AN: Migraines suck.

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.

Buffy: There is no problem that cannot be solved by chocolate.

Willow: I think I'm gonna barf.

Buffy: Except that.

- Season four, Fear Itself, Buffy The Vampire Slayer

November 25, 2006

I can hear the birds outside. You're so loud, be quiet, please. Please be quiet. My head feels like it's going to implode from the pressure of my latest migraine. I make a valiant attempt to open my eyes and succeed for all of one second before I have to snap them shut again. The room is spinning; I think I'm going to be sick. No, you can't throw up in the living room. Emily will think you are a baby. You will have to clean it up and Jenny will be so very upset. No throwing up. You don't have time for a migraine and you cannot be sick because finals are coming up. You have too much to do, papers to hand in and. Stop. Calm down, deep breaths. I need to find the Advil; it's in the bathroom.

Okay Catherine you can do this. Take it slow, one step at a time. Step 1: place your feet on the floor. Okay check. Step 2: stand up slowly, keeping your eyes covered and closed. Check, dizzy but okay. Step 3: keeping eyes closed walk slowly around the coffee table, and to the hallway; two steps to the right, three forward and thirteen steps to cross the room. Check. I guess it's a good thing I know where everything is in the apartment… now where did I leave my sunglasses? Step 4: continue to walk down the hallway towards the bathroom, nine steps; it's the only door on the left. Run your hand along the wall. Don't go too far. Check. Step 5: don't turn on the light. Take six steps inside and then four to the left. Hold onto the sink. Oh, there are my sunglasses. I put them on quickly. I wonder what I did with my earplugs? Step 6: don't turn on the tap, reach for the water bottle that should be right next to the sink. Please don't let Penelope or Emily have moved it. Good, it's here, open the bottle, and pour some water into your right hand, splash it onto your face. Check. Oh, that feels a little better. Step 7: find the Advil bottle, it should be in the medicine cabinet above the sink. Take a quick peek, ah, there it is. Swallow two with water from the water bottle. Check. Step 8: close the water bottle, and replace in the same spot. Then take six steps to the right, touch the bathtub. Check. Step 9: sit down slowly, reach out and lift the toilet seat but don't throw up. Check.

I rest my head against the tiled wall and wait for the nausea to pass. It doesn't. All of a sudden I can feel it coming up, I lean over and expel my breakfast. I can sense that someone is directly behind me at the bathroom door. I hope it's Jen but it's probably Emily. Jen would have woken me when she arrived home. I shudder, and try to avoid or postpone the imminent panic attack. The person steps into the bathroom and moves over to the sink. I relax minimally before my ears catch up with my brain, it's not Jen it's Emily. Now I'm tense again. I can hear Emily moving things around and I want to lift my head but I'm afraid that if I move away from the toilet I wont make it back quickly enough next time. I hear the water running from the tap and it makes me flinch and cover my ears. Emily must notice my discomfort because the water is turned off two agonizing seconds later.

The footsteps come closer and I am so very uncomfortable with Emily's proximity to myself that I can actually feel the panic welling up inside me again. I don't even have to open my eyes to know that Emily sits down on the cold floor beside me. "Ça va?" she whispers.

I may just be dry heaving now but by what possible definition of that phrase could I possibly be alright? I want to glare but I don't have the necessary energy to raise my head or even narrow my eyes.
Emily places a cool washcloth on the back of my neck. Her fingers just brush against my hair and I shiver at the contact, trying not to breathe.

We spend a while in silence. Which is nice because I don't think I can think coherently enough to carry on a conversation. I am actually getting used to her presence next to me, calming down when Emily breaks the wonderful silence. "Okay Catherine, we need to get you back to your room. Do you think you can stand?"

I shake my head and immediately regret it when both my stomach and head protest the movement.

I discern the rustling of clothes; Emily must be standing up. "Alright then, I'm going to pick you up."

My eyes snap open despite the pain and my "No!" is hoarse and panicked.

I can hear Emily sigh, it is so loud to my poor ears and head that if I didn't know better I would think that she was breathing into my ear. "Catherine," she says "we really need to get you to bed." She reaches out and touches me; I flinch and yelp quietly, tears running down my face.

