You wake up screaming for your mother. She's not there, but Emily is. As your friend and confidant, you trust her, but you never knew she would witness this.
"Shh. Shhhh. Love, it's just me. I'm sorry you're having nightmares... how can I help?"
With tears in your eyes you try to explain, but the words come out garbled by sobs you didn't know were coming. She sits against your headboard and pulls you up beside her. You cry into her chest as you release the emotions you feel so deeply.
Once you have calmed, she let's you talk. In as mature a way as you can muster, you explain what is bothering you and how you feel. She sits there and listens, taking it all in. You don't need her advice, so she doesn't give it, she just listens and comforts.
Y/n Hotchner sat on her bed, staring blankly at the wall. Her room, once a sanctuary filled with memories of laughter and shared secrets, now felt hollow and cold. The past few days' events replayed in her mind like a cruel loop she couldn't escape.
Jake, her boyfriend of two years, had cheated on her. Not just with anyone but with her best friend, Sarah. The betrayal cut deep, shattering her trust in the two people she thought she could rely on the most.
Her phone buzzed beside her, but Y/n ignored it. She had been avoiding everyone lately—her friends, her dad, even Emily Prentiss, her dad's fiancée, whom she had grown close to over the past year. The pain of betrayal was too raw, too consuming.
Emily and Aaron were standing down the hallway, talking in hushed voices. They discussed what to do when Aaron suggested that Emily try talking to Y/n.
Footsteps approached her door, and a gentle knock echoed through the room. Y/n didn't respond, hoping whoever it was would take the hint and leave her alone. The door creaked open anyway, and Emily stepped inside, expressing concern and empathy.
"Y/n," Emily began softly, her voice filled with compassion. "Can we talk?"
Y/n looked up, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. She didn't say anything, but the look on her face spoke volumes.
Emily approached slowly, sitting down beside Y/n on the bed. "I know you're hurting, sweetheart. And I can't pretend to understand what you're going through, but I want to be here for you."
Y/n's resolve crumbled at Emily's words. She had been pushing everyone away, but Emily's sincerity touched her heart. "He cheated on me, Em," Y/n finally whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "With Sarah."
Emily's heart broke for Y/n. She reached out and pulled her into a comforting embrace, letting Y/n bury her face in her shoulder as tears streamed down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Y/n. You deserve so much better."
For a long time, they sat there in silence, the only sound the quiet sobs of a broken heart slowly trying to mend.
Days turned into weeks, and Y/n slowly began to heal. Emily was there every step of the way, offering a listening ear, words of wisdom, and sometimes just silent companionship. They spent evenings curled up on the couch, watching movies or reading books.
One evening, after Emily had returned home from a horrific case and exhaustion finally caught up with Y/n, she nestled closer to Emily on the couch, her eyes drooping with weariness. Emily gently stroked her hair, the gesture soothing and maternal.
"You should get some rest, sweetheart," Emily murmured as Aaron walked in and smiled at them.
Y/n nodded faintly, feeling safe and cared for in Emily's presence. "Mom," she whispered sleepily, the word slipping out almost unconsciously.
Emily's heart skipped a beat at the unexpected endearment. She looked down at Y/n, her eyes brimming with tears of joy. "Yes, honey?"
Y/n stirred slightly, her voice barely audible as sleep claimed her. "Love you, Mom," she murmured before drifting into a peaceful slumber.
Emily held Y/n close, tears of happiness trailing down her cheeks. It was a moment she had dreamed of but never dared to expect. As Y/n slept peacefully, Emily whispered back, "I love you too, sweetheart," knowing that their bond had deepened beautifully and healingly.
In the quiet of the evening, Emily Prentiss and Y/n Hotchner found solace in each other's presence, their hearts entwined in a journey of healing, forgiveness, and the unbreakable bond of family.
For me the biggest injustice in Criminal Minds beside never seeing Hotchniss come into fruition, is getting to see Emily become a mom. Whether it was through adoption (Declan), pregnancy, or being Jack's stepmom.
Emily just had so much love to give a child, it broke my heart the scenes of her longing for that. I think she never truly forgave herself for Rome, and thought it was her penance to pay.
It haunts me that she never got the family and home she truly deserved. She would have been the most empathetic, supportive, caring, accepting, and amazing parent to some lucky kid.
Thoughts on hotchniss being soft with each other? In an established relationship situation
I definitely think they're Soft. Everything we've seen of Hotch in a relationship shows him soft and always seeking out touch, and Emily is so tactile in general. I think they both need the reassurance of safe touch - they both have trauma all the way from childhood, so I think they both seek out that physical connection to make them feel safe. Hands in hair and on hips and on waists and just always cuddling. I think sometimes they can touch when they can't talk - cuddling for comfort before they're ready for words.
So yeah. I think they're cuddlers. I think she wears his shirts at home and he loves it, the way she looks in them and the smell of her on them. I think they like to stay touching whenever they're just sharing space, like she reads with her feet or her head in his lap...
He remembers how happy the homemade cookies and brownies made her on cases, so he bakes sometimes just to make her smile. He starts with brownies from a box mix and doesn't progress much from there but it delights her every time. They leave each other notes. She adds doodles.
all of me a wound me to close (but I leave the whole thing open)
----
The silence stretches and Aaron can’t fill it, the back of his throat fuzzy with words that won’t do any good. When she speaks, her voice is thready.
“I’m so fucking tired.”
Or, Emily struggles to sleep after Doyle.
Word count: 3.5k
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
----
Emily isn’t sleeping.
Aaron knows, and not just because he tries to keep tabs on his team in any small ways he can. It’s become increasingly obvious over the past week; she’s pale, shadowy half moons pressed firmly under her eyes, and seemingly always frowning. Brows drawn in a knot, a pinch to her mouth that she can’t quite hide behind hasty smiles. She’s slower than usual, blinking at him when he gives her an order; seconds would slip by between them before she’d nod, the movement jerky, the flow of her body just as sluggish when she’d walk past. Tension never leaves her shoulders, even when she’s working on something as routine as paperwork.
To say he’s waiting for her to collapse on the bullpen floor is an understatement.
He knows the others have noticed it, caught on to the way she seems to hang from a fraying thread. It’s hard to miss JJ and Morgan’s exchanged glances, heavy with worry when she seems to sway on her feet, losing her balance when she does something as simple as rise from her seat. Rossi gently repeats questions that go unanswered to her deaf ears, Reid tries to wordlessly hand her his eye mask on the jet. Even he felt the itch to pull out the bottle of melatonin from his go bag and hand it to her.
But nobody seems to want to verbally breach the defenses she’s built around herself and prod, except for Penelope, who got brushed off with the usual—if slightly clipped—I’m fine. They’re hesitant to cross the line between caring and hovering—hell, he is—but when he spots the fourth mistake in half as many pages on her after-action report, he decides to seek her out.
Aaron steps out of his office, his eyes habitually sweeping over the bullpen. As he’s going down the stairs he finds that Emily’s chair is empty; there’s a mug of tea cooling next to her desktop, a half-empty strip of Tylenol pinned under her keyboard—common fixtures these past few days. Her phone is also there, so is her purse, but the woman in question is not.
His lips press together as he walks past her desk and peers into the empty kitchenette. Distantly, Aaron knows he should jump to a more reasonable explanation, like the restroom, but he leaves the bullpen and steadily heads to the elevators, a churning in his stomach as he presses the button. The doors slide open with a ping and he already knows he’s going up, though he’s running on nothing but instinct.
When he steps into the roof, he’s immediately hit with the acrid scent of cigarettes.
Emily is leaning against the wall, an arm hugging her torso and her other elbow stacked on top of it. Her head is bowed, right hand pressed between her brows, the glowing tip of her cigarette dangling dangerously close to her hairline.
Aaron has a sinking suspicion that her eyes are closed.
It’s confirmed when he approaches; she doesn’t start even though his footsteps thud against the floor, purposely heavy. Aaron finally glimpses her face and finds her eyes shuttered, her lips parted. A pack of Marlboro reds is held limply in her hand, barely enclosed within her loose fingers. Everything is still except for the stagnant rise and fall of her chest.
He’s briefly torn. Aaron doesn’t know whether to wake her first or grab the cigarette before it burns her into consciousness. He’s not even sure how she’s still standing upright; her lower back touches the wall but from there her spine curves, like a wilting crescent, her forehead meeting the connected hook of her pointer finger and thumb. She already looks fragile, the tips of her hair swaying in the wind, blowing dark ends into her sickly pale face. He doesn’t want to scare her further, doesn’t want her to jolt awake with the momentary panic in her eyes, but he can’t find another option.
The glowing tip of the cigarette slowly eats at the wrapping paper, the browning edges growing closer to her knuckles. It’s loosely wedged between her middle and index fingers; ash tumbles to the floor and Aaron calls out her name, holding his hand out under hers to catch it in case it drops.
Emily doesn’t respond but for a hitch in her breath. Her lashes flutter, her pale chest caving beneath the wool of her v-neck.
The cigarette burns more of itself. Aaron grabs it, pinching the part just extending above Emily’s knuckles, and pulls it from between her fingers. He hears her sharp intake of breath as he tosses it to the floor, stares down at it and crushes it beneath his heel in a cloud of bitter smoke.
Emily’s eyes are wide when he looks up at her. The brown is clouded with thick swirls of sleep, an almost visible fog in her irises that he wishes he can wave away with a snap of his hand.
