vi. Cornfields
"No fucking way," Michael murmurs and lets out a low whistle at the CCTV footage from the latest crime scene. "Isn't that your boy from St. Lucia?"
Emily bites back the acidic remark on the tip of her tongue when her handler pauses and zooms in on the video feed of the FBI team handling the initial scene. One quick enhanced photo still later, she's looking straight at Aaron, six months later and somehow a million years older. He looks like he holds the weight of the world on his shoulders and she instinctively feels overwhelmed with guilt. She knows it can't all be her fault, but she's not naive enough to think she didn't contribute to his current state.
"Michael, we're hunting a terrorist, not speculating about old flings," she grinds out, but the irregular flutter in her heartbeat demands that she reminisce. She hasn't spoken to him, hasn't attempted to contact him and explain her disappearance, because what's the point? She has a job to do and it takes her around the world more than a real relationship could handle.
Michael glances at her and must see something because he shuts up and gets back to work. They are hunting a terrorist. And apparently so is the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit. Exactly what she didn't want to happen.
After her medical leave ends, she gets her pick of missions because her bosses feel sorry for the still-healing puckered bullet scar on her thigh but also because she's really good, as they all had seen with St. Lucia. She doesn't think she can ever really move on, but she does what she always does and throws herself into her professional life. She chooses a terrorist-hunting mission that takes her from Cork to Dublin to Iowa, of all places. So here she is now, on a quick rotation stateside in the same fucking city as Aaron Hotchner, doing the same fucking job, searching for the same fucking terrorist who's blowing up grain silos and city hall buildings and banks in rural areas.
The terrorist they're hunting must have a thing against corn.
"Command said we need to reach out to the BAU," Emily breaks the silence. Michael cocks his head as he looks at her and goddammit now she understands why he's so good undercover, because he clearly can read everyone like a book.
"I'll go, Em," he offers with a slightly apologetic smile. "Haven't played with the FBI boys in a while. Hope they don't mind Interpol getting involved."
When Michael goes to share information with the FBI, she listens in on the audio bug Michael is wearing; they can share information, but that doesn't mean the Agencies trust each other.
The second she hears Aaron's voice and all of the strain that it holds, she runs to the trashcan to puke up her guilt.