Emily puts her arm under on of my arms and around my shoulders, "You'll be so much more comfortable in bed." She's starting to lift me, "You don't want to stay here in this cold bathroom do you?"
I'm sobbing now, "No, Emmy wait. No. Please, wait. Please don't touch me."
I am set back down on the floor. The arm is removed. Crying is making my migraine worse but I can't stop. I want Jen to come home and I want the migraine to go away but mostly I want to sleep. I guess the Advil is starting to work; it always makes me feel exhausted.

It takes me a few minutes to regain my control as it were, and once I do I feel ashamed. I don't know her very well yet but Emily is supposed to be family. I'm supposed to trust family. They are supposed to be able to touch my arms without me freaking out. Okay that last part doesn't happen, but I want it to be true. I take a deep breath and open my eyes. At some point, Emily has half shut the door and the hallway lights are off. I am as touched by this gesture as I am for the now warm washcloth resting on my neck.

"Brush teeth." I mumble, struggling to stand up on my own. I manage to haul myself up to the ledge of the bathtub before I can't move anymore.
"Catherine I'm going to wrap one arm around your waist so that I can hold you up okay?" she asks in a low voice.
My "Okay" is very quiet.

Emily wraps one arm around my waist and lifts me into a standing position. I take one step forward and start to crumple as my legs give out.
"Maybe brushing your teeth isn't such a good idea." Emily suggests gently.
"Brush teeth." I repeat. My brain isn't processing very well.
"What about gargling? Do you have mouth wash?"
It's in the medicine cabinet is what I want to say, what actually comes out is, "Cabinet."

"The one above the sink?" Emily asks but I don't think she's really expecting an answer because she has already dragged me across the bathroom and is currently looking through the medicine cabinet. Emily has to continue holding me upright, she has tried letting me stand on my own but my legs gave out under me again.

When I can't open the bottle of of mouthwash, Emily does it for me. It's like she's got three arms; She is standing behind me, propping me up and opening the bottle and pouring it into a glass. Normally having someone behind me would be freaking me out but right now, I just don't have the energy required to panic. So I gargle a few times and when my mouth finally feels fresh, I tap Emily's arm twice to let her know that I am finished and ready to leave the bathroom.

Emily says, "Okay Catherine. Let's try this again." She turns my unresisting body sideways, places one arm around my shoulders and one arm under my knees, then she lifts me up bridal style. I wrap my arms around her neck for balance. I think the last person who carried me when I had a migraine was Spencer, I felt almost safe in his arms. It is confusing that I feel nearly as safe in Emily's arms. I guess I'm starting to trust her after all. Either that or my migraine-addled brain is misfiring.

Emily walks out of the bathroom into the darkened hall, I count the steps Emily is taking: one, two, three, four, five, six. It is calming to know exactly where I am in the apartment. When we arrive at the door to my bedroom, I feel Emily reach for the door handle, turn it and open my door. I flinch at the light poring into my room from the window. Emily can't seem to decide what to do with me; first she walks close to my bed, then the window, then halfway back to the bed. I think I know why she doesn't get too close to my bed. Una is probably sprawled out over my blankets. Anyone who doesn't know my cat seems to think she would probably attack if you get too close. This is not true, she is a big baby, but it is amusing to see adults terrified of a (nose to tail) 36" long cat.
"That is one big cat." Emily whispers, awe colouring her voice.
"Una." I whisper back.
"The Una from Edmund Spencer's The Faerie Queen?" Emily asks. I can feel her laughing silently from where my head is resting on her shoulder.
Blushing I mutter, "Celtic Una."
"You named your cat lamb?" Emily's laughter is no longer silent, and it is nice to hear but it really hurts my head.

When I cover my ears with my hands, Emily stops laughing and sets me down on my bed. In eight steps Emily has crossed my room and is over by my window and closing my blackout blinds and curtains. I sigh in relief and remove my sunglasses slowly without opening my eyes when the sun is no longer streaming through my large window. I can hear Emily coming back in my direction. I reach out one arm, feeling for Una. There she is, "Move Una" I whisper, giving her a slight push but she is stubborn and won't move.

