Author's Note: When I posted 'A Wrinkle in Time', I promised you all Hotch and Emily's second (of only two, mind you) encounters over the nine years they were apart. While 'Wrinkle' was sweet and fluffy, this one is...not angsty per se, but I did want to dwell on the fact that both Hotch and Emily tried, albeit half-heartedly to move on. Whether they succeeded or not, however, remains to be seen. There is tension and confusion, but over all, it deals with the frustrating theme that Hotch states in chapter 25 of Kiss the Cook: no other woman in his life could compare to Emily, just as no other man in Emily's could compare to Hotch.

But enough about that. I sincerely hope you enjoy this oneshot. Thank you, as always, for reading and reviewing!

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds or any of its characters.

- 2001 -

Hotch and Rossi slouched in their barstools, the former nursing a Jack with ice while the latter enjoyed his second rye whiskey. It was like the makings of a bad joke with no punchline: two profilers walked into a bar…

Rossi snorted at a play some quarterback had made, then turned his back to the TV screen that hung on the far wall. Hotch said nothing, simply arching an eyebrow instead; he was long-since used to the habitual antics of his friend and mentor. It had been a tiring week for both men – for the entire team, really. Hotch was certainly glad to see the end of yet another grueling case, but as exhausted as he was, when Rossi had mentioned in passing that he was going to be hitting up their favorite bar before heading home…well, it was an offer he couldn't pass up.

"You've never been one for football, have you, Aaron?" Rossi asked, idly running a gun-coarse finger around the rim of his glass.

"I swear, you ask me that same question every time we come out; or every time Morgan invites us over to his place to watch whatever important game is on at the moment." Hotch smirked at the blatantly unimpressed look on Rossi's face. "I was raised with soccer and baseball, Dave. Surely you can appreciate at least one of those sports."

"Soccer, certainly," Rossi responded, and his answer came as no to surprise to Hotch; after all, everyone knew of Rossi's rich Italian background. "Baseball, on the other hand…"

Hotch laughed at that. "What's wrong with baseball?"

"Nothing," Rossi said, an expression of mirth clearly written across his features. "By the way, what's Connecticut's major league baseball team? Do they even have one?"

"The Tigers," Hotch said, though a bit unsurely. "I think they're minor league, though. Why the sudden interest?" Why Connecticut, of all states? he thought amusedly. There's nothing in Connecticut.

Wait –

"Oh, right, I haven't told you yet. That's what I forgot," Rossi said to himself, then shook his head. "I'm heading over to New Haven next week. A friend of mine who is a professor in the criminology department at Yale called me up the other day and asked if I'd be able to give a guest lecture introducing the main principles of behavioral science to the freshmen – and whoever else wants to sit in, of course. I haven't lectured in a couple years, so I thought it'd be a welcome challenge."

A beat passed, then Rossi's face lit up. "Aaron, you should come with me," he said instantly, as if everything suddenly made sense. "It would be an even better experience for the students if you'd be able to give a first-hand account on how it's like to head a Unit as prestigious as the BAU. Plus, we could see if there's a Tigers game that week, and we'll see if you can manage to persuade me that baseball is really worth all the hype." There was another pause, and Rossi wondered at how deep in thought his friend seemed. "Speaking of which, isn't Yale where what's-her-name is getting her degree –"

Emily. Hotch couldn't believe he hadn't made the connection the moment Rossi mentioned New Haven. Immediately, he retracted his previous thought; there certainly wassomething magnificent in Connecticut, the Land of Steady Habits. Something beautiful and incredibly entrancing.

Her name was Emily Prentiss.

A small smile began tugging at the corners of his lips. "Emily," he provided. "Her name is Emily. And yes, she moved to New Haven three years ago…she wouldn't have graduated yet. That means she – what if I –"

Hotch stopped. He was more than a little bit aware that he was thinking aloud and that his thoughts were spilling forth in the form of near-incoherent rambling. But it was just too good! He would be able to see Emily again…

Suddenly, his face fell. Would she want to see him again? They had drifted apart since they had last met in person, a little over two years ago. They had made phone calls, but that was a number that could be counted on one hand only. Life had intervened. Duty called.

Hotch frowned imperceptibly. A part of him hoped Emily was finding happiness in the arms of another; after all, he had no claim to her anymore. It wasn't as if he ever had, really. She was an amazingly independent and free-spirited woman, and that had just made him love her all the more.

