Episode: Nameless, Faceless
She couldn't help it. Every step she took, Emily was looking out for Hotch, wondering where he was as the case progressed. It was early, yes, but not so much so that he wouldn't have been able to function.
For a brief moment, Emily wondered if he was with someone.
She asked where he was. Nobody knew. She listened to JJ's conversation with his answering machine.
She was scared. After everything that had happened, run-ins with death, the last case they'd had, everything, it was hard not to worry. Emily pushed all realisations that the only person she was truly worried about was the one she should've worried about the least.
It didn't matter, though. She continued to be wary, each tall man with dark hair she saw making her turn her head. Each low voice causing her to search for a face.
Emily asked JJ again for any word on him. Her mind was unfocused, blank. A voice in her head that sounded painfully like his scolded her for treating the case with such little care.
She told that voice to screw off.
It was only when Dr Barton talked about not being able to get through so many files that she realised her window of opportunity.
"He's right, there are too many files here for us to profile in such a short period of time," Emily stood, glancing at her watch. "Umm, I can get to Hotch's and get back here in half an hour," Emily prayed that Reid would give her free rein on this, but even if he didn't she was already inching towards the door.
"Who's that?"
Reid sighed. "He's our supervisor, we weren't supposed to work today and we've had trouble getting a hold of him."
"But... we need more eyes," Emily turned and left the house, breathing a sigh of relief as she got into the dark SUV. She wanted to see him. God, she needed to see him.
It wasn't until she got into the apartment that she realised anything was wrong.
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Emily rushed into Hotch's apartment building, looking around quickly as she walked down the hallway to his door.
"Hotch, it's me, Emily!" She glanced down, dialing his cell number, wondering how he could be such a heavy sleeper.
If he was inside at all.
The ringing of his phone inside was her first indication. If she had been thinking straight, she would have realised that there had been others. But Emily wasn't thinking straight. Especially not when the door just opened.
She drew her gun, immediately bursting in and profiling the room. Keys on table, briefcase set down.
Hole in wall.
Bloodstain on floor.
Emily's mouth dropped open as she processed the scene before her, trying to think straight. She needed to clear the apartment. Emily moved through the rooms quickly, securing each small corner and dark hiding place. She checked the whole place three times before beginning to pace through the living room area, trying to wrap her mind around what had happened.
She forced her personal matters out of her head—forced newfound realisations about his lifestyle out— as she dialed Garcia's number.
"Garcia I need you to listen very carefully, I think something's happened to Hotch," Emily's voice was flat, monotone as she tried to stay unbiased.
"What do you mean, something?"
"I don't know, but I'm in his place, here, and there's blood."
"Oh my god."
"I need you to send police and FBI techs here right away, everyone available," Her guise was slipping and soon it would be discarded completely. It never even occurred to either of the women that anything short of the entire police and FBI taskforce would be less than enough.
"Want me to issue an APB?"
"Only on Hotch, I checked out front, his car's still here."
"Someone took him?"
"I- I don't know, there's blood but I can't be sure whose it is, just get people here." She couldn't hold up much longer. The words were shaky and her knees were threatening to give out.
"I'm sending an army."
"Garcia, I'm gonna have to tell Reid because he's expecting me back, but you can't tell the others. They cannot be distracted."
"Ok. Ok..."
Emily collapsed onto the couch, feeling tears stinging at her eyes. Rubbing them away quickly, the voice in her head spoke again, telling her she had more pressing matters at hand. Emily stood, pushing the voice out and stumbling into Hotch's bathroom, washing her face in the small sink. Looking up at her reflection, Emily was suddenly glad she wore waterproof mascara. Still, she looked like a mess. Emily closed her eyes, wiping her face off with a small hand towel. For a moment, she lingered, pressing it to her face, feeling the tears threaten to come back.
He might be dead. He might be dead and there was nothing I could have done.
Suddenly, she tossed the towel down, pulling open the door and beginning to scan every inch of the apartment. Going quickly through his desk, Emily pulled out a pad of paper and pencil (surprise, surprise, he was a neat freak at work and at home) and set to work, writing down every tiny detail about Hotch's home.
If she was going to do one thing in her life, it would be making sure the son of a bitch who did this was either behind bars for life or six feet under.
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"Talk to me, Garcia." Emily watched the Bureau techs wander around Hotch's apartment, fighting an urge to tell them to stop rooting through his personal things.
"I- I called hospitals to see if Hotch had gotten himself admitted into an emergency room."
"And?" She had no time for anything but straight facts.
"Well, he's not listed as a patient, but someone dropped a 'John Doe' off at St. Sebastian hospital and that someone's name was FBI Agent Derek Morgan."
"That doesn't make sense," Emily frowned, her mind running at a million miles an hour.
"I know, do you think they got their credentials mixed up?"
Cold realisation poured down on Emily, as her mind unfurled a revelation. "The reaper. Foyet took Morgan's creds."
"Why would he drop him off at the ER?"
"What hospital did you say again?"
"St. Sebastian hospital."
