Author's Note: Thanks for all the feedback on chapter one! Apparently there's always a niche for a new 'Finding' story :)

Direct continuation from the elbow flying.

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Tactical Maneuvers

"FUCK!"

Emily doubled over swearing at the explosion of blinding white pain that smashed into her face.

Hotch's elbow.

"AARON IT'S ME!" She cried out while stumbling backwards, grabbing for her now gushing nose. She was trying to . . . with both words and actions . . . prevent the expected follow up flip to the ground.

The one that would probably crack her skull open.

Hotch spun around, his mouth dropping open in horror at sight in front of him.

Emily . . . bent over . . . with crimson splattering onto the asphalt in front of her.

"OH GOD! He started frantically searching his pockets for something to staunch the blood flow, "OH JESUS EMILY! I'M SO SORRY! I DIDN'T KNOW THAT IT WAS YOU!"

OBVIOUSLY! But STILL . . . he finally yanked a handful of napkins from his left jacket pocket . . . what the HELL had he DONE?

Now operating in full panic mode, he hurriedly took a step forward before reaching out to put his hand on Emily's back.

"Emily," he said, punctuating his words with a slight squeeze to her shoulder, "come on, you have to tip your head back or it won't stop bleeding."

It a second for her to react to his instructions . . . she still seemed to be too stunned to move quickly . . . but then she slowly straightened up.

And when she did . . . and he saw the tears in her eyes and the blood still running down her face . . . he wanted to be sick.

He'd never felt more horrible in his life.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered as reached out to touch her cheek, "please let me help."

It was literally, the LEAST he could do for smacking her in the face.

Emily stared up at Hotch for a moment before her brain finally processed what he'd just said. That hit had hurt so much that for a second she hadn't been able to focus on anything beyond her initial efforts at self-preservation.

Aka, him not knocking her unconscious.

But now, as she began blinking to rid the tears from her eyes . . . they were an involuntary pain reflex, nothing more . . . she could see Hotch . . . with crumbled yellow napkins in hand . . . standing in front of her.

He looked like somebody had just killed his puppy . . . poor thing.

So she let her arms fall to her sides.

"Okay," she muttered as she sucked in a breath of air through her mouth, "if you want. Have at it."

Oh good . . . she thought with an internal eye roll as she huffed in another undignified breath . . . mouth breathing. That's always attractive. Well, whatever. Her face was now so messed up that mouth breathing, however 'forty year old man living in his mom's basement it was,' was the least of her aesthetic concerns.

Really . . . she took another breath before she leaned back slightly . . . the Dumbo nose and slasher movie clothes . . . everything she was wearing was splattered in blood . . . were the biggest concerns.

As Emily tipped her head back, Hotch took a step closer. His palm was now cupping her cheek. Even then . . . with barely six inches between them . . . he was still standing at too awkward an angle.

Probably because Emily was twisting away from him, mumbling something . . . barely intelligible with her nasally voice . . . about not getting blood on him.

He just shook his head at her while murmuring back not to be ridiculous. Then he put his hand on her hip so that he could pull her closer.

That time she let him.

One of her hands . . . the least bloody of the two . . . clutched his jacket as he tilted her body back a bit further and pinched her nose with the napkins. Under other circumstances the position they were in . . . minus the nose pinching . . . would have looked quite romantic.

Two lovers in an apparent clinch.

And he supposed if someone saw them from a distance, it would still appear to be two lovers in a clinch. But given the situation . . . bloodied assault on the woman he hoped to one day split a mortgage . . . he wasn't feeling particularly 'romantic.' They were pretty much on Opposite Day really.

After all, again, he had just ASSAULTED Emily!

Emily. He had assaulted EMILY! He just couldn't wrap his brain around it. That was like assaulting his mother. Not that his feelings for Emily were anything like his feelings for his mother. His nose wrinkled slightly just at the comparison. But . . . well, okay he'd kind of lost the thread there.

WOMEN HE LOVED!

There it was! He'd just smacked a woman that he loved in the face. And that was just so wrong that . . . well . . . he tugged Emily a little closer to try to compensate . . . there were just no WORDS for how wrong that was!

