When things go wrong while chasing after two unsubs, Emily gets hurt, and Hotch helps ease her pain.
inspired by “sirens” by thegraytigress
rating: M for language, adult themes/situations, and canon-typical violence. the violent content could potentially be triggering to some, so read at your own discretion.
also posted on ao3
A loud crack echoed through her head as she turned the corner of the alleyway, pain shooting up her jaw as she stumbled to the ground. Hard boots kicked at her head and her sides, causing her lungs to spasm within her and stealing her breath. She prepared herself for the worst. Prepared herself for being left there to bleed out, silently suffering the pain of her injuries alone in that alleyway. That was until he rounded the corner, catching her eye and igniting a small but substantial spark of hope within her.
Never had Emily seen Hotch fight the way he did against these men. He’s not one for hand-to-hand combat, usually letting his Glock do the work for him in taking down most unsubs. But this felt personal. A matter that could be and needed to be dealt with without firing his gun. One of his own was being mercilessly beaten to the ground by two men twice her size.
He preaches about objectivity on the job. He always has. Not letting things get personal. Simply doing what needs to be done to carry out their job. But things changed with Emily. Her sense of humanity rubbed off on him, balancing out his principle of remaining objective. The reverse happened in the same way. Hotch taught her to be objective despite her fight to hold onto her sense of humanity and compassion. They keep each other balanced. She is the yin to his yang. Their opposing forces of objectivity and humanity coming together in wholeness. Interconnected. Interdependent. Complete.
The humanity in him overrode his objectivity at that moment. As Emily lie there on the cold, hard ground, dizzy and bleeding out, she looked up to see her boss take down her attackers with his bare hands. With a vigor and intensity that was unfamiliar to her. She closed her eyes then, the pain shooting from her torso to her jaw almost too much to bear.
When she opened her eyes again, the alleyway was quiet. The worn-out grunts, loud cracks of punches, and rumbling sounds of struggle had disappeared, and the only sound to be heard was Hotch’s rugged breathing. He stood there for a long moment, doubled over cradling his hands in his chest, trying to catch his breath and regain some sense of composure. The last time he lost himself like this was with Foyet. He relentlessly beat his worst enemy to death with his bare hands to protect his son, the one person in his life he loved above everyone else. Putting every ounce of his weight into each blow his fist made to Foyet’s face, rendering him almost unrecognizable.
The adrenaline that coursed through him at the sight of Emily being attacked by these men gave Hotch a near superhuman strength as he fought them off. He used every last bit of his power to protect his subordinate lying helplessly on the ground. And for a man not used to physical confrontation, Hotch did a number on Emily’s attackers.
That adrenaline wore off as he stood above the two unsubs he and Emily were chasing. Both men looked dead, unconscious on the ground covered in blood with broken noses and ribs. For a brief moment, Hotch questioned what it meant that he was willing to go to such an extreme to protect Emily. To inflict more pain on her perpetrators than necessary. But the thought left as quickly as it came, and he finally turned his attention to his subordinate lying motionless in the darkness of the alleyway.
Using whatever strength he still had, he scooped her up bridal style and carried to back to their SUV. His legs ached as he made his way along the streets of the small town. He needed to get her to the hospital, to get her checked out as quickly as possible. If the circumstances were different, he would have called an ambulance. But in this old town, it’s faster if he just takes her himself.
Emily’s eyes drifted shut again once she was in Hotch’s arms. She grasped the fabric of his shirt like her life depended on it. She could feel the ache of his arm muscles underneath her. They twitched every few seconds under the weight of her. She felt safe in his arms. Comfortable despite the sharp pains in her face and stomach. The aches subsided as sleep slowly took over her as she buried her head in Hotch’s neck.
She awoke less than an hour later, blinded by the harsh light over her. When she slowly opened her eyes again, trying to adjust to the bright lights, she looked down at herself. She was still wearing the clothes she wore to work that day, only now they were ripped in several places and covered in her own blood. She looked around the room with squinted eyes, noting it as cramped but clean. Panic started to rise within her as she questioned where she was and where Hotch was. She could feel her entire body ache as she moved her neck to look further around the room. Wincing at the pain, she moved back to her original position. She shut her eyes trying to will the pain away. That’s when she heard the faint sound of footsteps in the room and moved her head up to look at who entered the room. Once again, she flinched at the pain caused by her sudden movements.
“Prentiss, don’t try to move. Please.”
She sees him standing in the doorway in his battered up and bloody shirt, holding a cup of water. She stared at him for a long moment, completely enraptured by him. The way his white dress shirt fit tightly against his shoulders with the sleeves rolled up enough to see the veins of his forearms. Backlit from the even harsher light outside of the door, she couldn’t see his facial features very clearly, but she forced back a smile at his hair flopping over his forehead.
As he stepped out of the light towards her, the beautiful image of him vanished before her eyes. She could make out the features of his face, dark and weary but clean. He must have had time to wash the blood off of his face. He looked sad. Sad like he did just months ago after everything with Foyet. Blaming himself for the loss of so many innocent lives. Being separated from his ex-wife and son. Coping with the death of his ex-wife. She hated seeing him look so miserable—
“How are you feeling?” he said from beside her, interrupting her thoughts.
“Like I just got the shit kicked out of me,” she says matter-of-factly. His face sunk further, looking even more miserable and tired than before. “Am I in the hospital?” she asked weakly.
“Yes, I drove you here because an ambulance would have taken too long,” he said as he set the glass of water down on the table beside her. “The doctor should be here in a minute.”
“Where is everyone else?”
“I called them once we got to the SUV and told them where the unsubs were. They took care of everything and should be headed back to the hotel by now.”
She shifted higher on the bed so she could take a much-needed sip of water. As her mind became less and less foggy, her head throbbed more and more, and the bed became increasingly uncomfortable.
Hotch watched her carefully as she took a sip of water from the cup he brought her. Her arms were clearly weak, shaking as they brought the cup to her lips. He wanted so badly to reach out and hold the cup for her, to help her in any way he could. But he knew she would hate that. She doesn’t like to be coddled. Much like him, she doesn’t want to be dependent on someone else or feel like she’s a burden. That’s just one of the many things he saw in her that he felt mirrored himself.
When the doctor strode through the door, Hotch took the cup from Emily’s hands, setting it back down on the bedside table. Emily frowned as she lay back against the bed, wanting at least one more sip. She almost felt addicted to the way the water gave her some relief.
The doctor took a look at her, clearly in a rush for some reason or another. She asked Emily a series of questions, palpated her abdomen, and examined some of the cuts on her face and stomach. It took everything in Emily to remain calm as the doctor prodded at her stomach with her cold hands. She never did like hospitals. The atmosphere of pain, fear, and helplessness. The harsh smells and sounds. It made her feel cold and closed in. She wanted nothing more than a reassuring look from her boss, telling her it’ll all be okay. But Hotch, ever the gentleman, faced the other direction when the doctor lifted Emily’s shirt to examine her chest and stomach.
The doctor quickly concluded, telling them that Emily has a concussion and some bruised ribs. No bones were broken and none of the cuts on her needed stitches. She left the room in a hurry, and a nurse came in with some pain medication and a plastic bag with ointment, wipes, and bandages to treat and soothe Emily’s gashes and scrapes. The nurse also brought in a wheelchair to help Hotch take Emily back to the SUV.
“I don’t need a wheelchair,” Emily said trying to shoo the nurse out of the room.
“We will take the wheelchair. Thank you,” Hotch said giving the nurse an apologetic look. She passed him the wheelchair and left as fast as she could, clearly not wanting to have anything to do with these two adults griping at one another over a wheelchair.
“Hotch, I don’t—”
“Please, Prentiss, just let me help you into the wheelchair,” he said slowly and tiredly. She was too worn out to put up much of a fight. She also didn’t want to put Hotch out more than she already had by trying to argue with him.
He slid his arms underneath her legs and back and lifted her into the wheelchair. She reveled in the feeling of his toned and solid arms around her, supportive and protective. Emily had no idea how he still had enough strength in his arms to lift her up again. She was doing nothing to help him either, practically dead weight in his arms. She figured his arms would be dead tired after fighting off two grown men and then carrying her sleeping body to the SUV and into the hospital. He was always surprising her really. She was constantly in awe of his resilience and toughness. Wearing suits to work each day did nothing but hide the true robustness of his body and what it was capable of. She was grateful any time she got to see him in something other than a perfectly tailored suit. Nothing compared to the private excitement she felt seeing his bare forearms and biceps on days he wore polos to work in the field. Often finding herself staring for much longer than deemed appropriate, especially in a workplace setting, wondering what it felt like to be held in those arms. She never thought that when she would finally be held by him, it would be like this. Both of them feeling weak and exhausted, wanting nothing more than to just fall asleep.
Emily didn’t say a word as he wheeled her out of the hospital to the SUV. Too drained to even ask to give a penny for her thoughts, he let the comfortable silence remain amongst them all the way back to the hotel. Because it was nearing 2 A.M, the rest of the team was already asleep in their rooms by the time Emily and Hotch got back.
Hotch took her by surprise once again when he followed her to her hotel room. A strange feeling of anxiety rose within her, as she started to feel like an annoyance. She doesn’t like asking for help, much less needing help. But Hotch was being so patient, so attentive. While he looked tired, he gave no signs that would suggest him feeling like Emily was in any way a burden. So really, her anxiety was unnecessary. And she knows Hotch. She knows he takes care of people fiercely and persistently no matter what. He feels responsible for people, especially his teammates. Even so, Emily still felt guilty making him feel like he has to take care of her.
“You didn’t have to walk me in here, you know.”
“I know,” he said casually as he set her medication and the plastic bag down on the bedside table.
Emily was instantly reminded of this same exchange that happened several months ago in Hotch’s apartment.
“You didn’t have to walk me up here, you know.”