Her brows crease together, frown lines easily slipping back into their long-carved grooves. “Hotch? Wh…What—?”
“You need to go home,” he says softly. It’s not even what he intended to say, but it’s what leaves his lips anyway. “You’re in no shape to be here—”
“I’m fine.” She croaks. The blatant lie makes him shake his head. “I was just—”
“You were just what, Emily? Just closing your eyes, resting them for a moment? You almost burned yourself.” He catches the almost imperceptible way she tenses and his hard tone wilts. Aaron briefly closes his eyes. Nausea stirs up in his gut but he blows out a breath, his knuckles coming up to tap the cement behind them. “This wall is holding up more of your weight than you are.”
Emily shoves the cigarettes into her pocket. “Fine, I’m not sleeping. You made your point. Happy?” She snaps, the darkness of her eyes turning bitter. Her jaw is tight, her words barely slipping out from the minimal space between her clenched teeth. “Forgive me if your tumultuous schedule doesn’t allow for much sleep.”
The razor edge of her voice pokes through the padded fabric of his suit. Blood blooms between his ribs, the same stark red as his tie. Aaron holds her gaze, feeling his shirt grow damp at the emptiness in her bloodshot eyes. They used to be warm; shining with light that made them glitter like the stars, but the stars have burned out and her eyes have turned brittle.
He has to stand there and stare into them like the cold doesn’t reach his heart, turn his blood to ice.
“We haven’t been on a case in days,” he says evenly. “This…it’s been going on before that.” He’s more confident than he should be, but the tug in his gut tells him he’s right.
Emily scoffs, a derisive twist to her mouth. “Well, since you know all about it—”
“I’m sending you home,” Aaron cuts over her, keeping his voice steady, “you can come back after you’ve had some proper sleep—”
“I can’t sleep at home!” She yells. Her face crumples, her eyes glossing over in seconds. “Damn it, Hotch, you think I haven’t fucking tried? It’s all I’ve been doing.” Her voice breaks on the last word and she looks up, her lashes fluttering in wings of black as she blinks rapidly. Emily swallows, crossing her arms tight over her chest. Holding herself together.
Though he was expecting it, Aaron’s heart still skips. Alarm bells start to ring in his ears, distant and growing louder as Emily shoves off the wall.
Her nostrils flare as she breathes in. The silence stretches and Aaron can’t fill it, the back of his throat fuzzy with words that won’t do any good. When she speaks, her voice is thready.
“I’m so fucking tired.”
There’s a heavy weight to the words, one that almost drags him under. Colored with the bruised purple of exhaustion, the deep blue of defeat. It’s that, more than her admission, that almost makes his knees buckle.
Emily bites down on her lip, trying to mask the way it trembles in time with her shoulders when she gives him a meek shrug. “I don’t…I don’t know what to do anymore.” She says, gripping her own arms tighter. There’s nothing to dig into her flesh, because her nails are jagged and raw, bitten to the quick. The breath she sucks in makes her whole body shudder.
Nausea whips through his stomach and Aaron finally gets it. It scares him to see her like this, blatantly falling apart at the seams, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. Her chest stutters and his does, too, his ribcage constricting around his heart, the bones digging in and giving him a fraction of what she’s feeling.
Fix it, his mind screams at him. But he knows he can’t. The damage is long done, and now they’re standing in the wreckage.
Aaron takes a step. Two. He doesn’t remember actively making the decision to move, but his feet close the distance anyway.
Emily doesn’t stop him when he gets closer. Doesn’t stop him when he tentatively reaches out, making his intentions painfully clear. All she does is look him in the eye and say help me, her shoulders loosening a fraction when he finally wraps his arms around her. Aaron hears her exhale, shaky and low as he brings her into him and feels the cold on her skin, even through their clothes.
For a few seconds, Emily still tries to hold herself upright. But when he cups the back of her neck, fitting her more securely into his chest, she crumbles. Her body sags against his, her head defeatedly thudding against his shoulder. Aaron’s weight becomes his, hers, theirs. She reaches for the fabric of his jacket and holds on tight.
Let me help, he wants to say, but his tongue is heavy with the lump in the back of his throat. He wraps an arm around her back and smells cigarette smoke, chamomile tea, the long since familiar scent of her perfume buried deep down, faded on her twice-washed clothes. A faint tremble goes through her and he kicks himself, swallowing to get rid of the persistent boulder in his airway. He’s never been good at words, but now they fail him more than they’ve ever had.
“It wasn’t like this for you.” Emily says. Her voice is so low a whisper he barely hears it, spoken to the skin of his neck and the wind. But it’s just enough.
Aaron’s tongue finally moves. “I know what it’s like.” He says. Because yes, it was like this for him. Shadowy demons in the corners of his eyes and the soothing dark where he used to seek sleep; his muscles tense under sweaty sheets before he’d reach for the pills on his nightstand; exhaustion shutting his body down without his permission, making him collapse on his couch despite the nightmares.
Only sometimes he had the added comfort of his sleeping son to ground him. She has nothing.
“You…you can almost feel them behind you. They’re there, you swear they are, but it’s just you. You can’t close your eyes—” she tenses and he tightens his grip—“and the longer you stay awake the more they start creeping in.” He says into her hair. Then come the headaches, the tremors; the way they start to slow, their bodies growing heavy. Their focus slips through their fingers like sand. “I know, Emily.”
Emily fists his jacket tighter. Her trembling breath warms the skin of his neck, fluttering lashes almost ticklish as they scrape his throat. “How…” Her voice is hoarse. She clears her throat, “How did you get through it?”
You.
He hid so much from her, from the team, but that never stopped her from being there. Even now, when he looks back at a year, two years ago, he remembers her the most amongst the grief. The vice-like grip she had on him, unwilling to let him tumble over the edge and sink into the abyss. Her determination not to be shut out, worming her way past his walls even though he never technically allowed her. She held on tight with her fists and slowly dragged him back, step by step, and though his insomnia was his to battle on his own, she did a thousand other things to keep him from the brink.
It’s his turn now.
“I wasn’t alone.” He whispers. “And neither are you.”
Emily takes in a shuddering breath.
“Come on,” Aaron says, pulling back to look at her. “You can try—”
“I’m not going home.”
“I’m not sending you home,” he soothes. Emily frowns, the arch of her brows sluggish. “You’re coming to my office. The couch isn’t half bad, believe it or not.” He attempts a small smile.
Emily’s hands fall from his jacket. She crosses her arms over her chest again, fighting a shiver against the wind that ruffles her hair. “But…but you need the—”
“I don’t need anything other than for you to sleep.”
“I can’t.” Her voice cracks.
“Just try,” Aaron urges. “Your body’s exhausted, Emily. You’re at your limit. You can’t keep going like this.” His hand goes to her shoulder, gently nudging her to the door.
Emily’s feet remain firmly planted on the floor. Her teeth sink into her lower lip, her chin moving the tiniest fraction to shake her head no. But she herself is unconvinced, the drooping of her eyes admitting defeat even if her mouth won’t.
Aaron curls his fingers around her shoulder. “Emily,” he says gently. She’s always Emily now; she stopped being Prentiss the moment he walked into her cold hospital room. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t hold her pale hand in his, her fingers weak and grabbing for something familiar when her whole world started crumbling. The carefully constructed walls of Prentiss fell away as her breath caught, her lips trembling when he told her she’d be going somewhere. Somewhere he didn’t know, couldn’t know. His fingers had squeezed hers, their first and last touch wrapped up in one.
But the foundation of Prentiss had been crumbling long before that.
“Please,” Aaron murmurs. “I won’t be there, I promise. I’ll get you your tea and you can close the blinds—hell, lock the door, even—but please just try. If you keep going like this it’ll either be my office or the hospital.”
Emily shudders and closes her eyes. “Okay.” She mumbles, a grimace pulling over her teeth.
Aaron allows himself a small smile when she allows him to nudge her this time. He traps the relieved breath in his throat, swallowing it down and letting it soothe the knot in his stomach. “That’s what gets you to cave?” He says lightly, trying to mask his surprise when she leans into him. Aaron falters a little, but then he adjusts his arm to wrap around both her shoulders, holding her steady as he opens the door and they walk back into the building.
“Your office smells a lot nicer than the hospital.” Emily says, her words chewed together in a slur.
High compliment.
“Thank you.”
“And, uh—just to be clear, that wasn’t a threat, right? The hospital?” She asks, an audible tinge of anxiety to her voice as they get into the elevator. He presses six.
“No.” Aaron assures. His hand drops from her shoulders, skating down her back to gently grip her elbow. “But it is what will happen if you continue this way. Your body won’t be able to handle it, Emily.”
“Right,” she mumbles, looking down just as he catches the shine to her eyes. “S’not like I can help it.”
Before Aaron can reply, she’s leaning away. Fiddling with the sleeves of her sweater as she stares at the descending numbers, waiting for it to land on six. Emily hangs back uncertainly once it does, nudging him with her eyes to go before her. Aaron does. He opens the bullpen door, gently places his hand on her lower back to let her in. He knows the team is looking as they make their way to his office, knows Emily isn’t by the silhouette of her bowed head from the corner of his eye. They walk up the stairs in unison and this time she rushes past his office door when he opens it, waiting until he closes it to let out a low exhale.
