A/N: Ever since I watched 7x06 and 7x12, I wanted to write this story. It felt just wrong that Emily lied to her therapist and got away with it so easily (let alone that Hotch knew what she told her therapist – shouldn't there be something like confidentiality?), and it also bothered me how almost casually they dealt with her near death experience.

Therefore this is my – darker – version of what happened in the ambulance and how Hotch and Emily could have discussed the result of her evaluation. This story is about the strong emotional bond between them. No classical romance, but I guess it comes close enough to be interpreted the way you prefer. Everything about FBI standard procedure I made up because I have absolutely no idea how this is handled.

Slight WARNING due to the mention of suicidal tendencies even if there is no suicide or character death – so, no need to worry. Just in case you're uncomfortable with the subject.

One more thing: If you are irritated at the beginning of the story as to why Hotch behaves the way he does, give it a chance and continue reading. It will all make sense at the end (at least I hope so).

Special thanks to the lovely ladies greengirl82 and TigerLily888 for the exchange of ideas and pondering on how dark this story should be. It's been a while that we talked about it, but you really helped me sharpen the focus.

I edited and re-read the story so many times by now that I've reached the point of no return – publish or delete. So, as you can imagine, your feedback is REALLY appreciated, R&R please.

Disclaimer: Not mine. CBS owns Criminal Minds. I just own the power of my imagination.

Scars cover you in fine lines

number you a timeline

where was I when you stopped trying

Anna Nalick

The gun has no serial number. It's funny that of all the things she had to leave behind when she died, just the gun is still there. No, not funny, irony of fate or rather almost cynical. The only thing from her past that survived, so to speak, is an instrument of death. She had completely forgotten about it. It was in a safe deposit box in the name of one of her fake identities. When she came back, she remembered its existence out of the blue, went to get it and kept it ever since. Until yesterday.

Now the gun lies on the table, its cold black steel a sharp contrast to the white surface. It's early in the morning, still dark outside, and the jet is empty except for the two of them. They are only due for take-off in about an hour – something she realized when she arrived and no one but him was there. Apparently he wants to talk to her alone. This was the first surprise. Then she detected the file in his hand, her personnel file, and the gun on the table and froze.

Her gaze wanders from the gun to the man on the opposite side of the table who sits there in silence, motionlessly, studying her. The slight shiver of her personnel file he is holding is the only sign that he may be affected by the situation.

She stands next to the table, almost afraid to sit down. The moment she does so, the game is on.

"Take a seat," Hotch says politely although his voice leaves no doubt that this is an order, and Emily obeys.

Her eyes are almost magnetically drawn to the gun in front of her, and she tries to remain calm despite her inner turmoil. Emily's thoughts are racing. What will happen? Will Hotch fire her? Ask for her badge? The only thing that is a safe bet right now is that her therapist obviously told her supervisor about the special meaning the gun has to her. Had, she corrects herself. Perhaps it is standard procedure. Well, most likely it is. And perhaps in some hidden corner of her subconsciousness she wanted this, wanted him to confront her with it. Right now, though, all she can think of is that it was a damn mistake to tell her therapist about it and even more foolish to hand the gun over to her just so that she could pass it on to Hotch. Brilliant move, Prentiss! You should have seen this coming! Emily feels a sharp sting of betrayal. She has trust issues, always had them. Therefore, despite the fact that her therapist certainly observed the rules, it feels as if she has been sold out.

Training lessons on the weekend with Morgan, being a confident for Reid and Rossi, giving parental advice to Hotch, re-bonding with the BAU girls, cooking with the team – she did everything that was necessary to be the good trustworthy colleague and friend again she wants to be. Was it all in vain?

"So...," Hotch's voice interrupts her thoughts, and she looks at him. He has opened the file and seems to read in it albeit she is certain that he read it more than once already.

"You are in close contact with your mother and have a romantic relationship with a guy named Sergio?" he doesn't look at her when he poses his first question casually. His intonation gives away his barely suppressed anger though.

