Author's note: Hola kids! RL took up all of my writing time for a solid week, but happily that kind of let up on Thursday so I got a couple things cleaned up and a couple things drafted. Thank God I type fast :) As to what's getting up before Monday, just this and Fracture. The Hours and Aaron & Emily are both in good shape too but Fracture's closer to 'print' than they are so that's the focus in my free time today.

Prompts Announcement: New regular prompts and new bonus prompts (Halloween themed) went up in both forums, plus another set of Fan's Pick in TV Titles, so tons of new inspiration this week.

And one other announcement: I have been forgetting to mention this simply because I'm pretty removed from the rest of the fandom so it's never fresh in my head when I'm posting, but this week I made a mental note! So if you aren't aware already, ilovetvalot and Tonnie are running 2010 fic awards over on their ChitChat Forum. They run across all of CM and nominations close on October 15th at midnight EST. To learn more about what to do and how it works, you can go to one of their profile pages. And now I am very proud of myself because I have finally remembered to be a good dooby and publicize that information as I had promised ilovetvalot I would like two months ago, even before the nominating period opened :)

Back to the story, this picks up the next morning after Hotch's call. Remember this is the hiatus period from season 2 to season 3.

TV Prompt Forum Bonus #19 – The Case of the Bonus Bonus

Title: Perry Mason

Challenge: The Case of the Frantic Flyer

What Goes Up . . .

Early Wednesday afternoon Emily found herself slowly squeezing down the aisle of a Boeing 767 trying to get to row 43, seats A and/or B . . . either would do. Technically she was in A but Hotch had told her that she could have the window if she wanted it so she was aiming for B. Every little perk she could get really because today was the first time that Emily had flown commercial since she'd gone to work for the BAU eight months earlier.

It sucked.

The plane had arrived at the gate twenty minutes later than it was supposed to so then they had to wait until that flight disembarked before their flight could begin boarding. So now they were running a solid forty five minutes behind and everybody was cranky as hell and grumbling to their traveling companions about the state of commercial airline travel in this country.

The consensus was . . . drum roll please . . . it sucked! And given that Emily had independently come to that same conclusion herself thirty minutes earlier when she'd gotten her feet tangled up in a carry on strap somebody left lying in the middle of the boarding area . . . Hotch caught her arm before she hit the deck . . . this conclusion did not surprise her at all.

Of course it didn't help anyone's mood that the flight was packed like they had mistaken the human passengers for a group of sardines, but there were also the usual cast of jackasses who assumed that the world at large had some passing interest in hearing about their personal problems.

For example, the scrawny gentlemen in the doorway bitching loudly at the flight attendant about his seat assignment . . . yeah, good job buddy, keep yelling at the woman because you didn't read your boarding pass when you printed it out last night, that really endears you to the flight crew . . . the garishly dressed woman Emily was passing by now who was yelling at her husband for checking her make up bag rather than taking it as their one carry on . . . seriously, she was already wearing enough paint on her face to hold her own ring at the circus . . . and then overshadowing the rest of the din, there was the clichéd crying baby.

Not that Emily felt that the crying was the baby's fault . . . the poor thing was probably as miserable as the rest of his/her fellow travelers . . . but given that they were all stuck in this flying metal coffin together, the sound was reverberating around the space and making her head hurt.

So there was all that . . . the world around them.

And then there was her own little world, Emily herself and the man who was slowly squeezing down the aisle behind her. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed the suspected clenching of his jaw. That was to be expected though because her own travel companion had not been in a good mood even prior to their arrival at the airport and the discovery of the flight delay. And given all of the idiots they'd been dealing with since they got to the airport, Emily was GENUINELY surprised that Hotch hadn't thrown anyone through a window yet.

His mood had been that foul before they left the office.

Contrary to popular belief . . . as in belief outside the team proper . . . Hotch was not generally ill tempered. Ill-temperedness was actually a rarity with him. Yes, it was true . . . Emily stopped short as an elbow shot out into the aisle . . . her boss was incredibly serious, and could overall be described as somewhat cranky. But after she'd gotten to know him better, Emily had seen that crankiness as part of his charm. It generally coincided with his mother hen instincts peeking out.

For instance last winter when he'd set the gruff standing order from December to March to pack hats and gloves in their ready bags because he didn't want to hear any bitching at the crime scenes.

