Chapter Nine
They danced for a long time. It was comfortable, the way she fit in his arms. His hand spread across her back, and he was aware of how delicate she was in his embrace. It only made him more aware of how breakable she was in the field, but tonight wasn't about work. Tonight, he had left work in the office. Only, he hadn't, really. Eventually, he became aware of how long they'd been locked in this embrace, and his steps faltered. As soon as she realised, she felt it too, and she stiffened in his arms. Immediately, he withdrew from her, his hand sliding away from the warm, smooth skin of her back. The pressure of his chest against hers was gone, and she felt cold as space appeared between the two of them. Only their hands remained joined, until Emily let go. They stood there awkwardly, for a moment, and Emily wondered if he was remembering that first night, because she was.
"Drink?" He suggested, attempting to be light-hearted. She pasted a smile onto her face, and nodded, following him from the dance floor to a small table far away from the dancing couples, hopefully far away from Elizabeth, wherever she had gotten to. Emily had lost track of her, during the dancing. She took the glass Hotch retrieved for her, but had lost count of how many drinks she had already had tonight, so she set it down on the table in front of her instead of putting the glass to her lips, and glanced around, searching for the bar.
"I might take a walk, try and find a bottle of water," She told him. Hotch immediately shook his head, gesturing to the tall stool at their table, motioning for her to sit down.
"No, let me. Sit down." His eyes followed her movements, and she thought that perhaps he had a better idea of how many glasses she's drained than she did. It was sweet, she thought, with a little smile, that he looked concerned that she might drunkenly keep over; he had no idea how well she could handle her alcohol. Emily was in full control of her facilities. Sure, she might not attempt to fire a Glock right now, nor would she get behind the wheel of her car, but she wasn't about to start falling over herself. She'd been drinking far too much, for far too long, to lose it that easily on a few glasses of champagne. She was, however, conscious of, and desperate to avoid, a terrible champagne handover. So that was why she didn't fight Hotch when he gave her a stern expression that told her he wouldn't be moved. She took the seat offered, muttered a quiet thanks and waited patiently as he disappeared back into the crowd, in search of the bar.
Sitting alone, Emily felt a phantom warmth on her lower back, as she remembered Hotch's hand there moments before. A passer by might have noticed the smile that ghosted over her red painted lips, and wondered to whom that smile belonged.
"Lost in thought, Agent Prentiss?" The voice that came, no sooner than Aaron was out of earshot, was unexpected, unwelcome and unpleasant.
"Erin." It was, Emily told herself, her mother's party. Not a work function. They were very much off duty. Her words did their job; the use of her first name threw Strauss off. Her expression, which had been slightly smug and plenty cunning, faltered for a moment, but she tried to reaffix it and compose herself quickly. Not quickly enough, when confronted by an experienced profiler, but to her credit, she tried.
"Are you enjoying the party?" Strauss asked, taking the seat opposite her before Emily could protest. She wasn't really asking, she didn't really care. The brunette gazed upon her, trying to gauge and assess her intent, before answering the question.
"I've been to better," She said, shortly, truthfully.
"I'm sure," Strauss smiled, like she knew something Emily didn't. Emily appraised her, eyes narrowed, her mouth set in a straight, red line.
The impression she had of Strauss had not improved since that first meeting in Gideon's office. They hadn't spoken since, indeed Emily had not so much as set eyes on her since then, but Emily knew of her, knew how she made their jobs, specifically Hotch's much more difficult than they needed to be, seemingly for her own amusement. Truthfully, Emily knew the reason as well as they rest of them did, though they never spoke of it. Hotch intimidated her. He was too good at his job for Strauss to be comfortable in hers; he did his job so well that, sometimes, it made her look bad. Matter of fact, they all did. She didn't like that. Emily could see it in her eyes: it scared her. Now, though, she didn't look scared. She looked confident and smug. It made Emily uneasy.
"He's very handsome, isn't he?" She turned to look at Emily, tearing her eyes from those on the dance floor, and pinned Emily down with her words. "Agent Hotchner, I mean."
