Criminal Minds 1. The Knock at the Door

**Author's Note:** MAJOR ANGST WARNING! Minor character deaths. I promise the team is safe.

This story is inspired by the prompt below and it is a spin-off of "Universe A". This will be "Universe B." If I spin off something again from the main story, that will be the alpha sequence I follow.

And if you're just discovering this story, and haven't read any of my other stuff, you should **first go read chapters 1-51 of "Falling in Love with a Girl."** This story picks up events immediately after Chapter 51 in that story. For all intents it is canon through the beginning of season 4, but the reason it is a 'spin-off' is because I needed here for them here to have the established warmth and camaraderie in their relationship that we don't necessarily "see" on screen.

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**Prompt Set #1**

Show: Babylon 5

Title Challenge: A Race Through Dark Places

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**The Knock at the Door  
**

Hotch stood in front of her door for almost ten minutes. He did not want to be the one to do this to her.

To break her heart.

But she had to be told in person, he didn't want her finding out from some stranger on the phone. Or worse, some talking head on the news.

So he took a breath . . . and finally . . . he rang the bell. Once . . . and then again. Then he stepped back.

And waited.

A minute later he heard shuffling from inside, and then the door opened. She was blinking, obviously still half asleep.

"Hotch?" Emily stared up at him fuzzily, "what's wrong?"

For a second he just looked at her, his gut churning, and then he took a step closer.

"Something's happened," he said softly, "I need to come in."

Emily felt a shot of adrenaline hit her system, clearing the sleep from her brain.

Those weren't good words to hear in the middle of the night. Really, those weren't good words to hear at any time of the day. And her brow was wrinkled in concern as she stepped back to let Hotch inside.

It didn't help that he didn't make eye contact as he brushed past her to head directly down to the living room. Then she watched as he bit his lip and his gaze fell to the floor.

Oh God, this was bad . . . her stomach started to clench up . . . this was going to be REALLY bad.

With a growing sense of dread filling her, Emily turned back to shut the door and turn the deadbolt.

It was three o'clock in the morning and her boss had just shown up at her door in his pajamas to tell her something, and now he won't look at her.

The horrific possibilities going through her mind were absolutely endless.

Hotch lifted his head, catching Emily's worried eyes as he debated asking her to sit down. Then he figured that she already knew that something terrible had happened, so he should just get it out. So he cleared his throat.

"Prentiss . . ."

But then she cut him off.

"Wait." Emily shook her head as she walked down the hall towards him. Then she stopped in front of him with her hand up.

"What you came to tell me is really bad, right?" She asked warily.

Hotch nodded slowly, but didn't say anything . . . this was her news, he'd go at her pace. He just wanted to make sure that she wasn't alone when she found out.

Emily stared at Hotch. She now had her confirmation that it was in fact, 'really bad.' Okay. Well, she'd had really bad news before.

How had she handled it?

She blinked.

"Do you want a drink?" Before he could answer, she nodded to herself, "you must want a drink because I want a drink just looking at you. And you already know this bad thing, so let's have a drink and then you'll tell me, okay?"

Hotch looked at her for a second before nodding again.

"Okay," he said slowly, "if that's what you want . . . then that's what we'll do."

He actually would love a drink, but he sure as hell wouldn't have asked her for one. And if she wanted to put this off a couple more minutes, that was very okay with him too. Because once he said it, he wouldn't be able to take it back.

That was it, her life as she now knew it . . . would be over.

More people should get the opportunity to have a drink before that moment happens.

Emily went over to the liquor cabinet and took down the Jameson's and two glasses. Then she went back to the kitchen and filled them with ice and whiskey before bringing everything . . . including the bottle . . . over to the coffee table.

There she down on the couch and patted the seat next to her.

Hotch took a breath before he moved over and sat down, taking the full glass Emily handed to him.

He tossed it back like it was a shot, and as he put the empty glass down on the table, she murmured.

"That bad, huh."

So she did the same, wincing as the liquor burned her throat. Then she put her glass back down next to his.

For a moment she stared at the ice as it melted and swirled with the brown droplets still in the glass. Then she took a breath and nodded as she looked up at him.

"Okay, you can tell me now."

Hotch took his own breath before slowly rubbing his hands together.

"I got a call from Strauss about forty minutes ago. The section chiefs are automatically notified when there's a major terrorist attack. In this instance, suspected. But also in this instance there was more . . ." he swallowed, "because there are also major _diplomatic_ implications."

He hoped that might give her a clue, prepare her, because he didn't want to just blurt it out before she was ready. But he could see that she was still staring at him without any comprehension.

She didn't understand yet.

So he reached over and picked up her hand.

"Prentiss," he continued softly, "there was a plane crash . . . in Egypt."

His stomach turned as he saw her eyes widening in horror . . . she didn't know before, but she knew now. So he just got the rest out as quickly as possible.

As though it would somehow hurt less that way.

"I'm so sorry," he shook his head sadly, "but there were no survivors."

Emily doubled over, gasping.

OH GOD, OH GOD, OH GOD, OH GOD, OH GOD

Feeling a wave of pain and empathy for her, Hotch immediately started rubbing Emily's back as she tried to catch her breath. He felt utterly helpless. He just wanted to say something or do something to help her.

But he was drawing a complete blank.

Even with the hundreds of death notifications that he'd given over the years, it still gave him absolutely no preparation for dealing with one this close to home. And when she lifted her head to look at him, and he saw the raw misery on her face, his heart ached for her.

"Are they sure," her voice broke, "no survivors?"

Maybe there was still a chance. Maybe they were okay!

Hotch nodded before he said quietly, "they're sure."

Then he paused, not sure if this was the time to tell her the rest. But then he decided if it was him, that he'd want to know. So he ran his thumb along her hand as he whispered, "there was an explosion shortly after takeoff. They went in over the Indian Ocean."

The first tears starting running down Emily's face as she asked hoarsely, "so no bodies?"

He looked down, then dragged his eyes back up to hers . . . if she had to hear it, then he needed to not be a coward about saying it.

"There are bodies. The pilots were still in contact with the tower when they disappeared off radar. And there were a number of boats in the area, so the response was pretty quick." He cleared his throat, "they've recovered about half so far but, uh . . ."

Emily's face crumpled as she finished the sentence that he couldn't.

"But they won't be identified without DNA and dental records."

At his slow nod she finally started to cry.

For a moment, he just squeezed her hand tightly, not sure what to do. But then she moaned . . . it was an awful sound . . . and his choice was clear.

He wrapped his arm around her body, and pulled her over to his chest.

But as her sobs got more violent, his own eyes began to burn in sympathy . . . and after only a split second's hesitation . . . he reached over and pulled her into his lap.

Her fingers clutched his t-shirt in vice grip. Then she buried her face in his neck as he felt her hot tears start to fall against his skin.

And as he wrapped her up in his arms, he wanted so badly to tell that it would be okay . . . but it wouldn't be okay. Both of her parents were dead.

It would never be okay again.

So he just held her close, rubbed her back, and let her cry.

At least five minutes passed before she started sucking in heaving breaths, and Hotch knew that she was trying to get her emotions back under control. And he was relieved to feel, that for the moment at least, the sobs were passing.

He'd been worried that she was going to make herself sick.

Emily finally . . . temporarily . . . exhausted her supply of tears. Then she tucked her head under Hotch's chin, taking deep breaths as she tried to calm down. Some part of her brain knew that sitting in his lap . . . even given their complicated history . . . was a bit unusual.

But she couldn't make herself care about it beyond the idea that it was simply a fact. But it was an unimportant fact. Because she was an orphan now.

She reached up to wipe her hand across her face as she said the word to herself again.

Orphan.

She thought somehow that was just a word for little kids. Guess not. Because she was thirty-nine, and that was the only word that would come to her. She sniffled then, which made her realize that her nose was running.

On Hotch.

So using his chest as leverage, she pushed herself back. Then she wiped her hand across her face as she hiccuped.

"I'm sorry," she murmured as she looked up at him, "my nose is running on your shirt."

Hotch just looked at her for a second before he gave her a sad smile. Then he pulled her back against his chest.

"It's okay," he whispered as he patted her back, "doesn't matter."

Only Emily would be worried about such thing right now.

Then he felt her fist her hands in his t-shirt again as she murmured a pitiable, "thanks."

He tightened his hold around her body . . . she sounded so broken that he didn't know what to do. Or what to say.

He had nothing.

Emily closed her eyes as she tucked her face against the curve of Hotch's neck. She didn't want to get up. She wanted to stay right there on the couch wrapped up in Hotch's arms, as long as he would stay with her. Because eventually she knew that she was going to have to walk out her front door, and she was going to have to handle this nightmare all by herself.

And she was trying to put that moment off as long as possible.

She didn't have any brothers or sisters . . . and because they traveled so much . . . they'd never been close to her parents' siblings, or her cousins. So it was just her now. She didn't have anyone anymore.

Not even anyone to fight with.

_God what she wouldn't give for another fight with her mother!_

As another tear ran down her face, Emily murmured sadly against Hotch's chest.

"I'm all alone now."

Hotch tucked a strand of hair back behind Emily's ear as he whispered, "you're not alone. I know that we're not your real family, but you have us Prentiss."

Then he winced as he corrected himself while tightening his embrace.

"Emily."

He knew he needed to stop calling her Prentiss all the time. She was the only one that he never called by her first name. Originally he thought that it was just out of habit . . . which was part of it . . . but later he realized that he did it to keep her at arm's length. And then once he was divorced . . . and realized that he was developing a more personal attachment for her . . . he did it on purpose.

Trying to maintain the distance that was no longer there.

But now was not the time for his neuroses. The poor thing thought that was all alone in the world. And it wasn't going to help convince her that she wasn't, if he couldn't even call her by her given name. So he said it again against her hair as he rubbed his hand down back.

"Emily, I promise whatever you need, okay?"

She nodded against his chest.

"Thanks," then she sighed, "I want to go get them. I want to bring them home."

Without a doubt she knew that was what they would do for her. It was what was right.

You take care of your own.

At Emily's announcement, Hotch froze for a second while trying to think of a delicate way to say he needed to say.

There wasn't one.

"You know, uh," he said haltingly, "they're not sure yet that they have their bodies. Not everyone's been recovered."

_'And not everyone will be recovered,'_ he added to himself. But he couldn't bear to say that aloud.

What little focus was driving her right now, was the recovery of her parents' remains. And he'd already taken enough from her tonight.

He wouldn't take that too.

But then he felt her nod again.

"I know, but I want to go. Because if they do have them it's going to take weeks to get them home from there. I assume we have jurisdiction?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "it was a diplomatic flight, all American passengers and crew. Strauss told me that we're sending a team out with the NTSB. There's still a possibility it was mechanical failure or just an accident. But given their mission, and where they were, our people are going to investigate in case it's a crime scene."

Of course it was a crime scene. Everyone knew the odds of this simply being unbelievably tragic coincidence were less than nil.

Emily nestled in closer to Hotch as she said quietly, "okay then, if I'm there to give a sample, and bring their, their," she stumbled over the word, "dental records, then it should go more quickly. Plus maybe if our people know who I am, my parents will get a little consideration. There were three congressman and two senators traveling with them. As VIPs go, my parents, on that flight anyway, aren't going to take the top priority."

Hotch frowned, "Emily you know that doesn't make a difference to the investigators."

She wiped her hand across her face again, "no, I know it doesn't make a difference to them. But there's going to be a lot of pressure from other places, and really Hotch," her voice cracked again, "I just want to bring my mom and dad home."

It was the only thing she could focus on right now . . . getting them back.

"Okay," he ran his hand consolingly down her arm, "okay, whatever you want to do. We'll fly out in the morning."

She wrinkled her brow as she shook her head, "that's a long trip Hotch, I can go by myself. I don't want to be a bother."

As much as she wanted him to come, accompanying her on this awful trip was too much to ask of anyone.

Hotch frowned at Emily's choice of words . . . a bother. God, he really had done a terrible job in showing her how much he valued their relationship. He'd thought that he was getting better . . . he had been making a real effort to strengthen their friendship . . . but clearly there was work still to be done.

And this was obviously the time to do it.

"Hey," his fingers ghosted down her arm, "you're never a bother. Never. But if you'd feel more comfortable, I can send Morgan or Dave with you. Because really Emily," he squeezed her wrist, "I'm not sending you halfway around the world to deal with this all alone. So you pick one of us, okay?"

He was relieved that he remembered to call her Emily that time too. Maybe it wouldn't be so hard to break the habit.

At Hotch's offer, Emily pushed herself back again so that she could see his face . . . it was resolute . . . so she gave him a watery smile.

"In that case, I would like it if you were the one that came with me. I mean," she tipped her head, "if you're really sure that you can take the time."

This was going to be a lot of time. Especially for a man that worked through holidays.

"Of course," Hotch's eyes crinkled slightly as he nodded again, "Dave can hold down the fort until I get back."

His job was so often about taking care of the dead, and right now he needed to focus on the living.

Focus on Emily.

With one decision now made . . . one of only a thousand that were lined up in front of her . . . Emily took a breath before shifting to put her head back onto Hotch's shoulder again. For a moment she was quiet, then she whispered.

"I just talked to them last week. I wanted to let them know that I had started back to work and had been cleared for regular duty." She sniffled, "you know, I'd called them right after Colorado to tell them that I was okay. Fortunately they hadn't identified the agents being held so they didn't know anything until it was over."

It's a good thing. Her father probably would have stormed the compound.

"Yeah," Hotch rubbed her back, "that's why I didn't call your mother. It was a gamble, but I figured as long as your name wasn't out then there was no point in making her worry."

He still felt that he'd made the right call there, but now he kind of wished that he'd spoken to her. He liked the ambassador. It would have been nice to talk to her one more time . . . even if it hadn't been under the best of circumstances. He tipped his head over to rest against Emily's.

God they were having a terrible year.

Emily closed her eyes and took a deep breath . . . usually Hotch's scent made her feel better. Like things would be okay. But now, she just felt empty. He still made her feel safe . . . more so than usual being wrapped up so close . . . but she knew that things wouldn't be okay.

Even Hotch couldn't fix this one for her.

Feeling the tears starting to well up again, Emily tried to distract herself. So, swallowing over the lump in her throat, she asked softly, "was it on the radio when you came over?"

"Not yet," Hotch responded with a faint shake of his head, "but if it hasn't broken by now, it will be soon. It's the middle of the night here, but it's mid morning there. And apparently it happened a couple of hours ago."

"The remote's on the end table," Emily murmured with a slight gesture of her chin.

Hotch picked up his head to look over before reaching his arm out to grab the silver device. Then he looked down at Emily with a worried brow.

"Are you really sure that you want to see? Because you know what this is like. If they have footage of them going in, they're going to run it over and over. And if they don't know what's going on, then they're going to have all kinds of experts rotating through to speculate about what happened . . . and what they would have gone through," he bit his lip as he looked at her sadly, "it's going to hurt you."

This was a bad idea. He knew in his soul that it was a bad idea.

Emily stared into Hotch's eyes for almost minute . . . you could get lost in the black. Then she blinked and put her head back on his chest.

"Just for a little bit," Her eyes started to sting again, "I know that you're probably right, but I just need to make it real. And if the rest of the world knows too, then it's real. It's not just us sitting in the dark."

Hotch looked down at her swollen, still watery, eyes. He _really_ didn't think that she should put herself through this.

But if she wanted to . . . he couldn't see how he could stop her. And maybe it would be best to do it now when the networks don't have much to run. Then he'd just keep her away from the television for, well, six or seven months.

Probably not practical, but he just wanted to protect her. He hadn't been able to do that in Colorado. And now tonight, he had to come here and break her heart. This was the worst day of her life, and she would always remember that he was the one that told her. He just felt like this was ONE thing that he could make better for her.

That he could control.

But . . . her eyes snapped back up to his . . . he couldn't control this either. This was her decision to make, and she'd made it. So he nodded . . . giving her a ghost of a smile . . . before he hit the button.

They both looked over as the blue glow slowly filled the room. Previously the only light was from the one over the kitchen sink.

Even under the circumstances, Hotch's eyes crinkled faintly when he realized that the last channel she'd been watching was Discovery.

Just like they'd discussed that night with the pizza.

But then his faint amusement immediately faded . . . replaced with a new wave of regret . . . when he realized that if she was watching that channel regularly, it meant that she was struggling. She was already struggling before tonight's terrible news.

So how the hell was she going to go on from this?

Knowing that there was no answer to this question . . . or at least no answer he wanted to accept . . . Hotch sighed as he punched in the channel code for CNN.

They'd get this done, and move on to all the rest of it later.

Emily's eyes widened as the images appeared on the screen. And there it was . . . the huge breaking news banner.

_'Mid East Peace Envoy Explodes in Mid Air' _

That, along with pictures of her parents and the other VIPs who had gone on the trip. It was real. Her heart twisted.

They were dead.

Before she had fully processed that realization, the crawl caught her eye.

_. . . possible terrorist attack . . . exploded before impact . . . no possibility of survivors . . . bodies recovered charred beyond recognition . . ._

Feeling a fresh stab of pain in her chest, Emily closed her eyes.

"That's enough," she whispered. And Hotch quickly snapped off the television. But it was too late, she could feel the wave pressing on her chest, as her eyes again filled with tears.

He'd been right, that was a bad idea.

The worst idea ever.

Hotch dropped the remote next to him on the cushion. The he shifted Emily in his arms and leaned back against the couch. Some part of him was thinking it should feel weird, or at least inappropriate, to have had her sitting in his lap for the last twenty minutes.

But it didn't. Not even a little.

They'd gone through a lot together that year, most of it bad. And next to Dave, Hotch realized that Emily was probably the only one that he ever felt like he could talk to about his life. That he trusted with his secrets. She'd seen him at his worst, and she never judged him or betrayed his trust. And he realized now, that's why hadn't hesitated to offer to go with her. She needed somebody, and he wanted to be there for her.

Because when he'd needed somebody, she'd been there for him.

And with that revelation, this time when she started to cry, he had something real to say as he rubbed her back. He promised her that she wasn't alone, and that he would stay with her, and that he would help her get through this. And after she cried herself to sleep in his arms, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

Those were promises he intended to keep.

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_A/N 2: As I said, I'm taking the prompt challenge as an opportunity to do some things that I can't/wouldn't do in my main 'verse. And I like Emily's parents, I have no intention of knocking them off in the main world. I don't know if I've ever said this before, but I picture Emily's dad as Bruce Boxleitner. And if you're familiar with Scarecrow and Mrs. King then you'll get why that is, and why it amuses me :)_

_The prompt gave me the idea, because there's really no darker place than that kind of grief. But I was intrigued by the idea of another precipitating act for them to 'accelerate their bonding.' And if one of them had a major tragedy befall them so quickly on the heels of what happened in New York and Colorado, then perhaps things between them would go differently because they would see life as being a bit shorter and more fragile. Perhaps. We'll see how things go with them here :) _

_And if anyone's been to Egypt and wants to shoot me a pm on restaurants or hotels where westerners congregate, that'd be much appreciated. Obviously they aren't sightseeing but they will have to eat, and I've said many times before, I like to keep my fake worlds as real as possible. I haven't decided on a city yet, but presumably Cairo because that would probably be the easiest/quickest to google basic facts. _

_I will be updating this at slower intervals than Girl but faster than & Such. Basically this is the Mama Bear of my three stories. And it isn't going to be super long. I already have the last scene pictured in my head. Now I just have to drive from A to J. And it probably will be J, nine or ten chapters total. I might finish it before the end of the month. I have the next sequence of events fairly clear in my head but I might get stuck on letter E or something. _

_Let me know if you like it. I know I'm all super angsty with my postings this weekend. If you're not a fan of all the angst, sorry :( I'm in a bit of a weird mood so, though the extra stories might be a bit heavy, you can take comfort that at least Girl will be quite light for a little while. _


	2. The Notifications

**Author's Note:** Just a reminder here that Em's dad worked at the CIA.

This is a grueling story to write! But it's kind of stuck in my head now so there's a good possibility there will be regular updates for a couple days. And as I started typing up this one the dish kind of ran away with the spoon, so I think now, it may very well go a bit beyond ten chapters.

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**The Notifications  
**

Emily awoke to a familiar smell. But it wasn't one she was accustomed to experiencing when she first opened her eyes. She inhaled . . . what was it?

Oh . . . right . . . Hotch.

She blearily opened her eyes to find her head was in the crook of his neck. The fuzzy little part of her brain trying to think real thoughts wondered why that was.

And then the reason slammed into her again like a freight train.

The plane crash.

Her eyes immediately started to burn but she tried to blink the tears away. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't curl back up in his arms and cry for a week. Her brain was becoming more alert and she remembered that there were things she needed to do today.

Though . . . she rubbed her cheek on his t-shirt . . . maybe she could sit here for just another minute. She was remembering his promise last night that he wouldn't leave her. And here he was . . . still with her. Still with her though he must be exhausted and sore from sleeping sitting up and holding.

Yet still he hadn't left her.

He was such a good man, and waking up with him this way was making her truly appreciate how lucky she was to have him in her life. She wasn't generally much for leaning on other people, but she did recognize that she was in nowhere near any condition to deal with this situation by herself.

For God's sake she couldn't even _regain consciousness_ without starting to cry again! How the hell would she ever be able to get herself halfway around the world alone, let alone deal with the actual _situation_, if she was already a mess thirty seconds after just waking up?

She reached up to wipe away a stray tear that ran down her face. In response to her movement, Hotch tightened his grip on her, and that's when she realized what had probably woken her was his phone.

He was whispering to someone while he ran his fingers soothingly down her bare arm.

When Emily moved her hand, Hotch glanced down to see that she was crying. He felt a pang in his chest as he cradled her closer.

Once upon a time she had told him about her little boxes, and how they got her through the bad days. He had been hoping that they would help her here. But this was obviously a level of grief beyond any coping mechanism.

And he'd be happy to let her sit and cry for a week if that's what she needed, but he knew she wanted to get to Egypt as soon as possible. And he also knew that she was an incredibly private person and wouldn't want the entire world to see her grief. So he'd just have to make sure they had a couple pairs of sunglasses, and he'd keep her as close to him as possible.

The less she had to talk to people the better.

And as he got distracted worrying about Emily, Hotch realized that he'd just missed the last thing JJ had said.

"I'm sorry JJ," he refocused, "what was that?"

"I was just asking if you guys would be stopping into the office at all." She paused, "I wanted to give Emily my condolences, and see if there was anything she needed."

JJ felt awful. She'd woken up early that morning, just like she did every morning, so she could watch the news and check the headlines on the Internet. As media liaison it was her job to know what was going on in the world. But to her absolute horror everywhere she'd looked she'd seen pictures of Emily's mother and father. Once she'd gotten over her initial shock, she'd immediately called Hotch to tell him what happened, only to discover that he was already with Emily.

She'd been so relieved. That had been JJ's immediate fear, that Emily would find out on the news like she had.

Hotch looked down at Emily again, "um, hold on a second, I'll see if she's awake." He put his hand over the mouthpiece as he whispered to her, "JJ wants to talk to you. Are you up for it?"

Pushing herself up slightly Emily nodded, "yeah, it's okay." He passed her the phone and she cleared her throat before speaking, "JJ?"

JJ's eyes welled up, "oh Emily! I'm so sorry sweetie! Do you need me to do anything?"

Emily swallowed hard . . . condolences, she was going to have to get used to them.

"Thanks Jayje. Um, yeah, actually if you could kind of monitor the stories and make sure they don't say anything about my dad's work being a contributing factor here," she tipped her head, "I mean I know you can't control what they say but if you see it getting picked up if you could try and quash it. I really don't want my, my," and there was the stumble again, "dad's memory to be tainted, like somehow this was his fault because of where he worked."

Somebody was going to figure out what he did for a living and it was definitely going to get reported. She just didn't want him to be blamed. But she knew that the covert CIA operative was going to be a salacious angle for the press.

JJ nodded vehemently, "of course Em. I know a couple people in the press office at the Agency. I'll call them right after we hang up and maybe we can come up with a strategy." She paused for a second before adding apologetically, "you know that's going to be their main concern anyway, but for totally different reasons."

Emily nodded as she rubbed the corner of her eye, "yeah, I know, but the 'cover your ass' mentality will actually work to his . . ."

And she trailed off as she realized that her dad didn't much care about his reputation anymore.

He didn't much care because he was dead.

She handed the phone back to Hotch as she started taking deep breaths . . . her dad was dead.

No more hugs. No more secret eye rolls behind her mom's back. No more birthday cards addressed to 'My Pumpkin'.

Oh God! She didn't have a dad anymore!

Seeing that Emily was about to lose it, Hotch muttered into the phone, "we'll call you later," and he snapped his cell shut before he threw it on the cushion next to him. Hotch kicked his sneakers off and pulled his legs up on the couch. Then he shifted to lay down as he pulled Emily on top of him.

He felt his neck getting wet as she whispered in his ear.

"I don't have a dad anymore."

At the absolute hopelessness in her voice, he felt his own eyes begin to water as he wrapped his arms around her again, whispering back, "I know sweetheart, and I'm so sorry."

The sweetheart slipped out but he realized he meant it. It was a term of endearment, and Emily was . . . by simple definition of the word . . . quite dear to him.

There were no sobs from her this time, just tears. It was almost thirty-five years ago but Hotch still remembered the moment he realized his dad was dead.

Not just the factual knowledge, but the real, full implications of what that meant.

He was thirteen and walking home from school. It had been his first day back since his dad had died six days earlier. As he passed a field he saw some older kids playing baseball and their fathers were on the sidelines cheering them on. And he realized . . . that was never going to happen for him.

His dad was never going to go to a baseball game. Or yell at him about his room being a mess, or explain to him again what the different ribbons meant on his old uniform. He only did that last one when he was drunk. But that was okay. Hotch still liked to hear it. And when all that hit him he'd started to cry and had gone to hide behind somebody's garage so nobody would see him. He'd felt like his whole world was over. And that was just losing his dad.

He couldn't have imagined losing both parents.

On impulse, Hotch leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple . . . she still hadn't fully processed that her mother was gone. And given how complicated their relationship was, he knew that one was probably going to be even harder to handle than the death of her father.

Emily sniffled as she wrapped her arm over Hotch's chest. At that moment she was infinitely . . . and somewhat perversely . . . grateful for all the other horrible things that they'd gone through together over that past year. Because if they hadn't had such a shit time, then their relationship wouldn't have evolved to what it was, and he wouldn't be here with her right now.

Well, he definitely still would have knocked on her door at three am, but then he probably would have called JJ or Morgan to come over and sit with her. And she loved them both dearly but she really only wanted Hotch. Right now she just wanted Hotch and nobody else. They'd been working on deepening their friendship, and the effort was paying off.

It had to have been just awful for him to come over in the middle of the night and tell her himself what had happened. And then he'd held her while she cried like the world was going to end. God, her nose had run on him so many times she was going to have to find him a clean t-shirt to put on before they even left the house.

She really should go find a box of Kleenex.

Turning her head slightly, she looked over to the cable box to check the time. Barely 6:30. She knew JJ caught the headlines when she first got up, which meant that it had to be everywhere by now.

Other people would be calling soon.

And as if on cue, her house phone started ringing. They both ignored it and the machine picked up.

Uncle Jason.

Damn it . . . she felt a stab of guilt pierce her grief . . . her dad's little brother. She wished she'd thought to call him last night. She knew they were close and he shouldn't have found out on the news.

Emily pushed herself up to grab the phone off the table but he hung up before she got the call. Still holding the cordless in her hand, she bit her lip as she looked down at it, and then over to Hotch.

"That was my dad's brother. I have two more aunts and three uncles. I should try to catch the rest of them before they find out on the news." Her eyes widened as another thought came to her, "and oh God! Gram and Gramps!"

Horrified, she looked down at him, "how am I supposed to tell my grandparents that their daughter is dead?"

Hotch bit the inside of his cheek, "I can help you if you want." He tipped his head, "I mean obviously they don't know me but a personal call is still better than them finding out on the news."

Ideally the State Department would have been handling the notifications, but Hotch knew that there was no way that this was on anyone's radar right now.

Emily had been staring at Hotch as he was talking and then she nodded, "that's true. And, um yeah, if you don't mind helping. I can't make that many phone calls before they start waking up." She shook her head, "I'm still not probably going to get everyone in time."

Hotch ran his hand down her arm as he gave her a little smile of encouragement, "we'll do the best we can."

They both sat up and Emily reached over to grab her cell phone off the table. Then she realized that she hardly ever called her extended family so they wouldn't be in there.

Shit.

With a growing sense of urgency, she got up to go find her address book. As much as she needed to make these calls she also knew she was going to need coffee to get through them. But she definitely couldn't take the time do that first. That would be awful. But Hotch anticipated that need. He came up behind her as she was digging through the kitchen drawer looking for the address book she hadn't used since last Christmas.

"Emily where's the coffee? I'll start a pot."

Turning she gave him a grateful smile and leaned up to give him a kiss on the cheek, "bless you. It's in the third cabinet. Measuring thingy's up there too. Two of those and three scoops."

Hotch's eyes crinkled slightly as he patted her on the back and then went over to start digging around in her cabinet. He had just got the coffee percolating, and Emily had moved over to the sideboard drawers in an effort to find her book, when the doorbell rang.

Looking up, Emily gave him a panicked look and he nodded before going down to check the keyhole. Morgan. He turned back to Emily.

"It's Derek."

Her eyes widened as she turned to face him, "um, okay."

Hotch opened to the door to a slightly sweaty, extremely agitated, Derek Morgan.

Morgan had gone for his morning run and seen the headlines as he was going past the newsstand down the street. He'd run home as fast as he could to get his car and get over to Emily's before she woke up. But as he saw Hotch there, also out of regulation uniform, he knew he wasn't the first one to reach her. He asked worriedly, "how is she?"

Hotch stepped back and Emily gave him a sad smile, "she's okay."

Derek rushed past Hotch as he went down to hug her, picking her up off the ground as he whispered in her ear, "baby girl I'm so sorry."

Her eyes started to well up as she squeezed her arms around his neck, "thanks Derek."

He put her back on the ground, wrapping his arm around her waist as he looked first at Hotch and then down at her, "what do you need me to do?"

Hotch caught Emily's eyes and she nodded slightly, "uh, Derek if you could help us notify Emily's aunts and uncles that would really help."

Nodding, Morgan looked down at Emily, "of course Em, anything." She tipped her head towards the kitchen, "why don't you grab some coffee and I'll check the last of these drawers." She rolled her eyes in exasperation, "we can't call anyone until I find the damn numbers."

He patted her back and then went over to Hotch who was taking three mugs off the rack on the kitchen wall. Derek whispered to him, "how is she, really?"

Pouring the coffee into the first cup Hotch shook his head slightly at the question, "not good." Then he left Derek at the counter as he brought Emily over her coffee. Squeezing her shoulder to get her attention, she looked up at him with a desperation that made his heart hurt. He put her coffee down on the sideboard as he pulled her into a hug.

"It's okay Emily. You go sit down and I'll find the book." Her eyes started to well up again, "but Hotch I have to call them!"

Shaking his head he guided her over to the couch, "no, all you have to do is sit down. That's it. Derek and I will take care of it." Crouching down in front of her he squeezed her hand, "okay?" Her eyes watering she nodded back, "okay." He went back over to grab her coffee, handing it to her with a little smile before turning back to the cupboard.

Okay, her apartment didn't seem that big so it had to be around here somewhere. She probably was just in a panic and missed it.

He turned behind him to see Derek watching him worriedly.

Morgan had never seen Emily that out of sorts before. Hotch was right, she wasn't good at all. He blinked when Hotch asked him to check the drawers over there again for her address book. Morgan nodded and started going through them. He found it in the third one down, way in the back. Thank God. He didn't know what she would have done if it hadn't turned up.

"Got it!"

Morgan brought the book over to an incredibly relieved Emily who immediately started flipping through the pages and scribbling down names and numbers on a sheet on paper. The guys went over to grab their coffee and then came over to sit down on either side of her.

Their eyes caught over her head as they saw her wiping away tears as she wrote down the names. Hotch put his hand on her back and Morgan put his on her knee and she stopped for a second as she look down at the coffee table. And then she turned to one and then the other, giving them both a watery smile, "thanks guys."

When she turned back to her list she tore it in half and gave each of them a section. She looked back at Hotch nervously, "I think I better call my grandparents myself."

He tipped his head in concern, "do you think you're up for it?"

She dropped her eyes to his chest as she said hoarsely, "no," she shook her head, "no I don't." She looked back up at him as she cleared her throat, "but I owe it to them."

He stared at her for a moment before nodding, "okay, I'll stay with you." He flicked his eyes over to Morgan who immediately pushed himself up off the couch as he started pulling his cell phone out of the pocket of his sweatpants.

"And I'll go into the kitchen and get started."

Leaning down he put his hand under Emily's chin so she'd look up. He gave her a small smile, "you'll do fine." Then he kissed her on the forehead and left to go make four death notifications before seven am. That was a record he hoped never to break.

She took a sip of coffee and a deep breath before she reached over to pick up the house phone. She looked down at it for almost a minute before she sighed heavily, and leaned over to read the numbers in the book. Hotch put his arm around her as she hit send, and then she leaned into his side as she listened to the phone ring in her ear.

Her grandparents were in their early eighties and she knew without a doubt this was going to kill them. At the ninth ring her grandmother answered sleepily and as she heard her voice, Emily winced, closing her eyes for a moment. Then she looked down and picked up Hotch's hand.

"Hi Grams, its Emmy. I'm sorry to call so early but I um," her voice broke, "I have something to tell you."

* * *

_A/N 2: Good place for a scene break. I can't even tell fictional parents that their kids are dead. _

_I was planning on at least having them pack and getting their flights booked in this one but as soon as I started writing her waking up I started flashed on all that horrible 'death in the family' process that you have to go through. The situation hits you again, panicking as you remember people you need to call, trying to keep your shit together long enough to be functional. And then still continuously crying even as you are still performing functional tasks. My nephew died a couple years ago, and for three days straight I had tears running down my face no matter what I was doing! On the subway, making dinner, talking to my boss. I told him if he could just ignore all the crying that it would probably be best for everyone. And God bless him, he did! But it just all sucks! And I realized as long as I'm writing this horribly angsty thing anyway, I might as well try and do that part of it justice. Just the annoyance of having to do 'stuff' when you aren't really in any condition to be doing anything._

_I was planning on bringing Derek in regardless because I've already established in the other story that he and Hotch are the two she feels closest to, and safest with, so it seemed logical he'd haul ass over to try and get to her first thing in the morning. So I've done, Hotch, JJ and Morgan, and before they get on the plane, I will also be hitting on the rest of their reactions as well. They are circling the wagons, so to speak. _

_Girl will be going up later tonight. If at all possible I'll try to post them in that order all this week. That way you don't have to end the day on a depressing note :)_


	3. The Breakdown

**The Breakdown  
**

After Hotch placed a nearly hysterical Emily down on her bed, she immediately curled into a fetal position as she continued to sob. He looked down at her sadly as he stroked the back of his hand down her cheek.

