I love this chapter? Of course I do lol One of my faves tbh, and the reference to season 6 (well, 9 actually bc that's when they said it) is probably the best link I've ever created! Also I wanted a certain sentence to be like a code to them so, you'll see it. Well, I wanna thank each one of you that still follow this piece and leave beautiful reviews! Aye! If this is still going on, it's all because of you, Lisa (my gorgeous beta) & Fran (bc yes hahaha)
Hope you enjoy it!
"THE CROSSING"
She now couldn't stand the images snatching her mind every time she crossed his flat's door, put aside his room and his bed. Still, Emily tried to forbid herself, she struggled to let him be and let him choose wherever he wanted them to meet. Most of all, because she had promised him that she'd stay. Dammit, she even wanted to. But it was more than her compartmentalization skills were able to take. They were not even a couple anymore – had they been anyway? Friends. They had decided.
The idea flew through her thoughts as she perused a magazine - one of JJ's favorites – during a ridiculously boring Tuesday evening. He was lonely and she offered to come to the rescue. They never gave up on their schedule after all. From her spot on the couch, she stared at his moves on the dinner he was trying to craft for over half one hour. Almost too intimate. Almost.
And she took the courage to speak, eyes never leaving a beautiful image printed to appraise families. He had one, broken as it was. Jack was a little boy, he needed a safe, warm environment to run and feel at ease. The brunette couldn't quite point why she cared about this. She just did.
"Maybe you should look for a bigger apartment" she regretted such advice from the instant it left her tongue.
He tensed under her firm gaze, muscles and jaw stiffening, raw blood flushing though his veins. Hotch was glad she couldn't see his face. It would've hurt her more than she already was. Some part of him alerted to their imprudence, scolded him for allowing such doubt to exist, probably desperate with repercussions. Some part of him endeared the idea, enjoyed it very much so.
Emily Prentiss, glowing with his – their – child.
It was a sight. One he was looking forward to if he had to be honest. Just not today.
A split second later, she approached him with arms folded across her chest, legs halting with every step and a pang flaring from her dark irises. When the ambassador's daughter leaned her hips against his left side counter, she could confirm her theories. She had noticed before – a slight unsteadiness in his shots, nervous wick written all over – but chose to maintain her silence. Only it was too much for her to take. Again.
"Your hands" she sighed in defeat, his eyes escaping the concern screaming from hers "You're craving"
Yes, he was. But he wouldn't admit it at all, not yet. Therefore, he growled that he was doing just fine, just well enough there, that he didn't need help. An unsuccessful attempt to apologize followed his lines from the moment her expression turned into pain. What he most feared had happened, right there, at his kitchenette. He was feeling.
She left earlier and hungry, hollow claiming her one last time before the dawn. Vaguely, her distressed mind wondered where she had left him behind. That was not him. And so she fell asleep in her parked sedan, just behind the steering wheel and outside his building. Dreams were filled with a unique assurance: they were at a crossroads.
The Unit Chief never knew exactly when their conversation trailed that pathway, but he knew he came up with that in the first place. Maybe it was Haley telling him she'd take Jack to his grandparent's this weekend - third excuse in a row. Maybe it was how Emily fled from him because he was blunt, coarse even. He didn't mean to, of course – there was something there and he was aware.
However, it had scooted her away for God knows how long. She wouldn't come back. Hell, he didn't deserve for her to. Also, she was miles from him, working with the others, endorsing JJ's passion for that case in particular, and he had no courage to check on her. Prentiss was just a phone call away. He couldn't make it.
"Everybody has their breaking point" his goateed friend uttered, years of experience ahead decided to make an encore.
They fell into silence. Aaron focused on his files, struggling to shush an anxious line to appear above his usual frown. His mind was drowning in her oceans, suffocating slowly as he blamed himself repeatedly - and he was wrong, nobody was discharging him.
Dave reconsidered his words for the first time in a while, weighing what was at stake for the both of them. Job, family, the team… themselves. He stared at the father of one using his blankest expression, averting his wise orbs to their work. They needed each other. It would hurt, it would be tough, it would cost to hell and back. But he could taste how eager he was to hear her voice on the other end of the line, not their blonde media liaison.
He inhaled deeply, "Don't let Emily reach hers too".
