Cry Me Styx
She wanted out.
Emily wanted to get away. From everything. The feeling of that madman inside her mind–and her in his. The feeling of those lunatics pounding on their glass cells to get at her. Never before had she been so unhappy to have breasts.
Hotch was cool and almost cold as they did what they had to. He was as sympathetic as he ever could have been, and they both knew that as sorry as he was that he had to put her in that position, they needed answers. So she braved it out; ignored the feeling of invisible hands creeping up her body. The cold of the walls, and of the entire place, was trying to drag her to their depths. She didn't want to go.
He had flirted and weaseled, like so many had before. She was used to the compliments, the sexual suggestions, the verbal harassment. His eyes had wandered her form freely, which was to be expected, and she was serving her purpose. Hotch said she needed to do this, so she would.
As "The Fox" had told Hotch that Foyet was behind all of it he had laughed at Hotch's face. That laugh would ring in her ears forever.
As they both left, him storming intensely and her trotting like a lost fawn to keep up, the banging, the screams, and all the other indistinguishable noises, became too loud. They filled their ears until it was all just like harsh winds blowing into their eardrums.
Their journey up the stairs was silent, except for the lingering shouts.
The sounds of them getting into the Sunburn were blocked by the shouts.
The sounds of their breathing just reminded them of the shouts.
Emily's breathing was shallow but controlled, like that of someone trying to stifle hyperventilation and barely succeeding. In a way it was true, as she was far from calm. Her heartbeat and blood pulsing were only more sounds filling her ears too harshly. She didn't even register Hotch's doings.
Hotch was clenching his teeth to the point of grinding them to dust. Slowly but surely he would need dentures at the rate he was going. It was all too much for him. He once said that only women got overwhelmed, but what a false (and sexist) statement that was. He was overwhelmed, and it was breaking him. Torturing him.
When they finally got back to the others they were far from alert, silently going to their seats; Hotch clomped his way to the office he'd set his files in while Emily treaded as carefully as an animal on fresh snow or dead leaves. They both, though, said absolutely nothing to their comrades.
They heard Morgan mention wheels up in half an hour and vaguely remembered nodding.
"Emily?"
"Hm?" She turned to see JJ's pretty face marred with worry.
"What happened?"
Emily didn't know how to explain it, nor if she wanted to. When she told JJ the outline of what happened she numbly received a caring hug and hair smoothing. JJ's delicate hands, unscarred by target practice callouses or defense wounds, found Emily's hair and shoulder. Emily's face was that of concern and distant fear.
Hotch noticed this through the window and sighed, scrubbing his eyes with his large fingers. He didn't want to put Prentiss in that situation, but there wasn't anything that could have been done.
Of coarse something could have been done; he could have protected her–
He shook his head. He would drive himself completely insane that way, and that was the last thing he needed. He was already crazy enough from missing his family, having nightmares of being attacked and his failures through the business. It all came to him as ghosts mentioning the times he couldn't save that one person.
Oh, wait. They weren't his to protect anymore.
Damn Strauss and her politics.
Emily knew his frustrations.
She always knew.
Looking out the window again he saw all the team was gathered around a platonic Prentiss, who looked as if she wanted to make the far opposing wall explode with her eyes. Morgan half-hugged her to his shoulder, Reid smiled and hugged awkwardly, and Rossi kissed her hair as if she were his niece–or some other fairly close relative. She was still unmoving. "Hey."
"Hey." They all looked conflicted.
Now he understood. They didn't know whether to feel sorry for him and his Foyet problem or hate him for hurting Emily so. They were a family, and Emily held a special place at the head of the table next to him and across from Morgan. He and Emily held things in a certain place while Morgan enforced their rules loyally. At least, he used to. Now he made the rules, but Emily was in between them both. She sat near Morgan still as the only trained female profiler, but also sat near Hotch out of sheer loyalty. It certainly made his heart grow fonder. "Let's get out of here."
