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It’s all Morgan’s fault.
He was the one who asked Emily what she was doing tonight. He was the one who started the conversation—never mind that she engaged in it—that led him here. She had wrinkled her nose, made her distaste for Valentine’s clear, and recommended them a Chinese place she said she’d be ordering from tonight.
Maybe he could blame the restaurant. Blame the nearly incomprehensible menu that sent him running out the door. The tiny, minuscule distance from it to Emily’s apartment.
But as Aaron rings her doorbell, he knows he’ll only be blaming himself.
He grows antsy in the few seconds it takes for her to open the door. His heart slowly picks up its pace at the thud of her footsteps on the floor, the twist of keys in the lock.
The door cracks open. Emily’s face comes into view, pale and bare of makeup. Her eyes are red, fresh tears running down her cheeks that she wipes away with the corner of the blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
“What’s wrong?” Aaron blurts out, subconsciously taking a step closer to the door. “Are you okay?”
His eyes flit over her. He can’t see a point of injury, but that makes it worse, internal. It’s barely been two weeks since—
“Hotch?” Emily’s eyes go wide. “What’s going on? Is there a case? I didn’t hear any—”
“No, there’s no case.” He says, relaxing in time with her when her shoulders slump. She nods haltingly and wraps her blanket tighter around herself. It’s not long enough to cover her legs—bare beneath gray cotton shorts and crossing at the ankles, half hiding behind the door. Aaron’s eyes snap back to hers, the confusion on her face adding to the heat gathering in his cheeks.
“Okay, uh…” She subtly tries to wipe the tears beneath her eyes, “Is everything okay?”
Her voice is a little nasal. She sniffles lightly, the tip of her nose red, and Aaron’s stomach churns.
“Are you?” He asks. The last time he saw her like this is still all too fresh in his mind. It makes him uneasy, seeing the shine of her eyes twice in about the same number of weeks. But her shoulders lift in a casual shrug, the lines of her body looser than they were in the jet.
“Oh, yeah, Sergio’s fur just got into my eyes.” Aaron stares blankly. “I’m mildly allergic, don’t worry about it,” Emily waves her hand dismissively, her gaze flitting down. She closes the door a crack.
A meow sounds. Aaron looks down, too, surprised to see said black cat craning its head between the gap in the door.
Well, at least that she wasn’t lying about. The cat’s nose twitches, more of its dark body slinking out in an attempt to sniff at his shoes. When Aaron looks back up, he finds Emily trying to stifle a laugh.
“Sorry about that, he’s nosy. Um, what brings you here?” She asks, not unkindly, her voice polite but fairly confused.
Excellent question. He only wishes he had the answer.
“The Chinese place.” Aaron blurts out again. Jesus, he’s forgotten how to talk.
“The Chinese place?” Emily echoes. She tilts her head, her gaze still blank. “What about the Chinese place?”
“Well, uh…you recommended it,” he says needlessly. Trapped beneath her eyes, he tugs a little at the too-tight tie around his throat, “And I went to check it out. Thought I’d give it a try since it’s close by and we hadn’t eaten, but…” But the restaurant was busy with couples and he already looked pathetic in his starched suit, standing out in the middle of a homey, family owned establishment with no one at his side. The heat travels to his ears and his gaze drops, now solely speaking to the cat that’s halfway out of the threshold, “I couldn’t figure out the menu.”
The silence rings in Aaron’s ears. He stifles a grimace. The skin beneath his suit itches uncomfortably, hot and tight as he stares the cat in the eye and wonders how the hell he can get himself out now.
Suddenly the cat is getting closer, because the door has cracked wider and Emily is leaning out, her feet still inside the threshold of her apartment as she stretches her body out to meet him. “Well,” she says, her voice quivering with a barely concealed laugh, “you could’ve called, Hotch. I’d have given you some recs.” Dimples wink in her cheeks as she presses her lips together, eyes now shining with an entirely different light.
Aaron’s spine turns to liquid, because even if she’s laughing at him, she’s laughing. He offers back a meek smile, trying his best not to let his eyes drop down to the long expanse of her legs now fully in view.
“I hadn’t really thought of—”
His stomach rumbles. Loud enough that the cat shrinks back, running to Emily’s legs and winding itself around her ankles.
