Author's Note: This is really the first story of mine that I would consider somewhat of a case-fic. I don't really write case-fics, but this time, I decided to make an exception for a friend, an exception I actually enjoyed writing very much. With all that said and done, however: Audrey, I hope you like this little story of mine, and I wish you a wonderful birthday! :)

As always, thank you all for reading. Enjoy!

Excerpts are from Act 5, Scene 2 of Shakespeare's Hamlet. Story title inspired by the Florence + Machine song, "Shake It Out."

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds or any of its characters.

"You need to send her home, Aaron."

Hotch made no move to acknowledge Rossi's presence; rather, he continued watching over Emily as she slept restlessly. Her long, lithe body was stretched out over the too small, worn out couch in the office Hotch was using, but it was all the Des Moines field office had to offer. Emily didn't mind one bit, however. She had barely taken a look at it before passing out. Several hours had passed since then.

"I'm serious, Aaron," Rossi continued. "She's exhausted. You can see it with your own two eyes; this case is taking a toll on her emotionally." He paused. "She cried, earlier. Emily does not cry, you know that. She's a tough one. Tougher than many and most of us here, actually."

"I know," Hotch finally said, pinching the bridge of his nose. In a flash, every event she had suffered through flashed before his eyes: her abortion at fifteen, becoming Lauren Reynolds, being beaten at the hands of Benjamin Cyrus, getting nearly run over by a eighteen wheeler, being forced to face Doyle once more, faking her death, leaving her family...the list went on and on.

It never stopped.

"So send her home." This time, it was Morgan who spoke, closing the door behind him as he entered the office as well. "She's my partner. I care for her, and I understand her; but she's putting all this pressure on herself to break this case, and she's bottling it up, and -"

"And there's only so much she can compartmentalize before she breaks down," Hotch finished. "I know," he sighed. "But as much as I want to pull rank and order her to get some rest, we all know she would pull out her Glock and shoot me between the eyes."

"Aaron," Rossi chided, "she loves you. That ring on her finger proves it."

Hotch was silent for a long time. Then: "We had a fight a few nights ago."

"About?"

"I made the mistake of bringing up an especially touchy subject; having children." He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. "Minutes later, it evolved into a screaming match."

"She doesn't want kids?" Rossi wondered aloud, slightly stunned.

Hotch shook his head. "That's not it. She doesn't...she doesn't think she can." She doesn't think she'll be a good mother. "And now I've made her frustrated, stressed, and emotional - and I don't know what to do. I love her." Hotch met Morgan's gaze. "But you remember what happened the last time we sent someone home during a case like this."

Elle's bloodstained walls sprung to mind, but Morgan brushed any related thoughts far away. "That's easy, Hotch," he said. "Just don't put Anderson in charge this time."

"Not a chance." All three men started at the sound of Emily's voice. She rubbed her eyes of somnolence and stretched like a cat before maneuvering into a seating position. "What do we know?"

Morgan waved his phone about. "I spoke to Garcia a couple minutes ago; that's actually why I came up here in the first place, Hotch." He frowned. "We have nothing," he announced sadly.

"Is CSU still working on the consistency of our latest victim's makeup?" Emily's lips formed a straight, thin line. "There was something...off about it."

"Besides the fact that no teenage girl would voluntarily wear white makeup that makes her look like a ghost?" Rossi countered.

But Emily shook her head. "It was too creamy," she said, her eyes narrowing. Then she sighed. "We need to be honest with ourselves. The ME told us our unsub kept each victim for no more than three days, to the hour. The girl who's ben missing, Audrey Kaus..." she swallowed thickly, "what are her chances of being alive?"

Morgan turned away, a bitter taste in his mouth. "Not good."

Downtrodden, the profilers were making to leave the small office when Hotch reached out to take Emily's hand in his. "Hey," he murmured, his eyes dark, his expression cloudy.

"Hey," she said, curious.

Hotch cleared his throat. "Are you okay?" he asked earnestly.

A hint of a smile touched Emily's rosy lips. "I'll be fine," she assured.

"No, no; I wasn't asking about Emily in the future," Hotch persisted. "I'm asking about Emily in the present." He brought their twined hands to his chest. "How are you feeling now?"

