Okay, so this is the first thing I've ever posted, anywhere. All thanks to Cellzo. :) This story was written for her based on a word and a definition she gave me, and then she encouraged me to make an account and post it here. So, I did. My word was: met·em·pir·i·cal (metempirical) 1. beyond or outside the field of experience.
So this is what I came up with!
Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds or any of the characters.
Emily Prentiss was capable of doing a plethora of different things. Growing up, her mother always had her learning proper etiquette, how to dress, how to walk, talk, and behave in public; not to mention all those other languages (but of course, the Ambassador would never teach her own child these things, so Emily had people who were practically strangers teaching her). Now, she could take down an UnSub without even blinking, she could create a profile in no time flat, and she knew how to make even the most troubled victims feel a little better. As the brunette looked at herself in the mirror in the restroom of the BAU, she realized that for the first time in a very long time, she had no idea what she was doing.
She'd been able to control her emotions for as long as she could remember. She had a box in the back of her mind where she would put all the hate, the anger, and the horrible she dealt with. She could seal the box and never let those feelings show. But right now, she just couldn't seem to cover up what she was feeling. She couldn't compartmentalize, and it scared her.
Just like with any other case, the team had a briefing only ten minutes prior to Emily's breakdown. The case involved a killer who was going after single mothers with children. But that wasn't what bothered Emily the most about the case. What had really gotten to her, was the UnSub taking these mothers and their children, would force the mother to take on a new identity, to become someone else to please him. All Emily could think about was Lauren Reynolds, the identity she'd taken on to take down Ian Doyle. She wasn't Declan's biological mother, she knew that. However, from the minute she met that sweet little boy, she knew she would do anything and everything to protect him, like any decent mother should. She tried for years now to successfully bury that part of her life, and just when she thought she had, it came back to haunt her again.
She was safe now, though. Declan was safe, too. Even though other people Emily cared about had been killed during the Doyle fiasco, her ultimate goal was to keep that blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy safe. Reading the case files brought back so many painful memories surrounding that time of her life. She could almost feel the team's eyes on her the entire time the case was being discussed. It was like they knew this case would get to her. She tried so hard to forget Lauren Reynolds, to forget Ian Doyle, to remind herself that she was back with the people she loved, and had been for almost two months now. She tried thinking about Declan being safe, but nothing seemed to work.
She didn't even say anything when she left the briefing room. When she could no longer hide the fact her hands were shaking, and when she knew that she would never be able to keep her voice from cracking, she just got up and left as quickly as she could. She went to the restroom, just to be alone. She hoped no one would be in there, and luckily no one was. Neither JJ nor Garcia followed her, either.
So, the always calm, always in-check FBI agent let her guard down, right there in the middle of the BAU restroom. She allowed herself to cry, and lean back against the wall, slowly sinking down to the floor, not even caring that she was sitting on the floor of a bathroom. She pulled her knees up to her chest and let every insecurity come out in small sobs.
This wasn't the first time she'd ever let her compartmentalizing skills fail her. It was, however, the first time she'd ever let it show in public. She'd always been alone, but now, she faced the risk of someone walking in at any moment, and that terrified her.
She didn't know how to talk to people, she didn't know how to let them in. Even if, for a brief moment, she revealed personal information, she always regretted it. There wasn't a single person on the planet who knew every side of Emily Prentiss, and she'd always planned on keeping it that way.
Now that she'd finally stopped herself from crying, and was attempting to fix herself up in the mirror before going back out into the BAU, she realized that maybe, for once, she wanted to tell someone. She wanted somebody to know every small detail of her life. Every time she had to say goodbye to childhood friends she never saw again because her mom got a new posting, every time she had to switch schools, every time she thought she finally fit in, only to have to move again. She wanted someone to know why she went into law enforcement, but more specifically what most would consider one of the most dangerous branches. She wanted to tell someone why she even took on the role of Lauren Reynolds, and what she did when she was supposedly dead for seven months.
Emily Prentiss was not one to talk about herself, or her emotions. She didn't know what to do. For her, this was unknown territory. She spent a few more minutes thinking and making herself look presentable again, before taking one last look at herself in the mirror before taking a deep breath, and walking out of the bathroom back into the BAU. The team must have been getting ready to get on the jet, because the only person still there was Hotch. He was in his office, more than likely talking to Jack. He had left the blinds up, and Emily could see that he was smiling. It almost made her want to smile, too.
