A/N Okay, a short note today to make up for the unbearably long one yesterday, (I'm working on like no sleep; I'm not feeling too talkative.) Still loving the reviews, keep them coming please? Oh, and a side note on the whole disclaimer thing, I keep forgetting to write them, and I'm not sure it's even legally binding, so I'll just stick with this. If I owned CM I would be writing scripts instead of Fanfics! Hopefully this will make up for my forgetfulness, don't sue me CM executives! (Hides from lawyers) okay, here's chapter eight!

What a Difference a Day Makes

Chapter Eight

Emily was still asleep when the doctor dropped off her discharge papers, which I argued him on. I knew that if Emily was awake she would have signed the forms and ran away from the hospital as fast as she could, but in my opinion, she still had too much healing to do to be let go.

"She just woke up from a coma!" I argued with her doctor, a kind yet weary looking older gentleman.

"She's no longer dependant on IV medications, she's fully conscious, her neuro exams are clean, no signs of infections or complications, she's ready to go home." He kept his voice low, trying not to wake her I guess.

"What about the burns on her leg, they were serious, third degree, she says she can't even move it!" something about the hospital felt safe and I wanted to keep Emily safe at all costs.

"The skin grafts have to heal first; I'll book her an appointment with our neurosurgeon a few weeks from now so they can run a few tests and see if she needs nerve repairs, but for now there is nothing we can do for her." He placed the clip board at the end of the bed. I nodded my head slowly, I'm not at all qualified as a doctor, and all the news was new to me. The doctor piped up again, "Does she have anyone who can stay with her? Because she's not exactly mobile, and she won't be for a while. She'll need help doing basic things, cooking, moving around, and she's not at all close to independence yet. Anyone really, a parent, sibling, boyfriend?" Emily didn't have any of those, her mom was gone, who knows where her father is, and she's an only child. So the answer to that question, logically, was no. It was what I was thinking, and it was what I was about to say, but I opened my mouth and instead out came,

"Yes." I wasn't sure why I said yes, it wasn't what I was supposed to say, it was the complete antithesis to what I was about to say. She didn't have any of those things, but then again, she has me. I had promised her I would be with her through it all, and this certainly qualifies.

"Well, I'll let you wake her up and tell her the good news now; you'll be free to go as soon as her signature's on that form." The doctor left quickly, and I gently shook Em awake.

"Em, Emily?" I tried to wake her without jostling any injuries.

"Jayje? It's early, let me go back to sleep…" She mumbled sleepily, squinting her eyes from the bright lights.

"Um, Em, it's twelve noon, nowhere near early." I chuckled softly at her disorientation, before she grumbled and clamped her eyes shut again. "Fine, you'll just have to spend another day in this hospital, and the discharge papers will just sit on your bed for a while, we're in no rush right?" I joked, knowing that would get her attention. She sat upright immediately, her back ramrod-straight and her eyes wide open. She crumpled like paper under the pain of her sudden movement before she fought the pain away.

"C'mon, what are you waiting for, get me out of here!" she scribbled her signature on the form and shoved it away as if it was toxic. I knew she just wanted to get out, to get back to normal and pretend it never happened, but that wasn't possible. Denial was her way of escaping, pushing it away and not having to deal with it, but now she's faced with something that's simply undeniable. I tried to remain happy-looking, not wanting her to worry.

"I'll pack my stuff, is there anywhere you can get a change of clothes from?" I looked around the room for her suitcase while I spoke.

"Yeah, don't bother looking, I don't have a suitcase on me, you wouldn't happen to have any extra clothing?" I rifled through my go-bag, digging out a loose pair of pyjama pants and a plain t-shirt.

"Do you need any help getting these on?" I asked softly, remembering the doctor's earlier caution.

"Of course not, I'll be fine!" Emily retaliated indignantly, as if my thoughts that she may have some physical limitations were completely preposterous. I silently nodded, knowing she would be in a fragile state, and I really didn't want to piss her off unless absolutely necessary. I stepped out into the hallway to give her some privacy; leaving the door a crack open so I could hear her if she called for help. Minutes passed, and I heard the rustling of fabric finally stop.

"JJ?" a weak voice called, and I took it as my permission to enter the room. She was sitting on the edge of the bed with a frustrated look on her face, and the hospital blanket laying over her lap and legs. She had somehow managed to get the shirt on, but the pants lay folded up beside her. "I can't look at it; I can't bear to look at it." She gestured to her blanket-clad leg. Her burns. From what little experience I had with severe burns, I knew they weren't the most aesthetically-pleasing injuries. I gently moved the blanket off her bare legs, taking in the sight before me. From foot to calf, her leg was covered with skin grafts, covering her once-ivory skin with a patchwork quilt of red, swollen mesh and skin, and then from her knee to the hem of her panties it was less severe, grafts in isolated patches surrounded by ripples of pink shiny burn scars. I heard a whimper above me, and saw Emily facing the opposite direction. I took care not to lean on her injured leg as I looked into her eyes. Hot, angry, shameful tears spilled over her lids as she tried to look away. I gently turned her to face me, savouring the silky feel of her cheek against my hand. My stomach twisted as she fixed me with a look brimming with self-hatred and disgust.

"Listen to me. These scars do not define you, they do not change you, and they don't get to make you feel worse about yourself." the words came out clipped and urgent, I wanted her to listen to them, and not just hear them.

"I don't even look like myself, I look like a victim." She whimpered, still refusing to look at her leg or my eyes.

"The only one who decides whether you're a victim is you, Emily. If you let these dictate where you go and how you feel, that's what makes you a victim. And you don't look like a victim, you look like Emily Prentiss. You look like the same smart, stubborn, vibrant, strong, perceptive, caring, kind, beautiful woman that I fell in love with, because that's who you are." Her eyes lit up, finally meeting mine, and it only then registered in my brain what I had just said. Did I really just say her that I'm in love with her? Seriously? She just survived an explosion and lost her mom, is she really in need of a relationship to worry about too?

She may not need a relationship, but she does need to know she's loved."

The little voice in my head had apparently switched teams. She still had yet to say anything, and I was frozen in a deer in the headlights look. I tried to say something, but my lips apparently refused to make words. Instead I returned to helping Emily into the pair of pants. I've more than once pictured what it would be like to be alone with a half-naked Emily Prentiss, the fantasy was so much better than reality. I carefully manoeuvred her legs into the legs of the pants and, after a significant amount of struggling, gotten them up and around her waist. She still had yet to respond and remained silent as I helped her into the hospital wheelchair and wheeled her down to the foyer. Of course the silence gave me plenty of time to obsess over worst case scenarios of why she was quiet. Did she already move on from me? Was it just a meaningless schoolgirl crush? Does she suddenly hate me now? I handed her discharge papers in to the nurse at the front desk, and it was only after I had helped her into the car, and peeled out of the hospital parking lot did I hear her response, the whisper barely audible over the hum of tires against the road.

"I'm damaged; you don't want to love me."

A/N Emily's beginning that fateful journey down the dark and twisty road! But JJ told her, and she sure isn't going anywhere! I'd love to hear your feedback; it's what gives me the inspiration to write this!

-Nightshade