Hey guys! I wrote two oneshots because I was rather inspired (blame 13x14 and the parallels for it). This is the first one, as it won the poll on IG (user in bio). This is set a while after the last part of 'Six Weeks' but I think it can stand alone - obviously if you want to read and leave a review there, I'll be super glad to know what you think! -, therefore you can tell that somebody left and Hotch said he'd be putting those old wheels up along with his bae Em - not literally but well I will be spoiling the surprise if I just tell you. Obviously, some might be wise enough - or read my stories on IG - to know where this is headed. I hope someday I'll be able write a true ficlet in this universe but for now enjoy another hurt/comfort-ish peek.

Thanks to Hannah for the beta and for supporting me on my shit! Ily x

Disclaimer: I don't own CM, otherwise Emily would've been hiding under Hotch's bed all the while.

She's angry.

No, she's not only angry, she has literally swallowed all of it so once she's home she can finally explode. And she does, the Unit Chief pushes through the front door, throws her go-bag on the couch and makes sure to be clean so she can kiss Jack goodnight. As soon as it's done – the boy already peacefully asleep – she heads to his office, where he probably is since the whole work of Section Chief has been enough to keep him up for hours on end after he's made sure that his son is in bed.

Thoughts running wildly through her mind, the brunette makes sure to slam the piece of wood closed behind her. That's what startles him, weary masculine eyes protected by his reading glasses – the ones that he only uses at home – meeting the tense lines on her shoulder. He thinks, haphazardly, that she's looking pretty today, and how he made sure to prove it to her before they left for work.

Nevertheless the father of one is quite sure of what's going on, he doesn't mention before she utters any of it. It's her choice to talk about it or not and he has to respect it, deciding only to lie his glasses on the desk and intently stare at her with a small tinge of questioning in his expression. Even the way his fingers are entwined and sitting atop of his work are unnerving her tonight.

Allowing himself to run an once-over his partner, he picks on the lack of holster, gun and probably badge. Yes, just exactly what he mustered when she told him that Barnes had a meeting with JJ. It's not like the Assistant Director has made any efforts to hide her true wishes – at least not from the heads of the FBI and, wanting it or not, he was among them now. Aaron Hotchner playing politics and hopelessly drowning in the sea of paperwork - what a lovely end to his recklessness, he had to note.

"Guess what", there's no point in playing games, but she gets two tumblers and scotch, setting one for him to which he thanks her with a slow nod.

He offers her no reply until his glass is poured and so is hers. Sipping his drink and leaning back against his seat, the Section Chief mutters under his breath, "Barnes"

"I've been suspended", it's the first thing she says, pointing at him as though he's the one to blame, and he's quite sure that he will have to take all of it for her sanity's sake. "I come back here, I do what you want, follow this whole ordeal to end up getting fucked over by that bitch"

Hotch is definitely not surprised by her language or the way she downs her scotch, rolls her eyes and fills a second before she's walking around again. His lips press together in a thin line, the slow burn of the alcohol skimming down his throat is sinking slowly, as though he can't feel it – yet, he can. They remain there in silence for a long while, him watching her, taking the drink in small doses while she does pretty much the opposite.

Emily Prentiss is embarrassed, ashamed even, and when that realization hits him, the father of one is on his feet immediately. He daren't pull her into his arms, though – he's pretty sure that she would punch him if he did. Wisely, his male form places itself on the edge of the desk, leaning against it with his hands gripping the edge in order to balance himself better as the heels of his polished Oxfords, that he made no efforts in taking off, still touch the carpet.

It's not unexpected when she's walking towards him, taking the space beside him, mimicking his action and position except for the lack of support. She doesn't need balance, not at home, not with him. With a brief movement, he covers her hand with his, squeezes reassuringly and she almost curses him for being so soft. That's the instant in which he notices the way she's the one pressing her lips together now. But it's not business or tension anymore, no.

There are tears pricking her orbs and she's looking away to hide it from her partner. His palm presses to the back of her limb until hers is facing his, fingers interlaced and that's all he knows that she needs for now. The silent acknowledgment that there's someone here for her. Willing to care, willing to look away from her awkward mess of muffled sobs and the way she's shutting her lids to avoid all of it.

"I'm fucking up", he hates the way her voice breaks, but he can't simply drive all the way up to the bureau tomorrow morning and punch the other woman for doing this to his woman.

"I fucked up too, we all do", a slight shrug, an inch closer and he manages to have his arm around her, hand now resting on her waist and body relishing the way she leans on him as though she somehow depends on it.

Not because she's showing weakness, no. The older man would never entertain himself on behalf of her struggle. Although he does enjoy the knowledge that the 'queen of compartmentalization', as she jokingly named herself to him when questioned whether they would be able to keep it on a low once he came back to office duty, can rely on him to be her fortress if necessary. And he sure as hell knows that the feeling is mutual.

She's held him through Foyet. Enough said.

It takes a good ten minutes before she pulls away, wipes her tears with the back of her hand and lamely attempts to hold herself up. Notwithstanding, she does eventually. And it takes her longer to speak, to gather the words that she really wants to say without cussing like a sailor because that's the only path her rage-brimmed mind can trail for now. He wouldn't mind, she knows, yet there are more urgent matters at hand. She thinks that if she focuses on them for now, it will be for the best.

"This is going to destroy JJ's wedding", it's not the way she wanted this to sound, but it does anyway and he stares at a vacant point, eyebrows furrowed before he simply rolls with it. "And there's Henry. They could have chosen someone else."

His blunt shake of head drags her attention, "Dave wouldn't do the job, neither would Reid. Also this whole situation was created by him in Barnes' head.", the way he instantly balls his fist gives it all away – she secretly adores how much she's able to read him better than anyone else. "Luke, Matt and Garcia are pretty obvious. JJ was chosen for a reason"

Emily admires his grip on himself, the way he manages to remain unreadable to the point that even his hazel orbs are fathomless to those without experience on drowning in his complexity. But she's good at it, and she sees that flicker of guilt sparkling from the shore. Blowing out a breath, forcefully so, she cocks her head to the side as her gaze is intent on the bookshelves on the other end of the precinct.

"You chose her, didn't you?", there's an edge to her tone and he prefers only to nod in sincere response to her inquiry.

He's too practical, and it's almost annoying how he's been playing by the book to a fault. "She made me pick someone to do the job and that's what I did"

It takes her a couple of minutes to react now, as the new perception of his plain knowledge about what was about to come both startles and enrages her. He could have told her, couldn't he? But then she remembers how the Assistant Director clearly mentioned whether JJ had told her about it or not, and maybe that's what she was anticipating. That the almighty Chief Prentiss would come in with five knives to end her and she would have it all recorded for future use or bribery.

Inwardly, she thanks him for it.

And perhaps it's visible in her posture, because he seems to relax as though her threatening figure has ceased. Emily sighs, stands straight again and offers him a hand. He takes it – he always does, matter-of-factly. It's, again, not a surprise when she takes him to their room, takes him to shower with her therefore she can fuck her anger – of him and of that ridiculously egomaniac woman – out onto him.

That's how they function, and have been functioning for longer than both of them can recall. Thus, if she falls asleep on top of him, body sprawled, naked and sweaty from her own ministrations, Emily Prentiss knows that there might be a rough couple of months ahead for them – for her, mainly – but she's plenty aware that she's not alone.

And sometimes, that's more than enough.

Tell me what you think about this piece, please! I really wanna know because I live for y'all's words :3

See you next time!