This isn't my first story on this site, but it is the first from this username. Hope you guys like it It's to the song "White Houses" by Vanessa Carlton. I seriously suggest listening to this song, it's amazing. Well… here goes! DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, except a computer and my mind. "White Houses" belongs to Vanessa Carlton, and "Criminal Minds" Belongs to its respective owners/creators.
Enjoy!
White Houses
Crashed on the floor when I moved in
This little bungalow with some strange new friends
Stay up too late, and I'm too thin
We promise each other it's till the end
Raven haired and destined to prove herself, Emily Prentiss dropped the final pen into the little cup on her new desk now holding countless others, and looked around at the new room. She felt like she had every time they moved towns, cities, countries, when she was a kid; terrified, excited, nervous, a various cocktail of emotions that took over Emily against her will every time she was somewhere different, in a new home. And this was her new home now, the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI.
There was a whole new family to get used to, as well. There was Derek Morgan, the obvious Alpha Male of the pack, protective older brother, and serious player with some trust issues. Then there was Penelope Garcia, the technical analyst and unofficial surrogate mother of the team who appeared to take care of everyone and everything, whether they asked or not. Jennifer Jearau (JJ, she had been told to call her) the team's Communications Liaison who seemed almost too sweet to be natural, but she was also nice and friendly and dedicated to her work. David Rossi was hard to characterize into anything, because he just seemed to have so many different personalities; the loyal friend, the workaholic, the protector over new people, the funny guy, when needed to be, he was everything at once. There was also Dr. Spencer Reid, whom she learned had three PhDs, an I.Q. of 187, an Eidetic memory, and could read up to 20,000 words per minute, but he was also naive, sweet, and socially awkward, and all around adorable.
And then, last but most certainly not least,there was SSA Aaron Hotchner, her stoic new team leader, who was probably the one on the team-, the only one on the team- that she couldn't figure out. She knew from reading each of their files (Access to those files that she wasn't really supposed to have…) that he was divorced, and had a young son, but neither of that really explained why he was so solid, so sullen faced all the time. She could understand more than most about protecting your heart and wearing it under armor, or compartmentalizing, but she just didn't understand how Aaron Hotchner (Hotch, he'd told her to call him, she'd have to remember that) could be so… detached.
But pretty soon she learned not to attempt to profile the other team members and just accept them for who they were. Besides, she didn't have very much time to profile them when they were out every other night, in different cities and states, finding and figuring out the people that no one else could. On the nights when there were no cases, and it seemed that they all needed some time to themselves, she would find herself back at her small apartment, dust lining the tables, the fridge empty except for spoiled milk and a can of soup, and most times she'd just crash into bed and fall asleep, and hope her dreams, as they so often and unfortunately did recently, would not include Aaron Hotchner.
Now we're spinning empty bottles, it's the five of us
With pretty eyed boys girls die to trust
I can't resist the day
No, I can't resist the day
It surprised her how close the entire team was, closer than anywhere else she'd ever worked. They would go to each other's houses on the weekends when they didn't have cases, and it appeared that they were always there for each other when one of them needed it, always up for the challenge of forgetting the horrors of their every day job.
It was unspoken at the BAU, she learned, that after each particularly difficult case, if they were all up for forgetting, they would go out for drinks, no matter where they were. Morgan and Reid would show up first, sitting at the bar, and ordering drinks for everyone: A Martini for Hotch, always shaken, a Fuzzy Navel for Garcia, on the rare cases she was with them, a soda for Reid, because he didn't like to drink, Gin and Tonic for JJ, and a beer for Morgan. Emily insisted that she order her own drinks when she arrived there.
Then Hotch would arrive, and the three men would sit in silence for a while, because they knew that if either of them opened their mouths, mentions of the case would pour out, and it was neither the time nor the place to be thinking about what they cannot change. So they would sit silently, side by side, until JJ and Rossi arrived, side by side, chattering, slowly pulling Morgan and Hotch into the conversations. Emily was the last one to get there most times, because she didn't carpool like the rest, because by the end of the night, she was always sober enough to ensure she got home.