"I'll be right back," he whispered.

She didn't answer, or even acknowledge him, she just kept sobbing and as soon he touched her cheek he could feel that she was burning up.

So he hurried into her bathroom, looking around frantically . . . where . . . there . . . facecloths!

Hotch grabbed one off the shelf and went over to wet it in the sink.

When Emily told her grandmother about the plane crash she'd began to scream as she dropped the phone. And then when her grandfather came on the line asking what was going on . . . Emily, poor Emily, she had to say it again.

And then there was only screaming and sobbing coming through the line.

Hotch could hear it even though he wasn't the one holding the phone. Emily had started to cry again so he'd taken the portable from her, trying to get some response, but there was nothing intelligible. And he wasn't at all surprised that her grandparents breakdown had been what put Emily right over the edge she'd been teetering on since he'd given her the news early that morning.

As she started rocking back and forth wailing, he'd yelled to the horrified Derek to try and get somebody over to the grandparents, then he picked Emily up and carried her to her room.

She was inconsolable and that was breaking his heart. Her weeping was killing him. Literally, _killing_ him! He couldn't help her. He couldn't fix this or make it better!

He couldn't _do_ ANYTHING for her except get her this FUCKING facecloth!

As the burst of rage hit him he whipped the square of terrycloth across the room. It hit the wall and then fell to the floor with a splat. He looked at the droplets of water running down the tile and then scrubbed his hands down his face.

_Just calm down Aaron. Calm down. She needs you to be calm._

After he took a breath and slowly let it out, once and then again, Hotch went over and picked up the cloth off the floor. He dropped it in her hamper before taking down a clean one from the shelf. He wet it, squeezed it out, and headed out of the bathroom.

When he walked back into her room Hotch saw that she was still curled up into a ball, but now she had both hands over her mouth as she tried to stifle her sobs.

His heart broke for her.

He climbed up on the bed, wrapping himself around her as he whispered sadly in her ear, "it's okay Emily. You can cry."

She rolled over in his arms, gasping and stammering against his chest, "but . . . I'm . . . afraid . . . I . . . won't . . . stop!"

The last word was broken on a wail.

There was nothing he could think to counter that statement. She was beyond rational conversation. So . . . feeling his own eyes burning . . . Hotch bit his lip as he wiped the cloth gently over her face, trying to cool her down.

She was all sweaty and her hair was sticking to her skin. He brushing it back, tucking it behind her ears before he dropped the cloth on the rug.

There was no doubt, he was going to have to call a doctor after this. Not that he wanted to sedate her, but this was just going to get worse before it got better. And it would be good if they at least had some valium for emergencies. And given that he hadn't expected the grandparents call to go _quite_ that badly, it was clear that he couldn't even anticipate what would constitute an 'emergency' in this hellish situation.

Though as he felt her shuddering gasps against his chest, Hotch knew that this moment most definitely counted and he really wished that he had one of those blue pills to give her right now.

A few minutes after he got up on the bed with her he started to feel her settling against him, and when he looked down he saw her eyes were closing. She had worn herself out.

Again.

His brow wrinkled in worry as he wondered if there was any way to convince her to stay in the States for one more day. Try and just grieve for a day before she did anything else.

No . . . he sighed . . . she wouldn't go for it. It's not like they were flying to California, they were losing another full day just on the flight.

Oh God . . . a horrible thought came to him . . . the flight.

At least twenty-four hours in the cabin of a plane with _other_ people. Strangers. There was no way she'd be able to keep it together that long. And she was going to be mortified if she had another attack like this one.

He stroked her bangs back from her forehead and pressed a kiss against her warm skin.

_'Oh sweetheart, I don't know what we're going to do.'_

"Aaron."

Hotch looked up to see Dave looking worriedly at him from the doorway. He brought his finger to his lips and then disentangled himself from Emily before grabbing the quilt from the end of her bed and covering her up. Then he motioned for Dave to go into the hall before following him out.

"When did you get here?" Hotch whispered.

"About ten minutes ago," Dave whispered back, "Derek told us what happened with her grandparents. Reid just got here too. We both heard it on the news when we got up. I tried reaching you on your cell but it went to voicemail so I just came straight over myself." His brow furrowed in concern, Dave looked over Hotch's shoulder at Emily sleeping fitfully on the bed, "is she okay?"

Hotch shook his head as he rubbed his hand wearily over his mouth.

"No . . . no she's not. And God help me Dave I don't know what to do for her. She wants to go to Egypt to get their bodies and I can't even imagine taking her down to the lobby right now, let alone to a foreign country."

Shocked, Dave's eyes widened, "she wants to go to _Egypt_?" Then he shook his head in confusion, "wait, you're taking her?"

Dave knew their friendship had evolved over the past few months but that was a major commitment. Though, there was no way they would have let her go by herself, so one of them would have gone with her.

Maybe it did make sense for it to be Hotch.

Hotch leaned back against the wall with a sigh, "yeah, I promised her last night that we could go today. But," he dropped his eyes to the ground, huffing in exasperation, "I don't have the flights or rooms booked, we have to pack, our ready bags won't cut it, which means I have to go home, and I have to get us clearance for our weapons," he looked up, "right now we're only cleared for domestic flights." He rolled his eyes, "oh, and I at some point, I need to tell Strauss that I'm taking off for two weeks." He tipped his head, "though, she actually did have the decency to call me at 2:20 this morning to tell me about Emily's parents because she said she didn't want her to find out on the news." Dropping his eyes back to the ground, Hotch muttered to himself, "maybe she's not all bad."

After all she had to have gone into the FBI with some initial desire to help people. If she just wanted to play politics she could have just run for office.

Dave nodded, "we started out together. I actually liked her back in her rookie days. It wasn't until she started moving up the chain that she . . . well, you know how she is now."

Hotch huffed, "yeah I know."

Dave didn't know the half of it. Only he and Emily knew what had really happened last Spring.

Emily.

He leaned around the corner so he could see into her room . . . still sleeping. God, he could use a nap himself. But there was so much to do.

"Why don't you go lie down?"

Hotch whipped his head around, "did you not hear me just say all the things I have to do?"

Dave nodded, "I did, but you don't have to take care of all of them on your own." He gave him a sad look, "she's our girl too Aaron. We'll help take care of her, and to that end we can certainly get your flights and rooms booked. And," he quirked his lip up, "I'll call Strauss and get your time off and have her get your paperwork expedited for your weapons."

At that pronouncement Hotch raised an incredulous eyebrow, "and how in God's name are you going to do that?"

Dave stared at him for a second, "she owes me a favor. A big one. It's an old debt that I never called in," he gave him an ironic smile, "I was saving it for something important." He tipped his head, "trust me, she'll do it."

Hotch dropped his eyes to the ground and then looked back up, "you're sure you can get her to clear those two things immediately?" At Dave's nod Hotch gave one of his own, "all right then, those were my biggest worries. Maybe I will lie down for a few minutes." He shook his head slightly, "I slept a little when Emily passed out this morning but, basically I've been up since about two."

And he'd only gone to bed at midnight so yeah, that was not enough sleep.

Dave sighed, "then please Hotch, go take a nap. You're going to have way too much to take care of later when it's just you with Emily. You're going to need your energy."

With a reluctant nod, Hotch looked down at his watch . . . quarter after seven. He looked up questioningly.

"Wake me in an hour?"

Dave nodded, "sure." He started to walk away and then Hotch called out in a loud whisper.

"Oh shit! I forgot I need to help Derek make the calls to Emily's family."

Dave was already shaking his head as he turned back, "Reid's helping him, and if they're not done when I get downstairs I'll grab the last ones."

Seeing Hotch was about to open his mouth again . . . and knowing what his next words would be . . . Dave cut him off.

"And Morgan has a friend in the Birmingham Office. He's trying to get through to him to go check on the grandparents." He gave a pointed nod back to Emily's room, "really Aaron, go rest. We have things under control for now."

Hotch snapped his jaw shut. Dave really did have all their bases covered. He couldn't think of anything else outstanding. Finally he nodded, "okay, but don't forget to wake me up."

Dave gave him a firm nod, "right, an hour." Then he headed for the stairs muttering to himself.

"Or two."

* * *

_A/N 2: This story is a different structure than my usual. Basically it's a continuous stream of time passing so I'm just going to cut the chapters when I get to a good scene break. That said, I have already written a good portion of what happens next so I'll probably put up another one tonight. This story is insisting on being told so I'm just going to tell it :)_

_And I put her grandparents in Alabama because that's where Kate Jackson is from and I was going for some authenticity on the origins of the Ambassador's accent. _


	4. The Reservations

**Author's Note:** Second chapter for this one today. I'm letting the boys shine a little.

And I will be posting on Girl later tonight.

* * *

**The Reservations  
**

Dave got to the bottom of the stairs to see Reid was on Emily's laptop and Morgan was in the living room on the phone with someone. Reid looked up in concern.

"How's Emily?"

Shaking his head in discouragement, Dave crossed over to the kitchen, "bad. She's sleeping and I just convinced Hotch to try and take a nap too." He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and started digging around in it, "he looked exhausted so I told him we could take care of booking their hotel and flights for them."

Finally finding his black card Dave looked back up and handed it to Reid, "can you take care of the hotel?" he rolled his eyes slightly, "I'm not that great with the Internet."

Reid's eyes crinkled slightly as he took the card and put it down next to him on the counter.

"No problem Dave. What hotel?"

Dave rubbed his hand across his face, "I don't know. Find the best one you can." He gave him a look, "and I do mean _best_. Get them a suite for at least the next fourteen days, and . . ." Dave twitched his jaw back and forth trying to think, "and international calling. Get it all pre-paid so there's no bill. I can get a charge back if they leave early."

Reid's eyes got wide, "that's gonna be _really _expensive."

Dave patted him on the back, "that's why I gave you the black card kid."

Huffing Reid turned back to the computer, "got it." Then he frowned as he looked back up, "what about the flights?"

Rossi shook his head, "I have a girl. She does all the travel for my tours. I've done international signings before so I'll call her and have her take care of it."

Reid nodded as he started typing away and Dave looked back across the room as he heard Morgan saying goodbye. He raised a quizzical eyebrow as the phone snapped shut. Looking up, Derek answered the unasked question.

"Birmingham Field Office. I finally got through to my buddy, explained what was going on and asked him if he could go check on Em's grandparents. He's on his way over there now to make sure they're okay." Derek rolled his eyes, "well, they're not okay, but just to make sure they don't need a doctor. And he's gonna try to find a neighbor to come sit with them until the family can get there. Unfortunately nobody lives close by, but one of Emily's aunts told me she was going to fly down there later today."

Dave nodded his approval, "that's good Derek . . . that was really good."

Derek looked down at his phone. He remembered when his dad was killed the neighbors coming to sit with him and his sisters. He was just grateful that by the time Em woke up he'd be able to give her some update on her grandparents. It had broken his heart to hear her sobbing. Hotch handled her really well though. Derek could see her fingernails were digging into him but he didn't even flinch. Once it was obvious she wasn't going to calm down he'd just scooped her up and brought her upstairs.

Huffing out a breath of air, he dropped down on the couch and Dave came over, also sighing as he sat down next to him.

"I don't know if you just heard me talking to Reid, but Emily's sleeping and I convinced Hotch to take a nap. I told him we'd take care of their flights and hotel for them."

Derek nodded, "that's good. Is there anything else that needs to be done?"

Digging into his wallet again, Dave mumbled, "yeah, I want to get them phones that'll work over there." He pulled out another credit card, handing it to Derek.

"Do you mind picking up a couple?"

Derek started to push back the card, "of course I'll go get them but I can pay for them."

Rolling his eyes Dave shoved the card back at him, "Morgan, after ten bestselling novels I have more money than God. And the only expensive hobby I have is collecting ex-wives. Just take the damn card."

Morgan snorted as he took the card and tucked it into his own wallet, "all right man, I'll take the damn card."

Derek headed out and Dave stepped into Emily's dining room to call Strauss. That call went about as expected. All he had to do was tell her he was calling in his marker and she sighed and asked what he wanted. And by the time he hung up, Hotch and Emily's names had been added to the official FBI response team, even though they were technically both on leave, personal and bereavement respectively. But Strauss said that was the quickest way to take care of their flight paperwork, and it would give them full access once they arrived. She also cleared Hotch for three weeks leave effective immediately and even had the presence of mind to ask if Emily needed anything. Which was an act of kindness that took Dave slightly by surprise, even though it really shouldn't have. He knew Erin wasn't all bad, she just had some major character flaws. A blinding, soul robbing desire for personal glory being one of them. But once you got past that, she was okay.

Sorta.

It also helped that Dave knew where all of her skeletons were buried so he didn't have to put up with any of her crap.

So once that call was done he called Margie and had them booked first class out of Dulles for three pm that afternoon. He also bought up all the seats immediately around theirs so Emily would have some privacy. He dropped about twenty-five grand but he didn't care. Most of his money was just going to sit in his bank account until he died anyway. Usually in a situation like this people walked around wishing there was something they could do to help.

Well, this was actually something tangible that Dave could do to help, and he wasn't going to pass up the opportunity. They'd both be pissed once they got back and realized Dave wouldn't allow them to pay him back for any of it, but, they'd get over it.

Once all that was done he went back out to the living room to watch the news with Reid and wait for it to be time to wake up Hotch.

//////////////

Emily again awoke to find herself in Hotch's arms. This time she remembered right away why that was. And even though the horrible ache in her chest was back immediately, fortunately she didn't start crying again. After that last one she thought she might be cried out for a little bit.

She huffed humorlessly to herself . . . as though somehow there was a finite well for grief.

If only.

Well, she'd just take these few minutes now and hope that they lasted long enough to get her through what she needed to today.

Feeling Hotch's warm steady breathing on her neck, her eyes crinkled slightly. He was still with her. His arms were wrapped around her and she picked up his hand, kissing it before she clutched it to her breast. Still with her. Yesterday their friendship had progressed to regular coffee dates, today he was her Siamese twin.

The phrase, 'what a difference a day makes' didn't even begin to cover it.

And once again all she wanted to do was stay curled up with him, but this time biological imperatives were asserting themselves. She really had to pee.

She tried to push the quilt off and slip out of his arms without waking him, but as soon as she stood up she heard him ask her huskily, "what's the matter?"

As she turned around she gave him a little smile, "I have to go to the bathroom." Rubbing his eye, he gave her a drowsy, "okay."

Emily crossed over to the master bath, shutting the door behind her before she went over to the sink. She cringed when she looked in the mirror.

Her eyes were all bloodshot, her lids were swollen half shut and her face was all blotchy and it felt sticky. She splashed some cold water on her face, remembering then that Hotch had wiped her face off with a cool towel before she cried herself to sleep.

He was trying so hard to take care of her.

Biting her lip she stared at her reflection, he really was so sweet. It was too bad it was taking this horrible thing to bring them this close together. She sighed before she went looking for eye drops.

In the back of the medicine cabinet she found a bottle that was just past expiration date. Crossing her fingers that she wouldn't get pink eye, she put a couple in. Not so much for the redness, which she knew was probably going to be a constant companion for a few days, but they were really dry. Christ, after all that crying she was probably dehydrated. She went to the bathroom and then splashed more water on her face after she washed her hands. Finally she brushed her hair and her teeth. And after all that she looked back at her reflection.

Better. Not good, but better. She felt a little better too.

Before she left the bathroom she dug out her extra toothbrush for Hotch and left it on the counter. Then she went back into her bedroom and climbed back into bed with her boss like she did it every day. His eyes were closed but as she laid her head down on his chest his arms wrapped around her so she knew he was awake.

He mumbled sleepily, "do you feel any better?"

Nodding she brushed her cheek against his t-shirt, "little bit. I washed my face and brushed my teeth. I don't feel so yucky."

Hotch opened his eyes, blinking a couple times before he looked down at her. He gave her a little smile, "you look better."

Then he flicked his eyes over to check the time. Almost nine. Apparently Rossi decided not to wake him up at 8:15 like he wanted. Hotch rolled his eyes slightly . . . he should have expected that.

Well, as long as they were able to take care of everything they discussed it really wasn't a problem. Which reminded him, she didn't know she had more visitors.

He rubbed his hand down her back, "Dave and Spencer are here. They showed up just after you fell asleep." He yawned, "Dave was taking care of a bunch of stuff we need to do, otherwise I wouldn't have lain down."

Huffing Emily pushed herself up so she could look at him, "you've been up since like two, you don't need to justify taking a nap." His eyes crinkled slightly and he reached out to squeeze her hand. Emily just stared at him for a moment and then leaned forward and kissed him. When she pulled back Hotch was looking at her quizzically, "what was that for?"

She gave him a sad smile, "that's my thank you for coming with me. In case I forget later." He looked at her for a second before pulling her back against his chest and kissing the top of her head.

"That's the best thank you I've gotten in a while, so it's appreciated, but really, no thanks are necessary. You helped me when I needed someone."

Emily cuddled in closer as she whispered back, "Hotch I took you to play pool. You're about to take me to Egypt."

He rubbed her back, "right, we're even." She huffed against his neck, "okay."

Though he knew that she thought he was just being nice, Hotch was serious. During the divorce, she'd saved him from himself more than once. And that wasn't a debt he thought he would have been able to repay. He was just so sorry she had to suffer like this for the opportunity to arise.

She sighed, "we should get up I suppose."

Hotch knew she didn't want to. She didn't want to start dealing with the reality of the situation again. Who would? So he just ran his hand down her arm, "I think we can take a few more minutes." He checked the clock again, "it's 8:57. I say we can stay here until 9:15."

Emily's eyes started to water, "eighteen minutes."

With a sigh he pulled her more tightly to his chest as he whispered against her hair.

"Eighteen minutes."

* * *

_A/N 2: Okay, so I got most of the practical matters addressed, and I let Dave pay for anything. And really, what's the point of having ridiculous amounts of money if you can't use it to help your family or friends when they're in need? That's what I'd do anyway. But I'm always freaking broke so what the hell do I know :)_

_I haven't decided what Dave has on Strauss yet but I think I will reveal the secret at a later date._

_And yes, they did kiss. But it could just be friendship. They did make out before so it's not like a simple thank you kiss would be a huge deal for them. I can tell you now that they're __not__ going to sleep together in this story. But I haven't decided if I'm going to accelerate their personal relationship, or just their friendship. Which obviously already has been accelerated considerably. But because they won't be sleeping together, neither outcome would affect (or effect? – not sure which one to use there) the ending I already have in mind. If you'd like to give me your two cents I will definitely take it into consideration. What do you think? Romantic awareness or just friendship?_

_Per Arc's request, Garcia will be turning up next :)_


	5. The Muffin Top

**The Muffin Top  
**

At 9:20 Rossi went upstairs to go wake Hotch. Though, as he poked his head around the corner he was surprised to find Emily alone. And awake. She was going through her dresser.

He knocked on the open door.

"Emily."

Turning at Dave's greeting, Emily gave him a soft smile, "hi Dave."

Dave stepped into the room, biting his lip as he looked at her for a second. He was trying to size up her state of mind.

"How you doing honey?" He took a step closer as he said sadly. "I'm really sorry about your mom and dad."

Emily dropped her eyes to the carpet for a moment before she swallowed and looked back up, "thanks. Um, I'm okay. Well, right now, I'm okay. I can't promise I'll be okay five minutes from now, which is why I'm trying to figure out what I need to pack."

Dave looked over to the bed where she'd started to throw her socks and underwear. Then he looked back to her, "uh, if it helps Spencer said the hotel he booked you in has a laundry service so you can get your clothes washed."

With a slow nod Emily turned to look at the items she'd thrown onto the bed, "okay, thanks. That is good to know." Then she suddenly smiled, "though my mom always says you can't pack too much clean underwear."

And as soon as the words were out of her mouth the smile fell away and her eyes started to water.

Fortunately at that moment the bathroom door opened and Hotch came out behind her. He looked between Emily staring at the floor working her jaw and Dave standing in front of her with a look on panic on his face, and Hotch realized that something had just happened.

So he slipped his arm around Emily's waist, pulling her against his side. It was odd how quickly he'd become accustomed to touching her. Especially given that he'd spent the last two years of his life very specifically, _not_ touching her. And here he was now, doing it in front of other people no less. Well, it was Dave, but that still counted.

He tipped his head down to her as he whispered, "you okay?"

After taking a few deep breaths, Emily nodded slowly before she looked up at him, "yeah, Dave was just telling me that the hotel has a laundry service so, um, we don't have to pack as much as I'd thought."

Hotch saw the tears still glistening in her eyes and then responded matter of factly.

"Well that's good to know," he snapped his own eyes back up to Rossi, "thanks Dave."

Dave looked between the two of them . . . apparently they were pretending everything was okay.

All right, he could do that too.

"Uh yeah, laundry, and um Spencer booked the room for fourteen days. " He cleared his throat, "also your flight is at three pm out of Dulles." He looked down at his watch, "so you have about four hours until you need to be at the airport."

Hotch gave him a grateful nod, "good, thanks," he tipped his head, "and what about those other . . ."

Dave cut him off, "those are all set too. You've been approved for three weeks of personal leave effective immediately and you're both officially on the FBI response team now," he gave them a pointed look, "though you are of course not working, it will at least give you full access anywhere you need to go. And that's what's enabling you to take your weapons on the plane."

Surprised at everything that had been done in a few short hours, Emily gave him a little smile as she blinked away the tears still trying to pool, "wow, thanks Dave."

Eyes crinkling slightly, Dave tipped his head. "It wasn't just me. Spencer helped, and Derek just got back with new cell phones for you."

Hotch blinked . . . he'd completely forgotten about the cell phones. He gave Rossi a grateful nod, "thanks again Dave. We'll be down," he gave Dave a pointed look, gesturing with his head down at Emily, "in a few minutes."

Dave understood . . . make sure there was nothing downstairs that was going to upset her. Okay so, television off and hide the paper that Morgan had bought on his way back.

He nodded, "I'll see you guys in a few." And then he walked out, leaving them alone.

They were quiet for a moment before Emily broke the silence.

"I think clothes for a week should be enough."

Hotch walked her over to the bed and sat down, pulling her onto his knee as he said quietly, "a week sounds about right to me."

Silence reigned for another minute and then Emily put her arm around his neck as a tear ran down her face, "I forgot for a minute that my mom was dead."

How could she do that? How could she FORGET something like that?!

Hotch slowly exhaled, "Emily, it's going to happen." He bit the inside of his cheek, "it's going to happen for a long time. And I'm not going to tell you it won't, as you would say, 'suck' because it will, but it'll get better . . . eventually."

Given his own experiences dealing with the death of his father, Hotch could at least speak with some authority on this topic.

She leaned her head against his, listening to him breathe, and then she cleared her throat, "you need to pack too."

He needed to pack so he could come with her. But packing meant that he needed to leave. And she didn't want him to leave. She was a completely independent grown woman. A freaking FBI agent and she didn't want him out of her sight for more than two minutes.

Hotch wrapped his arm around her waist, "yeah I was thinking about that. I have my ready bag in the car, which has suitable traveling clothes, so I thought maybe I could take a shower here and then I could go to my apartment after." He looked up at her, "we can go there together," he tipped his head, "if you want."

Just like he'd known she hadn't wanted to get up that morning, he also knew that she didn't want him to leave. And he didn't want to leave her either.

Not that she wouldn't be in good hands with the guys. There wasn't anyone he trusted more. But he'd had her in his arms for almost six hours straight. Absorbing her tears . . . smelling her skin . . . breathing in the same air.

He felt bound to her now. Responsible for her in a way that he hadn't been before.

And as she kissed his temple and whispered a thank you, he realized these new feelings he had for her . . . they were something he could get used to.

Now wasn't the time to think about that though. Now was just the time to be supportive, so he patted her on the back and then took a deep breath as he looked around her room.

"Do you need me to do anything for you? Get your suitcase from somewhere?"

She murmured, "um, I think it's in the hall closet but I can probably find it." Then her stomach growled and Hotch huffed, "maybe we should go downstairs and get something to eat first. Then you jump in the shower, I'll find your suitcase, then I'll shower while you pack." He looked up at her with a little smile, "sound like a plan?"

Her eyes crinkled, "sounds like a plan to me."

//////////////

Emily came down her stairs to see more people in her living room than had been there in months.

Three.

She didn't entertain much.

Her eyes swept over the men in her life. They'd all stood up as she started down the stairs and now they were all watching her with the same looks of concern and worry. She wished she could tell them that she was fine . . . but she couldn't.

That was a lie beyond her capabilities.

As she paused at the foot of the stairs, Emily felt Hotch stop behind her and then he put his hand on her shoulder. She realized then that he was fast becoming the most important man in her life. She wasn't sure what that meant, or how it had happened, but for now she'd just accept it as fact and take the support he was offering her.

Her eyes zeroed in on Spencer. He was the only one she hadn't seen yet. Seeing him now, looking so heartbroken it was another stab at her own grief.

It was her job to protect him . . . and he was hurting for her.

Well, maybe she could lie for him. She crossed the few feet to the couch, and as he opened his mouth to give her what she was sure were his condolences, she pulled him into a hug, whispering in his ear that she was doing okay and thanking him for coming.

And he whispered in response, "I'd do anything for you Emily, you're my family." Then he tightened his embrace before slowly letting her go.

When she stepped back she gave him a watery smile as she gently patted his cheek.

"Don't tell the others," she glanced over at Dave and Derek watching them before she said in a stage whisper, "but you're my favorite."

The guys eyes crinkled slightly, and Reid gave her a sad smile, "ditto Em." She stared at him for a second, blinking frantically, and just when she thought the tears were going to spill over she heard Hotch behind her.

"We just came down to get something to eat." And then Derek immediately piped up.

"I stopped on my way back and picked up a couple things for breakfast. They're on the counter."

The two of them changing the topic to something so mundane was enough for Emily to get her emotions back under control. She gave Derek a grateful smile, which he returned with a knowing nod, and then she followed Hotch over to the kitchen.

He was looking through the pastry box next to the coffee maker. Derek had stopped at the bakery down the street and bought muffins and croissants. That was nice of him. She smiled when she saw that half of the croissants were chocolate.

Her favorite.

Emily grabbed one and sat down at the breakfast bar, Hotch following her over a moment later with two cups of coffee and his blueberry muffin.

She started picking slowly at her breakfast . . . she _was_ hungry, and it tasted good, but she just didn't feel like eating. She stopped after she'd only eaten a quarter of it, just staring down at the buttery tips of her fingers. A moment later Hotch said softly, "you need to keep your strength up."

Her eyes snapped over to his and they stared at each other for a moment before he gave her a little smile and held up his muffin, "you want to trade?"

She quirked her lip up slightly . . . she knew that he didn't like sweets for breakfast. Then she shook her head as she ripped off another bite of her croissant.

"That's okay, thanks."

Dave took another sip of his coffee as he watched Hotch and Emily eating their breakfast.

It had become obvious to him upstairs . . . when Hotch had put his arm around her waist like he had every right in the world to do so . . . that there had been a seismic shift in their relationship. And it wasn't just the natural protective instinct that they all were feeling towards Emily right now. Dave had no doubt that's what had precipitated it . . . on Hotch's part at least . . . but that wasn't all that he was seeing now.

Not from either of them.

He dropped his gaze back to the coffee table as he considered this development.

It was probably the worst time for them to start having feelings for one another. Not that Dave disapproved. On the contrary, he actually thought that they were well suited. For months Dave had been encouraging Hotch to spend more time with her, just because he did genuinely seem a bit happier when she was around.

Emily had a way of reaching him that most people didn't.

But anything that started to bubble up between them now was going to get mixed up and confused with all of the other emotions that were so raw and close to the surface.

It could make this so much harder.

Dave's eyes traveled back across the room, watching as Hotch broke off a piece of his muffin and put it down on Emily's napkin.

It was half of the muffin top . . . the part everybody knew was Emily's favorite. He wasn't looking at her, he was just eating his breakfast, but Dave could see her eyes well up and she smile at him before she traded out the last bit of her breakfast for his. Then she leaned against his side as she slowly chewed and swallowed each bite.

Dave's expression softened . . . maybe he was wrong.

Maybe this could make it easier.

* * *

_A/N 2: So clearly I decided on the friendship vs romance thing. Actually Hotch did it for me with his little internal dialogue about why he felt differently now. I do think spending that much time helping somebody you already were close to with her grief would intensify your level of attachment and affection. And then with Emily, she's so raw emotionally that all her usual defensive shields are down and she's letting him in and starting to depend on him in a way that she wouldn't ordinarily let herself. That was kind of the trick in getting this story to go down the romance path so quickly when I've already gone out of my way to explain in Girl, that up until now, their feelings were just warm, not romantic. HOPEFULLY, I pulled the rabbit out of the hat, and at some point I do plan on him giving this more thought, the more conventional concerns and all that. _

_What's interesting here, for me anyway, perhaps not you :) is that I've accelerated their relationship, given them 'feelings' for one another, but they aren't in love. Because I've written Girl as a 'slow burn' and that was so gradual that they didn't realize they had any romantic feelings for the other until they were already in love. So in that way, for me anyway, this is a completely different love story. Which is what I'm trying to do. Get them together without it being redundant to what's happening in Girl. Cross your fingers guys!_

_Also, you notice I let Rossi play the all knowing one again. He fills that role in every 'verse :)  
_

_I know I lied yesterday, but Garcia really truly will turn up next time. Apparently I am incapable of writing a 'short' story. It's a one shot or 500 chapters, nothing in between. _


	6. The Faux Pas

**Author's Note:** This is a prompt within a prompt. Now, ideally, I would have written this one solely from Derek's point of view, but given the structure of the story, it would have definitely taken away from the chapter if I had eliminated multiple viewpoints. And if I had just cut out the little Derek bit and made it its own chapter, I would have been stoned mercilessly for putting up the smallest chapter ever recorded. Regardless, the idea of having a good portion of this come from Morgan's point of view came from the prompt, so I believe it counts :)

* * *

**Prompt Set #1**

Show: Scrubs

Title Challenge: My Best Friend's Mistake

* * *

**The Faux Pas  
**

The doorbell rang a few minutes after Hotch and Emily sat down on the couch to make a list of anything they needed to pick up for the trip. Emily looked up worriedly.

"I hope the doorman didn't let any reporters in the building."

Hotch patted her arm, "Derek will get it."

She wasn't an idiot, as much as she hated it, she knew her parents death was 'news' and sooner or later somebody was going to come knocking to get a statement from the grieving daughter. She just hoped to be long gone by then. Though, as she looked at the men around her, she knew that if any reporter did knock on her door while she was home, that person would end up hitting the street on the end of someone's boot.

Morgan stood up and started towards the door, "don't worry Em, you won't have to deal with any of that crap."

Giving him a grateful nod, Emily then turned back to the list she and Hotch were working on. Not exactly the typical travel list. In addition to sunscreen, bottled water, phone chargers, map of downtown Cairo, and extra laptop batteries, they also had back up weapons, multiple clips, and Kevlar. The latter items deemed necessary by Hotch in case this was ruled a terrorist attack.

If someone had taken out a 747 full of American diplomats there was no telling what else they would do, and he wanted to be prepared for every contingency. She glanced over at him as he ran through the list again . . . there really wasn't anyone better she could think to take her on this awful trip.

As Emily heard a sob at the front door, Hotch's gaze came up to meet hers.

Garcia.

It was stupid but Emily actually felt a twinge of guilt that she'd forgotten about her. She'd spoken to everyone else on the team and it hadn't even occurred to her that she hadn't seen or heard from Penelope. Of course it's not like she was expected to be thinking about something like that, but still, she felt a little bad.

So as she stood up to go greet her friend, Emily tried to paste on something approximating a smile. Though she was pretty sure it looked like more of a grimace.

Morgan checked the peephole and swore to himself . . . shit. He'd completely forgotten about Garcia. He opened the door to find her with tears and mascara running down her face. He sighed as he pulled her into his arms and she asked on a sniffle.

"Is it really true? Or was there some mistake?"

He patted her back, "no baby girl," he whispered into her ear, "it's really true. Em's parents were both killed."

She let out a little sob, "oh my poor Emily." Then she pushed herself back, "where is she?"

Morgan stepped aside to let Garcia in, checking the hall for any interlopers before he shut the door behind her. Turning back to the living room, Derek saw that Emily had stood up and was coming down to greet her new guest.

It hurt him to that she was trying to smile, trying to put Garcia at ease.

Always the diplomat's daughter . . . Derek felt a twinge in his chest . . . her mother would be proud of her.

Garcia hurried down the hall, wrapping her arms around her as she cried, "oh Emily! I'm so sorry sweetie pie."

Emily started sniffling as she patted her back, "thanks Pen."

She was getting a little better at accepting the condolences, but Garcia's crying was cutting into her precarious self control. Of course she knew Penelope was just sad for her, but Emily was afraid she was going to lose it again, and she couldn't afford to do that right now. So she'd started to disentangle herself when Garcia spoke again, and what she said made her freeze.

"Oh sweetie, I know exactly what you're going through."

Morgan cringed as he heard the words and he saw Emily instantly stiffen up. Oh God baby girl. Oh God. Derek remembered when his dad had died and having someone say that to him. And that person had meant well, as of course Garcia had, but it was absolutely the worst thing she could have said. He remembered when it happened to him that he'd been furious. Who the fuck did this person think they were to assume that they had a fucking clue as to what he was feeling?

Just because you've lost a parent too doesn't mean the situations are comparable. Your parents, your relationship with them, your love for them, that's all deeply personal. And nobody really KNOWS what you're going through. And he could tell from Em's body language, and the set of her jaw that she was having a similar reaction to Garcia's well intentioned, but _extremely_ ill timed, expression of solidarity. He immediately went over and put his hand on Garcia's back.

"Baby Girl why don't you come with me and get some coffee? Emily needs to go take a shower."

He looked over the girls' heads to catch Hotch's eye. He could tell from the look on his face that he'd also picked up on Garcia's faux pas and Emily's reaction to it. Hotch stood.

"Uh, yeah Emily, we should probably start getting ready."

Emily stepped back and gave Garcia a tight smile, one that Derek thought was a little frightening. Then she took a breath and looked down. And when she looked back up her features had relaxed slightly but her tone hadn't.

"Thank you so much for coming Pen. Hotch and I do have to start getting ready though so I'll see you in a little bit." Then she looked over her shoulder at Hotch who immediately came over and put his hand on her shoulder. He guided her towards the stairs.

"Come on," he said softly, "let's go find your suitcase."

There was an awkward silence after they were gone. Reid was suddenly engrossed in reading over the room reservations and Rossi couldn't tear his eyes away from the list Hotch and Emily had just finished making.

