Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Emily tugs at the hem of her shirt, toying with the silk fabric under her fingertips while she looks at herself in the mirror. Minimal makeup, straight hair, the patent Prentiss smile on her face. When she's satisfied her forced smile doesn't seem too fake - she imagines working with profilers will put her compartmentalization skills to the test - she strips off the outfit and lays it out for her first day in, she glances at the clock above her bed, just over 10 hours.

Her first day with yet another elite team she has to find her place in. It's a process she loathes, a process that takes time and that takes more from her than she's often willing to give. It's easier to keep her distance and she tells herself she doesn't mind that she has almost no close friends - Clyde withstanding - and no family aside from an emotionally unavailable mother and a father with frequently unknown whereabouts.

She doesn't find herself particularly likeable either, making friends had never been her strong suit. She's less likeable than she had been a few years ago, bordering on off-putting.

Cold, calm, calculated, meticulous.

Not exactly traits that make her the life of the party, but traits that have served her well. Her early years in the company are marked by recklessness and insubordination, attributes she had to shake to move up the ladder into undercover work.

It had taken almost two years.

Now she's left with a near comical inability to be warm and fuzzy, although she gathers the agents on her new team won't be exactly warm and fuzzy either.

She thinks over what little information she has on the team when she steps into the shower. She has photos and files on every member of the BAU, something Clyde had given her as a "thank you for your service and good luck in your future endeavors" but they both know what he really meant was "I know you won't be able to work with them if you don't know who they are" - and he's right.

Their team was notoriously mistrustful. Money is a big motivator and the people they were assigned to had copious amounts of it. Or, at least enough of it for an agent to sell out undercover operatives. JTF-12 specifically was assigned to high profile targets and three times they'd been blown by teammates who'd disappeared without a trace.

They had good reason to be mistrustful and she knows just as well as Clyde that the underlying lack of trust in everyone doesn't just go away. Hence the stack of files on her bed that she's run through ten times over the last week.

Aaron Hotchner, she remembers vividly.

Unfortunately, he remembers her just as well. She doesn't blame him for assuming she's had strings pulled to get her position on his team. He'd worked for her family, knew her before she'd constructed a filter and learned how to hold her liquor.

A menace to society was among the nicer nicknames he'd called her, alongside "little shit" and "Satan herself". She smiles thinking about those memories when pushing buttons had been the sole focus of her existence. She'd been a wild card then and it had driven him up a wall.

During one of their first interactions, he'd been assigned as her protection detail for the day. She'd suggested horseback riding and he'd been forced to accompany her. Aaron - poor, innocent, unsuspecting Aaron - had asked how she learned to ride, and she'd returned with "lots of boys in the tenth grade who were nice enough to help me find my rhythm" and she'd laughed at the tomato red color that crept up on his cheeks.

It was weeks later when he'd been assigned to her - this time for a gala - and she'd drug him to the pool, convincing him that she just wanted to take a quick dip. Unfortunately for him that 'quick dip' had been in a full length - and painfully expensive - gown that started dragging her further under the surface as the material soaked up the water.

So, as one assigned to her protection should do, he'd jumped into the pool after her and helped her out. He'd patted her back and held her hair back from her face while she coughed up what was decidedly too much pool water to be safe.

He was already on edge, and she'd followed it up by pulling off her panties and shoving them into his pocket. His mouth had opened and closed like a fish out of water before she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and patted his chest.

She'd shrugged and offered a simple explanation with a smile. "Chaffing."

And then - because she and God had made a pact not to give the poor man a break - they'd paraded themselves past the diplomats in the ballroom with her dress and his suit and their hair dripping all over the floor with her panties, not as well hidden as they'd thought, sticking out of his pocket as they passed.

Yeah, she smiles to herself and shakes her head at the memory, it really is unfortunate that he remembers her.

Then there's the issue that one paper - at least the ones he's received - she is actually underqualified for the job like he'd implied. Most agents promoted to the unit have more field experience. Her file says she's got little more than the classes and a desk job in the Midwest.

He is - and has every right to be - suspicious of her, not that there's anything she can do to prove his theories wrong. She can't give him her whole file without ending up in - what is politely referred to as - the hole, and if she's honest with herself she doesn't want him to give it to him. She isn't ashamed but people look at her differently when they know the extent of what she's done.

Tortured, killed, and slept her way through one target after the next.

At this point her full file is dripping red and she knows if Hotch - she briefly wonders if that nickname has followed him through the Bureau - sees her history he'll never trust her.

He'd probably kick her off the team or at the very least make her life miserable enough that she'd leave on her own.

Jason Gideon is interesting though, a founder of behavioral profiling that's still in the unit. He's not much of a threat beyond being her boss, even if he had her full file, he's less likely to judge her than the unit chief.

Derek Morgan is someone she coins as average, just another agent from a rough part of Chicago who got into trouble with local authorities before he decided to clean himself up. She doesn't have much on him aside from a football injury, immediate family, and a list of sexcapades that seem frequent and high in volume.

A player.

Spencer Reid she's fascinated with, even on paper. A genius, recruited at 23. She isn't sure what to make of him, if he'll be as off-putting as he seems or if he'll be too socially awkward to make her feel unwelcome.

Jennifer Jareau is the next file in the stack, and she rolls her eyes at her title. Media liaison. She wishes the other woman would do something more, it's clear by her education that she has the intelligence to make a career as a profiler, but she hasn't taken any of the classes. She hates seeing women with wasted potential in the man's world that the Bureau still is after all these years.

Women with wasted potential bring the rest of them down.

Penelope Garcia is an entirely different story, a genius in her own right with qualifications in technology beyond anything Emily herself has. Her background is interesting, a hacker recruited as an alternative to a jail cell. That could spell trouble, the analyst undoubtedly has connections and likely lacks the moral compass that would keep any straight-laced agent from snooping.

She has a backstop but if the agent is anything near as good as her file suggests she'll see a lie where there are any. The technical analyst could alert the rest of the team to her less than truthful occupational background and could send them spiraling into a fit of distrust and decreased productivity and Emily could end up removed from a previously efficient unit.

So while Garcia is impressive, she's a huge threat.

Despite her concern over how well the next few weeks might play out she finds herself somewhat excited to see her new boss. Hotch had been someone she'd actually liked on the diplomatic security team. He was kind if not a little overprotective, but all the new guys were. She was a handful, and he would need a good report if he wanted to move toward bigger things than watching the teenage daughter of a diplomat. He'd been a stickler for the rules but over the first few weeks they'd been together he'd started loosening up. By the end of the summer, he was an active participant in some of her - less dangerous - shenanigans.

He was also one of the most attractive men she'd ever met, although she knows nothing can come of that now. Between her past and his position as her direct superior he's strictly off limits.

That and his wife and child are a part of the picture that hadn't been there a decade and a half ago. Haley had been around, but she doubts the woman knows about the times she and Hotch would sleep together during his on and off relationship with the blonde.

She smiles when she thinks back to those days, smiling at him while they laid together naked in bed with the windows open and sunlight shining in. He'd been stunning then and he's stunning now, just with a few more wrinkles she suspects are from years on the job and a new baby at home.

She wonders if he thinks of her with the same fondness or if the job has left him so jaded he really thinks her a spy.

Not that she isn't a spy, just not a spy for the Bureau.

Retired spy is still worse than not a spy at all, but it'll have to do.

She shuts off the water in the shower and grabs a towel from the rack, drying her skin and pulling her hair off her back.

She thinks about how big of a disappointment she must be to the unit chief. She'd been adamant all those years ago that she wanted to work in crimes against children.

She's sure he was surprised to find her file only listed a mid-level desk job in counterterrorism and nothing more. As far as he's concerned the BAU is as far as she's made it and he's not even sure she's made it on her own.

She wonders if he's knows it's all a lie.

Chapter Text

Knocking on the door Emily peeks her head into Hotch's office with a tight smile on her lips. She steps into the room when he motions toward the chair across from where he's sat behind the desk.

The silence is awkward, neither sure where to start. They use the lingering silence to eye each other up and down after 15 years of radio silence from both ends.

Not that they'd made plans to stay in touch, it was just a little jarring - at least for her - to go from spending most days together to not seeing each other for over a decade and while some things have stayed the same, so much more has changed.

Emily takes in the small details. The callouses on his fingers from holding his pen too hard and where his gun rests in his hands. The lines on his face that weren't there when he'd worked for her family, stress from the job and a marriage undoubtedly taking a toll. He hadn't been much of a family man back then and she wonders if he's really changed so much, or if she'd never really known him at all.

Or maybe she just hadn't known anything of significance.

She knows he has one dimple that pops out only when he's really happy, - his fake smile never has that dimple - and that he likes boxers instead of briefs, and that he'll take a look at her chest any chance he gets even though he's nothing short of a true southern gentleman.

Hotch uses the same opportunity to take her in, brows furrowing when he notes her nails bitten to the quick and the small dent in her lip where she'd bitten down all those years ago when she'd get stressed.

The same place she'd bitten down to keep herself quiet during a few less than appropriate encounters in his office that he hasn't thought about in years because if marriage has taught him anything it's that you don't think about naked women who you aren't married to while you're in bed with your wife. He does take a brief glance at her chest before mentally shoving his own foot up his ass because it's day one and he's already setting himself up for a sexual harassment claim.

Emily has to fight the smirk tugging at the corners of her lips because of course she hadn't missed that glance. There had been a time where he'd stare openly, usually when she found herself in a low-cut dress or a bikini by the pool.

She'd snap her fingers and remind him of where her eyes are located on her body, and he'd flush a pretty pink and stammer out an apology.

She's glad he hasn't changed that much; he is without a doubt still Hotch the breast man.

Yet another nickname she'd bestowed upon him.

"So, Hotch stuck?"

He snorts and rolls his eyes. "Yeah, thanks for that by the way."

"And you have a son." She says it with a smile and a tilt of her head toward the photo on the shelf behind his desk.

A dimple appears in his cheek, and he nods the affirmative. "I do, Jack."

"How old?"

"A little over a year." He feels the familiar warmth spreading through his chest at the mention of his son, one of the few things in his life that remains untouched by his job. He plans to keep it that way for as long as he can.

"And Haley? How is she?"

He hides his surprise at her recalling - and daring to bring up - the name of his then on and off again girlfriend. "She's good, thriving as a mom." He tilts his head and gives her what he hopes is a friendly smile. "None for you though. I find that unusual, you always said you wanted one or two of your own. What happened there?"

He knows he's overstepped at her sudden shift in demeanor, the way her steel reinforced walls fly up sky high right in front of him and effectively shut him out. "Change of plans." She clears her throat and sits up straighter. "I just wanted to stop in and tell you that as far as this goes, I won't say anything to the team. Nobody needs to know we have a history of any kind. Agreed?"

His brows pull together but he nods his agreement. "Yes, of course. Thank you, I'm sure it would get around rather quickly if our technical analyst were to get wind of it."

She nods and pushes herself from her chair, effectively ending the conversation before he can push any further about what she's been up to in the years since they've seen each other. He's surprised she isn't brushing the wrinkles from her shirt, a nervous tick she's always had, and instead gives him a polite - and decidedly fake - smile. "Great, thank you for your time, Sir."

She makes for the door and he speaks on instinct. "You can stay, if you want to. We could catch up." This time her face does little to hide her surprise but it's gone in the blink of an eye, replaced with a small smile and a shake of her head.

"I don't think that's a good idea. I have to see the media liaison about protocol anyway but thank you."

He clears his throat to cover for the silence that's bound to turn uncomfortable. "Of course, carry on." With that she leaves his office for the one next door, and he lets out a breath he hadn't realized he's been holding. He doesn't know why he'd asked her to stay, it was almost a reflex. He'd been the same way when he'd worked for her mother, always thinking of reasons to keep her around.

She'd been a little reserved then, but she'd warmed up and had turned into the pain in the ass he'd come to love.

If she didn't look mostly the same as she had all those years ago, he wouldn't have known the woman who'd left his office was the same woman he'd known in his diplomatic security days. The walls she's constructed around herself are miles thick and too tall for him to see over, her nails destroyed but every pin straight hair in place. Her smile was tight and her posture rigid, her eyes never staying in one place too long.

Looking at her was like looking at half a person, and what he's seen so far he doesn't like.

~~~~~~~~~~

In, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

Out, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

In, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

Out, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

Emily blinks her eyes open slowly, fingers tapping rhythmically on the door behind her to keep her focus on something other than the ringing in her ears and her heart pounding furiously in her chest. She'd escaped to the bathroom minutes after arriving at Guantanamo Bay, locking the door behind herself and using the wood for support while she sucks down ragged gasps of air.

She makes her way to the sink, staring at herself in the mirror. Her skin is startlingly pale and sweaty, pieces of hair sticking to her damp forehead, and she swears she can make out her pulse in her jugular.

She closes her eyes to block out her less than put together appearance and the image of Jind Allah flashes behind her eyelids, trapped in his cell in his underwear, chained to the floor with bruises and scrapes covering his body.

Her eyes fly open and she clamps a hand over her mouth, holding back a sob threatening to break free. It wasn't supposed to be like this, she'd left this part of her life behind. She wasn't supposed to be profiling terrorists or traveling to Cuba to see what's essentially a torture chamber. She'd left it behind and yet she finds herself right back in one of the places she dreads the most.

She turns the sink on, shoving her hand under the faucet and feels her surroundings come back into focus while the water shifts from ice cold to scalding hot. She watches her skin redden and feels her frayed nerves finally settling, the ringing in her ears dulling and the pounding in her chest slowing.

Two knocks on the door snap her back into reality, remembering where she is and who she's with and knowing she needs to pull herself together she clears her throat and shouts an answer.

"Just a minute!"

She wipes under her eyes and dries her hands, flinging open the door and making her way back to Reid. She can cry when she gets home and she knows she probably will, but this isn't the time or place for a breakdown.

She has a job to do.

~~~~~~~~~~

"So, what do you think?"

"I don't see a reason why she can't be here, I haven't seen enough of her abilities to make a determination yet, but she provided information that was critical to solving this case."

"And her profiling abilities? They're up to our standard?"

"I can't say for sure, her knowledge on cultural differences and her mastery of half a dozen languages will prove helpful but I didn't take her to GTMO to profile behavior. I can't say what she can do and right now neither can you. I don't like how she came on board any more than you do but if she's qualified and has knowledge that the rest of the team doesn't possess we can't, - correction, we shouldn't - remove her from her position."

"So we see if she earns it." Hotch returns, not thrilled with the assessment but knowing there's not much he can do yet regardless.

"Yes."

"How long do you need before you can make a determination?"

"It's not my call to make Hotch, it's yours." Gideon furrows his brows. "So, why don't you want to?"

Hotch sighs, leaning back in his chair. "I knew her from my days in diplomatic security. We were friends."

"Friends with benefits, or just friends?"

"Occasional benefits. I'm not sure if I'm the right person to decide her future here, I'm biased."

"Your history with her is exactly why you're the one who needs to make that call. If you decide she's not the right fit and she requests a meeting with Strauss - or God forbid someone higher up - you need to have a valid reason for letting her go. It has to come from you, I won't be the one answering to the higher ups. But for all we know she'll fit in just fine and it won't come to that. Or is that what you're actually afraid of?"

"It's not like that, we were never serious. She was someone I would connect with when Haley and I would break things off every few months, Emily was always there."

"Emily, hmm? Funny, you don't call Morgan by his first name." Gideon stands and pushes the glass he'd been drinking from across the desk, heading for the door. He turns back to his boss and makes one last comment before he steps across the threshold. "If you want profilers to buy your 'just friends' story, you might want to start with calling her Prentiss."

Chapter Text

"He did not." Emily says in exasperation, wishing - not for the first time - that she'd stayed jobless and simply started using her mostly untouched trust fund to give herself a cushy and relatively safe life.

"Yep, one full file request from an Agent Jason Gideon." Clyde's voice comes through the speaker in her car as she pulls into the parking garage.

"So he knows." She props her elbow on the car door and brings her nails to her mouth.

"Get your hand away from your face and relax." She glares at the speaker and puts her hand back on the wheel. "He doesn't know anything; he may just be covering his bases. If you start wigging out, he'll know something is off and he'll really start digging. As far as his security clearance is concerned, he doesn't know more than your Aaron Hotchner does. His inquiry won't go anywhere."

She rolls her eyes at his calling Hotch 'hers' but lets it slide, knowing starting an argument with her former partner will lead to comments she likes even less. "You're sure?"

"100 percent. Relax, you've got a lot of people covering your bare ass so keep your knees shut and stop waiting for life to fuck you." She recoils at the image he's painted for her.

"Wow, what a colorful and pointless metaphor." She returns, killing the engine and gathering her bags.

"You're welcome, now can we cut this call short and pick it up another time? This may be convenient for you but you're cutting into my lunch."

"Your lunch will be fine, call me if you hear anything okay?"

"Of course, darling."

She ends the call and blows out a puff of air. It doesn't technically matter that Gideon is poking around, it won't get him anywhere. She's sure though that if he digs deep enough in the right spots someone - she knows he has connections to be people in her circles - will hint at her file being much larger than the one their boss received.

In, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

Out, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

She repeats the grounding technique a few times, blinking hard in an effort to keep her emotions at bay before tossing the door open and climbing out of her car. She locks it behind herself and pulls on the handle, repeating the process one more time for good measure. When she knows the vehicle is secure she nods once and heads for the elevator, 61 steps from the space she decides she'll park in every day. Consistency keeps her sane and she imagines she won't get much of it in this job, so she'll take it where she can get it. The elevator comes quickly and she steps in, holding the door for the man who'd called out for her.

"Hey, thanks for waiting."

"No problem, long night?" She questions, eyeing the same outfit he'd had one the day prior.

Morgan smiles and tilts his head. "You could say that. What about you, anything exciting?"

"If by exciting you mean taking a 16-hour nap after the last case then yes." She lets out a wry sigh, feeling much more drained from the last case than she probably should be. "Safe to say I didn't expect terrorists my first day."

He nods his agreement, his own stomach churning for a moment when he thinks about the S.W.A.T. agent they'd lost. He feels some relief though knowing how many lives had been saved, how many innocent people got to live a least another day because of their work. "Well, for what it's worth that's not our usual assignment. Serial killers are our thing, terrorists are a very rare exception. I think it's safe to say you don't have to worry about that for another few years at least."

Emily nods her understanding, thankful for the reassurance because knowing something and hearing it from someone who actually knows the job are two very different things. She's relieved to know that the terrorist hunting that had been her previous job won't carry over into her new one. "Good, I think one terrorist cell every five years is a good goal to shoot for."

"Surely it's nothing new though, right? You came from counterterrorism?"

She nods the affirmative and prays to God to get her out of this elevator. "Yeah, but that's why I came here, I wanted away from the end of the world fiasco. You work there long enough, and you get jaded."

"How so?" He's genuinely curious, brows furrowed in sympathy. Their job is difficult but counterterrorism - like any other unit - has its own kind of toll that it takes on its agents.

"You start seeing plots everywhere. You go out and see how many different ways a street or building could be leveled by one well placed-bomb. You start looking up and holding your breath at every plane coming in to land because you know what's coming if it crashes. That job was death and pain, constant fear. You just start seeing it every time you leave the house, it makes it hard to move through the world when all you can see are how many ways it could end in the blink of an eye." She pauses, blinks a few times and moves her eyes to Morgan who's staring with raised brows and lips parted in surprise. She gives an awkward chuckle, kicking the toe of her boot into the elevator floor. "Sorry, didn't mean for that to come out so morbid."

The elevator dings and she makes for a quick exit, stopped by a hand on her wrist gently tugging her back through the doors. "Don't apologize for that. I'm sure you've seen your fair share of the bad things the world has to offer; you don't have to sugarcoat it for us. You're allowed to feel."

He says it so sincerely she doesn't question if he's being honest. His eyes are soft, and his fingers give a quick reassuring squeeze to her wrist and she offers him a smile. "Thank you, Morgan."

"Anytime." He smiles and steps off the elevator ahead of her and heads for the doors to the bullpen.

"Hey Morgan." He turns back to her and his brows move up in acknowledgement. "Were you going to change, or did you want to do the walk of shame in front of a room full of profilers?"

~~~~~~~~~~

Tapping her fingers on her Glock - a habit she indulges in every half hour on the dot - Emily follows Hotch up to his office, her anxiety moving steadily upward with every step she takes. He leads her into his office, and they sit opposite each other, her brows knitted while she listens to the utter bullshit that's coming out of his mouth.

They sit staring at each other in an uncomfortable silence, her eyes piercing into him and vise versa.

"This team can't function if I don't trust the people on it."

"Sir, if I touched a nerve out there today I'm sorry. But I don't deserve this."

"You mysteriously showed up at the BAU after one of my agents was involved in a questionable shooting."

She scoffs, nodding her understanding. "Right. And my long line of what? Not screwing you over? Of not getting you fired for inappropriate behavior with the daughter of your boss? That's leading you to this conclusion that I'm here to take your job?" He opens his mouth but she continues before he can get a word in. "Gideon vouched for me on the last case, you have no reason to doubt my abilities thus far."

"You've done good work, I'm not questioning that. But I will not put up with a political agenda."

She tilts her head, a look of disbelief on her face. "You're kidding right?" When he doesn't respond she sits up straighter. "Well, my apologies for thinking you knew me better than that." She sees what she thinks might be regret cross his features but her own anger refuses to take a backseat long enough for him to clear his guilty conscience.

Of course he knows she doesn't have a political agenda, but for someone like him - who didn't grow up in politics - a woman like Karen Styer would rightfully put him on edge. Or, at least on edge enough to forget everything he knows about her and accuse her of an ulterior motive.

"We both know I didn't leak to the Congresswoman."

"You two were close from what I remember."

"Like I said, I've known her since I was a kid." He quirks an eyebrow up toward his hairline and she rolls her eyes. "Fine, you once told me I have mommy issues Aaron and I didn't correct you. We slept together once before I left for college. Beyond that I haven't spoken to her in years, I'm sorry that she's putting pressure on you, but don't blame me for it. She'd be here regardless of my employment status. So, are you satisfied now? Or shall I share more intimate details about my sex life to prove to you I'm not lying?"

He's not entirely sure how to respond to her without getting sued so he ignores her disclosure of having sex with a senator and focuses on what's more important. "You're right, I'm sorry. I do know you better than this, you wouldn't have leaked to her even if she'd asked."

"Exactly. So if there isn't anything else, I'd like to get back out on the street and find out who's killing these women." She doesn't wait for his approval and instead pushes herself from the seat and makes her way to the door. She pauses with her hand on the knob and glances over her shoulder to her boss just in time to see his eyes move from her ass and she feels - for the first time since her arrival in his office - that she has the upper hand in their rocky relationship.

"And respectfully, Sir - fuck off." She gives him what she hopes is her best diplomatic smile. "And yes, you can write me up for that." 

Chapter Text

In the weeks following their case in Chicago Emily had managed to fall into a routine with the team. Playful banter with the other agents, getting coffee for and from her teammates, making jokes over lunch with Morgan on the rare occasion they have enough time to get out of the office.

She'd fallen into a routine with Hotch too, smiles of acknowledgement that aren't quite smiles shared between friends but they're amicable. They don't interact much outside of tips for her to complete her paperwork more efficiently and bouncing ideas off each other with the rest of the team when cases come in.

Things had been looking up, and then Tobias Hankel had her spiraling.

Holding it together while Reid was missing had been easy, she'd put her energy into finding the younger agent and helping the others to cope with the threat of death hanging over their friends' head.

Partially because it gave her an excuse to disregard her own failure to cope.

But they'd solved the case and with the previously missing agent sleeping on the couch across the isle and the rest of the team - minus herself and their unit chief - sleeping semi-peacefully she'd been left with nothing as buffer between herself and the nightmare of cases past that were swirling around in her head.

In retrospect she admits she should've seen it coming, she knows the signs of her own declining mental stability well enough.

She'd been hopeful the knowledge that the team was with her would be enough to ward off the increasing anxiety long enough for them to land so she could panic in peace.

Unfortunately life isn't quite so kind.

When Emily emerges from the bathroom 15 minutes after she'd fled to it she's surprised to find J.J. seated in a chair across the jet and Hotch seated in her own. She stops next to him and arches a brow at her boss. He gives her a small smile and scoots over to the window seat, patting the chair beside him. "Come on, sit with me."

"Sir-"

"Hotch, please." He corrects, lifting the blanket from her seat and motioning for her to sit. "I won't push you for anything but I thought sitting next to someone might help you feel more grounded." She bites her lip for a moment, deciding that he's right even if what she really wants is to be left alone. He seems to sense her hesitation because he lowers his voce and raises a brow in warning. "Emily, I just cleaned blood off your fingers because you clawed you way into the carpet in the bathroom in the midst of a panic attack. I'm not going to ask you what's wrong but I'm not leaving you alone either." She nods and cautiously takes the seat beside him.

He lays the blanket over her body - he knows she gets cold easily - and gives her a reassuring smile. He knows it hasn't helped when he sees the blanket rustling in her lap, a sure sign she's picking her freshly cared for nails.

He moves without thinking - after all, he'd spent the better part of a year with her in more than just a professional aspect - and grabs her hand under the blanket, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. Her eyes widen and he glances at J.J. who isn't looking their way but who's still awake. He motions to the media liaison with a tilt of his head, signaling for her to go with it or risk alerting the woman across the jet. 

"Just relax, I won't let anyone see." He tells her softly, pleased when after only a moment of hesitation she relaxes into her seat and doesn't pull her hand from his.

It doesn't take long for her eyes to shut and her breathing to even out, falling asleep with her hand in his own.

He chooses not to question why he keeps his hand in hers.

~~~~~~~~~~

"I still can't believe you followed me here." Emily says with a sigh, pushing her key into the lock and opening the door to her apartment.

"I wanted to make sure you got home okay. You didn't seem like yourself and quite frankly I'm a little worried." He follows her into the apartment when she holds open the door for him and he shuts it behind himself while she disarms the alarm.

"I said I'm fine, I don't know what else you want me to say."

"I want you to tell me the truth." He returns, following her into the living room where she drops her bags and tosses her keys into a bowl on the coffee table.

She snorts and toes off her shoes, throwing her blazer to the chair. "You leaving or do you want a drink?"

"Water is fine." He tells her, taking a seat on the couch and taking in the room. He's not sure what he expected but based on what he remembers of her it wasn't this. When she'd been home she'd filled every space with shades of white and gray with lively green plants decorating nearly every surface. Shades of blue and yellow accented every room she'd decorated and the windows were always open, a welcome breeze floating through the open space.

Every room felt homey, lived in, books lining the shelves on the walls and a few of her favorites worn out and on the coffee table. Photos of her friends and trips they'd been on seemed to sit on every free surface, big smiles and dimples on every cheek.

This apartment is the exact opposite. The apartment is all dark wood and gray walls, but it's plain. The furniture is black, no plants to be found as far as he can see, no photos of friends or family, and the curtains on what he suspected to be floor to ceiling windows are pulled shut.

Despite the lack of décor the apartment is almost suffocating. The emptiness is a testament to how much she's changed since he'd worked for her mother. It's not the first time he finds himself wondering as to the cause of that change but he knows even if he asks he won't get a real answer.

He doesn't get to ponder it long, the younger agent returning with a glass of wine for herself and a bottle of water for him. He takes it with a smile and she sits on the opposite end of the couch, pulling her knees to her chest while she sips her wine slowly. It's not awkward but it's too quiet, they're both waiting for the other to make a move.

"So, I'm home you can go." She comments, wondering why he continues to sit around waiting for answers her knows he's not going to get.

"I want to say something." He returns, sipping his water before screwing the cap on and leaving it on the coffee table. He turns to face her, resting his elbow on the back of the couch and fixing her with a look he hopes is sincere. "For what it's worth, I don't dislike you. Especially not because of our past. Knowing you more intimately makes me like you more, not less. I know how kind you are, how trusting, how good you are. I wasn't suspicious because of you, I was suspicious of Strauss' motive for putting you on the team."

"You think she's got it out for you?"

"Yeah. I don't think you have an agenda, I think she does."

Emily nods and finishes her wine in one gulp, placing it beside his mostly full bottle of water. "Is that it?"

"It doesn't have to be." He says gently, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. He doesn't know why he's doing this but when she's around the rational part of his brain leaves his body and he relies on instinct.

On what feels right.

She lets out a breathy chuckle and shakes her head but doesn't pull away even as he moves closer. "This is a bad idea."

"Is it?"

"You'll regret it." She tells him and meets eyes only a shade lighter than her own.

"That's my problem, not yours."

For the first time in almost a decade Emily lets herself throw caution to the wind, ignoring the voice in the back of her head telling her that she shouldn't make unplanned moves. She moves forward and presses her lips against his, pleased when his hand snakes around her back. It's more instinct driven than it had been years ago, he forces her up and his hands find her belt buckle and he makes quick work of it, yanking the leather through the loops on her pants. The second he's freed her of the belt he works on her pants, pushing the button on her jeans through the hole and dragging the zipper down until he feels silk panties through the flap in the denim.

While he works on her pants she makes quick work of his jacket, her fingers making their way down the buttons on his shirt until it hangs open and she tugs the ends from his pants still firmly secured around his waist. She shoves the button-up off his shoulders and yanks the undershirt over his head followed by him pushing her pants off her hips and letting the fabric drop around her ankles where she quickly kicks them off.

"Bedroom?" He asks, gripping pale thighs and hauling her into his arms.

"Too far, kitchen." She corrects, panting against his skin before trailing her tongue up his neck to his ear. She pulls the lobe between her teeth and - as expected given what she recalls of their time together previously - he groans and his journey to the kitchen speeds up.

He places her on the counter and drops to his knees, forcing hers apart and draping a leg over his shoulder while he trails kisses up from her knees to the apex of her thighs. He pushes her panties to the side and uses his thumbs to spread her open, taking a moment to conjure up memories of what she'd liked years ago.

It doesn't take long, those nights burnt into his brain for the rest of eternity. Their relationship had always bordered on primal, something rough and needy and desperate like he'd never experienced and this encounter is no different.

His first touch is gentle, his eyes moving up to hers to ensure his memory is serving him well while he works between her legs.

"God, you taste as good as you did the last time." He husks out, more to himself than to her because god how has he waited so long to get back in her pants? His breath washes over her center and she shivers on the island, one of her hands moving to his head. Her fingers thread through his hair and her other hand keeps her steady on the counter, dark eyes pleading him to do something.

He's gentle, swirling his tongue in all the right places that leave her gasping for air and her hips rolling against his mouth, encouraging him to continue what he's doing. It's exactly what he remembers, his senses dulling save for his eyes on her body watching her muscles ripple and her chest heaving while she sucks down gasps of air and the taste of her on his tongue.

Each movement of his tongue has her orgasm creeping up, she's dripping onto the counter and his chin is wet but she can't find it in herself to be embarrassed. She feels the tingling in her muscles, the tension coiling in her stomach and when he pushes a finger into her entrance it pushes her over the edge. Pleasure surges through her veins and she digs her nails into his scalp, using her grip to tether her to the earth.

His mouth returns as she comes down, soft kisses on her clit and his cheek brushing against the soft skin of her thighs. His finger moves gently, keeping her from relaxing against the counter. He's been gentle thus far so she's surprised when his lips move to her clit, pulling it between his lips and flicking his tongue over the bundle of nerves and two fingers join the first.

This time his pace is brutal and he forces her orgasm from her, almost pained gasps leaving her lips while his mouth and fingers follow every twist of her hips. His gentleness is left at the door, his free hand moving around a pale thigh to keep her from scooting away from him.

She comes with a sharp gasp, her body tight and her legs shaking around his head. With his fingers still inside her he stands, pressing their lips together and letting her taste herself on his tongue that forces its way into her mouth. The kiss is sloppy and needy, coming from a place within him he rarely visits for fear he'll never want to leave.

Sex with Emily had always left him wondering if that was what it was supposed to be like, if your body was made to fit with another. He can't ponder it now though, he's running on limited time and he isn't finished with her yet.

Her hands find his pants and force them down with his boxers, pleased they'd had the foresight to remove their weapons before they'd sat in the living room. She briefly wonders how she'd explain to his wife how her husband had died when his gun hit the floor and misfired into his adulterous ass. Yeah, she's sure Haley would love that.

His fingers find the hem of her shirt and pull up, freeing her from the material before she yanks him back down and forces his lips to hers.

She reaches behind herself and unclasps her bra, pulling it down and tossing it somewhere behind him while his hands circle her waist and pull her against his chest. She's sure he feels the scars but he's kind enough not to mention them.

He steps between her thighs and his cock nudges her entrance before he slides in. He groans into her neck, giving her the time she needs to accommodate the stretch. Her walls flutter around him, still sensitive from the two orgasms he's already given her. She knows better than to leave marks on him but he has the luxury of leaving them for her and he sinks his teeth into her shoulder when he's finally buried inside her, knowing he's broken skin when he tastes the tang of iron.

He slips a hand between their bodies and brushes his thumb over her clit, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck when she jumps at the contact. "Another, you can do it." She shakes her head and lets out a pained whine, not pulling away from his fingers despite her insistence that she's finished and he hums against her skin. "You can, you've never been one to shy away from a challenge."

Emily wants to smack him for knowing the right button to push. She's unbelievably full and her clit throbs with overstimulation while he circles the bundle of nerves. He takes mercy on her and keeps still inside her, giving her something to clench down on while he uses his fingers to work her toward another orgasm.

She can hear herself begging but her brain has ceased to function, she can't make out the words she's saying and she's fairly sure they're coming in a language he doesn't understand. It's likely a series of pleas although she's not sure if she's begging for more or less. Regardless of what she says he doesn't stop, his voice gentle while he encourages another orgasm.

"Come one Emily, you can do it. Come around my cock, I want to feel you come with me in your cunt. Do it."

She uses the arm around his shoulders to keep herself from jerking herself off the counter, a - what she'll later call pathetic - whine leaves her lips and she comes with tears in her eyes. His hands on her waist keep her steady, letting her come down on her own time.

His plan was to bend her over the counter and take her from behind, a favorite of hers that he'd come to enjoy with her, so he's surprised when she pushes him off and somehow manages to get him on his back on the kitchen floor without bruising his spine or his ego.

He watches her straddle his hips and her hand finds his cock, lining it up with her entrance and sinking down with a breathy chuckle when his eyes roll back. His hands move to her hips and - once again - he's surprised when she yanks them away and pins them to the floor beside his head.

He frowns only for a moment before she starts moving and his mouth drops open at the feeling of her sliding up and down on him purposefully. She's not doing this for her own pleasure, she's doing it to get him off so he can leave and she doesn't even pretend it's something else. She looks almost bored, uninterested, but he's too far gone to stop her now. She'd hated this position a decade ago, had always taken her time but she appears to have gotten over her hesitation and rides him with everything she's got.

He feels himself hurtling toward climax, the muscles in his wrists twitching under her palms when his fingers curl into fists. "Please, I want to feel you." He groans out, seconds away from finishing.

She tilts her head and narrows her eyes at him. "No." She tightens her grip on his hands and purposefully contracts around him, sending him head first into an orgasm that leaves him breathless and his muscles aching.

"Fuck!" He shouts, surprising even himself as he's never been particularly vocal. But she merely smirks down at him, the rhythmical pull of her keeping him up on cloud nine until he slumps against the cool tile under his back.

It takes a few minutes for him to catch his breath but once he has she releases his wrists. He moves to grip her waist but she pulls herself off of his body before he can make contact, gingerly rising from his waist and leaving him lying on the floor. He feels a quick twitch at the evidence of his climax sliding down her thighs and her panties simply pushed to the side but she walks away before he can even consider a second round.

He takes a few more minutes before he stands, making his way to the room she's ventured into. She's already seated on the arm of the chair with his clothes piled in the loveseat, a black robe around her body.

She watches silently while he dresses, handing him his service weapon once his pants are secured on. He bends down to pull on his shoes when she speaks.

"Told you you'd regret it." She comments, noting his lack of eye contact.

He looks up and makes sure to keep his voice soft. "Don't do that." Her brows furrow. "Anything I feel is my own, I was a participant just as much as you. I don't regret it, and I'm the one who has to live with it. You didn't do anything I didn't want you to." She merely shrugs and he stands - fully clothed - and grabs her hands from her lap. He squeezes gently and offers a small smile. "I mean it, I'm not upset with you. The only thing I feel bad about is having turned you into the other woman." He recalls vividly how she'd been adamant that anything happening between them had to happen while he was single. She hated the idea of being the other woman, had called it pathetic and dirty.

He's surprised when she snorts. "Believe me, I've been worse things." He frowns and before he can comment she pulls away and heads for he door, leading him out of the apartment. He's already overstayed his welcome so he follows her and gives her a hesitant kiss on the forehead.

"Goodnight, Emily."

"Goodnight, Hotch."

~~~~~~~~~~

Hotch feels the seconds ticking by, agonizingly slow while he stares at the ceiling with his wife in the next room over. They've been sleeping apart almost as long as they've had Jack but he knows despite the separation he should be feeling guilt swirling in the pit of his stomach. He'd showered immediately upon his arrival home and checked himself for anything telling, - Emily had thoroughly enjoyed leaving him something to remember him by - and he sends her a silent thank you for leaving him blissfully free of scratches and bites.

He thought he'd feel worse, that he'd be consumed with guilt. He's sure if he could pull his mind from Emily for more than five seconds he would, but he finds himself unable to do so.

His fingers twitch and his teeth grind together, his mind working far too fast for it being past three in the morning but he can't shut it off. He'd felt the scars under his fingers, his hands noting the marks and dents in her ribcage. He's been in the business of serial killers a long time and still - after hours of contemplation - can't figure out what the hell had left those scars behind.

It leaves him wondering what the fuck had happened to Emily.

Chapter Text

Morgan chuckles, walking behind the newest agent who wipes coffee of the counter and shakes her hand to flick off the drops that landed on her skin.

"Morning, Emily. Have a good weekend?"

"Yeah. No. Yes."

He smiles and nods his understanding, pouring his own cup of caffeine beside her. "Oh, I been there."

"No, it wasn't - ugh. I don't want to get into it."

"No problem." He offers a small shrug, respecting the barriers she's put up.

"It just feels weird for me to talk about my personal life here, you know? I don't really know you guys all that well yet."

"I totally get that." He returns with a nod, walking past her instead of pushing for information. He'd been the same way his first months in the unit, walls up in every direction. Trust isn't something he gives freely so he doesn't expect it from her. He isn't surprised though when she follows after him and speaks again.

"I think I totally screwed up."

He nods knowingly and turns back. "Continue."

She sighs and leans back against the counter, biting her lip while she figures out how to talk about her weekend without giving too much away. "I met up with an old friend this weekend, someone I haven't seen in a really long time."

"Friend?" He questions with an arched brow, a smirk tugging at his lips.

She lets out a breathy chuckle and nods. "Okay, more than a friend. Less than a relationship, someone I used to have fun with on the off chance he was single."

"Friend with benefits, I get that. So what went wrong?"

"We hooked up. Just once and he left after which is what I wanted, but I think it's going to come back to bite me in the ass."

"What? Is he married or something?" When she furrows her brows and looks at her toes instead of making eye contact he looses his smile, understanding her dilemma. "Oh, wow okay. Well did you talk to him about it?"

"No."

"Did you guilt him into it?"

"God, no. Really, Morgan?"

"Hey I'm just covering my bases before I say this. What happened this weekend was a mistake, you didn't plan it and you didn't force him into a situation he didn't want to be in. Sure, you're in the wrong for this but at the end of the day it's his marriage. What you two did is between the two of you, he's the one who has to answer to his wife. If anyone should feel bad it's him."

"What if I'm the reason their marriage falls apart?"

He tilts his head sympathetically at her regretful tone. "Emily, if a man is sleeping with someone who isn't his wife, you aren't what's wrong in his marriage. Trust me, if a man is serious about a relationship he isn't going to risk losing it for someone on the side no matter how hot the sex is."

That seems to get through to her and she gives a firm nod. "Okay, yeah you're right. Thanks Morgan, really."

"Anytime." He answers with a smile, their conversation interrupted by their boss only seconds later.

"Conference room in five minutes." Hoch instructs, both agents nodding the affirmative.

"Got it." The darker agent answers, escaping to his desk while Emily turns back to the counter to get her coffee for the morning.

Hotch steps up behind her, grabbing his own mug and smiling down into the cup. "Nice sweater, interesting choice considering it's 75 degrees in here."

Emily snorts and rolls his eyes. Subtle he is not. "Had to wear something to cover the hickeys. And you know, the shape of your teeth in my shoulder." She counters, taking a sip of her drink and not sparing him a glance.

He pours his own beverage and quirks an eyebrow at her indifference to his close proximity. "Maybe we should do a repeat of this weekend, I can leave marks in places nobody else will see."

Her face flushes at that - fuck him for even hinting at such a thing while they're surrounded by profilers - and she takes a step further from him. "Maybe we should talk about this somewhere where world class profilers aren't wandering around."

"Your place? After this case?" He questions, smiling into his cup when she nods before making her own exit.

~~~~~~~~~~

"No you didn't." Morgan says with a laugh, Hotch feeling irritation bubbling to the surface as he listens to the conversation his agents are having on the other side of the jet.

He'd be lying if he said he hasn't noticed how close they're getting, sharing a laugh over cups of coffee and her comforting him after the funeral of the late Detective Ware.

Now she's buying books with him in mind, something she shouldn't be doing for Morgan and something he wants her to do for him. It shouldn't matter, their relationship is barely considered friends with benefits.

Coworkers with benefits?

Boss and employee with benefits?

Practical strangers with a long history with benefits?

He stops trying to put a label on it, he knows the more he questions their relationship the more likely it is he's going to give himself an ulcer.

He also knows that her bonding with Morgan is a good thing. They're the two most likely to be paired up in the field so they need a good base of trust to form a good working relationship and her efforts now will further that.

Yet he finds his jealousy has crept up from his toes to his eyeballs. It's not like he can simply walk over and smack her ass as a show of dominance. Knowing her she'd make a joke out of it, she'd smirk and tell Morgan and Reid that it's how she likes to be greeted by her friends.

The image of her bending over her desk for the agents on the team to take turns slapping her cheeks unexpectedly flashes through his brain and he wants to laugh at the idea. The nonsensical thought process is very reminiscent of pre-college Emily. But then the thought of someone else's hands on the curve of her ass has his jaw twitching, his teeth grinding painfully against each other.

"Where did you find this?"

"In the airport, can you believe it? I haven't read this in like fif- in like 12 years."

He blows out a puff of air as Morgan laughs, suggesting the chapter where the book gets interesting and his smile seems a little too wide when Emily tells him she'll get back to him when she gets there.

His hands curl into fists when Reid jokes about their budding relationship, the flirtation and the interest the male agent has in his new partner. He's close to saying something - hiding behind the excuse that fraternization is dangerous and highly frowned upon while ignoring the hypocrisy of his situation - when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out - expecting the message to be from Haley - and he's surprised to find it's from Emily instead.

Emily: Can I get a raincheck on tonight?

Hotch: Of course, anything I need to be worried about?

Emily: No not at all, just having a friend over who needs me.

Hotch: No problem, maybe we can reschedule for later this week if we don't catch another case.

Emily: Sounds good, I'll let you know.

Hotch can't help but deflate at their evening being cancelled, having spent the entire case looking forward to their planned meeting. He tries not to assume the worst, tries to hold back the idea that she could very well be meeting a man. He takes a few steadying breaths and forces himself to shove his jealousy aside for the moment to think logically.

She said she's meeting a friend, that could very well be the truth - he has no real reason not to believe her.

He's letting his dick do all the thinking and he needs to cut it out before she bristles at his possessiveness and cuts it off herself.

~~~~~~~~~~

Emily runs a hand through Matthew's hair, the brown locks sticky with sweat and his skin clammy.

"God Matthew, you look like shit." She mumbles, the man in her bed groaning and turning into her hand that's mercifully cold against his cheek.

"Thank you, for getting me." He says, swallowing hard and cringing at the burning in his throat that's raw and aching.

"Of course. But I've already called a rehab center so don't think you're getting out of it." He nods his agreement, having known before he called for help that she'd drag his ass into the rehab facility by the hair on his legs if she had to.

"Can I stay the night?"

She nods and pulls the comforter up to his neck, sliding the trash can from the corner and leaving it beside the bed. "Yeah. I'll drop you off tomorrow morning and get you checked in. Think you're up for that?"

He nods and finds her hand with his own, squeezing it in thanks.

He falls asleep quickly and Emily does the same right alongside him, missing the texts from her boss that light up her phone.

Hotch: Hey, you get home safe?

Hotch: I think we should talk soon, get this figured out before it gets complicated.

Hotch: I can come by this weekend, let me know if you're free.

Hotch: Emily I know you have a friend over but please text me back, the team always lets me know when they're home safe and you're not an exception. Just let me know you're safe.

Hotch: I'll be by in the morning if I don't hear from you, I need to know you're safe.

Chapter Text

Hotch knocks on Emily's door for the fifth time, furrowing his brows in concern when she once again doesn't answer. He hates to do it and hopes she won't think he's invading her privacy as he pulls out his emergency key from his pocket - he has one for every member of his team - and pushes it into the lock.

"Emily, don't freak out it's Hotch. I'm coming in!" He shouts, stepping into the apartment and pulling his weapon from its holster when he doesn't hear a response.

He clears every room one by one until he finally lands in her bedroom - a space he hasn't been in yet and hates being in now - and finds a pair of men's shoes on the floor. His eyes take in the rumpled sheets and a pile of clothing that definitely doesn't belong to his subordinate and feels irritation boiling under his skin as he realizes what he's stumbled upon.

Her 'friend' from last night is undoubtedly more than a friend. He storms downstairs and out of the apartment, driving in a silent rage to Quantico with his jaw twitching painfully and his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

She'd cheated on him.

He shakes that thought from his head, acknowledging the lack of ground rules in their relationship and that he - as the adulterer - doesn't have any place telling her who she can and can't see.

So she hadn't cheated on him, but he nods and validates the thought that she'd lied to him. It makes him feel better putting some of the blame on her so he lets himself get angry.

Emily had lied to him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Emily grinds her teeth together, clenches her hands into fists, and takes a few deep breaths to keep herself under control.

The case was a nightmare. A PSTD driven killing spree reflected to her the road she hadn't gone down. She could've ended up the same way, haunted by memories that by some miracle she'd gotten help to cope with. She'd gotten lucky enough to get help - she knows half the people in her line of work don't get half as lucky as she has - and she still struggles most days to avoid triggers and minimize her own self-destructive behavior.

Not only did the case hit far too close to home but she'd been the metaphorical punching bag for the youngest member of the team. She recognizes the signs in him that she'd seen in Matthew before she'd left Italy with her mother. Jumpiness, agitation, lack of sleep, explosive tendencies.

Spencer Reid is decidedly an addict or very well on his way to becoming one and there isn't a damn thing she can do about it. If she goes to Hotch he'll be forced to report it and the genius will lose his job. Being a recovered addict is one thing, using while you're on the job is another and Strauss already has it out for them. The team would lose a vital member and they'd likely blame her for moving the ball that's on course to take our their unit.

Still, if she does nothing he'll spiral and she hates to think that he'll go down the road one of her closest friends is still walking down. Hell, earlier in the week she'd dropped her old friend off at rehab for the fourth time. She doesn't want to have to do the same for her colleague.

And then there's Hotch.

Fucking prick.

He'd said maybe five words to her the entire case, shooting glares her way every time she tried to approach him. She isn't sure what she's done, he'd seemed fine when she initially asked for a raincheck on their evening but since then he's been testy.

She'd sent him a quick message after dropping Matthew at the facility and she hadn't gotten a response back. Every text after that had gone unanswered and her patience is starting to thin.

The team makes their way up to their designated hotel rooms and they offer smiles to each other as doors start shutting. Emily opens hers after the last door shuts - aside from Hotch who'd been the last in the line of agents making their way down the hall -and she stands in the doorframe with an arched brow as he approaches her. His door is one after hers and there's no way for him to get by without walking past her.

"Goodnight, Prentiss." He says coldly as he walks, giving no room for argument from his agent.

Of course Emily isn't any normal agent and she grabs his tie, yanking him into the room and feeling no guilt when he rubs the skin of his neck where the tie pulled a little too hard.

"What the hell?" He asks with his brows furrowed and his voice an octave too high, his mouth open in surprise.

"What the hell? You the hell!" She answers, stalking toward him and jabbing him with a finger. "You're an ass!"

"Ow!" He rubs his muscle where she dug her finger into his shoulder. "What did I do?"

"You've been ignoring me! And glaring at me! And being a fucking ass!" She smacks his shoulder and he opens his mouth, trying to form a sentence from the mess of words racing through his brain.

"I'm not an ass, you blew me off!"

"I didn't blow you off! I told you I needed a raincheck and you said that was fine!"

"And when you didn't answer your texts I went to your apartment. I saw the men's clothing, that was a pretty good indicator of what was going on Emily!"

Her jaw drops, the man crossing his arms far too smugly and his brows raising as he waits for an answer. Instead of answering she throws a punch to his already sore shoulder and his mouth drops in offense once again, rubbing what's now a throbbing muscle. "Would you stop hitting me woman!"

"Well if you aren't such an arrogant possessive asshole I wouldn't have to." She scolds, a frown settling on her face. "I told you I had an emergency with a friend, that friend is an addict who threw up on his clothes while he was detoxing. I wasn't home because I was dropping him off at rehab."

The frown on Hotch's face disappears and he drops his hand from his shoulder, finding no evidence of a lie in her story but he does recognize the anger on her face.

"Oh."

"Oh." Emily repeats sarcastically, crossing her arms.

"I'm sorry." She rolls her eyes and he reaches forward, feeling guilty when she steps back.

"I'm not your property, we never discussed exclusivity and quite frankly you're in no position to be offended if I was seeing someone."

He nods his agreement and this time she lets him rest his hands on her shoulders. "I know, I'm sorry. I guess I let myself get a little jealous, I know how much I like you and I don't like the idea of you with someone else. At least not while we're seeing each other." She sighs and lets her arms drop to her sides. "How can I make it up to you?"

She smiles and one of her hands finds his, intertwining their fingers and giving him a small smile. "I can think of a few ways."

"Oh?" He questions with a smile, her free hand going to her pants to pop the button and lower the zipper. He gives a hard tug and the material pools at her feet, her socked feet stepping out of the pants.

She drops his hand and pulls off her socks - deciding no pants and black socks isn't her finest look - and lowers herself to the bed, letting her legs dangle off the edge. She props herself up on her elbows and motions to the spot she's left for him between her legs. "It's not going to lick itself."

He laughs and pulls off his suit jacket, tossing it to the chair in the corner. "Yeah? And I suppose you'd like me to take care of that for you?"

She nods and hums the affirmative as he lowers himself to his knees between hers. "I do think you're in a good position to do so, besides you have to do something to get in my good graces."

He tilts his head in agreement. "I suppose that's true." He pulls her off her elbows and grabs the hem of her shirt. "If I'm doing this I intend to get a nice view while I do it, shirt off Agent." She laughs and lets him pull off her top that's followed immediately by her bra.

He runs his fingers down her ribs - choosing not to mention the scars decorating her sides - and moves down, feeling the curve of her hip under his palm. He hooks his fingers in her panties and tugs them off, not bothering with teasing after how much of a dick he's been the last few days.

"What are you doing?" She asks when he stands, letting out a surprised squeak - that she'll be embarrassed about later - when he lifts her up under her arms and moves her up to settle in the pillows.

"If you want me to make it up to you let me take my time." He instructs, leaning over her and pressing a kiss to her lips to shut her up. Their last encounter had been rushed, frantic even, and he intends to take this opportunity to memorize every inch of her body that he'd adored long ago. He wants to burn the image of her into his brain, scars and tattoos alike.

He starts at her neck, sucking a bruise into her collarbone and smiling against her skin when her hand finds its way to the back of his head and her fingers thread into his hair. He starts making his way south, ignoring her nipples straining for attention and instead trailing his tongue along the curve of her breast. His fingers follow the damp trail his tongue leaves, the gentle slope of her waist to her hip and back up again.

Her eyes remain shut and a blissful smile rests on her lips, her muscles relaxing while his mouth covers her body in bruises and open mouth kisses.

He settles between her legs when he's sure he's paid her upper body enough attention and he smiles against her thigh at the shallow pants of anticipation coming from his agent.

"God, I've thought about this all day, how wet you'd be for me." He traces her folds with his tongue, avoiding the spot she wants him at most. "Is this all for me pretty girl?" She moans at his use of the name he'd called her years ago, her muscles flexing in anticipation.

"God yes, all for you." She pants out, his breath washing over her center when he chuckles at the pathetic whine that leaves her lips. His tongue circles her entrance once, twice, three times before he sinks two fingers into her. "Jesus." She breathes out, a beautiful flush working its way up her chest that heaves with the effort to suck down air and keep from making too much noise.

The threat of a teammate on the other side of the wall is present and neither of them is willing to be caught in this particularly compromising position.

"You're dripping." He tells her, feeling the absurd wetness pooling in his palm and the clenching of her walls around his fingers. It never takes long for her to fall apart at his touch, her hips rolling into his hand and her clit throbbing with need against his tongue. She comes hard around his fingers, hips bucking against his face and a low guttural moan leaving her lips.

"Mmm, thank you." She says with a soft smile, her eyes fluttering open when he pulls his fingers from her body.

He laughs and lifts a thigh over his shoulder. "I'm not done with you quite yet." He brushes the back of his fingers over her folds, glistening in the florescent hotel lighting. "What got you so wet baby? Hmm? Something has you all worked up. Were you thinking about me today?" He smirks when a blush paints her cheeks. "Were you thinking about sucking my cock? Is that what did it?"

The groan that leaves her lips when he licks one long stroke from her entrance to her clit is far too loud but he can't find it in himself to care.

"Do you know how many times I've thought about this? How many times I've thought about burying my fingers in your cunt, feeling you dripping into my hand. Every time you wear a skirt I think about pushing it up to your hips and fucking you with the whole team watching."

Calloused fingers prod at her entrance, two digits sinking in just an inch before pulling back out. "You make the prettiest sounds when you're desperate." He husks out, finally re-entering her with both fingers and reveling in the groan that fills the room. "Do you want another? You've been so good for me, letting me have my fun. Do you want one more? Can you be quiet for me? Keep it down so Gideon doesn't come barging in here?" She cringes at even the mention of the stoic agent being in the room while she's naked.

She's not quite begging but she's not above asking nicely. "Please? One more, I'll be quiet I promise."

He nods and lowers his head between her legs again, pulling his fingers out and replacing them with his tongue. The first flick of his tongue against her entrance is gentle, teasing. One of his hands finds its way to her belly, keeping a firm hold on her so she doesn't take an eye out with a hipbone.

She tries in vain to buck against him, encouraging him to give her more. The pleas that leave her lips having him aching in his pants and he has to remind himself that this isn't about him. It's about making it up to her, about apologizing for being the ass she'd accused him - rightfully so - of being. With that in mind he pushes his tongue into her body, using his thumb from the hand on her belly to circle her swollen clit he knows is sore to the point of his touch being almost painful.

Still, she doesn't pull away and instead her hand finds the back of his head and her grip on his hair turns to steel.

He forces her hand from the back of his head and pushes her wrist into the bed, daring her to try forcing more than he's ready to give.

She heeds his warning and keeps her hands to herself, letting out a long moan when he spears his tongue into her and forces the orgasm out of her. It crashes over her quickly, his tongue pulling out and his fingers on her clit speeding up to draw it out. He looks at her center almost adoringly, she's clenching hard where his tongue had been and she wants to call him a fucking pervert for how much he's enjoying getting her off but she can't manage to find enough air to force the words out.

He cleans her while she comes down, licking every crevice and being mindful of the fact he's given her two orgasms in less than - he glances at the clock - seven minutes and that he knows her body enough to recognize that she's too tired to really enjoy another. She's right, the case was a shit show and he hadn't made it any easier on her, she needs sleep just as much as the rest of them and tonight isn't the night for marathon sex.

He makes his way up her body, laying beside her and giving her time to catch her breath. Her lips remain parted in post-orgasm bliss and her cheeks have a light flush to them. He cards his fingers through her hair, peppering her face with kisses and pretending her mere presence doesn't effect him.

When dark eyes finally open he flashes a dimple at her, meeting her very tired smile with one of his own. "Better?"

"I think it's safe to say you've worked your way back onto my nice list." She tells him, pressing a kiss to his palm resting on her cheek.

"Good, I'm glad I could help." He answers, kissing her forehead before he stands to leave.

Emily frowns at him, sitting up and tilting her head at the tented crotch of his pants. "Don't you want me to help you with that?"

"No, this was about you. We can get to me another night, let's just say it's a good reason for us to get together sooner rather than later." She hums her agreement and returns the kiss her plants on her lips. "Get some sleep, I'll see you in the morning."

She gives little more than a soft grunt in response and when he turns back to her she's already face-planted into the pillows. He smiles and leaves the room, shutting the door behind himself while he wonders what the fuck God had been thinking planting such a beautiful woman in his life and expecting him not to act on it.

God is surely a fool.

Chapter Text

The week from hell hadn't even started pleasantly, not easing them into the shit storm that was waiting for them.

Instead it started with accusations.

Earlier that week

"You've been gone more than normal, Aaron. This job is eating away at our family!" Haley spat the words at him, anger and hurt lacing every word. "We can't raise our son like this, with a father who's never here and a mother who can't even get your attention when you are here! What kind of example would that set? Huh?"

"Haley, you know I can't leave the team. They need me as much as you do."

"The only difference is you cater to their needs and neglect mine." She bites out, jaw set in fury and her hands fisted at her sides. "I don't know how much longer I can do this."

He kisses her forehead and offers a small smile. "I'll be back as soon as I can, I promise."

"And what good will that do?" She shouts at his retreating form, sighing when Jack's cries come through the baby monitor. It isn't like she's been sharing a room with her husband for the past year but he doesn't even have the decency to attempt to fix their marriage anymore.

What the hell is she supposed to do with a man who doesn't want her?

Present day

Emily ends the call with Morgan and heads for the car, knowing Hotch will need a few minutes to gather himself once he leaves Susan Cutler. She slides into the passenger seat and rolls down the window as fast as she can, her forehead leaning against the door. Her back curves to accommodate the uncomfortable position and she takes in what she hopes will become steady breaths rather than the ragged ones she's currently pulling in and blowing out.

Hotch comes out a few minutes later and climbs into the drivers seat beside her, slamming the door in frustration and missing the way Emily flinches at the sound while he runs a hand over his face with his eyes shut.

"Mrs. Cutler just died." He comments, leaning his head back against his headrest. When Emily doesn't answer he opens his eyes and looks toward the seat beside him, jerking his head up at the sight of his agent.

Her skin is pale and her muscles rigid despite her slouched position against the door, her nails digging into the palms of her hands while she takes in shallow breaths.

"Emily, hey can you talk to me? What happened, what can I do?"

Emily hears his words but her brain can't process them, his voice almost slurred as it enters her ears. The world feels like it spinning too fast, feeling unsteady despite sitting still with her eyes screwed shut.

Her jaw aches with the intensity she's grinding her teeth, the smell of burning flesh and disinfectant refuses to leave her nostrils and it's doing nothing to pull her out of the state she finds herself in. She can feel her body moving, can feel Hotch trying to help her sit up. She opens her eyes when his voice starts to sound clearer and regrets it immediately, seeing blood on her hands that logically she knows isn't there. She slowly lifts them from her lap and frantically scratches at her skin, fighting off the hands trying to keep her from clearing off the red substance.

Hotch panics, Emily clawing at her hands and tears filling large startled eyes and he's seen her scared before but he's never heard the terrified shrieks she lets out. He grabs her wrists as gently as he can, choosing not to retaliate when she starts fighting against him, instead gripping her arms until she breaks free and starts swinging again. He lets her do what she needs to do while he keeps her from hitting anything too vital, hoping he doesn't have to physically restrain her in what's a seriously distressed state.

"Emily, I need you to just breathe. That's all you have to do, in and out." He breathes with her and it's similar to what he'd done for her on the jet home from Georgia, squeezing her wrists with every inhale and releasing with every exhale.

When she's settled some he helps her back into the position he'd originally found her in, her body slouched against the door and her head resting on the edge so the breeze can cool her heated clammy skin.

Her breathing starts to even out, in through her nose and out through her lips that have paled in her panic. She looks like shit but he doesn't dare touch her, worried he'll do nothing more than send her into another panic when he isn't sure what had triggered it the first time.

Instead he lets her breathe, taking slow steady breaths in the seat parallel to his own. Her color starts to return after a few - dead silent and what seem like very long - minutes and he lays a hand on her back, pulling away when she flinches and her breathing speeds up again.

So he continues to wait, staying completely silent until her breathing returns to what he considers normal before he speaks.

"Can I help?" She shakes her head, the movement barely perceptible. She seems worn out but her can almost see her walls reconstructing and he knows there's nothing more he can do. "Is it okay for me to drive? It's 20 minutes to the station, is that enough time? Or do you want to go back to the hotel and get settled there?"

"Station is fine." She mumbles, still not moving from her position.

He drives as steadily as he can and he swears if the sounds of the city weren't blocking it out he would hear construction from beside him, steel walls going up one after another to keep him out while she pulls herself together. By the time they reach the station she's fine. If he hadn't been there he wouldn't know anything was wrong at all and it's somewhat startling. Her previously carefree nature has been replaced with hypervigilance and an air of mistrust.

Despite the scars he's seen and the changes he's noticed he still has no clue what's happened to her, and it scares the hell out of him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Emily lowers herself to her bed, sinking into the memory foam mattress and breathing out a sigh of relief at finally being home. She'd wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed with her sheets up to her neck and the air conditioning on high. Part of her wishes Hotch could be here with her, the air conditioner a perfect excuse to curl herself around his body.

Of course then she remembers that he's not hers and that if - after her panic attack in the car - they spend time alone together right now he'll ask questions she can't answer. So instead she lays in bed alone, her clothes in a pile on the floor, relishing in the comfort of silk against her skin.

She wonders briefly what her life would've been like had she and Aaron stayed together before she left for college, if she hadn't been so intent on getting away from everything that reminded her of her mother - diplomatic security included - and he hadn't gone back to Haley after she'd left for Yale.

She wonders if she would've ever taken the INTERPOL job.

Probably not, she would've been adamant about staying in at least the same country as her boyfriend. She would've graduated and started with the Bureau. Sure, it would've been hard to maintain a normal relationship when they'd likely be working weird hours in different states, but they would've made it work.

If they'd really been invested.

Maybe she would've started getting sick a few weeks after his last visit, throwing up every morning and gagging at weird smells. She would've taken a test and had it come back positive they would've panicked for a day before realizing that children were always part of the plan, although maybe not quite so soon.

One of them would've transferred - probably her since she'd be on leave in seven months anyway - and they would've moved into a nice house. She would've watched him set up the nursery with the friends they had - since she wouldn't have had to cut them off like she had for the job she'd actually taken - and they would've fought over baby names before finding one they both loved.

She would've gotten to hold his hand through the delivery, watched him shower their son or daughter with unparalleled amounts of love and affection. They would've gone on silly dates like they always had and would've come back home to have mind blowing sex like they always had and would've gone to bed together wrapped up in blankets and a thick layer of love and devotion.

Instead he'd done those things with another woman - although the love and devotion she's not so sure about given they're having mind blowing sex regardless of his marital status - and she's in bed alone. She isn't jealous of Haley, she never had been. She'd been too focused on getting away to ever contemplate a real relationship with Aaron and when she'd left for Yale she never looked back.

If she'd just taken a second look, had seen the way he looked at her and the way he worshipped the ground she walked on, maybe things would've been different. Maybe she would've taken a chance on him, put her heart on the line for a chance at the future she wanted.

Hindsight is a beautiful thing, but it often brings more pain than comfort and as she lays in bed covered in scars - with her remaining Xanax spilled on her nightstand that she'd opened in a rush - she realizes that this time is no different.

Chapter Text

"Agent Hotchner."

He looks up from his desk and stands when he sees the Ambassador in the doorway. He motions for her to enter and stays standing when she doesn't take the seat across from him.. "Ambassador Prentiss, what can I do for you?" The case is taking one plot twist after the next and he hopes she's not here to berate him for having not yet caught their UNSUB.

She bites her lip in a way that's endearingly similar to the way Emily does and glances down at the bullpen where the other agents - her daughter among them - sit and lets out a sigh. She closes the door to his office behind herself and moves toward his desk. "May I?" She motions toward the chair and he nods, motioning his own hand toward the seat in encouragement.

"Of course."

They sit in silence for what feels far too long before she finally speaks. "How is she doing? Really?"

"I'm sorry?"  He furrows his brows, confusion clouding his features.

"Emily, how is she doing?"

This time his brows move up in surprise. "She's doing very well, she's a bright agent and she's making a career for herself here." The Ambassador nods and he tilts his head. "Ambassador, if you have more to say I encourage you to do so."

She sighs and shakes her head with a smile that reminds him of Emily's own grin. "Damn profilers." He's stunned at her use of language but hides it well enough for her continue. "I'm well aware that you no longer work for me Agent Hotchner and I understand I have no say in what you choose to do, but I am asking you to keep an eye out."

"On Emily." He returns, not a question but a statement that he makes with his brows pulled together.

"Yes."

"May I ask why?"

She looks around the room, seemingly contemplating how to answer his question without betraying her daughter. She picks at her nails in a way he knows she hadn't done when he'd been on her security detail and he wonders if she's picked up the habit from her spending time with Emily. "Emily is fragile. I know she doesn't appear so and damn her ability to throw up emotional barricades in every direction but she is fragile. More than you know."

He sits forward, his fingers intertwined on his desk, his heart pounding in his chest because if she says yes to what he needs to know it means his agent is much worse off than he'd originally thought. "Ambassador, should I be concerned about her safety?"

She puts her hands up and shakes her head. "No no, nothing like that. She's not dangerous, just damaged. A lot has happened since the two of you last saw each other but I know you cared a great deal for her then and I hope you care for her now."

He nods sincerely. "I do, very much."

"Then please, keep an eye on her for me." Her eyes plead with him and it strikes him as unusual. He has little to no information on what she's been up to since they parted ways when she went to college but he's gathering that very little of that time had been beneficial for the agent. "Just look for unusual behavior; jumpiness, hypervigilance, anger, irritability, panic attacks. Changes in what her eating habits, if she starts smoking, anything you'd find odd. I don't want her to start snowballing again."

"Again." He repeats back to her immediately and her eyes close, realizing she's given more away than she'd intended.

"Aaron, please. Don't ask questions you know I can't answer." She looks out the window to her daughter and then back to him. "You can't tell me you haven't already noticed things. How her hand lands on her gun every half hour, the scars from her nails in the palms of her hands, the way she checks for every exit in every room she walks into. You're far too intelligent and far too good at your job to not have picked up on it."

He sits back in his chair and nods the affirmative. "Those things by themselves aren't unusual, we have agents from various backgrounds with some symptoms of anxiety disorders. Emily however doesn't have the work history to present as severely as she does, is there something I should know?" She arches an eyebrow and he knows he's in the territory of things he can't ask about. "Let me rephrase, is there anything I should keep her from? Any triggers?"

She gives a humorless laugh and shakes her head. "Too many things to list, Agent Hotchner. Too many things to list."

She stands and he pushes himself to his feet with her. "Please, you have to give me more than that."

She sighs and picks at her nails while she stares down at her daughter who's tossing a stress ball between herself and Morgan, their feet kicked up and their lunch half eaten on their desks. "I wish I could, but I've come close to losing her once and I won't jeopardize my relationship with her more than I already have just by talking to you about this. You're a profiler, this is what you do. Recognize when enough is enough."

"What does that mean? When enough is enough?"

"It means, Agent Hotchner, that you need to pull her out of the field and refuse to let her back in it unless she has a signed document from a psychiatrist that says she's fit for active duty."

~~~~~~~~~~

Hotch spends the next week keeping an eye on Emily, watching her from his office between files and bringing lunch for the whole team so he can ensure she's eating without tipping her - or the other agents - off to the extra attention he's paying her.

He makes excuses to get the team together, even going as far as asking everyone to complete their files in the conference room - he rolls his eyes at the excuse of team bonding that they'd actually bought - so he can sit beside her. Every time he's close enough he's relieved when he doesn't get a whiff of cigarette smoke and he hopes between that and her ferocious appetite it means she's not spiraling.

Now he finds himself outside her apartment door, first raised when Emily pulls the door open before he has a chance to knock.

"I thought you might be stopping by." She comments, stepping back to let him into the apartment. "You've been hovering all week."

He offers a tight smile and walks with her to the living room, shoving his hands into his pockets while she grabs two bottles of water and from the fridge. She returns and sits beside him in silence, she's waiting for him to start and he's wondering how to ask what he wants to know.

What he needs to know.

"Hotch, sitting in silence isn't exactly the relationship I signed up for. Not that I'm entirely opposed to it but you have to give me more than an awkward silence." She gives him a smile and plops herself down onto his lap, her bottle of water forgotten on the table behind her and her arms looped around his neck. "Or, instead of sitting here stewing all night I'm entirely sure I could come up with a few ways to entertain ourselves. I learned this trick with my tong-"

"Your mother came and spoke to me." He blurts out, cutting her off, and her smile drops from her face.

"You may not know this about me but I don't much enjoy talking about my mother when I'm thinking about sucking you off." She deadpans, her posture straighter than it had been seconds before and he can almost feel her impenetrable walls separating them. "What did she want?"

"For me to keep an eye on you."

She nods and pushes herself off his lap, clearly irritated by his being here for this reason. "Hence the hovering." He doesn't respond and she knows she's right. "I'm fine, Hotch."

"She told me things to look out for, ways to know you're spiraling."

"She shouldn't have said anything." She stands from the couch and moves toward the kitchen, looking for any way to escape the conversation he's trying to have.

"Then you tell me instead, tell me where the scars came from." She freezes at his demand, not turning to face him when he stands and starts making his way to her. "Those weren't put their on accident Emily. I've been doing this job a long time and I still can't figure out what did that."

She turns to see him and he's surprised at the look on her face, he's never seen her so calm. "Get out."

His brows shoot up so fast he briefly wonders if they've flown off his face and if he'll have to scoop them off the couch on his way out. "What?"

"This isn't any of your business. You want to tell Strauss? Go ahead. Of course it might be hard considering the only reason you've seen those scars is because of an extramarital affair with your subordinate, so good luck explaining that one. And let's just get one thing very clear." He follows her to the front door and she fixes him with a glare when she yanks the door open. "I'm not your wife, I don't owe you an explanation for anything and don't mistake our friendship for something warm and cuddly. Neither of us are those kind of people."

She slams the door in his face, throwing up a more physical barrier alongside the emotional ones she's been throwing up since they've reconnected.

He ponders what she'd said though, how neither of them are warm and cuddly people, and knows how wrong she is. She'd been that kind of person, constantly looking for an excuse to touch him. He remembers her almost plastering herself to his side when they'd been together years ago. She was always touching him, holding his hand or bumping their shoulders together or laying her head in his lap.

It strikes him once more how much she's changed, almost on a cellular basis. Everything about her is different, she's rougher around the edges. It's like he's gone through the looking glass and he's seeing a warped version of reality, a warped version of her.

While so many things have changed, so many other things are the same. Her face looks the same, pale skin and dark eyes and silky black hair. A smile to light up the room and dimples he's close to enthralled with. Her frame is the same, lean muscles and gentle curves and long legs.

She smells the same too, like vanilla and honey and something expensive he tastes on her skin when he kisses her in all the places he loves; the hollow of her collarbone, the curve of her hips, the dimples in her back. He knows it's the lotion she applies, he smells it on her when she pops the cap on the tube when they're flying home and he feels it when his fingers brush across her knuckles and her skin is soft against his own calloused fingertips.

And for all of those lovely things about her he adores - he has a sneaking suspicion that this relationship is turning into something for him that he should be concerned about - he knows he won't bring this up again. She won't tell him, that much he knows for a fact. She won't tell him what the scars are from or the story behind how she got them and he'll only succeed in pushing her further away if he keeps asking.

Maybe the Ambassador has the right idea. Emily is too important to risk losing, even if it means they can't help her.

Chapter Text

"The question is, how different are we? Us and them?"

He hates the question, hates the way it settles in his stomach with the weight of a boulder. She's right of course, they spend their lives thinking like the people they hunt. He won't let her spiral though, not the way Elle had.

"Alright, princess, I came over here to cheer you up not for you to bring me down." Morgan responds, resting his ankle over his opposite knee. "So, anything you want to tell me?"

"First of all, princess? Gross." She almost cringes at the nickname but he knows she likes it, knows it makes her feel more welcome by a team that hasn't been exactly waiting for her with open arms. He offers a shrug and a smile, waiting for her to answer his question. "What do you mean tell you?"

"You and the ranger."

"The ranger?"

"Lizzie." He clarifies, wiggling his brows at her.

She laughs at what he's suggesting and pairs it with an eye roll. The man sees sexual tension everywhere he looks. "What about her?"

"She seemed pretty interested in you, did you get her number? Make some plans for a weekend away up in the Idaho National Forest?" Her brows shoot up and he leans forward, lowering his voice to keep from disturbing the rest of the team. "Come on, you don't have to pretend to be something you're not. We're profilers, it's not like you really have to tell us. We just know."

She gives him a disbelieving smile. "Derek, I'm not gay."

The panic he feel is almost tangible and she revels in the momentary leg up she has on him. She genuinely likes the man, he's much more her speed than someone like Gideon who she doesn't think has the facial muscles to give her a smile.

"You're not?" She shakes her head and he scratches the back of his, feeling suddenly like the cabin is too small for the both of them. He points to the other end of the jet and pushes himself out of the chair. "I'm going to go sit over there to prevent my foot from entering my mouth a second time, and I'll buy you a round of drinks the next time we've got a weekend home."

"Sounds good to me."

She watches him walk in the other direction and he takes his seat before another agent comes her way. She smiles at the other woman and motions for her to take a seat when she hesitates.

"Hey." J.J. starts, not sure how to continue so she leaves it there.

"Hey."

"So, you and Derek?"

"Yeah?"

"What's going on there?"

Emily offers a small shrug. "He's nice, we get along well. Why?"

J.J. smiles and hopes it's disarming, hopes she can make a friend out of the only other woman who travels with the team of men. "Well, he did offer to head up the mountain when Gideon asked you to go. And if I'm not mistaken you do have a little book club, just the two of you."

Emily wonders briefly if this team thinks of anything other than sex. "J.J., Morgan came over here to ask if I was going to hook up with Ranger Evans."

Blue eyes widen and she sputters for only a moment before she lets out a laugh. "Okay, not where I thought this conversation was going." She leans back in her seat. "So what did you tell him."

"That I'm not gay." She glances at the agent in question before she lowers her voice and a smirk plants itself on her face. "It was fun to watch him squirm. So much fun actually that I neglected to tell him I'm bisexual." They wear matching smiles and Emily starts to wonder if this is the blonde making up for almost ignoring her presence altogether up to this point.

"So, did you get her number then?" The older woman reaches into her pocket and produces a small piece of paper with a series of digits on it, a smirk on her face.

"I did."

"Will you call her?"

"No, I told her as much but she insisted I take it anyway."

"Is she not your type?"

Emily shakes her head. "It's not that. Relationships are hard enough in this job, if I were going to even consider starting something it wouldn't be with someone a few states away."

The media liaison smirks. "So Morgan is still on the table."

Emily laughs and shakes her head. She wonders why everyone thinks she's sleeping with Morgan instead of the agent she's actually sleeping with. Are they really that subtle? "No, Morgan is not on the table. I haven't been here that long and I'm still getting used to the hours and the travel. Maybe in a few months I'll be more open to a relationship. Not a relationship with Morgan, just to be clear."

"Fine, but this isn't over. When you're ready let me know, I know some people who'd be right up your alley."

"Yeah?"

"Tall, stoic, badass - definitely someone in law enforcement. Maybe someone from S.W.A.T., that seems your speed."

She's not actually that far off. "Fine, I'll think about it when I'm ready."

J.J. gives her a hundred watt smile and she briefly considers telling her that her taste in women is blonde hair and blue eyes with a gun but decides against it. J.J. is decidedly straight and she does not need to start sleeping with another agent on her own team. She's already risking enough - for herself and Hotch - by sleeping with the Unit Chief.

"Brilliant, now tell me about the French Alps."

"The French Alps."

She nods enthusiastically. "Yeah, I don't really know that much about you. Now that you've opened that door I'm walking through it, share or I'll get Garcia to do a deep dive. Might not end well for you. Do you have any embarrassing high school photos? Facebook posts? She'll find them Prentiss, better start talking before I send her the bat signal."

Emily laughs and leans back in her chair, smiling wistfully as she recalls some of her early memories of her grandfather's cabin.

"Well, the first time I was there it was winter..."

~~~~~~~~~~

"Haley?" Hotch asks as he enters the bedroom, the door to the guest room already open. He's been sleeping there for months and she's made a point of staying out. He finds her sitting at the end of the bed, staring at a photo from their wedding day.

"Where did we go so wrong?" It's rhetorical so he stays silent, dropping his bag to the floor and walking up beside her. He sits next to her and looks down at the photo in her hands. They look happy, smiling at the camera with their arms flung around each other. The question she poses is one he think about often. Sometimes he thinks it started with his transfer to the BAU, sometimes he wonders if it was when they decided to have a baby, and sometimes he wonders if they should've gotten married at all. "We need to figure this out, Aaron."

"I agree." He tells her, brows furrowing when he sees his closet door is open and he doesn't see any clothes inside. "Are you kicking me out?"

She sighs and nods, motioning to the luggage that's packed and waiting for him. "Yes."

"This is my house too, and we have a son. You can't just kick me out!"

She pushes herself off the bed and rushes to the door, shutting it softly before she turns back to him. "Would you keep your voice down? You're going to wake up Jack."

"Haley you can't do this."

"I can. Unless you want to just file for divorce and start fighting for custody now?" He deflates slightly and she drops her arms from where they were crossed defensively across her chest. "I'm not saying that's where we're at, but I think if we don't start taking this seriously that's where we'll end up. I think you need a wakeup call, you need to know that I'm serious about this. If you can't start prioritizing our family there won't be one here waiting for you when you get home anymore."

She drags the luggage across the room and he takes it silently.

"You need to make a choice, Aaron. Maybe some distance will help you do that, but we can't even begin to work on our marriage until you decide if that's what you want."

"Where am I supposed to go?"

"You live out of hotel rooms half the year, I'm sure a few nights while you figure out a more permanent arrangement won't kill you."

He doesn't respond, instead he grabs the two suitcases and his ready bag and makes his way downstairs, his wife following behind him with his briefcase in hand.

They silently load the car up together, keeping distance between themselves like they're afraid to touch each other.

"When can I come back?" He asks after he opens the front door to climb in.

She offers him a shrug in return. "That's up to you, Aaron, not me."

Chapter Text

Emily slowly descends the stairs with her Glock in her hands, holding it out in front of herself when she rounds the corner. She sees no one and continues her way to the front door, slowly creeping down the hall toward the source of the noise that woke her from a good night's sleep.

The knocks continue, only a few knocks every minute. There isn't any urgency in them but she has no clue who would be at her door at three in the morning. She creeps up to the door and glances through the peephole, letting out an irritated sigh when she sees the man on the other side. She sets her gun on the entryway table and releases the dead bold.

"Hotch, what the hell?" They made up a few days after she went to dinner with her mother but they've avoided being alone together. Between his marital issues with Haley and J.J. looking for any sign of her sleeping with a coworker they'd decided to cool their jets for the time being.

"Hey, thanks for answering the door." He walks into the apartment despite the lack of invitation.

"Well you wouldn't stop knocking, I didn't have much of a choice. If you'd kept it up you would've been arrested." She sees him stumble and shuts the door, rushing the grab him when he starts tilting dangerously to one side. "Whoa, you smell like shit." She tells him when she positions herself against his side, his arm thrown over her shoulders and his face close to hers when he fixes her with a glare.

She turns her head with a grimace. "Why does your breath smell like something died in there?"

"Must've been the worm."

"The worm?" She almost gags, her stomach churning at his explanation.

"Yeah, I paid extra for it." He tells her with a chuckle, letting her lead him into the living room where she takes his gun after she deposits him on the couch. "Can I stay here?"

"Why? Did your house burn down? Is it infested by a league of particularly raunchy demons who keep grabbing your ass?" She jokes with a small smile, hoping he'll just let her call Haley to come pick him up so she can get some sleep.

"Haley kicked me out."

Well, there goes that plan.

"Oh."

"Yeah. She said I need to decide if I want to fix my marriage. Told me to get a hotel and stay there until I find an apartment."

"You sure moving in with your mistress is the way to fight for your marriage?"

"Maybe not. But my life is falling apart, booze and bad decisions are on the agenda for tonight. Guess I have you to thank for that."

"Me?" She repeats, offense taken to his placing blame. "How is this my fault?"

"Well let me step it out for you. Before you got here, I had a home. Now that you're here, I don't have a home. Makes perfect sense to me. You're sleeping with your married boss, that's hardly an ethical choice you've made." He punctuates his sentence with a hiccup.

Her jaw twitches with how hard she's grinding her teeth, working on keeping her mouth shut so she doesn't say something she'll regret later. "I think you're not in any place to be putting blame on someone else for your choice. Did I choose to sleep with a married man? Yes. But I didn't force you into it, don't put what's happening in your life solely on me."

He takes a few moments to contemplate what she's said and even in his inebriated state he knows she's right. "I'm sorry."

She nods and disappears into the kitchen, returning with a beer for him and a water for her. "Here, you can spend the night in the guest room."

"You're letting me drink?"

She shrugs and takes her seat beside him. "You're an adult, I don't need to baby you. You're far from alcohol poisoning, a beer isn't going to send you over the edge."

They sit in silence together for a while staring at the muted television, both too wrapped up in their own thoughts to say anything worthwhile. His marriage is falling apart and while Emily knows at the end of the day that's not completely her fault, she does feel some guilt. There were nights where instead of going home to his wife and child he'd stopped by her apartment, likely not returning to his own home until his family was already sleeping.

She isn't the sole reason for his separation but she's definitely a factor.

Hotch at least has the decency to feel a moment of remorse. His son will wake up in the morning without his father. It's nothing new, he's gone many mornings when his son wakes up, but this is different. There's no new case, he could be home, but he's gotten himself thrown out. He doesn't blame her, not really. He's a present and loving father, when he's there. He imagines it's hard to raise a son with half a husband but he doesn't feel guilt about prioritizing his job.

He's making the world safer for his family.

He catches a whiff of his own breath and cringes, already regretting his choice to eat the bug in the bottle of tequila.

"Thanks for letting me stay." He tells her, resting a hand on her thigh where a black silk robe covers her skin.

"Can't very well send you back out like this." She answers, sighing when his hand starts sneaking up her leg.

"Do you want to go to bed?" He asks with a small suggestive smile.

"By myself? Yes."

His hand slips under the robe and his fingers barely graze the panties she's wearing when she forces his hand off her body. "Hey, I was working on something there!" He protests, his words slurring in his intoxicated state.

She takes his empty bottle and leaves it on the table, squeezing his fingers with a grin. "You're drunk, I'm not taking advantage of you when you're like this."

He sighs and lets their hands drop between them, leaving their fingers intertwined. "That's very big of you."

"Well, even Emily the Unethical has her limits."

He frowns and flicks his eyes to hers, brows furrowed in regret. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that."

"I know." She whispers back, her thumb brushing over his knuckles. She feels bad for him, his world is collapsing around him. He shouldn't be here, shouldn't be thinking about taking her to bed, but she won't make him leave when he's like this. If it's a friend he needs it's a friend he'll get. And if he decides he doesn't want his marriage anymore she'll be a friend with benefits and maybe an actual friend instead of someone he barely knows and bangs on occasion. They'd been close once and she's sure they could be close again.

"Do you want to get some sleep?"

He shakes his head and his grip on her hand tightens. "Not yet, I don't want to be alone."

She decides he's too vulnerable to be left on his own so she snuggles against his side, hoping her presence - even if she does complicate his life - brings him some temporary comfort.

~~~~~~~~~~

When Hotch makes his way into the kitchen that morning - at a more suitable hour - he finds Emily in her pajamas and a plate of pancakes next to her while she scrolls through what are most likely work emails. He gives her a silent smile that she returns, sliding a fresh cup of coffee across the island.

"Thanks." She nods her head in acknowledgement and continues scrolling on her laptop, chewing on a bite of the breakfast she's made and motioning with her free hand toward the stack.

"Pancakes." Emily tells him absentmindedly, eyes still trained on her screen.

"You didn't have to do that."

"Thought you could use a pick-me-up after last night."

He lets the silence hang for a moment before he takes a better look at the stack, seeing the darkened pile that he remembers well. "Your maple-infused chocolate chip pancakes?" He asks with a smile. a brow raised at the agent who grins back at him. They'd been a staple years ago and it seems her sweet tooth hasn't abandoned her. "You ever going to give me the recipe?"

"I didn't give it to you 15 years ago, you're not getting it out of me now." She tells him, finally pulling her eyes from her emails to flash him a full smile. "Have some, if I recall you said they would put you in the heart attack ward but it would be worth it."

He grabs a few from the pile and spears a piece with his fork, grinning while he chews when the familiar taste hits his taste buds. "Still worth it." He tells her and she grins at him from behind her cup of coffee and he takes the seat beside her, looking over her shoulder at the email she's sending out.

"Thanks for letting me stay." He tells her, looking back down at his pancakes that he's cutting into bite-sized pieces.

"You can stay for a while if you need to. While you look for a place I mean. The guest room is pretty useless otherwise." She doesn't look at him when she says it, doesn't want to be rejected while she's looking right at him.

She's stunned when he takes her up on the offer. "That would be great."

"Really?" Brows raised in surprise she finally looks over at him.

"Yeah. It'll give me time to figure out what I want to do."

She hits send on her email and turns to face him, pulling a leg up under herself and using both hands to hold her mug. "You mean if you want to fight for your marriage."

He nods and finishes the bite he's taken before he speaks. "Haley will always be a part of my life, we have Jack and I do love her, but if she can't be happy with me I don't want her to stay out of obligation."

She tilts her head and hopes she won't regret what she's about to say. "You could always choose her. Choose her over the team. Someone else could do your job, you could step down. You work more hours than the rest of us, if you let another agent take your position you could get home at a semi-decent time and still get to work with us. You don't have to make this into an ultimatum, leave the team or your wife."

"I don't know if it's that easy." He admits, running a hand down his face and propping his chin up on his fist.

"Can I give you some advice?"

"Never stopped you before." He says it with a smirk, letting her know he's not actually upset.

She gives him a light smack to the shoulder. "Ass." She leaves her cup of coffee on the island and snags a bite of his pancake with a smile. "I lived at the embassy in Vietnam when I was a teenager, did I ever tell you that?" He shakes his head in the negative. "Something like 30% of the country is religious, most of that 30% being Buddhist."

"You're not religious." He tells her, recalling her staunch opposition to anything spiritual.

"No, but I picked up on some things from most places I've lived. Anyway, there's something they call the middle way. It's the path between the two extremes of self-denial and self-indulgence."

"I sense where you're taking this." He tells her with an eye roll.

