A/N: Hey guys thanks for your reviews! I was pretty proud of myself I think that has been the longest chapter so far but it doesn't really feel like I wrote that much! : ) There's a lot of swearing in multiple languages… I'm notttttttttt really sure any of them are right but I tried REALLLY hard this time to match the verb tenses and whatnot this time, so we'll see! I know my French readers can tell me if I'm right or wrong ; ))

You pray to god, don't know when
But you feel the current pull you in
Try to keep your head above water
Cause it's never been harder
Even when it feels hopeless
You're gonna get through this
Head above water, gotta fight from going under
Even when it feels useless to wish
You're gonna get through this

-Theory of a Deadman, "Head Above Water"

IAN _

Glass shattered behind his head again. The last 4 days had been absolute hell in this household. When they'd arrived home Dr. Scott had examined Emily, done an ultrasound to check on the baby. The baby was okay, thank god. Emily however was a little worse for wear. She and the baby were both malnourished. She had a broken ankle, hand, concussion, and hairline fracture on her collarbone. She had severe bruising that covered 89% of her body. She didn't appear to have any internal injuries, however. She had some vaginal bruising and tearing that needed to heal before the baby came, so she had been ordered to bed rest for the rest of her pregnancy. Something that he completely stood behind, much to Emily's dislike. She was a woman of action. Sitting around doing nothing absolutely killed her with boredom.

But all that wasn't what had made him want to drink himself into an early grave. It was the withdrawal… Those bastards in two weeks had managed to get her 100% addicted to heroin. She'd been cut off cold turkey. She couldn't take the Methadone because of the baby. Even though the real Emily would never willingly take heroin, the symptoms of withdrawal were still painfully apparent. She'd had cold sweats at first, and Ian had thought that had been bad… Then came her mood swings. A pregnant woman going through withdrawal was like a double whammy. Ian had refused to let Declan see her except for when she was asleep, because she was a living train wreck when she was awake. She had purple bags under her eyes and whenever she was awake all she did was scream and throw temper tantrums. He'd already removed any sharp objects from their bedroom because she'd been borderline suicidal for the first few days when he'd refused to give her what she "needed."

She'd even tried to distract and persuade him with sex, which hadn't worked, because A) the doctor had told him not to be intimate with her until her feminine area was completely healed. B) Because this wasn't his first rodeo. He'd been with all kinds of women who had tried to use sexual distraction to get what they wanted, he'd learned to get sexual favors and then still deny them what they wanted. He wouldn't do that to her, though. Use her like that; she wasn't like the others…

He rolled his as when he looked over at her. She was up out of bed, yet again, still screaming at him in fluid Russian. "Yob tvou mat'!" Ian closed his eyes and counted to five. She'd just told him to go fuck his mother, on top of destroying yet another cereal bowl and water glass. He was trying so hard to be patient with her. He knew what she'd been through, and he wasn't without some ounce of compassion, but he was reaching the end of his rope. He walked out onto the balcony to get away from her while she continued her international fluency in various forms of swear words. They'd managed to have all of their fights in any language besides English, because they knew Declan was outside listening.

"Past' zakroi!" He yelled back at her. If she didn't shut up soon, he was going to lose it. At first he'd tried being nice, and it hadn't gotten him anything, except she'd tried to swing on him with her broken hand like a dumbass. He'd grabbed a hold of her wrist squeezing until she cowered in pain. It had been four days of hectic hell. Non-stop fighting and screaming; nightmares and crying. God he'd prayed this withdrawal wouldn't last too much longer. He couldn't promise restraining himself much longer. He couldn't leave her alone. She panicked when he would get up to leave, and he didn't trust a fiending Emily alone without supervision anyways. Ian turned around suddenly; she was behind him ready to get in his face. She had switched to Italian now. Wonderful.

"Pezzo di merda! Ti Odio!" She bit out angrily. Lovely. Well, right now I hate you too dear. Ian thought to himself. He put his hand on his hip as he leaned against the stone balcony ledge. He looked down at the ground for a moment before he composed himself enough to speak again.

"Emily, get your ass back into that bed before I have to put you there. I guarantee you won't like it." He said warningly, towering over her as she screamed at him. She was shaking, and she kept itching her arms… God he hated junkies. He always had, they annoyed him to no end with their constant twitching and sketchy behavioral tics.

She spat at him. She was crying hysterically in French now, "C'est vraiment de ta faute!"

Ian froze. He'd been waiting for this. He knew eventually she would blame him for all of this. He knew it was his fault too, but he'd be damned if he would admit that during a fight.

