A/N: This story is a sequel to my story The darkest hour, but you don't need to read that story first to understand what happens here. This is my version of Emily's bad day (7x12, Unknown Subject) and how Hotch helps her to get through it. Her one sentence I'm having a bad day at the end of the episode wasn't nearly enough to handle the subject appropriately (at least if you ask me, and perhaps you share my opinion).

Spoilers for 7x01, 7x12 and the Foyet/Doyle story arcs in seasons five and six. Will be a TWOSHOT. This chapter is about Emily and her inner fight. I wanted to show that it takes a lot to break her and make her admit that she is having a bad day. So, just in case you miss him – don't worry, Hotch will be in the next chapter.

No classical H/P romance but since this is about their strong emotional bond, shippers and non-shippers will be able to interpret what happens as preferred.

I hope the story will be as emotional for you to read as it was for me to write. Reviews are VERY appreciated. I am still licking my wounds after the finale and need some encouragement.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Criminal Minds and the dialogue I quote from 7x12 (Unknown Subject) belong to CBS.


Wherever you're standing, I'll be by your side

Through the good, through the bad, I'll never be hard to find

Emeli Sande


There is a screaming wind outside accompanied by heavy rain and a thunderstorm. It is late, past midnight, and the BAU team is stuck in a hotel in the middle of nowhere after their latest case. It wasn't under consideration to fly back home because of the bad weather.

Her hotel room is clean and tidy. Nonetheless, she would prefer not having to kneel in front of the toilet in this strange place. It is the third time in a row that she has to throw up even though there is nothing left in her stomach. By this time, bile is burning in her throat.

It's not the food; she hasn't upset her stomach. The other team members met by early evening to have dinner together and make the best of the situation. She skipped the meal, though, just as she already had skipped lunch. And she isn't pregnant either, almost has to laugh cynically when this bitter thought crosses her mind fleetingly. At this time of her life, a pregnancy would be a biological impossibility. There is no significant other. No, the explanation for her sickness is as simple as devastating – the events of the day made her feel nauseated.

When the queasiness eventually gets better, she stands up slowly and flushes the toilet. The lack of food and the nausea have taken their toll. She is feeling weak and wobbly on her legs. The mirror in the bathroom confronts her with the reflection of a torn, pale woman, and her dark hair and eyes make her even look paler. Not the strong, confident woman SSA Emily Prentiss usually is.

She brushes her teeth while trying to avoid looking at her reflection. This will go away. It always does. Even the longest night ends sometime. She will feel better soon. Save that she knows deep inside that today was not like any other day, and this is why tonight is not like any other night – as bad as her nights already are at times. If she's honest with herself, she knows that this night will be worse, that what she is feeling won't go away. For now, though, she prefers to pretend that it will.

Emily paces through her room, well aware that sleep is not an option. She is craving to go for a jog as an outlet for the negative energy that is trapped inside her body. Due to the weather, this is impossible though. Watching TV would just make her more agitated, and it is not their usual sort of hotel that comes with a mini-bar. Hence, getting drunk also is no option since she doesn't plan to go to the hotel bar. Meeting one of her colleagues, or even worse a stranger she has to talk to, is out of the question. She would have to explain, and she doesn't want to.

Therefore, she checks her bag for the clothes she will wear the next day in a futile effort to distract herself. When she rifles through her bag, her fingers feel the black booklet Hotch gave her. She remembers their discussion on the plane. Hotch confronted her with the lies she had told her therapist about the (non-existent) contact with her mother and her (alleged) lover. Most of all, though, he made her promise that she will come to him whenever she is having a bad day.

On top of this, he gave her the booklet a couple of days later. It was my only outlet after Foyet, he told her. Maybe it helps you not to make the same mistakes. A diary. When she touched the rough surface, she knew without a doubt that he had just handed over secrets to her that he hadn't shared with anybody as yet, not even with David Rossi, one of his closest friends. On the very same evening, she started reading and didn't stop until she finished reading at sunrise. It was heartbreaking. His exact, small handwriting filled page for page. It wasn't a diary in the classical sense but documented Hotch's gruesome journey from the moment Foyet had stabbed him until the moment he had come to terms with the murder of his ex-wife and the fact that he had killed Foyet.

Emily always has the booklet with her. It is her lifeline in sleepless nights – no matter whether she is at home or in an anonymous hotel as she is now.

