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Emily sighs contentedly as she relaxes against Aaron, her resting on his shoulder as she sinks into his embrace, “Thanks for cooking dinner honey,” she says, turning her head to press a kiss to his jaw, smiling as she breathes in the scent of him, his cologne having faded throughout the day, leaving just him behind, “It was delicious.”
He hums and kisses her forehead, tugging her impossibly closer to him, “You’re welcome sweetheart,” he smiles as he pulls back, “Someone has to make sure you eat actual food every now and again.”
She narrows her eyes playfully and pulls him in for a kiss, tugging him in by the collar of his shirt as she stamps her lips against his, “I’m not that bad.”
“Em, baby, a few weeks ago all you had in your fridge was expired hot sauce and yoghurt I think might have been milk when you bought it,” he says, his smile getting wider as she shifts to sit in his lap, her hands on his cheeks as she shakes her head at him, “You’re lucky I came along really,” he says, his hands on her back as he holds her in place, “Otherwise you might have starved.”
She tries to suppress a smile but fails, his dimples appearing under her thumbs as he continues to smile at her, the dents in his cheek the perfect size and placement for when she cupped his face. If she was someone else, if she believed in soulmates and there being one perfect person for everyone, she’d think he was hers. That he’d been made for her, their paths crossing and bringing them here years after they met written in the stars she’d once stared at with her grandfather.
“Well,” she says, leaning in to kiss him, rubbing her nose against his, “We can’t have that,” she says, her lips ghosting over his, “Got to keep my energy up.”
They’d only been together for a month, still in the early stages of learning about each other outside of the bonds of the friendship they’d had before. They were insatiable for each other, and had spent every night together since their first date either at his place or, like tonight, at hers. Even when they’d been a case she’d snuck into his room, already used to having him tucked up behind her, his arm heavy and reassuring over her waist. She hadn’t had a nightmare since, something that had become almost nightly in Paris, and she knew it was because she felt safe.
He chuckles and kisses her, his lips trailing to her cheek, “Why don’t we go take advantage of that big bath of yours?”
She smiles and nods, her skin already tingling with the promise of what is to come, “I’ll just put the dishes away.”
She stands up and he follows suit, his hand on her lower back, “I can do that sweetheart.”
She freezes for a moment, annoyance she knows he doesn’t deserve thrumming under her skin.
It was something she was struggling to get used to. He wanted to do everything for her all of the time. He cooked for her, brought her snacks or coffee at work when they barely had time to stop for a meal. He ran errands for her without her asking - he’d picked up her drying cleaning just because he found the slip on her coffee table just a few days ago and noticed it had been sitting around for almost a week, the gesture turning sour almost immediately because she wasn’t sure how to feel about it.
Ian had liked to look after her too. He’d buy her clothes and insist she wear them, saying she needed to look good if she was his. He drove her everywhere, always keen to know where she was and what she was doing, as if her world wasn’t just him and Declan by that point anyway. He was the one with the money, her own personal funds not in use when she was undercover, and it meant her options were limited, the situation she’d put herself in getting increasingly dangerous the more she fell into it.
She knew it was different with Aaron, that he wasn’t trying to control her like Ian had, but it was hard to get past. Her defences rising every time he did something she had to tell herself was just him being kind. She’d have to stop herself from reacting, her sharp words cutting her tongue so she didn’t hurt him instead, the sting of it something that would last far longer than the irritation she felt towards him. It made her wonder in her worst moments if it meant they ultimately wouldn’t work, that no matter how much she loved him, even if she hadn’t told him yet, if she couldn’t accept his love maybe she didn’t deserve it.
“No, it’s okay,” she says, stamping a kiss against his lips before she steps away, “I’m just going to use the bathroom and then I’ll come back and do it.”
She makes quick work of going to the bathroom, her gaze fixed on her reflection in the mirror as she washes her hands. She blows out a breath as her eyes land on the scar on her left breast, the top of the clover sticking out from under the cami she is wearing. She plucks at the material of her shirt, trying to cover it up. She was used to it now, almost couldn’t remember what her body looked like without out, but it didn’t mean she liked it. She’d been self-conscious during her first night with Aaron, but he’d simply kissed it, his touch healing more than the wounds Ian had left behind, and she’d done the same for him, trailing her fingers over the scars that Foyet had given him as she marvelled at how beautiful he was.