Only that time, the roles were reversed. It was Emily taking care of Hotch. Going out of her way to make sure he wasn’t alone when he was hurting. She told him he wasn’t alone, that he had her. Of course not outright. Hotch and Emily had developed a unique way of communicating with one another. A sort of secret language where they can communicate so much with so few words. Or have a conversation within another conversation, like they had that day in his apartment. Emily didn’t have to tell hotch she was helping him through one of the darkest, saddest, most traumatic times in his life. Instead, she was a gentle voice of support. A presence of healing for him. She didn’t need to explicitly tell him she’s there for him and will never leave his side because he already knew.
Within the walls of that small, dilapidated hotel room, the tables had been turned. Now, it was Hotch comforting Emily willingly and fearlessly when she needed it most. He’s subtle, not overbearing. Offing himself as a rock for her to help her ground herself and get better.
But Emily was hesitant to accept this offer. Because it meant letting someone in, breaking down her walls, being vulnerable, needing help. Hotch had been through enough trauma that year. She didn’t want to add to that. Because she knows he would take on a part of her trauma and pain as his. She couldn’t live with herself if she was ever part of the reason he was unhappy.
“Seriously, Hotch, I don’t want to put you out more than I already have tonight. Go to your room and sleep. You’re just as beaten up as I am,” she tried, wincing as she sat on the bed. Her legs were too wobbly for her to keep standing. It hit her then that Hotch never asked to get checked out by a doctor at the hospital despite having been in a brawl with two large men. It made her stomach lurch with guilt thinking that Hotch was ignoring his own injuries just so he could help her with hers.
“I’m fine,” He wasn’t. But that didn’t matter, not right now. “I’ll get you some water so you can take your pain meds,” he continued, walking towards her bathroom.
Done trying to override his stubbornness with her own, she sighed in submission. Flinching as she did so, a sharp pain shooting through her ribs to her chest. She had no clue how she’d made it so long without taking some of that pain medication. The doctors and nurses were in such a hurry to get the two of them out of there that they didn’t even administer her any medication. She felt a soreness in her chest every time she breathed, forcing her to only take shallow breaths.
Hotch returned with a full cup of water, handing it to Emily then retrieving two pills of her prescribed pain meds.
“Tilt your head ba—”
“I can take my own pills,” she snapped, snatching the two pills from the palm of his large hand. After quickly swallowing the two white pills, she was hit with a pang of guilt yet again. This time for snapping at Hotch. He didn’t deserve that. He was just trying to help.
“Hotch, I’m sorry I snapped I know you’re just trying to—”
“It’s fine,” he stopped her. The look on his face had softened. His eyes were patient, composed. “Really. Let’s get you cleaned up and take care of some of these gashes,” he continued, gesturing towards her face.
Emily hated herself for snapping at him. Suddenly she felt like more a burden than she did before. More like a pain in Hotch’s ass at this point. What was she doing bitching and moaning at him? He was being everything she needed at that moment, offering to be her rock, and she kept trying to shut him down. She wasn’t used to this, having someone attend to her so persistently and remain patient with her when she starts being difficult. She’s used to people leaving. Abandoning her when she becomes too much to handle, too much for someone else to bear. She’d grown to deal with it, learned to just take care of herself, not put her trust in anyone else but herself. But Hotch stayed. And he wanted to stay.
He reached for the bag on the bedside table with everything he needed to dress the cuts all over her. He knelt before her, wiping off his hands with one of the wipes from the bag. Taking a new, clean wipe he held it over the gash on her cheek. “This is probably going to hurt,” he warned. She nodded slowly, closing her eyes to brace herself. He wiped away the dried blood on and around the wound. Her eyes started to water. Not from the pain or soreness. But because of how gentle he was. He held her chin and cleaned her swollen face like she was the most precious thing in the world, like she could break at any moment, crumble underneath his fingers.
He watched as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, biting back tears. The thought of causing her pain made his heart ache inside his chest. He wanted nothing more than to soothe her pain, help her heal. He grabbed the tube of antiseptic and squeezed some onto the tip of his finger. “This is going to sting,” he said firmly, trying to hide how much it hurt him seeing her in pain and discomfort. She didn’t say anything, just squeezed her eyes shut a little tighter than before. He slowly dabbed a bit of the clear ointment on her cheek.
“Ow! Fuck,” Emily cried, pulling away from him.
“I need you to hold still—”
“Just forget it, Hotch. I don’t even need it,” she tried, still facing away from him. The gash on her cheekbone began to throb and sting. It felt like fire spreading across the entire left side of her face. She started to feel ridiculous. She’s suffered through pain more intolerable and agonizing than this. “You can just go. I can do this on my own.” She didn’t really want him to leave, to abandon her like everyone else always did. She found comfort in his presence, under his care.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said firmly, his tone still soft and reassuring despite his deep, baritone voice. If he was feeling annoyed or impatient, he certainly didn’t show it. “Now, please just try to hold still. I know it hurts.”
Pain pulsated through Emily’s chest as she took a deep breath trying to calm herself. She hated losing her temper, especially with Hotch, especially when he was trying to help her. This was now the third time she’s lost her cool at him tonight. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, turning her head to face him again. She blinked away her tears, trying to regroup. Only for the urge to cry to come rushing back when Hotch continued to smear the antiseptic over her wound, once again feeling overwhelmed by the tenderness with which he touched her face. She stared at him, mesmerized by his focus. He caught her staring, meeting her eyes as he pulled his hand away from her face. Neither of them looked away for what felt like forever. The intimacy of it all made Emily’s heart race, even though they found themselves in this situation often, completely absorbed in mutual eye contact, unable to look away, allowing themselves to feel the uncomfortable excitement and unease turn into a sense of peace and closeness.
The moment ended as Hotch turned away, feeling inexplicably shy under her intense gaze. He quickly busied himself with the gauze and tape to dress her wound. With the same attentiveness and focus as before, he held the gauze against her cheek and taped it in place.
Everything just became too much. Emily’s eyes quickly welled up with tears, a rush of emotions overwhelming her. She was sad, angry, hurting in every sense of the word.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, concern and worry apparent in his voice. “Am I hurting you?”
She shook her head as she broke down into a violent sob. Fear and panic immediately displayed across Hotch’s face. He wasn’t hurting her, and she didn’t want him to think he was. But it was all too much. Pain burned and ripped through her whole body. She felt so weak, so frail. The pain medication doing nothing to relieve her of the torment of aches that spread from her face down to her legs. She saw him get up from his position on the floor, moving to sit next to her on the edge of the bed. The feeling of his hand starting to rub her back only caused her flood gates to open further, her sobs growing even more violent. Even sitting up straight became too much, took a level of energy and effort she could not give. So she leaned into him, buried her swollen face into his shoulder. He automatically brought one of his hands to her head and kept the other on her back, holding her against him, careful with his touch as if he were handling a fragile baby bird.
Sobbed continued to rack through her whole body. She was shaking, trembling, gasping for air against Hotch’s shoulder. “Shhh,” he whispered, so quiet that she could barely hear it. His hands moved in slow, gentle circles across her back. “It’s going to be okay. You’re okay. You’re safe. I got you. I’m right here,” he soothed with a slight hitch, trying to hold back tears of his own. She doesn’t say anything, just cries and cries, not knowing if she will ever be able to stop. With each sob, Hotch’s heart broke, cracking into pieces. He rarely saw her break down like this. She was an expert at compartmentalizing her emotions, filing them away to be dealt with at a later time, alone. He could see how their job affected her. The way madness pervaded her mind, how turmoil infiltrated her heart. Yet, there was a stillness in her soul. A sense of hope and courage that radiated from her and could be felt by everyone in her wake. She put on a brave face, a strong and confident exterior. Her world could be falling apart at the seams and even those closest to her would hardly suspect anything was wrong.
The fear and panic in Hotch’s chest only grew as she sobbed into him. “Everything hurts, Hotch,” she said, almost incoherently.
He was taken back to Colorado. The sounds of Emily getting kicked and thrown around by Benjamin Cyrus replaying in this head. Images of a broken and battered Emily emerging from the compound. He remembered the bruising on the palm of his hands left from digging his fingers into them as he heard Emily get thrown against a wall, knowing he could do nothing to help her or save her without jeopardizing the lives of everyone inside the compound. To him, she was worth the risk. The only thing that kept him from risking everything to save her was her reassuring “I can take it.” He remembered the guilt he felt listening to Emily take each blow. If he hadn’t sent them undercover, she wouldn’t have been in that position in the first place. If he had been more careful about restricting media coverage of the hostage situation, her cover wouldn’t have been compromised. He blamed himself for everything that happened to Emily that day, and now, with her crying in his arms, history repeats itself. He felt responsible for her getting hurt again.
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Hotch whispered into her hair. The comfort of his words and his touch made her breathing slow, her sobs grow quieter, her hands stop shaking. “This is all my fault,” he breathed. Her heart split in two the moment those words fell from his lips. Her sobs came to a halt as she slowly pulled away from him, noticing the huge wet spot on the shoulder of his shirt from her tears.
She couldn’t let him blame himself for this. He was the one who saved her for God’s sake. He had no reason to feel guilty. “It’s not your fault, Hotch,” she tried, searching his face and only finding guilt and shame across his features.
“If I hadn’t got caught up in the crowds on the side of the street I would have gotten to that alley first. It should’ve been me.”
“That wasn’t in your control, Hotch. This is no one’s fault but the men who attacked me,” she said, her voice quiet and weak.
“Even if I had just gotten to the alley sooner—”
“Hotch,” she interrupted, starting to get a little agitated, “it really doesn’t matter. There was nothing you could have done. You can’t pin this on yourself.”
He locks eyes with her. “But it does matter” he hesitates, “because you got hurt.”
