Hotchniss One-Shots

the distance of being apart

Emily gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, the hum of the engine filling the silence of the car. It had been weeks since she had seen Aaron in person. Long-distance was supposed to be manageable—they'd done it before—but this time it felt different. The calls and texts were no substitute for his presence, his quiet reassurance, the way he always made her feel safe.

Lately, though, every conversation seemed to edge toward frustration. Small misunderstandings had grown into lingering arguments, and the space between them felt heavier than the miles separating them. She missed him—more than she cared to admit—but missing him now carried a sharp ache, a reminder that sometimes love was complicated, even when it was true.

She had been back in D.C for an Interpol meeting, juggling schedules, cases, and paperwork, while trying to keep their connection alive through calls that never seemed long enough. Every time she hung up, a hollow emptiness settled in her chest. And now, after the last tense call with him that morning, she knew she couldn't wait any longer.

Emily exhaled, taking a deep breath. She needed to see him. Needed to fix things—or at least try. The drive to Aaron's apartment was quiet, the city streets slipping past as her thoughts spun with everything left unsaid, every misunderstanding, and the hope that when she arrived, they could find a way back to each other.

Emily stepped into Aaron's apartment, her bag slung loosely over her shoulder, the familiar scent of cedar and leather welcoming her like an old memory. She smiled softly, trying to shake the fatigue from the day's cases, but the tension in the air—thick, unspoken—made her hesitate at the doorway.

Aaron looked up from the papers spread across the dining table. His usual calm gaze softened when he saw her, but there was something tight in his jaw that made Emily pause.

"Emily," he said quietly, standing. "You're here."

"I am," she replied, forcing cheer into her tone. "Thought I'd stop by... see how you're doing."

He gave her a small smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm... managing," he said carefully.

There was a silence, just long enough for Emily to feel the unspoken weight between them. She set her bag down and moved closer, placing a hand lightly on his arm. "Aaron... are we okay?"

He looked at her, conflicted. "I don't know," he admitted softly. "I just—" He stopped, shaking his head. "I don't want to hurt you, Emily. I just..."

"You're already doing it," she interrupted, the sharp edge in her voice betraying her frustration. "I can't even talk to you without feeling like I'm walking on eggshells!"

Aaron's shoulders tensed, the calm veneer cracking. "I'm not trying to hurt you! I just... I can't always say what I feel without—without making things worse."

Emily stepped back, letting a bitter laugh escape her. "Making things worse? Aaron, I've been honest with you. I've told you exactly how I feel, and you still..." Her voice faltered, choked by the mix of hurt and longing. "You still act like we're just... pretending."

Aaron ran a hand through his hair, his gaze falling. "Emily, I... I want this. I want us. But I can't promise it'll be perfect. I'm... I'm scared of losing you if I say the wrong thing."

Emily's chest tightened. "I can't... I can't be second-guessing every word, Aaron. I came here to be close to you, not to feel more alone than when I left London."

The words hung between them, heavy and raw. Aaron reached for her, but she flinched back instinctively. "Emily... don't go," he pleaded softly, voice breaking.

"I have to," she whispered, tears prickling her eyes. "I need... I need space to breathe. I can't... not right now."

And just like that, she turned and left, heart pounding, every step toward the door feeling like it was ripping pieces of her away. The sound of the elevator closing behind her was deafening, leaving Aaron standing frozen, guilt and regret twisting tight in his chest.

After slamming the door behind her, Emily didn't wait. She grabbed her bag, her heart pounding in her chest, and booked the earliest flight back to London. Every step away from Aaron's apartment felt like pulling herself apart, but she couldn't stay—not when the tension between them had grown too heavy, the words too sharp, the hurt too real.

Sitting in the airplane seat, she pressed her forehead against the cool window, watching the city lights fade as the plane ascended. The hum of the engines and the quiet murmur of other passengers couldn't drown out the ache in her chest. Every memory of Aaron—the way he looked at her, the way his hands felt when they touched, the moments of laughter and warmth—they all pressed painfully against her heart.

By the time the plane landed in London, Emily felt hollow, exhausted, and yet restless. She didn't wait for a taxi; she walked through the rainy streets, letting the drizzle wash over her as if it could somehow cleanse the ache inside. The familiar sounds and lights of the city felt distant, muted by the storm of her thoughts.

When she finally arrived at her apartment, she didn't bother turning on the lights. She curled up on the couch, pulling a blanket around her shoulders, letting the tears come freely. 

Emily had spent the entire day wandering the rainy streets of London, her thoughts tangled with the argument, the harsh words, and the ache of leaving Aaron behind. She hadn't slept properly, hadn't eaten much, and every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face—the mix of frustration and regret, the way he always seemed so impossibly composed, yet so human when it came to her.

By the time night fell, she was curled up on her couch, wrapped in a blanket, her cheeks still wet from tears. Her apartment was quiet, but the silence only amplified the emptiness she felt. Every memory of him—the warmth of his hand, the gentle brush of his lips, the steadiness of his presence—made her chest ache even more.

She whispered to the darkness, "I can't... I can't let go," feeling the weight of the heartbreak settle into her bones. For a full day, she had carried the hurt and longing alone, and it was unbearable.

Aaron's knock at the door startled her. She scrambled to compose herself, wiping at her cheeks, trying to push down the sobs that still threatened to escape.

"Emily?" His voice was gentle but urgent, soft enough to soothe but firm enough to hold the gravity of the situation.

She opened the door, eyes red and puffy, and he saw her—really saw her—and his heart clenched. "Aaron..." she whispered, voice trembling, unsure whether to hope or push him away again.

He stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. "I know," he said softly, taking in the evidence of her day-long heartbreak. "I know you've been hurting... and I shouldn't have let you go alone."

Emily's tears welled again, and she sank to the couch, wrapping her arms around herself. Aaron knelt beside her, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face, his hand gentle against her cheek.

"I came for you, Emily," he said, voice low, steady. "I can't stand knowing you've spent a day like this without me. I'm here now. I won't let you do this alone."

She trembled, leaning into his hand, letting herself feel the reassurance she had been craving for twenty-four hours. "I... I missed you," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

"I know," he said, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. "And I'm here. We'll fix this. Together."

For the first time since leaving, Emily let herself fully breathe, leaning into him, letting the weight of the heartbreak begin to lift. Aaron held her close, letting her cry, letting her feel everything, until the ache softened into something warmer, safer, and real.