Disclaimer: I own nothing; everything belongs to their rightful owners.
AN: Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read and/or review my stories, that really means the world to me! And a special thank you goes to my new beta reader, the wonderful greeneyedconstellations!
WARNING: maybe triggerish because of the theme (nothing graphic or detailed, just between the lines) / can be read as the sequel to "The Things We Hide"/ AaronHotchner&EmilyPrentiss&ClydeEaster/ dark&twisty
Beyond The Waves
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-"We All Have Stories We Won't Ever Tell."-
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II
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"Sir, there's a call from Washington, a woman from the FBI. She insists on speaking to Emily Prentiss."
Clyde Easter looks up from the table with a frown. "What's her name?"
"Penelope Garcia," his new assistant tells him from the doorframe. "I told her that there is no Emily Prentiss working for Interpol, but she won't listen. She's really persistent, sir."
"It's alright," Clyde says, already reaching for the phone on his desk. "Patch her through."
"Easter," he answers the call after the first ring, trying to remember which one of her team members this is. He knows it's the tech analyst the second he hears her voice.
"That's unbelievable! I told the woman I wanted to talk to Emily! I told her more than once. I thought Interpol only hired the best people? Obviously-"
"Why would you call Interpol if you want to talk to Emily?" Clyde cuts her off sharply, regrets taking the call already.
"Well, she's the one leading the London Gateway, right?"
Clyde frowns. Was this some sort of joke?
"I haven't talked to Emily in months. Not since she declined my offer."
"She declined your offer?" The woman on the other end echoes. "She's not leading the London office?"
"If she were, I wouldn't have to be-" Clyde stops himself midsentence, sitting up straight. "Why do you think she took my offer?"
"Because she told us so," the woman stammers. "I don't understand, I thought-" she keeps rambling on, something about packing boxes, but Clyde isn't paying attention anymore.
"When did she leave?" he asks instead, already on his way out the office.
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"What do you mean Emily isn't working for Interpol?" Aaron Hotchner asks disbelievingly from behind his desk. "Did she quit?"
"No," Garcia shakes her head. "She never started working for Interpol again in the first place."
Aaron frowns. That didn't make any sense.
"Are you sure this isn't just a misunderstanding?"
"Yes, Clyde Easter told me he hasn't heard a word from Emily in months, not since she declined his offer to take over the London office."
"I'm sure there is an explanation, Garcia."
"That's what I thought, but-" Garcia stops and Aaron doesn't like the way she's avoiding his eyes.
"I took Emily to the airport that day," she continues tentatively. "I know she didn't want me to, but I did it anyway. She checked in. She took the flight to London. I was there, I saw her. And yet Emily Prentiss wasn't on that plane."
Aaron grabs his pen a little tighter. "I don't understand. If she didn't take the flight to London, then where did she fly to? Is she still in D.C.?" Aaron tries to keep his voice down, but it's not working.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Reid and Morgan turn their heads toward his office.
"No," Garcia tells him and when she finally looks up to meet his gaze, he knows.
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I
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When she's dreaming, Emily Prentiss is dreaming about the ocean.
About the sparkling water on a sunny day, the churning waves under a stormy sky and the deep blue sea calling her home.
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Emily's running. Faster and faster, even though her whole body is begging her to stop. She knows she should stop or at least slow down, but she doesn't.
She can't.
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"I said this is our last session," Dr. Merill tells her with raised brows. "But it doesn't have to be goodbye. My door is always open."
Emily nods, smiles and has to fight to keep herself from rolling her eyes. As if she would consider coming back here on her own.
"Thank you," she answers. "But, I feel good. You know, ready."
Dr. Merill doesn't look convinced. "How are your nails? Are you sleeping?"
"I am," Emily nods. "It's been two weeks, I think, since the last dream."
"They may not have gone away completely." Dr. Merill states, and Emily tries to hide her annoyance. Maybe it had been a bad idea to come up with those dreams. But she had to tell her something.
"Correct me if I'm wrong… you never had a chance to mourn your own death, did you?"
Emily blinks. "I'm sorry, I don't understand the question."
"As part of protecting your identity, your team had to bury you," Dr. Merill explains. "They lost someone they loved. Maybe you did, too."
Emily almost laughs. Burying Emily Prentiss had been nothing but a relief. But of course she can't say that out loud.
"Think about it," Dr. Merill adds quietly, and Emily nods.
"I will."
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"I received Dr. Merill's evaluation," Aaron tells her the next morning. "I just wanted to review it with you."
