Derek is serene in his sleep. I'm not sure if he was always that way or if it's because he's now sleeping next to me. Experimentation leads me to think that I might have something to do with it. When I wake up in the middle of the night, there is always some part of him touching me; if I move out of his range, faint lines of concern appear on his forehead almost instantly, his body shifts in his sleep seeking me out again. If he can find me and place a hand on me or an arm around, the lines disappear and relaxation resumes; if he can't, he wakes up.
I discovered this back in November, when I got out of bed to use the restroom. I moved out from under his arms and out of the bed, and happened to glance back at him. In the faint glow from the hallway light, I saw his face become concerned in his sleep, saw his arm reach out and search for me on the bed.
Since then, when I've woken in the middle of the night, which I often do when I'm nervous, I've sometimes moved out of his grasp, just to watch him make his way towards me in his sleep again. I imagine it's how I looked all those months before when I did the same - finding the comfort of his body in my sleep before I was willing to admit that I consciously wanted exactly what my subconscious was going after - him.
Tonight, however, he seems to sense my worry, because when I move out of his arms, his eyes snap open right way. He reaches his hand towards my face and traces the eyebrows that have grown back in the past couple of months, eyebrows that are slightly thinner than before, at least for right now, but in essence the same as they were before. He moves his thumb gently over my eyes, which I shut in anticipation - I'm used to this now, Derek's waking-up ritual, where he traces his fingers over my hair regrowth and watches daily as my eyelashes make their way back to something we both remember.
"Nervous about tomorrow?" he finally whispers. He glances at the bedside clock over my shoulder and sees that it's two o'clock in the morning. "I mean later today?"
In seven hours, I'll report to Quantico for my re-certification physical and ballistics exams. And, yes, I am nervous. Of the multitude of things my cancer and its treatment stripped from me, any sort of confidence in my body or brain to do what I need it to do has become a faint memory, though I'm hoping that if I pass tomorrow, that confidence will start coming back like it once was, much like my eyelashes.
I nod at Derek, confirm that I am, indeed, nervous, and he slides forward in the bed, wrapping me in his arms and rubbing my back gently.
There's a lot doctors tell you about what life looks like after chemotherapy - you don't just walk away cancer-free and step back into your old self. November and December were full of ups and downs.
In mid-November, the night before Claudia and Elaine returned from London, when Derek and I were naked in bed, he ran his hand from hip down my leg and back up, and then his face lit up like a Christmas tree.
"What?" I had asked him.
He'd taken my hand in his and guided me to reach down to my calf, then slid my hand back up. And there it was, the barely beginning of hair re-growth on my legs, just a light prickle. That was the start of my hair coming back, and it was thrilling at first. But when the hair on my head started coming in, it wasn't like my old hair at all. It was kinky, sprinkled with gray, and had a texture like it had been dipped in chemicals for hours. I was told this was common, and that what my actual regrowth would ultimately look like wouldn't been known for months; there were toxins in my system causing my hair to resemble a brillo pad and it would take months for them to work their way out of me.
I stuck with hats and scarves through the holidays, and bought a wig at the end of December, so I could walk back into the FBI and the BAU not looking sick, because by New Year's Eve, you really would never know I had had cancer on the outside, except for my hair.
The highlights of November and December were celebrating the holidays with Derek and Charlie. Fran came out for Thanksgiving, and we celebrated at my mother's house, of all places. It ended up being a larger party than originally planned - we had Fran and Claudia, but Claudia had her sister there now, and though Thanksgiving was an American holiday, it was still a time for family. So Elaine came, and then, because my mother extended the invitation to the people Elaine now lived with, Will and JJ and Henry came as well.
At first I was nervous about the idea of Charlie and Henry in my mother's house, where there were a lot of delicate decorations, and a white carpet in the dining room. I got quite a shock when we arrived and found my mother's home not at all like it was the last time I saw it, back in July when I first came home. Mom picked Charlie up when we arrived and kissed his cheek, then she smiled at my wide eyes as I took in her brownstone that had been redecorated to actually look comfortable instead of precise and fussy. "I decided a new look that's better for my grandson was in order," she told me with a smile.