That was Mom Hotch telling them that it was cold out and not to forget their mittens.

And thinking back on that moment now, Emily felt a little ache in her stomach as she remembered again that she was leaving. Because Mom Hotch telling them to bundle up was him being sweet, and that soft center was one of the reasons that she would never betray him. But of course . . . she tried to push off the encroaching melancholy . . . his crankiness was also a defense mechanism. She knew that he'd been doing this work for almost a decade so being a little grumpy on the job was more than understandable to her. But today he'd shown up late to the briefing and it was obvious that he was beyond a little bit grumpy.

He was . . . well, he was downright pissed.

When she'd first noticed his mood Emily's immediate . . . horrifying . . . thought was that Strauss had carried through on her threat that morning. That Hotch's bad mood was all her fault, that he knew now that she'd been planted in the BAU for the Section Chief's own narcissistic, nefarious purposes and he was waiting for the opportunity to take her down to the range and use her for target practice.

A little dramatic perhaps, but not too far off from what she assumed he'd WANT to do to her if he really did find out what was going on. So basically she'd spent that first hour of the day trying not to throw up as Hotch sat across the table from her tapping his pen in irritation.

But then after the briefing ended . . . and she'd evaced out liked she was taking enemy fire . . . ten minutes later their paths had inadvertently crossed in the kitchen. Though she'd damn near had a panic attack at the time, the run in had turned out to be a very good thing. Because when she'd been in the briefing and assumed he hated her guts already, she'd been trying to avoid being alone with him before they left for the airport. If he wanted to rip her a new one she'd just wanted to avoid the public humiliation of that horrible scene unfolding in front of the Unit at large.

Having to leave the Bureau was one thing, having to leave the Bureau in public disgrace was another thing entirely.

So Emily had waited until she was sure Hotch was in his office before she'd slipped down to the break area for a refill on her coffee. But then he'd surprised her by popping up off the back stairs.

At first she'd had a heart attack thinking that he'd been waiting for a chance to corner her. But that theory was shot to hell when he simply nodded hello before picking up the nearly empty coffee pot and splitting it evenly between their two cups without her even asking.

That's when she knew that whatever was bothering him had nothing to do with her. Nobody shares a pot of coffee and a polite nod with the person that he's hoping to see nailed to a cross in the center of the Mall.

So that had set her mind at ease on the whole 'outing of her Judas status' thing pre their trip.

Emily had additional confirmation that she wasn't the one he was mad at twenty minutes later when Hotch had completely . . . and uncharacteristically . . . EXPLODED! And she had most definitely been nowhere in his visual range when that had happened. The explosion had been directed at that schmuck Agent Gutierrez. He wasn't even FBI, he was ATF, working on a task force tracking stolen guns being funneled to right wing militia groups in the southwest. The only reason they even had contact with him was because of the occasional need for the task force to consult with the BAU on proper procedures for hostage negotiations prior to any weapons raids.

That had been SOP for the last six years to prevent a repeat of Waco or Ruby Ridge.

And unfortunately for Gutierrez their briefing today just happened to coincide with Hotch showing up with an ENORMOUS chip on his shoulder. And though Emily was concerned about Hotch personally . . . clearly something was really bothering him . . . she didn't actually feel badly at all for the person on the receiving end of that loss of temper. Actually the irony of walking back from the bathroom to see the jackass getting reamed out in front of the entire bullpen . . . not to mention half the task force . . . because Hotch had heard HIM snapping at people in the office one too many times, gave Emily a faint bit of amusement. Like Hotch, she'd seen Gutizerrez bite somebody's head off at least a half dozen times over the last six months so she didn't feel any sympathy at all for him having a little 'what goes around comes around' bite him on the ass. But after it was over it became clear that she was the only one that felt that way.

After Gutierrez had ducked out with his tail between his legs, everyone remaining within the glass fortress had given Hotch a wide berth as they tried to keep their mouths shut and their heads down until he'd left for the airport. Two seconds after Hotch slammed his door shut, Morgan and Reid had both muttered to her that they were glad that she was the one going with him and not them.

