Author's Note: I've never written something in this sort of narrative voice before. It's a new experience for me, but coupled with the darkness of the beginning plot line and my penchant for angst, I'm confident that you'll find this story enjoyable. As always, thank you for reading. (Rated T just to be safe.)

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

He finds her standing before the room's large picture window.

It leads to an open-air balcony, but she won't step past its sliding glass door, and he doesn't ask why.

She's motionless, hasn't uttered a single word or made a single sound. Hell, for a split second, he questions whether or not she's actually breathing, but then, finally, she lets out the smallest of sighs, and he's right there behind her, his strong arms wrapping her in a fortress of an embrace as her eyes flash open.

In the silence, he asks the one question that has too many answers.

"Emily…"

"…are you okay?"

She doesn't answer, and he can't bring himself to be surprised. She's done nothing but stand there for at least an hour, and yes, she's worrying him, but there's nothing he can do about it.

Because she refuses to speak.

Until…

One breathless, broken whisper slips past her maroon-stained lips.

"Aaron. Take me to bed."

He can't bring himself to object, so, wordlessly, he obeys. His heart is thrumming wildly, too wildly, because their gazes meet and he can't read her. She's closed herself off and it's scaring the hell out of him because he wants to help, he really does. But he can't, not if she won't say what she needs help with.

His breathing labored with a medley of unspeakable emotions, he lifts her onto the bed with a tenderness so profound that she almost breaks down right then and there.

But she doesn't, because she's schooled herself better than that.

They're at some nondescript hotel, which is the way she wanted it. He doesn't know why, and at this point, he's not sure he ever will, because, like everything else, she won't tell him.

But suddenly, his breathing is labored for a whole different reason. Because there she is, on the plain white bed, dressed in silk and lace…

She's beautiful. Really, truly beautiful, and he can't tell her enough times because talk is cheap and there really are no words to describe her. But he tries nonetheless, and it almost brings him to tears, because she's so beautiful and there's something in her silent gaze that tells him maybe…maybe this is the last time they'll see each other for a very long time.

And he's right, but she doesn't tell him that.

His hands are slow, his movements reverent, as he peels the violet silk robe from her svelte body. Her hair is slightly damp from their shower, and God, she smells so good…like juniper. Juniper and black orchid.

He remembers seeing the bottle of body wash and thinking that the scent was so unique…so Emily, that he'd never forget it.

And he never does, but for a different reason entirely.

He's undressing himself, preparing them for something so intimate, when she speaks again.

"I don't want to make love tonight. Just…hold me?"

Her voice is so unsettlingly soft that he almost forgets to answer. He eventually nods, and a shiver runs down his spine as she buries her face in his neck and grasps his hand so tightly, almost like…

Almost like she's afraid that, if she lets go, she'll never see him again.

And maybe she is afraid. Maybe she has reason to be, because maybe…she's running. From what or who, he doesn't know, and it's only postulation, but it's this that he's thinking when he hears her breath catch in her throat. And suddenly, she's kissing him with every fiber of her being and it's ripping him into pieces, but all he can do is kiss her back and focus on the feel of her, the sweet whisper of her lips against his as she tries in vain to tell him what she so desperately wants to, but can't explicitly say.

She pulls back, only to kiss him again, and again, and again, until he feels a bead of moisture sliding down his cheek. One single tear.

The worst part is, he can't tell whether it's hers or his.

Probably both.

Because then she says the one thing he didn't want to hear.

"Don't come after me."

That's it; his heart breaks. "What?" he chokes out, but she knows he heard her, and her response only sends him reeling even further.

"Stay safe." Because, really, that's all she wants; the safety of him and his gorgeous, innocent little boy. She'll do anything, absolutely anything, to keep them out of harm's way.

Even if it means her disappearance.

"Please…stay safe." It's the last thing she says before her lips come to rest at the base of his throat and she cries herself to sleep, knowing that, in a couple hours, at some ungodly time of the morning, she'll have to leave him to wake in an empty bed, by himself. Alone. Raw.

And the weight of that knowledge kills her, but she knows it must be done.

What she doesn't know is that he's crying, too, the scent of juniper and black orchid forever ingrained in his mind as his last tangible semblance of one Emily Prentiss.

~.~.~

He gets home late, the only thought on his mind that he really needs a drink, a strong one at that. But he opens his cabinets to see an assortment of empty bottles lying there, some broken, some dusty.

