Season Eight

The day I knew you'd not come back
I built this castle out of glass

(The Decemberists)

8.01

It would be so much easier if he could tell them. Reassure them that not only did Emily sign off on Blake, she recommended the woman. He'd had to fight for her, convince Strauss that another linguist was necessary, stressed how Blake's existing rapport with Reid would save everyone time and energy. Feigned ignorance to their history.

But Emily had been adamant. Blake had to be accepted on her own merits, in her own way, because it was the only way they'd build the trust they all needed.

And, as usual, Emily is right.

Even if it makes everything harder.

8.02

He hates empathizing with unsubs. Granted, Ellen and Darlene aren't their typical unsubs. Their motivations aren't totally nefarious - immoral, yes, but not evil. Hotch doesn't understand evil.

He understands pain.

He's only ever wanted two people dead: George Foyet and Ian Doyle. Not because they were both depraved men, but because they took the only women he's ever loved. Hotch understands from experience that a righteous kill won't ease the pain. What anger fades is only replaced by grief.

Both women will learn, soon enough, that nothing will fix what's been broken. And for that, Hotch truly feels sorry.

8.03

He knows he's supposed to want Beth to stay - it's not as though he wants her to leave, not as though he's eager to get rid of her, because he really does like her - but when she tells him about the job in New York, he's genuinely glad for her.

There's not that visceral, gnawing need to have her close. He enjoys her company and companionship and the sex is good, but he doesn't love her.

He thinks he could, someday. But he's starting to realize it'll never be like it was with Emily.

Nothing ever will be.

8.04

Jack's a ball of energy when Hotch returns from New Mexico, moving and speaking in a blur, and Jess has to translate.

"Sergio sent a care package," she informs him, smiling. She's always been strangely comfortable with Emily's role in their lives, but then, they share a willingness to go to the ends of the earth for Jack.

It's a stuffed replica of Sergio proper and a note Jack won't let him read, because it's between him and the cat.

In London, Emily wakes to a photo of Jack clutching the toy in his sleep, and it makes her day.

8.05

The similarity her new office bears to Hotch's isn't all that strange, at first. She's the boss, so the big windows overlooking the bullpen are fairly standard.

As she settles in, she makes it her own, but it's not until months later that it registers. She's unconsciously cloned his office, and now she knows why it feels like home.

After JJ sends a framed photo of Reid and Henry on Halloween, she takes it along with the ones from her office and places them around her flat and tries to believe that, eventually, it'll feel like she's home here, too.

8.06

"Sharp tie."

He glances down, then to Rossi. "Thanks. It was a birthday gift from Beth."

"She has a good eye."

"Mmhmm."

"The geometric patterns, they're sophisticated without being flashy. Silver, representing focus, balance - "

"Why are we talking about the meaning of my tie, Dave?"

"I just figured I'd help you out."

"With what?"

"You have that look. It's a nice tie. Stop profiling it."

Rossi's right, of course. He's bothered by it, because it's elegant and expensive and not him at all, and he's not sure what that says about his relationship.

He doesn't wear it again.

8.07

When he hears Rossi telling his Marine Sergeant that the country owes him for his service, his mind goes to her.

For Rossi and Scott, service was defined. For Emily, service to her country was nothing but ambiguity.

Everything she did, grey areas and all, was for the greater good: taking down one of the most dangerous men on the planet. She risked life and sanity, and when she came home, she couldn't tell a soul.

In a moment of wild clarity, Hotch takes it upon himself to make amends.

He hopes nominations for the Medal of Freedom are anonymous.

8.08

Cyber crimes are fast becoming the bane of her existence. She thinks that if people would just keep their illicit business to the servers in their own damn countries, she might actually get a lunch break now and then.

When the Gods of Combat case comes across her desk, she makes the most of it and has her assistant schedule a call.

The shrieks on the other end tell her that Garcia didn't let them in on who they'd be briefing.

In the moment her presence registers, she sees the flash of raw emotion on Hotch's face, and it aches.

8.09

Reid's rattling on about colors and symbolism on the plane ride back, and expert as he is at tuning the kid out, Hotch can't stop himself from hearing Reid wax verbose on red, and it unfurls in his mind like a flag marking a claim.

Red is Emily's color.

He remembers the eyes on her that night, following, hungering, the way, when something more than a gaze had touched her, he'd acted on primal instinct to protect what was his.

There's a magnetism that's always bound them together, her red fused to his cool blue, her fire melting his ice.

8.10

Hotch knows something about the way things should've been.

He should've made more of an effort to be at home after Jack was born. He should've appreciated Haley more.

He should've realized sooner that Foyet was the Reaper. He should've taken the deal and worked the case in secret. He should've swept his apartment that night before Foyet got the jump on him. He should've gotten to Haley before Foyet could.

He should've known about Emily's past and protected her from Doyle. He should've married her. He should've talked about children.

He should've fallen out of love with her already.

8.11

She thinks a lot about death. In her line of work, she has to, though less so now that she's not perpetually sporting Kevlar.

Before the JTF, it was a sort of abstract, a risk she'd signed up for when she joined. It didn't become real until Doyle, or rather, just before she went under. When she'd had to write a will.

Now, though, she's died. Twice. Lauren first, buried deep, then Emily with her.

It had been that feeling, the paradox of living death, that had driven her from D.C.

At least here, no one knows she's a ghost.

8.12

"It'd be too hard, Emily."

"I know." A breath rushes from her lips. She wants so badly to be there for Reid, but she knows she'll have to leave in a few days and that'll just reopen the wound.

"Stop."

"Stop what?"

"You didn't abandon him."

Heat coils in her stomach because he can still read her from across an ocean, without seeing her face.