Garcia sniffed as she watched Hotch and Emily step off the landing. Then she turned to Derek perplexed as she wiped her eyes.

"Did I say something wrong?" She asked in confusion.

He immediately gave her a little smile, "no, of course not. It was nothing you said. They just have a lot to do before the flight." He started guiding her over to the kitchen, "now let's get you some coffee."

Lying was the only course of action here. Morgan knew that Garcia would be devastated if he told her why Emily had left so abruptly. Garcia was so open and expressive with her feelings that he knew without a doubt, that if somebody had said that to her, she would have drawn comfort from that person sharing her experiences.

But he, Emily, and Hotch . . . as Morgan had seen from his expression of immediate understanding . . . were all much different creatures.

They didn't share. They didn't look to make connections like that. And attempting to do so in such a private moment was seen as an intrusion on their personal grief. He'd seen the look on Emily's face even as she went up the stairs.

There was no doubt in his mind that she was _genuinely_ pissed off at Garcia.

Fortunately Garcia was distracted from asking him any follow-up questions when she realized she'd had heard reference to Hotch and Emily getting ready to go somewhere. So Derek was able to smoothly change the topic of conversation to their travel plans.

///////////

Hotch watched as Emily stood in the middle of her bedroom barely controlling her rage. She'd gotten angrier and angrier each step she'd taken. He'd heard what Garcia had said, and he assumed from Derek's immediate interruption of their conversation that he also knew how badly that statement was going to hit Emily.

Poor Garcia. Hotch loved her dearly but she was just so different than they were. And in so many ways that was a good thing. She brought some whimsy and light into their very dark world. But then at certain moments, like this one, those differences were startling in their incompatibility.

She spoke a different language than they did.

Though Emily hadn't previously begun to slip openly into any of the Five Stages, clearly Garcia had just tapped into "anger." And as he saw that she was about to open her mouth, Hotch quickly turned around and slammed the door shut.

"WHAT THE FUCK!" Emily screamed,"She _KNOWS_ what I'm going through! Seriously? Did she _seriously_ just say that to me?"

She started pacing back and forth railing at the whole idea that somebody else could even presume to KNOW what she was feeling. Had her parents just been blown out of the sky in a foreign country? Did Garcia also not know if she was going to have any bodies to bury?

And Hotch just let her go, hoping and praying none of this would be heard downstairs. Finally she stopped and looked up at him. He knew that look. She wanted to hit something.

Hard.

That was something he could help out with because if there was one skill that he'd had since he was a kid, it was the ability to take a punch.

He took a step towards her.

"You can hit me."

Jaw clenching, Emily looked up at him for a second. He knew then that she was seriously considering it. Then suddenly all of the anger went out of her and her eyes filled with tears.

Her voice broke, "I can't hit you."

His expression softened as he walked up to her, "if it'll make you feel better of course you can." He ran his hand down her arm as he gave her a small smile, "though if you could avoid the face I'd really appreciate it. These rugged good looks are only going to last a few more years anyway."

Her eyes snapped up to his, and her jaw started to quiver right before she burst out laughing. Then she closed the distance between them so she could reach up and wrap her arms around his neck.

"Thank you."

Hotch picked her up off the ground, holding her tightly to his chest for a moment before he put her back down and kissed the top of her head. As she let out a deep breath, he ran his hand down her back as he said quietly, "you know she meant well."

Emily nodded against his chest, "I know. I know she did."

And she did. It didn't change how horrified she was that she had said that to her. But, that was her issue, not Penelope's. Penelope had a good, kind heart. It wasn't as bitter and jaded as Emily's own was. Most people would have taken solace from that statement and attempt at solidarity.

But Emily Prentiss was not most people.

Nor was Hotch. Because he'd known exactly why she was upset and she hadn't even had to tell him. God she'd wanted so badly to pound her fist into something, and he'd known that too. She couldn't believe that he'd offered himself up as a punching bag.

That was really sweet.

Again, like a few other things he'd done for her, it was sweet in a really disturbing way. She snorted to herself, God they were both really, SERIOUSLY f'd individuals! That is _not_ normal behavior. But she realized maybe that's why she'd gravitated towards him so many times in the past when one or the other of them was having a problem.

She'd seen him as a kindred spirit.

Emily leaned back to see his face . . . his eyes were soft as he looked down at her. So unlike the Hotch at work who was all business, all shields, all armor plated.

Completely bullet proof.

But this Hotch, he was sweet and tender and sensitive. He gave her his muffin top because he knew she liked them and he wanted to do something to cheer her up even for just a moment. This Hotch was kept under lock and key, but he was showing that side of himself to her.

Only to her.

On an impulse, Emily stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him again. Just as she had earlier that morning, but this time she kept her lips pressed against his for just a few seconds longer. And this time . . . he kissed her back.

When she pulled away he gave her a soft smile as he smoothed her hair off her face.

"Was that another thank you?"

These might be horrible circumstances for them to start growing closer, but he still knew he could get used to these kinds of thank yous.

Her eyes crinkled slightly and she put her head back on his chest, "it was."

And then she closed her eyes and sighed.

"Thank you for being my friend."

* * *

_A/N 2: This was inspired by Arc's request to have a little moment between Penelope and Emily because Garcia had also lost her parents. It was an excellent point that she made, and I would have been remiss if I had not mentioned it. Though I am QUITE sure this is not what she had in mind :) But, as I thought about folding Garcia into the story I could see how her attempts to show solidarity would go so very, very wrong. An emotionally expressive and an emotionally repressive person are going to react to a situation like this completely differently. And personally, I would have reacted the way Emily did if somebody said that to me. But I'm also not much for bonding. If I'm already upset, my nerves are frayed and somebody very kindly tries to tell me they know how I'm feeling, well that's going to hit my last nerve because there's just really no way that's possible. I promise I'll smooth it over before she gets on the plane. Garcia meant well, Emily knows it, she just needed to get that out of her system._

_And the kiss, well, it's my present to myself :)_

_If you missed the announcement on my other story:_

_**There are a new set of prompts posted on the TV Title Challenge. Plus, I put up a bonus one with special guidelines.**_


	7. The Suitcase

**The Suitcase  
**

Hotch had just brought Emily's suitcase into her bedroom when the bathroom door opened. Emily (wearing only a towel) walked out, stopping short when she saw Hotch.

"Oh. Hi."

Whoa. It's a good thing she'd grabbed the towel. She'd almost forgotten there were other people in the house.

_'Don't look down. Don't look down. Don't look down._'

Hotch repeated the mantra in his head as he locked his eyes on hers.

"Uh, yeah, I just got the suitcase out. It was behind a couple of boxes."

He actually had to unpack her entire hall closet. It was a walk-in, three feet by six feet. Eighteen cubic feet of Christmas ornaments, books, old appliances, curtain rods, unpacked moving boxes, and a lot of really nice artwork that his untrained eye was pretty sure were original prints.

It had taken him almost fifteen minutes to get to the back of the closet where her oversized navy suitcase was. In the process he'd smashed his head into the overhang, walked into a cobweb and had been bitten by a spider. Though he now had a large pink bump on his arm, he was fairly confident the spider was not poisonous.

Not that he was telling Emily _any_ of that. He knew how her mind worked. She'd feel guilty. Like she was putting him out. But that delay in digging out the suitcase did explain why he was in her bedroom at the exact moment she walked out of the shower. It was really a good thing that they knew each other so well or she'd probably assume he was just a complete pervert.

And that was the moment he realized he'd been staring at her in her towel for a good ten, twelve seconds so he should probably get going before the P word popped in her head anyway. He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder.

"I'll just step out while you get dressed."

Emily couldn't stop staring at him . . . she knew full well where her suitcase had been. And that he would have had to unpack the entire hall closet to get to it. She couldn't believe he boiled all that down to 'behind a couple of boxes.' Then she blinked as she realized he'd just said something.

"What?"

Then she processed _what_ he had said and started shaking her head, "don't be silly you don't have to do that." She held her towel up with one hand she pointed over his shoulder with the other, "if you could please just grab my robe for me. It's on the chair."

Hotch turned around and picked up her blue cotton bathrobe. He brought it over, holding it up so she could slip her arms in. As he stood behind her he got a whiff of her shampoo . . . she smelled like lavender.

That's not what she smelled like before. It was cinnamon yesterday. Then he shook his head . . . he really shouldn't be cataloging her scents.

It was so not the time to be paying attention to things like that.

As Emily turned around to face him, she was double tying the knot on her belt. He knew she was still basically naked, but he felt much better knowing at least there were two layers of something between them.

Her eyes crinkled slightly, "it's actually lucky I even remembered to put on the towel. I don't usually have other people in the house."

His lip quirked up, "yeah, I know what you mean." He'd been single now for a few months and he never thought to grab a robe anymore. He gestured behind her.

"So I just put your suitcase on the bench at the foot of the bed, and don't forget to leave a little space for the items on our list. Spencer and Garcia went to Target to get the basics and Morgan was going back to the office to get the hardware."

He didn't add that Rossi was off at the pharmacy discreetly picking up a bottle of little blue pills for him. As long as her address book was out anyway, Hotch had looked up her doctor when she was in the shower. Then he'd stepped into the dining room to make the call in private. He didn't want the whole team to know how bad she was. Once he'd explained the situation to the nurse, the doctor had come immediately to the phone, saying he'd call in the script right away. Hotch was just trying to be prepared for anything.

If things got really bad, he'd tell her he had them and she could decide if she wanted one. And in the meantime he didn't want her to think he doubted that she was strong enough to handle this. Getting through this whole ordeal was mostly going to be through sheer force of will.

Emily nodded, "okay, um, did you get your . . ."

And then she saw his ready bag on her bed and her question was answered. She tipped her head, "you can get in the shower now if you want. There's still plenty of hot water and there are clean towels on the shelf." She furrowed her brow, "do you have your shampoo and soap?" He nodded and she gave him a little smile, "that's good otherwise you'd smell kind of girly."

He leaned forward to whisper in her ear, "you actually smell really nice."

When he saw the slight blush on her face he pulled back, his expression softening.

It was the truth, she did smell really nice, but he was also trying to keep her distracted. Because he knew once she stopped being busy, stopped thinking about the next thing, that she'd start to fall apart. And for her sake, because of what she wanted so desperately to do, he was just trying to help her push that moment off for as long as possible.

He went over and grabbed his bag off of her bed, patting her arm as he walked past her.

"I won't be long." Then he stopped and turned back as he looked at her quizzically, "oh wait, do you need anything else from in there."

Furrowing her brow, she dropped her eyes to the floor, then she looked up, "oh yeah, my hairdryer." She walked back into the bathroom with Hotch following behind her carrying his bag.

As she unplugged her hairdryer he started to look around.

The other two times he was in here he'd had specific tasks to perform and he was in and out so he hadn't really noticed this earlier, but the bathroom was huge. Well, actually the whole place was huge. And he knew how much money she made, and how much rent was around The District, so he assumed the condo was either partly family money or she got an incredible deal.

Some day he'd ask her about it, but . . . his eyes snapped back over to see Emily slowly rolling the cord . . . certainly not today.

His eyes traveled over her face . . . she looked better. Her eyes were still a bit bloodshot but the puffiness had gone down. Aside from a few stray tears, she hadn't had a really bad attack in almost two hours.

But he knew they were on borrowed time though, so the sooner they got finished up at her house the better.

When she walked past him to leave the bathroom he gave her a little smile, "I'll be out in a few minutes."

She nodded, "okay." Then she turned back at the doorway, "be careful, the water gets really hot."

He tipped his head, "thanks."

Then she stared at him for a second, like she wanted to say something else. And he was about to ask if she was okay when she took a breath and she shook her head, stepping out and pulling the door shut as she left.

With a sigh he started pulling his toiletries out of his bag. Yeah, the clock was definitely ticking.

So keeping that in mind, he took probably the fastest shave and shower on record. It helped that he didn't have much hair to wash. And a few rubs with a towel and it was basically dry. Then he quickly dressed in a pair of jeans and a short sleeved navy polo shirt. It was warm here, and it would most definitely be hot there. He started making a mental list of things to pack at his own house. Then he realized it was steamy in the bathroom and he'd probably be able to think more clearly if he wasn't starting to perspire.

When he stepped back in the bedroom he found Emily sitting on the floor staring at the carpet. She'd gotten dressed . . . ironically also in jeans and a blue shirt . . . but her hair was still damp.

All around her were clothes.

A glance at the dresser showed him that almost all of the drawers were open, and the closet door was too. He took a step closer as he said her name softly.

"Emily."

She looked up and he bit his lip as he saw the tears running down her face.

"I don't know what to pack," she sniffled as she looked back down at the clothes around her.

"It's hot there so I started to pull tank tops out of the drawer, then I remembered, it's a Muslim country. So I went to get some t-shirts and then I thought, I thought . . . no that's disrespectful to my parents' memory. I'm going to collect their, their . . ."

Her face crumpled and he thought she was going to lose it completely. But she surprised him when she took a breath and pulled herself back from the brink. She wiped her hand across her face as she made herself say the word.

"Bodies. I'm going to collect their bodies, so I should dress nicely. They deserve that. So I went over to the closet to get some good shirts. And I started pulling them out, trying to decide which ones to take." She picked up a blouse off the floor as the tears started flowing more freely, "my mom gave me this one." She picked up another, "I wore this one for my dad's birthday dinner. I remember because I spilled wine on it and had to bring it to the dry cleaners." She grabbed another.

"And this was Easter."

Hotch watched sadly as she continued to pick up items of clothing off the floor. Telling him their history, why each one was special. And he paid attention to what she picked up and what she left on the ground.

When she was done he looked at her tear streaked face as he gave her a sad smile. Then he reached down and grabbed one striped blouse and one pink one.

One mom one and one dad one.

He put those behind him. Then he grabbed four modest tank tops and two plain white shirts from the stack that had no parental memories. He put those behind him too. And lastly he grabbed two of her FBI t-shirts and added them to the pile. And when he was done, he got down on the floor behind her, pulling her back against his chest, and wrapping his arms around her waist as he nuzzled her neck. Then he whispered in her ear.

"You can wear the white shirts over the tank tops. You'll be dressed nicely when we're out. And nobody will be offended because you'll be completely covered in public but you can take them off when we're at the hotel. And you'll have two special shirts with you if you want a reminder of your parents, you can wear them or not. But they'll be there." Then he squeezed her tightly, "and if something else . . . happens, then you'll need practical work clothes. You can keep the t-shirts in the bottom of your bag." He brushed his lips against her skin, "and if you have to wear them, I promise you Emily . . . it will _not_ be disrespectful to their memory. They're just pieces of fabric."

With her eyes still leaking, Emily looked over the stack of clothes he'd picked out for her. She was starting to wonder what she ever did without him. She picked up his hand and brought it to her lips. And her voice cracked as she kissed his fingers, "thank you."

He kissed her cheek before resting his head against hers . . . he would sit with her until she stopped crying.

They had the time. And even they didn't, he'd make some.

* * *

_A/N 2: I hate trying to decide what to wear when someone dies. All of your clothes which seem fine to wear at any other time, aren't. You look at them then and somehow the colors seem faded or old. And you think you should have something nicer. So you go shopping, and it's horrible, because your shopping when your miserable. And your shopping for something that you're not going to want to wear again because whenever you pull it out, no matter how innocuous the item, it's just going to remind you of a wake or a funeral. So yeah, that's where this came from. _

_I might put up another new angsty story tonight._

_Reviews make me happy._


	8. The Love of Friends

**The Love of Friends  
**

It took about fifteen minutes to get Emily packed. After the ordeal she had just trying to figure out what shirts to take, she was pretty subdued, even after she'd stopped crying. So he just sat her down on the bed and pulled her suitcase together himself. He knew she wasn't thinking clearly so he tried to make his own mental list of what she would need. Not being a woman he had no idea how successful he was.

Though he was proud of himself for at least noticing that when she'd thrown her socks and underwear on the bed she'd forgotten to take out any bras. And he had been married long enough to know women were particular about which ones they liked to wear with which outfits. He really didn't have a clue as to how to pick out something like that for her, so he pulled the drawer out of the dresser and brought it over to the bed. Then he quirked his lip up at her.

"You should probably decide on these," he picked up a red lace one, "because if it was up to me they'd all be like this one."

She looked down at the push up bra dangling off his finger and then back up to his face. Her mouth quivered and then she gave him a little smile, "in your dreams sir."

He winked at her, "exactly."

Seeing her eyes crinkle slightly, Hotch dropped the bra back in the drawer before turning to run through her suitcase one more time.

He was happy he'd been able to get a smile out of her. Though she was clearly grief stricken, Hotch was hoping to keep her from sinking into an actual depression.

If that happened she might not be able to function at all.

Not that he minded taking care of her, far from it, but he'd hate to see her like that. Completely dependent on him to remind her to do the smallest of things. That had happened with his mother after his dad died. For weeks he had to remind her to eat and comb her hair and get dressed every day. And more often than not he had to go back to her closet because she wasn't wearing matching shoes. He couldn't bear to see Emily get to that point.

His head snapped up as he heard a knock on the bedroom door.

"Come in."

The knob turned and then JJ's pregnant belly appeared and his eyes crinkled.

"Hi."

She gave him a little smile in return, "hey," then she turned to Emily as she bit her lip, "hi Em."

Emily's eyes stung a little bit as she looked at JJ, staring at her belly and realizing that was something she'd never given her parents. Grandchildren. And it was too late for that now. Then she shook her head and gave JJ a watery smile as she stood up and went over to give her a hug.

"Thanks for coming Jayje."

JJ squeezed her tightly, "I came back with Derek." She let go, running her hand down Emily's arm, "I don't know when I'll see you again so I just wanted to make sure I got a chance to say goodbye." Then she turned to Hotch, "to both of you."

His eyes crinkled slightly and he walked over to give her a hug, mindful of her belly, as he whispered in her ear. "I'm glad you came." Then he stepped back, looking first at Emily, who was staring at the carpet again, and then JJ.

"I think I'll run down and see what Derek brought back." Hotch put his hand on JJ's shoulder, tipping his head towards Emily's suitcase, "could you please check through that and make sure I didn't forget anything."

JJ looked up at him in surprise . . . Hotch was packing Emily's suitcase. Then she flicked her eyes over to Emily. She'd sat back down on the bed and was sorting through her bras.

They were talking about her . . . standing three feet _away_ from her . . . and she didn't really seem to be paying them any attention at all.

Her gut ached as JJ felt a pang of sympathy for her friend . . . poor thing. Then she turned back to Hotch.

"Of course."

He gave her a grateful smile and he started gesturing as he said quietly, "I think I got all the basics but," he rolled his eyes, "I'm not a woman so I don't know if there are more basics that I forgot."

Twenty years of marriage had taught him many things, how to pack a woman's suitcase was not one of them.

Seeing how hard Hotch was trying, a soft smile touched JJ's lips as she reached over to pat his arm.

"I'll check it," she said reassuringly, "don't worry, you go see Derek."

Hotch squeezed JJ's shoulder in gratitude before he went over to Emily, crouching down in front of her as he put his hands on her knees.

"Morgan's back," he said softly, "and I need to go see what he brought us. JJ's going to help you finish packing but I'm just downstairs if you need me, okay?"

He really didn't want to leave her alone but they had so little time to get everything done.

Emily squeezed his hand, "okay." Then . . . knowing that he was getting worried about her . . . she tried to reassure him, "I'll come down in a little bit so I can see what he brought too."

Hotch squeezed her knee as he nodded, "that sounds good."

Just having her show some interest was definitely progress. And they stared at each other for a moment before he looked up at JJ.

"Just yell if you need me to come back up."

JJ's brow furrowed slightly as she nodded, "okay."

That was odd. She'd never seen the two of them interact like that before. If she didn't know better she'd think they were involved. Then she watched as Hotch kissed the top of Emily's head before he stepped out. And Emily watched the door for a moment after he left.

Huh . . . JJ pursed her lips as she turned her attention over to the suitcase . . . maybe they were involved. Emily hadn't said anything, but of course most likely she wouldn't have. And now certainly wasn't the time to ask her about it.

JJ nodded to herself as she started opening zippers in the suitcase . . . if they are together that's good though. They actually would make a nice couple. And she knew they'd started spending break time together. She'd thought that was just as friends but maybe it was something more. She realized it was fortunate then that it had happened because Emily was definitely going to need someone to lean on. And it was apparent from the gentle way that Hotch was talking to her that he was more than willing to be that someone for her.

As she came across the scrunchies that Hotch had for Emily's hair, a little smile passed JJ's lips . . . that was sweet he remembered that she'd need them. She started to hope they really were together because Emily deserved to have someone be sweet to her.

Since JJ had known her she'd gone out with nothing but one loser after another. And Hotch, he'd had such a bad year, Emily would be good for him.

They would be good together.

Sighing she turned her thoughts away from that as she looked up at her friend with a little smile.

"Did you decide which bras you're taking?"

//////////

Hotch looked up from the weapons case as he heard Emily and JJ coming down the stairs. Emily seemed more engaged now. Thank God, he'd been starting to worry. But she was talking to JJ about the length of the flight, and not in the same distracted manner she'd been conversing in upstairs. He was grateful JJ had come, the women were close and clearly her appearance had been good for Emily's state of mind.

When she got to the bottom of the stairs Emily made a beeline over to Hotch. Sitting down on the arm of the chair he was in, and brushing her arm against his. She really wanted to get back in his lap, it was silly but it made her feel a little better.

Unfortunately that was out of the question with the entire team around them, so she'd have to make do just sitting next to him. But then to her surprise Hotch reached over and pulled her down on his knee. His arm immediately slipped around her waist.

And she noticed that nobody raised an eyebrow.

But then she saw that Derek had his arm around Pen's shoulders. And Spencer had moved down the couch to make room for JJ, and after she'd sat down, she'd picked up his hand.

Emily realized then, her tragedy had shaken all of them. They were drawing comfort from one another, so her interactions with Hotch weren't even worthy of attention.

Good. Because she really didn't want to have to worry about appearances at a time like this.

Her eyes dropped down to the glocks Hotch had been looking over . . . they were good weapons. And she saw Derek had grabbed them multiple clips for those, and their service pistols. Plus their FBI Kevlar was on the other side of her coffee table. Then she smiled as she saw he'd remembered to bring another can of oil for them to clean the extra weapons. Morgan should have been a boy scout. Now hopefully they wouldn't need any of this.

Feeling Hotch's hand pat her stomach, she looked down at him.

"You and I are going to go to my apartment so I can pack. Morgan and Rossi are going to meet us there in an hour or so. They'll take us to the airport." He patted his jeans pocket, "I found your passport in your dresser. I have it in my pocket along with our weapons clearance, which JJ brought from Strauss, the printouts of our itineraries and e-tickets." He gestured over to the couch, "Garcia's going to water your plants and take in your mail. And Reid is going to empty the trash and make sure there's nothing perishable in the kitchen that will have gone bad by the time we get back."

Stunned at everything they'd done for her, her eyes began to burn again. But this time they were happy tears. These people were her family. And they were taking care of her like she was blood. She'd thought with the deaths of her parents that meant she wasn't completely alone in the world. She could see now that was far from true. She smiled at them, her eyes watering.

"Thank you so much for everything you've done for me. Everything you're _doing_ for me. I'll never be able to tell you how grateful I am for all of your support."

Rossi leaned over to squeeze her arm, "no thanks necessary Emily, we love you. You're our family," he smiled at her, "and we take care of our own."

As Emily saw the rest of them nod as they blinked back tears, she had to wipe her own eyes. Hotch handed her a Kleenex.

"Garcia found them under the sink."

Emily looked over at Garcia with the tears running down her face and she felt a terrible pang of guilt at the awful things she'd said upstairs. As their eyes caught, she gave her a firm nod, "thank you Penelope." Garcia sniffled and nodded as Morgan tightened his grip on her.

Emily looked back down to Hotch, "so I guess we should get going."

He nodded, "yeah, it's a little after eleven, and the flight isn't until three, but I'd like to be at the airport by 1:30 at the absolute latest. We do have bags to check and then we need to go to the main security office to show them our weapons clearance. That'll hopefully go quickly but just in case it doesn't, I don't want to be running for the plane."

Emily slid off his knee and they both stood, him with his arm still around her waist. Hotch looked at the others who were getting up as well.

"We'll go grab her bags and then we'll go." Derek stood up, "you need help man?"

Shaking his head, Hotch furrowed his brow, "no, there are only two. Thanks though."

Dave watched as Hotch and Emily headed for the stairs, his hand slipping off of her waist and grabbing her hand as they reached the staircase. Then he turned to Derek.

"You ready?"

He nodded, "yeah, let's get this done quickly so we can meet them on time."

Dave and Derek headed for the door and the rest of them started sorting out the items Reid and Garcia had brought back from their shopping trip. Hotch said there was no use in lugging everything up and then having to bring it down again so he'd bring the suitcases downstairs and then he'd shift the new items into them.

Upstairs Hotch was zipping Emily's suitcase shut while she pulled on a pair of sneakers for traveling. She didn't want to be stuck in leather boots for the next two days. That would be uncomfortable. Though she'd just poked her head into her suitcase before he closed it, and had seen Hotch had packed two pairs of boots for her. One of her usual work pair and one combat style. He'd even grabbed her vitamins, her birth control pills and her makeup kit off the bathroom counter and transferred them over to her carry on. What man remembers to take a woman's makeup?

He'd done a better job packing for her than she would have done for herself given her state of mind. And it was just one more thing she'd have to remember to thank him for later. Actually the only thing JJ asked if she wanted to pack that he hadn't thrown in were tampons. They were going for a couple weeks at least, and they could be delayed longer. And Emily remembered that the pharmacy options over there for feminine hygiene products were limited so she did decide to throw in an unopened box. Just in case. She saw Hotch's eyes catch on them as he closed the suitcase, and her features softened as she answered the question she knew he wouldn't ask.

"Not for now. Those are for later," she sighed as she tied her sneaker, "I can't even imagine how much worse this would be right now if my hormones were out of whack." She muttered to herself, "I can barely keep it together for ten minutes at a stretch as it is."

Hotch looked over sympathetically. He sure as hell hadn't had any intention of asking her when she was getting her period, but that was exactly what he was thinking too.

He placed her suitcase and her ready bag by the door. He'd dumped all the usual stuff out the ready bag and filled it with everything she'd need as a carry on. Then he went back over to the bed, putting his arm around her and pulling her close before he kissed her forehead.

"Are you really sure you want to do this Emily?"

Staring at the carpet, she bit her lip as she nodded slowly, "yes. And I know now that there's no way that I could do it by myself so thank you so much for coming with me." She looked up at him speculatively, "actually . . ."

Then without finishing her sentence she got up and moved over to sit in his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck as she sighed.

"I don't know why but this makes me feel better. And I know we have to go, but if you don't mind, could we sit for just one minute?"

Hotch put his chin on her shoulder as he began to rub her back.

"No sweetheart, I don't mind at all."

* * *

_A/N 2: Any guesses on what Morgan and Rossi are doing? Hint, nothing good._

_The tampon thing, I actually googled 'things to bring to Egypt,' and a travel site specifically said to pack those. Apparently they usually just sell one kind of product in the pharmacy so that definitely was an important travel tip :) _

_Related travel story: My best friend's brother was making fun of me and my friend as we were planning a weekend trip to New York. We were doing the 'oh can't forget this' 'can't forget that,' thing. He cuts in, "for God's sake would you two calm down. If you forget it you can buy it. You __live__ in America and you're __going__ to America. Trust me, they sell ALL the same stuff in America that they sell in America!" That was some solid wisdom there. So I have not again worried needlessly about packing on domestic trips. _

_On a bright note, Jack will be making a cameo appearance next. Couldn't really send Hotch out of the country for 3 weeks and not have him say goodbye to his son._

_I should be putting up another chapter of this later. And Broken Noses, definitely 100% is going up today. It's done, and I think you will all be pleased :)_


	9. The Things Not Said

**Author's Note**: Yes, finally, new chapter of Horses! Some of you were just starting to ask about it. This chapter was 'emotionally complex,' more so than just the grief stuff, so it took a couple of days to fine tune everything. Hopefully I got it right.

* * *

**The Things Not Said  
**

Hotch reached down as his cell phone began vibrating on his hip. He was driving so he didn't look at the caller ID.

"Hotchner."

"Aaron I'm watching the news," Haley stared at the television screen in horror, "were those Emily Prentiss' parents that were killed in the plane crash?"

Hotch glanced over to Emily in the passenger seat and then lowered his voice slightly, "yes."

Biting her lip, Hayley clicked off the set, turning her back to the images still burned in her brain.

"Oh my God, that's so awful! How is she?"

Trying to keep the tone out of his voice, Hotch looked behind him as he changed lanes.

"She's doing as well as can be expected."

Emily looked over quizzically as she realized he was talking about her. He mouthed, _'Haley,'_ and she nodded before she went back to looking out the window.

Haley winced, "right, sorry, dumb question."

Hotch gave his own internal agreement to that before he cleared his throat.

"Listen, I'm going to Egypt for a couple weeks . . ."

And before he could say anything else, Haley cut in viciously, "and were you going to say goodbye to your son?"

As soon as the words were out of her mouth she flinched and slapped her hand over her mouth.

GOD, WHAT WAS _WRONG_ WITH HER!

Of COURSE the team was going to Egypt! Emily Prentiss' parents were just killed in a possible terrorist attack! These were her friends, they were FBI agents. They certainly would be inserting themselves into the investigation.

She rubbed her hand across her face. Jesus, when did she become the bitter shrew of an ex-wife? How did she become this person? How did that happen?

As she castigated herself, she also held her breath, waiting for the explosion from Aaron. This time it would have been justified.

But none came.

The silence coming through the phone was so much worse. Maybe she could take it back. Maybe he would let her do that. She took a breath.

"I'm sorry Aaron, I didn't . . . I didn't mean for that to come out that way. That's terrible, beyond terrible, what Agent Prentiss is going through, and I didn't mean to sound so callous. Obviously your team would be going."

And she stopped. Hoping that was enough. But knowing she had already put her foot in her mouth and not wanting to make it any worse either.

Hotch was still on his second countdown from ten by the time Haley got to the end of her apology. Fortunately he was calm enough at that point to see that it was genuine. The only reason he'd even made any effort to hold his temper was because Emily was sitting next to him.

But Jesus Christ! What the fuck was WRONG with her? She was never like that before. Never petty. Never small. Now though, they were both so quick to snap at one another and it needed to stop. They were good about not doing it in front of Jack, but still, there was no point to it. It was just fighting for fighting sake.

Isn't that why they got divorced? So they wouldn't fight anymore?

So to that end, he chose not to correct her impression about who was going on the trip. It wasn't relevant, and it would just lead to more conversation. More sniping. More bitterness.

As he glanced over at Emily he took a breath . . . and today of all days he had his proof that time was short. So he decided that today would be the day that he would just let all the rest of it go.

He swallowed his bitterness and locked it away. No more.

"Apology accepted."

He paused for a moment making sure his tone was truly even before he continued, "and I was actually planning on stopping by to see him on the way to the airport. We just left Emily's and we're going to my apartment now so I can pack. Our flight's in a couple hours."

Hayley blinked . . . he calls her Emily now.

Then she shook her head . . . it was definitely not the time to focus on that fact. She was just grateful that he had let her inexcusable outburst go without comment. And that's when she saw an opportunity to make amends for her earlier slip.

"Uh, why don't I just bring Jack over to your place now? That way you won't have to stop afterwards."

Hotch was surprised at how solicitous his ex-wife was now being, but he decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Uh, actually that would be great Haley, thank you. We really are running short on time. Our flight's at three."

Haley checked the clock, "okay, we'll be there in twenty minutes."

Hotch checked his watch, "sounds good, we're just pulling up now. Thanks again." As he pulled into his parking spot he clicked the phone shut before she could say anything else.

No reason to push his luck.

Emily looked over, "she's bringing Jack?"

As he unclicked his seatbelt, Hotch nodded, "yeah, they'll be here in about twenty minutes, which works out well because I should have most of my packing done by then."

Probably all of it really. This wasn't a pleasure trip, all he'd need were the basics.

She bit her lip and they got out of the car, then she stopped for a moment to look up at his building. She'd never been there before.

When Emily looked up, Hotch stared at her . . . her question just now was the first thing she'd said since they left her house.

That was progress.

He reached over and picked up her hand. Then he gave her a little smile before he led her up to his apartment.

//////

Haley pulled the buzzing phone away from her ear, looking down at it for a moment. With that burst of white noise, that one thing that she had pushed aside, it came back to her.

He calls her Emily now.

Her jaw twitched once as she swallowed before hanging the cordless back on the wall. Then she turned and left the kitchen, heading down the hall to the living room where Jack was watching cartoons. When she stopped in the doorway she stared at him for a moment as he giggled at a yellow sponge and a pink starfish.

They lived in a happy little world where there were no divorces, no plane crashes, no dead parents.

She cleared her throat.

"Sweetie put your shoes on. We're going to see daddy."

///////////

Emily walked around Hotch's living room looking at the few pictures he had out. All of Jack. Her eyes crinkled as she looked at one of the two of them together. It had to be Jack's first Christmas. She'd never seen Hotch look that happy before.

Though . . . her eyes scanned over the half dozen photos he had on display . . . she saw there were no more recent ones of the two of them together. Haley must have taken the Christmas one, and now Hotch didn't have anyone to take pictures of him with his son. She frowned slightly . . . that's sad.

Emily stepped back from the bookcase and looked around the small living room.

With the exception of the pictures, a few books, and Jack's toy chest, it really wasn't very homey. But he'd told her it was just a month to month rental until he found something he liked. Then he'd said that he hadn't expected to be there as long as he had, but with everything that happened in the spring, looking for a new apartment sort of fell by the wayside.

It was clear to her that he really hadn't intended on staying that long. There were still unopened boxes running along the walls and in the corners of the room.

She bit the inside of her cheek, he was being so good to her about everything now. Maybe when they got back she could help him find a more permanent living solution. It would be a project she could distract herself with. Because God knows she was definitely going to need distractions.

With a sigh she sat down on the couch and rubbed her hands down her face . . . she didn't want to think about the trip, let alone think about the after. She was just going to think about the right now.

That was about all she could handle.

And right now Hotch was in his bedroom packing, and right now she was in the living room waiting to let in Jack and Hayley when they arrived.

Haley.

She hadn't seen Haley since the night of the Super Bowl. And then she'd spoken to her one time subsequently on the phone. Emily had picked up Hotch's cell by accident when their phones got mixed up in the car. They'd talked a little bit that day. It was pleasant. It was nice.

Of course that was before Hayley had left and broken Hotch's heart by taking his son from him.

Emily rolled her eyes . . . not a helpful mindset right now Em. That was over, it was done.

