Time had always been their foe. The minutes would rival the hours in an endless circle. There was a constant battle, uphill both ways.
And now, in the present, time needed to be their friend. The seconds, the days, all began to ease. The enemy fell back into shadow. Time ended up giving in. Time began to help.
…
Emily Prentiss sighed deeply, resting her head back against the crook of the jets' seat and window. As her eyes gaze out past the sun's late afternoon rays, watching the slow change of scenery thousands of feet below, she can't help but feel a sense of calm.
They were on their way home.
Only one day had passed since Emily woke in a hospital. Against doctors' orders, she insisted that she would rather continue her healing process back home. There was really no room for argument, though the team couldn't press enough for her to take it slow. Hotch made sure to keep a watchful eye on her and had JJ stick close to her side.
Before leaving she thankfully retrieved her prescription for pain. She parted with the doctor on good terms, as long as she promised to give enough time for the stitches to come out.
As that thought crosses her mind, she drags her eyes away from the window, away from the sinking sun, to look down at her arm. Her poor arm. The doctor had been right. There was indeed going to be scarring. Hell, with a cut like that, she expected a scar. But he had done a wonderful job and she knew the mark wouldn't be that bad. She hoped, at least. Scars were a part of her nonetheless. They were a part of the team.
She absentmindedly picks at the edge of the bandage covering the stitches. There were nine stitches, to be exact. She vaguely reminded herself that at best she wasn't picking at her fingernails. That would only last for so long. Give her time. Those nervous ticks, those little tells never go unnoticed anymore, she knew.
Emily also senses someone looking at her. Someone was watching her. And with the feeling that her very soul was being stripped bare, the situation left her lungs craving more air than usual.
JJ sat next to her, proof reading their summary from the case. Her focus was so engrossed in the small mountain of paperwork. Every other member of her team was busy sleeping or reading.
No, these eyes watching her were dark. They were deep and drowning. These eyes dip into every little detail, never missing anything. These eyes carried her through the pain.
Hotch sat across from her.
Emily lifts her own eyes slowly until her focus narrowed in upon the man.
The ripped shirt was no longer hanging helplessly from his body. A bright white button down was now his chosen attire. A pen is in his hand and a folder full of papers is in front of him upon the small table between the seats and them. His posture is forward. And his eyes are on her.
Those damn eyes.
The papers may be before him but he paid them no attention at the moment. So much was spoken in his eyes as he watched her fidget in her seat.
She sighs inwardly, quirking an eyebrow at him. No matter what he may convey, she still had a hard time figuring out every detail. Profiler or not.
What were the thoughts swirling in his mind? What did he see when he looked at her?
What was happening between them?
Why were they sharing gazes for longer than normal? Since when do they do that?
Then all the questions stopped. When a situation throws everyone for a loop and one of their own gets hurt, emotions and thoughts and feelings are brought completely to the forefront. It was a screwy sort of logic. But it's just the way the world worked. How they acted upon these considerations, well, that was another thing.
And these exact sensations were hitting her right across the face.
He obviously was seeing her in a new light. There was no scrutiny in his eyes so Emily knew he was no longer judging or looking for weaknesses. He was no longer angry.
In response to her silent questions, Hotch blinks, his lips curving up ever so slightly. He wanted to know how she was feeling. The same compassion she felt from him in the hospital waves over her and those inner shivers come into play once again.
Smiling back at him, Emily reassures him as well as herself. He stares for a moment longer, a slight raise to his lips and then slowly lowers his head.
As he goes about his work; after all, this is Hotch we're talking about, Emily takes a deep, shaky breath. She continues to watch him, knowing that he knows she is. There was no fear in that acknowledgement. This was easily slipping into a comfortable balance between them and that allowed this new luxury.
To watch each other and not have to explain was wonderful.
In the back of her mind where her boxes are usually stored, she reminds herself to buy him another shirt. The sudden thought of her replacing his poor, torn shirt with a new one settled within her. It was only right. She pushed away all thoughts that would point her in the direction of what that would mean to her and to him and to them. All she knew was that she couldn't rest completely if she didn't do this small act of kindness.
