Emily sat staring at her slice of pizza until it had long since gone cold. She'd agreed to eat to appease Clyde, but the idea of actually doing so turned her stomach. But she could feel his eyes on her, waiting for her to take a bite, concern rolling off him in waves.
She didn't think she could stomach anything at all just then, let alone late night greasy take-out pizza...but she also didn't think she could stomach another lecture or the way he looked at her like she was so so broken. With shaking hands, she took one bite, but struggled to swallow, the food like sawdust on her tongue. She coughed, choked as it moved down her throat.
"Em?" Clyde asked, watching the way she choked, gagged, eyes watering. "Are you alright?"
She shook her head, stomach instantly revolting. She stood, rushing to the bathroom and immediately throwing up the little she'd eaten. Leaning over the toilet, stomach heaving, she couldn't help the forlorn little sobs that erupted from her chest.
As she retched and sobbed, she could feel Clyde's presence in the doorway. Ordinarily, she wouldn't have let him see her in such a moment of weakness – the last time she'd cried in front of him had been the day they pulled her from the Doyle mission and even then, her tears had been more from decompressing than any actual sadness. "Oh, Em..." he murmured gently, settling beside her on the floor and resting a hand on her shoulder blade.
She let out a pathetic little whimper, but neither commented nor shrugged away from the contact which, in and of itself, said more about her emotional state than words possibly could have.
Nyx came trotting into the bathroom then, stared at her with her head cocked for a moment, then let out a quiet little whine. Slowly padding the last few steps to reach her, the dog gave her hand a little lick.
The gesture was so tender, the expression on her face so human, Emily couldn't help but choke on a sob. "You should take her..." she rasped, voice hoarse from tears and retching.
"What?"
"Take her to live with you," she begged. "I can't take care of her, I can barely take care of myself. Please... I can't... I can't let anyone else down."
"Emily," he said seriously, "You haven't let anyone down."
She shook her head, wiped away her tears with unsteady hands. "I see it in their eyes," she insisted, "In yours." She took a shaky breath. "I tried, Clyde...God, I tried so hard, but I wasn't strong enough to fight them."
"Fight who?" he asked. He could feel her body trembling beneath his hand and couldn't help but think that this might have been the first time he'd seen the real Emily – with no walls or masks, with nothing between her and the outside world to hide the cracks beneath the picture perfect facade she worked so hard to present to the world.
"The demons," she whispered. "I tried, but...they're winning. And I don't know how much longer I can keep fighting."
"Emily," he said, suddenly gruff, "Enough."
"What?" she squeaked, bewildered by the sudden fluctuation between sympathy and anger.
"I'm sick of the self-pitying bullshit – you're the strongest woman I know and you've been through far too much to do yourself in like this."
"Clyde, it's not that easy – I can't just snap my fingers and be okay again," she argued, struggling to keep the threat of tears at bay.
"Then maybe you should try actually getting some help," he countered, expression pointed.
"I saw the Bureau psychiatrist. She cleared me."
He gave a bemused snort. "We both know you were completely truthful," he said sarcastically.
She couldn't argue with that...maybe if she had been, she wouldn't be here. She didn't say it, but she knew they were both thinking it. "Are you ordering me to see someone?" she asked.
"No. Just encouraging," he replied. "As your friend."
"My friend," she repeated as if the concept, the very word were foreign to her.
"I am, Emily," he vowed, "Your friend. I hope you know that."
"I do," she said, quiet, meek. Something settled between them in that moment; she couldn't quite name what it was, but it was thick and heavy and she couldn't breathe for the weight of it. She needed to get out of the cramped space, away from his seemingly all-seeing gaze, needed room to breathe and think and fall apart with the room to put herself back together again. "I should rest..." she said, standing suddenly so that his hand fell away from her back.
Clyde nodded, but made no move to leave. At her questioning look, he said firmly, "I'll be on the couch if you need me."
She thought about arguing, but couldn't muster the energy to be stubborn. With a shrug and a wave, she left him standing there, obviously still concerned, but unwilling or unable to push her further.
Tossing her vomit spattered shirt into the hamper, Emily rummaged in the laundry she'd been neglecting to do for something to wear. When she turned back, ready to fall into bed and hopefully be spared the nightmares long enough to sleep away the heavy weariness that had settled into her bones, she found Nyx had made herself at home in the middle of the bed. Emily groaned. "Nyx, get off," she demanded, half-heartedly.
Nyx lifted her head, studied her for a moment as if debating whether she'd truly meant the command, then laid her head back on her paws.
"Really?" Emily muttered. But she was also too tired to fight the dog. Instead, she wriggled into the bed beside her until she was spooning the warm ball of fur occupying the centre of the bed.
Seemingly content with the situation, Nyx nuzzled into Emily's chest, heaving a great sigh.
Draping an arm over the dog, Emily let out a shaky breath, tears pricking at the back of her eyes for reasons she didn't understand.