Emily made her way over to her desk, slowly. She didn't want to go on this case. She didn't want to hear about all the women who'd been murdered because they didn't want to take on a new identity. She didn't want to hear about those poor children who'd also had to suffer the loss of life at such a young age. It reminded her too much of her past. That could have been her, that could have been Declan. Why was she still alive? Doyle could have killed her, and killed Declan. But he hadn't. They were both okay. But those other women and their children weren't... She couldn't wrap her brain around it.
"You okay?" She heard a deep voice say.
"Oh... yeah. I'm fine," Emily said, quickly taking her go-bag out from under her desk, preparing herself to get on the jet, all the while avoiding eye contact with Hotch.
"Prenti- Emily," Hotch said softly. Using Emily's first name was something that very rarely happened, so Emily knew he was serious.
"Y-yeah?" she managed to get out, looking down at her shoes, chewing on her bottom lip- a bad habit she'd never been able to break herself of.
"You don't have to work this case. You can stay here, take a few days off," He said, obviously not sure how to approach the subject.
"But I need to be on the case. I can do this, I can do this," She said, mostly for herself and not for Hotch.
"I know you can, Emily. You can do pretty much anything. But you haven't been back very long. This case is going to be difficult for you, and you don't always have to 'compartmentalize,' as you say. You're allowed to show emotion, you're allowed to be upset, and you're allowed to talk about it. All of those things are completely valid, especially for you," He said, taking Emily's go-bag off of her shoulder and sitting it back down on the ground, guiding a still shaking Emily down to her seat at her desk.
She put her elbows up on her desk and put her head in her hands. "I don't know how," she said weakly. She knew this wasn't the time nor the place to talk about herself, but she couldn't stop herself from talking.
"How to what?" He asked her, clearly concerned for her well-being.
"How to talk to people... talk about my feelings. I don't know how to do any of that," She was crying again. In the middle of the bullpen. With her boss standing right next to her. She could kick herself.
"I know," Hotch said, almost in a whisper. "I don't know how to either... but looking at you, and seeing how upset and broken you are, it makes me wonder if I looked anything like that after Haley and Foyet," He said, the latter's name still sending chills up his spine. He continued, "Maybe if I'd found somebody to talk to after all of that, someone to really talk to, I would have seemed more in control than I felt. I guess.. just, if you ever need to talk but you don't know who to go to, you can come to me. I don't think our situations are very similar, but you have to admit we've both been through a lot. Okay?" he asked, almost as if he were talking to Jack instead of Emily.
"Okay..." she agreed finally after a few moments. By now, she'd taken her head out of her hands and was looking at the man standing in front of her, really looking at him. She thought back to a couple of years ago, and how she wished they had been closer friends so she could have helped him after Haley died. He did look pretty broken after that, and she'd wanted to reach out to him, but she didn't know how. Now, here they were, and here he was reaching out to her. She thought she'd never see the day.
"Now, I want you to take this," he said, placing her go-bag in her lap, "and go home. I want you to go home and rest and not even think about this case. Can you do that?"
She thought for a moment. "It's impossible. It's all I'll think about. I need to come with you so I can actually help instead of sitting at home feeling sorry for myself!" She argued. She'd always been good at that.
"Emily," he said firmly, again using a voice he'd used on Jack, "Please. For me, just do this. I promise you we'll be okay, and as soon as we come back, if you're up to it, we can talk? Maybe not about you specifically, but... what do you say?" He asked, placing a hand gently on her shoulder, something that was almost unheard of from the usually stoic man.
"I... uh, well... okay. Yeah. We can- we can talk. When you come back." she said, picking at her already too-short nails.
"Alright," he said, removing his hand from her shoulder as she got up from her chair. "You okay to drive?"
"I'll be fine, you go catch that UnSub for me, though. Okay?" she asked, flashing him a weak smile.
"We will, I promise," he agreed, smiling back at her.
Then, he turned and walked towards the jet, and Emily packed up all her things and went in the opposite direction to her car. So, maybe there were some things she didn't know how to do. Maybe she was still scared to death about not being able to keep herself in check at work, and maybe she'd feel this way for a long time. But her conversation with Hotch had reminded her that she's not alone. She'd told Hotch that very same thing a couple of years ago as a subtle hint to him that she was there for him, and now in her time of need, he had bluntly stated she could come to him. Even if she wasn't sure what she was doing, Emily Prentiss knew with the friends she had, she would come out of this okay. For the first time since she'd been back, she'd been granted a little sliver of hope, and she liked it.