A/N – This is a Hotch/Prentiss focused fic, so you've been warned from the start! I'm not 100% sure if I'm going to leave this as a little one shot or if I'm going to continue and expand it through-out the process of Emily's return to normality and the potential progressing relationship between Hotly. Let me know if you think I should continue it! The name of the story comes from a song by Chris Garneau – Black and Blue. It's a great song so you should check it out on Youtube! Enjoy!
It had been a long and stressful case. He needed to unwind. He needed to try and cool down the fire in his veins after spending ten days in a reasonably large town in Wyoming - trying to hunt down a killer. In his opinion, the worst kind of killer – the kind who focused their sadistic killing instincts on children. Children being victimised has always been a sore spot for him, it is probably a sore spot for every human being with a decent sense of morals. Something about a child being in pain tugged greatly at his heart-strings, that feeling only intensifying after the birth of his own son. Knowing that his child could easily be one of these hurt children kept him in a constant state of panic. A quiet and controlled panic that never showed on his face but clawed at him from within. He's sure that this panic is what will kill him in the end.
He had tried everything to try and calm this inner turmoil – watching Jack sleep peacefully and more importantly in safety, reading his favourite book, watching his favourite movie, and even, sometimes, alcohol. Nothing worked. Nothing ever completely rid him of his dark thoughts and feelings. No matter how many Unsubs he would personally put behind bars, ten more would be brought to his attention in new cases. Before George Foyet had come into his life, Hotch used to see the positive. He used to see his job as a never ending battle – but as long as he continued to win the fights, the world would still be a safer place even if he never won the war. But since Foyet, more famously known as The Boston Reaper, every case was taking it's tole. Every case took that little bit longer to push to the back of his mind, and the faces of the victims never fully went away. He sometimes wondered if this is how Gideon felt before he left the team for good. If it was, Hotch now felt a little sympathy for the older man.
Hotch was drowning in his own darkness and nothing seemed to be able to pull him from it. Except her. Emily Prentiss is his undoing. He never thought he would be that guy, or that she would be that girl – but since her return from his forced grave something had shifted between them. A simple conversation with her could leave him feeling calmer than hours of therapy could. A flash of her dazzling smile warmed his heart to no end. She was like his comfort blanket, and he wanted to wrap himself up in her. He is almost certain that she had no clue about how he felt.
She is probably unaware of how she affected him because she is still too deep in her own dark world of Ian Doyle. There is no denying that Doyle coming for her had destroyed her. Emily was never one to hide, but Doyle had forced her to the extreme of faking her own death in order to get away from him. Her pride was hurt, but emotionally she was scarred too. A part of him is aware that Emily felt guilty for the unravelling of Ian Doyle. Hotch has noticed the signs of her PTSD that she has been trying so hard to cover up. She is, like he had done after Foyet, throwing herself into work and into trying to rebuild her broken life. Although she seems to be coping well enough right now, Hotch is sure that it's only a matter of time before she cracks. He wouldn't fail Emily, like he had with Elle. He would be there for her, in the background if that's what she wanted, but he would be there. He wouldn't let her face her demons alone. His large hand knocked on the solid wooden door, causing an echo down the empty hallway. He heard someone shuffle behind the door before it opened a crack.
"Hotch?" Emily said surprised, her eyes widening a little as she opened the door to her hotel room. The florescent lights from the hallway illuminated Emily's face, and Hotch noticed straight away the look of tension written across it. From his own episodes of suffering from PTSD he recognised that look of tension. The dark circles under her eyes were more prominent after working for the past ten days non-stop. Her eyes were a little bloodshot and the rims slightly puffy and red – he wondered if she had been crying. The image of Emily Prentiss – an Ambassador's daughter, and a strong woman in her own right – crying alone in her, admittedly dingy, hotel room really broke his heart.
"Prentiss." Hotch replied in his normal, even tone – despite his heart breaking for her, he needed to remain the picture of strength. He stayed silently for several moments as he tried to come up with a reasonable and character-fitting motive to be standing at her door after a case had been closed. "Did you eat something before the take down?" He asked her without emotion. "I didn't." He added casually, not wanting Emily to feel self-conscious about her weight. He had noticed, as he was sure the rest of the team had too, that Emily's clothes were loser fitting on her since she returned. And it wasn't a simple 'I've lost a pound or two' loose fitting. She was far too thin – almost in a sickly way.
"I didn't realise you ate, ever." Emily quipped, her humour never failing her. "I didn't have anything, though." She added softly, her stomach growling quietly as if to prove her statement.
"I stop to eat, sometimes." Hotch replied, a rare half smile and dimple forming across his face. "Would you like to join me for something?" He asked her, now leaning against the doorframe slightly.
As Emily tried to think of an excuse not to join him, her stomach rumbled again in protest. "I think I saw a McDonalds on the way in. About five blocks away." She suggested as she stepped back into the hotel room, Hotch following silently, finding her boots and a jacket to put on. She didn't need to see his face to know he wasn't impressed at that suggestion. Hotch was often fussy about the food he ate – He would eat take away, but it always had to be somewhat healthy.
"I think I saw Pizzeria just two blocks away." Hotch replied, a tone of finality laced in his words. Yes, he wanted to see Emily start to eat more – it didn't mean he wanted to see her eat junk food. "You still like pizza, right?" He asked her as she turned around, ready to go. He felt his heart warm as an enthusiastic nod accompanied the smile on her face confirmed this. It was a genuine smile, too. If something as simple as eating a pizza with her could make her feel an ounce of happiness, Hotch would eat pizza with her every night. "After you." He said quietly as he let Emily walk past him. Tonight his work to show her that she's not alone began.