Chapter Seven

It wasn't the first of her mother's parties Emily had attended; no, in fact, her childhood had been full of them. She still remembered her first party, remembered her excitement. A new, pretty dress, which as she grew older she knew was one of her mother's tactics; the cuter Emily looked, the better Elizabeth looked as a mother. But, at six years old, she didn't know that. All she knew was that she was dressed like a princess, and that she would go to the ball. She was, of course, in bed by eight o'clock, but for a few hours she was doted on, she got to dance and she ate delicious food. As the years went by, though, the novelty faded. Emily grew into quite a troubled teenager and her relationship with her mother, if there ever had been one in the first place, deteriorated. Emily stopped attending the parties and, eventually, Elizabeth stopped inviting her. The invitations resumed once Emily went to college; perhaps Elizabeth thought her daughter had grown up, but the truth was that Emily had never been the problem. And by the time the invitations started showing up again, Emily had her own life, her own values, her own opinions, and many of them didn't align with her mother's. She didn't want to spend her time at parties, surrounded by career politicians all as cold and awkward as her own mother.

And so it was that when Emily reflected on this, she realised she hadn't attended one of her mother's parties since she was seventeen years old. If she had, she pondered, she might have run into Aaron Hotchner at some point before their meeting at the bar, and she might not be in her current predicament.

Phone in hand, Emily pulled up JJ's contact information for what felt like the hundredth time that day. She typed a message out again, finger hovering over the send button, and once again chickened out. Emily was trying to avoid putting down roots this time. It had cost her too much of herself in the past, growing attached.

However, regardless of this fact, she found that she really liked her team, and, in return, she really wanted them to like her, too. She couldn't cancel tonight, even if she wanted to. They were all going, mostly because of her, and she had to be there, not only to hopefully continue making her own good impression but also to monitor whatever impression Elizabeth was going to make of her, too.

But she so badly wanted to cancel. She so badly did not want to see Elizabeth.

Perhaps the party would be utterly boring, and then she could convince them to leave and go elsewhere for drinks. In cocktail gowns. Sure, why not?

Slipping into her dress was like slipping into someone else's skin. Someone she used to know. Someone she used to be. The Ambassador's daughter. Stepping back into that version of herself, Emily felt it as the weight of all the resentment she carried towards her mother settled once again on her shoulders. She wondered how many other little girls had spent Christmas morning with their father, and the nanny, because their mother was nowhere to be found; off with someone else's family for Christmas, 'to assist with international relationships', or whatever her excuse was for that particular event. She wondered how many other women would stand in front of a mirror dressed as she was, in an expensive floor length, black cocktail dress, and look at themselves in disgust. Probably not many. But then, not many shared her past.

"Poor little rich girl," Emily muttered to her mirror-self as she leaned in close to check her make-up. She sighed as she packed her phone and badge into her small, black purse. She eyed the woman in the mirror like a stranger, dark eyes narrowed with distaste, before turning her back on her and heading for the door.

"Why, hello, Agent Prentiss," JJ pretended to fan herself as Emily approached the cab. Elizabeth had offered to send a car, but Emily had profusely declined. Emily rolled her eyes, though her lips did smile. The blonde, who had slid over a seat to let Emily in, was wearing a dress of gold sequin that she had dragged Emily shopping for. It was the first of about a thousand dresses she had tried on, before agreeing that the first was the best, and dragging the older agent back across town for it. Emily curtseyed, mockingly, then climbed into the cab beside JJ.

"Are we stopping by Garcia's to pick her up?" Emily asked.

"Oh, no. She's taking her date deal with Derek very seriously."

Emily smirked, shaking her head. She still hadn't fully grasped the nature of Garcia and Morgan's relationship; whether it was a flirtatious friendship, or whether there was something real there for either of them. She did know that they were very good friends, regardless, but couldn't help thinking that if one of them was more serious about it than the other, they would both likely end up very hurt.

"So," JJ said, as she took a small compact mirror from her purse to check her make-up, "what's the general rule? Are there usually many hot guys at these events, or no?"

"Honestly," Emily replied, as she watched JJ reapply her lipstick, "I couldn't tell you; I've not been to one in over a decade." JJ cast her a glance, and she shrugged, "But, from what I remember, it's mostly old, white men." JJ bit her lip, feeling guilty.

"I'm sorry," She said, "I sort of bullied you into this, didn't I?"

"Sort of?" Emily raised her eyebrows, but laughed when JJ's expression turned almost pained and she opened her mouth to speak. "Don't even worry about it; I'm a grown woman, I chose to come to this thing. I've not seen my mother in a long time and you guys were all going to come anyway. I'd rather be here to manage perceptions." She was joking, mostly. JJ didn't need to know how much of her was serious.

"Alright then, swift change of subject," JJ bristled, putting away her compact and fixing Emily with a smirk, "If there are any hot guys there, do I have competition?"

"Excuse me?" Emily laughed.

"You know what I mean; are you open to meeting somebody? Or are you off the market?"