And even JJ, the person Emily always felt Hotch seemed closest to next to Gideon, had given Emily a sympathetic pout as she saw them heading out with their bags. And that was twenty minutes AFTER she'd pulled Emily aside to give her a pep talk on how to handle Hotch when he was being really grumpy and that she hoped for her sake that he'd gotten the worst of whatever was bothering him today out of his system when he'd unloaded on Gutierrez.

The whole conversation was rather surreal.

Though Emily could of course appreciate her colleagues' discomfort with Hotch's uncharacteristic behavior, once she'd determined that his behavior had nothing to do with her, she wasn't really all that concerned with his mood.

Hotch hadn't raised his voice to her in anger in over seven months so, regardless of Gutierrez's dressing down . . . which had probably been building for awhile . . . she thought it unlikely that their boss would take whatever was bothering him out on her today.

And looking at the sunny side of that situation . . . which she was trying to do because overall the rest of her life was pretty damn depressing . . . if he was in a bad mood, that meant it was less likely that he'd want to talk about anything of a non work nature with her on their trip.

Personal conversations weren't going to do anything but make her feel even guiltier and more depressed about what Strauss was doing to him.

Them. What she was doing to them. They were both getting royally screwed.

Emily stopped short again as another elbow shot into the aisle . . . not that Hotch was generally inclined to discuss anything outside of work. But with the exception of sleeping, they would be spending ALL of their time exclusively together for the next forty-eight hours.

And those are a lot of hours to fill when there's no active case to discuss.

And it seemed unlikely that given the narrow focus of their trip, that even Hotch could maintain a steady stream of uninterrupted shop talk for that lengthy a period of time. They were both okay with sitting together in silence, but after awhile somebody has to say something. And the something that was constantly on the tip of her tongue was a full confession of all of the sins that she hadn't committed.

Her guilt over the secret she was carrying was crushing her soul.

But if they could just get through this trip together without her spilling her guts to him, an action which would obviously result in him drop kicking her out of the airplane at 40,000 feet, then she'd be happy enough.

And really . . . she rolled her eyes . . . how sad was it that she was now reduced to ranking a successful trip as one where there was no intra-team homicide?

Yeah, pathetic.

After squeezing around yet another person who had their ass in the aisle . . . dig the books out of your carry-ons AFTER the other people pass by jackass . . . Emily finally arrived at their row.

Crap.

Though she'd known that the late booking had resulted in them being in the way back of the plane, Emily hadn't realized just how far back the way back was until they got there. And now that she was standing there, she wasn't at all pleased about their location.

Her jaw started to twitch nervously . . . she wasn't at all a fan of turbulence and the back of the plane was always a bumpier ride than the front. And God knows she really didn't need to add any more tension to her already overwrought nervous system.

She was going to end up in the loony bin before her thirty-ninth birthday.

Oh well . . . she shook her head slightly as she shifted her bag off her shoulder . . . no use thinking about the location. It wouldn't make the plane fly any more smoothly.

"Prentiss?"

Pausing as she was about to heft her bag up to the cabinet, Emily turned to look behind her.

"Yeah Hotch?"

Trying to keep the irritation out if his voice, Hotch jerked his head behind them, "why don't you sit down and I'll do both bags in a second."

At present he had a family of five up his ass and he'd like to let them go passed to their seats in triple z or wherever the hell they were. But he couldn't do that until he got out of the aisle. And he couldn't get out of the frigging aisle because Prentiss was blocking their entire damn row!

'All right, calm down Aaron,' he berated himself with a slow breath, 'you're not angry at Prentiss, you're upset with Haley. Keep it straight.'

He'd had another fight with his wife at breakfast . . . another really bad fight. And he was starting to get a sinking feeling about the state of his marriage. He just didn't understand where all of the anger and resentment were coming from because Haley had never been like this before. Of course she'd never loved his job at the Bureau, but as far as Hotch could see, most people were not huge fans of their spouses having dangerous careers. So he'd always figured that her discomfort was normal. But somewhere along the way that discomfort had morphed to something else.

Something ugly and bitter.

And it pained him to admit that he didn't know how to get them back to where they were before. This morning's fight again circled around the idea of him quitting the BAU . . . and that was a deal breaker. This was the pinnacle of his career, he was leading one of the most elite groups in the FBI, their work had, without question, saved hundreds of lives since the Unit's inception. And she wanted him to walk away from all of it. His anger started to spike up again . . . it was ludicrous.