They would drink for hours, all talking and laughing and forgetting together, until they would all trickle off, JJ and Rossi would drive back to the hotel or home together, each one taking turns at being the designated driver. Hotch would drive home alone, always alone. Morgan and Reid would drive home together, and Emily would drive herself, or Garcia would drive her, whenever she was with them. It had been that way since the first time they all went out together, and the pattern never differed.
So after a particularly difficult case for all of them, it was Emily that let slip the name of the bar she would be headed off to. The 101 Pub, she'd heard was a nice place, and had decided to go. Without a single word between them, they all agreed to meet there, and the pattern continued, each of them wanting so much to be left alone to his or her thoughts, but none of them wanting to be that alone.
Jenny screams out and it's no pose
'Cause when she dances she goes and goes
Beer through the nose on an inside joke
And I'm so excited, I haven't spoken
And she's so pretty, and she's so sure
Maybe I'm more clever than a girl like her
"Hey, Hotch." Morgan chuckled slyly, putting his drink down on the bar top. "I'm pretty sure that bartender's been giving you some sweet eyes." Hotch shoots Morgan a look, and he backs off, chuckling to himself, before grabbing Reid by the arm ("Come on, Pretty Boy, this is our song!") and leading him off to a more secluded corner of the dance floor. JJ laughs and she drags Rossi away to find a dartboard, betting him that she has better aim than he ever had.
Emily is left sitting a seat away from Hotch, too close for her comfort, her drink in her hand, and her stomach fluttering, frowning a bit as Hotch steals a glance towards the aforementioned bartender when he thinks no one is looking. Immediately her mind starts heading into overdrive, pointing out all the reasons that bartender (that whore, a voice in the back of her head corrected) would not be suitable for Hotch, and how she, Emily, would be so much better for him. She understands the job, she's friendly, and every part of her body is natural, unlike, she assumes skeptically, about six parts of that woman.
She mentally curses herself for feeling whatever it is she's feeling right now. Love? God, she hopes not. It's been her experience and study that love just plain sucks. Jealousy? Probably, she reasons, before she shoves those feelings deep down, into the shadows and cobwebs of her heart, where no one will ever see them, turns pointedly away from the bartender when she refills Emily's drink, and continues in amiable conversation with Hotch about everything and nothing in particular.
The summer's all in bloom
The summer is ending soon
It's alright and it's nice not to be so alone
But I hold on to secrets in white houses
She learned that there were things you just didn't talk about at the BAU. Nightmares, Hotch's divorce, Reid and Morgan's not-so-secret relationship, Rossi's new wife, none of it had to be mentioned, so it wasn't. But these things were ever present, and it was a mark of how strong the team was that they kept these secrets for each other.
When Strauss starts questioning her about the team, she knows better than to spill everything they'd entrusted her with. There were rules she followed, her own rules. Use simple Yes and No answers, so she wouldn't let anything slip. Make eye contact; don't blink, to show that you're in control as well. No, Agent Strauss, no inter-bureau relationships to speak of. Yes, Agent Strauss, we're all following the proper protocol. No, everything is going good. Yes, Agent Hotchner is a very good team leader.
But she wouldn't give anything away, not if she could help it. It made her feel special, as childish as it sounds. Before, it had always been her keeping secrets, now people trusted her, more importantly, Hotch trusted her, and it was more than she could have wanted.
Maybe I'm a little bit over my head
I come undone at the things he said
And he's so funny in his bright red shirt
We were all in love and we all got hurt
It just didn't seem fair. Emily slammed her bag down in the car seat next to her. It just wasn't fair. The man drove her crazy, always being so together, intact, when she fell apart at the sight of him, at the sound of his voice, of the rarely seen smile, of the random touched to her arm or shoulder, it just didn't seem fair.
She'd done this before, fallen head over heels for a man, and each time it made her feel like a giddy teenager, and she hated herself for it. She didn't like emotions running so freely through her mind, she liked to organize and shut down, understand the lines between business and personal, between friendship and companionship, between love and whatever the hell this was.
