Note: My first Criminal Minds story. Spoilers at least through 06x18 "Lauren". No infringement intended. Hope you like it.
Also, the flashbacks (italics) are not all in chronological order. Probably self-explanatory but I wasn't positive about that. I know it's a little long for a oneshot but I like the flow of it better this way.
Coffee Stains
Days of absence, sad and dreary,
Clothed in sorrow's dark array, -
Days of absence, I am weary;
She I love is far away.
~Jean-Jacques Rousseau
"Hey Kid, how was the date?" Morgan asks Reid as they shuffle into the kitchenette.
Hotch is already there, staring at the growing pile of mugs in the sink, each one with a telling caramel covered ring around its base, glaring wide-eyed at him.
Reid shifts on his feet. Morgan notices. "Reid, spill."
Reid looks uncomfortable. He shifts, and stammers, "Oh it…it didn't go very well."
Hotch watches as Morgan puts an understanding hand on their young colleague's shoulder. In the past, Morgan would have laughed and made a teasing comment. But lately, they are more protective of each other. Like a chain-linked fence, the entire team has weakened by the loss of one link. They have been more protective of each other, desperately trying to hold up the rest of the structure. Morgan looks like he is deciding on the best thing to say when Reid continues.
"She told me I use facts and trivia as a diversion from interpersonal communication. She said my emotional intelligent quotient needs development."
"Was that really new information, Reid?" Morgan sounds genuine in his inquiry, but Reid's head snaps up. His already sad eyes are more wounded now.
Morgan looks apologetic immediately. "Hey, Kid, listen, I just meant…that facts thing. You have to know you prefer facts to emotions."
"On this team, we all do," Hotch says, hoping to divert any more tension. The team cannot take any more stress, but it doesn't work.
"Emily doesn't," Reid says, then almost inaudibly, "…Didn't." Hotch sighs, louder than intended, and they all close their eyes for an involuntary moment of silence.
"Hey, Hotch" Morgan tries again. His tone is clear: he is trying to change the subject, cheer them up again, but the undertone is still laced with mourning. "Hotch, man, do you know what's up with custodial services lately? They never do the dishes anymore…look at all these mugs. It looks like 2 weeks' worth. And considering we were gone last week, that is pretty disgusting."
Hotch stares at Morgan for a minute, debating whether or not these two men can handle any more so early today. But Reid has inched closer to the sink and is peering at the mugs, like a scientist inspecting new life in the rainforest.
"Custodial Services isn't responsible for washing our dirty dishes. They do floors, common surfaces, but we are responsible for our own personal property. Coffee mugs are included in that."
"But they've always done it in the past. Wouldn't they have told us about the protocol change?" Morgan slants his eyebrows in confusion.
Hotch stares at him, "No protocol change."
Morgan gives half a whistle, rolls his whole head instead of his eyes. "When'd everybody get so lazy around here, then?" Hotch does not point out Morgan's hypocrisy.
He notices Reid watching the sink, his pondering brow furrowed the way it does when he is staring at a map trying to piece together a geographical profile. The young agent's lips part as if he is ready to surmise something. Whatever Reid might have to say, whether he is about to spout off water usage statistics or a theory on the new dirty dishes mystery, Hotch cannot handle it this morning.
"Let's get to work," is all he says before leaving the kitchenette, without coffee.
It's the end of the same day now, and Reid seems to have composed what he wants to say. Hotch is on his way to Morgan's office for a report and hears Reid before he sees him, sitting in Morgan's office.
"My date…Andrea, she's a behavior psychologist. We started talking about secrets," Reid says. "I told her a little about Emily—not too many details, but anyway, I guess because of the shock of Emily's past, she assumes that we are hurt or betrayed. I don't really care about that, though, if she'd just come back. If she hadn't…" There is a pause, and Hotch feels guilty for eavesdropping from the hallway. He thinks he can hear Reid gulp. "Anyway, Andrea was asking about secrets, and it is interesting, isn't? To think about the things we hold so dear, the things we think will shame us, or get us in trouble."
"Well, Reid, that's not the only reason people keep secrets. Sometimes they do it to protect themselves…and the people they love. You know that's what Emily was doing all these years."
Hotch decides he can get the report later. Reid and Morgan need their moments together. They balance each other; lean on each other. Reid especially needs that. Hell, he thinks, who doesn't? Suddenly he is so alone. His throat closes. He feels sick.