Emily didn't falter. She was too good to falter. On the outside, she remained impassive. On the inside, her heart started beating just a little faster.
"What do you want?" Emily might have been wrong; it was definitely the champagne that made her ask the question so bluntly, to someone who was two stations superior to her. Her boss' boss. Sure, low level insubordination like calling her by her first name would go unchecked, but there was plenty that wouldn't, even outside of the office. So, to cover her own back, she reluctantly added, "Ma'am."
Strauss face remained impassive, aside from the slightest narrowing of her eyes, which Emily caught easily. She stared at Emily, who didn't lower her gaze. She felt the battle of wills Erin wanted to engage in, but she simply went on staring, not because she wanted to take part, but because she was unwilling to be intimidated. Slowly, Strauss reached across the table, plucked the full glass of champagne from in front of Emily, and retracted her arm. "You don't mind, do you?" Despite the blatant and disrespectful display of condescension, Emily said nothing, she simply held Erin's gaze, assessing. Then, she broke into a smile, giving a small shake of her head.
"Not at all," She gave a small shrug, "Please." And she watched, as Strauss lifted the glass to her lips. She sipped, slowly, and Emily knew she was savouring what felt to her like a small victory. To Emily, it was an obvious and smug perversion of seniority, and it only served to heighten the tension at their table. Emily was tense, coiled with anxiety, even if she didn't show it, and for what? Strauss was gazing out into the crowd again, and Emily wondered, with a slight note of desperation, where Hotch had gotten to. She was enjoying this situation less and less.
"You were headhunted for the BAU." It was a statement, not a question, but Emily nodded anyway, frowning, unsure of where this conversation was headed. Strauss turned dull, grey eyes of ice onto her, a smile curling her thin lips when she saw the confusion on Emily's face. "Oh, my dear." Her voice was tinged with pity now, and Emily knew it wasn't genuine, but put on, probably meant to embarrass her. "You never wondered about that? About why, with your record of insubordination and endangerment, such an elite department of the FBI would request you, specifically? And only several months after you were put onto supervisory probation?"
Emily felt a mounting sense of dread the longer Erin spoke. She hadn't, not once, considered that there could be anything sinister afoot when she was offered her job. Had she felt as though her lucky stars had aligned? Yes, absolutely. Especially when she was re-awarded her Supervisory status alongside the position. At that point, she had quietly assumed Elizabeth had something to do with it, but neither she nor Elizabeth had ever spoken of it, and Emily had wanted it to remain that way. It was half the reason she hadn't wanted to attend tonight. Now, though, it was though a dark cloud was descending over her, as she realised that Elizabeth, it seemed, had nothing to do with it at all.
"You're going to do something for me, Agent Prentiss." Strauss told her. It wasn't a request, nor was it a suggestion. Emily waited, her heart hammering in her chest, though her face remained impassive. She just waited. "You're going to start reporting back to me. Not to Agent Hotchner, though to him it will appear that way, as though nothing has changed. But you'll be reporting to me. Do you understand?"
Unfortunately, she did. Emily was a Prentiss, Elizabeth's only daughter; she knew exactly how politics worked. She said nothing, she simply held Erin's gaze.
"I'm going to need some confirmation that you understand, Emily-"
"Why are you doing this?" Emily asked, shortly. "He's not a threat to you. Why are you so against him?" She had sensed it, that first day, in Gideon's office. She'd seen it, in Erin's eyes, her sheer dislike for Hotch. She still didn't understand how it warranted this.
"Not your concern, Agent. Your concern is keeping your job, correct, Supervisory Special Agent Prentiss?" Her tone only drove the knife in further, but it also made her point very effectively. Emily gave a sigh that heaved her chest, and refocused her eyes behind Erin's head as she spotted Aaron making his way through the crowd towards their table, water bottle in hand. He smiled when he caught her eye, and Emily's chest began to ache. Quickly, regrettably, before Aaron reached their table, she gave Erin a curt nod. The grin on Strauss' face made her feel sick to her stomach, and when Aaron arrived at the table, she couldn't meet his eyes.
