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It comes as a curveball. The call from Virginia pulling Emily away from dinner to take it in her office. You don't say anything, but you feel in your bones that something is about to change.
She comes back with that frown between her eyebrows, the one that you find cute but despise when it brings her such stress. She still laughs at Hazel's dramatic reenactment of something that happened at school, she still coos when Olivia attempts to mush peas with her fingertips, but you know her mind is halfway somewhere else.
Much later, after the girls are in bed and you've been waiting for her to be done getting ready for bed, you're trying to read a book but mostly just staring at it. Something is wrong, or at least out of place, and you can't relax before you know what it is.
You smell her before you see her. The jasmine of her body wash and the light coconut of her moisturizer. Emily comes out of the bathroom in her silk sleep set, leaving a cloud of steam behind that you catch a glimpse of before she closes the door to the ensuite softly.
She sits next to you under the covers, leaving her hair brush on the nightstand next to her reading glasses. You close your book, place it on your own nightstand and turn to her. Waiting.
“Rossi called.”
You hum, “Dave usually calls.”
Emily sighs, “something's happened with Hotch.”
Your heart rate picks up. You've known Emily's BAU team for years, you've watched Jack grow up like you did Henry. The decision to leave for London when Hazel was on her way to three was not an easy one, but you both decided it'd be best after what happened with Doyle.
It hurt both of you to leave your family behind.
Of course, Emily worked with them everyday, Emily was closer to Dave and Hotch than you. But you know them, you know their kids, and you worry for them just as much.
You ask Emily what happened, she gives you a rushed summary of what Dave told her. He doesn't even know much himself.
“How's Jack?”
“In danger,” she says, “Hotch's thinking of going into witness protection.”
You look at her for a beat, seeing something in her eyes that tells you she's holding back. “What are you not telling me?”
Emily leans back against her pillows, looking at the ceiling. “Dave asked if I could come in.”
You turn to look at the side of her face, your shoulders tensing without prompting.
“Just for a few weeks,” she looks at you. “To support them during Hotch's absence. Help catch Peter Lewis.”
“Into the lion's den, then,” you murmur, turning back to look straight ahead.
Emily touches your arm, you don't turn to her, but lift your hand to hold her own. “I'll be fine.”
“You don't know that,” you say, defeated. “We moved here so you could be safe. For the girls.”
You feel the tip of her nose touching your cheek. It's surprisingly warm. Turning to her, you give her a look as she nudges your own nose with hers. She gives you a quick kiss. “I'll be back before you know it.”
You sigh, pulling away slightly to see her face in its entirety. Damn Emily Prentiss, her perfect face and her huge doe eyes. “How long is a few weeks, anyway? A month, two?”
“I'll come back every weekend.”
Scoffing, you smile ironically at her, “are you trying to kill yourself? It's an eight hour flight.”
“I’d do it.”
You touch her cheek, “I know you would.” Sighing, “I don’t want you to. We’ll be fine.”
Emily frowns, “that’s it? No argument?”
“What’s the point?” You ask, but not unkindly. “I know this is something you have to do.” Shaking your head, you kiss her cheek. “I’m worried about Hotch, too. I wouldn’t want to keep you from helping him and Jack.”
“You know I’d ask you to come with me if it weren't for the girls,” she murmurs, kissing your hand that’s still on her face.
“I know.” You pull her closer, snuggling up so you can soak up whatever time you have before she leaves. “We’ll be fine,” you repeat, even if you don’t know if that’s the case.
You’d never resent Emily, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy.
She calls every day. Sometimes more than once. She never misses a day, never goes more than twenty-four hours without talking to you or the girls. Even though she's busy, even though you can see the job taking its toll.
Hazel understands, mostly. Sometimes she's subdued, but a call with her mom manages to cheer her up. You let her have chicken nuggets on more days than you'd like, and you don't even say anything when she insists she's going to school in a tutu.
