A/N: Watching 6x18 is painful. Even with the knowledge that she's back for the 200th. Also, there's a word in this chapter that might give cause for the rating, depending on your personal views. If it offends you, I'm sorry.

we fall through the gaps

beginning.

He stares at her through tubes and wires and sterile lights, and oh god, her face is far too pale to be counted among the living. And then it rushes back to him (that was a cruel cruel joke) and she really is dead.

It's not fair, he thinks, that she's the one in hospital again. It's like she rolls sixes the most, and maybe Reid next, and it's not like he wants the others on his team hurt, but he wishes that maybe some sort of karmic police would have intervened by now.

He grasps her hand tightly in his significantly more alive ones, and the monitor's beep beep beep beep gets steadily faster. He remembers the feeling of her slowly waking up, body pressed intimately against his, sleep warring with alertness in her eyes. Except this time, there is no chaise, no lounge, no apartment, no home.

are we there yet?

Nurses scramble in, and he's pushed back against the wall. Someone grabs his arms to steer him outside, but pure willpower and animal strength manages to throw them off. (She will not be left alone again.) They take out the breathing tube, adjust the monitors and more tubes, and one by one, the nurses trickle out, the last one leaving him with a jug of water, a bowl of ice chips, and a semi-reassuring pat on the shoulder.

She turns wide groggy eyes to him. (Beseeching.)

A sip of water later, she manages to rasp out, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have dragged you into this. I'm so so sorry."

you brave, brave girl

"Emily. Do you know where you are right now?" He knows that major surgery will leave anyone disoriented (hell, he's slightly disoriented), and maybe ripping the Band-Aid straight off is the better idea, but he thinks they're both too emotional right now to do anything but ease their way in.

"Hospital. Boston?" Each word is enunciated painstakingly slowly. She flicks her eyes around the room, sees the tension lined across his forehead. She asks, not knowing if she wants the answer.

"Did you get him?"

"You're in Bethesda right now." He won't (can't) meet her eyes.

She repeats, slightly louder. "Did you get him? Please, Hotch. Did you get him?" Her drawn-out plea threatens the tears about to spill over. She begs, she demands, she cries.

"No. No, I'm sorry, we didn't."

And now the silence is deafening. Even her cries are numb, a bizarre tingling like an explosion that just went off, and they were standing far too close. But it's not collateral – at least, he hopes not – because he wants to think that he was always there.

"I'm dead, aren't I?" Her hushed whisper is resigned. She's known for a while (since Sean McAllister's call) that she would not get out unscathed. She's known since going to Boston that there was every possibility that she would not get out alive. Only, it's now even more cruel because she's alive, and yet she isn't.

"Don't you dare say that!" The ferocity of his response scares her.

"But…"

And it's only now that he understands what she's trying to say. He blows out a breath, surprised at his own lack of control.

"Officially, yes. But we will find him, and we will stop him, and you will… can… come back."

The change in verb does not escape her notice. As much as he wants (and the team needs) her to stay, he's already calculated into the future. And she's scared too, because she knows that he knows that she isn't one hundred percent sure. The team's heightened emotions over the past few days have shown him enough.

"How's everyone doing?" It's like she's gauging the response now to see whether she should come back.

"They're taking it hard. Emily, I understand what you did, and with time, they will too."

"But… they won't know about…?"

(what's your name now?)

"No. It's just me and JJ."

lies and more lies

She swallows and looks to the ceiling, avoiding his piercing gaze. Emily Prentiss is dead, and she is alive, she knows the value of life, but…

"Tell me a story, Hotch."

"Aaron."

Which prompts another round of tears. She's not sure when the distinct line between them, almost twenty years old, was blurred. They have always been concretely professional, more so than anyone else on the team. She even admits to looking on jealously with the bond he's formed with the others.

i don't deserve this

"I'm sorry. I'm fine, I'm fine. It's been a… busy few weeks."

And he looks affectionately exasperated at her. "Understatement of the year. You need to rest now, Emily." Have I always been this distant?