It didn't help that she hadn't said anything else besides the remark about getting him dirty. Not that she was really in a position for conversation . . . not when all of her breathing was being done through her mouth . . . but she was still being awfully quiet.

For her.

Because really, the Emily he knew wouldn't ordinarily let a little thing like mouth breathing cut off her ability to chatter. So he didn't know if she wasn't talking because it was just too physically difficult, or if she was just totally bullshit with him for what he'd done.

'It was an accident,' his conscience reminded him, 'training and defensive instincts. She surprised you in the dark.'

Fine, okay . . . his teeth gritted slightly . . . that was true. She had surprised him. It wasn't an "intentional" hit to the face. But he still wasn't really ready to listen to the full message of that little voice yet.

The one that was telling him that this wasn't actually his fault.

It didn't matter that it wasn't really his fault, what mattered was that she was hurt . . . his hand slid around from her hip to the small of her back . . . and he was the reason for the hurt.

Lack of intent, would be something he addressed with his conscience later.

At that moment . . . close to a minute into the nose pinching . . . Emily patted his chest. That was right before coming out with a nasal, "my back hurts."

He immediately shifted his body so that she could straighten up.

But he still kept his arm wrapped around her waist.

And as she started to take a shallow breath in through her nose . . . clearly testing the waters there . . . he patted her back.

"How do you feel?" He asked worriedly.

But before she could answer, he suddenly processed the continued grimace of pain on her face . . . and then a terrible thought came to him.

So he shot a second question at her before she'd even answered the first.

"Are you in pain?" his voice hitched up a pitch, "do you think it's broken? Do we need to go to the hospital?"

He had hit her pretty hard . . . that was how he was trained . . . so it could easily be broken.

Before Emily could answer Hotch's question . . . no, she did not think her nose was broken, just slightly elephantasized . . . she suddenly felt a wave of nausea hit her. That's when she realized that there was a trickle of blood still running into her throat.

OH CRAP!

Hotch went flying to the side . . . really she shoved him as hard as she could . . . as she suddenly doubled over again. This time gagging and spitting up on the pavement.

Well . . . she grimaced as a very disgusting glob of pink spit hit the asphalt . . . this SUCKED!

Yes, and THIS is why we announce our presence when coming up on fellow FBI agents in darkened parking lots Emily,' came the mocking little voice in the back of her head.

It sounded like her mother.

But she told that voice to take a hike. Yes, in hindsight . . . and with her now looking like an extra in a Friday the 13th movie . . . she could see that she was indeed a complete DUMBASS!

Of course she should have called out as she approached him. That was just total idiocy on her part. She was coming at him from behind in a darkened . . . deserted . . . parking lot.

That was bad enough.

But then add in that they were in this sweltering city because they were hunting a serial killer . . . one that had a body count now hitting double digits . . . and she realized that she was just lucky that Hotch hadn't actually pulled his gun and SHOT her!

Wait . . . her brain refocused . . . Hotch. His arm had just encircled her waist again.

Hence the refocusing.

And that's when Emily realized that she hadn't answered his question yet . . . the one where he asked if she needed to go to the hospital.

"Come on," he said as she felt his fingers press tightly into her side. Then he was half lifting her off the ground, "we're going to the ER."

To a layperson that might have sounded like simply a professional, 'brokering no room for discussion' order.

But to Emily . . . who was being now being half dragged/half carried to one of their SUVs by the man with whom she'd been working with almost 24/7 for just over five years now . . . that was Hotch's version of complete . . . and total . . . freak out.

It was very sweet.

But of course the reason he was freaking out was because her response to his question, "do we need to go to the hospital?" was to start spitting up blood on the sidewalk.

Again . . . she rolled her eyes . . . complete IDIOT.

But they most definitely did NOT need to go to the hospital . . . this was barely a scratch. Okay, bumpy scratch. But either way . . . she planted her feet on the pavement as she dropped her hand down to cover his . . . no ER visit was necessary.

"No," she shook her head firmly while squeezing his fingers, "no. Hotch I'm okay. Really, I promise. I'm fine."

