Emily, shoved the key in the door of her apartment and swiftly opened it before slamming it shut behind her, all the while asking herself how it's possible that a guy who has been married 3 times still doesn't know that a man should never ask her if she's being pissy because of PMS, especially when she's actually PMS-ing. Did the man have a death wish or what? After all, he was the one that had woken her up early that morning when all she'd wanted to do was sleep in as much as possible before taking a nice hot shower before she had to face the day. When had she ever insinuated that she thought getting up an extra hour early to go eat breakfast with her covert boyfriend was a good idea? You'd think after 4 months of dating he'd get the fact that she was a night owl, not an early bird, and especially not when it was that time of the month. On those days, it sometimes took every ounce of energy just to drag herself out of bed.
Then, this afternoon on the jet home, he had decided to bring up the discussion they'd had about her moving in with him. She couldn't believe that he'd have the audacity to bring it up when they were surrounded by the team, when they'd both agreed not to tell the team until they were sure that the relationship was going somewhere. Plus, he'd agreed to give her time to think about it. But a mere 4 days after the initial discussion he was already asking her for an answer. Four days isn't nearly enough time in her book to come to a conclusion about such an important decision. Didn't he get that she needed to think about it? That she was used to doing things on her own and being independent, and that for her, moving in with a guy was a very, very big step?
At any rate, she was tired, and in pain, and all she wanted to do was put on her oldest, ugliest, most comfortable pair of pajamas and crawl into bed – even if it was only three in the afternoon. So once she actually made it in the door, she tossed her go-bag on the floor, changed her clothes and curled up under the heavy comforter covering her bed. It was barely ten minutes later, and she was hovering on the edge of sleep when she heard the key in the front door. She mentally cursed David Rossi, promising to kick his ass later if he decided to mention breakfast, PMS, or moving in again.
She listened to him as he moved around in her apartment, tossing his bag onto the couch in the living room then moving to the kitchen and eventually down the hall towards her bedroom. Cringing as another cramp decided to take over her stomach, she shut her eyes against the pain, waiting for it to ease away – which is exactly how Dave found her when he entered her room.
He knew he'd been screwing up all day today. No matter what he said or did, it was never the right thing. This morning when he woke her up early so they could have breakfast together, he thought he was being romantic, but it turns out he was being a jerk. And when she yelled at him for it, he had made the fatal mistake of asking her if she was on her period. He's not even sure why he asked, it's not like he didn't know that she was – but somehow he thought she'd be more reasonable towards him if she realized that she was only lashing out at him because of her hormones. Apparently, he was wrong. And then he'd screwed up again this afternoon by asking her if she'd made a decision about moving in with him yet. How was he supposed to know how much time she'd need to decide? He was 100% sure about wanting her to move in, already dreaming about the possibility of going to sleep and waking up every day with her in his arms. What could be better, really? There's nothing he wanted more in his life right now. But apparently he was "pressuring" her and he needed to "back off", as she quietly, but heatedly informed him on the jet. Then she'd taken off as soon as they landed, not waiting for him to follow her like she usually did. Yep, he'd definitely been screwing up all day.
So he made a quick stop at the store on the way to her place, hoping he could fix what he'd messed up. But when he'd walked into her room and saw her cringing in pain, a jolt of concern and guilt shot through him. He'd thought she'd just been cranky all day long, but apparently she'd been pretty miserable if that cringe was anything to go by.
He toed off his shoes and lifted the covers, sliding in behind her. He pulled her towards him so she was curled up against him with her back to him and wrapped one of his arms around her, and rubbed his hand over her stomach, hoping to help ward off the cramp.
"Emmy, honey, I'm sorry. I didn't realize." He whispered into her ear. He felt her body start to relax as the pain subsided and she released a breath of air that she'd apparently been holding through the pain.
She couldn't deny that being held by Dave made her feel better – it always did. And the way he was holding her gently and lightly massaging her stomach made her anger at him dissipate quickly. "It's okay. I know I've been in a crappy mood all day. Sorry. I shouldn't take it out on you."
"Don't worry about it." He told her quietly, tightening his arm around her a little more and pressing a kiss to her hair.
They stayed like that for a while, her nestled in his arms as she slowly drifted towards sleep. She found herself hovering on the edge of sleeping when once again he woke her up – he really had a bad knack for doing that. But considering his next words, she couldn't hold it against him. "I stopped at the store on the way home. I picked you up some Midol and a pint of Ben & Jerry's."
"You're favorite – Chocolate Fudge Brownie."
She couldn't help smiling a little at that. Maybe living with this man wouldn't be so bad after all.