"It's more complex than just that and doesn't perfectly apply to this situation by any means, but it still applies. You don't have to throw away your marriage, and you don't have to leave the team."

"Find the middle way." He says with an understanding nod.

"Yes. Choose the option that allows you to stay with someone you love while you do something you love."

"I'd have to tell her about us, about the affair. She may not let me choose our marriage once she knows." He's almost hoping she'll tell him to stay on as Unit Chief, to let his wife go. He doesn't want to look at his wife and tell her he's been unfaithful.

She sighs and gives him a nod. "Yes, that is a possibility. But we have to own up to the consequences of our actions, Hotch. Maybe it's time we did that."

Chapter Text

"Hotch, maybe I'm overstepping boundaries here, are things better at home?"

Hotch furrows his brows and looks at the agent across from him. "What do you mean?" He ignores the fact she's beyond overstepping boundaries so he can hear what she has to say. The last thing he needs is for his home life to be impacting his job and he definitely doesn't need his agents gossiping about it.

She shrugs, thinking back on what she's noticed during the three weeks they'd been off rotation since the last case. "You've been different. You were quieter, harder on us, angrier at Strauss. We heard you venting to Gideon, you weren't exactly shy about letting him know how you felt."

"Okay?" He gives her a look, encouraging her to continue.

"Well, the last week or so you seem happier than you've been in months." J.J. sighs and sits up straighter in her seat. "It's not that we make a point of noticing it but it's what we do, notice things I mean. We just thought maybe things got better, maybe something to do with Jack or Haley?"

He can't believe what he's hearing. "Jennifer, my wife kicked me out of our home three weeks ago."

They sit in uncomfortable silence for what feels like hours but could only have been a few minutes before the piolet announces their descent. It gives him time to ponder what she'd said about his behavior.

Has he really been happier? He's spending all of his time either at work or Emily's apartment. They'd danced around each other for the first few weeks, awkward silences and tense meals together. This last week though things started looking up. Emily had finally snapped, told him if he was going to be staying with her for the foreseeable future then they needed to get over their hang-ups and start living like roommates.

They started sharing chores. He takes out the trash, she does the laundry, she cooks, and he cleans. It's easy, efficient, and he finds that he actually enjoys spending time with her. They're far from familiar but they're friendly.

But has he really been happier than he's been in months? She's suggesting a larger problem even if she hadn't meant to. He wonders though if it really matters. Of course he'd be happier staying with Emily. She doesn't yell at him when he comes home late, doesn't criticize his prioritizing the team, doesn't get angry when he misses a meal because he has too much paperwork and she doesn't call him a bad husband when he falls asleep on the couch mid-conversation after a long day at the office.

She covers him with a blanket while she finishes cleaning up and wakes him when she's heading to bed so he doesn't wake up with a stiff back and a sore neck.

She doesn't pressure him to be something he's not.

Things are easier with Emily, but it doesn't mean he's better off without his wife. They haven't been intimate in months, they don't share a room, and when he tells her he loves her the responding I love you she gives him seems like just as much of an automatic as his does. They love each other, of that he has no doubt. But he doesn't know for certain that he's in love with her and he's not sure if she knows that for herself either.

What he does know is that he misses his son. He misses kissing his soft squishy palms and he misses watching him try to shove food in his mouth while he misses and most of it lands on his shirt. He misses the laughter, the squeals of excitement and the pride he feels as a father.

He can choose option A and be on his own. He can live in his own apartment, unburdened by the expectations of a wife. But he knows choosing options A means he doesn't get to see his son every night he's in town. He'll have scheduled nights and weekends that might get cancelled because of a case. He'll get his son for a fourth of his life and that's not enough for him. He wonders if Haley would even try and be accommodating to his schedule or if she'd put her foot down and keep him away.

Or he can choose option B. He can go back home, work on a marriage he isn't fully invested in, live in a marriage without intimacy, and get full access to his son because he'll probably be persuaded into working a 9 to 5. She might not demand it but she'll definitely pressure him over time.

Neither option sounds particularly appealing but he's not sure if he can find a middle way like Emily had suggested.

He's not sure Haley would be open to a middle way after settling for half a marriage for almost a year.

And he's not sure he wants her to.

~~~~~~~~~~

"J.J. said something to me the other day."

"Yeah?" Emily glances up at him when he makes the comment. They're sweeping up the popcorn she and J.J. had thrown into Reid's hair. She'd volunteered and Hotch had said he'd hang back and help. She's sure more popcorn ended up on the floor than ended up eaten but it had been a fun night and she likes that she and the two younger agents are starting to fall into a rhythm together.

"She said I've been happier this week." He tells her, not looking up from where he's sweeping across the room.

"She's right, we've all noticed it. You're smiling more than I've seen you smile since I got here."

He's surprised by her candor but really he shouldn't be, they're starting toward being actual friends and she's never been one to bite her tongue.

She doesn't have to with him, he appreciates the honesty. He doesn't want to compare her to his wife but he can't help but notice how much easier it is to get on with Emily. She's upfront about her feelings where Haley had always bit her tongue until things reached a boiling point.

"So you've noticed it to?" She nods and he sits in one of the chairs at the round table. Emily notices his dejected look and joins him, turning the chair beside him so they're facing each other and sinking into it. "How am I happier without my wife? What does that say about me?"

"It says you're a man with a demanding job who's been feeling overwhelmed at home. It doesn't make you a bad husband, it doesn't make you a bad man. It makes you human."

He's not sure she's who he should ask but he doesn't have anyone else to ask. Nobody else know the full scope of his marital issues. "Do you think I should fight for my marriage?"

She takes a few beats of silence to ponder her response before she gives it. "I think if you make the choice to end your marriage it needs to be because you don't want it anymore, not because of the opinions of people looking in who can only see part of the picture." She stands - knowing if he wants to continue this conversation it needs to be elsewhere, and if he doesn't she'd like to get home - and hands him her broom. "Come on I want to get home, you sweep, I'll get the dust pan."

Chapter Text

Over the next week of sharing an apartment one thing becomes very clear.

Emily Prentiss - Hotch can say with certainty - is a dork.

He doesn't mean it in a bad way.

She's just constantly up to something or her thoughts are flying at a hundred miles an hour and her mouth can barely keep up. Usually those thoughts are ones that leave him floored with either their complexity or with their absurdity.

Tonight, he's floored at her absurdity.

It's been a surprisingly uneventful week since their last case and she's raiding the kitchen to satisfy her never-ending hunger.

"Hey, Hotch." She says from her spot in the kitchen grabbing another bottle of water to go with her - third - bag of popcorn.

"Yes?" He asks, his feet propped up on the coffee table while he looks at his phone. He's talking to Haley about setting up a night for him to spend time with Jack, something he's really looking forward to.

"What do you think chairs would look like if our legs bent the other way?"

His fingers still on the screen in his hands. "What?" He asks, sure he's heard her wrong but when she repeats the question he's not sure what to say.

"What do you think chairs would look like if our legs bent the other way?"

He sits up and lowers his socked feet to the ground slowly, leaning forward so he can peer into the kitchen where he spots her across the island. He's not sure how to respond to such a ridiculous question. "What would chairs look like...if our legs bent the other way?"

She nods as she pours the bag of popcorn into a bowl for them to share.

"I can't honestly say I've ever had that thought cross my mind Emily so unfortunately I couldn't say."

"Oh, well that's disappointing. I was really looking for a solid answer."

"Why do you care about what chairs would look like if our legs bent the other way? Think about what we'd look when we walk if our legs bent the other way. Do you think we'd hinge at the hips instead of standing straight up?" He's trying to mess with her, trying to finally get a leg up when she's constantly busting his balls.

He doesn't expect her to look up into the distance and actually visualize it. Clearly he's just blown her mind.

She hadn't even considered that!

She nods. "You may have a point, that's definitely a more interesting question." She tosses the empty popcorn bag into the trash and makes for the living room. "If we did hinge at the waist we'd have great core strength that's for sure."

He fixes her with a look and wiggles his brows. "You already have great core strength."

Her face goes completely blank and he worries he's crossed a line they've been toying with, but then she speaks and he wants to flip her off. "Did you just make a joke?"

He shrugs and gives her a flash of a dimple. "It was in the area."

She joins him on the couch and puts the bowl of popcorn in his lap, taking the cap off her water and taking a long drink from it.

They start watching a rerun of "The Golden Girls" - something he would never have guessed she'd enjoy - and she gets wrapped up in the 30-minute plotline quickly. She's neglecting the popcorn she'd insisted they make so he nudges her arm with the bowl.

"Come on, eat. You need to get something in you." Her lips twitch and he shoots her a playful glare. "Don't say it."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Sir. If your mind is in the gutter it's there all by itself." She throws a piece of popcorn at him and it lands in his hair, sticking to his temple. She snorts before smacking a hand over her mouth at the way he's glaring at her.

"Emily."

"Aaron."

"Would you be so kind as to remove the popcorn from my hair?"

"I might be able to do that, yes." She plucks it from his hair and tosses it to the table - she does not want to risk eating that particular piece of popcorn - and gives him a smile. "Much better."

He grabs the piece from the table and holds it up to her mouth. "Eat it."

"Eat it?" She balks at the idea, pushing his hand gently from her face. "No."

"Eat it, you said you were hungry you have to eat it!" He takes the bowl from her and leaves it on the table, tackling her so her back is flat on the couch. "Eat it, Emily!"

"No!" She shrieks, squirming under him and trying to buck him off with her hips. He tauntingly brings the popcorn to her mouth and she turns her head away to keep him from succeeding in his goal to force feed her the snack.

"Come on! You did this Emily you have no one to blame but yourself, this popcorn is going in your mouth whether you like it or not!" He laughs and she squeals when his free hand grabs her wrists to keep her from swinging at him.

"Oh please! There's plenty of other things we can put in my mouth but hairy popcorn is not one of them!" She hears what she says and they both freeze, staring at each other with quivering lips until finally they break and laugh at the horrible joke she's made.

"What is wrong with you?" He asks with a laugh, tossing the dirty popcorn to the floor where he'll sweep it up later.

She gives him a shrug. "I don't know, good question. Can I get my hands back now?"

Instead of releasing her hands he tightens his grip on her wrists and trails his other hand up from her waist, pushing her shirt up when his hand spans across her ribcage.

"Hotch." She says it softly, wanting to - if this comes back to bite her in the ass later - at least say she'd put up a fight to whatever is about to happen.

"We can do this you know, I'm separated and you're single." He tells her, trying to think of excuses that make what he's doing better.

"We shouldn't."

"You're right."

"You'll regret it."

He smirks at her, remembering what he'd said to her their first night together since she'd joined the team. "That's my problem, not yours."

He bends down, pressing his lips to hers when they both flinch at the sound of his phone ringing.

"Fuck." He bites out, releasing her wrists so he can grab his phone from the coffee table. The moment is ruined, she's pulling her shirt down where it belongs and combs her hair with her fingers. She's putting an end to this before it can get going and he doesn't blame her, even if he is a little disappointed.

"Sir, I'm sorry to interrupt your evening but a request from safe guard came. Personnel files on certain agents.

"What?" He asks, moving off the younger agent and heading for the kitchen.

"I found it unusual as well sir, I thought it best you know now." Garcia tells him, rushing to get the words out should he feel the need to left off some steam. He doesn't frequently take his anger out on her but she recalls a few unpleasant conversations with other agents over the years and doesn't want to be on the receiving end.

"That's what, six months early?"

"Yes, sir."

He sighs and runs a hand over his face. "Thank you Garcia." He doesn't wait for a response and hangs up, heading back to the living room where Emily has made herself more presentable.

"What was that about?"

"Nothing you need to worry about." He responds, flashing a dimple so it doesn't sound quite as rude as it had come out.

"You're sure?"

"Yes. I'm going to head to my room though, I need to call Gideon. But we should probably get some rest anyway, this week has been quiet and-"

"You just jinxed it." Emily tells him, fully believing that their week is about to get much rougher.

He shoots her a smile and shakes his head. "That's a superstition, Emily. This week will be fine."

~~~~~~~~~~

You don't choose who you fall in love with.

That's what Emily thinks about when she leaves Strauss' office.

You don't choose who you fall in love with. That's what she'd said and she meant it too. She's fallen for the wrong people time and time again, and this time she wonders if that's what's happening - falling for the wrong guy.

She's not in love with Hotch, she knows that much, but she's well down the path that leads to it. She'd been there 15 years ago and if she'd been a little less stubborn she would've seen it.

Now she's just as stubborn but she's more self-reflective and she knows what's happening. She's falling for him; her married, emotionally unavailable, father of one who just so happens to be her boss.

It's not smart and it's dangerous, she's toying with the team dynamic. If things goes wrong this could blow up in their faces and she's not sure they could recover.

And now Strauss has unintentionally thrown a wrench into their gears that are more complex than she knows.

The annual evaluation had been the perfect excuse to get her alone without drawing the watchful eyes of the rest of the team. There's a lot of things she could call the Section Chief, but stupid isn't one of them.

She thinks about the options she has laid out in front of her.

Option 1 leaves her betraying a man she considers a friend. He'll lose his job, the team will implode, and she'll probably never work on another elite team again. She'll be a mole, no one will trust her, and she'll be put in some remote posting in an obscure state where the most interesting case she'll get in a year will be a missing family that they'll find alive and well on a camping trip down at the lake.

Basically her worst nightmare, and one she's already lived.

Option 2 is just as undesirable. She'll leave, get a job at the state department, and end up working in clandestine services. She'd left for a reason and she isn't too keen on going back, the BAU gives her some vague sense of a normal life and she's not willing to give that up quite yet.

Option 1 is the rock and option 2 is the hard place and she's stuck in between, struggling to find a way out of the pickle she's found herself in. She struggles to find the middle way like she'd told Hotch. He hasn't found his middle way either and she wonders if maybe the middle way isn't as practical as she'd once thought.

"Hey, how did it go?" Hotch asks, smiling at her while he pours himself another cup of coffee.

She gives him a tight smile back and shrugs, grabbing her own mug and taking the pot from him. "About as well as we all expected. I do have an axe to grind with you by the way."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"That's a superstition Emily, this week will be fine."

He blows out a puff of air and they walk slowly back to her desk. "Yeah, guess that came back to bite me in the ass."

"Do you think he's okay?" She doesn't have to say who she's talking about.

"Honestly I'm not sure, would you be?"

"God no, but I don't know him the way you do."

"I'm not sure even I know him well. He's a friend but he doesn't share much, it makes it hard to get a read on him." She nods her agreement and takes her seat, giving him a smile when he doesn't walk away but instead leans against her desk. "Do you want to go to dinner tonight?"

Her brows raise. "Out to dinner?" She repeats back to him. They don't go out, they're not dating and the idea of being seen together in a public space in a town full of agents and politicians seems risky.

"Yeah, nothing fancy. Burgers and shakes? I thought after the shit show of a week we've had - brought about by my own stupidity in failing to recognize your superstition - I thought we could do something together just the two of us."

It's a date. He won't admit it and she won't force it out of him but that's a date if she's ever heard one.

And that's something she can't give him for more reasons than he knows.

"You know what, I actually have plans tonight." She'll end up visiting Matthew, seeing him for the first time since he started rehab. She hears he's doing well and - while she hadn't planned to visit tonight - she does want to see it for herself.

"Oh, okay that's fine don't worry about it. I'll see you at home?"

She nods and gives him a soft smile, trying not to feel guilt at the dejected look on his face that he'd covered up a beat too late.

He's making her choice a hell of a lot harder.

Chapter Text

"You move around enough you get used to being whoever people want you to be."

Emily furrows her brows in the dark and glances over at the agent in bed with her. It's a queen so they fit nicely with some space left over but it's definitely more intimate than they're used to. They've been lucky enough to get their own hotel rooms thus far but this is an unusual circumstance, students trying to get off campus crowding the few hotels in the area and taking up the few available rooms.

"What?"

"That's what you said before, on campus. I guess I didn't really think of it like that."

She turns on her side and J.J. mirrors her position so they're facing each other. "What do you mean?"

"I grew up in East Allegheny, it was small and quiet and boring. You said you grew up in several Middle Eastern countries and spent a lot of time in France. And that's only what you've mentioned, I guess I thought your life must've been more fun that mine."

Emily nods and plays with a thread coming out of the sheet under them. "It was interesting and I learned a lot. Don't get me wrong, I had a privileged childhood. I never worried about if we had food for dinner, I never had to wear something that didn't fit because it was the only thing I had, I never wondered if we'd have a place to live. I got to travel, I saw beautiful countries and learned about other cultures and I made the best of it, but it wasn't always rainbows and sunshine."

"What was it like?"

"My mother always needed me to be better. Sit straighter, smile brighter, be quieter. Reputation is everything in politics, it made me an easy target. I was stubborn, I hated the stuffy ballrooms and the itchy dresses I got put in. I wanted to go outside and play, I wanted to read adventure books and got stuck with literature instead." She offers a shrug. "It wasn't all bad. Sometimes she'd have an easy day and she'd be finished early. She'd take me out sightseeing when we weren't supposed to, she'd let me eat street food and we'd go to the park and she'd push me on the swings. It wasn't all bad, she did the best she could."

"And the moving around?"

"We moved 17 times before I left for college. It wasn't always new places, sometimes it was like France, we'd go back for vacation or Russia during the winter to see the Bolshoi perform The Nutcracker. But it made it hard to make friends. I was lucky if we stayed somewhere for a year. Eventually I learned it was easier to not make friends than it was to make them and have to leave."

"It sounds hard."

Emily gives her a nod and a grin. "I would've loved to grow up in a small town in Pennsylvania, I would've made friends and would've gotten to play sports. Might've even had a boyfriend."

"That's pretty much all that happened." The blonde tells her with a laugh. "Football games every Friday followed by shakes and chili-cheese-fries at the local diner. It was painfully ordinary, but I guess I did have fun."

"You were a mean girl weren't you?"

J.J.'s jaw drops and she smacks the older woman's shoulder. "I was not! I'll have you know I went out of my way to be nice to the quiet kids!"

"Mhmm, sure you did J.J., sure you did."

They spend the next half hour sharing stories, some of them good and some of them less so but they gain a better understanding of each other. Emily hopes it'll become something more, hopes J.J. is someone she'll be able to call a friend.

She has so few of them left.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hotch stands when Emily comes into the apartment, wiping sweaty palms on his pants.

"Hey, sorry I'm late I had to stop at the store." She tells him, holding up a bag of what he knows is more bags of popcorn and bottles of sparkling water. He hates the stuff, the bubbles give him a stomach ache but the carbonated beverage is helping curb her Diet Coke habit.

"It's okay, it actually gave me some time to work up the courage to have this conversation." He says while he walks slowly toward the kitchen where she's putting her drinks in the fridge.

"What conversation?" She tosses him a look over her shoulder, shutting the fridge and moving to the popcorn.

"About the next two weeks."

"What's happening these next two weeks?"

"I got suspended."

She drops the box of popcorn bags and turns to him, eyes wide and her mouth hanging open. "Are you shitting me?"

"No. Strauss ordered that and an investigation into my conduct."

She sputters and he can see the angry flush creeping up to her cheeks. She's furious and he's never seen her so angry before. "Are you kidding me? Strauss - who hasn't spent a fucking day in the goddamn field - is going to suspend you? God! She has her head so far up her ass she's tonguing her intestines!"

He cringes at the imagery - she always has had a way with words - and holds up a hand. "It's okay, really. I'm thinking it might be a good thing."

"How is this a good thing?" She asks cluelessly, still not getting where he's taking this conversation.

"I think it's helped me realize what I really want."

"What you want?"

"Yes, what I want. I thought about what I'm going to do for the next two weeks and the answer was obvious."

"Obvious?"

He chuckles and puts the box of popcorn in the cabinet for her. "It's hard to have a conversation when you're just repeating everything I say back to me."

She gives him a small grin and nods. "Right, sorry. Continue."

"You'd think I would've been excited at the idea of spending the next two weeks getting to see Haley and Jack. Don't get me wrong, I want to spend as much of this time with Jack as I can, I miss my son. But when I think about who else I want to spend my suspension with it's-"

"I'm sure Haley is really looking forward to spending some time with you." Emily cuts him off. She knows exactly where this is going and it's not anywhere she's interested in.

Okay, that's a lie. She's interested but it'll never work out. They work together, he's her boss and Strauss is already gunning for him. He has a son and she's nowhere near mentally stable enough to have a real relationship let alone a stepson.

Because that's the thing, Hotch doesn't do anything half-assed. If he's thinking about a relationship with her he's doing it with the intention of longevity.

Something she's not sure she can offer.

Not to mention she's still undecided on how to get out from where she's pinned under Strauss' thumb without losing her job.

And if she can't do that, she'll leave.

His smile drops, seeing her brushoff for what it is. "What?"

"Yeah, I think you should talk to her tonight. Maybe ask if you can spend just the suspension living with her and Jack again. Phrase it as a sort of test run, show her that you're committed." She walks past him and grabs her bag, hauling it over her shoulder so she can escape the situation. "Let me know how it goes, I'm going to head upstairs. I'll see you when you come back for your things though, yeah?"

"Um, yeah of course. Goodnight, Emily."

"Goodnight!" She shouts back, already halfway up the stairs.

That's how he finds himself sitting in the dining room of his home an hour later, his wife across from him.

"You can stay, but this has to be it Aaron. We have to choose each other, here and now. Things have to change, I won't go back to the way they were."

"I agree, I don't want either of us feeling stuck in a marriage for Jack's sake."

She shifts awkwardly in her seat. "Then there's something you should know." He furrows his brows and she clears her throat before she speaks. "I've been seeing someone."

"Seeing someone." Hotch repeats back.

She nods at him. "Yes. It hasn't gotten physical, it's more of an emotional attachment I suppose. But it's gone further than a friendship would, I have feelings for him and he has feelings for me." She takes his face - void of any emotion - as a bad sign and rushes to get the rest out. "I'm not leaving you for him, but you should know before you commit to this. It started a few months ago, around the time Reid was kidnapped."

He decides it's time to bite the bullet, he needs to get it out now lest she find out in the future. "Haley, I've been having an affair."

Now it's her turn to stare at him blankly. "You what?" He nods - barely able to meet her eyes - and she sits up straighter. "By affair, you mean you slept with another woman?"

"Yes." He at least has the decency to feel immense guilt at the look on her face.

"Who?"

"It's irrelevant-"

"It's not. Who?" He takes several beats of silence, unsure if he wants to throw Emily under the bus while the wheels pass over him. She takes the choice from him. "If you don't tell me you can leave again and you'll receive the divorce papers within the week."

"Emily."

"Emily Prentiss?"

"Yes."

The silence that follows is loaded, filled with tension and anger and guilt that's suffocating. Finally after several minutes she finally speaks again.

"Alright, here are your options, Aaron. You can stay with the BAU and you lose myself and our son. You'll get visitation, every other weekend and one night a week if you're in town. I'll accommodate as I can but I won't disrupt his schedule every week for you. Your only other option is leaving the unit."

"Leave? I thought we were going to find the middle way, maybe I could step down as Unit Chief. It would get me home at a decent hour when we don't have cases."

"That was before I found out you'd be working with the woman you cheated on me with." She bites back, taking a calming breath before she speaks again. "I won't be humiliated like that. You have your options Aaron, think them over and let me know. You can stay in the guest room for the next two weeks but at the end of that time you either need to leave your unit or you need to get a lawyer."

Chapter Text

"This is who I am."

"No, this is what you do."

"I'm trying to do the right thing, here and there, and I would really appreciate a little support."

"Oh, that's right. because you always need to be the hero."

"Don't give me that."

"No, obviously a happy life isn't enough for you! If it was, you would've have put your penis into your subordinate!"

He doesn't respond, he can't. Whether or not she's right about his priorities she's right about that, her and Jack hadn't been enough. He doesn't know why and it's not the time to delve into his deep seated issues.

"Aaron, I need you here."

"And I will be here, as soon as this case is over."

"Yeah, well make sure you give your son a kiss before you leave. And when you get home, be sure to wipe the whore off your lips."

The conversation plays on a loop in his head, the words she'd spat at him digging into his flesh. He's hurt but he's not angry, he's put them in this situation. He's not stupid, he knows he may have ruined his marriage beyond repair by coming here. He knocks on the door and waits for it to open, hoping she won't see him through the peephole and keep him waiting in the hallway.

Emily walks to the door and lets out a heavy sigh when she sees Hotch on the other side. She pulls open the door and they stand in silence for a few moments. "What are you doing here?"

"Can I come in?" She steps aside and closes the door behind him, unsurprised by what he has to stay. "The team needs us. They're working a case in Milwaukee. Gideon hasn't shown up and don't tell me you quit or I put in for a transfer."

"You put in for a transfer? Why?" He doesn't answer and she takes a seat at the island, letting him take the one beside her. "You told Haley about us, didn't you?"

"I did."

"And it didn't go well." She deduces, waiting for him to give her more of an explanation.

"She gave me an ultimatum. I either leave the team - leave you - or she's done. She'll file for divorce."

Her stomach sinks at the news. It's exactly what she didn't want to happen, their relationship is impacting the team structure.

"You can tell her she has nothing to worry about, I'm out the door already."

"You're not." He tells her turning his chair to face her. "I need you on this case with me."

She shakes her head. "Absolutely not, I can't go back."

"Yeah? And why is that? Because Strauss is using you to bring me down?"

Emily's brows shoot up. "You know?"

"Of course I know. The question is, how long have you known?"

She shifts uncomfortably in her seat. "Since your suspension."

"Why didn't you come to me? We could've gotten you an out, could've figured out a way to keep you on the team and keep Strauss in her lane!"

"I was embarrassed, Aaron!" She shouts back, pushing herself away from the island and pacing slowly in front of him. "I was embarrassed, I was angry."

"Because you got played." He finishes.

"Like a cheap kazoo. I couldn't come to you, I couldn't tell Strauss to fuck off without getting fired. I tried to find a way out of it, I really did. But there was nothing, quitting was the only option to keep the team together." She stops in front of him, brows furrowed at what he hasn't mentioned. "What about Haley? What does she think about you being here?"

He runs a hand down his face and she takes her seat again. "It's over."

"Over?"

"Over." He says with a nod. "I'm guessing when we get back from Wisconsin, I'll be short one wife and son at home."

She grabs his hand and gives a gentle squeeze, giving him what little comfort she can. "You'll lose her if you do this. Is it worth it? Is this job really what you want to choose?"

"For maybe the first time in my life, I'm not sure what I want. But what I don't want is a forced marriage. I love Haley, I always will. We had a good decade together before we started struggling, we have a beautiful son, I don't regret any of it. But we're not in love anymore and we both deserve to be happy."

She isn't sure what to say. She's the last person who should be commenting on the state of his marriage, so she says the only thing she can think of. "So, tell me about this case in Milwaukee."

~~~~~~~~~~

"So, how did you manage the jet?" Emily asks, referencing the jet he'd managed to snag from another team so they wouldn't have to fly commercial to Wisconsin.

"I called in a favor." He answers mysteriously, a small smirk on his face.

"A favor, that really cleared it up." He gives her a smile that tells her she's not getting a real answer out of him. They've got little more than a half hour before they land in Virginia and they've got nothing to do but wait. They're both too keyed up to sleep but the rest of the team is snoozing in various seats down the isle.

"Hey." He cuts the silence with a whisper, nudging her arm. She has the isle seat so he tilts his head toward the direction of the cockpit on the other end of the jet. "Is everyone else asleep?"

"Um, yes." She answers after a quick peek down the row of seats.

"Good." His hand lands on her thigh and she grabs his fingers before he can start making his way up her leg.

"Hotch."

"Emily."

"You just told me before we left for Milwaukee that you're probably getting a divorce, maybe this isn't the time. It's definitely not the place."

"Well if you can't keep it down, that sounds like a you problem." He tells her, prying his fingers out from hers and smoothing a hand up her leg.

She should fight him, she knows. She should tell him this isn't right, that they've done enough damage and that the Section Chief is sitting one row back and could wake up any minute. But he tosses a blanket over their laps and she can be quiet. She doesn't shove his hand off, deciding they've already gotten this far without anyone finding them out and the chance of being found out here - even though the stakes are higher - is unlikely.

Hotch - regardless of how reckless this is - knows this isn't the place for teasing and the second she pops the button on her pants and slides the zipper down he's slipping his hand into her pants. He strokes her through her panties and something about the slip of wet satin covering her entrance is becoming increasingly alluring to him. He feels the scrape of lace on his palm and wonders what this pair looks like, if they're black and smooth with a little red bow atop the lace he feels under his palm. Those are one of his favorites.

He's not wasting any time, knowing the team will be waking shortly, and pushes her panties to the side, smiling when she turns her head and smothers a groan into his shoulder. His palm welcomes the slip of wet curls and his fingers toy with her clit, drawing slow circles and keeping an ear out for any movement from behind them.

He presses his fingers to her harder, parting slick folds and gathering moisture on his way down toward his goal. He meets little resistance when he enters her with one finger - he wonders only for a moment if she'd been thinking about this, knowing there's no way she's this aroused in mere minutes - and he smiles against her hair when her teeth sink into his shoulder through the fabric of his suit.

By the time a second finger joins the first she's more or less riding his hand, her hips canting away from the seat into the pressure on her clit and the extra friction the lace of her panties is giving her. She's breathing too loudly through her mouth when she tears her teeth from his shoulder, licking her lips and throwing her head back against her headrest.

He keeps his pace steady and watches her, marveling at the way she bites down on her lip and her back starts to arch before she forces herself to still lest she attract attention from anyone else on the jet. He can feel her tightening around his fingers, winces when her nails dig into his knee where her knuckles have gone white, can almost smell her arousal from his seat beside her and the soft panting and her rolling hips are a sure sign she's getting close.

"Remember to be quiet." He whispers against her ear, satisfied with the half-assed nod she gives in return. She's loud when she finishes and he's impressed she's kept quiet this long. But they've only got another 15 minutes before the plane is set to land and if he's not mistaken they're running a little ahead of schedule.

Not good.

So he speeds up the pace of his fingers and rubs the heel of his hand against her clit, unable to stop the smirk rising to his face when her lower back arches off the chair, her shoulders pressed into the semi-reclined seat to keep herself from damn near launching out of her seat. He gives a few more thrusts and almost clamps a hand over her mouth when she comes, her lips parting in what he knows would've been a beautiful scream had she had the luxury of being able to do so. Her muscles ripple under her skin and she gives a few good shakes before she finally relaxes against the cushions, a satisfied lazy smile on her lips.

She opens her eyes to find a smirk on his lips and he gives a few slow thrusts before he moves to pull out, freezing when Strauss appears beside them.

"Good evening, agents. I'm surprised anyone but me is awake." She greets, motioning toward the pot of coffee. "I'm getting something to drink, would either of you like something?" They both know it's her way of playing nice, knowing technically she's beaten them at a game they weren't even playing.

They both shake their heads and give polite smiles. "No thank you, ma'am." Emily responds and holds back the whine that threatens to escape when Hotch pulls his fingers out after the blonde turns and walks away.

"Well that was close." He says softly, mindful of the woman pouring herself a cup of coffee. He holds his fingers up and she blushes furiously before she snags his hand, pulling the two glistening fingers into her mouth. She hopes Strauss doesn't turn around because neither of them are paying her any attention, instead dark eyes are locked and she hollows her cheeks, swirling her tongue around a fingertip before releasing his now - technically - clean fingers from her mouth with a soft 'pop'.

"Jesus." He breathes out, dropping his hand to readjust his pants that are painfully pressed against his erection. "I need you to move."

She furrows her brows, afraid she's done something wrong. "What?"

He shakes his head at her dejected look. "No, I don't want you to move, I need you to move. I can't walk out of here with my pants tented without someone seeing and since taking a cold shower isn't an option I thought it best we get some distance until we can get out of here."

She smirks and he knows immediately that he's made a mistake in suggesting they leave his problem for later. He watches her dampen her hand with a wet lick to her palm and his eyes widen.

"Emily, no."

"Emily, yes." She responds and her hand slips under the blanket, moving to his pants and swiftly unbuckling his belt. He's not fighting because if he's honest he's almost aching at this point and it would be easier to walk off the plane hiding a stain than a full erection, even if he has to keep his voice down and his eye on Strauss.

Every muscle in his body goes tight when her hand slips into his briefs, keeping a firm grip on him and leaving her pace slow and steady. She's building it up, keeping him from giving too much away as Strauss walks back to them with two mugs of hot chocolate. He's sure it has something to do with their sympathy when she'd almost lost it at the crime scene but he finds her kindness somewhat alarming.

"I thought I'd bring these back for you, a little treat after such a horrendous case."

Emily smiles and takes her drink - the fact she's having a conversation with their Section Chief and sipping a warm beverage while she has her hand down his pants is pushing him closer to the edge - and Strauss smiles in return. After she grabs her own coffee and returns to her seat Emily speeds up again, no longer cautious about making him finish in front of their boss.

He throbs under her hand, hard and heavy and he's close to helping her along because he's many things but patient in a pinch isn't one of them and they are definitely running on limited time.

"Problem, Hotch?" She asks sweetly, giving a firm squeeze when she rotates her wrist. Instead of responding the way he'd planned he sucks in a breath, his mouth pressing into a firm line to keep from groaning into a plane full of agents that are starting to slowly wake up.

He lets out a sigh instead of that groan he wants to release when she pulls him free from his briefs, smiling with both dimples down into her whipped cream topped mug like she isn't swirling her thumb over the tip of his cock under a blanket surrounded by their teammates.

He grips her wrist to get her attention but he doesn't stop her, feeling his own climax creeping up. He can't stop the gentle thrust of his hips upward, pulling a full double dimpled smile from the younger agent. She likes having some control over him, likes seeing him losing control when he's in full Hotch mode, suited up with a gun on his hip that's only slightly impeding the motion of her wrist.

He wants to warn her how close he is but the sound of two of his agents conversing a few feet away keeps him quiet and the snap of his hips seconds before he finishes is apparently enough of a sign for her.

She can't very well ask Strauss to bring her a napkin and she absolutely can't lower her head and wrap her lips around him, so she simply cups him with her palm and smiles when she feels his release pooling in her hand. What they're doing is filthy and she should feel some shame but she can't manage to do it. It's one of the hottest things she's done in the last several years and they've actually managed to get away with it.

She looks around and ensures they're not being watched before she uses her other hand to tuck him back into his pants and she lets him buckle his belt quietly as the pilot announces that they're about to hit the runway.

Perfect timing.

"Here, let me grab you a napk-"

He can't even get his sentence out before she brings her hand up to her mouth and licks the sticky substance on her palm, maintaining eye contact while he stares completely at a loss for words.

Morgan walks by with a raised brow and it snaps the Unit Chief out of his daze. Emily merely smirks and motions to her drink with her - clean - hand. "Got whipped cream all over my hand."

"Oh I'm not complaining, Princess. Not complaining at all." He tells her with a wink when she flicks her tongue out for one last lick across her hand.

She smiles back at him and he grabs a bag of Cheetos - J.J. is going to kill him - before returning to his seat and snapping the seatbelt across his lap.

Emily and Hotch do the same and sit in silence while the plane lands, only moving again when the rest of the team starts standing to gather their things.

It's only  15 minutes before they're heading to their cars in the parking garage of Quantico, shooting each other tired smiles and wishing each other a good night.

"Hey, do you want to come over?"

Her brows shoot up and she has to let them drop again, the ache in her head worsening every time she moves them. "Um, I don't think that's a good idea. At all."

"Haley is gone."

"What?"

"She sent me a text, she's staying with her sister until we start the divorce proceedings. So if I go home, it'll just be me and a reminder of all the mistakes I've made. I don't think I can face that right now." He motions to her head. "I'm not letting you go home alone with a concussion either."

"How about we go to my place? You don't have to face an empty house and you can keep me from slipping into a coma."

"Yeah, that sounds good. You shouldn't be driving, we can take my car and we'll pick yours up tomorrow."

They're almost at his car - three lanes closer than her own - when the media liaison shouts at them to wait.

"Hey, heading home?" She asks Emily, grabbing the duffel from the older woman.

"Um, yeah. What are you doing?"

"Driving you to your apartment, you aren't in a place to drive so I thought I'd give you a ride."

"Oh, actually-"

"I'm taking her." Hotch cuts her off, giving J.J. a small smile. "It's on my way so I offered to drop her, unless you're keen on doing it yourself."

Blonde brows stay furrowed while blue eyes shift between the two of them but she nods regardless, holding out the bag she'd taken toward their boss. "Oh. Yeah actually that's great! It's a little out of my way, have at it, Hotch."

"Maybe we can do drinks this weekend?" Emily offers, hoping it doesn't seem like they're shutting her down too hard.

"Did I hear drinks?" Penelope asks when she and Derek pass by, a smile on her face. "I'm in! Come to casa de Garcia at 9 sharp bearing booze and food!"

J.J. rushes off toward the technical analyst and Emily listens to them spewing ideas of how to spend the 'girls night' they've set up and she's not sure exactly how this little band has formed but she's actually finding that she likes the idea of getting closer with the other women. There's so few of them in the Bureau and so few of them on the team and if they're offering friendship she isn't going to turn it down.

"So, I was doing some thinking." Aaron says an hour and a half later when he's taking the lasagna out of the oven.

"What about?" She asks him, grabbing two bottles of water for them from the fridge. She'd rather indulge in a bottle of cheap wine but she's under strict orders to avoid alcohol of any kind until she follows up with her primary care physician. Getting smacked with a piece of wood has turned out to be just about as fun as it sounds.

"I thought maybe I could stay here for a while. I mean we've been staying here together for a while already and my clothes are already here. I'd have some boxes of books and photos that I could keep in the guest room on the bookshelves so I wouldn't be taking up extra space. I wouldn't expect it to be forever of course but I want Haley to have the house, she's got Jack and he deserves to have some stability. I just don't have the time to really start looking for an apartment right now between the job and the state of my marriage and you can say no if you want to I-"

"You've picked up my rambling habit." Emily deadpans, giving him a soft smile when he blushes. "Of course you can stay, you can even put your books on the shelves out here and photos of your son if you'd like. If we're going to be real roommates this time we should probably start sharing the common spaces."

He gives her a disbelieving smile - dimple included - like he can't believe she's agreed. "Really?"

"Hotch, come on. You're clean, you do half the household chores, we have the same work schedule so we're not constantly waking each other up at weird hours of the night, your closet is filled, and we hang out together all the time. But no, I absolutely draw the line at photos of your adorable son being within my line of sight and god forbid you start putting literature on my shelves. I mean clearly reading isn't something I'm interested in." She motions to the wall she's converted into one giant bookshelf that's filled from top to bottom.

Her point is clear but they're going to need to find some new shelf space.

"Smartass." He mutters under his breath.

"What was that?" She asks quickly, rushing up behind him to press him into the counter. She stands on her toes and peeks at him over his shoulder, his hips pinned to the counter. "What was that Hotch? Did you say something? Because I think you just called your extremely generous friend who's offered her guestroom up to you on a silver platter, a smartass. Do my ears deceive me?"

"They do indeed deceive you, I would never utter such a statement about my incredibly generous friend. I'd like to meet her sometime, she sounds nice." He laughs at the stunned look on her face. Humor hasn't been part of his emotional range in some time but she's been rubbing off on him.

He finds that he rather enjoys that.

He turns around and wraps his arms around her, resting his cheek atop her head. His voice dips low and she tightens her grip around his waist when he speaks. "Thank you, Emily. Really, I don't know what I would do without you."

She smiles against his chest and happily soaks in his warmth. "You're welcome. Now come on, we don't want to eat cold noodles and room temperature water. If you're going to live here I expect five-star food service from you."

Chapter Text

"Come on, for me?"

"No. Hotch. Leave, I have to get ready!"

"I know! All I'm suggesting is you wear-"

"The red tank top." She finishes for him. "I know, but it's not happening. And since when do you have an opinion on what I wear anyway?"

"Since I got a good view down the top of said tank top." He wiggles his brows at her with a smile and she gives him two dimples back.

"Well, thank you for letting me know that effect. I'll refrain from wearing it in the office from here on out."

He sputters on his way to the door, Emily with her hand on his back pushing him toward the entrance. "That's not what I meant!"

"Too late, now shut up and get out or I won't wear it around the apartment either."

"You'll wear it around the apartment?" He asks with a hopeful smile on his face.

"Hotch, go!" She forces him out the door and blocks him with a hand on the frame. "Go spend the evening with your son. I know you're nervous but he's a toddler, he doesn't know anything is different. He loves you, stop second guessing things."

"Alright, I'll go. I'll see you tonight, yeah?"

"Probably not, it's girls night I'm heading to Garcia's apartment. The plan is to get completely shit-faced so I'm planning on spending the night instead of getting a cab back. I'll be back tomorrow around lunch if you want to do something then."

He nods the affirmative. "I'll have lunch ready and then we can head out, get some groceries and maybe some ice cream." Her eyes light up and he's struck again by how easy it is to make her happy.

"Mocha?"

"Duh."

"You have yourself a deal. And hey, send me pictures of Jack, I haven't actually met him before."

He shoots her a dimple. "Will do, have fun at girls night, I'll see you tomorrow."

They bid each other a good night and Emily makes her way back upstairs, pulling on the light blue top and the dark wash jeans she'd sat out the night before. She'd tried on almost a dozen outfits - all deemed to dressy for a fun night with friends - before Hotch ignored her protests and picked the outfit from her closet himself.

She leaves herself mostly free of makeup, a little bit of mascara and some blush because she knows herself. If she puts on a full face she'll end up with half the foundation she started with and raccoon eyes the next morning.

Cute isn't a word she uses to describe herself when she's hungover.

She's only just slipping her feet into a pair of socks when there's a knock on the door.

"Forgot your keys again." She mutters to herself on her way toward the door.

She pulls it open with a smirk, her brows shooting toward her hairline when she sees two blonde women across the threshold.

"Oh." She clears her throat and puts on a smile. "I thought we were meeting at-"

"At my apartment, yes. But alas my humble abode is inhabited by some unwelcome guests."

"Unwelcome guests?"

"Mice, she has mice in her apartment. She's called the exterminator but they won't be finished until tomorrow. And we can't go to mine, it's way too small for a girls night in full swing."

"So here we are!" They look at her expectantly and a blush colors her cheeks.

"And I'm blocking the entrance, right, sorry. Come in."

They ramble on about their plans for the night with Emily ushering them in toward the living room and she realizes her mistake when the blonde agents freeze.

"Oh."

Emily blushes and grabs the suit jacket from the back of the couch. "Sorry, let me just-"

"Who is he?" Penelope launches in, dropping snacks onto the island."

"it's nothing."

"Well let's see. The suit jacket, a pair of gloves far too large for you back in the entry way, and Gatsby on the coffee table. You hate Gatsby."

"I don't hate Gatsby."

"You called it a piece of literary trash who's only purpose is to wipe your ass after drunkenly eating seven burritos from Taco Bell." Garcia tells her, a brow quirked and smirk on her lips. "You really telling me you've changed your tune so fast, sunshine?"

"Okay, fine. I hate Gatsby."

"So, who is the owner of said book, Prentiss?" J.J. asks, plopping herself down on the couch and looking at her friend over the back.

"I have a friend staying here for a while. He's going through a bit of a rough patch and he asked if he could move in for a while."

"Oh! Well why didn't you just say so?"

Garcia gasps and fixes the older woman with a look from the kitchen. "Because, they're sleeping together!"

"We are not sleeping together!" She protests an octave too high. For a former spy she really is a pretty shit liar.

"You so are! Look at her blush!" J.J. exclaims, moving to her knees when Penelope brings over three glasses of wine.

"Oh my god, do we know the mystery man?" Emily downs her drink in one gulp and immediately refills it. "Oh my god we do!"

"You do." Emily tells them, offering a shrug.

"Who is it?" They squeal at her, excited smiles on their faces.

"I'll tell you but you can't tell anyone. got it?"

"Yes!" They shout back, almost vibrating with the promise of new gossip.

Emily looks at J.J. and deadpans. "Your dad."

~~~~~~~~~~

"That did not happen! I only slept with him once and it was only because he looked like he could use it, Penelope!" J.J. shouts. Emily is almost in tears on the floor next to the blonde being scolded and the media liaison is glaring at them from her place across the coffee table leaning back against the couch. They're not sure how they've migrated to the floor but they're two bottles of wine and a good portion of the way through a bottle of tequila and there's no way the room is steady enough for them to even consider getting to higher ground.

"And your little penis pocket was the way to cheer him up, Jennifer?" She throws back immediately, gesturing wildly toward the vagina they're referencing.

"My what?!"

Emily ignores the question shrieked in a pitch that almost leaves her ears ringing and nods her support for the media liaison. "A pussy-pick-me-up, I like it. It has a certain panache to it, doesn't it?"

A throat clearing in the entry way startles them all and the trio turns to find Hotch standing next to the kitchen with his brows comically far up his forehead.

"Oh, hey." Emily squeaks out, a blush rising up her face while the blonde women in the room look between the two of them.

"Um, hello...all of you?" He responds, watching Emily stumble her way across the room.

"I am so sorry, I didn't think to shoot you a text."

"You didn't think to tell me other agents would be here tonight? Really?" He answers with a scowl. But then he sees the guilty look on her face and realizes she probably hadn't thought to tell him. She's never done anything to jeopardize his reputation prior to this, she's not out to get him and sometimes he has to remind himself that not everyone in his life is worthy of his air of mistrust.

Least of all her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. What are you all doing here though?" He asks, giving her fingers a quick reassuring squeeze before he puts some distance between them by stopping in the kitchen.

"Penelope has a mouse problem and J.J. lives in a shoebox."

"Hey!"

Emily ignores the shout from the living room. "I should've given you a heads up. It's just that I don't have a lot of girl friends and I was excited, it slipped my mind."

It's now that he realizes she's an emotional drunk, tears pooling in dark eyes and a quivering chin giving him all the clues he needs. He doesn't think before wrapping her an a hug, smiling into her hair when she returns it full force. "It's fine, Emily. Not a big deal, but I don't want to ruin the rest of your night. I already ate with Jack so I'll grab my water and head upstairs, okay?"

"You wouldn't ruin it." She adds with a sniffle, sad that he'd think such a thing.

"I know normally I wouldn't but it's a girls night and I think you and I are very certain I'm 100% man." He whispers to her, flexing his arms around her and giving her a subtle thrust of his hips that has her giggling wildly in his arms.

"Dork." She tells him, but she pulls away and gives him a smile and in minutes he's upstairs with his drinks and - she rolls her eyes - Gatsby from the coffee table and she's taking her place beside the girls on the floor.

"What. The. Fuck?" Garcia wastes no time in launching in once Hotch is safely upstairs.

"No, do not make this a big thing." Emily instructs her but not a second later and the other woman is joining in.

"What do you mean don't make it a thing? It's absolutely a thing!" J.J. hisses out, not actually angry but wanting to hear whatever gossip Emily is willing to share. It won't leave the walls of the apartment, they all have too much respect for the man to go spreading rumors but it doesn't mean they can't talk about the situation just between themselves.

"Explain, now." Garcia tells her, brows raised in warning should she think about evading their questions.

Emily sighs and peeks at the staircase, seeing no sign of their boss. "Okay, fine. But this does not leaving this room are we clear?" When both women nod seriously her voice dips. Hotch knows she has to give some sort of an explanation but she doesn't want him to have to listen in. "He and Haley have split. Like officially split."

"As in divorce papers pending?"

Emily nods to the technical analyst. "She kicked him out, he needed a place to stay and I offered my apartment. I have a spare room and it's not like we have conflicting schedules that would make it awkward. He gets to see Jack when we're in town but Haley has him most of the time, I don't think she knows he's staying here so Jack hasn't spent the night or anything and he got to see him tonight."

"How long has he been staying here?" J.J. asks with brows furrowed in sympathy. She's known about his marital issues since he'd told her about the split on the way to Kansas City, but she hadn't known it had escalated to the point of lawyers and custody battles.

"Just since the case in Milwaukee, but full disclosure he was staying here before that too. She told him to choose the BAU or their marriage, kicked him out with no place to go. He didn't want to do anything permanent like get an apartment so he crashed here for a few weeks before his suspension."

"You two seem close." Garcia points out in reference to the hug and the laughter in the kitchen.

Emily nods and sips her wine before she responds. "I think I'd go as far as to call him a friend."

"Just a friend?"

"Just a friend, don't make it weird, please?"

"Fine, but I do have a question." Emily nods for J.J. to continue and she smirks when she asks it. "Is Hotch a boxers or briefs kind of guy?"

~~~~~~~~~~

"Good morning - oh, sorry Emily I didn't mean to ignore you but your hair came through the door a few minutes before you. Good morning to you as well." He tells her, smirking when she glares at him across the island. She accepts the cup of coffee he offers her and sighs when she takes her seat, brushing the wild curls from her face with her free hand.

"God, could you please keep it down? Some of us are healing from bottles - yes, plural - of wine and tequila. We can't all be bright and chipper, Hotch." She grumbles back, feeling some of the tension behind her eyeballs slip away with the first few sips of the caffeinated beverage in her mug.

"That bad, huh?"

"Worse."

"Where are the ladies?" He asks, flipping a pancake - he's determined to figure out her recipe - and nodding toward the empty living room where pillows and blankets are strewn about.

"Gone. I slept upstairs, Garcia sent me a text. J.J. has a thing with her neighbor."

"And Garcia?"

"Something about the mice in her apartment having babies and a delay in something or other. I don't know, my eyes can barely focus and it was like 9am I can't be used as a reliable source of information on anything right now." She grumbles, the hangover she's sporting ruining what few social skills she has in the morning. Not that 11am is that early but considering she hadn't gone to sleep until close to four in the morning it's early enough.

"So, I hate to ask this but-"

"I didn't tell them anything." She answers before he can even ask the question. "Well, I told them we're living together while you look for a new apartment. Nothing specific, nothing they didn't already figure out on their own."

He smiles his thanks and hands her a plate of pancakes. "Thank you, really. I don't want this to make them uncomfortable."

She shakes her head while he grabs them a set of forks and knives. "No, they're fine about it." He looks at her expectantly when she takes a bite of her pancakes and she arches a brow in his direction. "A good effort, but still not my recipe."

"Fuck."

Chapter Text

He's gone days without talking to Haley. Entrenched in a difficult case out of the state it's easy to lose track of time, it's like the rest of his responsibilities just fade into the background when he's not sharing a space with his wife.

It turns out going days without speaking to someone when you're at home without a case and the person who won't talk to you is the person you live with is much harder.

Four days, - he glances at the clock on the wall - 13 hours, and 47 seconds.

She's furious.

Embarrassed.

Hurt.

He stands by what he said, he needs to know she can be objective. Offering to take on a traumatized teenager with their hours and travel demands isn't objectivity, but he also hadn't meant to embarrass her. She's fully capable of being a mother, he knows she'd be brilliant at it. But she can't take home victims, it's simply not an option. He hadn't realized then how close to home he'd been hitting, he hadn't realized how much he'd be hurting her.

So he stares down at the unanswered text on his phone suggesting he take her out to lunch. It's the latest in a very long line of unanswered messages. He's about to send another when J.J. walks in but he's glad it's with no urgency and without a file. He really doesn't want to be heading out on a case while he and Emily are still on the rocks.

"Hey Hotch, I'm going to grab Emily and head out."

"Head out?"

"Yeah, we're grabbing lunch at the Bistro down the street. I just wanted to let you know, we'll have our phones so if anything comes in I'll give you a call."

"Sounds good, thank you." She hesitates in the door and he puts his pen down, raising his brows expectantly. "Something else?"

She bites her lip and glances at Emily who's pulling her jacket on and she steps into the office, ensuring Emily won't be able to hear her over the sound of the office. "Is there anything you want me to say to her, for you? I know you're not talking and I don't know exactly what happened but I know she's upset. If you want I could pass something on, she might be more willing to hear it from me."

He glances down at the agent in question and brings his eyes back to the blonde, hopping she can maybe help repair things with Emily. "Just, tell her I'm sorry."

She nods and he watches the ladies link up, doesn't move his eyes back to his work until they're out of his line of sight.

He really hopes J.J. can help fix this, he misses his best friend.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Aright, fine. You don't want to talk about what Hotch may or may not have said, but we're not done here. You've been down ever sine the last case, it's been four days since we got back and we haven't had anything new come in. That's a reason to celebrate but you've turned down every offer for drinks, something is going on and we're talking about it."

"Can we not and say we did?"

"No." She meets dark eyes and softens her tone. "Carrie asked if there was any happy families and you didn't answer, it was like you didn't want to give her the wrong answer. And then what you said to me about trying to prove she can be a good daughter, it seemed to hit a little close to home."

Emily mindlessly stares into her salad, pushing around the lettuce and chicken in the bowl with her fork. "My grandmother died when I was 11. My mother was - understandably - upset and she made the funeral this huge deal. I'd never been to a funeral before so I didn't really know what to do but it went pretty well."

"Until?"

"Until everyone gathered back at the house after we left the cemetery. I was 11, I didn't really understand the gravity of the situation and she'd lived in the mountains with my grandfather, I didn't see her that often. I wasn't sobbing or really all that distraught. So I was running around with a few other kids my age and I bumped into this fucking life sized ice sculpture of my grandmother. It was ridiculous I don't even know why something like that would be at a wake, but it was."

"I see where this is going."

"It crashed to the floor and everyone just stared at me. Nobody knew what to say. My mother distracted everyone and then took me upstairs, told me I'd ruined everything. She's never been the warmest person, she's not getting any mother of the year awards, but she'd never looked at me like that."

"Like what?"

Emily gives a tight smile and chokes out a strangled laugh. "Like she regretted having me at all." She clears her throat and drops her fork to the salad, pushing it away. "After that I did everything I could to make up for it. I got straight A's, moved to new countries without complaining, kept my room spotless, never spoke out of turn."

"You were trying to be a good daughter." J.J. finishes for her.

"Yeah, and it was exhausting. I was 15 when I finally dropped the act, started causing trouble because if I couldn't get her attention being the perfect daughter I'd get it by causing trouble. And the thing is, it didn't even work. She told me I could do whatever I wanted as long as it didn't ruin her reputation. Told me not to get caught, but beyond that I could take care of myself. Our relationship is better now, but I can't just pretend she gave me any kind of support growing up beyond that of a financial kind."

J.J. is horrified, her brain unable to comprehend how a mother could be so cruel to her only child. "What about your dad?"

"He wasn't around." She doesn't elaborate beyond that so J.J. doesn't push for more.

She's not sure what to say, she knows nothing is going to make it better and she hopes getting that off her chest will help her heal. "So, I have a message. And maybe it's not the right time, but I think you fighting with Hotch is probably making what you're going through even harder."

Emily rolls her eyes and nods for her to relay the message.

"He said he's sorry."

She furrows her brows. "That's it? No begging for me to forgive him? No demanding we talk about it?"

"No, I think he's just trying to give you the space to come to him when you're ready. But for what it's worth, I think he really misses you."

~~~~~~~~~~

It's late when Hotch comes home, the budget meeting had run an hour late and he'd grabbed something to eat on the way home in case Emily had tried to make him a meal. An 'accidental' poisoning would be very much her style and it probably wouldn't taste any different than her normal cooking anyway.

He sets the alarm for the apartment and hangs his jacket in the closet, surprised when he sees Emily waiting for him in the living room.

"Oh, I didn't think you'd still be awake." He tells her, hoping she's finally ready to talk.

"You were right." She blurts out, blushing when all he gives her is a look of confusion. "Sorry, probably shouldn't have started there." She takes a seat on the couch and motions for him to do the same. When he's sat next to her she starts in again. "What you said about my needing to be objective, you were right. Carrie is traumatized, she needs someone who can be present for her when she needs them, someone who can stay here with her when she has nightmares and can take her to all her appointments and hold her hand when she's scared. I can't give her that, not with the hours we work, not with the travel we do for cases."

"Exactly, that's all I was trying to say. I think you'd be a great mother, but Carrie needs more than a mother right now, she needs a caregiver and let's be honest none of us can be that. Not even me, and I have a son."

"I know, and I'm not angry anymore."

"You're not?" He asks with a hopeful smile, happy to be getting his best friend back.

"I'm not. But I did do some thinking and I came up with a solution!"

"Yeah?"

She nods with an excited smile on her face and stands up, leaving for the dining room and coming back with a small crate. He's stunned into silence, knowing there's definitely something that's alive in that crate. She sets it on the coffee table and pulls out a small black cat that purrs in her arms when she cradles it to her chest.

"I got a cat!"

"I can see that." He answers with wide eyes locked on the cat who's staring at him. If he's not mistaken - and after years of profiling he's sure he's not - the cat looks like it isn't his biggest fan.

"His name is Sergio, he's only three months old. He's cute isn't he?" She coos down at the cat with an almost dreamy look on her face and he can't bring himself to be upset at this development.

"He's very cute."

"But think about it, cats are kind of high maintenance but so am I so I can't very well blame him for that. But they're more independent than dogs and the next door neighbor has a cat and she agreed to take care of him while we're out of town! It's perfect don't you think?" She smiles at him hopefully, waiting for a positive reaction.

All he cares about is that they seem to be in a good place again so he plasters a smile on his face and nods his agreement.

"He's perfect."

~~~~~~~~~~

The cat, it turns out, is less than perfect.

It starts the very next day with a fresh shit in his work shoes that makes him gag. He's been surrounded by decomposing bodies and hasn't gagged but he's sure Sergio is just nervous and lets it slide.

Until of course the cat - while his back is turned for two seconds - steals the steak off his plate and manages to wolf down half the eight-ounce sirloin before he can grab the damn feline. He chalks it up to a lack of training, he is a new cat of course and he was a pound kitten - found on the side of the road and nursed back to health with bottle feeds and heated blankets.

And then of course after an easy day consults and other paperwork he and Emily come home expecting to have a nice night together starting with a pasta she knows how to cook - one of few things on a list of edible items she can prepare - and hopefully ending with her seated on his lap with their clothes gathered on the floor.

Instead when he gets three feet in the door Sergio darts out from under the entryway table and manages to tangle himself between his feet and then before he knows it his face is meeting the ground and he's met with the sight of his own blood on the floor and tears swimming in his eyes from the force of the hit to his nose.

He expects Emily to rush to his side but when he looks up she's holding a yowling cat with tears in her eyes saying she's had him only a few days and that he's already managed to break the poor thing.

Him! As if this is his fault!

And then she seems to notice his wounded state and she rushes to the living room telling him to stay where she is and that she just has to get Sergio to the couch and she'll be right back. He swears he sees the little shit smirking over her shoulder at him.

She helps him get cleaned up and she gets him a new ice pack when his melts and she's rubbing his back and holding his hand for the rest of the night and even helps him into bed before she goes off with Sergio who sleeps in her room.

He's fine but he won't say no to a little attention so he lets her do it, knows it makes her feel better and he enjoys being close with her.

The next day he's still just as fine as he was the night before but the cat is milking this for everything it's worth. He's limping all over the place so Emily resorts to carrying him around and when she heads out to get a pet papoose - he can't believe how fucking ridiculous she's being about this - and the wildly expensive cat food she thinks will make 'Little Serge' feel better the cat stops limping.

"Oh my god, you fucking liar." He says aloud, staring at the cat stretching on the floor in front of him just to prove how fine he is. "You just wanted her to hold you, didn't you?"

The cat jumps up on the couch and lays himself along the armrest, glaring at him from across the cushions.

"Well I hope you enjoyed it, the act ends here." He calls Emily and tells her he's sure the cat is fine, that she can come home and they can eat dinner together in the city like he'd planned. She isn't so sure and insists she'll be home soon and if he's fine they'll go out, but if he's still hurting they'll have to stay in.

He devises a plan.

He gets out his phone and pulls up the camera, starting a video and grabbing one of several cat toys he knows Sergio can't resist. He starts in, smiling when the cat starts to follow every movement of the feather.

"That's right, come on. Go for the toy buddy, go for the toy." He sounds crazy but he knows this is the only way the cat is going to out himself and when the feline stands and gets prepared for a jump he knows he's got this in the bag.

And then four feet touch the ground and the cat starts yowling once more.

In a panic he shuts his phone and he's not sure how Sergio knows it but the second the camera is gone his yowling comes to a halt and he takes the feathered toy from the human and starts playing on his own.

When Emily gets home she gives him a pat on the cheek and tells him they'll do dinner another night, that she has her cat to take care of and that he'll have to get used to not being the only man in her life.

He hates the damn cat.

Chapter Text

Emily - as a general statement - considers herself brave.

She's stared down serial killers, terrorists, the barrel of one too many guns, and she keeps coming back for more.

She hasn't - up to this point at least - found herself close to pissing herself.

But it's not every day you find yourself sitting across from the woman who's husband you're sleeping with.

She'll take a terrorist with a gun any day.

"So, I thought it high time we met."

"How did you find where I live?" Emily questions hesitantly, not wanting to be a bitch and accuse her of something untoward given what she herself has done.

"Aaron gave me this address when I kicked him out and it hasn't changed. I figured he must be staying with someone on the team, I assumed it would be you since he's closest to you." Emily winces and Haley takes a breath, previously steeled eyes softening. "Look, I'm not here to yell at you or throw things or call you any one of the things I've thought in the past weeks. It won't undo anything."

"So what are you doing here?"

"I'm here for Jack. I got the impression Aaron will be staying here for the time being, likely long term. If that's the case I needed to meet you, I need to make sure you're someone I can trust with my son."

Emily's posture straightens and Haley holds up a hand. "I didn't mean anything by it, I know logically you won't hurt my son but I needed to come see for myself. Besides, this place is far from baby proofed."

Emily points to three bags settled in the corner of the living room and awkwardly scratches the back of her head. "Hotch actually just picked up some things, covers for the table corners and a gate for the stairs and dial covers for the stove."

"Good, that's a great start. Is it okay if I leave this list for you? Just of things he can eat and things he can't in case you end up feeding him before he's got more teeth?" She pulls out a piece of paper and Emily nods, surprised by the lack of aggression from the blonde. She isn't sure she'd be half as nice if she was in her position.

"Um, yes of course."

"There's the few things he's allergic to and then things he's not old enough for, choking hazards." She pulls out a stuffed rabbit next, taking a breath before she passes the toy over. "This is Rory, Jack's favorite toy. We have two now, he can't tell the difference between them. He won't sleep without it so I figured you should have one here."

"Thank you."

They sit in an uncomfortable silence, neither sure where to go from here.

"I guess that's it, do you have any questions?" Emily shakes her head so the blonde stands, giving her a smile and heading toward the door with Emily only a step behind her. "Then I'll head out, it was nice meeting you."

"Actually I do have a question." She blurts out once the mother of one passes through the door, taking a step back when Haley turns to face her. Maybe she's spent too long around the wrong kind of people but she half expects her to throw out a fist.

She wouldn't blame her.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" The other woman sighs and lets out a laugh that Emily doesn't understand. "What's funny?"

"It's just that I always thought if this happened it would be some casual hookup, someone Aaron just drunkenly blew off some steam with. But that's clearly not what this is. I don't want to be the reason Jack hates his stepmother, I don't want that for us either. We should be able to get along, we don't have to be friends but for the sake of my son we have to just be fine with what happened between you and my husband."

Emily sputters, almost slamming the door in Haley's face and getting started on tossing Hotch's things out the windows of the apartment. "Stepmother? No, no you misunderstand. It's not like that, it's never been like that. It's nothing serious."

"Are you sure about that?" Haley asks with a raised brow, motioning toward the apartment. "Because Aaron doesn't do anything half-assed, and from the looks of it he's making himself at home with you. Maybe you should ask him, I've known him a long time and I think this is something real for him. Even if he doesn't know it yet." She gives Emily a tight smile and a nod. "Have a good day, Emily."

"Yeah, you too."

When Hotch throws the door open three minutes later he looks around in a panic, breathing a sigh of relief when he spots Emily safe and sound on the couch with a perplexed look on her face.

"Oh thank god, I saw Haley coming out of the building. I thought she'd-"

"I don't think Haley is capable of murder, Hotch. And even if she was, I have a gun." Emily tells him, rolling her eyes at his melodramatic entrance. "Can you sit down please?"

"Oh, yeah. What's wrong? What did she want?"

Emily - as a general statement - considers herself brave.

She's stared down serial killers, terrorists, the barrel of one too many guns, and she keeps coming back for more.

She hasn't - up to this point at least - found herself close to pissing herself.

But it's not every day you find yourself sitting across from your boss asking if he wants to wife you up and fill you with babies.

"Are you trying to get me pregnant?"

"Am I what?" He shrieks, the look of alarm on his face washing away some of her anxiety about this situation.

"Haley suggested you're not as casual about this relationship as you say you are. She thought I should ask."

"Oh, is that all?"

Emily's brows furrow. "Um, does there need to be more?"

"Well, I don't think you should be taking relationship advice from Haley, no matter how good her intention-"

A knock at the door interrupts their conversation and Emily holds a hand out to him before he has the chance to get up. "No, I'll get it. I don't want you near the door, lest you try and escape." She walks toward and the door and he furrows his brows at her retreating form.

"Do you want to have my babies?" He shouts at her as she pulls open the door, regretting his choice to make this conversation public knowledge when she opens her mouth.

"Daddy?"

~~~~~~~~~~

When Emily returns home she's different, quieter than she had been when she'd left with her father. The man had stopped in for a few minutes to say hello and then he and Emily had left for a surprise dinner. He doesn't remember much about Everette Prentiss and Emily doesn't offer much when he asks. All he gets is some company line about security clearances. She says they're close, that when he was around while she was young - which to be fair wasn't a lot - he was more present than her mother ever had been.

"So, I think we should talk about what I said before." Emily starts, shoving her hands into her back pockets.

"Emily, we're good friends who sleep together, I'm not asking for your hand in marriage or for my children to take up residence in your uterus." That finally pulls a smile out of her and he gives her a dimple of his own.

"You're not?"

"No! I haven't even gotten divorced yet I'm not planning a second marriage."

He sees the relief on her face and doesn't tell her that he's ungodly attracted to her, that he loves the way he feels when he's with her, that he wants to tell his stupid little brother about her and watch her play with his son.

He doesn't say those things because he knows her, knows she'll run for the hills and never look back.

"Really? Because Haley seemed really sure." She seems reluctant to accept his answer.

"I think Haley just met the woman her husband slept with, maybe she's just rocking the boat I can't really say for sure. But I have no plans of a wedding or babies, okay?"

"Well, are you even sure you're ready for whatever the hell we're doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's just that we've been happening for a while, before the separation. And after you moved in we didn't stop it, it's like you jumped from Haley to me. You may not have been in love with her toward the end, but you still love her. You've been married a long time, you've known her since high school, she's the mother of your son, those feelings don't just go away. I Just think maybe you should take some time to be completely unattached, including from me. Maybe it's time we take a step back, you deserve some time to mourn the loss of a marriage."

"Em, I'm fine. I've thought about it and I feel okay. My marriage was over long before you came into the picture, I just didn't want to admit it."

"You're sure you don't want to take a break? I wouldn't be upset, like you said we're not dating. I just want you to be sure that this is what you want, I don't want you to end up resenting me because of this later. For, I don't know, not giving you time to process?"

"How about we make a deal?" She nods for him to continue. "You and I will keep doing whatever it is we're doing, and you stop worrying about it."

"Hotch." She rolls her eyes, irritated that he's not taking her seriously.

"Emily I've made this choice out of a desire to be with you, not to avoid dealing with my feelings about the divorce. I like being with you, I'm happy with the way things are."

She bites her lip and gives herself a few seconds to think it over, deciding that if he says he's fine there's not much she can do to make him reconsider. And why should she? It's not like she's gaining anything out of him needing a break.

"You'll tell me if it gets too much."

He smiles and plants a kiss on her forehead. "Yes. Now, tell me. What did you and your father talk about?"

~~~~~~~~~~

David Rossi might have been out of the profiling game for a while, but he's not stupid.

He picks up on it the first day.

It starts with a comment about another agent. "Wow. We didn't have that 10 years ago." He says aloud when Agent Jareau has left the office.

"What do you mean?"

"Communications coordinator." He covers, sensing the feathers he's ruffled.

"Right. Agent Jareau is off limits, Dave." Hotch tells him, grabbing a file from his desk.

"What about the other one?" He's only half joking - the woman in the bullpen isn't as much his type as a blonde but she's stunning - but he can actually see Hotch's posture straightening under his suit jacket. "Agent Prentiss I believe she's called. She looks like she could have some strong Italian genes, her hair is darker than mine. Now that is a woman I could take home to Nonna."

"All of the agents are off limits, Em- Agent Prentiss included."

He doesn't miss the slip up and he may not know Unit Chief Hotchner as well as he does his buddy Aaron, but he knows he's not that familiar with all the agents on his team.

These are only clues though and he recalls the countless phone calls he'd made to Haley back when they'd worked together a decade ago. He recalls the conversations between a man in love and a wife waiting for him at home, excitement about trying for a baby.

Had things really changed so much in the three years since they've seen each other?

He decides he'll let it go, give it time to play out.

And then he actually meets Agent Prentiss and he doesn't miss the way they glance at each other when they think he's not looking. He also doesn't miss the way Hotch's eyes keep moving between the two of them, the way they linger on her and he seems nervous during their interaction. Sure, he could chalk it up to a Unit Chief being eager for him to form strong inter-team connections to make the transition smoother but he's pretty sure that's not it.

Which is how he finds himself standing in the doorway to Hotch's office, glancing down at the team before he steps into the room.

"You said out there, the team shares everything."

"That's right."

"There is no 'I'?"

"Uh-huh."

"It seems a big thing to withhold, separating from your wife, your child."

"What are you talking about?"

"You used to call Haley ten times a day. We've been together 48 hours, I haven't seen you call her once. Haven't mentioned her, and you're not going home now."

"What's your point?"

"I guess you're just not used to sharing. If you were, maybe you would've told the rest of team about yourself and Agent Prentiss."

Hotch does his best not to shift on his feet, does his best not to give himself away. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Did you start sleeping with her before or after the separation?"

"Dave."

"Are you sleeping with her now? Or was it a one time thing? Did she come on to you or the other way around?"

"Dave, stop!" He bites out, surprising the older man with the intensity of his anger. "I won't have you stand here and accuse her of being something she's not."

"And what's that?"

"A homewrecker. My issues with Haley started long before she arrived. Is she innocent? No. Am I? God no. But she isn't some fling and she's not responsible for my separation and I won't allow you to take out your anger about your failed marriages out on a colleague, especially not on her."

Rossi's brows furrow and he lets out a surprised laugh. "Oh my god, you're in love with her."

"I'm not."

"Well you're sure as hell getting there!" Aaron doesn't respond, knows Dave will just dig in deeper if he gets defensive. "When did it start?"

"16 years ago."

"What?" His eyes are almost comically wide, his jaw hanging to the floor.

"No, sorry I didn't mean that. I knew her 16 years ago, we hit it off, it was casual and only when Haley and I were broken up she was adamant about that."

"She seems to have gotten over that particular hang-up."

"Dave." He warns, a brow arched.

"Sorry."

"Anyway, we reconnected when she joined the team. Before the separation we slept together a few times and I'm staying with her now."

"You're living with her?"

"I didn't have anywhere to go, Dave. And regardless of the reason she is a safe place to land!" He takes a calming breath and blows it back out. "I like her, a lot actually. We're close, and I haven't had that in a long time. Things are easy with her, so please don't go ruining that. For either of us. Just treat her how you would any other agent, she doesn't deserve anything less from you."

"Alright, I'll do my best."

"Thank you."

He heads for the door and glances back at his friend. "For what it's worth, she seems like a nice girl."

Chapter Text

Dave is many things, but a cheater isn't one of them. It makes it hard for him to trust the dark haired woman on the team, he doesn't like adulatory. Of course he knows his old friend Aaron is just as guilty - if not more so because he is technically the only cheater of the two - but he has past history to draw from with him. He knows that - adultery aside - he's a good person, a good man, a good father, a good agent.

He doesn't know shit about Emily Prentiss beyond her status as the other woman - he's trying to be nice and not jump to calling her a homewrecker - and he trusts her about as far as he can throw her.

None of these conclusions are helped when he finds her in his office with her two male colleagues, the three of them standing around profiling what little of his office is finished.

"Uh, Italian, strict Catholic upbringing, probably believes in redemption."

He chooses now to interrupt, cutting off whatever responses were coming Reid's way. "Well, I believe in a lot of things." Their heads snap up and he feels a small surge of satisfaction when they look like children caught with their hands in the cookie jar. "Catholic, yes. Italian-American, 52 years. Strict upbringing, not so much. Now, the artwork, that's 15th-century, original. Costs more than my first house. And as for the wall color, it's just a base coat. Painters will come by and finish tomorrow."

Emily and Morgan glance at each other, hoping the other will say something to make this even a smidge less uncomfortable.

"Now, if you're all finished, I think J.J. and Hotch are ready for us." He throws a pointed look to Morgan. "Isn't that how a team works?"

Reid flees immediately, Morgan following closely behind. Emily moves to leave with them but stops when she reaches the door, looking back at the man who's typing away on his phone. She smiles, leaning back over the threshold. "Picking out a new paint color?"

His head snaps up and he almost makes a comment about her snide remark, but seeing the dimples in her cheeks and the lack of judgement on her face he knows this is an olive branch.

He decides to accept, if for no other reason than wanting to figure out what the hell is so special about her for Aaron to be so infatuated.

"Yep, apparently taupe is linked to loneliness and being emotionally distant."

She lets out a breathy chuckle and he has to admit, the woman is beautiful and her smile is contagious. "I'm sure you don't need me to tell you this, but coming from the newest member of the team who had a fairly rocky start, you'll settle. And don't mind Morgan, he doesn't trust easily and Gideon leaving his us all pretty hard."

He nods, understanding the hesitation from the team. It's not like he's being forthcoming about the whole reason he's here. "Thank you, Prentiss."

She flashes a dimple his way. "When we're alone, call me Emily."

He returns her pearly whites with a smile of his own. "Alright Emily, call me Dave."

Maybe she isn't so bad after all.

~~~~~~~~~~

"You should really be getting home."

"I'm sorry?"

"To Emily, you should go check on her."

Hotch's brows pull together. "What do you mean?"

"Aaron, when we went into that room she ran out of Goehring's house like it was on fire and she's barely said one word since we've been back. Something in that room set her off and with the gadgets he had in there I can't imagine what did it. But one thing is for sure, you can't possibly think sitting here going over the files is more worth your time than going home to her is."

"I thought you didn't like her."

Rossi tilts his head, giving a slight nod. "She's more complex than I thought, definitely a good agent too. Which is why you shouldn't be here. Leave, make sure she's alright."

By the time Hotch gets home it's almost 9 and he's shocked that Emily's already in bed. She's a night owl, thrives in the dark and the quiet spaces. He frequently has to force her to bed, drag her up the stairs and wear her out himself. Not that he's complaining, but it makes this situation all the more unusual.

He's not going to wake her though when she already struggles to get enough sleep as is.

He keeps his bedroom door open though, knowing if she needs him he'll hear her just a few feet down the hall from her own room.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hotch sits up when he wakes, brows furrowed while he tries to figure out what's woken him. He glances at the alarm clock on his nightstand that reads 2:13am but he hears shuffling from down the hall and he knows Emily is on the move.

But she doesn't come out of her room for a midnight snack like she often does and he doesn't hear the sound of classical music that occasionally floats gently from her room to his that tells him that she's curled up on the window seat with a book and her cat.

He hears footsteps, clumsy and frantic, and he's out of bed, stumbling his own way toward the door. He makes it to the hall and knocks on her door and the footsteps stop, the sound of a throat clearing on the other side taking its place.

"I'm fine!" She croaks through the door and he hears her footsteps moving further away from him.

"Can you open the door please?"

"Do you need something?"

"I need to see for myself that you're alright, please?"

It's a few moments before he hears the sound of the locks on her bedroom door - he hasn't yet mustered up the courage to ask why she has a deadbolt on her bedroom door but he thinks this might encourage that conversation to happen sooner rather than later - and she cracks it open just enough for him to be satisfied.

"I'm fine, is that it?" She moves to shut the door again and he reaches out, grasping her fingers in his own.

"Emily, what's wrong?"

"Nothing I'm fine I said, can you just drop it?"

He sees her glance back at the bed and it's then that he notices the pile of bedding on the floor, the lack of pants and the red rimmed eyes that match the color on her cheeks.

"Emily, d-did you wet the bed?"

Large brown eyes immediately fill with tears and he hates that she's embarrassed about him seeing this, hates that her instinct is to pull away from him.

He's not going to let her.

He pushes the door open and steps in, yanking her to his chest into what he believes is the best hug he's given her. She melts into it and sobs against his chest and he knows she thinks so too.

"Hey, it's okay. It happens, you're alright." He tells her, feeling sweaty skin against his shoulder. Between the accident and the layer of sweat she's covered in he knows exactly what's happened.

Night terrors

The sobs wracking her body are interuptted by the occasional hiccup and he knows her throat must be sore with how hard she's crying. He doesn't try and stop her though, just holds her and welcomes the weight she puts on him and hopes his presence is helping.

It's almost 15 minutes before her sobbing turns to sniffles and she's wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

"Okay, before you even try and apologize I'm telling you now that we're skipping that. You haven't got anything to be sorry for, I just wish you'd come and gotten me to help."

"I didn't want to wake you up."

Her voice is raspy and it pains him to see her like this, especially when he's so painfully unaware of what's causing her emotional turmoil.

"You can wake me up anytime, I want to help." He presses a kiss to the top if her head. "Which is what's about to happen. Come on." He guides her into the bathroom and turns the water on, sitting her on the lid of the toilet and brushing back damp hair from her forehead where it's sticking. "Can you hop in the shower for me while I change the sheets?"

"You don't have to-"

"It's a simple yes or no, honey." He tells her with a dimple in his cheek, pleased when she gives him a weak smile.

"Yeah."

"Alright, I'll come back I promise."

With that he's off, grabbing the pile of bedding from the end of the bed and shoving it into the washing machine on his way down the hall. He changes the settings and makes a mental note to start it after she's out of the shower, he doesn't want to steal her hot water and force her out before she's ready. He rushes downstairs and collects the few things he needs, knowing this by heart. He'd taken care of many late night accidents when Sean was growing up and having a young child at home has given him a more recent refresher.

He mixes the cocktail of hydrogen peroxide from the guest bathroom, baking soda and dish soap from the cabinet, and pours it into a spare pray bottle that he shakes on his way upstairs, a towel tossed over his shoulder and the baking soda box in his other hand.

He makes a quick stop at the linen closet, grabbing blankets and pillows and setting them up in his bedroom before he makes his way to hers.

He hears the shower running, can tell from the way it's hitting the tile that she's gotten herself under the spray and he's considering that a win. He blots at the wet spot on the mattress for a few minutes, making sure he's gotten out as much moisture as he can before he sprays the solution he's created on the slightly damp area on the otherwise clean mattress. He sets a timer on his phone and leaves it on the nightstand beside her bed, leaving the solution to soak before he pours the baking soda on top.

He steps into the bathroom and his chest aches when he sees her. She's gotten herself in the shower but it doesn't appear that she's done anything else. She stands under the showerhead, her arms wrapped protectively around herself and he can see her fingers just barely grazing over the scars on her sides. He knows from personal experience that sometimes the scars hurt worse with time, that after a rough night full of memories of what put them there, they ache.

He's been shot a few times and after hard cases that leave him jolting out of a nightmare, the scars hurt.

He strips out of his own clothes, refusing to let her stand in the shower for an hour when she looks like someone just shot her cat and left it for her to find.

He's never seen her like this and he doesn't intend to let her ride this - whatever this is - out alone.

He joins her in the shower and shuts the glass door behind himself, gently pulling her against his chest. She doesn't even bother fighting him, just rests her cheek against his chest and wraps her arms around his waist and clasps her hands together against his lower back to keep him close. He rests his head atop her, keeps her back under the warm water so she doesn't get cold and runs one hand over her hair while the other keeps a firm grip around her ribcage.

His fingers brush over the scars on her right side and when she doesn't push his hand away - but rather leans more heavily against him - he knows it's helping.

They stand still for ten minutes, soaking up as much of each other as they can, before they come to the conclusion that it's okay to move again.

He does most of the work for her, soaping up her loofa and paying extra attention to the areas below the waist because he knows she feels gross. He massages her shampoo in her scalp and tips her head back under the spray of the water until the water runs clear, and then he conditions the ends - he's not sure why it's just the end of her hair but he doesn't even want to hear the explanation that's sure to go right over his head - before he pulls her against him once more.

He flips her hair over her shoulder and wraps both arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder and pressing a kiss to her cheek. She can feel his heart beating against her back and she lets that keep her grounded.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better." She husks back, her voice still thick with emotion.

"Yeah?" She nods against his cheek lets his fingers dance over her scars, welcoming the soothing touch of his fingertips on scar tissue that shouldn't hurt but somehow does. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" When she shakes her head - with no hesitation - he tightens his hold on her. "That's okay, I'll just hold you."

They stand like that until the five minutes for her conditioner to sit are over and when he shuts the water off he scrunches her hair the best he can and helps her slip on the robe from the hook on the wall.

"Stay here, I'll be right back." He instructs, leaving her sitting on the counter while he hurries back to the bedroom. The timer is seconds from going off when he reaches it, shutting off the alarm before it has the chance to disturb her. He makes quick work of the baking soda and reminds himself to pick it up in the morning when he vacuums the white powder.

"There, easy enough." He says to himself, returning to find Emily looking better than when he'd left her. "Ready for bed?" She nods and hops down, gasping the hand he offers and following him to the bedroom.

"There's no sheets." She mentions, motioning to the bed.

"I want to give the baking soda the chance to keep the mattress from staining, you're sleeping in my bed."

She doesn't move with him when he keeps walking toward the door so he stops. "I don't sleep with other people." She tells him. It's a conversation they've had once before. She's slept beside exactly two people in the last four years, the occurrences accumulating to five times she's slept with another person since she's been back in the states. She tells him very little about why but he's sure it's to do with why her bedroom resembles Fort Knox in it's security system.

"I know that." He tells her, tugging gently on her fingers. She's skeptical but she follows him anyway, wandering into his bedroom where he looks at her with an expectant smile. "You take the bed."

The bed looks warm and she knows it smells like him and she wants nothing more than to wrap herself up in the comforter and let the scent of his aftershave lull her to sleep.

"You don't have to-"

"I'm keeping watch." He tells her, motioning to the way his own set up on the floor is half in the bedroom and half in the hallway. His gun rests beside the pillow and he's plugged in the nightlight he uses for Jack. "I don't know what's wrong, but I know if I let you stay in your room you're not going to sleep. You don't feel safe. Let me help." He leads her to the bed and he's happy when she doesn't fight him, instead she lets him pull the robe off her shoulders and she lets him pull the blankets up to her neck once she's settled on the pillows.

"Thank you." She husks out, her voice thick once more but this time she's overwhelmed by what he's done for her rather than what lies in her dreams.

"You're welcome." He kisses her forehead and slips into his bed for the night, sighing when Sergio walks over to where he's laying on the floor. He expects a swat to the face and he's surprised when the cat instead rubs his head under his chin, purring affectionately for the first time in his presence.

He hesitantly puts his hand out and when the cat nuzzles his palm he gives him a few gentle strokes. "I know buddy, I'm worried about her too." He says softly, jerking his head toward the bed where she's sleeping. "Go on, she needs you more than I do."

He watches the cat hop up on the bed and slide his way under her arm, sees her arm tighten around the feline and he hopes that even if he can't lay with her the presence of the cat can help her sleep through the night.

~~~~~~~~~~

When Emily wakes a few minutes before the alarm is set to go off she takes the time to think about what's happened.

This was supposed to be easy, casual sex between two good friends.

Simple enough.

And yet she's snuggled up in Hotch's bed and he's snoozing on the floor for the simple purpose of making her feel better.

This was supposed to be easy, and now she's sure that she's falling in love with her boss.

Fuck.

Chapter Text

The sun comes up over the horizon and Emily adds a tic mark to the wall. It's rather unfortunate that the marks on the wall are smears of her own blood but she's got nothing else to keep track of the time and not knowing is not an option. Her nails are far too blunt to scratch the marks into the wood and there's very little within these walls she can bring herself to touch to carve them into the wall. It's not like she's not anxiously picking at the wound that's begging for her to ease up so she can heal. She shouldn't be reopening the gash but she's scared and she can't seem to stop. She tells herself she might as well put the nervous habit to good use, wetting her fingers and leaving a tally on the wall keep track of the days without having the go searching through the rest of the room.

Eight days of nothing but her thoughts and the occasional sighting of Liam to bring her water and moldy bread she has yet to touch. The water she sips slowly, refusing to down it all in one go should it be laced with something that would leave her vulnerable.

She tells herself Ian wouldn't really hurt her, after all she's mostly unscathed and if it had been anyone else she'd be as dead as the guy she's stuck in here with.

Emily glances to the corner where she's moved him, her stomach rolling at the sight before her as much as at the situation she finds herself in.

It's Montana, they're in the middle of what Jeremy would refer to as bumfuck nowhere. Her team won't be able to get to her, the place has hills but Ian isn't stupid, they've got cameras in every direction.

They'd be a seen a mile out.

Which means its down to her own skillset to get herself out. Not that she'd have anywhere to go because she really has no god damn clue about the Montana wilderness and it's been far too long since she's gone through wilderness survival training. The team has been twice since she's been under so she's long overdue, but then again they hadn't planned for this.

"Emily." Her name jolts her out of her thoughts and she glances at her roommate, eyebrows raised in question. "You've been washing that same pan for almost 15 minutes, I don't think it can get any cleaner."

She looks down at the pan in her hands that she's damn near scrubbed the copper lining off of and gives him a soft smile. "Sorry." She lays the pan on the drying rack and shuts off the sink, drying her hands on the towel that she leaves on the counter to join him at the island.

"You're acting weird today." He tells her when she moves in behind him, wrapping her arms around him and laying her cheek on his back.

"I guess I am, aren't I?"

"Is it the house?" He asked hesitantly. She'd left Floyd Ferell's house with a dazed look her face, colored a ghastly shade of white and with her hands shaking.

"Yeah." She answers softly, pressing her forehead against a notch in his spine and screwing her eyes shut. The smell in the house had been far too familiar for her. "Sorry I made you stop on the way back."

She's referencing the three times she'd had him pull over on the way back to the station. She'd jump out of the car and spend the next few minutes throwing up what little she had in her stomach until all she could do was cough up stomach acid that burned her throat. "It's okay, we all have our Achille's heel." He squeezes a hand that's laying on his chest, bringing it up so he can kiss her palm. She likes when he does that and as expected he feels her smile against his back. "You ready for bed?"

"No actually, not yet. Can we stay like this for a minute?"

"Of course."

She debates it for the next five minutes and he can almost hear the gears turning in her head.

She could tell him, just get it over with. But if she does that he's going to have follow up questions.

Questions she can't answer.

Questions she doesn't want to answer.

It's not that she doesn't trust him, it's not that she's ashamed of what she's done.

She doesn't want him to look at her differently, things are good between them and with her recent realization that she's falling for him she's not ready for things to go south.

She knows though that eventually not telling him won't be an option. He'll lock her in her room and tell her she's not getting out until she starts talking. Logically speaking she knows if she really wanted to she could knock him on his ass but she really doesn't want it to come to that.

She knows though that she can't keep it a secret forever. It'll come out one of two ways. She'll have to tell him for them to move forward - she tries to ignore the voice in the back of her head that tells her he doesn't have romantic feelings for her - because she refuses to live in a lie. He deserves more from her than that, deserves the truth if they ever even get to the point of discussing a future.

That may never happen, she won't have to tell him because he may tell her she's made all this up. That he's not in love with her, that she's fallen for a man who feels very little for her.

The other option is that she'll crack, she'll see something or hear something or god forbid feel something that'll break her and she'll tell him the story in between broken sobs and panic attacks.

That's the option she wants to happen least. She wants to tell him because she trusts him, not because she's unwell.

So she blurts it out.

"A bear trap."

After a few moments she feels him stiffen in her arms, knows he's putting the pieces together.

"A bear trap?"

"Yeah." She takes a deep breath, steadying herself for the story she's about to tell. She wishes the scars on her torso are the worst part but truthfully that's not what keeps her up at night. They're nothing more than a reminder of everything that led up to that moment. "Custom made."

"Custom made? For what?" He's bewildered, unable to fathom a reason why someone would need to build a trap to their specifications.

"To keep people out. Or I guess maybe just as much to keep people in."

"And by custom made, you mean.." He trails off, not sure he even wants to know.

"Wider, a hair trigger, steel jaws-"

"Steel jaws on bear traps are illegal."

"Not everywhere, and I think maybe if someone is making exaggerated bear traps for people they don't care much about hunting laws."

"I suppose not."

"Anyway, I fell on it. The damn thing snapped shut as far as it could. Not all the way obviously, a ribcage is wider than a leg or an arm."

"Those are deep wounds, a bear trap isn't desig-"

"It was designed to keep people from running. If by some chance a captive got free they'd be lucky if they'd still have the limb attached, forget walking on it." She gives a shrug, trying to play it off like she's not giving him a rather good idea of what she's been involved in prior to the BAU. "When I said custom made I meant it. The spikes on the jaws were longer, sharper, than what you'd find on anything sold commercially."

"But it was an accident, you said you fell on it."

"Because I was running."

"From what?"

"Not what, who."

She's cut off by his phone ringing and she hears him swear, angry that something has interrupted a very important story that he's desperate to hear.

"Just one minute, don't move." He tells her, slipping out of her grasp. He can already tell by the look on her face that she's done talking for the night, that she's given away enough for now and that he'll have to wait for the rest.

If she even gets the courage to tell him.

"Hello." A brief pause and furrowed brows. "Yes."

She furrows her brows at him, feeling the hair on the back of her neck stand up on end. She's seen him worried before but she's never seen him with that look on his face.

He's terrified.

"I'm on my way." He hangs up and takes a moment to clear his throat.

"What is it?"

"Penelope has been shot."

