She awakes bleary eyed to a persistent banging and for a moment she's not sure where it's coming from. Blinking away the haze as her hearing sharpens, the last dredges of her peaceful slumber slipping through her fingers as her feet hit the floor, her hands reaching out of her purple silk bathrobe and sliding it around her shoulders. She slips her feet into slippers that have seen better days but she can't bring herself to throw away as they are one of the last gifts Kevin bought her when they were happy. The banging persists, and she realizes that someone is on the other side of her door, and as she gets closer she can hear someone repeating her name, and she stiffens when she recognizes the voice. Pulling open the door and pushing her hair out of her face she takes him in, slumped against her doorframe with a bottle of whiskey clutched in one hand. He's still in the same clothes from yesterday, but his gun is no longer attached to his hip and for that she is grateful. He looks tired, eyes red and puffy as he looks up at her and she opens the door wider, letting him stumble into her living room. He lets out a loud sigh when he lands on her couch, clutching the bottle to his chest, with his legs wide.
"Luke…" she says, closing the door behind him and locking the deadbolt, not turning to look at the man. She tightens the belt around her waist, drawing the bathrobe tighter around her frame, suddenly aware that she is bare underneath save for a T-shirt and her last pair of clean underwear. He doesn't turn to look at her, instead staring straight ahead, his eyes unmoving. "What are you doing here?"
"He asked me to help him," he says, looking down at the bottle and lifting it to his lips, taking a long sip before putting the whiskey back in his lap and wiping at his lips with his forearm. She walks over to the couch, tucking her right leg underneath her as she sinks into the furniture. Reaching out she wraps her fingers around the neck of the bottle, tugging it from his grasp and bringing it to her lips.
"Who did?" She asks, already knowing the answer, but needing him to say it. Placing the bottle on the floor on the other end of the couch, she angles her body towards him.
"Scratch." He reaches out to take his bottle back finding the space between her hands empty, and he looks up at her with a glare. "When the fire escape fell he managed to catch onto the edge of the building." He says, his eyes closing as he sits up straighter. She notices the tension in his movements as he bends his knees and places his head in his hands. "I looked into his eyes, Penelope, I looked into his eyes and I let him fall." He doesn't turn to look at her instead she watches him close his eyes as he takes a shuddering breath. She doesn't say anything, knowing that words aren't what he needs in this moment but reaches out to gently pull him into her.
She places his head in her lap, her fingers combing through his thick hair, and commands him to sleep. She whispers that he's safe now, they're all safe now, that Jack and Hotch are safe because of his actions. She doesn't realize the tears that are streaming down her face until he whispers Walker's name as his breathing evens out, emitting a soft snore.
It's late in the morning when he awakens on the couch, his body tangled with hers and for a moment he's confused before the memories of the previous night filter back to him. He tries not to move as he places his head back onto the arm of the couch, tightening his arm around the woman and closing his eyes once again, slipping back into exhaustion.