“Lie down,” Aaron murmurs, shuttering the blinds closed as he walks past the window and to his desk. Emily seems to relax more with the rest of the bullpen shut out, quietly sitting down and bending to take off her boots.
Aaron grabs his go bag from under the desk. He takes out a blanket—fuzzy gray and dotted with glow in the dark stars, twin to the one on the foot of Jack’s bed—and hands it to her.
“Cute.” The corner of her mouth tugs upward.
“You should see it when it glows in the dark.”
Emily huffs a weak laugh and drapes it over her legs. She’s halfway situated on the couch, her legs awkwardly bent at the knees as she drops her head on the armrest.
He’ll have to get a pillow from Dave’s office, Aaron thinks.
Her sigh is low as her gaze flits up to him; he’s still standing over her head.
“Just close your eyes.”
“It’s useless, y’know.” She mumbles.
The light hits her eyes. He moves over to one of the windows and drags the blinds down. “It’s not. Your body can gain the rest even if you’re not sleeping.” The second one slides down; the room dims. He reaches for another one before Emily stops him.
“Like this is fine,” she says, a tight edge to her voice.
Aaron lets go. “Okay. Try to close your eyes.” He says again as he heads for the door, his fingers wrapping around the handle.
“Hotch.” She calls out, stopping him before he opens it. Aaron turns, his eyes meeting hers. “It—it gets better, right?” She fiddles with the hem of the blanket, her thumb rubbing over a star.
His heart twists.
“It does.” He says quietly. The urge to make her a promise lies on the tip of his tongue. Aaron traps it between his teeth.
Emily nods jerkily. “You can…uh, you can stay.” She mumbles. “Just don’t stare at me while I sleep.”
They’re both equally surprised at the small chuckle that leaves him.
“It’s okay, Emily. I’ll just go to the round table room.”
“No really, it’s okay. Can’t kick you out of your own office, y’know?” She insists. Her tone doesn’t give anything away, but her eyes are pleading.
It dawns on him. Slowly, like the warmth that starts to spread through his chest.
“Not that I would mind if you did,” he says, rushing to get the words out when her shoulders rise further to her ears, “but okay. Promise I won’t stare.” He gives her a small smile. Emily’s brows sag, her head tilting in a tired nod. “I’ll get you your tea,” he says softly, even though she’s barely hanging on.
“Thanks.” Emily mumbles.
Aaron closes the door behind him with a quiet yeah. He makes her the promised tea and catches sight of the haphazard stack of files on her desk on his way back. Aaron gathers them up, tucking them under his arm as he carefully walks up the stairs and nudges the ajar door to Dave’s office. He grabs a plush cushion from the couch, ignoring Dave’s questions as he grips it tightly.
By the time he goes back to his office, Emily is fast asleep. Aaron smiles as he sets down the chamomile and the files, stepping around the coffee table to reach her. In a move long practiced in his years of being a father, Aaron gently maneuvers Emily’s head off the armrest of the couch. He slides the cushion under her neck, brings the blanket up her shoulders.
Emily’s lashes flutter. “Hotch?” She calls out, her letters all jumbled so it sounds like Hosh.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “You’re okay, sweetheart. Sleep.”
“Mmkay.”
Aaron steps back, remembers his promise, and ducks his head. He grabs the files from the table and heads to his desk, quietly sitting down, quietly picking up his pen. Emily’s tea grows ice cold by the time he’s done with her reports, but she’s still asleep, so he gets to work on his own stack.
Night eventually starts to press itself outside his windows. But Emily doesn’t stir; Aaron continues to write, ignoring the cramps in his hand, moving from one file to the next as she sleeps on.
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply (but we're talking about pregnancy, abortion and Emily-typical Catholic guilt, sexual content, and there's a decent amount of non-graphic vomiting going on.)
Relationships: This chapter is established Hotchniss.
Summary: Emily Prentiss and three pregnancies: at fifteen, thirty-three, and forty. (Demonology, Lauren arc and Hotchniss vibes.)
Chapter Excerpt: Her period is two days late when Sean McAllister tells her Ian Doyle escaped from prison. It’s just over a week late when Maya watches curiously as she throws the purple freesia in the trash. “You like flowers,” she says, brow furrowed. “It was pretty.”
“We’ll get better flowers,” Emily says, taking her hand and leading her into her ensuite bathroom, the only room in the house with no windows. “I need you to stay in here for me for two minutes, okay? I’ll be right back.”
“Why?”
“Because –” A wave of nausea hits suddenly, and she stops, grips the sink to breathe through it, then hands Maya the dry erase marker she brought with her from the kitchen, anticipating her objection to staying in one place without a satisfactory explanation. “Because I need somebody to write the alphabet on this mirror. I keep forgetting what comes after M.”
Needing a hug right now. Just thinking of how tight Emily's hugs would be... she would hold you as if to keep you from falling. Protecting you from everything. Nothing is getting to you through her.
Emily Prentiss x fem!reader
Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, mentions of child sexual abuse, flashbacks, panic attacks, PTSD, hurt/comfort, some explicit language
Word Count: 2.5k
Summary: When Emily works a case that hits a little too close to home–a little too close to you–she has a hard time keeping her emotions in check. Takes place during S3.E5.
Your heart beat rapidly, desperately, as Emily pressed her lips into yours, hands roving over your body, the weight of her on top of you giving you just the right amount of resistance as you pushed your hips against her.
You moaned into her mouth and she grinned, grabbing your face and kissing you more, deeper, harder, until you could barely breathe.
You snaked one of your hands down the waistband of her shorts, and she grabbed your wrist.
"Nope," she said, smiling, snatching up both your hands and holding your wrists together with one of hers. "Not this time," she said, kissing each of your knuckles. "This time, I take care of you and you..." You gasped as she slammed your wrists above your head, pinning them in place. "You stay still for me."
The moment your hands hit the bed above your head, it was like you'd been transported to another dimension, into a nightmare. You blinked rapidly, looking around, the layers of the world around you like a Viewfinder caught between slides. Emily's room, then the elementary school gym equipment closet. You coughed, feeling bile rise in your throat. You could smell the stale sweat, the rubber of the basketballs, the Juicy Fruit in the gym coach's mouth as he leered over you. You felt the gym mat–such a poor barrier between you and the hard tile floor–at your back, the coach's rough hands, huge against your tiny wrists, pinning your hands in place above your head. He sat on your legs as you tried to squirm away, shaking, tears leaking down your face as he roughly pulled down your shorts.
"Stop!" you yelled. "Stopstopstopstop."
In one layer of your brain, you saw Emily release your hands immediately, sitting up and holding them away from you, a concerned look on her face.
You breathed heavily and sat up, pulling your knees to your chest.
"What's wrong?" Emily asked gently, looking you over frantically. "Did I hurt you?"
You covered your ears with your hands, rocking back and forth.
"Y/N," Emily prompted, growing more concerned by the second. "Talk to me."
Your head shot up, looking wildly about the room.
"I gotta go home," you said, still rocking.
"What!?"
"I have to leave," you insisted, hyperventilating. "I have to– I have to go. Right now. I have to go, I have to leave."
Emily placed a cautious hand on your shoulder. "I'm not gonna let you leave, Y/N. You're clearly not okay."
You grew more and more distressed, your breathing haphazard and tears forming in your eyes
"Shit!" you yelled, slamming your fist into your head.
Emily grabbed your hands tightly in hers, deeply alarmed.
"Hey!" Her voice was forceful, worried. "What the hell is going on!?"
You started to shake, and Emily noticed that your pupils had dilated wildly.
"I can't–" you stuttered. "I- I have to leave. I don't- I don't want you to– see."
There was a moment then that Emily would remember vividly for the rest of her life. It was the moment that she got it. The way you hugged your arms around your body. The way you recoiled from her touch, and covered your head protectively with your hands, nearly in a fetal position. She'd remember later the way her stomach sank, the way her heart felt as if it had burst open and bled out. It was the moment she realized that something bad had happened to you. Something violating, something awful, something so horrific it would never let you go.
She inched closer to you, careful not to touch you. "Is it a panic attack or a flashback?" she whispered.
"F-flashback," you answered, shaky. "I h-haven't had one in a l-long time."
"Okay," Emily nodded, her voice soft and kind. "What can I do to help you?"
You looked at her then, your eyes huge, a tear streaking down your face. "Can you j-just h-hold me? Really t-tight? It'll get w-worse. I just have to r-ride it– out. I'm s-sorry, Em. I–" Your voice cracked, and you turned away.
"Shh," Emily cooed, pulling you close, wrapping her arms tightly around you. She pressed your head into her chest, a gentle hand on the side of your face. "It's okay," she whispered, kissing the top of your head. "I'm right here, baby." She ran her fingers through your hair, the rhythm soothing you a bit. "I'm right here."
The worst moments of your life played in your mind as if from a 4D projector, surrounding you with the smells, the sights, the tactile disgust of his hands on you, his body against yours.
You screamed, but your voice was muffled, as if it was stuck in your throat and only the echo of a scream could get out. You grasped tufts of your hair, pulling tightly.
Emily took your hands and placed them gently under her arms, so that they were stuck in her tight grip around your body.
"It's not real anymore," she whispered, for you and for herself. "Y/N, I'm right here." Her voice broke, and she looked at the ceiling, willing herself not to cry, not right now. "I won't let anyone hurt you. Do you hear me? I love you. You're safe. You're safe with me."
