Author's Note: Pulling yet another dusty one off the shelf. If all goes well, hopefully everything in the ongoing bin will get an update this month. I think literally every one of them has a draft or more pending so whatever your personal favorite, you might be getting something on it by early next month.

To this, again this is part of the Finding'verse, the prequel to Hotch and Em getting together on Valentine's. Remember the stories in this world are intended to be on the lighter side of ridiculous. Not as ridiculous as the Being stories, but, close enough :)

Prompt Set #8

Show: Teen Titans

Title: Fanning the Flames

Oh No She Didn't

Hotch got back from his meeting two hours later than he'd planned, which was three and a half hours after he'd left the bullpen. When he walked into his office, his papers were dropped unceremoniously onto his desk, his ass dropped unceremoniously into his chair, and then his head dropped unceremoniously into his hands.

Good Christ . . . he huffed into his palms . . . that was hell. Literally, hell. And he was speaking as somebody who once spent six hours in a claustrophobically small room with a man who had made a Christmas stew out of his next door neighbors.

But he would gladly spend another full day trading recipes with Dr. Lecter than spend another hour sitting with the Finance people doing a line by line budget review for 2011 planning. At least the cannibal had something interesting . . . though admittedly horrifying . . . to talk about. The accountants were just . . . Hotch shuddered . . . soul sucking.

And then he realized that was exactly the wrong analogy to make because now he had the image of little vampire accountants in his head.

Great.

Garcia and her damn Twilight fixation.

Okay . . . he lifted his head . . . enough meditation on pocket protector wearing cannibalistic teen heartthrobs carrying little calculators. It was time to straighten up before somebody walked through the open door and saw him hiding his face in his hands.

Given that he was the chief of one of the most elite units in the Bureau, that would not be one of the most confidence inspiring situations for somebody to walk into. So for the sake of the Unit's reputation as not being a bunch of pansies, Hotch straightened up, rubbing his hand across his mouth as he looked over the stacks of files on his desk.

It seemed like there were more now than when he had left.

Great.

And then something else caught his eye and his gaze snapped back and forth in astonishment between his phone and computer.

What the HELL?

The voicemail count was NINE and . . . he swiveled his head again . . . the email the box showed TWENTY-TWO unread messages! And that was twenty-two messages from twenty-two DIFFERENT people!

God . . . he scowled in disgust . . . he'd only been gone for THREE HOURS! Had there been a nuclear holocaust while he was out and nobody had paged him?

With a grunt Hotch's gaze flickered around his desk again, trying to decide which set of items to tackle first, the stack of new folders, the blinking red voicemails or the flood of emails.

But then he suddenly flashed on a much more pleasant item on his To Do list.

Emily.

Okay . . . he backtracked slightly in his head . . . unfortunately he couldn't actually "do" Emily (and even if he could, she probably wouldn't appreciate the verb choice there) but earlier she had said that she wanted to talk to him when he had a minute. And given that he had a minimum of thirty-one people urgently wishing to speak to him on matters of great import . . . he reached for the phone . . . clearly this was the perfect time to blow all of them off and not flirt for five to seven minutes with the woman that he wished to someday share his Polident and early bird specials with.

Unfortunately just as he started to punch in Emily's extension Hotch remembered that she hadn't been at her desk when he walked passed it a few minutes ago. And when he raised himself slightly off his chair to peek out the window he saw that she still hadn't returned.

Damn.

His jaw twisted as he put the phone back in the cradle . . . okay, looks like he was going to actually have to do some work. But before that . . . his fingers fell onto the keyboard . . . he decided to shoot her a quick email.

Subject: Me

Hey, I've returned from Budget hell. Now in email hell so feel free to interrupt.

-H

P.S. Saw SSA Eldridge in the elevator, she said to say hello. I know that you hate her so I refused to pass along the message.

His lips twitched as he hit send . . . that would make her laugh. Because she did indeed hate Connie Eldridge. Hotch wasn't sure if it was because of the other woman's size triple D breasts or her hyena like laugh, but either way, Emily had once expressed the desire to see her drop kicked out of the baggage hold of a moving 747.