And Emily believed . . . though she'd _never _say it to aloud to anyone . . . that Haley leaving had been for the best. Because Hotch had seemed better lately. Not quite so heavy hearted as he had been before. Before Gideon . . . before Strauss . . . before everything had fallen apart.

But before even all that, there had been something wrong. She just hadn't known him well enough at the time to know what it was.

He'd been unhappy.

Looking back she could see that clearly now. But he was getting better. Maybe it was just New York that had shaken his views. Or Colorado.

Or maybe it was just the passing of time.

He'd been divorced for almost five months and separated for at least six months before that. Whatever it was, he seemed to be moving on. And given how confused she felt about her feelings towards him right now, she was relieved that if nothing else, he didn't appear to be pining for a woman who no longer wanted him.

She jumped slightly at the knock on the door . . . her nerves were a little raw. Then she yelled to Hotch that she'd get it before she took a breath and went over to let them in.

After she turned the lock, Emily opened the door to see Hotch's ex-wife right in front of her.

Given her unkind thoughts a moment before, it was awkward.

Haley blinked and tightened her hold on Jack's shoulders . . . she hadn't been expecting her to answer the door.

The women stared at each other for a moment and then Haley's expression softened as she bit her lip.

"Emily . . . I'm so very sorry for your loss."

Emily had learned her lines in this part of the play, and she nodded perfunctorily, "thank you." Then she looked down, and for the first time in a day, she was able to give someone a genuine smile.

How could she not? He was adorable.

"And you must be Jack," she said softly, "my name is Emily. I'm a friend of your daddy's."

Jack stared at her unblinking. And with his dark brown eyes and his serious face, Emily was amazed at how much he looked like Hotch at that moment. Then he held out his teddy bear.

"Mommy said you were sad. This is Mr. Bobo, he makes things all better."

Emily's eyes filled with tears.

She was in love.

Stooping down to his height, she very seriously accepted the stuffed animal from his outstretched hand.

"Thank you honey, that's very nice of you to let me borrow him. I promise I'll take good care of him while you go see your daddy." Then she gave him a watery smile as she tipped her head towards the hall, "he's in his room waiting for you."

Jack grinned, sadness forgotten. He was only three. All emotions were transitory. Then he scooted past her, yelling as he ran down the hall, "DADDY! DADDY! I'M HERE!"

Emily could hear Hotch laugh, and her own eyes crinkled involuntarily before she looked back up to Haley. Emily stepped back, "please come in."

She felt a little funny inviting Hotch's ex-wife into his home. In a way they'd sort of switched roles from the last time that they'd met. Not that she and Hotch were actually involved, not yet, but the alliances had shifted.

Hayley was the outsider.

The women walked into the living room and sat down across the room from one another. Haley settled in the armchair and Emily went over to the couch. She couldn't stop staring at the bear. As Haley cleared her throat Emily looked up.

"He's too little to really understand about death but, I um," Haley swallowed, "just told him you were a friend of his daddy's and that you were very sad, and he had to be a good boy." Her eyes stinging, she looked down at Mr. Bobo, "I did not know that he was going to give you his bear though." As she looked up, Haley gave Emily a sad smile as her voice cracked, "he loves that bear. Aaron bought him for him when he was a baby."

Haley had never been more proud of her son. He was capable of a kind and selfless act. And he wasn't even four yet. She knew adults that weren't nearly so compassionate. She smiled to herself, just imagine the man he will become.

Emily looked back down at the bear again with moist eyes. He was definitely Hotch's son. She wished she could keep it, but, you really couldn't take a three year old's teddy bear away from him.

Even if it was offered with a kind heart.

But . . . she tucked the bear against her chest she leaned back against the cushion . . . she could hold it for now.

The women sat in an awkward silence for a few minutes before Emily looked over at Haley, "how did Mr. Bobo get his name?" The silence was killing her and that seemed an innocuous enough topic of conversation.

Haley stared at the floor for a moment, her eyes crinkling slightly as she called up a good memory. Coming into the nursery to see Aaron holding the bear over the crib. Jack's little fingers reaching up for it and Aaron tucking it at his side as he kissed his forehead.

To her surprise, Hayley felt a warmth spread through her chest.

Affection . . . love . . . for her ex-husband. It was still there, buried beneath the scar tissue.

For the past few months they'd had difficulty simply holding a civil conversation. But maybe the trick to getting past the anger, getting past the hate, was just remembering. Remembering what it was like before. Remembering when they were happy. She looked up at Emily, giving her a small smile.

"Aaron named him. I think he had a teddy bear by that name when he was little."

Emily's eyes crinkled and she dropped her gaze to the floor . . . Hotch as a little boy with a teddy bear. That was sweet.

She looked up as she heard noises coming down the hall.

Laughter and giggling and then Hotch and Jack came around the corner. Jack was on Hotch's hip and he was whispering in his father's ear as only little children can do. Emily smiled . . . her second genuine smile of the day. Her grief was still there, still pushing on her chest, but . . . other things were pushing back. She knew the grief would win though, so she tried to enjoy the moment of respite.

Hotch looked over at Emily. He'd been worried about leaving her alone with Haley. Well leaving her alone at all, but he'd needed to pack quickly and he'd just been wrapping up when they arrived.

But Emily seemed . . . okay.

There was a small smile. A real one. Not a sad one, or an artificial one pasted on for somebody else's sake. That was the best she'd looked since he'd shown up at her door. What was the difference here? His eyes shifted over to his son and he smiled softly.

Jack.

He kissed his son's forehead . . . Jack was good for the soul. Hotch looked back at her and then his gaze dropped to her lap . . . as was apparently Mr. Bobo.

His eyes crinkled as they came up to meet hers and she nodded and squeezed the bear to her chest, mouthing.

_"He's a good boy."_

Hotch rubbed Jack's back as he put him on the floor. He was a good boy. And it was obvious simply his presence had cheered Emily up for a few minutes. It was too bad he couldn't have him stay longer but Dave and Derek would be here soon.

When Hotch looked down again he saw that Jack was staring at him. He did that sometimes. Mostly he was a normal, rambunctious, though unusually well behaved, three and half year old. But sometimes, he seemed so much older. And when Hotch would look at him, he really looked back. And it was like he was . . . thinking . . . figuring stuff out. It was just a few seconds here or there, and then he'd run off and play, but always in that moment, Hotch wondered, just what it was that was going through his little mind.

And right now, he would have paid any sum of money for the answer to that question.

He crouched down and kissed Jack's forehead, then he leaned back, trying to give his son a reassuring smile.

"Daddy has to go on another trip buddy. And I'm going to be away for a little bit longer than usual." His voice cracked slightly but he quickly cleared his throat, "but I'll talk to you on the phone, okay?"

Jack was used to his father going away, but he always came back. So he didn't even blink as he threw his arms around his neck, "'k daddy." Hotch squeezed him back, "love you buddy."

As Emily watched Hotch and his son, her eyes began to burn and she suddenly felt sick to her stomach.

She was separating them. How could she do that? How could she ask that of him?

That he leave his child.

And then Hotch looked over Jack's shoulder, and she could tell from the look that he gave her that he knew exactly what she was thinking, and one of the tears ran down her face.

Hotch looked back down at Jack, he was the only bright spot so far in her terrible day, and he could see her slipping away again. Maybe they could stay a few minutes longer.

He cleared his throat.

"Why don't you go play for a couple minutes, bud? I think there might be a new police car in your toy box."

When he let go of Jack, he immediately ran to find his present and Hotch crossed over to the couch, sitting down next to Emily as he rubbed her shoulder.

"It's fine Emily," he said softly.

She sniffled, "but . . ."

And she stopped as she felt the tears about to overwhelm her. She really didn't want to start crying again. She'd been feeling better but the tears were so close to the surface, it seemed like anything could set them off. And she felt so awful about taking him away from his sweet little boy.

A little boy who had given her his teddy bear so she would feel better. And she repays him for that kindness by taking his father away.

How could she do that?

Hotch pulled Emily against his side, kissing the top of her head as he whispered, "it's fine. You know I travel all the time, this trip is just going to be a little longer. Actually, I was thinking about having Garcia set up a video connection. It'll be almost like the real thing."

It wouldn't be the real thing though, and that was going to eat at his soul. Weeks without his son.

Just the thought of it was horrible.

But the last thing he wanted on top of everything else was Emily feeling guilty because he wouldn't be seeing Jack. It wasn't her fault. None of this was her fault. She was the victim. And it wasn't until after he'd kissed her, trying to reassure her that he didn't blame her, that he remembered Haley was in the room.

Crap.

For a moment he froze. Then he let out a breath.

Fuck it.

Not to be cruel, but he realized then that Haley's feelings were of little consequence to him at the moment. Emily was upset, Emily was having the worst day of her life, so Emily was all that mattered right now.

Well . . . his eyes shifted over to his son driving his new Matchbox car on the floor . . . Emily and Jack. And Jack was paying them no attention. Emily sniffled again and he looked down, giving her a sad smile as he ran his thumbs under her eyes, wiping away the running mascara. Then he sighed.

Honestly, he had no desire to purposely piss Haley off. But really, she was just going to have to deal. Emily had become important to him. He pulled her back against his side . . . more important than he had realized.

Haley watched her ex-husband comforting the woman she was starting to assume was his new girlfriend. At least all signs pointed to that conclusion. She felt a twinge of jealousy.

Jealousy and an ache in her chest.

Given that she left him, she supposed that was a little strange. But . . . she'd never seen him with his hands on another woman. Ever. And it didn't matter if he was providing comfort to her now because she was upset, it still hurt Hayley to see it.

She watched as Aaron wiped away Emily's tears, and Haley's eyes immediately dropped to the carpet. That was an intimate gesture. She shouldn't have seen that.

God she wanted to leave.

She looked up a moment later as Aaron cleared his throat. He was giving her a look. Part apology, part defiance.

Defiance.

Her gaze dropped again . . . she wasn't ready for that yet. She wasn't ready for him to be moving on.

But it seemed that he was.

And she supposed that it was only fair. She was the one that had walked out on him, and she was the one that had filed for divorce. This was now her punishment. She was still stuck in limbo and he had found someone new. Not even new. Someone already in his life.

Emily.

That's when she began to wonder how long he'd had feelings for her. Because it was quite obvious that he did indeed have strong feelings for her. Haley was interrupted from her mental torture by Jack who was dancing in the middle of the living room.

"Daddy I have to go potty!" It was daddy's house so daddy was the one to tell.

Before Aaron could respond Haley cleared her throat, desperate for the reprieve.

"I'll take him and then we'll go so you can finish getting ready."

Making a point to avoid looking at the two adults, Haley went over and took Jack's hand, leading him from the room.

Hotch watched Haley and Jack go before looking back to Emily. She was biting her lip as she stared at the bear in her lap. Mr. Bobo. He was on loan from the Jack Hotchner collection, but it was clear she was becoming attached to it.

Probably more the sentiment behind it.

He patted her arm as he stood up and went over to the corner of the room, reading the labels on the boxes stacked there.

Ah . . . his eyes caught on a label . . . maybe that one.

He shifted around the piles and opened the one that said _Home Office_. Then his eyes crinkled as he saw it jammed under a stack of tax returns.

Emily watched curiously as without warning Hotch got up and went over to start digging around in his boxes. He was facing away from her, so she couldn't see what he was looking at, but then suddenly he turned around and held out . . . Mr. Bobo!

Hotch felt his heart lighten as Emily's face lit up. He walked over and handed the bear to her.

"My mother found him when she was cleaning out the attic. She sent him to me last year. He's a little worn, but I'm sure he'll make the trip just fine in your carry on."

Emily stared down at the two bears in her lap. Her eyes crinkled . . . 'Messieurs Bobo.' The original was definitely worse for wear . . . he had some patches of fur worn away and his color was a little faded . . . but it was clearly the same bear.

Hotch hadn't just named Jack's teddy bear after his, he'd bought him the same one he had when he was a little boy.

Her eyes began to burn . . . they had both given her their teddy bears. Objects that had brought them comfort, they were offering to her now. Was it possible to truly fall in love over a teddy bear? She didn't know. But the Hotchner boys were definitely putting that theory to the test.

She stood up, turning to carefully place the bears back on the couch before she faced Hotch. Their eyes locked, and he leaned down slightly as she leaned up, pressing her lips against his, first gently, then more insistently, closing her eyes as he kissed her back, opening his mouth slightly as his hands slipped around her waist.

No tongues, but still, there was nothing chaste about this kiss.

When she pulled away she licked her upper lip . . . she could taste him on her. Then she leaned against his chest, letting him wrap his arms around her again, and she closed her eyes as she sighed softly.

She was starting to think that she could go through the rest of her life in this position.

Then she suddenly heard a yelp of delight and her eyes popped open as a faint smile touched her lips.

Jack was back.

"TWO MR. BOBOS!" Jack exclaimed in wonder.

Hotch shifted Emily to his side as his ex-wife and son came back into the room, he smiled at his boy.

"Yeah buddy, two Mr. Bobos. That was my teddy bear when I was little. I forgot that Grandma sent him to me last year. But Miss Emily's going to take my Mr. Bobo and then you can take yours home with you."

Haley stared at the two teddy bears on the couch . . . she didn't even know Aaron still had his bear. It was clearly well loved, and he was giving it away.

To her.

Her gaze traveled slowly up and away from the bears. Seeing Aaron's arm around her waist, her head on his chest, and . . . the smear of lipstick on his face. Haley dropped her eyes back to the ground as she took two deep breaths.

She really needed to get out of there.

Emily reached down to pick up Jack's bear, holding him out.

"Here you go honey, thank you for letting me hold him." Her eyes began to sting again as she smiled at him, "I do feel better."

Jack took back his bear, tucking him under his arm. Then he looked at her for a second before he reached over to hug her leg.

He'd always been an affectionate child.

Then he stepped back and grabbed his father's leg, "bye, bye daddy." Hotch slipped his arm off of Emily as he reached down and pulled his son up into his arms, closing his eyes as he squeezed him tightly, "I love you."

And then . . . feeling himself starting to get emotional . . . Hotch quickly tickled his son, "you love me?"

Jack squirmed as he giggled and yelped, "YES, YES I LOVE YOU!"

Emily laughed quietly as she squeezed Aaron's arm and Jack smiled at her. And Haley watched them and died just a little bit more inside. She wished she'd brought her bag, or had anything to distract herself with.

Hotch glanced over as he saw Haley fidgeting . . . she'd been really good about this visit. He checked the time.

The guys would definitely be here any minute. They would have called if they'd had any problems.

So he gave Jack one more hug and one more kiss and one more I love you. Then he walked him to the door and handed him to his mother. And as he remembered the genuine smile Jack had brought to Emily's face, he surprised his ex-wife by leaning down to kiss her cheek as he said softly, "thank you bringing him Haley. If I had stopped at your place I would gone in alone, but, you can see, Jack brought Emily a few minutes of happiness. And I thank you for that."

Hearing Aaron's words of gratitude, Hayley suddenly was filled with shame. She was jealous of a woman who had just had her parents killed in a plane crash. She was grieving, and everything Haley had witnessed today was just her ex-husband, and her son, a young boy who had shamed her with his kindness, trying to provide this woman some measure of comfort.

Her eyes filled with tears and she nodded, "um, email me when you get there so I know you're all right."

Hotch looked at her curiously . . . she seemed upset. He was a little surprised. This was the longest they'd been in a room together since he'd signed the divorce papers. And this experience had been much less grueling than that one. And there was no way she'd seen them kissing. That would have upset her, but . . .

Then he stopped. It didn't matter. Hayley's happiness wasn't his responsibility any more.

He blinked as he looked back at her, trying to ignore the tug in his chest that said he should find out what was upsetting her and fix it. He wondered if that tug would ever go away.

"Yeah, I will email you. Actually, when we get to the airport we'll have some time so I'll forward you the hotel information," he stopped, trying to think if he was forgetting anything, "oh, and we have new cell phones if you need to reach me over there. I'll send the numbers." He paused, "also, Garcia will be touch. I do want to set up video conferencing with Jack. I don't know how long I'll be gone and I'd like to still be able to at least see him."

Hayley cleared the lump from her throat, "okay, I'll wait to hear from her." Then she looked past his arm at Emily standing by the couch next to the bear. Looking at her she felt another mixed stab of pain and jealousy and shame.

God she needed to leave. She tipped her head.

"Goodbye Emily, have a safe trip." Emily nodded as Hayley's eyes snapped back to her ex-husband, "both of you," she gave him a hard look, "be careful."

Hayley obviously never knew as much as Aaron did about the work that they did, but in this instance she did know there was a distinct possibility someone had just blown up a plane full of American diplomats. Obviously people who would do that, clearly wouldn't think twice about killing any FBI agents investigating the case.

Hotch's expression softened as he ran his hand down Jack's face, "I'm always careful."

Hayley bit her lip as she watched his fingers stroke the smooth skin of their son's cheek. Swallowing hard she looked up at him as she directed her voice to their child.

"Jack, say bye, bye to Daddy."

After the final goodbye with his son, Hotch blinked the tears away before shutting the door and looking back across the room to Emily. She already seemed sadder. He checked his watch, the guys still weren't here yet, but he was done packing.

They had nothing but time.

He went back over to the couch, sat down and pulled her into his lap. She'd already told him that made her feel better. And he was glad, not only for her, but for him as well. Because he had already grown accustomed to touching her and he didn't want to stop.

Plus he'd kissed her, really kissed her, and he wanted to do that again.

He ran his fingers slowly down her arm . . . but not right now.

It would be too much. Too much . . . too fast. She was vulnerable, and becoming dependent on him. And even if she had been the one that had initiated everything so far, he would not take advantage of that.

There would be time later to figure this out. After they got home.

After she had buried her dead.

He sighed before kissing the top of her head.

"Do you want to put Mr. Bobo in your bag now so you don't forget him?"

She had decided to take that bear to Egypt with them. He knew that as well as he knew his own name. And he also knew that she'd be terribly upset if she forgot him now.

Emily tucked her head into the curve of his neck, turning her head to place a soft kiss on his skin. Then she pulled the bear against her chest as she whispered.

"Trust me, I won't forget."

* * *

_A/N 2: This chapter took longer to write because, even though not much actually 'happened' there was so much going on. Just juggling the conflicting undercurrents of emotion, the divorce, the death of her parents, their burgeoning relationship, and the bright spot of Jack. But not letting the Jack overwhelm the heavier stuff because he really couldn't make any of that other stuff better._

_I really like this story for the opportunity of having the same events unfold in this universe as already happened in the other one, but in completely different ways. Like if you read The Hours, you'll know there's also a chapter there where Hayley brings Jack over to visit Emily because she's upset. And there's one there where Jack gives Emily Mr. Bobo because she's sad. But this is a completely different world, and those two things still happened, but the emotions and situations surrounding them were not at all comparable. Hotch and Emily's relationship is at a totally different stage, as is Emily and Jack's, and Hotch and Hayley's divorce trauma is still raw and they're just now finding a way to deal with one another. In The Hours, Hayley was much more accepting and open to the idea of their relationship. She had someone in her own life, and yet it was still hard for her then, eight months later than this point in their lives. I can just see how that would suck for her to watch him move on and she's still stuck. _

_Also, I wasn't making Hotch a jerk by having him 'touch' Emily in front of Hayley. With the exception of kissing her head, he saw nothing about his interactions with her as possibly being interpreted by Hayley as anything but comfort in her grief. It wouldn't have occurred to him how even something so benign could be painful for Hayley to see. Which is why I had all of that hit Hayley at the end. That the trauma over the divorce was twisting her view of what she was feeling. Which all boiled down to jealousy of a woman who really, nobody would be envying on that day._

_It was ironic that in Girl I also just hit a chapter on their 'divorce status' but that conversation takes place two months down the road in that world. Things are slightly better between them by then. But I thought Emily's tragedy would be a good opportunity in this world to help them along on that path. _

_And though I had never written about an original Mr. Bobo, I liked the idea of Hotch having his own teddy bear. Just because I haven't mentioned in Universe A, doesn't mean he isn't sitting in a box somewhere :)_

_The next chapter won't be juggling so much emotional stuff so I think it should come a little easier. Derek and Dave will be showing up to take them to the airport. And as a totally aside, I wish I could tell you how much I wish I had 'labeled' these chapters like I usually do! The longer the story gets the more it's driving me crazy! I might go back and insert something on them, maybe a time stamp. Just for my own sanity so when I'm jumping around in my table of contents I know what the hell happened in Chapter 7! My memory's good but there's a limit to my super powers. And I do think this was my longest A/N to date!_

_You know reviews make me happy people :)_


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note:** I meant to get this up yesterday but Real Life took precedence over Fake Life. Which was the same reason there was no update on Girl. Fingers crossed though I will get that finished up and posted later tonight. Worst case I should have enough done by then to split the chapter in half as I've done in the past.

*******************************************

**Chapter 10**

Morgan looked down at the teddy bear Emily was holding in her arms. Any other day he would have teased her about it. But there would be no teasing of any kind today. Not even gentle.

He was curious about it though, she seemed especially attached to it. She'd been clutching it when he and Dave had arrived a few minutes earlier, and she hadn't put it down even when she stood up as they came over to give her a kiss hello. The guys kept doing that today, all of them, even Spencer. Hugging her and kissing her . . . as though if they just loved her enough, they could somehow make it better.

If only.

And now he and Emily were the only ones in the living room. Dave had gone back to Hotch's bedroom with him to, 'help with the bags.' For some reason Emily hadn't questioned why Dave was doing it instead of Morgan. But that was just as well.

Derek couldn't stop staring at Emily. God he was going to miss her. Hotch too actually. He might occasionally be a royal pain in his ass, but, he was also his friend. And with the exception of a week of annual leave here or there, for the most part, their team spent more than half their lives together. Working, eating, traveling, laughing, and yes, fighting. But they loved each other. They were a family.

And now their family would be broken.

Realizing Derek was staring at her, Emily looked up. She'd been running through the flight again in her mind, trying to remember how long it was. Her parents were just killed in a plane crash, and she really wasn't looking forward to spending the next two days on an airplane. But she couldn't do anything to change that, so having Derek's eyes on her fortunately broke her concentration from worrying about something she had no control over. Of course, she supposed that was true for half of the things she worried about.

She looked up quizzically, "what?"

He gave her a sad smile, "I'm gonna miss you Em."

Her eyes started to sting, she'd been trying not to think about that, about leaving them. It was one more arrow in her heart. A heart which had already been pierced so badly today that she was surprised that she hadn't yet bled to death.

She slid down, patting the cushion next to her, "come sit with me."

Morgan moved out of the chair and over to the couch with her, unsure what to do. Unsure what to say. Garcia's faux pas earlier that morning was still fresh in his head.

Sympathy was a minefield.

Then Emily slipped her arm through his and placed her head on his shoulder. They were silent for a minute before she sniffled.

"I want you to be nice to Reid while I'm away. Sometimes you're too hard on him and you know he's sensitive. And I won't be here to look after him."

Morgan could feel his eyes getting moist. Leave it to Emily, with everything that she's dealing with, she's still worried about Spencer. Reaching over he squeezed her hand, "I promise I'll be nice."

She swallowed hard, "thank you. And also, make sure JJ rests. She's been pushing herself too hard and usually Hotch will make her go take a break. But he's not gonna be there so . . ."

Derek squeezed her hand again and she stopped, swallowing again. He leaned over and said softly, "Emily I promise you . . . I swear to you . . . I'll look after everyone. Don't worry about that. You have enough on your plate. So you just take care of yourself, okay?"

She reached up to wipe her eye, "okay."

She wasn't sure if that was possible but she'd try. Tipping her head onto his shoulder, she settled into his side again. And he held her hand as they sat, silently waiting for Hotch and Dave to return.

//////////

Dave followed Hotch into his bedroom, slipping the items out of the small bag he was carrying and laying them down carefully on the bedspread. Hotch stared at them for a moment. Evidence bags, four of them, neatly labeled in Derek's handwriting. Each bag contained one item. Two hairbrushes and two toothbrushes.

The DNA comparisons needed to identify Emily's parents.

Dave also put two manila envelopes on the bed. Dental records.

Hotch didn't want Emily to have to think about any of these things. Thinking about them meant she'd have to think about her parents as unidentifiable corpses. He did not want that for her. Of course he didn't want any of this for her, but this was the most he could do to protect her from the reality of the situation. At least for a little while longer. At some point after they arrived in Egypt it would occur to her that she needed these things to claim their bodies. And she'd panic for a second thinking that she'd forgotten them. And then, and only then, he'd tell her that he had them and she didn't need to worry.

Two seconds of panic were better than two days of mental anguish. Because the moment she saw these things, the moment she remembered why they were needed, she'd start to picture the condition of her parents' bodies. And unlike most people, whose imaginations were only speculative, she'd have plenty of glossy memories to pull up of floaters and bomb victims. And then she could mix and match as she combined the two and added the features of her father . . . or her mother.

Wincing at the thought, he shook his head slightly . . . no . . . this way was better. He started to place the items into his carry-on.

As Hotch tucked the evidence bags into his bag, Dave's eyes ran over his face, noting the smudge of lipstick on the side of his mouth. And he'd seen Emily with the teddy bear. She didn't have it when she left her house so clearly that was something Hotch had given her. And she was clutching it like a drowning man hangs onto a life preserver.

Dave could see now that this budding relationship of theirs actually was making this a little easier for Emily. But Hotch already looked exhausted and stressed out. And Dave was afraid that he was going to be stretched too thin between taking care of her, and attending to the God awful business of collecting her parents' remains. That was going to be a horrific task going to the temporary morgues and identifying the personal effects. And clearly Emily was in no condition to do those things alone. Or even perhaps with him by her side. Because really, it was obvious she had no business going to Egypt at all, she was a wreck. But she wanted to do it so Hotch was making sure that she could.

Dave's features softened as he eyed him gently tucking her mother's hairbrush into the corner of his bag.

He was a good man.

And Dave wished he could provide more assistance for them on this trip than just running a couple horrible errands. But for now Hotch needed him to stay and keep an eye on things here. But Dave had included one last thing in his deal with Strauss that he hadn't told Hotch about. If he decided that the two of them needed help, or if God forbid there was an attack while they were there, he and Derek were already cleared to join them. But Hotch wasn't going to be told about that, he'd try to order them to stay home. This way it was already a done deal.

Hotch looked up at Dave, "do you have that other item?"

Dave slipped the bottle of pills out of his jeans pocket, that and the doctor's note that went with them. They were bringing drugs into another country, so Dave had wanted to be doubly sure that they didn't have any problems. Hotch grabbed an elastic off the door and fixed the note to the bottle, slipping that into his carry-on bag as well. Then he zipped up all of his compartments again and tossed his bags over his shoulder. Dave raised an eyebrow.

"Don't you think maybe I should carry one? You know given that is why I came back here, to help you with your bags."

Hotch rolled his eyes slightly and slipped the smaller duffel off of his shoulder, "here." But as Dave put his hand out to take the bag, Hotch's features softened and he looked at him for a moment before he said quietly, "thank you for taking care of all of that for her."

Dave slipped the bag onto his shoulder, and then stared at him for a second before tipping his head slightly to the side, "you're already pretty far gone aren't you?"

Hotch gave him a confused look, "excuse me?"

Dave gave him a soft smile, "you're thanking me for doing things for her, you tucked her dead parents personal effects into your duffel bag like they were pieces of crystal, and," he looked at him closely, "you gave her what I'm assuming from its condition, was your childhood teddy bear."

Pausing for a moment, Dave watched as Hotch's eyes dropped to the ground and his face turned slightly pink. Rossi had his confirmation about the bear. But he felt a twinge of guilt, he hadn't meant to embarrass him. Reaching over he squeezed his shoulder, "Aaron, I'm not giving you crap. I think those are good things. I think that she's really lucky she has you right now . . . she needs you."

Hotch, stared at the ground, listening to his friend's words. And then he took a breath before he looked up, meeting Rossi's eyes. Then he said softly.

"I have feelings for her that I wasn't expecting. And I'm terrified at how quickly things have changed. Yesterday we were becoming friends, and today we're becoming something else." He swallowed hard, "and I know that you're right, she does need me. And I don't want to take advantage of her."

Dave patted his arm sympathetically, "Aaron I know you, and I can promise you, on my reputation, that you would never take advantage of her. You'll know what's appropriate and what isn't. You won't cross any lines that shouldn't be crossed."

Hotch looked at him for a second before biting his lip and nodding slowly, "thank you. I needed to hear that."

"Anytime." Dave quirked his lip up, "and now is the point where I should probably tell you that you have lipstick on the corner of your mouth."

Hotch eyes widened and he wiped his hand across his face before looking down at the slight smear of pigment on his hand. Crap. That's probably what Haley had seen. That's why she'd looked upset.

He sighed as he rubbed his hand on his jeans, oh well. In the grand scheme it didn't matter. He looked back up, giving Dave a grateful nod for the support, before hefting his bag over his shoulder. Then the two of them headed back out and down the hall to the living room.

Hotch bit his lip as he saw Emily crying softly on Derek's shoulder. He wondered what had precipitated this new bout of tears.

Emily looked up when Hotch came in, quickly trying to wipe her eyes so he wouldn't see that she'd been crying again. She didn't want him to worry more than he already was. She cleared her throat.

"Are you ready?"

He stared at her as he nodded slowly, "yep, all set." He tipped his head as he gave her a searching look, "are you ready Emily?"

She met his gaze, she knew what he was asking.

With Derek's help she pushed herself up and went over to Hotch, they stared at each other for a moment before he dropped his bag on the ground and pulled her against his body. Leaning up, she wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered in his ear.

"I don't know if I'm ready. And I don't know if I can do this, but I have to try," her voice cracked, "and I know that I definitely can't do this without you."

Hotch squeezed her tightly, "okay . . ." he sighed, "okay. We'll just take it one step at a time."

Emily started taking deep breaths, trying to get her emotions back under control. She had no time for another breakdown, they had things to do.

Hotch could feel her desperately trying to lock down her grief and he started rubbing circles on her back. Trying to soothe her. Then he looked over her shoulder to see Dave was watching them worriedly. Hotch knew it wasn't going to do any good for Emily's composure if she realized she was on display and he shot Dave a look. Dave nodded and snapped his eyes over to Morgan.

"Come on Derek let's bring the bags down."

Pushing himself off the couch, Morgan quickly nodded, "yeah, uh let's do that."

Seeing Emily so upset was breaking his heart, and as much as he wanted to help her, he realized it was probably best he wasn't the one taking her oversees. Though he would have in a heartbeat, he'd realized when she started crying on the couch, he hadn't known what to do for her. He hadn't known how to comfort her. It was clear though, Hotch did. The two of them had something else going on there, something Derek hadn't seen between them before. But she went right to him when he came in. And he wasn't holding her anything like a chief should be holding one of his agents.

Derek watched with concern as Hotch pulled her more tightly against his body, leaning down to whisper something in her ear. Morgan wasn't sure if he approved of this change in their relationship. Hotch was a good guy, the best actually, but he had a lot of shit on his plate. A lot of problems, and Morgan didn't want Emily to get hurt. Especially now, not when she was so vulnerable. He gave them another quick glance before he and Dave left the two of them alone in the apartment.

They continued down the hall in silence but as they were waiting for the elevator he finally turned to Rossi, "so Hotch & Em . . .?"

Immediately picking up on the tone in Derek's voice, Dave turned to him, nodding, "yeah, I was worried about the timing but . . . after seeing them together, I'm convinced now this is a good thing." He gave Derek a hard look, "and I know exactly what you're thinking, that she's going to get hurt. That was my concern too. But if anything now Morgan, I believe the opposite. He'll take care of her. You saw them. You saw how he treats her, like glass. He'll protect her from the worst of it, and his presence obviously brings her some comfort," Dave looked at him sadly, "and that's more than any of the rest of us can say right now."

There was something in the Y chromosome that made men want to fix things for the people they loved. And it was incredibly frustrating for the men to be so powerless to help her now.

Derek snapped his jaw shut as he dropped his eyes to the ground.

Rossi was on board with it.

That surprised him a little. But he had made a couple good points. Hotch would protect her. And he was providing her some comfort. And comfort was something that was in very short supply for Emily right now. So Derek decided, for that reason alone, he would reserve judgment.

Hopefully Dave was right, hopefully this would be a good thing. And as Morgan thought about it more he realized something else. Even if it didn't work out in the end, Hotch would never allow her to get hurt while she was going through this ordeal. So even if he could just be there for her now, then even if it all fell apart later, well, then they'd deal. Because Morgan wasn't naïve, if this ended badly, it would affect all of them.

As the elevator arrived he bit the inside of his cheek, but who knows, maybe he was worrying for nothing. Maybe they were a good fit. Maybe they would make each other happy. He shook his head slightly as the elevator door dinged.

And given what the two of them had been through this year, God knows they both deserved a little happiness.

He looked over to Dave and gave him a slight nod. Dave smiled and patted him on the back.

Good man.

*******************************************

_A/N 2: Now, finally, off and away to the airport. Clearly I've been following a certain rhythm with the moment to stuff, but either in the airport or on the plane I'll start speeding up time a bit. Obviously I can't continue to cover a story that takes place over three weeks in twenty minute increments. My fingers would be too old and arthritic to continue typing by the time I got to the end!_

_Again here, Derek's the Doubting Thomas. Just like Rossi is the Fairy Godmother, that's Derek's role in every world. And because it is still Derek, just with a new wrinkle in the space/time continuum, I believe that it's important for consistency of character that he always react like that. The trick I suppose to not making it redundant, is to give him different concerns in each world. For instance, I have decided to start posting my other lengthy story, the one where Em becomes pregnant after Hotch gets his divorce papers. And in that one, obviously Derek is going to have a MUCH stronger reaction than we've seen in any of the other universes. _


	11. The Decision In The Airport

**Author's Note**: I'm back. For today anyway. In general, updates will be slowing. Sorry.

**

* * *

The Decision In The Airport  
**

Dave pulled into an empty spot in the short term parking structure and turned off the engine. There was silence for a moment. Then Hotch cleared his throat as he turned to look at Emily still still holding her bear.

"Do you want to tuck Mr. Bobo away for safe keeping now?"

She looked at him, then she looked down as she nodded. "I suppose so," she said sadly, "I am an adult. I can't really walk around an airport holding a stuffed animal."

Seeing Emily's disappointment, Hotch touched her hand, waiting until she looked up again before giving her a sympathetic smile. "Emily, if you really want to carry him you can," he tipped his head, "people will just assume that it belongs to your child."

God knows he didn't want take away the _one_ thing today that was actually providing her some sense of comfort.

A faint smile touched Emily's lips as she looked back at Hotch. "That's okay, don't forget we still have to get our weapons clearance signed off. And they're going to know that I don't have a kid with me so the next logical conclusion would be that I was nuts. And it's not going to go well for me getting permission to carry my _gun_ on the plane if security thinks I'm a mental patient."

