Author's Note: Another flashback to the Girl days. This time we're hitting Valentine's Day, which would be located between chapters 36 and 37 of Falling in Love With a Girl. So after the 'divorce papers served/bathroom make out' bonding, but just before Hotch's marriage was officially dissolved. This has more of a case fic twist than the previous relationship building holiday stories, but I felt like writing a bit of a case fic bonding and I felt like writing a bit of a Valentine's tale, and I had nowhere else to put either concept :) But you'll see I'm going with a fair amount of narrative to move things forward more quickly, so it won't be terribly long, chapter'wise.
Bonus Challenge #40 Hearts, Flowers and All That Crap
Show: Full House
Title Challenge: Dateless in San Francisco
Lonely Hearts, Lonely Souls
Hotch's fingertips dug a little further into his thigh at the sound of Emily's breathy, disheartened, sigh from the airplane seat next to him.
It had been her third since they'd arrived at Dulles forty minutes earlier.
And though under normal circumstances in their ever evolving . . . somewhat complicated . . . personal relationship, he would have asked her what was wrong, tonight he had not. And that was because he already had a pretty good idea as to the reason for all of the sighing.
Valentine's Day.
It was tomorrow. And according to what he'd (inadvertently) overheard while the girls were chatting before yesterday morning's briefing, she'd had a date tomorrow night. One that she'd really been looking forward to . . . he was a surgeon apparently, she'd met him on a run at The Mall . . . but it was now a date that she was most definitely not going to be able to keep.
Not given that at the moment it was after ten pm, and the two of them were crammed into Economy Class of a Delta 747, hurdling their way across the country.
They were on their way to San Francisco to assist with a lonely hearts abduction case. It was actually one of THREE lonely hearts abduction cases that had been reported to them in the last seventy-two hours. And though the abductions spanned two different time zones over three different states, Hotch was betting the bank that they were all somehow connected.
Part of it was the victim profile.
They were all single, strikingly pretty, professional women with long red hair in the age range of late 30s to mid-40s. The red hair alone created a victim pool that was much less common just in general, but in this instance, comparing the similarities in the other physical attributes of these women, had tied that knot even tighter.
With their headshots lined up on the white board, it was almost impossible to tell the women apart.
So there was that, but there was also more. According to the searches of their browser and email histories, over the last two months, all of the women in question had responded to at least a half dozen online dating posts. The posts were all on different sites . . . and again, in completely different cities . . . but there had been one common ad in each location. Or common to the extent that whoever had created the ad, had used the same Aristotle quote in each one.
'Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.'
Garcia had found the line doing an algorithmic search of the women's computer files looking for commonalties. It was a huge break.
Somebody was leaving a psychological fingerprint.
Unfortunately that person hadn't left a cyber fingerprint as well. The accounts of the men (or man) that had created those posts, had all been deactivated and their listed contact information was bogus. And of course the pictures associated with the profiles, had all turned out to be catalog models. Ones with airtight alibies.
They were working a continent away.
Garcia hadn't given up yet though. When they left Quantico, she was still trying to find trace the servers they'd used. The one good thing was that . . . even with the amount of time that had passed since the first abduction . . . no bodies had turned up yet.
That bit of luck was unlikely to last much longer.
Hotch knew that anybody who had gone to this extreme to widen their incredibly particular victim pool, and who was THAT melodramatically obsessed with the idea of a perfect love . . . with a perfect abducted stranger who would immediately, and VIOLENTLY, reject him . . . was likely to be unbalanced to say the least.
He was profiling that all of these women would be executed by midnight tomorrow.
Of course it was their job to make sure that that didn't happen, but they were fighting an uphill battle on that front. There had been three reported abductions in each of the locations. But Hotch was hoping that if the team took a less conventional approach to the case . . . if they expanded their geographic efforts . . . that they could figure out what the hell was going on while there was still a chance to bring at least some of the women home alive. The reality was though, best case scenario, they'd save one woman.
Maybe two.
Things were looking that bleak. Valentine's Day was clearly the stressor . . . a broken heart valentine had been found in each woman's ransacked home . . . and they had a hell of a lot of physical ground to cover, and zero time to cover it.
