A/N: Thank you all so very much for the sweet words and love on chapter 43 - it was one of my favorites to write. I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting so long for this one. Another special thank you to LetMeWalkTheEarthWithYou for reading the multiple drafts, dealing with my chaos, the encouragement, and for sharing your genius along the way.
Chapter 44: The Devil's Arcade
Rising from a long night as dark as the grave,
On a thin chain of next moments and something like faith
On a morning to order, a breakfast to make
A bed draped in sunshine, a body that waits
For the touch of your fingers, the end of a day
The beat of your heart, the beat of her heart
Aaron is halfway out of the SUV before Morgan has a chance to park as they reach the emergency underpass. By now the skies have opened - a soft, but cold rain that bathes everything in an eerie, misty glow. It's the first thing he's aware of besides the deafening sirens ahead of him as the ambulance comes to a stop. It's dark but the lights are blinding, a disorienting juxtaposition, the massive building rising above his head like a fortress. Aaron all but throws the door open, leaping out of the passenger seat in a mad dash toward the emergency entrance. He's still wearing his bulletproof vest. His clothes, hands, and face stained with blood and dirt. His shirt is ripped in several places, the collar almost torn off but it doesn't matter. Nothing else matters now.
"Hotch!" Morgan is yelling after him, but he hardly hears a word as the medics open the ambulance doors. They're greeted by a small army of doctors in scrubs and a few nurses standing at the ready, clearly having been briefed for Emily's arrival, and as she's carefully moved to the stretcher, he can hear their voices, undoubtedly full of alarm. He can see her dark hair spilling over the top of the stretcher, the fucking wooden stake still protruding from her abdomen. The medics hadn't dared to remove it along the way, and seeing it makes him nauseous all over again. "We're going to need an OR," one doctor shouts, as another barks an order for an ultrasound, then something about multiple rib fractures, and Aaron stops dead in his tracks, the sight in front of him . There's the hum of a monitor followed by the sharp, commanding voices that punctuate the air.
His legs nearly give out beneath him as the rain soaks his clothes; he's never felt so helpless or alone or afraid, even surrounded by so many people whose very job is to save her life. He wants to tell them to be careful, that she's lost a lot of blood, that she's probably -
"Sir, you need to back up." The officer posted at the entrance strides toward him, cutting off his line of thought and purposefully putting space between Aaron and the team that's assembled around Emily. "This area is for hospital staff only." His ears ring yet he can hear their voices shouting frantically, and he cranes his neck to keep a watchful eye. If he can just keep his eyes on her, he reasons, it'll be okay. He knows it's wishful thinking at best.
"I'm with the FBI," Aaron fumbles around his neck for his credentials, flashing his badge in the other man's face to no avail. "She's a federal agent."
The officer shakes his head, widening his stance to block Aaron from moving any closer as his face softens just a shade "I'm sorry, Agent. You're going to have to go through the triage nurse and wait in the waiting room. I can't let you through here."
"Where are they taking her?" Aaron demands as the stretcher is wheeled through the doors They all but ignore him, and the intensity of which they go to work is the first sign of hope he has, yet the pit in his stomach continues to grow. "Where are they taking her?" He's numb, unaware of anything else except that they're disappearing further from his line of sight.
"I'll show you to the triage entrance."
The medic from earlier, Seymour, Aaron remembers, is suddenly at his side, wearing the same grim expression from before. Aaron notices blood on his clothes that wasn't there before. "She's in good hands here, Agent. These are some of the best doctors I know. If anyone can get her through this, it's those people right there." He jerks his head in the direction of the doors, and while he's trying to sound hopeful, it's the look on his face Aaron can't tear his eyes away from. The medic looks worn and drained, shell shocked even. "Known them for a long time."
He manages to utter a strangled thank you along with a half-hearted attempt of a handshake. By now, Morgan has parked and is hurrying towards them through the rainy mist, his face twisted into a worried scowl. "Where is she?"
"Inside," Aaron chokes, failing at words and the only thing he can do is point in the direction of the Emergency entrance.
Morgan knows what he's trying to say, and immediately takes off in the other direction, practically dragging Aaron along behind him. "Come on."
They make it through the hospital doors and into the crowded waiting room toward the triage entrance. Morgan is at his side when Aaron promptly dry heaves right into a trash can, his back clenching with effort. He ignores the stares from those waiting in the plastic chairs as he coughs, drawing air into his lungs even though even the sole act of breathing feels too painful.
"He's alright." Morgan waves off the duo of nurses headed in their direction with a wheelchair. "Could we just get water, please?"
"I'm fine," Aaron says weakly, his stomach churning as he stares down the long, winding hallway into the depths of the hospital. "Where did they take her?" He nods in appreciation when someone passes a cup of water in his direction. It then dawns on him it's been hours since he's eaten or drank anything. Not that he could if he wanted to. "Where is she?" His question isn't directed at anyone in particular. Why isn't anyone answering? He thinks.
"They're working on her, Hotch. Drink the damn water." Morgan is insistent, yet he looks just as worried even if he's doing his best to hide it. "There's nothing we can do right now."
"Sir, would you like to get cleaned up?" The nurse who brought the water is hovering beside them, keeping a careful eye on Aaron. "There's a private restroom just down the hall. We can bring you something to change into." Her eyes are kind, her tone gentle, as if she's seen this before. It's all just part of a day's work to her, he thinks miserably.
He stares at the woman, who can't be more than twenty-five years old, blankly, as if he doesn't understand what she's saying. "I - I can't," Aaron stutters, having forgotten all about the mess that is his clothes and hands. "Not until I know she's - " He can't bring himself to even think about taking off the vest. "Not until she -" The words just won't come.
"We're okay, thank you." Morgan says calmly, forcing an appreciative half-smile at the nurse. "Is there a waiting room somewhere?" Aaron hears him give her Emily's name, and she nods slowly, eyes widening with understanding.
"Let me see what I can do for you."
When they're alone again, Aaron finds himself staring at the wall as his ears ring, watching the seconds painfully tick by. Every minute that passes feels like an hour, his mind consumed with thoughts of what's happening not too far away.
"Here." Morgan passes him a pack of gum, and his eyes linger on Aaron's bloodstained hands for a moment too long while reaching into his pocket. "I'm going to call the others. Let them know we're here." The slump of his shoulders tells Aaron just how badly he's struggling too, crippled under the weight of his own emotions as the toll mounts. If only we'd gotten there sooner. If only they'd pushed Clyde a little harder. If only - The scenarios run through his mind like an endless loop, Doyle's words haunting him. She's going to die. I made sure of that. You're too late.
Maybe Doyle was right all along.
But soon enough, the nurse takes them to a private waiting room, tucked deep within the hospital, murmuring something about waiting for a doctor to come with an update. Aaron can't even begin to comprehend waiting for much longer, but waiting is all they can do. He sinks into a chair by the door, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.
Some time later, Dave ushers the remaining few of the team into the private waiting room like a chaperone, with JJ trailing behind. When did they all get there? Then he remembers Morgan had called them. Aaron doesn't miss the furtive, strained glance Dave throws in JJ's direction as he closes the door, surveying the room without saying a word. Everyone looks worse for wear, their faces pale and tired, the culmination of the last few days a heavy burden on them all.
"Any word yet?" Dave asks quietly, and Morgan only shakes his head before shifting his gaze back to the floor. There's nothing to be said, nothing they can do except be together, and wait. Aaron watches the clock on the wall, the hands barely moving, and spends a few moments observing his team. Time has shown him just how differently they process and handle situations, their own coping mechanisms as unique as each of them. Yet this time, they're all silent, their eyes blank and minds full, lost in the same version of hellish limbo. Besides the occasional heavy sigh, hardly a word is spoken between them.
