A/N: - Unlike all my other work, though this is Hotch/Prentiss focused it isn't a Hotchniss piece.

- This isn't really canon.

- I think Emily's characterisation in the show has shown that her time in London has allowed her to resolve her past more than what is reflected in this piece.

- Typos are mine, I'm writing without a beta I'm sorry.

- No guesses for where the inspiration for this piece came from. The actual "what" details are vague in here. They aren't explicitly stated. But the concept is that Emily has essentially just been told that she has to permanently relocate back to DC and take over the role of Unit Chief because Hotch has been suspended for physically assaulting their Section Chief. The story aligns with the general premise of season 12; needing to work many of their old cases to catch unsubs they've caught before. I imagined Emily had very little choice in the situation and that the consequences of Hotch's actions directly impacted her more than anyone else.

Love and peace xx

"I just... I still don't understand how this happened" she murmured in defeat, her eyes falling away as she carefully watched academy members zipping across the courtyard below, all caught up in their own busy lives, all completely unaware and unaffected by the tragedy that was engulfing her.

"I'm… sorry" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Her tongue unconsciously licked across her bottom lip as she shook her head, trying to find a way to let those words settle in her heart.

He'd never before said them so plainly and yet despite the sincerity she could hear in them, they simply were nowhere near enough.

It didn't make this right.

It didn't make this okay.

She felt her eyes begin to burn as she swallowed thickly, her delicate arms curling around her waist protectively.

"I wasn't ready… I'm not ready to come back yet."

"I know."

"So how could you have done something so stupid?"

So selfish.

The unspoken tag hung between them in the almost deafening silence.

"I just… I…"

He stopped, his eyes falling away as he felt a stab of pain in his heart, the weight of the guilt too much to bear. He had no adequate words to give her. So instead he focused his energy on trying not to completely let his emotions overcome him. He had no right to wallow in his own devastation. No right to mourn when she was standing before him practically breaking because of him. Because of this God-forsaken situation that he'd put her into.

He didn't think he could ever forgive himself for this.

Guilt and responsibility were burdens he'd carried many a time throughout his life. And since he'd failed to protect Hayley all those years ago, they had become a permanent part of his posture. Grounding him, stopping him from ever reaching that lightness he saw everyday in his son's eyes.

Yet this feeling was unlike anything he'd ever experienced.

He was responsible for Hayley's death.

That was something, he'd somehow managed to come to reconcile with.

But this?

This time he was responsible for taking away someone's life.

Emily's life.

Her second shot at life.

And that was something entirely different.

Something he couldn't forgive himself for.

He turned away, walking towards the opposite windows in his office, his eyes overlooking the bullpen below.

He didn't know how he'd allowed things to get this out of hand.

And now everyone was going to pay the price for his carelessness.

No one more than the beautiful woman that stood breaking ten feet away from him.

It had been only a fortnight ago that he'd called her in a moment of complete desperation.

They were in over their heads.

Three prison breaks and they were swimming in cases, trying to re-profile dozens of old files to determine how exactly they were going to recapture every sick mind they had ever put away.

They couldn't keep up and he'd known that the longer he denied their need for help, the more he was endangering them.

So he'd called her.

And he'd asked her to come back, to help.

She, being as selfless as ever, had said yes.

No questions asked.

After all, it wasn't supposed to be permanent.

He'd made a vow with himself four years ago that he'd never ask that of her, despite how much he wanted to.

She came freely, when they asked, because she knew in the pit of her stomach that she had another home now that she could return to. An escape where she was safe, where her life was untainted by the haunts of her past. Where her story didn't precede her. Where she mostly, could forget just every crack in her soul and live a normal life, like a normal person.

Go on dates with nice businessmen at local theatres. Have brunch with colleagues when they were off rotation. Shop at Burberry and Dior at the weekends. All without the worry of someone watching her every move. Without worrying that someone would recognise her as that girl from that case.

So she'd arrived and yet despite her expertise things had only continued to spiral.

Nobody was sleeping. Everyone was working around the clock.

He had Antonia Slade's words constantly circling in his mind, taunting him like an ominous plague.

And then two days ago he'd snapped.

He, SSAIC Aaron Hotchner, man famous for his ironclad self-control, had lost his temper.

It was as though years of having his patience constantly wound and wound and wound, years of navigating through the political, bureaucratic bullshit that was the FBI, had all just crept up on him and strung him too tightly at the worst possible moment.

And he'd snapped.

He'd shoved their Section Chief in a moment of heated argument.

He'd replayed it so many times in his head and he still couldn't quite understand how it had happened.

But that didn't change the fact that it had.

And his actions, like all actions, had had serious consequences.

Consequences that had led to this anguishing moment.

He turned to face her, the agony in her eyes had been replaced with unmistakable rage.

"That type of anger doesn't just manifest overnight Aaron. You would have known it was there."

"I know."

"You would have felt it simmering, threatening to break the surface."

"I know."

"You would have known that despite your best efforts it wasn't something you could control, not forever."

"I know."

"Then how the FUCK did this happen? How did you let it get to that point? Why didn't you do something about it?"

He'd been so captivated by the intensity in her face that he hadn't even noticed her stalking forward with every condemnation.

And suddenly she'd somehow ended up right in his space, practically nose to nose.

He felt his throat go dry.

"I… I just thought…"

"You just thought you could keep playing the superhero. That you weren't weak like the rest of us. That you wouldn't crack simply because you'd told yourself that you couldn't. That you could do this job without needing to let yourself be human. You were just an arrogant, selfish son of a bitch who let his ego make decisions for him and in result fucked up all of our lives."

He stood silently, swallowing in defeat as he left a fresh wave of guilt wash over him.

She threw her arms down in frustration, falling back out of his space as she ran her hands through her silky black hair in distress.

"Just… just go. Get out."

"Em…you don't have to… I can fix th-"

"You can't fix this Aaron. It's done. They've suspended you. They're going to fire you. They wanted you to retire after Hayley and you refused. So much shit has gone down in this unit since then and they've only let you stay on because you've never personally let your emotions get in the way of your job. But now, you've fucked up. And you can't just unfuck it. It's done. It's over. This is my fucking mess to deal with now. So just-"

"Emily."

"LEAVE."

His mouth snapped shut as he met her eyes, surveying all the fear, all the fury, all the despair that was dancing across her delicate features. His stomach gnawed at him as the guilt sunk further into his bones, as he came to face the fact that he was solely responsible for every ounce of her pain.

The apology still sat on the tip of his tongue, but he knew it held no weight, served no real purpose. She didn't want to hear it. She couldn't.

He was only making it worse.

His eyes started to sting as he turned away, grabbing his briefcase and his overcoat, making swift work of granting her wish and leaving her in his office, giving her the space she was demanding.

And as he walked over the threshold and down to the elevator without even a glance back in her direction, he couldn't fight the feeling that this may be the very last time he ever set foot in these halls again.

And just as with the guilt, the defeat washed over him with a ferocity he hadn't been anticipating.

After years of fighting, the darkness had finally won.

Reviews are always appreciated :)