"Yeah." Morgan breathed out, barely making a sound. His eyes were still on Emily's face, which had gone from troubled to deeply disturbed. "Hotch, I gotta ask–what the hell did you do in there?"
"What's wrong with Prentiss?" He dropped everything in his arms - things he suddenly forgot the meaning and purpose of completely - and went over to their group. "Is she okay?"
"I have no idea." JJ shook her head, knowing best how to get through Emily's shell. She was chipping though, and the shell was far from being cracked.
"Prentiss?" What Hotch saw scared him. Her eyes were empty. Devoid of all the fire and intensity they once held. Her face muscles were slack and her slender body was statuesque. "Prentiss, can you hear me?"
She didn't respond, simply made what could have either been a nodding motion or a twitch of her neck muscle. Finally she blinked and said, "Let's just get out here."
"Right." He looked helplessly as JJ put her hands on her shoulders and Morgan held onto her for walking support. Reid, with his one crutch, had her things while Rossi waited for Hotch. "Dave, what did I do?"
"Why don't you tell me? You're the one who was there when Emily was seemingly traumatized." He said with his usual cool and detached voice, though there was a hint of anger in it as well. "Hotch, did you put Emily in there knowing this would happen?"
"No, I-" Hotch faltered - an exceedingly rare occurrence - at the look Dave gave him. "I don't think so. You know I would never put Prentiss in danger, but I guess I was too focused on getting the profile and-"
"So you let your own ambitions take over and put someone you care about in danger. You know if she doesn't snap out of it before Washington they're all going to hate you. Morgan might even tackle you." Dave chuckled but Hotch didn't. "Look, Aaron, I know Foyet is getting to you. We all know. Then Strauss threw this in your face–no one is expecting you to click your heels, but you used Emily to get something from a felon, just like you were going to use the picture of that girl."
"She told you about that." He frowned. Prentiss was not a blabbermouth...
"I don't think she knows she told us anything. It's like she's in a trance." Dave shook his head and scratched his goatee. "Emily of all people knows how hard this has hit you–don't forget that she's taken care of you from the start of it, and now you bring her to an asylum of a holding cell to flaunt her in front of a serial killer?"
"I know." Hearing it through word of mouth, especially Dave's, made it even worse. Only when he got out of the cell did he realize Prentiss was shaking, and thinking about it now she probably still was. "Oh no... "
"Aaron, you better make this right, or Morgan might just go over your head. Garcia too, and she's surprisingly strong for a computer genius."
"I know full well they'll all want to beat me up, Dave, what I need to know is how to fix Prentiss." Hotch muttered.
"There you go again, cutting yourself off. Realize that you're not just Hotch to her–you're Aaron. Her loyalty lies with Aaron; she quit the BAU, her dream position, for you. She helped you back onto your feet after the attack, and don't think that it didn't affect us. She's been your crutch for longer than you realize, and just now are you trying to walk without it. It's too late, Hotchner, you're too far gone. If you let her go now you'll never get her back. She won't be Emily ever again–she'll just be Prentiss." Dave finished his monologue off with a sigh and intake of breath. "You'll die with her name on your lips."
Hotch tilted his eyebrow line. "That's a little much, don't you think?"
"I think it proved my point." He squinched. "Now make it right."
Hotch nodded silently. He headed out, Dave behind him like a wall in a phalanx, prodding him forward. Their steps were heavy, and their breathing hard. Once he had his–or rather the team in his sights he called out. "Hey, wait!"
"Hotch?" Morgan responded first and firmly, making it clear that Hotch would be dealing with Chief Morgan, and not Derek. "What's up?"
"I need to talk to Emily." He almost said Prentiss, but caught his tongue and corrected himself within the second.
They were wary. They didn't know if them talking would do harm or good, and they were still angry at Hotch for his lack of responsibility as of late. Admittedly he had been a bit off kilter, but it wasn't something irreparable. He noticed she was still despondent.
"Okay." Morgan nodded after a moment of hesitation.
