Hotch had hoped coming back to Emily's room the next day would be easier. He'd been wrong. Again, he didn't know what to expect and obviously that meant that – again – he wouldn't be prepared. The only thing he had done was getting Emily a hot water bottle at the reception, figuring that in her current condition, it might be the only thing he could do for her. Hotch inwardly sighed at the memory of embarrassing himself in front of the receptionist. He had wanted to opt for the least sensational explanation ("My girlfriend/fiance/wife is having cramps") but that had somehow felt like betrayal. It wasn't anybody's business that Emily was on her period. Oh, and then there was the insignificant detail that Emily was not his girlfriend/fiance/wife. On the long shot that the receptionist remembered he was with the FBI, Hotch didn't want to be raising any questions among his team members because some hotel employees couldn't keep their mouth shut. So eventually, Hotch had just told the guy at the reception that his colleague was having a stomach bug which happened to be exactly what he had told the rest of the team to account for Emily's absence. Again, Hotch sighed. His mind just didn't work properly when Emily was involved...
So there he was now, standing in front of Emily's door again, afraid to knock and even more afraid not to knock. He just had to make sure she was okay... (The second he'd finished that thought, Hotch realized that this was not going to happen – no matter how well-composed Emily would pretend she was: She was still miles from "okay".) He sighed, mentally bracing himself for whatever was expecting him now.
Emily opened the door after the first knock, which Hotch wasn't sure how to interpret. Had she been waiting for him? Or had she just heard his footsteps in the hallway? He didn't bother asking because he knew if she'd been sitting right next to the door all morning, she wouldn't admit it anyways. So instead, he just said "Good morning" and followed Emily's invitation to enter the room. On the second thought, invitation didn't seem like the right word. All it took was one look in her puffy eyes, one look behind that cracked up facade of hers, and Hotch knew that she didn't want him there. He gulped, trying to convince himself that her denial wasn't only aimed against him but everybody. She was still Emily Prentiss, after all. She barely ever broke down but when she did, she didn't allow any witnesses. Especially not him!
Seconds – minutes? – passed, spent awkwardly standing next to the door. While Emily was evidently trying to avoid Hotch's gaze, he was busy deciding what to say to her. Eventually, he opted for a "You promised you'd talk to me today", then realized he sounded like a stubborn child. But you said I could have candy after dinner! Involuntarily, his thoughts wandered off to his son. Thank god he had finally grown out of the defiant phase. And thank god he seemed to have handled his mom's death pretty well. Hotch sighed. For all he knew, Jack was okay. But Emily wasn't. She was trying to hide it, of course, but he was pretty sure she had spent a large part of the previous night lying awake. She didn't look like she had gotten any sleep at all but that was something they both had in common. Hotch himself, however, had spent the night thinking whereas Emily looked like she'd spent it crying. He tried not to stare at at but couldn't help but notice how she was pressing her hand against her stomach, grimacing with pain.
Oh, right! He offered her the hot water bottle and felt strangely relieved when she actually took it and pressed it against her lower abdomen. "I figured..." Emily nodded quickly so he wouldn't say it. "Thank you." She mumbled. "Do you wanna sit down?" Hotch worriedly asked. She pressed her lips together, gazing towards her bed which was the only available sitting accommodation in the whole room. She was just about to shake her head when another cramp all but knocked the breath out of her. Resignedly, she sat down on her bed, leaning against the headboard.
"I think I might have some Ibuprofen in my suitcase..." Emily violently shook her head no and murmured something like "I'm fine" but the way she pressed the hot water bottle against her skin gave away how big the pain was.
"Is it better when you lie down?" "I don't know." Her answer made Hotch frown. How could she not know whether the pain getting manageable when she lay down? He decided to only interpret Emily's answer as a hint that she didn't want to talk about it, so Hotch wordlessly sat down on the second bed – the one that would've been JJ's if she hadn't called in sick - and looked at Emily. She was clutching the hot water bottle so tightly against her body that Hotch was afraid she would get burned. But then, barely a second later, she looked up and their eyes met for a brief second. She had caught him staring at her. Resolutely, she grabbed the hot water bottle and put it on the nightstand before sitting up.
Silence.
"I don't think you're weak, Emily"
She didn't respond verbally but Hotch could see that he had hit home. Her breathing rhythm had increased and he felt like Emily was deliberately avoiding his gaze. "You're in pain. You're hurt. That's nothing to be ashamed of, Emily." He saw her biting her lip at his last statement, as if she was trying to keep herself from contradicting him. "Talk to me." She pressed her lips together and didn't answer. Hesitatingly, she reached out for the hot water bottle and pressed it against her belly again. "Is it... worse than usually?" Emily bit her lip and didn't respond for long enough to cause Hotch to worry whether his question had gone to far, but eventually, she spoke: "Yes? I... I'm not sure. It just feels... different." "Different how?" She shook her head, indicating that she didn't want to answer his question. Hotch understood immediately and didn't push it.