Later that same day, damp raven hair rested on her single bed just after she finished another pack of files about Keri Derzmond. They were at a loss, uncomfortable by sneaking into her privacy, violating her secrets. It was part of the job, although the blonde - who was using their joint toilet – seemed to reconsider much of her own morals throughout the process.
Emily herself had been in that place before. Morals. Ethics. All that damn circus she hated playing with, hated breaking her oaths and reason in order to save herself from the outbursts of her own dilemmas. It was complicated, tricky. And she couldn't help her thoughts drifting, hooded eyes picturing the perfect image of him, wondering what he'd be doing, if he'd be asleep or if insomnia decided to take its place.
From the nights they had been together – days when they were too drunk to leave or solitude guided their needs – she more than once was awakened to low songs captivating his place. The ambassador's daughter never missed how he'd play those same records over and over again, until that sample of his beloved album scratched or burned.
There had this particular day, this single one in which they had not a tinge of alcohol in their blood - confusing their actions, making them forget. She wrapped her body with his light green buttoned up, left two upper buttons free, tossed her sleepy hair aside her face and barefooted walked the way to his spot near the window.
It was drizzling. Silent, gentle, unnoticed. Dark shadows painted his bare chest, trails of water droplets reflected from the outsides. They were so small, so careless. And Emily couldn't help but to wrap her arms around his waist, resting her forehead on the back of his shoulder as his body tauted and smoothed under her surprising touch. He was warm, inviting, her lips pressed butterfly kisses to the nape of his neck and the hem of his short black hair tickled her nose's tip.
"I never asked" her tiny smile was almost outshone by his, and he was somehow glad she couldn't see how much she affected him "What's your favorite song?"
However, her startled expression almost stopped him from proceeding. Somewhere within his depths a voice chanted him, lent him enough courage. He forwarded the tracks until a soft strum rose in the place, a voice and a rhythm pleading to be danced to.
Before she could register, he had her draped against him. Masculine arms wrapped her narrow waist, feminine arms rounded his shoulders in a tender, loving way. They swayed in slow motion; her chin leaned on his broad shoulder as she tiptoed with the weight of his hot breath murmuring to her an unforgettable choice, "Blackbird fly, blackbird fly, into the light of the dark black night".
An insulting tone brought her back after some peaceful minutes of delectable slumber. Emily was more than amazed with how short she dozed off, how fast remembrances of him could soften any persistent preoccupations. It was almost overwhelming. She fished her phone from the nightstand, noticing a blonde beauty still up and lost to her earbuds and whoever her texts were sent to. If she had to bet, she knew the answer from a tired chuckle that managed to be held back.
Long broken sigh muffled into her left ear, cause her to check her screen in a defensive manner. The brunette knew she needn't, for she was plenty informed of whose voice she longed to listen on the other end of the line. He greeted, husky voice pulling those strings his devotion to please used to. Even though she yearned the old him, she cut it short, she replied his questions about the case, his objective points.
But Prentiss held so much more than a soft spot for him, so much more than she could even understand or him either. Another pregnant pause – second in a row – unsettled something, therefore, she spoke, questioned, wanted to know more. With only a sharp intake of breath, matter-of-factly. Still, she did.
And he caught such minimal giveaway. It frightened him his deep knowledge of her. Frightened and soothed all at once, "I was wondering if…" he swallowed thick, measuring his every words, "You could help me… to find a new place"
It was more than house hunting. It was more everything he gave her so far. It was a way in – the one she wanted, dreamed of so if she to be honest with herself -. Dimples flashed from her side, flashed and glowed and lightened up the whole goddamn sky.
He fidgeted with the material of his tie – sleep deprivation, yes, Aaron Hotchner in all colors. Mont Blanc pen tapped insistently a study table with a case file opened and undone in front of him, though he was pretty sure the older profiler sleeping on a single bed right behind him would bark at him anytime soon. The Unit Chief couldn't hide it - the eager, the nervous, the anxiety – not when it was past midnight and all his thoughts were drowned with her dark doe eyes.
"Saturday", her voice was flat, even as warmth burned her from the insides.
A relieved exhale left his lung, a breath he wasn't aware he was even holding, "It's a date".
If you can please, take a minute to tell me what you think about it! Our stoic chief here finally is accepting his feels, isn't he?