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I. “Your smile, my ghost”
(7x01: It Takes A Village)
He can’t take his eyes off her, from the moment she walks into the conference room. His fingers itch at his side, wanting to reach out, wanting to touch her.
He watches her greet the others, watches the tension in her slender frame as she greets them warily, expecting their anger when she doesn’t deserve it.
He feels Morgan’s eyes on him, feels his anger. Knows he deserves it but wants to shout at the other man that he was grieving, too.
He might’ve known she was alive, but that was a different kind of hell, a kind Morgan can’t begin to imagine.
He feels the weight of Dave’s stare, the speculation in it.
Hotch keeps his hands to himself but can’t tear away his eyes. It’s why he tries to keep them apart throughout the case, her presence a distraction he can’t give in to. He calls her, though, and she calls him. Her voice on the other side of the phone is like a lifeline, and he’s like a drowning man who needs her to stay afloat.
It wasn’t until she was gone that he realised how much, wasn’t till she was back that he knew…
That he knew he couldn’t lose her again.
He somehow sits beside her at the trial, his thigh pressed against hers under the long oak table. When they’re all dismissed except her, he can’t resist a backwards glance, her poise and dignity in the face of the panel’s interrogation only serving to fuel his admiration of her.
His want, his need.
When she accepts her place back on the team, there’s relieved smiles tinged with a lingering tension. Garcia wants to celebrate but Emily declines, partly due to genuine exhaustion and partly, he knows, due to Morgan and Reid’s continued struggle to accept not that she’s alive but that she was never dead in the first place.
He offers to take her back to her hotel, and when she accepts, he drives her to his apartment instead.
For her part, Emily doesn’t question it. She makes small talk in the car, asking about Jack, worrying about how he’ll take her return from the dead. Hotch assures her he’ll be fine, tells her Jack never though she was dead in the first place, that he’ll be thrilled when he gets back from Jess’s home in the morning and realises she’s back.
She follows him up to his apartment, through the door.
Clings to him when he reaches for her, fists her hands in his shirt when he tangles his hands in her hair and kisses her for the first time.
It’s demanding, urgent.
Desperate.
It’s both everything and nothing like he imagined their first kiss would be, an accumulation of years of pent up longing. He tastes the saltiness on his tongue from her tears and his, mingling with the taste of her, of them, and draws back, pressing his forehead against hers as he tries to catch his breath.
His next kiss is gentler, tender. Sweet, almost chaste, a slow awe-filled exploration. His hands drop to her waist, hold her close as hers ease from his shirt to rest against his chest, over his heart.
“I missed you,” he murmurs, lips forming the words a hairsbreadth from hers.
“I missed you, too.”
There’s more he wants to say, more he feels. Another three words that linger between them as he takes her by the hand and leads her to his bedroom.
They go unsaid, for now, but not unfelt.
In the morning, he’s relieved to wake tangled in her, reality for once far better than any dream he’s had.
II. ”it’s 2am, here we are”
(7x02: Proof)
They’re all a little tipsy after their cooking lesson with Rossi, the wine flowing freely where conversation once did. There’s still a bit of tension between some of them, still a little wariness, but they end the night on a brighter note than they started it which to Hotch means it’s a success.
When Dave offers him a spare room to stay in, he accepts gladly, knowing Jack is at Jess’s so all that waits him is an empty apartment. If he makes his decision after he hears Emily accept the same offer, well, that’s just a coincidence and nothing more.
JJ, Morgan, Garcia and Reid pile into a taxi after bidding them goodnight, and then their group of seven becomes a group of three.
It’s not surprising to him that things get easier after that, the trio that is himself, Emily and Dave a familiar grouping that got him through some of his darkest times after Foyet first turned his life upside down and then again after the killer tried to destroy it.
They retire to Dave’s study, and the wine gets swapped for whiskey. Emily curls up in the corner of the couch nearest the fire in the spot she long since claimed as hers, and Hotch takes his usual seat beside her. Dave sits opposite them, and silence falls, comfortable and calming, with no one feeling the need to fill it with small talk.
It’s a nice change, a welcome change, from the constant chatter earlier on in the evening and he’s not surprised at all to look over at Emily a short time later to find her fast asleep.
