it's so bittersweet, 'cause i'm happy we met, but i'm glad she was next
2019
He's leaving, anyway, and Emily decides that if she's never going to see him again, then she at least owes him the truth. Perhaps a cowardly part of her is aware that if she never has to see him again, then she won't have to face his anger, or whatever else he feels about it; because, even more than his anger, what she really fears is his apathy.
She takes three cars, stops at two halfway houses, changes clothes twice, but she gets there, eventually. She's the only one he has asked to see. The team doesn't even know she's here, and when she gets back, she will have to pretend she wasn't. He's disappearing like a ghost into the night, and that's how it has to seem for everyone, Emily included. Even though she knows what is expected of her, knows that JJ and Reid will bring it up tomorrow when she sees them again; that they are now a rudderless ship, and that they want her to be their rudder, temporarily, of course. Of course.
But she will have to feign ignorance. And she can do that very well. She's done it before.
He looks different, older, finally. It has taken this long, and so much time apart, for the image she held of him, of that fresh-faced, floppy-haired twenty-three year old boy grinning at her, squinting in the sun, to fade. Now, she sees him as he is, and what he is, is a tired man who has been through too much tragedy and carried too much weight for too long.
"Hi, Emily," even his voice sounds like it has aged, like he's not slept in weeks which, Emily knows, he probably hasn't. She remembers the exhaustion. He and Jack have been moving around for almost a month now, driving in wider and wider circles, gradually taking themselves off the grid. She wonders where Jack is; somewhere safe with the agent assigned to their case, no doubt. It's amazing that Aaron will let him out of his sight for even a moment, after what happened to Haley.
But they need time alone.
"Hi," she tries to smile at him, tries to be strong for him, but he knows her better than that, and he shakes his head, "I'm sorry that it's come to this, Aaron."
"It's not your fault, it's mine," and there it is, a guilt she knows well; there's nothing she can say that will take it from him. He lost Haley, and blamed himself, and now he has to protect his son, but of course, he's still blaming himself. "I should have quit years ago. When Strauss offered me retirement after…I should have taken it, for Jack."
"It's not who you are," were. It's who he is, now. He looks at her, like he's having the same thoughts.
It crosses her mind that this might be the last time she sees him, and, suddenly, it's all too much.
"I can't do this," Honesty is all they have left; she came here with the intention of telling them the hardest truth of her life, but now, seeing the broken man in front of her, so different from the man she has known for most of her life, she can't bring herself to do it, to break him down even more. It's too cruel. He's had so much taken away from him; his wife, his home, his career, everything but his life and his son. Emily can't bear to rip away the trust they share, too. Not when he's placed the world on her shoulders.
But she has to be honest with him. She has to confess her fears.
He smiles, and it's weak, "You can." He doesn't just mean the job, but neither does she.
This time feels different. He tells her he'll be back, because he knows it's what she needs to hear, but Emily can see it in his eyes that he won't. She knows him well enough to know when he's done. Aaron Hotchner's time is served, he has done his duty to his country, and now he must do his duty to his son.
Her reply catches in her throat. "I don't know how." She's still not talking about the job now. His eyes grow watery with exhaustion and emotion. Now, his smile looks like a grimace, but he still attempts it, for her.
"You've done it before." That's fair, even if it hurts. Still, she shakes her head.
"Not like this."
"Yes, like this." And then she knows he's talking about that first time, because that was the only time she ever left with the intention of never seeing him again. Back then, she was certain they were done, that she would disappear out of his life and never set eyes on him again and, somehow, she made her peace with that. It took years, but she did. And then she walked right back into his life. She's been here and gone ever since, but this time it's different. This time, he's the one leaving. "Exactly like this."
She hates that he's right, but even more, she hates that he still doesn't understand, and opens her mouth to tell him, but her words falter, again.
Exactly like this.
"Not yet," she breathes words that he said to her so long ago, and steps into his space.
It's been almost thirty years since she kissed him, but it could have been yesterday when his lips find hers. They move together, in perfect synchronicity, Emily's arms around his neck, one hand buried in his thinning, dark hair. He reaches for her waist, a little softer than it was when she was younger but still lithe beneath his hands. The old cliche, of a dance they've known the steps to for years, crosses Emily's mind for a second, before Aaron does something with his tongue, something that triggers a memory and then makes a promise, which erases everything from her mind except him, and the thrill of the cold wall against her back.
Later, Emily wouldn't remember anything about this place; it's an old cabin, a house occupied only temporarily by ghosts passing through. The furniture is minimal, but sturdy, which is good because, after that first kiss, nothing between them is very soft or gentle, but the table holds when he lifts her up onto it.
Afterwards, she stands in the squares of fading daylight streaming through the window, cross-hatched by the shadow of its wooden beams, buttoning her now rumpled burgundy shirt, picks up her blazer from where he discarded it on the dusty floor. He zips his jeans, shrugs into his polo shirt.
