This chapter got a bit long, so it's shorter than I intended. The part that's missing at the end will be included in the next chapter. So, you won't find out what's happening to Emily in real time for another two chapters, sorry! Glad I got such great feedback on the first chapter, and I'm glad people are liking this so far. So, I'm continuing. Lacking inspiration for TLD. Hope you all had a lovely Memorial Day weekend! R&R!
Oh, and has anyone else heard; PAGET BREWSTER IS RETURNING TO CRIMINAL MINDS FOR SEASON 7! :D That also means Rachel Nichols is leaving... but... eh. PAGET BREWSTER!
"Don't become a mere recorder of facts, but try to penetrate the mystery of their origin." —Ivan Pavlov
Eight months previously…
The atmosphere was boisterous, headache inducing. Darkness enveloped the windows and the inside was illuminated by harsh lighting. The air smelled strongly of alcohol and sweat, not a pleasant mixture by any means, but as it was, nobody appeared bothered or repulsed; they were too caught up in other happenings. Drinks clinked loudly against one in another in cheers to celebrate, people shouted over the music blaring from the speakers. The floor was littered with abandoned cigarette packs, minuscule shards of glass, eating utensils, spilled potables, and melting ice cubes. On the small dance floor, a girl shamelessly put on a suggestive show for a guy who looked a little too interested to be safe, another couple was sharing in a sloppy make out session, another pair was so intoxicated they were holding one another up and that was their substitute dance. People situated at the booths were chattering amongst themselves, all a great deal less inebriated than the majority of the occupants.
No matter the intention, everyone shared one common factor, and that was that they were out relishing in another Friday night as many people did. How they chose to do so was up to them, but everyone save the bartender and staff had chosen to spend the end of their working week as many people do. It didn't quite matter how, but everyone was most definitely enjoying themselves, a weary team of FBI agents included.
Said team sat in a quiet booth in the corner, far out of reach of the drunkards. Smiles lit their faces as they too clanged their glasses against one another in honor of another successful week. While not most people would share in their feelings, they were delighted that they had managed to apprehend a vicious and relentless killer in record time, enough so that they were permitted to spend a Friday night in each other's company (despite the fact that this feat had been accomplished early in the previous day). In the span of a few short seconds the case was forgotten in heat of everyday conversation and banter, which the entire team participated in, even the stoic boss, sitting next to a lively brunette.
A waiter visited their booth, smiling politely and setting a small glass full of amber liquid down in front of the brunette, whose smile faltered in confusion. The waiter shrugged. "A nice fella paid for it. Asked that I keep him anonymous."
"Thank you," the brunette, Emily, said, her small smile genuine.
"Enjoy your night," the waiter said, bidding them farewell as he moved onto the next table.
"Princess has a secret admirer," the man across from her, Morgan, teased. Although, right now they were outside of work, and therefore on a first name basis; Morgan became Derek, cocky, arrogant, but convivial friend, not hardened, typically unflappable and determined FBI agent.
"No use in wasting it," she chimed, downing the contents of the small glass and disregarding it just as rapidly.
"Anyways, what were you saying, Dave?" JJ smirked, picking a French fry off of Spencer's plate, to which he faked an annoyed expression.
"If only I could remember," Dave responded wistfully, a grin playing across his lips.
"Getting forgetful in your old age, Dave," Aaron commented, chuckling as Dave shot him a pointed look and Emily slapped him lightly on his bicep. "What was that for?" he complained lightheartedly, grateful for the chance to act himself, out of character as it might seem for his colleagues.
"For being hypocritical," Emily giggled, and prompted by the look Hotch gave her, she was overcome with a fit of laughter. Her melodic laughter was contagious, and Derek, JJ, Penelope, Dave, and even Spencer joined in. Unable to resist, Aaron joined in at his own expense, his low laughter blending in with his teammates, mingling, becoming one.
The high made a slow descent into soft snickers after a good few mirthful minutes. Eventually, once it was silent, Emily hiccupped, evoking quick giggles from JJ, Penelope, and Morgan. She blinked, as if trying to clear her head, and then rested her elbow on the table. In order to disguise it she put on a smile and nobody noticed.
