Work Text:
The ride was a long one. After sitting shotgun with Jason Gideon for six hours in the SUV, Emily was desperately ready to crash at the little motel overnight. Reid, Hotch and Morgan were travelling in the second car, and JJ was already at their destination – having travelled a day or so ago to handle the inevitable press conference.
Jason pulled the car to a halt and turned to look at her.
Emily tried to read his expression, but found herself unable to. To be honest, he set her off balance – curt and almost rude in one breath, and paternally kind in the next. She knew of his reputation as a ‘difficult’ man, but with him, she felt like a marine under constant inspection whenever his eyes fell upon her. Shit, she felt like a marine failing inspection every time his eyes fell upon her.
“We’ll head out early tomorrow.” Jason said eventually. “Get as much rest as you can tonight.”
Emily nodded and lifted the case files for him to see. “I’m probably gunna just look through these some more.”
Jason’s brows knitted together. “Sleep, Agent Prentiss.”
Emily nodded. She watched the second car pull up and the rest of the men paired off – Reid with Morgan; Hotch with Gideon.
“Lucky you getting a room to yourself.” Morgan grinned, flashing her a smile and a wink.
“Who knew my snoring was that bad!” Emily quipped. She knew that Hotch, chivalrous as ever, wouldn’t have his new female agent sharing with the men in her first week on the job – and she appreciated the thought… but it didn’t help her to feel any less like an intruder to their little unit. She knew that they missed the agent she had replaced – Greenaway. All she knew about her predecessor was what Reid had shared. He’d been pretty close to the woman and he had been awkwardly welcoming to Emily too. Most of the team had been – the other women: JJ and Garcia were friendly and seemed to accept her pretty much immediately. Derek too. But Hotch and Gideon? They were a different story.
She had expected Gideon to be distant. She figured he could be distant no matter how long a person had known him. But Hotch? She had hoped for an ally in Hotch – he’d kind of known her when she was younger and he was working security for her mom. But Emily guessed she must’ve left a bad impression on him, because she couldn’t put a foot right in his eyes. Paperwork; fieldwork; profiling – he looked to her like she didn’t belong here. Hell, he had said as much on her first damn day – he thought she was just here to piss her mom off and that she saw the job as a passing fancy and wouldn’t take it seriously. She was determined to show him that was not the case.
This job? It meant everything to her. For a long while she thought she would live out her working life at Interpol… but after the Valhalla mission, she just… she just couldn’t do it anymore.
During the break between there and here at the BAU, she had been settled in a mind-numbingly boring desk job whilst undergoing therapy and trying her damnedest to regain her confidence and get back in the saddle once again.
And now she felt ready. She wanted – no, she needed this job. She needed it for the sake of her sanity.
She closed the door to her room, tossed the case files on the table and threw herself on the couch. Scrubbing her hands over her face, she tried to reconcile her feelings. She had done good work on her first case here, and even Gideon seemed pleased. She had played chess with him on the flight home and actually gave him a run for his money, she thought - or maybe he had let her think that? – either way it felt like a ‘win’. But once they had landed, aside from a cursory nod, Hotch still seemed unimpressed. It niggled at her then, and the niggling was fast becoming a sense of being eaten away by it.
She had to do better. She needed to prove herself to him – to show him exactly how serious she was about this job.
Most of her time at Interpol was redacted, and it meant that she didn’t have a great deal, on paper, to show for herself. All of those cases - a string of long term deep undercover missions; take downs of cartels and sex gangs; infiltration of a terror cell – had great chunks redacted from them. Each of those missions she had given everything she had. And more. Yet she couldn’t tell him. Not that she particularly wanted to revisit her last case.
That one had not been easy – eight months in the bed of a terrorist. It left her empty and broken. She had insisted she was fine, but froze on her next mission. It had never happened to her before, but she just…couldn’t make her body move, and Clyde had mandated time off for her.
She used it to weigh up her future. She knew, in her heart, that she could never go back to that kind of mission again. It wasn’t just the awful things she saw, nor was it having to feign pleasure as that bastard used her body…it was what she had done at the end. She went rogue, broke all of her own rules, to save a child. To hide him away where even the so-called ‘good guys’ wouldn’t be able to find him. She threw the rule book away and had no qualms about doing so, and she just… couldn’t go back knowing what she had done.
She took a six month sabbatical in the Midwest, at a tedious job that was as far removed from her exploits at Interpol, and when Section Chief Strauss of the FBI called to say she had her resume and wanted to offer her a posting at the famed BAU, she didn’t believe it! It was a career jump, and she knew that she would have leap-frogged a Hell of a lot of people with far better credentials, far more experience and far more expertise than herself – so she went in to interview with SC Strauss, curious as to why her name had been chosen.
