I may have gotten a little carried away writing this chapter. I also made a slight adjustment to the timeline because it didn't I blame all of the extra time I had with the site being down over the past few days.
Also check out the poll on my profile! I won't say what it's for right now but the results will affect the upcoming story in this series.
The sterile light of the clinic seemed to buzz with an intensity that matched the turmoil in Emily Prentiss's mind. As she stepped through the door of the exam room, her dark hair framing a face etched with new lines of worry, the rest of the world felt distant, like a dream she couldn't quite shake herself from. The weight of her pregnancy—a life within her own—pressed upon her with a gravity she was unprepared to bear.
"There you are, darling," Clyde Easter's voice sliced through her reverie, his British accent grounding her to the spot. His sharp blue eyes searched hers, concern creasing the familiar landscape of his forehead. He had been waiting, amidst the sea of glossy magazines and antiseptic scents. "How did it go?"
She opened her mouth, yet no words formed, just a silent exhale that spoke volumes of the shock that held her captive. Her gaze drifted past him, fixating on nothing, the reality of her situation sinking in.
"You okay?" he pressed gently, leaning closer.
"Um," she started, her voice a ghost. "It's... we're fine. Can we go?"
Clyde reached for her arm, a touch meant to comfort but one that only reminded her of how untethered she felt. Still, she let him guide her to the reception desk, where the mundanity of scheduling a follow-up appointment clashed with the chaos in her head.
Emily's fingers nervously tapped against an appointment card as she chewed her bottom lip. Ears ringing, Emily's gaze flitting between the receptionist's lips moving in a blur of instructions and the appointment card.
Emily shook her head, trying to bring her eyes back into focus. "I'm sorry, could you say that again?" she asked, her voice shaky.
Clyde noticed her struggle and stepped forward. He reached out and took her trembling hand in his, offering a gesture of solidarity to anchor her racing thoughts.
With a gentle yet firm squeeze, Clyde wordlessly reassured Emily as he smoothly took charge. His voice cut through the chaos like a beacon of calm determination, organising Emily's upcoming ultrasound appointment. Each word he spoke held purpose, his unwavering resolve reflected not just in his words but also in the determined set of his jaw.
"The 27th at ten o'clock," Clyde reiterates firmly, meeting Emily's distant gaze to ensure she was present in that moment at least.
"Thank you," she murmured, her gratitude barely audible over the dull roar of blood in her ears, an undercurrent of dread making her heart race.
"Let's get you out of here," Clyde suggested, his voice a calm oasis, as he steered her toward the exit, away from the clinical coldness that seemed to magnify her fears.
Emily's figure was enveloped in a sleek tan button-down trench coat, its fabric glistening with raindrops as she and Clyde emerged from the clinic into the September downpour. The air was thick with moisture, chilling Emily to her core as they weaved through the busy street.
Clyde scanned the bustling crowd, ready to hail a cab with his hand raised, but before he could signal for one, Emily's soft voice halted his movements.
"Can we walk a bit?" Her request floated between them, barely audible above the thrumming heartbeat of Seattle's rain-soaked afternoon.
"In this weather?" Clyde protested, though his eyes betrayed understanding. He watched her carefully, noting the pallor of her skin and the way she hugged herself tighter, as if bracing against more than just the elements.
"Alright," he agreed finally, his tone surrendering to her silent plea.
Extending his arm in an offer of support, he found it declined. Instead, Emily wrapped her arms around her own torso, safeguarding the storm raging within.
The world around them was awash with the hues of an urban watercolour, the city's vibrant life bleeding together under the weeping sky. Each drop of rain that graced Emily's cheeks seemed to carry away a fragment of the turmoil she felt, but not nearly enough to still the tempest in her mind. The warm droplets were gentle on her skin, starkly contrasting the harsh reality that now churned inside her.
"We're getting a right soaking. It's enough to make a brass monkey shiver, Eh?" Clyde remarked with a gentle grin, his attempt to inject some levity into the dreary weather and Emily's sombre mood.
"Um-hum.," Emily murmured a distant agreement, her gaze fixed on the horizon where grey clouds hung low, mirroring the uncertainty that clouded her future. She drew in a breath, the petrichor-infused air filling her lungs with the earthy scent of renewal, yet doing little to wash away her unease.
Emily's hand absently rested on the barely perceptible swell of her belly as she walked, her thumb tracing small circles over the smooth fabric of her trench coat. The doctor's words echoed in her mind, each one driving the stake of guilt deeper.
"...very small for her gestational age... I have concerns."
