TITLE: Brave In Season
RATING: FRT
CHARACTER: E. Prentiss / A. Hotchner
SUMMARY: He wanted to watch me deteriorate, just like you said.
WARNINGS: SPOILERS for most of Season Five but if you haven't seen any of the episodes with the Reaper, you're probably going to be lost anyway. Brief mention of 4.17 - Demonology, nothing really spoilery though. Character death. Violence, but nothing graphic.
NOTES: It's been a while since I've posted anything so it's a shame that this is all I have to offer you. But since I heard the news of the fuckery going on over at CBS, inspiration has been a little...slow. This is a dark little drabble I came up with while I was eating a turkey sandwich, so I hope it doesn't suck as much as I think it does. It takes place after Haley and Jack go into hiding but before Haley gets killed. The line at the end is a nod toward The Pirates of Penzance, which was the play audition where Hotch said he met Haley. The quote at the end is a song by 8stops7 called "Question Everything," which just happened to be playing on my laptop while I was writing this, and it just seemed to fit. It's a great song, I recommend it. The title is from a poem by AE Housman.
Tick, tick, tick, tick
He hears the clock on the wall, over her shoulder, and marvels at how quiet the room has become. Just a moment ago, with Prentiss standing a few feet away and him on his knees, she was trying to convince him all along that this was a bad idea. The concern on her face belied her words and that cool, steady tone. Her hands went up defensively the second she saw the flash of a gun barrel, and Hotchner smiled then. Her instincts never ceased, no matter the circumstances. That's the reason he'll call her in the middle of the night, instead of Reid or Morgan, and he'll tell her that he can't breathe; the nightmares are stifling. And that's the reason why she won't hesitate to go to him, reciting what to say on the drive over, knowing it won't be nearly enough.
"Hotch," she says now, "where are your clothes?"
He has the gun pressed waveringly against his head when he looks down and notices for the first time, perhaps, that he's completely naked. The glare from his bathroom light is shining against his abdomen, reflecting the silver scar Foyet branded into the pale flesh. Hotch looks back up at Emily, and the hand with the weapon trembles slightly. He hears her draw in a breath and flinch instinctively, and this causes him to break into another grin, one full of madness and maybe even longing.
Hotch shrugs and finally answers her question, "In the wash."
His voice sounds like gravel in a blender, but he says it so candidly that she almost thinks he's joking. Then she sees his index finger play slightly over the trigger, and she remembers that he's not.
"What about Haley? Jack? Is this what they would want?"
He's angry now, upset with her for bringing them into this. Haley and Jack are gone, what difference does it make? His hand grips the shiny Glock and then aims it at the timepiece on the wall, firing all nine rounds into its blank face, so close to Emily's right ear that bits of plaster and glass get caught in her hair. He sees those instincts kick into overdrive as she jumps out of the way and hits the ground with her hands shielding her head from any more flying debri.
"Aaron, what the fuck are you doing?" she screams into the floor as the ringing in her ear subsides, barely enough for her to hear his sad tone.
"You don't need to mention them," Emily hears him say, surprisingly calm, and then she hears the unmistakable click, click of him reloading his weapon. He's going to shoot me in the back of the head. He's lost it. Emily slowly rises to her knees and is almost relieved to find that he has the gun trained back on his own head, not hers. His face is damp with tears, but his words aren't.
"He wanted to watch me deteriorate, just like you said."
His voice is low and haunted, and it reminds Emily of a walk she took once in the cold, stopping outside a chapel to ask for guidance with a bloody nose and an old photograph. His inflection reminds her of that night so clearly, as frozen as the ice crunching beneath her feet.
"Hotch- I told you, that's not what I meant. We all know you're stronger than that."
Her knees are really starting to kill her now, but still she doesn't falter. His face softens and for a moment, she thinks she's won. Emily eyes the pistol jammed against his left temple. It's no longer flutttering with his anxiety, in fact, she can't remember the last time he looked this steady and focused.
"Not like Haley," he says without even a hint of emotion, and after pausing to cock the gun, "she's fierce."
Emily can barely get Hotch, no! out of her mouth before he straightens his back like a soldier preparing for war, and he pulls the trigger, his blood splattering across her blouse and face like some Greek tragedy, or a battle amidst pirates.
So forgive me if I come off sounding bitter, if my words push you away, if I seem surprised to see you lying here, in front of me. Just consider what you're asking, and give me a little time. Because I'm still having trouble breathing, for in all these days I've never seen you cry.
- 8stops7
THE END