Don't say it
It's not the coldest weather she's ever walked in. But with how deep in her thought she is, she wouldn't notice even if it were. She doesn't know how long she's walked; she just knows the voices in her head aren't quieting. Every step feels heavy, yet she doesn't even register them. If she wasn't experiencing it herself, she'd know to call it dissociating. She walks for what must be at least two hours before finding herself back at her apartment building. The familiar sights and smells ground her just enough that when she opens the door to her apartment, her hand reaches for her gun. The lights are on, and there are sounds coming from the kitchen. She leaves the door ajar in case she needs to run back out, draws her gun and starts approaching the kitchen. There's a coat hanging on the back of one of her dining room chairs. She leans on the wall between kitchen and foyer, heart beating slightly faster than she'd care to admit, and takes a deep breath. She turns the corner in one swift motion, pointing the gun at the intruder.
"No need to shoot, it's only me." Her arms go limp, she lets out a sigh of relief and tucks the gun back in its holster. Scoffing, she turns on her heels and returns to close her door. How the hell did you get in, she wonders, but then spots her spare key on top of the drawers in the foyer, there is no mistaking that pink fluffy keychain attached to it. Damn it, Garcia!
"Jesus, Rossi, you scared the living shit out of me." Rossi looks at her, completely unbothered by the fact that he was just pointed at with a gun. Then his brows furrow.
"Is that blood on your lip?" She brings her hand up and sees the dried blood coating her fingertips even before she can touch the lip. It takes her a few seconds to remember why.
"I had a nosebleed." Without further explanation she retreats to her bathroom, where she cleans the blood off her face. She would love nothing more than to take a shower and sleep, but David fucking Rossi is standing in her kitchen, so with a refreshened face she abandons her dreams of showering and joins him. He doesn't ask her about the nosebleed or anything else regarding the day's events. No, he has a much more important question in mind.
"Pizza?" Her eyes lower to her kitchen counter, on top of which is a pizza box. How did she not notice the delicious smell earlier? She walks up to the counter and opens the box. Inside she finds her favourite pizza. Picking up the cue, her stomach grumbles loudly and she groans. "I'll take that as a yes." Rossi appears by her side holding two plates and starts loading them up with slices. With the now filled plates, he moves into her dining room, setting them down. He pulls out a chair at the end of the table. "Sit." Emily gives him a weird look but complies. He gets them both a glass of water and sits down next to her, beside the chair his coat and, upon closer inspection Emily realises also his jacket, are hanging atop. He waits for her to bring a slice of pizza to her mouth and take a bite before he starts eating as well. They eat in silence, she appears to be avoiding eye contact again, her gaze remains fixed on her plate. When both plates are empty, he gets up and takes them both to the kitchen. She follows him with their glasses, setting his down on the counter and refilling hers. She leans on the counter and sips her water, watching Rossi refill his glass as well. He leans on the counter next to her and cocks his head to the side.
"Talk to me." His request is simple enough, but the look she throws his away tells him she doesn't have words. He wraps an arm around her shoulders tentatively. She tenses a little but doesn't move away. When he feels her relax a little into his touch, he pulls her to face him, gathers her in his arms and hugs her close. She tenses up again, but in just a few seconds she completely melts and drowns him in an avalanche of quiet, shuddering sobs. He holds her steady while she cries all her feelings out. Her face is buried in his shoulder, and he can feel her tears wetting the fabric of his shirt. Everything Emily had buried somewhere and couldn't reach on her walk even if she tried, pours out of her as tears. She's gripping the back of his shirt with such force that it might tear – not that either of them is paying attention to something like that right now. When her sobs slow down and turn to occasional sniffling, he's unable to resist the urge to press a soft kiss in her hair. She sniffles once or twice more and lifts her head, bringing her hands up to wipe the most of her tears off her face. Even with her eyes red and puffy, face streaked with the tracks of her tears, he still thinks she looks beautiful. He doesn't tell her that though. He hesitates and then speaks.
"Do you want to talk about it or do you want your mind off it?"
"I think I've told you everything there is to be said already." There's a weak smile on her face, and he can sense the embarrassment and gratefulness behind it. "Honestly all I want right now is take a shower and try to get some sleep."
"Makes sense. Go shower, I'll grab my go-bag from the car and change my clothes." Her eyebrows shoot up.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"You can't seriously believe I'd leave you alone on a night like this. I'm staying here." He cocks his head out the kitchen to inspect her couch from afar. "Convertible, isn't it?" He turns back to her and her face is full of shock, she's speechless. He lets go of her and walks to the couch, looking for the way to open it. She follows him, sputtering.