When he stopped and looked down at her . . . with the Super Worried Eyebrow . . . it almost hit his hairline . . . she gave him a little smile.

"I was a little nauseous for a second, but I'm okay now. It's not broken and I'm definitely not sick. It was just," her mouth twisted disdainfully, "gross."

And it was still gross. Fortunately the blood was now down to a minor trickle, but it was still . . . her free hand came back up to pinch her nose . . . gross.

And messy.

So still holding her swelling nose, she asked in her now default nasal voice, "do you have any more napkins?"

The two he'd been using . . . now crumbled in a disgusting clump on the ground . . . were soaked through.

Momentarily ignoring Emily's question about the napkins, Hotch's jaw twisted as he stared down at her for a moment. He was trying to decide if she was really okay . . . or if she just was trying to avoid going to the hospital.

She did hate the hospital.

Finally he decided that she looked all right . . . well, not all right . . . nobody with a bloody face and a swollen nose looked 'all right' . . . she looked like she'd been going for the Featherweight Title . . . but she didn't appear confused, or as though she was going to collapse.

So apparently . . . he let out a small breath . . . he hadn't ground her nose into her brain, or anything else equally catastrophic.

Yeah . . . he gave an internal eye roll at the stupidity of his thought . . . probably not Aaron. Especially given that grinding her nose into her brain would have KILLED her!

Idiot.

Right . . . his jaw snapped shut . . . idiot.

But then the idiot processed there was still an unanswered question hanging out there.

One about napkins.

He shook his head with a slight jerk.

"Uh, no, no I don't. But," he adjusted his grip on her waist as he walked her the rest of the way over to the SUV, "there should be more in here."

Yes, he knew that he could probably let her go now . . . she wasn't in dire need of medical attention, nor was she on the verge of physical collapse . . . but he didn't want to let her go.

Not yet.

Being able to keep her close to him in a way that he couldn't ordinarily, was making him feel better. Like he was taking proper care of her. Like he would if she was his.

For real.

So even after he'd pulled the keys from his pocket, turned off the alarm and hit the locks, he kept her tucked against his side. And she didn't seem to mind . . . she still had one hand on her nose, but she was leaning slightly on his chest . . . so he didn't feel like he was taking advantage.

Of course taking advantage . . . in a more lusty manner . . . was ordinarily a thought omnipresent when he was touching her, anywhere really. But at the moment those thoughts had faded to a back room.

There would be time for them again later.

After he'd finished putting Humpty Dumpty back together again.

So after he'd yanked open the passenger door, he popped open the glove compartment.

And . . . yes . . . his eyes lit up as he reached inside . . . Kleenex!

Lots of it.

After he'd grabbed one of the half dozen mini packets of tissues jammed in there . . . JJ had seasonal allergies and she'd bought a huge package of Kleenex a few days earlier . . . Hotch turned back to Emily.

"Okay," he murmured as he started yanking them out, "let's finish this up."

Again . . . he tipped her head back . . . as ways to make amends went right now, this was about all that he could do.

Emily stared up at the stars in the sky, trying not to gag again as Hotch pinched her nose for her. Twice she signaled that she needed to spit but slowly that icky sensation began to fade again.

Finally . . . a few minutes, and a slightly stiff neck later . . . Hotch pulled away a still mostly white Kleenex.

"I think it's stopped," he said softly as he looked at her.

God . . . he swallowed as he looked down at her pretty face . . . she was a complete mess.

Not only was there was blood smeared all over the lower half of her nose, mouth and chin, but her shirt and jacket were also splattered.

As were her boots.

Though the jacket and boots were at least black . . . the shirt was previously white, now streaked in crimson . . . he could still see the sheen in the sodium lights.

Then his eyes dropped down to his own outfit . . . his clothes looked as bad as hers.

Apparently Emily had been right about getting him dirty . . . not to mention to he'd also been wiping his hands on his shirt.

They were . . . he shook his head slowly . . . quite a sight.

As Emily started taking slow deep breaths . . . the first clear ones he'd heard from her since she'd appeared in front (behind) him . . . Hotch leaned back into the car to dump all the bloody tissues in the small trash can.

It looked like a mini massacre had occurred.