It was 2 a.m. They had been back home for 8 hours. The case in Illinois was as bad as any other, but it wasn't worse. They caught the Unsub, and took him into custody…and there were no additional casualties, not even the Unsub. No one on the team suffered any major traumas or even minor scrapes. It was as successful as a case of their's could be.
They'd gotten home early enough that they could crank out the necessary paperwork and still have evening hours to spare. From his office, Hotch could hear Morgan badgering the rest of the team.
"Come on, Reid! You need a drink. You need to live a little, Kid!...Awe, Prentiss I know you're in. Yeah, girl."
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I had a dream about beer on the plane," he heard Emily joke.
All three of them gathered around Hotch's open door a moment later.
"Hotch! C'mon! It's beer-thirty." Emily was smiling, her eyes twinkling mischieviously.
"I don't know, I should finish up here.." Hotch hedged.
"Man, those reports can wait until the morning. And don't even pretend that it matters that tomorrow is Saturday, because we all know you don't discriminate work based on days of the week. But tonight is Friday night, the team needs to bond over something other than dead bodies. You're coming." Morgan looked as demanding as he sounded, self-assured nearly to a fault. Emily was still smiling. Reid looked mildly uncomfortable by the entire premise.
Hotch sighed and began to gather his things as JJ walked up to join them. "Oh, good!" she exclaimed, "Hotch is coming? Where's Garcia? I'll go get her."
Twenty minutes later the three men were seated around two bar tables pushed together. "Where's Dave?" Hotch wondered.
"He's entertaining a lady." Morgan shrugged.
Hotch spotted JJ and Emily arriving and tried not to stare. Then he tried not to growl as he noticed the dozen or so male patrons of the bar who were openly and actively staring.
"You know they have contests sometimes to see who can get the most bad pick-up lines?" Morgan said amusedly, watching his boss's reaction to the men ogling their female colleagues.
"Who wins?" Reid asked, sounding genuinely intrigued.
"Who wins what?" Emily said, pulling up to the table with JJ.
"The bad pick-up contest you ladies having on-going." Morgan explained.
"Always me." Emily said, and JJ nodded happily. "I'm the one who seems to hold a special place in the eyes of all the freaks and over-confident, idiot assholes. JJ attracts the nice boys."
JJ rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.
"Hey, where's my Baby Girl?" Morgan interrupted anymore talk about the pick-up game, much to Hotch's appreciation.
"Apparently, she's busy. Something about some kind of computer game convention or something. I didn't really follow, but she and Kevin are driving to Ohio tonight."
Before anyone could react, a willowy young woman with light brown hair and big eyes walked up to the table. She looked too shy to be approaching a table of strangers, but Hotch looked around and saw two more young women, both looking much…bolder, giggling and watching. The woman with them tapped Reid on the shoulder.
"Umm, excuse me. I was, um, wondering, could I buy you a drink?" She smiled shyly, and her eyes sparkled.
Reid looked confused, and almost like he was going to pass. "He'd love that!" Emily intervened. "Wouldn't you, Spencer?" Morgan was grinning, and patted Reid on the back. Hotch often felt sorry for Reid that he never had older siblings in preparation for the torment that Emily and Morgan inflicted on him.
"He can come too," the girl said, nodding towards Morgan, and then looking embarrassed, added, "for my friends." She scurried away and Morgan followed, dragging Reid along.
Emily and JJ laughed as they watched their friends enter the fray. Even Hotch chuckled. "Is this some kind of meet-market you've all brought me to?"
Emily put her hand on his wrist, and it sparked. "I'm pretty sure everywhere Morgan goes is a meet-market. Who wants beer?"
Reid and Morgan never came back to the table. Eventually JJ excused herself, saying she needed to get home for a phone date. "Hotch, do you think you can give Emily a ride home?"
Hotch surveyed Emily. They'd all been having fun, just talking like normal friends, not like colleagues who spent their lives chasing horrific murderers. He hadn't even noticed that Emily seemed to be swaying in her seat.
"I can take a cab!" Emily announced. She wasn't quite slurring, but she was close. "Seriously, it's not too far, I'll cab it. No harm done."
"No. I'll take you," Hotch agreed. Emily smiled. And, he could have sworn she winked at him.
"Great! Another beer?"