Which was why he'd split up the team.
He and Emily were on their way to San Francisco, Morgan and Reid to Denver . . . Dave and JJ to Vegas. Garcia was . . . as usual . . . working from base. With so many missing, the profile they had, and so few clues to follow, it was already shaping up to be a terrible case.
A point exacerbated by the fact that it was Valentine's Day.
And Hotch didn't just mean that in the sense that it was likely to be the 'execution day' for this particular group of victims, but also for the fact that it was a holiday for his team too. And he didn't much relish the thought of all six of them being haunted, for eternity, by the image of a stack of dead bodies found on the most romantic day of the year.
But of course they found bodies on holidays all the time.
And on weekends, and birthdays and . . . he bit back a sigh thinking of one particularly bad year . . . anniversaries. Thinking about it that way . . . how so many of life's simple milestones had already been tainted by their work . . . it was somewhat of a miracle that Haley hadn't left him years ago.
But . . . he shook his head slightly . . . his personal life wasn't the topic on point right now. The point was that at this particular moment, he did, genuinely, feel badly about Emily's Valentine's being ruined. Not just by the likely outcome of the case, but the fact that she'd had concrete plans.
She'd deserved to have a good day.
Of course, his conscience reminded him, they all deserved to have a good day. And given that a third of his team was coupled up . . . Reid had, uncharacteristically, had a girlfriend going on a solid two point five weeks now . . . and two others were wolves in wolves in clothing, he was quite sure that Emily wasn't the only one who had had 'special activities' set for tomorrow.
But . . . Hotch's gaze shifted slightly to the woman staring out the little window, and into the darkness . . . the others weren't with him.
She was.
And these last few months in particular, he had developed a very soft spot when it came to Emily Prentiss and her general happiness. During a bad time, she'd been very good to him, better than he deserved. And she had definitely given his otherwise UNBELIEVABLY shitty Christmas and New Year's holidays, some truly bright spots in his memory.
She was . . . his expression softened slightly . . . one of a kind.
And as he saw her biting her lip in the window's reflection, he again wanted to say something. Not that the situation could be helped . . . work was work, and missing women were missing woman . . . but it was still a lousy turn of events. But it wasn't until her hand brushed against his and he felt that warm flesh, that he finally opened his mouth.
"We're gaining three hours on this flight," he reminded her softly, "so we'll have six hours to work before the sun even comes up. If we catch up a break, you could still be home in time for dinner."
Emily turned, her brow wrinkled in confusion.
"Sorry?"
"Your dinner," he repeated quietly, "I overheard you talking to JJ and Garcia. I know you had plans for Valentine's Day. I'm just saying, you might still make them."
It was a lie . . . there was almost zero chance that they'd solve this by morning . . . but he was trying to be kind. To give her something to look forward to.
Emily's lips curved in a faint . . . wistful . . . smile.
"No," she shook her head, "actually I won't. Dinner's already off. I texted him in the car that I had to leave town. You and I both know that this won't be wrapped by morning. But even if we get an UNBELIEVABLY lucky break, with the time zone change going back, there's no way in hell I'd be home for dinner tomorrow night anyway. So," she sighed, "I figured it would be better to let him know now that I wouldn't be around."
Seeing Hotch's eyes had widened in surprise, Emily shrugged.
"This way he can find another date if he still wants to go out." She huffed, "we've only had one coffee the day we met, and then one brunch the following Sunday, so it's not like we're 'exclusive' or anything. I barely know the guy."
Though she had actually been looking forward to getting prettied up and going out for a nice dinner, and maybe some tipsy heavy petting on the couch afterwards . . . second official date was too soon for sex . . . it wasn't the end of the world. It was just one more crappy Valentine's day in a long list of crappy Valentine's days. Really, at this point in her life, she'd be happy to call a moratorium on the whole damn holiday, if it wouldn't sound like some ridiculous, clichéd, feminist rant.
Which was absolutely what it would sound like.
