The Last Unbroken Heart

"Just what do you think you're doing?"

Taken aback by the intrusive question, Emily blinked before responding, "Mother?"

"Yes, it is your mother. What are you doing?" Elizabeth repeated her question.

Emily kicked off her shoes and dug her toes into the plush carpet. Her shoulders and back ached, and her head was threatening the mother of all migraines, too. All she wanted to do was take a long shower and fall into bed for the remainder of the weekend. A conversation with the Ambassador was not even on her To Do List.

"Why are you calling me?" Emily wondered. She tried to massage her aching shoulder.

"Because I am trying to prevent you from doing the stupidest thing you'll ever do in your life—save for when you faked your death," Elizabeth replied smartly.

"Faking my death was necessary," Emily pointed out.

"It was overly dramatic."

"It saved lives."

"It nearly ruined yours."

Emily rolled her eyes and stifled a groan. "Why are we talking about my death?"

"We're not. I'm talking about your pending divorce from David Rossi."

Emily paused in surprise. "Wait! What?! How did you know about that?!" Walter had promised to keep everything on the downlow, so how had the news leaked? Dave Rossi! I should have known! She fumed to herself.

"I know everything, dear."

"Sure you do."

"Going behind my back wasn't wise."

"So, I was supposed to televise it?" Emily didn't try to hide her sarcasm.

"Don't get insolent with me, young lady. I am still your mother."

"I'm not a 'young lady'."

"You're still young enough for me to put over my knee. Now tell me what is going on," Elizabeth demanded in her cool patrician tone.

Emily took a deep breath. Where to start? How to start? It was no use trying to lie her way out of the truth.

"Rossi and I are getting a divorce."

"I know about that. What I want to know is, why?"

Emily sat down on the overstuffed couch and closed her eyes. "Because."

"That's not an answer."

Emily defiantly crossed her arms over her chest. "It's the only one I want to give."

"Don't get smart with me, Emily. And don't cross your arms when you speak to me."

Emily thought about contradicting, then thought wiser of it. She let her arm slide down to rest on her hip. "Mother, it's my marriage and my divorce. It doesn't concern you."

"And David Rossi is my son-in-law and you are carrying my grandchild. This very much concerns me."

"Can we talk about this later?" Emily asked wearily.

"No. What happened?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Why else would I call you at three o'clock in the morning?"

It was on the tip of Emily's tongue to reply back in a childish way, but she stopped herself in the nick of time.

"You could go to bed and call me back...later," Emily suggested.

"How can you let him go?"

"Because he lied to me."

There was a long pause on the other end.

"What do you mean 'he lied to you'?" Elizabeth asked carefully.

"Remember Erin Strauss?" Emily tried not to vomit as she spoke the name of the dead woman who had been friends with her mother.

"Yes. Erin. What about her?"

"Rossi was in a relationship with her. A very intimate and inappropriate relationship." Intimate and inappropriate being the understatements of the century.

"I didn't know." Well, that changed everything or nothing at all where Elizabeth Prentiss was concerned. She would still have to hear all of the facts before passing judgement.

"Apparently, he was considering asking her to marry him when she...died."

"Dave Rossi and Erin Strauss..." Elizabeth murmured, trying to fit the two pieces together. It surprised but didn't shock the uppercrust Ambassador that her close friend had been so tight-lipped about her tete-a-tete with the legendary lothario.

"He's married to you now," Elizabeth argued.

"He loves her," Emily countered.

"He loves you, Emily. I know he does; I've seen it. He cares about you."

"He cares about the baby and his legacy," Emily bitterly replied. Her hand covered the mound in a protective way, but there was still jealousy. Would she always come in second place?

"I don't believe that," Elizabeth came to the defense of Dave. "David Rossi doesn't strike me as a man who does something on a whim."

"Why not? He is an anal-retentive neat-freak."

"Emily...that's not nice."

"Neither was this farce of a marriage," Emily muttered under her breath.

Elizabeth's ears perked up. "What did you say?"

Emily bit her tongue. Now the cat was out of the bag. However, it could be the one thing that brought her mother over to see things from her point of view.

"Our marriage isn't what you...we led you to believe it was. It was a 'spur of the moment'-actually, a drunken, thoughtless, desperate 'spur of the moment' brought to you by mai-tais and scotch," Emily explained.

Her cool demeanor slipped a bit at the revelation. "Wait. Are you telling me that you were drunk when you got married?"

"Drunk...may be pushing it...a little," Emily hedged, trying to put off the inevitable berratement she could feel coming her way. Why hadn't she hung up when she had the chance?

"Drunk?!"

For a long moment, there was nothing but complete silence on the other end. Emily pulled the phone away for a moment to make sure the connection was still active. All she could do was sit and wait.