"I'm going you guys. See you…not 'til Monday, I hope." JJ waved and left in a rush, apparently in case Hotch or Emily changed their minds.
"Hotch!" Emily said, demanding attention. "Another beer?" Her smile was beautiful as she looked at him expectantly.
"No. I better not. I'm DD, remember? In fact, I should probably wait a while before I drive. You can have another one and I'll let some of this alcohol leave my system."
Emily nodded solemnly. "Perfect idea."
And then suddenly it was 2 a.m. and they were leaving the bar at last call. Emily tripped a little on the doorframe as they left. She grabbed Hotch's bicep for support and he grabbed her waist in response. She laughed a little at her own drunken clumsiness.
And then, in one motion, she sighed contentedly and hooked her arm in his at the elbow. She wasn't walking in a straight line and so he tried to pull her toward him with their linked arms. The result was the side of her breast pressed securely against him, another half an inch and her head would be resting against his shoulder. His body warmed.
They walked half a block or so without speaking, and then she stopped suddenly. "Hotch," she said. He couldn't read her tone. It was certainly playful, but also, a bit timid. It confused him because timid was the last word he would have used for her.
He raised his eyebrows in response.
"I have a secret. Do you have any secrets Hotch?"
"Probably. What is your secret?"
"Well…I have a crush on you."
Had he heard that right? But then her lips assaulted his mouth and she pushed him up against the wall lining the sidewalk. He was just gaining his bearings, and had just begun to respond to her, when she backed away as quickly as she had approached him. Her big eyes were even wider than usual.
"Oh my god."
"Uh, Emily."
"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. Did I just tell my boss that I have a crush on him and then start making out with him uninvited? Oh my god, I think I saw this on Lifetime once. My god. '
I have a secret.' I am just…"
"Emily."
She refused to look at him. Or speak to him. He didn't know what to do. Slowly, he ran his hand up her arm, over her shoulder, until he cupped her cheek. Finally she met his eyes, still mortified.
He kissed her. Softly at first, until finally she responded and he grabbed her around the waist, pushing her back up to their previous spot along the wall. They stayed that way for an infinite number of moments, devouring each other until finally they came back up for air.
He ran a hand through her hair, and she stared at him in wide-eyed wonderment. "I've always lived by the tried and true rule that 'secrets, secrets are no fun.'"
She laughed and kissed him again.
He goes to bed after midnight and wakes up before dawn, most days. He dreams of their first kiss, like a late night movie that plays on repeat. He tries hard to remember the exact feel of her perfect plump lips on his.
He's never known more than now that he was right, all those months ago, when he told her in jest that secrets are no fun.
He wants to tell the team that she is okay. More than that, he wants to be able to believe it fully. He knows that she was okay. She survived. She escaped. But he hasn't heard from her. He cannot contain the hope that she is going to call. It has only been a couple of weeks. She needs to get settled. She needs to feel secure, and then she will call him. "Aaron, I'm so sorry," she will say. "I should have told you."
He understands, of course, why she didn't. No one can understand the feeling of being hunted by a madman better than he. But because he understands that feeling, he wishes even more that she'd let him help her. He thinks now his entire life can be measured by the times he couldn't protect the most important people around him. His throat is as constricted as ever. He does not go back to sleep.
After Colorado something changed, and it was more than a couple of drunken hookups. She'd been so tender with him when he was dealing with his ear injury, and then when he couldn't protect her in that compound something snapped.
He'd made sure to save a seat for her on the plane, and somewhere over the Midwest she left the table she'd been sharing with Reid to join him. When everyone was asleep, including her, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. It was for his own comfort as much as hers. Whether she was asleep or not, he couldn't say, but she'd snuggled into him as much as the jet seats would allow.
When they got back to Quantico, he had announced they had the next three days off, and advised them all to take it. Emily had stayed near his side throughout the trip back to the office, and as everyone dispersed he put his fingertips on her elbow.
"I'm going to take you home. Do you need anything from your desk?"
"No," she whispered, staring at the point where their bodies touched.
"Wait here, then. I'll just be one minute."
When he came back she gave him a tired, but genuine smile. "When is the last time you left the bureau immediately after touch down, Agent Hotchner?"
"Quiet, you," he pretended to scold, and he put his hand on the small of her back while they made their way to the parking garage.
