Disclamer: I own nothing, everything belongs to their rightful owners.
WARNING: dark&twisty/ maybe triggerish because of the theme/ nothing detailed or graphic, it's more between the lines
The Things We Hide
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-We all have secrets.-
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John isn't her first and he's not her second or her third either. She's fifteen and a master in telling lies. It would be easy to tell just another one and pretend that she's as pure and innoccent as she looks. But she doesn't.
It's dark, the beach empty. John and Emily the only ones left. Their friends long gone, headed back to town to buy wine and get drunk.
"Come on, Emily," John says eagerly, his fingers, once again, on their way under her skirt. "You said you did it before. You said it's no big deal."
Angrily Emily grits her teeth, pushes away his hands.
"I don't want to," she tells him, averting his gaze and looking out at the ocean instead.
"You said you like me," John sounds annoyed and out of the corner of her eye Emily watches him toss away a handful of sand like a spoiled toddler. He's right though, she does like him. But not his sloppy kisses or his clumsy hands. She'd hoped he would be different. But of course he's not. He's fifteen, what did she expect?
"If you did it before, then why won't you do it with me?" John starts again and this time Emily can hear not just his frustration but also his anger.
"I think I'm just leaving," John adds and there's finality in his voice. This is it. It's over and tomorrow she'll be all alone and she shouldn't care, she really shouldn't. But she does.
"Wait," she says and grabs his wrist.
He blinks and grins and when he bends down to push his tongue into her mouth, she lets him.
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It's over as fast as it started and Emily isn't surprised when John tells her that he's going to get some wine. He presses another sloppy kiss on her mouth and Emily fights the urge to turn her head away.
She wonders if he'll bother coming back to take her home or if he'll forget about her the second he meets up with his friends to tell them. A part of her hopes he will forget. Whatever they had, it's over now. At least for Emily.
She shakes her head before she gets to her feet and makes her way toward the ocean. She walks into the water fully dressed, deep and deeper, until the ground disappears under her feet. She takes a few strides out into the open sea before she turns on her back and allows the waves to carry her. Her eyes are turned toward the sky and she watches the stars sparkle in the distance, wishing that one day she'll feel less pathetic.
The first thing she notices is someone shouting her name over the rush of the surf, the next strong hands grabbing her. She's too surprised to do anything. When she feels solid ground under her feet again she realizes it's one of her mothers security. A tall man with dark eyes who pulls her with him back onto the beach.
"What were you thinking?" He shouts at her angrily. Emily says nothing, only wipes the water from her eyes and tries to remember his name.
"Your mother was worried, you should have been back hours ago."
Emily almost laughs, her mother surely hadn't noticed yet. Anna, their housekeeper must have. The man keeps cursing all the way up to the promenade, telling her that she could have drowned, but Emily knows he's just mad because he had to ruin his suit.
As if the ocean would have wanted to keep her.
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It's her second year in the CIA when she meets Clyde.
It's just a look they share, him standing in her boss's office and her in the doorframe, but it's all it takes. Something passes between them in that short moment, something that she'll never be able to explain.
She's not surprised to find him waiting next to her car that night. Casually leaning against the hood of her black Lexus with his arms crossed in front of his chest and a smug smile on his handsome face.
She knows she's the best the CIA has to offer that year and of course he already knows and of course he wants to have her. Not just for his team, not just for Interpol, but also for his bed.
She follows him on a jet to London a week later and when he fucks her, right there on those expensive looking leather seats, it's because she asks him to.
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They send her undercover to take down Ian Doyle because no one is as convincing as she is. Everyone knows she'll pull the trigger without blinking, as long as it means getting the job done. The devil in disguise,is what they call her and she wears it as proud as a Queen would wear her crown.
Ian Doyle is different.
His touch sets her on fire, his lust sends her straight to hell and back again. He shouldn't make her feel like this, but he does. With him it's rough and fast and nothing like she's done before.
Maybe it's because he could kill her in the blink of an eye. Maybe because she wants to kill him just as bad. Or maybe because in her mind, the white sheets have already turned crimson.
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He reminds her of Clyde. His British accent, his leather jacket, his playful smirk. Even the way he looks at her from across the room is achingly familiar.
That he ends up saving her life doesn't make it better. There'd been another night, another gun leveled at her head and another self-assured agent saving her life.
When she slips out of the building to call him, her hands are trembling. She hasn't talked to him in almost four years. It's been so long she's not even sure it's still the right number.
She waits with her eyes closed, the phone pressed against her ear. He doesn't pick up.
"Watching the stars?"
Startled Emily turns around and finds Mick leaning against the closed door. Emily shrugs and slips her phone back in her pocket.
"There aren't any," she says.
Mick stays quiet and Emily realizes he's standing far too close.
They don't talk, one minute they're looking at each other and the next he has her pushed back up against the brick wall of the building. Deep down she knows that she should be worried that someone from her team might see them, but she isn't. Maybe it's because she misses Clyde, maybe it's because she hasn't had sex in so long or maybe there's just no reason at all.
It's quick and desperate and nothing more but the final release of all that built up tension. It had to happen.
