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The Phoenix And The Rocket

Chapter 3

Part 1

Part 2

Again thank you for the love <3 this got away from me and the word count is 3k exactly.

Emily Prentiss, at the insistent of her therapist, signs up for a trauma bonding site. She never expected that her trauma bond would connect her back to her old boss and the man she’s been in love with for over ten years.

Also the man that she’s absolutely furious at for leaving.

Read below the cut

It’s Aaron’s turn to ghost his Trauma Buddy.

Aaron doesn't reply after that ominous message. He physically couldn't because as he types a reply, brow furrowed and confusion evident on his face, Jack yells out at the top of his lungs and a loud clatter quickly follows.

He takes the stairs two at a time, his hand twitching at his ankle, feeling for a gun that's no longer there. His son is lying on the tiled floor of the bathroom, groaning in pain.

"I slipped" Jack moans, scrunched in pain. "As I got out. My arm-."

"Oh buddy" Aaron sighs, partly in relief but mostly sympathy. He sinks down to his knees, gingerly pushing Jack into a sitting position. He watches Jack wince and hiss in pain at any attempt of moving his left arm. Aaron cringes at the awkward angle the elbow is at. "Yeah that looks broken." He shakes his head and stands. "C'mon we'll get you dressed and take you to the emergency room."

He does just that, spending hours in A&E as Jack got seen too, the computer blinking forgotten with Phoenix's last message going ignored.

He leads Jack back in around 4am, cursing the higher ups for the trivial paperwork of medical insurance while simultaneously thanking the FBI retirement plan for his incredible insurance. His computer had died while he was out and he snaps it shut, putting it in his case without a second thought.

Jack uses his right hand to drink water, he inherited his left hand dominance from his father, with a grimace.

"I hate that shower" He croaks in the dark of the living room. Aaron chuckles and nods in agreement. "I hate this goddam house."

"Ma- Jack." He admonishes quietly.

It's been a argumentative point between them. Ever since Jack overheard Uncle Dave's phone call announcing the end of Scratch, he had been resistant. He barely responded to his false name, never from his father, He complained about their old house and begged on the regular to move back to Arlington, Virginia to be closer to his late mother's sister.

To a degree, Aaron had to agree with him. Their house was awful. It was old, practically falling apart, and rickety. Last year, Aaron himself took a tumble down the stairs and sprained his ankle. It fit with their cover - Frank and his son Max moved to Colorado after his wife and mother skipped town to marry a richer man. Frank was supposed to be a simple tradesman, working from wage slip to wage slip.

He hated the house too. However, he cannot and will not be able to go back to his old life. Not like Jack thinks he can.

Not like She did.

"Whatever" Jack says, stopping a brewing argument. "I'm tired dad."

"I can help you to be-"

"I didn't break my legs" Jack snipes back, his exhaustion and teenaged frustration at the world making him lash out. He apologises softly before walking away and up the stairs. He trips on the bottom step, a loud curse exiting his lips, making Aaron squeeze his eyes shut. Jack growls under his breath, slapping his hand on the handrail, before stomping off.

Aaron watches him go with just his eyes, following the figure of his son up the stairs. His eyes still move up even after Jack leaves the landing and finish on the ceiling.

"Oh Haley" He breathes out. "I'm sorry." He clears his throat and shakes his head. "I don't know what to do."

The wind picks up, alerting him to the open window. He curses himself for his foolishness, his time away from the FBI making him sloppy. Jack's bag tips over and college flyers and pamphlets fly out. He frowns at the sight, his 16 year old growing up far to fast for his opinion. Aaron rushes over to clean the mess, fumbling in the dark, until one makes him pause.

A flyer for the FBI academy.

Quantico in big block yellow letters.

The flyer mentions specific departments on the front. White Collar, Counter-Terrorism, The numerous International Units.

And the BAU.

Aaron raises his eyes to the window, a scowl on his face. "You think you're funny huh?" He teases the imaginary woman. There is no response from the window, making him roll his eyes. He stuffs the papers back in his son's backpack but leaves that specific one out.

Now he's got a decision to make on his hands that he really doesn't want to have to make.

~>~

Emily scribbles her signature on Matt's latest report, slamming it down on her pile of paperwork she's angrily completing.

She was annoyed.

She's always annoyed sitting in that seat for one reason or another. Whether it was because Luke decided he was a comedic genius and she was his prime target audience. Spencer and his ability to rattle off a statistic or fact that has her inadvertently annoyed and insecure. The girls and their probing questions about her nonexistent love life and (moderately healthy thank you very much) sex life. Or Dave.

Just Dave.

The only one who doesn't piss her off is Matt and that's because he's never fucking there since he went part time.

But she was actually annoyed at herself this time. Rocket hasn't replied to her in two weeks. In fairness, she left him on delivered for a week. But two? And he left her on read.

So now, rationally, she's concluded that her ominous message means that she's spooked her new Trauma Buddy.

Because for some reason, Emila Maria Prentiss is incapable of making friends that aren't forced to be with her for extended periods of time in a work setting.