Unfortunately for Emily, Eldridge seemed to genuinely adore her. She copied her mannerisms, her haircut . . . Emily had gotten the bangs just because she figured the other woman would look horrible in them . . . and even her lunch orders.

Emily had once choked down a foot long meatball hero with a double order of sardines, chipotle and hot sauce in an effort to break her of that last one. She was trying to make Eldridge throw up.

It worked. She did indeed throw up . . . and then Emily did ten minutes later.

Still though, in between gags as she tossed that vile sandwich up in the cafeteria trash barrel, Emily had shot him a triumphant grin over her shoulder as he held her hair back.

Was it any wonder he fell in love with her?

And as much as Emily tried to convince him that Eldridge had stalker tendencies, they both knew it was just hero worship. She was twenty-four and thought Emily walked on water.

Hell, Hotch was forty-eight and he felt the same way! However as he checked his watch he realized that he'd just killed three and a half minutes daydreaming about said water walker. And though that was probably less time than Eldridge had spent thinking about her today, that was probably four minutes longer than he as her supervisor should be focusing on a woman that had no idea he was in love with her.

So Hotch refocused on the matter at hand by doing a quick eeney meeney . . . a decision making technique he'd picked up from Jack . . . and ended up pointing at his PC.

And with a weary huff, he began plowing through his Inbox.

/*/*/*/*/

Emily sighed in disgust as she yanked open the glass doors of her home away from home. Forty minute hike across campus and down to the bowels of the Academy only to find out that Dr. Griffin still hadn't completed the autopsy report that had been promised last night on those remains shipped in from Boise. And then he asks her if she'd like to stay and wait while he finished it, that she could have lunch with him.

In the MORGUE!

Though in retrospect her gagging openly before she bit out a sarcastic, "uh NO!" was probably a slightly over the top response. But seriously, GROSS!

Then it got even worse though when she realized from the hurt look on his face that the invitation for lunch in the morgue was a very awkward attempt at engaging in some sort of social, date like behavior. And really, even if he hadn't had that weird mole taking over half of his left cheek, Emily had no desire to engage in any social, date like behavior with anyone who spent his days elbow deep in rotting corpses.

Okay, yeah granted given her job that might be a little bit of the 'brick tossing from the Waterford crystal house' of her, but really, her crew were only like FINGER deep in corpses. Not elbow. Unless circumstances were dire, they stayed out of the icky stuff. Well . . . Emily rolled her eyes as she crossed the bullpen . . . Hotch referred to it as not "compromising the scene" but whatever.

The point was, dead people doctors as romantic partners . . . or chefs . . . really grossed her out. And once she'd realized that the dead people doctor in question was attempting to not only woo her but feed her as well, Emily had beat a hasty retreat under the pretext that she'd forgotten she had a meeting.

Basically it was a totally wasted, totally uncomfortable trip that she was going to have to pawn off on Reid next time because she so could not show her face down there again for a solid fortnight.

As she walked up to her desk, Emily felt herself begin to relax slightly as her gaze automatically shifted up to see if Hotch had returned from his meeting yet.

Oooh . . . her eyes lit up . . . yes!

And she was just about to oh so casually bop upstairs and say "hey, what's up hopefully future father of my children," or maybe just "hello" when she remembered that Dave was waiting on that autopsy report that she had not been able to retrieve because she wasn't willing to stay and break bread with Dr. Death.

So . . . she sighed . . . maybe should be a teensy bit responsible and actually address that minor work related matter prior to going up and NOT flirting with her super hot boss when she asked him if Betty had left her a letter before she rolled out for parts unknown.

The story of her life . . . she dropped down into her seat . . . work first, flirt later. Then she rolled her eyes as she saw that there were three voicemails in her box.

Why do people insist on leaving voicemails when email was so much more convenient? Yes, she saw the point of ATTEMPTING to reach a live person, but once it's obvious that boat has sailed, hang up the damn phone! Nobody wants to listen to you rattle.

Case in point . . . she began tapping her pen in annoyance at the first message . . . fifty-seven seconds (Emily was watching the counter) into her rambling ramble from Ramble Town, the Las Vegas M.E. decides that maybe it would be easier to email the answers to the BAUs questions rather than to try to leave them all on the voicemail.

Ya think?

