"So, guess what I just did?" Emily said into the phone, pacing the apartment while Nyx sat there, following her with her eyes.
"What did you do, Princess?" Morgan asked and she could hear the smile in his voice.
"I kind of just adopted a dog?" She said it like a question, even though it wasn't. "And not just any dog, a retired bomb detection dog from Iraq...can you believe it?" Her voice was hysterical, her nervous laughter high-pitched.
"You what?" he asked, obviously surprised, more by her hysteria than anything else. "Why did you do that?"
"I have no idea," she admitted. "God, what was I thinking? I don't know how to take care of her... What do I do, Derek?"
"First of all," he said gently, "You calm down. Dogs can sense stress. Especially if she's a war dog."
She nodded, then remembered he couldn't hear it. "Alright. I can do that." Silently, she added, 'I think.' She took a few deep breaths to slow her heart rate. "Alright, now what?"
"Now, you just...take care of her," he said vaguely.
"Gee, thanks," she said sarcastically. "That's really helpful."
He laughed a little. "Touche. I don't know what to say. All you've gotta do is love her."
She dropped unceremoniously to the floor, combing a hand through her hair.
"Are you okay, Em?" he asked when the silence extended.
"No," she rasped.
"Is there anything I can do?" he asked gently.
"No," she sniffled.
"Em..." He sighed. "Maybe you should come home."
"I don't have a home anymore," she whispered.
"You always have a home here, with us – with me."
She gave a watery laugh. "I feel so alone."
"You're not alone, Em. You're never alone." Then, as if to punctuate the statement, Nyx came trotting over and curled up next to Emily with her head in her lap.
Emily leaned down to nuzzle her face in the dog's fur as she sobbed.
"Emily? Em!" Derek called out, the sound of her tears echoing over the line. "Emily, are you alright?"
"I'm not okay," she whispered. "I haven't been in a really long time."
"I know, Em," he murmured, "I know." And he did. They all did. It would have been impossible to miss the signs, even from an ocean away. "But you will be."
"How? I don't even know what okay is anymore," she admitted. "I don't... I..." Her breath hitched on a sob.
"Emily," he said gently, seriously, "I need you to listen to me, okay? Are you in danger?"
"What?" she said so softly it was barely audible.
"Are you planning on hurting yourself?" he urged.
"I..." she whispered. "I don't..." She genuinely didn't know.
He knew that too. "Promise me you'll hang on, okay? Just a little longer?"
Nyx gently nudged her hand with her cold wet nose, the sensation the only thing that felt real in that moment. With her thumb, she gently stroked the spot between the dog's eyes, making her blink sleepily.
"Yes," she choked out when she realized she hadn't answered.
"That's my girl," he encouraged. "Just hold on, okay?"
Emily was awoken a short while later by a hand landing on her shoulder, a quiet voice calling her name. She sat up slowly from where she'd fallen asleep with her head nestled in Nyx's side, blinking sleepily to find Clyde kneeling over her, concern creasing his face.
"Clyde?" she rasped, voice thick with sleep and leftover tears. "What are you doing here?"
Clyde's hands rested on either side of her face as he inspected her for any sign of harm.
Nyx watched his every movement with suspicion, baring her front teeth just the slightest bit, ready to protect Emily should the need arise.
"Clyde?" she repeated. She kept one hand clutched tightly in Nyx's fur like a security blanket; she wasn't used to needing reassurance...but no part of this was normal for her.
"Agent Morgan called me," Clyde informed her, using that victim voice she hated. "He said you were having a rough go of it."
"I'm fine," she said, bit it was weak, shaky.
He knew better than to argue when she was like this, knew she was never going to admit how badly she was suffering. "Have you eaten?" he asked once he was satisfied she hadn't harmed herself.
"I had breakfast," she said. "Well...coffee..."
"Em," he scolded, "You can't keep burning the candle like this." But without further reprimand, he headed to the kitchen and started banging around in her cupboards in search of food. "Jesus," he muttered, "It's a ghost town in here..."
Silently, she padded into the kitchen, Nyx at her heel. "I haven't had time to grocery shop," she mumbled in response.
It was clear she'd been living off coffee and occasional take-out for months, but he didn't say that, didn't want to send her retreating into herself.
"How do you feel about pizza?" he asked, rifling through the stack of take-out menus.
"I'm not hungry," she replied.
"I'm not leaving until you eat something," he insisted.
She sighed wearily. "Pizza's fine." She lifted herself up to sit on the counter, watching him nearly as warily as the dog was, waiting for him to say something a little too personal so she'd have reason to put her guard up.
"Have you been sleeping?" he asked gently, taking in the bags under her eyes, the waxy pale complexion of her skin, the heaviness in the set of her shoulders.
She shrugged, which was answer enough.
"Are you still having the nightmares?"
"I don't want to talk about it," she whispered, eyes filling with tears she fought to blink back.
Clyde had always been one to see past the walls she used to keep people at arm's length to know what she needed but would never ever ask for. And, though he doubted she was all that keen on physical contact just then, she was clearly in desperate need of a hug, so he folded her into his chest without waiting for her to seek him out or asking for permission.
And, though she stiffened at first as if the very concept was strange and unfamiliar, it was only for a moment before the tension bled out of her and she wound her arms around his neck, holding onto him as if her very life depended on it.