They're different, now; older, softer, burned and scarred and much more realistic about the world in which they live. Emily wonders if their younger selves would even recognise the people they've become. She never intended to be this, the wraith leaving a trail of lies in her wake, the fucking ambassador's daughter, through and through. He never intended to be someone else entirely. She doesn't even know what his new name will be, can't know. It's part of WitSec. She knows that better than most.
He approaches her from behind and Emily closes her eyes as his hands skim up her arms, over the silky, dark fabric of her shirt, like bloodstains on her pale skin. The sun is warm, as is his chest against her back. For a moment, there is peace. For a moment, she's nineteen years old, sitting on her bed, in that huge bedroom in her mother's New York mansion. He's an employee, and that makes him off limits and exciting, but that's not what makes him special. No, it's how he makes her feel that makes him special.
1989
"Stay," she asked, not for the first time, and she felt him chuckle. It's was so warm, there, wrapped up in him.
The morning sun streamed through the windows, illuminating the room with the golden pink hue of a promisingly perfect summer morning. Already, the temperature was climbing, and later it would be almost unbearable, but just then, with the window open and allowing the cool breeze to dance into the room, and with it the scent of the flowers that grew outside of her window, all was still, all was peaceful. Aaron's arms tightened around her waist, and Emily sighed, contentedly, her bare back against his chest as they sat on her bed, only half covered by the soft, cotton sheets, watching the sun climb.
They were pushing their luck; with every second that ticked by the danger mounted, the chances of someone catching Aaron as he snuck back down to his own room climbed steadily higher the longer he sat here with her, but he couldn't bring himself to disentangle his legs from her own. The beautiful, naked woman in his arms seemed more than worth being fired for, especially when she sighed so happily and pressed back into his chest, tucking her chin and leaning her cheek against his shoulder.
His touch warmed her, and not just on the outside. As Aaron's touch wandered across her skin, Emily felt the swell of her heart in her chest. This, she thought, is what safety feels like. Is what home feels like.
"I've never known such a perfect morning," she said, closing her eyes and breathing him in, the earthy scent of his skin so comforting to her. Aaron looked down at her, at the dark crown of her head, the shadow her lashes cast across her cheeks, the elegant, superior slope of her nose, the subtle, classic pout of her lips. He'd never seen her so peaceful, free of the tension that usually plagued her waking hours, usually the result of Elizabeth's chastising. Something broke open inside of him as he watched her just breathe in his arms, real and trusting, and he knew he'd never again feel this way he did in this moment, not so long as he should live.
"Okay," he whispered, and she opened her eyes, looking up at him with dark eyes full of something too heavy for either of them to speak into existence. He looked at her just the same, "I'll stay."
The way she smiled at him, even though she knew he couldn't, made him wish it was true. Made him wish they weren't sneaking around, that there was a real chance for them. Imagine waking up in this bed, with her, and not having to hide it. Imagine being hers in public, in front of her mother, being able to keep her safe and protected in all aspects of her life, not just in this room. Holding her hand in the street. Laying on a blanket with her in the sun. Laughing with her at the garden parties Elizabeth hosted, the two of them so high above it all. Leaving this place with her, for the big, wide open world. And, in years to come, watching her become a mother, at his side. He just had to kiss her, then, the emotions and the longing too much.
She turned to him, then, the white cotton bedsheet falling away from her perfect, sun-kissed skin, and crawled up into his arms, pressing her body against the length of his. His stubble scraped at her cheek as she kissed across his face, finally settling back at his lips, her tongue snaking its way into his mouth, initiating something they definitely didn't have time to do again.
She wished they could hold onto this and stay here forever, but he has to go. They've already taken too long.
2019
"We've taken too long." She tells him, breaking the spell, just as the sun disappears behind a cloud and they're back in the dim, dusty cabin. His hands fall away from her and she shivers, exposed.
"You'll be okay," his voice is close, his forehead pressed against the crown of her head, and Emily closes her eyes, wishes they could stay here forever, but she knows better than that, by now. It's too dangerous, in an entirely different, much more real, way than it was when they were younger. This is life or death.
"When did we become these people?" It's a whisper, and they don't have time for the conversation, but that's okay, because he knows she doesn't expect an answer. He just sighs, and gently touches his fingers to her hand. It's enough to turn her, which is what he wanted, and she finds in his eyes the same hopelessness that she feels in her heart. "Will I ever see you again?"
"I don't know," he has never lied to her, and he's not about to start now. It makes her ache, because she's still lying to him, and she finally remembers what she came here to do.
"Hotch-" she starts, and thinks she might finally get it out, the sacred thing she's been carrying for nearly three decades. But he stops her, with a shake of his head.
"Don't," he meets her eyes, earnestly, "whatever you're going to say, Emily, please, don't." Because he thinks she's going to confess something else entirely, "I won't be able to take it."
And, because she loves him, because she always has, and because she knows he's right, Emily holds her tongue, again. She's not telling him for him, she's telling him for her, to absolve her of some of the guilt she carries. It's not fair to burden him with it right now. It has never been the right time, and it still isn't, so, instead, she rises onto her toes and kisses him, for what may very well be the last time.
"I'll see you soon," she whispers against his lips, and then she's gone, because she's never been able to say goodbye to him, and she can't start now.