But another part of him was filled with crippling pain at the thought of another man being so lucky as to hear her intoxicating laughter each morning. It would be an interesting experience to see her again, after all this time; but he quickly found himself wanting that experience, no matter the consequences.

When Hotch looked up at his old friend, he found Rossi smiling knowingly down at him. "I think you should clear up your schedule for next week. Some fresh Connecticut air could do you good."

Hotch thought it over for a second longer, then nodded eagerly. "I think you are absolutely correct."

Rossi grinned like the Cheshire cat. "Well, I always am –"

"Oh, shut up."

~.~.~

Emily sat cross-legged on her bed, holding a flyer and a nondescript piece of paper in her hands. The first was an invitation to a guest-lecture presented by David Rossi; she remembered the man from when she visited the BAU years ago. He had been nice enough, with a dry sense of humor and obvious passion for his job. It would be interesting to talk to him again, she decided, now that she was better educated in her field of interest.

The second had a phone number scrawled on it in near-indecipherable handwriting. The man who had handed it to her with an easy smile had her intrigued; but Emily was unbelievably torn. The guest-lecture was in two days. What if, by chance, Rossi wasn't the only one from the BAU that came to talk?

What if he was going to be there?

Emily huffed at herself. It had been two years since they had seen each other, possibly already a year since they had last talked on the phone. She had hardly even thought of him lately, so it was undoubtedly crazy of her to think they would still have something; so why was the thought of him seeing her with someone else bothering her so much? Her stomach flipped as an offending idea popped into her head. What if he had a girlfriend? What if he was married? It wasn't such an impossible theory. Hotch was a kind-hearted, handsome, and good-natured man, after all.

She slumped back against her pillows, letting out a heavy sigh. It had become habitual for her to overthink things, the aspects of her love life especially. She supposed she could wait until Friday to find out for herself, but there was no guarantee her sanity would remain in check until then.

Finally resigning herself to the fact that there was no good way to resolve such an issue, Emily reached for her phone and dialed the number she saw written in heavy blue ink. She was still thinking of Aaron Hotchner – his eyes, his mouth, his hands – as the phone rang. Once, twice –

"Hello?"

Emily's eyes widened just a titch, and she immediately cleared her throat."Hey...Mark? It's Emily."

"Emily." She wondered if that was a smile she was hearing in his voice. "Hey. You beat me to the punch; I was literally just about to call you and ask – well, do you have any plans this Saturday?"

"I don't believe so, no." Her throat tightened. Unless an old flame comes meandering into town and offers his company. "Not unless you call half-hearted research and a B-movie marathon 'plans'."

Mark laughed at that. "To each her own, I suppose. I was actually wondering if you'd like to have dinner with me. Maybe at that sushi place off of LaSalle? I-if you like sushi, of course."

Sushi, Emily mused. Interesting choice. "I do, no worries," she assured with a little chuckle. "And that sounds great. What time should I meet you there?"

"I could always pick you up on-campus. Maybe at seven?"

"Seven o'clock it is. I'll see you then." Emily vaguely heard Mark's confirmation and goodbye as she set her phone down on the small table beside her bed. The thought of going on a date, no matter how casual, was refreshing and sweet; but she still felt an overwhelming sense of guilt, and it confused her beyond belief.

"Get a hold of yourself, Prentiss," she murmured aloud, turning over in bed and burrowing under her cool cotton sheets. "It's been two years. Move on."

But while her mind was humming that tune, her heart was singing a different one entirely.

~.~.~

Hotch checked his reflection one last time before the lecture was due to begin, and was surprised to see visible tension in his shoulders. He didn't know how he would react if he saw Emily; should he have tried to call her in advance to let her know he would be in town? A million possibilities shot through his mind at breakneck speed, effectively overwhelming him. There was only one thing he could do now.

Rossi passed by at that very moment. "Ready to walk to red carpet, Aaron?" he joked.

Hotch snorted. Someone sure has a flair for the dramatic. "You wish."

When they entered the lecture hall, the first thing both men realized was that it was packed. Granted, the space wasn't all that large in the first place, but there was hardly a single seat left unfilled, and the lecture had yet to begin for another thirty minutes. As Rossi shook hands with various staff members who were thanking him for his presence, Hotch scanned the crowd eagerly. He tried for subtlety, and perhaps no one noticed his behavior –

No one but Emily, that is.