Emily looked behind the jaw twitching Hotch to see a sweaty man with a baby carrier, a once pretty woman with a toddler on her hip, and a bored pre teen playing with some video game.

"Oh," she immediately dropped over to the second seat in their row as she apologized to her boss, "sorry. I didn't realize there was anyone behind us."

'Good job Em, you were just bitching to yourself about the dumbasses that blocked the aisle!'

As soon as Emily was out of the way, Hotch stepped into the row and dropped his bag on the seat. And then they waited while the family . . . clearly tourists . . . traipsed passed. Once they'd cleared and had begun dropping into the seats in the middle two rows behind them, Emily's gaze shifted to see Hotch still staring in their direction. And even though part of her said to mind her own damn business, she couldn't stop her tongue from asking the question.

"Are you okay sir?" she asked softly.

Okay, yes, she might have just been thinking two minutes ago how happy she'd be if they could avoid making any interpersonal connections during this trip, but that was before she saw the look on Hotch's face.

Sadness.

And that was one emotion that she couldn't just ignore. Usually Hotch just looked like Hotch, a man who let only the faintest of emotions seep through his stoic façade. But what she was seeing on his face now, that wasn't faint, that was a naked vulnerability that she'd never seen on him before.

His defenses had completely fallen down.

"What?" Hotch blinked as he looked down at the woman in front of him. And when she repeated softly, "I said are you okay sir?" that's when he realized that his momentary lapse in concentration hadn't gone unnoticed.

"I'm fine Prentiss," he responded sharply, trying to shake off her concern as he reached for her bag. The last thing he wanted today was to start up a personal dialogue.

Though as he saw Prentiss flinch at his tone, Hotch realized that he might have shaken her off a bit more harshly than he'd intended.

Damn it!

He was having a real problem today allowing his internal irritation with his wife, bleed into his external dialogue with everyone else, so as he looked down at the faint pink tinge on Emily's cheeks as she fumbled to pull her case file from her bag, he murmured a soft, "Prentiss," and when she looked up he tipped his head, continuing in the same quiet tone, "thank you for asking."

Her gaze remained locked on his for a moment before she nodded slightly . . . it was an unspoken acknowledgment for the unspoken apology. And then she gave him a little smile and turned back to her bag. But the smile didn't make him feel better about what he'd done, because the smile had been faint, and it had been tinged with sadness. And he knew then that his mood was affecting hers, and that's not what he wanted.

But he had nothing else to add, nothing to say to make things better.

Given the atrocious status of his home life, it was clear that regardless of how much psychological training he had, or how many manuals he wrote or interviews he conducted, his ability to handle his own interpersonal relationships still remained an area far outside his expertise. So though he knew that he should say something more to Prentiss now, something to set the right tone for the trip . . . he didn't.

He just watched silently as she pulled her case file out of her bag and then she zipped up the duffel again. Neither of them said anything as she passed the bag to him, but then their fingers brushed right before she pulled her hand away and her eyes snapped up and locked on his for just the briefest of seconds.

It was a moment . . . one where he could have said all of the words sitting on the tip of his tongue.

'I'm sorry for snapping at your question. And I'm sorry that I'm making an already unpleasant and stressful flight even more awkward for both of us. But please know that it's not you, you didn't do anything wrong. It's just that my marriage is falling apart and I don't know how to fix it. And by the time I figure it out I'm afraid that there won't be anything left to fix.'

But he didn't say any of those things. Instead he just swallowed the apology down as he stowed her bag in the overhead compartment. And as he did so he felt a faint bitterness and disgust at his own cowardly behavior. Regret that he wasn't a better man. One more capable of engaging in honest and open relationships.

One simply capable of making a new friend.

These were old issues though, ones he'd had since childhood, so they certainly weren't going to get resolved today. So as he leaned down to pull out his own paperwork, he decided to let them go.

Once he figured out how to fix what was wrong with his relationship with Haley, then he'd start trying to fix what was wrong with his relationships with all the rest of them.

Decision made to move on to the next thing, Hotch jammed his bag into the cabinet next to Emily's. And then he dropped down into the aisle seat beside her. While he was busy with the bags she'd shifted over to the window.

As Hotch took note of the faint smell of diesel and realized how close to the tail they were, he realized that they were in the worst part of an airplane for somebody with a phobia about turbulence. And it was well known amongst the team members that Prentiss had a major problem with turbulence.

