Author's note:
This is a companion story to Faces, another of my stories, which should definitely be read before this one. There is also a prequel - The Hunt - which I'd suggest reading before this one as well.

I jump a little, startled by my cellphone ringing. Being at work, the sound is alien; out of context. This isn't any of the ring tones I have assigned to my colleagues. And no one else ever rings me at work.

Irrationally, I can't help feeling that this is not good.

I head out into the corridor calmly. This is nothing. Probably just a wrong number or telemarketer. Just one of life's little oddities. Quick glance at the number: local, but not one I recognise. A mystery, but one easily solved.

"Emily Prentiss speaking."

"Good morning, Ms Prentiss. This is Ms Donaldson at Washington Hospital Center. Do you know an Emma Winthrop?"

My world trembles. Oh god.

I am still calm. I am. I had seen her just this morning. We had an argument, but nothing could have happened since then. Please. "I know her, yes."

"I'm afraid there's been an incident."

The world briefly tilts out of alignment, and I find myself propped by one hand against a wall. "What... kind of incident?"

There's no way that she should be able to have this kind of effect on me. It's been nowhere near long enough.

And we're not in a relationship. We've already established that.

I force myself to listen, to focus on the words coming out of the telephone.

An attack; a blow to the head. An ambulance called by a passerby; an anonymous good samaritan. (It happened on the street? A mugging? Not enough data, states the rational observer.) Hospital. Concussion. Stitches. In and out of consciousness. But no skull fracture. No internal bleeding. No brain damage. she's going to be alright.

My world suddenly rights itself again.

She's going to be alright.

"She keeps on asking for an Emily. You were the only one in her phone. If you can, it might help if you could come down here."

She's asking for me? In spite of everything, some small part of me feels happy at the news.

"I'll see what I can do. Thank you very much."

I slip my phone back into my pocket as gravity shifts again, leading me inexorably towards Hotch's office. Before I reach his door, I start sorting my unruly emotions and thoughts into boxes appropriate for here, and appropriate for elsewhere. Everything to do with Emma doesn't belong here. I am only partially successful before I arrive at the door.

"I need the rest of the day off." I am a little more abrupt than usual, barely even waiting until the door closes behind me before blurting out my request. Which, come to think about it, is more like a demand. "Please," I add.

Some small part of me notes that this is going to cost me in the Game. It's probably going to cost me more before it's over, but that's a problem for another time.

Hotch raises his eyebrows a little; surprise and concern in one minimalist gesture. "Of course. Is there a problem?"

I have to tell him, don't I? Not the whole truth, whatever that is, but enough of it for him to understand why I'm asking this.

"A friend of mine was attacked in the street; hit on the head. The hospital just called." That should be enough, but in case it isn't... "They're asking for me." I obscure the gender by instinct. Some habits die hard.

He sits back a little in his chair, studying me as if he's trying to see into my very soul, but all he says aloud is: "I hope they're alright."

"Thank you, sir." I nod and head for the door, taking his reply as a dismissal. Maybe he'll let this go. Maybe.

He waits until I'm halfway through the door before he adds: "You can tell me about it tomorrow."

Damn.

I guess not.

On the hospital bed in front of me, she can't quite seem to rest. She looks dizzily around the room, tries to prop herself up and finally she falls back onto the mattress before repeating the cycle, all the while moving her mouth soundlessly. Maybe it's my name she's trying to say, maybe not. Does it really matter?

"Emma," I say gently, to no effect.

"Emma," I repeat a little louder, and little firmer.

This seems to catch her attention as she glassily focusses on me.

I smile at her, but I'm honestly not sure if she sees me. "I'm here, now."

Her brow crinkles a little. Possibly she wants to say something, possibly she's just still traumatised from the attack. Either way, what she needs now is rest.

"You're safe. You can go to sleep."

She relaxes, but not totally. She's still looking at me, but I don't know what she's trying to say.

I opt for a comforting "I'll watch over you," silently adding: I'll keep you safe.

It seems to work. She closes her eyes and her breathing slows.

Leaving me alone with my thoughts. Wondering how I got here. I keep myself apart, aloof, compartmentalised. I don't allow blurring between the boundaries of the disparate parts of my life. I don't *allow* people to cross over. Well, apart from maybe Celia, and that comparison leads to places that are uncomfortable to say the least.

Emma's the only person I've had sex with more than once in far too long. And just thinking about the last time...

It was over. Rationally, I knew that. I knew the way that this always played. The hunt. The sex. The inevitable retreat so I could cry and let it all out. And then never being able to really connect to them in the same way. I knew my habits. I knew how I worked.

But at the moment, I wasn't feeling the need to get up, the inexorable pressure to leave just yet. No, I was looking at the remains of her hallway table in a state of mild confusion.

"What happened to the table?" I asked no one in particular, rather hoping that the obvious answer wasn't the correct one.

