The only time Derek and I slept together, I spent the whole night with my cheek against his naked chest and my arm wrapped around him. We both woke up in a panic when we heard the sound of keys in the front door of my flat, signalling that Penelope had returned. My head was pounding with a hangover, and Derek moved quickly to gather his clothing and get to his room.
Just before he exited, even though he was cutting it way too close, he ran back towards my bed. He didn't say anything, he didn't kiss me on my lips. Instead, he bent his head lower and planted a soft kiss between my breasts, over my heart. I watched his naked backside scurry away and the pounding in my head was completely erased in that moment by the pounding in my heart; the only thing I could feel was the remembrance of his lips pressed on my chest for a brief moment.
I remember touching myself there after he left the room. I remember feeling like my skin was on fire. I remember being completely overwhelmed and paranoid by what had occurred in that bedroom the night before, and then I remember letting it go, consoling myself with the fact that I'd never really have to face it because in twenty-four hours, Derek would be on a plane back to DC.
We spoke on the phone a few times the first couple of weeks after he flew home, but the conversations weren't smooth and easy like our conversations usually were. We dodged around anything personal, and our discourse fizzled into something that was really nothing more than have a good day.
He tried to call a couple of times after I found out I was pregnant, but I didn't - couldn't - answer the phone. I responded to those calls with impersonal emails, and eventually he moved on with his life and stopped calling me, which was a relief and heartbreaking at the same time.
As my stomach grew, I would lay naked in my bed, one hand on my baby bump, and my other hand over my chest, holding onto the ghost memory of how his lips felt against my skin. I'd talk to Derek sometimes, in the dark and privacy of my bedroom. "Our baby's kicking tonight," I'd whisper with my hand pressed over my heart, like there might be some sort of telepathic lifeline there and he would pick up on what I was saying even though we were an ocean apart, and he would magically show up at my door, braving and battling his way towards me when I was too scared to try and get to him.
That never happened, obviously. But he's braving and battling his way towards me now, and I'm just trying to hang in there with him.
After my platelet transfusion, Derek brought me home. That was last Thursday. It's now Wednesday - the very early morning hours of Wednesday - and Derek hasn't gone back to Manassas yet. And he hasn't been sleeping on my couch. He sleeps platonically on top of my sheets and comforter, beside me in the bed, with just a throw blanket over his own body.
A low platelet count and a platelet transfusion is about as pleasant as chemotherapy; I was pretty much wasted for the weekend, and then it was time for chemotherapy again. I've been despondent and doing my best to fight depression - my platelet count is still low, so now I'll be going to chemotherapy on Mondays and getting a platelet transfusion on Wednesdays and Saturdays, until my levels go up. Whereas before I was fairly miserable for half the week, but relatively okay the other half, now I'm pretty much going to be feeling awful seven days a week, for an indeterminate amount of time.
I doze on and off all day, every day, and I've been sleeping about twelve hours a night. When I wake up, either from a nightmare in the middle of the night, or because it's morning, I'm always on my side of the bed, and Derek is always on his, the only physical connection between us is a finger or two of his resting gently against my hand. But I'm pretty positive that this is not how I sleep all night. I think I probably creep closer to him. I think I press my body along his and rest my head against his shoulder or chest. I think this because sometimes when I wake in the middle of the night, I do so because I feel like I've just been moved, and my cheek is several degrees warmer than it would feel if it had only been resting on my pillow.
It's like my core is a ferrous metal, and he is a powerful magnet; I am drawn to him because in my unconscious state, I simply don't have any other choice and no where else I want to be.
I know he's pushing me away because he doesn't want me to freak out come morning. The further we get away from that almost kiss, the more uncertainty I can read in his expression, and the more uncertain I become about the whole thing. I still fight with myself about taking more from Derek than I deserve, and I struggle with those walls of mine. When I've been awake long enough to do so, I find myself talking myself out of something with Derek instead of talking myself into it.
Yesterday evening, while Derek was out for a run, JJ stopped by with Henry and a half gallon of rocky road ice cream - my current favorite. She sat on my bed with me while we passed the container back and forth and we listened to Henry play with Claudia and Charlie. I looked at JJ's growing stomach and smiled, whispered softly, "Henry's going to be a great big brother."
JJ smiled. "He is." Then she paused before saying, "You seem a million miles away, Emily."
I told her how I was feeling about the platelet transfusions lumped on to chemotherapy. It's something I'm finally learning how to do, even though I'm not entirely comfortable with it yet - telling people how I feel. I also told her I was feeling weaker and needier than ever before.
