Author's Note: I would never have thought of writing this 'missing scene' if not for the amazingly amazing LoveHGSS, who told me in a review for "In the Shadow of Your Heart" that she really wanted to know how Hotch and Emily ended up in the same bed. Well, this is my explanation. ;) I enjoyed writing this ridiculously much, and I can only pray that you enjoy it as well! Thanks for reading!

Story title inspired by "Can't Speak French", which was covered by Florence + the Machine. The song has such golden lines that apply to this story, such as, I wait underneath the covers, I lie beside you / And who ever question any cryin' I do? / My heavy heart is beating out of rhythm each time inside you / And I fall a little harder everytime that I do.

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

"Come home with me."

For one split second, Emily thought she had heard the broken man incorrectly. But that's just what he was - broken.

Broken into infinitely many pieces. Too many to count. Too many to feasibly put back together.

Damn it, Emily was just so frustrated! She had so many questions to ask - about him, about them, about Beth.

About him and Beth.

But every time she tried breaching the barriers he had so skillfully erected, his guard was up once more. His walls kept her out.

And now he was asking her to help him. Now he was asking her to go home with him. One part of Emily wanted to seize his hand and kiss him senseless and never let go. But the other part of her…God, she just wanted to shake him until he gave her the answers her heart so desperately craved.

But the moment she reached forward, Hotch flinched. And Emily felt her heart plunge to her stomach. "Hotch…" she said warily.

"Not…like that," Hotch amended, internally rebuking himself, his voice weary. "I just…really need the company. Your company." I need you, Emily. Can't you see? "I'll explain everything," he promised a beat later. "Please, Emily."

When he looked so worn down and faithless, how could she say no to him?

That was the last thought on her mind when he led her out the door, stepping into the mysterious night.

~.~.~

Hotch's hand was shaking when he tried unlocking his apartment door. He kept at it for another two or three minutes before shutting his eyes as Emily's small hand closed around his. Wordlessly, she took the key from him and opened the door, her lips curving slightly as he ushered her inside. Immediately, she was struck with recognition; the neutral-tone walls, the sparse decoration, the homey leather furniture scattered here and there, the occasional fake plant in the corners…and there, on the far wall, a single large picture. A picture of the team, all seven members positioned in the bullpen, smiling as they were framed in some happy, carefree moment. They didn't have many of those, but when they did, it was beautiful.

As was the picture. It had always been Emily's favorite. Why? The two people in the center were her and Hotch. Every time she saw it, she could pretend, for just a single moment, that they could have more moments like that, maybe with just the two of them…and they would be happy…

She was strolling to the main room and adjoining kitchen when she realized that he was still standing at the door, a faraway look in his eyes. Remembering the layout of his apartment from the last time she had been there, Emily brandished a glass from one of the many cupboards. "You want anything?" she asked gently.

Despite the softness of her voice, Hotch still started. His eyes saddened, if possible, even more. "No. No, no, where are my manners? God, I should be asking you that."

Emily managed a small smile. "I'm fine, thank you." She took a step closer to him, until they were face to face. "Do…do you want to talk now or in the morning?"

Hotch gazed at her, burning every aspect of her stunning appearance into his memory. For what, only God knew. "The morning, maybe," he finally answered, hoping she would be okay with that decision. He knew he was already pushing their boundaries…but he couldn't not. She was too good to him. "Look, Emily," he sighed, "thank you. For coming over, for dealing with all this when I haven't even explained. And I will explain, I promise you that. Just…not now. We both need our rest."

Emily squeezed his shoulder in a way that could only be described as affectionately. "I agree." She was making her way to his couch and setting her purse down beside it when he stopped her.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Hotch asked, catching her wrist gently.

Emily briefly wondered if he could feel just how fast her heart was racing through her pulse point. "I'm fixing to lay down on the couch; this is where I'm sleeping tonight," she said simply.

Hotch folded his arms over his chest, just as she had known he would. "Emily," he chided. "You'll sleep in my bed." Unable to suppress it, her heart gave a little fluter at his wording. "I'll take the couch," he continued, seemingly oblivious to any emotional reaction he had drawn from her.

"Hotch, this is your apartment."