“She looks peaceful,” Dave notes, his voice soft as his eyes leave Emily’s sleeping form to lock with Aaron’s. “It’s good to have her back.”
“It is,” he agrees wholeheartedly. “I just hope she stays.”
Dave quirks an eyebrow over the top of his glass. “You have a feeling she won’t?”
“I’m not sure. There’s something… different. Morgan isn’t helping,” Hotch admits.
“I’d noticed.” Dave’s gaze stays on Hotch even as Hotch’s gaze strays back to Emily. “I suppose we’ll just have to make sure she has a reason to stay.”
Hotch nods, misses the pointed look Dave gives him but he gets the message all the same. “We will,” he says, and doesn’t mind that it sounds like a promise.
-
Emily wakes with a start, momentarily confused by her surroundings. It takes her a second to remember where she is, to recognise the decor of the room in Rossi’s house she’s stayed in more than once and have her heart rate return to normal.
It’s dark, too dark to be morning, and she fumbles in the dark to find her phone on the bedside table where someone’s put it for her.
1.52am.
She stifles a groan, wonders if she’ll be able to fall back asleep if she tries.
Knows it’s pointless, knows she hasn’t slept through the night since Boston.
Still, Emily lies there for a few moments more, willing sleep to come, before tossing back the blanket someone - Dave or Hotch - put over her after carrying her to bed. The plush carpet is soft under her feet, bare of the heels she’d worn that evening, and she pads as quietly as she can from the room.
She’s lucky she knows Dave’s house as well as she’d known her own much missed apartment, and makes her way down to the kitchen.
When she gets there, she eyes up the bottle of red still on the kitchen counter but turns away from it, not wanting to be that person.
Not wanting to be her father’s daughter.
The water she drinks instead is cool and welcome, but does little to instil a sense of sleepiness in her. If anything, it does the opposite, and she finds herself wandering through the hallways of Rossi mansion before settling herself back in his study beside the long since extinguished fire.
She doesn’t know how long she sits there alone, until she recognises the soft tread of footsteps and knows he’s purposely making noise so he doesn’t startle her.
“You can come in,” she calls out softly, squinting in the darkness to see his form emerge from the even darker hallway.
“I didn’t want to scare you,” he tells her as he makes his way over to the couch.
“I knew it was you,” she admits, and it sounds like a confession, like an admission that she knows him so well she can recognise him in the darkness.
“Good,” is all he says to that, and she wonders if she’s imagining that he sounds pleased about it. “I heard you leave your room, wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Emily winces. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”
“You didn’t,” he’s quick to assure her. “I was already awake.” He waits a moment, then asks, “are you okay?”
She knows he knows the answer before she says it, her exhale a sigh as she decides not to lie to him. There’ve been enough lies, and she has a feeling he’d see through it even if she tried. “I haven’t been sleeping very well.”
“Since you got back?”
“Since I left.”
He’s quiet for a moment, her words hanging between them. She sees movement from the corner of her eye before she feels his hand on hers, the heavy weight of it a comfort. “Nightmares?” He asks knowingly and she nods.
They sit in silence for a while, holding hands in the dark as though it’s something they’ve done a million times and not the first. It’s only when a yawn escapes her, too big to hide, that Hotch speaks again.
“Come here,” he murmurs, removing his hand only to wrap his arm around her shoulders and draw her against him. She tenses for a moment, then melts, her head finding a home against his chest. “Go to sleep, Emily,” he tells her softly, and she feels the slight weight of his lips against her the top of her hair. “I’ll be here if you have any nightmares.”
She thinks she murmurs a thank you, but it might be all in her head. The sense of peace she usually can’t find comes to her easily in his presence, chasing away the fear and leaving space for slumber to find her in its place.
III. ”makes you come running”
(7x10: The Bittersweet Science)
Training for the triathlon gives him a sense of freedom, of peace, he hasn’t felt in a long time. It’s a time and space reserved just for him and his thoughts, free from the pressure of the job and everything else life seems to want to show his way.
It helps, Hotch thinks, to feel like he’s running towards something, something good.
