As It Was [Emily Prentiss]

Four

Stepping out of the black sedan, Emily pushed her sunglasses up into her hair and let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding as she looked up at the house that she'd once called her second home. It was like stepping back into an old memory, the house was just as she remembered. The outside was still a ghastly yellow, a bit dilapidated, now, but still well-loved.

When she'd first opened the manilla file and her eyes zeroed in on Rita's face, she felt her stomach drop and thought she might actually be sick. She'd thought about that face thousands of times but hadn't seen it in years. Unlike Rita, she hadn't kept photos or trinkets of their memories together. It wasn't that their time together hadn't been real for Emily, but they'd been young; kids, still, and as weeks turned into months and months turned into years, she had convinced herself that Rita had moved on and felt it necessary to do, herself. She couldn't do that if everything reminded her of Rita.

When she'd first stepped in through the door, it felt so familiar, the nostalgia had almost knocked her over. She could almost hear the memories the home had absorbed over the years.

With Rita having been absent, her mother had been moved to an assisted living facility and her father, Enrique, had a Visting Angel, who visited three times a week to tend to the house and keep up on his medications.

Enrique met them at the door, the shadows under his eyes only served to make him appear even older than he was. Emily didn't remember him much, but his jet black curls were now a course silver, and he had a deep hunch. Years of desk work, she assumed, though she couldn't recall what he'd done to support his family.

She didn't feel too bad about not remembering much of her ex-girlfriend's father when he gave absolutely no indication that he recognized her. He invited them in, leading them through the living room, down the hall, and to the door of the one room she'd seen more than her own (at the time).

Just before the jet touched down, Emily had hesitantly told the team about her past ties to the victim -Rit Rodriguez, yet JJ still gasped upon seeing the various photos that decorated the surfaces of Rita's room.

"I don't think I've ever seen you smile like that." She commented.

Emily said nothing, eyes still surveying the room.

"Well," Morgan started, picking up a framed photo of Emily's younger self on Rita's back, the both of them sharing the dopiest, lovesick smiles as she peered over Rita's shoulder. "She's not over you."

"What?" Emily scoffed, rolling her eyes. It was strange, being in a room where time hadn't changed it. It was oddly unsettling.

"Well, it's obvious that you meant a lot to her." JJ replied, rifling through the various things tucked behind ribbon and pinned to the corkboard on Rita's bubblegum pink wall. "She's got movie tickets, birthday cards; a whole bulletin board worth of momentos, but none of them are dated after your... departure."

"Well," Emily took a deep breath, feeling as if the walls would slowly closing in on her. "She was always a bit sentimental, keeping various things, because of the memories associated with them."

Emily glanced around the room, guilt pooling in her belly while Morgan rifles through Rita's closet. He pulled a box out, no bigger than a shoe box, with the word 'college' scrawled in familiar handwriting.

He tossed the lid aside and dumped the box out into the unmade bed. He sifted through the items, mostly Polaroids of people Emily didn't recognize, concert tickets, movie stubs, and the like, but then something caught her eye and her stomach lurched.

A Polaroid of Rita kissing another young woman, her mouth upturned in the promise of a smile. The other woman had a head of flaming red hair, her curls tight and untamed, with dark skin and darker freckles. They were at some sort of event, like a concert of some sort.