Emily was suspended for two weeks. That was the ruling Julianna, their new Director, passed down. People were worried about her, but she joked that she would use the time to fix up her apartment, so it wasn’t, as Flynn said, such a shithole. The people close to her knew she could quickly descend back into her own darkness; they were determined not to let it happen. It had only been a week since Alice was killed and everyone was still struggling with the details. Nick knew, somewhere deep down, Emily saw him as a failure. He didn’t find her; he left their son with a woman who was part of Emily’s captivity and then helping to test Flynn. Emily, even against the force of the FBI, was able to solve her own case. She was always the better agent and if the roles were reversed Nick was sure she would have found him. Emily gives Nick a quick hug before she leaves and confirms she will pick Flynn up for the night. Flynn was another issue they were dealing with, he did not understand how his life could be such a lie, his dead mother only came back a year ago and the mother he thought he knew lied and betrayed him. Both parents agreed no therapy and to allowing a slow process for each of them to figure everything out. She brushes over Cal’s hand on the way past his desk simply stating she’d see him in two weeks. Cal had seen it firsthand how fragile she still was. He witnessed the panic attacks, the symptoms of PTSD, and the way she was better able to focus when she was working on a case. Without that distraction he was worried. He was determined not to let her fall.
The first week was ok, Emily was able to get some things done, but being caged in her apartment was not for her. She got out and did a little traveling to New York for a few days. She responded to texts or calls from Cal or Nick. They were very upbeat and off-topic, but she could tell that what they really were, that they were checking up on her. Over the weekend, a pipe broke in the apartment upstairs, but across the hall, while the tenant was trying to install a new sink. The landlord notified everyone, and it wasn’t until the water was seeping through the floor dripping into the hall outside her door that it affected her.
Emily quickly shuts her door and sits at the chair at her desk. Thoughts roll around in her head, Tommy, Alice, Laurie, Harlow, her mother. Pieces are coming back to her, but she just wants to understand. Her brain is a frustrating jumble of clues that she needs to understand. She stands up and walks to her couch lifting the cushion. She pulls out the small baggy with the remaining cocaine in it she purchased a few weeks earlier. It will be enough for a few hits. That would get her going now she needs more sodium pentothal to make her remember.
Returning to her apartment, she has what she needed and a solid week to get through the shit in her head. Dropping her coat on the back of the chair she takes her familiar spot on the couch. She texts Nick, Hey Since I have the week off on vacation 😉 I am going to do a bit of traveling, maybe New York or Penn, I’ll see Flynn when I am back next weekend. New needles and the bottle are placed on the coffee table. She psyches herself up, takes a quick snort and sinks the needle into her arm. Her consciousness fades as she slumps back on the couch into her nightmares.
The text message Sunday night from Cal stated, Just think next week you’ll hate Mondays again. It goes unanswered, though he isn’t too worried as Emily may be sleeping. Monday he texts, Byrne, you still bored at home, I just got an interesting case I could use some help on – next week right. If I haven’t solved it by then. Four hours pass and no word. He stops Nick, “Hey Nick, have you heard from Emily?” Nick furrowes his brow wondering why Cal was trying to reach her. “No, why what’s up?” “Well I don’t know; I haven’t heard from her since Friday.” “Have you been calling her?” Nick asks suspiciously. Cal tries to play it cool, “Yea just off and on to see how she’s doing, you know.” Nick nods, “Well you know Emily does what she wants and if she wants to be off the grid she will be. She sent me a message on Saturday, but I’ll call her.” He pulls out his cellphone, it doesn’t even ring on his end just clicks over to her voicemail. “Hey, uh Emily, it’s Nick. Can you give me a call when you get a minute?” Nick hopes that maybe if she didn’t want to talk to Cal, she would return his call. He also wonders at their relationship; he read their reports from Moldova, it sounded like a lot of crazy shit went down there.
Cal is now concerned; it is Tuesday and no word from Emily. He left a message and two texts, the last one threatening to come over if she didn’t respond. That evening after shift he heads to her apartment. Banging on the door he calls her name. There is no answer, he listens and hears no sounds from inside. He bangs on the door again, “Byrne! Open the door or I’ll break it down.” He bangs again, “Come on!” “Ok ok!” he hears her yell back. A few moments later the locks click. Emily blocks the door, but Cal pushes on by.
“Byrne, what’s going on!?” “What!?” she asks back. He turns away from her and walks farther into the apartment. He sees the needles on the table, he takes two quick steps and grabs one. Lifting it up he looks at her. She’s followed him over near the table. “What the Hell are you doing?” She doesn’t answer, but just stares at him. He looks back down at the table, grabbing the vial and reading the label. His expression turns to shock, “Are you trying to kill yourself!” “No!” she answers back. “I’m trying to remember!” He looks at the vial again. “Are you using this as a truth serum?” Her non answer answers that for him. “This shit is dangerous and unpredictable. It causes death, Hell it’s used in Euthanasia. What the Hell are you thinking.”
“I’m thinking I need to remember! If I had remembered I would have known Doctor Oduwale was dangerous and I could have protected Flynn. If I had remembered, I may have stopped him from creating the others. Me not remembering is getting more people hurt.” Her body gives up and she slides down the wall folding her knees up in front of her. He sets the vial down and kneels in front of her. Before he can speak, she attacks him. “You have no idea what I’m going through.” “I have no idea?” he responds his voice somewhere between a growl and a whisper. He starts to unbutton his shirt. Emily smacks his hands away, “What are you doing?” He stands up and continues to unbutton his shirt practically ripping at the buttons. He throws the dress shirt down and quickly pulls the undershirt over his head. He kneels back down. “I have no idea?” he asks her.
