It'd been three months since she'd left. Well, three months and twelve days to be exact. Not that he'd been counting. Her last case had haunted her, and he knew it. He'd known it from the moment he'd found her in the bathroom with her tear-stained face. He'd known from the moment that she'd broken down in his arms and told him that she wasn't sure if she could do this job anymore.
That she wasn't sure that she could keep fighting monsters.
She'd told him that she didn't know how to continue. That she didn't know how to deal with all the evil she'd seen, or all the guilt she felt for not being able to save them all.
His answer hadn't been perfect either, he'd told her to take time. Take perspective. Think about the lives she'd saved – the people she wouldn't probably ever meet – instead of the ones she didn't. He'd told her that was the only way you would ever survive in the job they had to do.
The most hollow laugh had left her lips at that point, along with the reply that she didn't know how to. She'd said that she couldn't imagine someone she'd never met, being happy somewhere because of her, and that only the dead bodies of those that she had met stayed embossed in her brain. She'd said that every time that she looked at her hands all she could see was the blood of the people she was unable to save.
She'd said that all the death was getting to her. She'd said that she needed him... She'd said she loved him. He told her to take time off. She had.
That's why this was such a shock, her return. She looked, better. Healthier.
She'd put her defences up again.
Maybe.
She crossed the room in a couple strides, weaving in and out of the desks, towards him. Their eyes locked. And that's when he knew.
She hadn't put her defences back up, not to him. To the others; maybe. But to him; no.
He looked into her eyes as she approached him, and he could see the same scared girl that had left three months and twelve days ago.
It all happened so fast that he didn't really know what was going on. But he was there, in the BAU, with one of his agents in his arms, their lips locked.
As they pulled away he noticed the tears that were streaming down her face, once again.
"You came back to say goodbye?" he half questioned, his thumb wiping away a couple tears of its own accord.
She shook her head gently, "No. This is me saying that I can't do this alone."
"You don't have to," he comforted, pulling her into a hug. "Not anymore."
I will probably write more about this ship once I accept the fact that Hotch is not real and thus, will never be mine.