It was like she was dreaming; she hadn't been serious when she had pondered the chance of Hotch being at the guest lecture as well. It had been a pipe dream of sorts, a little what-if that was easily laughed off. But he was here. She blinked and pinched herself, yet he didn't disappear. Instead, he looked right at her.

When he smiled at her, it was electric. She was out of her chair before she could process just what she was doing, and though they came together in a part of the room that was away from the hundreds of prying eyes, Emily still felt like a million watts as she gave him a luminescent smile back – and then she was in his embrace, with her arms wrapping familiarly around his waist. It was just like it had once been: perfect.

"Oh my God, Emily," Hotch finally said, after reluctantly relinquishing her from his arms. "It's been such a long time, I – how have you been?" he managed. His lips curved into a soft smile as she flushed. "You still look as beautiful as I remember," he said in a hushed tone.

"And you're still as sweet. I had no idea you'd be here," she said immediately. "I mean, I guessed Agent Rossi wouldn't be the only one from the BAU to travel to Connecticut to speak, and a part of me hoped you'd join him, because I remembered that you two were such good friends. But I was convinced it wasn't going to happen...I didn't even really know if you were still at the Bureau." Emily gave a self-deprecating little chuckle, more than abundantly aware that she was rambling. "But then I realized the BAU has always been your home; so why would you leave?"

"I should have known you'd be as astute as ever. How are things?" he asked again, his eyes bright and expression earnestly interested. "How are your classes? I'm sure you're doing exceptionally well."

"Exceptionally well might be a bit of a stretch, but I'm learning something new everyday and I'm loving every second of it. The program I'm in is a three-year one, so I'll be graduating before I can even process how quickly my life is speeding along. And then...well, who knows. I've already been contacted by some recruiters at the FBI." Emily bit her lip, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "My heart's not set yet, but that's the key word, I suppose: yet."

"Yet," Hotch echoed, and neither of them even paid heed to the fact that faculty members were beginning to quiet down the students that had gathered in droves to attend the lecture. "Does this mean I can expect to see you around Quantico someday soon?" He didn't know where the hopefulness in his voice was coming from, but it was most certainly there – and they'd both be liars and fools if they failed to admit that they liked it.

"Don't get your hopes up," Emily said a beat later, thoughts of the CIA and Interpol weighing down her conscience. She had a very big decision to make – but that could be done later. At the moment, she wanted to throw all cares away and talk to the man that had been her best friend for so long yet so brief a time. "Maybe in a year or two? Others have...admittedly expressed the need to have someone with language skills like mine. But I've hardly had a moment to sit down and be alone with my thoughts, you know? It's beginning to feel like I'll never be able to make a decision."

"You will," Hotch said, without a doubt in the world. "I know you will. You'll make the right one, and you won't regret it."

Her eyes were kind as she gazed at him. "I so hope you're right." Around them, the last of the students were being situated, and Emily glanced from Hotch to her seat and back again with the semblance of restlessness. "I should probably go, Aaron," she said regretfully. "Will we...be able to talk some more afterwards? I'd love to hear how these past three years have treated you."

"I was just about to bring that up," Hotch said, thanking his lucky stars that he and Dave weren't leaving until Sunday evening. "Do you have any plans this weekend? We could have lunch or dinner tomorrow, if you're able. My treat."

"I swear, you never once let me pay when we went out on dates." The statement was humorous but had a sad quality to it as well; as if Emily were wistful and wishing they could freeze time and indulge themselves with a rewind. How was it that this was so easy for them? How was it that nearly a thousand days had passed since they had seen each other last, but they were still so good at falling back into their old rhythm? It was a beautiful, freeing feeling.

"Not true," Hotch countered cheekily. "I think I recall you bullying me into letting you pay. But that was only once."

She rolled her eyes. "You're only further proving my point, you know."

"Go find your seat, Prentiss."

He playfully nudged her in the side with his elbow, his heart soaring as his grumbling use of her last name caused her to respond with a familiarly flirty grin and a very refreshing laugh. "Whatever you say, Hotchner."

~.~.~

"My, you clean up well."

