Chapter Thirty-One
The rest of the week passed far too quickly for Emily's enjoyment. Isla worked most days and her shifts were sporadic, as usual, but she spent all of her free time getting to know Morgan and Penelope and, by the end of the week, they were as sad to be saying goodbye to her as they were to be saying goodbye to Emily. As a thank you, and a treat, Penelope had offered to cook dinner on their last night, roping Morgan into helping her. Emily had been only too happy to oblige, as Penelope insisted Rossi had taught her a new pasta recipe that Emily just had to try.
"Ah, Rossi is Papa Pasta, right?" Isla noted, remembering his name from Emily's stories. The agents all laughed at her use of the nickname, which had been coined by Penelope years before.
"Yes, the Italian Stallion, himself." Emily agreed, grinning, as she poured them each a glass of wine. Their first bottle, already empty, had been discarded on the counter top. She pouted as she set the bottle down, placing the cork in the top as she did. "Oh, I miss him."
"He misses you too, gumdrop," Penelope, bedecked in an apron she had bought a few days ago, which Emily thought was the whole reason for her wanting to cook dinner in the first place. It had the Union Jack sprawled across it, along with the outlines of famous British landmarks. "We all miss you. It's not the same without you."
This was a conversation they'd had several times over the course of the week, more often than not of an evening, when the wine, or cocktails, had been flowing, and Emily and Penelope got a little emotional about it. Derek didn't get emotional, but he did get quiet. He was quiet now, as he obediently followed Penelope's orders of chopping up the vegetables for the pasta, while she worked on perfecting the sauce.
Emily didn't really have a response. She wasn't about to say she wished she hadn't left, not with Isla sitting right beside her, and the implications of that statement on their relationship. But London wasn't the same. She didn't have friends here, like she did in Washington. All of her friends here were Isla's friends and, nice as they might be, they weren't her team, her family.
"I know," Emily sighed, eventually, "But these things take time to get used to. You'll have a new team member soon, I'm sure, and they'll fit right in, just like I did."
"No one will ever take your seat at that round table, Princess," Morgan spoke up, eyes still on the chicken he was cutting, "Not now, not ever."
Beside her, Emily caught Isla smiling to herself, staring down at the wine glass in her hand. Sensing eyes on her, Isla glanced up, catching Emily's. There was a question there, but Isla just shook her head. I'll tell you later.
"Oh, yeah, Hotch has an Emily chip on his shoulder, he's still pining after you like crazy, so I don't know if we'll be getting any newbies any time soon-" Penelope trailed off as Morgan stopped cutting, giving her a pointed look. "What?" Morgan shook his head, casting a glance heavenward. "Oh, I didn't-"
"Music?" Isla smiled as she stood up, walking towards Emily's stereo. From the sofa, Emily just shook her head when Penelope glanced between her and Morgan. It was her own fault. Not only had she never explained the Hotch situation to Isla, she also hadn't explained her lack of explanation to Penelope. Morgan had gotten the gist, but Em should have known better than to think Pen wouldn't slip up at some point during the week. Isla's blonde ponytail bobbed as she bent down to glance through Emily's collection of records, and Emily sighed to herself, not looking forward to the conversation she knew they would now have to have.
The conversation came later, after both Morgan and Penelope had excused themselves to bed. Dinner was delicious, although Emily doubted Rossi used quite as much garlic as Penelope did. She would have to ask him, the next time he called, although she didn't want to get Penelope into trouble. Rossi, she knew, was very sensitive about his recipes.
Emily disappeared to the bathroom, and when she came back, Isla was standing at the sink, elbow deep in the hot water, washing the dishes. Emily stood for a moment, leaning against the corner of the wall where the hallway met her lounge, and watched. She remembered, suddenly, a similar scene in Rossi's kitchen. Flashes from what followed flickered through her mind, but she pushed them away, like she always did these days, and kicked off the heels she had been wearing for dinner.
"You don't have to do those," She told Isla, who hadn't heard her approach and now smiled down at the bubbles.