Emily lets herself laugh this time, a proper one with teeth and dimples. The sound is familiar, singing in his ears, though he hasn’t heard it in a while. Aaron’s lips tug into an embarrassed smile, his face somehow burning impossibly hotter, but it doesn’t matter because she’s opening the door as far as it can go and gesturing for him to come inside.
“Come in. I already ordered but I’ll place another order for you, c’mon.”
Aaron stares.
What had he expected, really?
Emily tilts her head impatiently.
“That’s very kind of you, but—”
“Hotch,” she interrupts, rolling her eyes, “you already came all this way. I’m not letting you go without food. Unless—you didn’t have any plans, did you?”
Aaron clears his throat. “None.”
Emily smiles brightly. “Well then,” she steps out into the hallway, her fingers circling his wrist and tugging, “you can keep me company. Though I should let you know, I do have a date already,” she tilts her head to the cat. Her palm kisses the back of his hand, fingers pressing against his pulse, and Aaron can’t fight her as she gently pulls him inside. “He gets possessive.”
Somewhere far behind the thick fog in his brain, Aaron thinks he gets why her therapist assumed the damn cat was a person. Emily lets go of him once they’re inside, her warmth departing from his hand as she closes the door on them and the cat, firmly sealing him in. She locks it twice; the small action makes him think it’s habit, the way her wrist turns without stopping until two clicks sound in the silence between them.
Suddenly he thinks of a lonely apartment. A weakened woman hiding herself behind it, licking her wounds. Aaron drops his gaze, fiddling with his fingers to stop himself from over analyzing her every move. Shame bursts in his stomach, hot and acidic as the cat—Sergio, his name’s Sergio (who names a cat Sergio?)—sniffs at his oxfords.
Then Emily turns, and the light in her eyes breathes some easiness back into his chest.
“Are you staying in your coat?” She drawls, her brow arching. With the casual blanket around her shoulders and the soft ruffles adorning the hem of her shorts, he does seem overdressed, ridiculously so.
Aaron shrugs it off, ignoring her extended hand and hanging it on the hooks behind her himself. “I really didn’t mean to intrude,” he murmurs, following her into the living room.
“Yeah, I know,” Emily says, her voice absent as she picks up a worn menu from the coffee table, “you’re not. Do you have any allergies?
She tucks some of her hair behind her ear, her lips pursing as she skims the menu. The corners of her eyes are still red but no longer damp, and when his gaze flits about her living room, he finds the reason: Notting Hill is paused on the tv. Her couch is a mess of balled up tissues and another blanket, this one haphazardly spilling onto the floor, half of it still draped over the cushions. A half full glass of wine sits on her coffee table along with a handful of foil covered chocolates.
A smile itches to spread across his face. So this is how Emily Prentiss spends Valentines: bundled up in her apartment with her freakishly human named cat, crying over a romcom as she drinks wine and waits for her Chinese takeout.
“Hotch?”
His eyes snap back to hers. The menu is still in her hands, her brows raised.
Allergies. Right. They’ve known each other for six years and he’s never mentioned any.
“No.” He clears his throat, “No allergies.”
“Good,” Emily hums. “Sit.”
He takes a hesitant seat on the part of the couch not littered with tissues. Silence falls between them as she takes out her phone and dials a number, putting it to her ear and turning on her heel. She walks out of the living room, the edges of her blanket flapping as she leaves him with the cat.
But even the cat doesn’t stay. It follows her dutifully, black tail curling in the air as it chases after her ankles with a cheerful tinkle of the bell at its collar.
Still perching stiffly on the edge of her couch, Aaron stares up at Julia Roberts and wonders how exactly did he get here. He can hear Emily’s voice floating in from the kitchen, distant and muffled through the walls. He doesn’t miss her long before she’s back again, the phone squished between her shoulder and her ear, a wine glass slotted between her fingers.
“—yeah, and could you bring it with the first order? Thanks.”
She hangs up and tosses the phone onto the couch, holding up the glass. “Can I offer you some?”
Aaron thinks of his car downstairs. The thought doesn’t last long, because she’s looking at him with irises as deep as the night he just came in from.