"Here?" Emily sounds surprised, even when she isn't. She knew what was waiting for her when he told the others a different time for take off.
She sits down across from him, holds his gaze without blinking, reminds herself to nod and act just the way she's supposed to. She even offers him that flirty laugh she does so well and enjoys the way it makes him smile back at her.
She almost feels guilty for lying to him.
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"Why didn't you let me pull the trigger?" Regina Lampert asks, and Emily can feel her seeping rage from across the table. She can't blame her. Knows she would feel the same.
"Because you would be in prison," Emily answers. It's all she can tell her. After all, they're not alone.
"As opposed to where I am right now?" Regina scoffs. "I mean, while he gets a lawyer and a fair trial."
"He will never see the light of day, ever," Emily says, hopes it'll be true. But there's no guarantee.
"Can you guarantee that?" Regina spits as if reading her mind. "You know, when they talk about victims getting revictimized by the system, they mean you."
"I know it's hard-"
"No you don't! You have no idea what it's like when the monster from your nightmares comes back for you!"
For a second Emily doesn't dare to breathe, a vivid image flashing before her eyes. No, she doesn't. Not yet.
It's brief, but Regina's seen it.
"Wait-"
"Look," Emily swallows, tries to gather some control. "I'm here as a courtesy."
"Something happened to you," Regina whispers. It sounds like an accusation and somehow it is.
"So do you want to give me your statement or not?" Emily asks; hates the way her voice quivers. Tries to avoid the other woman's searching eyes.
"What did you do to him, huh?" Regina gives her an all-knowing smile. "Did you arrest him like a good FBI Agent? Or did you kill him?"
Emily takes a breath. Wishes she hadn't agreed to do this.
"I didn't pull the trigger," she answers; it's neither a lie nor the truth. It's the only answer she can give. The blinking red light from the camera in the room is a constant reminder that they're being watched.
Still," Regina drawls, her voice filled with disgust and a longing Emily wishes she weren't able to understand.
"Your monster's dead. I have to live with mine."
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When Emily leaves the interrogation room, Aaron is waiting for her.
"I'm fine," she states, before he has the chance to ask. "I'm fine."
She pushes the file into his hands without meeting his gaze and leaves.
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She's the first on the jet the next morning, watching the sun go up behind the clouds. Her chest hurts, and her eyes sting, and all she wants to do is leave Houston as soon as possible.
It's been a case like hundreds before and she's talked to victims like Regina Lampert a hundred times over. But nothing had pushed her this close to the edge before. Not since she was a teenager.
She can't explain the urge to tell the woman the truth. That if they'd been alone, she wouldn't have stopped her. That she understands. That she's not a good FBI agent, but a damn hypocrite.
But it wouldn't make a difference anyway, not to Regina at least.
"I'm having a bad day," she tells Aaron the moment he walks in on her.
He says nothing, only sits down across from her and Emily realizes he's not even surprised. He expected it.
She turns her head away, too afraid of what he might find in her eyes.
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II
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"You can't find her?"
"Sir, I'm sorry, I tried-"
"Well, try harder. If you can't come up with anything useful I suggest you start looking for a new job!"
With that Clyde hangs up, fighting the urge to crush the phone with his hands.
How was this even possible?
Of course he knew the answer to that. He'd been the one teaching her.
The real question was why.
There was only one person who could have helped her pull this off aside from him. Only one person who would have been willing enough to do this. And Clyde doesn't like the conclusion that comes with it. Emily must have been desperate to call in a favor, especially from Loic Marcou.
But there was no other explanation for her sudden disappearance and the fact that not even his people could find her.
She must have planned this for weeks, and he played right into her hands when he asked her to come home.
He tries to remember their last phone call, tries to remember her exact words, but all he remembers is his anger and disappointment when she declined his offer. The ping of jealousy when she told him her reason why. He let it go without considering the idea that she might have lied. He should have known. Should have known that it wasn't like her. That something was off.
But instead he allowed her to use his own feelings for her against him; to play him like a love-struck teenage boy.
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"Let me get this straight, Hotch: Emily never took Easter's offer even though she told us so?" Morgan looks angry.
Aaron nods. "Yes."
"But we helped her pack her things," JJ says. "I remember the address she told me to write on her moving boxes."
"It's a woman's shelter. Garcia checked it."
"But if she's not in London, where is she?" Reid cuts in from his place at the conference table.
Aaron stays quiet, not sure how to answer. There wasn't an answer.
"She went off the radar, that's what you're trying to tell us, isn't it, Aaron?"