'Yeah,' she thought with some disgust, 'that would be a comforting image. A grown woman with a with a badge, a nine millimeter and a teddy bear.'

Hotch tipped his head slightly at the scenario Emily had posed. "Yes," he huffed slightly as he looked down at Mr. Bobo, "perhaps you have a point there." Then he looked up to see Dave watching them in the rear view mirror. His eyebrow went up another notch.

"Are you two coming in with us?"

Rossi and Morgan both nodded as Dave responded for both of them. "Yeah, we figured we'd get you settled before we go."

They had discussed it earlier and Morgan agreed with Dave . . . neither of them wanted to leave any earlier than they had to. It already felt like they were abandoning them, the least they could do was keep them company at the airport.

Morgan turned to look over his shoulder as he added to Dave's statement with a little smile directed at Emily. "Yeah, I can't leave my girl until I know she's all set."

To his relief, Emily gave him a small smile back. She stared at him for a second like she wanted to say something, then she shook her head and leaned down to tuck her teddy bear . . . correction . . . Mr. Bobo, into her carry-on bag. Morgan had been wondering earlier about the bear, and now at least he had the name if not the circumstances of it's appearance.

Though as Emily was zipping the bag shut, Morgan again noticed the tufts of missing fur on the toy. Then his eyes traveled back up to Hotch.

He was rubbing Emily's neck even as he grabbed his own duffel bag.

And that's when Derek got it . . . it was Hotch's bear. He didn't know why that hadn't occurred to him before. But Hotch must have given her a stuffed animal he had as a kid to make her feel better.

With his teeth digging into his lip, Derek turned back around in his seat . . . that was a gesture of true affection. Which meant that Hotch must care about her a hell of a lot more than Morgan had realized before.

And he was kind of surprised that he'd never picked up on those feelings before.

Though . . . his brow furrowed as he reached over to open his door . . . he had noticed that they seemed to have an unusual bond. It had started sometime earlier in the year, when Hotch was going through his divorce. That's when he started seeking out Emily's opinions more often, and partnering up with her more frequently than he had in the past.

Not that Em had been on the outs with him before, far from it, but something did shift around that point in time. They'd definitely grown closer.

They'd seemed more in tune.

Hmm . . . Derek started around back to get Emily's suitcase . . . whatever this was becoming now must have started back then. Derek paused, suddenly remembering Hotch's physical reaction to her beating at the compound.

He'd practically been in tears.

Of course Morgan himself had been pretty fucking upset, but for somebody like Hotch to display that much emotion . . . in retrospect . . . that said volumes about is feelings for her. Yet, even with that reaction . . . and a whole team full of profilers around them . . . still, as far as Morgan knew, nobody saw this coming. Morgan looked back down front to see Hotch was talking to Dave while Emily was fussing with the zipper on her bag. His eyes dropped down.

They were holding hands.

He stared at their intertwined fingers for a moment. Then he reached back into the cargo area, grabbed the strap of Hotch's bag, and threw that over his shoulder too.

/*/*/*/

Hotch finished giving Rossi last minute instructions for the office that he didn't want to forget later, then he headed around back with Emily to get their bags. His eyes widened slightly in surprise when he saw that Derek was already carrying both of their bags. He put his hand out but Derek just shook his head.

"No man, I got 'em. You're gonna be lugging these things halfway around the world," he quirked his lip up slightly, "I can carry them the first forty yards."

It was only a small gesture, but Morgan felt kind of bad for thinking the stuff he'd been thinking about Hotch earlier. Even though the other man didn't know about it, Morgan still wanted to make it up to him.

Hotch stared at Derek for a moment before a faint smile touched his lips. "Thanks Morgan."

Ordinarily Hotch wouldn't let another man carry his bag for him, but there was something in Derek's eyes. For some reason he really wanted to do it. And it certainly wasn't an issue worthy of actual debate, not when there were other matters to attend to.

And as he looked over Emily, he could see the nerves on the face of the most important matter of all. So he squeezed her hand . . . they needed to get through this part sooner than later. Then he turned to gave Morgan a nod of thanks before leading this fraction of his team over to the stairs of the parking garage.

/*/*/*/*

Emily fidgeted at Dave's side in the back of the room.

Hotch had asked her to give him a minute with the security chief to "explain the situation." She snorted humorlessly . . . her parents plane turned into a fireball, fell out of the sky and slammed into the Indian Ocean like fifty tons of concrete. All of that could be boiled down to two words, "the situation."

And as she watched Hotch gesturing across the room she knew that he was talking about her . . . and she started to get pissed off. Not that she was angry with him, he'd been wonderful to her all day. No, it was the fact that she was being talked about at all that was making her angry.

She had become a victim.

Her nails began to dig into the palm of her hand . . . she didn't want to be a victim.

Not again.

It took her years to get past that the first time. For her parents to stop coddling her.

Realizing what she'd just said, Emily inhaled sharply . . . well, no worries about that happening again. Her parents were dead. There was definitely no 'coddling' on the horizon. Not now, not ever.

They were gone.

Though Emily desperately tried to shut down that train of thought . . . it was already too late. The grief started welling up again. In an effort to get things back under control she started taking slow, deep breaths as she closed her eyes and prayed.

_No, no, no! Not here! Not now. Please God. Not here. Not now. Not now. Please God, not now._

Dave looked down as he saw the drop of blood hit the floor.

Shit.

Feeling a little spike of panic, he put his hand on Emily's shoulder as he called out. "Uh, Hotch I need you."

Hotch turned around to see Dave jerking his head down towards Emily. Perplexed, Hotch looked at her for a moment . . . she wasn't crying. His eyes traveled over her body.

If she wasn't crying then what was the . . . and then he saw it.

He handed their paperwork to a confused Morgan, asked him to finish explaining and that he'd be back in a couple minutes. Then he quickly excused himself from his conversation with an equally confused Chief Johnson, and hurried across the room. After flashing Dave a look of gratitude, Hotch slipped his arm around Emily's shoulders and ushered her out into the hall. She wasn't looking at him. Her head was down and her eyes were closed.

And there was blood running out of the palm of her hand.

Dave watched them go, shaking his head sadly. Then he went up to the counter to help Derek. He wasn't sure how far they'd get without Hotch and Emily but maybe they could at least the preliminaries out of the way.

Hotch's eyes scanned the hallway directly outside the security office. They were in a secure part of the airport. No unauthorized personnel, so at least there weren't any tourists around. They had a little bit of privacy.

But not enough.

Then he saw the signs for the bathrooms. That was much better so he quickly guided Emily down the hall. And figuring it would cause less disturbance for her to be caught in the men's room than for him to get caught in the ladies room, he picked the men's room as their option.

As soon as they were inside he brought Emily over to the sinks and checked to make sure they were alone. They were, so he went back to lock the door before returning to Emily at the counter. He put his hand on her arm.

"Emily," he said softly, "look at me."

Shaking her head vehemently, Emily sucked in a ragged breath. "I can't. I'm going to lose it Hotch. I can feel it. And we're in public. I can't lose it in public. My mother would be so embarrassed."

Her voice caught on the last word, and her eyes slowly opened onto his. They stared at each other for a moment, both of their eyes were watering, and then her voice broke.

"I forgot again."

How could she keep forgetting that her mother was dead? How is that _possible_! How cruel can God be to keep letting that information slam into you over and over? Like it was something new. What the fuck?

Her stomach began to churn . . . how was she supposed to ever get past this if she kept forgetting, for even a minute, that it had happened?

Hotch ran his hand down her arm as he kissed her gently on the lips . . . he had no words to make her feel better. This was the best he could do for her.

He pulled back, looking at her for a moment. And his heart ached at the sadness on her face. Then he reached down, picked up her hand and uncurled her fingers. He swallowed over the lump in his throat.

"You cut yourself."

Confused, Emily looked down at her palm. And when she saw the blood beginning to congeal she whispered back. "I was trying not to cry."

She had been trying not to cry and had gouged her fingernails deep enough into her palm to draw blood. That's good. That's great Em. She tried to blink away the tears . . . and they weren't even out of the airport yet.

Hotch stared at her for a moment, wondering again how they were ever going to get halfway around the world. He couldn't have her hurting herself every time her grief started to well up.

Involuntary self mutilation was not a viable coping mechanism.

He sighed . . . but what did he just tell her at his apartment? Baby steps. He looked back down at her . . . she was still staring the blood. Okay, baby steps. Just clean her hand and then move onto the next thing. Stop worrying about step twelve.

Just focus on step one.

So he reached over to turn on the hot water, and as she moved her hand under the faucet, he pulled down two paper towels from the dispenser on the wall. As he turned to her he flashed on the last time they had done this.

The night he got his divorce papers.

They were also locked in a bathroom washing the blood off of her hands. And when their eyes locked in the mirror, Hotch knew that she was remembering too. Remembering how that night almost ended.

Emily reached over and turned off the faucet. Then she turned to him, her eyes burning.

"It would make me feel better," she whispered.

Hotch stared at her, sadness filling his soul. Sadness that she was put in a position that she needed to ask for such a thing. And sadness, that for as much as he wanted to take away her pain for a little while, he was going to have to deny her.

His fingers ran gently along her jaw as he whispered back, "Emily," he shook his head slowly, "we can't."

And the first tear ran down her cheek and he felt a stab in his chest as he kissed it away.

"Whatever's happening between us, I don't want it to just go away when we come home." He looked at her sadly, "and if we do this now, it'll ruin it. We'll always remember the first time we made love was in an airport bathroom on our way to pick up your parents' bodies."

He knew that if they did that, then whatever this became, it would always be tainted by grief. Because the first time they slept together it wouldn't have been because they loved each other, and it was time. It would have been because she was sad and he wanted her to feel better.

That wasn't anyway to start a relationship.

Another tear ran down Emily's face as she stared at Hotch. Then she nodded, "you're right." She reached up to touch his cheek as she gave him a sad smile, "you're right. And I don't want that to be our first time."

As she said the words Emily realized that they definitely would have a first time. They had had a first kiss, and they would have a first time. This wasn't an aberration, this was becoming real.

A relationship.

And he was right, this was not the time, or the place, to make such a memory. She leaned up to press her lips softly against his . . . and she wanted to make memories with this man. Good ones.

Happy ones.

When she pulled back, he smiled at her before wiping the tears off of her face and the blood off of her hand. And then he pulled her tightly against his chest, and leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Sweetheart, we'll get through this. Somehow, I promise you," he pressed his lips to her skin, "we'll get through this."

And that was when Emily felt the other thing begin to push back against the grief again. And she was now starting to see what the other thing was.

Love.

Just a small kernel, but it was there . . . and it was real. And it made her feel strong. It gave her courage.

_He_ gave her courage.

She knew the foundation for that little kernel had been building for months . . . years really. And she didn't regret these changes at all. But God . . . tears pricked her eyes again . . . if only something else had pushed them down this path. But regardless, they were on it now. And they were on it together. And he was right. She didn't want it to just be something that got her through her grief. She wanted it to be real. And that could only happen if she didn't push too hard. Didn't try to take too much from him now while everything was still new and fragile. Because if she wasn't careful, then THIS . . . all of this ugliness . . . would get mixed in with the hope, and the little bit of light that he was bringing to her.

And that would ruin it.

She buried her face in his chest . . . and she couldn't ruin this. Because this . . . she inhaled deeply as his arms enveloped her . . . was all she had left.

* * *

_A/N 2: Again the trick to these spinoffs to have it make sense that they could fall in love more quickly than they did in 'verse A. But I figure the logic there being what Emily said, the foundation had been building for years, so it really just took the right series of events to push them together earlier than they would have if they just let it gradually build to the end. But the logical conclusion is that they would always fall in love, hence the title of the original story :) _

_I'd like to post on Girl tonight. I really would, I'm just not sure if I'm 100% happy with the next chapter. So . . . maybe._


	12. The Definition of Family

**Author's Note**: Finally, new update. And I will be putting up a Girl chapter later.

* * *

**The Definition of Family  
**

Hotch and Emily got back to the security office to find that Morgan and Rossi had actually made decent progress with their paperwork. Rossi had quietly explained to the chief why they to step out, and the chief had been sympathetic. And because he had already seen Hotch and Emily himself, the staff was allowed to begin processing their forms while they were gone. So when they returned they didn't have to wait long before they were asked to officially show their identification and sign their name on a few lines.

After that was done, they were introduced to the air marshal that was scheduled aboard their flight.

Connie McManus.

To Emily's surprise McManus told her she had already noticed her name on the passenger list and had been planning on seeking her out specifically to extend her condolences. McManus told her she had only recently transferred to DHS and before that she was at the CIA. And Washington was a small town, everyone knew that, so by coincidence McManus had worked with Emily's father on a case a year earlier. She shook Emily's hand and told her that her father was a good man and he would be missed.

Emily had become accustomed to accepting condolences at that point, but at that moment she was completely thrown. She'd stuttered her thank you before Hotch had quickly taken her arm and they'd left the security office with Derek and Dave immediately coming up the rear.

Now they were walking through the terminals, heading towards their gate, and Emily couldn't stop thinking about that encounter. That was a person who had actually known her father, and was personally saddened by his death. That woman could feel his loss as an individual. Which was not the same as how the others had been saddened, which was simply the loss of him in his role as Emily's parent.

Those were very different kinds of condolence . . . personal and abstract.

The experience of meeting that woman sent Emily's mind spinning down an unexpected avenue.

The funeral.

Her parents were well known, they had friends all over the world, and Emily was their only child. Everything would fall to her.

She stopped suddenly in the middle of the terminal and the guys all turned worriedly to look at her. His brow knitting in concern, Hotch squeezed her hand, "what's wrong?"

Horrified, she looked up at him, "I have to plan the funeral. I don't know what they wanted. I don't know where to have them buried." Confusion was starting to take over as she looked around at her friends, "do I invite people? How does that work? I've never done this before."

When she looked back at Hotch Emily felt the confusion morphing to panic.

"Oh God Hotch! I don't know what I'm supposed to DO!"

This was a big deal! This was how her parents would be remembered. She needed to do this right. She needed to honor their memories. And she didn't have the first FREAKING clue what the hell she was supposed to do!

As he squeezed her hand tightly, Hotch put his bag on the ground. And then he reached over to put his other hand on her jaw. When their eyes caught he held her gaze as he spoke softly.

"Emily, just look at me. You need to breathe. You need to take deep breaths. These are all things that we'll deal with when we get home. You don't need to think about them right now. Remember, baby steps. One thing at a time," he tipped his head slightly to the side, "okay?"

This was going to be impossible if she tried to deal with everything at once. The trip alone was enough to break her. If she thought about what was going to come after, she wasn't going to even be able to get on the plane.

She stared at him for a moment and saw the truth in his argument. Then as her eyes dropped she took a deep breath, holding it for a moment before she slowly exhaled. When she looked back up at him at a moment later she touched his cheek with the tips of her fingers, "okay."

Hotch was her touchstone. Hotch was her anchor. He was the only thing keeping her grounded when she started spinning off to these dark places. And as she saw the ghost of smile cross his lips she could feel her center realign.

Then she felt Rossi pat her arm and her gaze shifted to him.

"Honey, while you're away we'll contact your parents' attorneys. It's entirely possible that they had already made . . ." he swallowed, "arrangements." He gave her a sad smile, "either way though, I've already gone through this with my father, and I can help you if you want."

Though he knew that Emily was becoming dependent on Hotch, this was sadly one area that Dave had the most recent expertise. Hotch was just a boy when his father died. Dave's loss had been much more recent and he did not envy Emily and her years ahead.

It had been four years now but he still acutely felt the loss of his pop. The pain had dulled slightly but it was still there, right beneath the surface. Cutting at him at the oddest times, leaving more scar tissue.

He was just relieved she had no idea what was in store for her.

Emily's expression softened as she reached over to squeeze his hand, "thank you Dave. I appreciate that."

They looked at each other for a second and then Hotch picked up his bag, breaking the moment.

As the four of them started walking again she thought about what Dave had said and she looked around, realizing she'd now become part of their club. The one with the exclusive membership that nobody wanted to join.

The Dead Dads Club.

All three of them had lost their fathers before she had. Derek and Hotch were only children at the time. And it was obvious those losses at a young age had severely traumatized both of them. Though it grieved her to think of the pain they'd gone through as children, she also knew that if not for those tragedies she probably wouldn't know them today.

For those events were what had shaped them into the men they had become.

She realized then that she should at least be grateful for the amount of time she'd had with her parents. Almost forty years. That's a long time when you thought about it.

But still . . . the tears began to pool . . . not long enough.

And she had seen the pain in Rossi's eyes as he spoke of his own father who had died when Dave was much older than she was now.

It was clear to her, no matter how old you were when this happened, it was _never_ long enough.

Hotch looked over as he heard Emily clear her throat, he swallowed hard as he saw the twin pools of water about to spill over. He let go of her hand to reach up and put his arm around her shoulders instead, tucking her into his side.

If she was going to cry in public he was going to make sure she had at least a little privacy.

She slipped her arm around his waist before she turned her head over to his shoulder.

"Thanks," she whispered.

They were silent for a minute as they walked down towards their gate, then she reached up to wipe her face as she whispered to him again, "is it weird that I want my teddy bear?"

Hotch's eyes were soft as he looked down at her, "no sweetheart. I gave him to you hoping he'd bring you a little comfort," he touched her cheek, "and he did. So it's not odd to think that if you're feeling particularly emotional that you'd be looking for a little more reassurance." He leaned down and pressed his lips to her ear, "but just remember, you have me right here with you. And I'm not going anywhere." She nodded, brushing her head against his, "thanks."

Morgan and Dave were walking slightly in front of them, and if either were aware of their conversation they didn't let on. Then Morgan's phone began to ring and when he saw the caller ID he stepped to the side, waving the rest of them on ahead.

For a second Hotch's eyes tracked him and Derek nodded as he flipped his phone open. Hotch tipped his head back and kept Emily moving.

An update on her grandparents.

Hopefully this time it was a good one. When Morgan's friend had arrived there that morning he'd found the grandmother had collapsed in hysterics. The grandfather was practically catatonic. The agent had called an ambulance for both of them and had escorted them to the hospital.

The whole thing was just God awful, worse than Hotch had feared. And he hadn't wanted to tell Emily about any of it until they had a more definitive update. Just telling her the little bit they knew would have been too much for her at the time.

Even if it wasn't good news now, well . . . he shook his head . . . there was no _good_ news today, but at least something more encouraging, he still wasn't sure what to tell her. He just wasn't sure how much more she could take. Especially when it was just one more thing she couldn't control.

One more thing she couldn't fix.

With a sigh he looked over at her head resting on his shoulder . . . but she trusted him, and it was her life. Her family, not his. And even if he only had her best interests at heart, he didn't have the right to keep things from her. So he decided, either way, no matter what Morgan came back with, he needed to tell her what was going on down there.

And then they'd deal with it.

Some small part of him hoped maybe she'd decide to fly down and be with the grandparents instead of going overseas. If only he could convince her to let him change their tickets to Memphis. He sighed again as he tipped his own head down to hers.

Yeah, that wasn't going to happen.

/*/*/*/*/

Dave was scouting slightly ahead of Hotch and Emily, making sure there weren't any news people on this side of the security gates. It was unlikely, but sometimes they bought tickets, pretended they had flights, and then pounced on the grief stricken.

When they arrived, the four of them had flashed their badges to slip around the barricades. But they'd seen the 'reaction interviews' the reporters had been recording outside.

Nothing but vultures looking for blood.

In those few minutes when Hotch and Emily were off alone, JJ had called Dave to say that a reporter from one of the local affiliates had figured out Emily was the daughter and had already tried to get up to her condo. Per Rossi's instruction the doorman had blocked access, and when the man refused to leave, he'd called Emily's apartment.

The rest of the team was still up there. Reid was cleaning the fridge and taking out the trash. The girls were doing laundry. They were taking care of things so Emily wouldn't have any mess when she came home. They were planning on going to Hotch's afterwards and perform the same tasks.

It was all they could do for them. And then they got the call.

JJ said that she and Reid had gone downstairs. And then Rossi could hear the pride in her voice as she told him that Reid read the guy the riot act. Told him he was a scumbag, making his living preying off human misery and that this was private property and he was ordered to vacate immediately. And the guy tried to sputter about first amendment rights and Reid cut him off viciously. Said he had every right to tell his story, but he did _not_ have any right to stand near a grieving woman's home while he did so.

Then he shoved his badge in his face, told him to remember the numbers. Then he said again that it was a private residence, and he'd been asked to leave by the doorman. So if Reid heard that the guy showed his face there one more time, he would personally arrest him for felonious trespass and he'd make sure he did six months in county.

JJ said all the first amendment garbling went right out the window at the possibility of jail time. Because it was obvious Reid meant it. Dave shook his head . . . and that was _Spencer's_ reaction.

His temper was the slowest to burn and he was the least likely of all of them to get into an altercation.

Rossi couldn't even imagine what Morgan or Hotch would do if they saw a reporter within twenty feet of Emily. But Dave figured brutality charges would not be beyond the realm. Neither of them were to be toyed with when they were angry, and they were both incredibly protective of her. And he knew the guys didn't really care about professional consequences right now.

But Dave knew it wouldn't do Emily any good if Hotch got called back to OPR. And Morgan, they were going to need him to keep the team running. And possibly later if they had to fly overseas.

A suspension for either of them would be disastrous.

No . . . Dave shook his head . . . he needed to keep those two out of trouble until Emily and Hotch were safely on the plane.

/*/*/*/*

As they finally arrived down at their gate Hotch looked up to see the flat screen was tuned to CNN. And to his absolute horror he saw they were showing on a repeat loop the new footage they'd received of the plane crashing into the water. He sucked in a ragged breath.

Oh sweet Jesus!

He stopped short, transfixed by the abominable pictures before him. There was no sound but it looked like somebody on a pleasure boat had been filming for their vacation and had looked up at the explosion, turning their camera in that direction.

They had captured the entire streak of fire as the plane fell out of the sky.

As it slammed into the water again, that finally broke his paralysis as his eyes snapped over to Emily, praying to God she hadn't seen that.

To his incalculable relief he saw that she was looking in her bag and hadn't noticed the television yet. He immediately yanked her against his body, pressing her head down to his chest. He felt her muscles go rigid as she whispered with a touch of panic, "what's wrong?"

But Hotch didn't answer her, he just closed his eyes as he saw the plane hit the water yet again.

Emily's parents. He was watching them die over and over again.

God damn it . . . he rubbed his hand down Emily's back . . . why did they have to do this _every_ time there was a tragedy? How is this news? How is it the public's business to watch the moment of someone else's death?

As he watched the loop begin again, Hotch felt his own eyes begin to tear up as he imagined their absolute terror. It was clear from the footage that the plane was still mostly intact when it started to fall.

The explosion was in the tail section. They would have been up front. Odds are most everyone would have still been alive. Hopefully not conscious, but most definitely alive.

And as those thoughts went through his head, that's exactly what flashed on the crawl.

'_Experts speculate passengers would have been alive as they started rapid descent._'

Jesus Christ . . . he squeezed her tightly . . . they weren't even his parents and it was killing him. If she saw this he had no doubt he'd lose her completely.

And he didn't know if he'd be able to get her back.

That was the moment when he saw Dave turn back to him with a look of abject horror on his face. It was clear that he'd just seen it too. But then he dropped his head in relief as he saw Emily was turned away. Hotch jerked his head over to the airline desk and Rossi nodded as he hurried over to get the television turned off.

Who the hell thought it was a good idea to let footage of a plane crash run for people waiting to get ON airplanes Hotch would never know.

Emily was starting to tremble. "Hotch you not answering me is scaring the shit out of me."

He wrapped one arm behind her neck and tightened the grip on her back, "I'm sorry sweetheart, I didn't mean to scare you. But I really need you to keep your head down right now," he swallowed, "they have some footage on the televisions and you don't need to see it." He heard the sharp intake of breath right before her voice broke.

"The plane hitting the water?"

_Please God no! Please don't let the world be seeing that!_

Hotch kissed the top of her head as he murmured softly, "you don't need to see it. You don't need to know anything about it. Rossi's having them turn it off and then we're going to go sit down in the corner away from everyone else. We're going to sit and we're going wait until they call us for boarding. That is all you need to think about right now. Nothing else."

One more thought came to him as he sighed and buried his face in her hair. "And you can even pull out Mr. Bobo if you want."

Right about now Hotch was thinking that he could maybe use Mr. Bobo himself.

With a nod against Hotch's chest, Emily dug her fingers into his back as she murmured nervously, "okay."

If he was this rattled, and he said she didn't need to know about it, then she _definitely_ didn't need to know about it. He'd been right about her not turning on the television last night, so she'd trust him to know what was best now.

God had she'd learned her lesson.

Besides, she already had enough images in her head and she didn't think they could be any worse than the real thing. But . . . she shuddered . . . she didn't want to risk it. She didn't want to see what a 747 looked like after a hole had been ripped in the side.

Possibly a man made hole.

Her job had taught her that sometimes reality really could kick imagination's ass. Because there was always someone out there with an imagination that was sicker than yours. That person could have made that hole.

And that was the stuff of new nightmares.

Closing her eyes, she buried her face in the crook of Hotch's neck and inhaled deeply. It was her safe place. Then she felt another presence behind her and another hand rubbing her back.

Dave.

"Television's off Emily. And the airline knows who you are. You'll be called for early boarding."

Rossi could see from the pained look on Hotch's face that maybe he needed a minute to collect himself. Those images on the screen had been horrific. And Dave, he loved Emily, but he didn't have the emotional connection to her that Hotch did. Nor did Dave actually know her mother, but Hotch had worked with her in the past. Dave couldn't imagine what it would be like to actually KNOW someone on the plane they had just seen crash into the ocean. This had to be terribly hard for Hotch too, and Dave wanted to give him some privacy to pull himself back together. So he jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

"Why don't you guys go find a seat somewhere quiet and I'll go find Morgan and tell him where we are."

Hotch nodded his thanks to Dave for leaving them alone for a minute. Then he watched him turn and go walk back the way they'd come. With a sigh, Hotch began to scan the area for any more televisions. He started to tense up when he saw there was another one over at the next gate, but then he saw it was already off.

But just as he started to relax again, that's when he noticed the newsstand just ahead. Every paper had pictures of the dead passengers on the cover. His jaw twitched in anger . . . that's because they didn't have the crashing plane photo to use. That'll be tomorrow's headline.

But right now . . . just a few feet away . . . in black and white and in color, large prints and small, there were Emily's parents.

Her father wouldn't have been well known enough alone to make the VIP photo section. After all, it was clear from the number of pictures that the other spouses and crew were only listed by name above the fold. But a snapshot had been taken at a political function in Cairo a few days earlier. Hotch remembered seeing it in the Post the first time. It was him with his wife. The Ambassador.

Emily's mother.

And they were both smiling.

It made Hotch's heart ache just looking at it. And for the first time he was infinitely grateful for the long journey ahead of them. Given real time traveling, plus the time zone changes, they would be out of circulation for almost two days. That would hopefully be enough time to push this off the front page.

Sadly there was always some other tragedy waiting in the wings. So maybe they could just wait this one out. And when they reemerged from their time cocoon, the rest of the world will have started to move on and Emily would be able to grieve in privacy without any additional trauma.

Still keeping her pressed close to him, Hotch started walking over to the far corner of the lounge.

There wasn't a flight scheduled for that gate so the seats were almost all empty and they'd have a modicum of privacy. Privacy was at a premium in a crowded airport.

He gently placed his bag on the floor, he couldn't stop forgetting what was in side of it. He knew they weren't breakable but it still seemed disrespectful somehow to be tossing it around. Then he slipped Emily's bag off her shoulder and put it on top of his. Finally he dropped down into the seat, pulling Emily onto his lap.

It didn't look good doing it in front of Dave and Derek, they would be back in a few minutes. And it really didn't look good doing it in public period. They were adults, not teenagers. He was her boss and they both knew a hell of a lot of people in this town. Anyone could be walking through the airport. He'd already nodded hello to two investigators from the USAO when they were in line at the ticket counter checking their bags. Hotch knew all of those things and yet still he did it anyway.

Because he didn't care.

So many things that seemed important yesterday were no longer important today. This, holding her, wasn't going to be an option for the next two days. They'd be on the plane. And he wasn't going to lose the opportunity to comfort his grieving girlfriend just because someone they know _might_ see them, and _might_ tell someone at their work.

That was ridiculous.

Then his eyes crinkled slightly as he realized that was the first time that he'd thought of Emily as his girlfriend. Though he thought the word, "girlfriend," made it sound like they were sixteen. They really needed to come up with a new term for adult relationships.

Lover wasn't appropriate here, and . . . he wrinkled his nose . . . he found the term distasteful for general conversation anyway. Companion sounded like they were a gay couple, and lady friend really was for older people. He didn't know why, but it was.

When he pulled her body closer to his, Hotch felt Emily's shirt slide up and his hand touched the bare skin of her stomach. He felt his heart clench . . . that was a personal touch, an intimate touch . . . and he was allowed to do that now. He realized then, the word didn't matter. Because whatever the label was, it meant _this._

And this just fine with him.

Emily wrapped her arm around Hotch's neck, resting her head against his. As his arm slid around her waist, her shirt rode up slightly and his fingers grazed her stomach. And at that sensation, she slowly exhaled as she started to relax slightly for the first time since they'd left the privacy of the bathroom.

The immediate reaction that she'd had to her parents' deaths was that she was all alone in the world. And the team had shown her that wasn't true. She still had people that cared about her, people that loved her. But Hotch, he gave her more. The way he touched her . . . the way he kissed her . . . he made her feel like she _belonged_ to someone again. She wasn't just spinning through space without a tether.

She was his.

And that sense of belonging, the belief that this person would do anything for you, that was something she desperately needed. That was true family. That was what she had lost.

But also . . . she ran her hand along his jaw . . . that was what she had found.

Found in a most unexpected place.

As she touched his mouth, Hotch kissed her palm and then pulled her head down and kissed her lips. And as she closed her eyes, some part of her knew that they shouldn't be doing this in public, but she also knew that if Hotch felt it was a really bad idea then he wouldn't have done it.

She wasn't so far into her own situation that she wasn't still aware that their relationship would cause ripples for them at work. She was in a subordinate role, in actuality they were for forbidden to fraternize. And as much as it pained her, she would have sat and kept her hands to herself if she thought it would hurt his career to be seen with her. But if he was okay with this, then she wasn't going to argue with him. When he pulled back and gave her a soft smile her eyes crinkled slightly at the irony.

After all . . . he was the boss.

* * *

_A/N 2: Doing the final edit on this chapter today sucked the life out of me. The first couple days writing this story I was able to produce these chapters with alarming speed. But since they got to Hotch's apartment I've found even after I'm 'done' I need to put them aside for a couple days. This is still just a little fictional story but something about it feels more 'real.' A little bit more important than the other stuff I've been doing and when I go back to it I usually see another layer to cover. _

_For instance, the other draft didn't have Rossi's thoughts on his dad's death. I thought that added something. And I'll say personally as a real fear, I am terrified of my parents dying. Because my mother's mother died in 1977 and she still __actively__ misses her. She gets sad when she talks about her, even casually. So it's possible to grieve for someone for decades, and that seems so very cruel. I can't even imagine it. But I suppose someday I'll have to live with it. So I figure I'm going to write this, I should try and make a real effort to do the topic of death and grief justice. We'll see how successful I am._

_And getting on my soapbox for a moment, the stuff about the media's exploitation of death for ratings is just beyond the pale. I'm as guilty as the next person of getting transfixed by the images of planes crashing and boats sinking and the tidal waves hitting, and forgetting for a moment those are people's families. Actually it was 9/11 that finally really snapped that into focus for me. I was watching for the hundredth time the plane crash into the 2__nd__ tower and all of a sudden it me that wasn't just an airplane, those were real people being incinerated, and I flinched. I had intellectually known that before but suddenly I really 'understood' it. And ever since then I've at least been more cognizant of it when I watch the news. Those are people dying and they never seem to actually mention that when they show the images._

_And I actually was once waiting to get on a plane watching images on CNN of another plane that had skidded off the runway at a different airport. So, yeah, the people who have control of those televisions are idiots._

_Couple of acronyms I used: USAO – United States Attorney's Office; OPR – Office of Professional Responsibility_

_Next I wanted to jump right to the plane, but I realized we never got to the update on Emily's grandparents. So unless I decide to do that as a flashback, I think one more chapter at the airport. Then FINALLY, they will take off. Thirteen hours covered over twelve chapters. Definitely need to pick up the pace :)_


	13. The Big Things & The Little Things

**Author's Note**: Remember the good old days when I updated this story every day? Yeah, I miss those days too. I like writing this one. I like it quite a bit. Even though they're the same characters, the same THEM, It has a totally different vibe. It's just unfortunately harder now to keep it rolling. At this point in particular I hit a little bump because I wasn't sure how to handle the flight itself. How much to get into it. And I still haven't entirely decided how I'm handling that, BUT, I have at least finished this chapter.

And I was looking over the prompts I hadn't used yet and one of them gave me an idea for another element to add into this chapter, so this is a prompt chapter within a prompt story.

**Speaking of prompts**: I put up the new bonus yesterday. It's all about JJ. And today Kavi put up the new regular prompts. So head on over to the forum and hopefully you'll see something you like!

Kavi and I realized yesterday that we have over 80 stories up in the challenge community. And we're so pleased that so many ideas have sprouted off of our little game. We weren't sure if anyone beside us was even going to play!

FYI, one thing I mention in here that most of you won't be able to place is The Acela. That's the high speed train that runs up the East coast of the States from Washington to Boston. What we call the Northeast Corridor.

* * *

**Prompt Set #5**

Show: What I Like About You

Title Challenge: I Love You . . . Soon

* * *

**The Big Things and The Little Things**

The flight attendant led them down the aisle to the very front of the first class cabin. Hotch was surprised when she told him that all of the other seats had been purchased in their names as well. They would be alone up there. Slightly confused he looked around for a moment and then it hit him.

Dave.

Hotch felt a mixture of gratitude and irritation. He was of course grateful for the privacy this would accord Emily, but he knew, there was _no_ way he'd be able to repay him. Not for this many first class seats. It was probably close to thirty grand. And that made him realize, he had no idea what Dave had booked for their hotel either. Probably something equally extravagant. Something else that Hotch would never be able to pay him back for.

And he again felt a pang of irritation. But then he looked over at Emily tucking her bag under her seat and he realized he was being a jerk. His male ego wasn't what was important. _She_ was what was important. And Dave had done this for her.

Hotch closed his eyes for a moment, Dave had done it because it was all that he could do for her. Biting his lip Hotch made the decision then and there that he was going to be gracious. And that meant he was going to be thankful for the gift Dave had given them, and he was going to do it without any lingering resentment. So to that end, he turned to Emily with a soft smile.