"Erin," Hotch acknowledged her presence with surprise in his voice, "I didn't realise you were attending tonight."
"Oh, you're not the only one who knows Elizabeth from way back, Aaron. I even met Agent Prentiss, when she was very young, I doubt she would remember it." Emily frowned at her. No, she didn't remember that. Somehow, it made her current blackmail all the more dark. "We were just catching up; she seems to be settling in well. She was just telling me all about it." Her words were polite enough, and Emily could see by Aaron's expression that he didn't find anything amiss, but Emily could hear that they were full of threat.
"Yes, well, we're lucky to have her." Unlike earlier in the evening, his words no longer brought her any pride. She didn't bristle gratefully at them anymore. Now, they just made her feel ashamed. She said nothing, she just untwisted the lid from her bottle of water and put it to her lips. She held her tongue, feeling like the little mermaid, who signed her voice over to the sea hag.
"Well," Strauss said, "I'll leave you both to your evening; you'll be wanting to get back to your team, I suppose. Especially since your mother just took a seat at their table."
Emily could not catch a break this evening. She turned and, sure enough, saw Elizabeth sitting at the table with the rest of the team; they were all laughing together, and the scene seemed innocent enough, but Emily knew Elizabeth far better than that. She turned back to Aaron, who easily read her eyes and started towards the table. She made to follow him, but turned back to Erin as soon as he was out of earshot.
"I don't know what you think you're going to get out of this but-"
"It's not for you to worry about, dear." Erin said simply, infuriatingly. Then, she turned her back, and left Emily standing there, feeling stuck.
"-oh, believe me, it's not the first time she's made a scene like that. Heck, I was expecting it. The stories I could tell you-" Emily caught the end of Elizabeth's sentence as she and Hotch approached the table, and rolled her eyes behind Elizabeth's back.
"Welcome back," JJ greeted them both, as Hotch pulled the vacant chair beside her mouth out from beneath the table, and Emily slid into it, without thinking much about the action.
"Hello, again, mother," Emily said, setting her bottle of water down on the table.
"Hello, again, Emily," Elizabeth repeated her words, in a tone no passerby would question, and accompanied it with a sickly sweet smile on her face. "I'm glad you're keeping hydrated, dear. I've seen you with plenty of handovers, they're never pretty. It seemed earlier you'd had a little too much, too fast. Are you feeling better?"
Emily refrained from pointing out to Elizabeth how predictable she was, how easily led into conversation, how she'd set the bottle down on the table as a test, and instead she set her own sickly smile on her face; a smile that she knew looked far too much like Elizabeth's for comfort. In her peripheral vision, she saw Reid shoot a glance towards JJ.
"Yes, mother, I am. Thank you." Don't rise. She could hear that voice in her head, the one that always tried to hold her back, tried to protect her from herself, where Elizabeth was concerned. A deep, masculine voice she hadn't heard outside of her head since childhood. Her father's.
"We missed you guys," Penelope said, softly, from across the table, and Emily turned away from her mother to face her, her smile and her eyes immediately softening into something much more genuine. Beside her, Emily could see Elizabeth's gaze, could see the slight frown that her face fell into, as she noticed.
"That's my fault," Hotch piped up.
"We were just dancing," Emily clarified, too quickly, as she saw JJ's eyes flit between the two of them. The blonde might not be a profiler, but damn if Emily hadn't noticed she was the most perceptive among them. Emily, and every other profiler at the table, had studied to learn the skill: it seemed to come naturally to the younger agent. It was a wonder to Emily that Hotch hadn't promoted her years ago, or at least put her up for training.
"Oh, my Emily is a wonderful dancer, isn't she Aaron?" My Emily. Aaron. Elizabeth's attempts at familiarity were uncomfortable. She didn't wait for a reply from anybody before she continued. "She ought to be. She was a ballerina from the age of three right up until she was fifteen. Do you remember, Emily?"
