You have to hate the flu. It swept thru my workspace and I was the only person not to succumb. Then I had to send my daughter to Arkansas. So, it's been a long month. I finally got this chapter completed, but I am hesitant to post it. I know that a lot of you have sided with Ambassador Prentiss and liked the way she was portrayed as a caring mother. This chapter is going to delve into her unresolved anger toward Dave. Yes, you may think she's being a bitch, but try to see it from her side. And to be honest, I really think she is making valid points for Em to consider.
One Hello
Elizabeth Prentiss pushed open the door to the kitchen.
"Emily," she gently admonished, "what are you doing up? You should be sleeping."
The faint smile Em tried to force never reached her red-rimmed eyes. She was exhausted, but she couldn't sleep. Lying in the bed, snuggled next to her daughter, she should have felt a sense of relief or maybe victory. But she didn't. Not while Dave was struggling to live.
"I'm not tired," she fibbed and sipped the coffee that had since grown cold in her mug. The bitter taste combined with artificial sweetener caused her to blanch.
"You look worn out." Elizabeth opened the cupboard and took down a mug. Quietly she filled it, then took it to the small table located in the middle of the room.
"I'm fine." Em refused to meet her mother's eyes. She might be a great profiler, but the Ambassador was the best. "I couldn't sleep; too much on my mind." It never ceased to amaze her how the Ambassador could always look so…refined and dignified despite living on no sleep or jetting from one country to another on a moment's notice. Never a hair out of place – it didn't dare with Elizabeth Prentiss! – make-up always perfect. Em had always felt she could never live up to the standard her mother had set.
"Did you hear from the hospital?" Elizabeth inquired and routinely prepared her coffee.
"Hotch said there wasn't any change, and that I should get some sleep."
"Agent Hotchner would know best."
"I'm going down there."
Elizabeth set down her mug. "Emily, there is nothing you can do. The doctors…"
"I can be with him!" Em stated vehemently. "He needs me!"
"Dear." Elizabeth covered Em's hand with hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. "He doesn't even know you're there. You…your presence – or lack there of – will never be felt. Let the doctors do what they need to do."
"Mother, what are you trying to say?"
Elizabeth opened her mouth, then closed it as she considered her reply. There was no way she could sugar-coat her feelings. But she would try.
"What if I said that I don't want David Rossi to survive?" She held her index finger up as Em started her retort. "Hear me out. Please."
Em let out a heavy breath and leaned back in the chair to hear her mother's side of the argument.
"It's no secret that I despise David Rossi for what he did to you. He was deliberately cruel and unkind, and…the way he treated you…" Elizabeth brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "There is no forgiveness. The only reason I didn't ruin him, is Claire." Her hand trembled as she brought the mug to her lips and sipped. "At least something good came from that disaster."
"Mother, he's changed," Em defended. "If you had only seen him -"
"I have seen him. And though it was at his worst, it told me everything I needed to know about who he truly is."
Em shook her head. "That's not fair! You can't base it on that one moment! He deserves a second chance."
"Emily, I have dealt with dictatorships and regimes that would rival some of the criminals you have arrested. I can look in a man's eyes and see what is in his heart. He hasn't changed."
"And throwing himself between the gunman and Claire? What was that?"
Elizabeth pursed her lips into a thin line. "If I had to make an educated guess: He was easing his guilty conscience."
Em jumped up from the table. "I can't believe you said that!"
"What did you want me to say? That I'm happy that he's come back into your life? That I forgive him and stand back so he can go about finishing the destruction he started? That I want him to live?"
"Are you saying that you want him to die?" Em choked out in a tight voice.
"I'm saying that if he was out of your life, things would be a lot easier," Elizabeth reasoned matter of factly.
"He is Claire's father!"
"That can't be changed. But she doesn't know him. And what kind of father can he be?"
"He spent time with her; they got along!" Em desperately wanted so badly to defend Dave. He had rights. But deep in the back of her subconscious, her mother's words were uncovering an emotion she didn't want to acknowledge.
"Really?" Elizabeth shot back. "Because I have yet to hear her call him anything but Mr. Dave."
"She's three and a half, Mother. She's still getting used to him."
"So it won't be difficult for her to get used to him not being there."
Anger built up inside Em so violently she began to shake. She and the Ambassador had had many arguments and disagreements in the past, but never had one made her see red. Unconsciously her hands clenched and unclenched as she counted to twenty in French.
