Obligations
TITLE: Obligations
RATING: PG-13
SPOILERS: Up to "Scared to Death"
PAIRINGS: Hotch/Prentiss
SUMMARY: A sequel to "Starting Over", written from Hotch's point of view.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own it.
It still hasn't quite settled in that she's gone.
After all, he's never been good at letting things set in- he'd much rather shut them out and not think about it, bury himself in something else. Now all he seems to have is his work.
He wonders, numbly, if this is becoming a pattern. He finds something that works and then al of a sudden, it's gone. It's always been a skill of his to compartmentalize everything, particularly in his field. Unfortunately, Haley hadn't fully understood that. He loved her and Jack. But his job is an obligation, as one of the best profilers in the world. They are both equally important.
It always baffled him why Haley /hadn't/ understood- he rarely heard military wives complaining to their husbands when they went overseas, because they had no control over the situation. He didn't have any control over where he went either, or when he was called.
That had ended abruptly. Suddenly, there wasn't anything left but work- because there was someone better for Haley and Jack, and she had made it perfectly clear that she was no longer a Hotchner, and he was no longer wanted.
But something else had started that night. A new distraction, of sorts.
Whenever he thinks about it, he is reminded of a line from a song from some band Garcia had been playing in her office.
"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end."
It had started as an argument. He can't quite remember how'd they ended up kissing, but she had come to get her job back and then she wouldn't /stop/, wouldn't shut her mouth, and he had to stop her somehow-
In retrospect, kissing was probably not the best way to do that.
But she'd understood when he walked away. He couldn't talk about it, couldn't think about it.
She'd offered her help.
He'd taken a hell of a lot more than that.
It was amazing, how different that relationship had been from his relationship with Haley.
Emily understood the job, for one.
That made sense, he thought bitterly, because she was part of the job. That was part of the reason that, in the beginning, it had felt so strange, so awkward, so... off.
He'd kissed her in a fit of rage, but she'd yielded so nicely, she'd /responded/ so well.
It was a mismatch, an odd coupling, and it was never supposed to happen in the first place.
He should have left it there. But he'd made the mistake of going home to see Haley that night. And she'd something he'd never forget, that would never stop hurting his heart.
"You know, Jack calls him 'daddy' more than you."
He'd left. He'd practically ran a half mile in the pouring rain until he figured out where he could go.
That's how he'd wound up on her doorstep. And that's how it'd all started.
It was a sporadic thing. He'd show up when he felt like he was drowning, and she'd offer herself to him as a lifesaver. He'd fall asleep afterwards.
He'd always be gone before morning, careful and meticulous in cleaning up after himself. Because that was how he was- careful and meticulous- outside of her. When he was with her, things were raw and frenzied and messy- yet they felt good. Every time he was with her, his life was better for just a little while.
It was about a year into their pseudo-relationship he'd figured out that she loved him. She had to, obviously. Why else would she let him keep doing this to her? He feels like when he touches her... the world outside disappears. There's no more pain with her, but he knows he can't love her. His love is broken- it's not worth anything.
And it's not what she wants.
She's strong. Independent. He's used to having someone need him, not needing someone himself. She hates politics. He's had to deal with politics all his life.
When he leaves her, he feels a little better than the day before. It give him hope.
Obviously, it has been the opposite her. He'd thought that theirs was a mutual need, a mutual attraction. He thought that she needed him as much as he needed her.
Apparently he wasn't as perceptive as he thought, not when it came to her. Maybe she was his blind spot. Maybe he /had/ to think she needed him, that it was mutual. Because it hurt to think he was just using her.
He had been.
Why else would she be gone now?
And his work was all that was left. Another piece of him was gone, just as it had been with Haley.
Maybe this is habit. Maybe this is a pattern.
He remembers Gideon telling him something, once, on a case of a killer dosed with PCP. He had said that to break a habit, one must make up his mind to change.
He wonders if he should make up his mind to find her. To change his luck, to tell her that he needs another chance. That he still needs /her/.
That day, he leaves his desk without warning. He doesn't care that he has a briefing in fifteen minutes, that there's a serial killer to catch, that he has obligations... He's never felt this sort of need before.
There's not a moment, now, that he doesn't think about her touch, about how much pain he's in without her to numb it- and it occurs to him that maybe...
He'd never asked what she wants.
And now he's on a plane. He's going to find out what she needs.
He's taken enough from her.
Now he needs to give it back.
