Chapter 18
The knock on her door was firm, insistent. For a moment, Emily thought it might be JJ, who had been calling all morning, calls Emily had felt terrible for ignoring. She just didn't know how to explain.
Closing the fridge, Emily made her way to the front door and a quick glance through the peephole told her she was wrong. It wasn't JJ. What could he possibly have to say to her? She had taken the necessary actions to sever herself from him, from the group, from a job that she loved. Pausing a moment to sharply exhale, she closed her eyes and braced herself before pulling the door open. His hands were in his pockets, his head tilted to one side. His posture could have been endearing, attractive but on Hotch's face, there was a serious expression, his brows furrowed in a way that made him look older than he was, deep lines appearing between them. He stood there, fixing her with that impassive stare. For a moment, they just stayed, staring each other down. It was the first time they'd seen each other in two weeks, alone. The first time since the car. There was an awkwardness, now, that hadn't been there before. Before Haley. How many times had he appeared in her doorway, stepped inside and pressed her, bodily, against the wall as his mouth descended on hers? How many times had they returned from a night of drinking with the team, hand in hand, and she had pulled him eagerly across the threshold, already tangled together, as she kicked the door closed behind them? All of that was over, now. Now there was only the memory, and the reality of his wife, and the awkwardness that combination inspired.
"Can I come in?" It was a question. Not an order disguised as a question, but a genuine one. If she said no, he would turn around and leave, no questions asked. She didn't say no, though. Stepping aside, Emily gestured into her apartment, closing her eyes as he brushed past her and the all too familiar scent of his cologne, a scent she had many times woken to find covered her skin, washed over her. She felt her mouth go dry; she had missed that smell, the expensive musk he wore. But she ignored it, clearing her throat as she closed the door behind him.
"The team needs us," He got straight to the point, to his credit, and didn't dance around the subject of them, "They're working a case in Milwaukee. Gideon hasn't shown up." That was blow number one, but the second one hit much harder. "And don't tell me you quit or I put in for a transfer."
Emily couldn't school her expression quick enough; her eyebrows shot up in surprise and confusion. "You put in for a transfer?" The question, because of us?, was left unspoken.
He ignored her, instead pushing his agenda, "They're both still hung up in the system so technically we're in dereliction of duty by not being there."
He was right, at least technically, and skirting around everything that hung between them; her resignation, his transfer, and everything that had led them both to those decisions, even the parts he didn't know. Still, Emily hesitated; she couldn't be there. Strauss wouldn't let this go, she knew, if she got back onto the case. She still owed her. The guilt and shame of having falsely believed she'd gotten the position on her own merit, only for that belief to come crashing down around her, had finally become too much. She had been foolish to think that the BAU, one of the FBI's most prized crown jewels, would want her only months after having had her SS status revoked. There had been a desperation, she realised, to believe it, to want to be wanted. After the CIA, after Doyle, it was hard to get back to work, it was hard to look people in the eye, knowing they knew all she had done in the name of duty, knowing that, even though they got their man, her colleagues still judged, still knew. She'd slept with a terrorist for a profile. It had eaten her alive, it made her overly-enthusiastic, eager to prove herself once again, and that made her reckless. The BAU was her escape, so she had jumped at the chance and not once questioned it as she should have. And perhaps, were it anything else, if Strauss had wanted anything else, she might have given in. Emily hated herself for it, but she knew that there was a line she would cross, to be valued again; Aaron just wasn't it. She wouldn't cross that line and give him to Strauss, she couldn't.
"I'm sorry," She told him, putting on a show of nonchalantly shrugging, "I can't go."
He didn't fight, he took her at face value, and she hated him a little bit for it. "Right," He said, shortly, respectfully, turning to leave. "Sorry I barged in."
She almost let him go, should have let him go. Years later, Emily would think back to this moment and know that it was the moment she had changed everything, wondering at why she had spoken up when she did, knowing it was because she couldn't bear to see him walk out of her life forever. Not like that. At times, wishing she had let him.
"That's it?"
He paused, his back to her, and it angered her. Emily folded her arms across her chest, and repeated her question. "That's it? I don't see you for two whole weeks, and that's all I get? Sorry I barged in?" He didn't turn, not yet, and Emily felt the rage burn in her chest. "You owe me."