Emily rolled her eyes affectionately. "Aaron, you really need to stop being so over-analytical. I'm fine."

"Yeah, well..." Slowly, he let their lips meet in a bone-melting, much-needed kiss. "I worry about you sometimes."

"And that's okay," Emily said against his cheek, "because I worry about you sometimes, too."

That made Hotch chuckle. He kept her in his arms for a moment longer before cocking his head in the direction of the rest of the team. "Come on, Em. Let's go break this case."

"Yes," Emily said hopefully. "Let's."

~.~.~

Audrey fought the urge to gag as she peeled off her sweat-crusted clothing in exchange for the heavy costume dress he had placed before her. It was easy to slip into; easy enough that her inexpertly coiffed hair and intricate makeup were not ruined. Though Audrey wouldn't have minded if the latter had gotten completely smeared; the off-white foundation coating her face was the epitome of horrid.

The urge to gag was only increased tenfold when she felt her captor's large hands come to rest on her slender shoulder, now adorned by deep red velvet that felt like it belonged on curtains instead of her thin frame. Slowly, Audrey was turned around; turned to face the man who had taken her from the safety of her home.

His eyes gleamed with sick and twisted pleasure. "You look so beautiful, Audrey," he whispered into her ear, his too deep voice causing shivers to run down her spine. "So perfect. You're a director's dream, you know. It's so easy to see you as any role I want you to be." His hand came around to her front, cupping her jaw. "But why are you so quiet? You're usually so outspoken. It's one of the many things I love about you."

Her stomach lurched. "Why are you doing this to me?" Audrey asked, her eyes wild. "Why?"

"Why? I guess you could call it...experimentation. You and I, we never get the chance to do this," he said; and his voice was genuinely sad. "You're practically never on my stage," he lamented. "Instead, you're always hiding out in the sound booth, away from me."

"Thank God I don't have to see you every day," Audrey murmured under her breath.

In the blink of an eye, the dynamic in the dimly lit room changed. He dug his fingers into her braided crown of hair and yanked her head back hard. "What did you say?" he roared.

Audrey immediately cowered away, struggling in his suddenly steely grasp. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she gasped out. "Please...please don't hurt me." Her eyes burned with tears that begged to be shed. "Please don't kill me."

Slowly, he loosened his hold on her; slowly, he drew away. "Audrey...listen to what you're saying. Kill you? Why would I kill you? You read some Shakespeare lately; did Claudius or even Hamlet kill Gertrude? No...no, it was she who brought the poisoned goblet to her lips. Gertrude killed herself." He waved a glass in front of her as he spoke, a glass that was filled with a clear liquid that Audrey simply could not discern. She had watched enough TV crime dramas to know the mystery liquid wouldn't register in a tox screen.

And as she came to recognize the look of dark intent in her director's eyes, all Audrey could do was scream.

~.~.~

"I think we've got something," Emily announced victoriously, a manila folder in her right hand as she approached her colleagues. "CSU came back with the results of the white makeup the other girls had been wearing at the time of their deaths. I was right; it's cream makeup, but not just any kind. I should've recognized it..."

"'Should've recognized it'?" Hotch questioned.

She looked at him for a moment, then glanced back down at her folder. "Okay. So...I didn't just go through a bit of a Goth phase in high school. I might have gone through a thespian phase at one point or another."

"Thespian?" JJ asked.

"Theatre, fine arts, acting," Reid supplied.

"Ah. I was more of an athletics sort of girl myself," the blonde said. "Sorry, continue."

"Anyway..." Emily met the eyes of each and every profiler before her, "it's stage makeup. The problem is, it just so happens that practically every school's theatre department across the country uses the exact same brand of white cream makeup. But -"

"But it gives us a connection between all three girls, a connection that we overlooked earlier in the investigation: theatre," Hotch finished.

"Yes, exactly," Emily said, her eyes bright. "It was right in front of us the entire time, and we didn't see it. We dismissed the connection because victims one and two, Heather Cartwright and Zoe Lane, didn't attend the same school. What we missed, however, was the summer theatre camp they attended at their local community college. When we visited, what did the department head say?"

"The kids got a new director every day, to expose them to different styles and approaches," Rossi supplied.

"One of those directors is our unsub," Morgan guessed.