"Oh," Hotch bit his lip, unsure of what else to say. The fact that she might have already cancelled dinner, had not occurred to him. And with the exception of a few EXTREMELY rare occurrences, he and Emily didn't ordinarily discuss the intimacies of their personal lives. Or even the non-intimacies.
They didn't talk about much outside of their work.
But fortunately Emily . . . per usual . . . seemed to read his mind on this point. Her eyes crinkled ever so slightly right before she reached over and patted his arm.
"It's okay. Don't panic. I'm done telling you about my dating life." Then her lip quirked up. "But thanks for caring one way as to whether I had a nice night. And now," she stifled a little yawn with the back of her hand, "I think I'm going to try to catch some sleep before we get there and work straight through the next forty-eight hours."
This case was going to SUCK! There was no doubt about it, there would be a body count. Which was why she'd been staring out the window for the last twenty minutes, watching their altitude go higher and higher, as she tried to focus in on ANY positive leads that they might be able to run down in any of the known abduction cities.
So far her list of prospects was pretty God damn slim.
"Yeah," Hotch nodded and cleared his throat, "yeah, sleep is probably a good idea."
It was coming up on eleven pm, and it had already been a full day. And as he saw Emily stifle another yawn just before she closed her eyes, he knew that the most logical thing would be for him to try to get some rest too.
But he also knew that wasn't going to happen.
It was one thing to sleep on the jet, it was a safe environment. But here . . . his gaze shifted around the cramped cabin of mostly unconscious passengers . . . with all of these strangers, and nobody else around to watch his back, there was no way that he'd ever feel comfortable taking a nap.
Maybe . . . after Emily woke up . . . he'd try to catch a few ZZZs. It was a six hour flight after all. But in the meantime, with nothing really to do . . . he certainly couldn't flip open the case file in a zero privacy environment . . . he decided to try killing some time by watching the inflight movie.
Really . . . he slipped the headphones on his head . . . how bad could it be?
*/*/*/*
Nearly two painful hours of cringe worthy dialogue later, Hotch knew just how bad it could be. It was some terrible romantic comedy starring, God only knew who.
He just knew that neither one of them could act.
And though he knew it had to be wrapping up soon, he couldn't stand to watch another minute. It was just too idiotic. So he jammed his headphones into the little pouch and slumped back into his seat with a sigh.
That's when he heard Emily murmuring at his side.
Or more specifically murmuring, on his side. She'd slumped over into his chest an hour ago.
And then she'd started to snuggle.
Just before her head had dropped onto him, she'd tensed up, mumbling something unintelligible in her sleep. And when he'd looked over he'd seen that her nails were clenching into her palms.
It seemed to be a bad dream.
He was just about to nudge her, when she'd suddenly grabbed his arm and fell against his side . . . and that's when her anxiety seemed to settle. So he figured that her subconscious must have recognized . . . and appreciated . . . his presence beside her, and the safety therein. So though it was a little awkward in principle having one of his agents napping on his shoulder, he left her alone.
It was making her feel better.
After all, they didn't know anyone else on the flight, and it was such a small thing really . . . especially given their recent history, kissing on the mouth in four separate geographic locations . . . that he saw no good reason to wake her up. So he let her cuddle because she needed the rest for the day ahead. And also . . . if he was honest with himself . . . he let her cuddle because she was the one woman left in his life that, even if was just in her sleep, would so brazenly invade his personal space. And he missed having someone in his space.
He missed it every damn day.
And if he might have possibly found himself perhaps accidentally brushing the back of his hand against her wrist, or tipping his head down to take a little whiff of that feminine shampoo, well, that was his business. Fortunately she wasn't awake to call him out on it.
Or at least . . . his eyebrow started to inch up . . . she hadn't been.
"What the . . .?"
He heard the mutter from his side, just before the groggy.
"Why didn't you wake me up when I started mauling you?"
His gaze shifted down and over.
"No harm done." He responded quietly. And she gave him a sleepy smile as she sat up.
"Thanks." Then she raised an expectant eyebrow, and covered a yawn.
"So how much longer?"
"Uh," Hotch looked down at his watch, "we're at least another three plus hours out."