Emily’s eyes go wide. She slowly reaches her arm out, her fingertips grazing the large scars across his torso. Cal’s stomach, upper thigh and midway up his chest are marked with thick linear scars half to two thirds across the width of his body. “POW,” is all he says. Her fingertips catch over the marred skin as she runs them up and down his body. Thick linear markings, not from a knife, no, they are too thick, but from what she wonders. She’s seen so many bodies marked in death, but nothing like this. Her eyes drift up to meet his and he looks almost timid. “God, what did they do to you?” she whispers. He swallows, “Electric cables,” he’s barely able to get out. “Uh, we were captured north of Tbilisi. They wanted information. They asked for the information.” He leaves the story at that.
Emily can’t fight anymore. Her high wore off an hour ago and her stability is returning after her trip with the sodium pentothal. She pulls her hand back and curls her arms around her legs dropping her face into her knees. “Hey,” Cal whispers, his fight is gone also. “Let’s get up.” He unfolds her arms and pulls her up. “Have you eaten anything?” “Earlier, but I’m not hungry, I just want to lie down.” They walk into her bedroom. Cal clears the files and book off her bed and pulls back the covers for her. She grabs onto his hand a pleading look in her eyes. He crawls over her and onto the other side of the bed. He kicks his shoes off and tugs the covers out from under himself and gets in behind her. His right arm bends over her body with his hand resting on her collar bone and shoulder. She moves her left hand over his to hold on to his hand.
They are silent for several minutes. “I am not sure what I want us to be.” Emily says. Cal is confused, but she continues. “I don’t know if we’re friends, partners, lovers…” She lets her thought trail off. Cal slides his hand down over her heart, her left hand follows. His thumb starts caressing her chest, then his fingers, in small patterns back and forth. His hand continues down until it finds the hem of her shirt lifting it up and sliding his hand across her bare stomach. Her breath speeds up. He continues gently stroking her stomach and across her ribs. Emily rotates her body towards him, and his hand follows around to her back. Her hands come to his face and they lock eyes for several moments before she says anything. “What do you want us to be?” she asks tentatively. “Everything,” he breathes out almost immediately. She understands so much meaning in that one word and it scares her. “Anything you want me to be,” he confesses.
She slides closer, her forehead rests against his, still looking into each other’s eyes. “Why would you give yourself to me?” “Because you deserve it. What you went through, and you are stronger for it. You are amazing and you deserve someone to take care of you and protect you forever.” His right hand finds her face gently tracing her cheek bone with his thumb. Several more moments pass before she responds. Never letting go of his face and keeping their foreheads together she slides her knee across his waist to straddle him. “Don’t let me fall,” she pleads. “Never,” he assures her.
Her lips find his, not tentatively, but confidently and he immediately kisses her back. The kiss he wanted to give her, well Hell since Moldova, but honestly since that night they blew off some steam behind that industrial park off Route 10. He was right, she is amazing, and he would give her anything, be anything, that she wants. Cal’s hands travel down her shoulders over her back and pull the bottom of the shirt up. Emily sits up to allow it over her head, then comes back down to his lips. His hand grasps her back. He felt her scars, he saw them in Moldova, but now he can feel them, the jagged marks across her back. He grips her tighter. Neither one stops or says another word, their bodies continue to do the talking together. Hands gripping, lips searching, eyes meeting culminating in gentle love making.
Resting side by side, Emily’s hand skims over his scars. “Tell me what happened.” “There was a team of 6 of us, all SEALS, we had moved in basic recon for a base near Tbilisi. I don’t know if we were unlucky or they knew we were coming because all of a sudden we were surrounded. There was some gun fire, one guy,” he pauses as he remembers, “Rasmussen, was hit. They made it clear they wanted us alive and we were pinned down, so we surrendered. We were holed up in a warehouse building. They left Rasmussen in with us. His wound wasn’t severe, but it got infected and the moaning and agony of listening to him was just one more thing they used to break us down.” He isn’t sure he can continue. He has tried to put this behind him, but he wants to tell her, he wants her to understand some of his backstory. When he doesn’t immediately continue, Emily asks, “How long?” “A couple weeks; maybe 5 or 6. It just seemed like one really long day when we were there. Little to no sleep, round the clock interruptions, torture, lack of food and water, the usual techniques of interrogation.”
“But this,” Emily asks still tracing the lines of his scars. “Electrical cables. I was strapped to a table and they were laid over me. The first time they caught my shirt on fire, so after that I was stripped naked. They would ask questions then when there was no answer, they would turn on the power. About a week after Rasmussen’s death another guy, Bridge, started making a shive from a piece of plastic pipe he was able to get. We were all motivated thinking maybe we could still fight and get out of this. But once he was done, he stabbed himself in the neck with it. My restraints wouldn’t let me reach him, he was about 12 inches from me, and I couldn’t get my hands far enough over to put pressure on his neck to stop the bleeding. I watched the color drain from his body and his eyes go cold. We were rescued about two weeks later.”
Emily’s fingertips feather along his jaw and he finally turns from staring at the ceiling to look at her. “You’re beautiful you know. Inside and out,” she tells him. He rolls to his side, lifting the sheet between them so his body could rest on top of hers. No more talking. Their lips find each other. This time it isn’t as slow and gentle, there is no feeling out process, there was just need.
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