~~~~~~~~~~

It's been a shit show.

Between Garcia's suspension and Rossi tearing her a new one in her own god damn living room, everyone is on edge.

"Are you sure about this? You could get in a lot of trouble, you could lose your job, you could be ar-"

"Penelope, stop rambling and log in." Emily tells her, sliding the laptop back over to the technical analyst. She's been locked out, her login is invalid, and they need a way in.

Emily naturally offers up her own username and password.

"You don't have to, this could cost you everything." Morgan informs her, knowing if things go sideways she could be arrested and charged.

"It won't, stop worrying about me." Emily smiles at the blonde. "Just find out everything you can about this son of a bitch." She can't tell them that her security clearance offers her more protection than theirs, can't tell them that even if she did come under fire her father could make one phone call and her troubles would disappear.

"Will do, sunshine."

With that Emily and Morgan step out, leaving the analyst to do what she does best.

"Is this a good idea?" Morgan asks when they're seated in the other room.

Reid looks to her for answers and she gives what she hopes is a reassuring smile.

"I think it's the best idea we've got."

Meanwhile Penelope is already printing files for the team to review. She's gotten the other analyst - Kevin she believes he's called - out of her system with more trouble than she'd expected and now there's nothing she can do but wait for the pages to come off the printer. It gives her time to ponder what the hell she's looking at, because she's helped the other agents on the team with account issues and she knows what the interface should look like.

Emily's does not look like that.

She can't help herself and after glancing at the door to make sure it's still firmly shut she starts clicking through different screens.

One screen in particular catches her attention.

Security clearance: Top-Secret SCI.

There's no way in hell Emily has that security clearance working a desk job in counterterrorism. Sure, she may have a security clearance higher than Morgan or Reid, but she shouldn't outrank Hotch.

Yet, the proof is right here in front of her.

She moves to open another tab when Morgan peeks his head in, brows furrowed. He's worried about this, worried about what it will mean for Emily if this goes south and for Penelope who's the one hacking into the Bureau. "Are you finished?"

She logs out of the account and closes the laptop, nodding to the agent across from her. "Yep, finished."

But she's not sure what she's supposed to do. She doesn't know if she can go to Emily herself or if she'd be honest if confronted. She could hack into the agent's account and collect more information herself but she figures with a security clearance that high she's got one failsafe after the next to keep out any unwanted snooping.

She has options and none of them good.

One thing is for sure, she has to tell Hotch.

Chapter Text

"You lied to me, Emily. You looked me in the eye and told me I could trust you."

"You can trust me!"

"Can I?"

"Yes! I've never lied to you when it mattered, hell I never lied to you at all!"

"The hell you haven't!"

"We've never talked about my security clearance, I've never once told you a lie about that."

"Oh spare me the technicalities, you're living a lie and you won't even admit it!"

"Aaron, please! I couldn't tell you-"

"Couldn't? Or didn't care to?

"I couldn't! I was bound by the law. I AM bound by the law, I still can't tell you anything. You shouldn't even know as much as you do!"

"I thought I could trust you."

"You can trust me!"

"You still believe that?"

"I left the team for you and you still doubt that?"

They'd spent the next seven days - including the case in LA - barely speaking to one another. The fight had been vicious and as Emily busies herself in the kitchen she regrets her words once again.

But at the end of the day, that fight had gotten them to where they are now. They've been toeing the line between casual and committed for far longer than either of them will admit but there's little denying it now. They'd spent a half hour throwing apologies back and forth at each other, neither of them willing to let the other feel guilty.

It wasn't until they started apologizing for the same statements a third time around that he'd finally put an end to it, telling her clearly they were both frustrated but that if neither of them held a grudge there was no reason to keep making amends.

She'd followed it up by dropping herself onto his body and declaring that they were having a sleepover. She didn't give herself time to overthink it, didn't give herself time to second-guess her choice.

He'd been nice enough to plug in the nightlight and their guns rested on opposite nightstands, but she hadn't left in the middle of the night to sleep by herself.

She hadn't woken up even once.

She'd slipped out of bed, careful not to wake her boss when she left the room. It's not that she didn't want to wake up together, she just wants to do something nice for him. Regardless of the hatchet being buried she still feels guilty about some of the things she'd said.

"You want to accuse me of being untrustworthy? Maybe we should call Haley and see how far putting her trust in you got her."

She'd crossed a line and then some and while he may have forgiven her for it she's going to be playing the role of doting mistress for a few days, if only to clear her own guilty conscience.

She'd quickly whipped up the batter she makes from scratch for her pancakes he has a fascination with. It's an easy way to make him happy, an easy way to get them back to their baseline.

It's also a meal that takes about a half hour to make which gives her just enough time to ponder what the hell she's going to do.

Being in love with your boss is far from an ideal situation but it's one she can't manage to find her way out of. She knows their chances of a successful relationship are slim, but she's hopeful. He could step down as Unit Chief, she could transfer to another team, hell she could quit the BAU and be a housewife.

She rolls her eyes at her stupidity. Okay maybe she can't do that one, she'd go crazy within a week and whisk herself off to go terrorist hunting with Clyde.

So not a housewife, but she has other options. She could actually land herself in Crimes Against Children, a unit she'd actually been interested in prior to her assignment to the BAU.

But that still leaves her the task of figuring out how to tell him.

She briefly considers just blowing it all to hell and blowing him in the office. She'd get fired and get her man all in one go!

But that would probably get Hotch fired too and she's not interested in him losing his job, even if she has to lose hers.

Well, she smirks down at the pancake on the griddle, it might be worth it just to see the look on Strauss' face.

She wonders if a nice dinner is the way to go. She could enlist Rossi's help, threaten him with what she knows about him and their Section Chief. She's sure most people suspect a previous relationship between the two agents, but she doubts either of them want to hear the bullpen buzzing with the knowledge that she walked in on them screwing in the supply closet a week ago.

Talk about cause for termination.

She hears footsteps upstairs and rushes to the coffee pot, pouring two fresh cups and bringing them to the table. She barely saves the last pancake from burning when he comes down the stairs, smiling when he sees the spread on the island.

Pancakes, eggs, toast, coffee, and her in his button-up and boxers.

At least she has the decency to use the shirts she's ripped instead of stealing the pristine shirts from the closet. He can't be bothered that she's torn as many shirts as she has when he's ruined just as many items of clothing in his haste to get her naked.

Plus, she looks cute.

"Good morning." He tells her, smiling when she beams up at him. "Not one word."

She puts her hands up and feigns innocence. "I wasn't going to say anything. But now that you've mentioned it, did your balls just drop?" She passes his a cup of coffee and presses a kiss to his cheek before she saunters back into the kitchen with a smile tossed over her shoulder.

"Smartass." He scolds, fighting the smirk on his face. She's always making comments about his voice when he wakes up, not that she's got any room to talk with the rasp she calls a voice in the mornings. He finds it sexy. "What's all this for?" He motions to the island with his free hand, taking a seat in his usual spot.

"I wanted to do something nice to make up for last week." She sees he's about to argue that she has nothing to feel bad for so she holds a hand up, cutting him off before he has a chance to start. "I know, we agreed neither of us has to feel bad but I can't help it. This makes me feel better and it keeps you from living on coffee and granola bars every morning so suck it up buttercup and eat your breakfast."

He smiles at her and tugs on a sleeve, pulling her to stand between his spread legs. "Thank you." He punctuates his gratitude with a gentle kiss, smiling against her lips when she melts against him. He pulls back and arches a brow at her. "You started without me."

She shakes her head and moves to step away, snagged back by an arm around her waist. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do know what I'm talking about!" He swipes his tongue across her lip and smacks his own together, pretending to ponder the flavor. "Syrup and powdered sugar. You pancake eating liar, you did eat without me!"

"Only one and only because I was starving, you didn't wake up soon enough!" Her defense is weak at best and he shakes his head in false disappointment.

"And here I thought you cared about me, cared about my feelings."

She wraps her arms around his neck and drops herself down on his lap, peppering his face with kisses. "I do care about you!"

He gives her an expert side-eye. "Enough to give me the Prentiss-Family-Pancake-Recipe?"

"Dream on, Hotchner. Dream on."

The banter continues for the 30 minutes it takes them to finish breakfast and start in on the dishes. They have an hour before they have to be at Quantico and she figures there's no time like the present. She'll have to admit her feelings or he'll never admit his. He's been burned by the separation and he won't take a chance if he doesn't know it'll pan out.

"So, I think we should talk."

"Yeah? What about?" He asks, not peeling his eyes away from the pan he's scrubbing.

"Well, we've been seeing each other for a whil-"

They both turn toward the living room where his phone is ringing and she passes him a hand-towel, accepting his apologetic look at their conversation being interrupted.

"Sorry, just one minute."

"It's okay, duty calls."

She finishes the last of the dishes and listens to what he's telling - she assumes - J.J. about a case she wants to present. From what she can hear it doesn't sound good and she knows this conversation is going to have to wait for another time.

Sure enough he returns to the kitchen as she's drying her hands and gives her a regretful look. "I'm sorry, we have a case that needs our attention."

"It's okay, really it's not a big deal."

"Oh, what did you want to talk about?" He asks, almost as an afterthought, like he's already forgotten what she'd started to say.

She gives him a small smile and shakes her head, deciding that now isn't the right time for this. "Nothing, don't worry about it we can talk later. Maybe we can do dinner once this case is finished?"

He smiles at the request and presses a kiss to her cheek. "Sounds good, it's a date."

"Yeah?" She asks and if he's not mistaken he hears a little bit of hope in her tone.

He shoots a dimple her way. "Yeah."

He disappears up the stairs and she can't help the smile spreading across her face.

Maybe this will go better than she thought.

~~~~~~~~~~

Emily isn't stupid, she knows tonight is not the night to have the 'I'm in love with you and maybe I was wrong about not wanting to have your babies' conversation. The man just got served divorce papers, right now he needs booze and a friend.

Which is why she's walking up to the apartment door with with a bottle of tequila and a bottle of scotch clinking together in the bag she picked up on the way home.

It's the least she can do for him at this point.

She's not entirely sure what to expect though. There's a chance he's made peace with this already, that she'll offer to get him drunk and keep him safe but that he'll kiss her and tell her he's okay and that at least things are finally looking more concrete so he can stop worrying about it. But there's also the chance that he'll want to get shit-faced and drunk call his ex and she's prepared for that outcome as well.

She'll need to find a place to hide his phone though if that's the mood he's in. Friends don't let friends drunk call their - soon to be ex - wife.

The last thing she expects though is what she finds when she walks through the front door. She starts toeing off her shoes - careful not to drop the alcohol - and shouts into the apartment. "Hey, I'm home!" She finally manages to get her shoes off and starts walking toward the living room. "I thought maybe tonight wasn't the night for a nice dinner so we're skipping the pasta and moving to the booze." She trails off, looking between Hotch and his ready-bag sitting on the floor next to the couch. "What's this?"

He stands from the cushions and wipes his palms on his pants, motioning to his bag. "I've decided it's time I find my own apartment."

"Oh, well I agree you can't stay here forever but there's no rush." She tells him, moving back toward the kitchen when she notices the look on his face.

"It's not just that." She sets the bag of alcohol on the floor and walks back toward him, not caring enough about the bottles to put them away when he's looking at her like he is.

"Okay, well talk to me, tell me what's going on."

"I think I need some time, I think it's what I should've done after the separation."

She furrows her brows and scoffs. "I told you that from the start."

"I know you did. You said that maybe I should take a break and just be on my own."

She licks her lips and nods, encouraging him to continue. "I did."

"I brushed it off then, I was lonely and I needed connection and you've been there for me in ways I couldn't have even imagined."

He doesn't register the hurt on her face, doesn't know she's chalking their whole relationship up to his being lonely.

"I think you were right though, I think I do need time." He motions to his bag once more and exhales hard. "I'm leaving tonight, I've packed my car and what's left I'll come back for tomorrow afternoon. It's all boxed up, I just don't have any extra room in the car. I can call ahead and let you know when I'll be here."

She fights the tears from springing to her eyes, she doesn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. "Hotch, you don't have to leave tonight. I get today was a shock to the system but you don't even have an apartment yet."

"I called a friend from college who just moved back to town, he reached out a few weeks ago about getting drinks and when I returned the call tonight he offered his guest room. I'll be staying with him until I find something more permanent."

"Oh."

"It's like you said, Emily. I jumped into this, and what I should've done was take the time to grieve the loss of my marriage. I just need some space, do you understand?" He reaches out to her and to her credit she doesn't pull away when he grasps her fingers in his hand.

She gives him her best 'Emily the ambassador's daughter' smile, does her best to keep her feelings to herself. She's clearly fabricated the emotional depth of their relationship, he doesn't need to feel guilty for that. "We can get some space here."

His phone dings with the arrival of a message and he drops her hand to pull it free of his pocket, giving her a half smile. "It's my friend, he says he's got the room ready."

She nods and picks up his bag, handing it to the taller agent. "Well, then I guess it's time to go."

He takes his bag from her and hauls it over his shoulder, pulling her in and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Thank you, Emily, for everything."

She gives him a smile and pats him on the chest, stepping past him into the living room to grab his book from the table. "Sure. But don't forget this, you know I hate Gatsby."

He smiles and tosses a wink over his shoulder. "It's a new copy, I bought it just for you."

They share soft goodbyes and within 30 seconds he's gone, the apartment uncomfortably quiet. She's gotten used to the banter, the sound of music playing, the laughter, the sound of pages turning while he works on cases far too late and the sound of fucking Seinfeld on the television. She hates it but he enjoys the reruns, tells her it reminds him of the simpler days in his life.

She can't just stand and stare at the door all night hoping he comes back so she picks up the bottles from the floor and sets them on the counter, knowing she'll be drinking heavily from them in the coming days now that they're off rotation for the next two weeks. She slips her hand into her back pocket, pulling out the small envelope that she'd put there and staring down at her own handwriting on the paper before she rips it in half and tosses it into the trash.

The Prentiss-Family-Pancake-Recipe. You're more family than anyone else I know, you've earned it.

Chapter Text

She really should've expected that she'd get company sooner or later. She's laying on the couch roughly 36 hours later, having taken the week off because lord knows she's saved up enough vacation days that she can afford a week long pity party. Two missed days of work though and the agents are knocking down her door.

They've been shouting through the front door for ten minutes and she's ignored every single attempt to get her to let them in.

"Emily, if you don't let us in I'll hack your bank account and tank your credit score!"

"I'll have Morgan come kick your door down!"

"I'll call your mother!"

That threat sends her over the edge and she sighs, pushes herself up, and makes her way to the door. She flings it open and walks away, her comforter wrapped around her shoulders dragging on the floor behind herself.

"Oh, you look like hell." J.J. tells her, a frown on her face that matches the one Penelope is sporting. They've never seen her like this and it's hard to see the usually perfectly put together Prentiss so clearly distraught.

But they've called in sick as well for the sole purpose of coming here and they're not leaving without answers.

"Is that tequila?" Emily asks, eyeing the top of a bottle that's just barely visible in the bag Garcia is holding.

The analyst looks down at her bag and back at her friend. "Yeah, but by the look of it you don't need-"

"Don't tell me what I need." Emily snaps back, dropping herself back onto the couch where she expectantly holds out a hand toward the bag. The agent produces the bottle but holds it just out of reach.

"Talk first, tequila after."

"Hotch moved out." She waves her hand expectantly in the direction of the bottle and takes it gratefully.

"Okay, keep going."

"That's all."

The blonde women glance at each other when Emily sips the tequila right from the bottle, not even making a face as the liquid stings her throat.

"I don't understand."

"He left, Penelope! What else do I need to say?" She snaps back, looking up at the ceiling and blinking away the tears that spring to her eyes.

It dawns on the women at the same time and their confusion turns to sympathy. "Oh, Em. You're in love with him." J.J. says, having finally figured it out.

When Emily doesn't even both denying it the other women get to work, snagging bottles of wine and snacks from the kitchen and returning to her side.

"Alright, start talking." Garcia tells her, thrusting a bowl of popcorn her way that Emily accepts with a roll of her eyes.

"Where do I start?"

"How about the beginning." J.J. tells her and Emily hits her with a look that can't be described as anything other than guilt.

"Before the separation."

"What?"

"Okay if the two of you are going to screech at me, I'm done!" Emily tells them in response to their shouting, not up for being judged quite so soon after getting her heart broken.

"Sorry."

"Won't happen again."

She nods and takes a sip of wine from one of the bottles on the table, welcoming what she thinks might be her first sip of something that doesn't burn in almost two days. "It didn't really start out as anything serious, just a continuation of what we used to be I guess."

"Used to be?"

"He worked for my mother, it was before I left for Yale and we spent a lot of time together. We'd sleep together when he and Haley broke up, it wasn't serious but we got pretty close. He was a good friend."

"And then you show up at the BAU and that good friend is your boss." J.J. finishes, understanding better now how 'Aaron the prude Hotchner' would even contemplate cheating on his wife.

"Huh, wouldn't have pegged him as your type. We all thought he was the kind of guy who calls missionary with the lights on adventurous."

"Penelope!" The scold comes from J.J., who - while she was thinking the same thing - is trying to be sensitive to Emily's feelings.

Emily though laughs, the first real smile in days plants itself on her face. "Are you serious?"

The media liaison shrugs and tilts her head. "Well, I mean yeah. The guy probably irons his underwear, we didn't figure he'd be up your alley."

"But now we hear he's been up your alley." Garcia quips, earning herself a pillow to the face. "Hey!"

"Well, I can assure you he's far from the stick in the mud you've pegged him as."

"Speaking of peggi-"

"No."

"Come on I want to know!"

"I don't!" J.J. shouts back, but then she fixes Emily with a subtle side eye. "Unless of course you have, in which case I do definitely want to know."

Emily shakes her head at their antics, actually feeling somewhat better in their presence. Happy isn't the right word, but she's not wallowing now and that's a step up from what she was doing 15 minutes ago. "No, we have not done that."

"Oh, well that's disappointing." Garcia pouts. She shakes her head though and focuses her attention back on the agent they're interrogating. "Come on then, continue the story."

She carries on for a half hour, sparing close to no details. She leaves out the panic attack and her wetting the bed but everything else she shares, they're the closest friends she has and she doesn't feel the need to lie. After all, how is she going to get over her boss if she can't talk about him?

"I still can't believe you licked his-"

"Cum off her hand in front of Morgan! I know, right? It's like we don't even know the two of you!" Penelope finishes, just as flabbergasted as the media liaison beside her. They're sufficiently wasted, having joined in on Emily's pity party between the 'everyone thinks I'm sleeping with Morgan, who oddly enough thought I was gay'  and 'Hotch showed up at my house and tried to accost me, thinking I'd even kiss him after he ate a worm' parts of the story.

"And he had his fingers-"

"In your vagina-"

"While he talked to Strauss-"

"And the rest of us were mere feet away!"

"Not me, I missed out on the whole event."

"Are you really pouting about that?"

The analyst shrugs with a smirk. "What? They're hot and I like a good show."

"Garcia!"

"Only if you were both up for it! I wouldn't watch without asking first!"

"Okay, well when you're done finishing each others sentences can we get back to feeling bad for me?"

"Oh honey, we do." Penelope runs a hand over dark hair, pulling the agent down to lean on her shoulder. She wraps an arm around her and J.J. squishes in on the other side. "I can't believe he just left like that, it sounds pretty shitty and I'm not even the one who's in love with him."

"He could've at least given you a heads up."

"Or made you a nice dinner to tell you instead of dropping that bomb and running out the front door."

"Or he could've, I don't know, given you a few orgasms before he left as a parting gift."

"You know normally I'd disagree with Pen but that actually would've been a nice thing to do."

"Remind me to never take advice from the two of you." Emily comments, sipping from her bottle of wine. They've each got their own by now, deciding the story needed to be told to equally intoxicated agents.

"Excuse me, we give excellent advice."

"What was I supposed to say? Hey Aaron, before you go do you mind finger-banging me into the next century as a thank you for giving you a place to stay?"

"Yes."

"Absolutely."

"Although I would've skipped the finger-banging and gone straight to a bend me over the back of the couch scenario."

"I agree, it's the most equal reward. He gets a place to live, a fun roommate, and food on the table. You deserve some fun positions as a thank you."

"Right, I'll keep that in mind the next time I take in a stray Unit Chief."

The sound of a door opening ends their conversation and they all turn to find Hotch, and a man they haven't met, walking down the entryway.

"Hey." He comments, taking in the empty bottles and the women sitting in front of the couch. "You don't like cushions do you?"

"Ground is more stable." Garcia tells him, face blank and her voice startlingly monotone.

"Oh. Well, I'm just here for the last of my things." He motions to the few boxes stacked in the corner of the living room. He'd gotten Jack the day after he'd moved out so he had to leave his things a few extra days. "Sorry if they were in the way."

"They weren't."

"They are, kind of rude really."

"Just get them and go, we're having a girls day in and you aren't allowed."

Emily elbows them both and gives him a small apologetic smile. "Too much to drink, ignore them."

He nods and grabs two of the boxes, tilting his head to the other man. "This is Kyle, my friend from college."

Kyle holds out a hand toward the women, smiling gratefully when Emily takes it but the blonde women simply stare at him. "Nice to meet you, Kyle."

"You must be Emily."

"I must be." She answers, refusing to get up and speak to him properly. He seems nice but he's also the reason her best friend isn't living with her anymore and in her intoxicated state she doesn't give a single shit about manners.

"Anyway, we'll get out of your hair." Hotch tells them, waiting for his friend to grab the last of the boxes. He tells Kyle he'll be outside in a second and once he's gone he fixes the trio with a look. "You all called in sick. This doesn't look sick to me."

"If you don't get out I will be, and I'll make sure my aim is good." Garcia tells him, earning another elbow to her ribcage.

"In the future let's save the girls day in for a weekend, yes?"

"Maybe you should take your rules and shove them up your-"

This time Garcia smacks the media liaison, knowing that despite their drunken state that comment could get her in real trouble should Hotch be in an unforgiving mood.

"Are they okay?" Hotch asks his dark-haired agent, brows furrowed.

Emily gives him a tight smile. "Yeah, they're fine. You should probably go though, I can't promise their filters last much longer."

"That's the filtered version?" He jokes, feeling unsettled when none of the women give him even a hint of a smile. Something is clearly wrong but for the life of him he can't figure out what it has to do with him. "Alright, well I'll be off then. I'll see you two tomorrow." He smiles at the blonde women. "And Emily, you'll be in on Monday, yes?"

"Yeah, see you then."

"Great, see you then."

When he's gone the women sink lower to the floor, slouching against the cushions behind them.

"Well that sucked."

"Fucking Kyle. Sounds like a fucking frat-boy who gets wasted on White Claw and calls people 'bro' to relive the 'good old days'." J.J. bites out, having met plenty of those men in her life. They seem to gravitate toward the blonde hair blue eyed girls that remind them of college and she's unfortunately one of those women.

"How the hell are you going to play nice with Hotch when Monday rolls around and you're back at work?"

"Fuck if I know. Why do you think I'm avoiding going now? I can't look at him all day and pretend I'm fine."

Garcia shrugs and takes a sip of wine before she speaks. "If all else fails, just fuck Kyle as a show of dominance."

"Garcia!"

Chapter Text

Initially Emily is happy when the case comes in, it gives her something to focus on. The week of work while the team had been off rotation had been excruciatingly slow, filled with awkward silences and avoiding her boss. She knows he's confused, knows he doesn't understand why they haven't spent any time together since he's moved out.

But he said he needs space, and now so does she.

J.J. and Garcia have been acting as a good buffer between herself and Hotch, interrupting conversations that last a little too long and whisking her away for lunch so Hotch doesn't have the chance to get her alone off the clock.

Unfortunately the case is her worst nightmare.

"So, I guess this case was rather interesting for your team wasn't it?" Mannan asks her, stepping outside the station where she's smoking a cigarette. She doesn't usually partake but her nerves are frayed. She hasn't gotten a wink of sleep in the time they've been in California, instead she's been sitting up in her hotel room with her gun in her hand and her eyes shifting between the door and the window.

"Yeah, it's definitely out of our normal territory."

"Can I bum one?" She pulls the pack from her pocket, passing him her lighter next. "Thanks."

"Sure."

"They had no idea what they were walking into." He comments, a shrug in her direction. "Although, I suppose you're more familiar. Isn't that right, Lauren?" She reaches for her gun and he takes a step back, holding his hands up. "Hey, I mean no harm. I didn't say anything to Jack. I'm on your side, remember?"

She deflates, giving him a look that she hopes expresses her sincerest apologies. "Sorry, it's just a time in my life I don't talk about."

"Do they know?"

"Of course not." She tells him, glancing over his shoulder and then her own to ensure nobody is close enough to overhear anything they shouldn't. "Does he know? Jack?"

The marshal shakes his head. "Nah, you came around long after he'd left. He knows the name but nothing else."

"You're sure?"

"More than sure. If you'd like I can reach out to a few contacts, double check for you if it'll give you some peace of mind. But I should warn you-"

"Poking around will likely result in more attention paid." Emily finishes with a nod, exhaling a puff of smoke. "You're right, it's probably nothing."

"For what it's worth, I know of your work. You've done good things kid, it's been a pleasure." He stomps out his cigarette and extends his hand, shaking hers when she returns the gesture and jerking his head toward the station. "I have to go, stay safe."

She grins and nods her agreement, putting out her own cigarette on the wall behind them. "Thanks, you too."

She doesn't follow him inside right away though. She pulls out her phone and dials an all too familiar number, kicking the toe of her boot into the ground while she waits for him to answer.

"Easter."

"Hey, Clyde, I need a favor."

~~~~~~~~~~

They're home the following day, having opted to stay in California for the night and fly back first thing in the morning. The day moves fairly quickly, paperwork and a consult or two the only things on the agenda.

"So, drinks?" Garcia asks, eyeing the other women on the team who are packing up for the day.

"Actually, she's spoken for tonight."

Emily whips her head around to where the man is coming through the glass doors into the bullpen. "Oh my god!" She drops her bag by her feet and moves around Morgan who's watching with rapt attention.

He tosses his to-go cup of coffee into the trash by the door and they meet in the middle, him wrapping her in a hug and pulling her feet off the ground while he smiles into her hair. "So, I surprised you then?"

"Understatement." When he sets her on the ground she gives him a spin, smiling when he whistles at her. "You always were my best hype-man."

"Care to introduce us to your friend?" Hotch asks for the group, waiting for an introduction just as much as the rest of them.

"Oh, right." Emily pulls the man closer to the group, smiling a hundred watt smile at his mere presence. "Everyone, this is-"

"Brian Acosta, nice to meet you all."

"And what is it that you do Brian?"

Emily's eyes widen on him and her nails dig into his back where her hand rests, silently begging him not to say it.

But of course he's going to say it.

"Prostitution, but I suppose that's not something I should be admitting to in a building such as this. So I'm speaking in hypotheticals, obviously."

The team waits for the punchline to what they assume is a joke and when it doesn't come Penelope's interest in their guest increases drastically.

"Oh, and how do you two know each other exactly? Something we should know, Em?"

'Brain' smiles and wraps an arm around Emily's waist, pulling her into his side. "You know, it's actually a funny story. She was havi-"

"And on that note, we're leaving!" Emily interrupts, grabbing her bag from the floor and pushing her visitor toward the glass doors. She gives a wave to the group of agents watching after them, a hand still between the man's shoulders to keep him from circling back and finishing the rest of his story.

When the doors to the elevator shut in front of them Emily smacks him on the back of the head.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"What was that for?" She repeats back to him, applying another firm smack to the back of his thick ass skull. "You just told my entire team that you're a prostitute!"

Clyde smirks and bumps his shoulder against hers. "Finally getting to put that cover to good use."

"You realize they think I met you because I paid you to have sex with me, right?"

"Yep." He pulls her in for a hug and she burrows comfortably into his body, smiling against his chest despite her irritation at the stunt he just pulled. "It's good to see you, Em."

"I missed you." She admits, refusing to pull back even though this hug is going on far too long. She can't bring herself to care, it's been a long time since they've been together and for the years they'd worked together they were all they had.

They're family.

"I missed you too." He tells her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. The last time they'd been together she'd been far worse off than she seems now and he's glad to see her acting a little more like herself. "I thought I'd hop the pond to give you the good news. I reached out to all our best contacts and your alias hasn't been heard once in relation to your last case. All our information points to you being safe."

"You could've called to tell me that."

"Yeah, but then I wouldn't have gotten to imply you sleep with men of the night." He tells her, laughing at the pinch to his side. "It was a good excuse to see you, sue me."

"Are you getting soft on me, Holiday?"

He rolls his eyes at the nickname but chooses to ignore it for now. "Shut up, I did this outstanding thing for you as a surprise and you're going to poke fun at me?"

She smiles up at him and presses a kiss to his jawline, earning herself a smile in return. "My sincerest apologies, forgive me?"

"You can make it up to me."

"Oh yeah? How's that?"

He smirks and moves her against his side so they can walk out to his car together. "I'm sure you'll think of something."

~~~~~~~~~~

"If you glare any harder your phone will combust." Kyle tells his friend, handing him a beer and dropping into the chair opposite the couch. The Unit Chief pulls his eyes from his phone and shoots a glare at the man across from him. "Do you really think she's going to call?"

"Why wouldn't she?"

"Well, probably because she has a guest who - given her guestroom has found itself recently unoccupied - will be staying with her." He tilts his head and adds a second point before taking a sip from his own bottle. "And because leaving the way you did means you're an ass."

Hotch sputters, sitting forward and motioning to his roommate. "You said I could stay here!"

"I didn't say you should abandon her!" Kyle sits forward to mirror Hotch's position, forearms resting on his knees and his drink grasped in his fingers between his legs. "You've been staying with her for a few months and suddenly she walks in the door and you're packed and out the door in under five minutes? It's a douche move and you know it."

"She told me to tell her if I needed space, that's all I did."

"What you did was leave her apartment like it was on fire. I mean think about it, Aaron. She gave up her own private spaces so you could have a place to live, befriended you when - quite frankly - you weren't that much fun to be around." He sees his friend about to argue and holds up a hand. "I know, you were going through it with Haley, I'm not saying it doesn't make sense. All I'm saying is it would've been easier for her to just ignore you brooding in your office day in and day out, and instead she put up with your bad attitude and got you to smile again."

Hotch grumbles an agreement and Kyle continues.

"To recap, she gave you a place to live, gave you a shoulder to cry on, made nice with your wife so you would be able to spend time with your son, and you leave without any kind of warning. I'm not saying you didn't have every right to go out on your own, but she deserved an explanation or a heads up at least."

"So you think I should go apologize?"

"Well I think you should wait until you see her next. She has a guest, it would be rude to interrupt."

It's good advice, but he's never been one to listen to a good idea when it comes to his personal life.

"I'm going to go over there."

He makes the journey to Emily's apartment in half the time it should take but Kyle has managed to freak him out. If what Kyle said is true and he is an ass it would explain the miles of distance between the two of them in the time since he's moved out and he doesn't want to think he's hurt his best friend.

He can picture her curled up in bed wondering what she's done wrong and it has him pressing the pedal a little harder than normal on his way to her and when - after a few minutes of searching - he finds an empty parking spot he guns it. Another car though sees the same spot and makes a break for it, so he turns on the flashing lights on his SUV and the other vehicle comes to a screeching halt and it gives him the chance he needs to jerk his car into the empty space.

He ignores the shouting from the Prius and decides to play nice and not flip off the civilian when he lays on the horn.

He has more important things to worry about.

Unfortunately though the sudden lack of parking spots seems to have something to do with one of the residents as the lobby is filled with people roughly 10 years his junior, all waiting for the elevator.

He rolls his eyes - he does not have time for this - and makes for the stairs. He takes them two at a time - sends a silent curse to Emily for needing to be on the 18th of 20 floors - and manages to find himself at her apartment without breaking too much of a sweat. Thank god for FBI fitness regulations.

He knocks on the door and waits, knocking again when nobody answers after a good hundred and twenty seconds. It's only when he knocks for a third time that the door swings open, a man - he thinks he said his name was Brian - standing before him with a grin on his face.

"Hello."

"Um, hello. I'm looking for Emily."

"I assumed as much." He says, putting an arm up with his hand braced on the doorframe.

It's a show of dominance, a subtle way of telling him he's not welcome.

Aaron stands taller, holding out a hand for the man to shake. Their grasps lock and it's a toss up of who has a firmer grip.

"It's Brian, right?"

"Clyde actually. Clyde Easter." He jerks his head toward the interior of the apartment. "It's a bit of an inside joke between Em and I."

He doesn't like the casual use of the name 'Em' when referring to the woman, doesn't like that it implies such closeness to a man who unsettles him when so few have managed to cause him such discomfort.

Whoever the hell this guy is - Brian or Clyde or whatever the hell he calls himself - Hotch doesn't trust him and he definitely doesn't trust him around Emily.

"And how is you two know each other?" He questions, brows furrowed in skepticism.

"We used to work together." Brian - Clyde, Hotch reminds himself - answers.

"Really? I find that hard to believe given your profession."

Instead of dignifying him with an explanation Clyde crosses his arms over his chest, standing just as tall as Hotch is. "And what is it that I can do for you, Agent Hotchner? It is Agent Hotchner, right?"

"It is." He confirms. "I'd like to speak to Emily."

"She's busy."

"With what?"

"Well I just finished, but she's still in the shower." Clyde answers and it's then that Hotch really takes him in.

Shaggy, dirty blonde hair is sticking up in a few different directions, clearly tousled from a quick towel dry. His shirt is sticking to his chest and arms in a few places, a sign that his skin wasn't completely dry when he threw on the clothing.

He likely pulled on something suitable to answer the door.

Meaning he's fresh out of the shower, and Emily is still in it.

She's showering with another man.

He feels a wave of anger and jealousy rush over him. It's only been a few weeks since he's left and it appears he's been replaced.

"You know what, I'm sorry I interrupted. It was nice to meet you Clyde, have a good night."

"I will, you too." Clyde tells the man who's already on his way back down the hall.

He doesn't mind. Clyde doesn't hold a grudge but he fucking hates this guy.

Aaron Hotchner.

Fuck him and the horse he rode in on.

The entire ride home had been filled with one detail after the next of her generosity after his separation, her feelings toward her boss, and her willingness to make scarifies to be with him.

Things he's never heard her say before.

And then she tells him about how it all came crashing down and while he would like to put a million dollar hit out on the Unit Chief, he refrains from doing so.

If it comes to that it'll have to be her choice rather than his.

He shuts the door and turns around just in time for Emily to walk down the stairs, towel drying her own hair so it doesn't drip all over a Beatles t-shirt he knows belongs to the man who's just left.

She does that with his shirts too, wears them when she needs comforted.

"How was your shower?"

"Good, thanks for letting me use the guest shower, it's been a minute since I've showered on my own."

She smiles and tosses her towel into a hamper in the corner, sliding herself into his arms and welcoming his hold on her. "I wouldn't have let you shower with me anyway, not until Hotch and I have put a real label on this. If he's out of this for good, then I'll call you and you can soap me up."

He smiles and kisses her forehead. "Looking forward to it."

She peeks past him at the front door. "Who was it?"

He gives her a grin and turns her around, moving her toward the living room where they're going to have their movie marathon. "Wrong address, somebody needing the next floor up." She accepts his answer with a nod, not even thinking to question his honesty.

He doesn't lie to her.

Ever.

This time, he makes an exception.

Chapter Text

"No."

"But Emily please?"

"No."

"Emily-"

"No."

"Please put it in your mouth."

She arches an eyebrow and looks up at him defiantly. "Not happening Derek."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm a lady, there's no way I'm letting you put that in my mouth in public."

"What does being in public have to do with it?" He groans his own satisfaction and licks the sticky texture off the pad of his thumb. "You sure you don't want to taste? You said I tasted good, why does it matter if other people see?"

"And that will be the first and last time I go for a kiss on your cheek." Emily tells him, a brow arched in warning should he ever sneak in a full lip lock again. They're meeting for lunch - she'd lost the bet in the storage container so she's buying - and she'd gone to the bathroom. She'd jokingly went for a kiss on the cheek - the most subtle way to get the waitress keep from hopping on Morgan's lap every time she came around - and he'd turned and pressed their lips together at the last second. She couldn't very well pull away, the waitress would never leave them alone if she had. "And I said your lips tasted good, how was I supposed to know what I was tasting was that?"

"Emily, what the fuck did your mom say to make you think drinking a milkshake in public is obscene?"

She flushes and flips her hair over her shoulder, watching him suck the chocolate syrup off his thumb before taking another spoonful of the thick drink between his lips. The spoon comes out clean and he moans at the taste, clearly trying to get her to take a taste herself.

"It's not the milkshake, it's you dipping your fries into your milkshake. It's gross and it's messy which is why you're licking it off your fingers and that's obscene for a lady in public. Too phallic."

"Well what if I feed it to you so you don't get your fingers dirty?"

"How would you feeding me be more appropriate for a public setting? Especially if I'm then expected to suck chocolate off your fingers. If that's not suggestive I don't know what is."

"I really don't get the big deal."

"When I, a grown woman, suck on my fingers in public I get stared at and become the star of somebody's porn fantasy that they'll jack off to in the handicap stall in the bathroom of a Denny's." She steals one of his fries and pops it into her mouth. "And yes, I know that from experience."

He groans his distaste and passes the remainder of his fries across the table for her to have. "God, that's disgusting."

"Exactly, which is why I refuse to indulge in this particular creation of yours."

"It's sweet and salty, you're missing out."

"Can't miss what I've never had." She answers with a shrug.

He tilts his head and gives her a gentle smile, hoping she doesn't tell him to fuck off in a minute. "This is the first time I've seen you smile in a while."

"I smile plenty." She tells him around a fry, rolling her eyes at his trying to get her to open up.

"You've been smiling but it doesn't take a profiler to know you're faking it."

She sighs and drops a fry back to the plate, suddenly a lot less hungry than she had been a moment earlier. "Do you remember when we talked about the guy I was seeing? The married guy?"

"Yeah. Let me guess, that one time thing turned into a more frequent thing."

"Something like that." She blows out a puff of air, trying to keep her emotions at bay. This really isn't the time or place to be crying and if the waitress - Cindy - looks between herself and her partner with a hint of hope one more time she's going to throw what's left of her grilled cheese at the woman in the too short dress with yellow hair and a bad boob job. She's not one to judge, but she thinks she'll make an exception just this once. "I don't know how it got so out of control."

"What happened?"

She shrugs, giving him a sort of sad smile. "I let myself fall for a guy with a wife, what happened is about what you'd expect."

He nods his understanding, getting what she's hinting toward.

He hadn't chosen her.

"What did he say?"

"Nothing, just up and cut off the whole relationship." She can't tell him much, she won't risk him figuring out that she's talking about Hotch. He'd lose trust in her and the Unit Chief, would see their affair as a betrayal to the team and not just Haley.

She can't blame him for that, he's really not far off.

"Did he give a reason why?"

She takes a sip of her Diet Coke and gives a weak shrug. "Told me he needed space."

He reaches across the table and takes her hand, giving her digits a gentle squeeze. "He might not be choosing someone over you, he may just need some time to clear things up."

She arches a brow at him. "You know just as well as I do that the married man always picks his wife, never his mistress. Besides, are you really trying to cheer me up by hoping he's leaving his wife?"

He gives her a grin. "I'm in the morally gray area with you, I hate to see you sad."

The waitress comes by and smiles at Morgan, popping out a - clearly - forced dimple and leaning too far over the table while she grabs the plates. "It's been a real pleasure serving you today." She casts a sideways glance at Emily and the darker haired woman almost wishes she was seeing Morgan so she could give this woman a piece of her mind.

Derek seems to have the same idea. "Thanks, it was great. This is probably the last time we'll be in the area though, we're cutting down on travelling until the baby is born. Can't have her on her feet too much."

Cindy looks flustered and eyes their joined hands on the table, nodding her agreement and shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "Right, of course not. Well, congratulations on the pregnancy." She makes a swift exit before either of them can respond and Emily gives her partner a warm smile.

"You didn't have to do that."

"Trust me, you were doing me a favor. Now why don't your dry your eyes and we'll get out of here. I hate to see a beautiful woman cry."

"It's stupid really, getting so wrapped up in a man with a wife. I should've known better, I should've seen it coming."

"You're right, you should've. But it doesn't mean you can't take the time to be hurt." He hands her a napkin and watches her dap under her eyes, careful not to smear her makeup. He really doesn't want to be heading back out right now, but they have a case to solve and it won't solve itself. It doesn't mean though that he can't suggest some post-case fun. "Hey, how about we have a sleepover?"

She arches a brow at her partner. "A sleepover?"

"Yeah. You said once we should spend more time together, maybe we could do - what do you call it? Self-care?"

She smiles at his remembering their conversation about taking time to take care of yourself and she nods. "Yeah, that sounds great actually. Maybe after the case is over?"

"I'll come to your room, you've got a room further down the hall and I don't think Reid or Rossi would much enjoy the noise coming from us if we stayed in my room."

She snorts. "How much noise do you think we'll be making, Derek? It's self-care, not sex."

He shrugs and offers her a smirk. "You mean your version of self-care isn't sex?"

~~~~~~~~~~

"Morgan, stay still." She tells him, chuckling at the way he keeps moving on the bed beside her.

"Fine, but at least get a better angle I keep thinking you're going to elbow me in the face every time you turn."

She rolls her eyes with a smile but moves always, settling one leg on their side of him to straddle his thighs. "Your eyes shouldn't even be open, it's self-care Derek you're supposed to be relaxing."

His hands settle on her waist and he makes a big show of closing his eyes, a big sigh leaving his lips as if keeping his eyes shut is the hardest thing he's done this year. "Fine, it's a shame to miss out on you in short shorts and a tank top but I guess I'll humor you."

"Oh stop, this is good for you." She admonishes him, settling into his lap and making sure she's got everything she needs on the nightstand. He's sitting against the headboard in a pair of pajama pants and she's wearing a cropped tank with a pair of shorts, the hotel much too warm and leaving them both choosing comfort over appropriate colleague attire.

Not that anyone is around to see it anyway.

"But it's boring." He whines, hoping this ends soon.

"It is not, it's good for you and it's calming. And if you stay still and let me do this I'll be extra nice."

He peaks an eye open with a smirk. "How nice?"

"You'll keep your balls attached to your body that's how nice, now close your eyes so I can work!" He laughs and finally shuts his eyes, settling into his spot and letting his friend do as she pleases.

She massages damp fingers into her skin, sighing while she rubs the cleanser into his skin and follows it with a brush that vibrates hard enough to make his nose itch.

She's humming to the music off her phone and he knows she genuinely enjoys this and that him partaking in her self-care activities is a good way to start getting closer. He really likes the woman, finds that she's good company and rather enjoys his trouble making in a way a lot of people don't. She's kind and maybe a little damaged but so is he.

"What's next?" He asks when she's finished wiping his skin clear of the sudsy cleanser on his skin.

"Hush, stop interrupting." She tells him gently, grabbing a packet from the nightstand. She pulls off the back and carefully places the black strip over his nose. "Blackhead strip." She answers before he can ask what she's put on his nose.

"Will it hurt to take off?"

"Nope."

"Promise?"

"Pinky promise." She tells him with a smile, pleased that he's actually keeping his eyes shut and that he's no longer complaining about the activity for the night. She grabs another item from the nightstand and opens the container, pulling out the two masks within. "Hold still, I've got masks for under your eyes."

"What's wrong with me eyes?" He fakes the hurt in his voice but he's actually curious if he's done something to his skin that might have done some damage.

"It's nothing bad, it's just for the bags."

"Bags?" His eyes fly open and she huffs at him.

"Eyes shut!" He closes his lids and feels her place the masks under his eyes. "With our travel demands we don't sleep enough, these will help with the puffiness." She grabs the roller and pressed the cold marble to his skin, smiling at the sigh he releases. She knew going in that he'd be hesitant but - just as she suspected he would - he's enjoying it now.

It's not long before she's trimmed his brows, pulled the mask off his nose and from under his eyes, applied and pulled a lip mask, and she finishes with a moisturizer she gently rubs into his skin. He smiles up at her while she does it, their faces close and her fingers on his face and his hands on her waist. It's intimate and she finds that she rather enjoys spending time with him like this, just the two of them doing things she doesn't do with anyone else.

It feels special and she's thankful that he's enjoying himself, even if it took a little time to get him there.

"This is good, I like this." He tells her softly, his thumbs rubbing at her hipbones while she presses the moisturizer into his pores.

"Yeah?" She's hopeful and he knows it.

"Yeah, I don't have a lot of friends so it's nice to know I've got one in you."

She smiles and nods her agreement. "We should do this more often."

He furrows his brows - still sore from plucking - and tilts his head up at her. "Do we have to?"

"Stop trying to make it out like you didn't enjoy this." She traces her fingers over his cheek. "It's like a baby's ass."

He laughs and rolls her off of him, smiling at the sound of her laughter and good music filling the room.

She's happier now than he's seen her in a while.

A knock on the door startles them and Morgan grabs her wrist, keeping her from getting up.

"Are you expecting anyone?"

"No, why?"

He grabs his gun from the nightstand and slides off the bed, moving toward the door with her peeking around his shoulder from behind. "Because it's 11 at night in a city we don't live in and someone's knocking at your hotel door."

He inches toward the door and glances through the hole, letting out a relieved sigh when he sees who's on the other side. He pulls open the door and tilts his chin up in acknowledgement. "Hey, Hotch."

"Hotch?" Emily asks, standing on her toes to see over Morgan's shoulder.

Hotch takes in the sight of one agent topless and the other in what Emily calls 'booty shorts' and shakes his head, trying to clear away the immediate jealousy.

He has got to stop letting his dick think for him.

"Prentiss, can we talk for a moment?"

She nods and slips out past her partner, giving him a smile and passing him her own gun. "Get the movie ready, I'll be right back."

She closes the door behind herself and follows him down the hall, further from the rooms where the agents are staying in case anyone is still awake to overhear their conversation.

Hotch turns to her and her brows furrow, reading the distress on his face easily. She rests a hand on his arm, stepping in closer and lowering her voice. "Hey, what's wrong? You can tell me."

He shakes his head and blows out a puff of air. "I don't know if I can."

"Aaron, there's never been anything you couldn't talk to me about."

He straightens his shoulder and nods. "I wish you would've told me you were moving on with someone else."

Her brows shoot up and her hand leaves his arm, instead it joins the other where she crosses her arms over her chest. "What?"

"I consider you my best friend. I thought that if you wanted to sleep with someone else you would've told me. Or that you'd at least have told me about it after I walked in on it."

"Listen if this is about Morgan, nothing is going-"

"It's about Clyde."

She stiffens. "How do you know his name is Clyde?"

"He told me."

The look on her face turns to one of confusion. "What? When?"

"He told me when I stopped by."

"You stopped by?"

He sees the utter lack of understanding on her face and closes his eyes. Of course the smug son of a bitch wouldn't have told her! He opens his eyes again and when he speaks it's much gentler. He hadn't been harsh before but he'd definitely been bordering on rude. "I stopped by the night he came into town, he said he'd just finished in the shower but you hadn't. I assumed the worst." He hesitates, asking his question with a hint of hope. "Was I wrong in my assumption?"

She gives him a small grin and a nod and the relief wafting from him is almost tangible. "You were." She looks around to ensure nobody else has snuck into the hall with an ice tub or the Morgan has come looking for her and snakes her arms around his waist when she sees they're still alone, looking up at him with a smile. "I am not sleeping with Clyde. And he's not a prostitute, just so you know."

He smiles and pulls her in closer. "I did wonder."

She sighs and rests her cheek against his chest. "Well, while I'm not sleeping with Clyde we should probably talk about us. Don't you think?"

He nods his agreement and rests his chin atop her head. She's right, they need to make the status of their relationship less opaque. Do they still want to see each other? Do they want to pretend it never happened? Do they even want to be friends anymore? "I agree. How about dinner?"

"My place when we get back?"

"Yeah, that sounds nice." He pulls back a little and puts a finger under her chin, tilting her head up and planting a soft lingering kiss to her lips and she smiles when they part.

"What was that for?"

"Oh you know, one for the road."

Chapter Text

"Oh." Hotch says when the door to Emily's apartment swings open to reveal the man from across the pond.

"Oh, indeed." Clyde says, looking the Unit Chief up and down. He's not thrilled that Hotch is here, probably no happier than Hotch is about his presence.

Emily had suggested they all sit down together and rectify the unfortunate situation that had transpired upon the last interaction between the men. She'd torn into Clyde when she'd gotten home from their latest case and when he'd profusely apologized and explained that he was just worried about her getting hurt, she'd forgiven him.

Hotch on the other hand, she was just getting started on.

Her initial excitement upon her realization that Hotch hadn't simply tossed her away like a used tissue had disappeared pretty quickly. Regardless of how he feels now, he'd still left her hurt and alone with no notice.

She's not thrilled about it and she'll be hearing an apology before the night is over or he'll end up missing never to be seen again, either by her father or by Clyde and it's a real toss up of who'll get to him first.

Before either man has the chance to start bitching at each other Emily pops up from behind Clyde's shoulder, smiling at her guest who's standing in the doorway with a bottle of red.

"You made it!"

She sounds happy, hopeful, and it makes Hotch smile back. He's always smiling around her, always feeling lighter in her presence. "Wouldn't miss it for the world." He holds up the bottle of wine and Emily squeezes between Clyde and the door, pushing him back so Hotch can come inside.

"You didn't have to bring anything, you know if there's ever anything I'm stocked up on it's wine." Emily tells him, taking the bottle from his hands while he shuts the front door.

"Well I just thought it would be a good start to the apology I'm drumming up."

"I'm ready for it whenever you are." Emily tells him with an expectant grin and a raised brow.

Hotch clears his throat, ready to start in when he realizes how awkward this is.

It wouldn't normally be, he's not the type to refuse to apologize when he's done something wrong.

He's just not used to apologizing in front of a man who he hates and Clyde is standing beside them with his arms crossed and the same expectant smile on his face that's on Emily's.

And he is not apologizing to Clyde. The man can eat broken glass for all he cares, he's the reason Emily's gone so long without the apology she deserves.

Emily senses his hesitation and glances at Clyde, waiting for him to back out of the entryway so Hotch can say whatever he has prepared.

Except Clyde doesn't leave. Emily clears her throat and he tilts his head and offers a shrug. "I'd like to hear what he has to say."

"I have nothing to say to you."

"Now now, play nice. You're my two favorite guys, you have to get along." Emily informs them, a brow raised in warning should they even think about having a pissing match in her living room. "We can talk apologies later, dinner first."

She flounces off toward the kitchen and they follow after her, bumping against each other in their haste to be the first man to the kitchen. It's rather childish, Hotch thinks, but he won't be apologizing to Clyde or doing anything of the sort. If Easter wants to play games, he'll rise to the challenge every step of the way.

Dinner actually goes pleasantly. Hotch still isn't sure exactly how Emily and Clyde know each other, they'd given him a half-answer that he recognized as a sign to stop before he got into territory where he wasn't allowed. Their stories are fantastical though, adventures in several countries he's never heard of let alone been to.

The other half of dinner is filled with stories of Emily and Hotch in the good old days, stories of the trouble-making she'd dragged him into as a teenager right up to the stories of trouble-making they get up to now. It reminds Hotch of how well they get along, it makes him realize how much he's missed her. It'd been easier to leave his wife, knowing that they were parting on mutual terms of respect and well-wishes. Leaving Emily had been difficult, a choice he'd made for the purpose of saving whatever future she'll have him in.

Emily doesn't notice - or pretends not to notice - the kicks they're throwing toward each other under the dining room table. Occasionally one of them will get in a good hit to the shin and the other will grunt into their food, giving the excuse that the dish they're eating is good and they play it off as a groan of appreciation.

All things considered it was going pretty well.

And then Emily steps out to use the restroom and it all goes to shit.

"So, are you going to break her heart again or shall I just save you the trouble and kick you out myself?"

Hotch furrows his brows, tilting his head in false thought. "Hmm, I didn't realize your name was on the lease. Oh! That's right, it's not. So unless you've grown a vagina - which wouldn't surprise me given how much of a pussy you appear to be - and changed your name to Emily Prentiss then I don't think you have that power here." He takes a sip of his wine, eye contact unwavering on the other man who's jaw twitches in irritation.

"Do you really think you're good for her? A married man with a child, seems a lot of baggage. Oh, not to mention your position as her direct supervisor."

"And in what world exactly is that any of your business?"

"She's family, and I don't abandon my family like some less admirable people."

That's the last straw for Hotch and he points his finger at the other man. "Shut the hell up about my family, you know nothing." Clyde stands while Hotch rips into him, biting out every word while the man across from him starts working on his belt buckle. "And while we're hashing it out, you had no business interfering in our relationship that you - by the way - know absolutely nothing- what the hell are you doing?"

Clyde pushes the flap of his pants open, freezing with his thumbs in the denim waistband of his jeans. "Lowering my pants so you can kiss my ass."

Hotch opens his mouth to respond but he doesn't get the chance because that's the moment Emily reappears.

"Jesus fucking Christ, are you two serious?" She storms into the dining room and shoves them both back from the table, yanking Hotch out of his seat. She makes quick work of his belt buckle, the Unit Chief too stunned by what she's doing to react quite yet.

"Um, Emily what are you doing?" Clyde questions, watching Emily's hands move on the belt before meeting the equally curious eyes of the other man.

"Yeah what are you doing?"

Emily steps back and motions to their pants, both flapped open to reveal matching- she keeps the comment about them twinning to herself - black boxers. "Alright, whip 'em out and I'll go get the measuring tape so we can get this the fuck over with!"

"Emily-"

"Em-"

She cuts them both off with a shout. "No! All fucking day I've been putting up with the two of you trying to prove you're more man than the other and I'm sick of it!"

She glares at Hotch, stepping into his personal space and applying a firm punch to his shoulder. "You're a fucking asshole, leaving like a bat out of hell with no proper warning and you leave me thinking I've done something wrong!"

"Emi-"

A hand in his face halts his apology. "Shut up! Seriously just stop talking! You come in here acting like Clyde has done you so wrong when all he was doing was trying to protect me from being more hurt than I already was!"

Clyde snorts and nods his agreement, a dimple in his cheek watching the older man get dressed down for his foolish behavior.

"And you." She fixes Clyde with a glare and his laughter comes to an immediate halt. "Don't act like you're so tough. I know you cry every time you watch Marley and Me and more times than not you're the little spoon."

He blushes and Hotch has to fight the smile forming on his lips, knowing it'll only get him another punch to his throbbing shoulder. If nothing else it's good to know she's got a solid defense should she ever need it.

"This is my life, not yours. I thank you for looking out for me but you didn't have any business implying we went to town in the shower and you had even less business not telling me Hotch had come to apologize. If you can't stay out of my private life, you won't have a place in it at all. Is that clear?"

Clyde nods and she steps back, looking at the men with their pants open and their hands clasped behind their backs.

At least they have the decency to be embarrassed about what she's had to do.

"Now, unless you want me to scold you like children until your balls retract back into your bodies, I suggest we let go of any lingering grudges and make nice? Yes?"

"Yes."

"Alright, yeah."

She gives them a satisfied nod, pointing at Hotch. "You, bedroom, now." He scurries out of the room, zipping up his pants and buckling his belt as he goes and leaves Emily with her old friend.

"Emily, for what it's worth I am sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing."

She nods her understanding and grabs one of his hands, their fingers intertwining. "I get it, you've seen me at rock bottom. It can't be easy stepping back after everything you've done for me." He nods that that is in fact what he's struggling with and she can almost hear the storm cloud rumbling above his head at the mention of her less than stable time after she'd left the company. "But I'm good now, I'm better and I can make decisions about my life on my own."

After a moment he nods, giving her fingers a returning squeeze. "I won't lie and say it'll be easy, but I'll do my best."

She presses a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you. Now if you'll excuse me I have to go hear that apology."

She walks toward the stairs and ignores him when he asks if he can come listen too.

She makes her way to her bedroom and shuts the door behind herself, turning to face Hotch who's sitting on the foot of her bed waiting.

"Hi."

"Hi." He answers back, patting the spot next to him that she takes, curling a leg up under herself and facing him. "I guess you want that apology now, yes?"

She offers a shrug. "If you feel like I deserve one."

He runs a hand down his face in distress. "For what it's worth, I didn't leave to hurt you."

"I know, but why couldn't you have told me sooner? Hell, you could've at least waited until the weekend rolled around. You ran out of here like I was the problem."

"Because you are the problem." She flinches like he's struck her and he's quick to correct what he's said. "I didn't mean it like that."

"How the hell did you mean it?"

"Emily we were getting too close." She furrows her brows at him, tilts her head for him to continue. "Come on, are you really trying to tell me this is still casual for you?"

She picks her nails and gives a barely there shrug, not making eye contact. "Maybe not as casual as it was when this started."

"Exactly."

"But what does that have to do with you living here?"

"I needed some space. I was jumping from an almost 13 year marriage into a more than casual - less than committed - relationship with a woman I was living with. I didn't have the time to be alone, and I think I need some time to just exist. If not for myself then for Jack, I have to work out how to be a father to him when I'm around even less than I used to be."

"You could've said that you know, you could've told me you felt that I would've agreed with you." She tells him softly, still hurt by his choice to - for lack of a better word - ditch her.

He tilts her head up and smiles down at her. "Emily, I was worried if we started talking about it I wouldn't leave. You're easy to be around, I didn't want to leave. But I had to. I'm sorry I hurt you, but I think I would've hurt you more in the long-term if I'd stayed."

"Oh." He nods, seeing the blush creep up her cheeks. She blushes more than she used to and he's thoroughly enjoying it. :Well, where does that leave us?"

"I think we need to just be friends, I think we could use this time to figure out where this is going."

"Where this is going." She repeats back, eyes wide and her lips parted like she hadn't expected him to say anything more than an 'I'm sorry but let's bang one out and call it a day'. She's finally getting it though, finally realizing that she's not just a friend to him. He won't come out and say it and she won't ask, but they both know.

They need a change of pace though, this is getting far too serious and neither of them are ready to take the leap.

"Well, for what it's worth I think Sergio misses you."

Right on cue Sergio pops up from his place on the bed and swats at Hotch's hand, prancing off when the Unit Chief yanks his hand to his chest and sucks in a pained breath through his teeth.

"Really?" He gives her an unamused look and she bites her lip to keep the smile from pulling at her lips.

"Okay, maybe he doesn't miss you as much as I thought."

Chapter Text

"Are you sure I'm the best person for this?" Hotch asks skeptically, not sure he wants to be responsible for any mistakes he might make.

"I'm sure. You have steadier hands than me and you've got a better angle to get them even, I'd end up going diagonal and then I'll have to shave my whole head and is that really what we want?" Emily responds, the hair in question tickling her nose where it's dangling in front of her face.

He smiles and shakes his head. "Well I don't want that, but I'm sure Morgan would appreciate some hairless solidarity. Besides, something about rubbing your pale little head might be satisfying."

"You say that now, but you haven't seen me in a bald cap." She tells him, the scissors halting before they can make the first cut.

"Do you own a bald cap?"

She tilts her head. "Well not now, but I used to. And that Aaron, is a story for another time."

He takes a deep breath and makes the first cut, finding that now that the first lock of hair has fallen the second comes easier. "Seems to me like we have plenty of time now."

Emily shrugs and gives him an apologetic smile when he glares at her, scared that if she keeps moving around he's going to leave her with a chunk of hair missing where it's not supposed to be. He gets back to work and she fights the urge to scratch her nose when pieces of hair keep falling down her face, tickling her skin and landing in her lap.

"How's it going up there?" She asks after a few minutes of silence.

He steps back and inspects his work, nodding his approval of what he's done. "Pretty good I think." He sees one section that's still a little long and bends down, eye level to her when he trims the last bit off. He doesn't stand straight back up though, he smiles and her and she smiles back but when he leans in for a quick kiss she dodges, picking her nails when he straightens up and furrows his brows at her.

"Did I do something?"

She shakes her head, refusing to maintain eye contact. It's not that she doesn't want to be close with him again, but she doesn't trust herself - or quite frankly him either - to keep things platonic. A meaningless kiss is one thing, but she can't seem to make kissing him meaningless. "It's not that."

"Then what?"

She flicks a lock of hair off her shoulder and reluctantly meets his gaze. "We agreed to leave things friendly between us, I don't think that includes kissing."

He shrugs and grabs the blow drier, leaving the scissors on the counter. "I disagree. We've never been shy about physical affection."

"Exactly. And that's how we ended up fucking on the kitchen floor barely five minutes into my time at the BAU."

His lips twitch. "I wouldn't say five minutes, but I see your point. I'm just not sure how good we'll be at this 'just friends' thing."

"Well maybe we need to get better at it then." She snaps back, rolling her eyes when the frown on his face deepens. "I think if we want to be friends, we have to learn to be just friends. No sleepovers or friendly kissing, no staring down my red tank top either." She warns him, a brow raised in his direction.

He nods, brows furrowed seriously. "The red tank has been a weakness in the past."

She almost nods and stops herself, not wanting him to smack her upside the head for moving again. "Indeed it has. I'll try and keep it out of the rotation for a while, for your sake."

"Oh, before I forget, I'm heading to Connecticut tomorrow."

"Connecticut?"

"I'm meeting with Chester Hardwick, I thought you might want to come with."

She looks up at him, earning a glare in warning should she keep moving. "Sorry. But why me?"

He gives a shrug, brushing through wet strands of dark hair. "I know you lived there for a time, I thought you might want to go back."

She scoffs, pulling her legs up under her, getting comfortable at the counter so he can finish without much more movement from her. "Pass, but you should take Reid. We've been talking, he'd like a more active roll in these interviews."

"Oh? He hasn't mentioned it to me."

Emily shrugs, hoping not to hurt his feelings. "You're the boss, it's easier to talk to someone he considers an equal instead of a superior."

Hotch nods his understanding, setting the brush on the counter in front of her. "Alright, I'll take him. Now, straight down or blowout?"

Her brows shoot toward her hairline and she turns to look at him. "Blowout?"

"Marriage has saddled me with a few useful skills. Sit and prepare to be amazed, Agent Prentiss."

~~~~~~~~~~

Emily lengthens her stride and jogs to Rossi's car, reaching the passenger side before he can pull out of the parking space. She rips open the door and slides in, tossing her bag into the seat behind herself and slamming the door before he can shove her out.

"What the hell?"

Emily gives him a smile while she buckles herself in, stretching her legs out and relaxing into the leather seat. "You said you wanted to get blackout drunk, you're crazy if you think I'm leaving you to do that on your own."

He pauses, his hand still on the gearshift. "You realize I'm not an overzealous teenager, right? I'm perfectly capable of drinking safely on my own."

She presses her lips together and hums, pretending to ponder what he's said before she shakes her head and looks behind them. "You're not though, but you're clear my way if you want to back out." He keeps staring at her, silent and unmoving while she gives him a smile. "Come on then, you keep bragging about your mansion you might as well get the chance to show it off!"

Rossi gives an irritated sigh. Clearly he's not getting rid of her so he might as well make the most of the company she's offering. "Fine."

The drive to his property is quick and quiet, the silence only broken by the humming of a tune from the passenger seat and the sound of wind blowing past their car through the window she's cracked. He takes the time to study her. She's comfortable in his car, legs stretched out and window cracked, but not so comfortable that she'll recline the seat or open the sunroof.

The illusion of confidence she probably doesn't have.

Interesting.

She's been nice enough though. He's not sure if she drew the short straw on offering him a drinking partner or if she chose the job herself, but either way she didn't have to. He figures a pretty girl like her has better things to do on a Friday night than hang out with a man 20 odd years her senior.

Better things to do, like hanging out with their boss. He's sensed some tension in the last few weeks but it seems to have resolved itself and he knows if they're 'back on' she'd want to be with him rather than a man she barely knows who's been nothing short of a pompous grade-A dick in the time he's been on the team with her.

"You're staring." She comments bluntly, her head rolling on the headrest to look at him and dark eyes popping open.

"Sorry, it's a habit."

"We don't profile each other, team rule."

His lips twitch. "Tell me, Emily, do you like the color of the walls in my office?"

Dimples appear in her cheek and she tilts her head, deciding to let him have this one. "Alright, fair enough. It's your one chance so if you're going to profile me you'd better give it your all."

For a moment he considers doing it, taking her up on her offer and tearing her apart so just maybe she'll leave him to wallow in peace.

But then he sees the expectant smile on her face, recalls her lacks of judgement on his running across the country to solve a 20 year old case, and he decides against it. She's sweet and she's happy, he doesn't want to be the one to take that from her, especially when true happiness is a rarity in this job. They've seen far too much, they all live in the shadows any normal person tries to ignore.

He shakes his head, loosening his death grip on the wheel. "Nah."

"Oh come on, have your skills really deteriorated so much in the last few years old man?"

He lets out a bark of laughter, his brows up in his hairline. "You've got some balls insulting the man who could drop you on the side of the road to fend for yourself!"

Emily shakes her head and rolls her window back up, goosebumps on her arms from the cool night air. "Nope, you're a gentleman you've never ditch me. Kick me out of your house and call me a cab? Yes. Leave me in the middle of nowhere where I'm liable to be kidnapped or hit by somebody not paying enough attention to where they're driving? Never."

The rest of the drive is made in silence, a quick 10 minutes more out of the city and they pull up to his property.

"I don't know if I said it, but your hair looks nice." He tells her when she's following him down the entry way, bag in hand.

"Oh, thank you." Her smile is small, embarrassed. But she touches her bangs like she'd forgotten she'd cut them and she blushes so he sends a mental thank you to his first wife.

'You always tell a lady her haircut looks nice, even if it looks like her son cut it off with nail scissors while she slept.'

It's been solid enough advice thus far, but he does actually like the bangs she's sporting, they suit her.

"Hotch did them." She mentions, almost as an afterthought, and he stops dead in his tracks, a surprised smile on his face when he turns to look at her. She rolls her eyes, walking past him into the living room. "Come on, like you don't know. I might not be privy to the conversations the two of you have, but I'm not stupid. I always thought you'd bring it up but you never did, which I guess I appreciate."

"Does anyone else know?" He asks, letting her poke around the rooms within their line of sight while he heads for the pantry where he stores his wine. He pegs her for a wine kind of girl, sophisticated and a little crazy.

"The girls, but they've been sworn to secrecy and I trust them." She leans against the wall and eyes him in the pantry. "Can I trust you."

He takes a moment to mull it over before he gives a firm nod, holding a bottle of red in his hand. "Yes, I do believe you can."

"Wine?" She asks, nodding to the bottle. "Got anything stronger?"

He smiles and slides the bottle back into its rightful place. "Only if you compliment my mansion, inflate my ego Emily it's the least you can do given I'm letting you crash here."

She nods her appreciation of the home. "It's pretty, I like it."

"Pretty? That's it?" He's faux offended, holds a hand to his chest like she just broke his heart.

She laughs and follows him further into the pantry through a second door. "If you want someone to be stunned at your wealth you picked the wrong bitch to bring home."

"I didn't pick you." He tells her, a coy smile on his face.

"No, but you didn't kick me out of your car so that tells me enough."

He holds up a bottle of scotch and she tells him that's fine, the two of them sat in the living room a few minutes later with the bottle between them on the coffee table and their feet propped up.

They're a few glasses in when she breaks the comfortable silence they've found themselves in.

"Chechnya."

"What?" He asks, brows furrowed at her sudden admission of seemingly nothing.

"Chechnya." She refills her glass and settles back into the couch. "This last case, you said the sound of their screams wouldn't leave your head. We all have those cases, we just don't talk about them."

He takes a moment to realize this is another olive branch, a way of forming connections they don't yet have. "And what happened in Chechnya?"

Her eyes take on a haunted look, one he hasn't seen on any other members of the team let alone the one that came off a desk job.

Although he's beginning to suspect that's not the full truth.

"There was a family of four, just in the wrong place in the wrong time. A mother and father, their two daughters. They were seven and nine, barely old enough to ride a bike without training wheels."

"What happened to them?"

She takes a sip of her whiskey before she answers, staring dead ahead although he assumes she's recalling what she's about to tell him. "The guy we were after, lets call him Jeff, shot the kids first. Said he wanted to make the parents understand what real pain is, he wanted to make them suffer. No better way to make a parent suffer than to kill their kids in front of them." She pauses briefly, staring down into the amber liquid in her glass now. "Their screams keep me up at night. They begged for bullets to end their life, begged to be put out of their misery. They didn't want to live in a world without their children."

"Jesus." He husks out, imagining what that must've been like for a 20-something year old Emily.

He can't imagine it went over well with her.

"The point is, we all have those cases that get under our skin. The difference is, we lean on each other." She gives him a knowing look. "You don't have to go at it alone, Dave. We're a team, and you're part of it. Got it?"

He smiles, suddenly understanding exactly what Aaron sees in her.

"Yeah, I got it."

Chapter Text

"How did you know? Really?" Morgan asks, taking a seat across from Emily once J.J. leaves for another spot across the isle where she can stretch her feet out on the opposite chair.

Emily looks over at him, distracted from her constantly overwhelmed mind. "I'm sorry?"

"At the house, you were sure Jacobs hadn't killed herself."

She gives a nonchalant shrug, brushing him off. "Just a feeling."

"Nah." He relaxes into his seat, trying to disarm her. "We all get gut feelings, sometimes our lives rely on them. But that? That was different and you know it."

"She had photos of her son, everywhere. She would've been staring at photos of her son while she hung herself, it just didn't sit right with me." It's a subtle brush off, she knows. And she knows he knows, but it's all she's going to give. She doesn't tell him the thought of a mother hanging herself with her son in the other room made her feel physically ill, she doesn't tell him she'd had no gut feeling but that she needed to be right just this once.

He wouldn't understand because hell she barely understands why she'd needed to be right about the murders.

They sit in a tense silence, both lost in thought. Her in images of her past, of a baby that she didn't keep. A baby she didn't get to raise, a pregnancy that sent her world and everyone in it into a downward spiral. She thinks maybe that's it, that her own maternal guilt projected onto Beth Jacobs and her 'gut feeling' was born out of a desire to have been a parent to her child.

"Hey, do you want to come out to one of my properties this weekend?"

Dark brows arch and she takes only a moment of hesitation before she answers with a nod. "I'm not sure how much I can help, but I'm sure I won't hit you with the nail gun and that's a start I guess."

He gives her a smile and tosses a pencil at Reid who's laying on the couch facing the cushions, startling him from his half-asleep state. He rolls over, brows raised in question. "You want to come out to a property with Prentiss and I this weekend?"

Reid, who's never been but who's heard of stories and who's seen before and after photos, nods. "I'd enjoy that."

"Alright, I'll pick you both up Saturday around 9."

"Oh come on, it's a weekend!"

"And renovations are best done in the daylight, princess. No backing out now, you're my main man for the weekend."

"Morgan I'm sure about a lot of things but most of all I'm sure Emily is not a man."

The pair stare open mouthed at Reid who - after a moment of reflection - realizes just how his comment might have been taken and he flushes a bright red.

"I am so sorr-"

"Well thank you for pointing out my girlish figure, Reid. I've been wearing push ups and G-strings, thank you for noticing." She sends a wink his way and the color on his face changes to the color of what Emily imagines Satan's ass crack to be and she thinks it suits him nicely.

"Hey if you ever want to put on a show, I'm more than happy to make it rain, princess." Morgan tells her, earning a rubber band to the face.

Their banter continues until the plane touches down on the tarmac, the laughter and quick wit pulling them all from a semi-dark place.

It's not always enough, but for today it'll do.

~~~~~~~~~~

"How exactly is this helping?" Morgan asks, looking at the pair who are working on the wall opposite from him.

Emily shrugs and swallows the bite she'd been chewing before she answers. "Well, if you will present me with doughnuts you can't very well expect me not to eat them."

"Oh, I expect you to eat them. You know, on a break."

Emily, in an act of defiance, opens her mouth and Reid supplies the doughnut. She take a bite far larger than could be considered safe - she does love a good jelly-filled choking hazard - and stares at him while she chews. She's in a paint suit with a roller in hand, Reid being her food supplier standing to her her left doing nothing more than holding a doughnut up for her when she wants another bite. It's her third doughnut in an hour which leaves Reid's portion of the wall mostly untouched.

"You know, I'd probably mess up the paint anyway. This is probably the best way I know to help." Reid attempts to defuse the situation, seeing that this is a battle of wills more than anything.

Morgan opens his mouth to respond but takes a look at the wall in question and shuts his mouth. There's paint dripping from the over-application of paint in some areas, and in others it's splotchy from not applying enough. Emily's wall though is coated evenly and it's mostly done, mostly it just needs to dry for a second layer and she'll be done.

He rolls his eyes and picks his own roller back up, turning his back to them to work on his wall. "Fine, but after you're done we're working on the kitchen and we'll need Reid to hold the cabinets while we screw them in."

Emily shrugs and takes the last bite of doughnut between her teeth, giving a muffled 'fine by me' in return.

"So, what's the deal with you and your boo?" Morgan asks Emily once they're working on installing the marble countertops in the kitchen.

Emily blows out a puff of air, sending one of the curls that've fallen from her bun into her face flying before it lands back on her forehead. "No deal, we finally called it quits."

"Yeah?"

"I didn't know you were seeing anyone." Reid tells her, only semi-invested in this conversation. He doesn't really care who his coworkers see romantically, but he likes that they trust him enough to have this conversation in his presence.

Emily gives a simple shrug, not really sure she'd say she was ever seeing Hotch. Sleeping with? Yes. Seeing? Maybe not. "It's complicated."

"Little miss perfect here had a thing for a married man."

"Oh, Emily."

Emily holds up a hand, halting whatever judgment or sympathy was about to come her way. "It's not a big deal, it's over now."

"So what happened?" Morgan asks, moving her so he can get a better angle on the counter so they don't drop it before he's finished.

"Nothing really happened, it just ran its course. That and I seem to have terrible luck with men anyway."

"Come on, it can't be that bad can it?"

"Derek, I once had to jump out a second story window in my panties and make the seven mile journey home in just that scrap of lace because his wife showed up with his girlfriend."

Dark brows raise and he shakes his head. "Wow, alright you win. Although I would've liked that visual, so should that happen again you know who to call."

"If you don't stop you're going to kill our resident genius." Emily tells him, tilting her head toward the man blushing furiously on her other side.

"Well what about you pretty boy? Any prospects?"

"Women find me undesirable." He answers simply.

"Absolutely not." Emily tells him, flinching when his head whips up and he almost smacks her head with his own. "I'd go for you before I'd go for Morgan."

"What?"

"Hey!"

"I prefer the smart and sweet type." She answer with a shrug. "Women are stupid, Spence. We choose the wrong guy over and over again because what? He has washboard abs and nice hair? No offense to your balding, Morgan."

"Hey I shave it!"

"You shave it because you're trying to hide that you're going bald, now shut up I'm talking to the genius here!" She scolds, blowing him a kiss at his faux offended expression. "Anyway, if I had to choose between the two of you you're my choice. You're smart, you're sweet, you're romantic once you know someone well enough to woo them, and you've got nice hands."

"What do my hands have to do with it?" He inspects his hands, scurrying to grab the table when his half drops dangerously close to the ground. "Sorry!"

Morgan arches a brow at Emily who may have pulled something in her effort to hold up the counter. "And he's your first choice?"

She smiles at him and bumps her hip against Reid's. "Every time Morgan, every time."

Chapter Text

Reid makes his way through the precinct, hands in his pockets as he approaches the woman he needs to apologize to. She's packing up the rest of the murder board, placing the last of the photos into the box to be shipped back to Quantico.

He stops beside her as she's closing the cardboard and clears his throat. "Emily, listen, I-"

"Don't fucking talk to me until we're back in Virginia." She bites out, grabbing the box and walking away before she turns at the last second. "And you know what? Even then, save it for Monday."

Reid glances back at the woman on the jet, the interaction playing on a loop in his head. He'd tried to reason with her upon boarding the jet but she'd ensured he wouldn't get the chance when she asked Rossi to join the trio already seated. It left him with a lone seat, only joined by Hotch to be reprimanded for his behavior.

"Do you think she'll forgive me?" He asks softly, turning back to his boss. He doesn't have to say who he's talking about, the Unit Chief is well aware of the fury radiating from the agent in question.

He nods the affirmative, knowing Emily better than anyone else on the team, knowing that she'll eventually be open to an apology but that now is most certainly not the right time. "Yes, but give her some space. She's still emotionally charged, approaching now will only make things worse." Reid nods and spins a one year chip between his fingers. "You know, she does have every right to be angry. You approached Owen Savage without a weapon, vest, or substantial backup. You left her in charge of keeping you alive, it was reckless and unfair. Can you imagine the guilt she would've felt had you been injured? Or worse? Not to mention you left her the sole agent standing between Savage and the rest of the law enforcement officers and civilians in the precinct."

"I know, but I had to try. I could've ended up like him, Hotch. I could've been him."

Brown eyes soften on the younger agent and Hotch lets his own anger and concern seep away. "No, Reid. I know you, I've known you a long time, and you never would've ended up like that." Reid gives him a small smile of thanks, even if he doesn't quite believe what he's said. "Emily is just scared, she'll get over it and she'll accept your apology when you give it. Just, maybe bring her a coffee from the café she likes on Monday to help smooth things over."

Spencer smiles and nods his understanding. Caffeine, if nothing else, is an easy way to get on Emily's good side. "Noted."

~~~~~~~~~~

"You're sure you don't want to go see Jack tonight?" Emily asks, holding the door open to let her boss in while she disarms the security system. It's been a little over three months since he'd left her apartment to live with Kyle and she hasn't heard much about the youngest Hotchner since then.

"He's with Haley tonight, I have him next weekend." Hotch tells her, grabbing her bag and dropping it next to hers in the living room.

They've been spending more time together in the weeks since Clyde left, learning how to be friends without ending up naked every time they're alone. It's weird being in a sort of in between, not just friends but not quite a relationship. It's not for a lack of desire on either end, but they can't risk their careers on a whim and they know it.

So they're stuck, deadlocked between being something more or being something less.

Somehow it hasn't blown up in their faces.

"Tequila?"

"Definitely." He smiles at her enthusiasm and grabs it from the shelf, hitting the popcorn button on his way by the microwave. "I'm going to change, feel free to change down here if you'd like." She tells him, leaving him downstairs so she can grab her pajamas.

She realizes - in hindsight - that the shorts she spends most of her time in may have been a poor choice given their planned activities for the night.

"I can't believe you convinced me to do this." Hotch tells her a half hour later, laughing at the absurdity of the situation he's found himself in. One thing he's sure of is that there's never a dull moment spent with Emily Prentiss.

"Well had I not gotten the call about the Texas case in the middle of my appointment you wouldn't be in this situation now." She answers, wincing only slightly when he yanks the strip off her leg.

"You know, waxing your legs wasn't exactly how I planned to spend my evening."

"You get free tequila, excellent company, and I'll let you rub up on my baby-soft legs when you're done. I think you're really spending your evening in a superior fashion to what you would've been doing had you gone home to your resident frat boy."

He snorts at the frat boy status she and the other women on his team have given his friend. "Kyle is a good guy, you don't have to demote him to frat boy status."

"If the shoe fits." She answers, feeding him another few pieces of popcorn. "How is our main man Kyle?"

"He's fine, but I'm thinking about seriously looking for a new place soon." He taps her leg. "Roll over."

"Yeah?" She asks, flipping onto her belly and crossing her arms so she has somewhere to lay her head. She tilts her head so she can look back at him, one leg on either side of her boss.

"Yeah. Kyle is great but I need my own place, especially since I'm getting more time with Jack now that the custody arrangement has been settled."

"I can help if you'd like, I know some people who'd help you free of charge."

He yanks a strip from her calf and gives her an apologetic look that she brushes off when she flinches at the resulting sting. "Alright, I'd like that. We can make a weekend of it, really get a good idea of my options."

She hums her approval and grabs her phone, typing out a message to a friend who's been working in the greater D.C. area for years. "Let me send a few messages, we can set something up once we're off rotation if you want."

"Yeah that sounds good." He answers, only half paying attention. Now that she's not covered in wax - and now that her legs are 'baby-soft' as she'd put it - he's realizing exactly the situation he's stumbled into.

He's staring down at miles of silky soft skin that dead end up into a pair of very short pajama shorts that leave little to the imagination, not that he'd need to imagine much anyway given he's far from unfamiliar with the territory under the fabric.

"You know, I wouldn't normally consider myself an ass man but these shorts might just change my perspective." Hotch states bluntly, the lack of substantial food to soak up the copious amount of tequila he's had in the last 45 minutes leaving him without much of a filter.

Emily turns her head to look back at him and down to her shorts, her fingers stalling on her screen. "Oh, right. Sorry, I probably could've picked a less risqué pair for your sake." She rotates her head back to her phone, fingers flying across the keyboard. "I'll move in a minute, let me just send this really quick."

He slides a hand up a smooth thigh, feels her muscles flex under his hand. "Don't bother, I've got a good view to keep me occupied." She laughs, doesn't think much of what he's said. He's said - and done - much more sexually suggestive things in the time they've known each other and it doesn't strike her as unusual.

Hotch on the other hand intends to take it further, a second hand joining the first on his journey up her legs. He slides his hands up and down, warming the skin beneath his palms and inching higher toward the curve of her ass peaking out of her shorts.

He declares himself a convert, deciding though that the red tank and short short combination might be something liable to put him in the hospital should she choose to combine the two in the future.

"Aaron." She warns weakly, her inhibitions lowered just as much as his with the tequila flooding her body and heating her from the inside out.

"You're right, baby-soft." He tells her, moving to his knees so he can hover over her.

"I know I'm right, but that doesn't mean this is a good idea."

He ignores her statement of the facts, instead moves up her body and pushes the shirt up her back. He plants kisses along her spine, pleased when she doesn't demand he remove himself from her body and instead widens her legs to give him more room. He makes his way south, paying extra attention to the dimples in her back, before he moves to the bottom of her shorts and swipes his tongue over the curve there. The resulting whine is expected but it makes him chuckle anyway, having gone without hearing that sound for months.

He sides a hand into the wide leg shorts, finding her panties already damp and he smiles at the familiar wet satin feeling under his fingertips that he associates with her.

"Take it off." She instructs pushing her hips back so he can hook his fingers into the two layers together and yank them down her legs which he does quickly before he settles over her again. He pulls his own shirt over his head and repeats the process with her, running a hand down her back and feeling the notches in her spine. He settles a hand on her waist, positioning himself against her center and grinding himself against her.

A low moan escapes her lips, her back curving and her hips pushing back against him.

"You keep doing that and this is going to be over before it even begins." Hotch tells her, a smile on his face when she laughs and relaxes against the couch.

"Sorry, it's been a while."

He mumbles that it's been just as long for him and grinds against her again, feeling the resulting shiver that runs down her spine. It may have been a while and he may have only had sex with now three women in his life, but it seems he's still got it if the death grip she has on the couch cushion and the moisture seeping into his pants is anything to go by.

"Roll over." He instructs her, standing so he can kick off his pants and the briefs underneath.

"No." She answers simply, spreading her legs for him and tossing her hair over her shoulder so she can look back at him while he settles between her thighs.

It doesn't seem like much to most people but for them it's everything, a show of trust that makes him weak in the knees. After what he'd put her through, he hadn't expected it now.

He slides in slowly, controlling his own desire to pound into her to make sure she's not in any pain because like she said, it's been a while. He gives a few experimental thrusts, slow and shallow until he feels her muscles relax and she gives a few responding thrusts of her own before he covers the length of her body with his own and changes the angle to something bruising that leaves her gasping beneath him.

She feels the soft hair on his chest against her back, welcomes the weight and the heat he offers and almost melts into the couch when her first orgasm runs through her body. He feels her shaking beneath him, groans and pushes his forehead against the nape of her neck when she shares her pleasure and locks around him.

Jesus Christ that feels good is the only thought that runs through his brain, his rhythm faltering because this might be the last time they have sex for a good long while and he'll be damned if he cuts it short by finishing too early.

Emily melts against the couch when her surroundings come back to her, the lingering orgasm leaving her lightheaded and her back sweaty against his chest.

The laugh she lets out is breathless. "Well, good to know your skills haven't suffered despite the lack of sex."

He presses a kiss to her neck and sucks hard, smiling against her skin that's damp and salty against his tongue when he licks the bruise he leaves behind. "Good to know you approve." He lays himself heavier against her back, grabbing her hand that's stretched out in front of them and closing his fingers between hers. He likes holding her hand, likes the connection he feels when he does it. He knows it's because of his more than friendly feelings for her, knows she enjoys it for the same reason. "One more?"

She nods and wiggles her rear end up against him. "One more."

He presses a kiss to her cheek and feels her smile, the smile dropping and her jaw hanging and her eyes falling shut when he picks up the pace again.

This time she shakes from the very start, peaked nipples rubbing against the throw pillow and her legs spread wide so her clit rubs against one of the seams on the cushions. It leaves her breathless, bordering on the edge of climax from the first thrust. She lets out a quiet mewling sound that makes him tingle from his fingers to his toes, heat spreading through his belly and his grasp on her hand tightening.

This time when she comes her back arches away from him but he plasters himself to her, arching his own back and squeezing her hand back when she grips his fingers and a low guttural moan leaves her lips that sounds an awful lot like his name. That's what pushes him over the edge, the sound of a deep Aaron leaving her mouth when she finishes breaking his rhythm and he thrusts shallowly into her when he comes. She's almost in tears when she finishes, the heat of him against her and the warmth of his release spilling inside her leaving her with an alarming feeling of being home.

She doesn't know he feels the same warmth, the same feeling of security and safety that comes with being inside her.

She doesn't know he's just as in love with her as she is with him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Emily traces patterns on Hotch's chest a half hour later in her bedroom, meaningless circles and lines and swirls in the short dark hair there. "We have to stop, we're supposed to be doing the just friends thing."

He snorts and grabs her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm and keeping his hand on hers where he drops it over his heart. "Hmm, I think you've said that before."

She can feel his heart beating against her palm, can feel the heat he's giving off under the blanket, smells the scent of his cologne and his aftershave and hates that she can't live in this state of bliss, free of the worry of what'll happen Monday morning when they're back at work and reality pulls them back to their opposite corners. It makes her feel almost homesick, knowing that in the morning he'll be leaving and she'll have nothing but a dreary apartment that she can't bring herself to decorate and silence to greet her.

"Hey, I should probably ask since it's bound to come up if things don't get resolved soon; how angry are you at Reid?"

She scoffs, rolls her eyes and flicks a lock of hair from her face. "On a scale of one to ten? 13."

He blows out a breath of air, keeping up the motion of his fingers following the length of her spine up and down. "That bad?"

Her eyes well up with tears that he brushes away with the hand not occupied with caressing her back. "How stupid is he? Savage could've killed him, he didn't know for sure he could talk him off ledge like that."

Hotch nods his agreement. "I know, I've already talked to him and he understands the consequences if he pulls something like that again."

She shakes her head, dark eyes avoiding his. "I can't watch someone I love get killed in front of me, not again."

He knows there's a story there, knows well enough by now that she's lived a life she can't tell him about, so he doesn't ask. Instead he pulls her down against his chest and kisses the top of her head, his hand flattening on her back and rubbing heat into her easily chilled skin. "I know, and it won't happen again. Not while I have anything to say about it."

Her cell beeping startles them from the little world they've created and she snags it from the nightstand, reading the message that's come in. "It's my friend, Marianna. She can schedule Saturday and Sunday for you two weeks from now when we're off rotation. I know it's Haley's weekend then so does that work for you?"

"Yeah, sounds good." She sends a short message of acceptance and a thank you and settles back against his body.

"You know I feel sorry for you." He furrows his brows down at her in question. "No matter what house you get, it won't have your sexy best friend laid up in one of the beds. Really it's unfortunate for you, it's a shame you left. You could've had a beautiful woman to curl up with every night."

He laughs into her hair and she joins him, shaking gently against his side.

"Good lord, go to sleep, Emily."

Chapter Text

Emily walks no more than five feet into the bullpen Monday morning when the women on either side of her grab an arm and start yanking her toward Garcia's office. She shoots of look to Morgan, silently begging him for help but he gives her nothing more than a smile and thumbs up.

"Guys, what the hell?" She asks when the door to the office slams shut behind them.

"Anything you want to tell us?"

"Anything that might have happened this weekend?"

"Anything interesting?"

"Maybe to do with our Unit Chief?"

Emily shifts on her feet, glaring at the women in front of where she's sat. "No, what are you talking about?"

"Liar!" Emily and J.J. stare at her wide eyed, her volume decibels too loud for the enclosed space. "Sorry."

"She's right though, because in your haste to make it to work on time you forgot to cover the hickey on your neck."

Emily's hand shoots to where she knows the bruise to be, mentally kicking herself for completely forgetting to cover the cluster burst blood vessels. "Fuck."

"Oh I'm sure you did plenty of that, which leads to our next question. Was it Hotch?" J.J. hands over her makeup bag, letting Emily dig through to find something close to her shade that she can use to cover the bruise now that their initial interrogation is over.

"What do you think?" Emily asks, smoothing concealer on her neck in the hope that it'll cover the bruise for the day and she can cover it with her normal shade tomorrow.

"We thought you two called it off." J.J. tells her, crossing her legs under herself. She's somehow become emotionally invested in their relationship, maybe even more so than Garcia.

"We did." Emily tells her, grabbing the powder from the bag. "And we haven't done anything up to Friday, it just kind of happened."

"Did he instigate it or did you?"

"Kind of both I guess. He was waxing my legs and-"

"Aaron Hotchner waxed your legs?" Penelope's lips twitch, her interest piqued because if he's willing to wax a woman in his spare time she needs to know what else he gets up to on his weekends.

"Yes." Emily points the brush in her hand at her friend. "And if that gets out, I'll know who to blame." Penelope zips her lips and throws away the key, sworn to secrecy. "Anyway, I was laying on the couch and we were a little tipsy and he gets handsy when he's drunk."

"Huh, Hotch the handsy drunk, good to know." J.J. comments, trying to picture their boss smacking Emily's ass in any situation and finding that she can't quite see it. The way he acts around the rest of the team isn't the way he acts around Emily, she isn't familiar with his dimples or his laugh or his jokes or wandering hands.

"I could've stopped him but god, he looked so good in his suit and it's been months ladies."

"You haven't been with anyone since him?" Penelope asks, stunned that her previously promiscuous friend has gone practically celibate since her breakup with their Unit Chief.

"Nope. And he was offering himself up on a silver platter and I'll be damned if he isn't the best I've ever had. I couldn't turn him down." She shuts the cap on the powder and puts in back in the bag, giving it back to J.J. when she's sure the hickey is sufficiently covered. "And I can't just not spend time with him, we're friends even when we don't have benefits. It's harder keeping my distance than it is to keep it in my pants when we are together."

Penelope and J.J. glance at each other, giving a firm nod before they turn back to Emily. "Alright, we'll help you."

Emily stares at them, not liking the sound of this. "What?"

"You need to work on abstinence."

"Hotchstinence!" Penelope shouts out, earning a glare from Emily who'd prefer the rest of Quantico not to hear her business. "Sorry."

"Well good luck with that, I'm house hunting with him in two weeks." She hauls her bag over her shoulder and heads for the door, slipping out before they can pull her back in.

"Emily you can't go with him!" J.J. insists, agreeing with Penelope that the best option is to keep some distance.

"Well I can't get out of it now, it would be rude."

"What if J.J. and I tagged along?"

Emily snorts, rolling her eyes at the absurd suggestion. "In case you haven't noticed, Hotch is a private man. He's not letting anyone crash our plans, especially not anyone on the team."

Penelope hums, shaking her head at Emily's insistence that she can't get out of the weekend she and Hotch have planned. "I'll call you, tell you I have an emergency and you can flee from our fearless leader like he's on fire and wants you to put him out!"

Emily glares at her friend, snagging one of the files from J.J.'s arms. "Not happening, now if you'll excuse me I have work to do and so do the both of you."

