Don't Lie to Me
Emily Prentiss x fem!reader
Warnings: life-threatening situations including a bomb and a Branch Davidians-style cult compound, established relationship, hurt/comfort, explicit language, slight emetophobia warning (nothing graphic)
Word Count: 2.8k
Summary: You thought Emily was just going out on a typical case until you heard about the standoff at the religious compound. You knew her job was dangerous, but this is a whole new level of terrifying. And you can do nothing but wait. Takes place during S4.E3.
Emily stabbed at the last bit of scrambled egg on her plate and pointed it at you.
"I'd bet my life those kids are being abused," she said, chewing.
You took her plate to the sink, washing up from the early breakfast you'd made to send Emily off on a new case.
"I mean, isn't that kind of the whole point of cults?" you asked, scrubbing at the plates.
"It certainly seems like it." Emily walked over and placed an arm at the small of your back. "Thank you for breakfast. Do you need any help cleaning up?"
"No, I'm okay." You liked the repetitive nature of dishwashing. "You know," you thought out loud, "I was in a cult once."
Emily froze and stared at you, blazer halfway on. "What!?"
"Not that kind of cult. And I got out pretty quick. But... I did believe a lot of crazy things, and I was asked to do some illegal shit."
"Y/N, what!?" she said, slinging her go-bag over her shoulder, reluctant to leave. "What kind of crazy things?"
"Oh, I don't know," you said, drying your hands. "I carried anointing oil around for a while. And I thought shadows in corners were demons. Turns out that's just how light works."
Emily placed her hands on your shoulders, a slightly stunned expression on her face. "I have to go, but we will pick this up later because, Y/N, what!? A cult!?" She shook her head and kissed you, then once again on the forehead for good measure.
"It was just a little cult!" you joked, as she walked toward the door. "It's way easier to get dragged in than you'd think. I consider myself a pretty smart person, and even I fell for some of that bullshit."
"Mmkay," she said, leaning in the doorway. "Well, I'll do my best not to join a cult this week, but no promises."
You rolled your eyes at her. "I love you, Em. Be safe."
"Love you too, honey," she said. "See you in a few days."
You shook your head as the door shut behind her. You didn't tell many people about your "cult year," as you liked to call it, because it hadn't been nearly as extreme as most cults were and because you'd gotten out quickly. But, god, you'd believed in some stupid things. The confluence of moving to a new place, developing a severe mental illness, and falling wildly in love with the girl who was second in command had been a perfect recipe for cultish devotion. No matter. You'd made it out. And, well, fool me twice...
______________________________________________________________
Part of the beauty of working from home is that you could do whatever you wanted most of the day–no pants, no bra, watching the news or TV during lunch, calling Emily whenever you wanted.
You made yourself a sandwich and sat on the couch, turning on the news so that you could fiddle around with your laptop but still have some background noise.
You were scrolling through an article on the best laundry detergents when the reporter mentioned something about La Plata County. You glanced up and turned up the volume. Wasn't that where Emily and Spencer were?
"What is reportedly being called a routine questions and answers meeting by Colorado Child Services has turned into a violent and deadly standoff between Colorado authorities and a fringe religious group known as the Separatarian Sect. The raid on the compound..."
Your heart started to pound. Maybe you'd gotten the name of the county wrong, and Emily wasn't even close. But she had said she was visiting a religious compound and that she was going with Children's Services...
Breathing rapidly, you pulled out your phone and called Emily. Straight to voicemail. You called her again. No answer. You tried to calm yourself down–no need to panic until you knew for sure. You sent Emily a quick text:
Hey love💕 You haven't been forced into a Waco situation have you? The news is going CRAZY. Please text or call when you get a second so I know you're okay. I love you❤️
You moved your work stuff into the living room, piling it on the coffee table and keeping the volume on the news up. You felt sick to your stomach, but tried to stay calm. There was no reason to think Emily was there. Colorado was a huge state. Probably dozens of religious sects. Why would she be at that one? But the longer you went without a text or call from Emily, the more anxious you grew.
______________________________________________________________
You managed to make it about three hours before losing your goddamned mind with worry. You texted Emily again, called her again, left her an angry voicemail about how people shouldn't worry their girlfriends like this, all with no response. You'd tried Derek, too, but no luck.
Your leg bounced up and down, and you could feel tears forming at the corners of your eyes. You found one of Emily's sweatshirts in the hamper and pulled it over your shirt, balling yourself up on the couch and breathing in the scent of her. She's okay, you told yourself over and over. She's okay, she's okay, she's okay.
A breaking news alert on the TV prompted another update on the La Plata County situation. Your head shot up, and you turned the volume up, not wanting to miss a thing.
