Disclaimer: I don't own anything that's familiar.
Words: 1253
A Face In The Crowd
It's been almost three years since she moved. Three years since she's seen any of them, since she's seen him. When she does see him again, she's picking out apples at the local market. She sees him across the street waiting by a couple of shops. At first, she thinks that she's imagining it – because even if she doesn't want to admit it, it wouldn't be the first time – but after about two minutes and furiously blinking, she realizes that she's not dreaming. Almost three years had gone by and even from far away, she can see that he still looks the same.
She hurriedly puts the apples down and starts heading in his direction. She ignores the quickening pace of her heart, after each step she takes. She's about to cross the street when something tells her to stop. Over the years, she's learned to listen to her instincts. So, when she looks around, her eyes wander to a woman. She watches as the woman makes her way to him. From what she can piece together, the woman' a natural blond, has expensive taste and knows him. She's unable to see the woman's face but she does see him kissing her cheek. She also sees him opening the door of a coffee shop for her and how he puts his hand on the small of her back, as they enter.
She stands there, for a few moments, just staring at the entrance of the coffee shop. She stands there until she hears a car honk its horn and jumps at the noise. It's then when she realizes that she had unconsciously walked a couple of steps, onto the road. With a sinking feeling in her chest, she walks back to the market. The sun beams down at her, casting a reflection off of the jewelry she's wearing. There's one piece in particular that gleams brighter than the rest but she ignores it – really, she's trying to ignore the past ten minutes – and continues her errands.
Its two days later when she hears the knock on her door. She's alone and will be until the sun starts to rise. She ignores the fact that's she's been alone a lot lately. She walks to the entrance of the house, stopping to check a clock in the hallway which reads 10:30. She looks through the peephole and – if she were being honest – isn't completely surprised when she sees who it is. Even though it's not entirely shocking, she still sucks in a breath before opening the door. As she opens the door, she notices that he's dressed in the same style of clothing that he used to wear. They stare at each other and he gives her one of his all too rare and precious smiles, the one that used to make her heart flutter. And even in the safety of her own thoughts, she can't admit that she still has the same reaction as all those years ago. She doesn't say anything when he asks to come in. Instead, she moves out of the way and makes a motion with her hands. He enters and she takes a few deep breaths before closing the door.
She sees him sitting on the loveseat in the living room and doesn't bother asking him if he wants anything to drink. She makes her way to the kitchen, grabs a handful of ice and places it in one of the glasses that are on the top shelf of the cabinet. She carries that along with a bottle of scotch to the living room table. She then pours the alcohol into the glasses and hands it to him. It's then when she sees the fading line of his now ringless finger. As they sip their drinks, she muses over the fact that she never understood how he could take it without ice – really, she never understood how he could drink that stuff, she had always been a Whiskey girl – but she never said anything to him.
When she asks him what he's doing at her place, he simply says that he had some business to take care of and thought that it would be a good idea to visit. She couldn't figure out if she should be upset that she seems to be an afterthought or happy that he's even thought of her at all. After all, the last time they had spoken, it didn't exactly end with them on the best of terms. They were talking about useless and relatively unimportant topics. She knows the exact moment when he notices the piece of jewelry that's occupying her formally bare finger. She knows when he sees it because his jaw locks and he changes the topic to what's been going on in her life lately.
She then proceeds to tell him the story of how she's no longer ringless; even though, she has no desire to talk to him about it. When he asks where the lucky man is, she gives him a quick response about working late. She leaves out how that excuse has been thrown around so often that she's surprised when there's another occupant in the house, at this time of night. When he mentions how remarkable the house is, she doesn't tell him how she spends most nights alone in it. She doesn't mention how it reminds her of the loneliness of her childhood because that's another thing that she really doesn't want to be reminded of. Instead of divulging that, she tells him stories of the disaster it had been before the renovations.
She's not surprised when the conversation flows easily. After all, they were always the best at useless chitchat and never having gaps in their conversations. Although in her situation, it was because from a young age, she was taught that not doing that was rude. And she assumes that he had always been able to strike up a conversation. She's not surprised when he looks at the clock that reads 12:30 and tells her that he has to leave. She doesn't want to think about whom he's leaving her for but her mind's already wandered off to the blond woman by the coffee shop, that day. She's not surprised when he tells her that the rest of them miss her because even though it's sporadic, she does talk to them. Only when they're at the door and he kisses her cheek – after telling her that he too has missed her – is she surprised.
After he leaves, she refuses to dwell on what he meant by that. She refuses to sit there and spend hours picking at every part of their conversation. She refuses to do any of that because damn it, she was Emily Prentiss. She didn't dwell, rely or pine for anyone. And even Aaron Hotchner wasn't going to be the exception. Except he was, the voice in the back of her mind reminds her but she pushes that thought back down into the parts that she keeps well hidden. He wasn't going to get under her skin (because he was already a part of her) and he certainly wasn't going to be surrounding her thoughts (because he's already been in the back of her mind for as long as she's known him). She was perfectly fine, that's what she told herself because if she didn't constantly remind herself of that fact, then she would have to face the truth. And that was one truth that she really couldn't handle.
AN It's been a while since I've posted anything for CM and this was in my waiting 'to be posted' pile for a while. I hope that you enjoyed it and a review would make my day.