We went to Chicago for Christmas and had a wonderful time with Derek's sisters and extended family, a family that embraced Charlie immediately, which wasn't a surprise. What did surprise me was the immediacy with which they all embraced me, literally and figuratively. I think I was the recipient of more hugs the four days we were in Chicago than I had received up to that point in my life.
And two days after we returned home, on December twenty-ninth, JJ gave birth to another, beautiful baby boy.
It was the middle of November when Derek returned to work, and though I wouldn't exactly call that a high point for either of us, or Charlie, because we all missed each other when he was gone on a case, it was a good thing. Getting back into a routine brought a layer of normalcy to our lives that we needed. "If you don't want me to work for the BAU anymore, just say the word, Emily," he'd said to me the night before he was to return to work. I appreciated the offer, but the BAU is as much a part of Derek Morgan as Charlie and I now are.
It was that night that I decided to take Hotch up on his offer, even though there were things that concerned me about it, and those things had everything to do with me. During my chemotherapy, I thought the brain fog that I experienced, where I'd sometimes lose a train of thought or not remember what I was doing or going to say was part of being sick. It was a shock to discover that I was still just as foggy when the chemo was over and I was officially cancer-free. This can also be an unfortunate side effect of chemotherapy, and it lead to much frustration for me throughout the holidays. I am used to being quick-witted and efficient, and I hated the times when it felt like I no longer was.
My doctor assured me that it should get better, and Derek encouraged me to control what I could. What I could control was my physical strength, and passing the physical portion of a field agent's certification became my focus. I had no intention of doing anything with that status, and Hotch told me it was not necessary, but I became hell bent on making that goal. When I was standing in the kitchen, for instance, wondering how the hell I got there and what I was intending to do, I could let my frustration at my brain fog go and instead feel good about running a mile, and then two miles, and then three. When I felt like my brain wasn't working quite right, I could get down in the living room and do sit ups and push ups.
My first week back at the BAU at the beginning of January, where I was slated to work twenty-five hours a week, I started hitting the gym with Derek every morning, and the firing range every day at two o'clock before I headed home. I participated in every tactical training exercise I had time for, and was able to walk in the door at the house in Bethesda by four-thirty every afternoon. I enjoyed the schedule, and I enjoyed the fact that when he wasn't away on a case, Derek left work shortly after me. He had to bring paperwork home, but in terms of what it felt like to start living a real life with Derek and Charlie, it was a routine I definitely loved.
Three weeks after I walked into the BAU with a wig that looked a lot like my old hair, with the scale telling me I'd gained back every pound I'd lost, and an active badge in my hand, I requested to take the exam, and I'll be taking it in just a few short hours.
"You'll pass, Emily. You'll pass with flying colors," Derek murmurs against the skin of my forehead.
I know he's probably right, and it's something I would have walked into with confidence before, but there's self-doubt there now, which is what woke me up in the middle of the night. I imagine my legs giving out on me while I'm running, or my arms not holding me as I try to pack in as many push-ups as I can in sixty seconds. I worry that I'm going to get that gun in my hand and blank out and forget how to undo the safety or pull the trigger, even though that's never happened before.
"I know I probably will," I whisper back to Derek.
He continues to rub my back, but I know he senses that I am still wide awake. His hands move under the t-shirt I'm wearing and trace over my spine and then my ribs, over the skin that now has a layer beneath it that covers my rib bones. "Want some help falling back to sleep?" he asks.
I laugh lightly against his chest. We rarely indulge in any sort of intimacy when Claudia is home; this house is small and her room is right next to ours. It's one of the many reasons we're counting the days until May first, the day the contractor says our house in Manassas will be completed. But it's the middle of the night, Claudia's sound asleep, and Derek and I can both be relatively quiet when we need to be.
I pull back slightly from him and run my finger down his chest and abdomen and over the front of his pajama pants, feeling him twitch beneath my finger. "I could use a little help getting back to sleep," I say.
He laughs almost silently and rolls me so I am laying on my back. His kiss, which is so familiar by now, but utterly new each and every time, ignites a fire in both of us.