As her eyes follow the path his hand makes along the paper, Emily repeats to herself that that was all it would be, despite her sudden want of more.
…
Two and a half weeks have passed. Two and a half weeks away from the horrors that took place in that rundown warehouse. Two and a half weeks of healing.
Emily had yet to get the stitches out of her arm. They were due to come off in two days. She was itching to get them off now and away from her forever. To calm the nerves twisting her insides she would pick at her nails so she didn't rip each stitch out herself, one by one.
She had, however, gone and bought Hotch a new shirt. He had given her a couple days away from work to rest, despite her protests. She used one of those days to go shopping. All the while walking through the men's department store, she tried to push down the relentless thoughts of what buying him a shirt could mean. He may even ask her himself and she repeats inside her mind that this was her being nice. It was only common sense to want to fix something that was torn. After everything he has done for her, it was the least she could do.
After some debate, she decides on a deep blue button down. It was sharp, strong, handsome, all man. She knew it would fit him perfect.
Now almost three weeks have passed and she hasn't had the courage to give it to him. Things were going as well as they can be at the office. A new case had already come and gone. And for the most part, everything was considerably normal. He still kept his watchful eyes on her when they all had moments of silence. Not much was said between them but there was an understanding in the way her eyes met his. Was she just being a coward? She supposed she was just waiting. Waiting for that right timing and mulling over the possibilities in her muddled mind.
Yeah, coward fits.
….
Her stitches were finally gone. The scar left behind is strange and hard to get used to seeing in the mirror. But she isn't haunted by the mark. Her sleep lost isn't from reliving the moment when she turned that corner and was being slashed at. The puddles of blood never entered her mind.
No.
No, the little sleep she has been getting is because of a touch. Two days later and it's still affecting her. One damn touch along her back and she was thrown for a loop. Two days before, everyone had wished her luck as she left early to go to the ER for her appointment. Hugs were given all around and she promised she would be fine going alone and would be back in no time, stitch free.
Hotch hadn't been in the bullpen and when she looked up to his office the lights were off and the door was closed. He must be busy with other colleagues. Emily shrugs, knowing she needed to get going. One last wave to the team and she's pushing past the glass doors and aiming herself towards the elevators. The shiny metal doors open before she has a chance to press the button. Inside is Hotch. His step falters as he realizes she needs to go. Instead of exiting and switching her positions, he merely steps back, farther into the elevator and motions for her to enter. For some reason or other she wants to hesitate. But her legs carry her on into the metal box and the doors seal their fate when she presses the ground floor.
"Do you want someone to go with you?" His voice stirs something within her. She licks the corner of her mouth, swiveling her head to meet his questioning stare.
"I think I'll be ok. Just a quick procedure and I'll be back after lunch." Her lips slide into an easy smile.
He nods, jaw tight and brow hard.
They reach the ground floor quicker than they had both hoped for. As the ding signals their arrival, Emily dips her head, murmuring a 'see you later'.
Hotch steps with her, his hand automatically coming up to gently press at her back. His fingers lightly glide along her spine as he silently ushers her out of the elevator. He seems to want to walk her to her car but knows deep down he probably shouldn't. It wasn't that it would be uncharacteristic, but it was something he just never had the opportunity to do and it would seem strange to start now. So he settles for a small smile and one last sweet brush along her suit clad back before he lets her walk past him.
"See you after a while, then?"
Feeling her face burn, she turns to look at him and shakes her head in agreement.
The doors of the elevator close but he doesn't mind calling for another.
"Good luck, Emily."
Walking sideways, she smiles brightly at him.
"Thank you, Hotch."
She turns back around and continues towards her car, very much aware that he was still standing there, waiting and watching.
He doesn't push the button to open the doors and take him back to their floor until she had driven away out of his sight.
….
Now here she is two days later, sitting at her desk, wrapping up the last of her case folder. She hoped the dark circles under her eyes had been missed by everyone. Stifling a yawn, Emily signs her name along the dotted line. It was late and the team was one by one slowly filing out the door.