She shakes her head at herself, trying to shake off the thought of the man who had killed her, the man who was once supposed to have loved a version of her, and she walks out of the bathroom, wanting nothing more than to spend some time with her boyfriend. She steps back into the kitchen, her smile fading when she sees the side is clear now, the handful of dishes that had been used for dinner gone and out of sight. She tenses when he slips in behind her, his hands on her hips as he squeezes, his warmth overwhelming her, his palms burning her through her clothes.
“Do you want some wine?” He asks, stamping a kiss to her temple, frowning when she pulls away, her eyebrows furrowing as she turns to look at him, “What’s wrong?”
“I said I’d put the dishes away,” she says, biting the inside of her cheek, the now familiar irritation rising up in her, filling her lungs as she struggles to breathe. Usually, she can push it away, but it’s chased by the reminder of Ian, and she can’t. She feels trapped, boxed by him in a way she knows is in her head but her instinct is to fight against it. To tear the walls that were closing in on her apart, to break them down so she could run.
“Okay,” he says, confusion drawing his eyebrows together, tying them in a knot as he places his hands on his hips, “I’m sorry, I was just trying to help.”
She scoffs and shakes her head at him, her arms crossed over her chest as she puts more space between them, “I don’t need your help. I don’t need you doing everything for me. I’m perfectly capable.”
He frowns, “I know you’re capable,” he says, “You’re more than capable. You’re my girlfriend I want to…I want to look after you.”
She clenches her teeth, the fire inside of her already raging, his explanation barely stoking it, and she grips her arms so tightly her nails dig into her skin, “I don’t need you to,” she says, repeating her previous words, “And I certainly don’t need someone controlling me. I’ve spent my whole life being controlled. By my mother, by my career, by Ian…” she shakes her head as she abruptly stops, her body practically vibrating with fury, “I refuse to be controlled by you too.”
She stares at him, her teeth tightly clenched as a desperate attempt to stop herself from saying anything else, from pushing him too far. Her body fighting against her mind, pulling her in different directions as she physically feels drawn to him as if on instinct, a direct contradiction to her conscious attempts to get away, to stop herself from getting too used to being happy.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” She asks, the silence getting to her as it stretches out between them, her boyfriend seemingly frozen in place.
He looks at her, his expression unreadable, and he shakes his head, “No.”
“No?” She repeats incredulously, crossing her arms over her chest, “What do you mean no?”
He steps closer to her, his endless patience irritating, her skin itching with the need to argue as he does nothing but smile at her, as if he’d seen this coming. As if he’d predicted she’d lose it over something small.
“I mean I won’t be drawn into an argument you’ve decided you want to have,” he says, his smile soft and loving, “You deserve to be happy, Em. That’s true no matter how much you don’t trust it or how much you try and destroy it before you can be hurt.”
His honesty disarms her, the fight draining out of her so quickly she feels her shoulders sag, taking a step back from him as she physically sinks into herself. She rarely hated that he was so good at his job, his intelligence one of the many things she was attracted to, but in this moment she does. She hates that he knows her so well, that the walls she’d put up around her when she was young, built with the tools her mother had given her when she should have given her toys, might as well not be there. She feels exposed, raw like a nerve, sparking with the pain she’s always anticipating.
She also feels empowered in a way she hadn’t expected, as if someone is seeing her as she actually is for the first time ever. As if someone is accepting her for who she actually is for the first time. She releases a shaky breath, her eyes closing as she tries to re-centre herself, his unrelenting love for her almost knocking her off her feet. A feeling she knew the name of even if they hadn’t put a name to it yet, the words hanging in the air around them, waiting to be caught and said outloud.
“That’s not…” she drifts off, her defence dying in her throat as she avoids his eye contact, his casual assessment of her behaviour that she hadn’t even seen through herself still making her feel unsteady.
