I'm afraid it's not a dream

2007

Months later, she almost tells him the truth. It's his comment about Carrie that sets her off. That, her anger towards him, and the three tequila's she and JJ had shot, down in the bar. It's irrational, and Emily knows that, but somehow she can't bring herself to care as she waits in the elevator, tapping her foot and strumming her hands against her bicep, considering all the words she's going to throw at him, imagining how his face will drop and she will, finally, feel vindicated, will feel better knowing he now knows an ounce of her pain.

It's far too late to be pounding on his door like this, but she doesn't care. A door opens, down the hall, and an old woman sticks her head out, but Emily stares her down, a challenge. She ducks back inside. Aaron answers quickly, and she knows he hasn't been to sleep yet. He's still dressed, although his tie has been discarded and his shirt sleeves are rolled up, his collar hanging open as though he was part-way through getting ready for bed.

"Prentiss?" Aaron checks the corridor, as though he thinks she might be in danger, then looks at her with confusion which quickly fades into neutrality, then back to confusion, as he sees the fury in her eyes. With a tired sigh, he steps back, pulling the door wide open for her, "You'd better come in."

Emily shoulders her way past him, arms fastened tightly across her chest. Her face is burning with anger and it gives him pause, because he knows he was a little harsh today, with that whole "I need you to be objective" comment, but he doesn't think it warrants the way she's glaring at him, and it definitely wasn't bad enough to provoke the tears in her eyes. Perhaps a comment like that might make Penelope cry, but not Emily.

He knows her well enough to know that it takes more than a harsh comment from him to make her cry. For someone who came off a desk job, she's taken to the field better than anyone he's ever seen before but he knows now, since the revelation about Strauss and her intentions, that there are aspects of Emily's past he doesn't know, things he will likely never know.

How strange that once, however briefly, he knew everything about her.

There's something else bothering her, obviously, something more than the Carrie thing. He softens, seeing her like that, remembering the few times he's seen her look so upset. The one that sticks in his mind is the day she left her mother's estate to go back to Yale.

1989

"I thought we had a few more weeks?" He asked quietly, standing, dejected, in her doorway. Aaron was confused; everything they'd planned went against what Emily was telling him now, that she was leaving, heading back to school earlier than expected.

Emily didn't look at him; she was throwing clothes haphazardly into her suitcase, laying open on the bed. Already, the pile was too high and even if she folded it all neatly, it wouldn't fit, but she went on throwing, anyway.

"Yeah, well, plans change." She said, bluntly. Where Aaron saw indifference in her refusal to acknowledge him, Emily knew she couldn't; if she looked at him, one of two things would happen. Either she'd change her mind and stay, or she'd blurt out the truth; and if she did the first, the second would follow soon enough, she was sure. That was why she had to leave, to spare him from the truth that was tearing her apart.

"You don't even have anywhere to live, yet," he pointed out, but Emily just shrugged.

"I have friends." It was true enough; there were plenty of people on whose couch she could crash until her new contract for her apartment started up in September. A few weeks of couch surfing would be fine. Even just the thought made the ache in her stomach worse, but it would be fine, it had to be.

This was how it had been since she'd dropped her plans on him that morning; for every question he asked, she had a snappy answer. For every scenario he posed, she had a retort already loaded up in the barrel. Aaron was fighting a losing battle here, and he knew it.

It had been the summer of a lifetime. Aaron had expected a boring, miserable summer away from anybody he knew, working with older, more experienced agents who'd look down on him and treat him like crap for being the new guy. He'd expected a stuffy family who would ignore him, like he were a piece of the furniture. He hadn't expected to meet Emily, to have his entire worldview changed by the bubbly, exhilarating young woman in front of him, to have her smile become his sun. But it seemed to him that in a day and a half he'd been in D.C, that woman had disappeared and in her place was a stranger.

"Well, do you have to go tonight?" Stepping into her bedroom, Aaron pushed the door closed behind him, all too aware, as he had been all summer, of the risk of them being caught together; as the days began to grow shorter, and his contract neared its end, though, they'd been more and more reckless. His new position still largely hinged on receiving a good reference from the Ambassador. One bad word from Elizabeth and he was done for, and they both knew it. It was exciting, in the way only the forbidden love of the young can be.

"Yes, Aaron, I have to go tonight," Emily sighed, like she was feeling impatient, and not at all like she was holding back tears. She grabbed another pile of clothes from her drawers, throwing them at the suitcase, then stopped and looked at them. It was hopelessly overfilled. Annoyed, she grabbed the case, threw it to the floor and then heaved it onto its side, so that an avalanche of clothes spilled out onto the carpet. She grabbed up a miniskirt, folded it roughly in her hand, and shoved it into the corner of the case. Aaron watched on, feeling helpless and confused.

"Can't we talk about this?" He stepped towards her, sinking to his knees in front of her and Emily closed her eyes.

"Aaron, please," but he reached for her, pulling her to her feet in front of him. She told herself she couldn't help it as she leaned into him, letting him wind his arms around her, despite the danger of being caught.

For a moment, she could pretend nothing had happened. She could pretend that everything was as it had been a few days ago, before she knew. Before everything had changed between them. She was just a girl again, enjoying an illicit summer fling. And Aaron was just a boy, asking her to stay.