Someone - Penelope, most likely, but he wasn't paying attention- presses a cup of coffee into his hands and while he's grateful for something to hold, the liquid is too hot and it just burns through his palms. He can't sit still but any movement makes it hard to breathe, and as the clock strikes, signifying the start of a new day, gently announcing midnight's arrival, the door of the waiting room opens, revealing a harried doctor in the threshold. "You're the agents here for Emily Prentiss? I'm Dr. Monahan. I'm one of the attendings who saw her upon arrival."
"We are." Aaron swallows and rises to his feet, taking the lead before Dave can even think about stepping in. "How is she?"
Dr. Monahan wrings her hands, rests them on her hips with a heavy breath. "It's not looking good, Agent."
The words are like the cold stab of a knife, like being drowned in ice water. He hears what this doctor is saying, yet he doesn't believe her - he can't bring himself to believe or accept it. "What do you … what are you saying?"
"Agent Prentiss's injuries are serious. She lost a significant amount of blood and we've had a hard time keeping her vitals stable. There was internal bleeding and significant trauma to her liver and spleen from the impalement, along with several broken ribs from the beating she endured. She suffered a second degree burn - it appears as if she was branded on the chest. We're taking her up to surgery to repair whatever damage we can and get the bleeding under control. She flatlined shortly after we brought her in, but we were able to revive her. Her body has endured a significant amount of stress, and she is very weak."
Aaron feels the color drain from his face at the news, and he chokes on his own words as JJ comes to his other side. She and Dave might be the only reason he's still standing on two feet at this point. "What are her chances?"
The doctor rubs a hand over her face, offering a sympathetic look. "We need to get her upstairs to get the bleeding under control. If she makes it through the surgery, we should consider it a miracle. Her injuries are severe. You should prepare yourselves."
Beside him, JJ's hands fly to her face, covering her mouth in shock and fear. Aaron hears the hushed gasp from Garcia and then a sob as she wails in Morgan's arms. Ashley hugs her legs a little tighter to her chest and Dave turns around, facing the window with a fist pressed to his mouth.
"If Agent Prentiss has any family, you might want to give them a call."
We are her family, Aaron thinks, his throat thickening. And yet it's the Ambassador's face he sees, remembering the words Emily had written in her letter about her mother. Even years later, he understands her request, and as the doctor leaves, turning on her heel and quietly closing the door, he reaches into his pocket for his phone.
"Go," Dave says quietly, having sat down next to a visibly shocked Ashley, a comforting hand on her shoulder. "We're ok for a little while. Do what you need to do"
There's a quiet hallway right by the waiting room, and in the darkness, Aaron stares at the phone in his hands. It might not even be the right number, and it's so late at night he wonders if anyone is even awake to answer the line, but he dials the number he has saved from a few years ago, holding his breath when the call connects with the dial tone in his ear.
"This is the office of Ambassador Prentiss." The clipped voice on the other line is familiar, yet Aaron can't quite place it.
"I need to speak to Ambassador Prentiss immediately."
"I'm going to need to ask who is calling, please." Whoever it is does not sound pleased at his request.
"This is Special Agent Aaron Hotchner."
The voice on the other line pauses. "Aaron? This is Olivia."
Olivia. The Ambassador's assistant from years ago. She still works for Emily's mother? He remembers her perfectly, including the day she had a front row seat to his resignation in the Ambassador's office while Emily pleaded with them both, indignant, embarrassed, and angry. The memory deepens the fissure in his chest, and he's suddenly aware of Olivia saying his name repeatedly.
"Aaron? Are you there? What can I do for you?"
"I'm here. I … didn't realize you were still working for the Ambassador.
"I'm her Chief of Staff now. What can I do for you at this hour?" She sounds concerned now, and just a touch annoyed at the sudden late night phone call.
"I need to speak to the Ambassador immediately. It's regarding Emily."
…
"Ambassador Prentiss is taking a private flight to Boston in three hours. She'll be here in the morning." Aaron makes the announcement to the rest of the group, anxiously awaiting an update. By now, it's after one, and the hospital is nearly silent except for the occasional alarm or PA announcement, and another uneasy silence has fallen over them in the waiting room.
"How is the Ambassador?" Dave asks from his spot beside Aaron some time later, when the rest of them have dozed off in the uncomfortable chairs. There's a crossword puzzle and pen in his hands yet he hasn't actually looked at it. Instead, he's flicking the pen cap around his fingers over and over, an attempt to occupy himself that is clearly unsuccessful.
"What do you think, Dave? Aaron rests his head against the wall, replaying the conversation he'd had with Emily's mother in his mind. She'd been, as he expected, uncharacteristically shaken, her sharp facade all but unraveled. He heard her voice crack as she explained she would be in Boston within a few hours before thanking him, the phone cutting out before he could even mumble a response.
"Have you thought about what you're going to tell Ambassador Prentiss when she arrives?"
"Where do you suppose I start, Dave? Should I start by telling her Emily's time in Europe wasn't actually spent exploring and traveling, but that instead she fell in love with a terrorist while working as an undercover operative? Do I tell her why she ran to Europe in the first place?" He stiffens at the sound of his own voice, careful not to wake Reid and Garcia, still sleeping, looking less than comfortable in their chairs. "What if she's too late? Then what?"
Dave is silent, a slight wince crossing his face. "Start with the truth, Aaron. And go from there."
…
Emily made it through surgery.
The five words that come from the surgeon's lips are all Aaron hears when they're given an update after almost five hours of waiting. There's a palpable, collective sigh of relief from each of them, even as the surgeon gently explains that despite the good news, Emily isn't quite out of the woods yet.
"Agent Prentiss is still heavily sedated," the surgeon explains carefully, using layman's terms as she walks them through the events of the procedures and remarkable measures they'd taken to save Emily's life. "She'll stay that way for several more hours until the anesthesia wears off. She lost a significant amount of blood, but the surgery was successful. We were able to get the bleeding under control, although we did have to remove her spleen. But she is very lucky. Had the injury been a few centimeters over, we would be having a very different conversation."
Aaron visibly pales, and beside him, JJ puts a reassuring hand on his arm. "But she's going to pull through?"
"There's still the risk of infection and bleeding, due to the nature of her injuries. It's likely she'll need a skin graft at some point because of the burn. We're going to watch her very closely for the next few hours. But this is a good sign." Emily's surgeon smiles for the first time since coming to greet them. "It's good news. The best news I could possibly give you."
"Can we see her?" JJ asks hopefully, sounding a bit more optimistic than he is. He's waiting for someone to yank the sliver of hope right out of his hands.
"One visitor is allowed to go in for a short period of time." She pauses for a moment before continuing, "I'll send a nurse down once we have her situated and comfortable."
It's not even a question amongst them that one visitor will be Aaron.
…
"She can hear you," the nurse who'd introduced himself as Andy shows him into Emily's room, checking one of the many monitors near her bed. He scribbles something on a clipboard and notices Aaron's hesitancy. "So talk to her. Let her know you're here." He's encouraging, and his presence is comforting, as if reminding him Emily is in good hands.
Aaron nods thickly, sitting down stiffly in the chair next to Emily's bed. She looks so small laying there, the amount of tubes and wires she's attached to make him nauseous, the rhythmic beeping of the ventilator an invasive interruption to any coherency he might scrape together. It's the first time he's been alone since he'd read her letter in his office, he realizes, as he checks his watch. Pushing 6 AM. The adrenaline has long worn off and he's left with an overwhelming sense of emptiness laced with fear, even as he tries to remember the doctor's words. Making it through surgery had been only one of many hurdles, and judging by the amount of machines surrounding her, there's still a ways to go.
"You can touch her," Andy says, noticing Aaron's hesitancy, offering a kind smile. "It won't hurt her." He checks another monitor, pushing a few buttons before making another note on the chart. "I'll give you a few minutes alone. If you need anything, just yell."