"Christ," She moaned and rolled her neck, "no wonder I feel like I got run over by a bus. The jet is way better for sleeping." Then she pushed herself up slightly to look around the mostly full . . . low lit . . . cabin. Most of their fellow passengers were sleeping, though a few seemed to be on their laptops or watching the in-flight movie.
Either way it was pretty quiet.
Her eyes snapped back over to Hotch's.
"Have they brought around the drinks?"
She was dying of thirst.
"Yeah," he nodded, "just after you fell asleep." Then he reached up to push the button for the flight attendant.
"But I'm sure they have more. And," he pointed to the little pocket in the seat in front of him, "I saved the cookies for you. My bag and yours."
Emily gave him a little smile.
"Thanks," she continued while unclicking her seatbelt, "so I'm just going to run to the bathroom, then you can try to sleep for a bit."
It was pretty well understood that nobody on the team was going to feel comfortable sleeping on a commercial jetliner, or a train, or any other public place, unless there was somebody else there to watch their back. They'd seen far too much of the world to believe that there was any such thing as relative safety.
Somebody was always out to get you.
"Okay," Hotch undid his own belt, "thanks." Then he stood up and moved into the aisle to let her get out.
Just as she went to brush by him, the plane hit a small pocket of turbulence and before she could brace herself, Emily's hip made contact with the seat back and she ricocheted into the aisle.
Feeling a slight moment of panic . . . there was no way to catch herself in such a small space . . . her hands flew out to try to brace herself.
But that's when she felt Hotch's arm slide around the waist.
So rather than ending up in a heap on the floor . . . likely with a sprained wrist . . . she found herself pressed hard against his front.
Not the first time she'd been in that position.
"Thanks for the catch sir," she whispered while shooting him a sheepish grin from a half an inch away, "that first step's a doozy."
"Yeah, yeah," Hotch rolled his eyes slightly at the standard mishaps that only seemed to happen to Miss Emily Prentiss, "maybe we can get a parachute line to hitch to your belt and run along the ceiling."
She chuckled softly.
"You jest," she patted his chest while moving to step around him, "but that's a moneymaker right there."
Then she continued on the down the aisle, though not without taking a second to throw him a grin over her shoulder. His lips started to twitch, but then he saw the flight attendant heading down from the other direction, and he immediately sobered up.
Public persona and all.
So he simply let Emily go off in one direction, and waved the woman down from the other. After he'd requested a diet coke and another bag of cookies if they had one . . . he knew Emily's appetite, and he knew that two tiny bags of cookies weren't going to quench it . . . he sat back down in his seat. But knowing that Emily would be back in a moment, he didn't bother with his belt. And sure enough, after a minute of lightly tapping his fingers on the hand rail, he saw Emily stepping out of the little bathroom.
Again he stood up, this time taking a half a step backwards down the aisle so she'd have room to get by him.
That was the point where he felt something tug on his suit jacket.
He turned, his gaze dropping down to see a small girl, maybe four or five, staring up at him. She had black curls and big blue eyes and was wearing a little pair of blue jeans and a Winnie the Pooh sweater.
She was adorable.
His expression immediately softened as he stooped down to her height.
"Hi there," he whispered while giving her a little smile, "did you need something?"
Her gaze ran up and down his body, pausing at the badge he'd clipped to his waist. Ordinarily he kept his credentials in his pocket but today both he and Emily were wearing them on display so that nobody would panic about them wearing their guns on the plane.
"Are you a policeman?" She asked slowly.
Feeling his lips twitch at her little girl lisp . . . her front tooth was missing . . . Hotch tipped his head to the side.
"Kind of." Then his eyebrow inched up, "do you need a policeman?"
"Is everything okay?"
Hearing Emily's soft voice behind him, Hotch shot her a look over his shoulder.
"Uh, I don't know," then he looked back down at the little girl, "is everything okay, sweetheart?"
Her lower lip came out.
"I lost my dolly."
"Oh," Emily's own lip came out as she leaned down, putting her hand on Hotch's shoulder to steady herself behind him, "and you need a policeman to help you find your dolly?"