~~~~~~~~~~

"How did you know?" J.J. asks, eyes flicking over to Emily. They're both washing their faces, suds covering their skin and their hair pulled into spiky barely held together buns but she figures now is as good a time as any.

"I'm sorry?" Emily asks, not quite understanding the question. It's their last night in Miami and she's excited to get home, both her hair and her skin reacting to the humidity of the southern state.

"About me and Will, how did you know?"

"Aside from the fact you've been suspiciously busy most weekends for the last year?" Emily jokes, pleased when a hint of a smile appears on her friend's face. "Aside from that, I know what it's like to hide a relationship from the people you love."

J.J. wants to smack herself in the face because of course Emily, of all people, would know about her secret relationship. "Crap. Right, I'm sorry I forgot."

"Actually, that's not quite what I was talking about. Although I do have plenty of recent experience in secret relationships." Emily splashes water on her face, grabbing the towel to dab her skin dry. "I kept my first girlfriend a secret for almost a year before my parents found out, I could tell you were hiding something but it wasn't until Will showed up and you almost shit yourself that I put it together."

J.J. lets the explanation sit in the air between them for a few minutes, her typically curiosity about Emily piqued once more. For as close as they are, she doesn't know a lot about the other woman. "So, your first girlfriend huh?"

Emily snorts and a wistful smile tugs at her lips. "Yeah, Anjali. We met at the embassy in India and hit it off while we were there so we decided to stay in touch. Letters, phone calls, we even sent gifts when we got the chance. Eventually after a few months of that I worked up the nerve to ask her out in one of my letters. She called and told me I was a baby for not doing it over the phone and that only once I asked properly would she give me an answer."

J.J. chuckles beside her, patting her face dry. "Sounds like a badass."

"Understatement, but to be fair that does seem to be my type." She lets out her bun and grabs the brush from the counter, tugging it through tangled strands. "Anyway, she agreed - obviously - and we kept it up for a while. We saw each other at a few galas and made the most of it, spent hours on the phone at night hiding with the landline in the bathroom. It was sweet really, kind of romantic in a terrifying kind of way."

"So how did you get caught?"

Emily blows out a puff of air, hopping up on the counter while she waits for her coworker to finish. "We spent the weekend running around Brazil together, there was an event her parents were hosting that my mother wanted to attend. I couldn't even tell you now what it was for but it was big, we though nobody would notice if we went missing for a while and snuck up to her room."

J.J. winces, not liking where this story is heading. "I see where this is going."

"Oh it gets worse." Emily assures her, able to laugh about it now that she knows Anjali is married to a beautiful woman and has two lovely children. They're still in touch, even now after everything Emily put her through just by being the one she was caught with. "Shirts off, pants undone, her grandmother walks in."

"She did not!" J.J. exclaims, eyes wide. She can't imagine her grandmother ever mentioning her sex life, let alone walking in on her mid-make out-session.

"Oh but she did. And of course she lets out this horrified scream which scares the hell out of me so I fall off the bed and I'm out cold. Which leaves me topless, on the floor - bleeding from where I hit my head on the nightstand - and then my mother runs in with diplomatic security from my team and Anjali's team run in and join the party. And then her parents are there and everyone is just staring."

"They didn't say anything?"

"Not at first. One of the security agents covered me and carried me down the hall to where I was staying so I could get cleaned up in private once I woke up."

"What happened to Anjali?" She's almost afraid to ask.

That part of the story Emily can't laugh at, no matter how long it's been or how hard she tries. "I didn't see her for years, didn't hear from her, and all my letters got sent back unopened. I didn't find out until she turned 18 that she'd been sent back to India to live with her grandparents full time. They cut off all contact between her and most girls her age, they hoped it would 'fix her' and when that didn't work she left the country. She went no contact for a while, but the relationship repaired eventually."

"What's she up to now?"

"She's married, two kids - a boy and a girl - and her parents love her wife." She offers a shrug, hopping down from the sink. "So it all worked out in the end, even if the middle part of the story really sucked."

They walk into the bedroom, putting their toiletry bags into their duffle bags and climbing into bed. "What about your parents?"

"My dad didn't care but my mother didn't talk to me for months. It wasn't until I got a second girlfriend that she put her foot down, told me I was embarrassing her and she wouldn't allow me to ruin my life and hers all in one go. When I told my dad - who was out of the country at the time - he wired me money and gave me an address of an apartment he'd rented for me. I stayed there until he got home two months later so he could calm my mother down."

"That seems a little extreme."

"That's because you don't know my mother." Emily tells her with a smile, a little scared of her mother even now as a fully independent adult. "He just didn't want us to say things we couldn't take back so he gave me an out."

"Are you close? You and your dad?"

Emily nods from her place in bed. "Yeah, about as close as we can be. He wasn't around a lot growing up but when he was there he was great."

The silence fills the space between them, the sound of the wind outside the only noise penetrating the silence before the blonde speaks again.

"Emily, are you sure you know what you're doing with Hotch?"

Emily stares up at the ceiling, a pit in her stomach at the mention of her boss.

"J.J. I'm entirely sure I don't know what I'm doing with Hotch, but I think it's too late to stop it now."

Chapter Text

"Hey, busy?" Emily asks, not waiting for an answer before she invites herself into his office and drops down on his couch with a groan. It's been a week and a half since their last case and she's going crazy. They're not off rotation until midnight tonight and she's bored out of her mind. It's not that she hopes there's a surprise serial killer but she does wish she hadn't crossed the line from bored into almost catatonic.

His lips twitch and he glances her way before he focuses back on his paperwork. "Make yourself comfortable."

Emily kicks her legs up on the couch, her hands clasped together behind her head. "Awesome, thanks." He doesn't engage so she sighs loudly, repeating the sound when his lips twitch and he finally looks up at her.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm bored, I'm looking to be entertained. I thought you might be a good way to fix that problem but it appears I'm mistaken."

He snorts and shakes his head, leaning back in his seat and tossing his pen at her. "I'm partaking in this new activity called working, you should try it sometime."

"I'll have you know I've finished all my paperwork and my consults. It's a slow week for serial killers, you should be thankful for that." She tells him, throwing the pen back at him and glaring when he catches it easily and starts working on the file before him. "Come on, let's get out of here."

"Emily, I'm working."

"Hotch, you're boring. It's Friday night, live a little."

"It is Friday and if we want to go house hunting tomorrow then I have to get this done tonight."

She glares at him, hating when he brings logic into the conversation. She pouts and pushes herself off the couch, tossing a weak 'good luck with that' on her way out and marching down the steps. He doesn't take offense, knowing she's just bored and that they're the last two left in the office and she doesn't want him to fall into the habit of overworking himself because he no longer has a wife and child waiting for him at home.

He assumes she'll go home and watch movies, maybe even call him and put him on speaker. She likes spending time together, even when they're miles apart and working on different things. He thinks it's cute and it's another addition to the ever-growing list of reasons he loves her. Not that he'll tell her that, but he's keeping track.

He's surprised when instead she makes her way back into his office, clearing her throat and holding up a bag of food with a smile on her face. "If we're finishing the files tonight I'm at least making sure you get something to eat."

"Emily you don't have to."

She places the food on the coffee table in front of the couch and gives him a gentle smile. "I know, I want to."

A half hour later they've migrated to the couch, boxes of mostly eaten food on the table and files in their laps.

"God, where did you get this?" He asks, digging into the last bites his pasta like his life depends on it.

"I know people, Aaron. When will you learn that I'm full of surprises?"

"Don't I know it." He tells her, dropping his empty container onto the table with a sigh. He's almost uncomfortably full but it's the best meal he's had in a while and he's got good company and half the files he'd started with so he's rather enjoying his evening even if he is spending it at work.

"Well we've finished most of the files, can we please leave now?" Emily almost begs, the clock ticking toward 10 o'clock now. They have an early morning with the realtor and she wants to get some sleep but she won't leave him here on his own. Their shoes are kicked off, his tie dangling off the back of his chair, and his jacket over the arm off the couch.

"You're really desperate to get home, aren't you?" He asks with a smile, leaning back into the couch. His feet are propped up the couch next to her legs and he knows he probably shouldn't be this comfortable with the door open and the blinds up but he knows the only people liable to walk by are the cleaning crew who aren't due for another hour.

"Yeah, it's been a long few weeks."

He sits forward wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer, ignoring her insistence that someone could walk by at any minute. "I can think of a few ways to thank you for your help." He offers, a smile on his lips.

She laughs, pushing him back to no avail. "Keep it in your pants, we're at work! Besides, we're friends remember?"

He pushes himself off the couch and peeks his head out of the office. When he sees no one he shuts it and clicks the lock into place, not bothering to pull the blinds shut before he turns back to the agent on his couch with a suggestive smile. "We're the only ones at work. And you keep saying we're friends but you're not exactly putting up much of an argument."

"Aaron." She warns, but the amused smile on her face gives her away. She's not irritated with him but she's not sure this is the route she wants to take. They've been bouncing back and forth in how they define their relationship and it's giving her whiplash. She doesn't know exactly where they stand; if she can hold his hand when they're alone or if that's crossing a line, if she can invite him for a sleepover in her own bed or if he'd prefer his own room.

Emily watches him move closer, sink to his knees in front of her and lays his hands on her knees.

"You don't mind do you?" He asks, the question utterly rhetorical because he has absolutely no intention of stopping now. He smooths his palms up her thighs, pushing them gently apart. "I only mean, can you keep quiet for me?" She doesn't answer, her gaze following his hands sliding up her legs. He digs his fingers in, a hiss leaving her lips. "I asked you a question, Emily. I expect an answer."

"Yes, yes I can keep quiet." She tells him, rushing the words out and her thighs tensing in anticipation.

"See that you do." He tells her, his fingers moving to her belt and swiftly pulling it from the loops. He thumbs open the button on her pants and tugs them down her legs, her signature black satin the only thing separating them. He settles himself between her knees, broad shoulders keeping her legs open on either side of him.

He starts with gentle kisses to her thighs, tracing the tip of his tongue upward and getting closer each time but not getting quite where she wants him before he sinks his teeth into her skin. A pained gasp leaves her lips, a hand gripping his hair in warning but she finds that when he soothes his tongue over where he's broken skin heat pools between her legs. He gives her a knowing smirk that she hates but then he's moving her thighs over his shoulder and she doesn't dare say a word, knowing if she does he'll stop and restart the process.

Hotch slips his hands around her, hands settling on her satin covered cheeks and yanking her toward him, mouthing her through her panties and the grip on his hair tightening to steel. A moan slips from her lips and in the the space of a breath one hand wraps around her throat, his breath on her face and his eyes narrowed on her.

"What part of keeping quiet are you not comprehending?" He grinds out, feeling her pulse pounding away under his fingers and he tightens his hold when she doesn't answer. "What did I say about answering when you're spoken to?"

"I'm sorry, I'll be quiet." She tells him, pressing her lips together and swallowing hard when he releases her neck.

He makes his way back down, this time sliding her panties to the side and dragging his tongue through her folds, twitching in his pants at the sinful moan she lets out before he stops once more.

"One more sound and we're done, I'll send you home and you'll have to wait."

Emily nods seriously, knowing he'll do exactly that if she can't shut the fuck up.

He flicks his tongue across her clit, drawing slow circular patterns that he knows drive her crazy and it's all she can do to keep from begging. He applauds the effort though, feels her muscles twitching under his hand and knows she's getting desperate despite her obedient silence. He brings her right to the edge and backs off when a shuddering gasp leaves her lips, just barely stopping herself from groaning into the otherwise silent room.

"Good girl." Hotch tells her with a smile, blowing on her heated center and resting back on his knees. He wants to toy with her, wants to have her desperate before he makes her come. He stands, turning his back to her and opening the door to his office. It's risky and he knows it but he knows she enjoys the thrill that comes with that risk, knows she'll get off on the possibility of getting caught.

He turns around with a smile, the words on his lips dying when he finds her with a hand between her legs, two fingers furiously circling her clit with the obvious intention of getting herself off before he can stop her.

Hotch moves across the room quickly, grabbing the offending hand and yanking her up where he pins the arm behind her back and holds her against his chest. "I don't believe I gave you permission to touch yourself."

Emily lets out a laugh but doesn't fight against his grip, she knows he won't let her go and it'll only serve to make her look weak. "Permission? I don't have to ask you for shit."

He lets out a low laugh, roughly hauling her over to his desk where he shoves her down on her back, ignoring the pained grunt she lets out at the stapler digging into her shoulder before she can move it to the side. He yanks her forward by her hair, satisfied at the whimper she lets out and moves his lips to her ear. "You're going to be begging me to let you come." He bites out, reveling in the deep groan he gets in response.

He pushes her flat on the desk and pulls her panties down her legs, pushing them into his own pocket before he resumes his earlier task between her thighs. Emily props herself up on her elbows, gazing down with heavy lids at what he's doing.

He gently traces the outline of her folds, not enough pressure behind what he's doing to give her more than a whisper of friction against her clit, and his ego doubles in size when her hips jerk upward in response. He repeats the action a few times, hearing her exhale sharply when he finally flattens his tongue and licks from her entrance to her clit, drawing circles around the pulsing bundle of nerves.

He brings his hand up, humming against her clit when he sinks two fingers into her and she meets his thrust with one of her own.

"Fuck." It's hissed out in between ragged gasps of air, having apparently forgotten the rule he's set about being quiet. He doesn't mind it this once though, he wants her begging even if it contradicts his earlier statement about what he allows her do to. He speeds up the pace of his fingers and stands, hand in the back of her hair yanking he head back so he has full access to her neck where he licks a salty bead of sweat from her skin.

"Don't close your eyes baby." He tells her, licking the shell of her ear before he bites down on the lobe and feels her tighten around his fingers. He pulls back just enough to meet dark eyes, pupils dilated and skin flushed.

"I'm gonna come." She tells him when she screws her eyes shut, almost whining into his mouth. He feels her thighs shaking around his hand, feels his palm slick with arousal where it rubs against her clit, hears her breathing turn erratic, and then...

He stops.

Dark eyes fly open to land on his satisfied smirk when she lets out a disgruntled sob. "What the fuck?" She shouts at him, his hand keeping a firm grip on her wrist when she moves to hit him, feeling her own arousal coating his fingers and his palm.

"I did say I'd have you begging, didn't I? Besides, you couldn't keep quiet and you didn't keep your eyes open. Actions have consequences, Emily." He speaks down to her, gives her head a soft pat like she's a pet rather than the woman he's stripped half naked.

"I swear to God if-"

"What was that? Because it sounds like you're catching an attitude, which would be rather unfortunate because I'd prefer it if you'd come for me but I suppose if you want to be difficult we can do this your way." He tells her, giving a satisfied nod when her lips press into a thin line and she waits for him to make his move. "Good choice."

He places soft kisses to her neck, barely there pecks of his lips but he can taste the salt on her skin and he sucks on a sensitive spot on her collarbone that has goosebumps breaking out on her skin. He doesn't stop there long, works on pulling her shirt over her head and unclipping her bra, moving south toward her chest where he flicks his tongue across pebbled skin while a hand finds its way between her thighs once more. He smiles against her chest when she arches against him, knowing if he doesn't get a move on she's more than ready to try and finish herself off again.

He wouldn't put it past her to knock him on his ass if that's what it takes.

He yanks her up and forces her to bend over his desk, kicks the inside of her feet so she spreads them wider. He can't help the groan he lets out, the sight of the woman before him with her legs spread and back arched. She's beautiful and more than that she's his. He knows it, she knows it, and now it's just a guess of who'll say it first.

He drops his pants - keeps her panties in hand - and frees himself from his briefs, places the tip of his cock at her entrance and moves back when she thrusts toward him. "Such a needy little thing aren't you?" He doesn't wait for a response, thrusting in and laughing at the groan she lets out.

He yanks her back by her hair, balling her panties and forcing them between her lips. "What did I say about being quiet? You insubordinate, disobedient, whore." He grinds out, a grip on her throat holding her against his chest. "Do you want someone to come by and see you bend over the desk? Oh, maybe that is it. You want someone to see how well you can take it, hmm?" He mocks, laughing when her eyes move toward the door that's cracked open and she knows if someone walks into the bullpen they're done for.

It's funny, she can't seem to remember why that would be such a bad thing. The worst they could do is fire them.

The Bureau wouldn't arrest them, they'd rather send them away quietly to avoid the embarrassment.

Emily's eyes roll back in her head, the panties in her mouth muffling the sounds of pleasure he's pulling from her. They've discussed limits a few times and he's crossing none of them but she hadn't expected him to take things so far in such a public place.

"Can you feel me?" He grabs her hand, pressing it against her stomach with his own and she clenches around him at the feeling of him marking her from the inside out.

She meets him thrust for thrust, no longer caring that her movements are sloppy and primal and maybe unattractive to a more vain man but she can't seem to stop herself.

She's moaning with every forward thrust of her hips and she can hear him speaking to her but she doesn't much care what he's saying anymore, teetering on the edge of what's bound to be an earth shattering orgasm she's been longing for since their last encounter.

She vaguely hears him ask where to finish and she reaches back, digging her nails into a cheek to keep him in place as her answer. He seems to understand because he lets out a groan and his thrusts turn sloppy, fingers on her clit sending her over the edge seconds before him.

Emily breathes heavily through the panties in her mouth, strings of spit dangling from her chin and her face flushed with her bangs sticking to her forehead. He's half collapsed over her, panting against the back of her neck and his hands planted firmly on her hips.

It takes a few minutes before he slips from her, pulling the panties from between her lips and wiping the spit from her chin when he does. He gives her a gentle smile, pulls her against his chest and settles his cheek atop her head and rubs a hand up and down her back.

"You okay?"

She hums the affirmative, relying on him to hold her up. She's standing on two very shaky legs and he seems to notice, lifting her easily to sit on his desk before he moves to the door and then the blinds to give them some privacy that seems unimportant after what they've just done.

He's mostly clothed still, only having to tuck himself back into his briefs and pull on his pants before he's presentable to the public so he helps her dress.

It doesn't take long and when she's zipping her shoes he cleans up their dinner and packs his files away, turning to her with a smile.

"So, you said something about wanting to go home?"

She throws her panties at him, smiling at the laugh he gives her when he catches and pockets the satin.

"You, Aaron Hotchner, are a whore."

~~~~~~~~~~

"There's four bedrooms and four and a half baths, plenty of space in the back yard, a pool with a fence around it so it's child friendly, and it's in a great school district." The realtor tells them, showing them the last house on their list. It's Sunday and every home they've been shown so far has had something about it that just felt off.

Emily couldn't tell you what exactly about it felt off but Aaron insisted with every home they saw that he'd know the right house when he saw it. She indulges him, having nothing better to do this weekend anyway.

"So, what do you think?" Emily asks once they've seen the entirety of the house. They end up in the master bedroom last and Aaron give the realtor a smile.

"Can we have a few minutes? Just to discuss things."

The woman smiles at them and nods, making a quick exit when her phone rings. Hotch waits until her voice has disappeared down the stairs before he pulls Emily against himself, her back against his chest and he rests his chin on her shoulder.

"What do you think?"

She hums her approval. "I think it's brilliant, but it's not my house you have to make the decision. Can you see a future here?"

He nods, looking out over the large backyard from the master bedroom view. "Yeah, I think I can."

She senses his hesitancy, furrows her brows at him. "What's wrong?"

He shakes his head, a sense of sadness - but not regret - settling in his stomach. "Just what the realtor said this morning about homes for me to grow into. I don't think I'll ever get that chance. I just worry I'll get a house for Jack and I and we're the only ones that'll ever live in it. I don't want to be alone here."

Her chest aches at the admission and her hands settle on his where he's wrapped around her waist. "You won't be."

"How are you so sure?"

She tells him what she wants to say to him, tells him the things she wishes she could have with him. "Because you're an easy man to love, Aaron Hotchner. One day you're going to marry a beautiful woman who loves you more than anything, who loves Jack like he's her own, and then you're going to have babies and fill a home with love and laughter and you'll never know a day of loneliness."

Hotch wants to tell her that he wishes she'd be that beautiful woman, that he wishes she'd give him the chance to make her happy because he knows he could if only she'd give him the opportunity. But he doesn't.

"You're too good for me, Emily. Too damn good." He presses a kiss to her cheek and looks around the room. "It is a nice house though, isn't it? I could see a life here, definitely more than I could see it in the other homes we've looked at."

"Tell me." Emily encourages him gently, a soft smile on her face.

"Well for starters I can fuck you against the window, the trees offer plenty of privacy." He nips at her earlobe and she laughs, thrusting her hips back and pinching his arm.

"Keep it in your pants Hotchner, I'm serious."

"Well, the kitchen and dining room are nice too. I could have you over on weekends, we could have breakfast with Jack in the dining room and then head out to the pool in the summer months." He muses, feeling her tense in his arms. "If you want to, of course."

She isn't sure what to make of what he's offering her. "We haven't talked like this before."

He nods against her shoulder, tightening his grip around her waist. "I know."

It's as close as they'll get to a declaration of love today and for now that's enough.

Chapter Text

Emily rolls over in bed, plastering herself against the body beside her. She's not sure when she became so physically affectionate again but now that it's happened she's taking immense pleasure in it and smiles when a pair of strong arms wrap around her and his hands span across her back.

"Good morning." She mumbles sleepily, face buried in the crook of his neck.

"Good morning, beautiful." Hotch rumbles back, more of a morning person than she is. He's been awake for a half hour, watching her sleep and dragging his fingers along her skin while she dozed. Contact with her brings him comfort, it tells him she's safe and that she's happy and as far as what he wants out of this relationship that's the most basic of needs. "How did you sleep?"

"Shh." She tells him, eyes still shut when her hand lays across his face and moves down to his mouth when she realizes she's hit much higher than she intended to. "Still sleeping."

He laughs and kisses he palm, her hand slipping from his face and returning to its place on his chest. She's asleep again in seconds and it's still a little before 6 so he doesn't wake her up, instead he grabs his book and settles her more against his side. He flips open the cover and starts reading, deciding to spend the morning in bed with her instead of finishing the packing they're supposed to take care of before they leave.

It's an hour later and he's almost finished with his book when she stirs, tongue flicking out to wet her lips and her muscles tensing when she stretches and then relaxes against him.

"Are we awake for good this time?" He asks, a smile on his lips.

"Hmm, I think we are." She tells him, moving impossibly closer so her lips rest against his neck and her breath tickles the skin there.

"I'm sorry you have to spend your morning helping me pack, I should've finished while you slept." He apologizes, dropping his book on the nightstand after making a mental note of the page he's left off on.

"No, you're warm." Emily answers, arms wrapped around him and their legs tangled together beneath the blankets. She appreciates the heat he shares with her, her own body heat insufficient especially in Kyle's house where the heat is never high enough and there's always a window open.

He rolls his eyes, lips twitching. "Right, good to know your priorities are straight." She hums against his neck and he kisses her temple, rubbing her back in the hope that she'll start waking up and they can start their day. "Ready to get up?"

"Not quite yet." She tells him, the leg thrown over one of his sliding up to rest over his hip.

"You can't keep me here forever you know, people will eventually come looking."

"Not forever, just for now." Emily responds, shifting so her center is aligned with his hipbone and grinding against him.

His brows fly up so fast they're in danger of flying off his face, the groan that leaves her lips low and throaty first thing in the morning and his cock gives a responding twitch to the sound. "Oh." He comments lamely, his brain short-circuiting. Emily just hums back at him, hips lazily rocking against his hip.

They're pressed right up against each other and her hand finds its way to his hair, tangling her fingers in the short locks and holding him close.

"If we're doing this we're going to do it right." He husks out, pressing a kiss to parted lips that respond in kind before he shifts her atop him. Her legs fall to either side of his waist and he grinds her down against himself, needing a few more minutes than she does to be in full working order.

Emily doesn't seem to mind, bucking weakly against him and pressing soft kisses to his chest. He runs his hands up and down her thighs, the blanket falling down her back and landing on his thighs so he can see all of her. It's distinctly different from their last encounter. Where that was rough and risky this is something else, soft and gentle and new.

When Hotch decides he's ready and Emily - he can feel her arousal coating his skin - is getting close to finishing without him he pushes them up, forcing her to her knees before he slides them apart and lets her slide down until he's filling her with a groan that matches her own.

This morning they take their time, her arms wrapped around him holding his body against herself. She doesn't want any unnecessary space between them, she wants to feel every inch of him and she's close to crawling down his throat if it'll mean she gets to be closer to him. It's a feeling she hasn't had before, something all encompassing that leaves her breathless and lightheaded.

Hotch is in exactly the same place, his face against her neck where he can feel her pulse and smell her skin and the scent of her shampoo and she's pressed so tightly against him that he can feel the rumble of her chest when she moans against his shoulder. He thrusts slowly, meeting her hips that rock against his own and he pulls back just enough so he can look at her face.

When they kiss it's slow, it's undemanding and exploratory even though they've done it a hundred times over by now. He breathes into her mouth and her into his, dark eyes deadlocked when they near the edge. He can feel her getting there, can feel her tightening around him and slowing so she can drag it out. He lets her for a while, watches the flush that creeps up her chest and smooths his hands across her back and when he thrusts up into her she comes with a soft 'Aaron' and that's what pushes him over the edge.

He comes with her name on his lips, breathing it into her mouth and almost seeing the shift that's taken place.

They've been in this position plenty of times before, they've been slow and lingering and sweet but this isn't the same.

This isn't their usual, they're not fucking anymore and they both know it.

Emily usually hates the term, prefers the brutal honesty of calling it fucking, but if there's ever been a time she'd call it making love it's this.

It's the first time she doesn't hate the way that sounds.

~~~~~~~~~~

"So, charcoal gray?" Emily asks when they're packing up the last of Hotch's boxes. They're in the living room with a variety of valuables laying around them, packaging them in bubble wrap before they go in the boxes.

He snorts at the mention of his courtroom takedown. "Yeah, charcoal gray."

"I heard it was pretty hot, seeing you take down a hotshot lawyer like that. It reminds me that you used to be a hotshot lawyer." She says with a suggestive smile, clearly finding his courtroom skills attractive even if he's not quite sure what's doing it for her.

"Emily, I'm moving this morning, please keep it in your pants until tomorrow."

She huffs at him and turns back to her box. "Hmph, fine if you insist."

"Besides, we have more important things to talk about." She hums her acknowledgement, encouraging him to continue. "Your high school yearbook photo."

She spins around, almost dropping the antique lamp in her hands and she gives him an apologetic look at the look of pure terror on his face. "You've seen it?" She asks, eyes wide and a blush creeping up her cheeks.

He nods, placing the matching lamp into his own box. "I have, and it's quite a look for you."

"But I told Garcia not to show you!" She pouts, already making plans for revenge.

"Oh, she didn't."

"What? Then wh-" Hotch gives her a smirk and a raised brow, telling her exactly what she needs to know. "I'm going to kill my mother."

He laughs and tapes up his box, moving across the rug to where she's kneeling so he can help finish hers and they can head out before the lunch rush moves through the city. "It's definitely not one of your finest looks, but definitely one I'm glad to have seen." He wraps his arms around her, waiting for her to finish with her last few items. "It makes me glad that you've evolved since then, I'm not sure I could get close enough to kiss you without your hair taking an eye out."

"Aaron Hotchner, if you ever want to have sex again I suggest you stop while you're ahead." She warns, grabbing the tape gun for the last box.

"Noted."

With the last box taped up they start hauling things downstairs and out to the U-Haul where Kyle is waiting. He's not doing much, just eating a breakfast burrito and guarding the truck while they carry things up and down the stairs from his room but there's not a lot. Most of his furniture has already been moved from storage and other than his bed it's just one box after the next of clothes and pictures and books.

"I think this is the last one, I'll take it outside and get in the truck. Say bye to Kyle, your one true love. You guys are like Rose and Jack, destined to be together but constantly torn apart" Emily teases, dodging the smack to her ass and laughing when she carries the last box out to the car. He stares out the door after her, leaning against the frame and his eyes on her. It's nice seeing her like this, a pair of shorts and a tank top and hair wild down her back. She's sweaty and all smiles and laughter, calm and trusting in his presence.

"I swear to God, if you end up single again I'm going to set your house on fire." Kyle tells him, handing a bottle of water to the agent.

Hotch turns to him, brows furrowed at his friend. "What?"

Kyle motions to Emily who's shutting the back of the truck, waving goodbye and shouting a last farewell to Kyle before she hops into the passenger side of the U-Haul. "Her, what do you think I mean?' Hotch gives him a blank look and Kyle briefly wonders how the man became a profiler when he's so completely clueless. "Man, you haven't looked at someone like that since the first years of you marriage to Haley."

Hotch scoffs, rolling his eyes skyward. "Bullshit."

"It's not." Hotch actually turns to him, the usual joking tone Kyle brings to every conversation no longer present. "Aaron, I want you to be happy. You deserve to be happy, and from the looks of it she's who does it for you. It doesn't make what you did okay, you shouldn't have cheated on Haley, but if Emily is the person you want to be with you should tell her."

"You really think so?" Hotch asks his, casting a look toward the agent waiting for him in the truck.

"Yeah, so whatever you do Aaron, don't screw it up."

Chapter Text

"You know you don't have the ability to spontaneously combust your boyfriend right?" J.J. says quietly, looking between Emily and their boss who's talking with Joyner in her office.

"Can I word with you in private?" Emily mimics in a surprisingly accurate faux British accent, shooting another glare toward the pair.

"Emily she's just doing her job."

"What she's doing is sticking her devious blonde head up Hotch's spectacular ass." Penelope tells J.J., inserting herself into the conversation. She's firmly on Emily's team, sending a nasty look toward the woman who's occupying Hotch's time.

Emily holds her hand out toward the technical analyst. "See? She gets it, why can't you?"

J.J. laughs and shakes her head, casting one final look at the blonde they've been glaring at and lowering her voice once more. "Emily, you're spectacular in bed you have nothing to worry about. Trust me, he wouldn't give away a local girlfriend for a national booty call who reminds him of his wife."

"So you do think she's his type!"

J.J. mumbles something under her breath that sounds dangerously close to 'please get your head out of your ass before Hotch spanks it' and walks away with Emily glaring after her.

"She is right, you know?" Penelope tells her, sorting through a few random pages on the desk they're sat at. She doesn't want anyone to think she's not doing her job, she gets enough negative attention as is from local cops and detectives and she wants to show her value. "Hotch has these giant hearts that pop out of his skull every time you walk into the room but you have little ninjas warding off his love and affection for you."

"Penelope-"

"You're emotionally incompetent. I swear sometimes you've got blindfolds over your eyes that only you can see because everyone sees the way he looks at you, except you of course. It's really amazing you've kept your job this long with your lack of observational skills. But then again you're sleeping with the boss so many that's why he keeps you around." She laughs when Emily chucks a handful of paperclips at her, an irritated puff of air leaving her lip.

She's in love with him, she knows that much. Everyone says you should feel this rush of excitement when you're in love, that your heart pounds out of your chest and your palms get sweaty and you can't string together more than a few words without sounding like an idiot.

She thinks they couldn't be more wrong. She thinks love feels calm, she thinks it feels like she's safe and settled and at peace and she feels all of those things when she's with Hotch. She needs the girls to be right this time, she needs Hotch to hear her out, to listen to her when she tells him.

They'd better be right, she thinks, knowing that when she comes clean she'll need whatever luck she can get.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hotch: Would you mind some company?

Emily: You know I don't. Come over.

Emily stares at herself in the bathroom mirror, finger combing her hair to ensure she looks at least somewhat presentable. She's not entirely sure what he's up to, whether this is a booty call or something case related but she wants to look her best.

A small voice in the back of her mind tells her she should look her best in case he's here to tell her he's leaving her for Kate Joyner. She knows logically that that's not very likely, but she can't help but think it and her recent discovery has made that voice in the back of her head much louder. They're not exclusive, no matter how much she'd like to be.

She wants to tell him tonight, to tell him everything. He deserves to know how she feels, deserves to know where she's at in the mess they've created. She wants him to say he's right there with her, but she knows if they're not on the same page she could be about to destroy everything they've built together thus far.

A knock makes her jump and she moves to the door - peeks through the hole to ensure it's Hotch - and lets him in with a smile on her face. That smile fades when she sees the look on his face, furrowed brows letting her know something is on his mind.

"What is it?" She asks him when he's sat on the end of her bed, closing the door softly after looking out to make sure nobody saw him come in.

"Am I a bad person?"

"What?" Emily would classify Aaron Hotchner as many things but a bad person isn't one of them.

He looks up at her, eyes swimming, when she realizes just how distraught he is. "J,J,, she didn't tell me about the pregnancy. Did she think I'd treat her differently? Did she not trust me enough?"

Emily pushes his legs apart and crouches between then, holding his face between her hands to ensure he's paying attention. Her voice is thick with emotion when she speaks. "Aaron, I guarantee that's not why she didn't tell you."

He rolls tear filled eyes and blows out a puff of air. "You're not the right person to ask."

"I'm exactly the right person to ask." Emily tells him, thumbs brushing tears that track down his cheeks. "She didn't keep it a secret because she didn't want to tell you, she kept it a secret because she needed to sit with it a while. Babies change everything, you know?" She thinks back to Rome, of how much her life changed from one stupid choice she made at 15. "Once she tells people it becomes real, she needed to come to terms with it before she let anyone else in on it."

"Yeah?" He asks hopefully, brown eyes finally meeting hers.

She smiles back at him, pleased when his hands cover hers and he kisses her palm. "Yeah. She didn't tell Penelope or I either, it had nothing to do with you."

It takes a few minutes for his tears to dry and Emily sits with him until they do, pressing soft kisses to his face and wrapping her arms around him. He rests his chin on her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her shampoo and perfume and letting that calm him down. "I have to go."

She nods against his shoulder, pulling back. "I know, it's an active case we can't risk anyone going looking for you and finding us holed up in my room." They'd set that rule early on, the danger of getting exposed far too real during a case.

They spend a few minutes soaking each other in, soft smiles and hand holding and lingering kisses that make them wish this case was over and they could be back home at his house or hers.

"Hey." She grabs his hand before he can open the door, a nervous smile on her face. "Do you think we can talk when we get back home?"

"Talk?" Hotch's brows furrow, his head tilting in question.

"Yeah, you know, about us?"

He bites his cheek to keep from smiling, the last thing he wants to do is scare her off by being too excited about this. He thinks he knows what she has to say but he won't push it from her. If nothing else he'll admit his feelings first and then she'll be free to do so without the fear of getting rejected.

"Yeah, we can talk."

~~~~~~~~~~

"Actually I'd like to take Agent Prentiss with me, if you don't mind." Emily looks over in surprise at the detective, only hesitating a moment before she answers.

"Oh, um, yeah that's fine. Hotch?" She looks to him for confirmation at Cooper having requested her over the assignment with Morgan. They're all heading to different locations and she doesn't mind going with Cooper, he seems nice enough if a little cocky but she's used to that in their line of work.

"I don-"

"That sounds like a good idea, Cooper." Rossi interjects, not letting Hotch finish whatever was about to come out of his mouth. He looks at his friend, hoping his telepathic message to shut the hell up gets heard loud and clear. "If Detective Cooper takes a woman he may be less obvious, it might make it harder for our UNSUBs to make them as undercover agents."

Hotch can see what Rossi is trying to do and clears his throat, casting a glance at Cooper before he turns to Emily. "Alright, but be careful. It's just the two of you, you don't have backup out there."

Emily nods and she and Cooper are on the move, heading out of the precinct and heading for the streets when Rossi steps up to him.

"Either quit your brooding, or tell her how you feel."

Hotch's lips twitch and he glances at his coworker before looking back down at the files spread out in front of him. "Way ahead of you, Dave."

Rossi smiles and claps him on the back.

"Atta boy."

Chapter Text

They're at the precinct packing up when he catches it the first time. It's just out the corner of his eye and she turns away before he can get a good look but he swears Emily had been glaring at him. He brushes it off and tells himself it's the emotional roller-coaster he's been on and the lack of sleep that's making him see things.

It had been Rossi's idea to head back to the station to finish packing and sending files back to Quantico, saying it would be better than having to come in first thing the next morning to do it all before the jet was due to leave. The team had agreed wholeheartedly, wanting one good night of sleep before having to head home and write up what's sure to be endless reports for this case.

The second time it happens Hotch is sure she's glaring at him, catching her eye and furrowing his brows in question but she gives him nothing more than a blank stare before she stalks off to find something else to do.

A half hour later they're side by side, working on packing up the board. "So, how are you feeling?"

"I don't know, how's your face?" She bites back, holding her hand up and motioning vaguely to the scratches. "Since you know, you almost got it blown off?"

"Emily." He says, surprised at her tone and the nerve she has to do this in public. It's not like her and he wants to diffuse the situation but she scoffs and marches off before he can get another word out. He glances at Morgan for help but the agent just shrugs back at him, equally clueless as to the cause of her behavior.

Soon after she's walking alongside J.J., glaring at him when they pass. He knows he has to get to the bottom of this so he calls out to her. "Prentiss, a word?"

She turns to him and shakes her head. "No thanks." She answers simply, walking ahead of J.J. who stares after her with the same shock their boss has written across his face.

J.J. quickly follows after her with Penelope close behind. "Hey sugarplum, what's got you so down?"

Emily looks back at them and back to the files she's packing up for shipment. "No clue what you're talking about."

"Of course you do, you just snapped at Hotch in front of everyone. Are you trying to get caught?"

Emily glares at her friend. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm trying to do J.J. thank you for your brilliant skills of deduction."

"Hey!" Garcia interrupts, seeing the hurt look on her blonde friend's face. "You're allowed to feel whatever emotion it is that's bringing out the nasty side of you that reminds me of your mother but you can't take it out on her when she hasn't done anything!"

Emily and J.J. stare at her, stunned at her aggression, but Emily immediately deflates. She gives the media liaison an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, she's right, it's not you."

"It's okay." J.J. tells her, knowing she's been under a great deal of stress. For them the explosion meant a more complex case and the potential loss of a leader, but for Emily it meant the loss of a man she loves. She can't imagine she would've handled things much better if she'd been in her shoes. "What is wrong though? You've been shooting daggers all night."

Emily shakes her head and grabs the now filled box and heads for the door. "It's nothing, let's just finish so we can get back to the hotel."

The team walks down the hall together, heading into their rooms with soft wishes of a good nights sleep they're all unlikely to get before their doors shut. Hotch looks like shit, face scratched to hell and dark circles under his eyes and cotton squished in his ears. He'll be fine in a few weeks, back to full function once his ears have healed and the scratches on his face have disappeared.

"I'll give you two a minute." Rossi says, taking his bag along with Hotch's into the room they're sharing for the night. Once the Italian had found out Emily wouldn't be staying with their boss he'd insisted that he stay with him instead, just in case he needed help or something went terribly wrong and the doctors missed something important.

Hotch watches him enter their shared room before he turns to Emily, gently grasping her wrist in his hand when she goes to side her keycard through the lock. "Hey."

"What?" Emily snaps at him, jerking her hand from his grasp. She doesn't look up at him, afraid that if she does she'll lose it and neither of them can handle that right now. She's furious with him, illogically angry at him for almost dying. She knows it's not his fault but it's easy to forget the dangers of the job when they've been so lucky thus far. Sure, they've had injuries but nothing like this since the Hankel case, nothing that shoved the reality of an ever present threat of death into their faces quite like this has.

"Are you alright?"

She snorts at him, rolling her eyes because of course he'd be checking on her even in his state. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

His lips twitch, the first hint of a smile since the explosion. "You have, several times, now it's my turn. You shot and killed someone, I should be checking on you too."

She shakes her head, wishing he'd let her be so she can get on with her night. "I'm fine, Bureau mandated therapy will ensure I stay that way." She turns to her door and he furrows his brows at her, pulling her back into the hall.

"Emily, have I done something?"

She scoffs and yanks her hand from him once more. "Can I go to bed now? I'm sure Rossi is waiting for you and quite frankly I don't want to see you right now. I know you're grieving and I want to help you with that I really do but I'm feeling a lot of things right now and us spending time together is just going to make us both feel worse."

He nods his understanding and he's at least thankful she didn't slam the door in his face the second he reached for her. He's just as much of a mess as she is. He's lost Kate and he is angry and frustrated and grieving, but they haven't been close for years and he's not devastated despite the lingering sadness he can feel in his bones. He feels sadness for Emily too, knowing how difficult it must have been for her to pretend everything was fine while she worked the case and all the while she's terrified that she may very well lose him, not to mention having to kill someone even if it was to save herself and Detective Cooper. He just can't fathom what he's done to make her angry. "Okay, sure. Good night."

"Good night." The words barely leave her lips before she shuts the door in his face, needing as much space between herself and her boss as she can get. Hotch heads into his own room a few seconds later, having given up on the prospect of talking when the door doesn't swing back open. He doesn't see Morgan watching from the end of the hall, ice bucket in hand and brows furrowed at his boss and his coworker.

What the hell was that about?

~~~~~~~~~~

Emily paces her room at a little after three in the morning, her nerves frayed and her nails bitten to the quick and her anxiety at an all time high.

Is she doing the right thing? Is there any real future for them? Is she destroying any possible future by spilling her guts to him and hoping he's in agreement with her on whatever this situation is?

She pulls at her hair, the sting of strands torn from her scalp giving her only seconds of relief from her turmoil before she's right back in the thick of it. She can't recall the last time she's been like this, or at least can't recall the last time she's been like this and didn't have Hotch to call for help.

She knows he's just a room away, that if she called he'd come running and he'd hold her and tell her everything will be fine.

But everything won't be fine.

She can feel herself panicking, can feel her breath coming in short gasps when she slides to the floor between the wall and the nightstand. She feels safer there, in the small space where she can see the room in its entirety, all the dark corners and the door with a chair pushed under the handle. Her paranoia has swung back full force, settling into her bones.

She can imagine what the blast would've sounded like, can recall her ears ringing when a shell dropped in a country far from this one. She knows the heat must've left his skin tingling, even without leaving burns she knows that pain. She knows the feeling of swaying on your feet, the earth unsteady beneath you and the feeling of being sick without ever quite getting to that point.

She can imagine him flying through the air, can imagine the sound his body would've made when it hit the ground, can picture him wandering around aimlessly trying to gather his surroundings before he finally zeros in on the body that had been thrown with him. She wants to hold him and tell him how sorry she is that Kate is gone, she wants to tell him she died knowing that he was safe and that she knows Kate would've been thankful for that.

She wants to comfort him, keep him close and not let go and kiss the gashes on his face and wash his hair for him so he doesn't have to stand in the shower on his own.

But instead she's here, alone, in the dark, staring at the door and hoping the team makes it through the night.

PTSD is a bitch, she's known that for years, but this is hitting far too close to home. Hotch had come close to dying that night, he would've left behind a son who wouldn't remember him, a mother who'd grieve the loss of her oldest, and her.

The woman who nobody knows is desperately in love with him.

She's seen worse, been through worse, gathers the team will encounter worse in the years to come.

But the trouble is, she can no longer imagine facing it all without him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hotch makes his way out of the hotel the next morning empty handed, his duffel brought down with Rossi earlier in the day. He looks around, squinting in the sunlight that worsens his migraine. His eyes land on his team, gathered around the SUV they'll be taking to the jet while another sits at the end of the parking lot that he'll take to make the three hour journey home.

He's unwilling to drive the whole way with his emotions festering.

"Prentiss, can I have a moment please?" He starts walking toward the SUV at the end of the lot, not waiting for an answer and instead leaving her no option but to follow.

"Sir?" She asks when she reaches him where he's standing outside the door of the SUV.

"What's going on with you?"

"Me?" She scoffs, motioning back to the team. "I want to get home, is that so hard to believe?"

"Yes, it is. You've been snapping at me since yesterday and I can't for the life of me figure out what I've done."

"It doesn't matter. Will that be all?"

"No it will not." He bites out, putting on his Unit Chief hat and as expected she turns back to him and clasps her hands in front of her, shoulders back. She's many things but she's an agent and she won't disrespect the chain of command. "We're going to stand here until you start talking, I have all day."

"I don't, the jet is waiting."

"Then you can drive me back to the city and we'll have three hours to talk about what's got you so angry."

Her eyes narrow on him, irritation flashing across her face. "What's got me so angry? Really? You almost died!"

"I can't have helped that, it was going to happen regardless of what I did!"

"You think I don't know what?"

He motions to her helplessly, his hands falling to his sides. "Emily I can't help you if you won't talk to me!"

"I don't want to talk to you!"

Morgan wanders over, seeing from her stance and Hotch's helpless face that things are getting heated. He isn't sure what's going on but he knows it's not good and he knows if Emily isn't careful she'll get written up for tearing their boss a new one. He passes other cars on the way, a set of keys in his hand with the offer on his lips to drive Hotch back home when he hears it.

"Just answer me!" He shouts at her, finally fed up with her illogical anger. "Why are you so angry?"

"Because, Aaron, you got me fucking pregnant!"

Chapter Text

Emily sits across from her therapist for the first time in months, fingers itching for the familiar weight of a cigarette and all ten nails bitten painfully into the quick.

She hasn't been here in a while, hasn't needed to be here in a while. Bureau mandated therapy was to be expected after Cyrus and she's just happy she's been given the all clear to use her old therapist instead of getting saddled with a new one.

The sunlight streaming in the windows makes the space feel open despite the overwhelming feeling of being trapped. She hates therapy in an office, would rather go on a walk and talk about her problems so she can avoid eye contact with good reason. Instead, she's sitting across from a woman who's known her for years who just so happens to be interested in her nonverbal cues, lack of eye contact included.

"So, it's been a while."

Emily nods at Angela, absentmindedly picking at her already shredded nails. "Yeah, I guess it has."

"Why don't you tell me what's brought you in?"

Emily rolls her eyes, arching a brow at the older woman. "You know why I'm here, mandated therapy."

Angela drops the act, removes her glasses and drops the pad of paper on the table between them. "And I've known you long enough to know something is going on that has nothing to do with what happened in Colorado. We can circle back to that, but why don't we start with what's really bothering you?"

Well, at least she can always count on Angela to call her out on her bullshit. "I haven't needed to be here, I've been good."

"The man you mentioned in your last session, things have been going well between the two of you?"

The snort Emily lets out lacks any hint of humor. "It had been. He was helping me, sticking with me on the bad days, helping me find new ways to cope."

Angela nods, recalling some of the details from their last session. "Right, he helped you after a night terror. You said you slept in the same room with him, that's a big step for you."

Emily nods, tears pooling in dark eyes that won't look up from where she's staring down at the dried blood in her nailbeds. "I guess I got too dependent on him, too comfortable. Because now that he's gone," she chokes on the last word, her chest aching. "Now that he's gone, everything is falling apart."

Angela sits forward, forearms on her knees and her brows furrowed sympathetically. "Why don't you start at the beginning?"

Emily wipes her eyes with the sleeves of her sweater and nods, thinking back to what she considers to be the beginning of the end.

Six Weeks Earlier

"Because, Aaron, you got me fucking pregnant!"

Hotch looks over her shoulder at Morgan who's staring with his lips parted in surprise. Emily follows his gaze and wants to smack herself for letting Hotch drag her into having this conversation here of all places.

"Oh fuck, Derek-"

"Forget it." Derek tosses the car keys to Hotch who catches them against his chest, watching his agent stalk back to the rest of the team with Emily rushing after him. He watches the man brush her off, sees the dejected look on her face and still can't process what she's told him.

"Because, Aaron, you got me fucking pregnant!"

Pregnant.

Emily is pregnant.

Emily is pregnant, with his baby.

Emily Elizabeth Prentiss is carrying his baby.

His eyes widen, the information finally hitting home.

Oh FUCK! He's having a baby with Emily!

"Derek, please wait!" Emily finally catches up with him, taking a quick step back when he spins on his heel to face her.

"What the hell do you have to say to me? Huh? That you've been fucking the boss under our noses the whole time you've been here? Because I'm guessing he's" He jabs a finger in the direction of their boss. 'the married man you felt guilty for sleeping with." He lets out a bitter laugh. "Guess you got over that hang up."

She's floored, staring after him on his way toward the team. She hates to ask it of him but she really doesn't have any other choice. She approaches slowly, kicks the ground with the tip of her boot. "Morgan, can you drive Hotch back to D.C. please?"

"You're kidding."

She shakes her head, wishing she was. "He can't drive himself; Rossi has a meeting with Strauss when the jet lands, J.J. is exhausted, Reid can't drive worth shit, and Penelope is already waiting for us at the airstrip."

"Why don't you drive him?" Rossi questions, knowing under any normal circumstances she'd jump at the chance to spend three hours in a car alone with their boss. Now she looks like she'd rather walk back to D.C. than drive their Unit Chief home.

Morgan sees her struggling for an answer and lets out a loud sigh. "Fine." He's furious but he doesn't hate her and her secret isn't his to tell. He also assumes Hotch needs some time to process the news of his future child living up in his subordinate's uterus.

He imagines that's a hard pill to swallow and - while he's angry at Emily - if Hotch says one goddamn word to Emily to hurt her he'll put his balls in a blender for her.

"Thank you."

"Yep." He bites out, marching toward their boss who's still planted firmly in the spot Emily left him. He smiles, satisfied that at least he's not the only one of them who's shocked.

The flight back home is almost completely silent and definitely the most uncomfortable flight they've had thus far. Everyone knows something is wrong. Morgan - one of the team members Emily is closest with - doesn't snap without just cause, but there's been no clues as to what set him off. He'd been fine one minute and clearly upset the next and whatever it was that caused his agitation is having an effect on Emily.

She sits in the back of the jet, away from the rest of the agents huddled around the table casting worried glances her way that she ignores. She's been staring out the window most of the flight, the occasional sniffle the only sound she makes. Rossi though has never been one to let things fester so he excuses himself from the group who quickly yanks headphones over their ears so they can chat in peace.

If he can manage to get anything out of her, that is.

He takes the seat across from her, hands her a handkerchief that she accepts with a smile. "Thanks." It's barely above a whisper and it's raspy, a sure sign that something is seriously wrong. She's been angry before, been frustrated beyond belief, and he's never seen her like this.

"What happened?" He asks once she's wiped her eyes, keeping the fabric between her fingers because she knows she's not done crying just yet. "Something with Aaron?"

She sniffles at the mention of the man she's dying to see and dying to get away from at the same time, unsure as to which option she'll go with. She could call him, invite him over for a conversation they desperately need to have. Or she could run, pack her bags and put in for leave and come back in a few months when things have settled, but she figures that's a little drastic. "You'll have to ask him."

"I'm asking you." He responds, sighing when she doesn't say anything. "Listen, I've known Aaron a long time and I may not have approved of this whole thing in the beginning, but you've made him happy. I hope you know how fond of you I am, and that you can trust me."

Dark eyes finally meet his and she gives him a shaky smile. "Thanks Dave, I know. And when I'm ready to talk, I will, I'm just not there yet."

He smiles and pats her hand that's on the table.  "Alright, I'll just sit with you then. Even snotty and quiet you're better company than the lot of them." He tits his head back at the group and he's pleased when she smiles at his joke.

If nothing else he's gotten a smile out of her, and that's as good as he thinks things are going to get for a while.

~~~~~~~~~~

"So, how far along are you?" Hotch asks, sitting on the opposite end of the couch from Emily. She's got her legs curled up under herself, picking at her nails and he wants to grab her hand to stop her, but he can't bring himself to do anything more than sit there staring at her.

Emily shrugs, having not seen a doctor up to this point. "Nine weeks I think."

"You think?"

She nods, counting back the weeks. "The night I scheduled the realtor, I'm pretty sure it was then. It was two weeks before we had sex again and another four after that. Add that to the three weeks since you moved into your house and I haven't had my period in all that time, the numbers add up."

He bites his lip, nodding his agreement that the night at her apartment would make the most sense as to when conception occurred. "How did you not notice?" The question comes out before he can stop it but she doesn't seem too offended.

"I thought it was stress at first, it wouldn't be the first time. But then I was late again and I've been tired, more than usual I guess. I took it on a whim, I didn't think it would be positive." She tearing furiously at her nails now and he can't let her go on like that. He grabs her hand, gives it a squeeze and meets dark tear-filled eyes.

Fuck, he's been so caught up in his own emotions he's completely overlooked how terrified she must be.

He rolls his eyes at himself - what an ass.

"Well, I'll support you in this Emily I'm not going to be a deadbeat dad to our baby." He declares, already thinking about how he's going to explain this to Strauss without getting the both of them fired.

"Hotch-"

"We can move you into my house, it's bigger and it's already baby-proofed for Jack. It won't take long, you said yourself that you haven't unpacked most of your things from storage. We'll have to get everything new for the nursery though, I don't have anything from Jack that isn't an heirloom from Haley's family, and I don't think she'd much like me asking for those."

"Aaron." Emily husks out, eyes wide on him. Something in her voice makes him stop, makes him really look at her.

And then it dawns on him.

He deflates into the couch, eyes wide on her and the small smile dropping from his lips.

"You're not keeping it." It's not a question but after a moment she shakes her head in the negative, tearing at her nails again and this time he doesn't stop her. "And you've made up your mind about that? There's nothing I can say?"

She lets out an exasperated laugh, tears in her eyes that she can't manage to blink away. "What would we do Hotch? I'd quit the BAU and resent you for it, I'm not ready to give up my career!"

"I'm not asking you to!" He shoots back, sitting up straighter at the assumption that he'd make her quit her dream job. The thought hadn't even crossed his mind.

"Right, because Strauss would really let me stay on the team while I'm pregnant with your baby?" She laughs at the idea, knowing it's completely absurd, a fool's dream. "I'd be fired, I'd never work in the Bureau again and if I did nobody would take me seriously! I'm already coined as the embassy brat who pulled strings to get to the unit, I don't want to be the woman that slept her way to the top too."

"What if I left? I could transfer to another unit."

"The team would never forgive me for it, and quite frankly it wouldn't make a difference and you know that!" She takes a deep breath, shaking the hair from her face. "I'm sorry, but I can't have this baby, Aaron. I've thought about it, and I just can't."

"Can't or don't want to?" He bites back, wincing when he sees the hurt look on her face. He can't stop himself though, can't help but feel hurt by her choice. "Why the hell were you so angry then? If you weren't planning to keep the baby then it's not because you'd be a single parent, so what is it?"

She bites her lip, hating the way this is about to come out. "Because if you would've died the baby would've been all I had left of you. I would've had to keep it then."

He stares at her in shock because what she’s telling him is that she’d be stuck with the baby, the only reminder she’d have of him.

The silence that sits between them is deafening, the look on his face the worst she's ever seen. She's seen him scream at killers, kidnappers, rapists, would rather have him look at her that way than the way he is now.

Devastated, that's the only word she can think of to describe how he looks.

She thinks he'll snap at her, call her selfish for making this choice without consulting him first. She almost wants him to, wants to see him angry rather than hurt because she's the cause of his pain and that she cannot bear.

He doesn't though, and of course he doesn't, he won't tie her down and he won't force her to give up her body for something she doesn't truly want.

"Alright then." He says softly, standing and grabbing his jacket from the back of the couch.

"You don't have to go."

"Yes, I do." He tells her, gently like he's afraid if he speaks any louder, he'll lose it. "I support your choice Emily, I really do. But I need time to sit with it, please allow me the time to do that."

She nods, following him to the door with her sleeves wrapped around her fingers.

"I'll need next Wednesday off but that should be it." Emily says softly, wanting to get all of this out of the way in one conversation so she doesn't have to keep reopening the wound she's given him.

He freezes on his way down the hall, glances back at her and gives her a strong nod. "Okay, I'll schedule it. Do you want me to come with?"

She shakes her head, wanting more than anything to do this without him. She's not unsympathetic, she knows how much he hates this and won't subject him to being in the room for the procedure. "No, thank you though."

The sigh he lets out is heartbreaking, but he turns to her, telling her one last thing before he leaves. "I'm upset, but I'll be alright. If this is what you think is best for you, I'll be alright."

Neither of them know yet just how wrong he is.

Chapter Text

Five and a Half Weeks Earlier

"Emily Prentiss?

She looks at her mother and they stand together, following slowly behind the nurse who greets them with a kind smile. "If you'll follow me, I'll bring you back for your procedure."

They walk down the busy corridor, doors on either side of them and nurses scurrying about with clipboards and other patients. "If you'll just step up, we'll take a height and weight." Emily moves on autopilot, ushered into a private room once her measurements are taken. "Take a seat, I'll confirm some medical history and then I'll leave you and the doctor will be in shortly after, okay?"

Emily nods, eyes trained on the wall behind the blonde woman in light purple scrubs.

"This is your second pregnancy, correct?"

She hears the question, knows she's expected to answer, but she can't make her mouth form the words. Elizabeth jumps in for her, grabbing her daughter's hand and intertwining their fingers together in a show of silent support.

"That's right, the second."

Emily tunes them out, letting her mother do the heavy lifting for her. She'd been initially hesitant about asking her mother to come to the appointment, but the clinic wouldn't let her receive care without a ride and someone to stay overnight with her and she couldn't have asked anyone else. Morgan isn't talking to her, J.J. and Penelope are both out of the loop and for all they know she's out sick. Asking Rossi would be like bringing her father along with her and she can't imagine how awkward that would've been.

Hotch was definitely out of the question. He's been staring at her all week, casting longing glances at her belly and rushing off to his office where the blinds are kept shut and his door the same. The team - and even Strauss - have been walking on eggshells around him, unsure of what might set him off when none of them know what's wrong.

"Hello, Emily, I'm Dr. Hayes." Emily snaps out of the daze she's been in, not recalling changing into a gown or the nurse leaving the room. She gives a smile to the woman in the white coat who tells her what they'll be doing today, as if she hasn't already been through the sit-down with physicians who walked her through it twice to ensure this was what she wanted to do.

"Alright, if you'll just lay back, we'll go ahead and complete the ultrasound to confirm the date of conception. That'll tell us what procedure we're looking at, okay?"

Emily nods and lays back, staring at the ceiling. She feels the jell on her belly, hears the doctor tell her she's about 10 weeks, hears her ask if she'd like to see her baby. She shakes her head, not wanting a visual reminder of what she's about to do. She knows how this goes, has been in a clinic just like this once before hearing the same information relayed and none of it makes her doubt her decision.

The following hour is silent while they wait for the medication to take effect. She can feel herself relaxing, knows it won't be long before the doctor comes in for the procedure. She knows there's time to back out, knows she could call this whole thing off right now and walk out the front door with her baby safely tucked away from harms reach. She could go home and call Hotch, tell him she was making a stupid choice and ask him if he's into the idea of naming their baby after her cat.

She laughs aloud, her mother looking at her from her spot in the chair across the small room.

He'd like that joke; he'd probably tell her they're not naming their baby after the cat that took a crap in his shoe and if she tries to pull that behind his back, he'll be snagging the baby and he'll name it after his mother.

Carylon wouldn't be cute on a boy, and she has a sneaking suspicion that that's what this baby is. She doesn't know why, she thinks maybe it's mother's intuition, but she thinks she's right. Her eyes well up with tears and she hears her mother scooting her chair across the room because it doesn't matter if she's right, she'll never know one way or another.

She hears the doctor enter the room, watches her move between her legs in the stirrups and feels pressure in her abdomen.

Her mother - to her credit - is right there beside her, humming a familiar French lullaby she remembers being sung as a child.

Elizabeth wishes she were anywhere else. Not because she doesn't support her daughter and her rights over her own body, but because she knows what this is going to do to Emily. She recalls being in a similar situation with her daughter at only 15, remembers holding her hand like she is now and telling her everything would be okay. She'd been right of course, everything did turn out okay in the end, but it made for an emotionally brutal year and even in the years after she watched her only child suffer.

She doesn't want to have to do it again.

Emily is grateful to her; thankful her mother is supporting this choice the same way she'd supported her when she was a child. It doesn't feel much different now except the sweet blonde boy is traded in for her boss, the grass under the bleachers traded in for her couch, but her circumstances are the same. She couldn't have raised a baby then; she wasn't ready then and she isn't ready now.

She closes her eyes and feels her mother run long fingers through her hair and she lets herself imagine a different world than the one she finds herself in now. She imagines a little boy with black curls and eyes just as dark, imagines that he'll have one dimple like Hotch does and he'll tell her that their son's nose is cute even though she hates it on herself.

She imagines a baby laughing up at his father who's blowing raspberries into his belly, sees little fists swinging happily in the air, pictures Aaron's smile when he takes his first steps and the pride in his eyes when his first word is 'daddy'. She watches a whole different life flash behind her eyes, finally letting the tears fall when the doctor tells her she's finished and quietly leaves the room.

She opens her eyes, and that world is gone, forever lost to the choice she's made.

Present Day

"So, he supported your choice, I don't understand the problem." Angela says, brows furrowed in confusion because up to this point things seem to be going well between her client and Aaron. Emily's description of the experience troubles her though, sensing the underlying distress she's mostly glossed over and likely hasn't processed. She's not surprised, Emily being one of her more difficult clients.

It's hard to process trauma together when your client refuses to acknowledge that even choices they make of their own free will can be traumatic.

"He said he supported my choice. Saying it and meaning it are two different things." She rolls her eyes at her own insensitivity. "Okay, that was harsh. I think he still supports my choice, but he can't forgive me for it."

Three Weeks Earlier

Emily rushes to her boss, bending so she can make eye contact. She can see he's in a great deal of pain, his face scrunched up in a pained grimace and hands over his ears that have only had a few weeks to heal. Even now she can make out a few of the deeper gashes that have yet to heal and knows he shouldn't be working in the field.

"Hotch, what can I do?"

She's not even sure he can hear her, if maybe his being here has damaged his ears beyond repair. She hopes to God that's not the case, knows it would crush him to think he'd never hear his son's voice again, knows it would mean the end of his career in the BAU.

"Aaron, please tell me what I can do, I want to help."

"I don't want your help!"

He's never snapped at her like that in all the years they've known each other. They've fought, been furious and bitter, but he's never yelled at her like that, never looked at her with such anger.

"He loves you; you know that right?"

Rossi snaps Emily out of her trace. She looks over at him in the driver’s seat. They've just finished an interview and they're headed back to the station but what the woman said is sticking with her.

"You've never been in love, have you?"

She'd smiled back and cast a look out the window, imaging the smile she hasn't seen on Aaron's face in weeks before she answers. "Maybe I've just never been loved back."

"What?"

"What you said back there, you're wrong." Rossi tells her simply, knowing without a doubt in his mind that whatever has torn the agents apart won't separate them forever. "He loves you, even now."

Emily looks out the window, propping her head up on her hand. "You don't understand."

He rolls his eyes, having gotten the same answer from Hotch when he'd told him to get his head out of his ass and talk to Emily. "I might not know what's going on between the two of you, but I do know love when I see it. I've been married three times, remember?" He hopes he'll make her smile, but she doesn't even spare him a glance.

She shakes her head, closing her eyes to fight off the impending tears. "He hates me."

"He loves you, only love could hurt so much."

~~~~~~~~~~

The pair sit in the SUV on the way back to the precinct and the first time they've been alone without him coming as package deal with a glare that makes her flinch with its intensity. He's angry, even now, but she's considering this a step in the right direction.

"So, how did you know?" She furrows her brows at him, not understanding the question. "About the constellations?"

Now she gives him a smile, thinking back on countless nights spent laying in the gardens or on the balcony listening to stories from her father. "My father taught me about them. He wasn't around very much when I was young, he worked a lot and between that and my mother's job we were usually in different hemispheres, but when he was around, he used to take me outside and show me the stars."

She can recall dozens of times laying out under the stars, freezing with a red nose and tingling fingers in the snow, in her father's shirt that reached almost to her ankles in the summer months of wherever they were staying. They're some of her best memories, some of the few that remain untainted by politics the way her teenage years had been and the trauma she'd accumulated in her 20's.

"He was born in Nice though, so he'd always tell me stories of the constellations in French. He'd always start with la Balance - Libra, my astrological sign. He told me that was his favorite sign, but I figure that was just to make me feel special. It worked though, I bragged to everyone I knew that my sign was the best because my dad told me so." She smiles at the memory and for the first time in three weeks Morgan smiles with her, resting his head back against the headrest.

"He sounds like a good guy." He tells her, looking over to her in the passenger seat.

"He is. He used to sneak me away from galas and fundraisers to go exploring the cities we lived in. Mother was furious of course but he'd always make the rounds before we left. He'd be in full formal clothing, suit and tie, and I'd be in some ridiculous full-length gown, and we'd still go out. I'm sure diplomatic security followed us, but I never noticed, he made sure I didn't notice. He'd carry me around on his shoulders and point out all the things he wanted me to see. We'd stop in bookstores and cafés, and he'd always buy something from one of the street vendors, just to make sure I'd never accept anything less than authentic."

Morgan values the smile on her face, the happiest he's seen her in weeks. He's not sure if she's so unhappy because she's fighting with him or because she's fighting with Hotch or if it's something else entirely he's not filled in on. It wouldn't surprise him, not with the way she'd so expertly kept her affair with Hotch a secret in the time she's been on the team. It's been almost two years since that conversation about her married man and all that time they'd been sneaking around with each other and that's what he can't get over.

She hadn't trusted him.

Emily sees his face darkening once more and knows this conversation is over, he's thinking too hard about her betrayal, and she doesn't want to risk another outburst that'll leave her more emotionally raw than she already is.

"Morgan, how long are you going to be mad at me?"

He thinks about it and blows out a puff of air. "I don't know. I'm just not ready for this conversation, Emily."

He loves her, wants to make up, but he can't force it. If he does, he'll resent her for it later and the last thing he wants is to end up with no relationship with Emily Prentiss.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Maybe stretch it out a day or two." Rossi tells Hotch, hoping some distance and time to himself will help heal whatever hurt there is between he and Emily.

"Maybe I will."

The team watches him walk away, his back to them while he walks toward the SUV he'll be taking for the drive back to D.C. and Emily mumbles something about having to ask him a question before she takes off after him, the team respecting whatever is going on between them and climbing into the car to wait for her return.

"Hotch!" She calls out, stopping him before he can get in the driver’s seat. He shuts the door and leans against the hood, waiting for her to catch up.

"Yes?"

She squints in the sun, and he almost smiles at the way the rays light up some of her hair. It's the first time he's looked at her, really looked at her, since he'd left her apartment weeks before. "I thought you might want some company for your road trip?" She phrases it as a question, unsure if he'd want her of all people to keep him company.

He shakes his head, pushing his hands into his pockets. "No but thank you. I think a few days to myself would be good."

"Aaron." Emily breathes out, looking at the ground so she doesn't have to look at him because every time she does, she feels overwhelming guilt settling in her stomach. It's not his fault, he's grieving the loss of a child and she can't be angry at him for that, but she can't control her own hurt either. "We can't keep this up, we have to figure this out, for the sake of the team if nothing else."

"The team?" He chokes out, her eyes moving to his face where she can for the first time see the extent of the pain clouding his features. "Emily, this case has torn me to shreds. Chloe Kelcher's home almost broke me, looking at that nursery, it's a reminder of what we won't have. I can't look at you!" She flinches at that, tears pooling in her eyes to match his. "Every time I do, I'm reminded of what you gave up. I don't know what - if anything - will fix this but I know you aren't going to be able to fix this for me."

Emily nods, blinking away the tears in her eyes and she squares her shoulders. He hates himself for doing this to her, hates that she's building her walls up to keep him out, but he can't blame her. "Okay. Well, I better get back then. Enjoy your drive, sir."

He would've expected her to say it spitefully, but it comes out weak, pained.

It's a verbal representation of exactly how he feels.

~~~~~~~~~~

When Hotch stops at a hotel four hours later the first thing he does is pour himself a drink, thankful that he'd stopped at the liquor store before he checked in because now that he's here he doesn't intend to leave the room until the following morning and he's even dreading having to leave that early.

He strips out of his suit and replaces it with sweatpants and a t-shirt, grabbing the glass and the bottle of whiskey from the dresser and dropping it onto the nightstand so he has easy access to it. He's not going to drink the whole thing - he's not trying to land himself in the hospital - but he intends to finish a good portion of it. He hadn't been much of a whiskey guy before the BAU but after several late nights with Dave back when the BAU first formed he'd become fond of it. Usually he sips it slowly, savors the slight burn and the flavor on his tongue. Now though he downs it in one swallow and fills it back up, knocking it back just as fast and repeating the process.

Anything to drown out his sorrows.

He loves Emily, that hasn't changed, but a small part of him hates her for the choice she's made.

He recalls Haley's devastation after their third miscarriage. It had been the only pregnancy to make it far enough for them to find out the gender.

A girl.

He recalls her shutting him out, refusing to be touched or comforted and she kept blaming herself.

"Something must be wrong with me, Aaron. We can't have a baby and it's my fault."

Even now those words hurt him down to his core, hating that she'd blame herself for something so beyond her control.

He remembers the terror at finding out she was pregnant with Jack. She couldn't muster up a smile for the first seven months, couldn't let herself have hope that their baby would stay safely in her belly long enough to be born with any real chance of survival. She wouldn't let him buy things for the nursery, not a crib or clothes or a rocking chair until the seven month marker had hit.

They hadn't even told their families about the pregnancy until Jack was born, too fearful that they'd lose him, and they'd have to deal with the constant pity of losing another baby.

And then Emily.

They hadn't even been trying. Hell, they'd be actively avoiding her getting pregnant.

He's still not sure how it happened, whether it be a few missed days or something that lowered the efficacy or maybe she'd been part of the .01% of women who get pregnant on birth control. If he's honest he doesn't really care.

It doesn't matter now.

He'd meant it when he said he'd support her and even now he stands by her choice, knows that the procedure was the best thing for her and that that's reason enough for him.

But he's still furious, angry at the world for giving him this opportunity to be a father again and snatching it away from him just as quickly. He's angry for the babies he lost, for the sorrow and the anger that came with those losses.

More than that he's hurting.

He curls into the fetal position on the bed, not caring that normally he'd call himself stupid and weak for putting on such a display of emotion even to an empty room.

But he closes his eyes, and he sees Emily holding a baby with a hundred-watt smile on her face and a ring on her finger. He sees a little girl with Emily's pale skin and dimples, his jawline, and his nose. He sees a little boy with wild hair, running around and squealing with laughter while he and Jack chase each other around the yard.

He sees missed experiences, a baby he'll never get to meet, a child he'll never get to connect with.

A whole world he sees, and then the door is slammed in his face.

He screws his eyes shut, hoping if he just blocks out the real world, he'll get to live in the fantasy just a little bit longer. He feels the tears running down his face onto the comforter and the whiskey soaking into the sheets where he's dropped his glass, but he doesn't care. His ears ring with the intensity with which he's sobbing, his chest rattling with the force of his heartbreak, ragged gasps of air in between broken sobs filling the room.

He loves Emily, even now, but he doesn't know how he'll ever separate her from this feeling.

He doesn't know how he'll ever be at peace with her the way he was before.

Maybe, he thinks, it's for the best.

Chapter Text

"And you and Aaron haven't spoken since your case in Ohio?"

"Mostly a few words here and there when we're in the office, we can’t avoid each other then."

"You haven't reached out?"

Emily gives a hopeless shrug, deflating into the couch. "To say what? Sorry I killed our baby, but I wanted to keep working. Yeah, I don't think he'd really go for that."

"And he hasn't reached out either?"

"Once, and that didn't go particularly well. He's hurt and I'm part of it, I don't blame him for not reaching out."

"So, it seems most of the issues you're having now have Aaron at the center."

"You were wrong about one thing though; this last case is a problem."

"It triggered something?"

Emily lets out a laugh that comes out closer to a sob and nods her head. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

One Week Earlier

"Dave, they've left the choice of negotiators up to me." Hotch tells his friend when they arrive on scene in Colorado.

"I taught most of the Hostage Negotiation Unit. You want a recommendation?"

"I'm making you the lead negotiator."

"Me?"

"Why go to the students when I have the teacher?"

"Because the teacher is emotionally involved. So is the agent in command, more than anyone else here knows."

"I know I am Dave, that's why I can't do it myself."

"Hotch-"

"You think I don't want to go in there and pull her out myself? You think I don't want to put a bullet between the eyes of the son of a bitch who's got her trapped in there? Because I do, Dave. I do and that's why I need you to be my voice of reason." He knows Dave won't listen to his emotional plea; knows he has to bring pragmatism into the conversation. "We have two agents who could affect the outcome on the inside."

"True, but I can't be objective, I know them too well!"

"This outcome depends as much on our ability to predict the moves of Prentiss and Reid as Cyrus. That's why you're the best man for the job."

"Assuming that Reid and Prentiss are still in a condition to make moves."

"I know how bad this is. That's why I want you doing the talking. Dave, you're the only person I trust to bring them both out alive. Please, do not let me stand here helpless knowing I've sent her in there thinking I hate her. Please."

"All right."

~~~~~

"You need to see this." J.J. says, pulling up feed of the latest news update from the local station.

"Now well into the second day, the standoff at the Septarian Sect Ranch has now been taken over by the F.B.I. There was much speculation in regard to the hostages, but anonymous sources inside the State Attorney General's Office have told us there's an undercover F.B.I. Agent currently being held inside the Septarian Sect Ranch."

"Alright, we all know what this means." Rossi says aloud, the knot in his stomach burrowing deeper into his belly.

Hotch looks at the massive building sprawling in front of them where the agents are being held. "It means one of them likely isn't making it out of that building alive."

"Which one of you is it?" The crackle of Cyrus' voice comes through their headphones and walkie-talkies, alerting the team that their fear is now a reality. "Which one of you is the F.B.I. agent?"

"Why do you think one of us is an F.B.I. agent?"

"Good, he's playing dumb, if Cyrus believes him, it might save them both." Morgan says, hoping that their charming charismatic sociopath of an UNSUB is also fucking stupid.

"God will forgive me for what I must do." The sound of the safety clicking off a handgun makes them flinch, holding their breath while they wait for the sound of a bullet leaving the chamber.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"One of you does. Who is it?"

"Me. It's me."

They can hear her initial whimper of pain, the scurry of feet on cement following after and they know she's being drug into another room.

"I told you not to put me in this position!" The sound of blow to the face follows his scream, followed immediately by the sound of Emily grunting and taking a hard fall to the floor.

Morgan screws his eyes shut when he makes out the sound of dull thuds, the sound of boots against her ribcage and the pained groans that leave her lips. He thinks of her baby, thinks of how scared she must be not only for herself but for the life she may not get the chance to bring into the world.

"We gotta go in." Hotch tells Dave, taking off his headphones when the sound of her pain becomes too much for him to bear. Every hit she takes he swears he feels with her. He knows how much pain she must be in, knows ribs are probably bruised or cracked and all he can picture is a punctured lung and her drowning in her own blood.

"We'd be risking the lives of everyone in there." Hotch puts his headphones back on, pained as he listens to her cries through the headphones but not being able to leave her to suffer alone. Even if she can't feel him, he's with her.

"Get up!" Rossi flinches at the sound of glass shattering, sees Hotch's anger reaching a boiling point with the sharp sound that comes through the headphones. "Proverbs 20:30 tells us blows and wounds cleanse away evil."

"Dave, we have-"

"I can take it."

"Oh, you can take it?"

"Dave! We-"

"Wait, wait, listen to what she's saying."

"I can take it."

Morgan's at the same breaking point as Hotch, turns to Rossi with the same helpless look on his face that's plastered on the faces of his teammates. "She's antagonizing him!"

"She's not talking to him."

"She's talking to us; she's telling up not to come in." Hotch finishes, pride inching its way up to join the anger that's at the surface.

"Pride comes before the fall."

When the sound of Emily's cries have died down to labored breathing Hotch motions J.J. over, rubbing a hand down his face. "I need to ask you to do something."

"Anything." She tells him, prepared to do whatever necessary to keep Emily and Reid alive. She's never seen the look of panic on Hotch's face that's there now and even if she wasn't terrified for her friends, she'd do it just for him.

"Don't agree before you know what I need." She tilts her head, and he hopes he's doing the right thing. "I need you to listen to the feed coming from Emily. They've taken her to a room, and we need to make sure she stays safe, I need you to make sure she does."

She hesitates, asks the question she already knows the answer to. "You want me to listen in case she's dying."

"Yes."

This time she doesn't hesitate. "I'll do it."

Emily winces, trying to find a comfortable position to lay in with her hands cable tied behind her back. There's not much hope for comfort but she doesn't want to cut off circulation and cause herself more pain than she's already in. Before she can find a position that better suits her injuries and the placement of her hands she hears footsteps, stills on the bed because she'll be damned if she shows that bastard or anyone else here that she's in any real pain.

She's surprised when Cyrus walks in, she was expecting a woman to care for her injuries or one of his men to bring her to the chapel.

"Are you religious, Emily?"

She looks at him, watches him close the door and turn the lock. That's the first sign that whatever is coming isn't going to be good. "No. Are you?"

He motions to the room around them, walking over to where she's laying. He doesn't sit and she knows it's about portraying a position of power, of dominance over her while she lays bloodied and beaten on the bed. "Look where you are, what do you think?"

She smiles, laughs at what he's said. "You really want to know what I think?"

He nods and takes a seat now with his gun resting in his hand, laying on his leg pointing toward her. "I do."

"I think you're a sociopath who's hiding behind religion, using it to assert control over your followers. You thrive on people bowing down to you, on making you the center of their world. You've conned everyone here into believing you're a prophet, so you're not stupid, but you're not a prophet either. You're a sick piece of shit who preys on young girls, on children, because you can't get it up for a real woman. You're disgusting, a nobody, you're nothing."

She doesn't flinch when he lunges forward and wraps a hand around her throat, stares right back at him and feels his breath on her face when he hisses his words down at her. "You think I can't get it up for a woman?"

"I don't think it, I know it."

He roughly releases his hold on her neck, shoving her head away from him but he walks away from her like he's going for a Sunday stroll.

That's the second sign she's in for something unpleasant. But of course, she knew this would happen, knew that provoking him would lead him down this road, but she has to buy time for her team to get out as many followers as they can.

Minimal loss protocol, she knows the drill.

He walks back to her with his pocketknife out, settles himself across her thighs and starts cutting buttons off her shirt. "You think I can't get it up for a woman, even a pretty one like you?"

"Maybe with a helping hand from a prescription by your doctor." She taunts, her muscles tensing with each button popped off her shirt.

"Well, I guess we'll see about that won't we?"

***

She's expecting the kiss and it's as rough as she knew it would be, but she doesn't grant him the access he's looking for, instead she presses her lips together while one of his hands slides into her shirt and spans across her ribcage. It hurts, the bruises on her skin fresh and sensitive to his touch. Her lack of response bothers him though and he brings his free hand up to her nose, grabs it so she can't breathe.

At that point it's a battle of wills but she knows she won't win; knows her body's most basic purpose is to keep her alive even if that means letting the cult leader think he's won. Their eyes lock and she glares at him, her lungs burning and skin turning red from the effort of not breathing. Eventually though she relents, and Cyrus forces his tongue into her mouth when she opens for a gasp of air.

He bites down on her bottom lip and she whimpers against his teeth, tasting the familiar tang of blood.

It's all too familiar and when she opens her eyes and feels fingers on the button of her pants the image in front of her starts to shift.

Brown eyes turn green, brown hair becomes black, his voice turns harsh and takes on an Irish accent and she feels her stomach twisting into knots and knows she'll be sick soon if she doesn't get a grip.

But the image in front of her keeps shifting, the man above her and the room around her fading in and out of focus to be replaced with the image of a man in a cabin she'd been in for weeks.

She stays as silent as she can be but lets out a fearful whine when his hand breaches her panties.

"Please, don't." Is all she can manage to get out, the words barely above a whisper but it's all she can do to not kick and scream and beg but she won't do that.

She's been trained not to do that.

He lets out a laugh that's far too pleased with her last walls breaking down. "Oh darling, we're just getting started."

"Oh darling, I haven't even begun yet."

The phrases are far too similar and her brain all but shuts down, almost not registering the pain that comes when two fingers enter her without warning.

What she does register though is the sound of pounding on the door and the sting that comes when he rips his fingers out and stalks over to the door. She can't hear what they're saying, needing time for her brain to catch up to her body. It's only a few moments before Cyrus returns and she almost sobs in relief when all he does is button her pants.

