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…she screws it all up
The seventh time, she screws it all up.
She doesn't mean to, of course. She's in a 'weak' place and she's an emotional mess. Lulled into a false sense of security by distance and a good orgasm.
She'd finally lost it not long before; broken down and told JJ and Penelope everything. Penelope had been suitably sympathetic. JJ had been more pragmatic, even if it had been a bit coincidental.
"I haven't heard of him taking time off to visit you," she'd said, completely oblivious to all of the implications she'd just inadvertently brought up. "Has he?"
"No," Emily had replied, stunned despite herself. Had it really come to that? To her being the woman to fly across the country at every available opportunity while he didn't make the same time for her? She hadn't noticed, really. She'd just noticed the emotional distance. Maybe this was just another example of how she would give and give, missing how much was being taken from her in the process. And how much wasn't being returned.
The problem is, she's not totally sure. It's a confusing mess. He's demanded she promise she's his, knows that he's not seeing anyone else while he's sleeping with her. They spend hours on the phone and on Skype and yes, they haven't defined anything, but it seems like a whole hell of a lot more than is necessary for a glorified booty call. She'd been prepared for that. This isn't that.
The thorn of it is that JJ's planted the seed.
They're on Skype when she breaks.
Kind of.
"Emily, come on. Faster, sweetheart," he says, his hand wrapped around his cock.
She has a new toy shoved inside, vibrating deliciously. It's a UK thing, the Rabbit, and she is infinitely glad she'd discovered it. It's better than any American toy she's encountered. The shaft gyrates inside her, and a small bunny's ears vibrate around her clit. It's the first time she's used it – he'd been pleased when she'd admitted she had a new toy for this private time adventure – but she's already sworn to herself to make it part of her normal arsenal. How could she not?
"You can take it, Em," he tells her voice low. "Harder and faster."
She obeys, her head falling back on a loud moan. She nudges the Rabbit up a setting and her hips arch. He can see all of her, she knows, her laptop at the bottom of the bed where he can watch. She's developing quite a kink for this, she knows, a voyeuristic tendency she's never had before him. But she sees his face, his dark eyes, the way his arm flexes as he rubs at himself.
"Yes," she moans. "Oh my God, Aaron, yes."
"That's my girl. It's not long now is it? Your muscles are clenching aren't they, Emily? I can see how wet you are from here."
Jesus, and the resolution is often pretty crappy. It makes her breath catch, her heart pounding in her ears, and he must be talking to her because there's a low hum there, but she can't hear the words. The orgasm crashes over her hard and fast, leaving her a panting sweaty mess. It takes her a while to come back to herself, a bit of a shock considering the fact that she's never quite had orgasms as intense when she's responsible for it herself, he already has a tissue in hand.
"Mm," she mumbles. "You?"
"Oh yeah," he says with a bit of a chuckle. "You got me good, Prentiss."
She smiles, eyes fluttering. "Come visit and I'll get you better."
It sounds terrible to even her ears, but when she doesn't get so much as a laugh out of him, her eyes open again, finding his. "Aaron?"
He smiles, but still says nothing and she feels something hollow out in her chest. She forces herself to sit up, even reaches for the silk camisole she'd answered Skype in. It slides deliciously over her head given how sensitive her skin is, but she ignores the shiver that drills down her spine because of it.
"I didn't mean it," she says, feeling like there's something she's done wrong. She hates that feeling.
He looks guilty, she realizes. Like this is something he already knows.
"Emily-"
Except she's suspicious now.
"Why haven't you visited?" Her eyes slam closed. She'd promised herself, even after JJ had asked, had called her out on it, not to ask. Things were good. Things are good. She doesn't want something as stupid as the fact that she's the one that does most of the travelling to screw it all up now.
He blows out a breath. "You know it's hard to get the time-"
Her eyes narrow.
"-and then there's Jack."
"I have room, you know. For Jack. For both of you." Oh, her stubborn streak's come out. But she also deserves to know, she thinks. She deserves to understand why the man she's in love with refuses to travel to see her. And sure, there is some merit to his excuses, but mostly, they're just that. They both know that. She's always just assumed that her schedule fit better into his, but it's been a year. More. And she's still bending her schedule to his rather than the other way around.
She's only just noticing.
"Emily-"
But she can see it in the tiny micro-expressions in his face and she's done with excuses. "Don't. Hotch, just- don't."
She doesn't really realize her eyes have slammed shut until they flutter open again to find his face hard as stone. This time, it doesn't move her. It doesn't make her feel guilty, and it doesn't make her feel like she's pushing. She's asking questions she should feel comfortable asking considering their relationship. And now that she's opened the can of worms all of the emotion – the anger, the loneliness, the isolation – are rising up.
The worst part is, she knows. She started it. She started this thing between them. She pushed. She didn't twist his arm, sure. He was fully aware when he made the decision to get involved with her. But since her conversation with JJ, she's starting to think that she's inferred a lot of things about their relationship that are categorically untrue.
Like that they're more.
Like that she means something.
Well, okay, she means something. She's enough to have all kinds of long-distance sex with. Frankly, pretty great sex considering the thousands of miles between them. But the minute she starts asking for things, when she asks questions that hit too close to home, she's no different from anyone else.
She's been deluding herself.
She takes a breath. "I don't want any more excuses," she tells him. "You can take time off, but you won't. I have more than enough room for you and Jack, but that's not good enough. And with those excuses gone, what's left, Hotch? That it's personal. That it's about us."
"It's not about us. We're good."
"We're not," she argues with a hollow laugh. "We're one-sided. I do all the talking, I do all the travelling. You instigate sex and psych 101 says all sorts of things about that."
He frowns.
She does not care. "I can't keep doing this. I can't keep giving and giving and giving and not feeling like I'm getting anything in response. And orgasms do not count."
She forces herself to take a deep breath, to shove the tears back down her throat. She knows with a painful, startling clarity, what the outcome of this conversation will be. It already hurts.
"I get it," she says, glad when her voice doesn't crack. "It's not you, not yet, and certainly not after everything." And she includes herself in that: her death, her resurrection and return, her departure, again. "I shouldn't have expected anything. It was stupid."
"Emily."
He sounds a bit stunned, like he hadn't thought about it, and that hurts almost more. She really had been absolutely and utterly blind to the fact that he hasn't been in this the same way she has. She wonders if maybe her heart shattering is an audible thing.
She sucks in a breath. "It'll be fine," she finds herself promising. "I'm not stateside so often so visiting-"
"Emily, stop."
But she shakes her head. She's walking a fine line, trying not to break down. Her eyes sting, and her throat actually hurts. "It's not working, Aaron. Because I love you and that's obviously more than you feel for me. So I can't. I can't."
She hangs up. She has to. She quits Skype too and silences her phone.
And even though she's covered in dry sweat and other fluids, she can't make herself move. Once the computer is safely on her bedside table, she curls up under her covers and sobs over her broken heart.