Hotch followed Emily inside the room and dropped his suitcase a few feet inside the door. He was pleased to see that Interpol, or the Bureau, or the CIA… whoever was putting her up, at least sprung for a nice room.

Emily sat on the small couch facing the bed. Hotch took her lead and sat down on the opposite end of the couch. He couldn't gain control of his brain. His thoughts were spinning and he couldn't think of where to begin. She gave him a shy smile and stood up.

"Fully stocked mini bar. What can I get you?"

"Uh, anything would be fine. Thanks."

She grabbed a bottle of Jameson and two glasses. "I'm out of ice, but I can try to get some."

"No, don't worry about it."

She poured them each a healthy glass of whisky and sat back down. Hotch watched her take a sip from her glass. He took a pull from his glass, glancing out the window and wondering where to start the conversation. When he looked back at her, he could see her eyes pooling with tears. He instinctively leaned toward her.

"Emily -"

"I'm fine," she cut him off. "Really. I just… Thank you for coming here, Hotch. You don't know how much it means… I thought I'd never see any of you again. Or that you wouldn't want to see me."

"Emily." He waited until she looked up at him. He didn't know how to go about explaining how much they missed her. How they would have done anything to have her back. How they understood why she did what she did, even if they had wished she had done things differently. How they would forgive her anything.

He didn't think it was possible to articulate everything that he needed her to understand. "When can you come home?"

That simple question nearly broke her. And though she managed to stifle the sob that threatened to rise from her chest, she was not able to keep a few silent tears from spilling. Home. It was something she thought would never exist for her anymore. And here was Hotch, who had flown across the ocean to see her, asking her when she was coming home. Because the implication in that question was that there were people who cared about her coming back.

"I, uh… I have to stay here for another couple of days, and then that's it. I don't know what to do after that."

It was true. She had no idea what to do with her life and her sudden freedom. She didn't know what she would do if she wasn't constantly moving around and repeating her latest fake name to herself like a mantra.

"Then I'll stay here until you can come home."

The tears continued to stream from her eyes. She was still averting her eyes from him. He studied her face and noticed the strain before she tentatively asked, "The team?"

He knew they'd have to talk about the team, and that it would be difficult for her.

"They've missed you. It was hard. Losing you."

He could see how painful this was for her, and he understood how much she hated herself for what they went through. "Emily." He wanted her to look at him, but she couldn't. "It will take them some time to process everything, but you have to know that they will understand. They know that you were trying to protect us. They will understand that your life and theirs depended on Ian Doyle thinking you were dead. In the end, all that will matter is that you're alive, and safe."

She finally looked up at him, gauging his facial expressions. He had meant every word that he said, and tried to convey that through his eyes.

"I've missed them so much."

He nodded. They sat in silence then for long enough for them to finish their drinks and pour another.

"So tell me everything," Emily said halfway through the second drink.

"Believe it or not, not that much has changed. At least not that they've told me." They both smiled at that.

Emily finished the last sip of her drink and turned to look him in the eye. "I panicked. When I heard he was back. I panicked and I froze. If I… I can't say, now, that I wish I could go back and do things differently. But… I wish I would have gone to you."

"You're alive. And you're safe. So I'm not going to wish anything had happened differently. But I wish I could have helped you." They looked at each other for a moment before Emily turned away to refill her glass.

Their last exchange seemed to take a weight off of Emily's shoulders. "So no weddings or babies? No Nobel Prizes for Reid?"

Hotch laughed as he took the bottle from Emily to refill his glass. "The team is 100% single. Just Jack and Henry for kids, and – oh damn. JJ is going to kill me. I promised her a call as soon as I could." He took his phone out of his pocket.

"Well, you better call her then."

"It's not me she's interested in talking to." He took out the phone and dialed JJ. "Did you want some privacy…?" he motioned with the phone.

"No. Stay. Can you put it on speaker?"

He had no sooner hit the speakerphone button than they heard JJ's eager voice. "Hotch? Did you see her? Is she alright?"

"JJ," Emily said.

"Oh my god. Emily. Are you ok? When are you coming home?"

Emily smiled. "I have to stay in Paris for a couple more days."

"It's so good to hear your voice. You get back here as soon as you possibly can, do you understand me?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'm going to stay in Paris for a few days until all the loose ends get tied up here," Hotch chimed in.

"Good. I'll take care of things on this end until you're both home. Let me know when you're going to get back and we'll meet up and figure everything out."

Hearing Hotch and JJ talk about getting her home, about figuring things out - she felt all of the anxiety and fear she had about going back to DC drift away. She wasn't alone anymore.

"JJ," Emily broke in. "I… I don't know how to thank you for everything you've done for me. I…" Emily's voice broke.

"Just come back. As soon as you can. Ok?"

"Ok."

"We'll be in touch when we know more here, JJ," Hotch concluded.

"Be in touch even if you don't know anything. I'll talk to you both soon," JJ said, and hung up.

They spent the next few hours talking and drinking. Emily gave Hotch a very general description of how she had spent the last year. Traveling from place to place nearly constantly both to track Doyle and prevent anyone from being able to possibly discover her. By the time she had made it to the end of the story, the bottle of Jameson was gone.

A thought suddenly occurred to Hotch as he noticed Emily yawn. "I don't know where I'm staying. They just dropped me off here from the airport."

"The adjoining room. They rented that one out along with this one. You're straight through that door." Emily nodded toward the door behind Hotch.

"Well, I should let you get some sleep."

Hotch got up - not without a slight wobble due to the whisky - grabbed his suitcase, and set it down next to the door adjoining their rooms. Emily stood up as well, and stepped closer to him near the door.

"Thank you so much for coming here, Hotch."

This time it was Hotch who stepped to Emily and enveloped her in a warm hug. She responded by wrapping her arms around his waist. She pressed her cheek against his chest and he buried his face in her hair.

"Breakfast in the morning?" he mumbled.

"Yeah," she replied, softly. "Hotch?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you mind if we leave the door open?"

"No. Not at all."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Emily."

They each went into their respective bathrooms to change. Hotch had his light out first. Emily settled into her bed and turned out the bedside lamp. She could hear Hotch shift under his covers from across the rooms. The sound made her feel… at peace. Safe. Home. She fell asleep almost instantly.