Was it because of the stress she had endured over the past months? The lack of proper nutrition when she was on the run? Or was it simply that she was fundamentally flawed - incapable of providing her unborn child the safe harbour she deserved.
Emily sighed, her breath mingling with the misty air. She thought of the countless nights she had lain awake, assaulted by visions of blood and death, unable to quiet her racing mind. And the days when she could scarcely pull herself from the bed, paralyzed by the weight of her despair. She had been so consumed with her own anguish that she had neglected the tiny, fragile life within her. What kind of mother would she be?
"Mind the puddle," Clyde's voice cut through the reverie of rain and distant thoughts, pulling Emily back to the treacherous path ahead. She barely noticed the water that had gathered like a miniature lake across the sidewalk until Clyde steered her clear with a gentle touch on her elbow.
"Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely above the whisper of raindrops against the concrete. It was a simple gratitude, laden with complexities she couldn't articulate—appreciation for his presence, for the silent pact of understanding between them.
Clyde respected her need for quiet, understanding that sometimes solace lay in the absence of conversation. His gaze never strayed far, watchful and protective, ready to step in should the weight of her world become too much to bear alone.
"Whenever you're ready to talk, I'm right here," he said at last, his voice a soothing balm against the chill of isolation that threatened to engulf her.
Emily's thoughts meandered through a maze of uncertainties and possibilities, each one tugging at her conscience. Her baby's weight and her own—a harbinger of potential complications—played over in her head like a broken record, each revolution amplifying her fears.
They had traversed a couple of blocks in their shared solitude when, without preamble, Emily reached into the pocket of her coat with a tremulous hand. She withdrew the sonogram images, their edges softened by the clutch of anxious fingers, and handed them to Clyde. The black and white contours of a new life unfurled between them, a declaration of both hope and uncertainty.
"A girl," she breathed out, her tone tinged with a wonder that struggled against the gravity of her apprehension. "Due in January." But the joy of the revelation was overshadowed by an unspoken dread that hung palpably in the air, like the storm clouds that veiled the sky.
Clyde took the images with reverence, his eyes tracing the delicate outline of Emily's unborn daughter. "A little girl," he echoed, his voice a mix of awe and concern, knowing the weight that rested on those tiny, yet-to-be-born shoulders.
"January isn't far off," he added, handing back the sonogram with a reassuring smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Emily slipped the sonogram photos back into her pocket, the creased edges pressing into her palm. She managed a weak smile in return, but Clyde's attempt at reassurance only amplified the ticking clock in her mind. January was four months away - fifteen weeks, one-hundred and five days. Each unit of time felt like a grain of sand slipping through her fingers.
She placed a protective hand on her belly and nodded mutely. The streets were slick with rain, the city painted in dreary shades of grey that mirrored the cloud looming over Emily. She tried to focus on the sidewalk under her feet, the solid presence of Clyde matching her strides. He was speaking again, his tone artificially bright as he suggested grabbing lunch, but his voice seemed to reach her from a great distance. She felt detached, like she was watching herself from the outside.
As they passed by the glow of neon lights, the familiar aroma of roasted beans and baked goods spilled out from a coffee shop, tugging at their senses. The sign above read "Peet's Coffee" in bold letters, a silent invitation from within. Clyde glanced at the establishment and then at Emily, whose face was a canvas of inner conflict.
"Let's grab a bite, shall we?" he suggested, hoping the distraction might offer her a respite from the relentless march of her thoughts.
Emily hesitated, her stomach churning uneasily with the turmoil that gnawed at her. Yet, somewhere beneath the layers of apprehension, a primal concern for the well-being of her unborn child urged her to nourish herself, despite the absence of hunger.
"Okay," she agreed, her voice barely audible over the sounds of the bustling street. They stepped through the door, leaving the lament of the rain behind as they were enveloped by the cozy warmth of the café.
Clyde watched her closely, noting the subtle shift in her demeanour—the slight squaring of her shoulders, the determined set of her jaw—as she grappled with the disquieting reality of her situation. His heart ached with a fierce protectiveness; he would stand sentinel beside her through the storm, no matter its ferocity.
They queued up, eyes scanning the menu boards etched with an array of options in chalky script. Clyde leaned in, his voice a low murmur against the cacophony of steaming milk and barista banter. "Do you fancy anything particular? Maybe something sweet?" he asked.
"No, just a sandwich," Emily murmured, her gaze anchored to the pastries behind the glass, each one suddenly too vibrant, too real against the backdrop of her disquiet.