Emily's finger banged down on option three . . . DELETE! And then she heard the identity of the second caller, and knowing that that message . . . from her mother . . . was going to be a test of strength, she shifted the phone over to her shoulder as she pulled up her email.

Might as well gun down two birds with one bullet.

That was a good call on her part, because her irritation immediately melted when she saw that on the list of eight new emails in the box, the first one was from Hotch.

Yay!

Her eyes crinkled . . . the man apparently could now psychically sense when she needed cheering up. Already starting to feel better, her lip quirked up as she started to read the message over, and then she got to the end and burst out laughing.

He really was frigging adorable sometimes.

Hell, he was frigging adorable all the time. 'Angry, Scary Hotch,' 'Uber Intense Laser Sharp Focus Hotch,' 'Warm Cuddly Daddy Hotch,' 'Bullet Proof Vest Hotch' . . . really . . . she felt a little pool of warmth in her belly . . . she couldn't pick a favorite.

Though 'Funny, Slightly Flirty Hotch' (who she noticed seemed to have been making more frequent appearances as of late) was the one that had popped up in her Inbox. So that was her personal favorite Hotch for the day.

And not wanting to let Funny, Slightly Flirty Hotch disappear back into the closet before she had a chance to play with him . . . so to speak . . . Emily decided that her due diligence update to Dave could wait for ten to twelve minutes. So she gave up on the idea of cleaning out her voicemail and typing up the notes she'd taken in the morgue to instead drop her phone back in the cradle.

Then she did a mental rundown of her appearance, remembered that it had been windy on the quad and ran her fingers through her hair to smooth out the tousled strands. Then she popped a white tic tac into her mouth and applied a quick coat of clear lip gloss over her earlier coat of Passion Red lipstick.

Yes, admittedly it was a little pathetic to be primping for a quick convo with a man that she regularly spent ten to twelve hours a day with. A man who just last week had casually pointed out to her in the morning briefing that she had half a dozen poppy seeds stuck in her teeth . . . it was Bagel Day in the caf . . . but one of these days that same man might just decided that it was time to toss her on his desk and have his way with her like it was a cheesy bodice ripping romance novel and she wanted to make sure that she had kissable lips and minty fresh breath when that happened.

Just before she got up, Emily remembered that she also needed to give Hotch some money. The other day they'd gone out to lunch and it had been her turn to pay but she'd forgotten her wallet so he'd had to cover. Of course he wanted to just pay for the meal outright but she insisted that it was her turn and that she'd pay him back. Then she kept forgetting. But finally this morning she'd remembered to stop at the ATM to take out the twenty bucks.

Of course . . . she though back with a residual stab of irritation . . . the only reason she'd forgotten her wallet the other day when they went to lunch was because it was in her desk drawer rather than in her bag where it belonged. And the reason that it was in her desk then . . . she opened her bottom drawer . . . and NOW, was that she had to start hiding it a few weeks ago when Reid started paying for HIS lunch with HER spare cash.

Jackass.

Emily slipped her wallet out from the empty redwell she'd hidden it in, and then pulled out the tiny wad of cash she'd tucked into the fold.

Except . . . her brow wrinkled as she spread out the bills in her hand . . . SIX BUCKS!

What the . . .? Where the hell was the twenty?

Her head snapped up as she shot Reid a deadly look across her desk.

"God DAMN it Spencer! Have you been in my wallet AGAIN?"

The last time he'd "borrowed" money from her wallet without asking was two weeks ago. And the money he'd taken she'd been saving specifically for a baby gift donation. So when Agent Mendoza came around with the collection envelope Emily had been mortified when she opened her wallet to discover that she had absolutely no cash on her at all.

And she looked like a total spaz because she'd specifically TOLD the woman to stop by because she had the money with her! Emily had been so embarrassed that she'd ended up sending an eighty dollar edible arrangement to the hospital just because she'd felt like such a loser thinking that she'd spent the money and then forgot. It was only the next day that she discovered that in actuality REID had taken it for a cafeteria activity known fondly across the campus as, "Taco Wednesday!" A gourmand's celebration which had nearly resulted for Reid in another fun activity Emily liked to refer to as, "Intensive Care Thursday!"

