Quietly Making Noise

Spoilers all the way through Season 4 including To Hell…and Back 4X25

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds, I am making no profit from the writing of this fic.

If there are words in the English language to express how much gratitude I have for all smacky30 has done for me during the writing and posting of this story, I don’t know what they are. Let’s put it this way: without her encouragement I wouldn’t have started writing it, without her hand holding I never would have posted. If there has been something in this story you liked, she should probably get the credit for it.

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5

*******
Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death. –Anais Nin

He takes JJ’s advice and stops at a 24 hour Giant on the way home to stock up. It’s not as if the cupboards are bare, but he’d like to have a variety of things on hand. Emily isn’t a fussy eater, but she hadn’t seemed at all interested in food today. And, yeah, that’s understandable, but she’s going to need to eat to get her strength back.

There are peppers and an eggplant along with a ridiculous amount of canned soup and at least three types of pasta in his shopping cart by the time he gets to the meat counter. He chooses some mild sausage and a chicken. He can do a lot with either of those, plus he’s pretty sure he has some ground beef in the freezer at home. Feeling as though he’s missing something major, he pushes the cart up and down the aisles, periodically throwing random items in as they strike his fancy.

It’s when he’s on the pet aisle and he realizes he has no reason to be there that he decides he needs to wrap this excursion up. Ice cream for Emily, he thinks, then I’m done. He turns his shopping cart towards the frozen foods and the bird feeders catch his eye. The memory of her waking in the hospital last night, crying over the hummingbirds, sweeps over him like a summer storm and he has trouble breathing for a minute. The idea of her hurting, hurts.

Checking his phone to make sure JJ hasn’t called and he missed it, he shakes his head; there are no missed calls. Em and JJ are both probably fast asleep; he hopes so, anyway.

Spending an absurd amount of time in front of the ice cream trying to remember Emily’s favorite flavor is a little more frustrating than he’s willing to patiently accept. He remembers the brand, just not the flavor. Finally, he gives up and throws four different permutations of chocolate ice cream (chocolate with nuts & marshmallows, chocolate with caramel, chocolate with toffee, and chocolate with…chocolate) into the cart. Only the fact that he actually has to put the groceries up when he gets home keeps him from adding two more. He’s aware he’s over compensating but he doesn’t give a damn; it’s not the worst thing he’s ever done.

Keeping the windows rolled down on the way home brings a good breeze through the SUV and prevents him from drifting off. Moving as quickly as he can he puts the cold items up and leaves the dry and canned goods to deal with tomorrow. Trudging upstairs, he takes a scalding shower and even though Emily is not there to wear the top, he only puts on pajama bottoms. He climbs in bed, expecting to be asleep in record time. Instead, the images of the last two days shift through his mind like a kaleidoscope, moving and melding: Emily sobbing against his shoulder this morning, Jimmy asking if he was ready to let her go, Emily watching the hummingbirds from the sunroom, the look on Reid’s face when he quoted the statistics about decreased fertility, her blood on the ER doctor’s scrubs, the look on her face when she’d kissed him this afternoon.

If it makes any sense, he doesn’t know what kind of sense it is.

Pulling the pillow over from her side of the bed, he breathes in her scent. Finally, he sleeps.

***
He brings her home the next afternoon. Though she seemed fine, almost back to normal, when he arrived at the hospital, the simple tasks of dressing and riding in the car seem to have worn away whatever energy she had built up. He gets her to agree to rest in the bed instead of on the sofa and she goes to sleep almost immediately, not waking until Jimmy shows up in the evening with Chinese take-out. Rossi tries to persuade her to eat in the bedroom but she just gets that stubborn Prentiss look on her face and refuses. He takes the majority of her weight as he helps her down the stairs and kisses her hair at least half dozen times as he does so, he’s so happy to have her leaning on him.

Chopsticks are distributed and cartons passed around. Jimmy is at his most entertaining, pulling out stories of his and David Rossi’s misspent youth. The stories are more tall tale than actual history, but Rossi doesn’t protest too loudly, since Emily is smiling and laughing at the heavily embellished accounts of the exploits of their younger selves while they share Crab Rangoon, Kung Pao Shrimp, Vegetable Lo Mein, and Ginger Beef.

It’s a relief to see her laughing and conversing; he figures some introspection is inevitable and he hopes she’ll talk to him when she’s ready. But he worries when she’s too quiet, wonders what she’s thinking, speculates about how she really feels. But he is, frankly, too afraid to question her.

Jimmy keeps her laughing until she starts yawning again. He hugs her gently and kisses her cheek when he bids her goodbye. “You know where to find me if you want to talk.”

Dave tries to carry her up the stairs, but she’s not having any of it, leaning more on the banister than him. She does, however, thread her fingers through his and it pulls on his heart. When he joins her in bed, she scoots back against him and he wraps his arms around her, being careful of her incision. She turns her head to kiss his arm and sighs sleepily, “Missed you.” He kisses her shoulder and doesn’t say anything but he knows exactly what she means. And how she feels.