Silence.
"So you did get examined." He stated after a while, not knowing what else to say. If Emily had been given an emergency contraceptive, then she had gotten examined. Emily nodded and Hotch frowned. Then why had she told him there was no evidence, no file? "There is no rape-kit labeled Emily Prentiss in this hospital." Hotch remembered the exact wording because it had turned his stomach. Back in his office, he had actually believed her – believed that he had either waited those four hours in vain or that was going insane. Both options were not really appealing... This time, he wasn't going to drop it that quickly. Hotch shot Emily a look of expectancy and – lo and behold – his pseudo-interrogation-technique worked. "I... I made my doctor code the... DNA samples." Emily confessed. "I signed something to confirm that the code belongs to me. So if CODIS comes up with a match, the chain of evidence is still intact and the DNA samples be matched to me without any doubt." Emily paused and Hotch finished the sentence for her: "...but if there's no match, nothing of all this is put in your medical file."
Emily nodded guiltily. "We're FBI. If something like that showed up in my medical file, my superiors would be notified." Hotch knew whom she meant: Strauss, who would probably murmur her condolences while signing a statement that declared Emily suspended until she had served so and so many sessions with an FBI-assigned shrink. And that took time – more time than a stomach bug. The team would find out the truth eventually.
Hotch knew he should be saying something. Knew that as her superior, he should at least make a comment about this being a legal grey area, tops. But knowing that Emily had done all this just so nobody would find out sent cold shivers down his spine. How could she be so ashamed for something that wasn't even her fault? His thoughts were being interrupted by a low whimper. Hotch shot her a worried glance. "It hurts" She whispered. Hotch nodded understandingly but Emily shook her head. "Not the..." She gestured towards the hot water bottle pressed against her belly. "Not... there." She gave him a meaningful look. Oh.
"Everything's just... sore. I... don't remember what he did, but I... I can feel it, Hotch. I know that he must have done... some things because..." She tried to blink away the tears threatening to overwhelm her. When she realized she wouldn't win no matter how hard she tried, she just kept talking, pretending not to notice the tears running down her cheeks and hoping for Hotch to do the same. Of course he didn't. He opened his mouth to say something and thereby cut her off. Emily finished her sentence with a brief "... it just hurts", and Hotch couldn't escape the feeling that there had been something else she'd wanted to say. He felt like he'd just screwed up but that was basically how he'd been feeling for the past two days. He just wanted to make her feel safe. Why did it feel like all he'd made her so far was cry? Wasn't there anything he could to to help her? Hotch suddenly felt the urge to just get up and sit next to her but he didn't dare, not knowing how she'd react. Sure, last night they had sat next to each other and she'd even allowed him to hold her hand for a brief moment, but the bed was different, right? Hotch opted for a compromise by just leaning a bit further towards her without leaving his bed. The timid, ashamed look on her face told him that he'd probably made the right decision.
"I can't even say it, Aaron." Emily whispered. "How am I supposed to get over... what happened when I can't even say it?" Hotch didn't respond, not wanting to push her. He couldn't make her say it. Didn't want to make her say it. It had to be her choice. She had to be the one saying it, and she had to be the one deciding when to do so. After all the times he'd looked at her when she'd clearly not wanted him to, all the times he'd talked to her when all she'd wanted was being left alone, he just owed her to wait until she was ready, no matter whether it took her ten seconds or ten hours.
So he did. He just waited. Waited for her to realize that what had happened had happened, no matter whether she admitted it or not. Waited for her to have courage and shame fight their decisive battle. Waited. Waited. Waited. And then, suddenly, the waiting came to an end.
"You..." Emily cleared her throat, knowing that would buy her an extra second. Then she inhaled deeply and let out a painful sigh. "You were right, Hotch. I... I was raped." And with that, she had finally admitted it. She was no longer in denial, no longer hiding, no longer lying. But they both knew that this was far from over...
A/N: Sooo... As Emily is no longer in denial, this is were the story ends - but of course not forever! There will be another sequel called "Despair" soon, again dealing with just what the title predicts. As it will be posted as a "new" story, the regular automatic sequel alert email thingie won't work unless you "follow" me as an author. And no, that's not just a cheap trick to get more followers. In my opinion, posting "Disgust", "Denial" and "Despair" as stand-alone fanfictions just makes more sense! Why don't you just pass the time waiting for "Despair" telling me what you think about this final chapter and/or the whole story? :)