Now, that means she's gotta work up the courage to message a new person but no one is as quite as intriguing as Rocket and he was very friendly to her, even after she ghosted him and asked him a rather invasive question that she herself would have found offensive to if asked.

So yeah, She was annoyed at herself.

So much so that she was literally pouting at work all day. Her frostiness had made Luke retreat away from his attempt at comedy, Spencer had left her alone (after she snapped at him and gave him more paperwork that is). She also snapped at JJ who gave it right back to her and told her to calm the hell down. Luckily for them, Tara and Matt are in the field helping another department and Penelope hasn't left the lair to encounter her yet.

Dave's still being an asshole but for different reasons than simply being a pain in her ass for amusement.

"Emily." The old man sung from her doorway, mischievous glee in his tone. "I'm sorrryy."

"Dave, You went and goaded an unsub" She rolled her eyes, glaring at him. "To the point where you forced Tara's hand in shooting him. We had him"

"He wanted to go out by Cop" Dave was indifferent to her attitude. "He was going to do whatever it takes, I just sped up the process."

"YOU SHOULDN'T-" Emily began to yell at the top of her lungs, making heads turn towards her off. She cut herself off with a deep breath, shaking her hair out of her face.

Dave just stares at her, unfazed by her yelling. He actually smirks at her, making her grip on her pen tighten and her knuckles turn white. "Yes ma'am" He mocks back before slinking away. Just in time too, because she hurls the same pen where he was stood, just missing Tara too.

The other woman whistles as she drops a fresh mug of coffee on her friends desk. "Damn" She states, going to shut the door. Emily tuts in a sort of agreement. She's beginning to acknowledge that her self loathing episode is starting to project onto her team and somehow hates herself even more for it. Tara looks at her seriously, perching on the corner of her desk.

"Don't ask it-"Emily begins miliseconds after the coffee falls down her throat.

"When's the last time you got laid?" Tara cuts her off. Emily groans and turns her chair away but her friend wasn't finished. "Seriously, I'm in the middle of a divorce and think i've got more action than you."

"Haha" Emily offers back sarcastically over her shoulder. "I don't know like...a couple months ago I went out after Andrew and I-"

"DAMN"

"GARCIA" Emily hollers, jumping in surprise. The door opens and a guilty Penelope shuffles in. She pauses midway and turns to look to her left. Emily pinches the bridge of her nose and grits her teeth. "That better be fucking JJ and not Luke." She practically growls out.

"Ew" Penelope spits back, face scrunching at the thought she'd be scheming with The Newbie Who's Not Morgan. Tara laughs behind her own mug as JJ pops her head in with a goofy grin.

"It's meeeee" JJ sang, stepping in. She was apparently over the little spat they had earlier in the day. "And we couldn't help but over hear-"

"Don't start" Emily groans again.

"Em" Penelope starts, softer than the other twos teasing tones. "C'mon you've acted off all day."

"Not because I need to get laid" Emily insists. "I'm fine."

Instantly all three of them make exclaims. Emily rolls her eyes as they begin mocking her. It seems to be like a trigger word for them because every time she insists on it, they mock her and make points as to why she was, in fact, not fine.

"Anyway, I smell girls night" Tara ceases her mocking first, somehow, and smiles. "Where are we going? There's a new Irish bar-"

"No Irish Bars" All three other ladies suddenly cut her off. She furrows her brows but relents when JJ points at their boss with wide eyes. Tara winces and remembers the story that spread around their workplace like wildfire.

Emily's chest burns with the silence after that. Penelope and JJ don't like going to any Irish Bars with her anymore, not after spotting the 4 leaf clover on her chest during their first hot tub party since she rose from the ashes. Especially not after she got drunk on tequila and started rambling about how the bar they were in was like the one where she met her demon for the first time.

"Let's just go to Murphys sports bar"'Emily sighs after a few seconds.

“You mean the one that's literally on the corner of your street?" Penelope asks, deadpan. Emily gaze was hard.

“Yes” Emily blinks, unwavering

And that conversation is the reason she stumbles in her own apartment, alone, at 2am with lovebite on her neck from a man who's name she can't remember. That's all she has to show for that too. A stupid fucking love bite.

JJ went home around 10pm, relatively sober. Emily was still nursing a lemonade at that time. She went home because Michael had a nightmare and was screaming for his mother and Henry had thrown up. Will called her to tell her he had it handled but not to worry and that he loves her so she left straight away. Emily watched her go, sadly, remembering nights when JJ could stay out all night with her and Penelope. She was glad (maybe a little jealous) and also hurt that JJ had something waiting for her at home.

Penelope was next to leave, a phonecall from Derek (that Emily had taken over) telling them that Savannah had a medical emergency and they had to go to the hospital and asking her if she could watch Hank.

Emily can honestly say she's never seen her friend move faster in her life.

Eventually, Tara got off with some random girl she picked up at the bar while Emily cornered a good looking man who was about ten years younger than her and had been eyeing her up at the bar the entire night.

