Hello everyone.
Thanks a lot for reading, for reviewing (Hotchlover, Careey and Caitie, since I cannot reply to you), for the advises (thanks, Miranda953, your suggestion really worked) and the support.
Sorry for the spelling and the grammar, I check and I check but mistakes happen.
Disclaimer: Criminal Minds isn't mine.
I hope you like this chapter, though you might not.
Unable to resist it, to keep her mouth shut, to measure her words or actually think to whom she was telling them, JJ muttered, stealing her husband's accent and with that throaty voice she used when gossiping, "Those two are going to start a fire."
Hotch, who had been standing in front of the coffee pot for several minutes now, snapped out. He didn't speak, just looked at her as if asking to what she was referring. Not that he ignored it.
"I mean," JJ had always had that weird bond with him and seemed to know what he was thinking, "I've never seen Emily like that, have you?"
Thankfully, JJ didn't actually always know what was in his mind. But if by like that she meant absolutely and completely focused on the man with whom she was talking while her eyes beamed a certain fresh light, then yes, he thought fisting his hands like he did when confronting a suspect, he had seen Prentiss like that. Never in public. Never without being at the receiving end of those looks. However, he couldn't answer that. In fact, there wasn't an appropriate answer he could give. He did not gossip. He didn't comment on his team members' personal lives. At the most, he might sneer at someone else's remark, but he didn't actively participate. It wasn't professional. As it wasn't to stare at your subordinate while she shared what looked like a very private conversation with a fellow FBI agent. Which, nonetheless, he had been doing since he had gone to get a cup of coffee that, by the way, he hadn't gotten yet.
But JJ was not interested in conversation, she just needed to vent, "I mean… not even at the bar…" she continued without even caring if Hotch was paying attention to her or not, preferring instead to witness the unbelievable scene developing on the other end of the cabin.
Because, she had to admit, they seemed completely different. Mick was basically unruly, with his casual wear and his messed up hair. Emily, on the other hand, was always properly dresses, up to code, and JJ couldn't recall ever seeing a single hair out of place… until that morning, of course, she smirked. Mick was so cool, lay back, while Emily, though not exactly un-cool or weird, could be a bit nerdy. But they looked good together. The chemistry between them was so evident, the way in which they seemed to connect, so sweet.
"They're kinda cute, don't you think?" She asked finally looking at Hotch.
She found Hotch's stern, if not angry, glare directed at her. Then she realized she had just asked Hotch if a couple was cute. Opening her blue eyes beyond the limits of physical possibilities, she smiled before looking down to her feet and leaving, feeling like an absolute idiot.
Hotch went back to the coffee. That had been his reason to get up and that was what he was supposed to be doing. So he rinsed his mug and refilled it.
He began to stroll back to his seat but found that it was taken. Reid was sitting there and JJ was on the opposite one. They were chatting with Cooper now that Rossi was snorting his exhaustion away. The couch was full too and, even if it hadn't been, he was not in the mood to listen to those three agents at the moment. They had a certain cool-kids-on-the-block disdain that he preferred to avoid.
Which left the seats at the end of the plane. He could stand by JJ, instead, and insert himself into the conversation they were having. But he had been talking all morning, listening to stories he already knew. And he was tired. So he walked to the empty booth and took a seat by the window.
If she saw him approach, she didn't acknowledge him. Though it was possible she hadn't notice him. She was engrossed in her conversation with Mick, which seemed to be forcing them to be a little too close considering they were colleagues, he thought.
It was a good thing that he was serious almost all the time, that people thought that he didn't remember how to smile, because sitting there, listening to the murmur, to the low key sound that didn't seem like giggle as much as a grunt and that he knew so well, Hotch could not keep his jaw from clenching.
What the hell had happened last night?
How the hell had they gotten to the point of something like last night happening?
He was disappointed and angry at himself for being unable to stick to his daytime persona. He hadn't had that problem in a very long time. And in that opportunity, barely after the first just for tonight, he had dismissed it saying that it was a natural reaction to one of his team members being in such a dangerous situation.