She couldn’t bring herself to say anything. She only looked down at her hands in her lap. Everything started to hurt all over again. Her head and heart ached from having to talk him down. She missed his touch, his warmth as he held her close to him. Her ribs and stomach still hurt with each breath she took. She was physically and emotionally drained. She just wanted to sleep the pain away.
It startled her when he suddenly stood up from the bed, causing it to creak loudly in the quiet room. She flinched at the sound, her concussion making her sensitive.
“Lay down,” he instructed gently. She complied willingly, trying to make up for being so damn difficult the past hour, hating that he felt guilty for her getting hurt, also wanting to just lay down finally. As she moved to lay down on the bed, though, she wavered, suddenly feeling incredibly dizzy. The whole room spun and moved around her. “Hey, hey, hey,” he whispered, gently holding her head between his hands to steady her. “Are you okay? Are you feeling dizzy?” he asked worriedly. She couldn’t answer, the blows she took to her head catching up to her. The bed felt like it was moving underneath her. She closed her eyes in an attempt to will away the vertigo. “Hey, hey, look at me,” Hotch said in the softest tone Emily had ever heard from a man. “Emily, please look at me.”
Her eyes snapped open. That sure got her attention. And almost made her even more lightheaded. There was something so… intimate about Hotch calling her by her first name. Especially in this position with Hotch holding her face less than a foot away from his own, searching for her eyes, trying to make eye contact. He always called her Prentiss, always had. Even though he’s called her Emily on a few occasions, it still sounded a bit foreign to her coming from him. She’d never quite understood why he religiously called her by her last name. Her guess was that he was trying to distance himself from her. Didn’t want to get too close, too involved. Needed to set boundaries.
At least, that’s what she hoped the reason was.
Because that would mean he felt something between them the way she did. After Foyet, things changed between them. They spent more time together, blurred the line between being coworkers and being friends. She spent time at his apartment, helping him with household chores he couldn’t do without stretching the stitches in his chest and stomach. She took him to and from work much more than could be deemed necessary. They shared drinks after hours in his office, sometimes with the company of Dave as well. They were no longer just coworkers, speaking to one another only at work and about work. They grew into something more, and Emily wondered if Hotch felt that way about them too. She hoped he felt that way, hoped it explained why he still only called her Prentiss.
“Emily,” he repeated, eyes finally meeting hers. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” she manages, “I just got a little dizzy there for a sec.”
“Okay. Are you able to lie down now?”
“Yeah, I think so.” God, she felt so pathetic.
“Just take it slow, okay? Take your time,” he said moving his hand to the back of her head to guide it down slowly onto the pillow. If it could even be called a pillow. It was hard and lumpy, did nothing to make Emily feel comfortable in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar town. He watched as she tried to reposition her head on the pillow, wincing as she did so. “Feel better?” he asked.
She nodded, taking a shaky and painful deep breath. After laying down for a few seconds, the throbbing in her ribs and back faded into a weak soreness. She closed her eyes, savoring the relief she felt. She wanted to fall asleep right then and there, to take advantage of this brief moment of stillness.
Hotch observed the way her face relaxed. Her brow no longer creased; her jaw no longer clenched. She looked so peaceful lying there with her hands over her heart. He felt the corners of his lips curl up slightly. He didn’t want to disturb her, but he still needed to clean and dress some of the cuts and scrapes on her torso. His heart started to race when he thought about what that meant. He would have to undress her. His subordinate.
He would be lying if he said he never took notice of her looks before. She was a beautiful woman, radiantly so. She lit up every room she entered. It was impossible not to look at her, notice her. He would be ashamed to admit he’s caught himself looking at her in ways no boss should look at their subordinate. On days where she wore that one red tank top, he had to actively keep himself from staring at her chest, watching how it rose and fell with each breath she took. On nights off at a bar with the team, he found himself entranced by the way her hips would sway to the music, wearing a pair of tight, skinny jeans. He felt guilty looking at her like that. He doubts she would appreciate her boss checking her out. Even in the hospital room a few hours ago, he turned his back to her when the doctor lifted Emily’s shirt. He’d hate to make her feel awkward or uncomfortable. Now, he would have to be the one to lift her shirt and tend to her wounds.
He carefully placed a hand on her shoulder to get her attention, not wanting to startle her and add to the stress her body was already experiencing. “Hey,” he whispered, “I’m going to need to lift your shirt okay?” She slowly opened her eyes. “I need to clean and cover up some of the cuts and scrapes you have,” he said shyly, hoping he wasn’t coming off as awkward as he felt.
She nodded slowly, slightly amused by Hotch’s clear discomfort. He was cute when he was flustered and awkward.
He didn’t waste any more time, moving to lift the hem of her shirt up towards her chest. He was caught off guard by the look her torso, cut up and scraped with black and blue bruises starting to form around her ribs. Tears threatened to fall from his eyes. He hadn’t seen the extent of her injuries beyond her face. He wasn’t expecting it to be as bad as it was.
She noticed him staring at her with tears in his eyes, the pain from seeing such a horrified look on his face is almost worse than her injuries. “It’s not as bad as it looks, Hotch,” she tried. She remembered saying those exact words to Reid at the compound in Colorado, her face swollen and bruised from sacrificing her life for him. No matter what she said, Reid still blamed himself for what happened to her, much like Hotch does now. She lifted her head slightly to get a look for herself, quickly seeing how much darker her bruises had become since the doctor checked them out in the hospital. No wonder breathing and the mere thought of moving hurt so badly.
“I’m so sorry,” he mumbled, not able to tear his eyes away from the injuries across her entire torso. She lifted her hand, with whatever strength she had left, to stop him from apologizing any further. She just couldn’t bear it, couldn’t handle listening to him beat himself up for something that was not his fault.
Blinking away tears and snapping himself out of his daze, he composed himself enough to grab another wet wipe to clean her torso. “This is going to hurt,” he warned again, “Let me know if it’s too much.”
She nodded, once again closing her eyes to prepare herself for the inevitable pain that would come from any pressure applied to her stomach. He slowly wiped at the skin across her ribs. He was so unbelievably careful, but it was agonizing. A muffled groan escaped her lips before she could stop it. “Too much?” he asked. She shook her head, encouraging him to continue. She wanted to get this over with, and she was sure he did too. The sooner he got this done, the sooner she could go to sleep and forget about the pain for a while. He continued cleaning her skin and the cuts just under her bra. She bit back her moans as best she could, not wanting to alarm him. She’d done enough of that the past few hours.
“I need to lift your shirt further up. Is that okay?” he asked timidly. He’s so damn polite she thought to herself.
“Just take it off,” she said, not thinking much of it. That was, until she saw his look of confusion and uncertainly. “It’ll make it easier,” she suggested, trying to relieve him of his doubts, “and I want to change out of it anyway. It’s all torn up and bloody.” He nodded, still feeling hesitant. In any other context, this would be so wrong. Undressing his subordinate while alone in a hotel room. But he wasn’t going to deny her request. If it made her more comfortable, he would do it. He would do anything for her. Anything.
As she lifted her arms above her head, he stripped the shirt from her, leaving her in only her bra and slacks. It would be a total lie if she said she never fantasized about this moment. She frequently indulged in the thought of him, her boss, undressing her. Never did she think it would happen under these circumstances. There was nothing sexy about what happened to them, what brought them to this moment.
There was a bruise across the swell of one of her breasts and a small scrape on the other. With the same gentleness as before, he cleaned the dried blood from her chest. When he began to wipe the other side of her chest, Emily let out a hiss, the skin and tissue there particularly tender and sore to the touch.
“This is the worst part. I’m sorry in advance,” he said, referring to the ointment he would have to put on the cuts and scraped all over her torso.
“It’s fine. I’m fine,” she assured him. “Let’s just get this over with.”
As he did minutes before, he squeezed some of the clear gel onto his finger. Emily yelped the moment the cool gel made contact with her angry, swollen skin. “Here,” he said handing her the shirt he had just discarded from her moments ago, “Bite into this.” She closed her teeth around the fabric, clenching tightly as she waited for him to continue. A muffled cry coming from her mouth when he applied more of the gel to her inflamed cuts and scrapes. He worked as quickly as he could while keeping his touch soft and light. He hoped she couldn’t tell how much this was affecting him. Hearing her muffled cries, touching her broken and swollen skin, feeling her body tense under his care, it was almost unbearable.
He started bandaging up some of the deeper cuts on her torso, both of them relieved that the worst of it was over for now.
Emily’s usually not one to be shy, especially about her body, but she felt incredibly vulnerable and anxious lying there in only her bra and work pants, covered in ugly bruises and scrapes. She felt exposed, her wounds fresh, open, and throbbing, her flesh sore and tender. As much as she wanted to cover herself, the thought of moving was painful in and of itself. So she declined when he offered to help her into a new shirt from her go bag. “I really just want to sleep right now,” she said, exhausted from the pain and the pain medication making her drowsy. He nodded, taking her bloody shirt from her and putting all of the supplies back into the plastic bag they came in.
The world slowly dimmed as she nodded off to sleep, her hands returning to the position over her heart like before. The all-consuming pain from moments ago faded into nothing when sleep finally took over.
He watched her as she slept, once again transfixed by her peaceful expression. He couldn’t find it in him to sleep despite how much his body practically begged for it. He was devoted to watching over her. Like a kind of vigil, a reverent and purposeful wakefulness, making sure no more harm could be inflicted upon her.
Several months ago, the roles were reversed. Emily watched over Hotch as he slept, worried and waiting. Her face was the first thing he saw when he woke. Her presence a comforting light despite the panic that rose within him from waking up in a hospital room not remembering any of the events that brought him there. If he was being honest, there’s no other face he would have wanted to see at that moment.
When Emily woke a few hours later, she saw him, sitting in an armchair in the dark, watching her. Has he been here the whole fucking time? she thought to herself, somewhat pissed at him for not getting some rest himself. He needed it just as much as she did.