Olivia is too young to understand. She calls for her mama, she tries to touch the phone screen when Emily facetimes, even though sometimes she turns it off by accident. She whines at dinner and you know it's because Emily is the best at getting her to eat. At least she falls asleep pretty easily, you're not going to take that for granted.
And you, of course you understand. Yet you hate it. You hate sleeping in an empty bed, you hate making your tea in the mornings without Emily next to you. You hate reading in absolute silence before going to sleep because the shower isn't running and Emily isn't going to come out of the ensuite any second warm and soft from her bath.
You tell her you're fine, you tell her about the girls and what you did during the day. But you don't tell her about tossing and turning because she's not there, you don't tell her about Hazel's meltdown because Emily wasn't there to take her to ballet. You keep it in, and you know you shouldn't, you should tell your wife about how you're really feeling with her away, but you don't want to burden her with it. She tells you Scratch seems to have slipped through the cracks, so you don't want to add to her stress.
And you can't shake off the feeling that there's something she's not saying. You look at her though a phone screen and you still know her better than anyone. But you don't ask and you trust she'll tell you when she's ready, though you're hoping she can do it in person because you're getting really, really tired of waiting.
Hazel is playing quietly in the living room as you're making dinner. She's been quieter than usual this last week, refused to attend any of her extracurricular activities and even declined a sleepover at her friend's house. It's been a little over a month and you honestly have no idea what to do to cheer her up anymore. Sometimes, even the phone calls with Emily leave her sad afterwards, the tiny image of her mom on screen not being enough to settle the ache in her heart.
Olivia has been clingier, so of course she's in your arms as you try to cook one-handed. At least she doesn't wriggle too much on your hip like Hazel used to, or having her this close to the stove wouldn't be an option. If looking at the bright side, you're getting pretty good at doing things with a baby wrapped around your back or while having to keep two little girls in check outside of the house, making sure nothing happens to either of them and that they don't wander away when you're just trying to lock the car.
You're so focused on the food that you don't hear any movement in the entryway, only being alerted to something being different when Hazel yells “mommy!” at the top of her lungs. Startling, you only manage to turn the burner off before running to her, guessing she might've hurt herself, but the sight that finds you is nothing like that.
Hazel's dangling from around Emily's neck, her little legs kicking as she tries to climb her mother's arms. Emily's smiling brightly, but there's tiredness in her eyes, a weight to her that you haven't seen in a long time. When she manages to hoist up your daughter, she makes an exaggerated oof! that makes Haze giggle loudly — you haven't heard that sound in a couple of days.
You smile back unconsciously, letting Olivia down after she starts wriggling and whining. She toddles over to Emily, who meets her halfway, still with Hazel on her hip. On a normal day, you'd chastise her for picking Hazel up, the girl already too heavy and putting a strain on her back, but today is not that day.
Emily gives her daughters kisses all over their faces, squeezing them to her heart's content, telling them how much she missed them. You're happy to just watch for now, there'll be time for hugs later, at the moment you're just pleased to have all of your girls underneath the same roof.
“Hi,” Emily calls from her spot in the middle of the living room.
“Hi,” you answer, giving her a delighted grin. “Haze, let your mom breathe, please.” You say softly, then watch as your daughter loosens her grip ever so slightly from around Emily's neck.
She moves to the couch, sitting down and keeping both girls sitting in her lap. Hazel finally agrees to let go of her death grip on Emily, settling for holding the fabric of her shirt in one of her little hands. Olivia doesn't take her eyes off her mother, touching her cheek and babbling whenever she gets Emily to look down at her.
After a while, Hazel decides there are three new toys she absolutely needs to show Emily — and if you bought her all of those to soothe Emily's absence, then that's just for you to know —, so she runs into her room in search of them. Emily looks at her retreating form with a wistful grin, finally sighing exhaustedly. She stands up with Olivia in her arms and makes her way towards you.