Did she want the job? Abso-fucking-lutely. Was she suspicious about why she was given the chance? Abso-fucking-lutely.
As it turned out, she was right to be suspicious. She hadn’t been offered the job on merit at all – she had been offered the job for her spying skills. For her lying skills. Nothing more, nothing less. Strauss wanted her to spy on Hotch, to feed information back to her and get him sacked. Oh, and of course there were the promises of promotion and a pay bump – and Emily didn’t need to be a fucking profiler to know that was all bullshit. But if she refused the offer, then she would never get another shot at this job. And she wanted this job. Really. Fucking. Badly.
So she said yes. She didn’t even hesitate. She figured once she was ‘in’ the BAU, she could use her experience at long-term assignments to make sure she was able to secure her place in the team, legitimately, and cut Strauss off at the knees.
Part of that plan involved having Hotch on her side from the start… but he wasn’t on her side. And now she was stuck between a rock and a hard place.
A knock at her door pulled her from her thoughts and she wandered across the room to see who was there.
“Hi.” Spencer said awkwardly. He smiled goofily and gave her a stiff little wave.
“Hi.” She replied. “Anything wrong?”
“Hmm?” he asked in surprise. “Oh. No. Nothing wrong.” He shifted a little uncomfortably. “Derek’s going down to the bar. I mean we are both going to the bar and, uh, I thought you might like to…” he trailed off.
Emily raised a brow, arms folded. “I didn’t think the bar would be your scene.”
“It isn’t.” he admitted. “But I thought you might like some company.”
“That’s sweet.”
“Is sweet a good thing or a bad thing?” he winced.
“It’s good. It’s good.” she laughed.
Spencer stepped aside for her and they headed to the elevator. “Don’t take it to heart.” He said out of the blue. “Gideon.” He clarified. “He just takes a while to warm up to people.”
Emily scoffed. She figured Hell might just have frozen over by that time.
“He was very fond of Elle.” Spencer added softly.
“I think you all were, right?” Emily ventured, gauging his reactions.
Spencer nodded. “We were good friends.”
“I’d like us to be friends.”
Spencer looked up at her and smiled widely, openly, like a kid. “I’d like that, too.”
Emily blew out a relived breath and smiled.
“How come you know Hotch?” he blurted.
Emily stared at him. “You found out about that, huh?”
“I’m very smart.” Spencer grinned.
Emily chuckled and nodded. “He worked for my mom a long time ago.”
“The Ambassador?”
Emily frowned. “Geez. Is there anything you don’t know about me?”
“Penelope did it.” He said quickly. “Researched you.” He added. “No malice intended. She, uhm, was curious about you.”
Emily’s eyes narrowed. She had seen first hand exactly how talented the BAU’s hacker was. “How deep did she look?”
“You have some classified files.” He noted nonchalantly.
“That deep, huh?”
“What’s on them?” Spencer asked, his eyes a little wide with intrigue.
Emily leaned closer. “It’s classified. If I tell you I’d have to kill you.”
Spencer laughed a little nervously, unable to quite tell if the brunette was serious or not. “I…can’t tell if you’re joking.”
“Good.” she winked.
*
Emily couldn’t be sure if the slight hangover was worth it. She felt like she had solidified her friendship with Derek (who irritatingly seemed to have no after effects whatsoever of their late night at the bar), but it hadn’t helped her figure out her problem. Hotch was as cool to her as ever – he watched her, assessing her, all the time and she found herself distracted and unable to completely focus on her job because of it.
It was ridiculous. Even if she intended to deliver on her deal with Strauss, she wasn’t going to get anything on Hotch while he was so hostile. And if she decided to screw Strauss and her damn deal, without Hotch as an ally, she’d be out on her ass quick smart.
She had to do something. She had to push Hotch into a reaction – at least then she’d know if she even stood a chance of earning his trust and respect. If she failed, then she decided that she would turn her badge in today.
*
It was getting dark by the time they had a location on their unsub. Emily had been unusually quiet during the briefing and on delivering the profile to local PD. She had been quiet on the ride to the unsub’s ranch, and she had silently acquiesced to Hotch’s instruction that she was to secure the rear of the sprawling wooden property.
Hotch eyed her a little suspiciously. “Anything to say, Prentiss?”
“No sir.”
Hotch hummed, unconvinced, as he directed the rest of the team to their places.
Emily jogged through the long grass, letting the moonlight guide her path, until she was pressed against the wooden planks that made up the rearmost side of the building. Her heart thumped in her chest. There was one, possibly two, women being held in there. The unsub – a farmer by the name of Richard McIntyre – was using them to fulfil some matriarchal obsession he had. According to what Garcia could find, each of the victims was a strong willed woman – the type that had once gained a reputation as a shrew or harridan. McIntyre had been belittled and abused by his vindictive mother since he was a boy, and was now taking women of a similar nature and punishing them in his mother’s stead.