He’s admittedly distracted by his thoughts, by the sense of freedom he feels, so he can perhaps be forgiven for not realising he’s not as alone as he thinks until he reaches the invisible finish line at the end of his training session.
He checks his watch, is pleased he’s shaved two minutes off his best time, and then he hears an unfamiliar voice behind him.
“Jeez, I hope you're training for something.” He turns to see a woman behind him, her face flushed as she comes a stop. “Or are you just doing sprints for fun?”
“No, I'm, uh..” Hotch stumbles over his words, glances away from her. “I'm trying to do this triathlon in February, so...”
“Oh, yeah,” she says knowingly. “The FBI one. You're an agent.”
He shifts from foot to foot, a little uncomfortable at the line of questioning from someone he doesn’t know. “Yeah, it is the FBI one.”
The woman smiles. It’s a pretty smile, but he’s still a little unsettled by the unexpected attention. Flattered, yes, but not something he’s used to. “I'm not supposed to ask if you're an agent.”
“I work for the Justice Department,” he allows.
“Oh.” She smiles again, a pretty blush on her cheeks. “I've seen you doing laps at the Y, too.”
“And you're training for surveillance?” He asks, only half joking. It’s one thing to have a pretty woman flirt with him, another to know she’s been watching him - and he’s been unaware of it.
“I am doing an MS triathlon,” she explains, and that’s as far as the conversation gets before another voice interrupts them.
“Daddy!” He’s relieved to hear Jack, a smile breaking out across his face as he turns in time to greet his son, to bend in them to catch him as Jack all but throws himself into his arms. “We’ve been waiting for ages,” Jack tells him, and it’s not so much the over exaggeration that makes Hotch’s grin grow wider as it is the woman who’s also making her way over, albeit at a slower pace.
“And here I was thinking I was faster than yesterday,” Hotch jokes as Jack wraps his arm around his neck. He looks at Emily as she finishes her walk from the children’s playground to join them, his smile growing softer. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Emily returns his smile but it’s a little uncertain as she glances between him and the unknown woman. “I tried to keep Jack with me, I didn’t want to interrupt, but he saw you and —“
“It’s okay,” Hotch tells her, a little too quickly. He glances from her to his fellow runner. “This is…”
“Beth,” the other woman supplies, her smile still present but not quite as bright as it was. “I’m training for a triathlon, too.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Emily says politely. “I’m Emily, and this is Jack.”
“And I’m Aaron,” Hotch supplies belatedly, realising he hasn’t introduced himself already.
“Is it the FBI triathlon you’re training for?” Emily continues, her tone curious.
Beth laughs and shakes her head. “God, no. I work in the arts, not the FBI.”
Emily nods, and glances between her and Hotch. It’s a glance Hotch catches, just as he catches the meaning behind it and decides to act before she can excuse herself.
He moves quickly, wrapping the arm that isn’t keeping Jack on his hip around her waist. He sees the flash of surprise in her eyes before his lips brush hers, a soft, almost chase kiss that somehow sets his pulse racing just as much as running did.
“We should get going,” he murmurs when he pulls away. He stares at Emily for a second more before turning back to Beth, an apologetic smile on his face. “We promised this one pancakes for breakfast.”
“Well, I don’t want to keep you waiting. Good luck with the training,” Beth tells him, a tiny slimmer of disappointment in her eyes. “It was nice meeting you all.”
“You, too,” Emily tells her, but Hotch notices she’s a little distracted. Beth leaves and Jack wiggles to be put down, running back to the playground as Emily and father stand staring at each other. “So…. She was cute.”
“Was she?” He shrugged a shoulder, bit back a grin at the way she bit her own lip to keep a smile at bay. “Can’t say I noticed.”
Emily huffed a laugh. “Just like you didn’t notice she was flirting with you?”
“That I noticed,” he admitted, and started to walk with her towards the playground.
“And you’re not interested?” She asked quietly, her voice uncertain.
“Not in the slightest.” He stopped her before she could make her way to Jack, his hand on her elbow as she turned to face him. “I thought I made that clear.”
