Her skin was on fire.
She could feel the heat radiating off of her and into the already steaming air. Her cheeks were red, she knew. The high, engulfing temperature had her wondering if she'd stepped into an inferno by accident. Her blood was boiling. If she didn't get relief soon, hell was going to break loose on her and everyone else around her.
What amazed her was it wasn't even that warm of a day. December should be cold, shouldn't it? Course, they were in California. Damn. Why was this scorching heat consuming just her and not the rest of the team? Oh that's right, because these victims were all women, brunettes with stab wounds to the abdomen! How ironic.
The sickening scar along her stomach itched underneath the layers of clothing. Not an uncommon sensation but this was the most the scar had bothered her. She sighed deeply, blinking and fidgeting where she stood. The sight in front of her was sadly sardonic and she didn't want to look anymore. How odd to not know whether to laugh or cry. This was too close, too painful.
A pair of eyes was on her and she knew who they belonged to without even looking up. Piercing, burning, steady; doing nothing to calm the storm stoking every fiber in her being. Not able to look at him was horrible enough. More eyes began to watch her and now were everywhere, clouding her mind. Not one eye did she meet. Her team is too good of profilers to not see what was going on and she didn't want to perceive their pity.
A heat stroke was creeping up on her and she had to get out…immediately.
Tearing away from the scene, away from all the watchful gazes, she aimed herself towards the nearest exit she could find. Mumbling an excuse, she briskly left. Her name was called out but she ignored the sound.
Prentiss!
They needn't know. They needn't worry. Too much precious time was wasted on their worrying.
She thought she was past this. They had all moved on; everything was as best as it could be, considering. She was ready and able to do her job again and she had been doing just fine till this case came along. Focusing…but not in the way she should have. Hanging on by a thread, gripping so tight to her last bits of sanity and common sense, Emily Prentiss was sinking. All because of this damn case. So much for compartmentalizing; her body screamed at her mind, pushing the damaged thing into overdrive. This led her to believe that a mental breakdown was next on the list.
As daylight graced over her, she felt the sweat along her face and at the back of her neck. A slight breeze was in the air and was just a partial of what she needed. Still cautious despite her position, keeping a hand upon her Glock, she looks around to make sure the area is safe. A few police vehicles were the only other presences around the barn. Catching sight of the SUVs parked near a tree, the shade looking to be a comfort, Emily made her way over.
Ripping her fingers at the Velcro of her Kevlar, she felt desperate. She couldn't breathe, couldn't relax. The heat was suffocating her.
Meeting the back of the SUV, she flung the vest from her body to the ground at her feet. Gun still in place at her hip, Emily began work on the buttons of her shirt. The view of the barn was currently hidden but still she stopped suddenly. She was past the point of caring but something did hold her back for a moment; must be the only morsel of that common sense left. Thinking ahead, she reached out and opened the doors to the back of the SUV, hoping that would give her a bit more privacy. Bending down, she picked the Kevlar back up, sitting the life protector on the tailgate. Stars blurred her vision and she knew she was losing it. Shaky fingers went back to her shirt. Once both sides were free, she yanked the material off her shoulders and away from her heated skin. The grey, wadded shirt joined the vest. This left just a small black tank top that was rapidly becoming too tight.
Her mind, so useful on the job, always resourceful and open, was melting. She counted on her mind, relied on the many different façades produced to get the job done. Was this some sort of relapse; her past coming back to plague everything within her grasp? This psycho, sticking women with unanimous objects of his fancy, couldn't be some sort of sick sign, could it?
Leaning her bottom against the tailgate, slightly out of breath, Emily tries to calm herself. She was letting things get to her but how was she supposed to stop? Getting rid of the high temperature invading the air had to be the first step. She'd give anything to douse her exposed body with ice cold water right about now.
Licking her lips, the only moisture, other than the sweat rolling down her back, she could produce; Emily looked down at her battered body. She was broken. To not be strong was hell; she had always been strong. Relying on strength was what got her by all her life. Strength in her mind and body was her survival. What was she bequeathed with now?
Moving a trembling, sweaty hand, she grasps the end of her last layer of clothing and lifted. Inch by inch the slightly pink from the heat, toned stomach appeared. Then the ever faithful scar took the attention away from everything else. Nine and a half months have passed since she was stabbed in this very poor spot. The mark was ghastly. In an ambulance, she coded because of this mark on her skin, in her skin.