Emma moved next to me, divesting herself of the remnants of her clothing. Oh god. What had I been thinking?

If thinking is the right word.

"We did, darling," she said, her voice purring, sending desire shooting through me.

I... blushed. This wasn't the way things went. I wasn't supposed to be feeling like I wanted her, or anyone, to fuck me, not now. I focussed on the splintered wood before me desperately. "Sorry! I'll," I juddered to a halt as I caught sight of her skin glistening in the dim light. Focus, I told myself, focus. I cleared my throat. "I'll pay for the damage."

I kept my gaze away from her, unable to risk meeting her eyes. I *liked* Emma, damn it. How could I do this to her, to us?

"You already did, darling," she whispered throatily in my ear, sending a thrill through me that just should not have been possible. "In fact, I think you rather overpaid. Luckily, I seem to have your change right here." And with that she loosened the jacket from my shoulders.

I was numb. I should be moving, doing *something*, but all I could do was say "You don't have to do that." Undercutting my words, my body decided to shift a little, opening myself to her ministrations.

Emma, of course, took full advantage of the situation.

"I know I don't *have* to," she purred, pulling at my shirt with ungentle fingers, "But I *want* to."

The report of buttons violently loosed from my shirt awoke me from my almost stupor. I may be entering unknown territory, unknown for at least the last several years. Ever since I had reinvented myself. My world may be tilting, and the only stationary point seemed to be the woman doing it. But this could all be handled another time, and I sealed the chaos, the confusion away. We had had sex before. I could treat this like any other night.

Of course, by the look in her eyes, Emma had other ideas.

And I was lost.

It was over. I felt like crystal, but it was over. The sex had been... But I could feel the pain, the anger, the fear from my day job there in the background.

And it wasn't going to remain in the background for long. I could feel it approaching like a tsunami.

I should have been making my preparations to leave now. One of the first lessons I had learned, travelling from school to school was 'Never show weakness, never let them see you cry.' Further events had only reinforced this. I didn't cry, preferably didn't even show emotion in front of others. So I should have been leaving right now, just ahead of the flood.

But I wasn't.

I definitely shouldn't have been wrapping my arms around her, clinging to her as my walls started to be overwhelmed.

Yet here I was.

Then the levee broke, as it always did, the emotional waters bursting from inside of me until the only thing I could do was cry.

And cry.

I cried for the victims, the ones I wasn't able to save. I cried for their families and friends, those left behind. I even cried for the criminals. It was our job to get inside their minds, and that carries with it a certain amount of necessary empathy for them.

It was only when the storm subsided that I realised that Emma was holding me and stroking my hair calmingly, as if I were a child.

I was so numb that I couldn't even tell whether I thought that this was a good thing or not. It was something that I'd never normally allow.

What the hell, I thought tiredly. It wasn't as though I hadn't broken far too many of my usually ironclad rules tonight.

So I stayed there a while.

I would have liked to be able to claim that the only reason I was doing this was because of the mindblowing sex I'd just been treated to. But, unfortunately, lying to myself has never been one of my talents. In the cold light of day, what happened here was probably going to mildly terrify me.

But for now it was still the night, and all I could muster was a vague feeling that I shouldn't have done this in front of her, that I'd burdened her with problems. We weren't even in a relationship. She had made very plain her feelings in that regard.

What I wanted I could look at later.

"I'm sorry," I managed, my voice still a little hoarse from tears.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked after a moment.

"No." I'd washed away my demons for the moment and had no desire to drag them out from the depths again. But she sounded like she cared, like she wanted to know. Maybe I could talk about it another time, but I wasn't in a fit state to decide. "Not now. Maybe later." It seemed almost incredible that I could trust someone else almost as much as I trusted Celia. I laughed and gave her the same words I always gave my best friend. "Just a bad day at the office."

"I'm here if you need me." Her words were slow, almost unwilling.

I hugged her briefly in gratitude. My recall of her profile was hazy at best at the moment, but I guessed that those words cost. "Thank you."

I was so tired, fatigue and emotional outpouring making my limbs feel like lead. I should leave now. I really should.

"Do you mind if I stay the night?" I asked instead in a small voice.

She'd probably say no. She should probably say no. It had never been asked, nor offered before, an understanding unspoken between us.

But tonight was mad, with all the usual rules shattered and in pieces. And I wanted someone, her, to just hold me until sanity returned to the world.

"Of course not," she said, and I was too tired to tell whether or not she was lying. Even if she was lying, even if she did mind, the fact that she cared enough to give me this one night allowed me to release my hold on consciousness with a smile on my lips, my head cradled on her stomach.

I drag myself out of memory lane to find that Emma has commandeered my arm in her sleep. Whereas some people might have held it as though seeking comfort, she manages to look like she was simultaneously doing me a favour and that I had better be paying attention, because there *would* be a test later.

I'm left uneasily wondering exactly what the test might be.

