RED

interpol, panic attacks, and old ghosts

okok this one is super short, forgive me! 

word count: 1675

Emily's sleep was broken by the soft vibration of her phone on the nightstand. Blinking against the darkness, she reached for it, careful not to disturb Hotch, who was still sound asleep beside her. The screen's harsh light revealed a message from Clyde Easter, her old friend from Interpol.

Get out while you can.

Her heart skipped a beat, the message sending a jolt of panic through her. Clyde wasn't one to joke, especially not with something like this. She stared at the words, trying to keep her breathing steady as a flood of thoughts raced through her mind. What the hell did he mean? What was happening?

Emily considered grabbing her gun and just running. The instinct to flee, to disappear into the night before whatever was coming could catch up to her, was overwhelming. But she knew better than to act impulsively. She needed more information, more clarity. But it was Clyde, and if he was sending her something so cryptic, it couldn't be good.

She slowly sat up, her mind whirring as she debated her next move. Should she wake Hotch? Should she try to handle this on her own? A thousand scenarios played out in her head, each one worse than the last.

Her thumb hovered over the screen, contemplating a reply, but her thoughts were too scattered to form a coherent response. Instead, she turned her gaze to Hotch, who was still peacefully asleep. She couldn't just leave without telling him, not after everything they'd been through. But how could she drag him into this nightmare from her past?

Swallowing hard, she made her decision. Whatever was happening, she couldn't face it alone. And Hotch, of all people, deserved to know what was going on, even if it meant pulling him into the darkness with her.

"Hotch," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly as she shook his shoulder. "Aaron, wake up."

Hotch stirred, his brow furrowing in confusion as he woke. "Emily? What's wrong?" he asked, his voice heavy with sleep but instantly alert when he saw the look on her face.

She handed him her phone without saying a word, letting him read the message for himself. The room was thick with tension as he scanned the text, his expression darkening.

"Not here," Emily said, her voice steadier now but still laced with anxiety. "We can't talk about this here."

He nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation without needing any further explanation. "Let's go," he said, already getting out of bed to get dressed.

Emily followed suit, her mind still racing but now focused on the task at hand. As she pulled on her clothes, the reality of what might be coming settled in. Ian Doyle wasn't just a ghost from her past—he was a storm on the horizon, and it was about to hit full force.

The soft, ambient light of the early morning barely penetrated the blinds of Hotch's office, casting the room in a muted gray. Emily sat across from Hotch, her posture rigid, hands clasped tightly in her lap. She hadn't been able to change out of the clothes she'd thrown on in a rush before they left her apartment—dark jeans, a wrinkled sweatshirt, and sneakers that were still untied. Her normally composed expression was gone, replaced by a frantic, almost haunted look.

Hotch, sitting behind his desk, leaned forward slightly, his gaze fixed on her. His own shirt was wrinkled, the remnants of a rushed morning. The exhaustion in his eyes was overshadowed by concern as he watched Emily struggle to find the words.

"Emily," he began, his voice low and steady, "you need to tell me what's going on. I can't help you if I don't know what's happening."

She opened her mouth to speak but found herself choking on the words. Her heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst out of her chest. Every breath she took felt shallow, and inadequate, like she couldn't get enough air. Her vision blurred at the edges, narrowing until all she could focus on was the rising panic within her. She tried to calm herself down, but the room felt like it was closing in, her thoughts spiraling out of control.