"You're exactly right; you are my quest. Therefore, you get the bed," he said with the same authoritative finality she had heard him use on cases.

Emily clucked. "That couch is no good for your back."

"It's not good for yours, either."

He had her there. And oh, did he know it. Taking her purse, Hotch guided her to his bedroom and set her belongings nearby.

"Do you need any clothes for sleeping?" he asked kindly, the sheer idea of Emily wearing one of his old shirts sending his heart racing. He couldn't help it; he was a red-blooded male.

And she was Emily Freaking Prentiss.

Emily eventually shook her head. "I don't, no," she declined, once more with a pretty smile.

"Alright, if you're sure." He motioned to the adjoining bathroom. "There should be an extra toothbrush underneath the sink. And if you need anything else…"

"I'll let you know." Sighing, Emily let her head hit the pillows, trying her hardest to ignore how wonderfully they smelled - like spice, and cinnamon, and Aaron Hotchner. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Don't mention it."

And at that, Hotch left Emily to herself.

~.~.~

Ten minutes of absolute silence passed before Hotch felt the need to check on Emily. He hadn't thought that she'd already be asleep…

…but when he quietly pushed open the bedroom door, he was greeted by the sight of Emily lying atop his covers, her visage relaxed, her hair mussed, her lips barely parted.

His heart clenched. She was so beautiful in sleep. She was beautiful, period. So much so that Hotch found himself wishing that, someday…someday, he would be blessed with the chance to wake to such a sight, and maybe even call her his.

But, as for now, he had royally screwed up. She had tried to help, but he had only pushed her away, hurting her in the process just because he couldn't bear to tell her the truth, lest she not feel the same way. Lest she draw back from him. He couldn't tell her he loved her. Her, not Beth. Her.

So, he settled for a sigh. "Good night, Emily," he whispered into the darkness.

I love you.

~.~.~

For practically the hundredth time in a span of a half hour, Hotch rolled to his side on the couch, struggling in vain to find a comfortable sleeping position. He had known it wouldn't be easy, but this was just ridiculous. It wasn't even the fact that there wasn't enough room for his body; it was that his mind wouldn't stop racing, his mind wouldn't calm itself enough for him to be able to sleep.

Every time he closed his eyes, Hotch saw Emily behind his eyelids. He saw her standing up to him and speaking her mind, he saw her whispering into his ear to comfort him, he saw her throwing her head back in overjoyed laughter…

And one single statement kept ringing in his ears, just begging to slip past his lips. Emily, I love you. Emily, I love you. Please…understand me. I love you, you and no one else. It's always been you. It will always be you.

How would he tell her? He had to tell her; if he kept it in any longer, he would surely explode. And she deserved an explanation for his behavior. He deserved that and so much more, more that he feared he would never be able to provide. But he would try. He would try with every ounce of strength and desire in his body. He would never give up. He would fight for her, because she meant the world to him. She was his heart.

It was this he was thinking when he stood to his feet. His legs taking on a mind of their own, Hotch moved towards his bedroom door, behind which the love of his life lay sleeping, unaware of the internal battle his heart and mind were waging. Before he could even process what he was doing, he had crawled in beside her, covering her svelte frame with the coverlet. He wanted so desperately to be able to pull her close and hold her to him, but he couldn't, not when they hadn't even fully established what they were for each other. They were surely more than boss and subordinate, more than mere team members, or even 'just friends'. There was something there, and he knew she knew it.

So, although he wanted to diminished every single inch of space between them, he settled for resting a hand on her shoulder gently. It was the only contact he needed to make him feel truly at home. He doubted she knew it, but she never failed to make him feel safe, and happy, and…dare he say it…loved.

His eyes already dropping closed, he dropped the lightest of light kisses to Emily's shoulder, the same one he was touching. "Thank you," he murmured. And just like that, he was asleep.

Little did he know, Emily was wide awake, a single tear slipping down her curved cheek.

THE END.

Author's Note: Thank you sincerely for taking the time to read. If you have the time, please leave a review; short or long, signed or anonymous, they always make my day, and they are the best motivation and inspiration for me! :)

Also, if you enjoyed this story, please check out "In the Shadow of Your Heart" to find out just what Hotch's explanation was, and just how his and Emily's story ends. Thanks in advance!