That night, when she let him into her apartment, he'd felt shy for the first time in years. This didn't have the same impulsiveness as the first time, or the two times between that time and this. Tonight felt calculated. It had been so long since he had dated someone. He stood just inside the door, standing awkwardly, waiting for her to invite him in. She walked about six steps ahead of him before she noticed he wasn't behind her. When she looked back and saw him, waiting for his invitation, she smiled. It was the first time he noticed that the look in her eyes was more than concern, or respect, or even lust. She went back to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. He wrapped his arms around her back in return, cautious of where her bruises might be worst. They clung to each other. Finally she stepped back—he would not have ever let go—just far enough to look at him. The look in her eyes was the same, and when he saw it up close, he felt his whole chest swell, like someone had blown up a balloon just under his sternum. She put an arm around his waist and walked him into the kitchen.
"Coffee?" she asked. She sounded almost professional, the tone of her voice not quite matching the look on her face. "Or something to eat? Are you hungry?"
"If you're having something, I will too. Otherwise, I'm fine." He stood a few feet away and watched her piddle around the kitchen, apparently contemplating her options. He watched as she stood on tiptoes to see the top of a shelf, and couldn't help but appreciate the tone in her legs and ass. Even the way her back arched was beautiful. Unable to help himself, he went up behind her and enveloped her, his arms around her middle, his face in her hair.
"What are you looking for?" he mumbled.
She leaned into him, allowing him to support her weight. She rested her head against him and sighed. "I have no idea, honestly."
"Bed, then?" he asked, flinching slightly when he sounded more enthusiastic than he'd meant to.
"Bed, then," she agreed.
They didn't disengage. He guided her from behind towards the stairs, and then up them. She turned when she was on the fifth step, he on the fourth, and rested her elbows on his shoulders, his face deliciously close to her cleavage. Her fingertips flirted with his hair. He breathed deeply, wanting to inhale all of her.
She tugged a little on his hair to get his attention, forcing eye contact. "Hotch…is it okay if we don't…I don't know what you're expecting tonight, and I do want you to be here, but I'm exhausted, and frankly, most of my body hurts like hell…so it's not that I don't…but…"
He put a hand on her jaw to quiet her. "Emily, it's fine. It's perfectly understandable. I came here just to make sure you were all right. I didn't have any expectations." Hopes, sure, but the way she relaxed against him, for the third time in five minutes, was enough for now.
"I'd still like you to say, if you want to," she said, nearly whispering. Her fingers resumed their dance in his hair.
"Bed, then," he said.
He checks in on Jack more now than he has in over a year. It's role reversal. The two most important people in Jack's life had been Haley and Hotch, so when Haley was taken from him suddenly, Jack had needed the solace of Hotch's bed, filling two spaces instead of one. Jack had slept with him every night for weeks. Now Hotch understands that, even more so than he did then, and he seeks Jack out. He needs reassuring that even though one of his most important is gone, the other remains. Every night, and again early every morning, he sits on the floor next to Jack's bed, just to be next to him. He doesn't feel comfortable climbing into the child-sized bed with the boy, so he sits on the floor and watches his son sleep peacefully.
After a few days, Jack asked where Emily was, when she was going to start coming over to play again. Hotch told him Emily was on vacation far, far away, but that she would be back again someday. There is already a small pile in a corner of Hotch's desk where Jack is saving the drawings he wants to show Emily when she gets home from her trip.
Hotch has no idea if he handled that situation correctly. He couldn't stomach the idea of asking his son to lie for him—for them—but he also couldn't lie to his son. Still, there is this nagging worry that sometime Jack will see Dr. Reid and talk about what will happen when Emily comes home. Hotch has no intention of telling his son that yet another important female influence in their lives has gone to Heaven, but still, there is safety to consider. Secrets really are no fun.
Eventually he called JJ to get her advice. It was an act of Providence that the only person who knew about his relationship with Emily, and was the only person who knew Emily's current situation, was also the only other person close to him who had children. JJ had reassured him that the line about vacation was the best course of action. She promised him the likelihood of the Jack-divulging-the-Secret scenario was slim. She used that maternal tone that she got sometimes; telling him everything would be okay. He doubts that, still.
There was a knock on his office door, and he had no doubt who it would be. Paperwork days were always trying for Emily. She wasn't as hyperactive as Reid or Morgan, but she didn't have the bureaucratic side that Hotch did. She promised him more than once that she would never seek a high-ranking position, simply because there wasn't enough action.
