A/N: Thanks soooo much to those who reviewed. Truly means a lot and keeps me writing!
And soo sorry for the long update. School has been crazy, as they're starting to cram everything in before finals.
Chapter 3
Emily hadn't asked him to stay, but she hadn't asked him to leave either. They were at her apartment, and she was sleeping soundly next to him. He had promised himself he would leave as soon as she fell asleep, but even then, he couldn't seem to bring himself to leave her. There was some illogical part of him that believed with one misplaced breath, she would disappear off the face of the earth, and he would be left with nothing. In his mind, she was that vulnerable, that fragile. He couldn't deal with that, so instead, he settled on watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest.
Hotch pondered over Agent Harris's trial – a trial that he would make possible, even if there was no evidence to prove it. Until five hours ago, Hotch had advocated that their society took care of criminal justice in a courtroom. Now he wasn't so sure. A trial might be more civilized, but emotionally, it couldn't possibly pack as much satisfaction.
A moment later, he found himself at Emily's computer, Googling the word rape.
61% of rapes were not reported to the police. If a rape is reported, there's a 50.8% chance that an arrest will be made. If an arrest is made, there's an 80% chance of prosecution. If there's a prosecution, there's a 58% chance of felony conviction. If there's a felony conviction, there's a 69% chance that the rapist will actually spend time in jail. Of the 39% of rapes that are reported to police, then, there's only a 16.3% chance that the rapist will wind up in prison. If you factor in all the unreported rapes, 94% of rapists walk free.
Hotch stared at the screen. Emily was one of those numbers now, one of those percents. Little did he know, she had already been one.
***
It was late in the afternoon when Emily finally fought up the courage to head to work. Hotch had left her a note, saying he wanted her to stay home for the next few days. It wasn't a choice, but an order. Of course, she flat out rejected it. She couldn't just sit at home and do absolutely nothing. She had to be at work to get her mind off of things – or so she told herself. In reality she didn't want to be alone.
Her heart began beating erratically as she stepped into the elevator. Bruises matted her body, her ankle was sprained, and she had dark circles under her eyes. She looked like the living dead. How the hell was she going to explain it to the team?
The elevator came to a slow halt and rung when it reached her floor. Taking one last deep breath, she walked out. In the wake of a disaster; the last thing you needed to do was set off another bomb; instead, you walked through the rubble and told yourself that it wasn't nearly as bad as it looked. She told herself that, and her compartmentalizing skills kicked into gear.
How she managed to get to her desk without being noticed, she couldn't be sure. Sighing softly, she slowly edged herself into her seat. Pain was a bitch.
"Emily?"
Fuck.
"Yes?" She asked, keeping her head down.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Morgan questioned her.
"I couldn't just sit at home and do nothing," she told him, her voice never faltering. She spent years of lying and faking excitement as a kid. It was finally beginning to pay off.
Morgan placed a hand on her shoulder, and she grunted in pain. Surprised, he pulled away and she accidentally looked at him. As soon as she did, she regretted it. He starred at her, utterly baffled. Maybe her face looked worse than she originally thought. She could read the concern playing out across his face, and though he starred her down, she didn't break. Her mask held her emotions back well.
"Emily?" He dropped down to his knees in front of her.
"It was nothing," she told him quickly.
"Nothing?" Morgan reached out to her, but she shrunk back, cursing herself as she did so.
She couldn't show weakness, but it was there as she stumbled to come up with an explanation. "I…I…was mugged. I'm fine."
"Mugged?"
Fuck. What had Hotch told him?
"Funny, Hotch said he was mugged too, but he said you were in a car accident."
"Oh," she said lamely.
"Who did this?"
She could hear the anger in his voice, and when she turned to look at him, she knew he would kill whoever was held responsible. It wasn't the kind and trusting Derek Morgan kneeling in front of her, but someone else entirely. For some unexplained reason it scared her, and she had a hard time keeping her emotions at bay.
When he saw her beginning to shake, he morphed back into his original caring self. "Emily?" Morgan reached out to caress her hand.
It was a simple gesture, but unspoken words could only go so far, and she sharply pulled her hand away from his. As soon as she did it, she saw the hurt in his chocolate eyes. "I'm fine."
Morgan gave her an incredulous look. "Emily, maybe you should go home. I don't think Hotch wants you here anyway. Come on, I'll take you."
"I don't care what Hotch thinks."
"Prentiss?"
Emily froze at his voice. She knew he was standing behind her. Knew he would have that glare. She couldn't find words or the courage to face him, so she chose to ignore him all together.
"What are you doing here?" Hotch asked her. When she didn't answer or look up at him, he sighed. "Can I have a word?"
"No."
"What?"
Both men just stared at her, utterly shocked that she had refused an order from her boss. Morgan took a step back, sensing that whatever happened was between them. After all, what were the odds of both of them getting mugged in the same night at different places? He knew they were hiding something, but figured it was something they had to deal with and them alone. But man would he be there to help them if they needed it.
Before backing away, Morgan gave her a look. Emily nodded at him, letting him know that it was okay to back off.
Hotch studied her, and after a moment he realized that she couldn't get up. "Emily, come on."
"I…no. I rather stay here."
He gripped her left arm lightly, a place he knew she wasn't bruised or broken, and helped her up out of her seat. She willingly complied at first, but once she was up on her feet she froze where she stood. Hotch eyed her nervously when she only blinked.
"Emily?"
She snapped out of her haze then, but she didn't move. "I… okay. I'll go home," she stuttered.
Hotch just starred at her. The sudden change of mind didn't fit. Something was wrong. Her posture suddenly shouted defensive, and her eyes were fixed over his shoulder. Curious, he glanced behind him. His blood boiled at the sight. There on the far side of the room, was none other than Agent Harris himself.
