Heartfelt thanks to all who read and left reviews on the last chapter. Your feedback is always appreciated. And to those who have left suggestions for conversations, I haven't forgotten - they're being worked on!
The quote for this chapter comes from the song that served as the inspiration for this chapter, so if you're so inclined, have a listen - it's fantastic.
Happy reading =)
"I thought of you and where'd you gone, and the world spins madly on." – The Weepies, World Spins Madly On
There are some things you hear pretty often after the death of a friend. Little phrases that people pull out to comfort you and try to make you feel a bit less burdened. The kind of stuff they might put on condolence cards but with far more eloquent (and yet still seemingly cheesy) phrasings.
"It gets easier."
"You learn to live with it."
"You have to honour their life, not their death."
"Time heals all wounds."
That last one irks me something awful. Time, in my experience, is not a healer. It is a conniving little bastard that likes to poke and prod you for fun. Vindictive little piece of-
But I digress.
It's been exactly six months since we lost her. Well, to be more specific since she was ripped away from us. It's been six months since we all started to try and figure out how to live in a world without Emily Prentiss in it. I'm not sure any of us have quite figured it out, and if we have, we haven't shared with each other. It's still hard, and I think it always will be. But we each deal with it in our own way.
Hotch does what he does best: he keeps being our fearless leader, even if he's off in a foreign country. Our resident genius shoves his nose into books and plays chess against himself on a daily – sometimes hourly – basis, and reaches out to JJ for comfort. JJ spends time with Henry and Will, hopefully finding comfort in them. Rossi mourns over the loss of his de facto daughter by taking Mudgie on long walks and trips, and occasionally visiting her grave. And Derek? He disappeared to Chicago for a while, and then swore up and down to find Doyle and do to him what he did to Emily.
And me? I try desperately to remember the good times – the ladies' nights and subsequent hangovers, the constant witty banter she kept up with Derek, the constant stream of teasing she threw boy genius' way, the team dinners. And of course I visit her weekly to give her updates about all things Penelope and BAU related.
And that ritual is what brings me to the flower shop, early this cool Monday morning. Simon, the shop owner, smiles brightly and waves hello as I enter. I offer a smile in return, but I can feel it doesn't reach my eyes.
"Good morning, miss. The usual for today?" he asks in his usual soft voice, his English heritage evident in the lilt of his accent.
I nod in response.
"Just give me a moment please – I'll get them wrapped up for you. It's a bit chilly today, and I'd imagine you don't want them damaged before you can deliver them."
I shake my head, "It's fine, Simon. They'll be outside in the chilly weather anyway."
"It matters not, miss! They should be top notch when you deliver them."
I offer a small smile as I realize he is far too stubborn and proud of his work to allow me to walk away with unwrapped flowers. "Okay then. Go ahead."
He grins and turns on his heel to grab the wrap from the backroom. I watch idly as he delicately wraps the flowers, protecting them from whatever harm might befall them courtesy of the chill that had set in. Upon finishing, he steps around the counter and presents the flowers to me.
"Here you are, miss. Red ones today."
"Thank you, my noble gentleman. You are too kind," I reply, though my response is admittedly lacking some pizzazz. I pull a twenty from my wallet and hold it out, but he pulls his hands back.
"Not today miss. Today they're on me."
"Why?"
"Just about six months since the first time you came in here. Your heart seems especially heavy today."
I sigh. He's right. Today's difficult on many levels.
"It doesn't get any easier," he continues with a small shake of his head.
I begin to nod and smile sadly, but stop abruptly as my mind processes what he said. "Wait, what?"
"I said: it doesn't get any easier. Living… grieving."
"Good sir, you sure know how to comfort a lady," I quip, sadness creeping into my tone.
He put his hands on mine and squeezes gently. "It doesn't get easier, but you get stronger."
"I sure hope you're right," I say, the tears threatening to fall at any moment.
"I know I'm right, miss. I see it in you."
"In me?"
"Do you remember the first time you came in?"
I nod. Like that horrible night in the hospital waiting room, it's hard to forget.
"Can I help you with something, miss?"
"Hmm.. what? I'm sorry, did you say something?" I reply, my mind having been somewhere else altogether. The way I've been lost lately it's a wonder I managed to open the door to the shop.
"I asked if there was anything I could help you with."
"Umm, yes actually. I need to pick out some flowers," I cringe inwardly – as if that wasn't plain to see, seeing as how I'm in a flower shop.
"Okay. Did you have a particular type in mind?" he asks, making no note of my foolish statement.
"No," I shake my head. "Just…something bright, and cheery. Nothing depressing."
The shop owner nods and tilts his head slightly. "Miss, can I ask… the flowers – who are you buying them for?"
I press my lips together in an effort to hold in the emotion threatening to spill out. "A very good friend of mine."
"Ah. You were close with them?" Somehow he knows they're for not for a congratulatory occasion.
I nod. "Very."
"Tell me about them."
I'm taken aback by his request, and I can't help the looks of confusion and surprise that cross my face.
"Ah, miss, I don't mean to pry. I just firmly believe that flowers bought for someone should always properly represent the reason why they were bought."
"How do you mean?" I ask, somewhat skeptically.
"Take roses, for example. Most people believe they only symbolize love and beauty. But the colour of a rose distinguishes many meanings – yellow roses are a symbol of friendship and care, pink ones represent gratitude and admiration, and green symbolize best wishes for a new life or wishes for recovery of good health."
"Oh."
"So, tell me about your friend, so I can help you choose the best fitting flower," he says gently.
I pause, trying to think of a suitable description of the person that was Emily Prentiss. Words don't seem to do her justice. The words 'Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity' flash in my mind, but I dismiss them. She may have embodied every one of those, but that wasn't who she was.