“I wondered if that was your not so subtle way of putting her off,” she murmured, unable to met his gaze. “Well, as long as we’re on the same page and —“
Their second kiss is longer, but no less sweet. The press of lips slanted together, a sigh escaping her as her eyes slipped shut.
“Now I hope we’re on the same page,” he tells her, his eyes searching hers.
Her cheeks flush, her eyes a little dazed. Her smile is shy, but no less pleased. “I think we are.”
IV. “sacred new beginnings”
(7x12: Unknown Subject)
It takes a lot for her to admit it, and he appreciates that she kept her promise and trusted him enough to let her guard down, even if just a little.
He knows she thinks that’s all it’ll be, that simply telling him will be enough for them both, but it’s not.
Now that he knows - for certain - it’s nowhere near enough.
“Prentiss.” He stops by her desk on his way out, the bullpen empty except for the two of them. He sees the surprise on her face when she looks up at him. “Come on.”
“Do we have another case?” She asks confusion written all over her face as she looks to her phone. “I didn’t get a text..?”
“No, no case.” He continues to stare at her, his expression expectant. “Get your things together. We didn’t get to finish our conversation on the plane.”
“Oh.” Realisation dawns and she shakes her head. “It’s okay, Hotch. I’m fine, really.” She smiles and he sees through it. “Go home, Jack’s
waiting for you.”
“He is, and he’s waiting for you, too,” he adds, playing his ace. “I told him you were joining us for dinner.”
Her jaw drops and he almost smiles, can all but see the cogs turning in her mind. He knows using his son like this is devious, but he also knows Jack is her weakness, and she’d move heaven and earth to avoid letting him down.
“I guess I don’t have a choice,” she says eventually, rolling her eyes at him when the smallest of smiles breaks free. “Low blow, Hotchner,” she adds, getting to her feet, “don’t think I’ll forget about this.”
“I know you won’t,” he assures her, waits till she’s gathered her things, and happily guides her from the bullpen with a hand to the small of her back.
Jack is thrilled to see Emily, and the feeling is entirely mutual. Hotch is careful to take almost a backseat, watching the tension ease from Emily as she spends time with his son.
He watches as she helps Jack with his homework, talks with him about school and his soccer team as they eat a meal of chicken and pasta, and then sits with him on the sofa as they watch a movie. Hotch sits on Jack’s other side, watching them more than the movie, warmth spreading through him at the obvious affection between them.
When Jack yawns for the third consecutive time, he turns off the TV and tells his son it’s time for bed, something Jack protests until he manages to get Emily to agree to read him a bedtime story.
“Just one story,” Hotch orders, calling after them as they make their way to Jack’s bedroom. He watches Emily glance at him over her shoulder, her smile mischievous as she acknowledges the order is for her as much as his son.
—
Two, maybe three, stories later, Emily returns to the living room, a sheepish smile on her face.
“You’re too soft on him,” Hotch tells her, but there’s no rancour in it, just affection.
She snorts and retakes her seat on the sofa. “As if he doesn’t have you wrapped around his little finger.”
He shrugs but doesn’t deny it, reaches instead for the two glasses of wine he’s already poured them. Handing her one, he sips from his own before speaking. “How are you? Really?”
Emily sighs, takes a drink from her glass. “I’m better than I was,” she admits, motioning him with her glass. “Thank you for this. You didn’t need to let me intrude on your evening.”
“It’s not an intrusion,” he protests. “You know you’re welcome anytime, Emily.” She smiles at that, a little ruefully, looking as though she doesn’t quite believe it but appreciates the thought. “I mean it,” he continues, setting down his glass so he can turn to face her. “You’re always welcome here.”
Whatever she sees on his face makes her pause, and she takes another gulp of wine before she, too, sets it down. She doesn’t look at him, but bites her lip and he wonders if she’s going to make her excuses and leave.
She doesn’t, though; what she does do surprises him, and he holds himself still and listens as she talks.
“I had a lot of time to think in Paris. A lot of time to go over everything and think about how I’d do things differently, what I’d do if I was ever able to come back.” Her voice is soft, tentative. “I made a list of regrets, a list of things I can chance and things I can’t. When I first came back, I was all for acting on them, for being brave…” Her voice trails off and she laughs ruefully. “I wish I still felt that way now.”
