Author's Note: I actually wrote this in January - yes, it's been quite a while since then, but I was never quite sure that anyone would be accepting of this plot line. My original prompts were 'marital arguments' and 'mistrust'. That being said, it's super dramatic, rife with angst, extremely emotional, and well...at times you may feel like slapping Hotch and/or Emily. It's a rollercoaster, in other words. But many rollercoasters are quite fun, so I sincerely hope you will enjoy this one. As always, thank you so much for reading!
Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.
Please take note of the background information below.
Everything has been wonderful at the Hotchner household. Hotch and Emily have been married for close to ten years, and in that time, although Emily has left the BAU, her new job as a counterterrorism agent has given her plenty of time to stay at home with the kids.
All in all, everything is perfect. It looks as if nothing can come between their love for each other.
But sometimes, looks can be deceiving.
All clothes were lost as they tumbled towards the bed, Hotch falling on top of Emily and eliciting a strangled groan from the back of her throat.
"Aaron, please…"
"What do you want? Tell me, baby."
"I…I…I want…" All train of thought was lost as he pushed into her without fanfare. "Yes! Oh…"
His lips hunted across her collarbone, nibbling at the soft, creamy skin there. "I'm not going to last very long, Em," he murmured in warning. "It's been too long…"
"It has," she cried out, her once rhythmic moans growing more erratic.
They went at it for a couple more minutes before Emily felt her climax building, low in her belly, the sensation curling her toes as she frantically grasped for the bedsheets. "Aaron!" she screamed in pleasure as she came, pulling him over with her.
"Nikki…" he grunted as he spilled all he had to offer deep inside her body.
Emily stiffened as he pulled out of her, her mind running circles. Nikki? Who is Nikki?
His strong arms wrapped around her lithe body, his lips pressing into her shoulder blade. "Goodnight, Emmy."
"Goodnight," she responded, just a beat too late.
Hotch didn't notice, however, because he was already fast asleep.
She willed herself to relax. There is no Nikki. You just heard him wrong, she assured herself. Yeah. That's it.
And at that, Emily turned off the light from the lamp on the nightstand, closed her eyes, and joined her husband in a deep sleep.
~.~.~
Slowly but surely, conversation between them dwindled and eventually died down. Things became…awkward, strained.
Distant.
Intimacy was simply not an option. They faced away from each other at night, Emily once and a while glancing back at Hotch.
She didn't know what was going on.
He had been staying at work longer and longer each day, and whenever she called his office phone at night, he never answered.
She didn't know what to think. They had been fine for nine and a half years…
…so why were things changing now? She didn't want things to change, and as far as she knew, neither did he. But she confronted him about it, nonetheless. When she asked him if he was okay, he insisted he was fine. And even though he didn't seem fine - nothing did, nowadays - she had no choice but to drop the issue.
~.~.~
Emily took Hotch's suit jacket out of the closet and began to iron it, her mind elsewhere. She ran the iron across the cloth in long downward strokes, wanting it to look perfect. The rhythm of it all was broken, however, when the iron ran over something raised in one of the jacket pockets. Reaching in, Emily's fingers faltered as she looked at the small golden object in her hand.
It was his wedding band.
A shiver ran down her spine. He never took it off. Never. Why should now be any different?
Her hand shook of its own volition as she finished pressing the jacket. At that exact moment, Aaron entered the room, knotting his tie in the process. "Em, have you seen my jacket?"
"I was ironing it," she said in explanation, holding it up for him to place his arms in.
He silently obliged, and was about to leave when Emily saw something standing out against the charcoal grey suit.
"Wait." She removed the two platinum blonde strands of hair, her fare an emotionless mask that rivaled his. "There." Her eyes met his. "Have a good day," she said softly.
He nodded. "You, too."
And then, he left.
~.~.~
He came home late that day. The kids were already fast asleep, but Emily…
Emily was far from it. Hearing Hotch messing around in the kitchen, she crawled out of bed and quietly came up behind him, her arms circling his waist.
Hotch took a sharp breath. "Emily. I thought you were asleep. What…what are you doing?"
"Trying to get you to come to bed," she said frankly, kissing the back of his neck languidly.
"No, honey," he murmured.
"Please? It's been at least two and a half weeks since -"
"I said no," he interrupted. "I'm too busy."
"With what?"
"Work."
"Can I help?" she suggested, her small hands making their way to his broad shoulders and kneading them skillfully.
He bit back a moan. "No."
"Well, I think you could use a break…"
He turned to face her, his features tight. "I already said no."
She pulled back slightly. "Are you sure you're okay?"
Something inside him snapped. "Damn it, Emily. How many times do I have to tell you? I'm fine."
All seductive banter aside, Emily said seriously, "You don't look fine."
"Well, I am." Turning on his heel, he said over his shoulder, "If you need me, I'll be in my office."
