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Some days (the days when the night before was filled with restless sleep, plagued with lilac freesias and thick Irish accents, phantom pains in her gut and the faded sound of sirens) it feels suffocating to be there, to be back.
Sitting there, in the bullpen, when things don't quite feel normal yet, she's constantly on edge. Constantly overcompensating, trying to keep track of six other people and their moods. It's something that used to be second nature to her, being able to know when each of them needed her, but now it's draining - and sometimes it's just too much to maintain.
Penelope comes into the bullpen more these days, making some excuse or another to bring files in or talk to Hotch, just so she can make her way past Emily's desk. She pretends not to notice how frequent it is, just sends her the occasional smile when she looks up from her computer, stopping her to chat when her workload isn't too high. The light in Pen's eyes has started to shine again, but nowhere near as brightly as it did before, and god it hurts to know she'd been the one to extinguish it.
JJ's almost the complete opposite, keeping more to herself now than she did before. She keeps her head down, hard at work, because it's still too awkward with Spencer for the laughter and comfort that previously filled their team to return. Emily tries with her though, bringing coffees and snacks just to see the smile light up in her eyes. It'll get better, she assures her one day when they go out for lunch, he just needs time. (But part of her doesn't believe it herself - and even if everyone forgives JJ, will they ever really forgive her?)
Spencer is the most reserved, quieter than he's ever been. The bags under his eyes get deeper and deeper everyday, and there used to be a time where she'd be able to ask him about it without a second thought, promises of movie nights and coffee dates bringing a smile to his face. Now, trying to profile him is exhausting her, and she doesn't know how to be the person she used to be to him. But she's trying, god she's trying, she just doesn't think that person exists anymore.
She finds it easier to work at her relationship with Derek. He doesn't cover his anguish and she's never had to second guess where she stands with him - she knows he's pissed, he's hurt, he feels betrayed, but she also knows how to fix it, because she knows her partner better than nearly anyone else on their team. But it's hard, still, putting on the mask of who she used to be, and even harder to pretend it isn't suffocating her.
Dave, to his credit, is the only one who doesn't try and pretend that things are still the same. He brings her tea (decaf) because he knows she needs to relax, and he always flips the conversation onto her. He asks how she is, if she's having nightmares - questions he knows the rest of the team still find too raw to ask. She appreciates the effort, but she lies, most of the time, pretends everything's okay, because that's so much easier than trying to explain how exhausting it is to be back. Especially when she knows she should be grateful she even gets a second chance here.
So on those days, when her exhaustion is bone deep, the feeling of being there smothers her, a hand reaching into her chest and closing off her airways.
Those days, the panic and the fear is bubbling just below the surface, rather than deep down in the boxes she'd sealed them in. She finds herself unable to breathe, unable to keep up pretences, unable to carry on pretending with people who had to bury her for god's sake because she just wants it to be normal again but she can't be normal, why can't she be normal?
Somehow, she can't help that think that maybe she should have just stayed in Paris because god what was the point in coming back when she feels like she's still buried six feet under?
"Prentiss?"
Her heart drops when he calls her name, because she thinks rebuilding her relationship with him might be the hardest of all.
They'd been... something before she left, just barely, years of pining and heartache finally culminating when they'd nearly gotten themselves killed - turns out, nearly dying together was the perfect time for emotional declarations. Except, they'd had all but a tentative few months together, clandestine nights in hotel rooms broken up by the few dinner dates they'd managed to fit in, before the call from Sean McAllister shattered every hope she'd had of building something with him.
She'd pulled away, shut him out completely, because there'd been no way of keeping him safe without breaking his heart in some form. It had been easier that way, because it had been over almost as quickly as it had begun. She closed herself off, and so did he, too hurt after years of heartache to act in any form other than self preservation. She was grateful, almost, that he'd shut her out too, because then she could pretend they'd never happened, simply one of many vivid dreams she'd had of them over the years. Sometimes though, when she'd accidentally meet his gaze across the jet after managing to avoid him for days, she could see it in his eyes - the confusion and the anger and the hurt, that after everything they'd been through she'd just throw them away for nothing. It had been worth it though, in some horribly twisted way, because it had kept him safe.
But now that she's back, she doesn't know where she stands with him. She'd expected some kind of conversation, questions and anger and frustration about what had happened, but she got nothing. Just a meeting on her first proper day back at work to sort out paperwork, where he'd finished by telling her he was glad it was over. Glad she was safe.
So she's surprised, to say the least, that he's calling her into his office because she can count all the times they've been alone together since her return on one hand.
He invites her in, asking her to shut the door behind her, and that's what has her heart racing, because that door always remains open unless something particularly private or confidential is going to be discussed.
"I'm not sure if you're aware, but I have to conduct an ongoing evaluation of your transition back into the field." He says, leaning forward in his chair to open the file on the desk in front of him.