"...tactical team into a forced retreat after losing a 30-minute gun battle with sect members. Nobody knows for sure how many people are inside, but it is believed that at least three of the child service members are still trapped in the compound."
You didn't sleep that night. Not even for a moment. You sat on the couch late into the night, waiting for updates on the standoff. With each hour that passed without contact from Emily, you were more and more sure that it was her and Spencer in the compound. You'd tried calling a few more times, but the calls seemed pointless, knowing where she was. You'd waited until a decent hour the next morning to call other team members again–Derek, Penelope, JJ. No one had answered, and you'd only grown more terrified. You were scared to know for sure, but you needed to.
You looked down at your phone and took a deep breath, looking at the one number you'd resisted calling so far: Hotch. You knew Emily'd given you his number for emergencies only, but what was this if not an emergency?
The phone dialed for a few moments before picking up.
"Hotchner."
"Where is she!?" you demanded, all the emotion and fear you'd been putting off for the last day rushing to the forefront.
"Y/N," he sighed, and you could tell just by his voice. "She's–"
"Don't lie to me, Hotch! She's in that compound, isn't she?"
Hotch's words were calm, determined. "We're gonna get her out."
"Don't lie to me." Your voice shook, tears slipping down your face.
"Y/N, I swear to you, I will get her out."
"Okay," you whispered, feeling small and scared.
"I'll call as soon as I can to let you know she's okay, but it's gonna take some time."
"Thank you." You dashed tears from your eyes, sniffling.
"Of course."
The line clicked off and you sat in stunned silence for a few minutes, watching the repeated footage of the compound flash by on the TV. Emily was in there. Emily was in there. And there wasn't a damn thing you could do about it.
You paced back and forth for a while, waiting and waiting for news updates, then decided that all this waiting was futile. If Emily couldn't get home to you, you'd go to her. You booked yourself on the next flight to Durango, packed just the essentials, and ran out the door, filling Sergio's bowl and making a mental note to text a friend to check in on him if you were gone for more than a day or two.
______________________________________________________________
The hours you were in the air–with nothing but shitty airplane WiFi service–were the worst for you. You refreshed the live news page over and over again, terrified that at any moment, you'd hear news of a mass death.
When you finally got to Durango that night, you drove the rental car as close to the compound as you could, but ATF had it locked down for miles. For now, this was a close to Emily as you could get.
You booked a nearby hotel and, still wrapped in Emily's sweatshirt, sat moon-faced and bleary-eyed on the edge of the bed, watching the news, and waiting, waiting, waiting.
You'd nearly drifted off to sleep when the room filled with a blinding white-orange light. Your eyes grew wide as you watched the screen. The compound went up in flames, debris flying far and wide.
"Oh my god," you said, covering your mouth. "Oh my god."
You ran to the bathroom and vomited, then sat on the cool floor, shaking. You coughed as you hyperventilated, unable to get enough air into your lungs. You wrapped your hands around your head, rocking. There was no way. No way someone would have survived an explosion like that.
You felt like your heart was being ripped apart. It was the hope that hurt the most. The maybe she hadn't been in there? But almost certainly she was. Maybe she was okay? But probably she wasn't. Most likely, she didn't even exist anymore, had gone up in smoke with the rest of the compound, the thought of which made you vomit again. You couldn't fathom it, couldn't envision a world without Emily. You needed her. You hunched on the floor of the hotel room, leaning into the bed, and waited. Waited for news of Emily's death. You hoped that Hotch would call you first. It'd be so much easier to hear it from him, but the reporters were like vultures, and they often got the news first.
______________________________________________________________
At the compound, a deeply battered Emily, now running out of adrenaline, leaned heavily on Hotch as he walked her to an ambulance.
"You don't have to come with me," she told him, her voice gravelly. "It's not that bad."
"Prentiss, you can barely walk," Hotch protested, watching in concern as she winced climbing into the ambulance. "I wish you'd get on a stretcher."
"I am on a stretcher." Emily gave him a little wave from where she now lay, an EMT strapping her in and taking her vitals.
"I meant before now." Hotch smiled slightly. His team was beat up, but they'd be okay.
He pulled out his phone, scrolling through his contacts. "You need to make a call," he told Emily, putting the phone on speaker as it dialed.
"Oh, god," Emily groaned. "She's gotta be worried sick."
When you picked up, your voice was timid, rough with emotion.
"Hotch?" you whispered, terrified of what he might tell you.
"Hi, honey," Emily said, her voice heavy with love and exhaustion. It hit her, all of a sudden, that there was a good chance she might not have made it out. That she would never have seen you again. The thought brought tears to her eyes.