She had chosen a long sleeve shirt for the day. Emily was more than certain that would be her attire for quite a time now. She wasn't exactly ready to show off her scar for everyone to see. No one pushed her to see the mark anyways and for that she was thankful.
Glancing up, Emily smiles at the small tokens of care lain out along her desk. Her team was something, she'll give them that. Flowers and chocolates and coffee all joined the litter of papers on her desk. What more could a girl want?
Stretching her legs out, Emily hears a rustle of a paper bag and is instantly reminded of the shirt wrapped up under her desk. She had decided today would be the time to finally give Hotch this small gift of appreciation. This was what else she wanted. Maybe she could get a decent night's sleep afterward. That was what she needed. She desired to stop reliving the touch. At the same time, she secretly flushed in hesitant excitement whenever he came near.
She wanted to slap herself for sounding that way.
Looking around the bullpen, Emily notices she is the only one left. Up the stairs, a light is on in Hotch's office. His blinds are open and she catches a glimpse of his dark hair.
Forcing down any sudden nerves, she puts her plan into action.
Closing the finished case folder, she stands slowly. The atmosphere around her was quiet, waiting. Leaning to grab the paper bag under her desk, Emily feels her heart quicken. This time she does mentally slap herself for being so jittery. Securing her hold on the bag and tucking the folder under her arm, her heel clad feet carry her towards his office.
His door is closed. She checks the time. It was ten minutes to eleven; not that late considering, but still, everyone else was gone for the night. They should be too.
Knocking lightly so not to alarm him. A pause then a weary sounding 'Come in.' is heard.
Opening the door, Emily finds Hotch working tirelessly in a thick folder, huddled between two large stacks of even more folders. She had to smile at the concentration and the dedication he lived by.
"Hey. Here's my case report. I didn't even know everyone else had left, I was so wrapped up in finishing it…Looks like you are too."
She watches as his hand moves swiftly, signing his name. He gently laughs, closing the folder and laying it on top of the pile on his right.
Finally he looks up, setting his pen down, eyes meeting hers.
Emily steps farther into the room, handing the folder to him. He takes it; fingers brushing one another's, putting it with the others as he replies, "Yes, it's hard to stop sometimes when you know they are just piling up around you, ironically so."
She nods in agreement. "Tell me about it."
His eyes drink her in, aware of her appearance and the bag in her hand. There was no way around his stare.
"How are you feeling?"
She takes her time to answer, sitting down with ease into the seat across from his desk, placing the bag at her feet.
"Um, I'm well. In all honesty, I'm sure I could be better but I'm hanging in there. I woke up this morning, so that's a plus. My arm is tense and throbs at times but it's nothing I can't handle. With the help of pain meds of course."
She can feel his dark eyes trace the contours of her face. He takes a deep breath, the strain in his chest causing his voice to hitch.
"…You're not sleeping well, though, are you?"
Emily looks down at that, curling a strand of hair behind her ear, confirming his question.
"Nothing surpasses you, does it Hotch?" She raises her head back up to see in his eyes that same caring concern he was showing before. Her heart thudded in her chest. The knowledge that her and Hotch were the only two around flooded her mind.
She continues. "No, I'm not. But I know it won't last long. I'll snap out of it. I promise."
Hotch is silent as he remains watching her. She feels extremely exposed, licking the corner of her lips. At the same time and for the first time the feeling also ventured into intoxicating. It was too much but not enough, all with one look. The looks were edging precariously upon smoldering and they both knew it, leaving Emily with a heady sense of want.
Needing to change the subject, Emily perks up. "Anyways, I've got something for you."
She proffers the bag to him now, over the abundance of files. The confused curiosity creeping into his face has Emily sure and unsure all in one. Was this the right thing to do after all?
Emily covers the doubt quickly, shoving the offensive thing into a box in her mind and pushes forward.
"Go on, don't worry. It's…it's just a little something to show my appreciation. You've…done a lot for me and your help in that warehouse and so on…well; I couldn't just let that go without thanking you…"
She falters, highly aware that she was rambling.
Hotch's face is unreadable now. She couldn't tell what he was thinking. His hands wrap around the handles as his eyes travel from her to the bag.