"I need my action, Hotch," she would say seductively. It would drive him wild. There were more than a few occasions where he almost broke all possible rules and had his way with her on his desk. Almost.
Still, at least two or three times a day she would find excuses to come to his office, just to remind him that she always wore her lowest cut tops on paperwork days. Boredom was an aphrodisiac for Agent Prentiss.
He looked up at the knock, and there she was. She kept one hand on the doorframe and leaned forward in such a way that emphasized her incredible figure. "Hotch?" she said, using her "Prentiss Voice," she loved to call it. Prentiss was harder than Emily. "Hotch, seriously, it's pretty late. There's no way you have to stay here all night. I'm sure there are things you could be doing at home."
She was still standing in the doorway, so he played along. "You worry too much, Prentiss. If you keep mothering me I'm going to start calling you JJ."
She shrugged. "There are worse things."
She let herself in and shut the door then. "I'm serious, though. It's after 7. If I take my top off can we go soon?"
He chuckled. "Soon," he promised. She knew how uncomfortable office impropriety made him, and used threats of it to her advantage whenever she could.
"Not good enough!" and she crossed her arms and grabbed the hem of her sweater. He saw a porcelain belly button before he backed down. The blinds were open, after all.
"All right! All right. We'll leave in 10. Are you hungry? Let's go out."
"I'm ravenous," she said, her voice sultry enough to make him fidget. Then, back in her Emily voice, "I'll meet you at your car…in 5."
Ten minutes later, he was at his SUV. Her car was on the other side, the view of it blocked by his vehicle's height. She wasn't at his driver's side, so he walked around, assuming she decided to take her own. And there she was, standing against his SUV with her arms crossed, propping up her breasts to show the full display of cleavage allowed by today's wonderful paperwork sweater. Her left leg was propped up also, resting on the hood of her car. Paperwork days also generally involved skirts.
"There you are, finally. I've been waiting."
"I said ten minutes."
"I said five."
He rolled his eyes and went to her, unable to wait. He wrapped one arm low on her back, and let the other hand roam freely up and down the thigh that she left waiting there for him. "This is a breach of protocol, Agent Prentiss," he scolded, just before he kissed her.
They were fixed around each other, making out like teenagers, in the Bureau parking lot. He knew it was a terrible idea, but he couldn't remember why when she had been taunting him all day. Her mouth and hands were indicating to him that she didn't think it was a terrible idea at all.
He lifted her a little so that he could have easier access to her exposed collarbone. She wrapped her leg around his for better support, leaving her suspended in the air, her weight supported between Hotch and the side of the SUV. He stopped thinking, only concentrating on what their bodies were doing to each other.
"Oh! Oh god! Seriously…you guys?"
He jumped off her and watched her blink hard to refocus, then looked to the source of the intruding voice.
"That is just not something I needed to see on my way to my car this evening."
Hotch cleared his throat, and shuffled a little, willing his very active body to relax.
"Uh, JJ," he said.
"Surprise!" Emily said, pulling at her skirt. She had a mix of guilt and amusement on her face.
"I knew it," JJ sassed to her girlfriend. "I knew something was going on when you said he was absolutely fantastic but refused to show me a picture."
Hotch raised an eyebrow and looked at Emily. He couldn't tell if her cheeks were flushed from their endeavors or if she was actually blushing.
"Thank you for that," Emily muttered.
"And thank you for this charming mental image. If the baby doesn't keep me up all night, having you guys going at it in the parking garage engrained behind my eyelids definitely will."
"Ha. Okay," Emily said, clearly no longer at all amused by her friend's new discovery.
"JJ, I thought you had gone home for the night…"Hotch excused.
"I shut down my office for the night. I was talking to Garcia."
"Oh." Hotch nodded.
"Speaking of Garcia, you guys better hope she wasn't watching me walk out through the security cameras. They're all over this garage, you know." With that, JJ smiled and kept walking. "See you guys in the morning!" she called over her shoulder.
Hotch felt his eyes go wide. Of course there were cameras. Cameras to make sure no one tried to break into the FBI, and to catch unit chiefs necking with their subordinate girlfriends on company property.
Over his shoulder, he heard and felt Emily break out into a glorious, raucous laughter. "Let's go," she said, trying to breathe.
Her laughter was infectious, and by the time he walked around to the other side of his car, he had calmed down. Maybe no one would see that tape.