"Thank you," Aaron says gratefully with the best attempt of a smile he can manage. When the door closes behind him, he takes a deep, shaky breath and reaches for her hand. He's extra careful to avoid the tube that's taped to the back, knowing just how much she would hate that if she were awake and conscious. "Hey," he says, instantly feeling ridiculous, yet he remembers the nurse's words.
She can hear you. Yet he barely knows where or how to start.
"Everyone's here, you know," Aaron begins, lacing his fingers gingerly through her cold ones. "We're all waiting for you to … to wake up. You scared us all. Especially me." His vision blurs and his voice cracks on its own accord. "What the hell were you thinking, Emily?" And for the first time since everything had simultaneously fallen apart and into place, it's anger he feels. "Why couldn't you have trusted me? Haven't I done enough to earn your trust over the years?"
He knows the answer, of course, and just how deep all of this runs - another layer of complicated history, and for the first time, understands the significance of his own complicity in all of it. "I read your letter," he continues, voice shaking. "I should have known. I should have known how badly you were hurting then, and what you were willing to do to escape it all." He loosens his grip on her fingers, moves to brush her hair from her eyes. By now it's limp and stringy, matted to her forehead. She'd probably hate that too. "I know why you never told me." He's babbling at this point, the words coming faster than he can process as a single tear drips down his cheek then one from the other eye. "I'm so, so sorry."
The mechanical rhythm of the monitors, the ones essentially keeping her alive, remind him they're still in this mess, that even though she's stable she's not out of the woods, that it could all still go terribly wrong.
"I really just need you to wake up, Emily. I need you to hear this." Another ragged breath is painful as the tears flow freely from his eyes. It feels strangely human to cry, even if it's not the first time in hours that he has. "I can't do this without you. I don't want to do this without you, Emily. I … I love you. I still want to grow old with you." He bows his head, elbows resting on the sides of her bed, and for the first time in as long as he can remember, Aaron prays.
True to his word, Andy is back a little while later. "Agent," he says quietly. "One of your colleagues is looking for you. Her surgeon will be in soon, to check on a few things. She'll have an update for you after that."
The team. He'd almost forgotten about all of them in the hour that's passed. Aaron nods, gently unwinding his hand from Emily's and giving her one long look before rising to his feet. Except it takes him two tries to actually steady himself, and Andy glances at him from the other side of the bed. "There's a cafeteria down the hall, if you want a cup of coffee or something to eat. Can't promise it'll taste good, but you can give it a shot." He must notice Aaron's dismal stare, because his face softens. "She'll be okay for a little while, Agent. Her vital signs are stable. That's good. Plus, I'm not going anywhere for awhile."
Aaron nods gratefully, yet every step toward the door is excruciatingly painful. From the hallway windows, he can see the sun is starting to rise, the dawn of another day, and the events from the one before seem like a distant memory at this point. Today will be all about the aftermath - an exhausting barrage of phone calls, cleaning up the mess from the night before, and of course, the arrival of the Ambassador. He makes a mental note to call Jessica too, and wonders what he'll even say to her, let alone his son.
Dave is waiting for him by the windows, a styrofoam cup of coffee in his hand. "You might want to get yourself cleaned up. Emily's mother should be here soon. Something tells me she won't take well to that." He gestures toward Aaron's clothes, looking even worse than he did when Aaron left the waiting room, and it's abundantly clear he hasn't gotten any sleep.
"I … my bag is … " He runs a hand down his face, the whereabouts of his go bag completely unknown. But Dave has a point - he's still wearing the same stained clothes from the night before.
"Morgan's got it taken care of. He left soon after you went to be with Emily."
"Thanks," Aaron mutters, staring out the huge wall of windows absentmindedly, watching the fiery sky change colors as the sun rises higher. "How is everyone?"
"As you can expect. We're surviving." He takes a sip from the cup and grimaces. "This coffee is awful. Even the sludge back at Quantico is better than this."
"It's hospital coffee, Dave. What did you expect?"
"Something better than this. It's like … dirty water."
"Sounds appealing."
"And Emily?"
Aaron sighs. "The same. Stable, but critical." He pinches the bridge of his nose, warding off the headache that hasn't fully left since this mess began. "There's still the risk of infection and she isn't conscious yet."
Dave nods his head in understanding, and gives a glimmer of hope Aaron needs to hear. "She made it through the night, Aaron. Let's count that as a win."
It takes him a full five minutes to process the fact that Dave might be right.
…
Aaron isn't sure what he's expecting when his former boss arrives at the hospital. Even in the current circumstances, the Ambassador is the definition of composed, yet the paleness of her face and dark circles under her eyes tell the real story. He immediately recognizes the woman at her side as Olivia, who looks as if she hasn't aged a day, even though it's been almost ten years.
"Agent Hotchner, it's good to see you." Elizabeth Prentiss extends her hand, her mouth stretched in a thin line. "You might remember Olivia?"
"Call me Aaron, Ma'am, and yes, I do. We spoke on the phone." He gives the other woman a polite nod, but keeps his focus on Emily's mother. It's been a few years since she'd shown up in the BAU and even more since she was his boss, but she's hardly aged a day. What he can't help but notice is the resemblance between her and Emily - it's never been more apparent than it is now. "I'm glad you were able to make it so quickly."
The tension in Elizabeth's face increases ever so slightly as he takes her cold hand in his, offering a quick shake. "Aaron, where is Emily?"
"In the ICU," he says slowly, still unsure of where to start. He'd been purposefully vague on the phone, only relaying the most pertinent information - Emily had been taken to the hospital, she needed to get there as soon as possible, he would explain upon her arrival, just please hurry.
"Please, I need to know what happened?" For once, her formidable layers are gone, stripping her down to what she is - a mother, raw with worry and grief.
"I think it's best we speak in private, ma'am."
The waiting room is empty now, as the rest of the team has dispersed, headed to the hotel Dave booked on his credit card, to get some sleep and shower. They haven't quite figured out when they'll leave Boston, or how they'll get Emily home, but that's a problem for later. And when the Ambassador sits down beside him, looking at Aaron with expectant eyes, he scarcely knows how to begin.
…
"Can I get you anything, Ma'am?" Aaron asks, not for the first time, from his position the foot of Emily's bed. Andy had reluctantly allowed them both to stay once Aaron had shown her in, making them promise it wouldn't be for too long. "Something from the vending machine?" Only after he says it does it dawn on him Elizabeth Prentiss would most likely never touch anything that came from a vending machine.
"Please, call me Elizabeth, Aaron. Ambassador seems a bit pretentious now, and a bit unnecessary, don't you think? And no, nothing for me, thank you." The thin smile that graces her face all but evaporates when she looks at Emily again, and he notices her shoulders trembling just a little bit. She hadn't wavered when she first entered the room, but it's clearly starting to catch up to her as she processes everything she's been told, all the things she didn't know.
As he expected, Elizabeth isn't entirely dumbfounded by the news. But she listens as Aaron carefully relays all the pertinent details, and easily reads between the lines of everything he leaves out. "I always knew there was something she wasn't telling me. I know my daughter well," she says with a resigned sadness after he finishes his explanation, wringing her hands. "She's always been so secretive, you know. Even as a child, Emily always had her secrets."
Aaron is well aware of the depths of Emily's secrecy. It's part of what got them here in the first place. "I know."
"There was so much she never told me over the years. I didn't exactly make it easy for her, you know." Elizabeth takes Emily's hand in hers, wearing the same guilt he feels. "But what I did know …" She trails off, unable to finish her sentence, bowing her head.
Aaron is all too aware of that fact.
"She was struggling. And I turned a blind eye for the sake of my career."
He had a front row seat to that, too.
"I failed her, in so many ways."
So did I. We all did.