He notices her hands move, watches as she picks at her nails and reaches out to still her movements, lacing his fingers through hers so she can’t hurt herself anymore. “You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met, Emily,” he tells her, and he means it.
“If I was brave, this would be easy,” she mumbles.
“Whatever it is, you can tell me.” He lifts the hand not holding hers to her face, his touch gentle as he turns her face so she’s looking at him. His heart is racing, barely tempered hope coursing through him. “Just tell me.”
“Maybe…” She takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. “Maybe it’s better if I just show you.”
She moves slowly, slow enough for him to pull back if he wants to. He doesn’t, instead holds himself still as she gets closer. His gaze drops from her eyes to her lips and he swallows hard, forcing himself not to reach for her, knowing it has to be on her terms.
The kiss she gives him is cautious, as if she’s afraid he’ll reject her. It’s laughable, would be laughable if he didn’t feel like his whole future, his whole world rests on this moment.
He slides his hand from her cheek to the back of her head, gentle encouragement that gives her the confidence to kiss him a little firmer, a little needier. It’s the tentative touch of her tongue against his lips that’s his undoing, and he groans as he pulls her to him.
They’re breathless when they part, identical expressions of giddy disbelief on their faces.
“No regrets,” he tells her, his eyes searching hers. He relaxes at what he sees there, a grin spreading across his face.
“No regrets,” she confirms, her smile beatific as she leans in to kiss him again.
V. “really thought I’d lost you”
(7x15: A Thin Line)
“Emily’s been shot.”
The words ring through his ears, joined by the pounding of his blood, drowning out the rest of JJ’s words until Dave puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes.
“She’s okay,” JJ’s saying when he comes back to himself, the tone of her voice suggesting she’s said it more than once and he’s not sure if it’s for her benefit or his. “It’s a straight through and through, minimal damage. She’s being seen now —“
“Which hospital?” He interrupts, demands. It’s brusque enough for him to know he’ll have to apologise later but that’s not his priority now.
JJ’s tells him, then adds “you don’t have to come, Hotch, we can meet you on the jet.”
But it’s futile and they both know it; not only has a member of his team been hurt in the line of duty, Emily has been hurt and the last time she was…
The last time she was, they lost her.
“I’m on my way,” Hotch replies, and hangs up before JJ can protest.
-
He hears her before he sees her, and the sound of her voice, grumpy and frustrated, sounds like the sweetest song. She’s already arguing with the doctors, the nurses, JJ - with anyone who tries to tell her what she needs to do.
He knows she’ll argue with him, too, and he wonders what it says about him that he’s looking forward to it.
An arguing Emily means an alive Emily, and that’s everything.
She sees him and glares, first at him, then at JJ. “You called Hotch? Seriously?”
JJ rolls her eyes, throws Hotch a frustrated glance. “It’s not like he wouldn’t notice the sling,” JJ responds, speaking to her as she would a child caught misbehaving at school. “Or the case report that clearly says you got shot.”
“It’s just a graze,” Emily dismisses, waving her good hand as a nurse snorts in apparently disbelief. “Honestly, I’m fine. I’ve had worse,” she adds, and that doesn’t help things at all.
“JJ, can you go back to the hotel? Grab Prentiss’s things as well as your own?” Hotch doesn’t need to look at the blonde profiler to know she’s nodding her agreement. “I’ll see to it Prentiss behaves and listens to the doctors.”
JJ huffs a breath and mutters “good luck” under her breath but he still catches the worried glance she throws in her teammates direction.
Under the weight of his stare, the worry in it, some of the fight leaves Emily. She still protests against the painkillers - he knows she doesn’t like how fuzzy they make her feel - but she listens to the doctors instructions and lets herself be poked and prodded until they’re happy to let her go.
“I told you it was just a scratch,” she mutters when they’re finally alone, walking side by side to the SUV.
“You were shot, Prentiss. It’s a little more than a scratch.” His voice is hard, and she gives him a sidelong glance.
He looks pale, she thinks, tense and wound up. She thinks about cracking a joke to ease the tension, but nothing comes to mind. Instead she walks a little bit closer, the back of her good hand brushing against his in a silent reassurance that she’s there.