The little girl nodded seriously and Emily gave her a soft smile.
"Okay honey, we can do that. Why don't you let this policeman," she patted Hotch's shoulder, "go find her, and you and I will go find your mommy."
"Mommy's sleeping." The little turned and pointed a few rows behind her, "see."
Emily straightened up to peer over the seats, and spotted a young woman with curly black hair . . . the same as the little girl's . . . slumped back, eyes shut, with her mouth open and drool running down her chin.
Somebody had taken a Xanax.
"So she is," she murmured her gaze immediately snapping back down to the big blue eyes staring up, "then you can sit here with me for a minute. Right," she patted Hotch's shoulder, "Mr. Policeman?"
"Uh yes," Hotch nodded as he slowly pushed himself back to his feet, "right." Then he looked back down to the littlest member of his citizenry.
"Where did you lose your dolly?"
"I don't know," her eyes began to get shiny right before she sniffled, "I think she runned away."
"Oh, it's okay," Hotch leaned down to gently squeeze her shoulder, "don't cry sweetheart. I'm sure she didn't run away. She's around here somewhere." Then he gently guided her around him and over to Emily, "now you wait here and I'll go look for her."
After Emily had taken the girl's hand, Hotch turned back around and went up to the mother's seat. He tried patting her arm, but she was dead to the world.
Probably Xanax.
So he stooped down and checked under the immediate rows, and then the overhead bins in case somebody had picked it up.
No luck.
Then he bit his lip, trying to picture Jack and the various places he'd left Mr. Bobo over the last couple of years. And with that thought in mind . . . the fact that little children carried their dolls and bears everywhere they went . . . he looked back and forth down the aisle.
There were bathrooms on either end.
And Emily had just come out of the one in the rear cabin. So he started down towards the one in the forward area, heading to first class. And sure enough, he opened the door to find a slightly worse for wear . . . aka well loved . . . baby doll on the tiny counter. A slightly melancholy smile touched his lips as he picked it up. One case solved.
One to go.
And with that thought he mind, he headed back out and down to where he'd left Emily and the little girl. His eyes crinkled.
They were huddled together splitting a snack bag of cookies.
He stooped down next to the end seat and held the doll out in front of them.
"Look who I found in the bathroom."
"Jenny!" The girl exclaimed, dropping the cookie in hand, to grab the doll, "you came BACK!"
"Shhh," Emily half shushed, half chuckled, "you have to talk quiet honey, people are sleeping."
God, she was adorable! And she was also oblivious.
She was clearly lost in the euphoria of a family reunited.
And seeing her eyes fall shut as she squeezed the doll tightly to her chest, Emily felt a spot of warmth in her chest. Then she saw Hotch watching the girl . . . and the faint, sad, smile on his face . . . and had a feeling that he was thinking of less happy reunions on the horizon.
So after he'd helped the girl up and back to her seat, and then come back to sit down in their row, Emily leaned over to whisper in his ear.
"You made that little girl deliriously happy, and you remember that if this case goes bad." Her voice started to thicken, "because sometimes all we have are little victories, but that doesn't make them any less important."
Seeing Hotch's jaw tighten, and knowing that he didn't know how to respond . . . nor did he need to . . . she moved her hand up to cover his. She squeezed his fingers.
"You get some sleep." She cleared her throat, "I'll be here." Then she tried to lighten the mood a bit.
"And if you want to sleep on my chest like I did yours," she continued while pulling her hand back to her lap, "you're going to have to buy me dinner first."
Hearing Hotch's soft chuckle, Emily smiled.
"Good night sir."
"Yeah," Hotch shot her a half a dimple, "thanks Prentiss." And with that he took a breath and closed his eyes.
And with Emily at his side, standing guard, for the first time in weeks, he didn't have nightmares about dead women or abused children. Instead he dreamed of Jack. And of well-loved baby dolls and raggedy teddy bears and little girls laughing as they ran in the sun.
It was a good sleep.
A/N 2: One down, maybe three or four to go :) And I do have chapters of two other stories about ready to go up, but daylight savings kind of f'd my energy levels so I couldn't get through everything.
