December 24, 2013

When the sun rises on Christmas Eve, there's still a strange cloud that hangs over Emily's head. It's a cloud no one's talking about though, rather deliberately. She wonders if they're all feeling the heavy weight of her last six days.

The drive to Dave's, where the team has gathered for the annual Christmas dinner, is just as quiet as the rest of the day. Everything still feels heavy, despite the comforting weight of Hotch's hand in hers. The bright happiness of the whole team lifts her heart a little bit though and it's enough to carry her through the loud, bordering on obnoxious, mood of the dinner table.

It helps that Dave's gone all out. Well, probably not just Dave. The mashed potatoes are all but stamped with Penelope's touch and she's pretty sure the turkey is all Derek's heavy traditionalism showing through. Dessert's no different. The pie, apple, is definitely Will's. Emily knows that because JJ had once let slip that Will's mother had been adamant he learn the recipe to impress girlfriends. It's successful, for sure, because it never stops impressing his wife. They've all contributed, it's obvious, and despite the heaviness of the last couple of days, there's a warmth taking root in her stomach.

It's a warmth that grows as she and Reid run clean up and well into the coffee they all settle down for in Dave's massive den. When their mugs are drained and sitting empty on Dave's kitchen island, their host disappears. When he returns, he comes bearing tiny tea lights.

Oh. She'd forgotten about this part.

The Christmas after Emily had dragged Derek and JJ to Indianapolis, chasing the case that had haunted Dave for decades, Dave had thrown their first family Christmas dinner. He'd also introduced them to this particular tradition.

"I'm sure you all remember how this works," he says, his eyes landing significantly on Emily. "But just in case," and here his eyes trail to Alex and her husband, "light a candle for each person who can't be with us. Whether it's because of distance or otherwise."

He cracks open the plastic, always new, always Ikea, and pulls out a candle. "I'll start." He lights it with a flourish because he's Dave and he can. "Carolyn Rossi."

His wife.

Penelope goes next, not that they generally follow any particular pattern. She lights two, for her parents. Derek follows her, of course, gripping his girlfriend's hand as he says his father's name. Will's clear voice dedicates his candle to his father and Reid chooses to honour his mother first. Diana Reid is far from dead, but she's always so close to Reid's heart.

The candles start to gather on Dave's empty coffee table. Alex's mother, Emily's father, Gideon, Strauss, Haley, Maeve, the list is long. Eventually, they're left with a table almost glowing with burning candles and a silence that is not near as stifling as it could be, considering the tradition. There's a lightness to it, a burden lifted. Henry's cracking yawn breaks the quiet and it sparks the mass exodus. Emily hangs back, watches the tiny lights flicker.

Then she reaches for one more candle.

"Who is that one for?"

Emily doesn't look up as she watches the wick catch. Instead, she places the candle down, then holds out her hand. Hotch joins her, settling beside her on the couch.

"I loved Ian," she tells him softly. "Lauren Reynolds, Emily Prentiss, that's just semantics. I loved him, even though I knew what he was."

"Sweetheart, you don't-"

"I'm not," she interrupts. "I'm not justifying or explaining. These are facts. I loved Ian, long after I locked him up, and long after he broke out again. I loved him when he tracked me down, when he held a gun to my head, when he branded me. I loved him and I hated myself for it. He was a monster."

She pauses because she has to, because her chest is tight and her lungs are burning.

"But he was also Ian, my Ian. He was the first one to convince me I was strong and fearless because he saw me that way. He was the first one to show me our pasts are just pieces of us, not definitions. As terrible as he was, he was also beautiful. He loved his son. He loved me. He loved his cause."

He doesn't say anything, doesn't argue. She's glad for it, even thinks he probably understands. Hotch is one of the few, she's sure, who would, complications and all.

"I remember talking one day, just in passing really – I don't think either of us really actually expected to get married, even with the rings – about what the ceremony would look like. I remember both of us being against a religious ceremony. It really didn't seem right. Neither of us were particularly devout and with our actions, well, we weren't likely to be exactly welcomed."

She shakes her head.

"But there was one passage Ian was fixated on, swore we had to have someone read it. 1 Corinthians 13."

"Do you remember it?" he murmurs.

She hums and her eyes slide closed. "Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. Love does not demand its own way. Love is not irritable and it keeps no record of when it has been wronged." She pauses, breathes, then continues, "There are three things that will endure – faith, hope and love – and the greatest of these is love."

She feels him press his mouth to her head, feels it against her temple.

Emily watches the candle flicker with the rest and feels something loosen in her chest. It feels like a good final goodbye. So she turns and presses her mouth solidly to his.

Time to move forward.

"Ready to go?" she asks.

He searches her face and finds it clear and relaxed. He knows there's something different, but he's not totally sure what it is. He doesn't care really, because she looks more positive than they've felt over the last couple of days.

"Ready when you are," he replies. "I'll get Jack."

She's grateful because it gives her another moment to watch the flame. Then, because she's always been big on symbolism, she leans forward and blows it out.

The Bible verse is my favourite. 1 Corinthians 13: 4-7 & 13. In this case, it comes from The Jesus Bible out of Tyndale House Publishing. It's kind of a modern translation, which is why it flows like it does.

Headcanon: Emily (as Lauren) and Ian loved each other. I do firmly believe that. I don't think it's possible to live with a man like Emily did and not fall in love. Also, the way they kind of interact, the way Ian saved up all of that resentment and hatred… He'd been betrayed and that doesn't happen with people you don't care for. In addition, there's no way Lauren was completely separate from Emily. At least not the way I think of her. For her to pull off a lie like that so convincingly, to a man who lies all the time, would require her to stick as close to the truth as possible. There is a part of Emily, whether you define that part as Lauren or not, that loved Doyle.

This has always been my favourite tradition to write. I got it my first or second year of writing these from a reader and it's stuck. Those of you know I usually put it in a forest, make it a Memory Garden (which may or may not be a thing, I don't know) but it was actually surprisingly beautiful to write it this way too.

One more chapter, though God, there's a part of me because of the way this ended, is tempted to leave it here. But then what would we do with Christmas morning? Hopefully I'll be able to finish this up this week. That would be ideal. I have a minion who keeps poking me (ILY!) so it should be a thing. Unless I've just jinxed it. Then it won't be a thing.

Also, did I mention it was turning a bit sad and dark? Um, but at least it's kind of hopeful there at the end?