“Unless you really are passionate about putting the dishes away,” he says, stepping towards her to close the gap she’d created between them. He reaches out and tucks some of her hair behind her ear, relief spreading through him when she doesn’t pull away this time, “It’s an adjustment being in a relationship with someone new, Em. I show that I care by doing things, I don’t even think about it half the time I just do it. You show you care by touching,” he says, and she looks up, her eyes narrowing as he carries on, “We both are still getting used to what it means to be with each other.”
She licks her lips and clears her throat, “Are you saying you don’t like it when I touch you?” She asks, somehow sounding less hurt than she feels, wracking her brain for any time he’d flinched or tried to put some distance between them when she’d reach out for him, her skin drawn to his, any space between them too much.
“No, I’m not saying that,” he says, wrapping his arms around her, “What I’m saying is before you, the only person who ever touched me for years was Jack. It took a little bit of time to get used to being in a relationship with someone again,” he leans forward and kisses the tip of her nose, smiling when she scrunches it up, “I love it.”
He’d always known Emily was tactile. He’d watched for years as she placed her hand on Penelope or JJ’s shoulder when a case hit them a little too hard. She was a hugger when she’d had a few drinks, her arm around Derek’s shoulder as she tried to play his wingman. He’d wondered for a long time what it would feel like to have her skin pressed against his, and the reality was so much more than he could have ever imagined.
It was strange at first, getting used to someone being in close proximity again, the intimacy of it something he hadn’t realised he’d missed so much since his divorce. It was more than just the sex, it was everything. She touched him all the time. Her hand brushing against his as she passed him a cup of coffee or a case file., She’d press her face into his neck, her breath skipping over his skin as she’d tangle her fingers with him, the gaps between his the perfect size for hers. She’d hold him close when he woke from a nightmare, her forehead pressed against his, her hand on the back of his neck as she drew him back to her. Her presence and reassurance the safe place he’d been searching for and found right in front of him.
“Good,” she says, her smile fleetingly turning mischievous, “Because you’re far too comfortable to sleep on top of to give it up.”
He chuckles and kisses her, and when he pulls back his smile slips from his face, something she’d said lingering in his head, making his skin itch in a way he can’t ignore.”
“I’m not trying to control you, sweetheart,” he says, cupping her neck, his thumb tracing her jawline, “I do all those things for you because I love you. I’ll try and be more mindful-”
“No,” she says, cutting him off, shaking her head before she turns to kiss his palm, “Please don’t. I don’t want you to change it’s my issue,” she says, her hands on his back as she presses her chest against his, “I’ve just…never had someone want to do those things for me before just because, not because they want something in return.”
He smiles, “Okay,” he says, kissing her softly before he pulls her in for a hug, his hand running up and down her back, “Shall I go run us a bath?” He asks, and she hums and nods against him but makes no move to pull away, sinking further into his embrace more than anything.
“Aaron?”
He rests his cheek on the top of her head, enveloping her entirely, as he replies, “Yes, Em?”
She pulls back and looks at him, her smile wide, a beautiful thing he wants to see every day for the rest of his life. All of a sudden, the words she’s been avoiding, choking them down every time she almost says them because she tells herself that it's too soon, break free. Happy and unbidden, and, probably for the first time in her life, entirely true.
“I love you too.”
___
5 Years Later
The house was almost too quiet.
It’s the first thing she notices as she walks out of the bedroom, her bed regretfully empty of her husband who she’s sure is somewhere in the depths of their home wrangling one of the boys. Jack was always the first awake, always keen to get the day started, and she was sure he was currently trying to convince Aaron that they all needed to go to the zoo.
She yawns as she walks down the stairs, stretching her arms and trying to ease the ache in her shoulder, something that seemed ever-present these days if she slept only just slightly wrong. She comes to a stop in the entryway to the kitchen, a mix of alarm and amusement chasing away any residual sleepiness when she’s met with the sight in front of her, her son’s smile wide as he spots her in the doorway.
A stool had been dragged from the breakfast bar over to the sink. Her three-year-old had clearly used it to get up on the counter, and he was dangerously close to the drying rack with the two wine glasses she and Aaron had drunk from last night.
The crystal wine glasses her mother had got them as a moving in gift when they bought this house four years ago.