When Emily told her therapist those lies, it almost felt amusing, not as wrong as it feels when she looks at Hotch's serious face that still pretends to study her file intensely. Here and now she feels ashamed of deliberately lying to her therapist. All she wanted was the final confirmation that she had overcome her trauma and hereby full approval to be back at work as well as in the field. Soon after she had started her therapy sessions, Emily realized that the circumstances of her life don't exactly represent the best initial situation to receive it. She only talked to her mother once after she had come back from Europe or rather the dead. It was such an ugly encounter that she decided to avoid any further contact. So much for her family. As to her romantic relationship with Sergio – well, he is indeed quite the perfect partner on some evenings. Except that he is a cat. So much for her love life. Should she have told her therapist the truth and nothing but the truth? Yes, she should have! But the truth is that she has not much of a life aside from her job and the people she works with. And the only thing that scared her more than having to talk about her traumatic experiences was the risk of losing the permission to do her job and be with the only people she cares about. Thus she played it safe and created the pie in the sky, the life she never had.

The relief when her therapist told her the day before yesterday that this was the last session and that she would get clearance was so overwhelming that her one and only slip happened. Emily told her therapist about the gun and eventually even handed it over to her yesterday as a symbol that those dark times are over. Big mistake!

Emily clears her throat. "Did you tell my therapist that I...," she briefly hesitates. "...didn't tell her the truth?"

Hotch glances up and raises an eyebrow at that. She can't bring herself to say the word lie out loud although there is no need to beat around the bush with him. He caught her in a lie whether she admits it or not. She has to pull herself together not to squirm under his reproachful gaze and lets the deserved shame wash over her. He recognizes it, and something in Hotch's eyes changes before he looks down on the file again. There is not only anger. He is disappointed, and somehow this is much worse.

"It was stupid to tell her... those things," Emily feels compelled to explain, wants Hotch to understand. He is her superior. He has every right to be angry that one of his subordinates deliberately fed her therapist with misinformation in order to get the required clearance. But he also knows her, knows that she wouldn't tell a lie if it meant risking the lives of others. At least she hopes that he knows that, knows her that much by now. With him she can never tell, his face a distant mask of professionalism as always. "But I can assure you that the basic statement is true," she continues. "I am stable. I am ready to be back at work and in the field again."

She is not sure whether she found the right words, and Hotch doesn't let show whether he believes her or not. "No, I didn't set the record straight," he answers her question after a short break and much too casually to her taste. He doesn't even glance up this time. But when he doesn't say anything further, seems to drop the subject, Emily is relieved against her better judgement. This was just the beginning. All the fuss about the seemingly good relationship with her mother and her fake love life was just a sideshow. And here is what this really is about. Hotch still doesn't look at her, flips through her file instead, when he poses the next question – the only question that matters; they both are aware of that, "Do you want to tell me about the gun?"

The gun... Again Emily's eyes reflexively jump to the object made of cold black steel in front of her, and she knows that Hotch caught her looking even before she meets his eyes and holds his gaze challengingly. At least he no longer avoids eye contact.

Does she want to? Definitely not. Does she have a choice? Definitely not either. So what can she tell him that's not in the file already?

Somehow the gun reminded her of herself. That's why she kept it even if FBI agents are not allowed to possess unregistered weapons. The erased serial number was the equivalent of her erased life. A blank surface with no identity. Here she was back in D.C. in her new apartment with her new furniture and her new clothes, her new self that on some days barely resembled the woman she used to be. Thankfully there were other days. Days when she felt as a part of the team again, trustworthy, considered a friend. Then again there were days when all she did was fake it. Fake her confidence, her self-assurance, her whole life. These days were usually followed by nights without sleep. She would lie awake only to give in at some point, get up and take the gun out. As a reminder of my old life and erased identity. But now that I left this behind, have a new life, I don't need the gun anymore. That's what she told her therapist, and that's what Hotch read in her file. Save that this is only half the story. It would be redundant to tell him merely a repetition of what he already knows, but Emily isn't ready to reveal the whole truth yet. A hidden truth Hotch obviously read between the lines. Hence she goes for a counter question instead. It is preposterous to try this with another profiler. Answering a question with a question. Avoidance. Stalling for time. Too obvious. She does it anyway.

"Do you want to tell me how you came to know about it? Let alone bring it here." The more Emily thinks about it, the more she feels betrayed by her therapist and is angry about her own stupidity at the same time. Everything had been sorted out. Why did she open Pandora's box by bringing the gun into play?

Hotch studies her seemingly unfazed. "It's standard procedure," he finally says as if this is common knowledge, and she of all people should know it. "A therapist is no longer bound by confidentiality and has to inform the direct superior of an agent when there are...," he swallows, and it is the first sign of emotion he gives away. "...suicidal tendencies." So much for stalling for time. This is getting worse by the minute.