And that's what Reid got, she realizes, even if it was brief. Much as he's hurting, she has to think it'll set him free a little, knowing it's possible for another person to truly understand.

8.13

Bryan doesn't keep his end of the deal, but Hotch does, sort of. He makes sure that people see Bryan's art.

Or rather, a person.

It's an accident, really. Except he's pretty sure, looking back, that his subconscious was setting him up. Because of all the cases, this is the one that Beth would find interesting, that provides a safe segue from art to murder. From her life to his.

He knows he didn't have to go into detail - the eyelids were a bit much - but this is his every day.

She needs to know what she's getting.

8.14

Now and then, she'll get a text or an email from one of them, telling her to call another. She likes knowing they still count her among their tangled mess of distinct and interconnected parts, the ineffable dynamic that bonds them all.

Hotch rarely tells her outright, just buries the implication in the facts of a case.

She calls JJ whenever there's a sister.

And when JJ fills in the gaps Hotch left unspoken, about an alcoholic father with a temper, she wonders if he'd known, on some level, that she'd call him the moment she hung up with JJ.

8.15

They're all scarred, figuratively and literally. They have to be, to do what they do, see what they see, and live with it. They've all touched darkness to some extent, and it's burned them. They heal, but the scar remains. Numb.

The first night back, in his bedroom, Emily had undressed in front of him. He'd seen the hesitation as she'd removed her shirt and so he'd gone first, exposing himself so she could see how they matched.

He's realizes, looking at Paul and Mitchell, that they're bound by those scars.

He thinks maybe it's something that can't be broken.

8.16

"The unit's being targeted by someone replicating past cases and he's escalated to personal contact. I want a detail with you at all times."

"Hello to you, too, Hotch."

"Emily, we have no way of knowing if his vendetta is limited to our current members. Don't think I'm not willing to go over your head."

There's a roughness to his voice that she hasn't heard since the day Haley died, and it tells her everything.

"I'll take whatever measures you do."

He should've seen that coming. It's so sublimely Emily and he smiles for the first time in days.

"Deal."

8.17

She gets a rundown of every case since she's been gone, and updates on ones they're working. It's excessive, she knows, but she doesn't ask him to stop. It makes her feel warm in a way it shouldn't when he sends her a list of possible signatures, of things the Replicator might mimic, details to watch out for. It's meticulous, bordering on neurotic, but it feels good.

She's formed relationships here, but there's not that connection. Even after Doyle, his presence had been grounding, tethering her as she struggled to find footing.

It feels good, knowing he has her back.

8.18

When he calls to fill her in on the latest case, it's different.

It has to be, because the case is so personal for Morgan. He finds a link to the footage of Morgan speaking and she watches it with him on the other end, reacting in real-time.

They've stayed away from talking emotions in the time she's been gone, sticking carefully to safe topics - work, Jack, current events, nothing too deep. But this is deep, it has to be, and it breaks that barrier they keep up.

It feels too easy, too good, and they both know it.

8.19

He tries to take something good from a case now and then.

Sometimes it's a present for Jack, to letting him know he's always on his father's mind.

Sometimes it's a picture for Beth, a vista or some interesting graffiti to make her smile.

Sometimes it's a pen to remind him of Emily, because she had a thing for stealing pens wherever they went.

When he returns from Colorado, he and Jack make a time capsule. Photos, drawings, a few knick-knacks, an FBI baseball cap: all to be opened in twenty-five years.

At the last minute, Hotch adds a pen.

8.20

The way Reid's acting brings him back to the days after they'd lost Emily.

Hotch has watched him grow up since joining the unit, and he's seen Spencer acclimate to social norms and soften the sharp edges of his awkwardness in a way none of them expected.

After Doyle, they'd all watched him, like parents afraid to leave a child. JJ had practically found herself looking after two toddlers between Henry and a reverted Reid.

Now, like then, Hotch is at a loss. Because he still falls asleep every night fearing his own dreams and the women who haunt them.

8.21

His phone pings on the flight back, the middle of the night for them, morning for her.

Saw your press conference. Did JJ dress you guys?

His brows furrow, and he replies with a series of question marks.

A winking emoticon accompanies her response.

You all wore blue. Nice profiling.

He's thinking of a comeback when another message appears.

P.S. Your fly was down.

No one else would ever say that to him. Let alone make him smile.

In the morning, there's a link to the footage in his inbox, because she knows he needs to make sure she's kidding.

8.22

He overhears Blake telling Reid about Harvard. Hears her tell him she's tired of going home to an empty house.

He knows his mind should immediately go to New York, to Beth, but there's a visceral reaction and his mind is automatically calculating the flight time to London.

He schedules the trip to New York as soon as they're home. Tells himself it's just been too long since he's seen Beth.

Tries to stop wondering what would happen if he flew to London instead and told her.

His house isn't empty. But too often, it feels like his soul is.

8.23

He's on the phone with Beth when she says the l-word the first time.

It catches him off guard, and he fumbles spectacularly. She just laughs and tells him to breathe, and that it's okay if he's not there yet, and he believes her on both counts.

He spends the train ride to New York trying to make sense of things as Jack pores over Bunnicula, and it strikes him that he doesn't want to stop loving the woman who sent it.

He gives himself permission to love two women at once, because it's the only option he has left.

8.24

"Aaron?"

She hasn't called him that in over a year. Longer since she's called him that in the middle of the night. "Emily."

"What's wrong?"

"It's - " It's harder than it used to be to detach. "The Replicator. Strauss is dead, Emily."

There's a sharp intake of air, a catch in her voice. "When?"

"Tonight. I wanted to make sure - "

"I'm safe, Aaron. He's not after me." The conversation is an echo. "I'll take precautions."

The words come accidentally. "She died in my arms."

Another echo comes over the line. "Then she wasn't afraid. You made sure."