A/N: Sorry for the delay but it's been fairly busy at work. Things have slowed down a bit now so hopefully I can get back to some fic writing because I'll actually have, you know, some time off! Hope you enjoy. There really isn't much left in this story.


Emily had two simultaneous thoughts as Gray Eyes stood over her, a gun trained at Hotch's back,: Hotch was extremely heavy, his entire six foot, two frame felt as though it was built entirely of muscle and she really regretted leaving her purse, where her gun was, in the car.

"Why-, why did you do that?" she gasped out. Hotch's dead weight was making it difficult to breath. "What do you want?"

"Oh surely Lovely, you know. You must have seen it in my eyes at the pub. You were made for me." Gray Eyes sent a dismissive look at the prone BAU leader. "If this one hadn't interrupted us, we would have had our good time much sooner. Who is he to you, Lovely? You're obviously not strangers. Husband? No, a woman like you would be bearing his mark with a ring and other signs. You're not his though he acts as though you are. Boyfriend then? Lovers?" He nudged Hotch's foot. "Not so brave and authoritative now, is he?" His eyes chilled and hardened. "Get up."

With a grunt, Emily managed to roll the unconscious Hotch off of her. He flopped onto this back, still out cold. The gun in Gray Eyes' hand never wavered, not did his gaze on Emily. That was why he didn't see it. Hotch's pants leg rode up slightly and in the dim light, Emily could just make out the bottom of his ankle holster. Hotch's back-up piece, she had forgotten he carried it with him at all times. If she could get to it, this would be a much more even fight.

"Take out his gun and throw it towards those trees. No tricks!" She did as she was ordered, removing the gun at Hotch's waist and tossing it out of reach towards the trees. Gray Eyes nodded in satisfaction. "Now take his handcuffs and put them on him. I don't want him to interrupt our fun, Lovely," Gray Eyes ordered her.

Emily did as she was told, manacling Hotch's hands in front of him.

"Now get up, I want to see you better."

Slowly, Emily got to her feet and stood up. Gray Eyes looked her over like a butcher deciding how to carve up a side of beef and she had to repress a shudder that ran through her.

"Take off your clothes, slowly," he commanded her. When she hesitated, Gray Eyes pointed his gun at Hotch again. "Take off your clothes or I put a bullet through your boyfriend."

"Please don't hurt him," she pleaded. Swallowing the bile that rose up in her throat, she slipped off her jacket and began to unbutton her blouse.

"Slowly, I said."

One by one, the small shell disks slipped from each button hole until her shirt hung open. Then she slipped off the tailored white blouse and stood there in her bra. She saw Gray Eyes take in her scars from her fight with Doyle.

"Oh, Lovely, do you like it rough?" Emily could see his eyes light up in pleasure and she had to resist the urge to simply launch herself at him and pummel his face. He was too far away for that.

"Maybe we should wake your boyfriend up and let him watch as I do all the wonderful things I want to do to you."

Emily dropped to her knees and draped herself over Hotch's feet. "Please don't hurt him! I'll do anything you say! Just leave him alone!" she sobbed, her left hand was shielded from Gray Eyes' sight by the rest of her body. It scrambled for Hotch's ankle holster and she had managed to begin to work the small gun there loose when she felt blinding pain on her scalp as Gray Eyes grasped her hair and started to drag her away from Hotch.

"You don't beg for him, you whore!" the man yelled as he pulled Emily along with him. She cried out in pain and reflexively brought her hands up to his wrist, to ease some of the pressure on her scalp. Her feet scrambled to keep up with him or he was going to yank out her hair.

"You only beg for me! You only want me!" He threw her in front of him and Emily landed hard on her knees and palms, feeling the gravel and dirt embed itself into the soft flesh of her hands. Gray Eyes raised his gun.

"Stupid bitch. On your knees and beg!"

She got to her feet and looked at him defiantly. "Go to Hell you sick bastard!" she spat out.