"You're lucky, there's been a development and I have to leave you." He grabs her chin and forces her head to the side, hissing his words into her ear. "Fucking test me again and you won't be so lucky."

***

"Fucking test me again and you won't be so lucky."

Tears spill over from blue eyes, fingers over her lips as she listens to the feed from the wire nearest Emily.

"J.J., what is it?"

She looks to her boss and tries to laugh, brushing him off. She can't tell him now; she knows he'll storm the place without a second thought and go for Cyrus with nothing but his fists and fury.

They have lives to save, Emily's included.

She puts on her best media liaison smile and rubs a hand over her belly.

"Nothing, just the hormones."

"You shouldn't have angered him." Kathy tells Emily when she enters the room the agent is being held in a half hour later. She sees the buttons on her shirt popped off and the dazed look on her face and knows well enough what's transpired, she's seen the same look on other women here and she's seen the same look on her own face when she looks at herself in the mirror.

"Well, it's a little late to walk that back, isn't it?" Emily responds, letting Kathy help her into a sitting position.

"If I take off the ties, will you run?"

Emily won't hurt this woman, won't hurt another victim of a man who's no better than the dirt beneath her feet. "No."

The ties come off and she rubs her wrists, rubbed raw from the friction of the cables against her skin. She lets Kathy help her clean up, washing some of the blood from her face and pulling some glass from her skin. She lets her wrap an ace bandage around some of her wounds, accepts the shirt she offers with a smile of appreciation. She accepts a rag to wash the blood from her thighs, thankful that the woman at least has the decency to turn away and offer her what little privacy she can.

"I have to put these on." The woman tells Emily, holding up a new set of cable ties. Emily isn't up for a fight and she knows it's one she won't win in her state anyway. She rolls onto her side and clasps her hands together.

"Go ahead."

~~~~~

Hotch rushes to Emily when she appears out of the smoke and flames that are the remains of the compound. He wants to take her into his arms and ensure she's relatively unharmed but before he can reach her she's turned her back to him, facing the building that's ablaze and weakly calling out for their missing agents.

When they appear she visibly relaxes, lets Reid take her into his arms in a hug that's nothing short of earth-shattering relief at having both made it out alive. Most minimal loss scenarios don't end this well and they both know they're lucky for having left the house on two legs instead of in body bags.

Emily lets Morgan usher her to the nearest ambulance and she gratefully accepts the painkillers they give her, her usual hesitation no longer present after the hell she's been through.

"Whoa wait, are those safe?" He lowers his voice, taking a step closer to ensure the other agents - who are a few yards away casting worried glances at the agent sat on the end of a stretcher - and motions vaguely to her stomach. "You know, for the baby?"

She swallows the pill dry and casts a look past him to Hotch who's staring at her with the same concern the rest of the team is before she finally meets Morgan's eyes. "There is no baby." She tells him simply, seeing his face fall.

"Did you-"

"My choice, a few weeks ago." She answers his unasked question. She sees the guilt on his face and gives him a look of confusion.

"Emily, please tell me it's not because of what I said."

She grabs his hand and immediately shakes her head in the negative. "God, no. Derek I made that choice for myself, not because of what you said to me. I love you but your opinion wouldn't matter enough to sway a decision that important. You may not believe it but you're actually not the center of my universe."

He smiles at her, a real smile that she returns with one of her own. "Listen, I'm sorry about the last few weeks. I've been an ass."

"You have." She agrees, laughing when he arches a brow at her. "Well you have! I'm not saying you didn't have a good reason, but you were still an ass."

"So does that mean we're good?"

She squeezes his hand and nods the affirmative. "Yeah, we're good."

J.J. interrupts them then, lips pressed into a thin smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Hey, Morgan. Hotch wants you to see a paramedic too."

He rolls his eyes but gives Emily a hug and leaves the women alone. J.J. steps closer to the other woman, her voice quiet and gentle when she speaks. "Emily, you need to get a rape kit."

She shuts her eyes, lets out a sigh at the knowledge that she hadn't managed to spare the team the horror of listening to what Cyrus did to her. She hadn't expected that she could spare them that but she'd been hopeful. "So, you all heard then."

"No, just me." Dark eyes meet blue in surprise. "Nobody else knows, but Emily we recorded the whole thing. It'll go in the report."

"So, they don't know now, but they will."

"Hotch will." J.J. tells her, knowing how these things work. He'll see the final report and he'll keep it quiet, that much she knows, but there's no way for the report to bypass his desk. "Penelope will have to transcribe the audio for the report but beyond her he's the only one who needs to know."

"And you think it should come from me." Emily finishes and the media liaison nods that she does indeed think the information should come from Emily.

"I do."

Emily doesn't answer but she doesn't disagree. "Will you go with me?"

J.J. nods and holds out her hand, squeezing gently when Emily places her hand there.

"Of course."

~~~~~~~~~~

Emily lets herself into the apartment, ignoring the pounding in her head and the ache in her ribs so she can talk to Hotch. She's not sure why he's here but he'd insisted they have a chat and wouldn't give anything away beyond that. She doesn't like the voice in the back of her head that tells her this is it, that he's finally thrown her over and that she'll lose the most important man in her life.

They settle on the couch and she waits for him to start, not wanting to interrupt his train of thought when he's clearly got a lot on his mind.

"I'm sorry." He finally says after a few good minutes of contemplation.

"You're sorry?" Emily isn't quite sure what he's apologizing for when she can't fault him for anything that's happened in the last few weeks.

"Yes. For my behavior lately, for making you feel like I was angry at you."

"Aren't you?"

He runs a hand down his face, picking at his nails - a habit he can't believe he's picked up from her - in his lap. "I was angry, but not at you. At the situation, I guess. I don't know if I ever told you but Haley and I had a lot of issues with fertility, a few miscarriages and even having Jack was a process we couldn't really enjoy because we didn't know if he'd live."

"God, Aaron, I'm sorry, I didn't know." It makes sense now why he's reacted so intensely to her choice. Her pregnancy brought up issues for him she was unaware of and while it doesn't necessarily make her feel better about the distance between them it at least gives her a reason for the miles between them.

"How could you? I never said anything." He clears his throat, sitting up straighter and throwing up his own steel walls to hold himself together for what he's about to do. "But that's not all I wanted to say."

"Oh?" That voice in the back of her head is screaming.

"I said I supported your choice, I still do. But I can't forget it, Emily. I can't look at you without wanting to scream. I'm hurting at what I've lost, and I don't blame you but you're all wrapped up in it in my head."

"Aaron." She husks out, dark eyes filling with tears. She hadn't believed that voice in the back of her head, not really, and now it's fallen silent because there isn't any more warning to give.

It's happening.

"I'm not in a place where I can be more to you than a Unit Chief. I'm projecting my own pain and loss onto you and I'm sorry for it, but I can't stop. When I'm with you I can't focus, I can't think, I can't breathe without hurting and I can't live like that." He tells her, the stinging threat of tears burning his own eyes. He doesn't want to say these things, doesn't want to imagine his life where she's nothing more than a subordinate, but he can't help the way his brain has pinpointed her as the center of his anguish.

Emily's got a death grip on the sleeves of her sweater, uses them to wipe the tears from her cheeks when he stands to leave. There's nothing else he has to say, nothing that could fix this or change the outcome. "But I love you." The words come out raspy, her voice thick with emotion and the effort to keep from crying because she's finally told him but the look on his face tells her it won't change anything.

He closes his eyes, a bittersweet smile on his face and a burning sensation in his chest. Because he's been waiting a year for her to say those words to him, he's been waiting for her to be ready and now that she is he's turning his back on her.

He reaches out for her and she throws herself into his arms, releasing a choked sob against his chest. He presses a kiss to her head, and she pulls back to look at him with pleading tear-filled eyes that match his own.

She watches him leave and feels half of her heart go with him, his last words almost burning her alive from the inside out.

"I know, Em. And if love were enough, I wouldn't be walking out that door."

Present Day

The silence that fills the office is deafening, Angela staring at her client who's almost entirely emotionless as she recounts the last week to her. Their hour is almost up and she know Emily well enough that digging into any of what she's relayed to her isn't going to be beneficial if she has to cut her off.

"Okay, I'll you what we're going to do. I'll allow you to keep working in the field as long as you continue to see me once a week. With your travel demands I'll leave a few windows open for video sessions, does that sound fair?"

Normally Emily would argue, throw her full weight into getting herself back in the field without having to process a damn thing but now she feels absolutely no desire to do so. Even the thought of returning to work - of seeing Hotch every day - makes her violently ill. She doesn't want to go back, doesn't want to face the reality she's created for herself, doesn't want to own up to the consequences of her choice.

"Yeah, that sounds fine."

"Alright, I'll go ahead and send the report over to your Section Chief. I know you're off for the rest of the week and Emily, I suggest you take that time to unwind. In the hour you've been here you haven't taken a single deep breath. We've been here before; you know your triggers and how quickly things can spiral if you try and shove this down. I'll fill your SSRI and benzodiazepine prescriptions and that should help some of the symptoms, but I need you to promise to call if anything worsens, okay?" Emily gives a weak nod and Angela frowns. "You recall the safety plan we've created?"

"Of course!" Emily responds immediately, nowhere near needing to implement the steps they've laid out should she reach rock bottom.

She has no intention of reaching that point a second time.

Chapter Text

Emily takes her time walking toward her apartment door on Sunday, dreading her first day of work in less than 13 hours. She doesn't particularly want to go back, but she can't stay at home either. All she finds herself doing is getting stuck in memories, spending hours sitting on the couch staring out into nothing until Sergio startles her out of her trance and she realizes how much time has passed. Something has to occupy her time even if it's work and a broken heart.

The last thing she expects to find waiting for her when she turns the corner and spots the door to her apartment, is her father. He's standing there with a hesitant smile on his face and a cloth bag of what she assumes is food in his hand. She's not really that surprised he's here, he would've heard about what happened in Colorado from one source or another. She knows he spies on her, knows it's pointless trying to make him stop.

"Daddy." She breathes out, falling into open arms that hold her up and she smiles when he presses a kiss to her temple.

"Hi, Pumpkin." He husks out, having gone far too long without seeing her. He's terrified by what he sees so far; sickly pale skin and dark circles and bruises healing on her face. She's his only child and it seems like her entire life has been one traumatic event after the next and it makes him sick that it just won't stop. "Come on, let's get you inside and I'll make you something to eat."

She rolls her eyes at his typical dad comment, but she lets him in anyway, mumbling something about changing and leaving him downstairs while she flees to her room.

When she comes back something already smells good and she realizes she'd completely missed the cloth bag he had with him, apparently filled with some of her favorite foods in Tupperware.

"You've been busy." She comments when she joins him in the kitchen, sitting at one of the stools under the island.

He gives her a smile that looks almost identical to hers and motions to the soup he's heating up. "Good food would make even Satan smile!" The words she's heard countless times in her life spoken in a thick French accent calms her nerves, having heard that exact phrase starting as early as when she got Meningitis when she was a child and was miserable from the time she woke up to when she shut her eyes at night.

"So, you're here because of the case in Colorado?" She questions, accepting the bowl of soup he pushes across the island to her.

Potage parmentier, a childhood favorite. The warm bowl of potatoes and leeks is familiar, comforting. She has some vague memories of him dancing and singing with her in the kitchen while he cooked, helping her up on a stool so she could 'help' make the dish when all she really did was take one of her toy knives that couldn't have cut butter and swing it wildly at the parsley he'd put in front of her. He'd always make her feel useful though, telling her she did an excellent job and that she needed to wash up so they could eat. Of course, unbeknownst to her the second she ran off to do as instructed he'd cut the greens and toss them into the soup and spend the entire meal telling her how much better the soup was because of her help.

He nods at her question, pouring himself his own bowl and joining her at the island. "I gather it's been a rough few weeks for you." She stops with her spoon halfway to her mouth and his face scrunches up, realizing his mistake.

Weeks.

Plural.

She gently puts her spoon back into her bowl and folds her hands in her lap. "You've been speaking with mother then." For a spy he's shit at hiding things from her and it's a wonder to her how he's lived to be as old as he is.

He doesn't even bother trying to get himself out of this pickle, knowing it wouldn't do him any good with her. She's the only person who can get any kind of a read on him. "She has, she thought you would've told me. She was actually surprised you asked her to go with you to the clinic instead of me."

"Didn't ask you the first time, why would I the second?" She bites out, cradling her head in her hands.

"Emmy this isn't about that; all I care about is that you're taking care of yourself post-Colorado." He motions to her face, bruises still littering half of it. "By the circles under your eyes I know you're not sleeping."

She shakes her head and resumes eating her meal, her body warming from the heat and the savory flavor on her taste buds. "It's the same as it was before, I can't."

He tenses at the mention of the last time she'd been in this situation, only the knowledge of the bastard burning in hell keeping him from feeling physically ill. "I thought as much, so I've taken a few days off to spend here."

Emily stares at him, having not heard those words in years. He's busy, lives depend on his ability to travel freely on a moment’s notice. "Is that even allowed?"

He shoots her a dimple. "It is now." He tilts his head at her soup and swallows a spoonful of his own. "Now finish eating so you can get to bed."

Two hours later he follows her into her room, her movements slow and clumsy from the lack of sleep. He pulls back the blankets on her bed and tucks them up around her neck when she's settled, pressing a kiss to her forehead, and pulling a chair from the corner to sit beside her.

"What are you doing?" It comes out muffled, his daughter barely awake and her face pressed against the pillow.

"You need to rest, Pumpkin. I'm not going anywhere; you just sleep I'll be right here." He pats her hand and pulls his gun from his waistband, settling it on his lap and grabbing a book from his bag. It's not the first time he's done this, he'd been in this exact situation years ago in another bedroom in another country just as worried as he is now.

All he can do is hope she won't spiral quite as far as she had the last time.

~~~~~~~~~~

Emily groans into her pillow, swatting blindly at her father who pokes her cheek until she finally turns and glares at him and the red digits on her clock reading 6:00A.M. mocking her.

"You know how this works; you need a routine."

"It's six, I don't have to be at work until nine!" She complains back, yanking the comforter over her head to block out the sunlight coming in from the windows that he's uncovered and opened to let in the sounds of the city that float up to them from the streets below.

"Correct, and unless you want me to call your mother and have her come get you out of bed I suggest you get a move on." He tells her, leaving her room with a smile when she groans and spits expletives at him in his native tongue. She never was much of a morning person, it's good to know at least that much hasn't changed.

She glares at him when she finds him at the island, a bottle of water and a bagel waiting for her on the marble countertop. "I'm not hungry."

"You're always hungry."

"Are you calling me fat?" She sees the initial panic on his face, having learned after years of being married to her mother that sometimes he says things that land him on the couch. Never mind that there's guest rooms he could stay in at their home, he ends up on the couch because he's deemed to be in too much trouble to enjoy a mattress. He glares at her when she laughs, realizing she's just fucking with him.

"Keep that up and I'll tell you you're too much like your mother." Now it's her turn to glare, taking a bite of her bagel even though her stomach churns in protest. "I've made a schedule for you." He pushes a piece of paper toward her - she rolls her eyes because of course it's laminated - and it's got a perfectly timed routine for her to follow once he's gone.

"Dad, you can't be serious."

"After Doyle you spent far too long spiraling, you only settled when you got full time care. Since we can't provide that now, you'll follow a routine as best you can. Cases are the exception but outside of that you'll do as I've written. And don't even think about cheating it, you know I'll know." He fixes her with a pointed look and she knows he's right. He has a way of finding out things he shouldn't be able to and when she was younger she'd thought him omnipotent.

Even now there are some days she thinks that's not so far off.

"Fine, but do I really have to meditate?" She points at the third thing on the list, 15 minutes of peaceful meditation. It seems overkill, even for her father.

"Yes." He doesn't elaborate, leaving no room for argument.

"Fine, I assume we're following this now then?"

"Yep, so go get changed and I'll meet you at the door."

An hour later they're walking back through her front door, Emily sweating and panting into the entryway and her father barely glistening in the lighting. He's always been more of a runner than she but this is embarrassing, she's clearly not stayed in the shape she was in when she was with the company.

"You should run more often."

"You should run more often." She mimics, earning herself a laugh from her father who's used to her pouting by now.

"Go mediate and shower, I'll have a banana and coffee for your drive to work."

"You know I can take care of myself, right?" She clarifies, not sparing him a glance on her way up the stairs.

He shouts up after her.

"I've seen no evidence of that, Pumpkin, love you!"

~~~~~~~~~~

Hotch pulls the headphones from his head, a painful churning in his stomach threatening to make him sick.

"Please, don't."

The weak plea plays on a loop in his head, having never heard her quite so scared in all the time he's known her. It's Monday night, his clock telling him it's almost eleven, and he should be home, but he didn't want to listen to the recording from The Liberty Ranch while other agents were bustling about in the bullpen. The idea of being interrupted or having anyone else find out about the recording would be too great so he'd stuck around until the last agent left and only then did he pull out the tape and the file with the transcript of the encounter.

He'd known it would be bad, but he hadn't been prepared to hear it. He doesn't imagine anything could've prepared him, even their conversation earlier in the day hadn't made him ready for what he's heard.

"I received the order from your therapist, appointments once a week to keep your active-duty status." He tells her, expecting her to fight tooth and nail and claim that it's a bogus order and that she's fine.

"That's right." She answers, standing taller and her hands clasped together in front of her.

"Is everything alright?"

"Alright?" She scoffs, clearing her throat and giving him an apologetic look because he's not her friend anymore he's her boss and she needs to treat him as such. "Sorry, sir. May I?"

He nods and she takes the seat she'd motioned to, sitting on the edge of the chair. "Have you listened to the tapes from Liberty Ranch?"

He furrows his brows, intertwining his fingers on his desk. "Not yet, is there something that I don't know?"

She gives him a slow nod, eyes on his desk rather than on him. "Yes." She clears her throat, and he swears he can hear her barriers locking into place. "J.J. told you when she was listening to the feed that nothing was wrong."

"That was a lie?"

"Yes. She said it to keep you from storming the place I guess, don't be mad at her, it wouldn't help." He nods that he'll let it go, encouraging her to continue. "When Cyrus had me taken into a separate room, I provoked him."

"Provoked him how?"

She rolls her eyes, giving a dismissive shrug. "Threatened his manhood, I guess. He didn't take too kindly to that, wanted to teach me a lesson about how much of a man he could be."

Hotch turns an odd shade of green in front of her and she can see his grip on his own hands tightening.

Exactly the reason J.J. had lied to him when he asked what was wrong.

"Did he...?" He trails off, hoping beyond reason that he's wrong.

"Yes." His eyes fall shut and he takes a calming breath, mindful that displaying his anger in front of her won't change anything and it may very well scare her. "I've seen a doctor; the medical report will be in the file when it comes to you. J.J. was honest in her file as well and the audio feed has been transcribed, I just didn't want to let you find out from some incident report instead of me."

"I appreciate it, thank you." He's as professional as he can be, fighting the overwhelming urge to pack her in bubble wrap and lay her on the couch within his line of sight so he can keep her safe.

"Anyway, my therapist is requiring me to see her just with the cases we deal with. It's already been cleared with Strauss; she and Garcia are the only other people who knows. I'd like to keep it that way if possible."

"Of course, no one else needs to know." Hotch assures her. He knows what would happen if the information became public knowledge, the stares she would get, the looks of pity, the walking around her on eggshells. It would drive her crazy and she wouldn't be better for it.

"That's all, I'll get back to work. You should have my report by the end of the day."

"Take your time, there's no rush I don't need it until the end of the week." She smiles and tells him something about wanting to get it done so she can stop thinking about it

"Emily?" He stops her before she can step over the threshold of his office. "Please tell me if there's anything I can do to help, if you need someone to talk to or just want to spend time with someone who might be able to help."

She gives him a soft regretful smile and shakes her head. "That's not your job, sir. But thank you anyway."

He doesn't like the way she said it, doesn't like the way she'd dismissed him as nothing more than her boss. But of course, that's all he is, a choice he's made for her. He hates it though, even if he still thinks it's the best choice. If he shoves down his feelings for her sake, he'll resent her later and that he can't let happen, that he thinks would break the both of them.

He sits in his office for another twenty minutes, the first few minutes spent reading the report from the hospital and the rest spent trying to control his anger and the nausea that creeps up. He blames himself of course, thinks that somehow he should've known this would happen, thinks that he should've gotten her out some other way before Cyrus could get his hands on her.

He thinks she may blame him later on as much as he blames himself. Maybe after a few weeks of contemplating and processing she'll tell him it's his fault she was there in the first place, that she would've been spared the trauma of an assault if only he'd sent someone else in her place. That's what's on his mind when he leaves his office, all the things he could've done to keep her from getting hurt.

He ponders his own motives, wonders if maybe his choice to send her - instead of someone actively in Crimes Against Children - was made selfishly, if maybe he'd sent her to have just a day where he didn't have to look out at her sitting in the bullpen.

Maybe, he thinks, it's all his fault after all.

And maybe, she'll never forgive him for it.

~~~~~~~~~~

Emily takes her seat on the blanket that's squared into one plush spot for her comfort, crossing her legs beneath herself and staring out the window where sunlight streams in and warms her skin pleasantly.

She sets a timer for 15 minutes and welcomes the breeze from the open window, letting it cool the sweat on her skin. She closes her eyes and sits in silence, her patience starting to thin immediately. Meditating isn't something she's very good at, her mind running a hundred miles an hour. Well, that or she just gets bored.

But it's part of the schedule and her father will start joining her meditation sessions to ensure she follows the schedule if she doesn't stick with it and quite frankly, she knows herself, knows that if she starts slacking on one thing for a reason as dumb as 'because I don't feel like it' then she'll start slacking on other things. And her father is right, she does need a routine to stabilize again.

The 15 minutes pass slowly and by the time the last five minutes roll around she's quietly playing with Sergio, ensuring her father can't hear her from the kitchen because she's - in front of the stairs on the hardwood so she can enjoy the view from the floor to ceiling windows - within his line of sight and he loves a joint meditation session.

He'd join her for his own enjoyment and keeping her on schedule would just be a bonus.

By the time she makes it to work though she thinks maybe the meditation had been a good idea. Her brain has calmed from a hurricane to a light rain, and she feels less overwhelmed than she has in the last week. She makes her way to her desk and smiles at Morgan who greets her with a fresh cup of coffee, taking her mostly empty one and replacing it with the to-go cup from her favorite café.

"You didn't have to." She tells him softly, walking alongside him to her desk across the aisle.

"I wanted to, it's your second day back I thought a coffee and a treat couldn't hurt."

"Treat?" She asks skeptically, eyes widening comically at the bag holding a bear claw.

"Treat." Morgan tells her with a smile, gently pushing her into her seat and plating the breakfast treat for her. He even goes as far as pushing her chair in for her, ignoring her protests about being able to take care of herself. "Stop whining and eat your breakfast, I spent good money on that."

The rest of the morning is much of the same; Morgan waiting on her hand and foot, Reid pulling her into conversations about her favorite sci-fi movies, and J.J. sneaking down to the bullpen to switch out case files when she thinks she's not paying attention. She's pretty sure she's trading them out for consults with less triggering content, although she's unsure of who's responsible for that - J.J. herself or if the order came from Hotch. She doesn't mind either way, doesn't mind taking the less gruesome consults and the stack of files on her desk that's smaller than the ones Reid and Morgan have.

The only thing that she doesn't enjoy is the way Hotch keeps staring down at her. She wonders if he thinks he's subtle because if he does, he's either stupid or clueless. She's caught him five times in the first three hours of the workday, catching his eye when she looks up right before he jerks his head away as if moving once she's seen him will mean she hasn't caught him after all.

She smiles down at her paperwork - what a well-intending idiot.

When noon rolls around, she pours herself a fresh cup of coffee, jumping when Penelope grabs her arm. Her eyes are wide and wild when they land on the blonde women who've come to see her.

"Fuck, Emily I'm sorry!" Penelope tells her, eyes welling up with tears at the momentary the look of terror that passes across Emily's face before she realizes who's with her. She's the one who'd transcribed the audio from Liberty Ranch and when J.J. told her to be mindful of startling her she'd been in full agreement, but she hadn't even though about reaching for her friend before she'd done it.

"It's okay, you didn't mean anything by it." Emily reassures her, grabbing her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze that lets her know she's not upset.

"Do you want to do lunch together?" Emily nods and follows J.J. up to her office with Penelope right behind them. On their way up the steps they run into Hotch who presses himself against the wall, keeping as much distance between himself and Emily as he can.

He gives them a small smile and tells them to enjoy their lunch break and rushes down the steps, not casting a look back so he misses the hurt look on Emily's face.

"Alright, spill." J.J. says the moment the door is shut behind the trio.

"Spill?"

"About you and Hotch."

"We've been brainstorming-"

"And we thought maybe-"

"You two were fighting."

Emily looks between the pair who seem determined to finish each others sentences without fail.

"At first we thought it might've had to do what happened-"

"In Colorado, right." Penelope finishes, nodding her agreement. "But then we kept thinking and the two of you have-"

"Haven't been spending time together for a few weeks longer than that. So what is it?"

Emily shrugs, opening the container of stuffed chicken her father had made for her. "I dunno, probably something to do with killing his baby."

Silence would've settled over them but Penelope chokes on a bite of her chicken wrap, J.J. handing her a bottle of water and helping her dislodge the bite of food stuck in her throat. When that's finished and Penelope is deemed fine, they turn their attention to Emily who's rather casually eating her chicken as if she hasn't just dropped an atomic bomb on her friends.

"Um, do you care to elaborate?" J.J. questions, seeing Emily eye her belly. "Hey, don't do that. Your choice is your choice, Henry and I won't be offended."

"Henry?" The pair across from her ask with huge smiles across their faces.

J.J. smiles and nods, her hand rubbing affectionately over her belly. "Yeah, but you can't tell anyone! Will and I were going to keep it a secret but god I had to tell someone before I exploded." She motions to Emily, keeping her from avoiding the topic. "But come on, out with it."

Emily sighs and drops the small bit of chicken left in her Tupperware onto J.J.'s desk. "I found out I was pregnant a week before the case in New York, before the explosion. I told him and he got excited, and I took his excitement and crushed it with a fucking sledgehammer."

"You took the next Wednesday off." J.J. says, realizing that must've been when she'd gone to the clinic.

"Yeah. He said he supported my choice and I think he still does but he's angry, and I don't blame him."

"The two of you haven't spoken about it?"

"He came to my house after we got back from Colorado, broke things off."

"You're shititng me!"

"What a fucking idiot!"

"And after I told him I loved him!" Emily joins in on their boss bashing, letting - for the first time - some of her irritation out at Hotch's change of tune. She understands his pain, his anger, but it doesn't mean she isn't hurt by it.

"Oh my god, does he just have the one brain cell dinging around up in his thick ass skull?"

"This is why you shouldn't date men."

"I agree, and I'm the one having a baby with one so that says something about my intelligence."

"Yeah, well that was an accident so that's different."

"Oh my god was yours an accident?"

"Of course it was! You think I wanted to get pregnant just to crush his heart into a bunch of little Hotch heart pieces?"

"Right, sorry."

"Hey, speaking of hearts, who's this from?" J.J. asks, grabbing a heart shaped sticky note from the floor.

Emily smiles and takes it from her friend. "My dad."

"Papa Prentiss is in town?"

Emily smiles at Penelope having dubbed her father 'Papa Prentiss', knowing he'd rather enjoy that distinction. "Yeah, just until the end of the week I think and then he has to go back to Europe."

"What's he like?" J.J. questions, knowing next to nothing about Emily's father.

"You can meet him if you'd like, we could do dinner at my place. He loves cooking for company, he never really got the chance when I was growing up since we had staff to cook for us."

"Are you sure? We don't want to intrude."

Emily shakes her head. "Nah, he'd like it actually. He's convinced I don't have friends, it'll put him at ease." A timer on J.J.'s phone rings, signaling the end of their lunch break. "Well, back to it I guess. And hey, please don't hate on Hotch too much. I'm upset but so is he, it's not his fault."

The women agree Emily heads to her desk, Penelope to her office, and she catches Hotch looking at her from Morgan's desk.

"Can I do something for you?" She asks, watching him rush out of the room after shaking his head in the negative.

He keeps it up the rest of the day, rushing out of the vicinity every time she comes near. She's angry, but more than that she's hurt, wondering what she could've possibly done in the span of a day to make him so uncomfortable. Of course, her mind automatically goes to what she's told him about what happened in Colorado. She hopes it's not that, hopes she's wrong because anything would be better than that.

She decides once the team has gone that it's time to confront him. She takes her pile of files upstairs and knocks on his door, watching him quickly move from where he's on the couch to his place behind his desk.

"Yes?"

She shuts the door softly behind her, mindful of the fact it's only a little after six and there's still agents in the bullpen. The blinds are shut and give them a bit of privacy, something she's thankful for when tears immediately well up in her eyes. "What did I do?"

"What?" She can see him panicking, itching to help but not knowing quite what he's allowed to do.

"You can't even be in the same room as me, you've been running in the opposite direction all damn day!" She sniffles, angrily wiping a tear that falls down her cheek. "Am I really so repulsive to you now? I'm damaged goods so you can't even breathe the same air as me?"

"What?" He squeaks out and he would've been embarrassed for sounding like he's just hit puberty but the look on her face and the way she's wrapping her arms protectively around her stomach keeps him from finding any amusement in the situation.

"That's the only thing that's changed, you knowing about what Cyrus did to me. If that's what it is I wish you'd just say it, just tell me instead of-"

"Emily, that's not it!"

"Then what is?" She counters angrily, tossing her files onto his desk and staring down at him where he's sat across the desk.

He clears his throat and looks down at the file in front of him, trying to keep his own tears at bay because this isn't about him. It's about her, about making sure she's safe and that she's comfortable and that she's not afraid of him.

"I've been trying to give you the space to be angry with me."

Her anger leaves her, and she looks at him with nothing but confusion. "You what?"

"Emily, I sent you to Liberty Ranch, I was the one who let you go in there, I'm the reason he-" He cuts himself off, getting choked up because he can't even say it without feeling ill. "I'm the reason he got the chance to be alone with you. You have every reason to blame me, I would. I do."

It's silent for only a moment before she scoffs at his stupidity, stalking around the desk and pulling him from his chair. He doesn't hesitate in wrapping his arms around her, burying his face in her neck and feeling the first hint of comfort when one of her hands come up to cradle the back of his head, slim fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck while she talks to him.

"Aaron, what happened, what Cyrus did to me, is not your fault. There hasn't been a second since it happened that I've blamed you, not one. I knew what he'd do if I provoked him, but I knew it was the best shot at slowing his plans. I did it knowing full well what would happen, and it hasn't got a damn thing to do with you."

"Really?" He asks, his voice husky and her skin wet from the tears that have fallen from his eyes.

"Really. I'm not angry at you, I could never be angry at you for this."

They stand there for a few minutes, soaking in the first real contact they've had since things went south between them. In the weeks since the abortion he's let himself feel angry and hurt, and for the first time since then he doesn't feel those things.

It makes him wonder how much longer he'll be able to stay away.

"I should go." Emily tells him, pulling back and wiping a few tears from his face. "My dad is in town and I have to let him know the girls will be over tomorrow. He's sure to make a big deal out of it."

He gives her a smile and nods, squeezes her hands once before he lets her go. She heads for the door and wishes him a good night and he watches her leave, hopeful now that things might just return to normal between them.

Chapter Text

“It was lovely to meet you, sir. Maybe we’ll get to do it again, or at least I hope we do. I mean-”

“Penelope, stop while you’re ahead.” J.J. tells her, shaking Everette’s hand and wishing he and Emily a good night before she ushers her friend out the front door of the apartment.

“I just made a fool out of myself at the end there, didn’t I?” The analyst asks for confirmation.

J.J. nods and looks back to make sure the apartment door is shut. “I don’t blame you; Emily’s dad is a babe.”

“So, what do you think?” Emily asks, hopping up on the island and grabbing a few chips from the bowl on the counter while her father scrubs at a dish in her sink.

“They’re very nice, but I think you should remind Penelope that I’m happily married.”

Both dimples make an appearance, and she nods her agreement. “I think you might be right. She’s a sucker for an accent though so I’m sure that didn’t help matters.”

He gapes at her, wondering why he didn’t get this information prior to the dinner where the analyst had accosted him in front of his own daughter. “And you didn’t think to tell me? I could’ve dropped it and we both could’ve been spared the comment about knowing I make pretty children and wanting to know if I’d like to try making another.”

Emily laughs at his being quite so flabbergasted, having grown used to this kind of behavior from her friend over the almost two years she’s been on the team. “Yeah, she’s quite the character, isn’t she?”

“Understatement. But I like her, she seems good for you, yes?”

"Yeah, she is." Emily smiles at his appreciating her friend as much as she does. Penelope has become a constant in her life, someone she can't imagine living without now that she's grown to love her.

"And J.J., she's lovely." He casts a glance at his daughter, and she arches a brow his direction.

"What?"

"What do you mean what?"

She rolls her eyes - why does he think he can lie to her - and eats the last chip in her hand. "If you have something to say, do it."

He sighs and drops the last dish in the dishwasher, drying his hands and starting the cycle before he leans back against the counter opposite his daughter and fixes her with a sympathetic look. "She's pregnant. Very pregnant."

Emily grabs another handful of chips to avoid the knowing gaze from her dad. "Yeah, she is."

"And how do you feel about that?"

"What do you mean? I'm thrilled for her; she'll be an amazing mother. The kid is lucky."

He arches his brows now and she rolls her eyes.

He can't hide shit from him, but she can't hide from him either.

"It has to be hard for you to see her enjoying motherhood after choosing to terminate." It's not really a question. He knows her too well; sees the longing glances she casts at J.J.'s belly and knows exactly what she's thinking.

That she's given up parenting a child of her own twice now.

That maybe she'll never get the opportunity again.

"Is it wrong for me to be sad? Is it unfair when I'm the one who chose to get an abortion?" The meek hesitant version of his daughter in front of him isn't a version of her he's used to, and he doesn't like it much.

She's hurting and that is the one thing he can't stand.

"Oh, mon ange, you're allowed to hurt for however long you need." He tells her, the term of endearment slipping off his tongue just as easily as it had when she was only a few years old rushing into the study during a thunderstorm that had startled her awake.

She shakes her head, blinking back tears. "But I chose this, it wasn't like I was forced into it! If anything I had every reason to keep the baby, Hotch wanted me to."

Dark eyes narrow on his daughter and he crosses his arms over his chest. "Did he?"

"Yeah, he's been really upset since I told him I wasn't keeping it."

"Has he been around much since then?" He phrases it casually, turning around to hang the towel on the oven handle so she doesn't see his jaw twitching because the mention of her boss hasn't exactly put a smile on his face.

"No, he broke things off." He stays silent, encouraging her to continue. "He's upset about the baby, which I get, I'm not angry at him for it. But he told me he'd support me, and he's done the exact opposite. Sure, he's not yelling at me or telling me I'm going to hell but he's avoiding me. He's just my boss now, he said as much."

"And there's no hope of reconciliation?"

She shakes her head. "No, I don't think so."

He gives her a few moments to gather herself before he grabs her hand and pulls her down off the island. "Well, sleep on it, maybe some space is all he needs. Right now, you need to get to bed, we're running an extra mile tomorrow."

She groans and he laughs when she complains the whole way up the stairs while he finishes cleaning up in the living room.

When he hears her bedroom door shut and hears the faint sound of water running in her shower, he lets the smile slip from his face and he grinds his teeth painfully.

Aaron fucking Hotchner. He'd seen this coming a mile away.

One Year Earlier

Everette knocks on the apartment door and waits for his daughter to open up, a wide smile on his face at finally getting to see her after having gone so long without. He hears movement from inside and is almost bouncing on his toes with excitement when the knob turns, and the door swings open to reveal his daughter on the other side.

"Do you want to have my babies?" Comes a shout from inside, his own smile dropping and his brows shooting up while Emily's cheeks pinken in embarrassment.

"Daddy?"

"Hi, Pumpkin." He plants another smile on his face because he is happy to see her but if she thinks he won't be bringing up the man in her living room she's got another thing coming. He steps into her apartment and hauls her off the ground, chuckling at her surprised squeak. He places her back on the ground and holds her head between his hands, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Dad! What are you doing here?" Her smile matches his own now, both of them ignoring the man a few yards away who's shifting awkwardly on his feet.

"What? A father can't come visit his favorite daughter when he feels like it?"

"I'm your only daughter."

He taps her nose and gives her a wink. "Exactly." Then he turns to the man who looks vaguely familiar, taking a few seconds to think back to where he knows the man.

And then it hits him.

He'd pulled strings to get Clyde files on all the BAU agents so Emily could start her new job without the overwhelming paranoia of being stabbed in the back by a coworker.

This man's face was among those in the file, and it had been a familiar face even then, although the first time he'd met him he'd been a lot younger and worked for his wife. Now he's older, sturdier, and Emily works for him.

Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner.

Her boss.

"Aaron Thomas Hotchner." He comments, walking toward the man who straightens up and rolls his shoulders back.

"Everette Raphaël Prentiss." Emily's eyes widen over her father's shoulder and she gives a quick shake of her head and he cringes at having made things awkward a whole 10 seconds in. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that."

"That's alright, so long as you don't do it again." He holds out his hand and Hotch takes it, almost wincing at the grip Everette has on him. He gives back just as good as he gets though and it seems to have satisfied the man at least for now. "Well, I didn't mean to intrude but I was hoping to take Emily out to dinner."

"Oh, of course go ahead."

"Well, I wasn't asking you but I appreciate the input." Everette tells him, turning to Emily who's eyes are moving comically fast between the two men in her home. "Emily, how about it?"

"Um, yeah that sounds good dad. Let me grab my jacket and we can go." She hopes that with Hotch not present at in the dinner in question her father might not bring up his presence in her home or the question he'd shouted at her.

But of course, it's the first thing he brings up.

"So, you're sleeping with your boss." He comments, looking at his daughter over the rim of his glass as he sips his wine.

She puts her own glass down and wishes she had something stronger. "I am."

"You think that a wise choice?"

"Maybe not, but it's been done now so I guess that's all there is to is."

He laughs at the aggressive bite she takes of her baguette, holding up his hands with his palms facing her. "Hey, I come in peace."

She drops her bread to her dish and arches a brow at him. "Do you? Do you really?"

"Listen, all I want to know is if you've thought this through." She shakes her head in question, dark brows furrowed because how the fuck does he think she hasn't thought this through? "Emily he isn't even divorced yet."

Her eyes widen on him and she feels the same irritation she had when she was a teenager and found out he'd been grilling all her friends on where she was and when they failed to give him the information he desired he'd sewn a small tracking device into the seam of her purse. "You've been looking into him?"

"I just wanted to make sure he was the right man for you. Given he still has a wife who once thought he was the right man for her, I'm going to say you may have slid back into your habit of picking the worst men for yourself."

"Well, thanks for the dinner dad it was good to see you." She tosses the cloth napkin from her lap to the table and he catches her wrist, giving her a look of apology.

"I'm sorry, okay? Please stay, we so rarely get to see each other." She sighs and deflates, having missed her father a great deal in the time since they've seen each other. "Can I just say one thing?"

She knows he means well so she rolls her eyes but nods the affirmative anyway.

"Ask for a break." He holds up a hand when she moves to argue with him. "I don't mean forever; I just mean until he's finalized the divorce. The end of a marriage is a big deal, and I don't think he's had time to fully process that. I think it may be in your best interest to give him the time and space to do that, let him come back to you when he's ready."

Emily doesn't answer for a few minutes, swirling her soup around in her bowl and letting the edge of her baguette get soggy in the dish before she answers. "I'll give him the option of a break, which - by the way - he already knows he can take. Maybe he needs the verbal reminder, so I'll give him that, but I make no promises beyond that. I can't force him to process the end of his marriage, that's up to him."

Everette smiles and gives a content nod. "Good, that's all I ask. The last thing I want to happen is for you to get hurt."

He doesn't mention that he's pretty sure that's what will happen anyway.

Present Day

Now Everette glares into the darkness of his daughter's apartment, fuming at the turn her relationship has taken with her boss. He'd known a year ago that things would end poorly between them, so he's not surprised at the way things are looking for the pair, but this is worse than he'd thought.

He thought Aaron many things, but a PIECE OF WOMAN HATING CRAP was not one of them.

It's a shame he hadn't seen that one coming.

Chapter Text

Turning off her computer and closing the flap over her bag, Emily prepares to leave for the night. She's excited that her first week back since their last Colorado has been mercifully uninterrupted by cases and they've instead been blessed with one consult after the next and only a few reports that needed some clarification or corrections.

"Hey, if you guys are hungry, I know a really good Indian restaurant that's open all night." Reid offers with a smile, hopeful that two of his closest friends will want to spend some time with each other on a rare Friday without a new case.

"I can't, I have a date."

Morgan's head perks up and he walks over to where Emily is packing up for the night. "A date? With who?"

When she answers it comes out tired and it's an accurate reflection of her mood. This week has been easy, but she still finds herself drained. "My hot tub."

"Oh, now that sounds like a party."

"You're so not invited."

Hotch continues his journey to his office, brows furrowed in discomfort at what he'd heard and the reaction it had sparked within him.

I have a date.

Now of course he knows the date is with her hot tub, but his reaction to the statement prior to her clarification had been immediate.

Jealousy, irritation, anger.

His anger hadn't been directed toward her but rather the person who dared ask his Emily Prentiss out on a date.

He freezes halfway sat in his seat, realizing what he's just thought.

His Emily Prentiss.

His woman.

He's not entirely sure how to take that. The choice to end things between them had been his choice, he can't fault her for respecting that boundary. In fact, he respects her more for not pushing him when he knows full well the extent of her feelings for him. The distance between them is no fault of her own, but rather of his choices, and yet he sits behind his desk close to pouting thinking about how he wants to take Emily on a date.

He catches sight of his reflection in a photo of Jack on his desk, smiling and holding back the full belly laughter at his own pouting because he is pouting.

He's not sure when the hell he started doing that but he's sure it has to do with having spent so much time around the person occupying his thoughts who has no problem pouting and frequently uses a trembling lower lip and big doe eyes to get her way.

Well, he smiles down at the agent in the bullpen, it usually works for her.

He ponders his next move, unsure if jumping right back into a relationship is the right move. He'll do more damage to her if he starts being inconsistent than he would if he just stayed away. He has to ensure he's fully prepared to be with her again in any capacity let alone something romantic.

One thing he knows for sure is that he shouldn't have been quite so final in his ending of their relationship because he's entirely sure now that the distance won't last forever.

He can't imagine his life without Emily busting his balls with a hundred-watt smile on her face and her hand in his.

Because that, if nothing else, has become a constant he enjoys.

With that last thought he makes his way to the conference room, pretty sure they'll be leaving first thing in the morning if his initial thoughts on the case he skimmed prove to be correct. He gives Emily a small smile that she returns with a quick flash of a dimple, one of their more positive interactions in a while.

"Three nights ago in Reno, this car was hit by a tractor trailer."

"Any survivors?" Morgan asks, the damage done by the impact leading him to believe nobody in the car came out alive.

"The truck driver walked away unharmed. Johnathan and Rebecca Gallen, the passengers in the car, were DOA. When the local sheriff arrived on the scene he noticed several things: no blood splatter inside the car, no seatbelt burns, no lacerations from the air bags."

"They were dead before the accident." Reid fills in.

"The autopsy confirmed that and the cause of death. Blunt force head trauma and evidence of rape and torture to the woman." J.J. tells them, letting her eyes drift to Emily for only a moment.

"The UNSUB wasn't very successful at hiding the fact that he murdered two people." Hotch comments, his eyes flicking to Emily the same way J.J.'s had before he returns them to his own file.

This isn't exactly shaping up to be a good first case back for his agent and he worries she might not be up for this just yet.

Emily - to her credit - listens while they discuss the details of the case and ignores the looks she's getting from J.J. and Hotch. She's thankful they're being subtle though, where Garcia - had she been present - likely would've stared openly in concern.

For the rest of the briefing she does her best to remain unbothered and for the most part she succeeds, the only issue she has being the hovering from the media liaison and her boss. She knows they mean well, knows they're only trying to make sure she's prepared, but she can't help but be a little bothered by their watchful eyes.

She's been through far worse than Benjamin Cyrus - although she figures they don't know that so she can't put much blame on them there - and she's not about to break.

She's fine, even if they don't believe her.

When the briefing ends they pack up, nodding their agreement when Hotch says he'd like them to fly out of D.C. in the morning. She packs her bag and shoves a file inside, planning to review it once she's home in the comfort of her bed without her boss staring at her from across the table.

"Prentiss, a word please?"

She follows Hotch into his office, watching him shut the door behind them and she props herself against the side of his desk.

"Sir?"

"Would you like to take this case off? Maybe take another week off?"

She furrows her brows at the suggestion, hoping he doesn't find her so damaged she can't do her own damn job. "No, have I done something that would lead you to believe I'm unable to do my job?"

"No, no, nothing like that. I just thought given the content of the case that you might be uncomfortable, that's all. This is your first case back and I wouldn't think of you any differently if you wanted to sit this one out."

"Hotch, I appreciate the thought, really. But I want to work, it helps me keep busy and that's the best thing I can do right now." She sees the doubt on his features, his hesitancy to let her work this case written across his face and she gives him what she hopes is a reassuring smile. "Okay, how about I tell you if I need a break? Then you can keep me at the station - out of the field - and that'll give me enough time to pull myself together. Deal?"

He ponders it for a moment and decides it's their best option. If she can't function - even if certain content in the work they do makes her uncomfortable - she won't be able to stay in the unit and he's found that avoidance can make things worse rather than better. He can't pull her out of the field either, not without someone noticing and not without sharing her encounter with Cyrus with the rest of the team.

Not to mention the fire that would rain down on them should Strauss catch wind of what she'd assume is Emily's incompetency.

Bitch.

"Alright, you've got a deal. Now go home and get some sleep, we leave at seven."

"Don't have to tell me twice." She responds, squeezing his arm gently on her way by.

She doesn't think anything of her action and leaves his office, but he's left with a stupid smile on his face, happy that she's comfortable enough with him to be physically affectionate once more. They're nowhere near where they used to be, but it's a start.

~~~~~~~~~~

"You know, call me crazy, but I thought for just a second earlier today that I saw your dad." Hotch mentions to Emily when they're packing up at the precinct. It's just the two of them, Reid and Rossi had gone to the hospital with the two victims they'd managed to save, and Morgan had stayed behind to process the scene. Hotch had sent J.J. back to the hotel, getting tired himself just looking at her. She hadn't even fought him on the order, instead she'd given him a smile of thanks and waddled out of the station to an SUV.

Emily snorts and pulls another photo from the murder board. "Yeah, you probably did."

"What?" He almost knocks a box off the table at her confirmation. He'd thought he was going crazy, but she doesn't seem to find this news noteworthy if her casual response is anything to go by.

It also means he was probably right about the glare he could spot from a hundred yards.

"He has a habit of hovering. He means well but this is my first case back, I'd be more surprised if he hadn't followed me out here."

"You told him where we were heading?"

It's only then that Emily turns to him, a curious smile on her face. "You really don't know what he does for work, do you?" He shakes his head and she unclips another photo with a smile. "Don't worry about it, he won't do anything. He's just checking in and he's maybe not your biggest fan, but he wouldn't hurt you."

He's not entirely sure he wants to know why physical threats of danger would be associated with her father but he lets it go, already working up the courage to mention to her what's been on his mind for the last few hours.

"Listen, I'm sorry I left you in the cabin."

"What do you mean?"

He lowers his voice and steps closer, making sure nobody passing by can hear him. "When we went after Hansen, I left you in the cabin with the Ian and Abby Corbin."

She shakes her head at him slowly, still not getting where he's going with this. "I don't understand what you mean."

"I left you alone with an unconscious man and a woman tied to a bed." He clarifies and now she's got it.

"Hotch, we're going to have cases far worse than this one. Torture and rape are part of our lives, day in and day out. I need you to trust that I can do my job, please. I can't have you second-guessing your every decision on top of mine. The team would fall apart, you can't treat me any different than you would the rest of them."

"But-"

"If you start making choices based on your concern for me the rest of the team is bound to notice." She tells him, hoping her desire for privacy might be the thing to get him to lay off. "I know what I can and can't handle, now I need you to believe me when I say I can handle this."

"Can you? Handle this? Because if you can't, I can give you more time. I'll put my neck on the line for you as many times as you need me to." Emily looks at him, really looks at him, and despite her initial irritation as his not having faith in her she's more thankful for him than ever.

"Aaron, I'm okay. Please try and believe me when I say that." She grabs his hand and he returns the squeeze she gives him, a silent cue that they're on the same page. Emily lets their hands linger for only a few moments before she pulls away and Hotch is surprised to find that the familiar warmth in his chest at her hand being in his has returned.

He's not entirely sure what it means, if maybe he's finally starting to move forward, if maybe he's ready to be with her again, or maybe it's just that he misses her desperately.

Whatever it is, it's a feeling he's missed and he's glad it's come back.

~~~~~~~~~~

"I'm going to head down to the bar for a drink, do you want to join me?"

"No, I'm meeting a friend tonight so I doubt I'll be back before we leave tomorrow." Rossi tells him, grabbing his bag and his keycard to return to the front desk because he's pretty sure he's just going to meet the team at the jet tomorrow.

Hotch raises a brow at him and reminds him of their takeoff time and wishes him a goodnight before he makes his way downstairs. He doesn't often drink at the end of a case but he doesn't see the harm in taking a load off every once in a while.

Of course, before the elevator doors can shut a man slips in and stands beside him. A man he knows to be Emily's father.

"Mr. Prentiss."

"Aaron. We should talk."

Hotch doesn't even bother arguing, knowing it'll get him nowhere and if he's honest he'll admit that he doesn't think he could take this guy in a fight. He's a good four inches taller with wider shoulders and despite the lack of visible muscle he knows this man - above all else - is quick on his feet.

And if what Emily has hinted to him has any truth in it this guy could probably kill him with just his thumbs without breaking a sweat.

He'd probably get away with it too.

They silently make their way to the bar and order the same whiskey neat and take their seats beside each other. They're silent for a while, quietly sipping the alcohol and enjoying the flavor of the top shelf booze the older man had ordered on his own tab.

"I don't like to see my daughter upset." Everette starts, staring straight ahead at the bottles behind the bar.

Hotch doesn't bother looking up from his glass. "I don't like to see her upset either."

"Well you sure as hell have a funny way of showing it." The older man bites back, Hotch's posture straightening at the underlying threat almost wafting from the man beside him. He's angry and he hasn't met a Prentiss yet that isn't terrifying when they're angry. Between Emily, her mother, and her father, he's surprised he hasn't been shot and buried in some unmarked grave in the middle of the fucking desert.

"I don't mean to hurt her, but I can't pretend everything is fine between the two of us either. I can't lie to her, and you know what more than that I don't want to lie to her. She deserves better than that, she deserves the truth even if it hurts her." He doesn't mean it to come out so harsh but he's irritated and the whiskey is strong, loosening his tongue and letting his ruffled feathers be known.

Everette gets a refill for his own drink and gets one for the Unit Chief while he's at it, waiting until the bartender walks away before he responds. "I just need to understand why you're angry at her for something you said you'd support."

He doesn't have to say he's talking about the baby, about the abortion he said he'd support her through. It's what's torn them apart, it's what's kept him from more or less moving Emily into his house post-Colorado so he could look after her.

"You wouldn't understand, you're on her side."

"Of course I'm on her side, just as you would be in my position. But that doesn't mean I won't understand." Everette tells him, brows furrowed sympathetically at the man beside him. He supports his daughter and her choice, but that doesn't mean he's unsympathetic to the father of the unborn baby. After all, he's upset at the loss of a potential grandchild.

But Emily is his priority.

Hotch takes a deep breath, swirling the liquid in his glass in the hope that it'll distract him enough to keep his emotions at bay. "It's not Emily that I'm upset about."

Everette almost rolls his eyes. Apparently Aaron favors the same vague answers that his daughter does.

Typical.

"Then who are you upset at?"

"Not a who, a what." Aaron clarifies, his chest tightening and his voice thickening with the fight to keep his emotions safely locked inside his body. He's not a sharer but the older Prentiss has the same disarming effect on his that the younger does and he finds it easy to talk to him. "I'm sure you don't approve of our relationship, the way it started, that I'm her boss."

Everette tilts his head in agreement. "That's a fair assumption."

"But I loved her. I love her, even now. I'm not upset at her; I'm upset at the life I thought we could have together."

Everette downs the rest of his drink and pushes it across the bar to the bartender and slides his credit card after it. "Alright, I know you two enjoy the half explanations but I'm going to need some more information."

Aaron rolls his eyes because of course Everette would call him out on his bullshit the same way Emily does.

She's definitely her father's daughter.

"I thought maybe this would be the turning point, that we'd start taking things seriously. I thought she wanted something more with me, a few kids and a house and a marriage. But she gave that up. I wasn't enough for her." He shrugs, trying to play it off like he's not been hurt down to his core. "I thought that baby would be the start of the rest of our lives together."

Everette waits a few moments before he answers. "Well, I'm sorry for thinking you're a piece of woman hating crap."

"What?" Hotch squeaks out, whipping his head to the side to stare at the older man.

"Clearly I had the wrong idea, I said I was sorry!" Mr. Prentiss defends, flashing the same dimples Emily has. "Now listen here. If you love her, you need to find a way to move past this together. Maybe that means you sit down and have a chat about what you want from your future together, maybe that means you start as friends and work your way up. But what I know you don't want to do is let her go."

"I don't, but I need time."

"You take all the time you need, but don't take too much time. She won't wait forever."

~~~~~~~~~~

"How exactly did you manage to talk your way in here?" Emily shouts to Morgan who's changing down the hall in the guest room while she changes in her own room.

"Admit it, you want to see me topless!" He shouts back and she can't help but laugh, the sound of his own laughter floating down the hall toward her. They've been good recently, joking and laughing with each other while he keeps a watchful eye out in case she's pushing herself too hard. He's been beaten a few too many times and he knows the healing process won't be any better if she pushes herself too far.

"But don't you get it? I see you naked every time I close my eyes at night."

"Really?" He peeks his head around the corner hopefully, a huge smile plastered on her face at this admission.

"Yep." She peeks her on head around the corner - mindful to keep her bare upper body safely behind the wall - and smirks at him. "Remind me to talk to my therapist about it, having nightmares every night is exhausting."

He sputters at her and she laughs while she pulls on the top half of her bikini, smiling at him when she emerges from the bedroom.

"Damn, princess, looking good." He whistles at her while she walks past in a red bikini that doesn't surprise him in the least, catching the towel she throws at his face when she catches him staring at her ass while she walks past.

"If you want to keep your eyes safely in their sockets, I suggest you move them upward, Derek."

He laughs and follows her downstairs to the hot tub, slipping under the water first and then holding her hand to help her in.

"God, I might just have to get one of these." He tells her, his head leaned back and his arms stretched out on the rim of the tub.

"It might get me over to your place more often." She agrees, resting her back against one of the jets. She's spent several nights in this exact spot, the jets providing some much-needed relief to her still healing torso and the heat relaxing her muscles.

"So, how are you really?" Derek asks, opening his eyes and fixing them on her. "After the Cyrus of it all."

She shrugs, staring down at the view through the window. "About as well as could be expected. My ribs still hurt a little and my hips but most of the bruises have faded."

"Can I see?" She stands and he leans forward, gently grazing his fingers over a few still dark bruises on her ribs. "They're healing nicely." He comments, and then he notices the scars. "Shit, these look painful."

She shakes her head, wondering if he'll push for answers. "Not anymore."

He shrugs and leans back, letting her take her own spot again across from him. "Then that's all I need to know." He tilts his head back once more and his next comment he makes lightly. "Have you told Hotch the rest of it?"

"The rest of it?"

"About what Cyrus did to you." He looks at her now, eyes soft and his voice gentle. He doesn't want to think he sees her any differently, doesn't want her to think he's demanding answers.

She looks down at her hands in her lap, starts picking at her nails. "Yeah, he knows."

"And he's letting you in the field?" She glares at him and he holds his hands up. "I don't mean it like that, I'm just surprised that's all."

"Hotch is treating me like I'm made of glass."

"He means well, you know that."

"It doesn't make it any easier." She breathes out, finally looking up at him. "How did you know?"

"About what Cyrus did?" She nods that that is indeed what she's referring to. He gives her a gentle smile and taps her foot with his own. "Takes one to know one."

Chapter Text

They're on their way to Nevada when he notices it. Rossi and Reid are playing chess on the other side of the jet, Morgan has his headphones in and he's bopping his head to whatever he's listening to while he reviews their latest case one more time before they land, and J.J. is dozing across from he and Emily. It's not a long flight but it's long enough for them to get comfortable so he'd picked the seat next to Emily, letting himself enjoy the close proximity to her.

Sitting right up against her is why he notices it and he grabs her hand from her lap, holding it up to get a better look and when he does, he furrows his brows sympathetically. "You've been biting them again." He comments, brushing a finger over one of her nailbeds that's inflamed, and he gives her an apologetic look when she sucks in a breath through her teeth at the painful contact.

She's bitten them pretty far down this time, even starting in on the skin around her nails.

"Yeah, bad habit." She rolls her eyes at herself. "Well, smoking is the bad habit. I'm trying to quit but when I don't smoke, I bite my nails." She pouts down at her nails, not a single one intact after the weeks of tearing she's done. She'd been getting somewhere on stopping the unsanitary habit, but Cyrus had stirred up a number of her bothersome habits and whether or not she enjoys biting her nails it does help her with her more challenging emotions.

"Does anything help?"

She offers a shrug and folds her hands in her lap. "If they're painted, I don't bite them as often, the polish makes the texture close to unbearable."

"Why not paint them? You could go with a nude color if you don't like your nails to clash with your clothes." She turns to him, a surprised smile on her face. To his credit he blushes, giving her a shrug of his own. "I was married a long time, I've painted a few nails in my day."

"Huh, the more you know." She looks down at her nails with a sigh. "I can't do them though; I get it all over the place and it just doesn't look good."

"I could do them for you."

She smiles at him hopefully. "Really? It's not too girly for you?"

He glances around to ensure nobody else is listening before he answers. "Emily, I've waxed your legs. I think we're far past my worrying about something being too girly."

Rossi peeks his head around the chair Reid is sitting in and his brows are up to his hairline.

"You waxed Emily's legs?"

~~~~~~~~~~

The morning after the case is finished Emily wakes slowly. She blinks her eyes open and then screws them shut, scrunching up her nose and using the blanket to push her hair from her face. She slowly peels her eyes open again and squints at the clock to make out the time.

7:49A.M.

Too damn early for her to be awake when she's this hungover but the plane leaves in - it takes her a moment to calculate the numbers - an hour and 11 minutes so she'll have to be up soon anyway. She holds her head in her hand, rubbing gently at her throbbing temples with her thumb and index finger.

And then the body occupying the other side of the bed shifts and a strong arm wraps around her and the urge to leave the comfort of the blankets and the soft mattress lessens even further. She snuggles back into the blankets with a smile on her face, hoping the heat from the body behind her will provide her enough warmth to fall back asleep in the otherwise chilly room.

And then her eyes fly open just as the muscled arm around her tenses with the same realization she's had.

She has no idea who the fuck is in bed with her.

She jolts away from the man and launches herself to her feet, visibly relaxing - as does her partner - at the realization that it's only Hotch. They'd both been initially terrified at the possibility of a one night stand with a stranger.

The relief is short lived though because her jerking herself from bed was maybe not her smartest move, her stomach churning and bile inching its way up her throat. She must turn a funny shade of green too because Hotch jumps from the bed only a second before she throws herself into the bathroom and drops to the floor. He's only a beat behind her, kneeling on the tile next to her and holding her tangled hair from her face while she expels the contents of her stomach that consists of mostly booze and what she thinks might be salsa.

Hotch rubs her back and only when she nods that she's done does he wipe her mouth with a few plies of toilet paper and help her lean back to rest against the bathtub.

It's then that she notices how they look. He's in his boxers and her in her panties, bites marking his shoulders and hickeys littering her torso.

Uh oh.

She can't quite recall how they got there though, and the more she thinks about it she realizes she can't remember much after the team dinner, let alone how they'd made it upstairs to her hotel room.

"God, what the fuck happened last night?"

Hotch rests back against the bathtub with her, shaking his head that's equally blank.

"I have absolutely no clue."

9 Hours Earlier

Hotch hums along to the song playing from the stereo system, his chin resting on Emily's head. She'd been the one to suggest a few drinks after the team dinner and while the rest of the team had declined - to either head out or head to bed - Hotch didn't want to leave her alone while she drank, knowing how quickly she could put them away before she realized that maybe the last few drinks were a bad idea. But he also wanted to spend more time with her, especially time outside of work.

She hiccups against his chest, giggling and tightening her grip around his waist. "I might have had a few too many."

"Hmm, you don't say?" She nods against him, letting him sway her gently to the music. They're off beat and the only people left in the bar other than employees who seem to be enjoying the last half hour of their shift with a few shots themselves. "I think I could use another."

"Mhmm." She agrees, turning on her heel toward the table they've deemed as theirs and she gives her boss a thankful smile while he catches her when she tilts dangerously to one side. "Thanks." She presses a kiss to his cheek, and they make their way - carefully - to their table.

"Here, a token of our appreciation." The bartender tells them, dropping a bottle of tequila on their table with a smile. They've been generous with tips tonight and they seem nice, so the staff had chipped in to buy it as a good night present to the agents who - even in their state – ooze federal agent energy with the guns on their hips and brooding looks cast at some of the patrons bustling around earlier in the night. "It's last call so you can take it to your room, just don't tell anyone."

Emily beams up and the man and pushes herself out of the booth, using Hotch as something to push herself off of and she ignores the glare he sends her way. "That is so sweet, Andrew, thank you." She pulls a bill out of her wallet and passes him the 50, grabbing his face and pressing a kiss to his cheek that immediately flames bright red with embarrassment.

Not that he seems to mind a kiss from Emily, although Hotch doesn't blame him for that.

"Oh, sorry, I got lipstick on you." She mumbles but Andrew shakes his head.

"I've had a lot of gross things on me in this job, you are not one of them." At that Hotch gives him his best glare and even though he's close to seeing two Andrews it does the job because he says goodnight and rushes back to the bar.

"You didn't have to scare him." Emily says, taking her place beside Hotch once more.

"I did actually, and I don't know why you're sitting back down when they've made last call, we have to go." She groans and throws her head back in exasperation, her laughter stopping abruptly when the room spins at her sudden movement.

"Remind me not to do that again." Emily tells him, pushing herself up onto unsteady feet while Hotch does the same and grabs the bottle they've been gifted.

The walk to the elevator is made up of stumbling to the wrong side and giggling, a long journey to their destination. They climb in and Hotch scratches his head, trying to remember what floor they're on.

"I think it's six." She tells him, a lightbulb going off in his head.

He nods, yes that sounds right, the sixth floor, they're definitely on the sixth floor.

"So, your room or mine?"

"I'm sorry?" She asks, brows up when she looks at him.

He holds up the bottle of tequila. "I thought we'd stick together for a while, maybe eat the rest of your pizza from last night."

Her eyes light up and she quickly agrees. They haven't spent time together in a while, definitely not at each other’s homes, and it reminds her of the way things used to be with him. When the elevator arrives they make their way to Emily's room - the closer of the two - and when the keycard fails a third time and Hotch thinks she might kick the door in he takes it from her.

"Let me." He gets the door open on the first try and she gives him a dreamy smile.

"Thank you, my savior."

He laughs and smacks her on the ass on her way in, the responding squeal making him laugh harder. She's a cute drunk, but he's a handsy drunk and they both know it. He tosses his jacket to the chair in the corner and she yanks her shirt off before she steals his. He's left in his undershirt, and he helps her push the buttons through the holes on his shirt. He keeps the rest of his clothes on, knowing as comfortable as they are with each other they tend to get inappropriate when they lack suitable attire.

She doesn't seem to mind though, sprawling out on the bed in his shirt and her panties with a slice of pizza in her hand. She pats the spot beside her and he drops down next to her, grabbing the slice she holds out for him.

"Hey guess what." Emily starts excitedly, rolling onto her side while she eats the last bite of crust on her pizza.

"What?" He returns with just as much excitement, sending his agent in to a giggling fit that he responds to with a wide smile and a laugh of his own.

Fuck she's cute when she's drunk!

"I just wanted to say-" A hiccup interrupts her statement before she continues. "I think you should sell your body."

"What?" He shrieks back, unsure as to what the hell could've led her to that conclusion.

"Not like that, I mean for hugs." She tells him firmly, a serious look on her face. "You've got nice arms and you're the perfect height to just lay a head on your chest and you smell nice, and you give the best hugs, Aaron."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, lemme show you." She answers, her proper 'ambassador's daughter grammar' failing her. She lifts his arm and slides up against him, wrapping her arms around his waist and smiling against his chest when he returns the hug just as fiercely. "See? Best hugs."

"I think you might be on to something." He agrees, enjoying the heat she's giving off and the feel of her in his arms. He misses her, misses the way she rasps out a soft good morning when they wake up together, misses the way she wraps herself around him when they're watching movies, misses the scent of her lotion and shampoo on his things and the way his heart pounds in his chest when she smiles.

"We should stay like this forever." She mumbles sleepily, the scent of tequila on her breath.

He laughs and rolls onto his back, taking her with him and keeping his arms trapped around her back just in case she goes to tumble off the bed. "I think the team might have some complaints about that, but I'll be sure to bring it up to Strauss at our next meeting." He loves hearing her laugh and she's been doing a lot of that tonight so he swallows his pride and gives her a casual shrug. "Aaron Hotchner, hug whore. It does have a nice ring to it, you could put that on a business card."

She giggles against his chest and smiles up at him, staring a little too long and a little too hard to be friendly.

He doesn't mind.

Instead, he lifts a hand and cards his fingers through her hair, humming his approval when she leans into his touch. It's familiar, comforting, to have her close like this and he can't help but slide his other hand up the back of the shirt she's wearing to feel the smooth expanse of skin underneath.

She doesn't mind either, arching her back in the hope of getting impossibly closer.

That seems to have quite the effect on him though because the next thing she knows his lips are slanted against hers, his tongue swiping across her lips in a silent request for access that she grants. It's the first time in four months they've been this intimate, his arms around her and the taste of him on her tongue and it has her reeling.

He helps her onto her knees over him, strong hands gripping the back of her thighs to help her keep a steady rhythm grinding against him. It's slow, the pair content with just being together instead of racing toward mutual release.

She sinks her teeth into his shoulder, smiling against the skin between her teeth when he lets out a soft hiss. She repeats the movement a few times, intending to mark him as hers for as long as she can because she doesn't know when - if ever - she'll get to do this again.

He grows restless though, deciding that if she's getting the chance to claim him, he may as well do the same. He rolls her over and chuckles at the loud excited happy laugh she lets out. He hasn't seen her like this in a long time and he's glad her happiness is directly linked to him.

"Can I?" He asks, thumbing a button on the shirt she's stolen from him. She bites her lip and gives him a nod, dark eyes staying together as he makes his way down the fabric. He needs to make sure they stay on the same page, needs to make sure she's still enjoying herself with every move he makes. Soon the shirt is pushed away from her torso, still covering her arms but pretty much useless at this point.

He settles his lips against her collarbone, sucking a bruise into her skin and pressing a kiss there when the area turns purple.

She bruises so easily, he thinks fondly. Pretty.

He slowly makes his way down, paying attention to the underside of her breast, following the curve of her waist, back up her ribcage, and leaving a trail of teeth marks on her sides that elect a deep moan from her and make her squirm beneath him.

His teasing makes her almost dizzy, letting him trail his lips and his teeth along the curves and edges of her body. She feels cherished, valued, beautiful. She shouldn't be surprised, he's always made her feel those things, but she can't help the tears that prick behind her eyelids at the surge of emotions he brings on with his actions.

He kisses his way up her belly to her lips and frowns when he sees the tears in her eyes. "Oh, Em, what is it? I didn't scare you, did I?"

The genuine concern in his voice makes the tears fall harder and he brushes them away with his thumbs, rolls off her so she doesn't feel trapped if that is indeed what's wrong.

"Nothing, nothing's wrong." She assures him, laying a hand on his cheek to keep him close. "I just missed you, that's all."

He gives her a soft smile and kisses her palm, holding the hand in his own. "I've missed you too, baby. But I do think we should stop, neither of us is sober enough to keep going."

She nods - the effects of the alcohol she's consumed making her thoughts come slower and less coherent - and squeezes his fingers. "Yeah, I think you're probably right about that." She hiccups again as if to prove his point and he laughs, pressing a kiss to her cheek and turning off the lamp on his side of the bed.

"Go to sleep, I'll be here when you wake up."

Present Day

Hotch shakes his head when he continues to come up empty as to the events of last night, his own breath making his stomach roll a little bit when he blows out a puff of air.

They push themselves from the floor and slowly make their way back into the bedroom and Hotch looks at the clock. It's an hour until the jet is due to leave so they've got only 40 minutes to make themselves presentable. "Regardless of what happened last night we have to get ready; the jet is leaving in an hour." She lets out a loud groan and faceplants into the bed, sprawled out over the length of it and she whines into the pillow.

He shakes his head and laughs, tracing a line up her foot and laughing harder when she shrieks and calls him something in another language that he just knows isn't pleasant.

What a lovely little dork he has in Emily Prentiss.

Chapter Text

Hotch applies a little bit of foundation to her neck where he's just blended in her concealer, her eyes shut, and her head propped up in her hand on the counter. She's half asleep but he doesn't mind, instead he uses the opportunity to watch her without her calling him a weirdo or a stalker. Her lashes flutter against her cheeks, her brows relaxed for what seems like the first time in ages. She's been far too tense, far too worried in the months since Colorado, and he hates that he's not been able to save her the agony of processing the trauma of what she's gone through. He's been getting biweekly reports from her therapist though and she seems to be doing well thus far.

Her skin has a nice flush to it, but he figures that's the remnants of the tequila in her system, leaving her a little too warm and a little unsteady but he's not much better. Her skin is as soft and as clear as ever, but she's lost a little weight. He makes a note to start buying her lunches again, ensuring that she's eating enough in between cases and assignments that have had a habit of overwhelming even the best agents in the unit from time to time.

A timer they'd set to keep themselves on track startles them both and they both flinch at the sound that assaults their eardrums.

"Good timing, I just finished. Do you have a toothbrush I can borrow?

She nods and grabs an unopened brush from her bag, handing it over and tossing her makeup into the duffel. They stand together at the sink and she fills the cups of mouthwash while he applies paste to their brushes. She moves her own brush to her mouth and he captures her wrist, giving her a small smile. "Don't trigger your gag reflex." He reminds her, knowing she would've thrust the bristles into her mouth and would've ended up dry heaving into the sink.

She blushes a nice pink and flashes him a dimple. "Right, thank you."

While they brush their teeth Hotch thinks about how nice this is, how much he likes spending mornings with her. Sure, this isn't exactly their typical morning but he's spending it with her and that counts for a hell of a lot more than it used to now that he's spent the past few months without these simple pleasures.

He looks at her foamy mouth and grins around his toothbrush at her sleepy eyes, cupping a hand under her chin to keep a drop of paste from dribbling into her hair. She gives him a foamy smile of thanks and grabs a towel to clean her mouth and his hand, and he wraps an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his chest while they finish getting ready.

It's sickeningly domestic, but it doesn't bother him. Instead he wonders if he could spend more mornings like this, more mornings with her.

She bobs her head and sways her hips to a song he assumes is stuck in her head and her free hand moves as if she's conducting an orchestra all her own.

Yeah, he thinks, I could definitely get used to this.

~~~~~~~~~~

"So, I picked this up at the airport." Hotch says, pulling a small bottle of nail polish from his pocket. It's light blue and a color he thinks would look pretty on her and when she sees it she smiles up at him from her seat next to him, tossing her book onto the table and scooting closer so he can get the job done properly.

"It's pretty, I love it." She admits, actually loving the color. Her inner rebel always gravitates toward flashy colors and she always ends up regretting it, feeling very juvenile with black or dark blue polish on her fingertips.

He removes the cap and holds her hand in his own, getting to work on the flight back home. It's only the two of them and J.J., the rest of the team choosing to stay behind with Reid to help him solve whatever crime that's been plaguing his dreams.

"So, can I ask you something?"

"You just did." She blushes at her joke and shrugs. "Sorry, I've spent too long around my father, his dad jokes are rubbing off on me. Go for it."

He looks over at the blonde on the plane to ensure she won't overhear and finds her sleeping. He looks back down at Emily's nails and continues painting when he asks the question. "You asked how I was doing with this case, being a father to a son and all." She nods and he hopes he's not crossing a line. "How are you handling it?"

"Oh, fine, I guess. No worse than the rest of the team I suppose, why?"

He shrugs, setting down the hand that's drying and starting on the other set of nails. "It made me realize that I've ignored your feelings about the baby." She stiffens and he rubs his thumb over her hand, feeling her muscles relax after a moment. "I didn't mean anything by it. I just thought maybe you'd had more feelings about it than I noticed, that maybe I was too wrapped up in my own sadness to realize it."

He looks up at her and finds her eyes glistening, realizing that maybe he's overlooked her feelings even more than he'd thought. It makes his chest hurt, thinking he'd ignored her feelings because of his own anger and sorrow. Her feelings aren't any more important than his own, but he'd left her alone to deal with them, left her alone to process the loss of their child.

"I guess I don't think I have a reason to be sad, not when I'm the one who chose this. Not when I'm the one who took our baby from us." She chokes out, furiously blinking tears from her eyes that seem to keep refilling.

"Emily, I need you to listen to me." He grabs both her hands - mindful of the drying paint - and waits until he has her full attention. "I was upset, but if I made you think I was angry with you then I'm sorry. You're allowed to be upset too. Just because you had an abortion it doesn't mean you didn't love our baby; it just means now wasn't the time for you to become a mother. You're allowed to hurt; you're allowed to mourn."

Emily really starts to hate him then; hates the way he can find the source of her upset and help her find emotional stability in the blink of an eye. She hates him because she can't help but love him, can't help but fall for him every time he looks at her and sees her for everything she is and still chooses to stick by her side. And staring into tear filled eyes as dark as his own, Hotch realizes he's falling for her all over again.

But then again, he'd never really fallen out of love with her, not really.

He thinks he's been in love with her for longer than he knows, thinks maybe he'd been blind to his own feelings for a lot longer than he admits to himself.

He wonders if maybe he'll spend the rest of his life in love with Emily Prentiss.

~~~~~~~~~~

When Hotch knocks on the door to Emily's apartment, foot tapping impatiently on the floor, he thinks about the first time he'd seen it. J.J. had secured a pair of headphones over her belly and Emily asked what she was playing, a soft smile on her face. He hadn't really thought much of it then, hadn't yet moved past his own whirlwind of emotions to recognize hers, but now he can't get that smile out of his brain.

He knocks again, louder this time and with more urgency. He looks at his watch that reads 3:11A.M. and reaches his hand out to knock once more, dropping his hand when Emily yanks the door open with a sleepy 'Hotch?' while she rubs at one eye with the palm of her hand.

"Emily, we need to talk." He insists, moving past her into the apartment before she can tell him that it's early and he needs to piss off because she needs her rest. He marches into her living room and turns on his heel, watching her follow after him with a perplexed look on her face, although he can't much blame her for that.

"Hotch, what's going on?" She questions, her voice deep and raspy a sure sign he's woken her from a rather deep sleep, but he doesn't feel bad. He needs to get this out before it eats him alive, needs to finally set the record straight and set them on the path they should've started on a year ago with the finalizing of his divorce.

His lips twitch at the look she's sporting, taco pajama shorts and wrinkles on her face from where she buries her face in her pillow while she sleeps. There's a little bit of drool on her corner of her lip and her hair is sticking out in all directions but he can't think of time he's found her more beautiful, more Emily, than he does now.

"I'm sorry to barge in, but we need to have this conversation and we need to have it now." He tells her, getting her full attention with the seriousness of his tone.

"Okay, what is it?"

He swallows hard and starts in, knowing he should've done this long ago. "I'm an idiot."

"You are?"

"I am. I mean a completely unintelligent self-prioritizing idiot." He laughs, wondering how's he's let things get to the point they've reached. "Emily, I let my feelings about the baby overshadow everything there was between us. All the good, all the bad, everything, became unimportant."

She rolls her eyes and crosses her sweater covered arms over her chest. "Won't argue with you there."

"But don't you understand? I was so hurt I couldn't see it from your perspective I could only see it from mine."

She furrows her brows at him, irritated that she's losing sleep for this conversation. "And you had to come tell me this at three in the morning?"

"Yes!" He exclaims, grabbing both her hands and tangling their fingers together. "I realized something today, watching you hold Henry. I saw this look on your face, this complete uninhibited joy and I realized I'd seen it before on the flight to Reno. But today, seeing you hold her baby, I finally understood."

"Understood what, Aaron?"

"That just because we don't have that now, it doesn't mean we can't have that later." He lets that sink in, lets the closest thing to a declaration of love as he's come settle in the air between them.

"Aaron-"

"I want that with you one day, but I want it to be because you want it too, not because I've forced you into it. When we have a baby together, I want it to be the happiest day of your life."

Dark eyes shine up at him, filled with tears she doesn’t want to fall until she's sure she understands him. "Aaron, I need to know we're on the same page here."

He brushes away a single tear that manages to escape and trail down her cheek. "I love you, Emily Prentiss. I should've said it a long time ago."

She gives him a smile, one that's more genuine than he's seen before, and lets out a laugh because what a ridiculous time to come to this realization. Three in the morning when she's half asleep and has acne cream on a pimple on her cheek that just won't go away. "So, what? We're really doing this?"

He gives her a smile that matches the intensity of her own and nods the affirmative. "Yeah, we're doing this. We've been in a serious, committed, relationship for a very long time and I think it's about damn time we start acting like it."

Chapter Text

Rolling over Hotch expects to find a warm body occupying the other side of the bed, instead finding cool sheets that make his eyes pop open. He looks around and doesn't spot anything that tells him where Emily has gone, the bathroom door open and the light off. He sees that it's only a little after seven which means she should only just now be waking up, not already up and out of the room.

He leaves the comfort of the bed in search of his girlfriend, smiling at the word.

Girlfriend.

He likes the sound of it, likes the way it puts their relationship into more certain terms. Which is why he wants to find her, wrap her up and hold her and kiss her good morning because he's madly in love with her and doesn't like waking up alone anymore. He turns the corner and spots her down the stairs, perched on a blanket and overlooking the city from the window and she's always been weird, but he's never seen her do this before.

He clears his throat on the way down the steps to ensure he doesn't startle her, returning her smile when she shoots him one over her shoulder.

"Are you meditating?" He asks when he nears the last few steps, and she nods back at him. "Can I join you?"

"Sure, if you don't mind your ass getting sore. I will not be sharing my meditation blanket, I finally got it to the perfect plumpness and I can't risk having to start that process over." She tells him regretfully, patting the hardwood beside her.

He crosses his legs and lowers himself down next to her, their shoulders brushing against each other. "Why are you meditating?"

"It's part of my routine." She tells him simply, pulling out a copy - one of several - her father had left when he returned to Europe. She's still finding hidden copies in her drawers and taped to the inside of her cabinets. "My father made it; it helps keep me grounded."

"Grounded?" Hotch questions, looking at her with furrowed brows. The list is extensive, detailing her every move from the time she wakes at six in the morning to when she goes to bed at 10 if they haven't been pulled away on a case that keeps her from home.

She nods and stares out at the city below them. "Yeah, it's a precaution more than anything." She clears her throat, turning her neck and closing her eyes at the stretch it gives her that relieves some of the ache after her run. "I have a habit of getting really out of control when I've experienced any significant trauma. Lists - routines - keep me on track, keep me healthy."

"Grounded." He comments, looking over the list. Everything from showers to mealtimes to screen time and free time is listed, reminding him of a facility without the bars on the windows and nurses keeping a watchful eye out. It concerns him that she needs such structure but he hasn't seen any reason to think the schedule isn't helping her and there's been no evidence that it's harming her, so he lets it go.

Her timer goes off signaling the end of her meditation and she rises to her feet, pulling him up and pressing a kiss to his lips when he's at full height. They both smile into it, teeth scraping against each other and making her laugh.

"Good morning." She tells him, resting her chin on his chest and looking up at him when he keeps her trapped against him.

"Good morning." He presses another lingering kiss to her lips, smacking his lips and furrowing his brows. "You're salty."

"I'm sweaty." She corrects, pointing to her hair sticking to her temples to prove her point. "It's from my run."

"I can't imagine that's the best part of your day." He responds, knowing how much she despises running even with a nice view.

She shrugs though, having gotten used to it by now. "It's a habit now, even if I do have to wake up early for it. You can join me sometime if you want, you've always been more of a runner than me."

He nods his agreement, recalling having to drag her along a few times and laughing at her shaky legs when they'd return to her apartment. "I'd like that, but for now how about I join you in the shower? If you're comfortable with that, that is." He knows she's still healing from the trauma of what happened in Colorado and he's not about to push her into a situation she's uncomfortable with regardless of how much he wants to enjoy her off key singing and shampoo mohawk.

She grabs his hand and tugs him up the stairs. "Fine, but keep to your side of the shower, no making out." She gives him a pointed glare, knowing shower make out sessions are his favorite pastime.

He smiles and shrugs. "Me? Shower make out sessions. I never!"

She laughs and the sound warms him from the inside out, reminds him of the feeling of being home.

God, he's missed that feeling.

He's missed her.

~~~~~~~~~~

Emily smiles and takes another bite of her croissant sandwich, basically her second breakfast but since she's started running she's been starving on the break from breakfast to lunch and when Hotch had surprised her after her shower with a second breakfast, she'd almost mounted him on the island in thanks.

Well, she smiles to herself, that may have been a bit of an exaggeration but she's sure he would've been appreciative of her preferred way to express her gratitude.

"That good?" Hotch asks, seeing the smile on her face. They're doing breakfast together in his office, a half excuse about discussing her progress in therapy already in his back pocket in case Strass makes a fuss about having breakfast with his subordinate. In reality he just wants to spend some more time with her after the months of barely engaging with each other.

She nods the affirmative with a smile much too dreamy for a breakfast sandwich but he's happy if she's happy. "The sausage is so good, the eggs are perfect, and I love breakfast breads." She tells him, staring at her sandwich with a fondness he wants to reserve for himself. He's never been jealous of a breakfast food before, but he thinks there's a first for everything and Emily has always been particularly fond of anything and everything edible.

"I could make you a second breakfast on the nights I stay over, maybe I could eve-"

"You're not getting the recipe." Emily interrupts before he can finish that suggestion. She'd almost given him the pancake recipe once, but she thinks she'll wait now. After all - she smiles to herself again - he's cute when he begs.

"I had to try." He tells her with a smile that he reserves just for her and Jack, the dimple she's so enthralled with visible in his cheek. "Hey, I should ask, are you okay staying with me some nights? Maybe weekends when I don't have Jack? I know you don't sleep well in unfamiliar places, but I thought we could test run it."

She ponders it for a few moments before she answers, a hesitant look on her face. "We can try it, maybe when we're off rotation next. But maybe my spending time there would help, without the expectation of a sleepover."

He likes the suggestion, it's a step toward getting her integrated into his home and he's excited for her to become a more permanent part of his everyday life. "That's a good idea, I can pick up a few toiletries for you when I'm at the store next so when you're ready we have enough for you to spend the night."

She smiles at his thoughtfulness, liking more and more the way he talks about their future with a certainty they hadn't had previously. Before she can respond though a knock interrupts their conversation, Jordan pushing into the office when he motions her inside.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, sir. You're my boss, correct?" She asks, pointing at him with enough rage that Emily sinks down in her seat and starts wishing she were anywhere else. Jordan doesn't seem to mind her presence, either counting her as irrelevant or as not much of a gossip because she doesn't stop.

"Excuse me?"

"I report to you?"

"That's right."

"Has my job performance been to your satisfaction, sir?"

"It seems fine." He keeps his voice level, knowing sometimes his stoicism can be a little blunt for some people. He even softens the arch of his brow and Emily wants to plant a giant kiss on his lips for how well he's doing. Had Jordan approached him like that two years ago she'd be written up and she wonders if she herself is in part responsible for his less uptight and brooding nature.

"And if it weren't to your satisfaction, you'd tell me?"

"I can promise you that." Emily can't argue with him there, having been on the receiving end of some accusations in her own time on the team.

"Because I can do this job!"

"I'm sorry, has somebody suggested that you can't?"

"Have they?" She asks pointedly, obviously talking about someone specifically although she doesn't say who.

"Not to me."

"Thank you, sir." With that she leaves, rushing out of the room just as quickly and with just as much intensity as when she'd entered it.

The pair sit in silence staring at the door for a few seconds before they turn to each other, equally perplexed.

"I'll talk to her." Emily says, crinkling her napkin into a ball and tossing it into the trash. "Thanks for breakfast, and we can talk about sleepovers later." She gives him a soft smile and he wishes her a good morning just before his phone rings and she steps out of the office.

She makes her way to what was J.J.'s office, pushing open the door and peeking her head in. "Hey, how's it going?"

"Why?" The response it bitten out, obviously irritated at her presence, and it reminds her of when she'd first joined the team and the welcoming committee hadn't been quite so fond of her.

"Um, it's just a question." She stammers out, wondering if she's made a mistake in thinking she could befriend the new agent and hopefully help her learning curve seem a little less steep.

Jordan, to her credit, gives her an apologetic look when she turns around. "I'm sorry, I just..." Jordan trails off, motioning vaguely to the stacks of files swamping her desk.

Emily knows exactly how she feels, remembers how it felt to be new to the close-knit team who seemed to power through all hints of exhaustion without so much as a bead of sweat on their skin. She shuts the door to give them a little bit of privacy and hopes her olive branch will be accepted. "Jordan, as the last person to join this team, I know how overwhelming all of this can be. It really does get easier. I'm not exactly sure if that's a good thing, though."

"I'm gonna manifest happiness and calm for the rest of the day." Todd tells her with a grateful smile, taking her seat behind her desk.

Emily laughs at the mere suggestion, knowing those words are like the words 'quiet' and 'slow' in a hospital. It's like asking for chaos. "Happiness and calm. At the BAU? That's- good luck with that."

She pulls open the door just as Jordan asks if she needed something and she scrambles for an answer.

"Oh, yeah. Um. I'm waiting for a supplemental from the Houston field office so I can closeout a report, if you could just let me know when it gets here."

Todd furrows her brows and shakes her head. "An internal report wouldn't come through me."

Emily plays dumb. "Oh. Really?"

Jordan sees right through her and gives her a warm smile, already feeling better with Emily's reassurance. "Thanks for checking up on me."

Emily flashes both dimples and nods. "Yeah, okay. Well, if you need anything, I'm around."

Jordan watches her leave and smiles until she's out of view, leaning back in her chair and thanking God for Emily Prentiss.