A woman behind them, drawn by the curvature of Emily's belly poking out from her unbuttoned trench coat, edged closer.
"Excuse me, when are you due?" she intruded, appearing behind them like an unexpected shadow.
Emily flinched, her dark eyes meeting those of the stranger with a guarded flicker. Politeness, a veneer thin as porcelain, masked her discomfort as she murmured, "January."
"Oh, can I—" The woman reached out, her intent clear as her fingers splayed towards Emily's rounded belly.
With a protective swiftness, Clyde interposed himself between them, his frame a bulwark against the unwanted advance. "I think we'd prefer some privacy, if you don't mind," he said, his voice firm.
The woman recoiled, affronted, then turned away, muttering about the younger generation's lack of courtesy.
"Sorry," Emily whispered, her words barely surfacing above the cacophony of the coffee shop.
"Don't be," Clyde reassured her, offering a small, supportive squeeze to her shoulder as he guided her away. "Let's find a table, you can wait while I order."
Emily nodded, a silent gratitude in her eyes as they slipped out of the queue, seeking refuge by a window streaked with rain's tears. She settled into a chair, its wooden contours offering no comfort to her tense frame.
Her gaze, once a beacon of resolve, now danced skittishly to where a man sat across the café, his attention unsettlingly fixed on her. Was he just another patron, or something more? She tried to dismiss him, focusing instead on the raindrops that made serpentine paths down the glass, each one a fleeting distraction from the storm within.
"Want a drink? Perhaps a latte or...?" Clyde's voice trailed off, his eyes following hers to the source of her unease before returning to the present task. "Never mind, I'll get ya somethin'."
"Tea," she whispered after him, barely loud enough to be heard. "Please."
"Coming right up," he said, more to himself than to her, as he turned back to the counter, determined to restore some semblance of normalcy to the day's tumult.
As Clyde waited for their order, Emily's thoughts churned like the froth atop a cappuccino. How could she protect her child in a world that felt increasingly hostile? Each glance over her shoulder was fraught with the weight of her former life, the spectre of danger never far behind. She sipped at the air, trying to swallow the fear that clawed at her throat, wondering if she'd ever taste peace again.
The ceramic clink of plates on the wooden table startled Emily back from her reverie, jolting in her seat. Clyde had returned, a light frown creasing his forehead as he took his seat across from her.
He began unwrapping his turkey sandwich, the crinkle of paper filling the brief silence between them. His eyes stayed fixed on Emily as he took the first bite, chewing slowly while she avoided her own untouched meal.
"You should try to eat something," he said after swallowing. "Keep your strength up."
Annoyance flickered across Emily's features, her brows furrowing at the instruction before she caught herself, reining in her reaction with a deep breath.
"I know, I'm sorry. I just..." Her voice trailed off as she picked at the sandwich, peeling back the top slice of bread to examine its contents.
Clyde's gaze softened. "It's alright. But please, a few bites? For the little one if not yourself."
With a resigned sigh, Emily took a small nibble of the sandwich, followed by two more minuscule tastes. She sipped her tea before setting it down firmly, fixing Clyde with a sombre look.
"The ultrasound showed that she's very small for 25 weeks," she confessed, her voice hushed and strained. "Less than the tenth percentile. They're worried about complications."
Clyde's jaw tensed, sandwich paused mid-air. His eyes clouded with concern.
"What did the doctor suggest?" he inquired. "Surely there are measures you can consider - alterations to your diet, supplements..."
"All of the above. I'll need to gain a couple pounds a week at the least to get on track." Emily said wearily. She cradled her belly, gaze drifting down. "I'm not well, Clyde. Not well enough to carry her to term if things keep on this way."
The despair in her voice made Clyde's chest clench. He set the sandwich down, reaching across the table to lay a comforting hand over hers.
"Easy now, no need to get ahead of yourself," he soothed. "I'll make sure you're eating right, getting your rest. We'll take it day by day and do everything possible to see you through to January. Alright?"
She met his gaze, the vulnerability she'd kept at bay spilling forth.
Clyde reached across the table, his touch grounding. "You're doing the best you can. And whatever you need, I'm here for you." He squeezed her hand, his thumb tracing calming circles on her skin.
Before she could respond, the shadow of a figure loomed over them, a shiver cascading down her spine. Emily's head snapped up, her eyes locking onto the man from earlier, now approaching their sanctuary with an unsettling purpose. Panic coiled within her, her breath hitching as her protective instincts surged to the forefront.