This has definitely been a highlight of the past few months, especially the times that we didn't have to be quiet. As my energy-level increases, I've learned to enjoy sex in a way I never have before, completely letting myself go and giving myself over to another person. These more wild interludes have taken place in this house, when Claudia is out and after Charlie is asleep, or they've taken place at the property in Manassas, in the little house there when Derek and I have gone out for the evening. With Derek, whether we're in bed or I'm perched on the edge of the kitchen counter or we're in the shower, or on the floor, no matter the position or location or how bold or crazy it gets, it always feels like making love. With him, I am completely unguarded, and instead of that making feel like I'm losing control, it makes me feel like I'm finding a part of myself I never tapped into before; the woman who can be softer, who can be vulnerable and strong at the same time.
Letting Derek Morgan into my heart has made me look at the world in an entirely different way, and it really is just as simple as feeling truly happy and complete for the first time in my life.
I wonder what kind of deal the federal government received when they purchased tens of thousands of yards of the same slate gray flooring that they recently laid in FBI headquarters. Not just headquarters, but it's the same flooring that now covers the the State Department, from what I've seen. It's the same flooring that now covers the hallways at the FBI training academy.
As I make my way towards Emily's office, I mark my quiet steps along that endless slate gray. When our plane landed after our last case, I could have gone straight home, but my mother is in town for awhile, and I knew she and Claudia had plans to take Charlie to the Air and Space Museum today. Instead of heading home to an empty house, as much as I love our new place in Manassas, I decided to take a detour and stop by to see Emily, who should be done teaching for the day.
When she first left the BAU last month, at the end of April, I let her go with a smile on my face. Though she at first balked at the idea of teaching when the Director of Training approached her, she quickly warmed to the idea. At first she said she didn't know how to teach, but when I, and then Hotch and everyone else at the BAU pointed out that she'd essentially been doing it for years, just in the capacity of educating local law enforcement or people who worked under her at Interpol, she realized that maybe it was in the scope of her capabilities.
She was approached because in 2013, when there was a hiring freeze at the FBI, they stopped taking recruits. A year later, they reopened the training unit with a new vision, where analysts and field agents were trained together for many classes in order to emphasize the critical collaboration of both groups. It was a model Interpol had been working with for awhile, and Emily had the experience to teach new FBI recruits.
So far, things seem to be going well for her and she's enjoying the classes she teaches in threat analysis, ethics, and critical thinking. Though she brings papers home to grade in the evenings, she gets home by late afternoon most days, and she's considered a full-time employee. It's a mellower job, but challenging in its own way, and exactly what she needs.
While the walls and hallway of the training academy might be dull, Emily's office is not. When I round the corner, her door is open and her office is tastefully decorated with a bright throw rug and plants. And pictures of Charlie; more importantly, pictures of me and Emily together with Charlie. A large window overlooks the training fields. The brightest thing in the room, though, is the woman sitting at the desk, her head bent over reading a paper.
In February after another follow-up appointment with Dr. McKenzie, where more blood was drawn and she'd received another clean bill of health, she cut off two inches of the three inches of hair she'd managed to grow since stopping chemotherapy. The coarse, kinky, salt and pepper hair fell away and gave way to the inch underneath, that was downy, but her usually color. She kept up with the wig for March, April and half of May, but when she had a good three inches of her regular hair back, she started wearing it naturally. She uses gel to give it some body, and it's trimmed neatly around the edges, but there's a slightly messy quality to the styled longer portions that get longer each week. The combination is something that looks both professional and modern.
Her eyelashes are back, really back. I can see them from here in the doorway, even though she hasn't looked up to see me yet. The color in her cheeks is natural, and she's a little heavier than she ever was before, but the few extra pounds fall on her body in all the right places, and they are mostly a result of her being more physically fit now than she was before. It's the beginning of June and it's warm; out of the classroom, she's removed her suit jacket, giving way to the tank top shell underneath; I can see the clearly defined, yet feminine, muscles of her upper arms.
"Excuse me, Professor. I think I need a little tutoring," I finally say from the doorway.
She looks up at me standing there and grins. "Not professor. That's Agent Prentiss to you."
"I'm sorry, Agent Prentiss. But do you think you could help me?" I step towards and around her desk and perch on the edge of it, facing her chair.
"And what is it you need help with, Agent Morgan?" she asks, her eyes alight with humor.
I reach my hand forward and trail my fingertips down the side of her face. "I seem to be failing one of my classes and I'm wondering if there's anything I might do for you to boost my grade," I say softly but seductively.
