Thanks, of course, for all the reads and reviews - always lovely to hear what you all think!
This is the continuation of the Penelope conversation from chapter 68. An awesome tune called "Start the Machine" by Angels & Airwaves served as my soundtrack while writing this one. Give it a listen if you'd like!
Happy reading =)
"If you know someone who tries to drown their sorrows, you might tell them sorrows know how to swim." –H. Jackson Brown Jr., P.S. I Love You
My eyes open slowly as sunlight streams in through the window. I rub my eyes as I try to fight the last remnants of sleep from my mind. It only takes a moment for the previous night's events to start coming back to me. Being awoken abruptly by a phone call from Carm...having to go pick up Em and bring her back to her place. Right, her place. Well that answers the question of why my room was so unfamiliar.
I grab my phone from the bedside table and check the time. I hold back a groan when I realize it's only 8am. Now, ordinarily 8am is sleeping in…but we hadn't gotten back to her place until 3:30, and it was closer to 4 by the time I'd collapsed into the guest bedroom's admittedly rather comfortable bed.
I get up and head to the kitchen with the intent of procuring some coffee and making some breakfast. I figure if my body is going to force me to be awake at this ungodly hour – relatively speaking, that is – then at least I'm going to do it with the proper sustenance. I open cupboard after cupboard and can't help a frustrated sigh from escaping my lips. Of course she wouldn't have any healthy food. But the lack of coffee surprises me – she practically inhales the stuff at work. And then I remember her efforts "to relax more" included giving up caffeine.
I detour to the bathroom quickly to make sure I'm relatively presentable for the world before poking my head into Em's bedroom to check on her. Satisfied that she's still passed out, and probably will be for at least another couple hours, I grab my purse and head out to satisfy my need for caffeine and sort out breakfast for both Em and myself.
I head to the closest café and order a probably in all honesty ridiculously but completely necessary large coffee and then make my way toward the closest grocery store. Recalling the terrible aftermath of the disastrous greasy food binge after the last ladies' night, I do a quick Google search on my phone to bring up a list of foods to help soothe what is sure to be the hangover from hell and then some for Em.
I throw a few fruit juices, some sports drinks, a jar of pickles, some fruit, some eggs, some toast bread, a jar of honey, and few boxes of tea into my cart before heading quickly to the checkout counter. The cashier processing my order makes polite chit-chat while more than likely judging my strange array of items. I smile in reply, honestly not caring one bit about being judged…I've got bigger issues to deal with at the moment, chief among them a passed out brunette who'd made some startling declarations with the help of far too much alcohol.
As I load the bags in Esther's trunk, my mind starts to go over everything Emily admitted last night. The level of alcohol in her system mixed with her already apparently fragile emotional state meant I heard more about her past than I ever had before. And frankly, most of what she'd described had me seriously worrying about her. Well, at least more than I usually do.
"Em, can I ask you a question?"
"Sure," she says, keeping her gaze locked forward.
"Why'd you go out alone tonight?"
"Wanted to forget," she says simply. "I wanted them to take my memories again."
Her response to that question had startled me. Take her memories?! What the hell does that even mean? Everyone on the team knows how badly things with Doyle went for her. The first and second time, for that matter. But what else had she dealt with? Her old team hadn't just done the Doyle op, they were together for years, so surely they would've done other ops. In fact, now that I think about, Em told me as much last night.
"…and I slipped so easily into each role I had. By the time they told me I was going to Lauren Reynolds, I felt less like Emily Prentiss than I ever had."
Poor Em had switched between identities the same way I switch between pairs of shoes: often. I begin to wonder what kind of effect that kind of undercover work would have on a person. Pausing my actions of loading the groceries into the trunk, I whip out my phone and do a quick search on the topic. My quick skimming of the available information isn't positive. Actually, after reading it…I'm a little bit impressed Emily hasn't gone crazy by now. Just another indication of her seemingly endless strength, I suppose. Well, no, that's not quite right. Because that strength looked like it had run out last night. With a heavy sigh, I shove my phone back into my purse and load the last few bags into Esther's trunk.
As I drive back to Em's place, I begin to wonder exactly how I should proceed after last night. In all likelihood, she won't remember much of the night, least of all our interaction. But I can't just ignore what she'd told me. We'd all missed the signs before when Doyle was doing his dangerous stalking thing and lurking around every corner for her, and I'm determined not to let her slip away again. Finding out she'd left to face him alone was far too high on my list of heart-wrenching and soul-sucking moments, and it was not an event I was keen to repeat.
"I can't go undercover anymore, Pen. Even for just 20 minutes. I just- I can't."
