Hotch sighed as he pulled into his driveway, killing the ignition and reaching over for his briefcase. It was early by his usual standards, but it was the end of a case. They’d flown in as soon as they could get off the ground and Hotch had shooed all of his agents home the second they returned to the office. There was no point in keeping them there to do paperwork that could be completed tomorrow. The fact that his was in said briefcase was a fact that the team didn’t have to know.
He unlocked the door and stepped into the house, thankful, as always, that he was home. He set the briefcase down and went off in search of Emily with a little secret grin. If she was bored enough, he was sure he could get help on his paperwork.
She wasn’t on the couch or in the kitchen, though she’d left dishes in the sink and her pills on the counter. She was probably upstairs napping, so he took his time rinsing her dishes and putting them in the dishwasher before making his way upstairs. Much to his surprise, he’d missed her more than usual, and though he’d checked in a number of times, it wasn’t the same as seeing her face to face. He made his way slowly up the stairs, intending on changing out of his suit before settling down at the dining room table with the work he’d brought home. He stepped into his room and stopped dead.
Emily was snuggled tightly under the blanket he usually kept at the end of the bed, completely dead to the world. He dropped his jacket on the chair in the corner, watching her. His chest expanded with warmth at the picture she made and, like he had months ago when he’d first found her napping, he sat down on the bed beside her, brushing hair out of her face.
He was slightly surprised to find her calm, not even a wrinkle in her forehead to indicate any kind of dream whatsoever. He sighed. Maybe she was getting better. Maybe she didn’t have nightmares anymore. Maybe she was ready to come back to work. The pills on the counter told otherwise, but she had been out of the hospital for three months. She could probably at least go back for her eval for desk duty. Her limited movement would keep her out of the field for at least another month. And as long as that arm kept her out of the BAU, he’d keep her here.
He stood and hit the closet, changing out of his suit for jeans and a t-shirt. Comfort clothing for a night at home after a case. She was just sitting up as he stepped out and he watched her jump and blush bright red when she saw him.
“I’m sorry, I guess I fell asleep.”
The fidgety nature of her behaviour told him she was nervous. The blush across her cheeks told him she was embarrassed. “Nightmares?” He hadn’t expected her to blush even redder.
“Murky at best,” she responded, reaching both of her arms up to stretch. Her right when all above her head, her body bowing to the left when the other stopped at her shoulder. It was higher than two weeks ago, that much she knew. She’d even managed to wash her hair all by herself while he was gone. The fact that it had only been the previous night wasn’t important.
“That’s good.”
Had she imagined the lack of enthusiasm in his voice? “It’s a nice change,” she agreed. She had to lighten the mood, fast. “Did you bring me something back?”
He smiled. “Something like that,” he agreed.
“You brought me back the file,” she accused with a shake of her head.
He watched her start to fold the blanket, throwing in a helping hand to finish the job, then followed her downstairs. There was something they had yet to address, a topic she’d avoided. But he had to ask, had to know what she was going through, had to know what she was seeing. “Emily?”
“Hmm?” she acknowledged as she settled herself at the dining room table. She’d left the files spread out there when she’d taken a break from reading them.
“Tell me about the nightmares.”
She was in the BAU, the bullpen, doing her work, head down. Reid was at his desk, absently humming along to the music in his headphones as his long fingers typed away. Morgan had just gotten up to get coffee, offering to grab a cup for her too.
This time it was a delivery man that approached her. Emily felt her stomach jolt. It was a different person every time, always someone coming into the BAU for one reason or another. She closed her eyes and kept her focus on her papers. Even as she did, she felt fear well in her chest. She knew what was going to happen.
“Agent Prentiss?”
She wished she could stop herself from looking up, wished she could just wave the delivery guy to put whatever he had down so she didn’t have to die. But her body had other plans, her head and mouth moving of its own accord. “That’s me.”
“Delivery.”
She took the envelope, even though she knew it was empty. “What is it?”
Then came the searing pain in her gut as the delivery man pulled the knife from her stomach. Emily collapsed out of her chair, trying to hold her side and keep the blood from pouring out. Reid continued on his work, not paying attention to anything around him. Emily tried calling out for him, tried calling out for anyone, but no voice came out.
When Morgan returned, he set the mug on her desk and went back to his own. She was lying on the floor, dying, and he hadn’t even noticed. Emily tried to keep her eyes open, tried to fight the same way the logical part of her knew she had already done once, but the pull of the darkness was way too strong. She felt her eyes falling closed, her hands falling limp and knew she was dying. The last thing she saw before she passed out was a glimpse of the evil grin on the delivery man that stabbed her and his words.
“Goodbye Agent Prentiss.”
She screamed.
Aaron woke with a jolt, his body jumping out of bed before his mind had processed what had happened. A scream. That’s what had woken him up. He was out of his room and down the four steps to hers before he thought twice, knocking gently before pushing open the door. Emily was sitting up in bed, her eyes closed, hands white-knuckle fists in the bedspread. He made his way over to her carefully.
“Emily?”
She opened her eyes and he noticed the tears. Maybe she wasn’t as healthy as he’d originally thought. She’d been normally playful at dinner, teasing him, asking him about the case, telling him about her lunch with Garcia the previous week and Mildred’s afternoon of cards the day before. But when he looked at her now, everything was back to how it had been two months ago, when he’d first brought her home.