"I owe you?" He turned, now, and the lines were back between his eyes, confusion and a frustration of his own evident there.
"Yes." She stood, feet apart, arms folded across her chest, determined and stubborn and insistent as he had ever seen her, and he suddenly flashed back to that night, standing in Hankel's house. You don't trust women as much as men. She wore the same expression she had then; as though she had been dying to say whatever was about to come out of her mouth. "A thought for a thought."
He sighed, hanging his head, shaking it in frustration. "I'm not playing a game right now, Emily-"
"It's not a game, Hotch." Her voice was level, her eyes clear as she looked at him, "It's never been a game for me."
That wasn't entirely true, and they both knew it even as she spoke the words. It had been a game; the skirting around the team, the giggling in the middle of the night, the awareness that what they were doing was a little bit wrong. It had excited them both; of course, only Aaron had known the extent of exactly how wrong it was.
"Fine." He gestured to her, inviting her to speak. "A thought for a thought."
"No." She shook her head, "You owe me."
He regarded her then, with steady eyes, though at his side, she saw his hand shake then slide into the pockets of his trousers and she wondered at the thoughts in his head. He stared her down, but she wasn't about to break first, so she held his gaze, even though his eyes on her like that made her stomach roll. Finally, seeing that she could be just as stubborn, if not more so, as he could, Hotch sighed. He stepped back into her lounge, running a hand over his face, and flicked his blazer back as he set his hands on his hips.
"I don't know what to say." He admitted.
"You could start by explaining why you put in for a transfer." She knew why; it was the same reason she was leaving, but she had to hear him say it. He let his head fall back, shaking it at the ceiling. She said nothing, letting him seethe, letting him look for the words. She wasn't about to let this one go, and he seemed to sense it.
"You know why, Emily." His voice was low, his eyes on the floor right next to her as he tilted his head back down. Still, the silence. Hotch closed his eyes, exhaling sharply, and when he opened them again, they were fixed on her and so sharp that she actually took a step away from him. Hotch shook his head. "I can't-I got us into this mess."
"And now you're running away." She threw at him, angrily. He threw his hands out, helplessly.
"Aren't you doing the same thing?" He had her there, and Emily had nothing clever to say back to him, because he had her. He was right, as usual. "Aren't you running away, Emily? That's what you're good at, though, isn't it? Leaving. It's what you're used to."
That was a low blow, and she narrowed her eyes at him, her anger rising. In that moment, with that comment, she felt resentment towards him growing. He had no right, and she told him as much. "You don't get to speak on that." She said, fist clenching and unclenching at her side, "That's got nothing to do with-"
"With what's happening here?" He finished her sentence for her, stepping further into the room, "I beg to differ, Emily, I beg to differ." His eyes raked over the room; although there were a few cushions, a lamp or two, a piece of art above the sideboard, the place was largely bare of personalisation. She had finally unpacked, and had realised that she just didn't own that much stuff. It was no good analysing that, and she certainly didn't need Hotch delving into it, but by the way he was looking, pointedly, around, she knew he was about to. "You look like you were never planning to stay, anyway. Have you ever lived anywhere longer than two years? Hm?"
"Can you just stop?" She raised her voice, her eyes narrowed in distaste, feeling bitterness towards him rise in her chest, "Just fucking stop, okay?"
"You're being really fucking judgy for someone who just did the exact same thing as I did, Emily." He said, raising his voice in turn, losing it in a way he never did, and she knew he was right. Emily dropped her face into her hands in frustration, breathing hard against her palms, as he paced back and forth across her wooden floor.
"You know that's not-"
"Not the same?" He beat her to the end of her sentence, pausing in his steps across the lounge, "Yeah, I know. I know everything, Em, all of it." Her head snapped up, eyes narrowing as she tried to assess exactly what he knew. "What, you didn't think I was suspicious how you suddenly ended up on the team out of nowhere? The BAU is an elite task force; we don't accept just anybody. And we don't certainly accept people who step right off of desk jobs."