Aaron looks up and meets Dave's gaze from across the room.
"That's not possible," Reid interferes. "It's been three months, there must be-"
"No kiddo," Dave interrupts, still looking at Aaron. "This is Emily we're talking about. If anyone knows how to disappear, it's her."
"But why would she do that?" Morgan asks.
"That's what we're trying to figure out," Aaron answers, and he knows he sounds just as tired as he feels. "Easter is on his way to Quantico. He helped us last time, maybe he can do it again."
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"I already told you, Clyde, I don't know where she is. I haven't talked to Emily in years."
"You helped her, Loic. You're the only one who could have done this besides me."
"I didn't, Clyde. And you're wasting your time."
With that, Loic Marcou gets up from his chair, and Clyde watches him walk to the bar to pour himself a drink.
"She lied to her friends at the BAU and she lied to me, so the only other person who could have helped her is you."
Loic shakes his head before he turns and walks over to the window.
"Emily was always a master at telling lies. She could manipulate everyone without so much as a blink. I've never met anyone like her. Not before and not after. It's the reason she worked for me, the reason you came to talk her into working for you, isn't it?"
Clyde just gives him a cold stare. "I never talked her into anything."
Loic chuckles. "I forgot. All it took was one look before she walked out of my office and straight into your bedroom."
"After all these years you're still pissed off because of that? Bloody hell, Loic, what are you, twelve?"
"Don't act so noble, Clyde. Our reasons are the same. She was my best asset, just like she was yours. Isn't that the reason you want her back in London so desperately? Isn't that the reason you came herebegging like a schoolboy? Why did she leave anyway? Can't have been because of that pathetic FBI job."
"Why don't you ask her yourself? You know where she is, don't you?"
Loic laughs, clearly amused with the whole situation.
"She knew someone would come asking. I wonder if she was talking about you."
The mocking look on Loic's face drives Clyde over the edge.
"I don't have the time for this," he growls and reaches forward to grab the collar of Loic's shirt.
"It's been months… she could be dead! Just tell me what you know!"
Loic doesn't look impressed.
"You're worried about her. Why?"
"Because not even my people can find her!"
"That doesn't explain why you're so worried," Loic frowns. And then he laughs.
"You love her," he drawls. "God, that's a first Clyde, isn't it?"
It's the last straw and instead of an actual answer Clyde throws his fist. Once, twice. He hears bones break, but he doesn't care. A second later he has a gun pressed against Loic's temple.
"Tell me where she is."
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"Do you think she's in trouble?"
Aaron looks up from his desk to find Dave standing in the doorframe to his office, looking just as worried as he feels.
"I don't know."
"It looks like she planned this," Dave shuts the door before he settles down on a chair. "It's not like the last time."
"No," Aaron shakes his head. "It's not."
"Is there a specific reason you're so worried?"
Aaron frowns. "You mean from the obvious?"
"There's something you're not telling us, Aaron. What is it?"
"Do you remember that case in LA we worked with Agent Cooper's team?"
Dave nods. "Sure."
"I pulled her out of the hotel pool that night."
"Emily?"
"She told me she slipped, something about hitting her head when she did. But I saw her get in on her own. For a while she was just floating on the water. And then she closed her eyes and-" he stops, swallows.
"I waited, but she didn't come back up."
"You think she tried to drown herself in a hotel pool?"
"I don't know what she tried to do, Dave," Aaron snaps. "But if I hadn't pulled her out-"
"This isn't just about a pool, is it?"
"No."
"You love her."
Aaron sighs, briefly wondering if it was worth the effort to deny it. It wasn't.
"I do," he admits tiredly.
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I
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When she's dreaming, Emily Prentiss is dreaming about the ocean.
About the salt on her lips, the wind in her ears and the ice cold water kissing her skin.
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They're in Minnesota. Their whole case is a mess, and once again Emily finds herself talking a victim out of killing the criminal.
She knows she needs to stop the girl from pulling the trigger, knows she has to, but before she has the time to do anything it's already too late.
The flight back to DC is awfully quiet.
Emily's sitting alone, staring out into the night. Wishing she could be somewhere else. She's disgusted with herself and her job and the whole world in particular. Can't stop asking herself what she's still doing here, why she decided to stay.
"Emily."
She looks up only to find Aaron sitting down across from her.
"I need to talk to you," he tells her. His voice is quiet but firm, his eyes unreadable. "Morgan told me you refused to handcuff Emilia Parker."
Emily bites her tongue. Of course. She should have known Morgan would tell him.