That's his obligation.
RATING: PG-13
SPOILERS: Up to "Scared to Death"
PAIRINGS: Hotch/Prentiss
SUMMARY: A sequel to "Starting Over", written from Hotch's point of view.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own it.
It still hasn't quite settled in that she's gone.
After all, he's never been good at letting things set in- he'd much rather shut them out and not think about it, bury himself in something else. Now all he seems to have is his work.
He wonders, numbly, if this is becoming a pattern. He finds something that works and then al of a sudden, it's gone. It's always been a skill of his to compartmentalize everything, particularly in his field. Unfortunately, Haley hadn't fully understood that. He loved her and Jack. But his job is an obligation, as one of the best profilers in the world. They are both equally important.
It always baffled him why Haley /hadn't/ understood- he rarely heard military wives complaining to their husbands when they went overseas, because they had no control over the situation. He didn't have any control over where he went either, or when he was called.
That had ended abruptly. Suddenly, there wasn't anything left but work- because there was someone better for Haley and Jack, and she had made it perfectly clear that she was no longer a Hotchner, and he was no longer wanted.
But something else had started that night. A new distraction, of sorts.
Whenever he thinks about it, he is reminded of a line from a song from some band Garcia had been playing in her office.
"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end."
It had started as an argument. He can't quite remember how'd they ended up kissing, but she had come to get her job back and then she wouldn't /stop/, wouldn't shut her mouth, and he had to stop her somehow-
In retrospect, kissing was probably not the best way to do that.
But she'd understood when he walked away. He couldn't talk about it, couldn't think about it.
She'd offered her help.
He'd taken a hell of a lot more than that.
It was amazing, how different that relationship had been from his relationship with Haley.
Emily understood the job, for one.
That made sense, he thought bitterly, because she was part of the job. That was part of the reason that, in the beginning, it had felt so strange, so awkward, so... off.
He'd kissed her in a fit of rage, but she'd yielded so nicely, she'd /responded/ so well.
It was a mismatch, an odd coupling, and it was never supposed to happen in the first place.
He should have left it there. But he'd made the mistake of going home to see Haley that night. And she'd something he'd never forget, that would never stop hurting his heart.
"You know, Jack calls him 'daddy' more than you."
He'd left. He'd practically ran a half mile in the pouring rain until he figured out where he could go.
That's how he'd wound up on her doorstep. And that's how it'd all started.
It was a sporadic thing. He'd show up when he felt like he was drowning, and she'd offer herself to him as a lifesaver. He'd fall asleep afterwards.
He'd always be gone before morning, careful and meticulous in cleaning up after himself. Because that was how he was- careful and meticulous- outside of her. When he was with her, things were raw and frenzied and messy- yet they felt good. Every time he was with her, his life was better for just a little while.
It was about a year into their pseudo-relationship he'd figured out that she loved him. She had to, obviously. Why else would she let him keep doing this to her? He feels like when he touches her... the world outside disappears. There's no more pain with her, but he knows he can't love her. His love is broken- it's not worth anything.
And it's not what she wants.
She's strong. Independent. He's used to having someone need him, not needing someone himself. She hates politics. He's had to deal with politics all his life.
When he leaves her, he feels a little better than the day before. It give him hope.
Obviously, it has been the opposite her. He'd thought that theirs was a mutual need, a mutual attraction. He thought that she needed him as much as he needed her.
Apparently he wasn't as perceptive as he thought, not when it came to her. Maybe she was his blind spot. Maybe he /had/ to think she needed him, that it was mutual. Because it hurt to think he was just using her.
He had been.
Why else would she be gone now?
And his work was all that was left. Another piece of him was gone, just as it had been with Haley.
Maybe this is habit. Maybe this is a pattern.
He remembers Gideon telling him something, once, on a case of a killer dosed with PCP. He had said that to break a habit, one must make up his mind to change.
He wonders if he should make up his mind to find her. To change his luck, to tell her that he needs another chance. That he still needs /her/.
That day, he leaves his desk without warning. He doesn't care that he has a briefing in fifteen minutes, that there's a serial killer to catch, that he has obligations... He's never felt this sort of need before.
There's not a moment, now, that he doesn't think about her touch, about how much pain he's in without her to numb it- and it occurs to him that maybe...
He'd never asked what she wants.
And now he's on a plane. He's going to find out what she needs.
He's taken enough from her.
Now he needs to give it back.
That's his obligation.