"Maybe we could bribe Garcia with candy and video games and get her to erase that particular feed," Emily suggested happily, reading his mind. She rubbed his leg for good measure.
He wiggled his eyebrows at her as he pulled out of his spot. "So, I'm absolutely fantastic?"
This time he was certain she was blushing.
Jack wakes up early, possibly sensing his Daddy's presence. He climbs out of bed and directly onto Hotch.
"Morning, buddy," Hotch says.
"Morning, Daddy," Jack says, sleep still all over his voice and face.
Hotch hugs the boy close, and without questioning it, his son clings to him. He stands, taking Jack with him. He carries him into the kitchen and sets him down on a bar stool. He goes about making coffee, feeling Jack's eyes on him. Without looking he can picture the curiosity on the little one's face. He turns.
"Are you missing Emily, Daddy?" Hotch hears this like a shove to the chest. He has to step back for a moment.
"What makes you say that, bud?"
"You look sad. And Emily's vacation is taking a long time. I bet you miss her."
Hotch has to shut his eyes, just for a moment. His love for this child is crushing, and the brutal honesty of his son's intuition is overwhelming to boot.
He nods, unable to speak at first. "I do, Jack. I do miss Emily, very much. Daddy tries not to be sad about it, but it is hard sometimes."
Jack stands up on his stool, raising his arms for his father to collect him. Hotch is there in a second. His large, long arms envelop the child. "It's okay, Daddy." Jack says into Hotch's neck. "I miss her too."
He moves the boy to look at his face. Emily and Jack were shy around each other at first. In the beginning, Hotch thought it seemed as though Jack thought of Emily as something that his father loved, like a child loves a pet or a favorite toy, but took no personal stock in her. Emily, despite her love and desire for children, always seemed more tense around Jack, concerned about personal boundaries, and appropriate positions. But, over time they had grown closer, until finally it was clear they cared deeply for each other. At the very least they were friends. Are, he corrects himself. They are still friends.
He smiles at Jack for his admittance. Jack smiles back, reassured that his father will be okay. "Maybe if you ask her to, she can come home early!" the boy happily suggests.
Hotch doesn't think he can take much more. "Maybe, buddy, maybe she will," is all he can say.
"You guys, seriously, I think this might be the single most suburban and domestic moment of my life," Emily announced. She and JJ were returning from JJ's kitchen to the dining room, four coffee mugs in tow.
JJ laughed. "I think that says more about your life than it does about this moment, Emily."
Emily shrugged and sat down next to Hotch, scooting close so she could rest her arm on his leg.
"Well, it's pretty great, anyway," she made a face at her friend. "Dinner at my parents' always had to involve more than two couples." She was interrupted by the sound of a child squealing. "And it certainly did not involve anyone under the age of say, sixteen. I don't know, I just…could get used to this."
Emily and JJ had decided that they could make the most of JJ's recent transfer to the Department of Defense. Making the most of it meant double dates, where they didn't feel obligated to invite the whole team, and thus didn't feel obligated to pretend Emily and Hotch were just co-workers. Tonight they had been invited to Will and JJ's home for dinner, so that no one would have to deal with a babysitter or children in a crowded restaurant.
They only slipped into office talk once or twice, retelling the story of the newlywed Bonnie and Clyde wannabes, and sharing a prank Rossi and Morgan had recently orchestrated against Reid. For the most part, they talked about parenting, or shopping, or Emily's new cat.
The squealing came again, followed by a stern five-year old, "Henry! No!"
Hotch squeezed the hand rubbing his leg, sighed, and stood up, at the same time that JJ stood. "Better see what the noise is about."
All four grown-ups made their way to the family room where Jack was sitting on his knees, gathering all the crayons that were no longer in the 96-count crayon box. He had them piling near the paper in front of him, far out of the reach of the 20 month old, who was bouncing up and down and happily sucking on the violet-blue.
"Emily," Jack pouted as they entered, "I was making you a picture but Henry messed it up." She looked down to see a picture that she assumed was supposed to be of her and Jack, but it was now obscured by an abstract mess of the offending purplish color.
She bent down and sat on her knees next to him. "Oh, that's ok, sweetheart. Now you just get to make me a new one. Can I keep this one anyway?"
He looked up at her with his big puppy dog eyes, his mouth a straight-line of concentration while he decided. Then he nodded apprehensively. "Okay. I can do another one. But you still want this one too?"