“What the hell, Hotch,” she groans into the silence of the room. “You didn’t have to stay here.”
“I wanted to. How are you feeling?”
“Still hurts to move. Or breathe,” she responded frankly. “How long was I out?”
“Only a few hours. The sun’s not even up yet.”
She sighed, her chest twitching in discomfort. Thankfully, the pain meds had yet to wear off, and the pain extending from her stomach to her head was reduced to dull aches.
She reached up to feel the bandage on her cheek, only to be reprimanded by Hotch, telling her not to touch it so it stays clean. “But it itches,” she grumbled, still feeling tired and agitated even after sleeping for a few hours. He stared at her, getting up from his seat in the armchair and walking towards her. He calmly pulled her hand away from her face and set it back onto her chest. The gesture caused her eyes to brim with tears, once again overwhelmed by the gentleness of him, of his hands. It amazed her that the same strong hands that took down evil in the world each day were the same gentle hands that touched her, cared for her.
He sat on the edge of the bed looking down at her, seeing the way her eyes got shiny with tears. “What’s wrong?”
She sniffled and tried blinking away her tears, feeling silly for crying over the gentleness of his hands. “Nothing. It’s all just,” she sniffled again, “it’s just a lot. And I’m still tired. Did you even sleep?”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“How am I not supposed to worry? You brawled with two men twice my size, carried me in your arms for like a half-mile, and you still haven’t slept.”
“Emily,” he started.
“Don’t ‘Emily’ me,” she interrupted with a little too much bitterness in her voice. “I’m not going to sit by and watch you kill yourself just to help me. It’s not worth it.”
“But you are.”
Her eyes shot open. She stared at him in disbelief. Her whole body goes numb, and she can hardly breathe. There are no words that could express how she felt then. She’s terrified, stunned, and completely speechless. It’s just not possible. He can’t feel that way. He just can’t. She’s not worth that. She could never be worth that.
Sensing her shock, he placed his hand over hers on her chest, not sure if it would do anything to help, but it felt right. She shifted up on the bed, wincing slightly as she sat against the headboard, his hand still over hers in her lap. He mindlessly ran the pad of his thumb over the back of her hand.
“Hotch, you can’t say that,” she said, shaking her head, staring at their hands in her lap. “I’m not your burden to carry.”
“You’re not a burden. Sure, you can be a piece of work sometimes, but you’re worth the work. It’s work I’m willing to do. It’s work I want to do. You still deserve to be cared for. You deserve someone who is willing to do the work to care for you. It doesn’t make you a burden,” he squeezed her hand, silently telling her to look at him, “You are not a burden,” he repeated once she looked him in the eyes, tearing falling down her cheeks. He reached up to gently wipe away a heavy tear from her cheek.
The intimacy of the whole situation made Emily’s head spin. Excitement, nausea, fear, and anticipation bubbled up inside her. Before she could stop herself, she brought her lips to his in a tentative kiss. For a moment she panics, thinking that maybe she read him completely wrong, and she just ruined their entire friendship. But when she pulled away, his head followed hers, leaning in for more, craving more of her. Their lips met again, timid and hesitant at first, but the kiss quickly grew more intense, full of passion, need, and desire.
She had wanted this for so long, wanted him for so long, but he was always off-limits. He was her boss for Christ’s sake. It was explicitly against fraternization policies to be involved like this. It was wrong on so many levels, but no matter how foolish, crazy, and reckless this was, she didn’t care, and neither did he. This hungry and desperate kiss felt like an explosion of pent-up emotions, feelings they’ve had to stifle for months, years even. This kiss set them free.
He moved his hand behind her head with his lips still on her, guiding her head back down to the useless pillow beneath her. His heart pounded loudly in his ears. This was such a bad idea. This could ruin the friendship they’ve created and fostered in the past year. It could ruin any sense of professionalism between them at work. It was a risk, but it was a risk he wanted to take.
He climbed over her, covering her body with his, careful not to crush her fragile frame. He opened his mouth up to hers, letting her explore him, taste him. The feel of her tongue against his sent waves of electricity down his spine. He felt sparks between his hands and her skin with every touch. She was electrifying. He had never felt more alive than he did then, with her.
He broke the kiss to lean back and strip himself of his shirt, revealing his muscular, toned torso with a number of scars and some light bruises from the events of that night. Emily was transfixed, staring in wonderment at the beautiful man above her. She reached out to lightly run her hands down his chest, feeling his skin and muscles react under her touch. “Perfect,” she whispered so softly only she could hear it. He leaned back down to capture her lips again with his own. She ran her hands up his chest and shoulders, reveling in the firmness of him. She brought her hands to his back, feeling his muscles tense and relax as he moved his lips against hers. The feel of him was intoxicating. The taste of him was intoxicating. She never wanted this to end.
She let out a shaky breath as he kissed down the column of her neck. He sucked lightly on her vibrating pulse, tasting her skin, inhaling her scent. She gasped when he placed a feather-light kiss over the bruise on the swell of her breast. Waves of pleasure washing through her, drowning out the pain. He pulled away as he brought his arm around her back, looking at her for permission to remove her bra. She nodded breathlessly, missing the feel of his lips. He made quick work of unclasping her bra, discarding it onto the floor as he reunited his lips with her skin. He lightly licked at the skin between her breasts then moved his mouth to cover her nipple. She threw her head back with a moan and ran her fingers through his hair, holding him to her, anchoring herself to him.
He moved his attention to her other breast, licking and sucking at her nipple. Her skin was soft and warm under his tongue. He kissed every inch of her chest. “Perfect,” he whispered back to her against her skin, letting her know he heard her just moments before. She was just that. Perfect. He continued worshipping her skin, kissing every bruise, licking every curve.
She writhed beneath him, ribs too sore to arch into his touch, tape from her bandages tugging at her skin. She failed to bite back a cry, making him stop in his tracks, pulling away to look at her, to make sure she’s okay. Her eyes pleaded him to continue as she brought her hands to his belt, unbuckling and removing it swiftly despite her shaking hands. She grasped him through the fabric of his pants. His hips bucked into her hand, searching for friction to relieve him from the ache of his erection. She slid her hand into his boxers to grab the length of him. He was hot and heavy in her hand as she stroked him slowly, agonizingly so.
He leaned back down to plant slow, wet kisses across the sensitive skin of her neck. She had never been kissed with such affection and reverence before. It sent shockwaves of pleasure through her, desire rushing to her core, a throbbing ache between her legs. He slid his hand between them, unbuttoning and unzipping her slacks. He found her wet and ready for him when he slipped his hand beneath her legs. Her desire for him became frantic and frenzied. She slid her hand from his pants to hurriedly remove her own.
She wanted him, and she wanted him now.
She wiggled out of her pants as much as her aching body would allow. Hotch slid her pants and panties the rest of the way down her legs and threw them to the floor. He stepped off the bed to remove his own pants and boxers. She whined at the loss of his heat over her. It was almost torturous being separated from his body, from his touch.
He joined her back on the bed, crushing her lips with a deep, bruising kiss. The weight of him above her kept her grounded and secure, blanketing over her small and fragile form. She gripped him once more, impressed by the length and thickness of him. He groaned into her mouth, his cock painfully hard, throbbing and dripping in her hand.
His hand trailed across her chest to her stomach, finally reaching her folds. His touch sent shivers up her spine. She threw her head back against the pillow beneath her, letting out a breathy moan. His touch was as gentle as it had been all night, his soft strokes contrasting his rough, firm hands. He eased one finger into her, kissing her as he did so, stifling her moan. She clawed at the skin on his back as he fingered her with a precision and dexterity she had never experienced with another man. It was achingly intimate. He brushed his thumb against her clit with each gentle stroke. The sensation had her shuddering underneath him, writhing into his skillful hand.
“Please,” she whispered against his lips, aching for him to be inside her. She spread her legs wider and wrapped them around his waist, urging him closer to her. He slowly drew his finger from her, bringing his hand up to cradle her face, as his other rubbed up the back of her thigh. Reaching down she lined him up with her core.
She gasped when he entered her, the thickness of him almost too much to handle at first. He stilled, letting her adjust to his size. When she licked her lips and nodded, he pushed in further with a groan, sheathing himself completely inside her.
After months of silent longing and waiting, they were finally one, two souls fused together to make a whole.
She had never felt so full, so complete. The pleasure was all-consuming, a raging fire burning within her. When he began to thrust into her, she held onto him, grasping at his back as if holding on for dear life. With only a hair’s breadth between them, she basked in the heart of his form. The pressure of him on top of her, inside of her, it was a blissful pain. There was nothing like it, nothing that could compare to the pleasure of it.
Hotch shook above her, overwhelmed by the feeling of her beneath him and around him. His thrusts were deep, slow, and careful. It took all of his strength not to increase to the frantic pace he craved. He wanted this to last, but this slow rhythm didn’t match his frenzied, borderline feral, need for her.
He wrapped his hand around her ankle and moved it over his shoulder, changing the angle of his thrusts. Capturing her mouth with his own, he muffled her cry at the angle change. With each stroke, he brushed against the sweet spot inside her, making her tremble beneath him. When he felt her walls tighten around him, he sped up his pace, throwing caution to the wind. She felt so good around him, and it had been so long. He completely lost any and all semblance of control. Sensing her impending orgasm, he brought his hand between them to flick her clit.
She felt the familiar heat build in her stomach as he worked her higher and higher. She convulsed when he lowered his head to suck on her pulse point. Her orgasm ripped through her with a strength she didn’t know was possible. “Aaron,” she cried out. The name slipped from her lips so naturally it was as if she had been calling him that her whole life when really, this was the first time.
He loved the way his name sounded on her lips, the intimacy of it making his head spin.
He pulled away to watch in awe as her body shook at the force of her orgasm, slowing his pace, gently moving in and out of her as she rode out the waves of fire tearing through her.
