Her Mother's Daughter - Hotchniss

chapter twenty: monster

"So maybe I will talk to you / The only way I know how to / I've said my speech / Through sharpened teeth / You break the rules and spikes grow from your skin / I think it might be worth a try / Am I ready to let this die?"

-

Like clockwork she was back, and Emily plastered on a smile when she opened the door. Bridget locked herself in her room, Hotch took Jack out of the house. They went 'mini-golfing or something', Hotch told Emily. He said he would figure it out.

"Hello, Mother,"

"Emily!" Elizabeth hugged her. Emily hated her suffocating old lady perfume. "How was the case?"

"It was fine. You know how my work goes." Elizabeth nodded. "How have you been?"

"Oh, you know, you know..." Elizabeth trailed off. "Emily, your work has done irrevocable damage to your daughter. She is traumatized, she is depressed, and the child that used to be very quiet and reserved and polite is now a disrespectful, flippant—"

"Stop. Right there." Emily was an inch away from slapping that bitch. "Do not speak about my child that way." Emily exercised Herculean levels of restraint.

"Emily, dear, you have hurt her—"

"Mother, I'm going to have to ask you to leave." She couldn't be civil about this much longer.

"Emily," she scathed.

"Don't take that tone with me, Mother. You raised a daughter. Let me raise mine. You've spent more than enough time controlling Bridget. The things I've put my daughter through are unforgivable, but don't pretend you didn't do the same,"

"What are you even talking about?"

"You changed her!" Emily yelled. "I come home, my sweet, loving, independent, agnostic little eleven-year-old has become a scared, Catholic-guilted shrinking violet! I love Bridget, I love her so much that I don't let you around her. When I quit Interpol, she said she was glad she wouldn't have to stay with you anymore,"

"This is what I mean, Emily, you've influenced her! You two are exactly alike! I see where she gets it,"

"My daughter is seventeen — yes, seventeen, not sixteen, Mother — and she's a lot like me. Bridget is becoming a wonderful girl, and I don't want to admit to myself that she's growing up this fast, but it's the truth. Bridget is independent, she's smart, funny, generous, courteous, and I'm proud to be her mother. So you don't get to come into my house and disrespect me, or more importantly, my daughter, like this. So you have to leave." Emily ushered her out, under protests from Elizabeth which were quickly shut down.

Bridget resolved to pretend like she hadn't heard any of it. It made her feel odd. That much praise, in third person, confused her mind and put her beside herself. It was good, but weird.

Emily texted Hotch to give him the all-clear, then knocked on Bridget's door. "Hey, sweetie, just me,"

"Yeah?" Bridget called back. Emily opened the door and shot Bridget a smile. "Hi," said Bridget.

"Hi. She's gone. I kicked her out,"

"Yeah, I could hear you yelling. Couldn't make out what you were saying, plus I was listening to music, but I did hear you." A blatant lie. One Emily seemed to believe.

"Oh." Emily nodded. "Are you good, honey?"

"Yeah,"

"Alright. Love you,"

"Love you too," Bridget replied. Emily smiled a little and left Bridget alone.

-

Hotch and Jack came home a bit later, and Jack went straight off to his room. Hotch sat on the couch with his girlfriend and put his arm around her shoulders. She nodded, not sure what exactly about, as he hadn't said anything, and put her head in his lap.

"Okay, sweetheart," he mumbled. "How did it go?"

"How do you think?" she said. "My mother, of course...I'm hurting Bridget, I'm a terrible mother. And y'know, I can take it. It's awful, yeah, whatever, I'll live. Bridget, though...she started insulting Bridget. 'Flippant', 'disrespectful'. How dare she say those things about my daughter?!" Emily cried, sitting up in anger.

She clenched her fists and Hotch saw the tension in her. She was trying so hard not to cry, and for what? He rubbed her shoulders for a minute and held her to his chest.

"Emily, honey, is Bridget okay?"

"Yeah, I think she's fine. I checked on her after, but I've been so pissed off that I...I don't know. Uh..."

"Alright, darling. I'm gonna go see her. I'll be right back to you,"

"Mhm."

Hotch stood and went to Bridget's room, knocking on her door. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah," he heard after a second. Bridget was also crying, he saw when he opened the door. She was trying to hide it, like Emily. So much like her mother. "What's up?" she sniffled.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine. What's up?"

"Did your grandmother say anything to you?" he asked. Bridget shook her head.

"No,"

"Really? Bridge, what're you so upset about?" She shook her head.

"I'm fine,"

"No, you're not. You don't have to tell me, Bridget, but don't lie to me." They fought for a long moment with their eyes, and Bridget shook her head.

"Please just go," she squeaked out. "Can I please be alone?"

"Of course. But don't lie to me, Bridget. If you don't want to talk, just say that, then. I love you, honey,"

"I love you, too," she responded, trying to smile. He smiled back and shut her door behind him.