Monday passes similarly to Sunday afternoon, except Emily reads on the sofa and doesn’t sleep quite as much when she does nap. She’s moving a little easier and looks less drawn, though the sorrow still lingers on her features when she isn’t trying to keep a smile on her face. How hard she’s trying makes the center of his chest ache; but he’s not sure if she’s doing it for him or for herself and that makes him tread carefully.

It’s late afternoon and she’s drowsing on the sofa with her ear buds in when his cell phone rings. He moves to the sunroom to take the call from Hotch. The team had taken off for Nashville that morning in pursuit of a serial rapist and even though he was officially on leave, he had agreed to consult over the phone. Being down two profilers put a lot of pressure on the rest of the team and as long as he didn’t have to leave Emily he was happy to help. Normally, he’d go to the study to take the call but he doesn’t want to move that far from her. He knows he is being a bit overprotective, but until he gets over it or she tells him to cut it out, it’s the way it is.

Before he sits down on the wicker sofa, he turns the ceiling fans on. It’s hot as hell in there with the afternoon sun and as he listens to Hotch talk through the victimology with the rest of the team he wonders if he should get some window shades for the room. The warmth was nice in the winter but it’s a bit too much in the summer. He’d never used the room much until Emily started spending more time here. She loved to sit out there on weekend mornings and nurse her coffee. He often complained the sofa wasn’t as comfortable as the one in the Great Room, but she just said it was a shame to have such a beautiful room and never use it. In the spring she’d bought several hanging baskets and placed them around the room; they were now thriving with vibrant, lush foliage overflowing their baskets. She’s right, it is a beautiful room. It reminds him of her.

It’s almost an hour before he ends the call and the sun is starting to dip when he wanders back into the Great Room and finds Emily furiously swiping at tears on her cheeks. “Em? Are you all right? Are you hurt? Are you in pain?” He’s in front of her before he’s aware he crossed the room.

“No, no, Dave, I’m fine.” She takes in a shuddering breath that seems more like a sob. He knows he’s frowning fiercely, but she looks at him and gives a watery laugh and tugs on his hand until he sits down beside her. “I swear. I am not hurt, I am not in pain, I am fine.”

Her eyes are bloodshot and swollen and her nose is very red. Carefully, he slides an arm around her. “Emily, I’ve got to say, this is not what I usually interpret as fine.” He’s trying for light but even he can hear the worry and doubt in his own voice.

She sucks in another breath that sounds a little like it hurts. “It’s hormones.” Shaking her head, she presses against his side. “I was listening to my iPod and there was this song,” she sniffles and gives a moist giggle, “and it was just so sad and I felt so ridiculous but the more I tried to stop crying the harder I cried.” Pressing the heels of her hands against her cheeks, she snorts. “Trust me, Dr. Sharma said it would happen, it’s hormones.”

Pulling her closer, he kisses the top of her head. “Emily…”

The doorbell rings and he curses under his breath and she laughs. “It’s all right; get the door. I’m not going to collapse into hysterics.”

He kisses her again as he stands up. “It would be okay if that’s what you needed to do.”

She rolls her eyes. “Not quite.” Her tone is so completely normal, so absolutely Prentiss, he blinks for a minute. Then the doorbell rings again and she quirks an eyebrow at him. “You want me to get that for you?”

He’s still shaking his head when he opens his front door to find Penelope Garcia with Kevin Lynch in tow bearing bags of Mexican take-out and board games. Garcia sweeps in like the force of nature she is, pausing for the smallest beat when she sees Emily’s face, but then she proceeds to pretend it isn’t obvious Emily has been crying and Kevin, thankfully, plays along.

There are plenty of things Rossi likes about Garcia, a lot of qualities about her he admires and a couple he finds irritating but he has to admit she does know how to breathe life into a room and provide a distraction. Soon she has wrangled a small cooler out of Kevin’s arms (“Isn’t he just the cutest little pack mule?”, a question Rossi is glad seems to be rhetorical, especially since he’s one of two people in the room to have seen Kevin naked) and gives both men a beer bottle with a lime wedge while she and Emily are sipping on virgin margaritas in gaudy plastic glasses.

Two hours later, Dave thinks he may have lost touch with reality when he realizes he is playing Trivial Pursuit in the middle of his Great Room with Penelope Garcia and her boyfriend and, to top it off, his ass is getting handed to him.

Emily isn’t faring much better. “Porcupines do not masturbate.” She shifts the pillow behind her back; Rossi bites down on the urge to get up and adjust it for her.

“Yes, Mistress Prentiss, Princess of the Profile, porcupines do, indeed, masturbate.” Gleefully, Garcia stands and moves over to Prentiss, handing the question card to Emily who makes a face of such incredulous disbelief, Rossi smiles.

“I don’t believe this.” She examines the card carefully. “Did you have this printed?”