That was a revelation that had come out about after she'd started with the Unit. It was the first time after she'd arrived that they had flown through a storm and as the plane began to bounce, her agitation had become more and more apparent. Only when pushed by both JJ and Morgan did she reluctantly explain about the time she had been caught in the opening spirals of a hurricane as she was flying out of North Carolina. A thirty-five minute climb while being tossed about like a rag doll, and that ever since then flying in bad weather . . . or more specifically the resulting increase in violent air turbulence . . . had made her very uncomfortable.

At the time Emily had shared that story, two things had been clear to Hotch, her embarrassment at having this phobia, and her concern that they would see it at as a weakness. Not that she'd actually come out and said either of those things, but he did read behavior for a living and that read had been as plain as the nose on his face. And he had been sympathetic, especially given how much of an outsider she had still been at that point. The others had been kind though. Derek had tried to distract her with cards, and Reid had tried to distract her with statistics, but she didn't really seem to come back to her normal self again until they had landed.

Since that day, whenever they flew through a bad pocket of turbulence it always resulted in the same uncharacteristic ruffling of Prentiss' usually unruffleable feathers. So knowing that the tail was going to offer them a bumpy ride today, Hotch was able to murmur an apology to her for the one thing that had absolutely nothing to do with him, his wife or his fucked up childhood.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get anything closer to the front of the plane," he said quietly, "these were the last seats they had."

"It's okay," Emily blew out a puff of air as she clicked her seatbelt, "I checked the weather and it's supposed to be clear all the way to Oklahoma, then it might get a little bumpy."

She'd found that she did much better when she at least knew the bumpy ride was coming. That way she could rationally tell herself that it was to be expected and that there was absolutely no indication that there was anything wrong with the plane. Of course she tried to rationally tell herself that anyway, but it worked better when she had some concrete weather reports to back her up.

Hearing Prentiss' response, a hint of a smile passed over Hotch's lips . . . of course she checked the weather. And the flight wasn't that long so hopefully they'd have a quick departure and be landing before there was time for any issues to develop.

"So," Emily pushed her turbulence concerns aside as she turned to look at Hotch, "do you want to run through anything now or just wait until we land?"

Though they were used to having plenty of prep time on the jet, obviously this was NOT the jet. And given that they didn't have any privacy at all in their current surroundings, any actual case discussion was verboten. But the point of the trip wasn't to solve a case, it was to speak at a parole hearing, so Hotch might have some points to discuss in that regard.

Hotch's jaw twisted as he considered Prentiss' question. Finally he shook his head, "no," he glanced at the people around them, "no, we can save it all for the hotel."

It would just be too difficult to have even a veiled conversation in surroundings like these. He tapped the file folder in her lap.

"Just familiarize yourself with the specifics and when we land we can discuss the evidence and the chain of events."

Emily nodded, opening her mouth to respond when her jaw suddenly snapped shut again. Both she and Hotch froze as the flight attendant poked her head into their aisle to see if they'd buckled up.

Hotch had not.

And hearing the words, "oh sir, let me . . ." as she saw the woman begin to lean over to assist him, Emily flinched. Actually flinched, like somebody was going to hit her, because if there was ONE true thing about Aaron Hotchner, he definitely went through the world with a 'hands off' aura.

Apparently this flight attendant had not received the memo that people were expected to obey that aura.

Admittedly after a few months with the BAU Emily herself had not been quite so intimated by him. But really you spend nine or ten hours a day with people (sometimes sixteen or seventeen hours a day if they were on a case) and you start to get more comfortable with them. More familiar. And though she was certainly not so touchy with Hotch as she would be with Morgan . . . she had other reasons for keeping her distance from Reid and Gideon, though Reid didn't seem to hate her quite so much recently . . . Emily wasn't afraid to invade Hotch's space like most people were.

But strangers?

Dear God, if you were a total stranger what in God's name would make you think that TOUCHING Aaron Hotchner was a good idea! Especially TODAY! And as she saw Hotch put his hand up defensively to block the woman's forward momentum, Emily bit her lip, hoping this wasn't going to get ugly.

"I HAVE it," Hotch hissed back frigidly as he raised his arm up, "thank you."