"Oh, I don't mind." Emily wandered over to her slowly, moving behind her, and wrapped her arms around Isla's waist. Resting her forehead against the woman's shoulder, Emily closed her eyes, breathing her in deeply, before she spoke.
"Do you wanna talk about it?" She asked, knowing without explaining herself that Isla would know exactly what she was getting at.
"Not if you don't want to," The blonde countered. Emily frowned against her back. "Hey, what's wrong?"
Isla turned, grabbing a towel from the drawer beneath the sink and using it to dry her hands. Emily shook her head, offered her a smile. "Nothing."
"Listen," Isla laughed, a low, short sound, "I know I'm not a profiler, or anything. I don't catch bad guys for a living, I've never made it my business to study behaviour. But I know you. I know your behaviour. I know when something is bothering you, and tonight, the Hotch comments. They bothered you. You don't have to talk about it," Isla shrugged, blue eyes honest and wide, "But I'm here to listen if you want to."
"You're not...threatened?" Emily tested the waters, tentatively, and Isla's eyebrows shot up, a grin lighting up her whole face, before she laughed, heartily.
"Wow, Em, okay. Should I be?" She shook her head, her ponytail swishing from side to side. "I'm not threatened by a man who is a whole ocean away on a different continent, on the other side of the world." She laughed again, but it died away quickly, and her blue eyes became serious, and vulnerable. "But, if I should be, you should tell me now. Because I like you, Agent Prentiss." Isla's hand came up, pushing Emily's hair back, settling on her cheek. "I like you a lot. And I'm not in the habit of getting my heart broken, because I don't give it away all that often." She brought her head close to Emily's, leaning their foreheads together, and Emily closed her eyes at the contact, her hand finding Isla's, where it hung be her side. "Are you going to break my heart, Emily?"
Emily kissed her, hard, urgently. She could taste the wine, and the garlic from dinner, on Isla's tongue, but Emily didn't care. She pressed forward, pressing Isla against the counter, and the blonde opened her mouth wider, inviting Emily's kiss, encouraging her to go deeper, as the hand on her cheek moved to tangle in her dark curls. Emily pressed her hips closer to Isla's, wanting her close and conveying her current needs at the same time. Breaking their kiss, Isla chuckled.
"Not here, not tonight," She said, lips brushing against Emily's as she spoke. "Your friends are asleep in your guest bedrooms so, for once, we should probably take this to bed."
Emily wasn't about to argue, and she let Isla guide her to her bedroom, where the blonde led her to the bed, sitting them both down and leaning back in to kiss her. This kiss was more tender, slow and loving and deep, and it made something in Emily's chest ache. She pushed the feeling away, instead, catching one of Isla's hands with her own, guiding it to her core as she spread her legs. Isla smirked against her lips.
"Someone's eager tonight." She teased, grasping at Emily's thigh. The brunette frowned, recapturing Isla's lips, jutting her hips forward, leaving no question of what she wanted. "Fine, pushy." Isla joked, as her hand moved to between Emily's legs, caressing her through her underwear. Emily sighed her approval as Isla's hand found her, legs spreading wider. She lay back against the duvet and Isla followed her, never breaking their kiss, as her fingers dipped beneath Emily's underwear and into her wetness. Emily felt Isla sigh, turned on by her enthusiasm, against her lips, and thrust her hips up to meet Isla's hand.
"Patience, love." Isla warned, smiling. Emily didn't want to be patient, though. She didn't want to think. With a frustrated groan, she sat up, Isla's hand disappearing from between her legs, and straddled the blonde, capturing her lips while her hands made quick work of Isla's shirt and bra. Emily's hands cupped her breasts and she shuffled down the bed, taking one plump nipple in her mouth, Isla's satisfied, and surprised, gasp giving her confidence. She swirled her tongue around, lavishing attention onto her girlfriend, and moved her own hips so that she was straddling one of Isla's legs, rutting slowly against it to give herself some friction. Isla's hands found Emily's ass, and she squeezed, roughly.