She’d expected the reaction from JJ, knows Morgan will be wracked with guilt and Reid will probably stare at her like he’s afraid she’s going to disappear the whole flight home but she didn’t expect it from him, too.
She doesn’t know why; in hindsight, it makes sense, but there’s been a distance between them over the last few weeks that made her think she no longer ranked so highly on his list of priorities. (She won’t admit that’s the jealousy talking, the envy that he’s found someone who isn’t her, even years later when she knows that to be the truth.)
When they get to the SUV, she expects him to maybe open her door for her before walking stiffly to the drivers side. She doesn’t expect him to crowd her against the closed door, mindful of her injury, one hand curling around her hip while the other cups her cheek.
She doesn’t expect him to kiss her, his lips brushing against her forehead, her mouth, the merest of touches she might not have believed it if her eyes weren’t open, if she hadn’t watched it happen.
His eyes are dark, worry and something she struggles to believe is aimed at her in their depths.
“I thought we’d lost you,” he tells her, his voice thick. “Damnit, Emily.”
She’s confused, hopeful. Feels like she’s standing on a tightrope and there’s actually a chance he’ll be there to catch her if she falls.
“I’m here,” she murmurs, lifts her good hand to touch his cheek, smiles in wonder when he leans into it, kisses her palm. “Hotch…”
There’s a dozen questions in her voice, a million doubts, but the look on his face does a damn good job at answering them all.
“I can’t lose you again, Emily.” It’s a confession, an admission of love without saying the three words they’ll say to each other for the first of many times in the weeks to come.
She smiles at him, leans up to match his soft kiss with one of her own. “You won’t, Aaron. I’m not going anywhere.”
VI. “take away the pain”
(7x19: Heathridge Manor)
The cold water feels like heaven over her hands, and it’s all Emily can do not to cry with relief as the burning sensation she’s felt in them since touching Lara Heathridge finally starts to fade.
She knows she should’ve mentioned it to the paramedics, should’ve been checked out on scene, but in the chaos of the takedown, a few nicotine burns was nothing.
Lara is rightfully the focus of the paramedics attention, then Hotch when he limps out of the Manor House. James Heathridge is beyond saving, his death a tragedy but not one Emily thinks she’ll mourn for long.
She tells herself she’s okay, that she was only exposed for a short time and as soon as she cleans her hands thoroughly, she’ll be fine.
The headache comes on suddenly, the accompanying nausea making her glad she’s already in the ladies room at the precinct. Her hands start to tingle the moment they’re no longer being held under the running water but there’s little she can do about that for the moment.
As soon as the nausea has passed, she stands on shaky legs and returns to the sink. Her hands are red, small blisters appearing where her skin came into contact with the liquid nicotine. They’re painful, but she’s pleased the nausea has passed and quickly soaks some paper towels in cold water to hold against them as she debates what to do.
The decision is made for her when there’s a knock at the main door just before it opens.
“Are you ready to go, Pren - what happened?” His limp isn’t quite as obvious but his step is slower as he walks towards her. “Were you exposed…?”
“Just for a second,” she’s quick to assure him, trying to hide the worst of the burns from his gaze. “It’s fine, Hotch. Really.”
“You should’ve had these checked out,” he tells her gruffly. He takes hold of one of her wrists, removes the paper towel and swears under his breath. “Damnit, Prentiss.”
“It’s nothing.” She tries to pull her hands away but his grip tightens. “I’m not going to hospital,” she warns him. “There’s no point now.”
He glares at her stubbornness but the sigh he gives suggests he knows she won’t relent. “Fine,” he says shortly, “stay here.”
“Not like I have a choice,” she mutters as he leaves, turning the tap back on to resoak the towels.
When he returns five minutes later, it’s with an officer she doesn’t recognise holding a first aid box, one who cheerfully tells her he was a paramedic in a former career path. The man tuts as he sees her hands but doesn’t admonish her, deciding to keep quiet as he watches her and Hotch glare at each other.