It was the first time he was actually able to drink in her appearance, and he certainly did so as thoroughly as possible. She looked incredible, though that really came as no surprise; the rich plum colored dress with the elbow-length sleeves looked amazing on her frame and did wonders by the means of complementing her gorgeous skin tone. It was simple, modest, and just the right amount of casual, yet she still looked like an absolute dream come true.

Hotch was beginning to realize that Emily's beauty was something he would never be able to understand.

And then she blushed, and he was thrown even more. "Look who's talking," she brushed aside with a flick of her wrist, settling into the booth in front of him. The delightful aroma of Cuban food filled the formally decorated space, and Hotch and Emily were suddenly sure they had been thrust into Heaven. Emily could already taste the rich spices on her tongue...she lauded Hotch for his intriguing choice of where to dine.

"It was either here or a sushi place Dave said got excellent reviews," he answered, when Emily eventually made a comment. It wasn't as if he was really paying attention to the conversation, however; how could he when Emily was so busy tracing nonsensical patterns on his palm with her slender fingers?

At the mention of sushi, Emily made an interesting face; she wished she had a mirror to see what her expression looked like, but based on Hotch's amused reaction, she supposed it was nothing particularly attractive. He had simply caught her off guard, that was all. She hadn't been expecting him to mention the exact same place Mark was planning on taking her in just one day.

She groaned at the thought of the other man. She wasn't even sure if there was something there between them. They shared classes, that much was true, but did they share anything else?

Hotch's deep baritone cut through her less-than-contented thoughts. "I'm guessing you don't like sushi, then."

Emily chuckled quietly. "No, no, it's not that. I do. I just found it kind of...funny that you mentioned it," she said after a long pause. "Ironic, I suppose."

"Why?"

She should have known he wouldn't let her off the hook too easily. After all, she had clearly let too much slip - and there was just no going back. It was a while before she finally was able to think about what to say, and even then, it came out like a mess – like the rest of her life. "There's this guy...he's in my Technical Writing class and we work out at the same time in the morning. He asked me to dinner tomorrow...I don't know."

Why did she suddenly feel so ashamed? Her face burned something awful, and in the meantime, her voice got quieter and quieter as she became less and less sure of this Mark figure. It wasn't as if there was something wrong with him, it was just that he wasn't –

"Did you say yes?"

Emily cursed the unreadable quality in Hotch's voice that had been there since they had first met. "Yes," she confessed steadily, looking him in the eyes. "But an overwhelming part of me doesn't know why I did. It's like you said in the car: I just didn't feel compelled to start dating someone else. There has never been that spark, or that feeling of connection." Not since you. "And it's the same ordinary story with Mark. He's always sweet, but...I don't know," she repeated again. She picked at her food and gave a wry laugh. "I don't know why I'm telling you this either, but I've always had that problem when I'm around you. You're so good at drawing things out of someone. I'd bet that comes in handy in interrogation."

"You have no idea." A beat passed. "But Em...come on, now. Maybe you ought to give the poor guy a chance. I bet he realizes what a catch you are: smart, sexy, fierce, fun. What man would want to pass that up?"

It was the way he stared into her dark eyes when he said that last line that heated her body and made her feel like a live wire, a feeling she hadn't been able to experience for too long. She could easily discern the half-heartedness in his voice as they talked about Mark; it was akin to the tone she had adopted when they had fallen into conversation about his love life as well. There was that tension surrounding them that never seemed to leave, no matter how light the subject matter.

Briefly, she wondered what it was and what try could do to make it dissipate.

~.~.~

Hotch didn't give her the chance to find out on her own, and Emily welcomed that – him – with open arms. Everything he had told her about giving Mark the opportunity, about going to dinner with him just to test the waters...he completely went against it all by kissing her, and Emily could not bring herself to hide the fact that this was what she had wanted all along.

He had been a gentleman through and through, walking her up to her apartment when she had asked if he would. Their dinner had been a good one, especially after talk of Mark had subsided. After dining, they spent an hour walking around a nearby park, recounting memories that they had shared. They strolled hand in hand, and when Emily's feet began to hurt, Hotch helped her slip off her heels and then proceeded to hold them for the rest of the walk back to the car.