A muffled cry reached Emily’s ears.
She drew her weapon and crept along the perimeter. There it was again! One of the women was still alive! Her eyes scanned the building - there was a loose plank, its displacement catching in the moonlight, and Emily hunched over and jogged towards it. There was a gap, maybe just big enough for her to squeeze through. It was dark inside, very dark, and from here, her eyes couldn’t make anything out. But she heard the soft cry again and she tried to wriggle through the gap.
“Damnit.” She hissed, her kevlar vest chafing and scraping against the wood. The last thing she wanted was for McIntyre to hear her trying to get through and shoot her dead as she sat there, stuck half in and half out of that gap like some fucking ‘Whack-a-mole’.
She wriggled free, back outside, and sighed. “Hotch?” she whispered into her mic.
“Prentiss?”
“I got movement at the rear – a hostage, I think. I’m going in.”
“You ‘think’ there’s a hostage?” His voice was full of irritation. “Prentiss, until you’re sure –“
Emily wasn’t listening as she shed the Kevlar and mic, dumping the lot on the ground, before once again trying to squeeze through the gap. This time, without the rigid vest, she got through.
Emily tested her footing as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, hearing the soft sounds of straw on wood beneath her step. She paused, gun in front of her, the moonlight shafting through the gaps in the planking. She listened, waiting for the hostage to make another sound. It wasn’t long before she heard it, a soft sob from deeper inside.
Licking her dry lips, she edged her way onwards until she could see and hear the woman – tied to a beam and bleeding.
“Who’s there?!” the woman called, panicked, as she heard Emily’s footsteps.
“Shhh. FBI.” Emily whispered, stepping closer. “Marion? Marion Simms?”
“Yes! Yes! Thank God! GET ME OUT OF HERE!”
Emily jogged closer, hushing the woman again. “I’m going to get you out, Marion, but you have to be quiet for me. Can you do that?”
“I can if you hurry up!” Marion snapped.
Emily raised a brow at the woman’s tone. Yep, McIntyre certainly had a ‘type’. She holstered her gun, working at the ropes.
“HURRY!” Marion yelled, impatience and pain colouring her voice.
“Please, Marion – I need you to be quiet.” She urged again.
“And I need you to hurry the fuck up!”
“Goddammnit!” Emily hissed, barely stopping herself from sniping back at the victim.
McIntyre’s voice cut through the barn. “Who the fuck is back there?!”
Emily wheeled around, drawing her gun, as Marion cried and started yelling at Emily for being too slow - and McIntyre strode closer, a shotgun in his hand.
“FBI! Put. The. Gun. Down.” Emily instructed.
McIntyre laughed and cocked the rifle. “You gunna shoot me with that little peashooter?” he scoffed. He was a big, meaty, man and Emily knew it would take a good few shots to actually bring him down – and if he was able to get a shot off before he dropped, without her vest she’d be dead.
Emily stared at McIntyre, weighing up her options as Marion sobbed and continued in her panic to berate her. Emily made a decision. She was going to show Hotch that she was committed. She eyed McIntyre coolly, straightening her shoulders. “I don’t need my gun.” She said as confidently as she could muster and deliberately holstered her glock.
McIntyre stared, dumbfounded at her actions.
Marion watched, with horror, as the Fed – her saviour – made the dumbass mistake of holstering her weapon! She could picture the agent being shot dead, which would leave herself at McIntyre’s mercy yet again! She called out to Emily. “What the Hell are you -“
“Shut up Marion!” Emily snapped, her eyes never leaving McIntyre. If he liked to torment women he thought to be bitches, then she would be a bigger bitch right back at him. She would be the mother of all bitches. She would emulate his own mother.
McIntyre scoffed in disbelief.
“Come on then, big man.” She sneered. “You haven’t got the balls, have you Dickie?”
“What did you call me?” he hissed.
“Dickie. Dick. Prick. You know why you haven’t the balls, Dickie?” she teased, her voice lilting.
“You shut your GODDAMN mouth!”
“Because you mom has them, right? She put your balls in a vice and cut those little nuggets right off, didn’t she?”
“You bitch.” He breathed, his fingers tightening on the gun.
“You don’t scare me, little boy.” Emily raised her chin, put her faith in a God she no longer believed in, and strode closer to him. Her senses were working overtime. She could see the microexpressions passing across his eyes; she could hear the soft steps of someone approaching. It would be Morgan, or Hotch, she figured. “You think you’re tough, Dickie?” she half whispered. “You’re a weakling. A pussy.” She took a breath and went for the clincher. “A son of a bitch.”
Fuck he was fast. Emily heard Marion scream almost before she saw McIntyre move, and before she could fully react, his huge hands were around her throat and she was on the ground underneath him.