He quickly takes care of her hands, murmuring she’s done everything right so far - ignoring Hotch’s snort of disagreement - and covers them in salve before covering them with a non-stick dressing, securing it in place with a bandage.
“You’ll want to keep an eye on them,” the officer explains, and she’s not sure if he’s talking to her or to Hotch. “If they show signs of infection, you’ll need to get them treated but otherwise, treat them as you would a normal burn. Are you feeling any other symptoms, Agent Prentiss?”
Hotch’s glare makes her answer honestly. “I’ve got a headache, and I threw up earlier. I don’t feel sick now, though.”
“That’s good,” she’s told. “Take pain killers for the headache - ibruprofen will help for that and any pain in your hands - and keep hydrated. You were only exposed to a small amount so should make a full recovery.”
“Thank you,” she tells him, and means it. It’s a little humiliating to be treated in the ladies room but it beats a hospital visit.
“Don’t mention it,” he tells her cheerfully, and makes a quick exit after accepting Hotch’s thanks with a nod.
“We’re talking about this later,” Hotch says sternly, but his hands are gentle as they take hold of hers. “You have to tell me when you’re hurt, Emily.”
“I’d say you were hurt more,” she tries to joke, but his gaze is serious.
“It’s not a competition,” he chides gently. “I can’t take care of you if I don’t know.”
“You don’t need to take care of me,” she protests, but is stopped from saying more when he lifts one of her bandages hands, pressing a kiss to the back of it while holding her gaze the whole time. “Oh.”
“Please don’t try to hide it from me?” He asks so softly that she finds herself nodding in an agreement. “Good. Let’s get out of here.”
She’s thankful he doesn’t make a big thing of her injuries in front of the team, that he shuts down any questions with a stare. He sticks close to her, touches her when he can, and she catches the long looks he gives her, looks that make her heart beat a little faster.
She’s not sure what’s changed between them but knows that something has.
VII. “never too late”
(7x24: Run)
“Prentiss, what's your status?” His voice is the last thing she needs to hear, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she looks at the counter and sees the numbers ticking down.
The wires mean something. She knows they do. Everything the couple have done up to this point has been about them, about their story, and she finds herself muttering as much under her breath as she tries to think.
Red, yellow and blue.
The wires are red, yellow and blue.
“The colours of the flag of Chad,” she murmurs, fingers hovering over them, her hands surprisingly steady. “Only one of them is different from the US flag - yellow.” She looks up, sees the pain and sweat on Will’s face. The resignation that he’s going to die. He opens his mouth, no doubt to tell her to keave again but she knows there’s no point.
She wouldn’t get far enough away from the blast, even if she did.
She thinks of JJ and Henry, of how this man in front of her is their world and knows she can’t let them lose him.
She thinks of the team, the family she’d found and lost and then found again.
She thinks of Hotch, of Aaron and Jack. Thinks of the life she’d once hoped she’d have with them, a life that now looks like it belongs to someone else.
She thinks of a house in DuPont Circle, of the cracks in the foundation that don’t seem as important anymore.
“Yellow,” she whispers, mostly to herself. Seconds left now. Seconds separating her and Will from a death they won’t come back from. “What do you think?”
She doesn’t give him a chance to answer.
The timer stops.
“Oh,” she breathes a sigh, falls back on her heels. “Oh.”
Will laughs, a short, incredulous sound. “How… How did you do that?”
“I didn’t overthink it,” she tells him, and she knows it’s partly a lie, partly the truth. She’s been overthinking a lot lately, too much, and she thinks maybe she should try just living in the moment instead.
Her surroundings come back into focus slowly, the voice coming from both the earpiece she’d pulled out and echoing around the empty station.
Hotch. Calling for her. His voice harsh, angry.
Scared.
“We’re up here,” she calls out, meeting Will’s face and seeing the speculation on his face. “We need wire cutters, and EMTs for Will.” She belatedly repeats the words after putting in her earpiece, hears them repeated in an ordered bark even as footsteps thunder towards them.
Hotch has a face like thunder and she knows she’s in trouble for ignoring him. She gets to her feet shakily, moves aside as a member of the bomb squad moves in to inspect the device on Will.