There's a heavy silence between them both, a recognition of the past and present, another collision of the two. He rests his gaze on Emily, briefly closing his eyes, hoping maybe this time he'll wake up from this nightmare.
"You're together, aren't you?" Elizabeth's voice is softer than it was. Her words are less of a question and more of a confirmation of something she already knows.
"How did you know?" Aaron shifts from one foot to the other, uncomfortably put on the spot. Of all the conversations he expected to have today, this was certainly not one of them.
"A mother always does." There's a slight curl of her lips that wasn't there moments before. "Neither of you were ever very subtle about how you felt, Aaron. I caught on to things between the two of you fairly quickly the first time."
He stiffens, feeling ridiculously uncomfortable. Yet there's no animosity in the Ambassador's tone, no ill will. Instead, what he sees is quite the opposite- an attempted peace offering, perhaps? A mutual, tentative understanding they never had before.
"For how long?"
Now it's his turn to smile, albeit quickly. "Depends which one of us you ask."
"Sounds like my daughter." There's a soft laugh this time. "You're the only person my Emily ever opened up to. I made a mistake, all those years ago, letting you go the way I did. Maybe if I hadn't, you two wouldn't be in this mess."
Aaron can't help but wonder if she's right, because that had been the beginning of their end, the first one at least. "Ma'am," he begins, unsure of where to go next, and immediately forgetting her request.
"Elizabeth," she reminds him pointedly.
"Right." The room suddenly feels too small for them both, and he nods politely as Elizabeth turns back to Emily, years worth of regret in her eyes. The moment feels too intimate, one he shouldn't witness. "I'll give you some time alone with her."
Thankfully, the vibrating phone in his pocket gives him an easy out, and he's relieved for the escape as he shuts the door behind him. Strauss's name on his phone screen can only mean one thing. He holds his breath while accepting the call, awaiting the inevitable tongue lashing from his boss.
"Agent Hotchner, what the hell happened?" On the other end of the call, Strauss does not sound pleased.
"It was my understanding you were on vacation, Ma'am."
"I was, but what is this I hear about the BAU's clandestine trip to Boston? Do you care to explain just what happened? And please, for the love of God, what the hell was Agent Prentss doing going after Ian Doyle herself?"
"It's a long story." He already sounds strained and exhausted.
"Then I suggest you make yourself comfortable, and start talking."
He feels like a child being scolded as Strauss presses him for information, and she asks every question he's been dreading, challenging his answers. For each of his replies she asks three more questions, and his head is spinning again as she mentions something about having to speak to her higher ups, that this won't just get swept under the rug, and of course, the budgetary issues that come along with Emily's hospitalization.
"There will be repercussions for this, you know." Strauss sounds equal parts concerned and angry, as he expected, and at a loss for words, something that doesn't happen very often. "I will see what I can do to make sure your team is protected along with Agent Prentiss's career. But you are on thin ice from here on out."
"Thank you," Aaron says, his tone clipped and short, and in the background, he hears her sigh deeply. "Is there something else I can do for you, Chief Strauss?"
Her tone softens just a bit. "Agent Prentiss is … how is she?"
"Critical, but stable. She's not yet conscious. The doctors will know more once she is."
"Please keep me updated on her progress, Aaron. Despite the fact that I don't condone these actions, I can only imagine how hard this is for your team. And for you as well." It's what she doesn't say that tells him she probably knows a lot more than she's letting on, and Aaron makes a mental note to ask Dave about that later on.
When he ends the call, he sits with his head in his hands, wondering just how much more of this he can take, as time continues to tick painfully.
From the corner of his eye some time later, Aaron spies Andy coming his way, striding purposefully with an elated look on his face, and he has to rub his eyes to make sure he isn't imagining it. "She's awake, Agent Hotchner. The doctors are looking for you. They're going to extubate her shortly."
He nearly chokes on air as he follows Andy, his heart clenching in his chest.
...
The deep breath he takes is the first that doesn't make his chest feel like it's on fire as he rounds the corner into her room. Emily is awake, her eyes blinking nervously as the doctor hovering above her calmly explains the invasive tube in her throat, that they'll take it out in just a moment, to just relax. They let him stand by her side, a comforting presence, and Aaron clenches his hands into fists as the doctor tells her to exhale, and cringes as the thing is gently pulled from her throat. Emily coughs violently with the first gulp of air she takes, struggling to breathe for a few painful moments, and Aaron soothes her with a hand on her head, his own voice a whisper only she can hear.
The first thing Aaron notices, as the many hands of nurses and doctors remove some more of the tubes and wires connected to her, is that she's impossibly pale, her skin almost translucent under the harsh hospital lights. The second is all the cuts and bruises on her face that were hidden by those tubes and wires. The third, and what he hates the most, is it's clear she's in pain even despite the heavy drugs pumping through her body. Before they leave them alone, the doctors warn him against pushing too hard, to keep things brief, because she needs to rest, and any additional stress could setback the small steps of progress she's already made.
Emily's confusion is evident as her eyes flick around anxiously, widening almost impossibly when they rest on him, almost immediately filling with tears. She rasps something that sounds like his name, her throat raw and sore, confusion clouding her face.
"Don't try to talk," Aaron says gently, remembering the doctor's words from just a few minutes before. "Whisper." He's still at her side, stroking her wrist with his fingers in a desperate attempt to soothe her, to keep her calm as the heavy reality starts to sink in. She's trying so hard to remember, and a few frustrated tears fall from her eyes. "It's okay," Aaron murmurs. "Just relax."
"Where is he? Doyle?" Emily's strained voice almost breaks his heart in half, for even upon regaining consciousness after almost bleeding out on the ground in Boston, it's where her mind goes immediately. "He got away, didn't he?" Her head rolls against the pillow, shoulders sagging in defeat.
He shakes his head, forcing a small smile. "No he didn't, sweetheart." Aaron kisses her forehead, pushing some of her matted hair out of her face, noticing her wince. "You got him. He's dead."
Her head tilts to the side as her eyes search his, blinking through the lingering confusion. "But he ...I watched him go." She swallows, her chest heaving with effort to breathe. "I watched him …"
Aaron keeps his eyes locked on hers. "Ian Doyle is dead," he says firmly, remembering what he'd told her in the warehouse as she hovered toward unconsciousness. She clearly remembers none of it. From this angle he can see the covered wound on her chest - where Doyle had branded her, an attempt to leave a piece of him with her forever. He hasn't actually seen it - isn't sure if he can handle it - but what he imagines is more than enough.
"I remember now." By now her forehead is damp with sweat, her skin clammy. "You said … did you kill him?"
"I finished what you started," he says darkly.
Emily grapples for his hand with her shaking one, grimacing at the sight of the IV tubing taped to the back. "What … what did you do, Aaron?"
"I made you a promise years ago I would keep you safe, didn't I?" Aaron laces his fingers around hers, presses his lips to her forehead again. "It's over." And maybe it is, but it's only just beginning. Another mountain to climb, bonds of trust to rebuild, not to mention her physical recovery.
Her face darkens with exhaustion, crippled with understanding. She's only been awake a few minutes, but she already looks drained. "Where is everyone? Are they … are they safe?" Had Ian gotten to any of them? What isn't he telling her?
"Everyone is safe, Emily," Aaron says gently, feeling her palm start to sweat against his. "They're at the hotel."
"Hotel?" She looks even more confused now.
"Dave," Aaron says simply. "They'll be back this afternoon." Then he hesitates, wondering if he should share the second part. He glances at the closed door, where surely Elizabeth is waiting behind, just a few feet away.
"What aren't you telling me?" Emily groans, licking her dry, cracked lips, studying his face. "I know there's something you aren't telling me."
"Your mother is here. She arrived a little while ago."
