Crashing
This story came out of nowhere and haunted me, draft after draft. Probably I wrote it because, as much as I'm happy to see smiles on the face of our profilers, I miss some good, old angst.
I'm not completely happy with this story yet, but my friend Nix1978 (who kindly beta'd it) encouraged me to post it… I hope you like it.
Emily Prentiss puts on a shirt and silently sneaks out of her bedroom. It's another troubled night, filled with unease and heavy thoughts.
She would be sleeping tight right now, if she hadn't broken her promise again, instead she's roaming restlessly in her own house, like a caged animal.
She moves confidently in the darkness of her apartment, down the aisle, toward the kitchen, past the full-length mirror. She stops abruptly as she glances at her reflection, captured by a shard of light hitting the glass. She lets her eyes dance all over her body: the grey shirt is haphazardly buttoned at her waist, her hair ruffled and the make up lightly smothered on her still flush alabaster skin. When she accidentally meets her own eyes, she looks away, ashamed and angry. No matter how hard she tries to keep that promise, night after night she keeps falling in the same trap; every time a bit deeper, a bit closer to the point of no return.
She hesitates in front of the mirror for a few seconds and then she walks away, trying to stash her guilt in a corner. It's easier this way… If she doesn't ask questions, if she doesn't try to make sense out of this situation, to define it, it hurts less. Maybe, soon, it all will slide back into oblivion, like a dream that never really happened. The feeling of loss will be more bearable then; because she will lose it, she's certain about it.
That's why she promised, not to cross the line, not to crash the distance and getting involved.
If she had been able to keep that promise, she wouldn't be in this mess now. She walks through the white, spotless kitchen. Everything has its own place in here. Everything is tidy, predictable and in order. She wishes her soul was as simple as that; then it would be easy to find her way around and fix what's broken. Instead it's like a dark, dirty alley in a dangerous neighbourhood. One of those corners where you don't want to venture if you care about your life, and Emily Prentiss is damn scared of it.
When two months ago Derek Morgan offered to walk with her in that dark alley, she stared back at him and opened her mouth, ready to say no. She could barely stand the self-loathing, let alone sharing her darkest side with someone she cares so much about. How could she even bear his look, and still swear that everything's fine, after they had torn down this last wall? That's why she made the promise, to keep herself from crashing.
But he insisted; he needed to understand what she had lived through, he needed to help her in order to forgive himself. He said.
So she broke the promise.
She expected him to get upset, to blame her, or to get distant and cold, like nothing ever happened. She never thought they would both slide down the abyss, so deeply, so completely; and that it would be such an inexorable, sweet fall.
She remembers his eyes fixed on her, while he was listening to her deepest and most twisted secrets; she remembers his hands gently wiping away her tears and eventually his lips lightly kissing hers. It had been just a light caress, at first, so brief they could have easily forgotten about that. But then his lips came back, again and again. Every time his kisses morphing into something deeper, from friendly, into loving, searching and consuming.
At first she thought guilt and compassion were guiding his hands; as if he was trying to fix her. She thought that sex could be what they needed to forgive themselves and move on. When she realized things were much more complicated than that, it was already too late. She was dragging him down, and she couldn't leg go.
It has been a reckless cycle of bliss and guilt; every night falling again, every morning promising it would stop.
Emily tugs in his shirt and inhales Morgan's scent. She can feel his hands, his breath, his mouth kissing and exploring her, driving her to the brink and beyond, leaving her helpless just as much as she did to him.
She could end this; but she doesn't want to. Is that so selfish? Is it selfish to wish she could wake up in his arms, make him laugh with silly jokes in the morning, and be looked as if she was the most beautiful woman on the planet, despite everything?
Her thoughts are stolen by his arms wrapping around her, gently. He rests his chin against her shoulder and takes in her scent. Then he meets her eyes and everything seems immediately more bearable. He knows her fear; he sees it in her desperate need when he swings by every night, in her evasive looks in the morning, and he tries to soothe it. Patiently, he waits for her to understand that not all the good things vanish, and that she's worthy of happiness. Emily knows that at some point his patience will wear off and they'll have to confront this. But not tonight.
He takes her hand and guides her back into the dark bedroom; he holds her snug and soothes her, until they're just two lovers lost in each other again. The helpless feeling is gone, all is so simple and beautiful and right. For tonight.