(ok…I found a slight mistake but am not going back to edit, as I do not edit my fanfics…I just don't have the time..what with being a freelance writer and all, who should actually be working on other stuff—and will as soon as the darn contracts arrive—but in the first chapter I say they were out to 1 am and in the last chapter 3 am…let's just compromise and say they were out much later than they were supposed to be…)
Prentiss and the NCIS Agent:
Emily lay in the hotel bed counting the water stains on the ceiling. That and the cobwebs clinging precariously to the stucco points. She'd been released from the hospital four hours earlier, and was now under the watchful care of the other wounded agent, Officer David.
David was not a patient baby-sitter, and Emily was not a cooperative patient. Finally, both women had had enough. Emily took a quick shower, holding her injured arm out of the water to prevent the plaster from getting wet. She dressed, with only a little help from the younger woman.
"So where should we go first?" Ziva asked, getting behind the wheel of her car. The doctors had ruled out any concussion, so other than the somewhat painful scratches and marks where the wood splinters had embedded in her skin she was all clear, even to drive.
It was because of Gibbs' overprotective attitude that she wasn't already at NCIS headquarters. Enough was enough.
"Coffee, chocolate, work." Emily said, zipping the black FBI windbreaker against the rainy day chill.
"Gibbs will not be happy with us when we get there." Ziva said. It wasn't a worry, just a statement.
"Neither will Hotch, but…" Emily said, grabbing the door handle as Ziva took the last turn to NCIS headquarters practically on two wheels. She was starting to feel a rising nausea that she hoped she'd be able to repress.
Officer David was literally hell-on-wheels, and the pain pills mixed with the motion of the vehicle were almost more than she can handle.
She'd never been so glad to see a parking lot in all of her life. She walked a little slower than she would have as she entered the building. Her arm hurt, she wouldn't deny it, but sitting in a hotel room with Ziva wouldn't do much for her peace of mind.
Emily was at her worst when she was inactive. She had a strange feeling Ziva was the same way. So regardless of whether Gibbs and Hotch were angry, she and Ziva would be doing all they can—if even only in the bullpen.
ZIVAEMILYGIBBSHOTCHZIVAEMILYGIBBSHOTCHZIVAEMILYGIBBSHOTCH
Hotch and Gibbs were working silently, reviewing the case files yet again, while Rossi, DiNozzo and the others canvassed the neighborhood surrounding the scene of Prentiss's shooting. Hotch didn't want to admit it, but he just didn't want to go back there. Not yet.
When the elevator dinged, announcing the arrival of Ziva and Emily, he didn't notice right away. But he could always smell her, could almost feel her presence like a tactile stroke against his skin.
He looked up sharply, eyes roaming over her slight form. She wasn't dress with as much precision as he was used to seeing her…the shirt she wore was obviously one she'd swiped from Morgan's room, hanging loose over the casted arm. Her hair was pulled back neatly, most likely the handiwork of Officer David, and her makeup was lighter than usual. She actually wore jeans, something he wasn't accustomed to seeing her wear while on the job. She looked young, vulnerable, and frail, and his heart stuttered.
"Prentiss, you shouldn't be here." He told her, inwardly wincing at the harshness of his tone. Sometimes, he had a hard time not appearing unfeeling—especially with her. He tried so hard to mask his inappropriate thoughts that he knew he sometimes overcompensated. He knew he'd done it again when she winced slightly and her delicate features tightened.
He stood, moving to take her uninjured arm. The feel of her warmth beneath his hand was reassuring, and he squeezed unconsciously, the gesture meant to comfort and yet still convey his unstated concern.
Hotch would be the first to admit that he was often unable to vocally express his feelings. It was easier to simply keep it in, rather than let the women in his life know of his vulnerabilities. That was one of the main reasons he and Hailey hadn't made it.
Emily smiled up at him, wordlessly conveying that she knew how he was feeling. She always knew, it was one of the things that inevitably drew him to her. He helped her to the nearest desk, and guided her down into the chair.
"Why aren't you resting?" He said, the words only loud enough for her to hear. He unconsciously leaned over her slightly, looking deeper into her eyes, trying to read her.
"Couldn't., stir crazy." Emily whispered back; his face was so close to hers he could feel the softest touch of her breath.
"But you shouldn't be here, you're not ready." Hotch said.
"It was boring in that room, Hotch. At least here I can be doing something. I won't overdo, I promise." She looked at him, imploringly. "Please."
"The first sign, and I mean it, Prentiss—you're back to the hotel. I'll drag you back there myself." He squeezed her shoulder slightly.
He always touched her, more than any other agent, but Emily doubted he was even aware of it.
As it was, she didn't have a clue what it meant. As a profiler that made her more than a little nervous.