"Yes," Emily agreed.

"But Audrey didn't attend that camp," Reid pointed out.

"Audrey didn't," Hotch thought aloud, "but was her school's director one of the director's at the convention?"

"That's what I was thinking," Emily said eagerly, shooting her husband a quick and radiant smile.

"I'll call Garcia," JJ said, her phone already at her ear.

"And when you do, ask her this: did Audrey's director ever substitute at either Heather's or Zoe's school? Preferably on a date after the convention occurred?"

"Yes, and yes," the team heard Garcia say over JJ's speakerphone. "Ladies and gents, our unsub is Paul Miller. Reports say he didn't show up at work today, or the day before."

"We've got him," Hotch said. "Garcia, I need a home address."

"Already sent to that very smart phone of yours, boss man," Garcia replied. "Anything else?"

"No," Hotch said, already gathering his belongings. "Thank you, Garcia."

"Don't thank me, thank that beautiful brunette you're married to," the technical analyst said cheerily. "Garcia out."

Hotch smiled as he sought out Emily's gaze, then reached out to give her hand a squeeze. "Great job," he mouthed.

Emily's heart skipped a beat. "Thank you."

~.~.~

"Shut up."

Audrey whimpered slightly, but bit her lip hard and obeyed; even when her director thrust the worn book in her direction once more. Black spots invaded her vision when she realized blood was smeared and dried on the book's spine.

"Well?" His imposing voice boomed in the musky smelling basement they were in. "Read your lines, damn it!"

Something hard flashed in Audrey's still innocent eyes. "You told me to shut up," she reminded flatly.

He backhanded her across the face, reminding her of the rusty blade resting on his lap, and the glass of clear liquid perched nearby. "You know what I mean," he said, and his deep voice was colder than usual. "Now read, and make it convincing."

Audrey swallowed thickly and immediately wished she hadn't. The force of the blow had not only brought a fresh wave of hot tears to her eyes, but had also caused the metal bracket of her braces to snag and pull at the sensitive skin on the inside of her cheek, drawing blood. Like any other person, she had thought at least once about her death and how she'd go. Never had Audrey guessed it would be in a dirty, rank basement that stank of a myriad of bodily fluids, and never had she guessed it would be at the hands of her drama teacher.

A bitter mirthless laugh bubbled in her throat. And she'd thought biology and French were bad.

"Read!"

Shaking uncontrollably now, Audrey found the right page. I love you, Mom, she thought miserably. I love you, Dad.

And she began to read.

"He's fat, and scant of breath. Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows. The queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet." Audrey stared blankly at the stage directions she saw written at the bottom of the page: Gertrude picks up the cup with the pearl.

Slowly, Audrey reached for the glass her director had prepared for her. It rested cradled in her hands, the book on her lap. She had no plans to drink it, however; come hell or high water, she was determined to get out of the damned basement alive.

The man cleared his throat, and read as Hamlet. "Good, madam." And then, in a different voice, he read as Claudius; and Audrey was convinced her director was going through a psychotic break. "Gertrude, do not drink."

Though the look in his eyes said otherwise.

The young actress and her disgusting excuse of a director were so caught up in the moment - Audrey in planning an escape, the man in his twisted fantasy - that neither heard the FBI perform a soft entry through the old house's rear entrance. As Hotch silently pointed where he wanted his agents to go, no one was surprised when he kept Emily at his side, saying, "Prentiss, you're with me."

Guns drawn, Emily let everyone fall into position before responding, "You really need to stop calling me Prentiss, Hotchner."

Hotch winced. "Force of habit, sorry."

"I just like teasing you."

By process of elimination, all rooms but one were eventually cleared; and that was when Hotch heard it.

Raised voices, a man's and a young girl's. But they weren't coming from that last fateful room. Rather, they seemed to be coming from underground, beneath their feet...

In a cloud of dust, Morgan pulled aside the threadbare rug covering the ground below them; and lo and behold, they found a door leading to a basement they hadn't been aware existed.

~.~.~

Audrey stopped mid-sentence.

Immediately, her director's expression turned predatory. "Continue," he snarled. 'Or else' were his unspoken words.

