Disclaimer: I own nothing, everything belongs to their rightful owners.
AN: Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read and/or review my stories, that really means the world to me! And a BIG special thank you goes to my amazing beta reader, the wonderful greeneyedconstellations!
Pieces
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Part III
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Past
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"Hey, Clyde, one of your girlfriends is waiting for you."
"I don't do girlfriends, Ethan," Clyde murmurs, not looking up from his desk. It's almost noon and he still has a lot of work to do if he ever wants to get the damn paper done.
"If you don't want her, I'm happy to take her out for a ride."
"Which one is it?" Clyde asks, trying to ignore the double meaning of Ethan's words.
"I haven't seen her before. But she looks damn hot. I wouldn't let her wait."
Clyde frowns. The only girl Ethan hadn't seen was…
He's already out of the room and halfway down the stairs a moment later.
When Emily spots him she smiles, her dark eyes glittering in the sunlight that's falling through the windows in the hall. She's wearing a black wool coat over a school uniform, and even from afar, it's obvious that her black skirt is much too short to abide by any school policy.
"You didn't steal my father's car to get here, did you?" he asks when he's close enough for her to hear.
"No," she chuckles. "He lent me his driver all on his own."
"So that means my father asked your mother to move in, right? Your plan didn't work then?"
She frowns. "My plan?" She starts to laugh. "You think I stole your car to stop them from being together?" She shakes her head as if just the thought is completely ridiculous.
"I just wanted to go to a party that night," she explains. "I was driving a little bit too fast apparently; that's why they caught me."
"Why did you let the police take you to the station anyway? You could have told them who you were; they would have brought you straight back to the house. Why make your mother come to the police station to get you herself? Just to piss her off?"
"The officer was cute."
Clyde raises his brows questioningly, but Emily just shrugs.
"Well," she nods. "Wanna guess where my bedroom is?"
Clyde laughs. She's unbelievable. "You had to come here in person to tell me that?"
"No, actually your father wants you to come home for the weekend. He said he couldn't reach you over the phone so I offered my help to deliver the message."
"Free from any selfish motives of course."
"Always. So, what do you say? Are you coming home on Friday?"
"Are you going to rob a bank or set the house on fire? If so, I would really like to know so I can prepare myself." He tries to keep a stern face, but it's not really working.
"Where would be the fun in that?" she muses, her dark eyes bright. "So, you're coming, right?"
Usually he'd say no. He had no interest in spending his free time at home, but now it was her home, too. Before he knows what he's doing, he nods.
"I would kiss you goodbye," she tells him with a smile curving at the side of her mouth. "But the driver is watching us."
"Yeah," Clyde nods. "I know." He'd seen Arthur lingering in the doorframe when he came down the stairs. "My father doesn't trust me."
"It's not you he doesn't trust."
Clyde frowns, but before he has the time to ask her she's already on her way out.
Clyde's still looking after her when Ethan shows up next to him, a goofy grin on his face.
"You don't do girlfriends, huh?"
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Present
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It's not a coincidence that he's in Vegas the same night she is.
She's sitting at the hotel bar in a little black dress, with her hair kissing her bare shoulders and a dangerous smile on her bloody red lips that screams for attention. And she has it, Clyde can tell, even from afar.
She's flirting with the bartender and with a dark haired guy sitting next to her, but she's doing it only half-heartedly. At least to him that's obvious.
"Is that what you usually wear to work, darling?" he whispers in her ear, before he signals the guy next to her to back off.
There's a flicker of surprise on her face when she turns around, but it's brief, and of course she's not really surprised to see him.
"Only if they ask me too," she answers, her voice slightly slurred, making him wonder how much bourbon she already had.
"You're going to have the worst hangover in history," he tells her casually, before he reaches for her glass on the counter.
"Isn't that what Vegas is for?" She gives him a flirty laugh. "Getting drunk and-"
"We're married already. In case you forgot."
"Actually I wanted to say getting drunk and getting laid."
Her bluntness makes him chuckle. "Does that mean you want to get out of here?"
"No," she whispers, before she slips down from her bar stool and reaches for his hand.
Clyde raises a brow, but leaves her glass on the counter to follow her down a dark corridor anyway. She stops at the end, the only light coming from the EXIT sign above the door. Her eyes filled with lust and hunger, her fingers already reaching for his belt.
"Aren't you worried that somebody might see us?" Clyde wonders out loud. Pushing her back up against the wall the moment he's sure there aren't any hidden cameras. "One of your team maybe?"
"No," she murmurs, and pulls him between her legs with her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. "Not right now." He feels her hands slip in between their bodies, her fingers working his zipper with ease.
"You're going to get us arrested," he tells her hoarsely, knows it's worth the risk anyway.
"We never got caught before," she purrs against his lips. "And what happens in Vegas…"
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The pub Clyde's waiting for her in is dark and shabby, filled with drunks and too much smoke.