For more than one reason, she thinks. The dimples and low-cut shirts being more reasons to add to the list.

~~~~~~~~~~

"God, what a shit show of a case." Emily groans when she and Hotch walk into her apartment, having stopped for dinner on the way home so they wouldn't have to come home and cook.

"At least it had a happy ending, we don't get those often." Hotch comments, loosening his tie and toeing off his shoes by the front door before he follows her up to her room.

"Yeah, but what a freak, I mean first off what was the deal with the outfit?" She shakes her head, trying to get that image out of her head as if it's the most offensive thing she's ever seen. "Horrendous, I don't trust anyone that looks like colorblind Ben Franklin."

He chuckles and comes up beside her, hanging his suit jacket on a hanger so it doesn't wrinkle. "Yeah, I guess that's fair."

"You should consider adding things to your wardrobe that aren't suits." Emily comments, looking at his section of her closet. There's one polo and a pair of jeans but that's the only thing that breaks the line of work clothes.

"I have other things; I just never have a reason to wear them."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if I'm not working I'm usually here or at home with Jack and sweats are fine for both of those things since you usually take off my pants and Jack isn't old enough to care what I look like when he's watching Paw Patrol."

Emily hums her agreement while she pulls on a pair of sweats herself, a pair she stole from him ages ago that barely stay up around her hips. For a man so narrow she's surprised they don't fit any better on her than they do but apparently, he's built like a refrigerator door. He brings up a good point though and she's not sure it's a point she likes. "We should get out more often." She tells him, a determined look on her face when she faces him. "There's plenty to do in and out of the city."

He wraps his arms around her, and she looks up at him with a content smile. "Well until recently I couldn't take you on a date because we weren't dating. Now that that's been cleared up, I plan on whisking you away on all sorts of adventures."

He means it to be sweet and for her to get excited about the potential dates he has planned but she's focused on his pants still. "Great! Then our first outing will be a Ralph Lauren to get you some pants and shirts that don't need steamed!"

Hotch rolls his eyes but regretfully agrees that he may need some clothes for her apartment and with that she presses a kiss to his cheek and launches herself onto the bed.

"Oh, hey, I talked to Jordan."

"And how did that go?" He asks, playfully pushing her to her side of the bed so he can slide under the covers.

"Well, I think. I think she's just stressed but I've extended my olive branch, we'll see if she takes it." Emily shrugs and turns off the lamp on her side. "If nothing else she'd do it just to stare at my ass when I leave her office."

He sits up and blindly reaches for the lamp, flicking the button and filling the room with light so he can see her when he rolls over to be filled in on whatever the hell she's talking about. "What?"

Emily smiles and nods, scooting closer to her boyfriend because he always turns down the heat and she has a sneaking suspicion it's so she curls up in his arms where he likes her best without having to ask to snuggle. "Oh, did I not mention that our lovely temp agent has a crush on me?"

He props his head up on his first and motions to her. "Well, I don't blame her but please, elaborate."

"So, your first weird one. How are you feeling?" Emily asks, bumping shoulders with Jordan while they make their way back to the SUV. The five false victims had been checked out and were being escorted to police cruisers to be taken home after what must've been a horrifying ordeal.

"Good, I think. I mean it's definitely up there on the list of unusual cases, but I guess it ended as well as it could've."

She nods her agreement and fishes the keys to the SUV from her pocket. "Yeah, they don't all end this well."

Jordan nods her understanding and climbs into the passenger seat, waiting for Emily to walk around to her side of the vehicle. She waits nervously, hoping she's not about to embarrass herself into quitting the Bureau. When Emily hops in behind the wheel and starts the car, she figures there's no time like the present. "Do you want to go on a date with me?"

Emily's eyes grow comically wide on her fellow agent and the younger woman smacks a hand to her face, shaking her head at her own stupidity. "Sorry, I meant to be smoother than that."

She laughs and shakes her head. "No, it's okay I actually enjoyed that." Jordan flips her off and she laughs harder before she decides it's probably rude to leave her hanging. "Listen, normally I'd jump at the chance to go on a date with you. You're beautiful and smart and funny and I really like you but-"

"But Hotch is the only one you have your eye on." Jordan finishes, having suspected as much. "Yeah, I kind of thought that might be a thing."

"Jordan I-"

"Don't worry, I won't say anything." Emily visibly relaxes and she's happy she's put her at ease. She can handle rejection, she's not so insecure that Emily being taken will send her into an enraged spiral into obsession. "I'm happy for you, and quite frankly he seems nicer than everyone said he'd be and I'm guessing you have something to do with that."

Emily shrugs and a smile tugs at her lips. "I might be."

"Besides, you're still hot so flash me a dimple and bend over your desk every now and then so I can get a good view and I have nothing to complain about."

Emily adores the sense of humor the younger woman has and gives her both dimples and a laugh in response, trying to calm herself when Morgan and Reid get in the seats behind them.

"What's so funny?"

The two women make eye contact as Emily shifts into drive, sharing a smile that leave both men clueless. "Nothing, nothing at all."

Hotch smiles at his girlfriend who's giggling against his chest, having wrapped herself around him to ward off the chills popping up on her skin. "Well, I guess I have competition, don't I?"

She presses a kiss to his chest and shakes her head. "Maybe if you were someone else but, in this case, no. If you couldn't get rid of me with your signed Nickelback CD, you won't get rid of me at all."

He sputters at her, cheeks reddening at having been found out. She smiles and reaches across him, pulling the chain on the lamp and bathing them in darkness.

"You-"

"Goodnight, Aaron. Love you!"

He grumbles out an 'I love you too' in response and shuffles down lower in the blanket so he doesn't wake up with a stiff neck.

His brows stay furrowed for a few minutes and he stares into the darkness, slightly offended by her statement.

There's nothing wrong with Nickelback.

Chapter Text

Hotch watches Emily stare at the clock, eyes fixed on the hands that move slowly to the next number. He hadn't noticed it the first few mornings he'd woken up next to her, caught up in a haze of love and happiness so maybe he hadn't wanted to see it. But now he has and he's not sure exactly what to say, if anything. He could leave it alone, let it sort itself out and give her all the time and space she needs. Or maybe he has to say something, maybe she doesn't even realize she's doing it but he sure as hell has.

It's not until the clock hits exactly 7:15A.M. that she rises from her spot on the blanket on the floor and rushes up the stairs. He follows her quietly, not alerting her to how closely he's paying attention. At 7:18 she turns on the shower and strips down, brushing her hair and watching the clock until 7:22 comes around and she steps under the spray of the water.

15 minutes to shampoo and shave, and another 10 to condition while she soaps up her skin and at 7:50 on the dot she turns off the water and steps out. By 8:30 she's dressed with her hair straight and her makeup completed, grabbing a cup of coffee, and exiting the apartment at 8:40 after giving Sergio his breakfast and a few rubs on his head.

He sees her watch the watch on her wrist, waiting until exactly 8:40 to step out of the apartment. She won't leave a second earlier and he's afraid of what she'd do if she was behind schedule.

Every morning is exactly the same, perfectly timed out. He could walk through the schedule blindfolded, can foresee the exact moment when she'll move to her next task. It's a little unsettling, seeing her go through a routine that's perfectly structured and that she follows religiously. It concerns him, seeing how heavily she relies on the schedule, knowing that every single move she makes has been planned and calculated to get her to work on time. She refuses to let it go, refuses to indulge him in a few extra minutes of sleep or a short make out session in the shower, telling him 'I have to condition for ten minutes, don't distract me' and a giving him a gentle shove toward the other end of the shower.

He's noticed it a few times now that she can't seem to function without the schedule. When they're on a case he suspects she's too focused to let the inconsistency bother her, but when they're in D.C. she refuses to give even a minute of leeway. Twice she's left him at the apartment with money for a ride because 'you know the schedule and it's not my fault if you can't follow it' and he'd had to take an Uber.

Routine is one thing, but obsession is another.

And of course he can't really call her out on being punctual or tell her that her running is bad for her. Technically nothing she's doing is bad, she's eating, she's meditating, she's exercising, she's practicing good hygiene. It's all perfectly reasonable, unless you look a little closer and notice just how regimented she is.

"Hey, do you have a minute?" He asks when they get to the office, tilting his head toward his office and she nods and follows him up. He flicks on the light and shuts the door behind her.

She takes the seat on the opposite side of his desk and waits until he's hung his jacket and put his briefcase down. "So, what's up?"

He intertwines his fingers together on is desk and makes a point of dropping the Unit Chief Hotchner act in favor of Aaron the boyfriend in the hope that she won't be quite as defensive. "I've noticed something over the past few days."

"Yeah? Fill me in." She insists, not realizing he's talking about what he's noticed in her.

"Your schedule."

Her frown is immediate, and her brows pull together. "My routine?"

"Yes. The one your father made for you."

"No, I know what you mean, I just don't know why we're talking about it."

"You follow it to the exact second, do you think maybe there's a problem with that?"

She shrugs and shakes her head. "I wouldn't say I follow it to the second."

He tilts his head. "Emily, I asked if you could make me a bagel yesterday and you said that didn't fit in your schedule and then you left."

She blushes, realizing she may have been a little harsh. "Right, I'm sorry."

"I don't need an apology, I'm not mad. I'm worried."

"Worried? Because I follow a routine that helps keep me stable?" She arches a brow at him, daring him to accuse her of running too much or eating breakfast too regularly.

"Yes." He answers simply, leaning back in his seat. "You don't allow any flexibility and that's unusual, and you know it."

She rolls her eyes, and he can see her starting to get defensive. He doesn't blame her, for all he knows he's tearing down possibly the one thing that's keeping her together. "Okay, so I'm a little strict I don't think there's anything wrong with that."

"Okay, well how about we plan to sleep in a few extra minutes tomorrow." Hotch suggests, knowing there's no way she'll be receptive to that idea.

As expected, she straightens up and she shakes her head. "No, I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm supposed to wake up at six."

"And what happens if you don't? Something bad?" She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, realizing that he may be onto something because she doesn't know why but the idea of not following her schedule makes her palms sweaty and she gets a sinking feeling in her stomach.

She nods but she doesn't say anything else, trying to work out in her head what she's so afraid of.

It's a schedule, she's not in fucking boot camp she can sleep in.

Can't she?

"Emily, do you want some time off today? Maybe you could see Angela?" He's met her therapist before, shook her hand and made small talk when he dropped his girlfriend off for an appointment and she had to run back out to the car for her Chapstick.

He expects her to react unfavorably but instead she nods. "Yeah, I think that's probably a good idea."

~~~~~~~~~~

When Emily gets home Aaron is already putting dinner onto plates for the two of them, peeking his head around the corner when he hears the door close behind her.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asks simply, seeing that she looks worse than she did when she'd left for her therapy appointment. He's not surprised and he's pretty sure she doesn't want to share with him just yet, but he asks anyway. She shakes her head and lets him wrap his arms around her when she reaches the kitchen, snuggling closer and inhaling the calming scene of his aftershave and cologne that lingers on his skin. "Do you want to eat and watch a movie together?"

She nods against his shoulder, but she tightens her grip on him, keeping him close for just a few more moments before they have to separate. She doesn't want to let him go, thinks maybe she might just force his shirt over her head with him so they're pressed together for the rest of the night, but they wouldn't be able to eat like that and despite her lingering exhaustion she's still hungry and whatever he's prepared smells amazing.

"We can always reheat it." He tells her and that she thinks sounds like a great idea so she nods against his shoulder again and feels him smile against her temple. "Alright, then let’s go upstairs and get you changed." He laughs at the embarrassingly childlike squeak she lets out when he hauls her over his shoulder and the smile stays plastered to his face when she laughs the whole way up the stairs and smacks his ass in protest.

"I can walk upstairs myself!"

"And when I see evidence that you can do that without falling up the steps then I'll let you walk them yourself. Until then leave my ass alone and enjoy your ride."

Despite her protests she actually enjoys being hauled upstairs. It's not the act itself that makes her happy, but rather the normalcy of it all. They're almost sickeningly domestic now, eating together and showering together and sharing household chores when he spends the night. They're a real couple who do normal things like grocery shopping and arguing over the remote and who has to do the dishes.

A year ago the idea of this relationship would've terrified her, would've sent her packing before Strauss could threaten to fire her and she'd never look back.

Now she finds herself laughing while he sings some theme song from a show Jack loves and he tosses her clothes around the room while he shakes his ass at her and then helps her into his pajamas because he knows she likes clothes that smell like him.

Now, she can't imagine her life without this. Without him.

"What's got you so smiley all of a sudden?" He asks when she beams up at him from where she's sat on the bed, arms outstretched for him to fit in which he does happily.

"You, always you." She tells him, pressed a kiss to his shirt-covered belly.

He loves this version of her, this version of her that only he really gets to see. At work she's serious and often brooding and usually not one for big smiles of full bellied laughter. She has her moments of course, joking around with her friends in the bullpen and having lunch with the other BAU ladies, but this is different. She shows off her dimples every time he makes a joke or grabs her hand, she does silly dances when she's stocking the refrigerator, she sniffles and tries to hide her tears when they watch movies she'll deny she's ever seen.

She sings in the shower and carries her cat in a pet-papoose and she's constantly running around spewing out seemingly nonsensical thoughts that she'd be embarrassed to have anyone else hear.

She's unashamedly Emily when they're alone and that's something he's eternally grateful for. She trusts him, trusts him with the vulnerable parts of her she doesn't show to anyone else and he loves her more for it.

"God, I love you." He tells her, leaning down and meeting her lips when she stretches her neck up toward him.

"I love you too." She responds, smacking his ass one more time for good measure. "Can we stay up here a while? Maybe watch a movie before dinner?"

It's only seven and he's made pasta which reheats perfectly fine so he nods that they can do that, grabbing the remote from the television and handing it to her. "Pick something for us, I'll grab us some water and Sergio."

He's only gone a few minutes, shoving their pasta into containers and storing them in the fridge before he grabs the bottles of water and the cat - getting a few good scratches in the process - and returns to his girlfriend 

He looks at the screen when he hands over her water and her cat and rolls his eyes. "I don't understand your obsession with this movie." He tells her with a smile, shaking his head because they've watched this movie ten times in the two years she's been on the team, and she still can't get enough of it.

The Heat is just starting and she shrugs, giving him a kiss of thanks for fetching her feline and a drink. "I can't help it, you put Sandy and Mellissa in a movie and I'll watch it every time it's on."

Well, he can't argue with her there.

They start the movie and just as he always does he finds himself enjoying the movie. Sure, he likes variety in his films, but she's right there is something about this movie that he enjoys more than he lets on.

By the time the movie hits the halfway mark though he looks down at Emily who's snuggled against his side and finds her sound asleep. He doesn't mind, knowing after her session with Angela she's likely worn out and needs a good night's sleep and some food to recharge. It's still not very late so he simply turns the movie down a few notches and closes his own eyes, knowing an hour or so of sleep couldn't hurt anything.

When Aaron wakes up, he's initially confused, not knowing what's woken him from a fairly deep sleep. He doesn't open his eyes right away, seeing through his lids that something in the room is emitting enough light to assault his pupils after what's probably a few hours of sleep. But then he registers a few things at once.

The first is a weight on his chest.

The second is the cool metal of a gun pressed in the center of his head.

Chapter Text

He hears sobbing in the background and it's not coming from her.

"Don't worry sweetheart, I'm an ass man."

"No teeth, show horse."

He doesn't dare move but he glances down, finding a gap between her arm and her belly that's big enough for him to make out a portion of the television screen. He sees a girl pushing herself up from the ground, no clothes and her dirt on her skin.

Fuck.

I Spit on Your Grave.

Good job Aaron, let her wake up to the sound of brutal sexual violence. If she puts a bullet in your skull it's half your own damn fault.

He's seen almost none of the movie - his job provides him plenty of fuel for his nightmares - but Jessica and Haley had watched it once for a good thrill and he'd made it about forty five minutes in before he'd excused himself. If he hadn't been so focused on getting the gun pointed anywhere but at him he'd wonder what fucking channel plays such a graphic movie. He can't think about that now though because he's one wrong move away from having his brains blown across Emily's bedroom.

He closes his eyes, praying to God he can help Emily snap out of it before things go from bad to worse.

"E-"

"Shut. Up." She bites out, pressing the gun harder against his forehead and forcing him further into the pillow. He holds up his hands, showing her he has nothing to threaten her with.

"Please, can we talk about this?"

"Talk about what? How much pleasure I'd get from putting this gun in your mouth and making you pull the trigger yourself?" She laughs and he gets a look at her eyes, wild and dazed and he knows she's nowhere close to being in the room with him. She's somewhere else entirely and he hasn't got a clue what to say to get her back to reality.

"You don't have to do this, you can put the gun down and we can pretend this never happened."

Her lips press into a firm line and his breath hitches, thinking she's really about to pull the trigger. "Pretend it never happened? You think I don't see your face every time I close my eyes? You think I don't hear your voice in my head when I sleep?"

"It's not my voice, you know that. Emily I-"

"What the fuck did you just call me?" She snarls out, fear written across her face.

"Emily?" He's not sure what he's said wrong, unsure as to who she thinks she is.

"How do you know my name?" She says it but it's more to herself than him, almost whispered and she releases the death grip she has on her weapon for only a moment and he sees it as his only chance.

"Emi-"

Big mistake.

In the blink of an eye she has her free hand wrapped around his throat and the gun back against his head harder than before. "How the fuck do you know who I am?" This time she shouts it and he's damn near pissing himself.

"I know your name is Emily Prentiss, you're 35, your birthday is October 12th so you'll be 36 this year, you have three little moles on your stomach on the right side." He tells her and he watches her try and digest the information, watches her try and make sense of what he's telling her. "My name is Aaron Hotchner, I'm 40 years old, I have a son named Jack, and we've been together for two years."

"You're wrong."

"I'm not, you know I'm not." He slowly points at the television behind her. "Do you hear that? You woke up from a nightmare and you heard a girl screaming. I think it sent you head first into a flashback and I think you're still in it."

"Liar!"

"No, I'm not. Please, let me turn it off and we can stay just like this. I won't fight you, we don't even have to talk. But I think once that trigger is gone, you'll know you're safe, you're with someone you trust. Okay?"

She observes him for a few moments before she glances at the remote on the nightstand, giving him one single firm nod and watching him slowly move his hand out toward the control. He grasps it between two fingers and changes the screen to the channel guide to keep enough light in the room so she can make out his face but it's something thankfully free of girls screaming and begging for their lives.

Her back curves just the slightest bit and tells him that the change has had at least some effect on the situation, enough for her to let her guard down an inch or so. But she's still scared, he can feel it radiating from every pore in her skin and one look in her still unfocused eyes tells him he's not out of the woods yet.

"When we first met, you were just out of high school. I kept telling you we couldn't start anything between the two of us, I was four years older and working for you mother."

"My mother." She whispers back more to herself than to him.

"Yes. But I was hooked from day one. You came in wearing these oversized sunglasses that covered half your face and I hadn't heard much about you, hadn't seen any photos since I didn't spend much time outside of my office. I made some stupid comment about how you couldn't be in the embassy, that you needed an appointment."

"Bug." She husks out and he laughs despite the situation he's found himself in.

"Yeah, bug. You made a comment about my being a stick in the mud and I told you that your sunglasses made you look like a bug. You said-"

"If you're not careful these glasses will give a doctor a very nice look at your large intestine." She finishes, a slight smile tugging at her lips that matches his own twitching lips.

It had been quite a first meeting.

"That's right. I called you Flea until you left for Yale and I left on my next assignment."

That seems to do the trick and after a few moments her eyes focus on him and she shrieks, dropping the gun to the bed and throwing herself off of it. He's immediately up with her, kneeling on the rug while she scurries away from him and puts her back against the wall. She's not scared of him anymore but she's terrified of what she'd almost done.

She covers her mouth with both hands and her eyes screw shut, her chest heaving with how hard she's sobbing because fuck she'd almost killed Hotch.

"No no no, don't do that." He tells her, putting his hands on either side of her face.

"I almost shot you!" She shouts at him and he says the first thing that comes to his mind.

"And I got you pregnant, call us even!"

They stare at each other in equally stunned silence before her lip starts to quiver and his dimple starts sliding out from its hiding place.

"Did you really just say that?"

"Yeah, I think I really did just say that."

They can't keep it together anymore and the sound of her laughter triggers his. He thanks God for it, her tears making his own eyes burn. He drops down on his ass and pulls her against his chest, smoothing a hand over her hair while she giggles against his neck.

"Feeling better?" He asks after a few minutes of nothing but the sound of their breathing and an occasional sniffling filling the room. She nods the affirmative and tightens her hold on his before she rises, pulling him up with her. "Good, let's get back to bed." He grabs her service weapon and leaves it on his nightstand instead of hers, not wanting a repeat of the latest event should she wake from another nightmare although he doesn't think it'll happen again.

At least not tonight.

He wraps her in blankets and pulls her into his body, letting her burrow as close as she wants until he's sure he'll wake up in a layer of sweat and with an Emily shaped pattern across the side of his body where she lays. But he's exhausted after such a startling wakeup call and quite frankly he wants her close, wants to feel her against his body to remind himself that regardless of what memory she'd been stuck in, she's safe with him now.

It takes only a few minutes for him to be on the brink of sleep when she whispers into the otherwise quiet room.

"Aaron?"

"Yes?"

She trails a finger lazily up and down his arm and she smiles sweetly up at him.

"Can we have dinner now?"

Chapter Text

"Care to stick around for a while?"

Emily tilts her head and when she speaks to Jordan she doesn't spare her a glance, keeping her eyes locked on the man in front of her. "Jordan, you go ahead. I'm going to hang back, call Hotch and let him know what we've found."

Jordan looks between the two people occupying the table with her and places a gentle hand on Emily's arm. "You're sure?"

This time Emily does look at her, gives her a soft smile and a nod. "Yeah, I'll only be a little while." With that Jordan takes off, two pairs of eyes following her before the finally look at each other. Emily can't imagine falling for a man like Viper now, but a much younger - much more reckless - version of herself might have given him more than a flirtatious smile and her panties as a souvenir.

"So, you decided to hang back with me."

"Mhmm."

"Why? If you're so sure I have nothing to offer you, why not leave?"

She finishes the rest of her drink and tosses a lock of hair over her shoulder, tilting her head toward the dance floor. "Care for a dance?"

He eyes her up and down and she fights the desire to head to the hotel for a hand sanitizer shower. "I'd love to."

They make their way through the bodies of the people around them, Emily smoothly weaving in between people pressed too closely together and the smirk on her face widens when she catches sight of Viper struggling to push his way through the crowd. By the time he reaches her she's already casually swaying her hips with a bored look on her face, letting her hands ghost over his shoulders when he finally presses himself against her.

"So, this is really all that matters to you? Showing a pretty girl off to your friends, the thrill of the chase?"

"Is that so bad?"

She hums and tilts her head, ignoring the way her skin crawls at the feeling of his hands on her waist and the downward direction they're in. She knows he's going to go for a full ass grab and she hopes he does, hopes he'll give her the opportunity to put him in his place. "In the short term, no. But long term, you want nothing? Commitment? Someone who you know wants what's under the makeup and the piercings and the flashy clothes?"

"That's the point, all of those things dull. The initial spark fades, the sex becomes routine, the kiss good morning and the 'I love you' before you leave for work become a habit, it loses all meaning." He brushes a lock dark hair from her shoulder and leans in closer, his breath ghosting over her ear and his hands sliding down. "But this? Right now, it's all real, you can't fake it. The attraction, the way your body responds to mine, it's primal and it doesn't fade. Or at least it doesn't have to, if you don't give it the chance to die out."

"One and done." She deduces and feels the scrape of his beard against her cheek when he nods.

"That one night is electric, intense, raw." He explains, one hand finally sliding down to cup the curve at the bottom of her dress that's so short she worries she might get arrested for public indecency if she bends over. "You're made for this, the goosebumps on your skin and the flush on your cheeks is all a biological trap for me to fall into. I'd take you home and turn you into a crying begging mess for me."

The things I could make you do

She smirks and grips his wrist in her hand, turning it to a sickening degree that makes him suck in a pained gasp and he bends at the knees to release some of the pressure she's applying. She's staring down at him now and a smirk makes its way to her lips.

"Let's be very clear about something Paul, if anyone here is doing the doing, it's me with a the twelve inch strap in my closet." She tilts her head at him and he's gritting his teeth at the grip she has on him, too tight and at an angle that's unnatural and she has a brief moment where she thinks maybe she shouldn't have come here but that thought leaves her brain as quickly as it comes and she lowers her face to his. "I'm going to be keeping tabs on you baby, and if I hear from a single woman that you've taken a more physically aggressive route I'll be back to shove my gun up your ass and I'll make you pull the trigger. Are we clear?" He doesn't answer and she twists her own wrist, a satisfied smirk creeping up when he lets out a whine. "Are we clear?"

"Yes, yes we're clear!" He shouts and he holds his wrist when she releases him, not sparing him or the patrons staring at her a glance on her way out of the club. She catches Jordan's eyes on the way out and the make it to the car where they remain entirely silent. It's not an awkward ride but Emily's knuckles go white on the steering wheel and Jordan keeps sneaking glances at her partner. She's not sure what's wrong but it's clear that the older woman isn't as okay as she wishes her to believe.

When they make it back to the station Emily heads to the locker room while Jordan is whisked away by Morgan. She's pretty sure he does actually want her input but when she sees the way he's admiring the newest addition to the team she figures there's a reason why he hadn't let her change out of her dress first.

Not that she blames him, Jordan is beautiful and very much his type, fraternization rules be damned.

Not that she's one to talk either.

She's slipped off her heels and taken her earrings from her lobes when Hotch walks in, peeking around the corner to ensure she's decent. She meets his smile with one of her own and motions him in, leaving her jewelry and shoes in the locker when she turns to face where he's sat on the wooden bench.

"You did good." He tells her, his hands slipping around her waist when she settles herself on his lap.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, we're already running down some new leads. Hopefully we'll be out of here by tomorrow, day after that at the latest." He furrows his brows at her, feeling the tension in her muscles. "What's wrong?"

She gives a weak shrug and drapes her arms over his shoulders. "I think maybe I wasn't as ready for this assignment as I thought. He got under my skin, I didn't react well."

"Do you want to head to the hotel? We can manage without you for the night."

She shakes her head and blows out a puff of air. "No, I'd rather be here feeling like I'm actually doing something worthwhile. A break would be nice though, can you spare the time?"

He flashes her a dimple and presses a kiss to her cheek. "I'm here, aren't I?" She smiles her thanks and he drums his fingers on her waist. "So, tell me about these 'men worse than Viper'."

She smiles and thinks back to one of her first dates with a man she'd classify as worse than Viper. "I was 23 I think, finishing my masters degree at Yale. I met him in class, I think Multicultural Psychology and Diversity. He asked me on a date and I'd spent most of grad school overworked and shut in so I accepted. He took me to a bar a few blocks from his apartment, hit on the waitress the entire time, and then got so drunk he spent most of the evening in the bathroom. He claims he forgot to leave his card at the table before he fled from the bathroom, leaving me with the bill and without a ride. It was late enough that the taxi company in the area wasn't running anymore and I had to walk three miles back home in the snow."

Hotch stares at her blankly, blinking a few times before he can put together a sentence that makes even a little bit of sense. "Give me a name, I can ruin his life or at the very least have Garcia tank his credit score."

She laughs and gives him a quick kiss of thanks, shaking her head at her boyfriend. "It's been ages, he's bald now and single after his second divorce and what little money he makes go toward child support so I think I dodged a bullet there."

He nods his agreement, more than thankful that she's chosen him as a worthy partner but he does wonder what other boyfriend experiences have left her with a bitter taste in her mouth. "Emily, I'm not one of those worse than Viper boyfriends, right?"

Her eyes widen comically and she shakes her head vigorously, stunned that he'd even ask such a question. "God, no, Aaron. Are you serious?"

He shrugs. "We got together when I was still married, I left you to deal with an abortion alone, I wouldn't blame you if there was some part of you that blames me for putting you through all that."

Emily grabs his face between her hands and ensures she's got his full attention because she doesn't ever want to hear those words from his lips again. "Aaron Thomas Hotchner, you're the best boyfriend I've had. Sure, there's some parts of our relationship that we won't be sharing with our friends but regardless of those things I'm ridiculously in love with you. If you'd like me to push that information into that thick head of yours on a daily basis I can do that, but don't ever think I don't mean it when I say I love you. Clear?"

His lips twitch and he nods, the message coming across quite well. "Loud and clear."

They stay like that for a while, his fingers drawing patterns on her back and her fingers winding into his hair. It's as intimate as they'd been in months and while they wouldn't prefer to be doing this in a station locker room they can't very well walk it back now. It starts with a kiss she initiates, a gentle swipe of her tongue across his lips and suddenly she's pressing herself against him. She's not demanding and he makes no move to deepen it, a voice in the back of his brain reminding him on a near constant repetition that she's the one who decides when she's ready.

It appears to him though that she may be more ready for this than he thinks.

She tugs gently at the dark hair between her fingers, smiling against his lips when he lets out a grunt of approval. His own hands start sliding across her back, pulling her more firmly against her chest and she's close to melting against him when he bites down on her bottom lip and gives it a soft tug, chuckling at the way her eyes almost roll back in her head and he thinks maybe she's just as frustrated as he is.

She starts her way down his neck, unbuttoning the top of his shirt to push his collar from his skin so she's got more room to work with. She's careful not to leave marks, only taking small nips at his jawline and pressing soft kisses to his pulse point because while she's ungodly turned on she's more than aware of where they're at and isn't much into exhibitionism.

Well, she lets out a breathy chuckle against his neck, at least not with people who haven't given consent in advance.

She makes her way back to his lips and her tongue slides against his when calloused fingers slip under her dress. She tenses before she can help it and pulls back, pressing her forehead against his and giving him an apologetic look. "I can't."

"It's okay, you don't have to."

"I'm sorry, I thought I could do this."

His lips twitch and he raises a brow at the woman on his lap. "It may surprise you to hear it but I'm not keen on having sex on a public locker room bench with a subordinate in a packed police station."

Her own lips give a responding twitch and she shrugs. "I don't know, I think it'd be kind of hot." She laughs at the way his eyes widen on her, trying to deduce if she's being honest or not but she's not giving anything away. "I am sorry though, I wanted to be ready."

He pressed a kiss to her cheek and gives her a soft smile. "I don't get any enjoyment from this if you don't enjoy it. I can wait as long as you need, you set the pace, okay?"

Emily thinks she might just pop the question now given that he's clearly husband material but she's pretty sure he'd run for the hills at such a suggestions so she smiles instead. "Okay."

They can talk about marriage another day.

Chapter Text

Three days later Emily storms into Hotch's home, having agreed to meet him there after work once she'd gone to pick up a few things from her own apartment. She's spent plenty of time there and she has her very own drawer and all new toiletries in his bathroom, even full sized bottles of shampoo and conditioner. It's the closest she's ever gotten to living with someone - at least while she goes by her own name - and it's sickeningly domestic. She's even met Jack a few times but mostly brief greetings and helping him clean up before Aaron leaves to drop him off with Haley.

She'd been planning to spend the night for the first time tonight but now she's pretty sure that's not happening. She leaves her bags in her car and slams the front door behind her when she stomps into the house, a glare on her face and her badge in her hand.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" She shouts at him, chucking her credentials at him full force since she can't do that with her gun although she figures she'll be losing it anyway and briefly considers launching it next.

"What?" He shrieks back, catching her badge against his chest.

She unlocks her phone and reads the portion of the email she's so angry about.

"Given the concerning and violent behavior Agent Prentiss has been displaying toward both potential suspects and members of her personal life I am recommending that she be placed on temporary suspension from all duties that would allow her access to weapons and one-on-one interactions with criminals. It is also my recommendation - per information supplied by her direct supervisor Unit Chief Hotchner - that she be restricted to assignments that keep her out of the field until a new assessment can be conducted by myself or a Bureau mandated therapist should higher qualifications be needed to ensure the safety of the agent in question and those around her. She must turn in her service weapon and credentials that specify her as a field agent immediately and will only be given access to those belongings once she is deemed fit for full duty."

She sees her boyfriend swallow from across the room, gently pushing her badge into his pocket and filling a second glass of wine. "Oh."

"Oh? Really, that's all you have to say to me? You went behind my back!"

"I didn't want to say anything to you until I knew there would be any action from the Bureau, I didn't want to upset you if I didn't have to. The report was supposed to go to Strauss and myself."

"It did, I got CC'd on the email." She tells him, shoving her phone into her pocket and glaring at him from across the room. "You can't possibly think I'm dangerous."

"On the contrary, I think you're incredibly dangerous." He sees the hurt look on her face and rushes to clarify. "I don't mean that you'd intentionally hurt anyone, it has nothing to do with that. I think you're an incredibly talented agent with extensive training and I think you could hurt a lot of people without meaning to." He clears his throat and finishes. "I think you could hurt people on purpose, even if I don't blame you for it."

"I'd never go that far, you know that!"

"You held a gun to my head." He tells her bluntly, not angry but not letting her talk her way back into field work.

"And we agreed that wasn't my fault!"

"You're right, but what about the other thing?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Jordan told me about Viper. She said you almost broke his wrist, is that true?"

She glances away and then looks down toward her feet. "Only because he grabbed my ass."

"Because you invited him to dance. Isn't that right?" She doesn't answer so he knows he's guessed correctly. He pulls out a file from his briefcase and hands it to her, letting her flip it open to see the damage she'd caused. "Two fractures, he needed surgery. And that's what you did on accident, imagine if he'd really pissed you off."

She looks at the X-rays, clear fractures in the ulna and the radius on the films. "It was an accident, I didn't mean to." She whispers out, seeing the damage she'd caused.

"I know that, I convinced him not to press charges. But eventually someone will press charges, you'll lose your credentials for good if that happens." He tells her gently, pulling her closer because she's not looking at him and he isn't going to let her push him away. They've spent long enough evading advances and keeping secrets and he can't fathom going back to that.

She glances up at him and uncrosses her arms, settling her hands on his hips. "Did you suggest pulling me from field duty?"

"No, I only told them the facts of what I and Todd witnessed in recent weeks, nothing more. What she's suggesting is based on her own analysis of your behavior, do you really think she's wrong?"

She makes a soft disgruntled noise and lays her cheek against his chest, finally relaxing against him. "Don't bring your logic into this, I'm trying to be angry."

He laughs and squeezes her tighter, lifting her off the ground a few inches and shaking her back and forth. "Get it all out of your system, Flea, you're not allowed to be angry!"

The old nickname makes her smile and she can't help but laugh at the way he's jostling her around. He sets her back down after a few vigorous shakes and presses a kiss to her forehead, keeping his arms around her when she doesn't pull away. "You really have to take my gun?"

He sighs and nods that he does, not liking it in the least bit either but knowing it's their best option. It's not only for his safety and the safety of others, he's worried about her turning the weapon on herself.

He doesn't think he'd recover from that.

"I do, you can turn it in on Monday you can keep it for the weekend. Not that you'll need it, but Monday is it. Strauss may be there, you know how she is."

He hears her mutter something that sounds like 'fucking bitch' under her breath and he doesn't disagree but just this once he's on the same page with his boss.

"So, are you going to head home or should I bring your things in?" He questions, puling back just enough to give her a hopeful look. She smiles in return and presses a kiss to his cheek, jerking her head toward the door.

"Go on then, I'm going to head upstairs."

"Shower?"

"Yeah, I smell like Derek." She cringes and he laughs, knowing she and her partner poke fun at each other every chance they get.

Especially to him.

"Yes, what a horrific experience for you."

"Don't I know it." She shouts back when he steps outside, grabbing her bag and jogging back up to the house. They'd eaten with the team at an Italian restaurant earlier in the night, ignoring Dave's protests about it not being real Italian food because if he wasn't willing to cook for the lot of them then he'd have to put up with their unauthentic Italian replacement restaurant.

He finds her upstairs stripping off her work clothes, the bruises that once marred her skin long gone now and for that he's thankful. He leans against the doorframe and watches her, a small smile on his face that she returns with a shy smile of her own.

"What?"

He shakes his head, a dimple making an appearance. "You're beautiful."

A blush creeps up her cheeks and she stares at him for a few seconds, holding out a hand that he takes and steps into her space. "Join me?"

He nods his agreement and she helps him undress, popping the buttons on his shirt while he pulls his belt free from the loops. She pulls that and the undershirt from his body and lays her hand on his chest, feeling his heart pumping away beneath the skin. It's stupid really, she knows it's beating and she knows that's nothing special but it brings her an odd sense of comfort. Knowing he's a live and well and having unmistakable proof of it thumping away in his body are two very different things she's come to realize.

Sometimes she needs that proof.

He knows it of course and lets her take her time, smiling down at her with his hands on her waist. She's been like this more often lately, coming back to a place of finding comfort in his space. It had taken a while, weeks of her waking up covered in sweat or waking him up to ask him to sleep in the guest room. He certainly doesn't blame her but he's happy that they've have more good nights than bad in recent weeks.

When she's finished she pats his chest and gives him a thankful smile, tugging him into the shower with her and sighing at the warm water that hits her body before it hits his. And of course as always it only takes her a few moments to start humming. She most definitely cannot sing and she knows it but something about the shower heightens her faith in her musical abilities and there's been very few times where a shower didn't lead to a full performance for him.

He lets her hum though, finding the slightly off key melody somewhat relaxing after how long he's been with her.

That and he knows if he asks her to stop she's start singing and god knows if his ears have healed enough from the explosion in New York to handle that kind of sound up close.

So he sets to work on her hair, letting her shave while he massages bubbles into her scalp. This has become a bit of a routine when they shower together, her working on getting the prickly patches on her legs that she hates and him starting on what he fully believes to be a 15 step hair-care routine.

She's not at it long though because once one leg is deemed smooth she tosses the razor back to it's original place and turns to him, letting the water clear her hair of the foam on her head but she seems more interested in him than she does her hair.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" He asks cautiously, brows furrowed at the almost predatory look she's sporting.

"Do you want to have sex?"

"Do I want to have sex?"

"Yeah, with me."

He rolls his eyes. "Yes I did assume you meant with you. You know I'm attracted to you, where is this coming from?"

"That's not what I asked." She returns, her hands that had been settled on his waist slowly sliding up his chest. "It's been months, Aaron."

"And I told you, I'll wait as long as you need."

She nods that she knows and lets her eyes follow the trail she's made with her hands, the feeling of his skin under her fingertips familiar but oddly new after the months they've spent mostly clothed and often in separate bedrooms. He's as leans as ever, she can feel his muscles twitching under the skin and knows he's trying to figure out how far she really wants to take this before he makes a single move.

"But you want to, right?"

He grabs one of the hands on his chest and presses a kiss to her palm. "If we're doing this it needs to be for you, not for me."

Emily nods her agreement, brows furrowed serious because he's right this is about her. "I know, and I want to try."

He settles his hand back on her waist, his thumbs drawing circles on her hipbones. "I need to know what you need, please don't let me hurt you." She can tell he's scared, she can hear it lacing every word that comes out of his mouth. The last thing he wants to do is scare her, to set her back when she's barely hanging on as is.

"I'll tell you if I need you to stop." She assures him, getting a satisfied smile in return.

The first kiss is slow, hesitant. He barely grazes her lip and she's the one who has to wrap a hand around the back of his neck to pull him closer. It stays just as gentle even when his tongue pushes into her mouth, exploring her boundaries without pushing them. He gives her the space to pull away, catching himself on the titled wall behind her when she yanks him closer.

"I know we said we'd take things slow but at this rate the sun will explode before we get to anything X-rated." Emily tells him, smiling against his lips when he laughs in response.

"Alright, noted." Hotch tells her, finally moving his hands from their previous place locked onto her hips. They slide up her back, one holding her around the waist and the other finds its way into dark hair that's wet and tangled between his fingers. It's painfully familiar of their encounters before Cyrus, close and heated and intimate. He misses this, misses the feeling of her skin under his fingertips and the taste of her on his lips.

It's been a while for both of them and while part of his brain is screaming at him to just turn her around a fuck her brains out he ignores that voice and listens to what the rest of his brain is trying to communicate. He has to be respectful, aware of her enjoyment as well as his own.

To her credit Emily is responding exactly how he wants her to, soft moans into his mouth and blunt nails scraping up his back and her hips weakly bucking toward his. He forces a thigh between hers and when she grinds down and lets out a low moan into his ear that almost deafens him they both freeze, eyes locked and lips twitching.

"Its been a while?" She offers weakly, joining in his amusement when his chest rumbles against hers and the dimple in his cheek appears. He shifts his thigh between hers and her eyes almost roll back in her head and he laughs again.

"Hmm, you don't say?" She flips him off but when he presses her more firmly against the tile, her hands using his shoulders to steady herself before he starts lowering himself in front of her. He rests his hands on her legs, his thumbs barely grazing her inner thighs and he looks up at her for reassurance. "Can I?" She nods at him, letting him push her legs apart and she doesn't protest when he slides her leg over his shoulder.

Her stomach twists nervously but she trusts him, even if she has to take a few calming breaths that he takes right along with her.

"It's okay, tell me when you're ready." He instructs, pressing a kiss to the inside of her leg that rests over his shoulder, his fingers dancing over soft skin. He's surprised they've made it this far and if this is as far as it goes for now he's perfectly fine with that but he wants to give her the chance to continue.

Emily's had enough people take what little control she has and he doesn't intend to be one of those people.

She takes a few minutes before she finally nods down at him, letting out a whine when he lets out a relived sigh that blows warm air across her center.

He notices the goosebumps on her skin and shakes his head with a smile, speaking with her when she repeats her earlier explanation.

"It's been a while."

His slips his hands around her thighs and cants her hips away from the wall, pressing a kiss to her clit and freezing when she lets out another obscenely loud whine that echo's in the bathroom around them. He presses his forehead to her belly and gives her a moment before he tries again, met with the same response and this time he can't help but laugh.

He tilts his head up at her and watches the blush creep up her cheek, an embarrassed smile on her face. "If I keep going you'll wake the neighbors." He tells her, dropping her foot back to the floor. He stands and shuts off the water, grabbing her hand and backing out of the shower with her in tow. "Let's go to bed, at least there you've got pillows to muffle the sound."

She jabs him with an elbow and leads him into the bedroom, dripping water the whole way and feeling the sheets soaking beneath her when she lays down. Hotch gives her a smile and pulls her back up, kissing her furrowed brows. "As much as I like the visual of you under me, I think it might be better if we try this with you on top. Don't you think?"

Emily ponders the question for a moment and decides that yes, he is probably right, and she gives him a nod of agreement. "You're probably right, but don't get used to it I won't say it again." He laughs and lets her shove him down onto the bed, only helping her with hands on her hips when she straddles his waist. "Oh, hey, did you see Strauss to-"

"Emily, I love you but please for the love of God, never talk about Erin Strauss while you're naked. The last thing I need is to cross those wires in my brain."

Her lips twitch and she glances down at him, hard and heavy between her legs. "What, you don't want a hardon when you talk about Strauss?"

He fixes her with a blank stare. "I will kick you out, don't think I won't."

Emily grinds herself down against him, a hand on his chest and the other on the bed next to him to keep herself steady. Her words turn breathless, her skin flushing and body straining for some kind of release after a months long dry spell, regardless of the reason behind it. "You're a gentleman, you would never. Which is why I can tease you relentlessly about it and there's not a damn thing you can do about it."

Hotch's grip on her waist tightens, his need to stay in control of himself for her sake overriding his desire to thrust up into her before she's decided she's ready. "No, you can not. Do you really want me thinking about her when I'm with you?"

She smiles at him and finally pushes herself up, lining him up with her entrance and slowly sinking down until her pelvis is flushed with his. "Well, only if I say so." She chuckles breathlessly, a smile planted firmly on her face and her head falling forward at the feeling of finally being full of him. She's missed this more than she realized, missed the feeling of being as close to him as she can possibly get.

Hotch's eyes roll back in his head and he almost arches off the bed himself, reveling in the heat around him and the feeling of her nails digging into his chest. It's euphoric, brand new after all this time and still comfortingly familiar, the scent of her shampoo in the air and the weight of her on his lap.

She moves over him slowly, grinding herself on him more than anything. He gives her what time she needs to adjust, his fingers running up and down the curve of her waist and slowly the slightly pained grimace on her face fades and the all too familiar blissed out look he's come to know replaces it.

"Are you okay?"

She forces herself to open her eyes and nods down at him, a smile on her face. "I'm great."

His brows remain furrowed though and when he speaks he's serious. "If you need to stop, do. I want this to be good for you, don't force yourself for me."

She tilts her head and the butterflies in her belly stir.

He's too good for her, too good for anyone really.

"Aaron, I applaud your self control but I think if I hopped off and left you this hard on your own you might break something vital." She tells him, shifting her hips and joining in on the moan he lets out. It proves her point though and she winks down at him. "Told you."

His hands stay on her hips when she moves, careful not to hold her too tight. The last thing he wants is to leave bruises, something for her to find when she looks in the mirror that remind her of Cyrus. He keeps his eyes wide open, focused on her and clocking every single thing she does to ensure she's still a willing partner. To her credit she appears to be enjoying herself, her hips rocking rhythmically against his and he can feel her clenching around him and GOD it's distracting but he doesn't for a second focus on his pleasure before hers.

But then she drops down, forearms on either side of his head and his hands move to her thighs and every exhale from her mingles with his breath and he can't remember a damn reason why he shouldn't enjoy this.

Emily tangles her fingers in the maybe two inches of hair, damp locks caught in her grip and the feeling of what little hair is on his chest rubbing against hers and her pace falters, taken over by Hotch who thrusts gently up into her. Her moans turn to keening whines, her forehead pressed against his and her hands fisting in his hair and the sheets beneath them.

"Come on, baby, you can do it." He husks into her ear, feeling her muscles tensing the closer she gets to release. He smooths a hand up her back, holding the back of her head to keep her close.

"I-I-I need-" Emily pants out weakly, mouth dropped open and her hips moving frantically against his.

He smiles against her lips and slips a hand down between them, the angle of his wrist awkward but he finds her clit easily and draws slow circles around it, the response immediately and explosive. She comes with a loud moan into his mouth, her own release triggering his and he barely remembers to slow the motion of his fingers between her legs, drawing out her orgasm without causing her any discomfort.

It's a few minutes of harsh breathing and soft caresses before Emily collapses next to him, immediately pulled into his side.

"Are you okay?" He asks softly, a hand on her cheek and brown eyes studying her face for any signs of regret.

She gives him a tired smile in response, presses a kiss to his lips and melts against him. "I'm brilliant."

It's different than what they're used to, definitely not their wildest sexual encounter and not the best orgasm of her life either. But something about it makes her feel closer to him than before. He'd made this entirely about her, about her needs and her limits and not once did he waiver in that.

She realizes she'd never expected anything less and that's new, her complete trust in another person. Maybe it's stupid, she thinks, maybe he'll end up hurting her just like everyone else she'd mistakenly put her trust in. Maybe she's wrong to put her faith in a mere mortal, someone with enough flaws to think her a worthy partner.

But maybe - she smiles against his chest - she's finally found the person she's been looking for all along.

~~~~~~~~~~

When Emily wakes the next morning she smiles at the sight of her boyfriend, groaning in annoyance when she also sees a collared shirt and a tie. "No."

"Not you, just me." He tells her, knowing she's dreading having to get up. They're supposed to have this weekend off but an emergency budget meeting - courtesy of a broken jet - had been called and his attendance is required. "A budget meeting, it shouldn't take too long maybe an hour or two."

She pouts up at him and pulls him down by the tie, pressing her lips to his in a gentle good morning kiss that she hopes will convince him to call in sick. "Or we could stay here together, take a shower together, maybe I can do that thing with my tongue that you like so much."

The suggestive tone she takes on in her typical raspy morning voice almost convinces him that she's onto something but then his phone vibrates in his pocket, undoubtedly a text from the Section Chief that stresses the importance of this meeting. They're probably going to have to loan out their jet to another team and he needs to be there to put in his two cents.

Unfortunately, this is one meeting he simply can't miss.

"I'm sorry baby, I'll try and hurry back. Maybe I can take you somewhere nice for dinner to make up for it, yeah?"

She smiles up at him and relaxes back into the pillows, almost laughing at the way - in typical Hotch the breast man fashion - his eyes move down her bare torso. "Deal, and I'll even do that thing with my tongue when you get back. You might need it after a morning with Strauss."

He mentally screams at 'little Hotch' to get back down because now is not the time to rise from his resting place.

Like he'd told her, the last thing he needs is to be sexually frustrated when he's sitting across from Strauss.

Gross.

"I'm not going to turn you down." He tells her, leaving one last kiss on her lips before he tells her to go back to sleep and makes his way out of the home. He sets the alarm and locks the door on his way out, driving off and leaving his girlfriend with the house to herself.

He doesn't notice that the several ignored texts on his phone aren't from his boss.

Emily wakes up not long after he's gone, frowning at the sound of knocking at the front door. She checks the clock and sees it's been almost a half hour since Hotch left so her initial thought that he'd left something behind can't be right. She's not sure who's at the door but she doesn't care much, throwing on Hotch's button up from the floor and deciding that's good enough. It's halfway to her knees and she's more than capable of defending herself if need be although she can't see a reason why she'd need to. Her hair is a mess when she touches it, unconditioned and unbrushed and air dried. It's left her with a bird's nest and she isn't looking forward to brushing it out.

But she makes her way downstairs nonetheless, figuring it can't be anything that important on a Saturday morning.

It's probably a package delivery.

She rushes to the front door and pulls it open, the smile on her face dropping and her eyes widening comically at the woman across from her.

"Emily?"

"Haley."

Chapter Text

The silence stretches between the two women for only a moment but it feels like forever until Jack runs toward the agent in the doorway, moving to wrap his arms around her legs before Emily scoops him up instead. The last thing she needs is for him to look up and catch a glimpse of body parts he doesn't have.

Yeah - she rolls her eyes at herself - that would be a great way to impress Haley.

She settles him on her hip instead and fixes him with a smile. "Hey there, Jack-Attack!"

"Hi Em'ly!" The child shrieks back, wrapping his arms around her neck in as big of a hug as he can muster. He's coming up on four now and his mouth full of baby teeth and his chubby little cheeks melt every square inch of her heart. She imagines Hotch was just as cute, the boy a carbon copy of her boyfriend minus the dark hair that matches her own.

"I'm sorry I'm not more presentable, Hotch didn't mention you were stopping by." Emily says, this time addressing Haley while she nervously tugs at the hem of the shirt she's wearing.

Haley gives her a smile and a nod. "I assumed as much. I sent him a few messages and tried calling but he didn't answer. I though he may have slept in, is he here?"

Emily shakes her head regretfully. "No, he has a budget meeting he had to rush out for. Is something wrong?" She notices that the blonde looks more frazzled than normal, unsure of what to do next.

"My sister got into an accident and she's in the hospital."

"Oh my god, is she okay?" Emily asks worriedly, brows furrowed in concern.

"Oh, yes, I think so. But I didn't want to take Jack to see her, lord knows what kind of germs I'd be exposing him to."

Emily looks at the boy who's playing with her hair, legs swinging absentmindedly on either side of her, before she turns back to Haley. "If you'd like I can watch him. I know we haven't really spoken about what roll I might take on for him but I'd be happy to watch him. Hotch should be back in an hour or two anyway so it wouldn't be for long, if that's a concern."

"Oh, no I'm not worried about that. I don't believe Aaron would have you around if he didn't trust you." She bites her lip and looks at Jack who seems more than comfortable in Emily's presence and the hesitant smile on the agent's face. "Are you sure you want him? He might be a little wound, I let him have sugar bomb cereal for breakfast since we were rushing."

Emily nods the affirmative and smiles at the boy in her arms. "Oh we don't mind a little sugar rush do we Jack-In-The-Box?" He shakes his head, flashing his baby teeth at her. "If you're comfortable with me watching him I'd love to."

Haley finally nods after a few minutes and pulls a sticky note from her purse, scribbling some information down and passing it over. "Okay, here's my number and what he's allergic to. If you need anything please feel free to call me."

"I will." Emily assures her, bringing Jack closer to his mother. "Say bye to mommy."

The boy squeals and kisses his mother, waving goodbye when the blonde heads to her car and waves as she pulls out of the driveway.

Emily shuts the door and sets the boy on the ground, making sure she doesn't bend too far down and accidentally flash the neighbors through the windows in the front of the house. "Okay Jackman, let's get a show going how does that sound?" He smiles and rushes over to the couch, hopping up and holding out the remote toward his caregiver for the day. She turns the channel to a station Hotch turns on when his son is here and ruffles the blonde hair on his head. "Alright, you stay here I'll be right back, okay?"

"Pants?" He asks, pointing to her bare legs under Hotch's shirt and she laughs down at him.

"Yep, I'm going to put on pants." That seems a good enough answer for him because he nods seriously and fixes his gaze back on the cartoon that's playing. She rushes upstairs and grabs the first pair of pants she can see, tugging them up before she rolls her eyes and takes them back off.

Panties first, Emily, panties first.

When Hotch comes home an hour and a half later he rushes in, calling out to Emily and not getting an answer back. He'd called Haley on the way home from his meeting, having seen that the calls and texts he'd received weren't from his boss but from his ex-wife. She'd explained the situation and had assured him that Emily seemed more than willing to watch the youngest Hotchner but she hasn't been left on her own with Jack before. He trusts her of course, but he's also not sure how sure she is of her own abilities.

But when he walks into the kitchen and spots movement outside the house his initial worry fades into the background at the sight of his girlfriend and his son splashing around in the pool. He skips saying hello and rushes upstairs, yanking off his suit on the way toward the bedroom so he can pull on his swim trunks and join them in the backyard.

It's not long before he's back downstairs and he runs out of the house, launching himself into the pool and smiling when he comes above the surface of the water and hears excited and surprised shrieking from both Emily and Jack.

"Daddy!"

"Aaron!"

He's tackled by both of them at once, grabbing his girlfriend by the waist and pressing loud comical kisses to Jacks face while he spins them around in the water. He can smell the sunscreen and she's put the little hat she has on his head that blocks the sun from hitting the more sensitive skin on his face. He's got pool floaties on each arm and he seems happy, Hotch's love for his girlfriend skyrocketing because these are his two favorite people in the world and it seems that they get on just fine.

"You didn't say you were coming back!" Emily tells him, a smile on her face. She's thrilled he's home, happy that he gets to spend more time with Jack. She'd done just fine as she knew she would and she adores the youngest member of the Hotchner family but seeing her boyfriend with his son is one of her favorite pastimes.

They're both cute on their own but she starts rethinking her position on getting pregnant when she sees them together.

Well - she rolls her eyes - maybe she wouldn't go quite that far but her ovaries are definitely screaming at her.

~~~~~~~~~~

Haley walks into her ex-husbands house three hours after she'd dropped off her son, having used the key he gave her when he bought the place when he doesn't answer the calls she'd made or the knocks on his front door. She calls out and gets no response, her anxiety rising when the house falls silent aside from her shoes on the hardwood.

She doesn't want to invade Hotch's privacy but Jack is her priority and she never likes the sound of a completely silent house, especially after years of marriage to a man who's stared the worst kind of people in the face without blinking.

She doesn't know if maybe one day those kind of people will start bleeding into his home life.

She shouts up the stairs and hears nothing and decides she should check the rest of the ground floor before she starts heading for the bedrooms upstairs. That's when she heads into the kitchen and spots them through the window, her chest aching at what she sees.

It's not that she wants Aaron to be unhappy, she'll always love him even if she's not in love with him and she wants him to find happiness again.

But wanting something to happen and seeing it happen with her own two eyes are very different things.

He and Emily are in the pool, his arms wrapped around her from behind and Jack cradled in her arms. Each Hotchner has a head rested on a bikini clad shoulder, half asleep in the sun and relishing in the feeling of the sun on their skin and the warmth generated between the three of them. Her ex has a look on his face that reminds her of the way he'd once looked at her, that feeling of being absolutely content and at peace, something she hasn't experienced in a long time.

She's not jealous, but she hasn't yet found her own peace and she misses the days before his BAU assignment when he'd looked at her like that.

She also knows he's a family man, even if he hasn't yet found that perfect work/home balance, and by the way he's looking at Emily holding a small child in her arms and the way Emily's holding Jack she knows they'll grow their little trio by another one or two small children in the coming years.

Haley doesn't blame Emily if that's what she wants, she'd wanted the same thing. Once upon a time she'd wished for a big family with her husband coming home from a day of successful court cases to dinner on the table and their children running to meet him.

That's the life she'd expected.

But then he'd taken a different path and she can't be angry at him for that.

And she imagines Emily's vision of the future involves her coming home with him from a BAU case, their children rushing up to the pair of them after a few days spent with a grandparent or trusted neighbor so they could save the world side by side.

She decides then that yes, she'd once suited the man he aspired to be.

But Emily suits the man he's become.

Chapter Text

Emily rests her head on Hotch's shoulder, running her fingers through his hair and listening to his voice, feeling the rumbling of his chest while he sings a song from The Beatles "White Album" that he loves so much.

She can't decide if she's overreacting or if maybe not having a weapon of her own has forced her to face the reality of how dangerous their job is. She's confident in her ability to keep her team safe if need be, but without a gun on her hip she isn't capable of much more than a few solid punches that she hopes land hard enough to earn her the nickname of a famous boxer.

Sugar Ray Prentiss has a certain ring to it she thinks.

Having seen Hotch come a breath away from being shot had woken her up to the danger he's in, danger she can no longer protect him from. Of course she understands why he'd done it, why he'd been the best man to be the cop-killing-bait. He's the most senior member of the team, their leader, the one who'd technically speaking be the hardest to take out, the one who'd give their UNSUB the most bang for his buck.

She'd been in agreement on the plan - not that it mattered much anyway, he'd do it regardless - but it didn't make it any easier to walk away from the car, leaving him on his own for the UNSUB to follow. She'd watched from a distance, ordered to stay back in case things turned violent. Without a weapon she'd be an easy target.

"I hate you." She grumbles out, Hotch's singing come to an abrupt stop before he chuckles and holds her closer.

"Oh yeah? And why is that?"

"I want my gun back." She pouts up at him, her breath tickling his neck.

He nods his understanding, knowing that without his gun he'd feel similarly useless, similarly uneasy. "I know you do, but it's only been three weeks. You have to give it time, Em, you'll get it back."

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, well hopefully you don't fucking die before that happens."

He rolls her over and smiles down at her, letting most of his weight rest on her. She once said she likes it, even if they can only do it for a few minutes because then her lungs start protesting their inability to get a good inhale. "Okay, talk to me."

She blows out a puff of air, running her fingers through his hair. He enjoys that just as much as she does she's found so she does it every chance she gets. "I believe in what we do, we save lives every day. But we had to trust the profile to save your life. I don't think I've ever doubted what we do until just then, walking away from you and hoping he wouldn't just shoot you in the back the second you were alone."

He furrows his brows down at her. "Are you questioning your place on the team?"

She doesn't meet his eyes, instead focusing on the soft locks between her fingers. "Maybe. I can't go into the field, I can't go into interrogations on my own, and I didn't trust the profile to keep you safe. Maybe that means this job just isn't the right fit for me."

He hates what she's implying, hates that maybe she's considering packing up and leaving. "Do you want to resign?"

Finally Emily meets his eyes. "Would that be the worst thing? It would save us from having to explain our relationship. it could save your career. I could transfer to another unit, maybe back to counterterrorism. Maybe crimes against children."

"I think that would be a mistake." His phone ringing cuts him off and he drops his head, irritation seeping in at this conversation being interrupted. He doesn't want Emily to leave the team, not just because it would keep them apart for longer than absolutely necessary but because he knows how much she loves this job, knows how much she loves their team and how much they love her in return.

He knows that she's made for this job.

But he doesn't say that, instead picking up his phone and pressing it to his ear. "Hotchner."

Emily plays with the strands of hair while he talks to whoever is on the phone, tuning out a voice she thinks sounds like J.J. because she knows if she's right they're about to force themselves from bed to head back into work. She doesn't really want to go, doesn't really want to leave the comfort of her bed and Hotch's arms but she knows she doesn't really have a choice in the matter either. If something is so urgent that they have to head back in this late then it's important enough for her to get over her own desire to mold herself into the mattress and stay there forever.

As expected Hotch sighs against her skin once he ends the call, pressing his lips to hers in a quick kiss.

"Case?"

"Case."

~~~~~~~~~~

"I'll be in and out in 15, I'm running out of things at your house." Emily assures her boyfriend, her arm around his waist and his around her shoulders, keeping her tucked against his side.

She's run out of clothes to wear and around most of the population she wouldn't mind washing and wearing the same several outfits. Around profilers though it's asking for knowing glances and suggestive brow wiggling.

"Fine, 15 minutes and then we're leaving. Dinner will get delivered about the same time as we'll arrive, I don't want charged a fee for not opening the door."

Emily nods her agreement and starts rifling through her bag for her keys, brows furrowing when the arm around her tenses and forces her to stop in her tracks. She follows Hotch's gaze and it lands upon a man waiting by her door, pushing himself into a standing position when he sees the couple down the hall.

A smile blossoms on her face and she rushes down the hall, throwing herself into the waiting arms of the man at her door who spins her around with a smile before he puts her back down.

"Matthew!" She almost shrieks, knowing just by looking at him that he's clean. It's always been obvious to her when he's using, his skin turns waxy and his eyes glaze over and he wouldn't have had the strength to hold her off the ground for more than a second.

Now he looks healthy, a good amount of weight put on since she saw him last and his skin is surprising clear and his eyes focused and alert. He's clean and it's the best news she's had all year.

"Hey, Em. God it's good to see you." He wraps her in another hug, smiling politely over her head at Hotch who's watching the interaction with an arched brow. He pulls back and she punches him in the shoulder, his jaw dropping. "Hey! That hurt!"

"That was the point! When the hell did you get out, you should've called I would've sent a friend with a key so you didn't have to wait out here!" She tells him, searching through her bag and finally finding her own set of keys at the bottom. She pushes the key into the lock and follows him in.

"I only got out today, I asked them not to call you until tomorrow so I could surprise you. I didn't know you'd be on a case or I wouldn't have drank the 72 ounce Polar Ice, can I use your bathroom?" She takes in the way he's almost bouncing on the balls of his feet and smiles, pointing to the stairs.

"Guest room, on the right, you can spend the night if you want."

"That would be great!" He shouts at her from where he's already racing up the stairs.

Emily turns to her boyfriend who stands silently in the kitchen. "Well, I guess we can stay at your house tomorrow instead, I don't want to leave him on his own right now. I'm sorry, I didn't know he'd gotten out."

"Out of what?"

"Rehab." Emily mentions casually, avoiding his eyes because she knows he's not going to like that answer.

His brows shoot up and he shakes his head, moving over to her and zipping the bag she'd just opened. "Nope, absolutely not. I'm not letting you stay here with someone dangerous, not when you don't have your gun."

Emily rolls her eyes and raises an accusatory brow at her boyfriend. "Dangerous?"

"Yes, dangerous. Dangerous, reckless, and sure as hell not stable enough to be hanging around you."

"Really? And would you say that about Reid?" She bites out, her irritation rolling off her in waves. Matthew is her best friend, the one person who knows the hell she'd gone through in Italy.

Hotch glares at her, setting Matthew's bags on the counter for him to take on his way out of the house. "That's different."

"Yeah? Please, tell me how it's different."

"Reid is an agent."

"Right. Reid was shooting up and had access to a gun and that makes him less dangerous. Makes perfect sense, babe." She grabs Matthew's bag and tosses them into the living room, holding up a hand to stop her boyfriend from grabbing them again. "I owe him everything, Aaron. Everything. If he needs a place to stay, he's got a room upstairs."

They hear Matthew coming back down the steps and Hotch fixes her with a look, lowering his voice so her friend doesn't hear. "We can bring him back to my house, but this conversation isn't over."

She rolls her eyes walks toward the stairs. "Noted." She smiles up at Matthew who's halfway down the steps. "Hey, we're going to Aaron's house and you're coming with. I have to grab a few things, help yourself to whatever you can find in the fridge that's still good."

"Will do, thanks. I'm assuming Aaron is the 007 looking guy in the living room?"

Emily laughs and passes him, smacking him on the ass and getting a smack back in return. "That's him. Play nice, I don't want to come down to either of you with new injuries." She raises her voice and shouts at her boyfriend. "That goes for you too 007!"

She hears him grunt from downstairs and takes that to be as close to an agreement as she's likely to get and rushes upstairs, not wanting to leave them alone for any longer than she has to.

Matthew waits until he hears her bedroom door open to walk downstairs, pushing his hands into his pockets as he approaches the other man.

"So, you're Aaron."

"And you're an addict." Both sets of eyes widen on each other and Hotch at least has the decency to blush. "Fuck, I'm sorry. You must be Matthew."

To his credit Matthew laughs and holds his hand out, shaking Hotch's hand when he extends it only a second later. "I must be, it's nice to meet you. I'm sorry I haven't met you before, I was otherwise detained."

"Rehab, right. And you're clean now?"

Matthew nods and heads to the fridge. "I am, 90 days."

"That's great, I'm pleased for you." Hotch tells him honestly, still keeping an eye out to ensure Matthew doesn't start pocketing things when he thinks he's not looking. The man seems nice enough but he can't shut off the agent in himself, can't let himself relax for a second around someone he knows has caused Emily pain - even unintentionally - in the past.

"Thank you." He spots a bottle of sparkling water and pulls it out. "Honestly, I'm surprised Emily finally found a man she deemed worthy of her time. After everything that happened in Italy with me and Ken I thought she'd sworn off men forever."

"Ken?"

Matthew nods and swallows a sip of the carbonated water. "Yeah, Kenya." Hotch's brows furrow and the coloring on the man across from him drains. "You don't know who that is?"

"Um, no. Should I?"

Matthew screws the cap back on the bottle and grabs his bags quickly, obviously looking for a way to change the subject. "Um, no, no you shouldn't." He moves toward the stairs and goes to shout up at his friend, letting out a relieved sigh when she's already at the top step with a bag of her things slung over her shoulder. "Oh thank God, you're back."

She smiles at him, shaking her head. "He's not that bad, shut up."

"It's not that." She fixes him with furrowed brows and he glances at Hotch who's watching their interaction with equally furrowed brows. "You know what, we'll talk later."

"Oh, okay. Well if you're ready we should go." He nods and the trio shuffle out of the apartment, Hotch calling the Thai restaurant to add a few things to their order now that they have an added guest.

The rest of the night goes relatively smoothly, an occasional short lived shouting match between long time friends in a language Hotch is almost entirely sure is Italian but they seem close and he's happy that she's happy.

"You can spend the night in here, just don't be too loud in the morning the walls aren't super thick so if you start singing in the shower we'll know." Emily tells Mathew, helping him toss decorative pillows from the bed in the guest room.

"Trust me, if there's one of us that shouldn't sing in the shower it's you."

"That's not true!" Emily argues, a faux offended look on her face.

Matthew points to and starts making his way toward the hall. "Oh, really? Let me go ask Hotchner, see what he says."

"Hey! No need for that, this is between the two of us!" Emily tells him, yanking him back and shoving him onto the bed. He of course grabs her around the waist and yanks her down with him, flopping down side by side on the mattress he's using for the night. "So, how long are you going to stay?" She asks after a few moments of silence, picking her nails nervously. He can't go back to his parents, they'd end up causing enough damage that he'd end up in rehab again before the month ends. He can't go to his other friends, not the ones he's made on his downward spiral toward rock bottom at least and she's not sure there's anyone else that'd put up with him after all this time.

Nobody except her that is.

"I don't know, how long am I allowed to stay?"

"As long as you need." She assures him, grabbing his hand in her own and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I'm not sure Aaron would like that." He loves teasing her about her boyfriend, loves the way she giggles like a lovestruck schoolgirl because it reminds him of who she'd been before all the pain and the suffering and the heartache. Only a few months of bliss, not knowing what was coming for them.

She smiles and rolls her eyes. "Aaron will have to suck it up."

"Will he?"

Emily bolts up and a blush colors her cheeks at the sight of her boyfriend in the doorframe. "Oh, hi honey."

He smiles, letting her know he's not actually mad, and tilts his head toward their room. "Coming to bed?"

"Yep!" She jumps out of bed, leans back over Matthew to press a kiss to his head, and wishes him a goodnight before she follows Hotch out of the guest room down to the master.

They shut the door behind themselves and Emily grabs the laundry basket, dumping out the few remaining items to be folded onto the bed.

"He seems nice." Hotch mentions, stripping off his shirt.

"He is nice." Emily tells him, shooting him a small smile over her shoulder to where he's standing in the bathroom.

"What's his story?"

She gives him an apologetic look and offers a small shrug. "It's not my story to tell." That seems to be enough of an answer for him and he nods, starting in on the rest of his nightly routine.

When he's finished brushing his teeth and his hair he joins her in the bedroom, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe to the bathroom when he asks. "So, who's Kenya?"

He can see the muscles in her back tensing under her shirt.

Not a good sign.

"Who?" She asks, folding the laundry in front of her, not bothering to turn and look at him.

"Kenya. Matthew mentioned her like I should know who that is but you'd never brought her up."

She hums, shaking her head after a moment of silence. "That name doesn't ring a bell, maybe it's someone I used to know in Italy. I can't be sure, it's all kind of a blur it was a long time ago."

He hums, acknowledging what she's said but unsure if he believes it. He's pretty sure there's a story there and while he wishes she'd just be honest about not wanting to share that story, he knows communicating is hard for her. "You're sure?"

She lets out a frustrated puff of air and tosses the half folded pair of pants on the bed, spinning around to face him. "God, Aaron, stop trying to catch me out I said I don't know!" He stares at her in stunned silence, watching her pinch the bridge of her nose and screw her eyes shut. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to snap. Can we just talk about something else, please?"

"Of course we can." He assures her, bumping his hip against hers when he slips beside her and grabs a pair of shorts to fold. They do this most nights, spending time doing boring household chores together because their lives are anything but normal and it makes their lives feel less chaotic.

Something tells him with Matthew here things are going to get a little more unsteady.

Chapter Text

It's not that Hotch doesn't like Matthew, in fact he likes him very much. He's nice and he treats Emily with a tremendous amount of respect, always letting her know how thankful he is for what she's doing for him. He's staying clean too, going to meetings and submitting to regular - but surprise - drug tests and he's passed every time.

So no, it's not that he doesn't like Matthew, but he's definitely ready for the man to get a place of his own.

The first time he feels a twitch of irritation is when he's making dinner, something he regularly does because if Emily tries they end up either hungry with something inedible in front of them or with the fire department on their front lawn.

Neither are particularly good options.

He doesn't mind making dinner, in fact it helps him relax after long days of rough cases or tiresome meetings with his bosses. His issue though comes when he walks into the living room with a glass of wine for Emily and a bottle of water for her friend when he finds them snuggled up in the love seat together.

She doesn't seem to find anything wrong with that, giving him a big smile and a kiss of thanks when she takes her glass and passes Matthew his bottle of water.

So he brushes it off, chalking it up to having known each other for so long. A bond like that is different he knows, it's unbreakable and of course they'll be comfortable being physically attached at the hip, they'd done a lot of growing up together.

He's one of few people Emily trusts.

So he agrees it's not a big deal and he moves on.

But then a few nights later he's definitely in the mood and she's been putting out signals that a blind man could see a mile away. If her not so subtly eyeing his crotch wasn't enough for him to figure it out then the foot sliding up his leg and landing in his lap would've definitely done the trick.

So he'd been in a rather good mood, almost dancing around the kitchen while he made dinner. And through dinner she lets their legs rest together, let her hand slide teasingly up and down his thigh closest to her, even letting a nail scrape against the metal teeth of his zipper.

So obviously he'd expected he'd be getting some that night.

Apparently, he'd expected far too much.

Because when he goes upstairs he finds both Emily and Matthew snuggled up in the master bed talking to each other in Italian at a million miles a minute.

He clears his throat and they both look at him with big smiles, a bag of chips between the two of them. Of course Matthew doesn't stick around long, snagging the bag of chips before Emily can grab them and rushing off to what is now 'Matthew's room' rather than the guest room as Emily keeps telling him.

He thinks it's over and he's got her all to himself. Until of course he wakes up in the morning and slides his hand over Emily's waist and sleepily grabs her ass to pull her closer, hoping she can take care of the early morning problem in his pants.

But then he realizes that her leg is already thrown across his hip and that the ass firmly grasped in his hand is decidedly not Emily's ass.

Hotch slowly peels his eyes open and looks over her, finding Matthew snuggled up in bed behind Emily, the big spoon to her little spoon even though she's turned into his own body. And then he feels her smile against his shoulder and realizes she's just as awake as Matthew is and they're both staring at him with wide eyes and twitching lips.

"Should I give you two the room?"

He hears the quiver in her voice and knows she's never going to let this go.

"Maybe. He's got a good grip, I can see why you like him so much."

Fuck, he thinks, of course Matthew enjoys busting his balls just as much as Emily does.

He pulls his hand away and rubs his eyes, the sound of laugher from the pair beside him and a conversation in another language he doesn't understand filling the room. He doesn't feel left out, but he does feel out of the loop on their relationship.

Other than Clyde this is the only man who knows her better than he.

And arguably Matthew knows more than the two of them combined, having been there from as close to the start as one can get.

Tonight though had been the worst thus far. Dinner had been one loaded glance after the next, a flick of her eyes from his lap before meeting his gaze with a smirk on her face. Her hand rarely strayed from it's place on his thigh. She'd slid her fingers up and down his leg teasingly, barely there grazes against denim.

"So, you and Matthew seem to be having a good time together." He comments when they're finally in their room, crawling up the bed toward his girlfriend who's reading before they shut the lights out.

She hums her agreement, placing her bookmark and shutting the book she's reading so she can focus on her boss. "We are, it's good to be together again. It's been a long time and he's my best friend."

"I thought I was your best friend." He responds with a smile, kneeling and grabbing her calves. He yanks her from her place against the headboard, laughing at the surprised squeak she lets out when her back hits the mattress.

"Well, you are, but in a very different way." She tells him, smiling up at him when he pulls his shirt off and tosses it to the floor behind himself. "What's gotten into you?"

"Your bestie." He teases, earning himself a laugh at the use of the term she and her friend have coined for each other. "He's been here five weeks and in that time the closest we've gotten to having sex is a quickie that got interrupted by a call from your mother."

Emily wrinkles her nose in distaste. "Don't remind me."

He moves his hands to her waist, pushing the shirt up and exposing her belly to him. "If we can't get some privacy, I'm going to go mad." He breathes out, lowering himself so he can nip at her sides in a way that drives her crazy and he's met with a breathy moan in response.

And then there's a knock at the door and Emily pushes him gently to his side of the bed, calling out for Matthew to come in. He enters with a smile and chocolate, moving toward the bed when Emily excitedly scoots over.

"Sorry there's a new episode of Cupcake Wars tonight." Matthew explains, dropping down next to his friend while Hotch almost pouts his way toward his shirt that he snags off the floor and pulls on with a glare toward the pair who ignore his mood change in favor of the screen on the wall.

He's a fan of Matthew, he really is.

But God, he can't wait until he's gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

Emily hums softly while she massages suds into her hair, grinning at her boyfriend when he enters the bathroom with her. He'd fallen asleep later than she had so she'd left him to sleep in, telling him she'd reset the alarm and to get some rest but he doesn't seem to have taken her advice.

"What are you doing? It's been ten minutes, you've got another half hour." She tells him, watching him toss his shirt and boxers into the hamper in the corner before he joins her in the half frosted glass shower.

"I wanted to join you." Hotch explains simply, shutting the door behind himself.

"You're more than welcome." She tells him, letting out a squeak when he spins her around so she's facing the tiled wall. His hands slide up her thighs, smoothing up her ribcage to her breasts that he takes in his hands with a satisfied sigh.

"God, I've been waiting weeks for this." He husks against her skin, pressing his lips to her pulse point and nipping at the skin there. She lets out a whine, pressing back against the erection she can feel growing against her lower back.

She hasn't been quite as bothered as he has it seems, but she'll admit to missing the privacy of being the only two adults in the house.

Hotch slips one arm around her ribs and the other between her legs, circling her clit with the pads of his fingers and sucking a bruise into her neck.

"Fuck." She breathes out, griding herself against his fingers and while one hand stays on the tiled wall to keep her balance the other tugs at her boyfriend's hair behind her.

"Already?" Hotch asks teasingly when he feels the muscles in her stomach tense, feels her thighs quivering on either side of her hand and hears her breath coming in short gasps.

"Shut the fuck up." She bites out breathlessly, a smile on her face and the grip on his hair tightening. He doesn't mind, the slight sting on his scalp aiding his own pleasure and he resists the urge to throw her against the all and make her scream his name when she comes with a low, guttural moan that's only slightly muffled by the sound of the water hitting his back and the tile below their feet.

When his fingers have slowed and her grip on his hair loosens he gently kicks the inside of her ankles, signaling her to make some room for him which of course she does because she's better about hiding it but she's been waiting for this just as much as he has.

He slides into her easily, his head dropping forward to her shoulder and they let out equally satisfied sighs, her pushing back against him once she's had enough time to adjust.

He keeps his pace relatively slow, knowing shower sex is one of their more dangerous activities between her being accident prone and the slick floor beneath them. She doesn't seem to mind the build up though, one hand on the tiles an the other on his ass, short nails digging into his skin to encourage more friction. "God you feel good." He moans into her neck, a hand on her waist and the other around her throat where he applies just enough pressure to feel her pulse racing under his fingertips.

"More, please I need more." She whines, throwing her head back and she can hear the wet slap of her hair hitting his back.

He chuckles lowly against her skin and speeds up, feeling her clenching around him in warning of the orgasm that's creeping up.

And then there's a knock on the door.

"Hey! The toilet in the guest room isn't working, can I use yours?" The shout comes through the door and Hotch almost wishes his gun was in the bathroom with them so he could fire a warning shot.

And his eyes almost pop out of his head when Emily shouts back.

"Yeah you can come in!"

"Emily, what the fuck?" He hisses out, moving to pull out when her nails dig into his skin with more insistence.

"You think he hasn't seen me come before?" She questions, a brow raised at his stunned expression. "Besides, the shower is frosted he can't see anything."

And with that Hotch decides he really doesn't give a single fuck, thrusting into her with more purpose than before because if Matthew is going to interrupt yet again he's going to at least give him a good show.

Rossi would make a comment about male pride if he knew.

"FUCK!" Emily shrieks, both hands slamming into the tile to keep from falling when Hotch speeds up to an almost brutal pace.

"Yeah he is!" Matthew responds, the sound of his laugh and keening whines from his friend filling the bathroom.

Truthfully neither could care less that Matthew is with them, focusing more on their own pleasure than his presence.

Hotch lifts one of Emily's legs, the sting from the stretch in her thigh making her eyes roll back in her head and her toes curl.

"So close." She whines out, her cheek pressed against the cool tile wall.

And then Matthew flushes the toilet and makes his escape seconds before they both realize what he's done.

"FUCK!" They shriek together, the water turning unbearably hot.

But neither of them make a move to leave the shower and the sting of hot water on their skin sends them over the edge together, his grip on her waist tightening enough to leave bruises and her body shaking in his hold, the only thing keeping her up when her supporting leg gives out.

When they've both come down they laugh at the turn of events, Emily smiling over her shoulder at her boyfriend who's grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.

She rolls her eyes. Male pride.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Emily, he can't stay here." Hotch tells her, putting his foot down.

"Then we'll go to my apartment." She counters angrily, glaring at her boyfriend.

"Emi-"

"I know he can't stay here Aaron, but I can't leave him alone either!" She argues, tears pooling in dark brown eyes.

Matthew had failed his drug test, just as Emily knew he would when she'd come home to find his skin sweaty and his eyes glazed over.

"You can't keep enabling him either. You've been giving him a safe place to land and that's fine but clearly he needs more than just you to stay clean."

"I can't send him to a halfway house, I won't do that to him." She's putting her foot down on that, knowing he'd probably end up dead by the end of the month. She's his only support system and she won't abandon him, she can't, not after everything he's done for her.

"Then what do you want to do? Get him his own apartment? Because we agreed that with Jack one failed test would mean he's out. We agreed and now we have to do what we said."

She shakes her head and the tears start falling. She opens her mouth but before she can respond Matthew pushes their bedroom door open, having heard their conversation from the hall.

"He's right, Em."

She whips her head around and shakes her head in the negative. "No, he's not. We can go back to my apartment we can figure this out!"

He gives her a weak smile and shakes his head. "No, we can't. I think he's right, you've got to let me do this one my own."

"What? I'm supposed to just let you walk out the door and hope I'm not going to get a call about identifying your body?"

He nods, wrapping her in a hug where she sobs into his shoulder and he gives Hotch - who's watching with his own expression of sadness - a regretful smile. "Yeah, that's exactly what you have to do. It's time for me to stop expecting you to bail me out, it's hurting you and I won't keep doing that. Not after everything you've done for me."

The next morning Emily watches Matthew shoving his bags into the back of the cab, a frown on her face and her arms crossed. "Are you sure about this?"

He nods and puts the last bag in the trunk. "I am." He slams the trunk shut and walks over to her, grabbing her hands and giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. "I have to, I need to finally get some closure and Hotchner is right I can't stay here."

"I could come with you wherever you're going, you don't have to go alone."

He gives her a smile and presses a kiss to her forehead. "You have to stay here. You have a man who loves you and a little boy who feels the same. It's time for me to figure this out on my own, you have to live your life." He glances at the man standing in the doorway, having already thanked him for everything he's put up with to give him a place to recover. He lowers his voice and gives her a smile. "You should tell him, about Kenya I mean. He'd like to know, and I don't think there's anything you could tell him to scare him off. That man is already planning wedding vows."

She throws herself at him, arms wrapped around his torso and her face pressed into his neck. "I love you, Matthew."

He presses another kiss to her head, smiling against her hair.

"I love you too, Em."

Chapter Text

Emily throws the door to Hotch's office open, smiling at him with her gun on her hip. She shakes her hips, arms in the air, dancing to the music in her head. He tosses his pen down to his desk and watches her, smiling at her excitement as she jumps and spins around his office before she adds a song she's made up to the mix.

"I've got my gun back, I've got my gun back, I've got my gun back!" She sings at him, dimples on full display and she shakes her gun sporting hip at him just to prove it.

"Oh my god, did you get your gun back?" He asks with an overexaggerated gasp, earning an excited laugh from his girlfriend who couldn't be happier if she'd won a six billion dollar lottery and a new Cadillac.

She whips out her badge, flipping it open and almost shoving it down his throat with how aggressively she thrusts it toward his face. "See that? Supervisory Special Agent Emily Prentiss, returning to full duty." She gloats, flipping her hair over her shoulder dramatically.

He glances outside his office and sees they're still mostly alone and decides to risk it, grabbing her around the waist and yanking her in for a celebratory kiss because God she's been working hard for this for the past two months and he's seen drastic improvements in that time. She's earned this and he's never been so happy to see her with a gun on her hip and a badge in her hand. He pulls back with a smile that matches her own. "Congratulations, I'm happy for you." He tells her honestly, seeing the excitement clear as day on her face.

A throat clearing at the door pulls them apart, Rossi smiling at the couple who seem to be more than back on track after months of pained and longing glances. "Hey, I think J.J. might have a case. She called and asked if everyone was in, I told her anybody that's not should be shortly but it doesn't sound good."

Emily groans into the room, rolling her eyes at their moment having been interrupted and that they've got a new case. She'd been hopeful that she could convince Aaron to go axe throwing with her. It'll be a challenge, she's sure. He'll say something about how she can't be trusted with an axe - and to be fair she is far too clumsy and definitely too short tempered - but after having spent the recent week worrying about Matthew she can't deny that she could use some stress relief.

He'd hurt his back on the bathroom door knob last week, having assured her he was more than fit enough to support her full weight without a wall to help him out. And maybe he would've been right, but he'd been far too focus on her breasts in his face and having just gotten out of the shower his feet were slick and the bathroom is tiled and he'd slipped backward. The handle had jabbed him right in the spine, sending him to the floor on top of her in an effort to pitch himself away from the painful pressure on his back.

And in an effort to keep her from cracking her skull open on the toilet he'd twisted them so he was on his side and she on hers.

Basically, he was currently in no shape to partake in her normal stress relief tactics.

She tilts her head and smiles sweety at her boyfriend.

Well - she pats his cheek affectionately - maybe he's not quite in axe throwing shape right now either.

"I'm going to get a coffee, do you want a refill?"

He shakes his head and motions toward his cup. "I'm on my third cup, I think I should maybe cool it for the morning."

She nods her agreement and she heads for the door, hearing Rossi walking away saying something about Hotch and a heart attack ward and she makes a mental note to slow his coffee consumption roll before he does in fact end up in the hospital.

"...into one with plenty of potential, but avoid the trap of trying too hard. Know your strengths, rely on them. Confidence, real or pretend, is your magic ingredient."

Emily rolls her eyes as Kevin furthers Penelope's belief in the absolute load of crap she's reading from the newspaper.

"Come on guys, you don't think there's actually anything to that, do you?"

"You'd be surprised."

Emily shakes her head at Kevin's insistence that his astrological sign could have anything to do with his dating opportunities. "It's gibberish."

"Thank you." Morgan comments, in full agreement with Emily's statement. He has a hard enough time with religion, he doesn't need to add birthdays and planet alignment to his already complex spirituality.

"Oh, you are just jealous because you don't have the magic ingredient."

"I have the magic ingredient, it's called Splenda." She deadpans, swirling the grains of faux sugar into her coffee.

She shakes her head when Kevin tries to get her to fess up. "All right, skeptic, what's your sign?"

"No."

"No? Is that in April?"

She takes a sip of her coffee, long enough for Reid to interject with the less relevant - in her opinion - birthday details but she cuts him off before he can finish the rest of his sentence.

"Reid, we need a D.O.B. on Prentiss."

"Uh, 7:12A.M, October 12th, 19-"

"Hey!"

"Hmm, Libra I should have known." Emily sends a glare her way, wondering what that means and how bad it makes her look. "A romantic opportunity may experience a slight hitch thanks to the pesky lunar influence which could have you dipping into a rather chilly mood. If being demonstrative and warm is difficult, then neutralize this temporary cold front with a simple but affectionate gesture."

She drops her spoon into her cup, ensuring nobody - namely Strauss - is within sight. "I have a simple gesture."

The group around her laughs at her antics, sure to tuck her finger back to it's original place when she sees Strauss rounding the corner. Once she's out of sight though Reid speaks up.

"But she's already seeing Hotch, do you think it means something will go wrong there?"

The rest of the group stares at him in stunned silence.

"She's seeing who!?" Kevin squeaks out.

"You knew?!" Emily hisses out at the same time, voice lowered so that nobody else outside of their inner circle can pick up on what they're discussing should they walk by.

He nods his head simply, as if his knowledge of her relationship had been obvious. "Yeah."

"For how long?"

"Since the case in New York, the Terrence Wakeland case."

Emily sputters, Morgan laughing at her inability to form a complete sentence. "But that was right at the beginning!"

"I know." Reid nods, sipping his own coffee before offering an explanation. "You and Morgan were talking about your sleeping with a married man. That alone wouldn't have clued me in on the identity of your partner but when we were flying home I suggested to Morgan that he might be sending out the wrong kind of signals, especially if you were receptive to such signals. Hotch started grinding his teeth and his hands balled into fists and when you'd send a text he'd receive one and vise versa. It was pretty easy to figure out, really. You're not as subtle as you might think."

Morgan's brows raise on his coworker and he sends a smile to Emily. "That means the kid knew before anyone else."

"Reid knows what?" Hotch asks, stopping beside Kevin who's mouth opens and closes a few times before he silently makes his escape, Hotch's eyes following his movements out of the bullpen before he turns back to the group. "What was that about?"

Emily smiles and shakes her head, having finally gotten herself out of the daze she'd been in at Reid's revelation. "I'll tell you later."

A few minutes later she's at her desk, unable to get Garcia's stupid horoscope out of her head.

A romantic hitch.

She won't admit it but she does have a long history of those and she's not entirely able to rule out the possibility that there's some truth in the fortune telling.

Which means she needs to think of a simple but affectionate gesture, and she knows just the thing.

Emily stands and makes her excuses to Morgan when he shoots her a questioning glance. She makes something up about reviewing a therapy session - she almost rolls her eyes at her unstable mental health being such public knowledge - and he seems to accept her answer so she heads for the office that overlooks the bullpen.

"Hey." Hotch says with a soft smile before looking back down at the paperwork he's working diligently on.

"Hi." She responds simply, shutting the door behind herself. She's ballsy, but she's not quite willing to blow her boss in his office with the door open for the world to walk in and witness it.

"What are you doing?" He asks when she pulls the blinds shut, his brows shooting skyward when she bunches some fabric at her thighs and drops to her knees.

Oh.

He's momentarily stunned by her actions, giving her just long enough to push his legs apart and start in on removing his belt once she's left his gun safely on the desk. When she starts on the button and zipper of his pants he snaps out of it. "Emily, we can't." He tells her, taking her wrists in his hands gently.

"The fuck we can't." She protests, shaking his hands from her wrists and sliding his zipper down. She just barely gets her fingers into his pants when the chair slides back and he shoves her rather ungracefully under his desk. She almost says something when he slides his legs under with her but she stops when she hears a knock at the door.

"Come in." Hotch calls out, a pen in his hand and a file open on his desk.

"Aaron, good morning." Emily's eyes widen in panic when she hears the voice of their boss. Of course he doesn't see the panic on her face because she's eye level with his crotch and he's probably doing his best to keep his composure so they can keep their jobs.

And then of course she realizes she's eye level with his crotch and he can't do a damn thing about that for the time being. She knows he's been at least somewhat impacted by her actions, a slight tent in the front of his slacks and his hips shifting just enough for her to know he's trying to get 'little Hotch' to go down.

She gives little Hotch a sympathetic smile and tilt of her head.

Aww, poor guy is sexually frustrated.

She ignores that his sexual frustration is her own fault and decides since she's created this problem she should at least offer a helping hand.

She skins her blunt nails up his thighs, feeling the muscles tense on either side of her. She doesn't let it deter her though, instead sliding her hands up his legs until she comes to the now more noticeable tent in his trousers. No matter how stoic he is, he's enjoying this as much as she is.

Emily slips a hand into his pants and cups him through his boxers, smiling at the way he twitches in her hand. She debates leaving it there, debates giving him a break because this is dangerous. For the both of them and the unit they work in.

But the opportunity is too good to pass up. So instead she slips her hand into his boxers and frees him from the material, his chair sliding forward - probably to ensure Strauss can't see anything - and pressing her further under the desk. She's sure to keep her limbs carefully tucked away, knowing if Strauss has any inkling of her presence she'll demand to see who's occupying the space between his legs during office hours.

It would be a disaster. A Unit Chief on an elite team within the Bureau sleeping with his subordinate who just so happens to be the daughter of an American diplomat he's worked for previously? Yeah. That's a story guaranteed to blow up.

She smiles at the though, finding that while she doesn't want him to lose his job she wouldn't mind casting a few shadows on the Prentiss name. But she pushes those thoughts aside and strokes his hardening shaft in her hand, pressing a kiss to the tip and biting back a laugh at the way his hips thrust up just the slightest bit.

Apparently he looks uncomfortable because Strauss picks up on it.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes. My apologies, I pulled a muscle on our last case. It's nothing major, just an inconvenience."

Emily expects him to grab her wrist and prevent her from moving after that, expects at least a warning pinch.

Instead she's surprised when his hand manages to find its way to her neck and he pulls her forward. His fingers wind into her hair and he leads her to the apex of his thighs, clearing his throat to cover for the moan he wants to let out when she wraps her lips around him.

"And we need a rough estimate of how many your team uses per case and how many you could work with should we need to cut back." Strauss tells Hotch, watching him write down the specifics she's asked for.

"Okay, sounds good. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No, that's all. I'll leave you to it." She heads for the door and steps across the threshold when she turns back at the sound of his voice.

"Do you mind getting the door? I have to make a call."

She nods and grabs the handle. "Of course."

When she's gone Hotch's grip on Emily's hair turns to steel and he slides his chair backward, yanking Emily with him and he smirks when she scrambles to keep from getting some wicked rug burn on her hands and knees.

"I bet you think you're funny, don't you?" He asks, widening his legs and letting her fully settle between them. She hums around the cock in her mouth and he lets out a low moan, head falling back at the vibrations that race up his spine.

He forces himself to keep his eyes open and on her, watching the way she bats her eyes up at him innocently with her lips stretched around him and her hands on his thighs. It's obscene really, the contrast between such a pretty face and the way she's damn near taking him down her throat.

The wet sound of her throat working around him forces his control to its limit, his knuckles white in her hair and his feet planted firmly into the ground to thrust upward into her waiting mouth. It doesn't take long for him to near the edge, for his thrusts to turn frantic and for the familiar heat to pool in her belly, jaw twitching with the effort to keep quite because he's not sure he'd stop even if someone walked into the room.

"Fuck- feel so good." He mumbles out, head tilted upward and his eyes screwed shut because he'll be damned if this isn't the best blowjob he's had and something about the threat of his colleagues and superiors on the floor with him adds a layer of pleasure he hadn't expected.

Emily can see him getting close, can feel the muscles in his thighs trembling and she reaches a hand up. Normally she wouldn't dare muffle the sounds he makes, the particularly throaty moan he makes when he comes a favorite of hers that leaves her panties damp, but she knows he isn't thinking about Strauss down the catwalk or Rossi right next door. He seems to know what she means when her fingers brush against his lips and he releases one hand from her hair, grabbing her hand and pressing the palm to his lips.

He smirks and opens his mouth, and when he finishes without warning he bites down on the soft skin of her palm.

Hard.

She whimpers, mouth still full, and works to swallow every drop he gives her, fighting her natural urge to push him away and take a few gasps of air and to nurse what she knows is a bite mark that's bleeding.

He holds her still until he's finished, finally pulling her head back once he's relaxed into his chair with a blissed out look on his face while he brushes his fingers sweetly over her cheek. "Well, good morning to you too, pretty girl." She blushes up at him, her post blowjob shyness returning as it always does. He likes it though and there's an extra bit of happiness in his smile when the color appears on her cheeks.

"Good?"

He chuckles and presses a kiss to the palm that's throbbing. "Do you even have to ask?" He inspects the hand in his own and Emily rises up on her knees to inspect it with him, brows raising at the damage he's done.

"You could make a dental cast out of that." She comments with a smirk thrown his way.

He chuckles and grabs the first aid kit from his drawer, knowing he can't very well let her walk out of here with a bleeding bite mark on her hand. There's a lot of excuses for why she's been gone so long, but far less excuses for this particular injury.

"Hey, how did you know Strauss was coming up?"

His lips twitch and he jerks his head vaguely in the direction of the office next door. "Rossi sent a warning text."

"Bless our Lord and Savior David Rossi." Emily mumbles under her breath, Hotch - who's unsurprisingly in a very good mood - chuckling at her description.

"Don't tell him that, it'll go to his head."