"That was nice of Dave to book the extra seats."

Nodding, she looked over at him, "yeah, I was worried about having strangers right next to me," she swallowed, "you know I don't like to cry in front of people."

It was as she said that when she realized that Hotch was no longer, 'people.' He was just her Hotch. Hers. She reached over and squeezed his fingers, running her thumb over the back of his hand.

Strange how quickly things change. Her eyes began to sting . . . for better and for worse.

Shaking her head she tried to push those thoughts aside. God knows it wouldn't do to start crying before they even left the gate.

If only she could sleep. That would help pass the time. Though she had no idea if it would be a respite from her grief or just a world locked in her own nightmares. When she'd fallen asleep last night on Hotch's lap that had been a result of pure exhaustion. She'd cried herself out and she had no memory of her dreams.

That was probably for the best.

As the flight attendants began going over the safety procedures she started to feel a sense of panic rising up. Safety procedures didn't mean jack when your plane fell out of the sky. Then she started to wonder about things that she shouldn't be wondering about.

Did their oxygen masks fall? Did they try to pull them over their faces? Did her mother cry?

Oh God. Doubling over she bit down hard on her lip. Oh God, please don't let me think about these things. And then she felt Hotch's hand on her back and his warm breath on her ear.

"It's okay sweetheart. It's okay. Just take slow deep breaths."

Hotch had his own flashes as they started to run down the safety procedures so he could only imagine what Emily's had been. As he rubbed her back he was imminently grateful that the flight attendants were aware of their situation. Aside from a quick sympathetic glance, the woman in front of them hadn't broken stride from her demonstration. God knows Hotch didn't want the rest of the passengers to be aware of what was happening.

For her part Emily was just trying to keep focused on two things, Hotch's warm hand on her back and regulating her breathing. Ordinarily the breathing thing took care of itself. But not today.

After the flight attendant had finished her demonstration she came over and whispered in Hotch's ear.

"Do you want me to get her a drink? We're not supposed to serve alcohol before take-off but under the circumstances . . ."

She trailed off as Hotch looked up at her. Nodding, he whispered back, "please, uh whiskey if you have it."

Nodding, she patted his arm, grateful there was something she could do for this poor woman.  
"Sure, I'll be right back."

She hurried behind the curtain, returning a moment later to slip two small bottles into Hotch's hand. She gave him a pointed look, "call me if you need anything else."

Hotch gave her a grateful nod and she went back to her pre-flight review of the cabin. Making sure the rest of the passengers had secured their items and fastened their seatbelts.

Turning his attention back to Emily Hotch saw that her breathing seemed a little better. Then, as though she could read his mind, she sat up, turning her head to look at him as she nodded slightly.

"Better."

He gave her a sad smile, "good." He stared at her for a moment before leaning over to kiss her. Hotch might not be able to hold her right now, but that was the one expression of affection still available to him. When he pulled back her eyes crinkled slightly as she cupped his cheek, "thanks."

Pulling her against his side he whispered, "no thanks necessary sweetheart."

They were quiet for a moment before he picked up one of the little liquor bottles from the seat beside him. He held it up in front of her.

"I think maybe a drink would help," he ran his hand down her arm, "it should settle your nerves a little."

Emily looked at the small bottle in his hand. Unfortunately it wasn't large enough to drink herself into oblivion. But he was right, it would take the edge off. And that would have to be enough.

She took the bottle from him, unscrewing the cap before she tossed back the whole thing in one shot.

Placing the empty bottle back in his hand she shuddered as the alcohol burned her throat, and then her stomach. That's when she remembered that they hadn't eaten since morning.

Well . . . she tipped her head . . . that was probably good. There was nothing to slow down the alcohol's absorption into her system. It's funny, usually she was always hungry. But she hadn't had an appetite all day. She huffed humorlessly to herself, gee, wonder why that was.

She rolled her head onto Hotch's shoulder. She knew he'd make sure they ate on a semi-regular basis. So that was one thing she definitely wasn't going to concern herself with. For God's sake she just spent four minutes doing nothing else but focusing on regulating her breathing. If she now had to spend time controlling involuntary functions, she sure as hell wasn't going to be able to concern herself with the completely voluntary ones.

Hotch tucked the empty bottle into his pocket as he listened to the engines whir. Okay, Emily now had a little bit of liquor in her system. Maybe going forward, just a little shot of whiskey, a half of a mini bottle every couple hours would be the way to get through this. Just enough alcohol to help calm her nerves, but not enough to actually get her drunk. Given her state of mind, slightly drunk would probably be worse than totally sober. Alcohol was a depressant and God knows she didn't need to be any more depressed.

And worst case scenario, he still had the pills in his bag. He was quite sure there was some advisory about not mixing them with alcohol but he didn't really give a shit about that. The warnings were so people didn't accidentally kill themselves.

But one pill, or probably . . . he eyed her slim frame . . . one _half_ a pill, with a little shot of whiskey should calm her without making her completely loopy or actually knocking her unconscious. That might be their best bet if they were in the middle of the ocean and she started to have another panic attack like this morning. He knew that was her biggest fear right now. That something like that would happen again, but this time in front of all of these people. A couple of empty airplane seats weren't going to prevent the other passengers from noticing a woman in complete hysterics. First class was at least slightly secluded but she would still be mortified. And his role now was to act as her protector, so he wasn't about to let that happen.

So now that he had a half assed game plane if everything went to shit, he felt a little better. He looked past her out the window to see that the ground crew was driving away the empty baggage carriers. Slowly running his hand up and down her leg he said quietly.

"We're going to take off in a couple minutes. Do you want to shut the shade?"

Biting her lip, Emily turned to look at the activity out the window. He was right . . . it was almost time. Turning back to him she nodded, "yeah, I think I'd like to keep the shade down." Her eyes began to water, "I know it sounds really silly, but do you think maybe we could just pretend we were on the train?"

Right now the last place she wanted to be was on an airplane. But she'd been thinking back to the few times that she'd taken the Acela. It could travel at speeds up to 150 mph, and when it took a curve, she remembered thinking that the wind buffeting the cars felt like airplane turbulence. At the time it was a comforting analogy. Because she was familiar with airplane turbulence. That was a sensation she could place. It was something she was comfortable with.

Or . . . at least it was something that she used to be comfortable with. But right now she was very worried about how she was going to react when they hit the first bump when they were in the air. And given how long their flight was, it was too much to hope for that things would be smooth the whole time. So for now, as long as she could pretend, she wanted to reverse the analogy and pretend the turbulence was just wind buffeting the train cars. She was sure it sounded rather foolish, but that was the least of her problems today

Feeling his eyes begin to burn, Hotch gave her a sad smile, "sure sweetheart. We can do that."

Reaching past her, he pulled down the shade, and then he settled back in his seat and she put her head on his shoulder. When the plane began to slowly taxi towards the runway he picked up her hand and tipped his head over to hers. As he felt her nails begin to dig into his palm he cleared his throat before he said softly.

"Tell me your favorite color sweetheart."

"What?" Her voice was a little panicky.

"What's your favorite color?"

She stammered, "um, red."

He ran his thumb along her hand. "Mine's blue. What kind of ice cream do you like?"

Realizing what he was doing, Emily felt a warmth spread through her chest, and the little kernel grew just a little bit larger. The grip on his hand lessened slightly and she turned and kissed him. As she pulled back she gave him a small smile, "cookie dough."

His face softened, "cookie dough, huh. That's Jack's favorite too," he was quiet for a second before adding faintly, "I like mint chocolate chip."

Then he paused for a moment, slightly thrown, trying to think of another question. This was his new girlfriend. He hadn't had a new girlfriend in twenty-three years. You could ask him anything basic about Haley, any basic _facts_, and he'd still today be able to answer the question. But there were so many things he didn't know about Emily. So many things to ask.

Did she put salt on her popcorn? Did she open presents Christmas morning or Christmas Eve? Did she wear slippers around the house? What kind of birthday cake did she like?

All of these little basic things that people usually pick up over the course of their relationship. And he didn't know any of them. He'd known her for a year and a half and the only personal things he knew about her were how she took her coffee, her middle name and her birthday.

The latter two were in her file.

But now he was thinking beyond this terrible event. He was thinking to the future. They would come home, and they would try to build something. Hopefully, they'd build a life together. He could see that . . . he looked down to her hand in his . . . he could see that very easily. And though he had started this exercise in an effort to keep her distracted, he'd realized something big when she told him cookie dough ice cream.

And that revelation came to him because cookie dough ice cream was something that she had in common with his son, the most important person in his life. That was the moment when he'd come to see that Emily was becoming almost as important to him as Jack was. That was the moment when he'd come to see that he was falling in love with her.

He was falling in love with her, and he didn't know anything about her.

Well, he knew big things about her. That she was kind, and sweet, and intelligent, and funny. He knew those things. Those were important things. But there were other things that were important too. Did she cry when she watched sad movies? Did she like to cuddle? Was she ticklish?

Those weren't questions he could ask. Those were just things he would have to learn. And he realized how much he was looking forward to finding the answers to those questions. Those questions and a million more. But they had time. Hopefully they'd have years, perhaps even decades. So for now they would just go back to the simple things.

The basics.

As he felt the whir of the engines as they made their final acceleration before flight, another question popped into his head, it was a basic one, but it was also an important one. He turned to her again, just as the plane lifted off the ground, his eyes twinkling.

"Do you sleep on the left side or the right?"

* * *

_A/N 2: There's a chapter in Girl called Back to Basics where they start covering these things. Going on the predilection that those are simple things friends should know about each other. Except they never got to that point before this story veered off. So keep in mind, they don't know anything about each other. All the stuff they learned over the summer, didn't happen here. Their bonding was accelerated by other things so now they need to catch up. And again, this story is fun to write for the balancing act of WHY in one world those things are important to know, and then in another world they hold a completely different significance. That's probably the only element though that's actually 'fun.' Which leads me to something else._

_I think I mentioned in one of my Girl A/Ns that it was a little creepy going back to this story right after the Air France crash. There were just unsettling real life elements to that situation that mirrored some of the things I'd already alluded to here. And that happened again with the bit above where Emily starts panicking during the pre-flight check. But, it's not obviously intended in any way to be insensitive. It's just what it is. And I do think things like that when I'm watching the news. Because almost every situation I read about, I involuntarily ask these questions to myself and wonder about things that you just DON'T want to wonder about. Did they cry? Did the little boy that was traveling by himself want his mother? What was the last thing that they saw before they died? Just things I only think about because my mother raised me with this ridiculously overdeveloped sense of empathy. I think it had something to do with the catholic guilt. When we watched the news or read things in the paper she would raise these questions, stuff that digs into your emotional core. And I would say, "Ma, you're killing me! I don't want to think about stuff like that!" But as you perhaps may have noticed, your parents, either by their presence or their absence, program most of your buttons. So now it's just drilled into my head, I do it automatically. Which, though it is emotionally draining at times, might just be what enables me to write at all, getting into other 'peoples' heads. So I suppose it is actually a 'practical' skill and I should be grateful for it. _

_I know I didn't get into what happened with Em's grandparents. I will get back to that._

_It's been almost a month since my last update on this but I'm going to TRY to update again this week. And the reason for that is I'm a bit stuck on what to do next. I have some vague ideas on how to fill the flight time, but it's a LOT of flight time. And I'm afraid if I don't make myself deal with this problem now, that being 'slightly stuck' will turn into 'actually blocked' and then I'll never finish the story. So I'm going to hit the brick wall head on. But that's just as well because I'm in the mood to write some more challenging stuff. And to that end, I'll be working on a few new prompt related stories this weekend. Hopefully I'll be able to polish them up pretty quickly and put up two or three new stories this week. That's the plan anyway._

_And if anyone has any particular ideas for stuff to think about or do on the plane (and they're NOT joining the mile high club!) please feel free to pass them along. I did have one person who sent me some very helpful thoughts :) but as I said, long flight, lots of time to fill._


	14. The Two Days in a Bubble

**Author's Note**: I was planning on putting this up over the weekend, so you can all thank imananthropologist for tonight's posting. She knew I was done with this and she said it would be a "treat" for premiere night. So here you go hon :)

I honestly can't believe it's been 3 months since I updated here. Sorry. I've been on the other side of the page and I know that's frustrating when you're following a story and then it fades away. But life really does just slip away from you. And this one was hard to get back into the groove of because it's a sad world. I was in a certain mental place when I started it so it was easier back then to keep it rolling. It was kind of a mental process jumping back into it again.

I know it's been a while but please don't go into this one with your expectations super high. This is a transitional chapter, designed to get them from Virginia to Cairo. And it does that. And obviously given the great heaving gap between postings you can rightfully presume that I had some problems getting this done. Transitional chapters are hard! You have to skim over a lot of time and activity without the writing sounding too pedestrian. That's been the issue with Second Chances too but I've made myself work on polishing both of them because I know people are waiting on updates :)

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**The Two Days in A Bubble  
**

Emily was afraid to sleep. She was afraid of the nightmares that she knew were coming. So Hotch, against his better judgment, agreed to help her stay awake. Though he knew that her poor body was exhausted, that she needed to rest, he was doing what she wanted . . . rather than what he wanted for her. Because truly, what he really wanted for her wasn't something that he could conjure up from the options at hand.

He wanted her to be happy again. He wanted to be able to take away her pain and her grief.

But that wasn't going to happen. That wasn't going to happen for a very long time. So he did what he could for her. He did as she asked. That first leg of their trip was spent with him trying to keep her mind active so that she could stay away from the bad dreams stalking her subconscious.

It was a long flight to Germany so they had a lot of time to fill. They talked, traded information, learned things about one another that they didn't know before. Then they filed it all away for when they went back to their lives. Back to a world they could have a normal relationship with normal activities. Back to a world where what kinds of movies they liked, what kind of music they listened to, a world where those things mattered.

And in between all of the talking and all of the sharing and all of the bonding, they watched snippets of the movies being shown. Neither of them paid much attention to the plots.

It was just something to do.

That whole first leg, Hotch barely stopped touching Emily. He held her hand, he rubbed her leg, squeezed her knee, kissed her on the mouth, the cheek, the forehead, whatever he could think to do to keep her with him.

Because no matter what . . . he didn't want her to feel alone. Not for an instant. If he let that happen, the depression would start to creep in and he was afraid that he'd lose her. All of the shiny bits of her personality that he could see peeking out from behind the curtains of grief . . . he was afraid that they would go away. And then she would be left with nothing but the pain.

That was not an option.

All in all, things were going along as well as could be expected. Hotch managed to keep both himself and Emily awake. There were no major breakdowns, just a few tears here and there. Something would come to her, something would remind her of one of them and she'd feel the sadness well up again. But then Hotch would see the panic on her face and he'd rescue her from herself.

The distractions, the kisses, the touches, they worked time and again and he started to hope against hope that maybe they'd get through the whole trip without a real problem.

But then they got to Frankfurt.

They were changing plans and there was a two hour layover. It was the middle of the night back home so it was too late to call Dave. And that meant it was too late to get an update on what was going on with Emily's grandparents or to find out how many bodies had been recovered so far. So Hotch was hoping to just keep their heads down and away from the news cycle that was just beginning in this part of the world.

But as they walked through the airport Hotch could see the newspapers were everywhere. They were in at least a half dozen languages.

And they all had that indelible image of the plane nose diving into the ocean.

This time he wasn't quick enough to shield her from the graphic pictures. He tried to find a quiet place to take her like he did in Washington, but it was too crowded and he couldn't even get them a little bit of privacy. Though he was able to keep her away from the televisions, that didn't do much. Because the papers . . . the God damn newspapers . . . they had been left strewn on seats throughout the terminals.

It was a moment frozen in time and everyone was carrying the same shot.

And all Emily needed was that one horrifying glimpse of the plane slamming into the water and the picture was burned into her brain. It started to twist and morph with the images in her imagination.

At that moment Emily's gift of empathy . . . inherited from her father . . . it was a curse.

Fear . . . terror . . . panic . . . hysteria . . . one emotion after another began to cycle through her system.

She was shaking by the time they boarded again. And there was nothing Hotch could do to comfort her.

The cold hand of reality had just slapped her across the face once again.

After they got to their seats . . . again Dave had booked them a little buffer area . . . Hotch gave Emily another half of a pill and another little shot of whiskey. It had worked before and he just hoped that it would work again.

This time that plan backfired though.

Because the alcohol and the drugs combined with her sleep deprivation and her eyes started to shut. There was nothing Hotch could do that would keep her awake. And as exhausted as he himself was, once she'd passed out, he forced his own gritty eyes to stay open for her sake.

Because he knew that she was going to need him.

And sure enough, two hours into their four hour connector from Frankfurt to Cairo, Emily started screaming in her sleep.

At first Hotch couldn't wake her up.

It was so awful to see her like that. Over and over again he pleaded with her, "Emily, sweetheart, come on and open your eyes for me."

He had to say it at least a half dozen times before it seemed to reach her in wherever it was that she had gone.

At that point the buffer meant nothing. Her screams had woken up everyone else in the first class cabin. And then suddenly Emily's lids popped opened as she gasped, sucking in air. When she looked at Hotch her eyes were filled with terror as she choked.

"I was there! I was with them! They were screaming . . . oh God Hotch they were screaming!"

Hysteria tinged her last syllable. And Hotch wished so badly for her that at that moment that they were somewhere else. Somewhere alone. Or at least that they had a little privacy. Because right now she was still out of it. But in a moment she was going to remember where it was that they were and she was going to be humiliated that she had lost control in front of so many people.

As though the fates heard him, Hotch saw one of the flight attendants hurrying down from the other end of the plane. In his mind he muttered sarcastically, '_what kept you?_'

But he regretted his unkind thoughts as soon as the woman reached them and leaned down to whisper, "Agents, perhaps you'd like to go to the galley for a few minutes."

Hotch could have kissed her.

The flight attendants had again been informed of Emily's situation, and Hotch had also introduced both Emily and himself to the pilot when they boarded. And because this was an American flight with an American crew this brilliant woman had just reminded him that, as federal agents, he and Emily had full access to otherwise restricted areas of the plane.

He started unbuckling his seat belt, "yes please, thank you so much." And then, seeing the look of absolute mortification spreading across Emily's face he leaned over and undid her belt as well before he took her hand whispering, "come on sweetheart," he squeezed her fingers, "let's take a walk."

With tears glistening in her eyes Emily stared at him for a moment before nodding, "right," her fingers clutched his as she added softly, "a walk."

She'd never been so embarrassed. All she'd asked God for was to give her a little break. Just let her get to Cairo without making a fool of herself. Apparently that was just too much to ask.

Clearly God was not handing out favors, or answering prayers, to anyone in the Prentiss household this week.

And as she looked around the cabin . . . seeing the overlapping mixture of fear, concern and irritation on the faces of her fellow passengers . . . she just wanted to disappear.

As she stood up one of the tears spilled over and she wiped her hand across her face as she looked at the people around her.

"I'm very sorry."

Her voice was so soft that she wouldn't have thought anyone could hear her. But then an older woman sitting diagonally across the aisle reached out and patted her arm.

"It's all right dear. Don't be embarrassed. We all have bad dreams."

The woman's gentle Irish lilt was a comfort to Emily. And she nodded gratefully as she gave her a sad smile, "thank you."

Hotch watched the exchange. And for the woman's kind words to his poor girl, he also tipped his own head in gratitude.

There was nothing he could do to protect Emily from the stares and the whispers. His only hope was that there would be a little kindness shown her way as well.

This woman had at least done that much for him today.

He slipped his arm around Emily's waist, tucking her tightly against his side. And then he followed after the patiently waiting flight attendant. She led them a bit further back into the plane and then she stopped, standing by the staircase that led down to the little galley.

The woman touched Hotch on the back as they went by her. When he stopped she said sympathetically, "take as much time as you need. We don't land for another two hours. Just please come back up when the pilot announces that it's time to return to your seats. We need to make sure . . ." her eyes flicked to Emily and the woman swallowed before she looked back at him, "well we just need to make sure everyone's in their proper seat."

The words left unspoken were "_. . . in case we crash we need to know who was sitting where_," but Hotch understood her concern. And more importantly he appreciated her discretion. He patted her arm and then started down the steps with Emily.

When they got to the bottom of the small staircase Hotch saw a moderate sized galley kitchen and two jump seats, one each on adjacent walls. Hotch walked Emily over to one of the seats and sat down, pulling her into his lap.

He could see how hard she was trying to be strong. With the exception of the stray tear that had rolled down her cheek upstairs, she hadn't cried since she woke up.

Emily wrapped her arm around Hotch's neck and then rested her head against his. She was trying to suppress the sobs that were bubbling up in her throat.

She wanted to keep it together because she was afraid that if she let go at all that she'd completely fall apart. And though they had some privacy here, this was still not them alone behind a locked door. That's what she wanted. She just wanted to get to the hotel so she could completely lose her shit and then pull herself back together again without anyone else around.

But Hotch seemed to sense what she was thinking and he tried to sooth her with his touch. He moved his hand over to her waist, and then he slid his fingers under her shirt so that he was touching bare skin. His thumb stroked along her side as he pressed his lips to her ear, "it's okay sweetheart. You can let go. We're alone here."

All Emily wanted was a reprieve from the indescribable pain pressing on her chest at that moment. It felt like she was suffocating. So she tucked her head against Hotch's, trying to melt into him.

But it wasn't working. She couldn't get close enough to make the pain go away.

As her nice, evenly regulated breaths started to get away from her she realized that maybe he was right, maybe she should just be grateful for the few minutes they had alone and let it out.

It was just going to be so much worse if they went back upstairs and she lost it there.

She held her breath for a moment and then her entire body shuddered. As Hotch pulled her in close, wrapping his arms around her . . . she started to cry.

They were the same heaving, uncontrollable gasps she had that morning. But Hotch could see they weren't anywhere near the hysterics she'd had when she called her grandparents. For that he was grateful.

It's not that she seemed better, but maybe not quite so . . . lost. He was starting to think that maybe she was finding her North again.

And when she was done crying, he held her just as he had that morning in her bed.

It was all that he could do.

Emily was beyond exhausted. The crying had put her over the top. All she wanted to do was close her eyes, but there was no way she was sleeping again. Not until they got to the hotel. But after some time had passed . . . maybe twenty minutes, maybe thirty . . . she felt Hotch's head tip over to hers and she knew by his breathing that he had fallen asleep.

Her fingers ghosted over his cheek . . . poor thing.

She knew that he'd been running on nothing but caffeine and sheer force of will for over a day. And even Hotch had his limitations. Granted he reached them at a much later date than most people, but he was still human. And with the exception of the short nap they had in her room, he'd been taking care of her for almost forty eight hours straight. Making sure that she rested and that she ate, and most importantly that she wasn't alone.

With the exception of trips to the bathroom, he hadn't left her side once.

The man deserved a medal, or a kiss, or something. Something that would have to wait until he woke up on his own though. Because God knows after everything he had done for her that she wasn't going to wake him up.

So even though she wanted to go wash the dried tears off of her face, Emily stayed where she was. She was afraid of disturbing him, so she just laid her head on Hotch's shoulder and closed her eyes, listening to the respirations of the man who was holding her in his arms.

They stayed in the galley for the next hour and a half.

Hotch napped for at least half that time. Emily spent those quiet moments trying to imagine a future with him . . . his little boy . . . and two Mr. Bobos. The images were shimmery, but she could just make them out.

The little kernel was growing by leaps and bounds.

And by the time the pilot made the announcement that they were beginning their descent, Emily was again ready to rejoin the world.

Before they went back to their seats, they went to the bathroom to splash some water on their faces. When they were drying their hands, Emily tried to make a joke about maybe someday joining the mile high club.

She was just trying to pretend things were normal. But her voice faded halfway through the sentence as she again pictured the last moments of her parents' flight. And she knew that flying was never again going to be an activity that she could enjoy.

Let alone embrace with any lightheartedness or humor.

But for her effort . . . or maybe for her failure . . . Hotch pressed her to the wall. And for a moment she was mesmerized as he looked deep into her eyes. Then suddenly he was kissing her passionately as his hands ran under her shirt, caressing her skin. And when he pulled back she found that she'd lost her breath.

She looked up at him with wonder as she panted, "what was that for?"

He gave her a sad smile as the pad of his thumb ran along the corner of her mouth, "for someday. Just in case we don't get there."

Lessons were to be learned from the death of her parents. He wasn't going to put off anything anymore. People always say that, that time is short and that they aren't going to waste it.

But they always do.

We all waste time that we know that we don't have. Because you just can't live your life assuming that you're going to die tomorrow.

That's not life affirming, it shows despair. It shows that you don't believe in the future.

That you have no hope.

Well, he had hope. But he also had forty eight hours of breathing in the blinding grief of a sweet, kind soul who'd lost her entire family.

So though Hotch believed in the future . . . he definitely believed he would have a future with this beautiful woman in front of him . . . he also believed in practicality. And practicality said that the world was a dangerous place. His entire life was devoted to trying to make it a safer place, but the last few days had reminded him that his life's work was always a rock being pushed up a hill.

Therefore, for the people in his life that were important to him . . . and there were only a few . . . he was going to tell them how he really felt.

He wasn't going to be afraid to do that anymore.

Because if the absolute worst happened, he didn't want to be plunging to his death wishing he'd kissed Emily in the bathroom. Or told Jack that he loved him more than his own life.

Or Dave that his friendship had been a lifeline for him during the divorce.

Or JJ that her quiet and unwavering support had often been the only thing that had carried him through the days after they lost the team in Boston.

Those were things he would say when he got home . . . he pulled Emily to his chest and hugged her tightly . . . when _they_ got home.

Those were things that needed to be said . . . and they were long overdue.

Hotch tucked Emily under his arm again and they went back upstairs and to their seats.

A short while later . . . when the pilot announced final approach to Cairo International Airport . . . Hotch turned to Emily, running his hand along her leg as he asked, "are you ready to do this?"

Her gaze lifted from the ground and traveled to the window. She stared out for a moment before she said softly.

"It's too late to turn back now."

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_A/N 2: We got to Egypt! Yay! And I actually already started the next chapter, getting from the airport to the hotel. Double yay! Barring a major streak of inspiration I can't promise any kind of regular updates here but I can promise I will update more frequently than "seasonally." I have a pretty good idea of what happens next and today I got a clear shot of the last scene of the story. So that's good! Once I got that in The Hours, once I got the ending, I was able to get the rest of moving along downhill. I'd love to wrap this up before the end of the year. Actually, of all my ongoing stories I think this one is closest to the finish line so it would be a shame if it doesn't get it there first. I'm pretty confident I can get another chapter whipped up in a couple weeks. _

_I'd like to get all of my regular stories up and running again before I start focusing on my Halloween stuff. So I will get updates on Girl, Aaron & Emily, Mirror, and Second Chances all up within the next two weeks. Girl actually is moving along fabulously! Not only is the next one done, the next one after that is done too and that takes us to Vegas! Score!_

_I know this was a lot of narrative and little dialogue but it was the only way to cover a 28 hr flight. You know it's funny, you live in one part of the world and you get used to things being a certain distance away. Like where I am, Egypt, VERY far away. But Germany, when I went to check the flight time, it's only 4 hrs to Cairo! Like in my mind, Egypt was really far away from EVERYBODY! Jackass. So anyway, putting aside my idiocy, I was still kind of surprised though they were so close. I can't even get to California in four hours!_

_Someone specifically gave me the idea of the movie thing. I'd totally forgotten that was an option during a lengthy flight :) But sadly, it's been SO long since I updated I no longer know who reminded me of that idea. And I don't see it on the reviews so it must have been a PM but before the new save system. So, sorry! You know I don't like to take ideas (even when they're offered) without giving credit. If it was you, thank you! Just remind me and I'll add your name into my A/N.  
_

_The access to the galley thing, I sort of stole that from Bones. The dead body during the China trip. God knows I love Booth, but I think we can all agree, Bones is really not the place to get accurate information on how federal law enforcement operates. But for purposes here, their reasoning fit my purposes so there you go. I actually do have a very close friend who is an FBI agent and I could have checked with him on procedure. But I really can't envision a scenario where I can get him drunk enough to forget that I asked him all these weird questions about getting his weapon on international flights or lurking for hours in restricted areas of passenger jets. Though he trusts me implicitly and I'm confident I wouldn't end up on any watch lists, I'm quite sure that he would be "curious" as to why I was asking. And I'm not prepared for this aspect of my life to converge with THAT aspect of my life. Not unless I start making some bucks off this, and I don't see that happening any time soon._

_So, was anybody happy to see this one back? :)_


	15. The Trip To Site Two

**Author's Note**: First, Happy Mother's Day to all for whom the greeting is appropriate!

Second, sorry to be posting on the "Em's mom's dead story" ON Mother's day, but, it was done. If for whatever reason it's going to make you especially sad to read it today, then please just bypass the update for now. It'll keep.

So Horses is now _officially_ off hiatus and up to a side burner. Yay! That means I'll keep it trucking along the best I can with everything else.

Point to remember: When this story went up, the fictional plane went down in Egypt. So though it's always rather awkward when RL intersects with Fic Life, (which just keeps randomly happening to me) keep in mind, a) I picked Egypt two years ago and it's key plot point so it would be impossible to simply substitute out it for another Middle Eastern country b) wow that would be lame ass storytelling to substitute out a key plot point like my audience were a bunch of idiots (yes, I'm talking to you CBS that was so vital you permanently axe all the women from the show, and then said 'oh, wait, we don't have to pay Charlie Sheen coke/whore money anymore and seeing as the ratings are starting to tank, you gals can come on back now') and c) most importantly, time wise this story is taking place back in 2008. That was a different world. In many ways.

Here we go. I'm assuming most of you will at least be reading the last chapter over again, but to recap, they were just landing in Egypt then. Now we're picking up with them the next morning.

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**TV Prompts Set #20**

Show: Lost

Title Challenge: This Place Is Death

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**The Trip To Site Two**

Hotch's gaze flicked from the bright, silent world speeding by outside the tinted window of the SUV, and back to the artificial shadows inside the Suburban. Then it dropped down to Emily slumped against his side in the backseat of the armored vehicle rented for this horrible trip to an unfamiliar land.

Seeing the tears had begun to trickle down her face again, Hotch tightened his grasp around her shoulders and leaned down to press a kiss to her temple. The kiss wasn't much . . . it wasn't even a proper one . . . but it would have to be enough for now. Because though it was killing him, he knew that there was nothing he could say . . . or do . . . that was going to make her feel any better on this horrible day.

It was eleven am local time and they'd just come from visiting their first temporary morgue since they'd landed in Cairo seventeen hours earlier. Of course it had been too much to hope that they would have found her parents on that first outing. That they would now just be "done," and able to go home.

They weren't even close to going home.

But after what he'd seen today . . . Hotch blanched as he flashed back on the horrors of the morgue . . . he was seriously wondering how they were going to get through this trip without causing Emily serious psychological damage. Most of the bodies recovered so far . . . sixty-seven to date, thirty-five at that one location . . . were simply unrecognizable. Of the few dozen that Hotch had seen that morning, there were perhaps nine of ten that had retained some clearly identifiable features.

. . . a few strands of fiery red hair sticking to an otherwise blackened scalp.

. . . a man's arm still covered in a pale blue dress shirt.

. . . a tattoo of a dragonfly on half a torso.

Hotch's jaw twitched as his gaze shifted down to Emily's fingers tangled with his . . . and then there was the hand. That was the worst for him so far. One wholly pristine, pale white hand. The fingernails were painted bubble gum pink.

A bright cheerful color that had made him want to drop to his knees and weep.

All he could think as he stared down was, _'who was this woman? What had those fingers been touching when the blast ripped the plane apart? Had she been alive as they crashed into the sea?_

_Was she still alive when the wildlife started to feast?_

Yes, that was the other thing about the hand . . . the edges of the flesh . . . the wrist . . . it was jagged. The Army medical examiner had told him that the flesh had been gnawed upon. Most likely by a small school of fish.

But possibly before that there had been something much larger.

Either way . . . whether she was dead or alive when she hit the water . . . most likely the rest of that woman was being digested somewhere out in the sea. And that image . . . the knowledge that the human race had once again fallen to the bottom of the food chain . . . that was distracting him, haunting him . . . in a way that he hadn't expected.

Hotch's thumb traced a small circle on the back of Emily's hand . . . and of what they'd seen so far that day, he was worried that God damn hand was the one thing that was going to float through his dreams tonight.

If they slept of course.

For the eight hours of rest that Hotch insisted they try to take after they'd landed . . . they needed to let their bodies adjust to the new time zone . . . Emily had tossed and turned in the bed for most of that time.

Whatever sleep she had was a restless one.

And though he was planning on giving her one of those little blue pills tonight . . . after what they'd seen there was no way she'd sleep at all otherwise . . . Hotch was truly terrified of the damage being done to her right now. She had no business at all visiting these morgues.

None.

But of course she refused to stay at the hotel as he'd requested. She'd just shaken her head, her gaze shifting over his shoulder as she responded softly that it was her duty to find them. Not his.

And that was the end of that.

So they got through the first morgue. And now . . . he tipped his head down to Emily's . . . they were on their way to the next side trip through hell.

Otherwise known as Site Two.

It was the recovery location for the second largest debris field. There was also a Site Three, but it was much smaller and further down the coast. It wasn't on their list to visit because it was only intended to be a collection station before the bodies and wreckage were transported back to Site One or Site Two.

Everything they had down there would be transported to the city within twenty-four hours. Of course over the coming weeks, every last nut, bolt and dismembered fingertip would be transported all the way back to the States.

But that would come later.

For now they were just pulling it all together, making sure no thing . . . no _body . . ._ was left behind.

It was a daunting task.

When they had arrived at Site One three hours ago, Hotch had been literally struck dumb by the rows and rows of body bags on the ground. Even given the work that he'd been doing for the last twenty years, he hadn't truly been prepared for the overwhelming tragedy of a mass casualty event on this scale.

It was like experiencing the horrors of six months of cases rolled into one soul crushing day. And the fact that he had to expose Emily . . . who was not presently an agent, but simply a grieving daughter . . . to those horrors, it was killing him. And though Hotch had never met the man . . . and now tragically never would . . . without a doubt, he knew that if Emily's father were still alive today he would have kicked Hotch's ass to the Red Sea and back for allowing his daughter to go to these terrible places and see these horrific things.

But it wasn't his choice.

As much as he wanted to shield her from this process, it wasn't his place to make that decision for her. She was an adult . . . and this was her family. If their positions were reversed he'd be doing the exact same thing that she was doing.

Attempting to collect his dead.