"So I'm not the only one," Dave noted, sending a playful smirk Aaron's way.
"What have I forgotten?" he inquired.
"What did you have for breakfast this morning?" Dave retorted.
Aaron pretended to think hard on the matter, and just as a triumphant smile began to spread across Dave's face, Hotch matter-of-factly stated, "Jack and I had banana pancakes with maple syrup and milk. Jack helped me make them."
"He got you, Dave," JJ noted, a permanent grin etched on her face.
"I know when I've lost," Dave conceded, taking a sip from his glass, plentiful with shimmering red wine. His attention was drawn when Emily settled both of her elbows in the table in order to rest her forehead in her palms.
"You okay, Em?" JJ asked from her other side, placing a supportive hand on her back.
"I'm fine," Emily breathed, lifting her head again. "Just a little dizziness is all. It's been way too quiet at the BAU, and I'm tired," she remarked.
"If you say so…" JJ responded warily, removing her hand.
"I'm seriously fine, Jayje. I think I'm going to go, though."
A collective look of disappointment emanated from her friend's expressions, but it was easy to overlook in her dizzy haze. The room suddenly tilted to the side as she stood up and slid out of the booth, taking her purse along with her. She could no longer keep her balance in a room that felt like it was becoming a rollercoaster. Her hand blindly reached out for support, finding the table, but feeling just as unstable.
Various choruses of, "Are you sure you're alright, Em?" "Maybe we should drive you home." "Did you get enough sleep last night?" penetrated her hearing, but they sounded remote as she desperately tried to regain her balance. Her head felt heavy, like lead, and the clamor intensified, causing her head to pound. The malaise invading her senses was nearly overwhelming, but Emily was a strong woman, and she reminded herself that she'd be home in a warm, comfortable bed soon enough. She just had to keep her wits about her.
"I'm… I'm fine," she murmured, but again it sounded distant to her, as if her mouth was speaking of its own accord. At least some part of her was still acting rationally. "Good night, I'll see you guys tomorrow," it said unwaveringly, revealing no discomfort or distress, despite the bubbling nausea that made her want to hunch over in her bathroom at home and suffer privately. However, being who she was, she never put any of this on display, and instead put on the guise of a woman with no doubts.
When she thought she was steady, she removed her hand and took a few experimental steps forward, only to stumble as the room very nearly did a cartwheel. The nausea flared inside her and she desperately yearned to be safe at home, without the concerned gazes of her teammates on her back, without the amplified din of a busy bar on a Friday night. It took a great effort to keep it together, even when her whole body failed her and became cumbersome. The room blurred and whirled out of focus until the ground rushed up to meet her and her hands found a clean spot of brown wooden flooring with a muted thud, but even that melded into an indecipherable blob across her vision. Her head thrummed painfully and she wanted to cry, to be solitary, to fend for herself and have to rely on no one, just like she had learned how to do during her upbringing.
Her wishes weren't granted as a warm sensation covered her waist where some unidentifiable but considerate person engulfed her thin frame with their arm. The other hand grasped her own, and she just made it out to be Hotch's when his voice reached her hearing, but merged into an unintelligible question. When she never offered a response he helped her to stand, all the while the room spinning and twirling and making her feel awful. The room jerked as her legs buckled beneath her, and the grip on her waist tightened, pulling her closer to the source. Her weight was no longer her own as she leaned against the support, thankful while at the same time resentful.
All she was aware of while they moved was the inclining room that refused to remain still for a brief second, the people buzzing around her, oblivious, creating even more noise that she was unable to interpret. Her stomach, which really felt as though it were on a never ending rollercoaster, continued to complain until they passed through the door, which created an irksome ringing. The ringing finally set her off and her head dropped over on the street, dispelling whatever her body could. She was able to discern circles being rubbed soothingly on her shivering back while her body shuddered and came very close to collapsing. That was when blackness tinged the edges of her cognizance and swiftly consumed it, erasing her memory of the remainder of the night.