Though they talked about nearly everything, neither Hotch nor Emily mentioned anything particularly intimate – but it was obvious that they were both feeling the other's touch on their skin. It was beginning to become overwhelming. So this time, when the dark of night had finished falling, it was Emily who went against tradition and asked Hotch for a goodnight kiss.

Right there on her doorstep, he very willingly obliged.

From there, the monster that was their lust for each other became greater, so much more intense. Emily was flat on her back now. She could hardly breathe as he kissed her neck, as he so obviously and enthusiastically loved the hypersensitized skin he found at the base of her throat. He was such an active and attentive lover that it nearly drove Emily insane. First, she felt his fingers, then his mouth, his tongue, his teeth, his stubble...

Would this saccharine torture never end?

She wasn't entirely sure she wanted it to, not when he was finally beginning to move from deep within her, not when he was setting so many nerve-endings alight with ecstatic desire. Emily wondered at the fact that this seemed to be so easy for them, no matter how long a time they went without seeing one another. The thought made her the slightest bit anxious, but that feeling was gone in a heartbeat when she felt his lips on her cheek, kissing her with whisper-soft intention and persistence.

It made her smile. Even as their rhythm increased pace, even as her fingers tangled in his hair and tugged him ever closer to her, there was still a tender quality to the moment they were sharing.

Emily didn't want it to end.

But it did, and much too soon; though it wasn't exactly unexpected. How was she supposed to maintain her sanity when he was driving into her like a man possessed, touching all the right spots in such an infuriatingly exceptional way?

"Oh my God," Emily groaned, her back arching off the bed as Hotch took a nipple between his teeth. Every part of her skin was even more sensitive than before, and he knew it. He knew her body like a maestro knew his favorite instrument; he played her with the expertise and precision of a man who had loved her for years. There were his fingers again, working between their bodies to give her that very last bit of stimulation she needed –

Moaning with desire, she cursed her traitorous self. Not nearly enough time had passed yet; she should have been able to control herself better than this! But alas, that was not the case for either of them. "I'm so close!" Emily managed. Electricity flowed through her veins, and Hotch growled at how gorgeous she looked when taken over by rapture. He wanted to see her fall apart. He needed to hear his name on her full lips.

He needed it right this very instant.

"Come for me," he ordered, leaving no room for protest or argument of any sort – as if Emily would have objected. "Come on, beautiful. Let go."

"Let go now."

It was all the urging Emily needed. Within what couldn't have even been a single minute, Emily thrashed apart on the bed, a silent scream caught in the back of her throat. God, it felt so good. He never failed to make her feel so good.

"Fuck." Again, Emily's breath was lost as she crashed down from their high, and she barely felt Hotch's weight on her chest as he, too, lost himself in the state of unadulterated pleasure they had created together. She wondered if it was her expletive that had finally caused him to come apart; after all, she knew he had always loved her dirty mouth.

Among other things, of course.

Stars glittered behind her eyes as she struggled to remember her name. Beside her, the mattress dipped as Hotch rolled off of her. His panting was the only sound in the relatively small bedroom; and then came her reverent whisper. "Oh, Aaron."

Smiling into her hair, Hotch carefully pulled her to him so that her head was resting comfortably on his chest. "Now this...this is what I call perfect. Let's just stay like this for a while, shall we?"

"I think I'd like that." Her eyes falling shut at the running of his fingers through her hair, she breathed him in, memorizing his alluring scent for further reference. "I think I'd like that very much."

Hotch smiled lazily. "Good, because I wasn't going to let you move either way."

"Noted."

~.~.~

"Isn't your date later tonight?"

Emily's eyes flashed at him in warning. "It's not a date."

Hotch bit back his smirk, and moved around her bedroom space instead. "Have you already decided what you're going to wear?" he deflected.

"It's not a date, Aaron," she repeated adamantly, ignoring his question. God, did the man have to be so frustrating sometimes?

He snaked an arm around her waist when she finally crossed the room to peer inside her closet alongside him. "Okay, babe," he relented patiently, and Emily shivered pleasantly at his seemingly unconscious use of the endearment. "But have you?"

"No, I haven't," she eventually answered, eyeing him with an expression of mirth. "Why? You want to play dress-up with me?"

"Maybe. Is that such a bad thing?" He made a blatant display of raking his gaze over her svelte frame. How was it that, even in a plain black tee-shirt and worn out sweats, she looked like an angel? "Besides, I know you, Emily; I know it would take you hours to figure out what to wear. So consider this as being an old friend offering you a helping hand."