Eventually, I have to try to untangle myself from her. My arm is going to sleep, and I can feel the pull of an ache starting up in my lower back. I gently try to disengage, keeping my movements slow and smooth so as not to wake her up. She isn't having any of it. Frowning in her sleep, she actually smacks my arm. The blow is rather pathetic - I barely even feel it - but the sentiment is clear.

"Stay," she mumbles. The word is fuzzy and indistinct, but she sounds distinctly... cross. Demanding. Imperious. It's very Emma. "Please?" That isn't; neither the sentiment nor the uncertain, almost nervous way her voice quavers. So, despite the awkwardness of the angle, despite the aches and twinges, despite my faint sense of unease at just how *right* this feels, I stay exactly where I am.

What else can I do?

Leaning forward, I kiss her forehead lightly. "I'm not going anywhere," I tell her. The lines on her forehead smooth out, and she sinks back into the depths of unconsciousness.

Arranging myself as comfortably as I can, I settle back to watch her sleep.

My apartment was my home, my sanctuary. I could count the number of people I'd let into my apartment on my fingers. I'd never let anyone else into the library or my bedroom.

Not here. Not in this apartment.

There was no way that it should be so easy to let anyone, even someone who managed to flow past my defences as easily as Emma had, into here without freaking. Just a little bit. Just enough to show how *wrong* all this was.

I waited in vain. Nothing.

I propped myself up on one elbow and contemplated her in the darkness. I was still moderately surprised that she had accepted my invitation to stay. The fact that she had feelings for me was undeniable. I just didn't know what kept her flinching away from me. Maybe it was a bad last relationship. I smirked a little. It certainly wasn't a problem with lady loving. She was far too enthusiastic for that. Not to mention entirely too public for my tastes at times.

Maybe she'd overcome it, despite her words this very evening. 'Just friends' did not exactly describe our relationship. And friends with benefits didn't explain Emma sprawled out in my bed, platonically..

Experience told me that there might be reaction in the morning. She could draw away.

I just hoped that I could accept it gracefully if it happened. She was far too close to my heart.

Tonight had been, for want of a better word, magical. I had let Emma in to my sanctum, to my secret self, and she hadn't hurt me. Had, as far as I could tell, accepted me.

Though I guessed time would tell how cute she found my idiosyncracies down the line.

My heart may have melted a little at the thought of knowing her down the line. Even just as a friend.

I'd accepted that I had fallen for her. I'd accepted that she wasn't in the same place as I was. I hadn't quite accepted, prior to this evening, the hope that she might be in the same place, or might be soon.

That she might not hurt me. On a conscious level, at least. My heart had apparently had other ideas.

It was times like this that my inner psychologist reminded me just how messed up I was. Functionally messed up, for my job and my prior to Emma life, but still a little off kilter. Then again, most people on the team were a little broken, one way or another.

But it had worked. My cycle of tension and release, with Celia to smooth the cycles, *worked*. Maybe it could work with Emma. I really hoped so.

I didn't know what I'd do if it didn't. Adapt to the changes she'd wreaked in my world. Survive, I guessed.

Survival, despite the costs, was one of my talents

"What is it?" she asked sleepily.

I had to smile. Near sleep had dropped almost all her many shields and she looked even more beautiful than ever, stealing my heart all over again.

There was no going back for me now.

"Nothing." I murmured in response. Absolutely nothing at all.

"Then get back down here," she grumbled and held out her arms. "You're letting the heat out."

I briefly contemplated ripping the covers off her in retaliation for a certain incident involving cold feet earlier in the evening. But, in the end, her open arms proved far too enticing and I relaxed into them.

"I like what you did with your hair today. It suits you," she said to me.

I had to smile. Typical Emma, always noticing appearances. I might even have snarked about it if I hadn't visited a hairdressers especially this afternoon. I contented myself with simply replying, "I'm glad you liked it."

"I do," she said. Her breath grew more even as she relaxed, slipping towards sleep. "I like you," she murmured, her voice stripped of artifice, brimming with meaning.

I wasn't sure whether or not she was asleep, but I replied anyway. "I like you too."

She tilted my world, became a centre of gravity, and I didn't think she even realised it.

"Emily?" Emma's voice asks, and she's conscious, focussed, *here*.

Thank God.

"You're awake. How do you feel?" I ask.

"Unfortunately like a hard object impacted my head at some velocity." She tilts her head a little before continuing. "It doesn't feel like there's much else wrong with me though."

I do have to admit, it does sound like she is almost back to normal. Worryingly, it also sounds like the voice of experience talking. I query her about it, and she confirms my suspicions. That's... interesting. Very interesting.

An international woman of mystery indeed.

You still have secrets, Ms Emma Winthrop. And I'm going to continue to root them out.

But first, I need to make sure you're alright.

Author's note: The first flashback takes place during the sex scene of part 4 of Faces (Need/Desire) and the second takes place at the end of part 6 (Resonances).