"Okay." JJ said it measuredly, flicking her eyes to Emily's blank slate of a face. She was rightfully concerned. "Emily? You gonna be okay, sweetheart?"
Emily nodded, and had she been aware of her surroundings she probably would have scolded JJ for questioning their fearless (ex)leader. "Yeah."
Morgan watched them all leave with wary faces then turn to Hotch. "Hotch, I'm sayin' this as Derek, not your chief–if you do not take care with Em I will do something you really don't want me to." He wasn't specific, but his implications were clear enough to Hotch, who didn't need the enforcement anyway.
"Loud and clear." Hotch murmured like a child being scolded. It was slightly demeaning to be told that by his once underling and friend, but if someone else had hurt Emily he would be just as upset. He was upset enough with himself for it.
The feeling of helpless failure hit him again like it had when Cyrus... to say he had beaten her would be an understatement. He'd beaten the fire out of her and brutalized her enough to give her bruises lasting weeks. Reid felt guilty, but Hotch had gone out of his mind.
"Em." Derek rubbed her back briefly before Morgan frowned at Hotch and left. "Come out in ten minutes, or I'm comin' in for you both."
"You wanted to talk to me." She managed in the voice she used for keeping quiet and secretive. It was softened with shaky breath.
"Emily."
She looked up for the first time since they got back from the cells. Her eyes were still murky, like stale coffee, rather than their usual rich chocolate shade. He had once compared their clear brown to coca cola, or rich tea, and once even stained glass. In any case, they were very pretty. "I'm sorry."
And she punched him.
She curled her elegant fingers and used her first two knuckles to hit his jaw, just like her father had taught her in her political-princess days (he told her to use it on boys, so this barely fell outside of those principles). She hit him hard enough to make an impact, but not hard enough to really hurt him, or feel guilty about it.
Hotch blinked. He cracked his jaw. He cracked his neck. Then he looked at her evenly. "Prentiss?"
"Sir." She responded with her normal manner. Hotch seemed both relieved to see her back and worried for his other body parts.
"May I ask why you punched me in the face?" He said it politely–expected.
"Yes." She paused. He waited. "That was for two things; first, for using me to get a profile, and second, for working yourself to this point."
It was then he saw the tears begin to gather in her eyes again. They were like raindrops against velvet, collecting in her draping eyelashes. Her face was unchanged but that one indicator of fret–those few tears, made all the difference.
Emily Prentiss did not show weakness.
Emily Prentiss felt weakness but killed it inside of her.
She killed it before it came to the surface.
Hotch moved his head a fraction of a fraction, which was all the cause she needed to let her mask crumble away. When it fell, bit by bit, her face underneath its protection was frail and sad. He could see she was fighting not to let them fall, like most people did, but one did fall. It slid down her smooth porcelain skin, clearly to her dismay, and fell onto her breastbone. The wetness against her skin shocked her senses, reminding her of the stares said part of her had received.
"Why?"
Hotch's brows caved in a little more. "Why, what?"
"Why would you do this?"
He softened. "Emily, I-"
"Not to me." She cut off sharply, unhappy with his assumption. "To you."
"To me?" He clarified. She nodded. "Why would I do this to me?"
She felt another tear slide down and shook her head. Her eyes met his desperately, as they held question after question. She seemed to want to ask him something else, but her throat had constricted too much by now, and anything would just come out in a sob; something she would not allow. "Don't think I don't know. Don't think I don't know that it kills you every day that you don't have Foyet. Don't think I don't know it kills you to think of your family–of your son, out there, everyday, without you there to protect him and his mother. I know, Hotch. I've seen it first hand and I still see it, every day! I'm watching you crumble away, Aaron."
He remained silent, unable to find words that wouldn't sound like hollow boisterousness. He couldn't say anything lest he sound the brute. Now he had brought tears to the eyes in which he least intended them to be.
"I'm asking why you've done this to yourself. He said that he–Foyet, was torturing you. But you're torturing yourself, Hotch, and I can't watch it anymore. I can't come to work every day and see a shell of the great man I once knew. It-it's killing me. The Fox killed his victims over and over again. You're killing yourself over and over again, every time you think of how Foyet has taken your life hostage. And you're killing me. You're killing us."