~~~~~~~~~~

"Oh my God, Emily! Maybe this is the romantic encounter your horoscope foretold!"

Hotch rolls his eyes when he reads the newspaper, having figured out from Garcia's comment that this may have been what spurred his girlfriend into a workplace blowjob. Not that he's complaining, but he isn't buying what he's reading.

Romantic hitch my ass.

He smiles at his girlfriend when she comes out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around her hair and a plush hotel robe around her body.

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

She nods and works on towel drying her hair. "Yeah, of course."

"Is this what drove you into the office blowjob?" He asks, tossing the newspaper onto the bed so she can see it. She blushes immediately and he knows he's right, pushing himself from the chair in the corner to wrap her in a hug. She rests her chin on his chest and he smiles down at her, the color still present on her cheeks. "Emily Elizabeth Prentiss, are you really taking relationship advice from a newspaper horoscope?"

She blushes a deeper red and offers a weak shrug. "Now that you put it like that, it does sound a little dumb."

"Yes, it most certainly does. And are we going to take relationship advice from a newspaper horoscope again?"

She shakes her head in response, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "No, although I do think we should do an occasional repeat of my simple but affectionate gesture."

His own lips twitch at her answer and he nods, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Well, I wouldn't argue with that."

~~~~~~~~~~

It's a few weeks - and another case down - when Emily first considers it. They're looking through their UNSUB's apartment, Morgan in the closet and she at the vanity. She thinks back to the photos J.J.'s had shown them, Henry with a little sunhat and little knitted booties on his feet. She's happy, truthfully, that her friend is thriving as a mother.

She'd expected nothing less.

But it does make her reconsider some of the choices she's made. Hotch has done nothing to show her he's untrustworthy and she thinks maybe she hasn't given him the credit he's due.

Maybe he's entitled to more of her secrets than she's shared thus far. She hasn't told him a damn thing about Rome, hasn't even hinted at what Matthew had done for her although she knows he knows something had happened.

"So, what are you into?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." She answers absentmindedly, almost automatically because she's more or less tuning out his entire monologue about their UNSUB.

She's snapped out of her thoughts when Morgan says her name. "Hey, Prentiss." She looks up at him expectantly. "Got a whip?

She smiles, arches a brow in his direction. "Of course."

His eyes move back to her after he realizes what she's said, his arms dropping to his sides with the latex dress in his hand. "Wait, what?"

She smiles and brushes up against him on her wait out of the room. "You're going to have to pay me good money to get more information than that out of me, baby."

She hears him rushing to keep up with her and laughs, ignoring the onslaught of question he's hitting her with.

Too damn easy, Morgan. Too damn easy.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hotch smiles at Emily when she takes the seat next to him on the jet, a bottle of water in each hand and she slides one to him after she's settled in her own chair.

She glances at his phone and her heart hurts, breaking for the guilt she knows he feels.

"Did you walk out on your family?"

"No, my wife left me."

"Do you have kids?"

"I have a son."

"How often do you see him?"

"I try to see him every week."

"Do you see him every week?"

"No, I don't get there as often as I want."

That's what he'd said, that he doesn't see Jack as often as he wants. She knows he hates himself for it, knows he'll blame himself for any anger Jack takes out on him in the future should he resent the lack of attention from his father.

It's not that Hotch doesn't love his son, that's never been the case and even Haley would agree with her.

But he loves the job too, and not every agent can handle the job he's taken on.

It has to be him.

But Jack only has one dad and Aaron feels like he's failing him, she knows.

"You miss him." She comments, not needing to elaborate on who and what she's talking about.

"I do." Hotch returns, tilting his phone so she can see a photo of four year old Jack in his arms at his most recent birthday party. "He looks like me, don't you think?"

She snorts. "Oh I know he looks like you, it's a little uncanny." She lays a hand on his thigh, rubbing small circles with her thumb. "I have a proposition."

He arches a brow at her in question and sets his phone down. "Do tell."

"You can't have Jack as often when we're on rotation, that's what you said."

He nods and confirms what she's said. "Right. Because I have to be available first thing if we get a request that comes through overnight."

"Right. And you wouldn't have time to drop Jack off and get to the office to prepare for the briefing."

"Right." He tells her, brows furrowed because he still doesn't get where she's taking this.

Emily bites her lip and hopes she's not making a huge mistake in what she's about to offer. "What if I could drop him?"

Hotch shakes his head, confused at what she's offered. "I don't understand."

"I'm saying I could drive myself to your house on nights when you have Jack so we have two vehicles, and that if we got called in I could drop Jack off to Haley while you head into the office. I don't have to be in as early as you do so I wouldn't be late and this way you could see more of him even when we're still accepting cases."

It's a plan she's been thinking about the last few days. When Hotch gets the call he almost flies out the door, rushing to the office to be there to figure out the logistics and to review the case before anyone else - J.J. excluded - gets to it. He's there a good half hour before anyone else and it's non-negotiable.

But Emily doesn't have the same expectations placed on her.

She's not the Unit Chief, she's expected to show up with the rest of the team to be filled in on a case they'd never seen in a town they're probably never heard of.

So while Hotch might not be able to get Jack ready and drop him off before he has to be in the office, there's no reason she can't.

"Emily, are you serious?"

She shrugs casually, giving him a gentle smile. "I love the kid and I know you miss him, I'm willing to give up sex on the kitchen floor in favor of sex on the bedroom floor if it means you get to see your son more than once every other week." She squeezes his thigh gently. "And I know you'll have to talk to Haley about letting me be responsible for him during that time, but if she agrees I think maybe the two of you could rework the custody agreement. You deserve to be a part of your son's life, Aaron."

She sees his dimple sliding out from it's hiding place and he grabs her hand from his thigh, lacing their fingers together and pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. "Emily Elizabeth Prentiss, I love you."

"Get a room!" Morgan shouts from his own seat, having heard their conversation from across the isle.

"Speaking of bedrooms, there were definitely some things I could've gone without knowing about other people's sex lives." J.J. comments, wondering what would really happen if she tried to flush her brain with bleach.

"Oh come on, it wasn't that bad." Morgan comments with a smile. "I'm sure you and Will have-"

"Do not finish that sentence." Hotch orders, a brow arched in warning.

"Regardless of what Will and I do, it's definitely not fetish Batman." J.J. counters.

"So you and Will, what are you into?" Morgan asks with a wiggle of his brows before he almost feels the glare from Hotch and holds his hands up in defense. "Hey, if she doesn't want to answer I won't push it!"

"Biting." J.J. says simply, a casual shrug.

"I can confirm that." Emily mentions, not even looking up from her phone, reading a text from an old friend. She's seen the marks on J.J.'s body, some in more visible places than others.

"Well well well, you little vampire you!" Garcia shouts from through the laptop, knitting in her office while she waits for the team to return. They've started doing that more recently, both wanting to include her in their airline downtime and wanting to borrow some of her cheerful demeanor after long frustrating cases.

J.J. blushes but before she can even have time to be truly embarrassed Garcia offers up her own interest. "Kevin is really into feet." A long silence falls over the group and Garcia shrugs casually. "In this job are we really pretending that's the worst thing he could be into?"

There's a chorus of agreements, a nod from a few agents that signify their agreement to her statement.

Feet is better than necrophilia and sexual sadists.

"So, Prentiss."

"Oh here we go." Emily mumbles under her breath, catching a small grin from Hotch. "Don't be so smug, anything they get out of me implicates you too." He seems to realize this and his smile fades, as it should.

"Care to share some of your own sexual interests?"

"Oh but why would I do that when you haven't shared anything?"

Morgan smiles and shrugs, leaning back in his seat. "Okay, fair. Roleplay. A little bit of anything, schoolgirl fantasy, playing doctor, maybe even a little bit of sci-fi if she's into that kind of thing."

J.J. looks up from her book, brows furrowed. "Like, fucking as an alien?"

Morgan shrugs and nods his head. "If she wants to."

"Well, safe to say I didn't see that one coming but it is very useful information to have for future Halloween costumes." Garcia tells him with a surprised smile.

"What about you Rossi?"

Rossi shakes his head when J.J. asks the question. "Nothing weird you're all into."

"Nothing? Not something even a little unusual?"

He tilts his head, thinking it over. "Well, it's not feet exactly."

"No?"

"No. But there is something about a nice pair of shoes. It's not a requirement, but I'm not opposed to a heel digging into my back."

"And that's about enough of that!" Morgan finishes, finally turning his eyes upon Emily and Hotch snuggled up together in their seats side by side. "Emily?"

"Yes?"

"Oh come on, there has to be something. You said you have a whip, care to share exactly how you use such an instrument?"

"Oh she has one, but she sure as hell isn't the one using it." Hotch comments, not looking up from the file in front of him while whistles and laughter fill the cabin.

"Well I'll be damned!"

"I didn't know you had it in you."

"Oh, you have no idea." Hotch comments under his breath, a blush settling itself on her cheeks because they really don't have any idea about some of the things they've gotten up to.

Thankfully before anyone else can notice the color on her cheeks Reid pipes up from his place on the couch.

"I have a mommy kink."

~~~~~~~~~~

"You're sure you can't get out early?" Emily asks with a suggestive smile.

Hotch presses a kiss to her forehead and quickly pulls back before anyone - because there are still a few agents in the bullpen this late - can see. "I wish I could, but I've got another two or so hours of paperwork I'd rather finish now so we can keep our weekend off."

She pouts up at him briefly but nods her agreement. "Fair." Morgan peeks his head into the office.

"I'm the last one. Garcia is going to hang around for a while I think but everyone else has gone home and I'm on my way out now." They'd decided to finish their paperwork upon returning from their most recent case, the hope that they'd have their weekend free at the forefront of their minds.

Emily grabs her bag and nods. "I'll walk out with you, I've got a friend I have to meet."

"Text me when you get there and when you leave?" Emily nods and Hotch mumbles something about having fun while he glances at his phone, thrilled to see it's from Haley and not a notification about a new case. He'd prefer they remain case free for the next three days, just enough to get through their weekend and then they can hit the ground running on Monday if needed.

A half hour later Emily pulls up to the bar, killing her engine and sending a quick message to her boss that she's arrived. It's not a control thing but rather for his peace of mind. She doesn't blame him, not with the job they have and the things they see.

She steps into the rain and rushes in, pushing her hood back and looking around until she spots her old friend at the bar nursing a drink that she knows isn't his first. She can't even manage to plaster a fake smile on her face, more of an exhausted twitch of her lips in acknowledgement when he turns around.

"Hey, John."

Chapter Text

Misty eyed, Emily looks up from the bathroom floor at her friend, a positive pregnancy test in her hands. She's never been so scared in her life, never been so close to falling off the edge of the cliff she's been balancing on her whole life.

"Matthew, what do I do?" Her voice cracks, raspy and low.

He drops to the floor in front of her, knocking the stick from her hands and pulling her into his chest where she muffles her sobs, keeping from alerting her mother to her distress, although he's pretty sure she could cry openly at the dinner table and the Ambassador still wouldn't notice.

He cradles the back of her head in his hand, the other rubbing soothing lines up and down her back. "Whatever you do, I'm here. I'm all in, always."

The dinging of the elevator startles Emily from the memory and she stands still, staring at the floor for a moment before she finally takes a steadying breath and steps out. Garcia meets her, saying something about the weather that she ignores because it's the last thing she cares about.

"Is Hotch still here?" She husks out, eyes on the file in front of her while she passes her friend.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure he lives here." Garcia tells her, looking toward her friend with growing concern when she only mumbles out her gratitude and keeps walking.

The journey to the catwalk is slow, her head down ignoring the stares she can feel on her skin. When she makes it to Hotch's office she wants to say something, wants to scream and cry and curse whatever God there is for having taken her best friend from her.

For leaving her here alone.

Instead she says nothing, staring at her boyfriend who takes a moment to notice her but once he does his concern is written across his face.

"What's wrong?" She's almost catatonic, tear tracks on pale skin and her eyes almost vacant.

"Matthew is dead."

His heart drops to the floor and he tosses the file in his hand to the desk, shutting the office door and pulling her into an embrace. She doesn't return it, simply lets him hold her because it might make him feel better to hold her but returning the hug won't do anything for her.

"We have to." Matthew tells her, holding her hand in his own where he rubs soothing circles with his thumb. He's been by her side in the two weeks since she'd discovered her pregnancy and she can't imagine having gotten this far without him.

But she doesn't think she can do this, doesn't think she's brave enough to walk into her mother's office and tell her she's pregnant. That if she keeps the baby, she'll be a mother before she can get her license.

"She'll hate me." Emily tells him softly, staring down at her nails torn to shreds. They're usually a mess but now all ten nailbeds are bright red and angry and painful but she can hardly bring herself to care, she's got more important things to worry about.

"She won't. I know you two aren't close, but she doesn't hate you, Em. She's your mom, she'll want to help, whatever you decide."

There's something in his voice, a kind of honesty she hasn't heard from anyone else in her life and a sureness that doesn't waiver and she can't help but trust him. He'd been just as sure when he'd taken her to his priest and she knows he'd been just as let down by the answers they'd been given as she was. But they can't do this one their own, can't hide a pregnancy forever and neither of them know how to go about completing a backstreet abortion in a foreign country. She has to suck it up, regardless of her desire for the Earth to open up and swallow her whole.

She gives him a strong nod and pushes her shoulders back, eyes fixed on the door to her mother's office. "Okay, I'm ready."

He squeezes her fingers and gives her a reassuring smile. "Together?"

She nods and squeezes his fingers back.

"Together."

"Is there something we should know?" Hotch asks, having just gotten kicked out of the Benton house with J.J. at the mere mention of his girlfriend. He asks because he wants her to trust him enough to tell him, but he doesn't pretend he doesn't already know there's something she's holding back. The entire time he's known Matthew he's known he's been kept out of something in Emily's past. They'd whisper and stop talking when he'd come into a room, giving him reassuring smiles and quickly moving on from whatever they were talking about. He knows there's something, but he can't put his finger on what it is.

She gives a half-assed explanation that he believes just a bit. He's heard stories, knows that Emily very well could've been a bad influence but there's something in the back of his brain that tells him there's more.

He follows her when she rushes off, steps up beside her and brushes his fingers discretely against hers when he takes the coffee pot from her. "So, do you want to tell me what's really going on?"

"I'm sorry?" She asks, startled by his blunt question.

"Emily, there's something else going on here and I can't help you if I don't know what it is." He says gently, sighing when she gives him what he knows to be a fake smile.

"It's nothing."

The silence is deafening, Elizabeth staring at her daughter from across the desk, the words on a loop in her head.

"I'm pregnant."

It had been the last thing she'd expected, the thing she'd been least prepared for, and yet here they are with the words hanging in the air. It makes sense, she realizes, when she thinks about it. The slight weight gain, the naps she used to take infrequently that seem to be increasing in frequency, the nausea. She wants to smack herself for not realizing it soon, having spent the first few months of her pregnancy with Emily in the exact same sleepy, sick, fashion, trying to button pants a size too small.

She's an idiot for not having realized sooner and she knows it. But in recent years Emily hasn't been her priority, instead favoring long hours spent furthering her career since Emily is more than old enough to care for herself. She can make choices of her own free will - she fights the urge to roll her eyes because Emily making choices of her own free will is why they're in the situation they find themselves in now - and anything she might need she can get from the embassy staff.

She'd assumed leaving her daughter to her own devices, giving her her much desired freedom, would do her well.

Instead her 15-year-old is pregnant by a boy likely no older than her with a huge decision staring her in the face.

"How?" Is the stupid question that comes out of her mouth, rolling her eyes at her own idiocy because of course she knows how it happened, although she isn't going to spend any time dwelling on the thought of her baby making a baby of her own. "Sorry, of course I know how. When?"

"Nine weeks ago." Emily tells her meekly, picking furiously at her nails. It's a habit Elizabeth has seen become automatic in the last few years, constantly telling her to stop before she hurts herself.

From the looks of it a few nailbeds are bleeding and Emily doesn't even seem to notice.

Well, she can't have that.

She makes her way around the desk, kneeling in front of her daughter who seems stunned by the display of affection when she grabs both hands and gives them a reassuring squeeze.

"I'm not angry." Elizabeth tells her daughter, seeing the relief flood her face when she hears the words. "I think we have a lot to talk about though, but first, we need to tell your father."

"My office." Hotch demands, not waiting to see if Emily is following him.

He holds his hand out when they reach the catwalk, motioning her into the office. "Are you actually accusing the Italian government of authorizing this man's assassination list?"

"He admits he was present at every death!" She argues, furious that he'd even question her on this after everything they've proven to be true. They have an admission of guilt and still he's fighting her tooth and nail to drop this.

To let Matthew down, to let his murderer walk free.

"The case is over." Hotch tells her, knowing she isn't going to respond well to that.

"You said you'd give me leeway."

"And I did. I understand your frustration. There are some things we cannot control." He's pleading with her to understand, to know that this has nothing to do with him and everything to do with the politics of it all.

She glares at him and he can see her visibly shaking with the rage that's contained within her, the fury he knows she wants to take out on something, on someone, on anything that proves a worthy target. "That's funny, coming from the man who's responsible for his death."

"Emily-"

"No! You know it's rich, really." She jabs him in the shoulder, not caring that the bullpen is bustling with activity and the door to his office is open. "You're the one who told me to kick him out, you're the one who said I had to let him go, and now he's dead!" She punctuates it with a shove that forces him back a few feet, knowing full well she's crossing a line that they'd drawn long ago and not caring one bit.

She wants him to know she means every word, even though she herself knows that when the pain fades and when - not if - she puts this bullshit priest in prison she won't feel the same.

"Take some time off." He instructs, knowing he needs to get her out of here before she does something to get herself - or the both of them - fired.

Emily feels the fire licking at her skin, feels her anger rising to the surface. "What?"

"I don't wanna see you in the office for the next few days."

She can feel the blood seeping from her palms where she's digging her nails in to keep her composure and straightens up to full height. "Fine, but don't expect to see me anywhere else either."

She hears Hotch call out to her when she storms out of his office but she can't be bothered to turn back, can't be bothered to ease the guilt she's placing on him.

She puts the blame on him, lets him feel the weight of her guilt because if she doesn't she knows the weight of it will crush her.

He knows it and takes the weight of it happily, knows she's not strong enough to hold herself up without him.

Emily pokes at her eggs with a fork, her stomach rolling not only from the smell of the breakfast food but at the presence of her father. Her mother had called upon the man the same night she'd heard the news of her daughter's pregnancy and now 48 hours later they're sat at the dining room table and he's reading the newspaper, completely unaware of the bomb they're about to drop.

Elizabeth looks at Emily and tilts her head toward her husband, encouraging her to open up while he's here. There's only so long he'll wait for her to tell him before he starts pushing for an explanation as to why he's been called back home. He knows his two favorite girls well and he knows they're keeping a secret although Elizabeth knows he's not going to be prepared for the news they have.

Emily clears her throat and that's enough for Everette to put the paper down, eyeing his daughter with a small expectant smile. Emily looks at that expectant smile and the long speech she'd prepared falls away. She's spent the last two days preparing an elaborate speech and apology and instead what comes out of her mouth is simple and explosive and she hopes her dad won't simply die from shock.

"Dad, I'm pregnant."

The Prentiss women watch the color drain from his face and they sit in an uncomfortable silence for the better part of a half hour, staring at each other and waiting for someone to make a move. For once he seems to be taking a revelation worse than Elizabeth and she isn't sure how to handle that, isn't sure how to tell her dad she's sorry when sorry isn't going to make this mistake go away.

Thankfully he jumps into action near 45 minutes since the news broke and he makes his way to the other side of the table, sliding the plate of eggs and pancakes away from his daughter with a smile. "I can't imagine those eggs are doing anything pleasant to your stomach." He tells her, pressing a kiss to her head and wiping a tear when it falls down her cheek. "You listen here, this changes nothing. You're still my girl, no matter what you choose."

Emily looks up at him, perplexed by his statement. "Choose?"

He nods and squeezes her hand. "Yes, if you want to keep the baby."

Her eyes widen because in all the time she's known about her pregnancy the biggest hurdle she'd thought of was telling her parents.

She hasn't even considered that she now has to make possibly the biggest choice of her life.

Hotch follows her down the street, watching her wipe the blood from her nose while he wipes some from the picture he takes from her hands.

"You look happy." He comments, smiling down at the photo of the trio in Rome. And he's right, they do look happy with matching hundred watt smiles on their faces and their hands clasped together.

"Thank you." She comments, looking down at the snow covered concrete they walk on. "For sticking your neck out for me. I know going to the Vatican was a risk, thank you for taking it."

He grabs her hand and turns her toward him, stopping their journey down the empty street. In any other circumstances he'd say she looks pretty like this, snow gathered in her hair and the tip of her nose a little red and her cheeky rosy. Instead he thinks she looks broken, more defeated than he's ever seen her and he can't stand it. "Emily, I'll always stick my neck out for you." He tugs her to his chest and he's relieved when she relaxes against him, doesn't fight his embrace like he knows she would've a few hours earlier. "Come on, we need to get you home. And dry."

She shakes her head and pulls away, knowing she'll hurt him with what she's going to say but knowing she can't be with him right now. "I'm going to go to my apartment, I need some space." She tells him honestly, seeing the slight disappointment on his face.

But he isn't angry.

He nods his understanding and presses a kiss to her cheek, pushing her photo into her pocket for safe keeping.

"Text me when you get home."

She gives him a weak smile and squeezes his fingers before she lets go. "Always."

Emily feels the crinkle of paper under her back, the smell of medical-grade disinfectant filling her nostrils and the plastic uterus on the windowsill staring her in the face.

Definitely not where she thought she'd be a few short weeks ago.

She looks down at the medicine they've given her, something to help her relax in preparation for the procedure she's about to have.

She raises the cup to her lips, closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. But the plastic cup grazes her lip and she freezes, her hand falling back to her lap and her mother who's holding her free hand looks at her with curious eyes and furrowed brows.

"Wait."

When Emily had knocked on Hotch's door that morning he'd expected a lot of things. He'd expected her to yell at him, scream at him about how much he'd let her down after being the one to encourage her to kick Matthew out. He knows it's not really his fault, that Matthew made his own choices and that those choices - regardless of his or Emily's part in his life - were his own and that neither of them are truly at fault for a man taking his life.

He's not sure how he's ended up here, not sure what the hell they're doing.

Collegiate indoor track and field is something he's not remotely interested in and he's not sure why she's drug him to this particular event, the pair of them sitting on hard uncomfortable bleachers with the smell of popcorn in the air and half empty Gatorade bottles littering the seats around them. But he's known Emily a long time, knows that everything she does she does with purpose so there's a reason he's here he's just not yet privy to that information.

And then she smiles, one of the biggest smiles he's seen on her face, and she follows the retreating form of a girl jogging toward her team. She points to the girl who's wrapped up in an exited embrace by her team, having just 'crushed the competition' he's sure Emily would say if she was paying much attention to the race at all.

Because she hasn't been paying attention to the race, she's been paying attention to the girl running down the track.

"See her?"

He follows her finger to ensure he's looking at the right person and sure enough it's the girl her eyes have been following all day and he nods. "Yes. Do you know her?" She nods and gives him a sad sort of smile and he furrows his brows, looking at his girlfriend for any clues.

"Her name is Kenya Elizabeth Priestly."

He recalls Matthew mentioning someone named Kenya, recalls the pale horrified look on his face when he'd realized Emily hadn't mentioned her before. "Who is she?"

She sighs, knowing as soon as she says it he'll take another look at the 21-year-old and it'll make sense because once you know it's obvious every time you look at the girl.

She gives him one last small smile and hopes she's not about to break the foundation their relationship is built on.

"She's mine."

Chapter Text

Emily, at 15, knows a lot about the world she lives in.

She knows there's poor people and rich people, religious people and atheists.

She knows people pay taxes.

That some people commit crimes, and others fight it.

She knows that parenting is hard.

And most of all Emily knows she's not ready for it. 

She knows her baby deserves better.

She'd tried to convince herself of her abilities in the beginning, that a mother's love alone was all her baby needed.

But she knows now, seven months in, that she'd been wrong.

She has no job, no husband or wife to help raise her baby, no car, and no license to drive a car even if she had one. She's 15 and she'll still be 15 when her daughter is born.

She hasn't graduated high school, hasn't given a single though to where she wants to go to college or what she wants to do with the rest of her life.

There's a lot she doesn't know, but she knows she can't keep her baby.

No matter how much she wants to.

"You have to choose a family, Em." Elizabeth tells her daughter gently when she's put her foot down on the ninth family not being the right family. She wants an open adoption, that much she knows. She doesn't know what role she'll play in her daughter's life but she knows she can't just give her baby away and be content with that choice.

She wants photos and home videos and to meet her baby when she's old enough to understand. She wants to take her shopping and hear about her boyfriends or girlfriends and to watch her graduate high school and maybe college if she chooses that route for herself.

She wants to be involved, even if she can't raise her herself.

"I know, but they aren't it." Emily assures the Ambassador, pushing herself with some difficultly off the couch that feels like it sits much lower than it had a few months ago. She wonders if she wasn't still growing if this might be easier, but as is pregnancy is taking a toll and she - while being quite fond of the small movements she can feel every now and again - can't wait to have control of her body again.

"Well, have you considered looking within the family?" The question startles Emily and she turns to her mother.

"Within the family?"

~~~~~

A few short months later Emily is handing her baby to her cousin Olivia and her husband Lucas.

"She's beautiful." Oliva says, eyes as dark as Emily's shining with excited tears at finally having a baby. They'd been trying and failing for years, failed rounds of IVF and a few painful miscarriages had left them almost entirely sure they'd never have children of their own. They'd only just started looking into adoption when Emily had reached out with the possibility of adopting her baby.

She knows them, she trusts them, and she knows they'll take good care of her daughter.

They're close, she sees them a few times a year and they've assured her she'll have access to their baby when she pleases. Birthdays and holidays and family reunions are things Emily usually hates but she finds she's hopeful that the promise of seeing her daughter will make these events more appealing.

"What's her name?"

Emily stills, the small smile on her face fading. "What?"

Olivia furrows her brows, motioning to the baby. "Her name, what is it?"

Dark eyes fall upon the baby and Emily shrugs. "I hadn't thought about it, I assumed you'd choose."

Lucas, who's been staring almost in a trance at the baby in Olivia's arms, pipes up now. "We'd like you to choose. We know this wasn't an easy choice and we thought this might help you feel more connected to her."

The name comes to her immediately and she smiles down at the baby, feeling a new type of pain settling in her chest knowing this baby that's half her and half a sweet boy in a bad situation won't be down the hall in a nursery that she's designed. She won't be there for her first steps or her first words. She won't see her off on her first day or school or take photos for her first school dance.

She's her mother, but she's not her mom, and she knows that this at least will give her daughter something that ties them together.

A name.

~~~~~

"And you kept in touch?" Aaron asks, nursing the scotch he'd poured upon their arrival back at his home. It's midday but he feels this might be the one time he can indulge in such a beverage. He'd met Kenya when she'd spotted Emily and they'd barreled toward each other with squeals of excitement.

She's sweet and startlingly similar to his girlfriend. Pale skin, a long nose he thinks suits them both, and jet black hair pulled off high cheek bones. She's got green eyes though and she's a few inches taller, standing at what he thinks is about six foot next to Emily's 5'8.

Emily had explained the circumstances of her pregnancy and the following adoption on the way home, preferring to answer his questions rather than the alternative of sitting in an awkward silence.

"We have. Birthdays and political events and family gatherings. But we call each other every few days just to catch up. We do lunch sometimes too, but between school and our schedule it doesn't always work out as often as we'd like."

He takes a few minutes to gather his thoughts, wondering how she's managed to keep something like this from him for so long. He's not angry or upset, but he's in shock. His girlfriend, someone he's known for half his life, has a child.

A full grown child, but a child nonetheless.

"Do you regret it?"

Emily contemplates her answer before she responds, blowing out a breath of air before she speaks because she's not sure how to explain this to someone who hasn't gone through anything similar. "I sometimes wish the circumstances had allowed me to keep her, but no, I don't regret it. She needed more than I could give her, she deserved stability and I couldn't give her that."

"Matthew knew, he thought you should tell me."

Emily's lips twitch and she nods. "He did, and as usual he was right." She licks her lips, the pain of losing her friend still fresh and it brings tears to her eyes. "He kept me sane the year after I gave her up. I was a mess, I kept going through this internal battle I guess if I'd done the right thing."

Hotch's brows furrow and he downs the rest of his drink before he drops the glass on the coffee table and turns to his girlfriend. "You said his death was your fault. Why do you think that?"

She gives him a small shrug, looking down at her nails newly grown with the edges torn by her own doing on the car ride home. "The priest he took me to basically called me a whore, he said I'd burn in hell if I got an abortion and more or less that he'd be glad of it." Hotch sputters, his own religious experiences not nearly as unpleasant and Emily merely chuckles, having gotten over that anger and upset long ago. "That was our reaction to. It knocked off the rose colored glasses of religion for him, it made him angry and confused and resentful. He started using, a way to cope with the world he'd just discovered where people who profess to be a helping guiding hand only help people who they deem worthy of their time."

"He spiraled." Hotch deduces and she nods the affirmative.

"And eventually I had to leave, my mother got a new posting and we left the country. He helped me when I needed it, and when he needed me I left."

Hotch wants to assure her that it's not her fault, that Matthew's actions were his own and that she needn't carry this burden on her shoulders.

But he's known her a long time and he knows her well, knows that she won't be receptive to that message now.

So he stays silent, vowing to stand by her side in the coming weeks that he knows will stir up plenty of painful memories for her.

He'll shoulder the burden with her until she can finally let it go.

Chapter Text

The lights in the bullpen are off, only the emergency lights required by safety regulations casting a dim florescent glow over the empty desks and the computers powered down for the night. It's eerily silent, the sound of the heating and cooling system and the occasional hum of the elevator the only sounds filling the otherwise quiet floor.

Everyone has gone home, chairs pushed under desks and files stored away for another time and the janitor had gone hours ago and left the lingering scent of disinfectant in his wake.

Everyone had gone, except one person.

Hotch knows he should've gone home hours ago, should've gone home and eaten dinner with his girlfriend and they should've fallen into bed together and he should've let the sound of her heart beating and the soft sounds of her breathing lull him to sleep. Instead he sits in his office, the only one with a light on or a person present, at his desk staring down at the photo of the man who'd escaped police custody for years and has just done so once more.

You should've seen it coming, you should've known, you should've stopped it. People will die, and it will be your own fault.

He tosses the photo to the his desk and pushes his palms against his aching eye sockets, trying to shut out the voice in his head that berates him for having let Foyet get away, for letting him dupe the local police and the F.B.I. for years.

He's been like this for the last two weeks, throwing himself into this case after hours and before bed and it's his reading material every morning when he and Emily eat breakfast together on the nights she sleeps at his house. It's bordering on obsession and he knows it, but this case has haunted him since he first joined the unit and now the constant hum in his brain has ramped up to a deafening roar.

He has to solve this, he has to.

Meanwhile Emily presses the button for the elevator, her ready bag in one hand and a plastic bag in the other. She checks her watch and shakes her head, irritated that this is where she is at almost 2 in the morning.

Irritated is the wrong word she decides.

She's frustrated, less for herself and more for Hotch. The entire team has been spending the last 14 days trying to convince him that Foyet's escape wasn't his own fault. None of them had seen it coming, although in hindsight maybe they all should've sensed something was going to happen to bring them all to their knees.

He'd been too confident, had gone too quietly.

But they hadn't and they can't change that, now all they can do is support their leader in his quest to make this right.

Which is why - she steps out of the elevator when it arrives on the floor she wants - she's joining her boyfriend for what might actually be his first meal in the last 24 hours. In fact she's sure it is because when she'd left the office she'd dropped a turkey sandwich and an apple juice - something he loves but denies if anyone asks and says something along the lines of it being the only drink available or about needing extra electrolytes - and as she steps into his office she sees the sandwich unopened although the empty juice bottle is peeking out of the trash in the corner of the room.

So at least he's hydrated and not running on just a vat of black coffee.

She watches him for a few moments, knowing his eyes are scanning the Foyet file once again even though they've all been over it with a fine tooth comb and could probably recite it in their sleep. He doesn't notice her and after almost a minute of silence she clears her throat, catching his attention and when his hand shifts to the gun on his hip she knows she needs to put an end to this.

A gentle end, but an end nonetheless.

"Emily, what are you doing here?" He asks, his voice softer than it would be during normal work hours but sleepier too.

She tilts her head sympathetically.

Poor thing.

"I'm here for you." She answers, shutting the door behind herself and dropping her bags on the table in front of the couch. She ignores his protests that she should go home and get some sleep - she rolls her eyes at that though, wanting to tell him that's what they should both be doing - and pulls the blinds shut. The chances of anyone seeing them are slim to none and it's Saturday so it's unlikely anyone would find them in the morning either but she's not willing to risk it.

She grabs the bag of food from the table and takes out her half that she leaves on the table and she drops his half onto his desk.

On top of the file with Foyet's photo paperclipped to the corner.

"Eat."

"Emily-"

"George Foyet is going to have an additional murder charge for working you to death if you keep this up." She tells him, both hands planted on his desk and a brow arched in warning, daring him to argue with her on this when she's tired and hungry and tired of his bullshit. She's let him sulk for weeks but now he has to start taking care of himself again whether he likes it or not. "And if that happens, I'll be charged with murdering him, so for your sake and mine shut up and eat your dinner."

His lips twitch and he nods, lifting his food and finally shutting the file in front of him. "Fine, but only because prison jumpsuit orange is not your color."

"Might give my father a reason to keep calling me Pumpkin."

"Good 'ole Pumpkin Prentiss." Hotch returns with a smile, Emily knowing how fond he is of that particular nickname. He grabs his foot and joins Emily on the couch, opening his takeout box and his brows shooting upward when he sees the size of his order. "Emily, this could feed half the team." He tells her, eyes fixed on the burger and sides of onion rings and curly fries.

"There's dessert in the bag." She tells him around a mouthful of her own burger.

"Why?" He questions with wide eyes, not sure the two of them are going to finish this much food before it surely goes bad.

She rolls her eyes and swallows, following it with a sip of her large Diet Coke that she says she uses to balance out the junk food she eats by the ton. "Just eat your burger, you'll see."

By the time Emily finishes her burger and her fries Hotch does indeed see what she meant. He'd managed to finish his burger, his fries, all but a few onion rings she'd stolen, and the piece of apple pie by himself before she'd finished her own significantly smaller burger and side.

She eyes him with a smile on her lips. "Told you. You've been practically starving yourself for days."

"I wouldn't go that far."

"Then you're stupid." She tells him bluntly, sighing and sitting up from her half reclined position when he looks at her with his brows pulled together. "I'm sorry, that was rude. I'm just worried about you, you've been sleeping here most nights and you're not taking care of yourself." She swallows hard, his own behavior reminding her all too much of her own habits when she was spiraling into a very dark place after she'd left INTERPOL. "You're scaring us Hotch, all of us."

Hotch opens his mouth to object but his eyes meet her tear-filled ones and he realizes just how much they've all been hiding from him. Rossi checks in every few hours with a weak 'I'm bored Hotch, give me something to do' when they both know the entire team is behind on their paperwork. J.J. greets him every morning with a smile and questions about Jack that cheer him up and he finds that the only time he's been smiling lately has been either with Emily in private or when looking at photos of J.J.'s baby boy.

Morgan he knows has been pushing the other agents to get all their work done with minimal grumbling or distractions, the silence from the usually playful bullpen a little unnerving.

Garcia and Reid have been uncharacteristically quiet as well, their usual excited chatter long gone in the past few weeks. He'd chalked it up to them being busy but when he thinks about it now he realizes they should be louder now that they're off rotation, not quieter.

And then Emily, his sweet Emily, sitting with him at two in the morning with bags under her eyes and two different colored shoes on her feet that tell him she'd woken up and made the choice to head back into work just to make sure he's eaten something.

They're all worried about him and they've been doing their best to support him and he hasn't noticed until now.

Fuck.

"Alright, you know what this can wait until tomorrow." He tells her, pushing off the couch and moving to his desk to quickly shuffle some things around so he doesn't have to deal with it on Monday. He turns back to her and finds she's taken care of their takeout and he slings both their bags over his shoulder, tilting his head toward the door. "Let's go home."

Chapter Text

"Call, now." Emily orders her boss, holding out the cell phone from his desk and blocking his body with her own when he goes to move around her.

He sighs and fixes her with a look. "I don't want to disrupt her schedule, or his."

"Aaron, even Haley understands that sometimes a case is bad enough to disrupt her schedule. She hasn't had an issue with it thus far, there's no reason she'd have an issue with it now." She holds his phone up again and raises her brows in warning. "I'm waiting."

He rolls his eyes but knows arguing is futile and takes the phone, making a quick call that Emily sticks around for. When - after only a few sentences in - Haley agrees to let him pick up Jack for the night he thanks her and ends the call. "Better?"

"Immensely."

Which is how a half hour later Hotch was driving down a quiet street toward Haley's house. He'd missed Jack recently, most of his time dedicated to finding Foyet that he'd missed a night or two where he'd actually been in town and free to take him.

Yet another example of his job doing him instead of him doing his job.

And boy had it fucked him, hard.

Haley had called to yell at him, demanding that he take a rest because things had gotten so bad Emily had called her for reinforcements.

The women have apparently become decent friends, texting pictures of Jack back and forth and even grabbing lunch on the rare occasion that something comes up and Hotch can't get Jack himself.

He's not entirely sure how he feels about it, knowing that with the two scariest women in his life teaming up he's in for it every time he strays too close to the abyss.

His brows furrow when Emily pouts for the fourth time in the last 15 minutes, something clearly bothering her. Before he can ask what's wrong though she starts humming, eyes closed and her foot tapping on the floorboard of the SUV.

"Problem?" He questions gently, not wanting to interrupt whatever it is she's focusing on.

"I have a beat stuck in my head, I can't figure out where I've heard it."

"Let me hear."

She hums a little louder and he bobs his head to the beat, something in his brain registering that yes, he has heard this before. "It's familiar."

"Right?!" She shouts, clearly frustrated that while the beat is stuck in her head the words to the song have escaped her grasp. But before he can even respond they pull up to the house where Haley lives and Emily's excitement goes through the roof. She's out the door before he's even killed the engine and only moments later Jack is running - albeit quite wobbly on chubby toddler legs - toward her with his arms flung open and his little backpack likely empty save for a stuffed animal slapping against his short covered bottom while he rushes out to her.

"Jack-o-lantern!" She shouts and scoops him up in her arms, twirling him around above her head while his song squeals with joy and then he's pressed against her and returning her hug fiercely because Haley isn't the only one who's rather fond of Emily.

Apparently everyone in his immediate circle of family - save the few she hasn't met yet - are just as unable to resist the Prentiss charm as he is.

He thinks if they have more children he's going to be screwed. Emily will hate him, they'll think him the fun parent and her the drill sergeant. Haley had hated that too, Jack having him completely infatuated from day one.

"Em'ly I missed you!" He tells her loudly, pressing a sticky - from the lollipop he's just finished - kiss to her cheek. It makes her warm and she smiles brilliantly at him.

"I missed you too big man, are you ready for the sleepover?" She asks excitedly, smiling when he nods with just as much enthusiasm while Emily walks toward Haley. "Alright buddy, give mommy a kiss before we go."

Haley smiles her thanks and she and Jack share a sweet few kisses and a hug before Haley tells him to have fun and tells Emily not let him stay up to late with a faux threatening glare that Emily returns with a 'scouts honor'. Haley tells her she wasn't a boy scout and she'd better not bring her son back hopped up on sugar and three hours of sleep.

Emily walks herself and Jack to the car and he squeals, running toward his father who scoops him up similarly to the way she'd done and she smiles with a bag of things Haley had packed over her shoulder. The excitement that radiates between two of her three favorite boys - because Sergio is definitely number three, no matter what Morgan thinks about his placement on that list - is palpable and she's thrilled that they get an extra night together this week.

Finding out that the older brother of their victim was a psychopathic killer that had shoved plane parts down said brother's throat felt like a kick when they were already down.

Which is why she'd refused to not have Jack tonight and she'd even been extra nice and sent a message to Haley explaining a little bit of the situation before she'd even ordered Hotch to call his ex-wife. Which is presumably why she'd not asked a single question when he'd called, but he didn't seem to mind and if he noticed he didn't mention it.

She climbs into the car and buckles herself in while Hotch watches Jack - who declares he's a big boy now and can do it himself - fasten his own seatbelts before pulling to make sure they're snug and then he takes his own seat behind the wheel.

They pull out of the driveway with waves to Haley and her new boyfriend - who Aaron thinks rather suits his ex-wife and her needs - and then his hand finds Emily's while Jack rambles on in the back seat and they both give him excited smiles in their mirrors and encourage him to keep talking. "Thank you." He says simply and she knows he's already feeling the calming effects of being with his son and some of the tension has already left his muscles.

She smiles out the window.

Mission accomplished.

"SkippyJon Jones!" Emily and Jack yell at Hotch in the hallway when he purposefully calls it SkinnyJones Jon. Emily LOVES this book and she can't fathom a reason why anyone wouldn't love this book.

"Whatever you say!" He shouts back, heading down to his room to get ready for bed.

Dinner had gone exceptionally well, Jack climbing all over Emily every chance he got and he didn't seem to mind the interruption to his alone time with his father. In fact he seemed to enjoy a third person in the mix, pulling her into games that require three players that he only gets to play when he's with Haley and her new boyfriend.

And now with his dad and his new girlfriend.

"Alright, buddy, bedtime." Emily tells Jack, Hotch having already given goodnight kisses and hugs and having checked under the bed and in the closet for monsters.

Emily turns out the light and flicks on the nightlight and puts the book back in it's place when Jack asks the question.

"Are you a new mommy?"

"What, Jack?"

"Joe is a new daddy, are you a new mommy? Mommy said I can have more than one of each cause she and daddy don't live together anymore." The words come out with slurred letters and it takes a minute for her to figure out what she means but when she does she crouches down beside him and runs her fingers through soft hair.

"I don't know, Jack. I know I love your daddy, I know I love you even more than I love him but don't tell him that." Jack giggles and smacks a hand over his mouth, earning himself a smile and a wink in return. "Would it bother you if I was around more often?"

He shakes his head vigorously. "Nope! Joe is around lots and I like Joe!" Joe, Haley's boyfriend, seems to have settled in well and Emily hopes that when - not if - she and Hotch take the next steps in their relationship things go just as smoothly.

"Okay, well we can talk about it with daddy later, right?" Jack nods and she presses a kiss to his forehead and returns his sleepy hug and leaves the room.

She finds Aaron pulling on a pair of pajama pants and softly shuts the bedroom door behind herself. She tosses off her own top and flings it in the direction of the hamper, heading toward the bathroom so she can take her shower. "You'll never guess what Jack just asked me."

A half hour later - Emily freshly out of the shower which likely played a role in how they ended up naked and sweaty - blunt bitten nails scrape roughly down Hotch's back, earning her a hiss and a particularly hard thrust that makes her whimper into his mouth because Jack is sleeping down the hall and she can't be as loud as she usually is.

"Fuck, please." She gasps out, her legs locked around his hips and his back sticky with sweat and she's so close to a toe-curling orgasm that she can almost taste it and they've only been at it a few minutes but he's been obsessed with finding Foyet in recent weeks and it's been just as long since she's gotten any.

"Feel so good." He grunts out, muscles straining with the effort he's putting into making her feel as good as she feels around him.

"Please please please-" Emily gasps back, not even entirely sure what she's begging for but knowing if he stops now she may actually die.

And then suddenly it comes to her and nothing - not even the promise of a blinding orgasm - can stop the next words out of her mouth.

"She's a hot little number in her pickup truck, daddy's sweet money done jacked it up." Hotch is stunned to silence, his rhythm coming to a stop because what in the actual fuck is happening right now? "She's a party all-nighter from South Carolina, a bad mamajama from down in Alabama. She's a ragin' cajun, lunatic from Bruns-" Hotch's hand over her mouth stops her singing, her eyebrows angled into a glare when he doesn't remove his hand but continues to stare down at her in shock.

"Emily, what the hell?"

He finally removes his hand and she smiles up at him happily. "It's the song!" His brows arch in question and she rolls her eyes because how could he possibly forget about the song that's been stuck in her head all day. "The song that's been stuck in my head! That's it, that's the one!"

He lets out a bewildered sigh, resting his forehead against hers. She's the most unusual person he knows and he loves her and he wouldn't change a damn thing about her but GOD is one normal night truly impossible for her? His lips twitch and he shakes his head, foreheads still pressed together. "What the hell?"

"We should make a southern sex playlist." She tells him, her weird obsession with his southern upbringing peeking its head out once more.

"A southern sex playlist?"

"Cunt-ry music, if you will."

At that he simply rolls off of her, ignoring her whine of protest because how could he just stop like that? She hasn't done anything wrong!

"You can get yourself off, I'm not fucking you after the words that just came out of your mouth!" He tells her with a full belly laugh.

Emily's breathless laugh is what he gets in return before she rolls on top of him, straddling his waist and wasting no time in sinking down on him with a groan that she barely remembers to keep quiet. They wear matching smiles and his hands come to rest on her waist, removed by her own hands that shove his wrists into the mattress.

"That's okay, baby, I don't mind doing all the work."

Chapter Text

It's two weeks later when Emily puts her plan in motion. It's dumb and too lovestruck for her usual taste but her boyfriend has been particularly dark and brooding lately and she decides enough is enough. Which is how she ends up 'accidentally' washing all of Hotch's boxers before he can get home and she conveniently forgets to toss them into the dryer before they fall asleep.

Well, all except one pair that she needs for her plan to work because she's going to get a smile out of Hotch if it kills her.

And a post-sexual encounter smile doesn't count. She needs a genuine 'I'm in a good mood and happy to be alive' smile and she'll take nothing short of that.

She glances at the clock on the nightstand and sees that it's almost seven which means Hotch will be waking up in a few minutes and she needs to be gone before he starts his day.

She scrambles out of bed - careful to scramble quietly and with minimal movement so she doesn't wake him up - and yanks on her clothes from the night before. She brushes out some tangles in her hair with her fingers and grabs her purse, ensuring her keys are tucked inside before she turns off the alarm and crouches down beside the side of the bed where Hotch is sound asleep.

She cards her fingers through his hair, dark eyes opening slowly and she returns his sleepy smile with one of her own. "Hey, handsome. It's time for you to get up."

"You're dressed, are you leaving?"

"I have to get home, Sergio has an early morning appointment and quite frankly I think my neighbors think I'm missing."

He smiles his understanding and nods, pulling her down for a slow kiss before releasing her. "Fine, if you have to. Text me that you get there safely?"

"Always." She answers, heart thumping at his raspy morning voice that always sends chills down her spine.

She gives him a few more lingering kisses to wake him up enough for his shower and then rushes out of the room, tossing over her shoulder that she's just moved his boxers to the dryer and that she's laid out a pair for him to wear that didn't get tossed in with the rest of them.

He doesn't think anything of it and mumbles out a sleepy thank you and tells her he loves her and then she's off. What he doesn't know is that she's heading to the BAU, putting in motion the second phase of her plan.

Hotch pushes himself from bed and stumbles across the room to the en-suite where the light he flicks on momentarily blinds him. But he blinks a few times and shakes his head and his eyes adjust to the light and he starts on his usual morning routine.

While the shower heats up lifts the toilet seat and that's when he realizes this morning might have something special in store for him.

A sticky note stares at him from the toilet seat and he plucks it off, lips twitching at the note his girlfriend has left for him.

Have a nice pee, love you! :)

He shakes his head with a smile and drops the note on the counter, realizing not for the first time that his girlfriend is a massive dork with a heart bigger than her chest because the note is dumb and silly and just so undeniably Emily.

He finds another note when he grabs the towel from the rack after his shower, the piece of paper falling to the floor when he wraps the fabric around his waist.

He picks it up and this time his dimple makes an appearance.

You look good in a towel, but it would look better on my bedroom floor ;)

What a fucking dork.

He walks into the bedroom feeling a little bit better about his morning, the notes giving him something to think about that isn't George Foyet because that's who's been occupying his brain in recent weeks and despite Emily's best efforts he can't shut off that part of his brain and it's exhausting.

Hotch makes his way to the window seat where he sees his suit for the day has been laid out, a pair of boxers on top that aren't still sitting in the dryer down the hall and he rolls his eyes at the only pair that's left. He hates these boxers, she knows it he knows it Haley knows it, hell even DAVE knows it.

Not that he'll ever tell Emily how exactly Dave knows what boxers he does and doesn't like, she'd never let him live it down.

But if she's set this pair out it means they're his only option so he pulls on the underwear with a stupid 'pouch' for his dick and a flap in the back should he need to relieve himself. Something he got as a gag gift a few years back and didn't have the heart to get rid of. They're uncomfortable and in the light of day very unusual to look at, basically giving him something to cup his genitals throughout the day and he hates the way it makes his pants look a size too small or makes little hotch look like he's standing to attention.

But going commando would be astronomically worse so he sighs and yanks on his suit, snags his briefcase from beside the bed, and makes his way to work.

The first thing he does - just like every morning - is make his way toward the pot of coffee and he shifts uncomfortably when the tag in his boxers scratches his skin as he walks.

Stupid fucking underwear.

But he ignores it and grabs his favorite mug, a photo of Jack on the front and a statement about him being the World's Best Dad on the back. It's not true but it makes him happy to see it.

But before he can pour the coffee he sees a sticky note in the bottom of the mug and he pulls it out, rolling his eyes at yet another cheesy pick-up-line.

I love you a latte <3

Of course.

He plucks it out and his lips twitch when he finds another note underneath.

But seriously, four cups MAX. If you die before me because you throw yourself into a heart attack, I'll kill you.

He stuffs the notes into his pocket and pours himself his morning beverage, not paying much attention to the bullpen as he walks toward his office.

Until his phone beeps, signaling a new message. He opens it and furrows his brows at the unusual message from his girlfriend.

Heads up.

He glances around the office and just as he's about to give up he hears a shriek and sees the remains of what appears to be glitter raining down over his friend before he hears hears a few familiar Italian expletives coming from the office beside his own.

This time he has to bite his lip to keep from laughing, the older man walking toward the bathrooms with a sickening shade of Pepto-Bismol pink glitter covering a good portion of his hair and suit.

"Absolute fucking children." He makes out through the otherwise foreign words Dave is muttering under his breath, locking eyes with Emily who puts on a good show of being surprised but he catches the wink she sends him across the bullpen and he can honestly say George Foyet is the last thing on his mind.

But he brushes it off, along with a few stray pieces of glitter his friend is tracking across the floor, and makes for his office. He can't give away that he knows the incident to be Emily's doing so he simply enters his office and shuts the door, letting a dimple pop out now that he's in the privacy of his own office. Sometimes he really loves his job.

He sits behind his desk and flips open his briefcase, brows furrowed when instead of his paperwork the first thing he sees is a pair of boxers.

What the hell?

He lifts the green and black plaid material from his briefcase, wondering why Emily wouldn't simply lay this pair out for him this morning when she knows how much he hates the pair he has on now.

But he lets it go, instead choosing to get out of what he can easily say is the most uncomfortable pair of underwear he owns. He locks the door and pulls the blinds, deciding that there's only a few people in the bullpen and that his door is secure enough and since there aren't any cameras in his office it's a safe place to take two minutes to change his boxers.

Besides, Emily has blow him in this office so it's not the most inappropriate choice he's made.

He yanks off his boxers and pulls on the pair without an uncomfortable dick pouch and secures his pants around his hips once more. When he's deemed himself suitable for the public he flicks the lock on his door and snags the dick-pouch-boxers from the floor, brows furrowing when he feels the crinkle of paper. He turns the boxers around and unclasps the flap in the back, finding a note scotch-taped to the fabric.

Hotch, we've been trying to reach you about your car's extended warranty

Emily bites down on her lip only a few minutes after the door to Hotch's office shuts, holding back her smile when muffled full belly laughter comes from within.

Mission accomplished.

Chapter Text

Emily sits in her car staring out at the cement wall in front of her, hands on the wheel but the car off and her mind on what she and Rossi had spoken about.

"I toed the company line, didn't I?"

"Do you think people would be better off knowing everything we've prevented since 9/11? Would it make them feel safer, or more vulnerable? You did the right thing."

"Yeah, I know that. I know it wouldn't have helped anything if that woman knew what was happening across the street from her and her kids. I lied because it was my job, and I wanted to protect her."

"So what's eating at you then?"

"Am I naïve to wish that lying is never the right thing to do?"

"With this job..."

"Yeah. Sometimes our job sucks."

"Yeah."

"And yet, next time I probably won't hesitate to lie again."

"We got a lot of things to take with us to the grave."

She wonders if he knows just how right he is.

She wonders if he knows just how little he knows.

She can't count on all her fingers the coups and threats and terrorist attacks she and other agents have stopped, the things that not even one single percent of the human population knows about.

Rossi thinks they live in a dangerous world but she knows that to be an understatement.

She knows better than him that alerting the public wouldn't have done them any good, that it likely would've made things much worse as millions of people flocked to potentially safer places across state lines. She knows it would've caused widespread panic, crime and violence would skyrocket, and countless lives would be lost in the mess of it all.

She knows all these things and yet she can't get rid of the bitter taste on her tongue.

She thinks maybe this is all her life will ever be, one lie after the next. She'd come here, come to this team, to escape her old life and yet she finds herself more frequently than she'd like lying to people with a straight face knowing that they'll believe her and might end up dead because of it.

She herself is full of secrets she'll never tell, stories she can't share and experiences that'll eat away at her until there's nothing left because the burden she carries is hers alone.

No, she thinks, Rossi doesn't know the half of it.

A knock on her window makes her jump and Hotch gives her an apologetic smile, waiting for her to start the car and roll her window down. "You okay?" He asks simply, no longer needing to lead up to these kinds of questions the way he had to in the past. They're far too comfortable now for fifteen minutes of small talk to ask if they're okay.

And they know each other far too well for her to get away with a lie. "No, but I will be."

"Do you want to talk about it?" He crosses his arms on her car door and fixes her with a soft smile, letting her know he's here if she wants to and it's okay if she doesn't.

She shakes her head, knowing this is one thing that a long conversation wouldn't help. She could only give him half the story anyway. "No, I think I just need to think for a while. This case just hit me a little harder than I thought it would." She shakes her head and gives him a soft smile back. "Heading home?"

"Yep, what do you want for dinner? I can make anything."

She shakes her head and grabs one of his hands, knowing they really shouldn't go as far as risking a kiss in the parking garage when other agents could walk out and see them. "I'm actually going to spend the night with Reid."

Hotch's lips curve into a smile. "Does he know that?"

"No he does not, but he'll get over it."

"Alright, text me when you're both home safely."

"Always."

~~~~~~~~~~

"Sorry about the mess." Reid says before Emily can unlock the door to his apartment, cheeks colored a light red knowing that she's about to enter his less than sterile home.

Emily gives him a reassuring smile to let him know that she really doesn't mind whatever state his home is in and pushes the door open, looking around before she turns back to him with a raised brow. He shifts on his feet, expecting her to tell him he's nearing hoarder status. "Reid, you could eat off the floor in this place."

He sputters, motioning around to the corners in his apartment. "What? No you couldn't!"

She rolls her eyes and drops their bags onto the kitchen counter. "Having a bajillion books stacked in the corners isn't a mess, it's a calculated solution to being a nerd." She starts shifting through the cabinets to find something she's capable of making while he showers and gets changed before dinner. "Now my apartment is a different story, I pay someone to clean it, otherwise I end up finding panties on the coffee table and sixteen water bottles on my nightstand."

"Please do not talk to me about your undergarments, Emily." Emily turns at his meek response and finds his cheeks are fire engine red, eyes avoiding her gaze and she fixes him with a smile.

"Sorry, noted." She finds a box of pasta and knows she can make butter noodles better than anyone else - ignoring the fact that she's become a butter noodle expert because it's extraordinarily difficult to fuck up something that simple - and pulls out the box of uncooked pasta. "Go shower, I'll start dinner. It should be done about the same time you are."

He nods and she starts rifling through his things for a pot she can use, smiling and shaking her hips when she finally finds a pot that looks like it's from the 1970s sitting in the very back of a cabinet filled with cans of soup.

Success!

She makes a mental note to get him new cookware for his birthday in addition to the stack of first editions she's already picked out for him. She thinks about it and wonders if maybe that's too much but she shakes her head and decides it's perfectly acceptable, especially since - not that she'd ever tell Morgan - out of the other agents on the team he's her favorite.

One present for fun, the other to be considered a real adult.

She's about to start filling the pot when Reid calls out for her and she quickly rushes into the other room, trying not to look around his room - because they're profilers and she can't just shut that part of herself off and she doesn't want to invade his privacy more than she already has - and knocks on the bathroom door he's behind. "Reid? Are you okay?"

"Can you help?" He sounds tired and her heart breaks for him, knowing that physically being dosed with anthrax had to be rough but for him he's got too many facts about anthrax to have relaxed for even a second. He'd know the exact symptoms he could have, the pain he'd be in, and more things she's pretty sure she wouldn't understand even after he'd explained them to her.

He would've worked himself into a constant state of high anxiety.

She slowly pushes the door open to give him time to change his mind but instead of a protest she finds him sat on the toilet seat with the top two buttons of his shirt undone and his hands in his lap.

"I can't." He tells her, not needing to say more before she's across the bathroom and starting the water. "I wanted a shower."

"You're getting a bath. You can barely stand, you'd never make it through a full shower." He decides she's probably right and nods his agreement, letting her work on the buttons on his shirt that seemed to much for him. "After a real meal and a good nights sleep you'll probably be up for a shower, but this is our best solution for now." She has him stripped of his shirt fairly fast and she motions to his pants. "Do you want me to help?"

She thinks if he blushes any harder his face might actually explode. "Please?"

In seconds she's got him holding onto the counter and she averts her eyes while her arms wrap around his waist and her fingers pop the button on her pants. She tugs them down - making absolutely sure his boxers don't come with them because she's not sure he'd survive this if she'd seen him bare ass naked. "Thanks." He says softly when she's helped him step out of the pants, some of his blush fading when she fixes him with a two-dimpled-smile.

She likes being helpful.

"You're welcome! If you need anything - and I mean anything - just shout. Okay?" He nods and then she's out the door and he hears her moving around in the kitchen.

He'd been initially hesitant about her being in his apartment but she's made herself right at home and given his current state he's thankful she'd pushed in.

A half hour later they're on his couch eating pizza - she'd told him pizza sounded better than noodles and that if he needed her again she'd have to leave her station in the kitchen so ordering in made more sense - when he finally asks her about Hotch.

"Does he make you happy? Hotch I mean, does he make you happy?"

Emily grins around her mouthful of pepperoni and cheese and wipes her mouth, swallowing before she answers. "Yeah, he does. Why do you ask?"

His eyes move to her before moving back to his own pizza, swallowing his own bite before he answers. "You're a good person, you deserve to be happy. One in seven women have been injured by an intimate partner and-"

"Hey, Reid no. I know it's easy to go to that place doing the job we do, but he'd never lay a hand on me." She reassures him, knowing that his childhood wasn't exactly picture perfect. He knows sometimes things aren't exactly as they seem, it's easy to think there's more going on behind the curtain that you can't see.

"You'd tell me if he did?"

She smiles and bumps her shoulder against his. "Of course. Besides, if he even thought about it he'd be dead before you or Morgan could get there."

His lips twitch and he takes another bite of pizza. "Don't we know it."

An hour - and an episode of Star Trek - later Emily is resting with her back against Reid's headboard, his head in her lap while she reads. She's not particularly tired and she wants to keep an eye on her coworker for any signs of something being wrong but he's exhausted and needs all the sleep he can get.

One hand rests in his hair, her fingers gently toying with his surprisingly soft brown locks and the other hand holds a book she'd snagged from one of the stacks in the living room that's in French and she's only a few pages in and already knows she needs to find her own copy.

"Emily."

"Yes?" She asks softly, eyes moving down to Reid even though he's gazing off toward the wall across from them.

"Do you think I'll find what you have with Hotch?"

Her chest aches for him, knowing that must be a very real fear for him. "Oh, Spencer, I know you will."

"How can you be sure?"

She smiles and rolls her eyes, wondering if she'll regret this admission. "Because when I first met you I looked up the fraternization rules for agents on the same team."

His head whips around and his eyes are wide on her, spotting the blush on her cheeks that tells him she's not lying. "You what?"

She shrugs and the book rests in her lap. "I wasn't kidding when I told Morgan I'd be with you before I'd be with him. We've got chemistry, don't we?"

They have a lot in common, taste in music and in reading choices and in their favorite movies and she's the only person on the team who indulges his rambling. She's also one of the only people he knows that can sometimes get a grasp on what he's talking about and they've had several conversations about things she wants to learn about that he can share with her.

So yes, he decides, they have chemistry.

This time it's his turn to blush and he nods. "Well, yes I suppose we do."

"Exactly. Sure, it would be nice if you were older so I wouldn't get called a cradle robber, but other than that I think we'd be rather good together."

"Hotch." He says with a smile.

Her own lips twitch. "Yes, he would probably have something to say about our dating I think you're right." She shrugs and he lays back down, letting her fingers take up their previous place in his hair. "But I know you'll find someone Reid, I think you're more desirable than you think you are."

That seems to settle some of his worries, his shoulders relaxing into the bed and his eyes drooping with the effort to sleep before he finally gives in.

She picks her book back up and starts reading again, but she makes a mental note to shut down any teasing from Morgan about Reid's love life.

Chapter Text

Emily stares at the file on her desk at a little after two in the morning, motionless with a pen between her fingers much like the other members of the BAU who stare down similarly at their own reports with nothing else to add, wishing the events of their latest case could be scrubbed from their memories.

89 victims.

89 sons and daughters.

89 brothers or sisters.

89 innocent people.

89 people.

People.

That's what she can't stop thinking about. That all of their victims were people. People you'd see every day, people you'd ignore while you walk past, people with names and families who missed them, people who ate and drank and breathed air and went about their lives.

All of them dead.

She jumps when Hotch brushes his fingers over hers, taking the pen from between her digits and laying it on the desk. "Hey, you're still here."

"Yeah we wanted to finish the reports bef-" Emily stops speaking, realizing Reid and Morgan have let and the lights in J.J. and Rossi's offices are off. They'd left and she hadn't even noticed, had been to wrapped up in her thoughts and the memories of the past case to pay much attention to the office around her. Not that she's particularly surprised, this case had been a shit show from start to finish and she's glad it's over.

"Rossi and Morgan headed out about a half hour ago, J.J. and Penelope a while before that, Reid 15 minutes before them." He answers her unspoken question, nodding at the file she's working on. "Finished?"

She nods and closes the report, handing it to him and waiting for him to lock it in his briefcase before she starts gathering her things. "God, I'm glad this one is over."

"Me too." He rubs a hand over his face and she sees the lines that have settled in over the past couple days, the exhaustion on his features and the bags under his eyes and she wishes he'd be easier on himself. He hadn't slept a wink in the time they'd been in Canada while the rest of them had at least made sure to get a half hour here and there when they got the chance.

"You feeling okay?"

"I'm just happy I don't have to worry about it anymore, happy I don't have to worry about you either."

"Me?"

"Yes. I tried to keep you away from the house, I didn't want you to have to spend more time there than you had to. Morgan going out on the search with you put me at ease, if anything happened he'd make sure you stayed safe." He knows he's said the wrong thing when her shoulders roll back and she crosses her arms over her chest, but his brain is fried and he can't quite figure out what he's said wrong.

"So you think I can't take care of myself?"

"What? No that's not what I said I-"

"But it's what you meant. You kept me away from the house, and come to think of it I was either on assignment with you or out searching with Morgan. You think I need protection from a job I'm more than capable of doing."

"Emily-"

"I'm not a porcelain doll Hotch, I don't need protection! I'm fine!"

"You held a gun to my head and you're going to tell me you don't need protecting?" Hotch hisses out, the exhaustion and the fear and the disgust from the last few days finally bubbling over. "That you're fine? You can handle it all on your own, huh? Right, because you've done such a good job of that so far."

The silence in the bullpen is deafening, the two of them standing at her desk with equally surprised expressions on their faces.

"Well then, I guess I know what you really think of me now." She grabs her bag from the floor and hauls it over her shoulder.

"Em, I'm sorry I didn't mean that."

"No, you did." She shuts off her computer and shoves her phone in her pocket." Ya know what, you gave us the weekend off, I'll see you on Monday I'll spend the weekend at my apartment. I think we could both use the space."

He knows he's not going to convince her to stay with him, that even though all he wants right now is her wrapped up in his arms safe the from the world the only thing his saying that would do is make her more angry. So he sighs and watches her walk toward the glass doors. "Text me when you get home, please?"

"Yeah." She responds, not bothering to look back.

A half hour later Emily throws herself onto her bed, pants off and shirt half unbuttoned but she can't find the energy to do much more than that. She pulls out her phone and sends a quick message to her boyfriend, letting him knows she's arrived home safely.

She tosses the phone to the nightstand and pushes herself off the bed because nobody else is going to change her clothes for her no matter how much she could use the extra help right now.

She throws her shirt in the hamper and pulls on an old shirt she bought at a concert and a pair of silk shorts, sliding back into bed and checking her messages. Her brows furrow at the lack of response from Hotch. He always responds that he's made it home safely as well but the message is left on read and no response comes through.

But he's at least read the message and she's sure he's just as angry at her as she is at him.

Well, as angry as she was. She's not nearly as mad as she was before, knowing that much of her response was due to her own lack of sleep and the horrors of their previous case. But it appears her response has infuriated him in turn so she shuts off her phone and decides she'll drive by his home later in the day with apology doughnuts and coffee and a pair of lacy underwear he can pull off with his teeth.

Something to brighten up his Saturday morning.

~~~~~~~~~~

Emily isn't that worried at first when she shows up to the crime scene the next morning on less than four hours of sleep and he's not there. He'd worked harder than anyone on the last case and she's sure he's exhausted. She assumes he's slept through the vibrations on his phone even though something in the back of her mind reminds her that he never turns the sound on his phone off for exactly this reason.

But sleeping in for the first time in the almost three years she's been on the team isn't a crime and this would be the time to do it, following such a horrendous case that's sure to give them all a nightmare or two.

When another hours passes the voice in the back of her head starts getting a little louder, reminding her that not only has Hotch not shown up for work but he hadn't answered her text from that morning either. The read at 3:02am stares up at her from her phone and it makes her shift in her seat uncomfortably.

He never goes this long without letting someone know what he's up to.

Finding out that Garcia hasn't heard from him either worries her because if nothing else Hotch's internal clock should've woken him from even the deepest of slumbers.

It drives her crazy, his constantly bugging her to get up so they can spend time together. Usually that first hour is spent with her laying on him or sitting on his lap bundled up in a blanket with a pair of strong arms settled around her while she sleepily debates with him about what they want to spend their day doing.

So she knows something is seriously wrong, that maybe he's sick or maybe something is wrong with Jack and he'd rushed off to his son and had forgotten to inform Strauss or a member of their team.

But when Haley answers that she hasn't heard from Hotch either she decides enough is enough and makes an excuse to Reid about how Hotch can be their extra set of eyes, how he could be helpful in finding their UNSUB and keeping a 15 year old boy safe. It's not a lie, but it's not the only reason she wants to make the half hour journey to his house either.

Emily walks purposefully to his front door, knocking and shouting through the wood.

"Hotch, it's me - Emily!" She knows she's probably the last person he wants to see, that she'd probably pissed him off that morning and he's fuming and he'll probably send her away or at least tell her he'll take his own car so they don't have to travel together but at this point seeing him - even angry and avoiding her - would be better than not seeing him at all.

He doesn't answer her shout though and she rolls her eyes while she pulls out her phone, hitting the first number on her speed dial and her stomach drops when she hears the responding ring coming from inside the house. It's faint and she can barely hear it but it's enough and she decides an invasion of privacy is worth more irritation from her superior because her concern is overwhelming.

And when she turns the doorknob and finds it unlocked she immediately pulls out her weapon.

She's spent more nights here in the past weeks than her own apartment and one thing she knows is that Hotch never leaves his front door unlocked.

Ever.

When she pushes through the door with her gun raised a few things initially catch her eye.

His keys on the entry way table, his briefcase on the couch, and then the bullet hole in the wall.

She sees his gun on the dining room table and the glass on the floor.

And then she sees the blood.

The next hour goes by in a blur. She makes frantic notes on her notepad, moving around the techs from the crime lab and she vaguely remembers calling Garcia and Reid but she can't quite remember what she'd said.

It doesn't really matter though, she decides, because finding Hotch is the only thing she can allow herself to focus on. Everything else and everyone else is unimportant as she flips through his daily planner, finding the B section in his address book missing although she can't quite figure out the significance of such an item. She's not even sure it's significant at all until the call comes in about a John Doe matching Hotch's description dropped off by an Agent Derek Morgan and then she's sure.

The Reaper.

~~~~~~~~~~

Saint Sebastian's Hospital seems to be stuck in a kind of time warp. Things around Emily move too quickly and almost imperceptibly at the same time, the words about nine stab wounds and no major arteries being hit and Hotch's being lucky to be alive sound foreign and painful as the news travels to her ears.

She knows she should be calling someone, Haley or Garcia or Reid but she can't find the importance in it. Nothing else outside of the hospital matters in that moment, it all fades into the background while she pulls up a chair and holds his limp hand in her own with a grip she hopes can tether him to the world. She focuses intently on dark lashes, hoping that at any moment they'll flutter away from his cheeks and she'll see a beautiful shade of brown that's honey in the daylight and chocolate in the evening.

She needs to hear his voice, even as scratchy and weak as she know it'll be after surgery. She needs to see him awake, needs to feel him move and to hear him speak because she's on the edge of a very steep cliff and she's not sure how much longer she can stand there without a strong breeze pushing her over the edge.

And then that strong breeze comes from a phone call, hearing Reid on the other end and a gunshot and screaming that she can't quite make out. She knows she's called the police and given them the address but beyond that she can't remember much, her brain blocking out the things that are sending her spiraling toward an endless abyss that she's fallen into.

Because all she can think is that they can't lose them both, that the team can't survive losing Hotch and Reid, that they're bound to fall apart and that she's not sure she'll ever be able to breathe another single breath of air without them.

But she knows now isn't the time to break down, that she's got bigger things to worry about than what ifs and potential dangers because Hotch needs her now more than he's ever needed her before.

She walks back into his room, taking the seat beside his bed and pulling it even closer than she'd been before. Her knees press against the side of the bed and when she takes his hand in her own it's warm, his wrist wrapped in gauze and his fingers bruised probably from a swift punch to Foyet's face. She knows she'll have to keep on him about that, she knows she'll have to care for his less severe injuries because he'll pretend they're unimportant because he's got nine stab wounds to worry about and bruise knuckles aren't going to kill him.

But she knows that his swollen fingers will ache when he grabs a glass of water and holds a fork in his hand so she tells herself to ignore whatever irritated comments he makes because he needs some looking after, even if he won't admit it.

"I really need you to wake up." She husks out, ignoring the nurse who's checking his vitals and replacing an IV bag of lord knows what on the other side of the bed. She brushes her fingers against his face, blinking away the only tears she's let well up from her eyes. "I need you to wake up, Aaron. I'm not so sure any of us could survive without you, but I need you to wake up for me."

The nurse gives her a sympathetic look, getting the idea that the dark haired agent isn't just a colleague.

But before she can make a reassuring comment about his life being relatively safe more agents show up and Emily rushes to them, giving them the facts she knows.

"He still isn't conscious yet."

"You're sure it was Foyet?"

"He had Morgan's credentials."

"Did they catch him on the security cam?"

"You could see him dropping Hotch off, but the camera's only on the entrance so I have no idea what direction he went once he left the hospital."

"It doesn't make sense for him to have brought Hotch to the ER."

"We know Foyet gets off on power and control. Maybe what he wants is for Hotch to know his life was in his hands." Emily hates Rossi for saying it, for standing here and figuring out motives when Hotch is 15 feet away barely alive.

She hates that he's right, and she hates that this is going to eat Hotch alive.

"He could do that without risking the hospital."

"Stop!" Emily interjects, lowering her voice and motioning to the room where their boss is sleeping. "Maybe focus on Hotch instead of the man who put him there for five fucking minutes. You haven't even asked if he's okay, you haven't even seen him and you-"

"Agents, he's waking up. Remember, he's weak. Don't push him." The interruption is welcome, Morgan and Rossi looking like puppies she's just kicked because whether or not they're right to be focusing on Foyet they're not right in doing it in front of a family member.

Because like it or not, that's what Emily is right now.

She's not an agent, she's a girlfriend, and it's evident in the way she rushes back into the room and smiles down at Hotch, running her fingers through his hair while he slowly blinks his eyes open.

"Hey, you're awake."

When Hotch opens his eyes he's grateful to see Emily, some of his anxiety from an unknown origin slipping away knowing that she's safe.

The thought strikes him as unusual.

Why wouldn't she be safe?

"Where am I?" His throat burns when he speaks and when he hears his voice it's scratchy and weak and he hates the way it sounds coming out of his mouth.

"You're in the hospital."

And then he remembers.

Foyet.

He's more grateful than ever that Emily is safe, that she's alive and well and standing right next to him and that he can reach out and touch her and when he does she grasps his hand firmly in hers and he thinks it might be the only thing on the planet to make him feel better.

"How did I get here?"

"Foyet drove you."

"Can you remember what happened?"

He closes his eyes, the image of Foyet in his home behind his lids and he can still hear his voice ringing in his ears.

You should've made a deal.

"What did he take?" He doesn't answer Emily's question, knowing right now all he wants to do is put the son of a bitch in prison or in the ground and he doesn't care which.

He can worry about the memories later.

"What do you mean?"

"The Reaper always takes something from his victims. Do we know what he took?"

"There was a page missing from your day planner, in the address section, the Bs."

"What did he leave?"

She shakes her head, having inspected every inch of the home and come up empty. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" He bites out, hating the way the anger tastes on his tongue. He's angry, but not at her, and he closes his eyes to keep from seeing the hurt look on her face he knows is there. "He also leaves something with his victims."

"I looked over your whole house, nothing felt out of place."

"Where are my clothes?" He asks, his first instinct to tell her that she hadn't looked hard enough and that she of all people should've figured it out. But he doesn't, he knows it won't do any good.

She brings the bag over, pulling out a bloodied shirt that she holds between two fingers and drops quickly like it's covered in acid and she's afraid to get burnt.

He wants to tell her he's okay, that he's alive and he's not going anywhere.

But then he sees the photo from his wallet, Haley's face smeared with his own blood and Jack smiling up at the camera next to her and suddenly their lives are the only thing he can think about.

"Haley's maiden name is Brooks."

Ten minutes later it's him and Emily, the rest of the team rushing toward his previous residence where Haley and Jack still live.

"How did you find me?" He husks out, his voice still weak and rough and she licks her lips before she answers.

It gives her just enough time to come up with a decent lie.

"When you didn't show up and didn't answer calls or my text from last night I had an officer sent to your house. When he called it in I had Garcia call hospitals in the area for anyone fitting your description." She doesn't tell him she's the one that went to his house, that found the blood and the bullet hole.

"I wasn't angry." He tells her, already fighting sleep because he knows once he starts sleeping the nightmares will come.

She nods her understanding, holding his hand in her own. "I know, it's okay. You're alive, that's all that matters."

"You'll stay with me?" He asks, his lids already falling shut and he barely makes out her 'always' before he lets sleep take him.

~~~~~~~~~~

"You said nothing at the house looked out of place, you went there."

Emily nods, quick on her feet after years of undercover work. "The techs sent photos of every damn inch of the house, when I noticed nothing was missing I drove over and looked for myself."

He hums, nodding at her explanation because he has no reason to doubt it. "Good, I wouldn't have wanted you to be the one to find, that." He trails off, not knowing exactly how to say 'the giant blood stain on the floor and the hole in the wall because I don't want both us of to be gripped by fear the way I am right now' and she seems to understand and doesn't push him on it.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She questions gently, wanting him to know that he doesn't have to answer if he doesn't want to. They're similar in that way, both needing to let it out in their own time. Pushing - even from people that love them - only makes them clam up until they physically can't open their mouths to share what they're thinking.

She won't force him into that position.

"I don't know, after he stabbed me the first time it all goes blank."

A lie.

A massive lie.

A massive steaming pile of dog shit lie.

But he can't tell her the truth, can't scare her just because he's afraid. He won't do that, won't force her into the same paralyzing terror that has a hold on him because she's done nothing to deserve it.

Because she doesn't need to know.

And thankfully before he has to elaborate and before she can ask anything else Haley arrives. There's a silent understanding between the women, something he hasn't quite figured out but finds himself grateful for nonetheless because they all know what happens next and that's between himself and Haley.

Emily doesn't need to be caught in the crossfire and Haley deserves the space to speak freely.

Haley grabs Emily's hand as she passes, squeezes and Emily he thinks squeezes back and gives the blonde a small smile and then she's gone. He tries to shove down the fear he feels when she's no longer in sight, tries to focus on Haley because he knows this is the last time he'll see her for a while.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He husks out, waiting for the impending argument and accusations.

But they don't come.

"Do not apologize, there's nothing to forgive." She tells him, tears filling her eyes and then his because they both know what comes next is going to hurt more than just the two of them. "This is not your fault, I'm just glad you're okay." She takes Emily's place beside the bed and holds his hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it because it doesn't matter how painful their separation was or that he'd cheated or that she's going into hiding because of a man who's targeting their family because of his job.

They'd been married, they'd been in love and had a baby together and the most important thing in this moment is that he's alive.

"I'll catch him Haley, I will. I promise I'll catch him and I'll spend every moment of the rest of my life making this up to you."

She shakes her head and grips his hand in hers. "I know, but we don't have to talk about that. I need you to promise me something else."

"Anything."

"You need to let people in, you need to let Emily in. I know you'll think it's best to keep her away but it's not. If you try to go at this alone it will kill you, and that I won't be able to forgive. Do you understand?" She fixes him with a look that tells him she's serious, that right now - maybe not later when she's likely in another state with their son and nobody to support her - all that matters to her is that he's safe and he's looking after himself.

"I do."

She gives him a small grin and pats his hand. "Good, then let's get Jack in here. You need a proper goodbye before we leave."

