Yawning, Emily blinked sleep out of her eyes, feeling distinctly like her head – and mouth – were full of cotton, making it decidedly difficult to have any kind of coherent thought. Without looking, she groped blindly on her nightstand in search of her phone and the current time.

It took her eyes a few moments to focus on the screen and make sense of the numbers emblazoned there, given the way her head was swimming. She groaned audibly as she saw that it was well past noon. Normally, she never would've slept so late...but given the circumstances, she figured no one could really blame her.

On unsteady feet, she climbed out of bed and, in the process, realized she was still dressed in the clothes she wore the night before. With a weary sigh, she stripped out of the now wrinkled clothes and wrapped herself in her robe before padding downstairs in search of coffee. So much coffee.

She was staring at the coffee machine like it were some sort of alien technology when movement out of the corner of her eye startled her. Whipping around in alarm, she found Clyde standing in the threshold, staring at her with a raised brow.

"Well, well, well...look who's finally awake," he drawled, tone decidedly icy.

"Shit, Clyde!" Emily hissed, "Are you trying to give me a fucking heart attack?" She wasn't normally so sharp with him, but when hungover, all bets were off...

He didn't respond right away, simply standing there, leaning against the door frame, sipping coffee (the entire pot of which appeared to be gone) and eyeing her disdainfully.

After several moments in which he was decidedly silent, she huffed. "Why are you looking at me like that?" she demanded as she turned back to the coffee machine as if debating whether it was worth the effort to actually make the coffee or whether she should just eat the coffee grounds and skip the hassle.

He shrugged in a you tell me gesture.

Trying to figure out his silent riddles was far too much critical thinking for her pounding head just then. "Look, I know I look like a hot mess right now, but..." She trailed off, looking back at him and frowning at the slightly dishevelled quality about his normally pristine appearance. "Did you sleep on the couch last night?"

"Well, you weren't exactly in any state to be left alone," he reminded her, "So, I did the gentlemanly thing and stayed to look after you."

She seemed to digest that for a few moments – whether he seemed genuine in his motives or whether he were implying something. Eventually, she shrugged, agreed, "Yes, well, I was pretty wasted last night... But to be fair, it was Derek's fault."

He scoffed audibly. "Of course Derek fucking Morgan is involved."

Emily arched a brow at the aggression in his tone. She knew Clyde was none too fond of Derek, but normally his disdain took the form of snide under-his-breath remarks and the occasional veiled insult (usually directly to Derek's face for maximum effect), so the outright hostility was surprising.

"You know, Derek happens to star in a lot of your bad decision stories of late – particularly those involving alcohol," he continued pointedly.

With a sigh ending just short of an actual growl, she said, "Clyde, I've already got a pounding headache, please don't make it worse... I really can't stand the whole jealous boyfriend act right now."

"I think I'm rather entitled to my jealousy when another man fucks my girlfriend," he remarked dryly. Then, under his breath, he added, "I can't help but wonder if this has been a regular activity behind my back..."

She narrowed her eyes, fury blazing in them. "I am not a whore, so don't you dare make me feel like one!"

"Well, what would you call it when you go away for a weekend and end up cheating on me?" Clyde retorted. "Or were you too drunk to remember confessing all your sins last night and would like to retract your sudden honesty?"

Judging by the way she blinked at him, silently stunned, for several moments, the answer to that was yes.

After several moments, she sighed softly, said, "Clyde, I'm..."

He didn't give her the chance to finish the thought before he scolded, "No, please, don't say anything. I'm not sure I can believe a word you say right now."

"So, what happens now?" she asked, nodding slowly, tongue flicking out over her bottom lip. She desperately wanted to explain to him that she hadn't intended to cheat, that it was a one time thing, that she felt incredibly guilty about it...but if he wasn't ready to hear it, there was no point in wasting her breath.

"Well, now that I know you're not going to choke on your own vomit and die, I'm going home," he announced. "I have things to do before my next flight."

"I meant about us," she clarified in a whisper as if afraid of hearing his answer.

He shook his head slowly. "I don't know, Em. I can't...think clearly with you here. I can barely look at you right now. I don't want to say things out of anger that I can't take back when I have a clearer head."

She nodded, but said nothing. She just watched in silence as he gathered his things, wishing she had something – anything – to say that would make this better, but at the same time respecting him far too much to beg and plead that he stay if he wasn't happy. (She tried not to listen to the little voice that told her that if he was unhappy, it was her own damn fault for letting Derek Morgan in her pants in spite of knowing full well that it was wrong...)

Just as he crossed the threshold on his way to the car, he glanced over his shoulder at her, expression unclear and heartbreaking all the same.

"I love you," Emily murmured, just loud enough for him to hear.

He nodded, but his expression remained nebulous. "You see, Em...that's the problem. I'm no longer sure I can believe you."