He's leaning casually against the counter with a bottle of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. His blonde hair hidden under a wool cap. His trademark leather jacket swapped for a bright yellow raincoat. He looks ridiculous, but he's blending right in.
He spots her the second she comes through the door, and he has a hard time keeping himself from laughing. The whole soccer-mom look was beyond funny.
He leaves his beer on the counter while he heads for the bathroom, waits in the dimly lit hallway until she turns the corner. Grabs her hand and pulls her with him into the storage room.
"You look ridiculous," he chuckles, as soon as the door falls shut behind them. Emily smirks, her eyes traveling up and down.
"You're one to talk."
"Touché."
"Why did you want me to come anyway? Did something happen?"
Clyde sighs, reaching forward to brush a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. "It's taking too long," he starts tentatively. "We need to get you out."
"Now? But-"
"It's not open for a discussion. I'm only here to let you know."
"You already made the decision?" She stares at him disbelievingly. "Don't you think I should have a say in this, too?"
"No."
She pulls away from him, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
"Give me at least a few weeks."
Clyde shakes his head. "It's been almost a year already."
"A month."
"No."
He watches her bite her lip. Something's wrong, even though he can't tell what it is.
"Two weeks." She tries again. "Please."
"Why?"
"He asked me to marry him."
Clyde frowns.
"How come we don't know about this?"
He watches her close her eyes. "It's complicated-" she starts, stops, and looks back up at him. "Just give me more time."
She takes a step towards him and then another. Her dark eyes glistening dangerously in the dim light.
"I don't like this," he tells her, reaching for her waist and pulling her close. "I want you back."
"Soon," she whispers, bending forward. Her lips only inches from his. "Trust me."
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Past
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When he comes home on Friday he finds the house empty. Even the staff seems to have taken the day off. Obviously a change of plans. Of course nobody bothered calling him.
Annoyed with himself and the whole world in particular, Clyde leaves his bag and his coat in the hallway, wondering if Thea had a few leftovers in the fridge, when he catches the faint sound of music coming from the first floor.
He finds Emily in the room next to his, standing on a ladder, painting the wall. She must have been working on it for quite some time, because half the room's already painted black. She's wearing a plaid shirt over black leggings, her hair bound together in a ponytail. Some of the paint dripping down on her forearms.
"Does my father know about this?"
He planned to startle her, but she doesn't even blink. She must have heard him come up the stairs.
"No," she tells him casually, not even turning around. "It's my room, isn't it?"
Clyde shakes his head, watching her with growing amazement.
"He's going to freak out, darling. I wasn't even allowed to pin posters on the walls when I was your age."
"Want to bet?" She gives him a quick look over her shoulder, before reaching for the paint brush again.
"Why do I get the feeling that I would lose?"
She chuckles. "Probably because you would."
"Where is everyone anyway?" Clyde asks. "Didn't you tell me my father wanted me home for the weekend?"
Emily nods. "He did. He wanted you to come Saturday morning."
Clyde frowns. "You said-"
"I know." She turns, and flashes him a flirty smile. "But I wanted you all for myself."
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They end up in the kitchen, Emily sitting on the counter with a bottle of bourbon in her hand and Clyde leaning against the table, eating some leftovers from the fridge.
"How was your week?" Clyde asks, eying her carefully from out of the corner of his eye.
"My week?" Emily echoes, her voice filled with laughter. "Do you really care about that?" She takes another long swig from the bottle. "You want some?" she asks, handing him the bottle.
He doesn't, but he takes it anyway. She's had more than enough already. She slips down from the counter, sauntering out of the kitchen.
"You play too, don't you?" she asks, when he finds her in the living room a little while later, pointing at the Steinway. Instead of waiting for an answer, she's already opened the lid, her fingers touching the keys softly. A familiar melody starts to fill the wide room with sound.
He watches her for a long time before he walks over, sitting down next to her. She gives him a quick side-glance, a smile playing on her lips and her dark eyes shining like he hasn't seen them before. It's the only invitation he needs.
They play together, Emily the low notes on the left and Clyde the high ones on the right.
He hasn't played for a while, and he realizes just how much he missed it. The familiar feeling of his fingers on the smooth keys, his own face reflected in the black polished wood.
"You're good," she whispers hoarsely.
"My mother taught me," he tells her, before he can stop himself. "After her death I wasn't allowed to play again. But my nanny let me anyway whenever my father wasn't around, which was quite a lot. She even arranged piano lessons in secret and paid for them herself. The first time my father heard me play was on one of his famous Christmas parties. He was furious. He stopped talking to me for almost a year."
"Because you played the piano?"
"No, because I dared to remind him of my mother."
Emily gets quiet. Awfully quiet. She draws back her hands as if she's been burned.
"My father offered to let you to play on it, didn't he." It's not a question. He already figured it out.
"I'm sorry," Emily whispers. "I didn't know, I-"
"I need to ask you something and I need you to be honest." He cuts her off midsentence. His fingers stilled on the keys. "You have my father wrapped around your little finger. It's obvious. I need to know-" He stops, not sure how to say it. "I need to know if he, if he ever tried-"
"No."