“I know I shouldn’t have taken out the earpiece,” she starts, trying to appease him before he can shout at her. “But if I didn’t, you would’ve ordered me to leave and I didn’t want to disobey so —“
His mouth on hers cuts her off. An arm around her waist, a hand in her hair. He kisses her desperately, relentlessly, and she’s helpless to do much more than cling to him as her already weak knees threaten to give out as she kisses him back.
They’re breathing hard when he pulls back, his breath hot on her face.
They need to talk about it, to figure out what it means, and it’s not the time or the place and they know it.
“We didn’t see a thing,” Will speaks up from behind them, a grin on his face as he’s helped to his feet. The agent beside him pointedly looks everywhere but at them.
Hotch nods, but doesn’t let go of her straight away. His fingers dig into her waist, a squeeze that promises a “later” and then he takes a step back.
Reeling, from the kiss and the two bombs she’s somehow survived that day, Emily finds herself following silently.
—
It doesn’t surprise her that he turns up on her doorstep that night. She’s expecting an apology, a “it was out of line, it was the adrenaline, I have a girlfriend, it shouldn’t have happened, won’t happen again” kind of speech.
It’s not what she gets.
Instead she gets Chinese food he brought with him from the place she prefers around the corner, a bottle of expensive white wine she knows could only have come from a recommendation from Rossi. He plates up the food without a word, somehow easily navigating her kitchen cupboards as though he’s done this a hundred times before. She pours the wine for want of something to do, follows him to the sofa and sits down.
They’re partway through picking at their food when he speaks.
“I broke up with Beth.” He says it calmly, matter-of-factly.
Emily puts her fork down. “Oh.”
“Oh?” He looks at her there, his gaze intense.
She gets the feeling she should say something else, that he’s waiting for more from her. “Um, I’m sorry?”
“Don’t be.” He puts his fork down, sets his plate aside. “It… She was nice.”
“I know.” She doesn’t, not really. She’s met Beth once, and she seemed okay but it’s not enough to really make a judgement call. But she makes Hotch happy, and Jack —
“Jack liked her,” he adds, as if reading her mind.
Emily stifles a sigh. “I know.”
“Not as much as he likes you,” he continues and surprises her into looking at him.
She blinks, surprised. “Oh, I don’t know about that —“
“I know,” he repeats, in a tone that leaves no room for arguing. “And I know it wouldn’t have been fair to Beth to keep pretending nice is enough. It’s not.”
“Oh,” she says again, and looks down at her plate.
“Emily.” He takes the plate off her, sets it on the table beside his own.
“Yes?”
“Are you leaving?”
The question startles her and she thinks again, that he must be a mind reader. Either that or he knows her too well. “I don’t… why are you asking?”
“Just a feeling. Just…” He runs a hand through his hair. “Am I too late?” He asks quietly.
“Too late?” She feels dumb, repeating what he’s saying. Maybe she’s concussed, maybe she should’ve got checked out…
“To tell you how I feel,” he tells her, his words coming out in a rush.
She bites back another ‘oh’ and stares at him instead. “I… No?”
“Are you sure?” His gaze is intense, enough so that her breath catches in her throat. He reaches out to take her hand, and she shivers when he runs his thumb over her knuckles. “I should have told you sooner. I wanted to, after Paris. But you… I thought you blamed me for making the decision to send you away. I thought I’d give you space, then that I’d waited too long —“
“Aaron.” The sound of his first name, and the feel of her hand against his cheek, makes him stop. “I’ve never blamed you. You did what was best. And you haven’t waited too long. I… Are you sure? I’m not… I’m not who I was before. I’m different, broken even.”
“You’re you,” he interrupts her simply, turning his face into her palm to press his lips against her skin. “That’s all I need, all I want. I love you. I’ve been in love with you longer than I care to admit.”
“I love you, too.” She moved first but he wasn’t far behind, and they met in the middle, their lips finding each others in a searing first kiss.
—
They arrive at Rossi’s together, Hotch’s arm around her waist. Jack beams up at them, his hand wrapped around Emily’s.
They stand together during JJ and Will’s wedding ceremony, fingers brushing, eyes catching.
Exchanging silent promises they both know they’ll move heaven and earth to keep.