“Hi,” she says again.
“Hi,” you say back.
When Emily kisses you, you decide you're never going to let her leave again, no matter what it takes.
“I missed you,” she murmurs into your lips.
You open your eyes, taking note of the dark shadows under hers, the redness derived from sleeping poorly. “You have no idea,” you say, because, really, what else is there?
Emily smiles apologetically, kissing you again. “Sorry I stopped replying to your texts, I wanted this to be a surprise.”
Shaking your head, you squeeze her free hand, “consider me surprised. And I just figured you were busy. What time was your flight?”
“1pm local time,” she says, bouncing Liv slightly. “It was the earliest I could get.”
Hazel comes running back, her arms full of toys, so you give Emily a look that says later.
Later actually means much later. After dinner, baths, bedtime. After Emily was the one singing Olivia to sleep. After she read three books to Hazel before her little eyes finally drooped closed.
Later means Emily almost falling asleep during your shared shower, means you holding her up by the waist as she rinses because if she closes her eyes for more than two seconds she might not open them for a few hours.
You let her off the hook. There's so much to talk about, of course, but it's nine pm and she's so exhausted her words are slurring just the tiniest bit. It worries as much as it endears you.
You open your arms and she falls into them, tucking her face into your neck and immediately falling asleep to the feeling of you softly scratching her back.
In the morning, she doesn't wanna talk. At least, not at first.
In the morning, she straddles your hips and pulls her shirt off, she kisses you with intent, with everything that she's missed in the last weeks. She doesn't have to say anything, you understand.
Only after, with no clothes on and comfortable in your bed, the bed you couldn't wait to see taken up by her again, does she talk.
Emily caresses your arm softly, her blunt nails eliciting shivers from your skin.
“You're holding something back,” you murmur, shifting closer. She sighs loudly, caught.
“Maybe you should do this for a living,” she retorts, lifting an eyebrow.
“Funny.” You say dryly. “You know I'm no behavioralist.”
She hums, smiling softly at you. After a beat, she turns serious again. “He got away,” she states heavily, as if this is somehow all on her. You squeeze her hand. “They went into witsec, I have no idea if we're gonna be able to get them out or when.”
Emily looks up at the ceiling, but her hand stays in yours.
“Before Hotch left for good, he…” She shakes her head. then chuckles humourlessly. “He asked me to replace him as Unit Chief.” Rolling her eyes, Emily scoffs. “He actually said that. He said his final request was for me to replace him, run his team.”
You stay very still. The truth is, you don't like the idea. The entire reason you left everything behind and moved to London was to get away, so Emily could have a steadier job, away from all the heaviness of the BAU, the ghost of Doyle haunting you all in Boston, DC, wherever. You made plans, you said you could finally have another kid, and you did, Olivia came along and she's a true Londoner now. Even Hazel is picking up the accent.
But besides everything, you don't hate the idea because it means going back to DC. You hate it because it means putting Emily in danger again, putting her in the spotlight as Unit Chief, a position she didn't ask for nor considered before all of this happened.
Still, you stay quiet, you let her work through what she needs because, above all, Emily's your wife and you love her, and if she feels like she needs to do this, well, she's not doing it alone.
“Aren't you gonna say anything?” She asks, looking at you with those big eyes that tell you she actually has no idea what to do.
“Not right now,” you answer, leaning your head on her shoulder. “How long do you have to decide?”
“I asked for a week,” she says, then winces, “I know that's ambitious, they'll probably call before that.”
“Okay, so not in the next twenty-four hours, then, right?”
“No,” she murmurs into your hair, leaving a kiss where she can reach.
“So, now, we're going to stay here. I'm going to enjoy my wife's company that I missed very much. We're gonna wait for a cry or for Hazel to come pounding on the door demanding food, and we'll deal with that later. Okay?”
You feel Emily sigh deeply from underneath you, her shoulders losing their stiffness for the moment. “Okay.”