's worth it," he said softly.
"Really?" she asked skeptically.
"Yeah," he nodded, "My mom used to read the bible to me and especially after my dad passed away, she always read this verse to me. And she told me, no matter what God takes away from us, he would never take away the most important that keeps us all alive... Love." He recited from memory, "And these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love. 1 Corinthians 13:13."
"That's beautiful," she whispered.
"I didn't write it," he joked.
"But I needed that."
Morgan turned to face her, needing her to see that he was serious and not drunk. "Look, I'm sorry for everything that had happened between you and that son of a bitch. But what you did, saved another family," he whispered. "You saved a man who put his life on the line for our country from going through the pain of losing everything that mattered to him. It may not mean anything to you, but it meant the world to that man. It was worth it, Em."
He paused and let Emily process his words. He let a small grin graced his face when he watched Emily's lips curved upwards. "It was worth it," she whispered, "Thank you. For reminding that there is still something worth fighting for."
And that was it. Love. That was what they had been fighting for. That was what had kept them from falling. That was what gave human beings the strength to face each day...
Love.