Nonetheless Emily almost has to laugh. Suicidal tendencies? Well, she should have expected something like this to come up. After all there is a gun lying on the table between them. But while Emily Prentiss may be a lot of things – alluring, strong, stubborn, traumatized, perhaps even screwed up to a certain extent – she is for sure not suicidal. Not now and not back then, even not in those nights.

"You think this is funny?" Apparently Hotch saw the slight but nevertheless inappropriate flicker of amusement in her eyes.

"No," she is eager to reply. How could she think this is funny? Her job is on the line. Her life. "No, this isn't funny at all," Emily assures him. "I just don't understand why you believe I could be suicidal."

"How about getting a gun without a serial number out of a safe deposit box that represents your past, a past you immensely struggle with by the way, and then keeping it for weeks for no apparent reason," Hotch points out sternly.

A past you immensely struggle with... So he read her whole file, Emily realizes, feeling a hot flush of embarrassment. Each word she said to her therapist about her undercover assignments, her relationship with Doyle and her time in Europe. There's a reason for confidentiality. She never intended to let him, or anyone else, know all this. And yet it's her mistake that her therapist had to reveal the information to him. Emily closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She can't undo what he knows now about her, but she has to prevent even more damage. As things are she can't even be sure that she still has full approval to be back at work and in the field. She opens her eyes again and looks straight at Hotch's tense face.

"I don't know what made me remember that I had the safe deposit box," she tries to explain. "I just remembered. And I closed the safe deposit box because I didn't want to have anything in the name of one of my fake identities anymore. And I kept the gun because... well, you read it in my personnel file already."

Hotch nods almost imperceptibly. Yet he doesn't seem to be convinced, and Emily searches for the right words, "I carry a weapon every day. I carry one now. If I was suicidal, I wouldn't need another gun to harm myself." The information is expendable. He knows all this and still isn't convinced. Why?

"What about the symbolism?" Hotch asks after a pause. When they are investigating a case, they are looking for the motive, the one thing that urges the unsub on. That's why Hotch isn't convinced. Being the excellent profiler he is, he senses that she kept the gun because it had a special meaning beyond what she told her therapist. Therefore it doesn't matter that she has access to other deadly weapons. If she was in danger of harming herself, then she would use a special weapon to do it. A weapon like that.

Suddenly a thought flashes through Emily's mind. "Why am I sitting here with you and not in the office of my therapist? If I pose such a risk to myself, why didn't she mandate more therapy sessions?" she confronts Hotch daringly.

For the first time since they started their discussion she senses insecurity. There is something wrong here. Something she can't get a grip on yet. His words confirm her assumption, "Your therapist informed me due to regular procedure. She had no other choice. But even if the circumstances point to suicidal tendencies, she is convinced that you are not suicidal. That's why she didn't order more therapy sessions. In a situation like this, though, it's up to the direct supervisor to make the final decision."

So he could deny her the required clearance even if her therapist gave her approval. What a shrewd affair! What a mess! All things considered Hotch spoke a lot about her therapist and regular procedure. But it's what he doesn't say that makes Emily strain her ears. Her therapist may trust in her stability. Hotch doesn't.

"So, my therapist thinks I'm fine," Emily haltingly begins, avoiding the word suicidal. Death was her companion in the past long enough. She desperately wants to flee it. "But you...," she lets her words hover unfinished in the air, and his non-answer confirms her assumption. Hotch doesn't think so. It hits her with a sharp sting. He really believes she is in danger of harming herself.

Emily shakes her head. Obviously she has no other choice. If she wants to convince him that she is not in danger of harming herself, then she has to tell him the whole story. The truth and nothing but the truth.

Of course, she has nightmares about Doyle. Had them when she was in Europe, has them now. Then she is unable to go back to sleep albeit her exhausted body screams for a rest. However all she does is stare into the darkness, fighting the memories of Doyle stabbing her and ultimately succeeding in killing her when she coded in the ambulance later. And the only thing that used to keep her sane in the middle of the night, at the darkest hour, was the cold steel of the gun. It held back the hostile darkness that surrounded her when she coded in the ambulance and that crept up on her in those nights, trying to pull her down again into its endless abyss. She sat down, the gun in front of her, tears streaming down her face, but she didn't feel them. Then she emptied the clip except for one bullet. It was one of these outdated guns with a clip that can be spun so that you don't know in which chamber the bullet is. She always spun the clip, but she never...