She smiled softly and looked me right in the eye. "Maybe you need to stop thinking about letting people in and letting people love you as you being weak. For Emily Prentiss, I think it just might be the ultimate form of bravery."
I fell asleep last night thinking about what JJ said. It's the first time I considered the idea that they all might have jumped right in and been there for me because of my cancer, but even without that, they wouldn't have shunned me. Eventually, they would have come back into my life, because they love me and know me just as I love them and know them.
Right now it's just a little after two o'clock in the morning, and I've woken up because I feel like my body has just been gently moved. I touch my cheek and feel how warm it is. I look at Derek and I can tell he's faking sleep.
I decide to be brave.
I move out from under my blankets and pull the throw blanket that's over his body so it's covering both of us. I scoot closer to him and raise up enough so I can place a kiss on the soft cotton of his t-shirt, over his heart. I lay my head down on his chest. I whisper, "I'm wide awake and this is where I want to be."
There is absolutely no hesitation before I feel his arms come around me, pulling me closer against his body. I feel him kiss the top of my bald head. I fall asleep with his heartbeat thrumming against my ear, and I wake up in the morning in the same position, with his arms still protectively around me.
It's the first time since I came back home that I have slept for a solid block of time without waking to the memory of a nightmare.
I thought we'd celebrate the halfway point of Emily's chemotherapy in some significant way, perhaps with that kiss. That didn't happen, hasn't happened, not yet. She's struggling. I watch her try to stay awake, stay in the moment with Charlie and me and anyone else who visits, but it's difficult for her. The platelet transfusions on top of the chemotherapy are wearing her thin, literally and figuratively.
I now sleep under the covers with her, and she sleeps in my arms every night. We're both sleeping better because of it - she slumbers more solidly than I've seen her sleep in all of these weeks, and I sleep more soundly because I can feel her, warm and breathing and still alive, all night long.
On Friday, I got up early in the morning, while the rest of the house still slept, and crept out to my car. The home I shared with Savannah sold the first weekend it was on the market. Savannah wasted no time moving out her things, and it was my turn to do the same. Hotch told the team they were taking the day off to help me. JJ went to spend the day with Emily, and the rest of them came to my house, to help me move out and remove the banister. We went about the process quietly. I wasn't really sad, I just wanted to get it done and get back to Bethesda. With all of us working, we had everything in the storage unit I'd rented by dinner time.
I showed up at Emily's house with two suitcases, skipping going to Manassas to store my larger wardrobe there. Claudia was cooking dinner and Emily was dozing on the couch when I arrived, Charlie leaning against her body, watching a cartoon on the TV. She opened her eyes when she heard the door open, and smiled when she saw my suitcases. "Bedroom," she whispered, before her eyes sleepily closed again.
I raised an eyebrow and carried my suitcases down the hall. I found an additional dresser in the room. I walked towards it and opened the top drawer. It was filled with chocolate hearts. I teared up and laughed quietly.
"She asked JJ to help her," Claudia's soft voice said from the doorway. "JJ and Will went to the store and came home with that. Then she sent me out for the chocolate. She said it was just symbolic, and she hoped you'd understand that she plans to eat it all."
I turned to look at the amazing young woman whom I'd come to trust and care about. She smiled at me and seemed to take no notice of the tears in my eyes. "Prime rib for dinner, Emily's request. I hope you're hungry."
"Starving," I said.
I have absolutely no idea what Emily's paying Claudia, but she needs a raise.
Yesterday morning, on Saturday, before the alarm went off so we could get up and get to Baltimore for another platelet transfusion, Charlie made his way into the bedroom. He crawled up on the bed and settled his little body between the two of us. The feeling of having a family of my own settled over my heart and made emotions swirl in me that I'd never felt before.
Emily looked at me and her eyes welled up, like it was emotionally overwhelming for her, too.
I put my arm around her waist so I was holding her with Charlie between us. "You promised," I whispered to her, reminding her. "I know you feel awful right now and like you might be losing this battle. But you're not going to lose the war, Emily."
She nodded. "I promise."
Still, despite that promise and all the good that's happened between the two of us since that roller coaster ride, I feel like she's slipping away from me. Pain and fatigue are turning her into a shell of herself, and it scares me. It's Sunday and I've been sitting in the chair in the living room, watching her.
