(Ok, here's ANOTHER Emily/Hotch story, and I do intend to finish my other pieces, I promise, I promise, I promise...I just don't know when, since I am back at work now...meaning stories should slow down considerably...on the other hand...my script-writing is picking up immensely! Please read and review!)

CHAPTER TWO

It was obvious she hadn't slept well. Hotch just hoped his own nearly sleepless night wasn't evident on his face. She didn't look at him, much, and when she did, her gaze held nothing but polite professionalism—a look he'd received from her on many occasions since she'd been foisted on the team.

He finally realized how much he hated that coping mechanism she hid behind. If he had his way, it wouldn't be directed at him ever again. But how on earth would he get his way? What was his way?

In all honesty, what did he want from this one particular member of his team? Did he want friendship? Something more romantic in nature?

His body tightened at that last thought and he was actually shocked to realize that was exactly what he wanted from Emily. He wanted her turning to him with that special smile she had that said she knew a secret. He wanted to share that secret with her. Taste that secret on those lips.

To be blunt, he wanted to be the lover she went home to after cases. Wanted to be the one to hold her at three a.m. when she needed to cry from the nightmares.

She sat next to Morgan, as he'd noticed she always did when she just wasn't at her best. He realized then that the man provided some sort of comfort to her. He hated Morgan then, for just a moment envying the younger agent. It was his own fault, he knew that, for always thrusting her on Morgan during her early days at the BAU. It was natural they were comfortable with each other. And if she had been wearing the other man's shirt last night, it meant nothing.

Except Hotch wanted to see her in his clothing; if she really felt the urge to wear a man's shirt—he wanted it to be his. She looked up at him, then, catching his eyes. He was surprised to see the flush hit her cheeks, her embarrassment as she looked away. Had she always done that or was it something new?

God, why hadn't he ever noticed her before? He'd been divorced for nearly six months, though he and Hayley had separated nearly that much time before the divorced was finalized. Had he really had his head buried for the last year where Emily was concerned? Stupid. Wasted time, and it was all his fault.

The day progressed, but they had nothing. He kept Emily in the police station, and no one was dumb enough to argue. And someone needed to work victimology, anyway. Might as well be her. It was only when he was out at the last crime scene that he began to worry what that would do to her. She'd be alone, comparing the lives of single, brunette female LEOs who'd been attacked and killed. She was bound to be affected by it, and if she wasn't it would worry him.

He made an excuse to Dave, not caring if it was a flimsy one, and returned to the bullpen. He stood just inside the door watching her for a moment, seeing the exchange between her and an officer around his own age. The man was relentless, invading her space, pushing the boundaries of what was appropriate. Hotch saw red, this was his agent, his Emily, and it infuriated him to see her being made so uncomfortable. "Agent Prentiss, is there a problem here?"

"No, sir. Officer Lopez was just offering to get some coffee." She looked everywhere but at him and Hotch wasn't blind to it. He strolled directly to her side and grabbed her arm firmly. "Nothing important."

"Good, can I have a word with you in private?" He asked in a calm tone.

"Of course." Her words were well-modulated, calm, and cool. He'd expected nothing less. She followed him out of the police station and around the corner. They were secluded there, next to the limestone of the building. "What's this about?"

"I wanted to apologize if I embarrassed you last night."

"No, you don't have to apologize. I wasn't in the best of moods, sir. And I took it out on you because it was convenient." Her eyes never met his, just focused on the center of his chest, as she spoke. She shivered a bit in the cool October wind. He unconsciously rubbed the bare skin of her arm, trying to share some of his warmth. He looked down at the crown of her head.

"Emily." He whispered her name as he moved just a bit closer; just to block out the wind, he told himself. "Look at me."

She did. But she hid behind another one of her masks, and he felt an extreme rush of frustration directed squarely at her. "Yes?"

"Have you always done this?"

"Excuse me?" One brow rose, arching coolly over a dark eye. "Done what?"