But Audrey surprised both herself and the man with her next forceful words. "No." She knew what scene came next, in only one more line of dialogue; the scene of Gertrude's death.

"Audrey -"

"Gertrude didn't poison herself, don't you understand that?" she outright yelled. "Just because she voluntarily drank what was in a goblet next to her doesn't mean she voluntarily committed suicide. Don't you get it?" Her eyes were wild once more. "People will find out what you're doing, and they'll do it soon." She flung Hamlet to the scuffed ground. "You won't get away with this -"

The FBI stormed in right as the director brought his knife to Audrey's pale throat.

"Paul Miller, FBI! Put your weapon down now," Hotch commanded, his finger on the trigger, ready; ready for anything.

"Weapon down!" Emily echoed sharply.

The director looked at the two agents before him, and then back to the girl he had pulled into his arms. It wasn't the way of killing he preferred, using a knife. It would break the fantasy and it was much too messy.

But it would have to do.

"Goodbye, Audrey Kaus," he whispered.

Right when the blade would have ruined her fair skin, a bullet shot clean through Miller's forehead, then a heartbeat later, another tore through his chest. A fraction of an inch closer, and Audrey would have been the victim.

But Emily and Aaron Hotchner had always been good shots.

Immediately, Emily rushed forward to pull a trembling Audrey into her arms. "Shhh," she comforted. "Everything's okay now. You're safe."

And then, both the sixteen year old girl and her profiler counterpart wept tears of relief; as Hotch looked on.

~.~.~

"Thank you."

Emily looked over at the young girl. Audrey was wrapped up in a grey blanket, and was seated at the back of the stationary ambulance beside Emily. Her shaking had long stopped.

"You don't have to thank me for doing my job, Audrey," Emily said kindly.

"I know. But...I could have died, yet I'm still here, all thanks to you and that other agent." She noticed how Emily touched her wedding ring at that very moment. "Your husband?" she guessed.

Emily raised an eyebrow, smiling wanly. "How did you know?"

Audrey shrugged. "I don't know. I just notice things. It makes sense that you two are partners in the field."

"Yes, I guess it does. You're very astute."

That made Audrey smile. "To be honest, uh...theatre is just a passing phase for me. I really would like to study criminology in college and beyond. But...my mom doesn't want me to. She thinks it's too dangerous; she's worried."

"She loves you," Emily said simply. It is dangerous, she wanted to add, blinking back the memories of Doyle, Cyrus, Foyet. Instead, she motioned out in front of them. "Speaking of your mother..."

But Audrey had already seen, and was rushing toward her. Mother and daughter met halfway, arms outstretched, tears flowing freely. As Emily watched, she couldn't prevent the sad smile on her lips, or the tug in her heart; and in that instant, she stood, knowing what she had to do.

Like a moth to a flame, Emily pulled herself forward to seek out the company of her husband.

~.~.~

Seated on the jet's longest couch with Emily stretched out beside him, her head on his lap, Hotch was certain she had long since fallen asleep; until, that is, her husky voice broke the silence.

"Aaron...I've been thinking."

Slowly, Hotch ran his fingers through his wife's silky locks. All around them, the rest of the team had drifted to sleep. "About?"

She was silent for a while, reflecting on the last day's events. And then: "Let's have a baby."

Hotch almost choked on his tongue. He couldn't believe his ears. "A - a baby?"

Emily nodded with a mixture of serious passion and passionate seriousness. "I've never not wanted to be a mother. I've just been...scared lately. You know that. But I'm not scared anymore," she said with sudden clarity. This case made me realize that."

"You were fantastic, by the way," he whispered.

"Thank you." Emily let Hotch take her hands in his. "I really want this, Aaron," she breathed.

"Me, too." He gazed deep into her eyes before leaning over to upside-down kiss her with absolute adoration. "Let's have a baby," he echoed.

Emily's smile was radiant. "I already can't wait," she admitted.

"If we have a boy, I want to name him Michael," Hotch suddenly said, a wistful look in his dark hazel eyes that made Emily give his hands an affectionate squeeze before putting forth her own suggestion.

"And it it's a girl, I want to name her Audrey."

THE END.

Author's Note: Reviews are love! Please don't hesitate to leave a review; I love hearing your thoughts and suggestions. No account needed! :)