Having my eyes closed when there is another person around makes me feel vulnerable but I am so very photophobic, sensitive to light with my migraines that I have to swallow my fear. This is one of the reasons that I know how to get around the apartment by myself with my eyes closed. I never want to rely solely on someone else. I know that Emily is standing near me but out of arm's reach and I want to ask her to move Una but I don't have a chance because she scoops up my cat. I don't open my eyes to look, but I know the sounds Una makes when she is picked up. I also hear Una being placed on the hardwood floor and her growl of annoyance.

I try to stand up and succeed for all of ten seconds before my legs start wobbling and I have to sit down again. I hate migraines, I hate feeling vulnerable and I hate depending on someone else for things that I should be able to do on my own. So I am discomfited when Emily is the one to pull back my blankets and I am embarrassed when she helps me climb under the covers and tucks me in. But I am even more ashamed of my own actions when I grasp Emily's hand in mine before she can move away; I am ashamed because I don't want to be alone.

Emily tries to pull her hand away and when I don't let go she makes a surprised sound in the back of her throat. I want to explain that I don't want to be alone but I don't have the words. Most of the time it sucks, but sometimes it can be nice to have profilers in the family. Emily seems to know just what I need without me having to tell her; she stops trying to pry my fingers off her hand.

Emily runs her fingers through my hair away, moving it away from my face. When she kisses my forehead I freeze for a second before relaxing. This is exactly what Jen does when I have a migraine or I'm sick and I am struck with the realization that Emily would make a good mother. I wonder if she has kids, her file doesn't say.
"Crierwy (kree-ree)," she whispers, "you need to let go of my hand for a minute okay?"

I ignore her question and try to place the meaning of the name, but I can't. I know it is Celtic, possibly Welsh. "Crierwy?" I open my eyes and look at Emily's face when I ask my question.

She blushes, looks away and does not answer.

I want to ask again but I let it go, I'm too tired. I'll just look it up later so I won't make Emily even more uncomfortable. I have a feeling that if I press, she'll run and I don't want her to leave yet.
"Catherine," she starts again and I feel a pang of loss for my new nickname, "let go of my hand for a minute, I need to check something okay?"

I reluctantly release Emily's hand.

Emily runs her fingers through my hair one more time then stands up and leaves my room. I can hear her walking down the hall, back to the living room. I hear the cupboards close in the kitchen I also hear the fridge close; I have no idea what she is looking for. Then I hear Emily walking down the hall and into the bathroom, I hear the medicine cabinet squeak when it is closed. Una jumps up onto my bed and curls up on my feet, purring like a motor. It makes me cringe in pain. I move away from her, she follows my feet but the purring has slowed to a low continuous rumble, which is more bearable. I am so very tired that my body is shutting down to recover but I wait almost patiently for Emily to come back. I sigh in relief when she returns and I hope that she doesn't hear me.

Emily shuts my bedroom door and I feel a fleeting second of panic before I calm down by opening my eyes to look at Emily. I'm glad I can see relatively well in the dark because she moves towards me like a shadow. She is holding a glass of water, a pill bottle, probably my Advil and is wearing one of those new iPod things. I surprise myself when Emily sits down on the edge of my bed closest to me and I don't flinch.

Emily places the glass of water and the pill bottle on my night-side table. She lies down on her side, stretching out on my bed, and nudges a curious Una away from her with one foot. Emily reaches over and places the cool washcloth on my forehead. I can feel the hitch in Emily's breathing when I curl into her, resting my head on her shoulder, one hand latches on to her shirt and the other to her hand. I can feel her heartbeat, it's racing. I wonder what she's thinking.

Emily wraps her free arm around me and rests her head on mine. I am grateful that I cannot hear music coming from her earphones. I am as calm and comfortable as I am going to get. It is a nice feeling. As I am falling asleep, wrapped up in Emily's arms, it hits me; I'm already attached to her. I don't want her to leave, not ever. Crap, now what am I going to do?

All because of you,

I haven't slept in so long.

When I do I dream of drowning in the ocean,

Longing for the shore where I can lay my head down,

Inside these arms of yours.

- The Good Left Undone, Rise Against