Her moan echoed in the small room. Hotch brought his lips to hers once more to swallow each groan and cry, feeling her body begin to relax. He began to drive into her at a frantic pace, chasing his own release. He was so close, and she was so tight around him, the sensation was almost too much. He panted in her ear, on the edge, on the brink of falling over. “Let go,” she whispered in his ear, still breathless from her own climax.
“Emily,” he groaned as his body tensed, bowstring tight as he trembled at the intensity of his orgasm. The tension left his body as quickly as it came, and he fell limp beside her, still conscious of her injuries, careful not to crush her body with his own.
He pulled her into his embrace, kissing down her neck as the pleasure faded. She didn’t want it to end. She knew that once the pleasure left, the pain would return. So, she drifted off the sleep, the only thing she could do to hold off the pain that was sure to engulf her.
The room fell silent. He held her as she slept, listened to her breath become even and her heart rate slow within her chest. He wanted this feeling to last forever. What that feeling was? Comfort. Security. Happiness. Trust. Healing.
He loved her. She completed him. She made him feel one again, after all he had lost. He wanted to be with her forever. He wanted to live the rest of his life with her. The yin to his yang. Together embracing the dualities of each other and life. The ups and the downs. The beautiful and the ugly. The good times and the bad. The joys and the challenges. The light and the dark.
She never wanted to leave. “I would have done anything to make you stay.” He wraps her into his arms gently, holds her against his chest like he used to. “I’d still do anything to make you stay.”
Rated M - TW applies for depiction of major character death and implied sexual assault.
April | Fourteen Months Ago
It’s late, well past the hour in which they should be awake. In fact, all Emily wanted was a hot shower before climbing into bed once they got back to the hotel after yet another day, but Aaron had other ideas.
She barely had the towel around her in the foggy bathroom before he pushed it down, his lips finding her neck through the damp hair that fell loose from the knot secured on the top of her head. He freed her hair, ran his fingers through it when it fell around her shoulders, whispering how beautiful she was, trying to push the stress of the day out of her mind.
He’s doing a damn good job, Emily thought as the towel fell to the floor and Aaron’s head is between her breasts, one in his hand and his lips around the other. Soon enough, the case is forgotten, even more so when he uses a knee to push her legs apart, sweeping the tip of his thumb against her clit.
Aaron gets impatient when her knees buckle in time with his movements, her legs starting to tremble with the effort it takes her to stand. He lifts her with steady hands under each of her thighs, her ankles locking around his back. “I’ll never tire of you,” he whispers as he lowers her down onto the bed with ease.
“Be careful what you wish for,” Emily laughs. But she moves fast, pushes him onto his back and straddles his hips. She sinks down on him with a breathy pant, one that goes right to his head. Aaron holds her hips down, thrusts up, and finds her clit again, playing with pressure until her eyes close, her teeth sinking into her lip.
“I could watch you like this forever,” he murmurs, swiping his thumb in a rhythmic pattern that makes her thighs tremble. She’s close, her head thrown back as her spine arches with every upward push of his hips that meet hers on their descent. As Emily moans, one blending into another, she wonders if this is what she’s been waiting for all along, as if he was worth every previous mistake she made. She’s alone the first time, falling apart with a piercing cry that makes his movements a little less coordinated. He drags her down to his chest, their hearts aligned as he holds her against him, moves a little faster until he hears that sound, feels her once again, and he’s right there with her.
She’s tired; she curls up against him almost instantly, the exhaustion bleeding through her limbs. Aaron gets up, returning shortly after with water and a warm, wet towel. He hands her the water, presses the towel between her legs as she sighs, lets him clean her up, fluff the pillows behind her head and rearrange the sheets.
“What would have you ever done without me?” he teases as he nestles himself around her in bed, her back pressed into his chest, wondering how he ever did the same.
“Struggled,” she murmurs, boneless and sated.
He smiles into her neck, leaves a few kisses, and allows a few peaceful moments to pass. Aaron runs his fingers down her spine, tucks his chin over her shoulder. “You’re sure about this?” His tone is hesitant; it’s not the first time he’s asked the question since they got back to the hotel a few hours ago.
“I won’t be, if you keep bringing it up.” Emily’s voice is thick as sleep begins to overtake her, her body already twisted in the sheets as she snuggles closer to him. “This is the fourth time you’ve asked, you know.” Of course she would be keeping track.
“Because I know you’re uncomfortable with all of this.” He remembers her words from the days before. I have a bad feeling about this.
Emily sighs, fully awake now, as she rolls to face him, switching the light on along the way. “It’s part of my job. I’m the best one to do it and you know that.” It’s the same tone she used each of the other times he asked, and earlier when the plan was formulated. The casual tone that makes her sound invincible, unbothered by dangers and tolls of what they do.
The needs of the many mentality, he thinks with a touch of regret. She’d been the one to suggest it be her, and despite how he felt about it, there was little he could say or do to convince her otherwise. She’s right - there isn’t anyone else with her skills or experience, anyone else that would be more convincing. She is the most logical choice, one he can’t objectively argue with. It’s what makes her so damn good at this job.
“Let’s just forget about it for tonight,” she says huskily, slipping between the sheets to palm him in her hand.
“I thought you wanted to sleep,” he groans when she doesn’t stop, his hips bucking up involuntarily as his eyes close. He’s now completely distracted, all thoughts of the case temporarily gone from his mind.
“I’m awake now,” Emily laughs, moving her hand a little more deliberately. “One more?”
He gets both hands around her shoulders, rolls her to her back to press his leg between hers and drop his head into her shoulder. She whimpers into his mouth, curls her legs around his hips. “One more,” he agrees as he slides inside of her, unknowingly, for the very last time.
(Tonight, most likely). a huge thank you to so many of you for the inspiration, motivation, and pep talks along the way.
"We lost one of our own, a friend. We all did. A mother lost her son. Jack lost an uncle. And I lived. How could I have stayed after that? How could I look at the rest of you after what happened?” Her face is ghostly pale, her eyes impossibly dark. “I never wanted to leave, Aaron. But I had no other choice.”
She never wanted to leave. “I would have done anything to make you stay.” He wraps her into his arms gently, holds her against his chest like he used to. “I’d still do anything to make you stay.”
“I know.” She shifts in his arms, lifts her tear-stained face as Aaron tentatively kisses the top of her head, wonders if he’ll ever fully understand why she never will.
we're in the endgame now. hopefully (hopefully) with this chapter the title of the fic will begin to make sense
Mirror vi (love)
Warnings; TW - mentions of past child abuse / grief&grieving
(verb) feel deep affection for
This is my warmth behind the Cold War
This is what I’m living for, forever coming home
400 Bones – Frightened Rabbit
Jack had nightmares. Hotch wasn’t surprised by the sound of his son waking up, heaving breaths as though the universe was collapsing around him, calling for a mother that would never answer him. Aaron felt his arms around his son were a poor substitute, a failure as he hushed the cries that broke his heart. When he sketched out the nightmare, a monster with a growling voice hunting him in the dark Aaron felt his fists clench, knowing that despite his defeat of the living monster, it had still left its mark. He rocked Jack until he fell asleep, brushing the hair from his brow the way Hayley had done and returned to his kitchen, the dishes from dinner still waiting to be unpacked.
Aaron felt weary, his bones seemed to ache with the effort of keeping him upright, keep his heart beating through its broken places as he slumped onto a dining room chair, put his head in his hands.
He was not enough, increasingly the thought chased itself through his mind, each cry of Jack’s, the longing in his eyes as he looked at videos of Hayley, the tinny distortion of her laugh through the television screen more parent than he could ever be. He felt the tears forming in his eyes as he remembered her, the way she gave her love so freely, poured it into every interaction with their son with no reservation.
He heard his father’s voice, louder than it had been in years, echoing around his head, telling him boys don’t cry, a raised fist in warning. He tried to force the picture from his mind, his only guide to fatherhood a glass of whiskey and a broken nose.
He had spent each night since Hayley’s funeral like this, alone in eerie silence, tense and alert for any sound of Jack stirring, the overwhelming need to be there, instantaneously whenever a gasp of fear passed his son’s lips. Each person who had shaken his hand at the funeral had commented, that Jack was too young, to have lost so much. Aaron agreed, solemn in his understanding that the worst of it had happened to Jack, the destruction so absolute it would block out the sun.
It had been five nights since the funeral, little sleep and nightmares for both parties as they existed, not lived in Aaron’s apartment, the discolored spot on the rug a mere fraction of the devastation wrought on both of them. He was falling, spiraling in his own grief, unable to reach his son, not yet able to verbalize the loss he was experiencing. The tears surprised him as they slipped his cheeks, hot and burning against his skin, a mark of his shame.
His phone rang at 1am, vibrating across the table. He saw Emily’s name on display and breathed the smallest sigh of relief.
“Hi, sorry did I wake you?” Her voice was soft, he could hear keys jingling in the background.
“No, I’m awake, did you just get back?”
“Yeah, and I wanted to call sooner I’m sorry” She said, as he heard the door creak open to her apartment.
“How was it?” He asked.
“We got him.” Emily said, a verbal shrug enough to convey the difficulty. “How are you?”
“Jack’s having nightmares” he said, surprised at his own candor in admitting it.
“I’m sorry” She said, and he heard sincerity in her tone. “That must make you feel powerless.”
He was brought up short by her statement. The words so simple, but so irrefutably true that he felt stunned, his breath catching in his throat as he realized the reality of it, an emotion he had been unable to name, familiar but foreign as he fought against an evil it was impossible to face.
“Do you want me to come over?” She asked, his silence putting her on edge.
“No… no” he said, as much to convince himself as her.
“Liar” She said, and he could hear the small smile in her voice. “I want to come over.”
“Okay” He agreed.