How she longed, in that moment, to correct him. To tell him all of it; to shut him up, to make him understand all of it. Everytime they threw that in her face, she felt all of the pain in her chest, all the pain they knew nothing about, the pain she felt they dismissed, and she had to shove it all back down into the depths from where it came. But she didn't tell him. Perhaps they didn't accept people from desk jobs, but she was far from that, and she hadn't become an international spy without learning to hold her tongue when necessary. So she let him continue, and she said nothing.
"I know that Strauss put you on the team so she had someone who would report back on me."
Sighing, Emily dragged out her response, caught. "Why would she do that?"
"I think if you have your eye on top leadership at the FBI you want to know who might stand in your way." He said it so simply, and had been aware of Strauss' motivations this whole time. Had suspected her, this whole time.
"And what could I have told her?" Her shields were up, she was hostile, to say the least, when she asked him that question. They both knew the answers already.
He shook his head, "There's plenty you could have told her, we both know that. That one of my agents may have murdered a suspect in cold blood." He paused here, and Emily wondered how he could know that she knew about Elle. But of course he knew; Morgan had probably been reprimanded for telling her. "Or that another has a serious drug addiction, which I haven't reported. And if Strauss had evidence of either of these things, my career would be over. She put you on the team and expected something in return. And, to your credit," His voice had softened, somewhat, as had her expression, "You quit, rather than whisper in her ear."
Emily's shoulders fell, all of the fight leaving her. Yes, she had quit. Thrown it all away, because she wouldn't be the dynamite Strauss used to bring him down. She opened her mouth to speak, searching for the words, and then sighed, shaking her head.
"I told you," She said, gently, softly, "I hate politics."
It was more than that, and they both knew it. Emily had enough integrity that she resented Strauss for her blackmail, that she would have put up a fight against it, regardless who she wanted dirt on. But it being Aaron had complicated things, immeasurably. Still, she felt as though a weight had been lifted, knowing that he knew, that it was one secret she was no longer required to hold close to her chest. And he wasn't judging her for it.
"One more case, Em," He stepped into her space, large hands coming up to grip her upper arms gently, rubbing over her skin, leaving goosebumps where he touched her, "I'll make you a deal. If your go-bag isn't already packed and ready to go, I'll leave you be. You'll never hear from me again." He meant it, she could see in his eyes that he meant it, even if it pained him. "If it is, I want you on that plane with me."
Every part of her knew she should lie, hold her ground and insist that they would have to do this one without her, that she was done. But the BAU was the first place she'd felt at home in…as long as she could remember. Helpless to fight it, she gave a small shake of her head, dark hair waving around her face, open and honest when she said, "I already turned in my gun and my badge."
He smirked, and she found that smile was infectious, "That's just hardware."
The flight to Milwaukee was a test; they'd never been alone on the jet before, and sitting across from him without the prying eyes of the team, Emily thought it would be a challenge. She'd had….thoughts before, of all the creative things they could get up to 40,000 feet above ground. She had to believe that he, too, had some thoughts about that. But somehow, they maintained professionalism. He remained fixed in his seat and she took his lead, studying the case file. Sneaking the occasional glance at him, though, she watched as he tapped his fingers on the armrest of his chair, as he flicked through the file, his brow furrowing as he, too, studied the details.
"You're staring," He commented, finally, and Emily felt her cheeks begin to burn with the embarrassment of having been caught.
She cleared her throat, shifting in her seat as she uncrossed and recrossed her legs in the other direction. Snapping the paper in her hand taut, she shook her head, "I don't know what you're talking about." But the smirk on his face didn't go unnoticed. It was an effort to keep her eyes trained on the paper, but she managed it, and, over the top of the sheet, she could see the tiny, almost imperceptible movement of his eyes as he glanced at her, once, twice. Then it was her turn, as she set the paper down in her lap, rolling her lips together, the corners of her mouth upturned into a smirk.
"Now who's staring?" She asked, her voice a low, unintentionally seductive register that jolted something in Aaron's stomach.