"I'll call you with an update when I get there," She took off running, out the door, down the hallway and to her car, the only thought in her head being that the reaper never left survivors unless he had a reason.
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"He was stabbed nine times but no major arteries were hit. It's a miracle he's alive."
"When will he wake up?'
"Anesthesia should wear off within the hour but he's bound to be out of it."
"May I stay here?"
"Of course."
Emily watched as the nurse left the room, choosing to pull a chair forward. She studied his vitals for a moment before her eyes rested on his steady breathing.
She knew that in books and movies people would talk to the person who was lying there. They would have a long spiel about how much they loved them and how all they wanted was for them to wake up. Then the person would awake and they'd kiss and everything would be alright.
But here... here, when Hotch awoke all that would happen would be a month of recovery time and the looming presence of Foyet hanging over them until he struck again. So, as Emily edged forward, taking Hotch's hand in hers, the only thing she could think to say was,
"Sleep, Hotch. I can't promise it'll be better when you wake up, but I promise I'll be here."
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The slight flutter of his eyelashes as he awoke made Emily almost smile. She pulled it back, though, trying to separate her emotions from her work. Hotch needed Prentiss right now. Not Emily.
"Can you remember what happened?"
Hotch could feel the lights burning against his lids, the harsh brightness cut slightly by squeezing his eyes shut. His chest had a dull ache throbbing through it, causing him to want to wince. Instead, he recalled the memories, sharp and clear as if he was experiencing them again.
"What did he take?" He whispered, his voice hoarse and dry. Opening his eyes slightly, Hotch looked up at Emily, her face looking grim and dark.
"What do you mean?"
"The reaper always takes something from his victims. Do you know what he took?" His words were soft, trying to make sense of it all.
Then Emily. Emily spoke, her voice laced with concern as she told him words he had hoped never to hear.
"There was a page missing from your day planner in the address section, the B's."
` Hotch gritted his teeth, realisation running through him. "What'd he leave?"
"I don't know."
"He also leaves something with his victims."
"I looked over your whole apartment, nothing felt out of place."
"Where are my clothes?" He sighed as he opened his eyes, watching Emily come over, pulling out a shirt soaked with blood. His blood.
His wallet he retrieved, visions of the picture Foyet had stashed in the elderly couple's car dancing through his head as he stared back at the image of Jack and Hayley.
"Hayley's maiden name is Brooks. I always listed her in the B's with her personal information in case it fell into the wrong hands," Hotch looked up at the faces of his teammates, suddenly feeling horribly exposed before them.
"He knows where they live."
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Emily sat beside Hotch as he stared at the picture of Hayley and Jack. He was aware of her watching him. He was glad she was there, glad she had insisted upon staying with him. He lowered the photo, shooting a quick glance towards Emily, who was watching him worriedly. He closed his eyes and Emily leaned forward, watching closely.
He was only out for a few seconds before his heart rate suddenly spiked, Emily standing up immediately, moving quickly to his side, terrified of touching him for fear of something happening. Was it a nightmare? A vision? A panic attack? The nurse ran in, calling his name as Hotch awoke, looking like nothing had happened.
"I'm ok," He breathed, trying to reassure Emily. He wanted to be there for her, wanted to prove that he was strong enough to get through this and still remain as her rock. But as she left the room under direct orders, he was afraid that his stoic demeanour was crumbling, and soon all that would be left would be a broken shell of a man with nobody to turn to.
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Emily watched Hotch through the glass, fear pumping through her, overwhelming her. She realised how close he had come to death. How Foyet could have killed him without even batting an eye. The thought terrified her. More than crashing a car, more than being shot by an UNSUB who was too skinny to win in Fight Club, more than anything they had been through, she was scared for Hotch now.
But it wasn't just fear that was running through her. It was something else. Something she had tamped down for so long, for so many months and even years. Memories of his lips on hers, the spark that flared up every time he so much as brushed past her flashed through her mind and suddenly the realisation hit Emily so hard that her head spun and she had to turn away.
She was in love with him. She was in love with her boss. She was in love with Supervisory Special Agent In Command Aaron Hotchner.
And she had it bad. Emily had never felt this way before for anyone. Sure, she'd had a few serious boyfriends but nothing ever this serious. And they weren't even in a relationship. Emily's newfound thoughts were sending her into a tailspin, causing her to try and justify her feelings. All she could think of, though, was Hotch being stabbed by Foyet over and over and over again. Her mind flashed between love and panic, tangling into a horrible mess of pain.
She watched Hotch's eyes close as he drifted into a drug-induced sleep. The nurses left and Emily resumed her position beside his bed, trying to will the tears to stop flowing as she silently hoped that this ordeal would end only in the death of Foyet.
'It would be nice
To hear you say 'you are the one and yes I knew it all along'
I think it would be nice'
2,000 words. I think I did a pretty good job on this one, but I kind of felt like I missed something. No idea what, but ah well. Please review, I absolutely adore them! P.S: The quote at the end it from the song right beneath this.
Song: Cosmic Ambulance - Lavers
