The Concept of Denial

Chapter 1

Emily couldn't sleep again. It had been a long day at work and she was deathly tired, but she knew if she allowed her eyes to close she would only be plagued by the horrors of being in Cyrus' captivity. It was exactly a week since the team had returned from Colorado and the memory was painted fresh in her mind. But the team didn't have to know that.

No, all they had to see was the professional mask she wore every day without fail. They had to know, or at least think, that she'd moved on from the terrible event. She could never let them see what was going on behind the scenes; that she could barely make it through the day without crying and that when she got back home every night, only then would she allow the dam to break and the tears to flow.

Emily Prentiss just wasn't that pathetic.

It's not that she thought the team would think that of her. She could imagine their reactions already. They would all tell her that it was normal to feel vulnerable right now; that she didn't have to be strong all the time; that nobody would think any less of her for admitting to not being okay. It wasn't that she didn't trust them to be there for her as she knew without a doubt that they would be.

What stopped her from speaking out was an Emily Prentiss thing, because in the end it wasn't about what the others thought about her. It was what she thought about herself. And she couldn't bear to admit weakness to herself, not after her difficult childhood, not after years of beating it into herself that she was a survivor and could handle anything life threw at her alone. It was what she'd done for her entire childhood, wasn't it?

Then there was the other thing: the other secret reason why Emily refused to open up to anyone. It was the things the team hadn't seen and that she hadn't reported, things which Cyrus had done to her which were of the worst kind. Admitting to those things would definitely look bad, since as one of the best FBI agents in her field, she ought to have been able to do something to stop them. Not to mention she didn't want the others treating like a victim because she wasn't, she told herself. It was part of the job, all part of the job. No need to worry about it, right? Wrong.

Unbeknownst to anyone else, Cyrus had worse than abused her, but had borderline raped her. He would have succeeded if Emily hadn't been strong and defiant enough to throw him off her before he managed to enter her. But she would never forget the horror of having his filthy touch all over her, ripping away her clothes while she screamed in horror and fear; or the saliva of his kisses dripping down her body while his rough hands invaded her in intimate places. She would never forget the pain that rippled through her as he beat her down while she struggled to get free, causing her to cry out again and again as tears streaked her bruised face, her defences and facades completely gone as she was no longer able to take it.

Reid would feel so guilty if he knew. That was the other reason why she wouldn't report the incident, because the younger agent had been through enough already. She reasoned that he had enough to deal with as it was without having to bear the burden of her issues as well. Ever a selfless person, there was just no way Emily could bring herself to do that to him.

And so she lay, wide awake, gazing up at the ceiling and wishing there was some way to go back in time and simply undo the event. Because despite all her reasoning to keep it quiet, the silence was killing her and the pain just didn't seem to be getting any better. Every day she woke up early in the morning, screaming from her nightmares, feeling like it was only a few minutes ago that Cyrus had held her captive, and she wondered if she would ever feel like a normal human being again.

Tonight would be no different.

As she felt her eyes slowly close she jerked them open to stop herself from sleeping. It hurt the worst in her sleep because she was practically reliving the moment. Feeling herself drifting off again, she rolled out of bed and stood up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, thinking how stupid and scared she would look if anyone else had watched her do that. She went into the kitchen and boiled a pot of coffee, deliberately making it stronger than she liked. It was the only way she would succeed in staying awake. The coffee made, she went into the living room and switched on the TV, turning up the volume so that the noise would prevent her from accidentally falling asleep on the couch. She gulped the coffee fast, her body craving the caffeine.

This late at night there was nothing good on TV, not even the news, so she set it to some random channel and gazed into space while some old black-and-white movie played on the screen, trying to think of anything and everything other than Cyrus. The movie turned out to be a detective one, and she found herself watching in horror as the man on the screen started beating a poor, young woman and dragging her dead body into the woods.

Emily suddenly grabbed the remote control and switched it off. Her cheeks were wet.

It could have so easily been her, she realized in horror.

Then again she hadn't exactly been thinking of herself back then. If she had a choice she knew she would happily do it again so that Reid would not have to suffer in her place. Better her than him, she reasoned. She was older, more experienced, and better equipped to handle the trauma. Reid, though a genius, was still young and less experienced. It would have been worse for him.

But her reasoning was only a rationalization of denial. In reality she wasn't at all equipped to handle the emotional trauma, not with the way she kept pushing people away and insisting she was fine. But her denial was so deep that the reality of the situation didn't even cross her mind. Emily was absolutely, absolutely convinced that she was able to deal with it.

Thus she walked into work the next day, a ton of concealer under her eyes to hide the tiredness, her professional mask in place and the trauma compartmentalized into a box in the back of her head - hopefully where it would stay for the time being.

Try as she might, she couldn't focus. Much as she had great acting skills it was becoming increasingly difficult to fight the exhaustion which came with forcing herself not to sleep. As she strained her eyes to analyze the pictures on the board, and re-read the case files to try and find connections, she constantly found herself fighting not to fall asleep at the table.

It was ten o'clock and she was already on her fourth cup of coffee. Her hands were shaking from the overload of caffeine but her mind was as weary as ever. It was as if she was in an illusion of being awake: her eyes were open and her mind was functioning, but somehow everything seemed unreal, almost dreamlike. Everything around her was too bright, the colours were too vivid, the noises were too loud, and her head was pounding. The words in the case file seemed to slur into each other and she found herself unable to take them in. She heard someone say her name but the voice seemed far off and distant, as though it was being carried through wind.

She blinked. Kneeling in front of her was Hotch with a concerned look on his face.

"S - sorry, what?" she stammered in response to whatever it was he'd been asking her.

"Do you need to go home and sit this one out?" Hotch repeated.

Emily shook her head in defiance. There was no way she was sitting anything out. Not only would she be bored, but if she had time to think she just knew the terrible memories would resurface. At least while she was working she was able to forget for a while.

"No. Absolutely not," she insisted in a harsher tone than intended.

"Are you su-"

"Yes, I'm sure!" she snapped in response.

The whole room went silent.

The last thing she remembered was Hotch's face suddenly looking panicked before he darted towards her as she blacked out.

A/N: Well what do you think? Should I continue? Please R&R! And feel free to leave ideas/suggestions!