This, Emily realised, as he shook his head, his own lips pressed together as he tried to hide the lilt of his lips, as he skimmed his tongue along his bottom lip, was their dynamic. When nobody else was around, the air between them crackled. Sometimes even when there were other people around. She had caught JJ, on more than one occasional, with a questioning expression on her face, glancing either at her or at Aaron. The first time had been at her mother's Christmas party; she'd seen the tiny, confused smile on JJ's face as Emily had tracked Aaron's movements across the room. All those months ago, her stomach had dropped, she thought she was caught and then JJ never mentioned it again. She'd never mentioned it to Aaron, either, and, though she would never admit it aloud, part of keeping it from him was the worry that he would step away. Even before Haley, she knew what they were doing was hardly above board; he, as her superior, would be in more trouble than she would, if they were caught. So she never mentioned it to him. Now, that all seemed to pale in comparison and the smirk fell slowly from Emily's lips, replaced by a tight-lipped, furrowed brow expression as her eyes flitted to the gold band on his ring finger.
Still smiling, Aaron looked up, expecting to find her smirking, tongue pressed between her teeth, an expression of hers that he had memorised from countless nights spent together. Instead, the expression he found on her face was unreadable, and he flexed his hand, all too aware of where her eyes had strayed. The gold scalded him, and, clearing his throat, he shuffled the papers he held into his other hand, as though by hiding his ring he could pretend it didn't exist. As though that wasn't what he had been doing for months now.
They spent the rest of the flight in a silence that wasn't particularly comfortable, eyes fixed, stubbornly, necessarily, onto their own papers.
"Look who's here!" Spencer sounded positively delighted as they walked into the room, and the surprise and relief evident on both Morgan and JJ's faces as they turned to see them pained her, knowing this would be her last case with them.
"Hey, where do we start?" She asked, distracting both herself and them, diving straight into the case and leaving no room for any sort of personal chit-chat. There was, she knew, no time for any of that.
She didn't miss it, the moment that passed between Aaron and Morgan, as they shook hands. She had missed something there, clearly, but Morgan's eyes were soft, Hotch's understanding, and she thought maybe the feeling there was akin to what passed between herself and JJ as they took their seats; a mutual comfort at each other's presence.
The moment, though, was short lived, as Emily looked up from the sheet of paper JJ had just handed her, to see Strauss standing in the doorway she had just entered through. Her eyes, though, barely touched Emily. It was Aaron she fixed with a stare, and only after she knew she had his attention did her eyes slide to Emily, appraising them both in the same moment.
"We're only here to help," Emily said, her voice level, anticipating backlash. The tension in the room was palpable, even JJ, Morgan and Reid who had no knowledge of prior events, bristled. Strauss ignored her entirely, eyes flitting back to Aaron, unreadable and cold.
"We'll deal with this later." Was all that she said; it was all the permission they needed. JJ looked at her, a question on her face, but Emily just looked down at the casefile, eyes skimming the details they already had.
Eleven hours they sat there for, pouring over file after file, child after child, and each one with significant trauma. Their backs ached, their eyes strained, they had to read and reread sentences that, having read hundreds of similar ones, their brains refused to continue to comprehend.
The call came in when they expected it would. Their clock had run down. The dumpsite was new, which was not a good sign; their unsub was getting smarter, aware of where the manpower would be. Strauss went first, at the site, the figurehead, as it were. Her confidence, though, faltered when she slipped, grasping for the fence. Emily, at the back of the group as she pulled on her forensic gloves, saw Aaron reach for her, saw him steady her. She couldn't hear what was being said, but saw Strauss hand shake as she lifted it to her face. There were tears in her eyes when she turned, took Derek's hand and stepped away from the scene. Their victim was laid out, like the others before her and, like those women, missing her heart.
"How long until he changes how and where he abducts them?" Derek said, voicing all of their concerns, that he was growing smarter.
"If he does that then we're back at zero." It meant their time was growing even shorter; they wouldn't have the opportunity to catch him until he attempted another abduction, and if they missed it, they were back on the clock, racing against time to save a woman's life before she ended up like the victim in front of them.
David Smith. That was his name, a name that would haunt Emily in years to come, but on that day, just the name of a boy whose father was killing women. She should have seen it, perhaps they all should have, the rot that had already set in. Years later, when she saw his victims, when she stood in front of him, begging him to shoot her, to finish the job his father had put him up to all those years before, Emily would wish things had gone differently. On that day, he was just a kid.
