Written by ilovetvalot.
Third part after, "The End of the Delusion" and "“Not Without A Fight”.
Lies I Told Myself
The sun was just dawning on the horizon as Hotch pulled his grey sedan into the parking lot of Emily’s upscale apartment building. Sighing as he shoved the car into park, he took a moment to study the building in front of him. Inside that modern looking structure was the woman he loved. And, he had a sneaking suspicion that even as he sat there, she was hardening her heart against him. He didn’t have any time to waste. But until he could breathe normally again, he knew anything he said would be verbalized in an incoherent, babbling mass of words. And he wanted to be clear. Crystal clear. Because this wasn’t a time when he wanted any doubt about what he was saying. He couldn’t afford for there to be any misconceptions. The cost would be way too high.
Taking another deep breath, he grinned derisively. Now, this was ironic. He could navigate a dangerous hostage situation without flinching, but the idea of baring his soul to one tiny woman was enough to send him into a near panic. Hell, he had all the markers. Erratic breathing, sweaty trembling hands. He was worse than a teenage boy. And all he had to do was tell her how he really felt. No big deal. Not for a normal emotionally healthy person. But, he was anything but. And he knew it.
His options were limited, however. Either he could lose her to his own inability to express his feelings or he could swallow his pride and put what was left of his heart on the line. Reaching for the door handle, he knew his decision had been made as soon as she’d walked out of his apartment. Losing Emily Prentiss because of his own fear was never going to be an option. He’d spent years lying to himself about his feelings for her. And months lying to her about what he wanted. Was he truly stupid enough to think that she’d be indefinitely satisfied with the crumbs he had offered? She deserved better. He could give her more. Hell, he’d give her everything he had left. If she’d just try for them. If she’d just forgive him enough to let him in. If she’d allow him to repair what he’d shattered.
But somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that he might have committed an unpardonable sin in her eyes. And he didn’t even know what it was.
Striding toward the building, he glanced at his watch. 4:35. She couldn’t have been here long. He’d cleared his apartment door within minutes of her. Glancing over his shoulder, he spotted her blue Prius in the lot. Good. At least he knew she was inside.
Walking toward her first floor door, he felt tension build in his spine. Stopping in front of 4A, he stared at the heavy oak door in front of him. This was it. It all came down to whatever was said over the next several minutes. “Please God, let me channel just a little of Rossi’s eloquence right now,” he begged silently. “I can’t fail. Not this time. Not with this woman.”
Raising his hand, he knocked solidly against the wood, its sound echoing in the empty corridor. Dropping his hand, he waited, listening closely for a stirring on the other side of the door. Hearing nothing, he raised his arm again, knocking louder and calling softly, “Emily, I know you’re in there. Open the door.”
Clenching his jaw as he impatiently waited again, he heard nothing save the whir from the air vents above him blowing warm air into the hallway. Fishing in his pocket for his keys, he quickly sorted hers from the rest on his chain and gave himself a mental pat on the back for insisting that the team exchange keys in case of emergency. He’d never expected to use it for this reason, but desperate times called for desperate measures. And he was quickly becoming a very desperate man. Leaning toward the door, he warned, “Emily, I’m using my key.”
As he prepared to insert the metal into the lock, the door opened, revealing her wan face. She was as beautiful as ever, her alabaster skin almost glowing in the lamplight. Heart sinking as he got a look at the resolution in her eyes, her first words to him were no more encouraging than her face.
“Go home, Hotch.”
Third part after, "The End of the Delusion" and "“Not Without A Fight”.
Lies I Told Myself
The sun was just dawning on the horizon as Hotch pulled his grey sedan into the parking lot of Emily’s upscale apartment building. Sighing as he shoved the car into park, he took a moment to study the building in front of him. Inside that modern looking structure was the woman he loved. And, he had a sneaking suspicion that even as he sat there, she was hardening her heart against him. He didn’t have any time to waste. But until he could breathe normally again, he knew anything he said would be verbalized in an incoherent, babbling mass of words. And he wanted to be clear. Crystal clear. Because this wasn’t a time when he wanted any doubt about what he was saying. He couldn’t afford for there to be any misconceptions. The cost would be way too high.
Taking another deep breath, he grinned derisively. Now, this was ironic. He could navigate a dangerous hostage situation without flinching, but the idea of baring his soul to one tiny woman was enough to send him into a near panic. Hell, he had all the markers. Erratic breathing, sweaty trembling hands. He was worse than a teenage boy. And all he had to do was tell her how he really felt. No big deal. Not for a normal emotionally healthy person. But, he was anything but. And he knew it.
His options were limited, however. Either he could lose her to his own inability to express his feelings or he could swallow his pride and put what was left of his heart on the line. Reaching for the door handle, he knew his decision had been made as soon as she’d walked out of his apartment. Losing Emily Prentiss because of his own fear was never going to be an option. He’d spent years lying to himself about his feelings for her. And months lying to her about what he wanted. Was he truly stupid enough to think that she’d be indefinitely satisfied with the crumbs he had offered? She deserved better. He could give her more. Hell, he’d give her everything he had left. If she’d just try for them. If she’d just forgive him enough to let him in. If she’d allow him to repair what he’d shattered.
But somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that he might have committed an unpardonable sin in her eyes. And he didn’t even know what it was.
Striding toward the building, he glanced at his watch. 4:35. She couldn’t have been here long. He’d cleared his apartment door within minutes of her. Glancing over his shoulder, he spotted her blue Prius in the lot. Good. At least he knew she was inside.
Walking toward her first floor door, he felt tension build in his spine. Stopping in front of 4A, he stared at the heavy oak door in front of him. This was it. It all came down to whatever was said over the next several minutes. “Please God, let me channel just a little of Rossi’s eloquence right now,” he begged silently. “I can’t fail. Not this time. Not with this woman.”
Raising his hand, he knocked solidly against the wood, its sound echoing in the empty corridor. Dropping his hand, he waited, listening closely for a stirring on the other side of the door. Hearing nothing, he raised his arm again, knocking louder and calling softly, “Emily, I know you’re in there. Open the door.”
Clenching his jaw as he impatiently waited again, he heard nothing save the whir from the air vents above him blowing warm air into the hallway. Fishing in his pocket for his keys, he quickly sorted hers from the rest on his chain and gave himself a mental pat on the back for insisting that the team exchange keys in case of emergency. He’d never expected to use it for this reason, but desperate times called for desperate measures. And he was quickly becoming a very desperate man. Leaning toward the door, he warned, “Emily, I’m using my key.”
As he prepared to insert the metal into the lock, the door opened, revealing her wan face. She was as beautiful as ever, her alabaster skin almost glowing in the lamplight. Heart sinking as he got a look at the resolution in her eyes, her first words to him were no more encouraging than her face.
“Go home, Hotch.”