She turned off the lights except for the one on the nightstand. When she sits down on the bed, she feels the relief in her shaky legs. For a few minutes, she just holds the booklet in her hands, holds it almost reverently, before she opens it. Dates from approximately two years ago are followed by Hotch's neat handwriting. However, as a precaution, there is no clue as to who wrote it or who is involved. No names, no nothing. Just raw, barely suppressed emotion seeping through the lines. Emily doesn't read, doesn't have to, by now she could quote blindly from it. Reading and re-reading it, she had to stop several times to compose herself, didn't want her falling tears to smear the words. She still can't believe that Hotch gave it to her, that he didn't hesitate to bare his soul to her. Their new-found closeness after their talk on the plane is as welcome and comforting as unfamiliar.

Normally, she can handle the loneliness, has gotten used to it. Except for some brief relationships, she has always lived alone. Tonight, though, after what happened today, the loneliness is a burden that weighs too heavy on her shoulders to carry it on her own. Reading Hotch's lines, or just touching the rough surface of the booklet, doesn't calm her down as usual. Emily is tired and exhausted. Yet, her inner turmoil doesn't subside. On the contrary, she feels her heartbeat speed up.

When she closes her eyes in another attempt to calm down, she thinks herself back unintentionally into the interrogation room where she questioned a woman who tried to kill her assailant. Emily prevented the killing by deliberately misinforming her when they arrived at the crime scene. She told her that the man wasn't her offender. A lie.

Why didn't you let me pull the trigger?

Emily hears the woman's voice loud and clear in her mind. It is so real as if she is back in the interrogation room. In a way, the woman is right. What good did it do that she prevented the killing? The woman will have to testify against her offender in court, will have to relive the crime over and over. The offender lives, and the victim has to live with it.

He will never see the light of day. Ever.

It was her justification for the lie she had told, and Emily believed it when she said the words emphatically. Believed it until the woman asked the next question.

Can you guarantee that?

No, she can't guarantee it. As much as she wants to, she can't. With a good lawyer, anything is possible. There is also the no less frightening alternative of an escape from prison. Doyle escaped to hunt her up. No one is safe. She of all people knows this. That's why her answer was rather evasive.

I know it's hard.

Thinking about it causes nausea again. Pretending doesn't work anymore. She tried to pretend when she interrogated the woman. Tried not to let the whole situation get to her, tried to keep up her shield. It was not the first difficult case after she had come back. She could do this. Nothing, though, had prepared her for what happened next, for the next words the woman said to her.

No, you don't. You have no idea what it's like when the monster from your nightmares comes back for you.

It was textbook psychology. The woman hadn't known what words to choose to break her. Yet, she had chosen the right ones instinctively. Emily starts to shiver. She almost can't hold on to the booklet she is still clutching tightly while reliving the situation. In that moment in the afternoon, she felt her shield deteriorate. Her skin started to prickle; her body told her to run. Yet, she couldn't. This was an interrogation. This was her job. She had to stay. It was too late anyway. The woman realized that Emily had told her the truth, that she really knows how hard it is.

Wait... Something happened to you. What did you do to him? Did you arrest him like a good FBI agent? Or did you kill him?

One victim recognizing the other. It was like a cruel time machine. One moment Emily was in the interrogation room; the next moment she was in the basement, screaming her mind to the heavens when Ian Doyle branded her with his trademark – a four-leaved clover. Then she was at the airport, Declan in her arms, Ian on the ground in front of her, bleeding, dying.

I didn't pull the trigger.

There were so many things Emily could have said, but in the end it all comes down to this. She didn't pull the trigger even if she wanted it so badly. Ian Doyle is dead, but it wasn't her who killed him. To this day, she doesn't know whether she should feel thankful for it or enraged that she didn't get the chance to take revenge.

Still, your monster is dead. I have to live with mine.

The conclusive words of the woman linger in Emily's memory. Technically, it is correct. Nevertheless, the truth is that even if her monster is dead, Ian Doyle will haunt her for the rest of her life.

A branch scratches against her window. Emily flinches and hates herself for being tied up in knots. Even after all these months. Even when she knows he is dead. The booklet slips from her hands, and she jumps up; her body is abuzz with rage and energy. Combined with her physical weakness, it is a dangerous mixture. She feels dizzy and has to steady herself on the nightstand.

The screaming wind has calmed down outside, and in the silence of the night, there is only one sound left – a heartbreaking whimper that escapes her throat. There is no use to deny it any longer. She is having a bad day.


To be continued

So, what do you think?

Could these have been Emily's thoughts during the interrogation?

Let me know and leave a review, please. Thank you!