After a few minutes, the horror film in your mind came to a close. Your body shook, spent from the adrenaline rush. Panic took an incredible toll on the body.
After a moment, you pulled away from Emily, burying your head in your hands. "I'm sorry, Em," you said, voice rough. "I'm so sorry."
Emily caressed the side of your face. "Honey, look at me."
"I can't," you whispered, your voice small, like a terrified child's. "We can break up if you want to. I'll understand."
Emily held your face in her hands, tilting her head down to meet your eyes. "Oh, honey, I don't want that at all. I love you. It's gonna be okay."
You let her run her thumb back and forth along your cheekbone for a few minutes, letting your heartbeat and breathing match the rhythm.
After a while, Emily ventured a question, one she was terrified to ask. "Was it something I did?" Her voice was so quiet you almost didn't hear her.
You exhaled deeply, taking her hand in yours and rubbing circles into her palm.
"The man who hurt me," you started, letting out a shaky breath. "When he held me down, he..." You hated to tell her, but she needed to know. She needed to know it all. "He pinned my hands above my head."
Emily pressed her hand over her mouth, a look of abject horror on her face.
"Y/N," she breathed, her face wracked with guilt. "I'm so sorry. I–" Her voice broke, and a few tears slid down her cheeks.
You were quick to reassure her. "It's okay," you said. "You didn't know. How would you have known?"
"Still," she said, her brows furrowed, dashing tears from under her eyes. "I should have asked first. I should have–"
"I probably would've told you to go for it," you admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I didn't think about it until..."
The silence between you was heavy, with your shame, with Emily's guilt and heartbreak.
Emily looked awful, like she'd never forgive herself. "Emily," you said, pressing your body into hers and wrapping your arms around her waist. "It's okay, I promise. I'm okay. You didn't do anything wrong."
"I hurt you," she whispered, beating herself up.
You placed your hands on your face, your arms, your chest, as if checking for injuries. "Mm, I don't feel hurt."
"You know what I mean."
You lay down in the bed, beckoning Emily to you. She reluctantly obliged, pulling you into her so that you were snuggled into the crook of her neck, her fingers tracing back and forth over your arm.
"I'm okay, Emily," you assured her.
"No, you're not." Her voice was still thick with sadness.
It was in your nature to be bright, to try and combat the dark things with laughter and beauty. You'd had so much darkness in your life, so much hurt, that the only way through it was to seek out the bright spots, to avoid the dark ones. But sometimes the dark spots couldn't be avoided.
"I'm not, but I am," you tried to explain, then sighed. "I'll call my therapist in the morning."
Emily pressed her lips into your temple, trailing her fingers through your hair. After a few minutes, your eyelids grew heavy.
"Em, I'm tired. We should go to bed."
"Shh," she cooed, pulling the blankets up around you and leaning to turn off the light. Her arms were tight around you, secure. "You go to sleep, baby. I just want to hold you for a while."
You woke up screaming that night. And the next night. And the next. It was taking a toll on your health–mental and physical. Emily hated it. She hated that you woke up terrified, woke up hurting, woke up with the knowledge that it wasn't just a dream. It had really happened. It became her sole mission at night to make sure that she was there for you when you woke up, ready to wrap you up in her arms, to press kisses to your face, to let you know that you were safe, that she had you, that she'd never let anyone hurt you.
Therapy would help, you said, but it'd probably take a while. When the BAU got called in on a child abduction later that week, she was relieved it was in the area. She knew she'd eventually have to leave you overnight, but she wasn't ready to, not yet.
If there was one thing Emily was good at, it was compartmentalizing, and that served her well in the field. She managed not to think about you for most of the day, focused instead on the little girl who'd gone missing in a mall.
That is, until they started to suspect that the girl had been sexually abused. Emily seethed under the surface, trying her best to remain calm and collected. She needed to be calm in order to do her job.
She was calm as they broke the uncle, drawing him out, luring him into confessing that he had, in fact, been molesting his niece.
She tried to stay calm as they approached the aunt, but she hit her limit when she realized that the aunt had known. The aunt had known and had prioritized her comfort, her ignorance, over that little girl's safety and innocence.
Emily felt herself growing angrier and angrier as she grilled the aunt. Time was running out for the girl. And, now, every time Emily thought of her, she saw you. She saw you hurt and scared and betrayed with no one to help you. And it made her livid.
"She trusted you!" Emily spat. "She trusted your family, she trusted your husband. You need to tell me where she is!"
"I don't know what you're talking about," the aunt lied, avoiding Emily's eyes.
Fuming, Emily grabbed the doll Morgan and Reid had brought from the girl's house, the doll she'd desecrated and broken and dirtied as a reflection of herself. It made Emily sick to look at it. It made her sick to know that you, too, at some level, still thought of yourself this way. Because of what someone took from you, did to you.
She shoved the doll in the aunt's face, nearly spitting with rage. "This is how Katie sees herself! Self-loathing. Dirty. Disgusting. That is what your husband made her feel!"
The aunt shook her head, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.
"Do you have any idea how terrified she must have been? How confused?! While you lay awake protecting an animal!" Emily railed, thinking of the nights you woke up screaming, shaking. The nights you ran to the toilet and vomited because you were that scared, that disgusted, even all these years later.
Morgan stood off to the side, watching, a concerned look on his face. Emily's impassioned questioning seemed to be working, but he could tell it wasn't just an interrogation tactic. Emily was losing control of her emotions. For now, it was working in their favor. But he'd be lying if he said he wasn't concerned.
"You robbed that little girl of her innocence!" Emily yelled, getting in the woman's face. "Are you gonna steal the rest of her life from her as well?!"
And with that, the aunt broke, revealing where she'd stashed her niece. Morgan sprinted out of the room, beckoning a team of paramedics to follow.
Emily, spent from her outburst, numbly handcuffed the aunt and led her to a waiting squad car.
Afterward, Morgan pulled her aside, making sure they were far enough away that no one else could hear their conversation.
"You alright, Prentiss?"
"Yeah," she replied tersely, looking at the ground.
"I don't mean to pry, but it feels like this one was personal for you."
Emily remembered suddenly that Morgan had been molested, too, and softened.
She met his eyes, and they just looked at each other for a moment.
"It's not me," Emily finally said.
Morgan waited, leaving her space to continue if she wanted to, and space for silence if she'd prefer that.
Emily briefly considered lying to Morgan, but he was her best friend and, honestly, she could use a friend in this with her. Especially one who'd understand like Morgan would.
"It's Y/N," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
"I'm sorry." His voice was sincere, heartfelt. It was a simple thing to say, but sometimes the simplest things said the most.
"It's... come back up recently," Emily continued, trying to toe the line between confiding in Morgan but not violating your privacy. "I think she has PTSD."
Morgan placed a strong hand on her shoulder, squeezing it lightly. "It gets better," he said. "It takes a while, but it gets better."
Emily nodded, breathing deeply.
"You know I'm here if you need me," Morgan said. It was a statement, not a question.
"I know. Thanks."
When Emily came home that night, physically and emotionally exhausted, you were in bed reading, scared to go to sleep, as you always were these days.
Emily climbed into bed, kicking her shoes off behind her, and plastering her body to yours, holding you protectively, tightly, as if she'd never let you go.
"Did they find the girl?" you asked. "Was she okay?"
"She will be," Emily whispered.
"Are you okay?"
"I will be," Emily said, resting her head on yours. "Just... let me hold you. Please. Let me keep you safe."
You leaned in and let her, and you'd never felt safer in your life.
Emily Prentiss x fem!reader
Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, mentions of child sexual abuse, flashbacks, panic attacks, PTSD, hurt/comfort, some explicit language
Word Count: 2.5k
Summary: When Emily works a case that hits a little too close to home–a little too close to you–she has a hard time keeping her emotions in check. Takes place during S3.E5.
Your heart beat rapidly, desperately, as Emily pressed her lips into yours, hands roving over your body, the weight of her on top of you giving you just the right amount of resistance as you pushed your hips against her.
You moaned into her mouth and she grinned, grabbing your face and kissing you more, deeper, harder, until you could barely breathe.
You snaked one of your hands down the waistband of her shorts, and she grabbed your wrist.
"Nope," she said, smiling, snatching up both your hands and holding your wrists together with one of hers. "Not this time," she said, kissing each of your knuckles. "This time, I take care of you and you..." You gasped as she slammed your wrists above your head, pinning them in place. "You stay still for me."
The moment your hands hit the bed above your head, it was like you'd been transported to another dimension, into a nightmare. You blinked rapidly, looking around, the layers of the world around you like a Viewfinder caught between slides. Emily's room, then the elementary school gym equipment closet. You coughed, feeling bile rise in your throat. You could smell the stale sweat, the rubber of the basketballs, the Juicy Fruit in the gym coach's mouth as he leered over you. You felt the gym mat–such a poor barrier between you and the hard tile floor–at your back, the coach's rough hands, huge against your tiny wrists, pinning your hands in place above your head. He sat on your legs as you tried to squirm away, shaking, tears leaking down your face as he roughly pulled down your shorts.
"Stop!" you yelled. "Stopstopstopstop."
In one layer of your brain, you saw Emily release your hands immediately, sitting up and holding them away from you, a concerned look on her face.
