Her Mother's Daughter - Hotchniss

chapter twenty-one: car radio

"There are things we can do / But from the things that work there are only two / And from the two that we choose to do / Peace will win and fear will lose"

-

"God, how is she?" Emily asked. She was still trying to hide her tears, and Hotch sat next to her and sighed. He wrapped his arm around her.

"I don't know,"

"You don't know?" she scathed. "What do you mean, you don't know?"

"She doesn't want to tell me anything. I'm not gonna press her for information." Emily sighed. 'No comment' was not the response she'd been hoping for. "Honestly?" Hotch asked.

"Hmm," she grumbled, urging him on.

"She seemed pretty upset—"

"I should go talk to her," Emily resolved, getting up.

"No, no, Emily," he said, grabbing her hand, "you shouldn't. She doesn't want to talk to either of us. I think it's best to just leave her alone for right now."

He pulled Emily into his lap, putting a fading smile on her face before she moved. "Yeah. Alright. I'll leave her alone for a while. What'd she say to you?"

"Lied that she was fine, but she'd clearly been crying. You have no idea how alike you are,"

"You sound like my mother," Emily teased, heaving a sigh. "I'm joking, Hotch,"

"Darling?"

"What?"

"What did your mother want?" Emily shifted beside him.

"She came to criticize my parenting, tell me that Bridget's a bad kid, which is because I'm a horrible mother, of course; she said my job hurt Bridget too much, which, to be fair, is true," she recounted. Hotch couldn't pretend it wasn't true, that her job hadn't hurt their daughter.

Emily shook her head and sighed, leaning against her boyfriend. "You can't blame yourself. You're never going to get over anything if you keep blaming yourself,"

"I have hurt her, though, Hotch. My decisions in my career, my life...Bridget has always been my priority, but I don't...with Doyle, I was trying to protect her. I didn't do it like I probably should have. I don't know what—what I could've done better, but I should have protected her better,"

"What happened to her was out of your control, Emily,"

"But it happened because of me!" she cried. "My job! She does not deserve any of what she's been put through. I didn't protect her when I should've. I can see on her face that she's still not sleeping well,"

"Bridget has told you time and time again that she doesn't blame you,"

"But she should," Emily said. She thought this was clear, and he just wasn't seeing it.

"No, honey, she shouldn't. She doesn't and she shouldn't. You are a victim too,"

"So? None of what Mom said about Bridge was true, but she was right on the money about me,"

"What?" they heard. They looked over and saw Bridget standing there. She sounded heartbroken. "Mom, she's wrong," Bridget continued, grabbing a snack from the kitchen. "Grandma? Honestly, kind of the worst." Humor as a defense mechanism. "She's wrong about you,"

"About both of us," Emily added.

"Just, like...don't listen to her. Y'know?" Bridget said awkwardly. Emily smiled at her daughter and nodded.

"Don't worry about me, Bridge. And hey, Grandma's dead wrong about you. You're a good kid. Great. I'm proud of you, hon."

Bridget put on a small smile, quite unsure of how to reply, and went back to her room. Hotch turned back to Emily and saw her wiping tears away. "I really am so proud of her,"

"You've raised her well, Emily,"

"She raised herself. I regret that every day,"

"You've done an incredible job with her. Take some time for yourself. Why don't you make something to eat? I'm gonna go talk to Bridget,"

"Don't—don't, don't burden her with my problems, Aaron, seriously,"

"I'm not. When I went in to see her, she was upset, I'm gonna talk to her." He kept his eyes on Emily, but she just looked down.

"Maybe I should," she said softly.

"No, you should not. Make yourself something to eat. I'll talk to Bridge." He rubbed her shoulders before getting up to see his daughter.

-

Bridget was reading Tess of the D'Urbervilles when Hotch knocked again. "Yeah," she sighed. Hotch cracked the door and saw Bridget closing her book.

"Bridget,"

"What's up?" Her book fell beside her and she looked up at her dad. "What, you come in here to tell me that I upset Mom?" Hotch furrowed his brow and shook his head.

"No. You actually made her very happy. She's just upset about your grandmother right now. I think it's best if you give her her space, alright?"

"Yeah, fine. Can, uh..."

"What?" Hotch softened his expression only slightly. He didn't have to be so formal and hard with his daughter.

"Can you tell her that I genuinely, seriously do not hold a grudge against her about any of this? I'm not angry with her. She didn't do anything to me. I have nothing to blame her for,"

"It's not that simple, Bridget, and I think you know that,"

"Yeah, I know, but she thinks I blame her. I don't. I blame the people who actually hurt me. Like Doyle. Mom didn't intend to hurt me, so how can I put blame on her?"

"You're seventeen. You're allowed to be upset at your parents, be a little immature,"

"I'm really not," Bridget grumbled.

"What does that mean?" he asked. Bridget shook her head and sighed.

"I've done this my whole life." Hotch looked down at her, confused.

"And?"

"I haven't blamed Mom for any of this in years. I grew up, Hotch. I stopped getting upset about it a long time ago," she huffed, taking her book back off her bed.

"Upset about what?"

"I'm fine. Please go,"

"That's not working, what, a third time today? Explain, please, Bridget." He policed his own tone. She was still his child. "Please, I want to know what's going on. Stopped getting upset about what?"

"Nothing. She was just always gone, and I was a kid. But I didn't want to feel badly about Mom, 'specially while she was gone, so I stopped. I'd rather think about how much she's done to protect me, how much she loves me, than the harm her job has done. I love Mom,"

"I know you do,"

"And I don't blame her anymore, okay? I blame Ian goddamn Doyle."