Breathless | David Rossi

Chapter Sixteen

Fluttering your eyes open, you squint at the bright light, lifting your arm up to block it. You let out a groan, your body aching but thankfully no headache. Movement on your side catches your attention, a shadow casting over you. "Morning sleeping beauty."

Glancing over now that your eyes have adjusted, "Emily." You croak, your throat dry. "What happened?"

"You fainted, you don't remember?" Emily asks, studying you.

"No..." You realise, your brain searching the last of your memories. "Angelo... Angelo! We have to find him." You scramble to sit up, your body protesting to the sudden movement.

"Y/N," Emily lurches forward in an attempt to settle you down. "Interpol is already looking for him, it's out of our hands."

You pause, out of our hands? You open your mouth to protest that Interpol won't find him, but the sound of the team entering your room stops you. It's then that you become aware of your surroundings. They took me to a hospital because I fainted? You watch as the team fill up the room, except you don't see Rossi, the one person you want to see.

"You scared the shit out of us little girl, don't do that again," Derek says, walking over to you and hugging you. You wrap your arms around him before pulling back, looking to Hotch.

"Where's Rossi?"

Hotch glances at the team, silently ordering them to clear the room. Once they're gone, he puts your go-bag on the bed and stands with his arms crossed, a stern look on his face. "He's pretty pissed off, so I send him to pack our bags and get us ready to fly home."

You frown. "Why is he pissed?"

"Maybe because you collapsed into his arms and scared the absolute shit out of him."

You avert your eyes to the sheet laying over your body, fiddling with it as you remember the panic in Rossi's eyes as he found you at the Marina, how his hands trembled whilst he held your head, searching you for any more injuries since you raced off. You can understand why he's upset, if the roles were reversed you'd be pissed at him, but not enough to not be there when he woke up.

"I'm sorry." You glance up at Hotch, reaching for your go-bag. You need to talk to Rossi. Hotch sends you a small, rare smile, telling you he'll get the doctor whilst you change. Swinging your legs over the bed, you stagger into the bathroom, your legs not used to moving. You're not sure how long you were out, but you hope it wasn't long.

Setting your bag down, you glance at yourself through the mirror. You gently skim your fingers over the bruising on your jaw and hairline, the cut on your lip fresh with blood from all the talking you've done. Your eyes zone in on your busted knuckles.

I look like shit.

Exhaling deeply, you rummage through your go-bag for your spare turtle neck and tuck it into your pants. You run your hands under cold water, splashing it on your face to wake you up, gasping at the icy sensation. Suddenly a flaring hot pain shoots up your left forearm making you silently cry out, cradling it.

Just what I fucking need.

Closing your eyes, you wait for the pain to lessen, using your other hand to grab your shoulder holster and carefully put it on, grabbing your two guns and locking them in as best as you can with one hand. You can only assume the team picked up your jammed gun off the ground after you threw it at Angelo in an attempt to defend yourself. With one last glance in the mirror, you zip up the bag and exit the bathroom to find your doctor waiting for you. He explains that you received a mild concussion from where Angelo bashed your head with your gun.