The Seventh Year

For their seventh Christmas, she's not at home.

And he will always think of Washington as Emily's home, even if she is across an ocean and almost entirely incommunicable. He hasn't spoken to her, really spoken to her, in months. He can't say he's surprised, if he's honest. He knows he messed that up, brutally and completely.

He still remembers her face, this fragile thing, looking at him from over her straight black coffee. It had taken him too long to realize that she'd wanted him to tell her to stay. She wanted him to tell her he wanted her there, in DC, that they'd make it work and find a way and maybe she'd just find another job within the FBI, or pressure Easter for an Interpol posting in the US or, or, or.

But that never materialized.

He'd done the selfless thing, he knows, knowing that she needed this, needed to pull away from everything that had happened on that private airstrip in Maryland, everything that happened in Boston and the aftermath of her year trying to go back to the woman she'd been before Doyle had crawled out of his North Korean hell hole to torment them.

He's not over that.

He doesn't think he'll ever be over it. Not until she's warm and safe and home.

But he'd squandered his chance. And now he's celebrating Christmas without her, lighting the candles – and they'd all stopped dead when Rossi had lit the tiny tea light and spoken Emily's name – unwrapping the presents and God, he's ridiculous. He has a gift for her, under his tree, even though he knows Jack won't get it and he'll never send it, he couldn't help himself.

But then maybe he's a bit drunk – Rossi makes excellent eggnog – and maybe he's more than a bit lonely or just feeling the gap that is her absence, but he makes a remarkably impulsive decision and pulls out his phone.

"Oh my God, I know it's Christmas but do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Emily."

There's a gasp a scramble and he thinks she may have even just fallen out of bed. It makes him smile. Even after a year away as the big head honcho of an Interpol gateway office, it's nice to know she really hasn't changed.

"Hotch. Hi."

"Merry Christmas," he says softly, knows there's entirely too much feeling in the words.

"Merry Christmas," she murmurs back and he can hear the awe in her voice, the surprise and the wonder. It makes him smile, broad and wide. It yanks at his heart, hurts more than he'd like. She should be here.

"I miss you."

He can almost feel the way the happiness is yanked from their conversation before he can even think about how much he wishes he hadn't lead with that.

"Emily-"

"Stop."

If he closes his eyes, he thinks he can picture her. Head in her hands, running through tousled hair. He knows that move and hates himself for it.

"We made our choices," she says quietly. "If you called to wish me a Merry Christmas, let's talk about that. If you called to tell me you missed me, you missed that boat. By six months."

"You're angry."

"That you're going to drag that up again, yes. Yes I am. Because you had your chance and-"

"I didn't take it, I know. You think I don't regret that? You think I don't wake up every morning wishing you were there with me, that I had told you not to go? And I'm paying for it, don't you worry. Every second of every day you're not with me I'm paying for it."

He hears the breath whoosh out of her lungs, feels his own frustration and anger disperse with it.

"If I could change it I would," he tells her quietly.

"I had to go," she replies, voice soft.

"You deserved to go," he counters easily. He believes it too, that running an Interpol office is a hell of an offer to turn down. He can't really think of anyone more deserving. "But you're half a world away when I'm here."

"And that sucks."

"It does," he agrees.

"I don't-"

There's a long pause, but he waits her out. He thinks he could always wait her out.

"I can't do long distance. Not with you and not with our jobs. It's not right and not fair. But, Hotch, I miss my friend."

The grin stretches wide across his face and he thinks maybe those words are the best Christmas present he's ever received.

"Then, Emily, let's be friends."