Kudos to all who read and reviewed the last chapter, your feedback is always encouraging, and your suggestions have all been put onto my list of "to-write".
Another new perspective for this one. It's tagged to the stunning "Demonology" episode. Happy reading =)
"The truth is, everyone is going to hurt you. You just got to find the ones worth suffering for." – Bob Marley
My gaze lingers on the faded blue walls of the room as I wait for the doctor to return. My thoughts begin to wander away from the apparent blueness of the wall, and onto more dangerous subject matter, so I close my eyes and shake my head, willing my focus to remain on the wall. Another few minutes pass before the doctor returns. He warns me that while he's able to release me, any type of stress could do significant damage and should thus be avoided. With a quick promise to seek relaxation and get plenty of rest for the next few days, I sign my discharge papers and call a cab to pick me up.
The cab pulls up, and I get in, still not yet sure of my destination.
"Where to?" the driver asks as he makes eye contact with me in the rear-view mirror.
Things seem to move in slow motion as I blink and drop my gaze, wondering just where I should go. My eyes are drawn to the falling snow illuminated by the cab's headlights, and I'm transfixed. I watch individual flakes slowly dance their way through the dark sky and land on the windshield, only to be quickly erased away by the wipers.
"Sir?" the driver prompts.
"A hotel, please."
He frowns, "Which one?"
"Doesn't matter. Any one will do," I say, not really desiring to make any decisions at all tonight.
He shoots me a strange look, but shrugs and pulls away from the hospital's entrance. I watch as the world seems to speed by in a blur and creep along at a snail's pace, all at the same at the same time. My eyes see the houses, buildings, trees and people that we pass, but my mind is seemingly switched off, not processing any of the sensory information.
I'm not sure how much time passes before I feel a slight lurch as the cab comes to a stop outside a hotel I realize is not terribly far from my house.
I pay the driver and thank him with a quick wave as he drives off. I check into a room, and fall back heavily on the soft mattress of the room's bed. I close my eyes, but only see the terror that must have filled his eyes, and no doubt filled my own as well, when faced with death. My mind wanders onto the night's events and I feel my heart begin to race once more, the fear coursing quickly through my veins. Taking a few deep, calming breaths, I compose myself and feel my heart return to a normal pace. I know I should sleep, but finding such a state of peace seems an elusive feat at best.
I roll over and grab the phone on the bedside table, dialing the number I'd called more times in the past couple days than in the past couple decades. It rings a few times before I hear her answer.
"Prentiss," she answers, probably out of habit. Though she tries to hide it, I can hear the weariness in her voice. The past few days have been difficult for her, and I feel a wave of guilt at my decision to call her.
"Emily, hey. It's John."
"Johnny, how are you? I tried to call you, but I realized you probably didn't have your phone with you," she says quickly. The speed at which the words tumble out of her mouth instantly remind me of the 15-year old shy and yearning-to-fit-in Emily Prentiss I met in Italy all those years ago.
"Yeah, I left it in my house."
"You're still at the hospital then?"
"No, I checked into a hotel. Didn't really feel like going back there tonight."
My steady speech and ability to string together coherent thoughts are surprising to me after running on auto-pilot for the majority of the night.
"Of course. But you're okay?" Her tone is full of worry, and I feel more guilt, this time for not letting her know sooner that I'm okay. Even if it had really been years since we talked, there was still a friendship, or at least a connection of some kind between us.
"Yeah, they discharged me. Just had to promise to take it easy and get some rest."
"And you are, right?"
"I'm trying to."
There's a moment of silence as both of us try to navigate these uncharted waters.
"Where are you staying?" she asks, breaking the silence.
I briefly consider not telling her and sparing her the emotional turmoil that will no doubt arise, but ultimately my desire to see her again wins out. With a sigh I give her my hotel and room number. With a promise to be here in 40 minutes or so, she ends the call, and I hang up the phone. I roll over onto my back once more, and close my eyes for a moment to rest.
An hour or so later, soft knocks on the door wake me from my admittedly fitful sleep. I blink away the lingering sleep and rise to answer the door. I pull open the door and take in her appearance – her cheeks and nose are bright red, and her jacket is soaked with partially melted snow.
"Did you walk here?!" I ask in surprise.
She nods, "I was outside already and the hotel isn't far from where I was, so I figured I'd save myself the cab fare."
"Emily, it's freezing out."
She shrugs, "I didn't really notice, to be honest."
"Can I make you a coffee? Maybe warm you up a bit?"
"Sure."
