I'm not happy with this at all, firstly because I vaguely remember reading a similar plot in another fandom and I don't want to copy and secondly because I can't make Emily talk the way I want her to. Still, it's the ending I envisioned and leaves it open for a sequel should my brain float that way. Thanks for all your support and comments.
"You know what I'd really like an apology for? From you? The way you treated me when I told you that I wanted to offer Carrie a home. Remember that girl who lost her entire family? You told me that you had to be sure that I was objective. Had I given you any reason up to that point to worry that I couldn't be objective?"
"No…" Hotch got no further because Emily cut him off. She was on a roll and didn't want to be interrupted.
"If I was the sort of person who couldn't be objective, I never would've gotten into the FBI. I certainly wouldn't have taken a job where I see the worst of what humanity can do to itself day, after day, after day. If I truly let myself feel the things that well up in me when I see pictures of murdered children or talk to a woman who has just been raped, I wouldn't be asking details like what the asshole said or did, I would be crying and screaming. I would flash back to middle school and being a white girl in a Middle Eastern country and walking past women every day with no rights, no voice and no self-respect whatsoever. When I was raped at the age of 13 by a bunch of boys who had been raised to feel superior and never have their actions questioned, especially not by a girl, I told my mother and wanted her to do something and she worried about her job and government relations. If I couldn't be objective I would think about that every day and want to go bomb a country and I wouldn't be here. God, you have the nerve to think that I'm not objective when Rossi obsesses over a 20 year-old double homicide and calls the victims' children every year…"
All of a sudden, Emily couldn't breathe. With all the thoughts and emotions swirling through her mind, she was back in Saudi Arabia, being pinned down by boys who were calling her vile names in Arabic and she couldn't breathe. There was someone on her chest, she was suffocating, maybe if she struggled hard enough she could break free…
"EMILY!" A very non-Arabic voice broke through and she was aware that hands were gripping her shoulders, not pinning her down but trying to get her attention. She focused on the face in front of her, Caucasian, eyes wide not in anger but in worry. She opened up her mouth to apologize, to tell him not to worry about her because she couldn't stand the thought of someone doubting her ability to care for herself but she couldn't catch her breath…
"Don't talk, just breathe," he said sharply, and, incase she had forgotten how, he demonstrated for her. She imitated him until her breathing slowed and her heart didn't feel like it was going to explode out of her chest any longer. Once she realized that Hotch was still touching her, she pulled away abruptly.
"I'm sorry," she muttered, pulling herself together and getting up. "I didn't mean to dump all that on you. The offer of the guest room still stands. I'm going to bed."
To her dismay, Hotch followed her into her room. "Emily, don't you think we should talk about this?"
God, no.
"I really don't see what that would accomplish," she responded, frostily. "I lost my temper, I'm sorry and my head hurts. You can't drive home in the middle of a power outage, you will never be as comfortable with me as you are with Rossi or Morgan when it comes to your team and I accept that. The guest room is down the hall."
Hotch stubbornly refused to leave. She got into bed, pulled the covers over as much of her as she could without suffocating herself and put her back to him. He sat down on the bed's edge.
"I'm going to be honest with you," he said, conversationally. Emily didn't move, hoping that her lack of response would discourage him. "You're right that I tend to trust males before females when it comes to my team. You're right that I was wrong to question your objectivity when you have never given me any indication that you couldn't be objective. You're also right that I spend too much time watching television geared towards toddlers. All of these things can be fixed. I like you, Emily Prentiss, and I'm deeply sorry that you had such a horrific thing happen to you. Someday I'll tell you my story and I'm not being flippant. But until then I want to be your friend. I'm glad that you called me tonight. I can give you a run for your money when it comes to compartmentalization – we'll be boss/agent during working hours and then I hope we can be friends afterwards. How does that sound to you?"
Emily turned over, eyes wide, not exactly sure she could believe her ears. Hotch waited and when it was clear that she wasn't going to speak, clarified, "I'm serious, Emily. Do you have a problem with anything I said?"
"Um, no," she stammered. Hotch smiled gently at her and Emily was sure that at that moment her head exploded.
"I'm going to walk," he decided, getting up. "My car will be safe here until tomorrow, right?"
"You're going to walk?" she repeated, stupidly to her own ears.
"Sure. It's a nice night. With the lights out, you can see the stars. I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow. Yeah. Sure." She started to get up to walk him to the door but he held up a hand to stop her.
"It's ok, I'll find my way out. It's been a pleasure, Emily. Do call again." And with that he left.
Emily gave her head a shake and settled back down under her comforter. I think I have just been witness to a very scary alien abduction. She reached for her phone, thinking she might call Garcia to share the burden of watching her boss transform before her very eyes but then changed her mind.
She'll never believe me.