Trying to dismiss the image . . . the team spilling blood, even just of the busted nose variety always upset him . . . he reached under the front seat. A second later he pulled out the standard FBI issue container of disinfectant wipes.

It was the first time that he'd actually been grateful for the 'messier' aspects of their work.

So after he'd wiped his own hands off . . . they were quite sticky . . . he wiped Emily's as well. After that he turned back to her with a fresh wipe.

Then . . . as their eyes locked . . . he cupped Emily's jaw. Her lip quirked up slightly as she patted his arm.

Only then did he begin gently wiping her face clean . . . though of course being careful to avoid bumping her obviously tender nose.

After he'd gone through his second wipe Emily was finally looking like Emily again . . . though a slightly puffy nosed version of her.

It looked like she was getting mouse under her right eye too.

He turned and dropped the last pink'ish wipe into the trash. Then he looked back at her again.

"I'm so sorry about this Emily," he whispered, "do you forgive me?"

Seeing how guilty Hotch looked . . . and knowing then that he was going to be beating himself up over this one for some time to come . . . Emily felt a little pinch in her chest.

She so hated to see him upset, especially he had no reason to feel badly at all. This was her fault.

Not his.

So she reached down and picked up his free hand . . . the one that wasn't on her hip. Then a gentle smile touched her lips.

"Of course I forgive you, don't be silly. It was an accident," then her eyes rolled slightly, "a completely avoidable one if only I had just announced my presence. So really Hotch, this was my fault. Not yours. But nothing's broken," her eyes crinkled slightly, "I'll live."

Of course it hurt like a bitch, and she wasn't going to approach attractive for at least three or four days, but no reason to bring those things up. He'd just feel worse.

And again, he shouldn't feel badly at all.

But seeing Hotch's lack of response . . . verbal or otherwise . . . to her acceptance of his apology, she knew that he still did. So she shifted slightly closer.

And when he continued to just stare down at her she decided to be bold.

She leaned up to wrap her arms around his neck.

In the past they weren't so physically affectionate . . . though she wished very much that they were . . . but things had definitely been reset a few weeks ago. So now the occasional hug . . . even in this instance where they were still on duty . . . would be considered acceptable if the other was hurting and needed a little extra support.

Which was what was happening right now.

Of course the irony that she was the one that was injured, but he was the one that was hurting, was one that the gods were probably having a little chuckle at right then.

Though for a moment . . . to her surprise . . . Emily got the feeling that Hotch wasn't going to hug her back.

It wasn't doing much for her ego.

Especially when she considered how unattractive she probably looked right about then. Not that she thought in any way that Hotch cared about such things . . . he wasn't one of those men . . . but still it was a little tickle of insecurity in her brain.

An annoying one.

But then finally . . . a good twenty, twenty-five seconds into her hanging off of his neck like a chimpanzee . . . she felt his arms slide around her body.

And then he really got into it.

He tugged her close and buried his face in her hair. She gave that action it's due respect . . . it was just too good to interrupt . . . but then finally he moved his head slightly.

His breath was no longer directly on her ear.

Pity.

Still though . . . she turned to whisper in his ear . . . now she could say what she wanted to say.

"See," she murmured, "I'm fine. Still in one piece."

This is why she was so insistent on the hug. Well, the main reason. The secondary one (always the secondary one) was that Hotch was well . . . Hotch. And any Hotch action she could get, she was taking.

And yes some people might consider it was pathetic that she was considering a simple fully clothed hug . . . especially under these circumstances . . . as 'action.' But, whatever. Screw those people.

They'd never seen the Hotness that was Aaron Hotchner.

But getting a bit of platonic action wasn't actually her main goal here, again, mostly she just wanted Hotch to see for himself that she was totally fine.

A little Tylenol and an ice pack and she'd be good as new.

Really, she'd been an FBI agent for sixteen years, so this was HARDLY the first elbow that she'd taken to an unsuspecting body part. The last time it had been an eye while they were subduing a prisoner in Omaha. Damn thing swelled shut for three days. She'd ended up wearing a patch for two weeks until it was totally healed.

Derek . . . of course . . . bought her a stuffed parrot.