"Vas. se. coucher. MAINTENANT!" He yelled about an inch from her face. He grabbed her shoulders firmly trying to spin her around back into the bedroom. If she wasn't in that bed in 2 seconds he swore to god he was going to throw her there from this very balcony.

She tensed up screaming, "Ne me touche pas ! Ne te me toucher putain! Juste foutre le camp loin de moi!"

"Well, first of all I will touch you whenever I want, and secondly, you are the one who followed me out here Princess, so no! I'm not going anywhere! And the only place you're going is back to FUCKING bed. I won't tell you again." Ian growled in her ear, squeezing her shoulders tightly, forcing her to walk back towards the bed. He knew the fight was leaving her. She was exhausted and though she struggled she let him force her back onto the bed, reluctantly…

He leaned over her, hands still on her shoulders pinning her onto the soft mattress. "Emily Prentiss, I swear on the child inside you, if you so much as attempt to get out of this bed again tonight, I will make you regret it. Compris?" He shook her firmly to make his point.

"Va te faire foutre." She said angrily, pushing up against his hands to get up. He grabbed her chin tightly. She'd like that wouldn't she? Well no dice. Not happening. At least not now.

"Emily I'm not fucking around with you anymore. Stop acting like a prissy bitch and lay the fuck still!" He said just as angrily. His patience was about bone dry. "You heard the doctor! I swear to god if you jeopardize this pregnancy anymore than it already has been, I will kill you with my bare hands, got me?" He said his eyes glaring into hers.

" Fuck off, Ian! This would have never happened if it weren't for you. You don't have a clue what I'm going through. You don't understand what this feels like!" She cried out. "Just leave me alone!" She said wrenching her chin out of his grasp and rolling over onto her side away from him. He froze for a moment. Her words, though true, still stung.

He let her go. She was at least lying down now, sobbing into the pillow. It would be mere minutes before she was passed the fuck out. He hadn't even slept in the bed with her since she'd been back because she had nightmares and woke up kicking and screaming, and her cold sweats had soaked the bed more than once.

He sighed. Looking around he surveyed the damage. The glass from her bowl and water glass sprinkled the carpet like diamonds. He should have the housekeeper clean, but he didn't see the point. It would just happen again tomorrow. The dresser drawers were still dumped from their fight yesterday. Annnd the bathroom mirror needed replaced, along with door. The door had been his fault. He'd broke it down when she had barricaded herself in there. He'd heard her scream and then heard the mirror shattered. She'd looked at her reflection and her vision of herself was a skewed, horror-like, meth'd out zombie, and she'd thrown the bottle of shampoo at the mirror… Ian had broken in to find her cowering on the floor in the corner, covered in mirror shards. This whole room had become a war zone, and it was only to get worse before it got better. He knew that this was probably the worst day she'd had so far. So maybe the worst was over. He prayed the house was still standing when this was all over.

He hoped Garcia had kept Declan in his room. She had seen Emily only a few times since she'd been back and she was due to leave tomorrow. Though happy to see her back, Garcia had kept a safe distance. Emily was a difficult person to be around right now. She lashed out at anyone, for any reason. She'd lashed out at Garcia once already, and he hoped Penelope had not taken what she'd said to heart, but the looks Garcia gave her were full of fear and angst. She walked on eggshells whenever she was around Emily, which she was clearly not used to. She told Emily repeatedly how much she was loved by everyone and that Emily was strong, she would get through this. But a part of him knew she was a little unsure. Declan asked to see her every day, but Ian had firmly refused, she was too volatile at the moment. And young children were much more thin skinned than adults. Garcia would understand why Emily was behaving like this, Declan would not, at least not right now. So Declan had taken to listening at the bedroom door to hear their arguments. He just couldn't understand why he couldn't talk to Emily.

He knew she wanted to be left alone, but he out of anyone knew that being alone sometimes was the worst thing for a person to be. So he sat there next to the bed, she flinched as he leaned forward to touch her back, which was still tender he knew, but she didn't stop him. Gently he rubbed her back, and slowly he felt her relax, and her breathing stabilize. Ian sat next to her rubbing her back as she fell into a restless sleep. Once he knew she was asleep, at least for now, he got up and moved to the couch.

Ian sank onto the couch across the room from their bed rubbing his face tiredly. He needed a drink. He resisted though, because alcohol shortened the leash on his temper dramatically and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. He flipped on the tv to drown out the sound of her tears. He already felt like an asshole for screaming at her, when none of this was her fault... she just didn't understand that she had to have a little tough love right now. He prayed to God things would get better soon. For both their sakes…