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Emily was pulling away again.
Hotch should have seen it coming, but he didn't blame her for wanting some space.
At first, she'd made light of her situation. Joked about always taking the fall for everyone, and some self-deprecating humor that karma finally caught her.
It almost worked to fool him, but she wasn't present. Not on cases, not in conversation, and not even when she was alone at her own desk. Her mind was far away.
Emily also picked up a habit of avoiding the team's eye contact whenever she could, and again, Hotch couldn’t even blame her because of the way they looked at her. Like she was broken or fragile.
He tried not to look at her that way. He hoped he didn't.
So, he let her get distance. It gave him a chance to reevaluate their partnership, his job, her job, their friendship, what she meant to this team, and if it all was worth it.
He finally evaluated himself on why he couldn’t let her go, why every moment she wasn’t in his sight was painfully spent worrying about her, why every time she was, he pined for her eye contact and smile, wishing he could step a little closer to her.
Hotch needed her.
He knew that already, though. He wouldn’t survive losing her. Not really.
None of that mattered.
He couldn't in good conscious force her to face his truth, but every day he inched closer and closer to not being able to conceal it. She had to know. She had to. After what they shared the past few months, he was sure he was completely transparent to her.
It wasn't fair to her, though. He didn't want to pressure her to stay in that way, or to leave, however she would take the news, so all he could do was be a friend when she needed. A boss when he had to.
They wound up on a stakeout together.
He didn't plan it, and in fact, Morgan practically gave everyone their assignments for him when he and Rossi had uncovered the next piece of evidence.
She sat quietly in the car. Her attention was where his was: On the window across the street from them.
It was strange. Typically, a stakeout with Prentiss meant conversation or at least theories tossed back and forth. She made no move to start conversation with him this time. And she was sitting still for once.
After about two hours of nothing, Hotch, because he had no self-control, had to reach out to her. His sanity depended on it. He reached into the door and pulled out the chocolate bar he'd been saving for emergencies. He passed it to her, looking out the window as he did.
She huffed a quiet laugh. “Are you trying to tell me I'm grouchy or something?”
He arched his brow. He hadn't thought that, but maybe her sentence was telling.
She ripped the wrapper open. “I can't help my mood swings when I'm on my period.” Her voice muffled, speaking around a bite of chocolate. “You should know that by now.”
He couldn't help but glance at her, a little bewildered by her admission. He guessed it did make sense this week, if that was the case. Didn't explain the rest of the month, though.
“I haven't profiled you enough this week to know that.” He looked back out the window.
“Oh, well. Sorry anyway.” She lowered her voice. “Bad day. Bad month, really.”
He didn't like to hear that his suspicions were confirmed, especially because he did let her pull away when he knew he probably should have reached out more. He didn't want to overstep, and he was scared he wouldn’t be able to keep himself in check.
“Thank you, though. I was starving.” Her voice lightened, and she took another bite.
“I'm sorry you're having a rough time. You know you can come to me about anything, right?” He looked over at her. There was chocolate on her mouth. And on her shirt somehow.
She squinted at him as she hummed, chewed, and swallowed. “As my boss or as my friend?”
“Both.” He tilted his head.
“Well…” She frowned. “What about neither?”
He mirrored her frown, and she was quick to clarify.
“A stranger, maybe? Who has no strong feelings about what I have to say?”
Hotch sighed lightly.
Emily mimicked his light sigh and leaned on the door, eyes trailing back out the windshield across the street.
He should be looking there, too. He did, but his mind was on her question. “What could you say to a stranger and not me?” He wondered out loud. He didn't want to judge her for that at all, but he would be lying to say it didn't hurt him a bit.
“A lot more than you would think.” She mumbled.
Hotch knew there wasn't anything he could say in return, so he just zipped his lips and tried his best to focus on the window they were supposed to be watching. He was glad he had his sunglasses on.
After a moment, weight rested on his thigh. He looked down. Her hand squeezed gently. He followed her arm up, meeting her big eyes.
“I don't mean to worry you. I'm fine.” Her brows tilted up. “Just… annoyed because of my period and starving and stuck in a car, but I'll survive. I just want to keep busy.”
He didn't respond and instead looked back out the window. Her hand shifted off his thigh, and he let his breath out slowly, as subtly as he could.
After another moment of silence, she tapped her finger lightly on his shoulder. “Could you order someone to bring me some nuggets? Oh! And Diet Coke.”
This was normal for her, finally. He tilted, pulling his phone out of his pocket to text Rossi.
“Maybe also a slice of pie. Or a cinnamon roll. And medicine.” She slumped back in her seat, hand covering her stomach.
Hotch opened the center console, trying to remember all of her demands, and blindly reached in for the bottle of ibuprofen he kept in there. He passed it over to her.
“Thanks, Hotchy.”
He furrowed his brows. “Do not call me that.”
He felt her eyes roll from across the car. Once Rossi responded with a simple no, he passed his phone to her. “Here. Tell him what you want.”
She pressed call. He could hear Rossi’s muffled voice on the other line.
“I'm not getting her nuggets, Aaron.”
“Hi, it's Emily.” She sassed.
“What are you doing, Chica? We're on assignment.”
She shrugged, even if Rossi couldn't see her. “I don't know. He passed his phone over and told me to tell you what I wanted.”
“I told him no.”
“What do you mean you told him no? He's your boss. You have to bring me what he says.”
Hotch glanced at her. Her face was full of determination.
“You're not, though.”
“Well, it's his phone, so it still counts when it comes from me.” She scoffed. “Come on, I'm dying of starvation and boredom here. Please?”
There was a long pause, and Hotch knew she had him. He watched her smile. She knew it, too.
“Alright, fine. What do you want?”
“Nuggets. Diet Coke. Get me one of those brownies they have, too. And an ice cream cone.”
“No ice cream.”
“Ugh, fine. Then get me a cookie and a milkshake.”
“Does Aaron want anything?”
“I'll ask.” She pulled the phone away from her mouth. He could feel her eyes. “You want anything?”
“No.”
“He wants a large Diet Coke. And a double cheeseburger.”
“Really?”
“Yes. And get him a brownie, too.”
Hotch furrowed his brows as he thought he caught movement in the window. He sat forwards slightly, blinking his eyes clear.
When it happened again, he reached across the car, clamping his hand on her thigh to get her to quiet and still. He heard her whisper into the phone. “Shit. Gotta go.”
Hotch could feel her lean closer, hair brushing his arm as she focused on the window, too. Her fingertips touched his forearm, and it took about 99% of his willpower to focus on their task at hand rather than her proximity.
At the briefest brush of curtain, Hotch called it, lifting the radio in his lap. “We've got movement. East side basement window. Moving in.”
“Damn. I so wanted that brownie.”
They separated and met at the back of the car, both cataloguing their vests, guns, and gear together. It was practiced and quick. Reid and Morgan pulled up behind them, just as he was shutting the trunk.
As they fell in line, guns drawn and footsteps light, he made a mental note to find her a brownie before they boarded the plane home.