"He said you told him to do it himself if he thought it was the right thing to do."
"Look-" she starts and stops, shakes her head, feels the anger rise in her chest. "What if I did? Do you think that after everything she went through, the girl belongs into prison? Or worse, locked away in some facility?"
"That's not for us to decide, Emily."
"You're right, someone else will do it. Someone who has no idea what she feels, someone who has no idea what she went through. Someone who gets paid for making a decision that will ruin the rest of her life!"
"She did it herself, Emily. It was her own decision. No one forced her to pull the trigger."
"Do you really think that?"
"It doesn't matter what I think-"
"It matters to me!" It's out of her mouth before she can stop herself. What follows is a painful silence that makes her remember that they're not alone; that the rest of the team is listening from their seats.
"Is this about Doyle?"
Emily freezes. "I don't think I understand."
"I think you do." The way he's staring at her makes her uncomfortable.
"Hotch, I'm fine, really-"
"That wasn't my question, Emily. Is this about Doyle or not?"
His voice is gentle, but there's also a harsh undertone that makes clear that he won't let this go until he has an answer.
"Yes," she breathes. The lie falls from her lips with ease. "It's about Doyle."
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The call comes three days later.
She's not surprised. It's the reason she left her number, and still, she'd hoped she'd be wrong.
"By the time they found her she was already dead," Officer Wright tells her. "I'm sorry, Agent Prentiss."
Emily nods, even though she knows the other woman can't see her.
"What happened?"
With the phone still in her hand, Emily turns around. It's Reid, watching her from behind his desk…a frown growing on his face. "Are you alright?" His voice is laced with worry and Emily had never felt more tempted to tell the truth.
This should never have happened.
"Emilia Parker," she swallows. "She's dead."
"Dead? How?"
Emily doesn't answer. There's nothing to say anyway.
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It's raining. The sky over Washington is dark, the air sharp and crisp. Too cold for this time of year.
Emily's standing in front of the FBI building, the rain slowly soaking her clothes. She has no idea what time it is, no idea how long she's been standing there. All she knows is that she never really left. She can't stay, she knows. But she's not sure where else to go.
"Emily!"
There's a hand on her arm and she flinches. When she turns her head, she meets Aaron's gaze.
"It's raining," he tells her matter-of-factly, an umbrella in his hand, trying to shield them both. "What are you still doing here?"
She wants to answer, wants to tell him the truth. That she's tired of lying, tired of hiding. Tired of pretending. That this has nothing to do with Ian Doyle.
But she can't.
She won't.
"I'll drive you," he states, already taking the keys away from her.
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She's not sure why he walks her to her door, isn't sure why she lets him. But suddenly he's with her in the dimly lit hallway and his lips are on hers and she's tearing at his suit.
There's a voice in her head, telling her that it's wrong. That she shouldn't do this, that she shouldn't use him to make her feel something. But she's already gone too far to stop and when they sink down on her bed, she just pulls him closer until everything bursts into light.
She needs to forget.
And for a moment, one precious moment, she does.
.
When she wakes up it's still dark, their naked bodies tangled between the sheets.
Carefully, to not wake him up, Emily slips out of his arms. Wonders if he had this in mind when she overheard him talking to Rossi about being alone at home for the weekend because of some sleepover Jack went to.
She reaches for a spare blanket before she settles down on the couch next to the window, fighting against the urge to take a shower. Watching the rain for the rest of the night instead.
When he wakes up in the morning there's a hint of a smile on his face, his hand reaching over blindly, finding nothing but cold sheets.
Emily watches confusion cloud his features, watches him sit up until his eyes finally meet hers.
I'm sorry.
"You should go," she whispers hoarsely.
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II
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"There are four possibilities," Clyde starts, throwing a stack of papers on Aaron Hotchner's desk.
"Isabelle Leon, Catherine Wilson, Arianna DeLuca or Alina Abramov. It's possible she used them all; it's possible there's a fifth we don't know about. Every one of those women is completely different from the other and anything she's ever done before. Sadly that doesn't mean she can't do it."
"How can we be sure she used one of them?"
Clyde shrugs. "We can't. But it's all we have."
"Where did you get that information anyway?" Aaron Hotchner asks, reaching for one of the papers with a frown. "This is-" he stops. "Am I right in assuming that you didn't get this the official way?"
Clyde raises his brows. "It's not like she went undercover for them. She asked for a personal favor."
"And the CIA owed her one?"
"Her old boss did. But he would have done it either way. Emily knows how to get what she wants. But I'm sure you already know that."