Emily visibly stiffens, understanding the implications of what that means. "So it was that bad, huh?" She lifts a hand, her fingers drifting over the blankets at her waist, finding the wound that's been stitched and dressed, but very sore. It's still numb, but if she closes her eyes, she can still see what was there hours before. Oh my God.
He chooses his words carefully, but it's not worth it. She knows already. "Things were … they," he can't quite formulate the words that have hovered in his mind since the ambulance doors opened. "We weren't sure if …
"You thought I was going to -"
"Stop," Aaron says firmly, unable to even entertain the thought. He brushes a finger over her lips then trails it over her cheek. "Don't even think about it. You're safe now. This nightmare is over."
Emily is strangely unbothered by his confirmation as her eyes drift shut then flutter open again. "I'm so tired, Aaron. I'm sorry." She winces, clearly exhausted just from their short conversation, not to mention the sedative effect of the painkillers, the drug-induced haze.
"It's okay," he says softly, leaning over to press a kiss to her cheek "Close your eyes. I'll stay with you for awhile." He moves his chair closer, within arm's reach if she needs him, waiting until her chest rises and falls evenly. Only after he's certain she's asleep does Aaron finally close his eyes, too, the first bit of rest he's had in days.
…
The days that follow are no less exhausting than the previous, and while Emily seemingly defies odds, her progress amazing the doctors who'd strongly doubted she'd even get off the table, her recovery brings on new challenges. The first, of course, is how she'll get home. A commercial flight is out of the question, a road trip an even worse idea.
In the end, it's decided she'll be airlifted to Bethesda, where she'll spend another few days recovering. While Aaron can't confirm Strauss had something to do with those logistics, he has a feeling they owe her one, because it's all arranged before he can even formally put the request in. When Aaron questions him, Dave turns a blind eye without more than a wink as the rest of the team departs for Quantico in the jet. Aaron will stay behind with Emily, of course, which seems to placate Elizabeth enough so that she leaves Boston as well, only after she reminds them both that DC is close by, and that they both have her cell phone number. He watches the awkward goodbye between Emily and her mother from the side of the room, averting his eyes as they attempt to hug, which proves to be a challenge with multiple fractured ribs.
The day before she's slated to leave, Clyde Easter shows up outside her room, and Aaron can't help but wonder if he ever takes off the damn leather jacket or scarf. It's how he waits in the doorway without saying a word, just a glance of acknowledgement between him and Emily, that tells Aaron they need a moment alone. "I'll be right outside," he says, gathering the small pile of paperwork he's been flipping through since the doctor had left the room.
"You scared us all, you know." Clyde says smoothly as he takes a seat in Aaron's chair. "But I guess I shouldn't be surprised."
Emily rolls her eyes and sits up gingerly. "Certainly wouldn't be the first time." She's still relying on pain medication heavily, but some of her strength and color has returned. She's grateful for that, because Clyde looks almost rattled by the fact he's sitting next to her in a hospital. "We got him," she adds quietly.
"You got him," He corrects her, but his blue eyes shine just a little less brightly than they did before. "Like I always knew you would."
"You and Sean both," Emily says thoughtfully, as the look on Clyde's face already answers her next question, one she's been afraid to ask. "Sean is dead, isn't he? Doyle got to him first."
"Yes. Rebecca and Adaleigh, too. They were found dead in Brussels a few days ago."
Emily looks away then down at her lap, the thought of breaking into tears with her ribs still broken not an appeasing one. "He nearly took us all out in the end. He almost won, Clyde. He almost got me too." She's spent the last few days trying to process this. She should feel relief, a sense of peace over the fact that she can close this door. But it's not at all like that. It was too close. They'd all gotten too close this time, and things could have gone horribly wrong.
"But he didn't. You get to walk out of here."
"I definitely won't be walking out of anywhere for a while" Emily retorts sarcastically. "In case you haven't forgotten." The only walks she's taken are short loops around the hospital wing. Just a few minutes of that leaves her breathless and sweaty as Aaron hovers around her, a strained expression on his face.
"You know what I meant."
She regards him silently for a few minutes. He's always been comfortable with silence. It's one of the things Emily appreciates about Clyde. "It's hard to believe all of this is over, you know?"
"It's never over, Darling. There will always be more like him," he offers casually. "We know that all too well."
"Why are you here, Clyde?" Emily asks sharply. She knows this side of him, what his motives might be. He'll never leave this world behind. No matter what. He'll always be chasing monsters. She supposes someone has to.
"To say goodbye. I hear you're being discharged in the morning." There's more to what he's saying. There usually always is, and she waits for him to confirm what she's expecting.
"Something tells me you want more than that."
He considers his words carefully, glancing behind him at the door. "You know where to find me, if you ever change your mind." Clyde leans in and gives her a quick kiss, one that feels like an offer and a farewell all in one. "Something tells me I'll see you again."
"Those days are over." She attempts to sound convincing, but now she's just tired, his words swimming in her head as she presses down on the pump controlling her pain medication.
"That's what you said the last time, if I remember correctly."
She twists the blanket in her fingers, not wanting to admit that he might be right once again. From her place she can see Aaron's dark head lingering by the door, and the tiny warning voice in the back of her head has never been stronger.
Clyde disappears as stealthily as he came with nothing more than a quick nod in Aaron's direction. Emily pretends not to notice his pressing stare when he fills in the missing spot beside her bed once again.
"All good?" Aaron asks, dropping back into the chair at her side, taking her hand in his.
"Yeah. Just tired."
But as she falls asleep, something tells him it's more than that.
...
The second challenge is her recovery - the emotional, but also the physical. Even after they're home from the Bethesda hospital, she's still exhausted, the pain a near constant, and for the first few days, Emily sleeps for the majority of the day as her body continues to heal.
Aaron has to swallow his anger when he sees the full extent of her injuries for the first time once they're home. The bruising on her ribs has faded a bit, but the scar on her abdomen makes him nauseous, sending him right back to that warehouse and finding her with blood pouring from the gaping wound. He can't help but stare at it as Emily averts her eyes with embarrassment when he helps her into the shower, her clothes in a heap on the ground. He cringes when he sees the brand mark on her chest. Her eyes are full of shame when he removes the gauze wraps for the first time to apply the antibiotic treatment regimen she's been given. It's ugly as it heals, red and weeping, and he tenderly dabs the various medications into her skin.
"You shouldn't have to do this," Emily tells him one day, her eyes on the ceiling as Aaron carefully focuses on his task. She winces at his touch, the medication burning more than it normally does. She hates being so reliant on him, but the truth is her healing has taken a lot out of her, and most days she barely has energy to walk around her apartment, let alone tend to her grueling healing regimen of medications and aftercare instructions.
"I'm almost done." He's been so careful to not cause her anymore pain throughout all of this, and today is no different. And then a thought comes into his mind, one he can't ignore. "I read your letter, you know." He's been wanting to bring it up, yet hasn't quite found the right time. There's been so much to handle and process, after all.
Emily tenses under his touch. "I had a feeling you would." She'd left it purposefully, anyway, but she never expected to have this conversation.
"You never told me any of that."
"How could I, after everything that happened? You were with Haley by then, and you were still married when I got back. Not like I could have just handed it off to you casually to save for a rainy day." She scoffs, looking slightly uncomfortable at the direction of the conversation.
"What you wrote in your letter," he says, uncharacteristically stumbling over his words, grateful for the distraction with his hands, "is why I'm doing this."
"What do you mean?" She sounds defensive, and he touches his free hand to her cheek.
"I love you," he says simply, helping her sit up. "Always have. That will never change."
It's the way she frowns ever so slightly before pushing a smile on her lips when he wonders, not for the first time in his life, if it will be enough.
...
The third and final challenge might be the very one that destroys them one more time. Ian Doyle might be dead, but something else died with him in the warehouse that night. As life returns to a relative normal, things spiral out of control once again.