"Rossi!" He's found how the mechanism works, and in no time, he works it open. "This is my home!" Her tone is indignant but lacks gravity. He faces her, looking at her sternly.
"If this was anyone else, you wouldn't want them to be alone either, would you?" He holds a pause, always a flare for the dramatic, and then continues: "Shower. Now. Go." She sighs in defeat and vanishes into the bathroom. He smiles after her fondly before making his way to the front door. Grabbing the spare key Garcia loaned him, he shuts the door behind him. When he gets back inside, carrying his go-bag, the shower is running.
Emily leans her head against the wall of her shower. Pizza and the tight hug helped ground her into reality, and the warm water running down her skin is just the cherry on top. She's waited for this moment long enough, but now that she's in the shower, she can't fully enjoy it. She hears her front door open and close, and then open and close again a short while later. The spare key clatters back onto the drawer. Her jaw clenches at the thought of Rossi moving around her apartment while she's showering. She tries her best to just focus on getting herself clean and manages to relax a little more. She gets out of the shower and brushes her teeth. That's when she realises her clean clothes are all in her closet. She curses to herself, wraps her towel tightly around her body and sneaks out of the bathroom. Of course, the only way from the bathroom to her bedroom is via the living room, where she finds Rossi lounging on the couch-turned-bed. He's changed his work attire to a t-shirt and sweatpants. Emily slips into her bedroom as quick as she can -thankfully the bathroom door and bedroom door are on the same wall- closes the door and leans against it. She's never seen him dressed like that. So… casual, relaxed. Although… Hadn't his face looked a little less comfortable as she passed him? She shakes the thought out of her head and pulls a tank top and shorts from her closet, but decides on full-length pyjama pants instead. She has no need to feel any more exposed than she already does.
When the bedroom door opens again, Emily finds Rossi looking through her near-non-existent movie collection. A quick scan of the room reveals his go-bag on the floor next to the armrest of the couch, the clothes he wore earlier joined his coat and jacket on the back of a chair, TV already on. She's never seen her home like this, someone else ready for a sleepover. Andy's slept over a few times, of course, but he slept with her in her bed and kept his personal things in his bag. Rossi works differently; his presence is obvious, overpowering. He doesn't stay out of her way, he commands her space and takes charge of it.
"I thought we could watch a movie." Andy's voice would've been apologetic, Rossi's is matter of fact. "Not much choice, but I'm sure one of them will do."
"Sure."
"Take your pick, I'll brush my teeth." She's too tired to argue or complain, so she picks an easy-to-watch comedy and puts it on while he's in the bathroom. He's organised some throw pillows and a blanket on the couch-turned-bed, slightly off centre to the right. She sits on the left end, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around herself. There is an odd, pondering look on Rossi's face when he comes out of the bathroom. Oh god, Emily realises. Don't say it don't say it. He looks at her and is just about to open his mouth to say something, when her facial expression and body language make him change his mind.
"Did you get cold? You know there's a blanket right next to you."
"I'm not cold. Come on, let's start the movie."
He sits down on the other end, leaving a good arm's length between them. They sit in silence, neither really watching the movie. Emily's eyes are fixed on the TV screen, but if asked, she couldn't recite what's happening. Rossi keeps stealing sideways glances at her. It pains him to see her like this, tense and distant, he'd do anything to see her smile and hear her laugh. But for some reason he is finding it increasingly difficult to find the right words to say. His discomfort growing, he suddenly stands up.
"I'm getting some water. You?" She shakes her head, the motion nearly going unnoticed in the dark room, lit only by the light from the screen. But he does notice. He notices how the light reflects off of her damp hair as it shakes from side to side, and he notices how her glassy eyes stare at the bright screen without reacting to anything on it. And he brings her water anyway. He sets it down on the floor within her reach, with just enough bravado that she actually pays attention. She tears her gaze off the TV and stares at him fiercely. He stays calm and struts back to his seat. Her eyes follow him, and she finally speaks.
"Damn it Rossi, are you going to listen to me at all?" She spits out her frustration at him feeling so damn comfortable in her home, disobeying her requests and just deciding he can stay!
"I will, when you actually say something." The fury in her eyes grows, and for a split second he wonders if he went too far, and then she turns her head in one violent jerk, and he knows. She's crying again. Oh crap.