She's been staring at the same page of a book for a little over thirty minutes. Charlie is napping, but she napped earlier and is awake now. Outside, I hear thunder rumbling. It's September, and it's still warm and humid outside, but soon these summer storms are soon going to give way to the crispness of fall.
I look at my phone, searching for the storm pattern. Then I stand and walk in front of her, reaching out my hand. "Come on," I say.
She looks up at me like she forgot I was even in the room. "Where?"
"On a drive," I say and take her hand in mine.
"I'm tired, Derek," she sighs softly.
"You can sleep in the car," I respond, not taking no for an answer. I call out to Claudia that we'll be back in a few hours, then I pull Emily to her feet.
She reluctantly follows me and gets in my car. She does fall asleep about ten minutes into the drive. By the time we get to my house in Manassas, the thunder is clapping loudly in the sky and it's pouring rain.
I pull my car to the back of the property before I turn to look at Emily and gently drag the scarf off her head. She wakes up and looks around before her eyes settle on me. "Where are we?"
"Manassas," I respond. "It's time to dance in the rain and jump in puddles."
Her forehead lifts and her face flushes with instant embarrassment. "Derek," she whispers.
I ignore her. I get out of the car and leave my door open, not caring about the inside getting wet. I go around and open her door and pull her out to stand in the rain. I quickly lean back into the car and turn the radio to a station that plays dance music. I crank the volume fully.
Emily's tears are mixing with the rain by the time I stand back up and face her. I take her hands and drag her into the middle of the yard, where we can still hear the music, and let the rain wash over us.
She stares at me like she's unsure of what to do next.
"You can scream out here, too. No one else will hear you," I tell her.
She lets go of my hands and turns her body, looking out into the trees that line the property. The rain is coming down hard, soaking her clothing and bouncing off her shiny scalp. When the scream comes, it shocks me; I didn't think she had something so powerful in her right now. It is guttural, loud, and seems to start from somewhere deep in her soul. It is rage and sadness and fear all mixed into one. It competes with a loud clap of thunder in terms of bone-shaking noise; her scream easily wins.
She stands there quietly for a few seconds when she's done, her chest heaving, before turning to look at me. She's sobbing, and I'm not too far away from that myself, but then she laughs, a combination of joy and embarrassment. She laughs and holds her arms out wide and spins around in the rain, tilting back her head and opening her mouth to catch a few drops.
She is beautiful and I am hopelessly in love with her, and if she dies, I know I'll never recover.
She brings her head forward to look at me. "Now would be a good time," she says with a smile.
I move in front of her in an instant, two large strides and she is in my arms. I trace my fingers over the memory of her hair, eyebrows and eyelashes, before my fingers and eyes settle on her lips. I am ridiculously nervous, and I catch a glimpse of the pulse on her neck fluttering uncontrollably.
When I touch her lips, they are wet with rain water and tears, but they are the lips I remember from my dreams. She moves her arms, placing her right hand on the back of my neck and wrapping her left arm around my waist. I tilt my head slightly and kiss her gently, not interested in rushing things at all. It's Emily who becomes impatient, she whimpers lightly and then her mouth opens under mine.
Her cancer and its treatment have taken so much from her - her hair, many pounds off her body, most of her physical strength and bits and pieces of her spirit, but it hasn't taken the taste of her. As our tongues slowly duel with each other and her hand clutches the soaking wet t-shirt on my back, I find her there - that unique essence that is just her.
Her scream may have been about anger and sadness, but this kiss is about hope and love. I hope she can feel it like I can, this connection we have. I thought that first kiss in her flat in London was perfect, but it pales in comparison to this.
I move the hand on her back lower and glance my fingers under the edge of her t-shirt, and she stiffens. I reluctantly move my lips away from her hers, barely, and raise an eyebrow at her.
"I've just lost so much weight," she whispers. And I get it - she's uncomfortable with me touching her because of how her body looks now. So I move my hand and rest it against her hip instead. And I kiss her again.
It's warm outside, so the rain isn't making me cold, but I'm worried it might be making her chilled. However, she's warm where her chest touches mine. I move my lips to her cheek and down her neck and gather her close to me. I find the beat of the music from my car over the roaring of blood in my ears and the roaring of the thunder overhead. I start dancing with her and she laughs.
"What do you dream about at night, Emily?" I ask in a nervous whisper right against her ear.
The question surprises me; I wasn't planning to ask it. But what surprises me more is that she tells me.
With our arms around each other out in the rain, she starts off her story. "When I was thirteen, I lived in Greece..."