Desiderium: longing for something that has been lost

Chapter 18

the world is a tragedy to those who feel, but a comedy to those whose think--- horace walpole

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Las Vegas

February  20, 2008

10: 14 a.m. 

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Emily slid her phone back into her pocket and ran her fingers through her hair, jerking her fingers through some stubborn knots. They had taken Hotch through the double doors an hour ago and she was going crazy waiting for any sort of information on him.  Her leg started bouncing and she forced herself to concentrate on the tiled floor and began to count down from 100. 

She hadn't reached 50 before a soft hand landed on her shoulder and she jerked back. A young nurse yanked her hand back. 

"I'm sorry, but didn't you come in with..." she flipped a page on her clipboard. "Agent Hotchner?" 

Emily blinked and stood up. "Yes, yes. I-uh, is he ok?" God, she hadn't been this flustered in so long. 

The nurse smiled at her. "He's fine, surgeons found the arterial tear and managed to close it up before he lost any more blood. He's getting a blood transfer right now. He'll need to undergo some physical therapy before he regains full mobility but his doctor will discuss full treatments with him. He's resting right now if you want to see him." 

Emily swallowed hard, and nodded. 

It was something about the cacophony of beeps that was reassuring to her as she slowly sat down beside him.  She grabbed his hand, and rubbed it with both of hers in an attempt to warm it up. 

She didn't let this out often, this deep caring side of her that she tucked away carefully, scared like the other parts of her it to would become jaded and worn from the world. 

She was absentmindedly rubbing a thumb across his hand, when he shifted slightly and let out a slight groan. 

His eyes forced themselves opened, and he blearily looked around the room before he landed on her. He let out a slight smile, and his eyes started to slide close again.  Emily let out a deep breath, and the tension that was building up in her stomach slowly started releasing itself.  

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When JJ had called him early that morning, Morgan wasn't expecting the news that Hotch of all people to be gunned down. He had thrown his coffee cup away and ran back to his room, already mentally kicking himself for leaving the kid by himself. Nothing had happened, but he had locked the two of them in there, his own heart beating fast with worry for his boss.

Garcia opened the door, her usually bright face, dampened, and set down her bags. 

"I got me packed and I got boy wonder over there packed too. Do you want me to take the bags down?"

"No." He was paranoid now. If he went after Hotch, there was no saying what he might do now. "We'll bring them down together." He turned to the bed, where Spencer had spend the night cocooned under the cover, one hand holding the blanket firmly in place. "I just have to convince him to move." 

He walked over to the bed, and sat on the edge and tapped the mattress near his head. "Hey man. Can you come out real quick for me?" 

There was silence and Morgan was tempted to rip the blanket off. He breathed in deeply. "Spencer, c'mon now. I need to tell you something." 

The hand twitched and tiny part of the blanket folded down, revealing matted brown hair, and one dazed eye. 

"Hey there. Me and Garcia and you all need to leave here."