'It is not so much our friends' help that helps us, as the confidence of their help.'
~Epicurus

Aaron looked at the papers, the word 'uncontested' leaping out from the black ink, spelling out what a failure his marriage had been. It hadn't seemed real, he never thought Haley would do this to him… but even that was a lie. He was a profiler first and foremost, and the signs were all mocking him, forcing him to see them now, instead of shroud himself in blissful self-ignorance.

His pen felt heavier than normal. This was the device that would officially end his relationship with Haley Brooks, his first love, and generally his first for most things, be it sex or otherwise. With this pen, he would clean his slate, start anew. He knew she had wasted no time. Her new boyfriend was nice, but that's all Aaron's ego allowed him to say. It wasn't his fault that his and Haley's marriage had ended, and he wouldn't take his frustration and anger out on an innocent party… be it the party that was effectively replacing him.

Signing his name, he felt the chains of marriage fall off him. He was free.

If he was free then why did he feel so bitter? It was the best for Haley… for Jack. A lump lodged itself in his throat at the thought of his son. Now he would see him even less than he normally did, and that wasn't a lot to begin with. Much to his annoyance he felt his eyes burn, and fought the tears with a vengeance.

Boys do not cry.

His father had taught him that from a young age, ever since he had fallen off his bike and skinned his knee that sunny afternoon. He had adopted it, but the fact that he never cried didn't mean he had no feelings.

Haley hadn't realised that. Even after twenty years with her, seeing him as a caring partner, she had called him a 'cold hearted bastard' in many a recent argument. Aaron had came to the conclusion that it was better for her to dehumanise him. It allowed her to forget the good times they shared, and feel less guilty about hating him now. To her he was a clockwork boy, a toy that she had grown bored with, forgetting the fun times when they had played together, before hurling him across the room into a wall. Shattering him.

Wanting to get the accusatory papers out of his sight, he shoved them in an envelope, and tucked them in the bottom drawer of his desk.

But he still couldn't forget them. The seemingly innocent form was emblazoned in his mind, taunting him from his subconscious, and in frustration he turned to his drinks cabinet, thankful he always kept it stocked up. His hand closed round the already too familiar scotch bottle, and he grabbed a tumble before heading back to his desk.

After one drink he felt a little blurry.

After two, his limbs became more sluggish.

After three, he had just about forgotten.

After four, he resigned himself to the fact he wouldn't forget.

After five, he never cared.

He was just pouring his sixth when his door opened, showing him the hazy form of Emily Prentiss. Numbly, he tried to remember seeing her in the bullpen. He had left he blinds half open, it staved off the loneliness a little in the darkened office.

"Hotch, I think you've had enough," came Emily's gentle voice, taking in the half empty bottle of scotch, and the more than a little drunk Unit Chief currently slumped over his desk.

"W-where did you come from?" he slurred, blinking to try and clear the fog surrounding his vision.

"I was at the gym, thought I'd check up on you," replied Emily. It took Aaron a moment to process what she had said, and when he finally did, he felt a rush of warmth through his system. She had been worried about him. Somebody cared.

"I'm fine," he automatically replied, raising his glass to his lips. It met resistance, and looking up, he saw Emily's hand curled around the tumbler, forcing it back onto his desk, some of the amber liquid spilling out with the force of impact. If Dave was there he would have mourned the loss of such good scotch... or he would have hit Aaron for drinking it like it was water, instead of 'worshiping it with his taste buds.' However, Aaron never cared about his drinks as much as Dave, all he felt was slight annoyance at Emily interferring in his plans to get himself suitably plastered.

"You've had enough," she said again firmly, "Why are you in this state?"

He never wanted to answer, but the glint in her dark eyes told him she wouldn't think 'nothing' was an adequate response. Sighing deeply, he took the papers out again, envelope and all, before tossing them to her. Emily's eyes widened as she took in the contents, and when they settled back on his face, all he could see was sympathy glimmering in their depths.

"Drinking won't solve this," she said quietly.

"Nothing can," he said despondently, trying to make her understand, "But it makes it easier."

"Only for a short time, Hotch, believe me, there is no magical answer at the bottom of that bottle."

"It's better than being home alone," he murmured, his defences severely damaged by the alcohol. Part of his mind hoped he wouldn't remember this in the morning, the other part never gave a damn. Realising what he had just said, he quipped. "Watch out for Christmas baubles." Jack always used to say that to him when he was home for Christmas, he couldn't remember where or even if it was said in the film, but the three year old got such delight at quoting this to his Dad, he always played along. That would all change now, and his hand inched closer to his glass at the thought.

Emily's eyes softened slightly. "You're not alone. I'm here, and you have the team. We're your family, Hotch."

"You don't know what it's like coming home to an empty house after twenty years of someone always being there," the last part was muffled, as his exhausted brain started to shut down, sending him into one of his rarely peaceful sleeps.

Running her fingers through his hair, Emily saw him lean into her hand, a small smile gracing his normally grim features. Her heart stirred slightly at this, but she ignored it, instead moving him over to his couch, thankful he had one in his office - if she had to drag him to the Conference Room, there was no way her back would recover. He never stirred, and for that she was grateful.

Moving over to his desk, she put the bottle back where it belonged, and went to the break room to clean out the glass. Upon her return, she glanced at Hotch. He was still sleeping, drool slowly making it way down his chin from his open mouth. He looked peaceful, and as she sat down to watch him for the night, she knew that truthfully he was anything but. However, he would bounce back, they always did, and she would be waiting in the wings, giving him directions, and helping him recover. She would let him know he had a friend in her, that he wasn't alone, and when it all became too much, she would listen without interupting. Slowly trust would begin to form, maybe grow into something more... but she was getting ahead of herself. Tonight they had built the first bridge, and already she couldn't wait to get started on the others.

A/N: I realised that I hadn't written a Hotch/Emily friendship fic before, and so this is my attempt. I hope you enjoyed it :)

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Criminal Minds :(