"Hid behind that mask." Hotch hated feeling like he was attacking her, but how else was he to get behind her well-formulated armor? "Whenever someone wants in."

"I really don't see how this is relevant. Can't we just forget it ever happened and go back to the way things were between us before? You tolerating my presence, and me doing my job? We had both gotten pretty good at that. And I thought we were getting close to being friendly colleagues by now."

"What if that's not enough for me?" Hotch demanded, taking a step forward both literally and figuratively. He didn't miss the way she stepped back until she was flush against the cool stone of the building. He stepped directly in front of her, knowing he was pushing the boundaries of what was appropriate between a supervisor and subordinate. "What if I want us to be more than friendly colleagues?"

"Are you saying you want us to be best friends? It's not happening, sir. You've made it abundantly clear where I stand, and while things have certainly mellowed between us in the last few months or so—I don't see your feeling changing so abruptly." Her brow was furrowed, she tried to pull away from him, but the building left little room for her. He felt perversely triumphant, having her trapped like she was.

"I can understand that." Hotch whispered the words against her hair. "But what if I told you they weren't that abrupt—at least not for me."

"I'd say you were lying. I'm a profiler, too, Hotch. I would have known." Her voice rang with a confidence that irritated him to no know end in that very moment. "There would have been a few signs."

Hotch leaned forward, forcing her back even more. He liked the way she retreated, it meant he'd disconcerted her, made her aware of him besides the avuncular way she'd been looking at him before. He wasn't just her boss, he wanted her to be aware of him as a man. The way he suddenly was aware of her as a woman. "I'm pretty good at masking what I'm feeling, Emily. And I want things to change between us. I'm tired of being on the outside with the team."

"You don't have the team backed against a wall, Hotch." Her hand rose to rest against his chest and he thrilled at the contact. "And you've not been on the outside, unless you've put yourself there. Reid and Morgan, JJ, Pen, even Rossi, they certainly don't see you as being an outsider—if anything, I was the outsider, at least at first. And if you feel that way, are you sure this is how to go about changing things with the team?"

His hearing might have been temporarily damaged but he wasn't deaf to the nerves rattling her voice. "Maybe I've given this a lot of thought, and I want to change things between you and I in a totally different direction. I'm tired of not being a part of the jokes, the conversations between you and the others. I'm tired of not knowing my team, of not knowing you most of all."

"Are you sure this is the best way to go about it?" Her voice trembled again, as her free hand rose to rest beside the other on his chest. "I don't know, Hotch. It seems a little out of character for you, don't you think?"

"What is in character for me?" He demanded, his head lowering just a bit, just enough to catch anything she said—or so he told himself. "I can honestly say I don't know who I've become in the last year or so. "

She surprised him then, raising one hand to trail across his cheek ever so slightly. "We all know it's been a rough one for you, Hotch. We understand, I understand."

Hotch closed his eyes momentarily, leaning his head into her touch. "I'm not so sure I do. I don't know if it was the divorce, Gideon leaving, or just a combination of everything…"

"Everybody breaks sometimes. Isn't that what you were trying to say last night?" She pulled her hands back and he opened his eyes, feeling strangely bereft at that loss of touch. Her eyes were clear now, no mask between them. "And I was too stubborn to listen?"

"Something like that. Except I'm not sure when the breaking started, or even why." He admitted, baring his soul to her for the first time.

"I can understand that." She sighed then, leaned her head against his chest in an uncharacteristic show of weakness, both offering and seeking comfort. He was both touched and thrilled at her action. "We should probably get back inside, the others should be back by now."

"Yes." Hotch lowered his own head, resting against the softness of her hair for just a second. He inhaled the sweet scent of warm lavender and warmer woman. One hand rose unconsciously to touch. He ghosted a hand through her hair.

It was only when he felt her shivering that he backed up. "Come on, it's cold out here."

They walked back in to the building, shoulders touching, a new closeness between them.

It didn't go unnoticed.