Emily Prentiss One-Shots

Emily/Hotch

Title: The art of scraping through - Pbswife (Ao3)

Summary: Oneshot. An AU in which Emily dies at the end of season 6 and Aaron has to learn to cope with the loss of the woman he loves.

Rating: Not rated 

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'You loved her, Aaron; it's going to hurt. It's normal.'

'Of course, I fucking loved her, Dave' he yelled, smashing his closed fist on top of the desk. 'Of course, I did'. There were tears streaming down his cheeks, his face hollow and gaunt. 'Look at what she did for me. She came to the edge of hell just to walk me back out. I almost died, and every single time, when my vision was going black, when I was in agony, the kind of agony that makes people tear their skin away from their bones, she was there. I would be fucking dead without her.'

He was screaming now, his voice hoarse. It matched his bloodshot eyes, rubbed raw with pain. It really was going to kill him this time, he thought. The older man only stared at him from across the room, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

'She saved my life like it was the easiest thing in the world, and in return, I sat there and let her fucking die'. There was another crash as his knuckles smashed into the desk for a second time. 'All I ever taste now is blood. The stench of her blood in my nostrils, in my mouth, on my clothes. It's on my hands like I'm fucking Macbeth'. He barked out a cruel laugh. Maybe it was a sob. Neither of them could tell.

His head was in his hands now, his palms pressed so deeply into his eyes they felt like they would pop. He pressed harder. They didn't. His palms were wet, this time with tears, and the feeling almost made him gag. He could smell blood again.

'It's not your fault, Aaron.'

He let out a strangled sob. 'I should have been there'.

'She didn't want you there'.

'I don't care!' He screamed, spit flying everywhere. The vein in his temple was pulsing, a migraine tearing his skull in two.

'I really don't give a fuck. It doesn't matter whether I think it's my fault. It doesn't matter whether I was there or I wasn't there or even whether it actually was my fault. She's gone. None of it matters because she's gone. I can go to the mandated therapy sessions and the team bonding nights like the rest of you, but that's not going to bring her back'. Sobs wracked his body as he hunched over the desk

Dave didn't say a word until he'd poured them both a drink. It was Scotch, the expensive kind. His eyes softened, taking in the man in front of him as he pushed the amber liquid across the desk towards him.

'It's not supposed to bring her back, son. It's supposed to teach you how to live without her'.

'But I don't want to live without her. I don't know how'.

'I don't think it's something someone else can teach you. It's just something you learn out of necessity. What other choice do you have?'

Aaron only glanced at the glass momentarily before downing the bitter liquid. Dave poured him another, pretending not to notice the grimace on his face as the alcohol burned his throat. 'You know, when she died, I thought I was going to die too. Part of me genuinely believed I couldn't physically live without her, that any second, I would just keel over and die. I know it sounds insane, but I really believed that. For the first few days afterwards, I was just waiting to die too. I felt like I was living in a nightmare that would end at any moment; I just had to wait it out. So I waited, and I fucking waited, and now it's been two weeks, and I'm still here. It's not ending.'

'Aaron..'

'No, I know'. He said, holding up a hand and cutting him off. Dave had pried, so now he was going to listen. 'I know it's not true. I know that with everything I have. But that doesn't mean that every single cell in my body is screaming, wishing it wasn't.'