She stares at me, and her lips twitch. "This sounds like the start of a very bad porno, Derek."
I laugh and remove my hand, reaching for hers. "Take me home, Agent Prentiss?"
"You mean to the farm?" she asks, a look of mock indignation on her face.
I smile. "It's three chickens, Em. Hardly a farm."
"And just because our son moved from ducks to chickens doesn't mean he needed live ones as a house warming present."
"Hmmm," I respond. "And how many fresh eggs did you eat this morning?"
She smacks my leg lightly and stands, trying to hide the grin on her face as she starts gathering the papers on her desk. "That's hardly the point," she says. But then she laughs and gives it up. She loves those chickens, who are surprisingly friendly, even if she doesn't like to admit it.
She looks towards the hallway and sees it's empty, so she leans over and kisses me briefly. "I missed you. How was the case?"
I shrug. "OK. The results were about as good as we can hope for. It's nice to have JJ back traveling with us again."
She smiles softly. "That's good. Elaine brought the baby and Henry over for dinner last night since Will was working late. It's nice having all those kids in the house."
I raise my eyebrows hopefully, and she grins. "Don't get any crazy ideas."
"The chickens worked out," I respond.
We've been tossing around the idea of adopting for a couple of months now. Actually, I've been tossing out the idea, and she's been a little uncertain but not entirely uninterested.
She reaches forward to touch my face. "Just let me get through one year cancer-free. I know it may not seem rational, whether we seriously start talking about adoption now or four months from now, but it really feels important to me. I'm open to it, Derek. Honestly."
I smile again and kiss her cheek. "OK."
She slings her bag over her shoulder and we walk towards the doorway and out into the hall. After she locks her office and turns to face me, she asks, "What's that little smile on your face about?"
"I'm thinking about someday maybe having a son and a daughter," I respond honestly.
"Lord help her," Emily says with a laugh as we start walking down the hall.
"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?"
She reaches out to touch my arm. "Have you forgotten last month already? Claudia said she had a date and you asked to meet him. And you greeted that poor young man at the door with your holster and gun still on, looking more than just a little menacing."
I laugh. She's right. "He still came back for another date."
"True," she says with a grin.
I follow her on the thirty minute drive home; it's early enough that we're not encumbered by traffic. I'm hoping we'll make it home before the crew gets back from the Smithsonian, but when we pull up into our driveway, Claudia's car is there already. I quickly switch my focus from alone time with Emily to seeing Charlie after being gone for a few days.
When we emerge from our cars, we hear laughter coming from beyond the tree line, a mixture of Charlie's and Claudia's and my mom's. We smile at each other and make our way hand and hand over the grass, past the chicken coop I built and towards the trees. Sergio comes running up to Emily and rubs against her leg.
We find everyone down by the creek, Charlie squealing excitedly, a frog clutched in his hands. "Mommy, Daddy! Look!" he exclaims excitedly when he sees us.
He runs up to Emily and shoves the frog at her. And Emily, naturalist in Ann Taylor, who doesn't at all seem squeamish or seem to care about mud on her suit, reaches out with a laugh and picks Charlie up, frog and all.
I love this version of Emily Prentiss so much sometimes I have to pinch myself just to make sure it's real and I'm not dreaming. She laughs a lot more than I ever thought possible, she's relaxed. That joyful look on her face when she's with our son, that I originally saw in pictures so many months ago, is a permanent part of her being. And it's a joyful look that extends to me and everyone else as well.
A year ago, Emily was someone who occasionally entered my dreams. Ten months ago, I sat on the back porch of the little house on this property and thought about being here with her and Charlie. Nine months ago, I listened to the words of Penelope Garcia, who said she believed with her whole heart that Emily and I would figure out a future together.
There's always a little something in the back of Emily's mind, and in mine, that worries about her cancer coming back, but I don't believe it will. This is the end of the road for both of us, on this property, in a house where my banister is finally where it should be.
The end of the road in that we ended up where we were supposed to be, but the beginning in so many ways, too.
A/N - Thanks for coming along on the ride!
I'm working out in my head a couple of new story ideas, and hope something sticks soon. If not, I may go back and do one-shots/follow-ups to my other stories until a feasible multi-chapter idea comes to me.
Happy Fourth of July!