"Of course! You made it, didn't you?"
He nodded again, happily this time. She ruffled his hair. They beamed at each other. The scene made Hotch's chest swell. He felt grateful that although they were thrown together because of him, his two favorite people were clearly so fond of each other. He tore his eyes away from them when he felt a soft hand rub a circle on his back. His eyes met JJ's and she gave him a knowing smile.
Jack fell asleep almost as soon as they started the drive home from JJ's. Cautious because he was driving, Hotch stole quick glances at Emily, whose face was turned away from him while she gazed, unmoving, out the window. Her hand was holding his tightly in the middle console of the SUV. After fifteen minutes of her silence, Hotch took their entwined hands and nudged her leg with them to get her attention. She shook her head as if startled before looking at him. They pulled up to a stoplight, so he took a minute to search her face.
"What's going on?" he asked.
Her mouth formed a half smile, and there was love in her eyes, but also something else. She looked worried. Afraid.
She stared at him for a moment before she answered. "This, my time with the BAU, and now with you guys, this might be the first time in my life that I've ever really been happy." Her eyes were glassy.
His love for her seemed impossible. He smiled and rubbed his thumb over the top of her hand. "Good, because I intend to keep you around."
She exhaled, shutting her eyes, and squeezing their joined hands, before turning her attention out towards the night.
Hotch leaves for work as soon as Aunt Jessica arrives to pick up Jack. It is an hour before he would normally leave, two hours before his team will arrive at the office, but he is anxious.
He arrives to a dark and deserted Behavioral Analysis Unit. As always, his eyes are drawn to her desk, which has still not been cleared out, whether because of homage or because of denial, no one will admit.
He proceeds to his office, setting his briefcase down and settling at his desk. He automatically pulls out the report he left unfinished the evening before, and then steals another glance at the desk waiting in the bullpen below. It's a nearly reflexive tradition. He had grown so accustomed to looking for her through those blinds, that he still does it at least a dozen times a day. And each time, there is a small part of a second where he really expects to find her there, and a small part of a second where his heart breaks again.
He decides this day will not be productive if he waits until the rest of the team arrives to make coffee. So he makes his way back through the bullpen, soaking in another look at the desk as he goes.
When he reaches the kitchenette, he realizes he has forgotten his mug in his office. After starting the brew, he goes to the cabinet to search for an extra. The cupboard is bare, so he eyes the sink. It is filled to capacity, even more than yesterday. He sighs, turns on the water, and rolls up his sleeves.
While he is adding dishsoap to the rising water, his phone vibrates in his pocket. When he takes it out, the screen flashes Unknown Number. He answers.
"Hotchner."
"Aaron?" Her voice is nervous, and soft, but it is her.
His breath catches. He struggles for his voice, but quickly he finds a whisper. "Emily?"
She sobs into the phone, and he does the same. He sprints from the kitchenette—past her desk—to his office. "I'm here, Emily, I'm here," he says in the process, but it hurts to speak, hurts to push the words through his swollen throat.
"Oh, Aaron," she is still crying. Crying is rare for her, and he wants so badly to hold her. "Oh…oh, Aaron, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean…I should have told you. I wanted to, I just…you and Jack and the team, I just…I was trying…"
"Don't, Emily, please, don't. We understand. I understand. I know why you didn't tell me. I don't want you to apologize."
She sniffles. "I miss you." In his mind he can see her blinking hard, once, and turning her gaze to the nearest window. He appreciates the sense-memory that her voice creates. He appreciates that she is so vividly emblazoned in his mind's eye.
"I miss you too. Where are you?"
She pauses. "No." He imagines her shaking her head, her hair brushing over her shoulders. "I'm sorry, I can't. In fact, I'm going to switch cities today, and get a new phone. But, it was worth it. I had to hear your voice. I had to know that you're okay. So, please, how are you? How is everyone? Tell me you're okay. Please."
"Everyone is…we all miss you. The team has been busy." He won't tell her how broken his team still his, about Morgan's anger, or Reid's sadness, or how Garcia is a little quieter than she used to be.
"How's Jack? Is he…" she makes a choking sound in the phone. The worry in her voice makes him ache.