Her heart sinks a little, because even though she knew he'd never start a personal conversation at work, she'd hoped for at least something.
"How are you?" He asks when she does nothing but nod, his eyes holding her gaze. She feels uncomfortable, because she knows she cannot lie to him. It was one of the things she'd loved about him, the way he knew her so well, but now it terrifies her.
And she hates it, how calm he is, because she knows she hurt him and he's not addressed any of it since she's been back. She wants him to snap, shout, anything other than pretend it hadn't all happened. The man sat in front of her is not the man she knows. This is not the man she'd stay up until 3am with, talking about everything and nothing. This is not the man who knew her, the real her, an intimate knowledge of who she was and how her mind worked. No, that man never shows himself in the office, never has, but god that's who she needs to see right now, not her boss. So she can't help but push him - she wants to see how long before one of them breaks, because she misses him but she has no right to say that, not anymore.
"Really? That's all you've got? How am I?" She bites, her tone clipped and her eyebrow raised.
His eyes flash but he composes himself quickly, placing his pen down as he rubs his thumb against his fingers. His tell, she notes somewhere in the back of her mind, and it's comforting to know he's not as unbothered by the situation as he appears.
"Emily, you know I have to ask. It's routine, and I figured you'd rather not do this with Strauss." He says gently, and god she just wants to get this over and done with.
"Right." She sighs, and she deflates a little because she knows he'll see through her lie, but she says it anyway. "I'm fine. Therapy is going well, as is my recertification training with Morgan. I'm glad to be back."
He raises an eyebrow slightly, noting something in the file before closing it and pushing it away.
"And the nightmares?"
"Excuse me?" She asks, heart thumping in her chest because no, she can't do this, not here and definitely not with him.
"I've been where you are Emily, I know what you're going through."
And that's the last straw, because she's just too exhausted to do this today and she can't bring herself to keep lying when she knows he'll call her out on it.
"All due respect, sir," she grits out, a twisted sense of pride rushing through her at the poorly disguised shock that flits across his face, "You have absolutely no idea. We didn't have to bury you."
And she knows she's being unfair, because she'd been there on the nights he'd woken up in a cold sweat, Foyet haunting him even a year after his death. She knows that he can understand what she's going through better than anyone. But at the same time, he just couldn't understand what it's like, being back there after everything, in a place that doesn't feel like home anymore and a family that doesn't quite fit the same.
She stands, forcing herself to regulate her breathing and push down the all too familiar panic that's been tightening in her chest from the moment she stepped into the office. "Thank you for checking on me. But I think I should complete these sessions with Chief Strauss."
He doesn't say anything, just gives a short nod as the frown on his face deepens, and it's not lost on her that no one else would have gotten away with that. If that's the only appearance Aaron will make, then she can live with that.
It's with a trembling hand that she knocks on his door, the anxiety from the day still bubbling beneath her skin. She waits with bated breath as she hears footsteps behind the door, which opens to reveal Aaron's face, confused and concerned.
"Emily? Are you okay?"
She fidgets slightly, looking down at her fingernails which she's bitten red raw, before giving him a sheepish smile. "Hi. I uh - I wanted to apologise, for earlier. You were just trying to help and uh - you didn't deserve that. I'm sorry."
He lets out a sigh, stepping back slightly and opening the door further. "Come in."
He moves in silence through the apartment, gesturing for her to sit on the couch as he moves to the kitchen, the soft clinking of mugs and the click of the kettle echoing through the silence. She ignores the gesture, instead walking slowly about the living room, taking in all the changes. It feels more like a home than it did before, Jacks toys scattered around the room and more photos on the mantelpiece. She spots one she's not seen before, one that wasn't there the last time she was. It's from earlier that year, a mere week before she'd had that phone call, the one that changed everything.
"It's from JJ’s birthday." He says quietly from behind her and she jumps, not having heard him come up behind her. She remembers the night well, because they'd agreed not to tell the team about them just yet, but their not so covert looks and gentle touches had earned them a number of raised eyebrows. She'd gotten into work the next day to find Penelope sat by her desk, a coffee for her in hand and a sly smile that told her she was in for an interrogation.
"I remember." She replies softly, smiling to herself despite the sadness the memories now trigger. She turns to face him, and spots the steaming mug he’s holding out for her.
“Tea?” She asks, slightly raising an eyebrow because she knows he only drinks coffee.
“Yeah.” He nods, placing it in her outstretched hand and turning to make his way to the couch. “It’s decaf.” He adds when she stays in the same spot, the same questioning look still on her face.
“You knew I’d come.” She says, candid, because she knows he'll be honest with her. And she knows there’s no other reason he’d have tea in his cupboards.
“I...” He sighs, eyes trailing over her as she comes to sit on the opposite end of the couch, more space between them than there ever has been within the walls of his apartment. “I hoped you would.”