Those words spoke volumes to me. Emily Prentiss never admitted she couldn't do something. It was one of her more frustrating traits. So, for her to admit that she couldn't go undercover anymore was startling to say the least. It caught me by completely by surprise. She'd also gone on to explain why JJ couldn't do it, in her 'always putting others before her' way. The conversation had ended without any resolution there, admittedly ending as most conversations with drunk people do. But do I have a responsibility to bring it up with someone? Morgan? Hotch? JJ? Or do I keep this quiet? No…I can't keep this to myself. It would eat me alive, and that wouldn't be fair to Emily – she deserves better than that. I resolve to work it into our chat over breakfast.
"Garcia?" Emily mumbles confusedly, shielding her eyes from the bright sunlight streaming into the kitchen.
"Well good morning, pumpkin. Sleep well?"
She continues to stare at me, a confused expression on her face as her still sleepy and most definitely hungover mind no doubt tries to put together exactly why I'm in her place.
"Have a seat," I say gently while gesturing toward one of the stools on the other side of the island counter.
She blinks a few times before shuffling her way toward the stool and sitting down. "What're you doing here?" she asks, confusion still laced in her tone as her head drops into her hand.
"You don't remember?"
She shakes her head and then groans immediately – probably reacting to the sudden movement. I offer a sympathetic expression and set a glass of water in front of her. She eyes it warily and then partially covers her eyes with her hand once more.
"It'll help, Em," I coax. "Or would you prefer pickle juice?" Her brow wrinkles in disgust and then her eyes close. I watch as she fights the waves of hangover-induced nausea. "Right, we'll save the shot of pickle juice for later."
Apparently her will power wins the battle because her eyes open up and she takes a few tentative sips of the water. "Pickle juice?" she says in confusion.
"Helps replenish electrolyte and sodium levels apparently. There are an alarmingly high number of people who swear by it."
She grimaces as she takes another small sip of water. "Anything to make this," she gestures to her head, "go away."
"So," I begin again. "You don't remember anything?"
"I went out to Carm's after we got back…and that's about it."
"He called me around 2:30 to come and pick you up."
Her face pales. "He did?"
I nod as I turn back to the stove and continue cooking the eggs I'd started just before she appeared in the kitchen.
"I'm assuming you brought me back here?"
"Right in one, my raven-haired beauty. Took the long way home to get you a bit of fresh air, but we got you all comfy in your bed around 3:30 or so."
She blows out a heavy breath and closes her eyes as covers her eyes with her hand again for a moment. "Thank you, PG."
"Don't mention it, Em. I expect you'd do the same for me. Actually…now that I think of it, I'm pretty sure you have done the same for me."
She offers a weak smile and takes another sip of water, a little bigger this time. Noting that she was able to tolerate some liquids now, I push a glass of apple juice toward her.
She grimaces but accepts it without any objection, and begins to sip at it.
"How is your head?"
"I'm never drinking again. Ever."
"Yeah, I figured you'd say that."
She frowns. "What kind of shape was I in last night?"
"Let's just say if I wanted to know your deepest, darkest secrets, you probably wouldn't have put up much, if any, fight to reveal them to me."
She groans. "Oh god. Did I tell you any deep dark secrets?"
"Why? Got any good ones?" I tease.
"Penelope," she warns.
I slide a plate of eggs and fruit toward her. "Eat first, then we'll discuss anything you may or may not have said."
"Garcia, I-"
"No arguments. Eat, or I won't tell you a thing," I threaten.
She meets my stare and her gaze narrows slightly, as though trying to figure out if I'm bluffing. "Fine," she says, turning her attention to her plate.
"All of that has been shown to help reduce hangover symptoms, by the way."
"Are you sure it'll help?" she asks, eyeing the plate with a skeptical gaze.
"Google doesn't lie, my friend. Now eat and it'll help."
"If it doesn't kill me first," she mutters, and I shake my head.
"Okay, I finished your wacky plate of hangover food, now tell me – what the hell did we talk about last night?" Emily asks nervously, beginning to pick at her nails, an action that does not go unnoticed by me.
"First you cracked a few jokes, and then lamented that I wasn't wearing bright coloured clothing."
"Well you aren't," she says with a small grin as she takes in my outfit. "And trust me, after working with you all these years, you get used to a certain level of colour on you. It is a little disconcerting to see you dressed so…mainstream."
"Think you can give me a pass on that this time? It was 2:30 in the freaking morning, and the way Carm was talking, I was worried you'd die of alcohol poisoning before I got there."
"Geez, how much did I drink?"
"Too much, Em," I say in a very motherly tone. "What are you playing at, trying to drink everyone in the whole damn bar combined under the table? It's a miracle you didn't die of alcohol poisoning."
"I don't think you're in a position to judge me, Garcia," she snaps back defensively.