There's barely time to process anything, all let alone talk about it. Ashley's departure is overshadowed by JJ's return, and while the familiarity should bring a sense of relief, it has the opposite effect. It only makes Emily more distant, as if time moves in two directions - backwards and forwards. They're simultaneously dragged back to the past as life moves on, leaving them in another awkward state of limbo. The team welcomes her back, avoiding the tough questions, yet it's clear things aren't what they used to be. It's a slow decline but it's evident things might never be the same. Everyone keeps a respectful distance, gently reminding Aaron healing is a process that takes time, but he's been around long enough to know otherwise.
In the midst of their cases, she barely hangs on, as if on autopilot to make it through the day, and another after that. Nights are the worst. At first, Emily sleeps soundly, her body still weary from healing, numbed by the painkillers. But the nightmares start soon after she stubbornly refuses to take another pill, gritting her teeth through the worst of it. And even though he wants to persuade her otherwise, the frustration in her eyes warns him to not push the issue.
The nightmares that come in the dark depths of the night, with an intensity that leaves her exhausted yet unable to seek any relief, are terrifying. Sometimes he wakes up before it's too late, and rocks her against him while she cries softly into his neck. Her tears soak his shirts, her pain-laced breathing persistent in his ear,
Other times, they're not as lucky. On more than one occasion, Aaron wakes up to her muffled screams, crying in her sleep. Sometimes she cries out his name, other times it's Ian's he hears on her lips, begging him to stop, others it's a frantic uttering that Declan is alive. But most nights, the terror is in her head, a special form of hell only she knows. One night, he's awoken by her screams, and when he flips the light on, riddled with fatigue, he's horrified at what he sees. She's moaning and crying, her face twisted with anguish, her eyes squeezed shut, practically twisting off his bed.
"Wake up, Emily," he soothes, getting the covers off her and pushing her hair from her sweat-soaked forehead. "Open your eyes. I'm right here." His pleas go unnoticed, and when she does open her eyes, the only thing he sees is fear.
"Get it out. Aaron please," Emily wails, her hands clawing at the invisible piece of wood that had once protruded from her abdomen, her nails scraping against pale skin with the incision still an angry, healing shade of pink. She's panting, the pain from her ribs piercing and throbbing, coughing to draw ragged breaths into her lungs. She's having flashbacks, he thinks.
"There's nothing there, Emily. You're going to hurt yourself," he reminds her, gently getting his hands around her wrists to stop her. "Relax," he whispers, doing his best not to scare her anymore. "It's a nightmare, sweetheart. Nothing more." He holds her still, and when her breathing slows, he pulls her into his arms in an attempt to comfort her.
It only makes her cry harder. "I'm sorry, Aaron," she hiccups once the worst of it is over, her face red and splotchy, eyes swollen.
"Why are you apologizing?"
She pushes him away, even though all she wants is the comfort of his embrace. "I'm so fucking sick of this. When is this going to stop?"
"You have nothing to apologize for," he offers, because he doesn't have an answer to her question.
She'll never have enough apologies for the damage she's created.
Her nightmare the following week not only wakes Aaron, but Jack, too, much to his chagrin.
This time, it's too late to stop it because it's already started when he finally awakens from a deep sleep of his own. By the time his eyes are fully open, it's morphed into a panic attack. She's crying and panting, and when Aaron puts his hand to her wrist to check her pulse, he finds it racing beneath his fingers. "Come on," he says, practically hauling her to her feet and in the direction of the bathroom.
Emily obeys, leaning her weight on him as he gets the shower turned on, not even bothering to take off her clothes or let the water turn hot. She sinks down, rocking back and forth with her head in her hands as Aaron rubs her back in slow, gentle circles, the spray soaking them both relentlessly. History has had them here before, and while he should know what to do, he's never felt more powerless. "Relax," he whispers, not sure of what else to do, keeping his thumb on her pulse as her breathing evens into gasps. "Please, Emily, try and relax."
"Daddy?" The small voice from the hallway makes him freeze, and Emily just covers her face with both hands miserably.
"Jack, go back to your room," Aaron orders him as his son stands outside the bathroom, his tiny hand hitting the knob. "I'll be there in a few minutes, okay?" He gets to his feet, peering around the door to find Jack in his Star Wars pajamas, hair tousled and feet bare. He's blinking sleep from his eyes, a tiny scowl on his lips.
"What's wrong with Emily?" His son looks terrified, a toy under his arm, his lower lip shaking. "Why is she crying? And why are you all wet, Daddy?"
"Nothing, Buddy. She's just having a bad dream." Aaron glances helplessly between his son and Emily, the shower running full blast over her shaking body.
"Is she scared about something, Daddy? Did you ask her why she's scared? You always ask me why I'm scared when I wake up in the middle of the night."
"I did. She'll be okay, Jack. I'm going to make sure she's okay, I promise."
"Can you give this to her?" Jack passes over his lightsaber under his arm with a yawn. "This helps with bad guys. I want to help Emily too, just like you, Daddy."
Aaron's throat tightens as his hand wraps around the plastic light up toy, and he can hear a sob rack through Emily's body. "Thanks, Jack. I'll give it to Emily. I promise. Go back to sleep. I'll come check on you in a minute." He runs a hand through his wet hair, willing his son to fall asleep quickly.
And when the door closes, still holding the lightsaber in his hands, he wonders if they'll ever fight off the demons they can't seem to escape from.
...
But a few nights later in Buffalo, he can't even deny her when Emily presses her body against his, indicating exactly what she wants only a little while after she shows up at his door. Aaron wants to say no - he should say no, but after a long pause, he acquiesces. Denying her has never come easy to him.
He's almost too careful, Emily thinks with frustration, and she scrapes at his chest with her nails as he shifts them so she straddles his lap, one knee on either side of his thighs. She groans as she sinks down on him in a smooth descent, her eyes widening at the stretch of her body around him for the first time in weeks.
"I don't want to hurt you," Aaron says softly with a groan once he's fully sheathed inside of her. He's sliding his hands up and over her ribs, as if making sure they aren't still fractured under his hands. He's pretty sure it's still too soon to be doing this. "Are you -"
"You won't hurt me, Aaron. I'm fine." Emily closes her eyes and starts rocking her hips back and forth, desperate to feel something other than the numb ache that's been settling into her heart and her mind for the last few weeks.
He knows she's not even remotely close to fine, but she breaks apart seconds later, his name a cry on her lips, and he follows suit, forgetting all about her ribs as he wraps an arm around her, holding her tight against his chest. She'd never tell him this but it hurts worse than she ever imagined it would, and her eyes burn with tears as he whispers into her ear just how much he loves her.
The nightmares return with a vengeance less than a few hours later.
It's over coffee the next morning, in the hotel room in Buffalo, when Emily says the words he's been expecting. "I think," she says, her eyes a shadow of what they once were, the light gone from her face. "I think some space is what we both need right now. When we're at home."
It's the first step of many, but he knows her ways by now. This is her, pushing away, like she's always done. "Have you considered talking to someone?" He presses her gently, knowing full well whatever she told the Bureau psychiatrist wasn't remotely close to the truth. She'd gone the requisite amount of sessions and not once more.
"I don't need a therapist, Aaron." Her tone is biting and harsh, as he expected it would be. "Don't patronize me."
"It might help to talk about some of it, you know. I know it hasn't been -"
"Did you ever take that advice?" She snaps, anger rising in her voice. "Pretty sure Strauss told you the same thing a few years ago."
"I wasn't having nightmares, Emily. You haven't slept in days. And don't try to lie to me about it. You had a nightmare last night."
"I'm fine, Aaron." She slams her cup onto the nightstand in frustration, sending hot brown liquid all over, splattering drops on the white sheets. "I think it's best we spend some time at our own places. Once we're home. Until things get better." she tells herself it's because of the nightmares, but it's not just that.