"Tell me a story."

He can easily pretend that it's Jack asking, and he's simply about to go to sleep, all tucked in with Captain America sheets surrounding him, and he will see him again in the morning.

(Except it's not and he won't.)

It's quiet for a full five minutes before his dark deliberate low tones sweep over the mechanical beeps of the machines. (She hears rivers and forests and slow winters in front of a crackling fire.)

"Many years ago, there was a young boy named Carl, and he had a friend called Ellie. They grew up together hoping to be great explorers, and one day move to Paradise Falls in South America. They became really close friends and eventually got married. He became a balloon salesman, and she became a zookeeper. And they grew old and happy together in an old abandoned house where they first met as kids."

He pauses, and sees her eyes beginning to droop. He wants to wake her up, to have a proper conversation, to just talk, but knows that she's too damn tired. Heart heavy, he continues, telling himself that it's as much for him as it is for her.

"So over the years, they saved as much money as they could, so they could finally take that trip and explore Paradise Falls. And one day, Carl managed to surprise Ellie with the plane tickets to South America. Except she became really sick and died before they could go."

too close?

"Years later, Carl is still living in their old home, watching the city grow around him. There was a lot of construction work going on, and he was being told to move into a retirement home. But he didn't want to. Instead, he kept living there and arguing with the foreman. But one day, a young Wilderness Explorer, Russell, came knocking on his door trying to help Carl to earn his 'assisting the elderly' badge. Carl rebuffs Russell, but a few days later, when he's about to be kicked out of his house, he releases the millions and millions of helium balloons attached to his house, which lift it off its foundations. However, what Carl didn't know was that Russell had made his way onto his porch earlier…"

"Hotch, that's the plot of Up," she interrupts.

"You do know your Pixar movies," he says with a slight quirk of the mouth. "I thought you were asleep."

"It was a hunt," she says quietly, a few seconds later.

Oh, shit. He should have realised.

"No, Emily. They were explorers. They wanted to reach Paradise Falls, and they did."

"Not Carl and Russell. The other guy."

He can't say anything in response to that.

"I made a promise to Clyde Easter. I told him that we would save you. And I'm not about to break that promise now."

"How is he? He wasn't the leak, was he?"

"We don't think so."

And again, silence ensues. Because in this delicate time, there is nothing that either of them can say that won't hurt, or won't sound like a goodbye.

A nurse chooses this moment to walk in, professionally unaware of the tension and desperation escalating, emanating between them.

"Agent Hotchner. She needs to rest now. I'll give you another fifteen minutes." And with that sentence, she quietly backs out.

"She doesn't even know my name."

"And neither will I. You'll be contacted once you reach Paris, and you'll be given new identities."

She holds his gaze now. Strong, determined, much like the Agent Prentiss he knows. (And still exists.) He tries not to break in front of her, but he can't stop the tears from leaking down the side of his face. He's not cried since this mess began, and he wonders if this is the right moment to finally let go.

"Hey. Aaron." Unfamiliar, but sweet nonetheless. "You can't do this to me now, okay? You need to look after the rest of the team. Make sure Reid and Garcia still smile, and Ashley doesn't feel too new. And Morgan doesn't vent too hard, and Rossi still has someone to talk to. And give Jack a hug every night from me. I'm sorry I dragged you all into this, I shouldn't have, but I need to know you'll…you all will be okay."

Her voice is starting to crack, whether from her injuries or from the emotional strain, they can't tell. She reaches out with her right arm, slowly so as not to disturb the swathes of bandages, and places her hand gently, cupping his face.

"And make sure you don't blame yourself for this. Talk to JJ whenever you can."

A small smile manages to break through the sheen of tears on his face. Tenderly, he grasps her right hand in his left.

"Still looking after us from a hospital bed. Is there anything I can do?

He starts to draw pictures, letters, words, almost hypnotically on the back of her hand. (They will crave that contact.)

"Can you… can you say my name again?" I'm not going to hear it for a long time.

He whispers her name over and over and over, and it loops for the rest of the long night.