"He's alone in the family room," Hotch told them, returning to the car as she and Strauss climbed out of it.
"Any sign of a nurse or the dad?" There wasn't, of course.
"So, what are we doing here?" The detective asked the question they were all thinking, and each of them bristled at Strauss' answer,
"Call in SWAT, secure the perimeter and wait for him to come out." She said, all too calmly, and Emily had to bite her tongue. Morgan had no such filter.
"Ma'am," He said, respectfully, voicing what they were all thinking, "He's holding a woman inside."
"We don't know that for certain." Emily had to turn away, and couldn't look at Strauss, as she pushed her tongue into her cheek to keep from snapping at her. "We don't have probable cause."
Emily caught Aaron's eye, but he couldn't help, "She's right."
"If he's got her," Strauss insisted, "He waits 48 hours. He's not going to kill her yet."
Morgan, ever respectful, was losing his patience. "He's changed the pattern of the dump sites," He pointed out, patiently, "Now he's changed how he abducts them. Do we really want to gamble that he's sticking to the rest of the model?"
"Lets pound on the door," The detective, without nuance, suggested, "Maybe he'll panic."
"But he could spook just enough to kill her, early," Hotch explained why this was a terrible idea.
A plan, though, had formed in Emily's mind. There was a solution here, one that, it seemed, hadn't occurred to anyone else. Aaron would hate it, she knew, but right now, it seemed necessary.
"Let me go in alone." He turned, standing in front of her, and his eyes were tight, his frown deep. "The boy's in the family room, he'll answer the door."
The resistance was there, on Aaron's lips, but it was Strauss who spoke up first. "No."
"We need to get invited into that door," Emily pointed out, "He's looking for female authority figures. If he lets me in, I can signal as soon as I see anything that gives us cause."
She could see that Morgan and Aaron were slowly coming onside; they knew there was no other option, that a woman's life was at stake, that Emily was the best fit for this operation. They might not like it, but they could see the necessity.
"Technically," Strauss said stoically, "You're not even in the FBI."
"All the better," Aaron said, and he and Morgan moved, as one. Aaron went for the radio, Morgan unstrapped his gun from his ankle to hand it to her.
"She's interfering with a federal investigation!" Strauss was arguing with nobody now, for nobody paid her any mind besides Emily, who turned, snapping.
"Well," She said, stubbornly, recklessly, and for a moment, Strauss saw the Emily who had her Supervisory status revoked come to the surface, "if I'm no longer in the FBI then you have no authority over me. I'm just a civilian knocking on a little boy's door."
It felt good to put Strauss in her place like that, to give her a metaphorical finger and to know that there was very little she could do about it. If it was to be her last act at the BAU, saving a woman's life was a good way to go out. Morgan handed her the gun, and she thanked him for it, then turned to Aaron, who was speaking to her.
"As soon as you have probable cause, give us a signal and," here, he fixed her with a gaze and she knew he was serious, "get out of there."
"Okay." She turned to go, with not so much as another word to him. This, she knew. This, she could do and do well.
Her heart was pounding as she stepped up to the front door, her palms sweaty. She paused, glancing back, but couldn't see the others from here. She hoped they could see her. Raising her fist, she knocked, loudly and, as expected, a small, blonde boy appeared at the door. He looked up at her with inquisitive blue eyes, and Emily knew at once why all of those women had followed him, and her heart broke, not for them, but for him, and the unknowing part he had played in all of this.
"Hi," She greeted him with a warm smile, despite the anxiety she felt for him, "Are you David? I'm Emily. Your dad asked me to come by."
"He's busy." The child said, and once again, it was as though time tightened it's belt around them.
"Would it be okay if I came in and waited?" Invite me in, invite me in. He needed to invite her in. The shrug was enough, coupled with a little, "I guess so," and she was inside, hoping and praying that the others were surrounding the house, and that they were going to have her back.