"I thought I raised you better than that, Emily Maire."

"Mother—"

"Just when I thought you had found your happiness...um, well, you tell me that you drunkenly eloped in Vegas with David Rossi."

"Mother, I—"

"Tell me one thing, please."

Emily swallowed hard and braced herself for anything. "Sure."

"My grandchild..."

"Concieved in matrimonal bliss," Emily replied tongue in cheek.

"Don't get cheeky."

"Sorry."

"Is there any way you can get back together with him?" Elizabeth wondered.

"No."

"Think of the child."

"I am."

"A child needs two parents."

"Tell me about it."

"Look, Emily, I wasn't the world's greatest mother—"

"Don't push it, Mother." Emily could feel her spine straightening as the direction of the call changed.

"I sucked as a parent, okay?" Elizabeth stated out of the blue. Emily blinked. Hard. Had the uppercrust ambassador said "sucked"?

"And I wasn't always there for you—at least when you needed me," Elizabeth continued her speech. "And I regret that, Emily. But this, right now, I want to help you. You and Dave are meant to be together."

"Our coming together was accidental."

"It was fate," Elizabeth replied logically.

"We can't make it."

"Your father and I weren't exactly star-crossed lovers when we met. We had our...difficulties. But we made a promise to see everything through to the end. I know you can do it."

"The papers have been filed, Mother," Emily stated flatly, but her heart still sunk at the words.

"Call them back."

"I'm not having this conversation, Mother," Emily firmly stated thru gritted teeth. It was one thing to listen to reason, but it was quite another to be berated into submission. After all, she had the Prentiss pride.

"You're being illogical."

"I'm doing what is best for me and my child. If you don't like it, then so be it. But unless you plan on offering something constructive, I'm going to hang up." Emily could feel her temper being ignited.

Elizabeth sighed in defeat. Some battles were best avoided altogether. "Are you sure this is what you really want?"

Long pause.

"Yes."

"I'll stand behind you—if you've really made your mind up."

"At least you've saved on the cost of a wedding," Emily evaded.

"We'll talk when I get back," Elizabeth replied and disconnected the call.

Emily hit the END button on her phone and tossed it on to the coffee table. The call from her mother was the last thing she needed after a week of hell, but it had been inevitable. She had been fooling herself into thinking that the Ambassador would never hear about the divorce. She had hoped, though, that it could have waited until after the fact.

Her back hurt, and her feet were screaming in protest. Add in that her stomach was demanding food, Emily had no choice but to get up from the couch and tend to her personal needs. Walking over to the fridge, she opened the door and took survey of the contents—or lack thereof. A half empty container of orange juice and a small cardboard take-out box from the local Chinese restaurant greeted her.

Groaning, Emily closed the door and rummaged thru the cupboards. Finding a package of Ramen noodles, she searched for a fork and bowl. Nothing. Mentally, she kicked herself for taking the trash out earlier.

"Great, Emily," she chastised herself. Despite standing in the middle of a luxurious rented apartment, nothing much was going to change the fact that she was without food.

If you were back with Rossi, you could be eating a gourmet meal right now, her conscience poked childishly.

"Shut up," Emily growled. Yanking the fridge door open again, she grabbed the orange juice and took a long swig. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Emily samcked her lips. Maybe she could order in a little something after she took a shower, she thought to herself.

At that moment the baby delivered a kick. Emily bit out an expletive.

She would order dinner after she peed, she conceded as she quickly waddled to the bathroom.
************************************

Dave poured himself another scotch and tried to settle into his favourite arm chair. A long week of teaching and training, and yet he felt as though he had accomplished nothing. No matter how hard he tried, there was little to no satisfaction in anything he did. Not even the scotch held joy for him.

He twirled the amber liquid around in the expensive crystal glass. When had his life hit rock bottom? When had he stopped making sense of things?

"Mr. Rossi?"

Dave turned his head to look at Freya, his ever faithful and loyal housekeeper.

"Yes, Freya?"

"Dinner is ready."

"I'm not hungry."

"I made your favourite—pot roast with mashed potatoes and garlic," the older woman extended the olive branch.

"Thank you, but I'll pass."

Freya took a couple steps into the tastefully decorated study. "Forgive my forwardness, but I think you should eat."

"I'll get it later." Dave dismissed her with a wave of his hand. At that moment the doorbell rang. Thankful for the interruption, Freya hurried to answer.

"Mr. Rossi, Mr. Schafer is here to see you." Freya took that moment to duck back into the familiar surroundings of her kitchen.

"Walter—" Dave started to get up from his chair.