"I'm worried about you," he says as she stalks toward the bathroom, the door shutting firmly behind her. "You really shouldn't be alone."
Maybe she's always been better off alone.
...
Two days later, she pulls out her phone and dials a number she's held safe in the back of her mind, one she's never fully forgotten over the years. The other person answers on the first ring, like she expected they would.
"Hello?" It's a voice she knows all too well, one she'd never miss.
"Hey, it's me. I think … I think I might take you up on what you said. Let's talk."
…
She's slipping away like she did once before, and this time, he knows he'll never get her back. The final straw comes a few weeks later, on a tense evening at his place. She'd been distant, seemingly distracted for over a week but it's come to a head tonight. In fact, she's barely said more than two words at his pressing questions.
Finally, he can't take it anymore. "Are you going to tell me what you're hiding?" Aaron asks when she can't escape, as they're getting ready for bed.
"I'm not hiding anything," she says a little too defensively for his liking, sighing with annoyance as she tugs the covers down. "What gives you that idea?"
"You haven't been yourself at all, Emily. For a while now. Don't you see that?"
"I don't see a difference," she says, forcing herself to remain calm. Please just stop talking.
"Is there something going on?" He asks before he can stop himself. Not that he actually believes it to be true, but he's hurting as much as she is, powerless to stop any of this. It's the first thing that comes to his mind, fueled by his own emotions that are running rampant in his mind. But she's been secretive, too - phone calls and messages at odd hours - and it's fleetingly crossed his mind more than once.
"What?" She shakes her head incredulously, making sense of what he's just said, reading between the lines of his question. "No." She looks confused, angry even. "Aaron I haven't been with anyone except you except - "
"Besides him." When he says it, he immediately wishes he could take it back. The color all but drains from her face, her eyes wide with hurt as she takes a few steps away from him, her back against the wall. The insinuation is stinging, the weight of his words heavy and thick in the air between them.
"That was low, Aaron. To bring Ian into this … that was low." She's seething now, gritting her teeth in anger, already grabbing for the sweatshirt on the chair. "I - I need to get out of there."
"I'm sorry," he says immediately, the heat rising to his own face in self-loathing. "Emily, I'm so sorry I -"
"You really think I would do that to you? After what Haley did? After everything we've been through? You think I would fucking do that? What the fuck is wrong with you?" She's keeping a brave face but he sees her lip trembling as she shoves her feet into her shoes.
"Emily, I - "
"If you don't know me better than that after all this time, Aaron, then what are we doing?"
He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Emily stares at him expectantly, her mouth pressed into a thin, angry line.
"What did Mommy do?" The small voice coming from behind them peers around the corner comes from Jack, having overheard every bit of their conversation. "Daddy, what's wrong?"
"Nothing, Buddy." The attempt to placate him fails as Jack starts crying, sobbing for Haley, and Aaron has never felt more torn. He moves toward Jack, wrapping him into a hug, his back to Emily as he comforts his son.
That's her cue to leave. This has spiraled out of control for too long. She slips past them both and into the dark night without looking back, the cool air a welcomed reprieve.
Maybe gone is where I belong.
On the way back to her apartment, she fights back tears and dials the same number as before. "You were right," she says before the other person can even utter a greeting. "Draw up the agreement. I'll sign the papers."
...
The instant Aaron sees Clyde Easter in the BAU, he knows something is wrong. But he's deep in conversation with Strauss, and it's immediately clear Emily planned this purposefully, at a time he would be distracted. It's all he needs to know what she's planning. He knows her too well at this point to think anything else. And so he watches the two of them, their heads bent together conspiratorially, as any semblance of attention on the meeting goes out the window.
He waits until the bullpen is empty and Clyde long gone to confront her, catching her off guard at her desk where she's bent over some leftover paperwork, deep in concentration. He wants to ask what she's still doing here, why she hasn't gone home, but doesn't want to give her any reason to bow out of the conversation.
"What was Clyde Easter doing here?"
Her spine stiffens at the sound of his voice, but she doesn't look up. "Nothing."
"Don't give me that."
"Last I checked," Emily says evenly, finally turning her chin up. "It wasn't your business." The annoyance in her voice is evident; she's clearly unwilling to have a conversation about any of this.
He deserves it - her anger, her reticence. He hurt her the other day, not for the first time, and they're running out of chances to make this right. "I'm sorry. For what I said. I was out of line. It's not what I think, or even remotely close to the truth."
She sighs deeply, running a hand through her hair with a shake of her head, a sad resignation. "Aren't you tired of this, Aaron? We've been fooling ourselves for too long."
"What are you talking about?"
"What happens when two people just can't get it together?" Her words are a haunting echo from the past, many times over. "Do you ever just think maybe in the end … none of this is even worth it? That maybe we should just … move on?" Her fingers brush over something on her desk that was originally hidden by a stack of papers. He'd recognize that seal anywhere. Interpol.
It can only mean one thing.
"You're going to leave, aren't you?" His voice thickens. This is it. "That's why Clyde was here."
She nods her head, albeit slowly. "I have to, Aaron. This isn't working. Me. Us. This. It's not worth it anymore." She glances around, staring every direction but his. "And I can't … I can't stay here unless I'm … " Emily coughs nervously, fumbling with the papers on her desk. "I can't be here and not be with you."
"Look at me," he demands, waiting until her eyes find his. He stares her down, unable to break her gaze even though it all but shatters his heart when he sees the steely determination in her face. "I think you're making a huge mistake. And to answer your question, it's always been worth it to me. I'm sorry you can't say the same for yourself." He doesn't recognize the coldness in his own tone, one he's never used with her before, as he spins on his heel, needing to get away from her as quickly as possible.
Sooner than later, it's a done deal, and everything crumbles to dust around him.
…
Aaron finds it all painfully ironic.
JJ's return was the impetus Will needs to finally pop the question he's been sitting on for years, while his relationship with Emily has all but dissolved before his very eyes. Yet it's a wedding, a celebration of love and the future for two of his closest, dearest friends. He's been cautiously avoiding the circled date on his calendar for a while now, and even more now that Emily's departure is scheduled.
The days slip past, double digits turning into single ones, and soon enough, there's no time left. The team mourns her departure before she's even gone, and Emily assures them with a casual smile that nothing will change, just a few miles between them, but he knows there's nothing further from the truth. It will change everything, forever.
It seems heartbreakingly cruel that one of their last nights together will be spent at a wedding, and every minute of it is as painful as he expected. Yet he smiles, even laughs at a few moments throughout, but there isn't a moment he doesn't have a drink in his hands.
There's a finality in Emily's eyes when she slowly agrees to dance with him, and a hesitancy in his touch when he draws her into his arms, a gentle hand across her back like he's done countless times. There's a shared smile between them as he sways her, albeit pained, because she looks beautiful - so much that he wants to freeze time.
"Come on," he says before he can stop himself, when the song ends. He can't bring himself to let go. Not yet. This cannot be the end. "Let's get out of here." Aaron half expects her to balk, but she lets him take her hand as they make their exit.
The newlyweds are too blissfully happy to even notice them slip away. Penelope is twirling under Derek's arm and Dave is cutting a rug with Strauss by now. Only Reid seems to catch on, an oblivious smile on his face as he waves goodbye.
And while they'd been similarly dancing not too long ago, disguised by their happy facade, the smiles have melted from their faces as they make their way to Aaron's car. Their strides match, one foot in front of the other, until he's opening the passenger side door and she's sliding into the seat.
The drive is quiet, each lost in their own respective thoughts as he makes the short trip back to his place. It's all come down to this, and he hardly breathes as he pulls into the parking lot, wondering if it's all a huge mistake.
"What are we doing, Aaron?"