“Emily,” he tried again, gently perching himself on the edge of her bed. He reached out a hand for her, brushing his fingertips over her knuckles to coax her to lighten her grip. Slowly her hand did loosen and he tucked it in his own, hoping the contact would get him a reaction.
And boy did it ever. He was on the floor before he really realized he was going over, landing on his back with a soft ‘oomph’. Emily was shaking against him, hands now fisted in his t-shirt as her head burrowed itself into his shoulder as best it could. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight against his body, one hand rubbing up and down her back. He didn’t say anything, didn’t have any idea what to say.
Hot tears soaked the shoulder of his t-shirt and he held on, his libido taking the back seat to her fear. Sure she was drop-dead gorgeous and pressed tight to his body, but she’d just woken from a nightmare. The protective side of him was screaming at his feeling of helplessness. He had no idea what to do, so he held her, rubbed her back, made quiet shushing sounds in her ear until her shaking slowed and finally, stopped.
She turned her head to the side, away from him. “I got your shirt wet.”
His mouth gaped. That was all she had to say? She’d just taken… twenty minutes, her alarm clock told him, to cry her eyes out on his shoulder, scaring him out of sleep and all she could say was she got his shirt wet? He sighed. “Talk to me.” He hoped she would.
“I had a nightmare,” she answered simply, still not looking at him. Emily Prentiss was not weak, but nightmares made her so. She felt like a child that had had a bad dream, not a woman recovering from a traumatic event and no matter how many times she told herself it was normal, it annoyed her to no end.
“Emily.”
She sighed, her whole body moving on top of his with the effort. “What do you want me to say? Talking about it isn’t going to change the outcome.”
“You have to tell someone.”
“And you’re volunteering,” she said sarcastically.
“Would you rather tell a shrink?” The flippant way she was dealing with this was frustrating.
“It’s a nightmare. A variation on the same theme.”
He figured that much and sighed. He wasn’t going to get anything out of her. “What can I do?” He was surprised when her body slumped against his bonelessly. There had still been an air of tension to her muscles that had suddenly relaxed with his question.
“Just stay.”
“On the floor?”
She shot him a reproachful look, gently resting her chin on his chest.
Against his better judgment, his hand came up to gently wipe at the red tearstains down her cheeks. “This is normal,” he said softly.
Emily closed her eyes on a sigh.
Aaron took that as understanding. “They’ll fade.”
She pressed her cheek against his chest, turning her face away. The hand balling his shirt above his heart loosened and rested there. The other one was still white-knuckled at his hip. “They always do.”
“It just takes time.”
She pushed herself up and around so she was sitting with her back against the bed, bringing her knees up to her chest. “I don’t want it to take any more time.”
He moved until he was beside her. What was he supposed to say to that?
“I feel like he’s beating me.”
Aaron stayed quiet, afraid that saying anything would interrupt her, remind her that he was there, and she’d shut down.
“Every time I have a nightmare, every time I can’t do something, every time I’m reminded that I’m not… whole, I feel like he’s beating me. And I hate it.”
Which was understandable. Emily had fought to belong in the BAU. She’d fought to prove herself. She’d done a brilliant job of it, but she wasn’t invulnerable. None of them were. This was a shocking reminder of that invulnerability.
“I know they got him. I know he’s gone away, but that doesn’t stop me from thinking he’s always there, always over my shoulder and every time something happens and I think I’m getting better, something comes back. The nightmares, the pain… there’s always something and it sets me back.”
“You have too much drive to let it beat you,” he said softly, brushing hair away from her cheek to tuck it behind her ear. “You want to be back in the BAU too much.”
She leaned into his touch as she sighed. “That’s what I mean. Every time I think I’m getting better, getting closer to coming back… I don’t know what to do anymore.”
“What helps?”
Ah, the million dollar question she very much didn’t want to answer. Lots of things usually helped her back to sleep. Tea helped, a good book helped, a bad movie helped, but lately she’d been at a loss as to what to do. The pills helped, but as she’d already admitted, every time she took one she felt like her attacker was still haunting her. She wanted to get back to her normal life.
And he helped. But he didn’t know it. It wasn’t like she could just blurt it out either. Hotch was a man that enjoyed his privacy, enjoyed having a home life separate from the office. She couldn’t play a damsel in distress, not only because she knew she wouldn’t be, but because it wouldn’t be fair to him. Hotch was protective of those he perceived weaker than him and right now, she was weaker than he was. She wasn’t going to add to it by telling him that being around him made her feel better.
But Aaron wasn’t the leader of his BAU team by fluke. Not to mention that she was curling in on herself, protecting herself from everything outside. He moved closer, his thigh touching the top of hers, just sitting there, waiting.
Emily rested her head on his shoulder, staring at the wall ahead of her. She could already feel her heart rate calming, her muscles relaxing, her eyelids drooping. She was going to ache in the morning. Heck, he was going to ache in the morning, but she didn’t have the guts to move and then ask him to stay.
What she didn’t know was that he didn’t want to go anymore than she wanted him to. He admitted “ though only to himself “ that things had changed between them. There was no air of hierarchy in their relationship as it stood and I brought up some worrisome questions for when she decided to go for her eval and return. Things had been irrevocably changed by her attack and it was looking like, at the end of the day, it was for the better.
He wanted to move, to tell her that the pain they were going to feel in the morning wasn’t worth it, but when he looked down at her, she was already breathing steadily. So he sighed, tilting his head against hers. It would be too risky to try and move her. And maybe, if this helped, it would be worth the pain in the morning.