It's meant as an insult, but to Clyde's surprise the FBI agent doesn't even seem to notice.
"Until now I hoped I was wrong," he says instead. "But this proves she planned it for a while."
"She played me too," Clyde admits after a moment. "It's what she does best. It's why I wanted her back in London."
"What did she tell you? When she declined your offer, what were her reasons?"
"She told me she wanted to stay because of you," Clyde answers and crosses his arms in front of his chest. "But I should have known better. The only thing she ever truly loved was her job."
"That's just what she does," Clyde adds when he catches the look on the other man's face. "When things get too close, she leaves. She's done it long before I met her and from what it looks like, she's still doing it."
"Did you ever ask her why?"
"No," Clyde shakes his head. "But I know the answer anyway. And so do you. It's the reason she left you and the reason she didn't come back to me."
The silence that follows proves Clyde right.
"You know," Aaron Hotchner tells him after a moment. "She told me the exact same thing she told you. She told me she wanted to go back to London because of you."
"She hoped we'd let her go."
"And it worked."
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I
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When she's dreaming, Emily Prentiss is dreaming about the ocean.
About her body floating on the water, her body set adrift under a midnight sky and the deep blue sea singing only for her.
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"It's not your fault."
It sounds like something out of a bad movie script, but what else can she tell him? Surely not the truth. Not anymore.
And it isn't his fault.
Aaron watches her carefully from behind his desk.
"It isn't yours either," he tells her gently.
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Beth.
How did she miss this?
Emily can't help but the stare at the dark haired woman a few feet away from her. She's talking to Jack, and it's obvious that the kid already likes her. And so must Aaron; otherwise he wouldn't have introduced her to his son in the first place. Emily knows she has no right to feel conned, yet she does.
"I have to go," she blurts without thinking.
JJ looks startled and so does Garcia.
"Now? But we just-"
"I know, I'm sorry. See you on Monday."
Before either of them has the chance to say anything, Emily's already on the way back to her car.
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"What happened between you and Hotch?"
Emily puts down her cup of coffee. "Excuse me?"
She looks over at JJ, sitting across from her in the conference room. JJ shakes her head, her blue eyes searching Emily's.
"Don't do that, don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about."
Emily reaches for her coffee, stops halfway. Her eyes fixed on the crime scene pictures laid out on the table between them.
It's not the right place, not the right time. It never is.
"Nothing happened," she answers, a lot harsher than she intends to. She can't do this, not right now.
"Why do you keep doing this, Emily? Why do you keep pushing us away?"
"I'm not-"
"What is it that you're so afraid of?"
"I'm not afraid," Emily snaps. "Stop profiling me."
JJ looks surprised. "Emily-" she starts, but Emily just reaches for her jacket and gets up.
"Tell Hotch I took a late lunch," she informs her dryly on her way out of the room.
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Unerringly, Emily makes her way through the darkness of the underground parking garage. It's silent, except for her heels on the pavement. With a skillful eye she avoids the cameras, easily melting into the shadows until she reaches the limousine, hidden behind a van.
"Emily," the man in the tailored designer suit greets her, as soon as she slips in the backseat next to him. "It's been a while."
He hands her a glass of Scotch, his green eyes fixed on her face. His pitch-black hair perfectly smoothed down on his head. The same handsome man he'd been a lifetime ago.
"I need your help, Loic," Emily starts. Her voice is firm, her gaze steady, while she takes the tumbler without hesitation. "You still owe me a favor."
Loic chuckles. "I remember," he drawls smugly. His voice is deep and husky, his eyes filled with a predatory lust.
Emily crosses her legs, allows her skirt to slide up a bit. She knows how to do this.
"I need you to get me a new life," she tells him; watches Loic grab his glass a little tighter.
"Are you in trouble?"
"I'm not running from the law, if that's what you're asking."
Loic watches her carefully. "When?"
"As soon as possible."
"There's something else," she adds after a brief pause. "I don't want you to know my new identity, either."
"Someone is looking for you."
Emily stares down at her glass. A sad smile passes her lips.
"I'm afraid someone will."
.
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II
.
"That's a painting, Garcia."
"Yes, it's from an artist in France. He spent the summer on a small island in Maine, and it's where he painted this."
"And?"
"Don't you see it? The woman on the painting? It's Emily!"
Aaron stares at the screen. It's a dark haired woman, standing on a cliff and watching the horizon. She looks peaceful. A familiar expression he has seen before.
He steps closer.