Like he didn't know how to buckle his damn SEAT belt! Did he look like he was five years old? And for Christ's sake, he probably flew as often as the flight attendant did!

Not that she knew that latter point, but still, he stood by his assessment that he was clearly not five. So he wasn't quite sure why the hell she stood there until he was "securely fastened," but she did. And when the woman finally moved on with the tight smile that Hotch was quite sure she reserved for difficult passengers, it was with great difficulty that he restrained himself from growling back at her.

'It wasn't her fault,' he reminded himself irritably as he settled against the seat, 'she was just doing her job.' And God knows he was tired of having to remind himself to reign in his temper. But his ongoing irritation with Haley was making him . . . what was the word that he had heard Prentiss use earlier?

Grumpy.

That's it. Grumpy. He'd been coming up around the corner when he heard JJ extending her condolences on the trip (condolences being necessary apparently because HE was in a bad mood) and Prentiss had responded that him being 'grumpy' didn't faze her. That she didn't take it personally.

And though grumpy was not a word that Hotch would personally use to describe anyone but a dwarf in a diamond mine, he did acknowledge to himself that perhaps he was not in the best of moods. So from that point where he'd realized he was actually making the team feel uncomfortable, he'd made a bit more of an effort to stifle his inward irritation from being outwardly expressed.

Honestly though, it wasn't until he'd heard the women talking that he'd realized his mood was so transparent. It's not like he was generally "cheerful" so he figured that his irritable demeanor would be mistaken for his generally dour demeanor. But of course he'd forgotten that he worked in a behavioral analysis unit.

They could tell the difference.

Ripping that douchebag Gutierrez a new one probably hadn't helped either. But Hotch felt no regrets there, he had deserved it. Granted that was ordinarily a conversation he would have had behind closed doors, but he'd already tried that once. And given that Gutierrez's ongoing obnoxious and asinine behavior had been witnessed by the Unit at large, Hotch felt that him getting his hat handed to him in front of the Unit at large had been the proper way of addressing the matter. He didn't tolerate any bullshit, and if you disobeyed him, then you would live to regret it.

Reminding the larger group of that fact set a good tone.

Hotch sighed as he looked passed Prentiss and out the window to see that they were taxiing to the runway. Feeling the familiar push of rapid acceleration he rolled his neck.

Now if he could just figure out a good tone to take with his wife, all would be well.

/*/*/*/*/*/*/

It was fifteen minutes after the pilot announced they were beginning their initial descent when Hotch felt a slight bump. His eyes immediately shot over to see if Prentiss had woken up.

No.

His gaze shifted back to the book he'd actually remembered to pack when he realized that he couldn't spread autopsy photos around his tray table like he usually did. But then a second later there was a much more violent jolt than the first one.

And then the plane bounced again.

And again.

And again.

When he looked back over to Prentiss after the fourth bump he saw that her eyes were wide open and glued to his. Then he looked down to see her fingers were digging into her thigh and he felt a little ache in his gut.

Though it had taken them a little while to really find their footing with one another, Hotch had grown very fond of Prentiss . . . Emily, he corrected himself, he was trying to break down that separation . . . and it bothered him to see her so clearly frightened now. Especially given that it was his fault that she was on this particular airplane and in these particular seats. So he looked back at his book and made a mental note of his page number before slipping it into the pouch on the seat back in front of him.

Then he took a breath, reached over . . . and picked up her hand.

Such an action was definitely well outside of his usual personal comfort zone . . . he had a general 'hands off' policy when it came to well . . . everyone, but he knew that turbulence was Prentiss' Achilles heel. She may very well have others . . . most people have more than one . . . but this was the one he was aware of. And he had noticed that on the half dozen or so occasions that they had hit bad pockets of weather that when the plane began bouncing around that usually JJ or Morgan . . . once even Gideon . . . would hold her hand until the worst of it had passed. And given that he was the only one of them with her today . . . Hotch lightly squeezed her fingers . . . he knew that he needed to be that person for her right now.

He couldn't think of anything to say to her though. Usually the others made generic chit chat with her at this point. JJ would talk about fashion, Morgan would talk about music or books, once . . . on a good day when he wasn't irrationally blaming her for his drug detox . . . Reid ran through the entire periodic table numerically from highest to lowest and then lowest to highest.

