Hello beautiful people! This chapter makes me emotional bc oh well, my first fanfic about CM (and H/P btw bc I only write about them lol I'm a hotchniss trash ayee) was placed before this episode. Yeah, the best part of it is realizing how much I evolved as a writer, because that first oneshot I wrote was just awful :( well, anyway, thanks for reviews and follows and faves!
A huge thank you to my awesome beta Lisa and to Franjp bc SHE'S BACK (okay i'll chill)
Hope you enjoy it!
"ELEPHANT'S MEMORY"
It took a while to plant the seed, a short one. Dave held a flaming mug on his hand, swirling his third cup of coffee while Emily approached the machine with a faint smile. She seemed tired and he knew she had spent the whole night fighting, whatever the reason was. If he had to be honest with himself – and analyzing the grim figure Hotch presented this morning – there must have been something concerning their somehow relationship.
"Someone got lucky yesterday" he chanted playfully, eyeing the faded purple mark when she flipped her hair in order to return the small pot of coffee to its place.
It was done. He watched her tiny expressions stiffen, processing slowly what she should – or could – reply. She lied, of course she did, because the pain of confession was too overwhelming. But now he only had to wait, patiently, until Emily felt herself trapped the enough to shove reality on Hotch.
This would hurt both of them, and would be a thin line between their end and their beginning – he hoped for a beginning – but he couldn't stand how they were handling the whole situation.
Tuesday nights joined the schedule along with Fridays, though they never admitted it. Sometimes he would show up at her place with half bottle of Jack and she'd invite him in with a tug on his neat tie and a desperate kiss. Sometimes, she'd drive all the way to his flat with nothing below her dark dresses but the satin and lace of her bralette. All about desire, release. Never outspoken feelings. Never.
Until that distinguished Tuesday in which Emily made her way to his door with smoky pasta and fancy wine. Yes, she wanted to talk before anything, he could tell when he swung the door open. She had been losing sleep for over three days, the growth of the small seed was choking her throughout every breath. Even the Prentiss seemed more bitter than usual. Her smile appeared vague, nails picked and the nervous twitch in the corner of her lips every time someone blunted his name were such a giveaway.
"We need to talk"
Last words before his lips were on hers, hands making their way through her dark, straight hair. She ranted inwardly about how much she missed herself. Because she knew the woman reflecting in the mirror of his hallway was not the real Emily. That unknown creature had her cheeks flushed due the bruising grip he had on her hips, a victorious smile on her crimson lips because she thought she could stop him whenever she saw fit. That person fooled herself for way too long with the illusion she had control over this, over him.
She was back against the wall, so close to her climax it hurt, when he altered life after one thing led to another, unplanned, careless. It was a smooth clipping on her wrists at first, just a tease, a help to balance them. They had that conversation shortly after their second time – they were sober enough to talk that day, she remembered crystal clear -. She told him how much she hated marks there. They were more difficult to hide, less passionate, more possessive. He had complied with a sleepy nod.
Still, he held a vicious, merciless grip on the very spot while he swore under his breath. He was almost pleased to exceed her imposed limits. Deep - grounded for desire and instincts – his morals screamed that he should stop, should give her the last of the things he had been denying her all this while: faith in him, in them.
"I'm sorry"
Emily was on her heels within seconds, utterly shocked and that tinge of relief made him panic with the image of how much he had been emotionally attacking her. Most of all, the realization that he was not the chosen victim of his awakened inner monster. She was. And Aaron never begged more for this day to disappear. He needed tomorrow, he needed to forget.
His phone rang, blazing the air with a keen tone. Duty called through the tired voice of their blonde liaison. Two dead cops in a small Texan town and tomorrow was there for them, with death and disgrace, but still, tomorrow in all its colors.
"We're on our way"
JJ eventually asked Emily what the plural meant, in her subtle and tender way. They were flying across the dark sky, small lightning spots forming as the brunette kept her eyes locked on the glass and the blonde placed herself by her empty side. Hotch was too busy with paperwork and himself at the other end of the jet. As always.
"So… you and Hotch…?"
She swallowed thick, every moment they had shared from their first twisted night hit her shoulders fast and brutal. Emily crumbled, because she knew the blonde wouldn't tell. She would do nothing but use her best console, because that was JJ and she was the same of her: promptly giving and giving and giving until she was draught to dust. When Dave questioned her – and oh how that changed everything – she couldn't even bring her eyes to meet his. Most of all because she had that image of a father on him and she was ashamed for willingly develop any sort of sick relationship she had with the Unit Chief.
Therefore, confession was the only way out. It was her only way in.
But she shouldn't, she couldn't, she wouldn't and she didn't.
"Business as usual" she had to do something better, she had to sink further "Even if I lured him, he'd stay back you know"
She avoided him whole way through the case and if she must be honest with herself, every time she gazed at him a despicable rush of excitement – fear – crept on her skin. She was irrevocably lost, God only knew how. On the other hand, Aaron struggled with his own demons, he struggled to be himself. Despite the case and Reid, who was displaying his unlike confrontational manners, Emily was the only thing haunting him. The perfect image of her dark eyes, reflecting honest trust and relying on him even after what he had done, was destroying him ever so slowly.
They stood side by side in front of the board, faces and clues and names pinned there with all the logic and rationality they could use. It was the second day, Prentiss wore a calm plain white shirt; Hotch, his sternest suit and tie. He pledged to himself before breakfast that he'd verbally express to her that they needed to have a word. Because they needed, because he wanted, because he missed her hidden touches to his shoulder, to his waist, to him.
"Owen's mother's death left him with severe issues of abandon" the quirky tone of the young genius smashed his erratic plans. Reality mocked him again – when hadn't it? – and Aaron Hotchner found himself back to his Unit Chief mask. It was distant and it was numb and he wasn't sure for how much longer he'd be able to keep it.
His somber image appeared at her motel's door right after the case was over. No alcohol, no traces of causality or darkened eyes. No urgent matters also, no case, no consult. It wasn't Hotch there, it was Aaron. If she dared saying, her Aaron. Yet, she didn't for she acquired knowledge of his every nuance, from the darkest to the lightest – the latter was rare and a few minutes before he dozed off but it was there-, and that strict line on his forehead always sneered at her whenever she thought she owned the smallest of the pieces of him. It was confusing and harrowing her already.
"We need to talk" he announced.
"No, we don't"
Her last word before she closed the small distance between them and pressed herself to him with an unapologetic sadness scattered everywhere, from the gleam in her eyes to her trembling long legs. She didn't seal their lips, she didn't taste him one last time before the bitterest of the sentences collapsed against his ear. She only stood there, his arms wrapped around her unsuspecting. There was not an end, there was a beginning.
His palm pressed flat against her skull, his nostrils captured her scent in awe and she nuzzled his firm chest like she used to when he had already fallen asleep. It was a first time for both of them. Still, it was the final agonizing breath. When she pulled back, hooded eyes and inflexible thin lips, his mind anticipated her next sentence. He deserved that, he was aware.
"We can't do this anymore"
Aaand this chapter is over, a bit complicated am I right? Do tell me! I'm eager to hear from you *wink*