That was the one thing he hadn't done, until now. He knew he couldn't ask for forever, he just wanted those last few days.

Aaron's nose brushed against her throat, his breath hot against her skin.

Before, a touch like that would have set her skin alight, instantly ignited a blaze in her belly for him. Now, the burn began slowly, a warmth spreading over her, from where he softly grazed her. Almost as a reflex, Emily turned her face towards his, brushed her lips, barely, against his. For a second, they shared breath.

"I have to go," tearing herself away was painful, and Emily couldn't bring herself to do it, even though she knew she must. If not now, then later, when the car that had been called arrived, to drive her back to New Haven.

"I know," he breathed, his forehead pressed against hers, "but not yet."

No, not yet. Like magnets drawn together, Emily pressed herself into Aaron's arms, her chest flush with his, and wrapped her arms around his neck. He kissed her like he could make her stay, knowing he had to let her go, wishing he'd knew what had changed her mind, what she was running away from.

Later, when the car pulled away from the house, Emily stared straight ahead. She knew what she would see if she turned: Aaron, standing on the steps, watching her leave. The sight would haunt her forever, so she didn't look back at the way his eyes were cold and dark as he watched her go, as the sky opened and the first fall rain consecrated the grounds. Now, there was an ache in her chest to match the ache between her legs, a mingling of sadness and guilt, both of which she carried with her, right up until the night she told him.

"Prentiss?" His voice is so gentle that she has to close her eyes; it's like velvet fingers on her cheek, and she turns away from it, the sensation too much. He hasn't even touched her yet, but she remembers, and suddenly it's like she's nineteen, again. But she's not; she's thirty-six, and she's standing in his hotel room with a face like thunder, knowing she shouldn't be here, that nothing she has to say is worth saying, not now, not all of these years later. She'll only hurt them both, and she knows it.

"You were kind of an ass today." She tells him, in the tone that only someone who's seen him naked can use; you would never catch Morgan speaking to him this way. It would be a lie to say their prior relationship doesn't affect the way they interact, even if they try to avoid its impact as best as they can. Right now, Emily uses it to her advantage. Aaron looks away from her, raising an eyebrow and opening his mouth, forming words that make no wound as he tries to decide what to say. Emily just shakes her head. "Don't make excuses, just apologise."

"For what, Emily? For being right?" He should have just apologised, but neither of them were ever very good at that, "If you can't do this job without wanting to take home every stray you come across-"

"Stray?" Her eyebrows shot up at his phrasing, "Carrie's not a stray, she's a victim. A traumatised child-"

"Exactly-"

"-who needs to be around people who understand the impact of what she's been through,' Emily continued, not letting him cut across her, "She's a kid who needs a home, Hotch. Not some stray mutt in a back alley. And, for the record, I'm glad she has her Aunt - but I still deserve an apology."

"Why, Emily?" She's been Prentiss ever since she got back; she's Emily now.

"Because you spoke to me like I'm am incompetent, emotional woman, Aaron," She practically yells it at him, his own name, their old familiarity and the way they used to fight back then seeping through, and although she knows this isn't all about Carrie, he doesn't understand where this fury is coming from, "Because you wouldn't have spoken to Morgan the way you spoke to me!"

"And you wouldn't speak to Strauss the way you're speaking to me right now." And, much as she hates it. He has a point. "It's not about gender or being incompetent, Emily, you know better than that." He sounds almost as angry as she feels now, and when he speaks, there's an edge to his voice she's never heard before, "Stop acting like a child."

It's like a slap to the face. The insinuation that he left her there, back in the summer of 1989, and she's been there, ever since. That, in his eyes, she's still eighteen years old, barely more than a child. He's grown up. She hasn't. He's a father, a husband and from the outside, from his perspective, what has changed for her, really, since the first time he knew her?

A lot. A lot that he doesn't even know and more than she'll ever admit to him. He doesn't know she was eighteen and making very adult decisions, decisions that have affected his life, that allowed him to grow up. He doesn't know everything she saved him from. He doesn't know that the son he loves so much only exists because their child doesn't.

There's a heartbeat where she almost tells him, almost spits it at him, throws it in his face. It would hit him like a punch to the gut, she knows. Right now, it's a weapon of mass destruction. One sentence, and she can destroy everything there is between them, good or bad. And it's not just their relationship in range. It would shatter his entire worldview, everything he believes is true, because his world is built on her secret.

"That's not fair." She whispers, wrapping her arms around herself, and when she does that, she looks small and fragile and vulnerable and it tugs at something in his chest. Aaron lets go of his fight, his shoulders slumping forwards.

"I just-" he begins, but she shakes her head, cutting him off.

"I get it, okay," because she does; she knows he's right, really. Carrie touched something inside of her. Maybe it's her age. She's only a few years younger than their child would have been. But he doesn't know that, can't know that, so she cuts him off before she says something. "I get it, Aaron."

Emily leaves his room before he has a chance to protest, because she doesn't want him to attempt to comfort her, not now. What was once his job is no longer. No, she can comfort herself, she's been doing it for long enough.

So she doesn't tell him, then, but in the end it doesn't matter. Haley leaves anyway. Emily doesn't have to step on the mine, doesn't have to detonate his life; Aaron does it himself.