Hotch was not up on his Vogue, his People or his scientific elements so he figured that staying quiet would be best. And after a few seconds he heard Emily whisper, "thanks Hotch," and he turned to see that her gaze was fixed on their joined hands. He watched her for a moment, but his stare didn't go unnoticed as he saw her slowly bring her eyes up to his.

Seeing that they were slightly moist he gave her a little smile as he squeezed her fingers.

"Don't mention it. Though perhaps when we get home you might tell JJ that even the," his eyebrow went up faintly in amusement, "'grumpy bastard' can behave like an actual human being in a pinch."

Emily's eyes widened in surprise . . . he'd heard them talking! Crap! But then she saw the hint of amusement on his face and she realized that he wasn't upset. And . . . she felt the plane shake again . . . she knew that he was trying to be social for her sake, so she gave him a little . . . slightly strained . . . smile back.

"I'll be sure to mention it," she said softly.

Their eyes were locked for another beat before Hotch lightly squeezed her fingers again. And then he settled back into the seat and closed his eyes.

Still though, he kept holding her hand in his.

And when the thunder cracked outside Emily's window and the plane bounced again, she felt his strong fingers tighten around hers.

Her eyes began to fill.

Why did he have to be such a nice guy? Why couldn't he be the cold hearted bastard that so many people outside the unit thought he was? It would make all of this so much easier to bear. Then her dilemma with Strauss would be all about her, her own personal character and how she wasn't going to betray her friends and colleagues.

But instead of just that . . . relatively . . . straight forward dilemma, she was stuck with this one.

Her loyalty to the kindhearted man, with a 'so dry it creaks' wit who would hold her hand during a thunderstorm because he knew that she was irrationally frightened that their plane was about to fall out of the sky. And he did that though she knew that he was not a man comfortable with such a personal physical exchange. This man . . . her gaze shifted to the window as she felt a tear leak out of the corner of her eye . . . this man she'd follow to the ends of the earth.

Her other hand came up to discreetly wipe away the lone tear.

Unfortunately though, she quietly sniffed . . . this could quite possibly be their last outing together.

And that really sucked.

Feeling a wave of melancholy roll over her, Emily knew thinking about these things now was simply exacerbating an already crappy situation . . . she was already nervous as hell, why was she adding sad to the mix too. So she took a breath, and then she took another, and as she felt Hotch's warm hand covering hers, she stared out the rain pelted window, feeling the wind rocking the plane and she tried not to freak out. But then the cup of soda on the tray table across from them fell to the floor. And two seconds after that the flight attendants started rushing passed with trash bags as they announced tray tables up.

Things were getting worse.

Over and over as the plane shuddered up and down . . . and worse . . . side to side . . . Emily fought down the panic, telling herself that everything was fine, that it was just a regular storm and that they would be landing shortly and then it would be over.

And then the lights went out.

And that was the point when all of her happy ending mantras went to shit.

"Hotch," she whispered breathlessly. "Yes, Prentiss," came back the tight response. And hearing that tension in Hotch's tone . . . a man who was ordinarily not rattled by anything . . . Emily's panic spiked up, and she stumbled over the next words out of her mouth.

"I think we're in trouble."

A/N 2: If you're familiar with the Girl'verse and you're thinking that this Emily being phobic about turbulence is a totally new thing that I inserted here in this story solely for dramatic purposes, it's not ;) Over in Falling in Love With a Girl, chapter 24, Our Tribe, is where it was first referenced. It was a passing thing without the back story on why and there was a much later chapter planned for that story, after they coupled off which was going to explore that phobia a bit more fully, but I ended up moving that chapter over to Second Chances. Yes, I acknowledge the story's existence, and yes it will get wrapped up eventually :)

As to Hand Holding Hotch, though he is not touchy feely with Emily at this point in Girl proper I noticed on a repeat of Fisher King that he patted Elle affectionately on the arm when he sent her home to sleep (though side note, in retrospect that did turn out to be a bad call on his part) and that was a year earlier than this. Plus later in season 4 he did take the hand of the female serial killer when she was dying so I figured Hotch in between would be able to extend himself for a nervous Emily like a regular person would without it being a thing. He doesn't have psychological problems, he's just reserved.

Half of the next one's written, and provided I can get the time to write this week, hopefully it'll be done for next weekend. Fracture up later today! As always thanks for the feedback!