Thanks again for your reviews - here is finally the conversation ! Not quite sure where to go from here, any ideas ?
Hotch turned for the fifth time in the last hour. He hadn't closed his eyes since he had gone to bed which was about… two hours and twenty minutes ago. He sighed as his gaze fell upon the little decorated alarm clock (which Jack had insisted on buying along with his big bed). It was almost half past five but still dark outside. He had begun to hear rustling in the next room half an hour ago. Before that, it had been awfully quiet a long time, so quiet that Hotch had been tempted to go and check on his guest. He knew in his heart that Emily was not sleeping, although she made big efforts not to make any noise. Now she had apparently given up on sleep altogether, thought Hotch as he pushed away his bed covers. He could hear footsteps in the corridor, followed by some more rustling in the bathroom. Maybe there was a problem, suddenly thought Hotch as he walked down the corridor.
"Emily?"
The woman dropped something at the sound of his voice. She looked like she had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
"Are you okay?" A thousand thoughts collided in Hotch's mind. Maybe her injuries were worse than he had thought. Maybe he made a mistake not driving her to the hospital.
"Hotch! You scared me to death…" She answered with a tired voice, stretching down to pick up the bottle she had dropped. "I didn't mean to snoop…"
"Please, Emily, you're no stranger here," he brushed her justification away. "I just thought… Do you need anything? Are you not feeling well?"
Emily paused, watching the bottles of medication she had still in hand. "Actually I was looking for some aspirin…"
"Here." Hotch made a step into the bathroom and picked the right box. "You're sure you didn't hit your head?" The thought of a concussion came back with full force. He saw the moment he asked that his never-ending worrying got on Emily's nerves.
"I just have a headache, Hotch. I didn't hit my head, I swear." She finished with a tired smile. Sometimes Hotch was just too nurturing.
They stayed in silence for a moment before Hotch snapped out of his daydreaming. The situation was not really appropriate. He was standing in the doorway in his pajama pants and an old T-shirt. And Emily was leaning against the sink, looking at her feet, wearing the jogging trousers and T-shirt Hotch had lent her for the night. Tonight was a strange night indeed. Hotch cleared his throat and took two steps back, giving his friend some privacy.
"I'll go make some coffee, when you're ready…"
He didn't comment on the fact that it was 5.43 AM – a little early for coffee – and neither did she.
When Emily arrived in the kitchen, a big mug of black coffee was awaiting her on the counter and Hotch was rummaging around nervously.
"Thank you…" She said as she leant against the counter. Hotch turned around and looked a little longer than necessary at the brunette. She had changed back into her own clothes, an elegant black dress and high heeled shoes, which looked odd given the time of the day and the fact that she was in her boss' kitchen. Emily was perfectly conscious of the fact that her bruises had become darker during the night and were now fully showing on her knees, forearms and face. Hotch stopped breathing as he realized that Emily was looking him in the eye. How long had he been staring?
"I'm sorry…" he said to break this tense moment. "… I don't have much in the kitchen these days, since Jack isn't home."
"What, you send a ten years old to do grocery shopping?" she said sarcastically, taking a seat across from the counter.
"Ha ha." Hotch continued to look through his empty cupboards. "It's just that I don't really eat breakfast at home when I'm on my own…"
"I know how you feel, I too love the combination coffee-doughnut on the way to work."
It felt good to have a normal conversation, and to hear her normal, light-hearted voice, thought Hotch as he gave up on looking for anything eatable and poured himself a cup of coffee. He wasn't sure he could eat a bite anyway.
He took a seat across from the brunette and observed during a long moment how she was stirring her coffee.
"Have you slept any?" he asked, trying to read her eyes as she looked at him.
"Not better than you… I heard you move around all night."
"Touché."
Emily smiled. She knew she had to talk to him. When the sun would rise, she would have to call the garage, get ready for work, and finally go to the Bureau… and face her colleagues, who would undoubtedly question her bruises and marks.
"So, do you want to tell me what happened yesterday?" The man finally asked after another long silence, looking at his mug to avoid her burning gaze.
"Not really, but I guess I don't have the choice." She shrugged in return.
"You have, Emily. I just thought… that you could tell me anything." He raised his head as he said that and looked her in the eye, to show her that he really meant it. He knew that he didn't have the monopoly of her confidences. She was sometimes much closer to Rossi, Morgan and, of course, the girls of the group. But he always liked to think that they shared a special bond. That she could be true and natural around him.
"I want to tell you", she said, putting extra weight on the first part of the sentence. "I just don't want you to think less of me… Sometimes I'm just really stupid." Emily shook her head and continued stirring her coffee to give herself some sort of contenance.
"I don't get you." Hotch raised an eyebrow.
"I was on a date, okay? I was just going out with some random guy, and it got out of hand! It's as simple as that." Emily realized that she had spoken out a little too aggressively, but Hotch didn't comment. He just looked at her, brows furrowed, waiting for her to continue.
"Did he…"
Emily's heart stopped.
"No! No… He tried. I… kicked him in the groin before it went this far." She distinctly heard as Hotch exhaled the breath he had been holding. And suddenly, tears started to pool in her eyes. Looking at this caring man, and having to admit that she was such an easy lay was just too much to bear.
"Emily, look at me." She was interrupted in her thoughts by Hotch's hand, which came to rest on her forearm. "It's not your fault."
She couldn't help but laugh sarcastically, much to Hotch's surprise. This was such a cliché, this sentence that all victims could hear. Yet she didn't feel like a victim. She didn't want to be.
"What?"
"Nothing, I just don't count anymore how many times I've heard this…" she answered, wiping away a tear.
"I know, I'm sorry. You still need to hear it, even if it seems the obvious thing to say. You should be proud for defending yourself so well."
"You would expect more from a trained FBI agent…" Emily took a sip of her coffee. Hotch sighed.
"Even though we are dealing with perverts, rapists and murderers all week long, you are never prepared to meet one in your private life." Hotch said patiently. "Fortunately we all still believe that there are good human natures out there…"
Again Emily grinned sarcastically. "I'm not quite sure anymore."
Hotch pursed his lips. He knew where it was going. He knew that from now on, everything would bring them back to Ian Doyle and to what he had done to Emily's mind.