They fool around in the bathroom until her stupid badge falls out of her purse and the man stammers out some lame excuse and jumps off. She sighs and leans down to scoop up her badge and found a bag of weed right next to it.

So she stomps off home; grumpy, drunk, sad unsatisfied and alone.

It hits her as she settles in bed that her low feelings came from an internet stranger who she had spoken to twice.

"Fucking HELL" Emily blurts out, slapping the covers and lying on her back. She stared up at the ceiling, scowling.

What was wrong with her lately?

Sergio hisses on the pillow next to her at her yell before trotting over to his mom and laying on her chest, uncaringly. "Whaddya want?" She asks, scratching his head. "Little Shit" She says to him, lovingly. The cat purrs at the scratch before suddenly pouncing off.

She watches through the crack of her door as Sergio eyes the laptop on her work/dining table. It's on charge, the wire snaking down to the floor. Emily swears to a God she's unsure she believes in that the cat looks at the wire, looks back at her and proceeds to attack it mercilessly. She yells his name far too loud for near 3am and darts across the apartment to save her laptop. She catches him and the device before it falls on the floor.

"Bad cat" She admonishes, resorting to putting him in his crate. "Go to sleep." She snaps as if he could understand her. She turns back to the half open computer with a sigh and begins to push it down.

PING.

"Oh you are-" Emily begins, narrowing her eyes. The alcohol gets to her, because she turns and stares suspiciously at her cat who's looking like he's plotting her downfall. "Are you psychic?" She asks, hesitantly reaching to open the laptop.

It was an Email from Linda Barnes, the new section chief.

Emily deletes it without even reading it, rolling her eyes and pads to the kitchen to grab some water for the morning.

And then she returns right back to the computer. In the morning, she'll sit and think about the fact that she's been (moderately) drunk each time she's spoken to Rocket and reevaluate that aspect with her therapist. Right now though, the alcohol has given her enough courage to restart the conversation.

PhoenixPren : Hey so I've been thinking about it

She types without really thinking.

PhoenixPren : And I've had a bit to drink.

A bit is an understatement if we're being honest now.

PhoenixPren : And I would like to be Trauma Buddies. I don't really have anyone to talk to about all of this.

She thinks back to earlier in the day when Tara innocently suggested an Irish Bar and her friends practically froze at the idea.

They don't talk about it, never did. Derek's gone and even if he was here he wouldn't be up for discussing it. Dave tries but doesn't execute it well, Spencer looks at her with sad eyes that make her feel fucking sick, and the others simply weren't there.

The only one who she could talk about it with left her in the dust.

PhoenixPren : I have a whole lot baggage from my teen years and youth but that's a story for another day.

Hell, she could write a whole post on this stupid site about her mother alone.

She takes a deep breath, wondering how to phrase 'I was in a special unit and employed to sleep with and almost marry an Irish terrorist who i then faked the death of his son and he escaped a NK prison to target me and I had to fake my own death'.

Eventually she spins a tale about a doomed, abusive relationship and an ex boyfriend who tried to kill her. She mentions witness protection, figuring that it might help Rocket too, to find someone who can relate, but that's the extent of it, leaving out the messiness of Declan and JTF-12.

When she's finished typing, she's crying. A huge weight feels like it's been lifted of her shoulders after she trauma dumped on this poor stranger who probably expected something a lot smaller than that.

With the listlessness comes the guilt. That was a lot to read, even for her, So she types out a final message.

PhoenixPren : I know that's a lot and it's okay if you don't want to respond. Thank you for giving me an opportunity to expel all that. It's been over ten years and I haven't discussed it with anyone in detail.

Not even her therapist. It's a lot more intimidating when you're sitting on a leather couch across from a woman with a clipboard and a power suit staring at you through thin glasses and a tight bun.

Huh. Now she understands the site.

Emily let's out a shaky breath, a sob and swallows thickly. She remembers that Rocket is in Colorado so it's only Midnight for him while it's near 3am for her. She drags herself to bed, somehow feeling lighter than she had in years yet heavier than normal, and face plants the pillow.

Sergio howls in his cage and she rolls her eyes and pushes herself up to grab him, He'll just howl all night if he has to.

The laptop pings again as she's padding on her hardwood floor.

"I swear to God if that's Lind-" She begins her threat to mid air, leaning over the laptop.

RocketRacoon : Thank you for sharing. I'm honoured to be your Trauma Buddy, You certainly have lived through a lot. Thank you, Phoenix. Have a good night :)

Emily's crying again reading her buddies sweet message. She resolves that she's too drunk to respond appropriately and heads to bed. Sergio gets in one last hiss to the laptop but settles down when Emily shuts the door.

She kisses his head and almost instantly succumbs to sleep.

As always : OG prompt came from @lonelychicagos

Taglist : @84hotpockets @serqueljisbon @loriprentiss @velvetblackness

If you want to added or removed to the taglist, shoot me a dm ❤️

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