She gives him a small smile, lets herself fall into the tenderness of his gaze for just a moment. Lets herself pretend the last seven months haven't happened, that she didn't break his trust and throw their happiness away.
"Emily I... Why are you here?"
She lets out a slow breath, trying to gather her thoughts, all the words she'd spent nights in Paris imagining herself saying to him when she returned - and none of them come to her. Instead, her anxiety ripples again, the vines of ivy looping around her lungs as everything bubbles to the surface.
“You know... half the time I was gone, all I could think about was the team. How much I missed them, how awful I felt for what I did, how upset everyone would be with me. But it was worth it, you know? Because I’d kept you all safe. And now that I’m back, it’s... god it's so hard Aaron. I knew that this is how they’d react but... it's hard.”
"Em, it's going to take time." He says softly, Emily's heart fluttering at her old nickname slipping out without thought. "They... It was a hard few months, and it may not seem like it but they understand that you did what you did to protect us. We all do."
"All of you?" She whispers, and he just smiles softly in reply, a tenderness she hasn't seen in months crossing his face.
“What was the other half?” He asks instead, a glint in his eye she doesn't recognise.
"Hm?"
"What did you think about the other half of the time?"
It nearly makes her laugh, because of course he'd catch onto that. She doesn't though, instead picking at her fingernails again, nerves clawing at her throat and the fear of rejection looming over her.
“You,” she whispers. “And how if I ever saw you again all I’d want to do is tell you how sorry I am. I didn't even... I wasn't sure if you'd even want me to come back.”
She doesn't notice the tear that's slipped out until he shifts closer and reaches out to brush it away, a thumb swiping gently over her cheekbone before falling to rest on her knee. His gaze is fierce, the embers of the flame they'd kindled together still flickering in his eyes, reignited by her admission.
"God, Emily... of course I wanted you to come back. It took me a while, but sweetheart, I understand, of course I do."
And that hurts, somehow, because there's hope in his voice that she feels in her gut, both of them clinging onto this tentative thing that could so easily shatter again. She takes in a shuddering breath, letting her hand cover his where it rests on her leg, interlinking their fingers.
"I missed you. I still do."
It's a confession, a gaping wound carved over her heart, leaving her exposed and vulnerable. And it barely scratches the surface, barely explains why she can't breathe when she's around him, too overwhelmed by the battle between how much she needs him and the fear she'll ruin everything again.
"I miss you too." He whispers, and pulls her in for a hug, one hand sliding around her waist while the other glides through her hair, resting at the base of her head as she buries her face in his neck. "I'm sorry we haven't spoken since you came back," he murmurs against her head. "I wanted to give you space, I wasn't sure if... I didn't know where we stood."
She pulls away slightly, giving him a sad smile as she reaches out to cup his cheek, heart fluttering when he turns to press a kiss to her palm. "I wish we could go back to how everything was before," she whispers. "But I'm not the same person as I was then."
"That's okay. It doesn't change how I feel about you."
God. It had been there the whole conversation, an undercurrent of emotion emphasised by his every word, but the confirmation that they still have something has her heart soaring. It's exhilarating, but terrifying, because she's barely keeping her head above water and she's not sure she has much to give him - not when she hardly has anything left for herself.
But there's a look in his eye, a kind of affection she hasn't seen since before Doyle, before everything went south. It has her leaning in, pressing her forehead against his, the desperate need to feel him against her bubbling beneath her skin.
"Aaron this - it's going to take time." She whispers, aching to brush her lips against his, just once.
His head nudges forward ever so slightly on instinct, his lips just millimetres from hers. She can feel the heat radiating off of him, his breath fanning over her lips, and can feel the desperation, knows the way he wants to close the distance between them because god it's the same desperation she feels herself.
"I'll be here when you're ready." It's a promise, breathed gently over her as her eyes flutter shut. He makes the decision for them, pulling away slowly and pressing a kiss to her forehead instead - because they both know they're not ready yet, and complicating things will ruin them.
"Come here." He whispers. She sighs, curling up against him and letting him manoeuvre them so they're lying down, her head rested on her chest and his hand on her spine.
"I don't deserve you," she murmurs. "How are you so okay after everything?"
"What happened to you - what happened to us - it wasn't your fault Emily. You did what you had to do, and I think any one of us would have done the same."
"Do you think they'll forgive me?" It's the one question that's been on her mind since her return, the glaring root of the sheer majority of her anxiety.
"In time." He replies, gently squeezing her in an attempt to provide comfort, his hand stroking up and down her back.
"I don't know how to fix it. I can barely fix myself." She whispers, unable to control the tears leaking out of her eyes again.
"Emily, no one expects you to be okay."
"I know... But I'm trying."
"That's all you can do sweetheart. And it's more than enough."
(And she does try - she tries her hardest but after a year she realises it isn't enough. He still keeps his promise though, and waits for her even after she moves nearly 4000 miles away.)