“You don’t fucking get to say that about my mom!” he yelled, his saliva splashing her cheek.
Marion was still screaming, the sound cutting through Emily’s skull as her vision began to blur. She pummelled McIntyre with her fists, but he was strong. So strong. She was still flailing as McIntyre’s weight was pulled from her and she rolled onto all fours, coughing and rubbing her throat.
When she dragged herself to her knees, gasping air into her swollen windpipe, she saw Derek wrestling McIntyre to the ground. Pulling herself to her feet, she staggered to them and levelled her gun at McIntyre’s head. “Stop fucking struggling or I’ll blow your brains out.” She rasped.
McIntyre stilled beneath Derek, his hands raising in surrender, even as his eyes challenged her to shoot. He grinned at her through bloodied teeth before Derek rolled him onto his stomach and roughly cuffed him.
“Son of a bitch.” Derek hissed into McIntyre’s ear. “You okay, Prentiss?”
Emily nodded and massaged her throat. “Yeah. Good.” she croaked.
Derek eyed her, one brow raised, and sighed as Hotch yelled “FBI!” and entered the barn.
Marion ran towards him, sobbing and Hotch made sure Reid took her out to the waiting paramedics.
Emily sagged against a hay bale and focused on her breathing as opposed the stern frown that Hotch aimed in her direction.
Derek pulled McIntyre to his feet. “He’s all yours, Hotch.”
Hotch merely nodded, his gaze not leaving his newest team member. “Take him out.” He muttered.
“Hey, Hotch… she got him.” Derek pointed out.
“I should sue that bitch.” McIntyre added as Derek shoved him towards the waiting police.
Hotch glared at Emily, shaking his head in disappointment. “That was a serious breach of protocol, Prentiss.”
Emily sighed and nodded. She cleared her throat carefully. “I didn’t intend to go in, but I could hear the victim in there. I couldn’t leave her.” she shrugged.
“You should have waited for back up.”
“And if I had, she might be dead.”
“You could have been dead.” He pointed out.
Emily shrugged again. “That’s the job, isn’t it?”
Hotch scoffed. “No it most certainly is not! Christ, Prentiss!”
“You’re disappointed. I get it.” Emily nodded, to weary to argue. “I’ll hand in my notice in the morning.”
Hotch’s frown deepened. “What?”
He looked genuinely surprised, but Emily ignored the reaction. “You don’t want me here. Gideon doesn’t want me here. I get it. You knew my mom, right? And you think I’m like her. I get it, I do. So I’ll go and you can select the next one yourself – I’ll make sure Strauss doesn’t interfere again, okay?” She took another breath and held his gaze, unwaveringly. “FYI – I’m not like my mom. Not at all.” She shrugged. “Anyway… thanks for giving me a chance even though you didn’t want to. Sorry I let you down.”
Hotch stared, speechless, as Emily turned and strode from the barn. Over her shoulder, she added, “I want to check on the Marion. She was pretty beat up.”
“Prentiss.” He called, but she carried on walking. He followed her out, watching as she accepted a slap on the shoulder from Morgan without breaking stride. She headed directly for Marion, squatting down by the ambulance steps and talking with the woman. He noted Prentiss’ body language; the way she touched the victim; the way she held eye contact; and as he stepped nearer, the soft tone of her voice. He also noted how Marion visibly relaxed in Prentiss’ presence.
He knew that, on paper, Emily Prentiss was a first class candidate for the job – her academic reports were second to none. She scored 100 in the range. She excelled at training; she was a polyglot; her references from the Midwest and the UN were exceptional. Maybe he had misjudged her? Maybe he had used his memories of her mother to hold against her? Maybe he let the fact that Strauss picked her without consulting him to punish her?
He sighed. Not maybe; definitely. He was wrong to have done that, and he felt guilty for making her feel so unwelcome. While any new member might well expect to have to win Jason Gideon’s favour, he himself as Unit chief should have supported her. And he hadn’t done that.
When Emily stood and headed away from Marion, Hotch approached her. “Prentiss – can we talk?”
Emily gave him a resigned smile. “I think we’ve said it all. I don’t blame you, sir.” She stuck out her hand for him to shake.
“I don’t want your resignation.” He said, coming straight to the point.
Emily frowned.
“I haven’t given you a fair chance. I realise that now. So how about we try again, hmm? A fresh start.”
A smile touched her lips. “You’re giving me another chance?”
“I was rather hoping you would give me another chance.” He said, returning her smile. “And I promise not to compare you to your mother.”
Emily chuckled. “A word of warning - I can be stubborn like her.”
Hotch’s dimples deepened. “Is that a ‘yes’ to giving it another shot?”
“It’s a yes.” She nodded, her smile breaking free.