"Twelve years of my life, mother," Emily noted, tersely, as she avoided Morgan's laughing eyes, knowing she was in for a good teasing over this new information. Penelope had already pulled out her phone, no doubt looking for photo evidence. "How could I forget."
"You were wonderful, darling. I don't know why you ever stopped. We were in Rome, I remember, when you stopped dancing." Emily mentally cringed away from her mention of Italy, her stomach twisting, and she briefly closed her eyes, wishing her mother would stop talking. She tried to smile, politely, hoping it would encourage Elizabeth to change the subject, but her mother just went right on reminiscing. "I remember it well because I wanted you to audition for La Scala once you came of age. I was ever so disappointed when you decided to quit. I blame that boy, you know. What was his name, darling?"
"I don't remember," Emily lied, quietly, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. "Mother, we really don't need to discuss this-"
"Oh, but you must remember. There were two boys, actually. Yes, that's right. You were always together, inseparable. There was the scrawny little one with the messy brown hair, and the taller, black haired boy-"
"That's enough, mother," Emily cut across her, sharply, too sharply, "Please."
"You know, I used to play a lot of football," JJ chimed in, and Emily gave her a grateful glance, "I played from when I was a kid, all the way through college. Afterwards, I guess I just grew out of it. I got pretty bored of it at college, but I was there on scholarship, so I had to keep playing, I couldn't just quit the team, even though I was desperate to." She shrugged, "Once I graduated, I pretty much never touched a ball again."
"The same happened with me and basketball," Reid was nodding, agreeing. Every head turned to him, every brow furrowed in confusion, and Emily took the moment to mouth a grateful thank you to JJ, who winked back at her.
"You?" Morgan was unconvinced, raising an eyebrow, "You played basketball?"
"No I didn't play," Reid clarified, quickly, and Emily gladly noted that he found the notion as ridiculous as everyone else at the table seemed to. "I coached."
"Weren't you like fifteen in college, pretty boy?" Morgan asked, still staring at him in disbelief.
"Twelve," Reid corrected; the expression on his face was, as usual, one of indifference. He had no idea why they were all staring at him, incredulously. Emily's lips tilted into an amused, tender smile and she shook her head; her fondness for that kid only seemed to grow every time he opened his mouth.
She remained quiet as Morgan, Reid and Hotch fell deeper into their discussion of basketball. It was less of a discussion, actually, and more of Morgan and Hotch teasing Reid gently enough that he didn't realise until the rest of them were biting their tongues to keep from laughing.
"I don't know why I tell you guys anything," Reid quipped, smiling, slightly embarassed, when he realised. He stood up from the table and Morgan quickly followed him, laughing and smacking him on the back jovially.
Penelope took the opportunity to turn to Hotch with a shy smile on her face. "Sir, would you care to dance?"
Emily bit back a smile at the surprised expression on Hotch's face, but to his credit, he rallied, smiled and offered Penelope his arm. Emily knew if they hadn't danced earlier, Penelope never would have asked him. She was sort of grateful she had; it made her dancing with Hotch much less conspicuous.
She, JJ and Elizabeth watched as Hotch tried to begin leading Penelope in a waltz. Emily smiled when it appeared that Penelope began leading him, instead. She wondered, absently, where Hotch had gotten his dancing skills as she watched him and Penelope laugh together, as she apologised for stepping on his toes. Hotch was from Virginia, though, and Emily supposed that the dancing could be attributed to his classic Southern upbringing.
"Oh, Emily Elizabeth, do stop gawking." Her mother's tone had gone from insincerely reminiscent to blatantly sniping, and it didn't surprise Emily one bit. It did surprise her that she was speaking that way in front of JJ, and it did make her cheeks burn, to hear Elizabeth reprimand her for watching Hotch and Penelope dance. She dropped her gaze to her folded hands in her lap, like a scolded child. That was yet more learned behaviour. Across the table, JJ scowled at Elizabeth.