So today when she shot the Hellfire Glare across the desk at him (yes, she'd learned that glare from Hotch) Reid's eyes shot wide in terror as he vehemently shook his head back and forth.

"NO!" He threw his hands up protectively in front of his face as he yelped back, "NO EMILY! I ABSOLUTELY DID NOT TAKE YOUR MONEY!"

Like he'd EVER do that again! The welt on his arm was still fading from the LAST time he'd borrowed money without asking!

Emily narrowed her eyebrows at Reid . . . hmm, he seemed suitably terrified but perhaps he was only pissing his pants because he HAD indeed taken her money again and was terrified of the consequences. As well he should be. Because if he'd put his sticky little fingers into her wallet again then he was about to become reacquainted with a high school favorite known as the atomic wedgie.

And she was just about to begin her interrogation of him when Morgan sauntered back to their area and dropped a twenty on her desk.

"Hey," he said casually, "I had to borrow some cash while you were out. Here's your twenty back."

Emily looked up at Morgan in astonishment before her eyes shot over to Reid again.

"Why the hell are you two CONSTANTLY in my wallet? Do you not ALSO receive monetary compensation for coming to the office every day? Is this volunteer work for you?" She shot a dedicated scowl at Derek, "something ordered by the court perhaps?"

DOUCHEBAGS!

Morgan chuckled at Emily's dramatics as he dropped into his seat.

"Girl, cool your jets. You're just the only one who leaves her money at her desk. The rest of us keep it in our back pocket. If you kept your wallet on you like the rest of us do, then it wouldn't be so handy."

Though today it wasn't quite as handy as it usually was, he'd had to look for nearly two minutes before he'd found it jammed down in that file folder. But really, why should he have to haul his ass all the way to the corner to go to the bank if there was twenty bucks just sitting there collecting dust?

Not that he'd ever make that argument to Emily, she'd be KICKING his ass all the way to the corner and back if she ever heard that argument.

And then his humor fled like a nitrous powered street racer when he saw the expression that came over her face.

Oh man. . . he swallowed . . . he might very well be getting his ass kicked to the corner regardless.

"I'm sorry," Emily ground out through clenched teeth, "did you just say that it was MY fault that you steal from me?"

Please God, don't tell me he was actually stupid enough to say that out loud. But as she saw Morgan's jaw open and close once . . . and then twice as no words came out, Emily knew that he was just that stupid. And then she started to calculate just how long it was going to take him to get her boot out of his ass. And then she decided that she just might have to change into another pair.

Seeing Emily's fist clench as she started to stand up, Morgan finally found his voice again.

"NO, NO, NO!" He started waving frantically. "That's what's not what I meant! Of course it's not your fault that uh . . . I mean . . . um, I meant . . . uh . . . uh . . ."

Realizing that he was a now a man in a dark river without a paddle or a canoe, in desperation Derek tore his eyes away from Emily's to snap them over to his back up.

"REID!"

A little help kid, come on!

But Reid was studiously avoiding Morgan's gaze as he mumbled back.

"Can't talk now Derek, tons of paperwork here."

He was SO not getting anywhere near this conversation! Emily was nearing critical mass!

Feeling her blood pressure shooting to dangerous heights, Emily knew that she needed to calm down before she popped something vital. Like a blood vessel.

Or Morgan's head off his body.

Besides . . . she took a deep breath . . . these two were just not worth her time right now. They were just going to keep putting their feet into their mouths and making her angrier, and then she'd end up breaking a nail off in somebody's eye socket and there was no way she was going to have time to see her manicurist again before the weekend.

So for the sake of her French tips, Emily decided to let it go for now. But not before she snatched the twenty off her desk with growl to both of the boys.

"The next person who takes ANYTHING from my bag without my prior permission will lose a limb of my choosing. Is that understood?"

"Uh, huh" and "oh yeah," were the immediate overlapping replies and Emily shot them both one more nasty look before she turned and stalked up the stairs.

She'd never in her life wanted to see Hotch more than she did at that moment.

/*/*/*/*/*/

Three Minutes Earlier

Fifteen minutes after he got back to his office, Hotch heard a knock on his open door.

Expecting Emily had finally returned, he looked up from his paperwork with a little smile.

But . . . he immediately wiped the grin away . . . not Emily. It was Luisa.