The worst thing was . . . or perhaps it was the best thing, who could really say in matters like this . . . none of the bodies that they'd seen today could yet definitively be identified as either the Ambassador or Mr. Prentiss. Emily wanted to find their bodies so she could give them a proper burial, but Hotch, though he felt a bit like a traitor for even thinking it, was almost hoping that they would go home empty handed. Yes, it was a terrible thought. But really though, what was going to be worse for her? Finding nothing but a charred hunk of flesh and being told by a lab report that flesh was once her mother? Or simply picking up and going on with her life accepting that her parents' bodies had been lost to the sea?

It was Sophie's Choice.

But if Hotch had his way . . . in that imperfect world that was so far beyond them . . . he would pick the latter for her. He saw a kind of peace there that would never be attained in the alternate universe. Either way though, he dreaded the possibility of reaching that day when they'd exhausted all reasonable possibilities to find those bodies. Because then he'd have to pose those questions to Emily herself.

And the answer might be what finally broke her for good.

"Checkpoint up ahead."

Hearing Iain's soft Irish lilt float over the back seat, Hotch nodded and murmured back, "got it." Then he shifted Emily slightly so he could pull their credentials from his pocket again. For the third time that day he passed them to the man riding shotgun in the front.

That man . . . Iain Palmer . . . was here because of Dave. As was his partner, Simon Duncan. He was the man currently driving their armored SUV at near warp speed through the impossibly crowded downtown streets of Cairo. Truly, given the amount of traffic, Hotch would not have thought it possible to maneuver anywhere if the person doing the driving didn't know the area as well as these men did. But Iain and Simon were based out of Cairo. The two of them were former SAS operatives . . . old friends' of Dave's, though Hotch had yet to get the particulars on their history . . . who now did "odd jobs" around the Middle East.

He and Emily were the odd job of the moment.

This was a fact unbeknownst to Hotch himself until after they'd landed. Of course he'd known ahead of time that they were getting picked up, but Rossi hadn't felt the need to share the fact that he'd hire ex-special forces agents as their chauffeurs. And though he wasn't proud of it . . . just like with the airline seats . . . initially Hotch had felt some knee jerk bristling when Dave told him on the phone who it was that was meeting them.

Hotch's alpha pride was insulted at the whole idea that he wasn't capable of looking after Emily on his own.

But then he'd actually met the two men out in front of the airport, and for some reason they instantly reminded him of Morgan. Not that they looked anything like him . . . Iain was pale Irish and Simon was pale English, both more burnt than tan from the African sun . . . but they exuded the same confidence and capability.

Plus they were both about his age.

It wasn't that alone though that had made up Hotch's mind . . . it was how they handled Emily. How they downshifted for just a moment from those hard ass personas to offer a kind of word of genuine sympathy, and in Simon's place _empathy_ . . . his father had passed away six months before . . . that had given Hotch a better glimpse of their character than any resume ever could.

It was clear why Dave thought so highly of them.

So Hotch had pushed aside his reservations . . . and his foolishly wounded pride . . . and stuck out his hand. Aaron Hotchner, he'd said . . . but you can call me Hotch.

Little did they know what a big deal that offer was.

Emily had though.

She'd squeezed his fingers, and then whispered a soft thank you in his ear. For what exactly, he still wasn't quite sure. Maybe for making an effort to let somebody else into their insulated world. Maybe for dropping his macho pride.

Maybe just for remembering that this wasn't about him.

Either way that thank you had touched him in a way that he hadn't expected. Perhaps it was just that reminder that there was somebody in his life again that cared about such things.

His behavior.

And then Simon and Iain had both insisted on being called by their first names. That was a non-negotiable point that probably more of an adjustment for Hotch than offering up his nickname had been. But he was trying. He'd done well for the few hours they'd spent together last night eating and then getting the lay of the land.

He'd only slipped up this morning when they'd knocked on his hotel room door. Simon had just raised an eyebrow and Hotch had tipped his head. And that was the end of that. Really Hotch had no desire to irritate them. He was grateful for their presence, and again how well they were handling Emily.

She was a mess.

And though Hotch meant that in the most caring, affectionate way possible, he couldn't change that simple fact. She was barely keeping it together. When they'd first landed she'd had a set to her jaw, and he'd known then that she was trying to compartmentalize her grief.

It worked for about an hour.

Then she got her first view of the crash scene last night and lost it again. From that point on . . . as she'd begun to sob against his chest . . . he'd known everything really was going to fall to him.

Him and these strangers that he was trusting with their lives.

Not that he resented that . . . Hotch squeezed Emily's fingers . . . not even a little bit. He owed her a debt, but more than that though . . . he had feelings for her. And for someone like Hotch . . . someone who needed to save everyone . . . when he was in a romantic relationship it was impossible to not take on the role of protector.

It was his duty to take care of her.

So he truly _wanted _to help her with these terrible things. But it wasn't just a family tragedy and all of the emotional trauma that went along with that.

That's what it had been back home.

Here . . . the SUV began to slow and Hotch's gaze shifted to the windows again . . . here, they were also agents of the United States government. Agents in a part of the world not currently enamored with that government's presence in their countries. And given that they were not officially attached to the American contingency, essentially they had the usual bulls' eyes on them and noofficial backup if things suddenly went to shit.

And if they ruled this disaster as an act of terrorism . . . as Dave told him last night they were close to doing . . . then the things were most definitely going to go to shit.

So looked at in that light . . . that this place was on the verge of becoming a powder keg . . . Iain and Simon's presence in their lives right now truly was a blessing.

They would have another set of voices to yell "incoming."

Right now Iain had a bolt action rifle under the front seat. Not to mention a semi-automatic under his khaki shirt. Hotch was fairly sure he knew what the Egyptian government's official position was on those particular firearms being carted around one of their cities by a British national, but when he'd asked, Iain had told Hotch not to worry about it. And Hotch had enough other things that he actually _did_ need to worry about, so he'd simply nodded and said okay. The man lived here so the man must know what he was doing.

Beside . . . he felt the SUV slow to a stop . . . the firepower might come in handy.

As they stopped at their third checkpoint in as many miles, Iain shifted to cover his weapon as he rolled down the window. Hotch got a whiff of salty air.

They were just outside Site 2. Hence the checkpoint. Though the Egyptian government wasn't handling the investigation, they were sealing off all sections of the city that the Americans needed secured for the recovery effort. Egypt said that they were operating in a "spirit of full cooperation," which everyone knew translated as diplomatic doubletalk of, "we're afraid this might be our fault, but we're going to pretend to go along with the investigation until you get proof that it actually is our fault. Then we'll kick your asses out of the country." Such was the world that they lived in.

The stupid games they all played.

And Hotch just wanted to be hell and gone before the investigation reached that point. And as he watched the guard outside their SUV carefully read over their official State Department pass to go anywhere and everywhere they damn well pleased, he was also impatiently counting the seconds pass by them.

He just wanted this done.

When the guard looked up and through the open glass, Hotch held up his badge and ID over the seat.

"Are you done now?" He asked with no effort to veil his irritation.

Though he knew that it wasn't this man's fault that they were here to perform this awful task, he was an impediment to getting this task done.

The guard stared at him for a moment, his jaw twitching in such a way that Hotch knew he had something he wished to say. But apparently he thought better of it, because before his mouth opened, he shoved the documents back into Iain's hand and waved them through.

As they drove past, Hotch saw the guard make a hand gesture which he was fairly sure . . . in any language . . . translated as, "fuck you."

Yeah . . . Hotch stifled a grunt as he leaned back in the seat . . . right back at you pal.

"I'm thirsty," Emily sniffled as she pushed herself up slightly, "where's the water?"

Before Hotch could lean over to grab one from under Simon's seat, Iain was already passing one back over his shoulder.

"Here you go," he said as he turned to give her a little smile, "take this one. Been in the glove box. Still cold."

"Thanks," she reached for the bottle as a faint crinkle touched her eyes.

As she unscrewed the cap, Hotch caught Iain's gaze in the rearview mirror. He mouthed a thank you and the other man tipped his head.

It was things like that . . . saving her the one cold drink on this insanely hot day . . . that had made Hotch like these men immediately.

Dave had made a good choice in companions for them.

"Hotch," Simon's quiet voice suddenly filled the small space, "do you want me to drop you three out front again?"

That's what they'd done last time. Simon dropped them off at the morgue entrance, then Hotch and Emily . . . with Iain providing a subtle security presence . . . had gone inside. Simon had waited with the vehicle.

Obviously they didn't need _two_ armed guards to help them look over dead bodies.

Really, they didn't even technically need one . . . this was a secure site under U.S. control . . . but the men had insisted that when Hotch and Emily were out of their hotel room, that at least one of them had to remain with them at all times. Otherwise what was the point in them collecting a paycheck?

Hotch had seen their point.

So as he unbuckled his seat belt and Simon hit the directional leading to the large temporary structure to their left, he nodded.

"Yes," he let the strap slide back, "please. We'll do it just like last time."

Knowing it was time to do this again, Emily slowly screwed the cap back on the water bottle before tucking it into the drink holder in front of her. Then she took a breath and wiped her thumbs under her eyes, trying to fix the blackened smears left by her continually leaking eyes. But then she saw the gentle smile Hotch gave her as he touched her cheek. And that's when she remembered . . . she wasn't wearing any eye makeup.

As she was brushing her teeth that morning she'd realized that there wasn't any point to it. Given the nature of the "errands" they were attending to on that day, she knew it would have all been washed away within an hour.

And she was right.

An hour was just about how long she'd kept her shit together. It had taken them through breakfast and the drive. Since then she'd been hovering between a quietly dignified grieving process, and a full blown basket case. Thank God for Hotch . . . she turned to press a quick thank you kiss to his lips . . . he'd been handling everything. All the questions, all the checkpoints . . . her stomach churned as she thought back on the bodies they'd seen . . . all the hard stuff.

There would be no way for her to ever repay this debt.

Fortunately though . . . Emily turned to pick up her sunglasses from where she'd tossed them on the seat . . . she knew that he wasn't looking for repayment. He considered their scales now even.

Emily looked over to see him picking up his own sunglasses and a faint prickle of fresh tears touched her eyes . . . she was just lucky to have him.

And as he turned to open the door she suddenly felt the urge to tell him so. So she put her hand out to his shoulder.

"If I haven't said it yet today," she whispered in his ear, "thank you."

He turned back, his eyes locking with hers for a moment before he leaned forward to press his forehead to hers.

"No thanks necessary sweetheart," he murmured back softly so that the others couldn't hear. She felt a little shiver as the warmth of his breath touched her lips. Then he leaned back slightly as he picked up her hand.

"We'll get through this one, and no matter what we find," he squeezed her fingers, "when we're done we're going right back to the hotel, okay?"

That morning . . . in those first few minutes when she'd first come out of the bathroom with her jaw set for the day ahead . . . she'd told him that at some point in the day she wanted to check in with the FBI response team and find out what was going on with the investigation. He'd said okay because at the time he was just happy to see that she was still fighting that depression he could see hovering in the wings.

She was keeping her mind engaged.

But now . . . after the morning that they'd had . . . Hotch knew that she just needed to rest.

They could check in on the investigation tomorrow.

And he could see her gaze shift slightly at his words, then she looked back at him and nodded.

"Okay." She said softly.

He was right. She just wasn't up to anything else today. Her anxiety was already climbing again just feeling the SUV stop. Because as bad as she'd expected the morgue visits to be, the first one had been a thousand times worse. Right now all Emily wanted to do was curl up in a ball, pull the covers over her head, and weep.

That was the plan for the afternoon.

For now though, as Hotch turned back to the door that Iain was opening for them, she just focused on her breathing. On keeping that terrible breathless panic from filling her lungs again. That had happened at the other location. And dear God had that been bad.

Suddenly everything, all of the sights (burnt bodies), the sounds (sobbing from around the tent), and the God awful smells (even in an air conditioned unit, flesh decayed quickly in this heat), had become too much.

They'd completely overwhelmed her.

Before she could stop herself, she'd started to hyperventilate right in the middle of the room. And that in turn had scared the shit out of Hotch. She was quite sure that she was only seconds from him throwing her over his shoulder and racing to the hospital when she'd finally gotten her breathing under control again.

She really did not want a repeat of that spectacle.

So as she slid to the ground next to him and Iain, she continued with her slow even breaths as she slipped her sunglasses on. Then she reached over and took the hand Hotch was extending to her.

"I'm ready," she said to the two men.

They nodded and then Iain leaned over her to give two quick raps to the roof.

The signal for Simon to go.

The SUV moved away from them just as they turned and began walking towards the guards at the entrance to the morgue. And even though Emily knew that they were again walking up to an air conditioned structure, the cloying scent of death was evident in the air. And that sickeningly sweet smell was enough to send her control reeling again.

She was flashing on everything she'd already seen that morning. And as her stomach began to twist anew, her chest tightened and her breathing started to speed up.

Oh crap . . . she bit down on her lip as she stopped short . . . it was happening again!

Then she saw Hotch shoot her a look . . . the same mixture of fear and tension that he'd had earlier in the day . . . and a wave of guilt washed up and over the rising panic. She was scaring him.

Again.

Okay . . . she started digging down deep into her reserves . . . if she couldn't keep her shit together for herself, then she'd find a way to do it for him. So as they stood there motionless in the blistering heat, her skin began to perspire as she took another deep breath and held it for a moment. And then she did it again . . . and again. The third time she slowly exhaled, her control began to return again.

Thank God.

She gave him a little nod.

"I'm okay."

The words were mouthed rather than spoken aloud. Still though, he clearly understood what she was saying. And the look of relief that washed over his face broke her heart in a new way.

He was being selfless and loving and all she did was take and take and take. All of his energy and all of his strength and compassion were being poured into her. And the more she took, the more she was seeing how that was hurting him.

How _she _was hurting him.

So even though Iain was standing just a few feet away, rubbing his neck as he tried not to look like he was listening, Emily stepped forward and threw her arms around Hotch's neck.

"I'm really sorry for making you worry so much," she murmured in his ear as she pulled him close, "and I promise I'll be better soon."

It wasn't like her to go through her days like this. Feeling weak, out of sorts . . . just plain helpless. It was just that all of this was so new . . . so horrible . . . that she couldn't get her balance. Her parents had been the one constant in her life for thirty-nine years.

And they were gone now.

But as Hotch squeezed her to his chest and kissed her temple she was reminded again that she had a new constant. A new touchstone. So all she needed was a little time. She was sure that things would get better as the days passed.

They had to.

"Don't worry about me sweetheart," Hotch's eyes stung as he rubbed his hand along Emily's back, "I just don't want you to get sick." He leaned back slightly to look down at her, a faintly watery smile touching his lips as he looked down at her.

"The last time I made you go to the hospital for work, you nearly decked me," he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, "and I don't want to end up with a black eye."

Though most people wouldn't consider this a time to make jokes, Hotch knew that Emily wasn't most people. Humor was the way that she'd always dealt with her tension and stress. And humor was how she's always connected with him when he was sinking into a depression.

So he was sure it was the right thing to do now.

And sure enough, he saw her eyes crinkle slightly as she looked up at him.

"I barely left a scratch that day," she responded with a huff, "besides, I'm sure today Iain would protect you," then she tipped her head slightly and projected her voice over to the dark haired man standing a few feet away.

"Isn't that right Iain?"

The poor bastard. She could see him standing over there trying so hard not to look like he was eavesdropping. But how could he not? By his own rule, when they were out in public he had to stay in the four foot window.

It didn't leave much room for private conversations.

That was okay though . . . she gave him a watery smile . . . he was a sweet guy. And even though she knew that he was earning a paycheck to look after them, she still felt really badly for dragging him so completely into the horrific insanity that was her life right now.

This man was not meeting her on her best day.

"That's right Emily," Iain gave her a little smile as a faint blush touched his cheeks. And she knew then that he was embarrassed for having overheard their . . . obviously . . . very personal conversion.

So she made sure to brighten her smile just a notch so he'd know she wasn't upset. It wasn't his fault. And after making a complete spectacle of herself on the transatlantic flight . . . and then being trapped with those people for the rest of that trip . . . anything that happened now was easily glossed over.

Though when she looked back at Hotch to see the slight reddening of his cheeks as well, that he would obviously prefer _not_ to be building this aspect of their relationship on a stage.

Oh well . . . she sighed as she reached over and grasped his fingers . . . it was just one more thing that she'd make up to him later. And just one more moment that proved to her how committed he really was. Having private conversations with her in front of other people clearly made him uncomfortable. Yet he was doing it anyway.

For her.

And as the three of them started walking again . . . both men somewhat fastidiously avoiding looking at the other . . . Emily leaned slightly against Hotch's side. And as they walked up to the two soldiers standing guard at the entrance, both she and Hotch slipped their hands into their pockets to pull out their ID.

That was as much as she could do though.

Though she had put on a strong face for the guys . . . and had made a vow to herself to not to let this situation completely overwhelm her again . . . it was still taking most of her energy to keep moving one foot in front of the other. This morgue was the last place in the world she wanted to be . . . and yet there was no option for her to turn back. So as she did earlier in the day, in order to retain her composure for as long as possible, Emily let Hotch take the lead on explaining their presence.

"Agent Prentiss' parents were on the flight," he said softly as he gestured to her slipping away her badge, "we're here to find their bodies."

Emily's eyes were on the ground as she heard a murmur of apology from the boy . . . and that's all he was, a boy . . . standing in front of them. Then there was a shuffling of pages and a second later a visitor's log and a pen appeared in her peripheral vision.

Hotch let go of her hand to sign the three of them in. Then he passed her one visitor's pass before passing the third one to Iain. All pretense of exhibiting normal social skills for the sake of the men surrounding her had long since left. Her hands were shaking as she clipped the little piece of plastic to her shirt. They were about to walk through the doors. And she already knew from the first trip what horrors awaited her within. ,

Even from here she could hear the crying.

When the soldiers stepped back to let them pass, the tears were already beginning to trickle down her cheeks again.

"Once more into the breach, dear friends," she murmured under her breath.

"I'm sorry," Hotch stopped to look down at her in concern, "what was that Emily?"

But she shook him off.

"Nothing," she wiped her hand under her eyes, "just a quote my dad liked." She tugged slightly on Hotch's hand.

"Let's just do this."

And so with Hotch holding her hand, and her new friend Iain following a few steps behind, Emily stepped through the doorway and back into a refrigerated hell.

She hoped it would be her last trip.

* * *

_A/N 2: I kept trying to get this up but because I was jumping ahead a day, and needed to update their current situation and explain how these two guys ended up in their lives, it just kept taking awhile to get it cleaned up. I'd get the rhythm down right for certain sections, then I'd still hate others. Finally though, I got to a happy medium. And I'm thinking I can get this wrapped in maybe five more chapters. Though as I am trying to keep a lot of things active at the moment so let's keep expectation at one chapter a month. If it moves faster, super, if not, oh well :) Like Second Chances, if they're going up in shorter than a 17 month period, then we're doing okay. _

_Still planning on another couple updates today._


	16. The Art Of Separation

**Author's Note**: Picking up later that afternoon.

Trying to get back into the habit of using the prompts again. They really do help me get a certain focus for chapters (kind of like setting a theme for myself) and that often helps the writing go faster. Like this one, only took a couple days to pull together. The last one took like eighteen months. See the difference :)

Speaking of, I did put up the new TV prompts last night.

And I put up the final chapter of _Finding a Place To Dump the Body_. Also assisted by a prompt there too. See, prompts have magical powers!

* * *

**TV Prompt Set #29 (April 2011)**

Show: The Outer Limits

Title Challenge: Decompression

* * *

**The Art of Separation**

"So how's Emily doing really?"

"Uh, well" Hotch paused for a second at Dave's question, his gaze automatically shifting towards the closed bathroom door that Emily had disappeared into forty minutes earlier.

"Under the circumstances," he continued, rubbing his hand across his chin, "she's doing as well as could be expected."

That was a diplomatic answer . . . but it was also a truthful one. When they'd arrived back at the hotel from the morgue it was almost two. They'd said their goodbyes to Simon and Iain at the door with the promise of perhaps meeting for dinner, and then he and Emily had dropped onto the couch in the living room suite. The suite that adjoined their two . . . officially . . . separate rooms. Though last night they had shared the same bed . . . and Hotch knew that those sleeping arrangements would continue as long as they were in Egypt.

Most likely even beyond that.

But for this afternoon, Emily hadn't actually been crying when they got back, she'd just seemed numb. So he'd held her, waiting to see if she wanted to talk about what she was thinking.

She hadn't.

And after twenty minutes of simply cuddling into his side, she'd patted his chest and pushed herself up. He was still holding her hand as stood. And they looked at one other for a moment before she gave him a sad smile and leaned down to give him a kiss. As she pulled away she whispered that she going to take a bath.

Hotch hadn't seen her since.

First he'd called his ex to check on his son . . . back home it was just past his bedtime but Haley had been good and woke him up . . . and then Hotch had called Dave to check on the Unit.

That was almost ten minutes ago.

They'd just finished the basic rundown on pressing cases.

"That good, huh?" Dave said on a sigh as he leaned back on his leather couch, staring sightlessly at the CNN broadcast he'd put on mute a few minutes earlier. He could tell from the hesitation that there was something that Hotch wasn't telling him . . . but of course there was always something that Hotch wasn't telling him.

That was just Hotch.

"Well," Dave cleared his throat as his eyes refocused on Wolf Blitzer pointing at a map of the debris field. "Please just tell Emily that we're thinking of her and that we send our love. JJ said she was going to try to call tomorrow," Dave tipped his head. "I mean she'd like to if you think it's okay. I know Emily's not really up to much social interaction."

The team had actually all been very cognizant of _not_ bothering Emily during this time. That's why for the last few days . . . since they'd left the country . . . all communication had been routed through Dave's daily updates with Hotch. Though everyone was worried about her . . . that was the first thing covered at the morning briefings . . . they all knew how private Emily was about discussing her feelings, and they didn't want to bother her if she wasn't up to talking. But at the same time they didn't want her to think that they were avoiding her either.

It was a balancing act.

"Oh, yeah," Hotch nodded, "I think that would be nice. Tell JJ absolutely she should call. I think Emily would like to hear from her."

As close as he and Emily had become . . . nearly inseparable . . . Hotch still felt that it was important right now for her to have regular contact with her female friends especially. Not only did she simply need all the support that she could get, but, as a woman, JJ might have a different perspective on the things going on right now than he did.

And also there might be some matters that Emily would feel more comfortable discussing with her than him. God knows what . . . it didn't really feel like they had much in the way of barriers at the moment . . . but it was possible.

Especially after what had happened at Site 2.

"Hotch, you there?"

Realizing that he'd just spaced out for a moment . . . it really had been a horribly draining day . . . Hotch's attention snapped back to the voice on the other end of the line.

"Sorry," he cleared his throat, "yeah, what were you saying?"

"The guys, Iain and Simon, I was just wondering how things were working out with them?"

Though he had anticipated Hotch's kneejerk reaction to them being hired would be annoyance . . . and he'd been correct . . . Dave stood by his assessment that Hotch needed the help. And if he and Morgan couldn't be there, then Dave felt that Simon and Iain would fill in well in the interim. For years they'd provided regular security for him when he did his book signings or . . . previous to his return to the Bureau . . . private consultations, through Africa and the Middle East. He trusted them with his life. They were the best.

And of course he would allow no less for his friends.

For a second Hotch debated with himself . . . should he lie and preserve his male pride . . . but then he decided that he wasn't in the mood for it. His male pride had already taken enough of a beating today. That tended to happen when a man like him was utterly useless in fixing the things that were broken for the woman in his life.

So instead he just sighed and went with the truth.

"I like them."

Hearing the whisper of defeat, Dave's eyes crinkled slightly.

"I knew you would," he responded with a faintly cocky air.

"Shut up."

Rossi chuckled for a second before sobering up.

"Seriously Hotch," he said softly, "I was just trying to help. They're really good guys and I thought they could help take a bit of the pressure off you. And maybe also I thought they'd be a bit of a distraction for Emily. You know, other people and all. I thought they could help fill her free hours so she wouldn't spend so much time in her own head."

Basically, he'd meant well.

"They have been," Hotch shook his head as he realized the last thing he was responding to, "I mean, they've been really good with Emily. I'm not sure if you're aware, but Simon's father died about six months ago and he and Emily were talking for awhile last night. And Iain, he's been great. Really Dave," Hotch bit his lip, "I do like them a lot . . . thank you."

The last two words were so soft that Dave almost missed them, and he debated for a moment whether to bust Hotch's chops further. But then he remembered what a horrible day his friend had had and he decided he didn't have it in him to tease.

Even if it was just to lighten his mood a bit.

"Forget it," he said dismissively, "now why don't you go get some coffee or something. You sound exhausted and I believe it's about seven or eight hours too early for you to go to bed."

It was on the tip of his tongue to suggest Hotch take a nap . . . but the sun would probably burn out before such a thing would happen.

"Yeah," Hotch rubbed his hand across his mouth, "coffee does sound like a good idea."

As his eyes drifted to the clock on the wall, he realized it was just after three . . . right around the time that Emily had started collecting him for coffee breaks. She'd knock on his door be it open or closed, then tip her head around the corner with a little smile as she told him it was time for him to take a break.

At least she had before.

Feeling a sudden tightness in his chest for that life that had been lost . . . the one where Emily was happy and smiled just because . . . Hotch squeezed the phone in his hand.

"Listen," his voice was suddenly husky, "I'll talk to you tomorrow Dave. Bye."

And he hung up, hoping that hadn't been excessively rude, but knowing that there was nothing to be done about it even if it had been. Then he jumped up and hurried over to the bathroom to rap twice on the door.

"Emily," he called with a faint urgency as he pressed his ear to the door, "are you all right in there?"

He suddenly had to see Emily so badly that he was ready to take the door down if she didn't answer immediately.

But fortunately a second later he heard her respond in a soft voice.

"You can come in. It's open."

And Hotch slowly let loose his breath as he turned the knob and pushed the door back.

The aroma of rose petals filled the air and he immediately took a deep breath . . . it washed the lingering scent of death from his nostrils.

But then as he looked across the room, he saw Emily sitting on the edge of the tub wrapped in a fluffy white towel. His heart twisted.

Her hair . . . her body . . . they were completely dry.

She'd apparently just been sitting there the whole time.

With a faint sigh Hotch stepped inside the slightly steamy room, immediately pushing the door shut again to keep in the heat. Then he walked over and dipped his fingers into the sudsy water.

It was only lukewarm.

After he'd turned on the hot tap again, Hotch moved over and knelt down on the oversized rug lying in front of the equally oversized bathtub.

Emily's toes were brushing the soft green fibers.

Though their romantic relationship was still new, Hotch felt no reticence at all in reaching out to slide his hands up and along her ankles and calves. They'd known each other for years. And being immersed together in the depths of Emily's grief and horror had brought an intense intimacy to their relationship that often isn't found after months, or even years, of physical coupling.

Baring your skin was nothing after baring your soul.

Though as Hotch's gaze slowly worked its way up Emily's body . . . the towel wasn't covering much and he was cataloguing her curves for future days . . . the feeling of soft stubble beneath his fingers brought an unexpected sting to his eyes.

It was a touch memory. He was remembering those years of being happily entrenched in the land of Couplehood. A world where all the falsities of the courtship had fallen away and you were left with something real.

Stubbly legs were real.

This now . . . his eyes locked with the faintly red rimmed ones before him . . . it was already something real.

"Sweetheart," his voice was a whisper as he gently squeezed her calves, "why didn't you get in the tub?"

"Um," Emily cleared her throat as her fingers fisted in the lap of her short towel, "first it was too hot so I put on the towel and sat down to wait, and then I guess," she cleared her throat again, "I guess my mind started to wander and I just forgot."

Hard to believe somebody sitting naked next to a tub full of hot water could forget the reason that she had entered the room. And yet . . . she huffed in faint disgust at her behavior . . . here she was.

Sitting here like an idiot.

Then her gaze shifted slightly to watch the hot water streaming out of the faucet.

"I guess it got cold again."

Though Emily's statement was rhetorical, Hotch responded anyway.

"It did, but," he dipped his fingers into the bubbly water again to test the temperature, "it's warming up now. And I do think the bath would do you some good."

With his dry hand he reached up to cup her jaw.

"Maybe it would help you relax a little," he said softly with a knowing look.

Site 2 had been even worse than Site 1. There had been a body . . . a male body . . . that Emily had reacted to quite vehemently. Though she had no proof that it was her father . . . there was little in the way of identifying features beyond a fairly distinct jaw line . . . she had started to become hysterical, immediately convincing herself that it was him.

It had taken Hotch ten minutes out in the parking lot to calm her down. Quietly pleading to reserve her judgment until the DNA tests had been completed, reminding her how devastated she would be if she thought she found him and then found out in a few days that it was a completely different man.

It would be yet another loss for her to process.

Finally she'd nodded and sniffled and said okay, that he was right. But he'd hated the look in her eyes. It was like he'd taken something from her.

Hope.

And though she hadn't actually seemed upset with him personally . . . it was the situation . . . it had been a particularly horrible moment for him. Though he was trying to make things easier for her in the long term . . . he was making things worse in the short term. He'd taken her hope . . . who does that? At that point he felt his so called "assistance," was just pointless.

Pointless and pathetic.

And he was hoping that maybe the bath and some time to relax away from that world would help set Emily's mind to a slightly better place. Now he'd just found out she'd been sitting here (completely alone) for nearly an hour. So lost in her grief that she'd forgotten even to get into the bathtub.

Again . . . pointless and pathetic.

For a moment Emily leaned into Hotch's touch, and in that moment as she stared into his warm, dark eyes, she wanted to ask him to stay with her.

To join her in the bath.

But they'd already decided that for this to work, that any physical consummation of their relationship would have to wait until they were home again. And it would obviously be awkward if she asked him to get naked and join her in a pool of hot, soapy water . . . but he had to keep his hands (and everything else) to himself.

Stupid.

Still though . . . she turned her head slightly to press a kiss to his palm . . . she didn't want him to leave.

"Would you stay with me?" She asked with a slight hesitation, "maybe we could talk about something . . . you know something else."

'_Something not tragic,_' she thought with a bit of irony.

"Of course sweetheart," Hotch leaned up to wrap his arms around her waist and rest his head on her lap, "whatever you want."

His last words were a murmur against the cotton. He was honored that she would allow him to see her that exposed and vulnerable. Not just emotionally now . . . but physically as well. And thank God he really was ready to move on from Haley . . . he felt Emily's fingers begin to gently run through his hair . . . because three months ago he probably would have still been too much of a mess to be able of making the emotional connection with her that he was now. And that was the connection that she needed.

They both did.

He'd been lost without his family, but now with Emily, though for obvious reasons their emotional reliance on one another at the moment was somewhat off kilter . . . he felt a grounding again. And as she cuddled him in her lap and stroked her fingers through his hair, he started to feel less useless . . . less pathetic.

More there.

And he just wanted to stay there. But the water was going to get cold.

Again.

So he reluctantly lifted his head, leaning back slightly to give her a little smile.

"The water's getting cold."

Emily's eyes crinkled slightly as her fingers came down to trace along his cheekbones.

"Right."

She pressed a kiss to his forehead, and then he sat back on his knees as she pushed herself up. As he rose to his feet as well, he dropped his gaze to the floor as the towel fell away from her body. He saw a bit of smooth skin out the corner of his eye . . . but not everything.

It would be nice to leave a few surprises for later.

As Hotch leaned down to pick up the white cotton, Emily stepped into the tub, the water spilling over slightly as she settled back against the warm tile. Then she closed her eyes as she listened to the scraping of the chair Hotch pulled over from the sitting area. A second later she blindly reached out her hand and he took her fingers.

"So what do you want to talk about?" Hotch asked as he squeezed her wet hand.

"Home," she sighed, "let's talk about home. I'd like to plan a day later in the summer, a nice day, just for the two of us to be together when we get back."

Emily's turned her head slightly, the water sloshing a bit as she shifted and opened her eyes, "what do you think?"

She wanted to plan their first real date . . . it would be something to look forward to when the rest of it got too hard and seemed too sad.

Hotch stared for a moment trying to think of where to take her. And then a memory from a few weeks earlier came to him, and a soft smile crossed his lips.

"How do you feel about feeding the ducks?"

* * *

_A/N 2: Obviously if you've read Girl proper, that would be a mirroring of a chapter that happens later in the main story. And though Jack was with them then (and may still be by the time this one comes around – different follow up story though if that happens) I can picture Hotch, probably an old hand at duck feeding with his young son, considering that a nice relaxing day in the park. A different world than their time together now. And I lived near a park when I was in college, and though it was the city, it had a stream running through it and I used to love to feed the ducks in the spring. All the little fluffy babies would be floating by behind their mothers, just quacking away. They were SO adorable! That would be a nice date :)_

_So overall just a softer, settling chapter that I thought was necessary to kind of regroup. As grief stricken as Emily is (as anyone would be) it can't be every chapter her sobbing at some point and him being Big Strong Man. That would be monotonous to write (and read) and she's going to start finding a way to assert her coping skills to at least allow her to see beyond just the death that's brought them there, but also this relationship that she wants to be able to cultivate at the same time. It's her little silver lining. _

_And for Hotch, as is obvious from canon, being the strong one all the time takes a toll from him. Here just Emily pulling him to her rather than the reverse . . . though she gets the same comfort . . . for him that's a lessening of the burden he's carrying. Basically this was all "relationship building" which is overall what this story is . . . what all the Girl stories are . . . the very different ways that they build the "soul mate bond" :)_

_If it helps to keep their backdrop in mind, not only does their bond at this point encompass all the Girl chapters I'd listed for the beginning, but also the Pod People stories (they happened just before Colorado) and the Christmas story, Making Spirits Bright. So you can see, their relationship is, well, bigger on the inside ;)_

_Next time around, I think we'll spend a little more time with Simon and Iain. And now that I've written their little back story connection with Dave, I kind of want to go back and spend a day with them all together in Rossi's past. Because, (let's all say it together), I couldn't love Dave more if he came with a free beer :) _

_Again, as always, thanks for the feedback if you haven't heard from me yet personally on that point. As I was saying (bitching) in my posting last night, the response links are still messed up._

_I might have one more posting tonight, which would thrill me to no end. I can't recall the last time I got three chapters up in one weekend. I should start putting it on the calendar!_


	17. The Disquiet That Follows Your Soul

**Author's Note**:

**The Skip It If You Know It, Twitter Announcement: **

_**Set up new account for writing: ffsienna27**__._ This is going on all postings for a bit because I have some variation of readers on different stories. And this is a copy/paste thing now because I don't want to use up all those fancy creative juices in the A/N.

So yes, I wanted to have another way to reach people beyond the 'known to crash and delay notifications for no reason,' FF messaging system. The twitter is mostly story update announcements, probably a bit of the randomness that is my brain. And if you're this far along in any of my stories, you should be familiar with the randomness by now :)

**Story Bit**: Back to this, picking up a few hours after the bath.

* * *

**The Disquiet That Follows Your Soul**

Emily awoke from her nap with a jerk, the images from her nightmare vanishing the moment her eyes popped open.