Watching him ascend the stairs, Emily ran a hand through her hair in frustration. He was lying, and she knew it. After all, he wasn't the only profiler in the house. There was definitely something wrong.
It was only a question of what.
~.~.~
Hotch couldn't keep his eyes off of Emily as he silently crawled into bed beside her. God, he could never get used to her beauty. Gazing down at her supposedly sleeping form, he couldn't suppress the sigh that escaped his lips as he saw what she was wearing.
Thin white lace adorned her body, barely covering what needed to be covered. The last - and only other time - she had worn it was on their wedding night. It took all of his willpower to prevent himself from reaching out and touching her, caressing her, holding her…
Pulling her close and giving her the world.
Oh, how he wanted to. But he just couldn't. Not while he was involved with everything that was going on lately. It was just too much for him to handle. Too much for her to understand.
He was just about to close his eyes and let sleep take him when Emily shifted slightly, her chin coming to rest on his shoulder.
He expected nothing less.
"Aaron?" she whispered, her voice hardly audible, even in the totally quiet room.
"Hmmm?"
"I…I just wanted you to now that you can talk to me about anything on your mind. You can trust me," she said tenderly.
Not saying a word of acknowledgement, he muttered, "Go to sleep, Emily."
"You'd tell me if something was bothering you, right?"
"Of course I would. But nothing is," he insisted. There was a brief pause. "Now goodnight."
She frowned at his rather brusque statement, but brushed it away mindlessly. "Goodnight."
As her breathing evened out, Hotch felt his heart wrench. If only I could tell her…
~.~.~
Hotch let a smile touch his lips as he watched his daughter plod into the kitchen, slowly fishing around in the refrigerator.
"Hi, Daddy," she said sweetly, pouring herself a glass of orange juice.
"Hi, sweetheart. What are you doing?" he replied from the other side of the room.
"Getting juice." Avery took a seat at the dining table, where he had previously been occupying. She was quiet for a while, before eventually asking, "Daddy?"
"Yeah, baby?"
"Why are you and mommy fighting?"
His hand trembled as he transferred steaming hot coffee from the pot to his mug. "Ave, sometimes adults have…disagreements. In the heat of the moment, while we're caught up in all the problems, sometimes we yell. It…it doesn't mean that we love each other any less."
"Oh, okay," she said with a toothy grin, satisfied with his answer. "What's that?" she asked, pointing to his mug.
He chuckled. She never did stop with the questions… "Coffee."
"I don't like coffee."
"Trust me, you will when you grow up."
"Really? I don't think so." Something on the table in front of her caught her eye. "What are these pictures for?"
Hotch's eyes widened in shock as she opened a file folder of his and began rifling through it. "Sweetheart, don't look at those -"
But he was too late. Avery had flipped to a photo of a particularly gruesome crime scene, and he could hear her breath catch in her throat, could see her bottom lip tremble slightly at the image…
Sometimes he forgot just how young, how innocent she was.
"Avery, it's okay. It's not real," he attempted. But she was already running out of the room, in search of consolation from her mother.
Hotch sunk into a chair, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion and steeling himself for the verbal abuse that was sure to come. It didn't work, however, because he was already on edge from the long, brain-wracking hours at work.
Emily was not a happy woman when she strode into kitchen. How many times was he going to make this same stupid mistake? Crossing her arms in disappointment as she entered the room, she found him sitting at the dining table, his head in his hands. "I thought I told you to never leave those out!" she huffed.
Stop it. "Sorry," he mumbled weakly.
"You know how sensitive Avery is," she continued.
Just stop! "Yeah, I -"
"And now she's going to have nightmares! The poor girl's probably going to be scarred for -"
Without thinking, he stood, his chair clattering to the ground in result. "You know what, Emily? I'm sick and tired of you criticizing me every second of every day. I made a mistake. One mistake. It happens, okay? Not everyone is so damn perfect like you," he spat in an accusatory tone.
"Excuse me?" she asked incredulously.
"You heard me right."
"Aaron Hotchner, what the hell has possessed you?" she asked in a dangerously low voice.
"Me? Possessed me? That's a real good one, Emily." He slammed his fist on the table, causing coffee to spill over his case notes. "Damn it! Now look at what you've done."
She scoffed. "Yeah, because I obviously control your hysterical actions now. Stop blaming everything on me!"
This is just too much. "Well, maybe all of this is your fault! Did you ever think of that? Huh?"
Emily barked out a mirthless laugh. "I don't believe you. You better find the balls to tell me what's going on with you, or, so help me God, I'm leaving."
And with that, she exited the room, marched furiously up the stairs, and locked herself in her make-shift office.
Author's Note: Please leave me a review, if you have the time; I'd love to hear what you think about this story so far, and I always love to answer any questions as to where I may be going with this.
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