A/N at the end of the story

Disclaimer: Not mine. Spoilers for Seasons Six and Seven.

It is a weird situation. At best. She came over to her superior's apartment in the middle of the night to... well, superficially speaking to have sex with him, but that sounds so flat, and actually there's more to it. She needs to exorcise her demons, if you might say so. And because of their two earlier encounters, she had assumed that he wanted it too, that it would be somehow strange and unfamiliar, yes, but at the same time wonderful and... cathartic – she has no better word to describe it.

As it is, though, Hotch reacts differently tonight. The way he leans against the wall, looking her over, irritates Emily to the point where it makes her angry. The ice cubes in his glass collide with a clinking sound that unnerves her. He still has only taken a sip of his whisky, and for the lack of something appropriate to say she holds out her glass to him as an invitation to pour her another drink. What he does after briefly hesitating as if he thinks she had enough. And maybe she has, even if this was only her first glass. But she didn't have dinner and already feels the warmth of the alcohol flood through her body. If she intends to drive back tonight, she shouldn't drink another glass, shouldn't have drunk the first one to begin with. Emily is not sure anymore of anything. Why she's here in the first place. Why Hotch reacts like he does. The only thing that is a safe bet right now is her anger that slowly but steadily threatens to boil over.

At least she manages not to down the second glass with one gulp like the first one. She takes little sips, feels the alcohol burn in her throat while the silence between them is becoming unbearable.

"Why are you here?" Hotch asks eventually, and this time it is no foreplay, no reminiscence of one of their earlier encounters, but a real question.

Emily can feel his intense gaze almost physically by now and is hyperaware of her more than casual clothes, her unmade-up face and her uncombed hair. Her anger fights a first touch of shame. How could she do this? How could she come over here? Why didn't she stay at home and try to cope with her nightmare on her own?

Hotch is waiting for her answer, and so she gives him one. "I couldn't sleep," she says evasively, and of course he knows that she is avoiding the truth as soon as the words are out.

He doesn't respond, just tilts his head a little and keeps looking at her with his patented Hotch stare. And this stare finally makes her boil over with anger, because he started this in Paris, he let her in the last time she had a nightmare, he... she stops her thoughts, forbids herself to go there or she will snap completely. So how can he dare to humiliate her. As if she threw herself at him, and he has no idea why she acts like this. He of all people shouldn't treat her that way.

"I'm going home," Emily snarls and puts down her glass on the table with more force than intended so that some whisky slops out of it and onto her hand.

"You're not driving in this condition." Hotch is perfectly calm and she almost hates him for it, for his prudence, for his – at least seeming – superiority, but most of all for wanting him so bad, needing him. If there's one thing Emily Prentiss can't stand, then it's weakness, and that's exactly how she feels right now – weak and defenseless.

Hotch suits the action to the words and blocks her way when she tries to leave. It's a bizarre dance. Emily tries to go past him without touching him, without looking at him, but the space is too confined, and eventually she gives up with an exhausted breath. "This is ridiculous," she mutters frustrated and somehow not believing what just happens.

They are standing so close that their bodies almost touch. Without her usual high heels she would have to look up at him to make eye contact. Emily takes this as an advantage to avoid eye contact, staring stubbornly ahead somewhere at his throat.

Thus she doesn't see it coming when Hotch takes her hand – the one with the spilled whisky on it – and brings it to his lips. He turns her hand around so that her palm is against his mouth and softly licks off the liquor. It is completely unexpected and incredibly sexy at the same time, and somewhere deep inside Emily feels her body react in spite of her anger, feels the goosebumps on her skin.

"Don't think I don't want you," Hotch says hoarsely. "But we can't keep doing this without admitting what is going on. And you have to tell me what brought you over here in the first place."

By now her whole body aches for him. She wears no bra, her upper body is in contact with his, and he has to feel it too. Emily wishes he would let one hand slide under her tank top and touch her. All the same her anger won't wear off. It's a dangerous mixture. Alcohol, arousal, physical closeness and too many unsolved issues.

Emily doesn't ponder on what she's doing or why; she is beyond this point. The turn of events ran another path than she had planned for tonight. So she follows her instinct when she lifts one hand to his neck until she gets in contact with his warm skin. This time Hotch doesn't avoid her touch. And when her lips follow the trace of her fingers and nibble tenderly at his skin, she senses more than she hears the moan he tries to suppress.

Aside from the attack on her palm, Hotch didn't and still doesn't touch her, and when she registers a motion out of the corner of her eye – his fists clenching and unclenching – Emily realizes that he is trying with a vengeance to resist her.

A wave of relief shoots through her. And something else – the awareness that no matter what it looked like only a few minutes ago, she is the one who has the upper hand. So she does what she avoided so far. Emily looks up at Hotch and meets his eyes. They are inscrutable, a black darkness as threatening as promising.

She holds his gaze when she moves even closer as if she is going to kiss him. And she knows she has him when he doesn't back away and closes his eyes, accepts what is going to happen. Or at least what he thinks will happen. But instead of a kiss her lips find his ear. Her pulse rate speeds up. She is still angry, but this is not about revenge. This is no payback, because he rejected her at first. This is much more important. He has to understand. Understand why this special nightmare is so bad that only he can help her.

"I came over, because I had a nightmare." Her whispered words are a soft breath of air against his face. "The same nightmare I have over and over again. Someone is killing me. I can't see his face, and most of the time I don't know who it is. In some dreams I even can save myself." Hotch's body language is tense but controlled. He expected something like this. There had to be a trigger why she came over. He knows her, knows that it wasn't a random decision, that something had to have happened, and now he knows what it was. A nightmare, nothing he couldn't handle, something absolutely normal in her situation.

"But there are dreams – and I always die in these – where I can't see the face of my murderer either, but yet I know who it is. I just know." Emily feels her heart beat in her throat. She didn't expect it to be so difficult to talk about it. Well, she should have known better. After all she didn't come here to talk. But he wants it this way, and so be it.

Hotch doesn't know why this special nightmare completely throws her off track. As if she couldn't handle a simple nightmare. But this one is different. Not because she dies at the end, but because of the person who is responsible for her death. She knows that he totally expects her to say Doyle's name. To name Ian Doyle as the person who hunts and kills her in her nightmares over and over again, even if he is dead in real life.

There is no easy way to say it, so she just lets the words out, feels her lips brush against his skin when she whispers the words in his ear, "It's you Hotch. You're the one who's killing me in my dream."

To be continued

A/N: First of all thank you so much for favoring my story, the alerts and – most of all, of course – for the reviews and your encouraging words.

As to this chapter: When I started to write the story and the first chapter with the nightmare, I totally imagined Emily dreaming about Ian Doyle, because it seemed natural after what happened. But then I tried to imagine why Emily would be so upset about a nightmare and decided that *just* dreaming about Doyle wouldn't be enough to throw her completely off balance. Therefore I came up with the idea that it's Hotch she dreams about. I hope you liked this little twist. When you read the next chapter, that will hopefully be online in 1-2 days, it will be explained why it's Hotch she dreams about, and I hope it will make as much sense to you as it makes to me.

That's it for now. I'm very happy if you still enjoy my story. Reviews make my day. :)