Emily stopped at a gas station on the way, changing into comfortable clothing and grabbing nothing but her wallet, keys and phone as she left her home. Wandering the aisles at random she picked out a few things and paid, her mind fixed only on the sound of his voice, the toneless, hopeless quality threaded through his words. It panicked her, hearing him in pain, reminded her of the hospital bed where he had croaked an apology, his penance for almost dying.
She knocked softly at his apartment door, partly hoping he would not answer, that he was asleep, had given in to rest as a necessity, rather than punishing himself by staying awake. She had heard the guilt in his voice in every conversation, lingering somewhere beneath the surface of his words, as though all of it, had somehow been his fault.
He answered the door and Emily had to stop herself from reacting. He looked disheveled, his hair messy and his face unshaven, deep sunken eyes told the story of his exhaustion as he managed a weak smile in greeting.
“I brought ice cream” Emily said softly, knowing Jack was asleep somewhere in the house. “Coffee for me, mint chip for you… it was too late for Thai.”
He wrapped his arms around her without warning, his eyes closed as he pulled her into his embrace. She could feel his deep inhale as he breathed her in, seemed to consume her presence in his home, the lateness of the hour.
“Sorry” he said finally, pulling away as she reached to touch the stubble on his cheek. “Sorry… I”
“I missed you too” She said after a moment, walking softly into his kitchen, putting the ice cream in his freezer.
He listened to her talk, explaining the case, the desperate lengths the man would go to, fabricating love as though it were something that could be made, not found.
“You threatened him with a gun to his face?” Hotch asked.
“Mmm.” Emily replied, her lips wrapped around a spoon “He is vile.”
“Emily, you shouldn’t…” he started.
“I know. But I hated him more than most.” She said, putting the tub of ice cream on his coffee table.
“Why?” Hotch asked, watching as she thought through his words.
“He wanted to have someone, force it, as though it would fix everything, make it easier.” She said, the words coming out staccato. “It isn’t easier” she breathed finally.
He reached to grab her hand, feel the warmth of his palm as he realized the purpose of her visit. She was here to leave him. To tell him in so many words that his focus should be Jack, should only be Jack, and that resignation from the FBI and cessation of their relationship was the only meaningful path forward. He understood, the proceeding days having been filled with guilt for loving her, for feeling such affection in what should have been a time of sorrow. He understood.
“I’m not leaving” She said softly. “You, I mean” She clarified, threading her fingers through his. “But it’s harder now. Harder than it should be.”
“I’m sorry” he said.
“Aaron.” She said, waiting for him to meet her eyes “It wasn’t your fault.”
She reached and stroked his cheek, her fingers soft against the rough stubble she found there. Emily watched as his eyes glazed with tears, blinked quickly away as he pulled away from her, turned to shield his body from this weakness, on display in front of her.
“You don’t have to talk to me about it.” She said quietly. “I don’t expect you to, frankly. But… I still won’t watch you kill yourself Aaron.”
He flashed to the last time she had asked this of him, the way he had reacted with anger, as if all he had to lose was a title, as if there was nothing else that could be done. He felt his scars burn beneath the shirt as a shudder ran through his body.
She left with a soft kiss, her hands trailing through his hair as she told him she loved him, would call him in the morning, asked him to get some sleep.
The next morning Aaron showered and shaved, getting dressed properly for the first time. He called Jessica, who was happy to come over and sit with Jack, her own grief soothed by his presence. He left with no explanation, just that he had his phone, and would answer if she called. He knew where he was driving before he arrived there, the green grass bright against the morning sun.
He sat at her grave, the headstone still a plastic marker, the earth still fresh and smelling of roses.
“I don’t know what to do” he admitted to the open air. “You were right, I did choose the BAU over you and Jack. I know that. And I’m sorry. Sorry I never got to tell you that I’m sorry.”
He heaved a deep sigh as he rested his elbows on his knees.
“He’s going to be just like you, I know it. And that makes me happy, but it scares me, because I don’t know how to raise him. I don’t know what I’m doing” He felt himself rest his forehead in his hands.
“I don’t know if I can leave the BAU Hayley. I don’t know who I am without it. I think it… makes me better? Makes me a better person, a better father, to know I’m doing something good and pure and worthwhile… I think it’s better for him if I have that purpose?”
The ground smelled of flowers, soft scents carried on the breeze in the silence. The air was cool and crisp as he wondered, imagined Hayley’s reaction as though she were there, breathing the same air, able to clench her fists in fury at his words. But softness engulfed him, remembering the gentle hand on his shoulder, the encouragement and kindness she always showed him. Each time she let him in, after midnight or in the weak mornings, to see Jack, to bathe in his presence as a healing salve to wounds that seemed superficial in the aftermath.
He didn’t know how long he sat, contemplating the choice he had already made, the road he was so far down already he could not see the fork he chose. Dave’s feet were silent when he approached, a whisper on the grass.
“When are you going to tell her?” He asked.
“Tell her what?”
“That you’re coming back to the team, that fighting the bad guys is who you are.”
Aaron looked at the plastic marker, a headstone in black ink and paper.
“She already knows.” He said.
The team knew. They had all heard Foyet’s taunts through the phone, his gravel voice speaking aloud what none of them had seen, profilers blinded by the information presented. But knowing was not the same as seeing, and watching their boss; stoic and emotionless rush to Emily, brush a thumb across her blackened eye was stunning, all of them watching in silence as she gripped his hands to reassure him, placed a soft kiss on his palm. They turned as one to the team, both of them thrown back into the work as though it had not just happened, as though intimacy so brash and fleeting was ordinary, not spectacular.
Emily still had a yellowed bruise around her eye when she joined Penelope and JJ for dinner. She had expected it and admired their restraint in waiting as long as they did to begin asking questions.
“Can I have a glass of merlot before you start asking?” She said as she pulled her chair out at the restaurant. In answer Penelope wordlessly slid a glass of red wine towards her, and Emily laughed.
“What do you want to know?” She sighed, resigned to an evening of being grilled by her closest friends.
“When?” JJ asked, raising an eyebrow.
“After you were shot was the first time” Emily said cautiously inclining her head towards Penelope.
“Wait. Stop.” Penelope said, holding her hand up to JJ as she went to ask another question. “Hotch is the guy? The aggressive, made you feel alive, nothing will ever happen, there isn’t a future there guy?”
Emily nodded, taking a long swallow of her wine as she did so, anticipating the next question.
“Then again after New York. And Colorado, and then we went on a date, a few dates actually, and then… well we started dating” Emily shrugged.
“And now?” JJ asked softly.
“We’re still… together.” Emily said. “But… I don’t know. I feel guilty. He should be devoted wholly to Jack right now, and it’s like I’m taking time away from the most important thing.”
Emily sighed, the words spilling from her lips as though she was unable to stop them.
“Do you love him?” Penelope asked.
“Does he love you?”
Penelope shrugged. “Then it seems like he’s focusing on the important things. He can love and cherish more than one thing. He’s not taking pieces of his love for Jack and giving them to you. He does love and cherish you right?”
Emily thought of the flowers she found on her doorstep, delivered without a note, orange blossoms and avalanche lilies arriving in the early morning, a start to her day.
“He does” She agreed. Increasingly she heard the words loop around her head, a ghostly apparition. It should be you.
They talked more throughout dinner, Emily skillfully avoiding any questions of Hotch in bed, answering vaguely for any efforts to know what he was like outside of work. Somehow, she thought the Aaron she knew, the dry sense of humor, the hands he could not stop from touching her, were hers somehow. A secret she wanted to herself, guarded and protected.
She drove to his apartment after dinner. It was a routine they had established, late nights spent in his kitchen, Emily sacrificing sleep to spend a few precious hours in his presence, drinking coffee and talking in hushed tones. A kiss, grazed across her mouth, his hand stroking her arm. He smiled when he opened the door, it reached his eyes when he saw her, stepped aside to let her in, the coffee maker issuing its soft hum, her appearance expected.
It was late when it happened. A scream from the room Emily had never entered, followed by a wail of anguish so acute it shredded her insides. She watched as Aaron reacted like a gunshot, out of his chair and into the room as though it were actively ablaze. She felt awkward, sitting alone in his kitchen as she heard his voice, low and soothing from the room, a soft yellow light illuminating the hallway. She felt as though she were intruding, an uninvited guest, witnessing a horror so specific she could not tear her eyes away.
When he emerged from Jack’s bedroom his shoulders rounded and heavy, she wanted to run, leave him to grieve in private.
“I’m sorry” He said, his voice low. “He started therapy today, I should have expected…”
“Don’t.” Emily said, resisting the urge to reach out and touch him. “I should go.”
He grabbed her arm so quickly it startled her. “Please don’t”
“Hotch… he needs you” She said, trying to keep her tone even.
“I need you” He answered, pulling her lightly to his couch. She followed without further encouragement, sitting next to him as he pressed his palm against hers.
Hotch watched her face, the fear that crossed her features when she heard Jack’s scream. She had remained true to her word, had never pushed him to talk, never tried to break down the walls he had built strong and impenetrable.
“I feel like I’m failing” He said, the words slipping from his throat as though they had been perched there for months. He heard her exhale, long and slow. As though gates were opened, he could not stop himself from tossing more weight from his shoulders, the fears he had been suppressing for weeks finally allowed to erupt forth.
“I don’t know how to be a father” He admitted. “And I feel like I’m failing him.”
“You’re his hero” Emily said, her brows knitting together as she looked at him.
“But what kind of hero leaves his son, isn’t there to tuck him in every night, read him a story. I have no guide for this. My mother wrapped herself in southern graces and valium. My father took it out on us.”
Emily stilled. She had guessed, some deep inkling in the back of her brain knew this on some level, but she had never heard him talk about it.
