Author's Note: Alright, here's my first story. (: The POV will change with every chapter. This is just the start of Em and Aaron's relationship. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I (unfortunately) don't own Criminal Minds.

Emily Prentiss

In my dark shirt, pants, and Kevlar, I'm sweating. Late July in Albany, New York is hotter than I'd expected. Sunlight reflects off of Morgan's dark sunglasses and into my eyes, but I don't care. Poised outside the large office building with my team members and a SWAT team, I should be focused, concerned with arresting a man who's killed forty-three people in six months.

"Alright, as soon a we get the signal from SWAT..."

Aaron Hotchner. Exactly the last person that my mind should be lingering on. My boss stands in front of me, his own FBI bulletproof vest strapped on over a white pinstriped button-up.

I suppose if the circumstances were different, Hotch and I might have a chance. Maybe if he hadn't still loved his wife when she divorced him, maybe if George Foyet, The Boston Reaper, hadn't brutally murdered Haley after tormenting Hotch for months. Maybe if that hadn't happened, we could be together.

But Aaron's one of my best friends, along with my boss, and I couldn't possibly attempt to date him after all of the trauma he's been through. Even with that thought constantly in my mind, I can't help but notice his thick, dark hair, strong arms, and focused brown eyes. The eyes of someone who's been through so much, and is so seriously devoted to his son and his job.

"And...GO!" Aaron shouts, pulling me out of my reverie. Our immense group rushes into the building that has become a hideout and workplace for Craig Whitby, a housecleaner killing prostitutes. When we reach the basement, Derek kicks the door down, as we all know it's a favorite pastime of his. Inside, we find Whitby holding a knife to a screeching woman who's tied to a chair.

Immediately, our glocks are pointed at the killer. "Drop the knife!" Morgan shouts.

To our surprise, Whitby does. We've profiled him to be a cocky bastard, to say the least, confident that he's helping the greater good, so there's no reason why he'd actually drop the weapon. Suddenly, he pulls out a gun, aiming toward us. Before he can shoot, Aaron, Morgan, JJ and I have all fired at him. Whitby crumbles to the floor, and we get to work untying the victim, letting Garcia know, along with Reid and Rossi, who stayed behind at the police station, know what happened, and helping remove Whitby's body from the premises.

For most, this would seem like a scene from a horror movie. Something unfathomable that they pray to God they'll never witness.

For me, this is just another day at work.

After the Albany police force thanks us and we're finally done for the day, we board the BAU jet for our trip back to Quantico. Sitting across from me is Jennifer Jareau, or JJ, our Media Liaison. She's thumbing through pictures of Henry, her son, on her iPhone. The smile on her face highlights her blue eyes and blonde hair, which is straight today.

David Rossi's reading and listening to music in the corner, which would normally be more common behavior for Reid. He'd be chatting and laughing with Aaron, Morgan and Reid if they weren't playing gin, which Rossi is notoriously bad at.

Furrowing his brow, Morgan thumbs through his cards. Dark skin and eyes, bald head, muscled arms and attractive, Derek Morgan is the image of what a FBI agent should look like. Next to him, Spencer Reid is the polar opposite. He looks like the man who graduated high school at age twelve, which, of course, he is.

And then, there's Aaron.

Aaron Hotchner, commonly called Hotch by our team. Dark hair, troubled eyes, I've mentioned this all before. Every single feature of his makes me fall a little more each day.

"Gin!" Reid exclaims, laying his cards on the table.

Morgan tosses his cards out too. "That's not fair; you know everything."

"Well actually, I don't know everything. And I don't think that my eidetic memory has anything to do with beating you at gin." Reid says, starting to stack the cards into a neat pile.

Derek starts to object, but JJ cuts in. "Yes, Morgan, we know. Every time he beats you there's the same argument. Just pack up the cards, we're landing any minute now."

Chatter continues as the jet descends, Reid putting away the cards, Rossi closing his book. We land swiftly like usual, and start to exit the small plane. As we leave, Aaron brushes past me, sending a spark through my body.

And that's when I know I have a problem.