His mouth opens as if he wants to ask her something, to say anything but he doesn't. Nothing comes out. The office remains silent besides the rustling of the bag.
He sits the small bag on his lap and without further ado, pushes the wrapping aside. A hand disappears into the wrapping only to reappear, pulling the neatly folded shirt out of the confines. Emily sees him swallow hard as he places the bag on the floor to hold up the shirt with both hands. The fabric falls out of its' professional fold. His face is now obscured from her view.
Emily bites her lip, nervously picking at her fingernails. That tell of hers was back.
The long sleeve shirt was much like his other work shirts. Crisp and well-tailored, the blue would only accentuate his persona. She just hoped he wouldn't freak out or some way or other find the gift to be offensive and not accept it. She could probably crawl into the floor and never reappear if that happened.
The seconds slowed and to Emily, sitting across from him, it felt like an eternity. Finally, he lowers his arms, face coming back into view. She is greeted with a dimple, his eyes sparkling.
"Emily…"
His voice is incredibly soft.
She opens her mouth before she can even stop the flow of words running off of her tongue. "I know, I know. But I couldn't stand the fact that I ruined a perfectly good shirt. It's bothered me for weeks now." Her heart is pounding loud within her ears and she knows her face is starting to flush.
Both profilers could see and couldn't deny the attraction that flowed between them.
Mirth was written in his eyes.
"You know…I haven't given a second thought about that shirt, Emily. And you didn't ruin anything. You couldn't if you tried. That was my decision and I would do it again, if God forbid need be. Situations like that, well, you don't need to think sometimes." He pauses, eyes going back to the shirt. "Having said that, thank you…this is a very nice shirt. And if I'm not mistaken, this is a very expensive shirt. Emily, you didn't have to do this."
Skimming her hand along her arm, feeling the slight puckered skin underneath the cotton, Emily could only quietly reply with, "I wanted to."
Her lashes are down; therefore she misses the raise of his. He stares at her, mesmerized.
A verdict made, Hotch sits the shirt on top of the folders and pushes his chair away. Standing up, he walks around his desk towards her. His legs seemed heavy but he had never felt surer. That stoic, stubborn wall of his was waning, finally.
Emily is surprised by his sudden movement, startled by him coming up so close to her, his hand entering her view.
He was proffering his hand.
Not in the way to shake but to help. To lift her up.
She gradually meets his eyes and what she finds in those dark depths is the purest, calmest man before her. She'd never seen him more at ease. He was happy and beautiful.
Every wicked thought about how he didn't trust her or didn't see her vanished out of her mind. Her boxes were clear. Her attention was open.
Raising her hand, she wraps her fingers around his and is soon pulled lightly to her feet.
Now almost at eye level and not a few inches apart, Hotch smiles. His dimples were even cuter up close.
"Thank you, Emily."
The words were whispered but swam around her, creating little chills along her body. He then envelops her into his arms. They both marveled at how easy they were slipping into each other's gravities.
That warmth she had felt those weeks ago now completely encased them both. She smiles into his shoulder.
"Thank you…Hotch."
His touch was upon her again. There was no way she would be forgetting this feeling any time soon. She might as well kiss sleeping goodbye. His smell caresses her body and suddenly Emily didn't care if she ever got sleep again.
Hotch is incredibly tender and careful of where her arm is. The placement of both of his held her snug without putting any pressure along her scar.
He can't help but run a hand along one shoulder blade, the other at the small of her back, creating even more of a fusion of quivers down Emily's spine.
She places her own arms around his middle, new to this proximity. His back flowed like any strong, hardworking man's back would. His height is perfect and Emily fit right into his solid body.
As they breathe together, a mutual agreement is wordlessly made. Neither would leave the other. Neither could, even if they wanted to. This deep attachment may not have appeared till recently but it had always been there, under the surface. They couldn't hide anymore.
Helping each other out of the dark, Hotch and Emily breathe as one, swaying comfortably where they stood.
…
Thank you for reading! Would love to know what you thought. Another chapter? Thank you for your uplifting words and amazing support on all of my stories.
Love
lilylynn