He analyzed her actions - really not the appropriate thing to do in such an emotional moment, but this was all he knew - and deciphered that she meant the team, when she said us.
"I can't watch you destroy yourself, Aaron. I won't." She took a reserved step forward, waiting for his reaction. He didn't move, so she took another step. When standing but three inches from him she was eye to eye with his chest, and actually had to tilt her head down so as not to brush the tip of her nose against his shirt. She drew in a breath and whispered into his chest, "I won't."
And she wrapped her arms around him.
She was hugging him.
She was hugging him?
Hotch found himself responding to the gesture, and placed his hands on her smaller frame; one at the small of her back, and the other in her silken hair. Her arms were wrapped around his back, under his arms, so her warm hands rested under his jacket, on his back. He moved his right hand to grip her hair a little tighter, and weave his fingers through the threads of black. It was a nice feeling, and she responded by moving her head to the side. The heat and tears from her cheeks bore through his shirt and lit his skin sensors on fire. His left hand went from her back to the curve of her waist, atop her slender hip. This made his arm come to be tighter around her, and seemed to encourage them both into enjoying the position.
Emily broke. She couldn't hold the tears in her eyes anymore, so she let them go. She would pay to have his shirt rid of the stains, though she was wearing waterproof mascara. She didn't care. Hotch–Aaron–her Aaron was killing himself. Slowly and painfully, everyday, in front of everyone's eyes. This, she couldn't have. When he brought her closer in the embrace she felt her entire person melt into him. She couldn't keep from smiling, feeling his breathing in her hair and the rumbling thunder of his heartbeat under her ear. She was loving this far too much.
What would have been a perfect ending to their day had to end some time, though, or Morgan would find them, and God knew what would happen then. So they pulled away and dared a look at each other.
Hotch had a faintly pleased smile.
Emily had dried her tears.
They smiled.
Hotch found himself transfixed on her face looking up at him, her eyes glittery and cheeks flushed. It was an image he would always remember and frankly wanted to see more often. He cleared his throat and looked away.
Emily followed suit and stepped away all too suddenly for the both of them. She wrapped her arms around herself as protection from the sudden cold, but she missed his arms. Her head was ducked slightly, as if in submission, and her cheeks had become redder, though from embarrassment or crying was indistinguishable. She sported a tiny, shy smile. "I guess we should, uh, get going."
"Right." He started out with her, his hand on her back.
"Hotch? Em?" Morgan was calling.
"We're here! We're alright, Morgan." Emily called back. "We're good."
"Okay." He was still uncertain, though. "Hotch, you didn't try anything--"
Emily hit Morgan on the arm, in spite of his new status. "Morgan!"
"I was just kidding!" He yelped in his defense.
"Let's go." Hotch said kindly with a smile. His two best agreed and followed close behind. Morgan was glad to be walking behind his older friend again, like he used to. Looking beside him Emily had her hands clasped by her belt and kept a shy smile on her flushed face. In all his years he had never known Emily to be shy.
"Prentiss?" He whispered. She looked up. "You alright?"
She just nodded.
"Are you blushing?"
She paused for a moment but shook her head.
Morgan quirked his eyebrows but let it go. No sense in being her overprotective friend at the moment; better to just savor it.
"I wanna get home." Hotch mused aloud.
Morgan agreed and noticed Emily speed up an amount almost invisible to the naked eye. He noticed, though, and she was slowly coming to Hotch's side, like she belonged there. Maybe she did. Derek watched slightly stunned as she unclasped her hands to brush Hotch's time to time. He sped up and walked on the other side of Hotch, pausing just enough to see her grasp Hotch's left hand. Derek smirked.
"Prentiss, are you going to be alright by yourself?" Hotch asked suavely.
"I don't know. I might want some company." She replied almost inaudibly.
Derek smiled.