"Don't get up. I see you're taking the divorce as well as I'd expected," Walter said as he walked into the study. He looked around. Other than a couple of newly added pictures of Dave with a celebrity or politician, nothing much had changed since the last time he had been there.

"Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine," Dave growled and sipped his scotch.

"Only if you paid me more." Walter moved to the bar. "Mind if I help myself?"

"Not that I could stop you," Dave muttered under his breath.

Walter picked up the bottle, examined the label. "Hmmm...1986. That was a great year." He took off the lid and gave an appreciative sniff. "Smells like a good year, too." He poured a generous amount into a glass. "Nice colour. Texture seems to be smooth," he observed.

"Will you stop yapping about the scotch and drink the damn stuff already?" Dave barked.

"Sounds like you've had enough to drink," Walter observed evenly as he replaced the lid on the bottle and grabbed his glass. He carried it over to the leather couch.

"This is my first glass." Dave held it up for his friend to see.

"Then you're still rational."

"I want to be left alone."

Walter shrugged. "Maybe. Don't you want to know why I came over?"

Dave raised his eyebrow. "Is this a trick question?"

"I filed the divorce papers."

"Yippee for me."

"I thought you'd be doing a jig or something."

"Sorry to disappoint you, Wally. I'm not much in a mood for jigging."

Walter sat on the couch. "I thought you wanted the divorce."

"No."

"You brought me the papers. Signed."

"She signed them. She requested it. I had no say," Dave replied back. His voice held just a tinge of sadness.

"You could have said no," Walter comforted.

"Emily made up her mind. It is what she wanted."

"Even if it's your child at stake here?"

"What did you want from me, Walter? Blood?"

"If it meant that you snapped out of that 'pity poor me' mode and fought for the woman you loved, then yes, blood might be necessary," Walter retorted.

"I don't love her."

"Sure, you don't."

Dave pushed himself out of the chair and headed to the bar. Despite his glass being more than half full, he figured a top off might help.

"Emily Prentiss means nothing to me."

"Why don't you just cut the bullshit, okay?" Walter barked back in his most ferocious lawyer tone reserved only for those who decided to push the envelope. "That woman was the best thing to ever land in your life, and you just let her walk away!"

Dave slammed the bottle down. "She chose to leave!"

"What did you do to make her stay?" Walter shot back.

"Nothing. I—"

"Exactly. Nothing. The both of you are so freakin' blinded by past hurts that you can't see the forest for the trees! I swear, in all of my years of being a divorce attorney, I have never seen a bigger pair of bullheaded nincompoops than what I have seen grace my door way these past couple of weeks!"

"Nincompoop?"

"Yeah. Got a problem with that, Agent Rossi?" Walter asked defiantly.

"Not really. I just wasnt aware that it was a legal term."

"It is." Walter glared at this friend.

"Don't you dare."

"Dare, what?"

"Pull your 'Perry Mason' courtroom glare on me."

"Then answer the question. Why won't you fight for Emily?"

"Because she doesn't want me to, okay?"

"Bullshit."

"Excuse me?"

"I repeat my earlier statement: Bullshit. You won't go after her because you're afraid," Walter answered.

"And you call yourself a lawyer," Dave replied sarcastically.

"Actually, the sheepskin on my wall calls me a lawyer; I call myself your friend. And right now, a friend is something you need." Walter stood up and walked over to Dave. "Talk to me. What happened?"

"I screwed up. She found out about Erin."

Walter let out his breath in one long stream. "Well, that explains it."

"Don't start in on me, Wally. So help me..."

"I'm not going to start on anything. I'm only going to make an observation."

"Or two," Dave finished.

"Or two. You love her and she loves you. You both made stupid mistakes and now you're taking the easy way out."

Dave rolled his eyes. "Does this meandering have a point?"

"You have to fight for what you want."

"Some battles are over before they begin."

"And other times you have to bring a rock to a giant fight. Look, Dave, I'm all for not extending a hell on earth, but this isn't one of them. You two really are meant to be together. Find a way to communicate with her."

"I can't talk to someone who refuses to talk to me."

"Try. And if things fall apart, at least you can say you gave it your all."

The sound of a throat clearing from the door way caused the two men to turn around.

"Yes, Freya?"

"Mr. Rossi, will your guest be staying for dinner?"

Walter's face brightened. "Don't mind if I do!" He slapped Dave on the back. "Come on, I'll race you to the dining room." He hurried out of the study. "What's on the menu?" he asked Freya.

"Pot roast."

"Hmmm...my lucky night. Come on, Dave!"

Defeated by fate and bad timing and a rumbling stomach, Dave conceded by setting his glass on the bar top. Maybe he could try to meet Emily halfway—after he ate.