Chapter Five: In Which Rossi Gets Fierce, and Issues Are Addressed.
Everyone had gone back to their rooms to finish off getting ready, and they'd agreed to meet by the doors in half an hour. The general plan was to hit Oxford Street, which wasn't too far from where they were staying, and then maybe take the tube down to Covent Garden for lunch and a little exploration.
Emily, who could be dressed and ready to go in ten minutes flat (a routine perfected by the fact that she didn't believe in getting up earlier than you had to), was sprawled out on her bed in front of the generously sized flat screen on the wall. She was excited, because her a rerun of her favourite show was on, and she had just enough time to catch the end.
What she hadn't bargained on, was the sudden rap on the door. Who was it? Obviously one of the team, probably one of the girls, but couldn't it wait? Sighing loudly, she turned toward the door and yelled out that it was open. Needless to say, Emily had not expected to see Rossi sticking his head round the door.
"Hey, mind if I come in?"
"Oh, course not. Just let me turn this off-"
"Is that Project Runway?"
Emily was three things. She was confused at the fact that Rossi was checking on her, a little irritated from having her fashion fix interrupted, and more than a little shell shocked that Rossi knew what Project Runway was.
"Uh... yes."
"Can I come in?"
"Sure." She scrambled upright, so that she was perched onto the end of her bed. "What's up?"
Rossi entered the room, and pointed at the chair as if to ask permission to sit. Emily nodded profusely, and he took a seat.
"I, and this stays between us, love this show."
Emily now felt like she had always imagined Alice had upon entering Wonderland. Disorientated, bemused, and insatiably curious.
"You do?" One eyebrow shot up before she could stop it. Seeing her disbelieving face, Dave chuckled to himself a little.
"Y'know, that's exactly what my niece said. Can't help it, this old timer appreciates a good cut or colour. Preferably both. I've got family in Milan, guess it's rubbed off. Anyway Prentiss, why are you watching? I've never heard you mention your secret passion for fashion."
"Well, I guess it's my 'guilty secret'." Prentiss was utterly unsure as to why she was telling Rossi any of this. Probably because he had just opened up to her? She had always gotten on well with the man, both newcomers at the same time, she saw him as a fairly avuncular figure. Albeit one that carried a gun.
"I mean, I grew up in some of the most fashion famous countries, Italy, France, I lose track. It's just stuck with me." They both grinned, and spent the next ten minutes wrapped up in the program, with the occasional muttered opinion. As the credits rolled, Emily turned to Rossi.
"Secret fashion obsession aside, why are you here Dave?"
"I... I just realise that the last case was hard on you for reasons that the others don't know about. I know kids are a difficult subject for you especially, and call me a sap," he shrugged, "but I just needed to see that you were okay."
Emily froze. She had been blocking out the events of the last case with everything she had, building every wall, every defence she could. They shattered, leaving her nothing but wreckage and ghosts. The last case... she couldn't fathom it. But there was a little voice inside her head that kept nagging at her, that she had worked so hard to box up, hide away.
What makes YOU any better?
She jumped a little as a tear seared her cheek, boiling madly compared to the ice that filled her. Rossi came over to sit beside her, proffering a tissue.
"Emily, I know this is hard. But you can't hide this stuff away forever, or it'll eat you alive. I'm here if you need to talk, okay? Promise me you won't let this swallow you."
Shaking slightly, she took the tissue, and nodded.
"That's good. Now remember, I'm only a door away." She nodded, and he smiled slightly. As he opened the door, he turned back to her.
"Prentiss?" Emily looked up at him.
"Stay fierce." With that, he quietly shut the door.