Just Breathe: Prentiss
a/n: I decided to use another of the Scrubs prompts for this one. It's in first person again, and despite the fact that I haven't written Prentiss before, it was surprisingly easy. Easier than the boys. :)
Just Breathe - Prentiss
Prompt: Scrubs - "My Last Words"
Now all the suffering that you've witnessed,
And the hand prints on the wall -
They remind you how it's endless,
How endlessly you fall.
- Alexi Murdoch
I left Reid with Dr. Barton, sorting through the cases, and I went to find Hotch. We could tell ourselves all day long that the case in Canada was tough, that he needed sleep, that he'd turned his phone off to have a moment's peace...but we all knew that just wasn't Hotch. He was always on, 24/7, and no case, no matter how crazy and pig-filled and awful, was going to change that.
Something was wrong, and I'd nominated myself to find out what.
His door was ajar when I reached it. I pushed it open, frantic but trying to hide it. Files scattered. A healthy shot of Scotch poured. Blood. Oh God, blood...Hotch's blood?
I wanted to faint, like some silly girl in a story. But I'm not a silly girl, and this isn't a story. I'm a grown woman, an FBI agent, and that's most likely my boss' blood all over his apartment floor. I felt sick, and my mind flashed through a series of images, like a slide show of Hotch: his smile, his ridiculous cowlick, his frown, the times he'd saved my life, the times I'd saved his. For a moment I was frozen, indecisive, but then I thought of Reid. Reid, alone with Dr. Barton...
My hands were shaking as I dialed, but my voice was steady as I explained what I'd found. Reid, bless him, grasped the situation immediately. He told me he could handle it, and that I should just focus on finding Hotch.
Right, find Hotch. Easier said than done, kiddo.
I took a deep, steadying breath, and tried to hear Hotch's precise, even voice in my head: Focus on the scene, Prentiss. What do you see? What does the scene tell you?
I knew: Foyet. He'd come for Hotch, and he'd taken him.
My last words to him had been, what, something trivial, something trite, something totally mundane. Nothing like, "Hey, Hotch, you're an amazing boss, the best freakin' boss I've ever had, and if anything ever happened to you I'd lose my damn mind. So watch your back and stay away from pigs and serial killers. Oh, P.S., your dimples make my heart go pitter-pat a little." I hadn't said that. I'd let him walk out the door without knowing it. And now...No, Emily, you will not think that. He's fine. He's just...bleeding...somewhere...and alone, or, worse, not alone...
Enough.
That was all hours ago. Now, home at last, I stare at my pale, drawn face in the bathroom mirror and wonder. What would I have done if things had turned out differently? What if we hadn't found Hotch, or worse...we'd found him dead? I left the BAU because of Hotch, because I refused to spy on him for Strauss, and I came back for him, too...at least partially.
I remember the look on his face when he realized Foyet's real targets were Haley and Jack. His pain made my heart ache. I wanted to...what, Emily, what did you want? Nothing you can have, that's what. He's your boss, and he's Hotch. There's nothing there for you, and wanting things to be different is foolish. This isn't a story, and you're not a silly girl.
I lean over the basin and splash my face with cold water from the tap. I have a sudden, very strong urge to cry. I'm not a crier by nature, and the tears now welling feel strange, unnatural, and I wipe them away impatiently.
Why am I crying? Hotch will be fine. Haley and Jack are safe.
But I know the truth.
I'm crying for Lucas Turner, a simple man used by his brother to do unspeakable things. I'm crying for all those shoes in that bin, all those lives ended for a madman's vision. I'm crying for Reid, shot because I left him alone, now enduring the pain of a bullet wound without proper pain medication.
I'm crying for all of them, and I'm crying for myself. I'm crying because I know this job has irrevocably changed me, and I can only pray it's at least somewhat for the better.
The tears are cleansing, cathartic, and as I sink to the bathroom floor, my back pressed against the vanity, I uncover my face and let them flow. Hotch is still alive. We all are. I can tell him he's an amazing boss and an awesome person and maybe (if we were both really drunk) that his dimples make my heart go pitter-pat. It's not too late.
My breath comes in gasps, and suddenly tears turn to laughter. I'm laughing and I'm crying and even though part of me wonders if I've lost it, I realize that after all we've been through, all we can really do now is just keep breathing.
Whew, wrote that one in a whirlwind. The idea hit me, and there it was. Hope you enjoyed it! Please review if you did. :)