"Dave will be in her life."
"David Rossi is the most unreliable person when it comes to making and keeping a vow. I know about his three previous marriages, and I know what caused each one to end in divorce. I also know everything about his lothario reputation at the FBI. You don't get legendary status like that without trying. He'll leave you again, Emily. He lives for the moment of fresh and new and basking in the moment."
"I'm not hearing this," Em shook her head, denying what her mother was saying.
Elizabeth stood up, walked over to Em and cupped her daughter's face in her hands. "You're going to let him in, but when he leaves and hurts Claire, what are you going to do? I know you think he loves you and Claire, but it's time to think with your head and not your heart."
"He loves me. He loves Claire," Em reiterated, her strained whisper barely audible. "He never would have risked his life if he didn't."
"I'm not saying that he can't feel love – and maybe he does love you both in his own way – but don't get fooled by him again. Four years ago I had to pick the pieces up, do you remember, Emily?" Elizabeth's voice was clogged by tears. "Or have you forgotten?"
"It's different."
"Is it? Are you positive?"
Em's chin quivered. A single tear slipped out to race down her pale cheek. She tried to meet Elizabeth's eyes, but couldn't.
"We can stay until he's out of the woods," Elizabeth reasoned. "Then we'll fly back to the States and prepare for the hearings. Then we are hiring a lawyer to make sure that David Rossi can never claim Claire for his own."
Em held up her hand. "He would never take Claire. I know him."
"Do you? How do you know? Did he tell you this?"
"Yes." She nodded, but doubt was seeping in.
"And he also told you that he loved you and would never hurt you. Then what did he do the night of the rehearsal dinner? He can't be trusted. If he lives, who is to say that he won't use his connections to take that little girl for his own and leave you in the cold? Have you thought all of this through?"
Em blinked back the hot tears that were betraying her. She wanted to be strong and level-headed; instead, she was breaking down in front of the last person she expected.
"And what if he doesn't make it?" she asked.
"Then you have nothing to worry about," Elizabeth replied evenly, her brown eyes – so much like her daughter's – held firm and steady as her tone.
Em drew in a shaky breath. "I see." She pulled back and brushed the tears from her cheeks. "I'm going to see Claire, then I'm going to the hospital." She started toward the door.
"Emily," Elizabeth called out. "I know that I might sound harsh and cold, but see it from my point of view." She turned to look at her daughter's back. "I'm going on past experience and what I've seen. There is a saying my father used to tell me: 'One oh shit can wipe out ninety-nine attaboys'. But that doesn't mean one attaboy can wipe out ninety-nine oh shits, either."
"You know where to reach me," Em commented. Then she pushed thru the door and left Elizabeth to stand alone in the kitchen.
Waiting for the door to close, Elizabeth bowed her head in defeat. What more could she have done?
*****
Hurrying to her room to change, Em tried not to let her mother's words affect her. But the statement that she hadn't told Dave that she loved him still rang in her ears. She didn't want to analyze the rhyme and reason for being a coward.
Running a brush thru her hair, she pinned it up and reached for her scarf. Securing it in place, she shrugged. Yeah, she looked like hell, but what could she do about it?
Once she found out how Dave was faring, she would come back and sleep. That much she could promise.
"Mommy?" Claire called out as she entered the room.
"Hi, Claire bear." Em grabbed her up and hugged her tight. "Where were you?"
"Drawing a picture. See?" She held up the piece of paper with scribbles significant and clear enough to resemble forms and shapes.
"That's very nice. Is it for me?" Em smiled.
"No. It's for Mr. Dave. He missed Christmas, so I drew a picture of Santa." Claire pointed to the blob in red.
"It looks like Santa," Em agreed.
"Will you take it to him?"
"Yes."
"Will it make him feel better?"
Em considered lying, but thought against it. "I don't know, honey. He's still asleep."
"Well, wake him up. I want him to come home."
"I'll tell him that."
"Tell God not to take him."
Emotion threatened to overwhelm Em. "I will do my best. Okay, give me a kiss. I'll be home in a little while." Em set Claire down. Together they walked to the front door. "Be good for Grand-mere."
"I will. 'member to tell Mr. Dave he needs to colour a picture."
Another kiss. "Yes. Now go to the kitchen." Em watched her daughter leave the room. Then she turned and left.