"Emily!" The unfamiliar use of her first name vaults her back to reality. Hotch has reached out across the table and touches her arm. "You're crying," he says softly and seems to be as surprised and unhinged as she is. Apparently the memories affect her more than she expected.

"I am not suicidal." She doesn't wipe away her tears, just stares at him unwaveringly. "You have to believe me." If she has to beg to make him believe her, trust her, then she will do it. "This may sound unlikely, but I needed the gun to make me feel alive, to make me realize why I love this life despite of what happened to me. I needed to feel the cold steel. The threat. The possibility to end a life, my life, in the blink of an eye. It made me appreciate everything I have, everything I could lose."

It's no secret that Hotch is not the emotional type. He feels and empathizes much more than he lets show. However he rarely shares a sentimental moment with someone else, let alone a member of his team. Right now, though, all he feels his sympathy, and all he wants to do is act upon it – take her in his arms, comfort her. The vision is in his head before he can stop it and as good as it feels, he nonetheless immediately classifies it as inappropriate. So he sits perfectly still instead and barely dares to breathe, well aware and deeply touched that Emily just completely opened up to him and confided something to him no one else knows.

Emily can't see his inner struggle – his disguising technique is too experienced – but she senses it underneath the surface. She realizes that he wants to believe her, desperately in fact, but still is not completely convinced.

"I never. Pulled. The trigger," she stresses each word to erase the dreadful mental image that most likely crosses his mind just now. "You're right about the symbolism, about what the gun represents – my past. But you're wrong assuming that I kept it because I had a death wish. The opposite is true. You have to trust me. I went through some hard times, but I'm okay, I'm healing."

Hotch's eyes meet hers, and this time he doesn't even try anymore to hide the pain he is feeling. Yet as much as it moves her to see him like this, it also angers Emily that in spite of all her efforts, she doesn't seem to be able to convince him. In an erratic movement she wipes her tears away, oblivious of somewhat smearing her make-up. "God, Hotch," her voice is breathy. This is no longer about an approval to get back to work. This is about him trusting her, and everything else has become irrelevant. "What am I supposed to say or do to make you believe me?"

His answer comes without hesitation and allows her no time to prepare for his words that catch her completely off-guard, "It's what you already said. After Doyle tried to kill you. You told me to let you go."

A cold shiver runs down Emily's spine, and the memories come tumbling down heavily. Doyle. The stake he drove mercilessly into her body, impaling her. A basement. Cold concrete underneath her body. Morgan. Yelling for the medics. Telling her to hang on while she was drifting in and out of conscience. Everything that happened next is even blurrier. Sirens. An ambulance. Hands lifting her up. Pain. So sharp and intense as she never experienced it before. Then... darkness when she coded in the ambulance, and after that she awoke only to find herself in a surreal nightmare, an isolated life of fear and solitude.

She tries to match his words to her memories, and something doesn't fit. Emily knows she talked to Morgan although she doesn't really remember it; he told her about it. But she doesn't remember talking to Hotch. He has to be mistaken.

"I know that I told Morgan to let me go," she says hesitatingly. "In the basement. At least that's what he told me. I don't really remember. Only fragments. But I don't remember talking to you."

He stares at her scrutinizingly as if digging his way through her soul on the search for the truth, making sure she doesn't hide anything. When Hotch apparently is satisfied with the result, he relaxes a little for the first time during their talk.

"You really don't remember," he discerns, and Emily feels uncomfortableness creeping up on her.

"Remember what?" she asks warily. Everything that happened in association with Doyle is a bad memory, and she doesn't want still more of them.

"When you coded in the ambulance, I was with you," Hotch says quietly, leaving Emily at a loss for words. It's not only that she doesn't remember him being there, it's the fact that he was there in the first place.

"You were there?" she has to confirm it. The possibility not even remotely crossed her mind before.

"Yes, I was," Hotch simply responds, and suddenly Emily remembers his intense gaze when she told the team about her near death experience. The affection and concern she saw in his eyes.

"But you didn't tell the others that I coded," she states the obvious. Neither of them had known it, the way they reacted to her telling them about it.

"No," Hotch shakes his head, and Emily recognizes the same affection and concern in his eyes she saw back then. Most likely he didn't tell the team to keep away even more pain from them. And the team thinks she knows Hotch was with her in the ambulance because no one bothered to tell her about it.