You breathed heavily and sat up, pulling your knees to your chest.
"What's wrong?" Emily asked gently, looking you over frantically. "Did I hurt you?"
You covered your ears with your hands, rocking back and forth.
"Y/N," Emily prompted, growing more concerned by the second. "Talk to me."
Your head shot up, looking wildly about the room.
"I gotta go home," you said, still rocking.
"What!?"
"I have to leave," you insisted, hyperventilating. "I have to– I have to go. Right now. I have to go, I have to leave."
Emily placed a cautious hand on your shoulder. "I'm not gonna let you leave, Y/N. You're clearly not okay."
You grew more and more distressed, your breathing haphazard and tears forming in your eyes
"Shit!" you yelled, slamming your fist into your head.
Emily grabbed your hands tightly in hers, deeply alarmed.
"Hey!" Her voice was forceful, worried. "What the hell is going on!?"
You started to shake, and Emily noticed that your pupils had dilated wildly.
"I can't–" you stuttered. "I- I have to leave. I don't- I don't want you to– see."
There was a moment then that Emily would remember vividly for the rest of her life. It was the moment that she got it. The way you hugged your arms around your body. The way you recoiled from her touch, and covered your head protectively with your hands, nearly in a fetal position. She'd remember later the way her stomach sank, the way her heart felt as if it had burst open and bled out. It was the moment she realized that something bad had happened to you. Something violating, something awful, something so horrific it would never let you go.
She inched closer to you, careful not to touch you. "Is it a panic attack or a flashback?" she whispered.
"F-flashback," you answered, shaky. "I h-haven't had one in a l-long time."
"Okay," Emily nodded, her voice soft and kind. "What can I do to help you?"
You looked at her then, your eyes huge, a tear streaking down your face. "Can you j-just h-hold me? Really t-tight? It'll get w-worse. I just have to r-ride it– out. I'm s-sorry, Em. I–" Your voice cracked, and you turned away.
"Shh," Emily cooed, pulling you close, wrapping her arms tightly around you. She pressed your head into her chest, a gentle hand on the side of your face. "It's okay," she whispered, kissing the top of your head. "I'm right here, baby." She ran her fingers through your hair, the rhythm soothing you a bit. "I'm right here."
The worst moments of your life played in your mind as if from a 4D projector, surrounding you with the smells, the sights, the tactile disgust of his hands on you, his body against yours.
You screamed, but your voice was muffled, as if it was stuck in your throat and only the echo of a scream could get out. You grasped tufts of your hair, pulling tightly.
Emily took your hands and placed them gently under her arms, so that they were stuck in her tight grip around your body.
"It's not real anymore," she whispered, for you and for herself. "Y/N, I'm right here." Her voice broke, and she looked at the ceiling, willing herself not to cry, not right now. "I won't let anyone hurt you. Do you hear me? I love you. You're safe. You're safe with me."
After a few minutes, the horror film in your mind came to a close. Your body shook, spent from the adrenaline rush. Panic took an incredible toll on the body.
After a moment, you pulled away from Emily, burying your head in your hands. "I'm sorry, Em," you said, voice rough. "I'm so sorry."
Emily caressed the side of your face. "Honey, look at me."
"I can't," you whispered, your voice small, like a terrified child's. "We can break up if you want to. I'll understand."
Emily held your face in her hands, tilting her head down to meet your eyes. "Oh, honey, I don't want that at all. I love you. It's gonna be okay."
You let her run her thumb back and forth along your cheekbone for a few minutes, letting your heartbeat and breathing match the rhythm.
After a while, Emily ventured a question, one she was terrified to ask. "Was it something I did?" Her voice was so quiet you almost didn't hear her.
You exhaled deeply, taking her hand in yours and rubbing circles into her palm.
"The man who hurt me," you started, letting out a shaky breath. "When he held me down, he..." You hated to tell her, but she needed to know. She needed to know it all. "He pinned my hands above my head."
Emily pressed her hand over her mouth, a look of abject horror on her face.
"Y/N," she breathed, her face wracked with guilt. "I'm so sorry. I–" Her voice broke, and a few tears slid down her cheeks.
You were quick to reassure her. "It's okay," you said. "You didn't know. How would you have known?"
"Still," she said, her brows furrowed, dashing tears from under her eyes. "I should have asked first. I should have–"
"I probably would've told you to go for it," you admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I didn't think about it until..."
The silence between you was heavy, with your shame, with Emily's guilt and heartbreak.
Emily looked awful, like she'd never forgive herself. "Emily," you said, pressing your body into hers and wrapping your arms around her waist. "It's okay, I promise. I'm okay. You didn't do anything wrong."
"I hurt you," she whispered, beating herself up.
You placed your hands on your face, your arms, your chest, as if checking for injuries. "Mm, I don't feel hurt."
"You know what I mean."
You lay down in the bed, beckoning Emily to you. She reluctantly obliged, pulling you into her so that you were snuggled into the crook of her neck, her fingers tracing back and forth over your arm.
"I'm okay, Emily," you assured her.
"No, you're not." Her voice was still thick with sadness.
It was in your nature to be bright, to try and combat the dark things with laughter and beauty. You'd had so much darkness in your life, so much hurt, that the only way through it was to seek out the bright spots, to avoid the dark ones. But sometimes the dark spots couldn't be avoided.
"I'm not, but I am," you tried to explain, then sighed. "I'll call my therapist in the morning."
Emily pressed her lips into your temple, trailing her fingers through your hair. After a few minutes, your eyelids grew heavy.
"Em, I'm tired. We should go to bed."
"Shh," she cooed, pulling the blankets up around you and leaning to turn off the light. Her arms were tight around you, secure. "You go to sleep, baby. I just want to hold you for a while."
You woke up screaming that night. And the next night. And the next. It was taking a toll on your health–mental and physical. Emily hated it. She hated that you woke up terrified, woke up hurting, woke up with the knowledge that it wasn't just a dream. It had really happened. It became her sole mission at night to make sure that she was there for you when you woke up, ready to wrap you up in her arms, to press kisses to your face, to let you know that you were safe, that she had you, that she'd never let anyone hurt you.
Therapy would help, you said, but it'd probably take a while. When the BAU got called in on a child abduction later that week, she was relieved it was in the area. She knew she'd eventually have to leave you overnight, but she wasn't ready to, not yet.
If there was one thing Emily was good at, it was compartmentalizing, and that served her well in the field. She managed not to think about you for most of the day, focused instead on the little girl who'd gone missing in a mall.
That is, until they started to suspect that the girl had been sexually abused. Emily seethed under the surface, trying her best to remain calm and collected. She needed to be calm in order to do her job.
She was calm as they broke the uncle, drawing him out, luring him into confessing that he had, in fact, been molesting his niece.
She tried to stay calm as they approached the aunt, but she hit her limit when she realized that the aunt had known. The aunt had known and had prioritized her comfort, her ignorance, over that little girl's safety and innocence.
Emily felt herself growing angrier and angrier as she grilled the aunt. Time was running out for the girl. And, now, every time Emily thought of her, she saw you. She saw you hurt and scared and betrayed with no one to help you. And it made her livid.
"She trusted you!" Emily spat. "She trusted your family, she trusted your husband. You need to tell me where she is!"
"I don't know what you're talking about," the aunt lied, avoiding Emily's eyes.
Fuming, Emily grabbed the doll Morgan and Reid had brought from the girl's house, the doll she'd desecrated and broken and dirtied as a reflection of herself. It made Emily sick to look at it. It made her sick to know that you, too, at some level, still thought of yourself this way. Because of what someone took from you, did to you.
She shoved the doll in the aunt's face, nearly spitting with rage. "This is how Katie sees herself! Self-loathing. Dirty. Disgusting. That is what your husband made her feel!"
The aunt shook her head, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.
"Do you have any idea how terrified she must have been? How confused?! While you lay awake protecting an animal!" Emily railed, thinking of the nights you woke up screaming, shaking. The nights you ran to the toilet and vomited because you were that scared, that disgusted, even all these years later.
Morgan stood off to the side, watching, a concerned look on his face. Emily's impassioned questioning seemed to be working, but he could tell it wasn't just an interrogation tactic. Emily was losing control of her emotions. For now, it was working in their favor. But he'd be lying if he said he wasn't concerned.
"You robbed that little girl of her innocence!" Emily yelled, getting in the woman's face. "Are you gonna steal the rest of her life from her as well?!"
And with that, the aunt broke, revealing where she'd stashed her niece. Morgan sprinted out of the room, beckoning a team of paramedics to follow.
Emily, spent from her outburst, numbly handcuffed the aunt and led her to a waiting squad car.
Afterward, Morgan pulled her aside, making sure they were far enough away that no one else could hear their conversation.
"You alright, Prentiss?"
"Yeah," she replied tersely, looking at the ground.
"I don't mean to pry, but it feels like this one was personal for you."
Emily remembered suddenly that Morgan had been molested, too, and softened.
She met his eyes, and they just looked at each other for a moment.
"It's not me," Emily finally said.
Morgan waited, leaving her space to continue if she wanted to, and space for silence if she'd prefer that.
Emily briefly considered lying to Morgan, but he was her best friend and, honestly, she could use a friend in this with her. Especially one who'd understand like Morgan would.
"It's Y/N," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
"I'm sorry." His voice was sincere, heartfelt. It was a simple thing to say, but sometimes the simplest things said the most.