"You know, you should be proud of your daughter," The blonde said, boldly, and Emily lifted her head, "She's done exceptionally well for herself."
"Hm." Elizabeth made a hard noise of indifference, openly appraising JJ with her eyes. Emily had heard the following speech so many times that she barely felt the sting of it anymore. "Emily was afforded every opportunity in life, and look at where she ended up. She could have been easily rubbing elbows with the elite for the rest of her life. Instead, she runs around, making phony predictions, playing hero, avoiding bullets-"
"Saving lives." JJ cut across her, sharply. "Saving lives and helping people. And there is nothing phony about what they do."
"They?" Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. She didn't miss a thing. Luckily, JJ had no shame over who she was, or what she did.
"Yes, they. I'm not a profiler. I'm the media liaison."
Elizabeth tilted her head, looking down her nose at JJ. Her eyes shifted, slowly taking the blonde in, seeing her perfect hair, her straight, button nose, her angelic eyes, as well as her slim build beneath her dress, even the peek of cleavage her dress allowed. Emily saw Elizabeth do what she always had, she watched her assess and judge JJ, and draw her own conclusions. "Hm. Why am I not surprised."
"JJ, we're leaving," Emily announced, immediately rising from her chair. "Let's get the others and go." She held a hand out to the blonde.
JJ didn't argue, she rose from her chair as smoothly as Emily had, grabbed her bad, and Penelope's from the table, and rounded the table until she stood at Emily's side, in a show of solidarity. Her eyes were soft, full of both thanks and apologies, but Emily's were kind; she didn't need them.
"Thank you, mother, for the invitation, but please don't send anymore. Enjoy your evening."
They left Elizabeth, both affronted and embarrassed, sitting at their table, and they split up. JJ followed in the direction Morgan and Spencer had disappeared to, herding them both toward the door with a muttered explanation of why they were never to push Emily into attending one of Elizabeth's parties ever again. Emily made her way through the crowd of dancing couples, following the glimpse of Penelope's pink gown she kept seeing through the bodies. Reaching them she caught Hotch's elbow.
"We're leaving," She told them both, then realised who she was talking to. "I mean-well, the rest of us are." She gave a small shrug. "We'll probably find a bar or something." Meeting his eyes, she chose her words carefully, remembering the last time they were in a bar together, wondering if he was remembering it, too. "You're welcome to join us." Me.
Penelope clapped. "Oh, thank god. This party wasn't nearly as wonderful as I thought it would be. Your mom is kinda awful, I'm sorry, peanut."
"Yeah, I told you so," Emily vocalised, for the first time all night. She pondered on how well she had done; the number of times she could have said that to any of them was swiftly approaching double figures.
"Sure, a bar," Hotch nodded, "Let's do it."
They made their way through the crowd of dancers, avoiding elbows and toes, back towards the carpeted stairs, where the others waited for them. JJ, Reid and Morgan were first up the stairs, followed by Penelope, her arm laced through Aaron's. As she followed them out, Emily paused at the top of the stairwell, and turned to glance back at her mother.
She was still sitting at their table. In her hand, the water bottle Emily had left there. No one had approached, and the rest of the chairs around the table were conspicuously empty. They always seemed to get it wrong. No matter the circumstance, the environment, the company. They just always seemed to get it so very wrong. Perhaps it was Emily's fault; she always entered these situations with her mother with the same expectations; the expectation that Elizabeth was going to be awful. Perhaps it was a self-fulfilling prophecy. Perhaps she expected too much of her mother. Perhaps, subconsciously, she was awful to Elizabeth, too.
As she looked at her mother, someone else caught her eye. Elizabeth faded out of focus as Emily zeroed in on Strauss, sitting on the table behind Elizabeth's, her eyes already fixed on Emily. As Emily's eyes strayed to the older agent, she lifted her glass, as though toasting Emily.
Across the room, the sea witch looked as though all of her Christmasses had come at once.