He doesn't think any phrase has ever caused him more pain.

~~~~~~~~~~

A half hour later Emily wanders back toward the room where Hotch is laying. She's told the rest of the team about her lie, about not having gone to the house before they'd known the extent of the situation. She doesn't want to worry him, she knows he'd watch over her wondering when she'd snap and she's decided that right now he's got more important things to worry about. She knows he has more important things to worry about, having just said a short goodbye and good luck to Haley and Jack herself.

She's not surprised at what she finds although she thinks the rest of the team might be. She's not surprised by the way his bottom lip quivers or the way his eyes flit around the room because the tears are coming and he doesn't want her to know how much this is hurting him.

But she knows, of course she knows.

When she's close enough to touch him he breaks down, the first sob coming out more of a gasp because he's been holding in his fear and his sadness since he's woken up and saying goodbye to his son is the straw that's broken the camels back.

She climbs onto the bed next to him, knowing it's breaking protocol and not caring because he's destroyed and she can't bear to see him like this and not offer some form of comfort.

She's not sure how long they're like that, not sure how long he cries before the nurse comes in and asks if he'd like something to calm him down and they both nod the affirmative.

But eventually his sobs that fill the room die down to soft sniffles and silently shed tears and when he speaks she's sure she's heard him wrong.

"What?" She asks, encouraging him to repeat himself.

"Marry me." He says, a statement rather than a question because they both know she's open to the idea.

Or at least she would be any other day, but she won't say yes now.

"Aaron, honey, I think the meds are working their magic."

"I mean it." He tells her, looking up at her and meeting her eyes with a look that would be more serious if it wasn't for the slightly loopy smile on his face that lets her knows he's a little out of it. "I love you, I want to spend my life with you."

She smiles and fights the urge to accept, fights the urge to throw her arms around him and tell him there's plenty of people who could marry them today if he wants because she knows he's not thinking completely straight and she wants them both to be on the same page before she says yes.

"Ask me again when you're a little less high."

He nods seriously, lips set in a firm line. "I will, and I won't take no for an answer."

She smiles and rests her chin on his head, knowing that by the time she answers he's already asleep.

"I wouldn't say no anyway."

Chapter Text

Ladybugs.

Startlingly red, but they're spotted black and the red is too reflective.

Honeycrisp apples.

That's closer maybe, but not close enough. The vibrant red is interrupted by steaks of yellow and bruises of brown.

Poppy flowers in full bloom.

That's not quite close enough, the softness of the petals almost offensively in opposition to the harshness of the color she's thinking of.

Nothing is quite the color of blood, deep red and absorbed into the carpet and dried flecks of brown resting atop the fibers that stick out further from the floor.

She hates the way it looks against the grey almost blue toned carpet, hates the way it clings to the threads and hates the way it smells when she drenches it in soapy water and starts scrubbing.

It's the least she can do, since this is all her fault.

It's her fault, it's her fault Hotch is littered with stab wounds and stiches. It's her fault Haley and Jack are in WITSEC because it's her fault Foyet is still alive.

She should've gone home with Hotch, she should've walked in behind him and then Foyet would've had to take both of them out and while she believes him capable of a lot of things she doesn't think he could've done that. The second he'd have raised the gun at her Hotch would've made his move and she'd have done the same thing if the roles had been reversed.

She's pretty sure they could've taken care of this whole mess in one night, could've ended the reign of terror Foyet brings with him wherever he goes.

Now though they're no closer to catching him, Hotch can barely function on his own, Haley and Jack are in WITSEC, and the team is on high alert for a man she's not sure they can find.

Not that she'll say that to Hotch.

He needs to believe he'll see his son again.

So she does what she can, cleaning up the glass from the glass Hotch had thrown and the hole in the wall is repaired and smells of freshly applied paint and she's down on her hands and knees on the dining room floor with a bristled brush and a bucket of water quickly turned red and she scrubs.

She thinks about what it must've been like, what he must've been thinking about while Foyet towered over him with a knife in hand and repeatedly sunk the blade into his chest.

Maybe he thought about Jack, wondering if he'd ever see his son again. Maybe he'd thought of his laugh and the dimple in his cheek that reminds Emily so much of his father. Maybe he'd thought of Haley, wondering if he'd just listened and taken the job in another unit they'd be happy together living a normal life with normal hours and without the threat of a serial killer targeting their family.

Maybe he'd thought of their team, wondering if he was the only target or if they'd all be on the list of agents that would be found murdered in their homes. Morgan would leave behind a mother and his sisters, J.J. a boyfriend and a son who'd grow up wondering what his own mother was like because he's far too young to make memories of her yet.

And maybe he'd thought of her, of the life they're planning together. Maybe he'd thought about all the things they'd never have together, a marriage and children and a house that they'd share.

A long list of possibilities that he'd never get to experience.

She doesn't hear anyone come in the front door, the sound of her own choked sobs and the scratch of the brush on the carpet dulling out the sound of keys and footsteps heading her way.

She doesn't see him either, her eyes clouded with tears that fall to the floor and further dampen the dark red stain that just WON'T! COME! OUT!

She keeps scrubbing, feeling her freshly grown nails breaking with how hard she's pressing the brush into the carpet and the nails still intact are stained red with the blood she's managed to pull from the fibers.

"Stop, Emily." Rossi says gently when he lays his hands over hers, gently pulling them from the brush and the stain on the floor. He'd given her a few minutes to notice his presence in the room with her but when her scrubbing became more frantic and the tears only fell harder he'd stepped in, unable to watch her suffer without doing something to ease her pain.

He isn't sure exactly what to say but he lowers himself to the ground beside her when it's clear she's not moving.

"I have to get it out, he can't come home to this." She rasps out, moving for the brush again but he smacks her hand away before she can reach it.

"The carpet is done for, I have a flooring company coming in a half hour to replace the whole thing."

"You do?" Her eyes are moist when they land on him, some of the tension in her muscles fading away because she was close to cutting the carpet out herself and she's not sure that would've put Hotch more at ease than the blood stain would've.

"Yeah." He glances at the red mark on the floor. "I think that's pretty much toast, don't you?"

~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours later Rossi and Emily stand staring at the new hardwood dining room floor, glasses of red wine in their hands. "Well, I think it looks good."

Emily nods her agreement and swallows the mouthful of wine. "I agree. Besides, if he gets stabbed again it'll come out of wood better than it'll come out of carpet."

Rossi's brows furrow in concern and he bumps his shoulder against hers. "You okay? You don't seem like yourself."

She lets out a heavy sigh and stares down into her glass, swirling the red liquid around and wishing she could stop seeing flashes of blood behind her eyes every time they shut. "It's my fault."

"Your fault?"

"That Hotch got attacked."

Rossi takes a step back, eyes wide. "Oh my God, George is that you?" He feels around her jaw up to her ears for a mask and his eyes move up and down her body. "I must say, you make a very attractive woman."

"Rossi I'm serious." She returns despite the twitch of her lips, the frown resettling when he takes the glass from her hands and leads her to the couch where they sit side by side.

"Why is it your fault?"

"We fought. He was tired and said something that came out the wrong way and I snapped at him and I went to my apartment."

"It's your fault because you have an apartment that you occasionally enjoy inhabiting?"

She rolls her eyes at the way he keeps turning this around on her. "It's my fault because I should've been with him. If I was we could've stopped Foyet once and for all, his son would still be here and Hotch wouldn't be in the hospital."

"Or he could've put a bullet between your eyes just to make Aaron suffer." She flinches at the imagery. "Exactly, and how do you think he would've taken that? Do you think he'd ever forgive himself if you died because of a relationship you had with him? Do you think he'd ever smile again? Do you think he'd laugh, hell do you think he'd ever get out of bed for anything short of Jack?"

She shakes her head slowly, staring down at her almost empty glass. "No, probably not."

"Right. So, before you go blaming yourself for his being hurt, think about what would've happened to him had things gone wrong while you were here."

"Rossi, what if we don't find him?"

He pats her hand with his own, a small smile on his face. "Funny, I've never met a Prentiss who didn't get exactly what she sought out to find. Something tells me this won't be any different."

Chapter Text

The first week Hotch is home is pretty uneventful. He's out of it, drinking water and Gatorade and broth and eating soft food like mashed potatoes and jello and various soups he hates but manages to choke down because not much else settles well in his stomach and he's more afraid of throwing up in his condition than he is of a soup that doesn't taste particularly good.

He moves from his bed to the toilet to the bed again in a cycle, Emily occasionally taking the time he's in the bathroom to give him a once-over with a soapy washcloth to keep him from getting too sweaty and smelly because he hates feeling unclean but he's not allowed to get his stitches wet yet and she's following the doctor's order to a T.

Most of the time though he's in a pain-killer induced sleep and for that Emily is thankful.

The deep slumber the pills bring on resembles sedation, he barely moves and when he wakes he's groggy and doesn't recall dreaming about anything and for that they're both grateful.

They know once he weans himself from the medicine the nightmares will begin and then his sleep will be less than restful.

Emily barely sleeps the first week. She spends the time when Hotch is awake to cook him his soup and help him to the bathroom and to clean the crevices of his body. She helps him back to the bed and she watches over him, dolling out the correct dosage of every medication at the exact same time every day. When he sleeps she uses that time to clean the house, to do the little amount of laundry they've produced because really they've not worn anything except pajamas and sweats in the seven days he's been home so the chores are minimal.

She cleans the dishes and she sweeps the floors and she takes a quick shower that lasts less than 10 minutes because the last thing she wants is for Hotch to need her and she not be able to hear him over the sound of running water even though she keeps the pressure low and leaves the door open and peeks her head around the corner every other minute to ensure he's still asleep.

And when none of those things are happening she keeps her gun at her side and her finger on the trigger and watches over him.

Sometimes members of the team come by so that she can sleep, all of them offering time and time again to take shifts with their boss so she can get some rest but she always turns them down.

He doesn't trust them with his vulnerability in his wounded state and she can't sleep long enough to feel well-rested anyway.

Emily doesn't sleep much the first week, and she thinks later on that that might be why week two turns out so horribly.

First Hotch wakes up clearly on the wrong side of the bed. She sees him shifting around and immediately moves to his side, pushing the blankets back and reaching out to help him from the bed to the toilet and she almost flinches at the way he glares at her.

"I can do it."

"If you'll just let m-"

"I said, I can do it."

She's not really sure what his problem is but he seems to think it's worth fighting over so she gives him a small nod and takes a step back, following a few feet behind him so she can catch him if he falls.

But he doesn't fall and when he's a few feet into the bathroom he shuts the door in her face, not even sparing a glance or letting her know he's okay before they're separated by the wood. She'd normally make a comment about his attitude and how if he wants to be a dick he could at least put his to good use and fuck her brains out while he's mean to her because they both know she's into that.

But she keeps her mouth shut and she waits outside the bathroom door, listening for any sounds of distress or pleas for help should he need further assistance.

Hotch remains silent though and a few minutes later he reappears and shakes her off just as he had before, settling himself back into bed and grabbing the remote from the nightstand.

"What are we watching?" She asks softly and crawls up her side of the bed, moving to make herself comfortable.

"I think I'd like to watch it on my own actually."

"Oh." Emily answers softly, waiting for him to offer an explanation.

He shrugs casually and turns the volume up on a show he knows she hates. "We've spent a lot of time together recently, no reason we have to spend every waking moment together."

Emily - after a brief moment of stunned silence - nods slowly, gently pushing the blankets off her legs instead of tossing them off and storming downstairs so he doesn't know how much his words have effected her. "No, you're right, of course you're right. Well, I'll just be downstairs if you need me."

"Okay." He answers bluntly, tilting his head to see the television around where she stands at the foot of the bed.

She keeps the wounded expression from her face and leaves the bedroom, shutting the door softly behind herself and heading downstairs.

She tells herself it's fine, that he's been through one hell of an ordeal and his world is essentially crumbling around him and he's entitled to some strong feelings and if she has to be the outlet for those feelings she can take it.

She tells herself one bad day isn't going to kill her.

But then one bad day turns into a bad week.

it starts with dinner, Emily moving around the kitchen in peace before he comes downstairs with great difficulty and starts taking over.

"I can make my own pasta Emily."

"You're not supposed to be lifting-"

"Lifting a pot of pasta? Really?"

"Please just let m-"

"Back off!" He shouts, slamming a hand down on the counter and ignoring the way she flinches and takes a step back.

Dinner is painfully silent, Hotch shoveling food into his mouth to keep from breaking down and apologizing and Emily barely touching her food because her stomach is in knots and she's not sure anything heavier than a clear broth would end well.

Most of the week is the same, snappy comments thrown her way and an occasional glare that she swears pierces her skin but she refuses to be turned away.

And then it's the shower.

His first shower.

He's supposed to be taking it easy and the doctor had recommended letting someone else wash his hair so he wouldn't have to lift his arms above his head.

Aaron fucking Hotchner though decides he's more than capable of washing his own hair, doctor's orders be damned.

"You shouldn't be doing this on your own." She protests, grabbing the bathroom door before he can shut it in her face a second time.

"I don't care."

"Well one of us has to look out for your physical health and since that's clearly not you it has to be me."

"I can look after myself, Emily." He bites back, gently pulling off his shirt and keeping his back to her so she doesn't have to see the scars littering his torso.

"Obviously that's false or we wouldn't be having this conversation." The answer is immediate and she flings off her own shirt so she can get in the shower with him, fully intent on helping him because she doesn't particularly care what he wants, the doctor has given clear instructions on what he needs.

"I don't recall asking for your help."

"I don't recall caring."

"Emily get out!"

"Once I've washed your hair you can do whatever you damn well please, but this is non-negotiable."

"God you're just like your fucking mother, always pushing in where you aren't welcome."

Well, Emily thinks while she bites her lip to keep from shouting something spiteful in return, that was unnecessary and a little hurtful.

"Then I guess it's a good thing even I can admit she's right more often than not." She ties her hair up on top of her head and turns on the showerhead, checking the temperature and watching him carefully bend down to push off his sweatpants.

"Can't you go find someone else to bother? Someone who actually wants your help?"

"Aaron-"

"I don't want you here!" He shouts at her, taking a step toward the shower.

"Aaron-" She lays a hand on his side to help him over the step into the shower and suddenly he's back in his dining room on the floor with Foyet kneeling over him and instinct takes over.

"Get the fuck away from me!" He spins quickly, shoving her away from himself as hard as he can and his eyes widen in horror at his own actions when she hits the floor with a pained gasp.

They stare at each other, her up from the floor and him down at her, in stunned silence. Neither of them can quite believe he's taken things so far, he's never laid a hand on her and he'd never intended to do so and suddenly he can't quite figure out his reasoning behind keeping her at arms length.

Not when all she's done is take care of him.

"Em-"

"Get in the shower, I'm not asking anymore." Her voice is dangerously low and she calmly stands up and pushes her pants off her hips, gently helping him into the shower and this time he can't argue.

Not now.

She makes quick work of his hair, making sure to look for any signs that the shower is taking more energy than he has while she massages shampoo into his scalp and a few inches of hair. She's happy when some of the tension leaves his muscles, but she sees the emotional turmoil that clouds his features and knows he's trying to come up with a sufficient apology.

But whatever he comes up with she's not ready to hear, instead she grabs the shower head and rinses his hair and steps out from behind the glass.

"Where are you going?"

"I just wanted to wash your hair, shout if you need something else." She tells him, not sparing a glance while she rushes out of the room with a towel wrapped around her body. She leaves the door cracked open just in case he needs help getting back out but she doesn't bother looking back, knowing that nothing he can say or do will make her feel better.

He doesn't seem to understand that Foyet has wrecked more than just his life, that they're all on unsteady ground and they're all struggling to find stability again.

When Hotch exists the shower another 20 minutes later he carefully pulls on the pants and button-up pajama shirt Emily had left folded for him on the counter. It's something easy to take on and off and it doesn't require him to move his arms high enough to tug at his stiches and for that he's grateful. He didn't know taking a shower would aggravate his wounds as much as it has and he realizes that - not for the first time - Emily had known exactly what he needed before even he had.

So he steps out of the bathroom determined to make things right, only to find Rossi sitting at the window where he and Emily frequently curl up together after long cases or in early mornings where they can watch the sun come up.

"Where's Emily?"

"Gone."

"Gone?"

"What the hell did you think would happen, she'd stick around for you to hit her a second time?"

"I didn't hit her, I pushed her and she fell. Did she tell you?"

Rossi's lips twitch and he shakes his head. "No, you just did. She wouldn't say a word, but something was obviously wrong and you're an easier nut to crack than she is." He motions to the bed and Hotch takes his place again, sighing when he finally relaxes into the mattress and some of the pressure is taken off his still recovering muscles. "So, tell me, Aaron. What the hell is wrong with you?"

~~~~~~~~~~

"What the fuck?"

"Asshole!"

"Dick swab!"

Emily's lips twitch at that one and suddenly she and the two women around her can't hold it together anymore and Emily thinks it's the first time she's smiled a real smile in the last two weeks. "Really, Penelope? Dick swab?"

"Nobody pushes you, Sunshine, not even G-Man Senior."

"He didn't mean it." Emily tells her, shaking her head at the insinuation that Hotch is violent.

"Honey, that's what they all say."

"No, it's not like that." Emily defends seriously, rolling her eyes at the mere thought of Hotch taking his anger out on her. Sure, that's what he's doing now but she doesn't think he means it.

At least she hopes he doesn't.

But she knows he's never done more than raise his voice at her. He's the man who's stripped her bed and washed the urine from her skin after nightmares that brought her to tears, the man who'd put up with her long-winded rambling and still engaged with it even though her thought processes were frequently non-sensical and difficult to follow, the man who'd kissed her from head to toe when she didn't like what she saw in the mirror and the man who'd proposed to her with a loopy smile and his hand resting over her heart just to make sure it was still beating.

So no, she doesn't blame him.

"Well, do you want to stay the night?" J.J. asks, more than willing to offer her guestroom to her friends who have shared the queen sized bed after nights of drinking and dancing more than a few times.

Emily shakes her head and accepts another tissue from Garcia. "No, I have to get back."

"You really think that's a good idea?" J.J.'s worried eyes meet Penelope's over Emily head.

"I have to, I can't leave him on his own."

"Morgan has been wanting to check in, he could spend the night."

"No, he's trying to push me away and I'm not going to let him. I don't care what he says, I promised him I wouldn't leave and I'm not going to break a promise. Least of all that one." She pats under her eyes and hopes the swelling and redness won't be obvious when she returns to the house, not wanting him to feel more guilt than she knows he's already feeling.

"Are you sure? Some space could give you both some much needed perspective."

Emily shakes her head and squeezes J.J.'s hand, thankful for the concern. "I'm okay, really."

When Emily returns to the Hotchner household Rossi gives her shoulder a light squeeze and presses a kiss to her cheek.

"I think the two of you are overdue for an important conversation. Have it, or I'll lock you two in a room together and keep you there until you figure it out."

Emily thanks him for keeping an eye on their boss and slowly enters the living room where Hotch is sitting with already wide regretful eyes and when he opens his mouth to apologize she holds up a hand, cutting off whatever he'd been starting to say.

She sits beside him and grabs his hand in one of her own, her thumb drawing circles on his skin. "You need to tell me what's going on in your head or I can't help you and we'll keep ending up in this position. I'm not going to let you fend for yourself, I'll keep letting you scream at me until eventually there's nothing you can say to fix it."

He knows she's right and he turns to her, wincing when the angle briefly tugs at some of his injuries, mirroring the position she's in so they can have this conversation face to face. "He knows about us, Foyet knows."

"I know." She answers because it's obvious. He'd been watching Hotch for some time, that much had been clear, which means he'd been watching the two of them together. "What does that have to do with what you've-"

"He talked about you. He talked about you, while he was on top of me." Emily isn't sure what to say to that so she stays silent, watching Aaron close his eyes and get lost in memories that play behind his eyes every time they fall shut.

"Your girlfriend is beautiful. Emily Elizabeth Prentiss, what a beauty."

"Keep her name out of your fucking mouth."

"Very pretty eyes, bedroom eyes. I bet she turns them on you every chance she gets, doesn't she?" His response is swallowed by the grunt of pain when the knife in Foyet's hand pierces his skin once more, slowly and steadily because if anyone knows the agony of slow insertion it's Foyet. "I wonder what they'll look like when the life drains out of them. I'll make it slow, painful so she knows it's coming because I bet those big brown eyes of hers reflect every single ounce of fear in her body, don't you think?"

He starts fading in and out of consciousness, promises of pain breaking up the silence when his eyes blearily flutter open again.

"I bet she'll be beautiful when she screams."

"Do you think she'll beg me to stop?"

"Maybe she'll beg me to kill her, put her out of her misery."

"The last thing she'll know is that you failed her, that every moment of agony is your fault."

They sit in silence, Emily absorbing the words with unease but she can't bring herself to be scared.

She's faced worse than George Foyet and she'll be damned if she lets him separate her and Hotch after all the other things that have kept them apart.

"You've been trying to push me away to keep me safe." Emily deduces, tilting her head to catch his eyes that he's averting.

"Yes. Emily, I think you should move out."

"No." She doesn't leave it open for debate, says it with such finality that makes him wonder if she's sure of what she's getting herself into, if she understands the danger of standing between him and Foyet.

"You're in danger while you're here."

"I'm already in danger." She answers with a roll of her eyes.

"Exactly!"

"No, not exactly. I'm in danger regardless of what we do now, he already knows about us. Do you think I'd be safer at my apartment? Alone? Do you think I'd stand a better shot against him there on my own than if I was here with you?"

"No." He grumbles out, hating that she's right. She's safer here where there's two of them, she's safer with him than by herself in an apartment that doesn't have the same advanced security system his own home does.

"Exactly. So I'm going to send J.J. and Penelope and Morgan to pack some things for me over the next few weeks and I'm staying here until we find Foyet. And we will find him, Aaron." She assures him seriously, not even close to the point of giving up when they've only just started.

"You're sure about this? Really sure?"

"Aaron you're stuck with me, no matter how close either of us get to murdering each other."

His lips twitch and she takes it as an acceptance of her forcing herself onto him and she presses a kiss to his cheek before she bounces off, heading into the kitchen for a snack. "I'll bring only the essentials but I'll start moving things around here tonight. And just so you know I'm stealing half of your closet!"

"Only the essentials!" He shouts back with a small smile, not minding the idea of her sharing more of his space than she already does.

And then it dawns on him that she won't be coming alone.

"Emily!"

"Yes?" She peeks her head around the corner.

"Does this mean you're bringing the little shit?"

She smirks at him and nods to the corner by the television. "I think the litter box will look just fine there, and he can watch his stories while he takes a shit."

She laughs and walks further into the kitchen out of his line of sight and he hangs his head with a sigh.

He'd thought he'd finally gotten rid of that damn cat.

He doesn't think Sergio will enjoy sharing his space any more than he himself does.

Fuck!

Chapter Text

Emily snorts and shakes her head at her phone, locking it and shoving it into her back pocket. "Morgan insists that I buy him a six pack of beer to make up for his watching Hotch today, as if sitting around eating pizza with other men sitting around and eating pizza is a fucking chore." She tells the women, having decided that having men going through her personal possessions may not have been a very wise idea.

The hand painted portraits of her in nothing but a pair of heels while she was in college would've sent he, Rossi, and Reid over the edge.

She smiles to herself as she packages them in bubble wrap.

At least Hotch likes them.

"He thinks you owe him for letting him sit around and eat pizza you bought?" J.J. rolls her eyes when Emily nods the affirmative. "Men."

"You're telling me." Penelope agrees with a roll of her own eyes, sighing when the profilers catch on that something isn't quite right. "It's Kevin."

"Again?"

"Yes, again." The analyst sighs and shakes her head, packing away a photo of Emily with her father. "I want to try something and he won't let me."

"What kind of something?" J.J. asks from behind a wall where she's pulling clothes from Emily's closet and folding them into boxes.

"It's not even that bad! Lot's of people do it, he's just being a baby!" She defends, eyes wide and hands gesturing wildly.

"Penelope, if you're defending it before you even tell us what it is, something tells me it is that bad." Emily responds with a smile, taping shut a box of portraits.

Garcia rolls her eyes and grabs another photo, casually wrapping it in bubble wrap when she answers. "You know what soundi-"

"And that's about enough of that!"

"Penelope!"

"Oh come on!" The blonde returns, stopped when both women stare at her with horrified expressions. "It's that bad?"

Emily shrugs. "I mean if he wants to that's one thing, but how would you feel if someone shoved a rod up your-"

"I don't need the visual, Emily!" J.J. shouts from the closet, sending a glare to her friend when she laughs at the offense she's taken to such imagery.

"Fine, prudes."

The laughter from the agents fills the momentary silence before Emily sighs and drops to the floor in front of her safe. "At least you and Kevin are actually having sex."

"Hotch still not cleared?" J.J. grabs the last hanger from the closet and folds the pants into a box that holds more pants than she thinks she's owned her entire life and she's not sure how all of this is going to fit into the closet she'll share with their boss.

"Not for another two weeks. I don't understand how he's allowed back at work a week before he's allowed to get it up." Emily pouts, dropping back so she's laying with her eyes on the ceiling. "My vagina is not appreciative of his stab wounds."

Penelope smiles and lays beside her friend. "Are we allowed to joke about that?"

"Only when he's not here and only if it makes me feel better."

J.J. digs deeper into the closet, searching for anything she might have left behind that Emily will need in the time before she moves back into her apartment. "You have vibrators, right?"

"Yeah but it's not the same and you know it." J.J. nods her agreement, having spent months explaining to Will that he wasn't going to break her or the baby while she was pregnant and that if she had to have one more toy-induced-orgasm because he was scared then she'd give him a real reason to be scared.

"Have you told him that?"

"Why would I? He got stabbed, like actually got stabbed, he doesn't need to worry about my vagina collecting dust."

"You know he'd help, just because he can't have sex doesn't mean he can't give you a helping hand." Garcia suggests, brows wiggling and a smirk tugging at her lips.

"I'm not asking my - recovering from nine stab wounds - boyfriend to go down on me." Emily tells her with a roll of her eyes.

"No, wait, she's onto something." J.J. chimes in, shifting things around in the back of the closet where Emily seems to store piles of useless items that she could probably throw away. "He seems like a giver."

Emily's own lips twitch and she rolls onto her belly, Penelope rolling her eyes but mirroring the position anyway. "Well, I won't argue with you there."

A few moments of silence pass before Garcia speaks.

"Hey do you think Hotch would ever try sou-"

"Shut up!"

"Get out!"

"Fine!" Garcia pouts, rolling her eyes. "I thought you'd try anything once!"

Emily shakes her head, a grimace on her face. "Not that, never that. Not that Hotch would ever ask me to either."

"So, what's up with the two of you anyway?"

Emily sighs at J.J.'s question and rolls onto her back again, this time both J.J. and Garcia dropping onto their backs beside her. "I don't know, I'm worried about him."

"In what way?"

"He's going to throw himself into finding Foyet now that he's got a concrete reason to want him found that isn't just about his bruised ego. He's going to run himself into the ground, I know it."

"Can we do anything?" Penelope nudges Emily's shoulder with her own, a silent show of support because she knows a hug wouldn't be welcome right now.

"Just keep looking for him, there's nothing else we can do." She bites her lip, deciding that if there's anyone she could tell about the recent developments in her relationship it's these women. "There's something else."

"What is it?" J.J. questions gently, rolling onto her belly so she can look her friend in the face.

"Hotch proposed."

"What?!"

She winces when they both shriek, pushing themselves up into seated positions to stare down at her with wide eyes and big smiles. "Don't get excited, I haven't said yes."

"Are you stupid?"

"Did you get a concussion we don't know about?"

"If you don't say yes I will ruin your credit score, you know I can."

"Don't you want to marry him?"

"Of course I want to marry him!"

"Then what the hell is wrong with you?"

Emily holds up a hand to stop them from talking over each other, the pair more excited by the proposal than she is. "He asked while he was hopped up on pain meds, I couldn't very well say yes to that could I?"

"Oh." Penelope deflates, shaking her head at her friend. "No, you couldn't."

"But will he ask again?"

Emily bites her lip and nods slowly. "Yeah, I think he will."

"Oh my god, Em, this is huge!"

She covers her face with her hands, the anxiety about what happens if she accepts the proposal increasing. "I know, but God it's complicated. Between Foyet and Strauss - who still doesn't know about us - it's a shit show."

"We can worry about that later, we have a wedding to plan!"

"Penelope, we have to get engaged before we can plan the wedding."

"But think about it, you'll be Mrs. Hotchner."

Emily's lips twitch and a warmth spreads through her body.

Mrs. Hotchner.

She's never been particularly bound to the idea of marriage, but if he asks again she doesn't think she'll have it in her to turn him down a second time.

Chapter Text

It's not one thing that leads her to make the decision. After all, she knows this could end their entire relationship and she wouldn't dare risk that if it was for just one thing.

It's a number of things, a very high number of things considering it's only his first case back. At the end of the day it's not only her concern that leads her to betray him, but the concerns of her teammate.

It starts with a comment on the plane.

"No wife no kids no parents." Garcia tells them from the laptop, Morgan responding that their UNSUB has nothing to live for.

"So why hasn't he killed himself yet?"

The comment makes her head snap up, eyes locked onto the man across from her. The question makes her palms sweat and her heart drops to her stomach. It's too easily asked, almost like he's wondered the same thing about himself.

But she brushes it off, thinking maybe she's been spending too much time with Mr. Dark and Brooding and that she's looking too deep into what he says and maybe she's projecting.

But she doesn't miss the way Morgan and Rossi glance at each other, the shared look that tells her she's not the only one who's concerned.

For the rest of the day he's tense, snapping at agents and officers alike. He takes the death of the psychiatrist and patient hard, blaming himself for not catching onto Call's psychotic break sooner. She knows what it's really about, about having not seen through Foyet's act from the start. But he's her boss and her boyfriend and she won't speak out against him if she doesn't have to.

But, sooner than she'd like, he's crossed a line and she can't stay silent anymore.

They're outside the orphanage where Tommy had lived, a child missing and their UNSUB no closer to being found. He shuts down the local sheriff, challenging his authority when he knows damn well they'll get kicked out of the county if the man he's offended takes a hard hit to his ego.

It wouldn't be be the first time it had happened and it wouldn't be the last, but thankfully the threat of a dead child outweighs the alpha male tendencies and the sheriff backs down.

"There's a kid missing." Emily comments, thinking that while putting extra officers on the streets might not stop their UNSUB it might slow him down enough to give them enough time to find the boy alive.

"They don't need the extra manpower."

"Since when?"

"If we'd studied Foyet's initial crimes we would've known that a survivor didn't make sense."

"What does he have to do with this?" She doesn't miss the way Rossi sends her a warning glance.

"All we had to do was stop and look at Foyet's history, and we didn't, and we lost two couples and a bus full of people. And I'm not making that mistake again."

"A woman and her child."

"What?"

"Emily, don't." Rossi comments softly, not wanting this to turn into a brawl between the equally aggressive and stubborn agents he's standing with. Not when there's officers and civilians surrounding them.

"Two couples, a bus full of people, and Haley and Jack. If you're going to make this about Foyet at least have the balls to say what this is really about. If you can't keep a clear head, you can't do your job."

The silence drags on for a few beats and Rossi for a moment thinks Hotch might actual send Emily to the hotel. Instead the Unit Chief swallows hard, biting his cheek and gritting out his response. "Agent Prentiss, go back to the station. Now."

Emily's jaw twitches and she almost tells him to fuck off. But she can't, at work he's her boss before he's her boyfriend and she'll toe the line even if she knows it won't help him in the long run. "Yes, sir."

She doesn't let up though, insisting once they find Tommy Anderson's house that she's going with him.

"I don't need anyone to go with me."

"I disagree, I'm going with you."

"You're staying at the station, that's an order."

"Then you can write me up for insubordination and ignoring a direct order, I'm going with you whether you like it or not so we can waste time standing around arguing or we can go talk to the man who can help us find our UNSUB."

She thinks his anger will be the worst of it, that he'll be a dick until he gets it out of his system and that'll be it.

And then he walks into the house with their psychotic UNSUB a child molester and a little boy and she doesn't think she's been more scared. With Foyet she'd been terrified of what had happened to him, but this is different. This time she's scared of what her boyfriend does, of his recklessness. She's scared that he doesn't care about the danger he puts himself in, that he doesn't care if it results in injury or death.

That's the thought that leads her to where she is now, biting her lip and staring up at his office where he sits pouring over the files that he's been over a hundred times that haven't brought him any closer to bringing his family home.

She knows she could be about to ruin the trust their relationship is built upon, that when she does this it could tear them apart.

But she won't survive if something happens to him and she'd stayed silent. She walks up the steps toward the catwalk, freezing when she hears Morgan inside Rossi's office where she'd been headed for a second opinion.

And opinion that Morgan unknowingly gives her that reassures her she's doing the right thing even though she knows it's going to hurt all of them.

"Hotch took a risk, but we saved that boy."

"He put his life at risk in there, in ways that we are never supposed to, and you know it! I'm not about to stand by and watch this man kill himself."

That's all Emily needs to hear, that she's not just overreacting, that she's not the only one scared by what they've seen in their leader, that Morgan is just as terrified as she is.

Because with Hotch alive his ex-wife and Jack are in danger. If he dies, Foyet has no reason to target his family. Haley and Jack could come back home, or they could settle somewhere else and make a new life in a new town that's untainted by fear and old memories.

If Hotch weren't in the equation Haley and Jack wouldn't be in danger, they could live a normal safe life without him.

Knowing that she isn't the only one worried about that outcome she knocks on the office door, pushing it open when a voice from inside invites her in.

"Section Chief Strauss, do you have a moment?"

~~~~~~~~~~

"You went to Strauss?!" The shout startles her, making her flinch and she steels herself when she hears the door slam loudly behind him because she knows this fight is going to be their worst.

"I did, I wanted to talk to you about it tonight before she could talk to you but clearly you already know." She returns softly, drying her hands of water after she puts the last dish into the dishwasher and presses start.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Why would you do that?"

"Aaron you made this case about Foyet. Every decision you made every step we took you chose based on what you think would've helped you catch Foyet the first time."

"And is that so wrong? Taking mistakes I've made and correcting them now?"

"When it's coming from a place of emotion rather than logic? Yes, it is wrong." She drapes the towel on the handle of the oven and turns back to him, leaning back against the counter with her arms at her sides. She doesn't want to appear confrontational, knowing that'll only upset him more.

"And what gives you the right to decide I've taken it too far? Hmm? You're on my team, mine! I don't have to justify my actions to you!"

"But you do have to justify them to Strauss and clearly if we're having this conversation she's found your logic lacking." She takes a calming breath. blowing it back out again before she responds. "What you did today was reckless."

"There's a difference between taking risks and being reckless."

"And today you crossed that line. Morgan and I were terrified today." He scoffs and says it louder. "Terrified, Aaron. When you walked into that house I thought you were going to physically put yourself between Jarvis and a bullet. You aren't acting like a man who wants to live and I'm not the only one thinking it. Morgan is just as concerned as I am, you're putting yourself in risky situations because you'd never kill yourself but you know dying in the line of duty would keep your son safe. I'm terrified that if we don't find Foyet soon then that's exactly what's going to happen."

"Strauss has it out for this team, for me, and you just gave her the exact ammunition she needs. Taking me out of the field is just another reason for her to take my job."

Emily nods her agreement, unable to disagree with what he's said. "If I remember correctly I said something similar when I was benched. And I was just as angry as you are now, but you did it because you knew what was best for me when I didn't. If you hadn't done it I probably would've gotten myself shot. All I hope is that you can see that this is no different than that, that I'd rather see you angry now than dead later."

Her boss steps around her and grabs a bottle of Jack from the cabinet, brushing past her without a glance spared in her direction and when he speaks he doesn't even look over his shoulder. "You should sleep in the guestroom tonight."

She blows out a puff of air when he's out of sight, speaking softly to herself when she hears his bedroom door slam. "Good job, Emily, that went so well."

Chapter Text

Hotch stares at the bottle in front of himself, tapping a finger on the dresser in his room in contemplation. He knows he shouldn't, but he's not sure how else to manage what he's feeling. He's spent most nights in the last week drunk in his bedroom, letting the booze numb the emotions he can feel oozing out of every cell in his body. It's been a week of silence, Emily sleeping in the guestroom and him in the master because neither of them know how to move forward.

He knows she knows, of course she knows he drinking. She can smell it on him when he passes her in the hall when he goes in search of food that's not a bag of potato chips or pudding cups that he still has left over from when Jack was staying with he and Emily every few days. He knows she can see the glazed look in his eyes and sees him tripping around the ground floor when he triple checks the security system and the locks on the windows and doors.

But she doesn't say anything, only watches him stumble around night after night until he goes to his bedroom and she follows behind and disappears into her own room for the night.

He wonders if she'd notice this, if she'd say anything even if she did.

But he decides that it's not a regular thing and he doesn't think he can make it through the day without it.

He pops the cap from the bottle in front of him and holds his flask steady in the other hand, pouring a generous amount into the container that he's chosen for ease of transportation.

He puts the cap on the flask and shoves the bottle back into the closet just in time, barely getting the flask into his suit jacket before Emily knocks at the door and asks if he's ready to leave. He shouts that he'll only be a minute and hears her walk away, exhaling a breath at how close he'd come to being caught.

This could end his career and he knows it, but on a day like today he can't bring himself to care.

~~~~~~~~~~

He spends the first fifteen minutes of his work day in Penelope's office, feed from a park showing him his son pumping his legs on the swing at a park in a state he isn't sure is even bordering the one he's in.

It sends him over the edge and he excuses himself, demanding his tear ducts to keep it together until he's in the privacy of his own office.

When he makes it there he shuts the door behind himself, yanking the flask from his jacket and pouring a sufficient amount down his throat before he has to brief the newest case to the team. He closes the cap and drops it to his desk, hands spread wide and his knuckles white with how hard he's gripping the wood.

He's missing his son's fifth birthday, maybe the first birthday he'll be able to recall when he's older. The first birthday he'll remember could be one spent with his mother, all of his friends from pre-school and all of his relatives stuck in Virginia, no presents or cards from the people who love him most.

And his own father won't be there.

It isn't the first birthday he's missed, but he tells himself it will be the last.

If this experience has taught him anything it's that there are things important enough to pull him away from his job, that sometimes he needs to put his family first and his occupation second.

Even if it means stepping down as Unit Chief, letting someone else bear the burden that rests on his shoulders now.

It's not something he can think about now though, not when he can't fix this problem with a snap of his fingers and a case needs their urgent attention.

He makes his way down toward the conference room, shoving his thoughts of his son to the back of his brain. He can wallow in his sorrow later, but his job requires more of his attention and the victims deserve his full attention.

When he enters the room he debates taking a different seat than he normally would, moving further away from Emily who he's barely on speaking terms with. They'd spent a collective half hour together in the last week and most of that at home when they shuffle silently around each other in the kitchen trying to find something easy that they can eat separately for dinner in the privacy of their separate rooms.

But his chest aches today, more than he can ever remember it aching in his life, and he takes the seat beside her. He knows she's surprised when her eyes widen on him as he lowers himself into the seat, her surprise even more clear when he grabs her hand under the table. He doesn't give himself time to question it and when he feels her hand grip his tightly under the table he's sure in his choice to initiate contact.

He sees the bags under her eyes and her nails are bitten down to the quick and he realizes that he's no the only one suffering today, he's not the only one missing a blonde little boy.

Her thumb moves in circles on his hand and he slides a little closer, pulling their clasped hands to rest on his thigh. He wants to press a kiss to her hand, wants to wrap his arm around her and hold her as close as he can until this sorrow passes.

But he can't, so he settles for the feeling of her hand in his and when the team leaves the room he asks her to stay back. The group, knowing the significance of the date, leave without question.

"I'm going to keep you on assignment with me today, is that okay with you?" Hotch asks quietly, eyes on their hands where she's still drawing circles on his hand.

"I thought I'd be the last person you'd want to spend time with today." She admits just as softly, not stopping the motion that seems to soothe him the slightest bit.

"I'm away from my son on his birthday, I can't bear being away from anyone else I love. Not today." He clears his throat when a lump forms and meets her eyes briefly with his own. "I'm still angry, but I'd like to keep you close if that's alright. Can we do that?"

"Of course we can." She answers immediately, checking that nobody is hanging around on the catwalk before she brings the back of his hand to her lips and presses a kiss there. "Even when we're angry, you can count on me. Always."

He gives her a weak smile, even flashing her a dimple for her enjoyment, and nods that he understands. "I know."

He notes the circles under her eyes again. "How are you holding up?"

As always she lets the emotion through that he refuses to show and tears well up in dark eyes, blinked away only to be replaced by new ones seconds later and when she speaks it's barely a whisper, her voice breaking. "I miss him."

He squeezes her hand and mirrors the kiss she'd placed to his hand. "I know, Em. I miss him too."

~~~~~~~~~~

"I should've married her, you know?" Rossi says to the man across from him, Hotch's interest piqued. "When I left the Marines, I was recruited by the Bureau, spent a few years on the streets, got involved with starting the BAU. And before I knew it, a lifetime had gone by."

"I hear you." Hotch answers honestly. He doesn't regret it the way Rossi does, doesn't regret having given his life to his career because in doing so he'd reconnected with Emily.

He can't wish that away, he won't.

"I missed a life with Emma because I became obsessed with the chase, with the hunt."

"Dave he's threatening my family."

"And we'll get Foyet, Aaron." He says, no trace of doubt in his voice.

"Okay, then what's your point?"

"Foyet has taken your ex-wife, and your son. We'll get him for that and we'll make him pay, but what else are you going to let him strip you of, hmm?" He glances back at Emily's who's nose is buried in a book, J.J. resting her head on her shoulder and her eyes scanning the pages next to her.

Hotch isn't the only one who relies on her, who is comforted by her presence.

He looks back at Aaron who takes a moment to look away from the woman, dark eyes moving from Emily back to him after a few seconds. "I should've married Emma, Aaron. I should've. Don't let Emily become your Emma. Don't live a lifetime of regret, wondering what would've happened, if you'd just taken a chance."

~~~~~~~~~~

When he and Emily return home he shuts the door gently behind her, locking the deadbolt and pulling to ensure it's locked before he heads into the kitchen where she's already searching for a snack.

He walks to the sink and reaches into the inside pocket of his suit, pulling out the flask that Emily's eyes lock on when she turns to ask him if he wants her to make something.

He doesn't acknowledge her, only watching him as he opens the top and pours the liquid down the drain. When it empties he screws the cap back on and he holds it out to her, telling her silently that for his sake - and probably hers - she needs to keep it from him.

He doesn't want to turn into his father and he sure as hell won't do to her what had happened to his mother.

She takes it from his hand, shoving it into her back pocket. "Okay."

"Thank you." He answers just as simply and turns away, grabbing a bag of rye chips from the counter and heading toward the stairs to spend the rest of his night locked in his room.

Before he can start up the staircase though he turns back to her. "Emily."

She jumps at the sound of his voice and turns to him, a bag of Cheetos in one hand and a bottle of diet coke in the other. His lips twitch.

Snack fiend.

"Yes?"

"If I asked you again, would you turn me down?" He doesn't have to elaborate, they both know what he's talking about.

She takes only a moment to contemplate what he's asked her and she shakes her head. "No, I wouldn't."

He nods his understanding, looking around the room before his eyes finally settle back on where she's standing still in the kitchen. "I can't ask now." She nods, a little sad by what he's said and he refuses to let her think he'll never ask again. "I want to, but I need you to understand that when I ask it's because I want to and not because I've lost everything else. Okay?"

She gives him a little smile, her heart beating a little faster at his seeming so sure of their future. In the last week she hadn't been sure they'd have one. "Okay."

He gives her a firm nod and grips the stair railing. "Okay, goodnight."

"Goodnight, Aaron."

Chapter Text

Despite his knowing that he's using alcohol to cope, Aaron invites Rossi and Emily into his office. The Whiskey Trio is back together, this time throwing full support behind their boss. It's unusual for that to happen, Emily far more willing to share than the other two members of their informal group. On rare occasions Rossi draw connections between current cases and cases past, musing about the way his life has changed over the years and noticing all the ways in which it's exactly the same.

Even during his hiatus from the Bureau he'd been writing about killers, still wrapped up in the obsession their job frequently creates despite the fact that he'd been out of the game for years. And now he's back, right in the place he'd started with almost no life outside the walls of his office. It's a sad reality, but one that BAU agents specifically face more often than not. Even now most of the team is unmarried, most childless, most unwilling to entertain serious relationships.

Maybe it's because of their hours, because it's too difficult to fit in a romantic partner who doesn't understand what they do. They don't have the time to give to a romantic partner what they deserve, time and affection and dates that go uncancelled. Maybe it's because they just don't get it, they don't understand the nightmares or their always being on guard. They don't understand that profiling isn't something you can shut off despite their best attempts to keep it to a minimum around friends and family.

That quality leaves romantic partners feeling exposed in a way they're often unwilling to experience, always feeling like the agents can see right down into their soul without sharing a single detail themselves.

They don't understand that the job comes first, that in their business it has to come first. They don't understand their way of life, and it's not something any of the agents are willing to push onto the people they care about.

And maybe that's not it, maybe deep down they're all terrified of connection. They're terrified of forming bonds, constantly wondering if the next victim they see in their files is the person they've chosen to share their life with.

It's easier to not connect at all than it is to lose someone you've connected with.

Once they're sat together with their glasses full of whiskey that's expensive and shouldn't be in the building Aaron clears his throat, pulling his tie a few inches away from his neck and leaning his head back. "Do you think we'll catch him?"

"Yes."

"Dave, saying it and meaning it are two different things and I need you to be honest with me. Do you want us to find him, or do you believe that we'll find him?"

"I don't believe it, Aaron, I know it." Rossi sits forward, arms resting on his knees and his drink between his fingers. "In the time since this unit began it's been rare that a case goes unsolved, exceedingly rare. Sometimes it takes longer than we'd like, more victims that we wish we could've saved, but we get them in the end. If you don't have faith in what we do, you shouldn't be running the unit."

The silence is overwhelming, the insinuation that Hotch isn't fit to run their team hanging over their heads and it makes her sweat. She clears her throat, downs the rest of her drink in one swallow, and slides the crystal across the desk. "I'm going to use the bathroom." She tells them and makes a quick exit, using the excuse to leave them to clear the air. They're both incredibly private and they won't speak freely if anyone else is in the room.

Once she's walking across the bullpen Hotch finishes his own drink, filling it again and bringing it to his lips. "You don't think I can do my job?"

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean, Dave?"

"I wonder if you think you can run this unit." Hotch's brows pull together, not quite understanding what the older man has said. "Our profile didn't get us the result we wanted, Foyet got away. You're blaming the profile for why we didn't catch him and I think it's shaken the ground you stand on."

"Don't be ridiculous, of course I believe in what we do."

"Then you need to get your head out of the Foyet files and join the rest of us in the present. If you believe in what we do, if you believe in the profile we've created, then there's nothing more for you to find in them. We've done our job, all we can do now is figure out a way to trace him. Penelope is on it, she's our best chance and you know it. There's nothing in the files we don't know, but you can't tear yourself from them and I'm concerned. We all are."

Hotch swirls the liquid around in his glass, staring down at the amber beverage and only glancing up to meet Rossi's gaze. "So, what do you suggest I do?"

The older man pulls a card from his pocket and pushes it across the desk, swallowing the rest of his drink and grabbing the bottle of booze from the wood to take back to where he hides it in his office. "It's the number of someone who can keep her mouth shut. I suggest you give her a call."

~~~~~~~~~~

Two weeks later Hotch glares at the pizza on his plate, Emily silently observing him from the other side of the couch. He's said only a few words in the time he's been home and he knows he's worrying her but he can't talk to her about this, she'd probably tell him his therapist is onto something.

"And your girlfriend, Emily, your relationship with her is healthy?"

"We have our moments, just like everyone else."

"But your relationship isn't just like everyone else's, is it?"

"In what way?"

"You're her boss, her direct supervisor. In any job that's a risk, but especially in an occupation that relies on your ability to remain objective in the field. "

"I don't understand what you're implying."

"Agent Hotchner, already you've expressed to me that your judgement is clouded because of George Foyet, do you think that right now is the best time to have more complications in your work?"

"Emily is not a complication."

"I'm sorry if I've offended you, she's not a complication but she does complicate matters. I'm merely suggesting that you consider taking a step back in your romantic relationship until this business with Foyet is over. Can you say right now that if Emily was injured or killed based on a decision you made in the field, that you wouldn't blame yourself?"

"Of course I would."

"And you still believe that that demonstrates your ability to remain objective?"

"As the leader of every agent on my team - including her - it's my job to keep them safe to the best of my ability. That means making difficult choices, yes, and sometimes the choices I make have resulted in injuries. I take that personally, I wonder what I could've done differently so that it doesn't happen in the future. If Emily was hurt of course I would blame myself, just as I would if it were anyone else on my team."

On his way home he contemplates what she'd said, deciding that he's willing to do almost anything to improve his situation.

But he won't do that.

"Aaron if you stare at that pizza any harder it's going to start sweating. Maybe if you pick at the pepperoni slices it'll start confessing to crimes it hasn't committed."

Hotch's lips twitch at her joke and he finally pulls his eyes from his plate to his girlfriend, giving her a soft smile. "Sorry, I got a little lost in thought."

"Oh, really? Hadn't noticed." She nudges her toes against his leg and motions to the plate in his lap. "You going to eat that?"

"No, I'm not really hungry." Emily takes it from him and he's unsurprised when she bites into the slice, she's always finishing what he doesn't eat and he's never sure where she stores everything she eats but food makes her happy and if she's healthy he's not going to question it. "Therapy was that bad?"

He snorts and rolls his eyes, taking the last sip of his beer before the bottle is empty. "Yeah."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He gives her an appreciative smile but shakes his head. "No, I really don't, but thank you."

She nods and swallows another bite of her pizza - his pizza - and grins at him. "Do you want me to grab Sergio, he's a great emotional support animal."

"If you put little shit anywhere near me you'll be sleeping on the couch." Sergio, as if understanding the insult, suddenly stands up from his spot on the back of the couch and gives the Unit Chief one good swat to the face before running off when Emily laughs loudly and Hotch sucks in a breath of air at the sting the scratch has left behind. "What the fuck!"

"You shouldn't insult him, he doesn't appreciate it." Emily tells him around the last bite of crust, pushing her plate and his onto the coffee table. "Alright, it's late, I'm going up to bed."

"Let's go to bed." He stands up and holds his hand out toward her, her eyes wide on what he's implying. They've slept apart for the better part of two months, a few make out sessions on the couch thrown in, but they haven't shared a bed in weeks and she doesn't want him to do this before he's ready if it's only to distract himself from whatever was said during the 50-minute session downtown.

"You're sure?"

He smiles down at her and instead of waiting for her to take his hand her scoops her up, throwing her over her shoulder and heading for the staircase. "Is this sure enough for you?"

~~~~~~~~~~

Hotch waits an hour, brushing his fingers over her hair and watching her while she sleeps next to him. It feels good to have her back in his bed, it feels right. He'd been angry for weeks and he know their choice to put some space between themselves was a good decision but he's missed her.

It's only when she's been asleep for some time with no sign of waking up that he gently slides her off his chest, laying her on her own side of the bed and slowly sliding out of his. He grabs his phone from the nightstand, shoving it into the pocket of his sweatpants before the screen can light up and wake the agent in his bed.

He leaves the room and shuts the door behind himself, moving around the few wooden planks in the floor that creak and making a quit trip downstairs before he dials the number he now knows by heart.

He presses his phone to his ear, locking himself in the bathroom by the kitchen and sitting on the lid of the toilet while the phone rings and he waits for the click that signals his call has been answered.

"Prentiss."

"Good," he takes only a second to calculate the time difference to where Emily had said her father was at last she knew, "morning, Mr. Prentiss. It's Aaron Hotchner."

Chapter Text

"The law is on their side, but I'm not sure they'll take the steps to get custody of their granddaughter."

"Maybe they shouldn't, taking Lisa from her home wouldn't necessarily be the best option. She's old enough to remember the family that's adopted her, maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing for her to stay with them."

"But the Winmar's are her family."

"And so is the family she's with now." Emily returns with her brows pulled together, not understanding what's so hard to understand about the concept she's brought up.

"But don't they deserve what's left of their daughter? Monica's only living child?"

"Maybe that's why they shouldn't have her. What's to say they're not just trying to hold onto the kid they lost, replacing her with a little girl who is happy and healthy and stable in a home with parents who love her?"

J.J. laughs a little, brows furrowed because she's not sure what she's said that's so wrong. Monica's parents have a right to their granddaughter, the law tells them as much, and Emily knows it. "I don't mean to pull rank, but you're not a mother. You don't understand."

"That's enough." Hotch steps in, the rest of the team thankful he hadn't let it go on any longer. The silence in the room is tense, J.J. realizing that she's perhaps taken things a little too far.

Or at least too far for being in the middle of a police station in Arizona in front of the rest of the team. "Emily, I'm so-"

"No, don't apologize, you're right I have no idea what I'm talking about." She grabs her jacket and the keys from Hotch, heading for the door. "I'm going for coffee at the shop down the street, I'll come right back."

"Straight back." Emily nods at her boss, thankful he's letting her slip out. But of course, he knows why this case is hitting her so hard and he knows she needs a few minutes to collect herself before she says something she'll regret.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Actually I'm going to share with Hotch." Emily tells J.J. hours later when she holds open the door to the hotel room they'd been assigned, Emily passing by her with their Unit Chief and she watches the pair of them slip into the room and the door shuts softly behind them. It's incredibly unusual, the couple have only shared a room - to her knowledge - once or twice in the entire time they've been together. It's a matter of principle, refusing to be a couple before a Chief and his agent when they're working a case.

Sharing a room could also clue Strauss in on their relationship if she were to find out and while no one on the team would dare say anything, the Section Chief has an uncanny ability to find out things that should've been under lock and key.

It's a miracle they haven't been found out thus far.

A half hour later J.J. grabs her keycard and leaves her room, her gun tucked into the waistband of her sweatpants and she makes her way down the hall toward the room Emily and Hotch are in. She knocks softly, pretty sure they both know it's her at the door.

A few seconds later the door swings open and Emily - as expected - doesn't look surprised to see her.

"Hey, can we talk?"

Emily looks behind herself and J.J. realizes she may have stumbled into a rather intimate moment. Emily is in a button-up far too long to be her own with what she knows to be Hotch's socks on her feet and Hotch is propped up on the headboard in his pajama pants and a t-shirt, the blankets strewn off his body letting J.J. know Emily had definitely been curled up in bed with their boss.

She's not really surprised by it, having woken up on several occasions with Emily pressed against her from head to toe when they'd had to share a bed when the hotels had been booked or when the town they were visiting was too small to have more than a few rooms.

Hotch seems to catch their drift and grabs his own gun and his wallet, shoving both into his pockets. "I'm pretty hungry, do either of you want something from the vending machine?"

"No, thanks honey." Emily smiles at him and captures his fingers in a quick squeeze as he walks past them.

"J.J.?"

"No, thanks honey." Hotch blushes and musters up a weak glare while Emily's lips twitch.

He rolls his eyes, stepping out into the hall and choosing not to respond. Even when they're fighting they still find the time to give him hell.

"Can I come in?" Emily steps back and motions her inside, shutting the door behind her and joining the blonde on the bed.

"So, what do you want to talk about?"

"I wanted to apologize for earlier, about what I said at the station."

"Why? You shouldn't apologize for saying what you think."

"But I don't think it, not really. I said it because I was angry and frustrated about the case." She blows out a puff of air and rests against the headboard where Hotch had been before she'd interrupted. "You know, Morgan once said I let my being a mother cloud my judgement. I don't agree with him and that's a little sexist because no one accuses Hotch of not being objective because of his son, but he is right about one thing. I see Henry in some of these cases, and it puts me on edge."

Emily nods her understanding, pulling the blankets up her legs when the chill in the room give her goosebumps. "I hope you know you can talk to me. I'm sure it's not as good as getting to go home and hold Henry, but I'm here if you ever need someone to talk to."

"I know, but the point is that I said what I said because I put myself in their shoes."

"Monica's parents?"

"Yeah. If I was in their shoes I'd do everything I could to get my grandchild, even taking her away from a family that loves her." She picks at her nails, stopped when Emily rests a hand over hers.

"That's my habit, stop it."

She chuckles and drops her hands to her lap. "Sorry." She clears her throat, feeling the lump that's formed there. "Does that make me selfish? For putting their love for their grandchild over that little girl's happiness?"

Emily shakes her head and bumps her shoulder against J.J.'s. "Come on, you know it doesn't. You love with everything you've got, that's not a bad thing. I think we both took this case hard, and maybe right now isn't the time to do some soul searching."

"Yeah, maybe you're right." She shakes her head, trying to clear the thoughts that have been plaguing her since the case began. "Anyway, I just wanted to say I'm sorry. You not having children doesn't make your point less valid, and what I said was wrong."

Emily is silent for a few seconds, giving her friend a small smile when she decides maybe someone else in her life has earned her honesty. "I do."

"Do what?"

"Have a child."

"What?" J.J.'s whips her head to her friend so quickly she hears a crack, wincing and grabbing at the side of her neck. "Sorry, please repeat that?"

Emily smiles and grabs her phone, clicking on her camera roll and sliding closer to her friend. "You're going to love this."

"So, why were you so upset?" J.J. asks a few minutes later once Emily has given her the CliffsNotes version of her teenage years.

"Because I didn't think I could raise a baby when I was 15, but when I was 21 I was pretty sure I could. And the only thing that stopped me was knowing that she had parents who love her, parents she'd bonded with and who she loved back." She blows out a frustrated puff of air, blinking away the tears because she doesn't regret her choices but thinking about all the things she's missed still touches a few raw nerves. "I chose not to fight for her, I let her be raised by another family because I thought it was what was best for her. And if you were right in telling me that she'd have been fine being taken away from her adoptive parents then I gave up the chance to raise my daughter for nothing."

"Oh, Em." J.J. pulls her into her side, feeling a few tears dampen her skin before Emily sniffles and blinks them away.

"It can't have been for nothing, Jen. I need to be right about this."

When Hotch returns near 20 minutes later he sees J.J. walking back to her room, smiling at her and tossing a bag of Cheetos to her that she catches with a smile.

"It spat out two, I thought you might like the extra bag."

"You know I do." She answers, already squeezing the plastic between her fingers and pulling it open. She stops when they meet outside her door and she grabs a Cheeto from the bag, kicking the toe of her slipper into the carpet. "Do you know?"

"What do you think?"

She nods, popping the chip into her mouth and swallowing before she answers. "Thanks for interrupting us at the station, if we'd kept going I think I would've done a lot more damage."

His lips curls up. "I think you'd both say something you'd regret, but let's not think about it now. It's over."

She agrees and slides her keycard into the door, pushing it open and kicking off her slippers. "Take care of her tonight, okay?"

He grins and holds up a third bag of Cheetos. "I always do."

Chapter Text

Three weeks later things at the BAU have settled, Morgan getting accustomed to his new job as Unit Chief and Hotch relaxing some with the decreased responsibility. It gives him a lot more time at home and he's been spending more time with Emily, cooking dinners together - him setting her up with a dull knife and vegetables to keep her from hurting herself or ruining dinner - and going on dates and moving things around the house that he's not sure he wants her to move out of even after Foyet has been caught.

One thing that hasn't changed though is their sex life.

It's been non-existent since Foyet, first his wounds too fresh to withstand the vigorous activity and then his stiches would pull uncomfortably and from then on out Emily had been too worried to initiate anything and because of that Hotch isn't sure she's ready for that.

Maybe their relationship just wasn't in that place anymore.

But when he comes home from his last follow up appointment on Saturday afternoon Emily is nowhere to be seen. He'd expect her to be on the couch with a bag of beef jerky or in the kitchen in search of beef jerky or playing with Sergio while she eats beef jerky. It's her latest obsession and it's rare that he finds her without the snack anymore.

But her shoes are by the door and her car in the driveway so he knows she's home. He pulls his gun from his waist just to be safe, knowing the danger that comes if you're unprepared, and he makes his way upstairs quietly. He's half way down the stairs when he hears it, actually blushing as he pushes his gun back into the holster and he makes his way quickly to the bedroom. He pushes the door open and stays silent, wanting to watch for a minute before she notices him and stops.

She's damn near curled around the body pillow she loves so much, her leg thrown over the pillow and her hips rolling against it. Her eyes are shut tight and her mouth hangs open, her hands fisted in the sheets beneath herself and he's just about to ask if she's having a nice time when she speaks.

"Fuck, Aaron."

"If you wanted to come you could've just said so." He tells her, smiling when she shrieks and jumps away from the pillow. "That's quite a way to welcome me home, you should greet me this way more often."

Her cheeks flame red and she pulls the blanket up to her chest, shoving the pillow away from her body. "I didn't know you were home."

"Clearly." He walks to the safe, locking his gun in next to hers and casually striding toward her side of the bed. "Were you having a nice time?"

"Not as good as I would've if you were with me." She mutters under her breath.

"I wasn't sure we were in a place for this." He tells her honestly, seeing the embarrassment leave her face and it's replaced with understanding.

"Aaron, we're perfectly fine. I didn't say anything because I wasn't sure you were ready, not after Foyet."

"So you want this then?"

She rolls her eyes and motions to the pillow. "Clearly, the answer is yes."

He smiles and quickly strips himself of his jacket and tie, leaving the rest of his suit on and taking a seat on the bed. "Come on then."

"Excuse me?" She asks, her smile fading slightly her head tilted in confusion.

He pats his leg, grabbing her hand and pulling her away from the headboard. "If you can come on my thigh, I'll fuck you into the mattress. Otherwise you can go back to your pillow."

She flushes in embarrassment but something about the way he's talking to her makes her dizzy and she pushes herself off the bed, shyly stepping between his legs. "You're really going to make me do this?"

"I'm really going to make you do this." He tells her with a smirk, shoving his thigh between her legs and yanking her hips down so she's seated on his thigh. She lets out a low groan at the contact, his dimple making an appearance at the sound he's missed desperately in the months since Foyet had shown up in his home. "Better get started baby, before I get bored."

The first few shifts of her hips against his thigh are hesitant, nervous and embarrassed at the way he's pushed her shirt up to her hips so he can see where she's pressing herself against his leg. But the feeling of his fingers digging into her hips hard enough to leave bruises and the added friction of his slacks and the muscle tensing under her has her dripping with arousal and she starts to move with increased urgency. His pupils widen with every gasp that leaves her lips, hissing when her freshly grown nails dig into his shoulders.

She thrives on his words though and he knows it, pressing his lips against her ear and letting his voice dip when he speaks. "You're perfect like this, pretty girl, so wet for me."

"Aaron."

He laughs at her desperation, digs his fingers into her flesh and feels her throbbing against his leg and he wonders if she knows he can feel her clenching on top of him "Pathetic. You'd do anything for me wouldn't you? Let me fuck you on the round table for the team to see, all watching how desperate you get to have your holes filled like the common whore you are?"

"Fucking hell, please?"

"Please what, baby? What do you need?" He grabs a fist full of hair, yanking and licking a stripe up her neck to her jaw where he presses a soft kiss, a contrast to the fingers digging into her waist.

"Can I? Please?" She breathes out, fingers gripping at his shirt. He's been self-conscious since the attack, the scars spanning the length of his torso still raise and a little discolored against his skin.

He hesitates for only a moment before he nods, her fingers making quick work of the shirt before she shoves it off his shoulders and the undershirt follows right after. She runs her hands over his chest, bucking harder against his thigh at the feeling of his skin under her fingers for the first time in weeks.

"Off." He grips the hem of her shirt and she lifts her arms obediently, letting him pull it off and neither of them care where it lands, his hands finding her hips again and yanking her forward and they groan together at the feeling of her skin pressed against his. He wants to make this about her but it's been far too long for the both of them and he can't wait any longer.

His hands slide around her thighs and he helps her kneel on either side of his waist, leaning back and pulling her forward so she's pressed against the hardness in his pants.

"Fuck me." She breathes out, dizzy at the heat that he's radiating.

He laughs and helps her keep her rhythm, feeling her arousal dampen the crotch of his pants. "Later, if you're very very good."

A hand finds it's way into short dark hair and Emily thrusts harder against him and when he thrusts up to meet her and the fabric of his pants rubs against her clit she bites down on his neck, only pulling back when she needs to gasp for air. "Please please please please."

He smiles against her neck, hands slipping around her back and holding her flush against his chest. "Come for me baby. you can do it."

"Can she?"

Emily shrieks at the new voice in the room and Hotch throws her toward the pillows, covering her body with his and his head whips around so he can get a look at the woman standing in the doorway.

"Mom?!"

~~~~~~~~~~

Emily kisses her boyfriend and hugs Carolyn and heads upstairs, Hotch smiling at his mom and pressing a glass of white wine into her hand once Emily has disappeared.

"When I asked for you to send the ring I meant just the ring."

"If I'm going to be giving away the family heirloom I should at least meet the girl you want to give it to first." Carolyn counters with a raised brow of irritation sent his way. "Any reason why you've been putting that off?"

"I'm busy mom, things haven't exactly been smooth sailing around here in the past few months." He swirls the wine in his own glass around, using it as an excuse to not look at her. He'd called after Foyet attacked him, letting her know he was safe and that Emily was taking good care of him and for her to stay away, that he didn't want her to come visit and possibly put herself in danger.

"How are you?" She questions, this being the first time she's had more than a five minute conversation with her son since he'd lost everything. Well, everything it appears, except Emily.

"I'm good, the wounds have healed and I'm fully functioning."

"Clearly." She mutters under her breath.

"It's not my fault you didn't knock!"

She tilts her head in agreement. "Fine, but I'm pretty sure that's not how Emily would've preferred our first meeting start out."

He bites his lip, a habit she's seen Emily partake in and she realizes not for the first time in the few hours she's been here that her son is madly in love with the woman upstairs. "So, will you let me have it?"

Carolyn grabs her bag and produces a velvet box, handing it over to her son who's eyes are wide on her. "Yes, you can have it."

"Why? You didn't let me give it to Haley."

"Aaron, I adore Haley. She's the mother of your son, she's a kind woman, we catch up sometimes even now. You're different with Emily than you were with Haley though, she wasn't right for you."

"You couldn't have known that back then!"

"Where do you think you get your profiling skills from, Ron?" Carylon asks with a smirk, sipping her wine. "Listen, Haley was always very nice. But you two didn't suit each other. She wanted you to be the man she needed and that's all and well for a boyfriend, but for a husband what you need should be the man he already is."

"I don't understand what you mean."

"Haley watched you grow into a Unit Chief, she watched you become a man she didn't want you to be. She has her needs and she shouldn't apologize for them, but you shouldn't have to be someone your not to meet them. With Haley you always looked like you were trying to figure out what she needed, and then you do that. With Emily it seems all she needs is who you already are, she doesn't ask for you to be anything more. I don't know her well but in the last several hours you've been more comfortable with her than I'd ever seen you be in the entirety of your marriage to Haley. The two of you just suit each other, it's obvious."

"You really like her?"

"I do, and I'll be happy to call her a daughter. Something tells me she couldn't be pried away from you with a crowbar and that is why I'm giving you the ring."

~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning Emily is dancing around his kitchen, taco pajama short and his FBI academy shirt and a pair of his socks on her feet and he doesn't think he's ever been more in love with her than he is right now.

The words slip out before he can stop them.

"Marry me."

Emily only chuckles, the whisk in her hand keeps churning the homemade batter mix in the bowl she's cradling in her arm. "You're funny. Now help me with the pancakes, if your mom likes them I'll give her my recipe."

He walks into the living room and grabs his ready-bag, pulling out a small blue velvet box and returning to the kitchen where Emily zeros in on the box and her whisking comes to a stop. "I asked my mom for the family heirloom, that's why she's here. I had the whole thing planned out; your favorite restaurant and a ride up to a spot that overlooks the city, some candles and rose petals and I was even thinking about hiring a harpist because I know how much you're obsessed with that stupid instrument."

"Oh."

"But I can't wait anymore, I see you here day in and day out and I don't want you to leave. I want you to move in, for good. I want you to wear this ring and for you to be a parent to my son. I want to share my life with you, and some grand gesture wouldn't make that more true than it is right now."

She shakes her head, eyes moist and the pancake batter long forgotten on the counter. "No, I don't think it would. But I'm not answering unless you do it properly."

"Should I get down on one knee?"

"Yes but you won't be there long."

He smiles and lowers himself to the ground, opening the box in his hands and smiling wider at the way Emily's eyes widen on the ring inside. It's her style, he knew she'd like it. "Emily Elizabeth Prentiss, we've been dancing around each other for the better part of two decades, and I think it's about damn time we seal the deal. Will you marry me?"

Emily yanks him up from the floor and throw her arms around his body, smiling into his neck and her heart pounding in her chest because it's taken ages for them to get here but it's finally happening.

"Of course I'll marry you, Aaron. In a heartbeat."

Chapter Text

Emily listens to the phone ring, waiting for him to pick up.

"Pumpkin, I thought I might be getting a call from you soon enough." The thick familiar French accent floats through the phone from the other side of the world.

Emily rolls her eyes even though he can't see it. "So you already know then?"

"I do. He called and asked for my blessing a few weeks ago. And then you made the mistake of calling your mother before you called me, she's already set up a time and date for engagement photos."

The silence hangs between them for a moment. "Please talk her out of it."

"I talked her out of the full page ad in newspapers around the world, the least you can do is take some photos for her. She's excited Emily, as am I! You're wrong to think I don't want the photos just as much as she does."

"Fine, but I'll set the date she doesn't know when we're on rotation."

Everette smiles into the phone on his end. "You're really happy then?"

Emily beams, wishing her father was here so they could have this conversation face to face. They'd both wondered frequently if she'd ever get to this stage in her life, if she'd ever find someone she trusted enough to call a husband. Everette had always worried, always been scared that he and Elizabeth had done so much damage to their daughter that she'd spend her life alone.

This is a weight off her shoulders just as much as it is off his.

"I'm happy dad, really happy." He debates not asking what he wants to, wonders if he should just leave it alone because at the end of the day it's her marriage and not his and she doesn't have to do anything. But the silence lasts too long and they understand each other far too well. "What is it?"

"What is what?"

"The thing you want to ask me, I know there's something so spit it out."

Everette blows out a puff of air and sighs into the phone. "Have you told him? About your history."

She should've expected this, he's a huge marriage advocate and a huge honesty advocate on top of that. Of course he'd want her to be honest with the man she'll call her husband. "No, I haven't."

"And will you?"

"You think I should do it now?"

"Answer me this; are you okay marrying him without telling him the truth? Will you allow him to marry you when he doesn't know some of the most important parts of who you are?"

"But that's not who I am, not anymore."

"No, but if it comes out do you think Aaron would see it that way? Do you think he'd be fine being married to someone he doesn't really know?"

~~~~~~~~~~

They're laying in bed a week later, bare limbs tangled together under the cool sheets with the window open providing some a breeze that gives her the excuse to be wrapped up in his arms.

Not that he'd have it any other way.

She wears the ring on a necklace at work but it's on her finger now, weighted down by what her father had said. She knows he's right, but she can't quite gather the courage to say anything.

"Will you tell me about them? Not now, but one day?" Aaron asks, pressing his lips to her neck while his fingers dance over the scars on her ribcage.

"You're sure you really want to know?"

"Yes, of course I want to know. They're a part of you, and I want to know everything there is to know."

"Alright. then I think we should put some clothes on."

"What?" He asks as she detangles herself from him, tossing off the sheets and grabbing her pajama shirt from where he'd tossed it to the floor.

"This is probably a conversation we should have with our clothes on." She tells him, tossing him his sweatpants and pulling on her own pair while he grabs his t-shirt from the window seat.

They make their way downstairs and she tells him to wait on the couch, making them mugs of chamomile tea to sooth both her already frayed nerves and his that will be frayed soon enough.

She joins him on the couch with her hands wrapped around the steaming mug, staring down into the dark cup. "Emily, you don't have to tell me if you're not ready."

She shakes her head, the ring on her finger mocking her because she knows there's a possibility he'll take it away once he knows.

But he's earned that right, earned her trust and her honesty.

"Yes, I do."

She takes a sip of her tea, clears her throat, and begins.

"Almost a of my Bureau file is a backstop. I was involved in number of major operations with INTERPOL. One operation in particular went wrong, it was the reason I left..."

Chapter Text

They're in the States and Emily is thrilled. It's not their usual location in Boston, it's not loud and crowded and all tall buildings and the smell of gasoline and the sound of people shouting and talking into their phones.

No, they're in the mountains of Montana and it's beautiful. The trees are tall and full, shades of green and orange and red and the sun is warm on her skin and she finds herself smiling while she walks along the path from the cabin - and she takes full offense to Ian calling it that because it's massive and it being made of wood logs and stones shouldn't be the reason it qualifies as a cabin instead of a mansion - to the shed out back.

The shed though is nothing more than that, the side of a trailer with one window and it's not particularly well kept.

It's about a half mile walk between the two and she makes it early in the morning while Declan eats breakfast back at the house, using the opportunity to soak up some sun and a few moments of silence that she cherishes. It gives her time to stay grounded, to remember that this isn't her life it's only a life she's pretending to have.

Leaves crunch under her shoes and for a moment she regrets wearing white, a few dirt marks on the bottom of her pants from the worn trail and a few on her shirt where she's pushed branches out of her way. She knows Ian loves her in white though, she thinks it's probably something about wanting her to appear the be the purest thing in his world when in reality they both know that's far from the truth.

It's a little after eight in the morning but she needs to see him. They'd promised Declan yesterday that they'd take him to meet some real cowboys, let him ride some horses and get him one of his own because both she and Ian have their own horses back home and Declan does not.

She wants to make sure he remembers the promise, knowing that sometimes he gets so wrapped up in his work that he puts promises on the back burner that seem unimportant to him but mean the world to his son.

She approaches the shed and takes in a breath of air, knowing he's not going to like her interrupting whatever he and his men are discussing inside. He's made the area off limits to both she and Declan but the little boy's happiness is more important than whether or not Ian screams at her for breaking one of the rules he'd set when he'd invited her to his Montana property.

She knocks quickly and shoves the door open, putting on a smile that hopefully disarms her lover. "Hey, Ian, I know I'm not suppos-"

The room falls silent, Ian staring wide eyed at her and her at the scene in front of her.

"Ian, what the hell is this?" She doesn't know what to say, her brain unable to comprehend what's in front of her.

"It's my work, you know that."

"I didn't know you did this!" She feels sick, thinks of all the times his hands have been on her when this is what he does when she's not around.

"Lauren, you should go." He tells her gently and she can hear the fear in his voice. He's scared, knows that this might be what forces her from his life. "You don't need to be here, you shouldn't see this."

She slams the door behind herself, furious that he's even letting this happen on a property where his family are staying. "I shouldn't be seeing this? You shouldn't be doing this! What if I'd been Declan, hmm? What if your son had walked in and seen this?"

"Please, please ki-" Liam slams his pistol against the temple of the man tied to the chair in the center of the room, silencing what he was going to say before he could say it.

"Liam!" Ian sems to understand that any violence right now will only make things worse, that she's on the edge of a cliff and ready to shove him over it.

"What were you going to say?" She crouches down in front of the man, stomach rolling at what she assumes are his own fingers resting at her feet. She sees teeth marks on some of them, vomit on his pants and blood in his mouth and she's dangerously close to losing her own breakfast. She'd expected a lot from her lover, but this was much more than she'd been prepared for. "Ask me." She instructs gently, laying a hand on his face and he leans into her palm, the action likely the only kindness or comfort he's been show in potentially the week and a half since they'd arrived in Montana.

Blue eyes move up to meet hers and she sees that he's close to his breaking point, that soon enough his body will simply give out. "Please kill me, please? I can't-I-I-"

"Shh, it's okay, you don't have to explain." She tells him, standing and pressing a kiss to his ratty sweat covered hair because she can't imagine what he's been through and she wants to be a source of comfort for him while she still can. "I'm so sorry." She tells him, pulling her gun from the back of her pants and firing one shot at point blank range before anyone can stop her.

Before she knows what's happened Ian has her against the wall, his forearm pressed against her throat cutting off any airflow and his breath is hot on her face. "That wasn't you GODDAMN place, Lauren!"

His anger surprises her, having never done more than raise his voice at her in the year they've been together. He's never violent with her, has never raised a hand at her, has never laid a finger on her in anything other than love and adoration.

Which is why it surprises her more when his knee connects with her stomach, forcing her over at the waist and he grabs her gun from the floor. "You're going to fucking regret that." He nods at the man now dead in the center of the room. "If you get hungry you can eat him, but maybe avoid the bits he's already dug into."

She doesn't understand at first, coughing and holding her stomach that aches under her hand. But then he heads for the door and when it falls shut she hears a lock on the other side slide into place and then she understands.

She's stuck.

Day One

At first she thinks he's kidding, that he's just being an ass and proving his point. making sure she knows her place and doesn't try and inch out in front of him. She should've known better, should've toed the line like she always does. Lauren is snarky and she's bold and - rather than being walked over - she's the one doing the walking.

But not over him, never over him.

Sure, she puts up a good fight and plenty of times he caters to her rather than the other way around, but his work is the one thing she isn't to get involved in. He's said it since day one, their work stays separate and she hadn't considered the consequences of crossing the line he'd drawn. But when an hour turns to three into fourteen she knows he's not coming back until he's damn well ready to retrieve her and she's not sure when that might be so she has to start getting creative.

The first thing she does is search the shed for anything of use, digging through the boxes on the metal shelves in the corner and finding very little aside from a screwdriver a tarp some rope and a deep freeze with a lock on it and she's not sure she wants to know what's in it. She barely has any light as the sun sets, the moon giving her just enough of a glare through the window to search the room only to come up mostly empty.

But she knows Ian can see her, the camera in the corner blinking away at her, mocking her isolation because she's stuck in an old shed with a dead man and Ian is in the house with heated towels and a whirlpool tub and Declan who she figures probably didn't get to see the cowboys with his father.

Or maybe he did, and he just didn't need her as much as she'd thought.

Day Two

When Emily wakes on the wooden floor her shoulder throbs, her neck aching from the awkward angle she'd slept in and goosebumps on her skin.

"Fuck." She hisses out, a hand on the side of her neck while she pushes herself up from the floor with a groan. She's not sure what time it is but the sun is low in the sky and the birds are singing so she assumes it's fairly early so she doesn't think she's been here more than 24 hours. But still, Ian had watched her pace aimlessly around the room for half the night and sleep restlessly for the other, and he'd left her there.

She's getting irritated and glares at the camera in the corner. "You can't let me here all damn day Ian!" She shouts, more than irritated by the situation he's forced her into. It's warmer now but it's fall and the night has left her cool and achy and she's going to be livid when he finally lets her out of here.

"Come on, I have to take a piss!" She knows of course that he can't respond to her though the camera, but he's watching and she expects that in a few minutes he'll come and let her out and take it like a man when she practices her right hook on his face.

But a few minutes pass and nothing happens, no footsteps sound on the porch and the red light on the camera just keeps blinking at her and she feels the urge to scream.

"Ian MOTHER FUCKING Doyle if you don't let me out of here I swear to Go-" Liam walking through the door cuts her off.

"I wouldn't finish that sentence if I were you, not with the way he's been slamming doors all morning." She rolls her eyes and makes for the door, stopped when he holds up a hand. "He's not letting you out."

"The hell he isn't." When she moves closer he pulls his gun from his pants and she stops, knowing he doesn't particularly like her and that he'd take a shot at her just for the hell of it. "He'd kill you if you killed me, we both know it."

He smiles and tilts his head in agreement. "Yes, you're right about that. But if you tried to run I wouldn't take a kill shot, maybe just a kneecap to keep you from running and I don't think he'd hold that against me. Do you?"

He's not wrong and she knows it, knows that if Ian is this angry he'd do anything to shove her into her place.

Including a preventative injury to keep her in the shed. "If he's not letting me out what the hell are you doing here?"

He grabs a bucket from outside the door and a burlap sack. "You said you had to piss, there's toilet paper in the bag and something for you to eat and drink."

"You have to be shitting me, there's no way in-"

"If you want him to let you out this year I'd suggest you keep that pretty mouth of yours shut, Lauren." Emily almost recoils at the voice she knows belongs to Sean, and sure enough when she looks behind Liam there stands his cousin with that slimy grin on his face that always makes her feel sick. He's rubbed her wrong from the very beginning, something about him sending warning bells through her brain every time they share a space but thankfully it's rare she's alone with him.

"And unless you want my gun up your as-"

"Oh I'd be nice if I were you, don't forget who's watching." Sean points at the camera and the smirk on his face deepens and her desire to smack it off grows.

She focuses back on Liam who's enjoying her predicament just as much as Sean but who seems to be uninterested in the games he's playing. "How long exactly am I expected to stay in the fucking shed?"

Liam shrugs and tosses the bucket with the bag inside to the corner, shrugging when he heads back through the door.

"Don't know, it's not my problem."

Day Five

At the end of day five she's hungry, her stomach growling at her every few minutes and the nausea that comes with the hunger paired with the sickening smell of the dead man in the room leaves her gagging when she even thinks about eating. The bag left by Liam holds a few pieces of moldy bread, the edges white and the centers green and she's left it on the floor for the bugs.

She passes her time laying on the floor, eyes following the trail the ants are walking up and down with small chunks of bread with them and it keeps her occupied for a while, trying to recall all the facts the knows about the insects.

An ant can lift up to twenty times it's own weight.

Queen ants have wings, but they shed them when they start a new nest.

When ants fight, it's usually to the death.

She finds that a fact hard to forget, finding it far too similar to the people in her world who'd take a bullet over wounded pride any day.

She chalks it up to the fragile male ego, wars have been started over less.

Day Seven

By day seven she realizes Ian isn't letting her out for anything short of an emergency and while she's willing to do a lot she's not willing to invent a potential emergency just for him to ignore it if he doesn't deem it a real threat.

She's not going to start a fire if she doesn't know he'll come running.

She covers the man still tied to the chair with the tarp, gagging and trying to avoid touching him while she ties the rope around his torso and secures it behind his back. She grabs the wooden chair and starts sliding it across the floor, stopping when she steps on a stray finger and hears a sickening crunch and had she had anything in her stomach she would've lost it.

Instead she spends five minutes dry heaving on her hands and knees, her stomach aching when she's finished and she makes quick - mindful of the appendages on the floor - work of moving the chair into the corner of the room. She can't get rid of the body, but she can sure as hell put some space between them.

When she's finished she starts pacing around the room, her brain working in overdrive to figure out how to get out of the shed.

The window seems her best option.

She grabs the metal shelving and drags it to the window. It's small and close to the ceiling and she's not sure she could even manage to wiggle herself through without something slippery on her skin but it's her only option and she isn't just going to sit around doing nothing just hoping for her boyfriend to let her out of the hostage situation he's put her in.

The metal makes a screeching sound that hurts her ears but she finally gets it to the angle she wants and lets out a satisfied sigh with a smile on her face.

At least something she's done has been productive.

She carefully steps up the shelves, using the wall for support and reaching up toward the window. She reaches it and finds the paint is coating the locks, keeping any occupants trapped inside by a layer of decorative color that's a shade of green she doesn't find particularly attractive.

But in minutes she's up the shelves with the screwdriver in hand, scratching away at the paint in the hope that she can manage to get enough off make her escape before someone stops her.

She hears the snap before she falls, realizing she should've known better than to put all her weight on one single shelf without first checking the integrity of the screws and bolts.

Ian only makes an appearance a half hour later, eyes taking in the busted knee and her previously white pants that are brown with dirt and now red with blood.

"Are you okay?"

"Do I look fucking okay to you? What the hell is wrong with you? Let me out."

He leans against the doorframe, shaking his head. "No, you need to learn how to stay in your lane, Lauren. If this is the way to do it, so be it."

"I've learnt my lesson, okay?"

"I don't think you have. I tell you to stay out of the shed, you don't listen. I tell you to not interfere in my work, you shoot a man in the head. I'm so nice to you Lauren, I buy you anything you want, I shower you with gifts and love, I offer to spend my life with you, and you betray me. So, we have to do it the hard way. And with any luck when I let you out you'll have learnt your lesson and things can go back to how they were before."

"Things will never be how they were before, Ian. Never."

"We'll see about that."

Chapter Text

Day Eight

The sun comes up over the horizon and Emily adds a tic mark to the wall. It's rather unfortunate that the marks on the wall are smears of her own blood but she's got nothing else to keep track of the time and not knowing is not an option. Her nails are far too blunt to scratch the marks into the wood and there's very little within these walls she can bring herself to touch to carve them into the wall since Ian had taken her screwdriver with him. It's not like she's not anxiously picking at the wound that's begging for her to ease up so she can heal. She shouldn't be reopening the gash but she's scared and she can't seem to stop. She tells herself she might as well put the nervous habit to good use, wetting her fingers and leaving a tally on the wall keep track of the days without having the go searching through the rest of the room.

Eight days of nothing but her thoughts and the occasional sighting of Liam to bring her water and moldy bread she has yet to touch. The water she sips slowly, refusing to down it all in one go should it be laced with something that would leave her vulnerable.

She tells herself Ian wouldn't really hurt her, after all she's mostly unscathed and if it had been anyone else she'd be as dead as the guy she's stuck in here with.

Emily glances to the corner where she's moved him, her stomach rolling at the sight before her as much as at the situation she finds herself in.

It's Montana, they're in the middle of what Jeremy would refer to as bumfuck nowhere. Her team won't be able to get to her, the place has hills but Ian isn't stupid, they've got cameras in every direction.

They'd be a seen a mile out.

Which means its down to her own skillset to get herself out. Not that she'd have anywhere to go because she really has no god damn clue about the Montana wilderness and it's been far too long since she's gone through wilderness survival training. The team has been twice since she's been under so she's long overdue, but then again they hadn't planned for this.

They'd expected Ian to be violent with her but he'd surprised her with his gentleness. She'd gotten comfortable.

And now she's paying for it.

Day Eleven

She glares at Liam and continues glaring at the door once he's left, only looking toward the bag he'd left once she's sure she still can't burn holes into the door with her eyes.

She picks it up off the floor and sighs when she finds nothing more than the usual expired bread and bottles of water.

She gets one delivery a week, the same pieces of toast and a six pack of water that she has to make last the week no matter how dry her throat gets and no matter how much she wants to wash away the lingering taste of vomit on her tongue.

But the bread she hasn't touched, hasn't even picked at and instead leaves to sit in the corner to collect the ants that have carried off most of the food to where she couldn't say.

But today she's chosen to bite the bullet, knowing the bread isn't going to get any less expired and that she's only getting weaker.

She sits in the corner furthest from the tarped figure and slowly picks off a piece of bread, reluctantly siding it past her lips and she gags at the flavor but she forces it down and follows it quickly with a mouthful of water she hopes will wash a way the taste.

It doesn't.

But she keeps eating, taking bigger bites so she isn't wasting water on small pieces and her stomach rolling in protest after days without food.

Not for the first time she wishes she'd never taken this job.

Wishes she'd never met Ian Doyle.

Day Sixteen

When she wakes up she knows something is wrong, knows the heat radiating off her body must be unreal but the goosebumps on her skin are near painful and when she thinks about getting up her entire being protests and the ache in her muscles seems to deepen. she's weak, the days without food followed by the portion of expired bread has left her shaky and unstable.

Every time she moves the room spins, sending her into a fit of dry heaving before she almost passes out from the exertion.

The tally on the wall mocks her and she regrets doing it, knows that Ian won't let her out until he's satisfied and keeping track of how long she's been here isn't going to get her out any faster.

When her bladder starts to hurt she briefly debates moving toward the bucket across the room, but the burning in her knee and the weakness of her muscles won't let her move. Her bladder releases, finally giving up and she doesn't have the energy to cringe when urine soaks through her pants and makes them stick uncomfortably to her skin.

She's a mess, infection running rampant through her body and a puddle below her and she thinks maybe her body is going to simply give out before Ian even considers letting her go.

If it'll take her out of the misery she's in, she'll accept her fate with a smile.

Unknown

The days blur together and she's given up on her tally, having chosen to ignore her situation in the hope that her giving up will entice her lover to set her free.

She hasn't moved in days, laying in a puddle of her own urine that's soaked into her clothes and ignoring the bugs that land on and bite at her skin. She's not sure she'd have the energy to shoo them away but more than that she doesn't care. She's quickly losing hope that Ian is ever going to let her out.

She wonders if maybe he'd always been waiting for her to step out of line, if maybe he'd been looking forward to the day he'd have an excuse to lock her up and throw away the key and watch her suffer from the comfort of their own home.