Clyde's voice was now a distant hum, her focus narrowing to the threat that advanced. Her body tensed, a statue save for the instinctive movement of her hand cradling her abdomen. Every cell screamed danger, a primal alert that resonated through her bones. She was a cornered animal, every sense heightened, ready to protect her unborn child against any peril.
"Emily?" Clyde's voice cut through her distress, laced with concern. He followed her line of sight, his body tensing, ready to spring into action.
But the threat dissolved as quickly as it appeared; the man brushed past their table, his attention ensnared by a beckoning barista. The danger was imagined, ephemeral, leaving Emily awash in a tide of embarrassment and residual fear. She exhaled a tremulous breath, her hand falling away from her belly as she met Clyde's questioning eyes.
"I'm... I need to get out of here." Her apology was a whisper lost amidst the din of Peet's Coffee.
"Alright, it's alright," Clyde murmured, his voice a steadfast anchor in the tumult of her thoughts. His quick hands swept up their uneaten food, abandoning the remnants of an attempt at normalcy. He offered her a nod, his eyes reflecting a quiet understanding that needed no words.
"Let's go." Clyde's hand pressed lightly against the small of Emily's back, guiding her through the maze of tables. His movements were swift, yet mindful, as if each step was calculated to shield her from the world's prying eyes.
"Watch your step," Clyde cautioned, his arm coming out reflexively to steady her as they emerged into the open air, the rain greeted them like an old friend, its warm droplets mingling with the salt of Emily's unshed tears. She felt every raindrop against her skin, the sensation grounding her, pulling her away from the precipice of panic she'd nearly tumbled over.
The cab pulled up to the familiar brownstone, its windows glowing softly in the twilight. They emerged into the September downpour, a chill gust of wind tugging at their clothes as they hurried inside. Once past the threshold, the warmth of the apartment enfolded them like an embrace from an old friend. Coats dripped onto the wooden floor as they shed the sodden layers.
"Tea?" Clyde offered, already moving toward the kitchen.
"Please," Emily replied, her voice hitching slightly.
She collapsed onto the couch, her body curling instinctively around the swell of her abdomen. Her gaze lost itself in the erratic dance of the rain outside the window, seeking solace in its natural rhythm.
In the kitchen, the kettle whistled—a sharp, urgent sound that sliced through the silence. Clyde prepared the tea with meticulous care, the steam rising in fragrant tendrils. He returned to find Emily still ensconced in her cocoon of cushions, her eyes reflecting the storm raging beyond the glass.
"Here," he said, handing her a steaming mug. The scent of chamomile wafted between them, a subtle invitation to unwind.
"Thank you." She accepted the offering, her hands cradling the warmth.
He settled on the opposite end of the couch, giving her space yet remaining a steadfast sentinel.
"Thank you, for back there," she said, her voice still carrying the tremor of fragility. "I just... That man, I thought—"
"Eh, there's nothing to fret about," Clyde interrupted gently, his words slicing through the turmoil. "I understand, darling."
"I felt a fear I've never known," Emily confessed, her eyes not leaving the cup. "It's this intense vulnerability—being pregnant and realising there's so much out of my control. Every shadow becomes a predator. I'm supposed to protect her, but how can I when I'm feeling so..."
"Helpless?" Clyde supplied gently.
"Exactly." A single tear escaped, tracing a path down her cheek.
"Em," Clyde said, leaning forward, his tone insistent yet kind. "You are most certainly not helpless. This panic—it's merely stress talking. You're going to be an incredible mother."
Her lips quivered with a ghost of a smile, but her eyes remained haunted. "But what if it's more than stress? What if my instincts are right?"
"Should a time come, you'll do what you have to do. And you'll always have at least one ally." His words lingered in the air, hinting at unseen dangers lurking ahead, casting a foreboding shadow over their shared resolve.
The fragrant steam from her tea curled around Emily, offering fleeting warmth that barely reached the icy core of fear lodged within her. Beyond the window, rain lashed against the glass in a relentless rhythm, mirroring the turmoil in Emily's mind. The need to shield her daughter wasn't merely a motherly instinct; it had transcended into a primal imperative. As thunder rumbled ominously in the background, Emily's determination solidified like steel. She comprehended with chilling clarity that her child would forever be hunted by shadows from her past, lurking malevolently in the periphery. Despite Clyde's unwavering presence beside her, she understood that her daughter could never truly be safe under her guardianship. The resolve etched on Emily's face spoke volumes – she was prepared to confront any peril, brave any threat, even if it entailed plunging back into the abyss she longed to flee.
Thank you for reading! Next chapter will be posted later today or tomorrow morning EST.