Emily shoved his chest playfully, her eyes soft. "You're a good guy, Aaron. An incorrigible, insatiable guy, but a good guy nonetheless."

That made him laugh, and his laughter made Emily smile. "I'll take your word for it, Em. Now; how exactly do you want to come across to this guy, this – Mike?"

"Mark," she corrected thoughtlessly. "I hardly know him. It's just like you said; we're testing the waters. I don't want to wear anything that would give him the wrong message." Just the mere thought made her cringe. "So no dresses or skirts," she concluded.

"No dresses," Hotch echoed, perusing her wardrobe. Good. "Slacks or jeans?"

Emily huffed out a sigh. "I mean, I don't know. We're going to a sushi place, the one Rossi was telling you about. I don't exactly think that warrants wearing the same slacks I'd wear to a conference or something." She was beginning to realize just what Hotch had meant when he had told her that it took her ages to choose something as simple as what shirt to wear. "Maybe jeans? But nothing too faded, so I at least don't look too casual."

Hotch thumbed through the row of bottoms, finally pulling a pair of dark grey jeans. "How about these?"

"I was just about to look for those! You're the man," she praised, their gazes locking. It was wrong, but she leaned in for a chaste kiss anyway, one that Hotch thoroughly enjoyed. "As for shoes," Emily began, her lips still against his, "I'm not going to bother with heels. I think I'll settle with my trusty black boots. Thoughts, Mr. Project Runway?"

"Excuse you," he interjected amusedly, his eyes dark and his voice deliciously deep. "Boots are good. Boots are very good." His arm remained snug around her waist as he thought of a color she should wear. Jewel tones looked incredible on her...maybe a vibrant green? "Do you have anything in green? For your top, I mean."

Emily had a blouse in mind, but while she searched for it, her mind was running flips. This entire situation seemed so absurd; how was it that Hotch had been diminished to the status of 'best friend who helped her find what to wear for another man'? Of course, it made no sense to think that they would have still had something after being apart for three whole years. They hadn't made love hours earlier; they'd had sex. There was a difference, and it stung for just a bit. But the past was the past.

Realizing she had been quiet for much too long, Emily finally pulled out a short sleeved emerald-colored shirt with black outline on the collar. It was chilly outside, and she almost put it back on its hanger for exactly that reason, before she realized Hotch was holding a tan cardigan in his outstretched hand. She hadn't worn it in a while, but she couldn't fault his judgment; the ensemble would look nice together.

A simple "thank you" was all she could muster.

Hotch never looked away from her for a single second. "You'll look lovely," he said, his voice rumbling through his chest. Emily could practically feel it; that's how close to one another they were. "You always do."

There was something about the tone of his voice that struck a chord within her. "Aaron..." I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable.

But, as if he could read her mind, he simply shook his head. "Times have changed," he whispered into her ear, kissing the shell softly. A long silence lapsed between them, and though Emily's eyes had fallen closed, she could feel Hotch shuffling through her clothes once more...and then pulling a certain item off the rack.

"You know, you've always looked stunning in red."

At that, Emily unfurled from within his warm embrace, a beautiful curiosity etched across her fine features. "What brought that on – oh."

Her heart beat a little quicker as she saw the handsome, teasingly seductive smile on his face. "Will you wear this for me?" Hotch brandished a tomato red dress adorned with lace that he knew would look gorgeous on her skin; after all, what color didn't? He was only half joking with the question. If she actually stepped out of her house clothes and into the dress...well, he wasn't exactly about to object.

Emily's eyes sparkled with temptation and something akin to lust. "I guess I could," she mused, pressing a kiss to his cheek and taking the dress from him. "But only for you." She chuckled breathily at his ensuing pleased growl. "You just want to take it off of me, don't you?"

Unable to restrain himself any further, Hotch dropped his mouth to the supple skin of her neck, then her collarbone, then her shoulder blade. She was a drug, and he could never get enough of her. "Can you really blame me?" he murmured, groaning a little as she took his hand in hers and placed it at the small of her back.

Their kissing quickly became more heated. Before she realized it, Emily was pressed up against the door of her closet, one leg hooked around Hotch's waist as he littered her skin with love bites. She would have to break out the makeup later, before she went to dinner with Mark, but what to be done had to be done. Such was life.