“When I cried because I was afraid of something, he hit me until I stopped” Aaron sighed, his voice empty in the way that only old wounds could be. “And now my son is crying, because he is afraid, and I was never taught how to handle that. I know how to protect someone from being hurt, but I don’t know what to do once they are hurt. I used to stand in front of Sean, stand in front of Mother, and take it. But I can’t take this for him, I can’t reach in and pull the monsters out from his head, I can’t bring back Hayley, I can’t change the fact that I got her killed…”
“Aaron.” Emily said, squeezing his hand. “You did not get her killed. Foyet killed her, he was a psychopath and a maniac, and he went after you because you represented everything he couldn’t be - everything he sought to destroy, goodness in the world.”
“But it all comes to the same…” he started.
“No.” Emily cut him off, and her tone was sharp. “No, it doesn’t.”
Hotch felt short of breath. The marathon across his memories had stolen his strength. He expected her to make excuses, move to leave as she told him he needed to spend more time with his son. Instead, he felt her fingers tighten around his, a light squeeze as she pulled her hand into his lap.
“I can’t stop thinking about this Vonnegut quote” She said finally, the silence so thick in the air he could almost taste it.
“I couldn’t help wondering if that was what God had put me on the earth for – to find out how much a man could take without breaking” She quoted.
Aaron laughed despite himself. “Those were some of the first words you ever spoke to me” he mused.
“How on earth do you remember that?” She asked.
“You made quite an impression” he shrugged. “Still do” he added quietly.
Emily raised onto her knees on the couch, wrapped her arms around him as he slipped his around her waist.
“You are not your father” She whispered. “You love that kid more than anything else in this world. I know you do – I know he is the most important thing in your life, and you would do anything to protect him, to love him, to keep him safe. But it is not your fault what happened. And you beat the monster in the end, as he knew you would.”
He could have stayed like this forever, he thought, the scent of her hair engulfing him as Jack slept soundly down the hall, his mind quiet for the first time in weeks.
“Aaron…” Emily started, her voice trailing softly away. “Never mind.”
“What?” he asked, looking up at her.
“Does Jack… Does he know? About us I mean?” She asked.
He sat back on the couch, a low breath escaping him.
“No” He admitted. “And I wish he did. I wish I had at least told him before… it’s harder now.”
Emily nodded, expecting this answer but feeling the blow all the same, a punch to her stomach at the knowledge that whatever this was would have to live in the shadows, their love secret until the time came where Jack was ready to accept it. If he was ever ready. Again, the thought chased itself to oblivion in her mind, on constant loop as she drove to her home.
It should have been you.
He loved her more than he thought possible. She had been impossibly comforting, and he often marveled at her capacity for empathy. They stole moments outside of the office, conversations in carparks and his kitchen long after Jack had fallen asleep. She never pushed him for answers, and that made him give them to her willingly. She poured affection and love into the smallest gestures, coffee waiting on his desk, a new tie hidden in his go bag when he had one stained with oatmeal.
“Does he talk to her?” Emily asked, cup of coffee held in between her palms.
“He is scared of the cemetery” Aaron said.
“That’s not the only way he can talk to her” Emily replied. “You could have something, the two of you, like a photo or a candle or something. A way for him to share his feelings with her?” She suggested.
When he told Jack about the candle, he took to it immediately. Lighting it and staring intently at the photo of Hayley, smiling bright and holding him, the way she would want to be remembered, Aaron listened as his son unburdened himself, told his mother how much he missed her, and how sometimes it was hard to keep the sad feelings in.
Jack slept through the night for the first time after that. His therapist gave good progress reports as he enjoyed play therapy, afternoons spent with the kind woman with huge glasses who let him draw and shout and play and encouraged him to make mess. After a session Aaron asked to speak with her, Jack still absorbed in his crayon drawing.
“I have a partner” he said bluntly, not knowing how else to phrase it.
“I know” She replied, looking at him. “Jack told me.”
Aaron felt his brows knit together, confusion flooding his senses. Had Jack seen them? Was he sneaking out of bed to spy on him and Emily, their voices not as low as they had pitched. Had it set him back in grieving? The idea that his father might be replacing his mother, with a woman he did not know.
“He said Hayley told him” She said gently, placing a hand on Aaron’s forearm. “Take it slow. He says all the time he likes it when you’re happy. He will be fine, just take it slow”
Driving home Aaron broached the subject with Jack, nerves pooling in his belly, oily and hot.
“Hey Bud, do you remember Emily?”
“Yep!” He said brightly from the backseat “She has dark hair an’ she works with you an’ she is your very good friend, like your bestest friend.”
“Who told you that?” he asked.
“Mommy” he said with a small sigh. “It was when we were on holiday ‘fore she went away. She said that even though you loved me, an’ she loved me, that it was otay for you to love someone else – and that one day I might meet her.”
Aaron felt his chest tighten; oxygen hard to inhale as he pulled the car over to the shoulder.
“Jack.” He said, turning in his seat. “You know that no matter what I love you more than anything else in the world.”
“I know daddy. Mommy n Aunty Jess said that too” He said, giving him a wide grin. “Is Em’ly really your bestest friend?”
“Yes buddy. She is. Would you like to meet her someday?”
Jack shrugged, suddenly shy.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to meet her if you don’t want to” Aaron reassured quickly.
Jack shrugged again, his cheeks glowing a little pink. “Is she nice?”
“I think she is” Aaron said quietly.
Jack nodded slowly. “Today?”
“No, not today, but maybe one day soon we can go out and get pancakes with her?” he said.
Jacks’ eyes brightened immediately, his nod becoming vigorous and excited.
“Okay” Aaron said, leaning awkwardly into the backseat to kiss his son’s brow. “I love you.”
“I love you too daddy” Jack said.
“I want you to meet Jack.”
Emily froze. Her whole body flooded with ice at the words, as though he had threatened her. She cleared her throat, twice.
“If you want to” Aaron said quickly, watching the way her whole body reacted, as though an electric current had run through her spine.
“Does he… I mean… Are you” She stuttered, her voice low as she tried to keep her hands steady, placed her palms flat on his kitchen benchtop.
“He knows” Aaron said.
“Did you tell him?”
“Actually…” he started “Hayley did.”
The ice in her stomach turned to lead, a ghostly whisper now a shout as she ran it over in her mind. Hayley would have blamed her, surely. Anything she would have told her son about Emily would have been laced with resentment, enough that Jack would know enough, to wish that it had of been her too.
“Hey” He said softly, reaching to cover her hand with his own “it’s okay – you don’t have to, it’s just… he’s ready, if you are.”
Emily let out a long slow breath, trying to steady her nerves, quiet her mind as she considered this. It was the logical next step. A threshold to be crossed, a box to check. But it felt impossible, a gap too wide, the fear to all consuming. She had grown comfortable, hidden away these months, small touches and stolen moments between them enough to sustain her.
She loved him more than she thought was possible, and it terrified her. He filled her with such air she felt like she was floating in his presence, the merest prick enough for her to tumble to the ground. Each brush of his knuckles across her cheek was love personified. He cooked for her, meals refrigerated and waiting to be reheated when she arrived late in the evening. He kept her favorite ice cream in his freezer, knew how she liked her coffee. He seemed to know what she needed before she did – slipping an arm around her shoulder, silencing her worries with a kiss before she could voice them.
In the bullpen there was no difference to him, but he would seek her out, more than once in a day to tell her he loved her, hear her say it back. He let her stand in his office and scream, pacing back and forth as she ranted, her cheeks growing flushed as he listened, allowed her space to be irrational, silence to talk herself out of it.
“You didn’t know she knew” Aaron said quietly.
“I did…” Emily replied, chewing her lip as she studied his features. “We… uh, well she… talked in the hospital, after you were attacked.”
She watched his pupils, the tightening of the skin around his eyes as shock settled beneath his features, the twitch of his jaw, the slightest clench.
“You never told me” He said slowly, trepidation in each syllable. “What did she say.”
“It doesn’t matter” Emily said quickly.
“That bad?” Aaron replied, raising his eyebrow.
“What? No” Emily stuttered, fear rising at the prospect of having this conversation.
“You don’t have to tell me.” He said. “But… I was married to her, and I know she let her temper get the best of her, and she said things to deliberately hurt people. She never meant them, but she always aimed for the soft spots.”
Emily looked at him, they had not discussed his relationship with Hayley since the early days of their divorce, it seemed inappropriate once they started dating, for Emily to hold any opinion of his ex-wife, so she never voiced them out loud.
“I’m sure what she said to you was awful” Aaron said gently.
“She said it should be me. Because I loved you enough to die for you” Emily said quietly. She heard as Aaron sucked air between his teeth, watched as he rubbed his hand across his jaw.
“I’m sorry” He said finally.
“It doesn’t matter” Emily said.
“It does. Because I know she didn’t feel that way” Aaron replied. “You know she knew about us because I told her?”
“No, I didn’t know.”
“It was after Matthew” He said, clearing his throat at the memory. “I told her that I had ruined it, and Hayley told me to stick with it. Not to give up, because… well, you reminded her of me.”
Emily felt a burst of sunlight in her chest. A ray of hope, bright and blinding flooded her senses, warmed her fingers, loosened the knot in her throat.
“She knew me, better than almost anybody. She knew if I loved someone… they must be something special” He finished, staring at his coffee. “I don’t know if that helps, but she would have apologized Em, I know that.”
Emily nodded, her throat feeling tighter than before.
“What did you have in mind?” She said finally, clearing her throat again.
“Pancakes? This weekend if you’re up for it.” He said, offering her a smile. “I mean it, if you aren’t ready, or don’t want to…”
“I want to” she said quickly, “I want to.”
Emily liked blueberries. She knew the names of all the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park, and she really liked cats. That was enough for Jack to become completely entranced with her. He asked her as many questions as he could think of, including if she was his daddy’s best friend. He wondered why her cheeks got all pink when she said she was. He had two hot chocolates and a stack of pancakes he couldn’t count quick enough, and even though it was gross, he liked the way his daddy smiled when he kissed her cheek. When they left, she didn’t ask him for a hug (sometimes grown-ups insisted on hugs, and Jack didn’t like that very much) but instead gave him a wave and a toothy grin. She was very pretty, and he liked the way her cheeks dimpled when she smiled.
