"Thou who dost dwell and linger here below
Since the condition of this world is frail
Where of all plants afflictions soonest grow
If troubles overtake thee, do not wail
For who can look for lesse, that loveth life/strife?"
- George Herbert, The Water-course
Part I
It's been two weeks since Emily's funeral. The BAU team tries to adjust. Tries to cope. To function.
But they're broken to pieces.
/
Morgan rarely sits at the bullpen anymore. If he does, he'll keep expecting Prentiss to be there, two desks across from his, working on her paperwork. He'll expect to hear her occasional grumbles as she's filling out - as she used to fill out reports. When Morgan gets up to get some lunch, he'll start asking if she wants anything, and will stop dead when he remembers.
She's not there anymore.
No more of her witty remarks, her playful banter... her solid presence that, as Morgan only now comes to realize, gave him comfort.
Emily's not there, and Morgan can't stand being left behind. So he keeps to his small, windowless office, hiding behind bleak walls and trying not to think. Just to function.
He can't go on being the same person that he's been until fifteen days ago. His partner's not there anymore to have his back. When he's out of this gloomy office room, he's exposed. Alone in the field.
So he hides, and acts like somebody else.
Like someone who hasn't lost his Prentiss.
/
When Reid walks into the bullpen area every morning, he never looks at anywhere but his desk. Until he reaches it, his gaze doesn't waver, and it never, ever slides through Emily's (old) desk. He knows that it's empty. Seaver sits at the one across from it, but Emily's desk is unoccupied, untouched. A thin layer of dust now covers everything that's haphazarly left on it, because no one dares to touch the pieces she's left behind.
So Reid never looks at her desk, knowing that he won't be able to stand seeing someone else occupy it. He also knows that he needn't worry. That won't happen anytime soon.
But once he sits at his own corner, Reid does look up to see Hotch's shadowy silhouette behind the blinds of his office. Then, his eyes move sideways and make sure that Rossi's door is open. And he turns in on himself, but always, always, his gaze steers to Morgan's desk, just at his left, and it's empty.
And Reid swallows, watching the absence for a moment, and thinking, not a little angrily, that he wants an office as well.
Without Emily, he feels utterly alone.
Without Morgan, he feels utterly out of place.
Everyday since the funeral, he's considers asking for some time off. Everyday, he dismisses the idea, because he can't notwork.
So he does the only thing that he can: he doesn't read at lightening speed anymore. He takes on all the paperwork he can find, and he works through them. Everyday, he stretches it as long as he can.
And he lives like someone else, someone who can't read thousands of words in a minute.
Like someone who hasn't lost his Emily.
/
There hasn't been many instances in Agent Hotchner's life where he could not meet someone's gaze.
He doesn't make promises he can't keep. In those rare occasions when he lets someone down, he's still strong enough to meet their eyes. He lets them to see guilt, the regret, the sadness inside. He doesn't turn away. Doesn't hide.
The only person whom he'd been unable to look in the eye is Haley. Because Haley was the only person to whom he could let his weakness show. And because she could always profile him, better than he could profile anyone, no matter how weak or strong he was.
Haley's gone now. There's no one he can be weak around.
And yet he paces absently in his office, door closed, files in his hands, and he's alone, because mustering the courage to face someone hasn't been this difficult since Haley's gone. He avoids facing his team. He doesn't look at them when he speaks. And he hides behind the cover of grief; and feels all the more guilty for it.
Grief that he can spare his team from, but he won't.
He is strong enough to do this. He is strong enough to let them suffer.
That's why he remains alone.
/
When it's Seaver of all people to knock on his office door, Hotch breaths out a silent sigh of relief. He's used to keeping secrets. But none has been so close to the surface, trying so violently to be let out. He's afraid that if he meets his teammates' gaze, they'll see right through him.
When the trainee agent reluctantly enters his office late in the evening, Hotch looks up at her with his intense, unwavering gaze. Seaver's pain isn't comparable to theirs. It bothers Hotch little to keep the truth from her.
When she takes a seat across from his desk and asks to be transferred to another unit, he isn't surprised.
"May I ask why?" he still asks, watching her from under his deep frown. Seaver squints under his gaze.
"I've learned a lot during my time here, Sir," she replies steadily, but she's looking at anywhere but him. "It's just that - I figure Agent Rossi would be too busy to be my training agent."
It's a clumsy way of saying 'my training agent's dead and I can't ask the only other person who'd take over her role to do it.'
"I'm sure we can arrange something," Hotch offers, not particularly sure why he's bothering, but he does, anyway. "Teamwork is learned by training with a team; Morgan can help you out in the field and Reid can train you about profiling."
"I - I don't think that's a good idea," Seaver replies, shaking her head.
Keeping her under his intense stare for another long moment, Hotch finally nods. He knows why she's asking this. He knows that he can't fairly expect Morgan or Reid to turn their attention to training a cadet. And he knows that, caught in the midst of a grieving family, Seaver feels like she's intruding upon something private.
In a way, Hotch thinks, she is.
He nods, tells her that he'll take care of it, and dismisses her.
He hasn't seen any exceptional potential in Seaver. He hasn't seen the enthusiasm, or the will to be a part of this team. If he had, he would've kept her. Like he had kept Prentiss.
He remembers her application to join to team, such a long time ago. He had actually joked that she'd been waiting for his return in the office for the last four days. He remembers how she had thrown him her profile of the unsub in a pending case. How she had literally forced him to give her a chance.
He smiles at the memory.
If Prentiss were there, she could bring out a gem out of Seaver. But she isn't, and Hotch has no idea where she is.
With a sigh, he pulls out Seaver's personnel file, and writes himself a memo to ask Dave, Morgan and Reid to put in some words for her.
He tries not to think of absent comments, and the pain he'll see in his friends' eyes.
Hotch stays strong.
He remains himself.