He turns his head to look at her.
"It's not what you think," she says. A stern expression on her face.
"Then what is it, Emily? Something's going on between the two of you and…" He takes a breath. "I'm worried."
Clyde isn't sure he can believe her. Would she tell him the truth if it were true? Would he even want to hear it?
"There's no need to be worried."
"Then tell me what's going on."
He watches her get up, crossing her arms in front of her chest protectively. Something has changed.
"He fucked my mothers secretary," she starts. All color drained from her face, all playfulness gone. "I walked in on them and I promised not to tell my mother. That's it."
"What did he do to keep you quiet?"
"Look-" she starts, and takes a few steps further away from him. She looks sick. "I needed money."
Clyde raises a brow. "What would you need money for? No offense, but you're as spoiled as me, you can just-"
"No." She shakes her head, and Clyde watches her reach for the doorframe. "I needed-" She bites her lip, and when she finally meets his gaze again there are tears in her eyes. "Can we please not talk about this? I assure you, the only thing your father wants is to keep me quiet. And as far away from you as possible."
"Why would he want to keep you away from me?" Clyde laughs, shaking his head. "It's the other way around, Emily. He doesn't want me to-"
"No, it's not." She closes her eyes. Takes a breath. "I think I might have had too much to drink. Goodnight, Clyde."
And with that, she's gone.
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Present
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It's Emily's number flashing across the screen on his phone that makes Clyde stop midsentence and leave the conference room without an explanation to his team.
"Shouldn't you be asleep?" he asks, the second he takes her call. "What time is it in DC? Three am?"
Emily gives him a soft laugh. "You know exactly what time it is."
"Why aren't you asleep then?" He shuts the door to his office, settles down behind his desk. "Tough case?"
"Yeah, that too."
Her voice sounds hoarse and tired and Clyde hopes it's just a cold, even when his feeling tells him differently.
"What happened, Emily?"
"JJ had her baby; it's a boy."
"Don't tell me you want one of those now," Clyde jokes, even though he doesn't feel like joking. As much as he loves her, kids are out of the question.
Emily chuckles. "Are you scared?"
"I don't know, darling," he takes a breath, tries to stop thinking about Vegas two nights ago.
"Should I be?"
"I didn't change my mind about that, Clyde. But looking at that little boy made me think-"
She stops, and suddenly he realizes what this is really about. He scolds himself for being so thoughtless.
"About Italy," he finish for her, his eyes closed, his voice gentle.
"She wanted me to hold him so she could use the bathroom. It was just a moment, but-" Her voice breaks, and he knows she's fighting back tears.
"There's no reason to feel guilty, Emily. You were fifteen. And alone."
"I know," she whispers. "But it was the first time I held a baby after…" her voice trails off, and he can feel her pain as if it was his own.
"Stop blaming yourself, Emily. It's not going to help."
For a while there's nothing but silence, and he wonders if she already hung up on him.
"Emily?" he asks carefully. "Are you still there, darling?"
"Yeah, listen." He hears her clear her throat. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called you. I know you have to work; I'm so tired I don't even know why I-"
"Emily," Clyde cuts her off. His voice firm but gentle. "Just lay down. Close your eyes, I'll be right here."
It's all he can do, all he can offer with an ocean between them. At least right now. For a moment it's quiet again, but then he hears the rustle of bed sheets. He leans back in his chair and imagines himself, lying down on the bed next to her.
"I forgot to tell you," she mumbles. "Rossi saw us."
"I warned you. What did he say?"
"Something about me having a secret identity. Funny, how close to home that hits."
"I miss you," she adds a moment later, hear voice barely above a whisper. "I really miss you, Clyde."
He shuts his eyes and keeps listening until her breathing gets even, keeps listening until he's sure she's fallen asleep. He stays on the phone until a persistent knocking on his door brings him back to his office.
"I miss you, too, darling," he murmurs softly, before he finally ends the call.
.
"Why are you making such a fuss? I can do this, Clyde!"
"I don't like it."
"But I did it before," Emily states, getting more and more frustrated. "I'm his type. Why look for someone else?"
"This isn't like any other case we've had, Emily. Did you even look at his profile?"
Emily watches Clyde shake his head; he looks tired. Worn out. She's not sure she's ever seen him like this.
"If it works out like we hope, you would be living with him for god knows how long. He treats his women badly, Emily. Really badly. You'd have to take it. You wouldn't be able to fight back. No matter what he does."
"I can take it," she states calmly and shrugs, realizing her mistake just a little too late.
"I know," he answers, his blue eyes finding hers. "But I can't."
Emily lowers her head. "Just this case," she says, after a pause, reaching for his hand over the table. "Let me do this one case and then I'll go for a leadership position and stop going undercover myself."
"Just this case?"
Emily nods. Smiles.
"Just this case."
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Disclaimer: I own nothing, everything belongs to their rightful owners.