"Em!" you cried between sobs. "Are you okay!? Are you hurt!?"
"I'm a little banged up, but I'll make it."
"You scared the shit out of me!" you yelled, equal parts furious at her for putting her life in danger and relieved that she was okay. Emotions tumbled through your body like ocean waves.
Emily smiled and wiped a few tears from under her eyes. "I know. I'm sorry."
"Is Spencer there? Is he okay, too?"
Emily exhaled shakily. "Yeah, he's fine. We're all fine."
"Where are you?"
"Uh, in an ambulance."
"Which hospital are they taking you to?" you asked, pulling on your shoes and grabbing your keys off the hotel desk.
"Mercy?" Emily said, repeating what the EMT told her.
"I'll meet you there."
"No, honey, you don't need to come all the way here," Emily protested. "I'm okay. I'll be home in a few days."
"I'm already here, Em. Don't even try to fight me on this."
"You're here!? In Colorado?!"
"At a hotel. As close to the compound as I could get."
"You came?" Emily confirmed, her voice quiet, like she couldn't quite believe someone would love her enough to be there.
"Emily," you breathed. "Of course I did."
A few tears escaped Emily's eyes, and Hotch looked away.
"Now," you said, clearing your throat and trying to pull yourself together. "Please, please, let the doctors take care of you. I'll be there soon, okay?"
"Okay," she sniffled.
"I love you."
"I love you, too," Emily said, before hanging up and handing the phone back to Hotch.
The EMT handed her a paper towel to use as a tissue and she laughed, dabbing at her eyes and nose. "Thanks," she said.
Hotch smiled, watching her.
"What?" she said.
"She really loves you."
"I know."
______________________________________________________________
At the hospital, Emily heard you before she saw you. You were the first thing she heard after waking up from surgery, and she couldn't help but smile. You were giving the nurses a run for their money, which was saying something. You were usually so patient, so accommodating. Not today.
"Look," you railed at the nurse's station. "I've been in the waiting room for hours! I have been awake for three days straight, and my girlfriend has been a cult hostage that whole time! I am not in the mood to be held hostage too! Take me to her now, or I swear to god I will get the fucking FBI director on the line."
Emily's face brightened when you came in the room, but yours fell. She looked awful. Her face was bruised and swollen, bandages covered her body, and her arm was in a cast.
"Oh, Em," you said, your voice breaking, as you grabbed her hand, pressing your palm gently to her cheek.
"I'm okay." But she wasn't, and you could tell.
"It's okay, baby," you reassured her, running your fingers gently through her hair. "You don't have to be okay now, alright? I'm here. I'm here to take care of you."
Her breath hitched, and you could tell she was fighting off tears. It broke your heart. She always felt like she needed to be strong. It was time to let someone else be strong for a change.
You lowered the railing of the hospital bed, and lifted yourself in, gently pulling Emily into you. She grasped desperately at your shirt and fought off sobs.
"Shh," you whispered, cradling her head. "Let it out, love. I'm right here. You're safe now."
You held her while she cried, heartbroken that she'd been so scared and so hurt and, yet, proud that she handled it like no one else in the world could. And for neither the first time nor the last, you felt the immense weight and honor of being someone Emily Prentiss felt safe enough to break down with.
When she quieted, you rocked her and held her and placed small, gentle kisses on her head, trying to convey all your love for her, all your protectiveness toward her through osmosis.
You remembered, quite suddenly, the last conversation you'd had before Emily left, about cults.
"I told you," you whispered, giggling.
"Told me what?"
"That it was easy to get dragged into a cult."
"That is not the same," Emily argued, playfully shoving you. "I was held hostage. You were just dumb."
"Ouch."
"You didn't hoard weapons or anything, did you?"
"No," you scoffed. "Of course not."
"Well, what'd you do?" she pressed.
"What do you mean?"
"You said you did some illegal shit in the cult, so what did you do?"
"Oh," you laughed. "Nothing too serious. We bugged some people's rooms, recorded conversations."
"...Why?"
"We thought they were in cahoots with the devil."
Emily laughed, then grabbed her ribs, wincing. "'Cahoots with the devil!?' God, I'm so glad I found you after your religious days."
"What can I say? You get the very best of me."
Emily beamed up at you, pulling you down by your collar to kiss you. You stayed gentle and soft, mindful of her split lip and bruised face.
You held your forehead to hers, breathing in her scent. That familiar Emily scent that you'd been so sure you'd never get again.
"Don't ever scare me like that again," you whispered.
"I won't," Emily said, burying her face in your chest.
"Don't lie to me."
You felt her smile into your skin. "I'll try."
You sighed and grinned. "I guess that'll do. But only because I love you so much."
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