"It's... come back up recently," Emily continued, trying to toe the line between confiding in Morgan but not violating your privacy. "I think she has PTSD."
Morgan placed a strong hand on her shoulder, squeezing it lightly. "It gets better," he said. "It takes a while, but it gets better."
Emily nodded, breathing deeply.
"You know I'm here if you need me," Morgan said. It was a statement, not a question.
"I know. Thanks."
When Emily came home that night, physically and emotionally exhausted, you were in bed reading, scared to go to sleep, as you always were these days.
Emily climbed into bed, kicking her shoes off behind her, and plastering her body to yours, holding you protectively, tightly, as if she'd never let you go.
"Did they find the girl?" you asked. "Was she okay?"
"She will be," Emily whispered.
"Are you okay?"
"I will be," Emily said, resting her head on yours. "Just... let me hold you. Please. Let me keep you safe."
You leaned in and let her, and you'd never felt safer in your life.
Emily Prentiss x fem!reader
Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, mentions of child sexual abuse, flashbacks, panic attacks, PTSD, hurt/comfort, some explicit language
Word Count: 2.5k
Summary: When Emily works a case that hits a little too close to home–a little too close to you–she has a hard time keeping her emotions in check. Takes place during S3.E5.
Your heart beat rapidly, desperately, as Emily pressed her lips into yours, hands roving over your body, the weight of her on top of you giving you just the right amount of resistance as you pushed your hips against her.
You moaned into her mouth and she grinned, grabbing your face and kissing you more, deeper, harder, until you could barely breathe.
You snaked one of your hands down the waistband of her shorts, and she grabbed your wrist.
"Nope," she said, smiling, snatching up both your hands and holding your wrists together with one of hers. "Not this time," she said, kissing each of your knuckles. "This time, I take care of you and you..." You gasped as she slammed your wrists above your head, pinning them in place. "You stay still for me."
The moment your hands hit the bed above your head, it was like you'd been transported to another dimension, into a nightmare. You blinked rapidly, looking around, the layers of the world around you like a Viewfinder caught between slides. Emily's room, then the elementary school gym equipment closet. You coughed, feeling bile rise in your throat. You could smell the stale sweat, the rubber of the basketballs, the Juicy Fruit in the gym coach's mouth as he leered over you. You felt the gym mat–such a poor barrier between you and the hard tile floor–at your back, the coach's rough hands, huge against your tiny wrists, pinning your hands in place above your head. He sat on your legs as you tried to squirm away, shaking, tears leaking down your face as he roughly pulled down your shorts.
"Stop!" you yelled. "Stopstopstopstop."
In one layer of your brain, you saw Emily release your hands immediately, sitting up and holding them away from you, a concerned look on her face.
You breathed heavily and sat up, pulling your knees to your chest.
"What's wrong?" Emily asked gently, looking you over frantically. "Did I hurt you?"
You covered your ears with your hands, rocking back and forth.
"Y/N," Emily prompted, growing more concerned by the second. "Talk to me."
Your head shot up, looking wildly about the room.
"I gotta go home," you said, still rocking.
"What!?"
"I have to leave," you insisted, hyperventilating. "I have to– I have to go. Right now. I have to go, I have to leave."
Emily placed a cautious hand on your shoulder. "I'm not gonna let you leave, Y/N. You're clearly not okay."
You grew more and more distressed, your breathing haphazard and tears forming in your eyes
"Shit!" you yelled, slamming your fist into your head.
Emily grabbed your hands tightly in hers, deeply alarmed.
"Hey!" Her voice was forceful, worried. "What the hell is going on!?"
You started to shake, and Emily noticed that your pupils had dilated wildly.
"I can't–" you stuttered. "I- I have to leave. I don't- I don't want you to– see."
There was a moment then that Emily would remember vividly for the rest of her life. It was the moment that she got it. The way you hugged your arms around your body. The way you recoiled from her touch, and covered your head protectively with your hands, nearly in a fetal position. She'd remember later the way her stomach sank, the way her heart felt as if it had burst open and bled out. It was the moment she realized that something bad had happened to you. Something violating, something awful, something so horrific it would never let you go.
She inched closer to you, careful not to touch you. "Is it a panic attack or a flashback?" she whispered.
"F-flashback," you answered, shaky. "I h-haven't had one in a l-long time."
"Okay," Emily nodded, her voice soft and kind. "What can I do to help you?"
You looked at her then, your eyes huge, a tear streaking down your face. "Can you j-just h-hold me? Really t-tight? It'll get w-worse. I just have to r-ride it– out. I'm s-sorry, Em. I–" Your voice cracked, and you turned away.
"Shh," Emily cooed, pulling you close, wrapping her arms tightly around you. She pressed your head into her chest, a gentle hand on the side of your face. "It's okay," she whispered, kissing the top of your head. "I'm right here, baby." She ran her fingers through your hair, the rhythm soothing you a bit. "I'm right here."
The worst moments of your life played in your mind as if from a 4D projector, surrounding you with the smells, the sights, the tactile disgust of his hands on you, his body against yours.
You screamed, but your voice was muffled, as if it was stuck in your throat and only the echo of a scream could get out. You grasped tufts of your hair, pulling tightly.
Emily took your hands and placed them gently under her arms, so that they were stuck in her tight grip around your body.
"It's not real anymore," she whispered, for you and for herself. "Y/N, I'm right here." Her voice broke, and she looked at the ceiling, willing herself not to cry, not right now. "I won't let anyone hurt you. Do you hear me? I love you. You're safe. You're safe with me."
After a few minutes, the horror film in your mind came to a close. Your body shook, spent from the adrenaline rush. Panic took an incredible toll on the body.
After a moment, you pulled away from Emily, burying your head in your hands. "I'm sorry, Em," you said, voice rough. "I'm so sorry."
Emily caressed the side of your face. "Honey, look at me."
"I can't," you whispered, your voice small, like a terrified child's. "We can break up if you want to. I'll understand."
Emily held your face in her hands, tilting her head down to meet your eyes. "Oh, honey, I don't want that at all. I love you. It's gonna be okay."
You let her run her thumb back and forth along your cheekbone for a few minutes, letting your heartbeat and breathing match the rhythm.
After a while, Emily ventured a question, one she was terrified to ask. "Was it something I did?" Her voice was so quiet you almost didn't hear her.
You exhaled deeply, taking her hand in yours and rubbing circles into her palm.
"The man who hurt me," you started, letting out a shaky breath. "When he held me down, he..." You hated to tell her, but she needed to know. She needed to know it all. "He pinned my hands above my head."
Emily pressed her hand over her mouth, a look of abject horror on her face.
"Y/N," she breathed, her face wracked with guilt. "I'm so sorry. I–" Her voice broke, and a few tears slid down her cheeks.
You were quick to reassure her. "It's okay," you said. "You didn't know. How would you have known?"
"Still," she said, her brows furrowed, dashing tears from under her eyes. "I should have asked first. I should have–"
"I probably would've told you to go for it," you admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I didn't think about it until..."
The silence between you was heavy, with your shame, with Emily's guilt and heartbreak.
Emily looked awful, like she'd never forgive herself. "Emily," you said, pressing your body into hers and wrapping your arms around her waist. "It's okay, I promise. I'm okay. You didn't do anything wrong."
"I hurt you," she whispered, beating herself up.
You placed your hands on your face, your arms, your chest, as if checking for injuries. "Mm, I don't feel hurt."
"You know what I mean."
You lay down in the bed, beckoning Emily to you. She reluctantly obliged, pulling you into her so that you were snuggled into the crook of her neck, her fingers tracing back and forth over your arm.
"I'm okay, Emily," you assured her.
"No, you're not." Her voice was still thick with sadness.
It was in your nature to be bright, to try and combat the dark things with laughter and beauty. You'd had so much darkness in your life, so much hurt, that the only way through it was to seek out the bright spots, to avoid the dark ones. But sometimes the dark spots couldn't be avoided.
"I'm not, but I am," you tried to explain, then sighed. "I'll call my therapist in the morning."
Emily pressed her lips into your temple, trailing her fingers through your hair. After a few minutes, your eyelids grew heavy.
"Em, I'm tired. We should go to bed."
"Shh," she cooed, pulling the blankets up around you and leaning to turn off the light. Her arms were tight around you, secure. "You go to sleep, baby. I just want to hold you for a while."
You woke up screaming that night. And the next night. And the next. It was taking a toll on your health–mental and physical. Emily hated it. She hated that you woke up terrified, woke up hurting, woke up with the knowledge that it wasn't just a dream. It had really happened. It became her sole mission at night to make sure that she was there for you when you woke up, ready to wrap you up in her arms, to press kisses to your face, to let you know that you were safe, that she had you, that she'd never let anyone hurt you.
Therapy would help, you said, but it'd probably take a while. When the BAU got called in on a child abduction later that week, she was relieved it was in the area. She knew she'd eventually have to leave you overnight, but she wasn't ready to, not yet.
If there was one thing Emily was good at, it was compartmentalizing, and that served her well in the field. She managed not to think about you for most of the day, focused instead on the little girl who'd gone missing in a mall.
That is, until they started to suspect that the girl had been sexually abused. Emily seethed under the surface, trying her best to remain calm and collected. She needed to be calm in order to do her job.
