Warning: this is as fluffy and sugar coated as fluff gets.
My neighborhood has this beautiful lake, and when snow falls and it freezes over I just stand there and look at it. It prompted me to write this. I sat down and my fingers seemed to have a life of their own! It's an awful lot of rambling and may seem a bit OOC, but I tried my best. Hope you all enjoy- leave a review and I'll return the favor!
Ooh, and happy holidays to all of you. :D
xoxo, Dani
A beautiful landscape blanketed in a thick layer of snow was presented before him. The birds and insects had all migrated to a warmer place for the time being, allowing Aaron Hotchner to contemplate his recent choices in complete solitude. The bitter air had no effect on him any longer; the exposed skin on his face had been numbed nearly half an hour prior. Under normal circumstances he would have retreated to his home to seek warmth, but today was anything but normal.
The icicles hanging from long, leafless branches were a reminder of what Emily had expressed to him. "You're an ice man, Aaron. You don't have feelings." It hurt him, but she knew it would even before the statement left her lips. That was the point, though— she wanted him to bleed.
He had feelings, though, and a vast majority of them were reserved specifically for her and Jack. Compassion. Happiness. Love. But she already knew that; if she hadn't, the six months intimately spent together would have been a universal waste, and they both knew that wasn't true.
In reality, his apparent inability to express his emotions had nothing to do with why she was angry. No, she had a perfectly legitimate reason to detest him; he had made a mistake that had cost a life. She knew it. He knew it. The team knew it. But he had no idea that she would be so downright appalled at his actions.
There was a woman, a mother of two, who was held at knife point in her own home by her husband. This situation called for a female to go inside of the house and convince the man to put down the weapon, and Emily had been prepared for this. Her Kevlar vest was quickly stripped from her body, her gun hidden in the waistband of her pants, and...
...that's when Hotch instructed Morgan to go in.
It was a moment of weakness— that one second where you consider the very worst, where you physically can't allow something like that to transpire. He knew his error instantly, but no one objected. He was Aaron Hotchner. He didn't make choices based on things outside of the job.
But he did, and Morgan walked inside of the house. The UNSUB was psychologically tortured and did not put the knife down until Morgan drew his weapon and fired. His lifeless body collapsed to the floor, and the FBI agent wondered if this man could have been spared had Emily been the one to enter the household. Little did he know that the others were thinking the exact same thing.
"You said that this wouldn't affect the job," she told Hotch on the plane ride home.
"I know. I'm sorry."
"You damn well better be," she whispered harshly, struggling to keep her voice at a near inaudible level. She didn't want to interrupt the sleep that the rest of the team had finally managed to get. "The UNSUB would have put the knife down if I went in there. That woman could have died. Hell, Morgan could have, too. What will Strauss say? You could lose your job. "
He let out an exasperated sigh and said, "I know, I know. Emily, I just—"
"Don't you 'Emily' me. What is it, do you think I'm too weak? Do you not want your precious china doll to break?" She snorted and stood up. "I'm going to bed. G'night, Hotch." The use of his last name only lengthened the distance between them, and he said nothing when she took an empty seat at the opposite end of the plane, not bothering to look back. He had never seen her so downright angry, and that scared him. Sleep didn't come easily that night.
A gust of wind interrupted his musings, causing frozen water droplets to come in contact with uncovered skin. They didn't melt instantly as most snowflakes did; they lingered for a few minutes, gradually fading into microscopic pebbles of water, but he didn't care. He knew he'd be outside for at least another hour, reflecting on his life. Anyway, the cold numbed his senses, which was probably for the best. He didn't want to feel the inevitable physical pain that came hand in hand with a severe heartache.
He loved her. Everything about her was perfect, and he couldn't help but realize that he had never felt quite like this before. The guilt and remorse for his ex-wife would always linger, but he knew that if Haley was still alive she would have supported his new found relationship. She would have wanted him to love again, and he did so at a level that most humans can't even begin to comprehend.
His cell phone vibrated once in his pocket, causing him to toy with the idea of calling her. But what more could he say? He had already himself that she had realized how different she could be without his presence in her life. Admittedly, he was surprised that she'd lasted six months, content with his scars and inhuman need for her body at all odd hours of the night. She was his vice, his cure for the demons who refused to stop haunting his dreams.
So many times he woke up, sweaty, heart pounding, only to pull her into his arms and carry her off into a state of bliss. Did she think that he was taking advantage of her, that he only wanted her body to ease the pain? He hoped not, because that wasn't the reason. He wanted to reassure himself that she was still there, still with him, still alive. Things had escalated far beyond a point of want; she was vital, and that frightened him.