"I'm not? The person who had to drag your ass back here after you passed out in a bar full of strangers doesn't get to say anything?"
"I-"
"No, I get to talk now," I say forcefully. I may be seen as a soft-hearted and perhaps somewhat overly sympathetic person, but where my friends are concerned, I'm more than willing to step up and into my big girl boots. "You do realize that up until a few months ago, we all thought you were dead, right?"
Her expression immediately shifts to guilt. "Well, JJ and Hotch-" she begins weakly, but I cut her off immediately.
"Don't be a smart ass," I warn. "You were gone, and then by some miracle we get you back, and now you're trying to kill yourself?"
"I wasn't trying to-"
"I know, I know, you were trying "to forget." You told me that last night. Along with a few things that have me seriously worrying about you Em."
Her eyes widen in shock and fear. "What else did I say?" she asks worriedly.
"You told me how the Doyle op broke you."
She casts her eyes down immediately, and her fingernail picking becomes a little more frantic. I reach over and stop her hands' assault.
"It's okay, Em," I say softly, squeezing her hand in support. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. What you went through… It was horrible. Admitting that it was a little too much for you doesn't make you weak."
Her eyes widen once more as she realizes what she'd admitted. "Garcia, I was drunk, and-"
"And therefore you were telling the whole truth," I finish for her, handing her a sports drink. "Drink this. You need to replace your electrolytes."
She lets out a heavy sigh slowly and accepts the bottle, taking a long drink from it.
"Emster, are you okay? For real, I mean."
She freezes, as though the question has surprised her. Maybe it's because she's been pretending she was fine for so long, or maybe it's because she doesn't know how to answer it without the words, "I'm fine" tumbling out of her mouth automatically.
"I'm fine."
I let out a huff of frustration. She was locking everything up again. "You've rendered that word meaningless, you know."
She holds my gaze, as though daring me to try and pry more out of her.
"You should learn to trust people, Em."
"I trust people," she says defensively.
"Right. Because you go out and in one sitting drink more than most people do in a year, and that's perfectly normal."
"I was trying to forget the case."
"Forgetting the case, I get. But you drank enough to forget who you were, Em. And based on what you said last night, it wouldn't surprise me if that was your goal."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"It means that I know you're definitely not fine."
"I am," she insists. "We all have our ways of dealing with our demons, Garcia. This time I just chose to escape them with alcohol."
"That's how alcoholism starts."
"I'm not an alcoholic."
"Could have fooled me, based on your behaviour last night."
"What are you, my mother?"
"No, you and I both know your mother didn't exactly police your angsty teen escapades, so no, I'm not your mother. I'm a friend who hates to see you putting yourself through so much pain and guilt."
"I-" she begins, but I cut her off quickly.
"I get that this is hard for you…it's hard for all of us, but that's no excuse to not take care of yourself. We lost you once and it shattered us, Em. Shattered us. We don't want to lose you again. So pull yourself together and sort your shit out. You want to forget a case? Fine. Call up me and JJ and we'll drink together and let Henry remind us of the good in the world. But don't use it as an excuse to try and drown all your problems in one go."
Her eyes widen at my outburst and I find myself a little surprised too. I hadn't planned on lecturing her, it just sort of…happened.
"I'm gonna go. There's some cut up fruit in the fridge, and I grabbed a few other things while I was out this morning," I tell her as I grab my purse and fish out my keys.
"Garcia-" she says, trying to stop my actions.
"You're like a sister to me, Em, so seeing you like this kills me. Please believe me when I say that I love you. We all do."
Her only response is to blink several times.
"I'll see you at work on Monday," I say as I reach the door and swing it open. A thought occurs to me and I add one last thought. "And if you don't tell Hotch about you not being able to do undercover work anymore, I will."
Her expression shifts to shock as she realizes what she'd told me in her drunken state, but I let the door close behind me. I walk briskly toward my car, feeling the tears form in my eyes. I hate seeing my friends hurting, and Emily Prentiss was most definitely hurting. Sure, she'd been doing a spectacular job of hiding it and making sure to keep up appearances, but I'd gotten a glimpse into her pain last night, and it was alarming. It was the kind of pain that swallowed and consumed people.
I hate that I had to force her hand with telling Hotch, but I honestly feel like if we force her to slip into another role, we might lose the Emily we'd been so happy to get back. She may hate me for it, but I don't regret making her do it. It will eat at me, and probably cause a painfully large amount of stress, but it will be worth it. Hopefully she'll come around and see that I only did it because I love her damn stubborn self. It was for her own damn good.
So...did we feel for Emily and the hangover from hell? And how did we like Garcia and her big girl boots? Do let me know.