“Elliot, what are you doing, sweetie?” she asks, walking over and hoisting him up into her arms, settling him on her hip before he can even think about trying to touch one of the glasses, “You shouldn’t be up here you could hurt yourself.”
She didn’t care about the glasses themselves, she could replace them a dozen times or more if she needed to, but just the idea of him cutting himself if he dropped one, or hurting his head if he fell off the counter makes her hold him a little tighter.
“I try to help like Jacky helps,” he says, his hands on her chest as he pushes himself back to look at her. His hair was rumbled from sleep, the cowlick in the back that he’d inherited from Aaron making itself known as his hair stuck up in every direction. He was her husband’s double, right down to the way he was frowning at her, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.
She leans in and kisses his cheek, his kindness and soft nature something she hopes he keeps. She’d set the world on fire to protect it, to make sure he didn’t go through what she, Aaron and even Jack had endured, “That’s sweet baby, but Jack is 9, he’s supposed to have chores. You’re still too little.”
He pouts, something she knows Aaron would say is all her, and she has to stop herself from laughing, her lips pressed together as she desperately tries to make a mental note of this. Committing it to memory so when he was a teenager who resisted helping out in the house she could picture this clear as day, so she could remind him of when he was a sweet little toddler who was sad he wasn’t allowed to help. It makes her heart ache, and she hears Aaron’s footsteps in the hallway, giving her an idea.
“You could probably help Daddy with making pancakes though,” she says, kissing his cheek, blowing a raspberry against his skin until he giggles, the sound a higher version of Aaron’s. She turns just as Aaron walks into the kitchen, his smile wide as he spots them, “Right Daddy?”
He walks over and presses a kiss to her forehead and then her lips before he leans in to kiss Elliot’s cheek, running his fingers through their son’s dark hair, “Are you going to help with breakfast, buddy?”
“Mama says I am too small for dishes,” he says, and Aaron furrows his brows curiously as he takes Elliot from Emily, resting the little boy on his hip as he looks at his wife.
She smiles at the sight of them and turns to the coffee machine, “I came in to find him trying to put the wine glasses away,” she says, nodding towards where the stoll still was by the counter, “He climbed up and if I was just a couple minutes later I think we would have started the day with broken glass.”
Aaron laughs and turns his attention to his son, bouncing the toddler on his hip ever so slightly, “You’ve got to be careful Eli,” he says, his smile becoming mischievous as he looks over at his wife, “Mommy is very particular about who can put away dishes.”
She’s shaking her head at him before he even says it, well aware that he would bring it up the moment she’d told him what Elliot had done. It was strange to look back on now, how uncomfortable the man she loved looking after her had made her. It had helped them grow together, an early turning point in their relationship where she learned she wouldn’t be able to put him off of her, his love for her too strong to be deterred by tactics she’d had in the past to keep people at arm's length.
It was something he gently made fun of her for every now and again, his smile nothing more than soft and full of love as he’d wink at her, the memory somehow a good one despite her insecurities at the time.
She rolls her eyes and walks over, abandoning her task of making coffee for now, “Are you ever going to stop bringing that up?”
“No,” he says, adjusting his hold on Elliot so he can slip an arm around her waist, “You yelled at me-”
“I wouldn’t say yelled-”
“You yelled at me for putting away two plates and some cutlery,” he says, smiling as he carries on as if she hasn’t interrupted, “I’m going to bring it up for the rest of our lives.”
She smiles despite herself and she leans in to stamp her lips against his, “I guess I can live with that.”
Jack bursts into the room before they can say anything else, his excitement palpable as he practically bounces up and down, “Mom! Dad said we can go to the zoo.”
She feels Aaron squeeze her hip and she briefly leans into him before she walks over to Jack and hugs him, dropping a kiss on the top of his head, “Then we’d better have breakfast. Dad and Eli are making pancakes,” she says, turning to flash her husband a look before she looks back down at her eldest, “Want to help me empty the dishwasher?”
Aaron smiles when she winks at him and he steps around Jack as he walks over to help Emily, and then he looks at his youngest.
“Right, buddy, what kind of pancakes shall we make?”
“Chocolate chip!” Emily, Jack and Elliot reply at the same time, and he laughs as he opens the door to the pantry.
“Chocolate chip it is.”