"Jack is alright. Soccer is starting up soon, so that's got him excited. And, his teacher introduced him to watercolors last week, which has been a good distraction for him. Although, to be honest, I think he still prefers the crayons. He's keeping a stack of pictures he made for you in a corner on my desk. He's saving them so he can give them to you when you come home…from vacation."
She doesn't respond. He can picture her lip quivering, and then can see her biting it to make it stop.
In the background, he thinks he hears a train whistle, and then the sound of an automatic message system in one of the romance languages.
"Emily, we're going to catch him. I am going to catch him. I'm going to bring you home."
She sniffles again, but her voice has a hint of the mischief he has missed so dearly. "You see? I knew I fell in love with a big, strong special agent man for a reason."
Her words almost make him smile. "I promise. We are going to get him. I love you."
He hears the automatic message again, and he hears her inhale. "I love you, too. Give Jack a kiss for me. And look after Reid. I worry about him. And take care of yourself. I worry about you, too."
"I will. I love you," he repeats.
"I'll see you soon, Hotch." She hangs up.
It was late. Hotch lost track of time, trying hard to finish the final report from their most recent case so that it wouldn't nag the back of his mind all weekend. Finally, convinced the details were all included, the explanations were thorough, and the grammar was perfect, he closed the file and looked out through the window to the bullpen. He frowned when he saw it was completely empty. He had expected at least one specific agent to still be there.
He packed his bag and made his way into the BAU common area, looking for her. Finally he noticed the light of the kitchenette and made his way in.
She was standing over the sink, shaking her hips to music that was not playing, elbows deep in sudsy water.
"Prentiss."
She looked up, startled, then gave him the kind of smile he only got in private. "Hey there, finally finish the Kansas City file?"
He nodded. "What are you doing?"
"Oh, I'm almost done." She returned her focus to the sink.
"That's fine, but what are you doing?"
"I'm waiting for you," she informed him over her shoulder.
"Okay. You're waiting for me. What are you doing with the sink?"
"I'm washing coffee mugs. They've been piling up."
"Emily," Hotch sighed. "You don't have to do that."
She shook her head. "I don't mind."—He tried to interrupt but she cut him off—"Although, you know, Hotch, I know exactly how many people there were in the office today. I counted. And this sink had five more mugs than there were people here to drink from them. And, JJ is drinking water only right now, and Rossi brings his own premium blend in with a travel mug, so that means seven people got a clean mug for their refill. Either that or one horrible bastard had eight cups in eight different mugs."
"Yes, people are inconsiderate. I'll send a memo. But you really—"
"Hotch," she cut him off again, this time turning to give him a playful smile, her tone reassuring and full of love, "I really don't mind. It's soothing in a way. And besides, the JJ incident last week taught us that you never know who's still hanging around this place, so I'm not just going to sit at my desk and stare longingly at your office door. My work is done, so what else am I supposed to do while I wait for my big, strong special agent man to take me home?"
He cannot breathe. His eyes are blurred to blindness. He has to brace his palms on the edge of his desk for fear that his legs will collapse beneath him. He stands there, with his head down, seething. He wants to drop everything and search the entire European Union until he finds her. He wants to hunt and kill Ian Doyle, consequences and codes be damned. He wants to travel back to last month, and make Emily tell him what is bothering her, and then take her and Jack and run away to a safe haven. He wants her to come home to him. A tear drops and his vision refocuses. His sight settles on the coffee mug he didn't wash yesterday, sitting smugly on his desk. His chest is heavy with rage. He grabs the offending cup and hurls it across the office. It thuds against the wall, leaving a hole in the dry wall, and then it tumbles down, bounces off the top of the couch, landing on a cushion, unharmed. He can see the ringed coffee stain staring at him, mocking him from its place on the seat.
Defeated, he sits in his desk chair, and stares entranced at the new hole in his wall while his heart beat returns to normal. After several minutes he pulls the Doyle file from its hiding place at the bottom of a stack. He has tried not to let it consume him the way Foyet did, but hearing her voice, imagining how sad she looked all alone in that foreign station, he knows it is time. He isn't dramatic enough to believe he cannot live without her or she without him, but it doesn't mean he wants to try. Every thing he does in every moment of his day reminds him of her. He wants her back. He does not want to rely on the hope of a phone call, or the false promise of an extended vacation's end; he does not want to live without her. It is time to bring her home.
In true love the smallest distance is too great, and the greatest distance can be bridged. ~Hans Nouwens