So really . . . Hotch rubbed his hand down her back . . . this little run in was nothing. That said . . . Emily's eyebrow rose slightly as another thought came to her. Perhaps she could use this little unfortunate mishap to try to pump Hotch . . . innuendo unintentional . . . for a little information.

Specifically, a little information about his run in with Dave.

Not that she in any way felt that he 'owed' it to her . . . again, the elbow jab was totally an accident and his personal business was still entirely his personal business . . . but as long as she was in this somewhat unique position . . . pressed entirely against his front . . . she wasn't going to bypass using the weapons she now had at her disposal.

Weapons such as . . . she turned her head slightly to nuzzle his neck . . . this, and . . . she breathed a soft puff of air onto his skin . . . this, and . . . she rubbed her boobs against his chest . . . that.

Her lips twitched slightly as she heard his breath catch for a moment.

Really just because she and Hotch weren't romantically involved . . . and probably never would be if these multiple years without him making a move were ANY indication . . . that didn't mean that he wasn't still a hetero male susceptible to all of the usual hetero male pressure points.

And . . . she let out another soft sigh . . . at the moment, she was doing her damndest to exploit every last one of them!

Hotch closed his eyes as he felt Emily's warm breath on his throat . . . the woman was driving him MAD! Seriously . . . his fist clenched into the cloth of her jacket . . . he wanted to take her right there against the side of the SUV!

But . . . he took a breath to try to calm down his now racing libido . . . they didn't do things like that. And that really . . . he bit his lip as she scraped her nails along his back . . . SUCKED!

And though he knew that it was past the point where he really should have broken off this 'hug' . . . though hug was much too innocent a word to encompass all of the things he wanted to do to her right then . . . for some reason he just couldn't command his arms to let her go.

Part of it was simply that he didn't want to . . . holding her like this was almost unheard of . . . but mostly it was because of how she was making him feel. Not just the physical reaction that he was having to her . . . the taking her against the SUV thing . . . but also, it was just . . . he closed his eyes as she rubbed her cheek on his shoulder . . . nice.

He'd been stressed all week about the case and his little problem. And then he'd been angry and pissed off at Dave, and after that he was upset and feeling horribly guilty about what he'd done to Emily.

Those were all really negative emotions.

And now, well, now he wasn't any of those things. Yes, of course he still felt badly about hurting her . . . he was going to feel badly about that for a while . . . but that wasn't the dominant sensation at that moment. The dominant sensation was lust.

And lust was SO much better than guilt!

Or anger! Or frustration! Or any of the other shitty things that had been dominating his spirit all week. And he would have happily stayed there with her in his arms for an hour . . . working up a nice case of blue balls in the process . . . if he could just avoid going back to dealing with his life again.

But then he felt Emily lean up to whisper something.

It took a second for his brain to process what she'd said . . . she'd said it rather wetly right into his ear . . . but when he did, he dropped his head back to her shoulder. This was what she said.

"Tell me about your fight with Dave."

He rolled his eyes . . . apparently God couldn't even let him work up the nice case of blue balls.

Jerk.

But still, he didn't want to answer her question. Not. At. All. He had spent all week avoiding that topic of conversation with her, and he had ZERO intention of telling her what was happening now.

And certainly not what was happening in relation to Dave!

But then she tucked her body a little closer to his . . . though he wouldn't have thought that possible . . . and brushed her breasts against him one more time. And then she whispered another wet phrase into his ear.

"Pleease Aaron."

And he knew then . . . he was telling her anything she wanted to hear. Social security number . . . password to his safe. Whatever she wanted to know.

He was about to spill his guts.

A/N 2: Oh Emily, so unfair. Though that was one way to cheer him up. And poor Hotch, never can get any. Not even a quick feel in the parking lot. And if you're familiar with this universe, you know, he's not getting any from Emily for a few more months.

This is it for postings probably until the weekend. This is my busy week at work, plus I want to bounce around to some different drafts to move some stuff along that hasn't moved in a bit. So I don't want to worry about trying to clean anything up for post until next weekend. It'll stress my brain :)

Again though, thanks everybody for all the feedback!