Gray Eyes face flushed with anger and he raised his gun, aiming at Emily. "I said on your knees, so why don't we start there." The gun lowered, aiming for one of her knee caps.

Emily flinched when she heard the shot, but felt no searing pain. She blinked in surprise and then saw the trickle of blood coming from Gray Eyes' mouth. He dropped to his knees and then fell forward, revealing Hotch, standing behind him with a smoking gun.


He normally wouldn't be working late when they didn't have any active cases, but for once Dave Rossi wanted to finish off a few files before he took off for the night. That was why the office was practically deserted when the call came through to his private line.

"Rossi," he replied absently as his pen flashed through the last of the forms he wanted to complete before leaving.

"Dave, its Hotch."

"Aaron," the older man greeted as she set his pen down and leaned back in his chair, a smirk on his lips. "How are things going? Anything interesting happened yet?" Like having to share a room with a beautiful brunette thanks to yours truly meddling plus two tickets to see Celine Dion's show in Las Vegas. Aloysius Creighton's price for bungling the hotel reservations was difficult to figure out, but once Garcia started waving those tickets, the hotel man had been more than willing to put Hotch and Emily in the same room, with one bed.

Though Rossi knew things were never solved by sex alone, he figured if his friends would just have one good screw, it would be a start. Alone in a room together for a few days with the sexual tension they had between them, he figured sex was inevitable.

"We caught a serial killer."

Rossi had been taking a sip of lukewarm coffee when Hotch responded and the older profiler spat the contents out of his mouth.

"Dave?"

"Sorry," Rossi grumbled as he blotted his shirt and mouth with his handkerchief. "I thought you said you and Emily caught a serial killer."

"We did. Actually, he tried to make us his next victims. Remember those murders in Santa Fe and Tempe that we were talking about last week. Brunette victims, found bound and naked, hearts cut out?"

"It's that guy?" Rossi exclaimed. "What the Hell is he doing in Seattle?"

"We knew he traveled around. Turns out he's a pharmaceutical rep. He was here for a convention when he spotted Prentiss."

"He targeted Emily?" concern was evident in Rossi's voice. "Is she okay?"

"She's fine." Hotch paused. "A little annoyed." He paused longer. "And angry."

Rossi gazed suspiciously at his phone receiver. "What did you say?"

"What makes you think I said anything to her?" Hotch sounded offended.

"Because I know you and you have that guilty sound to your voice, so what did you say to Emily?"

There was another pause that practically dripped with guilty emotion. Finally, Hotch mumbled, "I may have said something like what are the odds of her attracting yet another serial killer."

Rossi sighed in exasperation. "Do I have to remind you that you also seem to attract serial killers?"

"Prentiss pointed that out as well."

"Before or after she kicked you in the balls?"

"Right before she kicked me out of our room."

"She kicked you out?"

"Now why aren't you asking the reason Prentiss and I are sharing a room here, Dave?" Hotch's cold voice came over the line.

Shit. Oh well, might as well come clean. "Yeah, yeah, I arranged it so you and Emily would have to share a room. I thought forced quarters would make you two work things out."

"Brilliant move, Dave." The sarcasm in Hotch's voice was evident. "Now I don't have a room for the night."

"Yes you do," Rossi said firmly. "You are going to march your ass down to the front desk and get an extra room card key. Then you're going go back to your room and sit Emily down and talk to her. Grovel on your belly if you have to. This thing between the two of you is affecting the rest of the team and we're tired of it. So fix it Hotch."

"I don't know if that manager is going to give me an extra key card," Hotch said in a sullen tone.

Rossi rolled his eyes. His old friend sounded like petulant seven year old. "Just do it. And if the guy gives you any trouble, just say, 'Celine Dion tickets' and you'll be alright."

"What exactly did you do, Dave?"

"Nevermind, what's important is what you'll be doing in the next hour. Make this better with Emily before you come home, Hotch."


A/N 2: Typically, I prefer Emily saving herself, but there was a reason Hotch woke up in time to shoot the killer. Hey, there's a reason this fic is rated "M" afterall!