It's been nine months and he thinks of her every goddamned night. The alcohol helps; or at least, that's what he's convinced himself. But now he's gone and ran out and he's not even surprised at the anger that flares up. He even contemplates heading out to the liquor store down the street, before he realizes just how exhausted he actually is.

He stumbles into his bedroom, not even bothering to change out of his suit or brush his teeth before falling onto his bed, face-first. He knows he'll feel disgusting in the morning, but he can't bring himself to care.

Until…there, on his pillow. He smells it.

He smells her.

First, he's sure his mind is playing tricks on him. After all, it wouldn't be the first time. But then, he smells the unmistakeable fragrance of juniper and orchid in the air, too, and he wonders how he didn't notice it when he first walked through the door.

Because she's there. He can almost feel her. Or…

Or this is all some elaborate hoax, and he's really, truly gone insane.

Insanity seems to be a tragic understatement as he finds himself reaching for his gun and roaring, "Show yourself! Whoever you are, wherever you are, show yourself!"

But he's answered with silence.

At least, he thinks he is. Until, out of the corner of his eye, he sees movement in the shadows.

Her arms are raised in something reminiscent to a surrender, her eyes cautious and wide. But she's there. And she's beautiful.

And she's there.

His breathing is ragged. "No," he whispers. His head is shaking violently. "No."

But she's there, nothing is taking her away. She takes another tentative step forward, and his focus is on her lips, her perfect, red lips, as she murmurs two simple words.

"Hi, Aaron."

His gun slips out of his grasp and clatters to the floor, and he sinks to his knees. His expression is pained, but so is hers.

"This is a dream," he says. "A cruel dream. You're dead." His voice is almost a whimper, and yet, he knows his words are false.

"No," she breathes. "I'm right here."

He's drinking in every glorious inch of her frame when suddenly, she's in his arms, and God, it feels so good, so right. She's back home, and his heart almost bursts at the notion.

But he has so many questions…

His hands are framing her face now, her breath fanning out against his cheek. "How?" he finally asks.

She doesn't need any clarification or elaboration, because she knows what he means; she always had, and some things never change. "You gave me a spare key," she answers in reminder. "Before I…" Left. She shakes her head. "I don't know what I'd've done if you had changed your locks, but you didn't. And…it feels like home," she sighs, her eyes glistening.

"I couldn't bring myself to change to locks," he admits after a beat of silence. "I always had this feeling that, maybe…maybe you weren't really gone for good. Maybe you'd come back. And I was right," he cries victoriously.

"And you were right."

They're so close now, only an inch of separation between them. "Emily…"

Her dark eyes meet his. "Aaron?"

Leaning forward, he captures her lips in a perfect kiss. And God, he doesn't want it to ever end because she's finally safe and he has so many things he needs to tell her. One specific thing, above all else.

Three words.

"I love you."

"I love you, Emily. So much."

"I love you…"

Their kiss continues for seemingly hours and they refuse to pull apart because it's been too damn long. But eventually, the oxygen in the room seems to deplete, and they find themselves on his hardwood floor, panting, crying, loving.

And then, he speaks.

"Don't ever go away again."

He'd been trying for an impassioned tone, but his voice breaks, instead, prompting her to tighten her hold around his waist.

"I'm never leaving you, Aaron. Never again."

Her promise soothes his soul, and she's glad. Because, while their safety was worth any sacrifice, she's missed him too much. Too much.

"Oh, and Aaron?"

He kisses her again, then pulls back to gaze at her fully. God, she's beautiful, he thinks. "Yes?"

"I love you, too."

And burying his face in her familiar juniper-and-orchid perfumed hair, he knows that, out from the multitude of hardships and suffering they'd enduring, they have the makings of a truly glorious future.

Together.

THE END.

Author's Note: If you have the time, please leave me some feedback; I'd love to know how I did, and as always, your reviews mean so incredibly much to me. Thank you again for reading!

Also, the FINAL Profiler's Choice Awards ballot is up! I cannot tell you how grateful I am; Daddy's Little Girl got nominated for Best Hotch/Emily, and Memento Mori got nominated for Best Post-Ep. I'm truly honored. If you have the time and would like to vote, the ballot and rules are at the short link here (copy/paste and remove the spaces):

d . pr/N11A

Ballots are due November 30th! And again, thank you all so very much.