It was odd, this sense of need; he had no idea that she would elicit such intense feelings from his core. Hell, in the beginning, they didn't know where they were headed. They had tentatively crawled into the possibility of loving the other, and when they finally reached the point of no return, they found that they were thoroughly enjoying it. It wasn't even awkward after their first night together— no, it was quite the opposite. It was then that he knew how special she was.
Now she was gone.
Would she be afraid to come back? Would she quit her job at the BAU? What would Jack do if she was suddenly out of his life? He was drowning in his own self pity and asking the few questions that tormented his soul.
His thoughts were again cut short by the faint sound of snow crunching under weight. He looked down at his feet, hoping that the stranger would keep on walking and ignore his presence; human interaction would only intensify the pain he felt. The sound of the footsteps seemed to grow louder and soon a familiar figure appeared at his side.
"Hey," Emily said quietly, looking aimlessly across the lake.
His gaze was still focused on his feet. "How did you know I was here?"
"I know it's one of your favorite places," she said with a small smile. "You've been out here for a long time, haven't you?"
He nodded. "Maybe an hour or so."
Emily didn't reply for a long while; she was clearly contemplating her next words. "I just wanted to apologize to you. You know, about earlier."
"Why?" He finally averted his gaze from the ground and looked at the woman beside him, whose face was already tinted red from the cold.
"I shouldn't have yelled at you about it."
"You had every right to," he admitted with a sigh. He paused a moment before saying, "I didn't choose Morgan to go in there because I thought you were weak or that you couldn't handle it, though." She turned her head to meet his eyes; at first she appeared slightly confused, but that faded upon realizing the meaning behind his words. He continued, "I know I should have sent you in there, but when I thought about you and everything you've done... I just couldn't."
Three times she found herself opening her mouth, hesitating, and then closing it. Full minutes had passed before she said, "Thank you."
"I don't know what for."
"Everything. You. Us. Jack." She moved to press her mouth to his, and they found themselves spiraling down an all-too familiar path. Their movements were sure, confident, and balanced with one another as if they were made to participate in this dance, one they'd mastered many months before.
Her tongue begged entrance to his mouth as he snaked his hands around her waist, greedily pulling her body flush against his. The kiss intensified and grew deeper, though it was not desperate and rushed like the ones they usually shared. He took possession of her neck, gently sucking and nibbling, eliciting a contented sigh to rush from her lungs. Although it felt wonderful, she was desperate for him; he was soon roughly yanked back up to eye level, where she crushed her lips to his.
They were fighting now, competing to see who could lace the most emotion in the intimate contact. Her long, delicate arms draped around his neck, pulling him closer still, begging him to keep going. Her body was a raging fire despite the temperature, as was his, but she seemed to be the only one struggling for control. She felt as if she were going to collapse into a state of ecstasy, but she wasn't willing to let go of him and all of the glorious things he was doing to her.
They pulled away simultaneously, smiling at each other with a dreamy glimmer in their eyes. Her partner untangled himself from her, entwined their fingers, and began to walk.
"It's beautiful out here, kind of like the movies," she remarked, swinging their hands.
He turned his head to look at her and said, "It is."
"How cute," she teased. "We've added a lot to the list of clichés, like instantly making up with a kiss."
"I can't say I'm upset about that."
She flashed a smile framed in red at the seriousness of his statement. "I'm not upset about it either, but I just think it's... I don't know, funny that we're doing all of this." She gestured aimlessly through the air with her free hand, noticing the slight question in her partner's eyes. "You and me. If I would have known that I'd love this so much..." She clamped her mouth shut; she hadn't intended to say that.
"You would have talked to me sooner?" he offered. A small smirk broke out on his face.
She rolled her eyes in good nature. "I can't decide if I like the fact that you're a profiler."
"You're one, too," he admonished.
She replied, "Yeah, but you hide your emotions a hell of a lot better than I do."
"That's not necessarily a blessing," he said quietly, now staring down at his feet. "Sometimes I don't show you how much I care."
"I think it's meant to be felt, not spoken," she said after a few seconds of thought. He gave her delicate hand a small squeeze and smiled, resisting the urge to sweep her off her feet right there and then. Curious as to what made him so suddenly happy, she asked, "What?"
"Nothing," he said with a subtle shake of his head. But that was a lie. He was smiling because she was right— he could feel it.
Any cavities? ;)