Disclaimer: I'm only going to say this once, so listen up. I don't own Criminal Minds or anything to do with it, just the plot of this story and Emily's new identity as Sophie MacKinnon.

A/N: This is my first Criminal Minds fanfic so far, it's just an idea I've been playing with for some time. Anyways, I hope it's not too OOC. If you like it, please leave me a review!

Chapter I

Aaron Hotchner raised his fist to knock on Strauss's door with something like dread gathering in the pit of his stomach. Taking a deep breath, he tapped on the door. As far as he knew, he hadn't done anything questionable to get himself called into her office.

"Come in," she called.

He squeezed his eyes shut and turned the doorknob cautiously, opening the door and taking a few steps into her office.

"Sit down," Strauss said, pulling out the chair and taking a seat. She watched until he had settled himself, folding his hands in his lap. "Do you know why you're here?"

"No, ma'am," he replied, meeting her gaze steadily. The knot in his stomach was loosening slowly. "But please, fill me in."

"Look, for the past five years all you've done is work," she said, putting on her glasses and looking at him pointedly over the tops of her lenses. "It's time you took a vacation."

"I do," Hotch said quietly. "A week, every summer. Jack and I go to the cottage." He leaned forward slightly in his chair, resting his palms on his knees. Her office was cool and somewhat dark, furnished neatly in glossy mahogany.

"That's not nearly as much as you deserve," Strauss said mildly, her gaze softening, which was a total curveball. "You're working yourself to the bone, have been ever since-" She bit back the name, watched him struggle internally against flinching for a second and then give in and jerk away. He blinked, regaining his stoic composure in a fraction of a second.

Averting her gaze quickly to study the perfect row of pens on her desk, she took a deep breath and continued, "You're always either here or with Jack. Not that that's a bad thing, you're obviously a dedicated father." She examined her nails briefly, tacking on the last sentence so she didn't sound judgmental.

"How can I take a vacation when there are still psychos out there taking innocent lives?" demanded Hotch with quiet intensity, meeting her eyes. "If I can put just a few away, we're making a difference. That's more important than any vacation."

Strauss sighed, and reached into her desk, pulling out a monogrammed envelope of thick, cream-coloured paper. She handed it to him with a small smile. "Open it."

Eyebrows raised, Hotch took the envelope delicately, like it might explode if handled roughly, and took the proffered shiny silver letter opener to slit it open. He pulled out two airplane tickets, and looked over at her, frowning. "I can't just leave Jack," he protested, sliding the envelope across the table.

"I already talked to Jessica. She thinks it's a fantastic idea, and she's more than willing to take Jack for a month," Strauss said. She leaned back in her chair, arms folded and a somewhat smug smile on her face. "I guess it's settled then. You might want to go home and start packing, your flight leaves tomorrow."

With a resigned sigh, Hotch stood up and pushed in his chair, preparing to leave. He padded across the thick carpet and turned around at the door. "Strauss? Thank you," he said, tucking the envelope into the inside pocket of his blazer.

He didn't look back, but if he had, he would have seen her small smile, not smug in the least.

It was early, but the airport was already bustling with people in a rush, toting bulging suitcases and crying kids, frowns settled firmly on their faces. Taking a deep breath, Hotch unloaded his one black suitcase from the back of the taxi and straightened his tie, water dripping onto his hair from the bus shelter above his head. It was a dreary day, drizzly and cold. It wasn't exactly ideal weather for a vacation. He closed the trunk and wheeled his suitcase into the main building, trying to figure out exactly where he was supposed to be. He hadn't flown commercial in years, and the change in environment was disconcerting. He pulled his boarding pass and ticket from his breast pocket and consulted them, trying to orient himself. His eyes flicked up to the large signs over various doorways. 11A. That was where he was supposed to be. Straightening up, he began to wheel his suitcase over the reflective marble floor towards the gate, dodging clumps of people, all hampered by the search for people they knew and their luggage. God, this was brutal. He checked his watch: 4:45 am. Stifling a yawn, he looked around for a coffee shop. This was the airport, for crying out loud. There had to be a Starbucks or something of that nature around here somewhere.

With another yawn, this time hidden behind his palm, he gave up on the coffee and headed towards security. This always made him nervous, even though he'd pored over the restrictions and made sure they knew that these were special circumstances and he was allowed to carry his pistol. Even though the line for his specific flight out of Quantico was fairly short, all things considered, he figured he'd lost a few years out of his lifetime by the time he was through customs and all the security points and settled on the plane, where he immediately pulled out his laptop and began to do reports until well after the plane had taxied down the runway and was in the air.