Still though, even with no concrete images to anchor them from, for that first moment the dark cloud in her mind lingered. And with her heart already pounding and her pulse already racing, Emily didn't need the fresh jolt of panic that hit when she tried to remember where she was.

Though that disorientation had become an occupational hazard of her work . . . she could sleep in four or five different motels a month . . . the mental click always took a moment longer when it was compounded by the drunken stumble out of a nightmare. But as her wide eyes tracked across the room and she saw the plush drapes and expensive artwork on the walls, everything instantly tumbled back into place again.

Cairo.

Plane crash.

Orphan.

Though the ache in her chest was no longer new, Emily's eyes immediately began to sting once again at this knowledge. It wasn't the grief . . . not really. It was her wondering just how many more days would have to pass before her brain truly accepted this new normal. How many days would she wake up and have to _consciously _remind herself that her parents were dead? How many times would it have to slam into her brain before her subconscious finally screamed, _'okay, I get it, you can stop now!' _

Because this was day three . . . and this was just a nap . . . and she'd already had quite enough.

But knowing this was a point she had no control over . . . it was just fruitless speculation . . . Emily tried to move on, taking a deep breath as her pulse and nerves slowly began to calm. Her eyes were fixed on the fading sunlight creeping its way along the thick beige carpeting. Based on the angle of the shadows she knew it must be close to dinnertime.

To her surprise . . . she slowly exhaled . . . she was actually a little hungry. Though maybe it wasn't such a surprise . . . another slow inhale . . . she hadn't eaten a proper meal in hours.

Actually since breakfast.

Granted, after her bath Hotch had managed to get an apple into her but that was about it. And then once she'd eaten that, he'd set about convincing her that with nothing else really to do that afternoon, that maybe she should try to take a little nap and recoup her energy. He was right of course . . . grief was an exhaustive entity unlike any other . . . but for good reason she was still uneasy about her dreams. The nightmares were . . . as just evidenced . . . recurrent, and she knew that they were going to linger for awhile yet. Her hope was that they'd begin to fade as time passed.

Most things did.

But for now . . . until the fading began . . . she knew that she didn't want to even attempt to sleep alone.

Specifically she wanted Hotch to sleep with her.

That was mostly psychological of course. Hotch's presence didn't necessarily help keep the worst of the demons at bay. But it was better than nothing. Actually . . . she felt a little pinch of regret . . . that wasn't a truthful statement. It wasn't true and it was actually a bit unkind. His presence was more than nothing.

It was something.

And that's what she needed more than anything right now . . . just _something _to hold onto. Someone. And fortunately it had taken no more than her simply making the request, to convince Hotch to lie down with her. And though he'd said at the time . . . a few hours ago based on the turn of the clock . . . that he was just going to, "keep her company," as Emily felt the warm body spooned around her, and the soft breath in her ear, she knew that Hotch too had fallen asleep.

Good . . . her fingers lightly squeezed the ones resting on her stomach . . . he needed the rest. He was doing so much for her during this time when she was capable of doing so little for herself. But she wasn't blind to the toll her grief was taking on him. And she worried that he was going to get sick just from the pure exhaustion of it all. Though Hotch might . . . to the world at large . . . seem to be superhuman in his abilities and control, Emily knew better than most that he was all too mortal.

All too breakable.

And if in these dark days, the one way that she had to take care of him right now was to simply get him take catnaps with her, then she'd go with it.

At least she'd feel like she was doing a little something for him.

So for a few minutes longer . . . perhaps five, maybe ten . . . she stayed perfectly still, trying not to wake him as she lay there considering the day she'd had so far.

And the days that would be coming ahead.

The DNA results should be back soon. That was the big thing . . . the only thing really . . . that was going to possibly expedite this horrendous process. Thank God Hotch had remembered to bring her parents toothbrushes and hair brushes with them for the genetic analysis. When he told her last night that Rossi and Derek had picked them up, she'd felt a new wave of gratitude that before they'd left, he'd remembered to do something so basic . . . so _necessary_ . . . but yet it had completely slipped her own mind. If not for him she would have had to call back home to have the items shipped.

It would have delayed everything for days.

So that was one major thing working in their favor. But beyond that though, Emily had also been sitting next to Hotch in the SUV that morning . . . actually it was more 'slumped' than 'sitting,' they were post Site One . . . when he'd shamelessly called the lead agent on the crash investigation to get the Prentiss samples put at the head of the testing line. Though officially the call was simply a request of professional courtesy from one FBI agent to another, in actuality Emily heard Hotch whisper something about offering Garcia for a 'no paper trail, completely illegal, beneath the grid' assessment of whatever names the investigative team were digging up on the case. The other man had immediately taken him up on the offer.

Who wouldn't?

So now that they had that little extra push, Emily was just praying that they would make a DNA match soon. The worst thing would be if this went on for weeks. Days she thought she could somewhat compartmentalize . . . find a way to break them down into tasks and conquer them a few hours at a time . . . but weeks.

Weeks would break _her_ down.

That would be too many hours to fill. Too many hours focused on nothing _but_ her parents' deaths. There would be no option of trying to move on to the next stage of mourning. There would be no moving on.

She'd just be stuck.

And Christ . . . Emily's eyes fell shut as she snuggled back against Hotch's chest . . . if she had to stay stuck at this level of grief she'd go crazy. So in an effort to find a small level of peace, for a few minutes she just lay there, trying to focus on the feeling of Hotch's body wrapped around hers.

She felt safe and warm.

So after a few more minutes of concentrating on those feelings he engendered . . . that little kernel was still growing . . . rather than those brought about by her grief and pain, Emily could feel her brain was on the verge of falling back into that languid state just before sleep. And that's when she asked herself if she was ready to risk another nightmare.

No . . . Emily's eyes instantly popped open and she shivered a bit as her fingers dug into Hotch's arm . . . not quite yet. She'd lucked out on the last one, it had faded just as she woke.

It seemed unlikely that she'd get that break twice in a row.

But then . . . feeling Hotch start to stir from behind her . . . Emily felt a stab of guilt as she realized that in startling herself awake, she'd just inadvertently woken him as well. Damn.

So much for letting him nap.

Then she heard a husky whisper in her ear.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Emily tried to clear the sleep out of her voice so Hotch wouldn't mistake it for tears, "I'm okay." Then she rolled over in his arms, curling her body around his as she pressed her cheek against his chest.

"I'm sorry I woke you."

Hotch's hand absentmindedly ran down Emily's back as his eyes flicked over to the clock on the table.

At least two hours had passed . . . and Dave didn't think he could take a nap. Granted, he didn't usually, but his body still hadn't adjusted to all the sleep he'd lost over the last few days traveling.

"Don't apologize," Hotch said on a yawn he muffled with his free hand, "it was time to wake up anyway. So," he pressed a kiss to the top of Emily's head, "how long have you been awake?"

"Not long," she cuddled a little closer and sighed, "ten, fifteen minutes maybe. I was just thinking."

Hotch's hand stilled for a moment before he asked cautiously.

"Thinking about anything you want to talk about?"

Hopefully it wasn't about a new nightmare.

"Not really," Emily shook her head slightly, her cheek brushing his polo shirt, "I mean it wasn't anything big, really more just logistics. How long will we be here? How long," she blinked away the moisture starting to pool, "will it be before the DNA matches are done. Those kinds of things."

Hotch squeezed her lightly.

"And how are you dealing with those kinds of things?" He whispered.

Those weren't little things . . . those were big things. The longer they stayed, the harder this would be for her. Best case, he was hoping to be home within two weeks.

Right now even he couldn't think beyond that.

"I'm dealing better with you than I would be without you," Emily responded softly. And for a moment they were both quiet, and then Hotch tipped his head down to press a kiss to her temple.

"I've found over the last few months," he whispered, "that I do better with you too."

It was true. Slowly, over this last year, month by month and then week by week he'd been gravitating towards her more and more. And now that they were together this way, he could see that the reason for that gravitation was simple . . . being with Emily made him happy.

And with his marriage falling apart, and the life he lived at work, that bit of happiness he found with Emily had become a coping mechanism of sorts.

He couldn't imagine his life now without her in it.

Hearing Hotch's somewhat surprising answer, Emily tipped her head back to look up at him.

"Really?" she whispered with a faint wrinkle to her brow, "is that true?"

That was her hope . . . that he needed her as much as she needed him. Still though, she hadn't expected him to share that with her so soon.

Relationship Hotch was obviously much more open with his feelings than even the softer version of him Emily had discovered through their growing friendship these past few months.

This was even more food for the kernel.

"It is absolutely the absolute truth," Hotch murmured right before pressing a soft kiss to her lips. And as he pulled away it pleased him to see the faint smile . . . the evidence of a bit of happiness . . . visible on Emily's face right before she tucked herself under his chin again. And though he knew that they should get up and find dinner, instead he pulled Emily more tightly into his arms.

He liked holding her.

And in that moment at that hotel in Cairo, Hotch suddenly flashed back to holding Emily a half a world away back in her bedroom in Arlington. And then to waking up with her in his arms in that run down little motel in Ohio, and then still to that second rate bed & breakfast out in Amish country. The day after she'd been so sick . . . he pressed a kiss to her temple . . . and he'd been so mean to her. But now . . . just like all of those other times she'd been curled up in his arms, either purposely or through the mishaps that came about in their sleep . . . a truth was whispered to him.

Their bodies fit together perfectly.

That truth was one that he'd previously pushed aside. And before the events of this awful week, it hadn't even been something that he'd been willing to acknowledge to himself. But now it was just one more blinking light on this new path.

One more indicator that even if the circumstances at present were all wrong, this relationship was still right.

After a few more minutes had passed with them just cuddled together, Hotch heard Emily's stomach growl. His eyes crinkled slightly as he huffed faintly into her hair.

"I think it's time find some dinner."

They were long overdue for a sit down meal.

"Yeah," Emily pushed herself back and up slightly to give Hotch a sheepish look, "sorry. I'd kind of rather stay here but," she rubbed her stomach as it growled again, "I am really hungry."

Those first pangs she'd had when she'd awoken were getting worse. Though, this was the first thing actually that felt normal in days . . . just being hungry again. When they were traveling, the trauma had been so new that her body felt . . . in some ways . . . like it was shutting down. It was so bad that Hotch had to actually put food . . . a piece of fruit or a granola bar . . . directly into her hand just to remind her to eat. So maybe the fact that she was hungry again was a good thing.

Maybe she was coping a little better now.

"No apologies sweetheart," Hotch brushed Emily's hair off her cheek, "that's good that you're hungry. You need to keep your strength up, and," he pushed himself up against the headboard and rolled his neck, "if you're appetite's back then now you'll hopefully be able to ingest a bit more than the bare minimum to keep your body going." Seeing her nod slowly in agreement, and not wanting to lose the momentum . . . Emily was finally distracted with something utterly mundane . . . Hotch gently nudged her off the bed.

"So," he pulled her up as he stood, "you go brush our teeth and do whatever while I call Iain and Simon to see if they want to meet us downstairs."

When they arrived back at the hotel, getting together for dinner with the other two was only a tentative plan. At that point . . . given Emily's day so far . . . Hotch had expected more than likely they'd just order something up to the room. But . . . he took her hand and they started towards the joined suite area . . . now seemed a good time to try for a little normal social interaction. If it didn't go well . . . he pressed a quick kiss to her cheek as they stopped in front of the bathroom . . . they were only an elevator ride away from the room.

Emily squeezed Hotch's fingers once before she let him go. Then she turned to step through the open doorway, rubbing her stomach as she went. The pangs were getting worse. It was like her body was remembering what it was like to be hungry.

It must have been the apple.

Sometimes just a little bit of food was worse for hunger pangs than eating nothing at all. Her appetite had been kick started but there was hardly anything in there for it to eat.

Trying to push her hunger aside to focus on the next thing . . . leaving the room . . . Emily blinked as she stared at herself in the mirror for a moment. She still looked like crap. But of course it was unlikely that a ninety minute nap was going to wipe away the effects of three days of crying and near sleepless exhaustion.

It wasn't a magical nap.

And though she didn't at present much give a crap about her appearance one or another, she also didn't want anybody staring at her in the hotel restaurant. And with the paleness of her skin and the dark circles under her eyes, Emily knew that she'd probably get a few looks. People would wonder if she was sick. And if she was, how far away from her should they be sitting. And not wishing to put up with any of that crap, she sighed as she reached over to pick up the makeup bag that Hotch had packed for her.

After she'd put on a touch of concealer under her eyes and a hint of rouge on her cheeks she looked less sickly, and more just tired. So with that taken care of . . . the superficial . . . she moved on to brushing her teeth. Just as she spit into the sink, Hotch stepped through the door.

"They'll be here in five minutes."

Then he slipped past her, his hand gliding over her back as he moved around to pick up his shaving kit from the vanity. Emily paused for a moment with her toothbrush in her hand, watching as Hotch pulled out his own toothbrush and toothpaste. Her eyes started to sting.

That morning they'd gotten ready separately so it was the first time that they had done this. Brushed their teeth together that is. And she was just now realizing how very domestic a task it was to be doing together.

Her parents had done this together for forty-one years.

Feeling Emily's eyes on him, Hotch turned with brush and paste in hand to look down at her.

"What?"

But she quickly shook her head, blinking away the tears he could see pooling.

"Nothing, just" she reached down to pick up the little glass tumbler, clearing her throat as she did, "just, my mind wandering. I'm fine."

Then she shot him a faint smile that came nowhere near reaching her watery eyes. And though he wanted to ask her exactly where her mind had wandered to, he could see that she didn't want to talk about it. Most likely . . . he reached over and squeezed her shoulder . . . it would just get her upset again.

So he let it go.

His hand dropping as his gaze shifted from her, back to the task at hand.

Brushing his teeth.

And he was just about done . . . watching Emily in the mirror as she smoothed out her slightly mussed hair . . . when suddenly he heard a noise.

A very loud one.

They both froze, Emily's gaze snapping up to meet his in the reflection.

"What was that?"

He could hear the concern in her tone. And he was pretty fucking concerned himself. Because . . . he rushed passed Emily and out into the living room . . . it had sounded like an explosion.

And that . . . his jaw began to grind as more sounds began to float up from the street . . . sounded like small arms fire and screaming.

Fuck.

Carefully, Hotch sidled up to the side of the large windowpane next to the balcony. The balcony would of course offer a better view, but he wasn't going outside until he knew exactly what was going on out there.

That would be idiotic.

Just as Hotch went to pull the drapery back, he realized that he was still holding his toothbrush. With no place to lay it down, he just shoved it into the back pocket of his jeans.

"Is it bad?"

Hearing the tension still evident in Emily's voice, Hotch automatically reached out for her hand.

He came back with his Glock.

His eyes shot over to hers in surprise.

"I went to get the guns off the nightstand," Emily jerked her chin towards the window as she tucked her holster into the waistband of her jeans, "now what did you see?"

Whatever it was . . . Emily's jaw clenched as Hotch put on his own weapon . . . she knew that she didn't need it today.

"I was just pulling back the curtain," Hotch said as he reached for her, "come on," he winced slightly as he heard even more screaming coming through the closed window, "we'll look together."

He was pretty sure that he already knew what he was going to see . . . he just didn't know how bad it would be. And he absolutely HATED that Emily had to be going through this today of all days.

The woman could not catch a break.

Emily allowed Hotch to pull her against his side, his arm slipping around her waist as his hand ended up resting on her gun hip. Then he pulled back the heavy panel of fabric so they could see out without making blatant targets of themselves within the luxury hotel.

They both sucked in a breath.

"Jesus Christ."

Though she wasn't sure if Hotch's utterance was a curse or a prayer, either way Emily echoed his thoughts as she stared down in horror at the carnage in the streets.

A car bomb had exploded. There was shrapnel blown halfway down the block in either direction. There were bodies everywhere.

Limbs everywhere.

And just as earlier in the day when one of her father's favorite quotations had drifted into Emily's mind, it happened again then.

But this time it was one of her mother's.

Dorothy Parker . . . Emily's eyes began to burn as she saw the burned and bloody bodies strewn about the street . . . it summed up the situation perfectly.

What fresh hell is this?

* * *

_A/N 2: So I was a little on the fence about including the terrorism bombing angle here. The reason for the plane crash was still fuzzy and I could have left it as such to the end. Because I know my readers are global and I'm not in the habit of purposely perpetuating a certain image of a certain section of the world because well, it's quite frankly incredibly ignorant to paint a broad section of any type of population with the same brush. But let's face it, terrorist attacks in the Middle East are not perpetuation of a myth, it's a perpetuation of reality. Just ask the 30 plus people just murdered in the Pakistan bombings. And I know the Middle East is not the only part of the world where these things happen, these dicks are all over the planet, (Mladic's recent arrest is a pointed reminder of that), but this story takes place in Egypt. So, there you go. _

_Moving beyond that RL intersection and back to the story, since I decided to put them on the plane, this was always the intent, to 'up the ante' a bit. Seeing the story in my mind without an overt external danger, it seemed like it would become flat and repetitive. But here, a little twist will add a new layer to what's happening. And again, it's a realistic layer. I've got the next chapter clear in my head so I will try to get that up before the end of the month._

_Thanks as always for feedback here. I think I still owe some people notes from the last posting. Apologies for that._

_FYI: Posting on Second Chances within the hour. Just need to read it over last one last time :)_


	18. The Decisions We Make

**Author's Note:** I'm trying to keep all the balls juggling, so rolling back here again.

Picks up directly from the last scene . . . which you might have to go back and reread again :) But they're at the window.

**Other Accounts:**

_**Twitter: ffsienna27**__ – For story announcements, etc. If the alerts, (or the site), are down, this is a backup to find out what's going on for postings. There's also some random randomness that is my brain._

_**Tumblr: sienna27**__ – More randomness._

* * *

**Prompt Set #31 (June 2011)**

TV Show: Judging Amy

Title Challenge: The Burden of Perspective

* * *

**The Decisions We Make**

Emily swallowed down the lump forming in her throat. Her eyes began to burn. There were bodies . . . body _parts_ . . . all over the street below them.

It was a scene from Hell.

But even worse than that, worse than the dead . . . a tear spilled down her cheek . . . were the others. The ones still moving. The ones still screaming.

The ones on fire.

And though she tried desperately to block out the connections that her brain was racing to make, she knew . . . this is what had happened on the plane.

This is what had happened to her parents.

Blown up, blown to pieces and then set on fire.

The images in Emily's mind began to morph with the images in the street, and suddenly her hand flew up to clamp in a vice over her mouth.

OH GOD!

Hearing a sickening gag from his side, Hotch's attention snapped away from the horrific aftermath of the attack down in the street, to an ashen Emily on his left.

She was about to throw up.

SHIT!

"Okay, okay," he quickly tightened his hold around her waist as he hurriedly moved them away from the window, "come on sweetheart."

Though Hotch's tone was generally . . . by default . . . fairly calm and controlled, in this instance he could hear that wasn't really coming through. But given the stress of the moment . . . he continued half dragging, half carrying Emily back to the bathroom . . . he wasn't feeling particularly calm and controlled.

He was feeling pretty FUCKING agitated!

Okay Aaron . . . he angrily reminded himself . . . keep it together. You can't have a frigging meltdown too!

Fortunately for Emily's stomach . . . and Hotch's self-control . . . they only had to travel across the suite. It was a large suite, but still, it was only a distance of perhaps eleven paces. So his not so soothing nonsense came to an abrupt end as Emily saw the door and bolted out of his grasp.

Hotch was two steps behind, coming through the doorway just in time to watch her gun fall from her hand and clatter to the tile. And then she began retching into the toilet.

Christ.

The word was a much a prayer as a curse. It was that kind of day. And as Hotch hurried over to pull Emily's hair back, he was simultaneously jamming his own weapon back into his holster.

Though many people were put off by the act of seeing somebody else get sick, he felt no such visceral hesitation as he reached down to help her. Given what he did for a living, the things he'd seen, such a biologically _human _act as throwing up, no longer affected him at all.

It was nothing.

But Emily's sobbing wasn't.

It was something. Something terrible. Those gasping, teary breaths for air as her body shook against his, was a sound like nails on a chalkboard. He knew intellectually that the crying was another . . . simple . . . biological imperative. Her body was reacting to the emotional and physical traumas she'd suffered that week. It was piling them on, coupling them up, with the terrible events that she'd just witnessed down in the street.

It was normal.

He knew these things . . . but still . . . the sound was killing him. He again was overcome by feelings of helplessness.

Of uselessness.

And again, he wanted to think of some way to make this better for her. But . . . as he was slowly coming to accept . . . again, there was nothing to be done. All he could do was just be there for her.

And that . . . he took a breath and closed his eyes . . . was that.

Fortunately . . . for both of them . . . Emily had very little food in her stomach, so there was little to be expelled. So once that apple was gone, she fell back against him. She was scrubbing her hand over her face as she tried to both stop crying, and to catch her breath. He just held her tight.

"Better?" He whispered in her ear.

Slowly . . . with a sniffle . . . she nodded. And then she squeezed his hand where it was resting on her hip.

"Yes," she gasped, "I'm sorry, I just . . . I . . . I'm so sorry."

God, what was WRONG with her? Losing it like that was COMPLETELY unacceptable!

The one thing that Emily was grateful for . . . the only thing TO be grateful for . . . was that she'd lost it up in the relative safety of the hotel room. But what if they hadn't been? What if they'd been down in the middle of that kill zone when she'd suddenly flashed on the moment of her parents' deaths? And then what if she'd had a total breakdown then? Hotch would have been too preoccupied with her well-being to take care of himself, that's what.

And without a doubt . . . she would have gotten him killed.

That realization . . . that very likely outcome . . . was enough for Emily to push him away from her. She needed the space. And of course he tried to pull her closer. But his murmurs that it was okay, that there was nothing to be sorry about, were simply bringing fresh tears to her eyes. He was too sweet to her. Too good to her. And she didn't deserve it.

Not if she couldn't find a way to start functioning in the world again.

Functioning without him.

And as Emily climbed to her feet . . . trying to keep a small distance between them . . . she could see Hotch reaching out for her again as he too stood up. After he'd been so incredible to her this week, the last thing that she wanted to do was hurt his feelings. And this was clearly not the moment to have a ridiculous discussion about "feelings" in general, so she felt a momentary panic clawing up as she again tried to move away from him.

'_Please don't touch me,' _Emily prayed as she turned away.

And for the first time in days . . . unbelievably . . . somebody up there seemed to be listening to her prayers. Because just as Hotch's fingers closed around her forearm, there came a pounding on the hotel room door.

And then a split second later.

"HOTCH! EMILY! OPEN UP!"

Emily's eyes widened as they snapped up to lock onto Hotch's.

"Iain?"

It sounded like him.

Hotch apparently agreed. Though he didn't answer her directly, she saw his brow darken as his hand fell away from her arm. It landed back on the butt of his pistol.

"Stay here," he commanded while rushing past her and out of the bathroom.

When he disappeared into the common area, Emily suddenly remembered that she'd dropped her own weapon a moment ago. So she spun around, her eyes scanning frantically to see where it had gone.

There . . . she took two steps and reached down . . . it had slid half under the other vanity.

After she'd snatched her pistol off the floor, Emily checked the safety again and then jammed it back into her holster.

All the while that was happening . . . those few seconds . . . she'd heard Hotch yelling for the person at the door to "hold on." And then as she turned back to the sink, he called out to her directly.

This time confirming that it was indeed Iain and Simon.

And then hearing the door open and close . . . and the men begin talking in frantic whispers . . . Emily grabbed the travel bottle of Scope off the counter. And as she quickly rinsed out her mouth she felt a pang of sympathy for the men that had come to their door.

The poor bastards. A random terrorist attack in the middle of a security assignment was probably worst case scenario for them.

It would be for her.

And knowing that the shit had most definitely hit the fan . . . and that they would need to be part of the cleanup crew . . . Emily turned on the faucet to splash cold water on her face. It was time to get it in gear. It was time to stop being Emily. Emily was too fucked up to function right now.

She needed to be Prentiss.

Prentiss didn't take shit from anyone. And she sure as hell didn't burst into tears in the middle of a crisis.

That was unacceptable. THAT would not happen again.

So after she'd taken a few breaths to find her center . . . to find Agent Prentiss . . . Emily looked up into the mirror. Her face looked too thin and her skin looked too pale . . . but there was a hardness there too. It pleased her.

It was a bit of her old self coming back up through the scar tissue.

And that's when she made herself a vow, a vow that she wouldn't lose control like that again. Not on this trip.

She couldn't.

If not for her own safety . . . her jaw clenched . . . then she had to keep it together because of the others. Under no circumstances would she have _anyone_ . . . Hotch especially . . . getting himself hurt or killed trying to look after her.

She could look after herself.

Yes . . . she began angrily tying her hair up into a ponytail . . . she needed Hotch's emotional support right now. But that was it. And that was during their private time. But otherwise, she needed get to her shit together. She wasn't a God damn invalid.

So it was time to stop acting like one.

With that new . . . hardened . . . mindset, Emily smoothed her hair back behind her ears, straightened her shirt, and then turned towards the bathroom door.

As she stepped out into the common area, all three heads swiveled to look at her and away from the stack of weapons she could see now sitting on their coffee table.

Hotch had broken open Morgan's oversized duffel bag.

It was obvious that the three men had been assessing their options on fire power, and now it was obvious that they were assessing her mental state.

It was pissing her off.

Still though . . . she started walking across the room . . . she knew that they meant well. But she just wasn't in the mood for it.

She was in the mood to kick some ass.

"What's happening outside?"

Her voice was slightly hoarse. But it wasn't an emotional response, just the evidence of her getting sick minutes earlier.

Hotch stared at Emily for a moment before her brow went up and her expression hardened even further. He knew that look . . . it was one of his . . . so he quickly dropped his gaze away from her face.

Apparently this was not a moment where he was allowed to show any concern for her well being.

Okay. Fair enough.

So his attention . . . and his gaze . . . snapped back to the bag of supplies in front of them.

"It's bad," he started explaining as he picked up one of the blue vests from the duffel Morgan had packed for them, "you need to put this on, Simon talked to a friend of his in security. There are men in the hotel."

As Emily's eyes widened in alarm, she stepped up in front of Hotch.

"How many?" She asked as he held the Kevlar out for her to slide her arms in.

"Unknown."

His response was clipped, and when Emily turned her head to tighten the straps on her vest, Hotch's eyes followed her fingers. Then he added quietly.

"We're going to hole up in here for now."

Just saying the words left a bitter taste in his mouth. They were wrong. He didn't want to stay holed up in here. He didn't want to stay holed up anywhere. He _wanted_ to jam a half dozen clips into his pocket, pick up one of the two assault rifles that they'd packed, and go charging off into hell.

He'd done it before.

But not today . . . he reminded himself as turned to pick up his own vest . . . not with Emily in the condition that she was in right now.

She wasn't up for it.

"What?" Emily sputtered as her head snapped up. Her expression instantly morphing from cautious agitation to full blown pissed off in ten seconds flat.

"No! Absolutely not."

Without even looking up, Hotch shook his head, "Emily . . ."

That was all he got out before she cut him off.

"NO, Hotch. That's not happening. We," she started, but then her brain processed the free will concept and she hurriedly corrected, "_I_ am not going to stay up in this room and build a little fortress while there are people are getting _slaughtered_ downstairs."

Was he fucking NUTS!

"Damn it Emily . . ."

Aside from the swearing, the second time there was a clear bite to Hotch's tone as he tried to cut in. It was obvious . . . he was losing his patience. Then he looked up, and their eyes locked in a contest of wills.

Whose was stronger?

On this one point . . . they were evenly matched.

Even then though . . . even in his clear anger . . . Emily could see the concern on his face. It was shifting across his stony features . . . he was trying to do what he thought was best for her. He was trying to protect her. But she was having none of it.

Not today.

Not now.

"No!" She snapped as she angrily pushed her finger into his chest, "don't you even _think_ about saying it! People aren't going to be _murdered_," she shoved him aside to start digging into their bag of weapons, "because I'm in the midst of a 'personal crises'!"

Her last words were spoken with bitterness as she started shoving clips into her pockets.

"Now you three can come with me," she continued as she turned, her eyes again locking with Hotch's now furious ones, "or not. But _I'm_ not staying here. Those people need help."

Of course she knew that if they wanted to stop her . . . they could. She was strong, but . . . her gaze coolly shifted around the three armed men glaring at her . . . they were stronger. And again . . . she looked down to check the safety on one of the Glocks . . . there were _three_ of them.

But she wasn't going down without a fight.

Again, she'd had enough of this shit. She wasn't a victim. Okay . . . she felt a stab of pain in her chest . . . fine, she was. She was the victim of a terrible tragedy. And that was a label she was going to have to wear for the duration.

But that wasn't all she was.

She was also an F.B.I. Agent. A person with a sworn duty to uphold the law and to take care of people that couldn't take care of themselves. Just because they were no longer on American soil, that didn't change her basic core values. This is what she did. This is who she was.

And it was time to get on with it.

Hotch's fingernails dug into his palm as he watched Emily shove the revolver into the waistband of her jeans. That was joining the pistol already on her hip and the assault rifle that she was now picking up out of the bag.

She was so God damn STUBBORN! Sometimes he just wanted to toss her in a cell!

Trying to push down his outward mask to cover his emotions, Hotch's gaze shifted, snapping back and forth between the two men that Rossi had paid to the protect them. They were staring at Emily . . . and they looked pissed. And rightfully so.

He was pretty pissed himself.

And he wanted to yell at Emily, to tell her that this wasn't their business and that she was to take her guns and go hole up in the bedroom. That she wasn't leaving.

That it wasn't safe out there.

But this was a woman who hadn't had a "safe" day on the job since she'd signed up for the Behavioral Analysis Unit eighteen months earlier. She didn't lead a safe life. And though Hotch wanted to protect her . . . his stomach turned as he heard more screaming in the streets

He couldn't.

She was right. They didn't let innocents get slaughtered just because they were having personal problems. If that was the case, Hotch himself wouldn't have shown up for work once in the last two years. And it was obvious was from how Emily was carrying herself right now, she was not the emotionally fragile woman that he'd been taking care of the last few days. That woman was gone. For now anyway. And in her place . . . he felt a spot of warmth in his heart . . . was someone that he knew quite well.

SSA Prentiss.

And she was back with a vengeance.

Which was to be expected. Emily was so kind, so empathetic . . . so dedicated . . . that her protective instincts for others, had overridden her protective instincts for herself. And hence the return of the woman who slammed drunks through plaster walls, and serial killers through plate glass windows.

That woman could do anything.

And though it went against every instinct he had to protect her, to protect what was becoming his, Hotch knew that she needed to do this.

'_They, needed to do this,'_ he corrected.

So he took a breath. And then he slowly exhaled. And with that release of carbon dioxide, he let go of his anger at Emily . . . it had no place here. What she wanted to do was right, what he wanted to do was wrong. He was being selfish.

It was a simple as that.

With that, he reached back into the bag of weapons and began sifting through the cartridges.

If they _were _going to charge off into hell . . . and they were . . . they'd damn well better be armed for it.

Now he just had to tell the other two that they were leaving.

"Gentlemen," Hotch's tone was even, his gaze averted, as he began sliding cartridges into his pants pockets, "I understand your position here, and I'm sorry to make your lives more difficult. But," he looked up, "Emily's right. We need to go downstairs."

His eyes dropped back down as he picked up the other rifle, "but please don't feel _any _obligation to come with us," his jaw twitched as he heard another explosion out the window, "this is our job. This is what we do, but this is clearly _not_ the assignment that you were paid to carry out."

He wasn't about to make these men feel guilty . . . feel _anything_ . . . about the choice that they needed to now make for themselves. They weren't agents, hell they weren't even _soldiers_ . . . not anymore.

They were just mercenaries.

Admittedly kind ones. But still, for them this was just a paycheck. But for him and for Emily . . . she reached over and squeezed his hand . . . it was more than that. It was their way of life.

One that they couldn't turn their backs on now.

After a brief clench of Hotch's fingers . . . it was a thank you for supporting her, for trusting her . . . Emily shoved two more clips into her already full pockets, picked up her guns and started towards the door.

Too much time had been lost already. The noises from the floors below were starting to drift upwards.

It was gunfire.

Gunfire and screaming . . . the muscles in her shoulders tightened as she undid the deadbolt on the door . . . lots of screaming. There was no more time to waste. But she knew that Hotch would be right behind her. One thing . . . since the beginning . . . he'd always been right behind her.

He always had her back.

And the others . . . slowly she turned the door handle . . . well, that was their choice.

No judgment either way.

These weren't decisions you made for others, you just made them for yourself. What you could live with.

And what you couldn't.

So as Emily stepped into the hallway, her finger was sliding off the trigger of her M4 Carbine. It wasn't her regular weapon . . . generally only entry teams considered this a regular weapon . . . but it was one that she was well certified to use. And for today . . . her head swiveled back and forth as she checked the quiet corridor . . . this would be her best friend.

As she took a step towards the northwest staircase, she felt Hotch's hand fall to her shoulder. And then his warm breath touched her ear.

She stopped.

"If you ever pull that shit when we're at work, I'll have you suspended for insubordination. Do you understand me?"

She turned to look at him over her shoulder.

"Yes," her voice was also a whisper, "but I promise that I would never take advantage like that. You do know that," her left brow inched up, "right?"

Hopefully he did . . . otherwise this relationship would never work.

At her words . . . her question . . . she saw Hotch's expression soften. Then he reached over to squeeze her fingers.

"I do." He said with a sad smile, "I just needed to hear you say it."

And then he let go of her hand as he stepped in front of her, swinging his own semi-automatic off of his shoulder.

"All right," he slid off his safety, "now let's go get some bad guys."

* * *

_A/N 2: This story is primarily an 'emotional journey' for Emily. But as there is a new element here, I wasn't about to have her curl up in the closet all weepy and catatonic while people got killed. I just saw a situation like that, her concern for others, overriding her personal traumas of the moment. You know you just get pissed off and that helps you redirect your energy to more positive efforts…like killing bad people._

_We'll find out next time what's up with Iain & Simon._

_And this was also a good opportunity to explore how H/Ps personal relationship, will impact their work one. This is the one world where they're thrown together as a couple without the gradual build (even in Chances they had that month in between) so there are basic things here to learn about each other. And confirming that they both understand Emily's outburst was a special case, not to be repeated, needed to be addressed._

_Hope you all enjoyed the new twist here. I did :) I like writing BAMF Emily, and I have her going in three different worlds right now, but each one is a very different version. That's what I'm enjoying about them, just the subtleties of the different situations and how her behavior manifests. _

_Busy week coming with Christmas and all, but I have a lot of stuff on deck so updates should be fairly regular. As in every few days. _


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Criminal Minds, Angst, Drama