Emily's answer should have been an immediate yes; she was single, after all, a fact that was well known around the bullpen. Morgan had taken to teasing her almost immediately after he had met her, and that was one of the topics up for grabs. She was a young, available woman going to a party, there was no reason why she shouldn't be open to meeting someone, besides simply not wanting to. Even more than that, she was going to her mother's party, where picking someone up would not only get her laid, but would also cause her mother some embarrassment, which frankly, was more than ideal. At seventeen, the last time she had been to one of these things, her answer would have been an immediate yes. Nevertheless, in that moment, she hesitated, and definitely not because of whose party it was.

"I don't think so," She shook her head, and figured it was easier to lie, "Anyone at this party is going to be far too close to my mother for comfort."

"Oh, come on, she won't know everyone there, surely," JJ pushed, "At least this way, we can make it fun."

Why not? Her excuse was a weak one, and she couldn't think of another to give. She didn't even know why she was making up an excuse in the first place. Except, she did know. Because of him. Her boss. Because maybe, she didn't want to be flirting with anyone else. That was utterly ridiculous. Or, at least, it should have been. She shouldn't want to flirt with Hotch, he infuriated her. She had discovered, since beginning her job at the BAU, that she didn't even like the man. He had proven himself stoic and arrogant and, yes, even rude. That first night, his charm and humour had obviously been a complete fluke. Either that, or Emily had been much drunker than she remembered, because she hadn't seen that guy since that night. No, in his place was a stern and miserable old man. The only glimpse she'd had of the guy she'd met in her old college bar was after their case, when she felt like he had, if only for a moment, let her in.

Other than that, he'd kept her carefully at arms length, and she honestly couldn't blame him.

"You know you're not working a case right now, Emily?" JJ commented, quietly, as they entered the party. Emily tried to relax her shoulders, leaning her head from side to side to loosen up her neck, but her eyes remained alert, sharp, snapping around the room in search of two people in particular; her mother and her boss, neither of whom she wanted to see, but both of whom she needed to locate. She wanted eyes on them both as soon as possible, and after that she wouldn't let either of them out of her sight for so much as a moment.

"There's Reid," She told JJ, having spotted him during her search. She followed JJ closely as the gilded beauty made her way through the crowd of, as Emily had said, old, white men. Luckily, Spencer was a head and shoulders taller than pretty much everyone there, so he was easy to spot above the crowd. He was standing alone at a table, awkward and lanky, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his ill-fitting suit, and when he saw them he gave them an uncomfortable, but relieved, smile.

"You look like you could use a drink," JJ said to him as they made it to the table he had claimed. She caught a passing waiter, took three glasses of champagne from his tray.

"I don't drunk-" Spencer tried to protest, but the blonde thrust the glass into his hand anyway.

"Tonight, you do." Emily told him, raising an eyebrow. "Believe me, Reid, you'll need it." Half of her glass was gone in the first sip, as she craned her neck one way, then the other, her search continuing.

"What is she doing?" Spencer asked JJ, who narrowed her eyes as she watched the brunette stand on her tiptoes to search above the crowd.

"She's looking for someone," JJ said, "I have a theory about who-" Emily's eyes snapped back to the blonde, whose own eyes were narrowed, eyebrows raised, "But it's just a working theory, let me keep working on it and I'll get back to you."

Emily rolled her eyes, trying to appear nonchalant, and trying to brush off JJ's teasing, "I'm looking for my mother, obviously," She told them.

"Obviously," JJ echoed, unconvinced.

"Oh, Ambassador Prentiss, of course," Reid nodded into the crowd, "Hotch is over there, talking to her."

Jesus.

That was the worst case scenario that Emily had been hoping to avoid. She closed her eyes, taking a steadying breath, and she opened them again, she found an amused JJ staring at her. Shaking her head, she put her glass to her lips and tipped the rest of her champagne down her throat. In the same moment, she relieved a passing waiter of one of their full glasses, once again musing on the benefits of coming to a party with free booze.

"So, no Morgan or Garcia, yet?" JJ was asking Spencer.

Emily tried to look like she was listening, but her brain was itching, and she simply had to turn in the direction Reid had indicated, needed eyes on both of them. As she turned, the crowd parted and, as Reid had said, there they were.

They were both smiling, which, in itself, was unsettling enough. Elizabeth looked much the same; the same as she had throughout most of Emily's childhood. Emily wasn't sure what she had expected. Hotch was dressed smartly in a black suit. Emily saw him in suits everyday, at work, but there was something different about seeing him in a formal setting, dressed like that, in the dim light of the party. Despite the champagne, Emily's mouth was suddenly dry, her neck hot.

Subconsciously, she straightened her back, shook her curls out. Across the table, JJ saw the subtle preening that was happening, but said nothing. Her eyes tracked Emily's, found Hotch. She sipped her champagne, watching them both over it's rim, wondering what the whole story was there. Did Emily just have a crush, or was there something more?

She might not be a profiler, but JJ could see a train wreck coming from a mile away.