Hotch closed the laptop slowly and looked dreamily out of the window, head fogged with exhaustion and legalese. Virginia had fallen away and was buried behind snatches of white cloud, like cotton balls had somehow gotten stuck in the stratosphere. It looked so peaceful with the sun shining despite the rain back on earth. For a minute, his spirits lifted and his heart soared with something like hope. Settling back his seat, he closed his eyes and promptly fell asleep.

He woke up hours later to the pilot announcing the descent. Blinking rapidly, he rubbed his eyes, wide-awake in an instant. To his surprise, there was a small thrum of excitement building in the pit of his stomach. He hadn't expected to actually look forward to this. As far as he was concerned, he had been taking this vacation simply to make Strauss get off his case. Leaning closer to the window, he looked out at the rolling hills of Scotland. It was so beautiful, in a rugged, austere way. He smiled to himself as the plane glided lower and lower. He heard the mechanical grating of metal on metal as the landing gear dropped, and a moment later there was a slight bump as the plane landed, taxiing down the runway. Hotch's fingers found his tie, tightening the knot in an attempt to make himself look slightly more presentable. He patted down his hair and took a few sips of water from his water bottle, promising himself a cup of coffee as soon as he escaped from the hell that was the airport.

An hour later, he stood outside the Edinburgh Airport, loading his bags into the trunk of a waiting cab. He opened the back door and slid into the back. "The King James Hotel, please," he said to the driver with a smile, straightening the lapels of his slightly rumpled dove-gray blazer.

"First time in Edinburgh?" asked the driver in a thick Scottish burr, putting his hands on the wheel and beginning to navigate the taxi out into the steady stream of traffic leaving the airport.

"That obvious, huh?" replied Hotch, shifting slightly and turning to stare out the window, trying to take in everything at once without looking too eager. The streets were slick with rain, and people were hurrying by under the shade of umbrellas, wrapped in trench coats and galoshes in different colours. The city lights were bright, gleaming in the grey velvet sky. A fine mist was falling, wrapping the city and its occupants in a gossamer muffler. It was beautiful, and Hotch was having a hard time believing that this was all his for a month. No crime scenes, no dead bodies, no psychos, just time for him to do whatever he wanted.

The cab pulled up to the curb, and he climbed out, yawning and trying to cover as much of his skin from the damp as possible. The driver, who had introduced himself as Robbie, handed him his bags with a smile.

"Call me if you need a ride," he said, giving him a small business card as he got into the driver's seat and drove off. Hotch watched the yellow cab until it disappeared into the blur of smog, mist, and traffic before heading inside, into the warmth and soft lights of the hotel lobby, dragging his suitcases behind him.

Inside, it was quiet for just after 8:00 pm. He took a deep breath, and steered himself towards the front desk to check in and get his room key.

"How can I help you sir?" asked the receptionist, looking up from her computer screen with a smile and smoothing her side braid.

"I have a reservation for Hotchner, Aaron Hotchner," he said, resting his hands on the counter.

"Here you are, sir," she said brightly, her fingers flying over the keyboard. She reached over and handed him his key. "Room 407. I hope you have a nice stay, and enjoy Edinburgh. Don't forget breakfast is from 6:30 to 9:30 in the dining room, through there." She waved a delicate hand towards the airy room.

"Thanks," he said, offering her a rather rusty smile, tucking the key in his breast pocket before towing his bags to the elevator and hitting the up button. He could hear the faint grinding of machinery as the elevator descended and the doors slid open. He pulled his stuff inside and hit the button for the fourth floor, leaning back against the shiny metal and closing his eyes.

The hallways were completely deserted and silent. Hotch couldn't even hear the faint murmur of a TV. He made his way down to his room, unlocking the door, and heading in. He fumbled blindly for the light switch in the darkness, fingers closing on air until he finally flicked it, bathing the room in a golden light. There was a luxurious-looking king-sized bed with a white bedspread with gold and green accents and plenty of pillows, a desk, a chair, and an armchair overlooking the city with a small bathroom adjoining.

Shrugging off his suit jacket, he flopped down on the bed, limp as an overcooked noodle. It was only 5:30 back home, but his early start had caught up to him. Yawning, he took off his tie and began to unbutton his shirt as he unzipped his suitcase and began rummaging for his pajamas and toothbrush. Once he'd finished his nightly routine, he made his way over to the large window and drew back the curtain with one hand, staring out into the semi-darkness. As he watched, a streak of light painted a gap between thick layers of clouds. He knew it was stupid, but he closed his eyes and wished anyway.