Written by Sienna27 on fanfiction.net.
A Story in 4 parts.
This is Part 1.
HOTCH POV
My Bleeding Heart
She was supposed to be mine . . . but I lost her.
Now every couple months I see her around the bureau. We say hi and I breathe in her perfume as she gives me a hug hello. I always make sure not to hold on too long or too tight. Then I show her pictures of Jack, and she shows me pictures of her little girl . . . Lucy.
And I smile as I look at the shiny brown hair and the big brown eyes, and I say that she’s beautiful. And then I think to myself, ‘just like her mother.’
But I don’t say that. It would be wrong. It’s too late for such words.
Because she’s happy now.
Emily got married three years ago. I went to her wedding only because I knew she would have been hurt if I didn’t. We shared one dance. And for just a moment I held her a little bit closer than I should have, and I pretended that she was mine.
That the white dress was for me.
But then her new husband came up and tapped me on the shoulder . . . and the bubble burst.
I kissed her on the cheek and I gave him her hand . . . and I died a little inside. She looked so happy as he twirled her away that I had to leave. All the while ignoring the looks of sympathy from Dave and Morgan as I got my coat.
They knew my secret, but they had kept it from her because I asked them to.
For awhile things went on almost as they had before. She was still there, she was still with me, right by my side, and I was thinking maybe I could just pretend that things were okay.
I knew I was in denial. But denial seemed to be my least painful option for existence until I could get over her.
Then the bubble burst again.
Six months after the day we danced, she got pregnant and transferred out. She cried when she came in to give me her notice.
I almost did too.
Instead I gave her a hug, and I held her too close, and I told her I understood and I wished her all the best.
But as I said the words I died just a little bit more. Because now she was leaving me. Denial was no longer an option. And it wasn’t just a husband that stood between us, it was now a family.
And then two weeks later . . . she was gone.
I sent her a card and pink roses when her baby was born. She wrote me back a beautiful note. I still have it. She signed it “love, Emily.”
If only.
Her husband is a nice guy. He’s good to her, he’s a good father, and he makes her happy.
And I hate him.
That bastard took her away from me. But for her sake, I have to smile and shake his hand when I see him at agency functions.
I think he knows my secret though.
Sometimes he’ll give me a look from across the room, or I’ll walk up and he’ll tighten his grasp around her waist. And from his fear I feel a bitter amusement rise up.
What does he think I’m going to do? Tell her?
To what end?
She wasn’t going to leave him to come back to me. Besides, if she loved me, then she wouldn’t have married him.
Though, sometimes, in those quick meetings in the hall, I think I see something flash in her eyes. Something that makes me believe that things would have been different if I’d told her how I felt.
But it’s too late now. She has a life.
Telling her would simply destroy the last remnants of my relationship with her . . . our friendship.
That’s all I have left.
Because I waited too long. Since I’d met her, all of her boyfriends had always been losers. They came and they went. And in between I’d think, ‘I should tell her now.’ But I didn’t, at first because my divorce was still so new. And then because I was afraid maybe she didn’t feel the same way about me. I thought I’d have more time to spend with her, more time to be sure before I told her.
It didn’t occur to me that she’d meet a nice guy. That I’d lose my window.
I was a fool.
And now my heart breaks again every time she walks away . . . because she was the one. The one that made me smile, the one that made me laugh. The one that brought me joy.
Now she’s the one that’s gone away.
And I don’t know what to do. There’s an emptiness in my soul. The fear that I’ll never get over her. The fear that I’ll never move on.
What will I do then? It’s already been three years. How long can you exist with a broken heart?
All I know is that I don’t want to live like this any longer.
A Story in 4 parts.
This is Part 1.
HOTCH POV
My Bleeding Heart
She was supposed to be mine . . . but I lost her.
Now every couple months I see her around the bureau. We say hi and I breathe in her perfume as she gives me a hug hello. I always make sure not to hold on too long or too tight. Then I show her pictures of Jack, and she shows me pictures of her little girl . . . Lucy.
And I smile as I look at the shiny brown hair and the big brown eyes, and I say that she’s beautiful. And then I think to myself, ‘just like her mother.’
But I don’t say that. It would be wrong. It’s too late for such words.
Because she’s happy now.
Emily got married three years ago. I went to her wedding only because I knew she would have been hurt if I didn’t. We shared one dance. And for just a moment I held her a little bit closer than I should have, and I pretended that she was mine.
That the white dress was for me.
But then her new husband came up and tapped me on the shoulder . . . and the bubble burst.
I kissed her on the cheek and I gave him her hand . . . and I died a little inside. She looked so happy as he twirled her away that I had to leave. All the while ignoring the looks of sympathy from Dave and Morgan as I got my coat.
They knew my secret, but they had kept it from her because I asked them to.
For awhile things went on almost as they had before. She was still there, she was still with me, right by my side, and I was thinking maybe I could just pretend that things were okay.
I knew I was in denial. But denial seemed to be my least painful option for existence until I could get over her.
Then the bubble burst again.
Six months after the day we danced, she got pregnant and transferred out. She cried when she came in to give me her notice.
I almost did too.
Instead I gave her a hug, and I held her too close, and I told her I understood and I wished her all the best.
But as I said the words I died just a little bit more. Because now she was leaving me. Denial was no longer an option. And it wasn’t just a husband that stood between us, it was now a family.
And then two weeks later . . . she was gone.
I sent her a card and pink roses when her baby was born. She wrote me back a beautiful note. I still have it. She signed it “love, Emily.”
If only.
Her husband is a nice guy. He’s good to her, he’s a good father, and he makes her happy.
And I hate him.
That bastard took her away from me. But for her sake, I have to smile and shake his hand when I see him at agency functions.
I think he knows my secret though.
Sometimes he’ll give me a look from across the room, or I’ll walk up and he’ll tighten his grasp around her waist. And from his fear I feel a bitter amusement rise up.
What does he think I’m going to do? Tell her?
To what end?
She wasn’t going to leave him to come back to me. Besides, if she loved me, then she wouldn’t have married him.
Though, sometimes, in those quick meetings in the hall, I think I see something flash in her eyes. Something that makes me believe that things would have been different if I’d told her how I felt.
But it’s too late now. She has a life.
Telling her would simply destroy the last remnants of my relationship with her . . . our friendship.
That’s all I have left.
Because I waited too long. Since I’d met her, all of her boyfriends had always been losers. They came and they went. And in between I’d think, ‘I should tell her now.’ But I didn’t, at first because my divorce was still so new. And then because I was afraid maybe she didn’t feel the same way about me. I thought I’d have more time to spend with her, more time to be sure before I told her.
It didn’t occur to me that she’d meet a nice guy. That I’d lose my window.
I was a fool.
And now my heart breaks again every time she walks away . . . because she was the one. The one that made me smile, the one that made me laugh. The one that brought me joy.
Now she’s the one that’s gone away.
And I don’t know what to do. There’s an emptiness in my soul. The fear that I’ll never get over her. The fear that I’ll never move on.
What will I do then? It’s already been three years. How long can you exist with a broken heart?
All I know is that I don’t want to live like this any longer.