"It's just a painting, Garcia," Morgan starts. "This could be anyone."
"No," Aaron shakes his head.
"It's her," Easter agrees from his place in the doorframe.
"Did you talk to the artist? Is she still there?" Aaron turns around, watches Garcia nod.
"Yes, he told me she rents the summer house next to his. When he left two weeks ago, she was still there."
"What's her name, Garcia?"
"Leila. Leila Dupont. He-" she points at Easter, "was right about another identity."
"And now?" Reid asks from behind the conference table.
Aaron turns, meets Easter's gaze from across the room.
"Let's see which one of us can get a helicopter first."
.
.
I
.
When she's dreaming, Emily Prentiss is dreaming about the ocean.
About letting go, going under and not even trying to reach the surface ever again.
.
"Salut ma belle. Ca va?" Clyde greets her over the phone, making her feel ten years younger in the blink of an eye.
"Sorry I missed your funeral, by the way," he adds casually, as if talking about the weather. "I was held up in Prague."
"So you're not surprised," Emily smiles, relieved that despite everything she's done, he still doesn't hate her.
Clyde chuckles. "Of course not. Keeping tabs on my former assets is a particular skill of mine."
When he asks her to take over the London office, it's not just about work. It's about them. It's his way of asking her to come back home. To come back to him.
"You always had bad timing," she murmurs. Her eyes closed against the blinking sirens left and right.
"Oh, come on, Emily," he teases. "Don't you miss this?"
She does. Always has since the day she left. But if this proves anything, that even after all these years, even after everything she accused him of- nothing has changed.
They were still too close.
"Think about it."
"Yeah," Emily nods. Tears burning behind her eyelids. "I will."
.
"Emily!"
She blinks. Aaron is still shouting her name over the earpiece, his voice getting more strained by the second. "Damn it, Emily! Talk to me!"
"You should probably answer that," Will mumbles somewhere to her right. Breathless, but alive.
She nods but says nothing, only reaches for something to pull herself back to her feet. She makes a few unsteady steps forward before she stops: suddenly not sure where to go.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spots the bomb squad move in, closely followed by Hotch. It takes her only one look to know he's furious.
"What were you thinking?" he blurts. He comes to a sudden halt in front of her and the moment he does, she sees she's been wrong after all. He isn't furious, and Emily feels lightheaded all of a sudden. He's standing too close and yet, he's still not close enough.
She draws back, stops when she hits the wall. The room is spinning dangerously and everything, everything, just hurts.
"Emily?" He sounds just as tense as she feels, and all she wants to do is run, but she's barely able to hold herself upright.
How did they end up here? When did everything become so messed up?
With tears blurring her vision, Emily watches as he moves closer. Slowly, step by step, leaving her the chance to escape. But she can't. Doesn't want to. And then there's just no space between them.
She reaches forward by instinct, her fingers curling around his forearm in an attempt to gather some control. She's holding on so tightly she's sure she'll leave bruises, but he doesn't even utter a word.
She feels herself slip away, her body begging her to stop fighting. Exhaustion and all those things locked away screaming to be heard. She closes her eyes against the dizziness and then her face is against his chest, and his arms are around her waist to keep her from falling. His body steadying her with his, shielding her from anyone who might be watching them.
"I got you," she hears him whisper. His voice warm and soft and full of everything she never even knew she longed to hear.
But she does.
"I got you, Emily."
.
"Why did you do it?"
"Because it's my job."
"You're working for the bomb squad, too? No wonder you're too busy to have a private life."
Emily can't help but laugh, winces at the slight pain in her chest when she does. Rossi frowns.
"Do you need something?" he asks her from where he's sitting next to her on a chair in the hospital hallway.
"No," Emily shakes her head. "I'm good."
"So why did you do it? Why didn't you run like most people would have?"
"I'm not most people."
"No," Rossi nods. "You aren't. Doesn't answer my question through."
"That's why," Emily whispers, her eyes fixed on the sight in front of her. Will, Henry and JJ, asleep in each other's arms on the small hospital bed. "He didn't deserve to die."
Rossi gets quiet, and Emily closes her eyes against the glaring light from the ceiling.
.
She doesn't want to go to the wedding, but of course she has to. She buys herself a dress that's so unlike her it's easy to pretend it's not her at all when she steps out of her car in front of Rossi's mansion.
Emily smiles and laughs and acts just like she's supposed to. She dances with Reid and Rossi and Morgan. Allows them to sway her over the dance floor with ease. And for a while she thinks that maybe she doesn't have to leave, that maybe somehow things could go back to how they were. That she could go back to how she was.
