Prompt Response (ask box is closed :( )

Anonymous asked: Rossi saying to Hotch 'you're still in love with Emily aren't you?' Or something along those lines 😂 post 200 . •generalprompt•

"You're still in love with her, aren't you?"

Hotch doesn't turn, doesn't even acknowledge he's heard Rossi's voice, but both men know better. Both men know that the question isn't a question, it's a heartbreaking honest statement and they both know it haunts Hotch every day.

The woman he could have had.

"There's still time."

Except there's not, not really. They don't have her for long enough, she's not going to be staying. She has a life in England now, a great flat, even friends from what he hears. He can't tell her, can't ask of her what it would. It's not his place anymore.

He watches her with the team, the way she ruffles Reid's hair and leans into Morgan. Everything feels better with her here, like there's a rounding out of the team. Like she's where she's supposed to be. Her head comes up, meets his gaze and he can almost hear her making her excuses, slipping around the desks to take the stairs two at a time.

"Morgan said something about a bar?"

He offers her the best smile he can and knows it's not enough. And Rossi, the traitor, makes his own excuses ("packing up"? Packing up what?), leaving him and Emily.

"Everything okay?" she asks quietly, and he hates that even after a year and a half she can see right through him. She always did, when she was in DC. Always knew when it was time to take a break, drag him out for a coffee, when he needed brunch or an evening to himself. They'd been so very close when she'd been living here, before and after her 'death'. But now, even if she's still feeling connected, he feels the space between them.

"I'm always okay."

She snorts. "Okay, Tony Stark, you want to try that one again?"

"I think its the Doctor, actually."

She whistles, impressed, then comes to stand right beside him. She braces herself on his office window and just watches him. She knows he hates it, but they both know she's also stubbornly patient. She'll sit there until she has to leave if he lets her.

"You like London?"

She shrugs. "Of course i do. It's London."

He nods slowly. "And you're happy there?"

"Yes. Hotch, what's this about?"

He's tipped his hand, he knows. Even so, he tries so hard to keep it off his face. "I'm glad you're happy."

She huffs, this little thing he's always found so damn adorable. "You're avoiding the question. What's going on?"

He pauses, thinks very carefully about his next response. "It's good to have you back."

She reaches out, catches his hand and squeezes. "You called."

She makes it sound so easy, like she's just waiting for a better offer, something that would make her come back. Like if he asked, she'd jump on a plane, consequences be damned. But he won't, of course. He can't.

"Hotch?"

It's written on his face he knows, the anguish and the idea that he has to give her back. There's nothing he can do about it and he hates it, doesn't know why. Why her? Why now? Why was this not a problem when she'd been here full time, but now that they have her back for a couple of hours, he can't seem to hide all of the emotions she invokes in him?

"Can you stay?" The words are out of his mouth before he even realizes he's going to say it. The same way he realizes belatedly that he's holding her hand to his arm. He can feel the desperation though, the way it crawls up his spine and settles as a painful knot in his chest. He knows his hand is tightening on his, maybe even crushing it, but it barely seems to faze her.

"As long as I can," she promises, and he thinks he must be imagining the turmoil in her own dark eyes. She's happy in London. It wouldn't hurt her to be here. It wouldn't look like it's breaking her.

He doesn't realize he's pulling her in until he's tucking her head into his neck, until he's weaving his fingers through her ponytail. The elastic loosens beneath his fingers until it falls from her hair, leaving it cascading over her shoulders as he buries his nose in the strands. He hates this feeling, like he can't let go, like he just wants to meld himself into her. It's worse now than it's ever been, than the times he thought she'd been dead, than letting her go after she'd recovered in the hospital.

"Hey," she murmurs and surprises the hell out of him when she nuzzles her nose against his cheek. "What's going on?"

She sounds worried, but she's wrapped herself around him, her arms around his waist, a leg between his. He can feel the words sliding up his throat, choking him, making it hard to breathe, and he thinks he makes a sort of desperate noise because her arms tighten around him, like she thinks he's going to break apart.

He uses the tangle of his fingers in her hair to tip her head back and brushes his mouth fleetingly over hers. Her breath catches, and she tenses for a split second before she sways into him. He takes it as permission and kisses her for real, revelling in the whimper she releases. He's been dreaming of this for so long, the taste of her, the feel of her beneath his hands. He slides his palms over the soft blue sweater she wears, spans them across her back. He tucks her as close as possible while he plunders her mouth, explores her taste and groans when her hands dig into his shirt.

Eventually they do break apart, panting and gripping each other tightly. Now it's his turn to curl around her, to wrap her up in his arms as best he can and still press his forehead to hers. She manages to get her hands between them, presses them against his cheeks. "What was that?"

He hugs her tighter, has to slide his hand up beneath the curtain of her hair, make sure she can't move away, can't leave him. God, it's pathetic, but he needs her. He misses her so desperately and clings to the little contact they now do have. "I want you to stay."

The air she releases shakes and shimmers between them and her eyes close. She shifts her head, drops it to his shoulder. He buries his nose in her hair again, refusing to pull away, to put any distance between them.

"What are we supposed to do?"

"I don't know," he admits, because he still won't ask her to give up her happy life. "Just… stay."

She sighs again and silence follows. "I can call Clyde, see if I can extend my stay. Take some vacation days."

"Yes," he says immediately. "Emily, yes."

"I still have to go back," she warns him. "I still have a life there."

He can't help the way his hands grip her, can't help the tensing of his muscles. She nuzzles closer and he's not sure if it's for her or for him.

"I can't just upend my life again," she whispers. "Not even for you."

He swallows. "I'm in love with you."

"I know," she says and that's a shock. She cups his cheek. "We'll talk about it, if I can get the days."

"No matter what," he pushes. Because he can't just let her go now, not now that he knows, that she knows.

"It'll be hell, Aaron, to do anything long distance."

"Not when it matters." And this matters. This is his life. This is more important than anything else.

She searches his face. He lets it all show because she's seen it already, because apparently he cannot keep secrets from her. He puts it all out there, how much he needs her, how much he wants her, the desperation he feels at having her here and knowing she needs to leave.

"Okay," she says finally. "Okay, we'll talk. No matter what."

So he kisses her again, because he can, and because she's right there and how can he not? How can he not take the chance now that she's here?

"Come on," she says softly, cupping his cheek when they break apart. "Let's go celebrate. We'll talk after."

He doesn't like that, he wants to get it all done now, but he can't keep her from everyone, no matter how much he just wants to hole up with her - preferably in his bed without clothing. But he can wait.

After all, he's waited this long for his new happy ending. A couple of hours can't make a difference.