They were in Pompton Lakes, New Jersey, on a case. Damn serial killers never rest, she remembered thinking bitterly as she snapped her phone shut. Calming down enough to dial again, she'd called the headquarters and got JJ, and had found out the Unsub's name. She'd also found out that Hotch had already left. Holding her breath for a moment, she hesitated and dialed the familiar speed dial. Ring... Ring... Ring... Ring.... "You've reached Aaron Hotchner, and I'm not available to take your call right n-"
Hotch wasn't answering. Hotch, who had gone to check on a supposed witness. Hotch, who didn't know what they knew; that the 'witness' was really the Unsub.
Hotch, whom she was more worried about then she'd like to admit.
She cursed aloud this time before jumping in the backseat, Reid taking the passenger seat, Morgan slamming the door and turning on the ignition, speeding to the scene.
They picture they find is not a pretty one; blood is pooled around the latest victim lying in the grass, the Unsub and Hotch nowhere to be found. She leads the team into the house, not letting her voice betray how scared she was when she announced that the FBI was entering the building.
She begrudgingly let Morgan pass her to kick the door down, a talent she'd never managed to perfect, but regained her lead without question from the others. Immediately she saw movement further into the room and spun on her heel, gun pointed out, arms straight.
The Unsub had a gun facing Hotch, who was laying on the floor, propped up on his elbows, a cut on his head bleeding slowly. He glanced towards Emily, warning her to be careful.
"FBI, Freeze." She demanded, cursing the slight tremble in her voice that didn't go unnoticed by the team leader. "Put the gun down!" The Unsub smiled at her, switching the safety off the gun, pointing it more directly at Hotch.
"You shoot me," He said in a raspy voice, smiling eerily "I'll shoot him." Emily gulped and blinked, trying to calm her nerves.
"You don't want to do this." Beside her, Morgan spoke to the Unsub in low tones. "Put the gun down." The Unsub looked at him once, and then a shot fired.
"Hotch!" Emily called, rushing to her boss, who was bleeding from the shoulder, while Morgan ran to the Unsub, Emily's shot hitting him square in the chest.
"I'm fine, I'm fine." He calmed her, propping himself up, one hand reaching across to where the bullet grazed his shoulder. Emily looked over her head to Morgan, who shook his head, standing from the unmoving Unsub. She turned back to Hotch, who raised a hand to her cheek.
"I'm alright, Emily." It was then she realized a lone tear had slipped down her cheek, and she turned away, angry that her emotions had betrayed her yet again.
I sneak into his cars cracked leather seat
The smell of gasoline in the summer heat
Boy, we're going way too fast
It's all too sweet to last
She doesn't know what brought her to his hotel room, only two over from hers, at two in the morning. She thought of a thousand excuses to use on the walk there: she couldn't sleep, she needed someone to talk to, her room was too cold, she'd had a nightmare, her coffee maker was broken, but they all left her mind as he opened the door; he had not been asleep either.
He had welcomed her into the room without question, and she saw the TV was on, some movie playing on the screen that she recognized but didn't know the name of. She sat down on the side of the bed, and he sat next to her, not saying anything for a moment, before he moved his hand to lie on top of hers.
She didn't pull away, in fact, she leaned into him a little bit, and he brought his other hands around her shoulders gently.
"It's ok." He whispered against her hairline. "I'm here, I'm alright." His hands moved in gentle circles on her back, warming her, making her feel safe, and it was too much to handle.
She would not cry, she would not cry, she would not- damn it.
"You almost died!" She accused against his shirt. She felt his arms move to wrap around her, holding her together, and she hated it. She hit her fists against his shoulders, pounding and crying and yelling and whispering all at once, and he took it all in stride, holding tight onto her, should she break apart.
It's alright and I put myself in his hands
But I hold on to secrets in white houses
Love, or something ignites in my veins
And I pray it never fades in white houses
"We shouldn't be doing this." She finds the breath to muster, the slight stubble on his face tickling her neck. She tries to sound thoughtful, but her fingers have a mind of their own and are entangling in his hair, and she feels his hands press against the small of her back, his heat pressing hard against her hip, and there's really not much she can do. One of his hands move under her thigh, bringing her closer, and it's then that she knows there's nothing she can do, but what scares her most is how much she wants this as well.