But still, now, he couldn't help it anymore than he had last night. Because, if he had to be honest, he had no reason to go out and tell her that the plane would leave at 7. He could have texted her, emailed her. He could have asked JJ to tell her. And she had seemed so upset. So mad at him. And that had made him feel so good, even when that was wrong and despicable. The fact that he could bother her that much had been very rewarding.
As it had been the confirmation, as soon as she rested against him and he could smell her, that she hadn't had sex with Mick. And that she was willing to stay with him.
But what had actually made him proud of himself was the illusion he had had of being able to ease her. It was something to which he had gotten used to. He knew their nights of pretense soothed her when she was upset or sad or when she felt that the world was out of balance. Those pieces of time when they were just like any other couple, better, actually, than any other couple, helped her to find some sort of consolation.
But last night things hadn't gone as they usually did. Nothing had been as it usually was and after her vague I don't know, he had had the feeling, for the first time in over a year, that it might just be the last night they played their on-going game.
It was obvious why, now. It was obvious that she was attracted to Mick. That it hadn't been just a spur of the moment thing. Hearing them muttering things to each other and for what he had seen, he was sure she was attracted to him.
And she had every right. After all, Emily and he weren't possible. And things that aren't possible are not real, they don't exist. They were nothing. They were the tree that falls in the forest. If there's no one to hear it, what does it matter if it makes a sound? They didn't matter. They weren't real.
However, and that had been his mistake, he had been acting as if they were. Having her pretty much at his disposal and being at hers had created the fantasy of something real beyond the strict limits of the hours they shared their charade.
He had been perfectly fine with it stretching over the month because he had been sure it would just go on. Because they were very good at it. Damn it. She was very good at it.
She was the perfect fake girlfriend. She spoke her mind or reminded quiet according to his needs. She never failed to answer his questions. Prentiss was the one person with whom he had been able to communicate without being pitied, patronized or judged. That was idealizing, he told himself; she did judge him sometimes, but she was usually right.
This situation, her distress, it was his fault. He would have to kick his own ass and throw frightening stares at himself. Mick was free of all charges. Which infuriated him more than being guilty, Hotch thought and immediately felt guiltier for being such a horrible person. The man had saved her life. He should be grateful. He should write him a recommendation. Or, he realized, he should get up and beat the crap out of Mick for not informing through the radio that the unsub was not dead. That would have kept her safe.
But he could not do that. And he wasn't even sure he should say anything directly to Rawson. It might have been an honest mistake. Rawson could not know that Prentiss would approach the edge with her gun down and he couldn't know that Bell hadn't cracked his skull when falling on the cornice. It was an honest error, he decided. Still made Hotch want to knock him.
But, he returned to his previous line of thought because thinking about Mick boiled his blood, it was his own fault.
It was his fault. He didn't exactly know why she was so tormented last night, but seeing that Mick had done nothing to offend her, it must have been his fault. Something he had done.
But, that didn't make sense. Because she had stayed. She had said that she was mad but that she still wanted to be with him. And everything had been fine until he asked. And she had said it was her fault. Being mad at him was her fault. And then it all went to hell. Probably because he was excessively confident. And why wouldn't he be confident? She had chosen him.
Yes, yes, awful, he thought not really believing it this time, as he got upset. Possessiveness is instinctual. It's human nature. It's impossible not to feel proud when the woman you want chooses you. He had been feeling proud ever since the first night. He could accept it if she didn't want him anymore, even if she hadn't ever wanted him, but whilst he believed, for a reason or another, that she was choosing him; he had every right to feel proud. And he had every right to feel superior to all the men she wasn't choosing, damn it!
Damn it! He repeated. He was not supposed to be that angry. The idea of her not choosing him shouldn't irate him this much. Not six hours ago, he didn't even care what was going to happen next.
And yet, nine hours ago he had decided to kiss her for as long as he could just in case. And he had barely even slept, preferring to be awake and aware, staring at her asleep, though not relaxed face, burning his brain trying to figure out what needed to be fixed and how the hell to fix it. Or if it could be fixed at all. Or if it should. It probably shouldn't. He didn't care at the moment.
What couldn't be fixed with sex? Her decision to be with Mick now? Or just not to be with him? And why didn't she want him now?
She had realized, hadn't she? She had seen right through him, she had picked up the signs, the good and the bad signs, and she had realized. Damn it!