"Emily-" Isla said, breathlessly, "Emily, slow down." Frustrated, Emily rolled away from her, settling onto her back on top of the sheets. She was breathing heavily, irritation weighing heavily on her all of a sudden. Isla was smirking, amused by the pout on Emily's lips.
"You don't like being told no, do you?" The blonde acknowledged, turning and running her fingers down the centre of Emily's chest, tracing over the buttons of her blouse, and beginning to slowly undo the shirt from the bottom. Emily's dark eyes met the blue ones staring down at her and, stubbornly, she said nothing. Isla smiled, a wide, amused smile and Emily felt the corners of her mouth quirk as Isla's lips found her own.
Afterwards, as she lay in the dark, listening to Emily's slow, steady breathing, Isla realised Emily had never actually answered her question.
When Emily woke up, the other side of the bed was empty. Frowning in the weak light streaming through her curtains, she rolled over and grabbed her phone from the bedside table.
Got called in at 4am. Pile up on the M3. Apologise to Penelope and Derek for me.
It wasn't unusual that Isla got called into work at all hours of the night, but sometimes, much like serial killers, Emily wished patients had better timing. Penelope was already in her kitchen, a pot of coffee on the go, as though it were her apartment, and not Emily's. Emily gratefully accepted the mug handed to her, parking herself on a stood at the island.
"Before Derek gets up," The blonde cast a glance towards the hallway. Emily could hear the shower on full blast. "I'm sorry about last night, gumdrop. About bringing up Hotch. I wasn't thinking. I guess I figured you and Isla had spoken about that sort of thing, and you know what I'm like, I think before I speak, and I-"
"Penelope," Emily held up a hand, stopping her friend in her tracks. "It's fine. Don't worry about it. No harm done."
A smirk appeared on Penelope's face, and she turned back to the pan of eggs she had on the go. Emily frowned. "What?" A shake of blonde curls. "No, I know that face. What is it?"
"Nothing, I just, well, I figured there was no harm done last night." She gave Emily a pointed look and it took a moment for Emily to realise what her cheekily raised eyebrows meant.
"Oh, god. England doesn't build their walls thick enough."
The first time she said goodbye to Penelope and Morgan, at Rossi's, Emily had known she would be seeing them soon enough. Of course, six months had passed in between, but they'd still had that visit on the horizon, and it had kept her going. Saying goodbye this time around felt like it would be for forever. Emily tried not to cry, because she knew that if she cried, Penelope would cry, and then Morgan would get all awkward like he did. So she tried, and she successfully held back the tears. That was the problem, she though, as she hugged them both tightly, with loving people. It always hurt when they went away.
"Text me, okay?" Emily insisted, letting go of them both and pulling Penelope into a hug all her own. Again, she was overwhelmed with the scent of strawberries. That made her eyes water, when she thought of how she would miss it. "As soon as you land. To let me know you're safe." She remembered hearing the words said to her not so long ago. But I'll reply. She thought, savagely.
Morgan wrapped a strong arm around her, setting his carry on down onto the floor so he could tuck her tightly into him with them both. "You got it, princess." He muttered into her hair.
She watched them head towards their gate, waving the whole time, Penelope waving back eagerly, until they were out of sight. Then she sat, on the hard silver metal of the chairs that faced he huge windows, staring out onto the runway. Their flight wouldn't be leaving for hours, but Emily sat long enough to watch three planes leave, knowing her friends weren't on any of them. The fact that they were in the same building, but she couldn't get to them, was almost worse than them being in a different country, Emily thought, so after a while she stood up, pulled her brown, leather coat tight about herself and headed back to the apartment, to savour what was left of her last day off work before returning to the office tomorrow.
The apartment was too quiet when she got back. She had gotten used to having Morgan and Penelope around, used to having the place be alive and loud. Now, she was back to living alone. Back to Isla spending nights whenever she wasn't working. Back to silent days sitting in her office signing off on paperwork and trying to follow up on dead end leads.