“No, I did not.” Garcia huffs, grabs the card and flounces back to her seat on the other side of the coffee table.

“She cheats,” Kevin says mournfully into the neck of his beer bottle.

“Foolish mortal, being the consort of a goddess does not give you the right to pronounce such things.” Garcia puts her nose in the air, primly. “Having a vast array of knowledge is not cheating.”

Kevin raises his eyebrows and takes a sip of his beer. “Memorizing the cards is.” The playful smack Garcia delivers to his khaki covered thigh resounds in the high ceilinged room.

“Kevin,” Emily smiles, clearly enjoying herself, “be careful or you’ll be going the way of the porcupine.”

***

Tuesday morning Dave wakes alone with a panicked sense of déjà vu. He doesn’t bother with a robe as he checks the upstairs then quickly heads downstairs, calling her name.

“I’m here.” She’s sitting on the sofa in the sunroom, still dressed in the pajama top she wore to bed, cradling a cup of coffee between her palms.

“Jesus, Prentiss.” His heart is pounding in his chest and he’s fighting the surge of adrenaline that wants to convert itself to anger now that he sees she’s all right. He just leans against the door jamb, shaking his head at her. “You scared me.”

Cocking an eyebrow at him, she gives a little laugh. “Well, if scaring you gets me the half naked Rossi floor show, I’m going to do it more often.”

“Emily…” he starts, but doesn’t know how to say it with different words, so he says it a different way. “You scared me.”

The expression on her face shifts as she puts her coffee on the side table and he realizes he just said a lot more than he had intended. “I’m sorry.” She bites her lip and extends her hand. “C’mere.”

He releases a sigh that feels like it was five days in the making, and pushes off the door, taking her hand as he sits down next to her. But just holding her hand isn’t enough; he wraps an arm around her and pulls her in so tight she squeaks. Immediately, he loosens his grip and asks a little anxiously, “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she lets out a breath, sounding a little amused. “Just surprised me.” Leaning her head on his shoulder, she reaches for his other hand, entwining their fingers against his chest. “I…” she clears her throat and he tenses a little. “I know this hasn’t been easy on you…taking care of me and suddenly living in a fishbowl while you do it.”

“Em…” he starts, but she squeezes his hand, and he stops.

“I know it’s the way it happened and you would never dream of doing anything other than everything you could for me, but, could I, please, just say thank you?” Her speech is rapid when she begins, but ends almost hesitantly with a touch of shyness and he feels himself relax.

Gently hugging her, he presses a kiss to the top of her head, inhaling the fragrant scent of her hair. “You’re welcome.”

They’re quiet for a bit and he’s content, just being here with her, knowing she’s okay.

Sometimes he thinks the time he spends quietly with her says more than any words he knows. And if he’s honest with himself, after three wives some words no longer carry the meaning they once did. Emily means more to him than any word he ever gave any of them. Maybe it’s not fair to her, maybe she needs to hear him say those words, maybe he’ll ask her someday. But for now he does his best to show her how he feels, because words…they don’t mean anything unless he’s willing to become the man his words imply. With Emily it just seems simpler to be that man and she seems to understand.

Suddenly, she sits forward, her head moving from one side of the room to the other. “You got another feeder.” The feeder he found at the grocery store is now hanging to the side of the sunroom, out of sight of the first one, but easily viewed from inside the room. There’s a fluttering beside the new one, one of the hummingbirds suspended beside it, carefully observing it, tilting its head from side to side.

He pulls her back against him, nestling her head under his chin. “Well, we had a deal. And while you technically didn’t come home at lunch on Friday, you did leave work.”

Huffing out a laugh, she lightly slaps his bare chest. “Dave. Seriously? Everything that’s gone on the last few days and you took the time to put up another feeder? You are something else.” She sounds both amused and touched and he gets a thrill at the idea he has made her happy. “Why would you do that?”

Resting his cheek against her silky hair, he smiles. “Because you asked me to.”

Emily hums against him playfully. “So, you’d do anything I asked?”

His answer is unfettered by thought or apprehension or doubt, it is simply real and true. “Yes.” His tone is a serious answer to her playful query and they both know they aren’t talking about bird feeders any more.

There’s a pause, and the air around them seems to contract, then expand, heavy with the weight of unsaid things. He waits for panic to set in, but there’s none. There’s just Emily in his arms, the two of them here in this moment. She’s so beautiful and she’s his and he’s going to keep her for as long as she’ll have him. He can do this, because Emily thinks he can and yeah, he has some doubt and some fear, but Emily is worth a little doubt and a little fear; Emily is worth everything.

Her voice is hesitant, as if she thinks she might be the only one reading more into this. “You really mean that?”

He wonders if she can feel his heart beneath their hands beating like a hummingbird’s wings. “Yes, I mean that.” He kisses her. “I really mean that.”

When Emily nestles more firmly against him and says, softly, “Good to know,” he just smiles against her and they both watch as the hummingbirds feed.

FIN