He should have concealed it better. What was he saying? He should have never let it happen. He should have never… let it happen. He should have cut it off the second he became conscious of it.
But the fact was that it had only come to light now. He hadn't known before. If he had, he would have stopped.
But he hadn't seen the harm before. Before, their thing was just what it was. A night every once in a while, which was always supposed to be the last even when they both knew it wasn't. Yes, it lasted just a few hours, it lacked continuity, and it wasn't possible. But during those hours, they were the best. During those hours, they had that thing that was almost impossible to get. It was fake, OK… Well, no, it wasn't fake. It was real for as long as it lasted. It was very real, tangible, breathable. A charade, a game, a bunch of nothing that was more real, more believable than his damn real life. A pretense that had pulled him through the God damn hell he had been living.
And no, he didn't mean just the sex. He loved the sex, yes. He loved that she was so adorable when she dragged him into practices that had ashamed him, that had seemed degrading until she had shown him that it was not the act, it was the intention what mattered. What mattered was that they both wanted to do it.
But it wasn't just that. It was the liberty to rest his hand on her stomach when she had her feet popped up against the wall and they each read their case files.
Her weird fascination with his hands; discussing, not agreeing and still smile at each other; the feeling he got when he woke up in the middle of the night and heard her murmuring songs he didn't know; looking up when he was doing something and founding her staring at him. Those things were real. Her hand, lips or nose gliding across his torso in the same what they had before the scars; and laughing at her; and making her snort by saying something sweet. Her tremors when he brushed his fingers across the small of her back looking for those dimples. Those things were real too. Until the next morning, everything was real.
Damn it! Now God damn Mick's hand or head would rest on her stomach, and he would hear songs that he probably did know. And Mick could offer and get that around the clock. And Emily blushing at some manly display of bravery and strength would be a common occurrence. And his anger towards them both was the result of his own stupid mistake. Of not realizing sooner that for Emily those one night stands was that. And she throwing herself in those intimate moments was Emily being Emily, all in into any situation.
He held no grip over her. Regardless what he had thought, or had wanted to think, she did only seek comfort those nights. They were just for tonight things for her.
He should have known. Or at least he should have prepared himself. But then again, how could he prepare for something he didn't know was happening?
Like any regular man in a normal situation, he was now trying to decide if he should step up or let her go. But he could not step up. It wasn't a real possibility for him. He had known it all along. Since the beginning. Which was why Prentiss' acceptance of those once in a while encounters had been a good thing. Back then Prentiss going along had been perfect.
Now he was screwed and he couldn't say why exactly, because his mind had been jumping from one possible reason to another without much logic. And the chuckles and soft laughter continued to come from his right. Damn it!
"What's on your mind?" Rossi said cutting his rant.
Hotch didn't snapped, nor did he whipped his head in surprise. He was too much in control of his body and facial expression to slip in that kind of mistake. At least when he was on the job. Not always, he corrected himself, because today he had lapsed three times in an effort to prevent mockeries at Prentiss' expense.
He had to reply, he realized. And something reasonable, "I have a meeting with Strauss as soon as we land."
"Ouch…" he said sympathetically.
Hotch noticed then that Rossi was fastening his seatbelt. "Are we landing?" Stupid question really because, glancing around, he saw everyone doing the same.
Morgan and Prophet came to sit with them while Gina had sat with Reid, JJ and Cooper.
Funny how everybody leaving Prentiss alone was much worse than them picking on her. Damn, he was an awful man.
"Which means your meeting is taking place in half an hour," Rossi replied.
The landing was quiet and easy. And cordialities were exchanged as they got off the jet. Hotch did not stay for that. He jumped into the first car he saw and waited for Cooper.
He could not resist, however, the temptation to watch through the review mirror how and where everyone went. And he saw the final mocked dismissive glance Prentiss gave Mick and his wink to respond. He looked away then, a new flash of anger rushed through his body.
OK, Hotch came out OOC, sorry, I'm not a man and I have little to none insight into the male mind.
I hope you enjoyed it anyway.
I think I'll wrap this up within a week, but the next two chapters will be a hard to write and organize. So help me out, review, it makes me write faster.
See you,
allthatisevil