Setting about keeping herself busy, to save on dwelling over the dread that washed over her at the thought of heading back into work tomorrow, Emily loaded up the dishwasher with the plates and mugs from breakfast, then went to the spare rooms and stripped the beds. She was about to get rid of the last sign that her friends were ever here at all. Heading to the washing machine, she knelt down on the floor and began to stuff the bedding inside. Pausing over one of Penelope's pillows, she put it to her nose. Strawberries. That made her smile. In her coat pocket, her phone rang and Emily threw the pillowcase in with the rest of the washing before going to grab it out of her pocket.
"Hey, love. Sorry I disappeared this morning, it's been really hectic over here. Did Penny and Derek get off okay?" Isla's voice was muffled, and Emily knew she had called on her lunch break, between patients and follow-ups."Hey, you. Don't be silly, it's fine. Yeah, they're gone." Emily sighed, glancing around the place, as she wandered from room to room. In the room Penelope had slept in, the roses on the windowsil were on their way to dying. She plucked them out of the vase, carrying them through to the bin in the kitchen and dropping them inside.
"You sound sad." Isla remarked. "How about I pick up your favourite take away on my way home and we put on some binge-worthy TV that we just end up ignoring?"
Emily smiled down the phone. "That sounds great."
"Good. I'll see you later."
"See you."
Hanging up the phone, Emily found herself in front of her window. It was still her favourite place in the apartment, but she spent less and less time here these days. Sitting down, back against the wall, she stretched out her legs. The phone in her hand was warm and she set it down on the grey carpet beside her, fingers tracing over the back of it. The London Eye spun on the horizon, slowly. That was something she still hadn't done. She still hadn't been up here. Supposedly, the views of the city were magical. But, she liked her view from right here just fine. When her phone rang again, Emily figured it would once again be Isla, and she put it to her ear without checking.
"Hey, babe-"
"This is a transatlantic call. You may be charged. Would you like to take the call?"
"Oh, uh-yes," Emily frowned. A thousand thoughts raced through her head, and none of them were good. Was it Morgan and Penelope? They'd only left a few hours ago, anything could have happened in between now and then. Images of fiery plane crashes shot through Emily's head before she could stop them, but she blinked them away when the voice came back on the line.
"Hello? Is this Miss Emily Prentiss?" A woman. She sounded calm. Emily knew that tone; it was the tone she used with victims, and with their families. It was the forced calm of someone who has to deliver bad news.
"This is she." Emily mimicked the calm, forcing herself to wait until she had confirmation that this was bad news.
"My name is Doctor Louise Maddison. I'm calling from Mary Washington Hospital in Frederickburg, Virginia. We have you on file as the next of kin for one of our patients, an Ambassador Elizabeth Prentiss?"
Emily sat down, her legs suddenly unsteady, and nodded. Then, when the Doctor prompted her, spoke. "Yes, she-uh, she's my mother. Is everything alright?"
What a stupid question. Is everything alright? If you're being called by a Doctor, from a hospital half a world away, everything is most certainly not alright.
"Miss Prentiss, your mother suffered a heart attack. We believe it was stress induced. She's currently stable, but we're uncertain of how long she will stay that way. She's been asking for you. Now, I'm aware you're currently in the UK, but would it be possible for you to visit?"
A heart attack. Emily felt as though her own heart had skipped a beat in her chest. She gawped for a moment, unable to form words. Then stood up, blinked, and was immediately in motion. "I'll be on the next flight." With that, she hung up. Years of profiling, years of travelling around the country for her job, had turned Emily into an efficient packer and within ten minutes she had all that she needed in her case and was calling a cab to take her to the airport.
It wasn't until she was climbing into the car that she remembered Isla. Cursing to herself, Emily pulled her name up in her phone and hit dial. Voicemail.
"Isla, hey. My mum's had a heart attack, I've just had a call from her hospital. I'm on my way to the airport, I'm going to take the jet and head over there to see her. I'm not sure how long I'll be gone. I'm sorry." When she hung up, Emily wasn't entirely sure of what she was apologising for. Perhaps just to keep all of her bases covered. But she didn't have time to ponder over it because as soon as she hung up the phone to Isla, she was scrolling in her notebook, down to the number of another important blonde in her life.
"JJ? It's me."