"No," he mumbles against her ear, his breath hot, his voice deep and sensuous. "We shouldn't." and he kisses her again, gently but firmly regaining power. All of a sudden she's hyper-aware of everything around her; the cool air against her back as, his fingers slipping under the fabric of her shirt, the voice in her head shouting indignantly about how she shouldn't do this, should not doing this.
She feels her knees buckle back against something, and as she collapses onto a soft comforter, she vaguely she wonders how they got to the bed. Her thoughts then turn to the man currently ravishing her neck and collarbone with kisses, and she sits in bliss, calling out his name every few moments, and slowly he builds her to the edge, whispering terms of endearment against her skin, making her feel so safe that she wants to cry.
He shifts slightly so he kiss her fully on the mouth as his hands roam her body, under thin scraps of material slowly leaving her body and over curves and smooth skin, and she finds herself calling for him, telling him she needs him. She's calling him by his first name now, no boundaries that work provided, all strings were loose, and it wasn't clear that who was calling the shots now.
He lavishes her with kisses before pulsing into her, over and over again, and she cries out, emotions threading through her and she feels like she's on fire. She hears him slowly cry her name and it's all too much, too much for her to take. She unravels in his arms as he gasps out her name one more time, saying everything and nothing at all, and she falls into bliss.
My first time, hard to explain
Rush of blood, oh, and a little bit of pain
On a cloudy day, it's more common than you think
He's my first mistake
She's lying in his bed, his arm is around her waist, and her heart is racing fast. She can barely breathe. She tries to stay still, calm, and focus on things that are real, like the nurse used to teach her when she would have panic attacks, focus on real, tangible things. The television that's still flickering images that don't comprehend in her mind, the hotel alarm clock blinking at her, the purse- her purse- in the corner, the man sleeping next to her, the sound of Aaron- Hotch, her mind screams at her, not Aaron- breathing, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, and no, no, no, this just isn't working.
This wasn't right, she thinks, this was the side effect of a bad case, of a lonely night; it wasn't real. It wasn't how it was supposed to be. He was supposed to fall for her, and they were supposed to beat the odds and somehow keep a relationship with this damn job, and they were supposed to be everything she'd ever wanted, and it was all turning into a list of what this was supposed to be, but what it was.
To put it into cold, hard, wake up hung-over in the morning facts: He had no feelings for her, they would each wind up going their separate ways, and she would be left to patch up her own broken heart- again. It wasn't as pretty as the ideal 'Should-Have-Been' picture she'd painted in her head, but it was reality.
She wants to run. It's her first instinct, the only thing she can process. She just slept with her boss, the boss that she's in love with but can't tell. She doesn't know what to do, and all of a sudden, the compartmentalization thing isn't working out. Everything floods into her, in that single instant she feels everything; she wants to cry, she wants to scream, she wants to laugh, she wants to stay in Aaron- Hotch-'s arms forever, but the need to run is overpowering her.
So she quietly slips out of bed, grabs her clothes, and dresses in the shadow of the sun that's looming into the sky, running across the hall to her own hotel room, where JJ is sound asleep on the other bed, clad in sweats with an open book still in her hand, as if the world as she knew it had not just been changed forever.
Maybe you were all faster than me
We gave each other up so easily
These silly little wounds will never mend
I feel so far from where I've been
JJ was the first to leave. She was pregnant with her second child, a girl this time, and they were moving, back to New Orleans, to be closer to Will's family. The whole team was devastated, but would never show it.
Morgan had given her a tight hug, while she sniffled into his shoulder, and told her that if they needed anything, anything, to give him a call and he'd be there in a heartbeat. Reid looked as if he was going to cry, but JJ promised to visit him as much as they could, but Reid said no, it was alright, because he would go visit them, and JJ hugged him close and said that she'd miss her unofficial brother. Garcia cried openly, and JJ said that she'd call every day, and Garcia made her promise to send oodles of pictures of Henry, which JJ agreed to with a small smile.
