I don't own "Criminal Minds", its characters or anything related. If I did, I wouldn't be as poor as I am. This is my first Hotch/Prentiss pairing and any feedback would be much appreciated.

Oh God, it hurts.

She didn't know what had jarred her awake but when she turned her head to look at the clock, the searing pain from the top of her head to the base of her skull made her whimper. She wasn't surprised; migraines had become her almost constant companions since her capture in the compound but the knowledge didn't make the pain any easier to bear. She lay as still as she could and tried to think. She had medication somewhere in her spacious apartment but she didn't know where – searching for it at the present time didn't seem like a wise idea.

Phone someone.

Her cell phone was God-knows-where but she had a landline beside her bed. Months ago she had programmed useful numbers into it just for times like this but she hadn't written down who was who. She had counted on her brain to remind her but the pain blocked out any messages said organ could be trying to send her.

Not JJ. Not Reid. Not Morgan. The former two had enough on their plates and the latter one would be loud. Garcia. Perfect. Now which number was she? Had she done alphabetical order according to last names? If so, Garcia would be number 1… she lifted the phone, punched one and when a voice said, "Hello", whispered,

"It's Emily. I need you to come over and find my pills. Please hurry. It hurts." She replaced the receiver, satisfied that Penelope would understand the message and come. She closed her eyes and waited.

Looking at the now silent phone, Hotch was startled. He couldn't remember Emily ever calling his cell before when it wasn't work-related and what did she mean by pills? She sounded as though he should already know what she was referring to and he didn't have a clue. He stared at his phone for a couple of seconds, debating whether or not to call for reinforcements and then the urgency in her voice hit him and he grabbed his coat.

The door to Emily's condo was locked. Hotch knew he should have expected that but had hoped otherwise. He looked around aimlessly for a few moments and when no idea jumped out at him, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a credit card. Hoping that there wasn't a noisy neighbor ogling him, he skillfully opened the door and stepped inside.

It was dark. He had been inside Emily's condo only once before, to encourage her to return to the BAU but he didn't remember much beyond the front foyer. He switched on a light and saw the stairs. Half-way up, he could hear moaning so he took the remaining steps two at a time. He traced the sound to a room and gently eased the door opened.

It was dark and reflexively he groped for the light switch. During the brief few seconds between his eyes adjusting to the light and the scream, "Turn it off!" he spotted the figure of his agent curled up on the bed, facing away from him.

"Emily?" he whispered. The figure sat up.

"Hotch?" Emily couldn't stop her voice from shaking. What was her boss doing there? "Is something wrong? Do we have a case?" She couldn't believe that she had missed a page from the office.

"No, no," he soothed, coming towards her and perching on the bed. "You called me. You asked me to come over and find your pills."

Emily remembered pressing 1 on her phone. Oh God, I programmed according to first names or work importance or something else. "Hotch, I'm so sorry. I meant to call Garcia. She has a key and…" she stopped and even though the level of pain in her head was increasing exponentially as the situation got worse, she knew that Hotch most certainly did not have a key to her home.

"How did you get in?"

Hotch briefly considered lying and telling her that she had left the door unlocked. Deciding that might cause her to panic even more than she was already doing, he told the truth. "I'm an FBI agent. I have my ways."

Emily smiled a bit even though she knew he probably couldn't see her in the dark. "As long as you didn't kick down my door, I don't want to know."

"No, the door is still intact. I'm not Morgan," he joked. Then he got serious. "Emily, what's going on? Why are you in so much pain?"

Oh no, truth time. "Hotch?" she asked, trying not to whine like the five-year-old she was feeling like at that moment, "do you think you could go into my bathroom and find my pills? I'll tell you anything you want to know but I can't handle my head a minute longer."

Hotch obediently got up and headed for the bathroom off the bedroom. He compassionately closed the door before he switched on the light and opened the medicine cabinet. He was mildly distressed to find that it contained only vitamins and a bottle of Fiorinal.

"Emily, this is pretty strong stuff," he said once he had exited the bathroom and reclaimed his spot on the bed. He handed over the bottle. "How long have you been using this?"

Emily didn't answer right away. She held the bottle in her hand and miserably told him, "Hotch, I'm so sorry but I'm going to throw up." She put her other hand over her mouth.

Hotch knew immediately that action was needed. He had her up and half-carried her to the bathroom just in time. He discreetly left her alone while she retched and coughed and when he heard the toilet flush, he came in and silently wet a washcloth and gently wiped her mouth, face and neck. He became concerned when Emily scrunched herself into a ball and didn't move.