His brow wrinkled . . . and she looked distraught.

"Is there a problem Luisa?" He asked hesitantly.

Crap. Please don't let there be a problem. He really wasn't in the mood for live and in person problems. He already had more than two dozen email/phone problems.

That was more than enough.

But unfortunately Luisa didn't answer him, she just started getting all teary eyed, and then he started to think something really awful had happened. So he dropped his pen and stood up.

"What?" he walked around his desk, "what is it?"

And then the next thing he knew Luisa had flung herself at him.

"Oh sir," she threw her arms around his neck, "I was just typing up your notes on the Idaho killings! I can't believe it," she cried, "it was just so AWFUL! Those poor, poor people were butchered by that psychopath!"

'Sociopath,' he automatically corrected in his head. And then he berated his idiocy.

'MORON! Your analysis of Leonard Makowski's anti-social tendencies isn't really doing anything to help the predicament you've now found yourself in now is it?'

Said predicament being that his new, young . . . FEMALE . . . assistant had just hurled herself into his arms and then started sobbing on his shoulder!

Hurling and sobbing were serious boundary violations! Really, as far as intrusion into his personal space . . . he felt a spike of panic as she dug her fingernails into his jacket . . . this was OFF THE CHARTS!

The first two words to enter his mind were "oh" and "shit." Beyond that he didn't know what the hell to do! Because after an awkward, "uh, there, there" with his hands still posed stiffly in the air, he'd pretty much gone dry.

Though his instinctive inclination was to fling her across the room, that was probably a bit of a cruel reaction to somebody who was upset and had come to him seeking comfort.

Not to mention a potentially litigious reaction given the sharp points on the coffee table. With his luck she'd bust her head open like a piñata.

So okay . . . his jaw twisted . . . that one was a no go.

Think Aaron, THINK! He just didn't know why she was so upset! Though yes, he understood that these cases could be very "upsetting" for laypeople . . . of which Luisa was one . . . it's not like she was a grieving relative, or one of the victims. Those people he could deal with. He had training and experience, but even then . . . his nose wrinkled in distaste as he got a whiff of Luisa's perfume . . . he still wasn't inclined to pull anybody into a hug. That was something Emily would do.

EMILY!

As her lovely face popped into his head Hotch felt a flood of relief . . . Emily was FABULOUS with relatives, victims, upset children, everybody. Basically . . . unlike him . . . Emily was a people person, and Luisa was a person, ergo, Emily would have no problem at all figuring out what to do for her. And thank GOD she should be coming in at any second!

But in the meantime . . . Hotch awkwardly patted Luisa's back while simultaneously attempting to contort backwards to place at least an inch of space between them . . . he was just trying to figure out how to get this girl OFF of him!

A millisecond later he heard Emily's voice from across the room.

"I'm sorry . . . is this a bad time?"

Two seconds earlier Hotch had been praying for her to show up, but when he heard the amount of frost on Emily's question, his eyes snapped over to the doorway to see her eyes boring a hole into him.

If she'd had a blow torch and a tank of propane she'd be inflicting less damage on his ocular cavities.

Feeling a small panic ball rising up, Hotch tore his gaze away from Emily's as he looked down to Luisa . . . unfortunately still playing the part of the swamp leech . . . and then back over again to the beautiful, sweet woman with whom he'd ordinarily wish to spend all of his spare time.

She looked like she was ready to take off a testicle.

Oh crap . . . Hotch swallowed as he tried to get a little more space between him and the suction cupped assistant . . . he was in big trouble.

A/N 2: Poor Hotch. Probably should have gone with 'flung her across the room' while he had the chance.

Dr. Lecter of course is not mine. Though given the ridiculousness of this world the idea of crossing it in some fashion with Silence of the Lambs does amuse me. And Garcia would definitely be into Twilight. And I can see Hotch being tortured by his osmosis knowledge of all things vampire/werewolf related that he's overheard in the break room.

Hoping to wrap this in one, maybe two more chapters. I do have like three more of these Finding stories in partial draft form so I'd love to get this done this month so I can get up another one.

There should be an update on Love, Unexpected tomorrow, and something else, maybe two something elses, before the weekend. As always kids, feedback feeds the muses ;)