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The woman stared down at her hand, the smear of blood unnaturally dark against the stark white carpet of snow at her feet. She felt a trickle of it run down from her nose and, almost hesitatingly, spill over her lip. The taste made her want to vomit.
Oh Matthew...
The faded photograph in her left hand, the frantic beating of her heart, the cacophony of memories clamouring for attention behind every blink – Johnny thrashing, the fire in that priest’s eyes, Hotch’s anger – all seemed very far away. The thick air seemed to muff the traffic in the street and the sirens she had left behind her.
Regret was a familiar shroud, and Emily Prentiss usually wore it well. With all that she had seen, all that she had done, her usual poise was a skill hard won and well honed. Tonight, however...
She stared down at her fifteen year old self, grinning in unabashed glee between Matthew and Johnny, and felt the bile rise once again in her throat. Friends were not something she that her teenage self had been accustomed to having, let alone ones who would stand with her against the condemnations of their congregation. For a few, glorious months she had even been happy... Thirty years later, one friend was dead and the other almost so.
Life is a game of chance, and sooner or later the player rolls a hard eight. Given her line of work, Emily supposed it was fortunate hers had taken so long. Reid had recovered. Garcia had healed. Gideon had escaped... Her teammates had walked through fire, one and all, and had bested the odds every time.
Was this the payoff, then? The suffering of old friends to save the lives of the new? The preceding days had awoken old angers, and older confusions. She had long given up on trying to understand her feelings towards God, religion, and the ‘big questions’, preferring to repress those thoughts. Having lived a lie for as long as she had, Emily had to admit her morality was skewed to justify the means to an end. She would protect violently, if the need arose. Easier to resolve was the existence of evil; a tangible, visceral thing present in the face of all those she had helped put away.
Emily took in a deep breath of the bitter air, feeling the chill permeate her chest. The snow was falling heavily now, collecting on her dark hair like a widow’s cap. She wondered abruptly how long she had been standing there, staring blankly at the ground in front of her. Long enough for the cold to thoroughly numb her fingers and toes. Long enough to dampen her hair. Long enough for the snow to so settle thickly on pavement that she didn’t hear the approaching footsteps until they were almost upon her.
“Emily, are you alright?” Aaron Hotchner asked. He looked her over carefully, reaching out to lay a gentle hand on her elbow. “You’re shivering... You’ve been bleeding.” His voice rose in concern.
Emily opened her mouth, but was unable to find words. She found herself unconsciously leading into the warmth and reassurance of his touch. She raised her hand to her face, bushing at the dried blood. “Nosebleed”, she managed.
“I’m taking you home,” he said, placing his hand on the small of her back. He guided Emily towards the black SUV he had parked a few yards down the road, and opened the passenger door for her to get in. She hesitated however, hand on the open door. “Can... Can we go to yours?” she asked, hesitatingly. The past few days had been tumultuous for the pair, and they had fought – professionally and privately – unlike they had ever before. And yet... The thought of returning to the photographs in her apartment, the memories within...
Aaron looked surprised, but he acquiesced. “Yeah, we can,” he said gently.
“Jack?”
“With Haley... Emily, it’s going to be okay.”
She closed her eyes briefly, memory of Matthew thrashing against his restraints flashing before her eyes. “Is it?” she replied, somewhat desperately, but Aaron’s hand was still a reassuring presence on her back, and his eyes were soft as they met hers.
“Yes,” Aaron said. “It might not be good or right for a while... but it will be okay.” She swallowed, throat tight, but comforted for the first time in days. She climbed into the SUV, sinking back into the soft leather in exhaustion. Aaron circled the car, fiddling immediately with the heat controls before he was truly settled. The warm blast was exceedingly welcome. Emily shrugged off her wet coat and raised her hands to the vent, feeling her fingers start to thaw.
Aaron navigated his way through the evening traffic, glancing frequently over to where Emily sat. She felt his concern, and wished she had the energy to reciprocate. Abruptly she remembered Garcia’s horoscope from a few weeks prior – if being demonstrative and warm is difficult, then neutralise this temporary cold front with a simply but affectionate gesture – with no small amount of chagrin. However... She reached out and took Aaron’s from where it rested on the gearshift, entwining their fingers together. He gripped her hand tightly, concern etched into the premature lines of his face. They drove the remaining distance like that, the gearshift held between their clasped hands.
Aaron took her hand again as they crossed the basement parking garage, to Emily’s surprise. Their public displays of affection were nonexistent, their few dates conducted with plausible deniability in mind. In the moment, however, she found herself unconcerned. It was late, and she was exhausted. She leant into the comfort of his shoulder, and in the elevator his other arm came up to bring her into an embrace.
It wasn’t until they reached the safety of Aaron’s apartment that she broke down, sobbing until his shirt was as damp as her own. He sat with her, wise enough to her behaviour to know when to offer consoling words and when to stay silent, when to let her be and when to hold her tight.
“How did you find me?” she asked him later, drained of emotion and tears both, as they sat curled together on his sofa.
“I had Garcia do her magic,” he admitted. “You weren’t answering your phone. I was worried.” Emily patted her jacket for the recognisable lump of her phone and checked the screen:
6 missed calls
15 unread messages
Emily swallowed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think to check it.”
“You don’t need to apologise,” Aaron replied. “This last week has been incredibly difficult for you, I understand that, and I was limited in what I could do to help. I’m sorry if being a good boss made me a bad boyfriend.”
“I do though,” she pressed. “I put you and the team in a very bad position. I pushed the boundaries of professionalism and international diplomacy... And I’ve upset you, Aaron. I have never worked for a better person, and I have never dated a better man. I am so sorry.”
Aaron’s eyes had gotten brighter and his expression softer as she spoke, squeezing her hands between his. When she finished, he leaned in slowly and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.
“Are we okay?” He asked, leaning back slightly to see her sad smile.
“Yeah,” she replied. “We’ll be fine.”
“And are you okay?” He pressed.
Emily considered his question, felt his hands cradling hers, and met his gentle gaze.
“I will be.”