Heart rate never slowing, Emily brings her other hand down, smoothing over the scar. Even though she was aware of her over heated body, she was still surprised when she touched her own skin. She felt burned and at this thought, automatically remembered her other scar. Like a pressure pushing hard against her chest, just as the poker did. A constant reminder that was not necessary. Now her heart ached at the feeling, at the heat. Each beat hurt a little more.
Frustration settled in; she had overcome all of this. This was not PTSD. She took the required tests, spoke about the events, reflected and accepted what happened to her. Now it all was coming back to haunt her.
The downcast eyes filled with tears and she didn't even try to stop them. Raising her head, Emily stared at the tree some distance in front of her. As the tears fall slowly, blending in with the warmth of her cheeks, she stayed silent. No sound could be made. She was stagnant but the blood beneath her skin was singeing with fire, spreading. Her fingers continued to trace the scar as the other hand cradled the bunched up shirt to her chest, covering the hurt there.
Her emotions running wild, the white hot poker dug deeper even now. The image, the occurrence, the vision played over and over; it all was engraved in her mind, memory, heart and skin.
Unexpectedly, Hotch appears in the corner of her sight but she doesn't move. She was too overwhelmed, too exhausted, and too hot to do anything. He was very quiet; she didn't know anyone partook to follow her. She was thankful no one else was with him. Out of all of them, he was the only one who would fully understand. He had to understand.
Seeing her unfazed by his presence was somewhat alarming. But also seeing that she didn't try to hide her stomach told him she trusted him. And that was a big start. Emily wasn't hiding much anymore.
But she didn't want to fight any longer and he needed her to fight.
Rounding the black SUV door and taking a step into her space, Hotch felt the heat. He saw the flushed cheeks, her wide, watery eyes and his heart broke. His eyes didn't wander away from her face. He could read the unabashed fear reflecting in her eyes. Not wanting to invade too much in case she had any form of Claustrophobia, he kept a safe distance but moved in front of her line of sight. She was allowed to escape if she wanted, though, Hotch definitely didn't want that.
She blinked hard when her vision of the tree was changed to Hotch's familiar face. His eyes bore into hers, daring her to look away and the heat never wavers. As another tear makes a lazy path down, Hotch whispers softly.
"Emily…hold on."
Her eyes flutter, wanting to close at the sound of his voice. He then disappears and she snaps them open, fearing he has left her. An opening and closing of a door to her right has her jumping slightly in her spot. But then he is back and a water bottle is in his hand. Wanting desperately to help, he gives her a look as if to ask 'May I?' She meets his gaze and he immediately comprehends.
Taking the step between them, Hotch lays the bottle lightly upon her neck. Her mouth opens and he knows she needs to cool down. And fast.
He moves the bottle away and unscrews the cap. Touching her for the first time in what seems like forever; he places his hand to the back of her head and draws the bottle near her lips, indicating for her to drink. She does, eagerly. Cradling her head, he watches her throat as the cold liquid does its' job. Her head was very warm; his fingers blend through the strands of shiny hair.
Drawing away slightly, he does notice that her hands have yet to move from their position at her stomach and chest.
She didn't need to explain herself to him. He knows.
He holds nothing against her. He completely understands. There was no scolding for leaving the crime scene. He hasn't judged or mocked. He doesn't question her or pressure her into talking.
He was just there. Caring for her.
Conjuring up enough strength to speak, Emily looks at him and whispers in meek voice, "Thank you."
Her skin was still hot but she could feel her face cooling. She realizes in that moment all he has done for her. She knows but his sacrifices really hit her, reloading even more pent up emotions.
Laying the bottle upon her neck again, Hotch nods. "Whatever you need, Emily."
Glancing down, she finally gives way of her shirt and takes the water bottle gratefully from his hand. The other moves away from her head and both fall to hang at his sides. He was still in his Kevlar and the bright, white FBI glares at her.
Turning the bottle, Emily splashes some water on her neck and chest with her hand. She wanted to apologize, wanted to feel uncomfortable doing this in front of him, but she couldn't. Her dire need to cool off before she passed out was too important for her to care about anything else. Reaching behind her, she pours some down her back, loving the cold water running over her skin and seeping into her shirt. The ends of her hair catch some of the water, wetting the soft strands.
Hotch never looks away. He continues to gaze in her face, running his dark pupils along her red cheeks. He knows this case is the worst. Way too close to home for them all. And it's hitting Prentiss hard.
A noise is heard behind Emily but Hotch pays no attention. "I've told them to give you a moment. Don't worry."
