She Is Worthwhile

Authors note: This is a Jemily drabble inspired by the song Time Tells by Kaitlyn Alexander. It is from Emily's POV and I hope you guys like it. Lyrics are in italics.

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds, I do not own the song Time Tells, all rights go to the creators respectively.

"It's not easy baby, I don't know why.
I don't have all the answers but damn I try.

And she says, "guess we'll just see in time.""

We had argued. It had started silly, what we were going to have for dinner. It did not end silly, it ended in tears and raised voices, was I really their other mother or just the cool aunt.

I had walked to my office. And that was a deal when she moved in with me - her deal. Her office was the nursery where Michael napped and played; and I got the main office. We had argued about that when she first moved. That was a silly argument and led to us making love over my office desk.

Poured myself a bourbon. I can hear her grab herself a wine glass and I know we both are doing this. We are both hurting. We both said bad things.

I will sleep on the office couch. She may stay in the living room, but more likely she will go to our guest room. She nor I sleep in our bed during fights.

I pour myself another, and another. I suspect she will finish the bottle of red tonight, just like I may have 2 fingers too many.

I stop myself when I realise, I'm swaying and not even standing. I hear her walk upstairs and go to the guest room. The boys are with their father tonight. We do not fight in front of them. At least not like tonight.

Falling asleep on the couch; my mind reels, my mouth reeks, my heart aches.

I wake up and my head is pounding, but not nearly as much as my heart. I know I need coffee, but she needs green tea and a spoonful of honey for her hangover.

Sliding off the sofa, I grab a rubber band from my desk and swipe my hair into a quick ponytail, wisps falling out, I'm sure she will do the same when she gets up and I hope I've beat her on that.

I go to stand, have to sit again. Maybe she is right, but I ignore that. I know I'm a good mother to those boys. Just as she is. Just as he is a good father. I stand again and make it to the kitchen.

Grabbing a tea bag and the honey I wait for the kettle to boil and hope that I didn't imagine myself making the coffee as a way to use my hands last night during our voices intertwining in a storm.

I hear her wake up, the "oh god" slipping from her voice tips me off and I'm so glad that the kettle whistles in that moment so her tea will be steeped properly as she comes down the stairs.

I look over as I hear the yawn and the slight bang of her sliding down the stairs her head on the wall, holding herself up.

"You, you made tea?"

She sounds soft, she sounds hurt. I do not know how to respond. I nod.

"Coffee?"

I point to the coffee machine as it starts to drip the black liquid into the glass pot, the timer set for 8:45am on weekends.

"Why?"

"Come on J. I need coffee after that hangover."

I know she isn't talking about the coffee. Or the hangover.

"Because I love you. Because I take care of you."

I shrug, please take that answer I beg with my eyes.

"You hate the morning."

It is a true statement.

"But I love you."

Another truth.

"You are a good mother."

Is this another truth? I hope she believes it.

She sips the tea and hums; she taps my shoulder with hers.

"Hey. You. Are. A. Good. Mother."

She makes sure to say every word perfectly. And I nod. A single tear.

"Sometime. I. I just wonder why you chose me."

And she gasps. It is small and noticeable. And she puts her tea down and looks towards me.

"Emily. You hate the morning. And you woke up. To make me my hangover tea. When your head must be pounding. When your heart must be hurting from my words."

I shake my head and it is like I am saying that is not enough of a reason.

"I love you. You are a good mother. And this - " she points to the mug "is an impeccable cup of tea."

"I love you too. I love those boys. I hate that tea. Coffee all the way."

It is a joke. It is the ease I adore in our relationship. Our life. It is love.

"And I hate the morning, but I'll make you tea.
Sometimes I wonder just why you chose me."