She was calm as they broke the uncle, drawing him out, luring him into confessing that he had, in fact, been molesting his niece.
She tried to stay calm as they approached the aunt, but she hit her limit when she realized that the aunt had known. The aunt had known and had prioritized her comfort, her ignorance, over that little girl's safety and innocence.
Emily felt herself growing angrier and angrier as she grilled the aunt. Time was running out for the girl. And, now, every time Emily thought of her, she saw you. She saw you hurt and scared and betrayed with no one to help you. And it made her livid.
"She trusted you!" Emily spat. "She trusted your family, she trusted your husband. You need to tell me where she is!"
"I don't know what you're talking about," the aunt lied, avoiding Emily's eyes.
Fuming, Emily grabbed the doll Morgan and Reid had brought from the girl's house, the doll she'd desecrated and broken and dirtied as a reflection of herself. It made Emily sick to look at it. It made her sick to know that you, too, at some level, still thought of yourself this way. Because of what someone took from you, did to you.
She shoved the doll in the aunt's face, nearly spitting with rage. "This is how Katie sees herself! Self-loathing. Dirty. Disgusting. That is what your husband made her feel!"
The aunt shook her head, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.
"Do you have any idea how terrified she must have been? How confused?! While you lay awake protecting an animal!" Emily railed, thinking of the nights you woke up screaming, shaking. The nights you ran to the toilet and vomited because you were that scared, that disgusted, even all these years later.
Morgan stood off to the side, watching, a concerned look on his face. Emily's impassioned questioning seemed to be working, but he could tell it wasn't just an interrogation tactic. Emily was losing control of her emotions. For now, it was working in their favor. But he'd be lying if he said he wasn't concerned.
"You robbed that little girl of her innocence!" Emily yelled, getting in the woman's face. "Are you gonna steal the rest of her life from her as well?!"
And with that, the aunt broke, revealing where she'd stashed her niece. Morgan sprinted out of the room, beckoning a team of paramedics to follow.
Emily, spent from her outburst, numbly handcuffed the aunt and led her to a waiting squad car.
Afterward, Morgan pulled her aside, making sure they were far enough away that no one else could hear their conversation.
"You alright, Prentiss?"
"Yeah," she replied tersely, looking at the ground.
"I don't mean to pry, but it feels like this one was personal for you."
Emily remembered suddenly that Morgan had been molested, too, and softened.
She met his eyes, and they just looked at each other for a moment.
"It's not me," Emily finally said.
Morgan waited, leaving her space to continue if she wanted to, and space for silence if she'd prefer that.
Emily briefly considered lying to Morgan, but he was her best friend and, honestly, she could use a friend in this with her. Especially one who'd understand like Morgan would.
"It's Y/N," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
"I'm sorry." His voice was sincere, heartfelt. It was a simple thing to say, but sometimes the simplest things said the most.
"It's... come back up recently," Emily continued, trying to toe the line between confiding in Morgan but not violating your privacy. "I think she has PTSD."
Morgan placed a strong hand on her shoulder, squeezing it lightly. "It gets better," he said. "It takes a while, but it gets better."
Emily nodded, breathing deeply.
"You know I'm here if you need me," Morgan said. It was a statement, not a question.
"I know. Thanks."
When Emily came home that night, physically and emotionally exhausted, you were in bed reading, scared to go to sleep, as you always were these days.
Emily climbed into bed, kicking her shoes off behind her, and plastering her body to yours, holding you protectively, tightly, as if she'd never let you go.
"Did they find the girl?" you asked. "Was she okay?"
"She will be," Emily whispered.
"Are you okay?"
"I will be," Emily said, resting her head on yours. "Just... let me hold you. Please. Let me keep you safe."
You leaned in and let her, and you'd never felt safer in your life.
tw: severe self harm, implied suicide, tears (everyone’s crying)
summary: the team finds hotchniss’ daughter, lola, at her most vulnerable
wc: 2k
chapter: one | two
Emily couldn’t stop thinking about all the teams’ voices overlapping, their tones absolutely terrified as they panicked. In just a few short minutes, all their lives would be changed forever. Emily’s life as a mom would change, Aaron’s life as a dad would change. Their usual worries would be something else entirely.
“Hey, has anyone seen Lola?” Emily asked, her heart slightly racing as she looked at her team and her husband at the table, the volume in the room fading as they looked at Emily.
“I think she said she was going to the bathroom.” JJ answered, noticing Emily’s slightly wide eyes as she stood in front of them. The dark haired woman turned around, rushing down the hall to the bathroom, leaving the team looking at each other with frowns, confusion making it hard to resume talking about what they were just seconds ago.
JJ stood up, giving the team a small smile as she, too, walked down the hall, seeing Emily knocking rapidly on the bathroom door.
“Lola?” Four more knocks. Nothing. “Honey, you’ve been in there for a long time now.” JJ just watched as Emily breathed heavily, not being able to stand completely still. “Lola?” Two more knocks. Nothing.
Emily turned around, looking at JJ with a frown, her hands on her waist as she bit her lower lip. JJ looked at her with soft, slightly wide eyes. Emily exhaled.
“JJ, I…” It sounded like she swallowed a cry. “I need you to get Aaron here.” JJ heard the desperation in her friend’s voice and she nodded, hurrying to get him. Emily stayed there, continuing to knock, telling herself that her thoughts were wrong. That this wasn’t really happening.
After moments, that felt far too long, her husband was by her side, asking if she was okay.
“I’m fine, I just… you need to get in there.” Emily tried to open the door, mentally telling herself that maybe it would magically open. Aaron looked at his wife, seeing her eyes shining with slight tears. Her voice was laced with concern and her breaths were short. “Aaron, right now. Open the door. I don’t care how you do it, just get it open.” Her words were hurried and she got a glance of JJ fidgeting with her fingers, her eyes unsure.
Aaron grabbed the handle, crashing the side of his body to the door over and over again. It felt like forever until the door finally opened and Aaron was not at all nearly prepared for the sight he was exposed to. There she was, his 15 year old daughter, blood covering her whole arm, her clothes and the floor. He opened his mouth in a silent gasp as he rushed to her side, horrified by how pale she was. Emily and JJ caught sight of the situation and their hearts hurt as they saw Aaron try to talk Lola back to consciousness. Emily covered her mouth, tears burning in her eyes the second her palm touched her skin. JJ was right behind her, tears watering in her eyes too as she fumbled to get her phone from her pocket. The seconds felt too many as her shaky hands failed her.
“One of you has to call an ambulance, right now.” Aaron barked, cupping his hands over Lola’s arm, trying desperately to stop the bleeding.
“I am. I am.” JJ’s voice trembled and she let out a relieved breath when she finally grabbed her phone, dialing 911. She grabbed Emily who had began depending on the wall as to not fall. Emily’s knees were weak and her body felt heavy as she felt an arm around her waist, pulling her away from the scene. Away from the image that was going to haunt her for years to come.
“How long, JJ?” The blonde heard Aaron ask.
“I don’t know. I’m trying to find out.” She inhaled, trying her best to comfort Emily who was seconds away from collapsing.
“Get me a first aid kit.” JJ didn’t know what to do. Her arm was beginning to hurt from trying to hold up Emily and her heart hurt as she couldn’t stop thinking about what was happening just a wall away. She couldn’t hear what the woman on the phone way saying, not clearly. She felt her lips move but she didn’t hear herself. She heard something that sounded like they were going to be there as fast as they could. JJ heard herself mutter a ‘thank you’ as she looked around for a first aid kit. She searched high up, seeing the green box she was looking for on a shelf. She reached up, her breaths uneven.
As soon as Aaron got a hold of the box, he immediately got to work, bandaging up his daughter’s arm, his chest hurting as he looked at his little girl, her face pale and head heavy.
“Lola, honey. I need you to look at me.” He said, slightly panicking as the blood seeped through the bandage. “Lola. Look at me.” His brown eyes met Lola’s dark ones. “Good. Keep looking at me.” He nodded, glancing at JJ who was barely visible behind the doorway. “JJ, get Rossi in here. You need to take care of Emily right now.” Aaron shouted, not sure if JJ even heard him through Emily’s sobs. There was no answer, but moments later, he heard hurrying footsteps and then David talking to the operator on JJ’s phone. Aaron exhaled, keeping light pressure on the bandage.
Without the phone in hand, JJ could finally keep her focus on Emily who was completely destroyed. In the corner of her eye, she saw Spencer rush in.
When Emily tried to go into the bathroom, JJ gripped her even tighter, keeping her away from the bathroom.
“No, no, no. Emily. Emily.” JJ softly spoke, her voice trembling as she lead the brunette out to the hall. Emily leaned against the wall, hyperventilating as she slid down to the ground. JJ was right beside her, usually comforting words coming from her lips as her throat began to close up. They didn’t help much now. “Emily.” Her sobs were too loud. JJ placed her hands on Emily’s cheeks, caressing as she tried to initiate eye contact. “Emily, breathe. Emily. Emily. Look at me.” Emily looked up, her eyes having a certain heartbreak JJ had never seen before. Her feelings were overwhelming. “It’s going to be okay.” JJ nodded, Emily looked down, taking a short breath. “Look at me. Breathe.” Emily looked up again, her brown eyes staying on JJ’s blue ones.
“She looked like she was dead, JJ.” Emily was hysterical. The sentence made the blonde’s heart hurt.