She knows she's only lying to herself when she finds herself dancing with Aaron.
She tries to tell herself that it's just another dance…that she danced with the others too. But it's not true. It's different, and the way he's holding her shows that he knows that too. There is no pretending anymore.
She can't stay.
And this, this is goodbye.
.
.
II
.
It's a beautiful day in the middle of October; the cloudless sky turned an icy blue. The ocean lying right in front of her, sparkling like diamonds in the bright morning sun.
She is sitting on the steps of the front porch, listening to the soft murmur of the waves and the lonely cry of a seagull. The beach is empty, the last summer guest long gone. Her timber cottage the only one not locked up for the winter season yet.
Shivering, she pulls her cardigan closer around her body before she gets to her feet and makes her way down to the water. Her eyes searching the horizon. Looking for the first signs of a storm.
Maybe today, she thinks.
Maybe today.
.
.
I
.
When she's dreaming, Emily Prentiss is dreaming about the ocean.
And sometimes, sometimes she wishes that all those dreams would come true.
.
"You wanted to leave since you came back, didn't you?"
Emily jumps. Startled, she turns around. Surprised when she finds Aaron sitting on the couch next to the window.
"What are you doing here?" she asks. "It's the middle of the night."
"I could ask you the same."
"I just-" she stares down at the piece of paper in her hand, her badge and her gun in the other. "I just wanted-"
"You wanted to leave without even saying goodbye?" he cuts her off sharply.
"No, of course not. I-" She closes her eyes and puts her things down on his desk. Nothing will make this any easier.
"Is this about Easter?" Aaron wonders. "Are you going back to London because of him?"
She shakes her head, but then she nods. It might be enough to keep him from reaching out to her. It's for the best.
"Beth seems nice," she tells him, her eyes finding his in the dimly lit room. "Jack likes her too, doesn't he?"
"She's not you."
There's so much sadness in his voice, she wishes things could be different. Wishes she could be different. But she's damaged at best, too broken to be what he needs. And she can't.
"That's the point, Aaron."
She doesn't dare to look back on her way out.
.
"What's the matter with you? This is an opportunity you only get once in your life, and you're telling me you don't want it? Bloody hell, Em!"
Emily knew Clyde wouldn't understand, but she didn't expect him to get angry.
"I'm sorry, Clyde."
And she is. For betraying him, for leaving. For every lie she ever told. For being the way she is. She just hopes that one day he might be able to forgive her.
"It's about him, am I right, darling? You want to stay because of him, Aaron Hotchner, your boss."
"Clyde-" Emily starts and stops. Thinks that maybe it's better this way. Even when it's just another lie.
"Yeah," she tells him after a brief pause. "Yeah, Clyde, it's because of him."
She hangs up without waiting for his reply. Afraid the tears in her voice might give her away after all.
.
Emily isn't surprised when Garcia shows up on her doorstep the morning she leaves. She knew she would. And Emily's glad, knows how important it is that someone watches her board.
It'll give her time.
But lying to Garcia feels different now, and when Garcia bends forward to hug her one last time, Emily has tears in her eyes.
She wants to tell her how sorry she is, for being such a horrible friend, but it's too much of a risk.
.
She's Isabelle Leon when she boards the plane to London. Becomes Anna Wagner before she takes the train to Germany to get her money; along with an unregistered gun and another identity from a safe deposit box she kept hidden for over a decade.
She's Alina Abramanov from the moment she charters a private jet to the States and until she steps off of a bus in Maine.
It's a sunny morning when she leaves the mainland behind, standing on a ferry, surrounded by the sea. Her name is Leila.
Leila Dupont.
.
"How long do you plan to stay?" The old man asks, studies her carefully above his glasses.
"I don't know yet. But I can pay a couple of months beforehand."
The man shakes his head. "That's not what I meant. Those cottages aren't built for the winter season. You have to move inland as soon as the weather changes."
"When will that be?"
"Difficult to say… the end of September maybe."
She gives him a warm smile.
"I don't plan on staying that long anyway."
.
A knock on her front door makes her jump.
"Leila?"
It's Matheo, the French artist from the house next door.
"Are you there?" he calls. "Leila?"
She stops, her hand still around the handle of her gun. Her eyes find her own reflection in the mirror above the drawer.
"Leila?"
She closes her eyes. Takes a breath.
"I'm on my way," she calls in the direction of the door. Lowers her gun slowly.
Not today, she thinks.
Just not today.
.
.
