He had never seen her like this. Even with Doyle, she had maintained composure, and seemed her level-headed usually put together self. To see her quite literally falling apart in front of him was wrenching his heart in all sorts of new ways he didn't know were possible.
All of a sudden she smiled through her tears. "She's undercover, right? You faked her death just like with mine," she made her way back to him, fisting his bloodied shirt in her hands. Her words came stumbling out, and there was no explanation for how badly she needed to hear him tell her that she was right, that her death was staged.
But he couldn't do that, because then he'd be lying to her. So he stood there, trying to hold her to him when she wouldn't allow it. "Tell me," she demanded through a tear stricken, blotchy face; her whole body quaking. "Tell me she's not dead, Aaron! Tell me, tell me she's alive in Paris, or Switzerland, or fucking somewhere. Just tell me that she's okay."
And when he still didn't respond, she started pounding her fists against his chest. "Dammit, tell me Aaron. She has to be alive, she can't be gone!" Her adrenaline rush quickly diminished and her pounding near ceased.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. It'd be so much easier for all of them if her death had been staged, but he was with her when she was killed, and he was there when she was officially pronounced dead. He wished so badly that he could tell Emily and the rest of the team otherwise, but no matter how badly he wished it, he couldn't make it true.
She leaned her head against her chest, letting the sobs rack her whole body. She felt like she didn't even have the energy to cry anymore, but it was all she could do. She had lost someone she loved and cared about deeply, they all did.
And perhaps it was harder for her, knowing that this was the pain she had put all of her friends through a little over a year ago. So Hotch did the only thing he could. He held her, trying to be her anchor when he was grieving for her as well.
When she turned away from him to make it to the receptacle to dry heave, he held her hair back just in case and rubbed circles on her back. Then she fell back, still in Hotch's arms, and they fell to the floor, leaning against the desk for the support and stability their own bodies weren't able to provide.
Eventually, after all of the sobbing and grieving, they knocked themselves out from pure exhaustion, only to see her at peace and still with them in their dreams. It was bittersweet, for when they woke, they would have to once again come to the realization that she was gone, and unlike last time, she wasn't coming back.
AN: I know it's short, and could be better, but it's just a drabble that came to me and wouldn't leave me alone or more importantly, let me sleep. In all honesty, I had one person in mind while writing this, but I wanted to see who you immediately thought of, so leave me a review and let me know.