Awarding him with another appreciative look, she takes a deep breath. But when she does, an inner struggle appears on her face. Unconsciously, she's grabbing at her shirt again, pushing in.
Without thinking, Hotch places his hand on top of hers applying pressure. She's shocked, he can tell, but she doesn't shove him away. He's surprised himself. All he wants to do is help her though and that thought alone drives him forward. He opens his mouth and says the words she has often said to him.
"You're not alone."
His voice is low and pierces her heart
So he had been listening all those times she tried to make him see.
Sitting the bottle inside the SUV, Emily's other hand, shaking nonetheless, moves and covers Hotch's.
She had to get her courage back. She had to maintain stability. They were what kept her together. His eyes, voice and touch were the mechanisms to help her achieve this. If only she would allow him in close enough.
Taking another breath and biting the bullet, she pulls the shirt back up, hand still wrapped around his. When it's high enough, she stops and waits for him. Never would she let someone in like this. Vulnerability wasn't seized lightly with Emily. Hotch must be her only exception. Either that or she really was losing it.
The smoldering heat consumed her body, leaving her brain numb. But she wanted him to see and feel. She was accepting his help and if he walked away now, that last thread would snap.
Hotch, no longer the stoic, passive man he usually is, felt he was given the key to unlock her suffering. Never breaking eye contact with her, he slowly lowers himself to a crouch. Lifting his free hand, he lays his skin against the skin along her stomach. Instantly the heat pours into him. Their eyes break as Emily is not able to keep hers open.
Hotchs' hand was cool, despite his body warming at the touch. He watches her eyelashes as they lay tightly upon the top of her fiery cheeks. Gently, he caresses over the pink scar, feeling her shiver for the first time. The puckered skin healed well, thanks to the doctors who took care of her. Her healing process alone in Paris didn't quite have the same outcome.
His hand moves up and down with her heavy breathing. She's clutching the other between hers and can't suppress the chills that form. His touch was foreign to her, though the strange sensations overtook everything. As he continues his ministrations, Emily feels a difference. Her body was cooling down. The demons hoarding her head were clearing.
He remained silent; she, too out of it to speak at all, stayed quiet. Even her mind rested.
A breeze came by, blowing their hair, a most welcomed comfort to both. The colorful leaves rustled about on the tree.
The others were somewhat forgotten, placed in the background for the time being. They were concerned, sure; the rest of the team knew to give her some space despite their apprehension. Case, crime scene, all of it took a backseat.
No longer looking at the insides of her lids, Emily's eyes fall to the man in front of her. The light blue of his work shirt and the dark blue of his Kevlar gave her thoughts of the ocean. The depths of his eyes, black as night, held her close. And finally she believed the words. Finally, they meant something to her. He was slowly bringing her back down to sanity.
The compassion she felt and he showed was just as overwhelming as the heat. Tears welled but did not descend.
Running his thumb over the maturing wound one last time, Hotch licks his lips and stands. Eyes locked, he removes his hands from her warm body and reaches for his vest, undoing the Velcro.
"Emily, there are important things that I want you to know. Please listen to me." The standard Kevlar is off his shoulders and sitting on top of hers in seconds. His voice is extremely tender. "You are not weak. You are not dead. Bad occurrences have happened to you and you are stronger for it. I know you know this. You have fought so hard." He is unbuttoning his over shirt now, pulling to un-tuck the fabric. "You think you have failed your tests. Maybe believed you were losing it and the short counseling didn't work. You haven't. You've proved time and time again how amazing and withstanding you truly are. Those scars don't dictate anything."
Without further ado, Hotch hauls the undershirt up and bares his own scars for her to see. Emily blinks, marveling at his courage. These actions were most un-Hotch like. The scars were faded with the years, the stab lines in different angles along his lower torso.
If only Strauss were here. They'd be due for some serious explaining, what with clothes off and skin showing.
They looked to be comparing scars.
"We both have them. Our team has them. I've gone through this too, Prentiss. These scars are mere marks now. I don't forget their presence. But with time, I have moved on. And I know you will too. We are battered, bruised, damaged, shaken and torn; however, we recover, because we're human and we fight like hell to stay alive. The bad timing of this case is what stirred this up. But we'll get past this. You'll get past this. You will heal and conquer."
Swallowing back a small sob, throat tight, Emily timidly brings a hand off her chest and lowers her fingers to outline the surface of a blemish on his right side. A switch had been flicked. They weren't boss and subordinate right now, standing in the office. They were Aaron and Emily, finding their way out of the blistering darkness again.