She should have checked behind the door. FBI training 101; don't lower the weapon until you've cleared the area. Their vic was tied up, but Smith was nowhere to be seen, until she heard the creek of the floor, turned and…pain as the blank of wood smacked across her face. The gun flew from her hands, her back hitting the concrete floor with a smack as her vision blurred, stars bursting before her eyes. There was a warmth on her forehead that she knew was blood, and she rolled, reaching blindly for the cool metal of her gun. The door behind her opened, as Emily tried to focus on anything. All she could see were flashes of colour, as she heard the demanding, low voice of the father, followed by a higher pitch. David.
There was a gun pointed at her, her gun. She could see that much, blurred as it was, confused as her thoughts were. He was handing it to David, yelling at him.
"Just put your finger on the trigger…" He was saying, and Emily lifted a hand, weakly, as though that might stop a bullet.
"No, no, no," She mumbled, pathetically, waiting for them to burst in at any moment and save her. But they wouldn't. They were waiting. Waiting for her signal. She reached for the phone as her hands were dragged back, pushing the buttons, hoping she got the right ones. She knew they would at least save their victim, even if David shot her first. All she could hope for was that the kid had bad aim. Maybe he'd graze her, or catch her thigh or arm, something they could fix.
She heard the door upstairs burst open and then, immediately, the basement door. She couldn't see, and her ears were ringing, but as he descended the stairs, his cologne washed over her and she knew she was safe, if in pain. Someone grabbed her arm, Derek, dragging her out of the way as Aaron tried to disarm the boy. It wasn't until Joe told him it was okay, told him to do what they say that the boy handed over the gun. Hotch and the boy passed her on the stairs, her vision was finally coming back, though the edges still blurred, and she turned to find JJ beside her, her face creased with concern.
"Are you okay?" She asked, hand reaching as though to wipe her wound.
"I'll be fine," Emily insisted; her head had started pounding, but her vision was back and her ears had stopped ringing. JJ disappeared to call the ambulance, as she ascended the stairs, shakily. She reached for the handrail and instead found a hand grasping hers, an arm around her waist to guide her.
"Come on," Aaron said, gently, helping her up the rest of the way, having handed David off to one of the other officers. He made her sit down outside and wait for the ambulance to come. She put her head between her legs and watched as her blood dripped onto the pavement steadily.
She hissed as the paramedic pressed cotton to her wound, and knew by the pain and the blood that it would scar. Not significantly; it was a small wound, considering, and head wounds always bled dramatically.
"How's the head?" A shadow fell across her, and she lifted her head as Aaron stepped in front of her, into her space. His face was creased with concern and, wordlessly, he reached for her, as though to brush her hair out of her face, to get a better look at the wound. It was a reflex, a simple gesture and one she wouldn't have questioned a few weeks ago, but things were different, now. The pain on his face when she moved away from his hand, when she opened her mouth to tell him not to, was masked almost immediately, but she saw the flicker of it nonetheless. He, too, was realising just how different things needed to be, now. He couldn't touch her like that, casually, anymore. It wasn't his place. His hand fell to his side, limply, and she felt as though she could feel the ghost of it, brushing away her hair, the weight of his palm on her cheek. But she couldn't, and she wouldn't.
"I'll live," She quipped, then met his eyes, and her question was only half a joke, to smooth over the awkward moment between them, "Is it weird that I'm glad to be back?"
"I'll make sure it stays official." It was a question, phrased as a statement, but she nodded, nevertheless, smiling just a little to herself as he walked away.
She saw, out of the corner of her eye, Aaron and Strauss engaged in a discussion she knew she was a part of when Strauss eyes flit towards her. Watching, Emily noted their posture; Strauss was tense, but defeated. She looked, more than once, in Emily's direction, and Emily knew they had won when Aaron was the one to stalk away.
Nothing had changed, and yet everything had. Strauss could no longer control her now that Aaron knew, now that she knew he knew. Emily didn't want to leave the BAU any more than he did and both of them, she knew, were willing to sacrifice whatever they'd had to stay. The team needed them and, more importantly, they needed the team; they needed each other, in whatever capacity that might be. None of this was spoken, and none of it needed to be, but as Aaron walked away, he caught her eye, and they both knew.