"She was kind and compassionate, and stubborn, and very loyal," I pause to swallow and restrain the sob threatening to escape. "And she was the bravest person I've ever known."
"Honourable?"
"Very."
"Gladioli then," he says, in a tone which leaves no room for questions or alternatives.
"Gladioli?" I ask, not familiar with the flower.
"A gladiolus symbolizes strength of character, faithfulness and honour."
I nod slowly. That's definitely Emily.
"In some cases they can symbolize infatuation, but first and foremost they symbolize remembrance – a promise to not forget the recipient."
"I'll take 5." One for every year I knew her.
"You're stronger today than you were six months ago. And six months from now, you'll be even stronger."
"Thank you," I say as I wrap an arm around him and hug him gently. Though our interactions are brief, he feels like more than just a stranger, or a flower shop owner. He didn't know Emily, and doesn't really know me, but he understands what we had. He gets that I lost a part of myself six months ago and haven't been able to figure out how to fill that hole. He gets that while some may call my weekly visits with her dysfunctional, they are therapeutic for me. Somehow, he understands that with every visit I grow to accept her death.
"Of course, miss. I'll see you next week?"
I smile, "Definitely."
"Hey E," I begin. "It's me, PG."
The silence that follows my usual greeting is always deafening. I shift on my feet, and smooth my skirt out.
"I see Rossi's been here," I say, noting the single orange rose resting in front of the headstone.
A few weeks after I started coming here, I ran into Rossi. I watched as he laid the soft pink rose on the headstone, and placed the orange rose gently at the base of it. He said something I couldn't hear, and then turned to leave. His eyes met mine as we passed each other and he pulled me into a brief, but tight hug. That was when I knew he was hurting far more than he let on.
The following week I asked Simon what the flowers Rossi had chosen represented.
"A single orange rose you say?"
"Yep. And a sort of pale pink rose. But it looked a bit different than the orange one."
"Well the single orange rose represents pride. It conveys the sentiment "I'm proud of you". As for the pale pink one, did it look anything like this?"
I nod as he points to a picture in a book on the counter. "Yeah, just like that."
"The tea rose. It symbolizes remembrance. It means, "I'll remember you always." Whoever chose those cared a great deal for your friend."
"He misses you something awful, Em. He tries to ignore it and play it cool, but man does he miss you. But he's doing okay, so don't worry. He even agreed to part with a few more of his recipes for me to try. He's taking another camping trip with Mudgie this weekend, assuming we don't get stuck chasing a baddie, that is.
"Let's see, Reid's doing okay too. He misses playing chess with you, I think. He keeps trying to coerce Derek into playing with him, but my Chocolate Adonis just won't go for it. I'm not sure he knows what to do now that he's winning every game. But he's spending tons of time with Henry. Poor little guy keeps asking after you. I don't think JJ's had the heart to tell him.
"Our favourite blonde gumdrop is doing fantastic as a profiler, though after hanging around you fine folks for all those years it's a wonder she didn't do this years ago. She misses you, of course. We haven't been able to visit any of our old haunts. It just feels wrong going without you. She's spending as much time with Will and Henry as our still crazy schedules allows. Those two still haven't gotten hitched though. Boggles my mind, that does.
"Hotch is stoic, and being our fearless leader, as always. I saw Jack the other day, Derek and I took him to the zoo. That little boy sure misses you. He keeps asking Derek if he'll ask you what book he should read next. Apparently he finished Charlotte's Web and needs to know what to read next. I don't think Hotch has had the heart to tell him either.
"And that brings us to Derek… He's… Well he's a bit lost. He tries to be everybody's pillar of strength, but I see how hard it is for him. He misses his partner. Don't get me wrong, he and JJ are quite the dynamic duo, but they just don't click the same way you two used to. He'll catch him, Em. I swear to you, he'll get him – we'll get him. I think he's sort of tried to put his grief on hold while he's finding Doyle. I want to catch that sicko just as much as any of us, but I'm scared for what Derek will do after he catches him. He's so focused on finding him, I'm not sure he's really dealt with the fact that you're gone. Then again maybe that's what he did when he disappeared off to Chicago. That man is an enigma, that's for sure.
"As for me, I'm okay, I suppose. Making a real effort to be cheerful for everyone. It's hard, because I know that I won't get to tease you about your mysterious past, or your apparent lack of knights in shining armour. And I know I won't hear your laugh, or watch your eyes twinkle with happiness when Henry jumps into your arms. It's hard, but I'm trying to move on- No, not move on. I'm trying to learn to live without you.
"Anyway, I've got some red gladioli for you today, courtesy of none other than our favourite florist, Simon. He insisted on wrapping them up tightly, so the cold wouldn't spoil them. Told me they should be "top notch" when I give them. He's right – only the best for you, doll."
I pause, letting that deafening silence fall over me once more. I glance at my watch and realize I should really get going, lest I be late for work.
"I've gotta go, my raven-haired crime fighter," I say, a few tears spilling out. "I still miss you like crazy, and if you feel like, you know, dropping in for a chat, or sending me some sign that you're a-okay, I'm totally cool with that. But if you can't, then no problem. I just hope you're at peace now, and have let the past go. If anyone deserves some peace and quiet, it's you."
I brush some stray leaves off the headstone, and collect the partially wilted gladioli I'd left last week. I place the fresh flowers down gently, and rest my hand briefly on the stone, closing my eyes and praying for peace for her.
"Take care, Em. I'll be back next week."
If you have opportunity to do so, I'd love to hear your thoughts and impressions.
Also, in case you were wondering, the bit about the flowers' meanings is mostly conjecture on my part - I'm by no means an expert on how these things work, but I did do some preliminary (and very basic) research.