Emily let out the breath she did not realize she had been holding when she returned to her car. Nerves had plagued her all day, uncharacteristic in their intensity as she wondered about Jack. This was monumentally important, he had to like her, or at least, tolerate her presence if this relationship was going to continue, and she knew that if he didn’t, it was the end of her and Aaron.
What she hadn’t expected was to be so enamored by the boy – intelligent and funny, he was friendly and polite, well behaved in a way that reminded her so much of Hotch she found it hard to stop herself from grinning. She happily submitted to his questioning, blushing only when he asked her, his voice dropped conspiratorially low, whether she was his dad’s best friend. She watched the flush crawl on Hotch’s neck as she answered in the affirmative.
He was sunlight personified, kindness and warmth and joy as he giggled quietly over his breakfast, the stack taller than he was as he clumsily cut into it. Emily was shocked to watch Hotch let him make a mess, enjoy himself, gently guide him towards using his manners. He was relaxed in his presence, comfortable and happy as he ruffled his son’s hair, lifted him easily onto his shoulders. She found the visual comforting, his happiness and love so boldly on display.
The second time, Jack invited her over to watch Jurassic Park. It was a Sunday afternoon, crisp and cold and Jack easily snuggled against his father, buried his face in his chest when velociraptors came on screen, scooched closer to the television at the sight of the brontosaurus. She stayed for dinner, Jack having mac and cheese as Aaron cooked another pasta for them both, easily navigating the kitchen with his son darting between his legs, his energy limitless and infectious.
From then on, Emily came over earlier in the evenings, sometimes sharing dinner, sometimes waving a hello to Jack before Aaron put him to bed, Jack always wanting an extra hug from his father, something he was happy to give. He would pour them a glass of wine, sit with her and talk, watch a movie, or sit and do paperwork together. Emily was struck by how sickeningly domestic it was, and more shocked at how easy she found it, slotting into their lives as though she was a puzzle piece, missing but designed to fit. She called him ‘kid’ and ruffled his hair, he called her ‘Emmy’ and wanted to hug her hello.
Penelope huddled next to her on the plane, desperate for warmth, leeching body heat from Emily.
“Frozen wasteland” She murmured, tucking her hands further under her arms.
“You’re going to complain the whole case, aren’t you?” Emily said lightly, tucking the blanket around her knees.
“Yes ladybug, I am” Penelope said defiantly, tucking herself closer to Emily.
Aaron looked up from his paperwork, a smile on his lips as he saw her, wrapping an arm around Penelope to share the warm blanket, the plane already cold the further north they travelled, crossing freezing lakes to reach Alaska.
“I know some good priests” Dave said mildly, not looking up from his book. He swallowed hard, looking at his friend with a mixture of shock and derision.
“I know that look, I made my divorce attorney rich because of that look” he said, still not looking up from his paperback. Aaron let his eyes cast the plane, dropping his voice low.
“We haven’t talked about it” he said, honestly and quietly.
“But you’ve thought about it” Dave said, setting his book down to fix him with an amused stare.
Aaron shrugged, noncommittal.
“You can use my house for the ceremony if you’d like.”
“Offer is there” he said, raising his eyebrows as he watched Aaron’s gaze drift back to her, the gentle peace that seemed to settle behind his eyes.
In truth, the team talked about it more than they realized. Casual mentions here and there of things they had seen, his hand on the small of her back, a long lingering glance between them on a case. The hushed conversation in the corner of a husked-out laundromat. Emily laughing, Hotch stern until she kissed him, slipped her palm in his and smiled. Emily with a beer and her hand on his hip, talking to Mick Rawson, the way his palm seemed to tighten on her skin.
He still berated her over paperwork, she still argued with his theories, neither of them willing to give an inch until it was earned. They worked together like a seamless unit, one incredibly powerful profiler, only a look passing between them to convey the others thoughts. They all managed to forget most of the time that they were a couple, their interactions like bolts of lightning, blink and you would miss them.
Alaska was brutal in its cold and its case work. Daylight was a scarce commodity as they tried to stop their teeth chattering, talking to locals with hands pressed deep in pockets, feet shuffling for the warmth. The cabin was warm, lit by several fires as they gathered, regrouped by the dying firelight to establish a strategy for the next days work.
“Looks like we’ll have to double up” Hotch said at the revelation there were four rooms for seven team members.
“Easier for some” Dave said, standing to claim a single room, citing age and a rumbling snore as his reason for not needing a roommate. Penelope laid a hand on Morgan’s forearm, smirking her way through a dibs before explaining she would need at least another nine hours with her equipment, compiling and coding made more difficult in this remote location.
“So, there’s a double and a room with two singles” Reid said, standing as he grabbed his bag. “JJ are you and Emily comfortable sharing a bed – ow!” He cried; Morgan having slapped him upside the head.
“Use your brain pretty boy” he said, rolling his eyes as he ascended the stairs.
“… oh. Right. Sorry” He said, smiling guilty at Emily.
“It’s fine Reid, if you’re more comfortable…”
“No! I wasn’t thinking. JJ do you mind sharing a room with me?”
“Not at all Spence, just as long as I get the first shower” she said, ruffling his hair.
The room was cozy, patchwork quilts adorned each surface, and it was heated to almost hot. Hotch grabbed her the minute the door shut behind them, his palms splaying wide on her ribs as she dropped her go bag with a thud on the floor. He felt her smile against his lips as he pushed her towards the bed, his hands seeking beneath her shirt, her skin warm against his palm.
“I need to take a shower” She murmured. “You need to take a shower.”
“Then let’s take a shower” He said, grinning as he lifted her shirt over her head.
He wanted to exist in this universe with her, alone and cocooned beneath the sheets, their skin warm and soft in a room adorned with soft firelight. They rode a gentle cresting wave together, his teeth grazing against her bottom lip as her breathing quickened, his hands slipping again beneath her shirt. She sought his pulse, tasted it against his throat as he skimmed her hips, traced the gentle curve of her spine.
The blankets were thick and heavy over them, firelight pantomimes across the walls as he nudged her shirt further upwards.
“The team is next door” She whispered, her back arching into him regardless as he buried his face in her neck, dragged his lips to her jaw.
“I don’t give a damn” He said with a smile, bringing his lips to hers as she wrapped a leg around his waist. He trailed a gentle knuckle down her cheek, tasted her bottom lip.
“Em?” he said, a soft whisper as he pulled her shirt higher, his thumb grazing the underside of her breast. “Do you ever think about the future?”
She stilled, pulling gently into the pillow to meet his eyes, her hand on his cheek.
“With you?” She asked, waiting for him to nod. “Yes”
He asked her no more questions, but slipped his own shirt from his back, pulling her to press into his chest, smiling again as he brought his lips to hers.
The furniture was merciless in its noises, the slightest movement causing a disproportionate creak or groan. When he slipped his hand between her thighs, she had to bite the groan in her throat.
“Everyone is going to know” She gasped, feeling his fingers trace the slick between her thighs, coat his fingerprints in it as he kept his touch light.
“Good” He said, nosing at the hollow of her jaw “Let them.”
He teased her until she was begging, her hips chasing his fingers as he tasted her, drew patterns in her skin and licked them clean, kissed the hollow of her hipbone as she turned her face into pillows, smelt her arousal hang in the air. He was just as tender when he brought his mouth to the apex of her thighs, a soft curl of his tongue against her clit, sealing his lips around it hot as a furnace. He took her close, close enough to cry out loudly when he stopped, raising himself over her like a tidal wave.
“I love you” He said, pressing himself inside her with a smooth rock of his hips, a hand on her thigh, the other on her jaw as he held her still, tasted the answer from her tongue, and felt her fall apart beneath him, her arms around his waist as her body responded, a blissful welcome intrusion that made him see stars.
He was halfway between sleep and awake when he heard it, her voice smoky with sleep as she wrapped his arms tighter around her, sunk fully into his embrace.
“I think you are my future.”
In the chaos of the morning, the team did not notice she was wearing his clothes.
The first time Jack asked her to read him a story goodnight Emily was honored. Plucking the thick carboard book from his shelf she settled in the small chair next to his bed, trying to imagine how Aaron looked, a giant hunched in tiny furniture. She did voices, made the characters come alive as she saw the shadow outside the door, Aaron, leaning against the doorframe, listening where he thought he was out of sight.
When she finished the story, she got up to leave, wishing Jack a sweet sleep.
“wait! Emmy!” he called.
“yeah kid.” She said, turning to smile at him from the doorway, Aaron in the hall with a soft smile.
“Can I have a kiss goodnight?”
“Sure” She said, crossing the room to lean and kiss his brow. She felt Aaron behind her, the same motion as he bent to kiss his son.
“Goodnight buddy” He whispered. “I love you.”
“I love you too daddy” he said, his eyes heavy with sleep.
As Aaron turned out the light.
“Emmy?” he said from the room, illuminated by the soft yellow glow of a nightlight.
Jack sighed, snuggling closer into his stuffed animal “I love you too.”
So, if I haven’t convinced you yet, that the love confession at the end of season 14 was supposed to be Hotchniss and not Jeid, here you go.
Who carried two guns?
Who taught Spencer that skill?
That was their OBVIOUS way of showing that Jeid was supposed to be Hotchniss. Even in a Jeid scene, Hotch makes his appearance.
It’s just like I mentioned before. Because TG was gone and they couldn’t make Hotchniss canon, the writers took some key and unique characteristics from their relationship to use as a foundation for Jeid.
This and the show/soap opera that Garcia talked to Emily about in 15x07 are only two of the many hints the CM crew threw at us during the last seasons.