"Let's go back downstairs," he tells her afterwards, his hands running through his hair. "They're probably already wondering what we're doing," he chuckles and Emily feels the sudden urge to punch him. He's nothing like Clyde.
"No, I'll go back to the motel."
He looks puzzled. "Are you alright?" he asks, but Emily doesn't answer.
It's not his fault, but she blames him anyway.
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She's floating.
The sky above her dark and filled with stars. It's cold, freezing, the water slowly soaking through her clothes. Her dark hair surrounding her head like a halo on the surface.
Emily closes her eyes. It's not the ocean, but it's enough.
She smiles-
and then she goes down.
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She's pulled back to the surface somewhat later, strong hands grabbing her arms so tight it hurts.
Emily gasps and coughs, water spilling from her mouth. Her lungs screaming for air. It hurts. It bloody hurts.
Someone calls her name, shakes her and then again. Emily blinks, water dripping from her hair and into her eyes. Her sight is blurry but she spots Hotch in front of her. On his knees on the cold concrete, fully clothed, just like her. Water dripping from his hair and his black suit.
He says nothing, just stares at her, his hands still on her arms.
Emily turns her head first, looks back at the water. The surface still and clear like glass. It looks black, bottomless, even through it's just a pool.
"What were you thinking?" Hotch finally blurs.
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"You didn't slip, Emily. I saw you," Hotch tells her without blinking. He's sitting across from her on the jet, staring at her like she's a bomb ready to go off.
"You watched me," she states and grabs the armrest of her seat just a little tighter.
He narrows his eyes as if to figure out what she's hiding and she almost wishes him luck.
"You know," he adds, his dark brown eyes meeting hers. "That's not even what scared me last night. What really scared me, was your expression, Emily. I've never seen anyone look more peaceful than you looked the second you let go."
Emily says nothing anymore.
After all, he's right.
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"Tell me," he starts and his voice sounds gentle, full of understanding, almost begging her to spill her darkest secret.
Emily hates it.
She wishes she could give him what he wants, wishes she could give him an answer. But she would only end up hating him. In the end that's what she always does.
"Emily, please."
She closes her eyes, wishes that she could say it out loud, at least once. But she can't.
And she remembers another night, another office an ocean apart. A man with blue eyes begging her to talk to him. She hadn't. And she won't do it now either. It would change everything.
She takes a deep breath and looks back up again, meets Hotch's gaze from across his desk and she can see in his eyes that he already knows this isn't going anywhere. No matter what he does, no matter what he says, it won't make her tell him the truth. She doesn't want him, or anyone else, to see what really lies beneath the surface.
When his phone starts to ring Emily gets to her feet. "Goodnight, Hotch," she whispers on her way out.
He has enough demons to fight, he doesn't need hers too.
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It just happens.
Between one second and the next, everything changes. They're at the bar, not just the two of them, no, the whole team. What she notices first is the way he looks at her from across the table, his dark eyes filled with a longing she won't be able to satisfy. When his hand brushes against hers, almost by accident as he reaches for his glass, she flinches as if she's been burned.
He stops, his glass halfway to his mouth and Emily can't help but take two steps back.
"I'm sorry," he tells her. Clearly at a loss. "I'm sorry, Emily, I-"
"It's not your fault," she shakes her head, puts her glass down. She wants to say something else, but she can't and so she just walks away. He catches up with her outside the building, blocking her way without touching her.
"Are you alright, Emily?"
"No," she shakes her head and she sees he's taken aback by her sudden bluntness. "But, I will be," she adds. "Tomorrow." She gives him one last look before she leaves, heading toward a cab on the sidewalk. This time he doesn't stop her.
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She's standing in the shower, the water already turned cold.
Her phone is ringing from where she left it on her bedside table, but she's not going to answer it. Not tonight.
She closes her eyes, leans back against the tiles and dreams of the ocean. Of the waves crashing against the shore and the sand under her bare feet.
And for a brief second, here, in the security of her own bathroom, Emily Prentiss allows herself to think about him. A boy she met at thirteen.
A boy with black hair and dark eyes and a name that started with a D. A boy she never told anyone about, not even Clyde. A boy who drugged her, who robbed her of everything that could have been, a boy who became her darkest secret as soon as she woke up, left alone on an empty beach. A boy she keeps locked away in a corner of her mind, always hoping that one day she'll be able to forget-
that boy who, a lifetime ago, had been her first.
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When she walks into the office the next morning, there's not a single hair out of place.
She smiles and nods and takes a sip from her coffee. Her gun at her hip, ready to aim and shoot and kill and take down monsters all by herself.
The ambassador's daughter. The dark-haired beauty. Pristine and smart and well-behaved. Reserved and brilliantly skilled and self-possessed SSA Prentiss.
Picture perfect Emily.
Just like it's always been.
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-We all have secrets. Some of them are just harder to live with.-
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Disclamer: I own nothing, Everything belongs to their rightful owners.
AN: Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read and/or review my stories, that really means the world to me! And of course a big thank you goes to my wonderful beta reader clairebare!