Rossi clapped her on the shoulder as they hugged, and said they'd never find a better liaison, and she joked, asking if he was tearing up, which, once she looked up, realized that he actually was. Hotch was the epitome of someone who was trying not to show emotion, offering her a small smile and telling her that she had to come visit the team next time she was in the area, and she gave him a hug, telling him that she most definitely would.
Emily was last to say goodbye to, and they hugged the longest, and JJ looked at her, and then almost imperceptibly looked to Hotch. Emily shook her head and hugged her again, ignoring JJ's whispered words that she should tell him before time runs out. They hugged one last time, and JJ left the office for the last time.
Morgan left next, he'd accepted the job as Head of the Chicago police force, in order to move back home, closer to his mother and sisters. Reid had been devastated, crying into Morgan's shoulder while apologizing all the while ("I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I know this is big for you, and it's what you've wanted, but…") and he would cry again, while Morgan told him that it was alright, and kissed him gently on the forehead. Garcia had yelled at him for a bit, before breaking down and making him promise to call her every day ("Every Day, Derek Morgan, or I swear, the photo-shopped pictures I have of you, will be all over the internet before you can even blink. You know I can make it happen!"). Hotch had given him a handshake and congratulated him, as had Rossi, and Emily had hugged him and asked who would be around to tease her now? He smiled at her and offered Reid one more kiss before he left, not once looking back.
They lost Rossi and Reid almost simultaneously after, Rossi to retirement, Reid to Caltech, teaching the psychology class there. It was touching for all of them (all of them, really? Who were left? The BAU unit that they'd all started in was long gone), and almost everyone- Hotch, once again, managed to stay completely in control- was teary-eyed as the two left, Reid stopping to give a little half-wave before walking out the door.
Things changed after that. Two new agents came to work with them, SSA Brandon Romney, who had all of Derek's looks but none of his people skills, and Media Liaison Christine Alken, the communications liaison who had all of Rossi's charisma for the job, but none of the smarts JJ or Reid possessed. Things just weren't the same, could never be the same.
So I go, and I will not be back here again
I'm gone as the day is fading on white houses
I lie, put my injuries all in the dust
In my heart is the five of us in white houses
"My resignation." Emily stood strong, dropping the paper that could not explain why she was leaving, as hard as it tried, on Hotch's desk. She held her gun and badge in her slightly shaking hand as she placed them too on the desk. Aaron stopped his work and looked up at her, brows crinkling slightly. "Effective immediately, if possible." Emily said, not meeting her boss (ex-boss, ex-lover, ex-everything, her mind chided)'s gaze.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" He asked getting up, and her hand flew out, seemingly of its own accord, to come to rest in the space between the two, her palm facing him, acting as a barricade. She shook her head, and for the first time throughout their conversation, she looked up to meet his eye.
"You've done enough, Aaron." She says it with more venom than she ever intended, and he does a double take, as if she's slapped him, and then recovered quickly.
"Where are you off to?" He asks quietly. "Another job offer? Another bureau?" She inhales quickly, hating how much he makes it sound like she's leaving him, when in reality, that had never been her intention.
"Actually, I'm going abroad for a bit." She shakes her head, clearing her thoughts. "Probably Europe, somewhere, I'm… not sure exactly where, yet." Rome, actually. She has decided, she just doesn't tell him. She wants to get away, to a new culture, a new language, a new life. She wants the lose structures and the friendly gazes of the foreign country that could never remind her of the BAU.
"You're a great Agent, Emily." He said slowly. Emily nodded at him, wincing as her mind conjured up images of what could have been if she hadn't been so gad damn afraid.
"Thank you." She hesitated. "You were a great leader too, Hotch." And he smiled sadly as she turned on her heel and marched out of his office, grabbing her bags from what used to be her desk, and out the doors of the white FBI building.
And then Emily did the toughest thing she ever had to do in her entire life.
She walked away from the BAU, and she didn't look back.
And you, maybe you'll remember me
What I gave is yours to keep in white houses
In white houses
In white houses