At that point I realize she's still standing in the hallway, and I open the door wider to let her in. Her eyes lock with mine and I see the same scared and vulnerable look that was there when we were 15, having a very difficult conversation that was far beyond our years. It was a conversation and responsibility that I ran from before she could even finish speaking. She deserved better from me, but instead I was a coward and disappeared.
We sit in silence as the coffee brews, its scent filling the room. Her gaze is fixed on the wall, and mine is fixed on her as I realize how much we both have changed since we were teenagers. When the coffee finally finishes, I pour two cups and hand one to her, which she accepts with a smile.
"Thank you," she says softly.
Silence takes over once more as we both fail to find the elusive words that once always came so easily between us.
"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, Emily," I finally say, repeating my apology from earlier that night, hoping she will at least acknowledge it.
She closes her eyes and exhales, "Johnny, that was a long time ago. It's in the past."
"I know, but I should have been there for you. I know Matthew was, but it should have been me. I'm the one who…" I trail off, unsure of how to finish the sentence.
"Who what? Got me into that situation? You didn't pressure me into anything. I was 15 and desperate to be accepted, I went along with it," she says as her eyes seem to soften with each word. "We were just kids, John."
"Doesn't excuse my actions. You deserved better."
She sighs heavily, "It's okay. It's in the past. Don't worry about it."
Her eyes seem to betray her words as they flash pain and regret and maybe anger, but I don't pursue it. Instead, we each focus our attention onto our cups of coffee, and let their warmth soak into our bodies and our souls.
"Do you remember that party we got into a few weeks before all of… that?" she asks with a smile.
I frown in concentration, "What party?"
"The football one, with all the crazy Lazio fans."
"And then the Roma fans crashed it and the cops ended up breaking it up?" I ask in clarification.
"Yeah, and we tried to explain, in our terrible and very broken Italian that we weren't fans of either team," she says with a chuckle.
I smile, "If I remember correctly, Matthew and I had to drag you away from one of the police officers before you got us all arrested for assault."
"He had it coming, he was being a little too grabby for my liking," she says defiantly, even after all these years.
"So there's an okay level of grabby?" I ask with a smirk.
Her eyes widen, "No, I didn't mean- Of course not!"
I laugh at her efforts to backtrack, and she shoots me a patented Emily Prentiss glare before smacking me on the arm. It feels almost like we're kids again, joking around and not having to dwell on the sudden but admittedly not entirely surprising death of the third member of our group.
"That was one hell of a night," I say.
"You're telling me. My mother was all over my ass the next day."
"What? No way."
She nods, "Some people were a little too loud when dropping me off."
"At least I walked you to the door?" I supply with a hopeful grin.
"Johnny, you walked into the door. And Matthew managed to almost knock over a statue."
"Well, what did you expect? We were 15 and few drinks over the edge. Besides, I seem to recall you weren't exactly a ninja yourself, Miss Prentiss."
She raises an eyebrow before grinning with a shake of her head, "I suppose you did save me from being arrested…"
I grin in response, "Yes, we did indeed."
"But can you imagine what my mother would have done if I'd been arrested? God, her face would have been priceless."
"Yeah. That twitch in her eye would have started for sure – like that time you and I got caught smoking in the bathroom."
She laughs loudly, and I join in as we reminisce about our times together. But when the laughs fade, we settle into a silence once more, and with our coffees long finished, our time together dwindles. It feels like an inevitable goodbye looms large.
"I should go," she says, confirming what I suspected.
"Thank you, Emily. You saved my life tonight," I say, meeting her gaze.
"Of course, John."
"He talked about you, you know? When he was sober, I mean."
She closes her eyes once more in an effort to compose herself.
"He always said he should have stayed in touch with you. Kept promising that he'd clean up and we'd all go for drinks, just like the old times."
"I hope he's found the peace he was looking for," she says after a beat of silence.
I nod solemnly, "Me too."
I open my arms as we both stand and I pull her into a tight hug. It's filled with past years' worth of apology, and future years' worth of regret.
"Take care of yourself, Johnny," she says as she pulls away from my hold. And somehow with those words I know she doesn't want to keep in touch. But I understand why – her memories of me are intertwined with memories of him. And the bond they had was more than she and I ever had together. She wants to let him go, and to do that she has to let me go too. And so, because I wasn't there for her when she needed me back then, I decide to be there for her now in the way she needs.
"I will. You take care of yourself too."
She walks toward the door and opens it before turning around briefly.
"We'll talk again soon," I tell her, but we both know this is goodbye.
"Bye, Johnny," she says with a sad smile.
"Goodbye, Emily."
If you've got the time, I'd love to hear your thoughts and/or opinions.