"I don't know," he says simply, turning the car off, leaving them in silence. He takes her hand, turning it over in his own, then kisses the delicate skin of her knuckles in the dark. "But what would you say about one last drink? For old time's sake?"
"One last drink," She agrees with a soft smile, and she isn't sure whose heart will shatter first come morning when the only thing left to say is goodbye. But once they're inside, he pours her the drink he promised, and she holds the glass of gin in her hands, the liquid blurring her memories as the clock hands turn. There are years of the past, and there should be years ahead of them, but time has moved in two directions for too long, never catching up to each other.
There's not much left to say. There aren't any words to summarize the ache in his chest or hers, or the inevitable sense of loss that will set in once the sun rises.
There's just one thing left to do.
Emily leans in to kiss him, and Aaron stiffens beside her, because there's nothing he wants more than her, but the pain of knowing he can't keep her all too consuming. Yet he gives in and kisses her back, slipping his fingers into her hair and curling an arm around her waist. She tastes like gin, remnants of perfume on her neck. Her body is warm against his, the familiar press of her weight against his another memory he'll soon file away. One more time.
It's anything but the frantic and frenzied encounter she's anticipating. Instead, it's slow and patient, unhurried and careful. Emily closes her eyes when his head dips between her legs, drags her fingers in his hair as he easily gets her knees over his shoulders and takes her apart with his mouth. The first time it happens, she's quiet, nothing more than a whimper as her hands pull at his hair, her back lifting off the bed as Aaron coaxes out the last waves of pleasure that course through her body with a practiced ease.
"I'm going to miss you," Aaron murmurs as he settles over her. "So much." When he pushes inside of her in one smooth but torturously slow movement, the moan that escapes from her is one he'll never forget. Aaron holds himself above her without moving, unable to tear his gaze away. He studies her face, the flutter of her eyelashes as he whispers to her how beautiful she is, how perfect she feels, kissing her until she's begging him to move. Her eyes burn as he reaches for her hands, holding them in his own as he sets a pace, his hips deliberate and his thrusts full. He drops his head to her chest, kissing over the scar that still remains, and she flinches, her hands still tangled in his so she can't pull him away. He lingers there, dropping kisses on her chest as the tempo of his hips increases.
"Aaron," she begs because she's almost there, her legs tightening around his hips to bring him closer. "I'm going to-"
His lips seal over hers, stifling her as she keens into his mouth as he sends her over for the second time. Aaron smiles against her mouth as Emily writhes against him, her hands squeezing his in her own. And when he pulls away, he memorizes the look on her beautiful face, her eyes blissfully closed and her head thrown back.
With one more erratic push Aaron follows suit, spilling his release into her as she pants in his ear, still coming down from her own. He nearly collapses on top of her but manages to maneuver them both so instead his arms are wrapped around her, bringing her so close against him they're practically melded together.
Emily is still trembling in his arms some time later, the aftershocks of two orgasms coursing through her. "I love you," he whispers, pulling her as close as he can, pressing an ear to her heart. "So much." It's the way he holds her, his fingers drifting down the dip of her spine, his head against her chest, that makes her feel so inherently cherished she wonders if she's imagined the last ten years of her life, with and without him.
"I know," Emily breathes into his ear, her eyes hooded and glazed with a mix of lust and tears. "And I love you. I always have. You know that, right?"
He does. "Then don't go."
"It's for the best, Aaron," she says, her own arms around his neck, a hand cupped against his cheek. "Sometimes, it's just not enough. I think time has showed us that."
Sleep comes, her exhausted body curling into his out of habit. As her eyes drift shut, a tear falls out because come morning, the one final goodbye that awaits is one she may never fully recover from.
Less than five hours later, Emily wakes up, his bed draped in sunshine, but any semblance of peace she'd felt towards her impending departure has seemingly vanished as she stares at the outline of his body under the sheets. You always run, she berates herself. You're a coward. But she ran once, and even though she promised herself she wouldn't ever again, the past is too easy to repeat. She's been repeating the past for so long, a never ending vicious cycle of events she's never been able to fully outrun. She rolls over when he starts to move, the first of what will most likely be a painful, thin chain of next moments.
"Are you awake?" He asks softly, but he already knows the answer.
"I'm still here." She expects him to draw him into her arms but he doesn't.
"When do you leave?"
"Tomorrow." The word sounds thick in her throat, in her mind she wants to scream. "Tomorrow night."
He gently rolls her onto her back, and Emily clutches a pillow to her chest to keep some space between them. "I … I can make you breakfast," Aaron says quietly. His voice is gravelly and rough, and she knows he probably didn't get much sleep at all. "Coffee, too."
She blinks furiously, seeing right through his intentions to keep her there as long as he can. "No. I… I should probably go. I have a lot to do … before … you know."
"Yeah." He brushes some of her hair behind her ear, fingers lingering along her cheek for what might be the very last time, resigned to the fact this is it. "I guess you should."
Emily pulls the sheet around her body tightly, gathering her clothes along the way to the bathroom. The harsh light burns her eyes, illuminates her skin in an unflattering, almost pasty glow, calling emphasis to the marks he'd left on her skin. His teeth, his fingers, his lips - those remains of the previous hours are the last bit of him she'll keep with her. In time, those marks will be gone too. She rinses herself off in the shower, watching the soapy water spin down the drain, and before she turns off the water, she takes one last whiff of his shampoo, pretending it doesn't make her eyes sting when she does it.
She gathers her things from the living room - her abandoned shoes, her purse, the blue wrap. She shoves the delicate fabric into her purse and then on afterthought tosses it around her shoulders. She feels too exposed without it. "I'll call when I'm settled in a couple of days." It's a lie.
He knows it's a lie. "Please don't do this, Emily."
"I have to do this, Aaron. We both know it." She doesn't want to do this. Not anymore. But there's no other choice.
She cannot walk through that door. "Have you ever thought maybe we aren't meant to be apart? It's his last plea, one more attempt. That we keep running into each other for a reason?"
Only every day of her life for the last ten years. "But then what? Every single time we are even remotely happy for a period of time, something terrible happens soon after. I can't live my life waiting for that next terrible thing." Her chest is being splintered in half, the words coming a little too quickly and her hands shake. "Everything we touch gets destroyed one way or another."
He shakes his head, instinctively stepping in front of the door. "I'm not letting you walk away one more time. Didn't you learn anything all those years ago? What about the letter, Emily? You can't do this."
"You're not going to be able to stop me." Walking away is all she has to do, because this time, she's not coming back. Just a few more steps forward out that door. "It's done. Please, don't make this any harder."
"Yes I am."
"Fucking try me, Aaron."
He stares at her for a few long moments, time standing still between them both. "Fine." He gets both hands around her arms, holding her still, mere inches away from him, his dark eyes searching hers.
Marry me," he says simply, as if he's asking what she wants in her coffee or something else equally mundane.
There's nothing but silence for a few long moments, her eyes growing bigger when she realizes nothing about this is a joke. "What are you … you're saying ..." There's a lump growing in her throat, recognizing his words as an ultimatum, his final play. "You're serious."
"You're right, I'm fucking serious." And then he drops onto one knee in the middle of his living room, reaching into his pocket for the black velvet box he's stared in some capacity at every day for almost two years. "In fact, I've never been more serious." His hands are shaking tremendously, not from effort but from nerves, as he pulls the lid to reveal the ring that's been tucked away since the weekend they spent at the beach with Jack, what seems like a lifetime ago. "Marry me, Emily."
Nestled in the box is a ring, the most beautiful one she's ever seen, exactly her taste, not that she expects anything less from him. No one knows her better than him, after all. She could have picked it herself - a pear-cut halo diamond ring, a tasteful size - staring right back at her.
When she opens her mouth, two words on her lips, a tear falls from her eye, then another, until they're streaming down her face.
"Aaron," she begins. "I - "