The Fourth Year
It turns out that those birds come in handy over the next 12 months.
To say they go through hell is an understatement. Even the good cases certainly don't outweigh the bad. She feels insane and wrung out and everything negative that should not be associated with the holiday season.
She feels useless.
It's the one year she can't, she knows. She cannot wallow this year. Hotch is doing enough mourning for all of them combined and she cannot, cannot, fall apart. He gets that honour this year, this time and she vows to herself that she will be strong, she will hold steady for him.
She's not inspecting why.
It is, however, how she comes up with her plan. A plan that she probably should have put into motion years before. She doesn't have an excuse.
It takes some coaxing to get the team to agree. They're all so exhausted, so focused on recharging from their living hell that it takes her longer than she'd thought. But on Christmas Eve, the whole team gathers at Rossi's. It's a catered dinner – she doesn't blame him, she'd have done the same, she thinks – and even Jack and Hotch are there. She stays glued to their side for the extent of the evening.
She doesn't inspect that too closely either.
Eventually, they're all settled in Rossi's living room, warm and pleasantly full. Henry's already asleep on Will's lap and Jack's well on his way against Emily's shoulder. When there's a gentle lull in conversation, Emily clears her throat.
"When I was a kid, we used to have this tradition," she says quietly, gently shifting Jack's weight to Hotch's shoulder. She takes the opportunity to stand, to move to her purse and pull from within a package of Ikea tea lights and a lighter. She places them on Rossi's coffee table.
"With all of the moving around I did, there were always people I couldn't be with for the holidays. So my dad told me to light a candle for each one, to remember that even if they weren't physically with me, they were in my heart whenever it mattered."
There's a sniffle, Penelope, she thinks. She doesn't look up as she breaks into the package and withdraws one of the tiny candles. With a flick of her thumb, the lighter sparks and she presses the flame to the wick. It catches after a couple of flickers and Emily sets it gently on the table again.
"Matthew Benton did his best by me," she says quietly. "I hope he is happy and content."
Dave is the next one to pick up a candle with barely any hesitation. He lights it off of hers, a gesture that warms her heart and sets the tea light down. "Emma Schuller," he says quietly.
It doesn't take much to encourage the team to kick in after that. The list is longer than she'd like, really. Zoe Hawkes. Megan Kane. Tom Shaunessy. William Hightower. Names of those they haven't been able to save and names of those they are so endlessly glad they did. The candles pile up with alarming alacrity that leaves Emily breathless as she watches them flicker.
"Haley."
Everything stills. It's the one she'd been waiting for if she's honest, but not one that makes the pain lessen. She's not even sure what makes her do it, doesn't quite understand why she reaches over to take his hand, why she weaves their fingers together. What surprises her more is the way Hotch squeezes her fingers back.