“Sure. Thanks.”
She fills his glass and tops off her own, then gathers the balled up tissues with a sheepish smile. A blush dusts her cheeks as she tosses them in the trash, hastily picks up the wilting blanket off the floor.
“Sergio’s fur got into your eyes?” He asks, fighting back the urge to smile when she wrinkles her nose. Every part of him wrings with affection. “Didn’t think rom coms would be your type.” Aaron says, surprised at the way his voice lilts teasingly.
“No?”
He shakes his head.
“They can be cheesy, but sometimes you need a feel-good.” She gathers up the chocolates in her palm and offers them to him.
He clears his throat and takes one. She sits down, the cushion next to him dipping as she rests her weight on it. He tries to relax his stiff muscles, make them sink back into the couch same as hers.
Again the silence reigns, and though he’s never hated being quiet with Emily, something itches under his skin—the need to hear her voice, get back used to it again. The real one, rich with her ever-colorful emotions; not the flat, toneless voice that haunted his dreams and memories, static through speakers playing videos of her he’d eventually dream of.
“You hate Valentine’s, but you got Valentine’s chocolate.” He muses quietly, taking a hesitant bite. The overly sweet chocolate melts on his tongue; he stifles a wince.
“Quit profiling me, Hotch,” Emily mumbles as bites into one too, her words thick as she speaks around the chocolate. “You’ve been doing it since you got here.”
Aaron’s shoulders go stiff. He almost spits out the chocolate, shame puckering his cheeks like acid.
“But if you must know,” she says before he can blurt out a guilty apology, “an officer gave them to me before we left.”
The chocolate turns to ash in his mouth. Aaron turns to her, somehow unsurprised to see her eyes glittering with mirth. It takes some effort to swallow the tasteless sugar down his throat.
“An officer,” he says flatly.
Emily nods, the corner of her mouth curling. “That kid, what was his—Jameson.” She snaps her fingers. “I know I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t say no. They have these big puppy eyes, y’know? He’s like Reid.”
The word kid makes him relax a fraction. He makes some noise or acknowledgement and crumples up the wrapper into a shiny ball.
They fall silent again.
It’s fine. A little awkward with the well, what do we do now?, but it’s fine. Her cat curls onto her thigh and she turns on the movie again, letting it play in the background as she takes a jab at him for still wearing a fully tailored suit ‘at this time’.
It surprises a laugh out of him. Aaron dutifully sheds it and loosens his tie, dragging it further from his throat before popping his collar. Her eyes follow the movement, still webbed with red, and he comments on the culprit, not quite as harmless as it seems.
Emily smiles wryly and divulges that it’s her second of the night—the first being When Harry Met Sally. Aaron smiles. He feels a familiar warmth in his chest, one that Haley used to spark. She loved romcoms, preferred staying in on a weekend to watch them with him, cuddled into his side, her occasional tears at love confessions soaking his shirt. They were a particular comfort when she was menstruating; countless times Aaron had found her—in her childhood bedroom, in the living room of the home they’d bought together—bawling her eyes out with a tub of ice cream held to her chest, blonde hair in a messy pony and blue eyes drowning in tears. He’d stifle a smile, kiss her damp eyelids and salty cheeks, and let her continue crying it out in his chest.
It’s a parallel he can’t ignore, so he lets go of his silence and tells Emily about it. The wistful smile on his face is mirrored in hers, the curves of their mouths tinged with hazy blues.
It’s easy to sit with her—not that that was ever surprising, but it’s different in the intimacy of her own living room. They’re not quite held back by the shackles of professionalism. The air between them bends and softens and lessens as her voice fills the silence, her cat stretching between them and pressing a tentative paw against Aaron’s thigh.
They’re cross legged on the floor, boxes of takeaway littered between them, when Emily speaks up around a mouthful of noodles.
“So, about your offer.”
Aaron stays quiet. His heart doesn’t.
“I’m no good at biking, and swimming’s a big no. Sorry Hotch, but you won’t find me washing chlorine out of my hair on a good day, let alone at the crack of dawn every morning.” The drawl of her voice suggests it’s a heinous crime. “But, uh, running I can help with. If you’d like me to.” She toys with her chopsticks, brown eyes swallowing him whole.