“No, no, no. She’s not. She’s not dead. She’s not.” Emily just continued sobbing, placing her own hands over JJ’s.
“I can’t lose her. I ca—“ A sharp breath. “I can’t lose her, JJ. She’s my Lola. She’s my—“
“You won’t. They’re all helping her right now and an ambulance is coming. You will not lose her.” JJ heard her name being shouted and she panicked, not knowing what to focus on. She quickly ran to the bathroom again, seeing Spencer in the doorway, looking at the scene with wide eyes. Quickly, she took a hold of his arms, looking into his eyes as she told him to go to Emily. He nodded, running out to the hall. JJ exhaled as she rushed into the bathroom, seeing Lola’ scared eyes. JJ knew what the teenager needed.
Kneeling down, JJ placed her hands on Lola’s cheeks, looking into her misty eyes. The blonde tried her best to ignore just how much blood Lola was losing.
“Stay awake, Lola.” JJ chanted when she saw how Lola’s eyes began to slowly flutter closed. “Look at me. Stay awake.” JJ felt Lola grip her arm, blood smearing on her pale skin. There wasn’t much more they could do than internally pray that Lola was going to be okay. Aaron had bandaged her arm and was keeping pressure on it. David had finished talking to the operator and now all they had to wait. It was the longest 10 minutes of her life. The longest 10 minutes of all their lives.
JJ’s eyes widened when Lola’s eyes closed completely. She lightly slapped her cheeks, chanting over and over again that Lola had to stay awake.
“No, no, no.” Her heart picked up speed for the thousandth time that night. “Lola. Lola. Lola. Open your eyes. Lola.” JJ teared up, she had never felt so hopeless and useless in her life. “Look at me.” The teenager suddenly opened her eyes, and JJ nodded in encouragement, never stopped looking into her eyes.
Lola’s vision was blurry when she opened her eyes. Her head was pounding and her ears were ringing. It took a while for her to realize who was in front of her. Her eyes finally focused after a while, seeing JJ looking at her with tears in her eyes. She felt the blonde’s hands on her cheeks, caressing lovingly, but Lola also felt how much they were trembling. Using all the little strength she had left, Lola weakly grabbed JJ’s hand, wanting her soft skin to be the last thing she felt, instead of her own blood, before she died. A few beats and everything went black.
Now, as Emily sat in the hospital with the entire team there, no one speaking, she could not shake the thoughts of having to prepare to come home without her daughter. Having to tell Jack that his little sister had killed herself. She wouldn’t ever survive that. None of them would.
Emily closed her eyes, trying to get the thoughts to go away. She exhaled, gently squeezing JJ’s hand. The blonde hadn’t left Emily’s side since they arrived at the hospital.
Sitting in the waiting room was almost, selfishly, as bad as seeing her daughter on the floor. All the quiet, all the time to think about how long her daughter had been doing this. Emily didn’t miss the faint scars on her arms from what seemed like months prior to this. She didn’t know how they had missed it. Didn’t understand how Lola was in so much pain and they hadn’t seen it.
Emily felt a gentle squeeze back, but this time, it meant something more than comfort. Emily looked up, seeing a doctor walking towards her. She held her breath, putting her free hand where JJ and her were already holding hands, looking at the doctor with expectant eyes.
“Emily, is it?” Emily nodded, seeing Aaron come back from the bathroom. He hurried to Emily’s side when he saw the doctor. “We’ve moved your daughter to a ward.” The woman started. Aaron sat down next to his wife, Emily placing her head on his shoulder as they listened to the doctor, her hands still holding JJ’s tightly. “She’s just come out of surgery. She’ll need to be reviewed by psychiatry tomorrow morning.”
“Is she going to be okay, then?” Aaron asked, his voice hoarse and exhausted. Emily felt the way he sounded.
“We’ll know more tomorrow.” The doctor gave a comforting smile. “Do you want to see her?” Emily and Aaron both immediately nodded. Emily turned to JJ, giving her a small smile before she let go of her hand, feeling a small bit of emptiness at the loss of contact. Aaron placed his arm around Emily’s waist, both of them slightly shaking with nervousness as they followed the doctor down door after door.
Tears burned in Emily’s time again when she saw her daughter on the hospital bed. Seeing Lola so small and vulnerable, with a bandage covering her arm, made Emily quietly gasp. She was afraid she would never stop crying.
Aaron didn’t know what to feel. He didn’t know what to do. He was mad at himself for not noticing just how much his own daughter was suffering. He was sad for not noticing how much his own daughter was suffering. At the same time, he felt numb. The feeling of his daughter’s blood in his hands made him feel so many overwhelming feelings, but he felt numb at the same time.
Two chairs were placed next to the bed and the parents hesitantly sat down, looking at their daughter who was asleep. Emily grabbed her hand, caressing it and saw how many scars Lola had on her arms. Emily quietly whimpered and felt Aaron take Lola’s hand as well. She looked at him. The love of her life, and saw how much he was hurting too. She placed her free hand on his cheek, caressing it as a tear rolled down his cheek. Her thumb delicately brushed it away. She wanted to say something. But she didn’t know what. What are you supposed to say when your daughter slits her wrists?
“She’ll be okay.” Emily ended up saying. She wanted to take it back the second she began the sentence. Aaron said nothing, he just looked down at their hands. “Aaron, honey? Are you listening to me?” Her voice was gentle. “She’s going to be okay.” She didn’t know why she said it again. Aaron nodded, a slight, obviously unsure nod. “Honey… look at me.” He did and when he raised his head, Emily saw how much Aaron seemed to just want to cry. Let it out. Emily prayed that he wouldn’t keep this in until he eventually broke.
Aaron stared at what could’ve been Emily’s face, but she was too good of a profiler to see that his eyes were resting at a spot just past her ear. Silence for a moment and Emily was afraid that she was going to have to beg him to talk.
“… I should have noticed.” The words came so unexpectedly that Emily barely registered what he said. She blinked.
“Aaron…” Emily cooed.
“We’re profilers.” He scoffed, his shiny gaze slipping back to their hands. “We’re parents. I missed it.”
“We all did.” Emily spoke. It was true. It was most likely hopeful ignorance, denial. They had all noticed that something was off but they hadn’t given her more than invitations to talk. Aaron, at least, didn’t want to believe that it was anything too serious. He didn’t like to think of his children in pain, and he’d prefer to manipulate himself than to try and fix it. The guilt made him feel nauseous.
“I thought that after Reid, I would notice things like this. Notice if people weren’t okay and be able to keep a close eye on things.”
“She hid it well.” Emily spoke, voice unsure. The words were for her own benefit as well.
“Did she?” Aaron asked, his voice cracking in the slightest way as he looked up at his wife, seeing her hesitant facial expression. Emily didn’t know what to say, so she swallowed the thick feeling in her throat, looking at her daughter again.
Hours went by and the parents were asleep. Emily was still holding her daughter’s hand, leaning her head on her husband’s shoulder. Aaron kept a hand around her as he leaned his head on hers.
Lola heard soft snores coming from somewhere. It took a moment for her eyes to relax at the harsh light that shone from the ceiling. She swallowed, her throat dry and sore. As soon as she noticed her parents, she felt claustrophobic in her body. She couldn’t quite move. She could wiggle her toes slightly and after a beat, she recognized her mother’s hand in her own. Mustering up strength, she squeezed slightly. The way her mother immediately woke up made Lola feel guilty.
“…Hi, baby.” Emily smiled, leaning closer to kiss Lola’s hand. Aaron also woke up when he heard Emily’s voice, looking at his daughter with so much sadness.
Lola looked at her parents for a moment before she turned her head as much as she could the other way, her feelings and memories catching up to her and she began to cry. Her face contorted into the most heartbreaking frown that made Emily’s heart hurt. She leaned closer, cooing.
“Hey…” She whispered, squeezing Lola’s hand tighter. “Hey, honey.” When Lola began quietly sobbing, Emily hushed her. Aaron took her hand over Emily’s.
“I’m so sorry.” Lola whimpered, her chest hurting at all her family’s faces. The way JJ looked at her before she had passed out made its way to her mind.
“No, Lola. Don’t apologize.” Aaron spoke, voice gentle as he too, leaned closer.
“I’m so sorry.” Lola continued, feeling so utterly humiliated and embarrassed. She felt guilty for scaring everyone, and she did it all for nothing. It didn’t even work. She was still here.
“Sweetheart, listen to me.” Emily spoke. Lola turned her head, looking at her parents who seemed to do everything not to break down. “You have nothing to be sorry for. It is not your fault that you’re hurting, okay?” Lola still felt guilty, but she nodded, not wanting her parents to worry anymore. Although, she doubted they would ever stop worrying. They would never trust her to be alone again. She closed her eyes, wanting the ground to just swallow her whole. “We are here for you. Me, your dad, the entire team too. We love you so much, baby.” Lola swallowed her sobs, wanting to ask a question.
“Are you mad at me?” She whispered, her voice trembling. “Is the team mad at me?”
“No, no, no.” Emily shook her head, the concerned frown on her face that she so often had.
“No one is mad at you.” Aaron spoke. “No one. We’re worried, honey. We all love you and we care about you.”
“I’m sorry.” Lola spoke, she couldn’t ever apologize enough for hurting everyone like she did. Emily shook her head, her eyes soft.