Her touch was also unfamiliar to him. He embraced the contact, nonetheless. The warmth of her fingers gave him pride, knowing that he is helping her through the pain. He continues.
"I took that oath to protect you and have never regretted the decision. Your safety was too important. I do regret that you were alone, in the hospital, in Paris; trying to recover by yourself was not right. I wish someone you knew had been by your side. But now, you are here; with me, with the team, and I'm always going to be open with you. I know you want do things on your own and handle personal situations on your own but you must know you can turn to me whenever. Allow me to help."
Emily felt her heart soar at his words; the feeling of elation was seizing over the drowning heat. A smile forms on her lips as she rubs her palm along his stomach. The muscles clenched, tightening. He smiles too, dimples and all. Pulling away, they both let their shirts fall. Emily no longer felt her blood boil. Her heart was still racing but her skin wasn't suffocated. She could finally breathe easy again. His touch was healing her wounds.
How do you reply to such wonderful declarations? Biting her lip Emily nods her head, looking down for a second, then at him, straight into those dark eyes. "You…you are quite amazing Hotch. I can't say it to a necessary extent…Thank you…for everything…." She stops there, because her voice catches, not allowing her to continue; nevertheless, he knows what she means. Opening up to anyone was hard for her.
Flashing another dimple, Hotch can only nod then asks, "How is your body temperature? Have you cooled down enough?" Feeling very forward, he lays the back of his hand, then his palm against her forehead. Emily smiles and breathes out an airy laugh at the gesture he made. "I'm sure my skin hasn't changed a degree. I can feel a difference though. No more dizzy spells or waves of nausea. I'll be fine." After a moment's pause, she adds, "We can go back now. Really, I'm better. Like you said, I'll get through. This will soon be in the past. Let's just catch the son of a bitch so we can go home." With the Prentiss smirk and attitude back in line, Hotch agrees with her, happy to see that healthy spark back in her eyes.
He makes her take another long swig from the bottle then in an unusual but no doubt gentlemanlike fashion, helps her put on her over shirt. Fingers less shaky, Emily redoes half of the buttons up and goes for her Kevlar but Hotch is there first. He gives her a look that clearly states 'I know you aren't helpless, but please let me do this.' She yields after a moment of staring. Once swiftly securing the vest, they both hear a noise coming from the barn, telling them the rest of the team was on their way out. They had to be getting curious, worrying about the two of them.
Hotch looks like he wants to say more, maybe even hug her. His arms felt heavy. Not knowing how far he could cross or dare to cross, he ends up linking her hand with his. Then he remembers he was just touching her stomach and realizes the line has already been crossed.
The soft skin was clammy and he held on tight. She squeezes back then pulls away and cocks her head towards his shirt, reminding him of how he looked. Quickly buttoning all of the small pieces, he slides his Kevlar over his head and arms. Emily beats him to the Velcro, pulling them snug along the body-fitting armor.
He swallows and she breathes.
Another step closer, they had surpassed one more barrier together.
Words weren't exactly necessary at this point. They both continue to stare at each other, reading what they needn't say.
Emily is the first to move, stepping around; she grabs hold of the SUV door and waits for him to pass. He does, crime scene and case brought back to the forefront. Closing the back door, Hotch and Prentiss make their way back to the barn, where Rossi, Morgan, JJ and Reid were talking with the local police.
Her steps were shaky but Emily kept her head up. Catching sight of the barn, she could only bite her lip and push down any controlling emotions. The ambulance already had the body inside and Emily was thankful they didn't need to do anymore within the barn.
Looking everyone in the face and dealing with their concern with a small smile, she conveyed to them that she was ok. Hotch nodded to them, going right back to boss mode and asked a few questions with the police. They exchange a brief set of words and decide the rest had to be worked out at base.
With everything that could be done for the time being, they all soon pack up and head back to the station. The team was not quite settled with just an ok but they knew not to push her or Hotch. More determined than ever, they turn their focus to catching the bastard behind all this.
Emily's skin was still warm but she knew, as she climbed into the passenger seat, Hotch in the drivers', that despite her damaged mind and her battered body, there was hope. The sliver of light in her will carry her through this. And she will conquer.
X.x.x.x.x.X
I know there are a few areas of past tense and present tense, but I liked the way certain sentences sounded, so I left them. Terribly sorry if it bothers you! ;) I'm a sucker for happier endings but I hope this wasn't too much. I may add another chapter, concluding the case and such…Hope you enjoyed and please slip in a comment! Thank you!
lilylynn