“I would.” He says quietly. “6:00 tomorrow?”
Emily wrinkles her nose but accepts. “Yes, boss,” she says, then quickly steers the conversation before he can thank her.
It’s hard, harder than he expected, to keep his attention from splitting. Half of him is here, with her, and the other half is already storing up details to replay in his memory, missing her before she’s even gone. The lock of hair brushing her collarbone, crimped with its natural curl, the looseness of her voice as it twists and curls like smoke, the easy slump of her shoulders beneath her large sweater. He tries to hold all of it in his hands, but it slips, because the glow of her presence demands his full attention.
He’s not even aware of the time until she mentions it, a surprised oh and a little laugh escaping her when she looks down at her phone. Aaron’s watch reads 11:23. He feels his brows pulling together, then feels them smooth over when Emily offers him the guest room.
“There’s a water bed.” She tells him, sitting on her knees and leaning toward him with a tissue. Something is wiped from the corner of his mouth. His lips part in surprise, and the taste of her perfume dissolves on his tongue. “They’re really comfortable.”
He swallows his heartbeat. “Thank you.” Emily leans back, tosses the tissue, and he still can’t breathe. “I appreciate it, but I can’t.”
“Next time.” She hums decidedly.
They’re both a little unsteady as they rise to their feet, a pink blush on Emily’s cheeks and—considering the fire raging under his skin—on his, too. His head is ducked as he picks up their plates and boxes, ignoring her warm protests on the shell of his ear. As he’s dropping the plates in the sink, the ridiculous urge to wash them comes over him. They’re just two, it wouldn’t hurt, but Emily is already pushing him away from it, taking takeout cartons from hand and dropping them carelessly on the counter.
Aaron collects his jacket from her couch, creased from draping over her cushions. He doesn’t shrug it on. He’s hot enough as it is.
“You should text me when you get home.” Emily says, hovering at his elbow as he grabs his coat.
He raises his brows, an easy laugh tumbling past his lips. “I should?”
“Yeah,” Emily nods. She chews down on her abnormally pink lip, “Wanna make sure you don’t crash into a pole or something.”
Affection warms his chest.
“I’m not drunk.” He says.
“No,” she agrees. “Which is why you’re driving in the first place. Text me or I’ll have Garcia check your location.”
“Threatening,” he says seriously.
Emily smiles. He’s barely into his coat before she leans forward, her chest suddenly pressing into his, her arms wrapping around his neck. “Just do it this time,” she mumbles, low in his ear as she squeezes him. “Don’t let me worry for once.”
It’s usually him who’s worrying. But Aaron is too preoccupied with hugging her back, wrapping his arms around her waist and squeezing gently. Her breath warms the skin of his neck and he briefly closes his eyes, taking in the way they fit together, her forehead to his cheek. Something clicks into place. Sweet coconut travels down his windpipe and a twisted knot somewhere deep beneath his skin pulls itself loose.
“Okay.” He remembers to say, his voice hushed. Love you, he almost blurts. The hasty kiss to her forehead is the only way to stifle it. It’s a soft press to her hairline, barely there. Necessary.
“You’re good company, Hotch,” she mumbles softly. She sways a little into him, still holding on. “Come over again, yeah?”
“Sure.” His palm rubs a circle over her back. “You’re good company, too.”
“So you can admit it.” She grins as she pulls back, icy cold taking her place in his chest. Dimples dig into her cheeks, closer to her smile than he’ll ever be.
Aaron lingers with his hand on the door. I love you. I love you, I love you, he thinks.
“I can.” He says. He’s slow as he undoes the two locks in the door. Some part of his brain works furiously, trying to find a way to stretch the moment, make it last, leave them lingering at the door like the chill that creeps in through the walls and makes itself at home on the pads of their fingers. Something to say, something to do. But there’s nothing save for his love.
“Good night.” He says softly, his voice almost drowned out by the creak in the door as he pulls it open.
“Good night.” Emily leans against the frame as he walks out, her lashes heavy with slow blinks. “Drive safe.” She intones.
Aaron nods. The door clicks behind him. Two locks. Still footsteps. He walks into the night, at once colder and warmer than he was when he walked out of it.