II
.
It's freezing, the wind rattling against the shutters, seeping in through the cracks between the wood. There's a fire in the hearth, but it's barely enough to keep the kitchen warm.
Emily's standing behind the window watching the rain.
It's time.
.
It's raining, the sky starless and dark. There's an angry wind tearing at her clothes.
Emily's walking down the shore, her dark hair plastered to her face. Her eyes searching the horizon.
It's such a beautiful night.
She steps forward once, twice. Feels the freezing water soak through her clothes. She's walking further and further out into the ocean, nothing but the churning waves around her.
She's walking until the ground disappears from under her, keeps walking until she's floating. Carried away by the roaring sea.
She doesn't fight when the water closes above her head. She just smiles.
Hopes that beyond the waves she'll find peace.
.
There's a voice. And another one.
She feels numb and cold and hot and sick. Her head hurts and so does her chest. Every breath more painful than the other. There's a fire burning in her lungs and something is very, very wrong. She coughs, seawater spilling from her mouth.
There are hands on her arms. Someone keeps calling her name.
Emily.
She's fighting, pushing against whoever is trying to hold her still. She doesn't want this. And she doesn't want to be Emily either.
"I'm not Emily," she croaks.
There's a strange sound, it's not because of the storm, and it takes her a while to realize it must be a helicopter.
Of course.
She laughs and coughs and chokes. If she had the strength, she would scream.
"Let me go," she whispers instead. "Just let me go."
.
She wakes up to the sound of a heart monitor.
She blinks, fights against the burning pain, and tries to open her eyes. She finds herself in a hospital room, surrounded by white walls. It takes her a moment to realize she's not alone.
Clyde is leaning against the window, staring out into the rain. His shirt rumpled, his jeans stained with sand. His blue eyes tired and hollow when she meets his gaze in the reflection of the windowpane.
"Welcome back," he tells her quietly. He looks worn, like he hasn't slept in a month.
Emily watches as he turns around, his eyes never leaving hers while he settles down on the bed next to her. His hand slowly reaching for hers.
.
The next time Emily opens her eyes; the room is dark…the only light coming from the monitors to her left and right.
When her eyes have adjusted to the darkness, she finds Aaron leaning against the doorframe. He's wearing his usual office suit, but rumpled and coated with sand. His tie missing, his dark eyes filled with concern.
He looks just as tired as Clyde had, and she wonders how much time has passed. He looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn't. Instead he comes closer, his hand carefully reaching for hers.
.
When she wakes up in the morning, sunlight streaming through the blinds, she's alone.
.
.
III
.
He hears her voice long before he reaches her hospital room.
"I said I'm leaving, so please do me a favor and get out of my way."
"You can't just leave, Miss-"
"You won't stop me."
"Miss-"
"What's going on here?" Aaron stops in the doorframe, shoving his phone back in his jacket.
Emily's standing next to the bed, fully dressed in the clothes JJ had bought over. The nurse is in front of her, trying to get her to lie back down.
"She insists on being discharged," the nurse tells him, clearly annoyed with the whole situation. "I'll just get a doctor."
Aaron nods, waits until she's gone.
"What are you doing, Emily?"
"I'm leaving," she tells him matter-of-factly, reaching for a black coat at the end of the bed.
"Emily-"
"Don't Emily me!" She looks back at him, and Aaron thinks he's never seen her so broken before.
.
Clyde stops in the doorframe to her hospital room, his phone still pressed against his ear.
"I'll call you back-" he says. "What's going on here?" he adds, pushing his phone back into his leather jacket.
"You-" Emily glares at him from across the room. Her dark eyes glistening in the light. "You had no right to do this! What did you do to figure it out? Did you threaten Loic?"
Clyde offers her a tired smile. "What did you expect?" he asks her quietly. His blue eyes find hers, and he thinks he's never seen her look so fragile.
.
"She won't get far," Aaron states. His eyes following Emily down the hallway.
Easter shakes his head, looking just as exhausted as he feels.
"No, she won't."
.
She's standing in front of the hospital, her hands buried deep in the pockets of JJ's coat. It's freezing, the night sky filled with stars.
There's nowhere to go.
The ocean just out of reach.
.
She finds them where she left them: Aaron standing in front of the window and Clyde leaning with his back against the wall.
Waiting.
She meets their gaze from across the room, and she can see it written in their eyes.
There's no point hiding.
They already know.
.
"I need to tell you something," she states quietly.
.
.
.
Disclaimer: I own nothing; everything belongs to their rightful owners.