It's Emily's turn to reach out across the table. This table is so Hotch. They are close to each other, but the table is an obstacle between them, making sure that they are not too close. Her hand touches his, and he flinches almost imperceptibly. She never did this before. The gesture is as unfamiliar and irritating as pleasant.

"Tell me what happened," Emily requests gently. She has to know.

Hotch's gaze drops to their hands between them. His words are carefully chosen when he starts to speak; somehow this feels like a confession, "When the ambulance arrived, you were barely conscious. We decided that I should go with you. It was the obvious choice since I am your superior." No, it wasn't. From what Emily remembers and from what Morgan told her, he would have been the obvious choice because he was the one who found her and who took care of her until the medics arrived. But she doesn't say it out loud, is still too perplexed, and Hotch continues, his voice soft and strong, filling the silence of the jet, "On the way to the hospital you coded, and they had to resuscitate you. Twice," he pauses, the memories obviously haunting him, the mental picture vivid in his memory as if it was yesterday. The medics ripping her clothes apart. Her body seizing due to the resuscitation. The blood. So much blood. And then a heartbeat again. Her heartbeat. "When you regained consciousness, the first thing you said to me, the only words you spoke...," his soft and up to now strong voice trails off. "You told me to let you go. The same thing you had told Morgan before." His pained eyes meet hers. "You didn't want to live any longer."

And there it is. The explanation why Hotch fears she may be suicidal. All the time he had been waiting to be proven wrong by the result of her therapy. Emily can't even begin to re-enact the devastation he must have felt when he learned about the gun; his worst fears confirmed.

But the story is not over yet. And Emily needs to know it all now.

"What did you do?" she whispers, still holding on to his hand.

Hotch ponders on not telling her the rest. She doesn't remember anyway. Then he proceeds nevertheless, "I held your hand and told you not to give up, to hang on." Basically the same Morgan had done before. Of course, this is no competition who cares more about her. It's just that any emotion from Hotch is like a precious gift. Emily knows that Morgan cares deeply about her. She just didn't know to date that this also goes for Hotch. His fingers haltingly caress hers, and she doesn't dare to breathe. There is a closeness between them she never felt before and never thought to be possible.

Something in Emily's throat tightens at the imagination of Hotch crouched next to her in the ambulance, telling her to hang on, holding her hand like he does at the moment. In a way this is so surreal that she can't even imagine it. Yet he just told her that exactly this happened.

She might have told him that she didn't want to live any longer. But that was then, and this is now. And things have changed.

"Hotch," she says, squeezing his hand. "This was then, after Doyle. I made a choice. I was prepared to die if it meant saving the team, saving you all and your families." He flinches from the matter-of-fact description. "But I didn't want to die, even not back then. I only accepted it as a necessity. And now... Why should I want to die? It's not easy – dealing with everything that happened, beginning anew. But my life never has been easy, and I love my life, my work, being here." She smiles at him. Her tears have dried in the meantime, her slightly smeared mascara the only witness of her emotional slip. Yet she never looked more beautiful to Hotch.

Emily can feel it almost physically, a light pushing and pulling deep inside her. Hotch digs his way through her soul again, searching for the truth. He is the best profiler she knows. By far. Eventually the pushing and pulling stops. Whatever he has been looking for, he found it and leans back. Their hands lose contact. However the emotional closeness between them is still there. Something has changed for the better and for good.

"Who wants easy?" Emily snorts, and wouldn't she know him inside out, she'd swear there is the hint of a smile around his mouth. But this is Aaron Hotchner. The man who seldom if ever smiles.

"For some of us nothing is ever easy," he replies and if there was the hint of a smile, it is gone by now.

Hotch flips the file shut and puts it on the table next to the gun before he shoves both objects aside as a symbolic gesture that this conversation is over. "I believe you," he assures her. "And before you ask – I won't withdraw your clearance for field duty on one condition." His eyes darken, and he holds her gaze. "Come to me whenever you are having a bad day. Talk to me. Promise me that."

"Promise!" Emily nods without hesitation. "And thank you. For everything."

For caring about her. For telling her to hang on. For being there for her. He knows what she means. She doesn't have to say it out loud.

The end

So tell me... Too dark? Not dark enough?

Jeez! I'm really uncertain about this one and need to know what you think.

Please leave a review and let me know.

Thank you so much!