But life had never been particularly kind to Emily. Suddenly, she couldn't concentrate on the man in her arms. She couldn't concentrate on anything anymore. There was just one thought left at the front of her mind: What were they doing?

She stiffened in his embrace, and much to her chagrin, Hotch noticed. He looked at her intently, immediately concerned. "Em? Are you okay?"

Emily didn't answer immediately. She was conflicted; she wanted more, so much more, but she knew that she couldn't – or rather, shouldn't – have it. It wasn't right that they always managed to fall into bed with one another. It was toxic. It was toxic and she loved it, but it just wasn't right. Right?

Before she knew it, Emily was speaking thoughts she had never intended to make public. Her clothes were rumpled; her hands were on his skin just as his were on hers. And while it felt so good...what were they supposed to do when he left in less than one day's time? A shuddery sigh slipped past her lips. "Aaron...I don't think we can just keep doing this, making a habit out of something that..."

Something that should have ended a long time ago.

Not that I ever wanted it to end.

The words did not need to be said. Already, they hung heavily in the space above their heaving chests.

Emily knew it wasn't exactly a habit for them; two instances three years apart did not constitute a habit in any way, shape, or form. But there was a deeper meaning to what she was trying to communicate, and Emily found herself praying to whatever god was listening that Hotch would understand just what she meant.

Perhaps, he did. "You're right," he said, not even a second later. Again, the emotion in his voice was indiscernible; but the one thing Emily knew for sure was that it was not something akin to anger or disappointment.

That didn't stop her from feeling the tiniest tinge of guilt, however. "I didn't mean it like that –"

"Emily." He simultaneously soothed and quieted her with a kiss, capturing her barely parted lips in a painfully sweet embrace. "Sweetheart, trust me, I know. I...thought of it before we made it here, in your bedroom. But I didn't know how to object. How could I?" You're perfect.

He gave her hand a squeeze. "Do you want to talk about it later?" She shook her head. "You're sure?" A nod. "Alright then."

~.~.~

"I really enjoyed the lecture."

As they knew it would, the time had come for them to be forced to say goodbye to one another. Yet again, they promised to keep in touch; but they both knew it would never happen. Neither Hotch nor Emily outwardly acknowledged it, but as she spoke the innocent enough words, they hugged longer than usual.

As if it were really the last time they would see each other.

Hotch smiled softly at her. "That doesn't surprise me in the least. I'm glad you did. Dave and I hoped it would be at least somewhat informative. I wasn't originally scheduled to accompany him, you know," he said after a beat of silence during which they walked up to his hotel room. "He asked me if I would be interested. And how could I say no?"

"How could you say no," Emily repeated quietly. Their goodbyes were looming near; her dinner with Mark was soon, his flight back to DC was sooner. Already, she was dressed in the outfit he had chosen with her, for her. She noticed, based on the way that he couldn't keep his eyes off of her, that he liked it very much.

She liked him very much, but that would be a story for another day. Or possibly never.

When they finally parted ways, it was with a whispered "good luck" to Emily for all of her future endeavors in the world of behavioral science and beyond. It was with the wish that Hotch would have a good, safe flight. It was with a kiss to each other's cheek, a smile, no tears; and above all, no mention of her 'date'.

But when it finally did become time for her dinner with Mark, Hotch just wouldn't leave her mind.

Mark was a charming man with a very white smile and an endearing laugh; but throughout the entirety of dinner, all Emily could do was compare him to the man that had just left on the four-thirty flight for Dulles International Airport. In her eyes, Mark simply couldn't measure up.

And all Emily could think was, Maybe that's what the infuriating man wanted in the first place.

THE END.

Author's Note: I don't even really know why, but I had been wanting to write something in the KTC universe that dealt with Hotch being put in the position of an old friend as opposed to a current lover. It was a wild and random idea that just popped into my head - and hey, I couldn't really object to the image of Hotch and Emily very nearly having sex against her closet door.

But anyway, I hope you were able to find some enjoyment from this oneshot! I'd love to hear from you; after all, your feedback makes my world go 'round! ;) Thanks in advance. Be looking forward to one more KTC-universe oneshot before the story is over! That one certainly will not disappoint.